Running up, over and through the cogs

Latest

DNF’d and Dealing With It

The running gods giveth, and the running gods taketh away.

One thing I easily forget as I tally up personal bests and races of a lifetime is that no one is immune to the possibility of failure.  And that definitely includes me.

Unfortunately, accepting that reality doesn’t make the process any easier on my mind (or body).

I signed up for the Des Plaines River Trail 50 Mile race just a few days prior to the Chicago Marathon.  I did it for several reasons, all of which now, in retrospect, seem foolish.  In fact, I’m a bit embarrassed by admitting as much and I’ve seriously contemplated just skipping over the reporting aspect of this race experience all together, thinking that if I don’t acknowledge my failure then it will just quietly go away.

WRONG.

Life ain’t always champagne and chocolate.  Sometimes it’s Old Style and pork rinds.  And it’s best to just accept as much, learn from it, then move on to the next thing before you’re uncontrollably drunk and smell like pig.

Fear of missing out (FOMO as I’ve heard it called) played a primary role in my signing up for this race.  Focusing on road marathons is sometimes a lonely place for me because most of my friends in the running community are focusing on the longer distances (50 miles, 100 miles, etc).  We go on weekend camping trips to run/pace the big distances.  No one packs the car up and makes an epic trip out of running a road marathon.  And running a 3:03 in a road marathon is great and all, but it’s still only enough for 1,049th place in a mega race, whereas a fast time in an ultra will likely bring a top-10 finish and accolades galore from my peers.

(Of course, as I write this, I realize just how bogus such a mentality is.  WHY ARE YOU RUNNING, JEFF?  Get the hell outta here, dude…)

Having spent the summer witnessing a collection of great performances from my friends (Supergirl’s Hallucination 100 win, my friends’ epic Run Across Illinois, Siamak’s Woodstock 50, Whitney’s Howl at the Moon victory, among many others), I could not help but get wrapped up in what everybody else is doing while easily forgetting my own personal strengths and weaknesses.  One of those weaknesses — recovery time from a road marathon — would end up killing my race.

I don’t know the exact reason, but it takes me a good three weeks to fully recover from a road marathon.  I tend to run road marathons as hard as I can, and even though the residual soreness goes away in a day or two, the lingering effects of fatigue and lowered performance remain.  In the two weeks after the Chicago Marathon, I had a hard time maintaining an 8:30 pace.  Each run labored into a jog — some even a slog — and a dull ache in my lateral right knee developed, most likely from a tight IT band, something I’ve been aware of and trying to fix for some time.

Even with all of this knowledge, I still thought all I needed was a few days of rest to clear everything up, so I took the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday before DPRT off completely.  No running.

But perhaps the worst part of my lead-up to a DNF was the cocky mentality I had going in.  Despite the aforementioned fatigue, the aforementioned achy knee and the aforementioned FOMO, I still had it in my head that I could run a very fast 50 miles.  The Des Plaines River Trail course is flat.  It is fast.  And based on my recent marathon time and a few delusional minutes plugging numbers into the McMillan Pace Calculator, I figured a 7-hour 50 miler was definitely doable.

And sure enough, as I started out on Saturday morning, all systems were go.  The rest had left me feeling fresh.  Holding an 8 minute pace seemed easy.  The trail was perfect and the day was beautiful.  Who knows, I thought, could be something special.

But by mile 5 my right knee was aching.  By mile 10 it was throbbing.  By mile 15 it was hobbling.

Yet, I kept pushing on.  WHY!?!?

I had never DNF’d before.  And I always told myself the only reason I would ever DNF is if I was injured.  Well, there I was, obviously injured, and yet I still couldn’t convince my stupid self to hang it up.  The thought kept coming, but I kept shooing it out, thinking that if I just ignored it (and the knee pain) that it would eventually go away.

It did not.  In fact, by the 20 mile mark, my stride had shortened considerably to compensate, and people started passing me.

At the 24 mile mark, I could barely walk.  My knee wouldn’t bend.  It was stiff as a board, and throbbing.

I walked/hobbled the 2.5 miles to Aid Station number 9, and as I approached, I knew that I was going to have to do the one thing I never wanted to do.  I dropped from the race.

I haven’t had much of a love life in the last five years, but I still couldn’t help but notice the irony that exists in relationships as well as my favorite activity.  Sometimes the thing (or person) you love the most, is the very thing (or person) that will hurt you the most.  Not being able to run is my biggest fear.  But I also know that sometimes, in order to avoid long-lasting, devastating damage that would keep me from running, that taking some time off is the only remedy.

The time spent in the back of the sweeper van allowed me to reflect on this.  And I made it a point to suck it up and not make it an issue as I waited out the rest of the day, cheering on my friends to some fantastic finishes.

In fact, my friends were my saviors on Saturday.  Siamak ran a 7:28 — A SEVEN HOUR TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTE FIFTY MILER!!!! — and Alfredo finished under 10 hours after having fought through his own troubles, both physical and mental.  My friend Tracy WON THE WOMEN’S RACE!  My friends Jen and Patrice both finished their very first 50 milers and a whole host of others had great days in the marathon and half-marathon as well.

Watching the joy and triumph from others was a good reminder of why I do what I do.  And it was also a reminder to not get too wrapped up in the feats of others and feel obligated to replicate them.  Right now my focus is on road marathons and that’s where it should stay until I finally reach all of my goals.  Trying to push my body to do things it’s not exactly trained for, just because everyone else is doing it, is not beneficial to me.

So I am going to take a couple weeks off from running.  I need to let my knee/IT band heal.  I will get body work done.  I will rest and regroup before starting my next training cycle.  It will be pretty hard for me to do, mentally, but I will get through it by supporting my friends’ efforts (I’ll be manning an aid station at the Lakefront 50 all day this coming Saturday) and by acknowledging that everybody needs a break sometime, whether it be to heal an injury or to reboot from a long, long season.

Onwards and upwards!

Posted by  |  October 21, 2012 | Categories: Injury, Philosophy, Race Reports | Tags: , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Beaming for Boston: The 2012 Chicago Marathon Race Report

“A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more.”

– Steve Prefontaine

Pre definitely knew what he was talking about.  In fact, I have been running marathons and ultramarathons for a couple years now, and I still haven’t found an everlasting joy quite as sweet as thrashing myself through hours of self-inflicted punishment.

But why do I do it?

Do I do it to prove just how tough I am?  Do I do it to see how much I can improve on past performance?  Do I do it to impress my friends and family?

No.  I do it because in all instances — whether good or bad or somewhere in between — nothing else makes me feel more alive.

Sunday, October 7, 2012 offered me yet another golden opportunity to truly LIVE while zooming through my beloved city, in all its glory, with a million+ spectators cheering me on from start to finish.  I would make it count.

– – –

Race Morning, 4:30 a.m.

Rise and shine!  The alarm goes off but it isn’t really necessary because I’ve been up every hour on the hour since midnight.  Who can sleep the night before a big race anyway?  I’ve learned to overload on sleep all throughout race week, so despite this bit of restlessness, I’m feeling great.

I go through my regular pre-race routine of having a bagel, banana and a half cup of coffee while I check the weather and start going over the race in my mind.  Because of the perfect weather lining up, I know some lofty goals are going to be possible, but mental focus is going to be the key.  In the last six months I have brought meditation and breath control into my training, so I spend some time focusing on the breath, acknowledging the anxiety, then quietly forcing all negativity to get the hell out.

How liberating!

But what exactly is going to be possible today is still somewhat of a mystery.  Originally, I lined up the Chicago Marathon to be a fitness test en route to my sub-3 hour attempt coming in January 2013 at the Houston Marathon; but after a long summer of ultras, I have started to surprise even myself.

After Howl at the Moon, I took a couple weeks off to recover before jumping into four hard weeks of dedicated speed training, and what I discovered was that my summer of ultras had tuned my big endurance engine so well that I was now able to hold faster paces longer, purely out of being more fit.  In fact, I ran my 20 miler three weeks out from race day at a very comfortable 7:00 pace.

With all of this in mind, I know that today’s success is likely going to depend on my ability to pace myself, and, of course, how much I can dig deep in the last 10K.  So I have a game plan:

1) Catch the 3:05 pace group

2) Stay with them through at least the halfway mark, then, based on how I feel, decide to speed up, slow down or stay put

3) No rest til Boston

That’s right.  I want to qualify for the prestigious Boston Marathon, and the qualifying time for my age group is 3:05 or better.  I need a hard yet achievable goal for this race and with today’s temps lining up so perfectly, this is the one.  Beating my 3:15 PR is almost a given, barring any sort of catastrophe.  But beating it by more than 10 minutes is going to take some guts.

I crank WHAT TIME IS IT?, put on my game face, and head to Grant Park.

7:20 a.m.

