Building A Faster Me

2011 Olathe Half Marathon

2011-04-22T20:58:00.000-07:00

Billed as the "Wickedly Fast Half Marathon" due to a new "flatter" course this year, the only thing wicked out there was the wind. Fast was not in my vocabulary this day.

And, I'm a little remiss about writing the race report. Partly, because I wasn't that excited about the race (I was just really, really spent). But, also, I kept waiting for official results (April 16, 2011, bib #1275) to be posted and then pictures. You'll see that I was 8th female overall (503 female finishers), and first in my age division. My official time was: 1:43:41.

I'd written up a few quick notes about the race to my running group, and I think it probably expresses my experience the best without my typical long, drawn out story. Mostly, I just remember the wind. In my face. On my body. Making me feel like I was walking. Or, better yet, running--yet not actually moving.

Positive things:

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* The starting BOOM of the cannon (not even Boston does it better than that!)
* This was my first marathon back on March 31, 2007, so, I have fond memories. I ran a 4:17:00 that year, and was hooked
* I finally found the finish line and it ended
* I managed to qualify for NY again, despite the aggravating factors, mentioned below (so I validated myself a little after RTP, which did seem a bit unreal)
* Cool TShirt, I liked the Oz theme

Negative things:

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* This race has been around since 2004, so, they should know how to put on a good race with the number of volunteers and participants they have. Shame on them.

* There were 15 porta-sans at the starting line. Are you kidding me? I entered the line, pretty desperate, at 6:25 AM. I exited the porta-sans with many people still waiting at 6:56 AM. The race started at 7:00 AM. I BARELY made it before the cannon went off. I have to wonder, what did all the other people do?

* The wind was terrible, steady 24-27 mph winds NNW, with gusts over 40 mph. This wore me down, and even my neck ached the next day from fighting the wind. I really struggled, and never felt good.

* There were 37 turns (this was a new course this year). For a small field, this requires a lot of volunteers to ensure that runners know where to go. I was running alone for a good bit of the race, esp. towards the end, I had no one in sight. As a result, I actually missed the last turn, where there was no visible sign, no cones and no people. After a bit, some volunteers ran towards me and turned me around and put me back to the turn I had missed. When I drove through later, they had two people, a pick-up truck and a barricade at the straight away (where I went through), so I must not have been the only person to make this mistake. The course was simply too complex overall. 37 turns in a half marathon is ridiculous.

* Crappy, cheap medals. Now, I admit, I didn't run it for the medal, but coming off of Rock The Parkway, Oz was definitely outclassed by RTP (on all counts), which is only in its SECOND year!

Run, Total Stranger, Run!

2011-04-02T15:14:00.000-07:00

Subtitle: 2011 Rock the Parkway Half Marathon Race Report

It's About Time.

I'd like to say that I'd expected this. Or, that I carefully planned my pace, knowing my goal pace and goal splits. That I did an excellent job of preparing. None of those are true.

My workouts since Houston have been extremely challenging, leaving me at the edge of my ability; stretching beyond; and, at times... I failed--not quite being up to the task and being forced to modify by adding some additional recovery seconds; or trying a workout again the next day. I kept thinking Vince had mistaken me for another runner. Bill Risch, perhaps? My weekly mileage has been decent, sometimes two-a-dayers, but no single run over eleven miles since Houston on January 31. The intensity has been higher than I've ever felt in all of my training thus far, but after feeling demoralized from Houston; worried about the hills; I'd checked my ego at the door and had no expectations today. In fact, I visualized myself swallowing my pride completely, and walking it in.

I've never actually run a half marathon as fast as I could, and this course certainly wasn't making me think it was going to go well. My last few weeks at work have been unbearably stressful, extending me through too many hours and too many emotional crises. I never prepared for this race mentally; and I finally left my office at 8:30 PM last night having not done the first thing to prepare. I felt rushed and incomplete. Laying in bed last night at 9:45 PM, setting my alarm for 4:50 AM, I realized I had indeed forgotten something very important in my race preparation. I'd forgotten to eat dinner. I'd had a small microwave meal at 11:45 that morning, and absolutely nothing since. That's right, while everyone else was carbo-loading, I accidentally fasted. What an idiot I am. I was too tired, too lazy and too depressed to do anything about it and just went to bed hungry.

Driving to the race this morning, I realized I'd forgotten one other key element--where the race actually started and where I was supposed park. Whoops.

Walking around prior to race start and seeing so many in their Boston jackets and snappy race singlets from this club or the other, I sunk even lower. I looked like homeless person, wearing ill-fitting and ill-matching throw-away clothes I'd picked up at Salvation Army and never needed due to the heat in Houston. I didn't even know where to line up. Everyone was abuzz with excitement... but me. I wanted to hide in a crack in the pavement. Could I break 2 hours? 1:50? Someone sent me an email last night and asked me my goal time. I never responded, expecting my finishing time to be an embarrassment. However, I wanted to learn what a half marathon felt like. And I was determined to go through this experience--whatever it brought me.

I selected a spot next to the person carrying the 1:45 Pacer sign. Not that I expected to RUN a 1:45, in fact, I knew that I couldn't. I just figured that people would line up too far up front, and that I'd just see if I could find a pace near that in the beginning and hang on as long as I could.

The horn went off, and there we went. I felt unbearably boxed in. I couldn't move. I struggled to find a place where I wasn't at an 11:00 pace. I darted around people, hopped up on the curb, did what I needed to do to find any position that wasn't a sardine-in-a-can. Then I did everything I could to drop my pace. My first mile was the slowest as a result, 8:11 (a wide range of walking to speeding up).

By Mile 2, we were climbing the first part of the big hill, and I was gradually finding a rhythm. It was still pretty crowded, and somewhere in here, I grabbed a few sips of Gatorade--my one of two water stops. I wasn't actually thirsty--per se--it just happened to be the first race in a long time I was by some miracle actually on the same side as the first water stop. This was symbolic. I heard my watch chirp, and it said 7:54 (my second slowest mile). "Whoops, that was a little too fast," I thought. I was certain I'd just blown it and would pay for it later. Oh well.

Mile 3 and we were still climbing, and I was feeling the hill, but we had a few breaks in it, allowing me to recover before the next rise began. My center felt really strong, and I finished this mile (and the big hill) in 7:51 (my third slowest mile). I cracked my first smile as somewhere in here were a group of people holding signs and cheering enthusiastically. The one sign I read said, "Run, Total Stranger, Run!" I loved it! Thank you, Total Strangers!

Mile 4 at last was a welcome relief from the hill, and I felt myself picking up a little bit of speed. I finished in 7:27 and couldn't believe the race was almost 1/3 over already. I tossed my gloves and began to relax and be happy. This wasn't actually going to be so bad. The worst had to be behind me, the weather was perfect (mid-40s) and the miles were seductively easy (go figure!). I hadn't really had the feeling of working hard yet.

Somewhere in Mile 5 I grabbed a sip of water--one sip--and that was my last water stop. I just didn't need it or want it, and my excitement was growing. I also stopped looking at my watch. I'd found the cadence and the feeling I wanted to maintain for the race, and didn't really have any expectations as to what it was. It was simply the right pace and I knew this by feel. We began to weave our way through the turns, and I clipped this mile at 7:41 and Mile 6 at 7:37 and Mile 7 in 7:46. There were little hills here and there, but both uphill and downhill, and nothing really took too much out of me. I'd settled and was running in the open at my own speed. Right at the hairpin turn, I saw Travis, who shouted out to me. He wasn't that far ahead. I wondered if I could catch him. He was running strong!

Mile 8 found me back down Ward Parkway, and I was marveling at how well I felt. I just felt strong and relaxed, and was waiting to start feeling bad. I wanted to be sure to contain the "bad" to the last 5K, thinking I could probably push through that in 25-27 minutes worst-case. Mile 9 rolled by in 7:42 (but I hadn't seen my watch in miles).

Now, I was really keen on Mile 10. Where the hell was it? This was where I was going to allow myself to start feeling bad--it was OK to feel bad now. It was also where I was going to look at my watch and start calculating what I thought my finishing time might be. But, I never saw the marker. This was the lowest point of the race emotionally for me (save for the start). I was not fading; but I keenly needed to know I only had 5K to go. By the time my watch read 10.5 miles, I decided I must have missed it completely. The problem here was, I needed to know where I was on the course relative to 5K-left-to-go to know where I was in the finishing time. During the race at this point, I couldn't even calculate to a ten minute predicted finish since I missed this key mile-marker. "Oh well," I muttered to myself, "it's not like it matters. This isn't the goal race." I finished mile 10 in 7:38.

Now things were getting interesting. There was a girl who had switched positions with me several times. She was attacking the hills and gaining on me, and then going downhill conservatively where I would take the lead. She looked very strong, and I decided it would be a good idea to try and beat her. And then, the unexpected big hill arrived. I hung onto her and stayed just a few feet behind, and was making up my mind how to pass her and stay past her. I decided I would rest at this pace, and then blow by her and try to keep the pace strong so she wouldn't regain it. Then, something amazing happened. A man ran by on my left with a notably faster pace than I was running, and I decided to go with him. We blew by her and I hung on long enough to feel I'd accomplished this pass successfully. I never saw her again.

At this point is the only complaint I have about this race--the slowest of the 10K-ers (who started 15 minutes after the half-marathoners) were walking it in--sometimes three abreast in the middle of the course. Ordinarily, at this pace for a half-marathon (my average moving pace was 7:39 overall), one doesn't expect to negotiate dozens of walkers and / or extremely slow joggers in the middle of the road. If the race organizers could do anything better next time--it would be to start the 10K-ers at a much different time (earlier or much later) to avoid the half marathoners as much as possible.

Mile 11 was 7:50 and Mile 12 was 7:45, and the last hill was behind me. I now glanced down at my watch and knew I was somewhere in the low-to-mid 1:40's for a finishing time. I'd guessed about 1:43-1:44, and this was the first inkling I had that the 1:44:00 year's goal was actually within my reach. I was shocked. I got chills. A little downhill, a little kick and a possible Travis sighting ahead, I finished Mile 13 in 7:14 and just went for it to the finish line. I punched my watch after running over ALL the cables (four? five? six? how many do they need?), and then lost my Garmin screen completely. Figures, touchy thing.

I breathed. It was over. I might have actually run a 1:44:00 or better, but I wasn't sure. I looked up and saw Travis. A few brief words of congratulations back and forth, I found my finishing time after multiple pushes and taps and we compared. He'd punched his watch exactly ten seconds before I did, reading a 1:41:15 and mine read a 1:41:25. Rock The Parkway Half Marathon 2011 by agardn07 at Garmin Connect - Details

Hell, yes. While I still await the official results, I know I have plenty of buffer and resoundingly qualified for the 2012 New York Marathon. While stunned, I am very happy. I'll post pictures when some are available.

Other official results (1:41:21) here. Looks like I took 3rd in my division out of 171, so not too bad.

My Houston Marathon Report--What I Learned About When To Make A Decision To Drop

2011-01-31T20:39:00.001-08:00

Race Goals. I had essentially two goals in Houston, the most important of which was to qualify for a guaranteed starting position in New York (requiring a 3:38:00, a slight edge over my 2009 Chicago time of 3:38:22). The more challenging goal was to run a 3:35-something. Anything in that range (3:35-3:38), and I would be ecstatic. My workouts indicated this was possible, but I intended to play it conservatively. I wore two pacing bands, one for 3:35:00 and one for 3:38:00. Neither of which got a single glance the entire time.

Pre-race. The average temperature of my two longest runs this season was 20 F. Contrast that to 65 F at the start in Houston, soggy, muggy and we were promised bits of rain. The announcer warned we'd be routed to safety in the event of lightning within 10 miles of the course. I figured with the erstwhile rain, I'd be cooled enough and followed a "non hot" marathon pre-race routine. I had not had any water since I woke at 4:30 AM (Ok, I mean finally got out of bed, I didn't sleep), when I downed my usual 16 ounces. Hydration is good; port-a-sans stops are not.

The twin booms of the half marathon and marathon starting guns reverberated, and soon, I was off onto the wet streets of Houston with a steady rain that was seen more than felt.

I've broken into sections of the race that follow the "unofficial" splits that family / friends sent me from text messages / chip times as I crossed the various check points. My Garmin acted up before during and after the race, and I ended up losing all my data long before I could download it. I don't really remember many miles in great detail anyway, and it's best to take this in chunks.

5 K--25:02 (8:03 overall). My first real memory while running was my mouth being cotton dry, gasping dry, and I was parched. In the rain, ironically. I was on the farthest left of the field, knowing there was a 90 degree turn to the left coming up, but just before mile 2, the water stations were to the far right. I was wise to this trick, having experienced this in Boston--where I veered over, completely missing the water tables on the right, only to have them come up on the left and completely miss those too. Smarter runner... let the water come to me! Or, so I thought. Dumb runner, it never did. No water this split.

Despite the thirst, during this period the miles were seductively easy. I was trying to slow down, but kept finding myself below 8:00. The pace didn't feel right. It felt too slow. Maybe my Garmin was wrong--it froze on me earlier, but then I was figuring the gun time vs. my start time and decided it must be right. I needed to slow it down to 8:11.

10K--50:21 (8:06 overall). At last, mile 4 there was a second water station. On the right. Crap. Well, I managed to get over, but got the tiniest tablespoon of Gatorade and I nearly choked on it. It was mile 6 before I managed to grab two cups and downed them both without slowing. This would probably mark the beginnings of why this race was a struggle--it was warmish, quite humid, marked by occasional wind gusts and rain. I got behind on water and electrolytes, and never was able to catch up.

Still, I'm nudging the pace up (trying to get to 8:11 and hold--which means slowing down), but the miles feel like water. I'm effortless. My legs feel fluid, and I think this just might be my day.

There are a few gentle "rollers" usually in the form of overpasses in the first 10K. None of them in particular are worth mentioning, or even troublesome--but they are there and keep it interesting.

15K--1:15:49 (8:08 overall). The next 5K are really flat, and still, I am feeling wonderfully well, attempting to pick up fluid at every stop, but I now realize I'd probably fallen way behind and somewhere in here, I can't logistically manage water without stopping, so I skip a station. I'm finding the 8:11s more often, and running all of this at 8:11 or 8:12 pace, right on target.

