THE MARATHON:
THE MOTHERLOAD
By Sarah
I have several versions of heaven. In one, after I enter the pearly gates, I immediately find out the answer to many of life’s burning questions: What happened to Amelia Earhart? Who shot JFK? Who won the most votes in the 2000 presidential election? Is American Idol rigged?
In another iteration of the cloudy world above, I get to see all the times my path crossed with my now-husband while at college; we graduated the same year from Colgate, but we didn’t meet until nearly 10 years later. He, of course, is constantly scheming to meet me, but I never notice him, à la a Cameron Diaz flick. (Hey: It’s a fantasy; let me pretend I have flawless skin and a 36C rack.)
My latest spin on paradise? I get to travel back in time and run my first marathon after following a training plan. I figure if I could finish in 4:04 by adhering only to two loose training rules—to do increasingly long runs every weekend and to run a lot (maybe too much, in retrospect)—my mind reels at what I could have run if I actually would have put some forethought into it.1
A mix of naïveté and bravado prompted me to forgo a training plan—and any rest days. Some weeks I ran every day, others I got carried away with swimming and biking and hit the pavement only two, maybe three times. I did a single, solitary 3-hour run and hoped I covered 20 miles. (This was pre-Garmin, mind you—which now sounds about as primitive as “before indoor plumbing” or “the sports bra hadn’t been invented yet.”) God forbid I stretch, get a massage, or sit in an ice bath. And forget about taking in energy, like gels or chews, on the fly. I ate nothing, only taking in some sports drink. I also was clueless about ingesting a mix of protein and carbohydrates post-run. Fortunately, an Einstein’s bagel was my daily breakfast back then, so by dumb luck I always had those carbs to fuel me. I had no idea how close I came to running sub-4:00 in my 26.2 debut.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
By winging it, not only did I most likely forgo a faster finishing time but also a better overall time: My makeshift training made that marathon a miserable experience. In the race, the 1998 San Francisco Marathon, I was hating life by mile 19—you might recall from our first book, I threw up flat Coke into my own hand—and was running on what felt like petrified tree trunks from mile 21 to the finish. I can still feel the immense, excruciating effort it took to bend my knees and lower my spent body to the grass in the finishers’ area—and that was just a few minutes after collecting my medal. For days after the race, I avoided stairways like they were dark alleys and toilet seats as if they were covered in urine. Speaking of: My quads were so angry, a few times I peed standing up in my empty bathtub rather than squat on the potty. (No lie.) Let there be no doubt: My body wasn’t ready for the intense pounding of covering 26.2 miles by foot.
Not only did I not train in a smart fashion, I had crossed very few starting lines of any distance. I would’ve been better off having a few more races under the waistband of my shorts. Before I toed the line of my debut marathon, I’d only participated in a handful of races, the highlight of which was the aforementioned 5K corporate fun run, where I almost beat my boss. Needless to say, I didn’t stick to any training plans for those, either. Which sounds to me, a gal who now follows a training plan as closely as an engineer adheres to the blueprint of a suspension bridge, just like wearing blue lipstick and a buzzed haircut to an English Beat concert in my college days: crazy.
Race experience would have clued me in to things such as pacing (as in, don’t expect to be able to run the first half of a marathon as speedily as you can complete a stand-alone 13.1-mile race); fueling (uh, maybe that Coke wasn’t the best source of sugary carbohydrate to try to suck down); chafing (when not consumed with thoughts of my leadlike legs, I cringed at the rubbed-raw flesh between my thighs and under my bra straps); and dealing with pre-race jitters (hmmmm, maybe I would have been able to get more than about 75 minutes of shut-eye the night before).
Thankfully, I didn’t let a painful experience ruin my relationship with the marathon. I’ve done six more, and I plan on running at least four more before I get my AARP card. I know quite a bit more now. Despite the math, a marathon is not merely a half-marathon times 2. I might have gotten a low grade in AP biology and not know the Krebs Cycle from a Krabby Patty, but even I realize something happens to your muscles, joints, and organs at an almost cellular level when you cover such a great distance.
TAKE IT From A MOTHER
DO YOU WEAR YOUR GARMIN GPS ON RACE DAY?