While huddled among the masses in my start corral, I am surprisingly calm.  My pulse is at resting rate.  I feel no anxiety.  I’m all smiles and ready to run to the raucous roars of the crowd.

Indeed, of all the races I have run to date, nothing quite compares to the enormous “epicness” of the Chicago Marathon.  Here, crowd support is as plentiful as it is deafening.  I also know that this can sabotage one’s race if he isn’t careful.  It is way too easy to bolt out at an unsustainable pace while being cheered on by the masses.  And after a proper taper and plenty of rest, that bolting pace is going to feel easier than it should.  I make note of this and remind myself to run as evenly as possible.

We pause for the National Anthem.

Then there’s the introduction of the elites (Go Ritz!)…

And then…

WE’RE OFF!

Miles 1-4

Oh, chaos, sweet chaos.

It helps if you know it’s coming, but it still never makes sifting through the first few miles of a mega-race insanity much fun.  For some unknown reason, the running gods still allow swarms of people who should not be up front to plug up the streets, making swift passage nearly impossible.  In some ways, this is good, as it allows me to not go out too fast.  But all the dodging and jumping and clipping necessary to get into a good groove is not my favorite part of racing.

One defense mechanism I use for getting through this difficult beginning is to stay as far to the left as possible.  The Chicago Marathon starts out with two left turns followed by two right turns; and by the time I’m cruising up State Street, I have finally escaped the insanity and find myself surrounded by folks in my speed zone.

The crowds are immense.  And they are loud.  I look around, taking it in, finding an unbound love for all these strangers who have sacrificed their morning to cheer us on.  Today is going to be a good day.

Now, down to business.

I come across the first 5K in 21:31, right on target.  And I feel fine.  But I still haven’t spotted the 3:05 pace team.  In a perfect world, I would have started with them; however, they began in Corral A and my previous time of 3:15 wouldn’t get me in there, so instead I had to start back in Corral B, a whole minute and 13 seconds behind at the start.  They are running even splits, so I know that in order to catch them, I’m going to have to exert some more effort in the early goings.

Do you really need the pace team though? I ask myself.

I don’t know.  Maybe I don’t.  But I want to join them anyway.  When I ran my last fast 20-mile trainer, part of what made it so comfortable was that I ran it with a pack.  Running in a pack is a great way to relax the mind.  It also helps conserve energy.  No longer is the focus on splits and tempo and mile markers, but rather it boils one’s effort down to one, singular task: sticking with the group.  Stay on the heels of the guy in front of you.  That’s it.  And the benefits of drafting and being part of a social dynamic also make the pain of running so hard disappear.

I need that group.  I will get there.

Miles 5-14

And there, just as I hit the aid station in Lincoln Park near the 5 mile marker, I see a beautiful band of runners in step, bouncing among them three small “3:05” signs.  That’s my team.  Let’s catch up.

Vrooooom!

One little burst of speed and now I’m tucked in behind, at the back of the group.  Everyone is focused.  There are probably close to fifty of us.  I don’t know.  It’s hard to count when everyone is moving so quickly.  The guy to the left of me smiles and says, “Well, hello. Nice of you to join us. What took you so long?”

We both laugh as I comfortably turn off my mind and go into zen mode.  There are two blue-shirted pacers up front, Mike and Tony.  Twenty feet or so back is the pace leader, Chris, who is shouting out words of encouragement and detailed instructions on course maneuverings.  He is the pace maker.  If Mike or Tony get too fast up front he directs them to slow down.  Everyone is on point, focused on nabbing that Boston qualifier; and after a couple of easy miles inside the peloton I’m grinning ear to ear because it feels so effortless.

And we are in good hands.

I overhear Chris mention he’s run over 20 marathons under three hours, with a personal best of 2:37 and paces an average of 12 marathons a year.  Our current 7-minute pace is so easy for him that he has no problem conversing with those fit enough to do the same and I love the fact that he like totally has a surfer-dude accent, man.  I’m feeling good, but this is not conversational pace for me, so I just dig in and focus on being one with the pack.

I am one with the pack.

Wow.  This is so fucking cool.

We’re hitting mile markers evenly, on the dot.  It’s scary how evenly this team is clicking.  And that’s exactly what it is: a team.  As we zoom through Lakeview and into Wrigleyville, the spectator cheering reaches insane, deafening levels.

“Use the crowds to keep the same level of intensity”, says team leader Chris, “but don’t let them push you beyond. We have a lot of race yet.”

In contrast to last year’s race where I seemed to live and die by the level of crowd support and the visuals of the course itself, this time I’m just running smooth and easy, controlled and strong, completely oblivious to the chaos around me.  It’s almost like I’m on a treadmill because I’m surrounded by the same people throughout — a stationary unit, an even paced machine — and we’re all on the same team, working for each other.

Mile 9, Mile 10, Mile 11.  Mile 12.  Nailing splits.  All of them.

And the best part about it, for me, is that because I started a minute and 13 seconds behind the group, each time we hit our 3:05 splits I know I have a minute and 13 second cushion.  Time in the bank, as small as it may be, is always comforting.

“20K, bam, doing great, Team!” says Chris, “We’re doing great work, guys. Tony, just a touch slower up front. Boom. That’s perfect. Keep it right there. Okay, guys, aid station coming up. Keep drinking. Don’t skip it. Get your carbs. Meet back in the middle.”

We hit the aid station heading south on Franklin, and just as we have at all the others previous, we all come back center into this beautiful, swift peloton of awesomeness.  I look around and it looks like everyone who was here at mile five is still here as we creep up on mile 13.

Heading west on Adams, we come through the half marathon mark and I look at my watch to see I just PR’d for the distance: 1:31:20.  Bam!  I did that!

“Okay, guys, we’re doing awesome,” says Chris. “Remember to run strong. From your core. Focus on getting in that oxygen. We’re going to be coming up on Mile 14 soon and we’re right on pace with about 30 seconds in the bank. Stay strong. Use each other. Stay together.”

I love this guy.  I love this group!

So… do I leave them?  Do think I can negative split now and run off on my own? 

I take a few minutes, mulling over the possibilities in my mind.  Fatigue-wise, I’m pretty tired right now.  My heart rate is fine, breathing is normal.  Legs are on automatic.  Nothing is aching too terribly, but I feel like it’s easier because I’m focusing on sticking with the group and that is all.  I’m on Boston qualifying pace, with time in the bank, and in order to break 3 hours I would have to run 15 seconds per mile faster than I am going right now, for another entire 13.1 miles.

Too risky.  Let’s not sabotage one goal for the sake of another right now.  Just keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll see where we are at 20 miles.

I’m happy with this decision.  I’m happy with everything right now.  I’M ALIVE!  I’M ALIVE!  I’M A-LIIIIIIVE!

Miles 14-20

Mile marker 14 comes and goes at 1:37:20 by my watch and I’m ecstatic.  I can’t wait until we hit the turn onto Damen and start heading back towards the lake because that means we’re creeping up on my regular stomping grounds: Greektown, Little Italy, University Village, Pilsen, Chinatown, Bridgeport…

I get ahead of myself.

“Run with your core. Stay focused within the group,” says Chris, “Take in that oxygen. Everyone looks great. Doing great work here, 3:05!”

Miles 15, 16, 17, 18… all on point.  7 minute splits, boom.  Bam. Done.

Except… now, as we turn south down Ashland and Gangnam Style blasts repeatedly from all directions, I feel like this effort is becoming more and more difficult.  At the 30K mark, I even start to fade a bit before pulling myself back in with a much-needed gel and mental kick in the ass.

You have to stay with these guys, Jeff. You’ve worked too hard to dog out now. Focus. Just focus! This is BOSTON we’re talking about. No one gets into Boston without feeling like shit at some point. Stay on Chris’ heels.

Stay on Chris’ heels, stay on Chris’ heels, stay on Chris’ heels…

Mile 19… BAM.  Right on target.  And now, we’re on a part of the course I run weekly.  The stretch from 18th Street to Halsted, south until you reach Archer, and east on into Chinatown, is part of my regular training route so I am encouraged by the idea that from here on out it’s all familiar territory.

Not only that, but I also know my buddy Omar is waiting for me at Cermak and Halsted and that once I get to Chinatown, my friends from my New Leaf running club are waiting with free high-fives.  Time to boil the race down into “just get theres”.

Just get to Omar.

Just get to Chinatown.

Just get to Sox Park.

We get to Mile 20, there is Omar and he is cheering my name loudly.  Next to him is a woman I’ve never seen before who says, “You are one sexy runner!”

And now, with that extra boost of confidence, I’m running on somebody else’s legs.

“Okay, Team, great job staying strong through 20 miles,” says Chris, “We’re right on target with time to spare.”

He’s not kidding.  We hit 20 miles at 2:19:40 by my watch — my fastest 20 miles to date.  We make the turn left onto Archer and for a brief second I think about how I could just bail and go home from here (it’s only a couple blocks away) but then I realize how ridiculous that sounds and I let Chris’ instruction bring me back present.

