Go Hard, Hold On, Have Fun: The 2012 Earth Day 50K Race Report
When it comes to running long and having a blast, the McHenry County Ultrarunning Dudes and Dudettes (M.U.D.D.) sure do set the bar high. Over the last couple of years I have gotten to know many of them through volunteering, running the trails and of course, through racing, so when they announced they would be hosting the first ever Earth Day 50K in nearby Crystal Lake, I circled April 22 on my calendar and made sure I would be rockin’ a smile, ready to race.
All day long.
Pre-Race
Man, this is like a party! To look at all the happy faces around me, one would have a hard time believing any of us are in for 31 miles of pain and suffering today. That’s ultrarunning for ya!
I say hi to Alfredo, to Brandi, to Juan, to Edna, to Carrie, Jerret, Tony and so many others. I compliment the collection of yellow “Ultra-Virgin” shirts adorning an anxious crowd. And there is Michele Hartwig, Team Inov-8 member, trail runner extraordinaire and Earth Day 50K race director!
We runners gather for instruction from Michele, pause for the national anthem, and at the sound of the horn… we’re off!
Loop 1
The Earth Day 50K is comprised of five loops of 6 miles with an extra mile added to the first (remember, I LOVE LOOPS). It is run on the trails of picturesque Veteran Acres: a good mix of winding singletrack with some multi-track interspersed. It’s about 50 degrees, the sun is out and everything is GREEN! Mother Earth decided to show up to this party, and so did I!
At the start, my first move is to… lead the way! In fact, my goals coming into this race are to to finish in the top 10, be in the lead pack as long as possible and smile at everyone I see along the way.
David Epstein’s recent S.I. article on Sammy Wanjiru is fresh in my mind, reminding me of a ballsy (read: dangerous?) yet effective racing strategy: beat them at the beginning. The idea is to go hard at the start — to create a gap so immense that it is nearly impossible to clip. The unfortunate part of this strategy (as I will later find out) is that it could leave one gassed at the end, when finishing speed is needed to put it away.
But at this point, I’m only ONE mile into this journey, with THIRTY to go. I have a looooong day ahead, so I just go fast enough to get out front, but not fast enough to kill myself. Yet.
As the field spreads out, we step onto luscious singletrack, and I am not alone. On my heels is Trey Robinson, an awesome runner from Gurnee. We talk a little, but it is obvious that running this hard and talking is easier for him than it is me. His movement is fluid and deliberate. His stride is near perfect. I can’t keep up with him, so I just run my pace. Sure it’s fun to be competitive, to push my body to see what I’m capable of, but thrashing too hard too early and not running my race is as pointless as it is debilitating, so I let him go and just focus.
I have a song in my head: “Rapture at Sea” by Eastern Sun. I don’t run with music, but I do find it helpful to have a song that I like stuck in my head, to act as an equalizer between body and mind when things really get tough. Also, any time I can prevent “I’m Henry the Eighth I Am” from getting in my brain, I take advantage of it. Thankfully, “Rapture at Sea” has me cruisin’.
In fact, this first cruising loop is all about taking in the terrain. There are rolling hills. Bombs away on the down, bound on the ups! A couple steep climbs require power hiking, but barely. There is a lot of variation. Sometimes I’m enveloped by green forest only to escape into an open field. Sometimes I’m running on soft earth, sometimes crushed limestone. I come out of one downhill trail section that empties onto a paved bike path and BOOM. There are two curious deer staring straight at me, just 10 feet away. More like me are a comin’, fellas. Ya might wanna stand clear. They bound away, as if to say, naa naa na boo boo, we’re faster than yooouuuu!
Besides the one at the start/finish, there is also an aid station at the halfway point of the loop. The volunteers there are a jubilant and supportive bunch! They are so quick and efficient that I barely get to see who they are before I’m off again.
Just as I come up on a rather ominous group of trees that boast gigantic, man-made question marks on their heavy trunks, I realize I’ve lost Trey. He’s gotta be waaaaay ahead. Go get ’em, bro!
I feel like I got a lock on second if I can just hold pace. I’m having fun. I feel good.
Loop 1 done in 51:52.
Loop 2
Um… about that “lock on second”… hmm… you’re 7 miles in, pal. Let’s just focus on the here and now. M’kay, thanks.
I blow through the aid station and look behind me to see I’m not as alone as all that singletrack would have me think. There’s a chase pack of three and they’re not far behind. Everybody looks good too. Not a struggler in the bunch. This is where my meditative mindset needs to take over: focus on the now. Right now. And then, RIGHT NOW. What’s going to happen later, or what has already happened is not going to help me. I need to just stay focused, take advantage of all the downhills and remember that this is something I enjoy.
WEEEEE! I scream as I leap up and over a section the locals call “Little Pig Hill”. I also marvel at the dandy and equally descriptive handmade signs put up all along the course, reminding me how creative and fun ultrarunners are: Land of the Aliens. Snake Hill. Costa Rica. Every time I get to Costa Rica, a section at the top of a gnarly downhill, I tell myself THIS IS FUN! IT’S LIKE A TROPICAL VACATION! Anything to get my mind off the guys gunning for me from behind.
At the end of the loop, the single track empties into the park where a girls softball game is going on and I must look like a mad man: A sweaty mess in short-shorts, a singlet and armsleeves. One softball spectator asks me, Are you okay?
Yep. I’m good. Actually, I feel great!
Loop 2 done in 48:14.
Loop 3
It’s easy to tell myself I feel great, but with the chase pack closing in and gaining every time we reach a clearing (the only time I can actually see them), I realize it’s getting harder for my body to buy into the game plan. Mentally, all is well. I think. Before I can decide, I hear blazing footsteps approaching from behind. They’re coming so fast that I have no choice but to stop, turn and look. Here comes a dude so full of energy and so strong that I feel absolutely deflated about my own performance.
Hey, man, keep up the good work. I think you’re in second, he says.
Uh… yeah. I am. I am? Wait —
I’m in the relay. Just starting out.
Comic relief to the rescue! Thank you, running gods! Thank you, Mother Earth! I needed that! Now, back to work.
With the spark of a good laugh, I put my head down and focus on turnover. Quick. Rapid. Turnover. I begin to pass people still on the second loop and I make sure to give words of encouragement to all, just as they do to me. Singletrack can be lonely sometimes, but coming into contact with others who love running and are as passionate about the trails as I am is a welcome comfort.
Meanwhile, my butt is starting to hurt. Literally. Both the left and right piriformis muscles are beginning to ache, but I’m not gonna let a pain in the ass stop me from tearing up dirt.
Loop 3 is done in 49:34.
Loop 4
As I leave the aid station, I think I’ve lost the chase pack. But then, as I power hike the steep climb to the trail head I hear footsteps right behind.
Hi there. You’re doing great, man. C’mon!
It’s Damian Nathaniel. I recognize him from my frantic looks back earlier. We exchange names and salutations.
