Racing and Placing

As I reflect back 2008 proved to be an interesting year. The election of an African American president, the near collapse of the financial system, five dollar plus per gallon fuel just to name a few. In my mind it became the “the year of firsts.” The year also brought many firsts on a personal level. Increased professional responsibility, my youngest daughter started kindergarten, and in spite of my better judgment, my commitment to return to the marathon.

My plan was very simple: to run a 1:30 half marathon. I thought a series of races would be necessary to achieve my then lofty goal, so I intended to knock them out as a 1:50, 1:40, and finally the 90 minute half. After proving to myself that I could run a respectable half marathon I would begin my assault on the full. The way I figured it, it would take me well into 2009.

As fate would have it I missed my initial 1:50 attempt in February by less than one minute (refer to my “Running in the Rain” post). I met the first goal a few months later on a tougher course, a personal best and redemption on my first attempt. In my third half marathon still in the first half of the year with a goal of 1:40 I tried a different strategy. Instead of getting beat-up on a hilly course I would run a fast course and take advantage of the downhill portions. At each mile marker I ran my personal best and held the sub 7 minute pace the entire race. I knocked off my fastest 5K, 10K and crossed the finish line with a 1:30. With this premature triumph and all three goals met, do I take off the rest of the year or do I do something I hadn’t done for quite some time - run for fun?

I decided to try and continue training hard without a specific race in mind. No set distance, no race date. Just two or three quality runs a week along with a few base runs. On a whim at the last minute I entered a 5k and to my surprise I managed to take 4th. More of a surprise was that the race gave awards five deep. My first time on the podium is one I’ll never forget. As others callously accepted their award I let out a burst of excitement and my best triumphant pose after receiving my award. The crowd loved it. I raced another last minute 5k in late summer, a small local benefit race and placed second. For the first time I began to think about placing, and also possibly winning a race.

Hitting an annual goal in the first half of the year and making the decision to “run for fun” the rest of the year opened the door to things I had not yet imagined. I would not have found these experiences if I was still focused the entire year on running a half marathon. That first seemingly insignificant and unexpected 5K that put me on the stage has forever changed my running. And I realize, isn’t that how life works? Our best thought out plans and goals are necessary tools, but not an end point. Instead of taking us where we think we need to go, sometimes they take us in the direction we should be heading. Without our contrived, yet well-intentioned goals, we may not create the opportunity to find out where we need to be.

So now the real question remains: should I succumb to shorter distances and admit that perhaps the marathon is not my forte or continue to wage my personal war with the full marathon again? I don’t yet know. But rest assured I’ll be pondering that concept on my next long run...

Being is Believing

This time of year we tend to reflect inward. A self-assessment to gain understanding and insight into who we are and more importantly who we want to be. I realize January has almost passed and I have yet to formalize my goals. Maybe it is not the most interesting task on my to-do list, yet perhaps it is the most necessary.

Experience has taught me that it is very difficult to achieve goals that I have not defined. And I’ve also learned that almost all aspects in our life that are significant require goals. I remember when a previous employer asked me what was my five year goal? At that very moment I realized from his reaction that my standby answer “to make more money and have a better position” sounded as absurd to hear as it felt to say. In a same way “to run faster and farther this year” as my running goal sounds equally absurd.

I have come to realize the significance and importance of having clearly defined goals. How aggressively you set them should depend on how you feel about both meeting – and not meeting them. Personally I feel better when I set realistic goals that are aggressive and not met, than setting goals that are more practical and often too easily met. We all need to decide how we feel about our personal successes and failures prior to formalizing our goals.

With all that said my running goal for 2009 is simple: qualify for Boston. I realize that it will require first and foremost a serious commitment. Building the kind of mileage I need to log to handle a full marathon at essentially a tempo run pace will not only require my time, but it will effect other people in my life as well. Out of fairness I should at least give them a head’s up and ask for their support prior to making my commitment.

It will also require that I remain injury free. Much of that comes down to hard, intelligent training, and possibly a little bit of luck.