20K--1:41:30 (8:10 overall). Still in a very flat portion of the course, I am getting warm but still feeling good, and managing my pace of 8:11 very well. This is perhaps my favorite part of the course, as we pass by lovely homes and Rice University.

Half--1:47:13 (8:10 overall). Just before we turn north on Weslayan, we cross the half-way point. I'm exactly on schedule, a few seconds to spare, but overall feeling good. This is the last checkpoint where I can say that.

25K 2:07:39 (8:13 overall). Just past mile 14 is the only prominent hill on the course, an overpass. Nothing terrible, but my plan was to let this mile go. I expected to gain 20-30 seconds on the mile and not try to make it up. As it happens, I crossed mile 15 in 8:28, just about on schedule. And I plan to pick the pace back up. But it doesn't come to me.

Instead, for the first time, I find the 8:11 pace requiring effort. And the nausea has begun. I worry, and hope this passes. I switch totally to water, not sure what's wrong, but I realize I'm not far along enough to be feeling this bad. I eke out an 8:12 at mile 16, and then, nearly throw up. I stopped looking at my watch, thinking, ok, it is what it is. If you can just run a comfortable pace in for the remaining 11 miles, so be it.

I pray for lightning.

The cramping began. First, in my calves, but soon spreading to one of my glutes and the nausea intensifies and the pain is intense. But, the pain isn't the real problem--the fact that the muscles are locking up is. My calves aren't even flexing anymore, and I realize I'm in trouble. Lightning doesn't come.

I take a quick walk break, and then start to jog again. I carry on like this, realizing at 18 miles that eight miles to go in this condition can be toughed out--but at what cost? At the very least, I'm worried something is going to tear. And I somehow need to get through the nausea, which is now making me dizzy.

30K 2:35:51 (8:21 overall) Somewhere in here I cross over 30K. I start walking again, give up on the lightning, and realize it's time for me to call it a day. I'm so far off of my goal, and the cost to actually make it to the finish will be exceedingly high. So high, at best, I will need a lengthy recovery and start over at zero for the season, and at worst, I might face a long-term injury.

I pulled over into the aid station near mile 20 for the long wait. So long, in fact, I think that the walk / jogging it in would not only have gotten me to the finish area faster, I wouldn't be questioning if I should have just done it. I have two hours to contemplate my decision. But any difficult decision is just that--difficult. I'm not sure there is a 'right' or a 'wrong' answer here, but this ultimately was a 'good' decision for me.

I wouldn't suggest that pulling over and calling it quits is a typical solution to a 'bad' marathon. In fact, in most cases, one should really press on. If you're truly in doubt, consider that the marathon isn't well set up to cart non-finishers back to the end, and you'll likely wait for a long time for the privilege. Walking it into the finish might be the best option.

I thought I'd wrap up with some conclusions about when you might--and when you might not--want to consider ending your "bombed" marathon.

When NOT to drop out of your marathon:

1. Your first marathon. This is a really important event, and it's an experiment of the distance. If you are a novice like I was, you've likely not gone more than 20 miles. Unless you risk serious, imminent bodily harm--pulling out of your first marathon will fill you with long-lasting doubts. You'll probably hit a point you wish you could quit. Don't do it.

2. Your goal is to finish. Sometimes, the goal is a very specific one--like Houston was for me. Other times, it's important for other reasons. When I ran Boston in 2009, I would have walked, crawled, hopped, pushed or dragged myself across the finish line, no matter what suffering or what my time was. Wearing my Boston gear for which I had worked so hard was essential for me. Likewise, if your marathon is plugging hole in a set (e.g., 50 marathons in 50 states, all world major marathons), you probably want to ensure you've leveraged your investment. If you want it, chances are probably 99.5% you'll pull it off, even if you think you can't at mile 20. Quitting is simply not an option.

3. You haven't done many marathons. The cost of dropping out of the marathon if you only have a few behind you is very high. It's a decision that will haunt you in ways you haven't dreamed. Unless you have quite a few solid marathons behind you, you're probably better off toughing it out.

"If you quit the race for reasons other than abnormal fatigue, the sense of failure with stay with you for a very long time and will increase the likelihood that the same thing will happen in the next race. Extreme fatigue is, by itself, not a reason to quit any race. Much of the marathon battle is mental anyway, and often fatigue becomes more bearable the nearer you get to the finish... Should you quit, remember, there is no second chance." The Lore of Running 4th Edition, Tim Noakes, p. 631

When the decision to drop out might be a good one.

1. You have a very specific goal in mind, and reason to believe you can attain it--and you're not even close. By dropping out early from the marathon, you can probably treat it as a tempo run and be ready to race again in just a few weeks. Finishing this race way off your target pace, draining your body to its maximum will prevent you from a successful marathon that is back on goal any time soon. Let's face it--the marathon season is a huge investment. You simply don't need another marathon "notch," but you DO need (or want) your goal.

2. Chest pain, severe injury (such as broken bone), shortness of breath, extreme dehydration or symptoms of heat stroke. You are risking more than your ego here. Best case--stop off at the medical tent and be evaluated. If your symptoms are serious enough, they won't let you back out.

If you've ever had to drop out of a race, I'd love to hear about it. My decision is barely 36 hours old. I'm only beginning to understand the ramifications--both good and bad.

What Happened in Houston...

2011-01-30T11:05:00.000-08:00

For those of you who were faithfully following my progress today in Houston, thank you. I thought I'd briefly update you on what happened, and later I'll write a more detailed "race report."

Briefly, I made the decision to drop out around the 18-19 mile mark and walked to the nearest aid station due to extreme nausea and cramping. I was very concerned that even if I could get past the nausea, I might be risking long term damage to my muscles, as I forced them to cooperate against their will. I had very marked goals going into the race, and I believe that it was more important for me to live to run another day to achieve those goals than it was to complete and make it to the finish line.

Yes, I could have finished this marathon. But, at a minimum, it would have cost me an entire marathon training cycle. Stopping when I did will allow me to spend this training cycle at another time when my body and the conditions are more cooperative. I made my decision that continuing today was not worth the cost to my body, and I can more quickly leverage my fitness to cash in on my goals in the nearer future.

Designing a Boston Marathon Age Distribution That Better Reflects Marathoner Demographics

2011-01-01T20:14:00.000-08:00

I've finally had the Boston Marathon 2010 individual result data as well as some time to take a closer look, and I have some surprising findings. My goal was to take the overall finisher count (22,540) and determine what a "perfect" distribution of runners might look like, based on marathoner demographics. The data suggest that the younger age divisions are actually under-represented, and bloating occurs in the older divisions--most pronounced in the 45-49 age group.

Of course, this is my approach based on some assumptions and based on the data available to me, as well as the fact I am not in favor of dramatically increasing the number of available slots to Boston runners. I am in favor of a sufficiently "elite" (term used very loosely; most of us running Boston are certainly not elite runners) qualifying standard that the event doesn't sell out in hours (a point of contention for many, I know). So, my "perfect" Boston finisher field will assume the same number of finishers as we had in 2010. I do recognize quite a few more qualified and didn't start or didn't finish for various reasons.

The first thing I noticed is that the Boston Qualifying times don't match the actual age divisions in Boston for one group of runners. The qualifying times are split 0-34 years old and 35-39 years old, yet the actual age division is 0 to 39. I believe the age divisions should match the qualifying times, although I understand the reasoning is probably "open" vs. "masters." However, if that is the logic applied, it should be consistent. For the purposes of this exercise, I am assuming that there are separate age divisions for 0-34 and 35-39, due to the qualifying times (even though in practice, that is not true; I've created it).

In the 2010 Boston Marathon, there were 22,540 finishers, and it's these results on which I will be basing my analysis. I don't have visibility into who actually entered, but for the conclusions I will draw, actual qualifying times for entrants don't matter (I'm not making actual recommendations on the times; just the target distribution by age division). Also, I couldn't factor in how many bibs are given away or earned through charity partnerships, however, I'll make the assumption that these runners follow the overall demographics of other runners.

My purposes here today are to take that 22,540 finisher count, and see how each age division fared against a hypothetical "fair" distribution. Since it's my blog, I'm choosing fair in what I believe is an objective approach. I'm defining a Boston Marathon field (using the finishers count) that largely mirrors the running population demographics of today and has the same number of finishers as the 2010 Boston Marathon. While some may take exception to this goal, my purpose will be to point out what that Boston field "should" look like, vs. what it actually looked like in 2010, by age and gender division.

While I've seen varying statistics on male vs. female marathon runners (up to an even 50/50 split of male / female), I'm going a hard line route to quote the 2009 Marathon and State of the Sport Reports using 2008 data to find the goal male / female split for Boston. This puts our target Boston Field at 41 percent female and 59 percent male (the widest recent margin I could find). The math is pretty easy then for our 22,540 2010 Boston Marathon finishers, there should have been:

9,241 females (9,474 actually finished)
13,299 males (13,066 actually finished)

We're not too far off here, 42 percent of actual finishers were ladies, and 58 percent were men. But, let's be fair and a little more specific, one percent of the finishers who are ladies (or, 2.4% equal to 233 of the ladies) have to go to make up my perfect Boston field to match these demographics.

Now, one thing that has been pointed out by many, lay and official alike, is that the one age division where women outnumber the men is 0 to 39, and this is certainly one area that should get some attention. I begrudgingly accepted these facts until I looked at the data. Here was my next big surprise. My target Boston field isn't the result of the same number of participants per age division; that isn't fair (example: there aren't the same number of 65-69 year olds running as 35-39 year olds). Instead, let's look at the distribution of marathon participants, by age division, today:

I did have to split a few of the age divisions as follows. Not perfect, but I don't think it's too far off, especially considering the size of the 0-34 age group.

* Split 35-44 in half for each age group, 50/50

** Split 45-54 in half for each age group, 50/50

*** Split 55-64 in half for each age group, 50/50

Note that of actual marathon runners, nearly half of all ladies are 0-34 years old and a third of all men are in the same age group. I actually found that pretty interesting. Without examining the more detailed data, it had seemed the older age groups were getting short-changed at Boston, but the data actually says quite the opposite. Looking at these target distributions, here's what "my" target Boston field should look like, with the "Boston Distro Goal F / M" field showing the "target count" for each age division to create my goal finishing field:

Now, here are the actual Boston Marathon 2010 results, broken out in COUNT by AGE DIV showing MINIMUM, MEAN, MEDIAN and MAXIMUM finishing time, followed up by the Boston Qualifying time for that age group:

** Omitted because qualifying times are split in the 0-34, 35-39 divisions

From this data it isn't hard to calculate my target Boston field and the difference between actual and goal, which is this:

* Data is combined into a 65+ division

** Omitted because qualifying times are split in the 0-34, 35-39 divisions

Shown on a graph, you can see bloating (too many runners in a division) and under-representation (too few runners in a division) pretty clearly. It was startling to me to conclude that both men AND women are significantly under-represented in the 0-34 age division, and that it did seem that older age groups, especially the men, were bloated. This data suggests the qualifying time for a 0-34 year old male at 3:10:59 probably is too harsh, and that standards need to be toughened up a bit in other areas.

For the ladies, 40-44 is slightly bloated and 45-49 more so. After that we're talking about very few ladies at all. So, it looks like, in fact, my qualifying time IS TOO EASY (look, guys, you were right all along!). The male 45-49 age group was the most bloated of all, slightly edging out the bloating of the ladies of the same age.

Graph of Female Differentials: Above the zero line shows how many more ladies should be in my "target" Boston field. Below the zero line shows the bloating, where too many ladies were in the division:

Graph of Male differentials, as above. Bloating is shown below the zero line. Again, counts above the zero line are additional runners who should be in the division:

Today, I'll stop short of what I think the qualifying times should be, I'm sure this post will be controversial enough without it. Yes, I believe we should keep the available bibs approximately the same. I no longer believe the standards should be adjusted across the board, but I do believe that certain age groups stand to be loosened, while others tightened. I also believe this should be examined every few years, to keep with the contemporary demographics of marathon runners: maybe we age, maybe more females start running. Whatever it is, Boston will remain to me one of the most exciting challenges and goals I've ever met, and I hope it continues to be the much sought after goal by all determined marathon runners alike.

Are The Boston Qualifying Standards Too Easy for Women?

2010-11-24T16:20:00.000-08:00

I'd planned to sign up for Boston this year, but didn't see any hurry to do it. The day after registration opened (October 18, 2010), one of my non-runner friends asked me if I were one of the few who had gotten in. I'd completely missed that it had sold out in hours.

Which prompted some interesting discussions with other runners in the following weeks. Boston really shouldn't sell out in hours--on that we all agreed. But, how do you make a correction so that Boston re-emerges as the "People's Olympics" type of event that it once was? While I have some ideas for that (fodder for future posts), the most common theme I heard from other runners was the standards were too easy for women.

It's hard to conclude anything other than, well, I really didn't deserve to qualify because I didn't work that hard for it.
Come to find out, this is a fairly widely held belief: "But there's another possible reason for the surging demand—one that has the potential to kick up a fair amount of controversy. It's the notion that the qualifying standards for women are too soft…. Some running experts say that one way to reduce excess demand for Boston slots would be to stop treating women like the gentler sex." (WSJ, It's Time for Women to Run Faster: Boston's Crowded Marathon Prompts a Gender War; Why Females Get an Extra 30 Minutes)

I'd like to debunk the myth that Boston's qualifying standards are disproportionately too easy on women, and that lowering the women's standards on their own won't solve the Boston entry problem.

More men than women qualify for and run Boston.

In Boston 2010 (the year I ran it), forty-two percent of the finishers were women.

In 2009, the total number of finishers of U.S. marathons and other road races were just about evenly split, men versus women.

If you assume that the same percentage of those who qualified actually run and complete the race, you can draw the simple conclusion, that about twenty percent more men than women qualified for Boston in 2010. Based on the national average of marathon completers versus Boston qualifiers, it actually appears that women may have it harder--even with the 30 minutes of additional time to qualify.

Yes, a 50-54 man has to run 5 minutes faster than an under-39 woman to qualify, but the average winning time of the 50-54M age group is 7:21 faster than the average winning time of the under-39F age group.

Too many women qualifying for Boston simply isn't the problem. Reading through some angry online forums that mostly bash on the "easy standards for women," I think IsleRoyaleRunner said it best: "The reason why it's [Boston 2011] anticipated to sell out in a matter of days has little to do with lowering the standard for women. There aren't 10,000 women running between 3:35 and 3:40. All the standards need to be lowered significantly if you want the race to be open past the 1st of the year."

