Gettin' My Kicks on Route 66

Running 26.2 miles is crazy. Traveling eight-hundred miles to run 26.2 miles might be psychotic. At least this time, it's not my fault and believe it or not, CT's not to blame either. This trip is the brain child of one of our Superstar friends and we are just along for the ride. Well, not exactly either. Driving this distance, running, then turning around and driving back all in the span of three days didn't sound very appealing to me. While it would have been fun to road trip with our friends, CT and I chose to fly.

Why are we doing this crazy adventure? For the medal, duh! At least that's our friend's excuse. Supposedly, The Route 66 Marathon medal is consistently rated the top running medal. A few weeks prior to the race, they released pictures of this year's medal and they completely changed it! Our friend made such a sour face when she saw it, I had to agree, the change wasn't good, but we were beyond committed at this point. So, scratch the reason why we are doing this, it's now because of the "extras"!

We have some really great friends, friends who I would travel eight-hundred miles and submit my body to the torture of a marathon for, even though they changed the medal, regardless (lets just not tell them that), but the real reason this adventure intrigued me were the extras. First, they advertise one perk as being the world's shortest ultra. A marathon is plenty far enough, but running a mere three-tenths extra, getting a coin, and being able to say I did an ultra, count me in! Second, if you are members of this special group, then not only do you get access to private bathrooms and a few other perks, but instead of the standard finisher medal, your medal will represent this group with it's own ribbon. The group is called the Marathon Maniacs and the name is very fitting. If composing a list of all the real crazies of the world, this would be a good place to start. Not very many people can gain entry to this club, to give you an idea, I got in under the minimum standards of completely three marathons in a month. Who does that? Not sure what I was thinking when I did that!  The last extra, is a 5K race the day before the marathon.

If training is work, running the marathon is the reward, traveling is the dirty laundry. Sure glad we decided to fly, wait hold that thought. Upon arrival at the airport, trying to check in is the first sign of what's in store for us, "please see ticket agent". Turns out our flight is delayed and it's so delayed that we will most likely miss our connecting flight and they have us rerouted to Atlanta to get to Tulsa, changing our arrival time from early afternoon to almost midnight. At this point, we could drive to our connecting spot and make our original flight and the thought did cross my mind, but suddenly avoiding a fifteen hour car trip and needing to drive three seemed pretty silly. There was a connecting flight from a nearby airport, but we'd have to rush to get to it, time to race! En-route, we got notified that our connecting flight was now delayed. At this point stress levels were high, we were past the point of no return if we'd even make the flight we were trying for or do we turn around and hope our original plane flies. I won't bore you with the details, but we did make it and did arrive in Tulsa a few hours late. Coming back was a whole other set of problems because the agent who flew us out of the other airport, didn't change our return flight, so it took a heated call to the airline, pointing out how asinine it was to fly us out of one airport and return us to another and wanting to charge me "extra" to return to the airport where I left my car. Not the extra I had in mind this trip, but a perfect example of why I'd rather run a marathon than travel, maybe.

This thing is a novel already and the story hasn't even started, be prepared reader, you are doing an ultra. Once in Tulsa, we met our group and promptly went out to eat. The restaurant very quickly recognized the volume we bring and smartly seated us upstairs by ourselves.


(This blog kind of stinks, every pic needs to be portrait, sorry you miss one person in this shot and the full "Oklahoma" in the background)

Afterward, I was asked if I was the lead cowboy for this rodeo leaving the restaurant. Yeee-haw! Saying yes was on the tip of my tongue feeling pretty proud of myself for corralling these girls back to the hotel, when a Jolly Trolley rounds the corner. Stampede! Fifteen seconds later and all control gone. Now, the Superstars are getting a tour of Tulsa, music cranked, dancing, laughing, and I'm sure we made that trolley driver's weekend, not to mention getting the attention of two police officers and getting the signal for turn it down. Turn down for what? My favorite move, the trolley comes to our stop and it just so happens a boring song is playing, the girls wouldn't leave until they could exit on a good beat, yeah this is how we roll.

Just before bed, in a hurry to do so,  I kicked my suitcase with my toe. Seems minor to even mention it, but this is my true getting my kicks on Route 66 moment. I drilled it good, but didn't think too much of it, just like any other toe stub. Waking up in the morning, this wasn't the normal stubbed toe, it still hurt. Looking closer, black and blue on both the inside and outside and clearly swollen. Made a quick appointment with nurse Downhill, where she gave me a quick checkup and diagnosed that I probably broke it. When asked what my pain was on the pain scale, I said three, she actually looked annoyed that I woke her for such a trivial pain. Can you believe that? This is further proof why I hate the medical profession, zero compassion! Reader tip, when asked your pain level on anything, add at least three, lie!

Running a 5K with a potentially broken toe is one thing, figured I could pull that off, I mean especially since my pain level is ONLY a three, but I was very concerned for the marathon. The 5K will be a good test though and would give me insight into how much pain I could be in tomorrow. It was an overcast morning and since it looked like it was going to rain, I didn't want to run in my racing shoes, opted for what I call my fast training shoes. My thought was wanting to keep my race shoes dry for the marathon. Walking caused some pain, yeah a three, but running didn't seem to make it worse.

This blog is getting ridiculous long, but feel it necessary to add this detail. Besides, you the reader, don't have a smashed toe with a pain level of three, a 5K, and a marathon which could be a potential an ultra still left to run! Suck it up! Prior to this trip, CT had a dream that at this 5K, they asked her to be a pacer. Nobody paces a 5K, so we both got a chuckle over her dream. Walking to the start and lining up, you know what's coming, there are damn pace groups!



Is this one of those signs? CT studies the race results, she thought we had a good chance to place. I think I humor her some and just agreed, you never know what the conditions were like in year's past, plus it all depends who shows up. This 5K, probably will have over a thousand people doing it, not to mention in previous years, it was held on the same day as the marathon, so people weren't able to do both. Here I am with a broken toe (pain level of three), the people in crowding the starting line look fast, then it clicked, "what if you could place"? Mood changed, found focus, lets try. Probably a dumb idea, but then again, it was dumb to kick a suitcase too.

Bang, goes the gun, no I didn't kick anything again! There were lots of people, this wouldn't be easy. Dodging the typical kids who start out way too fast or start way too close to the starting line, it seemed like I did make up ground going into the first turn. After the first turn, the road went up and over this fairly steep bridge. By the time we got to the bridge, I was past the mob of people, is this really happening? Up the bridge, a few more people passed. At this point, I could clearly count all the people a head of me, eight! While still very early in the race, it was shocking to me to be this close to the lead with this many people. No doubt I was going my 5K race pace, but I've been slacking the past few weeks, plus knowing I still have to run a marathon tomorrow, I wasn't going all out either. At the two mile mark, I was content where I was, still only eight people ahead of me. My pace, felt fast but still had some in reserve, and it finally dawned on me that my toe was actually at a zero on the pain level. I was ecstatic to finish this race in the top ten. Overall, it looked like Kzoo came and invaded the age group awards, the Superstars ran away with six age group awards! If Tulsa didn't know there is a Kalamazoo, they do now.

My marathon prep has always been consistent. Rest the days leading up to it, clipping toe nails, drinking lots of water, and of course pasta dinner. Since the Grand Rapids Marathon, I've been resting, too much in fact. Running a 5K, hard enough to place, is definitely different. Drinking lots of water, well do white Russians count? Hey, at least I didn't deviate from the pasta dinner, well it was kind of lunch! This will be interesting, not exactly my normal prep.

Oh, that weather! Week before, cold. Even yesterday was better. Sixty degrees! Really had high hopes that it would be so cold and I'd be the only one who could run well in it. CT dreams silly things and they work out, I dream up something entirely possible and nothing! Putting my racing shoe on, immediately, I can feel pressure on my toe. At first, thought it was just the thicker sock I wear on longer runs, switched to a thin one, same problem. The toe box in my racing shoes are just smaller than the shoe I wore yesterday. Dilemma time. Is it best to wear my normal racing shoe, hoping that my toe doesn't swell more? Do I wear my much heavier training shoe? Or do I wear the same shoe that I ran with for the 5K and it felt good, of course the catch is, never ran more than six miles at one time with these shoes? At the time, the smart choice seemed to be run in the shoe that felt good in the 5K.

