Remembering Last Year's Low Tide Run
Last year I wrote weekly essays for our Rockin’ ‘n’ Runnin’ Web site, and this entry is an updated version of one of my favorite runs in the program, which we’re doing again Saturday. I’m recycling it here for numerous reasons (and posting ahead of the run to avoid some confusion). Essentially, I’ve no time to blog for about a week. Soon as I return from the run, we head to the airport to pick up our traveling daughters; then I need to prep the house for Sunday’s Easter feast with my entire family. Sunday night I get ready for the following morning’s weeklong business trip. It also seems a little fitting, given the pivotal event that week was my parents’ retirement, and almost exactly a year later, they are heading to their new home in central Oregon. Plus, there’s a little lesson about hyponatremia in it, so you might learn something other than I’m still full of shit.
Way back when my sister and I were planning our first marathon, we relied primarily on word of mouth for training tips. With each new piece of information, we’d mull over the possibility -- falling behind pace; overdosing on Gatorade; running in rain -- and adjust our expectations accordingly. (We would also, unfortunately, encounter all of these situations and then some that October morning.) About three weeks before the big day, my sister called. I still remember her exact words. She’d just talked to a woman who’d run a marathon and had this to report: “She said her body was so numb by the end that she didn’t even notice she’d pooped on herself.”
Say what?
Suddenly, staying hydrated was no longer my No. 1 concern. Making sure I didn’t do No. 2 was. It still is. I typically take great care during the training season to limit the number of pit stops by eating at the same time, the same type of meal and the same amount of liquid leading up to our big weekend run.
That is, until this time last year.
My eating and sleeping schedule was thrown seriously out of whack by my father’s retirement party in Long Beach. It was a beautiful evening spent dining and reminiscing on a restaurant rooftop. And under normal circumstances, we’d have left early or stayed overnight as the festivities wore on. But we’d driven the guest of honor to his party, and I didn’t want to miss the highly touted Low Tide Run for a second year in a row. And so I began worrying in the wee hours of the morning that combining mushroom ravioli, grilled salmon and a heap of heavily doused mixed greens may not have been such a swell idea. A few hours later, around 5:30 a.m., I started going to the bathroom and couldn’t stop.
I hit the women’s room at La Jolla Shores a couple of times before our run. But before we had scaled the first set of slimy rocks on the beach, I could feel my intestines roiling again. With every mile we moved along the sand through Black’s Beach, my mind was in the toilet. When I discovered there was a waiting line at the restrooms near the first water stop, my heart sank. It had taken us an hour to get only 5 miles; another delay would not improve things.
Then a funny thing happened. I finished doing my business and immediately felt better. Way better. I had no trouble taking that first hill into Del Mar. I could have made it to our designation, Via de la Valle, but I’m glad I turned around a little earlier (to make up lost time) because I’d done the La Jolla Half Marathon and I knew what massive hill awaited back in Torrey Pines. I watched as Louise headed steadily up the steep slope at the cliffs, toward the famed golf course, and knew I had to catch her. To her credit, it took me a lot longer that I expected.
I quickened the pace between the next two water stops, as instructed, and it helped that those miles were downhill. Which was the other cool thing. For a split second, I could hang with the faster folks as we decelerated down that final, steep hill. At some point, a group of women pulled up alongside and if I eavesdropped accurately, they were essentially discussing bathroom issues. One wondered if coffee provided the best road to regularity and if so, when to drink it. Another had her own theory on hot lemon water as a laxative. I was going to suggest mixing a highly acidic salad with overstuffed pasta and oily fish, following by a generous portion of super-sweet cake.
The end to this run is the best part. Everyone takes a natural ice bath by soaking their tired limbs along the misty Pacific shoreline, smiling and laughing through chattering teeth. It really does reduce the leg soreness the next day.
