Slam Dunk

I have my sights set on breaking the world record for the Renaissance Mile. It is a multifaceted race that consists of six events, all of which are timed and totaled.

Technically the event was conceived and never officially claimed according to beermile.com, the source that maintains the records. It is rumored to have been completed in just over 29 minutes; however, no supporting evidence was rendered making the claim nothing more than that – a claim.

The six events required to complete the Renaissance Mile as follows:

1. Run 1 mile
2. Solve a Rubik’s Cube
3. Drink 40oz of Malt
4. Dunk a basketball on a 10’ rim
5. Play Chopin’s Minute Waltz
6. Eat a pint of ice cream

They can be done in any order, but the clock is ticking from the start of the first through the final event.

A quick mental assessment tells me that running a mile will be the easiest event for me. Currently I log 15-20 miles per week. The only question regarding running a mile will be the pace depending on where I place it among the other events.

To be completely honest the event that intimidates me the most is eating a pint of ice cream. It may be easy for most people but it will wreak havoc on me. I don’t consume dairy not to mention eating while being physical poses other challenges as well. I don’t doubt whether or not I can do it though, but I am predicting that it won’t be pretty.

Drinking 40oz of malt should not be too difficult. Again, the question will simply be placement within the other events.

So that leaves the most challenging events: playing Chopin’s Minute Walt, dunking a basketball on a 10’ rim, and solving a Rubik’s Cube. These events will require a physical assessment to determine how much work is required so I can start training appropriately.

I plan to do a complete assessment of these three events in the coming days. All attempts will be documented. Stick with me and be entertained as I forge ahead. A sense of adventure and, and a sense of humor required!

-LM Out

The Renaissance Mile

Attempting to broaden my horizons in my never ending quest for continuous improvement I stumbled across something referred to as the Beer Mile by those who dare to seek out new and original challenges. Not exactly an Olympic event yet; however, a title just as coveted by those of us plugged into the underground running community as being a gold medalist.

For those of you unfamiliar with the event, the beer mile is where a participant must drink the entire contents of a 12 oz beer then complete a single lap running around a standard running track, 400 meters or ¼ mile, then repeat until 4 laps and 4 beers are complete. The event is timed, fastest time wins. One last detail, there is a one lap penalty for puking during your attempt.

In 2014 the 5 minute beer was broken by James Nielsen, which is as big of an achievement in the rogue running community as the first person to breach the 4 minute standard mile. Much the same fashion, once the barrier was initially breached others from around the globe seemed to follow suite with the knowledge that it was physically possible.

So where does that leave me? Rest assured I have little chance of ever breaking a 5 minute beer mile or being the world record holder in such an event. To date my fastest mile time is 4:58 and that is without consuming 4 cold beverages along the way. Granted there are age adjusted – or master’s categories - and even a grand master category, both which I think with the proper motivation I could potentially threaten. But those would likely be temporary as someone would come along at some point and take the title, just as I had done. No sir, I want my world record to stand the test of time. Or at least as long as possible.

As I scoured the internet for beer mile records I came across the official website for this unofficial event. I stumbled onto a lot of great stories, videos, and attempts to break this record. But then most unexpectedly I found a video of someone claiming yet another title: the Rubiks Cube mile. Lo and behold it dawned on me. Perhaps there is a world record that I could attain?

The person who claimed the Rubik’s Cube mile at that time was certainly not a runner. He was simply a guy that knew how to solve the cube who also happened to realize there was such a record and no one had ever properly laid claim to it. Yes, beermile.com does require proof to review each attempt prior to posting claims to any titles and apparently no one had submitted such proof. So he plodded along a field in the dead of winter, on a snow covered track, completing 4 laps after solving the cube 4 times, and the rest is history.

Sure I used to solve the Rubik’s Cube around the inception of the game. I was hardly a math genius who created my own method, but I did have access to a book that taught you a method that worked in less than 5 minutes. Clearly that isn’t going to bode well these days. Search for Rubiks Cube videos and you will see people solving the entire cube in less than 1 minute.