Bang, goes the gun again! CT has this crazy notion that she's going to attempt to qualify for Boston again. I decided there's no way I'm going to run hard today and the best course of action is running with her and hopefully helping her quality again. The early miles felt good, we shadowed her pace group. For what I thought would be very flat cattle country, turned into many rolling hills though residential neighborhoods. Between miles four and eight we pushed ahead of the pace group she needed.  It seemed crowded and the water stops were more tricky to navigate with the people around, so thought it best to get ahead of them. By mile nine or ten, my body already was telling me this could be a challenge. Think it was a combination of the warmer temps, too much rest leading up and pushing too hard the day before. At the halfway point, I had pulled away enough from CT to stop and rest a bit. The thin sock I had picked was creeping down enough that my heel was  rubbing and already bleeding at this point, not to meaning I could already feel the tell tale signs of blisters on my feet. Once CT caught up, told her my problems, but clearly we had pulled away from her pace so she was more than ahead of her qualifying time, so were in very good shape.

Never stopped at an aid station before, but saw one coming up, so I split off to get a band-aid for my heel. As soon as I attempted to put it on, it was obvious how futile this was, being wet and sweaty the band-aid wouldn't stick for long. Doubt it lasted a half mile before it was gone and it was back to rubbing. Also back are the rolling hills! Wow, never would have guess it would have been like this. By mile sixteen, I was done. My feet were so tender, they were killing me and my heel didn't feel much better. Broken toe, pain index zero. Rest of my problems, seven (and that's not inflated). At this point, I told CT she'd be on her own and gave her specific instructions that if that pace group didn't catch her, she wasn't allowed to do the "extra", qualifying was more important than a coin.

The rest of the marathon for me was a whole bunch of walking. This is where the lesson of never wearing new shoes before a race glows bright and the bells and whistles go off. I even stopped and took my socks off, hoping it would help, it did, but the damage was already done. I did try another aid station too, hoping to try a band-aid, then wrapping my heel with tape, except they didn't have any tape. Talk about miserable. Marathons have beaten me up in the past, but this one really was taking a toll on me physically.

When it came time to do the detour for the ultra, figured it couldn't get any worse. It's always been my biggest fear to finish a marathon over the four hour mark. At this point, I was seriously flirting with it. This marathon was suppose to be fun anyway and although it seemed anything but at this point, figured I'd swallow some pride and just be happy to finish. The dreaded happened, finished over four, which considering had four pit stops trying to fix things and ten miles of walking, oh well.

Crossing the line, there was relief, but I ultimately looked forward to the "extra" walk to the hotel to put on different shoes! CT was smiling waiting for me. She didn't make her qualifying time, she also had trouble down the stretch. Maybe I started her out too fast, or it simply could have been a hard course to pull that off considering all the hills. I know her well enough to know that there will always be another chance.



In the end, very fun weekend, even though it came with an "extra" swollen toe. Sure, Route 66 got some kicks on me, still left town with this hardware. Oh and the medal did grow on all of us, think it's pretty cool.

Training Pay Off

This Summer was hell. It's not me bitching about the heat, again. This time, I'm talking about the training program CT committed us to. My legs have never felt like rubber with my feet in concrete blocks more. Even in bad dreams, my legs have felt better. What kind of training program is this? It's call the Hanson Method and the concept is running and training on "tired" legs to train the body to learn how to deal with the late miles of the marathon. Stamp "Sucker" on my forehead because I was sold on how this training program's longest run is never more than sixteen miles. Previous training plans that I've used, the longest has always been twenty miles. Soon after CT tricked me into attempting this training with the shorter distance long runs, now freshly signed in blood, that's when I found out about this tired leg philosophy, which is possible because of the ridiculous amount of weekly miles. So, even though it's less, it's really more.

Something worked. My previous 5K record from two years ago, got crushed this summer. The trail run from hell, saw me cut eight minutes from my previous time. Yet, it's still never enough to be super confident it's working. Even though the number of miles logged training for this marathon were easily a hundred more than previous efforts, not doing a twenty mile run, messes with confidence. Another thing, heading into this marathon, I was easily five pounds heavier than I have been. One would think with the additional miles, it would be easy to be lean, I found it difficult to drop to my previous marathon weights. So, lack of a twenty mile training run, being heavier than I have been, had me questioning what was going to happen coming into the fall marathon.

CT in true form, can never just let us run a race without some level of expectations. A couple weeks out, even with nerves, I figured I'd aim to PR. I didn't want to set a specific time for myself, just felt for putting the effort of training, I owed it to myself to attempt to beat my time. There's two levels of expectations that exist in our house, the sane and rational (mine) and crazy (CT's). Coming home to an empty house one night, found not only one, but two hand made signs with times. Mine with a time of 3:20 and it should be noted at one point it did read 3:25, but the five was clearly made into a zero later. Keep in mind my PR is 3:28 something. Nothing, like a little added pressure!

Race day is perfect, cool temps. If a PR is going to happen, this is day for it. Nervous about what would happen after mile sixteen is on my mind, I also promised to run a friend in, hoping to help her with her Boston Qualifying dreams. Spent as much time as I could relaxing and mentally preparing before the start, but just like training, never seems like enough because before too long it's time for the long walk to the starting line.

Wiiiiiiiiissssssh, goes the starting gun. It's rare to run a race where there's not at least a handful of people who don't start where they should. Fifty feet in, way before the very first turn, people are walking! This is a first. I'd never want to discourage somebody that made a mistake, but come on people use your head! I'm glad I wasn't running for time, because I wanted to stab them in the head (walker)!

By mile four I was on the heels of the 3:29 pace group, even though I started behind them. Here's where the voices start, "stay here, push at the end, easy PR". This is a big clump of runners, "it would be easy to push a little more and get some separation". Ugh, here comes the devil, "he's beaten you before, look at that old guy running with you, all this training, you should be faster....3:20 flashing in red".

Miles five to sixteen were a blur. Not sure if the devil fell off my shoulder, couldn't keep up, or gave up but it got quiet. This is racing. The only real thought that I remember was crossing the halfway mat and seeing a very respectable time. Even though I still was conserving for the next thirteen miles, knowing had I only did the half today, there's a good chance I could have lowered my favorite PR. Would it hold up for the dreaded late miles?

At mile eighteen, total surprise. Not only were the wheels still spinning, but it became apparent how well even in my runner's haze, when I saw the 3:14 pace group not very far ahead of me. To be anywhere near that group at this point in the race only made me push harder. Hindsight, this was probably my bonehead mistake for this race.

Mile twenty-three is where training ran out. Tired legs are one thing, and there's something to be said for doing lots of miles to get the legs ready for the pounding, but the first noticeable fatigue were my feet. They were getting sore and I probably didn't do them any favors by decided to run in my least cushioned shoes. Thoughts of getting closer to the 3:14 pace group were gone. With only three miles to go, a PR was happening for sure. The decision to push on, while tired and getting sore, I couldn't justify it. Sure, that 3:20 was still flashing in my head. But, I gave myself permission to take the final three miles easy and not risk hurting myself for no reason.

The final stretch, did feel like it was forever, but crossed the line with about a six minute PR and a just over 3:20 PR with a 3:22. Not bad. The marathon wasn't over yet. After a quick walk through the finish line treats to get my muscle milk, walked back out to mile twenty-five to wait and hope. A few days earlier, I did have a nightmare where I had a bad marathon and didn't finish in time to get back out to run our friend in and it was awful. It wasn't too long before CT and our friend appeared. Not knowing exactly when our friend started, but already kind of knew that unless we threw down a really fast mile (which I know full well I didn't even have in me at this point), it was unlikely she was going to get her BQ time. Still a PR for her as well, but disappointing at the same time.

Can't deny the results of training with this method, it worked. Did I follow the program to a tee, no. That's the hardest part of by this program, so many miles and when life is also happening at the same time, it's hard to dedicate the amount of time to following this method completely. Six days of running with only one rest day takes it's toll as well. Some days, my body said you are insane and need a break. Not saying another marathon is in my future, but if one were, I'd probably use this same method to train.        

Pacing with a Friend

This campus has a hold of me. First, it sucked all the money from my parents. Then, it kept me long enough that I probably should be a doctor. Even though I broke free from it on a daily basis, it's pull still kept me in the area. Twenty years later, its gravitation pull still has a hold of me and pulls me back to it by running its campus. It's got me again, now it's forcing me to race on it. Oh, wait that's not force of the campus, but CT making me do this.

