tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90861275118863835942024-03-06T00:43:37.250-05:00got lactate?A running-centered blog with no delusions of offering any special pearls of wisdom, insight or other valuable nuggets. Just sharing some thoughts about what's important to me in my running - and life - journey. Please read & comment, or ignore, as you wish.Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.comBlogger192125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-8720552443224066052015-07-14T19:36:00.005-04:002015-07-14T19:36:42.768-04:00Reflections on Crazy<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></o:p></span><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.</em> " --Mark Twain </span></span></blockquote>
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If I were to be able to monetize all recent interactions where someone says to me, "You're crazy", I would be well on my way to early retirement, or at least paying off student loan debt. It's actually interesting that people can, in what would be considered the course of polite conversation, casually cast aspersions on another's mental health and treat it like harmless banter. While not generally sensitive personal slights, this oft-repeated exchange has made me wonder what it is that people are really trying to say, and why.<br />
<br />
Let's start with Webster's definition:<br />
<br />
<div class="TitleLine">
<span class="HW">In`san´i`ty</span></div>
<table><tbody>
<tr><td nowrap="" valign="top">n.</td><td valign="top">1.</td><td>The state of being insane; unsoundness or derangement of mind; madness; lunacy.</td></tr>
<tr><td nowrap="" valign="top"> </td><td valign="top">2.</td><td>(Law) Such a mental condition, as, either from the existence of delusions, or from incapacity to distinguish between right and wrong, with regard to any matter under action, does away with individual responsibility.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As a practicing lawyer seeking to run 100 miles, I'll go ahead and discard the second definition. I suspect I retain the ability to distinguish between right and wrong, and have absolutely no intention of shirking individual responsibility for my actions. That leaves "unsoundness or <span style="color: black;">derangement</span> of <span style="color: black;">mind</span>; <span style="color: black;">madness</span>; <span style="color: black;">lunacy" . . . hhhmmmm, are we getting somewhere now?</span><br />
<br />
No, we aren't. At least not in this context.<br />
<br />
When people call someone else "crazy" for life choices, they are essentially saying, "I could personally never imagine doing something like that." That promotes the definition of "insanity" as being a person who's conduct deviates from a collectively-acceptable norm. Since this so-called "crazy" endeavor is so far outside a person's own realm of contemplation, they categorize the mental state required to pursue it as defective. Ultra-running is but one example. Any extreme sport - skydiving, bungee-jumping, drag-racing - might evoke a similar reaction. So might trekking through the Amazon; or dog-sledding in Alaska; even hiking the Appalachian Trail. But, is it a fair characterization? I cannot imagine ever speaking or understanding Japanese, but I don't think those who do are "crazy".<br /><br />And, what is it that all these sorts of pursuits have in common? The possibility of sustaining physical harm by virtue of a leisure activity. Never mind that any of us could be in a car accident at any time. Or that chronic inactivity and poor diet will likely lead to a host of medical problems in middle and old age, if we live that long. <br />
<br />
We have arrived at a point in modern Western civilization where most of us are able to go about our daily lives with minimal physical exertion or discomfort. Of course, some people still break their backs doing hard manual labor, be it in the field, or in factories, or in construction, etc. But, now we are able to press buttons to do things that once required actual effort. And with that ease comes a sense that we're "safe" from injury. A lot of us spend our days at a desk, typing on a keyboard, clicking a mouse, maybe talking on the phone. We sit for breakfast, during our commute, at our desk, and then again when we get back home.<br />
<br />
Problem is, we weren't designed to sit. <br />
<br />
So, some of us choose not to. We choose to move through the world propelled only by the power our own muscles can generate. We run a 5K race. Then a 10K. Then we gear up to the Holy Grail of endurance tests: the marathon. Except that marathons aren't the end-all-be-all of testing the limits of our aerobic capabilities. That's where ultramarathons come in. Ultras don't necessarily reward innate athletic talent. They don't favor the super-speedy, or the incredibly strong. They certainly don't require a ton of coordination (though nimble feet are a plus on trails). One need not measure 7 feet tall, nor bench press 300 pounds. No, just look at a race field and you'll see that runners come in all shapes and sizes. Why is that? In large part, it's because completing races of 5 or 12 or 24+ hours is largely a mental endeavor, and a brain capable of that sort of tenacity can fit within all manner of body-types.<br />
<br />
Is it therefore "crazy" to pursue something which affords a tremendous chance for personal growth, loosens our daily shackles, and provides perspective on the things which most matter in life, even if that means experiencing discomfort, fatigue and maybe a not-too-serious injury? Some of us submit that it is.<br />
<br />
<div>
As I recently reflected from one of my all-time most personally influential books, Robert M. Pirsig's "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance":</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
" 'Is it hard?' Not if you have the right attitudes. It's having the right attitudes that's hard.” </blockquote>
What percentage of this will be mental? I truly have no idea. But I do know that setting off on a well-supported journey of 100 miles without knowing whether I will be able to complete it, how long it will take, or what toll it will take on my body AND mind is the essence of the appeal of this. I am choosing to strip myself bare of the daily trappings which keep us safe, but which simultaneously create a barrier between us and the world we inhabit. I don't just want to be <em><strong>of</strong></em> the world; I want to be truly <em><strong>in</strong></em> it. <br />
<br />
Trying to "run" 100 miles through a scenic part of Vermont is just one way to achieve that presence. If that's not what does it for you, then maybe you can find another way. Or at least choose your words more carefully when you hear about someone doing something which strikes you as extreme: <em>"What?! You're running a hundred miles? How cra-, er, I mean what a wonderful way to challenge yourself."</em> :-)<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-65498530900820462412015-07-08T13:54:00.003-04:002015-07-08T18:06:29.155-04:00Putting the "Mull" in Mulligan<div>
</div>
<em></em><div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em><span style="font-size: large;">“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.” -Robin Williams</span></em></blockquote>
</div>
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</em><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
</blockquote>
<div>
About 355 days ago, I set out to run 100 miles. Within the virtual bowels of the interwebz lies an unpublished draft of my 2014 Vermont 100 race report. I could never figure out how to write up that experience without coming across as an annoying, navel-gazing whiner . . . not sure that the almost-50.5 weeks which have since passed have allayed that concern, but here I am again, on the brink of embarking on this journey for a second time.<br />
<br />
Last year, I was reasonably well-trained, but extremely anxious and wound up in the weeks leading up to the race. I'd just gotten married, had a wonderful honeymoon, and was managing a busy law practice, split-schedule parenting, and the generally hectic and unrelenting projectile nature of modern American life.<br />
</div>
This year . . . ummmmm . . . no weddings or honeymoons, at least.<br />
<br />
The 2014 <a href="http://vermont100endurancerun.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Vermont 100 Endurance Run</a> began well for me. I was present, happy, social, in control . . . for the first third of the race. Then came the first "bad patch", swollen hands, concerns about over-hydration leading to hyponatremia. I weighed in at Mile 47; 5 pounds <strong><em>heavier</em></strong> than my pre-race weight. The first-year Medical Director told me I was done. I didn't argue. I just did the manly thing and burst into tears. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZVICCnG6bpl2l17OsfoghKUPgUliOl5qfeMouazakNieqUyJPwtHNwuWwv7IrwcRFUv5Tk13vgHwdEYSJxI3NjM4qLLityWI84fElA0wxxqONmGawa4Zsr4GjdSPfnS4Ed2HxfxMEmA/s1600/P1060591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZVICCnG6bpl2l17OsfoghKUPgUliOl5qfeMouazakNieqUyJPwtHNwuWwv7IrwcRFUv5Tk13vgHwdEYSJxI3NjM4qLLityWI84fElA0wxxqONmGawa4Zsr4GjdSPfnS4Ed2HxfxMEmA/s320/P1060591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Blood work at the at the ER confirmed that things were trending towards trouble, so dropping out was objectively and reasonably the right thing to do. But, not once in 355 days has it felt to me like the right thing. Not one day has passed that I have not thought about how I might have approached 2014's race differently. Not once have I truly accepted that I gave my best that day, and that my best was no where near good enough. Seriously, if that was my best, then I had better hang up the shoes and find some other leisure pursuit. I've heard a lot - A LOT - about CrossFit, but do I have what it takes to bring my self-involvement and tireless proselytizing to the next level? No, I'm not quite there ... yet. ;-)<br />
<br />
The disappointment of letting myself, my crew, my friends, my family, and my donors (to the four causes for which I was running) down has gnawed at me like little else in my life. I knew from the moment that I threw in the disgustingly sweaty towel that I would be back this year . . . and would keep coming back until I cover every inch of that 100+-mile course from start to finish in one try, <em>and</em> in less than 24 hours. Having joined the race committee as the Sponsor/Vendor Coordinator has only increased my appreciation and esteem for what this event is all about: the myriad moving parts, the community engagement and coordination, the collective effort towards adventure and self-improvement. And beer.<br />
<br />
So, he we are, with mostly the same crew, plus my 14-year-old son Carter, and a baby-to-be-named later (due in early-September), ready to put myself out there again and finish what I started last year.<br />
<br />
This year, I think I'm in comparable physical shape. A year older, of course. Hips still cranky. Hair unruly, but shorter in the back. But, I am far more ready for the mental aspect of this challenge. How? <span style="color: blue;"><strong> PATIENCE</strong></span> By definition, the primary aim of any race is to get from Point A to Point Z as quickly as possible. But, much like the Vermont 100's elevation profile, this is by no means a linear pursuit, and success is not measured solely by digital numbers on a clock. <br />
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I am prepared to endure discomfort, pain, challenges, obstacles, both expected and unforeseen. I have spent much more time training to walk big hills for long stretches. My ultra-running best-pal Nate has introduced me to overnight walks. Now I know how it'll feel to keep moving when physical exertion meets sleep-deprivation and things start to get loopy.<br />
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One other similarity from 2014 is that I am raising money again. this time, though, just for one cause which has become a major part of my running and non-running life: the <a href="http://www.mabcommunity.org/mabvi/home.html?view=featured" target="_blank">Massachusetts Association for the Blind & Visually Impaired</a> (MABVI), specifically its Team with a Vision (TWAV). <br />
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Oh, and I'll run a (short) section of the Vermont 100 course blindfolded, with a guide, of course. Why keep things straightforward if there's a way to make them more challenging?<br />
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If you'd like to donate to the cause, please click here: <a href="https://www.crowdrise.com/vt100formabvi">https://www.crowdrise.com/vt100formabvi</a> . Even if you aren't in a position to make a donation, please consider becoming either a sighted running guide for blind/VI athletes, or otherwise volunteering in your community.<br />
<br />
As for mental preparation, I have been reading about extreme endurance, and have received some excellent chestnuts along the way:<br />
<ul>
<li>"The key is to keep moving while you decide whether you can keep moving." -Ray C.</li>
<li>"You can always do/give more than you think you can." -Lots of wise folks</li>
<li>"A 100-miler isn't an athletic event. It's a spiritual experience." -Joe H.</li>
<li>"The more you try to force your plan on the race, the harder the race will fight back with a plan of its own. So embrace the shit show". -<a href="http://www.outsideonline.com/1975656/jenn-sheltons-ultimate-ultrarunning-tips" target="_blank">Jenn Shelton</a></li>
</ul>
You get the idea.<br />
<br />
And so, it is with a year's worth of daily contemplation -- i.e., "mulling" -- that I get my 100-mile race do-over -- a.k.a., a "Mulligan" -- where I will have another opportunity to find my limits, expand them as needed, all the while being supported by some of my closest family and friends, in the midst of a wonderful community of like-minded adventurers, while covering some of the most beautiful terrain in creation.<br />
<br />
Some -- like, say, every older Jewish relative I speak with -- may ask, "Why do you do this?" The reasons are plentiful, ranging from poetic to philosophical to psychological to spiritual to inspirational to selfish to insipid. On one end of the spectrum is the fact that setting huge, intimidating personal goals leads to greater growth and self-awareness. On the other, that I want to earn a pewter belt-buckle to wear around for the next 365 days . . . well, maybe not EVERY day, but most of them. And definitely through airport security, so that I may remove it with a flourish and loudly identify its nature and origin to anyone within earshot.<br />
<br />
Come to think of it, maybe I am ready to try CrossFit.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more updates . . . or, if you actually have an interesting life of your own, don't.<br />
<br />
-<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Ron</em></span>Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-85654581068503011702014-07-16T10:51:00.003-04:002014-07-16T10:51:34.241-04:00The Run ***OF*** My LifeSitting in the relative comfort of my office, with race-start-minus-less-than-72-hours . . .<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="st"> <b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"In the end, endurance sports are a test of yourself against yourself; they require nobody else, and sometimes they can hardly tolerate anyone else."</i></span> -Bill McKibben, "Long Distance"</b></span></blockquote>
<span class="st">I've spent the past few weeks (months?) thinking a lot of myself. Yes, by cloaking this 100+-mile challenge as a fundraiser for four charities, I have essentially insulated myself a bit from otherwise valid charges of self-indulgence, self-centeredness, and self-congratulation. But, if I'm being completely honest, I'm doing this because <i><b>I</b></i> want to do it, to test myself, to see where my limits lie, and - if it goes well enough - to bask in the glory of the achievement of completing 100 hilly miles on foot. If things unfold in a reasonably positive way, this will turn out to be THE RUN <i><b>OF </b></i>MY LIFE.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">But . . . my thoughts are not completely focused on my own navel. In addition to my wife, my children, and my clients, my thoughts keep turning to the worsening crisis at the U.S. southern border. The crisis where tens of thousands of unaccompanied children whom have fled violence-ravaged parts of Central America are streaming into the United States in order to have a chance to live. Largely, their parents have done what loving parents do: they have sought to protect their precious children by any means necessary. And yet, in this day of political polarization, shameless demagoguery, and fact-bereft ignorance, we cannot even seem to see this problem for the humanitarian crisis that it is. Even Glenn Beck sees hurting children in need. The response from his "constituency" when he went to help them? <a href="http://www.mediaite.com/tv/glenn-beck-getting-violent-emails-because-of-his-plans-to-aid-migrant-kids/" target="_blank">Threats</a>. How did we get to this hardened, punitive place?</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">While there is room for reasoned debate as to how we might reform our immigration laws and policy as a whole, there should be little disagreement about what to do with these children. We should take them in, give them immigration/asylum hearings, and allow our flawed-but-still-workable legal process to sort it all out. Instead, we get a political blame-game, with misinformation fueling unfounded fear and misguided anger. I won't get into the details here, but will offer this photo meme for consideration:</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGc8a0dlqp7aTgvYtEO1Y5WaEoRv7ay3jue-wIH4EfhwHJGAp2BxrYBAyNz336qQtOKJ1dJ4f6KiMB-vKhsTGQVQHZw6Z1q24WdYSMrCf-HhtMmrfZpSHDIdRvP29Cx-ElBTgPR8Qgek/s1600/Fetus_vs_ImmigrantJuvie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGc8a0dlqp7aTgvYtEO1Y5WaEoRv7ay3jue-wIH4EfhwHJGAp2BxrYBAyNz336qQtOKJ1dJ4f6KiMB-vKhsTGQVQHZw6Z1q24WdYSMrCf-HhtMmrfZpSHDIdRvP29Cx-ElBTgPR8Qgek/s1600/Fetus_vs_ImmigrantJuvie.jpg" height="400" width="383" /></a></div>
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">As I wrote on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Abramson-Immigration-Solutions/258063344873?ref=hl&ref_type=bookmark" target="_blank">firm's Facebook page</a>:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
<b><span class="userContent"><i>At its essence, the reason we have the
humanitarian crisis at the southern border is because some people in the
world still view us models of freedom, peace and opportunity ... read <a href="http://nyti.ms/1y4Z8ub" target="_blank">this article</a> about what they're fleeing, and then answer this question:
Are we going to prove them right?</i></span></b></blockquote>
<span class="st"></span><br />
<span class="st">So, along with supporting <a href="http://www.nh-cls.org/" target="_blank">legal services for the poor</a>, <a href="http://www.nhptv.org/donate/1402-ronrun.asp" target="_blank">public broadcasting</a>, <a href="http://www.rundanafarber.org/2014/ronruns100" target="_blank">cancer research</a>, and <a href="http://www.christopherreeve.org/teamreeveallstars2014/ron100" target="_blank">spinal cord injury services</a>, I will also maintain the perspective that - when all is said and done - I'll merely be on a recreational journey within an organized race, amongst other like-minded athletes, and with the support of a wonderful crew. But, when it gets particularly tough, when it hurts, when the doubts are poised to dethrone my determination . . . I will think of these children, whose plight involves something so much more serious and dangerous, and who - unlike me - are in a RUN <i><b>FOR </b></i>THEIR LIVES.</span><br />
<br /><span class="st"></span><br />
<span class="st">Thanks for reading. -Ron</span>Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-48737479514513229652014-07-11T16:34:00.003-04:002014-07-11T16:37:15.780-04:00Vermont 100 - One Week OutPeople have been asking whether I'm ready to run 100 miles . . . here's one answer, in stream of consciousness so as to reflect the thought process as accurately as possible:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I can do this . . . it's just a day . . . need more BodyGlide . . . what's that pain? . . . did I have it before? . . . my diet's been shit . . . I've gained weight . . . I feel great . . . I'm exhausted . . . why is my wife putting up with this? . . . why isn't my wife more supportive . . . wish I'd raised more money for these charities . . . who am I trying to impress? . . . sub-24 hours is in the bag . . . there's no way I can finish 100 miles . . . I LOVE running . . . Running is stupid; I'm going back to playing soccer . . . I need to pre-order those peanut butter protein balls . . . is my crew going to be okay? . . . why would anyone agree to crew me? . . . I love Vermont . . . look at these splits from 2013 . . . how does one wear a belt buckle? . . . Doesn't matter, I'm not getting one . . . Unless I'm injured or too sick to continue, I WILL FINISH . . . why does any of this matter? . . . what do my kids think? . . . I can't wait to take a few weeks off from running . . . which shoes should I wear? . . . When should I change them? . . . Is THAT really the elevation profile . . . 15,000 feet? Are you SHITTING me? . . . Speaking of that, how many pairs of shorts should I bring, in case I shit myself? . . . Nip Guards, DO NOT FORGET THE NIP GUARDS . . . I need sleep . . . Wish I could sleep . . . I know so many people who've finished 100-milers . . . I can do this, too . . . those people are far stronger than I am . . . When should I start eating carbs during the race? . . . Fig Newtons are yummy . . . I miss Oreos . . . Why does everything that tastes good eventually kill you? . . . Bug spray! . . . Troy's beard is dreamy . . . It is a nice beard, but what if I hallucinate that he has a 'possum on his face . . . Are there possum's in the woods of Vermont? . . . what about that time I chased the porcupine off the trail when I paced Kami . . . I know those last 30 miles . . . that'll help . . . Man, I've seem some carnage in those last 30 miles . . . 100 miles . . . that's far . . . But, really, it's just one day . . . less than 24 hours . . . unless it isn't . . . could be 30 hours . . . that would suck . . . can't worry about that now . . . I wish Nate was gonna be there . . . Nate's doing a 200-mile race . . . Nate's crazy; I'm wicked normal . . . is the World Cup really about to be over? . . . Suarez to Barcelona; how can that be? . . . I'll miss the kids . . . now way the kids . . . Focus, you're about to run 100 miles . . . 100 miles . . . It's like 90 miles to drive to the race from my house . . . why did I agree to this? . . . pickle juice! gotta have pickle juice there . . . bacon; bring lots of bacon . . . hydration vest or handhelds . . . I haven't run enough trails . . . I haven't run enough hills . . . I haven't run enough . . . I got this . . . Can we just run already? . . . will the crew find the aid stations? . . . what if I miss them . . . what should my weigh-in strategy be? . . . will I get too dehydrated . . . HYPONATREMIA KILLS . . . I've never had that sort of problem . . . I've never run more than 50 miles . . . 50 miles wasn't that bad . . . of course, it was a cool day . . . and it was a flat course . . . but I'd just run Boston 6 days earlier . . . Not really, that was a long slow effort . . . This will be a long slow effort . . . True . . . Point me (or is that you?) . . . I can't wait to eat whatever I want during the race . . . Bring on the sugar and gluten . . . Mmmmmm, gluten . . . will they have peanut and plain M&Ms . . . I like them both . . . They're really giving us a poop bag? . . . Who the f--- crapped on someone's organic blueberry farm during last year's race . . . So many changes . . . I fear change . . . Change is life . . . Whatever, it's all new to me now . . . Will I be chatty during the race? . . . Will I make new friends? . . . Will my hair get in my face? . . . should I cut it? . . . a dyed mohawk would be cool . . . I don't want to get divorced again . . . earrings? . . . should I get new ones? . . . bigger? . . . smaller? . . . seriously, dude, enough with the bullshit details . . . stick to the important stuff . . . Will Meredith get enough sleep . . . Does she ever get enough sleep anymore? . . . I hope she enjoys this experience . . . It's cool of her to support me as I do this . . . What should I eat the night before? . . . what about breakfast? . . . 4:00 am is harsh . . . what time should I get up? . . . who's gonna drive me from Justin's house? . . . how do I do spreadsheet projections? . . . My poor crew . . . I gotta stay positive the whole time . . . I love trail running . . . I'm good at going slow . . . Not too slow, though . . . Whoa, slow down, cowboy . . . you're not going to set the course record . . . Today is not "the day" . . . No music? . . . that's stupid . . . actually, it's cool . . . but, music would be awesome . . . maybe the crew can sing to me when I see them? . . . that's really stupid . . . I've met some awesome people through running . . . where the hell are they all? . . . Maybe I should have asked E.M. to crew for me? . . . He's blind, remember?! . . . Oh, right . . . well, I chose to do this, so I have to figure it out for myself . . . Weather looks nice . . . is that warm front going to move in a day early . . . good thing I've run in the heat lately . . . hot means shirtless, which means no nipple chafe . . . scrap the nip guards . . . actually, bring them, just in case . . . bring everything . . . two of everything . . . no way I can do this if it's 90 . . . yeah, fret about the stuff you can control, like the weather . . . it's going to be so hard . . . it's going to be awesome . . . it's going to be both of those things and so much more . . . and, eventually, it's going to be over . . . and I'll have done it . . . and I'll know I can do just about anything else.</blockquote>
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The lesson here? Don't ask whether I'm ready. I'm as ready as I can be, which is not ready enough. That's what big unknown new adventures do to you. Bring it on. Bring it all on!Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-71994960803192544772014-04-29T14:24:00.000-04:002014-04-30T09:59:59.201-04:00A Week to Remember: Boston and a Little Cool-down RunAt some point or another, we've all likely succumbed to the bizarre phenomenon where time simultaneously flies and drags by . . . a week ago, I was running the Boston Marathon. I know that because the calendar tells me so, but it could have been a month, or even a year ago as far as my perception goes. Or was it yesterday?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>BOSTON 2014 RECAP: Running as Another's Eyes and Ears </u></b></div>
<br />
Boston 2014 will go down as a running event like any other. Not only did the world's oldest continuous marathon see its 118th iteration, but a city, a state, a country, and large swaths of the world bound together to avenge the catastrophic events of 2013. It was impossible not to be moved by the stories of resilience, of facing down terror, or overcoming incomprehensible adversity to take back an event which now unarguably transcends running.<br />
<br />
#BostonStrong pretty much sums it up, but the meaning of "Boston" part of that has taken on an ever more broad definition.<br />
<br />
For my part, not having qualified for 2014, I was determined to be a part of it, especially if I could do so by helping someone else realize his or her own goals. Through a series of fortunate coincidences, I found myself assigned to guide a visually impaired runner, Corvin Bazgan from the Bay Area in California.<br />