I continued to look for a world record more suited for a person of my abilities and lightning struck. That once- in-a-lifetime find. A record that appeared to have been created for me. If not me specifically, then someone like me:

The Renaissance Mile.              

Perfect for a man with my diverse skill set. As you know a renaissance man was believed to be a clever person good at many different things. I immediately began to look at the requirements, evaluating how difficult it would be to complete each task.

In all there are 6 events necessary for claiming the Renaissance Mile world record. I plan to systematically work on the events, beginning with the event I deem most likely to require the most training first, adding in the events that require less training. I will document and detail each event along with my progress for this particular event over the coming weeks.

Please join me on my vision quest. My swan song. My attempt to aspire to greatness. I can promise you it shall be entertaining. If someone like me is capable of becoming a world record holder, dare to imagine what someone like you is capable of doing?

-DL

The Hundred Up Challenge - Week 1

Perhaps the first update should be titled “Weak 1.” For such an innocent looking drill I must admit I find it surprisingly difficult. To make matters worse, my ten year old watched in disbelief as I explained “it’s harder than it looks” only to have her knock out the same workout I had just completed, apparently with less effort.

Let’s face it, the human body has the extraordinary ability to adapt to the stress it is given. Mine is finely tuned to running long distance and short bursts of speed. It has become capable of handling my weekly track workout with very little, if any residual soreness, the following days. My guess is starting something new, such as The Hundred Up therefore puts us at about the same level. It is only through consistent practice and further adaptation that it will become less strenuous to perform.

Results for week one:

Five completed attempts. I started with 40 reps my first attempt just to make sure there was nothing the next day that would interfere with my regular routine. Added 10 reps each session, still without any stiffness or aches the following days. Keep in mind I am do “the Minor” as described by G. W. and will not attempt The Major until the successful, repeated completion of 100 reps of The Minor.

What has this done for my running? Obviously it is too soon to expect any significant change. But I did notice during my final and therefore most grueling track intervals this week, if I leaned forward slightly and tried to incorporate the movement of the exercise, I gained ground on those ahead of me.

I expect to continue with The Minor this week and begin The Major as soon as next week. Results to follow. Precursory conclusion:

There is no down side to this exercise. Let’s see if there is an upside.

The 100 Up Challenge

What is it? A one hundred year old running exercise that focuses solely on running form. The unique aspect of the 100 Up is that it does not involve running, it is a simple stationary drill. Created and documented by an early 19th century miler, W. G. George, with the intent of “perfecting running form.”

Fast forward about 100 years and you find yourself in the midst of a running revolution which claims that all the advantages of high tech shoes created since the 1970’s have not lessened the instances of injuries, but actually increased the injury rate among runners. The solution proposed by the revolutionaries? Running barefoot. To hell with the shoes, run as nature intended.

Needless to say you won’t see me running barefoot any time soon. I have experimented on more than one occasion with a few barefoot miles, but only on the treadmill. However, those few miles taught me something within the first ten minutes that fundamentally changed the way I run:

I run completely different when running barefoot.

My heels never touched the treadmill. Not once. This was not a conscious effort, but my legs taking charge of my running and landing using all the muscles of the lower leg to cushion the impact of each strike. It was a true epiphany. And as natural as running itself, in the purest sense.

I run now only in flats or shoes that have a “zero drop” front to back in elevation on the sole. I still prefer some protection from the elements as well as surface impediments. But the feeling is the same as on the treadmill barefoot, my foot strike is on the ball of my foot, every step.
As stated in my blog title I am always looking for continuous improvement and the idea of perfecting form appears practical to me. Let’s face it, by taking the challenge I could again stumble onto another break through. At this time I do not really see a downside.

Sign up with me at http://hundredup.com/challengers/

I will post updates weekly detailing my progress and thoughts along the way.

The Real Reason

Over the years I have refined my answer to the most common question when interrogated by someone who does not understand running when they ask “why do you run marathons?” My answer has ranged from a sarcastic comment to a drawn out explanation of the benefits I derive from running and how they permeate other aspects of my life. More recently I have learned that running is not a selfish decision made with my self interest in mind as i previously believed. I also run for other people.

