The Three R's: Running, Racing & Rejuvenation

Despite 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.

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:

• MONDAY - scheduled cross-training , with elliptical, steep treadmill walking, weights and core
• TUESDAY - 5+ miles
• WEDNESDAY - 10+ miles, caught in a major thunderstorm
• THURSDAY - 5+ miles
• FRIDAY - 0.18 miles (yes, 18/100, having turned around due to having a crap day); pushups and core work
• SATURDAY - 5K RACE in 19:53, 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]
• SUNDAY - 16+ hard trail miles in 2:53, with my most excellent ultra-runner friend Nate

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.

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/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

Muddering Through It: Tough Mudder/New England Race Report

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading. - ESG

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

A goal properly set is halfway reached.

--Abraham Lincoln

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

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

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

PRE-RACE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE RACE

Miles 1-5

1 - 7:18

2 - 7:00

3 - 6:55

4 - 6:54

5 - 6:57

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

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

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

Miles 6-10

6 - 6:54

7 - 6:49

8 - 6:49

9 - 6:52

10 - 7:21*

*includes Garmin distance adjustment

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

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

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

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

Miles 11-15

11 - 6:58

12 - 6:57

13 - 6:55

14 - 6:54

15 - 7:11

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

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

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

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

Miles 16-21

16 - 6:57

17 - 7:20

18 - 7:13

19 - 7:27

20 - 7:29

21 - 7:56

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

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

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

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

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

Miles 22-Finish

22 - 7:28

23 - 7:36

24 - 7:31

25 - 7:45

26 - 7:29

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

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



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


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


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


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


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

POST-RACE MUSINGS

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


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


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


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

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

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

Thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Here We Go Again . . . Primed for Boston 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers, ESG

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

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

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

BRIEF BACKGROUND/TRAINING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE RACE

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

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

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

Mile 1 - 6:43

Mile 2 - 6:44

Mile 3 - 6:40

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

Mile 4 - 6:37

Mile 5 - 6:32

Mile 6 -6:32

10K split - ~41:07

(unofficial 10K PR)

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

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

Mile 7 - 6:31

Mile 8 - 6:38

Mile 9 - 6:39

Mile 10- 6:31

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

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

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

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

Mile 11 - 6:30

Mile 12 - 6:24

Mile 13 - 6:18

0.1+ - 5:24/mile pace

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

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

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

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

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

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


As always, thanks for reading. -ESG/Ron

Entering a New Phase

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

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

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

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

To be still and still moving—this is everything.

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

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

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

February 21-27

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

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

February 28 - March 6

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading. - ESG/Ron