Tattoo mentality

It snowed here in Indianapolis yesterday and all night, letting up only late into the morning. All over town the call went out, “Snowpocalypse! Snowpocalypse! Clear the shelves of bread and milk! We need french toast and perishables in the event of total destruction!” It snowed 8 inches….the day before my 20 mile long run.

I woke to find a pretty significantly thick blanket of white stuff disappearing the demarcations where sidewalk and street once sat. Everything blended into one flat surface of beautiful fluff. This, to any normal person, would be a pretty decent indication that one should go back to bed and skip the run or at least wait until later in the day when visibility and a clear path of travel might show itself.

I am not a normal person apparently.

I steeled myself for the effort the night before and laid out all my winter running clothes, topping the ensemble with my Solomon Speedcross 2 shoes….which are the best winter weather shoes you can find anywhere, ever. That is my non-objective opinion, that is truth. After a bit of peanut butter covered toast and a cup of earl grey tea I ventured out into the snowy landscape, which I quickly came to understand that I had severely underestimated the extent of. My first step off my porch sunk me up to my calf. I looked into the street to find a somewhat plowed area and shuffled through to it, managing to get a stride once I hit a more traveled lane. Then I hit the wind. A stiff, sideways, unrelenting wind that cut right through both top layers I had put on for the cold air. Figuring I would warm up once I got going, I pushed on up the cold, dark, icy street, making my way to our local rail trail that, although I figured would be sufficiently covered in snow, might not be impassable.

I was wrong.

I turned onto the trail and felt the quicksand like sensation of my feet sinking and sticking in the snow. Add to that my exposed ankles absorbing the frozen snow, and the northerly headwind that bit right into my chest and I instantly had second thoughts. I thought back to my facebook post the day prior where I made mention that the weather was never too bad to run 10 miles in and felt those words choking in my throat. “But this is 20 miles” I tried to rationalize to myself. It didn’t work. I made it about 400 yards up the trail and realized that 5 straight miles of this was NOT going to happen, my inner disaster alarm sounding loudly. I turned back towards the partially plowed road and tried to come up with Plan B. Of course, instantly, I debated scrapping the run. “My quads are sore, they need a break.” “I’ll do it later today.” Etc. etc. I knew that if I waited to run later…I simply wouldn’t. I was up and it was either now or never. My pride got the best of me as I debated calling it a day on the way home, finishing the scheduled long run with a whopping two miles. I couldn’t do it…I just couldn’t, so I told myself I’d run towards the inner city canal to see if that surface was more navigable, that way I’d at least have 6 miles in the books if that was a no-go, so that’s what I did.

I worked my way down the nearly deserted morning streets, soaked with slush and ice and headed towards the 3 mile canal loop. As I neared it I felt my pace pickup, anxious to see if this run was going to continue on, and sure enough, the city plows had cleared the walks late enough into the evening that although the footing wasn’t incredible, it was at least good enough to continue on.

I worked out the mileage in my head and realized I had to run 5 loops of the canal to get my mileage in, which didn’t exactly sell me on the joy of the effort, but at least I had no reason to back down now.  And things weren’t THAT terrible really. I mean, the surface was either drifted snow, foot soaking slush, packed ice, or ankle-twisting rutted snow and although the wind was at my back for half the loop it was smack dead in my face for the other half, but at least after one loop I realized I could continue on the whole way.

Each loop then became a mental game of anticipation, waiting for the tailwind to push me down the canal, and then dreading running right back into it the other way. And as the loops repeated over and over again I realized how difficult it was to lose myself in my thoughts as EVERY SINGLE STEP was taken with a focus and concentration necessary to keep from twisting my ankle or slamming hard on the ice. Oh, and my quads hurt.

The thoughts in my head crept in again, “Coach said 16 – 20, so technically I could cut this short.” “My legs probably could use a break.” And suddenly, the effort got so rough and uninspiring that I was consumed with that rare, distinct and familiar thought that I experience most intently during a tattoo session, “Why in the hell am I doing this to myself?” But I do. And I have my reasons. And I kept going.

Then all of a sudden the pain in my quads disappeared and was replaced with a weighted fatigue, probably generated by slogging through the snow drifts and using extra effort to keep myself upright. And the mental effort became that much greater, even when I was down to two and then one loop left. This run, whatever it may have been affording me physically, was now about mental strength and I pushed to keep running in such absurd conditions, knowing the last 3 1/2 miles were going to be straight into the headwind I had been fighting all morning. I hit that headwind and started making my way home, slowly…very slowly, but surely.

And the mental effort never got easier, until maybe the last block or two, but damn did I know I accomplished something awesome when it was all said and done. 20 miles is never a simple task, no matter how routine it may be, but to push through such absurd conditions and complete the effort when just 1 mile in I was about to call it quits will offer me immeasurable benefits when I need them most. That’s what this absurdity is all about. Like suffering through a tattoo, when it’s all over, it’s so worth it. And I’ve got a souvenir of which the benefits will long outlive the pain.

Do something awesome today friends.

It’s not that super really.

This weekend is what is endearingly called “The Big Game”, the Super Bowl, as if I need to tell you that. Everybody knows this. It’s, well, part of being a functioning member of this culture of ours, whether you want to be or not. And me, I’m from Indianapolis. And I live in Indianapolis, so you know that no matter how removed I might be from these sorts of cultural events, I damn well know the Super Bowl is about to commence. I know this because breweries are making blue beers. I know this because our fountains have been dyed blue. I know this because our PUBLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM TRIED TO GO ON A TWO HOUR DELAY THE DAY AFTER THE GAME, get this, because the last time the Colts won the Super Bowl the bus drivers were so hung over or tired that over HALF of them called in sick and chaos commenced getting the kids to school. Fortunately, SOMEONE has their priorities straight and the Department of Education put the smack down on that spur of the moment policy change, well, sort of. The DOE allowed IPS to go on a one hour delay and then force the kids to stay an extra 30 minutes at the end of the day. Anyways, yeah, I know about the super bowl. Everybody does.

And no, I don’t care. Now, before you go getting all defensive on me and calling me a party pooper or whatever, let me just say this, I don’t care about the Super Bowl not because I hate football. I mean, I never watch it true, but if you sat me down with a group of people to watch the game, I would inevitably want to see it played to its conclusion, and would probably instinctually choose a side to root for…and yes, it would probably be the colts for reasons of inherent association. And yes, part of me doesn’t care about the Super Bowl because I’m reacting to dominant culture’s overwhelming acceptance and glorification of what amounts to a simple little game. Yes, I admit this. I want to rain on dominant culture’s parade. I always do. That’s what aggressors get. If they won’t leave us alone, we don’t let them alone when they want to have their little parties. There I said it. But there is something a little more simplistic to my lack of enthusiasm about this HUUUUUGE cultural event. I just don’t feel an association with the game. It’s why I don’t watch the World Series. It’s why I don’t watch the World Cup. It’s why I don’t watch much of anything sporting event-wise….except Curling. Seriously, for some reason I can’t get enough of Curling. I can’t wait for the Winter Olympics.