Prior to the 2010 LA Marathon I was committed to running the full marathon but unfortunately life got in the way. As a result my training consisted primarily of quality runs and much less on mileage. I did not have the opportunity for the usual five weekly runs that I depend on when training for a full marathon and instead wound up most weeks running only three times.

Since this had never happened I had no idea what to expect for the outcome. Would the race turn into a long day of regretting my lack of preparation, or would the abbreviated weekly schedule leave me feeling fresh and strong on race day? I came to terms with this race as an experiment in training and all I could do was hope for the best.

I trained and ran the race with a friend of mine who coincidentally wore the same shirt on race day. We both had very distinctive singlets from a previous company sponsored race and we individually decided to wear them in LA. They were bright red with the company name across the back of the shirt.

To his advantage he did not experience the missing weekday runs and followed our training program to the letter. If it said “run 9 miles on Tues” he ran 9 miles. Come race day we started the race together. I intended to gage my ability to keep up as we went along since I was breaking new ground with so few hours and miles of training. Unfortunately by mile six I had to let him go as I began to fall behind. I labored to continue at what felt like the same pace we started running, only to be reminded at each mile marker I was running a little slower.

As I approached the twenty mile marker something most unexpected happened. I spotted the bright red singlet ahead of me, on the right hand side of the road, walking. Sure enough it was my training partner and friend. He proclaimed he was “done” when I caught up to him which frightened me. I had never known him to tap out in an event. Ever.

Encouragement seemed like a viable option. I said “just stick with me, we’ll get in under four hours.” He would manage to pick it up and jog a few steps, only to announce “I’m done” again and start walking shortly after. After a few more failed attempts I realized that it was my turn to leave him behind. I announced I would see him at the finish as I drudged on ahead of him.

I managed to cross the finish line in 3:48 which is not a bad time for me. The training three runs per week proved to be sufficient to finish a marathon, but it was insufficient for preparing me to run hard the entire race. Wondering how he was doing, and worried he may not have been able to complete the race, I started to make my way back upstream hoping to find him and encourage him to finish when I noticed he was already entering the finisher’s area. He managed to pull it together and ended up finishing with a 3:56 to my surprise. If I had any reason to suspect he would be able to get moving again I would have stuck with him. I would gladly give up an all out effort in a marathon for the chance to help get a friend through their first marathon.

When we reunited in the finisher’s area he began to tell me a story. Something truly wonderful and amazing. An unknown runner approached him at the finish line and asked if he was part of a race team? Confused by the question he replied that he was not, but that there were two of us wearing the same shirt. She continued, and asked him to thank me, the other runner wearing the red singlet. She then explained that she was really struggling late in the race yet noticed this person ahead of her, dressed in red, hanging on. She figured if that person can hang on, so can I. And so she did. This runner, unknown to me, was lifted just enough to remain in the race when she felt like stopping encouraged only by a stranger in a red shirt ahead of her who also refused to give up. And sometimes that is all it takes. Knowing it is possible. That we can hang on in spite of overwhelming feeling to give up.

For the first time I knew and to this day my answer no longer varies. In fact I look forward to hearing the once dreaded question from others “why do you run marathons?”

“To inspire other people” I now reply content with my answer. That is the real reason.

A Bad Race?

In my youth I used to believe that there was no such thing as bad beer. Some beer just goes down better than others. In that same spirit today I believe that there are no bad races. Some of them just go better than others.

The race that could have gone better in this case simply refers to me not meeting my goal. Finishing a race and feeling let down or disappointed afterward, instead of being overcome by the familar euphoric feeling. On some days the goal can be nothing more than not falling down (*see my "On Your Feet" blog) or not walking throughout the entire run. But for this race it meant not crossing the finish line within my predicted time.

