I find many things challenging about marathon training, but none more than the dreaded taper. That's right, I said the taper. If an idle mind is the devil's workshop, then the taper is my own personal hell. Every negative thought has time to root. My only hope is that the race happens before the roots trip me up.
Not to make sweeping generalizations, but competitive runners are compulsive overachievers--in a good way. If we share any philosophy it's probably, "Do more." Not saying that's healthy, but if you're like me--reading this magazine on the can after running 18 miles because you didn't geek out enough on your run--then I rest my case.
The challenge that drives me to add more miles, hills and speed each week of the buildup is reversed in those final weeks. I can psych myself up for that first 20-miler much easier than I can psych myself down for the last wimpy 12. As race day approaches, I want to feel I'm doing everything I can to prepare, but suddenly I'm supposed to chill. Cramming, I'm told, doesn't work for marathons
Yet easing up--even a little--has real physical effects. My body is used to the endorphins of 40-mile weeks, so when I pull back I go into withdrawal. I know I'm supposed to maintain intensity, but when my plan drops to 32 to 12, I don't care how intense I am--that's fewer freakin' miles.
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Then there are the psychological effects. I get cranky and short-tempered. Not like I'm challenging strangers to bar fights (I weigh 140), but I'm definitely on-edge and depressed. I set an early alarm, then remember I have nowhere to go. I buy bananas that turn brown. I overcharge my Garmin.
Plus, I have three to five more hours a week to obsess about the big day. For the first time I can consider just how totally I might fail. I play with equivalent race-pace calculators to see, based on my best 10K, that I'll still totally suck at the marathon. I check race day weather, and when it's still too early I study historic highs and lows.
Then there are the phantom ailments that crop up only during taper. There's nothing like not running to make me realize (or imagine) how much could be wrong with me. I've got a weird click in my Achilles, my hammies are tight and my knee feels crunchy--and that's just from taking out the recyclables. Every taper I have a run of less than 5 miles where I get so winded I have to walk. Talk about a buzz kill!
After each marathon, I vow not to taper next time. Theoretically, my body is used to long weekend runs--can't I just pick up the pace one weekend? It's an experiment I'd love to try, but I've been so banged up from training heading into my taper lately that rest is my only option.
For my last two marathons, I was sidelined going into my taper, so I felt like I was tapering from tapering just to get to the starting line. I was so disheartened, I came close to skipping both races. Despite the odds, I matched or exceeded my expectations each time. Go figure. Tapering might actually work! Who knew?
They say that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. That's how I feel about tapering. It nearly kills me every time, but if I can survive, I feel stronger in the starting corral thanks to the rest. Finally, the hell of training is over, and when that starting gun sounds I can get on with the hell of racing.
Glen Freyer is a 3:06 marathoner and the wrong guy to cross during his taper.