And running, of course. I like to watch running, which is funny, because running is BOOOOOOORING, well, at least to most of dominant culture it is….but that’s only because they don’t GET IT. Just like I don’t GET football, outside of using it as a reason to gather with friends and create one more reason to get smashed. And that’s ok. I don’t GET football and football fans don’t GET running, which is PART of the reason they don’t watch it. The other part is, unfortunately, why running will NEVER EVER EVER EVER become the cultural spectator event that sports like the Super Bowl and World Series are. That reason is simply that running is not a SPECTATOR sport. Running will never attract the masses and the sponsors like most athletic events because it INHERENTLY lacks the drama, excitement, and stop-go dynamics that make an event exciting to watch. Let’s address a comparison.

I recently read an evaluation of the average football game that stated there is only 17 minutes of ACTUAL PLAYING TIME in a football game. The rest is consumed with commercials, shots of the coaches, shots of the fans, shots of the cheerleaders, huddles, half-times, time-outs, and a clock that ticks down while all this goes on. That means that there are only 17 minutes in a game where the ball is snapped and either ran, thrown, fumbled, dropped, etc. etc. etc. That SOUNDS boring, but obviously is not. I think, these continuous breaks are actually what make football so fun to watch. Think about it, on almost every play there is discussion, anticipation, action, then release, and then the whole process starts over again. This happens repeatedly in a game, so what you end up with is not just one incredibly long game of football, but actually a plethora of tiny games playing out over and over until someone wins. There is a continuous rise and fall of energy, ever renewing itself and keeping everyone on edge until the clock finally runs out. All this translates into a hell of a cultural spectator event.

Then there is distance running, the marathon for example. Granted, a number of us can watch professional runners do nothing more than seemingly put one foot in front of the other for over 2 hours in one sitting and be ABSOLUTELY RIVETED  to the screen, which should go without saying is because we GET it. We know what these runners are going through. Although, to everyone else, it just looks like some people putting one foot in front of the other, sweating, and grimacing, we know something entirely different is going on, something incredibly intense, and incredibly deep within each individual on the screen. We know an incredible human drama is playing out, no matter how calm and static everything may look. It’s because we GET it. We know what’s going on. We can watch the mile splits tick away and feel our jaws drop further and further until they scrape the floor. We can see the most minor changes in the runner’s faces and know where they are physically and mentally in the race. We can see the smallest gap as the beginning of a strategic move dynamically changing the race. We can see the exuberant triumph in a runner’s stride when the last competitor is dropped. We see this because we GET it, because from time to time, we live it. But you know what everyone else sees?

They see a mass of runners slowly leaning off the start line, anti-climactically starting an incredibly long race. They see runners putting one foot in front of the other, over and over and over and over again. Then they see runners crossing a finish line, still rather anti-climactically. And that’s it. There is no continuous rise and fall of energy. There is no break to regroup, no discussion of strategy, no cheerleaders (welsely girls don’t count), and no small races within a big race. It’s just one continuous, attention-span sucking vortex of boredom. Unless you are a runner yourself, you probably just won’t get it. I understand. It’s ok.

And that’s just too bad for you really. Because I know you look at us with disdain for not wanting to reaffirm your modern day Roman Coliseum of violence and brutality, but we’ve got athletic integrity on our side. We may not be very exciting for you to watch, but the experience we share far outweighs some drunken cultural ritual, because that is the other great thing about our sport….participation. You can raise your foam fingers all you want, and paint your face till your skin permanently changes color, but never are you included in the game itself. Us runners, however, are within reason invited to play along, to give us all a chance. Some of us will never toe the line with the professional runners, but we may be right next to them, or a few corrals back, or A LOT of corrals back, but we still got in the race didn’t we. You, unfortunately, are relegated to the sidelines where those hot dogs try to squeeze your heart like a boa constrictor.

We, on the other hand, have our greatest victories by taking part…..even if no one else is watching.

Recognition (good and bad)

Leading up to Chicago I was doing a great deal of my training with a group of guys who all run at a relatively similar level and who are all seriously engaged in competitive running. We were all preparing for the same marathon and had our respective goals to shoot for, of which some of us beat, some of just missed, but all had a, from what I’m told, good race experience. At the race our group finished within 2:21 to 2:25, which on its own is a pretty awesome showing at such a prominent marathon, but even more interesting is that we all live within a couple blocks of each other. Ok, 3 of those guys have all moved into the same house and I live a couple blocks away. It was amusing when we discovered our proximity after running together for awhile. So after Chicago it kinda hit a couple of us how cool it was that we ran at that level and all live so close. It was brought up that, if all goes well,Fall Creek (our neighborhood) might have 4 runners make it to the Olympic Marathon Trials this time around. At the very least, it’s pretty rad that 4 of us are in the position to go for it. That sounds like a regional news story to me anyways! The running joke now is that there “must be something in the water”.

This is the thing though, 4 runners placing as high as we did at one of the world major marathons means…well….nothing. No one cares. Ok, our friends and family that follow us along the way were incredibly supportive during and after the runs, but on any larger scale, it was just another race. And no matter how awesome it is to each of us individually and no matter how much work we know goes into pulling something like that off, we amount to nothing more than a couple blog posts around the internet. Our performances mean nothing to the local papers, but to be fair, that isn’t necessarily because they wouldn’t cover something like that, but rather because no one gives a shit about competitive distance running….for good reason to, which I’ll get at in a little bit. If news coverage were something we were going after, it would be up to us to generate it. We’d have to market ourselves. We aren’t high school basketball stars trying to go pro before college, something which a lot of people care about. We are merely runners. We get no respect. We get no recognition. But if you ask me, we deserve it. I’m not saying I don’t strive to be humble at every opportunity, but I’m also going to be honest about my feelings regarding my and my friends efforts. It’s that simple.

Let’s face it though, no one gives a crap about competitive distance running. It simply isn’t a spectator sport. No matter that the majority of our populace participates in the sport and no matter that while people have curbed their spending during the recession, running events continue to grow and grow with more and more participants, running as a competitive act is barely given the time of day. And there are so many legitimate reasons for this. If you haven’t put in the work and suffered through so many race experiences, you simply don’t GET the excitement of a race. You simply won’t get why a lot of us can be glued to our screens simply watching someone put one foot in front of the other. It’s just not exciting with its lack of variety in action. There are no stops and starts. There is hardly any tension build up. Tactics and strategies are so subtle that you barely know they are even taking place. Then there is the high turnover of stars. With a few exceptions, most runners have their few moments in the spotlight and then explode with the effort. It’s so hard to continue the progression, or even just sustain, at the level that most top competitive runners run. Their bodies just can’t continue over and over at that level. And then there is no continuation, no drama to follow. Runners aren’t necessarily part of teams that compete in a series that is shown every weekend. We can’t race every weekend. Each effort takes a certain amount of training, recovery, and peaking before we can put our best on the line. To expect this to happen every weekend for the sake of retaining viewership is just absurd. Running simply is not a dominant culture sport. It won’t keep the attention of the populace necessary for the proper advertising dollars. If you come up with a way to do so, short of naked running, let’s talk.