Man, you’re running way stronger than me, I offer, somewhat deflated. After running in second by myself for 20 miles, then being caught on an uphill climb, I start feeling sorry for myself. But before I can give into the despair, Damian puts his hand on my shoulder and says, C’mon, let’s go!
Who is this guy and why is he so awesome!?!? He takes off downhill, balls to the wall and I follow, injected with energy I didn’t know I had. This dude could have totally smoked me but instead he offers encouragement and talks me through a low point.
After a couple of miles, we reach the paved section and talk about how much we hate it compared to the singletrack. We jockey back and forth on position, but I know he’s going to go ahead of me once we reach the aid station so I wisely ease off the jets. My butt hurts and I need some Coca-Cola to give me a jolt. I doubt he’s gonna stick around for any of that.
I make peace with this development. I accept it. Hell, I’m out running my butt off (literally) and I’m still having the time of my life!
—
Brief Aside
I realize that, when discussing my running adventures, it appears that I often use hyperbole to describe my experiences. That couldn’t be further from the truth. There is no hyperbole. If I’m doing it right, every run is the best run I’ve ever had, because it’s happening NOW and I’m loving it NOW more than I’ve ever loved it before.
—
Competitiveness, for me, is a healthy addition to my running. When I choose to embrace it, it pushes me to do things I never thought I could do. So I use Damian as inspiration. Follow that runner! I tell myself. Head down. Back to work.
Then, out of nowhere, my own body throws up an obstacle by way of… a gastrointestinal scare. Yikes! Where’s my ginger? I grab a Ginger Chew (a must-have for any race) out of my pocket, quickly unwrap it and throw it in my mouth midstride. Of course, chewing this thing would be easier if it wasn’t so damn hard! The chilly temps have left it solid, nearly impossible to bite down on, so instead, I just swallow it.
Whoops.
Now I’m choking at the top of Costa Rica. I try to cough it up. Can’t do it. I pour the water/Gatorade mix from my handheld bottle down my throat and desperately try to swallow again, and again…
So how did Jeff die again? Oh, he ran himself silly then choked to death on a Ginger Chew. He was also wearing short-shorts.
Gulp. Whew. Got it down.
Back to work.
Loop 4 done in 52:01.
Loop 5
I.
Am.
Tired.
Suddenly. I’ve been running around in circles with a big, goofy grin on my face for 3 and a half hours now, talking to deer, choking on Ginger Chews, high-fiving strangers. Also, my butt hurts.
I’m at a low point, but these things come and go, so I just go back to what’s been working: the song in my head, bomb the downhills, focus on the now.
And then, just as quickly as I felt terrible, magically, I feel good again. I feel so good that I don’t even care when John Kiser clips me, leaving me fourth overall, with just 3 miles to go. Dude, you look fantastic! I holler at him as he blazes by (he eventually took 2nd overall). He did look fantastic.
I slam some Coke at the last aid station and put my head down one last time. Song in my head. Bomb the downhills. Focus on the now.
I feel the earth under my feet. I marvel at its touch, its beauty. I smile each time I see one of the M.U.D.D.ers’ clever signs.
I am so happy. This is what makes me truly happy. This land, this Earth. This life, this journey. This is why I’m here.
Loop 5 done in 56:24.
Post-Race
At an event like this, there is no going home right after. I rehydrate, I eat. There’s something delicious here called “Taco Soup” and I’ve eaten two servings. There’s homemade muffins and cookies and cakes. I devour everything in sight.
I change my clothes. I hug anyone who will hug me, including the race director! I call my Mom and Dad and then I sit my sore butt on the ground and cheer on all my friends coming through the finish.
Congratulations to Trey Robinson on the win. That was some spectacular running, my friend.
I won my age division, took 4th place overall and set a 50K trail P.R. of 4:17:55.
I could use a beer. And a nap.
What to Do When Life DOESN’T Get in the Way
One of my most valuable training tools is my logbook. A quick peek at my tired scribbles gives a very thorough and accurate view of who I am as a runner — how I feel, what kind of running I’m doing, ebbs and flows of a training cycle displayed beautifully by the English language.
Once I pick it up, it’s hard for me to put down.
Yesterday, as I studied the bevy of runs logged over the last 12 months, I made a surprising realization:
Life rarely gets in my way.
Life rarely gets in my way!!!
You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about that cliche oft heard by runners of all abilities: “Sometimes life gets in the way.”
Wife. Kids. Job.
I have a job, but it requires zero stress. Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Nothing more, nothing less. No late nights for me. No taking work home. No last minute business dinners. No trips, no conference calls.
I do not have kids. I don’t have a significant other. My closest family member lives four hours away by car.
I live alone. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. And I don’t stress.
In fact, in the last year, life has only gotten in the way of my training twice: once due to a death in the family which required an entire day of driving, and once so I could go to Games 1 and 2 of the 2011 World Series in St. Louis (I know, rough life, cry me a river, etc.). Those were the only two times I had to shelf a run. That’s it! Twice.
Meanwhile, most of my running buddies find themselves having to adapt to the barrage of life-shit thrown at them. Some have to deal with such hiccups on a daily basis!
So why have I not taken more advantage of this near-perfect training environment? Good question. And it’s one that I aim to address through reversal.
Go big or go home.
That’s another one of those cliches favored by the running community. Well, my friends, since life has been kind to my running addiction, my ass is going BIG.
Stop Time: Gallivant through Luscious Forest
All this rugged trail running is making me tough and leathery. I feel stronger. Gettin’ dirty. But being so often bombarded by nature’s beauty is also leaving me emotionally vulnerable. It’s hard for me to not stop, to soak in my surroundings, to dissociate from time and to just be in the moment.
I think that’s a perfect mix of cojones and heart.
My running club organized a 50K (31 mile) fun run through Wisconsin’s southern unit of the Kettle Moraine forest yesterday. With the Ice Age Trail 50 Miler just 7 weeks away, I knew logging some long hours on the actual route I’ll be running during the race would be nothing but beneficial, so I took the whole day to really immerse myself in the trail.
Holy bejeebus. It’s as beautiful as it is tough.
The elevation gain from my forest adventure only totaled about 2,400 feet, but the constant up and down rolling nature of the moraines (a result of the last ice age glacier melts, thus the name) is so relentless that I never could find a consistent rhythm to my stride. Walk up hill a little, fly down hill a little, walk up hill a little, fly down, and so on. WHERE ARE THE FLATS?
I never found them, but I did find out that Wisconsin is home to one of the most luscious forests I’ve ever seen. It was like running on Endor! I kept anticipating an Ewok ambush or stumbling across one of the Empire’s hidden bases. Green, green, green!
And the sounds: loons, bullfrogs, crickets, swallows, robins, my tired footfalls.
There were several moments along the trail when I thought, Man this is hard! How am I ever going to run 50 miles on it if I’m struggling through 31? I had moments where I felt awful, but I also had moments where I felt euphoric, and the switch was made within minutes.