<br />
There is little reason to subject the few decent people who find themselves ensconced in the contents of this blog to a long narrative race report, especially since Boston 2014 wasn't about me. Perhaps a list of highlights and other memorable aspects would be the better approach, then.<br />
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<ul>
<li>Corvin's original goal was to improve from 3:45 last December to 3:26 in one training cycle, in his third marathon and first Boston. We revised that goal to 3:40. It was a warm day, and the Boston course is notoriously unforgiving, especially to first-timers. Alas, we ran a 4:25. I enjoyed every second; I suspect that Corvin - at least at the time - did not.:-)</li>
<li>Doing this magnanimous thing led me to get to hobnob with one of the only celebrities over whom I would ever fawn . . . one of the other sighted guides was none other than NPR's "Wait, Wait . . . Don't Tell Me!" host Peter Sagal [or, as one Facebook friend called him, "Peter F-in' Sagal!"]. I got to have brunch with him; hang out for a few hours pre-race with him; run the first 7 miles of the race with his runner, <a href="http://erichmanser.com/" target="_blank">Erich Manser</a>, and him; and decompress after the race with him. His in-person persona resembles his radio one, and it was very enjoyable to exchange barbs and banter with a pro. </li>
<li>I also met Aaron Scheidies, whose visual-impairment didn't stop him from running a 2:44 (!!!) at Boston 2013 (and a 2:47 this year). Talk about another inspiring story.</li>
<li>The energy in and around the city of Boston and the marathon route defies verbal description. It made me feel warm and safe and energized and happy and loved and accepted and all sorts of other things. It's unlikely I'll ever get to be a part of something quite like that again, and I'm extraordinarily grateful that I was.</li>
<li>I was the recipient of myriad acts of kindness, including having another runner, Dan Streetman, volunteer to clear a path ahead of my runner and me, as well as navigate the aid stations, every big-city marathon's most challenging feature. It is unfathomable to me to have gotten through the race without that extra help.</li>
<li>I had wished many of my runner friends good races and "pleasant surprises". My own pleasant surprise was that my friend Holly fell in with my runner and me at just before the halfway point. Her sore foot was our good fortune, and she stayed with us until the finish. That allowed Dan to surge ahead to find another visually-impaired runner who had outrun (!) her guide and was fumbling her way on her own. Holly's grace helped two blind runners and one guide.</li>
<li>Seeing friends from all over before, during and after the race was a nonstop source of joy. Some of these "virtual" friends have turned into some of my actual closest real-life friends. Seeing so many of them on Saturday night and then again on Monday was a tremendous bonus. I even got to have a nice quiet lunch with <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/remys-world" target="_blank">Mark Remy</a>, without even having had to enter a Runner's World contest or anything. :-)</li>
</ul>
The weekend came and went too quickly, but I have a priceless film reel playing in my head, and have felt buoyed in all facets of my life by the high level of all things good during the Boston weekend. <br />
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<br />
On Tuesday, I went to the office, and eventually got home feeling pretty wiped out. Wednesday was an intense work day, before the kids and I took off to Vermont for a couple of days of their school vacation. I ran some during the week, got back home Friday night, packed up more gear and left for the next running-related adventure . . . a 50-mile race around Lake Waramaug in Connecticut.<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Lake Waramaug Race Report: aka, "Oh Shit, My Balls!</b></u>"</div>
<br />
Monday, Boston. Tuesday-Saturday, frantic bustle of a busy life. Sunday, a 50-mile race in order to qualify to run 100-mile race.<br />
<br />
On Tuesday, I walked a couple of miles. On Wednesday, I worked feverishly, so I could not make time to run as I'd hoped. On Thursday, I slogged through four-plus S-L-O-W miles, starting up dirt roads/XC ski trails towards Mount Mansfield near Smugglers' Notch, then turning into a stiff headwind and finally ending on the roads amidst unwelcome snow flurries. On Friday, I managed a lovely 10+-miler, into Jeffersonville, Vermont and back. Saturday saw a 5+-miler in a cold rain before driving down to Connecticut to meet my equally crazy friend Tom and his wife for dinner before finding our B&B.<br />
<br />
Saturday proved to be a cold rainy day, with a small wondrous window of mild sunshine just in time for our early dinner in West Hartford. We even sat outside. After a few sweet cheats post-Boston, I mostly kept to my low-carb/Paleo/NSNG way of eating, and felt good energy-wise.<br />
<br />
Meredith and I vegged out to "Ghostbusters", which I hadn't seen in who-knows-how-long, and got to sleep reasonably early.<br />
<br />
The B&B was nice, with other runners lodging there, as it was about 20 minutes from the race start. Innkeeper Bill was super-hospitable, even making me eggs upon special request. He was confounded by a distance runner not carb-loading before a race. I spared him the inevitably sanctimonious-sounding explanations.<br />
<br />
Pre-race breakfast consisted of COFFEE, two hard-boiled eggs, some salami, provolone cheese and a couple of peanut butter "Barista Balls" from my favorite local coffee shop. These are delicious shots of fat and protein, which taste sinful but help me start many a day on a positive note, carrying me through to lunch with no hunger pangs or energy dips.<br />
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Meredith drove me to the race, where we got settled [she'd obtained permission from the RD to do an unsupported long run during the race], and I kept my sweats on in the chilly morning temps. It was hard to tell what the day would do weather-wise, but the forecast called for mid-50s, sunny with 10+-mph winds. Visually, the lake looked stunning in the early morning light.<br />
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My good friend <a href="http://bikernate.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Nate</a> met us there, and Tom rolled in at around the same time. <br />
<br />
I wore my official Boston 2014 participant shirt, so that it might explain why I was running so slow. Given the general badassery of the ultrarunning crowd, though, doing a mere marathon in the same week as a 50-miler is not really anything special. I spoke with runners who had just done or were about to do 100-milers, and for whom the 50K or 50-miler was just an easy training run. I also sported thin gloves and a visor, since hats no longer stay on my froed head when I run.<br />
<br />
The course started with a 2.2-mile out-and-back section, leaving a total of 6 loops around the 7.6-mile lake perimeter to get an even 50 miles. All I knew is that I needed to finish the race in less than 12 hours, and that I wanted to be done in under 10 hours. I was mentally prepared for a long day, and was patient in the early going.<br />
<br />
Nate took off ahead, intent on breaking 7 hours for the 50 miles. He would end up deciding to drop down to the 50K distance, and finished second overall with a smoking 3:54.<br />
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I decided not to look at my running pace at this race, focusing instead on heart-rate as a measure of sustainable effort. While the early pace seemed "fast", my heart rate stayed at or under 140 bpm. That seemed just right.<br />
<br />
Tom and I were jovially talkative in the early stages. We engaged with other runners. We joked when we crossed the "finish" line for the first of 6 times. We smiled for the cameras. We ran together, except for bathroom breaks (since portapotties are a bit tight for two). Everything was going well, though the temps did not rise, but the wind did pick up. The sun made occasional brief cameo appearances. For the first time in a race, I actually added a layer.<br />
<br />
Undertaking to finish my first 50-miler [I'd dropped out of the JFK 50 in 2012 [sorta injured but really grossly under-prepared], I wanted to have a solid fueling strategy. Based in part on the phenomenal recent racing success of <a href="http://zachbitterrunning.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Zach Bitter</a>, I decided to stay low-carb during the first half of the race, and then eat whatever appealed to me during the second half. I took only water for about 10 miles, then had one Chia Warrior Coconut bar, which I take on runs of 3+ hours these days. I also had some of those delicious Barista Balls, though my cold-compromised fingers dropped two of them as I finished the second full lap. That's when I said, to no one in particular, "<i>Oh shit, my balls!</i>", as I saw that delicious pair roll downhill towards the lake. In an ultramarathon, it's a good idea to bring extra everything, and I was glad to have more balls in reserve. ;-) Turns out, I would need them.<br />
<br />
Somewhere around Mile 20, the reality of the moment hit me. I had committed to running 50 miles today, just 6 days after the Boston Marathon. This race was on pavement. Things started to hurt: calves, quads, hips, shoulders/neck. But, I shook off the negativity and just stayed in the moment: this lap, the next aid station, the next mile.<br />
<br />
After completing the third lap, we were at about the 27-mile mark, more than half-way done and past the marathon distance. And, for me, the Festival of Unrestricted Fueling was about to begin. And that was my basic mindset for the rest of the day: Run to the next aid station. Eat and walk. Start running again. Repeat.<br />
<br />
A sampling of what I did end up eating/drinking in the second half of the race:<br />
<ul>
<li>Chicken noodle soup</li>
<li>Grilled cheese sandwiches</li>
<li>Deviled eggs (am-A-zing!)</li>
<li>PB&J</li>
<li>Fritos</li>
<li>Smartfood</li>
<li>Potato Chips</li>
<li>Pretzels </li>
<li>Peanut M&Ms</li>
<li>Oreos</li>
<li>Graham crackers</li>
<li>Candy fruit slices </li>
</ul>
My stomach felt fine all day. My mental energy was ample and positive, much to my beloved fiancee Meredith's surprise. The fourth time around the lake was the toughest. Then the fifth lap was worse. I had no doubt I was going to finish, and I started playing some math games. Tom did the same, and we ended up running within view of each other, but no longer together. Without saying a word about it, we understood that it had to be this way.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjrKgtTdtDnpKntuH0MvC6QcjfvBj9p_GTXwamMgLDTG8aJdGalZb-6rDfsE51xIXdD-88vSvCfYJSrO1_e3Xs8L4xsXomtKgrz2XXJmlLuquAlczHwSjKaDrxtSzPaLDFL2LaSsKs98/s1600/P1060088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjrKgtTdtDnpKntuH0MvC6QcjfvBj9p_GTXwamMgLDTG8aJdGalZb-6rDfsE51xIXdD-88vSvCfYJSrO1_e3Xs8L4xsXomtKgrz2XXJmlLuquAlczHwSjKaDrxtSzPaLDFL2LaSsKs98/s1600/P1060088.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Coming into the Start/Finish for the final time, I saw Meredith and Nate. My spirits were still good, but my body was tired. I'd passed my all-time mileage PR (40 miles when I turned 40) and was in completely uncharted territory. I felt some new aches, and had a blister which felt compelled to remind on every other step that running 50 miles on pavement is kind of a stupid endeavor.<br />
<br />
The last time around the lake was a bit of a slog, but Tom and I treated it as our chance to say goodbye to the wonderful aid station volunteers, including the flirty ladies at the second station; the self-styled aid station chef (auteur of the morning's breakfast burritos, bacon, soup and grilled cheese), the soft-spoken blue-Gatorade peddler at the third station and then the home stretch.<br />
<br />
Without a doubt, the least pleasant section of the course was a 2-mile stretch along Route 45, which was much busier than the rest of the lakefront road, and took us straight into headwinds which gusted upwards of 30 mph. The final turn back onto North Shore Road was a blessing. Tom and I cruised through the last aid station, where I had some coke and water, and then we headed for the finish.<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QtkwVONRBQXURocLYqekCJ2yC9rzcXIAhAviE0DSWfMqhlxLmMQL2SEP_E3gKLypHRK4HeL8Q2aX0jalO7sHE5hNgDqMmmHznrkxrg8EFufb90-cTfYLKp75pNGL_7jjSUNi8kRPkrc/s1600/P1060098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QtkwVONRBQXURocLYqekCJ2yC9rzcXIAhAviE0DSWfMqhlxLmMQL2SEP_E3gKLypHRK4HeL8Q2aX0jalO7sHE5hNgDqMmmHznrkxrg8EFufb90-cTfYLKp75pNGL_7jjSUNi8kRPkrc/s1600/P1060098.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>My Garmin was reading long, so I expected to finish closer to 50.4 miles, as measured by my watch. Tom was struggling (as was I) and he asked me if we had about 1.5 miles to go. I didn't mean to be brusque, but I sort of snapped my response: "Don't worry about it." He said something else, but I didn't really hear it, because a switch suddenly flipped and I picked up the pace. Before I knew it, I had sped up by over 3 minutes per mile, dropping down into the low-7:00-minute range. I had no idea that that could ever happen after running for 9 hours. As I pumped my arms and breathed fast-but-steadily, I came upon a woman ahead, another 50-miler who'd been ahead of me for most of the day. I flew by her less than 100 yards from the finish, and she was clearly a bit befuddled (as was I).<br />
<br />
I raised my arms, hooted and hollered and literally took a flying leap under the finish banner [nearly crashing into the aid station table when I landed]. <b>Official time: 9:07:56</b>. 9th male finisher; 12th overall. Tom came in a moment later, having been sort of blindsided by my unexpected kick. I hugged Meredith, and Nate, and Tom, and would have hugged anyone else who'd have let me.<br />
<br />
50 MILES DONE IN UNDER 12 HOURS. VERMONT 100 QUALIFICATIONS ALL SATISFIED. RACE PLAN EXECUTED. EXPECTATIONS EXCEEDED.<br />
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As I said up top . . . it was a memorable week.<br />
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Thanks for reading. -Ron<br />
<br />Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-418374012371245332014-04-09T14:20:00.003-04:002014-04-09T14:21:15.904-04:00TODAY'S THE DAYToday's post title comes from an inside joke started by my friend Steve. When he was a star high school and later standout college runner, Steve would notice fellow runners lining up at the front of the pack, where they would promptly start their race at course-record pace, before rapidly fading and coming back to earth. Since nothing about those runners' training or race history would objectively indicate that they could hold such a blazing pace, Steve and his teammates summed up their apparent mindset with the simple phrase: "Today's the day," as in, "today-is-the-day-I'm-going-to-run-a-full-minute-per-mile-faster-than-I've-ever-run-before." Silly thought process surely, but entertaining for the knowledgeable observer.<br />
<br />
Well, for me, right now, at this moment TODAY IS THE DAY! It is the day that I launch my long-awaited (well, by me and the causes I'm running for, anyway) 2014 running fundraising initiative. 4 Marathons. 100+ Miles. 4 Excellent Causes. And, it all starts 100 days from today, on July 19, 2014 in a lovely field in eastern Vermont. The causes - and the fundraising links - are listed at the top of this blog, but here they are, with a quick word about each:<br />
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<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.rundanafarber.org/2014/ronruns100" target="_blank">The Jimmy Fund</a>: Who doesn't want to help fight cancer?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.christopherreeve.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=1100859&lis=1&kntae1100859=9592B106CA3C4515A984E09A03CD69DC&supId=268766633" target="_blank">Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation</a>:Who doesn't want to help people with spinal cord injury?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.nh-cls.org/" target="_blank">NH Campaign for Legal Services</a>: Who doesn't favor justice for all,especially for the poor?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.nhptv.org/donate/1402-ronrun.asp%20%20" target="_blank">NH Public Television</a>: Who doesn't love public broadcasting? Sesame Street helped me learn English. "Downton Abbey" is helping me perfect it. :-)</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I've also set up a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/RonRuns100" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>, and am affectionately calling this initiative "<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name">Ron's Run for Jimmy, Chris, Justice & Elmo".</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name">So, please, donate if you can. Spread the word. Send a good vibe. Pray, if that's your thing.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name">Nothing about my running history guarantees that I will be able to complete this undertaking. So, it's just natural, that 100 days to go until I toe the line, "TODAY IS THE DAY!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name">Thanks, for reading this, and for sharing this incredible journey with me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span itemprop="name">-Ron</span></span>Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-378947789265446812014-02-18T12:56:00.002-05:002014-02-18T12:56:39.355-05:00A False Dichotomy: Reflections on Running WITH/FOR OthersThe road and I have become re-acquainted during this fledgling training cycle. It's a lot like I remember it: undulating, scenic, seemingly endless . . . but a lot whiter and more slippery.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmuflUGSAjoFzt4TUkYiJ8Y0ta2240KbNJS4_EFVfraBAaXePw_WRCrikxQA9vrqZkbZFWfLcVFRbvxH9M8o-pF0WctxwR4vc9OxqDgqa840pbOSe-nomhg8MQz6SYMfi3w6K1B4la-s/s1600/2014-01-19+14.58.06-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmuflUGSAjoFzt4TUkYiJ8Y0ta2240KbNJS4_EFVfraBAaXePw_WRCrikxQA9vrqZkbZFWfLcVFRbvxH9M8o-pF0WctxwR4vc9OxqDgqa840pbOSe-nomhg8MQz6SYMfi3w6K1B4la-s/s1600/2014-01-19+14.58.06-2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />A couple of Sundays ago, I capped a big training week for me. I drove to Hopkinton, MA and ran 18 miles on the Boston Marathon course with my old friend Stuart, who's training for his first marathon. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiKOSflkAiu_Q4HUZ0ywjXO3p0Xnamfh_qYUXYDajArFagS_7_mOe3npqVd9GTZ9a3ytFcS-x6IVQvioIL1q1KZHlEJn0-f6vFNMugYNko2fCP-MROi9R-Dx8FTlT1_7LS8mijBYWWxQ/s1600/2014-02-09+10.29.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiKOSflkAiu_Q4HUZ0ywjXO3p0Xnamfh_qYUXYDajArFagS_7_mOe3npqVd9GTZ9a3ytFcS-x6IVQvioIL1q1KZHlEJn0-f6vFNMugYNko2fCP-MROi9R-Dx8FTlT1_7LS8mijBYWWxQ/s1600/2014-02-09+10.29.06.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
Then, since I'm in an extended base-building phase, I accepted an invitation to join some blind runners for a group run from the Massachusetts Association for the Blind's main offices in Brookline. I was paired with a really nice guy named Erich, and we sought to negotiate the congested, only partially-cleared streets and sidewalks of Brookline, Boston and Cambridge, connected to one another by a short tether.<br />
<br />
My interest in meeting and running with Erich and some of the others stems from my desire to be a guide to a disabled runner again at Boston 2014. The Achilles International folks remain noncommittal at this relatively late stage, and some of us like to plan ahead. OCD much? Yeah, kinda. ;-)<br />
<br />
During the first mile together, Erich and I covered the biographic basics. He explained his sight loss (calling himself "low-vision") and I mentioned that my fiancee is legally blind in one eye. He then posed what I regarded as a curious question: <i>"Is that why you're interested in helping out, or are you just a good guy?"</i> I shuffled along without answering for a few strides, and then said, <i>"Neither, really."</i> And so we discussed why I've taken to pacing and guiding as my predominant "racing" activities in the past several years.<br />
<br />
It's not false modesty to say that I don't consider pacing and guiding to be great acts of selfless sacrifice. Granted, being a guide/pacer does require putting one's personal performance goals on the backburner, but - if we're being honest here - I turned to guiding/pacing for all sorts of selfish reasons.<br />
<br />
Being a marathon pace guide is like being a rock star for a day. The pace group members think of you as a running demi-god, someone able to leave them in the dust if you wanted to, but choosing instead to be there to shepherd them to their own goals. They pose fawning questions; they ask you to pose for post-race photos; in some instances, they even try to kiss you in a way that might violate the Pacer-Runner Code of Ethics. :-) We can blame that on adrenaline and exhaustion.<br />
<br />
For a Pacer/Guide like me, though, participating in a marathon at a pace one-to-two minutes (or more) slower than my own race pace is a safe choice. Factor in the long training/racing malaise which I endured, and you can get a sense that it would be fair to characterize my "running service" as an elaborately-crafted cop-out. And, when you consider events like Boston and New York, where just getting into the race requires a qualifying time, some luck, and/or significant registration fees, being a Pacer/Guide is a very sweet deal.<br />
<br />
Being a Guide for a disabled athlete is quite different than leading a group to a specific goal time. Guides run their runner's race. Our commitment is to making sure that this person has the best, smoothest, safest possible race experience, and we'll do what it takes to make it happen. We stay with the athlete; we don't expect the athlete to stay with us. Still, despite all that apparent selflessness, the cheers and the energy and the unfettered adulation as you accompany an inspirational figure as they do their inspirational thing is far more satisfying than hitting any goal time in one's own race.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, Erich, as we discussed, I'm not guiding for my "low-vision" fiancee, and I'm not an especially good guy. I just want to keep doing what I love doing, among other people who love, at the marquee events of our wonderfully egalitarian sport.<br />
<br />
That's it.<br /><br /><u>TRAINING UPDATE</u><br />
<br />
Since my last post, I've logged three consecutive 70+-mile weeks, with a 75+-mile week during the week of February 3 through February 9. This is where a lesser runner might gripe about the awful, frigid, snowy, relentless, unforgiving winter we're having. Not me, though. ;-)<br /><br />The plan is to log one more week in the mid-70's (mileage, not temps, sadly) before heading to Italy on February 23rd for the kids' school vacation, where I'll be lucky to run half that distance. The timing is actually optimal, as I'm due for a cutback week, and the trip will force me to take it.<br />
<br />
In other news, I'm looking for a 50-mile qualifying race, since Vermont requires that every 100-mile runner have completed a 50-miler in less than 12 hours, with a deadline of June 1st. I was planning on getting my 50-mile qualifier at <a href="http://www.pinelandtrails.com/" target="_blank">Pineland Farms</a>, but with that being on Memorial Day weekend, it felt like I'd be cutting it too close. Leading candidate right now is the <a href="http://lakewaramaugultra.com/index.html" target="_blank">Lake Waramaug Ultra</a> in Connecticut, scheduled on April 27th. Guiding at Boston April 21st would be a perfect final long run. :-)<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -Ron<br />
<br />
<br />Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-2826869655208602892014-01-28T16:06:00.000-05:002014-01-30T15:15:08.065-05:00From Clarity, Commitment - Going Long in 2014As this part of the world endures an especially long and unforgiving deep freeze, 2014 is nearly 1/12 over. Hopefully, this dreadfully cold winter is making its last great stand, before yielding to more historically seasonable temperatures and a blessedly early thaw.<br />
<br />
The last post about diet hinted that big things were coming for me in 2014. Momentous things. Things requiring preparation, dedication, and focus. Things that took a lot of thought to decide to undertake. Things that will likely change me forever. The decision to pursue these things came from cutting through much of the emotional, physical, spiritual and other fog in my life and finding a clarity of vision which let me see clearly not only my goals, but also - more importantly - how to achieve them. Notably, each of these what-I-deem-noble pursuits had to start with a full-blown commitment, and each will demand the full force of that commitment throughout its duration.<br />
<br />
One of those things involves running, and it should take about a full day. The other involves the most important of life's decisions, and should - with a lot of luck - take decidedly longer. <br />
<br />
Last September, after finishing the 200+-mile Reach the Beach Relay (where we first met 3 years earlier), I asked Meredith to marry me. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtd_2whqkYaRM8KjkejWORlCrET9i_7DcqGy6WRZKVyMGDDCppDX5_XT51T0ryD2RELrb_IFXdOklWo4d6jkvaB0xRLoLOqfixsxpmV7Jx8RWXXYwK1t7zMzC-COYI_Ye4nC4nxnFDP1E/s1600/2013-09-14+14.57.13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtd_2whqkYaRM8KjkejWORlCrET9i_7DcqGy6WRZKVyMGDDCppDX5_XT51T0ryD2RELrb_IFXdOklWo4d6jkvaB0xRLoLOqfixsxpmV7Jx8RWXXYwK1t7zMzC-COYI_Ye4nC4nxnFDP1E/s1600/2013-09-14+14.57.13.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
The standard responses to that question include two short options: a three-letter word (highly preferable), or a two-letter word (completely devastating). The desired three-letter Y-E-S eventually came out, but it took a lot of reflection, emotion and patience . . . on both of our parts. Now, we're planning a June wedding just outside our beloved Richmond, Virginia, the primary locale of our courtship. And, while marrying my great true love is itself most appealing, realizing that we will all again someday soon be able to ride inner tubes down the James River helps get one through this winter's deep, dark doldrums.<br />
<br />
The other major endeavor of 2014 will happen about 6 weeks later. In what my friend Barb and others have termed BHAG (Big-Hairy-Audacious-Goal), I have registered for the <a href="http://www.vermont100.com/" target="_blank">Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run</a>. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWhpzFw7mu8mCeGmJE8MAQAN-JD7fEHVVqMIwomBtNA1-owAFlO3AQ3PiyrYDuC-sP8rwdBYqY6012WcO5l0RuwEiuf9uhR9t6lGBR5C9JaJABxa_9DGn4y5Yh_QMmLnkhZHKvFZXhA8/s1600/P1030333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWhpzFw7mu8mCeGmJE8MAQAN-JD7fEHVVqMIwomBtNA1-owAFlO3AQ3PiyrYDuC-sP8rwdBYqY6012WcO5l0RuwEiuf9uhR9t6lGBR5C9JaJABxa_9DGn4y5Yh_QMmLnkhZHKvFZXhA8/s1600/P1030333.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
Yes, this guy. The guy who's struggled to run 35 miles-per-week for the past couple of years. The guy who's never run more than 90 miles in a WEEK. The guy who DROPPED OUT of his first attempt to run 50 miles. That same guy is going to train himself - physically and mentally - to become an uncompromising plodding machine, never going fast, but perpetually beholden to the ultrarunner's mantra of Relentless Forward Progress. And, you know what? I'm completely "terricited" about it, equal parts scared and excited. Actually, that's not true . . . I'm far more excited than scared.<br />
