Reflections on Crazy

"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained. " --Mark Twain

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.

Let's start with Webster's definition:

In`san´i`ty

n.	1.	The state of being insane; unsoundness or derangement of mind; madness; lunacy.
	2.	(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.

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 derangement of mind; madness; lunacy" . . . hhhmmmm, are we getting somewhere now?

No, we aren't.  At least not in this context.

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".

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. 

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.

Problem is, we weren't designed to sit. 

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.

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.

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":

" 'Is it hard?' Not if you have the right attitudes. It's having the right attitudes that's hard.”

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 of the world; I want to be truly in it. 

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: "What?!  You're running a hundred miles?  How cra-, er, I mean what a wonderful way to challenge yourself." :-)

Thanks for reading. -Ron

Putting the "Mull" in Mulligan

 

“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.” -Robin Williams

 

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.

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.
 

This year . . . ummmmm . . . no weddings or honeymoons, at least.

The 2014 Vermont 100 Endurance Run 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 heavier 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. 

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. ;-)

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, and 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.

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.

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?  PATIENCE  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. 

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.

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 Massachusetts Association for the Blind & Visually Impaired (MABVI), specifically its Team with a Vision (TWAV).

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?

If you'd like to donate to the cause, please click here: https://www.crowdrise.com/vt100formabvi .  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.

As for mental preparation, I have been reading about extreme endurance, and have received some excellent chestnuts along the way:

• "The key is to keep moving while you decide whether you can keep moving." -Ray C.
• "You can always do/give more than you think you can." -Lots of wise folks
• "A 100-miler isn't an athletic event.  It's a spiritual experience." -Joe H.
• "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". -Jenn Shelton

You get the idea.

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.

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.

Come to think of it, maybe I am ready to try CrossFit.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more updates . . . or, if you actually have an interesting life of your own, don't.

-Ron

The Run ***OF*** My Life

Sitting in the relative comfort of my office, with race-start-minus-less-than-72-hours . . .

"In the end, endurance sports are a test of yourself against yourself; they require nobody else, and sometimes they can hardly tolerate anyone else." -Bill McKibben, "Long Distance"

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 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 OF MY LIFE.

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?  Threats. How did we get to this hardened, punitive place?

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:

As I wrote on my firm's Facebook page:

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 this article about what they're fleeing, and then answer this question: Are we going to prove them right?

So, along with supporting legal services for the poor, public broadcasting, cancer research, and spinal cord injury services, 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 FOR THEIR LIVES.


Thanks for reading. -Ron

Vermont 100 - One Week Out

People 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:

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.

* * * * * * * * * 

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!

A False Dichotomy: Reflections on Running WITH/FOR Others

The 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.

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. 

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.

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. ;-)

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: "Is that why you're interested in helping out, or are you just a good guy?"  I shuffled along without answering for a few strides, and then said, "Neither, really."  And so we discussed why I've taken to pacing and guiding as my predominant "racing" activities in the past several years.

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.

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.

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.

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.


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.

That's it.

TRAINING UPDATE

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. ;-)

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.

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 Pineland Farms, but with that being on Memorial Day weekend, it felt like I'd be cutting it too close.  Leading candidate right now is the Lake Waramaug Ultra in Connecticut, scheduled on April 27th.  Guiding at Boston April 21st would be a perfect final long run. :-)

Thanks for reading. -Ron

From Clarity, Commitment - Going Long in 2014

As 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.

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.

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.

Last September, after finishing the 200+-mile Reach the Beach Relay (where we first met 3 years earlier), I asked Meredith to marry me.

  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.

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 Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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? ;-)

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.

WEEK OF JANUARY 13-19

Monday - 5.3M (coming off my first long-run stack of 15M Saturday, 20M Sunday)
Tuesday - AM: 4.5M easy;      PM: 90 mins Indoor Soccer (fun!)
Wednesday - 5.2M
Thursday - 7M
Friday - 13.1M (ran to work)
Saturday - AM: 6M group run (for #megsmiles) PM: Indoor Soccer
Sunday - 14.3M

WEEKLY TOTAL (counting soccer estimates) = ~63M

WEEK OF JANUARY 20-26

Monday - 5.1M
Tuesday - AM: 5M      PM: 90 mins Indoor Soccer
Wednesday - 6.7M
Thursday - 9.4
Friday -5.8
Saturday - 20+M
Sunday - 10M

WEEKLY TOTAL (counting soccer estimates) = 67+M

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: When training for a 100-miler, running slow and walking *IS* race pace.

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.

Thanks for reading. -Ron

THE (RUN-)WALKING DEAD: NYCM 2013 "Event" Report

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.

A LITTLE CONTEXT

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 Achilles International to guide a triple-amputee Marine who would be doing his first marathon in a handcycle.  Alas, Superstorm Sandy nixed that.  Then came Boston, 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.

So, for me, NYCM 2013 started more than a year earlier.  For TS, this would be a race almost seven months in the making.

THE RACE

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.

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.

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.

THE START

View from the AWD starting area

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.

SECURITY

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.

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:

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.

BROOKLYN

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 8.3 MILLION (!) which would not be named a bastion of congeniality on a normal day.  The New York City Marathon makes for not a normal day.

Brooklyn was a blast. 

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.

Brooklyn included people of virtually every conceivable nationality and skin tone.  To think that they all convened just to see us (us!) 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.

AWD IN DISTRESS

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.

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, "Io non capisco l'italiano" ("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.

I have tried to find out what happened to him, but no one seems to know.

QUEENS

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; more clever signs ("SMILE IF YOU PEED A LITTLE"; I smiled, even though I hadn't ... yet), and more wild cheers.