At one point I looked down to notice I’d “run” a 15 minute mile. That’s some real humbling shit right there, especially to a guy who touts himself as a regional class speedster. 15 minute mile!?! Good grief.
But I later realized, if having to suck up some slow miles is what it takes to become part of nature’s truest gifts, then I’m all for it. In the end, it took me 6 hours and 21 minutes to complete my 31 mile Kettle adventure. That’s the longest run I’ve ever logged to date. To put that time in perspective, my current 50K trail PR is 5:15, and I barely gave any effort in attaining that time, as it too was just a fun run.
Yet I can’t help but think 6 hours and 21 minutes still isn’t enough time to sufficiently gallivant through such luscious forest. It surely didn’t feel like I was out there that long. And despite the aches in my glutes and the pains in my quads, I didn’t want to escape the canopy. I wanted to stay in there as long as I could.
Time stops in there. And in a world where time is often my enemy, suddenly I don’t mind reevaluating my expectations.
Chasing the Bike: The 2012 Chicago Get Lucky! 7K Race Report
Obscure distance races, for me, are irresistible. That’s one reason why I’m running a 30 mile race at the end of the month. It is also why I signed up for the first ever Chicago Get Lucky! 7K race.
Yes. 7K. Your very non-standard 4.34959835 mile race.
Since my recent 5o mile training has focused mostly on tough, hilly long runs, a short distance race seemed like a nice change of pace. Besides, when well rested, running fast is fun! The 7K distance made it so I would PR no matter what and the Get Lucky! schwag (a kelly green zip-up hoodie) was pretty sweet.
My goal going into the race was to just run hard from the beginning and hold it as long as I could. I wanted to focus on high leg turnover and a smooth cadence throughout. With nearly 800 registrants, I didn’t figure I’d have much of a chance at a top three finish, so the thought never entered my mind.
Until I lined up.
There was a half marathon (The Chicago Get Lucky! 21K) run in conjunction with this race. 20 minutes after the half marathon began, the 7K racers were told to line up.
Wanting to run smooth 6:30s, I got in the 7 minute per mile corral. It was the fastest one next to the one labeled “elite” — one that, astonishingly, no one was standing in. I quickly looked around to see that indeed, I was standing alone, that most people were lined up way behind me. Then there was an athletic looking youngster dressed in green who approached and confidently stood ground next to me. We smiled and said “hi” to one another.
I think both of us knew that we might be in for a special day if we were the only ones in the front of the pack. You could almost see the both of us salivating, sizing each other up. Then along came a Mary Keitany lookalike. I quickly let her in front of me. Just a few minutes before the race was to start, it looked like only the three of us would start out at the front.
Competitive spirit override. Race strategy chucked.
Hell no. If I have a chance to win — AN ACTUAL CHANCE TO WIN — I’m going for it.
The horn blew and we were off, the three of us in front along with a guy dressed like a leprechaun, whom if beaten in the race demanded an ancillary cash prize.
The starting pace was about 6:20. Not too bad. The Mary Keitany lookalike made it appear effortless though, so I immediately figured she was my main competition.
We hit the first turn and boom, there took off the leprechaun and the athletic dude in green. I wouldn’t see them again for a while. Mary Keitany lookalike gave chase, I looked down at my watch to see I was under 6 minute pace and thought, nah, I’m gonna stick with 6:30s. I eased off but kept her in my sights.
For the next 2.5K I slowly reeled her in. But before I did, I looked behind me to see… um… no one! I was way out in front of everyone else, virtually guaranteed a top three finish if I just didn’t crash and burn. I kept a steady pace and it seemed pretty easy. Cruise control.
I caught her on the weird downhill just after the aid station between 3K and 4K. On the Lakeshore Path, it’s the abrupt bridged hill before going under the road, south of Illinois Avenue. I’ve run that part of the path about a bazillion times in my life, so I knew I could fly on the short downward section. I made my move and BLASTED DOWN past her. She didn’t counter, seemingly content with the idea of a 1st female finish rather than 2nd place overall.
Sounded good to me! I kicked it up a notch.
But then I encountered a series of weird, poorly marked turns and… yes, no course marshals. Not long after seeing a 4K mark banner, I came across a mess of oddly grouped orange cones, but no people. The leader and the leprechaun had already started the back portion of the out-and-back-esque course, so I wasn’t sure where the turnaround was. Is it still ahead? Is it here? Oh shit.
I was flying. And starting to panic. I made it about a quarter mile further before I realized there was no one around and I’d definitely gone off course. I stopped, turned, and boom, there was Mary Keitany lookalike. We both threw our arms up in the air. Confused. She said, “that must’ve been the turnaround, back there.” I nodded, said, “Sorry”, and dug deep in a concentrated spurt past her, back to the right spot, back to those oddly grouped, messy orange cones. Back on course.
To my horror I saw: NOW TWO PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME!
Competitive spirit override. Again. Harder.
DIG DEEP. Vrrrrrroooom.
Zoomed by the first guy, unsuspecting. Clearly, he did not care. “Good job, buddy!” he yelled. Thumbs up, I gave. Head down.
The second guy in front of me was moving slow. I knew I’d catch him. “Lookin’ good”, he said. Thanks, bro! I passed. I focused further down the line on… the bike!
The leader and leprechaun were too far ahead to be seen, so course marshals (who magically appeared after my detour) responded by sending a bike out to lead second place. At the 5K mark, that was me. I wasn’t even looking at my watch now. I could care less about my time. All I wanted to do was finish strong with nothing less than second place. I was content with that.
Until I saw the leprechaun in my sights with 1 kilometer to go.
Did not think about it. Just dug in and told my legs to catch him. I turned off my mind and let instinct kick in. I was surprised at how easy it seemed. I passed him on the first of a couple sharp right turns in the last half kilometer, got a huge buzz from the cowbell-ringing, shamrock-clad crowd who came out in strong numbers cheering and clapping. I slowed a little, soaked it in. Crossed the finish fist pumping with a smile. I was handed a medal and a mug with CASH MONEY in it from beating the leprechaun. I’m told a top three finisher prize will be in the mail.
Hot dog!
I’ve said it before, but it’s still true so I will keep saying it: I’ll never take a pitch in the big leagues, or drive the lane in the NBA. The NFL will never see my touchdown dance. But today I ran the Chicago Get Lucky! 7K race and finished 2nd out of 797 competitors, and for that I’m claiming baller status.
Closer to the Sky: A Flatlander’s First Take with Mountain Running
My recent Malibu getaway was not planned as a running specific trip, but, well, I’m me. So running was all I could think about. And boy did I do some runnin’!
The area around Malibu is home to some beautiful peaks. And though none of them would be considered overly “mountainous” to someone calling himself a mountain runner, the bottom of a 2,000 foot climb looks pretty damn mountainous to this flatlander. Hell, we Chicagoans run parking garage platforms and bridge spans to get in our hill work. Swallow Cliffs, part of the Palos Hills trail system outside the city, features the gnarliest hill we have around these parts: Big Bertha. And even with her, you gotta run up and down, up and down, over and over again to simulate even the slightest mountain route. And it still doesn’t simulate. Not well anyway. Honestly, there’s really no good way for flatlanders to practice running/power hiking/slogging up a mountain other than just running/power hiking/slogging up a mountain.