<br />
It is a great comfort to be back to having a clear purpose above beyond attending to the prosaic details of everyday living. And, while some aspects of planning are expectedly less enjoyable than others, figuring out a wedding, a honeymoon, and how to get through a 100-mile footrace, all in the company of my favorite adult person, makes virtually every moment of every day wonderfully purposeful.<br />
<br />
There's so much to figure out. So many options to weigh. So many attendant sacrifices to make. But, sacrifice need not equate to burden when it's for reasons which mean so much to the sacrificer.<br />
<br />
And, um, soooooo ... about that . . . it's been a while since I channeled the selfishness inherent in pursuing a running BHAG into benefiting a good cause. That said, though, I'm not going to run for a cause this year, either. I am going to run for FOUR CAUSES. On Friday, July 18, 2014, I will run 4.8 miles. Added to the 100 miles I'll run starting at 4:00 am on Saturday, July 19th, I will have run the equivalent of four full marathons. And, so, I have chosen four causes which mean a great deal to me personally, and I will ask any like-minded folks to support them.<br />
<br />
Since I'm setting up fundraising sites and finalizing other logistical details, I'll share the details soon. Save your charity money just a little longer, then, won't you? ;-)<br />
<br />
And, finally, partly for old-times' sake, and partly because it will keep me accountable, here is my training from the past two weeks. I may or may not keep posting training recaps regularly in the months ahead, but I welcome thoughts, opinions, and insights, especially from the knowledgeable ultrastuds and studettes out in the Interwebz.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>WEEK OF JANUARY 13-19</u></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Monday - 5.3M (coming off my first long-run stack of 15M Saturday, 20M Sunday)<br />
Tuesday - AM: 4.5M easy; PM: 90 mins Indoor Soccer (fun!)<br />
Wednesday - 5.2M<br />
Thursday - 7M<br />
Friday - 13.1M (ran to work)<br />
Saturday - AM: 6M group run (for #<a href="http://www.timesdispatch.com/news/local/runners-pour-emotions-into-honoring-meg-menzies/article_d451a194-804d-11e3-8cf2-0019bb30f31a.html" target="_blank">megsmiles</a>) PM: Indoor Soccer<br />
Sunday - 14.3M<br />
<br />
<b>WEEKLY TOTAL (counting soccer estimates) = ~63M </b></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>WEEK OF JANUARY 20-26</u></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
Monday - 5.1M<br />
Tuesday - AM: 5M PM: 90 mins Indoor Soccer<br />
Wednesday - 6.7M<br />
Thursday - 9.4<br />
Friday -5.8<br />
Saturday - 20+M<br />
Sunday - 10M<br />
<br />
<b>WEEKLY TOTAL (counting soccer estimates) = 67+M</b></blockquote>
January 2014 is shaping up to be my best month of running/training since March 2011. In terms of the overall training arc I've begun to map out for myself, I'm right where I want to be mileage-wise. My legs and hips are certainly fatigued, but my energy is good (high-fat/low-carb/ketosis!), and I seem to be managing the higher volume well. Of course, other than a few pickups on the treadmill and the short bursts which inevitably happen in soccer, all of these miles are quite slow. As I realized during my most recent 20+-miler, where I was dragging and at times even walking up steep hills: <i>When training for a 100-miler, running slow and walking *IS* race pace.</i><br />
<br />
As I settle into this most excellent journey towards adventures and rewards both known and unknown, I'm glad that YOU (yes, you, reading this), are choosing to come along.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -Ron<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-25894596687496751162014-01-21T17:26:00.000-05:002014-01-21T17:28:11.134-05:00GUT CHECKThis post - or at least the underlying impetus for it - has been a long time coming.<br />
<br />
Since I my late-teens, I've had chronic stomach issues. Attributed to heredity (my mother has a "nervous stomach"), I'd come to accept it as a permanent burden. Granted, it's been a longtime nuisance, but never been quite bad enough to derail me from doing what I've wanted to do. In more recent years, though, let's just say that it became severe enough that I knew the precise location of every port-a-pottie and shielded patch of roadside woods within a 10+-mile radius of my house.<br />
<br />
Among the suspected culprits of my gastrointestinal woes have been Celiac disease, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, lactose intolerance, and food allergies. As a beer-loving aficionado of the carbohydrate-driven lifestyle, though, I embraced the traditional United States' government food pyramid (below) like a gospel.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5c5gWH0c8s9WwyFIPPdp4ES5VOyo7AOGgZ-7wtamyhhRNCzIyGVs-14VecdcNni8MQjHJhQfR_WZaR_emxWyGpi-Rkn-xfBc_ACKTRjNLHkSOd_wJptK0eP526UdF7-tq5dBnlhQIJU/s1600/USDA_Food_Pyramid.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5c5gWH0c8s9WwyFIPPdp4ES5VOyo7AOGgZ-7wtamyhhRNCzIyGVs-14VecdcNni8MQjHJhQfR_WZaR_emxWyGpi-Rkn-xfBc_ACKTRjNLHkSOd_wJptK0eP526UdF7-tq5dBnlhQIJU/s1600/USDA_Food_Pyramid.gif" height="249" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But, despite my ostensibly "healthy" low-fat diet, I never felt quite right. There's the obvious GI distress in the form of stomach aches and extended post-meal bathroom sessions (no one wants their kids to say "See you in two hours, Dad . . ."). My sleep patterns have been a mess since adolescence. I have experienced daily energy spikes and crashes. I needed to end every meal with a sweet dessert. I couldn't sit in a movie theater without a box of Milk Duds or Twizzlers. Oh, and there's was my much-beloved IPA life stage. But, all along, I was at war with myself. And, after years of constant training, racing, experimenting, it only seemed to get worse. To this day, I think often about my fueling travails at the 2011 Boston Marathon, where I ran my PR of 3:08+ despite being unable to take any fuel after about Mile 14. I know I was in shape to run faster. But I didn't, so the marathoner I thought I'd become was tempered by the actual marathon I ran that day. And, frankly, I haven't even been as good a runner, on any level, since.<br />
<br />
So, I did what skeptics do. I questioned myself, my beliefs, my behavior. I consulted learned sources who have found a different way. I shed that unquestioned orthodoxy and kept an open mind.<br />
<br />
And, I'm rather glad that I did.<br />
<br />
My first attempted foray into a full-scale diet modification came in the Fall of 2012, when I paid for a "<a href="http://www.metabolictyping.com/" target="_blank">Metabolic Typing</a>" assessment. The 25+-page report and analysis was enlightening, but the proscription for how to combine foods soon became unworkable for me. The two main positive changes for me at that time were that I gave up soy and soda completely. But, after feeling notably better for a few weeks, I went back to my old ways, where grains and sugars made up most of my daily caloric intake.<br />
<br />
After another year of sub-par training, medication-assisted sleeping, and continued facially-okay-but-actually-fundamentally-poor nutrition, I decided to try something radically different. Thanks to information received from accomplished runner/athlete friends (Abby, Tamy, Wes, Tim, Ernesto), as well as from experts such as Drs. Jeff S. Volek & Stephen D. Phinney, Dr. Tim Noakes, and the knowledgeable-but-occasionally-bloviating Vinnie Tortorich, I adopted a different dietary approach just before Halloween 2013.<br />
<br />
The key resources for me have been Drs. Volek & Phinney's book, "<a href="http://www.artandscienceoflowcarb.com/" target="_blank">The Art and Science of Low Carbohydrate Living</a>"; a few select episodes of Vinnie Tortorich's <a href="http://vinnietortorich.com/category/podcast/" target="_blank">"Angriest Trainer" podcast</a>, and a cornucopia of excellent Paleo recipe sites, including <a href="http://paleomg.com/" target="_blank">PaleOMG</a>, <a href="http://nomnompaleo.com/" target="_blank">NomNomPaleo</a>, and and the useful recipe compilation site <a href="http://paleogrubs.com/" target="_blank">Paleo Grubs</a>. Another unexpected benefit has been that I've discovered that I actually enjoy cooking and baking, and appreciate the challenge of preparing delicious dishes and treats within my newly discovered dietary parameters.<br />
<br />
<br />
Since I despise labels, I call this new way of eating a low-carb/Paleo/NSNG (no-sugar-no-grain) approach. It's not any one of those things exclusively. I do consume some carbs, notably sweet potatoes and some honey/maple syrup. I do consume dairy, but only whole-milk/full-fat. I do eat peanuts, beans and some other legumes. So none of the strictest labels fits me, and I'd have it no other way. And, because a lot of folks ask, I most certainly DO NOT CALL IT A DIET.<br />
<br />
The results since I started doing this have been - for me - nothing short of remarkable. I have managed to increase my running mileage from 25-30 miles per week to over 60, and have been playing soccer once a week, to boot. I've run back-to-back long runs of 15 and 20 miles, with one small <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=chia+seed+bar&tag=googhydr-20&index=aps&hvadid=32988366505&hvpos=1t1&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=456818082694985445&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_3czokjtgs0_b" target="_blank">chia bar</a> or a single nut butter packet to fuel me. I am less sore after running longer than I could have imagined.<br />
<br />
Bear in mind that while I have been slowly ramping up my running
mileage, I now eat more fat in a day than I used to consume in a week.
And I now eat fewer carbohydrates - especially sugar - in a week than I used to consume in a
day (sometimes even in a single sitting, like breakfast).<br />
<br />
<br />
But, more importantly, my mental focus and acuity have improved to the point that I don't know how I was getting by before. My friend Ernesto addressed this quite well in his own recent blog post: http://www.ernestoburden.com/2013/12/low-carb-iq-boost-ketosis-and-cognitive-function/.<br />
<br />
Also, <strike>despite</strike> because of consuming SO MUCH FAT, moderate protein and so little sugar/carbs, my weight and body composition seem to have found their own equilibrium. Here's a self-consciously taken selfie from about three weeks into the new way of eating:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVvnvh72gptygpYCpziPKwZoTKFExiJAHdeVUUjtVw43q94P1cDFM3ecgJziXFp2CbPN3Sf0YyL_TkfFSAsqrlEfXtOrL5OAN82tCXSublYy__HmCesYtmgTXT-FkRxtna197scveIHgg/s1600/2013-12-05+11.19.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVvnvh72gptygpYCpziPKwZoTKFExiJAHdeVUUjtVw43q94P1cDFM3ecgJziXFp2CbPN3Sf0YyL_TkfFSAsqrlEfXtOrL5OAN82tCXSublYy__HmCesYtmgTXT-FkRxtna197scveIHgg/s1600/2013-12-05+11.19.18.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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And here's the most recent, taken a couple of days ago (about 10 weeks in): <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHsVydlFWsVahf9E8WMaPeV2787tKXxwazFDUgK_redvCT7EMrgsgOCRqlY-y4l1ZIEG07Sd8dlS45bc-nuOH3tk4FWB0Zf6YbjWrY7p2XzfaroK9xAGyg8ogtN5OnNUecKbatlzBATI/s1600/2014-01-19+18.27.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHsVydlFWsVahf9E8WMaPeV2787tKXxwazFDUgK_redvCT7EMrgsgOCRqlY-y4l1ZIEG07Sd8dlS45bc-nuOH3tk4FWB0Zf6YbjWrY7p2XzfaroK9xAGyg8ogtN5OnNUecKbatlzBATI/s1600/2014-01-19+18.27.19.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course, this remains an experiment, but the initial results and transformative feeling are so overpowering that I cannot imagine going back. Have I cheated? Of course. In New York City. In Italy. During the holidays. But every lapse reminds me in stark physiological terms just how much better suited I am to this new approach to eating. <br />
<br />
Much bigger tests are coming. Stay tuned . . . :-)<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-88172232639396706152013-11-07T16:06:00.000-05:002013-11-08T10:29:35.312-05:00THE (RUN-)WALKING DEAD: NYCM 2013 "Event" Report<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>After two October trips to the pop-up Halloween store, it appears that the zombie apocalypse is nigh. It used to be that female-targeted Halloween costumes tended to the "Sexy/Naughty/Slutty". While that remains true, now it seems that "Sexy/Naughty/Slutty Zombie ___________" is the order of the day. The title of this post, therefore, comes from the fact that this blog - moribund for so long - simply refuses to die. It may also reflect my guiding experience in last weekend's New York City Marathon.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>A LITTLE CONTEXT</u></b></div>
<br />
Every marathon race is a 26.2-mile journey (YES! that's the official marathon distance, dammit) that begins long before the runner toes the starting line. In this case, my journey began in the late summer of 2012, when I was lucky enough to be chosen by <a href="http://www.achillesinternational.org/" target="_blank">Achilles International</a> to guide a triple-amputee Marine who would be doing his first marathon in a handcycle. Alas, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/03/sports/new-york-city-marathon-will-not-be-held-sunday.html?_r=0" target="_blank">Superstorm Sandy nixed</a> that. Then came <a href="http://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/specials/boston-marathon-explosions" target="_blank">Boston</a>, where I was assigned to run with an above-the-knee amputee (we'll call him TS) who was shooting for a 4:30 finish. As with so many of life's endeavors, things did not go as planned for TS there. He set out a bit too fast in the first half, but the second-half fade spared us from being much, much closer to the finish line at the time of the bombings. We made it to Mile 25.5, and immediately made a pact to try again in NYC in November.<br />
<br />
So, for me, NYCM 2013 started more than a year earlier. For TS, this would be a race almost seven months in the making.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>THE RACE</u></b></div>
<br />
If finishing time is the only measure of marathoning success, then NYCM 2013 would have to be filed as an unqualified disaster. Fortunately, though, it isn't, so it wasn't. And because the metrics are not conventional, neither should a "race report" be. Rejoice, therefore, Dear Reader, since this post will not take you through a mile-by-mile recap of the good, the bad, and the ugly which tends to comprise the marathon race experience. In fact, this wasn't really a race at all, so I won't treat it as such. Instead, I would characterize more like a series of wonderful and discrete experiences tied together by consistent forward motion towards a blue and orange banner in one of the world's most famous parks.<br />
<br />
Knowing that his training had not been optimal, and dealing with a problem in his knee (as in, his only knee), TS dialed back his original 4:15 goal. As I pressed him, he cagily said "4:30-4:45". Having run and paced and guided quite a few of these things by now, I prepared myself for a mostly pleasant five-plus-hour amble through the Five Boroughs which are New York City. It was a good thing that I did, because it turned out to be all of that and more.<br />
<br />
What follows here, though, is a list of the encounters, images, and memories with which I left New York City. Maybe every significant life experience changes in some way. Serving as a guide for NYCM 2013 certainly changed me as a runner; time will tell how much it has changed me as a person.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>THE START</b></u></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWMLwSxx7Gm3-QOOarWseZsMhhSpnQpcdtGhADUsjw4p50jWAprc5b7BF_qfb6bB6SaFYp1BAdsvnl4Im6FiRoFTjA99zwadl4xMI1cdekiJIMQ_7PdBC5jnCYxQG8U3sOFiHkzfgczo/s1600/2013-11-03+07.26.23-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWMLwSxx7Gm3-QOOarWseZsMhhSpnQpcdtGhADUsjw4p50jWAprc5b7BF_qfb6bB6SaFYp1BAdsvnl4Im6FiRoFTjA99zwadl4xMI1cdekiJIMQ_7PdBC5jnCYxQG8U3sOFiHkzfgczo/s400/2013-11-03+07.26.23-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the AWD starting area</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The ride from Midtown Manhattan was dark and long, though the sun was up by the time we got there. TS and I rode together, and I mostly just sat quietly, preparing myself for the long day ahead. The Achilles bus was full of Athletes With Disabilities (aka, AWDs) and their Guides. All of the athletes on our bus were ambulatory, as the wheelchair/handcyclists require special transportation. AWDs span a wide range in terms of the conditions which lead to their needing a Guide. Amputation, blindness, paralysis, and cerebral palsy were among the reasons I heard from fellow Guides and their runners. We were shuttled to a special AWD staging area, and the most striking visual was the scores of wheelchairs and other adapted contraptions which would allow so many people to pursue their dream of hurtling 26.2 miles through the five famed boroughs of New York City.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7MLFWXLttoOLObHZDJA6EMcE3lwcJSzMKmqxMgr0WFhvSktP-N7wdf2NFbIYUyb1jokpYde8b2VWbZeKfcvJfB74R_Fus398Zag7Cmghx6rPlqMgrCC_X9TAzL_dcUCd_sep-iCONE1M/s1600/2013-11-03+07.36.08-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7MLFWXLttoOLObHZDJA6EMcE3lwcJSzMKmqxMgr0WFhvSktP-N7wdf2NFbIYUyb1jokpYde8b2VWbZeKfcvJfB74R_Fus398Zag7Cmghx6rPlqMgrCC_X9TAzL_dcUCd_sep-iCONE1M/s400/2013-11-03+07.36.08-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>SECURITY</b></u></div>
<br />
Having been on the course during Boston 2013, and having pored over every announcement about heightened security at NYCM, I was prepared for anything. TS was checked quickly and allowed to bypass the metal detector/body scanner, since his composite carbon-fiber prosthetic leg would have set off the machine. I was extended no such courtesy, and therefore waited, and waited, and waited while a malfunctioning metal detector was resuscitated by NYPD officers. Not surprisingly, the police department was out in force, but I noticed many officers with special badges, including "Auxillary", "School Safety Division", "Taxi Squad", and others. Everyone was on call. And virtually every one of them was attentive and courteous.<br />
<br />
From the time we arrived at the start area until I made it back to my friends' Upper West Side apartment some 8+ hours later, I saw more uniformed police than I had ever seen in a single day in my life. Other shows of high-alert included police buses, armored vehicles and strategically hovering helicopters. I was able to take the following picture from the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4EgBQnrYokkJ_0l93Ee064LAE7kYrzfGBOuCyJTrrcM0hIwYfrY72LMJOmlZmubJzVTkOo8YYLXx6VZA2HTkdOG78KpN2MmYEfwOi32YYilKi1O3AZQYV0K5w0tuBLqX7Tq3DuJPrGc/s1600/2013-11-03+09.52.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4EgBQnrYokkJ_0l93Ee064LAE7kYrzfGBOuCyJTrrcM0hIwYfrY72LMJOmlZmubJzVTkOo8YYLXx6VZA2HTkdOG78KpN2MmYEfwOi32YYilKi1O3AZQYV0K5w0tuBLqX7Tq3DuJPrGc/s400/2013-11-03+09.52.43.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The ubiquity of armed personnel watching over 50,000 runners and more than a million spectators was simultaneously comforting and unnerving. After Boston, authorities weren't going to take any chances. Since the 2013 NYCM went off without an incident, their abundant caution worked. Still, perhaps some day such measures won't be necessary to thwart prospective wrongdoers, or even to assuage public concern about bad things happening. For now, though, reality dictates differently.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>BROOKLYN</b></u></div>
<br />
Staten Island gets the race start, and - as in life - apparently not much else. On the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge we climbed the first big "hill" amidst a cold, strong crosswind as we headed towards Brooklyn. The eerie quiet of the first few miles soon gave way to people, lots and lots of people. People yelling. People dancing. People playing musical instruments. People holding signs. People clapping. People encouraging every single person who went by in the most unequivocally positive terms. It's not something one sees every day, and certainly not in a city of over <i>8.3 MILLION</i> (!) which would not be named a bastion of congeniality on a normal day. The New York City Marathon makes for not a normal day.<br />
<br />
Brooklyn was a blast. <br />
<br />
Because TS lost his left leg above the knee, he has to run as far to the left of a course as he can, which is the safest thing both for him and for other runners (in fact, my job as his guide is to create a buffer zone between him and the field). That means that we always stayed close to the spectators on the left side of the road. And so, in Brooklyn, began the high-fives. Little and medium-sized kids were the most eager to get a hand-slap from a passing runner. I tried to get every single one (often yelling as I passed, "MAKE SURE TO WASH YOUR HANDS!"), and then, to my surprise, nearby adults would extend their hands, too, offered with a sincere word of praise. Not just the parents, either. Adults cheering alone. People in traditional garb from other countries. Old people. Religious people (well, not the Hasidic Jews in Williamsburg). Even some of NYC's finest extended a hand along the way.<br />
<br />
Brooklyn included people of virtually every conceivable nationality and skin tone. To think that they all convened just to see us (<i><b>us</b></i>!) was a happy realization indeed. I heard my name yelled by a guy I know from online running circles, the only time that would happen over the course of the race. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>AWD IN DISTRESS</b></u></div>
<br />
During the first half of the race, I was pretty pumped up, so I checked and rechecked our pace to make sure I
didn't lead TS out too fast. Unfortunately, that I didn't didn't matter. It wasn't his day to chase a new marathon PR, but he stayed laser-focused on that finish line.<br />
<br />
After settling into a decent groove, putting us on pace for a 4:45-ish finish, TS started slowing down. Runners often describe that feeling as the moment in a race where "the wheels come off". Well, not long after we started experiencing that, we came upon an AWD who was the literal embodiment of the phrase. At almost exactly the Mile 14 marker, TS and I say an Achilles AWD in a prone handcycle off to the side of the course. The athlete seemed dazed and confused. He also did not speak much English. Turns out he's Italian, which felt like karma since I have been shirking my self-guided Italian study and was thus able to say only, "<i>Io non capisco l'italiano</i>" ("I don't understand Italian"). The right rear wheel on chair was cracked. It had been temporarily held together with duct tape, but as he sought to move the hand pedals, the wheel just came off the axle. He seemed like he might be hurt, so we called on available race medical volunteers until they thought they had found one who spoke Italian. 10-15 minutes after we came upon the poor prone fellow, we were moving again.<br />
<br />
I have tried to find out what happened to him, but no one seems to know.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>QUEENS</b></u></div>
<br />
Dealing with the athlete in distress was our welcome to Queens, so perhaps in an effort to get back into "race mode" (or, at least, "finish mode"), I was less aware of my surroundings in Queens. It's also just a few miles. Still, I remember more high-fives; <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/mrloganrhoades/the-35-best-signs-from-the-nyc-marathon" target="_blank">more clever signs</a> ("SMILE IF YOU PEED A LITTLE"; I smiled, even though I hadn't ... yet), and more wild cheers.<br />
<br />
<br />
Then came the Queensboro Bridge, where we had another AWD encounter. This time, it was a stopped Achilles amputee, whose prosthesis had become unsafely loose. We needed a specific hexagonal key to tighten it, but no one had one. I tried "MacGyvering"it from detritus I found on the ground (a paper clip, a zipper pull, a piece of a key), but no luck. So, I jumped the concrete barrier, ran up to an ambulance, and asked for help. No dice. We left that runner and his Guides behind, but saw him pass us a while later, which made us happy.<br />
<br />
At this point, I felt a bit low. The wind whipped across the Queensboro Bridge; the sky was still gray. It had gotten crowded on the course, which presented more challenges in terms of keeping TS safe. We still had over 10 miles to go, and we were walking. A lot.<br />
<br />
It's not very often that I have the impulse to punch a 70-something year-old (much less a runner) in the face, but at about Mile 15.5, we experienced the one act of nastiness amidst a day of otherwise unfettered kindness. As an elderly gentlemen passed us during a stretch of walking on the bridge, he literally yelled that we were "taking up half the path". As he kept moving, I replied, "Sorry [sarcastically] . . . we have a disabled runner here." Most people would apologize, or otherwise acknowledge their overreaction, but he instead doubled-down: "I don't give a shit! You should be in a single file." When we caught him less than a half-mile later, I might have eased over to the left again just a tad closer than what one might call socially acceptable. My job is to keep my runner safe. Other runners, beware: I take my job seriously.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>MANHATTAN, THEN THE BRONX</b></u></div>
<br />
Manhattan brought what Manhattan is known for bringing: crowds. People lined up 10 or more deep. Lots of well-dressed folks sipped coffee. A few of those who leaned their Starbucks cups over the railing were surprised when I pantomimed helping myself to their tasty hot beverage. Reactions ranged from pulling away, to laughing, to offering their cup with the greatest sincerity. We may have been moving slowly, but I was having fun.<br />
<br />
The East Side blocks ticked off. Somewhere, maybe around 100th Street, I started hearing a loud female voice roaring, "JESUS! JEE-SUS!!! JEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSUUUUUUSSSSSS!!!!!" Turned out to be an older black woman, waving a black leather-bound bible. "JESUS!!!!!!!!" We walked. "JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-SSSSSSSSSSUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!" We jogged a little. And, finally, we reached her. Looking more through me than at me, she let it rip, the bible shaking in her hand: "JEEEEEEESSSSSUSSSSSS!!!!!" I looked at hear, smiled, and said, "No, thank you." Some runners around me smiled. TS yelled something about foregiveness. We forged ahead. She kept screaming.<br />
<br />
A few blocks north of the Church Lady, another exuberant spectator was putting on a cheering spectacle of her own. On the right side of First Avenue I noticed a younger black woman, slim, with bleached blond hair. She was sprinting up and down the side of the course, pointing at runners and screaming, "This is YOU runnin' fast," over and over and over. It was also her, but it's not clear if she appreciated the irony.<br />
<br />
And then, seemingly in a flash, we reached the Willis Avenue Bridge, for our brief foray into The Bronx. As we neared the end of our first pass through Manhattan a guy yelled,
"You're almost in the The Bronx!" I jokingly asked him, "Is it safe?"