“20 miles in now, Team, so let’s talk about some things. This is where the crowd support is gonna die down. We’ll get a boost through Chinatown but after that it’s gonna be quiet until we hit about the 24 or 25 mile mark. Now, if you feel good and you think you have a lot left to burn, think about going off with Mike and Tony ‘cuz they’re gonna go up ahead a bit.”

They do.  I try to match the burst but I can’t. Instead, I feel my legs start to burn (prior to now I couldn’t feel them period) and… ohhhh shit! I start to panic!  This all happens in a matter of seconds.  Then, Chris continues:

“If you feel like this is max effort right now and you don’t want to risk it, man, just stick with me, right here. We’re gonna take it in. Nice and steady. Nice and strong.”

Let’s do that, Jeff. Let’s stick with Chris.

I ease off a hair and watch as most of the peloton blows forward with Mike and Tony.  There is a scattered group of about 10 of us who stay back with Chris; but after that quick burst of mine, I’m starting to hurt.  I trail off a bit.  I keep them about 20 feet ahead of me and just hang on.  I know Chinatown is coming, so I’ll try to recover through this quiet spot until we get there.

Miles 21-25

I can hear the beating drums and roaring crowd build in volume as we make our approach.  Surprisingly, the anticipation of seeing more familiar faces is enough to bring me back from that low patch and now I’m right back on the heels of Chris and the gang.  The faster portion of our team is in front of us by about 40 or 50 feet.

We make the turn right onto Wentworth and I break off from the pack to gather energy from the crowds.

“Go, Jeff! Nice work, Jeff! Stay strong, Jeff!” I hear a familiar voice scream.  It’s Brandi, from my running club.  I can’t see her but I hear her and I get a nice burst of energy from the encouragement.

Further down the street, near the old Chinatown post office, I see my friends Tara and Jennifer and Craig on the east side of Wentworth.  Yes!  So happy to see them!

I speed up and get high-fives from each of them, along with some encouraging, raucous cheers and before I know it I’ve tucked back into the Chris-led mini-peloton and I realize: Holy shit, I’m almost done.

It’s only going to hurt for a few more miles.

Just… stay… focused.

This is that part of the marathon I dream about most — that part where you really have to dig deep inside your brain to find out what you’re made of.

Are you tough? Can you stick with it til the end, gaining strength through adversity? Or are you going to give in to the pain and let all that you’ve worked so hard for disappear into the dark abyss of complacency? How… much… do you care?

I stick to Chris’ heels, drafting off of his tall build, sucking it up and convincing myself the pain and mental anguish won’t last long.

You’re almost done, Jeff. You’ve killed this course today. And you’re going to get your wish ‘cuz you’re gonna qualify for Boston.

We hit the 25 mile marker and for the first time in my marathoning life the clock has yet to strike three hours at this spot.  I come in at 2:55:40 and I think to myself:

Holy. Shit.

The last 1.2

“Okay, Team. This is it,” says Chris. “One and a quarter mile to go and you’ve earned it. We’re coming in hot! Ahead of schedule. If you wanna go take it in, go for it.”

I’m going for it.  In fact, I could run this stretch (from 16th and Michigan to Roosevelt) in my sleep, I’ve done it so often.

I take off.  Can’t even feel my legs. Pumping with my arms.  Pushing with my core.

For the first time all race I’m breathing hard.  And it feels great.

I hit the turn to Mt. Roosevelt and lean in hard on the left side, soaking all the energy from the crowd as I let them carry me up the one and only “hill” the course has to offer.  Before I know it I’m turning left on to Columbus — the last furlong — and up ahead is that glorious, GLORIOUS finish line.

I kick it into high gear, throw my arms up in the air and come across the finish line in 3 hours, 3 minutes, 27 seconds.

Pain never felt so good.

Post-Race

Here’s a marathon first: I didn’t cry this time!  Not even one tear.  Instead, I sought out my 3:05 pace teammates and embraced them with sweaty hugs, high-fives and a barrage of hoots and hollers.

We did it!  We really did it!  Boston, baby!

I get my space blanket, don my medal, then I approach Chris, Mike and Tony, individually.  I hug them all, look them each straight in the eye tell them “thank you”, from the bottom of my heart.

I had the race of my life today and I know I couldn’t have done it with such ease had it not been for their impeccable pacing (and people) skills.

I refuel with a well deserved 312 brew and do the Frankenstein walk back to gear check. I change into my warm clothes and make the trek back to the Orange Line train at Roosevelt, receiving high-fives and congratulations from passersby along the way.

My smile must be contagious.  Everyone’s wearing one.

And as I slip onto the crowded train and head back home to ice my battered posts, I look back out onto my beautiful city from the elevated tracks, comforted by the knowledge that 40,000 other folks are truly living life today in the most exhilarating way possible.

*Footnote*

The 2013 Boston Marathon still had spots open…so, of course, I’M REGISTERED!  See ya in Beantown, April 2013!

Posted by  |  October 8, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

Nothin’ Like a Good Stick in the Mud

Automysophobia.  The fear of getting dirty.  For most of my adult life I have suffered from this irrational phobia and though I cannot pinpoint the exact reason, I am quite sure that it stemmed from my struggles with obsessive compulsive disorder that strangled me during my college years.

But then I became a runner.

Running has taught me so much.  It has taught me how to set goals, then work hard to achieve them.  It has taught me to be mindful, to be present and in the moment.  It has taught me to be compassionate, to be receptive, to be the best version of me I can possibly be.

And it has also taught me to just go with it sometimes.

So when my second leg of the Dances with Dirt 100K Extreme Relay in Hell, Michigan had me face a nasty series of mud bogs the consistency of blackstrap molasses, I tightened the string on my shorts and just jumped right in.

Waist high muck intent on sucking the shoes right off my feet was no match for my running induced love affair with nature.  Getting dirty has never been so fun!  In fact, the whole time I was wading through the mud, I couldn’t help but think about how alive I felt, about how much I enjoy being out in nature, truly experiencing everything she has to offer.

Surely, the smile on my face while trudging through swamp was disconcerting to those fellow runners around me who looked… um… uncomfortable.  And awkward.  And pissy.

Such feelings are not for me.  As long as I’m able to run, I’m going to embrace it.  And though my adventures might sometimes lead me down dirty, difficult, uncomfortable paths, I will always take the feeling of being alive over being reserved and unaware of my ultimate potential.

Team Freudian Slip and Falls, 2012. From left to right: Eric, Jeff, Keith, Megan (with Sigmund Freud’s zombie head on a stick in back).

– – –

If you’re looking for a fantastic way to spend a whole day with your running buddies on awesome trails, consider participating in one of the Dances with Dirt 100K Extreme relays.  It’s such a fun day.  The teams really go all out with their costumes and totems and team names.  And the organizers do a great job of making it a fun-first event.

Posted by  |  September 23, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Behind the Abs: Some Detail and Instruction on How I Got Them and How You Can Too

When I first saw the above picture, taken at the Peapod Half Madness Half Marathon a few weeks ago, I had to do a double-take.  Who the hell is that guy?!?!  Is that really me?  Holy shit!  When did I become… that?!?

I posted the picture on my Facebook, and before I knew it I was receiving an abundance of messages, comments and texts, all asking the same thing:

HOW DID YOU DO THAT?

It’s a great question.  And the answer is layered, with several components.  But it’s an important one to address because by examining exactly how I did transform from a tired, overweight, boozing nicotine addict into the uber-fit, lean ultrarunner I am today, I think others will discover that it really is possible — that if one is determined enough, he or she can have the type of body people dream about.

Me, summer of 2009. Pudgy and buzzed with questionable tastes in fashion.

The problem with acquiring that perfect dream body is the simple fact that it is definitely not easy.  In fact, it’s really damn hard.  The only way it can be achieved is through determination, practice and discipline.  That’s good news if you’re a runner, because running requires all of the above.  In fact, that’s how it all started for me.  Once I became a runner and began setting and accomplishing my goals, then I realized that I could accomplish any reasonable goal I put out there, as long as I made use of the same principles.

Determination, practice, discipline.

Determination:
Tired of always thinking what if, I decided I was just going to do it.  No matter what.  I was going to get a six-pack.  Whatever it took.  Once I became determined and really prepared myself mentally for the kind of struggle that would be necessary, I went on to the practice phase.

Practice:
Knowing it wasn’t going to happen overnight, I started at zero and worked my way up.  I learned some basic physiology tenets and found exercises that would get me where I wanted to go.  I did the work.  Lots and lots of work.  And while this may not be what most people want to hear, it is the truth that it took about two years of hard work to get my body to look like it does today.  Two years.  Anything that takes that long requires…

Discipline:
To quote Scott Jurek, “Sometimes you just do things.”  I’m tired today.  So what.  There’s work to do.  I’m really craving that Ben & Jerry’s.  Too bad.  There’s work to do.  Can’t I just skip this workout?  Sure, but you can kiss that six-pack goodbye.