But most of all it will involve the determination to push hard late in the race. Not giving in to those fleeting moments of sel-doubt when the thought of giving in to the pain of pushing the pace sets in. Or the running rationalization that occurs on most twenty mile training runs that tempts me to head back at sixteen miles, or whatever mile marker the running begins to really get interesting, with the promise to myself of “making it up next week.”

Of all the potential obstacles, this is the one that concerns me the most. The one that only exists in my mind. Not the time needed to get in the miles, or the strain it may put on my personal relationships. And forget for a moment that dropping an additional 35 minutes off my marathon personal best may not even be physically possible. It is not a question of commitment, or how much I want it, but a question of what am I willing to endure to in order to reach my goal.

Somewhere down deep inside, I believe I can. I feel it. And believing you can accomplish your goal is the most important step toward achieving it.

Running with Bliss

When a friend of mine gave me an audio recording of the late Joseph Campbell this past year I had no idea at the time how much it would profoundly affect my life. The weeks became months as I left the CD in my player of my vehicle during my daily commute. At first I thought it would be a viable option whenever I could not find some music that suits my mood. Seemed like a reasonable alternative to the limitless audio choices and a definite alternative to countless commercials that plague the morning commute hours on the airwaves.

What I quickly discovered was that this Joseph Campbell recording became my first choice when in transport, not just an alternate to advertising.

The recording is composed of various sessions and interviews that took place over a period of years during Joseph’s lifetime. The subject matter ranges from his more well known admonition “follow your bliss” which speaks to the importance of doing what we are passionate about, to the origin and significance of myth in various cultures and the joy one can experience with the fullness of age.

One thought in particular that stuck with me was his idea, which was really more of a warning to those who consider themselves spiritual teachers is the danger of pride. According to Joseph one may begin to believe that they are in fact a spiritual teacher to which he responds "Well you’re not. All you can do is offer people clues."

The implications of this concept found their way into my personal life when I realized that perhaps his idea had even a broader context than Joseph himself intended. As I pondered the idea over countless miles of my daily mobile meditation (yes, running) I began to wonder if a running teacher could exist? If so, who would it be? The fastest runner? Not likely. The most successful runner? Nope. The winner of the last big race? No. None of it made any more sense than the spiritual teaching concept. The problem being there is no one pathh to find one’s spiritual bliss or running your personal best.

If there was such a program everyone would follow it. All people can do is offer clues. Hints. Pieces of advice that worked for them, or perhaps, for others. But the path that we all must follow can only be the one that we create. We must constantly refine our plan, adjusting to life changes. Our situation is constantly evolving and as such our goals must evolve as well.

I think most importantly the best we can hope for is to find pointers and advice at times when we need input during our lifetime. A subtle hint redirecting us when we feel lost and overwhelmed, or perhaps just the acknowledgement by another individual that we have accomplished something.

Follow your own path, wherever it leads you. And if that path involves running 26.2 miles at a time, do it according to your own plan. Thats the only plan that will work for you.

It's Supposed to Hurt

“It is always by way of pain that one arrives at pleasure.” - the Marquis De Sade

What better way to describe long distance running? The reason we push ourselves. The justification for engaging in the sport in the first place. No, not to intentionally get hurt running. That’s an unfortunate side effect most likely to occur when you’re over reaching a goal, or not running smart. But to find the point when running begins to hurt, and how you handle that pain.

I’m not speaking of the general discomfort most people would associate with running for exercise, or even for health or fitness. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that approach, but I’ve never known an “exerciser” to run more than a few miles. A 5k or 10k at best. I’m talking about a half marathon minimum, or of course a full 26.2 miles. Something happens out there. You’re testing yourself. Your limits. Your spirit. And the reward is proportional to the sacrifice.

It’s supposed to hurt. It’s a marathon. The intent is to get you to run further than your body will want to run. How you engage in the physiological war that your body wages is entirely up to you. You can always stop. Take walk breaks. Or even drop out all together. But for those who choose to stay and fight, subjecting themselves to the pain, pushing through every mile, and eventually every step, the accomplishment of completing the race is all yours. The feeling of making a commitment to yourself and keeping it. Honoring yourself.