His response: "You won't be there long." I felt so much better.<br />
<br />
The Bronx really was just a blip. A little over a mile and then we were on our final bridge, the Madison Avenue Bridge, for our return to Manhattan and the final push towards the finish.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>MANHATTAN,REDUX</u></b></div>
<br />
The gray skies finally cleared, the temperature rose a few degrees, and we were in the home stretch. More walking. More high fives. More cheers and signs and massive good will. We were moving slowly, but no one seemed to hold it against us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPM9PzsUqylOEff4WiTihsJPP0gvKIYBIeYd_dYiP63Usv1GDkjWtLr-Cf9eYLqSw_bIXwZyu0LdnKwuOIMupG1-N0AbgbI6BB9_yGAW8p6djQWzHtMa1nieBzSYNnG-WTV24GFn5Ruvo/s1600/2013-11-03+15.15.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPM9PzsUqylOEff4WiTihsJPP0gvKIYBIeYd_dYiP63Usv1GDkjWtLr-Cf9eYLqSw_bIXwZyu0LdnKwuOIMupG1-N0AbgbI6BB9_yGAW8p6djQWzHtMa1nieBzSYNnG-WTV24GFn5Ruvo/s200/2013-11-03+15.15.32.jpg" width="200" /></a>I had a nice moment with an older lady in Harlem. She was in a wheelchair/scooter, sort of slumped, with a sign which read "Harlem HEARTS You". I looked straight at her and smiled, and she sat up straight, beaming a huge smile back at me. A perfect little moment like I've never had before, and likely will never have again.<br />
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Somewhere after the Mile 22 mark, Central Park came into view. What a sight, though we were still walking and we still had 4 more miles. At Mile 24, we turned into the Park, still walking more than running.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7t1eVR_ueHvHtjQ3pPzxQ-QlaXlIFweoCwiyAbMXbbhBGl_3e4x79ca9QZ2Z1gzcS1UTO3oi09GSzTJZIlBpTlJbxGR0ynWXBuOBkrKl10sxdqCuos8XKsFUR56H24W6F0Nx0wSA330E/s1600/2013-11-03+15.06.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7t1eVR_ueHvHtjQ3pPzxQ-QlaXlIFweoCwiyAbMXbbhBGl_3e4x79ca9QZ2Z1gzcS1UTO3oi09GSzTJZIlBpTlJbxGR0ynWXBuOBkrKl10sxdqCuos8XKsFUR56H24W6F0Nx0wSA330E/s320/2013-11-03+15.06.30.jpg" width="320" /></a> It didn't matter anymore, because the time on the clock meant nothing to us. The only thing that mattered was that a man who'd lost his leg in a car accident about 8 years ago and a big-eared, Jewfro sporting goofball who likes to cover long distances on foot in the company of others were inching ever closer to the Finish Line denied them in April thanks to a couple of terrorists with a horrifically misguided sense of purpose. For TS, this would be another finish line in a sport he took up before he became "disabled". We were cold. We were tired. We were ready to be done. But, I think I speak for TS when I say that we also felt like yelling, "Fuck car accidents!" and "Fuck terrorists!" and "Fuck anyone and anything which seeks to get in the way of people and their hopes, their dreams, their spirit!" We were going to finish, and finish we did, 202 days, 5 hours and 34 minutes after we first started running together in Hopkinton, Massachusetts. Not fast by most measures, but at least ahead of <a href="http://www.today.com/entertainment/ouch-pamela-anderson-sums-her-nyc-marathon-run-8C11522150" target="_blank">Pamela Anderson</a>. :-)<br />
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<!--3-->Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-17567456684049983172013-05-20T16:23:00.001-04:002013-05-20T16:23:29.139-04:00Laying It Out ThereRunning.<br />
<br />
It's been a huge part of my life since I started on July 4, 2006. It's been my friend. It's helped me make friends. It's been my nemesis. It's been an addiction. A lifeline. Therapy. Burden. Opportunity. Buttresser of self-confidence. Inducer of self-doubt.<br />
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Running played a supporting role in the breakup of my marriage. It is also how I met my current love.<br />
<br />
Running has remained by my side all this time, but it has been a complicated relationship. At some point, after running a marathon PR in April 2011, I lost my zest for training. I didn't want to get up early to run. I didn't want to run every day. I didn't want to run hard. I sure as hell didn't want to race, at least not without pre-fabricated excuses ("my first 50-miler", or "I'm doing 4 long races in 4 weeks") and solid reasons for why my fitness and performance had fallen so far so quickly ("These damned hip flexors!").<br />
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But, I didn't want to shed my identity as "a runner". As "the running lawyer". As that crazy guy who runs all those miles, eats & drinks to his heart's content, and always stays trim and toned.<br />
<br />
Except that I was living a lie, or at least an illusion.<br />
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I've not gone more than a few days without running in the past few years, but I've run less often. And shorter. And more slowly. And, most sadly, I've lost much of the joy and satisfaction which comes from being competitive with oneself, with pushing one's perceived limits and finding new ways of improving, achieving, excelling.<br />
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Well, the time has come to reconnect with running, or move on to something else. So, I tried a running streak (and hit 70 days). That helped a little. I guided at Boston. That was an extremely memorable experience. I scheduled another Boston qualifying attempt, at Keybank Vermont City on May 26th, and was following Pete Pfitzinger's 16-week, 70-mile-per-week plan. That went okay, until I fell off the bouldering wall and sprained my ankle.<br />
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But a key unknown in all of this has been the question that's tougher to ask than to answer: "Just exactly how much fitness have I lost?" There's only one reliable source to answer that, and it displays its responses in hours, minutes, and seconds. So, I've been on a racing tear, with four races in 14 days. Here's the verdict:<br />
<ul>
<li>Flat 5K on May 4 - 20:25 (PR is 18:46); couldn't make my legs move faster than that</li>
<li>Half-marathon on May 11 - 1:38:55 (PR - 1:26:xx); chewed up and spit out by hills, humidity and wind</li>
<li>Slightly tougher 5K on May 16 - 20:3x, a personal worst on that course since I became 'a runner"</li>
<li>12K (~7.5-mile) on May 18th - 52:44 (a HUGE PR, as I've never raced that distance before), and by far the best race in terms of <br />making a realistic fitness assessment and executing intelligently . . . suddenly, racing seemed fun again</li>
</ul>
So, what's the takeaway from this? I'm done with marathons. At least for now. I've withdrawn from Vermont City, and will instead head to Maine for my second annual Pineland Farms 50K. I will probably not qualify for Boston 2014, so I won't get to go back as a racer and somehow seek to find some personal measure of validation for the fact that so much was taken away from so many on April 15, 2013.<br />
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What does this mean exactly? Well . . . I'm not on a specific training plan. I'm running every single day, though, even if only a few miles. I'm joining friends at the track if I feel like it. I'm racing when it's convenient and close to home. I'm rock-climbing. Lifting weights. Playing soccer, and riding bikes, and playing tag and slacklining with my kids. I call it loosening my grip. Some might call it living.<br />
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Where will this lead? I have no idea, but I do know that allowing one's hobby to become a major source of life stress is basically one big failure.<br />
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So, what's after Pineland Farms next weekend? Other than probably a couple of easy miles the next day, I have no idea. And I feel much happier about that than I could have imagined.Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-17383879800681287702013-05-07T12:27:00.000-04:002013-05-07T12:27:28.349-04:00I Couldn't Have Said It Better . . .than so many other articulate, thoughtful, wonderfully eloquent observers . . . .<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Before the start at Athlete's Village . . . bubbling with joy and optimism</i>. <i>Must we now redefine "it"? </i></td></tr>
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So . . . I am not going to post my usual longish Boston 2013 "Race Report". Suffice it to say that my amputee runner, co-guide and I were a safe distance away from the finish area at the time of the blasts, are all physically unharmed, and managed the chaos and confusion of the situation as well as anyone.<br />
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We got word out to our friends and family; we retrieved our material possessions. Our inspiring amputee runner will receive a finisher's medal, despite having to stop at the 25.5-mile mark, because the course just turned into a fretful sea of humanity, with the police telling us what NOT to do, but not otherwise giving any clear instructions.<br />
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The whole experience has been on the edge of overwhelming. There are some obvious reasons for that (I was there; I live an hour from Boston; runners/marathoners are my "community"; etc.), and some less obvious ones.<br />
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Innocence has become a precious commodity in our modern world. Loss of any of that precious innocence compounds the very tragedy which takes our innocence. A vicious cycle.<br />
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Every day I think about the Boston Marathon. About how things could have been different for me. How they SHOULD have been different for the three people who were killed. How April 15, 2013 has permanently and indelibly scarred the 200 victims, and so many more of us. How the attack and subsequent police investigation brought out some of the very best qualities in all of us. How sad it is that the inspiration towards selflessness, caring, charity and love abates all-too-quickly. And about much, much more.<br />
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Yet, I'm going to stay away from much of that: theodicy; existential angst; political grandstanding; the seemingly insatiable need for contextualizing the inexplicable. Oh, and the media.<br />
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Thank you, Boston Marathon, for everything you have given me, fellow participants, the "local" community, the running world, and the countless people who normally don't give a whit about running yet find themselves moved by an event that brings together 25,000+ people seeking to challenge themselves, motivate others, help charities and otherwise simply choose to live in a way that honors the gift which is our limited time on this planet.<br />
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One more thing: Boston has also led me to rethink my relationship with running, including (especially?) the marathon distance. More on that to follow in the days ahead.<br />
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<br />Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-89833501408524412422013-03-04T14:41:00.001-05:002013-03-04T14:41:36.930-05:00'Cuz Waking Up Is Hard To DoIt's the first week of March, and although snow still surrounds us, it seems high time to end this blog's arbitrary, self-imposed hibernation. So, this blog has awoken. I, too, am back into a groove of waking up to embrace the day . . . and sometimes, even, to run. :-) The final way in which this post's title works is that it feels like my mind and consciousness have also awoken, as exciting things are brewing in my professional world, while there's a lot to take in and process in the civic realm.<br /><br />As of today, I am happy to report that I have run on 52 consecutive days. The overall mileage has been nothing special, but after an extended training malaise dating back to the summer of 2011, just getting back to running every single day feels like an accomplishment worth sharing. I'm close to my second longest running streak (having run 100+ days in early 2011). Most importantly, though, I've eliminated running as a question mark in my day. That I will run is a given. With the help of a training schedule geared towards a late-May marathon, structure has returned to my running life. And that's good. It's satisfying. It's productive. It's healthy. So, it's actually quite very good.<br />
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A whole heck of a lot has happened since I last posted in the summer of 2012. Highlights:<br />
<ul>
<li>Moved my office </li>
<li>Ran two marathons and an ultramarathon in three consecutive weekends (October-November 2012)</li>
<li>Committed to be an Achilles Guide at the NYCM, but Superstorm Hurricane Sandy had other plans</li>
<li>Dropped out of the JFK 50-Miler, at Mile 19, after my whole right side basically stopped working at Mile 17</li>
<li>Moved my home</li>
<li>Moved in with my beloved, and two cats</li>
<li>Have started rock-climbing</li>
<li>Will soon be doing occasional guest reviews for a running-shoe-oriented blog</li>
<li>Committed to being an Achilles Guide at Boston this year </li>
</ul>
Of course, challenges still abound, but I'm seeing fewer obstacles and more opportunity. And, it's a comfort to know that running is there each and every day, be it on snowy trails, steep hills or on a treadmill in the rock-climbing gym while watching folks contort themselves gracefully up steep simulated rock faces. It's something I can control. It belongs only to me, yet I can share it with whomever I choose.<br />
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More running, racing, meditating and blogging to come. Consider yourself warned.<br />
<br />
-Ron<br />
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<br />Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-25176663271610796032012-07-23T16:37:00.002-04:002012-07-23T16:44:50.912-04:00On Paces, Races and Beautiful Places<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: small;">“We can never have enough of nature.