“Yes, because I like to see my pace and splits. There’s too much excitement to focus on feeling a pace, and I know the adrenaline at the beginning will cost me later in the race.”
—CHRISTY (Group run funny moment: “I told someone I needed to go ‘tie my shoe.’ He proceeded to teach me how to secure a double knot. I had to explain what I really meant.”)
“Not typically. Most races have the timers, and I don’t need one more piece of equipment.”
—EMILY (Shaved 16 minutes off her last half-marathon PR, despite 50-MPH wind gusts, downpours, mud, ice, and snow.)
“I normally wear my Garmin on race day, but I’m leaving it at home for my upcoming Olympic-distance triathlon. I’m going to trust my training.”
—JACKIE (Influences her friends to race: “I love being side by side when gal pals complete their first races.”)
“I have worn a Garmin on race day, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference: 26.2 miles is still 26.2 miles.”
—KATIE (Never squats to pee. “I pull my shorts and undies to the side, spread my legs, and let it go. Wearing a skirt makes the whole process a bit more discreet.”)
“Yes. I like to know how I am doing at intermittent spots along the race, especially if it’s long.”
—NICKI (Her note to self: A close-to-50-year-old mother of six should not cough when running outside in cold temps.)
“No, but I’ve wanted to rip them off the wrists of runners next to me for their incessant beeping for 26.2 miles.”
—TARA (Gets chills watching hordes of racers in front of her cross the starting line. “It’s like a calm ocean wave.”)
“I would lose my mind without my Garmin on race day.”
—LORI (Cries every time she crosses a finish line.)
PRACTICAL Motherly ADVICE
FLYING TO FLY
Remember how safe it seemed to keep dating your high school boyfriend when you went off to the strange new world of college? The whole hometown-honey concept is applicable to running races, too. Whether you go cross-country or merely across a state line, it can be a bit overwhelming to contemplate an away race. There are a few things to consider before you register or head out of town:
TIME DIFFERENCE: If you’re traveling west to east and arriving the day before the race, a 4:30 A.M. wake-up call will feel extra-brutally early. Consider building in a day before the race to acclimate to a variety of factors, including the race starting time. (And let’s not forget your bowels need time to adjust to the morning ritual.) Another option: Start your acclimation at home. Incrementally bump up your waking and running time a few weeks before the race, so your body won’t be quite so angry at you when you stand amid all the (peppy, energetic, local) people at the starting line.
WEATHER CONDITIONS: Temperature and humidity play a vital role in how you feel on race day. To wit: Dimity and I ran the Country Music Half Marathon in Nashville last May. Coming from Denver and Portland, respectively, Dimity wasn’t prepped for humidity, and I wasn’t ready for the humidity or the heat. When you’re headed to warmer climes to race, do a few runs in an environment that comes as close to the race environment as possible. Run during the middle of the day, for instance, instead of the chilly morning, or run wearing tights and a long-sleeve shirt if you’re taking on, say, the Honolulu Marathon. We don’t recommend putting a treadmill in a sauna, but we’ve heard of it being done. Rest easy if you’re going from hot to cooler temps; the chillier air is usually a guarantee of a good race.
ALTITUDE: Maybe only I waver on this consideration, but living at sea level makes me think long and hard about racing at elevation. When Denverite Dimity and I did the Ogden half-marathon, which starts at 5,000 feet in the Utah mountains, she enjoyed the net downhill course and ran like she was on her home turf—she basically was—whereas I was sucking serious wind within steps of the starting line.
Think about altitude as a factor like weather: It may slow you down, but it’s not a given it will. Dimity has heard a handful of stories of sea-level women grabbing the Denver half-marathon by the cojones. The conventional wisdom is arriving the day before the race benefits you most, as your body doesn’t really know what’s going on; if you hang out in thin air for, say, four days, and then try to race, you might be caught in limbo land. Regardless of how your race goes, run by effort, not numbers; your 9-minute miles on flat land at 100-feet elevation might not translate so neatly to hilly miles at 4,000 feet. Finally, be sure to hydrate on the plane en route, before the race, during it, and post. Nothing kills the buzz of a race more than a dehydration headache.