All this, however, doesn’t mean runners don’t deserve or shouldn’t seek out recognition, but in order to be effective it will have to be done on a much smaller level…locally probably. For awhile I wasn’t sure if I was the only one thinking in these terms, considering marketing oneself, seeking out sponsorship, building a culture of running based on a more attractive approach than most people perceive of it today, but it turns out most of the guys I run with think similarly, it’s just a matter of acting on it. With that in mind it was brought up that we should start a track club or distance squad or running team or whatever you wanna call it, and with that impetus we’ve now begun creating the structure for a running team that will look for the recognition and support needed to facilitate our running. Now, we aren’t looking to make it on billboards or anything, though I’m sure a newspaper might be interested in picking up a story or two, but primarily we are looking to gain sponsorship to help us out as we travel around the area for races. I can’t speak for everyone, of course, but my motivations are two-fold. For starters I want financial help with my training and racing needs (shoes, socks, shorts, race travel money, etc.) and secondly, I want to bring attention to and build a new perception of competitive racing culture in the area. I want to coolify (yup, my word) running, taking part of it from the 4 to 5 hour marathon plodders (no disrespect) and push it towards a more aggressive, passionate, youth-focused approach. I want to present competitive running culture more like how the roller girls have marketed themselves, but without the self-debasing sexualization (though I think Little actually wants to be objectified). I want people to be excited to watch us throw down on the streets, to want our bumper stickers on their cars, to wear our t-shirts, to recognize our efforts, to think of crazy super humans walking the line of collapse instead of middle-aged well-to-do’s smugly patting themselves on the back for sticking to their new years resolution to “get healthy” when anyone mentions a running race.

Now, I know this sounds kinda masturbatory, but I don’t mean to present it that way really. I’m just continuously in awe at what some of the local and regional athletes can do with their physical selves and just as amazed that these accomplishments go by with nothing more than a non-monetary gift certificate or a nice little plague to put on the shelf. People…this shit needs to be recognized! There are so many ways to do this, and I don’t expect anyone to feel obligated to do so, but if we really pull together this Fall Creek distance team you can bet we’re not going to hold back in trying. See you in the papers.

————–

Look, I promise you I’m not bringing up this topic repeatedly for the shock value, it’s just that this topic keeps bringing itself up, probably due to the inherent nature of its shock value. Regardless, remember those “Fuck this. I’m going running.” bumper stickers I made? Well, their effect continues to resonate throughout the more conservative avenues of our self-professed free society. I swear, if I knew they would cause such a continuous and volatile reaction I would have hired some Ivy League college to fund their creation for the purposes of some sociological study on human behavior in relation to language. It’s fascinating really. Today I received a call from my running friend out in Connecticut who is one of only a handful of brave souls to actually apply the bumper sticker to their car (and I’m still jealous that mine were ripped off twice and his has been left intact) and he relayed the following story.

Leaving church today he noticed a cop car was following behind for a short while. Not thinking much of it he pulls into a parking space to make a trip to the ATM when all of a sudden the cop pulls up next to him and makes a motion for him to roll down his window. If I remember the retelling correctly the following back and forth ensued,

Cop : “Not for nothing, but if I were you I’d take that bumper sticker off your car. Kids read that shit you know. Not to mention, there are some cops who will pull you over and ticket you for that.”

Friend : “Really? What would the charge be for that?”

Cop : “Disturbing the peace.”

Welcome to what is called “the land of the free”, which apparently is supposed to mean, you are free to conduct your affairs how you please in so far as they don’t disrupt the sensibilities of those in power, and if you do offend those sensibilities you won’t be arrested right away, but don’t think any number of threats won’t be first given allowing you the chance to do some self-censorship of your own instead of forcing someone’s hand.

I can’t help but wonder if the gentleman who told me, “You should be arrested” didn’t put out an APB to the nation’s police force and the chickens are finally coming home to roost.

Really though, I can’t get over the reactions these stickers invoke in people, considering how many other bumper stickers with arbitrarily defined swear words are out in the world, often related to politics and religion. And these are just about RUNNING of all things? Once I got thinking about it though, I started to understand (not agree with, just understand) the reactions. I don’t necessarily think the reactions spring from the usage of the word “Fuck”, but rather that it is used in the context of something so incredibly harmless like running. If the term was used to describe one’s feelings towards politics or religion I think there would be an unspoken respect for the intensity one feels towards those type of subjects, but because the word is being used for an activity that isn’t supposed to conjure up such a deep seated emotional reaction (methinks they just don’t REALLY UNDERSTAND running), people then respond to nothing but its casual usage. They are probably most offended that someone would have the gall to make the term so commonplace. However, I wonder if the cop would have taken a similar reaction if someone said this just standing on the sidewalk, or even went as far as saying it repeatedly as streams of people walked by? I doubt it. So yeah, maybe my observations touch on an unconscious reaction…..or maybe people just hate running. I guess I understand both.

However, I can’t help but think that, in my city anyways, if someone had a bumper sticker that said, “Fuck the Saints. Go Colts!” Not only would they not be rebuked and threatened by the police, but would probably be given a nice boys club pat on the back.

Or maybe I’m just bitter. Regardless, although I don’t want to be mistaken for a patriot of any sort, let’s just look at these stickers as doing their part to test the professed values of “freedom” and “democracy” that most of the public so vehemently stands behind. All I can say is…prove it. Oh, and the stickers aren’t going anywhere.

Running domination 2010

Please interpret the sarcasm in the title. Thanks.

With that in mind though, I met with The Coach, “Coach”, “Coach Matt”, Matt, El General Supremo, etc. yesterday to get the 101 on his coaching style, philosophies, and to develop a plan for the coming year of running and racing.

Now, initially I was expecting that the 2010 plan would be about picking an appropriate spring marathon to train for, weighing the positives and negatives of its race date and then looking towards Chicago for a possible go at qualifying for the Olympic Marathon Trials. I was only partially right and this is the benefit of having a coach who has devoted many, many years to the science of running, even rubbing elbows with Mr. Lydiard himself. Before we even got to discussing a spring marathon he laid out a plan for me that culminates in running the  500 Festival Mini Marathon, which is a half-marathon, on May 1st as my primary spring race, meaning everything builds up to that. Upon bouncing back from that race, we will then gear up for a go at Chicago.

The idea behind this, as he explained, is to concentrate intensely on building my speed, the speed I’ll need during marathon training to qualify for the trials in the fall. This, makes perfect sense, and shows a fundamental mistake I might have been making without him as a coach, if I decided to train for a Spring marathon followed by a Fall marathon. Sure, I would put in the appropriate work for a race like that, but it’s not advisable to train for a marathon again and again and again, as the workouts and efforts are geared for that specific distance and tend to neglect other areas of running progression. Diversity is strength.