Sometimes, I really wonder about the crew I ended up with. We ran this route two times this week preparing for this 5K. The plan is for CT to pace our Superstar friend, Judy, to her PR time of under 23. Not sure there's another group of girls who prepare like this.

The morning of the race, CT and I ran to the start of the race. During this three mile warm up, CT decided she didn't think she could go and now I was volunteered to pace Judy. See how this works? Pain sucker on my forehead.

Trying to PR on this course is kind of silly if you ask me, it's hilly. Personally, I don't like the pressure of pacing. It's nice knowing the person trusts you enough to do it, but I'm too much of a softy because I feel bad if the person doesn't make their goal.  For a 5K, I'm not even sure a pacer matters, so even though I got volunteered into this, I'm treating it as a run with a friend tagging behind.

First mile, pretty good, right on pace and that's with going up the monster hill to start. Mile two, Judy is lagging a little behind, well within her goal, but know the final mile is going to have to be fastest. Which in any race, isn't really the way you want it planned, but in this case Judy really likes the downhill and thought for sure we could make up any time lost in the middle of the course here. I tried, I willed, and even yelled trying my best coaching.

My first attempt at pacing a friend, came up 22 seconds short of her goal. You'd think I'd be disappointed with that, but turns out it was 1 second better than her previous PR (she only wanted under 23) and she got first place in her age group! Now, I can't take all of the credit, but I think it's worth at least 20%.
  

It Happened

Four years of running, four years of complaining, it finally happened. What you may ask? Well, you'll have to wait until the end of this lengthy post to find out.

CT and I have been running a fair amount of races lately. Far less than in recent past, but we finally came to the conclusion that spend a lot of $'s running races. The bling is nice, but it's getting to the point where our walls are covered. We came to the decision this past week that we will only do a few select races from now on. We didn't exactly decide how that decision would be made, but the consensus being we'd stop signing up for any and every race that generated interest. Know where this is going?

Two days after having this conversation, I found this charity "run" scheduled for the coming weekend. The video sold me, but it help that the race was sponsored by our favorite store, Gazelle Sports, and right downtown where we like to hang out. I knew CT would drag her feet some, per our recent decision, but figured I'd try anyway.

CT wasn't thrilled with the idea, she did put up some resistance, but I got her downtown before the start to at least check it out (with the promise of wine). Once there, surrounded by enthusiastic people, seeing some of our friends, she was sold on this goofiness.  Why do I say goofiness? Well, you probably didn't watch the video, but this race is .1K. Next to Olympic sprints, this has to be the only race where you can stand at the starting line, see the finish line, and the view the entire course! Needless to say, we didn't race, mainly because of the amount of people, but true to CT form, we walked side by side until the final few feet where she raced to cross the line before I did.

Is this what happened, that CT beat me? Nah, readers of my blog know it's happened before and probably will happen again. What really happened on this day? Well, I finally found an "easy run"!  

A Run, for Office on the Campaign Trail

The toughest run, I love to hate, it's North Country time! Still waiting for a run to be easy, it's guaranteed, it will not be this week. This run is brutal, roots, narrow paths, dirt, mosquitoes, exactly what a trail run should be. Someone didn't get the message that is enough, instead hills were added and added and added and that's where the hate comes in. Speaking of hate, lets talk politics.

Let the pain begin, eeeeeeeeeekkkk goes the gun, creeeeeeek goes the joints, as race starts.  The first year, was an epic disaster of having no clue what this trail had in store for me. Last year, conservation was the name of the game plan. This year's game plan, just repeat last year's! Duh! Don't change what worked!

A republican start would be an understatement, last year my first two miles were in the ten minute range which is almost unheard of for me. But, it felt necessary to be conservative. One major difference this year is they split the half marathon into two start times. This really helped thin out crowds on the narrow trails. The bottleneck of people on the trail aided me being conservative. Completely different story this year, from the start there were only maybe ten people total ahead of me.

What fun is being conservative anyway (anyone else sick of the political ads)? First mile, a blistering seven thirty mile. Nothing like sticking to the plan. Whoops, already flip-flopped, my vote. Even though the plan was ditched before the first mile was logged, I wasn't going Toronto Mayor crazy either. The Game Changer starts about mile two, but this is experience (lifetime politician) now talking. As I slowed down and watched a younger kid dart past me, rookie.

The Game Changer is about a mile long hill, it's perfectly placed where it's early enough in the race where you get tricked to using all that adrenaline and energy early. From the bottom, I could already see it claiming one runner who was walking close to the top and the guy in front of me was lagging. Two down, in the polls.

Just before the first water stop, I caught another. This guy had raised his hand that this was his first North Country prior to the race start, so I felt obligated to give words of encouragement as I passed. Hey, I'm not like a typical heartless politician. This whole time, I felt I was running fast, but also relaxed. In my head, I knew I had waited until after mile six before unleashing the beast last year. Since the beast escaped early this year, I wasn't sure what to expect come the later miles.  But, I was doing something right, because I could see the kid who darted passed me in the early going, and I was gaining and I felt like debating him.

At the second water stop, I was right on his back. Here, I stopped to take my GU and the punk didn't even stop for water! Ugh, so close and now I was going to lose him. I got snapped out of my trance when a boy of maybe four years old complained to his mom that I didn't take "his" water. Sheeesh, now I understand this kissing baby's thing. Attempting to make him feel better, I explained that I needed to stop at the table, otherwise I would have grabbed "his" water. Time to hit the campaign trail again, one voter at a time.

This is part of the trail I destroyed last year, think I can even see some of the carnage of broken limbs and claw marks remaining.  My legs felt tired and surge of power isn't here this year, but then again my plan completely changed of how I ran this race, so I figured maintain and see what happens at the end. Speaking of which, boy wonder, now shirtless, is starting to die out. As much as I almost wanted to wait to debate him on the next big hill to demoralize him, that would be dirty politics. Besides, he had slowed to the point I didn't even have wait, the press leaked his inappropriate pictures, and he was done.

The remaining miles were quiet. It truly became a tail run of man versus nature and I was content to let nature win. Anybody left ahead of me, I wasn't going to catch them, I was tired. Shouldn't I have a luxury campaign bus? Anybody behind me, would motivate me to push harder, but I couldn't imagine anybody catching me at this point in the race if they hadn't already. The projections were in based on the exit polls and there wasn't much left to do. The last mile, I even put the brakes on and took it easy.

Crossing the line, I felt pretty good, because ditching the plan did cut seven minutes off my time. Though, finishing felt completely different. Today, I was tired and ready to be done. Last year, it felt almost like I was just getting started when it ended. Two different campaigns, both unique in their own way.

The reason I could never be a politician, logic. Ha, I didn't mean that as an insult (yes, I did), but what I mean is I like numbers too much. Looking at the side-by-sides of my two runs, it's interesting. Of course starting out faster this year, all the early miles were much better. But, I really expected the final miles to be so much better last year when I was on that incredible runner's high. Instead, besides the final mile where I completely relaxed, my miles were still faster this year.  Never would have expected that, but it tells me that training program I'm doing is working.

When the polls closed and the results were final, finished second in my age group and seventh overall! Not good enough to get me elected, really who wants that job anyway? This office nerd is running the hell out of these trails.

    

    

In My Grasp

It's "my trophy" weekend. Even though it's said like that, I didn't name it. The name comes from CT since the first time she saw the hardware given to the winner, suddenly it became her trophy and the name stuck. Even though it became her quest, it really did become "my trophy", last year. It was unexpected, but winning felt pretty damn good. This is going to be the year, we both come home with "my trophy".

There are so many things I enjoy about running, one being although you are really competing against others, it's really just a battle with yourself. Take two weeks ago for example, crushed my previous PR and only got third place, hell I could have got seventh, it meant more to me knowing that I bested myself. Something changed this week though.

The week before this race, there are some powerful forces at play, voodoo, black magic, but it goes beyond coincidence, injuries. This is the third year in a row that one of us has got injured the week before this race. Mom injured her knee and made the mistake of visiting the doctor prior to the race, which of course you never do until after, especially when she always follows all the rules. Of course the doctor is going to say, don't do it. CT has been back to her old form, even faster, until she pulled her calf muscle something awful. In CT's case, a doctor isn't going to tell her what she is or isn't going to do, but she wasn't going to be at 100%. Suddenly, things changed from this great weekend where we were all going to get awards, to being unsure what would happen and I felt this added pressure of having to do well to compensate.

