Exercising my Good Fortune

I guess this means I should cut back.

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A good friend.

“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”

~Roger Caras






its about 12:30 AM, or a bit past mid-night. I am working on my thesis, the last major document that shall be used against me... at least for a while. It causes me a great deal of stress, which I funnel into massive amounts of time sitting here at this machine, staring blankly at the monitor during the hours most people are sleeping (at least in my time-zone). It could seem like a lonely time, but I have a great friend. Her name is Cappie (or a zillion other things depending on when you are nearby), and she is an Aussie-Shepherd/Lab/Dalmation mutt. She is beautiful and smart and fun. Everything a... DOG... should be.

She follows me everywhere, and I joke that she is my dog-shaped shadow. She hates it when I leave, she loves it when I come home. Granted, you could say that about most people and this dog. She loves to love people. But she and I have a very special bond. It started when Jan and I were just dating, and dog needed a place to live, so I took her home with me every day and let her live in my apartment. The bond intensified when I took her with me for 6 months to far eastern Colorado to do oil and gas work. There she took on the role as "running partner dog". It is where we sorted out who was boss (clearly not me). I took her running on the country roads that stretched out for as far as I could see. Here, she was let free from the leash and would run through the corn fields with reckless abandon. I sometimes wouldn't see her for 10 to 15 minutes, but then, out of nowhere, a dark streak would come tear-assing down the road, right at me, tongue lolling about in sheer delight.

I started running marathons and Cappie become marathon-training dog. She would get tired and fall back to the very end of the leash and look at me, pleadingly, to stop so she could sniff every individual blade of grass--again.

At the lake she is lake swimming-dog. She sometimes gets into the water on warm days and just swims because she can. It is the most delightfully graceful and relaxing motion I have ever watched. Except when she inhales some water.

At the dog-park she is Icky-dog. She likes to be confrontational, but I don't know where she gets that...

She is getting older, and although a lot of the time you can't tell, and Jan would kill me for putting it into the "permanence" of writing, she has lost a few steps. She is 9 years old in human years. Her attitude is still puppy-like, but her body can't keep up, albeit not for lack of trying.

She can sleep 18 of the 24 hours in a day without a second shake. And a lot of this time is spent downstairs at the desk with me, while I write my thesis. Hours and hours and hours, she sleeps at my feet, occasionally giving my arm a very labrador-induced flip with the snout that means "scratch my butt". Heck, its the least I could do for a creature that spends every moment I am home at my side. Who I can leave for hours in a garage every day, and still loves me when I come back.

She is now "Thesis-Writing dog" and I will put her in my acknowledgements.




“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”

~Josh Billings

A question of Priorities

“Action expresses priorities.”

~Mahatma Gandhi

Another version of a manuscript done.

Its the 5th revision. I happily and triumphantly hit "send" on the email, unleashing yet another bit of scientific garble into the ether, an electronic dart aimed squarely at my advisor. But he is crafty.

I immediately get an email back, informing me that this revision "will not be looked at until I send the accompanying revision of the cover letter to the editor of the journal to which we are submitting, which I clearly stated below."

Oh, well, excuse me.

Consider my priority:

GRADUATE.

I digress:

When I run, the best runs, the runs after which I feel absolutely the best, are those that at some point during which I ask myself "Why do I make time for this?"

I make discomfort a priority. I always have. I choose to run in the midst of banging my scientific powers of reason against a piece of data that defies all reason I have. I love it. But I hate it. So I get up and go for a run, some sort of run that burns quickly like a white-hot fire or one that burns slowly over hours, like the invisible hot coals the morning after a beach fire. Either works, mostly it depends on time.

And then I sit down to commence scientific head-banging with a clear mind.

I choose to do these things... this week, I have little time to run. And it is killing me! I haven't even arrived at the part where I have to make the choices, but I already know that the time will arrive where I have time to do one thing: thesis writing. Not running. Running, while clearing the mind of rubble, is a necessary diversion. However, when time is so precious, how can I rationalize abandoning the priorities I have, essentially, dug myself into???

I tell myself that it is almost over. Things will change when... and then, I think of all the time I haven't gone fishing with dad. I think of all the time I haven't (insert important thing here) because I couldn't prioritize that thing at the moment, but I could later. Will there be a later?

I have friends who have come and gone, because I always figured there would be a "later." I have recognized that and have worked hard to keep some sort of connection alive, no matter how slim, through space and time, in order to one day have that potential again. But I find it hard to always rationalize my priorities... will it pay off? Will I really do these things and people justice and make time?

I go for a run and the need to prioritize disappears, like so much data, into the ether. It is just me, the mechanics of my running, and the (pardon the contriteness) zen-like state of singularity. I don't have to do anything but run. The vastness of my unconscious mind startles me, at times, when empty... for normally it is a crowded subway, weaving through a tunnel on autopilot.

Someday the pilot will wake up to consciousness and grab the steering wheel, and prioritize his own way. At least that's what I am betting on.

An Almost Royal Welcome...

"A fall from the third floor hurts as much as a fall from the hundredth. If I have to fall, may it be from a high place."

~Paulo Coelho
By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept.

A lot can happen in 37 seconds.

In 37 seconds the space shuttle goes from 0 - Mach 1.
In 37 seconds a bridge can collapse from an earthquake.

In 37 seconds I can run 250 meters.

Or not.

Incidentally... The Royal Victoria Marathon is now known as "The GoodLife Fitness Victoria Marathon".

The fact is, along the way, we all make little choices about our race. I made poor choices the entire race, and it cost me a Boston Qualification by 37 seconds. Let me explain the poor choices, and they really are all subsets of the same thing: I didn't run MY RACE.

