It's Not the Destination, It's the Journey...

Failure

2011-07-28T23:50:00.002-05:00

Saturday I will make my 3rd attempt at running 100 miles. I intend to finish. I may not. It is the only race distance I have ever attempted that I have never been able to finish.

It bothers me. It nags at me. I feel a twinge every time I talk to someone about my two previous DNFs. (Did Not Finish) It’s something I should be able to do. Yet I have not.

I think a fear of failure is a normal thing for a human being, but I don’t think it is simply failure that we fear. I think what really scares us is witnessed failure. Falling on your ass when you’re at home alone is one thing. Biting the dirt in the middle of your local Target is something else entirely.

I don’t really get much of an audience at a race, but I am surrounded by my peers, and the results live here online for the rest of time. I think I have handled my losses well. Even when I have failed to finish, I have still, often, accomplished something that I am proud of. But this will be my third attempt at this distance. There are people traveling in from 4 states specifically to support me at this race. I want very much to finish - and still I may not. I can't say that would be an easy thing to deal with.

But this really is the very simple, utter truth: It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. And the only way I could truly fail would be to not even try. Just by crossing the starting line, I will have already won. Not only the satisfaction of the effort, but a profound contentment at the knowledge that so many people care enough – and care enough about me – to show up and help me do it, or to send me thoughtful well-wishes from afar. It’s kind of like what old Scrooge found out that fictional Christmas Day: You can possess all the things in the world, but you’re only rich if you have friends and love.

I have every intention of finishing this race this weekend – I Am Not Talented, But I Am Stubborn – but even if for some reason I do not, I still feel like a lucky man.

Now let’s DO this thing.

The Crew

2011-07-24T01:29:00.002-05:00

There are runners who go to these hundred-mile events alone, prepare a few drop bags to be distributed along the course and then go “solo” from start to finish. I’m sure there are even runners who prefer to run their races that way, even though it’s certainly harder to do it like that.

Not me. I get by with a little help from my friends. I enjoy the luxury of a support crew. I like the idea of having a pacer, someone to run with me in the wee small hours late on the course.

But it’s one thing for me to drag my own butt all the way out to a race three states from home and spend a weekend working my way from aid station to aid station along a 100 mile course. It’s something else entirely to ask a small group of people to trek out there with me to sit out in the woods for 30 hours just to help me limp through it all. If I finish, I get a nice little award from the race director, a permanent record of my accomplishment to show off to my grandchildren (or you fine folks). The people who come with me just to carry me through it? Well, they mostly just get a sweaty hug from me, and my eternal gratitude, and, you know, hopefully not a sunburn or too many bug bites.

So, yeah, I’m pretty humbled to have friends willing to do that for me.

My team for this year’s Burning River 100 is coming together. I got confirmation this week from two friends in the Cleveland area who are both in to pace me for chunks of those last 40 miles. That brings my crew total to five. Five gracious, generous people who are going to show up and help out of the goodness of their hearts. That = a bounty of riches.

This is who they are:

THE LOCAL YOKELS:
I first met Sean & Amy at the 2009 installment of Burning River. Sean and I ran a big chunk of the first 50 miles together, shared a lot of stories along the way, and got to know each other about as well as any two people can who meet during a race. Amy was supposed to be running the race with him, but had to change her plans in the weeks before because of a foot injury. Instead, she insisted that Sean still run, crewed for him during the race… And Sean repaid her by popping The Question at the finish line. (She did say ‘Yes.’)

They passed through Chicago last fall and stayed over with me for the weekend. Sunday morning they convinced me to come out and run a little race with them, and we all did a brisk little half-marathon together. They will both spend a chunk of time pacing me overnight at Burning River this time. Sean will take me from around mile 62 to mile 75. (Sean will also be pacing a second runner, later on the course, after he has dropped me off at 75.) Amy is planning to take me the last 12 miles of the course. More than the pacing help, they have also offered up their home for all of us to stay at during race weekend. Have I mentioned that they are awesome? You meet a lot of great people in the ultrarunning world, but they are two of the best.

THE JEET KUNE DO MAN:
I met Ryan while on a little show tour four years ago. He worked on the house management staff for the theatre, and was assigned to drive our touring van that spring. It was during that little show that I ran my first ultramarathon and, soon, my first 50-miler (much to the amazement of everyone on the tour). Ryan’s dad was a runner and he inherited the habit from him, but his first obsession was martial arts. Jeet Kune Do is the style that Bruce Lee developed. His goal was to create a martial art practice that would exist outside of parameters and limitations – an idea that will fully apply to running 100 miles.

Ryan will be driving out from Chicago during the day on Saturday and will do about 15 miles with me overnight, bridging the miles between Sean & Amy. He was famous on our tour, four years ago, for starting us out each and every morning with a new ‘Chuck Norris’ joke. I'll be looking forward to sharing some quality time with Ryan -- and to hearing a few of those jokes.

THE ROOKIE:
My girlfriend, Jennifer, is flying out from New York to play crew for me out on the course. This will be her first time at an Ultra and the first time she’ll see me in a race. As a runner, your crew is just vital. It’s a lot like a pit crew at a NASCAR race: the driver pulls into the pit, and his crew does a full service job on the car (and the driver) while he just sits there waiting for them to finish so he can go back out and race more laps. The pit stop has to be brief and furious, but without that pit crew, neither the driver nor the car will finish the race. Stretch all that out over a 30 hour event, and remember than my crew will only be seeing me for a few minutes at a time every 2 or 3 hours. That’s it. They get to an aid station, wait two hours for me to get there, then I arrive, grab some food, maybe a couple of supplies and a few minutes later, I’m gone, and the crew heads to the next station to wait some more.

But I can’t do it without them. Having a good crew means there is so much less for me to have to think about. It means so much. Not least is the moral support of having my beautiful girlfriend out there in the woods urging me on. I’ll be looking forward to seeing here every 5 or 6 miles. (As an added bonus, Jen is a licensed massage therapist. At some point, those skills will be a gift.)

THE BOSS:
Finally, my sister, Heather, is returning, once again, to run this little show and keep everything together. She was with me for my first 100-mile attempt at Burning River in ’09. She came all the way out to San Diego with me to try again last June. I DNF’d them both, but she is almost as determined as I am to get me to the finish line this time. We’ve both learn a lot over the last two years. Hopefully, that applied knowledge and some stubborn sibling will-power will see us through.

Heather really is a perfect crew chief. She’s a professional stage manager, she’s used to making decisions, she’s not bashful about asking other people for what she needs, and she's willing to step in and step up whenever the situation calls for it. Plus, she’s, you know, my sister, so she loves me and worries about me is unafraid to coddle me or push me as she sees fit. These trials and errors the last two years have been as much hers as mine, and I’m very glad she’ll be back out there with me one more time. I'm also glad that Jen will out there with her, so she won’t be alone. I think, between the two of them, they might even have a little fun with it all.

As for me, my job is simple: Just keep moving forward, get myself from aid station to aid station, and never forget to say thank you thank you thank you to the incredible people who are volunteering just to help me do this silly thing.

Thank you, guys.

Calorific

2011-07-20T22:46:00.002-05:00

The one thing about ultrarunning that I’m afraid I’ve never really mastered is my calorie management. How much to eat during a race? When to eat it? What to eat? I worry that it’s something which has affected my performance at my longest events. Some of my friends think I just run, run, run all the time – which is sort of true – but I’ve only run farther than 40 miles 5 different times. I’m still on a learning curve when it comes to super long distance.

I don’t think this particular issue is one that most runners have to fret about too much. At a 10K or a half marathon the primary concern in simply hydration, and a little salt intake. Marathoners have to give it a little thought, but for most people a good sports drink and a few carb-rich gel packs along the way do the trick. (That’s how it works for me, anyway.)

The caloric playing field will be very different at the Burning River 100-Miler next weekend. I fully expect to be out on the course for 28 hours. I’ll be burning off and discarding calories at a steady clip for the entirety of that time, and replacing those calories will be crucial. It doesn’t matter how well you’ve trained your body to physically handle the distance, if you don’t properly fuel the engine you’ll wind up stranded on the side of the road.

I say I haven’t “mastered” this process, but I haven’t been bad at it. I do eat during long races. Ultras always offer well-stocked aid stations at regular intervals and I have taken advantage. But a specific plan for calorie replacement? No. I will attempt to correct that oversight next weekend.

Research says there is a limit to how many calories your body can process in an hour, whether you’re in the middle of a race or not. Over-eating could result in stomach or digestion problems that would sink my race the same as not eating enough. I’ll be aiming for an intake of 300 to 350 calories each hour.

In the first half, I’ll aim for liquid calories, because the body processes them much more quickly – sports drink, energy gels (at 90 calories per pack), maybe watermelon, if it’s out on the course again this year. Every time I see my crew, I’ll be drinking a bottle of Ensure, a nutritional supplement drink intended for the elderly that also happens to be great for ultra-runners (230 calories per 8oz. bottle, plus protein).

As the race goes on, I’ll begin to focus a little more on solid foods. After 12 hours of the race, it’s just nice to actually eat something. Bananas (150 calories each), salted potatoes (130 calories), PB&J (250 calories) are also somewhat easy to eat and very useful out on the course. I may also take in chicken noodle soup, oatmeal, pretzels, potato chips, and other food commonly found at the overnight aid stations. I’ll also take regular salt tablets (and maybe even a few doses of aspirin) along the way.

Hopefully my crew and I will be able to track my food intake during the race with a clipboard and a log sheet. If it looks like I’m running low, they’ll be able to push me to eat more. The biggest eating sin I usually commit is not eating enough, because I don’t “feel” hungry. So when it’s offered, I tend to say “no” when I should say “yes.” With the log my crew won’t have to take me at my word that I’m feeling fine, and perhaps can help keep me from being stubborn.

I’ve read advice from more than one ultrarunner saying the only way to run a good 100-miler – or any ultra – is to eat, eat, eat. You have a good training build-up, take in the proper calories on race day, and you will finish your race. Sunny Blende, an aptly named sports nutrition scientist, has been quoted defining an ultramarathon thusly: “It’s an eating and drinking contest, with a little exercise and scenery thrown in.” I intend to operate on that theory on the 30th & 31st.

The Question

2011-07-19T20:25:00.007-05:00

Coverage of last October’s Ironman World Championships from Kona was on NBC this past weekend. I think it is the only endurance event, that compares to what I experience in an ultra, which is covered and broadcast on National TV. Each year’s race is lovingly filmed and the story-lines are artfully crafted and reported – not only that of the elite athletes, but also the efforts of the average folks who participate (the “age-groupers,” as they’re known at the Ironman).

I consider these broadcasts extremely addictive, and get sucked in by them every time I catch a glimpse while flipping channels. No matter how many times I have seen each year’s 90 minute special, I watch it full through to the end and cry and bawl as each runner struggles, triumphs, or fails. They capture so very well what it is like for us "normal" people who take a shot at one of those ultra-endurance events, and I’ve been through all of it: The highs and the lows, the overwhelming heat, the solitude of the after-dark, the pressure of the clock, the failure of a DNF, and the deep, extraordinary satisfaction of a completed race.

There was a short segment at the beginning of coverage for the ’10 championship that focused on those “age-groupers” as they waited in the quiet morning before the race, sitting silently with solemn expressions, steeped in anticipation, trying to control anxiety. The camera lingers on them in half-time speed, the dim light of pre-dawn lining their huddled bodies with a distance glow, and the voiceover poses the question you can see on each of their faces: “Is this possible? Can I do this?”

It’s the question on my mind, too. No matter what you’ve done, no matter how you’ve prepared, you still have to go out and run that race, on that day, and sometime the distance, the course, the weather... sometimes they beat you. Sometimes it’s not possible. The image of the previously omnipotent Paula Radcliffe weeping in pain and frustration on the side of the road in Greece in 2004 is indelibly etched in my mind. Four years later, in China, Deena Kastor was felled by a broken foot just 3.5 miles into her marathon. In 2009, Scott Jurek DNF’d at the Western States 100 only 48 miles into the race – an event he not only finished by won 7 times in a row between 1999 and 2005 (he set the course record in 2004). His quote after the race? "I went to the well, and the well was just dry." And then, of course, there are my own, personal race failures from the last two years...

The fact of that question – Can I Do This? – was clear on those Age-Groupers faces in Kona, and it gave me goose bumps. It is always a legitimate question, and you won’t have to look too closely to see it on my face in the next two weeks, either.

But having the question in mind is one thing. Defining my own answer for it is something else. You know what answer I intend to submit.

Burning

2011-07-18T15:28:00.005-05:00

I don’t run all that well in the heat. I’ve survived it a few times. I finished the 2007 Chicago Marathon. I slugged through 32 miles at the rather steamy (not that kind of steamy) CRUD 8-Hour last May. I’ve dripped though some long, hot training runs over the years. But I definitely do not run well in those kinds of temperatures.

So it is with great concern that I peruse the forecast for the coming week. My date at the Burning River 100 still won’t happen until the end of the following week, but for now the entire Midwest is set for a serious heat wave that will last, at least, the next 7 days.

I am lucky the race is scheduled for the following weekend and not this next. Weather.com currently forecasts a high in Cuyahoga Falls, OH, on Saturday the 23rd of 91, with rain, which means high humidity. Just three days later, on Tuesday the 26th, the high is forecast to drop to 81. I can only hope that trend continues into race weekend on the 30th and 31st.

I plainly recall the growing dread I felt in October 2007 when each morning I checked the heat predictions for Chicago Marathon race day, and each day the temperature forecast went higher and higher and higher and still higher. You can see your quality race performance slipping further and further away, totally out of your control. I trained for, and expected run a 3:45 marathon that year. My final time was 4:48. I’m trying not to think what effect similar heat could have on my 100-mile attempt.

I’m not panicking. I choose to think that we’re getting this super hot week now, because a cooler, more temperate week is destined to follow for us on race weekend. That, and I also remind myself that it IS a thing beyond my control. I’ll get in my final training miles, try to enjoy my taper weeks, and keep my mind as bright as possible, doing my best to ignore the darker (hotter) peripherals. With any luck the title of this race won't become any more apropos.

Toed

2011-07-17T13:08:00.005-05:00

The Burning River 100 Mile Endurance run is now a little less than two weeks away. It has been – unfortunately – an up and down training cycle. I’ve had good weeks and bad weeks. Great training races along the way, and miserable ones. The yo-yo nature of the last five months has left me without the kind of confidence that a strong build-up would have given me in these final days.

The latest bump in the road was a little more than just a bump. While playing softball two Wednesdays ago, I had to dive back into 2nd base, and somehow managed to slam my left big toe into the infield dirt. It hurt instantly, but not enough to keep me from playing the rest of the game. The next morning, though, I woke to find it badly bruised and swollen, and I worried that I had broken it.

Just over 3 weeks before Burning River and I was afraid I’d broken my big toe. An unmitigated disaster.

But it seemed impossible. I couldn’t have hit the ground that hard. And I was wearing cleats, with their stiff foot beds, and spikes. I’ve stubbed my bare toe on the coffee table harder than that and not broken anything. But the pain the next morning was unavoidable and it was difficult to walk on it.

My father was a dentist and oral surgeon, and he’s always my first source for general medical advice. We talked over the phone, and based on my descriptions, we both agree that it likely is not broken, but only very badly bruised. We plot a schedule of icings and ibuprofen and decide that will we know inside of a week if it really is broken or not.

In spite of the positive diagnoses, the condition of my toe meant I had to skip out on my final planned training race. I was supposed to head up to Wisconsin that Saturday for a 50-mile race. It would have been a very hot race on a less than easy course, but finishing that race, no matter my finish time, would have been a great, final confidence booster before Burning River. Instead, I had to wait nearly a week before I could run on my toe again. Valuable training time lost just when I should have been at the peak of my build-up.

It’s been 11 days now since my injury. I’m running again, and planning to throw down one more 20-mile training run in the next couple of days, but it’s just 2 weeks ‘til BR100 and I’m left wondering again if I’ve been able to do enough to be ready.

In

2011-05-02T14:14:00.005-05:00

I hardly ever actually “win” anything – especially when it comes to marathons or ultras – but I’m practically on a winning streak where the New York City Marathon is concerned. For the second time in four years, I submitted a lottery entry to run the NYCM, and for the second time in two tries, I “won” a slot to run the race!

Though not unheard of, it actually is a small miracle, as the majority of applicants do not get a slot via the lottery. This year, Mary Wittenberg, the race director for the New York Road Runners (who host the event), stated they had received nearly 100,000 lottery applicants and that only 1 in 10 would receive a lottery slot.

The entrants field has been capped at 40,000 runners this year (a 5,000 increase since I ran the race in 2007), so clearly, many of the runners will get a slot in the race by other means, and there are, in fact, a number of ways to earn a guaranteed entry to the event. Some meet qualifying times at previous marathons (which are a bit more stringent than the Boston qualifying times, but also not elite standards. Men under age 40 must have run a sub-3-hour marathon time, for example). Some earn entry by being NYRR club members and running at least 9 other events hosted by the NYRR during the year (and by paying all those dues and race entry fees). You can also be a carry-over from a cancelled entry the previous year, or have run at least 15 NYCMs, and there are other less common ways of guaranteeing entry.

Perhaps the biggest group of entrants, though, other than the lottery winners, are the charity runners. If you’re willing to commit to raising a large sum of money for a charity sponsored by the race, you get a guaranteed spot. Many runners who don’t get a lottery slot, then become a charity runner, instead.

There’s also one other way to get a guaranteed entry, and that’s to enter the lottery and fail to get a spot three years in a row. In the fourth year, they move you to the front of the line and give you an automatic spot in the race. That is exactly what I imagined I’d do in 2007 when I first submitted a lottery entry. Imagine my great surprise that year when I wound up winning a slot in the race on my very first try!

I had to rearrange some of my plans for November that year, but it turned out to be an incredible trip, because the NYRR hosted the Men’s Olympic Marathon Trials in Central Park the day before the regular marathon, and I got to be there in the park to see Ryan Hall and Dathan Ritzenhein and Brian Sell each run amazing races to earn spots on the U.S. Olympic team in Beijing.

The marathon itself, on the next day was incredible. The sheer logistics of getting down to Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island before the race were not so fun, and the mass of people in the holding areas there was not easy to navigate, but once the race itself began, it really was extraordinary.

The start of the race on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge is truly majestic and from the top of the bridge you can see all the way across the bay to your destination in the Park in Manhattan. It was the first time I had run a marathon that was a point to point course, and it was kind of awesome to see the full distance spread out in front of you from the top of the Bridge in that first mile. It was my 4th road-based marathon, and I ran a 4:03, which was short of my sub-4-hour goal, but still, a PR for me at the time.

The logistics and the cost of the event were so rough, that I knew I wasn’t eager to go back and run it right away, but the course and the race were so exhilarating that I promised I would be back.

And now it looks like 2011 will mark my return.

This January I decided to take my second crack at the lottery, and this past Wednesday (April 27th) was the lottery drawing for this year’s event. I wore my 2007 Finishers hat all day for luck, and sure enough, that evening when I typed in my name, the word “Accepted” popped up underneath!

There was a little payment snafu with my credit card that temporarily had my status turned back to “Not Accepted” on Thursday, and I was on pins and needles for a few days waiting to see if the NYRR would be able and willing to sort it out, but I got an e-mail last night letting me know that all was clear and I was officially, and finally, IN for 2011.

I love the Chicago Marathon and I have run some other, great, smaller marathons elsewhere in the country, but nothing in my experience compares to the NYCM. If you run marathons, you really do owe it to yourself to try to run New York just once in your life.

So, it’s going to be a busy year! I don’t have a lot of “speed” goals this year, but I do have a lot of “finishing” goals, most importantly at the Burning River 100 Mile in July. At some point in the next 7 months, I will run my 30th marathon or ultra. And I’ll wrap up my running year with a return to the NYCM in November. It remains to be seen if I’ll try to run it hard or just go back to enjoy the experience again, but either way, I’ll be looking forward to it. I expect to have a lot to celebrate this November 6th.

Race Report: Chicago Lakefront 50K 2011

2011-04-24T12:04:00.004-05:00

Here’s my tardy report for the race held back on March 26th:

I wasn’t ready for this one. Not really. I slipped off my training schedule in the month before the race and hadn’t been getting in those very important long runs on the weekends. I wasn’t ready to run well for 31 miles, and I knew it. So, I made myself go out and run it anyway. As a punishment. A self-inflicted kick in the pants.

It wasn’t intended as physical abuse. I’d never do that. That’s something not everybody understands when I tell them what I do. When it starts to hurt, you just slow down. When that starts to hurt, you walk. I take no joy in pain. The whole point of training is so that when you race your event, it doesn’t hurt (or at least, not as much), so that you can keep running faster for longer, and your finish times get quicker and quicker. I hadn’t properly done that work before this race, so it was a punishment for my ego, because, even though I expected to finish, I knew that my finish time would be slow and ugly.

The LF50K is a great little event. It’s classy, low-frills, well supported by volunteers, and a flat and gentle course. Plus, it’s the only Ultra in the world that I can drive to in just 5 minutes. There’s something really sweet about a race that allows you to sleep in your own bed until an hour before the gun, requires just a 2-mile trek, and has plenty of easy, inexpensive parking just a few feet from the starting line.

In fact, I considered just pedaling over on my bike, but the weather made that a bad idea. In fact, the weather was downright unpleasant. You never know what you’ll get in springtime in Chicago. Race morning was cloudy with air temps in the upper 20s and lower 30s, and a steady, persistent 15 mph wind that would gust up to 20mph from the northeast. Fun. I didn’t feel it so much when I walked out of my apartment, but when I opened my car door at the lake, the wind nearly whipped it right out of my hand and sent it smacking into the white van parked next to me. Like I said, Fun.

The course starts at the north end of the water front, near Foster Ave. Beach, and heads south for about 5 miles to a southern turnaround point, from which you run back to the start. You rinse and repeat that two more times for the full 31 miles. For the first half of each loop, the wind would be at our backs, but for the return trip each time…

My plan was to start out very gently, but try and hold a semi-decent pace for the first 20 miles. Then, for the last 10.5 miles of out-and-back, just do whatever I needed to do to keep moving forward and get to the finish.

The first southern leg went smoothly. I settled into a gentle pace that seemed slow, but knew would pay off later. I also made quick, efficient work of the aid stations (an improvement over the lingering stops I took at those stops on the course last year). The route had been redrawn since the 2010 event, and now featured an almost straight shot south to the new turn-around point below North Ave. Beach. (Last year the course was more like a big “S” and the turnaround was near Diversey Harbor. With the new route, it would be very difficult to cut the course, something I thought I saw happen last year.)

The LF50 is unlike many Ultras I’ve run, as there is a bit less socializing out on the course. People are still really friendly, but I’ve found that everyone is less likely to fall into those longer, rambling conversations with strangers as so often happens in a trail Ultra. I assume this has much to do with the course, which, being so flat, fast and easy, leads to faster paces and also attracts a lot of first-timers. But, I found I was less talkative this time, too, knowing that I would not be running my best race.

As it turned out, my anonymity didn’t last for too long, though. One of the fun things about the route is you go back and forth past all the other runners during the race and you get to see the leaders speeding along in the opposite direction. I took note of the Women’s leader in a bright orange vest when she passed me as I neared the bottom of the first leg, but as I neared my first return to the north end of the course, I was quite surprised when it was she who took note of me! She called out to me by name, which stunned me for a moment, but I responded with a, Yes? “I read your blog!” she called back with a touch of a smile. And by then she had sped her way past me and I had to turn around to yell, Thank You! I gave her a wave or a nod each time I saw her after that, and as far as I know, she was the first female finisher. (So, congrats, Jennifer, and thanks again!)

The start of the second out-and-back gave a welcome relief from the wind. It was worst on the sections of the course that were closest to the water’s edge. The wind creates significant waves on the lake, and one small section of the running path was washed out and required a very minor detour. It wasn’t fun running back into that wind, but I managed it, and at least there was a 2 mile section of the route that offered a buffer of trees and small hills.

It was nearly 10am when I headed south again, and in addition to turning out of the wind, the air temps had started to warm a bit. I felt loose and fresh and decided to push the pace a little during this part of the race. I figured it might be the only leg I could use to do any real running. The wind at my back made me feel a bit like a boat with a sail, and that was fine with me. I pulled off my gloves and hat for a while and enjoyed the feeling while it lasted.

Even after the turnaround, once more into the wind, I still felt pretty good and loose. I had to zip the jacket all the way up again, and re-don the gloves and hat, but I got all the way back up to the 18 or 19 mile point, before my legs started to tell me it was time to slow down.

Here, this was the limits of the training I had accomplished. 19 miles of running at a gentler pace, and now the body was saying it needed a break. So, now, with a little over 19 down and a little over 11 to go, the miles would begin to expand. The legs would begin to creak and demand a pace of their own. Time, itself, would begin to change and the ego would get its kick in the pants.

One of the very windiest sections of the course was the last ¾ mile back to the north-end turnaround. It was again a huge relief to finally get there and set out with the wind at my back again. I took a little extra food and the aid station there, and watched as the winner of the race celebrated his victory just behind me at the finish line. I didn’t dawdle very long, eager to just keep moving forward, but I set out at a walk, to rest my legs and eat the goodies I’d picked up.

This is when I got recognized a second time. A fellow just in front of me turned and said, “Hey, you write a blog, don’t you?” The official race website had crashed in the week before the race. The Race Director had done a nice job communicating with all the registered runners via e-mail, but the problem had sent some people searching for alternative information. Well, apparently, when you Google “Lakefront 50K” my blog entry from last year’s race is one of the top results. Go figure. That’s how this fellow found my blog.

His name was Brian (if I’m remembering correctly). My ’10 report hadn’t helped him much with the parking info he’d been hoping to find, but he walked with me now for a few minutes and we chatted. He was running his first Ultra, in the hopes of finding something a little more challenging to tackle than the marathon each year. I told him if he wanted to take one more gentle step up, he should look at the Rock Cut Hobo Run 50K out in Rockford in the fall. (Been a couple of years since I’ve been out there, but it’s a good event, and close by.) I left Brian and set off at a trot, but told him I expected to see him again. He was still behind me at the final turnaround, but did, in fact, sneak past me near the end to finish a few minutes ahead of me. (Congrats on your first, Brian!)

I made decent forward progress on that next-to-last leg. The wind was still giving me the push, and though I was slowing down a good bit, I managed to keep a limit on the now-necessary walk breaks. But the IT band outside my right leg had begun to stiffen up, and the lower bits of my left leg were getting a little creaky from the cold and the miles. I knew that turning back into the wind for the last 5 mile leg wasn’t going to be much fun.

I lingered an extra minute at the last turnaround, grabbing a little more food and drink, then bundled everything back up and set off. At least some sun was out by then. I held a trot for a half mile or so, but that wind was still whipping in at 15–20mph, and I was finally demoralized enough that walking for the next mile seemed just fine. I just wanted to make it back to the finish line, and I was no longer all that concerned about how I did it. A little more than half the route was completely exposed to the wind. I made sure I ran a bit at the beginning of each new mile, but otherwise I just walked each of those exposed sections.

By the time I got back to the final ¾ mile stretch, the wind had fully shifted from the northeast, to blowing directly in our faces from due north. One last kick in the teeth. I managed to trot most of the last half mile anyway. There was one runner who I caught up to in the last 200 yards. I wasn’t trying to pass him – not at all, I was just trying to keep a steady rhythm to get through the headwind – but when I moved passed him, his ego kicked in, and even though I held my exact same pace, he sped up so that I couldn’t “beat” him to the finish line. I was a little annoyed by that, but mostly because the wind had blown its way under my skin, and because I felt dubious about my finish time.

I crossed the line at 5:42:03, more than 33 minutes slower than last year. For the first 20 miles, I ran a pace similar to last year, but I slowed so much on my final loop that I added more than a minute to my final, overall pace. I collected my medal, then turned down an offer of hot food in favor of heading to my car for sweet shelter from the wind at long last.

So, yes, I “finished”. But, no, I didn’t really perform well. I have a lot of great friends who aren’t runners and they are constantly impressed that I run these things at all. I am always grateful to them for that. But there is a big difference in just showing up for work everyday, and actually being productive while you’re there.

I know that, were I in tip-top shape, I am capable of running the LF50K course more than a full hour faster than I did this year. Were it not such a gentle and forgiving event, my results would have been even worse. I gutted it out and got to the finish line, yes, and there is some small accomplishment in that fact, but the reality is, I’m not going to be able to gut out a finish on inadequate training at the 100-Miler in July. If I don’t do the training, I will flunk out of my third hundo in a row. I really don’t want that to happen. If I bomb out another one, I don’t think I can try it again. So, I punished myself with this race. As a reminder. The goal is in Ohio in July, and I have to keep going if I’m going to get there.

Bridges

2011-04-10T01:26:00.004-05:00

It can be tricky to take care of the daily run when I’m traveling. At home, I know a collection of well-worn routes. I know their quirks and advantages. I know where I’ll have to wait for traffic lights, and where I can avoid them. I know where all the imaginary mile markers are.

A foreign territory deprives me of all that - but it also liberates me from it. I don’t have to worry about getting my "mileage" in, or my pace goals, I can just pick a general direction, and go for a run. It’s a cool way to see a new place. It’s an exploration adventure.

I’ve found that the easiest thing to do is take a quick look at a map to pick a direction. That way I can try to avoid unexpected dead-ends, and will have a general route long enough for a good out-and-back. Then I pick a time for the “out” leg – say 20 minutes – and head out to see what I see.

I’ve done this in a lot of places over the years: Rochester, NY; rural, western Michigan; the suburbs of Nashville; the Quad Cities in NW Illinois; and even along California’s Pacific coast somewhere south of San Gregorio. Last week, I got to explore the suspended views of Brooklyn and Lower Manhattan.

I started in Brooklyn Heights, near the Brooklyn Bridge, which, famously, has a footbridge that runs above the lanes of auto traffic. The first day, I ran one of my out-and-backs across that bridge into Manhattan. The pedestrian traffic on the sidewalks near city hall was a little tricky to navigate, but it was a lot of fun running over the old bridge and back.

The next day, I decided to get more creative. The Brooklyn Bridge gets all the press, but the Manhattan Bridge crosses the East River right next door, just a little to the north. I wasn’t too sure what the overall distance would be, but I plotted out a big loop course that would take me over both bridges and return me whence I came.