Study after study has shown that the Marathon distance performance gap between men and women is between 11 to 12 percent:

"This is a fascinating result. Women actually do better, relatively speaking, in the shorter events, and the marathon is one of their worst distances compared to men." (Men vs. Women in Sports)

In their examination of performance in sports, women versus men, Astrand and Rodahl state "…In the marathon, women are 12% slower." They elaborate, "The women's running economy was poorer; that is, their oxygen uptake during running at a standard submaximal speed was higher. The heart rate, respiratory exchange ratio, and blood lactate concentration also confirmed that a given running speed resulting in higher physiological strain for the women." (Textbook of work physiology: physiological bases of exercise by Per-Olof Astrand, Kare Rodahl)

Due to key differences between men and women, women are at a distinct disadvantage for running the marathon:

"The marathon is simply not long enough to nullify the physiological advantages that men have in testosterone level, maximal oxygen consumption, and hemoglobin level. Given that over 99% of the energy used in the marathon is produced aerobically, women’s lower hemoglobin level (which mean women can transport less oxygen per unit of blood) is a distinct disadvantage." (Will Women Marathoners Catch the Men? Pfitzinger Lab Reports)

Women's blood carries 11% less oxygen for the same blood volume.

"It's obvious that males frequently achieve better performance times than similarly trained females. Part of the reason for this is that males routinely engage in a perfectly legal, natural form of 'blood doping.' The key male sex hormone - testosterone - promotes the production of haemoglobin, an oxygen-carrying protein found inside red blood cells, and testosterone also increases the concentration of red cells in the blood. The key female hormone - oestrogen - has no such effect. As a result, each litre of male blood contains about 150-160 grams of haemoglobin, compared to only 130-140 grams for females. The bottom line is that each 'male' litre of blood can carry about 11 per cent more oxygen than a similar quantity of female blood.

"Note how closely this 'oxygen gap' parallels the performance gap observed by Seiler and Sailer, who found a male-female performance difference of exactly 11 per cent in the 1980s - and 12 per cent today. Is this just a coincidence, or does the 11-per cent enhancement of blood oxygen in males produce the 11-per cent improvement in running speeds? Since oxygen is needed to furnish most of the energy required for endurance exercise, some scientists have suspected that the 11-per cent oxygen difference is the key factor behind male-female performance variation.

Exercise scientists Stephen Seiler and writer Steven Sailer mention in the May-June edition of the internet publication Sportscience News "two other key female 'deficiencies' - less muscle mass and smaller hearts than men, even after correction for smaller body size." (The Gender Gap 1: Women are getting slower; men are getting faster?)

Conclusion: The qualifying standard differences between men and women are probably about right.
"Running USA, a research center based in Colorado, has collected raw data from nearly 500 marathons across the country that show a median gender difference of about 28 minutes in finishing times."

Personally, I'd vote for lowering the standards across the board--for everyone. Allowing fewer women clearly doesn't solve the problem.

Note: I have added the distribution of male / female finishers for Boston 2010 in the image immediately to the left, for purposes of discussion. If anyone has the full data records of all 22K+ Finishers they'd be willing to share, please DM me in twitter.

Marathon Pace Session on LBTT

2010-11-20T08:13:00.000-08:00

When my alarm went off, I nearly couldn't find it to turn it off I was sleeping so deeply. What is it with morning long runs, anyway? How about a nice Saturday Afternoon long run? My will forced my body into action every step of the way, until I realized I was not only really, really tired, but I was also slightly nauseated. By the time I actually pulled into the parking lot, I had to remind myself that how I felt at the beginning of a run historically played no part in how the run was going to go. I've pulled into that very lot feeling like the energizer bunny, and had my worst long run; and I've felt horrible and ended up pulling it off. Let's just see what I had before setting myself up for a predictable self-fulfilling prophecy.

My long-suffering running buddy, Travis, was of course early and waiting. At 34F, he hops out in a T-shirt and shorts looking fresh and comfortable, while I'm in head-to-toe under-armor and have hot hands tucked in my gloves and worried how long it might take to die of hypothermia. I hope it's quick.

The goal: two mile warm-up and eleven at 8:24. The first two miles come with effort. I push the pedal down the instant we hit the third mile, and by the first quarter, we are still averaging above 8:24. This isn't looking good. I press harder, and think to myself, how on earth can I hold this for eleven miles, much less one? But, as we approach the last stretch before we turn around at two-and-a-half, Travis says, "Hey, what's the goal here, 8:00s?" I look at my watch and we've dropped the average for the mile to around 8:16 (making it up a bit), but apparently we're running at 8:00 for the moment. He watches the instant pace; I only watch the overall average for the mile. This is going to work out all right.

Eventually, we find it and I feel really good. We decide after the single break after five miles that we'll go out four and back, no other stops. We think we've planned this four out into the wind and four back with the wind at our backs. At around mile seven, we pass a group of solid runners, and one extends his white-gloved hand out. I'm pumped with how great I feel and decide we're going to high-five. I realize I'm delirious. But I know by now I'm going to kill this run. The high-five seemed appropriate.

Somehow, the wind shifted or we got it wrong and the turn back was into the wind. But, I've locked in the pace and we hold it steady anyway. We surge a bit for the last mile, which ended up being the fastest. Just a bit of extra credit there. At more than fifty miles for the week; and not a thing hurting--things are looking really good for Houston, ten weeks from tomorrow.

Marathon Pace on LBTT Garmin Connect - Details

Marathon Pace Session at Watkins Mill

2010-11-13T08:40:00.000-08:00

When my alarm went off before 5 AM and I'd heard the wind buffet my bedroom windows like a tympanic membrane all night long, I seriously considered canceling. This was going to be a difficult enough run under pristine conditions. My pillow pulled me back and I gave in very briefly. One good thing about having a running buddy counting on you; no one wants to be the first to cancel. Guilt shoved me out of bed against my body's protests.

Seriously, didn't think I was going to have it and told my buddy Travis that at least five times before we got past the warm up miles. If you'd polled me at 2.5 miles into this run, I'd have told you there was no way it was going to happen as designed. It was cold, hilly and extremely gusty / windy. But not thinking I was going to have it wasn't going to stop me from trying. Despite my reservations, we ran better than my goals: 3 mi easy, 3 miles goal 8:24 (actual 8:15, 8:20, 8:14) 1 mi goal pace 7:50 (actual 7:42), 3 miles 8:24 (actual 8:09, 8:24, 8:07).

I'm still in shock I (we, although I had no doubts about Travis' ability) pulled it off; let alone in the conditions! Great run, I'm thrilled!

Watkins Mill Garmin Connect - Details

Watkins Mill 13 miles

2010-10-30T09:42:00.000-07:00

A crisp start to the morning (42F), where I ran most of this run at Watkins Mill State Park with my buddy Travis who ensured I would not be lazy. First three miles were a warm-up, and the goal for the next three was 8:10. We ran 7:57, 8:00 and 8:08. This, despite the fact I'd forgotten how up and down this course was. Sure, there were downhills, but definitely a few uphills we had to push through. I had to really work for that third (sixth overall) mile, with one of the two biggest hills almost at the end of it.

Then, easy two miles, nice recovery, and a goal of repeating three more miles at 8:10. Again, I was struggling with the hills a bit, and managed 7:58, 8:15, 8:21, which were flat, small hill, the two biggest hills, respectively. The way the last mile fell out had precisely the two biggest hills, one at the beginning and one at the end. I didn't have the gas to keep it at that pace with the uphills. It was a good effort and I was still strong, despite the 8:21 pace. In fact, I believe had the mile been flat, I might have beaten the 7:57 first fast mile I'd run.

Then two more miles easy to wrap up the recovery and a total of 13 miles. I'm extremely happy with the effort, especially the fact that this run was by no means flat. Better yet--nothing is bothering me. Topped it off with a crossandwich from Sonic--which I believe might have been the best tasting breakfast sandwich in my entire life. I thought I might have died and gone to heaven.

Watkins Mill Run from Garmin Connect - Details

LBTT 12 Mi Trail Run

2010-10-23T08:51:00.000-07:00

I'm not superstitious. But, I felt like posting that I've been running again after such a deep depression from a string of nagging issues would somehow ruin my good stretch of running. Like, washing my favorite football jersey after a string of victories would somehow wash away the team's chance of success.

Sort of like, show me the runs. I'm not talking about it. I didn't even post my first two weeks back. I'll believe it when I see it.

So here I am, the last two weeks of 40+ mpw behind me, and I'm solid.

Today I chose the LBTT with Rick who also is coming back from a series of nagging issues. The trail was a bit muddy after a steady rain all night, and there was steady wind out of the south. But the temps in the mid-60s and cloud cover felt great, and I was as strong at the end as I could ever hope to be.

My Garmin Details

It feels good to be back running again, with some belief that this is going to continue!

I Didn't Run Chicago Yesterday

2010-10-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

I sat there on the exam room table, clutching my x-rays from the urgent care center a few days earlier and dangling my legs which were nowhere near the ground. I felt childlike; small, unimportant and intimidated by my surroundings. Needing guidance, help from someone who was supposed to have my best health care interests in mind.... and not sure I would find it.

My left foot was in a large boxy boot somewhat similar to the picture on the left, covering my toes to my knee. It kind of reminded me of a moon-walking suit. Not that I could really walk. In fact, the reason I'd come to my regular doctor was in hopes he'd either send me to a specialist or let me get some additional testing done to find out why I was in so much pain. My x-rays from a few days earlier indicated nothing was amiss.

He came in, pronouncing my name formally and then sat at looked at my chart. He looked up at me disdainfully, and stated: "Haven't you had a couple stress fractures from running already? It doesn't look like your body agrees with running. Maybe you should consider not running." Well, that was helpful.

I had hoped, at least, to walk out with a plan. Get an MRI, make an appointment with a podiatrist. Receive a suggestion of what might be wrong and how long it might take to heal.

If, it would in fact heal. The fact was, it had been thirteen days. And I was in more pain that I was on day one. I was worried.

After chiding me for running and pointing out further that I was no longer of an age to run and the repeated injuries should be my signal to stop, he poked around where my foot / ankle hurt and said, "I'm not going to send you for an MRI for that. Keep the walking boot. I don't have a better idea."

I limped out; defeated. Swing-thud; swing-thud; swing-thud. I was more depressed than ever. After all, it was a stupid, chain reaction thing. Not an over-use injury, but I simply got caught wearing the wrong shoes and a cascade of issues resulted.

Yesterday, I watched Chicago from afar. I filled my list of runners and hit refresh / reload hundreds of times over a four-and-a-half hour period until my last runner-friend crossed the finish. How I wanted to be there. I was thrilled and overjoyed to see a few people do really well. I actually got chills watching some friends just nail it and get stronger and stronger. It is a gift to be able to have everything line up to execute your marathon strategy, and I celebrated vicariously for several of you as you crossed the finish!

When To Write It Off

2010-09-12T05:14:00.000-07:00

You picked your event months ago. Booked the hotel, the airfare, put in for vacation days from your job. Invested in all the right equipment.

You've trained long hours. You took your event seriously. You might have even raised money through a charitable organization such as World Vision, gaining the support of friends, family and co-workers along the way.

You skipped the late night parties. Eschewed indulgent behaviour on vacation. Maybe you skipped the vacation altogether to focus on your training. You got up when everyone was asleep to get in your workouts.

You were the only one standing around a Saturday afternoon picnic having run more than a dozen miles that day. Every Saturday for the third month in a row.

You passed up the bacon, fried chicken and ice cream.

You dreamed of acceptable, achievable--and dared to hope for the loftiest goals possible. Every workout was a measuring stick against your goal.

And now, you are either forced with a difficult decision; or, quite possibly, it's being made for you. You can't--or shouldn't--show up at the starting line of your event.

For awhile, you might bargain with yourself. OK, well, let's skip Goal A and Goal B, and still be happy with a reasonably dialed down goal C.

As I write this, I struggle with that very decision. Chicago is four weeks from today.

A mere two months ago, diagnosed with a stress fracture, I was so very determined to overcome it for a great race in Chicago. I worked twice as hard, aqua-jogging, cycling, strength training. I put in more hours of training than I would have if I weren't injured. Miraculously, I healed very well and was back to running in five weeks ever hopeful to be there in Chicago. It was harder than I thought to stay fit during this time. Coming back gave me more muscle aches than I expected. It was grueling, but worth it, and I learned a lot about myself in the process. It even led me to my first Century.

I've put in the time. Skipped the parties. Gone to bed early. Prioritized my workouts despite a highly demanding schedule. I've sacrificed to be there on 10-10-10. I want it. I earned it.

My friends are going to be there. Some running buddies are going to be there. My coach, Vince, is even going to do his debut marathon.

My right leg (where I had the tibial stress fracture) is absolutely fine; I had a story-book recovery. But now, faced with an odd and painful tendonitis on the top of my left foot, I have to make a decision. At the very time I must be peaking in mileage and intensity. In one mere week, there is little I can do to improve my fitness.

My foot tells me not to run. But, oh, how important being in Chicago is to me! I'm perfectly OK with dialing down my goals--to a point. I toyed with the idea of starting anyway, and taking a DNF if I just couldn't do it. But after trying that on for a few hours as a fall-back strategy, I realized that I couldn't really live with the mental burden of not at least finishing a race.

Sadly, my foot looks fine. No swelling. No discoloration. No heat. In fact, many movements of stretching and flexing are completely pain free. Simply looking at my foot, you'd have no idea there was something amiss. How can something so ... apparently minor be causing me such problems?

In this self-exploration I also realized there were personal limits in my own mind where I wasn't OK even if I did finish. These limits are different for everyone; and for different reasons. But there were pretty hard set finishing times that were simply not going to be acceptable to me. I decided not to mention what mine were, because I don't want to offend anyone with how slow or fast my cut-off time might seem. The point is, we all have them. And to me, there are certain times that are simply not worth running, and that's a very personal benchmark for myself.

When do you decide not to run in that key event? After you've given everything? The problem for many of us who have been running seriously for a few years is that we actually can run through quite a bit of pain. The most obvious answer to this question is if running is going to seriously aggravate your injury to the point you will have an extended outage from running. Instead of weeks, you are out for months. In some cases (such as stress fractures), running through the pain can actually permanently damage you if the bone breaks all the way through (which can and does happen--see photo to the left--Ouch!).

