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A Big Giddy Bag of Playful Nerves

Since my last long training run nine days ago, I’ve really been taking it easy, which has made tapering for the Ice Age Trail 50… well, EASY!

Having made overtraining mistakes in the past that left me feeling as stupid as I was hobbled, I made it a point to stay focused this time.

The most important thing about last week was preventing a nagging/weakened plantaris from getting worse by… just chilling out.  As hard as it was on my psyche, I only ran three times last week: 10 miles on Wednesday, 12 on Saturday and 4 on Sunday.

And today, as I try to juggle the constant, vivid daydreams about Saturday’s upcoming 50 mile adventure with the actual preparation (gear, nutrition, instructions for crew), my body is thanking me for all the rest.  For the first time since Earth Day, my right leg feels pretty strong.  The plantaris strain has healed enough so that it isn’t painful.  There are still some occasional signs that it is weaker than my right, but such orthopedic mysteries seem to always pop up for me during race week.

What matters the most is I’m gonna be good to run on Saturday.

For a long ass time too.

Since this will be my first dance with the 50 mile distance, I’m going to be conservative.  I don’t want to screw anything up.  My goal is to finish.  That’s it.  I won’t be racing or killing myself to stay with the lead pack.  Having never run more than 32 miles at one time, I will be entering the unknown for at least 2-3 hours at the end of the day, and I can’t tell you how excited I am about that.

Hell, I’m just excited about everything associated with this event!  I’m ecstatic that this is all finally happening!  Finally!  The day I’ve been looking forward to for almost a year now is finally going to be here.  And while the race week nerves try to flip my stomach, an actual flip through my training log reassures me that I already DID all the hard work necessary to finish this thing strong, to accomplish what I set out to do.

And isn’t that what all this crazy running is about?  Isn’t it about accomplishment?  Isn’t it about surprising yourself?  Isn’t it about nature and about community and about love?

Hell yes it is.

I can’t wait to share my experience!

Posted by  |  May 7, 2012 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

26.2 Miles of People Watching: The 2012 Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon Race Report

When I planned my 2012 race schedule, I made it a point to give myself a cookie — a nice, long, running cookie.  On pavement!

Hello, Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon!

With two weeks to go until my spring target race, the Ice Age Trail 50 Miler, the Derby Marathon would be my first crack at running a road marathon as a training run: a super-exciting, fully supported, training run!  Having run the Derby Mini the year before with my brother-in-law, Patrick, I was quite familiar with the first 8 miles of the course, and I knew that the easy terrain and jubilant crowd support would make for a fantastic final long run before beginning my taper.

It did not disappoint.

I took off work Friday.  Early in the morning, I drove down to my sister’s place in Jeffersonville, IN, just across the bridge from Louisville.  That afternoon, Patrick and I picked up our race packets (he ran the mini), had a pasta dinner and were in bed by 9:30 p.m.  I slept fairly well, but I couldn’t shake all of my nervousness left over from the proceeding week.

After my hard effort last Sunday at the Earth Day 50K, I felt some ominous muscular oddities in my plantaris, behind my right knee.  Thinking it was something I could run off, I ended up aggravating it on Tuesday during a short recovery jog and decided that the best thing to do was to rest it completely.  This was not easy for me to do.  I’ve been averaging 60-70 miles a week, so to take it down so dramatically so quickly left me stewing.  BUT, part of being a running fiend is listening to your body — backing off when necessary, keeping things in perspective.  By Friday night, my plantaris felt about 85%.  I went to bed thinking I would at least start the race, but I had to make peace with the idea that if it became painful, I might have to drop.  Nothing could be worse than losing out to Ice Age because of an injury I could have prevented, I repeated to myself, as if counting sheep.

When I awoke at 5 a.m., my feet hit the ground and… VOILA!  No plantaris pain.  Some light, eccentric stretching confirmed such a miracle.  I ate some breakfast, lubed and laced up, and by 6:15 Patrick and I were out the door.

We parked at his office building across from the Yum Center, gave each other some encouraging words and then I left him to meet fellow Chicago running blogger, Dan Solera.  Dan is not only a good writer, but a great runner as well!  He is currently tackling the task of running a half-marathon in all 50 states and boy did he do something special in Louisville!  Check out his blog for the details.

I entered my corral and reminded myself of the following:

  • You’re not racing. Period. Don’t even try it.
  • Respect the distance. You may consider yourself an ultrarunner, but 26.2 is 26.2 and that shit ain’t easy. Ever. So don’t treat it as such.
  • Stop if you feel like it. Talk to people if you feel like it. This is your chance to do the things you always wished you could do during a marathon.
  • Smile at everyone you meet along the way.
  • If you feel any pain (not to be confused with discomfort, ‘cuz ain’t no marathon run without discomfort), drop. Immediately.
  • HAVE FUN, YA DINGUS!

And we’re off!

The first few miles were pretty fun, I gotta admit.  Usually, this is not the case in a mega-race, but since I wasn’t watching my splits, I found it quite pleasant to just look around and soak up all the excitement of plodding away with 17,999 other people.  To an implanted, intentional observer, the start of a race is a fascinating mural of motion.  And since the half-marathoners and marathoners run the first 8.5 miles together, this was even more the case.  Runners of all abilities were jammed together, bumping elbows, lining up the tangents, gesturing and surging for position.

The Derby Marathon course if pretty flat.  The Mini is completely flat.  So I wasn’t even thinking about hills until mile 14 or so.  Instead, I marveled at the perfect weather (mid 50s with sunshine) and waited for the Churchill Downs section at mile 8, my favorite part of the course.

I already knew it was my favorite part from running the Mini last year.  So when I entered those hallowed grounds again I slowed a bit and took in the sights.  I even stopped and jogged backwards on the way out so I could have as much of it in my memory as possible.  My only disappointment was that this year they didn’t have the loudspeakers playing archived Derby broadcasts like they did before.  Hearing those speedy calls of the fastest two minutes in sports really gave me a mental boost last year, but in 2012 I’d have to do without.

When we exited the track, it wasn’t long before the marathoners split off from the half-marathoners.  And then…

SILENCE.

Is anyone else running the full marathon? I asked myself as I turned right on to an empty street, seemingly by myself.  Up ahead were a few runners.  I looked behind and a woman said to me: Wow, that’s depressing, isn’t it?

Yeah.  I guess we’re on our own until the very end now, I replied.

I actually meant that I’d rather be running with them.

Not me, I said. I live for the long stuff.