Running for me has always been a metaphor for life. Putting in the effort is the first step. More often that not on my early morning long runs I think to myself “most of these people are still in bed” as I run past their house unnoticed. With the pristine minutes of dawn all to myself, as the silence of the day before it unfolds lifts my spirits and makes me glad I got out of bed on that day. Yes it would have been easier to stay in my warm, comfy bed. But it would also be less rewarding.

Then comes learning your limitations. You can always choose to accept or not accept them, it’s completely up to you. Determination and perseverance go a long way in altering your course here. I often wonder what if Danny DeVito thought to himself "I’m not the Hollywood type?" and as such never pursued what turned out to be a remarkable career in Tinsel Town.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, there is learning from your mistakes. Every long distance effort should teach you something. What to wear, how to train, what to eat or not eat, and most importantly what you will do when faced with adversity. This is where effort, limitations, and knowledge converge.

Falling nearly a minute per mile off the desired pace in this last half marathon could be interpreted many ways. I am getting older and slower. In this example time will always win. We do all get slower as we age, there is no denying it. But I don’t believe that was problem. In fact I am willing to wager my best runs are yet to come.

So what happened? Maybe I didn’t choose the right plan to prepare me for my goal. Or perhaps I didn’t follow it as closely as I should have. It is possible that throwing a race in the middle of a marathon training plan isn’t a good idea. Of this I can’t yet be sure. But I do know that missing my goal was very humbling, and also very inspiring at the same time. Like those long, lonely miles often late in the run when your mind is telling you to stop, now is the time to decide what you’re willing to accept – in the next race or your life – and refocus on how you can obtain your desired goal.

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...

Running in the Rain Prt II

I told my partner to “run your race” acknowledging that I’ll see him at the finish line. The gesture meant nothing more than to run how you want to run, not how I run, knowing that he hadn’t put in enough training hours to keep up with me. Being much younger and notably faster when he trained regularly, I knew The Kid would have a hard time letting me go ahead of him when his conditioning, or lack of conditioning, got the best of him. We all have our egos, no matter how close the friendship. In fact, I might even argue that being closer friends makes us that much more competitive. But eventually, barring a miracle from the running gods, he would have to let me go.

Earlier in the year I formally identified my goals for the year. They were as straightforward as I could be: a 1:50 half marathon, a 1:40 half marathon and a 1:30 half marathon. Rather lofty goals for someone who had never raced a half, but they seemed reasonable to me. I wasn’t yet a fast runner, but I believed that with more consistent effort this year and more intelligent training maybe I could become one.

So here it was early February, and I was about to wage war on my first goal: the 1:50. This was to be my first formal attempt to race a half marathon. Why not attempt a 1:50 I thought as I test the water? In spite of the unfavorable conditions, it still felt reasonable.

As we set off racing I intentionally held back the pace, allowing many runners to pass. This is admittedly one of the most difficult aspects of any race, letting people go up front. I’d learned from my race experience though that it pays huge dividends later in the race when it’s a lot more meaningful to be able to pass people because you have some fuel left in the tank. So I console myself with the thought “I’ll see you again” as what felt like the majority of the runners in the race made their way around me. My first mile was a very casual 8:45 pace.

I noticed about this time that my breathing wasn’t regulated yet. I hadn’t been laboring heavily enough to create a pattern that naturally gets in sync with my stride. My usual one inhale to two strides, one exhale to two strides wasn’t yet necessary. This felt more like a casual long, slow distance weekend run, or dare I say jog. Again forcing myself to listen to my inner common sense and not my race ego I decided to keep at the casual pace and see how things unfold during the race.

The Kid managed to tag along during the first few miles. In spite of his labored breathing he was actually hanging tough, always on my left or right but seldom behind me.

I realized that being completely soaked was somewhat liberating. You lose the fear of getting wet. And once your feet are soaked you no longer need to avoid the puddles. As far as wetness was concerned, there was nothing left to lose.

The wind had seemingly subsided as the racecourse turned away from the ocean. I no longer felt the sting of the droplets of rain against the few areas of exposed skin, mainly on my face. Or perhaps the wind was now at our backs, but I could not really be sure. Either way it was no longer a factor that contributed to making us miserable. The cold was sufficient. My toes began feeling numb around mile six. I imagined it was from the cold, and not fatigue. I had found my regulated breathing pattern somewhere past mile five.