It was great! I followed the same path as the day before up and over the Brooklyn Bridge, then followed the city streets in Manhattan north to Chinatown and then east again to the foot of the Manhattan Bridge, where I followed the street signs to the pedestrian walkway along its south side.

Both bridges are massive and majestic. (The Brooklyn Bridge opened in 1883, and the Manhattan Bridge in 1909.) They each arc high over the East River and offer stunning views of both the boroughs. But the footpath on the Brooklyn Bridge is suspended above the cars, exactly in the center of the bridge. When you peek over the edge of the walkway, you see cars just below you. On the Manhattan Bridge, however, the walkway is on the outer edge of the bridge, and there is little more than a short cement wall and curved fence that separates you from the drop to the river 150 feet below. It’s perfectly safe, but impressive nevertheless.

I’ve done travel runs in New York City before, but they were mostly along the bike path along the west side of Manhattan beside the Hudson River. It’s a nice, long path, but a little bit boring. This double bridge route was fun, scenic and quick.

There’s just no better way to get to know a new place than to get out on your own two feet and explore. I often tell people how nothing about New York made much sense to me until I ran the NYC Marathon through all five boroughs. It was great to put a few more pieces of the city together with my running shoes on.

Ultra Radio Lab

2011-04-06T18:51:00.010-05:00

I love, love, love, love this radio show. RADIO LAB is one of the best, coolest programs in any medium, and this week they've given me an excellent excuse to post a link to their show on this blog. They did a mini-show on ultrarunner Diane Van Deren. Hers is a story that's been making the rounds in the running media over the last year and half, but it's still a really interesting tale.

I met Diane, briefly, at the McNaughton Park Ultra back in 2007. I was out to run my first 50-miler, and she was one of the ambitious few attempting to complete the 150-Mile division of that race. (I finished mine in 11.5 hours, she finished hers is just under 47 hours and was the only woman to complete the course.)

Her story is not nessesarily a good representation of my experience, not only because she is a much more gifted runner than I, but also because of the affect her brain has had on her athletic pursuits. Nevertheless, it's a facsinating story, and Radio Lab always does a stellar job of presenting. I've embeded the story in this post with the player below. (Just hit the play button). Or you can check it out on the Radio Lab Website. Give it a listen. It's worth 18 minutes of your life.

Dream

2011-02-11T13:47:00.007-06:00

I dreamed about running last night. Not the standard, there’s-something-terrible-and-unstoppable-chasing-me-and-I-must-run-and-run-and-run-even-though-my-legs-feel-like-bricks dream. (Have you had that one?) No, I dreamed about Running – Racing, even. Yes, I dreamed about Ultra-running.

I was running a 100-Mile race – something that resembled a combination of the Burning River 100, which I ran but failed to finish in 2009, and the San Diego 100, which I ran but failed to finish in 2010.

In the dream, I was coming into the aid station on the course just after mile 70. That is the point where I had to drop out at Burning River, but in my dream it also looked a little bit like my drop point at Mile 44 on the San Diego course.

But this time, instead of being in pain, worn down and broken, I am actually able to jog into the station. I’m a couple of hours ahead of the cutoffs, and there are still 12 hours left in the race for me to cover the final 30 miles. Each of the most important people in my life is waiting for me at the finish line, and as I pick through the food at the aid station, I am filled with the overwhelming, glowing certainty that I will finish the race.

I don’t often remember my dreams, and I hardly ever dream about running. More than that, my next 100-Mile attempt hasn’t really been on my mind that much the last couple of weeks. (It’s been a number of other changes and upheavals that have had my attention.)

I have had empowering dreams like that before, but it has been awhile. Every now and then I have “flying” dreams that leave me in a very positive state, and I’m given to understand those are a somewhat common human occurrence. I love that I had a “flying” dream that came about as a “running” dream.

I was inspired today to look at some race calendars to find a couple of good build-up races scheduled before my return to Burning River at the end of this July. I should be signing up for the Chattanooga Mountain 3-day Stage Race and the Devil’s Lake 50-Mile very soon.

Hours later, I’m still feeling some of the afterglow. I wonder how it will feel when I actually cross that finish line on Sunday morning, July 31^st.

Build Up Begins

2011-01-24T11:59:00.006-06:00

I managed to knock out my first real “long” run in weeks on Saturday. 8 miles. Yes, 8 miles qualifies as a long run again for me right now. It’s not like I haven’t been running at all, but there’s been little spare time – or energy – for hour+ runs on the weekends (let alone weekdays). I managed a late evening 10-miler one Friday night back in early December, but that’s the only double-digit run I’ve been out on since the Chicago Marathon back on 10-10-10.

It’s normal to go through a period during the year when you cutback on your mileage somewhat, and allow your body a long recovery cycle. Most runners use the winter for that cycle anyway, since getting outside is not as fun in the weather.

Of course, my cutbacks have been forced upon me by my schedule, but I can see the benefits. I’ve been pleasantly surprised all season at how speedy my “easy” workouts have been. I like to run easy days by feel. I start at a gentle pace and after a mile or two I can tell from the splits on my watch how the rest of the run is going to go. Even though my runs the last 12 weeks have been mostly short, 4 or 5 mile efforts, I’ve been pleased about how many of them have settled into a brisk (for me) 8:20ish pace.

My 8-miler on Saturday wasn’t so quick – I intentionally dialed the pace down to just under 9 minute miles – but it was an easy, low-stress effort and my body felt good when I was done. (A far cry from the weary, run-down 4-miler I struggled through after a difficult week last Friday.) A treadmill isn’t the most scenic place to spend 75 minutes, but some podcasts got me through and it was nice to escape the single-digit cold outside.

I felt my spirits rising as I left the gym, my optimism for my running plans returning. And I felt a little lucky. Lucky to be able to dash off an easy 8-mile run like it was no big deal. Lucky to have the opportunity to do so just because I feel like it. With any luck, I'll feel the same way on the morning of July 30th, with 101 miles stretching out in front of me.

I heard on the radio this morning that Jack LaLanne, the original fitness guru, died on Sunday. I was not a follower of LaLanne, per se, but he began saying 75 years ago what we all consider common knowledge today. He was 96 years old, and still worked out a couple of hours every morning. He would say, “The only way to truly abuse your body is to not use it!” Makes a lot of sense to me. I’ll keep using mine until it’s done.

(Un)Balanced

2011-01-18T13:34:00.002-06:00

The past week was a bear and my running has suffered, as a result. Working 14-hours days between two jobs has many drawbacks, and the hit my running schedule takes is only one of them, of course.

The running, though, continues to be such an accurate barometer for the rest of my life in so many ways. I managed to squeeze in a quick 4-miler last Monday between jobs and then didn’t have time for another run until Friday.

The plan that night was a 5-miler, but I had to add 45 seconds to my mile pace, barely made it through the first three miles anyway, and then, finally, gave up after just four. I was so exhausted when I stepped off the treadmill that I was a little light-headed. I totally skipped the weights work and the short swim I had planned and went home instead. I walked in my front door before 9pm, but half an hour later I could barely keep my eyes open.

Unresponsive workouts like that are typically a sign of over-training. Well, I’m under-training with my running right now (in a big way), but I’m definitely overtraining on LIFE. I’m badly fatigued – just as much as I would be after a 60 or 70-mile week. I’m not as young as used to be. Burning the candle at both ends turns into burning myself out a lot quicker that it used to.

The reality I’ve been facing, though, is I’m only doing this to myself. I don’t work 2 jobs because I need the money. The income from my day-job supports me just fine. The second job I pursue because I have a passion for it, even though it cannot support me on its own. (If it could, my life would be a little simpler.) But I’m fast reaching an age when I must seriously question if the return value I get from that pursuit can still outweigh the cost it extracts from my quality of life.

There are other things in my life that are very important to me now. Running is certainly one of those things. If one pursuit begins to override and erode all the other things that are valuable to me in my life, is it still worth it? Finding the balance is always a struggle and there are only certain things I can control. But whenever the balance slips so much that even the running time I can squeeze in is such low quality, it forces me to confront these difficult questions all over again.

Luckily, after this week, my schedule will start to re-balance again. The first big race of my season will be the Chicago Lakefront 50K near the end of March. I don’t have much time to build my mileage back up to where it needs to be. I expect my first road marathon will be in Kenosha again, at the beginning of May. I’ve been doing a lot of quick 4-milers over the last month, and though my overall mileage has been low, I’ve been encouraged by the quick paces I’ve been able to run at in those shorter sessions.

If I can just win the struggle to find training time, I remain optimistic about 2011.

Onward

2011-01-10T14:07:00.003-06:00

Life. It never stops changing you, does it? And why would you want it to stop, anyway? Mine is. Changing, I mean, not stopping. (Definitely not stopping.) Old goals blend with new ones. New priorities emerge and take you in directions you wondered were still possible.

I am still on the Journey.

2011 finds me with plenty to do and the highest of hopes. There is one bit of unfinished business still nagging at me and I'm going to do whatever I can to cross that line this year. I paid for my slot in the Burning River 100 Mile Endurance Race today. I came up short there in '09, and the mountains outside San Diego left me breathless last June, but we're going to see if the 3rd time's the charm back in Ohio in 2011.

The biggest hurdle will be finding the time to get in all my training miles over the next 6 months. There's a awful lot on my plate this year. Somehow, though, I'm going to do it. I've learned a lot on the last two failed attempts. I've got friends this time who may be able to join me on the course. And I think even my sister may get help playing crew out there this time.

The Journey has a great deal in store for me this year, and I'm so excited about all the possibilities. The video I posted last month still resonates deeply in my mind.

There is so much more to come.

"What is a Journey?

A journey is not a trip.

It is not a vacation.

It is a process. A discovery.

It is a process of self-discovery.

A journey brings us face to face with ourselves.

A journey shows us not only the world,

but how we fit in it.

Does the person create the journey?

Or does the journey create the person?

The journey is life itself."

Life is the Journey

2010-12-12T16:09:00.004-06:00

Ok, the video below is a commercial, yes. But it's a beautiful, well made commercial, and the overall message just belongs on this blog. I saw it last night on a huge movie screen and came home to find it right away.

Here it is:

Hello, Stranger.

2010-09-15T15:02:00.005-05:00

So, yes, I’ve been away from here for months now. It wasn’t a planned absence, but it was an absence that lingered, which is a statement intentionally full of irony.

I’ve still been running, but running and I have been on the outs for a little while now. My failure in San Diego in June was a difficult one to swallow. I always knew that a DNF was possible – I think it’s always on the table for anyone who attempts 100 miles – but I never expected to flunk out after just 44 miles. (And in reality, I was cooked after only 36.)

After much reflection, I’ve come to blame it on the altitude. We started out at 6500 feet, dipped down for a while, and then climbed right back up again. I train at sea level, and it can take 3 or 4 weeks to properly acclimate to the thin air at altitude. So, nothing I could do about that, right? Right. Nothing, except never sign up in the first place. I should have known better than to attempt such a difficult race, on difficult terrain, and then, oh yeah, make it even that much harder by doing it all at unfamiliar altitude. It still just makes me feel foolish.

So why did I sign up? Well it’s the answer to that question that’s had me struggling with my habit as a long distance runner all summer. I picked the San Diego 100 because it was one of the few 100s in 2010 that I could squeeze into my schedule. And that’s the thing, see? It isn’t the altitude, or the remote locations, or the difficult terrain, or the beyond-most-people’s-imagination distance that constantly hold me back from fully enjoying this hobby – it’s just my work schedule.

I work in the arts, I work long hours, and if I’m not physically present, the work doesn’t happen. I manage to make a modest, decent living, but I just don’t get days off, not even weekends. The running community – especially Ultras – are built around weekend schedules. It impacts not only my availability for races, but also my ability to train. It’s been a while since I ran an Ultra that I felt truly prepared for. Instead it’s always a series of compromises, and then an "I'm just running to try and finish" mission statement.

None of this has stopped me before. I’ve run plenty. I’ve squeezed in runs on any day of the week, at any time of the day or night. I’ve eked out long runs on any day of the week when it looked like I might have a few hours to cross one of the week’s list. I've packed in 60+ mile weeks when I barely had time to go home and sleep in between. I’ve sought out races that I could drive to, run and drive back from, all in a day, so I could be home that night to continue more work.

But San Diego… San Diego was a punch in the gut and a wake up call. I let the schedule deceive me, and I bit off a lot more than I could chew. I had no choice but to sit and consider if I was balancing my life in a good way or not. If I scaled back, things might make more sense. I had plenty enough time to get 4 to 6 miles in on most days of the week. A little more than that once a week. I could aim for a series of half marathons each year and probably knock out some very satisfying fast times. Maybe still do just one marathon or short trail ultra each year for fun.

But then I start to think about some of the Ultras I have finished in the last 4 years and I get hungry all over again. Not all of them make me feel that way, mind you, but most. I think about finishing my first McNaughton 50M in less than 12 hours. I think about running the ridge high along the south side of Lookout Mountain 14 miles into my first 100K finish. I think about flying through the little leafy green trees in an “off-trail” section of the Gnaw Bone 50K in the cool morning air. I think about the surprise age-group award I won at the Rock Cut 50K in ’08. I think about the hours and hours I’ve spent chatting with friendly strangers in a single-file line in the middle of who-knows-where.

I still haven’t completely figured out how I can keep this little habit going. I know there are plenty of ultrarunners out there who are juggling WAY more stuff in their lives than I am, and the are able to get it all in. I guess I’m just not that organized. One thing I am getting better at with age, is accepting all the things that I don’t do very well. But, regardless, I’m going to try. If nothing else, I have to try one more time to finish 100 Miles. I’m 0 for 2, so far, but I just need one…

An Unimpressive DNF

2010-06-13T08:08:00.004-05:00

The SD100 was not good to me. I DNF'd at 44 miles after 12.5 hours on my feet. Worse, I was cooked after 36 miles. My "stubborn" got me those last 8 miles, but I paid for them with a three and a half hour slog up the steepest section of the course.

I'm dissapointed. Last year when I DNF'd at the Burning River 100 at 70 mile, I still felt like I had accomplished something. A DNF at 44 just feels like a let-down. I should have been in shape to run way more than that. I thought I did a good job with my training. I've finished 50-milers on the same or less. I've finished 100Ks.

I was taking in plenty of calories. I was running at a responsible pace. Maybe I could have taken in a few more S-Caps, but I was drinking the sports drinks, trying to replace my electolytes.

My only guess, at the moment, is the high altitude and thinner air did me in. But even that makes me feel foolish: I knew what the elevation charts looked like when I signed up. I should have realized.

I don't know. It's 8 a.m. Sunday morning. I've been off the course as long as I was on it. People are still out there running. There are 6 more hours before the final cutoff. I should still be out there. I should have run 80 or 85 miles by now. I should be out there knowing that the finish line is waiting a little ways in front of me. I should be feeling it's gravitational pull and knowing that I was going to finish my first Hundo, get my first buckle, wear my yellow "Finisher" t-shirt. I'm not. I'm sitting in my hotel room preparing to go downstairs and peruse the continental breakfast.

It was a beautiful course. I met some awesome people. I have good things to say about my experience. Those are coming, along with some pictures and video and whatnot. Right now, though, I've still got this bitter, unpleasant taste...

Friday Morning in San Diego

2010-06-11T09:47:00.003-05:00

…And here’s where I’m going soon:

As I type this, I’m sitting in a hotel room just outside San Diego. It’s Friday, the day before the race. It’s a cool 55 degrees outside and overcast – perfect kind of weather for the race if this should hold for the next two days.

As we flew in last night, I got a bird’s eye view of the mountain range I’ll be running through this weekend. It was odd to look out the little window at the brown mountains, see little foot trails littered across and around their surface and know I’d be out on those trails in 36 hours.

I’m still worried about blisters, but I think I have a plan for that. I’m also worried about handling the mountains, but that’ll be what it’ll be. There’s no other preparation I can do for that now, except in my mind.
My sister is here – my sister the stage manager – to be my crew, and she’s got her red notebook of plans and information all set up already. (I’m in good hands.)

We have a few supplies to buy this morning, but we’ve already found the Wal-Mart. After that, we’ll chill out a little and wait for the pre-race meeting later this afternoon. It’s 7:30 am at this very moment. At 7:00 am tomorrow morning the trek begins.

We’re gonna do this one. We’re gonna get this one.

Here's a little catchup and mudsterd

2010-06-11T09:40:00.002-05:00

I’ve been bad to my blog lately. It’s been a busy life these last 6 weeks. It’s been tough to clear time for the running, let alone the writing, but I have been running. The past, as they say, though, is prologue and the main event is nearly upon me. It’s just 1 (!) more day now until the San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run.

I admit, I’m nervous. The biggest thing I’ve been asking myself lately is why I signed up to tackle a race in a part of the country I know so little about. I’ve never been to the bottom of California. I’ve barely ever been to L.A. I realized a few weeks ago, I don’t even know what the dirt is like out there. Sure that’s a silly thing to worry about, but is it black, or brown or red? Is it littered with gravel and skree, or is it fine and soft? Is it going to fill my shoes and blister my feet or welcome my every footfall with a cushiony plop?

You see? I’m kind of at that point in the training cycle.

THE GNAW BONE 50K
Once I got past the Wisconsin Marathon six weeks ago, I went into a kind of recovery and maintenance mode. I just wanted to bounce back and nurse my mileage base.

However, almost as soon as I got home from Kenosha, I started to worry about my lack of a hilly trail ultra run in the last 5 months. So, two weeks after Kenosha, I patched one into my schedule and drive down to Nashville, Indiana for the Gnaw Bone 50K. It’s one of the Dances With Dirt Trail Series and was billed as a tough course with “stupid sections”. They had a 50 Mile option, but I didn’t want to bit off too much more than I could chew. I was mainly going for the trail work.

I wound up having a good day with it. I started off slowly, but after 6 or 7 miles, I fell into a very strong and steady rhythm. There were some tough sections on the course, and some no-trail sections, but a lot of it was very runnable and I was able to get comfortable. I caught and passed a couple dozen runners in the next 12 miles (though the 50K and the 50M shared the same course for most of the race).

I hit 2 problems: by 22 miles, I had a worn a blister on the bottom of my right foot. IT was a very wet week before the race, there were a lot of water crossings on the first half of the course, and my shoes were coated filled with mud. Blisters are what ultimately knocked me out of the Burning River 100 last year, and they are my biggest fear in San Diego. I was not happy to have one turn up in the middle of Gnaw Bone.

I was carrying an extra pair of socks in my Race Ready shorts (Love those things) and we when finally reached the Aid Station at mile 22 (which we actually expected at mile 18) I took the time to sit down, clean my feet and change into my fresh pair. I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was an instant improvement even without trying to lance the blister.

The other snag I hit was the hill at Mill 26. It was a steep, 1/4-mile long, No-Trail section up the side of an unpleasant little mountain littered with forest ground cover and briars. I would dub it “Marathon Hill” both for the time it seemed to take to climb it and it location on the course, except that with all the different race distances being run on the course that day, everyone got to it at a different mileage point. It really kicked my butt in a major way. After that, for the last leg of the course, I was pretty much cooked.

It didn’t help either – and this is my one complaint about the race – that the course seemed to be marked a good bit longer than 31 miles and the error was somewhere in those last 8 miles. Almost every runner got off course during the day. I have learned from old race reports that this race is slightly infamous for that problem. I, however, luckily never really lost my way (there was a 100 yard detour at one point, but it was quickly corrected). But my split times between those last few aid stations cannot possible be correct based on the stated mileage between them. Even with Marathon Hill kicking my ass, the split times just don’t make any sense at all unless at least 1.5 extra miles are added in. I think that so many people go off course during the race that no one almost no one noticed that the actual course was marked far too long.

In spite of that, it was a good day, and I felt really good about my decision to go down and run it. It was excellent practice for San Diego.

THE CRUD 8-HOUR TRAIL RACE
Then, a week later, I kept the race appointment I made months before at the brand new C.R.U.D. 8-Hour Trail Race. I’ve known the co-race directors, Adam & Mike, for a couple of years now, ever since we all spent a number of miles on the trail together first at the Rock Cut Hobo 50K and then the Farmdale 33-Miler a few weeks later. I was excited to head down for the race, not just because it would be my first “timed” ultra event, but also because Mike and Big Z are great guys and I was sure they would host a fun day.

I wasn’t completely sure what kind of course it would be, though the guys had claimed on the website that there would be plenty of runnable sections. They’d mapped a 3.1 Mile (5K) loop that we would run laps on for the first 7 hours and 15 minutes, then we’d switch over to a separate 1 Mile loop for the last 45 minutes. I felt like I could get to 40 miles, at least and if thing went really well, maybe even as many as 45 before the 8-Hour cutoff.

Mother Nature had other plans. Central Illinois got even more rain the week before the race, than Central Indiana had the previous week before Gnaw Bone. Long sections of the loop course were, literally, transformed into a swamp. A quarter-mile of fire road was drowned under 3 and 4 inches of standing water. And perhaps as much as 1/3rd or half of the course was caked in slick, deep, shoe-sucking, dark-chocolate mud. It didn’t rain on race day, though. Instead, there were blue skies, and the temps started in the night 60s and climbed all day during the race into the mid 80s. Down in the low sections of the course, around all the standing water, it was sticky and humid. Luckily, most of the course was tree-shaded, or the soaring heat would have been a real problem.

After just the first hour, the fragile, muddy course had been chewed up so badly that any semblance of rapid forward motion was difficult. I was especially worried about the chance that I would start up one of the many gooey inclines (or declines) and my feet would skid out from underneath and the rest of me would crash hard to the ground. The only real running injury I’ve ever had was a fall I took where I banged up my knee so badly that I couldn’t run for several weeks. A duplicate of that event could take me out of the SD100 before I even got on the plane to California.

It’s hard to explain how much extra energy gets sucked out of you when running in that kind of mud. Much like snow (and maybe sand), with no solid ground to push off of, no step you take given you the forward propulsion you are used to. You do the same amount of work and get less result. It’s more than that, though, because the ground you’re on is not stable. Your feet can spend as much time sliding sideways and backwards as they do pushing you forwards. That forces you to engage the balancing muscles in your legs hips and torso in a way you are unaccustomed to. It all amounts to a lot of wasted energy and a frustrating day.

By the time I got to my 5th and 6th loop, I was beginning to wonder if it was worth it to continue. I could just push out a few more gentle loops and nudge my total up over 27 miles. Then I could technically claim the race as an “Ultra” (being over the standard 26.2 mile distance) and call it a day, stopping to hang out at the staging area to cheer on the folks still out on the course. Sure, I could do that. I didn’t have to run all 8 hours. You don’t get a DNF at a timed event so long as you run at least a mile, you just get a measly mile total for the day. And it was just a training run – did I feel trained? Sure, why not.

After the 6th loop, though, something shifted. First of all, I plundered my little mini-cooler and drank a full bottle of Ensure. I also changed my socks (a futile battle to stave off the mud, but I was doing it every 3 loops anyway). And then, somehow, I bounced back. I felt a little zippy again. The rising heat stopped bothering me. The mud on the course finally seemed like it was starting to dry up just a little. And I know that bottle of Ensure had a lot to do with it (I should have had one sooner).

And I was running again. I found a rhythm and settled in. The mud was still there to work its voodoo, but it bothered me less. And I started to think, “Nah, I don’t need to drop out early, I can just keep going.”

I decided I could get 3 more laps in (for a totally of 9) before the switch to the 1-mile track for the final 45 minutes, and then I might be able to knock out 3 little loops to put me right at 31 miles for the day. That would be a 50K – easily my slowest 50K ever – but still, a respectable, attainable goal under the circumstances. I ruined that plan though, by running the next 3 laps so quickly that after my 9th lap there was still 90 minutes left in the race and I had to go out of the 5K loop one more time to start my 10th loop! Believe me, it was a little teeny-tiny miracle.

I came around to finish Loop 10 with about 25 minutes left in the race. You only got credit for each full 1-mile loop you ran at the end, and I didn’t think I had quite enough energy left to run 2 more full miles on that course in just 25 minutes, so I walked just 1 more mile as a little, personal victory lap and called it a day 6 minutes before the final whistle blew at 4pm. I eeked out 32 miles (eek!) and I was satisfied.

I must say: Adam and Mike were AWESOME. After the end of my first 3 or 4 loops, Adam came over to personally check on how I was doing and to jog with me back out of the aid station to the entrance of the course again. Later in the day, when I was taking longer breaks at the aid station, Mike came over to chat, say Hello and see how I was doing (both in the race and the world at large). It might seem like a silly thing to say, but both Mike and Adam are big brawny guys and when a man like that give you a big handshake and claps you on the shoulder it goes just a little bit further towards making you feel like you can do it and you’ll be fine. They were great hosts and at the end of the day it really seemed like everyone had a good time.

It’s always a good lesson to be reminded of: whatever your expectations, you just have to run that course on that day. I ran the slowest 32 miles of my life and felt damn good about it. The same thing happened at the Chicago Marathon in ’07, and there have been – and will be – others.

The last note I need to mention about the C.R.U.D. is the response I got from my running attire. I made myself a shirt before my (failed) attempt at the Burning River 100 Mile last summer. I bought a yellow technical shirt and, with a Sharpie, carefully printed on the front: “I AM NOT TALENTED, BUT I AM STUBBORN”. It was a phrase I thought of that just stuck with me and resonated on many levels. I saved the shirt for late in the BR100 when I needed inspiration. Not many people saw it then, and I haven’t run with it since. I thought it deserved another special occasion. I pulled it out for the 8-Hour and people were talking about it all day long. There are a few “fast” people who run Ultras, but the majority of us are plodders, doing it for fun, and a lot of those folks could identify with my shirt. Somebody asked me where I bought it, another asked if I minded if he “stole” the idea and made one for himself (just talk about me when someone asked about it, I told him with a wink), and many more made it a point to mention it to me. I’ve never been a put-your-name-on-your-shirt kind of marathoner, but it was kind of fun how much attention my yellow shirt got.

SO ANYWAY: That’s where I’ve been lately…

Race Report: Wisconsin Marathon 2010

2010-05-07T21:06:00.007-05:00

VOICES FROM UNEXPECTED PLACES
A happy accident happened to me this morning on my way to run the Wisconsin Marathon. The drive to Kenosha takes a little more than an hour, so I decided to catch up on my NPR podcasts, specifically, an episode of RadioLab. They like to look at common everyday questions about the elements of life and being human and examine them in a scientific way. (It’s just an amazing show.) The episode was titled “Limits”.

The first segment was an interview with a woman named Julie, who, once upon a time, decided to go and run the Ironman Triathlon in Hawaii. She was a P.E. major in college, and happened to see Ironman coverage on TV the year before. She was a surfer and thought it would be a cool excuse to take a trip to Kona, do some surfing, run the Triathlon and then use the experience to write her thesis.

Riiiight.

As the interview unfolded, I realized that it sounded a little familiar to me. It seemed like I’d heard it somewhere before. I listened carefully as Julie explained that she had trained for the event, but admitted that it was never “serious” training. She didn’t really worry about it until the gun went off and everything actually began. Still, she finished the 2.4 mile swim well enough, and had a strong 112 miles on the bike – so strong in fact, that as she transitioned to the marathon, she was in second place. More than that, the woman in first was dealing with an achilles injury and, about 8 miles into the run, Julie passed her and moved into 1st place among the women.

Now, I was sure I knew this story. “Julie” was JULIE MOSS. The interview hadn’t included any dates, and made it sound as though the events were recent. No, this was Julie Moss at the Ironman World Championships in 1982. The event was only 4 years old at that point, and it was still very much a fringe event. ABC’s World Wide of Sports had picked up coverage the year before, and that’s when Julie had seen it on TV. They were back again, covering the ‘82 race, and once Julie moved into 1st place, she was front and center on National Television.

Moss explained that after she found herself in the lead, something inside her changed. A competitive drive that she had never felt before emerged with force, and she became determined to win the race. She had a 20-minute lead on the girl in 2nd place, and was constantly aware of that woman’s imminent approach. She drove herself relentlessly forward.

But 1982 was also the wee early days of sports nutrition science, and Julie’s body began to fail her in the late miles of the marathon. 400 meters from the finish line, still in first place, but with her challenger closing fast, she began to lose control of her legs and collapsed. She rose but fell again. She pushed herself up with her arms, walked, found a trot and swaggered, then fell yet again. She staggered like a drunkard, bobbing up and down off the pavement until she was 50 feet from the finish line when she fell a final time and could not push herself back up. The crowd was mad with excitement, imploring her to continue. They and she could see the finish line waiting, so close yet out of reach.

Around the edges of the throng of people surrounding Julie, Kathleen McCartney bounced past, crossed the finish line and won the race. She didn’t even know she had won until race officials drop a medal and a lei around her neck and told her so. And in the background, 20 feet behind, on the wrong side of the line, Julie Moss had pulled herself onto her elbows – because her legs could no longer function – and began to crawl.

That’s how she finished the race, just behind Kathleen McCartney, in 2nd place. But she finished. And the whole thing was broadcast on National Television.

In the RadioLab interview, Julie says that she saw the feet of her competitor run past her as she lay on the ground in front of the finish line. Her legs had stopped working, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. She was completely lucid. She says her very first thought was to just quit; “F it,” she says in the interview. And then something else in her mind spoke: “Get Up.” Get Up. You Can Crawl. Whatever it took, she was going to finish.

That’s just about the last thing I listened to before I turned off the car to get out and go run my own marathon. I didn’t suffer on Saturday in Kenosha the way that Julie Moss did that day in Kona, but that RadioLab show did make a difference in my race.

I LOVE KENOSHA IN THE SPRINGTIME
The 2009 Wisconsin Marathon was a smashing success for me. I felt strong that whole morning, held my speed until late in the race, and ran a 3:44, chopping 15 minutes off my previous best marathon time.

This year, I was eager for more. I was sure I could do as well as last year, had a goal of lowering that PR by any little amount, and had a dream goal of running a 3:3Anything. An 8:20 overall mile pace would get me that dream goal with a little room to spare, so I planned to start out at that speed and hold it for as long as I could. If I slipped off in the later miles, it would still give me an excellent jump on just lowering my PR, and even if I missed that, I could still have a very respectable race.

Conditions for the 2010 race were a little different from last year. The start temp in ’09 was 45 degrees, and got up to 58 before the end of the race, with a light breeze. This year we started at 62, the heat creeped upwards to 68 or 69, and the wind blew in hard from the Southwest at 12mph for much of the second half. Nothing nearly so bad as, say, Chicago in ’07 or ’08, but not ideal, to be sure.

