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Rev That Racing Engine and Hope for the Best

2013 peapod half marathon jeff lungThe last time I raced to my maximum potential, I set a personal best in the half marathon. In the aftermath of that hard effort though, I also found myself crippled by the apex of bilateral Achilles tendonosis, an injury that would bury the rest of my lofty 2013 race plans and humble me to reevaluate my training.

That was six months ago.

Now I’m ready to give it another go when I toe the line this weekend at the Armadillo Dash Half Marathon in College Station, TX. I have been Boston Marathon training for ten and a half weeks now, slowly building back up to quality speed work and long, slow distance runs. I still don’t feel like I am in optimum speed running shape, but I do feel good. I feel strong. I feel focused.

And I feel like it’s time to see what I can do right now. But I also know that this feeling comes with a conscious finger hovering just above the abort button.

After my experience the last six months, my ultimate conclusion is that I would rather run slow than not run at all. To me, running is a gift. It’s a privilege. I am not guaranteed the ability to run, to have full use of my legs, to live this spry wonderlife each and every day. So each day that I get deserves my respect. If something goes wrong, I need to address it, immediately, and not just keep running anyway, just because. Like Stan Lee reminds us: “With great power comes great responsibility.”

I don’t expect to be swinging from building to building this weekend, using wrist-projected webbing and spidey sense, but I do expect to give my best race effort, using every bit of what is in the tank on that day.

Here’s to hoping I don’t run into any Green Goblins.

Or achy Achilles.

spider-man-reboot-running

Posted by  |  February 25, 2014 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Training Curveballs and Race Change-Ups

kirk gibson homerunIt’s late February. Pitchers and catchers have reported for Major League Baseball.

I owe the world a baseball metaphor.

First, the curveballs. Oh, how plentiful and how knee-buckling the curveballs have been this training cycle. Having trained through the winter for a spring marathon in the past, I was well aware that I would have to take some of my workouts indoors. I knew that I would have to fight treadmill boredom in order to get quality work. I did not know I would have to do it nearly every day.

Since I began training back in December for the Boston Marathon, 90% of my runs have taken place indoors. I have tried to get out at least once a week for a recovery or long run, but most of those workouts have been run at super slow snow picking pace. With the onslaught of sub-zero temps, knee-high snow and treacherously icy streets, I have been forced to go by heart rate, hoping that it ultimately translates to plus-fitness adaptations.

Creativity has been key on the treadmill. Trying to simulate the Boston Marathon course, while not actually going anywhere, has proved to be a difficult task, both mentally and physically. But pounding my quads with long, sustained downhills and interrupting tempo runs with three minute increments of squats, lunges and wall-sits has gotten me through much of that. So too have seven seasons of 30 Rock.

With eight and a half weeks left until race day, I feel like I still have enough time to log quality outdoor runs, but mother nature’s curveballs have definitely forced me to adapt my training plan. From a mental toughness point of view, these adaptations can only help. Besides, much of long distance racing is dealing with surprises on the fly.

As for the change-ups, I must shamefully admit my international race naivete. I knew the Mexico City Marathon registration opened in late January, but I (stupidly) didn’t think it would sell out — at least, not very quickly. Well, it did sell out. Very quickly. So in early February, when I went to sign up, I found out as much, and therefore had to opt for the half marathon version.

Damn.

I was really looking forward to 26.2 in Mexico City to cap off a week’s vacation, but the half will have to suffice, which means I will be seeking out plenty of Mexican trail running in the days leading up to the event.

(Image courtesy of Jim Street)

(Image courtesy of Jim Street)

And just like the old adage proclaims, when one door closes, another opens. So I signed up for the Evergreen Lake Ultra and a Half (51 Miles) race being held on September 14, 2014, just a few hours’ drive from Chicago. I am friends with the race directors, Kirsten Pieper and Jim Street, both of whom have already been featured here in my Minnesota Voyageur report. Not only do they represent one of the best trail running acronyms of all time with the Shady Hollow Trail Runners (SHTRs), but they are also really cool people who sold me on this race by talking about the food they serve. If home cooked grub highlighted by scores of bacon is your thing, then you won’t want to miss this awesome race. Three different distances are offered, so make sure to check them out.

Hopefully by then we will all be out of our snow boots.

Posted by  |  February 19, 2014 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Every Step a Surprise: The 2014 Groundhog Day Half Marathon Race Report

groundhog-day-bill-murray-auto-accident
You want a prediction about the weather, you’re asking the wrong Phil. I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.

-Phil, Groundhog Day

– – –

Pre-Race
Saturday, February 1, 2014

You’re running a half marathon… in Grand Rapids, Michigan… in FEBRUARY!? Um… why?!?

This is myself scolding myself during the treacherous drive along I-94 East from Chicago to my sister’s place in St. Joseph. Visibility is poor. The roads are slick. The driving is uber slow. By the end of the day, 8+ inches of snow will have dumped on western Michigan.

I want to go run in it.

Because I want a challenge, I reassure myself. Mountains of snow, polar vortexes… if you can’t beat the weather, might as well get out and live it. Right? Maybe? Hope so?

My girlfriend, Edna, is gaming for the adventure too, so I don’t feel too crazy. As someone with several hundred milers under her belt, her continued desire to explore herself through physical challenges cements the sanity of my own decision.

After a nerve wracking drive, a nice home cooked meal by my sister and an evening of playing with toddlers, Edna and I are psyched to get out in the snow and have fun ourselves. When I receive an email from a friend telling me the course conditions — that the trail is brutally tough with snow up to one’s knees in spots — we look at each other and know that we’re going to give it a go anyway. Last week we ran in circles for 6 hours in the face of 40 mph wind gusts and barbarously cold temperatures. If we could survive that (and have fun!) then running in knee deep snow shouldn’t be much worse.