We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and
titanic features, [ ] the wilderness with its
living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain.”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">- Henry David Thoreau</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u>Dolly Sods Wilderness - July 6th through July 8th</u> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Since returning from California and the Western States Endurance Run less than four weeks ago, I've have the good fortune to spend more time in spectacularly beautiful places - blissfully large doses - while in the company of the highest-caliber people - in small and medium-sized doses.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd6oI5-y0dcQ3nwlf-sh4esi5g-cXvN1VrwDaZQopVKYdHuyTH4wYfQG8kqAWZ5LIwNNwNdE2b7ntg5HBM8EWkwjf7ga46-kR3A5McqHHy9sEYIg2eGSCj-no8exJvqZXr20zhfaxFpNs/s1600/DollySods_TopoTrailMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd6oI5-y0dcQ3nwlf-sh4esi5g-cXvN1VrwDaZQopVKYdHuyTH4wYfQG8kqAWZ5LIwNNwNdE2b7ntg5HBM8EWkwjf7ga46-kR3A5McqHHy9sEYIg2eGSCj-no8exJvqZXr20zhfaxFpNs/s320/DollySods_TopoTrailMap.jpg" width="260" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">After the Independence Day holiday, I accompanied Meredith into the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_Sods_Wilderness" target="_blank">Dolly Sods Wilderness</a>, for my first multi-night backpacking adventure in as long as I can remember. The purpose and timing of the trip had profound significance, and I got to see a wonderfully unspoiled and remote part of the East Coast. Just reaching Dolly Sods was a journey in itself, while hiking its spectacular trails was a unique experience, as the area boasts varied ecosystems, flora and fauna, mesmerizing rock formations, expansive views and dense forest, not to mention a bounty of sweet, ripe wild blueberries at this time of year. A few photographs which don't really begin to do justice to Dolly Sods are available <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150915606215759.410753.573370758&type=3&l=7964f128e0" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">While the trip presented myriad challenges (physical and otherwise), it was a gift to get away from cars, computers, phones and - mostly - other people. And, as with so many trying experiences, confronting the difficulties and getting through them has resulted in a welcome Nietzchean adaptation, as I feel stronger (about a number of things), than I have in a long time. I hope to go back to Dolly Sods someday, and navigate the terrain more gracefully than I managed this time, . . . assuming I'm invited to do so.</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: small;">Training & Nutrition</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">So far, working with a coach and following his prescribed training plan has gone pretty well. I have permitted poor planning and sloppy scheduling to get in the way of full compliance with the plan, but the consistency and overall arc of training is much-improved over what I've experienced in the past year. The most notable fail on my part was missing a scheduled 20-miler on July 15th (and aborting a re-try on July 16th), but it feels like I've been doing enough long, slow, time-on-my feet runs/hikes that missing a single long run shouldn't make a huge difference. My weekly mileage is starting to creep up into the 60s, and I very much look forward to settling into higher mileage once again. Getting a break from one of the more relentless heat waves of my adult life should also have a positive impact on training.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">That said, the most exciting development in the health and wellness sphere has been that a change in diet has produced dramatic positive changes in my GI system. Having met a former pro triathlete who's a certified Nutritional Consultant, I looked into what he promotes in terms of how endurance athletes should eat. The result was a long questionnaire - and even longer personalized analysis - of my "<a href="http://www.metabolictyping.com/" target="_blank">metabolic type</a>", which dictates not only what foods I should and shouldn't eat, but also provides for specific food pairings and macro-nutrient ratios. I began this new regimen two weeks ago today, and have likely been somewhere around 75% faithful to the plan (zero beer simply ain't gonna happen). The results have been so dramatically positive so quickly that I have not only had better runs overall, but have also experienced improved sleep quality, better mental alertness and lesser dependence on caffeine. My energy levels have been consistent, and I've been notably more productive at home and at the office. There's no "one-size-fits-all" nutritional approach, which is a key component of the Metabolic Type plan. Anyone who's had fueling/GI issues might want to consider looking into it. If you're so inclined, send me a comment and I'll put you in touch with my guru.</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: small;">The Vermont 100 - 2012 Pacing Report</span></u></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On Friday, July 20, 2012, I set off for my third consecutive year of helping out at the <a href="http://www.vermont100.com/" target="_blank">Vermont 100</a> mile race. As this blog has contemplated in the past, my "purpose" in the running world seems to be more about serving others as a pacer than about achieving much by way of personal glory and accomplishment when racing in my own right.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdF9I2XSr06TfAdMOcGbMdpIvXv1LbIo8MUfw8V5Zk9_vKNmKyNc5Dd8uVb4GYrlF06GvOxcEM3Uo5v6WVXKIwxcJfJkK0KMxVRqIpZF7nPhXe0bEBPL2qSFOfOVK-qv6gaFdFP6M3B28/s1600/VT-100_SilverMeadow_2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdF9I2XSr06TfAdMOcGbMdpIvXv1LbIo8MUfw8V5Zk9_vKNmKyNc5Dd8uVb4GYrlF06GvOxcEM3Uo5v6WVXKIwxcJfJkK0KMxVRqIpZF7nPhXe0bEBPL2qSFOfOVK-qv6gaFdFP6M3B28/s400/VT-100_SilverMeadow_2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The predictably spectacular summer sunset over Silver Meadow in Brownsville, VT</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">So, I agreed to pace my new friend Kelly this year, as she sought to improve upon her formidable 2010 time of 20 hours and 50 minutes. My schedule leading up to race weekend was extremely hectic, with unexpected travel and work complications resulting in little downtime and not much sleep. Still, as soon as I got close to the race HQ at Silver Meadow on Friday evening, a sense of serenity, belonging and happiness came over me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was great to see my close friend <a href="http://www.vermont100.com/" target="_blank">Nate</a> as he revved up for his first 100-miler of the year, and to find John, Andy, Joe W., Chip, Laura, Pete, Brett and Joe H., just to name a few of the familiar friendly faces which took part in this year's race. Kelly seemed good on Friday night, and - after being admonished for being too loud in the campground at the advanced hour of 8:45 pm - it was time to turn in for the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">For me, Saturday brought a questionably achievable itinerary, as follows:</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: small;">3:45 am - wake up to catch the start before going back to sleep</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">5:40 am - wake up again to set out to volunteer at the Pretty House aid station</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">9:00 am - leave Woodstock, VT for Greenfield, NH to see my two younger kids get out of sleepaway camp; in proud New England tradition, it was a case of "you cahn't get the-ah, from hee-ah"</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">1:30 pm - back to Silver Meadow</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">2:00 pm - get to Camp 10 Bear (aka, Mile 70) and wait for Kelly</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">4:30-5:00-ish pm - expect Kelly and settle in for 30 lovely miles in the woods and on country roads</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: small;">Things went mostly according to plan, though I missed Kelly and Nate at the Pretty House aid station, which left me to wonder if they were okay.</span> After a brief cot nap amidst the cacophony of 10 Bear, I arose and got ready to run. I met Kelly's excellent crew of Gene and Gene (son & father). Kelly rolled in at about 5:15, looking pretty strong for someone with 70 miles behind her already.<br />
<br />
We headed out of 10 Bear, only to confront one of the toughest segments of the course. Kelly ran what she could and we power-hiked the rest. Once we reached rolling dirt roads and single-track downhills, Kelly got down to business. She was moving well, with no significant ill-effects from her earlier spill, blisters or the shear wear-&-tear of this massive undertaking. We got in and out of Seabrook and The Spirit of 76 (a.k.a., West Winds, at Mile 77) smoothly, with the Genes providing fantastic, efficient support. Kelly drank, ate and otherwise seemed to be holding up admirably. The sun was setting, and the conditions were lovely as the temperature dropped.<br />
<br />
Things took a turn at around Mile 80, though, when the course cruelly brings the runners within mere yards of Silver Meadow, with an all-too-appealing view of the campgrounds, and the cozy sanctity of sleeping pads and bags just waiting for someone to use them. Kelly got a bit cranky at this point, and we agreed that she needed food (STAT!). She moved well enough as we approached the Cow Shed aid station, but she just couldn't take in anywhere near enough calories. Kelly's stomach simply wouldn't settle down, and it was tough to watch helplessly as the wind leeched from her sails. After an unsuccessful bathroom break, we made Bill's Ban into the goal. There, we'd see the Genes, and Kelly would eat, ditch her hydration backpack and - hopefully - get a second (or sixteenth) wind.<br />
<br />
It was, however, not to be.<br />
<br />
Kelly arrived in the throes of abject exhaustion, still unable to get any substantial food into her system. The medical volunteers flagged her immediately, and Gene the Younger and I quietly debated whether to push Kelly to get back out on the course. Kelly complained about feeling hot, but her skin was cool to the touch. The volunteers explained that this was a common sign of exhaustion. In the end, reality became undeceiveable, even though Kelly might have been able to walk the last ~12 miles in 5 or so hours. That was not what she had come to do on this particular day. So, while Kelly battled nausea and acute fatigue (she was literally falling asleep in a chair), and the clock hit 10:00 pm, the head medical volunteer (a very, very nice doctor) "made the call". Kelly had to accept the dreaded DNF (Did Not Finish) and we promptly evacuated her back to the safety and comfort of her tent. She'd run almost 89 miles, but these events are not evaluated on a grading scale. They are pass/fail, with a single criterion determining whether the day was a good one, or not.<br />
<br />
Upon getting Kelly into her tent, I grabbed my cooler full of tasty beer and a folding chair and headed to the finish area. It was just past 11:00 pm, and I decided to wait for Nate to finish. I found Charlie Z., a wonderful 60-something with whom I'd had a completely delightful time chatting last year. Turns out that he paced Victoria Arnstein to the overall female victory in the 100K race. Victoria is the wife of 2011 VT-100 winner <a href="http://www.thefruitarian.com/" target="_blank">Michael Arnstein</a>, who put in a mere mortal performance this year (finishing a bit under 19 hours), just a couple of days after finishing the torturous <a href="http://www.badwater.com/" target="_blank">Badwater Ultramarathon</a> (135 miles in Death Valley). An accomplished ultrarunner by the name of <a href="http://team.inov-8.us/2010/01/david-james.html" target="_blank">Dave James</a> (who paced winner Brian Rusiecki to within 50 secnds of a course record) also joined us, and - despite the unabashed display of elite athlete ego and bravado (I heard A LOT about big victories, course records, national titles and how some other runners are poseurs), along with the Arnsteins bantery marital bickering - it was an entertaining way to pass the time as finishers came in. It was especially amusing to tease Michael about how it was a good thing that Victoria performed well, lest the Arnstein family leave Vermont without a victory this year. He didn't seem to find that as funny as the rest of us did.<br />
<br />
Finally, as the race clock approached 22 hours, I saw Joe H. come in with his pacer. I congratulated him and asked about Nate. Joe told me that he'd dropped at Mile 70 due to a lingering PF/ankle issue. That was all I needed to hear to empower me to call it a day, and I got to sleep at around 2:30 am, wondering about those intrepid souls who would be making their way through the dark for many more hours. I slept pretty well.<br />
<br />
The awards and lunch on Sunday were a tad chaotic, and Kelly was beleaguered by post-DNF remorse. I tried to console her by pointing out that if she HAD walked to a 23-hour finish, she'd be similarly disappointed in herself. And, so - on a gorgeous sunny summer Sunday - it came time to break camp and wrap up another Vermont 100. On the heels of Western States, though, my mind wandered into previously unexplored territory: I actually started thinking about how I'd approach running the Vermont 100 in 2013 . . . . Meredith called the idea "stupid". The fact that she's undoubtedly right is not impacting my decision.<br />
<br />
-ESG/RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-80120050709045957002012-07-18T16:43:00.002-04:002012-07-18T16:44:08.764-04:00A Little Bit (or A Lot) of Most Everything - Pacer/Crew Report Westerns States 2012For the middling amateur athlete such as yours truly, being a part of a world-class sporting event usually requires buying a ticket and watching while others do the "heavy lifting". In the case of the <a href="http://ws100.com/" target="_blank">Western States Endurance Run</a>, though, the only ticket I had to buy was a plane ticket, and the "seats" I'd reserved would involve being part of Kami Semick's crew and then pacing her for the final 20 miles of what is arguably the most prestigious race in ultrarunning, a race where last year Kami finished second to Ellie Greenwood, thanks in part to a <a href="http://kamisemick.blogspot.com/2011/06/western-states-bearish-ending.html" target="_blank">grumpy grizzly bear blocking Kami's way in the final miles</a>.<br />
<br />
After a long day of traveling - loaded with beer and gear, marred by travel, traffic and construction delay - my friends Jay (who was celebrating his birthday) and Holly and I finally made it to Squaw Valley late Thursday night. We went out for a drink with Jay's runner, Ryan, and finally turned in at about 1:00 am (aka, 4:00 am EDT).<br />
<br />
Friday would bring seeing and meeting more friends, as well as the complimentary Montrail 6K Uphill Challenge and Fun Run, taking participants up the steep climb out of Squaw Valley along the first few miles of the WS trail. It was humbling to "race" at altitude, so I ran/hiked it, and then added some mileage, topping out somewhere around 9000 feet. It was exhaustingly exhilarating to cover nearly 10 miles at that elevation, but it was a worthwhile experience.<br />
<br />
[AT THIS POINT, I'VE LEFT THIS POST UNATTENDED FOR TOO LONG; THEREFORE, WHAT FOLLOWS IS STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS HIGHLIGHTS]<br />
<ul>
<li>Kami is one of the nicest, most-down-to-earth people I've met, though her gentle nature does not mask a burning intensity to compete at the highest levels of a very demanding sport</li>
<li>Co-ed sleeping arrangements involving leaky air mattresses are not that fun, a sure sign that I'm pretty far along in metamorphosing into a cranky old man </li>
<li>I have some friends who are amazing runners, some who are talented drinkers, and at least one who is both</li>
<li>Asthma and cold rain are a rough combination, as Kami had to drop out at Mile 30 because of the niggling inconvenience of BEING UNABLE TO BREATHE. She ended up in the hospital, but was discharged the same day</li>
<li>A 100-mile point-to-point course which traverses mountains and crosses rivers appears to be considerably longer than a 100-mile loop course</li>
<li>A great way to make and cement friendships at this more "advanced" stage of life is to crew an ultrarunner, or just hang out at a 100-mile race</li>
<li>I'm addicted to pacing, apparently, as I seemed to suffer withdrawal symptoms when it appeared that I would not have a runner. I was so sure that I would not be pacing, that I started drinking a tasty Colorado brew hand-delivered by a friend. I had about 10 minutes' notice to change out of street clothes and get ready to run. I climbed, descended and crossed a very cold river. I had a blast.</li>
<li>Ultrarunners are a little bit crazy; I like ultrarunners</li>
<li>Despite some notable negatives, California is a remarkable place in many ways</li>
<li>Lack of oxygen and sleep, coupled with supranormal alcohol consumption, leads to repeated and extended bouts of giddy silliness, punctuated by short periods of hungry, tired crankiness</li>
<li>100 miles is a long way to run, but the 100-mile running community is small . . . and <i>some </i>people seem to have been around and around it</li>
<li>That a person is toting the distinctive WS winner's trophy should be a dead giveaway that <a href="http://elliegreenwood.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">that person won the race</a> (oops!)</li>
<li>After having no interest in doing a 100-mile race myself (really, truly, sincerely), WS has made my mind wander; though, as I've said to some friends, "I just can't imagine sucking at something for so long, with the more I suck, the longer it'll take" [insert clever word play here]</li>
</ul>
Looking back, Western States 2012 was like a time-defying dream sequence, where I slept in a different place with a different combination of people for 5 nights in a row, and during which I encountered countless folks who were all drawn to the same place for the same reason. I also got to bear distant witness to some remarkable athletic feats, <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2012/06/2012-western-states-100-results.html" target="_blank">as the Men's and Women's Course Records fell, and the Men's Masters' Record was also re-written</a>. In a world where many of us may doubt our inborn capacity for doing extreme and extraordinary things, 100-mile races show that with hard work, persistence and commitment, virtually anything is possigble . . . and that when we (as a species) reach a seemingly unassailable benchmark, it's just a matter of time before someone comes along to assail it. :-)<br />
<br />
Happy running, or whatever it is that you do which challenges and motivates you.<br />
<br />
-Ron/ESGRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-58562384038024775192012-06-11T17:57:00.002-04:002012-06-11T17:57:25.671-04:00The Three R's: Running, Racing & RejuvenationDespite my Liberal Arts background and lack of rigorous mathematics or scientific study, even I know that grand conclusions require more than limited data samples. So, just as a single month of job growth does not mark the end of an economic recession, nor does a solid couple of weeks of running mean that all training-related woes are now a thing of the past.<br />
<br />
I have just completed my first week since engaging the services of a new coach. For now, we'll keep his identity quiet, lest his association with yours truly end up being bad for his business. And, despite a VERY SIMPLE schedule for Week #1, I still managed not to follow it to the letter. Still, all told, it was a decent running week, with my third race in 4 weeks last Saturday. The week ended up looking like this:<br />
<ul>
<li>MONDAY - scheduled cross-training , with elliptical, steep treadmill walking, weights and core</li>
<li>TUESDAY - 5+ miles</li>
<li>WEDNESDAY - 10+ miles, caught in a major thunderstorm</li>
<li>THURSDAY - 5+ miles</li>
<li>FRIDAY - 0.18 miles (yes, 18/100, having turned around due to having a crap day); pushups and core work</li>
<li>SATURDAY - <b>5K RACE in 19:53</b>, plus warm-up, cool-down; 5th place overall out of about 150 runners; 1st in the M40-49 age group [though beaten by two 50+ year-olds and one 11 year-old]</li>
<li>SUNDAY - 16+ hard trail miles in 2:53, with my most excellent ultra-runner friend <a href="http://bikernate.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Nate</a></li>
</ul>
Total for the week ended up being around 45 miles, but with the 5K and the somewhat epic trail run (involving heat, dehydration, a major face-plant and gunshots), it felt like a solid week of training. This week's focus is to stick to the plan as written, while focusing on getting a bit more sleep, stretching (!!!) and improved diet. It's all about planning and organization, really. Oh, with a bit of discipline thrown in.<br />
<br />
Since one aspect of my renewed running mojo involves regular blogging, we'll be seeing more prosaic, shallow, minimally informative posts such as this one. Hey, no one's forcing anyone to read this. -Ron/ESGRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-5884638905539532512012-05-29T16:39:00.003-04:002012-05-30T11:40:44.583-04:00Back from The Waste Land<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding <br />Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing <br />Memory and desire, stirring <br />Dull roots with spring rain.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>ON BOSTON 2012 </u></div>
<br />
As best as my very brief research shows, T.S. Eliot was not a runner. Yet, if one trait of great literature is that it speaks in universal truths, the above-excerpted opening to Eliot's master work "The Waste Land" applies to those of us who look forward to April not because of rising temperatures and blooming lilacs, but for the opportunity to run 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston. For many of us, April can be simultaneously wonderful and cruel, sometimes on the same day, within mere minutes, on a well-worn route trod by countless distance runners over the last 116 years.<br />
<br />
For me, the past year has been full of months (along with hours, days and weeks) both wonderful and cruel, as I have figured out how to make my way in the world since getting separated in February 2011. Overall, things are quite good. Work is going very well; the kids are thriving; and Tina and I are finding a way to be positive co-parents, and - quite possibly - friends. That said, running has been a struggle, and thus blogging about running has seemed like a more frivolous and pointless pursuit than usual.<br />
<br />
The training malaise which started some time in the summer of 2011 lasted all the way through Boston 2012. Unlike during all my previous training cycles, I took unscheduled days off, bagged workouts, paid less attention to diet/nutrition, and essentially lost sight of how the consistency of daily action influences the achievement of long-term goals.<br />
<br />
The historic high temperatures in Boston this year derailed many runners. For me, though, it was a gift, as I now got a "free fun run" out of a race for which I was undertrained, and would thus have underperformed even in the best of conditions. So, I set out with my friend James (a 2:55 marathoner coming back from an injury) and we jogged in the 90-degree heat, finishing with smiles on our sweaty faces in 3:53. It was the slowest I've run since my first marathon (4:03 in Chicago 2007), but possibly the most fun I've had on a course, taking in the sights and sounds, high-fivin' the kids and turning around at Mile 25.5 (!) for an eternally memorable kiss from Meredith (yes, that friendship has blossomed into a whole lot more).<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>GETTING SERIOUS ABOUT RUNNING-RELATED FUN</u> </div>
<br />
With Boston "out of the way", I decided to pull myself out of the running funk by setting an ambitious running agenda for the remainder of 2012. Here is the Master Plan:<br />
<ul>
<li>May - <a href="http://www.pinelandtrails.com/50-km/" target="_blank"><b>Pineland Farms Trail Running Festival 50K</b></a> [see below for mini-race report]</li>
<li>June - Pace the final 20-38 miles at the <b><a href="http://ws100.com/" target="_blank">Western States Endurance Run</a></b> (100-miler)</li>
<li>July - Pace the final 30 miles at the <b><a href="http://www.vermont100.com/" target="_blank">Vermont-100</a></b></li>
<li>August - run lots and lots of miles</li>
<li>September - average under 6:30/mile for my 3 legs at the <b><a href="http://nh.rtbrelay.com/" target="_blank">Reach the Beach Relay</a></b>, and help my Men's Supermasters' Team avenge our @#&$% 20-second loss from 2011</li>
<li>October - Break 3:05 at the <a href="http://www.baystatemarathon.com/" target="_blank"><b>Bay State Marathon</b></a> (and get re-qualified for Boston)</li>
<li>Early November - possibly guide a blind runner at the <a href="http://www.nycmarathon.org/" target="_blank"><b>NYC Marathon</b></a></li>
<li>Late November - Complete the <a href="http://www.jfk50mile.org/Default.aspx" target="_blank"><b>JFK 50-Miler</b></a> (50th Anniversary)</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>PINELAND FARMS RACE REPORT </u></div>
<br />
Pineland Farms would be my second official ultramarathon race. It's known as a moderately hard course, with no giant climbs, but with an unrelenting rolling profile, along with the challenge of running through unevenly cambered/tufted mowed paths in farm fields. This graphic may overstate things, but the dearth of flatness definitely comes through:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrs4BBf1heVZDI4hrxe1xS-J2iXuYwRDU3_UfJImN-Hxqh_SXvtswCgrYWOd_ntl-DDTy6uGA_dn_bwyLOB_lX-xic2Ts0Bxo5AI6qRroD7GlZ-w0AF7HI4rtWI_xTVXNIq8pPNQmAW1A/s1600/Pineland_25K-Elevation-1024x365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrs4BBf1heVZDI4hrxe1xS-J2iXuYwRDU3_UfJImN-Hxqh_SXvtswCgrYWOd_ntl-DDTy6uGA_dn_bwyLOB_lX-xic2Ts0Bxo5AI6qRroD7GlZ-w0AF7HI4rtWI_xTVXNIq8pPNQmAW1A/s400/Pineland_25K-Elevation-1024x365.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pineland Farms Elevation Chart (25K loop)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Without putting too much scientific thought into goal-setting, I thought I could run the first of the two 25K loops in about 2:30, then hang on and do a slight negative split in order to sneak in under 5 hours. As with so many of life's plans, the idea sounded quite good in my head.<br />
<br />
We lined up at 8:00 a.m., with the day's 50-mile runners having had a two-hour head start, and the 25K runners waiting until 10:00 a.m. to begin their quest. Given the mild morning temperature and net downhill of the early miles, I quickly settled into what felt like an easy pace, running well under 9-minute miles with little effort. I drank, took gels and ate a Clif Mojo Bar as planned, along with taking an Endurolyte capsule every hour or so. The humidity was pretty high, and I noticed that I was sweating . . . a lot. Still, I figured I had nutrition and hydration under control, so I was not especially concerned. Perhaps I should have been.<br />
<br />
At about the 10-mile mark, the course brings runners around the start/finish area. I ditched my disgustingly sweaty shirt, and pressed on for the last 5+ miles of the first loop. I was moving well, and approached the mid-way point in about 2:18, well ahead of my arbitrarily projected pace. I saw a race official and asked about the drop bags, which I thought would be in the start/finish area. Turns out, I had run right by them at the Final Mile Aid Station about a mile earlier. That was a regrettably dumb mistake on my part. I should have researched EXACTLY where the drop bag (with my additional gels and food) would be. With the potential consequences of that error in rattling around in my head, I also answered nature's call at the portapotties in the start/finish area. Despite the slight setback, I was still feeling strong, steady and hopeful.<br />
