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Lux Aeterna and Oreos: The 2013 Ice Age Trail 50k Race Report

ice age trailheadLast year, the Ice Age Trail was home to a most glorious running experience.  It was such a memorable event that I was absolutely adamant about coming back.  But when it came time to register, an injury-laden winter and the knowledge that I would be fresh off a challenging Boston Marathon made me bump down to the 50k option.

On May 11, 2013, I ran the Ice Age Trail 50k — a challenging yet highly runnable course and now all I can think about is running it again in 2014.  This is my story…

Pre-Race

It’s 4:15 a.m. and my alarm sounds off along with my buddy Siamak’s.  The unison doesn’t last long as we are both wide awake.  In fact, I’ve been tossing and turning all night long and just happy to be fully awake now, ready to get the day started.

My off-and-on sleep was the result of the warm hotel room and a subliminal tick infestation planted in my brain by our waitress at Sperino’s the night before.  She warned us that “the ticks were bad”.  Indeed, I was tick-incepted by an Elkhornian and I didn’t get much sleep because I was more worried about the invisible critters sucking on my blood than traversing 31 miles of trail.

Still, I feel pretty fresh now that I’m awake.  Siamak and I eat, go through our respective rituals of preparation, and by 5:10 we are in the car, driving to the start line.

As expected, the start/finish area at John Muir is a who’s who of familiar, crazy runner folk.  Even though the majority of the people stirring about are running the 50 mile race, which begins at 6:00 a.m., I am glad I am here among the crowd because I won’t see most of them again until much later in the day.

The New Leafers and MUDDers are out in full force.  I exchange in many a hug and high-five.  At 6 a.m. sharp, the RD sends the 50 milers on their way.  I head back to the car for a much needed nap.

7:45 a.m.

My alarm wakes me from what was a fitting 90 minute nap (or was I meditating just now?) and I feel fantastic.  I grab the gear I’m going to need (a handheld water bottle, gloves and a cap), I lube up where necessary (this is becoming automatic nowadays) and I head over to the start line.  Here I run into two other recurring Run Factory faces, Dan and Otter.  This is the first ultra distance race for both of them so I remind them to ENJOY the experience, have fun, take a look around.  They both look pumped.  I’m excited for them and can’t wait to hear about their experiences once this is all done.

Me, Dan and Otter at the start line of the 2013 Ice Age Trail 50k.

Me, Dan and Otter at the start line of the 2013 Ice Age Trail 50k.

We cheer on our friends in the 50 miler coming through the 9 mile mark at the start/finish line before the race director corrals all the 50k runners and tells us to get on our marks… set…

Miles 1-13, Out to Horseriders and Back

Here we go!  The start line energy is high as I take off, trying to remind myself that ultras require pacing.  Hell, all races require pacing!  It’s just that the longer the distance, the less I tend to adhere to that important nugget of truth.  Take it easy, Jeff, take it easy, I tell myself.  We got a long way to go.

But, as we start to cruise the luscious single track, it isn’t long before we hit the first series of downhills and I… Simply.  Can’t.  Help myself.

I feel great.  I feel strong.  I feel like flying.

WEEEEEEE!!!

Yep.  I’m doing this.  I shouldn’t be, but I am.  I am definitely FLYING down these hills.  I’m power hiking up them, but I am flying down.  Fast.  Too fast.  I know this.  I know this!  But I’m also loving every second of it and am willing to deal with the repercussions later, if they come (they do).

As I pump my arms, tilt my pelvis forward and allow my heels to kick me in the butt on the descent, I think of all the reasons why I should check my ambition right now:

  • Limited weekly mileage (no more than 35 per week) since January
  • This first 13 mile section is all rocks and roots, quite technical and hard on my unseasoned feet compared to the easier Nordic sections coming up
  • I’ve run on trails just ONCE since November and it was only for 25k
  • I have only run more than 20 miles in one shot ONE TIME since October and that was at the Boston Marathon, just a few weeks ago
  • I have too much energy exploding through my being unchecked for this to end well

I internalize all of the above, and then, like a lot of ultra freaks, I quickly disregard everything and decide to just have fun.

I’ll fly when I wanna fly, walk when I wanna walk.

Later I will also walk when I don’t want to walk, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Right now I’m four miles in and the field has finally spread out.  I’m marveling at the lush green landscape, the twisting turns of the trail and the pesky pricks of the rocks under my feet.  Every two seconds I also check for ticks.  Damn you, lucid dream inspiring Sperino’s waitress! 

Suddenly, two strong fellas are right on my tail, so much so that I look back and offer them open passage on my left.

No, we’re good, the one in front replies.  This is a good pace for us.

Cool, I reply.  I like to let ‘er rip on the downs.  I’ll be power hiking the ups.

They fall right into place and suddenly we are one.  Down, down, down.  Up, up, up.  Their names are Tim and Mike.  This is their first ultra.  They are having a blast.

And they are pretty darn quick too.  Turns out one of them (sorry, I can’t remember which because they’re both behind me while we talk) is a Nike Pace Team leader who led the 3:25 pace group at the 2012 Chicago Marathon.

Do you know Chris?  He was my pace leader for the 3:05 group, had a California-bro accent of sorts.

Yes, I know Chris. 

Boom.  We are all instantly connected.  That was the best run of my life so far and I spend the next couple of miles rehashing the experience.  I get all jazzed, talking about fast marathons.  I seem to forget about pacing all together.  And when I find out they know another friend of mine, John from Grayslake, another Nike Pace Team leader, I get all bubbly telling them about some of our prior ultra battles (ED50k and Howl most notably).