--I ran with someone and we fed off of each other, and consequently ran 10-20 seconds per mile too fast.
--Made the choice to run from the groups I was with up to the next groups for wind blocking purposes, instead of just maintaining the same pace.
--I lost the negotiation with my body late in the race, and made the choice to walk instead of just survival shuffle.

All of these things cost me 37 seconds which, at the end, were what made the difference.

Every race upon which I look back with some sort of reverence has a very defining moment. In Victoria, that moment was 2 kilometers from the end. I was walking. It was warm in the sun, and I was experiencing The Hurt. The Hurt is the stage of a race where my mind begins to lose the epic battle with my body; the pain becomes unbearable to the point of agony, and my physical control begins to be compromised. It is a frightening place that I have only visited a couple of times previous to this.

At 2 kilometers left during the GoodLife Fitness Victoria Marathon, The Hurt was redefined and my experiences in the past paled in comparison. Large trees lined the beginning of the 26th mile of my day, and people were running by me in a way I am not used to seeing. But it didn't matter who ran by, I was powerless to do anything. Or was I?

This is the problem/benefit with being a competitor. The drive I feel to succeed, to win, is so powerful that as long as I am walking, why can't I be running? This is why I never let myself walk more than 100 yards at a time, this is why, with 2 kilometers left I looked at my watch.

2 kilometers is roughly 1.24 miles.

The time on my watch was roughly 3:02. Theoretically, I could run a 7:30 mile and make it.

Theoretically.

But that is usually all I need--the possibility.

I hurt so bad everywhere in my body that tears were coming out of my eyes. I was making painful expressions on my face, but I was running as fast as I possibly could. I was passing all the people who just shuffled by. It was a blur, a parade of still images seamed together in my minds eye, seeing them all a moment in my memory after I look away. Around and around and around the seemingly endless corners as the crowd is beginning to thicken. Maybe I will see Jan. Maybe I wouldn't recognize her.

I wanted to quit. I wanted to throw up and cry and be conquered, in surrender.

I also could not stand the thought that I let the last mile kill me, and so finally, once and for all, I won the battle with my body. At this point, ultimately, qualifying for Boston didn't matter; all that mattered was the march forward, trying.

Well, I didn't make it. I gave it my best shot, and because of the choices I made, I failed to reach that goal. It happens, sometimes. Not often do I fail to reach my goals, but considering what I was asking of myself this day, I think it is fair to say I did not set myself up to be very successful. This, in retrospect, was another test of guts.

And in that case, I won.

Run your own race...

Mechanics

"It is in the repetition, of movement, of feeling, of sensation, from where I gain the deepest satisfaction, and it is here where I will always go to find the most resonant solace which is really the ultimate drug."

~My Dad

Dad was talking about fly-fishing, when he wrote that masterful quote which begins this entry. Of course, I absolutely know, and love, and crave, that feeling of which he is speaking. How many trips have we taken, together, standing downstream from one another, casting, in our own rhythm and envelope of focus? Time seemingly stands still. Until the sound of silence, above the rushing water pushing against my legs, is broken by the tightening of one of our fly-lines to a perfect machine of aquatic excellence and survival: the trout.


Yeah, standing in a river while metronomically levitating a fly-line mere feet above cold water streaming by, using the weight of the line on your rod tip as a sensor; it's not too difficult to envision just how deep in trance one can be. It almost begs for submission of the conscious self to a sort of ethereal nature.

Singularity.

It probably sounds like a stretch, but he unwittingly described, for me, why I love to run. The repetitive mechanics and immediate environment of running, for me, form the same solitary moments of concentration and yet complete relaxation that I feel as I strain to sense the weight of the fly-line behind me, lingering against my fly-rod.

My brain is incapable while I run of not narrowing itself upon the repetitive series of motions and fine muscular details necessary to carry out each motion the way I intend, which embodies with it a string of overwhelming sensory inputs. And from each sensory input I further refine each movement. And the hundreds, thousands, of movements I may sense are but a speck of the complete picture of stimuli initiated by each step. And this is yet another reason I adore running in my Vibrams, so much. The sensory input with normal running shoes is all but non-existant for my feet, aside from some more general feelings of the inside of the shoe. Vibrams add the ever changing dynamic of the perfectly evolved site of impact, the foot, interfacing with the imperfect surfaces upon which we land, over and over and over.

This is partially why I can't run with music, and never have been able to. It distracts me from being perfectly present in my running.

And this is when the miles begin to pass by so rapidly and without notice; I am lost in something that spans time and energy as I am aware of them.

I further realize that the reason I want so badly to help other runners improve is so that they may feel this when they run, as well. It is why I smile when I run, no matter how difficult it seems. It is why I can run through the pain for hours and hours.

It is perfect.

It is why I run.

The Bellingham Traverse

"We are a plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures.”

~ J.R.R. Tolkien (From "The Lord of the Rings")

The race I did with my neighbor, the cycling Legend, was called the Bellingham Traverse. Our team name was "Eye's of the Tiger."

Don't ask.

We did well, finishing 10th out of 183 teams. 3rd in our category.

I am totally happy with the result.

RESULTS

I cant believe I ran the first 6 miles in 36 minutes!!!!! Holy smack!!!

AND I have to mention that we were actually WINNING the thing for a while!!! THAT was cool, except poor Rick had a bathtub of kayak...

Coming Down

"Even if you are on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there."

~Will Rogers







Now that the crazy mileage running week is over, I have to figure out what to do with myself.