<br />
At the beginning of the second loop, the miles continued to tick off pretty quickly, and I started thinking about the possibility of a pleasantly surprising finish time. No sooner did I start doing the "best-case-scenario math", though, than I started to struggle. I lost energy. I tried eating (mostly boiled potatoes with salt) and drinking (mostly Gatorade) more at and between the aid stations, but it was not helping. I went from being tired, to being listless, to cramping up each time I forced myself to run. I finally found my drop bag at about Mile 22, but at that point it was too late to fuel myself out of trouble. A textbook embodiment of ultramarathoning inexperience.<br />
<br />
After about Mile 24-25, I walked each uphill, the very same hills which had seemed quite slight on the first pass. I tried to run the flats and downhills, but my left hamstring and right calf resoundingly vetoed that idea. the race thus evolved into a proverbial distance running "death march", where the sole goal is to keep moving forward in order to complete the dastardly undertaking that seemed like a wonderful idea just a few moments earlier. I bled time; I got passed; I passed some people (mostly slower 25K and 50-mile runners), and basically wrote off any specific time goal.<br />
<br />
Of course, the Running Gods almost always have the last laugh, and as I rounded the final curve in the mowed field nearing the finish, I saw that I was not as far back from the 5-hour goal as my under-fueled, overtaxed brain had believed. I gave it a final push, but it was for naught, since my official chip time was 5:00:58, good for 41st overall (out of about 200) and 14th in the ever-competitive Male 40-49 Age Group.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWIEmkaFrksh5oENix7_F6QOIo_9Q0JHHYQn9S1Y00DS9dtC3_TcVukRDLbRIH8wPSWC8ohI_KgrWzqPhh6-1Q1CEpDBW3Oi5c-ZgQnMu5blPrCQZ-GlmhtTtjAS-pVDKy0wLdpeyR7w/s1600/Pineland_2012_50K_finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWIEmkaFrksh5oENix7_F6QOIo_9Q0JHHYQn9S1Y00DS9dtC3_TcVukRDLbRIH8wPSWC8ohI_KgrWzqPhh6-1Q1CEpDBW3Oi5c-ZgQnMu5blPrCQZ-GlmhtTtjAS-pVDKy0wLdpeyR7w/s400/Pineland_2012_50K_finish.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not exactly smiling after 5+ hours of running.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Still, seeing a number of friends before during and after the race and just being part of such a wonderfully positive, life-affirming event was more than enough to soothe the sense of disappointment at not having executed a solid race. My friend Nate broke 8 hours in the 50-miler, despite a pre-race hamstring strain and having a rough day out there. My friend Kate won her age group in her very first ultramarathon, despite running with broken ribs. Nate's brother Matt ran his first race ever, putting in a strong 25K. I saw Chip and Scott and Joe and second Joe. I brought my own good beer to share once the Smuttynose ran out. It's truly a blessing to belong to the ultrarunning family, a close-knit group of pretty eccentric folks who constantly prop each other up. If only more other realms of life could mirror this sort of communal kinship, the world would be a better place.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>WHAT NOW?</u></div>
<br />
Now it's time for me to return running to a place of honor in my life, to remember the physical, mental, psychological and emotional benefits it provides, and to remain mindful of the way in which it can benefit others, both directly and indirectly. Indirectly is through the apparent motivation and admiration others find in my recreational pursuits. Directly is in the form of getting back to the fundraising-for-a-cause aspect of this whole lifestyle which helps break of the all-too-common box of self-absorption. In the fall, I will seek to raise money for <a href="http://www.achillesinternational.org/" target="_blank"><b>Achilles International</b></a> and/or the <a href="http://www.christopherreeve.org/site/c.ddJFKRNoFiG/b.4048063/k.C5D5/Christopher_Reeve_Spinal_Cord_Injury_and_Paralysis_Foundation.htm" target="_blank"><b>Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation</b></a>, combining the two marathons and 50-miler into a "we-can-all-do-more-than-we-think-we-can" pitch for people to support these two very worthy causes.<br />
<br />
I'll make no grandiose promises about blogging (or not blogging, depending on one's perspective), but I will be more intentional about running, training, eating and racing from now until the end of the year, when further major life changes may take place.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. Happy running to you and yours.<br />
<br />
-ESG/Ron<br />
<br />Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-91938545312945682602011-05-16T10:24:00.017-04:002011-05-17T22:57:50.087-04:00Muddering Through It: Tough Mudder/New England Race ReportOn Saturday, May 7th, I had a new racing experience. As I should know by now, signing up for events months and months in advance can make such events seem like abstractions, like intriguing ideas that will never ripen into actual physical activities of the most challenging and uncomfortable order. Tough Mudder falls squarely into the "it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time" category.<br />
<br />
For the uninitiated, Tough Mudder grew out of a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/29/sports/29mudder.html">Harvard Business school class project</a>, which the professor found interesting, but critiqued the fact that the organizers would likely never be able to attract enough participants (about 500) to break even, much less turn a profit. Tough Mudder events now exist all over the country, and sell out regularly, with well over 10,000 people doing events on any given weekend. The idea behind Tough Mudder is to create a ridiculously challenging, but nonetheless surmountable, course, ostensibly under the auspices of "former British Special Forces". The races involve - of course - mud, along with challenging terrain, icy water hazards, and all manner of obstacles requiring one to go up, over, through or around, with a lot of effort.<br />
<br />
For my part, bounding up and down a mud- and snow-covered mountain did not intimidate me. Climbing, balancing, jumping . . . no problem. Electrical shock? Bring it. But being immersed in near-freezing muddy water time and again required me to confront one of my own demons. Ever since my body started to adapt to high running mileage by getting leaner, I've had almost zero tolerance for cold water. Turns out, that's a significant part of the Tough Mudder experience, especially in Vermont in early May. So, while my relationship to cold water might not be a phobia, per se, it definitely qualifies as a strong aversion, and thus became the "thing" upon which I fixated as the Tough Mudder start approached.<br />
<br />
I got up early and made the longer-than-expected drive to Mount Snow. It was a mostly gray, cool morning, with the car thermometer reading between 38 and 46 degrees. It was blustery, but didn't look like it would rain. As one friend put it, one good thing about Tough Mudder is that the weather is basically irrelevant. True enough.<br />
<br />
I arrived early enough to park, take a few pictures and get into the "zone". I strolled around, appreciating the clever-but-contrived signage. I got my face and arm "marked" with my race number. I saw all sorts of folks: military-types, runners, triathletes, costumed wing nuts, tall, short, fit-looking, not-so-fit-looking, well-geared, and minimally-dressed. Hairstyles were colorful and interesting, with the dyed Mohawk perhaps the most favored look. Many teams had matching uniforms, some more fanciful than others.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWA27DF3VXRa8b4ZjB6MJfW6EJg9Em2X66r_ZWK9MJWaVuiThUB_tZHTKCpYK5aTvrVvoiRhR3dU2ypYH9aj69TAW-PaYs2VjOV0sDkvTIg6HCqaqms7AjgdQ-Qvg24jYkDlDOWLclKF0/s1600/ToughMudder2011-Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWA27DF3VXRa8b4ZjB6MJfW6EJg9Em2X66r_ZWK9MJWaVuiThUB_tZHTKCpYK5aTvrVvoiRhR3dU2ypYH9aj69TAW-PaYs2VjOV0sDkvTIg6HCqaqms7AjgdQ-Qvg24jYkDlDOWLclKF0/s320/ToughMudder2011-Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Seeking to stay warm, I lingered inside, then got into my racing clothes before checking my bag and making the 1/3-mile hike up to the starting area. I was one of the first participants to line up, and we were the day's first wave of "Mudders". I chatted with a few folks at the start, including a young Army guy who'd just run a 1:18 half-marathon off minimal training (hate him!) and a guy who operates an adventure race blog featuring Tough Mudder reviews. I talked to two guys who are striving to do ALL Tough Mudder races around the country, including twice in one weekend sometimes.<br />
<br />
The pre-race speech was a tad too canned for my taste. The announcer read a prepared script, whipping us into a frenzy, and fomenting an atmosphere of this event being an expression of rogue courage which would somehow elevate us to a higher state of being. He brandished a large poster of Osama Bin Laden, with a large red "X" through the photo, and some of the crowd started yelling, "USA, USA, USA!!!" I found the demonstration somewhat distasteful, and while I appreciate that Tough Mudder raises money for the Wounded Warrior Project, the Bin Laden gesture seemed cheap, disrespectful and completely contrived. We were there for our own sakes, to play in man-made obstacles with only minimal danger to ourselves. This was semi-extreme recreation, not the sort of goal-based sacrifice that would make the world a better place (and analogizing that premise to our current international conflicts is a loaded exercises in itself).<br />
<br />
And, so, after months of anticipation, the gun sounded and the masses dashed down the steep base of Mount Snow, some yelling like medieval warriors, before turning left and heading STRAIGHT UP the steep ski slopes for a mile and a half.<br />
<br />
I was trying to find a rhythm, and it soon became clear to me that trying to run up a 30+% grade with alternating surfaces of slippery mud, grass, wet rock, snow and ice was to embark on a fool's errand. Add to that the charming touch of being sprayed with snowmaking machines (meaning, thick mists of cold water), and I changed my slogging jogging gait to a power hike, letting a number of fellow Mudders go ahead of me.<br />
<br />
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally stopped climbing and started to confront the obstacles which supposedly set Tough Mudder apart from other endurance events and adventure races.<br />
<br />
In all honesty, I cannot remember the particular order of the challenges/obstacles, but I certainly remember many of them, particularly those involving exposure to frigid water. Here are some highlights:<br />
<ul><li>Devil's Beard - After missing this obstacle because a wooded lateral trail section was poorly marked, several us had to run back UP the mountain before slithering under taut cargo nets across rugged mountain terrain. I'd imagine that this is where the scraping of my body began in earnest</li>
<li>Boa Constrictor - Possibly the least appealing obstacle, involving two long tunnels which each dipped down into frigid muddy water, leaving barely enough room for one to turn one's head and keep breathing. This was my first immersion, and I emerged from this obstacle with numb hands and feet, and with blood dripping down my knee and shin</li>
<li>Tires - basically running up through a series of tired, with an occasional mud pit making it interesting</li>
<li>"Ball Shrinker" - this water crossing involved a suspended tightrope which plunges the intrepid participant into chest-high water. I asked the safety kayaker near me if he'd be kind enough to return my testicles to me if he saw them (though, we all know to where they retreated in an effort to survive)</li>
<li>"Kiss of Mud" - crawling under barbed wire wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8hErc4QwcUyuLePpLLYnpIwGForOxfYzlXE6ZOSBlqjXW6HCubLUKd1AenDw40bn4RIdpU3xOxQWdfV6nN9QRFegvx8BH0mPoTD70y_vMh-qcoU7tG11sh7yaJHDwad74M3N6XZZaUY/s1600/ToughMudder2011-BarbWire1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8hErc4QwcUyuLePpLLYnpIwGForOxfYzlXE6ZOSBlqjXW6HCubLUKd1AenDw40bn4RIdpU3xOxQWdfV6nN9QRFegvx8BH0mPoTD70y_vMh-qcoU7tG11sh7yaJHDwad74M3N6XZZaUY/s320/ToughMudder2011-BarbWire1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<ul><li>"Hold Your Wood" - physically, this may have been the most challenging undertaking, as we had to grab a ~40-pound log and carry it up and then down an extremely steep pitch. The footing was treacherous, and I had to "learn" how to fall safely, so that the log wouldn't land on me or roll down and take out any fellow competitors. I commented to a fellow sufferer that after the cold water festivities, that was the only "wood" any of us would be holding. Tossing that log back into the wood pile was a major relief.</li>
<li>Evil Kenevil - This turned out to be an easy up-&-over.</li>
<li>Spider Web - climbing cargo nets proved very manageable, and gave weary legs some much-needed rest</li>
<li>"Walk the Plank" - The mother of all Mudder obstacles, at least for me. This involved climbing a rope up to a 15-foot platform, then plunging into what was billed as 35-degree water. This was my moment of confronting and conquering many a personal demon. I did it, but the effect of that water was truly a shock to my system. I pulled myself out of the pond, and told the volunteers that "You all suck", with a big smile on my face. I felt like the worst HAD to be over by that point.</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGpwXcFtyynrUfjIsyRIBz-p9pdl43hoN-3lstD0scnuz9jnEYk3_CNO3gxXuQNV2gLgs2DfcMzV3mjBwhCDOt2xwbINo4vswJs8QyNUddUEaYhH0UtrKFNijbqnVEeG_Z4xxb_2R_LY/s1600/ToughMudder2011-Jump1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGpwXcFtyynrUfjIsyRIBz-p9pdl43hoN-3lstD0scnuz9jnEYk3_CNO3gxXuQNV2gLgs2DfcMzV3mjBwhCDOt2xwbINo4vswJs8QyNUddUEaYhH0UtrKFNijbqnVEeG_Z4xxb_2R_LY/s320/ToughMudder2011-Jump1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<ul><li>Underwater Tunnels - This obstacle merely involved plunging through a muddy pond, under several progressively lower horizontal posts. Not fun, but short.</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UNtLfwR1LItcW-sVZ1LbMRzay1ngSvL6T0HRHjWEAtmrjUNtQmbyAQpgc4j0LWmtk5N4do6V6fMFXojmqQ6O__WDGS6F47zAwvnj181xaPtpjBnP4Lq8YnelFvPD7VZfgJ_YZreu-DI/s1600/ToughMudder2011-Tunnels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UNtLfwR1LItcW-sVZ1LbMRzay1ngSvL6T0HRHjWEAtmrjUNtQmbyAQpgc4j0LWmtk5N4do6V6fMFXojmqQ6O__WDGS6F47zAwvnj181xaPtpjBnP4Lq8YnelFvPD7VZfgJ_YZreu-DI/s320/ToughMudder2011-Tunnels.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<ul><li>Funky Monkey - Greased monkey bars make for good times, as I got through about 4 rungs before falling into the - you guessed it! - muddy water below</li>
<li>Berlin Wall - The only challenge which required a group effort to surmount. I hooked up with three other guys, and we figured out how to get each other up and over. It was a great mental, physical and social exercise.</li>
<li>Glacier - This involved climbing up a large heap of snow, and then descending down the hard, cold, rough downside. Here I managed to pass the only woman who'd been ahead of me in our wave. I don't usually care much, but it was nice not to get "chicked" in this particular testosterone-heavy endeavor.</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQopi4XaEHctMLiJSMKVI52hPxf4cEtjjeezVnwuT8NvgoM46uXBHn8N8PTde1BmarIHszWfgQaw_Fmpr3ecDiYKKpb_34zcZdlloS9Uma5JZBcGhv4i-EvaRI3_9mujgJO5y9P5Y0n9c/s1600/ToughMudder2011-Slide1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQopi4XaEHctMLiJSMKVI52hPxf4cEtjjeezVnwuT8NvgoM46uXBHn8N8PTde1BmarIHszWfgQaw_Fmpr3ecDiYKKpb_34zcZdlloS9Uma5JZBcGhv4i-EvaRI3_9mujgJO5y9P5Y0n9c/s320/ToughMudder2011-Slide1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
I was passing plenty of others in the final stages, and ended up in a sort of "head-to-head" battle with a guy I'd seen since the beginning. On the poetically-named "Turd's Nest", I passed him and did not see him again until after the finish.<br />
<br />
The final few obstacles involved trudging through iced red water in the "Blood Bath", sliding down the mountain on wet plastic, hurdling some uncomfortably handled metal pipes, and then the two Tough Mudder signature finishing obstacles: "Fire Walker" and "Electroshock Therapy". The fire segment was mostly a noxious stretch of blinding smoke. The much-ballyhooed electric shock was little more than the sort of ticklish pinprick one would get from a novelty hand buzzer.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CDrcK-2k1G5EWb1K8TbHrVJuwDRP6xfO2Q3pUPY6TUwonOAHoHAtMyvd8mP4PqpUOnfLQh1i05Yc7GjQEtD6rb4tidygA95Se2VyaI0rfWMX5v5LC_tn1zifwI6lIwen4U63hzsFS1M/s1600/ToughMudder2011-Fire1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CDrcK-2k1G5EWb1K8TbHrVJuwDRP6xfO2Q3pUPY6TUwonOAHoHAtMyvd8mP4PqpUOnfLQh1i05Yc7GjQEtD6rb4tidygA95Se2VyaI0rfWMX5v5LC_tn1zifwI6lIwen4U63hzsFS1M/s320/ToughMudder2011-Fire1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
I charged through finishing chute alone, arms pumping while a few people cheered, with the clock reading 11:19:xx am, meaning I'd just taken nearly 2 hours and 20 minutes to go 10 measly miles. I also heard - informally - that I was 10th overall in the heat, which I guess was a good thing.<br />
<br />
I got my finisher's headband and race t-shirt, some food, a space blanket and lingered around waiting for others to finish. I grabbed a Dos Equis, drank about two sips and tossed the rest. I watched as people threw kegs at cardboard cutouts of celebrities. And then I de-briefed briefly with a couple of other finishers before heading towards the gear check in an effort to get dry and warm. The line was very long, as the later starters were checking in, and only a couple of us were seeking to get bags we'd checked earlier. There was some confusion, and I just stood there, shivering, while the volunteers looked for my belongings. Several aspiring participants started asking me questions, commenting on my bloody legs, seeking reassurance that it wasn't "so bad". One young woman asked, "How do you feel?" A: "Tired." Q: "But happy, and glad you did it, right?" A: [after long pause] "I'm tired." She seemed deflated.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyu0kQ40h6o3PRDfXMl7-bPg1G0zJlDRgEA82YCiJqu1ryhCR3tZq_dR9yBTRB7bPT5pRtKn9S1NnhuRiSNf1Yp3A9UEor8cJPmJUSjEM6aX_jVmnZlIcn0Uq1-kSUWn4Xh35EfhdlFm4/s1600/ToughMudder2011-Shock1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyu0kQ40h6o3PRDfXMl7-bPg1G0zJlDRgEA82YCiJqu1ryhCR3tZq_dR9yBTRB7bPT5pRtKn9S1NnhuRiSNf1Yp3A9UEor8cJPmJUSjEM6aX_jVmnZlIcn0Uq1-kSUWn4Xh35EfhdlFm4/s320/ToughMudder2011-Shock1.jpg" width="212" /></a>Looking back on Tough Mudder, the life-timing of this event was apropos as it turned out, given that it fell at the end of a very intense and difficult couple of weeks. I'd been in a bit of a post-Boston funk, running less than I have in years. I've been tired, somewhat listless, and quite preoccupied with the transition I'm making from married father of three to separated part-time "single" dad. Other personal confusion and challenges have also abounded. But Tough Mudder was a great opportunity to do something "different", something outside my athletic comfort zone, and to do be pleasantly surprised by doing it pretty well. As usual, the life lessons and parallels are there for the taking.<br />
<br />
One common question since May 7th has been, "Would you do it again?" The answer for me is that I'd consider doing it in a warmer place and perhaps with a team of similarly-conditioned folks, since the camaraderie of the experience is one of the things which sets Tough Mudder apart from the typical running race experience.<br />
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Thanks for reading. - ESGRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-48437309873873565882011-05-02T22:24:00.001-04:002012-07-23T20:31:10.686-04:00"More (or Less?) Than a Feeling": Boston 2011 Race Report<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>A goal properly set is halfway reached.</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>--Abraham Lincoln</i></b></div>
<br />
<i>It's probably only a tad ironic that the marathon which has taken me the least amount of time to run has resulted in my taking the longest amount of time to generate a race report. There are a couple of reasons for this, the main one being that - two weeks removed from it - I still don't know how I feel about my performance in the 2011 Boston Marathon. And, so, without further qualifying equivocation, here's the report.</i><br />
<br />
After the debacle which was Boston 2010 (and my running year as a whole), I had trained for and expected to run a certain time in 2011. That time was not to be. My sub-3:05 goal slipped away in the Newton Hills, but rather than an epic blowup, I managed to contain the slowdown and finish my second Boston Marathon with a new PR of 3:08:48. It's difficult to characterize the result in terms of good or bad, satisfying or disappointing. It's all of those things - and more - but the experiences from the race (and from the weekend as a whole) are more significant than the final time on the clock.<br />
<br />
With so much going on in my life at the moment, it's difficult to know where to begin this year's race report, but it may serve everyone's interests in just focusing on the race itself. Suffice it to say that the weekend involved some personal highs and lows, as I reconnected with some friends, forged new friendships and struggled through the complicated dynamics of marital separation.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>PRE-RACE</u></div>
<br />
After some crazy scrambling with my friend Steve/TTM on Sunday night, where we raided a number of southern New Hampshire chain stores in search of a tarp on which to rest at Athlete's Village on Monday morning, we finally found one in the automotive section of Wal-Mart. I had not set foot in a Wal-Mart in about a decade, and Sunday night was a bit of a freak show there. Still, we acquired 160 square feet of vinyl protection, and ended up back at my place a bit after 10:00 p.m., later than either of us had hoped.<br />
<br />
We crashed at about 11:00 and I had the alarm set for 4:00 a.m., so that we could be on the road and under the Boston Common in time to get on the first wave of buses leaving Boston for Hopkinton. The drive went smoothly, and we found James and Kevin with no problem. My other friend Steve was also supposed to meet us, but he left his phone in his car and never did find us among the assembled throng.<br />
<br />
The ride to Hopkinton was fine, and I was calm and relaxed. I had not looked at pacing spreadsheets, brought no pace band with me, and otherwise was not thinking about tackling 26.2 miles in a certain time. Instead, I was thinking only about saving some energy early and settling into a sustainable sub-7:00/mile pace.<br />
<br />
We arrived at Athlete's Village and set up our monstrously large tarp. Friends and strangers kept finding us, claiming small swatches of dryness as we all waited for 10:00 am to roll around. Everyone was fueling up, drinking, standing in bathroom lines, etc. Seth found me, and we hung out with his Swedish friends for a while. The wind was blowing, but the frenzy over the unprecedented tailwind had everyone feeling at peace with the weather. Sunday's storms had blown over, and the sun was shining from a brilliant blue sky.<br />
<br />
Time passed in fits and spurts, with some segments seeming long; other moments passed by at warp speed. We all started getting our gear on, applying BodyGlide, eating, drinking, shedding layers. The whole scene definitely had the feel of a religious gathering, with shared rituals co-existing peacefully with individual habits.<br />
<br />
The time finally came to meet up with some friends who'd come on a charter bus, check the gear bags and head to the starting corrals. I had a twinge of regret about the incompleteness of my last bathroom stop, but it turned out to be too late to do anything about it. I also forgot to put my calf compression sleeves on, which makes a second critical omission in two consecutive Bostons (forgetting my HR monitor last year).<br />
<br />
I found my way into an overflowing Corral #8, said good-bye to one of my friends who was several corrals ahead, waited for a bit, shed my long-sleeved shirt and then pushily made my way towards the front of the corral. The energy was palpable as thousands of highly-trained, tapered runners endured their final moments of energy restraint.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>THE RACE</u></div>
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<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>Miles 1-5</b></div>
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<b>1 - 7:18</b></div>
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<b>2 - 7:00</b></div>
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<b>3 - 6:55</b></div>
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<b>4 - 6:54</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">5 - 6:57</span></b></div>
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The Boston Marathon boasts 115 years of distance running lore, staged on the same course year after year after year. For all the great moments and triumphs, it's a course which has surely chewed up and spit out more runners than probably any other road race in the world. As a sort of recreational runner's "All-Star" race with a pronounced downhill start, Boston tantalizes many an aspiring PR-seeker to go out too fast before paying dearly for such over-exuberance. I wanted to go out "easy" and take 3 or so miles to settle in.<br />
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Other than the annoyance of navigating the crowd, things seemed to start well. I felt an uncomfortable pang in my stomach, which I attributed to nerves and did my best to ignore. I found a tangent along the left side of the course, weaving more than I should have, but less than I wanted to.<br />
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By the end of Mile 2, I had found my groove, and was feeling good about the pace, my effort and what lay ahead. I tried to draw energy from the fans without expending any extra by high-fiving or otherwise hamming it up. I stayed alert to those around me, especially during the aid stations, but very much sought to remain in my own space.<br />
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<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>Miles 6-10</b></div>
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<b>6 - 6:54</b></div>
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<b>7 - 6:49</b></div>
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<b>8 - 6:49</b></div>
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<b>9 - 6:52</b></div>
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<b>10 - 7:21* </b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><span style="color: blue;">*includes Garmin distance adjustment</span></b></span></i></div>
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I paid attention to my stride and form, being careful not to over-run the downhills. It seemed like I was doing fine, and my heart rate stayed relatively low throughout this segment. Somewhere after Mile 5, I passed a guy in a bodysuit animal costume. I pulled up next to him and said with a grin, "I hate when costumed runners are so fast." When I saw his face and heard him speak, I realized that he was from Japan, and he replied, "Oh, thank you. You have beautiful form." I'm guessing he didn't quite grasp what I'd just said, but I gladly accepted the compliment, knowing that if it wasn't a lie at that moment, it was likely to be soon enough.<br />