She was right though.  It was a bit depressing.  For the rest of the race the crowd support would be sparse.  The silence continuous.  And just because I was taking my sweet-ass time, soaking in the experience, didn’t mean that my fellow runners were.  On the contrary, they were working hard.  Instead of engaging in conversation, I embraced the role of quiet observer.  I stared at a lot of calves and read the backs of many a tech-tee.

Meanwhile, as we entered Iroquois Park for the first of several gentle climbs, I noticed that my right calf was suffering from a deliberate forefoot strike, presumably from the weakened plantaris and extra days off.  I stopped several times to stretch it, checking in with the plantaris itself, but none of that really helped.  I was forced to alter into a midfoot strike, which meant as I tired, I would probably begin to land on my heels, which meant I’d most likely be doing the Frankenstein walk on Sunday, but that’s how it goes.  At least I was still running.  Pain free!

My recent ultratraining made the hills seem easy.  I encouraged others up the climbs, even leading a peloton of sorts for most of it.  Despite the camaraderie, part of me wanted to break off from the road and go discover whatever trails existed behind the beautiful green forest.  But just as soon as I my mind wondered about what was in there, we were descending out of the park and back onto the flats.

When I hit the 16 mile mark, I felt quite good.  Other than my right calf, nothing ached.  Nothing was debilitating.  There was no pain.  I thought to myself, just an easy 10 miler with my Wednesday night running buddies now.  I started to think about those guys and what they might be doing.  The Illinois Marathon.  Horseriders 27 Mile Club Run.  The Kettle Moraine Trainer.  I’ll see y’all on Wednesday, I thought.  Can’t wait!

By the 20 mile mark I reflected on how awesome it was to not be a part of the marathon carnage for once.  All around me people looked rough.  Cramping.  Spasms.  Dehydration.  That’s what happens when you give it your all in the mother of all race distances.  Hell, it KILLED Pheidippides!

I wanted to help.  I wanted to say Dig Deep and Lookin’ Good and Almost There to those who looked liked they needed it, but then I remembered how much I hated hearing that shit myself when feeling bad, so I just kept my mouth shut and respected the process.

When I got just past the 22 mile mark, the terrain shifted from flat and fast to mountainous and slow.  Of course, describing the elevation spikes as “mountainous” is more hyperbolic than truthful, but believe me: after running on road for that long, any climb is gonna look like Everest.  I ran the hills, but I ran them slowly.  And I didn’t fly down them like I normally do.  I kept myself in check, as I had been doing the entire race, and all I could think about with a mile to go was….. BEER.

So, I thought, let’s go get that beer sooner rather than later.  And I took off.

With a half mile left I looked down to see I was running 6:30 pace and decided to keep it right there.  The few spectators strewn about cheered me on and I gave ’em a show. 

Where is everybody? I thought as I passed the 26 mile marker sign.  There should be crowds galore at the finish.

Then I made the right turn onto Preston Street, reuniting with the mini-runners, and realized that’s where they all were.  With a boosting roar of the crowd I turned on the afterburners and shot through the finish with a time of 3:43:25, almost an entire half hour slower than my current PR.

I did it right.  And had blast.

I got my medal, grabbed a banana and headed straight for the beer tent.

***

My only complaint (other than the absence of the Derby broadcast at Churchill Downs) is that for the first half of the marathon, not all of the aid stations were stocked with sports drink.  In my opinion, that is ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE.  It may be okay for a half-marathon, but in a full marathon, it is WISE to be drinking sports drink from the very beginning, to help defend against hyponatremia.  Had the temperature been warmer, this could have made for a very dangerous situation and race officials would be wise to address this danger for future events.

Also, it would’ve been nice to have crowd support for the full marathon like they do the half, but in my experience, this is commonplace in races that combine the two.

Posted by  |  April 29, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , | 8 Comments

Go Hard, Hold On, Have Fun: The 2012 Earth Day 50K Race Report

When it comes to running long and having a blast, the McHenry County Ultrarunning Dudes and Dudettes (M.U.D.D.) sure do set the bar high.  Over the last couple of years I have gotten to know many of them through volunteering, running the trails and of course, through racing, so when they announced they would be hosting the first ever Earth Day 50K in nearby Crystal Lake, I circled April 22 on my calendar and made sure I would be rockin’ a smile, ready to race.

All day long.

Pre-Race
Man, this is like a party!  To look at all the happy faces around me, one would have a hard time believing any of us are in for 31 miles of pain and suffering today.  That’s ultrarunning for ya!

I say hi to Alfredo, to Brandi, to Juan, to Edna, to Carrie, Jerret, Tony and so many others.  I compliment the collection of yellow “Ultra-Virgin” shirts adorning an anxious crowd.  And there is Michele Hartwig, Team Inov-8 member, trail runner extraordinaire and Earth Day 50K race director!

We runners gather for instruction from Michele, pause for the national anthem, and at the sound of the horn… we’re off!

Loop 1
The Earth Day 50K is comprised of five loops of 6 miles with an extra mile added to the first (remember, I LOVE LOOPS).  It is run on the trails of picturesque Veteran Acres: a good mix of winding singletrack with some multi-track interspersed.  It’s about 50 degrees, the sun is out and everything is GREEN!  Mother Earth decided to show up to this party, and so did I!

At the start, my first move is to… lead the way!  In fact, my goals coming into this race are to to finish in the top 10, be in the lead pack as long as possible and smile at everyone I see along the way.

David Epstein’s recent S.I. article on Sammy Wanjiru is fresh in my mind, reminding me of a ballsy (read: dangerous?) yet effective racing strategy: beat them at the beginning.  The idea is to go hard at the start — to create a gap so immense that it is nearly impossible to clip.  The unfortunate part of this strategy (as I will later find out) is that it could leave one gassed at the end, when finishing speed is needed to put it away.

But at this point, I’m only ONE mile into this journey, with THIRTY to go.  I have a looooong day ahead, so I just go fast enough to get out front, but not fast enough to kill myself.  Yet.

As the field spreads out, we step onto luscious singletrack, and I am not alone.  On my heels is Trey Robinson, an awesome runner from Gurnee.  We talk a little, but it is obvious that running this hard and talking is easier for him than it is me.  His movement is fluid and deliberate.  His stride is near perfect.  I can’t keep up with him, so I just run my pace.  Sure it’s fun to be competitive, to push my body to see what I’m capable of, but thrashing too hard too early and not running my race is as pointless as it is debilitating, so I let him go and just focus.

