I started the slow slide into panic last week about getting ready for the Boston Marathon. I know, it isn’t until April.
It’s not even December yet.
But if you consider I will be tapering for all of April, that means I need to be doing my last 20-miler in March. And if I want to get a few in, I need to be doing at least one at the end of February. And if I want to do more than 20 miles, like 22 or 23, then I probably need to do that first 20 like at the beginning of February.
I mean, really, it’s just not that far away.
It’s tough to balance how soon to start ramping up with not burning yourself out.
For Twin Cities this year, I ran four 50-mile weeks. For Boston, I’d like to do four 60-mile weeks. (My highest ever is 70 miles, and I just don’t have time for that anymore.) So, I should probably get moving.
The last two weeks I’ve been over 30 again, after some low weeks following the race. And I ran 12 miles on Sunday, easing back into long runs. I followed that with 7 on Monday, 7.5 today and a 45-minute weightlifting class, which reminded me that I have zero strength.
Old ladies lift more weight than me. Really. I see them. In the same class. It’s kind of horrifying.
But I’m determined to try to lift regularly this winter. It makes a huge difference, I know it.
We’ll see. I have to be really flexible with my husband’s work schedule, knowing I can’t do long runs whenever I want. That’s fine — it just means I can’t follow a plan.
And now I’m … what, 17 weeks to Boston? 18 weeks? If I can get through the holidays without turning into a fat pig (why did I eat a quarter of a pie last night? And then why did I chase it with some leftover dinner rolls?) and around 40 miles a week in December, I think we’ll be OK. That means 50-mile weeks in January, and 60s in February and March.
Good god, that’s creeping up.
Here we go.