The early miles went well. I felt free and easy and I was hitting my 8:20s or just below with little trouble. The feeling never lasts, but after the first 30 minutes, I felt like I could run 8:20s forever and ever.

Kenosha’s a small town, but there were a fair number of locals and friends of runners out on the street corners to watch and cheer. It really is a nice little race, and runs through a lovely little town with plenty of lake views on the course. The route twists and turns through the neighborhoods a good bit early on, until finally settling into a basic out-and-back on the north end, and another on the southern 2nd half.

It was easy to recall the race route from the year before. At 3 Miles, we ran past what would also be the 12-Mile marker and the Half-Marathon final turn around sign. One of the guys nearby me playfully called out to his buddies, “What!? That’s it? Time to head to the finish line already?!” and then looped around and took a few false strides towards the Park.

After 4 Miles a guy inched up behind me, breathing loud and heavy. I found it rather distracting, and had to move over and slow down so that he would run away from me. I kept thinking, even if he was only in the Half, it was way to early to be breathing that hard.

Just as last year, I opted not to carry my own water bottle, choosing instead to depend on the course aid stations. No matter what type of portable hydrations system I use, carrying that much extra weight affects my gate and therefore my pace. My personal experience with this is undeniable. Instead, I was wearing my RaceReady shorts and had gel packs stuffed in the pockets. I sucked down the first one of these at 6 miles, as we ran back through the heart of town headed north.

I caught my first sight of all the race leaders on the north end out-and-back near mile 7.5. I forgot to check the bib color of the first runner, but he was really truckin’ it back down to town. I assumed he must have been running the Half. Other men and, finally, women popped up behind him, but it was a long time before I saw the first female marathoner. She was less than a mile in front of me when she streamed by. (The first woman finished in 3:26:16, and the second place woman was 5 seconds after her.) Shortly after that, I made it to the northern turn-around myself, and headed south. I would spend the next 11 miles running into the teeth of a stiff wind.

The only trouble I had early on, was a tight, achy muscle group in the strangest of places: my left shoulder. The area connecting my left pectoral to my shoulder joint just wouldn’t loosen up. If I lifted my arm up and rotated my elbow in the air, the pain went away immediately, but as soon as I dropped back down into my normal running motion, the demon instantly returned. It started up in the first couple of miles, and plagued me the entire morning.

AROUND THAT OLD, FAMILIAR CORNER
This is an obvious thing to say, but experience affects your perspective so much. 26.2 Miles isn’t the uber-massive, intimidating distance that it once seemed to be. I still remember 2006, when I was training for my first marathon, how intimidating those first 10 and 12-mile training runs were. I’m not sure I would have made it through those without Abby, my training partner that summer.

Now, 22 marathons and ultras later, the first 20 miles go by and then the real effort begins. I’ve always heard that miles 1 through 20 are the “first half” of a marathon, the last 10K is the second half. That really is true, and the last 3 or 4 marathons have all been like that for me. The first 10 miles, I’m biding my time, the next 10, I’m finding out how I truly feel that day – how are my time splits looking, where are my strengths, where are the weaknesses in my legs, my form, my mind. Then I really check in with the race clock at the 20-mile mark, and set my goals for the last 10K, crunching numbers, dividing miles into minutes, trying to estimate what I’ve got left and what I can do.

In 2007 at the NYC Marathon, when I was still trying to break 4 hours for the first time, I crossed Mile 20 in exactly 3 hours. I did my quick math and knew I just needed to do 9:30 miles ‘til the end to break 4 hours – and settled for less when my legs would no longer respond in the last 4 miles. I watched my splits slip further and further beyond the 9:30s that I needed, and settled for a 4:03.

The opposite happened 6 months later at the Madison Marathon, when I crossed 20 in 2:59, and clocked an averaged pace of exactly 9:40 for the final 10K to finally break 4 Hours with a 3:59 finish.

Despite my persistent shoulder cramp, the first 10 miles on Saturday were smooth and easy, but the second 10 miles proved to be a little more work. The north loop brought us back through downtown Kenosha before all the Half-Marathoners peeled off at the 12-Mile mark to head toward the finish line. I got to 13 Miles and, roughly, the halfway point (which was unmarked this year) in 1:49, one minute ahead of last year’s pace.

The long out-and-back on the second half of the course is not the most interesting place to run. It reaches down to the southern outskirts of Kenosha, a secluded residential area along Lake Michigan. While heading south, the course detours off of that main road onto even more secluded county roads, dotted with homes. Some of those roads are still dirt and gravel surfaces. After the final turnaround, the course is a straight shot back up along the lake roads to the finish line.

None of this bothers me much. I’m not a runner who is motivated much by the scenery. What did start to creep in on me was the rising thermometer. It still wasn’t “hot”, but it also wasn’t comfortably cool anymore, either. The southern headwinds, which had gained strength past mile 14, at least offered a little relief from the warm, humid air. Regardless, my split times started to slide up into the 8:30 range.

I got into a polite conversation with a couple guys in the 17th mile, but they were slowing down a bit, and my next split was an 8:45. I had to decide if I was going to relent or push on. I pushed. I left the guys behind and concentrated on my leg turnover. I dropped my next split down to an 8:39, but my effort felt harder than that. So, not the greatest sign.

It was a relief to get to that last major turnaround just before Mile 19 and head north again. I was on the homestretch and the wind was at my back, but that didn’t get much rebound and my split at mile 20 was 8:48. So, there I was at the “halfway” point, facing a moment of truth. The race clock was at 2:48:39. I did my mental math. I knew a sub-3:40 was out. That would require 8:15 miles through to the end, and that wasn’t going to happen. However, if I could keep putting out 8:50s I would cross the line with a 3:43 and a new PR. My legs were heavy, but I clutched my optimism.

I did alright the next two miles, with an 8:53 and then a 9:06, but adding 13 seconds from one mile to the next was cause for concern. And the truth was the life in my legs was gone. I felt as though I was plodding down the pavement in cement blocks. The sun was beating down on me. I was genuinely surprised to see that the splits were as “fast” as they were. I began to worry about how much longer I could hang on.

The next two miles got tougher. I split with a 9:21 and then a 9:25, and the mile markers weren’t getting any closer together, and I knew my PR would have to wait for another day. I could really feel the warmth of the day by that point, too. I was still without a water bottle, and I began to regret the 2-mile distance between aid stations on the last 6 miles of the course (a small improvement I might lobby for in future versions of the race). My sense of time began to stretch, and so did my splits. Several runners who I hadn’t seen in miles caught and passed me. I could do nothing but let them go and keep plodding forward.

And it was at that point when, yes, my mind cast back to that RadioLab segment with Julie Moss. I had two voices in my own head, too, the one saying, “just walk, relax, it doesn’t matter,” and the other – the stronger one – saying, “NO, you have to keep running.” The episode had gone on to analyze those reserves of energy that Moss had drawn on, with detailed research about the body’s tendency to lie to your mind about how much is actually left in the tank. Turns out the body tends to be very conservative on those estimates, and that lie is then communicated as pain, or variations thereof. My body was trying to tell me it was stiff and tight and exhausted. I decided not to believe the lie. I chose to believe in myself instead. I kept going. I know I wasn’t moving very fast, but I kept running.

Finally, as I approached the last aid station at Mile 25, I allowed my self to walk the length of the water tables. I was shocked at how my legs felt when I hit the brakes. My walking gate was FAR wobblier than I could have expected. Each foot plant was stiff and uncertain. As I poured water cups over my head, and sipped down servings of Gatorade, I had brief doubts that I would be able to force my legs back into a running pace again. Luckily I was wrong.

My math skills were getting fuzzy, but my watch read 3:35, and I figured I still had to run for maybe 11 more minutes. A 3:46 finish didn’t sound awful. Just a few minutes later, I thought it would have to be more like a 3:47. I decided I could live with a 3:47. I can’t explain why, but 3:48 just sounded kind of awful in my head. I don’t know, 7s are skinny and lucky. 8s are fat and crazy.

The clock was at 3:45:50 when I crossed 26 miles. I could see the finish line around the bend in the park ahead of me. I was going to have to push as hard as I still could to come in with a 7. What I had left wasn’t a whole lot, but I threw it out there and tossed myself across the finish line at 3:47:54. My second fastest marathon ever, and just 3 minutes off my PR. Not too bad. I’ll take it.

Considering the extra heat, I have to feel like this year’s 3:47 is comparable to last year’s 3:44, but I don’t think that alone accounts for all 3 of those minutes. I put a lot more miles on my legs this spring than last year as well, all in preparation for the 100-Miler in San Diego in 6 weeks. The miles took a different toll, and my basic speed peaked and was sharpest about 6 weeks before the marathon – too soon. I still have a lot of things to learn about how my body responds to training.

JUST ONE MORE THING...
It’s worth your time to listen to that RadioLab show. Both the Episode and the Series are just phenomenal. The Julie Moss segment is from the episode titled “Limits”, and you can listen to, or download the Podcast for free HERE. (You can also subscribe for free on iTunes.) After you've heard "Limits", I recomend you listen to the episode titled "Stochasticity" next. If you're not hooked on RadioLab after that, there might be something wrong with you.

You can watch a video recap of Julie Moss’ 1982 Ironman finish on YouTube HERE. (Just ignore the cheesy, low-rent background music.)

And finally this is a print interview with Julie before the 2003 Ironman, the 25th anniversary of the event. She went back to run it again for the first time since the 1980s and reflects on the overall experience in a little more detail than in the RadioLab segment. That link is HERE.

As for the original broadcast of the Moss’ Ironman finish in 1982? It was a phenomenon. People watching the broadcast called their friends and insisted that they turn on their TVs because they “had to see this.” Julie was instantly famous and so, too, was the Ironman. After Julie’s brutal finish on Wide World of Sport in 1982, applications for the event began to skyrocket so much that a qualifying system had to be put in place for the athletes. That’s right: Watching Julie Moss suffer on National TV made people want to do the race more.

Just further proof that I’m not the only one.

Race Report: Chicago Lakefront 50K

2010-04-24T17:26:00.008-05:00

I signed up to run this spring’s Chicago Lakefront 50K on a bit of a lark. I had several 20-mile runs planned for my training schedule and though a 20-mile training run doesn’t feel as daunting as it once did, they can get a bit monotonous. These last 2 seasons, I’ve started looking for ways to spice up those 3 hour training runs: different locations, different days of the week, running with or without my music and NPR, etc.

I’ve never run one of the Lakefront 50s. It’s a twice a year event (with a 50-Mile distance added to the fall version), and it’s held just 2 miles from my apartment, but I’ve always missed it for one reason or another. Back in early February it popped into my mind, and when I checked the Spring date, I found that the Saturday morning it was scheduled for was the same day I had planned to do my of my 20s.

What an easy way to liven up my training run! The LF50K is a simple, 10+ Mile loop course, 5 out and 5 back. It’s held on sections of the lakefront path which I already know so well. Aid station support is set up every 2.5 miles, and the entry fee is a super reasonable $30 dollars. I could sign up and jump in for the first 20 miles at a responsible, training pace, then see how I felt and maybe tack on the final 11 miles at a slow and gentle trot to see if I could earn a finisher’s medal. If I was spent after 20, I could easily call it a day, go home, and lose nothing.

The wrench in the plans came with the mail a few weeks later: an invitation to my cousin’s wedding in Auburn, Alabama scheduled for the Friday evening before the race. I missed a good friend’s wedding for a silly work-related reason 10 years ago, regretted it immediately, and swore that ever after I would remember that life, and family were more important than those silly things.

At the same time, I’m in the midst of a long, difficult training cycle, which I hope will culminate in my first successful 100-Mile finish in San Diego in June. These big 20-Mile (and 31-Mile) training runs are hard to make up when you miss them. How was I going to be in Auburn at 6pm Friday night for the wedding, and also at the start of the race on the Chicago Lakefront the following morning at 8:30?

I scoured the race schedules for Georgia and Alabama for the weekend: NO marathons or ultras seemed to be on the calendar for the area. I considered skipping the wedding, but that was a distasteful thought. I considered skipping the race, but that would have put me in a different kind of hole.

Finally I went back to look through flight schedules between Atlanta and Chicago. Of all the airlines, and all the flights between the two cities over that weekend, there was exactly ONE flight that would leave Atlanta after the wedding and arrive in Chicago before the race: a United Airlines affiliate, that would depart Atlanta at 6:30 am, local time on Saturday morning, and land in Chicago at 7:30 am CST. If – and that was a big “if” – the flight was on time, it would leave me 1 hour to get from the gate at the airport to the start line of the race.

So, yep. That’s what I did.

James and Leslie’s wedding was wonderful. I was the only cousin who was able to make it, so I was extra glad I was there. We enjoyed the reception until 11pm, and then Laura, my parents and I drove back to Mom and Dad’s house outside Atlanta, 30 minutes from the airport. We all got about 4 hours of sleep, then trucked up to the airport for the 6:30 flight. The plane was on time and even landed in Chicago a few minutes early. The taxi we jumped in hit no traffic at all on the way towards the lake and it turned out we had enough to time to get dropped off at our apartment, change clothes and drive ourselves to the race site at the lake. I had 15 whole minutes to pick up my race packet, pin on my number and loosen up a little before they yelled, “Go.”

Easy-peasy, no sweat, why was I worried again?

The quick pit-stop at home allowed me the chance to do one potentially foolish thing: pick up my new pair of shoes. I placed an on-line order for a pair of Asics Hyper Speed 4s. UPS had delivered them in the day and a half that we’d been out of town for the wedding.

I’m a looong way from becoming a barefoot runner, but over the last year, I have become a believer in lightweight shoes. Lightweight equals minimal. Since New Balance has discontinued the racing flats I was fond of, I’ve before forced to try some other brands. The Hyper Speeds are not the absolute lightest available, but they’re only 6.9 ounces, and they are $40 cheaper than the lightest shoe Asics sells.

I was stoked to try them out, and when we got to the front door of the apartment and saw them resting against the door frame, well, I couldn’t resist. I threw an old pair of shoes into my gear bag, and put the new Asics on my feet. They have red highlights, but they’re mostly bright white. Combined with my black compression socks, I had some old man style going, but I didn’t care. The shoes felt good.

Don’t be like me: NEVER where new shoes during a long race – especially not if they are fresh out of the box. Don’t be like me. I had my back-up pair on hand, and would be able to change every five miles if the new ones gave me trouble.

Back when I registered, I made a solemn promise to myself to go easy. I wasn’t out to do any racing. The real goal, I told myself over and over, was to get in the 20 training miles. Something at, or just slower than, a 9 minute per mile pace would get me that. I carried my own bottle, but I would enjoy the aid stations. I would enjoy a sub-5-hour finish, but a low-stress run would be more critical. And I was committed to dropping if I was pooped after the first 20 miles.

I was pleased, then, to see that the race was run as a laid-back, low-key affair. There were 200 runners (or less) at the start line, and it was an interesting mix of people. There were real trail ultra veterans, there were racing dudes with their singlets, there were the average city marathoner types, who were daring to go just a little bit farther, there were also (because the race is run in honor of George Cheung) a large number of Asian (Chinese, I believe) runners out to run as well.

It was a chilly morning, with a stiff breeze coming up at us from the Southeast, off the lake. I was grateful to have my wind vest and gloves on for the start. But the sun was out, the lakefront was only sparsely populated, and it was a lovely morning.

The race course starts out near the beach house on the lake at Foster Avenue. They were set up right on the running path. From there the course stays on the path until Montrose, where it diverts to a trail that follows the water’s edge on the east side of the golf course. The mid-way aid station is tucked in there at the 2.5 mile point near the clock tower. The route then goes all the way to the very tip of the entrance of Belmont Harbor and then swings around the bank of the harbor to spit you back out onto the bike path just below Addison. After that, you stay on the bike path all the way south to Diversey Harbor, when you loop under the bridge to cut inland to the south point aid station. Then you turn around and go back to the start. After three loops of that, you’ve done 31 miles.

Because I know the lakefront so well, the miles went by rather quickly. I found that all the little out-and-backs were easy to break down in my head. It’s always just 5 miles to the next goal. Seriously, it’s the easiest 50K you’ll ever run. And that was a nice, relaxing fact, too: Almost no matter what I did, I was going to run a 50K PR.

Just over a mile in, while I was still trying to settle into my rhythm, I heard a voice behind me say, “Hey, how long’s it been since you had a haircut?” but the tone was not a playful disdain, but admiration – something I don’t usually hear.

“It’s been two and a half years,” I told the fellow, but confessed it was more from laziness than intention. He’d gone six months without a haircut, and he thought that was a long time, but he had a purpose. He and his friend were training for the Comrades Ultramarathon in South Africa, and he’d decided not to get a haircut until he had finished that race.

Comrades is an amazing, famous, 56-Mile Ultra which has been held since 1921 and thousands of people run each year. It is the oldest, largest Ultra in the world. It’s famous for the amazing history of the race, for the hills, and for an unforgiving, 12-hour cutoff time. You don’t finish in less than 12 hours, you don’t get a time at all.

I chatted with these two guys for a few miles. We talked about Comrades, we talked about the 100-miler I’m training for. (They actually had a tough time wrapping their heads around the idea of running for 24 or 30 hours, which I thought was odd since they were already onboard with Comrades.) And we talked a little bit about running and training in Chicago. But after a couple of miles, they were ready to move on a little faster than I, and I let them go. I had no intention of getting caught up in someone else’s race during my easy little training run.

As it turned out, that was the only trail conversation I had with anyone the whole race. Once everyone got spread out in those early miles and found their pace, I really didn’t pass or get passed by many folks. In most ultras I’ve run, the hills and varied terrain winds up being a real equalizer and as the race goes on, lots of people fall off their early pace, so you wind up meeting new runners as the race goes on. I found that didn’t really happen at the LF50K. Nice then, that the course was such a small, contained loop, because you were constantly passing runners, both in front of you and behind you, who were headed the opposite direction.

I was also amused (and I mean that in a good way) to be cheered on by the marathon training clubs who were out doing their long runs that Saturday morning. I’ve no idea what distance they might have been covering, but it was fun to go by a pack of women in an 11 or 12-minute pace group and get a dose of the motivational “You can do it’s” that they are always getting and giving to themselves.

The only disappointing thing about the race for me was that my legs just seemed a little more sluggish than I’d hoped for. I expected to be able to hum along at a 9 minute pace, but I found it was something closer to 9:15s and 9:20s. Certainly not the end of the world, but still, a tell-tale sign of fatigue. Yes, I was operating on less sleep, but I was also near the end of the highest mileage month of my life. By the end of the race, I was at 193 miles for March, and 5 days later, on the 31st, I finished with 214, my first-ever plus-200 month.

Even after being a “runner” for seven years, and an “ultra-runner” for nearly four, I’m still learning a great deal about how my body responds to training. I turned in an excellent marathon last year after maxing out at 165 miles the month before. This year, the real goal is a 100-Mile finish in June, but I’m still hoping for another strong marathon on May 1st. It will be interesting to see what, if any, effect the extra miles have on my legs.

The cold and wind persisted throughout my first two loops, but after 20 miles, I still felt good enough to turn around and try for one more loop. My slightly slower than expected pace, plus a minute or two stop at each aid station had me through 20+ miles with a 3:20. A sub-5-hour finish was not out of the question, but it would be tight. I’d done each leg in right around 50 minutes. I’d need two more legs just under that pace for a sub-5. I considered. Ambition met sensibility and sensibility won. Forget the clock, this last 10 was just for fun.

Somewhere around the 23 or 24 mile point, I found I was really having one of those “why the heck am I doing this stupid $#!+” moments. 3 more miles south-bound into the teeth of that early afternoon wind sucked a lot of life out of me. My legs were heavy, and my torso started to feel like someone had been using it for a punching bag all morning. I walked a decent piece of that next-to-last leg. Not a lot of it, but enough to add about 8 minutes to my split.

When I got to the southern turnaround that last time, Laura was there waiting for me, as she had been at the top and bottom of the course all morning. She had my little bag of gear. I ditched a couple of layers, losing my vest, and the thermal, in favor of my long-sleeve ¾ zip. I dropped my gloves, and I handed over my water bottle. I wanted to free my hands up. I just had a little 5-mile leg to run to the finish line. No problem.

Even still, I was amazed at how much better I suddenly felt. The wind was at my back, the sun was out, and – this may be most important of all – I wasn’t carrying that 20 oz. water bottle anymore. For the first time all day, I got right into a nice stride and started to really groove my way up the bike path. I felt free and light and powerful. The lethargy that had zapped me just 25 minutes before had completely disappeared. I didn’t stop or even care to, when I came to the mid-point aid station. I powered on by. I blasted past at least a half-dozen other runners in those last 5 miles, and felt strong even as I crossed the finish line. I ran faster on that last leg than I did on any other leg of the day. My slow 5th leg prevented me from a negative or even split, but I still brought it home with a 5:08:58 – yes, a PR by nearly 10 minutes, and my first ultra with a sub-10-minute overall pace.

Oh, and I’m pleased to report that my brand new shoes served me beautifully. No trouble of any kind. They felt good, actually. I’ve still got my orange New Balance racing flats for my key road races over the next year or so, but I intend to my the Asics Hyper Speeds my primary training shoe for the time being. (Now I just need to settle on a good trail shoes for my upcoming ultras.)

I think there is a lot more for me to explore regarding the difference in feel I have while running with and without a water bottle in hand. This is only the final piece of evidence I have that proves I run better without one. Barring extreme heat (a la the Chicago Marathon 2007) I don’t think I’ll ever carry a bottle in a road race ever again.

But the obstacle still exists for my trail-based ultras when the aid stations are usually 5 to 6 miles and sometimes hours apart. I can’t be out there without carrying my own hydration. The backpack systems have always given me terrible shoulder pain. The waist strap bottles tend to give me stomach muscle cramps, and the hand bottles apparently do a lot to mess with my stride. Some further alteration thereof seems to be in order, yet.

In the meantime, I did, indeed, get a nice little 50K finish and a fun training run. I can’t say the LF50K is a remarkable race, but given its proximity and the low entry fee, I’ll be back when the schedule allows. Maybe I can return in the fall and knock out a “fast” 50-Miler!

Shamrock Shuffle ’10 – Volunteer Report

2010-03-21T17:48:00.011-05:00

There’s some irony here: Last year I signed up for the Shuffle, but opted not to run for 38 minutes through downtown in 30 degrees, stiff winds and 6 inches of fresh snow. This year, I signed up as a race volunteer and had to stand still outside for 3 hours in the 35 degrees, with stiff winds and light rain. (Luckily the 2 inches of slushy snow fell yesterday.)

I’m good, I am. But no worries. I bundled up and headed downtown. I'd been looking forward to this, and icky weather wasn't going to stop me this year.

It’s the first time I’ve volunteered at an event this big. The Shuffle registers 35,000 runners. They take on thousands and thousands of volunteers for race weekend. It is – by necessity – a somewhat impersonal process. There is little time available for volunteer “training”, and so the quantity of responsibility doled out to each volunteer is minute.

I was assigned as a “Runner Info” volunteer. My assignment was based largely on the fact that I signed up, not as part of a church or community group (which are generally put in larger areas, like aide stations, where they can function as a group), but as an individual. Thus, I was stationed at a mostly solitary outpost near Michigan Avenue with an orange bib to answer runners’ questions as they entered Grant Park.

The training supplied for our job took about 2 minutes. We were given a big laminated map of the staging area and told where the Gear Check Tents were, because that would be our most frequent question. Then they walked us out to Michigan Avenue and scattered us at several spots down the street on the southern end of the park.

Really, though, I thought I had an ideal assignment, ‘cause, hey, I’m a runner, too, and I’ve run more than a dozen events over the last five years that were staged on Columbus Drive in Grant Park. I didn’t really need much volunteer training. I’m full of experience-earned tips on how to get around, where to find things, the best place to look for short lines at the port-a-potties and the easiest way to get into your assigned start corral. Once I’d spotted the precise locations of the various encampments for this particular day, I was good to go.

The reality, though, was far more mundane. I spent three hours manning my little territory, and true enough, 90% of the questions I fielded were about the location of Ye Olde Gear Check Tent.

There was a little variety:
= I started out on the sidewalk right at Michigan Avenue, and drivers kept pulling their cars over to the curb to ask me questions about parking. I did my best with those, but I really am only good with “Runner” info. I rarely drive or park down at Grant Park.

= One of the first runners to come by stopped and asked me if he had his timing chip attached to his shoe correctly. He had taped it around the bow of one of his shoe strings and it was flapping around like a price tag. So the answer was, “No, sir, you do NOT,” and we both had a good chuckle about it, once he realized his mistake. I got him to tuck it into the lacings against the tongue and sent him on his way.

= The official event hotel was across the street from me, and an hour before race time, I saw two dark, lithe men in warm-up suits headed up the sidewalk towards me. I recognized the Kenyan Flag on one of their jackets from 200 feet away. The other, who spoke English well, came right up to me and asked where the Elite Warm-Up Tent would be. They spent a minute with me while I used the map to explain where they were and what corner they should head for. Neither man could have been more polite. I smiled warmly, looked them both in the eye and said, “Good luck.” They grinned back. I didn’t see the man who spoke to me again; he must have been an event guide, or coach. The other gentleman I saw running down Michigan Avenue, four miles into the race, leading the field alone with a 15 to 20 second gap. His name was John Kemboi and he won the race. It’s a good thing for him that I gave him directions and wished him luck, because, clearly, without me, he’d never have had a chance.

= I helped one father and son who were trying to figure out where the dad should stand to see his son run by. I told them they’d be good anywhere on Michigan Avenue, but they should agree what side of the street dad would be on, or the son would never see him. That was my experience at work.

= I also got to dole out sage advice to three different guys who were trying to get into one of the lead corrals. I told them not to go east and walk up Columbus, as that would have them walking up the backs of 20,000 other runners. Instead, I advised them to work their way north up Michigan Ave., along the edges of the park, until they were nearly parallel to the starting gates. Then they could walk straight across to their corrals and avoid a lot of people. Again, the voice of experience.

Unfortunately, most of the excitement came from one of my fellow volunteers. Less than 20 minutes before race time, a woman approached me and asked if I knew were the Medical Tent was. (It was about 250 yards directly east of me.) She said she was asking because one of the other Runner Info Volunteers had fainted and hurt herself badly when she fell. I could see her sitting on a stone bench a block and a half south of me. She was being tended by an older gentleman who had been working near her.

I pointed the way to the medical tent, but after another minute or so, I decided to trot down to where the girl was to see how she was doing. She was pretty shaken up, still a little disoriented, and not a little scared. She had fallen face first, with a fat, bloody lip and a bleeding knee as proof. One of the first things I asked her was if she had ever fainted before, and she said no. (I could tell that had unnerved her as much as anything else.) One of the few things I know that could cause a faint in someone not prone to it, is low blood sugar. I asked if she’d eaten anything this morning, and she indicated yes, but I wasn’t sure if she heard me clearly. I felt like, regardless, it was a good idea to go ahead and get her to a heated tent where she could get some fruit or fruit juice. We helped her stand, I hooked her elbow (“just like we’re going to the prom,” I joked with her), and we walked together to the Medical Tent.

I kept her talking as we went with some friendly chit-chat, because I was hoping to help her calm down and clear her head just a little bit. Best if she not keep thinking about things too much and get more panicky. After she told me her name was Kim, I stuck to Yes or No questions: Yes, she was a runner; Yes, she lived in the city; Yes, she had run the marathon; No, I wasn’t walking too fast for her. I told her I’d fainted once, too, and clanged my head on the bedroom dresser as I went down. I understood how it felt. Her arm felt frail and uncertain in mine.

When I got Kim to the Med Tent, a couple of the EMTs sat her down on a cot and started asking some of their own questions, taking her blood pressure. (They’d gotten word she was out there and sent someone to look, but they must have missed us somehow as we walked in.) I stayed with her for a few minutes, but now that the EMTs and the RNs were at work, I felt extraneous. I told Kim that if she was released, maybe she could swing by where we were on Michigan to let us know she was ok, but that she should stay there at the Med Tent as long as possible. I asked if there was anyone she could call, and she said yes, but then was drawn back into a question from the Medics. I waved goodbye and headed back out to work.

One of the other girls in our Info group had been aquainted with Kim as part of a marathon training team the year before. If I had thought about it at the time, I would have drafted her to come with us, so that Kim would have someone a little familiar to sit with. I was so focused on getting her to Medical, that I just didn't remember it until later. Opportunity missed.

Half an hour later, after the race was well under way, I went back by the Med Tent to see if Kim was okay. One of the guys there told me she’d been released and, yes, was alright. After more questions, she remembered that, in fact, she hadn’t eaten breakfast before coming down to the event. They put some food in her, let her rest a few minutes and then she was good enough to head home. She’ll have a good story to tell when people ask her about her lip for the next week.

And that was it, mostly. There were a lot of volunteers in my group who were also runners. They came out to volunteer wearing their cold weather running gear. The bad news is, that stuff is meant for keeping you warm in 35 degree weather when you are running. It’s not as useful at keeping you warm when you’re standing still for 3 hours. A lot of them spent various amounts of time in the nearby Starbucks drinking coffee and shaking off the shakes. I had on two thermal layers from head to toe, with a waterproof shell and I was still shivering.

Other than the chill, it was a painless morning for me, and I would be glad to go back and work another event like the Shuffle. (Maybe next time, I’ll see if I can work a Key Volunteer position and put more of my experience to work.) But I think I’m looking forward to working a smaller event or an Ultra. If I can stand the cold, I’m liking the idea of spending the weekend in Pekin, IL, next month at the McNaughton Park Ultra. I can work one of the Aid Stations and maybe find one of the 100-mile runners to pace for a loop or two overnight. Then I’ll really be earning my volunteer stripes.

1st Half of '10 is Taking Shape

2010-01-25T22:27:00.006-06:00

It’s Official! I am a registered participant in the San Diego 100 Mile Endurance run on June 12th & 13th this summer. My application was received and accepted this weekend, and the Race Director posted the official list earlier today. So, my second attempt at 100 Miles shall commence in less than 5 months.