I have to figure out how to use those lessons I learned, as well as the physical training, in the future. And to what end will I use them?

Do I want to train for an ultra, or concentrate on qualifying for Boston?

What are all of the options?



Man, my legs feel weird. I have never recovered from so much running before; this is a learning experience in its own right. I even felt guilty riding the bus today! Once you do something so difficult, it is hard to convince yourself its OK to take an easier road. The fulfillment of having run to and from UW every day is more powerful than I thought it would be, and I am fighting my urges to train.

Rest is part of training. The most important part. I think I said that to someone, recently...

Last Day, Last Run.

“Our limitations and success will be based, most often, on your own expectations for ourselves. What the mind dwells upon, the body acts upon.”

~Denis Waitley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


My trusty headlamp, which guided me in the morning, by which I could see my breath, the rain and the spiderwebs:




And the shoes that carried me. 9 months old. Perfectly worn to flatness:





There is something about reaching the "end" of a long, hard process. It changes everything.

If you didn't know you were at the "end", or near completion, it would just be 13 miles. It would feel like the same 13 miles you had been running 9 previous times in the previous 4.5 days. And, it would hurt; it would be hard at times and RIDICULOUSLY hard at others, maybe less hard a teensy bit of the time. But the fact is, just knowing that completion is sooner than not makes us perform better.

Have you ever watched the end of a running race or a triathlon? People who were almost to the point of walking find a way to sprint home, going speeds they don't touch 364 other days a year, if only because the Finish Line is in sight.




To me, this ability means we have more in the tank than we realize---it just takes a special motivation to be accessed. Maybe it would be more applicable to say it means there is something about being at the end that allows us to access that which we did not know we had, just miles before.

As a result, I believe, the ability to dip into that tank is what separates good athletes from great athletes, because it means inflicting more pain, willingly, upon yourself. And, for a lot of us, enjoying that pain. That goes against everything we are taught, everything we know, and everything instinctually built in for survival. Yet, deep down in that primordial flux, it stirs in every one of us. Every single one of us can access that will, that determination, to push onward and harder into a sort of pain we never ever want to experience in any other forum. Given the right motivation, and the right circumstance, there is "more" in all of us than we dream possible. This fact could itself be the topic of much discussion, however it leads me to a different point altogether that is more applicable here:

What are Our Limitations?

A few of us, and I think we tend to clump together as friends because of like-minded "craziness", strive continually to learn what more we are capable of. In my late teens and early twenties I wound up in the hospital with gruesome injuries to the head as a result of my desire to see what I was "made of".

After climbing and summiting Mt Rainier 3 times and not feeling very challenged by the particular routes, in late June, 2003, I decided to join my friends from the American Alpine Institute for a more difficult journey. I decided to embark on a much more difficult route for me: LIberty Ridge. Liberty Ridge is in the middle of the picture, and it's that clear ridge right up the middle of the WIllis Wall on he North face of Rainier. This was far beyond my comfort level and experience level, and although I was well trained and climbing with some of the best there are to climb with, I almost didn't make it several times along the way. That is an example of doing something with the goal of exploring limitations, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Limit achieved.
I haven't climbed since.

I did a half-ironman the following weekend, and went too hard on the bike, and too fast early in the run, and blacked out.
Limit achieved, in some sense.

This week was my way of finding out what "more" was in me, but in terms of something more reasonable: Running.

Ironman pushed my limitations. Doing Ironman faster pushed them more.
The marathon on top of Kilauea didn't push them as much as I hoped.
I didn't ever considering running farther than a 50k but, like everyone else, I read the dumb book "Born to Run" and it got to me-- I figured it was time to run an ultra. I know enough at the ripe old age of 33 to not just go and sign up for a 50 or 100 mile run. I really thought about it a long time, privately, and realized I have never actually run as far as I can. Have you ever seen Forrest Gump? I know it sounds stupid, but, well, stupid is as stupid does. I needed to know. How far can I run?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the lab, everyone was familiar with what I was doing. My routine was to go and change then come back to my desk in my running attire (which at the end of each day was carrying several interesting aromas) and pack my hydration pack to go. Here are the two packs I used. The first, on the right, is the Camelback, which did not have enough cargo space and did not have two front straps therefore rendering it less stable. I used it only the first day. The second, on the left, is the Novarra which was a smashing success with its large pocket, multiple zippered pockets, double front torso straps and uber reflective nature.




I set out on that last 13 miles knowing how badly it was going to hurt. The previous two runs had impressed upon me just what kind of pain can emanate from muscles--even healthy ones. I ate better and drank more, but it still hurt. I knew it was going to, regardless of how much I lamented it. So I took off as fast as I could hold for 6 miles, which ended up being about 7:10 per mile. The pain went away, and soon it was just me, running, like always. I felt free, in a way I don't know how to put into words, exactly. At my halfway stop, I took my time. I enjoyed the feeling of having completed 124 of 130 miles. I had 4 gels with me, and I ate two the first six miles, saving the others for the last half. I was going to be meeting Jan somewhere near the end, but I didn't know exactly where or when. What I did know, however, is that I was running about 2.5 minutes per mile faster than I should have been in order to meet her on the trail. I decided to slow down.

My dad guessed that inertia was my biggest enemy right now, and boy, he was right. As long as I was running, everything was fine. Stopping hurt, but as long as I stayed stopped it was fine. Starting running again was excruciatingly painful this time, taking off for the last half of the last 13 miler. Thank goodness I am not doing this again. (No, tomorrow I would just be racing 9 miles.) Eventually the pain wore away, or I just got used to it, I don't know, and I loped along at around 8:30 per mile. At mile 4.5 I stopped and ate my next to last Hammer Gel and stretched for 5 to 10 minutes, waiting for Jan to show up. I decided to not wait any longer and started running, when who should appear but the Girl.