As we made a turn at mile marker eight onto the final straight away, I realized we had five miles to go. A clear shot along the Pacific Coast highway to the finish line. No more turning and weaving through neighborhoods, wondering which way to turn as we approached an intersection. As I checked the time I realized that my pace wasn’t going to suffice if I were to make my 1:50 goal on my first race. I wished my partner well and congratulated him on running eight miles with me in ungodly conditions, and told him I was surprised he held it together this far in lieu of any real training. But it was time for me to go.As we made the turn to head back toward the starting point I realized what had happened with the wind. It hadn’t died down, but apparently it had been at our back. How come we don’t notice the wind when it’s at your back, yet there’s no denying it when it’s in your face? The rain drops once again felt like they were creating tiny piercings on my face as they landed yet somehow I managed to put the pedal down. Still locked into a fairly packed crowd I noticed The Kid was gone from sight within ½ a mile.

Running a 1:50 half marathon requires an 8:23 average pace per mile. My pace to this point had been consistent with my first mile, about 8:45. I needed to come up with some quicker miles, and I needed to do it now. As I headed into the wind, feet completely numb, water covering my glasses so heavily that it was difficult to see, I began pushing myself faster all the while thinking how much this sucks. It sucked that the day before was picture perfect. It sucked that I managed to run a smart race and set my self up for negative splits, or a faster per mile average pace on the later miles of the race, and now it was questionable how much longer I could run in general.

But mostly it sucked because I was making it suck thinking about how miserable I was. And then it hit me. This sucks for everyone. It has to. It was that simple. No one was enjoying themselve. No one was smiling or laughing, or even chatting at this point. Everyone was plodding along, head down to avoid the sting of the rain in your eyes, and avoiding puddles out of habit, not necessity. What would it matter at this point, our feet were completely soaked.

I continued making my move. I removed my glasses to clean them off and restore some sense of visibility, only to be immediately blinded by the raindrops as they stung my face and eyes. Running with them on was going to have to work.

“You call this rain?” I thought as I looked up and laughed to myself. This isn’t rain. This was just an inconvenience.

I managed a 7:50 pace on the ninth mile. Better, but not enough to get me in sub 1:50. So I continued to put the pedal down, extending my stride as much as possible. My clothes felt as if they weighed 20 lbs and the numbness of my feet was extending to my legs. Must be the cold I thought as I continued pushing forward.

“You call this cold?” I declared as I chuckled inside for another mile, trying to be as relentless as possible with my pace. Ironically in spite of the miserably cold conditions, I was getting really hot during my increased effort.

Then with only three miles to go I was hitting a low. A real low. Not an imaginary feel-sorry-for-myself low, but an actual running-out-of-steam low. I remembered reading somewhere that the feeling of fatigue originates in our mind, not our body. Quickly I summoned “You call this tired?” as I smirked again for a few paces, attempting to talk myself into not yielding on the final few miles.

I’d noticed from the moment I said goodbye to The Kid, I had not been passed by another runner. In fact it was at that mile I noticeably began passing other runners. The same people I had to let go up front thinking I’d see again was true. And now was exactly how I’d want to see them, laboring and out of steam as I passed them. If anyone attempted to pass me during my five mile surge, I used them as my pace car. I thought “if they can do this, so can I” as I got on their heels and decided the rest of the race would be a war that is won with a series of battles. And I continued digging in.

Finally with one mile to go I was unaware of my time relative to my goal. I was too tired, and distracted trying to overcome the negative thoughts in my mind to do any further math in my head. I was pacing with another guy about my age for over a mile after he attempted to pass me when he began to pull away. “It’s over” I thought as I tried but couldn’t respond. Chalk this one up to bad conditions. I could no longer keep this pace. He started losing me as he made his way around others still pushing forward at an accelerated pace.