With those principles in mind, let’s next look at the three major components of my total body transformation — the actual practices that made it possible:

1)  INTENSE CARDIO
This may be obvious, considering this is a running blog and I am a runner, but that doesn’t diminish its importance.  I lost all the “fat” I had by running a bunch.  And it’s not like I have been running crazy mileage forever either.  In 2010 I averaged 25 miles a week.  In 2011 it went up to about 40 miles a week.  This year I’m averaging 70 miles a week, but such mileage is not necessary to lose the fat.

What is necessary is getting that heart rate up.  One can do this by swimming, biking, boxing, jazzercising… it doesn’t matter.  Just devote some time (20 minutes a day would be a good start) to an activity that requires a sustained, elevated heart rate.

The effects of my intense cardio sessions (running mostly) were that, after about 12 months, I eventually reached my ideal base weight — a number backed up by simple body mass index formulas.

2)  DIET
This is probably the hardest aspect of body sculpting, but I assure you it is the most important.  And it is possible.  Again, it just takes determination, practice and discipline.  The truth is: what you put into your body is paramount to how it will look and operate.  For me, adhering to a good diet required a complete overhaul of my understanding of food — where it comes from, how it is prepared, how it affects my body.  Realizing I knew very little about general nutrition and the science around it, I bought some books and read up on it.  What I discovered was as exciting as it was alarming.

The most important step I took was eliminating virtually all processed foods from my diet.  I got rid of anything full of high fructose corn syrup and eschewed all other engineered food products.  I stopped drinking calories.  No more soda.  No more concentrated “juices”.  No more crap.  I stopped boozing.

I quit eating fast food (the WORST!!!).  When eating out, I opted for the healthier options whenever possible.  And most importantly, I began to focus my diet on a variety of whole foods, paying special attention to those categorized as “super foods” (whole grains, leafy greens, berries, quinoa, legumes, eggs, Greek yogurt, sweet potatoes, broccoli, almonds, salmon, etc.).

Dessert became a four-letter word.  That is not to say I wouldn’t, on occasion, partake in a small bit of ice cream or a cookie now and then, but those occasions became extremely rare.  Even now, I have little room for junk food (pizza, sweets, chips, etc) in my diet.  Every great once in a while I will indulge, but I often don’t feel too well afterward — my body’s way of reminding me that that shit is not good for me — so such happenings are rare.

In fact, I would assume very few people get the beach body by eating like shit.  It’s just not conducive to how our bodies work, naturally.  Our bodies respond to good, wholesome, nutrient rich foods, not engineered foodstuffs full of ingredients that no one can pronounce.

3)  SUPPLEMENTAL BODY & CORE SPECIFIC TRAINING
If you have the intense cardio down and you’re eating right, you should already be looking pretty damn good!  What is left is only a matter of specificity.  Decide what it is you want, then do the work it takes to get it.  I wanted a six-pack.  So I started doing workouts that focus on the core.  Outside of running, I like to box, so I trained with some boxers in my neighborhood and picked their brains for advice.  I bought books on core training.  I started to see results (albeit slowly, remember, these things take time) within six months or so and I just kept at it until the definition finally arrived.  And when my training needed a bit of variety — a boost to get into that pop-out territory, I eventually hired a trainer to teach me more advanced workouts.  I learned them well and I teach them now .

Me in 2010 (left). Me in 2012 (right).

I should also add that, in my supplemental body and core specific training, I do not lift a lot of traditional weights.  I do from time to time, but I’m a runner.  I need to be as lean as possible, while still maintaining a high level of strength and support.  Instead of lifting weights, I utilize full body weight training.  Resistance training.  I do some band work and a few kettle bell workouts, but otherwise, all of the exercises I do require little else than my own body (think push-ups, pull-ups, dips, planks, etc).

The key to this sort of training, in my opinion, is to vary the exercises.  Just like with food, the more varied, the better.  If I am doing my workouts correctly, I should experience soreness in the day or two after.  Of course, like any other exercise, intensity should be based on whatever the body has that day, but in general, I like to push myself to get just one more sit-up… just one more push-up… just… one… MORE!!!

BUT WHAT DO YOU ACTUALLY DO, JEFF???

When I put it all together, it goes something like this:

I run.  Six days a week.  The distance varies, and I run at different intensities, but the heart rate is always elevated.

I do two or three 40-60 minute supplemental body and core specific workouts, depending on how my body feels that week.

Here is an example workout. Keep in mind that I prefer the active recovery model, so I’m never fully resting. I generally do two sets of each exercise, and in between sets I jump rope as “rest”:

Jump rope
Up-down push ups into high bar pull-ups
Jump rope
One legged squats
Jump rope
Hanging leg raises
Jump rope
Dips into knee raises
Jump rope
Stairs
Jump rope
Scorpion push-ups
Jump rope
Hindu push-ups
Jump rope
Traditional planks
Jump rope
Side planks
Jump rope
Bear push-ups

I eat well.  I eat a variety of whole foods, focusing on the “super” foods.

I also sleep 7-9 hours every night.

I don’t drink much alcohol.  And when I do drink, I only have a few.

I take one day off a week — from everything — and I force myself to kick my feet up and enjoy a good game or movie or book.

But, MORE than anything:

I believe in myself and I believe in what I am able to do, physically and mentally.  I feel like every day is an opportunity to get better, to do the work it takes to be who I want to be.  It’s something we are all capable of, every single one of us.

So what are you waiting for?

– – –

PS.  I am not a doctor.  The above is not intended to be medical advice.  Always consult with your doctor if there are doubts.  If you are interested in getting started yourself and want a learned trainer to get you there, please let me know.

Posted by  |  September 14, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Simply Super

Anastasia Andrychowski “Supergirl” Rolek winning the Hallucination 100.

My running resume got a big boost of BOOYAH this weekend as I had the pleasure of pacing Anastasia Andrychowski “Supergirl” Rolek to her EPIC overall female VICTORY at Run Woodstock’s Hallucination 100 Mile Race in Hell, Michigan.  Already known as 100 pounds of pure inspiration, Supergirl not only completed the Midwest Grand Slam of Ultrarunning, but she did it with a new personal best of 21:46 while taking home the female victory, finishing sixth overall!

My part in getting her to the finish line started on Friday night at 10:23 p.m. and lasted for 7 hours 26 minutes and 32 miles, ending at 5:49 a.m. on Saturday.  Those 32 miles were some of the toughest 32 miles I’ve ever faced, and unlike most of my race reports, I’m finding it very difficult to describe the specific action, thoughts and struggles that took place in that particular block of time.

The main obstacle?  RAIN.  Like, a LOT of rain.  A constant, unforgiving downpour of cold, pounding rain.  From the time I picked her up for her third 16.4 mile loop on Friday night, all the way until I let her go Saturday morning: RAIN RAIN RAIN.  This continuous onslaught from mother nature not only made the trail a dangerous slip-n-slide-shoe-sucking-mudfest, but it also had the potential to drain all positive energy that lay in its path.

But not Supergirl.  Hell no.  Supergirl was upbeat, fast and full of life!  All I had to do was put my head down and keep up.

Quick pic between loops 3 and 4

We fought right through the muck.  We put the hammer down on the paved straightaways.  And while the majority of runners moved slowly through the night, shoulders slouched and spirits broken from the relentless water torture thrown down from above, Supergirl and I found a high, sustainable gear that suited her indomitable will and unbreakable spirit.

SMACK!  BAM!  ZOOM!

I wish that I could provide a detailed, minute-by-minute race description of this experience; but honestly, because of the treacherous footing and the dark blanket of night, I never even saw the actual course.  All I could see was the ground directly in front of me and an aid station every four miles that clued me in to where I might be at any given time.

It was such a running anomaly for me that I lost all sense of place, of movement.  It was like running on a muddy, slippery treadmill in the dark while someone sprayed me with a never ending stream from a fire hose.  I lost all track of time.  Because of the slow numbing from the chilly rain, I couldn’t even tell if I was really tired or not.  I just… was.  In fact, that was the crux of this running experience: I felt so awake, so alive.

You know that feeling you get when you jump into a cold swimming pool?  You know that bit of hesitation you feel right before barreling in?  Then there’s that moment where you just do it and suddenly your body is saying “WOOOOOOAHHHH!”  You’re extremely uncomfortable, but if you take the time to get passed the discomfort, you eventually find yourself really living life.  You feel every single hair raise, feel every breath with an unprecedented alertness and purpose.

That’s what pacing Supergirl at Hallucination was like.  I felt alive and well and motivated and present.

My entire world boiled down to one, single task: RUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!