Before I know it we are seeing the 50k leaders coming back towards us, approximately half a mile from the turnaround at Horseriders.  We all marvel at their speed, speak fondly of their poise.

It’s one thing to run fast.  It’s another to run fast on elevating, technical terrain.

We get to Horseriders.  It’s just the three of us and the aid station crew.  We chow down on some peanut butter and jelly.  A minute or two goes by and we are just eating and stretching, drinking and breathing.  But standing around too long in this chill is not comfortable so it’s time to go.  After all, it’s barely 50 degrees and the sky is cloudy — very, very cloudy.

The three of us take off back into the woods, but we aren’t a half mile back in before I realize they are going way faster than me up the hills and there’s no way I can keep up.  I tip my cap and wish them the best.  It’s going to be a long day yet.

Still, the next several miles present A LOT of smiles because I get to see all my friends passing the other direction.  As I scream down the hills I high-five and fist bump lots of folks, Dan and Otter included.  Everyone is looking good.  Everyone is smiling.

There’s no place I’d rather be right now.  THIS is the life!

I’m past 1o miles now and I won’t be seeing anyone else on this out-and-back section.  The next sign of human life will be at the start/finish line.

Hmm… I wonder if they have Oreos.  I could really go for some Oreos right now.

And just like that, my OCD kicks in and all I can think about are OREOS OREOS OREOS.  Such are the strange fixations of an ultra-distance race.  In my every day life I wouldn’t touch an Oreo cookie.  A drop of soda does not touch my mouth.  I make it a point to eat clean — very, very clean.  But throw me on a beautiful, wooded trail for hours on end and suddenly I will devour all processed foods and binge on soda pop.  Like a boss.

I get to the start/finish.  They have Oreos.

Hallelujah.

Miles 13-22, 1st Nordic Loop

It was nice to see some people at the start/finish line but I got a lot of work to do yet so off I go, back into solitary run mode.

Just a couple of miles in and I realize how much easier the Nordic loop is compared to the one I just finished.  Instead of technical, rocky, rooted, up and down terrain, what we have here is a lot of flat, grassy ski trail.  I should be able to fly through this.

SHOULD.  Of course, I can’t right now because I beat myself up during the first 13, flying downhill like I was a mountain goat or Killian Jornet.  Clearly, I am neither, as my quads and now achy heels can attest.

I am 16 miles in and anxiously looking for some hills.

Where are the hills?  My legs hurt and I want to walk.  Can I have a hill please?

No one can hear me.  I’m all by myself.  I have been all by myself since mile 8 so if I stop and walk, surely no one will see me.

A little bit of walking is allowed.  Right?

I turn the corner and I see a HILL!  I sprint towards it — OUCH — get to the base, and power hike up that baby.

For no good reason at all, Mozart’s Requiem pops into my head.  Lux Aeterna, the last movement where Wolfy takes us from the world of the living to the world of the dead, blasts through my ears.

Why, brain?  What are you trying to tell me? 

Oh boy.  I am tired.

While the IT band is just fine, my right hip starts to ache.  I’ve had this ache before.  It feels like bursitis.  I stop and stretch.  I massage it with my right thumb.  Doing so makes it feel better.  But as I stretch I notice the bottoms of my feet are sore too, probably from all the pounding during the first loop.  I wiggle my toes around… and yep, just as I thought, definitely got some nails loose.

Oh well!  What’s an ultra without losing some toenails?!?

REQUIEM, sings the choir.

Hey, finally some company, says a voice behind me.

I turn around and amazingly enough there is another human being!  I find out his name is Matt.  He’s from Wauwatosa and, of course, we know a lot of the same people from the running community.

As we marvel at how small the world really is, we also relax a little bit and find a nice cruising pace.  We are about 18 miles in now and I’m feeling pretty beat up.  Instead of complaining, I just hitch on to his heels and let the friendly conversation take us along.

Unfortunately for me though, Matt is much stronger right now and I have to dial back.  I know we are on sub-5 hour pace (which, for this course, is a fantastic time), but I just can’t sustain that right now.  I’m too tired.  When I stop to walk the hills it’s taking a lot more concentration than it should to contract my quads and I know it’s because I went out too fast.  I knew slogging along the second half could be the result of my eager start, but it’s way too late now.

A slog it is!  Might as well enjoy it.

…REQUIEM…

I complete the first Nordic loop, reach the start/finish aid station and all I want is Oreos.  Duh.

Nom nom nom…

Miles 22-31, 2nd Nordic Loop

Just 9 miles to go, I tell myself.  You could walk 9 miles.  In your sleep.  Speaking of sleep, check for ticks!

…REQUIEM…

No ticks, but my armpits are kinda chafed.

Oh what I would give for some Vaseline right now.

And just like that, as if Mother Nature confused “Vaseline” for “sunlight”, the clouds in the sky part on cue, revealing a glorious, GLORIOUS sun.

Take that, Mozart!  HALLELUJAH!

Sunlight, Vaseline, whatevs.  The sun is out!  The sun is out I tell you!

This picks me up as I try my best to run the entire first stretch of my second Nordic loop.  But the truth is, my run is more of a shuffle than anything right now.

Doesn’t matter.  Still moving.  Still having a blast.  And if I just keep moving, there will be more… Oreos!!!

Still, there isn’t much company.  There is a tall, skinny white guy with a Prefontaine mustache out here every once in a while cheering for me (and others I would assume).  Each time I see him I light up with a smile, and try to look as if I’m running strong (even though I’m not).

