No Man’s Land

If you’re running a fall marathon, this is the absolute worst time of the year. You’re probably dealing with high temperatures, sopping humidity or both. The physical conditions are bad, sure, but even worse is the mental drain. Even for beginners, some of the midweek runs are edging into double digits, and the longest run of the week is nearing three hours. But there’s one particular kind of long run that really drags me down and makes me question why I do this. I call it the “No Man’s Land” run.

A No Man’s Land run is anything in the 16- to 19-mile range. That’s just a God-awful distance that I’d rather skip altogether. What’s so bad about 16-19?

For starters, there are no milestones. At 13, you can run a half-marathon (as long as you don’t mind tacking on an extra tenth of a mile). Fifteen gives you a nice solid number, a number you can count on both hands and one black-toed foot. If you need a race to test your marathon pace or just to give you an interim goal leading up to the “big dance,” you can find the occasional 15-mile race – or the equally well-rounded and metrically equivalent 25K.

Of course, the Big Kahuna of most marathon training plans is the 20 miler. Ahhhh, just look at how pretty that number is. 20. Twenty. 2-Oh. That’s a biggie, a solid milestone you can rally around (and toward). When you hit 20, you’ve fully engaged all the digits on your sun-tanned hands and blistered feet.

But 16? That’s adding a stinkin’ 5K onto a half-marathon. Who wants to do that? As its only defense, I will grant that 16 is, at the very least,  an even number. Call me “evenist” if you like, but I am prejudiced against odd numbers. I admit it. So sue me.

Which brings me to 17. There are, quite simply, no redeeming qualities to a 17-mile run. If you see “17″ on your training plan, you can bet it’s gonna suck. When you finish, you’re going to be tired, hungry, drained, and you’ll be asking yourself questions like:

“Why the hell am I doing this?”

“When the &*#@ is this all going to be over?”

“If I go directly to the pancake house, will they kick me out for smelling so bad?”

Eighteen miles is almost tolerable, but only because it’s even. Aside from that, screw 18! Then there’s 19. Oh ho, yes, 19. Nineteen is the dry hump of running: it requires nearly all of the physical energy and mental investment as 20, but delivers none of the sweet eyes-rolling-up-in-your-head release.

When you come to 19 on your schedule, cast caution aside and go for the full climax of 20. Seriously. Just skip over 19. All it’ll cost you is another, what … 9, 10, 12 minutes? Maybe 15 if you’re a true turtle. If you’ve already been out there for 3 hours or more, that’s nothing. When you hit that 20 mile mark and your eyes roll up in your head and you moan, “Ohh, GAWD!” you’ll thank me.

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