Thanks goodness for vacation!
While a great deal of my time was spent exploring Malibu Creek State Park, my first encounter with running closer to the sky actually came on the trails of the Zuma/Trancas Canyon. In order to maximize my time (remember, this was not a running trip, allegedly), I got up before dawn and started the four mile trek along the Pacific Coast Highway to reach the trail head. The weather called for sunny, clear skies and a high of 70 degrees. Holy hell I would be running in heaven and I didn’t even know it yet!
By the time I reached the trail head, the sun had risen, and I was totally aware of just how beautiful everything was around me. Before I started my climb up the Zuma Ridge Trail, I took in a deep breath, surveyed my surroundings and admired the silence. Believe me, no matter how many times I use the word “beautiful” to describe this adventure, it will never be accurate enough to relate what I saw.
Up, up, up!
After a quarter mile on the trail, ahead of me I saw the one (and only) person I would see out that day — an elderly lady, grandma-fit and truckin’ along — whom I apparently scared when I approached. Turns out power hiking up a hill makes for less foot noise. That and the fact that she was rockin’ an iPod are probably why she didn’t hear me coming until I was right next to her.
AH! she screamed. You scared me!
Sorry!
It’s okay. Just not used to seeing people out here this early. (Swigs her water bottle) You trying to scare away the mountain lions with that shirt?
I was wearing my SCREAMING fluorescent green St. Louis Marathon tech tee from 2011, mostly so I could be clearly seen by motorists while I ran along the PCH, but I didn’t feel like having a long conversation, so I smiled and just kept going past her. Before I got too far along, I couldn’t help but ask: Are there really mountain lions out here?
You bet! They’re all over the place! But don’t worry. They won’t like that shirt. Too bright!
She laughed. At my shirt? At the prospect of me getting eaten by a mountain lion? Too much coffee? Her shirt was white. Didn’t she want to scare the mountain lions? Where was her SCREAMING fluorescent green shirt?
I laughed back. Have a nice day! I told her as I dug deeper into the power hike.
I guess part of me knew beforehand that mountain running would require quite a bit of power hiking, but an hour of it? Two hours of it? I thought, gee, this isn’t really what I think of when I think of “running”. I wanna move! I tried running up the incline, even though I knew it was counterproductive. After 15 seconds I realized as much. But that didn’t stop me from trying it again. And again. And again.
I’m a stubborn dude sometimes.
Still, stubbornness is no match for nature. And every time I tried to do the impossible I was humbled back to the slow, slow, slow power hike.
It didn’t matter. The scenery… OH THE SCENERY! How can I even possibly describe it? First of all, it’s Malibu so, HELLO BEAUTY. Luscious, rolling green mountains with the ocean and the beach up against their side and multimillion dollar homes tucked neatly into pockets of pristine vegetation. The sea breezed air was refreshingly clean. The sky as blue as I’d ever seen.
I stopped. Often. Just to take it all in.
I’ve been sucker punched by beauty during long runs before, but never anything like this. I was so overwhelmed with love for nature and all that surrounded me that I broke down. I didn’t now what else to do or how to handle it. I was totally unprepared for such sensory overload, but I am so glad I got it anyway. A couple minutes of crying like a baby was all I needed to get my power hiking legs back on to go further up, up, up…
And then BOOM! A flat! And a downhill! Both of them brief, but utterly invigorating before… more power hiking. Up, up, up…
(Later)
BEEP BEEP BEEP. My watch. Dammit. I knew what that meant. Time to turn around. I was, after all, in Malibu with other people and we had other things planned for the day. So after two hours of climbing, I knew it was time to turn it around, which meant….
GRAVITY!
With one of nature’s greatest gifts guiding me down the mountain, I thought here’s my chance to clock some 5:30 miles without feelin’ it. And I would be a total liar if I did not admit to screaming WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! all most of the way down.
It’s really difficult for me to think of something more fun than running downhill. It’s not even running really. It’s play. It’s fun!!! For a little while anyway. After 30 minutes of non-ntop flying on the decline, I realized it wasn’t always fun and my quads were not happy, nor would they be if I didn’t slow up and take it easy some.
The quads don’t know what to do going downhill. They’re doing the opposite of what they’re made to do (lift/extend the knee) and so they revolt by HURTING LIKE A BITCH. Like all the other pains, it’s just another truth about running — something that must be battled, defeated, pushed through.
Eventually it would go away.
I was celebrating that fact, and then before I knew it I was at the bottom of the canyon. Very, very sad.
Luckily for me, I had a nice (and flat!) four mile cool down jog along the beach and, literally, an ocean of cold water to soak my battered posts in. When I got back to the house, my friends were waiting for me. Smiles, all of ’em.
How was it? they asked.
I tried to speak but as soon as I opened my mouth I realized there was nothing I could say that would do the experience justice. As I struggled to give an answer, a great, big boyish grin consumed my face. I shook my head and quickly brushed away the trickle forming in the corner of my left eye.
They knew. They all smiled and they all knew.
Trading the High for Zen and a General Sense of Awesome
I don’t get the runner’s high anymore. I haven’t for about a year and a half now. When I first started running, catching the “high” was a frequent occurrence, especially during hard efforts like long runs or speed work. But nowadays it’s something I’ve learned to do without. The only runner’s high I get now is after the run, when my knees are iced, my feet are up and I’m able to reflect on the satisfaction of having done work.
Of course, beer helps.
Oh how far I’ve come!
During my early running days, when I didn’t really know what I was getting into, breaking down on a desolate country road, overcome with emotion was rather common. I’d often feel like I made some poignant realization about myself. I’d get that warm, cozy feeling I used to get during my MDMA partying days. I used to think: if only EVERYONE were a runner, to know this special feeling!
Then, as soon as it came, it was gone. Forever.
I don’t know why. But I’m over it.
I’ve traded the high for zen, the emotion for being present. Of course, for me, catching the zen isn’t as easy as simply going for a long run or running intervals. It takes a combination of speed and distance for me to tap into it. It demands a pace fast enough to be uncomfortable, and a distance far enough to make maintaining that pace hard as hell. It requires supreme focus. Splits, muscle aches and what I’m going to have for dinner that night cannot jut into my consciousness. Everything must go, everything except the present.
Right.
Now.
And even then, reaching zen mode is not a given. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. I’ve found that when I think about it or try to force my way into having one of those experiences, it just doesn’t work.
The good news is, every run — no matter how present or how off in space — brings me happiness. Even after those really awful runs, the ones where I felt slow, felt heavy, felt off, felt crampy, even those make me smile.
Just moving, doing work, going forward in time… that’s awesome.