And I know that I was the “pacer”, that I was there to keep Supergirl on track.  But let me tell you something: Supergirl doesn’t need anyone to keep her moving.  She has all the determination in the world right there inside of her jubilant little self.  If she wants something, she works hard to get it, and this weekend was no exception.  She got it done.  With style.  And speed.

She could have moped through that awful, stormy mess.  She could have taken her time at the aid stations, to warm up, to be comfortable.  She could have complained about the conditions and decided today wasn’t the day for a personal best, that this race wasn’t the race to win.  She could have done all of that and NO ONE would have had a bad word to say about it.

But no.  She isn’t about that.  She is about overcoming the odds.  She is about ignoring the elements and pushing through the hard times knowing that something better waits on the other side.

Supergirl is simply super.

And now she is a CHAMPION as well.

Post-race with Supergirl and Siamak

*Also of note is the fact that my friend pictured above, Siamak Mostoufi, who has appeared on this blog several times already, ALSO kicked some major trail butt at Run Woodstock as he set a new personal best, won his age group and took home 4th place overall in the 50 mile race.  What a great performance!  Can someone say SUPERFRIENDS!?!?

Posted by  |  September 9, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Choose Your Own Adventure!

When I close my eyes and venture back to the happy place of my youth, I am always outside.  I’m exploring.  I’m looking under rocks and following creeks and rallying my sisters to follow my lead.

Back then I knew, just as I know now, that there is something inherently special about doing something I’ve never done before.  There’s something intoxicating about going someplace I’ve never been, about stepping out on that ledge to see the world from an entirely different point of view.

Running fits that natural call for adventure like no other activity, and the ultra distances set the stage for bigger, better and bolder treks.  I’ve run miles and miles through enchanted forests.  I’ve explored old farm roads, scaled mountainous switchbacks, cruised barren beaches and plucked through quiescent cityscapes.  I’m a runner.  I know no other purer form of joy.

And I like to cover distances on foot.

So on Friday, August 31st, at 1o p.m., I left my home on the south side of Chicago and ran.  I ran with no other purpose but to explore, to have fun, to revel in the level of fitness I have that allows me to keep going and going and going.  I ran north on Halsted, then east on Roosevelt.  I shot up Michigan Avenue, taking in the lights, the sounds, the plumes of cigarette smoke from jetlagged tourists.

I turned left on Chicago Avenue, then right on Clark.  I zoomed by Old Town, passed through Lincoln Park.  I ran further north through Wrigleyville, marveling at the level of insecurity of the drunken hooligans giving me a hard time for my choice of activity for a Friday night.  “It’s Friday night, dude, running is not necessary.”… “Run Forest Run!”… “What are you doing, dude? You’re crazy!”…

I just kept… running.

I ran by Wrigley Field, touched the Ernie Banks statue for good luck.  I ran by my old house in Buena Park.  The lights were off.  Nobody home.

I passed the old Jewel I used to frequent, the liquor store where I used to buy my booze — both distant reminders that I didn’t always have super powers.

Heading west on Montrose I ran by the Brown Line station and the Starbucks and the Mexican restaurant where I tasted the best chorizo burrito I’ve ever had.

When I got to Lincoln I went back south.  I looked at my watch.  I picked up the pace.

At 1 a.m. I was to meet my friend, Siamak, just outside The Second City at North and Wells, so I sped up so I wouldn’t miss him.  As I navigated my way through the pockets of drunken crowds along the way I noticed the stillness in the air, that it hadn’t rained as previously forecasted, that the blue moon hanging high above was blanketed by a beautifully savage cloud system.

“Jeff!” yelled Siamak.

We were both right on time.  Early, actually.

Giddy as only adults who aren’t afraid to unleash their inner exploratory children can be, we caught each other up.  We explained to one another how we got where we were, what sights we’d seen, what cat-calls we’d received.  And then we kept running.

With CVS, Starbucks and multiple Walgreens as our “aid stations”, we were never without fuel.  We ran south down LaSalle, through the Gold Coast and by the Viagra Triangle.  We stopped and salivated at the Rolls Royce dealership, imagining what we’d look like tooling around town in a chrome colored $400k power machine.  I got a tour of Siamak’s personal architectural projects further dotting the downtown area and soon we found ourselves running through the Loop — a Chitown staple — at its quietest and spookiest of hours.

By the time the bars were letting out we were all the way back south, heading west on Roosevelt, then south on Halsted.  We ran through UIC, glided through Pilsen, then took a left on Archer, following the Chicago Marathon course all the way into Chinatown.  Even with all the lights off and no patrons to speak of, Chinatown’s smells (the good, the bad and the rancid) still permeated the summer air.

Making our way through old Chinatown, we followed Wentworth all the way to 35th, tagging our second baseball stadium of the journey.  “Do you realize how much of the city we’ve covered tonight?” I asked Siamak, still unable to fully conceive the relative distance compiled in my now very tired, achy feet.

“Yeah, this is really the existential run,” he replied. “I love it. The run is whatever we want it to be.”

When we hit Halsted from 35th, we headed back north, passing my house.  And even though it was right there, calling my name with a warm shower and soft bed, we kept going.

And going, and going, and going.

We crossed the Chicago River (for the fifth time) and soon found ourselves at Randolph, where we turned west to explore the stillness of endless restaurant supply chains.  At Ogden, having just run by a brewery whose massive casks seemed to beg me to drink from them, Siamak showed me another architectural project of his and then somehow I was ranting about Michael Jordan.

At Grand we headed back east, moving slowly with short walk breaks interspersed to mix up the otherwise steady 10-minute-miling.  By 4:30 a.m., we reached Grand and Wells, where we would separate for the last hour and a half — giving us each time to decompress, to go back and find ourselves through the grandness of our night.  With 34 miles in the bank, we fist-bumped and went our separate ways.

I headed further east until I got to State Street, then went south.  I played with my speed.  Slowing down.  Speeding up.  Quicker turnover.  Elongated strides.

“I’m playing!!!”

I knew that if I could get to Roosevelt by 5 a.m., then I could hit the Lakefront Path at Museum Campus and end my night with a familiar 5-mile stretch that I could probably do in my sleep.  I almost did do it in my sleep!

At 5 a.m. on the dot I was standing outside the Shedd Aquarium, trying not to yawn.  I took some caffeinated GU and stopped to stretch.  I said “hello” and “good morning” to the handful of runners and bikers out early to train, then I put my head down and trucked.

Of course, I made sure to stop outside Soldier Field, to pay homage to DA BEARS and revel in the reality that in one evening alone I visited Wrigley Field, Sox Park AND Soldier Field!  Not only that, but as I continued south on the Lakefront Path, a hint of sun peeking up over the black horizon, I realized that in this one run alone I pieced together most of my favorite landmarks Chicago has to offer.

In one epic, adventurous evening, I experienced my city like I’ve never experienced it before.

I hit the homestretch of 31st street — head down, speeding west.

When I got a block from my house the clocked turned to 6 a.m.  The Chinese ladies were in McGuane Park waving their flags in rhythm.  The sky was a gentle blue.

42 miles were in my feet.

I did it.  I lived the adventure.

And it was simply awesome.

Posted by  |  September 1, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

“Hi, Jeff, It’s Me, Your Central Governor”: The 2012 Peapod Half Madness Half Marathon Race Report

Dan, Me and Otter, post-race. 12 beers consumed among us (though one of us was responsible for 8 of those on his own).

As my summer of ultras comes to a close (but not definitely… yet), I begin to turn my attention back to what made me such a running fanatic in the first place: RUNNING FAST.

There is just something immensely rewarding about moving my body as fast as it will go, powered on its own, that hypnotizes me, calls me, begs for me to do it.  Even though it hurts.

My ultimate “things-I-must-do-before-I-die” goal is to run a sub-3 hour marathon.  My current personal best is 3:15 and my first valid attempt at cracking three will be this coming January, again in Houston.  While I know the chances of me pulling off such a feat in such a short amount of time are almost as insane as they seem impossible, I figure the bar is better set high than not high enough.

Challenge is good.  Besides, I keep surprising myself with what I’m able to do, on any given day, so I might as well keep crawling deeper into the caverns of my mind to slay every last dragon of doubt.

DIE, BITCHES!!!

Enter the Peapod Half Madness Half Marathon in Batavia, IL.  I ran this race last year and had a blast, so I made sure to sign up again.  This time I would be joined by two new friends: Dan Solera, who is just past the halfway point in running 50 half marathons in 50 states; and Dan “Otter” Otto, who impressed the hell out of me by downing six Old Style heavies WHILE RUNNING a sub-2 hour race at Batavia (more on this a bit later).

Pre-Race 4 a.m.