I’m well aware, 100 miles is never “easy”, no matter where it is run, but the course at Burning River, which I tried to finish in Ohio last August, is relatively flat. (Relatively.) On the other hand, SD100 is run in the Laguna Mountains an hour outside of San Diego. Not so relatively flat. I tried the BR100 on only so-so training. There’s no way that will fly this time. But I’m already feeling good about my prospects.

Even before I knew my entry had been accepted (it was possible that a lottery process would be required), I began training. I’ve been rebuilding base miles since mid-December. I’ve added extra aerobic work with a mile worth of laps in the pool several times a week on top of my running. I’ve added a gentle, low-mileage run to my week, which means I run 6 days a week now. The seventh day is one of my swim days; I’ve never gotten aerobic activity 7 days a week before.

I’m picking ways to add hill work into my routine. (Never easy in Chicago.) The treadmills at the gym will be good for that. I’ll start spending just a little time on the Stair Master a couple or three times a week, and I’ll be heading out of the city a lot more often to do my Long Runs on some actual, hilly trails (such as we have in Chicago).

The biggest change I’ve made is to begin some basic weight training. Nothing crazy, just basics, and not just arms and legs, but also trying to pay worthy attention to my core and back. I haven’t done any real weight training since I was a junior in high school and had to do a few quarters of P.E. to fulfill graduation requirements. So far, I’m enjoying it, though. Like I said, nothing crazy; the point is to serve my running fitness. I don’t want another DNF this summer. I learned early last year that I can get far better race results if I dial things back or even take unscheduled off days when my body feels run down, and I’ll do that again this spring if I need to.

I’ll run the Lakefront 50K late in March. I’ll use the first 2/3rds of it as a training run, then depending how I feel, I’ll ease my way through the end and try for a finish. I’m running the Wisconsin Marathon again on May 1st. That’s also, basically, a training run now, but I’m still hoping to turn in a good, strong time. Two or three weeks after that, I’m going to organize some kind of long, final training run for myself near Chicago. Something in the range of 45 or 50 miles. Then I’ll start a taper and head to San Diego in the middle of June.

The race awarded Brass Belt Buckles to 30 sub-24-hour finishers last year. 52 more runners finished before the final, 31-hour cutoff and received a Bronze Buckle. 43 other runners (33%) were Did Not Finishers. I don’t care one bit which color mine Buckle turns out to be, I just want to make sure I get one.

There’s still plenty of prep and research to do. Not sure yet what kind of a crew I’ll have with me. (My sister says she’s interested again, but we already know Laura won’t be able to come out.) I learned at Burning River that I really do need, at least, one over-night pacer. I’ll have to track down someone who’s willing to do that. Then travel, and a place to stay, etc… But I’m really excited about this. I like the way the schedule sets up the next few months and I already feel really good about the work I’m doing. It’s been a year since I was this in tune with my training.

Mark my words: I am NOT going to DNF this one.

Volunteer!

2010-01-23T18:04:00.007-06:00

I got an e-mail last week from the Shamrock Shuffle. It’s a big 8K race run in downtown Chicago every year. They typically get upwards of 30,000 runners and, for 6 of the last 7 years, I’ve been one of them. The e-mail was a cool little ego stroke. It was reminding me that if I sign up for this year’s race, I’ll be automatically seeded in a start corral near the front because of my past year’s performance. Despite that I still haven’t signed up. I really do love the course, which winds all over the heart of downtown Chicago. It’s just that the event itself is rather overwhelmingly large. So many runners, a heavy race entry fee – there’s even a runner expo the weekend of the race – it’s a lot for a little 8K. So, I was waffling.

And then it occurred to me: I don’t have to run it to be in it, I can work it as a volunteer! Then, as I looked at my prospective race calendar for 2010, the idea got a little bigger. I expect to run in 5 or 6 key races this year, so I will also try to work as a volunteer for the same number of events, and I will make that one of my running goals for the next 12 months, just like all the rest.

I’ve volunteered plenty of times before – at least 3 or 4 times a year the last few years – but I’ve never made it a mission like I’m doing right now. I’ll start with the Shuffle this March, and be sure to pick up a couple more of the local 10Ks and such here in town. But, I’ll also pick an Ultra somewhere in reasonable driving distance and spend a weekend out on the course at an aid station or something. And here’s the last wrinkle to my plan: I’m going to try and convince someone else to come out and volunteer with me at each of these events; if I’m good they’ll be a volunteer virgin, or even someone who’s not a runner at all.

This only makes a lot of sense. I’ve always enjoyed the atmosphere of racing. The first times I ever volunteered, it was for races that I couldn’t run, for one reason or other, but wanted to be a part of anyway. These last couple of years, rising entry fees (and lack of time) have encouraged me to race less, but now I can go back to races I used to enjoy and give back a little work instead.

Wherever you are, I encourage you to do the same. A 5K only takes a few hours on a weekend morning. Go help set up tables, hand out paper cups and cheer on your crazy neighbors!

Race Report: 100kout Mountain 2009

2010-01-20T23:12:00.011-06:00

This Race Report has been a little delayed because, well, the truth is, the race didn’t really go well for me this year. I had a great time at Lookout Mountain last year. It's a class event and a lovely course, and even though I knew I wasn't in great racing shape for the run, I didn't want to completely miss it this year.

Funny, though, how the spirit of optimism can carry you through almost everything but the finish line.

I got through the first 14.5 miles relatively unscathed – and then, much to my great surprise, the wheels came off. I’ve had tough stretches and difficult races and totally bad days, but I can scarce remember another time when I was moving along relatively well, and then, all at once, I had no energy to run anymore. Worse, at that point, I was at the bottom of Lookout Mountain and was about to begin a long 8-mile climb back to the top of it. Suffice it to say, about an hour into that ascent, I was cooked.

I might have slugged it out, but for the weather. It wasn’t bad, but the temps were in the low 30s and it was windy. The rain that had nearly cancelled the race the day before was mostly absent (at least, while I was on the course), but the after effects were still present, and parts of the trail were a sloggy mess. So, between the wet and the cold and the wind, I just wasn’t confident that I could keep moving rapidly enough to keep my core temperature high enough to stave off a mild case of hypothermia. (That’s not an exaggeration.)

So, I did the smart thing and called it a day when the course brought me back through the Start/Finish line at just over 23 miles into the race. I would have been a lot happier with my DNF if my drop point could somehow have been past 26.2 miles. Then, at least, I could say I ran an Ultra distance. As it was, I didn’t even get in a marathon, and that bugged me – but, still, it was the right thing to drop when I did. I’m sure of it. I’ve run the 50-milers. I’ve run the hard, hilly 50Ks. I made it 70 miles into my first shot at 100M. I know how my legs feel in those late miles. I know when my quads are trashed and even running down hill is a stiff-legged, difficult task. My legs felt like that after only 18 miles this year. I was done.

It’s all good, though. I had a lot of work the last few months of 2009, and I made some good money doing it. It wrecked my training time, but honestly, I needed some down time for my legs anyway. 2010 will shake out differently and I’ll see about taking another crack at 100kout Mountain. I’ll finish it again next time.

It was good to see some folks I got to know at last year’s race. Kris Whorton, last year’s RD, recognized me at the pre-race meeting and was glad to see me back again. I ran into one of the runner who I got lost with at last year’s race. She and I had a good time reminiscing about that as we ran. And Abigail was back running again, too. Unfortunately, she had a worse day than I did. She took a fall just 10 miles in, twisted an ankle and had to drop at the second aid station. I caught up to her as she was walking her way there, and walked in with her those last ten minutes, talking and catching up a little as we went. I joked with her that last year she had to slow down to escort me to my finish and this year, I was doing the same for her. I warned the aid station volunteers when we came in that she was dropping, but to watch out for her, because she was stubborn and might try and talk her way back out onto the course again. I told them not to let it happen because the injury was real and she needed to stop. Then I made sure Abi got a phone call in for her family to come get her, gave her a warm kiss on the cheek, and promised to see her again next year, at least.

I also met a guy (a kid, really) who, just a month before, had just finished a complete, summer-long, through-hike of the Appalachian Trail, Maine-to-Georgia. He was running his first-ever ultra after having entered the race only the night before on a whim on account of his weekend plans to drive to North Carolina for a friend’s wedding were cancelled because of a snow storm in North Carolina. Yup. He was a good-natured guy and had a lot of questions about ultras, this being his first one. A lot of his questions were really good ones, and I guess, after I answered his first one in a friendly way without laughing, he decided it was safe to ask me a bunch more as we ran. (I did my best to represent the Collective Wisdom as best I could without excessive pontification.)

He was a little on the short side, broad shouldered, and had an impressive, long, dark reddish beard – earned, I’m sure, with 4 months of cross-country hiking. He looked to me a little like John Rhys-Davies in “Lord of the Rings,” and in my head I couldn’t help but nickname him Gimli. Whether by my advice or his own natural fortitude (the latter, I’m sure), he finished all 50 miles in just under 12 hours. A great run for a first-timer!

Finally, I tried a new trick while I was on course for the race. Instead of just taking photos with my camera, I shot a few videos of myself giving in-race updates. They’re a little silly (at least, I feel a little silly about myself when watching them now), but they aren’t too long, and I’m going to dare to post them here. The only disclaimer I offer is that it was dang cold out there and my face (and mouth) muscles were not as agile as they would normally be. Anyhoo, here they are without further apologies. (My personal favorite is “UltraRunner Lamaze”, the next to last clip.)

The King is Dead. Long Live the King.

2010-01-06T17:32:00.005-06:00

When your shoe company discontinues your favorite shoe, what do you do? Accept change, move on and try out the replacement, or cling to the past and stock-pile the old model? (I think Elaine once had a quandary similar to this on Seinfeld.)

It’s not a decision I’ve faced before. Nike is apparently famous for it. They develop a shoe, offer updates with gradual improvements, get it to where everyone (or lots of people) think it’s just right and then – boom – they scrap the thing, never to be seen again.

I don’t wear Nikes, though. I wear New Balance, and until now, I’ve never faced the loss of my favorite shoe model. But this past Fall, New Balance discontinued production of the 790. It was a trail running shoe that also got a lot of cross promotion as a casual fashion shoe. It was nothing fancy, but the minimal, fly-weight construction isn’t very common in a trail-running shoe. It was kind of like an off-road racing flat. And it was kind of perfect. In fact, I already own three pairs.

New Balance now sells, instead, a completely redesigned light-weight, trail running flat which they’ve dubbed the 100. (All New Balance shoes are named with numbers if you didn’t know.) Same general idea as the 790 – but a totally different shoe.

I hesitated. New isn’t bad. The 100s could be awesome. I already had a set of the 790s. I could just wear those out and, in time, make the switch to the new shoe. Then I started reading the reviews. The consensus? Good but not better. Improvements, but also setbacks. Worst of all for me, the 100s are built on a narrower foot bed than the 790s and I have wide feet.

So, over Christmas, I panicked.

It took a lot of searching online (it’s amazing how many links within links you have to chase to buy certain retail items online nowadays), but I finally turned up a source (maybe the only one) that still had those glorious old 790s in stock in my size. They were at a Nordstrom in Skokie, of all places, so I guess it was the casual shoe market that saved me. I bought two pairs, bringing the total in my possession to five. I nearly bought a third pair, but managed to restrain myself. They were on final clearance sale, too, which was a bitter-sweet silver lining.

Yes, at some point, in spite of my efforts, the end will still come. But I might be able to get three of four years out of the shoes I’ve stashed, maybe longer. Perhaps by then there will be an update (or two) of those 100s and I’ll be happy to try them out for real. Who knows?

In the meantime, I’ll be asking myself one question frequently: is this run 790 worthy?

Cold Weather Coward

2010-01-04T21:55:00.005-06:00

I glanced back up my training chart yesterday and realized that I've run outside just twice since Thanksgiving. One of those outside runs was a race and the other was a day when the air temp was nearly 60 degrees.

It's official: I'm a cold weather wimp.

I said as much to Laura yesterday and she laughed her dissent. It's true, I have done some decidedly un-wimpy things out in the weather and the cold (and she's seen many of them), but lately, the thought of heading outside in the cold, dark, late afternoon just scares me right back inside again.

In past winters, I've had little choice. This year, I've got a cold weather coward's golden ticket: a monthly pass at the YMCA. I've been getting my fill of 4 and 6 milers on the indoor treadmill at the Y. I once scoffed and giggled and pointed a jesting finger at the gym rats and their hamster wheels, and now I'm officially one of them. There are perks, though, to working in the gym: a fancy heart-rate monitor built into the treadmill, a room full of weight machines, and best of all, a pool in the basement. (In which I now swim a full mile several times a week.)

I'm in the process of rebuilding my base mileage this month before hopping full bore into marathon training for the spring, so at some point I'm going to have to Man Up again and head outside for some weekend long runs. But now that we've cleared Christmas, the days are getting longer again, and the temperature ought to soar north of 45 again by, oh, say, April. When that happens, I'll be the first one outside again in my shorts and long sleeves.

Until then, a Coward I shall remain.

Race Report: Turkey Trot 8K

2009-11-27T23:46:00.004-06:00

Cold, wet, windy, puddly, muddly.

It’s a big race. The website proudly brags that over 5,000 runners are expected to sign up. It is the 32nd year for the race in Lincoln Park. All those years, all those paid entry fees, and they still have the most mundane race name ever. “Turkey Trot 8K.” (4.97 Miles) The christener of the race clearly never anticipated the perils of search engines and the world wide web. Or the need for a little character.

I’m pushed out of the car at the bottom of the exit ramp off Lake Shore Drive. No point in Laura trying to fight the traffic to get me closer. The staging area is in sight around the corner and I can walk faster than the car can sit in traffic. It’s 20 minutes to race time. I jog laps on Cannon Drive to keep warm and to warm up. And to kill time.

A books-on-tape version of the National Anthem. Embellished. Drawn out. Long, deep, silent breaths before the big notes. Extravagant. Wasteful. I once had a band conductor who firmly believed the star spangled banner should be played briskly and with verve. I missed him this Thanksgiving morning.

Younger runner guys move past me in the corral, grinning to each other and playing I Spy towards the pretty young runner girls stretching in their spandex running suits. They nearly break their own necks whipping their heads around with glee.

A few people are in costumes. Turkey costumes, mostly. And mostly women I see in those turkeys. I don’t notice any pilgrims. Perhaps, in some year to come, I will run dressed as Squanto. Full head dress. Brown leather pants with the fringe on the seams. Maybe a tomahawk. Etc.

Crowded start, but thankfulness that the slower folks really did hang toward the back before the non-existant, metaphorical gun went off.

Lots of broad U-turns on the course. North for a while, south for a while, north for a while, south again. The directional indecision keeps our faces from the wind for too long. A blessing. And Stockton drive in Lincoln Park may be the only road in all the city with an infestation of rolling hills. A rare Chi-Town pleasure.

I think mostly about how I’m breathing. I don’t want easy, but I don’t want my heart throbbing too hard either. I want to breathe comfortably, but feel the satisfaction of effort. This gifts me a 7:26 after mile one, then a 7:05 after mile two. Now the legs, they are awake.

Laura waits on a curb past the 2 mile point, grinning and camera pointing. I side out of the pack to the right side of the road to say “Hi” as I pass. I am pleased that the words emerge easily and unhampered by my body’s need to take air in.

At the southern-most point on the course, we uncouple our feet from pavement and our shoes become colorful pontoon boats on the muddy marsh of a crushed gravel foot path. Little tan, wet droplets begin to fly from the feet around me, and I know the backs of my black tights are growing a Pollock pattern, abstract and damp.

Soft mud sucks at my toe tops. I focus quick feet, quick feet, short steps, short steps.

Some puddles I jump, some I trod. Hard pavement under ¼” of water seems faster to me than 1” of thick mud. My compadres often seem to feel differently. One man nearly pushes me over my left side as he swerves around a larger puddle on our right. Puddle fear creates an unhindered lane thru the middle of the puddle path. I begin to peddle directly towards the puddles to take advantage when I can.

Mile four begins to suck the wind from me. I feel myself lagging, losing power, but I bide my time. The final u-turn will come just after the 4-mile marker. Then I will employ the power I have reserved for the final leg to the finish. My strategy costs me a 7:38 split for mile four, but I immediately shift up a gear and focus the feet once again. There may be discomfort until the end, but I know I can ignore it for one final mile. I focus quick feet, quick feet, short steps, short steps, straight back, straight back, quick feet.

Laura is at mile 4, too. Unexpected but nice. She was able to move the car quickly and find a parking spot at the north end of the course. I make sure to grin for a picture this time, but I do not allow it to interrupt the motions of my legs.

With half a mile to go, I feel my weary lungs. A stray thought tinkers through my head. (Slow down, ease up.) I ignore it and push harder instead.

Now for a final half mile, a new hobby: stopwatch glancing. What shall I push for? An answer comes from my math-dizzy brain that 36 and a half is in reach. Well then, off we go.

We leave the crushed gravel a final time and return to Cannon Drive. I see erected aluminum constructs and know the finish line is in reach. I do not care that several ego-runners around me have chosen to wait until this final 100-yard dash to use their kicks to sprint past me to the line. I notched up to a mile-long finish kick long ago and doled it out wisely. My final split is 6:59, a tick under 7 minutes for a tick under a mile. My total time stops at 36:33, a PR, though I rarely run the 8K distance. I’ve tested it only twice now in three years since I became a marathoner.

I have not asked my legs to churn so fast in months. The muscles quiver with relief. The quads shake with confusion. But the race is run, the line is crossed and the rest is earned. It is not a major landmark for me, but I am always thankful to know I am still capable.

After the race, I talk to my sister in Pittsburgh. She tells me the race director of her small, hometown race – an RD whose name I don’t even know – asked after me the day before to know if I’d be running their little town turkey trot again. I ran there and placed in my age group 2 of the last 3 years. He asked about me, specifically. He knows my sister’s in-laws well. When he finds I’m not coming this year, he gives my sister one of this year’s race t-shirts anyway. He gives it for free. “Please send it to your brother,” he tells her.

I realize I missed the small town trots I’ve run the last few years. I missed the small field of runners. I missed all the residents who walk the distance with family, just because. I missed sitting in the school gymnasium for an hour afterwards to hear the results and find out if I placed. I missed the baked goods feast food raffles. I missed the small-town-sized entry fees. I missed the charm. I missed the character.

I think next year I’ll be sure I don’t miss it all again.

Hot To Trot

2009-11-17T15:39:00.002-06:00

It’s lookin’ like I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving Day in Chi-Town Proper for the first time since 2005. But I’m not worried about where I’m going to get my turkey from – I’m worried about where I’m going to go to run my Turkey Trot.

I've run so few of the shorter distance races in the last couple of years. When race entry fees are $25 or $30 dollars, and the events are crowded and/or disorganized, it takes a lot of the fun out. Between the expense and the hassle, I lost a lot of my enthusiasm for the frequent 5 and 10Ks around the city. Small town Trots on Thanksgiving have been a different story, though. They're always raising money for something, and the atomosphere is friendly and charming even if they aren't slick and polished events.

I had a lot of fun in ’06 and ’08 running the Burgettestown Turkey Trot 5k at my sister’s place just west of Pittsburgh – not least because I finished 2nd and then 3rd in my age group and got myself a medal for it both times. I’ve only ever “placed” at one other event. I also ran really strong races both times and set a PR at the ’08 event (which I’ve since bettered).

In ’07 I was in Quincy, IL (west side of the state, not far from St. Louis) visiting a friend of Laura’s for the holiday. I did a 10K that year. My time wasn’t quite as stellar, but I did finish 3rd in my division. (Though I was disappointed to learn, at the awards ceremony, that they only gave medals for 1st and 2nd places.)

Well, I’ve never run a Turkey Trot in Chicago, so I gotta find one! I’ve done a little research and found that there are 14 – 14! – Trots being hosts on Thanksgiving Day around Chicagoland. There are three that are within the city limits proper, and two on the north side of town – that being my general area of residence. Either one might be relatively convenient. The first is an 8K that starts in Lincoln Park. It’s a big race, with 6,000+ runners expected, so it’ll be a little crowded. They’ll even have chip timing.

The other one seems to be a bit more informal. It’s up in the Edison Park neighborhood. Not sure how big the race will be; I can’t find any past results online. There’s no chip timing, no gear check, nothing overly formal – but that could be a good thing. It might be cool if I could find a hint of small-town charm inside Chicago.

I’ll also have to decide if I want to go after the 5K or the 8K distance. The only 8Ks I’ve ever done were multiple Shamrock Shuffles in April the last 6 years, but all those finish times are slower than what I should be able to do right now. Or I could try to blast out a 5K and see if I can drop my time any closer to 21 minutes.

I still might be crazy and drive out to one of the nearby ‘burbs to run one of their trots, also. I’ll look into a couple of those before I decide for sure – especially if one of them is raising funds for an interesting charity. Either way, I’m determined that the Trot Tradition must continue!

A Change of Routine

2009-11-08T10:13:00.005-06:00

Being a creature of habit – as so many of us are – I don’t take change quickly. I must, instead, subject my patterns to a gradual erosion, shaving a corner here and an angle there, until finally my landscape emerges from the long wash unrecognizable from its previous incarnation.

After the last four months, I knew the time for change had come. I had a couple of triumphs in the spring, but over the summer I just started to feel a little broken down. I wasn’t seeing the results I was used to, training became more a chore than a pleasure, my mileage started dropping off, and I was even putting on some weight. It was time to make some adjustments to the routine, but because of the way I am, I can’t just junk the whole thing and start over, I’ve got to rearrange the pieces one at a time.

Well, I’m happy to report: the first piece is placed. I’ve become a swimmer again. I say “again” because when I was a kid, “swimmer” was one of the first things I ever called myself. Every summer for three or four years, I was a Shenandoah Stingray. Though I was never especially gifted, I did make it to the state tournament every year in my age group in at least one event. Even after my Stingray summers, I still swam a lot, and even earned a badge four years in a row at Boy Scout camp for completing the Mile Swim. (My original foray into Endurance Athletics!)

But all that was twenty years ago. (!) My body has forgotten an awful lot about swimming in the interim. Two weeks ago when I went down to the “Y” to do some laps for the first time in an age, I was a little nervous. I had modest goals. I didn’t care how fast I swam, or how many laps. I was just going to start the timer on my watch and try to get 20 minutes of easy swimming in (the minimum time for a basic aerobic workout). I was able to do TEN – and I had to stop and stand in the shallow end three or four times to gasp for breath. Then, my triceps screamed at me for days afterward. All I did was swim for ten minutes!

Two days later, though, I went back and again aimed for 20 minutes of laps. I made it to 15 minutes, and only had to take one long break in the shallow end at the half-way point. After two more days, I finally made it all the way to 20 with just one quick break to adjust my cap and goggles. Plus, I picked out a pattern I liked: 2 laps of Breaststroke, then 1 lap of the Crawl (commonly known to the world as “freestyle”). More than that, my triceps had stopped screaming and I was starting to have a little fun.

This past week, I even started to figure out how far I’ve been swimming. Turns out, I can cover a ½ mile (880 yards) in about 20 minutes (with that 2 laps/1 lap pattern).

Soon, I may have to start putting a little more thought into my new swimming habit, but for now I’m completely content to do between 20 and 30 minutes of laps 3 or 4 times a week, and to use most of those swim days as “rest” days from running. I think throwing some full-body, no impact cardio at my weary self is an awfully useful trick.

Who knows? Maybe I can learn myself to extend that ½ mile to, oh, say 1.2 miles, or even, yep, precisely 2.4…

MEB!!!

2009-11-01T18:35:00.002-06:00

I don't normally write here just to post links, but If you like running and you know anything at all about the plight of American distance running (and the 2007 U.S. Men's Olympic Marathon Trials), do yourself a favor and check out this recount of Meb's morning in New York today as written by David Epstein for Sports Illustrated.

My eyes got wet this morning watching the spectacle on TV, and once again reading Epstein's column. I think Ryan Hall was disappointed (only for himself, though), but otherwise it was an excellent day in the Big Apple.

Race Report: Chicago Marathon 2009

2009-10-31T00:08:00.007-05:00

I’m somewhere in Chicago, in process of running my 20th marathon (or ultra). I’ve got a fresh feeling. The temperature is cool (if not cold). There’s a bit of sun in the sky and a bit of spring in my legs. I decide I might as well take advantage while I can. I tick off three brisk miles with an 8:55, an 8:50 and an 8:54.

That 3-mile stretch would turn out to be the fastest 3-mile section I would run all day. But this is not bad news, this is really good news, because that was miles 20, 21 and 22.

Wall? What wall? Nobody showed me any walls.

I did run miles 3, 4 and 5 in almost exactly the same 3-mile split, 26:39. So, 20-22 was only tied for my fastest of the day. The legs did, finally, get heavier in the last 4 miles of the day (Mile 25 split at 9:30; 26 split at 9:37), but none of that detracts from the glory I felt in those late miles when nearly everyone around me was hitting that wall and slowing down.

And that, all by itself, neatly sums up this marathon for me. It was a strong, steady effort from start to finish. I held a remarkably even pace throughout, and performed rather well given the fatigue and training interruptions I’d faced in the previous months. My 3:58:17 is a personal Chicago course record...

…and a year ago, I would have been ecstatic with that result. Not that I’m not happy with it. I am – very much in fact. But my good feelings are tempered with the knowledge that I can do a great deal better. Sure, 3:58 is my second best marathon ever, but it’s nowhere near the 3:44 I clocked in Kenosha back in May. 14 minutes may not seem like so much, but the average pace is 32 seconds faster per mile. A 3:44 finisher is nearly 2 miles ahead of a 3:58 finisher. More than 4,000 runners crossed the finish line between 3:44 and 3:58 at Chicago this year. (I was 10689th, overall.)

And my 3:44 in May wasn’t a fluke. That was the real marathon me, finally exposed, hindered neither by a too-busy racing schedule, nor by oppressive weather conditions. I can run a lot more marathons like that, and better.

It was nice to break 4 hours. It was nice to get my 2nd best ever. It was nice to finally run Chicago again without summer-like conditions. It was nice to not be sure what condition my legs were in, and still turn in what felt like a (mostly) effortless race. But nevertheless, that wasn’t the real me out there on October 11th.

I still learned a lot. Every marathon is a lesson learned on some front.

My expectations were so modest for the race that I felt NO pressure. I had NO nerves. NO anxiety of any kind. It was great to be so mentally unburdened. For the first time at a road marathon, I was really just out for a good, fun time. I’ve brought that approach to some of my ultras, but at the road marathons, I always pressure myself to hit certain goals. Ironic, then, to have none this time and to do so well by comparison.

That even pace, start to finish, was a new thing for me in a marathon. The closest I’d come to it before – unsurprisingly – was during my 3:44 PR, but even there, I pushed a little too hard in the middle and suffered a little too much at the end. These were my 5K splits for Chicago: 27:36, 28:30, 27:58, 28:04, 28:17, 28:23, 27:39 & 28:54. I crossed the halfway mark in 1:58:17, and covered the second half in exactly 2 hours. Of course, because I had no speed goals, I only aimed for comfortable pace and thus ran a notch below my ability. That certainly helped me run evenly, but perhaps I can recreate that feeling in the early miles and actually run a negative split somewhere in the future.

My burst of energy in the 19th mile was a pleasant surprise. My legs felt strong and it was a real rush to suddenly realize I had enough left to shift up a gear. But mostly importantly, I was just in a really good mood at that point in the race. The positive vibes gave me a charge, and I channeled it into my form. Straight back, high chin, quick steps, and I powered my way through Chinatown, all the way to Sox Park.

Oh, and for the first time at a road marathon, I had to stop and pee during the race. This might seem like a frivolous thing to mention, but it was really unusual for me. Stranger, still, that even though I waited in line for a port-a-potty 20 minutes before the race – which I never do – I had to go again just 2.5 miles into the race. I’ve decided the cold weather somehow had something to do with it. I resisted the temptation to slip between spectators on the sidewalk to water the bushes, and waited instead to pass a bank of toilets on the course. I finally found a village of them at the 5 Mile Marker. I lost 1:08 to my pit stop at the start of Mile 6 (Yes, I timed it.)

It was ironic, that after two consecutive years of out of the ordinary (and oppressive) heat, this year we got out of the ordinary (and frigid) cold. Overnight temperatures before the race dropped into the 20s. At start time it was barely 32 degrees. Most of the other runners in my corral had stripped off their extraneous layers by the time the National Anthem was sung (millions of goose bumps never looked so sexy), but I was too big a coward to even drop my sweatpants until just before the start gun. Even then, I was still freezing. I wound up running the first full mile of the race while still wearing the sweatshirt I bought at Goodwill. I finally pulled it off and tossed it to the sidewalk after a mile and a half. (Though, I really wanted to spy a spectator who looked under-dressed and offer it to them. Alas, I found no one who fit that description.)

I have a few other random observations, most coming from the perspective of a runner who’s now run the same course four years in a row:

-The new placement of the Seeded Corral Gear Check was a nice change. This year it was set right next to the entrance of the Seeded Corrals, instead of on the south side of Grant Park. The convenience of having the gear check right at the Finish Line was gone, but it was a relief that I didn’t have to fight my way through the pre-race crowds to the side south of the park to check my gear, and fight my way back to the north end to get to my corral. So much less stress this way.

-Boystown is always the coolest neighborhood to run through on race day. Broadway is narrow and packed with people. It’s like a long cheer tunnel. And whether it’s true or not, it feels like all 3 miles are downhill. Plus, the Boys of Boystown always turn out with the most interesting sidewalk entertainment.

-Toughest section of the course? I think it’s a tie between the desolate, West-side hairpin on Adams & Jackson, and the long march up Michigan Avenue for the last 3 miles of the race. Even when the weather isn’t cooking us like morning bacon in a frying pan, it’s still a long damn way from the bottom of Michigan back to Grant Park. (Though the mile markers did pass a little more quickly this time around.)

-For my second marathon in a row, I ran without carrying my own water bottle. I gave it up in Kenosha in the interest of trimming my running weight. Whether it’s real or psychological, it does make a difference. There are plenty of water and Gatorade stations at Chicago. I took advantage of those, stashed 3 or 4 gel packs in my shorts pockets, and I never missed my bottle. I’ve decided that, unless the neat is bad (or I’m on a trail ultra), I don’t ever need to carry my own bottle again.

-And one last note: Laura came out to follow me around the city once again, but this year she did it without a bike, depending instead on the CTA to get her around. She said she missed the mobility of the bike. The CTA was useful, but not nearly as versatile or speedy as getting herself around on the bike had been the year before. Good to know, I think, if you have cheerleader friends who have the wheels and are game.