Next year we’re taking the first loop easy, then flying on the second and third.

Next year? I ask myself.

Yes, of course, next year, I reply to myself.  You’re doing Boston again next year, then you’re doing this 50k again.  It will be deja vu all over again, except less aches and pains.  Probably.  

Maybe.  

Hopefully.

Deal.  Just make sure there are plenty of Oreos.

The 27.2 mile aid station is an absolute oasis in the forest.  I devour what I can of those tasty, chocolatey, cream-filled treats.  I stretch a little.  And like I often do during long distance races, I find myself in a poignantly emotional state.  I take the time to thank the volunteers and gush about how grateful I am that they are all there.  I’ve been on both sides of the table now and volunteering is often harder than running the race.  Even though my butt hurts, my hip aches and my feet are sore, I am much happier to be less than 5 miles from being done.  These guys are still going to be here a while.

With the volunteers’ blessing and the bright sun in the sky urging me on, I take off on the last leg of my journey.  To get me to keep moving I focus on landmarks up ahead, urging myself to just run to that tree, then walk for a few seconds and get around that bend, then stretch for a bit.

After several exhausting rounds of this tortuously fun process, I see the Prefontaine ‘stache guy one last time and he tells me I’m less than a mile from the finish.

Please tell me there is beer, I plead.

Hell yeah, man!  Lots of beer!  Good beer too!

That’s all I needed to hear.  Suddenly my legs are fine and I’m flying again.

I hear a cow bell.  And voices.  And more Requiem.

There’s the finish line.

With a confident and incessant arm pump I cross the finish line in 5 hours 22 minutes and 11 seconds, sporting a big-ass smile and chafey armpits.

I couldn’t be much happier.

Post-Race

Besides the glorious trail running experience, the other main reason to run Ice Age is for the post-race party.  Lots of free beer.  The food is good.  And there’s nothing like sitting at the finish line cheering on your friends.  Most of my pals were running the 50 mile race, so to see them all come through in such epic fashion was a real cherry on top of my day.

Plus, my friend Moffat and I got the McHenry County Ultrarunning Dude and Dudettes’ mascot super drunk:

gerome the gnome

Like I already told myself:

See ya again next year, Ice Age!

Posted by  |  May 13, 2013 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments »

Transitioning into Ultra-Drive

lone runner on a country road

Last fall I cut more than 12 minutes from my previous best marathon time.  Part of the reason for such improvement was due to increased core and leg strength.  The rest, I am convinced, was because of my glorious summer of ultras.

With such a strong base established, by the time August came around and I was ready to put in 10 solid weeks of specific marathon speed training, my endurance engine was so robust that 26.2 miles at 7-minute pace felt short — exactly what I needed to to run my fastest race.

This year I plan to do even better.  As I have proclaimed before: 2013 is the year I break 3 hours in the marathon.  I hope to do it at Chicago on October 13th.

And so it will be again, with great fervor (and more intelligent training, especially regarding rest/recovery time), that I embark on yet another sunny summer of ultrarunning.  Outside of the occasional fartlek, the next few months will feature mostly long and slow distance runs with a handful of short races thrown in for fun before tackling my summer target event: The Christmas in July 12 Hour Race, organized by my friends and fellow New Leaf Ultra Runners Brian, Ed and Terry.

In addition to the above, I am happy to announce that my personal training business, Iron Lung Fitness, is sponsoring Anastasia “Supergirl” Rolek’s 2013 Midwest Grandslam of Ultrarunning bid.  Supergirl has graced these pages many times and I know she will represent ILF with the same focus and strength she does all of her events.  Go SUPERGIRL!

But perhaps the most exciting development of this upcoming summer of ultras is the fact that I have TWO premier pacing positions to fill.  The first will come June 1st and 2nd as I pace my friend Jen during the Kettle Moraine 100 Mile Endurance Run.  Jen is a tough, focused athlete who trains with me, so I know getting to the finish line will be top priority for both of us.

Then, at the end of June, Siamak, another friend of mine and recurring Run Factory persona, will be taking on the biggest, baddest, most historic 100 mile race in the entire western hemisphere: THE WESTERN STATES 100 MILE ENDURANCE RUN!!!

And yep, you guessed it.  I am the lucky fella who will pace him to the finish!  Indeed, making sure Siamak circles the track at Placer High School will be my sole reason to live come the weekend of June 29th.

Running! If there’s any activity happier, more exhilarating, more nourishing to the imagination, I can’t think of what it might be. In running the mind flees with the body, the mysterious efflorescence of language seems to pulse in the brain, in rhythm with our feet and the swinging of our arms.

–Joyce Carol Oates

The weather has turned for the better, my legs are feeling fresh and I welcome the mysterious efflorescence of language to pulse in my brain alongside my constantly moving feet.

Posted by  |  May 1, 2013 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments »

New England Love: A Special 2013 Boston Marathon Race Report

319951_10151398455934436_529737444_nLife feels different today.

I’m more aware.  I’m more sensitive.  I’m more than grateful that my loved ones and I are alive and well.

Today, I should be celebrating my first Boston Marathon finish with friends and family over drinks and laughs.  I should be clinking glasses to mark overcoming a lengthy IT band injury.  I should be fist-bumping my pals to commemorate my very first negative split.  Instead, I find myself deeply saddened by yesterday’s tragic and cowardly acts.  I find myself questioning humanity, wondering how someone could be so evil and so spineless as to hurt such a mass of innocents on Patriots’ Day, a day that traditionally brings so much love and joy to New England and all those who choose to be in and around Boston to run the world’s most prestigious and historic marathon.