We jogged at her pace the rest of the way home, which was quite painful for me. I had to go into my "eye of the tiger" mode several times, shutting out the world around me, staring at the pavement 5 feet out, and just placing one foot in front of the other. One more time. One more time. One more time...

We crossed Bothell Way and I felt like I could walk the 200 yards home from there. As I entered the courtyard in our town-home complex, I looked at the sky and put my arms in the air and said the magic words "I did it."

But... Limitation Achieved?

“Any person who selects a goal in life which can be fully achieved, has already defined his own limitations”

~Cavett Robert

I dont think so.

Until next time.

LAST DAY (part 1)

"Victory belongs to the most persevering."

~Napoleon








Even standing in front of the finish line, the signs might be misleading.

That was the case yesterday morning, and until I left for my run home. At that point, a major breakthrough happened, and now, I am almost finished.

I realized that I have not been taking in enough calories during my runs this week. This may not have been an issue for the first couple of days, but then the mornings of the 4th day, my muscles finally were empty. The solution was eating plenty of Hammer Gel during my run home last night, and hydrating like crazy all day long. The result? Probably the best I have felt since Monday.

I carried that philosophy through to this morning. I woke up, well aware that today is the final leg of this self-imposed foolishness (thanks for the comment, Amber, it was well said), feeling like I can really do anything. I broke through the pain last night and figured out what it took to survive. My knees have no pain, my muscles have no pain, I am not sore, sick, or tired. I feel like I can run. The one irritation? My little toe, on my left foot. That poor little guy is getting mashed by the toe next to it... and thats the only thing bothering me now.

I have one 13 mile run left.

This morning was so easy I can't even describe it. I woke up with a little teensie bit of stiffness in my hamstrings, which went away as soon as I went down the stairs. I left the house in the dark into the humid, warm air of Kenmore, my headlamp guiding my way. When I got to the Burke Gilman trail, I smiled, and made a deal with myself to, above all, enjoy today.

It was as if I was on a jogging tour of Western Lake Washington, enjoying the scenery as I went. When I felt like walking, I walked (which was a couple of times for maybe a minute each). I ate my gels religiously, and drank an entire hydration pack's worth of Sustain Grapefruit flavor. It wasn't raining but the ground was freshly wet.

I was a bit sad that its coming to an end, soon, but elated that I could really do this.

I wished I had someone to run with. I have run all this distance, save but 2 miles when Jan rode the bike with me, alone, and now I want to share my triumph with someone. Maybe its fitting that I can enjoy this final 26 miles by myself, however I want, in my thoughts.

That is how I tend to do things, after all.

Day 4 (part 2)

"I ain't heard no fat lady."

~Will Smith, Independence Day









Lab meeting went until 4:50 PM, at which time I poked my head around the corner of the department entrance to see the weather outside. Pouring rain. Big, fat, hard rain. It was already looking dark, too; it looked like winter. I remembered the pain in my legs, the pain from the morning, and shuddered. Can I do this? I thought to myself, over and over and over. It was more daunting than standing on the beach before Ironman--I was well prepared for that challenge. This, this is new territory.

I spent the day hydrating and eating. I always had some fluid going in, right up through lab meeting, even. Water, tea, juice or sports drink were my constant companions this day. I should have been hydrating to this extent all week. It is not to say I did not hydrate well, but I have a feeling hat I am depleting much more than I imagined, and that probably took a toll in the mornings BONK.

It was grim as I walked out of the building, into the driving wetness that seemed to penetrate every pore of my skin. Instantly, my world was one of water. Somehow, though, my feet stayed relatively dry. The benefit of being in constant motion, I guess. I walked out and up the stairs and to the ramp over Pacific street, on the north side of the Health Sciences complex. I stopped at the Burke Gilman trail, and took a deep breath. It was shaky. I was really nervous.

As predicted, as soon as I started to run, the pain returned. This time, I decided to see what happened if I kept running. The pain was a tightness, as if the muscles in my legs were covered in super air-tight saran wrap. Tight and pinching, that was this feeling. I kept running, and pretty soon, I was 4 miles in, and I it had started to feel like normal. I was drinking constantly, and at mile 5 I really had to pee. I stopped and walked into Matthews beach, which was empty except for one homeless guy taking shelter in the men's bathrom from the pouring rain. I came in and he was slightly surprised to see me, but welcomed me with "It's much dryer in here, man!"
"Except for the pee all over the floor, yeah." I replied.
"You runnin' a long way?"
"I guess so. Long enough that I am completely soaked. And tired." I wasn't in much of a talking mood. But he was nice enough.
On my way out, he asked how far I was running.
"26 miles, every day, for 5 days." I said. I hate how pompous it sounds, and immediately wished I had made something up.
"HOLY SHIT, dude! Well, better you than me!" The guy said.

I walked to the drinking fountain and ate 2 Hammer gels. Espresso with caffeine, and a chocolate. I drank a good gulp of water and walked out of the park. I felt pretty good. I was getting dumped on with rain, but didn't even notice anymore.

I took my first few steps and the familiar pain, the "saran wrap" pain, returned, but only for 5 or 6 steps. And, as I kept running, I began to feel better and better. In fact, I started to laugh I felt so good. I was running and I swear to all, I felt normal.

I smiled the rest of the way home. I ran my last three miles at an 8 minute/mile pace, which maybe is foolish, but after this week? Who cares?? I was FLYING along Bothell way, in the rain, in the dark, and I had no pain or discomfort. Everything seemed as if I went on a 4 mile run, for the heck of it.