Something Makes Him Tick: Psychology of an Ultrarunner
Running distances further than a marathon — in some cases, running distances A LOT further than a marathon — takes a certain type of character.
I believe that character is deep inside all of us, there for the unlocking. I didn’t know I had one, and WOULD HAVE LAUGHED if you said I had one, just a couple years ago. But now I am certain we all have it.
It just takes something to trigger it.
Like rage. Fear. A broken heart.
For me, it was all three. At once.
I had just caught the running bug and my destination was: THE MARATHON. I thought there was no finer achievement. So I dug right in.
At the time, I was dating a girl who I really dug. She was perfect. Maybe I was falling in love.
She was a runner too. She’d drawn me in to the sport actually. She was training for her first marathon as well and her target was Chicago 2010. I loved being with her for the build up and the excitement. And I started thinking about what it would be like to run further than a marathon. Is it possible? Do people hurt themselves trying? I was really clueless that an entire world of ultrarunners even existed.
And then I found Dean Karnazes’ book, Ultramarathon Man. I was fascinated. And determined I would test the waters. Some day. Soon.
The girl thought that running more than a marathon was dangerous. And stupid.
I didn’t say much. I put it in my brain’s back pocket and forgot about it.
But then, exactly one week before she was to run the Chicago Marathon, on a cold October morning, she broke up with me.
I went for a run. And on that run, I decided I was not only going to beat her marathon time (by a lot), but I was also going to tackle the ultra distances. 50 miles. 100 miles. 24 hour races. I’m doing that shit.
That was how my switch was flipped.
And now I’m doing that. I’m really doing it.
So much hurt has brought so much joy to my life. I find it astoundingly ironic.
And just perfect.
From the Hilarious to the Ridiculous
Misconceptions of long-distance runners are numerous among the non-running crowd. Here is but a sample of some of the things I’ve heard:
Running like that is not good for your knees, typically said by the overweight frump eating McDonald’s and drinking a 72 ounce soda.
50 miles? No way! I don’t even like to drive 50 miles!
How long is this marathon?
The body is not meant to run for hours like that, typically said by the overweight frump still eating McDonald’s and drinking a 72 ounce soda.
You need to eat more. (PS: I AM ALWAYS EATING!!!)
How many times have you shit yourself? Why do people think we shit ourselves? Good grief. I don’t know anyone who has ever done this, so I am baffled by the infatuation with this fabrication.
Is Forrest Gump your favorite movie? typically asked by the overweight frump eating McDonald’s, drinking a 72 ounce soda, now hooked up to life support.
And after telling my grandma I’d just run a marathon, she asked, “Well, did you win?”
She sounded disappointed when I told her I had not.
My Story
People who have met me within the last couple of years have a hard time believing I used to be someone else. Not that I was literally someone else, but the lifestyle I led and the things that interested me used to be so far from what they are now that I might as well have been another person.
Every runner has a story. There’s the story about running into a coyote on the trail, the story of getting clipped by that car that one time, the story of blowing up during that race. But a runner’s creation story is what I always find to be the most fascinating: how did a runner become a runner.
Here’s my story:
Growing up I was an active kid. Sure we had Nintendo, but in order to play it we had to be outside most of the day, doing whatever it was we kids would do: baseball, soccer, basketball, tag, kick the can, chase the girl! I grew up with a full house of siblings so we lived for good weather, exploring the neighborhood and bottle rocket fights.
My dad was a runner. Marathons, trail runs, 5Ks. I always had fun going to races and cheering for him in different events. When I was about 12 years old I started running with him in local short races. I didn’t particularly enjoy the running (it was hard!) but I did like the atmosphere and the eclectic group of folks who would get together and run around together for a couple hours. They’re crazy! I used to think.
I ran track in junior high. I ran the mile because it was the furthest distance offered and my dad seemed to like the idea of me running the longer distances like he did, so I just went with it. I wasn’t very good and I whined about how hard it was. I think my fastest time was 6-something. I was getting smoked.
By the time I reached high school I’d had it with track and had moved on to different things — music and theatre mostly. Dad continued to run and whenever I was feeling particularly out of shape I’d hit the road for 5 miles or so. But I didn’t enjoy it. I was used to being comfortable, and back then, for me, running was the absolute opposite of comfort.
In 1997, as a new freshman in college, I went for a run and quickly encountered the hill monsters of Kalamazoo, Michigan. Well, I’m done with this running shit, I thought. And I was.
Which is probably a good thing for the 18-year old me, because I quickly found other passions, like booze and smoking and chasing tail. My outta-this-world metabolism kept me from becoming Jabba the Hutt, so I ate whatever I felt like eating. I also drank and smoked, drank and smoked, drank and smoked.
Fast forward to December 30, 2009. The only part of my college lifestyle that had changed was that I wasn’t in college, and my metabolism wasn’t quite as efficient. I was constantly feeling tired (despite never having done anything), I struggled with severe bouts of depression and I was all the time coughing/wheezing/gasping.
Meh. This is my place in the universe, I told myself. This is who I am. I smoke a pack and a half a day. That’s just the way it is.
I was late for work and had about 4 minutes to catch the bus. From my place to the bus stop is about a quarter of a mile. If I walked I’d be late, so I decided to run.
Couldn’t make it.
About halfway through I stopped, keeled over onto my knees, gasping for breath. WHEEEEEEZE HUHHHH WHEEEEEEEZE HUHHHH. People were staring at me, kids were pointing, an old lady asked “Are you okay?”
I’M DONE WITH THIS, I yelled at myself. JUST STOP IT! THIS IS INSANE!
I was so embarrassed, so full of shame of what I was right then and there at that moment that I decided to do something I’d seemingly forgotten how to do: I took control of my life.
I quit smoking. That day. I haven’t smoked a cigarette since.
I quit boozing. I quit depriving my body of sleep. I quit filling my body with synthetic food stuffs, learned about basic nutrition and revamped my entire diet.
But most of all, I decided I wanted to be a runner again.
The first “run” lasted about 3 minutes. I didn’t get very far. But I kept going. I’d walk a little, jog a little, walk a little, jog a little. I made it a whole mile in about 20 minutes.
The next day, instead of quitting, I put on my shoes and went out the door again. Every time I thought about quitting, I saw myself keeled over, embarrassed by my lack of fitness, my lack of identity.
I’M A RUNNER GODDAMMIT. I’M A RUNNER.
I told myself this. I made myself believe it. And over the next couple of months, one mile became two, then two became three. I was feeling good. And most of all, I was HAPPY. I finished every run with a great big smile on my face.
Then, in the summer of 2010, a colleague of mine told me he was running a 5K sponsored by one of the museums we work with in Chinatown. He asked if I wanted to run it. A 5K? Me? My first instinct was to decline, so instead, I said yes.
Immediately, I wrote an email to my father, telling him as much. He seemed incredulous. In fact, to him, this entire “lifestyle transformation” of mine seemed too abrupt to be real. And considering how little attention I paid to personal health and well-being prior, I don’t blame him for thinking that way.