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.

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.

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.

MANHATTAN, THEN THE BRONX

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

MANHATTAN,REDUX

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.

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.

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.
 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 Pamela Anderson. :-)

Laying It Out There

Running.

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.

Running played a supporting role in the breakup of my marriage.  It is also how I met my current love.

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!").

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.

Except that I was living a lie, or at least an illusion.

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.

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.

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:

• Flat 5K on May 4 - 20:25 (PR is 18:46); couldn't make my legs move faster than that
• Half-marathon on May 11 - 1:38:55 (PR - 1:26:xx); chewed up and spit out by hills, humidity and wind
• Slightly tougher 5K on May 16 - 20:3x, a personal worst on that course since I became 'a runner"
• 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
  making a realistic fitness assessment and executing intelligently . . . suddenly, racing seemed fun again

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.

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.

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.

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.

I Couldn't Have Said It Better . . .

than so many other articulate, thoughtful, wonderfully eloquent observers . . . .

Before the start at Athlete's Village . . . bubbling with joy and optimism.  Must we now redefine "it"?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

'Cuz Waking Up Is Hard To Do

It'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.

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.

A whole heck of a lot has happened since I last posted in the summer of 2012.  Highlights:

• Moved my office
• Ran two marathons and an ultramarathon in three consecutive weekends (October-November 2012)
• Committed to be an Achilles Guide at the NYCM, but Superstorm Hurricane Sandy had other plans
• Dropped out of the JFK 50-Miler, at Mile 19, after my whole right side basically stopped working at Mile 17
• Moved my home
• Moved in with my beloved, and two cats
• Have started rock-climbing
• Will soon be doing occasional guest reviews for a running-shoe-oriented blog
• Committed to being an Achilles Guide at Boston this year

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.

More running, racing, meditating and blogging to come.  Consider yourself warned.

-Ron

On Paces, Races and Beautiful Places

“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.”

- Henry David Thoreau

Dolly Sods Wilderness - July 6th through July 8th

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.

After the Independence Day holiday, I accompanied Meredith into the Dolly Sods Wilderness, 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 here.

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.

Training & Nutrition

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.

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 "metabolic type", 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.

The Vermont 100 - 2012 Pacing Report

On Friday, July 20, 2012, I set off for my third consecutive year of helping out at the Vermont 100 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.

The predictably spectacular summer sunset over Silver Meadow in Brownsville, VT

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.

It was great to see my close friend Nate 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.

For me, Saturday brought a questionably achievable itinerary, as follows:

• 3:45 am - wake up to catch the start before going back to sleep
• 5:40 am - wake up again to set out to volunteer at the Pretty House aid station
• 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"
• 1:30 pm - back to Silver Meadow
• 2:00 pm - get to Camp 10 Bear (aka, Mile 70) and wait for Kelly
• 4:30-5:00-ish pm - expect Kelly and settle in for 30 lovely miles in the woods and on country roads

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.  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.

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.

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.

It was, however, not to be.

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.

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 Michael Arnstein, who put in a mere mortal performance this year (finishing a bit under 19 hours), just a couple of days after finishing the torturous Badwater Ultramarathon (135 miles in Death Valley).  An accomplished ultrarunner by the name of Dave James (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.

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.

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.

-ESG/Ron

A Little Bit (or A Lot) of Most Everything - Pacer/Crew Report Westerns States 2012

For 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 Western States Endurance Run, 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 grumpy grizzly bear blocking Kami's way in the final miles.

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).

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.

[AT THIS POINT, I'VE LEFT THIS POST UNATTENDED FOR TOO LONG; THEREFORE, WHAT FOLLOWS IS STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS HIGHLIGHTS]

• 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
• 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
• I have some friends who are amazing runners, some who are talented drinkers, and at least one who is both
• 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
• A 100-mile point-to-point course which traverses mountains and crosses rivers appears to be considerably longer than a 100-mile loop course
• 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
• 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.
• Ultrarunners are a little bit crazy; I like ultrarunners
• Despite some notable negatives, California is a remarkable place in many ways
• 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
• 100 miles is a long way to run, but the 100-mile running community is small . . . and some people seem to have been around and around it
• That a person is toting the distinctive WS winner's trophy should be a dead giveaway that that person won the race (oops!)
• 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]

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, as the Men's and Women's Course Records fell, and the Men's Masters' Record was also re-written.  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. :-)

Happy running, or whatever it is that you do which challenges and motivates you.

-Ron/ESG

Back from The Waste Land

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding   
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing   
Memory and desire, stirring   
Dull roots with spring rain.

T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

ON BOSTON 2012

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.

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.

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.

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).

GETTING SERIOUS ABOUT RUNNING-RELATED FUN

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:

• May - Pineland Farms Trail Running Festival 50K [see below for mini-race report]
• June - Pace the final 20-38 miles at the Western States Endurance Run (100-miler)
• July - Pace the final 30 miles at the Vermont-100
• August - run lots and lots of miles
• September - average under 6:30/mile for my 3 legs at the Reach the Beach Relay, and help my Men's Supermasters' Team avenge our @#&$% 20-second loss from 2011
• October - Break 3:05 at the Bay State Marathon (and get re-qualified for Boston)
• Early November - possibly guide a blind runner at the NYC Marathon
• Late November - Complete the JFK 50-Miler (50th Anniversary)

PINELAND FARMS RACE REPORT

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:

Pineland Farms Elevation Chart (25K loop)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Not exactly smiling after 5+ hours of running.

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.

WHAT NOW?

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 Achilles International and/or the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation, 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.

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.

Thanks for reading.  Happy running to you and yours.

-ESG/Ron