We hope.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

At 5 a.m. our alarm clocks go off in smart-technology unison and we are up. I sip some coffee, eat a banana and then Edna and I eat some pie (why not?) to finish off our breakfast.

It’s 5:45 a.m. and we are on the road — one that is in much better condition than it was yesterday.

The temperature is going to stay in the low 20s with plenty of clouds overhead and *GASP*, no real accumulative snowfall is predicted. Still, knowing what we already know about the trail, we both expect to take it easy today.

An hour and twenty minutes later and we are in the John Ball parking lot, huddled among other frigid crazies waiting to catch the shuttle to the start/finish line. It arrives, we squeeze ourselves in, and by the time we make it to our destination we only have ten minutes left.

The two of us push ourselves through the crowd gathered inside the warm hospitality tent until we finally get to the check-in table and grab our bib numbers. Hurriedly, we pin one another, and venture outside just in time to hear “And they’re off!”

Loop 1
Miles 1 – 4.4

Hurry up and wait. That’s what we do. This is, after all, a race run on a paved bike trail (though you wouldn’t know it from the snow cover) and the trail isn’t exactly wide.

We are way at the back of a decadently fluorescent conga line and by the time we get to the timing mat, two minutes have gone by. I think about darting up ahead, but from the endless stream of slow moving head bobs, I know there’s no point. Might as well just take it slow until the crowd thins out.

I stick by Edna and after a quarter mile of struggling through shin and knee high snow, I accept what I already know: today is going to hurt and today is going to be slow.

YIPPEE!!!

“I think the key here is to take smaller steps,” I say to Edna. “If I take too large a stride the potential for injury is too large. I’m going to try to keep my feet under me.”

Even heeding my own advice, the potential for disaster is still there. The snow is powdery. Slippery. But it won’t pack down, not even with hundreds of runners trampling over it. It’s a snowy, ill-footed mine field.

Every step is a surprise.

We hit the first mile mark in just over 17 minutes. Holy shit.

Ned-Ryerson heckfireWith a hat-tip to the Bill Murray film, the Groundhog Day Half Marathon is a 4.4 mile loop run three times. It features mostly flat landscape with some pleasant views of the Grand River and surrounding wilderness, all of which is covered in snow and ice. Every once in a while I remind myself to look up — to actually enjoy the scenery — but most of my focus is on staying upright, requiring me to look down.

A couple of miles in and already my hips are starting to scream while my heart rate soars. It’s not every day I “run” a 17 minute mile and maintain a 160 beats per minute heart rate. As we reach the first aid station, where I fuel up on Gatorade and those delectable peanut butter pretzel bites, I feel like a rebel soldier fleeing the Empire’s invasion of Hoth.

You could use a good kiss! I think to myself. Whew, I could also use a good recliner. This is hard work!

A little more slogging later, and the crowd opens up a little. I turn to Edna, get my kiss and kick on down the snowy trail.

Down to a 15 minute mile now (HUZZAH!), I find that the footing on the back half of the course is even worse than the first half. Slip… slide… WHOA LOOKOUT… save myself… slip… slide… WHOA LOOKOUT…

A lot of things are on repeat here.

After much struggle, I find myself back at the start/finish line, only 4.4 miles into the race, in a whopping one hour, nine minutes. Yikes! Before I give in to the idea of quitting — as many ahead of me appear to be doing — I immediately turn around and get myself back out there.

Loop 2
Miles 4.4 – 8.8

Back out on the trail now, I know what to expect the rest of the way: powder, pain and suffering. At least it’s not very cold, I remind myself. And there’s no wind.

It could be worse. It could always be worse.

I will myself to remember this bit of truth. Just think about all those crazies running the full marathon!

Indeed, it could always be worse.

Right now, despite my achy hips and slow pace, life is pretty darn good. The crowd has subsided. I’m running pretty much all by myself now, passing people who’ve been slowed to a walk on occasion.

Shortly after refueling at the aid station and kicking back down the trail, my watch gleefully beeps to inform me that I am in the 13 minute mile range now.

Oh boy we’re blazin’ now!

Relatively speaking, I am moving pretty fast. Though I may look like I’m moving in slow motion, I maintain running jogging slogging pace. I only come to a walk at the aid stations.

And because I’m paying so much attention to the ground beneath me, the time seems to pass quickly. Another hour and seven minutes has passed and I find myself at the start/finish line again.

I dart out for my third and final loop with the kind of enthusiasm born from an impending completion of epic snow schlepping. And oh look, my face hurts… from smiling! Again!

She's tough, indeed, but boy is she pretty.

She’s tough, indeed, but boy is she pretty.

Loop 3
Miles 8.8 – 13.1

Beer, beer, beer… chili, chili, chili…

I’m going to hang on to whatever it takes to get through this fluffy mess, and right now, I know that concentrating on the finish line fare (and warmth!) will get me where I need to be.

I should also note that this fluffy mess seems to get worse as the day goes on, not better. If the snow were just a little more damp, perhaps it would pack down and stay down. Instead, what we get is surprise after surprise after surprise.

Just before hitting the first aid station on this last loop I notice someone close on my heels.

“Keep setting the pace, man,” says the guy behind me. I find out his name is Steve. We will share much of this last loop together. After the mental struggle of the first loop and the isolation of the second, I welcome the company and conversation.

We share our race resumes and talk about annoying injuries past. We discuss the difficulty of running a half marathon in February. In Michigan. In knee deep snow. And we both come to the conclusion that we need a beer.

“Just keep pumping your arms,” I say. Someone gave me this advice for the last 10k of my first marathon and it has stuck with me. “If you move your arms your legs will follow.”

After the last aid station, I thank all the aid station volunteers. I’m sure this has been a tough day for them too. Keeping water from freezing in sub-freezing temps and listening to cranky runners whine about the conditions probably doesn’t make for the best way to spend a Sunday, but they’re all troopers and it’s nice to hear their cheers each time we come through.