Back at one of the aid stations, someone had mentioned recent medical news about a potentially fatal condition from drinking too much fluid during intense exercise. I never knew it’s possible to actually gain weight during the marathon if you drink too much water and sports drinks. That’s why race officials now want runners to record their starting weights inside their bibs, to help them determine if this condition is behind a sudden illness.
So now it’s possible to put on pounds running 26 miles in one spurt? I could think of only one thing while mulling over this possibility: Crap.
[Photo of last year's Low Tide Run by Scott Ross]
Way back when my sister and I were planning our first marathon, we relied primarily on word of mouth for training tips. With each new piece of information, we’d mull over the possibility -- falling behind pace; overdosing on Gatorade; running in rain -- and adjust our expectations accordingly. (We would also, unfortunately, encounter all of these situations and then some that October morning.) About three weeks before the big day, my sister called. I still remember her exact words. She’d just talked to a woman who’d run a marathon and had this to report: “She said her body was so numb by the end that she didn’t even notice she’d pooped on herself.”
Say what?
Suddenly, staying hydrated was no longer my No. 1 concern. Making sure I didn’t do No. 2 was. It still is. I typically take great care during the training season to limit the number of pit stops by eating at the same time, the same type of meal and the same amount of liquid leading up to our big weekend run.
That is, until this time last year.
My eating and sleeping schedule was thrown seriously out of whack by my father’s retirement party in Long Beach. It was a beautiful evening spent dining and reminiscing on a restaurant rooftop. And under normal circumstances, we’d have left early or stayed overnight as the festivities wore on. But we’d driven the guest of honor to his party, and I didn’t want to miss the highly touted Low Tide Run for a second year in a row. And so I began worrying in the wee hours of the morning that combining mushroom ravioli, grilled salmon and a heap of heavily doused mixed greens may not have been such a swell idea. A few hours later, around 5:30 a.m., I started going to the bathroom and couldn’t stop.
I hit the women’s room at La Jolla Shores a couple of times before our run. But before we had scaled the first set of slimy rocks on the beach, I could feel my intestines roiling again. With every mile we moved along the sand through Black’s Beach, my mind was in the toilet. When I discovered there was a waiting line at the restrooms near the first water stop, my heart sank. It had taken us an hour to get only 5 miles; another delay would not improve things.
Then a funny thing happened. I finished doing my business and immediately felt better. Way better. I had no trouble taking that first hill into Del Mar. I could have made it to our designation, Via de la Valle, but I’m glad I turned around a little earlier (to make up lost time) because I’d done the La Jolla Half Marathon and I knew what massive hill awaited back in Torrey Pines. I watched as Louise headed steadily up the steep slope at the cliffs, toward the famed golf course, and knew I had to catch her. To her credit, it took me a lot longer that I expected.
I quickened the pace between the next two water stops, as instructed, and it helped that those miles were downhill. Which was the other cool thing. For a split second, I could hang with the faster folks as we decelerated down that final, steep hill. At some point, a group of women pulled up alongside and if I eavesdropped accurately, they were essentially discussing bathroom issues. One wondered if coffee provided the best road to regularity and if so, when to drink it. Another had her own theory on hot lemon water as a laxative. I was going to suggest mixing a highly acidic salad with overstuffed pasta and oily fish, following by a generous portion of super-sweet cake.
The end to this run is the best part. Everyone takes a natural ice bath by soaking their tired limbs along the misty Pacific shoreline, smiling and laughing through chattering teeth. It really does reduce the leg soreness the next day.
Back at one of the aid stations, someone had mentioned recent medical news about a potentially fatal condition from drinking too much fluid during intense exercise. I never knew it’s possible to actually gain weight during the marathon if you drink too much water and sports drinks. That’s why race officials now want runners to record their starting weights inside their bibs, to help them determine if this condition is behind a sudden illness.
So now it’s possible to put on pounds running 26 miles in one spurt? I could think of only one thing while mulling over this possibility: Crap.
[Photo of last year's Low Tide Run by Scott Ross]