One more day.

Day 4 (part 1)

“Age wrinkles the body. Quitting wrinkles the soul.”

~Douglas MacArthur








Last night after my run, shower and dinner I gave myself a "treat". As I was getting read for bed, I smeared "Pain-a-trate" in massive quantities all over my legs. It is the Melaleuca version of "Icy-Hot" and it smells like wintergreen Altoids. It could be worse. It feels WONDERFUL as it heats up, like a massage. It was a great way to celebrate being more than halfway complete.

I woke up this morning and my legs felt different. They felt distinctly different from other mornings. My quads weren't all rubbery like before, they almost felt, dare I say, normal. Heavy and tired, but normal. My calves were almost sore, as if they were recovering from a race. The other mornings, my legs were just dead, like they weren't even CONSIDERING recovering. But this morning, there was a hint of recovery in the air.

Or so I thought. It is hard to say.

All I know is, I walked down to the light hoping it would change. It didn't. I stood around and waited until finally, it changed. There are a ton of cars waiting, so I always feel obligated to cross quickly so they can make their left turn, and so when the light flipped I started jogging across the street. Oh man, it felt TERRIBLE. It felt like I had NO BUSINESS running. Sensations were coming out of nowhere telling me to do ANYTHING but run, lights and alarms in my head were going off, the control room was mayhem. Houston, we have a problem.

This would not normally be a problem, because my legs feel kinda trashed anyway and I know it will get better as I work into my run. But this morning, THIS morning, my legs felt so good before the run, I expected better things when I started. And now, after a few steps, my heart sank because it felt awful.

I walked a hundred yards. I stopped and shook everything out, and stretched easy. I took a deep breath, set my eyes on the trail, and just went.

I can't describe to you just how I feel when I am working so hard at ignoring discomfort. I have never ever experienced anything like this in any other setting other than long-distance running. If you stop, you don't go anywhere, so you have to keep moving. And I hate walking, so I choose to run. But it did not feel good. It didn't hurt, really, but it did. It wasn't pain, but it hurt.

I probably sound pompous saying this, but I do not know anyone, I don't think, who would have kept running if they felt like I felt this morning. And, oddly enough, this thought buoyed me a little. I went DEEP into the playbook and pulled out a game I play with myself to help pass the really hard miles: I work on my mile pacing. Pretty complex, I know.

My first mile was in 10:00. Its hard to believe I was actually RUNNING. I decided to see how closely I could take off 15 seconds per mile until I could only take off 5 seconds per mile and then I would just hold.

10:00.
9:47 (DAMN IT)
9:31 (BETTER, BUT NOT PERFECT!!!!)
9:15 (AH YEAH)
...

I made it to 9:00. I could not go faster. I decided to just run 9:00 per mile the rest of the way until SOMETHING told me to do different. Whatever that something might be, I do not know.

It was going well until mile 11. It wasn't raining, I was warm, I felt okay. Then the oddest thing happened, and this is the very first time I have ever experienced this. My leg muscles, the big quad muscles and hamstrings, just started throbbing. Like deep muscle pain. I stopped running, the pain stopped. My legs felt good again, and I could hold a brisk walk just fine. I start running, the pain is back instantly. Oh crap.

I decided to just "survival shuffle" as far as I could. It got to be so painful at mile 12 I started walking again. My knees and toes and joints were fine, but my muscles were really hurting. I walked the next half mile, then ran the last half mile to the end just because I did NOT want to be out here any longer.

What happened? I was doing so well, and now it feels like the bottom has just dropped out. And the really strange thing is, my legs feel great, again, now that I am finished. Nothing hurts. They are tired, for sure, but everything feels awesome.

So, now I am really scared. I don't want to walk 13 miles. I don't want to walk 5 miles. Heck, I don't want to walk any of it!!!

I still finished in 2:00, but maybe I should just be happy I finished. I have 3 more 13 mile runs to go, and I am terrified of starting the next one. I have lab meeting until 5 pm today, too, so I wont even start running until after that. How quickly things change.

My goal is to hydrate as much as possible and get plenty of potassium. I am a bit nervous about my electrolyte balance and calcium, but I do not have anyway to know for sure without a blood test and by the time I get results, I will be done, I guess.

Well, stay tuned.

Day 3 (part 2)

“A retentive memory may be a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness.”

~Elbert Hubbard








I left for home knowing I was over the halfway point. My legs felt awful as soon as I started running.

I ate my last Hammer Gel and Clif Shot Bloc when I arrived at UW after the morning run. I did this, knowing I had nothing left with me, because Jan was going to Bothell Ski and Bike and picking up a bunch more for me. I asked her if she wanted to meet me on the trail after her bike ride, that afternoon, because I think I could really use the company and I figured she could bring me a refill of Hammer Gel. I suppose I should have been more explicit when we spoke...

I don't remember most of the run. It was hard getting going, really hard. But, after 4-5 miles, I was rolling. I felt ok, but the important thing was that I had "a good focus" going, and was REALLY looking forward to the company and the gel. I was starving. It was raining harder.

I ran. And ran. I passed half way. I felt great, now. I decided not to stop because I would stop when I saw the girl. 5 miles to go. Where is she?

Pouring rain, I am soaked. Water everywhere, and mud, of course.

4.5 miles, I stop. Crap, I hope I didn't mess up and miss her somehow, although it's technically impossible I guess. I hoped everything was okay. I stretched and drank, and was really hungry. I decide after a few moments to start running again. And, of course, not 2 minutes later, who should come meandering down the trail on her little blue bike, in her rain jacket getting soaked? Jan! Yay!

With no Hammer Gel. It was, actually, a very funny moment. I didn't care too much because I only had 4 miles to go, approximately, and she brought me a bottle with our NEW Grapefruit flavored Sustain sports drink. THAT was super duper yummy.

She rode along with me, in the pouring rain, and I knew she must be getting cold. Finally she sped off to go home and take the dog for a Vibram run, and I motored along.

I made it to the busy intersection where I had to wait for the crosswalk light in 1:45. I will call it 1:47 for this run. Legs are tired, and they hurt, but good. No real issues except my toes--the joints are aching and the are getting pretty worn. We will see how it goes, but at this point, I was ecstatic because there are only 2 days left. Unbelievable.

Day 3 (part 1)

“If animals play, this is because play is useful in the struggle for survival; because play practices and so perfects the skills needed in adult life”

~Susanna Miller








My run home, yesterday, scared me. It was the first time in a long time I have had the real urge to just give up. With the exception of grad school, that is. But this little endeavor, this crazy little obsession, as I thought, is already turning into an epic journey of self-awareness and discovery. This is much harder than Ironman. This is really the test I thought it would be. HOPED it would be.

After last nights near debacle I was nervous about this morning, even though my legs feel remarkably strong, still. Little rubs and chafes, little foot pain, and a little left knee pain. I woke up and they were all gone, except my toes are enlarged as if I had been, um, pounding on them for a few days.

Jan was taking a day to sleep in a little, since she has not had that opportunity for some time and will not in the near future due to work, so I had less to do. I decided to leave a half-hour earlier than usual, just to try to get in to the lab a bit earlier. I kissed her sleepy head goodbye and smooched the dog goodbye and went.

Mikey blow bubbles.

When I left, it was cold. I could see my breath in my head lamp as I walked out of the house into the early, pre-dawn morning. Arm warmers were definitely going with me today. I was so nervous about this run. I was thinking about if I was going to have to use one of my two emergency options:
1) run up the hill from the trail to the surface streets, which makes it an 8 mile run instead of 13
2) catch a bus

After last night, I really could not see me doing #2, but I still left a little sliver of possibility of #1.

I felt slow, but good. If you have never run far, over and over, you may not have ever experienced this particular feeling. I can only describe it as this feeling of being so incredibly tired and heavy, but at the very same instant feeling healthy and good. So I knew I could not run any faster, at the moment, but I also knew I could run. That instantly helped me feel better about things.

By mile 3 I knew something was different, in a very good way. I was clicking over at a faster pace, my legs were fine, my feet and toes were fine, the chafe wasn't bothering me, and I was warmed up. I was going to get through this.

And then I was at Matthews beach, my mental "halfway". I stopped to pee, and stretched. I walked a few steps. Holy shit, I feel really good all of a sudden! I started running and honestly couldn't believe how I felt. I ran a bit faster. I caught up to a guy who had passed me a couple miles back. He looked over at me with a face that said he couldn't believe the guy with the pack was passing him back, now. I could see the miles going by. I was smiling again.

I'm running to school.
I don't have to run to school...
I like running to school.

At mile 9 I felt even better and said "what the hell" and went for it. I timed 8 minute miles for the last 3 miles up to my "finish" point. Done and done.

I expected my legs to be just awful, when I finished. I expected my crazy finish to hurt me, or catch up to me. But it still has not. It is 1.5 hours later, since I finished, and my legs feel great. Is it possible that mornings are just that much easier because of the little bit of recovery? Am I beginning to adapt to this and actually get stronger?

I guess we will know this evening.

Day 2 (part 2)

“Thus meditating you will no longer strive to build yourself up in your prejudices, but, forgetting self, you will remember only that you are seeking the Truth.”

~James Allen










This evening I ran home from the University of Washington, 13 miles. It was the same 13 miles I have been running, back and forth, during my little, personal experiment. This morning I ran the opposite way, in the partial rain and dark, and felt wonderful. I had the best run of the week, so far. This evening, on the same route, physically feeling great, I had the hardest, the most difficult run of the week. How can it change so drastically?

Right before I ran I finished my day with a meeting with the Boss. It was a meeting of brutal honesty (on my part, as usual) about the state of affairs. It was long overdue, and was met with the usual almost indifferent sort of denial I have come to love and expect. As a result, my mood was not optimal for setting out on my 13 miles to get home.

What a difference a mood makes.

It was beautiful outside. I didn't notice.

The sun was bright, and the air was still. I didn't notice.

I did notice how crowded the trail was, but usually only when I had to avoid people at the last minute, because most of the time--I didn't notice them.

I was very deep in thought, mostly negative, about "things" and it translated into feeling negative about my little running obsession.

"Just pack it in." The thoughts said.
"Just stop, walk up the hill, and catch the bus."
"Why are you wasting all this time? It's not worth it."

It is this time when I realize just how crucial experience is. If you can complete your training on the hardest days, you can definitely do it on the easy days. Today was just another hard day. If you have never had this experience, and conquered the voices, you may not understand. As often as you can experience this, the better, because some day, maybe in a race where you have some very important goals, you will have a hard day. Regardless of how ready you are... can you silence the voices, then?