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With my stomach still a bit of a question mark, I took my first gel at about Mile 7, a Gu Roctane pineapple (no caffeine), chased by two cups of water. I'd drunk only water at aid stations to this point, and fueling-wise, I seemed okay.<br />
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In about Mile 9, I saw a runner towering over the rest of the field. I ran next to him and told him that his ability to move at that pace was very impressive. I guessed that he was 6'8" or 6'9", but he told me that he's actually 6'11", and that he's never seen anyone taller in a marathon. He said that there's nothing special about him running, as he's just putting one foot in front of the other just like the rest of us (except with about half as many strides per mile).<br />
<br />
Up until Mile 10, the pace felt right and encouraging, such that I had a sense that it could be a stellar day. Yet, for no obvious reason, Mile 10 was very difficult. I suddenly felt labored and tight, and thought that my day may be coming to a premature end. Still, unlike in marathons past, I stayed with it, kept my wits about me, and regrouped.<br />
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<b>Miles 11-15</b></div>
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<b><br />
</b></div>
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<b>11 - 6:58</b></div>
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<b>12 - 6:57</b></div>
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<b>13 - 6:55</b></div>
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<b>14 - 6:54</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">15 - 7:11</span></b></div>
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This was a strange segment for me, as I didn't feel great, but remained encouraged by the mile-by-mile splits.<br />
<br />
The Wellesley women were MUCH more boisterous than I remembered from 2010, and the "Wall of Sound" greeted us a good half-mile before the screaming co-eds came into view. Unlike last year, though, I stayed in the middle of the road, glanced at some of the scream tunnel signs and soaked in the energy and atmosphere. I felt privileged to be running the Boston Marathon, to be treated like someone special for a day. I also resolved to make sure I stayed positive for the second half of the race, regardless of what ended up happening.<br />
<br />
I crossed the half-marathon mark exactly where I had hoped to be, at 1:31:31. I simultaneously felt hopeful and concerned. For reasons that I can't completely explain, I had a sense of foreboding, but I tried to discount it as the irrational fear of a runner attaining a new fitness level.<br />
<br />
Mile 14 marked my second gel, a Carboom raspberry. My stomach was not calm, and the GI melodrama went into full swing, as my stomach and I transitioned from a state of a detente of benign discomfort to possible full-blown disagreement, but each time I thought about making a pit stop, there'd be no port-a-potty, and when I did see one, the urge would temporarily subside. I finally decided that I would stop, but there was a line. So, the decision essentially made itself. I was going to roll the digestive dice and see how long I could hang on.<br />
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<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>Miles 16-21</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>16 - 6:57</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>17 - 7:20</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>18 - 7:13</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>19 - 7:27</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>20 - 7:29</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>21 - 7:56</b></div>
<br />
At this point, I knew the hills were coming, and I was not sure what to expect exactly. I was prepared to slow down, but wanted to feel like I was maintaining a pretty even effort. I stayed as steady as I could, but I knew that I wasn't going to be pulling off any late-race heroics. I ground my way up the hills, and somewhere around Mile 17 or so, I felt a hand on my butt. It was a rather incongruous sensation at that point in a marathon, and I was not feeling particularly flattered or amused by the attention. I turned to see my friend Seth behind me, not a good sign. Our exchange went kind of like this:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>Me: What are you doing?!</i><br />
<i>Seth: Jogging, dude. I'm done.</i><br />
<i>Me: [With a somewhat disgusted glare of disbelief] I can't talk to you now.</i><br />
<i>Seth: Cool. Go for it.</i></blockquote>
<br />
I spent the next mile or two feeling badly about having been such a jerk to my friend, but as a runner I knew Seth would understand. Given that his goal was even more ambitious than mine, I knew he was in a bad place, but I realized that I was, as well. I was very much trying to keep myself in the race mentally, to accept that marathons are not - at least at my mediocre level - all-or-nothing endeavors. I still had plenty of "room" for a PR, and I knew that I had a good chance to break 3:10.<br />
<br />
So, I rode out the hills as best I could, and figured that - if nothing else - I would hang in longer than I did last year. Progress by degrees, rather than by leaps and bounds, became my new reality.<br />
<br />
And, with no particular degree of pomp or circumstance, I was up and over Heartbreak Hill, slowing down, but still running.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>Miles 22-Finish</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>22 - 7:28</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>23 - 7:36</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>24 - 7:31</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>25 - 7:45</b></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<b>26 - 7:29</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: blue;">0.2+ - 1:37 (6:24 pace)</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Most of the hoopla surrounding the Boston Marathon is about getting in, known to runners as "qualifying". The training, the careful selection of qualifying races, the new need to rush to register. It's all about getting to the party. And, while I'll readily admit to having gone through all of that myself, I've spent more time thinking about the end of the race, particularly those last 5+ miles when one has earned the opportunity to run through the streets of Boston as someone special for a day. Last year, my greatest regret was that I death-marched the last 5+ miles in a cramp-riddled, depressive slog. I was more war victim than celebrant.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
Before this year's race, I vowed to run the last 5 miles strong and with a smile on my face. As I came down from Newton, though, I realized that "strong" was subject to situational redefinition. The promise to sport a smile, on the other hand, lay entirely within my control.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">No math whiz on a good day, it's ironic that the last miles of a marathon put me in human calculator mode. I was trying to figure out what it would take to hang on and break 3:10. I had the WILL to run faster. I believe I had the CAPACITY to do so. But, in the critical moment, I lacked the ability to turn my legs over any faster than I did. I knew I was slowing down, but I refused to stop. I knew my dreams of a major marathon breakthrough were on the side of a road somewhere in the last few miles. I also realized that I was slowing down to what used to be my goal pace. In other words, my "bad day" used to be my "good day". That meant - and means - that I have reached a new level as a runner. And I took great solace in that late-race epiphany. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">My reality may not yet have caught up to my ambitions, but I was getting closer. So, with that wonderful observation at the front of my fatigued consciousness, I took it all in. I gave thumbs up and pumped my arms. I smiled. I patted struggling runners on the shoulder. I beheld the Citgo sign. I enjoyed the drunken college kids, the silly signs, the air horns. I basically allowed myself to be part of this pulsing, throbbing, living mass of human energy. And it was wonderful.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Mile 25 was a struggle. I felt myself bending, but refused to break. I would not stop. I would not walk. I would not grimace or frown or wallow in self-pitying notions of what might have been.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">And, with a final push, I was through the underpass, quick right, quick left. And then impossibly long final straightaway, the runner's equivalent of putting the 18th green at The Masters. And I saw the time, and I knew that I could not only break 3:10, but 3:09, too. And I did, with a 3:08:48 official time.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="color: black;">POST-RACE MUSINGS</span></u></div>
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">As usual in a marathon, I was glad to be D-O-N-E. I felt mostly numb, but not shattered like I had the year before. I did not cast murderous glances at runners in wheelchairs, didn't stumble my way while deliberating whether to seek medical attention myself. Instead, I went through the post-finish receiving line, collected some water, snacks, my medal and a space blanket, and looked for the gear buses. I went to designated meet-up area, where I saw friends who'd already finished, and waited for those who yet hadn't.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">It's now May 2, and I still don't have a handle on how I feel about the way I ran in Boston. 26.2 miles yields great opportunity, but also provides a rather large platform for screwing up. Did I run too fast in some of the early miles? Did I blow my pre-race nutrition? Did the stress of life, the chronic sleep deprivation and other worldly distractions detract from my ability to run to 100% of my fitness level? I still don't know the answers to these and other related questions, but I do know that I am a new and improved runner.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">And I hope that the lessons gleaned from the training cycle - discipline, persistence, focus - and the race - more persistence, flexibility, tenacity in the face of potential disappointment, joy in the moment - will carry over into my life.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">After the race, a good friend of mine who is a lifelong endurance athlete now in his early 60's, wrote me the following: </span><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="color: black;"> <i>We invest a lot of time and effort in trying to change a couple of minutes on race day, but when all is said and done, the time and effort changes us way more than the minutes do</i>.</span></blockquote>
So true, Dave, so true. Thus, with a nod to Dave and to President Lincoln as quoted at the start, I'll call Boston 2011 a qualified success, and an important stepping stone on the way to greater achievements, in running and in life.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron</div>
</div>Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-45081940333010709022011-04-12T17:54:00.000-04:002011-04-12T17:54:29.307-04:00Here We Go Again . . . Primed for Boston 2011In what seems like both a blink of an eye and a geological epoch, we are just a few days away from the 115th running of the Boston Marathon. Almost a year ago, I wilted on the historic course, crumbling under the weight of my father's death, pre-race illness and an inability to manage emotions and expectations. I had wandered somewhat aimlessly through my training, logging the miles but not the quality; creating fitness, but not peaking when it mattered most. About 3000 running miles - and a few serious life trials - later, I get a second chance.<br />
<br />
Interestingly, I have been so focused and consumed by non-running life this year, that my race prep has been relegated to a serious back burner. I have not stalked the weather, obsessed about what to wear, made a pace band or otherwise fretted about how I will execute next Monday. Knowing that I averaged 75.6 miles per week during my pre-taper training, with more quality than ever before, ran my first official ultra race and a managed a new half-marathon PR seems to have liberated me from needing to micro-obsess over the details.<br />
<br />
At this point, I need to try to rest, eat well and stay emotionally/psychologically strong and even-keeled. Am I declaring a public goal? Yes, <b>sub-3:05</b>, but I hope to do even better than that by running smart early, and running with heart late. The way I described it recently is that I'll take 3 miles to get to pace, cruise along for the next 17-18, and then hammer away with a big smile on my face for the final 5-6 miles, running tall, strong and happy through the streets of Boston, en route to a very different experience from a year ago.<br />
<br />
Having a second chance at Boston has been an unexpected blessing, as I managed to re-qualify and to get myself registered despite the mad rush which caused the race to fill in an unprecedented 8 hours! Of course, to get to the point where I expect to improve considerably on my prior effort has taken a ton of hard work, self-reflection and sacrifice. One might be able to extract a life lesson from that, but I'll leave it to the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. ;-)<br />
<br />
So, with this brief update, I'll likely be "off" the blogosphere until after the race. As always, I'll post an unvarnished (and probably tragically under-edited) report shortly after the race.<br />
<br />
Best of luck to all of my Boston running friends, and a special word of gratitude to those of you who have been there for me during this challenging period of my life.<br />
<br />
Cheers, ESGRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-8612178872909699062011-03-21T12:51:00.000-04:002011-03-21T12:51:41.875-04:00Equal Parts Personal & Record - New Bedford Half-Marathon Race ReportSunday, March 20, 2011 set out to be perhaps the most important training day of the year. In the overall arc of a plan which presumably has vaulted me to a new level of fitness, the well-regarded New Bedford half-Marathon was to be a critical test. In addition, of course, to finding out what my body might be able to do, it seemed equally important to test my racing "spirit", one of the key areas on which I have focused my training in recent months.<br />
<br />
Working with my coach, we settled on a goal time of ~1:27, which would represent a new personal record (PR) of over 1:45, but with a specific strategy designed to mete out my energy/effort and pace as if this had been a full marathon. Since the Boston Marathon is THE running goal of 2011 for me, I mostly bought into coach's notions. And, as is my practice, I'll spare those who wish not to wade through the details: finish time was <b style="color: blue;">1:26:18</b>, or 6:35/mile. On the whole, I'd call this race a smashingly successful breakthrough.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>BRIEF BACKGROUND/TRAINING</u></div><br />
Confidence comes from many sources. In sports, the primary predictor of game (or race) performance tends to be performance in practice or training. I have never experienced the type and quality of training I have had leading up to this race. I've managed to hit or surpass my coach's targets in terms of volume AND paces, while staying relatively healthy in the process. Each successive hard or long (or hard AND long) workout has been a confidence-building block. Still, I went into this race a bit nervous, as I'd not run a decent road race (by my definition) since my half-marathon PR at Bay State in October 2009 (yes, 2009!).<br />
<br />
All training indicators told me that a 6:3x half-marathon pace was viable, but that number seemed intimidating. Still, as the race approached, I got it in my head that I could break 1:27, meaning that I would have to run an average pace of 6:38/mile for 13.1 miles.<br />
<br />
Life has been a whirlwind lately, and just getting to the starting line in New Bedford took some nimble logistical navigation. With Mrs. ESG and our oldest daughter away, I was back at the house caring for the younger two kids. We had a great time, but I had no backup to stay with them while I spent much of the day driving and running. A friend came through for me, though, and I left the house at 7:00 am for the 2+-hour drive.<br />
<br />
At least three running pals would be at New Bedford, my good real-life friend Steve and two ever-closer originally virtual friends, Troy and Seth. The day shaped up nicely in terms of temperatures, with mid-30's in the morning rising to mid-40's. The wind would prove to be a bear throughout the day, but there's nothing to do about that.<br />
<br />
I arrived early enough to get a good parking spot, pick up my bib number and relax before meeting up with Troy and Seth. Seth had no idea what he might run (given some inconsistent training), and I may have successfully scared him into making sure I did not pass him late. Troy wanted to break 1:30. Steve is in a different league, seeking to dip under 1:18. I also bumped into a top-notch area female runner, Christin, who was sort of "coming back" from sub-par winter training. She's always been a couple of notches above me, but unless she was completely sandbagging, the gap may have momentarily narrowed.<br />
<br />
Troy graciously endured my pre-warmup obsessing about how to dress for the conditions. It was already about 40 degrees at 10:00 am, but the wind was cold. I agonized about whether to wear a headband, arm sleeves and/or gloves, and Troy initially convinced me that I needed none of those things. I regretted the decision immediately, though, and returned to get my gloves and a long-sleeve shirt to toss at the start. After a productive port-a-potty stop, Troy and I were jogging around easily, sort of tracing the course backwards. I needed to make one more stop, at a KFC, to finish the job, and Troy demurred when I offered to treat him to the "10-Piece-Bucket-for-$10" special Sunday-only offer. It was a good thing, as I had no money on me. ;-)<br />
<br />
We finished our warm-up with a couple of surges, and blew right past 7:00 and then 6:45 pace. It was hard to tell how that would feel as a "race pace", but I liked the fact that my body wanted to run fast. We got our place in the corrals, I saw and fist-bumped Steve and waited for the various Miss New Bedfords to sing us some patriotic songs.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>THE RACE</u></div><br />
At 10:59 AM, something like a gun or horn went off, and the mass of humanity with numbers on their chests began to move. The first two miles are pretty flat, but the wind announced itself early and often. I kept telling myself, "6:45 per mile for 3 miles . . . be patient . . . listen to your coach".<br />
<br />
I could not believe how many people were up ahead of and around me. With the exception of the Chicago and Boston marathons, I'd never found myself in such a large group of runners, especially as I've gotten faster. I let go of any notion of where I might place and just settled into the right pace. More than once in the first couple of miles, I had to dial it back. That was a good sign.<br />
<br />
Mile 3 brought the first climb of the day, which actually turned out to be a three-stage climb of sorts, with recovery in between. I stayed steady and felt good about the effort/pace correlation.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 1 - 6:43</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 2 - 6:44</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 3 - 6:40</b></div><br />
Coach had wanted me to dole additional effort incrementally after that third mile, and I agreed in principle, but thought/hoped that it would be faster than what he proposed. The wind was a bear, but I had my sights on dropping to a 6:35 pace and holding on as long as I could. I very much stayed in a "one-mile-at-a-time" mental mode, which worked very well. The flat/slight downhill sort of offset the wind, which was starting to get into my head in a literal way, as it was incredibly loud. This apparent hypersensitivity may be due to my large pinnal endowment (i.e., I gots me some big-ass ears). Still, it seemed that the effort and fair terrain were complementing each other well, and I settled into a faster pace at a lower heart rate. I was also mindful of what my 10K split would be (see below).<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 4 - 6:37</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 5 - 6:32</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 6 -6:32</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><i>10K split - ~41:07</i></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><i>(unofficial 10K PR)</i></div><br />
With half the race behind me, I took stock of how I felt. My stomach was a tad rocky, so I chose to skip the planned gel. It seemed too risky, and I calculated that a slight fade at the end would cost less time than a bathroom break. The challenge was to remain focused and - for me - not panic if I saw my pace slow a bit in the face of the challenging headwind. As the miles clicked by, I started to believe that this was going to be a wonderfully memorable race day.<br />
<br />
As we headed towards and ran by the ocean, the wind went from tough to merciless. Lovely view; crappy running conditions. So, I forced myself to work hard to stay under 6:40 pace, knowing I'd "banked" a few seconds during earlier miles. My average HR for miles 7-10 was a metronomic 167, which tells me that I maintained effort, while the wind and terrain determined exactly what pace that effort would yield. I was also feeling parched, again likely thanks to the wind, so I took small swigs of water during the aid stations in these miles.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 7 - 6:31</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 8 - 6:38</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 9 - 6:39</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 10- 6:31</b></div><br />
I'd been waiting to get past Mile 10, and hit that mark almost spot on my "best-case-scenario" goal. I was certainly working hard, but I was not struggling or suffering unduly. Taking inventory, I realized that my left foot had been hurting for miles, likely from a shifting orthotic insert, and my stomach had begun that uncomfortable "sloshing" feeling, though no where near as badly as at the Holiday Lake 50K++ race. It's time to address this via electrolyte supplements.<br />
<br />
I've long advised new runners and first-time half-marathoners to pick a goal pace for the race, run it for 10 miles and then either hang on or speed up for the final 5K. I was prepared to take my own advice.<br />
<br />
Bracing for the final hill, which I thought came early in Mile 12 (meaning shortly after the 11-mile marker), I was still moving well. We seemed to get a slight respite from the wind, which was a major blessing. The hill came much later than I thought, but I kept pushing, knowing where I was and thinking (dreaming?) that sub-1:26 was possible. I felt my hips straining up that hill, but it was only fatigue, not pain or weakness or injury. I saw Troy's wife Marianne and her friend, who told me I looked great. I was passing people by what seemed like the dozen, and when I crested the long, grinding slope, I started running as hard as I could. With less than a half-mile left, I looked at my watch and knew that 1:25:xx was gone, so I ran fast but controlled, not wanting to hurt myself and ruin an otherwise glorious running day.<br />
<br />
I saw the clock from a distance, with 1:26 as the first three digits, heard my friend Steve call my name and pushed through to the finish. I was glad to be done, and was thrilled with my time. My watch read one second faster than official chip time, but I'll take my 1:26:18 with joy and pride.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 11 - 6:30</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 12 - 6:24</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>Mile 13 - 6:18</b></div><div style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><b>0.1+ - 5:24/mile pace</b></div><br />
So, 6:35 is now my <i>actual </i>(not goal) half-marathon pace, but - in all candor - I think I had more to give on this day, perhaps 60-90 seconds total if the wind had been less severe and I had been a bit more aggressive. This 2:30 PR put me 261st overall and a humbling 63rd in the 40-49 age group. So, I had a great day by my standards, but I'm mindful of being just another schmo in terms of New England runners in my age range.<br />
<br />
In the finishing chute, I saw Christin, who was about 20 seconds ahead of me. I then ran into my old coach Brian, who'd run a 1:18 after an 8-mile "warmup". Steve beat his 1:18 goal by fractions of a second. Troy smashed 1:30 with ease.<br />
<br />
I was happy, but cold, tired, thirsty and needing a bathroom, so I went to my car, put some clothes on and started cooling down. Seth (who ran a blazing 1:24:xx) miraculously tracked me down, and we had a nice easy cooldown and chat. We're both pretty fired up about Boston. We ran along part of the last mile of the course, and he still had his bib visible, so people were cheering for him/us. We laughed quietly and said thanks.<br />
<br />
I left New Bedford abruptly after the cooldown run, as I had to pick up Mrs. ESG and our oldest daughter at Logan Airport.<br />
<br />
And, for all the significance of a race performance as reflected by some numbers on a digital clock, the day was much more significant for me on the personal front, than it was on account of any "record" I might have set. <br />
<br />
We had a nice family afternoon/evening, punctuated later by what will surely be just one in a series of very difficult conversations between Mrs. ESG and me about what the future holds for us as a couple/family. It was thus a day of wonderful highs and some lows, but it was the type of day I won't soon forget, and which I would not trade. It may not have been an easy day in many respects, but Sunday, March 20, 2011 was the kind of day that constitutes "living" at its best.<br />
<br />
<br />
As always, thanks for reading. -ESG/RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-52156433084238430572011-03-07T11:03:00.002-05:002011-03-07T15:39:57.571-05:00Entering a New PhaseYesterday, Sunday March 6, 2011 marked the end of what my coach terms "Phase I: Aerobic Support Plus Mini-Speed Cycle" in advance of this year's Boston Marathon. That means that "Phase II: Strength and Marathon-specific Sharpening" begins today. Of course, I'm all-but duty-bound to draw a parallel between the transition of a marathon training cycle (this seems like a particularly good time to focus on "strength") and the far less clearly delineated "phases" of my life since February 3rd. Interestingly, ironically and/or appropriately, Day 1 of Phase II is a scheduled rest day (at least from running). The notion of needing rest, or - in a slightly different parlance - being still, is something I have pondered incessantly in recent weeks.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Since I'm firmly ensconced in a period of self-reflection as a means towards increased self-awareness and - ultimately - self-improvement, I have tried to find a way to draw strength from something outside of myself, my human relationships, my interests, etc. I'm not generally comfortable with the vocabulary of faith, grace, or - yes - God, but I do know that I believe in <b><i>something</i></b>, while simultaneously not having the slightest clue how to tap into that belief in a way that gives me comfort, clarity or calm. I don't "get" prayer and have never really been able to still myself through meditation. Running certainly helps, but only to a point.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, a week ago Saturday, I was in a bookstore with the kids. I picked a book called, "Running the Spiritual Path: A Runner's Guide to Breathing, Meditating, and Exploring the Prayerful Dimension of the Sport," by Roger Joslin. The dedicatory quote grabbed me instantly: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Stillness is what creates love. Movement is what creates life.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>To be still and still moving—this is everything.</i></b> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This quote is attributed to Do Hyun Choe, who appears to be a master of some sort of martial art called Sugi. I could not find much more information about him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For my part, I seem to be all about movement, both physically and mentally, while harboring a deep-seated antipathy towards stillness in most any form. So, following Choe's missive, the conditions of my existence may be reasonably conducive to “life”, but the pervasive lack of stillness is a chronic obstacle to “love”; Thus, stillness is one of the many things upon which I'm working. However, as with all long-terms habits, such matters are not unlearned overnight. One idea which keeps arising is yoga, which I should work into my life schedule, but which - unlike the last time I tried it - I need to treat as meditation, not cross-training. I'm hoping to find the right class at the right time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, enough about spirituality and stillness. Back to what I know best: movement. Here's a recap of the past two weeks of training.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><u>February 21-27</u></div><ul><li>Monday - 6M easy/recovery</li>
<li>Tuesday - 10+M, with 4x(800m @ 5K, 400m @ 3K & 200m @ 1M pace)</li>
<li>Wednesday - AM: 10M; PM: 5M (both easy)</li>
<li>Thursday - 8+M easy</li>
<li>Friday - 12M, w/3x3K @ "threshold" pace, plus 1K at 5K pace</li>
<li>Saturday - 8M easy</li>
<li>Sunday -10M (aborted 20-miler due to family emergency)</li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal">TOTAL = <b>70+ miles</b> (10 fewer than planned - boo!)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><u>February 28 - March 6</u></div><ul><li>Monday - 7M easy</li>
<li>Tuesday - 11M, with 4x200m @ 1M pace, 4x800m @ 5K pace, & 3x1200m @ 10K pace</li>
<li>Wednesday - 15+M</li>
<li>Thursday - 7M easy</li>
<li>Friday - 12+M, with 10x2 mins at 10K effort</li>
<li>Saturday - 9M, with 12x200m @ 1M pace</li>
<li>Sunday - 20+M (water only)</li>
</ul>Total = <b> 82 miles</b> (that's more like it)<br />
<br />
I have done all of the distance-based speedwork on the indoor track, and continue to be pleasantly surprised about the consistency with which I've been hitting the target paces. I realized last night that I got to Chicago eking out 60-ish miles per week with minimal quality, whereas I just completed another 80-mile week with 3 successful quality sessions. That's extremely encouraging.<br />
<br />
This upcoming week presents another challenging training block, with 75 miles scheduled on six running days, and three "quality" days, which include hill repeats on Tuesday, a reprise of a killer threshold session (3x15 mins at MP, MP-10 secs and HMP) on Friday, and a 20-miler on Sunday progressing down to goal marathon pace during the last 10 miles.<br />
<br />
One final note on the family front. Things seem to be stabilizing for the most part, but there remain moments of tension, awkwardness and difficulty. Overall, though, the kids are doing better, and Mrs. ESG and I are finding a way to relate cordially and cooperatively, especially as far as the kids are concerned.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. - ESG/RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-80693216861245899672011-02-21T19:58:00.001-05:002011-02-21T21:28:14.245-05:00Against the Wind<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Against the wind </i><br />
<i>I'm still runnin' against the wind </i><br />
<i>I'm older now but still runnin' against the wind </i><br />
<i>Well I'm older now and still runnin' </i><br />
<i>Against the wind</i></div><br />
<div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><div style="text-align: center;">- Bob Seger</div></div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">Returning to the song-lyric-as-blog-post-framework, we turn this week to Mr. Bob Seger, rasping troubadour of what we'd now call the era of "classic rock". This past week involved a whole lot of "runnin' against the wind", both literally and otherwise.</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">The post-ultra training schedule called for a recovery/cutback week 55 miles, on 6 days of running. However, as is the norm during marathon training, life intervened, and we had to tweak our way to that mileage, which came out like this:</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><ul><li><b>Monday </b>- 30 mins recumbent bike, plus very light weights, stretching</li>
<li><b>Tuesday </b>- Unscheduled rest day [back was hurting, hugely stressful day and was pressed for time]</li>
<li><b>Wednesday </b>- 8M easy</li>
<li><b>Thursday </b>- AM: 5M easy; PM: ~7M easy [mild temps]</li>
<li><b>Friday </b>- 10.4M, with 10x1 min at half-marathon pace (calling that 6:45/mi right now); high 50's!</li>
<li><b>Saturday </b>- 8+M easy, partly in driving winds and sudden whiteout snow squall</li>
<li><b>Sunday </b>- 16.8M, involving some good hills and relentless headwinds for maybe 2/3 of the total</li>
</ul>The good news, I managed the 55 miles, and ran every step outside, a nice accomplishment in mid-February. My back feels better. The less pleasant news is that the family unit (such as it is) is definitely going through a very difficult transitional time. The separation is taking a significant toll on all of us, especially the older two kids. Mrs. ESG and I are still figuring out how to relate to one another, especially within the context of co-parenting children who are clearly suffering under the weight of our adult decisions. Things have - in no particular order - alternated between tense, explosive, cool, bitter, calm, terse, emotional, serious, etc. "Loving", "forgiving", "compassionate", and similar ideals are not on the list. And I consider myself as responsible as anyone for the dearth of good will.<br />
<br />
By the weekend, though, it did seem like we might have been beginning to scratch out a modicum of equilibrium, starting to find what I've been referring to as our "new normal". After a brief interaction tonight, though, I'm not so sure once again. That said, the kids seem a bit better, and - frankly - that's what most matters to me. My needs, my wants, my feelings, fall far down the hierarchy of concerns, at least right now. Still, I feel that the space I've sought is starting to serve a purpose, as I have had time to reflect, look hard into the mirror and think about who I am, what I am called to do on this Earth and how I can be better a better father, and - really - a better man.<br />
<br />
So, this next week calls for 79 miles, but of course that will have to be at least 80. Perhaps my coach will scold me. But, I have to be who I am, right? ;-) And, I have to suffer the consequences of my decisions. An extra mile in a week shouldn't have resounding repercussions. But what about some of the other choices - big and small - we make?<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -ESG</div>Ron Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-82349374212403049882011-02-14T23:05:00.002-05:002011-02-15T12:29:31.064-05:00My First Ultra & Other Tests of Fortitude: Holiday Lake 50K++ Race Report<div style="text-align: center;"><u>OBLIGATORY PROLOGUE</u></div><br />
As 2010 wound down, I reflected back upon what turned out to have been a difficult year. My father died in April. As far as the clock was concerned, the year brought one running-related disappointment after another. My first year as my own boss was a bright spot, as was the continued growth and blossoming of my three children. What proved to be most trying, however, was that fact that pre-existing fissures in my marriage grew larger. As time passed, the relationship which I considered to be the bedrock of my existence grew more troubled and tenuous. Mrs. ESG and I finally articulated the severity of our troubles and sought help. The results were mixed, but things did not improve. And, so, in what proved to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, I moved out of my house on February 3rd. Telling the kids that I was going away for an undetermined period was more difficult than any other test I’ve faced. At this point, I know not what the future holds, but am figuring out how to stand on my own two feet, confronting some of my own demons, and then taking stock of what lies ahead.<br />
<br />
As some of my readers and other running friends know, one of my running goals in 2011 is to complete a 50-miler, hopefully for charity. It seemed to me that a critical step towards being able to fulfill that goal would be to run a 50K race. So I searched for a race that wasn’t too far, too hard or too close to Boston. What I found was the Holiday Lake 50K++, with the two pluses referring to so-called “Horton Miles”, aka, bonus miles attributed to the Race director, ultra-endurance legend David Horton.<br />
<br />
I signed up for the race in December, and started receiving informational e-mails from Dr. Horton, whose “day job” is Professor of Exercise Science at Liberty University, signed “In Christ”. A strangely endearing signoff for this cultural Jew.<br />
<br />
The tone of Dr. Horton’s e-mails and general vibe of the ultra scene signaled from the start that while this new pursuit still involved the same basic aim of propelling myself from one point to another as quickly as possible, I was no longer in the structured, highly marketed, competitive world of road racing. As one person described it, Holiday Lake felt like adult “running camp”, with a camaraderie and a “we’re-all-in-this-together” spirit unlike anything I’d experienced in my own racing history.<br />
<br />
As is my nature, I’d gathered as much information about Holiday Lake as I could find. I read race reports, studied the course map, and reviewed prior years’ finishing times. Then, taking all that into account, coupled with a sense of how my current training reflects my current fitness, I picked a respectable time goal: 4:45 (as in, 4 hours and 45 minutes). That number came about through an alchemy of art and science, but it seemed like a good, reasonable goal. I’d have been happy with anything under 5 hours. I’d have been shocked if I’d broken 4:30.<br />
<br />
In the days leading up to the race, I’d suffered under the weight of the recent life change. My back was stiff and sore, thanks to an unhappy SI joint. I was having more trouble than usual sleeping (which is saying a lot), and couldn’t seem to make myself eat enough (weighing in at an adult all-time low of 148lbs last week). Add to that sleeping in a new place (and in a mediocre new bed), and it has been what we might call a rough spell for me personally. Still, through it all, I managed to stick to most of my training schedule, and have been meeting or exceeding the goals on most of my quality workouts.<br />
<br />
So, I sketched out a basic pacing strategy, tried to plan out my nutritional needs, and made my way to the Holiday Lake area for the pre-race briefing and pasta feed on Friday, February 11th. I picked up my number, bib 317, which Dr. Horton had indicated in a prior e-mail was his prediction as to our finishing place. I was only slightly amused. The vibe was friendly, and before long I was happily ensconced among folks who felt like close friends.<br />
<br />
Dr. Horton was holding court, clearly in his element. He was very funny, rather irreverent, affecting a shtick which included benign misogynism (regularly implying that women cannot succeed at certain physical challenges, as a backhanded way to motivate them to try). He poked fun at all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons, but it all seemed good-natured, and no one took it personally. He even needled the impressive Jennifer Pharr-Davis, who smashed the women’s Appalachian Trail speed record by 30 full days in 2008, completing it in 57 days, 8 hours and 35 minutes.<br />
<br />
After a fun yet relaxing Friday evening, I got my usual abbreviated pre-race sleep, rising at 4:30 Saturday to drink weak coffee and eat four Nature’s Path Frosted Blueberry Toaster Pastries, along with some other miscellaneous nutritional odds and ends. Perhaps not the ideal pre-ultra-marathon breakfast, but I made due with what I’d brought to this remote part of the Commonwealth of Virginia.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>RACE DAY COMETH</u></div><br />
By 5:55 am, I had checked in for the race at the Holiday Lake 4-H center, and lingered around inside, hoping to avoid losing too much energy trying to stay warm in the low-20-degree morning chill. <br />
<br />
This was also an unusual race for me in the sense that I felt very little self-imposed pressure. I had no doubt that I would finish (barring injury, of course), but the usual time goals and placing concerns just weren’t there. Maybe it was due to the fact that trail ultras (especially one’s first) are by nature unpredictable, or that other life events made the time inconsequential. Or maybe it’s due to other factors which I cannot fully appreciate or explain. Whatever the reason, it was refreshing to begin a race relatively relaxed.<br />
<br />
At about 6:15, Dr. Horton called the runners to the start area. After the umpteenth series of announcements and a final roll call of apparent no-shows, Dr. Horton led a prayer, and started the race at exactly 6:30 a.m.<br />
<br />
Having talked with Holiday Lake veterans, I’d learned that after the 0.6-mile uphill road start, the trail is a narrow single-track, such that one may want to avoid getting boxed in. In a questionable maneuver, I tore up the hill, noting at one point that I was running 7:15/mile pace uphill on cold legs at the start of a 33-mile race. Deduct a few genius points here. I reached the trail, and settled into a briskly manageable pace, but I didn’t really feel that great. I followed the small circle of light cast by my headlamp, and just focused on finding a rhythm. I passed some people. More passed me. The headlamp’s effectiveness waned in the twilight, which created a dream-like feeling. Daylight slowly made its presence known, and I soon ran with a little more zeal, since I could actually see where I was going.<br />
<br />
The first five miles had some ups and downs on narrow trails, but it was – as advertised – very runnable. I blew past the first aid station at about Mile 4, not needing water or nutrition just then. I took an occasional swig from my water bottle, crunching half-frozen slush out of the silicon nipple in the sub-freezing air.<br />
<br />
As I settled into a comfortably hard pace, I tried to free my mind, letting go of all the heavy thoughts which have swirled around me like a black cloud. I was in nature, moving briskly on my own power, surrounded by people who cherish something which I cherish. It felt good.<br />
<br />
In the vicinity of Mile 6, I slowly ate half a Clif Mojo Peanut Butter Pretzel bar, as I had been practicing during recent longer runs. Small bites, thorough chewing, little sips of water. So far, so good.<br />
<br />
Just past Mile 6, we hit a small stream crossing. I stepped through on my toe, but felt my right foot get wet. I didn’t think much about it until we reached the much larger water crossing shortly before the end of Mile 7. I was moving well, so I just ran through mid-shin-deep near-freezing water. Time for my Smartwool socks to shine. My Montrail Mountain Masochists and Zensah compression sleeves handled the wetness admirably, and the extra BodyGlide on my feet surely saved me from blistering. At this point, there was a rather unfriendly, iPod-toting fellow running near me. I tried to speak to him once or twice, but he completely ignored my presence. I was pleased to pass him.<br />
<br />
The aid stations were about 4 miles apart, stocked with ultra staples such as pretzels, potato chips (Pringles, in this case), M&Ms, powdered mini-doughnuts, Oreos and Coke, Mountain Dew, ginger ale, etc. Volunteers were cheery and helpful, and the collective love of the ultra scene came through in the brisk forest air.<br />
<br />
I continued to click off solid splits, staying at or under 8:30/mile for anything that did not involve too much uphill and/or stops at aid stations. I would chat with runners and hang next to them briefly, either letting them go or forging ahead, depending on what pace felt “right”. I did not speak to any other admitted first-time ultra runners, and found that most of the people around me were extremely experienced. Many had done 100-milers, and virtually all of them seemed to thrive on doing multiple ultra races year-round. Some of the folks even knew each other from having run together in prior races. One guy lamented the lack of uphills, extolling the virtues of his Pike's Peak Ascent (a half-marathon straight up to the summit of Pike's Peak). And people call me crazy?<br />
<br />
The terrain varied just enough to be interesting, consisting of some single-track through bare midwinter woods, some fire roads (with semi-frozen ruts making footing a bit tricky), as well as fields and sloping waterfront trail. Only a couple of road crossings interrupted the serenity of the trail and so it was a treat for this New England boy to run in the woods for hours in mid-February.<br />
<br />
As the miles ticked off, I realized I was likely on track with my presumed 8:30 pace prediction (at least after settling in after Mile 5). As we hit a rather nice but tricky stretch of single-track, I found myself in reverie, just watching my foot plants so that I did not go tumbling down the hill to my right into the chilly waters of Holiday Lake. I nearly soiled myself as I just about crashed into a streaking blur of neon yellow, a.k.a., the Brooks-sponsored leader Matt Woods tearing back towards me after having reversed direction at the turnaround. I still had close to 2.5 miles to go to get there, and he was flying like a man on the run for his life. Turns out, he smashed the course record by running 3:28. Two years ago (when the trail was not covered in 8” of snow), the winner ran 3:50.<br />
<br />
After about 15 miles of trail running, I had my closest call with going down, nearly tumbling – twice – down the wooden steps over the reservoir less than a third of a mile from the turnaround. I grabbed the railings both times, saving myself from an ugly spill, took a deep breath and just focused on getting down in one piece.<br />
<br />
I’d “guesstimated” that I’d reach the turnaround at about 2:15, and the clock said 2:16:xx as I found my drop bag. I changed hats, ditched my headlamp, put on new gloves and took some more nutrition. I’d thought about changing into dry socks, but my hands were still cold and I couldn’t deal with it. I also grabbed my uber-bright orange and white Oakley Jawbone sunglasses, as the sun was up and I always prefer to have the eye protection from stray branches, trail debris and wind. That turned out to be a good move, as I heard at least two dozen “nice glasses” along the way back. That gave me a nice boost as the miles began to wear me down.<br />
<br />
Having reversed direction, I was now one of the ones running towards the slower runners. I caught up to the second place female, who is an accomplished ultra-runner who seemed to be having a rough day. I tried to chat and run with her, but she was not very responsive, and suddenly took a hard face plant about a mile after the turnaround. I made sure she was okay, and then went on my way.<br />
<br />
While I had visions of possibly running an even split, I knew the odds were against that. So, rather than get too pace-focused (as is my tendency), I just continued in a groove and found myself passing runners. Some of the slower runners were giving us “place counts”. I heard that I was somewhere in the mid-40’s at this point. That was a pleasant surprise.<br />
<br />
At some point, I saw a familiar shirt. I called up ahead to a guy I thought was Jim (whom I'd met earlier), but turned out to be his good friend Doug. We talked for a bit, caught up to another guy from Georgia who Doug knew, and Doug told me that anyone who runs with him gets a nickname. He thus dubbed me “Ron Jeremy”. I told him I was flattered, but should have said that I’d been called that by every woman I’d known since high school. It’s tough to be that sharp-witted at Mile 20-something, though.<br />
<br />
As much as I was enjoying the company, I left Doug and Georgia-boy behind. I felt strong, and wanted to just stay in that zone where the 8:xx miles were clicking off with regularity. I tried to continue eating and drinking water, but became concerned that I was not taking in enough calories. On top of that concern, I felt an unpleasant gurgle in my stomach, which was beginning to slosh around like a half-empty tank of gas. I reached the Mile 24 aid station and – finally – ditched my long sleeve shirt, leaving me in a sleeveless Under Armour top and Moeben arm warmers. It felt like I was racing at last.<br />
<br />
The marathon mark passed at about 3:49. Not bad for a trail race with 6+ miles to go.<br />
<br />
I was looking forward to the final aid station at Mile 29, knowing how close we would be. I took some ginger ale for the first time in the race, but avoided anything solid. At that point, though, the stomach woes ripened from discomfort to all-out distress, and about a mile later, I succumbed to the need for a pit stop. It was painful to stop so late in the race, and even more so when three guys passed me after what seemed like minutes. In other words, I’d just blown a nice lead.<br />
<br />
Gathering myself, I trudged towards the pack of three. Doug was in the lead, and he was moving well. The other two struggled, and I closed the gap pretty quickly, passing them on a steep climb. We would trade places for the next couple of miles, though one of them seemed like was going to be sick, and the other was warding off cramps.<br />
<br />
With maybe two miles to go, I passed a couple more guys, including a very muscular young guy who’d been far ahead of me at the time of the turnaround. At the same time, though, Doug was widening his gap. The other two guys were near me. I was – after all this time and distance – finally losing steam. The final uphills were hard, but I welcomed the excuse to walk. I got confused and briefly lost the trail – which was very well-marked – a couple of times. At about Mile 30, I was ready for this running event to be over.<br />
<br />
So, with what little physical, mental and emotional reserves I had left, I passed the two guys ahead of me, reached the road and knew that I had six-tenths of a downhill asphalt mile left to finish. With the time I was losing in the final few miles, I thought sub-4:45 was out of reach, but when I looked at my watch, I realized I might still have a chance. And so, at some time around 11:11 am on February 12, 2011, your faithful scribe pumped his arms and legs furiously, motoring down the road trying to beat an arbitrary and meaningless time goal. The Garmin registered a “best pace” of . . . drum roll . . . 5:31/mile.<br />
<br />
I tore through the finish line so hard, pumping my arms and yelling some version of "woo-hoo!", that Dr. Horton called, "It's okay. You can stop running now, Ron". I approached him later and pointed out that he got my seed wrong, but only by a single digit.<br />
<br />
Final official finishing time:<b style="color: blue;"> 4:44:48</b>, good for 31st place overall out of 320+ runners (308 finishers), and 6th in the Male 40-49 age group.<br />
<br />
Runningwise, at least, 2011 is off to a good start.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>REFLECTIONS AND LESSONS</u></div><ul><li>Fueling is critical; underfueling is stupid</li>
<li>The ultra community is an amiable collection of wonderfully eccentric goofballs</li>
<li>Running on trails is far better for both body and spirit than is running on roads</li>
<li>Strength, determination and courage in running beget strength, determination and courage in life</li>
<li>I’m currently in far better running shape than I have ever been</li>
<li>I will surely do more ultras in the future, and (mostly) look forward to doing a 50-miler</li>
<li>I'd like to run Holiday Lake again in the future, and do so considerably faster</li>
</ul>That's it for now. Thanks for reading. -ESG/RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9086127511886383594.post-13677965305518199632011-01-31T20:21:00.000-05:002011-01-31T20:22:11.244-05:00Crockett, Tubbs and MeThis week's post title channels an all-too-significant part of my high school social life. why? Because Crockett and Tubbs were the undercover drug team in the be-all-end-all show of the 1980's, Miami Vice. Growing up near Miami, it was a big deal to me. I'll admit somewhat abashedly that my high school senior picture involves a white suit, pink shirt and - yes - a thin white leather tie. Hey, we all make fashion mistakes on our way to finding our own sense of personal style. Right?<br />
<br />
So, what's the connection? Well, last week marked my second consecutive in the 80's, and - surprisingly - I seem to be functioning and responding rather well to the training stresses. The last two weeks came out as follows:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>Week of January 17 to January 23</u></div><ul><li>Monday - 6 miles easy</li>
<li>Tuesday - 12 miles progression (last full progression mile in 6:12!)</li>
<li>Wednesday - 10 miles moderate</li>
<li>Thursday - AM: 5+ miles recovery; PM: 6+ miles recovery</li>
<li>Friday - 13 miles with a lame/aborted progression</li>
<li>Saturday - 9+ miles</li>
<li>Sunday - 22 miles</li>
</ul>Total Mileage: 83.6 miles<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><u>Week of January 24 to January 30</u></div><ul><li>Monday -Elliptical, weights, core</li>
<li>Tuesday - 12 miles, with 6 x 3 mins at 10K-5K pace</li>
<li>Wednesday - 15 miles "easy"</li>
<li>Thursday - 8.5 miles, easy</li>
<li>Friday - 10+ miles, progressing to half-marathon pace</li>
<li>Saturday - 15 miles, with 5 at marathon pace+10%</li>
<li>Sunday - 20+ miles "easy" (but very, very hilly)</li>
</ul>Total Mileage: 82 miles<br />
<br />
The first of these two weeks marks the end of my "base phase", and the idea is not to exceed that peak mileage during the next 10 pre-taper weeks, allowing the additional quality - which began last Tuesday - to serve as the new stressor. While I'm certainly tired, I can't believe I'm in as good shape as I am, handlign the volume and bits of quality with much success. In addition, I'm feeling strong in the core and upper body, only minimal hip soreness (and only intermittently) and am recovering well from harder efforts.<br />
<br />
Last week's Friday>Saturday>Sunday sequence was unprecedented for me, and should serve me well as I prepare for the Holiday Lake 50++K on February 12th. This will be my first time running an ultra-distance with a bib pinned to my shirt, and I'm nervously excited about the experience. The course comes out to ~33.25 miles, and I have NO IDEA what a reasonable time/pace goal should be. I am thinking (hoping?) that anything under 4:45 would be reasonably respectable, but - mostly - I'm looking forward to joining the fraternity of ultra-runners, around whom I seem to have spent a lot of time, and for whom I seem to have a natural affinity. I cannot wait to be a bona fide part of their ranks.<br />
<br />
On a non-running personal note, the rest of my life has not been easy of late, due to a number of reasons from which I will spare my dear reader(s). Let's just say that running is one thing over which I have control, where the results of putting in effort/work are tangible, and which demands of me only what I'm willing to give it.<br />
<br />
More later. Someday.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. -ESG/RonRon Abramsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14031698331400719039noreply@blogger.com2