I have a song in my head: “Rapture at Sea” by Eastern Sun.  I don’t run with music, but I do find it helpful to have a song that I like stuck in my head, to act as an equalizer between body and mind when things really get tough.  Also, any time I can prevent “I’m Henry the Eighth I Am” from getting in my brain, I take advantage of it.  Thankfully, “Rapture at Sea” has me cruisin’.

In fact, this first cruising loop is all about taking in the terrain.  There are rolling hills.  Bombs away on the down, bound on the ups!  A couple steep climbs require power hiking, but barely.  There is a lot of variation.  Sometimes I’m enveloped by green forest only to escape into an open field.  Sometimes I’m running on soft earth, sometimes crushed limestone.  I come out of one downhill trail section that empties onto a paved bike path and BOOM.  There are two curious deer staring straight at me, just 10 feet away.  More like me are a comin’, fellas.  Ya might wanna stand clear.  They bound away, as if to say, naa naa na boo boo, we’re faster than yooouuuu!

Besides the one at the start/finish, there is also an aid station at the halfway point of the loop.  The volunteers there are a jubilant and supportive bunch!  They are so quick and efficient that I barely get to see who they are before I’m off again.

Just as I come up on a rather ominous group of trees that boast gigantic, man-made question marks on their heavy trunks, I realize I’ve lost Trey.  He’s gotta be waaaaay ahead.  Go get ’em, bro! 

I feel like I got a lock on second if I can just hold pace.  I’m having fun.  I feel good.

Loop 1 done in 51:52.

Loop 2
Um… about that “lock on second”… hmm… you’re 7 miles in, pal.  Let’s just focus on the here and now.  M’kay, thanks.

I blow through the aid station and look behind me to see I’m not as alone as all that singletrack would have me think.  There’s a chase pack of three and they’re not far behind.  Everybody looks good too.  Not a struggler in the bunch.  This is where my meditative mindset needs to take over: focus on the now.  Right now.  And then, RIGHT NOW.  What’s going to happen later, or what has already happened is not going to help me.  I need to just stay focused, take advantage of all the downhills and remember that this is something I enjoy.

WEEEEE! I scream as I leap up and over a section the locals call “Little Pig Hill”.  I also marvel at the dandy and equally descriptive handmade signs put up all along the course, reminding me how creative and fun ultrarunners are: Land of the Aliens.  Snake Hill.  Costa Rica.  Every time I get to Costa Rica, a section at the top of a gnarly downhill, I tell myself THIS IS FUN!  IT’S LIKE A TROPICAL VACATION!  Anything to get my mind off the guys gunning for me from behind.

At the end of the loop, the single track empties into the park where a girls softball game is going on and I must look like a mad man: A sweaty mess in short-shorts, a singlet and armsleeves.  One softball spectator asks me, Are you okay?

Yep.  I’m good.  Actually, I feel great!

Loop 2 done in 48:14.

Loop 3
It’s easy to tell myself I feel great, but with the chase pack closing in and gaining every time we reach a clearing (the only time I can actually see them), I realize it’s getting harder for my body to buy into the game plan.  Mentally, all is well.  I think.  Before I can decide, I hear blazing footsteps approaching from behind.  They’re coming so fast that I have no choice but to stop, turn and look.  Here comes a dude so full of energy and so strong that I feel absolutely deflated about my own performance.

Hey, man, keep up the good work.  I think you’re in second, he says.

Uh… yeah.  I am.  I am?  Wait —

I’m in the relay.  Just starting out.

Comic relief to the rescue!  Thank you, running gods!  Thank you, Mother Earth!  I needed that!  Now, back to work.

With the spark of a good laugh, I put my head down and focus on turnover.  Quick.  Rapid.  Turnover.  I begin to pass people still on the second loop and I make sure to give words of encouragement to all, just as they do to me.  Singletrack can be lonely sometimes, but coming into contact with others who love running and are as passionate about the trails as I am is a welcome comfort.

Meanwhile, my butt is starting to hurt.  Literally.  Both the left and right piriformis muscles are beginning to ache, but I’m not gonna let a pain in the ass stop me from tearing up dirt.

Loop 3 is done in 49:34.

Loop 4
As I leave the aid station, I think I’ve lost the chase pack.  But then, as I power hike the steep climb to the trail head I hear footsteps right behind.

Hi there.  You’re doing great, man.  C’mon!

It’s Damian Nathaniel.  I recognize him from my frantic looks back earlier.  We exchange names and salutations.

Man, you’re running way stronger than me, I offer, somewhat deflated.  After running in second by myself for 20 miles, then being caught on an uphill climb, I start feeling sorry for myself.  But before I can give into the despair, Damian puts his hand on my shoulder and says, C’mon, let’s go!

Who is this guy and why is he so awesome!?!?  He takes off downhill, balls to the wall and I follow, injected with energy I didn’t know I had.  This dude could have totally smoked me but instead he offers encouragement and talks me through a low point.

After a couple of miles, we reach the paved section and talk about how much we hate it compared to the singletrack.  We jockey back and forth on position, but I know he’s going to go ahead of me once we reach the aid station so I wisely ease off the jets.  My butt hurts and I need some Coca-Cola to give me a jolt.  I doubt he’s gonna stick around for any of that.

I make peace with this development.  I accept it.  Hell, I’m out running my butt off (literally) and I’m still having the time of my life!

—
Brief Aside
I realize that, when discussing my running adventures, it appears that I often use hyperbole to describe my experiences.  That couldn’t be further from the truth.  There is no hyperbole.  If I’m doing it right, every run is the best run I’ve ever had, because it’s happening NOW and I’m loving it NOW more than I’ve ever loved it before.
—

Competitiveness, for me, is a healthy addition to my running.  When I choose to embrace it, it pushes me to do things I never thought I could do.  So I use Damian as inspiration.  Follow that runner! I tell myself.  Head down.  Back to work.

Then, out of nowhere, my own body throws up an obstacle by way of… a gastrointestinal scare.  Yikes!  Where’s my ginger?  I grab a Ginger Chew (a must-have for any race) out of my pocket, quickly unwrap it and throw it in my mouth midstride.  Of course, chewing this thing would be easier if it wasn’t so damn hard!  The chilly temps have left it solid, nearly impossible to bite down on, so instead, I just swallow it.

Whoops.

Now I’m choking at the top of Costa Rica.  I try to cough it up.  Can’t do it.  I pour the water/Gatorade mix from my handheld bottle down my throat and desperately try to swallow again, and again…

So how did Jeff die again?  Oh, he ran himself silly then choked to death on a Ginger Chew. He was also wearing short-shorts.

Gulp.  Whew.  Got it down.

Back to work.

Loop 4 done in 52:01.

Loop 5
I.

Am.

Tired.

Suddenly.  I’ve been running around in circles with a big, goofy grin on my face for 3 and a half hours now, talking to deer, choking on Ginger Chews, high-fiving strangers.  Also, my butt hurts.

I’m at a low point, but these things come and go, so I just go back to what’s been working: the song in my head, bomb the downhills, focus on the now.

And then, just as quickly as I felt terrible, magically, I feel good again.  I feel so good that I don’t even care when John Kiser clips me, leaving me fourth overall, with just 3 miles to go.  Dude, you look fantastic! I holler at him as he blazes by (he eventually took 2nd overall).  He did look fantastic.

I slam some Coke at the last aid station and put my head down one last time.  Song in my head.  Bomb the downhills.  Focus on the now.

I feel the earth under my feet.  I marvel at its touch, its beauty.  I smile each time I see one of the M.U.D.D.ers’ clever signs.

I am so happy.  This is what makes me truly happy.  This land, this Earth.  This life, this journey.  This is why I’m here.

Loop 5 done in 56:24.

Post-Race
At an event like this, there is no going home right after.  I rehydrate, I eat.  There’s something delicious here called “Taco Soup” and I’ve eaten two servings.  There’s homemade muffins and cookies and cakes.  I devour everything in sight.

I change my clothes.  I hug anyone who will hug me, including the race director!  I call my Mom and Dad and then I sit my sore butt on the ground and cheer on all my friends coming through the finish.

Congratulations to Trey Robinson on the win.  That was some spectacular running, my friend.

I won my age division, took 4th place overall and set a 50K trail P.R. of 4:17:55.

I could use a beer.  And a nap.

Posted by  |  April 23, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , | 14 Comments

What to Do When Life DOESN’T Get in the Way

One of my most valuable training tools is my logbook.  A quick peek at my tired scribbles gives a very thorough and accurate view of who I am as a runner — how I feel, what kind of running I’m doing, ebbs and flows of a training cycle displayed beautifully by the English language.

Once I pick it up, it’s hard for me to put down.

Yesterday, as I studied the bevy of runs logged over the last 12 months, I made a surprising realization:

Life rarely gets in my way.

Life rarely gets in my way!!!

You know what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about that cliche oft heard by runners of all abilities: “Sometimes life gets in the way.”

Wife.  Kids.  Job.

I have a job, but it requires zero stress.  Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.  Nothing more, nothing less.  No late nights for me.  No taking work home.  No last minute business dinners.  No trips, no conference calls.

I do not have kids.  I don’t have a significant other.  My closest family member lives four hours away by car.

I live alone.  I do what I want to do, when I want to do it.  And I don’t stress.

In fact, in the last year, life has only gotten in the way of my training twice: once due to a death in the family which required an entire day of driving, and once so I could go to Games 1 and 2 of the 2011 World Series in St. Louis (I know, rough life, cry me a river, etc.).  Those were the only two times I had to shelf a run.  That’s it!  Twice.

Meanwhile, most of my running buddies find themselves having to adapt to the barrage of life-shit thrown at them.  Some have to deal with such hiccups on a daily basis!

So why have I not taken more advantage of this near-perfect training environment?  Good question.  And it’s one that I aim to address through reversal.

Go big or go home.

That’s another one of those cliches favored by the running community.  Well, my friends, since life has been kind to my running addiction, my ass is going BIG.

Posted by  |  April 14, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , | 3 Comments

Running with the Big Boys (and Girls): The 2012 Clinton Lake 30 Mile Race Report

My recent Kettle Moraine 50K trainer grounded me so into the earth with brute, relentless force that the next day I started to wonder, why am I doing this again?  Also, it made me hungry for more!  Enter the Clinton Lake 30 Mile Trail Run near DeWitt, IL.

Three Days Prior

I’m looking at the results from last year’s race.  I’m reading race reports online.  I’m trying not to worry.

Dang this thing is hilly!

But… I’m… feeling competitive?  Yes, yes I am!  And I have six weeks to recover for Ice Age, so let’s give it a good effort, Jeff!  Dig deep!

I’m pumping myself up with positivity, knowing that if it hurts too much I can always pull back.

I’m gonna put myself up front and just see what happens.  Let’s live.

Day Before

I finish work at 5 p.m., then get in the car and head south on a jampacked I-55.  I’m going to my mother’s house, just outside of Springfield, IL, but I have to sit in traffic before I can crank up the old ’99 Maxima to 80 mph (not her preferred cruising pace I should add).  I want to get as much sleep as I can and it’s a 4-hour drive.  My right piriformis is behaving, so I consider myself lucky.

Race Morning, 4:30 a.m.

Up and at ’em!  Did I even sleep?  I have one cup of coffee, a banana and 5 fistfulls of whole grain Chex.  My youngest sister, Cara (17 years old) is awake too, ready to keep me company on the drive and crew during the race.  We hop in the car, I crank up The Cranberries Greatest Hits and we are off.

7:00 a.m. — 30 Minutes Before Start

It’s 42 degrees.  The sun is creeping up.  We are here.

Middle.

Of.

Nowhere.

Seriously, when I look to the Google Oracle for directions, even she says whaaaaaaaaat?  A country road here, a gravel road there, vast farmland everywhere.

But we are in the right parking lot.  Lots of anxious runners are getting ready for the long voyage consisting of three 10-mile loops around Clinton Lake, with about 4500 feet of elevation gain.  I go over the last minute details with my sister and she assures me I have nothing to worry about (she’s right).  She’s a smart kid and her help will prove invaluable on the day.

Parked just beside us is a friend of mine from my Chicago running club (New Leaf Ultra Runs).  We chat a little before he asks if I have any goals for the day.

Yeah, I’d like to finish in 5 hours, I think.

Whoa, he says, 5 hours.  It took me 6 hours the first time I ran this race.

Well, shit.  Now I’m not so sure about myself.  This guy is a great runner.  His stride is so effortless and strong that I’ve expressed my jealousy more than once.  I’m glad I didn’t also just tell him I hope to finish in the top 10! He might think I’ve gone mad! (I have)

Damn, well, okay, maybe I won’t get 5 hours?  I don’t know.  I’m gonna try, I say.

We wish each other luck then head towards the start line but, before I get there, I run into another friend of mine, Paul “Crazy Legs” Stofko, a phenomenal runner from northwest Indiana.  Paul schooled me on the mighty Indiana sand dunes last summer.  After one particular 4-hour run, I recall finishing, then immediately throwing up all over the parking lot.  That’s how hard Paul pushed me that day (don’t feel sorry for me, it was an awesome run).  In exchanging salutations with him, I’m hoping he has forgotten about my puke job.  He doesn’t mention it, so I feel like we’re all good.

7:30 a.m. — Start Line

I position myself at the front.  Clinton Lake is almost ALL single track.  There’s a short climb up a paved road at the start, another short paved climb at the loop halfway point, but otherwise it’s all trail, so I want to make sure I don’t get stuck too far behind.  Once you’re stuck in a single track conga line, it’s pretty hard to get out of it.

The RD gives his speech and… WE’RE OFF!

Loop 1

One guy darts out at the front and the rest of us give chase.  We maneuver through the parking lot, bang a louie and go uphill towards the trail head.  I’m moving pretty swiftly.  There are maybe 4 or 5 or 6 people in front of me, the leader about 40 yards ahead.  I look to my left and there is Paul.

Crazy Legs, I don’t know what I’m doing up here, I say.

He laughs.  We chat about the upcoming Ice Age Trail 50, then, as we reach the trail head and start our single track adventure, I tuck in behind him.  I know I have to be careful here because Paul is fast, and if I try to keep up with his torrid pace too long I might blow up.  I mean, I will blow up.

But as we move our way through the first mile of trail, it is apparent that there are a couple of slower folks ahead of us, keeping the pace very conservative.  Too conservative, in my opinion.  Inevitably, in every race I’ve ever run, there is always someone up front who probably shouldn’t be, blocking the path for everyone else.

Some chatter regarding this scenario starts and it’s apparent that everyone wants to make a move, but no one wants to be the first one to do it.  And then, someone does.  One guy goes by me.  Two.  I tuck in behind the second passer, Paul tucks in behind me and we fly by the slower runners, bombing on a downhill.

This course has some mighty big hills, but hills work both ways, and the down sections were a blast to cruise!  With trail conditions as ripe as they were (damp, soft, smooth), the footing for bombing was perfect.  So that’s just what we did.

A few minutes go by, I give way to Paul, feeling like we would both do better if he were ahead of me and voila!  I’m in the chase pack!

That’s right.  The four leaders (3 guys and 1 girl) are far enough out front that we can’t see them.  The chase pack is two dudes I don’t know, followed by Kirsten Marek (who I get to know a bit later), then Paul, then me in the back.  I look behind me and there’s no one.

We are about 3 miles into the race and I’m surprised at how hard those in front of me are hammering the uphills.  I spend a lot of time working on my power hike, so I’m able to keep up with them no problem, but I worry about being able to later on.  Just run your race, Jeff. 

I realize I’m currently in 9th place.  I decide to chill out and enjoy the ride.

We hit the first aid station just after the 5-mile mark and I’m feeling pretty darn good.  My nutrition plan for the day is my 20 oz. handheld bottle filled with half water, half Gatorade. (I drank about 120 oz total) I plan to eat a GU gel every half hour and suck on an orange slice if it looks good.

We all whiz through the first aid station, cross the bridge then find ourselves quickly back onto single track.

—
Brief Aside
I love watching races on television.  Every televised marathon I can watch, I watch.  Every track meet too.  And one of the things I enjoy watching the most is “the chase pack”.  Seeing Dathan Ritzenhein’s effort in the 2012 U.S. Olympic trials is the sort of thing I mean.  Complete, utter, AGONY.  Screw Law & Order SVU, the CHASE PACK is drama!
—

We aren’t in agony, but we do have a lot of work to do if we want to catch the leaders.  The four runners ahead of me keep charging up those hills.  I try to hang with them, but by the 8-mile mark, when a brief stretch through an open meadow allows me to see Paul’s bright orange shirt waaaay up in front of me, I realize I’m gonna have to conserve some energy if I want to finish the race, let alone place in the top ten.

I’m totally cool with that.

I power hike the uphills.  Hard.  I bomb them on the way down.

I’m playing!  I’m having so much fun!  And now… I’m all alone!

Loop 2

I come through the start/finish line and there is Cara, waiting for me, all smiles.  She switches my empty bottle for a full one, takes my jacket and tells me I’m doing good.  I look down at my watch and see my first 10 miles are done in 1:34.  Heck, I am doing good!

How many in front of me? I ask.  I’m pretty sure I know, but I just want to check if I am right.

Seven or eight, she says.

Close enough.

I don’t even stop.  Our entire exchange takes place on the run.  My sister does a great job.

Now power hiking up the paved hill towards the trail head again, I see Kirsten ahead.  I didn’t know her name until we turned onto the single track together, but over the next 5 miles, we keep each other company by introducing ourselves and doing what ultrarunners usually do on the trail: talk about running!

And oh what a pleasure it is!  We are moving along at a pretty fast pace, but the conversation masks the hard effort, makes it flow.  She is relatively new to ultrarunning too, so we exchange tips, talk about races, mull about the possibility of one day getting into Western States (don’t we all?!?!).

Just before the next aid station, a friend of hers creeps up on us, then flies by me.  He’s moving quickly, but I keep him in my sights as we come out of the woods.  We are officially at the halfway mark and I’m feeling great.  Kirsten stops to get some fluids, her friend does the same.  I have plenty with me (thanks to Cara!), so I just grab an orange slice, thank the volunteers and boom, I’m off before they know it.

I won’t see either of them again until the end (Kirsten eventually took home 2nd overall female. Good work!).

And now… I’m all alone.  For real.  No one in front.  No one in back.  But this doesn’t stop me from keeping my pace.

The toughest hills are on miles 8 through 10, on the back half of the course.  I make sure to power hike hard, but to fly downhill even harder.

I’m having so much fun.

Loop 3

There’s Cara!  Ready to go!  She switches my bottles, takes my arm warmers, skull cap, gloves.  She hands me a fresh hat, a sweatband for my wrist and three gels.  I’ve already eaten 4 at this point, and now that the temperature is warming up (about 60 degrees), I decide to pop a salt pill too.

Good work, Bro! says Cara.

Looking at my watch, I holler back, Definitely going to finish under 5 hours.  Next time I see ya, I’ll be done!

I charge back up the paved road to the trail head and then:

Holy shit, I’ve got 20 miles in my legs right now and I feel fantastic!  Let’s do this!

No hyperbole here.  This is an historic moment for me.