But I emailed him a copy of my race registration confirmation.
And a little bit later he emailed me a copy of his.
My dad traveled all the way from Houston, Texas to Chicago, Illinois to run a goddamn 5K with me, to show his support for my new direction, to pat me on the back for having the courage to finally change.
I ran my heart out in that race. I made my dad proud. And I never looked back.
I was a runner.
I am a runner.
And in becoming one, I found out it makes me the happiest me I can be.
The Escalating Race Fee and How Some Experiences Just Can’t Be Understood by the Dollar
As race fees continue to go up, one needn’t search far to find someone with an opinion on the matter. From Runner’s World to the blogosphere to the regulars of my weekly group run, people are talkin’ about it and sometimes it gets FEISTY!
Earlier this month, I signed up for the now sold out 2012 Chicago Marathon. I was so paranoid of missing entry that I registered THE EXACT MINUTE registration opened. I whizzed through the many pages of sign-up and when it came to pay the $150 registration fee (up $5 from 2011), I didn’t even flinch.
*CLICK*
I would’ve paid $300 to run the Chicago Marathon. Any more than that and I’d have to seriously check my budget, but to me, every single penny of that $150 is well beyond worth it.
I’m a dreamer. I love to picture myself doing extraordinary things. But reality is an asskicker.
I will never take a pitch in the Big Leagues. I will never drive the lane or shoot a game-tying three in the NBA. The NFL will never see my touchdown dance.
But on October 7, 2012, I will take to 26.2 miles of my home city like a rock star, running at top speed, supported by the voracious cheers of the million plus spectators lining the streets with their bodies and their roars. The entire city will stop for me. I will be on top of my universe.
I will never get that feeling at the St. Louis Marathon. Or the Houston Marathon. Or any marathon that isn’t a World Major, or at least treated as such. If one hasn’t had this experience, he or she will have a hard time understanding it, but trust me: it’s definitely worth $150.
Not everyone feels this way.
And that’s cool too. Some folks have a dollar per mile limit, like they won’t pay more than $3 a mile, so no more than $78 for a marathon. That’s totally cool. You can run the St. Louis Marathon for that.
But it’s lonely. You won’t feel like a rock star (unless you win it maybe). And you’re in… St. Louis. I would pay $78 for that kind of experience too.
But Chicago… there’s just something about Chicago…
Chicago Marathon, October 9, 2011
Loopty Loop!
One of my sick fantasies is to run a 24-hour timed race… on a 400 meter track.
When I met Scott Jurek this past October, I was in complete awe of his description of the latter hours of a short looped 24-hour ultra, of how the mind is forced to go to unexplored places, and how self-discovery can be dug up from the deepest and darkest of holes.
The short looped course offers a different dimension of running than most conventional courses at long distance events. It’s not the scenic kind of race. It’s not the one you go out and enjoy with a buddy either. Instead, it’s the put-your-head-down-and-zen-out-til-you-know-what-it-means-to-BE-ALIVE kind of event. And I want as many of those as I can get.
Sometimes, to add variety to my training, I will do short loop long distance training runs to find that zone where my body and my mind become one powerfully synced moving machine. A 20-miler on a half mile loop around my house. 3 hours on the 400 meter dirt track at Palmisano Park. The same 3 mile out-and-back until I hit whatever number I want on that day.
The trick, for me, is to do these spontaneously, with gentle, easy effort. The idea is to just float along on the same invisible line, hitting every step exactly the same each time. When I’m really feeling it, I am able to hit near exact splits on every single loop, without even thinking about it.
That is some powerful mind-body connection right there. And I love experiencing it. But if I do it too much then it loses its allure, so I like to think of them as prized, perfect storm opportunities.
I always seem to know when it’s time for one of these. It’s like my body craves it. Like a drug.
Scott Jurek and I at the Chicago Marathon Expo, October 8, 2011
Being Superman: Long Distance Running as a Supreme Source of Confidence
One of the myriad benefits of long distance running is being treated to the wondrous and often times flabbergasted expressions of friends and family.
You did what this morning?
I ran 30 miles.
Why?
Because it’s fun.
You’re insane. Crazy. You ran 30 miles!?! Without being forced to? That’ s some real Superman shit right there.
Maybe it is!
Running any distance mark can be impressive. I’ve enjoyed the evolution of reactions I’ve received as I’ve transitioned from half marathons to marathons to ultramarathons. People really do think I have superhuman abilities, that what I do is simply not normal and shouldn’t be possible. But the truth is: anyone can run a marathon. Anyone can run an ultramarathon. It will take some time to lead up to such an achievement, but it’s certainly not as “insane” as folks make it out to be.
Desire. Discipline. A strong will.
And the courage to get out the door to say I’M DOING THIS.
That’s all that’s required.
Everyone has Superman power. It’ s just that most people aren’t willing to work to find it. Too lazy. Too comfortable. Too risk averse.
Living life like that, to me, is boring. Luckily, I found running before complete apathy found me; and the rewards from that discovery have been so rich and so fulfilling that I can’t ever imagine living without them again.
Confidence. Purpose. Strength.
I walk with my chest out, yes. But not in a douchey way. I just know that I’m capable of doing whatever I set my mind to, and that, in my opinion, is the only way to live.
The 2012 New Leaf Ultra Runs Windburn Six in the Stix 6-Hour Run
Running around a snowy 2.28 mile loop course for six straight hours against a relentlessly swirling 30 mph wind on a Saturday in January with about 50 or so other running fanatics is truly one of the most enjoyable activities I’ve ever participated in.
And I ain’t speakin’ in absolutes just to be speakin’ in absolutes.
I mean it. I had a blast!
Chicagoland’s New Leaf Ultra Runs ultrarunning club has been a key component in my successful transition past 26.2 miles and into distances that would cause the casual 5K runner to pick his jaw up off the floor. With several 50Ks under my belt and having just set a marathon PR, my focus turns to completing my first 50 mile race, the Ice Age Trail 50 in May. So a six hour fun run couldn’t have been more timely!
The Windburn Six fat ass event — a run that I’d been gazing at on the calendar with a heightened sense of anticipation for many weeks prior — gave me a good idea of where I am physically, but, more importantly, it also gave me a good idea of where I’m about to go, how far I’ll have to dig, and a titillating glimpse at the raw me still yet to be fully discovered.
For me, that’s what running is all about: self-discovery. And during the Windburn Six I discovered the following:
- Ultrarunners are the kindest, most genuine, most non-judgmental people on the planet. Unlike the road racing community, no one is there to size you up, to “beat” you, to make you look stupid. Everyone’s on your team, raring to support you and one can never get enough of that. Your success is the community’s success. And the collective spirit generated from this worldview is as contagious as it is electrifying.
- When it comes to running for six hours, snow ain’t a thing, but sunglasses would’ve been a smart idea. I spent the rest of my day doing my best Gizmo impression: Bright Light! Bright Light!
