Lessons Learned...

I've learned an important lesson.

In comparing the multitudes of half-marathon training programs floating around on the Internet, I noticed that all of the particularly strenuous speed work, interval and hill training -- the workouts that destroy your legs and help build up strength and anaerobic capacity -- were uniformly placed at the beginning of the week; as far away as possible from the from the weekend's long run.

Over the weekend, I learned the reason for this. Rather, I confirmed the reason -- something that really should have been nothing but bloody common sense.

I don't follow any one training plan. I've researched multiple examples and formulated my own -- a training program based around my schedule and the fact that I don't want to dedicate all my bloody training time to running, and fit in some biking and rugby into the week.

My previous week went like this:

On the Saturday before last, my long run was scaled back to only 15K. I'd run 21.5K the weekend before, but most training programs throw in a few taper weeks into the progression towards the latter weeks before the race (e.g., 14K-16K-18K-20K-13K-22K-15K-24K.) So I ran it little faster, running the 15K at a 6:00 per kilometre pace, rather than the my usual 6:15-6:30/K long run pace. On Sunday, I got in my weekly bike ride, cycling 61.8K. Monday was a upper-body strength session at the gym. Tuesday was a rest day. Wednesday: a 12.8K run at medium intensity. Thursday: hill training -- 3K warmup run, then three repeats of a 650m 7-grade hill, followed by a 1K cool-down run. Yesterday: Another upper-body strength session.

Now, did you see what happened there? Yep. My hill-training was on Thursday. Since it was the shortest of my workouts, and I had limited time on Thursday evening, that was where I slotted it. I didn't hold back. I put full effort into those ascents, on all three repeats. My legs were utterly fried by the end. I spent all of Friday walking funny.

On Saturday, I'd scheduled a 24K long-run -- only two days after the hill-training that destroyed my legs. The plan was to run a loop along the Martin Goodman and Humber Trails. I realised my legs would still be sapped from the hill training, so I figured that I'd just complete the distance slower. A 6:30/K pace seemed reasonable, especially since my previous 21.5K run was completed at a 6:14/K pace. The McMillan Runing Calculator indicates that my long run pace is supposed to be between 6:17/K and a 6:57/K. So my planned pace was well within the bounds.

The run did not go well.

I completed the first 9K faster than I'd intended. I was going at a 6:15/K clip, but I was running comfortably. Once I hit the 12K mark, I noticed that my legs had started to feel incredibly heavy and that I was slowing down. By the 15K mark, I was struggling just to run the kilometres in 6:30 and wondering why in the hell I was doing any of this. I was looking at the last 9K with a feeling of dread, but just told myself I just had to slow down a little more and keep on plodding until I finished the run. I was using every mental trick in the book, just trying to will myself to keep running.

At 19K, I started having intermittent problems with my right knee -- which happens when my running gait breaks down due to fatigue. I now had to waste mental energy concentrating on my running form so that the pain didn't worsen. I kept myself jogging forward by telling myself that I only had 5K to go.

At 21.5K, some woman pushing a baby carriage walked right out in front of my path and cut me off. The effort I expended just to side-step her was the breaking point. The pain in my knee surged, I grunted, and finally slowed right down to a walk. After walking for about two hundred metres, I tried jogging again, but I only made it another two hundred metres. It was pathetic. I hadn't even made it as far as my last long-run. I felt completely defeated.

I took it easy by walking the next 1.5K, with the full intention of jogging the last 2K back to the finish point. When I started jogging again, I still didn't have enough to jog more than two- to three-hundred metres at a time. I completed that last 2K by alternating jogging and walking intervals every 200m. The time for the entire distance? 2:45:55. Horrible. And not exactly inspiring of confidence for the big run in four weeks.

My only solace was that my 6:49/K pace over the entire distance, even with the ludicrous amount of walking at the end, was still faster than 6:57/K. But I still felt like it was a failure -- like my body had let me down. At least I reinforced the lesson on rest and recovery. For the next four weeks, speed work, interval or hill training will be done on Tuesday, or not at all.

When I completed my 61.8K bike ride last week, I told myself I wouldn't add on any distance until after the half-marathon. Yesterday morning, I completed a 71.5K ride.

That somewhat covered the stench from Saturday.

I Didn't Die...

I only fell once.

Ironically, I was at a complete stop and balancing on my stop foot when it happened. I ended up trying to do something with my other foot, forgot it was still clipped in, and just tipped over before I could get it unclipped from the pedal.

Scrapped up the knee pretty good.

I can't even begin to count how many times I stumbled, but managed to unclip just before taking a gigantic prat-fall.

So it went better than I expected.

I would like to thank EVERYBODY who gave me hints and tips on starting out with clipless pedals. The best advice I received before going out today was to unclip before I came to a stop. That wouldn't have been at all intuitive had I not been told to do that beforehand. That piece of advice saved me from many more spectacular falls than I actually suffered.

I spent about an hour out there until the diminishing light forced me to pack it in.

There were plenty of stops and starts as I got used to clipping and unclipping the pedals. I'm not completely proficient with clipping in my stop foot coming out of a stop, but I'm getting better. I'm pretty comfortable with the brakes. The cemetery has enough inclines in the paths that I was able to get a good feel for the gear system.

I really picked up some speed on that thing. There were stretches where I had enough visibility going around curves to maintain speed through them -- all while thinking, 'If I wipe out here, and plow into those granite headstones, I'm so completely boned'.

At the end of it all, I was comfortable enough to think that my death was not inevitable. (At least not due to the bike.)

I think I'm going to need a few more sessions in the cemetery before I'm comfortable enough to start off on the streets.

Traffic will be a whole other ball game.

I Hope I Don't Die...

I picked up my bike yesterday.

It's an absolutely gorgeous day, I've got about an hour-and-a-half left of sunlight, and I'm taking the bike out for the first time in a few minutes.

And I'm not just a little scared.

Maybe 'trepidatious' is a better word for what I'm feeling. Or 'anxious'.

Nah, I'm scared.

You see, not only do I have to get used to riding a road bike and a new shifting system, but I have to learn how to use these clipless pedals I put on the thing. I've never ridden with clipless pedals. I keep picturing myself falling and smashing my head against something. In doing my reading and research, I've found out that I'm just about guaranteed to fall, at least once, likely during the first (or second, or third) time I forget to clip out. With all the new stuff I'm already going to worrying about on the bike, it's almost like I'm setting myself up for spectacular failure.

It's not just the pain of falling, or the potential damage to the bike, that has me scared, but also the idea that I'm going to look like a complete putz when I do.

Half of my brain is telling me that I'll be fine -- that I just have to take it slow, take my lumps and that I'll be comfortable once I get some kilometers under me. The other half of my brain is screaming at me -- telling me that I'm being way too ambitious and that I'm going to die.

I'm certainly not stupid enough to do all of this on Toronto streets, with traffic. I'm walking the bike over to the York Cemetery and getting the shake-down cruise in on those quieter, less trafficked lanes.

Believe me, the irony of this does not escape me.