The course is not easy.  Just 7 days earlier I was getting my ass kicked by hill after hill after hill and now I’m conquering them like a warrior.  I know I’m in the top ten, but not exactly sure where because each race official I ask tells me something different, but it doesn’t matter.  What matters is I feel great, my body is adapting to all this crazy running, and I’m surrounded by some kickass forest!  Lots and lots of green.  Lots of birds: woodpeckers, cardinals, pelicans!  (I didn’t know we had pelicans in Illinois either)  I’m feeling great, I’m feeling alive and I ain’t backin’ down.  Instead of slowing, I speed up.

Still, this loop is lonely.  I pass several folks on just their second loop, each one offering me a hearty cheer and a Great job!  I reciprocate with high fives and encouraging words of my own, for them, and I can’t help but revel in the awesomeness that is the ultra community.

In standard road races (5Ks, 10Ks, marathons), when someone gets passed, there is no “great job” or “you’re doing great” or go “get ’em”.  There’s… nothing.  But the ultra community survives on kindness, on mutual encouragement.  It is so full of altruism that I can’t ever imagine myself not being a part of it.

This is what I think about on this loop.  Well, that, and I wonder just how fast I can go on these downhills.

Turns out, pretty fast.

I hit the last aid station, look each one of the volunteers in the eye and thank them.  Then I’m off.

I’m in La La Land.  I’m so happy.  I can’t wait to sprint through the finisher’s shoot, give my sister a hug and soak my warrior legs in that big ass lake.

After 4 hours 48 minutes and 12 seconds, an 8th place overall (7th male) finish*, I do just that.

And I feel as happy and alive as I ever have.

– – –

*At the finish line, I asked the race officials what place I came in overall and they told me 7th.  So that’s what I told all my friends/family.  The official results show that I came in 8th overall, 7th male.  Still, not too shabby for an early spring race, or, any race for that matter.

Paul Stofko came in 3rd overall.  Awesome work, Paul!

– – –

The post-race food and vibe was also pretty sweet.  That homemade turkey chili… someone should get an award for that!

Posted by  |  April 1, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Stop Time: Gallivant through Luscious Forest

All this rugged trail running is making me tough and leathery.  I feel stronger.  Gettin’ dirty.  But being so often bombarded by nature’s beauty is also leaving me emotionally vulnerable.  It’s hard for me to not stop, to soak in my surroundings, to dissociate from time and to just be in the moment.

I think that’s a perfect mix of cojones and heart.

My running club organized a 50K (31 mile) fun run through Wisconsin’s southern unit of the Kettle Moraine forest yesterday.  With the Ice Age Trail 50 Miler just 7 weeks away, I knew logging some long hours on the actual route I’ll be running during the race would be nothing but beneficial, so I took the whole day to really immerse myself in the trail.

Holy bejeebus.  It’s as beautiful as it is tough.

The elevation gain from my forest adventure only totaled about 2,400 feet, but the constant up and down rolling nature of the moraines (a result of the last ice age glacier melts, thus the name) is so relentless that I never could find a consistent rhythm to my stride.  Walk up hill a little, fly down hill a little, walk up hill a little, fly down, and so on.  WHERE ARE THE FLATS?

I never found them, but I did find out that Wisconsin is home to one of the most luscious forests I’ve ever seen.  It was like running on Endor!  I kept anticipating an Ewok ambush or stumbling across one of the Empire’s hidden bases.  Green, green, green!

And the sounds: loons, bullfrogs, crickets, swallows, robins, my tired footfalls.

There were several moments along the trail when I thought, Man this is hard!  How am I ever going to run 50 miles on it if I’m struggling through 31?  I had moments where I felt awful, but I also had moments where I felt euphoric, and the switch was made within minutes.

At one point I looked down to notice I’d “run” a 15 minute mile.  That’s some real humbling shit right there, especially to a guy who touts himself as a regional class speedster.  15 minute mile!?!  Good grief. 

But I later realized, if having to suck up some slow miles is what it takes to become part of nature’s truest gifts, then I’m all for it.  In the end, it took me 6 hours and 21 minutes to complete my 31 mile Kettle adventure.  That’s the longest run I’ve ever logged to date.  To put that time in perspective, my current 50K trail PR is 5:15, and I barely gave any effort in attaining that time, as it too was just a fun run.

Yet I can’t help but think 6 hours and 21 minutes still isn’t enough time to sufficiently gallivant through such luscious forest.  It surely didn’t feel like I was out there that long.  And despite the aches in my glutes and the pains in my quads, I didn’t want to escape the canopy.  I wanted to stay in there as long as I could.

Time stops in there.  And in a world where time is often my enemy, suddenly I don’t mind reevaluating my expectations.

Posted by  |  March 25, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Chasing the Bike: The 2012 Chicago Get Lucky! 7K Race Report

Obscure distance races, for me, are irresistible.  That’s one reason why I’m running a 30 mile race at the end of the month.  It is also why I signed up for the first ever Chicago Get Lucky! 7K race.

Yes.  7K.  Your very non-standard 4.34959835 mile race.

Since my recent 5o mile training has focused mostly on tough, hilly long runs, a short distance race seemed like a nice change of pace.  Besides, when well rested, running fast is fun!  The 7K distance made it so I would PR no matter what and the Get Lucky! schwag (a kelly green zip-up hoodie) was pretty sweet.

My goal going into the race was to just run hard from the beginning and hold it as long as I could.  I wanted to focus on high leg turnover and a smooth cadence throughout.  With nearly 800 registrants, I didn’t figure I’d have much of a chance at a top three finish, so the thought never entered my mind.

Until I lined up.

There was a half marathon (The Chicago Get Lucky! 21K) run in conjunction with this race.  20 minutes after the half marathon began, the 7K racers were told to line up.

Wanting to run smooth 6:30s, I got in the 7 minute per mile corral.  It was the fastest one next to the one labeled “elite” — one that, astonishingly, no one was standing in.  I quickly looked around to see that indeed, I was standing alone, that most people were lined up way behind me.  Then there was an athletic looking youngster dressed in green who approached and confidently stood ground next to me.  We smiled and said “hi” to one another.

I think both of us knew that we might be in for a special day if we were the only ones in the front of the pack.  You could almost see the both of us salivating, sizing each other up.  Then along came a Mary Keitany lookalike.  I quickly let her in front of me.  Just a few minutes before the race was to start, it looked like only the three of us would start out at the front.

Competitive spirit override.  Race strategy chucked.

Hell no.  If I have a chance to win — AN ACTUAL CHANCE TO WIN — I’m going for it.

The horn blew and we were off, the three of us in front along with a guy dressed like a leprechaun, whom if beaten in the race demanded an ancillary cash prize.

The starting pace was about 6:20.  Not too bad.  The Mary Keitany lookalike made it appear effortless though, so I immediately figured she was my main competition.