Another key time not to run is when you find you've altered your gait in pain-avoidance. Running miles and miles like that invites yet another injury cycle to go through. If you find yourself doing this, it's time to consider throwing in the towel.

Sometimes you are willing to take on that risk because a single event is so important to you to complete. You'd take two months off just to be there and finish. And that's where I am right now. My foot says, "don't run." My soul say, "run, you must run." It's a watershed event for me for more reasons than one. I'm at the point if I thought I could finish at my personal minimum goal level, I'd be OK if I had to be carted off the finish line and not run for the rest of the year.

Within the next couple of days, I will be making that decision. I'm either going to run Chicago, or I'm not. Probably by the time you are reading this; it will have been made. But, I am avoiding it just yet. Hanging on to the most tenuous of threads of hope that somehow, by some miracle, my foot will settle down and I can be there in the marathon that I love and for which I have prepared so hard and sacrificed so much.

Summer Breeze 2010 100 mile Course

2010-08-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

It was out of complete ignorance I decided to do a biking Century. Sure, a few 10-mile loops here and there, a successful 74 mile ride. This is going to be so easy!

We started right on time, cruising out in a large group. I found comfort in being so close to a lot of other bikers, and enjoyed the excitement, brightly colored jerseys and flashing triangle lights many of the cyclists were wearing. But it was already 75 F when we started, and my early plans to skip the first rest stop at 15 miles were thrown out the window.

I realized a few things rather quickly: This was, in fact, not going to come easily. The 25 mph headwind made the biking exhausting. I was utterly unprepared.

The first stop I realized how necessary the bottle on my bike was. I was expecting cups and gatorade and water (a la marathon style), but the deal was you filled your own bottle. If you wanted Gatorade, you tossed in the powder on the spot. Not a bad idea. I ate a cup of peanut M&Ms.

I spent much of the first 30-ish miles fighting the wind, the hills and the rising temps, yet still feeling reasonably fresh. I was eating and drinking well, but about this point I was utterly alone on a road going straight into a very hilly section, directly into the headwind. I began to panic that I had somehow missed a turn. Nary a single marking of "SB -->" popped up even once on this long stretch, and each hill I thought to myself, "OK, this is the hardest hill I have ever climbed." Only to find another one just as bad or worse a few minutes later. I said this to myself at least ten times on ten different hills.

The second stop around 30 miles, I drank another 40 ounces and ate a half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The wind was so strong, I had to pedal to go downhill. There was no coasting or resting. For fifteen miles (from 30 to 45), my concern grew. I hadn't seen a soul in over an hour and had no confirmation I was even on the right course. I searched my brain for a plan B: How do I figure out where I am and if I am on the course? The miles did not come easily, and this was way too early to be so exhausted. My worry grew, but then I hit the sign for the next SAG stop, which was quite busy with other cyclists, and marked the end of the long trek directly into the wind. And then my Garmin 405 battery died (despite being taken off the charger the moment I left), at 44 miles. Ugh. I mentally needed to know how far I had left.

From here on out, while I did occasionally lose sight of other riders for stretches, there were enough "SB-->" sightings that I no longer worried I was off course. Although I would have given anything to see a mark on the road that indicated a half-way point!

Being out of the wind, I started to feel better. In fact, I came in so strong at the mile 68 rest stop, it was the best I'd felt all day. I knew I was going to make it another 32 miles. Somehow. I had begun to pass people (instead of being passed), and never was passed again.

The next stop was the lunch in Raymore, at mile 83. I got off my bike, and suddenly felt quite woozy. This worried me a bit; because I didn't know why I felt like that and had not realized it while I was on the bike. I was well enough hydrated to require a visit to the porta-sans each stop and drinking 40+ oz. per stop (yes, it was THAT hot and sunny). I was eating solid food, and had been taking a few hammergels as well. Also, I'd built up some endurolytes the night before. Seventeen more miles to go. Although I was fully aware of how much I'd underestimated this effort, I also knew I'd finish this thing.

Lunch was delicious, barbecued chicken and beans and all the traditional goodies of orange slices, grapes, bananas and peanut butter sandwiches. I had two helpings of the chicken, as I found I was quite hungry. Feeling better, I took off for the final (and longest) stretch.

Interestingly, I was still riding well. I'd continued to pass people, which surprised me. I passed with caution, as I figured every single person on this century ride was better prepared and better trained than I was. I didn't want to pass someone and annoy them, only to get re-passed as they breezed by to point out I was a complete and UTTER novice. Nonetheless, my strength did not leave me.

At last, I pulled into the parking lot and spotted my car.. and many other cars still there. I eagerly searched for some welcoming committee: ice cold beverages, cold orange slices, live band music, anything. But, no one was there. A few riders came in after me as I put my bike away, and I was glad I'd bothered to pack a cooler in my car and downed yet more Gatorade. Somewhat anti-climactic after finishing my first Century. Nonetheless, I managed a little, "Hell, YES! I did it."

I topped things off when I got home with a 22-minute ice bath. Why 22 minutes you ask? Because I honestly forgot I was in an ice bath while reading a magazine.

The one thing I wished I'd brought more than anything in the world? Lip balm.

Coming Back From The Stress Fracture, Again...

2010-08-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

My leg hurt for nine days. And then it stopped. I didn't run a step for five weeks.

In fact, I could honestly say... I hardly missed running at all in those five weeks. Now, for those of you who know me, that sounds unimaginable. I am an addict after all. But, the first week was spent on vacation in Florida with my father and daughter, and after that, my next four weeks were filled with very consistent, endurance-type cross training. My sixth week introduced short runs after my cross training workouts.

Not a day went by that I wasn't doing a workout of some kind for over an hour. And then I picked up road biking, which held an interesting allure for me--allowing me to go for four hours or more. I'd never gone more than 20 miles on a bike. Ever. For the heck of it, I went 35 miles one day, and the next thing I knew, I'd signed up for a century. Between water workouts, biking (and a few other things, like kayaking), I collapsed into bed each night satisfactorily spent. I simply wasn't full of jittery energy wanting to burn it off with a good run.

This Sunday, I will attempt to complete my first biking century (starting from Longview Lake in Missouri). I don't really know what to expect, but I did manage a 74 mile ride without any issues two weeks ago. I'm oddly excited about it--happily nowhere near as stressed as my first marathon, but edgy and wondering, will I make it? Will it be too hot? What will it be like? Did they HAVE to put the bulk of the hills in the last third of the ride? Will peanut butter and jelly sandwiches taste good at mile 80?

And, of course, Chicago is still on the map in six weeks.

Like Ali In The Jungle

2010-07-19T17:49:00.000-07:00

It's, not, how you start, it's how you finish,

One-and-two-and-three-and, I grunted out my core exercises and thought about my low point. It wasn't when I actually got the news I had another stress fracture; it was hours later, sitting in my hot parked car, in my hot garage, choking back hot tears hearing all the things I didn't want to hear from Vince about Chicago.. and any other high-mileage plans pretty much for the rest of my natural, running life. One stress fracture, you move on. Two, things have to change.

And it's, not, where you're from, it's where you're at,

It didn't seem to matter I'd done everything right. I've been there. Practically an expert on stress fractures, what to do, what not to do. It's almost embarrassing I did it again. But, I guess it doesn't matter. Here I am now. Tibial stress fracture. In the exact. Same. Spot.

Everybody gets knocked down,
Everybody gets knocked down,
How quick are you gonna' get up?
How quick are you gonna' get up?

Well, sometimes it doesn't seem like everybody. There's no normalizing boxing glove to make sure everyone gets a sucker punch every once in a while. But, that's not the point. What am I going to do about it? Recovery is no big deal, I know the drill. I want this to mean something. Ultimately, my stress fracture in 2008 ended up being such a positive experience, I wouldn't take it back. Even if I could.

Like Ali in the jungle,
Like Nelson in jail,
Like Simpson on the mountain,
With odds like that, they were bound to fail

I actually wanted to spend some time feeling sorry for myself. I waited until evening to have a good cry; I earned it. But it never came. I've had worse odds against me.

Like Hannah in the darkness,
Like Adam's in the dark,
Like Ludwig Van, how I loved that man, well the guy went deaf and didn't give a d---, no...

Twenty-three and, twenty-four and, twenty-five and, yes. I have something to prove. This can be ordinary, or I can try to do something highly improbable. Or anything in between. But, it excites me to think.. maybe I can do something extraordinary here. Maybe this.. could be an example of how to get through a serious injury, without laying down and giving up.

It's, not, where you are, It's where you're going,
Where are you going?

Sensible people would take the time off, come back in a few months and consider a 2011 marathon. Or maybe no more marathon training at all. And, no, I haven't run in fifteen days--don't think I'm doing anything stupid here. Chicago is a mere eleven weeks away. But, I have hit a "maintain fitness" routine that is as challenging--or more so--than my running was going. And I am determined--as if lit by fire--to give this my all: Come out across the finish line in Chicago with a PR, a New York qualifying time, and a healed tibia. My own hat trick through sheer determination.

And it's, not, about the things you've done, it's what you're doing, now,
What are you doing, now?

It's a very, very long shot. Mission impossible, really. But what if I can do it?

Post Holiday Blues

2010-07-05T17:40:00.000-07:00

#$@)(-ing great. Marvellous.

I'd been quietly training for the past few weeks, very happy with my progress... avoiding the, "Wow, this feels almost too good to be true..." entry.

Until, it was.

It's been almost two years. I'm wiser this time, though.

I dug through the back of my closet, thinking the F-word more times than I care to count. It's in there somewhere, I know it.

"On the bright side," I pensively thought.. and cursed under my breath, "I live on a lake. It's July. I can do this." And, there it was. Waiting for me.

I kept the original box, I don't know why. I took it out, held it up, yeah.. this is what it's going to be today. And tomorrow. And probably... well, I'm not going there yet.

Now, where's the swimsuit? I'm not doing this in a bikini. Not for an hour. And there it was, under all my running clothes, in the very back, my one piece swim (read: exercise) suit.

I grabbed my kids' boom-box, a towel, a stopwatch, and headed down to the shore. Yes, in the answer to my next question, there was a functioning outlet on the dock. Bonus. This was going to suck for hours on end if I had to do it in silence. I don't listen to the radio, so I found some decent sounding station, tossed the ladder in the water, strapped the purple thing around my waist and started the stop watch.

I looked to my east. This might not last long, and soon, it started to rain. By 11:52 into this gig, it was raining so hard, I couldn't see across the cove. Sheets of rain poured down off the metal dock roof and hammered out the radio on high volume. Perfect. I closed my eyes and kept up the steady rhythm. I imagined myself a drowning cat. I hoped no one was watching.

Surprisingly, this was a great, all-over-body, workout. Note to self: Maybe I should be doing this in the summer even when I'm solid.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention it--my leg is.... hurting. I noticed it now and then Friday-ish, Saturday-ish, nothing problematic. Yesterday (Sunday), it was more evident. By 2.31 miles today, I decided it was best not to push through the pain on the inside of my calf anymore. Oddly, it doesn't hurt on impact (good sign), but does hurt as the foot pronates and is tender to the touch on the lower calf (bad sign).

I saw my doctor today, and we're hoping the insurance company will approve an MRI this week. It will be amazing if they do, since they don't see fit to approve my daughter's emergency appendectomy of a few months ago, but that is another story (I'm bitter). But, I want answers. I can push through the pain, no problem. But, of course, that is the crux of the problem--learning not to push when I really shouldn't. I'm busily trying to convince myself the conservative approach is best.

So, after 2.31 miles on the treadmill, it was 60 minutes of aqua jogging in the lake. We'll see, stay tuned. I'm not about to give up Chicago, just yet. Meanwhile, I'm hoping for a "Get out of jail free" card this time.

Night Flight 5K Race Report

2010-06-13T08:45:00.000-07:00

Pre-Race Friday

The way things came together for me on race day were important in my dealing with the very slow time psychologically. This was, in fact, the slowest 5K I've run in a few years. There may be good reasons for that, but I'm not looking for excuses.

Lately, in fact, I've felt more like re-naming my blog "SheRunsSlow," or "Building a Slower Me," because I swear, that's what it feels like.

I was running my strongest ever in mid-March, when I had my unfortunate round with the aliens. I haven't been back there since. But, hey, it's been three months now, time to HTFU.

But, in the back of my mind, there was a nagging worry. My passage into running is more about a second chance on life after a devastating illness that should have by all means claimed me. Although I will manage this for the rest of my life with medication and routine testing by my doctor, there is always the chance things can take another really bad turn. It is a real fear that haunts me daily.

Ironically, Friday was also the day of my annual check-up (oh, how happy I am that this is only yearly now.. it used to be weekly--or more often in the beginning).

I thought about Lance Armstrong and what he had to overcome, as he chronicled in It's Not About the bike (which I read a couple of years ago). What if.... I am getting sick again? I wrote this in my review of the book back then:

And for me, he's captured why I run: "But now I knew exactly why I was riding: if I could continue to pedal a bike, somehow I wouldn't be so sick." "As long as I could move, I was healthy." "Move. If you can still move, you aren't sick."

I embrace this thought daily; the fear of being sick again, regressing, somehow letting my illness take hold of me and pull me back down means that I run almost every day. I panic when I don't run for this very reason. If I can still run, everything is OK. If I can run faster than last month, I'm getting better... not sicker.

Quite frankly, going into Friday night's race, I was getting worried. But after several hours of testing, I walked out a free woman. In the battery of tests, it was determined that I was as healthy as I'd ever been. I was not--in fact--getting sicker. Far from it. My results were excellent.

Warm-Up

Now onto the race. It was hot. On the way back from my testing, the car thermometer held steady at 98F for most of the drive. It had cooled only to 85F by race start, and I sweated standing still. My two mile warm up at 8:30 PM left me drenched already.

The Start

We lined up, and it was about 400-500 runners--all donning various glow bracelets, necklaces and the like. I had four myself. I picked a spot about six rows in from the front-runners, not really sure what I'd be running. One woman next to me looked me up and down and edged past me quite certain that she belonged further up front than I did. We traded twice, I finally let her have it. I found this particularly amusing, and promised myself to look up her time later. For the record, she ran a 41:01. Glad she got up close.