So, Chicago was a nice bookend to my running year. My 2nd sub-4 marathon of ’09, and a happy conclusion to an unexpectedly long stretch of unsatisfying training. I have yet to decide what my 2010 racing calendar is going to look like. I still have a lot of decisions to make. But before any of that, I’m going to rebuild my training plan. It’s time to diversify. And maybe – just maybe – a whole different kind of race on the calendar…

Chicago Results & Lessons Applied

2009-10-13T23:00:00.004-05:00

Well, this week has dissolved into a particular kind of chaos, so there won't be much time for race report writing. To be certain, when it does come, it won't be a terribly long one anyway. I've now run 4 Chicago marathons, 8 road marathons in total, 2 trail marathons, and 10 ultras. That's 20 marathons and ultras in all. Point being: The sheen has worn off a bit. Especially for a course I've now run 4 years in a row. I still have some things to share, and some interesting details about my race, but I can give you the short of it now: I finished with a 3:58 and change. That's a course record for me. It's only the 3rd time I've broken 4 hours, and it's the 2nd fastest marathon I've run - though it's still far off that great 3:44 I ran back in May.

So, I'll be back with more, but for now I've got to muddle my way through the MASSIVE task I've been handed at work. It's not just a pile of stuff, there's genuine fear involved. The good news is that I've been able to apply my gained wisdom as a newly minted 20-time marathoner to the problem - and I'm not just being quaint, this is a mind-set that really is saving my sanity. I'm reminding myself every day to just take it one step and one mile at a time, not getting ahead of myself, or thinking about the end too soon. I just need an even pace, a calm head, patience and determination, and I WILL get to the finish line. (Wish me luck...)

This Might Hurt a Little...

2009-10-10T02:27:00.002-05:00

I’m slightly astonished to acknowledge that Chicago Marathon time has rolled around once again. It’s been a very busy summer, filled, for me, with many things that had little to do with running. I’m a little surprised at how humdrum it feels to be marathoning through Chicago again.

This is a small landmark for me, of sorts: My 20th Marathon or Ultra, all since my first in Chicago, 3 years ago.

On the flip side, I think, as much as anything else, all that racing and the training that leads up to it has resulted in a level of burnout that I’ve been feeling lately. (Indeed, I plan a significant change in my running routine beginning in the weeks after Chicago.) I still want to run marathons and ultras – very much, in fact – but I’m admitting that I need a little marathon hibernation to get the spring back in my legs – and my passion – again.

But before all that, there’s the little matter of my 4th Tour De Chicago this Sunday morning. We are finally rid of the oppressive heat that has plagued the race the last two years, but alas, we’ve slipped back to the opposite extreme: start time temperatures are predicted in the high 30s, a frost warning has already been issued for the region, and even flurries are possible on Sunday night. Alack for a simple, dry, overcast, even-keel, 50 degree day.

I can handle the weather, but my expectations for my performance are still low. To be sure, there will be no magical 3:44s for me this Sunday morning. Truthfully, a sub-4-hour result will be a significant accomplishment.

I’ve copped to this already, but my training over the summer left much to be desired. I had interruptions in my schedule yes, but most of my struggles were tied to lethargic, unresponsive legs. Sometimes people call it “Dead Legs”. This has been especially true since my attempt at the Burning River 100 on August 2nd. I felt it before that race, but have been plagued by it since. Even a gentle, weekend 12-miler would devolve into a staggered, helpless walk after 3 miles. There were no other nagging aches or pains, no creaky knees or sore muscles howled at me, the legs just had no life when the time came to do the distance. My weekday runs never seemed to suffer. I even managed my tempo runs without too much undue stress, then the weekend would come and I’d crash and burn. It’s not a problem I’ve ever dealt with before.

In the end, I was forced to take 11 days completely off with NO running at all. I felt the only choice was to think of my weakness as an injury and take the time off to heal. Regretfully, my time on the Disabled List ended only 2 weeks ago. It came during a time that should have been the peak of my marathon training. This can’t have a great effect on my race, but whatever I lost, it must be preferable to the handicap I was fighting before.

The good news, is the extended rest seems to have made a difference. I’ve been far stronger on my runs this last 12 days. If only I still had 3 or 4 more weeks before the race, I think I’d be in great shape for the event. But I’m playing with the hand I’ve been dealt. It’s easy for me to imagine a strong, well-paced race for the first 13 miles, and then a horrible, horrible bonk in the last 6 or 8. We’ll see.

Back in May, my 3:44 was the sum total of 26 miles at 8:34 average pace. Sunday, I’ll be aiming squarely at 9 minute miles. Modest. Conservative. And yet, still, possibly a gross overestimation of my relatively poor condition.

I’ll try to enjoy myself, Sunday. And then the winter reconstruction shall begin.

Gnats! Oh Gno!

2009-09-14T11:04:00.003-05:00

Over the weekend, I rediscovered one of the great perils of running on a summer evening: GNATS.

I got back into the city from work a little after 6:00 and realized that might be my only chance to get in my long run. I set out for 18 miles at 6:30. Less than 4 miles in, the sun began to set, and the swarms of gnats were out in force.

You've seen those, right? They're common everywhere I've ever lived. A huge flutter of gnats, 2 or 3 feet across swarming around in a gnat mating frenzy. (I learned those swarms are known as "ghosts".) I don't know why they like dusk more than any other time. It seems as though they also like to congregate in a shaft of setting sunlight, but they really aren't that picky.

They make running a misery.

Saturday night, they kept flying into my eyeballs. I could feel them bouncing off my forehead and face. I imagined them getting stuck in the sweat on my skin.

And then I swallowed one. I inhaled it just past Belmont Harbor, 5.5 miles in. I nearly choked. Not only because it's just gross, but also because it lodged briefly at the top of my wind pipe. I had to pull up to cough and breathe. They weren't done though. 50 yards later it happened again. I sucked in two within moments. Disgusting. There was a water fountain nearby and I walked down to take a long drink, hacking and spitting the whole way.

The fallout lingered. I had a bad, recurring cough for most of the next 5 miles. And it was an hour after sunset before the gnats disappeared. They were still dive-bombing my eyeballs all that time.

I makes me wish I could run with my mouth and eyes squeezed shut the whole way. If only I didn't need to see or breathe when I run...

How the Other Half Lived

2009-08-31T20:03:00.027-05:00

After the Burning River 100, I realized that my sister had just as many stories to tell about her day as I did. Finally, I encouraged her to write them down, and maybe even draw up her own race report for the day. She finally sent me back an essay nearly as long as the one I wrote. That's a big deal for her, because sitting down and writing was never one of her favorite things to do. I thought it was pretty cool to read what her day had been like following me around, learning about what an Ultra was like and making unexpected friends. So, with her permission, I'm posting her report. I made a (very) few edits and here and there, and I added a few little interjections of my own, in [brackets]. Everything else was straight from her.

___________________________________

CREW REPORT: BR100
Of course, when my brother called me and asked if I wanted to help him run 100 miles the answer was, without a doubt, YES! I really wasn’t sure what to expect for the weekend. I knew that he was going to need me, but the capacity in which, I was not sure. So, as I loaded up my car, like a Boy Scout, I packed everything I could think of that I or he could possibly need and set out to meet him at Cuyahoga Falls.

I hadn’t seen Greg for some time and was so excited to see him hanging over the wall of the parking deck waving me in. After a huge hug he told me he was registered for the race and shortly thereafter we went to the hotel to check in. We didn’t have much time because we still needed to eat dinner and be back at the Finish line for an informational meeting. We got a bit sidetracked with catching up, getting on-line to check the race website, and the most important thing: me learning what he expected of me through the long and grueling run he was about to attempt.

At that point, I still thought he was crazy. Who in their right mind would think of running 100 miles at one time, and who would be crazy enough to join in? However, I did agree to help him and was ready to do my duty no matter what it took (short of running it myself) to get him across the finish line. So, I paid close attention as he explained all the items in his bag. Unfortunately, because of all this we had lost precious time to eat a good dinner. A chicken sandwich would have to do. Then off to the meeting.

RACE MORNING
We set our alarms for just before 3am. Naturally, we had a hard time getting up, which got us on the road to the starting line a bit late. Greg had to eat his breakfast in the car. I think he stirred that peanut butter for about 20 minutes, which made me laugh. [That would be the brand new jar of all-natural peanut butter we bought the night before and opened for the first time that morning in the car.] I also had only one song going thru my head for most of the drive; the “Smokey and the Bandit” theme song. He got a laugh at that.

Due to the late start and missing a turn, we had no time when we finally got there. He was supposed to be checked in by 4:45am and we pulled up at like 4:44. We scurried up to check him in then I gave him the keys to run back to the car and get his stuff. I think it was a good thing that he didn’t have long to stand around. He was able to just get right to work. All of this was very exciting to me and I was trying not to get him too excited.

He told me that he was going to try to keep a pace of about 15min per mile so that I would know approximately what time I would see him at the first aid station. I reminded him of that before he took off. I didn’t want him to start too fast. We had just enough time to snap a picture or two and the gun went off. I cheered for Greg as he and the one hundred and sixty some runners took off like a big shadow in the dim light of the morning on the dewy wet grass and disappeared around the bend.

ALONE AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME
Everyone who wasn’t running got back to their cars and drove off, except me. I figured it should be about 2 and ½ hours before I would see him again. I wanted to try to get a cat nap in now so as to start the day more refreshed. I also wanted to actually see Squires Castle (the start line locale) and get a picture once the sun came up. I thought I calculated enough time to do so, but I did second guess myself when I noticed that I was the only one to linger at the site. I set an alarm and closed my eyes.

Although I didn’t truly sleep, I did feel better. I hopped out and went to get my picture. The grass was still wet and I could see the wide trampled path the runners left in the field. I got my shot – and several massive bug bites! They were burning like crazy! I needed rubbing alcohol to fix this problem. So, I set off for Polo Field (the 1st aid station for Crew) hoping that I would find a store open before 8am. A gas station would surely have something. I pulled over at the first one. They had some, but I wasn’t ready to fork over 3 dollars for a bottle so I asked the woman if they had a First Aid kit with any alcohol swabs…Yes! Not only that but she was nice enough to also give me an insect sting swab! Score! Bug bites at bay, I set off again. Sure enough, I stumbled on a 24hr CVS. Score again! I was set.

Once I parked at Polo Field, I came up with the first message for the dry erase board. I wanted to have a poster to hold up for him, but one message wasn’t enough when he could possibly see it 13 times. This way I could keep it fresh and keep him interested. The first one would have to remind him to keep a steady pace… “Remember the tortoise… He beat the Hare!”

So, now I got his bag ready. I was parked close enough to the aid station that I just left everything in the trunk and walked over to watch as the runners came in. This is where I met the women that I would see many more times thru the day. Luckily, in that pack was a woman from Pittsburgh – Jan – and of course we hit it off. She waited with some of us till our loved ones ran thru.

Anxiously, I waited to see Greg running down the road. I was still excited about all this, but unsure what exactly he was going to need out of me. Finally, here he came! I ran over to the car and got it open then ran back and cheered for him. He looked really good and said he felt good too! He got some food, took off his head lamp, and drank some yellow sports drink. I reminded him about his 15min a mile pace, then he was right back on the trail. Go Greg!!

I didn’t hang around this time. I wanted to get to the next Aid Station and get the supplies more organized. I thought he might need a bit more attention after 21 miles than he did after 13. On the way I saw a Bob Evans!! Breakfast!! Yea!! I pulled right in. The fresher I can be, the more I can help my brother.

SHADOW LAKE (21.9 Miles)
The next Crew accessible aid station was Shadow Lake. When I pulled in, I saw all the same faces that were at Polo Field. This was good because I had someone to talk to. I got my message board ready, which referred back to the song that still I couldn’t get out of my head: “You’re gonna do what they say can’t be done!” When I got over to the picnic bench the girls asked what took me so long. I said “Didn’t you see the Bob Evans!” They had a chuckle and were jealous. (I know the Mother/Daughter team went back after their runner had come through J).

So, I sat for a few minutes, we talked and waited. Then I got antsy. The sun was beginning to get warm. I tried to think of all the things he might need now, and sunscreen was surely one of them. The other was going to be Vaseline. I decided to get the bag out and bring it closer. I suddenly had a funny (only because it’s my brother), but real concern. I have heard of runners getting chaffed and even bleeding because of it, ergo the Vaseline, but it was going to be a little strange for me to remind my brother to apply it to his nipples! Oh well, it must be done.

When he ran out of the trees I went to work. I asked how he felt and what he needed and, of course, about the chaffing. Naturally, he chuckled. I think keeping it light was good. Plus his spirits were still high and he looked good. He wanted to go to the car again. So, I grabbed the bag and we went over. We just finished spraying on the SPF when my phone rang. MOM! How did she know we were together?! A Mother’s intuition never fails. After they spoke for a minute I told her I’d call her back. I asked if he needed gels or new socks. He applied some Vaseline, cleaned his hands, and got some food. I reminded him that I wouldn’t see him for 15 miles. And before I knew it, he was headed off. Again, as he ran into the woods I cheered him on. “You can do it!”

RIGHT ON TARGET
Well, now I had a big lull in the action. One of the ladies I was waiting with said that there would be lots of food and places to shop on the way to the next Aid Station. While I was waiting at Shadow Lake, I was brainstorming about the things I forgot to pack, mainly a chair. I hoped to find a place to get some supplies.

After Greg set out, I calculated that it would be about 3 hours until I saw him again. So, I called Mom back and told both our parents how well he was doing. They were relieved to hear his status and wanted me to check in from time to time. I also called his girlfriend, Laura, to give her the update. I know if she could have gotten away from work that she would have been there. She asked if she could call me during the day instead of bothering Greg, of course I had no problem with that. I explored the surrounding area, took a few photos, enjoyed the sunshine and thought about the fact that the next time I would see Greg he would have run 10 miles more than a marathon. I still couldn’t believe he was attempting 100 miles. As I pulled away, I noticed some of the course markings and saw some runners. I rolled down my window and offered encouraging words. Then I caught a glimpse of my brothers back and beeped for him! He turned and caught a glimpse of me as I drove by! I only hoped he realized it was me!

So far the driving directions in the runners’ packet had not let me down… until now. When I got off at the exit the Left/Right directions didn’t agree with the East/West directions. I followed my instincts and the GPS, but decided to pull over and really take a look. Just like the lady had told me there was plenty of food and shopping. The bad directions turned out to be a happy accident! I spotted a Target and pulled into the lot. I looked over the directions and determined that I was going the right way, but with so much time why not kill it with some shopping. I walked around a bit and found a fold up camp chair. I didn’t find anything else. Little did I know at that time how important the chair would actually become. I left there with plenty of time to make sure I found the next Aid Station in case I was wrong about my direction and had to turn around, but all was good.

Due to the fact that the runners would pass through Station Road Bridge Aid Station twice, the set up was larger and there were more people here than at the other stations. There was, as the title implies, train tracks and a station. I went to say hi to the girls and see what was around. I took some pictures and decided it was time for me to eat lunch. The chair was already going to pay off.

I had to unpack the trunk for the first time. I took the chair and the towel over and found a spot near one of the familiar faces. Jan was taking care of her husband. This is where I learned about Dura Glide and wished I had some to offer Greg. She had also gained a partner, her cousin, who lived in the area. I thought how nice it must have been to have someone to keep her company and help with all the stuff.

I went back for the bag and also wrote the next message on the board: “Believe…You are stronger than you know!” I liked that one. I went thru the bag to make sure I had everything and took it over. I waited a bit longer to get the cooler. It was very warm out and I didn’t want the ice to melt too fast. I called him to find out approximately where he was. He said he had purposely slowed down and would still be about 45min to an hour away. I hoped he hadn’t worn himself out this morning, but the heat was also a factor I’m sure. So, I waited, anxiously.

I remembered we both packed a bandana and I checked to make sure I had one. We could wrap up some ice cubes in it and tie it around his neck. I thought about the things I brought to keep me busy, but couldn’t seem to wrap my brain around any of them. I was too consumed with seeing him run across the short bridge that led to the many Volunteers waiting to help in any way they could. Although I tried to make conversation with a few people, I couldn’t stop thinking about Greg. I was now realizing exactly why he wanted me to be there. Not only to lug around his all-important supplies, but just simply to be there with a smile on my face and to offer encouraging words and support.

It was time to get the cooler. Now that everything was here I got organized. I brought along some beef jerky (one of my favorites). It’s packed with protein. I thought I’d offer it to him. I laid everything out so he could see it and then went to the end of the bridge and waited. I paced for a bit, but finally he came around the bend and across the bridge.

I was relieved to see that he still looked good and was still in high spirits. One of the volunteers filled his bottle and we headed for my spot. He was pleased to see the chair and asked where it came from. He told me that he walked a lot of the last section. He took off his shoes and socks and said he was feeling a hot spot on the ball of his right foot. He thought about putting some duck tape on it but then changed his mind and put on a fresh pair of socks. He drank an Ensure, ate a piece of beef jerky (which was too dry for him) and brushed his teeth at the recommendation of a fellow blogger. All who witnessed were quite amused. I suggested the bandana with ice and he was all about it. As I got that ready he reapplied some Vaseline. We got the bandana on and he was ready to go. I reminded him that the loop was 7 miles and made sure he read the board again before setting out. “Believe…you are stronger than you know!” I gave him a kiss and sent him on his way.

LOOP LULL
So now what do I do? I had a good parking spot so I didn’t want to leave (plus I didn’t want to carry the heavy cooler too many times), and it should only be about 1hr and 45 min until he gets back. So, I sat, enjoyed the company I was with, and pondered how my brother was feeling after almost 37 miles and around 8 hours on his feet.

Before long, Jan was off to the next stop and so was the other lady, who I wouldn’t see again. I decided to move to the shade. Then went over to the bathroom where I was told that they had been waiting for at least 15 minutes for the guy to finish cleaning it. I waited with them for what had to be another 10 minutes when a man finally emerged. Didn’t he now that there was a race going on? What if a female runner had come thru and needed to go, bad? [I expect she’d have just shrugged and popped a squat in the woods next door!] It was very strange, but at least we knew it was clean.

I went to the car and got my Sudoku book hoping that it would help pass the time. It did, but my mind was so occupied with Greg that I only got about ½ a puzzle done. I kept having to go over and check the bridge. I didn’t want to miss his entrance. I finally came up with the next board message: “May the wind be at your back!” I made a couple of new acquaintances as I continued to wait. I also called everyone to give them the update. I was having trouble with reception and had to keep very still while on the phone. I asked Laura to think of a message to put on the board for him for the next stop and would put her picture with it for him to see. I checked the list of aid stations to see how far the next one was for us. It was just over 3 miles. Good, a short one!

I went back over to the bridge. The sun was hot. My phone beeped to tell me I had a message. It was Greg! I must have been in a dead zone! I hoped it wasn’t too important… He wanted me to get some aspirin from the car. I didn’t quite hear the entire message, but I took off running to the car. I guessed that he wasn’t too far away so I wanted to hurry. The only meds I had was a small bottle of mixed pills, but I could at least give him some Tylenol. I ran back over with it and went to check the bridge. Since he was asking for meds I figured he was hurting. I hoped it wasn’t serious. I kept thinking: Let’s go Greg! Let’s go Greg! I thought maybe he would get the good vibes from me. I went back and forth between the chair and the end of the bridge. Now I was a bit worried. Back and forth, back and forth. I was not born with very much patience.

Finally, he came around the bend. Woo Hoo!! Come on Greg! I was relieved too see him and I think vice versa. A volunteer quickly asked if he could fill his bottle. Then we went to get him replenished at my spot. I told him about the pills and apparently I misunderstood what the message said. He had brought along his own bottle of aspirin. So, I quickly took off for the car again. When I got back he was tending to his foot… not sure whether to put the duck tape on or not. Again, he decided to simply change his socks and hope for the best. This would have been the time for some of the DuraGlide stuff.

By this time, he had a pretty steady running mate. Later I learned his name was Sean. He had told his Crew that Greg brushed his teeth at the last stop and when they saw him, made a comment about it. We all got to smile about it again.

After 43 miles he finally began to show some signs he was tired. I changed the ice in his bandana and asked what else I could do for him. “Do you want to change your shirt? Do you need to go to the bathroom?” He drank another Ensure. I made sure he had enough gels and reassured him that he was in good shape. I also told him that the next leg would be a piece of cake at just over 3 miles. After the heat of the day he really seemed to enjoy the shade and the chair to relax in for a few minutes. I was torn between letting him relax and getting him back on his feet… if he sat for too long he might not want to get back up. Again, I told him it would be a short run to Ottawa Point. “Just over 3 miles till I see you again. May the wind be at your back!! See you soon!”

I went over and met Amy, who I assumed to be Sean’s wife or at least girlfriend. [She was his girlfriend, but I’d learned that Sean had a little surprise brewing that might change that.] I told her I would see her in a few. I got packed quickly because I only had about an hour. The cooler was heavy and I debated draining some of the water, but if I could get thru the next stop I could drain it there, then go and get more ice.

ANGEL PANTS
As the trend has been, the first face I saw at Ottawa Point was Jan’s. She was showing some wear. I asked her if she had eaten yet today and she said that’s where they were headed next. We discussed getting some coffee and where to get it. She also told me that her hubby got off track, 20min out and back. I hoped that Greg and Sean wouldn’t make the same wrong turn.

I got a text from Laura for the board and got it ready. “Lookin’ good Angel Pants! Love you!” And then put a picture of them together on there for him to see. By this time the girls were also interested in the messages and they thought it was so nice that I brought a picture of Laura. Amy was there too with her other Crew members. Sean had quite a support team. I remember Amy got a call and was giving some directions. I got nervous that the boys had gotten off track, but she was talking to someone else. Whew!

Before long, Jan packed up. Her husband, although he got off track, was still far enough ahead of Greg that he was gone before I got there. I moved into the shade and waited. I knew it wouldn’t be long. Greg and Sean came around the trail. He was happy to see the message from Laura and asked where I got the picture. I was happy to see that that made a difference to him. He was looking a bit more tired now, but still in good spirits.

He actually sat in the grass this time because he wanted to pour some H2O on his head without getting too wet. I knew I wouldn’t see him for another 10 miles and it was about dinner time, so I reminded him to eat some food. I also replenished the bandana yet again, and to keep it cold I put it in the cooler. Once he was ready to go he went over to see what they were to providing to eat. He got some pizza and began to head off. I shouted “may the wind be at your back brother. You can do this!” Then I remembered that the bandana was still in the cooler. I yelled at him to see if he wanted it. He had turned around to come and get it when a volunteer ran up and took it to him so he didn’t have to come all the way back for it. When she came back she said “It must have been pretty important for him to turn around and since you didn’t have on your running shoes I thought I could help.” I’m glad she did.

I dumped all the water out of the cooler and got packed. We wouldn’t see each other for another 10 miles. He would be past the ½ way point when he arrived at Boston store. It was a big hurdle to jump, but I knew he would get there. It would be another 3-hour lull for me. Amy invited me to go with them to eat dinner. I told her that I needed to get some supplies, but that I would try to meet up with them. It was very nice of her to offer. I, however, really wanted to find a place to get refreshed and buy a few things. I went back to the Target area and got some ice, then went to the Giant Eagle. I completely reorganized the car because through the day it had gotten so jumbled up that I was having trouble finding things. Then I went in to refresh myself and change my shirt. I bought some water, Wet Ones, frappuccinos for me to put in the cooler, and aloe. I spent so much time worrying about my brother that I neglected to put sunscreen on myself and the result was a slight sunburn on my shoulders. Oh, well.

BOSTON
Next was Boston Store, another aid station that he would see twice. For the first time today, I didn’t see Jan first. Instead, it was Amy. I waved hello and went to park. As I was walking over with my chair I saw a runner trying to balance himself on a large pipe to put on his shoes. When I offered my chair for him to use he gave me a look of such excitement that you would think he’d just won the lottery. I was so glad I could help.

I picked out a place to set up camp (I knew I would be there for a while), and began to lug all the stuff out of the car again. I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner yet and now would be the best time for it. After that I went over and found Jan. She said her husband was still doing well and that he had been through once already. My pacing began shortly after that. Laura had given me another message that I was happy to put up: “Yea babe! Over ½ way there. Keep it up!”

I saw Sean run in and Amy and the gang took care of him, but still no Greg. It was taking him longer than I thought it should. I waited and waited. Amy came over to talk to me. She asked if Greg had a Pacer lined up for the end of the race. When I told her no, she asked if he would want one. Without any hesitation I said YES! But how do we get one? She went and made some phone calls and came back with a person on the line who was a volunteer Pacer. Her name was Michelle and she told me she was headed to Boston Store. I got her number and told her what I was wearing so she could find me. She told me we could work things out further once she got there. Wow! Thank goodness for making friends! And thank goodness for their support! Amy, if you are reading this you are a savior! J How exciting to know that he was going to get a running buddy! Now, if he would just get here.

When I finally saw him, he wasn’t moving very well. He had called earlier to ask if the volunteer podiatrists were at this stop because his foot was hurting. I told him the good news about the pacer, but he was occupied with his foot. So, once he took off his shoes, he went over to get checked out. While he was in the podiatry tent, Michelle found me. I was so relieved to have her there and I told her that, several times. She introduced me to her friend, Mike, who is also a runner. This was great! I had more confidence now that Greg would make it.

They put some mole skin on the spot that was hurting him to try and pad it and did the same to the other foot as a preventative measure. It seemed to take them forever. When he was done, I introduced him to his new running mate and we proceeded to get him ready for the road again. [Michelle’s plan was to go catch some food and some sleep and then join me at mile 80 to pace me in the last 20 miles.] There was finally some hot food here, so we got him some Ramen noodles. They were so hot I had to put some ice in it to keep him from burning himself. His shoulders were tired, so I rubbed them for a minute. His head lamp would be important because sunset wasn’t too far away. The next leg was a 4.6 mile loop. With any luck the new pads and the reassurance of a pacer for later would help him get moving.

It should only take him about an hour and 15min to make the loop. I talked with Michelle a bit more about how he was doing and she and her friend Mike made the decision that Mike would begin to run with Greg when he got back here. [That would be at the 60.6 mile mark, the earliest point that runners were allowed to have pacers.] So, they left to go get what they needed to run. Mike had basically just signed on to run the next 20 miles like it was another day in the park and Michelle would run the final 20. Again… What a Godsend.

I saw Jan and her husband was with her. I went over to say hi and encourage him. Jan offered me the extra baked potatoes they had. I put them in a cup and hoped they would stay warm till Greg got back. I had scored again for my brother due to some wonderful people. Thank you Jan!

He hadn’t been gone long when my phone rang. He was in a slight panic because he hadn’t seen a marker for a while and thought he made a wrong turn. I ran to the car to get the packet that had the directions in it. My heart was beating so fast I had trouble and fumbled thru the pages. I found the page and started reading and he followed along trying to remember what he had done. I told him to just keep moving and that maybe he would see a marker soon. He had done all of the directions correctly and before long he saw a marker in the distance. Whew! Again I reassured him that he was doing good and to just keep moving and he would be back before he knew it.

THE CALVARY (Wait, We Have a Calvary?)
At this point, it was the first time in the day that I was not with a familiar face. The time passed slowly. Night was looming. All the people who were once there were slowly disappearing. [Alas! The worst thing about me slowing down was I couldn’t keep up with all the runners that her new friends were crewing for!]

I was set up next to the tent with all the Drop bags. I couldn’t help but offer encouraging words to all the runners using them. The first-time volunteer that was manning the bags really seemed to make a difference to those runners too. He was conscious and attentive and never showed signs of being a rookie.

I waited. I paced impatiently. I hoped that his feet were feeling better and I wondered how night fall was affecting his mood. Then I began to have irrational thoughts. Were Mike and Michelle serious about running with my brother, or did they show up and meet me, think I was crazy, then simply leave never to return?! It was past time for Greg to be here. Did his feet get so bad that he couldn’t make it? Not only did I inherit impatience, but I am also a worry wart. [See Mom? Didn’t fall far from the tree!]

Just when I was truly beginning to think Michelle and Mike were not coming back, they showed up; ready for battle! This was a huge relief! And what timing! Here comes Greg! As they refilled his bottle, I introduced him to Mike and told him he wouldn’t be alone anymore. Although he didn’t show much excitement, I knew he was relieved.

We went over to get him some supplies, which finally included changing his shirt. He brought a bright yellow shirt that read: “I am not talented, but I am stubborn.” I beg to differ on the talented part. [I inscribed that shirt myself. Let this serve as my copyright.] Once he changed he got a serious chill. I told him to put on his compression shirt under the yellow one to keep warm and gave him a big hug. “Take a few deep breaths.” He also ate some of the potatoes that Jan provided. After a couple of minutes he was ready to move on. Before he left, I made him read the board: “With every mile is another smile!” By this point he had already run for a longer time than he ever had before, and in a few miles he would be farther than he had ever run before. I shouted to him as he and Mike began the next 10 miles: “May the wind be at your back! You can do this! Love you!” And they disappeared into the night.

You can see he's tired. Look how happy Mike is!

Ready To Go Again!

HAPPY DAYS & ANXIOUS NIGHTS
I took a deep breath. Michelle, God bless her, helped me carry everything to the car. She also told me that there were only porta potties at the next stop. So we both used the bathroom. Then, because I couldn’t find my directions, she led me to the next aid station, Happy Days.

As we pulled in, guess who was the first face: Jan. She was sitting right next to where the runners were coming in. Once we parked, we walked over to talk to her. Before long, I decided to try for some shut eye. I knew it would be at least 3 hours before Greg arrived, so I gave myself about 45 minutes. Again, I didn’t really sleep, but at least closing my eyes was a good thing. When I got up, I reorganized the car again. I drank a frappuccino to wake me up and boy did it! I was raring to go. I went back over to where Jan and Michelle were sitting, but no Jan. She was over with her hubby getting him refueled. I walked over to see if I could help. Once he got back on the trail, I did help her pack her stuff. We told each other good luck and I hoped I would see her again.

After Jan left, I spotted Amy. She too was packing up to leave. Sean’s Pacer had sped him up so much that Amy said they weren’t ready for him when he arrived. I knew somehow that I might not see her again so I asked for a picture with her. I wanted to remember the woman who was instrumental in getting Greg as far as he did. I gave her a million thanks and they were on their way.

The parking lot we were in had been lit to this point, but I guess it was around midnight now and the lights went out. It was time for my headlamp. Michelle had gone to take a nap and get refreshed. Most of the cars were gone, so I moved mine closer. I thought it might be time for parental support, so the next message for the board was: “We love you! Mom and Dad”. I put the chair out behind the car and sat the board in it. Michelle was up. She came over and she was ready to run. I asked her if she wanted some bug repellent (natural stuff) and she did use some. She also put in new contacts. One of which she lost to the grass. Oops! Luckily she had an extra.

I was more anxious now than I was all day and I couldn’t sit. It was so nice to have someone to keep me company. Phone!! It was Greg! He didn’t sound good, but I hoped he was just tired. He told me he was hurting and barely walking. I guess the blisters were getting to be too much. He also said that his knees were bothering him and asked us to get some ice ready for him. The hardest thing to hear him say was that he felt he would be done when he got to us. He just didn’t have any gas left in the tank. He said that they had about 2 miles to go and that he felt like it would take them at least an hour if not more. [Unfortunately, I wasn’t really exaggerating.] I could tell that it was simply physical reasons that he may not carry on because he was still in a positive mood. He also told me that a group of 3 runners just passed them. I told him to hang in there and to keep moving and he would be here soon.

As soon as we hung up Michelle and I began to calculate how long it had taken him to get where he was and then how much longer till he reached us. From what we guessed he was still at a pace to be able make cut off times. So, being hopeful that he would continue, we got ice bags ready, she got out her bio freeze, we scoped out the food and I thanked God, Amy, Michelle, and Mike again for supporting us. I decided not to bring the chair too close because there was a substantial rail he could sit on. If he asked for it, I knew he was done.

As more runners came in I asked if they had seen Greg and Mike. One of them told me that he was laying down when they passed him. When I heard that, I really worried and I knew he would be done. I called Laura and told her to call him because she would be able to offer him some support. When she called me back, she said that he had never complained about pain before and he was complaining now. She also said that she got the feeling he wouldn’t be able to go on.

Michelle got out her headlamp that changed to red and whenever we saw headlights emerge from the tree line about 200 yards away, she would run out to see who it was. She told me when it was Greg and Mike, she’d turn on the red light so I would know. There were several groups that came through. The minutes began to go by like hours. I just couldn’t wait to get to him. I felt like going out into the woods to find him, but if he did want to continue, I didn’t want to get him disqualified [for providing aid outside of a designated Aid Station]. The cut off time was looming. I kept checking my watch and staring at the blackness of the tree line. Come on, baby, come on. You can do it!

We saw headlamps again and Michelle took off. She turned on the red light and I began to cheer him in. He still had enough in the tank to jog it in. It was 1:30am. He had beaten the cutoff time by 20min. I lead him over to the aid tent and got out the ice. His first question was “Where is the chair?” I knew that was it. He had succumbed – but not before he set 2 PRs: 20 and ½ hours of running, and just over 70 miles! What an accomplishment! I got the chair and he put his feet up on the rail and laid the ice on his knees. I showed him the board with Mom and Dad. It seemed appropriate that they would be on the last one of the day. We got him some meatballs and some ramen noodles. I asked if he wanted to continue and he said no. He also told me that he would have stopped at the last aid station if I hadn’t been waiting and Mike hadn’t been with him. I went over and told the aid station captain that he was done then pulled the car over.

I took a few pictures of Greg with Mike and Michelle. Then it was time to get him to the Hotel. I thanked Michelle and told her I was sorry she didn’t get her turn to run with him, but having her with me put me at ease. There were hugs all around and well wishes. How awesome.

RETREAT
I laid the seat back and he got in. He was sooo tired. Because my mind was just on taking care of him, I forgot to reset the GPS, so I was guessing directions to get us to the highway. I guessed correctly and it turned out that we were only about 15 minutes from the hotel. I wasn’t sure how hard it would be for him to get back out of the car, but before he could try he began to thank me. His breaths got deep. I looked at him and told him how proud I was. The day had been long and it was quite a journey, more for him than me, but we stuck it out together. We squeezed each others hand and both fought off the welling up emotions. For him I think they were mixed: the exhaustion, some disappointment, and the mere fact that he accomplished what he did. He, too, should be proud.
Although I wanted to let the emotions go, I also wanted to get him to bed. He still needed to take his ice bath, so I wanted to get moving. Even though he was done running I was not done being his Crew. He got out and I grabbed the cooler. We went up to the room and drew him a cold bath. I helped him peel off his shoes and socks. He told me it was good practice for later in life when I’ll have to do it for my husband. He peeled off the mole skin pads to reveal some yucky blisters while I went and got ice. I stayed long enough to make sure he could reach the cooler then went to unload the car one more time.

When I returned after the 2nd trip to the car he was out of the bath. Only wrapped in towels he laid down on the bed. I asked what clothes he wanted from his bag and told him the only thing I wasn’t willing to do for him was put his undies on for him. I pulled out what he needed and excused myself so he could dress. When I came back he needed help with the compression sleeves for his calves. Those things were tight on my arms so you can imagine the difficulty we had getting them safely over his tender blisters.

We discussed getting down to the finish line in the morning so he could get his feet tended to and so we could get our provided breakfast, and that was it. He was ready to sleep. Then he got the chills. I’m sure it had something to do with the ice bath, so I covered him up with the blankets and turned off the air.

Once I had him tucked in and he was on the verge of dropping off into oblivion he said to me, and I quote: “I’m glad you were born. You’re a good sister.” This was at precisely 2:53am on 8/2/09. At that point, I new just how exhausted he was. I, of course, was very pleased that I had lived up to his expectations for this event. My goal all day was to make sure he was happy and had what he needed. When I heard that come out of his mouth I felt like I had done my job. Woo Hoo!

Naturally, at the point of my exhaustion, I could not fall asleep. I decided to text my parents to let them know that he was done running rather than call and wake them up. I turned on the TV. Then I heard “can we check the score of the Braves game?” He had not yet totally fallen asleep either. The last thing I remember is the clock saying something around 3:45am and I fell asleep trying to find out if his Braves had won.

BRAND NEW DAY
RING!! RING!! RING!! I shot up out of bed. My phone was ringing. I hit the side button to turn it off so as not to disturb my sleeping brother any more and found it to be my Mother in a panic. She, of course, did not see the text message I sent them and when she got up at 6:30am and checked the race website, it showed that Greg was still running at Happy Days and had not yet reached the next aid station. It seemed that his status had not been updated to show the DNF so she thought something was wrong. I told her that he was sleeping peacefully beside me and that we’d call her back later. I noticed how hot it had gotten and pulled back a layer of his blankets. The phone had woken him enough to notice this and he said thank you.

The alarm went off at 9. We had gotten an extension on our checkout time so we decided to pack the cars after going to the Finish line. He was moving alright for someone who had just run almost 3 marathons at one time, but thank goodness for elevators!

As we pulled in, the final finishers were just crossing the line with 10 minutes to spare. That was awesome! While he got his feet fixed, I went to see if there was any food left. The service was dwindling down, but I didn’t want to eat without him. I spotted Amy and Sean across the room and went to see if he had finished. Yes! He finished in style and gained a fiancé at the same time! Now that’s cool. Congratulations you two! [Told you he had a little surprise in the works!]

They headed for the medal ceremony and I went to check on Greg. The volunteer podiatrists were still mopping up the stuff that was coming out of his blisters. The girl said it was bad. They wrapped him up good and sent him on his way. I told him that Sean and Amy were engaged and over at the ceremony. He went to find them and I went and got him some pancakes. When I returned they were all smiles. It was great to see them there and know that Sean had finished. I wished Jan and her husband had been there too. The website said he finished so I assume they went to begin his recovery process. It was great to have her around all day.

Greg and Sean exchanged info and we got on our way after seeing his medal. We went back to the hotel and packed. We went through my car to make sure everything had been split up properly and went to go get some breakfast at… Bob Evans! There was a wait, seeing as it was lunch time on a Sunday, but it was well worth it! We did some catching up because, up to that point, we hadn’t had much time for it.

Afterward, he wanted to see if he could find some sandals that would be easy to put on over his blisters, so we went across the street to the Wal-Mart. When I pulled in behind him, he was clearing out several buggies that were in the way. Even though he was worn out from running 70 miles the day before, he still had enough energy to be a good citizen and put buggies where they belong.

Unfortunately, we didn’t find him any sandals, but what I found over the weekend was a new respect for my brother. I never have quite understood why he was so into running. Now, after spending this time helping him, I can see the challenge of the run and the determination it requires, not only to start the race, but to keep going through it. I can see how the journey of the run, no matter how short or long, is more important than finishing. I see the excitement at the start, the satisfaction you get from reaching new goals and the reward of reaching them. Best of all for me was the camaraderie. If it hadn’t been for the people around Greg and me all day, we wouldn’t have gotten to where we did. The whole of it draws you in and creates an experience that is hard to forget.

I am so happy to have been a part of this journey with you Greg. I can only hope that my presence was useful and helped add to your journey. [It absolutely did, Sis!] God bless you!

Ironically, on my drive home I heard a song that summed it up just right:
[I’m gonna try to ignore the name of the singer and just appreciate the content of the lyrics!]

THE CLIMB
by Miley Cyrus

The struggles I’m facing
The chances I’m taking
Sometimes might knock me down but
No I’m not breaking
I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I’m gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going
And I, I gotta be strong
Just keep pushing on, cause
There’s always gonna be another mountain
I’m always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose
Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what waiting on the other side
It's the climb.

Race Report: BR100 part 4

2009-08-30T17:29:00.020-05:00

MIKE
At Happy Days, I was surprised to find that Heather had not been by herself through the night. Instead of going back to a hotel bed to get her sleep, Michelle had opted to get to the next aid station with my sister and catch her forty winks in her car while they waited on me. She and Heather had been trying to keep track of my progress and when I called ahead, two miles out of the station, they both started to get really antsy.

Several runners passed me in those last 5 miles and one of them reported to the girls that I had been lying on my back on the ground when they saw me. They both started doing a lot of quick math in their heads. I still might get to Happy Days ahead of the cutoff, and then they’d have to see if they could patch me up enough to keep me going and take a shot at the next station 4.8 miles further down the trail.

They were trying to figure if there was any way I could possibly get to mile 75. However, I was just trying to figure if there was any way I could possibly get to mile 70. I found I was only able to keep going forward for two reasons: Heather was waiting for me at Happy Days, and Mike.

When I completed the Boston Store Loop, darkness had just begun to set in, and I was still losing time to the cutoffs (I was down to 1hr, 40min). The mole skin padding the podiatrist had glued on had helped a little, but by the end of the loop, every step burned with pain. I’d only been able to average a gentle walking pace on the loop.

Heather greeted my arrival with excellent news, though. She very excitedly informed me that Michelle’s friend Mike had decided to run with me from mile 60 until we met up with Michelle at mile 81, where they would trade off. He’d never paced anybody before, but wasn’t committed to running with anyone else, and rather than sit around with nothing to do, I think Michelle convinced him to head out with me.

They called Heather while I was out on the loop to let her know they were coming back so Mike could join me when I returned to Boston. Apparently, they arrived only a few minutes before I pulled in, dressed and ready to go. I was really happy to have some company. Truly, an unexpected gift. It says something about a person that they are willing to give up a weekend and run around in the woods with a complete stranger for 20 miles in the dark, and not get anything for it except some aid station food and an earnest “thank you.” I was to be the beneficiary of an uncommon kindness, not once but twice.

I had one bit of business to tend to before I was ready to leave Boston again. It was time for a wardrobe change. On Thursday before the race, I went out and bought myself a plain, yellow tech shirt. When I got home I pulled out a fresh black Sharpie and set about inscribing the front with a motto I’d come up with for myself as I considered the race in the weeks before: “I AM NOT TALENTED, BUT I AM STUBBORN.” Once I thought of it, I just felt really connected to that sentiment. I planned to save the shirt until the wee hours of the morning, pull it out when I really needed it, and wear it all the way to the finish line. It was earlier than I thought it would be in the race, but I needed it. I was thinking like this was my Superman suit and it was time to try ducking into the phone booth.

After that I was ready to go, and Mike and I got started. I apologized to Mike right at the start, telling him I knew he’d signed up to go for a little run, but the best I could offer him right then was maybe a brisk walk through the woods. We wouldn’t be moving along very fast, but we’d be moving.

I quickly found out that Mike had long been a runner, but he’d never done more that 8 miles at a pop until this year. He’d quickly gotten hooked on distance running, though, and was already making plans to do multiple marathons and ultras in the coming year. It also turned out, just a few weeks before, he’d run his only ultra on the very portion of the Burning River course that we were currently on.

He had bad news for me, though. A piece of this next 4 mile leg was littered with twisty, toe-stubbing tree roots. Once we got there it was even worse than I expected. There were no flat spots in the trail big enough to put my foot down into. Every step was into a nest of pine tree roots. Every couple of yards I was, literally, wincing and seizing my breath with pain as I inadvertently placed my blistered foot directly down onto a protruding root. It was like walking on a pit of spear tips.

That extra struggle zapped me of far more energy that I ever expected. I must have been running a little clinched for awhile already, especially once I started my Boston Store loop. The pain in my feet was making every part of me tight, as I gritted my teeth more and more and tried to run through the mounting irritation. It all had grown up so gradually that I hadn’t even noticed. I must have unconsciously adjusted my stride and my footfall as well, because I began to feel hot spots on both my heels, and I’ve never ever had any inkling of trouble with blisters on my heels before. The problems were mounting very quickly.

My pace slowed yet again to nearly 23 minutes per mile, and I found myself apologizing to Mike more than once for the lazy forward tempo. I fear my verbal output slowly began to resemble a stream-of-consciousness catalog of my worries and aches and pains. I hope that I sounded coherent, but suspect at times I did not.

Mike, though, was never fazed. If he was ever bored, concerned, annoyed or overly worried about me, he never showed it. We talked about most of the usual topics, running, races, work, school, girlfriends, more running, work, and so on. He graciously took my advice on a number of running and relationship topics. He laughed when I told him to just take one look at me for some anti-advice on the proper way to finish a 100-miler, and he wisely kept both of us talking at a steady, gentle clip so as to while away the hours.

By the time we reached Pine Lane Aid Station (Mile 64.7), I had officially run farther than I had ever run before. Other than that, though, the news wasn’t great. My legs and my knees were stiff and more swollen than I’d ever felt them. I felt like there were knives embed in the sole and heel of my right shoe and the left wasn’t too far behind. And I’d lost almost another half hour to the cutoffs. The toll it took on me to absorb the shocks of pain running up through my body with every footfall on the trail was more surprising that it should have been.

I leaned on a chair for a minute, but we managed not to linger at Pine Lane for too long before we headed out again. We were only 100 yards down the trail, though, when I suddenly came to a complete halt. All day long, no matter how I’d been doing, one simple given had been driving me forward. I was going to finish the race. I didn’t have to go fast, I just had to keep going. Through the speedy start, through the heat of the midday, on the monotonous Tow Path and the little mountain climbs, and even on blistering feet, I was just going to keep going. All I had to do was keep my legs moving and somehow I’d get there.

Just beyond Pine Lane AS, some 65 miles and 18 hours into my day, for whatever reason, something intangible just clicked. Deep down in the darkest and most stubborn parts of myself, I simply laid down my burden. I wasn’t going to finish, and it was okay, I didn’t mind. I just wanted the mercy of stopping, of sitting down and not needing to get up again for a very long time.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t just stop on the trail, I also turned my body around so it faced back off in the direction we’d just come from. I could just walk back, tell the station chief I was dropping, and then wait for a ride out. Mike waited for me silently – at least I don’t remember him saying anything. If for some crazy reason he had decided to hug me at that moment, I think something else in me would have released and I would have started sobbing with my exhaustion. (What a strange sight that would have been to come upon.) I think the entirety of my pause lasted 10 or 15 seconds, me slumped over, my hands on my knees… And then the other voice in my gut gently took over again and I turned and began moving forward on the trail again.

If Mike hadn’t been with me and I’d been alone, or if Heather had been at that Aid Station, I believe I’d have quit right then. I would have gone back. I would have given into the second voice. Instead, I never thought about going backwards again, and we pushed forward to Happy Days.

I’d like to say that the little revival of my spirits inspired a revival of my body as well, but that would be far from the truth. The bulk of the next 5.6 miles was on paved roads and paved bike paths, but the weary, burning wobble in my steps had progressed to the point that, at times, it was difficult for me to walk in a straight line. I eventually became so desperate to relieve the pressure of gravity from the bottom of my feet that on three different occasions, I did, indeed, stop to lie down on the ground. The problem was, even though I didn’t stay down too long, my legs grew stiff and throbbing and painful every time I stopped, such that the pain of stopping began to rival the pain of going.

Throughout it all, Mike remained the picture of encouragement and steady optimism, and without overdoing the sunny cheerleading. (Heather must have passed along my basic instructions.) I like to think that I impressed him in one way at least: I never lost my sense of humor. I never got angry or depressed. I never set off on an emotional rollercoaster. Even when I was lying on my back on the ground in pain, I was still cracking jokes with him and making him laugh with me.

I did though, keep talking about the time. About how far we must have come, how far we had to go, how long it might take us to get there and how that might play out in relation to the cutoffs. He listened to me talk about it over and over, until finally he said: “I think I’m going to take that watch away from you. All we need to worry about is getting to the next station, forget about the clock.” I understood his point very well, but there was something I needed to explain to him: “It’s a little like being stuck in a traffic jam – you look ahead of you and there’s no end in sight; it feels like you’re never going to get there. But if you turn around and look behind, you can see all the cars that are stuck behind you and how much ground you’ve covered that they haven’t. So long as I can see the time, and see that we have covered a lot of ground, that we are covering ground, then the next station will keep feeling like it’s getting closer, and I’ll be able to keep moving.” I don’t know if he believed me, but he didn’t argue.

I also started to tell him that, unless something dramatic changed soon, I didn’t think I’d be continuing on after Happy Days. And every time I said it, Mike gave the best answer: “Let’s just get you to the next aid station, ice you down, give you a break and then see how you’re feeling.” He never got upset with me. He never lost his patience. He never came out from under his calm demeanor. Whether he really did or not, he absolutely made me believe that he believed we’d be able to take a shot at moving on beyond Happy Days. If you ever find yourself being paced by this guy in the middle of the night somewhere, consider yourself lucky.

What it all really boiled down to was this: A Man’s Gotta Know His Limitations. I’d simply found mine on that day – and had already pushed myself about 5 miles beyond them. I wasn’t going to be able to move fast enough to stay ahead of the next cutoff, and it was nearly 5 more miles to Pine Hollow, the next aid station at mile 75.1. It might take me another 2.5 hours to get that much further. The whole aid station crew might have been closed up and gone by that point. There was just no need. Now it really was time to lay down the burden.

It was Michelle that jogged out to greet us when Mike and I emerged from the trees. She and Mike both paced me in that final 100 yards to the aid station tent, and I did, indeed, muster a wobbly trot as a symbolic guesture as I crossed what would be my own, personal finish line at the 70.3 mile point.

Heather was waiting for me there. The three of them knew it might be over, but they were still moving around to prep me to go back out again. I gave Heather a hug, asked for the chair, and then officially let them all off the hook. “That’s it. I’m done.” And I sat down while a wave of joy and contentment washed over me. I have never been so satisfied with a failure in all my life.

I came to understand two things in the following day: It was the right thing to stop. The blisters were really bad, and they were very deep beneath the thickened skin on the bottom of my foot. They were, for me, an unforeseen complication, and being ignorant to the problem before the race, there was little I could do about them. In my relatively untrained state, I cannot say with complete certainty that I would have finished, but I do believe I would have gotten to mile 80 or 85, and after that, anything may have been possible.

The other thing was the way in which half a dozen people voluntarily took it upon themselves to be responsible for me, my sister, my race and my well being, most of them having been complete strangers before that weekend. Sean and Amy, who befriended us, asked my sister to join them for dinner between aid stations and then summoned a pacer for me in the night. Mike and Michelle who volunteered to run miles and miles with a man they’d never met, and then both lost sleep on the trail with me or sitting company with my sister in the dark while she waited nervously. (I should mention that neither of them left the Happy Days station until I was in the car with Heather on the way out. Another runner had passed through just before me, running alone in the night. I encouraged Michelle to head off after her and help her through, but Michelle insisted that I was still “her runner” and she didn’t plan on going anywhere until she was sure I was taken care of. Only after I was done and gone did she head out to catch up to that other runner.)

And most of all, my sister, who is, after all, my sister and perhaps on some level is obligated to help her big brother out in these ways when she can, but who nevertheless, didn’t hesitated once in any way, never gave me any friction, never complained about boredom, or all the waiting, and couldn’t have been a better support system for me through 70 miles, 20.5 hours, and beyond. Once I’d thrown in the towel, she drove us back to the hotel in the middle of the night, hauled all our bags back upstairs, fetched buckets of ice for me, even helped me into bed and tucked me in before I passed out. I could scarcely believe that I had ever entertained the notion that I would just come and run 100 miles alone. I absolutely COULD NOT have covered the distance that I did without all those friends I made, and certainly not without my sister.

SUNDAY MORNING
Heather and I crawled out of bed the next morning just in time to head back to do the finish line to see the podiatrists one more time. As we drove into the finish area, just minutes before the final cutoff at 11:00am, we saw the last runner in the race crossing the street and heading to her finish line. Others were huddled and hobbling around the finish area, waiting for the awards ceremony to begin. (ALL of the finishers received their medals one at a time at the ceremony.)

I plopped down in an open chair at the podiatry tent and waited my turn. I felt a little strange there in the tent with several finishers, kind of like they deserved attention before me. A woman across from me looked really bad. I couldn’t tell, but it looked as though her pinky toe had somehow been sliced in half length-wise and was dangling by a piece of skin. I am NOT exaggerating.

When my turn came up, two of the volunteers set about snipping my blisters open and draining the fluid. Two on my right heel and then the massive one under the ball. It was as big as an old half-dollar coin, more than a third of the width of my whole foot. And it was very deep under the surface of my skin. It took the volunteer several minutes to finally make a cut with her scissor deep enough to reach the fluid and allow it to drain. Then, as she watched the volume of fluid escaping, she told me she had seen ER patients with puss-filled infections that hadn’t drained as much fluid as my blister did. (Just in case any of you still thought I was just being a wimp.) They also looked at the ball of my left foot and decided nothing was there, but it, too, was revealed the next day when it began to work its way to the surface. It was nickel-sized. That’s how deep each of the blisters had formed.
Heather went to fetch a little bit of food for us from the post-race brunch. She returned with other news, too: some of our new friends were settled on the edge of the awards pavilion. After I was bandaged and taped and said my thanks to the volunteers, we made our way down to say good morning to Amy and Sean. Amy was wearing a new ring on her finger.

“I heard that questions were asked and affirmations were uttered,” I said to them both with a big smile on my face. We all shook hands and I took a gander at that stand-in ring on Amy’s finger. Sean had finished the race after 28.5 hours, and, hand-in-hand with Amy and all the friends who come to help crew, they crossed the finish line. Shortly afterwards, he took a knee, produced the ring and popped his question. They sat now, both of them ginning and weary, trading with me the stories about how the rest of our nights had gone. (Sean told me that covering the last 20 miles was the most difficult thing he’d done in his life.) Neither of them were very lively – indeed they both looked like they could have drifted off to sleep right there in front of me – but Sean had a goofy smile that he couldn’t wipe away and Amy quietly held his hand and didn’t let go.

As for me? I learned a lot. I’m very optimistic that gluing mole skin to the bottom of my feet before a race will help stave off the “creases” and the blisters that follow. I learned more about fueling myself in the race (those Ensures really were a good idea). And I learned just how big a difference it makes to have a good crew. I’ve managed 50 miles unsupported without any trouble. I found that 62 miles (100K) was just about as doable. 100-Miles though, is a totally different animal. You’ve gotta have help to keep you going. 70 miles of distance run, and 20.5 hours on my feet were both new PRs for me, and I was extremely pleased with both, but I learned that I’m capable of finishing 100-miles. I know I can do it now, and when I employ the things I learned at Burning River, I’m sure I will.

Race Report: BR100 part 3

2009-08-30T17:04:00.008-05:00

BLISTER
That first time I went through Station Road Bridge AS, I didn’t see Sean. My speed-walking had allowed him to get back out ahead of me a little bit. So he wasn’t around when I took my first look at the hot spot under my foot. It didn’t look bad, really. There was just a tender spot. I tried lathering the bottom of my foot with Vaseline. Maybe reducing the friction would help. Then I drank my first Ensure of the day and tried gnawing on some beef jerky that Heather offered me. It tasted good, but was too dry and hard to swallow.

Then I whipped out a little trick I’d picked up from one of my blog-buddies: a toothbrush. My fellow blogger, Paige, had just run her first 100-miler a couple of weeks before and she wrote that brushing her teeth a few times during the long day had really helped her feel refreshed. So, I pulled mine out and gave all my toothies a good scrubbing, sans toothpaste. It did feel good, but it also made every single person near me at the aid station laugh! Oh, they though I was silly – but silly-practical! I just scrubbed and grinned and took a little bow when I was done.

We had a small, internal, 6.4 mile loop to run from there, which would bring us back around to Station Road Bridge a second time. In the middle, we actually scaled a small peak. It was really nothing major, but it was the sharpest climb we completed all day.

On the way back down, an older woman, who was about 20 yards in front of me, tripped on a root and fell, in a full out dive, head first to the ground. I could only watch as she went down, but I kept an eye on her head to see if it bounced when she hit. Somehow, she did manage to keep her head up, but she also slid a foot or two downhill after she landed. She was in a little shock about it, and she laid still for a moment taking inventory as I ran down to her. She got up on her own power, and was mostly just surprised by the whole thing, but we also noticed that her right wrist was already beginning to swell. In the scheme of things, it was better to have a battered wrist than a twisted ankle, but she was still a little concerned.

I ran with her for a while, making sure she was really okay. I wanted to be sure that she didn’t get dizzy or disoriented – head contusion or not, she hit the ground really hard – but after a couple of miles she made me look bad by speeding off down the trail without me. Ha! By the time I descended to the Tow Path again, I could barely see her down the trail. I did find her again, briefly, back at the Aid Station. She’d been eager to get back and have her wrist looked at. (She finished 100 miles the next morning with little other trouble.)

The bad news for me was, the hot spot on my foot wasn’t getting any better, and I really wasn’t sure what to do about it. In all my Ultra experience, all the things I’ve learned and dealt with, I’ve never had to fight with blisters before. Burning River was my 10th Ultra, my 4th of 50-Miles or further, and that to go with 9 other “regular” marathons. In all those races, over all those miles, I’ve never gotten a blister. And I’ve only had “hot spots” maybe three or four times.

The reality I seemed to be facing was I’d simply never run a race long enough for those hot spots to grow into full-out blisters. When I had gotten them, they’d always shown up in the last 5 to 10 miles of a race and I was across the finish line before they became a real danger. The problem spot then was the same now: on the bottom of my foot, next to the ball, right in the center of width, a “crease” forms. I guess my foot gets damp, the skin swells, and that small crease folds up just ever so slightly. And then the skin on either side of the crease begins to rub together.

It was interesting for me to note that the crease showed up at roughly the same time it has sometimes in the past: about 25 to 30 miles into the course. I debated trying to wrap the bottom of my foot with duct tape, but it’s a hard area to tape, and once I got a piece on, it stopped seeming like a good idea. I lathered on more Vaseline instead, hoping that I might be able to keep the area lubricated.

Sean was still at Station Road Bridge when I returned, taking a little breather of his own. He had several friends now, all working as his crew, but I picked out a blonde woman in the group. “You must be Amy,” I called over to her. I could see Sean looking back at me from beside her with a little twinkle in his eye. “I just wanted to put a face to person who called to scold us for running too fast this morning!” and she laughed with me. Of course, I didn’t care about the phone call at all. I wanted to get a look at the girl who was going to get a ring tomorrow morning!

I also introduced Sean and Amy to my sister, Heather, who had been running back and forth to the car to retrieve some aspirin for me. If trends continued, we’d all be seeing each other a few more times during the day, so might as well get cozy, right?

The bad news, was that hot spot was with me every single step of the next 3.5 miles to Ottawa Point Aid Station (Mile 46.5). On most footfalls, it was just a dull, itchy irritation, but every now and then, it felt more like my sock had rolled up into a naughty little ball under my foot.

The good news was I had finally survived the heat of the day. It was about 4:15pm when I got to Ottawa Point. I was warm and salty, but Heather had been giving me a bandana rolled up with ice at every aid station and the forest canopy had helped to keep the sun off my back. Even if it took me the full 30 hours to get to the finish line, we were done with the real heat the rest of the way.

I splashed some water over my head, and drank another Ensure. I kicked off my shoes and socks while I wandered around in the grass and refueled. I wanted to give my feet a chance to air out a little bit in the hopes it would help soothe that hot spot. Maybe the cooler temps and a drier foot would stem the rising tide.

Sean was also at Ottawa, but his crew seemed to have grown to 6 or 7 people and they were all busy taking care of him. He did pause long enough to call over and tease me for leaving the aid stations before he did, though. We’d been out there together long enough that some ribbing was in order.

Snowville was the next station, at mile 50.6, just beyond the halfway mark. The blisters continued to get worse and worse and they were really starting to cost me time. I’d completed the Station Road Bridge loop at better than 15 minutes per mile. I’d been able to run the next 3.5 miles to Ottawa at about 16 mpm, but I also had to take a 15 minute break a Station Road #2 to work on my feet. That extra time sent my overall pace to Ottawa at slower than 20 mpm. On the next leg, to Snowville AS, I lost nearly 10 minutes on my break at Ottawa and I ran even slower. My overall pace on that section was nearly 21 mpm.

So, I’d fallen behind the required 18 minutes per mile average pace, and was losing time to the cutoffs. At mile 43, I’d worked up a 2 hours and 45 minutes cushion, but in just 7 miles, I lost 25 minutes of that lead. The blisters were officially a serious impediment to my race, and I was growing more and more worried about them.

Sean was leaving Snowville just as I came in. He joked with the volunteers there that they should do anything they could to slow me down a little, because “every time I think I’ve shaken that guy, he turns up on my heels again!” He gave me a big grin, and it was nice to hear him say, but I didn’t really believe it anymore. “I don’t think you’ve gonna have to worry about me after this,” I told him. I was more serious than he knew.