We hit the first turn and boom, there took off the leprechaun and the athletic dude in green.  I wouldn’t see them again for a while.  Mary Keitany lookalike gave chase, I looked down at my watch to see I was under 6 minute pace and thought, nah, I’m gonna stick with 6:30s.  I eased off but kept her in my sights.

For the next 2.5K I slowly reeled her in.  But before I did, I looked behind me to see… um… no one!  I was way out in front of everyone else, virtually guaranteed a top three finish if I just didn’t crash and burn.  I kept a steady pace and it seemed pretty easy.  Cruise control.

I caught her on the weird downhill just after the aid station between 3K and 4K.  On the Lakeshore Path, it’s the abrupt bridged hill before going under the road, south of Illinois Avenue.  I’ve run that part of the path about a bazillion times in my life, so I knew I could fly on the short downward section.  I made my move and BLASTED DOWN past her.  She didn’t counter, seemingly content with the idea of a 1st female finish rather than 2nd place overall.

Sounded good to me!  I kicked it up a notch.

But then I encountered a series of weird, poorly marked turns and… yes, no course marshals.  Not long after seeing a 4K mark banner, I came across a mess of oddly grouped orange cones, but no people.  The leader and the leprechaun had already started the back portion of the out-and-back-esque course, so I wasn’t sure where the turnaround was.  Is it still ahead?  Is it here?  Oh shit.

I was flying.  And starting to panic.  I made it about a quarter mile further before I realized there was no one around and I’d definitely gone off course.  I stopped, turned, and boom, there was Mary Keitany lookalike.  We both threw our arms up in the air.  Confused.  She said, “that must’ve been the turnaround, back there.”  I nodded, said, “Sorry”, and dug deep in a concentrated spurt past her, back to the right spot, back to those oddly grouped, messy orange cones.  Back on course.

To my horror I saw: NOW TWO PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME!

Competitive spirit override.  Again.  Harder.

DIG DEEP.  Vrrrrrroooom.

Zoomed by the first guy, unsuspecting.  Clearly, he did not care.  “Good job, buddy!” he yelled.  Thumbs up, I gave.  Head down.

The second guy in front of me was moving slow.  I knew I’d catch him.  “Lookin’ good”, he said.  Thanks, bro!  I passed.  I focused further down the line on… the bike!

The leader and leprechaun were too far ahead to be seen, so course marshals (who magically appeared after my detour) responded by sending a bike out to lead second place.  At the 5K mark, that was me.  I wasn’t even looking at my watch now.  I could care less about my time.  All I wanted to do was finish strong with nothing less than second place.  I was content with that.

Until I saw the leprechaun in my sights with 1 kilometer to go.

Did not think about it.  Just dug in and told my legs to catch him.  I turned off my mind and let instinct kick in.  I was surprised at how easy it seemed.  I passed him on the first of a couple sharp right turns in the last half kilometer, got a huge buzz from the cowbell-ringing, shamrock-clad crowd who came out in strong numbers cheering and clapping.  I slowed a little, soaked it in.  Crossed the finish fist pumping with a smile.  I was handed a medal and a mug with CASH MONEY in it from beating the leprechaun.  I’m told a top three finisher prize will be in the mail.

Hot dog!

I’ve said it before, but it’s still true so I will keep saying it: I’ll never take a pitch in the big leagues, or drive the lane in the NBA.  The NFL will never see my touchdown dance.  But today I ran the Chicago Get Lucky! 7K race and finished 2nd out of 797 competitors, and for that I’m claiming baller status.

Posted by  |  March 18, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Closer to the Sky: A Flatlander’s First Take with Mountain Running

My recent Malibu getaway was not planned as a running specific trip, but, well, I’m me.  So running was all I could think about.  And boy did I do some runnin’!

The area around Malibu is home to some beautiful peaks.  And though none of them would be considered overly “mountainous” to someone calling himself a mountain runner, the bottom of a 2,000 foot climb looks pretty damn mountainous to this flatlander.  Hell, we Chicagoans run parking garage platforms and bridge spans to get in our hill work.  Swallow Cliffs, part of the Palos Hills trail system outside the city, features the gnarliest hill we have around these parts: Big Bertha.  And even with her, you gotta run up and down, up and down, over and over again to simulate even the slightest mountain route.  And it still doesn’t simulate.  Not well anyway.  Honestly, there’s really no good way for flatlanders to practice running/power hiking/slogging up a mountain other than just running/power hiking/slogging up a mountain.

Thanks goodness for vacation!

While a great deal of my time was spent exploring Malibu Creek State Park, my first encounter with running closer to the sky actually came on the trails of the Zuma/Trancas Canyon.  In order to maximize my time (remember, this was not a running trip, allegedly), I got up before dawn and started the four mile trek along the Pacific Coast Highway to reach the trail head.  The weather called for sunny, clear skies and a high of 70 degrees.  Holy hell I would be running in heaven and I didn’t even know it yet!

By the time I reached the trail head, the sun had risen, and I was totally aware of just how beautiful everything was around me.  Before I started my climb up the Zuma Ridge Trail, I took in a deep breath, surveyed my surroundings and admired the silence.  Believe me, no matter how many times I use the word “beautiful” to describe this adventure, it will never be accurate enough to relate what I saw.

Up, up, up!

After a quarter mile on the trail, ahead of me I saw the one (and only) person I would see out that day — an elderly lady, grandma-fit and truckin’ along — whom I apparently scared when I approached.  Turns out power hiking up a hill makes for less foot noise.  That and the fact that she was rockin’ an iPod are probably why she didn’t hear me coming until I was right next to her.

AH!  she screamed.  You scared me!

Sorry!

It’s okay.  Just not used to seeing people out here this early.  (Swigs her water bottle)  You trying to scare away the mountain lions with that shirt?

I was wearing my SCREAMING fluorescent green St. Louis Marathon tech tee from 2011, mostly so I could be clearly seen by motorists while I ran along the PCH, but I didn’t feel like having a long conversation, so I smiled and just kept going past her.  Before I got too far along, I couldn’t help but ask: Are there really mountain lions out here?

You bet!  They’re all over the place! But don’t worry. They won’t like that shirt. Too bright!

She laughed.  At my shirt?  At the prospect of me getting eaten by a mountain lion?  Too much coffee?  Her shirt was white.  Didn’t she want to scare the mountain lions?  Where was her SCREAMING fluorescent green shirt?

I laughed back.  Have a nice day! I told her as I dug deeper into the power hike.