This was the ultimate low. The worst point in the race. Less than a mile to go, by my last estimate my goal was within reach, and yet I didn’t have the strength to keep hustling out the final mile. I thought “hey a five mile move after running eight miles is pretty impressive.” Yet I didn’t feel better. I had no concept how far I had to go. I didn’t pay any attention to my split time, or my per mile average pace, at mile twelve. It seemed like I had been running this mile forever. Honestly I had no idea if I was even half way through mile twelve.

Then I saw it. "FINISH" in large letters waving in the wind on the banner over the middle of the street. Instantly my spirits were lifted. The crowd was small due to the ghastly conditions, which would explain why I didn’t hear it coming. Usually the crowd noise gives a runner some indication they are approaching the line. But there it was. Without a conscious decision my turnover increased. My stride instantly extended to a six minute mile pace and I was off. I no longer cared about my goal time. Or the race in general. I just wanted it to be over. To stop pushing myself, without guilt.

The next thing I know I’m almost full sprint passing people right and left. The guy I had to let go ahead of me earlier hollered “nice move” as I blazed past him, as he was unable to respond. I bound across the finish line, grabbed a medal and had my chip cut off my shoe before I realized the race was over. I went to stand along the finish line and await The Kid before I realized I never stopped my watch. But it no longer mattered. Whatever the time was I was satisfied with my performance under those circumstances on that specific race.

Later as we huddled under a tent to attempt to enjoy a well earned post race beer my hands were so cold I could hardly hang on to the cup to hoist it to my mouth. Out of a sense of entitlement we knocked back a single beer, while in complete misery. Even free beer wasn’t going to make this situation any better. So we agreed to begin our pilgrimage back to the car. The only question now was, should we start walking or wait for the shuttle?

Using My Head

Like most people, I thought setting goals was something one did prior to running, and was primarily reserved for organized events and races. Depending on the length of the race and how I was doing with my training, I always set a target finish time. Thinking back I really only had one goal. Fortunately it didn’t take long to realize that there is more to setting goals than choosing a pre-determined finish time. In fact my approach was arguably backward. Goals don’t dictate how I should run, but these days they are more often derived from a run.

Part of the problem is that there are too many factors to consider, many of which are out of my control, going into a race. How I feel on that day, physically and emotionally play a significant role. Did I get carried away with last minute training, worried I hadn’t been training hard enough, and inadvertently weaken my conditioning as a result of my panic? I’ve definitely paid the price for making that mistake, on more than one occasion. Weather conditions can also have a significant impact. My last organized race was 80 degrees prior to the starting gun. I was actually sweating before even getting out of the coral. That race remains to this day the only run in which I’ve felt muscle cramping in my legs, which I attribute to dehydration. Needless to say, I did not make my “goal.”

After hitting the wall in my first few marathons I learned that my primary goal should simply be “to finish the race.” On my feet, or hands and knees. No matter how discouraged I become late in the race, I’ve learned that after the fact I’ll take some consolation knowing that I followed it through to completion, regardless of the time.

My latest goal is the result of a recent learning experience when I was rendered nearly unconscious after becoming entangled in some wire on the side of the road and falling hard on my face during a routine five miler. I had to regroup with two gaping wounds above my eye, one that ultimately required stitches, and blood flowing from multiple abrasions from numerous regions on my body. Fortunately aside from the blow to my melon and my pride, nothing that I relied on to run (hips, knees, ankles, etc) felt twisted or injured. I was truly grateful that I was able to continue running, and not walk, since I was two and half miles from finishing. It was suddenly painfully obvious what my new primary goal for all running should be “don’t fall.” It’s that simple, and applies to more than race day.

These days I approach every single run with the same set of goals:

1. Don’t fall.
2. Complete the run.
3. Finish within a time that targets my objective for that run.

Goal number 3 applies in both directions. Quite often it means don’t exceed a certain pace on a run intended to be a recovery run. Even on a bad day meeting two out of three goals, and learning something I feel will help me achieve my goal time with more experience and smarter training, I walk away feeling good about my effort. Missing my third goal just gives me something to strive for on my next run, provided of course I manage to achieve goals 1 and 2.