One nice thing, though: I covered the first 50 miles in just 12.5 hours. That was only an hour slower than my 50-mile PR.

The next aid station was another big one, Boston Store, the second of three stations that we’d pass through twice, with a small internal loop in between. I’d see it first at Mile 56, then again at Mile 60.6. Heather was waiting there and I expected the place would be a bustle of activity, with twice as many runners, crews, and volunteers.

Volunteers! Of course! I was a dufus. There were volunteer podiatry students out working the course all weekend! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? What Aid Stations were they supposed to be at? I couldn’t remember. They probably had a tent set up at Station Road Bridge. I should have looked for them there. Were they going to be at Boston Store? I called ahead to Heather to get her to ask around and find out. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get me out of this mess that I’d gotten my feet into.

I finally pulled into Boston Store at 7:25pm, 14 hours and 25 minutes into the race and still losing time to the cutoffs. Heather was relieved to see me, and she started talking about finding me a pacer for the end of the race. That sounded fine, but I was way more concerned about my feet. “Are the podiatrists here?” They were, and she pointed out the tent to me. I kicked off my shoes and socks again, and hobbled over to take a seat in one of their chairs.

I was a little disappointed to learn that they didn’t think there was a whole lot they could do for me. All they could see was the red, irritated area around the ball of my right foot. They offered to pad the area with a couple of layers of mole skin. They cut one piece with a big hole in the middle to go around the red spot, and then another to go over the whole area. They were hoping this would take some of the pressure off the wound on each footfall. I had them go ahead and do the same thing to my left foot, too, because I was sure, I’d get the same problem there at some point.

Meanwhile, Heather had come back over to find me, and she had a friend with her. Finally, I understood what she’d been trying to tell me when I came in: she wasn’t going to find me a pacer, she already had one for me!

It turns out Sean’s girlfriend, Amy, and Heather had been hanging out and talking while they waited for the two of us to get to Boston. Amy asked if I had any pacers lined up, and when Heather said “no,” Amy set off to make some phone calls. They had some running club friends in the area who were helping with the race and one, Michelle, was waiting to find someone to pace. Event rules stated that runners were allowed to have pacers starting at mile 60.6, the second time they left Boston Store. Michelle had run a handful of Ultras and had paced for several more. She understood what she was doing. She told me that she’d join me at mile 81, the Covered Bridge Aid Station. That would give her some time to get some food and a few hours sleep. “I’ll meet you at Covered Bridge and we will get you to the finish line.”

I think Heather was even more relieved than I was. Sean and Amy had done me a HUGE favor. I’d seen them on the ground nearby when I got to Boston, but was too preoccupied with my feet to talk to them. By the time I had my feet wrapped, gotten acquainted with Michelle and was ready to head out again, Sean and Amy were both gone. I wouldn’t see either of them again for the rest of the race.

To Be Continued, One More Time...

Race Report: BR100 part 2

2009-08-30T16:18:00.009-05:00

SEAN
More that 12 hours later, after I had mustered the energy to make a show of vanity and jog the last 100 yards into the Happy Days aid station, I was actually afraid to take off my shoes and socks. If their actual state came anything close to matching the pain they were giving me, then those blisters might be comically large already.

The aid station was a little deserted. All day I passed through aid stations filled with people; volunteers, crews, race officials, family, and always a handful of runners. The exhaustion may have been affecting my observation skills, but I don’t think there were any other racers at Happy Days when I came in. And I didn’t notice any other runners come through while I was there. I arrived a little more than 20 minutes before the 1:49am cutoff. I think that means when I got to Happy Days, of all the runners still on the course, I was in dead last place. It’s weird to think about that. I didn’t get passed all that many times in the last 20 miles. (Placings must have changed a lot at the aid stations.) It’s weird to think about all the people I’d run with during the day who were now way out ahead of me.

I’d spent the bulk of my day running with one guy in particular. He first caught up to me way back around mile 10, when we were about 20 minutes out of the Polo Field AS. We had settled into a rhythm with 2 other men, and the four of us jogged along as a box-shaped quartet, chatting about the quick early pace we were on.

The oldest guy, who was next to me in front, told us that last year he’d sped through the first 50 miles in less than 10 hours, then bonked completely and had to walk the final 50 – but he did finish. I should add he was NOT advocating a repeat of that strategy.

One of the guys behind me was busy telling us that his girlfriend, who was out as his crew for the weekend, was going to be upset with him for going so fast in the early miles. That was when his phone rang. It was his girlfriend calling to scold him for exactly that. When he hung up, the three of us all gave him a hard time about it, but I promise you that’s only because we were all still nervous that she might be right.

The four of us all scattered when we got to Polo Field, but after I’d been back out on the course for a mile or so, one of the guys caught back up to me. It turned out to be the guy whose girlfriend had called to scold him on the phone. By way of starting up conversation, he politely complained that this whole section just felt like a long slow uphill. Now that we were finally off-road and covering some single track, we were definitely gaining elevation very, very slowly. We chuckled about how different things were now that we were running a real “trail” race.

He told me that he, also, was attempting his very first 100-miler, and not only that, the only other ultra he’d done was the 50K he’d run in his training build-up for this event. If I remember correctly, he’d never even run a regular marathon before. He said his goal, like mine, was just to finish and he figured it would take him between 29 and 30 hours to get there. We chatted our way to the Harper Ridge Picnic AS (Mile 18.7). There, I grabbed some more watermelon, had my bottle refilled and was ready to head out again before my new friend was.

My general policy is that I pretty much always enjoy company in a race when I get it, but I know that it’s a dangerous trap to get caught up trying to run someone else’s pace, or to have someone else get caught up in your own, so I never expect people to stay with me. If they need to move on ahead, or I do, I’m okay letting them go. So, I looked over my shoulder a few times to see how he was doing (and because I didn’t want him to think that I was just trying to get away from him), then I went ahead and set off. He wasn’t very far back, though, and within a mile or two, we were running together again.

As it turned out, we kept up this routine for most of the next 40 miles, a little over 10 hours. We’d run together for a while, and maybe I’d get ahead a little, or he would, but then we’d tag up at the next aid station and hook up again or leap frog one another. We were each running our own race, but our paces (and aid station breaks) kept bringing us back together again.

He told me he lived in the area. He’d been a casual runner, mostly for fitness, and then he read a book called “Born to Run” that had completely changed his idea about what running could be. It was his girlfriend who’d originally gotten the idea to train for and run Burning River. They intended to tackle the distance together on race day, but she’d picked up an injury and had been forced to stay on the sidelines and crew for him over the weekend.

The longer we ran together, the farther we got past the idle chatter, and the more we started to tell real stories about ourselves. I told him about Chicago and my theatre work, about my girlfriend and family and my sister. He told me about the various jobs he’d been through in recent years, about his girlfriend’s work. He told me about the serious running revelations he’d had, the “injury free” techniques he’d been studying, and his new plans to become certified as a running and fitness instructor. (That “Born to Run” book really had changed his life!)

Somewhere along the way – it must have been after the Shadow Lake AS, maybe 24 miles into the day – he told me the thing that was really on his mind: He was carrying a ring in his little gear pack. A diamond ring. A diamond engagement ring. He’d been with his girlfriend for several years and things had been great, but her injury during training for this event had been a crucial moment. He fretted about the situation a lot, and then finally told her that even though she couldn’t, he still wanted to run it. This was delicate, because the impetus had been hers in the first place. Her passion to do it was strong and he knew it would be tough for her to watch him make a go of it, and possibly finish his first 100, while she could only watch.

He said he told her he still wanted to run; she had a quiet moment, then took a breath, shook it off and said something on the order of, “Ok, so let’s get you to the finish line.” From that point forward, she never made one mention her own inability to run, or of her injury or how depressed she might be about it. She was all about helping him get trained, prepared, and through to the finish line. He’d decided that was the last thing he needed to know about her and their relationship.

He’d had a little trouble securing a ring. She wasn’t a jewelry wearer at all, and even her sisters didn’t even know what her ring size was. She’d actually been married once, long before, but it seems she’d given that ring back to her ex-husband. (He decided it really wouldn’t be kosher to call the guy who’d come before him to get her finger measurements.) In the end, he’d settled on taking a loaner from a friend of his who’d intended to make a proposal before his relationship fell apart. That ring would serve as a stand in until a proper ring could be picked and fitted.

He still hadn’t decided exactly when he’d pop the question. He had hope that, the next morning, he’d be hitting one of the crew accessible aid stations near dawn. He thought that might be a nice setting for a proposal, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d wait ‘til the finish line. Or maybe after the awards ceremony. Or maybe a perfect moment would spring up somewhere else on the course late in the race. In any event, it would happen this weekend, and he was ringed and ready.

I got him to tell me that his girlfriend’s name was Amy. Foolishly, I didn’t get his name until a little later when I found myself running next to someone else that he knew out on the course. This girl and I made a little conversation and she told me that his name was Sean.

To Be Continued, Again...

Race Report: BR100 part 1

2009-08-30T15:38:00.008-05:00

As usual, I'm a little tardy with this. It's been four weeks, now, since the race. There are really fours stories I want to tell, so I'm breaking the report up into four installments. There's a chance they could all use one more clean and edit, but I'm eager to get them posted finally...
__________________________________

Even before I could see the lights glowing across the field from the Happy Days aid station, I knew I was done. I’d known it for hours already. It was nearly 1:30am, I’d been in some kind of forward motion for 20 hours and thirty minutes, I’d covered more than 70 miles, and the blisters on the bottom of both my feet made each step an excruciating event.

Two hours and forty minutes had rolled off the clock while I trudged and whimpered through the last 5.5 miles – 28 minutes for every mile. I was still almost 30 minutes ahead of the cutoff, but that didn’t matter. I was done and I knew it.

SIBLING POWER
My sister, Heather, was waiting nervously for me at Happy Days. I’d called ahead, 2 miles back, to let her know that I was okay, but moving really slowly. Another hour passed before I emerged from the tree line a couple of hundred yards away from the station. I know she was worried because she hadn’t seen me since I left Boston Store Aid Station the second time. That was at Mile 60.6, ten miles back. Four hours and twenty minutes had passed since then, easily the longest amount of time I’d been out of contact with her all day. What was she thinking? What would she say when I finally limped in?

Heather was a newbie at all of this. She’d only ever seen me run twice, at a 5K Turkey Trot near her home outside Pittsburgh. She’d never even come close to an Ultra before, let alone a 100-miler with a weary and potentially cranky older brother. But when I called to ask her if she might be able to come crew me for the Burning River, she said yes without hesitation.

I didn’t tell her at the time, but if she had said no, I don’t think I would have gone either. The event was penciled into my calendar for months, but my work commitments were heavy and it wasn’t until four days before the race that I knew I’d be able to get out of town for three days to run it. By that time, there was so much last minute planning to take care of, I don’t know if I could have managed it all by myself.

With Heather coming though, I didn’t have to worry about drop bags, or plotting out when I might need certain equipment. All I had to do was throw everything I might need for the race into one duffle bag, and then toss that bag into the trunk of her car. There were 14 crew accessible aid stations on the course, so I’d be seeing her plenty, and I could just carry my cell phone and call her about anything I thought of between pit stops.

It was an easy trip for Heather. The Burning River 100 runs between Cleveland and Akron, Ohio. That’s only a quick two-hour drive west from Pittsburgh for her. It would be more than six hours for me from Chicago. I found us a hotel, confirmed with the race director that I would still be able to sign up in person on Friday night before the race, and packed my car.

So, we were set. I was going. We were – both of us – going to take a crack at it.

After we found each other in Cuyahoga Falls (the staging area and Finish line for the event) and were settled at our hotel, I started my own little briefing session with my sister. I gave her a run down on all the equipment I had in my bag, headlamps, extra running clothes, Vaseline, all my socks, hip packs and such. We talked about when I might need it and what I might need it for. We went through all the race food I had brought along, Gatorade powder, gel packs, trail mix, and bottles of Ensure. I tried to give her an idea of when she should heed my requests (or denials) and when she should ignore me and force me to take or change things.

I said she didn’t need to worry about speeding me through the aid stations. I wouldn’t be lingering, but I was fine with taking a few minutes, catching my breath, reloading supplies and making sure I had everything I needed. I reminded her – and myself – that my time goals were very modest and if I could keep a 15 minute per mile pace most of the event, that would be ideal. She could guesstimate my aid station arrivals based on that pace.

Mostly, I let her know that blind or false enthusiasm wouldn’t help me. Scolding or fussing at me wouldn’t help either (not that I thought she’d do that). I forget exactly how I phrased it, but I told her that what I’d really need was a, sort of, “practical optimism”, and always the hard truth. No blowing smoke up my ass or white lies to egg me on.

The next morning in the car on the way up to the start line, she was giddy and nervous and excited – more so even than I was. At least I had a good idea what I was getting into! We arrived at the Start area later than we’d hoped and had to scramble a bit to get me checked in and geared up. A couple of small flood lights lit the check-in tents. The air was cool but not chilly. We could see a hint of Squire’s Castle standing over us in the dark behind the start line. And then after a hug, a kiss, and a quick snapshot, I was off! It was going to be 2 or 3 hours before I saw Heather again.

The early miles flew by. A course change due to bridge construction, had added a few miles to the course before the first aid station. The first 13 miles were now all on paved roads – and largely flat roads, at that. My 15 minute goal pace fell quickly. Even when I walked the hills, and took other walk breaks I didn’t feel I needed, I was still covering the miles at an 11 minute pace!

On paper, that doesn’t look so good. Too fast! Too fast! Every runner I talked to worried about it out loud, but we all agreed, semi-pros and newbies alike, that in spite of the numbers, it felt super easy. That’s the real point in an Ultra, right? To keep the effort light and easy for the first 20 to 30 miles.

The easy terrain had another rare effect: the packs of runners stayed thick and populated for miles and miles at the start. There were only 150 of us in the race, but, even 10 miles in, there were still large packs of us moving together along the course and in eye-sight of each other. That’s something that’s never happened in any of the trail-based ultras I’ve run.

By the first Aid Station, 8.1 miles in (Old Mill & Chagrin River Roads), I was way ahead of schedule and had to call Heather to tell her to look for me early at Polo Field AS (the first crew accessible station, at the 12.9 Mile mark). When I pulled in, it was good to see her waiting in the parking lot. It turned out she had packed a little dry erase board and had written a message on it for me. I think that first one read: “Remember the Tortoise, He beat the Hare!”

After greeting her, I went straight for the food tables under the picnic pavilion. I took my first chunks of juicy watermelon, a habit I would keep to for the rest of the day. I’m not usually a watermelon guy, but they were sweet, watery (duh), easy to eat, and cool in my mouth. Ideal all around.

I was also glad to find that Heather had already made a friend. There was another runner at the race from Pittsburgh and his wife was out to crew for him. She and my sister had already struck up a camaraderie.

Heather had a towel out for me to wipe my face dry, I opted not to change my socks yet, grabbed an extra gel pack, and off I went. I’d covered the first 13 miles in less than 2.5 hours, an 11.5 minute per mile pace. I didn’t worry though. They were still “easy effort” miles and I was confident that I hadn’t made a mistake – just like I wouldn’t have worried about a super-slow pace on a section that included a major elevation gain.

The course out of Polo Field, though, finally got us off the roads and put us on real trails for the first time all day. That made it easy to slow down a little, and I covered the next 9 miles to the next crew accessible AS, Shadow Lake (Mile 21.9), in just under 2 hours, a 13 minute per mile pace.

It took me a moment to spy Heather at Shadow Lake, but then I found her at the far end of the picnic area. She had hauled my gear bag over to a table, but the parking lot wasn’t far away and I redirected us over to her car. We had several bits of business to take care of: I needed some bug spray, I was ready to change my socks, and I needed to spread on some Vaseline. That last one, my sister was a little embarrassed to bring up. She was worried about my nipples. But I was also thinking about my armpits and my tender rear end! Luckily, her cell phone rang and distracted her before she noticed me reaching behind my back to apply a small handful of paraffin down my shorts!

But who was on the phone? Our Mom! Don’t ever let anyone tell you that parents (especially Moms) don’t have some kind of telepathic radar. It was only the second time my sister and I had been together all morning, and Mom called at precisely that moment. I talked to her for a minute while Heather handled some gear exchange in the back of the car. Then she took the phone again and told Mom she’d call back in a minute once I was on my way.

Just as I was getting my shoes laced back up again, a Parks Patrolwoman pulled up behind us in her patrol car. “So, uh, what exactly is going on here this morning? This some kind of race?” she asked, but her tone wasn’t really conversational, it was more like what the heck do you people think you’re doing to my park?

I told that yeah, it was a race, a 100-Mile race. Then I told her if she needed to talk to somebody, there were a few race officials working the picnic area behind us. Not only that, one of them would have a direct line of contact to the Race Director. She should go talk to them, I was just a runner. She ignored that suggestion though. Maybe she was too lazy to get up out of her car. She kept asking me questions instead. Where had we started? Where would we finish? How long would we be out there? Would we be following the river most of the way down? I could see her writing down the answers I gave her on a notepad in her lap.

It was kind of weird. I knew the race was being staged with the consent of the Cleveland Metroparks and the Cuyahoga River Valley. How could this parks patrolwomen not be in on the gig? And why was I being interrogated. Despite myself, I was annoyed with her, and finally I just turned my back on her and went back about my own business. I had a race to run. I referred her, one last time, to the aid station tent for a race official.

Heather reminded me that it was going to be 3 more Aid Stations and just under 15 miles before I’d see her again. Did I have everything I’d need? Yep, I was good. I told her I was going to take this next stretch really easy and it would be 3 to 4 hours before I saw her at the next crew spot, Station Road Bridge (Mile 36.6).

I was true to my word. I covered a lot of those 15 miles at a speed-walking pace. Especially as the time of day moved toward noon, and the air temps reached into the 80s. The last mile before the Egbert Shelter AS included a long walk up a sun-exposed highway bridge. That’s where I really felt the heat for the first time and it wasn’t quite 11am, yet. Egbert offered a special treasure, though, once I got there: a cooler full of frozen Icee-Pops! I took an orange one before I left. That was the sweetest thing I tasted all day. Delicious!

The 5 miles to Alexander/Bedford Road wasn’t so bad, but the long section from there to Station Road Bridge was another sun-exposed section of the Tow Path, a mostly paved bike path that was populated with weekend cruisers. Dodging family bike clans wasn’t so bad, but the heat was rough and I speed-walked just about the whole 5 miles. I got tired of the dutiful bikers calling out “on your left” as they rolled past me with ten full feet of path clearance on my left side.

My walking speed slowed my overall pace and it seemed to take too long to get to Station Road Bridge. Twice in that last hour I talked to Heather on the phone to give her and update and try to figure how far away I was from her. The second time, we figured out that the passenger train which had passed by me on the other side of the river minutes before was now passing through the aid station area, so I knew I was close.

Despite the extra time, that long walk was still a good strategy. Overall, I’d covered the last 14.7 miles at about 15.5 minutes per mile. An 18 minute pace from start to finish would get me across all 100 miles in just under the 30 hour cutoff. Anything faster than that pace would be keeping me on schedule. (I think the 30 hour cutoff is just short enough that one cannot walk the entire course and finish on time. A large portion of the course must, at least, be jogged to stay ahead of the cutoff times.)

The course made a right turn off of the Tow Path and carried us across a short suspension bridge to the AS. Heather was waiting there on the other side as I speed-walked my way across. Some spectators were trying to encourage me to run into the AS, but I thought they were just silly. I’d already covered 36.6 miles in 8 hours and 20 minutes. It was no time for a display of vanity.

I walked over to the food tent long enough to get my bottle refilled and grab some more watermelon. Then I walked over to where Heather had set up camp. Apparently, she’d found folding camp chairs at a Target nearby and bought herself one. I plopped down and kicked off my shoes and socks. I needed to change my socks – but I also need to inspect a hot spot that had developed on the bottom of my right foot in the last 90 minutes…

To Be Continued...

This Just In: Kara Goucher Runs!

2009-08-04T01:36:00.007-05:00

Kara Goucher was in Chicago this past weekend to run the (newly re-titled) Chicago Rock ‘N’ Roll Half-Marathon. (This was the one truly negative thing about my going to Ohio for the BR100 this weekend: Kara Goucher was finally in Chicago – and I was not.) She did pretty well, finishing in just over 68 minutes, ahead of every other runner, male or female (though she was the only world-class athlete in the field).

The real reason I'm bringing this up, though, is a little piece the Chicago Tribune wrote about her for the Sunday paper. One anecdote in particular struck me as interesting:

“When Goucher learned her Thursday flight from Portland to Chicago was delayed three hours, she went into the Nike store at the Portland airport, bought shoes, a shirt and shorts and took off for a 40-minute run.”

There is nothing terribly unusual about a world-class runner going out for a run during unexpected down-time - though that was clearly what the Tribune was presenting as novel. (“See there, Elaine? Runners are obsessed and quirky!”)

I, however, being an obsessed and quirky runner myself, had a number of different reactions:

1. What? She didn't pack her key running gear in her carry-on? What was she thinking? Who trusts the airline to correctly deliver their checked baggage to an important race?

2. What? Nike put a Nike store in the Portland Airport!? Has anybody else been to another airport with its own Nike store? I guess Oregon really is a kind of running heaven, isn’t it? (Well, Nike heaven anyway.)

3. What? Kara Goucher went into a Nike store in the state of Oregon and she had to pay for her Nike gear? You’re kidding me. What is wrong with the world when a person, who is the sponsored public face of a mega-giant corporation, can walk into a retail branch of said corporate giant, in the geographic epicenter of same corporation, and is asked to pay for the product she so successfully endorses? Wouldn't her very presense in the store be worth enough immediate sales dollars to warrant handing over any little thing her heart might have desired? Maybe someone like Kara Goucher should have, like, their own permanent golden-ticket giftcard hand signed by Phillip Knight himself.

4. And a similar question: How does Kara Goucher walk into a running store anywhere at any time, and not cause a bit of a commotion, let alone in Oregon? In my mind’s eye, the scene resembles something like Miley Cyrus showing up at the local mall. Can you imagine browsing the Dri-Fit rack while Kara Goucher perused the tank tops next to you, and you somehow not noticing?

4. What? She went for a run? Where exactly? If you are Kara Goucher in Oregon, do airport officials allow you to run repeats on the tarmac and enlist arriving jetliners to be your pacers?

And finally:
5. What? Her flight was only delayed 3 hours? I guess all that money we spent for a new runway at O’Hare really is paying off. Someone tell the IOC that the effort is really paying off. (Because the phrase "paying off" should really get them jumping.)

That's my little dose of amused, bemused, mildly sardonic, observational humor for the moment. Please now, go about your business. Everything is normal...

70.6 Mile DNF at the BR100

2009-08-02T09:03:00.007-05:00

Maybe it wasn't epically bad. But badly cramped legs and some serious blisters on the bottom of my right foot took me out of the race at the Happy Days aid station 20 hrs and 30 minutes in. I was still 30 minutes ahead of the cutoff, but it had just taken me 2hrs and 40min to cover the previous 5.6 miles, and to try and race the next cutoff just would have been masochistic.

I'm currently in my hotel room with my legs up while my ace crew member (my sister) helps us get ready to head down to the finish line to see the volunteer podiatrists.

I'm very proud of my effort. Really, I don't think I could feel better about a DNF. I learned an awful lot. I met some awesome people. I was the beneficiary of some amazing volunteer efforts (with a great big A+ for my one and only sister). I got my first ever race blisters (in a BIG way). And I set a distance and "time on my feet" PR. Hopefully I'll be able to get up a modest race report this week.

An Epically Bad Idea

2009-07-30T22:10:00.002-05:00

I'm doing it. I'm going to run the Burning River 100 Mile Endurance Race this weekend. Maybe the hyperbole in my header isn't necessary, but this is, most certainly, not the best idea I've ever had.

Is that keeping me from going? Well, no. So, who's the more fool? (Or something like that.)

I'm not even going to go into all the reasons why I shouldn't do this. I'm embarrassed to lay them out in detail. Suffice it to say, my training has not progressed in the most fruitful manner lo these past two months. I have been unable to put in the quality long runs that would have been ideal given the goal race at hand.

However, I have a few things going for me: I am not a novice. It will be my first attempt at 100 Miles, yes, but it will also be my 19th Ultra and my 4th of 50 miles or longer. (That, to go with 10 other, "regular" marathons.) I am also healthy. 100%. No aches, no pains, no tightness, no illness. So that's good.

And I will have a little help. My sister has volunteered to make the 2 hour drive over from Pittsburgh to be my crew for the event. She'll be able to drive in and see me at 14 different aid station during the event, and will have a trunk full of supplies for me at each one.

Best of all, I have absolutely no goals or expectation for the event other than to finish before the cutoff times. The finish line closes after 30 hours. There's a very high probability that if I'm able to finish at all, it will take the full 30 hours. (Woohoo!)

I'm just going to try to have fun and keep moving steadily forward.
But if I die before I'm done, I'll try to let you know...

Night Runner

2009-07-25T01:54:00.004-05:00

I went for a run tonight up in Lake County near my freelance job. Started out just after sunset and used the Des Plaines River Trail. It’s an easy, wide, well-groomed, white gravel biking trail that runs 27 miles north all the way to the Wisconsin state line through the Lake County Forest Preserve. I used a one mile section of the trail that mostly stays on the grounds my employer maintains.

There was a light rain tonight and thick, low clouds that drooped over the tree tops and reflected back plenty of the orange phosphorous light that glowed from the well-lit parking lot. A permanent, pre-dawn aura lingered as I ran back and forth a few times along my mile. I had a flashlight, but could see well enough without it.

The animals were out enjoying the rain shower. Huge frogs that played chicken with me or dared to sit perfectly still and pretend that I couldn’t see them. Little bats fluttering about just overhead enjoying mouthfuls of evening insects. A huge, beautiful crane that soared over the path in front of me, which I could only see silhouetted against the copper-reflecting clouds. A skunk that, gratefully, I saw shambling along the side of the road in the half-light before he had time to see me or get annoyed with my presence. The ducks that slept in a group on a pond that rippled near the cut of the trail.

Explosive bursts of light ripped across the sky far away in front of me more than once, and then, a dozen seconds later, a rolling rumble of telltale thunder played out like a lazy timpani solo, much like summer thunder tends to do when the days are still long and the nights are steamy.

The miles pass by slower in the dark, but sometimes they are more pleasant in the night when they linger on that way.

Rough Patch

2009-06-30T21:24:00.002-05:00

I had a slightly disastrous run on Saturday. Ok; I wanted to call it a complete disaster, but there are plenty of actual problems in the world and, right now, we’re just talking about my Saturday long run.

Nevertheless, I went out for an easy paced 18-miler on a very warm but not sweltering afternoon, and I was only able to complete 2 and a half miles before I had to throw in the towel. My legs were tight, my body was tired and it all seemed to be getting worse instead of better as i ran. It hurt my ego a whole lot to have to punch a “fail” on the run, but I’m trying to stick to my new idea this year, that it’s better to not fight through a day like Saturday when it just isn’t working.

What really troubles me is that the whole week I had the same problem. 16 miles the previous Sunday, 8 miles on Tuesday and 10 miles on Thursday each featured lots of rest breaks and plenty of extra-slow splits. Three weeks ago I took a shot at a 16-miler, but had to bail out on it after just 4 miles.

The heat has been a problem. Heat is never good to me. And it was especially hot and humid in Chicago last week. The heat index climbed into the high 90s for most of the week. So that surely has been a factor.

But I think the real problem maybe Softball.

It saddens me to say this, but I think softball may be abusing the heck out of my legs. I play 16” softball (yes, 16) every summer for 3.5 months starting in May, on Mondays and Wednesdays. It’s not an overly-serious league and I am definitely little better than average out there on the field, but I have a well-earned reputation as a speedy runner.

However, I increased my training mileage significantly the last few years, and I noticed the downside on the diamond. I was more sluggish and my legs felt heavier on the bases and in the field. Well, this year I think it’s working around in the other direction.

It’s funny, because, you know, I’m a runner. Running around a softball field should be no big deal, right? But, the fact is, the kind of running it requires is so completely different. I’ve trained my body into the habit of long, slow, steady distance running. 50 miles in 12 hours or less? No big deal. But the stuttering stops and starts, sudden changes of direction, blistering 90 degree left turns, and – maybe worst of all – the complex motions of swinging a bat right-handed and then trying to run out of the batter’s box, have all taken quite a toll on my body this summer. My hamstrings are tight, my glutes are sore, the fascia up and down the outsides of both legs are creaky.

I think the true solution to all this might be a better stretching routine, both on running days and on softball days. I guess starting a yoga habit would truly be ideal. Stretching has long been a weakness in my fitness, and I find I am paying for it dearly this summer.

I just turned 35 last week. 10 years ago, I might have been able to weather all the self-inflicted abuse. Now? Well, I just need a little more TLC.

The biggest casualty in all this may be my attempt at the Burning River 100 Mile Endurance run on the first weekend in August. I was already doubtful of my preparedness, but this problem is like a double-whammy, because I’m dealing with all the aches AND it’s keeping me from getting my training miles in.

Ah, the perils of age and an active lifestyle.

Hey, Coach!

2009-06-23T20:36:00.004-05:00

Do your non-running (or barely running) friends ask you for running advice? Mine do. Not all the time, but it does come up with somebody every 2 or 3 months. Lately, the gist of the questions have all gone something like this: “Can you take me out some time soon and show me how to run?”

If these people weren’t my friends, I’m afraid I’d laugh at that question. Laugh in their faces. Because it’s kind of silly. Everyone knows how to run. It’s something that humans just do, right? Now, racing, that requires a little teaching. Likewise, pacing is a thing to be learned. But just running?

These people are my friends, so I look a little deeper and realize what they’re looking for is a little more complex, they just don’t have the words. So I get simple questions like, “Can you show me how to run?”

Maybe it’s a regretful side effect of the large, capitalistic industry that surrounds our little hobby. Shoe companies that proclaim you need their shoe to run faster. Drink companies that each purport to be the missing link to your personal best. Magazines that attempt to position themselves as the best monthly source for all the knowledge you need to complete your daily run. All trying to sell something to us consumers by convincing us they have something we are otherwise missing. No wonder all my friends, lacking all of that “crucial” information, feel like they’re on the outside of a club. Like I must have some basic knowledge that they don’t. (Heck, I understand the feeling completely, because it’s the exact same one I have about Golf.)