- The joy that comes from suffering can often be the sweetest, most everlasting kind. It’s the kind that reminds you I’M ALIVE! The longer we ran in circles, the happier we all seemed. The volume and intensity of smiles and thumbs-ups and high-fives increased with each hour that passed. Sure my legs were feeling a bit heavy with only an hour to go, but I ran faster and stronger in that last hour than I did the previous five because the group mind was willing me to perform!
- After several bundled up hours of running, nothing tastes quite as good as homemade chicken noodle soup!
- Singing on the trail is not only allowed: IT’S ENCOURAGED! I got to hear a couple of sweet tunes sung by some very happy ultrarunners and they definitely served as highlights of the day.
- If you’re feeling tired but want to go as fast as possible without it feeling bad, run with Tony Cesario for a mile or so. I did towards the end of the run and boy did he bring my legs back to life! I didn’t know they could do that!
- I get sick of gels after a couple hours, so eating just a little bit of real food often seems to keep my engine running!
- When you run on an exposed, markerless and snow covered loop over and over again, it’s hard to gauge exactly where you are at any given time. The only thing I could be sure of during the run was that I was indeed running. This put my mind exactly where I wanted it to be: totally immersed in the run. When everything else (negativity, self-doubt, reservations) was put aside, true introspection began to flourish. I was pleasantly surprised at what my mind thinks I’m capable of doing and I look forward to following it further.
- No one will make fun of you if you decide to FLY down the downhills like a little kid, arms waving, battle cry roaring all the way.
- At the zenith of any strenuous exercise, Oreo cookies are the bomb!!!
- Running is the perfect ice breaker. I met a bunch of cool people whom I had never met before and the communitas born of our shared experience serves as a special bond.
Most of all, I discovered what I already knew to be even more true: running long boosts my serotonin levels and fills me with satisfaction. And running long with like-minded, friendly folks sends me to the proverbial moon of happiness.
Total distance covered for the six hour run was 31.64 miles.
*Special thanks to Brian and Kelly for their impeccable organization skills and also to those who didn’t run but who were manning the aid station, eager to lend a helping hand. It’s people like you who make ours a paragon of the running community!
(Image courtesy of Kelly Gaines)
The Art of Rest
Rest. Wow. What a concept.
After months and months of solid training. With a strong base. A calculated taper.
You go out and run the race of your life.
Then you get to rest.
Rest!
I like to give myself 2 to 3 weeks of just playful recovery/rest. Go run when I feel like it. Don’t follow a plan. Leave the watch at home. I put on the shoes that look good at the time and go run wherever I feel drawn. Sometimes it’s just 5 miles around the neighborhood and sometimes it’s a nice, slow 6-hour adventure on single track.
You wanna veg out for three days and watch streaming epsiodes of Breaking Bad? Wanna stay up til midnight, Google surf and eat a bowl of cereal before you go to sleep? DO IT! You earned it!
And it feels awesome. Knowing that in a few weeks I’ll be back to the hard, disciplined grind of training for that target event makes the few weeks of active rest a damn fine prize. It refreshes me. Reminds me why I love to run. Makes me hunger and want it again.
I always do. I always want it again.
Taper Madness, Training Clarity
I once dated a girl who got real weird during her taper before the big race. As one who was already quite prone to the overly dramatic, she blamed everything on “the taper.” I’m irritable because of the taper. I can’t sleep because of the taper. Don’t talk to me because of the taper.
Jeesh.
Of course, everyone is different, but by the time I get to my typical three-week taper before race day, I’m so damn tired that I need some accumulated rest. In fact, I train to get to the taper, pushing myself hard in the weeks that lead up to it, knowing the reward will be a respite.
I welcome the shortened sessions on my feet, the dialed back tempos. Get me a foam roller, a bowl of pasta and a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and I’m good!
Only once race week comes does a hint of that taper madness anxiety slip into my conscience. I’m no psychiatrist, but I feel that most of what I feel is simply a case of the race jitters and nothing else. I mean, what good would I be doing myself by running more miles when I’m supposed to be saving my energy for the upcoming race?
Still, whenever anyone (myself included) mentions any symptom of that dreaded taper madness, my universal go-to cure is to open up that logbook and look at all the great work that’s already been done. As any seasoned runner will admit, the guts of one’s training comes before the taper, not during it.
If you’re not ready to tackle your goals three weeks out from race day, you might as well treat the race as a fun run.
So take pride in all that hard work, relax as race day approaches and tell taper madness to take a hike (preferably along the entire Appalachian Trail, so it stays away for a while).
Hitting the Wall: A Practice Reserved for Those Who Do Not Know What They Are Doing
In the February 2012 issue of Runner’s World, the featured celebrity runner on the back page is Death Cab for Cutie’s Ben Gibbard. In this brief interview, he mentions that he “hit the wall” in the L.A. Marathon and “had to walk a little.” He then offers this quip of philosophical brilliance: “How you transcend the wall, as a runner or a musician, defines who you are.”
Well, Mr. Gibbard, I hate to sound like an asshole, but if you think “how you transcend the wall, as a runner” is what “defines who you are”, then you are a complete idiot.
THE WALL IS AVOIDABLE! IT’S UNNECESSARY! PLEASE, STOP THE MADNESS!
Maybe you can tell already, but let me reiterate just how tired I am of hearing people talk about this “wall” as if it were some mystical obstacle that every runner must hurdle. It’s not! Hitting the wall is bonking, that’s all it is. It’s when glycogen stores are depleted and you don’t have any energy to continue doing rigorous exercise. And as all responsible runners know, if you bonk, it’s usually your fault!
I bonked once. And it was my fault! That day was hot and humid and the idea of putting any sort of food product in my mouth made me want to hurl, so I didn’t, and I paid the price. Thing is, I knew it was coming. Instead of slowing down or stopping, I braced myself for the experience and dealt with it the best I could.
It sucked.
I learned a lesson that day: if I can’t get gels down — if I can’t get ANY carbohydrates in my system — then I need to stop (or at least sloooow down considerably), or be ready for the consequences. Nowadays, I make sure I’m regularly taking in gels, drinking Gatorade and, in ultra races, taking the time to eat real food (cookies, bananas, whatever looks good) to avoid the unpleasant bonk experience.
I weigh 148 pounds and I know that if I’m running for more than an hour, then I need to be taking in 50-75 grams of carbohydrate every hour after that to ensure glycogen stores do not reach depletion level. Individual rates vary, but that’s what my body needs.
Every single marathon training book I’ve ever seen provides ample information on this valuable precaution, yet it seems that “hitting the wall” remains as some valiant badge of honor among those in the running community.
I see it as just being stupid.
*For more information on how to avoid hitting the wall, see Sunny Blende’s masterpiece from Ultrarunning Magazine.
Reverse That Rut: Go from Routine to Adventure with Just One Open Mind
No matter how fanatical the runner, there are going to be days when getting out and logging the long miles seems to be a daunting and taxing task. Like today.