“These peanut butter pretzel balls are amazing,” I tell Steve, as I take off down the last leg of the loop. “I’ve been eating them all day. I’m ravenous. I’m starving!”

Chili, chili, chili… beer, beer, beer…

I’m coming for you!

As we reach the last turn back towards the finish line I pick up the pace and notice Steve fall back a bit. I keep going. I want to be done. I want to be warm. I want to eat and drink and–

“Hola, mi cielo!”

It’s Edna! “Hola, mi amorsita!” I yell back. She is heading out for her last loop while I finish up mine. We stop for a short embrace and she assures me she’s feeling fine. Her smile lights up the trail like always and I can’t wait for her to get back so we can both be warm, rested and DONE. “I will drink some beer and eat some chili for you,” I tell her.

“Very good,” she says ironically (Edna doesn’t drink) before taking off through the snow.

Stuck in cheesy smile mode, I run the last 200 meters to the finish, coming across the line in a whopping 3 hours, 18 minutes, 51 seconds, a time more reflective of my recent 26.2 mile races. Exhilarated and gassed, I head straight for the hospitality tent.

Post-Race

I can’t see!

Seriously, I can’t. I’m snow blind. Some kind soul directs me through the crowd of exhausted runners to collect my finisher’s medal. Once my eyes adjust I am able to see just how bad ass this piece of hardware is. Heavy and profound, the medal features a dancing groundhog in relief and I put it around my neck, where it will stay until I get home.

For the next hour and a half I camp out next to the New Holland kegs and sip The Poet until my equilibrium requires me to eat some chili to rebound. I talk to a bunch of strangers. I share war stories with other finishers. I’m about as happy as can be.

Edna finally comes through and we hug each other, celebrating our mental toughness victories.

“Wow, that was hard!” she says.

“Yep. Yep it was. That was crazy hard.”

But we did it. We stuck it out.

We chose to be here and we knew what we were getting into. We knew we’d escape with a story worth telling — one that would leave us starving and snow blind and smiling.

You can’t get this sort of experience on the couch. You gotta take a leap and learn to adapt. That’s life right there. That’s what keeps it interesting.

And interesting never gets old.

Posted by  |  February 5, 2014 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Slushy, Slick and Slow: The 2014 Frozen Gnome 50k Race Report

Jeff Lung 2014 Frozen Gnome 50k Butt Slide Hill

   (Having a blast down “Butt Slide Hill”; Photo by Scott Laudick, http://runnerpics.smugmug.com/)

Just get to Butt Slide Hill, just get to Butt Slide Hill, just get to Butt Slide Hill…

No me dejes nunca, nunca, nunca… te lo PIIIIIIIIIIIDO por favor…

Soup, soup, soup… hot… soup, soup, soup…

No doubt the above is an odd collection of unrelated thoughts turned mantras. But these, along with some choice others, were the phrases that kept me moving throughout my 7 hour 9 minute journey through frosty McHenry County wonderland at the 2014 Frozen Gnome 50k. This is my story:

Saturday, January 11, 2014
Pre-Race
5:00 a.m.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Boom. I’m awake. I can smell the coffee brewing.

I jump to my feet and shove a couple of bananas and a Clif Bar down my throat while I check the weather. A night of freezing rain descended on the Veterans Acres course and the high for today looks like it will crest above 40. This is good news, or this is bad news.

So far this winter, over 30 inches of snow have accumulated in the Chicagoland area and with the Polar Vortex treating us to negative high temperatures just a few days ago, I’m feeling quite joyous about not having to risk hypothermia and frostbite during this race. However, above freezing temps and lots of rain will likely make the already challenging, hilly course a roller coaster of slushy, slick and slow surprises.

Good.

I love surprises.

7:30 a.m.

My girlfriend and I arrive at Veteran Acres in Crystal Lake, IL and we both take note of the pleasant, warm air. But as soon as we try to navigate the parking lot turned ice rink, we immediately connect on what kind of adventure is in store for us today.

“We’re going to have to take it easy,” I say, “we’ll be just one spill away from six weeks in a walking boot.”

We pick up our bib numbers and greet the swarms of friendly faces near the start line. This event, hosted by our dear friends from the McHenry County Ultrarunning Dudes and Dudettes (M.U.D.D.) group, has attracted runners from all over the Chicago area. And like other ultra races held around here, the sense of love, joy and community is in high definition surround sound.

I greet race director Michele Hartwig and course director, Geoff Moffat, both with a hearty hug followed by a questioning grin.

“I think we’re in for quite a test today,” I say.

Geoff’s sinister chuckle validates my thought.

The 10k’ers go off, hopefully packing down the snow-slush trail for us on the way.

15 minutes later and…

We’re off!!!

Loop 1, Miles 1 – 6.2

My game plan for today is to go out nice and easy, survey the course the first time around and adjust my effort accordingly. I’m in Boston training mode, so everything I do right now is in preparation for that. Today I expect to get some gnarly hill and mental toughness training; and I would like to keep my heart rate around 150 bpm, so I’ll be keeping a close watch.

The course is a 10k loop, repeated 5 times, so I should know it (possibly love it, or hate it) very well by the end.

The initial findings in my constant mind-body-mind feedback loop are: oh boy, this is a toughie, what have I gotten myself into?

The snow is packed down in spots, not so much in others. The ongoing thaw has created a perpetually messy slush-soup in some parts and when we hit the occasional paved paths it’s nothing short of an ice rink. Oh, and then there are the hills — steep climbs that force me to dig in hard with the fat lugs on my Salomon Speedcross 3s on the way up and cautiously pick away through an admittedly odd looking dance on the way down.

I prepare my mind for the impending hip flexor hurt and subsequent butt soreness.

Traffic on the trail is moving pretty well. I am in a group of steady movers who, like me, seem to be striving to go home in one piece. Everything is going swell until suddenly, at the crest of a long climb, we stop. Completely.

“What’s going on?” I ask to those up ahead.