Today, like much of the world, I am in mourning.

“If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon.”

–Katherine Switzer, the first woman to run the Boston Marathon

Because of this mourning, and because so many families find themselves in pain today, I feel it would be insensitive and trivial to craft my typical first person progressive play-by-play race report.  At the same time, I think it would be equally insensitive to altogether forgo any writings on my experience, which is why I want to take a moment to applaud and recognize the people who really make the Boston Marathon such a world class event: the people of Hopkinton, Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Brookline and Boston.  These are the same people who cheered me on as I crossed the finish line, the same people now gone or severely injured.  These are the people who deserve our recognition: the good people of New England.

The minute I arrived in the Commonwealth, I was welcomed with friendly smiles and a never ending stream of “good luck at the race!”  The people of Boston know how serious the Boston Marathon is and they recognize the diligence and hard work necessary to even qualify for such an event.  They know that theirs is special and that to just participate requires tireless hours of perseverance and determination.  They know this.  They respect this.  And they go out of their way to make us runners, coming from all corners of the globe, feel special and welcome.

From the good folks at the expo and the people at the hotel, to the waitstaff at restaurants and strangers on the street, I couldn’t walk 50 meters without someone wishing me well on the upcoming race.  I was told prior to arriving that that would be exactly how I would be received, but I didn’t believe it until it actually happened.

Such welcoming arms made me feel special, made me feel comfortable.  I wanted to run well, not only for myself, but for all of those who welcomed me with such warm, open hearts.

During the race, I was even more surprised at how many loving supporters came out to cheer us on.  From the very beginning in Hopkinton, all the way up Route 135 and into Boston, I ran on the deafening cheers of happy, smiling strangers.  Thinking that I might need a boost of encouragement at some point during the race, I wore my singlet with my last name (Lung) sprawled across my chest.  Instead what I received was 26.2 miles of “Go, Lung!”, “Lookin’ good, Lung!” and “You can do it, Lung!”, an auditory pleasantry that, even now recalling this, brings tears to my eyes.

But perhaps what impressed me most about this race experience was the pure love and joy along the course evident by how many families were out, together, celebrating the marathon and all it represents as a metaphor for life.  I saw so many young children and so many packs of friends and family united together, taking part in what has always been a great day to commemorate the human spirit.

That contagious and joyous energy forced me to hug the left side of the course, where I incessantly fed off the endless support and continuous high-fives from strangers.  I ran most of the Boston Marathon without thinking about my legs because I didn’t have to.  I had the crowd to ride on.

My finish was truly special, something I will never forget.  I was told that once I saw the Citgo sign I would be on the home stretch.  I saw it and suddenly my fatigue disappeared.  I became another person.  I sped up.  I still had a couple of miles to go, so I tried to hold back the tears of joy coming in response to being on the cusp of finishing the World Series of marathons, but I knew it was coming and I was overcome with happiness.

When I came down Boylston, heading towards the finish, I made sure to take it all in.  The crowd noise was deafening, but I heard just enough “GO LUNG”s to really kick it up a notch.  In the last 385 yards, I smiled so big my cheeks hurt.  I was in complete awe of the finish line celebration — the grandstands, the waves of people, the copious amounts of LOVE.

To know that just an hour and a half later that exact location that provided me with such everlasting memories of love, triumph and joy would be a murder scene more heinous than one could ever imagine, makes me sad beyond description.  My heart aches for all of those families affected by this tragedy and I desperately wish I could take away their pain.

While there might not be much I can do to accomplish that exact sentiment, I am determined to rise up with my Boston brothers and sisters.  I have decided I will re-qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I will be back to show my love and support for the very city that was selfless in supporting me and my efforts.  I will smile more.  I will welcome strangers to my city.  I will tell my people I love them.

My dad and I were lucky to have been near Fenway Park, about a mile and a half away from the finish line when the blasts occurred.  We saw the bee line of state troopers on motorcycles fly by, but didn’t really know what was going on until we crossed the river and were in Cambridge heading back to our hotel when a kind Bostonian stopped us to let us know there had been some sort of attack.  The immediate fear and chaos forced us to stay in and watch the news all night, relaying to our friends and family back home that we were indeed safe as best we could.

To say that we are lucky sounds a bit trite, but it is the truth.  Both of us are back in our respective homes now, safe and in perfect health.  The same cannot be said for Martin Richard.  It cannot be said for Krystle Campbell, nor Lu Lingzu.  It cannot be said for the 170+ innocent people injured during this cowardly crime.

“Boston is a tough and resilient town, so are its people. I’m supremely confident that Bostonians will pull together, take care of each other, and move forward as one proud city and as they do, the American people will be with them every single step of the way.”

–President Obama

Regardless of one’s political philosophy, the above statement is absolutely true.  I experienced the Bostonian spirit firsthand, and I promise I will experience it again.  We, as mindful human beings, will band together and we will always overcome the hatred of a few.

No amount of cowardice will ever stop that.

Posted by  |  April 16, 2013 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports | Tags: , , , , , , , | 10 Comments »

Follow That Unicorn!

BM_YEAR_ONLYWhen I first took up running a few years ago, qualifying for the storied Boston Marathon seemed about as realistic as making out with Mila Kunis.  This seemed especially true after barely completing my first marathon in just under a grueling 4 hours.

Well, maybe it’s time to give Mila a call.