We took off right on time (9 PM, just after sunset), and began the out and back course. The first quarter mile was a fairly steep downhill, which worried me as I knew what that meant for the last quarter mile (even with my blonde hair, I could do that math). I let my stride relax and lengthen a bit and got a secure position. Then it was uphill a bit, capped with a hairpin turn and then a sharp turn to the right down Douglas Street (where most of the race took place).

Mile 1

I was counting backwards from 24:00 in my head, as that was my best guess as to what I was going to run. But at the 18:00 to go point, and nary a breeze, I was melting. And the second incline of the race began. Not to overstate the hill, but it was there and I was hot. It peaked just past the one mile point. We passed Dairy Queen. I sincerely thought about dropping out and sitting in the deep freezer.

Nearly to the half way, we had two turns through downtown Lees Summit, and they had quite a bit of music and people out cheering us on. That was definitely a highlight for me.

I was pretty sure at this point (having carefully examined the lead pack while they began their trip back down Douglas) that I was the third female overall. Not to say I was running fast, but I decided I really wanted to hang onto that and was willing to suffer a bit to do so. Third sounds worth mentioning. Fourth... well, not so much.

Mile 2

We turned, and just past the third hill (and mile 2) I could hear an adult male speaking to what seemed like a child behind me, "Ok, you ready? We're going to do it now..." And sure enough, a 30-ish male with a young girl in tow surged past me. Hmmm.. I might get kidded [Thanks, Joe, for the perfect term, "kidded!"]. Was I going to let her get third female? No way. I determined above all else, I would not let her get too far in front of me (though she was adorable) and I would outkick her at the end.

Soon, her coach let her go to hold her own and surged up to start talking to another young boy quite a bit far ahead. I slowly reeled her in, and as we began the fourth ascent to the left I surged past her and decided it was just my moment to hang on. I could her her plodding patter behind me.

The Finish

Another hairpin turn and up that last (fifth) hill. I was miserably hot and out of any energy, but I was not going to lose my position, so I didn't let the hill defeat me. At the crest, I sprinted to the finish line. One of the officials called out my bib number as third female, my family was waiting and told me I was third female, so I was pretty confident of this going into the awards ceremony as I had also come to the same conclusion. My final official time was 24:02, not so fast. But hey, I did it.

Final Results and Wrap-Up

As it turns out, I was also not third female overall. Another woman ran a 22:30 for third place, although I never saw her. I saw 1 (19:33 time) and 2 (20:30). Not sure what happened there we all missed her, but oh well. She also didn't show at the awards ceremony (shame on her ;) ).

I did love how I had to push through, the feeling of the race, the excitement building... and the possibility I might do better than I actually did. I resolved to do this more often, as I think good things can be gained from it. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and actually feel quite sharpened as a result. I have no regrets, despite the slow time.

We are runners. A runner who doesn't race is like a musician who doesn't perform. I've become more resolved for my 2011 goals as a result of this, and I will be running a lot of races--good or bad--I'm going to have a blast!

Night Flight Beckons

2010-06-08T12:31:00.000-07:00

I'm doing it. I'm running in a local 5K this Friday Night... partly for fun, partly to get in a good threshold workout situated in the middle of some warm up and cool down miles. I'm pretty sure I'll run 3 miles a lot harder in a 5K race than I would during a workout. And, that's really the point for me right now.

So, in the midst of marathon training, with no speedwork whatsoever, I'm just.. going .. to do it. And I'm going to live with whatever time I run and realize--flat out--I'm not in 5K shape.

I'm hopeful the moon and stars will be out, the luminaries enchanting.. and good fun is had by all. Stay tuned ...

Expectations -or- Why Don't I Run More Races?

2010-05-24T15:25:00.000-07:00

It's a funny thing.. there was a time when I signed up for and ran races just for the thrill of it. I didn't care how I did, it didn't mean anything to me. I cherished the experience of a newbie runner, trotting along side 600 or 6,000 other runners somewhere in the middle.. just soaking in the experience, and treasuring the fact that I felt "normal." If someone handed out a flyer at a race for another one next weekend... I'd seriously consider going. "Why not? This running thing is a blast!

Now, races must be carefully planned out. Goals set. Training executed. Race plans carefully crafted. Strategies read and re-read. Past winners' times reviewed. A race is now an "Event!"

Now, sadly I see these signs for local 5Ks or 4 milers, or whatever popping up all over the place. Midnight races, firecracker races, you name it. My kids see the signs, too. "Why don't you run in this race?" And I realize, that if I haven't trained for the event, then, I can't live up to some "personal expectations." So, the race comes and goes. And I don't run in it. And I suddenly think maybe I'm missing out on something. When exactly did this happen?

Wouldn't it be fun if you could register as running a "training run" or a "pacer" or some other designee other than "competitive?" I don't know why it bothers me, but I always think, well, if I just run xyz race in the middle of training for something else, then, it will just be a run. And then I'd be worried when people looked up my time they'd say, "Oh, wow, she was two minutes off her 5K time from last year." Even though they probably wouldn't and this is all in my head...

Somehow, I feel like doing a race "for fun" is just largely out of the question. I'm imprisoned by the fact that every race must have a purpose; a goal. But I do realize worrying about my expectations--or everyone else's (which probably don't even exist)--is really superfluous. I just need to let go of my competitiveness sometimes.

Do any of you who have raced for awhile get hung up on just running in some local races for fun?

20 Things To Make Your Running Better Right Now!

2010-05-05T09:50:00.000-07:00

There are times as runner we may reach a plateau or place of indifference in our running--or at least some of our fresh motivation might wane. I've struggled with that myself off and on over the past training season, I thought about ideas to share to help you refresh, renew.. and run better.. right now!

1. Run with someone a little slower. Make a personal connection with someone who was where you once were. You just might make a difference in your life in sharing some of your successes and how you got there. Besides, running is the coolest hobby on the planet, right? Share it. You just might learn something too.

2. Take Vitamin D. Lately it seems every other health article I read debunks taking vitamin supplements. But yet every one of them seem to conclude that if there is one vitamin worth taking (and I wrote about it a few months ago), it's Vitamin D.

3. Run with someone a little faster. Rather obvious, but don't discount a little pushing of yourself with a slightly faster runner once in a while. I owe several of my running pals for dragging me a bit faster than I wanted to go. Just enough that I could. And I became a better, stronger runner as a result.

4. Record your runs. If you don't write down a little bit about each run, it's hard to know your progress and make decisions about your training. Not every run will be great, and not every run will feel terrible. Write down anything significant: where you ran, the terrain, who you ran with, any important diet changes, time of day, energy level, weather. If you have a lousy run or streak of lousy runs, go back 21 days and read what you've been doing. If you've been pushing too hard, it may be why you are out of energy. If you had a sore throat last week, your body might be fighting something. Most of your "why me" running questions can be answered in your 21-day look-back.

5. Encourage an injured runner. Very few of us have risen to our current running status without a few hard bumps along the way. Injuries, sickness, some preventable, some not, are all part of growing up as a runner. If you know a faithful runner who is injured, they could probably use a boost. Offer to go for a bike ride or coffee or lunch. There's really nothing worse than not being able to run if you are a runner. (See #20.)

6. Fuel your runs. Eat a healthy breakfast with some carbs and some protein. I've been running a few years, and I still sometimes slip out for a run without eating. I just forget to eat, and then at the last minute I'm almost out of time, and so I head out anyway. More often than not, I end up bonking and having a crappy run. Have something quick on hand, but a bagel with peanut butter, or instant oatmeal with some fruit are good, quick choices. If you're struggling with a few extra pounds, pick up Eat This and Not That for some simple swap outs to help you eat better on the run.

7. Read a good book about running. Find a highly motivating book about running. My all time favorite is Once A Runner by John L. Parker. If you've read it recently, give Bart Yasso's My Life On The Run, Christopher McDougall's Born to Run, or Dean Karnazes' 50/50: Secrets I learned Running 50 Marathons in 50 Days a try. Stimulating your mind about inspiring running stories can give you positive reflections while you run.

8. Race a new distance. My first "race" was a 5K, where I became absolutely hooked on running. But, to be fair, my first several 5Ks were taken in with the amazement I could actually run 3.1 miles without stopping and were all about completing the event and surviving the finish line--not dead last. Eventually, I worked my way up to the marathon, where I spend most of my training focus now. Last year, I took on the 5K with some aggressive (for me) goals to actually race this distance as hard as I could and train for it specifically. It broke up my training, made running fiercely interesting again (the training is so different) and ultimately made me a better marathoner.

9. Run at a different time. Always an early morning runner? Give a nice run at sunset a try. Watching the sun slip behind the trees and possibly even the moon rise and feel the heat of the day melt away can be a beautiful experience. Always running when you get home from work? Set out at dawn and watch the sun rise.

10. Skip the Garmin. As disciplined runners, we like to record and measure every step. How fast did I run that loop this time? But sometimes, it's better to just let go. The Garmin (or other training watch / footpod) can be a ruler with which you end up beating yourself. For your easy and recovery days, just go out there and run a familiar route and distance, but don't bring the Garmin. Don't even try to fool yourself that you'll only show elapsed distance, because later you will go and judge yourself on the pace. Remember what got you into running the first time. Enjoy the freedom a couple of times per week.

11. Lose the headphones. Amazing I'd come out with this one, as I am an avid iPod user for most of my training runs. I used to avoid races that didn't allow them. But now, you'd never catch me racing with an iPod, it disrupts my concentration and dilutes the racing and social experience. But every once in a while, go hit a trail in the early morning, or some other interesting route and just listen to the beauty of nature. Hear yourself breathe; your footfalls hit the ground; the birds singing; the breeze whispering. It can not only enrich your run, but enrich your life.

12. Striders. Not to be missed, striders are a great way to introduce some fast running into your training program. As noted in this article from Running Times, "By doing striders, you’ll tend to improve your running technique and posture at all speeds and may improve your running economy." Striders are 20 seconds or so of relaxed running at about 90% speed. Tack them onto the end of an easy run a couple of times per week.

13. Find a new trail. Trails abound in the U.S., and chances are, there's one within driving distance of you. During a recent visit to a Nature Conservatory near my home, I picked up a hiking trails book in the gift shop. I instantly discovered four brand new trails that I never knew existed within a 30 minute drive. I now frequent one of the loops. If you've already scouted out every trail nearby, expand your net. Put together a couple of your best running buds, and go for a longer drive some weekend or Holiday.

14. Run your easy days easy. This is a less obvious fact that I struggled with when I first became serious about running. This Running Tips site said it better than I could: "make your hard days as hard as possible and your easy days as easy as possible." The idea is that if your easy days are taking away from your hard days, you will merely run mediocre every day and not do the work necessary to become faster. It is the hard workouts that make you a faster runner, not the easy ones.

15. Sponsor a charity runner. Surely, one of your running buddies, co-workers, family members or friends will be running a race on behalf of a charity. This is a great opportunity to encourage another runner, and make you feel good about running in the process. Don't just write a check, be interactive. Ask about their training progress. Find out how they did when they finished. Share in their joy when you congratulate them for sticking to a goal, finishing it, and benefiting others in the process.

16. Run More. While this may not apply to everyone, if you are running more than forty percent of your weekly mileage in your long run, or if you are running less than forty miles per week, you could well benefit from running more miles. I am barraged on a daily basis with "run less, run faster" dogma, but as a general rule, if you want to be better at something, you do more of it (to a point of course). Running more miles can increase your fitness and efficiency and improve your form. Pete Pfitzinger covers this topic well, along with some tempered advice on how to safely increase your mileage. Greg McMillan writes about how increasing mileage strategically can help you by Fixing the [Late Marathon] Fade.

17. Volunteer at a local race. Face it--races wouldn't happen if it weren't for volunteers. What better way to stay motivated and get excited about running than handing water, sports drink, etc. out to hundreds if not thousands of runners in a local race? Fast or slow, it's inspiring to watch and help others. And bring your child with you--get them excited about running too.

18. Train Core. OK, I admit it. I'm a runner and I hate strength training. It's just a chore to me, and often find it hard to get motivated to do anything besides run. However, one area I never neglect is my core. I even have a secret sign [maybe some day I'll confess to what it says] printed above my ab bench to remind me how important core is. "The stronger your core, the more solid you are as you hit the ground," explains Jack Daniels, Ph.D., former exercise physiologist for the Nike Farm Team and now with Run SMART (where I train under Vince Sherry). "That reduces your need for unnecessary stabilization, and allows you to be a more economical runner." Check out the rest of this Runner's World article about core strengthening for runners.

19. Listen to your body. Last weekend, I had seven miles on my schedule but within two I found myself distracted, feeling lousy, stressed about finishing in time for my next appointment and generally having a really crappy run. I decided to end the run and go for seven the next day. I was rewarded the following day with one of the best runs I've had in a while--I felt great and celebrated the choice I'd made to listen. Know your body as a runner; trust it. Know the difference between when to push hard--and when to back off. Don't insist on finishing a terrible run just because you are a robot and it's on your schedule.

20. Give thanks that you can run. I saved this one for last because it's all too often we get so hung up on our goals, that we simply forget what a blessing it is to be able to get out there and run. Many of us run because we overcame something else. There's quite possibly a good reason you are a runner, because if you weren't, you'd be something else. Something less. For me, running gave me a new, healthy life I never expected. There was a time when I couldn't read a bed time story to my kids from a chair without being out of breath. And in the past twelve months, I qualified for and completed the Boston Marathon. So, if your running isn't perfect, and you feel like you are in a rut, wondering why you are doing this day after day--stop for a minute. Rejoice that you can run.

114th Boston Marathon Race Report

2010-04-20T15:31:00.001-07:00

When I crossed the finish line of my first marathon in March 2007, I began to dream of someday qualifying for Boston. Nearly three years and many obstacles later, I arrived in Boston as a qualified marathoner for the 114th running of the Boston Marathon.

I endured three days of miserable, dreary, windy, cold rain. I thought it would never end. My hotel room did not have a window, and the last sight I had the night before Marathon Monday was more rain. I couldn't imagine Boston had any other weather, and expected it to be gloomy and raining again in the morning.

But I woke exactly one minute before my alarm, arousing from a dream that I was looking at the downtown Boston skyline with the bluest of skies. I checked the weather online; my prescient dream had come true: it would be bright and sunny at the start. I slathered on sunscreen well before 6 AM. Odd that I have to be up so early for a 10:30 AM race start.

