Race Report: BR100 part 2

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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!

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!