In eleven days, I will take my rightful place among the upper echelon of marathoners whose communal zenith rests atop the peak of Heartbreak Hill and reaches maximum dopamine levels somewhere along Boylston Street.  To say I’m excited about the impending experience would be quite an understatement.

Considering how hard I worked to get to this point, I decided to take some vacation time so I can really soak it all in.  Soon I’ll be heading to New York before making my way to Boston where my ultimate crew chief and number one fan (my dad) will meet me.

Clam chowder, Sam Adams and Red Sox baseball all await.

Despite my training leading up to this race being limited due to the ITBS issues I’ve been battling since late last year, I am still determined to have a great time, to be present throughout it all.  Instead of firing out of the gates hellbent on setting a personal best, I’ve decided to lay back into an easy, comfortable pace for the first half and decide from there whether or not going into a higher gear will be possible.  Recent efforts would suggest I should be able to run Boston somewhere around 3:20 to 3:30, but I really won’t know until race day.  If I am slower than that, that’s cool too, as long as I leave with a unicorn around my neck.

Considering how different this race plan is compared to all those I’ve run before, I think it will take more discipline and concentration than I’m used to.

But I’m always ready for a challenge.

And Mila Kunis.

mila kunis jeff meme

Posted by  |  April 4, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Trail Running Is Messy and So Is Life: The 2013 Paleozoic Trail Runs 25K Race Report

paleozoicTrail_150There was a time in my life when I would have done all I could to avoid any type of mess — either real-world or proverbial.

Then I became a runner.

Nowadays, mud spattered tights and mucus crusted gloves are as common for me as bloody nipples and permastink-laden technical tees.

Meh, so what. As long as I’m having fun, right?

And boy did I have some fun on Saturday, March 16, 2013 whilst gliding, sliding, hurdling and traversing the ever treacherous and never clean Paleozoic Trail Runs 25K race course at the nearby forest preserve of Palos Heights.  For me, the fun began before the race even started because I was at an event where I knew A TON OF PEOPLE!  Having been a part of the trail and ultrarunning community for a couple of years now, I really feel like a part of the family.  And that’s what the local New Leaf Ultra Runs group is to me: family.  We run together, we get dirty together, we laugh together.  That many smiling faces, firm handshakes and strong fist bumps is enough to make one’s day.  Running the race was just extra.

And, to be honest, it was a bit confusing as well, but there were many reasons for this.  As an inaugural event, I expected some obstacles outside of those offered by the freeze-to-thaw-to-freeze-back-to-thaw terrain.  There was some uncertainty about course markings (weather washed a lot of them away).  One of the aid stations wasn’t there when I got to it.  I had a guy running a few inches off my heels for three quarters of the race.  And I was trying to take it easy because a few days prior I aggravated my right ITB running intervals.

But I had a fantastic time in the cold, soupy weather, surrounded by good friends and warm community.  I’m going to skip my regular play-by-play reporting of this race because all of the confusion caused by my missing a turn, adding mileage where it shouldn’t have been and then stopping to scratch my head a few times sort of took me out of my normal thinking patterns and now when I think back to the race all I can remember is putting one foot forward through muddy muck with a great big I-don’t-know-where-the-heck-I-am-going smile on my face.

When I finished, my Garmin read 1:55:47, but only 14.29 miles, a bit short of the stated 25K (15.5 miles).  Upon further review, I missed a section near Bull Frog Lake but added some mileage on the east loop.  All in all, I was still tired when I finished and I crossed the line with a healthy ITB/knee.

And oh yeah, this time I beat Peter Sagal (maybe? I dunno, after my misguided route maybe I didn’t).  Still, I enjoyed chatting with him this go around, as he was quite lost too.  In fact, I think everyone was lost at one point or another.

But I will be back next year.  No doubt about it.

Meanwhile, Boston is just four weeks away…

***

For an excellent recap on this race, check out Dan Solera’s entry, where I make a special cameo alongside everyone’s favorite beer racer, Otter.

Posted by  |  March 18, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments »

Six Weeks to Beantown and Finally Baaaaack!

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Patriot’s Day is only six weeks away, which means my long awaited dance with the World Series of marathons will soon be a dream come true.  The natural excitement and nervous energy that come along with it will only escalate.

But I’m down with that.

Yesterday I nailed a 16 mile long run with 11 miles at 7:15 pace, with no aches or pains — yet another promising sign that my ITB issues are finally far off in the background.  I wasn’t going to celebrate my lack of ITBS symptoms until I was able to sustain a good month of dedicated speed and hill training alongside the general aerobic long runs that are the staple of any solid marathon training plan.

Five weeks and counting, no residual aches, pains or soreness.  I’m feeling damn good.

My buildup for this race, albeit unorthodox due to the limited training and mileage prescribed by coming off of a serious injury, has been about as much as I could ask for.  I’m not overdoing it.  I’m resting when my body directs me.  But most of all, I’ve adjusted my mind to allow for a fun, possibly once-in-a-lifetime race experience.  Rather than being hellbent on time goals, I’m focusing on toeing the line healthy,  ready to deliver on whatever my body seems capable of on April 15, 2013.

This is in large contrast to my normal marathon training as I’m a bit of a perfectionist.  I instinctively marry myself to routine, to nailing splits, to chasing down the guy ahead of me.  And while I know quite well that outside of myself, not one single person on the planet really cares what time I get when crossing the finish line, I still feel like if I don’t throw down a personal best in every race then I’m not doing it right.

WRONG.