“Butt Slide Hill,” I hear someone holler back.

I poke my head out from the congested conga line to see a group of runners stopped in their slushy tracks, unsure of how to navigate down the frighteningly steep descent. Their facial expressions say they aren’t sure, so I cut the line and head straight to the front.

“It’s not called ‘Butt Slide Hill’ for nothin’,” I say as I scoot to my backside and slide — WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! — all the way down.

Wow. That. Was. AWESOME.

I rise to my feet, and despite the snow filling my crack, I can’t stop from laughing.

“That was worth the price of registration alone,” I say to a runner close behind. “And to think, we get to do that four more times!!!”

A couple of miles later and my smile finally starts to wane as the thick slush soaking and freezing my feet reminds me that I have a lot of work to do, and a long way to go.

But I reach the start/finish line to a raucous cheer from a familiar cast of friends and volunteers. I fill my bottle, grab some grub and head back out for more punishment.

Loop 2, Miles 6.2 – 12.4

I walk fast while chomping down on some delicious cookies and notice my heart rate hovering around 140, even while walking. So far I have been successful in keeping my heart rate in the 150 range while running. I only wish it would drop a bit more when going slow. When I tackle any hill it seems to soar around 160-170.

I contemplate this, as well as the recipe to these scrumptious cookies, when suddenly I hear “What the–?” from behind. I turn back to see Jeff Moss, a friendly runner (with an awesome name) whom I met at the 2013 DPRT 50. He seems surprised to have caught me so early in the race.

“Oh no, it’s going to be slow-going for me today,” I assure him. “I want to go home in one piece.”

For the entirety of this loop, Jeff and I run together, sometimes talking, sometimes not, but always moving. We chat about races past and those to come. I am impressed with Jeff’s running resume, especially that he’s going to take on his first 100 miler this spring at the Potawatami 100.

“You definitely have the bug, don’t you? The racing bug.” I say.

“Oh yes, definitely.”

As we climb up towards the peak of Butt Slide Hill for the second time, I look back to see I’m first in a long line of runners. Eager to lead by good example, I excitedly drop down on my butt and — WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! — zoom down the hill.

I stop at the bottom, but again, I can’t stop laughing. I feel like a goofy kid drunk off life.

A couple miles of more slogging and we’re back at the start/finish line. This time there are cinnamon rolls! YES!

Loop 3, Miles 12.4 – 18.6

I start back out on my own, but it doesn’t take long for Jeff to catch up to me again. I welcome the company, even when the trail forces us to concentrate hard on staying upright, leading to limited conversation. It’s just nice to know that if I fall and snap my femur, someone will be there to help me up.

The loop is getting to be familiar now. Up this hill, down that one. Around this snow bank, zig-zagging over that one. Ankle high sloppy slush through this multi-track, cross country skiing with trail shoes through that one.

Every once in a while we are greeted by smiling course marshals and a ringing cow bell. It’s all becoming as familiar to me now as the rising ache in my butt.

“I’m getting beat up,” Jeff says.

“Me too. Me. Too.”

We reach the start/finish line and I head right for my drop bag and a much needed Red Bull. Friend and volunteer Julie Bane offers me some hot soup and I take it as fast as I can.

Ahhhhh… yes. It warms my soul as much as my gut.

“Wow, this soup is delicious, Julie,” I say. “It doesn’t necessarily pair well with the Red Bull, but man, did I need that!”

As I stand around my drop bag slurping soup and Red Bull, I contemplate a sock and shoe change. After 18+ miles of stomping through snow and slush, my feet are frozen bricks, and the more I stand around, the colder they get. It might be nice to have dry feet, I think to myself, but as soon as I get back on the trail they will go right back to being cold and soaking wet.

I’m better off just dealing with it.

So I do.

Loop 4, Miles 18.6 – 24.8

Jeff passes me as we head out for this loop and his backside quickly disappears from my view. That’s the last time I will see him until the finish line.

“Go get ’em, Jeff!” I yell, mostly to myself, because he is too far away to hear.

I put my head down, pump my arms and force myself to just… keep… moving.

My heart rate is hovering around 155-160 now and it’s getting harder and harder to bring it down. Each hill I climb sends it to 170 and beyond, and even when I slow to a fast hike I find it difficult to get below 150. I guess this is because THIS RACE IS HARD.

WOW!

Up the hills, down the hills, up the hills, down the hills.

It’s a hard course, but beautiful, no doubt. I am all alone on this loop and the surrounding forest keeps me entertained with its eery quiet and comforting, wintery surprises.

I hit Butt Slide Hill again, chuckling all the way down, and when I find myself back at the start/finish line, volunteer extraordinaire Karen Shearer greets me with a beaming smile and more hot soup.

I really don’t want to leave the comforts of the start/finish area. My feet are bricks. My hip flexors are screaming. My butt aches. Heck, it’s taken me five and a half hours to complete 40k, cementing the idea that this will be my slowest 50k finish ever, in the seven hour plus range. But race director Michele said she brought my favorite post-race grub, her famous taco soup, and I would feel guilty filling up on that treasure without having finished the race, so I put on my big-boy smile and get the hell back out there.

Loop 5, Miles 24.8 – 31

The biggest difference between this loop and the previous four is the fact that I’m doing a LOT of walking now, even on the flats. Also, I’m singing. To be specific, I’m singing “Te Lo Pido, Por Favor”, a song that has been stuck in my head for a couple of weeks now. Since I’m all alone and suffering, I’m even singing three different versions (Juan Gabriel, Banda El Recodo and my favorite, Marc Anthony) at the top of my lungs.

Tu me sabes bien guiar, tu me sabes bien cuidar…

Oh man, my butt hurts.

Good grief my feet are cold. I could use some taco soup right about now. Yes, soup… hot soup, soup, soup…

Whew. Wow. I’m gonna suggest to the course director THAT HE MAKE THIS RACE A LITTLE TOUGHER NEXT TIME.