Lining up, there were the usual suspects. Maybe it's only me, but imagine everybody does it, calculating who the competition is. I think I spotted the guy who sent his girlfriend to ask me my time last year, figure he's got a target on my back or is it that guy in the orange? Rrrrrrrrrrip goes the gun. More like exploded out, can't remember the time I've started a race this fast, but it was a bolt.

At the first turn, there were maybe six people ahead of me. Four were clumped together, the typical high school age kids who would win the whole thing with their ridiculous youth times. The other two were much younger kids who would burn out before the next turn. Here it is, mine for the taking, just have to maintain, and get "my trophy". Closing in at the first mile, I could feel breathing down my neck. Somebody was there, but who? Beep, first mile, glancing at my watch 5:55! I've never ran a mile under six minutes, ever. While excited, it also made me wonder if I didn't start out way too fast, no sooner did I think that then the breathing down my neck stopped as I got passed by not one, but two people. One of which didn't matter, the woman who always wins this race, but the other...Mr. Orange.

The worst part of the course is the second mile, when it transitions between wooden walkways, to grass, another wooden walkway and suspension bridge. How bad do I want it? I kept asking myself that as Mr. Orange continued to pull away. He built a lead, I fought with myself and told myself enough! He wasn't allowed to pull away anymore. With all the surface transitions, I knew this mile would be slower, yet it still felt crazy fast, yet I wasn't dying. Then I saw it, just before mile two, with the hill, Mr. Orange started to slow.

Just past mile two, only two turns remain and plenty of distance to see what's ahead.  The woman is way up there, almost to the next turn.  Mr. Orange is now within striking distance and now my mind turned to strategy. Do I slow with him, conserving energy and wait until closer to the finish to take him? Or do I pass him now, hopefully demoralizing him, and maybe worry about him coming from behind? As I debated this, it got answered for me, he slowed even more. At this point, I was already running more relaxed, so I just passed him. He'd have to have two other gears to take me, because I still had a spare for sure.

Only one turn to go now, heck I'm even gaining on one of those high school kids. Then EVERYTHING changed as that high school kid made the final turn, I could clearly see this "kid" had the receding hairline. It was too late. Even with another gear, there simply wasn't enough distance left. How did this happen? Maybe, that hairline meant even older and not in my group. I've waited four years to get in the 19's in this race, here it is, yet the pain wasn't from my tired heart as I crossed the line, it was from my gut that told me I lost "my trophy".

The second place medal in the picture sums up then entire situation. Six, seconds behind. Never had a race play out like this. Determination, excitement, doubt, fight, resilience, calm, confidence, shock, pain, and anger all within three point one miles.

For all those emotions in a few miles, the next day was even worse, I think I stewed all day. It was a looooong slow simmer all day. Jump back to the second paragraph (aptly 2nd for a reason), something change today. Simply wanting to get better works for every race, but this one. This is the one race I want to win and expect to win. Consider "my trophy" on loan, because next year it's coming home with me!    



 

Weighing In

It's been a while. Based on my previous entry, I probably should have at least did a few updates instead of leaving it "hanging" in a cloud of despair since it's been a few months. Whatever happened to my foot at the River Bank Run lasted for a few weeks, but went away. I've been running since, just haven't been doing any races, hence the quiet blog, but here we are again. So, what's up?

CT and I have been putting in miles training, but decided that we would really cut back on our races this summer. There are only two races we cared about, the one for her trophy and the brutal trail run that we love to hate. At least, that was the plan until this weekend rolled around and CT decided we needed a warm up 5K as preparation for her trophy run. That fact she decides this for her training, also means I have to do it too, funny how that works.  Not only do we have to pre-5K for her trophy run, but we had to pre-pre-run this 5K course so she could be mentally prepared for this practice 5K. Can you see what I have to deal with? Ridiculous, who takes running to this level?

Ugh, okay pre-pre-running the course didn't help my confidence. I know getting older means getting slower and as much as I want to deny one is happening, both are happening. The goal has always been getting in the 19's for a 5K and it's happened once.  Low 20's have been norm. After my pre-pre, I wasn't even sure the 20's were possible, I might be lucky to stay in the high 20's and even maybe flirt with 21. Here's where the picture for this post comes into play.  Yes, this me actually weighing my shoes. Now, who's the crazy one? Had to do it, need every edge I can get.

Race morning, first thing I do is jump on the scale. Again, another blow to the confidence. Not feeling fast already, now have the scale telling me I'm running heavy. Sure glad I saved three ounces picking my shoes! One strange omen was the time on my watch when I picked it up to put it on. It read 6:27, which just happens to be the exact pace per mile I'd need to get back in the 19's. Is this a sign or is it a cruel joke tormenting me?

Time to weigh in for good, cha-ching goes the starting gun (okay I made this sound a register, because scales don't make sounds). This is one race where the first mile is the hardest, it has the most incline of this fairly flat race, so in this respect it's the perfect use of that extra adrenaline. 6:08 when my watched beeped, signalling the first mile. That's respectable, but mile two will be story maker. In my head, I was very surprised I clocked a mile that fast because it's seems like it's been a while, but also wanted to stay very realistic, but felt confident slipping in the 21's wasn't going to happen.  6:18, as the second mile beeped. Wow. Suddenly, thoughts of being lucky to get in the 20's switched to PR.  Mile three wasn't easy, but I also didn't feel like I was doing everything possible to hold the wheels from coming off.  When it clicked, it read 6:28. Even with bad runner math, I knew I was going to be in the 19's at this point.  Just had to finish the last little bit, when I could finally see the clock the three extra beats left on my maxed out heart got used up seeing a 19:05 on the clock.  NEVER would have thought low 19's would be possible. 19:16, when the scale finally stopped! Twenty-seven seconds faster than my 5K PR from two years ago!

Most days, I hate what the scale says, but today it weighed in right.

  

Win the Battle, Lose the War

The River Bank Run has always been my salvation the week after Kalamazoo punches me in the face. What started as simply needing a confidence booster, has now changed to wanting to continue my status in the "special" club.  Once you have the perks, experience the perks, they are hard to give up.

The perks, as great as they are, didn't live up to exceptions. I strolled up to the police officer guarded door with my shiny yellow bib expecting access for my entourage, only to be told it doesn't work that way anymore. No friends, no family, yellow bib only. What fun is this club if it's a club of one? It's not, which makes the rest of the story that much more confusing.

The start, seemed crowded, yet not like years before. It always seemed like we were running on top of each other until about mile eight, this year there was actually some gaps of space. It is surprising and depressing at the same time how many people are able to run with me. I'd really like to write most of them off as results of the rampant drug problem, thanks Lance, but for now I'll pretend they are all WAY younger than me. This is the point where I did finally see some people start to struggle with the rising temps or maybe they started too fast.

At mile ten, I started feeling something a little different.  My right foot, it's always the right side, began giving me twinges of pain. Running logic told me it was the damn roads.  I've complained, make that bitched, about the unevenness of this course almost every time it's been under my feet.  Doesn't matter if it's the marathon, the half, this 25K, all of them share this route and the first few times I even thought I was being a baby about it, but seriously there is something to this thing. I attempted to adjust as best I could find the flattest ground I could, while now actively trying to run in the few shady spots left.

Mile twelve, my foot pain became obvious there was more to it than simply running some miles on uneven roads, there was something wrong going on. Up until this point, I was hanging right with the 7:30 per mile group. To stay in the "special" club, the average needed  is 7:47 per mile, so I had some breathing room, but really couldn't take a break either.  The question became, how bad do I want to stay in the club or do I shut it down to hopefully prevent damaging my foot or at least making it worse? Ego, thick headedness, stupidity, desire to stay in the cool club that wouldn't even let me bring my friends, won out.

The last few miles were hard, painful, and hot, but I managed to fight through it to continue the streak of eligibility for the club. After, it felt like walking on a marble under my heel, sure hope it was worth it.

*Update* - Two days after, still could barely walk on it. Been icing it like crazy.

*Update 2* - Ten days after, haven't been able to run yet    

10

Three years, three humbling experiences. The Kalamazoo Marathon has my number. Inexperience, overconfidence, fear, so far have been the results, what will this year bring? Some friends refuse to do it. Others ask me why I continue to do it. Not even sure how to answer. It's not a rivalry, because it's completely one sided at the moment. The course is awful, the only miles I like are the first five. The weather, is always warming up at the worst possible time. It might be simply be because this is my city.