I guess part of me knew beforehand that mountain running would require quite a bit of power hiking, but an hour of it?  Two hours of it?  I thought, gee, this isn’t really what I think of when I think of “running”.  I wanna move!  I tried running up the incline, even though I knew it was counterproductive.  After 15 seconds I realized as much.  But that didn’t stop me from trying it again.  And again.  And again.

I’m a stubborn dude sometimes.

Still, stubbornness is no match for nature.  And every time I tried to do the impossible I was humbled back to the slow, slow, slow power hike.

It didn’t matter.  The scenery… OH THE SCENERY!  How can I even possibly describe it?  First of all, it’s Malibu so, HELLO BEAUTY.  Luscious, rolling green mountains with the ocean and the beach up against their side and multimillion dollar homes tucked neatly into pockets of pristine vegetation.  The sea breezed air was refreshingly clean.  The sky as blue as I’d ever seen.

I stopped.  Often.  Just to take it all in.

I’ve been sucker punched by beauty during long runs before, but never anything like this.  I was so overwhelmed with love for nature and all that surrounded me that I broke down.  I didn’t now what else to do or how to handle it.  I was totally unprepared for such sensory overload, but I am so glad I got it anyway.  A couple minutes of crying like a baby was all I needed to get my power hiking legs back on to go further up, up, up…

And then BOOM!  A flat!  And a downhill!  Both of them brief, but utterly invigorating before… more power hiking.  Up, up, up…

(Later)

BEEP BEEP BEEP.  My watch.  Dammit.  I knew what that meant.  Time to turn around.  I was, after all, in Malibu with other people and we had other things planned for the day.  So after two hours of climbing, I knew it was time to turn it around, which meant….

GRAVITY!

With one of nature’s greatest gifts guiding me down the mountain, I thought here’s my chance to clock some 5:30 miles without feelin’ it.  And I would be a total liar if I did not admit to screaming WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! all most of the way down.

It’s really difficult for me to think of something more fun than running downhill.  It’s not even running really.  It’s play.  It’s fun!!!  For a little while anyway.  After 30 minutes of non-ntop flying on the decline, I realized it wasn’t always fun and my quads were not happy, nor would they be if I didn’t slow up and take it easy some.

The quads don’t know what to do going downhill.  They’re doing the opposite of what they’re made to do (lift/extend the knee) and so they revolt by HURTING LIKE A BITCH.  Like all the other pains, it’s just another truth about running — something that must be battled, defeated, pushed through.

Eventually it would go away.

I was celebrating that fact, and then before I knew it I was at the bottom of the canyon.  Very, very sad.

Luckily for me, I had a nice (and flat!) four mile cool down jog along the beach and, literally, an ocean of cold water to soak my battered posts in.  When I got back to the house, my friends were waiting for me.  Smiles, all of ’em.

How was it? they asked.

I tried to speak but as soon as I opened my mouth I realized there was nothing I could say that would do the experience justice.  As I struggled to give an answer, a great, big boyish grin consumed my face.  I shook my head and quickly brushed away the trickle forming in the corner of my left eye.

They knew.  They all smiled and they all knew.

Posted by  |  March 15, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Trading the High for Zen and a General Sense of Awesome

I don’t get the runner’s high anymore.  I haven’t for about a year and a half now.  When I first started running, catching the “high” was a frequent occurrence, especially during hard efforts like long runs or speed work.  But nowadays it’s something I’ve learned to do without.  The only runner’s high I get now is after the run, when my knees are iced, my feet are up and I’m able to reflect on the satisfaction of having done work.

Of course, beer helps.

Oh how far I’ve come!

During my early running days, when I didn’t really know what I was getting into, breaking down on a desolate country road, overcome with emotion was rather common.  I’d often feel like I made some poignant realization about myself.  I’d get that warm, cozy feeling I used to get during my MDMA partying days.  I used to think: if only EVERYONE were a runner, to know this special feeling!

Then, as soon as it came, it was gone.  Forever.

I don’t know why.  But I’m over it.

I’ve traded the high for zen, the emotion for being present.  Of course, for me, catching the zen isn’t as easy as simply going for a long run or running intervals.  It takes a combination of speed and distance for me to tap into it.  It demands a pace fast enough to be uncomfortable, and a distance far enough to make maintaining that pace hard as hell.  It requires supreme focus.  Splits, muscle aches and what I’m going to have for dinner that night cannot jut into my consciousness.  Everything must go, everything except the present.

Right.

Now.

And even then, reaching zen mode is not a given.  Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t.  I’ve found that when I think about it or try to force my way into having one of those experiences, it just doesn’t work.

The good news is, every run — no matter how present or how off in space — brings me happiness.  Even after those really awful runs, the ones where I felt slow, felt heavy, felt off, felt crampy, even those make me smile.

Just moving, doing work, going forward in time… that’s awesome.

Posted by  |  March 3, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Something Makes Him Tick: Psychology of an Ultrarunner

Running distances further than a marathon — in some cases, running distances A LOT further than a marathon — takes a certain type of character.

I believe that character is deep inside all of us, there for the unlocking.  I didn’t know I had one, and WOULD HAVE LAUGHED if you said I had one, just a couple years ago.  But now I am certain we all have it.

It just takes something to trigger it.

Like rage.  Fear.  A broken heart.

For me, it was all three.  At once.

I had just caught the running bug and my destination was: THE MARATHON.  I thought there was no finer achievement.  So I dug right in.

At the time, I was dating a girl who I really dug.  She was perfect.  Maybe I was falling in love.

She was a runner too.  She’d drawn me in to the sport actually.  She was training for her first marathon as well and her target was Chicago 2010.  I loved being with her for the build up and the excitement.  And I started thinking about what it would be like to run further than a marathon. Is it possible?  Do people hurt themselves trying?  I was really clueless that an entire world of ultrarunners even existed.

And then I found Dean Karnazes’ book, Ultramarathon Man.  I was fascinated.  And determined I would test the waters.  Some day.  Soon.

The girl thought that running more than a marathon was dangerous.  And stupid.

I didn’t say much.  I put it in my brain’s back pocket and forgot about it.

But then, exactly one week before she was to run the Chicago Marathon, on a cold October morning, she broke up with me.

I went for a run.  And on that run, I decided I was not only going to beat her marathon time (by a lot), but I was also going to tackle the ultra distances.  50 miles.  100 miles.  24 hour races.  I’m doing that shit.

That was how my switch was flipped.

And now I’m doing that.  I’m really doing it.

So much hurt has brought so much joy to my life.  I find it astoundingly ironic.

And just perfect.

Posted by  |  February 25, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments