got lactate?

Muddering Through It: Tough Mudder/New England Race Report

2011-05-16T10:24:00.017-04:00

On Saturday, May 7th, I had a new racing experience. As I should know by now, signing up for events months and months in advance can make such events seem like abstractions, like intriguing ideas that will never ripen into actual physical activities of the most challenging and uncomfortable order. Tough Mudder falls squarely into the "it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time" category.

For the uninitiated, Tough Mudder grew out of a Harvard Business school class project, which the professor found interesting, but critiqued the fact that the organizers would likely never be able to attract enough participants (about 500) to break even, much less turn a profit. Tough Mudder events now exist all over the country, and sell out regularly, with well over 10,000 people doing events on any given weekend. The idea behind Tough Mudder is to create a ridiculously challenging, but nonetheless surmountable, course, ostensibly under the auspices of "former British Special Forces". The races involve - of course - mud, along with challenging terrain, icy water hazards, and all manner of obstacles requiring one to go up, over, through or around, with a lot of effort.

For my part, bounding up and down a mud- and snow-covered mountain did not intimidate me. Climbing, balancing, jumping . . . no problem. Electrical shock? Bring it. But being immersed in near-freezing muddy water time and again required me to confront one of my own demons. Ever since my body started to adapt to high running mileage by getting leaner, I've had almost zero tolerance for cold water. Turns out, that's a significant part of the Tough Mudder experience, especially in Vermont in early May. So, while my relationship to cold water might not be a phobia, per se, it definitely qualifies as a strong aversion, and thus became the "thing" upon which I fixated as the Tough Mudder start approached.

I got up early and made the longer-than-expected drive to Mount Snow. It was a mostly gray, cool morning, with the car thermometer reading between 38 and 46 degrees. It was blustery, but didn't look like it would rain. As one friend put it, one good thing about Tough Mudder is that the weather is basically irrelevant. True enough.

I arrived early enough to park, take a few pictures and get into the "zone". I strolled around, appreciating the clever-but-contrived signage. I got my face and arm "marked" with my race number. I saw all sorts of folks: military-types, runners, triathletes, costumed wing nuts, tall, short, fit-looking, not-so-fit-looking, well-geared, and minimally-dressed. Hairstyles were colorful and interesting, with the dyed Mohawk perhaps the most favored look. Many teams had matching uniforms, some more fanciful than others.

Seeking to stay warm, I lingered inside, then got into my racing clothes before checking my bag and making the 1/3-mile hike up to the starting area. I was one of the first participants to line up, and we were the day's first wave of "Mudders". I chatted with a few folks at the start, including a young Army guy who'd just run a 1:18 half-marathon off minimal training (hate him!) and a guy who operates an adventure race blog featuring Tough Mudder reviews. I talked to two guys who are striving to do ALL Tough Mudder races around the country, including twice in one weekend sometimes.

The pre-race speech was a tad too canned for my taste. The announcer read a prepared script, whipping us into a frenzy, and fomenting an atmosphere of this event being an expression of rogue courage which would somehow elevate us to a higher state of being. He brandished a large poster of Osama Bin Laden, with a large red "X" through the photo, and some of the crowd started yelling, "USA, USA, USA!!!" I found the demonstration somewhat distasteful, and while I appreciate that Tough Mudder raises money for the Wounded Warrior Project, the Bin Laden gesture seemed cheap, disrespectful and completely contrived. We were there for our own sakes, to play in man-made obstacles with only minimal danger to ourselves. This was semi-extreme recreation, not the sort of goal-based sacrifice that would make the world a better place (and analogizing that premise to our current international conflicts is a loaded exercises in itself).

And, so, after months of anticipation, the gun sounded and the masses dashed down the steep base of Mount Snow, some yelling like medieval warriors, before turning left and heading STRAIGHT UP the steep ski slopes for a mile and a half.

I was trying to find a rhythm, and it soon became clear to me that trying to run up a 30+% grade with alternating surfaces of slippery mud, grass, wet rock, snow and ice was to embark on a fool's errand. Add to that the charming touch of being sprayed with snowmaking machines (meaning, thick mists of cold water), and I changed my slogging jogging gait to a power hike, letting a number of fellow Mudders go ahead of me.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally stopped climbing and started to confront the obstacles which supposedly set Tough Mudder apart from other endurance events and adventure races.

In all honesty, I cannot remember the particular order of the challenges/obstacles, but I certainly remember many of them, particularly those involving exposure to frigid water. Here are some highlights:

Devil's Beard - After missing this obstacle because a wooded lateral trail section was poorly marked, several us had to run back UP the mountain before slithering under taut cargo nets across rugged mountain terrain. I'd imagine that this is where the scraping of my body began in earnest
Boa Constrictor - Possibly the least appealing obstacle, involving two long tunnels which each dipped down into frigid muddy water, leaving barely enough room for one to turn one's head and keep breathing. This was my first immersion, and I emerged from this obstacle with numb hands and feet, and with blood dripping down my knee and shin
Tires - basically running up through a series of tired, with an occasional mud pit making it interesting
"Ball Shrinker" - this water crossing involved a suspended tightrope which plunges the intrepid participant into chest-high water. I asked the safety kayaker near me if he'd be kind enough to return my testicles to me if he saw them (though, we all know to where they retreated in an effort to survive)
"Kiss of Mud" - crawling under barbed wire wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared

"Hold Your Wood" - physically, this may have been the most challenging undertaking, as we had to grab a ~40-pound log and carry it up and then down an extremely steep pitch. The footing was treacherous, and I had to "learn" how to fall safely, so that the log wouldn't land on me or roll down and take out any fellow competitors. I commented to a fellow sufferer that after the cold water festivities, that was the only "wood" any of us would be holding. Tossing that log back into the wood pile was a major relief.
Evil Kenevil - This turned out to be an easy up-&-over.
Spider Web - climbing cargo nets proved very manageable, and gave weary legs some much-needed rest
"Walk the Plank" - The mother of all Mudder obstacles, at least for me. This involved climbing a rope up to a 15-foot platform, then plunging into what was billed as 35-degree water. This was my moment of confronting and conquering many a personal demon. I did it, but the effect of that water was truly a shock to my system. I pulled myself out of the pond, and told the volunteers that "You all suck", with a big smile on my face. I felt like the worst HAD to be over by that point.

Underwater Tunnels - This obstacle merely involved plunging through a muddy pond, under several progressively lower horizontal posts. Not fun, but short.

Funky Monkey - Greased monkey bars make for good times, as I got through about 4 rungs before falling into the - you guessed it! - muddy water below
Berlin Wall - The only challenge which required a group effort to surmount. I hooked up with three other guys, and we figured out how to get each other up and over. It was a great mental, physical and social exercise.
Glacier - This involved climbing up a large heap of snow, and then descending down the hard, cold, rough downside. Here I managed to pass the only woman who'd been ahead of me in our wave. I don't usually care much, but it was nice not to get "chicked" in this particular testosterone-heavy endeavor.

I was passing plenty of others in the final stages, and ended up in a sort of "head-to-head" battle with a guy I'd seen since the beginning. On the poetically-named "Turd's Nest", I passed him and did not see him again until after the finish.

The final few obstacles involved trudging through iced red water in the "Blood Bath", sliding down the mountain on wet plastic, hurdling some uncomfortably handled metal pipes, and then the two Tough Mudder signature finishing obstacles: "Fire Walker" and "Electroshock Therapy". The fire segment was mostly a noxious stretch of blinding smoke. The much-ballyhooed electric shock was little more than the sort of ticklish pinprick one would get from a novelty hand buzzer.

I charged through finishing chute alone, arms pumping while a few people cheered, with the clock reading 11:19:xx am, meaning I'd just taken nearly 2 hours and 20 minutes to go 10 measly miles. I also heard - informally - that I was 10th overall in the heat, which I guess was a good thing.

I got my finisher's headband and race t-shirt, some food, a space blanket and lingered around waiting for others to finish. I grabbed a Dos Equis, drank about two sips and tossed the rest. I watched as people threw kegs at cardboard cutouts of celebrities. And then I de-briefed briefly with a couple of other finishers before heading towards the gear check in an effort to get dry and warm. The line was very long, as the later starters were checking in, and only a couple of us were seeking to get bags we'd checked earlier. There was some confusion, and I just stood there, shivering, while the volunteers looked for my belongings. Several aspiring participants started asking me questions, commenting on my bloody legs, seeking reassurance that it wasn't "so bad". One young woman asked, "How do you feel?" A: "Tired." Q: "But happy, and glad you did it, right?" A: [after long pause] "I'm tired." She seemed deflated.

Looking back on Tough Mudder, the life-timing of this event was apropos as it turned out, given that it fell at the end of a very intense and difficult couple of weeks. I'd been in a bit of a post-Boston funk, running less than I have in years. I've been tired, somewhat listless, and quite preoccupied with the transition I'm making from married father of three to separated part-time "single" dad. Other personal confusion and challenges have also abounded. But Tough Mudder was a great opportunity to do something "different", something outside my athletic comfort zone, and to do be pleasantly surprised by doing it pretty well. As usual, the life lessons and parallels are there for the taking.

One common question since May 7th has been, "Would you do it again?" The answer for me is that I'd consider doing it in a warmer place and perhaps with a team of similarly-conditioned folks, since the camaraderie of the experience is one of the things which sets Tough Mudder apart from the typical running race experience.

Thanks for reading. - ESG

"More (or Less?) Than a Feeling": Boston 2011 Race Report

2011-05-02T22:24:00.001-04:00

A goal properly set is halfway reached.

--Abraham Lincoln

It's probably only a tad ironic that the marathon which has taken me the least amount of time to run has resulted in my taking the longest amount of time to generate a race report. There are a couple of reasons for this, the main one being that - two weeks removed from it - I still don't know how I feel about my performance in the 2011 Boston Marathon. And, so, without further qualifying equivocation, here's the report.

After the debacle which was Boston 2010 (and my running year as a whole), I had trained for and expected to run a certain time in 2011. That time was not to be. My sub-3:05 goal slipped away in the Newton Hills, but rather than an epic blowup, I managed to contain the slowdown and finish my second Boston Marathon with a new PR of 3:08:48. It's difficult to characterize the result in terms of good or bad, satisfying or disappointing. It's all of those things - and more - but the experiences from the race (and from the weekend as a whole) are more significant than the final time on the clock.

With so much going on in my life at the moment, it's difficult to know where to begin this year's race report, but it may serve everyone's interests in just focusing on the race itself. Suffice it to say that the weekend involved some personal highs and lows, as I reconnected with some friends, forged new friendships and struggled through the complicated dynamics of marital separation.

PRE-RACE

After some crazy scrambling with my friend Steve/TTM on Sunday night, where we raided a number of southern New Hampshire chain stores in search of a tarp on which to rest at Athlete's Village on Monday morning, we finally found one in the automotive section of Wal-Mart. I had not set foot in a Wal-Mart in about a decade, and Sunday night was a bit of a freak show there. Still, we acquired 160 square feet of vinyl protection, and ended up back at my place a bit after 10:00 p.m., later than either of us had hoped.

We crashed at about 11:00 and I had the alarm set for 4:00 a.m., so that we could be on the road and under the Boston Common in time to get on the first wave of buses leaving Boston for Hopkinton. The drive went smoothly, and we found James and Kevin with no problem. My other friend Steve was also supposed to meet us, but he left his phone in his car and never did find us among the assembled throng.

The ride to Hopkinton was fine, and I was calm and relaxed. I had not looked at pacing spreadsheets, brought no pace band with me, and otherwise was not thinking about tackling 26.2 miles in a certain time. Instead, I was thinking only about saving some energy early and settling into a sustainable sub-7:00/mile pace.

We arrived at Athlete's Village and set up our monstrously large tarp. Friends and strangers kept finding us, claiming small swatches of dryness as we all waited for 10:00 am to roll around. Everyone was fueling up, drinking, standing in bathroom lines, etc. Seth found me, and we hung out with his Swedish friends for a while. The wind was blowing, but the frenzy over the unprecedented tailwind had everyone feeling at peace with the weather. Sunday's storms had blown over, and the sun was shining from a brilliant blue sky.

Time passed in fits and spurts, with some segments seeming long; other moments passed by at warp speed. We all started getting our gear on, applying BodyGlide, eating, drinking, shedding layers. The whole scene definitely had the feel of a religious gathering, with shared rituals co-existing peacefully with individual habits.

The time finally came to meet up with some friends who'd come on a charter bus, check the gear bags and head to the starting corrals. I had a twinge of regret about the incompleteness of my last bathroom stop, but it turned out to be too late to do anything about it. I also forgot to put my calf compression sleeves on, which makes a second critical omission in two consecutive Bostons (forgetting my HR monitor last year).

I found my way into an overflowing Corral #8, said good-bye to one of my friends who was several corrals ahead, waited for a bit, shed my long-sleeved shirt and then pushily made my way towards the front of the corral. The energy was palpable as thousands of highly-trained, tapered runners endured their final moments of energy restraint.

THE RACE

Miles 1-5

1 - 7:18

2 - 7:00

3 - 6:55

4 - 6:54

5 - 6:57

The Boston Marathon boasts 115 years of distance running lore, staged on the same course year after year after year. For all the great moments and triumphs, it's a course which has surely chewed up and spit out more runners than probably any other road race in the world. As a sort of recreational runner's "All-Star" race with a pronounced downhill start, Boston tantalizes many an aspiring PR-seeker to go out too fast before paying dearly for such over-exuberance. I wanted to go out "easy" and take 3 or so miles to settle in.

Other than the annoyance of navigating the crowd, things seemed to start well. I felt an uncomfortable pang in my stomach, which I attributed to nerves and did my best to ignore. I found a tangent along the left side of the course, weaving more than I should have, but less than I wanted to.

By the end of Mile 2, I had found my groove, and was feeling good about the pace, my effort and what lay ahead. I tried to draw energy from the fans without expending any extra by high-fiving or otherwise hamming it up. I stayed alert to those around me, especially during the aid stations, but very much sought to remain in my own space.

Miles 6-10

6 - 6:54

7 - 6:49

8 - 6:49

9 - 6:52

10 - 7:21*

*includes Garmin distance adjustment

I paid attention to my stride and form, being careful not to over-run the downhills. It seemed like I was doing fine, and my heart rate stayed relatively low throughout this segment. Somewhere after Mile 5, I passed a guy in a bodysuit animal costume. I pulled up next to him and said with a grin, "I hate when costumed runners are so fast." When I saw his face and heard him speak, I realized that he was from Japan, and he replied, "Oh, thank you. You have beautiful form." I'm guessing he didn't quite grasp what I'd just said, but I gladly accepted the compliment, knowing that if it wasn't a lie at that moment, it was likely to be soon enough.

With my stomach still a bit of a question mark, I took my first gel at about Mile 7, a Gu Roctane pineapple (no caffeine), chased by two cups of water. I'd drunk only water at aid stations to this point, and fueling-wise, I seemed okay.

In about Mile 9, I saw a runner towering over the rest of the field. I ran next to him and told him that his ability to move at that pace was very impressive. I guessed that he was 6'8" or 6'9", but he told me that he's actually 6'11", and that he's never seen anyone taller in a marathon. He said that there's nothing special about him running, as he's just putting one foot in front of the other just like the rest of us (except with about half as many strides per mile).

Up until Mile 10, the pace felt right and encouraging, such that I had a sense that it could be a stellar day. Yet, for no obvious reason, Mile 10 was very difficult. I suddenly felt labored and tight, and thought that my day may be coming to a premature end. Still, unlike in marathons past, I stayed with it, kept my wits about me, and regrouped.

Miles 11-15

11 - 6:58

12 - 6:57

13 - 6:55

14 - 6:54

15 - 7:11

This was a strange segment for me, as I didn't feel great, but remained encouraged by the mile-by-mile splits.

The Wellesley women were MUCH more boisterous than I remembered from 2010, and the "Wall of Sound" greeted us a good half-mile before the screaming co-eds came into view. Unlike last year, though, I stayed in the middle of the road, glanced at some of the scream tunnel signs and soaked in the energy and atmosphere. I felt privileged to be running the Boston Marathon, to be treated like someone special for a day. I also resolved to make sure I stayed positive for the second half of the race, regardless of what ended up happening.

I crossed the half-marathon mark exactly where I had hoped to be, at 1:31:31. I simultaneously felt hopeful and concerned. For reasons that I can't completely explain, I had a sense of foreboding, but I tried to discount it as the irrational fear of a runner attaining a new fitness level.

Mile 14 marked my second gel, a Carboom raspberry. My stomach was not calm, and the GI melodrama went into full swing, as my stomach and I transitioned from a state of a detente of benign discomfort to possible full-blown disagreement, but each time I thought about making a pit stop, there'd be no port-a-potty, and when I did see one, the urge would temporarily subside. I finally decided that I would stop, but there was a line. So, the decision essentially made itself. I was going to roll the digestive dice and see how long I could hang on.

Miles 16-21

16 - 6:57

17 - 7:20

18 - 7:13

19 - 7:27

20 - 7:29

21 - 7:56

At this point, I knew the hills were coming, and I was not sure what to expect exactly. I was prepared to slow down, but wanted to feel like I was maintaining a pretty even effort. I stayed as steady as I could, but I knew that I wasn't going to be pulling off any late-race heroics. I ground my way up the hills, and somewhere around Mile 17 or so, I felt a hand on my butt. It was a rather incongruous sensation at that point in a marathon, and I was not feeling particularly flattered or amused by the attention. I turned to see my friend Seth behind me, not a good sign. Our exchange went kind of like this:

Me: What are you doing?!
Seth: Jogging, dude. I'm done.
Me: [With a somewhat disgusted glare of disbelief] I can't talk to you now.
Seth: Cool. Go for it.

I spent the next mile or two feeling badly about having been such a jerk to my friend, but as a runner I knew Seth would understand. Given that his goal was even more ambitious than mine, I knew he was in a bad place, but I realized that i was, as well. I was very much trying to keep myself in the race mentally, to accept that marathons are not - at least at my mediocre level - all-or-nothing endeavors. I still had plenty of "room" for a PR, and I knew that I had a good chance to break 3:10.

So, I rode out the hills as best I could, and figured that - if nothing else - I would hang in longer than I did last year. Progress by degrees, rather than by leaps and bounds became my new reality.

And, with no particular degree of pomp or circumstance, I was up and over Heartbreak Hill, slowing down, but still running.

Miles 22-Finish

22 - 7:28

23 - 7:36

24 - 7:31

25 - 7:45

26 - 7:29

0.2+ - 1:37 (6:24 pace)

Most of the hoopla surrounding the Boston Marathon is about getting in, known to runners as "qualifying". The training, the careful selection of qualifying races, the new need to rush to register. It's all about getting to the party. And, while I'll readily admit to having gone through all of that myself, I've spent more time thinking about the end of the race, particularly those last 5+ miles when one has earned the opportunity to run through the streets of Boston as someone special for a day. Last year, my greatest regret was that I death-marched the last 5+ miles in a cramp-riddled, depressive slog. I was more war victim than celebrant.

Before this year's race, I vowed to run the last 5 miles strong and with a smile on my face. As I came down from Newton, though, I realized that "strong" was subject to situational redefinition. The promise to sport a smile, on the other hand, lay entirely within my control.

No math whiz on a good day, it's ironic that the last miles of a marathon put me in human calculator mode. I was trying to figure out what it would take to hang on and break 3:10. I had the WILL to run faster. I believe I had the CAPACITY to do so. But, in the critical moment, I lacked the ability to turn my legs over any faster than I did. I knew I was slowing down, but I refused to stop. I knew my dreams of a major marathon breakthrough were on the side of a road somewhere in the last few miles. I also realized that I was slowing down to what used to be my goal pace. In other words, my "bad day" used to be my "good day". That meant - and means - that I have reached a new level as a runner. And I took great solace in that late-race epiphany.

My reality may not yet have caught up to my ambitions, but I was getting closer. So, with that wonderful observation at the front of my fatigued consciousness, I took it all in. I gave thumbs up and pumped my arms. I smiled. I patted struggling runners on the shoulder. I beheld the Citgo sign. I enjoyed the drunken college kids, the silly signs, the air horns. I basically allowed myself to be part of this pulsing, throbbing, living mass of human energy. And it was wonderful.

Mile 25 was a struggle. I felt myself bending, but refused to break. I would not stop. I would not walk. I would not grimace or frown or wallow in self-pitying notions of what might have been.

And, with a final push, I was through the underpass, quick right, quick left. And then impossibly long final straightaway, the runner's equivalent of putting the 18th green at The Masters. And I saw the time, and I knew that I could not only break 3:10, but 3:09, too. And I did, with a 3:08:48 official time.

POST-RACE MUSINGS

As usual in a marathon, I was glad to be D-O-N-E. I felt mostly numb, but not shattered like I had the year before. I did not cast murderous glances at runners in wheelchairs, didn't stumble my way while deliberating whether to seek medical attention myself. Instead, I went through the post-finish receiving line, collected some water, snacks, my medal and a space blanket, and looked for the gear buses. I went to designated meet-up area, where I saw friends who'd already finished, and waited for those who yet hadn't.

It's now May 2, and I still don't have a handle on how I feel about the way I ran in Boston. 26.2 miles yields great opportunity, but also provides a rather large platform for screwing up. Did I run too fast in some of the early miles? Did I blow my pre-race nutrition? Did the stress of life, the chronic sleep deprivation and other worldly distractions detract from my ability to run to 100% of my fitness level? I still don't know the answers to these and other related questions, but I do know that I am a new and improved runner.

And I hope that the lessons gleaned from the training cycle - discipline, persistence, focus - and the race - more persistence, flexibility, tenacity in the face of potential disappointment, joy in the moment - will carry over into my life.

After the race, a good friend of mine who is a lifelong endurance athlete now in his early 60's, wrote me the following:

We invest a lot of time and effort in trying to change a couple of minutes on race day, but when all is said and done, the time and effort changes us way more than the minutes do.

So true, Dave, so true. Thus, with a nod to Dave and to President Lincoln as quoted at the start, I'll call Boston 2011 a qualified success, and an important stepping stone on the way to greater achievements, in running and in life.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Here We Go Again . . . Primed for Boston 2011

2011-04-12T17:54:00.000-04:00

In what seems like both a blink of an eye and a geological epoch, we are just a few days away from the 115th running of the Boston Marathon. Almost a year ago, I wilted on the historic course, crumbling under the weight of my father's death, pre-race illness and an inability to manage emotions and expectations. I had wandered somewhat aimlessly through my training, logging the miles but not the quality; creating fitness, but not peaking when it mattered most. About 3000 running miles - and a few serious life trials - later, I get a second chance.

Interestingly, I have been so focused and consumed by non-running life this year, that my race prep has been relegated to a serious back burner. I have not stalked the weather, obsessed about what to wear, made a pace band or otherwise fretted about how I will execute next Monday. Knowing that I averaged 75.6 miles per week during my pre-taper training, with more quality than ever before, ran my first official ultra race and a managed a new half-marathon PR seems to have liberated me from needing to micro-obsess over the details.

At this point, I need to try to rest, eat well and stay emotionally/psychologically strong and even-keeled. Am I declaring a public goal? Yes, sub-3:05, but I hope to do even better than that by running smart early, and running with heart late. The way I described it recently is that I'll take 3 miles to get to pace, cruise along for the next 17-18, and then hammer away with a big smile on my face for the final 5-6 miles, running tall, strong and happy through the streets of Boston, en route to a very different experience from a year ago.

Having a second chance at Boston has been an unexpected blessing, as I managed to re-qualify and to get myself registered despite the mad rush which caused the race to fill in an unprecedented 8 hours! Of course, to get to the point where I expect to improve considerably on my prior effort has taken a ton of hard work, self-reflection and sacrifice. One might be able to extract a life lesson from that, but I'll leave it to the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. ;-)

So, with this brief update, I'll likely be "off" the blogosphere until after the race. As always, I'll post an unvarnished (and probably tragically under-edited) report shortly after the race.

Best of luck to all of my Boston running friends, and a special word of gratitude to those of you who have been there for me during this challenging period of my life.

Cheers, ESG

Equal Parts Personal & Record - New Bedford Half-Marathon Race Report

2011-03-21T12:51:00.000-04:00

Sunday, March 20, 2011 set out to be perhaps the most important training day of the year. In the overall arc of a plan which presumably has vaulted me to a new level of fitness, the well-regarded New Bedford half-Marathon was to be a critical test. In addition, of course, to finding out what my body might be able to do, it seemed equally important to test my racing "spirit", one of the key areas on which I have focused my training in recent months.

Working with my coach, we settled on a goal time of ~1:27, which would represent a new personal record (PR) of over 1:45, but with a specific strategy designed to mete out my energy/effort and pace as if this had been a full marathon. Since the Boston Marathon is THE running goal of 2011 for me, I mostly bought into coach's notions. And, as is my practice, I'll spare those who wish not to wade through the details: finish time was 1:26:18, or 6:35/mile. On the whole, I'd call this race a smashingly successful breakthrough.

BRIEF BACKGROUND/TRAINING

Confidence comes from many sources. In sports, the primary predictor of game (or race) performance tends to be performance in practice or training. I have never experienced the type and quality of training I have had leading up to this race. I've managed to hit or surpass my coach's targets in terms of volume AND paces, while staying relatively healthy in the process. Each successive hard or long (or hard AND long) workout has been a confidence-building block. Still, I went into this race a bit nervous, as I'd not run a decent road race (by my definition) since my half-marathon PR at Bay State in October 2009 (yes, 2009!).

All training indicators told me that a 6:3x half-marathon pace was viable, but that number seemed intimidating. Still, as the race approached, I got it in my head that I could break 1:27, meaning that I would have to run an average pace of 6:38/mile for 13.1 miles.

Life has been a whirlwind lately, and just getting to the starting line in New Bedford took some nimble logistical navigation. With Mrs. ESG and our oldest daughter away, I was back at the house caring for the younger two kids. We had a great time, but I had no backup to stay with them while I spent much of the day driving and running. A friend came through for me, though, and I left the house at 7:00 am for the 2+-hour drive.

At least three running pals would be at New Bedford, my good real-life friend Steve and two ever-closer originally virtual friends, Troy and Seth. The day shaped up nicely in terms of temperatures, with mid-30's in the morning rising to mid-40's. The wind would prove to be a bear throughout the day, but there's nothing to do about that.

I arrived early enough to get a good parking spot, pick up my bib number and relax before meeting up with Troy and Seth. Seth had no idea what he might run (given some inconsistent training), and I may have successfully scared him into making sure I did not pass him late. Troy wanted to break 1:30. Steve is in a different league, seeking to dip under 1:18. I also bumped into a top-notch area female runner, Christin, who was sort of "coming back" from sub-par winter training. She's always been a couple of notches above me, but unless she was completely sandbagging, the gap may have momentarily narrowed.

Troy graciously endured my pre-warmup obsessing about how to dress for the conditions. It was already about 40 degrees at 10:00 am, but the wind was cold. I agonized about whether to wear a headband, arm sleeves and/or gloves, and Troy initially convinced me that I needed none of those things. I regretted the decision immediately, though, and returned to get my gloves and a long-sleeve shirt to toss at the start. After a productive port-a-potty stop, Troy and I were jogging around easily, sort of tracing the course backwards. I needed to make one more stop, at a KFC, to finish the job, and Troy demurred when I offered to treat him to the "10-Piece-Bucket-for-$10" special Sunday-only offer. It was a good thing, as I had no money on me. ;-)

We finished our warm-up with a couple of surges, and blew right past 7:00 and then 6:45 pace. It was hard to tell how that would feel as a "race pace", but I liked the fact that my body wanted to run fast. We got our place in the corrals, I saw and fist-bumped Steve and waited for the various Miss New Bedfords to sing us some patriotic songs.

THE RACE

At 10:59 AM, something like a gun or horn went off, and the mass of humanity with numbers on their chests began to move. The first two miles are pretty flat, but the wind announced itself early and often. I kept telling myself, "6:45 per mile for 3 miles . . . be patient . . . listen to your coach".

I could not believe how many people were up ahead of and around me. With the exception of the Chicago and Boston marathons, I'd never found myself in such a large group of runners, especially as I've gotten faster. I let go of any notion of where I might place and just settled into the right pace. More than once in the first couple of miles, I had to dial it back. That was a good sign.

Mile 3 brought the first climb of the day, which actually turned out to be a three-stage climb of sorts, with recovery in between. I stayed steady and felt good about the effort/pace correlation.

Mile 1 - 6:43

Mile 2 - 6:44

Mile 3 - 6:40

Coach had wanted me to dole additional effort incrementally after that third mile, and I agreed in principle, but thought/hoped that it would be faster than what he proposed. The wind was a bear, but I had my sights on dropping to a 6:35 pace and holding on as long as I could. I very much stayed in a "one-mile-at-a-time" mental mode, which worked very well. The flat/slight downhill sort of offset the wind, which was starting to get into my head in a literal way, as it was incredibly loud. This apparent hypersensitivity may be due to my large pinnal endowment (i.e., I gots me some big-ass ears). Still, it seemed that the effort and fair terrain were complementing each other well, and I settled into a faster pace at a lower heart rate. I was also mindful of what my 10K split would be (see below).

Mile 4 - 6:37

Mile 5 - 6:32

Mile 6 -6:32

10K split - ~41:07

(unofficial 10K PR)

With half the race behind me, I took stock of how I felt. My stomach was a tad rocky, so I chose to skip the planned gel. It seemed too risky, and I calculated that a slight fade at the end would cost less time than a bathroom break. The challenge was to remain focused and - for me - not panic if I saw my pace slow a bit in the face of the challenging headwind. As the miles clicked by, I started to believe that this was going to be a wonderfully memorable race day.

As we headed towards and ran by the ocean, the wind went from tough to merciless. Lovely view; crappy running conditions. So, I forced myself to work hard to stay under 6:40 pace, knowing I'd "banked" a few seconds during earlier miles. My average HR for miles 7-10 was a metronomic 167, which tells me that I maintained effort, while the wind and terrain determined exactly what pace that effort would yield. I was also feeling parched, again likely thanks to the wind, so I took small swigs of water during the aid stations in these miles.

Mile 7 - 6:31

Mile 8 - 6:38

Mile 9 - 6:39

Mile 10- 6:31

I'd been waiting to get past Mile 10, and hit that mark almost spot on my "best-case-scenario" goal. I was certainly working hard, but I was not struggling or suffering unduly. Taking inventory, I realized that my left foot had been hurting for miles, likely from a shifting orthotic insert, and my stomach had begun that uncomfortable "sloshing" feeling, though no where near as badly as at the Holiday Lake 50K++ race. It's time to address this via electrolyte supplements.

I've long advised new runners and first-time half-marathoners to pick a goal pace for the race, run it for 10 miles and then either hang on or speed up for the final 5K. I was prepared to take my own advice.

Bracing for the final hill, which I thought came early in Mile 12 (meaning shortly after the 11-mile marker), I was still moving well. We seemed to get a slight respite from the wind, which was a major blessing. The hill came much later than I thought, but I kept pushing, knowing where I was and thinking (dreaming?) that sub-1:26 was possible. I felt my hips straining up that hill, but it was only fatigue, not pain or weakness or injury. I saw Troy's wife Marianne and her friend, who told me I looked great. I was passing people by what seemed like the dozen, and when I crested the long, grinding slope, I started running as hard as I could. With less than a half-mile left, I looked at my watch and knew that 1:25:xx was gone, so I ran fast but controlled, not wanting to hurt myself and ruin an otherwise glorious running day.

I saw the clock from a distance, with 1:26 as the first three digits, heard my friend Steve call my name and pushed through to the finish. I was glad to be done, and was thrilled with my time. My watch read one second faster than official chip time, but I'll take my 1:26:18 with joy and pride.

Mile 11 - 6:30

Mile 12 - 6:24

Mile 13 - 6:18

0.1+ - 5:24/mile pace

So, 6:35 is now my actual (not goal) half-marathon pace, but - in all candor - I think I had more to give on this day, perhaps 60-90 seconds total if the wind had been less severe and I had been a bit more aggressive. This 2:30 PR put me 261st overall and a humbling 63rd in the 40-49 age group. So, I had a great day by my standards, but I'm mindful of being just another schmo in terms of New England runners in my age range.

In the finishing chute, I saw Christin, who was about 20 seconds ahead of me. I then ran into my old coach Brian, who'd run a 1:18 after an 8-mile "warmup". Steve beat his 1:18 goal by fractions of a second. Troy smashed 1:30 with ease.

I was happy, but cold, tired, thirsty and needing a bathroom, so I went to my car, put some clothes on and started cooling down. Seth (who ran a blazing 1:24:xx) miraculously tracked me down, and we had a nice easy cooldown and chat. We're both pretty fired up about Boston. We ran along part of the last mile of the course, and he still had his bib visible, so people were cheering for him/us. We laughed quietly and said thanks.

I left New Bedford abruptly after the cooldown run, as I had to pick up Mrs. ESG and our oldest daughter at Logan Airport.

And, for all the significance of a race performance as reflected by some numbers on a digital clock, the day was much more significant for me on the personal front, than it was on account of any "record" I might have set.

We had a nice family afternoon/evening, punctuated later by what will surely be just one in a series of very difficult conversations between Mrs. ESG and me about what the future holds for us as a couple/family. It was thus a day of wonderful highs and some lows, but it was the type of day I won't soon forget, and which I would not trade. It may not have been an easy day in many respects, but Sunday, March 20, 2011 was the kind of day that constitutes "living" at its best.

As always, thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Entering a New Phase

2011-03-07T11:03:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, Sunday March 6, 2011 marked the end of what my coach terms "Phase I: Aerobic Support Plus Mini-Speed Cycle" in advance of this year's Boston Marathon. That means that "Phase II: Strength and Marathon-specific Sharpening" begins today. Of course, I'm all-but duty-bound to draw a parallel between the transition of a marathon training cycle (this seems like a particularly good time to focus on "strength") and the far less clearly delineated "phases" of my life since February 3rd. Interestingly, ironically and/or appropriately, Day 1 of Phase II is a scheduled rest day (at least from running). The notion of needing rest, or - in a slightly different parlance - being still, is something I have pondered incessantly in recent weeks.

Since I'm firmly ensconced in a period of self-reflection as a means towards increased self-awareness and - ultimately - self-improvement, I have tried to find a way to draw strength from something outside of myself, my human relationships, my interests, etc. I'm not generally comfortable with the vocabulary of faith, grace, or - yes - God, but I do know that I believe in something, while simultaneously not having the slightest clue how to tap into that belief in a way that gives me comfort, clarity or calm. I don't "get" prayer and have never really been able to still myself through meditation. Running certainly helps, but only to a point.

So, a week ago Saturday, I was in a bookstore with the kids. I picked a book called, "Running the Spiritual Path: A Runner's Guide to Breathing, Meditating, and Exploring the Prayerful Dimension of the Sport," by Roger Joslin. The dedicatory quote grabbed me instantly:

Stillness is what creates love. Movement is what creates life.

To be still and still moving—this is everything.

This quote is attributed to Do Hyun Choe, who appears to be a master of some sort of martial art called Sugi. I could not find much more information about him.

For my part, I seem to be all about movement, both physically and mentally, while harboring a deep-seated antipathy towards stillness in most any form. So, following Choe's missive, the conditions of my existence may be reasonably conducive to “life”, but the pervasive lack of stillness is a chronic obstacle to “love”; Thus, stillness is one of the many things upon which I'm working. However, as with all long-terms habits, such matters are not unlearned overnight. One idea which keeps arising is yoga, which I should work into my life schedule, but which - unlike the last time I tried it - I need to treat as meditation, not cross-training. I'm hoping to find the right class at the right time.

Well, enough about spirituality and stillness. Back to what I know best: movement. Here's a recap of the past two weeks of training.

February 21-27

Monday - 6M easy/recovery
Tuesday - 10+M, with 4x(800m @ 5K, 400m @ 3K & 200m @ 1M pace)
Wednesday - AM: 10M; PM: 5M (both easy)
Thursday - 8+M easy
Friday - 12M, w/3x3K @ "threshold" pace, plus 1K at 5K pace
Saturday - 8M easy
Sunday -10M (aborted 20-miler due to family emergency)

TOTAL = 70+ miles (10 fewer than planned - boo!)

February 28 - March 6

Monday - 7M easy
Tuesday - 11M, with 4x200m @ 1M pace, 4x800m @ 5K pace, & 3x1200m @ 10K pace
Wednesday - 15+M
Thursday - 7M easy
Friday - 12+M, with 10x2 mins at 10K effort
Saturday - 9M, with 12x200m @ 1M pace
Sunday - 20+M (water only)

Total = 82 miles (that's more like it)

I have done all of the distance-based speedwork on the indoor track, and continue to be pleasantly surprised about the consistency with which I've been hitting the target paces. I realized last night that I got to Chicago eking out 60-ish miles per week with minimal quality, whereas I just completed another 80-mile week with 3 successful quality sessions. That's extremely encouraging.

This upcoming week presents another challenging training block, with 75 miles scheduled on six running days, and three "quality" days, which include hill repeats on Tuesday, a reprise of a killer threshold session (3x15 mins at MP, MP-10 secs and HMP) on Friday, and a 20-miler on Sunday progressing down to goal marathon pace during the last 10 miles.

One final note on the family front. Things seem to be stabilizing for the most part, but there remain moments of tension, awkwardness and difficulty. Overall, though, the kids are doing better, and Mrs. ESG and I are finding a way to relate cordially and cooperatively, especially as far as the kids are concerned.

Thanks for reading. - ESG/Ron

Against the Wind

2011-02-21T19:58:00.001-05:00

Against the wind
I'm still runnin' against the wind
I'm older now but still runnin' against the wind
Well I'm older now and still runnin'
Against the wind

- Bob Seger

Returning to the song-lyric-as-blog-post-framework, we turn this week to Mr. Bob Seger, rasping troubadour of what we'd now call the era of "classic rock". This past week involved a whole lot of "runnin' against the wind", both literally and otherwise.

The post-ultra training schedule called for a recovery/cutback week 55 miles, on 6 days of running. However, as is the norm during marathon training, life intervened, and we had to tweak our way to that mileage, which came out like this:

Monday - 30 mins recumbent bike, plus very light weights, stretching
Tuesday - Unscheduled rest day [back was hurting, hugely stressful day and was pressed for time]
Wednesday - 8M easy
Thursday - AM: 5M easy; PM: ~7M easy [mild temps]
Friday - 10.4M, with 10x1 min at half-marathon pace (calling that 6:45/mi right now); high 50's!
Saturday - 8+M easy, partly in driving winds and sudden whiteout snow squall
Sunday - 16.8M, involving some good hills and relentless headwinds for maybe 2/3 of the total

The good news, I managed the 55 miles, and ran every step outside, a nice accomplishment in mid-February. My back feels better. The less pleasant news is that the family unit (such as it is) is definitely going through a very difficult transitional time. The separation is taking a significant toll on all of us, especially the older two kids. Mrs. ESG and I are still figuring out how to relate to one another, especially within the context of co-parenting children who are clearly suffering under the weight of our adult decisions. Things have - in no particular order - alternated between tense, explosive, cool, bitter, calm, terse, emotional, serious, etc. "Loving", "forgiving", "compassionate", and similar ideals are not on the list. And I consider myself as responsible as anyone for the dearth of good will.

By the weekend, though, it did seem like we might have been beginning to scratch out a modicum of equilibrium, starting to find what I've been referring to as our "new normal". After a brief interaction tonight, though, I'm not so sure once again. That said, the kids seem a bit better, and - frankly - that's what most matters to me. My needs, my wants, my feelings, fall far down the hierarchy of concerns, at least right now. Still, I feel that the space I've sought is starting to serve a purpose, as I have had time to reflect, look hard into the mirror and think about who I am, what I am called to do on this Earth and how I can be better a better father, and - really - a better man.

So, this next week calls for 79 miles, but of course that will have to be at least 80. Perhaps my coach will scold me. But, I have to be who I am, right? ;-) And, I have to suffer the consequences of my decisions. An extra mile in a week shouldn't have resounding repercussions. But what about some of the other choices - big and small - we make?

Thanks for reading. -ESG

My First Ultra & Other Tests of Fortitude: Holiday Lake 50K++ Race Report

2011-02-14T23:05:00.002-05:00

OBLIGATORY PROLOGUE

As 2010 wound down, I reflected back upon what turned out to have been a difficult year. My father died in April. As far as the clock was concerned, the year brought one running-related disappointment after another. My first year as my own boss was a bright spot, as was the continued growth and blossoming of my three children. What proved to be most trying, however, was that fact that pre-existing fissures in my marriage grew larger. As time passed, the relationship which I considered to be the bedrock of my existence grew more troubled and tenuous. Mrs. ESG and I finally articulated the severity of our troubles and sought help. The results were mixed, but things did not improve. And, so, in what proved to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, I moved out of my house on February 3rd. Telling the kids that I was going away for an undetermined period was more difficult than any other test I’ve faced. At this point, I know not what the future holds, but am figuring out how to stand on my own two feet, confronting some of my own demons, and then taking stock of what lies ahead.

As some of my readers and other running friends know, one of my running goals in 2011 is to complete a 50-miler, hopefully for charity. It seemed to me that a critical step towards being able to fulfill that goal would be to run a 50K race. So I searched for a race that wasn’t too far, too hard or too close to Boston. What I found was the Holiday Lake 50K++, with the two pluses referring to so-called “Horton Miles”, aka, bonus miles attributed to the Race director, ultra-endurance legend David Horton.

I signed up for the race in December, and started receiving informational e-mails from Dr. Horton, whose “day job” is Professor of Exercise Science at Liberty University, signed “In Christ”. A strangely endearing signoff for this cultural Jew.

The tone of Dr. Horton’s e-mails and general vibe of the ultra scene signaled from the start that while this new pursuit still involved the same basic aim of propelling myself from one point to another as quickly as possible, I was no longer in the structured, highly marketed, competitive world of road racing. As one person described it, Holiday Lake felt like adult “running camp”, with a camaraderie and a “we’re-all-in-this-together” spirit unlike anything I’d experienced in my own racing history.

As is my nature, I’d gathered as much information about Holiday Lake as I could find. I read race reports, studied the course map, and reviewed prior years’ finishing times. Then, taking all that into account, coupled with a sense of how my current training reflects my current fitness, I picked a respectable time goal: 4:45 (as in, 4 hours and 45 minutes). That number came about through an alchemy of art and science, but it seemed like a good, reasonable goal. I’d have been happy with anything under 5 hours. I’d have been shocked if I’d broken 4:30.

In the days leading up to the race, I’d suffered under the weight of the recent life change. My back was stiff and sore, thanks to an unhappy SI joint. I was having more trouble than usual sleeping (which is saying a lot), and couldn’t seem to make myself eat enough (weighing in at an adult all-time low of 148lbs last week). Add to that sleeping in a new place (and in a mediocre new bed), and it has been what we might call a rough spell for me personally. Still, through it all, I managed to stick to most of my training schedule, and have been meeting or exceeding the goals on most of my quality workouts.

So, I sketched out a basic pacing strategy, tried to plan out my nutritional needs, and made my way to the Holiday Lake area for the pre-race briefing and pasta feed on Friday, February 11th. I picked up my number, bib 317, which Dr. Horton had indicated in a prior e-mail was his prediction as to our finishing place. I was only slightly amused. The vibe was friendly, and before long I was happily ensconced among folks who felt like close friends.

Dr. Horton was holding court, clearly in his element. He was very funny, rather irreverent, affecting a shtick which included benign misogynism (regularly implying that women cannot succeed at certain physical challenges, as a backhanded way to motivate them to try). He poked fun at all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons, but it all seemed good-natured, and no one took it personally. He even needled the impressive Jennifer Pharr-Davis, who smashed the women’s Appalachian Trail speed record by 30 full days in 2008, completing it in 57 days, 8 hours and 35 minutes.

After a fun yet relaxing Friday evening, I got my usual abbreviated pre-race sleep, rising at 4:30 Saturday to drink weak coffee and eat four Nature’s Path Frosted Blueberry Toaster Pastries, along with some other miscellaneous nutritional odds and ends. Perhaps not the ideal pre-ultra-marathon breakfast, but I made due with what I’d brought to this remote part of the Commonwealth of Virginia.

RACE DAY COMETH

By 5:55 am, I had checked in for the race at the Holiday Lake 4-H center, and lingered around inside, hoping to avoid losing too much energy trying to stay warm in the low-20-degree morning chill.

This was also an unusual race for me in the sense that I felt very little self-imposed pressure. I had no doubt that I would finish (barring injury, of course), but the usual time goals and placing concerns just weren’t there. Maybe it was due to the fact that trail ultras (especially one’s first) are by nature unpredictable, or that other life events made the time inconsequential. Or maybe it’s due to other factors which I cannot fully appreciate or explain. Whatever the reason, it was refreshing to begin a race relatively relaxed.

At about 6:15, Dr. Horton called the runners to the start area. After the umpteenth series of announcements and a final roll call of apparent no-shows, Dr. Horton led a prayer, and started the race at exactly 6:30 a.m.

Having talked with Holiday Lake veterans, I’d learned that after the 0.6-mile uphill road start, the trail is a narrow single-track, such that one may want to avoid getting boxed in. In a questionable maneuver, I tore up the hill, noting at one point that I was running 7:15/mile pace uphill on cold legs at the start of a 33-mile race. Deduct a few genius points here. I reached the trail, and settled into a briskly manageable pace, but I didn’t really feel that great. I followed the small circle of light cast by my headlamp, and just focused on finding a rhythm. I passed some people. More passed me. The headlamp’s effectiveness waned in the twilight, which created a dream-like feeling. Daylight slowly made its presence known, and I soon ran with a little more zeal, since I could actually see where I was going.

The first five miles had some ups and downs on narrow trails, but it was – as advertised – very runnable. I blew past the first aid station at about Mile 4, not needing water or nutrition just then. I took an occasional swig from my water bottle, crunching half-frozen slush out of the silicon nipple in the sub-freezing air.

As I settled into a comfortably hard pace, I tried to free my mind, letting go of all the heavy thoughts which have swirled around me like a black cloud. I was in nature, moving briskly on my own power, surrounded by people who cherish something which I cherish. It felt good.

In the vicinity of Mile 6, I slowly ate half a Clif Mojo Peanut Butter Pretzel bar, as I had been practicing during recent longer runs. Small bites, thorough chewing, little sips of water. So far, so good.

Just past Mile 6, we hit a small stream crossing. I stepped through on my toe, but felt my right foot get wet. I didn’t think much about it until we reached the much larger water crossing shortly before the end of Mile 7. I was moving well, so I just ran through mid-shin-deep near-freezing water. Time for my Smartwool socks to shine. My Montrail Mountain Masochists and Zensah compression sleeves handled the wetness admirably, and the extra BodyGlide on my feet surely saved me from blistering. At this point, there was a rather unfriendly, iPod-toting fellow running near me. I tried to speak to him once or twice, but he completely ignored my presence. I was pleased to pass him.

The aid stations were about 4 miles apart, stocked with ultra staples such as pretzels, potato chips (Pringles, in this case), M&Ms, powdered mini-doughnuts, Oreos and Coke, Mountain Dew, ginger ale, etc. Volunteers were cheery and helpful, and the collective love of the ultra scene came through in the brisk forest air.

I continued to click off solid splits, staying at or under 8:30/mile for anything that did not involve too much uphill and/or stops at aid stations. I would chat with runners and hang next to them briefly, either letting them go or forging ahead, depending on what pace felt “right”. I did not speak to any other admitted first-time ultra runners, and found that most of the people around me were extremely experienced. Many had done 100-milers, and virtually all of them seemed to thrive on doing multiple ultra races year-round. Some of the folks even knew each other from having run together in prior races. One guy lamented the lack of uphills, extolling the virtues of his Pike's Peak Ascent (a half-marathon straight up to the summit of Pike's Peak). And people call me crazy?

The terrain varied just enough to be interesting, consisting of some single-track through bare midwinter woods, some fire roads (with semi-frozen ruts making footing a bit tricky), as well as fields and sloping waterfront trail. Only a couple of road crossings interrupted the serenity of the trail and so it was a treat for this New England boy to run in the woods for hours in mid-February.

As the miles ticked off, I realized I was likely on track with my presumed 8:30 pace prediction (at least after settling in after Mile 5). As we hit a rather nice but tricky stretch of single-track, I found myself in reverie, just watching my foot plants so that I did not go tumbling down the hill to my right into the chilly waters of Holiday Lake. I nearly soiled myself as I just about crashed into a streaking blur of neon yellow, a.k.a., the Brooks-sponsored leader Matt Woods tearing back towards me after having reversed direction at the turnaround. I still had close to 2.5 miles to go to get there, and he was flying like a man on the run for his life. Turns out, he smashed the course record by running 3:28. Two years ago (when the trail was not covered in 8” of snow), the winner ran 3:50.

After about 15 miles of trail running, I had my closest call with going down, nearly tumbling – twice – down the wooden steps over the reservoir less than a third of a mile from the turnaround. I grabbed the railings both times, saving myself from an ugly spill, took a deep breath and just focused on getting down in one piece.

I’d “guesstimated” that I’d reach the turnaround at about 2:15, and the clock said 2:16:xx as I found my drop bag. I changed hats, ditched my headlamp, put on new gloves and took some more nutrition. I’d thought about changing into dry socks, but my hands were still cold and I couldn’t deal with it. I also grabbed my uber-bright orange and white Oakley Jawbone sunglasses, as the sun was up and I always prefer to have the eye protection from stray branches, trail debris and wind. That turned out to be a good move, as I heard at least two dozen “nice glasses” along the way back. That gave me a nice boost as the miles began to wear me down.

Having reversed direction, I was now one of the ones running towards the slower runners. I caught up to the second place female, who is an accomplished ultra-runner who seemed to be having a rough day. I tried to chat and run with her, but she was not very responsive, and suddenly took a hard face plant about a mile after the turnaround. I made sure she was okay, and then went on my way.

While I had visions of possibly running an even split, I knew the odds were against that. So, rather than get too pace-focused (as is my tendency), I just continued in a groove and found myself passing runners. Some of the slower runners were giving us “place counts”. I heard that I was somewhere in the mid-40’s at this point. That was a pleasant surprise.

At some point, I saw a familiar shirt. I called up ahead to a guy I thought was Jim (whom I'd met earlier), but turned out to be his good friend Doug. We talked for a bit, caught up to another guy from Georgia who Doug knew, and Doug told me that anyone who runs with him gets a nickname. He thus dubbed me “Ron Jeremy”. I told him I was flattered, but should have said that I’d been called that by every woman I’d known since high school. It’s tough to be that sharp-witted at Mile 20-something, though.

As much as I was enjoying the company, I left Doug and Georgia-boy behind. I felt strong, and wanted to just stay in that zone where the 8:xx miles were clicking off with regularity. I tried to continue eating and drinking water, but became concerned that I was not taking in enough calories. On top of that concern, I felt an unpleasant gurgle in my stomach, which was beginning to slosh around like a half-empty tank of gas. I reached the Mile 24 aid station and – finally – ditched my long sleeve shirt, leaving me in a sleeveless Under Armour top and Moeben arm warmers. It felt like I was racing at last.

The marathon mark passed at about 3:49. Not bad for a trail race with 6+ miles to go.

I was looking forward to the final aid station at Mile 29, knowing how close we would be. I took some ginger ale for the first time in the race, but avoided anything solid. At that point, though, the stomach woes ripened from discomfort to all-out distress, and about a mile later, I succumbed to the need for a pit stop. It was painful to stop so late in the race, and even more so when three guys passed me after what seemed like minutes. In other words, I’d just blown a nice lead.

Gathering myself, I trudged towards the pack of three. Doug was in the lead, and he was moving well. The other two struggled, and I closed the gap pretty quickly, passing them on a steep climb. We would trade places for the next couple of miles, though one of them seemed like was going to be sick, and the other was warding off cramps.

With maybe two miles to go, I passed a couple more guys, including a very muscular young guy who’d been far ahead of me at the time of the turnaround. At the same time, though, Doug was widening his gap. The other two guys were near me. I was – after all this time and distance – finally losing steam. The final uphills were hard, but I welcomed the excuse to walk. I got confused and briefly lost the trail – which was very well-marked – a couple of times. At about Mile 30, I was ready for this running event to be over.

So, with what little physical, mental and emotional reserves I had left, I passed the two guys ahead of me, reached the road and knew that I had six-tenths of a downhill asphalt mile left to finish. With the time I was losing in the final few miles, I thought sub-4:45 was out of reach, but when I looked at my watch, I realized I might still have a chance. And so, at some time around 11:11 am on February 12, 2011, your faithful scribe pumped his arms and legs furiously, motoring down the road trying to beat an arbitrary and meaningless time goal. The Garmin registered a “best pace” of . . . drum roll . . . 5:31/mile.

I tore through the finish line so hard, pumping my arms and yelling some version of "woo-hoo!", that Dr. Horton called, "It's okay. You can stop running now, Ron". I approached him later and pointed out that he got my seed wrong, but only by a single digit.

Final official finishing time: 4:44:48, good for 31st place overall out of 320+ runners (308 finishers), and 6th in the Male 40-49 age group.

Runningwise, at least, 2011 is off to a good start.

REFLECTIONS AND LESSONS

Fueling is critical; underfueling is stupid
The ultra community is an amiable collection of wonderfully eccentric goofballs
Running on trails is far better for both body and spirit than is running on roads
Strength, determination and courage in running beget strength, determination and courage in life
I’m currently in far better running shape than I have ever been
I will surely do more ultras in the future, and (mostly) look forward to doing a 50-miler
I'd like to run Holiday Lake again in the future, and do so considerably faster

That's it for now. Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Crockett, Tubbs and Me

2011-01-31T20:21:00.000-05:00

This week's post title channels an all-too-significant part of my high school social life. why? Because Crockett and Tubbs were the undercover drug team in the be-all-end-all show of the 1980's, Miami Vice. Growing up near Miami, it was a big deal to me. I'll admit somewhat abashedly that my high school senior picture involves a white suit, pink shirt and - yes - a thin white leather tie. Hey, we all make fashion mistakes on our way to finding our own sense of personal style. Right?

So, what's the connection? Well, last week marked my second consecutive in the 80's, and - surprisingly - I seem to be functioning and responding rather well to the training stresses. The last two weeks came out as follows:

Week of January 17 to January 23

Monday - 6 miles easy
Tuesday - 12 miles progression (last full progression mile in 6:12!)
Wednesday - 10 miles moderate
Thursday - AM: 5+ miles recovery; PM: 6+ miles recovery
Friday - 13 miles with a lame/aborted progression
Saturday - 9+ miles
Sunday - 22 miles

Total Mileage: 83.6 miles

Week of January 24 to January 30

Monday -Elliptical, weights, core
Tuesday - 12 miles, with 6 x 3 mins at 10K-5K pace
Wednesday - 15 miles "easy"
Thursday - 8.5 miles, easy
Friday - 10+ miles, progressing to half-marathon pace
Saturday - 15 miles, with 5 at marathon pace+10%
Sunday - 20+ miles "easy" (but very, very hilly)

Total Mileage: 82 miles

The first of these two weeks marks the end of my "base phase", and the idea is not to exceed that peak mileage during the next 10 pre-taper weeks, allowing the additional quality - which began last Tuesday - to serve as the new stressor. While I'm certainly tired, I can't believe I'm in as good shape as I am, handlign the volume and bits of quality with much success. In addition, I'm feeling strong in the core and upper body, only minimal hip soreness (and only intermittently) and am recovering well from harder efforts.

Last week's Friday>Saturday>Sunday sequence was unprecedented for me, and should serve me well as I prepare for the Holiday Lake 50++K on February 12th. This will be my first time running an ultra-distance with a bib pinned to my shirt, and I'm nervously excited about the experience. The course comes out to ~33.25 miles, and I have NO IDEA what a reasonable time/pace goal should be. I am thinking (hoping?) that anything under 4:45 would be reasonably respectable, but - mostly - I'm looking forward to joining the fraternity of ultra-runners, around whom I seem to have spent a lot of time, and for whom I seem to have a natural affinity. I cannot wait to be a bona fide part of their ranks.

On a non-running personal note, the rest of my life has not been easy of late, due to a number of reasons from which I will spare my dear reader(s). Let's just say that running is one thing over which I have control, where the results of putting in effort/work are tangible, and which demands of me only what I'm willing to give it.

More later. Someday.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Boston Buildup - Take 2 & Other Miscellany

2011-01-18T07:38:00.000-05:00

Well, as often happens, life has gotten in the way, and it's been a couple of weeks since my last post. Things have been busy at home, at work and in other areas. Winter has finally decided to behave like it's normal self, so that's been a factor, too.

RECENT TRAINING

In terms of running, the week of January 3-January 9 ended up like this:

Monday (1/3) - XT
Tuesday - 6+M
Wednesday - 12.4M
Thursday -AM: 6+M easy; PM: 6+M easy
Friday -10+M
Saturday - 7+M, with 4x20 secs strides
Sunday - 12.65 sloooowwwww miles on snowy trails with my ultra-pal Nate

Total for the week = 64+ miles

The week of January 10-January 16 marked the first week of a "formal" - meaning fully planned - schedule (which of course ended up being tweaked). It came out like this:

Monday (1/10) - 6M
Tuesday - 10+M, progression run
Wednesday - 10.3M (103 laps on 0.10-mile indoor track during massive snowstorm)
Thursday -AM: 6M recovery on TM; PM: 4M recovery on TM, plus weights and core
Friday - 8.3+M progression (at dusk, after waiting around court nearly the whole day)
Saturday - 10+M, easy
Sunday - ~19M on hilly, snowy, slippery, roads with a nasty headwind for about two-thirds of the run

Total for the week = 74+ miles

I've felt a few niggles in the outside of my hips, but I'm generally feeling smooth and strong, and have been able to take hills more powerfully than at any time in the past 8 or so months. It also appears that my body continues to evolve, in my fifth year as a "runner". My weight is consistently down about 4 pounds from this time last year, with the leanness seemingly accompanied by more muscle. I feel lithe and strong, and while often tired, I sense that I'm capable of feats of endurance and strength unlike anything I've done before. We'll simply have to wait and see if that's the case when it comes to perform in a race setting.

WHAT'S AROUND THE CORNER

The next four weeks involve mileages of 83, 80, 77 and 77, with the week of February 7, 2011 including the Holiday Lake 50K++. The "++" is the result of what some folks call "Horton Miles", bonus distance (at no extra charge!) named in honor of Holiday Lake Race Director and ultrarunning legend Dr. David Horton. The preliminary intelligence I've gleaned about this race is that it's in the middle of nowhere but is a very runnable ultra course, consisting of two 16+-mile loops, with runners changing directions at the end of the loop (thus doing the same loop in reverse the second time). Given its location in the western part of Virginia, the weather and conditions could be anywhere from 50 sunny degrees to sub-freezing with - like last year - half-a-foot or more of snow on the ground. I'll try to gather more information about this race and preview it later. I know, I know . . . you all can hardly wait.

BOOK RECOMMENDATION: "LONG DISTANCE"

Finally, I'll mention that I finished a must-read for any endurance athlete: Bill McKibben's Long Distance: Testing the Limits of Body and Spirit in a Year of Living Strenuously, [Amazon link] where one of the world's foremost environmental thinkers recounts the year he dedicated himself to training like an elite/Olympic Nordic skier. A thorough review may follow separately, but suffice it to say that while McKibben was prepared to test his physical limits, he had no idea - as the re-released title indicates - that his mental, emotional and spiritual strength would be subject to even greater rigors when his father confronted rapid-onset terminal cancer . The book is full of thought-provoking reflections, and in particular eloquently conveys the solitary nature of the internal struggle/mission of the endurance athlete. McKibben certainly "gets it", and I for one hope that his eloquence might help others understand what drives people like him (and me) to continue to push and push despite knowing that we'll never achieve any objective measure of glory, victory or elite status.

That's all for now. thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise

2011-01-02T10:12:00.001-05:00

This first post of 2011 involves looking back in order to be able to look forward. The title (admittedly a tad more melancholy than necessary) is the name of a song by one of my new favorite artists, The Avett Brothers. They make rocking bluesy alternative folk music that boasts some of the most poignant lyrics I've heard in ages.

For me, the song's title couplet essentially distills 2010/2011 into eight words. Last year seemed to involve a head full of doubt. Still, despite that chronic hindrance (and some physical ailments, too), I managed to log 2860+ miles, run five full marathons and help a multiple world champion ultrarunner break a 100-mile race course record in 90-degree temps. I also met some amazing people, and established some close new friendships. Still, I raced with a pervasive lack of confidence, fueled by GI woes, hip problems and - undeniably - a lack of mental toughness when it came time to pin on a numbered bib.

But I realize that the 55 miles per week which I averaged for the year are - as they say - "in the bank." I gained racing experience, including up-and-personal observations of a world-class competitor. I also managed to get through a major career change, the death of my father and other personal challenges.

The entire song (and album) is worth a listen (or a hundred), but here's the most running-specific quatrain as I ponder 2011:

There was a dream and one day I could see it
Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it
And there was a kid with a head full of doubt
So I’ll scream til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

So, with a 50+K, then Boston, then Tough Mudder New England, then a 50-Miler (TBD) and then - hopefully, running gods willing - a stab at a sub-3-hour marathon in the late fall (when the weather is more predictable than it tends to be, say, on Columbus Day weekend in Chicago) on the 2011 Running To-Do List, my plate is Thanksgiving Day full. Yet, I have to remind myself that I am still a relatively new (if not young) runner, with only three years of consistent mileage behind me, and clearly not laden with abundant natural talent or the most killer inborn racing instinct. 2011 thus brings a Road (and Trail?) Full of Promise.

Of course, many challenges and obstacles remain, but I have a strong sense that I am poised for a breakthrough year. In terms of running, those breakthroughs will reflect on the clock. In terms of life, we'll just have to wait and see. With that in mind, the Avett Brothers offer this useful missive:

When you're loved by someone, you're never rejected

Decide what to be and go be it.

A Happy, Healthy and Successful (as defined on your own terms) New Year to all.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Merely a Weekly Update

2010-12-20T17:45:00.000-05:00

Another week, another decent accumulation of miles. Last week turned out like this:

Monday - 5 miles, easy/recovery
Tuesday - 8 miles, progression run
Wednesday - 11 miles in frigid conditions
Thursday - AM: 6.5+ miles on trails; PM: 4M slow on the treadmill in Nike Free Runs
Friday - 10.3+ moderate miles
Saturday - 7 gorgeous trail miles
Sunday - 17.3 hilly miles at an 8:10 average pace, with some fast miles dropped in from miles 10-15

The week's total was a bit over 69 miles, and I'm especially proud of not adding that extra mile to get to 70. Since this is only "base building", these are mostly easy miles, though my easy paces seem faster while my heart rate is back in line with where I thought it should be. Also, the hips - while reminding me not to take them for granted - seem to be faring much better on the hills. Saturday and Sunday involved lots of climbing, and my hips held up fine (though I didn't exactly push it up the hills).

My last 3 weeks have been 59, 63 and 69 miles, and I feel better than I did when I was stuck in the 40's. That's an encouraging sign as I say goodbye to 2010, a pretty disappointing running year in a number of ways. A "Year In review" post may soon follow.

Now, I need to figure out how to put together my quality workouts for a 12-week marathon buildup that has me peaking at the exact right time, say April 18, 2011, with the hopes of running a decent marathon for the first time since May 2009.

Oh, and it might merit mention that I signed up for my first official ultra, a small 50K (or 50++K, as it's billed) in mid-February. Details to follow on that upcoming adventure.

Thanks for reading, and Happy Holidays, whatever you do or don't celebrate.

Cheers, ESG/Ron

Groovy Training Week, Baby

2010-12-12T17:23:00.000-05:00

Today's post title is best imagined in the voice of Mike Myers' hilarious fictional spy Austin Powers, in an attempt to reference with cleverness my return to the 60's, as in miles per week. After logging 59 miles on the week leading up to my birthday on Sunday, December 5th, I managed a hair under 63 miles this week, on six running days.

Here's how the week took shape:

Monday - 30 mins elliptical, weights, stretch and core (could have run, but decided not to push it after Sunday's 18 miles)
Tuesday - 7-mile progression run; last 3 miles = 7:15 / 7:16 / 6:42
Wednesday - ~8.8 miles in unpleasant cold & wind
Thursday - 10.5 miles in nearly unbearable conditions, made bearable by having company
Friday - 8 miles pretty easy
Saturday - AM: 8+ miles easy in Vermont; PM: 5.3 miles to get my car from the shop
Sunday - 15 miles in a cold, constant rain/freezing rain, with much questionable footing and being soaked through to the bone

The best thing is that I actually feel pretty good, with some slight hip soreness/tightness, but not bad at all. The plan for this week is to bump up the mileage a bit, and maybe throw in a 20-minute tempo session somewhere in the mix.

Looking ahead, I'm looking at a 12-week formal buildup to Boston, with a possible 50K race in February and a half-marathon tuneup in March. I expect to run between 65 and 80 miles per week, with hopefully more/better quality than I was able to string together in advance of my two goal marathons in 2010. Right now, here's how I envision 2011 in running, month-by month:

JANUARY - Base-builiding
FEBRUARY - 50K somewhere warmer than here
MARCH - Tune-up half-marathon
APRIL - BOSTON!!!
MAY - Tough Mudder New England
JUNE - Higher mileage/longer runs
JULY - Be a pacer again at the Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run
AUGUST/SEPTEMBER - Run my first official ultramarathon, hopefully a 50-miler somewhere within driving distance of home; Reach the Beach, probably with a new co-ed team
OCTOBER - Marathon Training
NOVEMBER - If all stars align, a sub-3:00 marathon attempt at either Outer Banks or Philadelphia
DECEMBER - Bask in the glory of being a sub-3:00 marathoner and continue base-building

Looking at the year in those terms, it all seems quite manageable. Of course, that list fails to include training, recovery and that little thing we often call "life". Speaking of which, mine has seemed rather complicated lately, for reasons that are far too personal and raw to delve into here. I trust that 2011 will provide me with all sorts of answers: about the kind of runner I can be, about the course my life will take, about the kind of man I am and want to be/become. I'm looking forward to learning at least some of the answers to those most pressing questions. The journey is bound to be gripping . . . feel free to come along for the ride, my virtual friends.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers, ESG

Becoming an Ultra Groupie: JFK 50-Miler Crew/Pacing Report

2010-12-03T10:42:00.000-05:00

The weekend of November 19-21 began with an offhanded comment to Mrs. ESG on Sunday, November 14th. I mentioned that I had two friends doing the JFK 50-miler, and that at least one of those friends would be going it alone and could certainly use some help. To my pleasant surprise, Mrs. ESG said, "You should go," and once I made sure that I heard her correctly and that she was serious, I hastily contacted my friends Joe and Amy about my availability to help them out, made travel arrangements and got psyched up to take part in one of the country's most storied ultra-running events.

This year marked the 48th running of the race, which is the largest ultra-distance run in the country, with about 1000 runners. Some people refer to it as the "road marathon" of ultras, in terms of organization and course support. I found it to be a very interesting - and mostly accessible - event.

PRE-RACE

After touching base with Joe and Amy, it was clear that Amy was pretty well set on course support, but that Joe could use some help. I flew to Baltimore mid-day Friday, rented a car and headed to my hotel in Hagerstown. My flight was slightly delayed, and I ended up running out of time to get in my own run.

I met Joe at the "Expo", which was really just a few JFK 50-Miler t-shirts and fleeces around the indoor pool of the Clarion Hotel in Hagerstown. There was a ragtag assembly of runners and their crews, with everything from the lean and chiseled to the pear-shaped. The longer I linger around the sport of running, the more I learn that runners come in all shapes and sizes, and that one of the greatest things about the sport is that it has room for everyone and their individual goals, not just within the sport as a whole, but within most running events themselves. 20-handicap golfers don't get to play at The Masters; go-kart drivers don't get to jump into NASCAR events; and, flag football players don't get to play a few downs in the Super Bowl. But in running, the elites and the rest of us line up at the same line, cover the same course, and can rightfully claim the same sense of accomplishment.

Having forgotten his bag, I followed Joe back to his hotel, got his stuff and returned to my hotel to chill out and prepare for a fun-filled day of crewing and running. I had hoped to have dinner at an Afghan Restaurant in Hagerstown, only to find that it was closed when I got there at around 7:30. What kind of restaurant closes at 7:00 p.m. on Friday? An Afghan one, apparently. After driving around downtown Hagerstown (mindful of the "No Cruising" signs, I found a nice little bistro-type restaurant, where I had a delicious Thai-style salmon and a Yuengling draft.

RACE DAY

After fueling up on the hotel's complimentary - yet underwhelming - breakfast, it was time to find my way to Aid Station at Mile 15.5, where the runners make the transition from an historic section of the Appalachian Trail to the C&O Canal Towpath, for 26.3 miles of flat, lovely, painfully monotonous running. Following the directions to the Aid Station proved tricky, and resulted in being loudly berated by a large pickup-truck-driving property owner for having traversed his lawn to try to find a place to park. Once the concerns about being shot subsided, I found where to the leave the car and made my way to aid station/viewing area.

There was a decent-sized crowd, and runners were streaming through, though they hardly seemed like elite ultrarunners. It turns out that runners sporting orange race numbers had been granted a 2-hour "head start", in order to be sure to make it through the race's multiple checkpoints under the allotted cutoff times. That explained everything.

What followed was a parade of mixed characters, including an older guy in a classic, tattered gray Members Only jacket, a guy who appeared to have simply stumbled out of the woods after living there for an extended period of time, and a couple of runners with bloodied faces from spills sustained on the rugged Appalachian Trail. When one guy came by with a bandage on his cheek and a streak of fresh blood running down his face, I turned to my friend Bryan (Amy's husband and crew chief) and said, "That's why they don't allow shaving on the course."

I was "on alert" by 9:00 am, as Joe thought he could have been at the aid station by then. Of course, the overall leader came through at about 8:55, so Joe may have been a bit overly-optimistic about the pacing of the early stage. Sometime around 9:30, Joe blew through like a man on a mission. I gave him his fresh bottle of Heed and he was on his way to the towpath. He did not break stride for more than a couple of seconds, and I waited for Amy to come through. She was a few minutes behind, running with her friend Matt. In contrast to Joe, they stopped, ate, offered warm greetings and otherwise seemed to be in good spirits. When they left, so did I, trying to find my way to Mile 27, aka, the Antietam Aid Station.

Following the race-issued directions to the Mile 27 aid station/crew area was not difficult, except for the fact that the final bridge - just a few hundred yards from the parking area - was under construction. I parked near a business and tried to walk across the bridge, but was quickly thwarted by the foreman. He was gruff at first, but ended up being very helpful by instructing me and another wayward crew staffer as to how to get around the river to the aid station. A number of twisting, turning, up-and-down roads later, I was at the parking area. Nearly everyone else had apparently gotten the "Bridge Out" memo. I found a spot to wait and watch for Joe, called home and then realized that it was likely to be a while before he came along. I wandered to a lovely spot down by the river and just basked in the moment of being in nature, doing something I very much enjoy doing, surrounded by people who seemed to share that joy.

I found Bryan again and we waited together. Joe came through still looking good; Amy was not far behind, but she had dropped Matt by then. Interestingly, Joe had waffled about whether he wanted my company for the last 12 miles, but when I asked him if he wanted me to run with him, he yelled, "Yes, please!!" as he took off along the ever-flat towpath trail. Bryan waited for Matt and another friend, and I left in search of the Mile 38 aid station, known as Taylor's Landing.

MILES 38-50

Arriving at the Mile 38 aid station area with time to spare, I changed into my running garb and hung out in the car for a while. The parking area was at the bottom of a hill next to the charming Spriggs Delight Goat Farm, and a little boy was having quite the conversation with some of the farm's featured livestock.

I tried to stretch and warm up. The temperature was probably in the high-50's, but it would drop when the sun ducked behind passing clouds and the wind picked up. I bounced around trying to stay loose and warm (wearing only a sleeveless shirt and shorts). When Joe finally rolled in, it appeared that the runner I'd seen previously had been body-snatched. The strong stride had turned into a shuffle. I handed him his bottle and started to run slowly alongside him. The first words out of his mouth did not bode well for the remaining 12 miles: "I gotta walk for a minute," he grumbled, and so I stopped my watch until we actually started running.

Reading the situation to figure out what Joe needed, I tried to get him to eat at the aid station. He was not interested, and - despite my relative inexperience with ultramarathons - I knew this was a sign of trouble. I let Joe walk for a bit, then prodded to him to resume running (the first of many times). Joe did a somewhat tragically hilarious impersonation of Redd Foxx. With a sideways-leaning shuffle, he declared "This is the big one! You hear that, Elizabeth? I'm coming to join ya, honey!" We caught up to a fit-looking young redheaded woman, and chatted with her briefly. She was experiencing a "bad patch", and I tried to talk her through it. As we were chatting, Amy came by with Bryan, looking like she was out for a few minutes of picking daisies on a lazy summer afternoon. She slowed down long enough to say hello, but acknowledged that she was "in a groove" and that she should thus "roll with it." The redhead's competitive edge kicked in, and she took off with Amy. As I learned later, the redhead did not necessarily "play well with others".

Joe and I were on our own for a bit, mixing stretches of running with stretches of walking. A number of people passed us, and we pulled into the next aid station. Joe still wasn't eating, and I did not know how to help him with that.

After about 3.5 miles on the towpath, we took a hard right onto the road, for the final 8+ "gently rolling" road miles. The first climb on the road was formidable, and we encountered a runner on his cell phone. I overheard him tell the other person that he'd be finishing in just over 8 hours. When he hung up, I said, "Really, 8 hours?" and he replied, "Yeah, just need to do 10-minute miles, and we'll break 8:10." I tried to use that to encourage Joe, and he perked up a bit. However, this and all remaining instances of "perking up" were generally short-lived.

The next few miles were all about trying to find anything to help Joe keep moving forward. While we negotiated walking up hills and through aid stations, his running pace was actually pretty good for being in the final few miles of 50-mile race. A strong downhill runner generally, Joe was getting down into the mid-9-minute range when he was running.

With about 3 or so miles left, we pulled through another aid station, and I told Joe he needed some final nourishment. He barked, "I know, I know!", and I explained that I was just looking out for him. We loped along for a couple of minutes before Joe said, "Sorry for being such a drama queen back there." I just laughed and explained that I understood, and that I was not taking anything personally at this late stage.

We trudged along, until we saw the "2 Miles to Go" sign. Joe was hurting, but he was hanging tough. Then we made it to the "1 Mile" sign, and it was clear that he would be able to finish. I continued to brush off all cheers towards me, constantly saying, "Not me . . . him," as well-wishers and volunteers said, "Good job", or "Looking strong".

Finally, after more than two hours together, we came up on the finish line. I sprinted away from Joe and went around, so that he would have the moment to himself. There were a couple of large trucks obscuring the finish from the back side, so I missed him crossing the line, but saw him stumbling around afterwards. He seemed happy, but dazed and quite wobbly. In the meantime, I saw Amy, who was shivering on the ground, having slowed down herself late in the race. Still, she finished 10 minutes ahead of Joe and was 10th overall female. Impressive! Joe managed a 24-minute PR, despite the late-race fade. I consider it a stellar performance, even if he might not be of a similar mind.

POST-FINISH

Amy was cold and could not find Bryan, so I gave her my jacket and tried to find Bryan and, for that matter, Joe. After some searching, I found Joe in the gym of the school by the finish line, and he looked terrible. He said he was feeling sick, and was ghostly pale. He disappeared to the men's room, and I checked on him a while later. He was still not well, so I searched high and low for some ginger ale for him. Eventually, after some gentle coaxing, he agreed to go to the medical area, where he was able to lie down for a spell, take some IV fluids, and otherwise get his wits about him.

For my part, I was famished, and finally was convinced that it would be okay to eat some of the delicious food provided by Moe's for runners. There seemed to be no lack of nourishment, and pacers are runners, too, right?

The gym was an interesting scene, full of exhausted, happy, folks gingerly limping their way around with their medals gleaming on their torsos. I did hear a number of versions of, "Boy, did that suck!" and similar variants, but overall it was an atmosphere of achievement and shared triumph.

I left Joe to go back the hotel, where I saw a second consecutive glorious sunset . . . notwithstanding the prosaic highway framing the bottom of the otherwise beautiful scene. It was a memorable close to a memorable day, for sure.

On Sunday, I drove to the towpath, where I ran 5.5 miles towards the north/northwest before turning around and heading back to the area by the aqueduct where I started. It was a crisp morning, and it was a lovely run, with the final mile fast as I tried to chase down a runner who stayed just ahead of me. Despite running close to a 6:00 pace at the end, I still finished behind.

THOUGHTS/REFLECTIONS

My sister is a psychologist of some public renown, and I posed to her the following:

What does it say about my mental health that I spent over two hours running with a guy who was suffering miserably, then milled about amidst shuffling runners complaining how much their race had sucked, and all I could think about was whether I'd be doing the race in 2011 or 2012?

She replied that that likely encapsulates everything about my psyche which could use some work, but I'm seriously wondering why I'm so drawn to these ultra-runs. One factor I've realized is that running - and particularly running longer and longer - helps slow down my overactive, unrelenting brain. Another is that I very much enjoy the experience of pushing to my limits, knowing that almost by definition, each time we reach a current limit (real or perceived), we actually move the line for the next time. Despite the occasional racing/training plateau, running is a series of steps towards self-improvement, self-realization and towards knowing and understanding our place in the world. Choosing to run 50 mostly lovely miles with 1000 like-minded folks only reinforces everything that's great about running, at least in my opinion. It's living life the way we were meant to live it, in motion, with others, striving for more and better. I hope to be a part of that again soon, and often.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

"Feelin' All Right, Oh Yeah": Post-Manchester Week #1

2010-11-14T16:26:00.000-05:00

Having survived the Manchester pacing experience despite the inauspicious buildup, a funny thing seems to have happened. I feel like I've "come out the other side" of the weirdness of the past few weeks, at least in terms of the that hard-to-define physical feeling of simply being a bit "off". While things aren't 100% normal (whatever that may mean), it's as if my system needed a long run - say, 26.2 miles at about 8:23/mile pace - to find its equilibrium.

Here's how the week looked:

Monday - 30 mins recumbent bike, very little resistance
Tuesday - 30 mins recumbent bike; light weights, stretching and core
Wednesday - 4.9 miles easy
Thursday - 5.2 miles on trails
Friday - 5.9 miles
Saturday - 5.25 miles on trails
Sunday - 12.25 miles, with about 5 on trails

All my mileage was "easy", with an average pace for the week of about 9:00/mile. That's actually pretty good considering the trail mileage. Most importantly (to me) is that I feel good overall. I've vowed to get my base mileage back up to ~60 miles per week, but will not run anything fast unless and until all residual soreness is gone. I paid dearly for pushing the pace on that 10-mile run on October 24th, and do not plan to make that mistake again.

This week, I expect to be around 50 miles, though it's already shaping up to be a busy one. Aren't they all, though?

There's some personal stuff that's really gnawing at me, and I'm going to need to deal with it. Details are not really appropriate for the blog, but I will share that I've been doing a lot of soul-searching, about religion/spirituality, priorities, connection, meaning, love, etc. Of course, such reflection generates multitudinous questions but precious few answers, at least early on in the search. So, once again, the lessons of running are instructive: patience, discipline, hard work . . . . Knowing when to push and when to back off, though, may be the key to figuring out what twists and turns my life will take going forward.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Five Down, None to Go - A Manchester City Marathon Pacing Report

2010-11-11T10:56:00.001-05:00

“Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today's post title refers to the fact that on November 7, 2010, I ran my fifth marathon of the year, and that I blissfully have no more such races on my schedule until April 18, 2011. I raced twice (Boston and Chicago), paced twice (Burlington, VT and Manchester) and ran one fundraising/beautiful course/two-marathons-in-six-days-for-the-heck-of-it (Big Sur). Manchester 2010 also marked my tenth official marathon, so it was nice to move into double-digits on that front.

The lead-up to this year's pacing effort was inauspicious. Initially, it seemed that my Chicago recovery was going very well, until I ran a 10-miler too fast on October 24th, feeling "off" ever since. I'd had a simple easy 8-miler where I almost passed out at Mile 6 or so, and have had stomach issues, a chronically elevated heart rate and swollen lymph nodes. So, I guess I've been fighting something, but let's just say that I was not feeling particularly strong or confident about leading the 3:40 pace group this year. The good news in that regard, though, is that my friend Joe from Maine agreed to pace with me (officially), and my friend Pete - the author of the acclaimed Runblogger site - fresh off his first BQ, also agreed to keep me company for the duration.

Joe came up on Saturday. We hung out, drank lots of water, ate a nice pasta dinner and just got into a pretty mellow zone. As both a dedicated runner and avid gardener, he was an excellent guest, able to swing between conversations of interest to me and to my wife. After a quiet evening, we retired pretty early, while relishing the fact that we would gain an hour's sleep thanks to the end of Daylight Savings Time.

As usual, I slept pretty fitfully, especially since I wasn't entirely sure that the clocks which should adjust from EDT to EST automatically would in fact come through. So I ended up waking up early and cross-referencing several clocks. The ones which were supposed to auto-update did, and by 5:15, I was making coffee in anticipation of an 8:50 marathon start.

Joe and I took separate cars to Manchester, and I swung by to pick up my friend Nate, who was looking to drop down from ultramarathons to a "shorter" race and get himself a Boston Qualifier.

It was a brisk morning, with temps just above freezing early on. The wind was calm early, but that wouldn't last. Figuring out how to dress, and what layers to drop when was challenging. I realized that most of my marathons have been on warm to hot days.

I had to do some fast talking to get Joe and Nate into the YMCA as "guests of the Marathon organizers", but managed to do so. After chilling out at the Y, Joe, Nate and I headed to the start area at about 8:30. I wished Nate good luck and Joe and I sought out the 3:40 pace signs and found our way to the proper area of the start corral. Pete joined us in short order, and a small group formed in our general vicinity. I yelled, "Get your 3:40 here! Guaranteed Boston qualifiers for women under 35!" to drum up interest. Not sure it was especially effective.

I removed my hat for the national anthem, watched a passenger jet fly over downtown Manchester, and felt that final spike of adrenaline as the announcer counted down. As with so many races, though, despite being completely primed for it, the actual start caught me slightly off guard.

Miles 1-5

1 - 8:27
2 - 8:33
3 - 8:16
4 - 8:28
5 - 8:22

As with every marathon, there's a settling-in process when pacing. I tried to find a rhythm, make a few wisecracks, and generally get into the right zone for the task ahead. Less than half a mile into the race, I saw that my watch displayed an average pace of 8:23 (aka, the correct overall pace for a 3:40 marathon) and I loudly declared that I had done my job and would be dropping out shortly, since the group now knew what 8:23/mile pace felt like. That brought some mild guffaws. Since no one believed me, we forged on.

At about Mile 2, I saw TJ Stevens, the Manchester Police officer who accompanied me during my 40 at 40 mile run in December 2008. I sped up to greet him, but let him take off when it was clear that he was running too fast for the pace group.

The wind was moderate, but carrying a large, light sign was pretty challenging. Pete took the sign from me after the first mile, and I debated about whether and when to ditch my long-sleeve shirt. Somewhere in Mile 3, the shirt came off, leaving me resplendent in my god-awful goldenrod pacer's singlet and Moeben bamboo fiber arm sleeves.

I was trying to keep things light, but few runners were close enough to engage in any meaningful dialogue. One woman and I started chatting, as she asked me about prior pacing experience, while not-so-subtly questioning whether I was taking the group out to fast. As the conversation unfolded, I learned that she had run the Vermont-100 this year, and we both wanted to hear about the other's experience. That lasted a little while, and she dropped back.

As the splits above indicate, the first few miles have some ups and downs. I was trying to stay steady on effort, and was pleased that despite all my recent physical woes, I felt relatively smooth and relaxed.

Miles 6-10

6 - 8:18

7 - 9:18 [pit stop]

8 - 7:19 [catching up]

9 - 8:11

10 - 8:16

This part of the race was fun (except for an unceremonious pit stop just after the 10K timing mat). My stomach did it's unfortunate "thing" and I had to use a port-a-potty. After being scolded by a race volunteer for veering off the course (it's not my fault that's where they put the damned bathroom), I waited in a short line, did what I had to do, and ran nearly 2 miles at under 7:00 pace to catch up to Joe and Pete.

I saw many familiar faces, both running and spectating, and it was great to be part of the local running community. Several runners questioned why the 3:40 pacer was tearing through the field, so I kept having to yell, "Catching up", or "Made a pit stop" so that no one would be confused about what the heck was happening. I also passed a pair of gents running in Boston race shirts and kilts. I said hello in a poor Scottish accent and saw Joe and Pete in the distance.

Seeing Joe's ugly singlet and Pete's neon orange Saucony arm sleeves was a sight for sore eyes, as the brisk pace was a bit of a shock to my system. It also seemed that the two of them had pushed the pace a bit in my absence, and were well ahead of the target split when we hit the 8-mile mark. We settled back into a nice rhythm and were on our way. Joe seemed to have identified a couple of attractive young women who were seeking their Boston qualifying standard, and he seemed intent to go "the extra mile" to see that they would get it. I sought to stay close to the customized splits as calculated by the brilliant Greg Maclin, available at his Web site, www.mymarathonpace.com.

Miles 11-15

11 - 8:13

12 - 8:35

13 - 7:55

14 - 8:23

15 - 8:30

More rolling terrain, punctuated by the course's longest downhill from 12-13 that's a wonderful treat for the half-marathoners. A couple of half-marathoners asked how far to the finish; I told them, and they took off. I steeled myself for the difficulty of turning right for an additional 13.2 miles just as the half-marathoners turned left for their last 0.1 mile. The Manchester course loses much of its charm in the second half. Few runners remain; traffic abounds; the crowds thin to almost nothing. It's an enhanced mental test.

Early in the second half, I was chatting with an older guy from Wichita, Kansas, seeking an it's-a-small-world moment by asking if he knows my friend Meredith. He doesn't, but wouldn't that have been something? Another older guy names Francis asks whether I'm going to get him to Boston. I told him it's really up to him, but I'd be glad to keep company en route to his sub-3:40.

At this point, the kilted runners are holding steady, a nice young guy from Cleveland was with me stride-for-stride and a few more folks seem to be holding together loosely as an ad hoc 3:40 entourage. The second half was off to a decent start.

Miles 16-20

16 - 8:19

17+18 - 16:57

19 - 8:28

20 - 8:24

These miles are always challenging in a marathon, and Sunday was no exception. The temps never rose much, the wind picked up and swirled around, and my hands got - and stayed - cold. At about Mile 16, I spilled some water down my front, and the wet singlet made me shiver.

Mile 17 takes runner onto Louis Street. Last year I thought of my then ailing father, Louis Abramson, during that stretch. This year, I dedicated that part to his memory. A lot can happen in a year, or maybe just one thing that changes a lot of others.

After running along a sidewalk parallel to a big road, we turned and embarked upon the toughest climb of the course, a long, steady grind up towards to St. Anselm's College (where Pete, incidentally, teaches). Much like last year, this stretch claimed its fair share of marathoners.

At around Mile 19, I came up again on TJ and his flag. We chatted for a minute, noting that the 40-mile run seemed to have been about a hundred years ago, not less than two. He was slowing down, and I needed to hold pace, so I said goodbye. Shortly after that, my friend Dan (the awesome guy who ran 10 post-marathon miles with me as I did 38 miles last year) came by on his bike. He's always so positive, that it gave me a nice boost to see him, even if only briefly.

Miles 21-26.2

21 - 8:10

22 - 8:23

23 - 8:57

24 - 9:15 [mile marker off]

25+26 - 15:31

0.2 2:20

OFFICIAL CHIP TIME 3:39:58

Matt from Cleveland started hurting somewhere in the 21st mile, complaining of his knee "locking up". It was tough to let him fall back, but a pacer does not have the luxury of tending to the marathon wounded. Whatever group we had had thinned by this point, with the Kilt Brothers holding steady, and occasional runners trying to stay with us as we approached and passed them. At this point, my quads were speaking up, not in an acute way, but enough so that the steep downhills coming out of St. Anselm's were rather unpleasant. Pete was hurting, too, having realized that his Brooks racing flats were too little shoes for Manchester's hilly course.

The last few miles in Manchester are not especially hilly, but they bring multiple turns through sparsely spectated neighborhoods. I asked one guy who magically appeared by my side at around Mile 22 how he was doing. He replied breathlessly, "I've been trying to catch you for miles," and held steady for the rest of race. He had quite a fan club in the final miles, and it was energizing to see that development so late in the race. That said, it was still a slog to get from Mile 22 or so to Mile 24+, where the course takes runners over a pedestrian bridge spanning the Merrimack River and into range of the finish. The 24-mile marker was off by a good 0.10 mile, which is torture at that late stage. I was monitoring my average pace to make sure that I did not drift off the pace at a critical time. Coming off the bridge, runners have to negotiate the worst marathon course feature I've yet to encounter, a corkscrew-shaped/hairpin turn which needs to be re-routed yesterday. Joe, not one to complain about much, yelled, "This is bullshit!" as he made the awful change of direction, to the left, then the right, then the left again. I cannot imagine how the fast runners managed it at 6:00+/- pace.

Having circled behind the baseball stadium (where , we took the last uphill, able to see and hear the finish line, but knowing that we had one more loop of about a mile left in order to be done. we passed more struggling runners, as the finish neared. One major goal of this marathon for me was to get as close as possible to the 3:40 goal without going over. Joe, Pete and the kilts were a little ways ahead. I looked at my watch, mindful of keeping it close. I slowed, then accelerated, and when I turned left onto Elm Street, with about 0.1 to go, I started jogging. I eyeballed the finish, looked at my watch, and picked up the pace again. A guy on my left seemed shocked, and started sprinting to pass me. I surged and then slowed down, trying to time it just right. The guy went ahead, and I crossed the line while stopping my watch, which read 3:39:59. The long-frozen grimace on my face turned into a satisfied smile, though I was cold, tired and hungry. My official time was one second faster, darn it all.

I also learned that Nate had smashed his BQ time, with a 3:15:xx time, good for 31st place overall. Kudos to him.

Post-Race

After the race, Joe, Pete and I went in search of food. There was hot soup, and Joe the Vegetarian enjoyed some tomato bisque, while I downed some lukewarm chicken noodle. We lingered around for a bit, covered in Mylar blankets. Thanks to my rubbery legs, I nearly tripped on a root in Veterans Park, and a race volunteer and I had a good-natured laugh about that. Joe and I received a warm thanks from a woman who'd fallen off and finished in about 3:45. We said good-by to Pete and headed back to the Y for a hot shower, as Joe had to hit the road to get back to Maine for his daughter's high school play.

I was extremely chilled, to the point that I toweled off in the sauna in order to get warm. That helped. We had some mini-drama when Joe misplaced his car key, but after 15 minutes of intense searching, we found it. He was on his way, and I headed home to have some down time, as my wife and the kids were all off in different directions. I took a nice long Endurasoak bath, ate some salty food, and drank an Arrogant Bastard Ale.

As usual, pacing was a rewarding experience, and it is with mixed feelings that I continue to realize that I may be better-suited to this task than to running quality races for myself. After the concerns and weirdness of the weeks in between Chicago and Manchester, I was glad to get this race done, and finish on target. I'm looking forward to some running/racing down time, and am applying to join the Manchester City Marathon organizing committee/board to do what I can to help make the race even better.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

-Ron/ESG

Buoyed by Faith

2010-10-25T10:45:00.000-04:00

Now that my third full year as a marathon runner is coming to a close, I've realized that the time following a goal race serves not just as a time to recover from the physical tolls of training and racing, but also allows a window for reflection of a more personal and profound nature. I have realized that in some of the deeper recesses of my consciousness, I was prepared for another running disaster - or at least major disappointment - in Chicago this year. The race was far from a disappointment, and the take-away for me has been feeling re-energized, hopeful and motivated to keep training so that I get more out of running. I'm sure that a major marathon breakthrough awaits me, as soon as I get past the nagging hip issues. As I've said to a couple of running friends recently, "I just want running to love me back." And while it's wonderful to feel that sense of joy return to this all-too-important relationship (between running and me, that is), what I did not count on was feeling more happy and hopeful about other aspects of life, too.

While it's only been two weeks since the Chicago Marathon, 10-10-10 has taken on a transcendent significance in my life. Since my return, I feel better about my roles as husband, father, lawyer/business owner, brother, son, friend, coach, etc. In a word, I feel happy and more grounded. And a huge part of that happiness is attributable to having a renewed sense of faith . . . in people, in the world, in grace and - ultimately - in myself. And while my religious views - such as they are - continue to contain a healthy dose of humanist skepticism, I am buoyed by the knowledge that there is certainly some force greater than anything we can even begin to grasp which guides so much of the beauty, symmetry and grace which we see in the world. I don't have a lot of answers, but I know that fact to be as true as anything else I know in this life.

Well, I wasn't necessarily expecting this entry to venture that far into that realm, so let's get to the running-related stuff, stat!

Post-Chicago recovery week #2:

Monday - 5.8M on trails, easy
Tuesday - XT: elliptical, heavy weights, core, hips and stretching
Wednesday - 8M, easy to moderate; played a full-field soccer scrimmage with my son's U-10 team
Thursday - 6M, easy to moderate in the Nike Free runs (in lieu of barefoot mileage this week)
Friday - XT: elliptical, plyometrics and stretching/foam rolling
Saturday - 6.75M, moderate, mostly trails
Sunday - 10M, "trial run" for the race to be staged by my running club in 2011; plan was to lock in 8:23 pace in preparation for the Manchester Marathon pacing gig on November 7th, but I strayed from that and averaged about 7:45/mile (which felt good)

Total of 36+ miles for the week, with some "quality" unintentionally thrown in on Sunday's run. I have neglected the hip exercises a bit, but feel pretty good overall, despite my hip flexors being a tad sore late in the week (likely a result of playing soccer with the boys on Wednesday). Still, I'm looking forward to topping 50 miles this week, then dialing it down again before Manchester.

Thanks for reading.

-ESG/Ron

Return of the Blog-monster

2010-10-20T21:11:00.000-04:00

This will be a short post. I am a stock-taking phase, mostly about running, but to some extent about my life, particularly about the relationships which most matter. This blog does not venture into the deepest darkest parts of my existence (just be thankful, dear readers), but in terms of running, I've spent a lot of time comparing last year's bonanza of excellent running results to this year's clear dearth of same. While focusing on training, racing, diet, etc., I seemed to overlook one not insignificant thing: this blog.

So, I declare (which you may take alternatively as "warn") that I will resume at least weekly posts, summarizing my training. That very exercise helped me spot trends, process things and generally take a good look at training as a whole. While I may have had valid reasons to get away from that practice this year, I do not believe that it has served me well.

Continue to ignore as much of my drivel as you'd like, but got lactate? will soon return to being the training log/runner's journal which I originally conceived it to be.

Thanks for reading. -ESG

It Ain't the Heat . . . It's the Humility - Chicago 2010 Race Report

2010-10-12T17:31:00.001-04:00

The title of this post comes from one of the true maestros of pithy, malapropistic English coinages, the one and only Yogi Berra. It perfectly captures my experience at Chicago 10-10-10, where I might have run my best marathon to date, while nonetheless falling 19 seconds short of a new PR (personal record).

So, out the usual sense of consideration for my dear readers, I'll jump to the end first: I ran the 2010 Chicago marathon in 3:18:00, exactly 22 minutes better than my 2008 effort in similar conditions. Now, onto the narrative portion of our episode.

OBLIGATORY PROLOGUE

As many of my running friends know, Chicago and I have a bit of a love-hate relationship. I lost my marathoning virginity in the Windy City in 2007, when temperatures reached nearly 90 degrees and all sorts of chaos resulted, not even counting my own 4:03 marathon debut. I returned in 2008, thinking that lightning couldn't possibly strike twice. I was right, as temps only reached about 84 degrees, and I broke down with cramps a full 5 miles later than the year before.

In 2009, I decided that Chicago and I should take a break from each other, maybe see other people/races, and I skipped the party. Runners were treated to perfect, traditional fall weather. The course record fell, Boston qualifiers abounded and many a new PR was set.

The symmetry of the 10-10-10 date was difficult to ignore, as was the pull of so many virtual friends making Chicago 2010 their fall goal marathon. I backed off my plan to pace at NYC, signed up and did what I could to get ready. The woes of the training cycle are chronicled in prior posts, or - more accurately - in the dearth of prior posts over the past few months.

I left very early on Friday, and spent the morning with my friend Paul, his lovely wife Tiffany and their daughter Isla. See pic below.

Paul picked me up, we went for an easy 4-mile run, washed up and then went to the Expo. We met up with other friends from the RWOL Sub-3:20 Thread, including Chris, Stevi, Nick and Walter.

The energy was good. I've gotten kind of "expoed out" at this point in my running life, since I don't need anything and hate paying full price for whatever I do need (or want). I saw a line forming for Dean Karnazes' signing at The North Face booth, so I high-tailed it in the other direction. I bought my kids t-shirts, sampled some drinks and energy food and got ready to go to my hotel. Paul picked up two more friends at the expo, so I ended up riding in the hatch of Paul's SUV, where I was delivered to my hotel along with my own luggage.

I checked in and tried to get some rest in advance of a busy evening. I met my friend Meredith at the Art Institute, before joining her for a reception for those who'd run to raise money for the American Cancer Society. Let's just say that it was not an easy evening for her, but she is a paragon of grace in the recent wake of having lost her husband to cancer. She is 30 years old.

Meredith joined me and my friends (and prior years' hosts) David and Louise for a delicious Chinese dinner, and it was wonderful to see them, catch up, hear inside scoop about Chicago politics from two natives and just reconnect with people I like so much. After dinner, Meredith and I cruised around looking for dessert. We ended up at Leonides Chocolate Cafe, ordering Belgian chocolates and gelato. While scoping out the gelato flavors, I found a crisp $100 bill tucked into the trim of the ice cream case. What a stroke of luck, I thought. I looked around to see if anyone appeared to be looking for it, keeping a watch out until the place closed. No one seemed to be searching for a lost Benjamin Franklin, so I consulted with Meredith and my own conscience, and kept it.

So, I made it back to my hotel and was ready to crawl into bed (after all, I'd gotten up at 3:45 am to get to the airport), only to toss and turn all night thanks to a noisy hotel ventilation system. This is a major blemish on an otherwise great weekend, so I will move on here. Suffice it to say, I'm still tired . . . and miffed.

Saturday was slated to be another busy day, with periods of mellowness scheduled into the program. I had breakfast with Dan, his wife Stacy and Charlie, more RWOL friends. We ate at a wonderful hip Mexican place called Xoco, where the breakfast empanadas, churros and coffee were excellent. I then ran 3 easy miles with David (at least I could continue that routine from years past) and saw his kids before meeting Amy for lunch with the Team Reeve people.

The afternoon brought some down time in my still-noisy hotel room, before meeting my childhood friend Marc and his wife (who's my sister's cousin-in-law) Nicole for dinner. I managed to consume half of a gloriously ginormous pasta plate at Francesca's and even drank a beer, amending my prior taper practice of going alcohol-free for my taper. It may have helped. With Nicole and I yawning at about 7:45, Marc deposited me back at my hotel, where I went through the joyously tedious process of laying everything out for the race. From head to toe (plus "accessories"):

Hat
Sunglasses
Singlet
Bib
Shorts (went with pretty short RaceReady shorts)
Zensah compression sleeves
Wright socks
Mizuno Wave Ronins, with orthotics
Gels - Accelerade and Gu Roctane
Sunscreen
Body Glide
3:10 pace tattoo (which would not stick and would have been useless anyway)
Sharpie, to write my name on my arm

I got breakfast organized, and finally got in bed about 10:30. I didn't sleep well again, awaiting the 5:00 am alarm.

RACE DAY

Pre-Race

After my poor night's sleep, I was ready to get up and prepare for the race. The hotel room mini-fridge froze my pre-purchased Starbucks Venti, which ended up tasting terrible after defrosting/reheating in the microwave. I ate a plain bagel with cream cheese, a yogurt parfait with fruit and granola and a banana. I drank lots of water and Gatorade. I went to the bathroom. Repeatedly.

Once I was dressed, Body Glided and sufficiently fueled/hydrated, I made my way over to the start. The masses were en route, with runners coming in all shapes and sizes. As I headed east towards Millennium Park, the sunrise silhouetted the Art Institute. It was a beautiful - if already overly balmy - start to the day.

I meandered through the chain-link maze and found the Bank of America Customer Upgrade Tent. My little gold wristband allowed me access to a private area, and - most critically - open port-a-potties. I took advantage of them, and headed over towards the seeded corral entrance at about 7:00 am. The lines were forming, but the mass was moving steadily. Marathon security officers did not mess around, though, refusing entry to anyone without a proper bib.

In short order, I had found the front left corner of the B Corral, and did some light stretching just outside the area where the wheelchair racers awaited their call to the start. I got a friendly greeting from the Team Achilles lady whom I'd met at the Reeve Foundation luncheon while I kept an eye out for Amy and Matt. I spotted Amy, and then Matt was upon us. We were resplendent in our coordinated Endurasoak singlets.
Amy griped about her dead watch, and I asked her to write my RWOL name (ESG) on my arm. She mocked my skinny upper arm before drawing a smiley face on my right biceps. I'd written RON on my left arm, and the letters were plenty big, thank-you-very-much!

The national anthem played and it was just about that time, the moment where all the anticipation, nervousness, sacrifice, doubt and excitement funnel together to create the hard-to-articulate feeling that keeps so many of us coming back to the marathon again and again. For a split second, it truly feels like anything is possible, and that greatness lies just a few not-so-short miles away.

Miles 1-5

1. 7:16

2. 7:18

3. 7:17

4. 7:08

5. 7:17

One of the truisms of running the Chicago Marathon is that the first mile is a bit of a pacing nightmare. Those of us with an unhealthy codependent relationship with our GPS watch suffer the most, as the signal goes wacky as soon as we head into the first tunnel, and does not get much better with all the tall buildings around. I went by feel, trying not to waste too much energy weaving around other runners. Amy and Matt stayed close, and we hit the first mile marker while 7:15 was on my watch. Perfect pace for a 3:10 marathon, but I was not feeling good. I asked Amy for a swig from her water bottle, as I had that familiar adrenaline-fueled cottonmouth feeling. That helped, and I tried to settle into the pace.

It didn't take long for me to realize that sub-7:15/mile pace was not realistic. While the early temps were not oppressive, the humidity was another story. I was sweating a lot, and I felt like I was working too hard too early. Thinking about what lay ahead, I quietly let Amy and Matt go at around the 5K mark, and I dialed down the pace towards the end of the fifth mile.

I never really felt "right" or comfortable early on. I needed to pee, and my stomach was a tad rumbly. Fortunately, that was about to change.

Miles 6-10

6. 7:32

7. 7:14

8. 7:30

9. 7:23

10. 7:21

I wanted to stay in the 7:25/mile range, so Mile 6 was a little slow. I was trying to stay relaxed, mind my form, shake out my arms every so often, etc. I took my first gel (Accelerade) at around the 50-minute mark, and took 3 Endurolytes capsules at one hour in (after having taken 4 before the start) as cramp insurance. The temperature was rising, but with the humidity falling somewhat and a fair amount of shade, it was relatively comfortable. I was trying to soak in the atmosphere, the crowds, other runners. Occasionally, I'd ask a fellow runner how he/she was feeling. One woman said she was hoping to break 3:20, and I gently warned her that she was out a bit fast for that. She thanked me and dropped back some. I ran with a nice guy from Denver named Dwayne; we were on again/off again for a good long while.

This section of the race felt "right", where it seemed like my feet, legs, hips, lungs, heart and mind were well synchronized in terms of effort and ability given the conditions. My new goal became to break 3:15.

Miles 11-15

11. 7:24

12. 7:25

13. 7:27

HALF - 1:36:26

14. 7:29

15. 7:25

This was probably the best stretch of the race in terms of thinking about what I wanted to do, and executing it almost flawlessly. Towards the end of Mile 11, the typical left foot pain began to bother me (it may be a neuroma). It was a nuisance, but I trusted from prior races that it would not worsen, and reminded myself that a marathon is not exactly a comfort-seeking endeavor. I should also mention that when things first began to go from moderately challenging to more difficult, my mind wandered to the plight of the Chilean miners who've been trapped over 2000 feet below the earth's surface for over two months. What would they give for the opportunity to run a marathon, no matter how warm a day?, I thought. While not a magic bullet, it helped keep me from descending into my own hole of self-pity, which - as every runner knows - can ruin a race in a flash.

I took a non-caffeinated Gu Roctane (pineapple) at around 1:30 into the race, not wanting to risk GI problems for the umpteenth time in recent races. It went down fine.

When I saw the split for the half (1:36+), I started thinking about my goal again, and decided that a 1:40 second half (about a 3.5-minute positive split) would get me a nice new PR. Knowing that 7:39/mile is 1:40 half-marathon pace, I strove to keep the miles at or under 7:30 for as long as I could. The little bit of time banking was to allow for what I deemed the inevitable fade. It almost worked.

Miles 16-20

16. 7:29

17. 7:33

18. 7:27

19. 7:32

20. 7:41

OK, the heat was on the rise, but the plan seemed to be working. I clicked off the desired pace and - for only the second time in marathon "career" - hit the 20-mile mark feeling functional and relatively in control. I passed the spot where I fell apart in 2007, and pondered how it feels like I'm a completely different person now. As a runner, I suppose I am.

Still, these miles required intense focus. I thought about how sweet a new PR would be, on the streets of my first marathon, the place which almost appears to have a personal vendetta against me as far as marathon weather is concerned. The thoughts in my head were mostly positive, encouraging, hopeful. I took more Endurolytes and a third gel (Accelerade again). I never broke stride, not for one instant.

Around Mile 20, a bank thermometer read 81F. As I passed it, I literally gave it the finger.

Miles 21-Finish

21. 7:50

22. 7:45

23. 7:56

24. 8:07

25. 8:17

26. 8:10

0.2. 1:36 (<7:20 pace)

Mile 21 did not feel any different than the few miles which preceded it, but I suspect that sensing that a PR was well within reach caused me to lose concentration. I got a few seconds back in Mile 22, but that's when the little hip niggles which I'd been ignoring started to speak up a tad more loudly. That all-too-familiar tightness began, and I had to force myself to try to keep pace. I was getting the better of the hip issue until late in Mile 23, when my right calf - despite all the Endurolytes and the Zensah sleeves - sounded the cramp-announcing trumpet in the form of hard, painful twinges. I tried altering my stride. Nope. I tried speeding up. Nope. I drank more Gatorade at the aid stations. Nope. I thought about stopping to stretch it, but decided I was not going to stop running, no matter what.

I reached the point where I had merely 5K left, and the wheels were threatening to come off. I must declare, however, that I simply decided that that would not happen. I pushed the pace as much as I could, knowing that I had more reserves, more energy, more fitness to give. But try as I did, I could not get under 8:10/mile pace. I knew that the PR would be close, and that if I could not get under 8:00 pace, I was not going to make it.

Mile 25 seemed eternal; Mile 26 only slightly less so. The crowds were wonderful. Some runners were walking, some staggering. Some passed me with strong, smooth strides.

With 800 meters and one "hill" to go, I knew a new PR was gone, but a 3:17:xx would at least be a "push" for me. I gave what I had left, and crossed the line in jeopardy of going into a full lower-body spasm. I pressed the stop button on my watch, which read 3:18:00; my second consecutive round finishing time in Chicago (in 2008, I clocked 3:40:00).

Gatorade Recovery Drink (G3), water, banana, medal. I asked two volunteers to loosen my laces. I said no thanks to the space blanket, as I feared I might actually begin to roast if I put one on. I was done. Now, I needed to see my friends.

POST-RACE REFLECTIONS

I bumped into some RWOL/Facebook friends in the finish area. My friend Dan got his first BQ. Woo-hoo! Nick did not get his sub-3:00, but did PR. Some guys were disappointed; others were thrilled with their unexpectedly fast times. I was sort of numb. No euphoria. Not elated. Not sad or disappointed. With a little rehydration and honest reflection, I realized that I could not have asked for much more of myself on a tough day coming on the heels of a mediocre training cycle.

The finish line beer did not taste good to me, and I milled around looking for other friends. I was dying to know how Meredith did, but could not find her. I was hot, sore, tired and covered with a sheen of salt. So I made the trek back to my hotel, which now seemed much farther away than it did just a few hours ago.

I started looking up friends' times, with a few surprises. It was no surprise when I learned that Meredith did it: she broke 3 hours. The most amazing part of the story, though, is that she needed to run her fastest mile in Mile 26, a blazing 6:37 to get herself a 2:59:49 finish. She is - simply stated - an inspiring human being.

In the couple hours after the race, I was sort of cranky and physically uncomfortable. I knew I needed to eat and drink, but didn't have much appetite. Some salt-&-vinegar chips and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies at a sandwich chain called Potbelly's were like manna from heaven. I started to feel better, and couldn't help but be buoyed by Meredith's beaming smile.

I tried to rest in the hotel, but ended up watching TV through Netflix on my netbook computer. It was nice to be off my feet, at least.

For dinner, I met up with a former co-worker, Katia, who recently moved to Chicago, and we joined the RWOL 3:20 crew at Sweetwater Grill for dinner. I put some more faces to the virtual identities, and can honestly say that I could see myself being close friends with these folks if we lived closer to one another. We laughed a lot, ate a lot and drank a little. I applied the $100 windfall to the bar tab, which seemed like the right thing to do, karmically speaking.

Chicago remains a bit of an untamed beast to me, but at least this time I held on for the entire ride. And, lest I forget this not insignificant detail, the feeling that I have more better marathons in me fuels the desire to keep training and pushing. That, and gaining some much needed perspective on what really matters in life, courtesy of Meredith. So, at the end of the day, the Chicago 2010 Marathon Story is not about the heat, it's really about the resulting humility.

Thanks for reading.

-ESG/Ron

Here We Go Again

2010-10-03T15:23:00.000-04:00

With one week to go before I take another crack at running a decent marathon in the wonderful city of Chicago, I can take solace that I've run a lot more than I have blogged in recent months. Truth be told, I've started and left unfinished at least three blog entries in the past month, mostly because they seemed to lack clarity, and bordered on being whiny musings about how my running life is so unfair. Yeah, maybe I should see how much sympathy I get from some of my refugee clients, or perhaps I'll find a shoulder to cry on the next time I bump into an amputee or wheelchair athlete at a race. Seriously, your faithful scribe might have been lacking a modicum of perspective on where running fits in, both in terms of my own life, and the world beyond me.

While my training and racing since Boston/Big Sur has been full of ups and downs, my primary complaint is that I feel like I'm on a plateau. After all, a roller coaster is much more exciting than one of the kiddie rides that does slow elliptical loops on a flat track, right?

Since I last wrote a race report - regarding the pleasant surprise of a 19:02 5K in early August - I've had two more race experiences. The first was an abominable half-marathon on Labor Day weekend, where I set out to see if I could hold 6:40 pace, learned after about 4.5 miles that I could not, went into a dark mental place, and ran an embarrassing 1:34+. The second was the always-fun Reach the Beach Relay, where I ran about 22 miles in three legs at an average pace of 7:06/mile, including 1500 feet of elevation gain. The hips did not particularly relish the uphill segments at race pace, but it was nonetheless an unqualified success (which carried clear training benefits). Apart from those two races, I've had good runs and bad runs, workouts I've nailed, and those on which I've bailed (I'd go on, but the temptation to channel the late Johnnie Cochran is just too great).

My coach likes to use the word "sinusoidal" to describe these ups and downs. I had always viewed marathon training as a slow build which culminates in standing at a metaphorical cliff, looking down and then taking a few steps back for the 2-3 week taper which all distance runners seem to abhor. Since it hasn't felt that way this time around, I've turned to numbers for consolation that a new PR awaits me in Chicago. Even including the week I took off from running after the VT-100, since July 1st I've averaged about 63 miles per week before the taper. Since crossing the finish line in Chicago on October 12, 2008, I will have run about 4500 miles when I toe the line next week. My "easy" run pace is faster at a lower average heart rate then it was when I qualified for Boston in May 2009. Put simply, I'm in much better aerobic shape than I have ever been. The great unknown is whether my hips will hold up for 26.2 miles at "marathon pace", which naturally begs the question of what that pace is (or should be).

So, unlike prior to Boston, when I held my goal close to the vest, I'll proclaim the following: I will settle into a 7:10/mile pace as soon as I can at Chicago, with the goal of breaking 3:10. When I went through the customary process of agonizing about what the appropriate goal should be, basically torn between going for an aggressive PR or simply cautiously pacing towards a modest one, my coach helped me with the following sage advice, sent in response to my question about tempering optimism with realism when it comes to setting a goal time:

Tempering optimism is never useful while modifying expectations is sometimes necessary, so you're looking at two different beasts. The problem here isn't your fitness being an unknown quantity, at least in regard to the broad range it needs to fall in for you to run "only" 3:10. The problem is not knowing if your body is going to cooperate that day. I don't see you going there and struggling to a 3:XX finish of any sort. I see you pacing off a nice 3:08ish marathon with "minimal" true difficulty or being knocked out of the box altogether with the hip thing. There's still enough time to determine whether it's more likely than not that the hips will acquiesce and this weekend [meaning Reach the Beach] will be a real test--one that, if "passed," will tip things very heavily in favor of being able to head to Chicago with relatively few concerns.

So yes--think about the race as if you were healthy and looking to run a PR and that's it. You have no control over what the hips offer or don't on race day and it's not in your head. You don't need the usual psych pep talk to talk you out of self-doubt; you know the score and just need a favorable day. SO even if you consider yourself neurotic at baseline, this is really a separate issue.

If he'd done nothing more than offer me that missive at a critical training juncture, the money I've paid would have been well-spent. It is thus in that spirit that I proceed to Chicago, secure that 7:10/mile (aka, a 3:08:xx marathon) is not at all unreasonable, and the hips will either allow it or not.

So, with a goal in place, I've tried not to get too obsessed with the usual race-related details: shoes, apparel, nutrition, weather, travel issues, weekend plans, etc. I've had mixed success with that. ;-)

With 4 very busy days between now and my 6:00 am Friday flight to Chicago, I am looking forward to a highly memorable race weekend, involving time with very good friends (old and new) and a slightly-more-than-3-hour jaunt through the streets of one of the world's great cities.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Back on Track?

2010-08-16T10:42:00.000-04:00

Last week, I ran my 4th or 5th Cigna 5K in Manchester, NH. I had to skip the race last year because we were on vacation, and - after my so-so Beach to Beacon effort - I did not have particularly high expectations for this year's event (though I did expect to improve on my 20:3x course PR).

Cigna is definitely an "event" race in New Hampshire. It's the state's largest road race. The prize money - including time and CR bonuses - draws a deep field, including stateside Kenyans who come year-after-year in order to put a few dollars in their pocket as they do a summer road-racing tour.

The overall strength of the field means little to me, as I simply wanted to run a decent race, with no real notion of what that might mean at this point in my training. And so it was that I approached last Thursday's race with no real plan or expectations.

I'd had a miserably tough 8-mile run on Tuesday, feeling every one of the 31 miles I'd run the prior weekend. Wednesday's 5-miler with a couple of pickups felt marginally better.

On Thursday, I got to the Y early and met up with my friend Steve. We set out for an easy warm-up along most of the course, before changing into our racing shoes and setting out on our own for some strides and final warm-up. I timed my final stretch so that I'd finish about 10 minutes before the gun went off, forcing me to work my way through the assembled masses in order to find a spot a few rows behind the fastest runners. I saw some friends, chatted about goals (i.e., made my excuses) and waited for the gun (fired with no warning, a racing-related pet peeve).

I tried to settle into pace to hit the first mile split in about 6:10, with the idea that I'd see how my legs felt and adjust accordingly. Early in the race, I saw a former colleague (an accomplished lifelong endurance athlete) turn and say, "Do NOT let me beat you!" I told him to stay out of my head, and focused on running my race. I was feeling pretty good before the one-mile mark, and my split was 6:12. A good start.

Not long after the mile mark, the race takes a hard left turn. I took a swig of water at the aid station, which helps alleviate the awful cottonmouth I get in every 5K, likely the result of the adrenaline burst when I take off at the start. While Mile 1 is a slight uphill, Mile 2 gives the climb back with a couple of gentle downhill sections. I tried to take advantage of them by quickening my turnover, and I found myself moving up through field. Second mile split was 6:04.

Somewhere in the second mile, my watch got wet, and the screen toggled itself to the Heart Rate screen. I could only see the display showing my HR at 177-180, and decided to let it be rather than fiddle with it to get it back to the usual display of elapsed time/distance/lap pace. One young guy yelled from behind me, "Sir, time?" I shrugged my shoulders and he offered a sarcastic "Thanks." I explained the HR screen and sped up.

My former colleague remained just ahead and to my right, and thought about when and how to make a move on him. I knew if he noticed me, he'd respond, so I tried to stay tucked in with other runners, but the little group's pace did not pick up quickly enough for my purposes. I tried to surge, but didn't seem to gain any measurable ground. I passed a very fit-looking woman, and tried to encourage her to push harder. She appeared to be running out of steam. At this point, my only focus was to keep the old guy in sight and try to make a move close to the finish.

The race takes a hard left with about 0.25-mile to go, up a short, steep hill (which I've dubbed "Mount Vomit" thanks to 2 consecutive years of seeing evidence of such on the side of the road there), where the 3-mile mark awaits just past the top, with a straight shot to the finish. I made the left turn, started cranking the legs for all I was worth, and passed a few people on the hill. The former colleague - always a strong climber - stayed the same distance ahead. I saw the clock at Mile 3 reading 18:3x (not knowing exactly how far back I'd started in terms of my chip time) and for the first time realized that I might break 19 minutes for the second time in my running life. I pushed it and saw the finish clock turn past 19:00, still unaware of the net difference in my time.

I crossed the line, stopped my watch and worked my way to the finish area. My watch read 19:03, with a final mile of 6:08 and a 5:07 (!) pace for the final 0.1+-mile. Official time was actually 19:02, and though I bemoaned the lousy 3 seconds I needed to get an 18:xx time, I could not complain about a surprisingly fast finish, 90-second course PR and a sign that I may be back on track in terms of training and racing.

For his part, the older colleague ran 18:58. My friend Steve hung in for his first post-collegiate sub-17:00, clocking a 16:54 and finishing in the Top 50 of this very competitive race.

At this point, I'm looking to get the weekly mileage back up into the 70's (after hovering around 60 for the past few weeks), with a focus on LT/tempo runs. We'll see how this all plays out when it matters, on 10/10/10 in my third stab at the Chicago Marathon.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

That Wasn't Such a Beach, After All

2010-08-09T16:38:00.000-04:00

As befits the duality of time, last year's Beach to Beacon disappointment seems simultaneously recent yet long ago. The feeling of knowing that the 2009 race failed to reflect my own perceived fitness and progress as a runner was probably the most significant low in an otherwise very positive running year. Coming into B2B 2010, my personal running landscape looked very different.

2009 was a breakout year for me, with the coveted BQ in May preceding PRs at every distance. The 1:30 half-marathon fell in October. The 19:00 5K fell in December. I did another fundraiser and paced a marathon group along the way.

2010 has turned out quite differently so far, starting with what seemed like a stellar training cycle (72+ mpw for 13 weeks pre-Boston) yielding an unexpectedly poor Boston performance and my first non-PR marathon since taking up the pursuit in 2007. Then came the fun which was Big Sur, along with pacing at Burlington and a couple of underwhelming 5Ks thrown in for good measure. The undisputed highlight of the year was the Vermont 100 pacing experience, but my own racing has been lackluster at best.

Fast forward to goal-setting for this year's B2B. Despite maintaining decent base mileage, I have run precious little "quality" (aka, speed work) since I started tapering for Boston in early April. So, even after what seemed like an encouraging recent uptick in my ability to log some faster running (fueled by a decent track session - 6 x 800m at about an average pace of 6:20/mile - last Tuesday), I scaled back my realistic goals for what has turned out to be my only annual 10K. So, the goals for the day became to break 41:00 or, at the very least, get a new PR for the 10K distance.

The pre-race preparations were the polar opposite of last year. The family and I arrived in Portland early Friday evening, staying with wonderful friends who live just a few miles from Cape Elizabeth. I picked up my bib and shirt, had a wonderful meal and got to bed at a reasonable hour. I left the house at 6:20 am on Saturday, and still had to negotiate traffic, an elevated drawbridge, race-related logistics and a couple of wrong turns. Yet, I found the parking area I wanted and met my friend Joe to do a couple of warm-up miles. The bathroom lines moved quickly, and I found myself lining up between the 6:00 and 7:00 pace signs.

At 8:10 am, we were off and running. My running coach Kevin calls B2B a "sinusoidal" course, and in terms of my splits year-after-year, it appears that he's right. I started the initial downhill stretch fast, too fast really, and dialed it back. By the half-mile mark, though, I knew that holding a sub-6:30 pace was simply not going to work on this day, so I switched from focusing on time/pace to focusing on effort. It was an uncharacteristically smart and disciplined move on my part, and paid off. The splits looked like this:

6:38
6:56
6:33
6:50
6:33
6:48 + 1:13 for final 0.2+

Final chip time = 41:33, for exactly a 30-second improvement from last year. Given the state of my hips these days, it was probably about as good a race as I could have run, given the rolling course which requires regular "gear shifting". My friend Joe deserves a hearty congratulations for 1+-minute PR, coming in at 39:54 and getting the 40-minute monkey off his back. He's a bona fide threat to break 3 hours at his fall marathon.

The best part of this year's race was that our wonderful hostess - a Cape Elizabeth native - brought my family to the race, and I heard my son screaming as we turned into Fort Williams, with about 0.4 miles (and one final hill) to go. I gave him a fist pump and my wife snapped this photo (my daughter took a better one, but we can't seem to get it off her camera):

I'm actually wearing the brand new Endurasoak singlet, as provided by my friends and business associates Amy & Bryan Lane. Also, I wore the Mizuno Wave Mushas with my orthotics, but ended up with blisters on both arches, making the post-race cool-down not very fun.

After the race, Joe and I ran a couple of easy miles, looked for my family, and then ran most of the course in reverse back to the start area parking. It was a gorgeous summer day, with a new PR, a total of about 15 miles, family time and the company of a good guy and runner. Can't ask for much more than that.

I added 16 easy miles on Sunday, and feel like I may be back on track in terms of my marathon training for Chicago, though the time goal will be scaled back from 3 hours to 3:10. The next few weeks will determine how realistic that goal turns out to be.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Cheers, ESG/Ron

Witness to History: Vermont-100 Pacer's Report

2010-07-20T08:41:00.001-04:00

As some of my running friends know, I have done two unsanctioned "ultra" runs (meaning anything longer than the marathon distance), both of which were private events designed to raise money for different causes. I've also been an official "goal time" pacer at two road marathons. With that background, and seeming to have spent more and more time with ultramarathoners recently, I decided to volunteer to be a pacer at this year's Vermont 100 Endurance Run.

"Pacer Central", or Be Careful What You Ask For

One becomes a pacer in one of two ways: either by arranging to pace a friend/acquaintance, or by volunteering with the race's Pacer Coordinator. In my case, I offered to pace my friend Nate, who declined for reasons of which I'm still suspicious, but who ended up spraining his ankle and not running the VT-100 this year. Knowing no other registered runners, I sent the Pacer Coordinator (a great guy named John) a message, providing a brief "running resume" and awaiting an assignment.

The response from John was interesting:

I have a guy who wants to run the race in the 16-17 hr range and wants a pacer, and I have runners who are much slower. Let me know if you want a steady run 9-10 min miles with the 16 hr guy (he wants to be pushed but you will still walk the hills probably), or do you want a more leisurely approach? I have people who will end up walking the last 30 miles also. Let me know what works for you and I will pair you up with a runner.

Bear in mind that last year's winning time was 16 hours and 30 minutes. I consulted my ultrarunner friends about whether I'd be able to handle 30 miles at that pace on some pretty rugged/hilly terrain. I also checked in with my coach about it. The choice was between a hard effort with someone looking to be very competitive, or what would turn into a long hike, mostly at night, on dirt roads and woods' trails.

So, with more than a bit of trepidation, I signed up to pace the faster runner. Little did I know that this "guy" would actually turn out to be Kami Semick, a two-time world champion ultrarunner based in Oregon, sponsored The North Face endurance athlete and 2009 Ultrarunning Magazine Runner of the Year. While not a "guy", there seem to be few, if any, tougher ultrarunning competitors anywhere in the world.

Kami and I connected via e-mail, and spoke on the phone. After a crystal-clear accounting of the mediocrity of my running ability, I included the following summary:

So, if you're not feeling particularly choosy about your pacer's experience, course knowledge or even about whether he/she would be the kind of person you'd like to spend those last 5 or so hours with, I'm your guy.

From the start, Kami seemed extremely nice and personable, very encouraging and confident about my ability to do the job. She sent me a box with a bunch of excellent The North Face gear. As for my friends who know anything about competitive ultrarunning, they reacted with incredulity, saying things like, "I can't believe Kami chose you as a her pacer," or in the case of my friend Joe, simply "OMG!" I replied that she didn't exactly "choose" me; she got stuck with me based on an apparently very short list of candidates. Some of my friends seemed to making friendly wagers on when exactly she would drop me during those final 30 miles (I said not before 25; they posited 20 tops). Given the unknown territory into which I was about to venture, coupled with the irritating hip problems I've been experiencing recently, I was legitimately concerned about coming through for Kami when she needed me.

As race date neared, though, I got nervous, but also realized that I would either be able to keep up with Kami, or I wouldn't. The history of ultramarathons, especially 100-milers, is peppered with stories of pacers being left behind. It means the runner is having a great race. There'd be no shame in that. Or so I told myself.

It All Starts at 10 Bears

Given the logistics of putting on a 100-mile footrace and potential for confusion, each aid station in Vermont gets a name in addition to a mileage mark designation. Mile 70 brings runners into an aid station called Camp 10 Bears, and requires a medical check, consisting of a weigh-in and quick visual observation of each runner.

Kami's projection would get her to 10 Bears at about 3:20 p.m. on Saturday, meaning she would have been running for 11 hours and 20 minutes at that point. Having gotten to Silver Meadow (aka, Race Central/HQ) at about 12:15, I set up camp and found Nate, who'd nobly decided to volunteer in light of his injured ankle. I got my running gear on and drank and drank Gatorade and water, given that the sun was beating down, with temps in the high 80's. I was a sweaty mess simply from the tent set-up.

Nate drove my car and we arrived at 10 Bears at about 1:30 p.m., looking to get a sense of the scene and to be ready in case Kami was ahead of schedule. 10 Bears also serves as a checkpoint at Mile 47 of the race, and there were many runners coming through at that point. It was difficult to contemplate that they were not yet halfway done.

I found John the Pacer Coordinator, and he scared me right off the bat by uttering 5 simple words: "Kami's killin' it out there!" I gulped and gave him a look, and he clapped me on the shoulder. Nate and his friend Jeff helped me relax with encouraging psych-up talk. I watched the 47-milers come through, many of them looking haggard, hurting, covered in sweat, dirt and - in at least a couple of cases - blood. I watched people collapse on Red Cross cots. I saw people protest as they were pulled from the race, or were forced to drop out. This one little spot in the middle of rural Vermont was now a simmering cauldron of human drame and emotion.

After feeling like we were cutting it close, I found Kami's husband (and sole crew member) Tyson, made our introductions and gave him some of my gear for later. Then, I waited.

The male leader - and eventual winner - came barreling down the dirt road into 10 Bears, waving his handheld water bottles and yelling, "FILL THESE WITH ICE! NOW!!!" He jumped on the scale and was off in a flash. After what seemed like a long gap, four more runners - all male - came through 10 Bears. They were clustered much more closely together.

Very soon after seeing the fifth man come through, all the waiting and anticipation ended. Wearing a bright blue and white The North Face top, tanned and sculpted beyond belief, Kami came into 10 Bears, looking strong and determined. I introduced myself to her just before she weighed in, gave Tyson some specific instructions regarding hydration and nutrition and made an in-shoe adjustment relating to some kinesio-tape that was bothering her arch (the vestige of a twisted ankle from a couple of weeks back).

In what seemed like a flash, we were off.

Chasing a Record

Kami came to the Vermont 100 with a simple, yet formidable, mission: break the women's course record of 16:52. It thus became my job to help her do it. When she arrived at 10 Bears, she was about 20 minutes ahead of her own projections, based upon a goal finish time of 16:30 (aka, 9:54/mile for 100 miles).

Miles 71-80

The start out of 10 Bears involves a short stretch of runnable dirt road, followed by a long uphill trail in the woods and on lovely old country/carriage roads. I let Kami set the pace, and we chatted for a bit, just getting to know each other. She told me that she "was really looking forward to picking you up." I told her that I do not hear that from women very often, which provoked one of the few mid-race smiles I'd see on this day.

Quickly, I noticed that Kami would walk anything too steep, then would walk/run smaller hills, breaking them up into manageable segments. I made mental notes of her approach all the while.

Several miles into our time together, we came upon the fifth place runner, who had clearly hit a tough patch. We greeted Chris, Kami asked him if he wanted to run with us, and he joined us for a brief stint, before falling back again. As he faded, I asked Kami if I should go back and check on him. She said that'd be fine as long as I could catch back up to her quickly. So, I ran a few hundred yards back (downhill on the trail), checked in with Chris, who thanked me warmly and said he'd be fine (though he was hurting, he still finished in the Top 10). Then I ran pretty hard back up the trail to catch Kami, the first of many times I would end up doing that.

At about Mile 75, there was a small aid station. I learned that describing an aid station in this part of the world as being in front of a farm with a large barn, horses and a pickup truck, was like telling people when I lived in Atlanta to turn at the intersection with the Waffle House and the Baptist Church. It just wasn't specific enough to be helpful. This was the first and only time I would need to relieve myself on the course, and I very nearly ended my ultra pacing debut by electrocuting myself on the farm's fence. I realized my near-catastrophic error just in time. Catching back up to Kami - who was robotically efficient at every aid station - I shared the story, and she asked me whether that really happens. I made it clear that I was not inclined to test the theory.

Also, somewhere before the red, white and blue decorated aid station called West Winds/Spirit of 76, I committed a huge pacer faux pas, misconstruing a course marker. Fortunately, Kami caught it in time, and we stayed on course. I felt badly about making such a dumb mistake, but it all evened out a couple of miles later, when I told Kami to take a hard right, and she went out to the road instead of keeping to the trail just before the road. It worked out fine, and we were back in karmic balance.

We breezed through West Winds, where we saw Tyson. Kami did her thing, getting a new bottle, taking in nutrition and getting more ice to keep cool. Though it was now late afternoon, the air was still warm and muggy, and sweat poured off of us both in buckets.

The next few miles were relatively uneventful, and Kami asked me to let her know when we hit Mile 80. Our overall pace for the first 10 of the last 30 miles was pretty slow, averaging about 12:00 per mile. that pace would not cut it in terms of the course record, so I knew we'd need to pick it up. The key became to take advantage of any and all runnable sections, and I fell in tune with Kami in that regard.

Miles 81-90

This is where we got down to business. While her outward countenance did not change much, Kami became less chatty. It was clear that the day's effort, the heat, the sheer enormity of the undertaking, were all starting to catch up with her. I asked her how things "felt", physically and otherwise. She said, "If you don't talk about it, it's not real." I got the hint and stopped asking.

Now, I want to be clear that my trepidation about pacing Kami was not fueled in any way by false modesty. I was genuinely concerned about whether I would be able to stay on my feet - mostly running and remaining coherent - for what I expected to be about 5 hours. Somewhere around the 3-hour mark of my joining the fun, I started to feel tired. Trouble was, we still had about 14 miles to go at that point.

In about Mile 84, we passed another runner, a guy named Mike who's known as The Fuitarian. He was seemingly incredulous that he was starting to fade, with an ambitious sub-16:00 goal in what would be his first completed 100-miler (he'd dropped out of Western States, I believe, just a few weeks earlier). He ended up finishing 5th, but expressed his disappointment to me the next morning.

After passing the Fruit Guy, we ran by a house with a long driveway and two barking dogs. I was about 20 yards ahead of Kami, and noticed the dogs come running down the driveway. I figured they were contained by an electric fence, and that they'd stop at the property line. Right after I passed the end of the driveway, I heard a nervous, "Uh . . . Ron!" from behind me, only to see a German Shepherd barking pretty intimidatingly at Kami, with a Black Lab barking a little less menacingly. I turned around, ran towards them, and screamed, "No! Go!", with an exaggerated arm gesture. The dogs stopped barking and Kami started running. Finally, I was useful.

Kami was fighting a out of nausea, but Mile 88.6 brought us to Bill's, where the aid station is literally in Bill's barn. Kami had her last weigh-in here, she ate some ginger (and I had some, too) and I ditched my shirt and heart rate monitor with my friend Nate, as I was soaked and couldn't stand the weight, not to mention the smell, any longer. Again, I caught up with Kami and we were off.

At this point, there was no idle chatter. Zero. I figured out how to keep walking graciously each time she needed to pee (a very good sign that late in a hot race). Somewhere around Mile 85, Kami had told me to keep in front of her, and that's where I stayed. She asked me to let her know when we hit Mile 90. We covered Miles 81-90 about 12 minutes faster than we had the previous 10 miles. Though the end was in sight, getting the course record (and finishing before dark) was far from a sure thing.

Miles 91-Finish

It's not easy to describe the experience of the final 10 miles of 100-mile race. Presumably, many reasons lead people to push themselves to the horizons of their perceived limits, not knowing - like Columbus - whether they'll fall off the edge or just keep sailing until they discover unexplored territories. One rarely sees a human being - at least in our more technological and "comfortized" world - stripped so bare, where life is about basic needs and the simple premise of continuing to move forward, towards a clearly defined, but ever-elusive goal.

Well, the last 10 miles were not easy for me, and I can only imagine how Kami must have felt. The most amazing thing was how she continued to approach everything the same way. Walk the uphills hard, push on the flats and downhills; fly through the aid stations. Still, I could sense her growing fatigue, as I heard her shuffling feet start to kick rocks and sticks along the roads and trails. I reminded her to be careful in the woods, which weren't especially technical, but with the light starting to fade, and 90+ miles in her legs, any single step could easily betray her.

We/I had one momentary panic at about Mile 91, where there was a left-right turn that was unmarked. I ran ahead, looked around and sad, "There are no arrows! What the . . .?" Kami calmly told me to look around to the right (uphill, of course), and there was the sight we sought: a yellow pie plate with a "C" written in marker, aka, a "confidence" plate. It was the only apparent marking lapse in my 30 miles on the course.

With that mini-drama behind us, we soon caught the third-place runner, who simply acknowledged - with surprisingly little bitterness - that he was out of steam. The irony - as I learned later - was that his pacer's last name was "Walker". That just couldn't be a good sign. He ended up finishing 25 minutes behind Kami.

We hit a small aid station at around Mile 92, and then trudged along to the last "major" aid station, Polly's at Mile 95+. There, we had a mix-up relating to our headlamps, but in another example of the cooperative spirit of the sport, another runner's crew gave Kami his headlamp, while I waited for Tyson to get mine from the car. I traded my sunglasses for a headlamp and a flashlight, and had to pick up the pace substantially to catch back up to Kami. According to my watch, I ran about 7:00 flat pace to catch back up. I took it as a good sign that Kami was moving so well at that point.

Shortly after I caught back up to her, I felt myself fading. I had pain in my outer left foot, my hips were reaching their limit, and I envied the guys drinking beers and playing horseshoes more than words could say. Still, when - referring to the course record - Kami said, "It's going to be close," I told her to relax, stay steady and that the terrain would decide whether she'd get the record. We were going to run everything we could, controlling only what we could control. She asked for updates at each mile. I gave them to her.

We ran through a huge field, on the road, in the woods, up and down. At about mile 97.5, we passed the guy who was hanging glo-sticks on trees in the woods in order to guide the runners and riders who would be navigating those sections in the dark. I turned on my lights and tried to warn Kami about any rocks, roots or fallen trees.

At about Mile 98, we entered a small clearing and saw a magical sunset, riven with fiery pinks, purples and oranges. It was astonishing enough that when I pointed it out, Kami managed a "Pretty." Later that mile, as we went back into the woods, I saw a huge porcupine on the trail. I slowed down, warned Kami, and waited for the creature to give us some room. I waved Kami on, just as the bugger was coming back towards us, but we ran and did not look back.

We reached the "One Mile to Go" sign, and I almost cried with joy. However, we couldn't go on auto-pilot just yet. The sun was rapidly descending, and the glow of the Silver Meadow race HQ/finish line area was visible, but the course takes a final loop around the area, which often accounts for runners getting lost with less than a mile to go, requiring that they retrace their steps and get back on the course so as to finish "officially". One pacer told me later that his runner finished in 24:03 after losing 5 minutes to getting lost in this area. Fortunately, we did not veer off course.

With a quarter-mile to go, I pointed to Kami to run ahead of me. She said that I should run in next to her, so I fell in beside her, but slowed as I saw the finish line. Kami crossed a few steps before I did, and I came up next to her and made a grand bowing gesture, of the "I'm-Not-Worthy" variety. It was not theater; simply stated, I'm not.

Her final time: 16 hours, 42 minutes and 32 seconds, a new women's course record by 10 minutes, and an astonishing feat on a hot July day. The race had one of its lowest sub-30-hour finishing rates, with only 55% of the registered runners making it in time.

Post-Finish Reflections and Recollections

After the finish, I saw Nate, who offered warm congratulations. I was tired, and my foot and hips were screaming at me. I felt dehydrated and almost completely spent. Had the race been much longer, I suspect that Kami would likely have dropped me, as some friends and other runners figured she would do considerably earlier than that.

For her part, Kami was gracious as she was whisked away for photos and interviews. She forced some smiles (unlike me; see photo) and handled the mini-flurry of attention like the seasoned professional which she is. I sat on the ground wondering why and how anyone could actually pull of such an amazing feat of endurance. Days later, I'm still pondering that.

A few minutes after finishing, the collective attention of those gathered in the area turned towards the unmistakable sounds of a runner heaving. Perhaps inevitably, it set Kami off, who had her own such episode in rapid succession. After that, she, Tyson and I chatted for a bit, but she made it clear that she needed to get out of there, returning to their hotel so that she could shower and at least try to get some rest.

I gave Kami a package of Endurasoak to aid her recovery, and we agreed to see each other at the brunch and awards ceremony the next morning.

After lingering around for a bit, I got some food, which had almost miraculous restorative effects, chatted with other runners, pacers, volunteers, crew, spectators, etc. Everyone seemed to have an interesting story to tell, and of course almost everyone was rapt to hear about Kami's course record.

Shuffling back to my tent in the dark, dodging horse droppings all the while, I managed to towel off and change into dry clothes. I found my cooler with a few very good cold beers, which I ended up sharing with various random folks. I returned to the finish line area to watch others come in, though from 9-11 pm or so, more horses than runners arrived. I then made my way to my tent for the final time that night, and tried to get some sleep. My hip flexors would seized up each time I rolled over in a certain way, and the winds picked up intensely as a thunderstorm system passed through the area. It was not the most restful night.

I got up at around 7:00 and returned to the finish area to watch more people finish. I just clapped and whistled for each one, truly amazed and humbled by the accomplishment, whether it took them 16 or nearly 30 hours to cover the distance.

In terms of my own feelings about participating full-bore in such an epic test, I think that I know two things for sure: (1) I will almost certainly run my first official ultra-marathon next year, and (2) It will NOT be a 100-miler. Of course, I did inexplicably subscribe to Ultrarunner magazine within 24 hours of finishing, so maybe I'm already incurably infected with the ultra bug. Stay tuned.

Thanks for reading. -ESG

The Short and the Long of It

2010-07-12T10:28:00.000-04:00

Introductory Comments (aka, background whining)

Assuming there remain any "regular" readers, I should apologize for my lack of recent posting. Part of it is that things have been pretty busy, but mostly it's due to the running malaise in which I currently find myself.

There are a few things going on, but the main problem is that I just don't feel "right" in my running. My hips have been bothering me since before the Mount Washington debacle. And, last Thursday/Friday, my lower back started to hurt for no discernible reason. The most obvious reason for this problem is the fact that I have ditched my orthotic inserts in an effort to run "naturally", thinking/assuming/hoping that I could train myself out of needing whatever pronation-correction assistance those 2.2-ounce inserts provide. In terms of other possible contributing factors, I have wondered whether the high-mileage buildup to Boston, followed by running 3 marathons in 6 weeks has essentially hamstrung my ability to go back to training the way I would like.

Mini-Race Report (aka, "The Short")

On July 3rd, I ran a little 5K (<200 runners) in Mid-coast Maine. From past years' results, I might have had a chance to win it, if no one really fast showed up, and I was having a good day. This year, I pegged the eventual winner just from how he looked warming up, and figured it may be a race for second place.

I had a nice long warmup on the hilly course, as the morning went from coolish and cloudy to warm, muggy and sunny in a typical Maine instant. I changed into my "fast" shoes and lined up a couple of rows from the front. Incidentally, the entire race reflected the spirit of the $5 registration fee, so the start was confusing, the course turned out to be a bit long, and the awards ceremony a bit underwhelming.

Almost immediately, I found myself in the top 20 or so runners, trying to find my pace and dealing with the automatic cottonmouth reaction I have in 5K races. By the half-mile mark, I was likely in the top 10 and took a quick swig of water from the aid station. That was all I needed to eliminate that awful dry-mouth feeling.

As expected, the leader took off and put a lot of real estate between himself and the second wave of runners. When I saw him heading back after the turnaround, he was several hundred yards ahead of the second-place pack. I was a bit behind that pack, and decided at the turnaround to move up so that I could a chance at second place. I surged a bit, passed a couple of people on an uphill and then kept the second-place guy in my sights, with two other guys running stride-for-stride with me.

The rest of the race proved a frustrating exercise, as I worked my way up to third, but could not close the gap on the second-place guy (who, frustratingly did not look especially fit, nor did he look like he was working that hard, though he did look back a lot). The two guys near me and I kept trading places, and I'd pretty much resigned myself to being 4th with about a 0.25-mile to go. The guy behind then found another gear and blew past me and the third-place guy. I ended up 5th overall in 19:39 on my watch, with no age-group awards. Last mile was the fastest, and the final 0.17 came out to an average pace of 5:38. So, it was a decent effort, and my hips never locked up, though I did feel limited in terms of my turnover when I was fighting for a better place. Overall, though, I was satisfied.

Recent Training (aka, Slogging Through)

I followed the 5K with 12.25 hot hilly miles on July 4th, where the only notable incidents were the chafing by my CamelBak and the fact that some jerks in a pick-up truck slowed down to heckle me. I couldn't hear everything they said, but the phrase, "F-in' faggot" was pretty clear. I simply cannot understand what would cause anyone to hurl such hateful words at a person who's merely doing his own thing. It rattled me more than it should have, but I guess it's an unfortunate part of the rural running experience.

Last week, I managed 59 miles, but had trouble with any fast running. I had no choice but to adjust the schedule my coach provided:

Monday - 6M easy on the trails
Tuesday - 10M with 1.5M at tempo(-ish) pace; Heat index was over 100, so I did this run on the treadmill, which was awful in its own right
Wednesday - 8M easy, with 8x20 secs strides
Thursday - 7M easy
Friday - woke up with the sore/stiff back; did 6.6+M, instead of the 9M with 10x400 at 5K race pace
Saturday - 7+, mostly on tough, hilly, technical trails
Sunday - 14.5+ miles; supposed to do the last 4M at current marathon pace (about 7:05), but managed 7:20 pace for 1.5M before my whole hip area protested

A Vermont-100 Preview (aka, "The Long of It")

The next big running adventure on the calendar is this weekend's Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run. I signed up to be a volunteer pacer, meaning that I would be assigned to accompany a runner for the last 30 miles of the 100-mile undertaking. I'll post more about this separately, but suffice it to say that I now find myself assigned to an internationally accomplished female ultrarunner who's seeking to break the women's course record. In a flash of revelation, I went from fearing that I would be walking with someone for 8 or so hours, to fearing that I won't be able to keep up, despite my runner's 70-mile "head start". Oh well, we'll see how that goes. Regardless of what happens, it should be interesting, challenging, inspiring and a nice break from training and my own chronic running-related concerns.

Happy summer running, everyone. -ESG/Ron

I Came, I Saw, I Conked Out - Mt. Washington Road Race Report

2010-06-26T20:03:00.000-04:00

The Mount Washington Road Race has achieved cult-driven, quasi-mythic status among a select group of masochistic runners who wish to exert their will over the Northeast's highest peak. At 6,288 feet, the summit of Mount Washington's primary claim to fame has been as home of the world's worst - or at least most unpredictable - weather. The foot race traces the auto road for 7.6 miles, and, according to the official course description, "has an average grade of 11.5% with extended sections of 18%, and the last 50 yards is a 22%'wall'". The race begins, though, with a 300-meter downhill, just to make things appropriately perverse. It's such a popular undertaking, that thousands of people get shut out every year, thanks a lottery system which selects the 1000 lucky (?!) winners who get to slog their way up a course that slows the average entrant's running pace by 60%. I put off entering this race, in light of the comment I heard from a past participant, who told me long before I became a runner, "The first mile was the hardest thing I ever did. Then it just got worse." That description echoed in my mind for years before I took the chance and entered the race.

So, in 2010, I was one of those 1000 entrants, getting the opportunity to take part in the 50th running of the race. I had hoped to make my ascent within some semblance of respectability, perhaps in the low to mid-1:30's. I'd have been satisfied with anything under a 1:45. As with any and every race, I never considered that I might not make it to the top.

I had been feeling a certain sense of antipathy towards MTW. I did not alter training, my training, save for a single mountain run one week out. I climbed about 1500 feet in 3.5 miles and felt surprisingly comfortable doing so. I figured that while I had no reason to expect great things from myself, I would at least be able to sustain a half-marathon-type effort as I inched my way up the auto road.

It bears mention here that I've been feeling sort of "flat" since after Boston, and that I've endured a pervasive sense of hip tightness during attempts at fast running. This tightness coincides with recent efforts to shed the prescription orthotics which I've been wearing consistently since 2008. It's been frustrating to feel like I'm hindered by nothing more than a "range of motion" issue, rather than by running fitness, per se. More on that shortly.

The weekend started with a nice drive up to Jackson, NH with my friend Dan, a veteran of MTW and a great guy with whom to chat about running and life. We arrived at the epicenter of race weekend, the Eagle Mountain House, where we got our packets, shirts, etc. and mingled with some of the country's top mountain runners. We also watched the first set of inductees into the MTW Road Race Hall of Fame.

We got to my friends' Jim & Chris' wonderful mountainside home, and were treated to a delicious pasta dinner, good company and lots of positive pre-race talk. As the sun set over the mountains, including Mount Washington itself, which was visible from the house, I laid out my gear and prepared for the next day.

Dan and I left the house to meet another Jim and his girlfriend Lindsay, with whom we had orchestrated the labor-intensive and logistically complex "ride-down" process. We had breakfast, and then headed towards the base of the mountain. Linsday left us driving my car, and she planned to meet us at the top to drive us all down.

Many folks were concerned and thus complaining about the weather, as it was a very warm day. Even at 9:00 am, an hour before the start, it was above 80 degrees, though not particularly humid. I lingered around, did an easy mile warm-up run on the trails and got into race mode. I was more excited than nervous as we lined, and took my place about a quarter of the way into the assembled mass of humanity. As the announcer warned us about the volume of the imminent starting blast, most of us covered our ears. The boom came, and we were off.

I started out at what I'd describe as "fast training" pace, knowing that I could not risk redlining early in this race. I had decided not to look at pace, time or distance, setting my watch instead to the heart rate display screen, and seeking to keep my heart rate in the 170-172 bpm range (which corresponds approximately to my half-marathon heart rate).

The first mile went fine. I stayed steady, watched my HR climb steadily and tried to get into a steady rhythm, a common piece of advice from mountain veterans. I thought I was accomplishing that, but somewhere in the middle of the second mile, I felt that all-too-familiar hip "lock-down" sensation. It's tough to put into words, but it's like the ligaments and tendons connecting my thighs to my hips have rusted, so that they move slowly. It doesn't cause pain exactly, just an unshakable sense of tightness that makes it nearly impossible to keep up my leg turnover. I've experience in road races before, but when it happens on a relatively flat surface I can slow down and usually work through it.

As I approached the end of the second mile, I broke my "don't-walk-'til-tree-line" vow. As I walked in an effort to collect myself, I realized that the tightness was only worsening. I tried running again. No dice.

I ran and walked until about the 2.5 mile mark, and then realized that the steep pitch was too unforgiving, and that the best I could hope for was a seemingly interminable 5+-mile shuffle to the summit. Deciding that wasn't what I'd registered for, I did something extremely tough for me: I stopped and dropped out.

I ripped my singlet off in disgust and started the walk of shame down the mountain, while the bulk of the field still worked its way up the mountain. I happened to see Dan, and then Jim so they'd know not to wait for me at the top. As Dan went by, I actually had a momentary change of heart, and decided to chase after him, to see if he could somehow pull me to the top. He never heard me, and I didn't catch him. As it turned out, though, he was hurting himself, and pretty much shut it down shortly after I saw him and walked to the summit.

When I reached the bottom, I wallowed for a bit before going for an easy run on the trails. Even slight uphills were bothersome, so I finally just packed it in for the day, disappointed with myself.

I sat under the big tent, out of the scorching sun, talking to a couple of other wounded warriors. Lots of people succumbed to the heat. I couldn't help but feel like I fell prey to a lack of internal fortitude.

It was particularly frustrating to have this attempted conquest linger as unfinished, since I'd planned to run it once, wear the shirt as a badge of honor and simply check this ridiculous pursuit off "the list". Now, of course, I have to head back next year, though my friend Jim, who's run the race about 17 times (and who ran quite well last Saturday), is plotting an unofficial run later this summer. If I can get to the top on my own two feet, I'll likely consider that "close enough" and move on to other, less harshly vertical, challenges.

As a postscript to the disappointment of MTW, I have sought the help of a new chiropractor, one certified in Active Release Techniques, aka, ART. Many runner friends swear by the painful sessions, and - after two such torture treatments to date - they've not exaggerated the pain part of the process. I'm waiting on the gain.

In other brief running news, I have formally hired a coach to get me to Chicago, and have volunteered to be a pacer at the Vermont-100. More on those two topics later.

Thanks for reading. -ESG

A Better Pacer than a Racer?

2010-06-02T12:17:00.000-04:00

Having enjoyed my first pacing experience a great deal last fall, I soon looked at other such opportunities for this spring. I exchanged e-mail messages with the Keybank Vermont City Marathon Pace Leader Coordinator, and my expression of interest became an invitation, which became an idea, then a plan, and - finally - a firm commitment. Of course, I had not thought things through in terms of how I might feel after Boston 2 Big Sur . . .but, hey, sometimes planning is overrated.

I had thought of heading up to Burlington alone, find a cheap place to crash for the night, run the race and come back. However, when the kids heard that I was returning as a pacer, they begged to come with me, since they'd had an amazing time (which was not exactly my experience, at least not during the race) in Burlington in 2008. As it turned out, my wife had to work, so I took the kids and our baby-sitter to Burlington for the weekend.

We left home on Friday mid-afternoon for the almost-3-hour drive to Burlington, and I scrambled to get all the kids' stuff together for the weekend. This is a key piece of information, because it led to my forgetting my custom orthotics at home, a realization which caused me considerable angst when I unpacked my things at our hotel on Friday evening.

SATURDAY AT THE EXPO

Saturday's plans involved my hitting the Expo and hanging out at the Skirack booth for a couple of hours so that prospective 3:40 "pacees" could ask questions. A few did, but I filled my time in a couple of ways. I chatted up Endurasoak, an amazing recovery bath soak made by Oasis Recovery Systems (in the interest of full disclosure - it looks like I'll be working with the company). I "test drove" some Aline inserts to address the orthotics issue. They felt a bit odd by mile 3 of an easy run, so, after much agonizing about whether to run in untested over-the-counter orthotics (what's that maxim about "Don't try anything on race day"?), I went over to the Structural Management booth, where I spoke with Dr. Tim Maggs about taping my feet, and where I met U.S. running legend Greg Meyer (see pic above). Greg won the 1983 Boston Marathon, the last American to do so. After Dr. Maggs graciously (and without charge) taped my feet, I asked Greg if we could get a picture. He graciously put his hand behind my back, only to proclaim, "This guy's still damp", as a good Samaritan snapped a couple of shots with my phone. I made a sort of lewd remark, and he laughed and sent me on my way. Nice guy, not at all full of himself, and completely accepting that his running days essentially ended 13 years ago after moving a piano for his ex-in-laws.

During the expo, I also had an "It's-a-small-world" moment with a Mizuno rep who was working at the Skirack booth. He and I had a few mutual running friends and I helped hook my new running coach up with his fall relay team. Cue the theme songs and the dancing international dolls.

On Saturday evening, we ended up having dinner at Troy's lovely Burlington home. I'd "met" him via RWOL friends who post on Facebook, too. It was nice to put social media to good use for a change. Troy graciously invited my whole gang to his pre-race pasta feed, where we also met other RWOL posters and made new running friends. We all discussed our goals, our most recent races, our injuries (if applicable), etc., but mostly, we ATE. We brought a peanut butter pie (becoming a tradition before my "fun run" marathons) which was one of the best things I've ever eaten. Ever. Troy captured the image for posterity.

As you can see from the pic to the right, I was wicked stylin' in my taped Vibram Five Finger-sporting tootsies. Didn't matter as I tucked into that pie, though.

So, after letting the kids take a swim back at the hotel, we all turned in, me with bright blue kinesio-tape holding my feet and my psyche together.

I drank Gatorade, ate pretzels and watched soccer and track on the TV before dozing off sometime around 11:00 p.m.

RACE DAY/PACE DAY

After another fitful pre-race sleep, it was nearing 5:00 am, and I was up. I ate some food in my room, then in the lobby and then went to Starbucks for some coffee. I arrived at 5:55, and the baristas watched me pacing (already with the pacing) outside before unlocking the door at 6:01 a.m.

I ordered my Venti Gold Coast and returned to the hotel. I got my final things together and made it to the first shuttle bus pickup, so that I could settle in and answer more questions from nervous runners. Being one myself not that long ago (like, in April), it was mostly a joy, though the kooky, insidpid, uber-obvious questions did also flow.

As I wandered around Battery Park, I heard my name. It was BetJet from RWOL, seeking her redemption BQ attempt after succumbing to the heat a few weeks back. We chatted and I wished her well, thinking I'd likely see her on the course. Then, I met a friend of a local running friend, who was looking for me just to say hi. From there, I did my bathroom business, and just took in the scene, which is one of my favorite things about marathons: the bubbling cauldron of nervous energy and anticipation which is the starting area.

At one point, two women stopped in my path. One came over to my side; the other snapped a couple of pictures. The one next to me smiled sheepishly and said apologetically, "I'm just soooooo excited." It was quite cute actually, and made me feel like a B-list (okay, C-list) rock star for a short while. I later commented that the real hallmark of success is the photo with the pacer after the race.

More people asked me questions, about pacing and myriad other things. With mixed success, I tried to curtail my wise-guy replies. Some folks made that damn-near impossible.

As the start time grew near, I actually used my newly-discovered Pace Leader influence to cut the long bathroom lines, since I needed to mill about near the actual starting line long enough so that people could find me. Yes, it's true: power corrupts. ;-)

With the start inching closer, I made my way to the starting area, waving my sign for all to see. A group started to form, with a number of people introducing themselves, asking (more) questions, and simply biding their time until the speeches, music and other fanfare passed. The wheelchair runners were off at 8:00 am, and the runners followed about 4 minutes later.

About 45 seconds after the starting gun, our group was across the line. I was now pacing a marathon for the second time in my running life, and - quite honestly - did not know what to expect.

Miles 1-6

1-8:43
2-8:08
3 8:12
4 8:05
5-6 15:57

The course makes it a tad challenging to find a rhythm in the early going. The combination of the crowd, an uphill first mile and several turns meant that I knew it'd be a slow mile. I'd hoped to be behind by 15 seconds, but it was closer to 20. I tried to head off any concerns by telling the group that we were exactly where I'd hoped we'd be (the first of numerous little white lies I'd spout throughout the day). After the first mile, I settled into a groove, but I could feel myself running too fast. I'd cruise along for a bit, check the "average lap pace" and realize I was anywhere from 10-20+ seconds ahead of the goal 8:23 pace.

That said, I also knew that the second half had the biggest, longest hill on the course, and that it was pretty muggy and getting warmer. In other words, it was a strategic decision to put a little bit of time "in the bank". I only hoped not to burn anyone out, but the fact is that a pacer can't run the ideal race for every single aspiring "pacee". So, I did the best I could.

Mile 7-Half

7-8:20
8-8:26
9-8:23
10-8:24

10-mile split - 1:22:43
11-8:23
12-8:28
13-8:24
HALF - 1:48:51

By mile 7, I seem to have found the pace groove. There's a nice group around me, we're joking, everyone is in good spirits. There's a triathlete running his first marathon, who's clearly a wise guy. I was worried that he was talking too much, too soon. Same thing with a young Canadian guy who'd cornered me before the start. When he was high-fiving the crowd in the early stages, I was not encouraged. By mile 7, he'd fallen well behind us.

I encouraged those around me drink early and often, as I can tell it's deceptively humid and muggy. There's an unattractive highway out and back part of the course,which does yield one benefit for mid-pack runners: it allows us to see the leaders as they hammer their way along the course. We cheered, continued to crack wise and focused. Then we took a long but not too steep uphill back into town, and the group seemed to be holding together. Some folks would drift away and come back. The picture below may have been taken at around Mile 8, and appeared in the Burlington Free Press (at least online) on Monday. Good thing I have the sign, or you might not know it was me.

At some point, RWOL forumate BetJet showed up alongside me, offering a cheerfully warm greeting. Not long after, I noticed an ache developing in my left foot. It got worse for a while, then just leveled off. I warned the group at about Mile 10 that if it worsened, I'd have to drop out, since I couldn't risk fading and ruining their race. I tried to alter my gait just enough to minimize the pain (on the outside of my left foot), and of course I wondered if it was due to running sans orthotics.

After a couple of miles, I just kept going, with the foot no better and no worse, and we hit the halfway point almost exactly where I'd hoped we would be, with an official split of 1:48:51. So far, so good.

Miles 14-20

14-8:28
15-8:25
16-8:38
17-18 16:57
19 8:17
20 8:20

20-mile split 2:47:06

After a stretch near Lake Champlain and some beautiful homes (one fellow runner said, "You'd think they at least have the help out cheering for us."), we headed back towards the start/finish area along a congested bike path. The pace seems to be just about right, and we prepare for the "Assault on Battery", with Taiko drummers and large crowds cheering us up the long hill. I try to stay smooth and relaxed, reminding the troops to "run tall". I can sense the group thinning behind me.

After Battery, we run north towards another winding neighborhood. There are some slight hills, but regardless of the terrain, this is the toughest stretch of a marathon: a lot of ground covered; a lot yet left before the finish. It's time to focus and help these folks meet their goals.

Miles 21-Finish

21-22 17:22
23 8:18
24 8:30
25 8:19
26 8:11
0.2 1:47

The foot was achy, the group had thinned (with some runners having gone ahead), and stomach woes were percolating. A stalwart of a runner named Mike, early 50's from the Albany area, was running stride for stride with me, and - most importantly - was able to keep talking comfortably (a sign that we wasn't working too hard). So, at the end of Mile 20, I handed him my pacer sign and hit a port-a-potty. I took care of business, loosened my left shoe a bit, and then take off to catch back up, running about 7:00/mile pace to do it (which, interestingly, didn't feel any worse than 8:25+/-).

I caught the group, saw my friend Joe's girlfriend Kim struggling a bit, and tapped her on the shoulder to offer a word of encouragement.

Mike stuck with me, and I urged him to go if he felt good. As a result of giving back some time with the pit stop, I started to get a little nervous about cutting it too close, so upon hitting the 24-mile marker, I stepped it up just a bit and got back under pace. At the Mile 25 marker, I called out to anyone within earshot that we have 15 seconds to spare, and I sped up again. Vermont has a very cool results interface that provides data not usually found in the marathon results page. One interesting statistic is that in the final 6 miles, I passed 100 runners, while 14 passed me. Sounds about right for a pacer.

Finally, as we enter the park, I tried to get the crowd into it. I waved the sign and pumped my arms. At Mile 26, I slowed down to a jog, continued to work the crowd and tried to "pull" anyone in the vicinity across the line in under 3:40. I see the clock turn past 3:40, but I know we're under. I let a mini-wave of runners go by me, and I cruise across the finish line in 3:39:35 chip time (overall average pace 8:23). As an aside, that 9 minutes faster than when I "raced" the same course 2 years earlier. Other than my foot hurting and just wanting to drink lots of cool liquids, I felt pretty good.

POST-FINISH

Overall, Vermont City is a very well-organized race, but one criticism I would offer is that the finishing area is not well laid-out. Immediately after crossing the line, things get compressed quickly. The food lines don't move very quickly, and there's no obvious place to sit or get some rest. I had trouble finding my drop bag, which delayed being able to find the kids, since I needed my phone to contact them.

So, I milled about a bit, and enjoyed talking to a few people. I saw some folks I know. Others came up and thanked me for pacing, including one emotional young woman who started crying, repeating "I can't believe I did it" over and over. I know the feeling and congratulated her, noting that her tears were a clear sign of proper mid-race hydration. A couple more people found me, including one woman who'd gone ahead of the group after about Mile 10, running 3:33:xx. She gave me a VERY warm hug and kiss.

Finally, the kids found me, and the sun was beating down. We all had smoothies and gathered ourselves to check out of the hotel and head home. Before we could leave, though, a tan, lean older man started talking to our babysitter. We weren't sure what he was saying at first, but it turns out that he had just run his marathon in 3:58, at AGE 73. We chatted in a combination of English and my awful French for a bit, and I learned that his name is Albert Miclette, and that he holds virtually every Canadian 60+ age-group distance record, including 100 miles. Mr. Miclette runs between 70 and 135 miles per week when training, and says that he's never injured. Those are the types of people who inspire me to push harder and to enjoy every minute of being able to propel myself through this world on the power of my own two feet. Oh yeah, he won his age group. ;-)

One we returned to the hotel, I took a long soak in Endurasoak while sipping an intense local smoked double porter micro-brew. That was nice. The drive home was relatively easy, and the feeling of stepping outside of the bubble of self-absorption which is the usual training/racing routine was very satisfying. I hope to continue to pace one or two events a year, while still pursuing my own marathon (and beyond?) goals.

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Seemed Like Good Idea at the Time: A Big Sur Race "Review"

2010-05-24T14:05:00.001-04:00

As I begin my second race recap of the week (but posted quite belatedly, as you can see), I was thinking that since the second leg of the Boston 2 Big Sur Challenge was not really a “race” for me, it did not warrant a traditional “race report”. Instead, befitting the higher brow nature of Monterey and its surroundings, this write-up will be a “Race Review”. For those who must know the numbers, I finished the 2010 Big Sur International Marathon in 3:51:xx. So far, I’ve raised a little over $3,000 for the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation.

Big Sur was the culmination of a long period of anticipation, planning and – of course – training, dating back to last September when the BSIM organizers promoted the idea. I’m not sure how or why I thought it would be advisable to do two marathons a mere six days apart, but I jumped on the B2BS Bandwagon before you could say “inadequate recovery time”.

What follows are some areas of “review” of the BSIM experience.

PRE-RACE EXPO

It’s almost unfair to judge any pre-race expo right after Boston, which may be the king of such events. Big Sur had the basic race-related fare, plus some bonuses such as Vibram Five Fingers. Also, I actually met the owners of RaceReady, makers of my favorite marathon shorts (with highly functional/versatile mesh pockets). Steve got stuck in traffic, so I was able to play a voice mail he’d left me for one of the volunteers in order to be allowed to pick up his race packet and Bib #.

Overall, a decent little Expo, with a fair number of tasty samples, including Clif's new "Shot Rox", delicious protein-packed malted milk ball-style spheres. All the race-related volunteers were very kind and helpful.

RACE WEEKEND DINING

Regardless of what any distance runner says, a HUGE part of becoming a passionate devotee of the sport is the fact that we can eat and drink with relative impunity (well, at least in terms of weight gain). So, it was a pleasure to be in an area with excellent restaurants, and to be there with fellow running friends who like to eat.

I basically ate my way from my arrival to the race (and afterwords, as you'll see below). I met online running pal RunningRadi at Steelhead Brewing Company near SFO airport right after touching down on Friday. On Saturday night, I met my friends/budding business associates Amy and Bryan at Fishwife, where I indulged in Mojitos and the delicious Caribbean bowl pictured below:

On Saturday, the Reeve Foundation treated us to a thank-you brunch at First Awakenings, where I had what may have been the best pancakes ever, a couple of huge raspberry/coconut/granola beauties accompanied by turkey sausage.

Saturday night's dinner involved meeting up with a whole crew of Boston 2 Big Sur kooks at English Ales, a brew pub in neighboring Marina, a bit removed from the Monterey marathon crowds. The bitter ales were delicious; the food, not so much.

PRE-RACE LOGISTICS

A point-to-point race along a coastal highway is going to require that runners leave early. In our case, Steve and I had to awaken at 3:30 in order to make our 4:15 pick-up. Within that window occurred one of the more surreal moments of the day, aka, the Starbucks Drive-Thru Conundrum.

The hotel where my friend Steve and I stayed was kitty-corner from a Starbucks. I'm not generally a national chain patronizing kind of guy, but I like Starbucks' coffee and I think they are less evil than many mega-corps. So, wondering how I might get my mandatory pre-race caffeine fix, I actually called the Starbucks on Saturday night to ask what time they would open on Sunday. Lo and behold, the assistant manager tells me that they'll be open at 4am because of the marathon. Yippee!! We're all set. So, with a 4:30 bus departure in mind, Steve and I walked over to Starbucks a minute after 4:00. The doors were locked, but there were baristas inside.

A guy leaning against a car in the parking lot yelled to us that the Drive-Thru window was open. So, we walk over to the Drive-Thru, looking like escaped mental patients who might be hallucinating a car, only to be resoundingly rebuffed by the German-accented Starbucks employee. She shut us down completely, until our friend with the car, Orlando, drove around and ordered our coffees. More runners had arrived by this point, and we would pass Orlando money from the passenger's side window, which he'd give to the coffee Nazi inside. She would hand him change and the drinks, which he'd pass back through to us. A farcical exercise in hyper-technical, illogical corporate rules enforcement. Might have made a tad more sense to unlock the doors!

SETTING/COURSE

Hands-down the most beautiful road marathon course one could imagine. Every bend in the road yields another glorious panorama, on a route marked by the ocean, mountains, rocky cliffs, lush green fields . . . all served up on a perfectly clear and relatively calm day (there was very little wind). Add in the goofy mile markers, with silly images and funny inspirational messages, and you get a fantastic course. The course beauty is a good thing, given that there is very little crowd support; still, the volunteers were excellent and the aid stations well-run and plentifully-stocked .

Some assorted views:

RUNNING COMPANY

I could not have asked for a more fun, positive, quick-witted group of running companions. Steve, Amy and James made it a joy to be pounding my still-tender body for a second 26.2 miles in less than a week. It was also fun to be running “easy”, such that chatting up complete strangers was very manageable, and rewarding. We talked to the drunk guys; a guy with a bizarre Mohawk; old guys; young women; brightly dressed runners; some who were loving life; some who were hurting. A pleasantly different take on the customary race experience.

HOSPITALITY OF LOCAL HOST

The only thing more impressive than the location/design/décor of our host James’ awesome Pebble Beach home was the warm welcome extended by all four members of his family, plus the two loving (albeit incurably crotch-sniffing) dogs.

The pre-race group run – a painful 4 miles – was a nice introduction to the scene, but the main event at Casa James was the pizza and beer fest after the marathon. We were treated to the freshest, best tasting pizza napolitana I’d ever sampled, expertly made in his authentic outdoor brick oven (made and designed by his own company).

Add an enormous Reeses’ Peanut Butter Cup cake to the mix, and we had all the makings of a splendiferous post-race celebration.

HOSPITALITY OF PRESUMED CELEBRITY RUNNER HOST

A certain uber-running author/celebrity was the nominal host of the Boston 2 Big Sur Challenge. Apparently, however, when one reaches a certain level of renown, one loses the ability to have an authentic human interaction, instead relying on a few phrases to be employed whether context allows for them or not. To be clear, I found “Ultramarathon Man” to be a good read, inspiring and motivational for a budding distance runner. However, the “50/50/50” follow-up, turning what should have been an amazing adventure into a media circus and supposed training manual, was – in a word – lame.

RACE-RELATED SCHWAG

The Boston 2 Big Sur Challenge resulted in a couple of extra pieces of race-related schwag, including an extra clay/ceramic medal and a custom Asics fleece jacket commemorating the experience. Love the medals; like the jacket.

CONCLUSION

When asked about this latest running silliness, I've replied simply, "I'm glad I did it and I'm glad it's done." Of the 497 months which I've lived on this Earth, April was probably the most physically and emotionally draining of them all.

I think that next year's fundraising endurance stunt will need to involve a single ultra-distance. I'm thinking (just thinking) about entering a 100K ultra, and adding 8 miles before the start in order to get to 70 miles, since my father would have been 70 in April 2011. Maybe the American Lung Association will benefit from the effort. At this point, though, honestly, I just don't know.

Prepared for the Hills, but not for the Heartbreak: A Debut Boston Race Report

2010-04-26T12:37:00.004-04:00

All right, as I’ve done in the past, I will spare my faithful followers the need to wade through umpteen pages of self-absorbed prologue in order to find out the only thing anyone else would find worth knowing: I finished the 114th Boston Marathon in 3:20:41, barely re-qualifying for next year and completely botching my first attempt on the world’s most historic marathon course.

Here are the splits:

1 7:31

2 7:03

3 7:02

4 7:00

5 7:09

6 7:00

7+8 14:13 (missed a mile marker)

9 7:02

10 7:06

11 7:10

12 7:04

13 7:12

HALF 1:33:24
14 7:12

15 7:29

16 7:16

17 7:46

18 7:53

19 7:47

20 8:13 (cramp!)

21 8:55

22 8:30

23 8:50

24 8:55

25 9:00

26 8:28

26.2 1:40

The full story follows.

INTRODUCTION

On Monday, April 19, 2010, the 15th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombings and what would have been Adolf Hitler's 121st Birthday, I was fortunate enough to be one of 26,000+ participants in the 114th Boston Marathon. It was the culmination of a journey that started with an offhand remark at my 30th birthday in 1998, which led me to take up distance running in 2006, qualifying for Boston in May 2009. The Boston Marathon is not just a race. For me - and many, many others - it's an "event", an experience largely unparalleled in the world of participatory sports. The Boston Marathon makes dedicated recreational runners feel like superstars for a day. For me, it was a very special weekend, though the joy I'd hoped to feel was tempered by my father's death exactly two weeks before the race. Nonetheless, I mostly relished the experience.

THE EXPO

Big city marathons all begin with a major Expo, where exhibitors set up displays, ranging from the massive apparel/shoe sponsor (in this case, Adidas) to more offbeat products like "energy-balancing" bracelets and customized mp3 ear buds. There's also food, free samples, and running celebrities. As an avowed and incurable gear-head, I tried to restrain myself at the Expo, and managed to do so pretty well. I got the kids t-shirts, bought a couple of things that were a great deal (like 2 pair of Sof-Sole socks for $5) and got my picture taken with three running celebrities, each of whom is know for something very different.

I first ran into Antonio Vega, sponsored Mizuno athlete and current U.S. Half-Marathon Champion. I only learned later that his father is a native of Chile. Antonio will be making waves in U.s. distance running for the foreseeable future, as evidenced by his 2:13 Boston Marathon debut (and new PR).

Then, I met up with the "Mayor of Running", Runner's World's Chief Running Officer Bart Yasso. We chatted briefly, and then I went on to meet a true legend.

Roger Robinson is far and away my favorite running writer. He covers the history of the sport with unparalleled knowledge and is a fantastic writer to boot. He also happens to be married to Kathrine Switzer, the first woman to run Boston with an official bib number, a true pioneer of women's running and athletics in general. Roger was an elite runner for 30 years, but really distinguished himself as a Master's Runner, including a shocking 2:18:44 personal marathon best at age 41. We chatted for a while, and though I kept trying to leave graciously so as not to monopolize his time, he kept pulling me back and regaling me with just one more story. I enjoyed every second of our conversation, the highlight of the Expo for me.

I made sure to pick up the Adidas race posters (which have the name of every registered runner embossed on them), and made my way home for a dinner party my wife was throwing.

The weekend was off to a good start.

THE 3:20 THREAD IN THE FLESH

After taking it easy and spending time with my kids on Saturday, I had the pleasure of hosting many of the regular posters to the Runner's World Online Marathon Race Training Sub-3:20 thread. It's an eclectic group of men and women who've developed an amazingly close bond in pursuit of marathon improvement. The group boasts people from different parts of the country (albeit with Texas being over-represented), different professions, different sexual orientations and different athletic abilities. Yet, running brings everyone together, gives us all something to talk about and bridges cultural, religious, education and political gaps like a magic balm.

We had a great lunch, laughing and getting ready for the race. Afterwords, I left with one of the group members to spend the night at the house he rented in Boston.

After eating a big pasta dinner, I ended up coughing myself to sleep, waking up every couple of hours.

PRE-RACE

The alarm went off at 4:45 am, a harsh awakening for a 10:00 am race start, but such is the scheduling of point-to-point races where runners have to be bussed out to the start. Steve, Nick and I got our things ready, waited for Kevin to join us, and made our way to Boston Common to board the buses to Hopkinton. Things went fine, the crowds moved quickly, and soon we were among the convoy of school buses slated to deliver us to the Athletes' Village, being transported in a bus nicknamed, "The Green Turtle". Not exactly the image a racing marathoner might choose, but that's what we got.

Mingling among the runner masses in the Athlete's Village was a highlight of weekend, finding and chatting with friends real and virtual, old and new. A few of us laid out a couple of tarps and we just talked and laughed until it was time to get ready. I donned my nearly-Day-Glo orange regalia, applied BodyGlide, ate and drank my fuel and headed for the start corrals. It was cool enough to make it tough to decide what to wear at the start, but I opted to leave my layers behind.

En route to the corral, I made one final bathroom stop, and was in line when the military jets made their customary flyover. That last bit of business having been taken of, and it was off to the start corral.

THE EARLY MILES

Though I did not declare a public "A" goal for this marathon (a good thing, as it turned out), I had hoped to run 3:03 (aka, 6:59 pace) if everything went well, but - more realistically - 3:05:xx. My next goal was to come in under 3:10, and my third goal was to run a new PR. I figured that my training rendered these very reasonable goals.

I arrived at Corral #7 with less than 5 minutes to go before the gun went off. I found a spot in the corral, asked loudly whether anyone else was looking to run 2:45 with me, and then waited for the announcer to let us know that we were soon up.

The gun cracked in the distance, and – about 6 minutes later – I was actually off and running in my first Boston Marathon. Having lost my pace band in the Athlete’s Village, I decided that I would let the sizable pack of runners around me dictate the first mile pace. I consciously tried to stay smooth and relaxed, not over-running the first major downhill, until I felt like I found a rhythm. That feeling did not come quickly or easily, and the first mile passed in 7:31.

I waited for things to open up, for the running crowd to dissipate a bit, but that didn’t happen, at least not for a good long while. I increased my effort slightly, and started looking for openings in order to go in between more conservatively pacing runners. I settled into a low-7:00 pace, ticking off miles of 7:03 and 7:02, at what seemed like a reasonable effort.

At the Mile 3 mark, I decided to check my heart rate to see how hard I was working. As I touched the bezel on my Garmin in order to toggle to the heart rate display, I realized that – in an uncharacteristically boneheaded move – I had forgotten to put on the heart rate monitor strap. I later compared this flub to a woman forgetting to put on her bra before running (though, as my wife pointed out, such a woman might notice before running 3 miles). So, as a person who’s used to having regular HR feedback during a run, I was now flying blind in that department. I told myself not to panic, just to remain smooth and steady, using the downhills and staying focused on the task at hand.

I was enjoying myself, dividing my attention between the runners ahead and the spectators on either side of me. I took an occasional pull from my Gatorade bottle. Everything seemed just fine, as I continued to marvel at the fact that I was really, truly running the Boston Marathon.
Somewhere around Mile 5, I saw what looked like an overgrown Smurf come tearing out from the woods to my left. I did not recognize the person wearing baggy full-length blue coveralls as a runner. The screams of “Go Mario!” and “Hey, it’s Mario”, as well as the fact that the guy paused briefly to adjust his fake mustache gave away that I was running with someone in costume. People seemed to enjoy the display, though I found it a tad disrespectful.

The next few miles clicked by, as follows: Mile 4 in 7:00, Mile 5 in 7:09, Mile 6 in 7:00, and I passed the the 10K mark at 44:20.

I soon tossed my Gatorade bottle along the ground towards a garbage can, apologizing to the spectators as I did. I was preparing to take my first gel at Mile 7, and had accomplished my aim of not slowing down for the early, more heavily congested aid stations. I pulled out a Gu Roctane Blueberry/Pomegranate and prepared to suck it down. It went down easily enough, and I drank a full cup of water afterwards. The mile splits were looking good, I was feeling fine and I was looking forward to seeing what the day would bring. Miles 7 and 8 (I missed the 8-mile marker) totaled 14:13 and Mile 9 was 7:02.

Around Mile 10, I saw a running acquaintance who I know from the Y, who’d started a corral or two ahead of me. We chatted briefly, discussing how we felt and what pace we seemed to be holding, and then said goodbye as we went our separate ways. I was drinking every other mile, alternating between Gatorade and water. When I crossed the timing mat at Mile 10, I heard the loud beep which made me think about friends and family who’d said that they would be tracking me online during the race. I was pleased to be running strong at that point, and thought about how all the hard training was paying off then and there. I covered Mile 10 in 7:06.

THE MIDDLE MILES

Miles 11 and 12 (7:10 & 7:04) were largely uneventful. My nervous, excited anticipation grew as we approached Wellesley and the famed “Scream Tunnel”. Thousand of college-aged women stand on the right, holding signs (e.g., “I majored in kissing”, “I won’t tell your wife”, etc.), cheering and screaming their heads off. One tradition which has grown out of the women’s presence is to “Kiss a Wellesley Girl”. I had thought about whether I would participate, and decided that I’d only have one first Boston, so I should make the most of it. I worked my way over towards the women, and put my, sweaty, unshaven cheek out while slowing down. They did not exactly appear to be fighting over who would get the honor, until one Indian-looking woman puckered up and planted a light kiss on my right cheek. I smiled and moved on.

I hit the half-way mark at 1:33:24 (Mile 13 in 7:12), feeling good about where I was and how my body seemed to be faring. I could feel my feet starting to take a beating (was it a mistake to race in the 7.5 oz. Mizuno Wave Ronins?), but overall, things were looking good. I figured that I could give up 3 minutes in the second half and still break 3:10, which I would have considered an excellent Boston debut.

Gel #2 came out at Mile 14, and I slowed to a walk at the aid station so that I would get every drop of water down my throat, lest I repeat the mistakes of my last half-marathon which landed me in a port-a-potty and blew my chance for a PR. For some inexplicable reason, though I ran Mile 14 in 7:12, things got harder not long after that.

I felt my effort level increase, and realized that I was bleeding time, covering Mile 15 in 7:29. I told myself that the lapse was mental, and thus focused and regrouped, so that in Mile 16 I got back roughly on pace, clocking 7:16 . That revival was short-lived though, with Mile 17 passing in 7:46, so I thought about my strategy, in particular as it would bear upon my number one goal: to finish strong at Boston. That change led me to decide to back off the pace in the hills, then speed up again after cresting Heartbreak, adjusting my goal yet again, yielding maybe a 5-minute PR.

The hills were tough, but I felt that the effort I expended was about right, with Miles 18-21 ending up as follows: 18-7:53 , 19-7:47, 20-8:13, 21-8:55. I missed the statute of John A. Kelly and didn’t really know when I’d reached Heartbreak, but did hear the voices yelling that we had just crested it somewhere after Mile 20. Although things were tough and my goals required a few on-the-fly adjustments, I was convinced that a strong finish still lay ahead. After all, I'd trained for that, and it was time to put the training to work.

HEARTBREAK HILL & BEYOND: AKA, WHERE THE REAL HEARTBREAK HITS

After Heartbreak came the moment that would determine what kind of debut I would have in Boston. My feet hurt, and my hips felt fatigued (that hard-to-describe “tightness”, which I had not experienced in training, was back). Still, I figured that with all the miles I’d run in the buildup to this race, I should have plenty of strength to carry me through to the end. Unfortunately, though, it was not to be.

No sooner had I tried to drop the pace hammer than my left hamstring cramped violently. I hobbled off to the left side of the road, thinking that this could be the end of the day. I put my left foot on the curb, stretched and started running again. Several times I tried to step it up; each time my hamstring said, “Don’t think so, hotshot”. The point was non-negotiable.

And, in what seemed like an instant (but which was obviously a culmination of many factors, starting weeks before the race), my dreams of Boston glory evaporated. I was sentenced to hobbling along at what felt like a crawl, 8:30-8:45/mile pace. Even at the slower speed, every few steps led my left leg to buckle a bit as my hamstring twinged. My feet went from being achy to being acutely painful, and I felt blisters on each foot (neither of which was an issue in the same shoes and socks throughout training).

Somewhere in Mile 22, I believe, I started to do the math, and realized that I was now in “Fallback/Everything’s-Gone-to-Hell/Goal-C” mode. In other words, I was in danger of failing to re-qualify for the 2011 Boston Marathon. With that unattractive prospect now at the forefront of my semi-delirious consciousness, I went into a survival mode. I would occasionally test the leg to see if a faster pace was available, only to be rebuffed each time by the hamstring. I was tired, and hurting, and in danger of giving up on myself, sensing with each passing step that any chance of re-qualifying had gone up in smoke.

Suffice it to say that the last few miles of a marathon do not constitute the ideal laboratory to put one’s math skills to the test (especially when those skills may be suspect even on a good day) . But I kept looking at my watch, thinking about how much time I had left, converting (well, trying) to kilometers, counting backwards from 3:20. As each mile and kilometer marker ticked off, the approaching finish line also represented a painful reality: was not going to break 3:20. Mile 22 went by in 8:30 ; 23 in 8:50 ; 24 in 8:55 and 25 in 8:28.

Finally, we’d made the last two quick turns, and I was trudging (think of the exact opposite of “gliding effortlessly”) down Boylston Street. The crowd roared; the Finish Line in all its splendor loomed in the distance. I passed the 26-Mile mark, and looked at my watch: I’m not going to make it. Still, I decided that I had not suffered for the last hour-plus to fritter away my chances to re-qualify by giving up then. So I “pushed” it, somehow getting back to a 7:00-ish/mile pace, covering the final 0.2 miles in 1:40. I crossed the line with every fiber of my hips and legs threatening to seize up completely. I fumbled with the buttons on my watch. I eyed a couple of runners in wheelchairs with nauseated envy.

I finished my first Boston Marathon in an official time of 3:20:41, re-qualifying for next year thanks to the BAA’s generous 59-second grace period. The 18 seconds to spare means that I used 99.8% of my allotted re-qualification time. How’s that for cutting it close?

AFTER THE FINISH

For all the grandiose splendor of Boston, the post-finish was underwhelming. While I understand the need to keep runners moving at the end, things seemed spread very far apart. In addition, the Nissan lunch bag with a couple of modest munchies was less impressive than what most 5Ks offer in terms of post-race grub. I was shuffling along, on the far edge of going into a full body cramp, and I had to find my gear bus, then backtrack to change into dry clothes in a tiny dark tent. I headed over towards the massage area, tried to go in, only to be thwarted by a guard who pointed to a line seemingly extending around the block, telling me to queue up at the end. It reminded me of the scene in A Christmas Story where Ralph tries to see Santa in order to ask for his Red Rider BB Gun.

I started thinking about how my friends might have fared, and looked up to see Nick standing in front of me, precisely as he was on the phone telling Steve that he hadn’t seen me. I fought back tears and nausea as we worked our way back to Boston Common to my car. We ambled around in the garage until we found the car and headed to the rental house where Steve graciously said we could shower and rest up before dinner.

The rest of the day, I felt raw, disappointed, humbled and a bit sad. I was genuinely happy for all of my friends who’d had a good race, but the veil of self-pity prevented me from experiencing any sort of post-race euphoria. My family came down to join us for dinner, a plan which clearly stressed out my wife, and we got home late and put the kids to bed at almost 10:00 p.m., less than ideal on a school night.

Oh . . . and I realized that I'd signed up to do another marathon on the other side of the country in 6 days. Yeah me . . . or not.

SO . . . WHAT WENT WRONG

The line between diagnosing the causes of a sub-par performance and making excuses for oneself is a fine one. Based upon my training, I had every reason to believe that a 3:0x marathon was well within reach. Since things went quite awry from that expectation, I have to ask, “What went wrong?” I’ll omit the “It was just a bad day” explanation, as it is useless and unsatisfying, at least in terms of avoiding a repeat down the road. Below is a list of ideas, in no particular order. Should my dear readers have any further insights, I’m all ears.

Stress – My father’s death was hardly the way to kick off a marathon taper; carrying around the weight of grief and stress had to affect my ability to give 100% come race day
A Cold – I had a cold, marked by sinus and chest congestion, for about 10 days before the race; while I did not feel it affect my breathing during the race, it also could not possibly have helped matters
Cumulative Fatigue – Despite what I considered to be a stellar training cycle, I know I did not arrive at Boston well-rested. I never really caught up on sleep, and may not have recovered completely from such heavy training volume. I might want to re-visit the idea of running 100+ days in a row
Nutrition – I’m also not sure I did a particularly effective carbo load, and will look into that before the next time I race a marathon
Overestimating Race Fitness – This is the scourge of inexperienced distance runners, and I'm ashamed to have to include it on this list. Having had no solid tune-up race, I went into Boston semi-blind In terms of knowing my marathon fitness. While I thought I could sustain a sub-7:10/mile pace, it turns out that I was wrong, at least on that day

As always, thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Closet Sandbagger?

2010-04-16T09:10:00.000-04:00

This is a brief post to unburden myself about several recent charges that I am sandbagging about my Boston "A" goal. Far too many friends - both real & virtual - are suggesting that I should try to break 3 hours in Boston. One went so far as to pledge $5 per second under three hours. That's $300 for a 2:59:00. While it's tempting to try to be a hero, I KNOW that doing so would almost certainly result in a disastrous latter stage of the race. As well as training has gone, and many miles as I logged, there exist no objective indicia to lead me to believe that I could sustain a 6:52/mile pace for 26.2 miles.

As I've said before, given the choice, I prefer to "enjoy" the final 10K at my first Boston, even if it means that I finish feeling like I could have run faster. Sub-3:00 is the current goal for Chicago, which is flat, comes on the heels of summer training (i.e., when conditions around here are most favorable) and where a final death march has become a time-honored tradition for me anyway (2-for-2 there).

So, I'll truly be satisfied with anything under 3:10 at Boston, and would very much like a 10-minute PR, which would be 3:07:41. Beyond that, I've got an idea of what a good day might bring, but I'm not declaring it publicly. While that seems to frustrate some (which I find quite entertaining, actually), the reason is that if I announce a stretch goal, I know I will try to hit that goal no matter what, ignoring any early indications that it's not going to happen, and thus setting the stage for the very blowup I'm seeking to avoid. If, on the other hand, I give myself a little latitude and keep that stretch goal close to the vest, I will feel far more free to adjust as needed and will likely salvage a good result.

Adding to my reticence is the fact that I still don't feel great physically: my runs have been lousy this week, and the cold I've struggled through has morphed into a nasty cough. Add to that the emotional weight of still grieving my father's death, and I truly do not know what Monday will bring. I'm hoping that I'm passing through a dark tunnel, and will find myself on the other side on Monday morning, buoyed by great weather (it snowed this morning, incidentally), the collective energy of other runners and spectators and the realization of a longtime dream.

When new runners ask about how to improve at the marathon distance, I preach patience and consistency about all else. Why would I not take my own advice as I prepare for the biggest day of my running life?

-ESG/Ron

NOT Part of the Plan

2010-04-12T10:04:00.001-04:00

So, by 9:30 a.m. EDT on Sunday, April 4, 2010, I had reached the "tapering" portion of training relatively intact. Tired, a couple of random aches, all sorts of race-related issues on my mind . . . sure. But, early Monday morning came the sobering news which - while not completely unexpected - still hit me like a punch to the stomach: my father is dead. Just like that. So, what follows may be some somewhat random ramblings, part tribute, part gripe, but likely much cathartic drivel. Thanks for your indulgence.

COMPLICATED MAN . . . COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP

For as long as I remember, my father and I experienced more interpersonal friction than familial harmony. The reasons for that are nuanced and plentiful. He was always (at least in my mind) the voice of "No", the strict one, the one who seemed disappointed in and critical of my behavior and my choices. When the chips were really, truly down, though, he was there for me, but on a day-to-day basis, we seemed to clash on issues big and small, be it politics, expectations as to how sons should treat their fathers (and vice-versa), diet and health choices, financial management, etc. I could make a long list of those types of squabbles, but there's nothing to be gained from such an exercise. And, to be clear, I wasn't a completely innocent victim in the whole ordeal.

Since my father's death, many concerned friends have offered words of solace and consolation. Those who've wished me peace & strength have helped a lot. One college friend observed that on the few occasions when he met my father, he'd seemed very proud of me. That also helped. But, those who - albeit with the best intentions - have said things like "celebrate a life well-lived" or "find comfort in all the positive memories" . . . well, let's just say that those comments have not made me feel much better.

It's very difficult to articulate how one feels after losing a parent. In this case, the natural emotions and pain are complicated by the very complicated nature of my relationship with my father. As I wrote elsewhere recently, when a parent dies, the child immediately feels that much more alone in the world. A constant presence in my life for 41+ years is now gone forever. It shakes one's foundation.

But, in terms of my own situation, what makes me the most sad is that the way things were is now the way they will always be. In fact, the last conversation I had with him occurred about a week before he died. His last words to me were the following: "Please let me know how soon you can come down again, since there are still a few things I'd like to say to you." Try letting that echo within your psyche for a while. Yeah, kind of harsh.

The hope that my relationship with my father would continue to heal, improve and grow is no longer. And I am filled with feelings of regret, sadness, anger, remorse, disappointment, fear, emptiness, etc., as well as with love. And, I am scared to death of being an inadequate husband and father myself. I don't just want my kids to know I love them; I want us to know and understand each other, in a profound and real way. I don't want to talk "at" my kids; I want to have a give-&-take with them. The same is true of my marriage. I want to grow closer to my wife as we age together, not feel like the pressure of modern-day life is driving us apart. And, of course, I find myself sometimes paralyzed at the thought that I will repeat my father's mistakes.

I'm feeling kind like a bit of a wreck, and I'm not sure what to do about it.

ON BOSTON

So, today I look back one week and think about what may be the saddest day of my life. Then, of course, I look ahead one week, and hope to be experiencing one of the happiest. The Yin-Yang-iness of this is not lost on me, but I'm having trouble seeing the Boston light through the darkness of loss. My Dad didn't really "get" the running thing, and so saying that he "would have wanted" me to do well at Boston and continue raising money for the Reeve Foundation would be a stretch.

But, I do think that Dad would have wanted me to stay focused on something in which I've invested so much of myself, to give it my best shot, and to be satisfied with the final time, so long as I put forth an honest effort.

My training was "in the bank" before my Dad passed away (I did 71+ miles the week before and nearly 50 last week, taking my first rest day since Christmas). Physically, therefore, nothing has changed (save for getting a nasty cold which is still lingering). In terms of being in the right place mentally/emotionally, though, I'm feeling a bit less-than-optimally prepared.

So, I'm taking it one day at a time (really, not in the cliched sense) and trying to deal with work and other non-running issues. I'm trying to view the "Boston 2 Big Sur" double as a well-earned reward for dedication, discipline and sacrifice, all the while doing something good for a worthy cause. I just need to figure out how to channel my sadness and grief in a productive way. I trust that I have the strength to do so, but won't know for sure until I put one foot in front of the other for a couple of 26.2-mile runs in six days.

Thanks for reading and sharing my journey.

-ESG/Ron

All Peak, No Valley

2010-03-29T10:43:00.001-04:00

As my fingers work their way across the keyboard, the official start of the Boston Marathon is three weeks and one hour away. There's still a dream-like quality to the fact that I'll be lining up in the 7th Corral in Wave 1 (Bib #7930), taking part in the world's most storied marathon. The way I feel now contrasts sharply to how I've felt before any of my other marathons. Principally, since I have no specific time goal (yet), I do not feel any performance-related pressure (yet - lol). I know that my training has been excellent (for me) and that I cannot look back to anything I might have done differently since January 4, 2010. I suppose that I would have liked to have run a faster tune-up race, but in light of the big picture, I'm not particularly concerned about that, either.

So, fresh from a week-long vacation in Northern Florida, I ran a huge weekly mileage PR (for reasons to be detailed below). The past two weeks ended up like this:

WEEK OF MARCH 15-21

Monday - 8.2M in nasty, cold rain
Tuesday - AM: 5.1M easy; PM: 7.8, with 4x400m & 2x800m (first running club track workout of the season)
Wednesday - AM: 7.4M; PM: 6.7M
Thursday - 10.1M progression run
Friday - 11.1M, with 3M @ HMP, 0.5M recovery & 2M @ HMP
Saturday - 7.2M (travel day)
Sunday - 9.75M; had to scrap LR due to family schedule

TOTAL = 73+ MILES

WEEK OF MARCH 22-28

Monday - 20+M into relentless headwind, with last 3M @ goal MP
Tuesday - AM: 6+M; PM: 4.7M
Wednesday - 12+M progression run
Thursday - 12M, with 6M @ HMP (between 6:40-6:45/mile)
Friday - AM: 7+M; PM: 5+M
Saturday - 6+M
Sunday - 22+M, with about 8M @ goal MP (or faster); 2000 feet elevation gain

TOTAL = 95+ MILES

Without putting too fine a point on it, I'll admit that last week was really the first time during this entire training cycle where some of the runs felt like a chore, especially since the wind in Florida was a constant nuisance. That said, though, as befits the experienced, more Zen-like runner which I've become [ ;-) ], I did not let the need to move things around derail or unsettle me. I've put in the miles. I've done the quality work. I'm injury-free (knock wood), save for a couple of nagging aches. And all of that comes on the heels of a consistent year in 2009. The average weekly mileage for my 13 weeks pre-taper should come out to 72.2 miles. My peak week last year? 72 miles.

So, having hit an unexpected peak week, it's time to dial it down. Plan is to do 70 miles this week, then start the official taper with weeks of 50 and 30 before toeing the line in Beantown.

At this point, the lingering unknown is what my Boston goal will be. Some well-intentioned running friends are suggesting that I should go for sub-3:00 at Boston. To quote George H.W. Bush, "Not. Gonna. Happen." As I've said before, I'm not going to run too close to my limits in my first Boston. I just don't want to repeat the "death march" finish of my first three marathons.

Of course, it'd be somewhat disingenuous of me to claim that I'm going to line up on April 19th, and "see what the day brings", but that's going to be at least part of the plan. For those who simply must know, I figure that a realistic target would be somewhere between 3:05 and 3:10. Weather conditions will play a huge role in determining what I try to do in Boston, but the best thing about being this close with no goal, is that I have nothing about which to be disappointed. Yet.

Yup, we'll all have to find out together. ;-)

Cheers, ESG/Ron

A Cold, Wet & Tantalizing Preview

2010-03-15T18:20:00.000-04:00

Readers of this blog know that your intrepid author has been focused on a little race held each Patriot's Day, starting in Hopkinton, traveling through a total of 8 towns (including Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton & Brookline) and ending in the self-proclaimed Hub of the Universe, a.k.a. Boston, Massachusetts. As a relative local, I joked about running Boston long before I was a runner, and have dedicated a lot of time and energy to qualifying for the oldest continuously-run marathon in the world. On April 19, 2010, I get to stake my tiny claim to being part of running history.

Thanks to the generosity of my running buddy Keith, I got to preview the first 20 miles of the course last Saturday. While there were plenty of runners (heading in both directions), it was a very low-key experience. The start area seemed far too small to accommodate 25,000 runners, not to mention marathon personnel, spectators, media and the like. But the veterans with whom I chatted along the way said that the atmosphere for almost the entire route is positively electric, and I did my best to imagine the crowds and the energy of the day - 5 weeks hence - while chugging along MA-Route 135 on a sleepy Saturday in the midst of a late winter downpour.

With the exception of needing a pit stop at around Mile 13, the run was fantastic. I met up with virtual running friends from San Diego (online monikers HikerGirl & Runner in Paradise from RWOL) and took them to meet the group for an organized, supported training run, courtesy of Keith's running club. Hardy volunteers braved the elements to provide hydration and snacks to about 30 runners who covered varying distances at various paces. Keith took off hard and did 22 miles at a sub-7:30 pace. HikerGirl probably ran at an 8:45-ish per mile pace, while RiP and I stayed together the whole time. Our running time (meaning I stopped my watch for drink/pit stops) averaged out to about 8:15 per mile. My HR stayed low and my fastest 3 miles were the final three, which included the first three of the four famed (or notorious) "Newton Hills". We stopped short of "Heartbreak Hill", which will remain a mystery to me for another 5 weeks.

My impressions of the course are as follows:

The early miles are very much downhill, so the warnings about not "over-running" those miles is worth taking seriously
It's not a particularly scenic route . . . at least not on a miserably windy, cold and rainy day; introducing Race Day fanfare into the mix will change everything, though
One needs to be very careful about conserving energy when going through Wellesley, as it falls about half-way into the race. I suspect many a runner's overexuberance at the "Wall of Sound" has cost him (or her) dearly later in the race
The first three Newton Hills were not a big deal at all, neither too steep nor too long; I'm sure that I may feel differently after pounding out 18+ miles at marathon pace, but I was able to accelerate in the hills with no problem
The last 10K could be the best or worst running experience of a runner's life; I'm banking on that stretch being the highlight of my running life to date

So, with some muscle memory of the first 20 miles (also known in marathon parlance as the "first half of the race") burned into my legs, I focus on the last 5 weeks of training.

Last week's cutback came out like this:

Monday - 7.5M, with 8x19+ secs hill sprints
Tuesday - 8+M
Wednesday 10.6M total, with 4x1200m @ 10K pace, and 4x200 at sub-5:00/mile pace
Thursday - 6M
Friday - 6M; first trail run of the year (and it was a mess)
Saturday -20.2M on the Boston course
Sunday - 6+M, again on the trails, in a cold rain

Week's total was about 64 miles, which last year would have been a heavy week. This week, I'll shoot for 82 miles, with two decent workouts (hills on Tuesday and threshold on Friday). Next week, we visit the in-laws in Florida, so I've prepared my beloved wife for the fact that I will be running peak mileage while we're on vacation. She's theoretically okay with it.

Finally, please consider supporting the Boston to Big Sur run by going to www.christopherreeve.org/abramson and giving what you can. Thanks!

Best, ESG/Ron

Ups & Downs Abound

2010-03-09T07:52:00.000-05:00

As I draft this week's update, the start of the Boston Marathon is exactly 6 weeks (and 24 minutes) away. I'm in the heart of the training program, and I'll admit that I'm tired. But, at the same time, running continues to teach me important lessons, about training and - of course - about life. So, while I've had some ups and downs lately - both figurative and literal - persistence and dedication always seem to carry me through.

Running-wise, I had a lousy attempted workout last Friday, which I'll highlight below in the weekly recap. However, that disappointing attempted run was sandwiched between a great track session on Tuesday, and a very confidence-inspiring long run on Sunday. Add in the constant presence of hills in my various running routes, and the "ups and downs" metaphor is complete.

Here's a look back at last week:

Monday - 7+M easy, with 10x10 secs hill sprints
Tuesday - 12M, with first hard track session of the year (4x1K @ 5K pace; 2x400m; 2x200m)
Wednesday - 7M + 5M recovery runs
Thursday - 7M + 5M recovery runs
Friday - 10+M, bagging an attempted threshold progression after 2M @ goal MP, since I just wasn't feeling it
Saturday - 8.5M easy
Sunday - 19+M, with about 6M @ goal MP/effort; overall pace 8:00 with over 1500 feet of elevation gain - GREAT RUN!

Week's total came out to a little under 81 miles, with a rolling 8-day total (Sunday-Sunday) of 103+ miles. The most important thing is that I'm feeling healthy. There's an errant ache here or a pang there, but nothing too concerning, and all part of what happens when pushing one's body (and mind) into uncharted training territory. However, I've shuffled things around and am making this week a cutback week, with somewhere around 65 miles on tap. That was close to my peak week last year, so I'm pleased with the progress I've made.

One continuing cause for concern has been the GI issues which do not seem to be getting better. After scouring WebMD and exchanging messages with a running doctor friend, I've bitten the bullet and scheduled an appointment to see my doctor. I'd hate for all this hard work to be derailed because I had to make a pit stop (or more than one). The idea of April 19th is NOT to tour Boston's finest portapotties. We'll see what the doctor says.

-ESG/Ron

Weighty Eighty & the Gym Consultation

2010-03-03T21:36:00.000-05:00

This week will be a quick training update post, mostly free from attempts at cleverness or profound observations. I've been busy with life, along with having lost power after a terrible windstorm which ravaged much of New Hampshire, all the while existing in the dark about the news of the earthquake in my native Chile. So, it's with a distracted and somewhat heavy heart that I continue my marathon training and summarize last week's running-related news.

Recovery from the ill-fated "GI Joe" Half-Marathon went surprisingly well. I took a post-race bath in the miracle product (full disclosure: the company is owned by a friend and is sort of a client) known as Endurasoak. I ran with no soreness on Monday, though I skipped hill sprints. I then ran 8 miles on Tuesday, 12 on Thursday, did doubles on Thursday (11+ total), a weird 10-miler on the treadmill on Friday (weirdness detailed below), 8+ Saturday in a light snowfall and 22+ on Sunday with my ultra-runner friend Nate. The total for the week was . . . drum roll . . . 80 miles. It's my first time breaking that barrier. Am I tired? Yes. But no injuries or even real aches and pains.

Friday was one of those days where the To-Do List resembles the Hydra of Greek mythology (on my mind since we saw The Lightning Thief on Friday night): you slay one head by completing an item, and several more seem to crop up. So, as the day's end neared, my planned 12-miler became 10, and my planned 6x1K repeats became 6x800m. The need to hit quality paces, along with the weather and waning daylight, led me to the Y at 4:15 p.m., a very unusual time for me to run. So, I get on a TM, set it at 6.5 mph, and already feel like I'm working hard in the first mile. I'd left my Garmin at home (it may have been uncharged anyway), so I was using the TM's own speed reading to register my pace, rather than using the calibrated foot pod which gives me standardized readings regardless of which dastardly machine I use.

So, I'm about 1.5 miles into my run - minding my own business - and there are only a couple of other runners. Suddenly someone prods me insistently from behind. I turn to see a pretty bulky guy, who seems to have strayed from the heavy lifting section of the gym. He says, with an accent and almost angrily, "I need to speak with you." I ask if we know each other; he says no. I ask if there's a problem; he says no. I ask if he knows who I am; he says no. Finally, I press pause, get off the TM and walk to the side. I ask what he needs, and he tells me that he knows I'm a "very good immigration lawyer" and needs to discuss his situation. I suggest an office appointment and wait while he gets a pen and paper [mental note: bring business cards to the treadmill] to write down my contact information. Anyway, I schedule him for an appointment, tell him the fee and hear him reply that he can't afford the consultation. I tell him to call me when he can. It definitely took the wind out of my running sails, but those winds returned when my preferred TM opened up after 6 miles, and I realized that the pace on the first one was very stingy. The remaining repeats and cool-down were much more manageable, with the pace falling in line with my perceived effort.

Once this week (hopefully another 80 miles) is in the books, we're looking at 6 weeks until Race Day. I think I'll cut it back for a week, hammer really hard again for two, reduce slightly for one week and then do a pretty sharp two-week taper.

Still no Boston goal, but a range of realistic possibilities is coming into focus. It's interesting to allow the "right" goal time to come to me, rather than chasing an arbitrary number. I suspect that doing it this way will minimize miscalculations and disappointment, though - of course - part of the insidious appeal of the marathon is that anything can happen come race day. Months of careful preparation can yield intense glory or bitter personal defeat. I have finally reached a place in my running life, where my relationship with the sport (and the lifestyle, really) is such that no one race will derail me or make me question my worth as a runner. That said, if there is a single stage in the running world on which every distance runner would want to deliver a virtuosic performance, it would be in Boston. I'm no different.

Thanks for reading. -ESG

Who the Hell Invited GI Joe to this Party?

2010-02-22T21:42:00.002-05:00

This little corner of cyberspace has been quiet and empty for the past several weeks, since I've been extremely busy with sorting out the rhythms and obligations of my new professional life, along with taking a family trip and handling the home front during my wife's busiest professional stretch of the year. The new venture has gotten off to a strong start, and I am putting together the key elements of a sports management business that will hopefully let me merge my passion into at least a break-even business venture. More on that as circumstances develop.

Against that backdrop, I'll summarize the last few weeks of training before providing a report from yesterday's Half at the Hamptons. The drama of the 2010 Winter Olympics notwithstanding, I know my readers have been waiting for this news with bated breath. ;-)

WEEK #5 - FEB 1-7, 2010 (CUTBACK WEEK)

Mon - 5M easy
Tues - 7.9M progression
Wed - 6.7M easy - travel day
Thurs -10.1M moderate effort
Fri - 8.5M with strides
Sat - 13.1M, with 3M @ goal MP
Sun -5M easy (last mile+ barefoot) - travel day

TOTAL MILEAGE = 56+ MILES

WEEK #6 - FEB 8-14, 2010

Mon - 10M, with hill sprints
Tues - 10M, with 5x800m @ 5K pace (in a parking lot)
Wed - 11.25 (AM: 6.25M; PM: 5M)
Thurs -8M a little harder than easy
Fri - 10M, with total of 4.5M (2.5M, then 2M) at HMP (not a great run)
Sat - 6.7M easy
Sun - 20.2M, with 5.5M at goal MP - great run!

TOTAL MILEAGE = 76+ MILES

WEEK #7 - FEB 15-21, 2010

Mon - 8M easy (skipped hill sprints)
Tues - 12M, with 3M at goal HMP (tough run)
Wed - 8M easy (blew off doubles)
Thurs - 8M easy (blew off doubles again, because too tired for early AM run)
Fri - 7M easy
Sat - 5+M, including 4x100m strides
Sun - 2.5M warm-up; 13.1M RACE (see Race Report below); 2.5M cool-down

TOTAL MILEAGE = 66.7 MILES

RACE REPORT - HALF AT THE HAMPTONS

The title of this week's post plays on the "GI" in America's first toy action hero's name. Previously standing for "Government Issue", runners far and wide know "GI" as the abbreviation for all ills digestive-related. It's never pleasant to suffer GI troubles, much less so during a "marker" race when one is training for the biggest race of one's running life.

This was my third year running the Half at the Hamptons. In 2008, as a still-novice runner, I "trained through" while preparing for the Keybank Vermont City Marathon, set an ambitious goal (at the time) and followed a pacer who banked time by taking us out too fast. I had one of my worst long-distance racing experiences and simply hung on to run over 1:40, my first distance non-PR to that point in my running career. Last year, I had strained my groin in early January, barely reached 40 miles per week, and went out with no expectations to run a surprise PR of 1:34+.

Having set a new HM PR last October, I wished to build on that, with the Hamptons being my only significant tune-up race of the Boston cycle. It's a nice mid-winter race, with well over 1000 participants, good energy and on a nice, largely coastal route. It's billed as flat, but has some rolling elevation changes in the middle section. It's also always windy as a you-know-what.

I went into the race with more of an "idea" of what I might be able to do, as opposed to specific goals. Breaking 1:26 would have been my dream/stretch goal. A new PR by any margin would have been my "acceptable" goal. And, simply running the best race I could considering the conditions and my cumulative training fatigue would have to be the fallback goal.

I suppose that if I now list the reasons why I ran a disappointing 1:31:25, it will sound like a litany of excuses. I view it as more along the lines of assessing and analyzing the reasons for a sub-par performance, but that may be a distinction without a difference. Once the afterglow of last Sunday's excellent 20+-mile run wore off, I found myself dragging most of the week. I dialed back the mileage a bit, dropping two planned double days (Wednesday and Thursday). I awoke on Saturday with the beginnings of a chest cold, though it seemed pretty manageable, and Saturday's mid-day easy run plus strides felt pretty good.

With an 11:00 am start time, I did not have to get up too early yesterday. I awoke a little before 7:00 and had my usual breakfast. I brought different clothing options, since I knew the blustery conditions would make the mid-30-degree temps seem much colder. I had singlets and arm-warmers ready to go, along with different headband/hat and glove options. I also had a form-fitting long-sleeve thermal shirt, just in case.

When I got to the race HQ hotel at around 10:00 am, it was bustling. I found a good parking spot, checked in and agonized about what to wear. I was cold just walking from my car, so I wore heavy clothes during a two-mile warm-up. I felt better once the blood was pumping, though I didn't feel like my legs would have much "pop". Still, I was optimistic and got into the "this-is-what-I-log-all-those-miles-for-so-bring-it-already!" state of mind. I guess you had to be there to understand. ;-)

So, without further adieu (thankfully!) here's a mile-by-mile breakdown of how it all played out (the course seems to have been marked rather erratically, so the numbers in parentheses are extra time after the auto-lap recorded a full mile; the first 3 mile markers, along those at miles 7 and 12 were spot on with the Garmin distance):

6:37 - After lining up a couple of rows from the front, I settled into a briskly comfortable pace. Wind was already raging, but I was thinking that everything seemed to be going just fine.
6:40 - Negotiated a couple of turns. Tried to find someone from whom to draft, but I have not really perfected that skill.
6:35 - Holding pace, but working a bit too hard into the wind. Was running with the 3rd and 4th place women, and offered to let them draft off of me to save their energy for an assault on the leaders later.
6:52 (+:14) - Here is where it started to get tough, between the wind and the course's most challenging terrain. Not sure if I was losing focus, or the conditions were in fact that rough in that mile, but my effort level did not seem to wane as much as much as my pace seems to have dropped. The Garmin had my HR at 173 at this point, and I had averaged 171 bpm during my HM PR in October.
6:33 (+:13) - The wind let up a bit in a protected residential area, so I tried to take advantage. Felt the first rumblings of GI distress which would be my eventual undoing. One of the women and another guy with whom I'd been running start to inch away.
6:41 (+:10) - Came up on the aid station where I'd planned to take a Gu Roctane. Longingly looked at the port-a-potty, but decided to pass it by. Critical mistake #1. Critical mistake #2? I took only one smallish cup water, 4 oz. or less, with the gel. That's nowhere near enough to absorb it properly and especially poor decision-making where my stomach was already bothering me.
6:20 - It would be VERY safe to say that this mile was short, with the Garmin registering 0.95. I was fighting off the stomach woes, assuming/hoping that it would pass. Mostly, I was trying to keep a rhythm and stay with the runners around me, including a 50-something guy from my area who usually goes out too fast and the peters out late (kudos to him for a sub-1:29 finish).
6:39 (+:30) - I see a construction site with a port-a-potty, but the optimist (aka, obsessive runner) in me prevails and I pass on by. I realize from the course description that the next port-a-potty is at around Mile 11, and I have no idea how I'll make it. The physical discomfort is taking its toll, as is the headwind which has picked up again.
6:51 (+:11) - Now wondering whether any of the spectators on the course would let me use their bathroom. Thinking I may have to drop out if something doesn't change, and I start to focus on getting to the rest area at Mile 11, telling myself that the "A" goal doesn't matter, and that any ol' PR, or even just sub-1:30, will do.
8:25 (+:30) - As we approach the 10-mile mark, I spot another construction site, and see the blue plastic pod which could be my salvation. I debate as I keep running, pass it by maybe 150-200 yards and then double-back. Checking the data afterwards, I lost 2:40 to the stop (plus the time to run back and forth). I came out like a flash, passing maybe a dozen people in the next half-mile, but the headwinds sapped me of the ability to sustain a fast pace and thus make up any significant time.
6:57 (+:02) - At this point, my racing mojo is officially gone. I've written off all time goals (even sub-1:30) and am just trying to put forth the hardest effort I can sustain. Residual fatigue from recent training volume is also wearing me down, as evidenced by the fact that my HR had dropped into the low 160's, far below my HM race pace. I can feel that dastardly familiar tightness in my hips, like my someone added resistance bands to my hip sinews.
7:02 - The wind sucks, I'm tired and I'm ready to be done. Trying to reel in the folks ahead of me, but just cannot find another gear.
6:26 - I tried to push it for a strong finish. I passed a couple of people, but I suspect more than a couple passed me. This mile may have been short, too.

Final 0.1 (measured as 0.13) - 0:47 (6:10 pace) - very glad to see the finishing arch and to be able to put this racing debacle behind me.

Official finish time = 1:31:25. 61st overall; 9th in my age-group.

I jogged back to my car, put on a dry shirt, pants and a jacket, and did 2.5 slow, tedious cool-down miles so that I would get my 18+ miles for the day. When I completed the cool-down, I went inside for a bowl of hot vegetable soup, talked to friends and other runners, and made my way home.

REFLECTIONS

Well, the combination of accumulated racing experience and consistent training has given me better perspective on a disappointing performance, or - better stated - a disappointing time despite a decent running performance. I am not freaking out, questioning my training, doubting my fitness or otherwise going to any of the dark caverns of insecurity of days past. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd run a "disappointing" 1:31 half-marathon, I would have whipped out the tape measure and fitted them for a straight-jacket. It wasn't my day for things to come together, and - frankly - that's simply part of the reality of the racing experience. One thing to which I will pay closer attention for a while is my nutrition/diet, as I have had GI troubles for a long time, and distance running does not help in that department.

So, with Boston a mere (or eternal, depends on when you ask me) 8 weeks from today, I'll continue to do what I've been doing, emphasizing volume (I should peak at 82 or so miles per week and average about 70 miles for the pre-taper portion of the training cycle), but ramping up the quality miles, as well. I may do one or two short races between now and Boston, but the focus will be on staying healthy, pushing the mileage envelope and showing up ready to run the best race I can run on that day. Oh yeah, and to be able to recover quickly enough to run another marathon six days later.

Thanks for tuning in. Happy running.

-Ron/ESG

"Today, no Spartan dies!"

2010-01-31T17:04:00.000-05:00

For the uninitiated, the title of this week's post comes from the semi-cult hit film "300", and therein lies the tie-in with this running blog, as I have logged my first-ever 300+-mile month (305, to be exact). I did not set out to establish such a landmark, but it has been instead a natural outgrowth of a more ambitious running regimen than I've ever previously undertaken.

Last week (#4 of the Boston 2010 buildup) ended up like this:

Monday - 5M easy/recovery
Tuesday - 10+M, with 8x2 mins hill repeats
Wednesday - AM: 5M easy; PM: 5M easy
Thursday - 8+M progression run
Friday -10M total, with 2 x 2M at HMP and an extra 0.5M tacked onto the second set at 10K-5K pace
Saturday - 8.25M, easy
Sunday - 21+M with a couple of moderately hard miles (Miles 18 & 19) thrown in

Week's total = 72.5

I felt better overall this week than I did early last week, and it's a thrill to have two 20+-milers "in the bank" within the first four weeks of the training cycle. The weather improved for a spell, before another blast of cold air moved through. As a result, I did Friday's "quality" session indoors, mixing it up on the indoor track and treadmill. It made it realistic to hit the goal paces that way. Given the bitter cold on Friday morning, I'd have never had a successful workout outdoors. So, while I'd always prefer to run outside, I'll let pragmatism rule when it comes to the key workouts of this training cycle.

Next week is a planned cutback week, with two travel days on the schedule and a lot of family commitments in Florida (where we're traveling for a big family event). I'd like to get somewhere in the high 50's, but anything around 50-55 would be perfectly acceptable, and may even be extremely beneficial. We'll be staying right near the beach, and the idea that I will be running in a singlet or even shirtless is very appealing. I'm sure the heat will slow me down, but I will likely just throw in a few tempo miles on one run and call it good.

I still have no concrete goals for Boston, and - frankly - it's very liberating. Unlike any of my prior marathons, I'm not chasing a time, I'm letting the training cycle lead me to it. I know perfectly well that if I stay healthy, I'll toe the line in Boston in the best shape of my life. What time that translates into . . . well, we'll all just have to wait and see, won't we?

Have a great week of running, everyone. -ESG/Ron

Seventy is the New Fifty-Five

2010-01-26T08:39:00.001-05:00

Week #3 of Boston 2010 (cue the bugles!) Training is complete. It was a bit of a roller coaster week in terms of adjusting the plan on the fly, balancing an evolving work/life schedule and otherwise staying focused on training during a time of personal transition and competing priorities. Here's how the week played out:

Monday - 6.7M easy, with 6x12 secs hill sprints
Tuesday -[adjusted for crazy schedule] 6.2M progression run on TM, starting at 8:00+/mile pace and ending at about 5:45/mile (last 0.5M before a cool-down); I think the foot pod was a bit generous on this run, but that's what it came out to
Wednesday - 9.25M somewhere between easy and moderate
Thursday - 5+M easy in the morning; 5+M easy at lunchtime
Friday - 9.5M, w/2M @ marathon pace & 2M @ half-marathon pace
Saturday -5+M easy to a breakfast meeting; 3M easy home
Sunday - 20.8 miles, with 2M (miles16-18) @ goal marathon pace

That came out to right about 71 miles, a tad ahead of the week's 70-mile target. The key to making it work successfully may have been the two "doubles" on Thursday and Saturday. Although conventional training wisdom dictates that double runs are only necessary when mileage exceeds 70 miles per week, I think I was shortchanging my own recovery by never running less than an hour. I felt better during Sunday's 20+-miler than I did during last weekend's 17+-miler, despite going into the latter run off of a higher mileage week.

This week, I will try to match last week's mileage, before a planned cutback week scheduled for the first week of February (when I'll be traveling for a family function).

One training-related challenge I'm facing is how to put together the quality workouts in such a way that makes sense, without getting too intense too quickly. I need to be careful about grinding myself down, courting injury and even possibly peaking too early. For now, though, things are going fine, so I'll continue on the same path, unless and until there's a reason to change course. That "reason" may be manifesting itself shortly, as there may be a significant change in my professional environment. It's a good thing, but would be very demanding, and would necessarily result in many more 4:30 am training runs. I suppose that, as with anything worth doing, the prevailing question would be "How bad do you want it?"

Thanks for reading. Happy training.

-ESG/Ron

Plugging Along Towards a Fuzzy Goal

2010-01-18T21:32:00.000-05:00

Boston Week #2 is in the books. It pretty much came out as planned, with a total of 67.6 miles for the week. The highlight was Sunday's long run with my friend Joe in Falmouth, Maine. The miles always go by faster with company, and I've yet to meet a like-minded runner who isn't good company (at least while running). The only blemishes on the run were my own GI issues (a lingering after-effect of Friday night's Chinese dinner) and the fact that I nearly caused my own demise by crossing the road right in front of a town police cruiser. Stupid is as stupid does.

The plan for this week is as follows:

Monday - 6M (which became 6.7), with 6x12 secs hill sprints
Tuesday - 10M, with hills or some sot of fast-paced running
Wednesday - 8M easy
Thursday - 9M, with a moderate progression towards the end
Friday - 10M, with threshold work as yet TBD (depends how I feel)
Saturday - 7M easy
Sunday - 20M, with maybe 3M at goal marathon pace (whatever that is at the moment)

That comes out to a nice even 70 miles for the week, with one more planned mileage increase in the following week, before a cutback week in early February.

I could certainly feel the recent mileage ramp-up in Sunday's long run, where I was able to slog through the miles, but without much spring in my step. The stomach issues and a poor night's sleep on Saturday didn't help. That said, Joe and I still managed a 6:00/mile pace for the final stretch, just as I know we will for the last 0.x mile in Boston.

One great thing about this training cycle is that I'm not fixated on a specific goal. I've been thinking about my strategy for Boston, and what I have settled on - without equivocation - is that I will run a solid race, meaning that will not pace myself out on the edge of my abilities. In other words, if I finish Boston feeling like I could have run a minute or two (or more) faster, I will not be mad at myself. At all costs, I will avoid the long reach for "what might be" that led to three disastrous marathons in my first three attempts. A PR is not an issue, since unless something unexpected goes awry, I should run a faster time based on having put in another year of solid training since my last competitive marathon.

As I wrote sometime ago on RWOL (and maybe here), the real challenge of marathon racing is to make an honest and accurate assessment of our fitness level before the race. While there may occur an occasional pleasant surprise, much more often the path to the finish line is sullied with the painful realization that we were overly optimistic in that assessment. So, marathon goal-setting for the "competitive" runner (meaning the kind of runner whose goal is to do more than merely "finish") is part art, part science. With more experience training and racing, science takes the lead and we can narrow the range of what's really possible on the day we toe the line.

I trust that we are only scratching the surface on the topic of goal-setting, but longtime readers should realize that this training cycle will be be largely devoid of the neuroses and histrionics which marked some prior efforts. What's a guy to do with all that extra, unwasted energy?

-ESG/Ron

A Solid Start

2010-01-16T16:54:00.000-05:00

So, with Week #1 of BOSTON MARATHON 2010 TRAINING (cue theme music) in the books, here's how it actually played out:

Monday - 6+M easy, with 5x10 secs hill sprints
Tuesday - 9.7M, with 8x1-minute at 5K-ish pace/effort (6:00 - 6:24)
Wednesday - 10+M, easy/steady
Thursday - 8+M, with 2x 1.5M at tempo pace (around 6:40/mile, except for the final 0.5M into a fierce wind)
Friday - 8M easy
Saturday - 16M easy, on a cold, windy morning
Sunday - 5M easy

Total did come out to 64 miles, as planned, with slight tweaks to individual days as a strangely flexible week unfolded. The weather was pretty brutal, though I managed all runs but Sunday's outside.

This past week has come out like this so far:

Monday - 7M easy, with 6x10 secs hill sprints
Tuesday - 10+M, with 8x90-secs @ 5K-10K pace
Wednesday -7+M (starting at 4:45 am, in -4 temps, with wind chill - a slog)
Thursday - 10+M w/4x100m strides
Friday - 8+M, with 2x2M at half-marathon pace (though it was tough to average just under 6:50 per mile on these)
Saturday -7M easy/recovery (in shorts!)
Sunday -17+M easy, with the last 3 or so at a moderate effort (as I type this on Saturday, the family is about to head up to Maine, where I'll run with my RWOL friend "joew" on Sunday)

With the overages, that should come out to around 67 miles, and though I feel some degree of fatigue, I'm not feeling any signs of injury. Having had a mini-heat wave, with temps up over freezing, has made the last couple of days very pleasant.

Frankly, with all the work involved in getting my new office off the ground, I've had to make the choice to run instead of think, write and blog about running. I've had a great deal of logistical frustration this past week (some of which remains unresolved), but the good news is that a number of new/prospective clients have already managed to find me, despite not yet even having an official office phone line.

I should also mention briefly about the horror in Haiti. I cannot do much in terms of money, but I will be providing free consultations to any Haitian community member who may qualify for Temporary Protected Status under the Department of Homeland Security's recent declaration. It's refreshing to see a modicum of humanity come out of the Executive Branch.

So, with my target mileage creeping up into the 70's and beyond, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to post, but I do hope at least to keep sharing numbers and general impressions.

Stay warm and run well.

-ESG/Ron

In With The New

2010-01-06T20:47:00.006-05:00

Well, 2009 ended without any Year-In-Review posts. You're welcome, dear reader. ;-)

Running-wise, I could not have asked for much more from 2009. I qualified for Boston. I PRed at every race distance. I stayed injury-free. I "coached" other runners preparing for a 5K. I enjoyed virtually every step of every run I took. Oh yeah, and I went to a running-related modeling casting call. As far as I know, I did not get the job. Good thing I didn't turn in my bar card on December 17th.

The family got away to Quebec for a few days between Christmas and New Year's, so I was largely (and blissfully) offline.

So, here we are, with a toe into a new year, and - as the media have pointed out - a new decade (though reasonable minds may differ about when the new decade actually begins). For me, with a new employment situation has come a new outlook. I now feel as engaged by my professional pursuits as I have about running. Not bad, considering that my new shop is not even officially open for business yet.

For reasons both obvious and subtle, I have not posted much about my training recently, but, with BOSTON 2010 TRAINING (there would be emphatic theme music here if this were television or film) now underway, it's time to go back to the real mission of this blog: to serve as the training log which I'm too lazy or unmotivated to keep on my own. Posting weekly (or more) keeps me accountable, and has been a pretty successful recipe for me so far.

So, with the help of Coach Brad Hudson (again), I've devised a 15 week training plan. Since I ran about 2400 miles in 2009, staying consistent throughout, I am going to do a compressed "Introductory Period" followed by a 7-week "Fundamental Period", capped off by a "Sharpening Phase" and a two-week taper. Assuming that my life and energy allow, I will end up averaging 70 miles per week for the 12 weeks leading up to the taper. My peak week for Sugarloaf was 72 miles, and I've run one or two other 70+-mile weeks when I was not specifically training or two or more long runs fell within a 7-day stretch. Bear in mind, too, that I have another little race 6 days after Boston, as part of the Boston to Big Sur challenge, which I'm running on behalf of the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation. A fundraising link is in the box to the upper right corner of the blog's home page.

So, here's how Week #1 of Boston Training is shaping up:

Monday - 6M easy, with 5x10 secs hill sprints
Tuesday - 9.7M (meant to do 8, but misread the schedule), with 8x1-minute at 5K-ish pace/effort (those repeats ranged from 6:24 down to 6:00/mile average pace)
Wednesday - 10+M, easy/steady
Thursday - 8M, with 2x10 mins at tempo pace (which should be about 6:40/mile)
Friday - 8M easy
Saturday - 16M easy, with maybe the last 15-20 mins at moderate
Sunday - 7M easy

Total should come out to around 64 miles, and should feel appropriately manageable at this point. The weather has been particularly unfriendly lately, with bitter cold, snow, ice, etc. However, I've been running outside and just dealing with it as best I can. I'll likely do tomorrow's threshold workout on the treadmill, just so that I may control the variables and hit the proper paces without being at the mercy of the road conditions (and ever-present wind).

Thanks for sticking with me. More to follow. -ESG/Ron

Model Role

2009-12-19T21:01:00.011-05:00

Among the panoply of personal or professional titles one does not expect to hear in one's lifetime, I'd include "Dan Quayle, Neurosurgeon", "Bill Gates, Mac User" and "Ron Abramson, Male Model". Yes, that last one would be me, and the absurdity of the juxtaposition cannot be overstated.

Yet, your intrepid blogger decided to have some fun, after receiving the following message in connection with a casting call for a national advertising campaign:

It's that time again for _____ to cast fine athletes for our upcoming photo shoot. We'd love your helping finding twelve special people for the next production. Kindly review the criteria, and pass along or post to anybody you may think suitable.

YES! It's completely fine to apply for more than one position (i.e.. a tennis position if you're also a runner as long as you've got the experience).

Many thanks for your assistance!
- ________ Casting Crew _________@gmail.com

* CASTING for select athletes
We are searching for very experienced or semi-pro runners, tennis player and personal trainers for a high-end photo shoot in the Boston area.

Please read the details of our casting needs :

WE LOOKING FOR MEN AND WOMEN OF ALL ETHNICITIES BETWEEN THE AGES
OF 18-30 within the following categories:

- RUNNERS*:
ATHLETES MUST HAVE GOOD RUNNING FORM AND MUST LOOK LEAN AND VISIBLY TONED WITH A RUNNER’S BODY. NOT BULKY LIKE A SPRINTER. IDEALLY YOU RUN 5-7 DAYS A WEEK AND HAVE COMPLETED AT LEAST ONE MARATHON OR HALF MARATHON.

- TENNIS PLAYERS*:
ATHLETES MUST HAVE GOOD TENNIS FORM AND MUST BE VISIBLY TONED AND NOT TOO BULKY LIKE A HEAVY WEIGHTLIFTER. IDEALLY YOU PLAY AT AN ELITE/ADVANCED LEVEL IN YOUR LEAGUE A FEW TIMES A WEEK.

-
TRAINING*:
ATHLETES MUST BE VISIBLY TONED AND NOT TOO BULKY LIKE A HEAVY
WEIGHTLIFTER. IDEALLY YOU ARE A PERSONAL TRAINER OR HAVE A GOOD AMOUNT OF KNOWLEDGE ABOUT TRAINING EXCERCISES.

*Please note, WE CANNOT USE YOU FOR THIS SHOOT IF YOU ARE PLANNING ON A PROFESSIONAL CAREER OR ARE CURRENTLY SPONSORED.

About our photo shoot:
- The client is __________, well-respected fitness retailer with a worldwide presence, This is a professional photo shoot. No nudity.

- You MUST be able to report to our CASTING on Thursday 12/17/09 in Newton MA. Sorry, no exceptions.

- You must be free to work on one or all of our photo SHOOT DATES: 1/5-1/8 in the Boston area

- Rate is $200 an hour, minimum half day shoot.

Naturally, I opted for the "runner" category, and though I have no idea whether I have good running form, I figured I could bluff my way through. I completely missed the age parameters during my first read, but the fact that we wouldn't be getting naked put my mind at ease. ;-) The pay sounded pretty darned good (especially for a guy who just walked away from a steady paycheck), and I know I'm in no immediate danger of having a professional athletic career or of "being sponsored". So, call me nominally qualified, or perhaps "not completely unqualified" for this assignment. I don't watch "America's Top Model", do not really know what "smize" even means and have only seen "Zoolander" once. So, after giving it some thought, I realized I may be in over my head.

Yet, at the suggestion of my beloved (and sometimes hilariously supportive) wife, I sent the following photos:

Not long after hitting [send], I received the following response:

Hi Ron,
Thanks for your interest in our ________ casting! We liked your photos and think you are a good candidate for our shoot, we would love to meet you.

Please report to our casting to meet the client and photographer who will make the final casting decisions. Sorry, we cannot consider you for this shoot if you cannot attend the casting.

So, on my second-to-last day of work, I headed off to Newton, MA, a little over an hour from home, for about 15 minutes of living the life of an aspiring athletic apparel/shoe model. Bear in mind that my son had stayed home from school with a bum tummy, so I dragged him with me. I can only imagine how he'll look back on this day. We followed the twisty Mapquest directions, found the photo studio and experienced the following sequence of events:

As soon as we walked in, a hiply-dressed guy asked me, "Name of agency?"; he wrote "None" on the appropriate line and handed me a clipboard with a questionnaire to complete; I was Applicant #57 for the day, having arrived around 11:30 am
I left the "Age" line blank; if asked, I planned to say, "Fill in however old you think I look"
I changed into a triathlon-style singlet, medium-length running shorts and running shoes, opting for an orange/gray/black color scheme
As I waited my turn, I was getting a bit nervous, until I saw C give me a thumbs-up; I looked around and realized that I was not completely out of my league, though I had seen a very attractive, fit-looking couple leaving as I was arriving; other folks seemed to come in various shapes and sizes, with some obvious tennis players and personal trainer types
While the clipboard and applicant-shepherding duties fell onto a few young men who had similar clothes, haircuts and facial hair configurations, the apparent brains of the operation belonged to a crew of about 4-5 women, including a photographer, some sort of supervisor person, and a couple of young women working on notebook computers; some were dressed in dark gray, others in black; that was the whole color pallette; I've rarely felt less hip or cool, but that's probably not required for a glorified piece of meat
The photographer and supervisor engaged in a brief discussion about whether I should remove my form-fitting shirt; it stayed on; the photographer then had me stand with the information sheet; she snapped a photo, and then things got really silly:

"We need to see your quad"
"Um, okay, should I flex it?"
"Sure" (said by the supervisor with a slightly suggestive tone)
So, with some trepidation, I raised the right side of my Saucony shorts and flexed my quadriceps; this is filed under the heading of "I did some things I'm not proud of"

The photographer then took some close-ups ("Turn your head this way, eyes looking back at me") and thanked me for coming; on my way out, I asked whether she could airbrush my ears, and she said that she could "airbrush anything"; the supervisor, though, said, "Nah, the ears are cute" and laughed; I've been saying that maybe they'll refer me to be a hearing aid model, since my ears will make any such device look small
They said they would let us know next week, and so ended my moment in the fashion world's sun

I have zero expectations, though I'll admit that I do hope to get the job. How can such an opportunity present itself like this just when I'm leaving my day job, and thus able to pursue it? My wife thinks it's very amusing, and she's been embarrassing me accordingly with friends and family alike.

Truth be told, I'll confess that I kind of enjoy the attention, but I also think it's a complete crock. Yes, I've spent the past couple of years turning myself into a runner, and the dedication to that level of training has caused my body to respond in kind. From head-to-toe, I look (and feel) very differently than I did not so long ago. Still, all my life, my primary personal strengths have been above-average intelligence and a decent sense of humor. Being a prime physical specimen was never really part of the equation. However, I seem to be aging relatively well, and - at the tender age of 41 - I attended my first casting call to appear in a fitness-oriented advertising campaign. While I'm not exactly planning to forego setting up the new law firm in favor of pursuing a full-time modeling career, I do have to ask, "How cool is that?" ;-)

Yes, whatever happens, I'll follow up. Those of you who suffer through this blog certainly deserve to know.

-ESG/Ron

Off the Clock . . . or Clocks

2009-12-13T16:42:00.007-05:00

"I must govern the clock, not be governed by it." Golda Meir

This week's post addresses the two major "clocks" in my life. One, of course, is the clock which measures my running. Since late 2007, that timekeeping has existed primarily in the form of a GPS running watch made by Garmin, with my latest model being the Forerunner 405. The other clock is the one which measures my professional output, in the widely-reviled ten-slices-to-a-pie increments known as "billable hours".

My Garmin has been having problems for the past few weeks, since I noticed ever-increasing condensation forming under the glass. It died completely on Sunday, December 6th (coincidentally and fortuitously, the day after my 5K PR race). My other clock has been having "problems" for at least 18 months, and I finally killed it on Monday, December 7th, when I gave two weeks' notice at my current job, so that I make take the big professional plunge and start my own law firm.

Now, to be fair and clear, I have not purged myself of clocks, nor have I decided that time is irrelevant to both running and legal work. But, I did get in a week of watch-free running, and I will now focus on working on a flat-fee basis as much as practicable.

A replacement Garmin arrived on Friday, and on two runs with it, I've found myself checking it only very sporadically to see how far I'd run. I still like poring over the data afterwards, but I don't need the constant real-time feedback like I used to.

In the realm of being someone whose livelihood depends on being paid for turning my knowledge into solutions to some people's most pressing problems (I focus primarily on immigration law), I have only a finite amount of time with which to provide my services (i.e., a limited supply of my "product"). I cannot simply discount the role time plays in my profession.

Yet, this week taught me valuable lessons about running without a watch, as well as about finding a way to focus on a client's needs without giving in to the base urge to squeeze every last drop of time out of a case.

GARMIN-LESS RUNNING

I was grateful that my watch hung on long enough to get me through last Saturday's race. On Sunday, it froze up for good, and I waited for the replacement to come by running familiar routes, running for time and running on the treadmill/indoor track during the coldest and snowiest stretch of the week. Ditching the heart rate monitor strap was also nice. It's one of those things I don't think about when I run, but running without is so much more comfortable. One non-running friend calls it my tiny bra.

Not worrying about a watch allowed me to think, look around and otherwise "just run" in a way in which I normally don't do. I'm hardly a convert, but I already feel less clock-o-centric. Disclaimer: all bets are off when Boston training gets into full swing on January 4, 2010.

A NEW CAREER PATH

Despite some indication to the contrary, I do realize that running is an avocation, and that I need to pay more attention to my actual vocation. I have been lass-than-satisfied at my current job for a while now, and things have come to a head recently. The difficulties come from two related sources: (1) the substantive work is boring, and (2) I don't feel like I'm improving the lot of the world or anyone in it by working primarily on behalf of businesses.

None of this is meant to disparage my current firm, which boasts some talented lawyers who do excellent work. Instead, I could best describe it as my being a "square peg in a round hole". The way I would like to practice (e.g., representing primarily individuals and charging fixed fees) simply does not fit within the framework of a larger law firm.

So, with equal parts excitement and terror, I will be working through December 18th, taking two full weeks off for the first time in over 5 years and am setting up my own immigration and international specialty law firm in Manchester, NH. I expect to be fully operational by Monday, January 11, 2010.

At the same time, I have applied for a legal contract position in State Government which would be fast-paced, exciting, challenging and which would go a long way towards giving me a guaranteed revenue stream during at least the first year of the new gig.

Having spoken to about a dozen or so lawyers and other professionals who've made a similar move, I'm buoyed by the universally positive feedback. After all, I have a specific (hopefully useful) skill set (aka, a "niche"), will run a lean operation and tend to be pretty good with people. I should have enough clients coming with me to "prime the pump" and I expect things to ramp up pretty quickly. This time next year, I expect to be asking myself the common question others shared: "Why did I wait so long to make the move?"

So, while I attend to myriad details and try to keep the demons of doubt at bay, I'll share an observation from Alexis Carrel upon which I recently stumbled: "Life leaps like a geyser for those who drill through the rock of inertia."

CONCLUSION

Now we arrive at the obligatory moment where I feebly attempt to tie together life and running so as to impart some pithy little lesson upon the poor reader. Well, as cliched as it may sound, running has really given me the fortitude to take this big step, to trust that I am up to the challenges ahead, and to know that each and every obstacle along the way teaches valuable lessons. Our paths then take us squarely into the den of those obstacles again in the future, when we arrive ready to conquer them, or they deviate so that we find a better way to get to our destination.

No more than any other can I escape from the restrictions of time, but I can choose to be less of a slave to the clock which sometimes ticks so loudly that it drowns out the sounds of our lives. I want to hear the literal and figurative sounds and rhythms of my heart more often, so the running watch and the billing timer will need to lay quietly in the background while I do.

-ESG/Ron

Close, but still a PR

2009-12-05T15:51:00.008-05:00

Today is my 41st birthday, and I started my day with - of course - a running-related goal. The local Jingle Bell 5K always falls on this weekend, and it is the only race in which I've ever taken a DNF ("did not finish"). Turned out I was sick on a zero-degree day in 2007, but that's another story. This year, the goal was a new 5K PR of 18:41 (41, get it?) in honor of my age.

For reasons that will surely get more profound treatment in a separate blog entry, I have been under a lot of stress. I'm not eating or sleeping very well, yet I continue to depend upon running to help me stay focused and relatively sane. It's working.

The race starts and finishes at my oldest daughter's school, and brings out close to 500 people to support the Arthritis Foundation. The weather was gray and cold, with snow on the way. I ran the almost-4 miles from my house to the race in long pants and a jacket. Then I registered, changed into my race gear (including my evil-but-unbelievably-light-and-comfortable Nike LunaRacers). My friend Steve's advice rattled around in my head: keep it together in the second mile (which is the toughest mile of the course, with two decent hills). I saw my friend Jim, who said that I looked like I had my "game face" on. I told him that I was mainly coming to terms with exactly how much I was willing suffer on this cold day. I had run a barefoot mile as part of a 7-miler on Thursday, and my calves (but especially the right one) were pretty sore. A good thing in terms of building lower leg strength, but not so great in terms of trying to run as fast and smooth as possible two days later.

I debated about what to wear, but got down to a sleeveless shirt, arm-warmers, headband and gloves. As the start time neared, I ran a quick 1/3 of a mile, with a couple of bursts, and found my way to the starting line. Pre-race nerves coursed through me a bit, as I tried to identify which runners I might want to key off of during the first mile, and which ones to let go.

The gun went off, and I watched the instant pace on my defective Garmin FR405 (it's got ever-worsening condensation on the inside of the glass, making it hard to read; no worries, as a replacement is on its way) carefully to avoid going out too fast. I saw 5:4x and then 5:5x on the display, but I settled down. The race played out as follows:

Mile 1: 6:03 - A couple of sharp turns and a slight, longish uphill. I kept sight of the leaders for longer than I expected, but I tried to stay smooth; I was not cold, or hot, or anything; just felt like I was working hard, but not too hard
Mile 2: 6:02 - This mile was an unequivocal triumph of race execution for me, and perhaps my best race mile ever. I stayed steady, and then increased my effort on each of the two uphill climbs. The women's leader and I exchanged places, and I dropped several male runners throughout this mile. I was working as hard as I can remember ever doing so in any race while still staying in control. It was amazing to find that balance. My HR topped out at 199 bpm in this mile. As I descended the second hill, I finally pulled ahead of the female leader (a lovely young woman with whom I've done some training runs) and visualized the relatively straight shot to the finish.
Mile 3: 6:00 - Pure maintenance mode. I just kept pushing and pushing, thinking about how close it was to being over. I caught up to a couple of guys, and passed my friend Pete with about a half-mile to go. I reminded myself that with about 2200 miles already logged this year, I could certainly hold on for a little bit longer.
Final 0.1+ at 5:25/mile pace - I saw the entrance to the school parking lot and ratcheted up my effort. Then, just after I turned right, I heard a loud commotion, which turned out to be my entire family hooting, hollering and cheering for me ("Go Dad!" & "Come on, Ron!"). They'd surprised me by coming to the race on my birthday, and said that I surprised them by finishing so soon (yes, they had me at "hello"). I smiled as best I could, and crossed the finish line, feeling as completely spent as I've been at the end of a race. I could not even manage to push the stop button on my watch for a few seconds.

I went inside to get some warm clothes, talked with my wife and kids, and then did a couple of cool-down miles with Jim and Pete. The 9:00+-minute pace felt great. The results went up, and all the times were off. My "official" time went from 18:52 to 18:50, but I'm calling it 18:46, a 33-second PR from April and a mere 5 seconds short of my goal. Hills, cold, sore calves, stress, etc. might have cost me those few seconds, but I cannot say that I did not run the best race I could have run today.

The only downer for me was that while I had somehow managed to finish 14th overall, I was 7th in my way-too-competitive age group (40-49). So, I hung around to cheer my friends who won awards, and then ran a shorter route home, for a total of about 11.6 miles for the day.

Today's race is a satisfying way to end a very successful running year, while starting off a new "life" year on a good note.

In the meantime, my virtual running buddy "SpiderPig" qualified for Boston at the Memphis Marathon. Congratulations to him. Also, on Sunday, a number of my friends will be running the California International Marathon. Best of luck to them.

Thanks for reading. -ESG

Please Kill Me . . . Actually I'm Fine

2009-11-29T16:21:00.004-05:00

Today's post's title sums up how I felt during this year's annual Thanksgiving Day race. I lined up on Thursday morning with about 450 other runners to attack a tough 4-mile course. The first mile is all uphill; the second mile rolls and the third mile climbs back towards the start (along an alternate route). The race's saving grace is that the last mile is the same as the first mile, but in reverse, so it is a full-on descent. I ran this race two years ago in 27:26. Last year I ran a Thanksgiving Day race in Portland, Maine on a less difficult course in a little under 27:00.

This year, I decided NOT to set a time goal, but simply to run hard from the gun and see what the day would bring. I ran the almost-3 miles from my house to the start, decided it was warm enough for a singlet and arm warmers (low-40's, breezy and cloudy). I chatted with some friends and then took off, probably faster than I should have, as I kept the leaders in sight for longer than was likely prudent. I settled into a hard, yet seemingly manageable, effort level, and my Garmin kept showing what I thought was a very slow pace given that effort level. Still, I was no more miserable at the end of the first mile, and held on to ride out the downhills in the second mile. Somewhere after the mile mark, one young guy passed me, and then I found myself running pretty much alone.

At the turnaround at two miles, I saw a colleague who lives in the neighborhood cheering. We turned into a fancy neighborhood and started climbing again, getting back the elevation that we'd just lost. I was hurting badly at this point, feeling battered, wondering why this sort of misery makes any sense at all and at about the 2.5+-mile mark, another work colleague came up behind me. This guy is 57 years old, and a lifelong, intense endurance athlete with a marathon PR of 2:44 at Boston. He usually wins his age group, even in large races, though he's much more of a cyclist than a runner these days. He just returned from a long European vacation where he rode 250 miles a week on average. He gave me a playful push and told me to step it up. We ran together for a bit and then he inched ahead of me. When I saw that we'd reached the 3-mile mark, I stepped it up, knowing that the downhill would carry me all the way to the finish (in fact, that mile was my first sub-6:00 mile when I ran the race 2 years ago). I passed a lovely young woman (2nd overall female) and started putting some distance between my colleague and me. I was running alone and could not believe how fast and furiously my arms and legs were pumping, though I felt relatively relaxed. I could feel the lactic acid coursing through my shoulders and neck and wanted nothing more than for this self-imposed torture to end. With a sharp left-hand turn just before the finish, I saw the clock reading 25:2x, and I gave it one last push.

The splits:

6:43

6:27

6:45

5:33 (new mile PR!)

Official time (different from my watch, which I did not stop right away) was 26:25, good for 29th overall and 3rd in my always-competitive age group. Second place was a full 2:30 faster than my time, and that guy had run an earlier 5K that morning! Of course, he is a professional triathlete.

I did a cool-down mile with a friend and then hung around to get my very nice travel mug, not a bad prize at all. I ran the 3 miles home for 11 miles on the day.

We went on to have a great Thanksgiving Day, with an epic neighborhood Wiffle Ball game, a huge meal, and some more playing when the Dads took the kids away for a little while.

As the month comes to an end, I feared that my monthly mileage would be anemic, but despite taking a little extra time away from running, I logged 211 miles for the month. Now I will race once more before year-end, a 5K on Saturday (my 41st birthday) and will then hold easy mileage until Boston training kicks off on January 4, 2010.

There are also some major winds of change blowing around me, but I'll post about that when certain fuzzy plans come into clearer focus.

Happy Holidays, everyone. -ESG

There's Only So Much We Can Run From

2009-11-15T21:35:00.012-05:00

My father is not old (68). My father is not well. What my father is, is dying. There, I said it. And while it's not a huge surprise that it has come to this, it still hurts like hell.

Things have never been easy between us, and the time to "make things right" (in a meaningful way) might have passed. So, with news of my father's rapidly declining health, I went to Florida this weekend to spend some time with him, rather than waiting on the dreaded "call", only to learn that it's too late.

My father has been in the hospital four times in the past 16 months for pneumonia and related complications. He has been diagnosed with COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease), an incurable, degenerative lung condition, of which smoking is the leading cause. He also has rheumatoid arthritis, congestive heart failure and other medical issues which are beyond the grasp of my liberal arts brain. He is on oxygen 24/7, and could keep a pharmacy chain in business all by himself as a result of his medication regimen. In a nutshell, COPD slowly asphyxiates its victims. My father will become more and more uncomfortable as less and less oxygen makes its way into his bloodstream. There's no way to know how long and - ultimately - excruciating the process will be. It could be weeks, months or even years, but it won't be pretty.

The current situation seems to have magnified some of my father's less desirable personality traits. Feeling inclined to be charitable, I could call him "eccentric" or "quirky", but I'm going to spare him, myself and my dear followers the details of why he and I have had such a troubled history. It's complicated, boring, and - at this point - irrelevant.

What I do want to share is how I think my father's life has influenced my own.

Like any dedicated runner, I run for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I have a family history of heart disease. My maternal grandfather had triple-bypass surgery in 1977. He lived another nine years before dying of heart failure the summer I graduated from high school. My paternal grandfather had died 5 weeks earlier, also likely from a heart attack while he was sleeping.

Not to be outdone, my father had quadruple-bypass surgery in 1988, at the ripe old age of 47. Yes, he smoked. Yes, he was overweight, highly-stressed and sedentary. So, putting aside the influence of my father's choices on his current health, the fact that the longevity deck is stacked against me plays a significant role if my running/exercise obsession. Truth is, however, that I don't run to extend my time on earth; I run to get more enjoyment - and meaning - from it. Should I live longer thanks to doing something I've grown to love, well, that's simply a beautiful bonus.

Being several years into the "running lifestyle", I realize that there's a duality in running, whereby it propels us towards some things (such as performance goals, health, clarity, etc.) while also moving us away from others (such as stress, obesity, monotony, etc.). Yes, running allows us to shatter a great many of our preconceived limitations and achieve what may have seemed impossible, but there are some things from which we simply cannot run.

As painful as it is to admit, I've dedicated much of my adult life to the conscious pursuit of not repeating many of my father's mistakes, be it in terms of marriage, parenting and/or professional achievement. I will admit to mixed success, but I hope I've gotten more things right than wrong.

This is a tough time for people in my age bracket, sandwiched between the needs of aging parents and growing children, being pulled in different directions when it comes to deciding on what career path I wish to follow at this stage in my life. I am certainly more blessed than many, yet the burdens of life still feel quite heavy. Thanks in part to running, I know I can handle whatever comes my way, even if it doesn't always feel that way.

While we all have that strength, runners (and other extreme athletes, adventurers, soldiers, disaster-survivors and other envelope-pushers) have developed the ability to tap into it. That skill is about to come in handy for me.

-ESG

P.S. On the running front, I'm still somewhat tired after the long run 2 weeks ago. I managed a over 40 miles last week, including 13+ along the Atlantic Ocean on Saturday, in what was for me very hot conditions. I finished with 1.5 miles barefoot on the actual beach, but was glad that run was done. I'm slightly achy in both knees (and my right calf is a little sore), so I'll keep running easy until that passes. I do wish to get some fast-paced running in before a Thanksgiving Day 4-miler. I'm going to go into that race with no real plan and see what happens. I'm hoping to surprise myself . . . in a good way for a change. ;-)

Nacimos Para Correr

2009-11-09T20:25:00.005-05:00

Rather than make one more bad Springsteen reference, I thought I'd resort to my first language for today's blog post. While it does lose a little something in the translation, "Born to Run" is a master work of running journalism. Mixing in cultural anthropology, human evolutionary theory, running lore, extreme ultra-running and a cast of unforgettable, larger-than-life characters, Christopher McDougall has turned a personal quest (i.e., figuring out why his foot hurt and he was unable to run) into a sort of Rosetta Stone for those of us who think about the mysteries and enigmas posed by running.

The reason for this review is because I got to spend an hour-plus last week listening to Chris speak at the Barnes and Noble in Manchester, New Hampshire. There was a crowd of about 50 people, probably 65/35 percent men to women. Some of us wore our work clothes; others looked like they might have been about to go for a run. Chris showed up right on time, wearing a black Smartwool zip mock-turtleneck and his Vibram Five Fingers, essentially gloves for the feet.

McDougall began with the story of the book, which segues neatly into the barefoot running "debate" which Born to Run has rekindled. At its core, the message of Born to Run is that running - in particular endurance running - played a critical (perhaps the critical) role in humankind's evolution. McDougall notes that our big brains required lots of energy, which ended up needing to come in the form of meat. We've had that big brain for 2 million years, but we've only had weapons for about 200,000 of those years. If that's the case, how did we kill our prey before the advent of spears, arrows and firearms? We became the ultimate endurance running animal, and through "persistence hunts", learned - literally - to run our victims to death. This realization explains why endurance is a major equalizer. As distances grow, the gap between male and female performance narrows. While we may lose raw speed with age, a well-conditioned endurance athlete can compete at long distances well into their late 40's and beyond.
The backdrop for this gripping yarn is the Copper Canyons of Mexico and the only known inhabitants of that area, the long-isolated Tarahumara Indians. With the help of a wayward specter of a man known as "Caballo Blanco", McDougall finds his way to the source of his initial puzzlement and wonder: a 55 year-old Tarahumara who had just won a 100-mile race wearing flowing robes and sandals.

The argument is compelling, but tracing our running history necessarily raises the question: how did we run before shoe companies started peddling all sorts of fancy modern shoes? These shoes provide cushioning and - by design - interfere with our natural running stride. Common sense would lead us to believe that the advent of the modern running shoe would lead to far fewer injuries among runners. While Charles Goodyear's rubber vulcanization process led to the first rubber shoes in the mid-19th century, it was not until the 1960's and 70's that mass-produced, running specific shoes made their way into the American (and ultimately the industrialized world's) consciousness. Nike, co-founded by legendary University of Oregon track coach Bill Bowerman, started selling "waffle trainers" in 1974. Nike grossed over $19 billion in 2008, and its stock went up 60% (in contrast to the S&P's -18% performance). There's clearly no financial incentive for Nike and its competitors to greet barefoot running with an open mind (though - ever savvy - Nike did create the "Nike Free" line of unstructured shoes to help "strengthen the foot"). And while publications such as Runner's World and Running Times may occasionally cover barefoot running as an eccentric niche within the sport, it would be potentially catastrophic for such publications to trumpet a movement - however sound - which would potentially put their advertising base out of business.

McDougall re-learned how to run, eventually arriving at the conclusion that shoes were contributing to his chronic injuries. He now runs barefoot - or in the Vibram Five Fingers - and has been injury-free (except for one problem he encountered when he wore some old running shoes on a winter run) since.

For my part, I embarked upon my path as a diagnosed "biomechanically inefficient" runner. I theorize that the severe groin tear which ended my soccer playing days has resulted in asymmetries in my hips. Start logging 30, then 50 and now 70 miles per week, and those imbalances will manifest themselves in injury. True enough, I started running in heavy motion control shoes such as the Asics Gel Kayano, a feature-packed 13-oz. behemoth which I supplemented with custom orthotics.

Interestingly, barefoot running found its way into my training (just 1-2 miles per week) before I read Born to Run. While there are certainly additional relevant factors, I have not had a running-related injury since April 2008, despite steadily increasing both my mileage and the intensity of my training. I have also moved down from heavy, overly supportive shoes to a much lighter array of training and racing options. The results have been nothing but positive.

So, whether you want a fresh perspective on what has become a tired expectation that running safely requires over-engineered foot coffins, or you want to read a page-turning tale of what human beings can do when we reconnect with our true nature (and, thus, our greater selves), pick up a copy of "Born to Run". You will not regret it.

-ESG

Manchester 2009: A Brush-With-Greatness/Pacing/Fundraising/Ultra-Run Report

2009-11-03T09:56:00.031-05:00

How exactly does one describe a week that rolls spending quality time with American running royalty, pacing, fundraising and ultra-marathoning all together into a single stretch of running-related indulgence? In a word? AWESOME.

As I have previously droned on about in these virtual pages, I have decided to do at least one "outside-the-box" running-related fundraiser per year. Last year, it was 40 miles to mark my 40th birthday and raise money for cancer research. This year, it was running 38 miles to mark 38 years of legal services for the poor in New Hampshire. Next April, it will be "Boston 2 Big Sur" to benefit the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation.

BILLY & ME (oh and DANE, too)

Of course, anyone with any sense of karmic balance knows that good things happen to those who do good things. I volunteered to be a pacer for the Manchester City Marathon, and one of the perks of so doing was being invited to the pre-race "VIP" Reception. While I was more of a CIP (Completely Inconsequential Person), I had the privilege of hanging out with none other than Bill Rodgers, a.k.a., "Boston Billy", renowned for winning BOTH the Boston and New York City Marathons 4 times each. The man ran 28 marathons under 2:15, a shocking achievement in the realm of distance running.

Suffice it to say that I had a chance to chat with Bill Rodgers for the better part of two hours last Thursday evening, ending up talking to him alone during the last half-hour. I also met Dane Rauschenberg, a former lawyer who ran 52 marathons in 2006, one each weekend, while working a full-time job. He's written a book, and now makes his living as an author and motivational speaker. It was good to connect with someone who's essentially living my dream (the fact that he's single is no small factor in terms of traveling around the country hitting marathon expos). I enjoyed speaking with Dane on a peer-to-peer sort of basis. Having Bill Rodgers to myself, though - hearing about Rosie Ruiz in Boston in 1980, how friendly he was with Frank Shorter & Greg Meyer, talking about his health and future running plans, even learning how much he likes cheese - was an experience I may never duplicate in my remaining running life. He was even gracious and interested in the fundraising ultra-run, and commented on legal assistance being a great cause.

THE DAY ARRIVES

Choosing to pace a marathon brought about a whole new level of anxiety. No longer did I worry about completing the distance, or about qualifying for Boston or about blowing 4 months of training with a shoddy race performance. No, instead I fretted about running too fast, a sure sign that the apocalypse cannot be far behind. I had a tough time dialing in the 8:45/mile average pace during my recent training runs, but just kept telling myself that, come race-day, I'd rise (or fall, as the case may be) to the occasion.

As befits my dysfunctional relationship with race-day weather (see 3 of my 4 prior marathons and my recent half-marathon at Bay State), Sunday turned out to be a PERFECT day for running a marathon: 40's at the start; low-to mid-50's by finish time. While I appreciated the good weather, I noted that it had to be that good on a day when I wasn't racing. As my wife pointed out, of course I'd find some reason to fault the weather.

I got to Manchester, left my stuff at the YMCA, and went for a 1.8-mile "warm-up" run. Why? Because having settled on doing 38 total miles, I figured that having "only" 10 miles to go after the marathon would seem more manageable than doing nearly 12. I saw some Kenyan-looking types going for an easy jog, and it felt good to get moving. After trying to eat everything I could get my hands on on Friday and Saturday (Halloween made that interesting), I wanted to run already. Here's how the pre-race miles stacked up:

1-8:48
0.85-7:13 (8:33/mi)

Total = 1.85 in 16:01

A PACE GROUP FORMS

So, with 1.85 miles down, I headed for the start area, where I found the pacer coordinator, took the 3:50 pace sign and lined up a good ways behind the start. People immediately began to hover around me, and the chattiest Kathy started telling me how she planned to run with the group for the first half, and then leave us behind as she sped up in the second half. When I asked her about her training, she answered by telling me why she had not been able to run much "lately". Not a good sign for a first-time marathoner. She told me she peaked at 30-40 miles per week. I not-so-gently suggested that she not speed up at the half. She huffed and puffed her way up the hills, and I did not see her after the half.

It merits mention that the pacing strategy I chose to follow was to start close to "on pace" (8:45/mile), exert even effort on the hills and plan for a slight fade towards the end. An online running friend makes brilliant customized spreadsheets for various marathons, and he made me one for free since I was volunteering as a pacer (and fundraising). Check out his work at http://www.mymarathonpace.com/.

The first half of Manchester is hilly, but it runs through a nice part of town, with ample crowd support and the half-marathoners making it feel like a nice, big race. I was chatting with my group, telling them stories of races past, checking in with them. We must have had about 15-20 people together for a while, with maybe 6 or so of those staying close to me while keeping the dialogue going.

Below are the mile-by-mile splits, with notable (at least to me) observations for each one.

1-8:46 - Start about 30 seconds after the gun; carrying the big 3:50 Pacer sign for a mile, while finding space for our group to run; the stalwarts are with me; we're chatting (though I remind them to relax and save their energy); I'm answering questions and smiling at the crowd; missed the first mile marker, but the Garmin had us right on pace

2-8:32 - More of the same, settling into a rhythm; I tossed the sign to the side during this mile, which was a bit fast

3-8:35 - Smooth and steady up a short hill; still enjoying the crowd and chatting with my group

4-8:41 - Hitting the first real hill, I tell the group to look up, run tall and relax up the hill

5-8:47 - The biggest hill of the first half, and I see my accountant up ahead; he says hello and realizes he's gone out way too fast for his 4:15 goal time (he ran a full marathon 3 weeks earlier)

6-8:36 - Keeping things steady; the group asks me about my training, PRs, what my goal would have been if I weren't pacing, etc.; we cut through the park where I plan to run most of the extra mileage later in the day

7-8:46 - A couple of hills as we work our way through a nice, supportive neighborhood; pace group is sticking together nicely, with a couple of folks staying close to me and chatting away

8-8:40 -The last significant hill of the first half; everyone seems to be doing well, drinking when they should and keeping it smooth and steady

9-8:32 - Some rolling terrain, but some downhill lets everyone catch their breath; I suggest that they shorten their stride to save the quads for later

10-8:38 (+32 secs in attempt to reset laps to match up with mile markers) - Coming back towards town, with the group hanging strong as we pass some half-marathoners who may have gone out too fast; somewhere in this mile, I notice a brand new pain on the outside of my left foot; it ebbs and flows, but stays with me for the rest of the day

11-8:37 - Getting closer to town; a couple of rolling hills; I tell the official race photographers to take pics of the best-looking pace group around; we'll see if they did ;-)

12-8:36 - Pass the Greek Orthodox church which occasions many remarks about the unfortunate architectural style

13-8:22 - We crest the final small hill of the first half, and I remind the group to relax on the long downhill; I feel a strong headwind for the first (but, sadly, not last) time; Half-marathoners are kicking it in as I ask who in our group wants to bail out now; no one volunteers, so we turn right where the halfers turn left and are on the way to the second half

HALF - 1:53:31 [about 40 seconds faster than the projected pace]

14-8:29 - Things changed immediately upon crossing the Merrimack River; the west side of the course has fewer runners (maybe 2/3 of the runners were half-marathoners), more wind and far less crowd support; we take a short, steep climb into a nice neighborhood, and I can sense the group beginning to thin out

15-8:29 - The grind begins here; some members of the group are falling back; there is no traffic control in this part of the race (not much at all for the rest of the race really); things start to get quiet

16-8:36 - Staying focused and steady; talking to those who are with me, I explain that the next mile is dedicated to my ailing father (as we'll be on "Louis Street" for a stretch); I sense some quiet support from the crew

17-8:39 - Working our way along, the group thins out noticeably; there's one guy right on my hip (a guy who last ran a marathon 6 years ago and acknowledged sub-par training for this one) and one woman seeking her Boston qualifying time who's staying a step or two ahead, looking strong

18-8:44 - It's been a long slog to this point, and there's still a lot of running left; I notice that some slight right hip soreness is evolving into actual pain; not sure where this came from or what to do about it

19-9:06 - A very long uphill (pace projection was to do it in 9:00) and we take it smoothly; the BQ woman leaves us to go ahead, while many others drop back; the guy stays with me, and we start picking occasional "stragglers" for stretches along the way; my hip is getting worse; the HS students at the next aid station provide some welcome positive feedback about the tie-dyed arm sleeves

20-9:21 - We turn into St. Anselm's College campus, and my hip becomes unbearably painful, with a shooting stab on each step; I let the group know to go ahead, and I think I will now have to walk the remaining 16 miles to make the 38-mile goal for the day; one of the "new" members of the 3:50 group offers me some topical Biofreeze gel; I stop, apply it, walk briefly and try to stretch and massage the painful spot; it feels remarkably better (still painful, but goes from stabbing pain to dull ache) and I catch back up to what passes for the group at this point

21-8:17 - Trucking along, the major downhill does nothing to help my aching foot and hip; This is a "grin & bear it" mile, where I take my third gel of the day, a caffeinated Gu Roctane I see some friends who just ran the relay and we do the obligatory high-five thing

22-8:47 - While I needed the energy from the Gu. I did not need the ensuing GI chaos; this required a 2-minute port-a-potty stop; according to my watch, I then ran the next mile in about 6:45 to catch back up (again); I found the one guy who'd been steady all along, and stayed with him; at this point, I'm noticing the dejected reactions of the people we're passing when they see my 3:50 Pacer's shirt; must have heard some version of "Oh, sh*t!" close to a couple dozen times in the final 5+ miles

23-8:38 - A very turny, twisty part of the course, but the neigborhood is nice enough and we know we're getting there; my one stalwart is with me stride for stride, and I encourage him as best I can

24-8:43 - We cross the river again over the lovely foot bridge and I know the end is coming up; in this mile, I see a guy walking wearing Vibram Five Fingers (essentially, gloves for one's feet which allow for "barefoot" running); I tell him I like the VFF's and am sorry he's injured; he replies that "sh*t happens"

25-8:43 - Bringing it home, my sole remaining acknowledged "pacee" and I are buoyed by a beautiful spectator who gives us some warm encouragement; he thanks me and tells me he'll drop back in the final mile to run in with his young son in his arms

26-8:32 - A volunteer tells us there's a mile to go (though it's clearly less); I look at my watch and think I'll be cutting it too close if she's right, so I step it up a bit; a guy with a triathlon race shirt apparently decides he doesn't want the 3:50 pacer to pass him, so he goes with me; I try to talk to him, but he acts like we're racing, and ends up fading back with less than a half-mile to go; I see my older two kids up ahead with less than 0.2 miles left, and they run alongside me on the outside of the course barriers; I smile and raise my arms as I approach the finish line

FINISH - 3:48:57 (chip time)

Boy, was I glad to be done. The announcer botched my name a couple of times before I crossed the line, but then nicely pointed out that I was the 3:50 pacer who appeared to have done his job properly ("How's that for knowing how to run"?, I heard him say). I got my medal, saw my family and took a planned 10-minute break to eat, stretch, change shirts and shoes and steel myself for the remaining 10 miles. I also saw the woman who'd gone ahead and gotten her BQ. She gave me a hug and asked her husband to take our picture together. The guy who came in just behind (but under 3:50) also thanked me and promised to look me up on LinkedIn.

As I was leaving the finish area, my running club teammate Dan appeared like an angel from heaven, having decided to come just to watch the marathon finish and keep me company during the final 10 miles (AND he gave me a check for the Campaign for Legal Services!). We bid my family adieu and were off on the final chapter of the day's running adventure.

POST-MARATHON MILEAGE

My foot and hip still hurt, but I was able to run fine with Dan chatting away and keeping me company. We ran a couple of miles to a local park in which I often run at lunchtime, which has a 1-mile lakefront path, a perfect way to stay away from traffic on a softer surface. I chose this because a number of friends had said they might "run a mile or two" with me, and I figured this would be easy logistically. It turned out to be a tough slog, especially with the small hills and one particularly bouncy suspension bridge that was sheer torture each time we crossed. After the first lap, one of my best friends - Scott - appeared, and it was great to see him. My family cheered during each lap as we passed by.

I was not in a good place during miles 3-7 of the extra 10, with each step radiating pain and discomfort in my foot and hip. I reminded myself about novelist/marathoner Haruki Murakami's cogent observation: "Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional." It helped to bear that in mind.

After running my 33rd mile of the day, we chatted with a family which asked jokingly whether any of us had run the marathon. The mother was incredulous about the fact that I had and was doing more, and she kept saying, "You don't look like you've run 33 miles", which begged the question of just how one should look at that point. Bloody? Stooped like Quasimodo? Covered in vomit? LOL I was tired and hurting, but had not physically begun to fall apart.

After several of the lakefront laps, I needed to take a 30-second stretch break, but when I stretched my hips, my hamstrings would cramp, and vice-versa. So, I took to pulling/stretching my back and legs by holding onto a park bench. I also drank and ate during those stops, and changed back into the Brooks Launches which I'd worn during the marathon, as the Montrail trail shoes were just too stiff for my aching feet.

Dan, Scott and I rounded the pond for the fifth full lap, and then did a partial lap to leave the 2.4 miles it would take to finish at a local ale house back near the start/finish area. That was the Legal Services' folks' gathering place. Once on the road, Scott said goodbye and I found my stride again (not implying a connection there). As we came back into town, the aches subsided and I was running smoothly again. Dan actually fell back with a half-mile to go (he said he was out of gas, but I suspect he was letting me have my moment), and I finished the final mile running around 7:15/mile pace.

When I saw the sign for the bar, I smiled and raised my arms (I'd just passed the marathon finish line, with the clock showing right around 6 hours). As I arrived at the pub, a guy came straight outside, seemingly to greet me. I thought he was a Legal Services person, but turned out to be just a guy coming out to smoke a butt. He asked me what I was doing, and in his semi-inebriated state, seemed to have trouble processing what I was telling him. Then my wife came outside, to tell me that the other folks were confused about my plans and had left for the park to meet me there.

I changed my clothes, greeted the well-wishers and fellow runners when they arrived and hung out for a while. I drank a lot of water, then forced down a black & tan and some sweet potato fries, and relived some of the day's highlights, both mine and those of other runners. This included everyone from my 2:50 friend (who broke 2:52 on a tough course for a new marathon PR) to a first-time ever runner who ran the half-marathon in around 3 hours.

My wife and younger two kids left to go for the season's inaugural ice skate, while my oldest daughter insisted on staying with me (foregoing her time with her visiting out-of-town "boyfriend", a very moving gesture).

Here are the (somewhat painful) splits from the final 10 miles:

29-9:52
30-10:11
31-10:27 (who's stupid idea was it to run on a hilly lakefront path anyway?)
32-10:49
33-11:03
34-10:47
35-10:45
36-10:35
37-9:56 (feels like heaven to be back on the flat, even sidewalks)
38-8:59

TOTAL FOR LAST 10 MILES - 1:42:52

TOTAL RUNNING TIME FOR THE DAY: 5:47:50 for 38.3 miles

AVERAGE PACE = 9:05/mile (approx, not counting brief rest stops)

CONCLUSION

As with other 2009 running endeavors, Sunday's experience confirmed that I am not the runner I was last year. Consistent, mostly injury-free training has vaulted me to a new level, in terms of speed, endurance and - perhaps most importantly - mental toughness. Selecting a day where all my running was to benefit other people made it that much easier to ride out the rough patches and complete the day's mission(s). Quitting was never an option.

Pacing is something I'll definitely do again, but perhaps a little closer to my actual fitness level (say, 20 minutes slower) and without committing to additional mileage (duh!).

The fundraising aspect was moderately successful. I surpassed the $1000 goal, but by nowhere near the margin I had hoped. It was a lot of work to raise about $1200 (so far), but I have no regrets. I got to do what I love to do on behalf of an organization about which I care a great deal. It's hard to imagine many things surpassing that on the personal satisfaction-meter.

Now, it's time to run easy for a couple of months before focusing on Boston, and next year's kooky running fundraiser: Boston 2 Big Sur, to benefit the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation.

Thanks for hanging in for this topsy-turvy journey.

-ESG (Ron)