Packing a few snacks and hand warmers tucked in my gloves, I arrived in Boston Common, to begin the trek to the starting line. Conveniently, Patriots' Day is a school holiday in Boston, availing the B.A.A. the use of 500 school busses for this important shuttling of all of the athletes to the start in Hopkinton. Shortly after 6:30 AM, I'd boarded a bus and became part of a magnificent, slow caravan of buses filled with marathon stories of past and present. I looked down at cars, and they looked up at us. They knew why we were there. My anticipation began to build.

I stepped off the bus in Athletes Village at precisely 8:30 AM. I found my way to a large tent providing some cover from the bitter cold. It was evident this was a race favoring the wisdom of past Boston participants. The experienced (or at least well-advised) runners were sitting comfortably on plastic blankets, sleeping bags and blow up pool rafts. I huddled up on the cold wet ground, snacked on a bagel and chips and shivered bitterly.

It was announced there would be an F-15 flyover at 9:50 AM, 10 minutes before the Wave 1 start scheduled for 10 AM. I was in the second corral.. err.. I was supposed to be in the second corral for Wave 2 at 10:30, but we'll get to that in a minute :-). We heard them first, and sure enough, two F-15s zoomed over and it was worth bracing myself outside the tent for even more intense shivering for the few minutes to see them roar by. They crossed the finish line in Boston in four minutes.

I delayed my departure from Athletes Village as long as I thought practical, as I was miserably cold. I didn't want to stand unprotected in the starting corral. So, at 10:05 AM, with a 0.7 mile walk, I joined the traffic flow and headed for the starting line. I consumed my first vanilla Hammergel along the way. Although we were not moving quickly, at first I was not too concerned until I started hearing the countdown to the starting gun. The four last corrals were to the left and mine was to be the second from the front… many corrals down and to the right. Before I'd barely turned the corner I heard 30 seconds to go. I would never make it, I wasn't even close. I quickly darted into the corral on my immediate left, missing the corral seeding that I had earned. I'd had this pre-race nightmare before, my second actual dream to come true for the day. But as I'd rationalized in my dreams past, this was chip timing, so the worst that would happen is I'd have to work my way through the slower runners.

We had run for what seemed like awhile before we finally crossed the start line, and immediately I was struck by how warm it was and I was thirsty. I tossed my gloves and peeled off my arm-warmers. It was well-published that there would be water and Gatorade at every mile and at the finish. I was on the far left of the queue, having weaved through many, many slower runners and waited for the first mile mark, eager for a cool sip. I was simply parched. The first mile came and went, a steep downhill for most of it, and then our first hill. No water. The second mile came and went, again, no water. I began to panic. Then, at last up and beyond, there was water! But, of course, it was on the far right. I began to work my way over, but unlike Chicago where the tables went on forever, these tables were short and by the time I'd gotten to the right, I was past the water station. Uh-oh. I was really, really thirsty. I didn't know what to do, but I figured I was an expert on running dry, so I'd tough it out and hang in there for another two miles. Then, up ahead, there was another table. Oh, if only I'd known somehow it was going to be on both sides! I weaved to the left again, and this time got a huge cup of Gatorade.

I crossed the first 5K, and saw that my Garmin was already way ahead of the mile markers in elapsed distance. I was paying the price in distance for so much weaving. This was my own fault; for missing the start and not knowing in advance about the placement of the water stations. I'll know better next time.

The miles were clicking by easily, and I felt very good. I'd missed most of my splits, and still don't know what they were, but I'd seen a few around the low 8s, which seemed comfy and fine. Since I didn't have a pace band or any particular goal in mind (except, seemingly, break 4 hours and maybe break 3:58 if things went really, really well), I didn't really know what the elapsed time and the mile marks meant. So, I pressed on happily. I planned to do only one thing today: My Best. Whatever that was. I knew I'd "feel" what that was, even if i couldn't define it. I would carefully spend everything I had, and I wouldn't quit.

I took the second gel around the 10K mark in Framingham. That would be my last gel. (I carried three more with me, but they were never to be touched.) I was feeling fantastic. Really, ridiculously good. It was freeing to not worry about my pace and just run what felt right.

At mile 12, I could hear the beginning of the girls of Wellesley College. They delivered as promised! I kept to the left, but soaked in the energy. Majors in kissing were boasted, shrieks abounded in good fun. I saw no evidence of actual marathon-runner kissing, but this section indeed was a highlight of the course.

My half way point time was 1:48:15 I have been told, and I was still feeling really, really good--excited that the first half was behind me, and getting concerned, knowing that in a little over three miles, Newton waited.

Just before mile 15 I felt my stomach churn and cramp. The lower not-so-good kind. I looked urgently for porta-potty, saw two and took a detour. I stopped, but there were already a couple of people standing there and the toilets were occupied. Why, I do not know, but I turned back to running and hoped to find some other porta-potty. Which didn't turn up very quickly, much to my disappointment. This was going to have to be addressed. Soon.

We then began the steep descent into Newton Falls, and for the first time my quads started to hurt and really feel the downhill. As I reach the very bottom, there were four porta-potties to the left and I had no choice. I stopped. And waited. It wasn't too long, they were in a hurry to get back to running, but this whole thing definitely cost me at least two to three minutes.

The door slammed behind me and I took off running the first hill of Newton. Actual bathroom emergency or convenient excuse to rest before the Newton Hills, you decide ;-). The hill begins on a bridge, and it was here the wind really picked up. I could hear it whistling over the river and over the bridge. The gust was so strong, I felt buffeted by it, and even though I'd taken care of business, I was never quite right from here on. I was slightly nauseated, my stomach cramped off and on and I was feeling my quads. I was concerned that the wind would be with us for the rest of the race. More or less it was, but not as bad as it was on that bridge.

The next stretch was hard for me as I kept expecting to see the Fire Station and make the sharp right turn and start up the second hill. It was a longer stretch with a few teaser inclines and I was fooled more than once about the start of the second hill. As a result, with two more major hills to go, this hill was mentally the hardest for me. I took it lightly up the hill, maintaining my foot turnover, but keeping my stride light and easy. I reminded myself not to charge the hills. Many people were walking or going too slow. I passed and was passed on the hills, but my pace was steady and the effort as even as I could make it.

When I had eight miles to go I told myself I could briskly walk it in and make it to the finish in roughly two hours. This was a tempting prospect. I considered it here, and then again at four miles to go.

The third and penultimate hill in Newton was unremarkable. I was waiting for the crown jewel. I hoped my stomach wasn't going to blow. It seemed to be hanging on ok, not great. I saw a few runners off to the side throwing up or stretching out a cramp. I was happy not to be among them and hoped to keep it that way. A real case of "There but for the grace of God go I..."

Mile 20 was demoralizing. My watch read 20.3 at this point and I knew I still had 10K and Heartbreak Hill to go. I wanted to stop. Really. But I knew that wouldn't be "My Best."

And then, there it was. I crossed over Read Street and Heartbreak Hill was waiting for me. A female news reporter about a 100 yards up the hill made a move towards me with her microphone and expectantly asked, "How's it feeling out there today?" What could I say? I lied, feigning more energy than I had, flashed a smile, "It's Awesome!" What would you have said? Somehow, that actually gave me a bit of energy. It was what I needed.

There is only one way to climb Heartbreak Hill… one light running step at a time. I used a little assist from the arms. Altogether, it's really not that bad of a hill. Its location is what makes it unfortunate. I've run steeper hills. I've run longer hills. This hill is cruelly located, seemingly crafted to make it appear and feel three times its actual size. At last, this was behind me and I had not walked one step. The descent into Boston College began and I was overjoyed. I slipped in behind a male runner with a black T-Shirt declaring, "Life Is Simple." I thought, yes, at this moment, life has boiled down to its simplest. Keep going. Don't give up. Do. Your. Best.

By now, though, my quads were done. I never thought I'd actually say this… but I begged for mercy: no more downhills--I pleaded in earnest. Flat was most preferable but up actually hurt less than down at this point. Before the race was over, I'd be granted plenty of all three.

I waited and waited to see the Citgo sign. It had to be coming up soon. Every little rise and fall, I thought it would peek out somewhere. Eventually, it did and I knew it really wasn't that much farther to go.

Somewhere around this point I heard my name shouted, "Alex, Alex!" And I turned and looked. I thought, "Are they calling for me? Or some other Alex?" At last I recognized my co-worker from the Boston Office, Mike, his wife and possibly one other person. I was slightly delirious so forgive me if I don't the third person nailed! What a treat that was!

There is a little hill around the 25 mile point. I was pleased to have it behind me. From the "Mile to go" sign, I began counting backwards from 100 and was sure to spend every penny I had left in my body. I was surprised how much I really had and I poured it out. I looked down at my watch for the first time since the half way point, and it read 3:40. I was shocked. I seriously had no idea this was the kind of pace I was on. I had kissed any hope of a decent time away back in Newton Falls.

The final half mile of the marathon came after a right and left turn, and I could see the finish line and the bleachers up ahead. I remember this finishing charge more than any marathon (or race) I've ever done. My emotions overwhelmed me, as many years of cumulative training and many obstacles overcome came down to this one moment. "You've [expletive deleted] done it. You've earned it, and you've done it." I surged to the finish line, and crossed both mats before I stopped and punched my watch. My chest swelled and I fought back tears. I've heard my final official finishing time was 3:46:34. I haven't looked online yet, but I will soon! I will also post pictures as soon as they are available.

Thanks so much to everyone who has encouraged me through this journey. And if you are reading this, and thinking about trying to qualify for Boston and run it--let me tell you two things: 1) Do it. 2) It's worth it!

Final Thoughts Before Boston

2010-04-14T11:21:00.000-07:00

At last, after the adventures of campylobacter, which kept me from peaking; my eight-year-old daughter needing emergency surgery this past weekend, which kept me from topping off my last few runs and required 40+ hours of no sleep and a few pots of coffee; my mind turns to actually preparing for my trip to Boston (rather than crisis management). I enjoyed a perfect racing season for Chicago 2009, but this time, it's been anything but. In fact, I've quipped, "Anything else goes wrong, I won't actually BE at the starting line," in all seriousness.

But that being said, I'm ready to worry about trivial things, like, how do I get to the bus station and what will the weather be? Weather.com promises warmish sunshine, and accuweather.com promises strong winds throughout the race. I'm merely hoping they'll be out of the west!

The course makes me a bit nervous, with plenty of hills, up AND down:

Unlike other marathons, where I watched my mile splits on a Garmin like a hawk, this time around, I might not even wear it. With the hills and no idea what I'm capable of anymore, it will be impossible for me to do any meaningful pacing. Much like my training of the last month, I will simply run this race by feel. I was pretty sure I hit my marathon pace during my 10-miler yesterday. It felt good; steady; sure; right. I just have no idea what that pace was, but I remember how it felt and will seek it.

What does a Boston success look like for me? Well, surely a finisher's medal so that I can proudly wear (and earn) my Official 114th B.A.A. jacket.

The cut-off time is 4:45 PM. So, I have just a hair over six hours to complete the race. I'm in the second corral, wave 2 (starting at 10:30 AM), so a few minutes will pass before I cross over the starting line. If things are going reasonably well, I'd be very happy to break four hours. For reasons of my own, I'd really like to break 3:58, although based on the travails of the last month, that seems a bit stretchy. The stretchiest goal I could possibly imagine at this point is re-qualifying for Boston AT Boston, which requires for me a 3:50:59 (I ran a 3:38:22 in Chicago last year). Though, that seems unlikely.

Mostly, it's a reflection of what really matters. I've already qualified. This is about the ability to let go and enjoy. Although I am a highly driven and disciplined person; I cannot hold myself to a specific standard.

"Success is not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds."
~Orison Swett Marden

Call of Nature Wreaks Havoc on Boston Plans

2010-03-18T06:20:00.001-07:00

Today, I'm going to tell you the story of what I've been doing on my unplanned running hiatus and what that's going to mean to me for Boston. May I suggest this entry is not for the feint of heart. If you are disturbed by bodily fluids or the description of them, you might want to go check out someone else's cool running blog, like my two new favorites runwestchester or Law of Inertia where your time will be better spent. Tune in next week when I plan to begin my crawl back to running.

Saturday, 7 AM, I noted some abdominal pain before my run. But, I didn't worry about it too much, and I cranked out my 14 mile workout anyway. I suffered through more pain than I'd like to admit for the last two miles, but it was tolerable in a way that I wasn't going to quit. When I finished I got caught in the cold rain (38F) and wind, became unusually chilled and started shivering. I had to rush my son to the dentist, so didn't get a chance to do anything other than throw on dry clothes for a couple of hours.

When I got home and showered, I began to feel achy; my skin hurt to touch, and my temperature rang in at 102F. I spent the next 30 hours shivering, practicing 10m sprints to the bathroom to sit or kneel, depending on the prioritized urgency, and back down to the floor by the fire (the bed was at a dizzying height). My abdomen wrung itself painfully, and I decided an alien had somehow burrowed inside. I considered naming it. I did not sleep.

By Sunday evening, I was unceremoniously expelled from the house and driven to the ER. Within five minutes, I was a great patient, having puked, given an impromptu stool sample, checked in with a 102 fever and already given up more traditional urine and blood samples. Before too long, they gave me something in the i.v. to sedate the alien living within me, and as if hit with a tranquilizer dart--he stopped writhing before the injection was even finished. He slept for the next eight hours. Eventually, I was told I had the stomach virus that was going around, go home, drink fluids, sign here____, here____ and here____; there's the door.

I didn't sleep much, and within a couple of hours Mr. Alien woke up. As did the fever and all of the other fun involuntary expulsions of fluid. All night long. It was just a virus. I would eventually stop this and get better. But the pain increased its tremor. At last, I did what any strong willed runner and Jack Bauer fan would do. I curled up into a fetal position and screamed in agony. For five hours. My kids came up and shut my door.

Five hours came and went; I ran to the bathroom no less than thirty times. So much for "you'll feel better soon." And then things were about to change dramatically. This time, I went, and eased myself up after emptying my bowels yet AGAIN, and the bowl was filled with blood. Finally! A symptom commensurate with my pain! Unfamiliar with such a shocking symptom (it definitely wasn't on the "get better soon" list), I thought I'm probably going to die.

I tried to call my doctor, but it was 11:45 AM. They were out to lunch and wouldn't return until 1 PM. I laid down and cried. Summoned by the alien daemon in my bowels, I got up again. And more blood. Finally got through to the doctor on call who suggested I either come in "maybe it's hemorrhoids from all that activity down there," or go to the ER again. I'm like, seriously!? Maybe he wasn't listening. This was nothing BUT blood. And a lot of it. I went to the ER.

Most of what happened next I really don't remember, but the next memory I do have is a 4th year medical student (whom I'd met), a doctor (whom I had not met), and two nurses came in. They all looked at me, "Well, the good news is, your results are in from the samples we took last night. You have campylobacter, and it's turned to dysentery." And then the ER doc listens carefully to my gut, chuckles and exclaims, "Wow, listen to those guys banging around in there." So, it wasn't an alien. It was alienS.

More IV drugs, some good ones this time.. and I faded in and out. Everyone left me alone with the lights out. Somehow they knew I wouldn't be needing company. My aliens were quieted. Angels fluttered, harps strummed. I was pain free for hours. Then, it was time to go home.

The good news was, I really wasn't in pain anymore (this was controlled by antispasmodic drugs). The bad news was, I was losing a lot of blood. I actually fell asleep for the longest period in this ordeal, about three hours, and woke up with the distinct sensation of feeling wet. I looked down. Oh, yeah, you betcha. I was soaked in blood. I had fallen asleep on my back, and it just dripped out for three hours. Nothing like a little internal bleeding to keep things interesting.

At that point, having already passed blood well over a dozen times (and who knows how many millions of aliens) in the previous six hours, I thought dying was a real possibility. I got up, put my sheets in the washer and began to tidy the bedroom. If i was going to die, my bedroom would not be embarrassingly messy. When you call 9-1-1 around here, the entire local city government comes by land and by boat and they all cram into your bedroom, no matter how tiny (yes, i know this from personal experience, though not for myself, fortunately).

I continued to "pass blood," which was my new pseudo medical term that had replaced "bowel movement" and "diarrhea." Nothing solid had made it past my stomach in four days. I was actually giving up hope. I didn't want to go back to the ER, I wanted to talk about blood and aliens in my belly and nothing else. I wanted someone tell me this was going to end. At 4 AM I talk to the Dr, and I am to get an early morning appointment (really? have you tried calling to get an appointment at 9 AM when the phones open?).

My doctor listens to the whole story. And proceeds to say, "Well, after some more blood work, we're going to give you a rectal to see if there's any blood in there." Ummmm WTH?! Are you KIDDING me? Did you just listen to ANYTHING I said? He got a fax of all my records from the hospital and proceeded to tell me everything I already knew and told him. Oh brother. Apparently you only needed to read and not listen to graduate from medical school where he went.

And then suddenly, twelve hours later, without warning… the bleeding stopped. I realized I was, in fact, going to live. The aliens had officially lost. And I began to think about what was next. That next is getting ready for Boston. Whatever that meant now.

Originally, I'd hoped that Boston would be a near PR race (after all, I was fitter than I was for Chicago, but of course, the hills make it much tougher). But now with only four weeks to go--and having missed a week already--I know that's no longer on the menu. I will not be capable of any even moderate workouts before the race.

It's one of the more intriguing things about the marathon. To do spectacularly well for yourself, everything must come together. The weather, the course, the travel, your health, your training, your job, your family. And all over time. It is an investment, as this was for me. I'd given up a lot to do my very best in Boston this year. And simply qualifying for Boston was two serious years in the making; more than that of dreaming.

But, while the high ace may have slipped from my hands, I still have other cards I can choose. One of them is to run Boston with significantly curtailed goals. I need to recover and be 100 percent healthy most importantly. But, I can still go out and cruise to a comfy four plus hours.. or whatever I am capable of doing that day. And it's not that I am not taking the marathon seriously. It will be simply the best I can do under the last minute circumstances I am given.

Boston is my celebration race. I will ensure I go and relish the moment for all its worth. I do deserve to be there; I will finish proudly. I qualified handily. I did put in my time for this race. But, as it happens, this year did not come together for me through no fault of my own. Winning does not happen in just one event, but it's in being a winner, and doing what a winner does even when thrown a curve ball. There's always next year, and there's also Chicago in the fall. Boston this year will simply be enjoyed. And I will feel good about it.

20 Miles in The Mud

2010-03-06T11:24:00.001-08:00

You have to read yesterday's Buckeyeoutdoors entry entry to fully appreciate what it was like to turn my alarm off at 5:45 AM, roll over to the side of the bed and stand up. I was so out of it, my alarm had actually reached the second stage of urgent beeping. I'd have rolled over and gone back to sleep, but I promised to meet Travis, so somehow, I found the direction of up--which was notably against the pull of gravity and my beckoning pillow.

I stood testily. Everything hurt. Things I didn't even know I'd hurt yesterday complained. I had scratches and deep bruises on my arm I'd never noticed yesterday. My back, neck and shoulders groaned in rhythm. I felt like I'd been in a car wreck. And oh yes, my poor right glute (point of most severe impact) was very, very unhappy. I even had a bruise on my left side. No matter. I would run today. Tempted to take some Ibuprofen or Tylenol to ease my aches, I instead decided it was best to take the run undiluted. Those things could wait.

We planned this in four-mile legs, leaving my car in one spot and driving Travis' car to another location four miles away. He would run four of the segments, finishing at his car, and I would run five. Lucky for me, Travis had a 50K in his legs from six days ago, so that slowed him down.

Temps at the start were 39F, and we took off. The first mile was slow, 9-ish and my glute complained rather loudly. I wondered how I would do nineteen more of these. I did not feel great for the first leg, and was happy to take a Gatorade break and went ahead and took a gel. Sixteen more miles to go. Thank goodness our pace naturally quickened, although not where I wanted it to be. The trail was notably muddy, and was at times difficult to run due to deep bike tire grooves and extremely sloppy segments. (The picture isn't of LBTT, but a reasonable facsimile of the muddiness and the trail.)

The second leg was my best leg, and the only time I can claim that I felt really good on this run. My glute had quieted down a bit; and my other glute was aching a little in harmony... so it was a nice balance. We noticed some wind coming up this way, nothing terrible, but enough to recall a particular run some months back on the same trail when it was very windy. Right before we finished the eighth mile, a man was walking his smallish dog on the trail without a leash, and it ran after me and jumped on me, putting muddy pawprints all the way up to my chest. Glad it wasn't barking or biting, but seriously. Ever heard of a leash?

The third leg was the worst for me. I was in the middle of my run, and knew I still had two more legs to go. Oddly, the wind shifted, and we both noted outloud, "Weren't we running into the wind going the opposite direction last time?"

At last the final leg for Travis, and the penultimate one for me as we turned around. At least the wind stayed shifted, and this was an easier leg. I felt the mileage, knew this wasn't going to be my best 20-miler ever, but still it was going to be solid enough. There were no real issues, and I would finish just fine. Interestingly, the trail seemed to get sloppier and muddier with each pass. Maybe because of the additional melting that was going on, or maybe because of the heavy foot and bike traffic. Travis kicked it in with a 7:20 for the sixteenth mile, and I ran an 8:11. Thanks, Travis--my run sucked less because I had company for most of it.

My final leg, now solo, was about running back into the wind, which seemed to be picking up, slogging through more mud and feeling excessively warm as the sun came out from behind a curtain of clouds for the first time all morning. I imagined myself as a plant initiating photosynthesis, deriving energy from mere sunlight. I plugged in my iPod, and really didn't care about pace, I just wanted to finish. Nothing hurt, but everything hurt in the way only a runner on a long run can understand. I'd planned well, I had no rubs or concerns. My energy wasn't a problem, other than feeling somewhat blah for the whole run--but it was adequate. The effort seemed a bit harder than it should have, and the mud piled up on my shoes and the back of my legs. There were a few people ahead of me from other groups on this last section, and I spent my time in this leg planning to pass each of them and enjoying picking them off one by one. It was the only amusement I had. My legs felt strong. Eventually, it was over. As I got in my car, the temperature read 61 F, which is a very quick warm up for three hours--no wonder I was feeling hot! The best news of all, is Spring is nearly here.

Have Athletes Reached Their Limits?

2010-02-21T11:04:00.000-08:00

On page A12 of today's Kansas City Star (sourced from the Los Angeles Times), I read with interest the article entitled, "How many more records can athletes break?" subtitled, "Not many, say scientists who believe humans have reached the peak of athletic achievement." (I am unable to find the article online, or I would link it here.)

The story was introduced by yet another track and field winner who was stripped of a previously earned gold medal after it was discovered she "admitted to using a performance enhancing drug." It was explained, "..to many sports scientists, the news was evidence of a broader trend. They believe that human athletic performance has peaked, and only cheating or technological advances will result in a rash of new world records."

"A French researcher who analyzed a century's worth of world records concluded in a recent paper that the peak of athletic achievement was reached in 1988. Eleven world records were broken that year in track and field. Seven of them still stand... [I]n the 1990s we started to see a decrease in performance. Now, there are a lot of events that don't show any progression at all." The article explains that the less mature winter sports will still see a rise, and the spike in swimming records around 2000 were due to the introduction of new high-tech swimsuits.

The concern here is that "the public thinks that athletes will get better and better. That's why they tune in to watch. I don't know if people realize that athletes can't keep improvement at the rates they have been," explained Conrad Earnest, director of exercise biology at Pennington Biomedical Research Center in Baton Rouge, LA.

Now, that's an interesting point for runners. Mostly, just for us to ponder, as we won't be anywhere near world record breaking, nor do we care. (But, hey, if you are world record contender, let me welcome you to my blog, thanks for stopping by!) I do wonder how much of today's superior running achievements are due to hard work and the gift of genetics, versus how much doping or other banned substances are used to shave a few milliseconds? And, do people really watch these events to behold a world record? Or do they watch for the drama of a good foot race? What if there are no "natural" (read: no illegal performance enhancing drugs or doping) marathons faster than Haile's 2:03:59 set in Berlin a little over a year ago? Does it matter? Tell me what you think.

Jogging in the Snow

2010-02-14T06:22:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Rick, for pointing this tidbit out: "There's snow on the ground in all 50 states." I had 17 miles to run yesterday, and every option I clicked off sounded less desirable than the first. All the trail systems were snow covered, and I was tired of my hilly lake roads and I've had enough miles on the treadmill. So, I took a risk, and drove out to Longview Lake, planning on a central entrance at Shelter House 11, going for three segments, 6 miles south, 6 miles north and 5 miles whichever way I wanted to repeat.

My plans came to a screeching halt when all the gates were locked and barred. "Hmmph," I thought, "This place must be run by picnickers, not runners." I'd chosen Longview as it has the unique attribute of a decent trail system that is all paved (read: not mushy / muddy, as I knew every other option would be). I drove up to the north end, and found I could park and start at that entrance. Which meant I'd need to run the same segment three times out and back, ah well.

I hadn't gone far before I realized it wasn't going to be my day. Within a half mile, I had to tread over a long stretch of icy, slippery snow. Plus, my energy level didn't seem to be where I wanted it. By two and a half miles, I realized it was a bit breezier than I expected and had a few more inclines than I recalled, and the snow patches were becoming more and more frequent. I seriously considered turning around and attempting the run tomorrow. Somewhere else. Any other day. I wanted to give up.

As I reached the three mile mark, it was apparent by the snow tracks that fewer people had made it this far south (would require a total of six miles to return to their cars at the far north end), and I knew if I turned around at this point, I probably wasn't going to complete the run. So, I pressed on, and the snowy patches increased and the previous footsteps decreased and I was going farther and farther from my car. By the time I'd passed four and a half miles, I found I was actually feeling better; I seemed to have found fuel, but the slipping and sliding was an ongoing consideration. While I've complained about the poor condition of the cracked and broken asphalt trail here before, it's hard to whine about that when you can't even see it beneath the slushy, slippery white stuff. I was constantly sliding, losing my footing and trying not to fall.

As I crossed over mile five, I knew that at least if I turned around here, I'd only have seven to go when I returned to my car for refreshments. And that's what I should have done. But, six miles out and back sounded so much better, I'd only have five total left to do. By this point, no one had hit the trail, and with the additional tree covering, I was now completely running in undisturbed, crunchy snow about 3-4" deep. "Jogging in the snow," I pondered. Pleased to have had my gaiters on, as it largely prevented snow from working its way into my shoes. The good news was--I wasn't slipping anymore. The bad news--this was wearing me out. I almost turned around at five and a half miles (which would have left me six more to complete upon return to the car), but pressed on. I finished the six out and back.

As I turned around, I realized how thirsty I was, and how this was going to be a long trek back to the car. My two miles of "jogging in the snow" were 9:30 and 9:33, respectively. Although slow, they were quite draining--and required more work than the faster miles. I didn't really care too much about my pace on the way back, but decided to kick it in as best I could for the last mile back to the car. It netted me something the 8:10s, I didn't quite grab the number and my laps failed at that point on the Garmin. Not bad, but I did lightly twist my ankle booking it over the ice at one point.

Twelve miles down, I drained an entire Gatorade bottle on the spot I was so thirsty. I really didn't feel like the remaining five. Maybe I should just get in the car and finish it on the treadmill. Then I realized how ridiculous that sounded. I pressed on, talking myself through various multiples of the distance I had remaining. Although my laps weren't working on the Garmin, the time I had remaining for the five miles indicated I'd managed about an 8:15 pace for these miles. I finished in exactly 2:30, start to finish, which was truly amazing for the conditions. It wasn't that fast, but definitely the kind of run that will build strength and stability for future runs to come.

This morning, I am feeling fine--nothing hurts. But last night, my ankles were pretty tired.

2010 Groundhog 5K

2010-01-31T10:57:00.000-08:00

A brisk walk as my whole family traipsed out... and we nearly got arrested for crossing the rail road tracks at the wrong spot. I wasn't sure if I should hold my knuckles out to get rapped with a ruler or go put my nose in the corner for ten minutes after that scolding. Arriving very early, we sat around for some time before I started my warm up.