Just get to Butt Slide Hill, just get to Butt Slide Hill, just get to Butt Slide Hill…

I get to Butt Slide Hill and now I know, yes, it’s… all downhill from here. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

At the bottom of the hill, resting on my back, I just smile. And laugh. Sure I’m sore. Sure I ache. Sure my feet are frigidly cold.

But is there anything else you’d rather be doing today?

Hell. No.

And with that, I’m up running again. I’m running slow, using an exaggerated arm pump to convince myself I’m running faster than I really am, but I am running.

Hot soup, soup, soup.

Te lo pido, por favor.

As I reach the finish line to cheering voices, my eyes grow large with with the type of joy only arduous adventure can provide. Somehow the sun, an entity that has laid dormant throughout the entire day, comes out to shine, as if to say:

“Welcome to the finish line, Jeff. Now get yer ass some taco soup.”

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Posted by  |  January 17, 2014 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Distances Obscene In 2014?

jeff lung racing rocky

While I patiently wait for the Polar Vortex to subside so mother nature can give me a cleaner, safer surface on which to train, I continue to battle the elements the best I can. I’m approaching the end of my fourth week of Boston Marathon training and about half of my runs thus far have been on a treadmill.

Physically, I feel great. My body is working well. As I slowly build my endurance, I am getting regular sports massage, with lots of attention placed on those cranky calves. All systems are go for Boston right now, and while I continue to be conservative in my training, I still dream of running a sub-3 race come April 21, 2014.

That’s my “A” goal. That’s the dream of dreams, as it has been and will continue to be until I finally make that dream a reality.

But there is no denying that my conservative training approach (at least for now), may make running 6:50 pace for 26.2 miles on a challenging course more difficult than I’d hoped. Right now my speed workouts — hampered by sub-freezing temps and rusty legs — haven’t been ideal. The turnover is there, the leg and core strength is there, but the cardiovascular system has a long way to go to keep up with my demands. With 14 weeks of training left, I’m not sweatin’ it. I am going to give it my all on Patriot’s Day regardless, and that, ultimately, is all that counts.

But what about after Boston?

Yes, indeed, the time has come, my friends. In 2014 I aim to complete my first 100 mile race. The Pinhoti 100, on November 1, in Heflin, Alabama, will be the scene. Lots of New Leaf and M.U.D.D. friends will be there. I’m hoping to get my dad down there. Siamak the Beast has agreed to pace me. I’m ready to go further than I’ve ever gone before, mentally and physically.

Every race I run from now until April 21 will be training for Boston, and every race I run post-Boston will be in preparation for the hundo.

Here is my tentative race plan:

January 11 – The Frozen Gnome 50k
My good friends from the McHenry County Ultrarunning Dudes and Dudettes (M.U.D.D.) put on great events and this one looks to be no different. 30 inches of snow accumulation so far this winter? Freezing rain? Hills galore? Bring on the suffering!

February 2 – The Groundhog Day Half Marathon
4-ish mile loopty loops in bone-chilling, snow covered Grand Rapids, Michigan? Like Phil said: I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.

March 2 – The Armadillo Dash Half Marathon
As one who seeks out opportunities where travel and racing can be combined, I found what looks to be a quaint half marathon in College Station, TX about a 40-minute drive from my dad’s place. And while Texas temps in March may not be tropical, they are almost certain to be warmer than anything I’ll find in the Chi.

April 21 – The Boston Marathon
No subtext necessary.

May 10 – Ice Age 50k
After the ass kickin’ I got last year, this is my 2014 revenge race. With some better planning and a good understanding of the course, I am hoping to go under 5 hours this time around.

July 18-19 – Christmas in July 24 Hour
What better way to prepare myself for my first hundred than running in circles for 24 hours? This race, put on by some friends of mine from the New Leaf club, is in my suburban backyard (Lisle, IL) and promises to be one heck of a fiesta. It’s on pavement. It’s on a short, one mile loop course. I’m looking forward to a post-race Frankenstein walk like I’ve never had before.

August 31 – The Mexico City Marathon
One of my best friends lives in Mexico City. I’m in love with a Mexican. The Mexico City Marathon, at 5000 feet of elevation, offers a scenic, challenging course. ¿Cómo no voy a correrlo? ¡Que onda, güey!

October 12 – The Chicago Marathon
Running my fourth straight Chicago Marathon proves to be the lone wild card in my 2014 schedule. Rumor (and history) suggests that this race is soon going to move to a lottery selection. I HOPE NOT! I remain hopeful that the registration process will be open like it has been. My steadfast ninja fingers are prepared to click forward the $170+ dollars as fast as they possibly can. For me, the biggest test with Chicago this year will be running it as a training run as opposed to balls-to-the-wall redlining.

November 1 – The Pinhoti 100
The holy grail. The heavy hitter. The big kahuna. For the greater part of 2014, my heart, and perhaps more literally my legs, will be focused on traversing 100 miles in one shot, for the very first time. And while I do feel a bit funny about throwing myself into a 100 miler that doesn’t even have a website (I’m told it is currently under construction), I have been assured by my friends — most importantly, Siamak, who ran it as his first hundred in 2012 — that this race is as challenging as it is breathtaking. I’m hoping it’s more breathtaking in the metaphorical sense, though in a 100 mile race it seems like there will certainly be some moments were even taking a breath seems impossible.

I don’t know.

But I’ll see.

Because THAT — the unknown, the adventure, the THRILL of it all — is what makes running long so worthwhile, fulfilling and fun!

Posted by  |  January 9, 2014 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

2013: A Year of Patience, Perseverance and Perspective

2013 pic
After a 2012 that saw me break beaucoup barriers and dream of crossing the marathon finish line with a 2-hour-something time, it would be easy to assume that 2013 was a letdown year for me. I didn’t come close to my goal time for 26.2. I suffered through a long recovery from ITBS. I got a nasty case of Achilles tendonitis.