SPECTATORS: If you plan to travel with your personal pep squad, skip this item. But if you travel solo or with girlfriends who are also going to be running, just remember there won’t be anyone familiar cheering for you on the sidelines.
WHAT TO PACK: When you run a race in your own town, all your clothing options are at your fingertips. This is not the case when you’re on the road, so you need to pack strategically and thoughtfully—or incur hundreds of dollars of baggage-check fees. Generally, you’re good with two options for both your top and bottom, such as a long-sleeve top and a short-sleeve tee or tank; and either shorts or a skirt and capris or tights. However, you need oh so much more than clothes; check out our checklist in chapter 13.
PRE-RACE DINNER: Sure, it’s a treat to not have to cook the night before a race, but eating in a restaurant means your options are more limited than they are at home. For bigger races or ones in small towns, search online for a restaurant months prior to the race and make reservations on the earlier side, as there will likely be a bunch of runners who need to be fed. Italian is always a good option, as are American-fare restaurants, where you can usually grab a salad and some form of pasta. I always opt for a salad and a relatively simple, noncreamy pasta dish.
MORNING-OF BREAKFAST: Searching a Monterey, California, supermarket for satisfying, make-in-the-hotel-during-predawn-hours breakfast options was honestly what made me opt to run my hometown marathon. It’s tough for me to run 26.2 miles on an energy bar, a banana, and an Odwalla smoothie. Bring something from home, or stock your hotel minifridge. Yogurt with granola or a packet of Justin’s Nut Butter slathered on a bagel satisfies, whereas I’ve found oatmeal made with coffee-machine hot water disappoints. Ask your hotel if it is laying out breakfast early for racers—and make sure it’s going to be more than just coffee, juice, and stale cheese Danishes.
UNFAMILIARITY WITH THE COURSE: While I don’t go so far as my pal Lindsey, who drove the entire 26.2 miles of Highway 1 that the Big Sur International Marathon covered, I do study a course profile like an eager 16-year-old with a driver’s ed manual. I want to know where hills will greet (and taunt) me, and how many turns a course has. Dimity, on the other hand, pretends to study it, but nothing really soaks in; she ends up winging it. The beauty of her strategy? You don’t have to fret about it, pre-race. You’re at the bottom of a killer hill, and you have to get over it one way or another to see the finish line.
I’m also familiar with optimal training for me. It took me a few 26.2s, but I finally understand how to get across the finish line with a great time and attitude. Because I always have one eye on my finish time, I incorporate speedwork into my training, instead of forever plodding along at the same pace. This means I head to the track on Tuesdays and do tempo runs on Thursdays (if for no other reason than I like the repetition of all those “T” words. Track. Tuesdays. Tempo. Thursdays.). These specific workouts, complete with time goals firmly in mind, teach my feet how to fly faster and boost my cardiovascular fitness higher. Paula, my coach for my fourth marathon, once remarked, “An ugly duckling doesn’t suddenly morph into a beautiful swan on race day.” Translation: No matter how much you wish for it—like I did in marathons 1, 2, and 3—you don’t magically become faster unless you occasionally train at a speedier pace.
Gone are the days of a single 20ish mile run: Now my plans always include three 20s, if not two 20-milers and one 20-plus. And, like all my runs exceeding 75 or 90 minutes, they include regular doses of energy gels to give me a boost along the way. (Amazing how that works.) These long efforts teach my body how to process stored fuel to sustain my energy level, and they prepare my joints and muscles for the pounding they’ll take as I go 26.2.
Compared with the ignorance of my youth, when I was sure more was better, I also now religiously take a weekly rest day. This day off, with no crosstraining or even much walking (yes, I consciously limit my exertion as much as a mama of three can), allows my body to synthesize all the lessons I’ve taught it in the past week and emerge stronger. Sure, I’d be lying if I said rest days are mentally easy for me. Once a borderline exercise addict, always one. But the more I realize the benefits, such as renewed energy and lower split times, the easier it becomes.
With these cornerstones in place, I love marathon training. Honestly: L-O-V-E. Rarely do I feel more focused, yet at ease, in my running. There’s no waffling about how long or hard to run. The answer is spelled out for me in black and white on a weekly schedule. Few things beat the sense of accomplishment I feel every day when I know I’ve run the distance or speed required to carry me across the finish line of my chosen ’thon. As a mom, there’s rarely a chance to place a checkmark in a “done” box (there’s always more laundry to wash/dry/fold/put away, right?), but when I’m training for a marathon, I get that checked-off feeling daily.
Plus, there’s something wonderfully life encompassing about training for a 26.2-mile race; going to bed at 9:30 instead of sending out more e-mails to drum up auction items for the school fund-raiser feels like an imperative, not a luxury. I’m forced to give some thought to what I eat for lunch every day instead of simply shoveling leftovers into my piehole. And then there’s the perverse joy of subtly working in references to marathon training in daily life, say, at the post office or while waiting outside my first-graders’ classrooms at the end of the school day.
Looked at from the glass-half-empty perspective, however, marathon training does consume you for multiple months. The do-this-workout-today guidelines can sometimes feel constraining, even burdensome. Start by kissing good-bye any weekend free time, if you ever had such a thing to begin with. When 3, 4, or even 5 hours of a Saturday morning are eaten up by a long run, it’s kind of tough to justify to your husband that you’re heading out to a concert or happy hour with your sister.
Yet when the chips are down (read: My 6-year-old twins are engaged in their version of a WWE smackdown, or there’s a flotilla of bake-sale cupcakes to be frosted), I can flash back to that morning’s 14-mile river loop or memories from previous marathons. I have subconsciously collected a select repertoire of bright, clear moments that replenish my tank when I’m flagging, either at home or on the run. They appear without any prompting, as if my brain knows intuitively what my body needs to fare forward.
Perhaps surprisingly, one of my shining playbacks occurred during that challenging San Francisco Marathon. The year I ran the race, the course climbed a successive series of hills on Haight Street. Even though I’d done most of my training in tabletop-flat Chicago, it was early enough in the race that my legs had ample juice to power me up the inclines. I swiveled my head in amazement as I passed cluster after cluster of runners. Looking to my left I spied an auburn-haired guy wearing glasses and a big, goofy grin; it took me a moment to realize he was yelling out my name as he waved his arms and bounced up and down. It was Joe, a longtime pal. He jumped into the marathon, dodging runners to accompany me on my climb. Ever ebullient, Joe kept me laughing the whole way. Then, as quickly as he joined me, he hopped back to the sidewalk to spectate.
The hurt was still ahead of me, but for the next few miles, I ran with a smile on my face.
PRACTICAL Motherly ADVICE
THE BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF TIMES: WHEN TO SIGN ON FOR A MARATHON
My dad is an idiomatic southerner, quick to dispense advice, such as, “Let your avocation be your vocation,” and “Don’t make too many changes at once.” If he were a runner, he’d add to the list, “There’s never an ideal time to commit to a marathon.” That said, there are certainly times in a busy woman’s life that are better than others. Our take on them:
SITUATION: Trying to get pregnant
26.2? No.
WHY? You don’t want to see that double blue line the morning after your second 20-mile training run. We applaud women who run 26.2 miles with a baby on board, but it’s a tough road to hoe. Opt for shorter races.
SITUATION: Preschool kids
26.2? Yes.
WHY? You’d think older is better, but we found training with toddlers was less of an ordeal than we expected (e.g., we could take a joint afternoon nap, and we could have control of their social calendars). Now, with kids in elementary school, our weekends are chockablock full with soccer games, slumber parties, and art classes, commitments that seem out of our control—and that often conflict with the block of time we need for a weekly long run.
SITUATION: New job for you or hubs
26.2? No.
WHY? It’s one thing to have your lunchtime run go long when your boss has witnessed your diligence for 6 years, but when it’s the third week on the job, not so much. Plus, the stress of learning the ropes as you recover from 16-mile training runs isn’t exactly ideal for your body. As for your husband’s new gig: Give him the leeway to say yes to business trips or additional shifts without conflicting with your training.
SITUATION: New town
26.2? Heck, yeah (after you’ve unpacked the moving boxes and found your heart rate monitor and lightweight rain jacket).