Two days after I committed to doing this race again, I mean officially by signing up and paying money to force myself, I found out the course had changed. They actually managed to make it more difficult, as if that's been the reason for my struggles, yeah, it's been too easy. So much of running is mental and I have to be honest, this is where I checked out. I can't say it's the whole reason I cut back my training, but it definitely played a factor. There is just something about this course that feels like kryponite to me. Even training runs on it, when the mileage is less, mentally it messes with my psyche now and easy runs end up stirring up memories resulting in bad times.

Lack of training, how does Murphy's Law get me? Why of course by giving me the lowest temperatures for this race since I've been doing it! Figures! Whoooosh! Went the start of the gun this year. While I got some reprieve with the temps, the wind was out in force.

The early miles were uneventful. My head was stuck thinking about the course changes and knowing that whole section would be where this race would be either be successful or turn into the nightmare.  At one point I got snapped out my runner's haze coming out of campus where a dad gave his daughter a "shadow hug" as we ran under the bridge. That was kind of cool and made me smile.

Instead of the long, boring, stretch in the scorching sun like years past, the solution to the road maintenance is sending us uphill through a neighborhood only to be dumped on the road that I'm convinced finishes me off every year with more hills, making us run it twice out and back. Then add to the mix, wtf is up with this wind which is blowing directly at us running out. I'd like to say this was my superior strategy, for this long stretch of road, I tucked in behind a clump of runners and I pretended they were my windbreaker.  While already in my head, I was convinced the wind would be in my face both directions, there were a few spots (while I'm still not convinced they equaled out) where I could actually feel the wind pushing me. That was a nice surprise. An even nicer surprise was the energy boost seeing the other runners in the out and back section. Giving and receiving words of encouragement, completely a different feeling than crowd support.  So, the section that I dreaded the most, turned out to be more positive than negative.

The ending is always a struggle, regardless. This time, by mile 20 I was still flirting with a PR on what I consider the hardest marathon course I've done. I knew a PR wasn't going to happen based on the remaining hills, but that was still moral victory enough.  At this point, my feet were sore and while a PR wasn't going to happen, a PR for the marathon that always beats me to a pulp was. This is where I decided I could take it easy the rest of the way and didn't see the point to doing anything dumb and pushing too hard.  CT was all smiles when I first saw her down the stretch, I think even she was surprised to see me this early on my nemesis. With her smile, I even felt like I was safe from having to ride home in the trunk (for once).          

Three years, marathon number 10 goes in the books as a success. Doubt there will ever be a day when it gets easy, but today I won because I'm still standing (actually, I'm not my calves were cramping something awful once I finished...but that was temporary). Will I train more next year? Probably not. Will I do it again? Probably. Will it feel as one sided as it has before? Lets just say it's a rivalry. Kalamazoo had my number, but it's now a number for me as well, #10.

Dinner for Two

My Dad loves to eat. When he's not eating, he's thinking about eating. Some people might see a problem with that, gluttony, I see the benefit of it making shopping for for him extremely easy! Hmmm, what to get him for his birthday, done.  How about a visit to the Chef's Table at Zazios and give the eating machine, I mean my Dad the chance of experiencing a five course meal without making my Mom slave? The only issue, it just so happens that it falls on Western's graduation weekend, oh and prime season for all the local proms too. So, we had to take the later dinner.

Zazios has always been a favorite when he comes to town. One of my fondest memories was on one particular occasion my Dad being particularity agreeable with the waitress, wanting to try every thing she suggested and being talked into adding truffles to most of our plates.  The truffle bill alone was $56! Don't get me wrong, they were delicious, but I had no idea they were priced like gold.

The reservation was for 8:30, which it typically our bedtime. It was closer to 9, before we even sat down at the table, this could be a long night.  No menu, the only choice you get is if you'd like your meal paired with wine. CT and I did this, I was kind of surprised my Dad decided to do this, but hey it's his birthday, game on.

The first course, the salad was my least favorite of the whole meal.  Luckily, I could pawn most of that off to CT because she was starving by the time this thing actually got going. The wine was delicious. The salad would have been fine, except the huge cheese glob the chef added didn't do anything for me. It reminded me of, I'm not even going to say it, because it will just gross you out and I'm not about that in this blog.

The second course was what I'd describe as calamari soup. Not something I'd go out of my way to order at a restaurant, but it was very tasty for eating squid, which is still far less gross than lump of cheese in that salad that reminded me of cold, spoiled, soft, cheese, extracted from a dead mouse's stomach, but I'm not going to gross you out with the details.  Did the second glass of wine get even better? I admit, I'm a lightweight drinker, but I know I can handle two glasses of wine. These weren't even two full glasses, but let me tell you, I was floating! We were only finishing the second course, it as probably 10:30, not what I'd consider pounding these drinks and while not what I'd consider lots of food, it was still food. If this were a marathon, this is when reality was setting in and I realized my plan had to change, if I wanted to walk out of this dinner on my own.

This is the point, I changed the Chef's vision for this meal. We are going from five courses to five point five. More bread, lots of it! CT and I had the waitress bring another box of bread to soak up some of this alcohol this wine seems to be laced with. I didn't feel so bad, about being a lightweight when CT suggested we start a food fight with our running friends who also joined us for this special night. The thought of starting a food fight, in this classy place, knowing that it's never been done before and that our friends would without a doubt participate had me smiling at the thought of how this would go down in history. The fact that I was having a difficult time coming up with reasons not to do this, only told me I HAD to eat more bread.

Three point five, was my favorite.  The cod was ridiculous good.  The one side was seared to perfection, not like I know what that even is, but in my head that's what it should be. The fish itself once it melted in your mouth finished with this slightly salted flavor.  The only issue is it was about the size of a chicken nugget. The whole meal could have been a slab of this and it would have been perfect.  Was there even wine with this course? Oh yeah, it's already gone.

Four point five was a pork dish.  Please forgive me, but this course is hazy. It was good, but found myself wanting more of that cod for most of it.  At this point it's probably 11:30. I do know the wine in this course the wine wasn't as good. Finally, a reason not to drink all of it!

The dessert didn't get rave reviews from CT, my Dad, or a few of our running friends. While I've had better, I didn't think it was bad. Oh crap, the wine is good again too. How are we getting home again? Holy cow, it's tomorrow!

All in all, it was a very fun experience. Not a bad way to celebrate my Dad's birthday and our anniversary. It would have been so much better had we been able to do the earlier table. Just because the Chef is explaining and talking, it's not really like as a group we could interact with each other. Speaking of interacting, my Dad may have thought I bought the Chef for him, the way he used him for his own encyclopedia at the end. Where's that bread to throw at him to make him stop?


    

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

We are not in town for a race, we are in town for THE RACE! Boston. Marathon. Enough said.  This is what dreams are made of, right here, right now. Any and every runner dreams of running this race, it's the only race even non-runners know of.  CT put so much hard work and dedication last year to qualify for this, there's no way we'd miss it and definitely were not going to let thoughts of terror deter us.

Boston left one lasting impression on me, that I never saw coming, the people LOVE their runners! It's probably odd to start with that that statement, but it is the story. I've never seen anything like it. Normally, I'd make you read the whole post, make you earn it, before I came out an say it, but this experience was so different, so unique, this theme is ingrained in almost every experience we had. Maybe it was different pre 4/15/2013, but if that's the case, then I'm here to say terror definitely lost and love won.

The story starts with my stomach.  Since I'm not running, I get to eat whatever I want and my stomach aches for official Boston Clam Chowder. It was my guess that any place I picked would be good, but I thought I'd hedge my bet following the footsteps of one of the TV programs we like to watch, Man vs Food. Almost as if it were a sign, walking up to the place, it looked very shady (think back to the restaurant I picked in Traverse City). CT wanted to bolt. I started to second guess.  Turns out we were only looking at the open deck area that they had covered in plastic and it wasn't the actual restaurant we were going to sit down at on this chilly day.  What felt like thirty minutes in Boston, we are greeted to our waitress who is also running the marathon, her first.  Two minutes later her and CT seem like old friends and are already talking about common runner fears, pooping.  Yes, I said it. She gave us her cell number with specific instructions that if we got lost or needed anything to call her.  Who hands complete strangers their number? Somebody who LOVES their runners.

Our second day was our first real experience of the city. The first stop was getting CT's bib number and heading down to the expo. Boston feels old. Most of the sidewalks we took were brick, all uneven with ankle biters everywhere. The skyline is modern, yet the ground is old. Fear of CT tweaking her knee walking around hours before her race were constantly on my mind as I found myself paying more attention to where she was stepping than my own steps.

The expo is where I got the feeling I didn't belong. It was hard seeing her excitement getting her bib, then rushing to look at the official Boston jackets. It felt like since I wasn't running and didn't qualify, maybe I shouldn't even be touching these sacred items. I'm sure silly, but a weird feeling none the less. While I would expect those feelings would give me this instant dedication to train super hard, qualify, to come back and experience these things for myself, they didn't. I found myself wondering how I would react, would I be teh same?  The jackets seem like they are what legends are made of. People wearing them give off this aura of pride. I'm not even a fan of jackets, would this change me if I were to ever run Boston? Which brings up the point of superstitions. CT is of the mindset that she couldn't wear her jacket until she finished, otherwise it be bad luck. Trust me, there were plenty of runners who put theirs on the second they purchased them. In my mind a Google overhead view would have witnessed the city turn from blue and yellow (last years jackets) to a sea of bright orange from Saturday to Monday.

After the expo, we began wondering back towards our hotel and since it was roughly lunch time, figured take a peak where Cheers is located.  Low and behold, right on the way. While they didn't know our name, maybe they did after because they seemed to like our order.  A white russian at eleven in the morning tends to raise eyebrows, I guess. Even though it's a tourist trap, it turned out to be one of our favorite spots because we had to come back the following day.

Sunday, we debated if CT should get a little run in. Because we had been doing so much walking around the city, I did worry if we were putting too much work on her legs. Since we always side on the way of being cautious (did you believe me?), we went out for a run.  Runners everywhere! Any thoughts that this wasn't the best idea, instantly gone.  In the park, on the sidewalks, in the streets. I know I would have regretted it the rest of my life if I went to Boston and didn't get a run in, so glad we did it and it felt amazing.  While I can't say that I ran the Boston Marathon, it did feel pretty special to run across the finish line. I can only imagine what it would feel like doing it for real, because even doing it like this felt incredible.

We took time to visit the library where they had an memorial exhibit. While I'm glad we did it, it really changed the mood from the runner's high I just experienced. Suddenly, the mood changed to one of deep sadness looking at the various items and messages left for the victims. Then mine changed to anger of what kind of losers do something like this? Up until this point, the thought if it happening again never once entered my mind, but seeing these items up close, made it that much more real to me. Doing this the day before the race, wasn't one of my better decisions.

That night, we phoned our Boston friend for her recommendation for a place to get our pasta dinner. Little Italy is what I'm calling that part of town. Hands down, the coolest part of Boston that we saw, it really had a unique feel to it.  We weren't the only runners who figured out this part of town, plenty were lined up. It turned out to be a great meal. CT shoveled so much homemade tortellini in, I thought she'd burst. She wanted to take it back to the hotel, when I said no, she then wanted to at least bring it with her just in case we saw a homeless person on the way.

Race day. The runners are bused from essentially the finish line to the starting line, so we got down to the buses early. The plan was to meet up with the other Kzoo runners also running. There she goes, next time I see her, she'll be a Boston Marathoner. It's now 8:00 am, she doesn't start running until 11:00 am, and then she has to run it, I've got some time to kill.  I wasn't comfortable enough trying to move around on the course trying to see her. Even though I had hours, I thought I'd go down to the finish line and see actually how close I could get. Though one security check point, as close as I could get was still a half block away from the actual finish line. To get closer, I needed a special badge. How do you rate to get one of those? It wasn't a bad spot, while it would be next to impossible to see her actually crossing the line, I'd be able to see her moments after, which I thought wouldn't be bad. I could camp here for hours. Or so I thought, as security came back through to sweep with dogs and later to find out this whole area that I had found was being closed off to only badge people.  Next. At this point, I waved to the visible snipers on the rooftops.  The next closest spot brought me about a block and a half away from the finish line.  It was directly across from where they were handing out the warming blankets, which they had setup in the middle of the street and the runners were funneled on either side of this setup.  I had a fifty fifty shot that CT would pick the side of the street I was on, but figured it was my best chance to see her after she crossed.  Soon the elite women crossed the finish line and this is when I got my first taste of how impossible it would be to see anything. A speck is about all I saw of the crowd favorite as she immediately was escorted off the course before even getting to the point where I was when I first got kicked out.  At about the time the elite men were getting close to finishing, I went for lunch because I knew I wouldn't see a damn thing.

At lunch is where I "watched" CT most, tracking her on my phone. While not as good as I wanted, it did give me insight on how she was doing.  5K, she could easily be caught up in the excitement. 10K she's stilling going strong. At the halfway point, she's almost running at her normal race pace! I have to be honest, with her injury and hardly any training miles, I thought she'd really struggle and have to fight through this thing. Yeah, I know she's tough as nails, but still running that kind of distance beats the body up when healthy.  If she's doing that great at the halfway point, all I could think of was she was feeling good or somebody in front of her really pissed her off and she's trying to chase her down! Either way, I'd take it. At the 20 mile mark, she had slowed down some, but was still WAY better than I was even hoping for.  Time to get my spot and hopefully see her.

Obviously, this is the largest race I've witnessed. The crazy thing to me is after the elites showed up and what I'd call the normal runners started coming in, it was nonstop. No breaks, no gaps, constant.  Just a flood of runners and knowing the times, it's just incredible the number of fast runners. The longer I waited, the more I started second guessing my spot. The volume of runners, would make it impossible to see her if she picked the other side of the blanket line, so I decided to move further, so like a two and a half blocks away from the actual finish line where the blankets were done and they merged the runners back together to point them to the food line or point them to the family meeting area.  My phone exploded with texts when she crossed the line. Of course she picked the side of the street furthest from me, I yelled as loud as I could for her, even the couple next to me used their cowbell to try to get her attention, nothing!  I think I had to run about a 5K to run around all the closed streets to loop around where I could finally meet her at our planned meeting spot.



After our hug, kiss, and congratulations, what does she want, that damn jacket! Okay, she finally earned it. She looks pretty good for running 26.2 miles, injured, without much training, doesn't she?

Now, back to the story of how Boston loves their runners. Almost back to our hotel, a random police officer rolls his window down and congratulates her. Walking next to her, in her jacket, feels like I'm next to a celebrity. That night, leaving the hotel, the maintenance man proceeds to tell us where we have to get pizza from. Once at this said pizza place, it's full of orange jackets and it's like big family. Walking home, a random stranger in a cab proceeds to roll her window down at a stop light and congratulates her.  This is crazy. I had no idea a city would react like this. I half expect that if we were to get robbed, the robber would get an absolute beat down by the other citizens. Yet, at the same time, it almost feels like the worst criminal in the city, would leave runners alone. I can't get over this feeling. In a few weeks when I do Kzoo, I know I could walk downtown with my medal showing and 90% of the people would have no clue and certainly wouldn't say anything.

Boston my not know my name, but they have an unbelievable respect and love in their heart for their Marathoners. That's what I walk away with from this experience.

Coming home, people did know her name...just couldn't pronounce it. Her News Story

 


  

Not of this World

Woooowwweeewwoooo! C'mon, just imagine that's typical alien sound. Aliens and oddities seem to go together and I'm becoming a believer. For the second year in a row, something strange happened when I booked my hotel room for this race. Last year, standing at the desk to check in only to find out they no record of my reservation, was a shock. But, hey sometimes strange things happen. This year trying to be ahead of the game, the day before I decided to double check my reservation, only to find out somehow I booked a room for the month before! Normally, I'd blame gremlins, but twice, it's probably more fitting to blame the martians.

Oh those martians. If there are such things as martians, and I'm not claiming or denying, I firmly believe they'd be of superior intelligence and they'd stay away from marathons! I on the other hand, continue to prove that I lack intelligence, because I continue to find myself at the starting line of these things.  Under-trained, warming temps, engage hyperdrive.

The first few miles were pleasant.  The temps actually started out cool, and for me to say that is saying something.  By mile four, I found my pace and settled in to put me right on if not a little below PR pace. While I had no illusion that I'd be able to PR, at this point I felt confident it wouldn't be as horrible as I had feared.  With the looping early in the course, it was nice to see familiar faces. One guy was wearing the same shirt as me and the first time seemed to be an acknowledgement, second time seemed like old friends, and the third and last time felt like good-bye.

I had told myself simply to run with how I felt and I mentally told myself since I really didn't have any expectations for this race, not to check my watch at all.  Well, I made it to mile sixteen before I got curious. I felt good and fast, so I thought it was odd that when I checked it said the last mile was 8:07. Next mile came in at 8:17. Those damn aliens, are they messing with me? I still feel good, why am I getting slower? This is where runner's logic is slow to kick in (or is this the sign of why I keep ending up at the start of these marathons?), but it hit me I'm not getting slower but it's getting warmer, much warmer.

Miles sixteen to twenty seemed to take forever, maybe I was caught in a black-hole.  Somewhere around twenty, I checked my watch one more time and saw that I was still two minutes ahead of my PR pace, but with the final six miles to go, I knew I had no chance of maintaining those two minutes.  Without a chance of getting a PR, the first intelligent decision I made was throwing in the towel and telling myself there wasn't much point beating myself up in the final six miles. It was already hot, my legs were tired, just survive and call it a day.

It was a nice surprise rounding one of the last corners to find CT sitting there waiting for me.  I think I half expected to see daggers shooting from her eyes as I was walking, but she was smiling.  My feeling is she already knew I'd be struggling with as warm as it got.  We had a nice walk towards the finish as I told her about how it went.  We parted ways before the last road, so she could watch our doctor friend finish.

The last stretch to the finish, I made it a point to run it, just because of the people watching and cheering. Luckily, I had some spurs or something because I was able to fight off the charlie horses, it wasn't pretty. Finishing, I couldn't even make it back to CT. I made it about halfway down the finish line and setup shop there, my legs were done.  For as bad of shape as my legs were, this race gave me something I had never seen before.  I saw four people either getting put directly into an ambulance or put on a golf cart to get taken to one.  Then I saw another on the ground with a police officer helping. As if that wasn't enough, I turn to look up and see our doctor friend walking in the crowd towards me, not coming down the finish line as I'd expect.  Turns out she had ended up passing out too and the police gave her a ride back.  Not exactly how you want or expect to end a race.  Very glad our doctor didn't have anything worse than pride getting a little bruised (which by the way never happened, we swore to never speak of this again). I'm only saying this, because after the martians use their probe on us, we'll never remember anyway.  

      

< S >uperstar

This is more like it! Freezing temperatures, snow, this is racing weather! Last year Superman showed up and pushed me to my fastest half marathon time. Would he show again this year? I felt it would only help my case if I wore something to honor him. Yeah, I'm sure that will work.

The winter has been brutal and I haven't been putting anywhere near the miles I should.  It's been a combination of things, the weather makes a nice excuse, but we all know I actually enjoy running in the worst, so that's not it.  CT being injured, work, or maybe it's as easy as me being lazy. Whatever the case, the total number of miles per week I've been putting in are far fewer and I'm sure it's not going to help my case when it comes to race time.

Walking to the starting line of the race, it actually started. Boy, I am getting lazy. Long gone are the days of nervously waiting at the starting line with butterflies. Is this the new way, just come strolling up whenever, without a care in the world? This may be the new way, but I still have expectations and today I want some redemption for the slower time I posted in Florida.  My goal is hidden just like my Superman shirt, nobody knows, but I don't want a 1:4x:00 on the clock, it should be a 1:3x:00.  I may have been slacking, but I still should be able to pull off this time.

By now, I'm used to the ribbing and teasing both before and after races. Two miles in, I get greeted to "Oh, great, now we are going to have to listen to did you see the guy wearing shorts for the next few miles". It's now common place to give me grief during the races. As if running isn't hard enough, then attempting to be fast, now the added difficulty to getting razzed while do it, this keeps getting worse and worse. Why do I keep doing this?

The conditions weren't great, the roads and trails were full of soft mush and hard packed icy spots.  I'm glad I used my trail shoes for the extra traction, I thought it would be overkill, but even with them I found myself being very cautious as I lost footing numerous times.  At around mile five or six I caught up to my teammate. While not feeling like any doors were getting blown off, things felt fast, until the 1:40:00 pace group went charging by. Up until this point, I let my body pick the pace and told myself that I wasn't going to be concerned with my watch. The shock of the pace group practically trampling me, had me checking my watch, they HAD to be running faster than they were suppose to be.  Uggh, nope.

This is about the same spot in the course where last year I had to decide how badly I wanted my PR. While I already knew today didn't have that as a possibility, as I watched the 1:40:00 pace group disappear in the distance, it was decision time. Could Superman save me? Three miles to go, lots of slacking in the training, but not ready to give up.

Each mile, the distance shrunk, ever closer.  It wasn't easy and Superman sure as hell didn't make it obvious that he was helping me, but with about a half mile to go I had them reeled back in. In the home stretch, I was finally able to surge past them.  Whether Superman helped me or not (I'm siding on he didn't), I still felt obligated to unveil my surprise, unzipped my jacket and let the "S" show crossing the line. The clock still read 1:40:08, technically missing my goal, but because I showboated down the stretch I'm giving myself a little extra grace.  Not a great time, we'll say Super-average, but then again the "S" on my chest doesn't stand for Superman, but Superstar and we run with a different set of standards.


  

For the Booty

Up until this point, travel for a race has always been a long car ride.  The streak, has ended.  Two plane rides and twelve hundred miles I find myself in Florida for not one race, but four.  If a plane is involved, it's best to make sure it's worthwhile, and the Gasparilla Challenge intrigued me enough to part with the $'s in hopes I'd return with some booty. Two days, four races, thirty miles, four medals, and if still standing at the end, one more medal for good measure.

Since starting running, I've noticed I check the weather forecast a ridiculous amount the close it gets to race day.  The winter has been brutal this year!  One would think I'd be pumped to enjoy the Florida sun, instead it's quite the opposite.  Insert wavy dream lines, I have this fantasy where I'm treated to sub forty degree days where all the Floridians are shivering, fearful of frostbite, at the starting line and here I step up confidently in my shorts and shirt. Remove wavy dream lines, wait those aren't dream lines, those are the heat lines seen off in the distance of a desert road getting scorched! My fantasy wasn't too far off looking at the forecasts, leading up to race weekend though the temps steadily increased, Murphy's Law.

The day prior to the first race day, 7 am for a practice run. We'll call this an experiment to first get a feel for what conditions will be like the next day and a test how much my body complains changing from zero temps to 70 degrees with no transition.  Log this run as one of the most miserable runs in recent memory.  Two miles weren't bad, four I had enough, and by the time we got to six, I was so ready to be done.  My shirt weighed eight pounds after that run, which brings me to my next life lesson, putting two guys in the Florida heat, running, and letting them stay together in the same hotel room...probably not smart.  The whole rest of the vacation, (is it a vacation when you are running ?) the room reeked worse than a gym in a swamp.  

I've been pampered at little in the past, not elite level pampered, but the small taste I got was pretty damn delicious.  This series of races draws a huge number of people and the reward of cash money only adds to it. Not many people do the challenge portion of the races, but by doing so gets not only a special bib, but special access to the starting corral.  This was something new to me.  Instead of being being smash shoulder to shoulder with gross, disgusting, stinky runners like sardines, just stroll right up, flash your bib, and get allowed entrance to this gated community.  I could get used to this too.

The first race is a 15K, a hair over nine miles.  7 am, 70 degrees, 100% humidity and I had to smirk when the announcer repeats "we are racing under yellow flag conditions". I didn't need to be told this.  The first six miles felt comfortable, but once mile seven hit, the fun was over and the heat started to get to me. Somewhere around here is when this stopped being a vacation. Crossing the finish line felt like a blessing to cool down, but in the back of my head was the reminder that there was still another three miles to go in a about forty-five minutes. More time for the temps to climb even more.

The runner's chute was amazing. Strange thing to get excited for, huh?  The design of the thing is perfect. First, it gave space to chill out, slow down, walk, recover, without being on top of each other.  From there, people handed out the medals, little further water and cold wash clothes (the greatest thing ever invented after a race). The whole time still walking, now crossing over a bridge where they had pirate beauties posing for post race photos.  Next, came the post race food. At this point, you are now looping back under the bridge heading back to the main conference center.  Plenty of benches to sit, relax, recover, and for me to cool down.  Once it was time to start heading for the next race, enter the conference center, walk through that, but making a quick pit stop at the bag drop to leave my medal and my shirt! At this point vanity is gone, survival is all that counts, besides nobody here knows me or will ever see me again, tough they are going to have deal with my bare chest and back hair.

By the time the 5K was getting ready to start, I was feeling much better than when I crossed the 15K line. Was I going to PR this 5K? Not a chance, I figured it was going to be slowest 5K almost since I started running.  While not great, it wasn't as horrible as the final few miles of the 15K were.  Repeat the recovery loop and call it a day.  Day one is in the books, time to get some breakfast and relax the rest of the day.

The half marathon had me a little nervous, mainly because I made it to about mile seven for the heat started to get to me and knowing that this would only put me about at the half way point, that would be potentially lots of miserable miles.  Turns out mile ten turned out to be the questioning point.  Once ten hit, I had to have the mental discussion of should I visit a pit stop or suck it up and finish this damn thing.  While having this discussion with myself, I ended up running past the bathrooms before I had made the decision, so that made it easy to keep going.  While not what I'd call a great time, I think I finished with a respectable time considering jumping climates and it blew the doors off the time of what I'd call my worst half marathon. This was my statement race. It was hot, totally out of my element, and I held my pace for the whole thing.

The last race was the 8K.  Two miles in, felt good, tired, but good.  Then something clicked and my body told me you've done enough and it's time to take it easy.  Combination of the temps and running multiple races in back to back days caught up with me.  It was time to finish with a walk run.  Not exactly how I wanted to finish up, but survive and race another day.  Not here to prove anything, just the booty.

Turned out to be a very fun trip. On one hand, it was nice to get away in the middle of winter for some warmer weather.  On the other hand, I missed having CT with me and that made it seem empty.  Had we pulled this trip off with the whole Superstar crew, it could have been EPIC.  For now, this pirate adventure is over without any missing limbs and a suitcase full of booty.            

Saving the Best for Last

That's the way to do it, right?  When doing a half marathon every month for the year, it doesn't make sense to do the scenic races early. On paper, that seems like the way to do it, but I'll this is the real world and it doesn't work out that way.  Today, is a trail race where I've maybe logged six miles total in the summer and today is winter. Lets see what happens.

Not only did my cheering section accompany me, but she also chauffeured. As we sat in the car, trying to keep warm before the start, I thought back to why I signed up for this run. Oh, how much difference a year makes. Looking at the pictures from the previous year, there wasn't more than a dusting of snow. Heck, that looks easy, I can do that! Staring out the window, not the same! I think I should be skiing, not running.  Did I really sign up for this? Did I miss the "no snowdrifts" option when filled out the form?

Scraaaape, goes the shovel to start the race. The first mile was on a two track that had been driven on, so it was almost like running on snow covered roads.  The traction of the new shoes felt good. While it wasn't prefect, it wasn't bad and only added a little extra effort.  Then mile two started the trail. Conditions quickly changed, to a single path of footprints in probably six to eight inches of powder.  At this point I quickly decided there wasn't any point wasting energy trying to pass people. At times, it felt very frustrating not to go faster, but I kept telling myself it's okay and it's better to save energy for the end because it's still very early in this race and even though it seems to be going alright, never know what's to come.

At the first water stop, I got the typical question of "where are you from, Alaska"? Somewhere after this stop, I noticed that my calves were starting to hurt. It would be one thing it were because it was super hilly, but I know this pain, I've felt it before.  This is the tell tail sign where my shoes are brushing my calves as I struggle to keep my footing. While it's still early, this is going to be a problem, maybe this is why people wear pants.  About this same time, the guy behind me says "woah dude, your leg is bleeding, that last stick got you".  My response was no, it's just my calves starting to get raw from the scraping of my shoes, don't worry about it.  Fast forward to the end, sure enough I had two puncture wounds from that stick. It looked like a cool battle wound, but the sad reality is the rubbing from my shoes totally masked getting stabbed by a stick.

Mile eight is where the "saving the best for last", stopped.  This is a damn nightmare, crazy, what was I thinking, my ankles hurt so bad from all the excess twisting, my calves are on fire, lord I'm only halfway through this.  Being fast, attempting to place thoughts were gone. Survival mode is here, and I know that because I'm walking up this hill while texting CT how awful I feel and how hard this is.

Mile ten, more of the same. This is the first race where I've had three different text conversations, with three different people, all going on the middle of a race before. I had the time, each mile seemed like it was taking forever. Before you say, you should have been running harder, maybe you'd be right, but my legs were done and fear of injuring my legs anymore than they already were telling me didn't make sense.  At the last water stop, again I did something I've never done before, I grabbed a chair and sat down.  My secret weapon for this race was going to be running with a spare pair of socks, figuring my feet would be soaking wet from the snow, switching them out would be a nice backup.  While sitting, it was a challenge to even change my socks, my legs were cramping and even had my abs locking up in kind of a charlie horse. One would think this would be a nice break to regroup and finish this thing, but instead every second felt like torture.

The final miles were spent reflecting. I've had some very tough runs, the one that I thought would live in infamy forever as the most horrid one...just got passed by this one.  I can't think of a race where I've been more excited to see the finish line. Crossed the line, can't even remember if I gave CT a hug, got my post race snow globe finisher medal, and practically fell into the car and let my chauffeur drive me home.

My injury report goes like this, two calves that burned something awful for two days post race from the slashing they endured trying to stay upright.  Right calf, two pencil sized holes from a stick. Didn't even notice this until the following day because the pain from everything else, but a good sized blood blister on my right little toe.  Then finally, the sore muscles that lasted all week.  But hey, it was a pretty run. Think I'm going to pass on this one next year and will really save this race for never.

One One Fun/Fame

That didn't take long, less than 24 hours to be exact! I haven't even had my new shoes long enough to name them and they already got me in the local paper. That's impressive. Talk about pressure to aptly name them.

The Article

If you took the time to read the article, then you've probably figured out that it really wasn't my shoes that got me noticed, but my shorts, again. Lets face it, giving my shorts credit is hardly fun at all! People sure love to make a big deal of it, though CT's favorite story of the day was passing a couple of women who made it a point to say "it didn't impress them much" under their breaths. Meanwhile my mind drifts of Shania singing that to me...oh back to reality.

This run certainly wasn't meant to get noticed for wearing shorts on a cold winter day.  The goal of the day was testing out my new shoes!  With my trail run this weekend, I've been nervous about the conditions playing much more of a factor than I had anticipated. Of course, it was silly of me to expect the mild winter conditions we had last year to repeat this year, but I fully expected to be running the trails with not much more than a dusting of snow. When the race director sends out an email a week before asking for volunteers with chainsaws to help clear the course, things might be a little dicey.  I love my Green Mambas, but I've been slipping and sliding in the snow like crazy.  Even short runs have seemed like a chore with all the extra effort needed to keep going and upright.  The time has come for something with a little more traction, enter the unnamed.

I've looked for a while, but nothing jumped out said "buy me", plus I feel loyalty to the Green Mambas. It's not like I'd replace them, but it would be good to have a good trail shoe. After another attempt of surveying all the shoes, I was almost set to leave again empty handed when one of my Gazelle buddies got excited to show me a shoe on the clearance rack.  First impression, that's "flashy", upon opening box. Not sure if bright red is the statement I'm going for, but then again I'm the guy who wears shorts in the winter. One shoe on, this feels so good, much better than I expected.  Hmm, let me try them both on. A short test sprint in the store, sold! Jiminy Christmas these feel fast. Maybe, it's simply trying new shoes after years of wearing the same style. This running thing is so mental, I don't care if it's pure BS, psychologically it felt like I could chase down a cheetah in these things. Quickest sales job ever.

A twenty foot test run and a sixteen mile trail run in the middle of a blizzard are two different things. Now, it becomes do I bend the cardinal rule of never racing in new gear. I say bend, not break, because I obviously used the unnamed for the One One run. How did they do? Completely different ride. While not a trail run, the conditions were horrible, a good four inches of snow with all kinds of foot prints all over in it.  The start was fairly flat and I could already tell the immediate improvement in traction, but the game changer was on the first hill, people were sliding all over the place and had to really slow down, I could actually increase my speed going up. This is where the sky opens up and the awwwwwwww sound comes with the light shining down, but this is Michigan where we are getting blasted with a storm, so just pretend. I'm calling this a very successful first test. It only would have been better had the unnamed melted the snow behind me.

What does the future hold for the unnamed, I'm not sure, but it's a New Year!