Training for this shorter distance will also give me more opportunities to knock out some faster, shorter races while still putting in solid training. It’s much easier to do this, to practice the speed training, while running shorter races, without compromising the quality needed for the important workouts during the weeks. On a personal note, I’ve really been wanting to knock down my 5k and 10k PR’s, but didn’t get the chance while training for Chicago, because I was concentrating on running more key longer races, like 1/2’s and 15k’s and the like. I mean, my 5k PR is 15:47, which is pretty decent by my standards, but I was beating that time during workouts leading up to Chicago. So, if I can kill that time in the middle of marathon training, DURING a workout, I can only imagine what I’ll do to that during a race. Then again, that’s neither here nor there. Let’s keep our eyes on the big picture.

That big picture is qualifying for the Olympic Marathon Trials. And believe me, that’s a BIG picture. Matt said to me, he thinks I can run sub 2:19, which is the qualifying time for the trials. Admittedly, he said if I ran well under 2:19 he’d be quite surprised, but still, he thinks I can run 2:19. So do I….I think. It’s hard to say. I don’t have a lot of experience in the marathon, and when I make my go in Chicago, it will only be my second road marathon. And that’s quite a jump in time too….going from 2:25:55 to 2:18:59. Seven minutes. That span of time will haunt me for the coming year. I just know it. In a marathon it seems a lot less insurmountable than a 1/2 marathon, but it’s not really. That’s still a huge chunk of time to cut down.

And that makes me relieved to know I’ll be preparing for it for almost the entire year…fine tuning not just my marathon endurance, but more importantly, my speed, my muscle strength, my running economy, etc. I’m cutting nothing close on this one. I’ll be working myself like a machine.

But let’s also keep this in perspective. The goal of competitive running is about progression, always progression. We hit one time and then we want to hit one quicker. Over and over and over. It’s simply a race, quite literally, to see how fast we can run any determined distance before our body, or circumstance, says “enough”. It’s forever an unanswered question, “How much faster can you go?” I don’t want to quit or die without answering the question. That, however, doesn’t mean I’ll be crushed if I don’t make the Olympic trials. Hell, I still can’t believe I toed the start line of one of the world major marathons. That’s an accomplishment in itself. But there is always the question lingering. So, although I am focusing on the trials, it is merely a benchmark, a point in the distance to run to, but what will always matter is where I am in the process. No matter how close I make it to the trials, each step will (hopefully) be a new accomplishment, the question answered again and again and again. I might be let down if I don’t make it, but I certainly won’t be disappointed. That doesn’t mean I won’t be fighting like hell to get there though.

And finally, there is my son…who might have the same question someday. “Papa, how fast can you run?” This way, we’ll know.

So, here we go, toward the Mini and on to Chicago, in which we’ll find out where we go next.

Never too early…

…for race mentality.

Today’s “stressor” workout was a couple miles of warmup, then 30:00 minutes of hill running (and only hills, no flats), and a couple mile cool down. This is not an overwhelmingly tough workout and I wouldn’t have thought twice about doing it on any normal day, but if you life in the midwest you know today was not normal. Or maybe it was. It’s winter after all. Today we were dumped on with 5 – 6 inches of snow, causing me to spend half my work day shoveling paths for the school kids to get in and out of the building. It fell about an inch an hour and as soon as I had cleared a path from the outside buildings to the inside I’d turn around to find my path relatively covered up again with fresh snowfall. This went on all day.

So when it was going to be time to do the workout I knew I was going to be facing some problematic footing, yet I was looking forward to it. I consider it one of my positive attributes, that is, an appreciation of nature in all its forms and the ability to embrace adversity, not simply to overcome it, but to also swim deeply in all the values it affords us…or at least what I choose to derive from it. So when I left the house to drive with Michelle and Noah to my starting point (they were going sledding) I didn’t curse the slick roads, slow drivers or piles of snow. Actually, I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and be IN it all.

Oh, and this also gave me an opportunity to put some more miles on my Salomon Speedcross shoes, which are accented with the most aggressive tread I’ve ever had on a running shoe short of x-country spikes. And let me tell you, those sole lugs were like claws in that snow. I didn’t just keep traction, I FELT them grab the snow and push me forward. It was a joy to run in those shoes. Can you believe with a sales line like that I’m still not sponsored by them?

Michelle dropped me off in a parking lot and before she had even begun to pull away I was bounding up the Monon trail for my warm up run before heading over to a 2k figure 8 loop of hills in a nearby neighborhood. Getting to the neighborhood wasn’t that much of a problem and, fortunately, the roads had yet to be plowed, save for a couple independent pick up trucks pushing away the freshly fallen powder to reveal packed snow and patches of ice (thanks guys!).

I started up the first hill of what would be 4 loops on this route and started thinking about why I love to run so much in this type of weather. Honestly, there are lots of reasons. I love the look of a blanketed white ground cover, exposing no part of darkened asphalt. I love the snow gently falling to the already accumulated pillow of white. I love the soft footfalls. I love the reserved pace it forces upon a world that moves at breakneck speed. And then, I also love the opportunity it gives me to overcome its inherent obstacles to my movement. When most roll back over in bed and swear at a day of straining and struggling with a seldom used shovel, I get the chance to continue my routine and enjoy the new challenge, the new pace. Snow and I don’t hate each other. We’re like brothers in a wrestling match, playfully trying to keep the other down, in a positive spirit of cooperation and accomplishment. We often come to a stalemate before going our separate ways.

Then there is something a little more personal, a little more racing oriented. Although such a snowfall shoots down most runners training plans, or at least forces them inside to wait in lines for the dreadmill, I’m still out there. Mentally, that goes a long way. Just as important as building up the physical strength to run fast at long distances, the mental strength that goes along with the effort is just as important, maybe even more so. So there I am running up a long, steep hill and I think to myself, “This is going to be invaluable on the start line at my next big race.” And it’s true.

When I step to any start line I have one mantra I always want to be able to say, “You put in the work. Now all you have to do is run.” That’s all I can hope for. The race is essentially already run, not always at the finish line, but everything leading up to the start. Being able to say “I put in the work” gives one the confidence to run at a level once before not thought possible, to overcome the struggle, to push past the weak voices that whisper, “Ease up. It’s too hard. You can’t keep this up.” If I step to the line of an important race that is going to take a serious amount of effort, the ability to think back to so many redlined workouts, to so many runs in wind and rain, to so many exhausting long runs, and to runs in the  most absurd of conditions, conditions that keep 95% of most runners on the couch, then I’m a huge step ahead of my competition. Because I guarantee there are faster people on that line, but they might be saying to themselves, “Damn, I hope I’m ready for this. I shouldn’t have skipped those workouts. I shouldn’t have passed on those long runs. I shouldn’t have wussed out when it snowed for a week straight.” For, even if they are physically faster than myself, if they don’t have the mental strength to push through when things get hard, when they don’t have the awareness of overcoming those adverse experiences to draw on, at some point they will fade. Or if you put the pressure on at the right moment, they’ll break.