WHY? You can explore your new environs on foot and hopefully make some running buddies along the way. Plus, you’re going to have to stop in to your new local running store a couple times for new kicks; getting a relationship going with somebody who knows your feet and running habits is definitely a good call.
SITUATION: Banner birthday
26.2? Great idea.
WHY? Your commitment level will be higher if you’re running to celebrate your 40th birthday. You’ll feel you have more on the line, especially if you opt for a destination marathon and have some gal pals join you. Just don’t be too hard on your not-as-resilient body if it decides to not cooperate and throws an injury your way.
SITUATION: Weight-loss quest
26.2? Iffy proposition.
WHY? While we firmly believe running is a great tool in the battle of the bulge, training to run 26.2 miles can result in added weight, not dropped pounds. You’re ravenous during most of the training, and you’ve got 8 miles to do at midday tomorrow, so it’s easier to justify a chocolate chip cookie as big as a Frisbee for a 4 P.M. snack. Yes, the weight you put on is most likely svelte muscle—and, as we’ve all been told too many times, muscle weighs more than fat—but if your emotional highs (and lows) ride on the number on the scale, it’s best to stick to shorter races.
SITUATION: Fresh off an injury
26.2? Not a good idea.
WHY? Yes, you’ll be raring to go. But why risk overdoing it and returning to square one on the road to recovery? Instead, give yourself time to simply enjoy the fact that you can run, and jump into some shorter races, if you’d like, to get back into the scene.
The MARATHON: FINISH IT
“Dare I say my favorite distance is the marathon after only finishing one? I had a great race, and I love the response I get when I tell people I ran a marathon.”
—RACHEL
Best for: Injury-free runners with four-plus relatively clear months who are ready to check a 26.2-mile race off their bucket lists.
Physical Prereq: Before stepping up to this plan, mother runners should have logged at least 9 to 12 months of week-in, week-out running, along with some experience stepping up to a race starting line. You should be able to run 8 miles comfortably and have no current shin splints, IT band issues, or other maladies.
Plan Overview: We’re not gonna lie: Training for a marathon is a big deal, but this plan makes the path to it seem manageable. (Sort of like how bagged salads make including a veggie at dinner doable.) Training to cover 26.2 miles requires commitment, especially for the weekly long runs. On this plan, you’ll do seven runs that are 15 or more miles long, which hone your mental toughness as surely as your calf muscles. This 20-week plan provides ample time to build, adapt, and be prepped to complete the mother of all races.
1What it says: E: 3 miles + 4 strides
What you do: A 3-mile cruise-it run followed by four short bursts of speed.
More details: Strides 101: Find a stretch of flat ground, either road or grass. Accelerate for about 100 meters or 30 seconds, then recover (slow down significantly, but keep moving) for about the same amount of time. Each 100-meter sprint = one stride.
2What it says: E: 3 miles
What you do: Same as above, minus the speed burners at the end.
3What it says: Rest; or XT
What you do: Take a day off—well, from exercise anyway—or crosstrain.
More details: Following a marathon training plan is a major commitment that can sometimes make even the most dedicated runner feel a bit handcuffed. Unlock those cuffs, if need be.
4What it says: 
What you do: Hire a babysitter, borrow a jogging stroller, or cue up Megamind. In other words, do whatever it takes to ensure you get this workout done.
More details: Long runs are the linchpin in marathon training and sit at the pinnacle of the priority list. There’s no easy way to accomplish this other than by putting time on your legs. Second on the priority list are tempo and race-pace runs.
5What it says: 1–2 mile WU; T: 1.5 mile; 1–2 mile CD
What you do: Run at an easy pace for a mile or two, crank out a fast mile and a half, then head home at a comfortable pace.
More details: Maintaining tempo pace requires concentration and motivation. I—SBS—find fast-beat music crucial in revving me up, so Rihanna and Nelly are often my tempo-run companions. (Well, their songs are, at least.)
6What it says: LR: 8 miles
What you do: Run 8 miles at a cool, calm, collected pace.
7What it says: Rest
What you do: Lounge as much as you can. Don’t use the extra time to pick up an extra shift or help a friend move.