But just like in any other discourse, life is what you make it.

So, positively speaking:

I started my own business.

I negative split the marathon for the first time while simultaneously experiencing triumph through tragedy.

I played in the woods with my friends.

I paced two other friends in two different but equally epic 100 mile races: Kettle Moraine 100 and the iconic, granddaddy of them all, Western States 100.

Despite the heavy rain and relentless terrain, I answered the bell for all 50 miles of the Minnesota Voyageur and had a kickass time doing it.

I PR’d the half marathon in one of my favorite local races.

I played in the woods with my friends, again.

I was reminded to be grateful for what I have, to live in the moment, to enjoy every second of life as it comes.

I volunteered at the Earth Day 50k, the Des Plaines River Trail 50 Miler and the inaugural Naperville Marathon, perfecting the art of cowbell ringing in one hand while handing out aid with the other.

I had another race report published in Ultrarunning Magazine (October issue).

I spent hours and hours pounding pavement, traversing trails, meditating through movement.

And I fell in love.

Thank you, 2013. My graciously heartfelt smile remains from ear to ear.

Happy New Year!

DPRT 50 finish line 2013

Posted by  |  December 31, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Awesomeness of Nothingness

laozi daoist philosophy
In college, I was fascinated with Daoist philosophy. In particular, the idea of action by way of non-action enchanted me. I was so taken with the concept that I chased the existential carrot all the way to its birthplace in China, and ended up spending several years there trying to figure it all out.

I failed.

Action by non-action. Seeing without seeing. Hearing without hearing. Hmm… Yoda voice you hear now.

Though these were ideas I projected on my ideal self, I never really grasped what the philosophy was trying to say. I was never able to bear the fruits of practice because I was too overwhelmed by precariousness, status and “stuff”.

Many years have passed and thankfully, I can say I matured. I settled down. I chilled out.

Mediation, or the simple practice of sitting in comfortable silence, calming the mind, has improved my mental health beyond what I ever thought possible. So, if it works for the mind, it should work for the body, right?

RIGHT!

After the Chicago Marathon, I took three full weeks off from running and instead focused on light strength workouts and the occasional sparring session. Once my heels started to feel better, I let myself run whenever I felt like it, for as long as I felt necessary, at whatever speed felt comfortable.

For the month of November, that philosophy translated to 2-3 short runs a week, with only one run over 5 miles the entire month. The result of this rest was an energized, healthy, eager me, ready to focus on the next big race.

I also dedicated a lot of my rest time to running without running. Volunteering, spectating, cheering. I own a bodacious cowbell. Staying involved within the community and being an active part of the success of others definitely helped rekindle my passion for the sport. Plus I got to make some new friends and see new places during the process.

nyc marathon 2013

(Mile 7 of the NYC Marathon, Brooklyn)

This month I have begun to ease back into a familiar running routine, gradually building in distance and in speed, careful not to do too much too soon. So far, it is working. I feel great. I feel focused.

And I will begin training for the Boston Marathon in earnest on December 16.

The 2014 Boston friggin’ Marathon. Wow. The idea of running this historic race never loses its sexiness. And I think we all know that this year is going to be even more special.

boston marathon finish line 2013

Posted by  |  December 12, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Now What?

11605268Rest.

November is my time to rest.

Of course, by “rest”, I don’t mean zero physical activity. I mean that, for me, November is a good time to rest from all heavy, goal-focused training.

It’s been almost three weeks since I ran the Chicago Marathon and I still haven’t returned to running. My Achilles heels are feeling WAY better and I intend to give them a little more time to heal fully before getting back to a regular pavement pounding routine.

This time off from running has allowed me to focus more on boxing again, so I’ve been spending lots of time on the stationary bike, beating the heavy bag and working with sparring partners. Not too long ago I was considering competing in the masters division for the Golden Gloves tournament this coming spring; but some unfinished business with the marathon and a sexy race in Boston have convinced me to put off those aspirations until 2015 and get back to the marathon training grind, starting this December. Until then, I’m looking forward to some fun, relaxed sweet science sessions padded by the occasional adventure run.

This weekend I’m putting the two passions together as I take in the Golovkin v. Stevens fight at Madison Square Garden, followed by spectating the New York City Marathon around mile 7 in Brooklyn on Sunday. Nothing gets me motivated like being in the presence of champions, and the streets of New York will be full of them on November 3rd.

Posted by  |  October 31, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Humble Pie on the Fly: The 2013 Chicago Marathon Race Report

No matter how bad I feel a run or race went, there is always a part of running where I am smiling from ear to ear. If running can keep me smiling like that, it will always be a part of my life.

—Ali Tremaine

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Running through Chinatown during the 2013 Chicago Marathon.

I put a lot of pressure on myself to make 2013 the year I accomplished my ultimate marathon goal of running under three hours. In doing so I developed chronic Achilles tendonitis and spent a lot of time on the bike, neither of which got me any closer to my goal.

In the three weeks leading up to the Chicago Marathon, it became very clear that sub-3 was not going to happen on October 13. I made peace with that, and hung on to the hope that I could fight my way to a 3:10 finish.

The running gods, in all their ironic glory, would have a little something to say about that.

Sunday, October 13, 2013
4:30 a.m.

It’s race morning and I’ve been up since I went to bed. Did I ever sleep? Not really. And all this tossing and turning through the night has left me achy, nervous and cranky. I better eat.

A banana, a bagel and a half a cup of coffee later, and I feel much better. Being up on my feet and totally awake now has slowed the constant loop of worry that was going through my head: Will my heels hold up? Am I fit enough for the distance? Have I set myself up for failure?

Now it’s just a matter of going through my regular routine and getting to the start line.

6:00 a.m.

It’s a tad chilly, but perfect for running. I suspect the temperature is hovering around 50 degrees, and though I’m wearing sweats while I wait for the corrals to open, I have to keep moving to keep warm.

I got here early, in anticipation of large crowds and heightened security, and now all I can do it is wait. And think.

My game plan for today is to start with the 3:10 pace team and just stick with them through 20 miles, then see what happens. Over the last several days, I have convinced myself I can indeed run a 3:10 marathon despite not having done any speed work since mid-September. I have convinced myself that my long hours in the gym and muscle memory from races past will be enough to propel me towards the finish line at 7 minutes, 15 seconds per mile.

I mean, c’mon, it’s 7:15 pace. That’s easy.

Oh Mr. Confidence, sometimes you can be a sly, deceiving little punk.

7:00 a.m.

I’ve hit the head four times now, so surely there’s nothing left. I make my way to A Corral and slip myself into the warm-up loop circling with svelte, uber fast specimens. After a couple of revolutions, I see John Kiser and immediately say hello.

My newly coiffed mohawk must be throwing him because he squints and tilts his head to the side questioningly.

“Hi, John, it’s me, Jeff.” I say.

“Yes! Hi! How are ya?”

“Well…”

We both give each other the look. The look is: I don’t really know but we’re gonna find out soon.

A few days ago, I emailed John, a friend I met through the New Leaf and M.U.D.D. groups, to see if he would be leading the 3:10 Nike Pace team as he has done in years past. He assured me he was, but that he had been dealing with some aggravating tendonitis in his knee that may limit his abilities. Of course, I told him about my Achilles tendonitis, and we bonded as only extremely competitive, marathon maniacs on the mend are wont to do.

Now, here we are, just a few minutes from the start, exchanging the look with nervous undertones disguised as light conversation.

“Did you see the Bradley/Marquez fight last night?” I asked.

“Nah, did you see the Michigan/Penn State game?”

We carry conversation to quell the anticipation.

Joined by John are two other pacers, Dale and Brian — both skinny and fast, looking the part. I remind myself to just tuck in with these guys and hold on. Whatever happens, happens.

The elites are introduced, the Star Spangled Banner is sung, a fly over misses its mark and then…

WE’RE OFF!

Miles 1-7.5

Um… why is it so quiet? I think to myself.

Ordinarily, the beginning of the Chicago Marathon is a raucous roar of people down Columbus Drive. But due to the increased security measures brought on by two lunatics earlier this year, no spectators have been allowed at this traditionally jam-packed part of the course. And it sucks.

As my legs move underneath my feet and the pace set by our leaders begins to set in, the eery quiet makes me think: Oh boy, we got a looooong way to go. And this might be too much.

Doubt. I knew it would pop up eventually. It usually does and I’m usually ready for it. But I didn’t expect it to pop up before we reach the first mile marker.

When I began marathoning, a wise runner told me to “always respect the distance.” Running 26.2 miles is never easy. The distance makes sure of that. So running it at a particular, fast pace is never easy either. To think that I’ve reached a level where I can just go through the motions to accomplish what I consider a relatively speedy finish is as dangerous as it is foolish.

Respect the distance, or it will beat your ass.

Pretty sure today is gonna be one of those ass beatin’ days, regardless.

After the symphony of Garmin beeps signals the first mile, I look down to see I never even started my watch. Oh, nice move, Jeff.

All the more reason to stick with John, Dale and Brian.

Our group is probably 15-20 people but I can’t tell for sure because we are all spread out, still trying to get through the early maze of runners bunched.

As we approach Lincoln Park around mile 5, I realize I haven’t looked up from the ground hardly at all. I am so intent on staying with the pace group that the only way I feel comfortable is by not paying attention to everything around me. In some ways, this is a shame, because the Chicago Marathon is one of the most supported races I’ve ever run, with exuberant crowds lining the streets. It’s also a fantastic tour of the city I love so much. But today I am giving up aesthetics for performance, and right now all I can do to hang on is watch the feet in front of me.

Surprisingly, I feel pretty good.

In fact, 7.5 miles in and I’m still feeling pretty good. Except… I have to pee.

Miles 7.5-13

It must be nerves still because I’ve never peed so many times just before a race. Plus, other than a half cup of coffee, I haven’t had anything to drink since 7 p.m. last night!

Too bad, bladder. I’m not stopping.

I can’t believe I’m holding pace as well as I am right now. If I stop to pee I’ll never catch up.

As we zip through Boystown and the rest of Lakeview, our even split pace and building camaraderie in the 3:10 group is enough to silence my bladder. As long as I concentrate on staying with the pacers, I am able to forget about what ails me. Watching Dale’s feet — one step in front of the other, over and over and over again — has hypnotized me into a time trance. I’m totally focused on breathing and breathing alone.

The miles go by. The crowds continue to cheer. I’m completely oblivious.

This holds true until we reach the halfway mark about 30 seconds faster than goal pace. The celebrations within our group wake me from my trance, just as both Achilles remind me they are not having much fun.

Miles 13-17

I knew I was gonna take a beating, I was just hoping it wouldn’t be this soon into the race. But it is.

Keeping pace isn’t so much of an issue, but keeping pace with the annoyance of Achilles pain is. With each compounded step I can feel the calcaneal bursa sacs rubbing against the back of my shoes — tender and inflamed. I try to convince myself that it will all go away, but I’m not as stupid as I think I am, and the convincing doesn’t succeed.

This is where I should be sucking it up. This is where I should be lowering my head and digging deep.

Instead, this is where I begin to think about alternative goals.

But why!?! some part of my conscience interjects. You’re right with the 3:10 group. You’re fine! Just keep going! You can rest your heels when you’re done!

Every time this voice encourages me, its mirror opposite gets in the way:

You’re not in 3:10 shape, dude. You’re not gonna make it. Just take it easy. No use fighting. You’re gonna conk out any minute now. Just wait and see.

Back and forth they go, those voices in my head.

Don’t lose the group!

     You’re gonna lose the group.

Don’t listen to that asshole!

    This asshole wants you to be able to walk tomorrow.

As the argument builds, so too do my efforts to stay with the group. It becomes increasingly difficult with each step. The latter asshole voice gets louder. Still, I hang on.

Until…

Mile 17-23

Everythiiiiiiiing sloooooooooooows dooooooooooooooooowwwwwwn.

Boom. Just like that. The wheels fall off and there is no question: 3:10 pace is too much.

Yes, my heels hurt, but it’s not my heels that shut me down, it’s my cardiovascular system.

My body has had enough of that pace and it refuses to go any further unless I slow it down. Every muscle, every breath is against running another step at that pace.

Before giving in completely, I put forth one last valiant effort to catch back up to the 3:10 team now quickly disappearing before my eyes and… I… struggle… to…

Fuck it. Just not gonna happen today.

I take about 30 seconds to feel sorry for myself, to wallow in my shattered hopes. And then I recall Ali Tremaine’s words:

No matter how bad I feel a run or race went, there is always a part of running where I am smiling from ear to ear.

Hot damn, yes! That’s the perspective I was looking for! Mentally, I put on my big boy pants, hold myself a little taller, and keep on moving.

I’m still RUNNING! In the CHICAGO MARATHON! And all these strangers are cheering for me, so let’s go!

Suddenly 8:30 pace doesn’t feel so bad, in fact, it feels GREAT!

I go through Pilsen on 18th street screaming “Viva Mexico!”

I turn right onto Halsted and high five my buddy Omar.

I turn left onto Archer and stop to give my girlfriend a great big hug and kiss.

Before I get to Chinatown, I stop to take a piss.

Feeling infinitely better now that my bladder is empty, I charge down Wentworth, tucked in close to the crowd for support, smiling ear to ear.

At mile 23 I see my friend Alison, so I stop to give her a big hug, and now I’m really feeling good. Well, I’m feeling as good as a fatigued, wonky-heeled runner with 23 miles in his legs can feel.

I’m still movin’ ain’t I!?!?

Miles 23-26.2

Ah, yes, here we are on the home stretch down Michigan Avenue. This part of the race sure does feel different knowing that I won’t accomplish my goal for the day, but the warmth from the enthusiastic crowd cheering me regardless and the perfectly blue skies above remind me that I am indeed lucky to be where I am right now.

Be glad you can run, period.

I am.

And eat some humble pie, dude. 

I will.

Enjoy the last few miles to the finish.

Absolutely. I make eye contact with volunteers. I high five random kids. I smile big and cheesy.

Then someone pinches my butt.

WHAT THE–

I turn around to see it’s John, my pacer friend. Apparently his knee issues came up and slowed him down too. But he’s smiling! And moving relatively well (faster than me) as he darts on by.

“Wasn’t expecting a butt pinch 2 miles from the finish line, John, but I’ll take it!” I yell as he speeds on by.

I laugh to myself all the way to Mt. Roosevelt before I make the last left turn towards the finish line. It’s a good day after all. It’s a good day indeed.

3 hours and 20 minutes after I took off on this journey, I am humbled and finally done.

One minute later, I have a beer in my hand.

Two minutes later, I’m thinking about the next marathon.

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Post-Race

A very wise person once told me that I should learn something from every race, regardless of the outcome. Well, I learned a whole lot in this one.

I learned that, just like anything else in life, a race is what you make of it. If you want to feel sorry for yourself and miss the beauty of reality, then that’s on you. Attitude is paramount. And with the right perspective, one can truly find joy, even in defeat.

I also learned that it’s okay to give myself a break every once in a while. Setting goals and being productive towards achieving them is great, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of my health.

But most of all, I was reminded that running is what matters for me. It’s not speed, not distance. It’s not splits or weather or terrain.

It’s running.

Running brings me to the state of now.

And that’s where I always want to be.

Posted by  |  October 21, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Rolling with the Punches and Marathon Week!

Huffing and puffing en route to a 3:03 finish at the 2012 Chicago Marathon.

Extreme focus en route to a 3:03 finish at the 2012 Chicago Marathon.

The pugilistic metaphors runneth still.

BEHOLD! My all-time favorite round of boxing from my all-time favorite fight:


The moral of the story, of course, is: you can knock a guy down, (sometimes more than once, in the same round!), but you can’t take away his desire to keep moving forward, despite all odds against him — especially if he’s a stubborn bull like the late great Diego “Chico” Corrales.

I will certainly channel my inner Chico as I take to the streets running my hometown Chicago Marathon this coming Sunday, October 13. I may be screeching with each step; but I’m going to keep moving forward as long as I can, head down, arms pumping.

The truth is, my Achilles tendonitis, while a little bit better than what it was three weeks ago, is still keeping me from feeling my best. I haven’t been able to run much at all without stiffness and pain since late August, and I’ve resolved myself to just going out and having a good time Sunday. The main goal will be to simply revel in the greatness that is this world class event. I will look for my friends along the way, throw out lots of high fives and remember how good life has been (and continues to be) to me.

Right now my plan is to line up with the first 3:10 pace team. That even-split finish time calculates to a 7 minute 15 second mile for the duration — a much more accessible pace than the 6:50 mile I was training for (and hitting!) earlier this summer. Hopefully I can hang with the group up until 10k to go, then decide to either stay with them or take off on my own (heels allowing).

Of course, a very real possibility exists that even a 7:15 pace won’t be tolerated by my under-performing heels and now under-trained cardiovascular system. It’s quite possible that I’ll blow up or will have to dog it much earlier in the race. But just like Chico, as long as my legs still work and my heart still beats, nothing is going to keep me from crossing that finish line.

So as the city of Chicago buzzes with the excitement of marathon week and a hearty welcome towards enthusiastic athletes arriving from all across the world…

LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!!!

Posted by  |  October 9, 2013 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments