...begins with one step. But perhaps it is a series of steps, turns and misdirections before one finally begins to discover the path one is truly wants to take.
So it has been for me the past year. Starting a blog about relays has changed my life in ways I never imagined. I have opened up about my experiences, dared to meet new people, and learned more than I ever wanted to know about what it takes to run a successful blog. I've pushed myself outside of my comfort zone and accomplished more than I ever dreamed possible.
But one cannot run long miles without having time to think, and as the year has progressed, I have seen that the road I started on is not the road I want to continue on. As I've explored all kinds of running, I've discovered that I enjoy trails most of all. The promise of a run in Tryon Creek can get me going on the darkest of days. I feel like a child, hopping over roots and sliding through the mud. I feel alive on the trails.
In my own reading, I've been drawn to ultrarunning and the runners who love it. The stories, the pain, the challenge - it all appeals to me at the deepest of levels. Leave the speed to others. I know that while I may be able to place in my age group at a small, local race, even if I concentrate my training on getting better, I'm never going to be that fast. What I want to learn, though, is if I'm that tough. Forget running fast. Can I keep moving forward for 6, 7, 8 hours?
There is so much to learn in ultrarunning - fueling, foot care, body management, gear. The learning opportunities seem endless.
For the past few months, I've reflected on where I want to go next. I think it is time to leave relays behind me (at least in a blogging sense), and to move forward into my next adventure. In the next two months, I will be looking to hand my blog off to someone new and to start my ultrarunning. I could not be more excited.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Going Whichever Way The Wind Blows
Let me just say this. Run a bad marathon, and you will no doubt question just what it is you are doing out there. In the days following my run, my mind covered every option, turning it around, blowing the dust, and just considering what it is that I am doing when I lace up my shoes and head out the door.
During the hard miles, I questioned my ability to run far. There were some dark moments when I decided that I probably couldn’t run an ultra, that it would hurt too much and that I wasn’t cut from the right cloth to get through that challenge. I was responding to the pain at that moment. Long after I had finished, those doubts lingered.
After the race, when my pride was bruised at having to tell my friends that I had not even managed a PR, I flirted with the idea of running only 1/2s and 10ks. Distances that I’ve had success at, these shorter races would give me a chance to win some age groups. But as I thought about it, I realized that my success at those distances is tied to my training - I’ve been successful because I run 7 - 12 miles without a second thought. I’m a rube at anything longer than 20 miles - I’ve only run that far 5 times, and 3 of those have been marathon races.
I even went so far as to say that I’m a good middle distance runner, while I am not cut out for marathons. But the truth is, I really don’t know that. I’m just getting started. I love to run, and I love to run long. When I first started running, 10ks left me tired and so far. After my first 1/2 marathon, I quit running for 3 months, remembering the cramping that kept me bed all day. My first hard 1/2, running a 1:48, left me with tendonitis in my foot and a sore hip that took weeks to resolve. And now I can run those much faster and with no lingering effects. I have so much work to do on the long run. I won’t know for years if I am a good long runner.
One thing I did learn is that I love smaller races. There was amazing energy at the Rock n Roll race, but it was enormous. I felt lost in the crowd. There was no announcement of my name as I crossed the finish, I had no friends to cheer for. I like to run with people I know, or who I have a chance to get to know. I love to run on the trails, in the trees, over rocks. I was so grateful to win the entry for the marathon, but on race day, I wished I was on Vashon Island running my first ultra.
In the end, I learned that I want to keep on running as my heart tells me to. I don’t want to be driven by needing a certain time to feel that I have succeeded; I don’t want to choose races that I know I will do well at because I’ve done them before. I want to keep pushing and exploring and seeing how far I can take myself, because in the end, this is the best adventure of all.
During the hard miles, I questioned my ability to run far. There were some dark moments when I decided that I probably couldn’t run an ultra, that it would hurt too much and that I wasn’t cut from the right cloth to get through that challenge. I was responding to the pain at that moment. Long after I had finished, those doubts lingered.
After the race, when my pride was bruised at having to tell my friends that I had not even managed a PR, I flirted with the idea of running only 1/2s and 10ks. Distances that I’ve had success at, these shorter races would give me a chance to win some age groups. But as I thought about it, I realized that my success at those distances is tied to my training - I’ve been successful because I run 7 - 12 miles without a second thought. I’m a rube at anything longer than 20 miles - I’ve only run that far 5 times, and 3 of those have been marathon races.
I even went so far as to say that I’m a good middle distance runner, while I am not cut out for marathons. But the truth is, I really don’t know that. I’m just getting started. I love to run, and I love to run long. When I first started running, 10ks left me tired and so far. After my first 1/2 marathon, I quit running for 3 months, remembering the cramping that kept me bed all day. My first hard 1/2, running a 1:48, left me with tendonitis in my foot and a sore hip that took weeks to resolve. And now I can run those much faster and with no lingering effects. I have so much work to do on the long run. I won’t know for years if I am a good long runner.
One thing I did learn is that I love smaller races. There was amazing energy at the Rock n Roll race, but it was enormous. I felt lost in the crowd. There was no announcement of my name as I crossed the finish, I had no friends to cheer for. I like to run with people I know, or who I have a chance to get to know. I love to run on the trails, in the trees, over rocks. I was so grateful to win the entry for the marathon, but on race day, I wished I was on Vashon Island running my first ultra.
In the end, I learned that I want to keep on running as my heart tells me to. I don’t want to be driven by needing a certain time to feel that I have succeeded; I don’t want to choose races that I know I will do well at because I’ve done them before. I want to keep pushing and exploring and seeing how far I can take myself, because in the end, this is the best adventure of all.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Sometimes You're The Windshield, Sometimes You're The Bug
Seattle, Seattle, Seattle. I had such high hopes for you. I’d been putting in the miles, running strong, gaining confidence. And then I had to go an suffer Bronchitis Lung’s revenge - or something close enough to it to cause an awful replay of last year’s marathon. Instead of the four or five 20 milers that would help me grow strong enough to cover the distance, I was able to do one - and that in mid-April. So really, I had a pretty good idea that I would be growing antennae as I headed into this marathon.
Still, hope “is a thing with feathers”, and I secretly dreamed that all would be well. Perhaps 50 mile weeks of shorter runs would be enough to carry me across that finish line with style, grace and a fantastic PR. I would run to what I felt my realistic ability would be, and if I fell short, well, then I would try and run with spirit and perhaps a little zen.
I was up before the dawn, though I slept fairly well considering. The Space Needle was beautiful in the early morning darkness.
I had plenty of time to eat some breakfast, have a small cup of coffee and gather all my things before walking to the bus. Once at the bus stop, I was shocked at the number of other runners up so early. Bus after bus scooped up runners and carried us down the freeway to Tukwila where, yep, there were even more people! Until you’ve seen the number of porta potties they put out for a race of 28,000 people, you have no idea what a lot of porta potties looks like. Makes the Portland marathon or Hood to Coast beer garden look like a rest stop…
I found my corral - lucky number 13 - and sat down nearby to wait for the start. Note to self - running with friends is infinitely more fun. Seriously. As the corrals opened, volunteers offered us packets of salt. Packets of salt? Really? But considering the rest of the day, perhaps I should have partaken…
Finally, the start rolled around. The elites took off at 7:00 - while those of us farther to the back sat around and waited. About 18 minutes later, I was off.
First mental snapshot of the day - the enormous inflatable Brooks rocker dude - Matt - welcoming us out on the course.
The first part of the course went by uneventfully - I stopped to use the restroom (2 minutes…the line stopped moving as soon as I popped in!), drank some iced down Cytomax, climbed some early hills easily. But by mile 6 I was starting to feel it a bit, and I worried that I was going to have a rough day.
But the beautiful shores of Lake Washington (another snapshot) and the green grass of those parks distracted me for some time. The soldiers and families standing at attention holding American flags brought tears to my eyes (yep, filed that away!). I fell in behind a guy in an older Brooks jersey and shorts and kept my pace solidly at the 9 min mark.
We started a steep climb that would lead the marathoners out onto the I-90 bridge and across the water, and then quickly headed down a nice grade that I felt comfortable on. This downhill pounding would wreak havoc on my quads later in the day. But out here on the bridge I was recognized by @wsearunner, which gave me a nice boost. A buffed out shirtless dude passed me, and I felt my competitive hackles rise. This guy was obviously a body builder - not a runner! I couldn’t let him beat me. I worked to pass him again. We exchanged leads a few times.
As we headed back up the bridge, I still felt pretty good, but the Cytomax was starting to gurgle. We hit our first tunnel, where the road canted pretty strongly. I tried to find a flat line, but it wasn’t easy to do. We joined back in with the 1/2 marathoners, so I felt like I was passing people again. At this point, I started to think about how far I still had to go, and I felt my spirits starting to sink.
I hit the 1/2 way mark in 1:58, right on pace for my sub 4:00 finish, but I could tell at this point that things were getting tight. I started to take short breaks at the aid stations, and I could feel my pace slowing. Right around the 16 mile mark, there was another aid station, and for some reason, I left it feeling great. Perhaps it was because I knew I would see a friendly face soon, or maybe it was the 2nd Hammer gel I had eaten. I bounded out of there and headed for the hills. Not long after, I started feeling what can only be described as electric shocks shooting through my legs, radiating in both directions. Oh, crap, I thought.
Seeing my husband at the 17 mile mark was definitely a boost. I had him give me a quick massage, and I stretched a bit. At this point, though, I knew my game was off, and I had decided that I would try and take a relaxed view of the race. I let myself stop and chat with him, knowing this was costing valuable minutes. As I headed up Aurora Avenue, my challenge became letting the race go and not getting bogged down in the emotion of not meeting my initial goals.
Wow, was this a long hill. Up, up, up, relentless, though it was fun to cheer for the Brooks ID runners heading down the other side. Nausea had set in, and I made the decision to drink only water from this point on. With the benefit of hindsight, I see that this was probably the wrong decision, as the nausea was more likely the result of electrolyte depletion. The Cytomax was not that strong, so it’s very likely that it was too watered down to be of much use. I have ordered some S-Caps to see if I can work out my electrolytes issues.
As we pulled to the top of the hill, we were greeted by a sweeping view of the city of Seattle…and the enormous hill were were going to run down, and then back up. My heart sank. I couldn’t do this. This low emotional point would continue for a few miles. I hit the bottom of that hill in 2:51; in spite of all my stopping, I was still at a 9:10 pace (though I did not realize this at the time - in my mind, the race was over). Another mental snapshot - looking back up that hill is the beautiful vista you see in the advertisements for that race. If that isn’t false advertising, I don’t know what is…
I had decided at the top of the hill that there was no way I was going to run up, so I started to walk. The medical patrol even stopped to ask me if I was okay, and buff shirtless dude went right on by. I walked the entire hill, and when I got back to the top, I reluctantly started to run again. Coming down the hill was the closest I came to crying - I wanted to stop at mile 21 and go in to the hotel and watch the soccer game - but my pride wouldn’t let me. This was not the race I wanted, but it was the race I had.
I stopped again to talk to my husband, and asked him if I really had to keep on going (much to the amusement of the others standing there). Mentally, I knew I was going to finish, but the mind has other ways of messing with you. Once I had decided I was going to finish it, I started to notice that the bottom of my right foot had a strange ache, similar to one that ended up with me having tendonitis for three weeks. My left knee felt off, like the kneecap was off track again. Nevermind the regular aches of running - I became super focused on every twinge and ache that might compromise the rest of my summer running. I started taking every excuse to stop.
My race was over, but I challenged myself to let this be okay. I started paying attention to the people around me, and though my body hurt, I started smiling again. If I didn’t feel like running, I didn’t. I stopped and stretched as I needed to, and I even decided to take a gel at 3:30 in - I had forgotten to do so at the 3 hour mark. The nausea seemed to be subsiding now that I wasn’t taking in the Cytomax, but I was out of gas.
The last little hill before the finish was cruel, but finally I was on the final stretch to the finish. I mustered up a run, and as I entered the last six hundred yards, I saw buffed shirtless dude. I had to pass him, and pass him I did. That one little victory made my day. (You can see him finish behind me in my finisher’s video.)
Since last Saturday, I’ve had a lot of time to think about what happened and where I’m going, but that’s the topic of another post.
Still, hope “is a thing with feathers”, and I secretly dreamed that all would be well. Perhaps 50 mile weeks of shorter runs would be enough to carry me across that finish line with style, grace and a fantastic PR. I would run to what I felt my realistic ability would be, and if I fell short, well, then I would try and run with spirit and perhaps a little zen.
I was up before the dawn, though I slept fairly well considering. The Space Needle was beautiful in the early morning darkness.
I had plenty of time to eat some breakfast, have a small cup of coffee and gather all my things before walking to the bus. Once at the bus stop, I was shocked at the number of other runners up so early. Bus after bus scooped up runners and carried us down the freeway to Tukwila where, yep, there were even more people! Until you’ve seen the number of porta potties they put out for a race of 28,000 people, you have no idea what a lot of porta potties looks like. Makes the Portland marathon or Hood to Coast beer garden look like a rest stop…
I found my corral - lucky number 13 - and sat down nearby to wait for the start. Note to self - running with friends is infinitely more fun. Seriously. As the corrals opened, volunteers offered us packets of salt. Packets of salt? Really? But considering the rest of the day, perhaps I should have partaken…
Finally, the start rolled around. The elites took off at 7:00 - while those of us farther to the back sat around and waited. About 18 minutes later, I was off.
First mental snapshot of the day - the enormous inflatable Brooks rocker dude - Matt - welcoming us out on the course.
The first part of the course went by uneventfully - I stopped to use the restroom (2 minutes…the line stopped moving as soon as I popped in!), drank some iced down Cytomax, climbed some early hills easily. But by mile 6 I was starting to feel it a bit, and I worried that I was going to have a rough day.
But the beautiful shores of Lake Washington (another snapshot) and the green grass of those parks distracted me for some time. The soldiers and families standing at attention holding American flags brought tears to my eyes (yep, filed that away!). I fell in behind a guy in an older Brooks jersey and shorts and kept my pace solidly at the 9 min mark.
We started a steep climb that would lead the marathoners out onto the I-90 bridge and across the water, and then quickly headed down a nice grade that I felt comfortable on. This downhill pounding would wreak havoc on my quads later in the day. But out here on the bridge I was recognized by @wsearunner, which gave me a nice boost. A buffed out shirtless dude passed me, and I felt my competitive hackles rise. This guy was obviously a body builder - not a runner! I couldn’t let him beat me. I worked to pass him again. We exchanged leads a few times.
As we headed back up the bridge, I still felt pretty good, but the Cytomax was starting to gurgle. We hit our first tunnel, where the road canted pretty strongly. I tried to find a flat line, but it wasn’t easy to do. We joined back in with the 1/2 marathoners, so I felt like I was passing people again. At this point, I started to think about how far I still had to go, and I felt my spirits starting to sink.
I hit the 1/2 way mark in 1:58, right on pace for my sub 4:00 finish, but I could tell at this point that things were getting tight. I started to take short breaks at the aid stations, and I could feel my pace slowing. Right around the 16 mile mark, there was another aid station, and for some reason, I left it feeling great. Perhaps it was because I knew I would see a friendly face soon, or maybe it was the 2nd Hammer gel I had eaten. I bounded out of there and headed for the hills. Not long after, I started feeling what can only be described as electric shocks shooting through my legs, radiating in both directions. Oh, crap, I thought.
Seeing my husband at the 17 mile mark was definitely a boost. I had him give me a quick massage, and I stretched a bit. At this point, though, I knew my game was off, and I had decided that I would try and take a relaxed view of the race. I let myself stop and chat with him, knowing this was costing valuable minutes. As I headed up Aurora Avenue, my challenge became letting the race go and not getting bogged down in the emotion of not meeting my initial goals.
Wow, was this a long hill. Up, up, up, relentless, though it was fun to cheer for the Brooks ID runners heading down the other side. Nausea had set in, and I made the decision to drink only water from this point on. With the benefit of hindsight, I see that this was probably the wrong decision, as the nausea was more likely the result of electrolyte depletion. The Cytomax was not that strong, so it’s very likely that it was too watered down to be of much use. I have ordered some S-Caps to see if I can work out my electrolytes issues.
As we pulled to the top of the hill, we were greeted by a sweeping view of the city of Seattle…and the enormous hill were were going to run down, and then back up. My heart sank. I couldn’t do this. This low emotional point would continue for a few miles. I hit the bottom of that hill in 2:51; in spite of all my stopping, I was still at a 9:10 pace (though I did not realize this at the time - in my mind, the race was over). Another mental snapshot - looking back up that hill is the beautiful vista you see in the advertisements for that race. If that isn’t false advertising, I don’t know what is…
I had decided at the top of the hill that there was no way I was going to run up, so I started to walk. The medical patrol even stopped to ask me if I was okay, and buff shirtless dude went right on by. I walked the entire hill, and when I got back to the top, I reluctantly started to run again. Coming down the hill was the closest I came to crying - I wanted to stop at mile 21 and go in to the hotel and watch the soccer game - but my pride wouldn’t let me. This was not the race I wanted, but it was the race I had.
I stopped again to talk to my husband, and asked him if I really had to keep on going (much to the amusement of the others standing there). Mentally, I knew I was going to finish, but the mind has other ways of messing with you. Once I had decided I was going to finish it, I started to notice that the bottom of my right foot had a strange ache, similar to one that ended up with me having tendonitis for three weeks. My left knee felt off, like the kneecap was off track again. Nevermind the regular aches of running - I became super focused on every twinge and ache that might compromise the rest of my summer running. I started taking every excuse to stop.
My race was over, but I challenged myself to let this be okay. I started paying attention to the people around me, and though my body hurt, I started smiling again. If I didn’t feel like running, I didn’t. I stopped and stretched as I needed to, and I even decided to take a gel at 3:30 in - I had forgotten to do so at the 3 hour mark. The nausea seemed to be subsiding now that I wasn’t taking in the Cytomax, but I was out of gas.
The last little hill before the finish was cruel, but finally I was on the final stretch to the finish. I mustered up a run, and as I entered the last six hundred yards, I saw buffed shirtless dude. I had to pass him, and pass him I did. That one little victory made my day. (You can see him finish behind me in my finisher’s video.)
Since last Saturday, I’ve had a lot of time to think about what happened and where I’m going, but that’s the topic of another post.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Don't Worry, Be Happy
I had the awesome opportunity last weekend to work the Helvetia 1/2 Marathon from a different perspective - handing out water at the 10 mile mark for the Red Lizard aid station. Instead of pushing myself until my lungs were burning and my legs crying out to stop, I was cheering on runners, yelling out “electrolytes!” and generally making a happy fool out of myself. I loved it.
The steady stream of runners made for fascinating entertainment. First came the speedsters, hardly looking up as they dashed through the station without even the briefest slowing. Brooks IDer Jacob Puzey was battling it out for first place with another runner - they ran side by side down the gravel road, passing folks still running the 10k.
After the faster runners came the middle of the packers - smiling, working hard, taking in their electrolytes like good little runners should. About this time came in a teenaged kid, who promptly collapsed right near me. ”Aaahh,” he groaned. I looked around - no one else was coming up to help him. ”Oh crap,” I thought, “I don’t know what to do!” But I could recognize cramping, and I urged him to stop trying to move and take in some electrolytes. I soon learned that he had only had water up to that point, and it was a hot day. He had gone out blazingly fast - a 6:05 pace through the first six miles - probably too fast for his training, he lamented. I called the ham radio operator over to help him get a ride out of there - his race was done. Thankfully, an OHSU resident showed up about then and could help him out properly. Clearly I need to learn more about first aid!
We had a steady stream of folks at this point, and it was tough work just to keep the cups full. Slowly we saw some walkers emerge - first, the determined race walkers and then the folks needing to walk along with their running. As the people slowed down, the need for electrolyte drinks went up. We got to cheer more, chat more…and that’s when the day really got fun. Towards the back of the pack, runners aren’t afraid to stop and eat a donut at mile 10. They laugh, they enjoy themselves.
There were runners of all sizes and shapes - high school kids, older folks, and everyone in between. It was so inspirational to see all the types of runners who take on the 1/2 marathon challenge, rather than the few I typically see when I’m running an event. I had to laugh when I saw a woman who had stuffed her sports bra full of snacks - bags of nuts, shot blocks, and assorted other goodies - she was a store in motion! We saw it all.
We had to wait until the last walker was through; she showed up nearly four hours after the race had started. I expected her to be embarrassed that the porta-potty truck was trailing behind her, but she was upbeat and happy. We chatted about her nuun she was carrying and how the day had gone so far. She was enjoying the day, the race, the experience. If she was bothered that she was bringing up the rear, she didn’t show it. It’s a lesson worth learning.
In the end, we served over 4,000 runners water and electrolytes that day. But they served me too, letting me know that the race is not always for the swiftest. It is what we push ourselves to do that matters in the end. We can miss the goals we set, we can even be dead last, but it doesn’t have to ruin the day. What matters is that we are out there giving it our all.
The steady stream of runners made for fascinating entertainment. First came the speedsters, hardly looking up as they dashed through the station without even the briefest slowing. Brooks IDer Jacob Puzey was battling it out for first place with another runner - they ran side by side down the gravel road, passing folks still running the 10k.
After the faster runners came the middle of the packers - smiling, working hard, taking in their electrolytes like good little runners should. About this time came in a teenaged kid, who promptly collapsed right near me. ”Aaahh,” he groaned. I looked around - no one else was coming up to help him. ”Oh crap,” I thought, “I don’t know what to do!” But I could recognize cramping, and I urged him to stop trying to move and take in some electrolytes. I soon learned that he had only had water up to that point, and it was a hot day. He had gone out blazingly fast - a 6:05 pace through the first six miles - probably too fast for his training, he lamented. I called the ham radio operator over to help him get a ride out of there - his race was done. Thankfully, an OHSU resident showed up about then and could help him out properly. Clearly I need to learn more about first aid!
We had a steady stream of folks at this point, and it was tough work just to keep the cups full. Slowly we saw some walkers emerge - first, the determined race walkers and then the folks needing to walk along with their running. As the people slowed down, the need for electrolyte drinks went up. We got to cheer more, chat more…and that’s when the day really got fun. Towards the back of the pack, runners aren’t afraid to stop and eat a donut at mile 10. They laugh, they enjoy themselves.
There were runners of all sizes and shapes - high school kids, older folks, and everyone in between. It was so inspirational to see all the types of runners who take on the 1/2 marathon challenge, rather than the few I typically see when I’m running an event. I had to laugh when I saw a woman who had stuffed her sports bra full of snacks - bags of nuts, shot blocks, and assorted other goodies - she was a store in motion! We saw it all.
We had to wait until the last walker was through; she showed up nearly four hours after the race had started. I expected her to be embarrassed that the porta-potty truck was trailing behind her, but she was upbeat and happy. We chatted about her nuun she was carrying and how the day had gone so far. She was enjoying the day, the race, the experience. If she was bothered that she was bringing up the rear, she didn’t show it. It’s a lesson worth learning.
In the end, we served over 4,000 runners water and electrolytes that day. But they served me too, letting me know that the race is not always for the swiftest. It is what we push ourselves to do that matters in the end. We can miss the goals we set, we can even be dead last, but it doesn’t have to ruin the day. What matters is that we are out there giving it our all.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Fuel For Your Fire
I cannot tell you happy I am to see the sun this morning. According to the weather reports, we have had rain every day for the past 21 days. 21 days. Imagine that. Gray skies, dark clouds, rain, every day for three weeks. It does make you a little crazy. But this morning, sweet, sweet sun and blue skies. I can forget that it supposed to go away tomorrow and just soak it up today.
Life can be like that, can’t it? One piece of bad news after another, one setback after another, until you think that there may never be blue sky again. I’ve felt a bit like that in the past few weeks. This lingering crap in my chest started with the rain, and like the rain, it has stuck around. Doubts about the upcoming marathon have settled in with it. My relay blogging has been particularly frustrating. I’m forgetting dates and times of family obligations. Crazy. I’m tempted to crawl into bed and never leave.
But a great song from John Nemeth, a blues singer from Boise, Idaho of all places, helps me pick myself up and dust myself off. ”If you’ve run across some bad luck,” he tells us in the opening to the song, “just build yourself a little fire…and just burn out that pain.” I love to listen to this song as I run, thinking about all the pain that goes in to training for a race, and then I let it fuel me to the finish.
Maybe you’ve been injured or struggling to find the time to run. Maybe your splits are slow or your body is tired, maybe the rain won’t stop or the sun won’t ease up. We all hit rough patches; it is what we do in them that matters. I’m going to be building myself a little fire and using it to fuel my future. What about you?
Life can be like that, can’t it? One piece of bad news after another, one setback after another, until you think that there may never be blue sky again. I’ve felt a bit like that in the past few weeks. This lingering crap in my chest started with the rain, and like the rain, it has stuck around. Doubts about the upcoming marathon have settled in with it. My relay blogging has been particularly frustrating. I’m forgetting dates and times of family obligations. Crazy. I’m tempted to crawl into bed and never leave.
But a great song from John Nemeth, a blues singer from Boise, Idaho of all places, helps me pick myself up and dust myself off. ”If you’ve run across some bad luck,” he tells us in the opening to the song, “just build yourself a little fire…and just burn out that pain.” I love to listen to this song as I run, thinking about all the pain that goes in to training for a race, and then I let it fuel me to the finish.
Maybe you’ve been injured or struggling to find the time to run. Maybe your splits are slow or your body is tired, maybe the rain won’t stop or the sun won’t ease up. We all hit rough patches; it is what we do in them that matters. I’m going to be building myself a little fire and using it to fuel my future. What about you?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
2010 Comrades Marathon
It’s nearly 9 pm, and I am riveted to the computer. Halfway across the world, nearly 23,000 men and women are beginning their journey down the 55 miles that make up the Comrades marathon. It’s nearly 6:00 in the morning in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa, where the ultramarathon begins. The winning male runner will take about 5 1/2 hours to cover the 55 mostly downhill miles (just under a 6:00 pace), while the winning female runner will take around 6 hours 15 minutes on average. Women have broken 6 hours only three times - including US ultrarunning phenom Ann Trason, who posted the 2nd fastest time for a woman ever.
I had heard of the Comrades marathon before, but I never realized the scope of this race. Imagine 23,000 runners all putting in over 50 miles for this race - a distance that most runners in the US don’t really consider running. And they have to do it in less than 12 hours - if they don’t make the finish by the cutoff, they don’t get to finish at all. It’s an international event; I’m listening to commentary in a variety of languages. It’s an amazing event that we hear little about here in the US.
American runner Josh Cox is running today, but so are folks who I’ve twittered with, like @runwicked. Ultrarunner Michael Wardian, female badasses Kami Semick (a fellow Oregonian) and Nikki Kimball, running legend Bart Yasso and former ABC Bachelor Andy Baldwin are there too. Like the Boston Marathon, this is one of those big running events that suck me in and hold me captive.
I don’t know that I would have realized that the Comrades Marathon was taking place this weekend if it weren’t for the Endurance Planet podcast I listed to the other day. It recalled the story of Doug Kurtis, a 2:13 marathoner who entered the 1997 Comrades Marathon with high hopes. It was a great listen, and I encourage you to check it out if you want to know more about this big race. It’s a great story of how even the most experienced runners can make the most basic of mistakes.
I’m loving the coverage. I’m not watching the elites battling it out at the front - no, I’m watching runners just like me chugging down the course, waving at the cameras, thumbs up with happy smiles on their faces. Their enthusiasm is infectious. It is a sea of people - as crowded as I’ve ever seen. Inspiring. Amazing.
It’s 9:45 pm now. The sun is up in South Africa, and waves of runners are chugging up a hill towards the camera. I can’t help but think about all of the great American ultrarunners - but very few take on this long road ultra. Running 50 miles on the road is much different than 50 miles on the trails. Alberto Salazar and Ann Trason are the only two Americans to have won this race.
On the line today is $31,000 for the male and female winners, with extra incentives for breaking records, coming in as the first South African and placing high while wearing certain shoes. But you have to know that the vast majority of the runners toeing the line in the race don’t have dreams of riches to be had - they are just pushing themselves to finish the world’s biggest ultramarathon. It is an amazing spectacle to witness.
The camera is focused now on the leader, who is 12 minutes ahead of the next runner. But the commentators are speculating that he will only run half of the race, that he is rabbiting for his teammates. I want to believe that he is running the race of his life - that he is pushing his own limits and not making an individual sport into a team sport. I prefer to believe that running races is only about seeing where our own limits lie - that we would not sacrifice what we could do on a race day for what our teammate might be able to pull off.
Kami Semick is in 5th place for the women. Nice! Twins Olesya and Elena Nurgalieva are leading the women; they are matched down to their sunglasses.
10:45 pm. Wellington Chidodo is still in the lead. None of the American men are in the top ten. The twins are holding on to their lead in the women’s race. Farther back, the mass of humanity continues - the pack has not broken up.
I want to know more about Chidodo. He is a novice Comrades runner, from Zimbabwe. He has placed well at marathons, but he has not won any of note. He is basically an unknown factor. Is this a team play, or will it be something else? But it is now 11 pm, and I am fading fast. As much as I would like to watch the entire race unfold, I will probably soon be asleep. Now I see that Kami Semick has moved to 4th. How can I go to sleep?
These are the moments that move me as a runner. They are the moments that drive me to push harder, dream bigger, move longer. These are the moments that show me just how much I love to run.
A new leader - Charles Tijane. Chidodo has been reduced to a walk, his moment in the spotlight over.
11:45. I am dozing off, and the race is really just beginning to start. Josh Cox? He’s nowhere near the leaders. Looks like he is in 61st; Wardian in 63rd. Kami Semick is back to 5th.
7:37. The runners have been at it for nearly 11 hours. The coverage is continuing, and runners of all shapes and sizes are running, walking and stumbling towards the finish. Stephen Muzingi, winnng the race for the second year in a row, finished hours ago in 5:29:01. Michael Wardian finished 26th, while Josh Cox came in 186th.
But it is this mass of humanity that I find so inspiring. A man is running in with a “We’ve Had Enough” sign held high above his head. The Twitter feed tells me that Neepa Sheth is the first Indian woman to attempt to run the race. There are 23,000 stories of courage, bravery and triumph unfolding out there right now. I love that the live coverage captures all of it. The real race is on now - the runners have just about an half an hour to finish. Those left on the course have already had to reach the halfway point in 6 hours, but now, if they do not make the gates, they will no have the chance to cross the finish line.
In the women’s race, the twins held on to the lead, Elena officially winning the race by 1 second in 6:13:04. (Her sister Olesya won it last year.) Oregonian Kami Semick came in 4th, about 20 minutes behind the leaders.
A person in a huge rhino suit is coming across the finish. It’s a huge mass of people, and runners who did not know each other at the start of the race are now crossing the finish, arms linked. “This is what the race is all about,” the commentator announces. Indeed.
I had heard of the Comrades marathon before, but I never realized the scope of this race. Imagine 23,000 runners all putting in over 50 miles for this race - a distance that most runners in the US don’t really consider running. And they have to do it in less than 12 hours - if they don’t make the finish by the cutoff, they don’t get to finish at all. It’s an international event; I’m listening to commentary in a variety of languages. It’s an amazing event that we hear little about here in the US.
American runner Josh Cox is running today, but so are folks who I’ve twittered with, like @runwicked. Ultrarunner Michael Wardian, female badasses Kami Semick (a fellow Oregonian) and Nikki Kimball, running legend Bart Yasso and former ABC Bachelor Andy Baldwin are there too. Like the Boston Marathon, this is one of those big running events that suck me in and hold me captive.
I don’t know that I would have realized that the Comrades Marathon was taking place this weekend if it weren’t for the Endurance Planet podcast I listed to the other day. It recalled the story of Doug Kurtis, a 2:13 marathoner who entered the 1997 Comrades Marathon with high hopes. It was a great listen, and I encourage you to check it out if you want to know more about this big race. It’s a great story of how even the most experienced runners can make the most basic of mistakes.
I’m loving the coverage. I’m not watching the elites battling it out at the front - no, I’m watching runners just like me chugging down the course, waving at the cameras, thumbs up with happy smiles on their faces. Their enthusiasm is infectious. It is a sea of people - as crowded as I’ve ever seen. Inspiring. Amazing.
It’s 9:45 pm now. The sun is up in South Africa, and waves of runners are chugging up a hill towards the camera. I can’t help but think about all of the great American ultrarunners - but very few take on this long road ultra. Running 50 miles on the road is much different than 50 miles on the trails. Alberto Salazar and Ann Trason are the only two Americans to have won this race.
On the line today is $31,000 for the male and female winners, with extra incentives for breaking records, coming in as the first South African and placing high while wearing certain shoes. But you have to know that the vast majority of the runners toeing the line in the race don’t have dreams of riches to be had - they are just pushing themselves to finish the world’s biggest ultramarathon. It is an amazing spectacle to witness.
The camera is focused now on the leader, who is 12 minutes ahead of the next runner. But the commentators are speculating that he will only run half of the race, that he is rabbiting for his teammates. I want to believe that he is running the race of his life - that he is pushing his own limits and not making an individual sport into a team sport. I prefer to believe that running races is only about seeing where our own limits lie - that we would not sacrifice what we could do on a race day for what our teammate might be able to pull off.
Kami Semick is in 5th place for the women. Nice! Twins Olesya and Elena Nurgalieva are leading the women; they are matched down to their sunglasses.
10:45 pm. Wellington Chidodo is still in the lead. None of the American men are in the top ten. The twins are holding on to their lead in the women’s race. Farther back, the mass of humanity continues - the pack has not broken up.
I want to know more about Chidodo. He is a novice Comrades runner, from Zimbabwe. He has placed well at marathons, but he has not won any of note. He is basically an unknown factor. Is this a team play, or will it be something else? But it is now 11 pm, and I am fading fast. As much as I would like to watch the entire race unfold, I will probably soon be asleep. Now I see that Kami Semick has moved to 4th. How can I go to sleep?
These are the moments that move me as a runner. They are the moments that drive me to push harder, dream bigger, move longer. These are the moments that show me just how much I love to run.
A new leader - Charles Tijane. Chidodo has been reduced to a walk, his moment in the spotlight over.
11:45. I am dozing off, and the race is really just beginning to start. Josh Cox? He’s nowhere near the leaders. Looks like he is in 61st; Wardian in 63rd. Kami Semick is back to 5th.
7:37. The runners have been at it for nearly 11 hours. The coverage is continuing, and runners of all shapes and sizes are running, walking and stumbling towards the finish. Stephen Muzingi, winnng the race for the second year in a row, finished hours ago in 5:29:01. Michael Wardian finished 26th, while Josh Cox came in 186th.
But it is this mass of humanity that I find so inspiring. A man is running in with a “We’ve Had Enough” sign held high above his head. The Twitter feed tells me that Neepa Sheth is the first Indian woman to attempt to run the race. There are 23,000 stories of courage, bravery and triumph unfolding out there right now. I love that the live coverage captures all of it. The real race is on now - the runners have just about an half an hour to finish. Those left on the course have already had to reach the halfway point in 6 hours, but now, if they do not make the gates, they will no have the chance to cross the finish line.
In the women’s race, the twins held on to the lead, Elena officially winning the race by 1 second in 6:13:04. (Her sister Olesya won it last year.) Oregonian Kami Semick came in 4th, about 20 minutes behind the leaders.
A person in a huge rhino suit is coming across the finish. It’s a huge mass of people, and runners who did not know each other at the start of the race are now crossing the finish, arms linked. “This is what the race is all about,” the commentator announces. Indeed.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Yo Ho Ho & A Bottle of Rum
What a week I have had. I spent most of it feeling sorry for myself, desperately trying to cough my way out of a chest cold that settled in on Saturday. Thursday night I braved a soccer game, and by Friday, I felt okay enough to knock out a 5.5 mile run. The pace was slow and I wondered if I wouldn’t be better off dressing up like a pirate and cheering on my friends at the Rum Run on Sunday.
Saturday morning found me in an email frenzy with a Cascade Lakes Relay teammate, and we decided to hit the trails that afternoon. We took it easy on the hills above her home, but I felt pretty good - and even more encouraged when I didn’t feel worse once I got home.
So this morning I woke up with a quiet hope that I would have a decent race. I was not expecting a whole lot, but I could feel that nervous flutter as I walked down to the race start. This was my home turf - the trails I run long on during the week - and I was ready to give them my best shot.
Even more exciting, a Brooks IDer was coming up from Eugene for the race. He would be the first person I’ve officially met through the program, and I scanned the crowd looking for Doug. I quickly saw my running buddies, Ed and Mike, and then I found Doug. I spotted another soccer friend, Sandy, and said hello to her, and then promptly lost everyone.
Now all alone, I headed towards the start, where I found Doug again. I knew he was going to be faster than me, but not being able to find Ed & Mike - who I typically run with - I realized this was going to be a solo effort. Before I knew it, we were off.
Not 1/4 mile in, and I realized that they had changed the course on me. All the mental preparation I had put in to the race was blown, and I spent a good portion of time getting over the frustration. So much for going with the flow. The first mile felt great, and as we passed the 1 mile marker, I looked down at my watch - 6:33! Crap. Way too fast.
I settled in, trying to keep a smooth rhythm. I noticed that there were very few women near me; only guys were passing me. We climbed our first hill and then came on the 2 mile mark - 14:30. There was no way I had slowed that much - maybe I was more on target than I thought.
The next few miles were a blur. I didn’t feel great, but I didn’t feel horrible. I PRed the 5k mark - right around 22 - but I was starting to feel things in my chest. I kept trying to cough it out, but there was nothing to get rid off - just the chest tightness.
As we headed to the 5th mile, a couple of ladies passed me. I was starting to fade, and I didn’t have an answer. And then we hit the hill. Ugggh. It was steep, and when I hit the top, I was pretty sure I was going to lose my breakfast. I just steadied my breathing and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I knew that the course would head downhill soon, and soon my stomach settled back down.
I put in a solid effort down the hill, but my tank was empty. I just held on to what I had, but I knew at the 6 mile mark that it wasn’t going to be my day to PR. I crossed the finish, tried not to hurl, and started looking for my friends.
We all eventually reunited, enjoyed a beer together, and then decided we should check out the results. I hadn’t seen too many women, so I thought there was a chance I placed in my age group. But lately I’ve been snakebit by a tough division, so I wasn’t sure if I had run well enough to podium.
So I was shocked to learn that I was 3rd in my division, good for a medal! And even more surprising, I just squeaked into the top 10 women - taking 10th place - my first top ten finish ever. Doug was 2nd in his age group, and Ed took 1st in his - all in all a great day.
Lessons learned:
1. I still don’t know how to pace myself at the start. Seriously. I need to put weights in my shoes or something.
2. I don’t need to PR to have a good day. I really need to chill out in that department.
3. It really is all about the friends you make along the way. Even if I ran the worst race of my life, today was a great day because I got to hang with friends who love the same things I do.
Saturday morning found me in an email frenzy with a Cascade Lakes Relay teammate, and we decided to hit the trails that afternoon. We took it easy on the hills above her home, but I felt pretty good - and even more encouraged when I didn’t feel worse once I got home.
So this morning I woke up with a quiet hope that I would have a decent race. I was not expecting a whole lot, but I could feel that nervous flutter as I walked down to the race start. This was my home turf - the trails I run long on during the week - and I was ready to give them my best shot.
Even more exciting, a Brooks IDer was coming up from Eugene for the race. He would be the first person I’ve officially met through the program, and I scanned the crowd looking for Doug. I quickly saw my running buddies, Ed and Mike, and then I found Doug. I spotted another soccer friend, Sandy, and said hello to her, and then promptly lost everyone.
Now all alone, I headed towards the start, where I found Doug again. I knew he was going to be faster than me, but not being able to find Ed & Mike - who I typically run with - I realized this was going to be a solo effort. Before I knew it, we were off.
Not 1/4 mile in, and I realized that they had changed the course on me. All the mental preparation I had put in to the race was blown, and I spent a good portion of time getting over the frustration. So much for going with the flow. The first mile felt great, and as we passed the 1 mile marker, I looked down at my watch - 6:33! Crap. Way too fast.
I settled in, trying to keep a smooth rhythm. I noticed that there were very few women near me; only guys were passing me. We climbed our first hill and then came on the 2 mile mark - 14:30. There was no way I had slowed that much - maybe I was more on target than I thought.
The next few miles were a blur. I didn’t feel great, but I didn’t feel horrible. I PRed the 5k mark - right around 22 - but I was starting to feel things in my chest. I kept trying to cough it out, but there was nothing to get rid off - just the chest tightness.
As we headed to the 5th mile, a couple of ladies passed me. I was starting to fade, and I didn’t have an answer. And then we hit the hill. Ugggh. It was steep, and when I hit the top, I was pretty sure I was going to lose my breakfast. I just steadied my breathing and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I knew that the course would head downhill soon, and soon my stomach settled back down.
I put in a solid effort down the hill, but my tank was empty. I just held on to what I had, but I knew at the 6 mile mark that it wasn’t going to be my day to PR. I crossed the finish, tried not to hurl, and started looking for my friends.
We all eventually reunited, enjoyed a beer together, and then decided we should check out the results. I hadn’t seen too many women, so I thought there was a chance I placed in my age group. But lately I’ve been snakebit by a tough division, so I wasn’t sure if I had run well enough to podium.
So I was shocked to learn that I was 3rd in my division, good for a medal! And even more surprising, I just squeaked into the top 10 women - taking 10th place - my first top ten finish ever. Doug was 2nd in his age group, and Ed took 1st in his - all in all a great day.
Lessons learned:
1. I still don’t know how to pace myself at the start. Seriously. I need to put weights in my shoes or something.
2. I don’t need to PR to have a good day. I really need to chill out in that department.
3. It really is all about the friends you make along the way. Even if I ran the worst race of my life, today was a great day because I got to hang with friends who love the same things I do.
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