So enjoy your pain. Define your limits. What better why to get acquainted with your true character?

What an Ass

Almost three months to the day after incurring a stress fractured tibia I was about to make my second attempt to run. My first endeavor two days earlier ended in a complete disaster as I ran, jogged, walked and almost crawled my way back from what should have been an easy five miler. Apparently my diligent efforts to cross train failed to keep me conditioned, or more accurately failed to keep me conditioned for running. The fact that I can swim a thirty-six minute mile was inconsequential when my running shoes are laced up and I am unable to complete a routine five miler.

Today I felt a little better out of the gate. I set out on my run a little more cautiously, lowering the bar slightly. Instead of trying to determine how much conditioning I had lost, my goal simply became to finish the run sans walk breaks. A very modest goal for someone who runs twenty-five miles a week consistently when healthy, but I admit, I was seriously rattled by my first attempt.

The reduced pace made this the type of run I would have been bored with pre-injury, but much like during a marathon I was intentionally holding on to precious strength from my very first steps. Immediately I noticed my legs felt fresher than when I ran regularly, with the exception of a subtle twinge where my fracture had been. Just past the first mile mark I began to feel more optimistic. In the past I’d learned not to evaluate a run prior to running, or even within the first few miles. They often felt bad. Sometimes they felt really bad. There were times when I had contemplated writing the whole thing off as “not my day” initially only to tough out a mile or two and then go on to set my own course record for that route. On those days in spite of my perceived high effort level at what felt like an excruciating slow pace, to my surprise the finish time was lower than expected.

As I got further along in the run and deeper into thought I was starting to feel the noose loosen, releasing me from the feeling of hating every step. “Hating” might be a little strong, yet “not enjoying” seems inadequate. I have never been able to incorporate a mantra into a training run for more than a few minutes as I’m normally unable to keep my mind focused on a single thought or theme amidst so much stimulation, from both my environment and from within. I found myself subconsciously repeating “just get through the run” in my head when I was distracted by the sound of an approaching automobile from behind me, causing my train of thought to shift and I lost my focus as it approached on the isolated stretch of road.

Out of my peripheral vision I see the car as it slows down beside me. A red flag for most runners. Definitely a significant enough distraction to cause me to lose focus on my "get through the run" mantra. Typically it is just someone new to the overwhelming metropolis known as Los Angeles slowing to ask for directions, but on occasion the intent turns out to be a little more devious. In fact during my three years of road running in the city I’ve been approached by prostitutes, both male and female, inadvertently interrupted drug deals, and I’ve been chased and bitten my more dogs than most postal carriers. Any slowing car warrants my immediate and full attention.
Anything less would be irresponsible on my part.

A quick glance over my shoulder and I realize it’s not just a car, it’s a police car. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m immediately thankful because I’m not sure I have the energy to deal with any serious situations today. Nonchalantly I look behind me to see if some homicidal maniac is in the vicinity only to find I’m all alone on my favorite work route along the train tracks, with the sole exception of the police car.

“What are you doing?” is yelled through the speaker system on the vehicle. Now I’m convinced someone I didn’t notice is nearby, perhaps a homeless person doing god knows what on the train tracks. Obviously someone was doing something they shouldn’t be doing, but who? So I continue plodding along, ignoring the officer. I figure it’s better to just mind my own business at this point and not interfere. Automatically my pace increases due to adrenaline, not a conscious decision, as I attempt to put some distance between me and this potential situation.

Abruptly the car speeds ahead of me before coming to a complete stop and this time the officer yells “What do you think you’re doing?” while looking directly at me. What do you think you’re doing is a completely different question to someone that holds a bachelor’s degree in philosophy. I thought I was improving my fitness, although given the level of effort I was putting into what was essentially a recovery run, even that was debatable. Confused, I stopped running and walked toward the patrol car to see if maybe I can be of assistance.

“What are you doing?” he repeats for the third time, although he did not use the audio system this time, instead opting to bark at me through the open passenger window. Not intending to be a wise ass I replied “uh, running?” as I struggled to catch my breath. I’m thinking “is this some sort of trick question?” I mean isn’t it fairly obvious? I’m wearing running shoes, shorts and a tee shirt. I must be missing something here. Obviously he’s not a detective, this much is obvious, but even a street cop should recognize an honest attempt at fitness. He didn’t respond verbally and his glare intensified. Wrong answer, I could tell. In an attempt to diffuse his mounting frustration I offer “I guess I don’t understand your question.” Again maybe that’s not what he wanted to hear, but it was absolutely true.

“Can’t you see the sign?” he continues, managing to sound both aggressive and condescending at the same time. Quickly I glance up. I had run this route more times than I can recall, and yet I’ve never noticed a sign prohibiting running. The closest sign to us is a street sign.

“San Fernando?” I reply with a compliant tone and confused look on my face.

“No, the other sign” he snaps back. Apparently he felt I was toying with him or just playing stupid. So now I play along and look up again. There are only two signs directly visible; the aforementioned street sign and a speed limit sign. Sure on a good day I might actually exceed a 15 mph speed limit, but that would of course be during short intervals while running downhill with a tailwind. This definitely wasn’t the case today. Besides the posted speed limit was 45 mph. He must mean something other than the street sign and the speed limit sign, but what?

I responded apologetically “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it.” My only other option was to say “45 mph”, but I’m afraid at this time that answer might be misinterpreted and I will be beaten down and probably left for dead. Sadly in my weakened post injury state of conditioning I knew I was probably too tired to out run him. I decide I had better hold off on the genuine wise crack.

“Up by the tracks” he exclaims, this time nodding his head in the general direction of the train tracks. So I move a few feet toward the street to get closer to his vantage point and look in the direction he appeared to nod. There it was:

NO TRESSPASSING

It’s written in bold red letters on a sign with a black and white image of a figure crossing the train tracks. Why had I never noticed this sign before I wondered? I guess I’m normally too concerned with my footing along the rocks that often accompany the tracks, and the unstable terrain to look up and read the nearby road signs.

“There’s no running here!” he barks, obviously angry for some reason in spite of my compliance.

“I’ve never noticed that sign” I reply. Whether he believed me or not, I have no idea. “So I can’t run here, anywhere?” I’m at least 30 feet away from the train tracks. I’m astounded that I’ve traveled down this trail so many times without incident that this entire side of the road is off limits.

He reluctantly concedes “just stay close to the road” in a tone consistent with the entire dialog, as if I had angered him by intentionally doing something wrong. He gives me one last look of disgust and then begins to drive away.

Slowly I begin to make my way again, this time staying within a few feet of the road. The terrain is much rockier near the road, and there are no level areas that are easy to follow. As I continue balancing on the uneven terrain and jumping between rocks and stones I begin to notice that the sensation I previously felt in my tibia was gone. I no longer felt short of breath like I did prior to being lectured by the officer. In fact, I began to feel as if I could start running instead of jogging. As I continue to run my mind is replaying the incident, and with each stride I get more angry.

What was he trying to prove? Badgering someone who obviously had no criminal intent in an area with more than a fair share of those who, shall I say not so morally minded, makes no sense. It was like a good cop/bad cop scene in a movie minus the good cop. As I effortlessly approach the four mile mark I realize I’ve covered more ground than I was aware of and was using a mantra effectively for the first time. Although it wasn’t encouraging me to continue, as I had intended earlier, but it was powerful enough to over shadow any further distractions.

As I accelerated my last half mile to complete my five mile run, and more significantly my second run after nearly three months off, all the thoughts of my injury and my failed attempt to maintain my conditioning via cross training become the furthest thing from my mind. Instead a single phrase seemed to stick with me the entire last three miles, and even stayed with me post run.

“What an ass” officially became my first running mantra.

Rose Colored Race Glasses

Something that I still struggle to understand is the why most marathon training plans are expected to work? I’ve followed a couple of different plans only to come up short of my goal on race day. Typically they propose running various types of runs, each run with a different purpose, and incorporating a long run once a week with the focus on time rather than tempo. I understand the intent and potential benefits of the shorter, faster runs. That seems fairly obvious. However, the goal of the long slow run is where the running water starts to get a little murky.