8What it says: 
What you do: Rest (or lightly crosstrain) if your body is telling you it needs a break.
More details: Easy runs and crosstraining days are the best to bail on, but with long-distance training, you can’t always plan an off day. “Listening to your body” takes on new meaning. There may be some days when skipping the prescribed workout is the best thing to do. Don’t feel bad, and—we can’t stress this enough—do not try to make up any missed runs. Just pick up where you are on the schedule.
9What it says: 4 miles, mid 2 at RP
What you do: Run 4 miles with the middle 2 miles at the speed you’re aiming to maintain in the big 26.2.
10What it says: NS: 6 miles (3, 3)
What you do: Run 6 miles total, with the second 3 miles faster than the first 3.
More details: Negative splits don’t require sprinting, just getting progressively faster. These types of runs are excellent race prep: In a perfect world—no global warming, no civil wars, no traffic jams—you’d run the second half of your marathon faster than the first 13.1.
11What it says: LR: 10 miles, 15 min. strong finish
What you do: Run 10 miles, upping your speed in the last 15 minutes.
More details: No need to sprint, just step on the gas slightly. When you intentionally finish a run strong, it helps in the pursuit of that elusive negative-split race (see number 10).
12What it says: Fun workout
What you do: Kick up your heels at the pool, playground, or park.
13What it says: 6 miles as 10 min. WU; H: 6 x 45–60 sec. hills in Z4–5 w/recovery as needed; 10 min. CD
What you do: Run for a total of 6 miles. Run at an easy pace, arriving at a hill (or incline on a treadmill) after 10 minutes. Dash up the incline for 45 to 60 seconds in Zone 4 to 5, followed by however much recovery you need (not tooooo much, though). Repeat the hill attack six times total, then cool down for 10 minutes.
More details: Intervals + hills = strong, eat-marathons-for-breakfast legs.
14What it says: NS: 7 miles (3, 3, 1)
What you do: Run 7 miles, getting faster from miles 4 through 6, then crank it up even more for the final mile.
15What it says: 26.2!
What you do: This is it, the big kahuna! Make us proud, mother runner, and show us what you’re made of.
More details: Based on your long runs, you should have a rough estimate of what sort of pace you can hold for the marathon. It’s smart to have a general idea for your first marathon, but keep in mind that finishing the thing is the main goal. Start slower than you think you should, maintain during the middle miles, and do what you have to do, minus jumping on your kid’s back for a ride, near the end to make it across the line. As you reel in the last .2, tears in your eyes are optional, but pride is not.
TAKE IT From A MOTHER
WHAT WAS YOUR WORST NIGHT BEFORE A RACE?
“I fell asleep after 2 A.M. the night before Ironman Wisconsin and was awake at 3:30 A.M. for a nearly 17-hour race. But I didn’t falter during the race: just went slow and steady.”
—MARCI (Counts training for her first marathon with her fiancé as premarital counseling.)
“The night before my first marathon, I was up with a feverish, puking 18-month-old for hours. My husband tried to help, but my son only wanted me. Somehow, I still did okay.”
—ELIZABETH (Strangest thing she’s seen on a run: the tail of a baby lamb fly off while it was wagging it. “I realize they had bands on to make them do so, but it really surprised me.”)
“I don’t sleep well the night before any big race, but that doesn’t worry me unless the few days before were also bad. The worst was before a half-marathon last spring. The week before the race, I caught a horrible cold from my kids. None of us slept well the whole week, and I was grumpy and anxious. In the end, I still set a PR, but I wonder how much better I would have done with my good health and sleep routine intact.”
—TERZAH (Adheres to the superstition that you shouldn’t wear the race shirt in the race itself. “I like the idea that you have to earn the shirt.”)
“Definitely the night before I ran Boston, when I had flown in from Russia four nights before and was sleeping on the couch at my parents’ house. My 11-month-old daughter was sleeping in the Pack ’n Play inches from my face, and she woke up every hour.”
—HEATHER (Her proudest running moment: standing at the Boston Marathon starting line, then running by the same hospital where she gave birth to her insomniac daughter.)