I’m up before the alarm.  I went to bed at 9:30 last night, so I wake up feeling fully charged.  Ready to rock.  I sip a half a cup of coffee, eat a banana and some toast with jelly before checking the weather report.  It’ s already 72 degrees, so I slap on my 1:30 pace bracelet knowing it’s pretty much a given that I won’t be hitting these splits today.  But I’m wearing it anyway because I think a PR is definitely possible.  I haven’t run too many half marathons; and I’ve never trained to peak for one, so I enter Batavia with a 1:34 best, confident that, as Ice Cube reminds me via my laptop, today always has the potential to be a good day.

5 a.m. and I swing by to pick up Dan and Otter.  We are leaving Chicago, on the highway by 5:20 a.m.  All is well.  There’s something comforting about company just prior to a race.  It lessens the nerves, distracts the mind from busying itself with senseless worry.  I enjoy the conversation, especially as I learn Otter’s race plan to carry a pack with six Old Styles stowed, with the goal of downing them all prior to the finish.

Holla!

6:30 a.m. and I’m jogging my warm-up.  Holy Nikes!  I bump into a friend of mine from high school whom I haven’t seen since the late 90s!  It’s so cool to see her!  We make plans to meet up at the finish and I go on my merry way, feeling out the legs, wondering Do I have it today?

Early signs point to… probably not.

6:55 a.m. I enter the chute and stand next to Dan towards the front.  We fist bump, the horn blows and I… am… ruuuuuuunnnnnnnniiiiiiinnnnnng!!!

Miles 1-6

This is just four 5Ks and a jog, Jeff, I tell myself. Run four decent 22ish 5Ks and you’re good.

Thanks, me!  I appreciate that!

I also appreciate the course.  Though the beginning has changed a bit from last year (they got rid of the big hill at the start), I am still impressed with how quiet and quaint this little town of Batavia is.  Its river-centric, historic downtown and sprawling neighborhoods with lots of green reminds me of my hometown of Quincy; and the people who are standing out on their lawns at 7 a.m., though not in great numbers, are especially awesome in my book.

Thanks for coming out, everybody! I yell with a smile. I like your town! It reminds me of home!

And boom!  Just like that I look down to see I’ve come through the first 5K mark in 20:44.  Not too shabby.  The 1:30 pace group is about 3o yards ahead of me, running ahead of schedule, but already I can tell that today will not be a 1:30 day for me.  I’m totally cool with it though because I feel fine right now and know that holding on to 7-minute pace will be more than enough for me to consider this a solid performance.  It’s warm.  The sun is blaring down on me at certain points along the course.  But I feel fine.  My legs are moving in a rhythm that seems sustainable.

I hit the big downhill section just before the 6-mile mark, build speed then bang a hard left onto the bike path that runs alongside the Fox River.  Ah yes, this is where I built momentum last year, I recall. Time to push it a little bit.

Vroom!!!

Miles 6-10

Covered by the abundant shade, this sudden injection of conscious speed should be sustainable… except that, well, it isn’t.  Around the 7-mile mark, the voice of fatigue makes a home between my ears.  I take a GU and down some liquids, hoping to shut its ugly face, but alas, here it is, still talking shit.

Okay, dude, you can chill out now, you’re not going to PR so… yeah. It’s too hot. You haven’t been speed training. You can’t even see the 1:30 pace group anymore.

I run harder to shut him up.

Oh, so you think you can shut me up, Jeff? You know who I am, right? I’m your central governor and I make the decisions around here. Just try to get anything past me.

I push.  I push again.  Yikes!  Pull back.

Haha! See. Told ya. I, am, the master.

I look at my Garmin, which tells me I just ran mile 9 in 7:29, a number I don’t like right now.  Who’s the boss of who?  I decide it’s time to stand up to Mr. Central Governor.

I am the boss of me, Central Governor. Not you. Not anyone. Just me! And look! I’m almost done!

Miles 10-13.1

Ha!  Yes, this is the beauty of the half.  Ten miles into the race and I’m almost done!  After the summer of ultras, where training runs regularly lasted 4-6 hours and races 8-10 hours, oh what a glorious feeling it is to know I am an hour and eleven minutes into a race and I’m almost done!  With so few miles to go, of course I can go faster!

So I do.  The central governor tries to stop me but I pick out a guy ahead, the guy in the green singlet, and reel him in.  Concentrate, I tell myself.  Catch that green man! 

I catch him, he speeds up to race, I go a bit faster and then I’m by him.

I pick out another.  Guy in red.  I look down at my watch and see I’m cruising at 6:40 pace — something that felt hard just 20 minutes ago seems so easy now, because I have focus.  I am here to do something.

Mile 11 and I realize it’s all downhill from here.  Literally.  The last two miles of this course are a continuous downhill.  Ideal for building speed and passing people.

I do both.

I can’t believe how good I feel right now.  Who does that central governor jerk think he is?  I’m gonna have to learn to shut him up quicker next time.  Maybe I’ll train to do just that.

Up ahead I see the big orange sign instructing runners to turn left.  I know that once I get there, I’m at mile 13, with just one tenth of a mile (the “jog”) to go.  A quick glance at my watch informs me that I AM GOING TO PR TODAY, marking yet another victory over my Debbie Downer subconscious.

Eat it, Central Governor!

I turn left onto the bridge, turn right then left onto the last bridge before making the hard right turn to the finishing chute.  I blaze in with the emcee announcing my name, across the line at 1:32:37.

Ice Cube was right.  Today was a good day.

Post Race

There’s something uniquely awesome about eating pizza and drinking Sam Adams before 9 in the morning, so I take full advantage of that as I meet up with Dan, whom I learn had me in his sights for the first half of the race before trailing off a bit.  He still finished with a solid 1:36 and was smiling at the end so all signs point to GREAT JOB!

We both look out for Otter, wondering if Dan might get the call from the county jail that he’s been picked up for public intoxication WHILE RUNNING A HALF MARATHON.  Luckily, Otter’s drinking on the run made him a race favorite, a point the emcee even brings up as Otter chugs his final beer, crossing the finish line in under two hours.

I am extremely impressed.

High fives are had.

– – –

The Peapod Half Madness Half Marathon proved again to be a great event.  It’s just small enough that it doesn’t feel crowded and big enough to feel like each runner’s needs are being met.  From the big downhill after mile 5 all the way to the finish I think the course is just fantastic.  The aid stations were a bit small for my liking, but the volunteers more than made up for that and everyone out there was extremely positive and energetic.  Also, just like last year, the hardware doubles as a bottle opener, which may be the running gods’ way of telling me that, indeed, beer and running do make a beautiful couple.

Posted by  |  August 26, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Inspirations, Warriors, Angels and Victors: Team LOL’s Run Across Illinois Pre-Postscript

Every once in a while life allows us the rare opportunity to really live, in the moment for an extended period of time, undisturbed and unfazed by distractions from the outside world.  Beginning at 5 a.m. on Friday, August 17, and all the way through 6 p.m. on Sunday, August 19, my life had but one purpose: get my friends from the Mississippi River to Lake Michigan as they ran 161 miles along the northern border of Illinois.

To say it was one of the most phenomenal experiences of my life would be an understatement.

Which is why a typical race report will not suffice.  How does one even begin to summarize the myriad stories, themes and struggles that developed over 58 harrowing hours?

It is impossible.

Yet, not impossible.  In fact, if I learned anything over this past weekend, it’s that pure guts and determination and confidence can overcome anything.

ANY.

THING.

So instead of the typical race report, I’m going to take on my biggest literary challenge yet.  It may take some time — I may get tired, I may bonk, I may do the zombie walk — but for someone who enjoys hours and hours and hours of perpetual motion in the way of running, sitting down for the hours and hours and hours it will take to flesh out this epic tale seems quite fitting.  And now, it also seems doable.

So to Juan, Chuck, Kamil, Tony, Brian, Mike, Kathy, Scott and the steady stream of heroic volunteer pacers and crew who made Team LOL’s Run Across Illinois a beaming success, I tip my cap.

And I thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.  You inspired me beyond words, and you also showed me that if you really care about something enough, you will find a way.

I am going to find a way.

– – –

Team LOL’s Run Across Illinois was done to raise money for Chicago youth charity Chicago Run.  And there is still time to help!  Please consider supporting this worthy cause so that today’s youth can overcome the obesity crisis that it currently faces.  You can support Team LOL’s efforts for Chicago Run *HERE*.

Posted by  |  August 21, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Dissuade Discomfort, Move Your BUTT: The 2012 Howl at the Moon 8 Hour Run Race Report

(Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

I have run enough marathon+ distance races now to know that aches and pains are simply going to come.  There is no shortcut.  I know this.  I either accept the discomfort and move on or I suffer defeat.  I also know that anything can go wrong, at any time — that a successful race is never a given and the best runners are those who are able to adapt on the fly.

Yet I somehow still seem to underestimate just how uncomfortable I will be at times and how I might possibly struggle to keep up the fight.  In my mind, it’s always a given.  In reality, it is much harder.