I’ve set some modest goals for Boston 2013.  I haven’t regained my Chicago 2012 fast legs yet, but I’d like to finish somewhere between a 3:15 and 3:30, mindful of the fact that finishing and living in the moments presented by the most storied marathon in the world are, above all else, the most important things.  If, on race day, my abilities push me beyond the 3:30 mark, then so be it.  I vow to cross the line with a smile and a triumphant fist.

The cliche “it’s not the destination that matters but the journey” comes to mind.  In my case, the journey has been profound in what it has revealed about me, about how I handle adversity both instinctively and through contemplation.

For someone like me, opportunities like running the Boston Marathon are certainly the exception, not the norm.  I will treat the experience as exceptional, from Hopkinton to Boylston Street, and everywhere in between.

Posted by  |  March 4, 2013 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Running with a Mind Full of Bach

bach with shadesI still belong to one of those good old fashioned email listservs.  It’s one that I have been a part of for a long time now — one I look forward to every afternoon; but at the same time it sort of stresses me out.  It stresses me out on a very superficial level, I admit, but still, stress is stress.

To be more accurate, this daily email often overwhelms me more than anything, as it generally features 20-40 individual links to the hottest news stories of the day.  These often include fascinating scientific breakthroughs, underground and outside mainstream opinion pieces and lots and lots of pictures of cats.  Rarely am I able to read/view every single one of them.  There just isn’t enough time!

Take the above alongside my afternoon dose of front-to-back Chicago Tribune reading, a neverending stream of Google Reader aggregated posts from my 100+ favorite blogs and the bevy of Facebook/Twitter feed links and articles being thrown my way every two seconds and I find myself actively vetting my reading material based on how sexy a URL may read.

There is just too much information out there — information I think I want! — attacking me via my laptop, my desktop, my phone, my other laptop and my BRAIN!  If I’m not careful, I become Fred Armisen, trapped in a technology loop:


Sometimes I get trapped in there, for very long, uncomfortable periods of time.

Running is the antidote.

Of course, I can’t always be running, or exercising for that matter.

Enter Johann Sebastian Bach.


I have long been acquainted with the works of Bach.  In high school and college I often cursed his named, wondering if he had ever even bothered to try singing one of his own tenor fugue creations.  People have to breathe, y’know.  Singers really need to breathe.

But sadly, my appreciation for his music never matured beyond the basic acknowledgement of his reinterpretation of what music could and should be.  I knew all the greats (Mozart, Chopin, Beethoven, etc) looked to him as the godfather of melody — that the foundation for the classical explosion was rooted in the Bach catalogue, but that was about it, and I never bothered to appreciate any of it.

More than a decade later, while circumventing the technology loop with a playlist full of Lady Gaga, Die Antwoord and Modeselektor, body and mind ready to explode from information overload, I stumbled across this:


Instantly, I was at peace.

And I was just getting started.

The last few months have been a joyous trip through the ever uplifting works of J.S. Bach.  From violin concertos to piano sonatas, to choral masses, organ fugues and everything in between, I have become a bonafide believer in the beautiful bounty of Bach.

And the very best part?

Now I am running to Bach.

Not with headphones.  I don’t run with music.  I don’t have to, because Bach is in my head.  It is always there and I am always elated!  No more I’m Henry the Eighth I Am poisoning my psyche.  No more Cotton Eyed Joe, no more Hey Mickey, no more Blue da ba de da ba die stuck on autoloop for miles and miles and miles.

No, sir.

Thanks to the musical genius of J.S. Bach, I am free.  Free at last!

FREE AT LAST!!!

Posted by  |  February 14, 2013 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , | 9 Comments »

The Accidental Anatomist

human-anatomyLatissimus dorsi, vastus lateralis and brachioradialis, OH MY!

Before I became a serious runner, all of the above would have been Greek to me.  Or Latin.  Yeah, probably would have been Latin.*  But after several years of dedicated pavement pounding I am proud to report my working mastery of human anatomy — just one of the myriad benefits of identifying myself as a full-fledged running freak.

In fact, ever since making that dramatic transformation, I have notched one success after another.  I quit smoking.  I reached and now easily maintain optimal body weight.  I got cut up into a lean (still not so mean) fitness machine.

No longer do I suffer from long bouts of depression.  No more do I wake up feeling empty, without purpose, without drive.  I don’t stress nearly as much about mundane, trivial situations that are out of my control; and overcoming hardships — major bumps in the proverbial road of life — hardly seem as impossible as they once did.

Running has taught me how to live — how to really, truly live, in the present, now and forever.

But perhaps one of the most beneficial real world applications born from my active lifestyle is that I learned about my own body.  It started out simply, a long time ago by wondering what might be causing my heels to ache.  That led me to study the soleus… then the anterior and posterior tibialis… then the gastrucnemus, gracilis and sartorius.   Before I knew it I was knee leg deep in anatomical terms, Wikipedia entries and real world exercise science.

The real irony here — and my parents can attest to this — is that as a student, I nearly went out of my way to avoid the sciences.  I wanted nothing to do with understanding the mysteries of the body and in college, the only science classes I ever took were Rocks for Jocks and a bullshit applied chemistry class that I barely attended.

Fast forward to my 30s, after a couple years of really trying to understand my own body, I realized that all of the information I had retained could be applied to my workouts in the gym.  Suddenly, things began to click.  I was not only beginning to understand how my body worked, but also how I could manipulate it into doing what I wanted it to do faster, better and stronger.

And now I use that knowledge every day with my own clients.

Running isn’t just a recreational activity — it’s a potential life changer.  One need look no further than this blog, this LIFE, to see clear evidence of that.

*After much research, it was (and still is) Latin.

Injury Rehab Update

Since my recent less-than-ideal half-marathon experience, things have been going quite well.  I continue to strengthen my gluteus medius, hip flexors and hamstrings in an effort to eradicate the nagging symptoms of ITBS that have held me back since late October.  In recent weeks, I have been able to work in minimal low mileage speedwork as well as some long, slow distance runs — all without any knee pain.  This, to me, is further evidence that the Houston experience was just a simple case of too much, too soon.  I continue to build upon my workouts each week with the hope that I can put in a good effort at Boston.  I don’t expect I’ll be ready to run a fast time by April 15, but I do plan to enjoy the experience and cover the distance pain free.

Besides, I gotta give the gals at Wellesley College a good show of my gluteus maximus in my shortus shortius.

Posted by  |  February 3, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Two Steps Forward, One Bum IT Band Back: The 2013 Houston Half Marathon Race Report

midtown-houstonThe two weeks of progressive running leading up to the Houston Half Marathon gave me plenty of confidence that my IT band syndrome issues had finally subsided.  I knew that I probably wasn’t ready to push myself to the point of all out racing, but I knew that I had a good shot at finishing 13.1 miles pain free.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Pre-Race, 4:15 a.m.
The alarm clock goes off and I’m ready to go through my now conditioned routine: half a cup of coffee, one banana and a bagel.  I peek out the window to see the trees outside my dad’s house blowing violently in the wind.  I open the door to see just what type of weather I will be dealing with today and I quickly shut it, less I freeze to death.  Low 40s.  Lots of rain.  20+ mph winds.

Oh, yay.

5:15 a.m.
Dad throws his bike in the back of the truck and we begin the 45 minute drive to downtown Houston.  I didn’t sleep much last night so I take this time to catnap.  I visualize a succesful race, one without knee pain, without giving in to the elements.  Training in Chicago the last several years has made me pretty tough.  I don’t like running in the cold, windy rain (does anyone really?) but I know I have the ability to shut it out, toughen up and just get the work done regardless.

6:40 a.m.
In my corral now, I’m huddled among a mass of anxiously freezing runners.  I have decided to wear my lightweight running jacket over my singlet.  The high powered winds are just too chilling for me to go without it.  A quick look around shows that I’m not the only one dressed for warmth, and as the announcer begins his introductions, the rain starts to come down steady and strong.  A gust of wind hits me below the belt.  Dressed in my trademark short shorts, I start to worry about the safety of “my boys”.  But it’s too late now.  All I can do is focus on running.

*BANG!*

And we’re off…

Miles 1-3
Brrrrrr!  Well, it’s a good thing I’m not trying to break any records today, I remind myself.  The first few miles are a mental showdown between me and the elements.  The winds are strong and mostly in my face, pushing me backwards with violent force, but I just keep my head down and barrel through.  I stop trying to avoid puddles — there are just too many of them, and my feet are already soaked anyway.

Since I lined up at the very front of the corral, I’m not suffocated by a bunch of people tripping and skipping their way across my path.  I’m surrounded by runners who match my fitness level and at the two mile mark I’m drafting inside a tightly formed pack.  My plan is to just go out at a comfortable 7-minute pace and hold it throughout the race.  I cross the three mile marker in 21 minutes.  Right on schedule.

Miles 3-6
My body feels good, but I’m not really enjoying myself.  All I can think to myself is I can’t wait until this is over, I can’t wait until this is over.  This is a rare thought for me, especially during a race, but the elements are wearing on my mind.  The gusts of wind keep coming at me, from all directions, and I’m pretty sure my balls are frozen now.

At least my leg/ITB/knee feels good.

Until, *BAM*, it doesn’t.

Miles 6-9
Oh shit.  Here we go.  I pass the six mile marker and almost immediately, I start to feel that familiar ache developing at the ITB insertion point of my right knee.  No, no, no… this is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening.

Except, it is happening.  And there’s not much I can do about it.

Maybe it’ll go away, I think to myself.  I grit my teeth, trying to ignore it.  But having been dealing with this issue for so long now, I know better.

Around the seven mile marker, I see Dad, a bright spot.  Goooo Jeff! he encourages me.

Not feeling good. My knee is starting to hurt, I tell him.

Uh oh, he responds.  The look on his face is the same look I’ve been carrying for the last mile or so — the same one I was hoping to avoid indefinitely.  Sometimes we do all the right things and we still don’t get what we want.  This is a lesson I’m trying to understand.

I keep going, pushing along as my pack starts to move ahead of me.  The ache is becoming a throb, so I stop and do some ITB stretches, hoping this will make it go away.  The stretching feels good, but once I get moving again, the pain persists.  I push and push and push, but another, more sane voice finds its way inside my head and says, Dude, it’s not worth it. Stop now. Live to fight another fight.

I hate that this voice is right.  But, for once, I listen.

I stop running.  I look down at my watch.  8.62 miles in one hour exactly.

Miles 9-13.1
Well, now what? I ask myself.  All I really want to do is punch something, to scream, to break things.

I resort to a hobble-walk.  I can’t walk too fast.  The ITB pain gets worse the faster I move.

Just as I feel myself succumbing to the dark cavern of negative thoughts, I see Dad up ahead.  I’m happy to see him, but beyond disappointed in my condition.  I tell him how I’m feeling and, knowing how pissy I am right now, he doesn’t say much.  Instead he peddles alongside me on the race course while I try to stay out of the path of the hordes of runners passing me.

I can’t help but feel embarrassed, defeated.  I’m sorry, I tell him.

Don’t be sorry. You have no reason to be sorry with me.

I’m really trying hard not to be a baby right now.

If it wasn’t so damn cold, windy and rainy, maybe I’d have the strength to have a good cry.  But I’m shivering, struggling to stay warm.

Do you want your warm-up pants? he asks.  I try to run again, hoping maybe everything was just in my head.  It wasn’t.  I still have ITBS and running is not an option right now.  We stop so I can put my pants on.  I pin my bib to my front leg.  He gives me his raincoat too, which helps immensely.

We discuss me dropping.  I really want to.  I hate hobble-walking while the crowds continue to cheer for all of those running past me.  I know they mean well, but if I hear one more person tell me I’m doing a good job, when I CLEARLY am not, I might do something stupid.

We get to about the ten mile mark and I decide that not finishing is NOT an option.  DNF’ing was not a part of the plan today, so I’m going to gut this one out and hobble across the finish line no matter what.  Dad labors alongside me on his bike, offering consoling conversation when I need it, but mostly just staying quiet, like me.

I can’t help but think how lucky I am to have a dad who would bike alongside me like this in such shitty conditions, offering up his own coat so that I don’t freeze.  Despite my bum leg, I’m a pretty lucky dude.

With a half mile to go, the course narrows and the crowd grows.  There isn’t enough room for Dad to bike alongside me anymore so he splits off and we agree to meet back at the George R. Brown Center.

I cross the finish line just as the lead American marathoner finishes his 26.2.  The deafening roar drowns out my depression and I take a second to cheer the guy on myself.  I’ll have days like that again someday, I tell myself.  This ain’t my last rodeo.

Post-Race
I’ve had enough time now to find a little bit of healthy perspective on the whole ordeal.  Despite my positive training runs leading up to this event, I’m thinking that my body just wasn’t ready to handle that sort of continuous speed quite yet.  Or maybe it was pounding on the few rolling downhills the course had to offer.  Or maybe it was the conditions.  I don’t know.

I will see my sports doctor on Tuesday to get his perspective and advice.

In the meantime, I’m finding comfort in the fact that I didn’t continue to push my body through the pain — that I didn’t act with recklessness as I probably would have once done.  I let reason dictate my actions.  And I’m hoping such discretion will allow me to have enough time to adequately train for Boston.

Perspective is a bitch sometimes, no doubt, but I’m glad I finally have it.

Posted by  |  January 14, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments »

New Year Proverbial Wave Riding (and Race Schedule)

silhouette-of-runner_21136557The New Year generally brings with it a storied whim of clarity, a daring dash of DO IT.  I’d been feeling this wave of confidence in the weeks that led up to January 1st, 2013; and now that the arbitrary date has come and gone, I feel even more pumped riding on the very top of that proverbial wave.

One product of said wave riding is that I am officially training people now.  My personal training and fitness website, Iron Lung Fitness, has all the details.  This is a career move I have been planning for a year and a half, so to actually be doing it, to actually make it happen, is quite a joyous relief.

Another wave that came upon my shore is that of increased strength, power and flexibility.  The six weeks I took off of running were not spent in front of the television with my feet kicked up, rather, they were spent in the gym, gutting it out, punching holes into heavy bags and doing pistol squats until I puked (well, okay, I didn’t actually puke, but I might have felt better had I done so).  Those six weeks were also spent in a yoga studio, where I learned to love bending stuff, including my preconceived notions of what yoga could (or could not) do for me.  Instead of kicking rocks and cursing my injured IT band for not letting me run, I focused on the only thing I could: getting better.

Boy am I better.

On my runs this week I have noticed my easy jogging pace is a whole minute faster than it was at the end of the 2012 season.  Slowly burning into tempo speed also seems easier.  My core feels more firm, my gait more balanced.  And while I suspect some of this perception could be attributed to the extended period of rest, I am quite confident that most of it is due to hard work: getting it done, riding a wave.

My focus for this year, as previously mentioned, is breaking the 3-hour mark in the marathon.  At this point I am going to look towards the Chicago Marathon in October to make the attempt, fully aware that weather could be a deciding factor.  If it happens to be a fluke year weather wise, I’ll adapt and try again late in the season.

The build-up to that will be full of fun too.  I have the Houston Half Marathon coming this Sunday, which will give me a good idea of where my current speed threshold lies, followed by an exciting new local 25K race trail race.  Then April will bring with it my first Boston Marathon, something I’m itching to experience firsthand.  I’m signed up for the Ice Age Trail 50K in May, another new and local middle distance trail race called the Wholly Hell 15K in June and as of now, I’m still trying to find a suitable 50 mile or timed event to tackle in July/August.  Mohican seems to be calling me, but so too does a repeat at Howl at the Moon.

The decision making wave will come to me, eventually.

To stretch my legs out and relax before the big October surge, I’m looking forward to a wild weekend in Hell, Michigan, where I aim to take part in the Run Woodstock weekend.  Tentatively, I’m thinking I’ll do the 50K option, but I may drop down to something shorter so I have time to run the “natural” 5Ks they feature each evening.  Yes, natural.  That means I have to invent a non-invasive adhesive for certain body parts that may be prone to floppage.

After the Chicago Marathon, I’m not quite sure what I will do next.  Hopefully, I’ll be organizing a big party to celebrate an epic finish.  But after my experiences in 2012, I think a good amount of rest will also be in the plan.

Or maybe I’ll just run along and see what wave decides to take me next.

Posted by  |  January 6, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments »

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