20 Miles is Not Easy

Running 20 miles is not easy.

Running 20 miles when you’ve been struggling with anxiety is not easy.

Running 20 miles when you spent the entire previous day at a wine tour is not easy.

Running 20 miles when you start after 9am is not easy.

Combine all those? Yeah, definitely not an easy run this morning.

And to think, I had sort of been contemplating running the Yonkers Marathon with Laura for “fun” today. I thought perhaps I could just run at training pace and get a decent “long run” out of it. After a day of wine-touring yesterday, I luckily realized how dumb that was.

I’ve been trying to not be harder than necessary on myself lately, and this week that meant not having my training be something that stressed me out. That meant that I skipped a 10-mile marathon goal pace run that was on my schedule Friday. I wanted to get to work early, and I knew a little extra sleep would do my soul well. I set my alarm for early yesterday morning before the wine tour, but I had a hard time winding down Friday night and went to sleep too late to get it in before the wine tour.

I took another day of sleeping in this morning and woke up thinking “Why don’t I just call this week a wash?” I was stressed, tired, it was late–maybe that was what I needed?

I had nobody to run with this morning, so I spent way too long screwing around before finally leaving sometime just before 10.

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I found this route on MapMyRun, and thought it looked like a good one. 20 miles solo? I definitely needed a different route. This one went down the West Side Highway, over the Brooklyn Bridge, down Flatbush Ave to Prospect Park and back. I’ve only run races in Prospect Park, so I was excited at the prospect (see what I did there?) of running there.

I started off with a really negative attitude the first few miles. Every time my Garmin beeped, I thought, still 18 miles left? Still 17 miles left? Once I got down to Battery Park, around mile 4 or 5 or so, I realized I needed to change this mindset or this run would seem even longer than it actually was. Strangely enough, once I decided to be more positive about the run, my pace slowed. Crap, maybe negativity is actually better for running.

I ran past my old downtown apartment and then over the Brooklyn Bridge, which I used to run often when I lived down there–and I never got sick of it. My pace slowed again considerably running over the bridge, and I tried really hard to not obsess over what my watch read. And not to throw elbows at the tourists on the bridge.

I got to Brooklyn, turned on Tillary and found Flatbush pretty quickly. I ran down Flatbush for about 2 miles to Prospect Park and entered by all the food trucks. At that moment, I wished I were walking, not running, and could stop for a lobster roll.

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I settled for taking a picture of the Grand Army Plaza arch, which is not the same as a lobster roll.

Like I said, I’ve only run in Prospect Park for races (Valentine’s Day 5K, Nike Human Race and Jingle Bell Jog) but I figured it’d be pretty easy for me to find my way around the loop, since it, you know, was just a big circle. The loop is around 3 miles, and I figured I’d run the 3 miles and then just run back on Flatbush the way I came.

I hit around 12 miles while in the park and took some Gu Chomps, after a very kind family let me use their key to puncture the bag since my sweaty fingers were not doing the trick. I started up again and realized I hadn’t paid attention even a little bit to what the entrance looked like when I came in and what I should look out for exit the loop.

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I ended up thinking I’d passed where I’d entered, but in reality, I exited clear on the other side of the park and had to double back to Grand Army Plaza.

I hit 16 just past Grand Army Plaza, but as I was doubling back, I kept thinking “I don’t really need to do 20. This was a tough week. It’s hot. I’m tired.” But, as usual, I thought how much more satisfied I’d be if I actually finished what I’d planned rather than bailing, and I kept going.

I hit 16 around 2:40, which is what it took me to run 18 last weekend. I was a little discouraged that my pace was so much slower, but reminded myself I hadn’t spent the entire day before last week’s long run drinking wine. And that I started nice and early last week. And had buddies by my side the entire time.

At some point, I got a little lost and took the Flatbush Extension, instead of regular Flatbush Ave–which worked out perfectly, because I was able to take the Manhattan Bridge back, which is a little closer to my apartment than the Brooklyn Bridge. I was around 17.5 going over the bridge, and questioning all life decisions. Why in hell was I running a bridge 17.5 miles in? I just kept thinking “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” which, of course, led to some Kelly Clarkson in my head. This is why I don’t need headphones when I run.

The bridge spit me out in Chinatown, and I shuffled west to finally make it to Broadway. I ended just before Union Square and really wanted to find someone to high five, but nobody looked receptive to a random sweaty girl high-fiving them.

The last time I ran 20 miles after a wine tour (since, yes, this is not the first time I’ve done that…) I nearly passed out afterwards, so this time I was really conscious the entire time of hydrating well. I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out this time, which I consider a major accomplishment.

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I don’t know if I’ve ever run such uneven splits before. No, Laura, I was not trying to do intervals!

I’m so happy to have my first 20-miler under my belt. This is always the point in marathon training where the idea of running 26.2 miles becomes less abstract. If I can run 20, I can run 26.2. (Although I’ll actually be doing a 22-miler this year…)

A huge thanks to everyone for your sweet comments on yesterday’s post. It’s always helpful to know you’re not alone–and if that post helped one person in some way, it was completely worth it.

How do you soldier on when your run’s not easy? When does the training transition to I’M ACTUALLY GOING TO DO THIS THING for you? When will I learn to not schedule a wine tour for the day before a 20-miler?

It’s Okay to Ask for Help.

New York is not really the slowest place in the world to live. I know this comes as no surprise to you, whether you live here or not.

The past few months have felt like the busiest months of my life–long hours at work as my department grows really quickly. Taking on more responsibility at Junior League. Training for a marathon. Writing this blog.

Yes, three out of those four things are things I don’t *have* to do, but they’re all rewarding enough, in their own ways, to keep doing them.

Yes, all of those things are also outlets for stress relief–especially the running. I have amazing friends and an amazing family as a support system, and I certainly know my problems could be much worse…

But I’ve been struggling with anxiety lately, and this week it finally hit its chest-tightening, heart-racing apex.

Monday night, I had an awful anxiety attack, and Tuesday morning I woke up and not even a run helped. I got to work and tried to calm down, and I told myself mentally to put things in perspective, and honestly, I believed myself.

But I couldn’t control the racing of my heart and mind and my chest tightened so much that I could barely breathe. I ZocDoc-ed an appointment with my primary care doctor and somehow managed to walk over. I like her a lot, and she’s usually great, but I ended up having to wait for half an hour to see her, which, you know, didn’t really help with the anxiety. The nurse took my blood pressure, and it was 150/90.

She came in and didn’t believe my blood pressure was really 150/90, so she took it again. It was still 140/something. We started talking, she handed me a prescription for Xanax, and I looked up at her and started sobbing. I’m generally not a crier at all–except for at weddings and sappy movies–so this was terribly out of character for me.

She stayed and talked to me for a few minutes, and assured me that many people go through this at some point, and it was okay–and that this, too, would pass. She told me to sit in her office for as long as I needed to and suggested I call a friend or family to be with me. I called one of my best friends and she met me at Duane Reade, where I was dropping off my prescription. I took one look at her, too, and burst into big, sloppy tears on her really cute shirt. She totally took over bugging the pharmacist for my prescription and talking to my parents for me, while I stood there, just a little numb (and this was before the Xanax.)

We walked back to my apartment, stopping at Energy Kitchen to grab me something to eat for lunch, and she made fun of me for still trying to get something healthy even in the middle of an anxiety attack…so I got their baked fries.

My parents came over, and we talked and talked and talked. Another good friend came over when she got out of work, and my little support group really helped. Honestly, it was nothing they said, but just having them there helped more than anything…except for maybe the Xanax.

The doctor recommended I take Wednesday off, too, and so I listened. I woke up feeling guilty that I was taking a sick day when I wasn’t physically sick, but then I remembered that the anxiety was actually manifesting itself physically. I treated the day like it was a sick day and, other than searching for a therapist, spent the day doing not much.

If you think you need a therapist, you’re right. I think everyone could benefit from talking to a therapist. Not all of what the therapist said was ground-breaking, but sometimes it’s just easier to hear it from an impartial professional. Many insurance companies include behavioral health benefits now, so therapy can generally be no more expensive than your copay–and so, so so worth it, since mental stress can lead to so many more physical problems. (Caitlin wrote a post a few months ago that got some great comments on therapy and finding a therapist.)

As I walked with the therapist from the reception desk back to her office–a walk that felt interminable–I wondered if I really needed to be there. I sat down and thought what I was about to say might come out sounding stupid…and then I realized that there’s nothing stupid about admitting you need a little help. I left her office feeling much calmer–and like I had the beginnings of an action plan to get my stress under control.

I’m telling you this because I believe that we need to remove the stigma associated with therapy and discussing mental health. It’s okay to feel this way sometimes. I’d rather not, obviously, but it doesn’t make me a bad person, or a damaged person, just someone who needs a little help right now. And one who’s getting it from wonderful family and friends and a lovely therapist.

And if you’re feeling this way, or if you’re struggling, and you need someone to talk to, please consider therapy–or even just dropping me an email if you need someone to listen to you.