So far, everyone who engages me with these questions is aiming at the same basic goal: they just want to get a little exercise and feel like they’re in better shape. So, I always tell them they just need to know three things.

1.) It is worth it to buy a decent pair of running shoes – but they don’t need to go to their running store and pay a lot of money. Going to DSW (or some other discount shoe store) and buying any pair of name brand athletic shoes intended for running will serve the goal of basic fitness.

2.) For all intents and purposes, you burn just as many calories running a mile as you do walking a mile. So, it doesn’t matter at all how fast you go.

3.) To improve your fitness, you only need to complete at least 20 minutes of sustained aerobic activity, three or four times a week. What is aerobic activity? Just about anything that makes you breathe harder while you’re doing it.

More than anything, though, I think they really just need to have the whole endeavour demystified a little bit. So, I listen, and I never laugh, and I patiently answer whatever question they’ve saved up to ask. I decided a long time ago that I would never try to convert anyone, but once they’ve found a little spark on their own, I’m more than happy to help fan the flames.

The real truth is, it’s not their questions that are silly, it’s the fact that they think I know so much. If only they understood how much I don’t know. So help me out. Tell me what kind of advice you get asked for, and – please – tell me how you answer them!

Ramblings & Wisconsin

2009-06-20T22:19:00.008-05:00

I've been a little quiet here for the past few weeks, yes. It's practically summer time, you know, and I've already taken 3 different trips this months , both short and long. It's jostled my blog output and my running schedule.

I have kept up with my training (or replaced it with some cross-training). It's just my long runs that have been a little short (yes, pun intended). But if my marvelous marathon in May taught me anything, it was that cutting back and staying fresh is more useful than pressing and over doing things.

I did have a marvelous time in northern Wisconsin last week. Laura and I were up there for 5 nights and 6 days. My actual running miles were low, but I did some great, tough trail runs on the local cross-country ski trails.

I made up the running miles with lots of hiking & nearly 30 miles of mountain biking during the week. Not a grand total by bike standards, but I (and especially Laura) are very new to that sport, so it took a little extra out of both of us. There is an incredible and extensive trail system up there, most of it maintained by the Chequamegon Area Mountain Bike Association (CAMBA). They've cut and mapped trails for riders at every level of experience. And they're just as good for running as they are for mountain biking.

The only real trouble we had all week were the ticks. It was big time tick season. I've barely had a tick on me my whole life (and I was a camping, hiking boy scout for years), but we had 4 the very first day out. Luckily we found ourselves some serious Deep Woods Off that afternoon, and didn't pick up any more the rest of the week. (whew!)

I'm still on the fence about wether or not I'm going to go to Ohio at the beginning of August to run the Burning River 100. Well... I'm very much leaning toward going, but I haven't fallen off the fence yet. I'm worried about my mileage build up. There is absolutely no way I'm going to be in any kind of shape to race the event. I could only hope to make it through quick enough to stay ahead of the cutoff times. I'd be cool with that. Be very happy, in fact, just to be able to say I finished my first 100-miler. But even at a lazy pace, it's still 30 hours on my feet, all on the go. There's still more time before I have to fully commit. I'll see how the next couple of long runs go in the new summer heat.

Oh, and I got myself a brand new pair of trail running shoes! A pair of Inov-8 Roclite 295s. I'm already completely in love with them, so I'll have a first impressions review up in the next couple of days. I'm just drawn to Inov-8's product line for some reason.

Blog Worlds Collide!

2009-05-30T16:55:00.003-05:00

I had a nice surprise out on the lakefront this morning while trying to get in a 14-miler: I ran into my blog friend, Paige! We've been reading and commenting on each other's sites for months now, but I'd never met her before. I always figured if I did run across her, she'd be easy to spot, because she's got her some long, blonde blonde hair. Well, I was right. I caught sight of her down the path as I emerged from a tunnel under Lakeshore Drive.

She wasn't running, though. Instead, she was out with her dog Charlie picking up trash in the grass nearby a popular dog-running spot. She was, of course, wearing one of her Atayne t-shirts. It took her a second, but she recognized me as I introduced myself, and we exchanged pleasantries. It's an awkward quandry that is, in the history of time, unique to my generation, that one can have acquaintences who you are rather familiar with, and communicate with, but whom you have never actually met. To know someone and be strangers at the same time. (Well, aside from any Hemingwayesque metaphors).

Paige has been alluding to her intention to move east on her blog for some time now, so, I suppose, today could be the one and only time we ever meet - unless we ever happen to be at the same race somewhere (which might also yield me the chance to meet her Mike as well).

SO: It was great to meet you today, Paige! I hope you'll tell Mike I said, "hello"!

I had another fun encounter a mile further down the path. There was a family out for a walk together. There were three brothers, aged maybe 6 to 10. Like most cool city kids, none of them had on belts so that they could wear their jeans down below their hips. This didn't keep any of them from taking off for a run down the path, though, and they all had this funny motion that accomodated the need to hold up their pants with their left hands while they raced each other down the trail.

When I caught up to the oldest brother, he put in a little burst to stay ahead of me and "raced" me down the path for a hundred yards or so. (His left hand still securely held the waistband on his pants.) He didn't talk to me, but he kept his eyes fixed on me and anytime I got even with his shoulder, he put in another burst. Every time, I'd just hold my even pace and let him stay in front of me as long as he wanted. I held his eye contact and smiled back at him, so he'd know I was in for the game. Finally, I said to him, "You're pretty fast, man!" And without flinching, or changing his expression he said back to me, "I know." I don't think I ever had quite that much moxie when I was 9 years old.

It was a fun morning!

Trolling for New Trails to Trod

2009-05-24T22:15:00.007-05:00

After a miserable winter, we've actually had marvelous running weather here in Chicago for going on two months now. Highs in the 50s and 60s, and plenty of rain, but not enough to keep me from my running habits.

Funny thing, though: perfect running weather is still too nippy for the average citizen to be moved to go play in the elements, and the public paths remain the domain of the runners and cyclists tryingto get their work in.

Now, though, Memorial Day has arrived and we find ourselves on the cusp of summertime in the city. The middle of last week we hit 85 on the mercury, and it was like someone threw a switch. The parks, beaches and paths over on the lakefront were choked with the regular folk moseying their way to a lazy day outside. Now, while I admit this often makes for a nicer view on my random 6 mile jaunts, it also means that long stretches of the lakefront path because virtually impassable.

SO, it's time for me to find some new running routes! I can handle the extra traffic during my mid-week runs, but my weekends long runs are going to have to relocate to a more serene venue. I'm familiar with two good options already: the Des Plaines River Trail up in Lake County, and the North Branch Trail system that follows the Chicago River and shadows the Edens Expressway to the Botanical Gardens. Both have their good points and draw backs (the North Branch is devoid of water fountains and the DPRT is often flooded by the river it follows). A few months ago, I also did my first bit of running on the Illinois Prairie Path, but the east-west branch that I used crosses so many little roads along the way, that it's tough to get into a rythym. It didn't seem like a good option for long weekend runs.

I'm sad that I may have to make a 20 or 30 minute drive just to get to a good running venue outside the city, but maybe there are still one or two nearby options that I've missed. If my research pans out, then maybe once a month I'll throw in an excursion to a new trail and give it a go.

I know there's more out there to discover!

Must Be Seen...

2009-05-19T12:17:00.004-05:00

Tongue in cheek comedy, or simple documentary? Ahh, the line between is blurry indeed.

I laughed so hard halfway through the first time I saw this, I nearly snarfed my Baked Lays out my nose. Mmm... Good times.

Back in the Saddle

2009-05-16T00:34:00.002-05:00

I didn't exactly set out to take the last 2 weeks off from running, but it's turned out like that anyway.

Well, I did figure it would be OK to disappear from all of my running routes last week. After all, I ran a very hard and very successful marathon 2 Saturdays ago, and a week off was a wise choice and a worthy reward.

This week, however, well.... Time just wasn't as ample as it needed to be. (Ironically, my Running calendar has a little quote in the corner this month from John Bryant that says, "My feeling is that any day I am too busy to run is a day that I am too busy.")

I did get a little fiver in on the Thursday last week, and I went out for a gentle eight this past Wednesday, so I haven't been completely idle. But one run per week isn't quite up to my usual quota.

SO, I'm looking out at the makings of a pleasant weekend with plenty of time to get out, shake off the rust and get in two healthy runs. I figure I've got a couple of weeks to decide if I'm going to aim my summer running towards knocking out a fast 10K and Half-Marathon, or if I'm going to see about maintaining enough base mileage to take a crack at finishing - just finishing, mind you - my first 100-miler in August.

The nice thing is, after all the time away from it the last 14 days, I'm really looking forward to getting back out on the trails again!

This One's For Mom, in Particular...

2009-05-07T21:26:00.010-05:00

Got some of the official photos from the Wisconsin Marathon back today. One of the photogs at the finish line had some good timing. This is me, just a few feet from the end, having sealed my massive PR, trying to control my emotions as a million incredible thoughts run through my head.

Everything came together last Saturday. Not so many days of our lives can we say that. When it does, it rarely happens in a way that anyone notices but you yourself. I got lucky. One of my days happened when there were people to see it and clocks and photographs to prove it. And when it's all real and undeniable and you finally, really know it's that day... well, I guess that's a picture of it above.

I thought about all the time and the effort and struggles and the failures and the triumphs, and I knew that the very next day I'd have to get up and start all over again, but at least I got another one of those days along the way.

And I thought about the people important to me. The ones who pick you up, and cheer you on, and give you advice when you need it, and keep their mouths shut when you don't, and laugh when you laugh and cry when you cry - just because they love you.

Thanks to all of you, because people don't get nearly as many days like I got on Saturday, without people like you.

(Happy Mother's Day, Mom.)

Coolest Race Results Feature Ever

2009-05-05T17:13:00.007-05:00

Not only did I have a fantastic finish time at the Wisconsin Marathon on Saturday, the event also found a way to post the results in a fantastic way.

They announced, just days before the race, that they had hooked up with a service called ZumTri (which piggy-backed, somehow or other, onto the Chicago Athlete Magazine sponsorship. The subtleties are a mystery to me). ZumTri used the times our chips recorded at several checkpoints on the race course to construct a "Virtual" recreation of the race. When I plug in my bib number, I can watch a little digital "me" run the course, along with every other runner in the race. It shows a full map of the course, with me as a big red dot among the field, and also an alternate view that zooms in and focuses just on my position. I could also select more bib numbers to watch at the same time.

Really, it's easier to see it, rather than me trying to (badly) describe it. Just check it out. Here's a link directly to ZumTri's Wisconsin Marathon event page. You will need to select "Marathon", then on the next page type in my bib #396, then just skip the next option to get to the virtual race.

I was fortunate to run pretty even splits for a long time and to fade at the end far less than many other runners, so my little virtual self spends a lot of time passing the other runners on the course. And, yes, that's a lot of fun for me to watch.

This is not a completely new feature to me. The New York City Marathon offered a similar feature for the last several years (and maintains an archive of it, too). But, this ZumTri version is much more extensive and really feakin' cool. In addition to the two alternate views of my virtual race, it also posts a small collection of charts and graphs that deconstruct my race in some interesting ways.

The Wisconsin Marathon is the very first marathon in the U.S. that has used this ZumTri Service to chart their race. It'd be even cooler if there had been more than just four check points on the course. Getting a split in the system at every 5K might have been really ideal. I hope it's something that, say, the Chicago Marathon gets on board with this year, because I really do think it's pretty cool.

Race Report: Wisconsin Marathon

2009-05-03T14:00:00.013-05:00

Alternate Titles for this Blog:
“Orange Shoes = the Winged Feet of Mercury!”
or: “I love Wisconsin in May!”
or: “My Girlfriend Gave Me 15 Minutes for Christmas!”
or: “If I Were a Woman, I’d be Going to BOSTON, Now!”

But the best one really is just this:

3:44:39!!!!!!

No if ands or buts, I destroyed that course yesterday morning. Destroyed it. I have never felt that good for that long in any race I’ve ever run. And I slashed, eliminated, lopped, chopped, and supercalifragified 15 MINUTES off of my previous Personal Best. Even when I set my previous PR in Madison last year, I had to work in some strategic walk breaks in the final miles. Not yesterday in Kenosha. I averaged just under 8:30 pace for the first 22 miles and even though miles 25 & 26 were my slowest of the day at 9:17 and 9:11, I finished strong, and never walked. Not only did I smash my old PR (3:59:09), I broke what I have long considered my pie-in-the-sky dream time of 3:45.

Everything just seemed to come together yesterday. The weather was kind of perfect. It started out in the high 40s and never got over 58. The sun was out all morning, but there was plenty of shade on most of the course, and there was a cooling breeze coming in from the west throughout.

It seems that my training and race schedule, haphazard though it was at times, was an unqualified success. I was responsible with my mileage build up. I didn’t push myself to run long or hard on days when I didn’t feel it. I worked on the theory that it was wiser to cut miles when in doubt. Better to get to race day a little under-trained but fresh, rather than doing all the miles I’d laid out and waking up marathon morning with weary legs. And I ran no other marathons or ultras in the months leading up to Kenosha. So, no extra tolls taken.

I didn’t think about it much before the race, but yesterday was my 7th road marathon (out of 18 marathons or ultras, overall), but it was the first one since my “debut” marathon in Chicago back in 2006 that wasn’t run either in extreme heat, or preceded by other, recent marathons. It was about dang time, you know what I’m saying?

The other major factor? As Spike Lee famously said: It’s gotta be the shoes! It was my first marathon in racing flats. The same flats that Laura bought me for Christmas. The same flats in which I ran a new 5K PR just last weekend. I don’t know any scientific way to quantify the effect that switching from trainers to flyweight shoes had on my race, but I can tell you they just felt good. From the very start, they felt good. I clocked the first mile in 8:26. That made me nervous, because it was a lot faster than the pace I’d projected for myself. I’ve gone out fast a couple of times before and then bonked big time later in the race. I tried to dial back my pace for the second mile and instead clocked a nearly identical 8:27. Again, I tried to lay off my pace in the third mile. This time I succeeded in slowing down, but only to 8:33.

At that point I had a big decision to make. Based on my pre-race projections, I was running too fast, but the pace felt effortless. The weather was ideal. The flat course would present no “heart-breaking” hills at any point in the morning. More than that, my 5K results from the previous weekend had suggested marathon results even speedier than my current pace.

On the other hand, in every other road marathon I have run, the early miles have passed with light legs and lofty hopes, only to end with 10 kilometers that, at best, felt like I was only barely hanging on, and at worst, resembled a death-march to the finish line.

Well, if you don’t already know this about me, I’ll tell you now: at heart, I am an optimist, and, for better or for worse, I like to dream big. So, the decision wasn’t very difficult. I would keep aiming for that 8:30 pace and see how long I could hold it. My race was 3 hours old before I finally slipped off.

The course wasn’t terribly extraordinary, but I found I enjoyed it quite a bit. Kenosha isn’t a very big city, but it has a modest-sized city center. We started out east of downtown in Harbor Park, which juts out into Lake Michigan. Most of our first mile was run in a great big circle which brought us all the way around the park and underneath the Start Line banner a second time. This granted us the perk of getting to run past all our friends and family twice without them having to move.

After that, the course was set up with two out-and-back sections, first to the north, then to the south. Both halves hugged near to the lakefront the whole way. The event included a half-marathon distance as well as the full, with all runners sharing the same course. At the 12-mile point, the half-marathoners would make a U-turn and head toward their finish, while the marathoners would continue onward to points south. The total field was capped at 2000 runners. 1209 runners finished the half, and 529 finished the marathon. Even before I knew that, it was a sure bet that the field would be thinning out quite a bit after 12 miles.

The route was billed as flat and gentle, and it was. There were, in fact, a number of rolling hills in the first half, as we wound our way through and around the numerous parks that dot the lakefront on the north side of Kenosha, but none were steep, none were taxing, and all were merely a polite variation on a level repetition.

The southern half of the marathon was completely flat. Pancake. Like the surface of a lake on a calm afternoon. It was also run mostly on a rural route road with few houses and even fewer curious residents – a far less interesting place to be than those nice parks on the north end. Personally, I was fine. It didn’t bother me. But it’s not hard for me to imagine that some of the less experienced marathoners out there, who were maybe suffering through those final miles, would have really hated that long stretch down and back on Lakeshore Drive.

I risked another significant decision before the race. With all the thought and planning about my shoes and the weight I could shed by wearing the comps instead of my heavier trainers, it began to seem like a silly idea to then go and carry my water bottle during the race. It would be filled and refilled with 16 ounces of fluid that I would be carrying in my hand for all 26 miles. The race organizers promised repeatedly that aid stations would never be placed farther than 2 miles apart anywhere on the course and all would be stocked with both water and Heed sports drink. One wants to believe such promises, but hey, a marathon is a huge event to plan for, stuff goes wrong, and I’ve experienced aid station problems and unfulfilled promises at races new and old, alike.

So, I’ve never run a marathon or ultra without carrying my own bottle or hydration pack, but the goal of shedding excess equipment weight seemed like a worthy one this time. All I carried on my person during the race were 5 gel packs in the pockets of my RaceReady shorts. I planned to suck one down every 5 or 6 miles. With those, I’d be good with just a little water here and there. The event, however, didn’t let me down at all. The aid stations came and went with regularity, and I never felt like I was stuck for too long between them. Plus, each was fully stocked with water and Heed. Everything was so well organized. Even the mile markers themselves were easy to see and properly placed on the course.

Laura and I drove up to Kenosha early on race morning with her bike attached to the back of the car. She used it to ride up and down the course all morning and managed to plant herself in at least 8 or 9 different spots to see me come by and give encouragement. The small town, rural route and low number of runners and spectators made it easy for her to do this; she often biked up and down the actual race route beside the runners to get from place to place. So I ask you, which is better: 2 million strangers screaming at you for 26 miles, or getting to see one of your loved ones over and over again during the race?

It was so much fun to be feeling so good for so long into the race that I unleashed one of my trail runner habits and actually dared to speak to a number of the other runners while we ran. It’s telling, I guess, that the only person I encountered who was up for a real chat was a fellow trail-ultra guy. I found him because he was talking to another runner about the Winter Rock Cut Trail Series that I also did two seasons ago. I don’t remember that we ever introduced ourselves, but in my mind, I assigned him the name “Bob”. Imagine my surprise when I looked up his bib number after the race and discovered that his name really was Bob! Bob and I hung together for about half an hour, from miles 4 to 7. Then he slowed going over a hill and didn’t catch back up again. (I found, later, that he finished his race in a little over 4 hours.)

After that, I made a point of speaking to 3 or 4 other runners, either as we paced each other, or as I moved slowly past them. To a person, they each ignored me entirely, barely even turning their head to glance at me. (Ah, road racers.) So, I resigned myself, instead, to the brief exchanges offered by the spectators who were scattered around the course. Much to my surprise, even when I didn’t initiate contact with a “Good Morning!,” I frequently heard – and I do mean frequently – “Hey, man, nice shoes!” Have I mentioned that my magical, new racing comps are bright orange? I think all of Kenosha noticed. “Love the orange shoes!” “I like your shoes!” One guy even followed up admiringly with, “Now, that’s quite a fashion statement.” I started to wonder if maybe the local sports team had bright orange and blue as their team colors, but that didn’t seem very likely. The compliments never stopped coming. On the sections of the course that we repeated, people remembered me and my shoes from the first pass around and then called out to me again. At one point, I turned to a runner nearby and said, “They keep telling me this like I chose the color myself!” (For those of you that don’t know, running shoe companies rarely offer multiple color options for a shoe style. Each model gets one color, like it or not.) I guess, added to my customary all-black racing attire, the orange shoes did stand out quite a bit. I’m too self-conscious to write my name on my shirt for people to call back to me during a race, but I admit, the attention my shoes got was kind of fun.

I was continuously astonished at just how fleet & fresh I felt all the way through the 22-mile mark. The second time I saw Laura was around mile 8.5, which was close to 1/3rd of the way through the race. To that point, I had been running just over an 8:30 per mile pace, and everything still felt effortless. I voiced to her, then, what I already knew: “It’s gonna be a good day!”

I decided that was a good time to slide the pace back up a notch. For miles 9 to 16 I averaged, roughly, 8:20 per mile, including my best split of the whole day, an 8:09 for mile 14.

Miles 17 to 21 were all on the southern-most section of the course, with the big u-turn at the bottom coming right before the 19-mile marker. I did the whole of this section while pacing, pretty consistently, alongside a couple of ladies who must have been in a running group together. I talked to them some, but, even though they were not unfriendly, one of them had a set of ear buds in and the other didn’t have much to say back to me. They did talk to each other a bit, and also to a number of other women who they knew and passed on the course. I gathered that it was a group women, aged over-40, who all were hoping to qualify for Boston. Some of them might have been new to the marathon, but none of them were novice runners. I was still feeling pretty good, but it helped me a lot to be able to tag along with that duo for a while. The three of us cruised along at an 8:35 pace for that 5 mile stretch.

After 21 miles, I finally started to drop off a bit, though not in a horrible way. I had come through 20 miles in 2:49:02. It is a remarkable thing to me that in all 6 of my previous road marathons, no matter how I started, or how I finished, every time I’ve come through 20 miles within about 2 minutes of 3 hours flat (the one exception being the Chicago Steam Bath of 2007). So, coming through 20 in only 2:49 was a pretty big deal. It meant that for the rest of the race, my pace could drop all the way to 11 minutes per mile and still I would finish with a new PR – and yes, of course I was doing all that math in my head on the spot.

However, if I actually blew up that badly in the final stages, it would have been a major disappointment after starting out with 20 stellar miles. No, my sights were already set on a much faster time than just a simple PR. I had passed the half-way mark at roughly 1:50:45. That would have doubled to a 3:41 finish, but my legs were telling me that a negative split wasn’t going to happen. (How crazy, though, that a sub-3:40 could even be in my head after 20 miles?) But a 3:50? Totally doable. I had already declared, earlier in the week, that a sub-3:50 would equal an excellent day’s work for me. More than that, though, if I could just manage to keep my per-mile pace below 9 minutes for the final 10K, I thought I could break 3:45. (!)

Once I realized that, I quit doing math altogether. I just didn’t need to anymore. No matter what happened in the end of the race, I was going to set a huge PR, so the math and the worry were simply unnecessary. Besides, when I started thinking about it too much at that 20-mile point, I started to cry, which made my throat swell and breathing became noticeably more difficult. Not so good.

All of this was such new territory for me. The final 10K has eaten me up so many times before. At Chicago ’07 it was the heat, and in Atlanta that same year, it was the heat and the hills. Both were devastating and seemed as though they would never end. At NYC in ’07 and Chicago in both ’06 and ’08, I had passed 20 miles on pace for or in reach of a sub-4-hr finish, only to watch in frustration as my legs failed to push me forward fast enough to keep up with the rapidly spinning time clock, until my goal ultimately eluded me in the end each time. Even in Madison last year, when I PR’d and finally did go sub-4, the final 6 miles were an agonizing, constant negotiation between exhaustion and math, and I was never sure I was going to succeed until the final yards before the finish line. (At which point, I was promptly rewarded with a bought of dizziness and nausea that didn’t pass for 30 minutes after the race.)

What a glorious pleasure it was then, yesterday, to be able to turn off all of these concerns and just run. All I had to focus on was my turnover rate, the next mile marker, and my sturdy will to push onward.

Nevertheless, I did continue to hit the splits on my watch. I crossed Mile 22 in 8:52. Mile 23 was 9:03 – the first split all day to be slower than 9 minutes. I rebounded for the 24th mile with an 8:43. It was the last 2 miles that finally, truly felt hard. My legs were heavy. My mouth was feeling dry. With the turns in the course through the neighborhoods near downtown, there were several stretches when I couldn’t see a single other runner ahead of me on the road. When I did creep up on someone else, I tried to hook onto them and use them to pull forward.

Mile 25 was the slowest of the day, a 9:17. So close, but still another long jaunt up 3rd Avenue, and I still couldn’t see the finish area. I needed to keep pushing. We finally made the last signifigant turn on the course onto 56th Street and back into Harbor Park. At last, I could see the 26-mile marker and what would be the finish line area. I didn’t have much kick in me, but I gave it everything I had left. I crossed 26 in 9:11, but I also saw that my total time lapsed was only 3:42:52. There was no longer any doubt. I charged through the final 385 yards, fighting off the tears at my accomplishment and brought home my sub-3:45. Laura snapped a couple of pictures as I came in, and then ran over to greet me just past the finish line. Hugs and tears all around.

I’ve had two nights to drink it in now, and I’m still buzzing. It’s been a while since I’ve had a running week as good as this past one. All of 2008 was one running let-down after another. My sub-4 at the Madison Marathon was very much the exception, not the rule, as I logged slow races, missed goal times and even posted my first-ever DNF (because of a knee that I injured when I fell on it during a training run). Now, in just a seven day stretch, I’ve cut 30 seconds off my 5K PR, and 15 minutes off my marathon. And in neither race did I feel like I ran as hard as I absolutely could have. I might have pushed harder; I might have set even loftier goals and attained them. If I improved my training, did better stretching, worked to improve my core strength, I know I could run even faster.

It’s so good to feel like I'm still discovering more potential, more reward. I worried at the end of last year that running had become a bit of a drudge. Now I feel vindicated for the little changes I made, and suddenly running is completely fun again.

Kenosha in the Morning!

2009-05-01T18:22:00.002-05:00

OK, here we go. I'm just a little over 12 hours out from the starting gun of the Wisconsin Marathon in Kenosha. It's been five months since my last marathon or ultra and it's been seven months since I last tried to run a "fast" marathon at Chicago in October.

I feel good about everything for the morning. My training hasn't been anything extraordinary, but it's been pretty solid (with a few flashes of brilliance). The course is new, but it's supposed to be pretty flat, ala Chicago. And the weather should be nice: partly sunny, no rain, temps in the low 50s and a breeze blowing in from the SW - not off the lake, which is good.

There is both a full and a half marathon tomorrow and the total cap for both was just 2000. It did sell out, but I'm guessing more than half the field will be doing just the half portion. Maybe 800 people (?) will be out on the full course. That the smallest road marathon field I've ever been a part of, so it might get a little lonely out on the back half. We'll see.

I'm saying a good day will be anything under 4 hours. (That will likely also mean a new PR for me, but my current best is only 50 seconds under 4 hours, so...) A really good day will be something around 3:55. And an excellent day will be low 3:50s or even high 3:40s.

Whatever happens, I'll have the report up by early next week.
Here we go!

My Pace Projection Quandary

2009-04-27T11:34:00.008-05:00

So, feeling good about the new 5K PR I set yesterday, I decided to hit the world wide web and do a little projection math. There are a couple of sites (more, probably) out there that offer calculators to help you project your potential finish times for races in a wide range of distances based on your actual results in a race. I've done this before, but cutting 30 seconds off my previous 5K PR was a pretty big leap and I wanted to see how the numbers might have changed.

The best site I've found for this free calculator and data is: mcmillianrunning.com Greg McMillian is a successful running coach who will work in person and through the web with runners. I know about him because of his connections with Runner's World Magazine. That's where I learned of his website and the calculator page in the first place. McMillian's free service will not only project your race finish times for every distance from 100 Meters to the Marathon, it will also suggest the paces you should be running during your various training workouts. (ie., what your "easy" pace should be, or your "tempo" pace, etc.) Here is the link directly to the calculators page on his site. The Runner's World website also, now, offers its own, simpler version of the same tool.

You do have to remember that the projections are all just estimates. It's just a mathematical, educated guess based on a wealth of data from other runners over the years who train for and run multiple distances at consistent speeds. But it's a good way to get a ballpark on what you might be able to expect from yourself.

MY problem is, the times I've been recording for my long distance races aren't coming anywhere close to my projected times based on my 5K speed.

Here are my projections from both the McMillian and RW calculators:

McMillian
5K - 21:31
10K - 44:42
13.1M - 1:39:28
26.2M - 3:29:46

RW
5K - 21:31
10K - 44:49
13.1M - 1:38:48
26.2 - 3:25:59

And my Current PRs
5K - 21:31
10K - 47:50
13.1 - 1:45:10
26.2M - 3:59:09

See what I'm saying? Not adding up. Even if the calculators are just "ballpark" that still leaves my current marathon time over 30 minutes slower than the projections. That's huge! Shoot, that slightly optimistic projection from RW would leave me only 10 minutes shy of a Boston Qualifying time.

So, what's going wrong for me? Maybe - just maybe - my body simply isn't, what, "genetically" predisposed to running as well at the marathon distance as it does at the 5K. But I'm more apt to believe that it's my training program that is somehow lacking.

I can say, honestly, that I'm pretty good about sticking to the running program that I've used. Often, I use the free training schedules offered on the RW website. Sometimes I've set up my own schedules based on the RW system. Whichever; I get all my runs in, I hit my paces. I put in the work. Maybe I just haven't figured out the proper quantity of miles to be training on. Last year I did make an effort to up my weekly mileage, but the finish times remained roughly the same.

I guess, I also shouldn't forget that a number of the city marathons I've run have had the bad luck to be held on days when the weather was extreme and debilitating. Chicago '07 is the easiest example, but I've done 6 city-based marathons, and 3 were in unseasonably high heat.

Of course another of my marathons also came after 3 consecutive Ultras. That could be part of the problem, too: the sheer volume of ultra racing that I've done. The toll may be showing up in my marathon times. Or it could also be due to the minimal amount of hill training that I'm able to do in Chicago. I generally never get to do a weekend long run on anything other than a pancake flat course. (I'm often pinched for time during the weekend, so making long drives out of the city to look for hillier routes is tough.)

The answer for now is, I just don't know. The marathon this weekend will be a big test. I've cut out one of my variables by not running any race longer than a 5K since my 100K Ultra last December. For nearly 6 months, all I've done is build myself back up toward this one marathon. I'm also encouraged by the weather forecast for this weekend, which is still reading partly sunny with highs in the low 50s. I feel good about my chances on Saturday, but I've felt that way in the past and then turned in slow times. I remain cautious in my optimism.

If the results are different this time, though, I may have opened up a whole new territory of personal awareness about my body and my running.