In preparation for the Kennekuk Road Runners’ 22nd Annual Howl at the Moon 8 Hour Run, a race that typically features hellaciously high temps and unforgiving humidity, I heat trained in winter gear at high noon and suffered through several long road runs outside of Houston, TX, just so I would be ready for whatever mother nature would throw at me.  I put myself in painful situations and prepared my mind to reinterpret the norm.

Naturally, August 11, 2012 would bring unseasonably cool temperatures (mid-high 50s for low, low 80s for the high) to the Danville area, I would be bothered by an old nemesis that had been dormant since October 2011 and I would realize that one can train and train and train, but that there really is no substitution for the feelings associated with running 50 miles other than running 50 miles.

The Night Before

Me, my sister Cara and my friend Jerret all arrive together at the Kennekuk Cove County Park where we will camp along the course prior to the race.  It turns out that even though I have recently acquired a strong taste for all things outdoors, I am still an idiot when it comes to putting things together, as is evident by my inability to put up our tent.  Luckily, ten or so special aides jump in to make fun of assist me.  These helpers are just some of the 30 or so runners from my New Leaf and M.U.D.D. groups, fellow ultra junkies who know how to have a good time.  It turns out we’re all having such a good time that the tent is thwarting our focus.  Finally, Tony and Alfredo save the day and I can begin my pre-race routine.

I have ONE beer, eat a salad and some pasta, then try to relax as much as I can as the group gathers around to share race stories and good cheer.  Admittedly, it’s hard for me to calm my nerves when there is so much excitement in the air.  I’ve been looking forward to this race for a long time now, mostly because of how many familiar faces I will see on the 3.29 mile looped course and how good I feel knowing that, right now, I am in the best shape I have ever been, my whole life.

My sister and I have already had an EPIC week, so I’m taking those positive vibes, channeling them through my mind with deep belly breaths, and being confident in my training.  I begin to yawn, so I say good night to everyone and retire to the tent.

Race Morning

The air is cool.  Dew all around.  The chill peps me out of my zombie-like state.  Did I sleep last night?  A little, but not much.  Cara’s allergies had her coughing most of the night and my rookie camping ass didn’t bring a soft base layer for the tent, so I rolled around on uneven ground most of the evening.  Still, it’s rare that I get a lot of sleep the night before a race anyway, so I’m not too bothered.  Instead, I go about my normal routine, which includes a liberal application of heavy-duty lubrication (you knew that was coming, right?).

I make sure I proudly display my red short-shorts around the start/finish area so everyone can get their taunting out of their system (I say this in the most endearing of ways, because I know the shorts are insanely short, and are considered a running fashion faux pas by some — that some not including me, obviously).

I check in with my official scorer, Pat, the man who will be recording each of my laps as I pass by throughout the day.  I introduce myself and shake Pat’s hand.  He seems just as excited as I am, so I know he and I are going to have a connection — whether he knows it or not.  “Nice meeting you, Pat.  I will see you soon!” I say as I head back towards the tent.

My mom arrives to help my sister crew the race.  I give Mom a big hug and marvel at the shirt she has on!  Both she and Cara are wearing custom made shirts that read “Jeff’s Crew” on the back.  Wow!  How awesome is that!  I know I am spoiled having a family that is so supportive of my never-ending running adventures.  I don’t take that for granted.  Having them involved by crewing my races, sharing in my ups and downs, serves as a real mental boost.  Makes me feel special.

I go over last minute instructions with them both, but Cara has done this before, so we all feel confident and are ready to go.

7:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m.

As the race director makes his announcements, I position myself at the front.  My goal for this 8 hour run today is to be in the mix.  Ultimately, I want to run no less than 50 miles, hoping that is enough to get me another top ten finish; but deep down, I want more.  I want to push and see what happens.  That doesn’t mean I am dumb enough to kill myself early on, but I do plan to straddle the line between stupid and daring.

We take a moment of silence to remember Scott Hathaway, a remarkable runner who died on the course five years ago.

And then…

WE’RE OFF!!!

I dart out, being led by the man who has owned this event since 2004, Scott Colford of Logansport, IN.  He has the course record (61.72 miles) and has won it every year he has participated.  I figure he is going to set a pretty quick pace to drop as many of us as he can, and, indeed, he does just that as we settle around 6:30 to 7:00 minute pace out of the gate.

As we hit the first turn onto shaded rocky trail, we all take a moment to touch the memorial set up for Scott Hathaway — a salute to a fellow ultra runner.  We all touch it for good luck.

(Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

About a mile in and already the lead pack is well separated from the rest.  Colford takes off at a pace I simply can’t match — not this early anyway.  There is a young fellow with him and a slim runner dressed in Marathon Maniac gear chasing close behind, but I settle into my own 7:00-7:30 pace, and focus on memorizing the course.

From my training I learned that one way to beat the monotony of a looped course is to know its every nook and cranny, to know where to accelerate, where to slow down, what tangents to run to shorten it up, to isolate any spots that may offer trouble along the way.  This course is mostly grass and dirt trail, with some occasional pavement.  There’s one tricky spot in the middle that throws a gauntlet of uneven footing highlighted by a couple of ankle traps.  There is one relative downhill section, just after the first aid station at the halfway point, where one can genuinely take advantage of free speed.  And there is one significant uphill section that I decide to run the first few times, but know I will have to walk at some point.

I finish the first loop in a quick 23 minutes.  I run by the tent where my mom and sister are waiting for me (something they will do a lot of all day long!).  I assure them I’m good to go and I zoom on by.

My kick-ass crew! Mom on the left, Cara right. (Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

I make eye contact with my scorer, Pat, we establish the first of many connections we’ll have throughout the day and now I start to think about what I’m really in for: 7 hours and 37 more minutes of RUNNING!!!

After a couple of steady 25-minute loops, and no change in the three leaders up front, I settle into the chase pack that offers another familiar face, John Kiser from Grayslake.

“I remember you,” I offer to John.  “You blazed by me at the Earth Day 50K with just three miles left.”

“Yeah, I was feeling good that day,” he says with a good-hearted smile.

We carry on, running and chatting here and there with another runner, Gary, who hails from Mokena, IL.  For the next several loops, we ebb and flow, picking up, slowing down, chatting every so often and trying to catch up to one another just as much.  I feel especially confident on the down and uphill sections, so I tend to drop them there only to have them catch up to me soon after.  In fact, I crown Gary as “The Accelerator”, because no matter how big a gap I put between us on the hills, he seems to have no problem closing it with his speed.

Back and forth we go… back and forth for one loop, two loops, three loops.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.   UGH!  The more we exchange positions, the more irritated I become.  I can’t seem to drop him.  My mind is losing focus!  But before I can battle any of my thoughts, another obstacle is kicking me in the butt.  Literally.

And I’ve nowhere to hide.

Piriformis syndrome.  A real pain in the ass.  Deep down inside the gluteus maximus.  A condition I have been dealing with off and on for a few years now, it is most positively rooted in the fact that my day job has me sitting for eight hours a day.  It probably doesn’t help that, when I’m not running or working, I am usually writing, from a sitting position.  The only way to beat it is to apply great pressure to the piriformis itself — a muscle that excels at being elusive to even the deepest of deep tissue massages, or settle for a series of elaborate stretches that help elongate it.

Unfortunately, none of those remedies are very applicable during a race.  It flared up on me during the 2011 Chicago Marathon, but I was able to run it off after 20 minutes or so.  That isn’t happening today.  I’ve been redirecting my attention from the aches for almost an hour now but as I finish up my 7th loop, this time in 27 minutes, I slow down considerably as I approach my crew.  I bark orders at my sister, then immediately feel guilty for letting my frustrations dictate my voice.

“Sorry,” I offer.  “I’m just not feeling so great right now.” I try to explain.

Supergirl (yes, THAT Supergirl) is there with my mom and sister now, and she offers to help, but I know there is nothing that can be done for this royal pain in the butt, so I just grab some grapes and a new bottle and head off knowing I’m going to have to slow it down.

I think I was sorta short with Supergirl just now, too.  What is wrong with me?

In fact, my mom’s notes from the race at this point read “Shitty”, and well, yeah.  That’s about how I feel right now.

10:00 a.m. to 1 p.m.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU —

I want to scream.  But I can’t.  I can’t be a baby now.  I just gotta suck it up.  Or… drop.

That’s right.  I could drop.  I could just stop now and say I gave it my all.

But… am I giving it my all?

No.  Yes, my butt hurts.  Can I still move forward without causing any further damage?  Yes.  It’s just a butt-ache!  It will go away!

But…

There goes Gary, flying by me.  For the last time.  I can’t keep up.

Damn it!  I should just DNF.  Who cares?!?  It’s stupid if I’m not having fun!