In racing, nothing is guaranteed, but the effort requires filling one’s reserves with every weapon possible, from physical strength and stamina, to the mental strength that comes only from running as hard as possible in 6 inches of snow, blowing wind, and icy footing. At least now I’ve left behind a few more “I should have’s” and created one more “I put in the work” for the next start line to come.

Get out there everybody, you won’t regret it.

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Log

15 minutes of warmup
32+ minutes of hill running on a figure 8 2k loop
15 minutes of cool down

Core workout at home (will have to give more details on these some time)

Music

Fischerspooner  Pandora station
All Shall Perish – Awaken the Dreamers

sofa king lazy writing

I’ve had a couple good posts swimming around my head lately, mostly during my runs and walks to work. One concerns the concept of “recognition” and the lack thereof in relation to our sport and efforts, while the other was about a realization I had today while out on a beautiful single digit temperature run where I didn’t pass a single person for a good 45 minutes. It had to do with the concept of maturing and how we as individuals choose to hold on to the excitement that defines our youth, wherein some find ways to do so that benefit both their mental and physical quality of life and others, well, don’t. If they aren’t passive, then they are effectively working against themselves, funneling themselves into that well-worn path of destructive hedonism of adulthood. Yeah….

But instead of writing about all that (maybe tomorrow?), I really just feel compelled to tell you that if you cut up a banana into little discs of potassium soaked goodness, drizzle some natural peanut butter on top, sprinkle some coconut on that, then drizzle some agave nectar on top of all that, and garnishing the whole shebang with some almonds..well….you got yourself an AWESOME snack.

I’m just sayin.

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A successful 30+ week in the books and I’ve now received my first week of training from Coach..Coach Matt (?)…Matt (?)…Coach Ebersole (?)…I gotta come up with a good name to reference him by. Next week tops out at 52 miles with two speed workouts. More Fire will soon commence! We’ll also be meeting up to discuss this years goals and races leading up to those.

Finally…the core workout continues and has seemingly gotten easier already. Stoked.

Identity Pt. 3?

“Do I look like a runner?” – Prefontaine

Holding a primary identity as a runner is such a funny thing in it’s ability to completely consume both your mental and emotional state. For the first day you skip a run you feel like you left running behind for good. The first day of a week off is like you were never a runner at all. The first day off of a month of forced recovery, a needed one, is like you never heard of running in the first place. The first moment of a day where you know you won’t be running you embody the “Once a runner” line, except not in the romanticized “Once a runner, always a runner” sentiment, but rather the “I was once a runner” self-loathing.

It’s inevitable, no matter how fit you might be, no matter what PR you just set, no matter what milestone you just hit, when you aren’t running the last thing you feel like is a runner. You begin to doubt your self-worth and wonder what other interests you have that might replace that great gaping hole in your soul that running once fulfilled. Ultimately, for some of us, we come up empty in that consideration.

I remember in an interview with Ryan Hall where he took some time off to recover he stated that it was good not to run, that he realized he could walk away the sport, that running wasn’t his complete identity. Umm….what the F ever. The only reason he could say that was because he knew all along that he would be back running, that his break was entirely temporary. Sure, maybe he went through that wave of self-doubt during the break and probably at some point accepted his fate and came through with a sense of contentment, but he knows that running was always at the core of his identity. If he had to TRULY walk away from the sport, not ever fulfilling his marathon or olympic dreams, I guarantee he’d have a countless number of sleepless nights.

So, this is all to say that the past 3 weeks have been consumed with a sense of emptiness, not that my life was worthless by any means, but rather that I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) engage in an activity that I enjoy so deeply that I simply felt off. My routine was gone. My achievements over the past two years seemed in jeapordy. Overall, without a definitive re-start date, I couldn’t be 100% sure that I’d ever run again. I know, I know, this is a terribly exaggerated statement, but that’s what it felt like. I just wanted to run so bad, partly because it was hard to feel like a runner, and I wanted that feeling back.

But just like that, I’m back. I took 3 complete weeks off after Tecumseh to let my groin/surrounding area heal in time for the next buildup to intense marathon training, and after all that time I tentatively got out sunday for an easy, easy, easy 4 mile run. And it felt good. I mean, my groin pain isn’t completely gone, but it is entirely manageable and not growing worse with each day of running, which is a great sign.

Let me tell you though, for 3 weeks I didn’t feel like a runner. I worried about my less than lean abdomen. I could almost feel my lungs shrinking. I swear my leg muscles shriveled up. But the very second I ran up the road toward the Monon trail everything came rushing back in. My legs turned over with an appearance that advertised their experience. My arms swung robotically. My face showed only a dedication worn in with every step of the past 2 and a half years. No matter how much fitness I have lost since Chicago, I was now a runner again, and it it’s only a matter of time before everything starts working like it once did.

It’s important to always keep in perspective what become essentially obsessions to us, but in contrast to becoming detrimentally consumed with one thing, it’s also pretty terrible to deny what we love all the same. One day “I was (once a runner)” will ring true, but for now it’s, “Once a runner….always a runner.”

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The tentative plan…

Michelle and my good friend Kevin bought me Matt Ebersole (sounds weird eh?) for Xmas. Matt is the coach whose workouts I loosely followed leading up to Chicago, but now he’s my specific coach for the next year. This week is a very basic 30 mile week, just feeling out my groin to make sure it’s good for more effort, and making sure I’m also mentally back in the game for more mileage. I can already say, without a doubt, I’m ready for more mileage mentally, but I’m not making any assumptions about my physical state until the week is over. So far, so good though.

Other than that, I still haven’t discussed this with Matt yet, as it’s still early in the game, but my tentative plan is to shoot for the Traverse City marathon on May 29th. This would allow me to run a May marathon, giving me 4 – 5 months of dedicated training as well as allowing me to run the Indy Mini-Marathon. The one concern is that this is too close to training for Chicago in relation to recovery time. These considerations will all be hashed out later though.

For now, we’re just getting started. Stick around.

Tecumseh Trail Marathon 2009 – Race recap – 2nd half

When I passed Kyle I kept on at the pace, just to make sure he was going to drop off for good, which as I mentioned he did. I’m not gonna lie, despite my ever-tiring legs and concern for what was to come during this second half of the race, overall my mood picked up considerably. No matter what finishing time I ended up with now, I was pretty excited that I had a really good chance of entering the final stretch around Yellowwood lake alone and then finishing in first place. I rode that wave of positivity for the following stretch of miles that pulled me back into the twisting turning singletrack of Tecumseh. Again, all alone I pushed on down the trail and although I had a few minor ankle rolls along the way, nothing was shutting down my pace. Still, I hadn’t forgotten about the competitor behind me and I kept this in mind while I tried to keep moving strong, hoping it would always be just fast enough to make it out of the woods first.

Then the hills kept coming, which I expected. Each one began breaking down my spirit and pace as I struggled to climb each winding path, worrying about just how slow I was going up them and how much 2nd place might be making on me if they were running stronger than I. Then suddenly I noticed that the turns and hills looked rather familiar and soon enough I realized I was now on the portion of the course that I had been training on for the past month, which I knew would only benefit me as I could flow through the turns easier, knowing which way the trail darted after crashing across streams and creek beds. I found myself on a longer stretch of flattened trail at the bottom of the hills and I pushed as hard as I felt was safe enough to go considering I still had a good number of miles to cover, with some pretty rough hills up ahead too.

I came through the flat ground and started towards a group of volunteers manning an aid station when I heard one of them call out, “Good job Kyle!” Then with a tone that attempted to cover their mistake, “Looking good..Scott?” Apparently word had not spread that Kyle went down and dropped out. I went through the station without grabbing any fluid, but pulled out the 3rd Gu packet from my glove and did my best to choke it down. I passed another volunteer who questioned to me, “You passed Kyle?” “Yeah,” I breathed out, “I don’t know what happened to him.” “Me either!” they yelled back. I ran further down the packed dirt road and heard that familiar second cheering coming from behind as the next runner came out of the woods. Just then I darted back into the woods, ran through the deepest stream on the course, filling up my shoes with icy water, and jumping out the other side to begin a long windy climb upward. Halfway up I had a good view of the road 2nd place would be coming down, but no one was there yet and I was sure he was comfortably far enough back to continue on without too much concern.

I struggled up that hill and started pushing through a rolling portion of the course that continued to rise steadily, but always kept my pace slow enough to build frustration deep within. I wanted to run faster, but my legs were getting sapped more and more with each hill. Every hill got slower and slower and I found myself grabbing onto trees to push myself up, using every advantage to save any strength I might need as I continued to eat up trail. I looked up and noticed the tree line top out and heard a truck roar by on a road just up ahead. Each portion of the course was more and more familiar and I savored the relief I felt when I popped out onto the pavement that would bring me to one of the last stretches of the course, marked by a couple of the more challenging hills. I took a quick peek back into the woods, but still saw nothing.

I took a turn on the paved road and began descending a steep downhill that would turn back upwards and enter a packed dirt road that brought me to mile 18.5. Of course, just as I took that turn onto the dirt road I heard a spectator yelling for 2nd place, who had obviously made up considerable ground during that last stretch. He was coming and coming hard. Now I was concerned….and seemingly helpless to do anything about it.

I moved up the road and came to the aid station that stood at the last entrance to the trail, of which I passed without grabbing any fluids.

So let me explain something here. I had 3 Gu’s in my gloves and 4 pinned to the inside of my shorts, none of which I pulled out to ingest. Then there were aid stations every 2 -3 miles, which offered cups of gatorade and water in non-pinchable styrofoam cups. Maybe the cups deterred me, or spilling the first few onto my face and hands, or the inability to grab them with my thick gloves, but ultimately I ingested about a total of 1/2 a cup of gatorade the whole race. Aside from that I had choked down 3 Gu packets…..and that was it. THIS, was a huge mistake. I don’t know why I was so lax on not taking fluids, especially considering how paranoid I was about it for my Chicago marathon. For some reason, I just hoped I could run through it, or maybe I thought the cold somehow diminished the need for fluids, but whatever made me decide not to take fluids during the race….it was just plain stupid.

I continued pushing along the familiar trails, anticipating when the hills were coming and started tackling them one by one, trying every mental trick to get up each one. Through all the fatigue and exhaustion I was experiencing I got by simply by making sure that, no matter what, I didn’t walk any portion of the course. Sure, some of the hills had me moving at a pace that was slower than a walk, but with each step I was pushing myself upwards as much as I could muster. I was still grabbing trees to pull me around turns and pushing off of, but at the very least I was making it to the top of the hills and doing my best to recover and let gravity pull me down the declines. Something about the attempt was working because I still couldn’t hear 2nd place at my back, even though with each climb I got more and more concerned that he was coming.

Then soon enough I found myself climbing what I knew was the very last severe climb of the race. There was both a sense of relief and dread filling me as I worked my way up the climb, fighting the urge to put my hands on my legs or just walk enough to rest my weary lungs. Finally, I made it to the top and struggled to find a quicker gear that would bring me down the trail, but not risk bringing me to the ground. My stride was so compromised at this point that I feared tripping over the smallest obstacle and either knocking the wind out of me or something a worse.

The trail then turned sharply down a quick set of stairs and popped me out onto a fire road marked by two pick up trucks and the final aid station, of which I again stupidly ran by without helping myself to any of the nourishment. I caught the volunteers off guard and they did their best to yell some encouragement as I moved up the fire road, but then I heard them yelling again, sooner after I passed, which meant 2nd place was now right on my heels and about to overtake me. So be it, my race was done.

I knew at this point that I was going to be passed and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I wasn’t going to be able to fight for the lead and I wasn’t going to be able to even hang on. He was the the stronger runner today and I was completely spent, just playing mind games to get me through the final 4 miles. We ran along the last fire road and I was surprised how long it took 2nd place to catch up to me, making me wonder if he wasn’t hurting as much as I was, but then right before we were to turn back into a declining stretch of single track he came up behind me. I was caught. “You’re awesome, go get sub 3.” I managed to gasp out as he jumped in front of me just before the trail. “Way to go man.” he said as he started the descent that would pull him away from me.

We started the winding descent and although I was completely spent I found myself actually staying close enough to be in attacking position if something untapped within me arose to the surface. We popped out at a road crossing at the bottom of the descent and a group of spectators yelled out to us as we passed by, a mere few seconds apart. We now began the run around the lake that would bring us to the finish line, just 3 miles of rolling trail marked by stretches of exposed roots, muddy banks, stream crossings and ankle breaking rocks. Unfortunately, that untapped reservoir of energy was completely dried up and my competitor began his run away from me with each step. I was completely defeated.

Each step was torture as my paced slowed again and again, and this was just the beginning. As I moved around the lake time seemed to stop and every time I looked up it seemed like I hadn’t gotten anywhere at all….the lake just kept stretching and stretching and stretching outward. I was dreading how much further I still had to run. I just wanted to be done. Considering how slow I was going I had even resigned myself to getting passed by a couple more runners, who I was sure were coming up from behind.

Then it got worse.

I noticed a sharp sensation in my stomach and a deep one as well. I wondered if I was going to throw up or completely collapse. I just know I felt terrible. Then it seemed my left eye had filled with fluid and frozen. I tried to blink it away, but nothing happened, so I rubbed it with my glove and found myself wincing with a pain that hit me deep in my eye socket for a good 5 seconds. I was only lucky the trail didn’t turn or I surely would have went down. Then I rolled my ankle again. It was like every function of my body was completely breaking down. I actually found enough strength to laugh at my predicament and maybe that was enough to keep me going, but I found the will to keep stride and slowly move my way through the woods, just hoping no bigger obstacle or rough portion of the trail would take me down, because at this point I wasn’t sure I would have the will to get back up.

Then, like magic, I saw the lake end, which meant the trail was about to spit out onto a dirt road that would mark just over a mile to the finish. I looked at my watch and realized I would not break the 3 hour mark, but all I wanted now was simply to finish…without walking at least. I was relieved to only have a smooth road to contend with and one last relatively small hill to climb. I started working my way up the hill and as I peaked out I felt a strong constriction in my quad muscles, but not enough to keep me from picking up the pace for the last portion of the course.