“That would be the stomach flu 10K, with a 9-week-old baby nursing every 2 to 3 hours, and my body trying desperately to empty everything possible (from both ends) for two full days, including the night before the race, which, of course, I still ran.”
—CATEY (Mother to three girls and five boys, ages 12 and under.)
“Getting home past midnight after spending the evening listening to hundreds of men in camo talk about guns and duck blinds at a Ducks Unlimited dinner with my husband. The things we do for love.”
—HEATHER (Proudest running moment: when she realized she was running every day even though she wasn’t training for anything.)
“I am not a morning person, so before every race I sleep like crap because I keep waking up, afraid I am going to sleep through the alarm.”
—KATRINA (Usually runs around 9 P.M.)
The MARATHON: OWN IT
“I’m so proud of my finish time at the Lake Placid Marathon. It was my fastest time ever. I just ate up the rolling hills.”
—DEB
Best for: Another mother runner who has at least one marathon under her shoes, has done speedwork in the past, and has pinned on a race number (for a range of race distances) fairly consistently during the past 2 years.
Physical Prereq: You should be able to rip off a 10-mile run without it being too much of a hiccup in your life or on your legs.
Plan Overview: This is a fairly serious, intense plan that can get you a BQ or a significant PR, and, with either, some heart-swelling satisfaction. Over the course of 18 weeks, you’ll be running four to five times a week, doing three 20-mile runs, and generally turning into a sleek, fine-tuned running machine.
1What it says: E: 4–5 miles
What you do: A 4- to 5-mile cruise.
More details: Keep it easy, grasshopper. You should feel energized and tank half full when you’re done.
2What it says: 1–2 mile WU; T: 2 x 1.5 mile w/.25 mile recovery; 1–2 mile CD
What you do: Warm up by running 1 to 2 miles. Run 1.5 miles at tempo pace, recover for a quarter-mile, then run another 1.5 miles at tempo. Slow your roll for 1 to 2 miles.
More details: Tempo should feel tough but not outer limits.
3What it says: Rest; or XT
What you do: Rest or lightly crosstrain for 30 to 60 minutes.
More details: I—Dimity—would split the difference between resting and XT’ing and head to a gentler yoga class.
4What it says: 5 to 6 miles as 10 min. WU; I: 2 x 2 min. in Z4; 2 x 4 min. in Z3, all with 2 min. recovery; 10 min. CD
What you do: Ten-minute warm-up. Run 2 minutes in Zone 4, recover for 2. Repeat once. Then run 4 minutes in Zone 3, recover for 2. Repeat once. Cool down for 10. Expect to go about 5 to 6 miles.
5What it says:
What you do: If the universe is suddenly conspiring against you getting your run done, skip it—and don’t sweat it.
6What it says:
What you do: That workout, no matter what your week throws at you.
7What it says: LR: 12 miles, 10 min. strong finish
What you do: A 12-mile-long run, with the last 10 minutes at a slightly faster pace. Aim for tempo if you can hack it. If not, just hang in there.
8What it says: Rest
What you do: Rest.
More details: Don’t make me repeat myself.
9What it says: E: 4–5 miles + 6 strides
What you do: Run 4 to 5 miles easy, then do six strides: On a flat stretch of road or grass, pick up the pace to a controlled sprint—not an oxymoron—for about 100 meters or 30 seconds. Recover as needed between each stride.
More details: Strides aren’t all out, but pretty close.
10What it says: NS: 6 miles (3, 3)
What you do: Run 6 miles as a negative split, with the first 3 miles slower than the second half.
More details: It’s less about how slow and (to some extent) how fast you go and more about not slowing during the last half of your run. Start at your usual easy pace for the first 3 miles, then slowly and gradually pick up the pace as you progress through the second half. Aim to go no faster than your marathon race pace. This isn’t a speed workout, but a pacing workout. Picking it up even a little counts.
11What it says: Fun workout
What you do: Click here and spin the proverbial bottle.
12What it says: LR: 15 miles, mid 5 at RP
What you do: A 15-miler, with five of the miles in the middle (miles 4 to 9, 5 to 10, 6 to 11, 7 to 12: your choice) at race pace.
13What it says: NS: 5 miles (2, 2, 1)
What you do: Five miles, with the first 2 the slowest; the next 2, to borrow a word from my 5-year-old, the mediumest; the last 1, the fastest.
14What it says: E: 4–5 miles, include 6 x 10 sec. in Z5, 20 sec. easy
What you do: Run 4 to 5 miles easy. Somewhere in the run, ’round about mile 3 or so, run 10 seconds hard (as fast as your legs can carry you), then 20 seconds easy. Crank it up a total of six times.
15What it says: 26.2!
What to do: Run a marathon!
More details: Trust your training and race a smart race. One tactic Sarah has successfully used: Divide the race into chunks of 10 miles, 10 miles, and a 10K, and keep your brain focused only on the portion you are in. Keep up your fuel—remember you still need to eat and drink in the last 6 miles—and have at your 26.2 victory lap.
.1 FAMOUS WOMEN AND THEIR RACES
A group effort by Sarah, Dimity, intern Jessie, and the Another Mother Runner tribe
When we selectively changed history in Run Like a Mother, we imagined what would’ve happened if famous women had been runners. This time we upped the challenge; now assuming that women all over the globe (and in the fictional world) are running, we wanted to know which races would suit some of them best.
ALICIA KEYS, with her empire state of mind, would stride through the New York City Marathon, while the streets made her feel brand new. “There’s nothing you can’t do, now you’re in New York. . . . ”
XENA would kick some ass in a Warrior Dash.
JOAN CRAWFORD, as we learned in Mommie Dearest, would certainly enjoy a Tough Mudder. Pretty sure her daughter, Christina, wouldn’t be cheering her on from the sidelines.
THE GO-GO’S, that decidedly upbeat 1980s girl band with the keep-faring-forward name, would be the perfect candidates for a Ragnar Relay.
AUDREY HEPBURN would grace the Nike Women’s Marathon for the Tiffany & Company finisher’s necklace.
GLORIA STEINEM would revel in the female tribe vibe of an all-women’s race like the ZOOMA series. For 13.1 miles, she’d carry a sign for her latest project. Anything for the cause.
BETTY WHITE would run the Leadville Trail 100, because that woman just keeps going and going and going.
MISS PIGGY would finally cement Kermit’s love when she sets a course record for fastest swine at the Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon.
JANE AUSTEN, JANE FONDA, JANE EYRE, JANE GOODALL, AND JANE LYNCH would all show up to do a See Jane Run race. JAYNE MANSFIELD, who rocked a nice rack, would get a special dispensation to join the crowd—along with a bulletproof sports bra.
WHISTLER’S MOTHER would rock Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth.
KATE MIDDLETON was “to the manor born” to do the Disney Princess Half Marathon. She’d run with perfect posture and a dazzling grin, doing the docile royals’ wave and never breaking her stride for the full 13.1 miles.
ELIZABETH TAYLOR would rock the Rock ’n’ Roll Las Vegas Marathon; she could slip in a quickie divorce and marriage before the 4:00 P.M. start time.
SARAH PALIN AND MICHELE BACHMANN would train hard to qualify for the Boston Marathon, so they could be as close to the original Tea Party as possible.
SCARLETT O’HARA would have Mamie loosen up her corset so she could be gone with the wind at Atlanta’s Peachtree Road Race 10K.
MARY-KATE and ASHLEY Olsen would star in Minnesota’s Twin Cities Marathon. Although they’d be in their massive sunglasses that cover half their faces, they wouldn’t wear matching outfits, so you could (kind of) tell them apart.
KATY PERRY would run the California International Marathon. In Daisy Dukes with a bikini on top, natch.
1 My seven marathon finish times clump around the 4:00 mark. My fastest, run in 2009, was 3:52, while my slowest, the hilly 2007 Nike Women’s, was 4:11, with the 1999 NYC a close 4:10. Want to know my others? Sure you do, right? 3:59 (2010 Portland); 4:01 (2003 Napa Valley); and 4:01 (2010 Big Sur). At my debut marathon in San Francisco, I was youngish (32) and had fresh legs; it was a perfect formula for a fast time, but I was ignorant of that fact. Sigh.