Regarding the long training run, the vast majority of information that I’ve found supports the same conclusion. Training for more than three hours is not advisable. Some studies even suggest that training in excess of three hours is detrimental to your conditioning. You get beyond the point of making any gains and actually start doing harm. So my question is this: if you can’t finish a marathon in three hours, and you don’t do any training runs lasting more than three hours, how exactly does one make the leap from three hours to finishing the remaining miles to complete a marathon?

I’ve followed a plan that included a twenty two mile long distance run, another that never went further than twenty miles. In both plans the longest of the training runs beat me up pretty good. I remember completing both runs and felling very glad I didn’t have to run one more mile. From that point the long runs begin to taper off through race day. Are we just hoping that the race gods will smile on us that day? Or are the people creating the marathon training plans simply wearing rose colored race glasses?

Is there something to training faster than you anticipate running in the race that will carry you through the last miles? Maybe. But how a tempo run at one minute faster than race pace for five or six miles equates to a holding slower pace for twenty six miles is beyond me. The hill repeats or interval runs, while exceptionally grueling if done right, push your conditioning and your fortitude to the limits yet somehow seem insignificant when running more than ten miles at any pace.

I have yet to follow a training plan that specifically talks about fuel during long runs. Perhaps it’s one of those subjects that is so unique to each individual runner that there is little if any common ground, and as such it is ignored. Besides, I train without any food or water on all runs. I have never exceed twenty two miles outside of a race, so I’m wondering does the additional few miles actually warrant some form of race fuel? I don’t yet have that answer.

One thing I have learned, albeit not from reading any literature is that I don’t want to attempt anything in a race that I have not done in practice. Forget about the race gods smiling on me that day, or other romantic notions that some runners seems to hold dear. Before my next marathon I will run twenty six miles more than once while training. I will absolutely test my long distance limits, mentally and physically, without an audience and competition of the race. I will build upon each previous attempt until I am comfortable with the distance. The confidence I develop on my pre race training marathons will get me through the last few miles in the race regardless of the race conditions. And if all things go well on that particular day, perhaps I’ll be wearing the rose colored race glasses as I cross the finish line.

Running in the Rain

I would speculate that most runners have an aversion to running in the rain. Perhaps that is an understatement; most of us have an aversion to being in the rain. In spite of popular opinion I have learned to accept the fact that inevitably it will rain on days I need to run. As such I’ve come to terms with it, and even learned to find it comforting. Especially on a long run. I transform the rain mentally into my own personal cooling system which I can then use to my advantage during a race. At least this was my intention this February when I ran an entire ½ marathon while it rained from the start line to the finish.

In spite of the alarm rousing me at an ungodly hour in order to allow sufficient time to get down to the race, find parking, and shuttle to the start line, I felt energized when I awoke. The race was almost local, only about 60 miles from home. The shoreline course would be a pleasant change of scenery from the local desert mountains that I had come accustom to over countless miles laced up throughout the years. As such I was looking forward to it. Instead of the usual bargaining with myself for an additional ten minutes of sleep on the days when my motivation to get somewhere is, shall I say, less enticing, I immediately got out of bed and started preparing for the race.

The mandatory pre-race expo the day before had proved to be worthwhile, in spite of the brutal LA weekend mid day traffic. Typical of most of my previous decisions to sign up for a race, I had managed to encourage a friend to sign up along with me using a delicate balance of compassion and baiting. Subtle encouragement such as “You can do it” eventually gave way to challenging his ego with “Dude, I’m an old man and I can do it.” The advantages are obvious. Someone to train with, someone to travel with, and someone to celebrate with in the post run beer garden as we recap our performance sharing our sense of accomplishment.

We quickly picked up our bibs and chips before deciding such a perfect day at the ocean should not be entirely ignored. We wandered a few hundred yards to the shoreline and sat on the sand while pondering the vastness of the ocean. Okay, I was pondering. I’m not exactly sure what his thoughts were because men don’t typically discuss their inner dialog. I cannot say with any degree of certainty if the ocean had the same effect of my friend, or whether or not it has a similar affect on most people. A simple yet undeniable reminder of how seemingly insignificant we are in comparison to something so eternal. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The temperature was mid 70’s. You could not have asked for a nicer, more picturesque day to be sitting in the sand, just beyond the break.

When we reluctantly departed I anticipated that tomorrow would be ideal for racing. The weather report was calling for rain on race day, yet as we had just sat on the beach captivated by the picture perfect climate, it seemed as if they were dead wrong yet again. In defense of those who try to forecast the weather predicting the rain seems about as accurate as predicting how I’ll do in a race. There are far too many variables to really know what will happen. Past experience or previous patterns are no guarantee of future performance. "Why can’t I be that inaccurate at my job" I wondered on the seemingly endless drive home?

So here it was race day morning as I began shuffling after my feet found the floor toward the bathroom. My race day enthuasiasm was not curbed by the high mileage shuffle I'd become so familar with over the last few years. Personally I accept the theory that our recovery occurs while we rest, mainly during sleep, and that's when runners actually make their gains. We don't beomce better runners while running. But the process is still an aquired taste. While the muscles regroup and repair they tend to tighten up often times making those first few steps an ordeal, and a not so subtle reminder of our recent running efforts.

A couple of times during the night I had thought I heard rain, but I wasn’t quite sure. California rain isn’t real rain, at least not in comparison to most places in the world. It’s a form of mild precipitation from overcast skies that never seems to commit to the idea of really raining. Intermittent at best, sporadic at times, but never heavy rain. Real rain. Just trickles here and there in a feeble attempt at rain amounting to an occasional break from the otherwise clear blue sky.

At first glance out the patio door things appeared bleak. Although still pre-dawn it was hard to be sure. As I continued shuffling along to the bathroom I began wondering if perhaps the weather forecast wasn’t actually correct? I suppose it is bound to happen sometime. I managed to inhale a quick bowl of cereal before receiving a text message announcing my race partner's arrival and we were off. Out into the elements with racing gear concealed by sweat pants and a rain proof jacket.

On the freeway we encountered a few rare moments of real rain. At times the rain came down hard enough to make driving difficult. Fortunately the one time you can count on little or no traffic in LA is early morning weekends. We were able to travel at seventy plus miles an hour, in spite of the less than favorable conditions. The sudden rush of adrenalin from our briefs stints of hydroplaning livened up the drive and kept me bright eyed in spite of the fact that left to my own devises I would still be in bed.

As we approached the designated parking lot I realized that traveling sixty miles definitely made us non-locals. If we had any real knowledge of the surface streets we would have avoided the last two miles, which took almost twenty minutes to travel. The anticipation of the race was kicking in as we both got a little giddy, commenting how the rain “didn’t look all that bad.” That nonsense quickly ended when one of us would roll down the window and put an arm out to gauge the rainfall. Not only would other person yell to roll up the window immediately because of the cold air coming into the car, but the rain drops stung your hand as they landed hard, causing you to withdraw your hand suddenly to avoid the sensation of what one could only imagine to be equivalent to acupuncture. Windy and cold I thought, as I sank into the passenger seat feeling somewhat discouraged.

After the usual pleasantries associated with race day parking and a quick stop at the race course rest rooms we decided to forego the shuttle and walk to the start line. Waiting for the shuttle in the rain was less appealing than walking in it, and we were in agreement. As we set out on foot, donned now only in our race attire, we avoided puddles in the parking lot trying to postpone a race day soaker for as long as possible. Quickly the cold wind took a toll on our uncovered legs, causing me to shiver.

Once we were in the corral people huddled together hoping to form a wind break from the painful Artic breeze coming in off the ocean. Instead of the usual pre-race antics that often include stretching, jogging in place, jumping up and down, and flailing about in general attempting to loosen up, most of us stood sedentary and soggy, already feeling somewhat defeated. Prior to the sound of the starting gun we were literally soaked from head to toe. I could not have been more wet if I had jumped off the pier...