A couple spectators cheered me on. “Good job Scott, looking good.” I muttered out to them, “That was absolute hell.”

The course turned off the dirt road onto a grass covered stretch that wound through a campground. A very small 5 foot incline brought me into the grass and I joked to a couple spectators, “Damn. Another hill.” They laughed and assured me it was all downhill from there.

I found the will to pick up the pace for the last stretch and ran down the final chute for the finish, unable to work up any sort of sprint and finally crossed the line to a group of cheering spectators. I wobbled to the fence and held myself upright so my number could be pulled from my shirt. I was relieved to see Michelle standing at the finish, certainly for the comfort, but maybe more to have someone hold me up.

I managed to walk myself over to a set of stairs and although I know it wasn’t a good idea, I sat down. A feeling overcame me that would then consume me for the rest of the day, extending into the night even. I found myself completely depleted and began shivering uncontrollably for a good 30 minutes. My back hurt, my ankles hurt, I was incredibly nauseous. I couldn’t imagine eating anything, but I forced myself to take in some bananas and cookies. I started downing cups of water and then realized just how thirsty I was. This continued on for quite some time and things really only felt worse from there on out. It was only when I got a good amount of dinner in me that my world started to return to normal. Even now though, 2 days later, I still have bouts of nausea related to eating. This is what I get for denying fueling during a race.

Lessons Learned….

1. Never, ever, no matter what, underestimate the need for fueling during a marathon. The basis for running a great marathon lies in proper training, such as speed work, hill work, long runs, etc., but ultimately this means nothing on race day if you don’t actually run the race properly. In order to have a good marathon, you have to race it as well as you train for it. This means fueling. You can only run for so long banking on the amount of training you’ve put in, but at some point you are going to have to supplement what you’ve expelled during the race. Duh right? I don’t know what I was thinking, but as I think back more and more on the race, I’m starting to kick myself more and more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of what I did….I mean, it was still a full marathon I finished….but I can’t help but wonder if the only reason I was passed was because I bonked. If I had taken the time to slow down and take in fluids, I may very well had enough to press on as things got rough. But I didn’t. Lesson learned.

2. I can still run the marathon distance, even with a lack of consistent training, and minor injury. It’s not recommended, but at least I can still do it. I feel accomplished.

3. It was good to be humbled. It was good to do things wrong….because now I know directly the importance of running the race properly. Now I know EXACTLY how it feels to crash. I know how terrible and demoralizing it is. I know what it’s like to have victory in hand and blow it on poor preparation. I know what it’s like to have a foot in my mouth. I now know that I don’t ever want to feel that again and exactly what I must do to avoid it. Coming off Chicago I was concerned at how well the race went, because I didn’t know how to top it, if I could repeat a race that went so smoothly, but now that I’ve crashed and burned, I know what it feels like to run a good race and a bad race. And I know what race I want to run in the future. It’s good to understand the spectrum of the running experience.

And now…….rest. Resting until my legs are without hesitation healed and ready to go again. And by the time that comes, it should be the beginning of the next cycle of training for a spring marathon. Just in time. See you then!

Final Results

Tecumseh Trail Marathon
2nd (out of 700)
3:04:41

Tecumseh Marathon 2009 – Race Report – 1st half

When Michelle drove the truck into the packet pick up parking lot, which was also the finish line for the race, the temperature gauge on her truck read 15 degrees. FIFTEEN! The meteorologist said the low would be 24, not a billion below! For any other day, such discrepancies can be forgiven, but when you’re about to put your body through 26.2 grueling miles of forest, mud, and water, I’d like a more accurate read on the air temperature. For leading up to the race I was fretting enough about what exactly I should wear for the race, ultimately settling on my short shorts, arm warmers, RATT t-shirt and 2 layers of thin gloves, but all it took was a few minutes in that temperature of air and I added leg tights, thick gloves and a long sleeve tech t-shirt under it all. I’m very VERY glad I did.

I boarded one of like 8 buses that drove us almost a complete hour to the start line where we would begin the push back to where we just came. After getting off the bus the lines for the port-a-potty’s quickly formed and everyone’s pre-race rituals commenced. There was stretching, warm up jogs, taking off of clothes, putting on of clothes, nervous laughter, internal freaking out and all other manners of weird runner behavior. After getting ready myself I took my first precarious steps in a grassy area near the start line to start some warmups when within 5 feet I manage to roll my left ankle on an uneven piece of ground. I couldn’t believe it, but fortunately with a little more jogging I ran through the concerning twist. I still felt it about 10 minutes later, but just figured it wouldn’t become a problem. Foreshadowing? Let’s see.

I stood on the start line about 15 runners across, with 600 plus people gathered behind us. I hear someone behind me say to a friend, “Let’s step back away from these….crazy people up front!” I guess yeah, maybe a bit crazy, but still sane, so we’ll call it even.

The race director starts a brief countdown and hits the siren button on his megaphone, sending the front line forward down a stretch of pavement that brought us to a fire road that essentially marked the gates of hell for most of us. Not daring to look back I listened for the numbers of feet hitting around me and was surprised to only hear a couple runners hanging out, breathing strong in the cold air. We turned off the pavement and into the fire road, which would pull us a good mile or so before actually entering into the singletrack that was the Tecumseh trail itself. We beat along the path and that’s when I realized there were only 3 of us together, not another runner even close. One of us I knew of and expected to win this race, the other guy I had no clue who he was.

We pushed along the fire road, bouncing along on leaf covered ground and patches of icy ruts dug into the ground by trucks and foresting machinery. Then after a few quick inclines and drawn out hills I noticed it was only two of us. I felt pretty good considering and it seemed my breathing was in much better control than my competitor as we ran side by side down the wide open fire road. Then all of a sudden we hit a volunteer directing us into the single track that immediately descended on a back and forth snaking downhill. My competitor (Kyle) got out in front of me before we hit the course and started along the trail….precariously. His pace was not what I was expecting and I found myself right at his back, not only far too close for comfort, but also unable to get a good sight on my footing, which concerned me since I didn’t want to risk rolling on my ankle again, or going down as I had during training. I knew what this terrain was like and not having a good sight line is a terrible way to run the course.

Kyle and I picked our way down the back and forth descent when all of a sudden the third place runner who had dropped off came barreling into my peripheral vision. He was absolutely charging down the hill and I was annoyed that we were not going to get away from him. With a kindness that even surprised myself considering the context I said to kyle, “Mind if I take the lead?” of which he obliged. Instantly I surged ahead and started tearing down the hill trying to put more distance between us and 3rd place. Soon enough we bottomed out and started a snaking trail that turned upward and started pulling the breath right out of our lungs. We burned up the hill and spit out onto another fire road when I tried to make my case to Kyle. “Looks like he’s going to…..try and move on us…..on the downhills.” With a response that sounded too cocky for my tastes, he says, “Yeah…he thinks that’s his thing.” Maybe it was his thing, but I’d rather not give him the opportunity to use it against us.

Now, this course didn’t have mile markers, but there were supposed to be aid stations every 2 to 3 miles, which still isn’t very good for gauging where we were in the race, but this time around I preferred that. I didn’t want to know how many more miles of grueling hills we were going to have to endure. So, for quite sometime Kyle and I ran along by ourselves, myself still holding the lead and pulling us through all sorts of craziness, whether it was snaking uphills that killed our lungs and legs, speeding downhills that trashed our quads, or precarious cold water stream crossings that filled our shoes with icy water. We just kept running at a pace that trail running usually dictates for me, but honestly was probably a little too fast for the full marathon distance. I was just expecting one of us to break sooner or later. Guess who I was rooting for?

We continued on alone through the woods, not exchanging a single word between us, when suddenly something broke the eery silence. Was that banjos? I couldn’t help think to myself, “Is this a joke? Is someone pulling a ‘Deliverance’ prank on us? But as we drew closer to the music a familiar tune came from the woods….”Run Run Rudolph”. Suddenly we ran by a number of yard signs that had the lyrics posted every 20 feet or so. We pounded out of the woods to a road crossing that had a fluids table manned by jolly volunteers fighting off the cold air with xmas music blaring from loud speakers. Maybe I became distracted by the change in environment, but when I went to grab for a cup of fluid all of a sudden I heard people yelling at me. I turned to find that Kyle had darted into the woods and I had completely missed the trail re-entrance, which was forgiveable seeing as how the fluids table was placed AFTER the turn. Taken a back I quickly bushwacked through some saplings and made my way back onto the course, trying to make up the ground I had lost without sacrificing too much strength.

We instantly hit a winding hill trail and I estimated I was now 5 seconds back. This seemed to be a window for Kyle as he made a move to lose me on my screw up. And it worked. At the top of the hill we hit another fire road and suddenly I was 8 seconds back and continuing on I was then 10 seconds then 15, then all of a sudden, like magic, he was gone. I hadn’t slowed down our pace really, so it was obvious that he made a move to leave me behind and really laid it on. I could only hope it was too much. Now I was all alone, trying to move solidly down the hills and quickly back up, just hoping that I was slowly closing the gap on him again, but every time I looked up the trail I saw…..nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was like he vanished into thin air. My only consolation was that no one was in sight behind me either. I was simply all alone.

And so I ran all alone, through all the ankle rolling roots peeking from the leaves, through the icy stream crossings, up all the snaking hills and down the other side, just like I had done every weekend leading up to this race. I don’t know how many miles I covered like this, but it went on for quite some time. And it wasn’t even half-way yet.

Then I heard something, someone yelling encouragement, then silence. And soon enough I popped out of the trail to another group of volunteers manning a fluid station, which meant Kyle couldn’t have been too far ahead as I heard others yelling for him, and as I ran up a short stretch of paved road I looked up to see Kyle accelerating over the top of the hill. Turns out he hadn’t disappeared, or gotten lost, or even ran away from me. He was still in relative reach. I started moving up the hill trying to make up more ground and was hitting the top when I heard more yelling from the volunteers below. “Crap, someone’s not far behind.” I dared not look back.

I moved my ever tiring legs along the road before it turned onto a packed dirt road that ran by a handful of rural houses and down a hill to a major road. I came to the busy back pavement and just as I was about to cross on auto-pilot a 4×4 comes barreling down the street and I have to hit the brakes lest I end up like so many deer that line those hidden roads. The truck flies by without slowing for a second and I make it across before turning back onto another dirt road that would bring me to the half-way point. I move down the road when all of a sudden a volunteer coming the other way vehemently warns me about the ice on the coming bridge. “Be VERY CAREFUL, the bridge is VERY ICY. Be VERY CAREFUL!” You got it. I come to the bridge crossing, about 15 – 20 feet across and notice it’s surface completely covered in ice. I find about 3 feet before ice stretched the whole way. Somehow I stutter step and pick my way across without even so much as a slip before making a sharp right hand turn……right into a wall.

Well, so it seemed. I had heard about the infamous hill at half-way, but had yet to really encounter its magnitude. I turned right and was faced with a dirt road that seemingly shot up 90 degrees and just looked like it wasn’t going to ever end. I really can’t convey the severity of this hill, in both grade and length, without you actually seeing and experiencing it. Oddly enough, my only reaction was like, “Oh well, here we go” and I dropped my head to start the rise upwards. And as soon as I start the incline I see Kyle not too far up ahead, still working his way up the hill….walking. Someone was right next to him giving intense encouragement as he struggled up the hill, sometimes jogging sometimes walking. A woman next to me yells, “I don’t think I have to tell you who your competitor is now! You’ve got him in your sights!” I had no breathing room to switch focus from the task at hand so I simply continued moving up the hill, at which point I just told myself, “Don’t walk. Whatever you do, no matter how slow you move, just don’t walk.” I figured that was my best bet at making up more ground on Kyle. He continued to jog and walk, jog and walk as I pressed on.

Then as I made it to the top of the hill I realized that, actually, this wasn’t the top of the hill at all, for when I reached the summit, it abruptly turned and shot uphill again, so I went back to work and continued onward, and when I reached the top again, I realized yet again, this was not. the. top. Adding insult to injury the hill turned YET AGAIN upward. I now fully realized the intensity of the descriptors people used when retelling this part of the course. It was pretty unbelievable. But finally, I reached the ACTUAL top of the hill before it made a turn downhill and veered back into a fire road. I was ecstatic to have that behind me and moved quickly down the hill, Kyle now just seconds ahead of me. We bottomed out and started pulling ourselves up the fire road when without pause I was just a couple strides behind him. Something definitely seemed off with him and I wondered if he had twisted his ankle or something, because I know he was strong enough not to have already blown up halfway through the run. I moved up aside him and questioned, “Are you ok?” He said nothing for a second or two and then replied, “Not really.” And I passed him, never to see him again. I don’t know at which point it happened, but he soon dropped out.

As it turns out, whether this was the defining moment or not, Kyle came across that icy bridge and bit it, apparently pretty hard. I don’t know if it knocked the fight out of him, or injured him, but soon enough he was done. And now it was just me, hoping the next competitor was far enough back that I’d make it to the finish line first.

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Race Results

I’m still way too messed up from the race to write a full report, but expect one soon. In the meantime:

Tecumseh Trail Marathon

2nd place (out of 700)

3:05 and change

It sounds terrible until you know what the terrain was like. As a summary, I led the race in the beginning, then missed a turn at a water stop and lost the guy I was running with. Then he bit it hard on an ice-covered bridge and dropped out after I passed him. Then I led the race all the way to mile 23 before being passed. The winner came in at 2:59 and change.

More details to come.

In all, I’m stoked with my run, even though I felt like utter shit when it was all over. It took me a good 30 minutes before I stopped shivering uncontrollably. But then it was about 6 hours of feeling like I was going to vomit. Running is awesome!  You should try it!