Why aren’t you having fun?  That’s no one’s fault but yours… mine.  Suck it up, Jeff!  This shit isn’t easy.  It’s supposed to be tough!

Of course, it is.  Just keep moving.

John flies by me.  A few minutes later two guys I passed earlier in the race whiz by me.  A few minutes later, another.  I’m fading.

So what?  Be glad you’re moving, dummy.  Be glad you’re alive, running around this park with your mom and sister waiting on your every need, a friendly face around every bend.  Wake up!!!

There’s Alfredo up ahead.  Let’s go catch him and see how he’s doing.

“Jeff!” he says, excited to see me.  “How are you doing?”

I want to tell him about my issues, about how I was in 4th and now I’m in… I have no idea where I am now and that my butt hurts and that it’s hot now and I want to be sitting down with something cold in my hand and I am feeling sorry for myself and I am thinking about dropping and THEN…

“I’m doing okay,” I say.

We run along together for a short bit and he spontaneously tells me that I inspire him.  He tells me that he uses me to push himself to be better — this coming from a man who went from being a 250+ pound alcoholic to a sober, slim running beam of light!  Wow.

I really am being stupid.

“Thanks, Alfredo.  You inspire me too.”

In fact, he’s inspiring me RIGHT NOW.

I dart off, fully aware of the lingering pain in my butt, but accepting (finally) the fact that mulling about it in my own head isn’t going to help me run any faster.  I’m going to run this next little bit for Alfredo.

Then I catch up to another friend, Art.  I’m going to run this little bit for Art.

And there’s Jeremy.  I’m gonna run this little bit for Jeremy.

And Eric.  And Kelly.  And Tony.  AND MY LORD I COULD RUN THE WHOLE REST OF THIS RACE ON THE ENERGY OF ALL MY FRIENDS!!!

I may be slowing down considerably as I roll past my crew and check in with Pat for my 10th, 11th and 12th loops, but I see I’ve logged 39.48 miles with two hours to go and suddenly I am ready to MOVE AGAIN!

Ultrarunning Rule #1: Always smile. Even if it hurts. (Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m.

Pain in the ass?  WHAT pain in the ass?  Move along, son! 

Okay, so it’s not the most conventional of running mantras, but it’ll work.  Especially now, since this is a race against the clock!  I have two hours to run 10 miles, something that I could normally do with my eyes closed and feet shackled.  Of course, it’s a bit harder with 40 miles already in the legs, but I get another boost of inspiration from my friend, Whitney Richman, who sneaks up on me as I start running out of the start/finish area aid station.

I am officially getting “chicked”.

So what?  It’s Whitney!  Whitney is a badass.

She is currently running in the first female position.  I respect her speed as much as her toughness.

“You started running again just as I pass you,” she says jokingly.

“It’s all good, Whitney.  You’re going to pass me.  And you’re going to win!  Great job!”

Getting “chicked” (passed by a female competitor) can be a big stain on the psyche of many males.  I used to think it was just out of jest, but apparently some dudes do take it very seriously.  I am not one of those dudes.  I started off in road running, where I was getting beat by fit, fast and elite women quite regularly.  What the hell do I care if a girl passes me?  She must be fast if she’s blowing by me so more power to her!

All I care about now is getting my 5o miles in.

And I’m gettin’ it now.  In fact, I even have a little bounce in my step.  I keep a decent 9:00-9:30 pace at this point and just concentrate on moving forward.  For a little while I run with another Kennekuk regular named Scott who tells me this is his 20th year running Howl.  20 YEARS!  WOW!  Eventually he runs on past me but I definitely appreciate the conversation while it lasted.

*Running with Siamak (Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

My pal Siamak catches up to me and we run together for a while.  Hmm, been in this situation before, I thought.  I could get used to this!  It really is comforting to have a familiar face join you in your most primordial pits of pain, if only to distract the mind and body from feeling so crappy.

We eventually separate, and once again, I concentrate on catching up to the next friend, and then the next.

I finish my 13th loop in 33 minutes, a whole five minutes faster than the 12th loop as my mother quickly points out.

“Why do I do this stuff again, Mom?”

“Because you’re going to feel really good once you’re done.”

“Exactly.”  I knew the answer.  Deep down I know that.  But sometimes, in the middle of it all, it’s easy to forget.  It’s nice to be reminded by someone who has your best interests at heart.

“I’m getting my 50 miles.” I declare.

The 14th loop is a blur.  Really.  To keep my mind from doing annoyingly instantaneous calculations that never seem to accumulate fast enough, I force myself to look down at the ground in front of me, so when I eventually do look up and see that I’m done with the loop, it doesn’t seem like it took that long.

“I got you down for 14 loops, headed out for your 15th, Jeff.” says Pat.

“Thank you, Pat!”

I like Pat.  I really like that guy.  Something about the way he says my name every time and looks me straight in the eye and raises his hand so I know he is talking to me… I don’t know him, but I think I know that he’s an awesome dude and he probably has a whole circle of friends and family who would back that up.

This last loop is for Pat.

I get to the bottom of the great big hill.  I power hike my way up and thank the aid station volunteers at the top.  Nearly ever time I crested that big old thing I immediately craved ice cold water.  And there, every time at my service, were the kind souls at the top of that hill with just that very thing to ease my pain.  This last swig of water is for you, awesome aid station workers!

Up ahead of me is Jerret.  We’re runnin’ this in together.

Jerret and I, finishing strong. (Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

I finish the 15th loop alongside Jerret.  We have 20 minutes left, but since we don’t have enough time to make another full 3.29 mile loop, we now have to hit the quarter mile out-and-backs as many times as we can before the eight hours are finally up.  I need just two out-and-backs to make 50 miles.

I run three and finish with 50.85 miles.

Whew.

Post-Race

My mom and Cara are there to hold me up, because now that the race is over, I don’t feel like using my legs much at all.  I lean on them both as we make our way back to the tent so I can begin the healing process.

As usual, tears start to fall out of my face like a big old softy.

“Why does this always happen to me, Mom?” I ask.

She says something about serotonin overdrive or something like that and I realize it doesn’t much matter.  These are tears of joy.  I fought the fight today and I won, because I’m still standing.

I didn’t give up.  And in the end I won my age group, finishing 8th overall.

The New Leaf/M.U.D.D. crew showing off the hardware. (Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

– – –

Everything else was just gravy.  The folks who put on this race are awesome people!  As the RD repeatedly said, they love to party.  We ate, we drank, we hung around for a kick-ass awards ceremony where our New Leaf and M.U.D.D. groups took home some major bling.  We hung out and just relaxed knowing that we all did something special out there while most of America was probably busy sitting down, watching awful reality TV, eating something engineered in a chemistry lab.

Congratulations to Whitney Richman who won the women’s race, coming in 6th overall!  And, of course, a tip of the cap to Scott Colford, the winner and STILL champion of  Howl.

I’ll be baaaaaaack…

(Image courtesy of Brian Gaines)

Also, thanks, Brian for all these fantastic pictures!

Posted by  |  August 13, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Race Reports, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Mindful Perspective, Reinterpreting Pain

During U.S. Olympian Aly Raisman’s gold medal floor routine, NBC commentator Tim Daggett mentioned her unique ability to view the nervous energy associated with such daring gymnastics (something most of us call “pressure” or “anxiety”) into something much more performance enhancing.  He called it “excitement”.

What a novel yet extraordinarily simple idea!

Embrace the nervousness, the anxiety, the pressure and transform it into something positive.  Use it as a springboard for optimal performance.  Face it.  Take it.  And run with it.

Digging deeper, I know that, for me, most of that pre-race energy comes from knowing the type of pain that will be involved.  If you have ever raced a race, I mean, really put yourself out there, leaving nothing behind, then you know the type of pain I am talking about.  It’s the type of pain dictated by the central governor, that annoyingly present theoretic portion of the brain that says, “Stop! Are you crazy? This is unnecessary!”

It’s also the type of pain that, when challenged and overridden, leads to bouts of ecstasy.  That’s one of the reasons why I love racing.  I love pushing myself beyond what I think I can do.  Even in failure, I am guaranteed to experience something most people never will, a satisfying feat all by itself.

Overriding the central governor, attempting to accomplish extraordinary goals, I remind myself of Dave Terry’s wisdom as told by Scott Jurek: “Not all pain is significant.”

And just in case you don’t believe that, consider the fact that Jurek won the 2007 Hardrock 100 on a severely sprained ankle, or that Thomas Voeckler’s captivating Stage 10 victory at the 2012 Tour de France — the one that had him making all sorts of uncomfortable faces towards the end — was done despite a bum knee.

I know a thing or two about pain myself.  Just look at my face as I crossed the finish line during my current marathon PR.  That was a painful race, no doubt.  But the pain has long subsided and all that is left is the purest joy I have ever come to know.

Posted by  |  August 1, 2012 | Categories: Philosophy, Training | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments