Taper Town

Tempe Canal looking eastStand in the place where you live.

It’s taper time!  Meaning that I’ve run my last high-mileage week before the Antarctic Ice Marathon, and from here until the Big Day it’s all easy-peasy, starting tomorrow with the 3TV Half Marathon in downtown Phoenix.  According to my ARR diary I’ve logged 1003 miles so far this year.  Tempting as it is, I think it’s premature to pass judgment on my training, so instead I’d like to reflect, without judging, on the events of the past year.

About half the specialist cold-weather gear I bought last winter has since been replaced.  Tokyo showed me that the lined wind pants were fine for ordinary wear, but wouldn’t be comfortable for running.  I replaced the winter tights that kept creeping towards my ankles during the Soulstice trail run with a style with a closer fit.  The first wind shell jacket I bought turned out to be too heavy – again, fine for ordinary use, and I’m certainly not throwing it out.  My running gear is sorted now, although I’ll probably be futzing over gloves and scarves till the last minute.  Since the summer heat is only just now breaking as I type this (we are literally experiencing a 15-degree drop in temperature over this weekend), I haven’t been able to give my full kit a proper workout, so fingers are kind of crossed on that point!

I smashed the hills at this February’s Sedona Half Marathon, and feeling better prepared than for any race before, headed into the Tokyo Marathon – where I tanked.  In March I carried the torch for a pair of evening stages for One Run For Boston, feeling a little embarrassed by co-worker’s exclamations of “You’re running 14 miles, after work, in the dark?  That’s Ragnar crazy!”  I finished the last mile of the Whiskey Row half with one shoe off, one shoe on, thanks to a massive blister on my toe.  At the Bucket of Blood half in Holbrook I got lost – not unusual for that course – but had fun anyway splashing through the monsoon puddles.  The E.T. Full Moon Midnight Marathon left me drained, finishing with a Personal Worst after hours of staggering through the darkness repeating “Why do I do this to myself?  Why?”  Soulstice Moutain’s 7,000 foot start line led to my very first DNF.  If I may temporarily ease my ban on passing judgment, don’t ever just throw a high-altitude race into the mix without specifically training for it.

Not to mention all the every-day obligations and crises that get in the way of training, because please, who doesn’t have those?

So here I am, 17 days out from the Big Day that I first started planning for two years ago.   So now there’s a sense of relief, a sense of release, because my preparation is done, because there’s nothing left for me to do, except not screw things up between now and the 18th.  Don’t try any exotic new gels or socks or stretches.  Don’t drop a bowling ball on my foot.  And above all, don’t think of purple penguins dancing the hula!

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