Having stayed out late (it was New Year’s after all), I didn’t roll out of bed until 11 a.m. — it happens like once a year, I swear — and a quick look out the window revealed a dreary, gray sky with trees bent sideways from 40 mph hour winds. Ugh. Not only that, but the temperature was 32 degrees, so the signature Chicago whirlwinds would only make it feel colder.
Did I mention I was out late?
Two weeks away from the Houston Marathon, I had to get out and get 16 miles on the books, no matter how shitty the weather. But it was going to take some creativity to make it fun. So I decided to make it… AN ADVENTURE RUN!
For me, the adventure run is a cure-all for the doldrums of routine. And it can be done anywhere: on trails, in the city, on a country road. The only requirement is that you open your mind.
Let go of split times. Forget that headwind. Embrace your chaffed nipples.
Just get out there and run!
When I decide to go on an adventure run, I disassociate myself from all the “business” of running. I leave the watch at home. I go only by feel. I run in whatever direction pulls me at any given time. I turn when I feel like turning and I stop if I feel like stopping. I allow curiosity and exploration to motivate my legs and forget about everything else.
Most of all, I connect with that innate love I have for just RUNNING. I focus on that childlike playfulness, to go out and discover new worlds, new people, new things.
And today was quite the adventure. Sure it was windy. And cold. And dreary. But I had the time of my life, discovering new neighborhoods I’d never seen before while running from Sox Park to Wrigley Field and all the way back, turning on whims and smelling all the proverbial roses I wanted, when I wanted.
Having done all that, I now have my feet kicked up with a smile on my face. I feel fresh. Recharged. Fulfilled.
I went on an adventure run today. And I had a helluva time.
To Tune or Not to Tune, That Is the Question
Nothing polarizes a roomful of otherwise friendly runners more than the listening to music while running debate. Take a side. Fine. Someone will still always be pissed off.
Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Pains and Sorrows of outrageous Monotony,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of boredom,
And by opposing with Music end them…
I have been on both sides of the debate, so I feel like I can offer a bit of rationality, a trickling of reason, LOGIC. When I first took up the sport, it was in order to get fit. I had no other reason. I was tired of the frumpy, lethargic piece of apathetic crap I had become, and the quickest way to turn my physique was through running. I had dabbled in it during my youth. My father was a runner. I knew it was possible.
But as much as I looked forward to change, I was equally terrified of the actual work I knew it would require. From what I could remember of my adolescent/teenage running days, I knew that, for me, running was a) boring b) painful c) BORINGPAINFUL.
So from the beginning, I used music to get me out the door, to keep me going. And it worked.
But a funny thing happened on the way to getting fit: I FELL IN LOVE WITH RUNNING.
Hooked. Addicted. I couldn’t get enough.
It wasn’t boring, it was exciting! It wasn’t monotonous, it was exhilarating! And sure, sometimes it was painful, but most of the time it left me feeling FANTASTIC.
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.
Before I knew it, the music I used as a crutch to get me going in the morning became unnecessary. It became an obstacle to my complete running experience. I found that as I grew as a runner, the music became a distraction from the constant mind/body checking-in I felt was necessary for my own well being. I began leaving the iPod home on my easy recovery days.
Those easy, music-less recovery days morphed into days of great discovery. Without the Rocky theme setting the cadence or the trance melodies keeping me company, I found myself noticing interesting things along my route: the old lady watering her flowers, the taxi driver setting off for a long day’s work, the air temperature relative to the humidity. Not to mention the countless injuries/wrecks/collisions I avoided with traffic, people and dogs.
That was just the start.
Nowadays, I don’t run with headphones on at all. To be honest, the idea repulses me, but only because I enjoy experiencing the run with all my senses. Having lived most of my life previous being completely unaware of all that surrounds me, I don’t ever want to live like that again.
But that’s just me. That’s my opinion.
I will never chastise those who prefer the music-aided run, just like I will never chastise those who prefer minimalist shoes, or shin sleeves, or pink shorts. Do what ya gotta do to experience the run as best you can.
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o’er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair iPod? Nymph, in thy tunes
Be all my sins remembered.
The run is what is important. The run is above all else.
*Footnote*
In racing situations, I will say that being aware is a responsibility that falls upon all of us — the music-aided and the music-less. If one can be aware of his/her surroundings during a race while wearing headphones, then that’s great. But if someone spits on me one more time having no idea I AM RIGHT BEHIND HIM because he is zoned out to Led Zeppelin, then I’m gonna go all Zapotek and stomp on his ass.
Going the Distance: Hypersensitivity As Injury Prevention
As a 32-year-old runner, if I’m going to go long and far often, I need to be in tune with my body. It’s important that I understand and know its capabilities and its limits. I don’t have much room for error. I can’t screw this up because I’m one of those runners — the addicted type who has to do it to survive. You know, the runner you know whose sanity CANNOT AFFORD injury.
Serious injury means serious time not running.
And that is unacceptable!
I know because I’ve been there.
This past spring, after a few months of careless overtraining and a blatant disregard for my body for the sake of doing something I probably wasn’t ready to do anyway, I had to sit my running addicted ass down.
For six weeks.
No running. For six weeks.
I swam. Hated it. I biked. Hated it. Oh, and I pouted too.
The problem is: NO ONE LIKES A POUTY, INJURED RUNNER.
After that, I made it my mission to stay healthy first, consider performance second. And it’s working.
In fact, I am recognizing twinges and pulls and knots — all possible warnings of injuries that could come without immediate action. I am understanding my body in innate, primordial ways. It’s like being aware. I’m becoming conscious of what is going on.
Also, the following:
I avoid NSAIDS except for after really hard races where I’m expecting 3-4 days off from running for recovery.
I ice everything. If it even HINTS at aching I ice it.
I massage. Foam roller. The Stick. My own two damn hands. I’m working out knots like a boss.
I eat well. Whole foods. None of that corn syrup shit. No fast food. Just healthy and DELICIOUS stuff. Fish. Rice. Fruits. Vegetables.
I sleep. A lot. 7-8 hours every school night and 8-10 hours per night on the weekends.
And of course, if there’s ever a question that something will get worse if I run on it, I give it a day off. Yes. And I don’t get all pissy about it and act like a goddamn baby anymore.
I finally realized that one or two days off in a row isn’t going to hurt me. And if I think I might need to take a day off, then I just take a day off. I mean, if I even have to consider it then I just do it.
No questions.
I’m doing all this and I’m also getting faster, stronger and more confident about where I can take myself. It’s hard to complain about that.
Running Saves
Running saved my life.
At a time when I really didn’t know how to be happy with myself, I looked to exercise to help me manage my stress, to temper my depression. My dad had always been a runner, so I thought I would give it a shot.
It was my very last hope.
I started out slow. But determined. And it didn’t take long for the depression to disappear, for the stress to never be an issue, for me to know joy and peace for the very first times. Before you could spit, running became synonymous with me.
I am running.
Running is me.
TheRunFactory.com 