The Dreaded Bonk
I tell my athletes all the time, “It happens to everyone.” It’s that dreaded moment when everything seems wrong.
For the last few months #MikeG and I have been building our long run in 10:00 increments. We started at 1:30:00 and were approaching the end of the months’ long build, being only a few weeks out from the marathon. This weekend's planned run was 2:55:00. It consisted of a 15:00 warm up, 2:00:00 of endurance pace, 30:00 of tempo, followed by a 10:00 cool down. Since we started the build, back in the frigid depths of winter, it seems like every single run I have done, I have felt better and stronger than the last one. As recently as last week, during our entire run I was antagonizing Mike, running off the front, spewing a lot of blustery bravado about feeling dangerous. We ran hard last week. 21+ miles at a pace that for me, would at times, seem impossible. Fast forward to this week. From what I could tell, nothing had changed. I had nailed all my splits throughout the week in training. I felt properly fueled via my normal nutrition routine. We moved the run from the normal Sunday morning slot, to Saturday morning, in search of that elusive concept of a balanced life. Something about a resurrection or something……
From the moment we set off on our normal route, I knew that something was off. I was holding the same pace we had held throughout the warmup and large endurance block. The difference was this time it felt like I had to work a lot harder to keep up. I know that in the endurance training world I will inevitably get into situations that will challenge me mentally and physically. All growth comes from pushing outside of our comfort zones. It was with this mindset that I trudged along. Starting in Cohasset Village, up Atlantic Ave., along Nantasket Beach, down Nantasket Ave., all the way to the gut. The normal pit stop is the gut before we turn around and head for home. At times, as the run lengthened, I seemed to find my stride and feel better. I stuck to my fueling plan, I wanted it to be over. As we approached the end of Nantasket Beach, I started to feel not so great. It was here that we were supposed to pick up the pace, straight into our 30:00 tempo block. I told Mike, who was looking and running strong, don't wait up for me. Our watches simultaneously beeped and buzzed letting us know the interval was starting. He ran up the first hill and that was the last I saw him for the next 30:00.
33:00 minutes later he found me, walking along Atlantic Ave. with my shoulders slumped and my head hanging low, my sides cramping and my feet aching. It was a feeling I have felt before and it’s maybe one of the shittiest feelings that exists in the training and racing universe: legs like cement and the desire to give up and go home as strong and as palpable as the force of gravity. If I could have snapped my fingers, gotten back to the cars and been done I would have. Unfortunately (or fortunately), that wasn't the case. I forced myself to keep running for the tempo interval, and stopped my watch the moment it ended, walking dejectedly in the direction of salvation. I knew Mike would loop back the additional distance he had covered in the interval (our standard courtesy practice for whoever runs off the front on that particular day). He looped back and I said let’s go, the desire to get home and be done driving me on. We made it back to the cars and it was mercifully over.
I could point to a host of things as to why: spots in my nutrition I could do better, the fact that it was mile 66 in a seven day stretch on the short week, running in new shoes without the fancy carbon plate, a build up of life stress, etc, etc, etc. The reality is that it was probably a combination of all these things. All things I will look at and try to do better. But, like anything in life, progres is never linear. It is these moments that teach us the most. In all areas of my life, pain has been the touchstone of growth. Without it, there is no motivation to examine myself and change myself. I won’t dwell. I will look at it as an opportunity to see what I can do better. And if I was a betting man, when I get back out on my favorite training route next weekend, I will not feel the same way. May I always seek humility as a path to growth.