I decided not to stop at halfway, this time. I had conquered the voices, the demons were behind me. I achieved singularity and was settled into a painfully slow jog. There is no pain when I run, just the invisible wind, pushing against me. I realized I truly feel sorry for people who need music in order to run, because I feel like they are missing out on one of the very best lessons running has to offer. The music prevents the runner from having to achieve a "singular" state of mind. Music becomes a distraction FROM running, which, in my own stupid opinion, takes away more than half of the reason runners run. And I am sorry to those of you reading who feel like you need music, I am not trying to be insulting or condescending. Truly. It is only my experience speaking, and that experience is one of achieving a truly, perfectly engaged state of being with my body in space; singularity. In this place, mentally and physically, I can carry on. For just how long, I don't know, because to date I have never stopped.

I arrived home 2 hours after I started running. My legs were tired, but felt good. They still do. I am having some toe issues, and I think 8 of my 10 toenails are doomed in the next week. I have a little chaffing, but I have a good sponsor that should help with that.

Its time for bed. I need to put this one behind me. Thanks for tagging along again.

Day 2 (part 1)

"I don't think jogging is healthy, especially morning jogging. If morning joggers knew how tempting they looked to morning motorists, they would stay home and do sit-ups."

~Rita Rudner







I went to bed at 9:45 PM last night. Much improved after my weekend of late nights. My legs felt great, but tired. Slight ache in my left knee. I popped an Alleve and, for the second time of the evening, used the roller stick--the greatest invention of my time.

I didn't know what to expect the next morning as the lights turned out and I tried to settle in to sleep. And tried. And tried.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up several times in the night, and each time I awoke I felt as though I had not drank water in weeks. I was guzzling a large glass of water every couple of hours, and it tasted soooo good. My legs were aching. I didn't feel so good... crud, really? Is this how it's going to go?

Then the alarm went off faithfully at 4:40 AM and after a few delirious snoozes I rolled out of bed. There is this defining moment for me, each day, when I first place my weight on my legs. It is different most days, and related to the previous day's activities. Therefore, based upon my previous day, I expected to crumple into a little ball on the floor.

Nothing. Fit as a fiddle. No pain, slightly rubbery, but otherwise stout. In the back of my mind I was terrified, about having to go run AGAIN for 2 hours (ha ha) but I really did feel ok.

I made Jan breakfast and coffee and walked the dog and fiddled around nervously. I drank a very small cup of coffee (DELICIOUS) and had a little roll from a bakery in Poulsbo that tastes like pizza. It was time to get a move on.

I made some changes for this run.
First, I realized that running with the Camelback didn't bother me one little bit. It was, however, much too small for what I needed, so I switched packs to my Novarra hydration pack. The Novarra has a very big, full-zipper pocket, a small pocket with a key clip in the top of the hydration pouch, and a slightly bigger water bladder. And, as I loaded it onto my tired body this morning, it felt MUCH more comfortable than the Camelback. It fit into a better location on my back, had two straps across the front instead of one, and protected my gear better from the rain that had begun to fall.

Rain. Great.

I headed out into the blackness, clicked on my headlamp, and saw the water droplets careening into my eyes, at an angle such that they were being blown directly into the north. Which means I will be running directly into it for 2 hours. But it never really materialized into more of a sprinkle, and in fact turned into a sort of light mist which was delightful. As I started running, I realized I felt completely comfortable. Tired and a bit heavy, but good. No pain, nothing bothering me on the pack, warm... I was happy.

I think I smiled the entire run. I have only felt happier on a few runs in my life than the 13 miles this morning. So happy, did I feel, that I was running WAY too fast and with 5 miles to go would finish in 1:40. Yikes, that probably wont bode well for the rest of the week. I laughed about it and slowed down, walking every once in a while too.

1:52:31

This was the best half yet. Where is this going to go? No pain. Not really any more fatigued, either. Have I broken through to some ability I didn't know I had, or is the bottom about to come crashing out? Whatever it is, I have hit on something for me that I didn't know existed.

I feel like I could run forever, as long as my body contains the energy it needs to sustain me.

Maybe tomorrow I will wear the Vibrams.

Day 1 (part 2)

As it can be said of Milton, perhaps it can be said of me;
"...he was born for whatever is arduous."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Sitting at my desk through the day, I realized that perhaps I have bitten off more than I can chew.

For those of you who know me, this is not a new phenomenon.

The cold air turned on at 9 AM and my knees and ankles and elbows and neck all started to ache. I havent rested much in the past few days, and then running the 13 miles in with the pack was a bit rough. So, sitting at my desk all day with the cool air blowing onto me, after having run in on 3.5 hours sleep and my crazy party Sunday, I wasn't feeling like running home.

At 4 PM I decided to just go. I wasn't productive sitting here any longer anyway, and it was gorgeous outside.

Since I went a little too fast, this morning, I really focused on being disciplined. I was going to start the watch, but not look at it. I was going to run slow and purposefully. At least 2 hours. Which shouldn't be hard considering I feel like dog doo.

I took my first few steps outside. Oh, geez, this feels awful. I decided to walk a bit first. Man, this is far worse than I expected. I started shuffling along. It turned into a jog. In a few more steps it was 10 minute miles. Hey, this is much better!! Things were looking up. By mile 2 the shirt had to go. I was roasting in the sun and sweating a ton. I stopped, took my shirt off and tied it around a strap on my camelback. I popped a shot bloc with caffeine and took a swig of water. Except, as luck would have it, it was my LAST swig... I forgot to refill my pack before I left and now, it is so warm outside, I know I am going to need more to drink. I decided to just refill at Matthews beach park, which was about half way.

I felt really good. The first 3-4 miles are uphill out of the University District, and at this nice, gentle grade. I think it was perfect for this run because the gentle uphill let me spare a bit of the impact on my legs while warming up nicely, and I settled into a nice groove. I started getting REALLY hungry. A bit shaky, too. Not like I have never experienced this before, or anything, but it was only mile 4-5 and I couldn't eat because I didn't have any water. So I stopped and picked a few blackberries (YUMMY), which helped a lot. I was happy again.

I held that until Matthews beach where, as I thought, was a drinking fountain that received some love followed by the men's bathroom (with a Seattle Policeman using the urinal who gave me a very hard stare). I fixed up my stuff, popped a Hammer gel and water and set out for home. It was indeed a beautiful afternoon, and I was enjoying the flat-slightly downhill miles from Lake City to Kenmore. I was slowly speeding up, as well, which I didn't realize until I got home.

I stopped my watch and looked. 1:48. Oops.

I felt really good as I walked up to my house. What a great way to spend 3.5 hours a day.

I got a text message from my neighbor and good friend who I am doing the running leg for in a multi-leg multi-sport race on saturday, who wanted to talk coordination. I told him I was putting beer in the freezer to chill and one was his--unless he took too long in which case they were both mine.

Day 1 (part 1)

“A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.”

~ Winston Churchill










I have always known that I was able to run. And I don't just mean go for a run, but really run.

Without training I could run a very difficult 12k in Spokane when I was 8-- faster than most adults can. I didn't run cross country or track. In fact, I was quite out of shape and had difficulty during conditioning drills while on the high school tennis team. I was a band geek, through and through.

But I could still run when I decided to.

Then, in college, at the end of my first year, my triathlon career started. I started running with very good runners, a lot like me. A few of them showed me what it looked and felt like to really, really run far and hard. But, again, I feel there is always room for more.

So this summer, after 2 Ironmans, 8 marathons, around 90 triathlons between sprint and half-iron distance, and a handful of 5ks, 10k, 12k and half-marathons, I read the book "Born to Run". It did not really change everything for me, however it did shed some light on things I instinctually knew--things that, perchance, contributed to my natural running ability. More importantly, it lit a fire in me to run again. To really, really run.

So I came up with this incredibly stupid idea.

I decided I wanted to run to and from work every day for 5 days. 13 miles almost exactly each way, or 26 miles per day. Rain or shine, no matter what, I was doing it on my two footses. I festered on it quite a while before I finally said it out loud to someone one day. I don't remember to whom it was said, but once I heard myself say it out loud, that was it. I was set. It was just a matter of finishing the triathlon season so that I didn't interfere with my sponsored activities.

This week became the week.

Now, let me describe to you how NOT to prepare for this event.

Do not tailgate at a home NFL opener the day before. This requires you to stay up much too late getting food and paraphernalia ready the 2 days before, and reduces sleep time. In addition, to get a spot, you have to be down at the prime tailgating locations early (especially for opening day) which requires waking up at 6ish. Tailgating means eating a lot of greasy (albeit delicious) food, drinking many beers, and standing around yelling like an idiot in a stadium full of like-minded idiots for 3-4 hours. Following this event, it is not a good idea to go to an AWESOME outdoor concert until 10 PM having more beer. This will result in staying up until midnight putting away both the tailgating and concert necessities, utensils, bbqs, canopies, etc. And then, after all that, you have to drive to the location to which you will be running in order to have food and clothing and everything there, because you DO NOT want to run with a laptop, lunch and clothes for 13 miles.

I got to sleep at 1 AM this morning.

My goal was simply to have a good run. I didn't want to run fast, I just wanted to enjoy it and be steady. After all, I have to do this 9 more times. In the back of my mind I thought 2:10 would be a perfect time to shoot for. That is super slow for me, but that way I would not feel the urge to rush.

I would be doing something I have never, ever done--running with a pack. I need to take some underwear with me, and keys and proxy cards and some hammer-gel, so I just figured I may as well use the Camelback Hydration pack and tuck it all in. I wore arm-warmers so that when I got too warm I could easily remove them and stow them. I wore a my Ragnar relay shirt because it has good magic. I wore two blinky lights, my heart rate monitor/watch, and running shorts. I felt like a pack mule.

The alarm was shockingly early at 4:40 AM. Needless to say, as a result of Sunday's festivities, the first 4 to 5 miles were a little tenuous, but I made it. The air was calm; it was a warm and humid morning. The arm warmers lasted until mile 4. The blinky light arm band lasted until mile 5. It was becoming clear which items were more annoying than useful.

The water on Lake Washington was remarkably still--a very rare sight these days. The sun began to rise over the hills in the east, and the orange glow reflected off of the still lake, freckled by seagulls and other water birds. I stopped several times to just look at it and remember that I have a good life; one that allows me to run to work along such a beautiful lake.

And the most shocking thing--it was completely silent. It was...I would be lying if I said I didn't tear-up standing there. I haven't experienced a peaceful moment in Seattle even close to being similar to those quiet evenings and mornings at Priest Lake, but this was it. Maybe it was meant to be, here, during my first long run of many.

A miraculous thing always happens to me at mile 8 of a run. I start to loosen up, everything starts working better, and my mind kind of comes back around to the idea of enjoying running again. Sometimes this feeling lasts for another hour, sometimes one more mile. This morning, it carried me all the way in, the last 5 miles.

I was pretty sweaty when I got here-- I wore a hat which I think is a big mistake. I have never really run this far TO WORK, so I am going to learn real quick which peripherals are going to become irritants and which are worthwhile. In any event, I have to do this again in 8 hours, the opposite way.

Until then, here is to a VERY QUICK recovery!!

--AM

Oh, for those keeping track, I ended up running the 13 miles in 1:57 this morning. And thats WITH my multitude of stops. Definitely need to slow down or I WILL BE slowed down, like it or not!