Positioned close to the finish line, we could see our breath and it was quite chilly. I had a hard time warming up quickly enough to strip down to my racing outfit. Finally, during my warm-up I jogged by the countdown clock and it read 3:21 to go to race start. I thought, "Crap! Every nightmare I have of the race starting without me has just come true!" I picked up the pace to get into the sea of runners, and had to fight hard to carve a path past hundreds of runners to get up to where I wanted. I was sure the gun was going to go off any second.

And then we stood there... and stood there.. and stood there. And finally, they started talking. Eventually, the national anthem was played, and I actually sung along for the first time during a pre-race ceremony. No gun, just a, "3-2-1-Go!" and we're off.

It was a chaotic start. There were probably 150 runners in front of me at the start, and it was evident that many belonged up there.. but others did not. So, my initial hope of finding the "right" runners to run with for the first mile didn't really come to fruition. It was such a mix of faster and slower runners and then runners who had gone out too fast slowing at about 2-3 minutes into it I had a hard time finding the "right pace," something I desperately needed without a Garmin.

As I crossed the first mile in 6:56, I realized that one of two things had happened. Either the course was slightly altered, or the mile spot had been moved to a different spot. I've run this course four times now (really, six times, as the two 10Ks were the same course twice), and I'm familiar with the first mile mark, which has been consistent every year. So, I'm not sure if the course was a little different in the first mile, or the marker was moved a bit. But, I'm confident of one of the two.

Deep into mile 2 I was confident of my pace (whatever it was, I had no idea of course), and was just biding my time. Really, the course is pretty boring--but that's the beauty of it. Completely predictable. Warm, dark, flat and many, many turns. Both hairpin turns we were able to see the cyclists leading the winners, and that was very exciting to see. Several times I was able to gain on runners, slip by and hold it.

As we entered into the final mile and the final hairpin turn, I saw Melissa Todd, the female winner, and really I heard her first, grunting loudly. Such a dainty little thing, it was good to know that she was suffering up there in the lead. You go girl!

I was relieved as we crossed mile 3, but had somehow missed mile two, so I really didn't know how I was doing until that point. I realized that sub 22:00 was out of the question... but if I hung in there, I would only miss it by a little. My final time was 22:15, which was enough to win my age group (1 / 108, 40-44F). Not quite my time goal, but, really, not bad for where I am now. I didn't train exclusively for this race for an extended period of time and had plenty working against me. I am satisfied, it was a good run. Definitely, one of my favorite races.

Pre Race Jitters

2010-01-30T16:22:00.000-08:00

Yep. It's the night before a race. I feel like I haven't raced in a very long time. Like I don't even know what I am doing.

I'm nervous... it didn't really hit me until I started trying to figure out what I was going to wear. My favorite singlet that looks great at 106# doesn't look so hot at 112#. Whoopsie. I'll keep that in mind for Boston. I have tried on at least twelve combinations in front of a mirror (mistake), settling on a simple Brooks composite that won't draw any attention.

I don't look fast. Not sure why, but I don't. Good that this thing is practically run in the dark. I don't even feel fast.

I need to close my eyes and remind myself I've been running very well. I don't have to look fast to be fast.

But, I am afraid I will be intimidated tomorrow anyway.

*Sigh*

Mostly, no matter what happens, I'm planning on this being the kick start into intense training for Boston, to begin Monday. I look forward to that. I've been a slouch so far. The stress in my personal life is overwhelming, and I will seek the solace in the fitness I will be gaining in the next several weeks. I hope I don't make a fool of myself tomorrow. But, dressed all in black, I can safely slink out if my performance is something in the realm of embarrassing.

Banditing: Should You or Shouldn't You?

2010-01-09T11:26:00.000-08:00

"Running bandits, or miscreants who enter races without paying, are the sweaty wedding crashers of the running world. They are also the scourge of race directors." --Banditing the Chicago Marathon, Chicago tribune, October 13, 2006

"As far as running as a bandit, I highly recommend it. I respect people that put in the dedicated training and qualify, but there are a lot of people out there who don't have the time. I wouldn't recommend doing one cold, but the level of training necessary isn't too arduous. If you think about it, the average fitness walking pace is about 15 minutes per mile. Translated that comes out to about 6.5 hours... I think most people would be able to cover 26.2 miles if they wanted to. Don't let the hype get to you." --Boston Marathon Report - A bandit's take

Well, should you? Or shouldn't you?

A few years ago, as I was coming into being a runner and hungrily dreaming of my first marathon, I heard that someone close to me "just missed running the Boston last year." All but "the last month of training" was completed, but something fell apart in the last minute travel plans. Duly impressed, of course, I thought that this person had qualified and was robbed of the opportunity. A fair assumption on my part anyway. Recently, I discovered the truth--this person's plan was just to bandit the race. Train, buy a plane ticket, get a hotel room, but not actually qualify (or get in with a charity or some other valid method) just to get in on the biggest and oldest marathon party in the U.S.

This isn't just about banditing for Boston, but Boston is sacred--it is the one race well known for its qualifying times. But also well known for its bandit tradition. Not everyone can line up at Hopkinton, and unlike other world major marathons like Chicago (first come, first serve) or New York (lottery or even more stringent guaranteed entry times than Boston), most people have to qualify to get there. So, if you couldn't make the cut, do you get the crash the party?

Some would argue that the bandits don't really take resources from other runners (carry their own stuff) or that the races plan for them anyway, so there is enough to go around.

I view it as at least pilfering. Not grand theft, surely, but yes, there are reasons race directors have a process for tracking runners. Let's say, the undertrained bandit has a catastrophic event. Without a bib, identification may be hampered should the runner become incapacitated.

Maybe some do carry their own gels and fluid, but I'm certain they all don't. Some take seats on race day provided transportation and create longer lines in porta-potties. And, frankly, much like the White House party crashers, they don't deserve to be there because they weren't invited or didn't follow the attendee process.

The point is, if you are thinking of banditing a race, you shouldn't. If you didn't qualify, don't run it. Instead, if you are trying to reach a minimum qualifying standard, work for it like most of us had to do. Enter other races. Work up to it. Besides, what would it mean to you some years later if you'd bandited your precious Boston, only to eventually qualify for it? It wouldn't be nearly as special to run it with a qualified bib.

If you couldn't get your entry process completed, petition race directors to offer bib transfer or waiting lists (Houston does this). So many of us purchase bibs to run races that many months later no longer make sense for whatever reason and would gladly offload the cost of the bib to another eager participant.

But if you're just too lazy to follow the process or need to get in a supported long run, figure out some other option. Don't crash the marathon if you don't hold a valid bib for it.

Winning Is Not To Those Who Run The Fastest

2010-01-02T10:27:00.000-08:00

A response to Ms. Adrienne Wald in "Plodders Have a Place, but Is It in a Marathon?" featured in The New York Times by Juliet Macur on October 22, 2009.

I was relaxing in the tub with the latest issue (#373, January / Februrary 2010) of Running Times, when I read the following QUOTABLE section (page 9):

“It’s a joke to run a marathon by walking every other mile or by finishing in six, seven, eight hours,” said Adrienne Wald, 54, the women’s cross-country coach at the College of New Rochelle, who ran her first marathon in 1984. “It used to be that running a marathon was worth something—there used to be a pride saying that you ran a marathon, but not anymore. Now it’s, ‘How low is the bar?’ ”

Alerted by the quote, I wanted to find the context. Within a few clicks, I found the original article from The New York Times, cited above.

I am fuming and am so disappointed and disheartened with such an attitude, my thoughts catch fire. And I'm really not sure where I sit on Ms. Wald's hierarchy of "deserving" marathon runners. Perhaps I have ruined her running career also, stripped it of worth, depleting any value in her pride of running a marathon with my sluggish times ranging from 4:17 (my first) to 3:38 (my most recent). But regardless of however worthless a marathoner I am in her eyes, I will happily defend the rights of even slower marathoners across the world to toe the starting line--and experience the thrill of crossing it 26.2 miles later.

So, as controversial as this blog entry might be, I am going to vent through a few reasons why everyone should have the right to experience the dream of finishing a marathon: whether it is their first, their last, their only or their slowest.

1. Not all marathon runners are about the time. One of the people I work with on his marathoning explained it this way: "When I ran my first marathon, I was carrying ribbons for people with cancer. I would have crawled to get them across the finish. It was not about the time." As he raised thousands of dollars for cancer research in honor of loved ones, he further explained, "The world class God-gifted athlete is an inspiration--a thing of beauty. An average runner hitting a PR is a success. But, getting from start to finish is to some a life-giving effort."

Just to take the benefits of one well-known fund-raising society, In 2008, Team In Training has had more than 360,000 volunteer participants raise over $850 million to support blood cancer research and patient services for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. The Society uses at least 74 cents of every dollar raised for cancer programs, funding research to find cures to leukemia, Hodgkin's and non-Hodgkin's lymphomas, and myeloma--the blood cancers--as well as assistance with the often overwhelming burdens faced by patients and their families currently fighting blood cancers. Many of those runners are known for their slower times, but yet, perhaps their running and completing a marathon event benefits others more than Ms. Wald's running and completing a marathon.

2. The marathon is big enough for everyone. As long as everyone generally does a good job of estimating their pace, the fast runners, the middle-of-the-packers and the back-of-packers are all well separated from each other. Particularly with the larger races where there are starting corrals, mistakes of where to line-up largely cannot be made. Ms. Wald, the really fast guys (and gals), the top 100 won't even know the rest of us exist. We're frankly not running the "same" race, and no one would mistake us for competing with Deena Kastor, Kara Goucher or Ryan Hall.

3. Local Economy boost. When a city is holding a major marathon event of 10,000 runners or more, everybody wins. The local food, hospitality and retail industries all benefit. People often plan their vacation dollars around prime location events. Large marathons benefit the community economy as a whole.

4. Bigger marathons can give a richer experience. Bring in 10,000, 20,000 or even 40,000 people and you get world-class expos where runners can be exposed to a dream world of running gear, motivational speakers, health products, etc. And the power and the energy of running along with crowds in the hundreds of thousands is so exciting. The more runners you have, the more spectators you have.

5. Inspirational stories. Just because someone completes a slow marathon doesn't mean they will always be--or were--always slow. But, regardless, the stories that people have to tell of their experience in preparing for and overcoming obstacles--even for a slow finish--are positively inspiring. Here are a couple, one I don't know, and one that is very close to me.

Major Phil Packer, who lost the use of his legs in a rocket attack in Iraq last year, finally crossed the London Marathon finish line in thirteen days. He completed his Herculian task - covering the 52,400 steps of the 26.2-mile course at a rate of two miles a day, the maximum distance he was advised to attempt by doctors--to raise a million pounds for the charity Help for Heroes--which provides financial assistance for wounded British servicemen.

From one of the runners I've recently worked with (beginning in August, after he already had a stress fracture), here's a story that hasn't been told.

In his night before the marathon, he wrote to me:

"As a Greek I was raised with stories of ancient Greece. When Spartan mothers would say their goodbyes to their sons before they went into battle they would give them their shields and say, H TAN H EPI TAS--"Come back with it or upon it." I go in that spirit tomorrow."

And after that race, as he shared his experience and race photo at the start:

"I was the absolute LAST person to cross the start line. I planned it that way so I could savor the moment since it was, in reality, a finish line, if you know what I mean. I was happy when I crossed the finish line, but I cried when I crossed the start line. I don't know if I told you that I am 55 and am a cancer survivor--diagnosed with stage 4B Hodgkins Disease in 1983 and in remission since 1984. I could never have done this without you. You helped me to win twice today--by starting and finishing. I will always deem the medal to be half yours, if not all yours. I suffered the stress fracture in late June, missed all of July & August, and only had five weeks or so with short runs for the first few weeks and tapering at the end. Into this scenario came your words, 'You CAN finish.' "

I will tell you, I was more moved by his experience, and coming back WITH his shield, and not upon it, than the thing of beauty of an elite marathoner flying over the finish line. I cried for him and with him at that victory.

And I would never presume to deny anyone the dream of finishing a marathon, whatever their motivation might be.

Dangers of Overdressing for a Cold Run

2010-01-01T10:24:00.000-08:00

The forecast combined lows for the next seven days is 4F. And today is New Year's Day. Maybe I don't have any New Year's Resolutions, but that doesn't mean I am not quite determined. I just couldn't face the treadmill yet one more day. Not after yesterday's eleven miles on it.

My general rule is if it's below 28 F, I run indoors. But even though the temp was somewhere between 2 F and 11 F this morning (depending on the t.v. channel), I decided to give outdoors a spin. I am not an experienced cold-weather runner, and I don't like being cold. So, my theory was to just pile the layers on. I only had six miles, so this was something of an experiment. Maybe if I could be mostly comfortable for this run, I'd run more of what is appearing to be a long, cold winter--outdoors, and off the treadmill.

I pulled on two layers of socks, two layers on the bottom, four layers on the top and then a heavy fleece vest. I topped this off with a balaclava and two layers of gloves, one thin, one thick. I figured I should be pretty comfy. I stepped outside, trotted up a long flight of stairs and started out nice and slowly, to get a feel for what it was like to run in such cold.

Surprisingly, I felt comfortable. Warm, even. It seemed quite pleasant, and was surprised that by even a half mile I was not cold. For a moment at that point, I considered unzipping my vest... just to let a little cool in. But it was so cold intellectually, that I decided to wait, and that over-warm feeling never returned.

By the time I'd turned around, my entire back side from shoulders to mid-thigh was feeling quite chilled and my chest was also beginning to feel cold. And rather than feeling more energized, which I usually do once I turn around at that point, I was feeling sluggish, almost "out of it." I didn't immediately equate what was happening to me, but remember thinking that if I didn't perk up, the next three miles were going to be long ones. From here, I usually run a strong negative split. But, I definitely wasn't feeling it.

As I ran along, the cold became almost painful on my body, switching between stinging pain and aching pain. And I remember being surprised that I was getting colder and not warmer. I thought maybe it was because my granny pace was slowing and not getting faster. That must be why I was getting so cold. Oddly, my breathing was shallow and my vision becoming blurry. I wondered if there were smoke in the air. Then, even more oddly, I started to feel less cold as I got closer to home.

At last, I made it to my house, and gingerly made it down the stairs, feeling nauseated and confused--drunk almost. And no, I was sober and asleep by 10:30 PM last night. In the door, heading upstairs to the shower, ascending the stairs was akin to crawling in molasses. As if I were in a dream and my feet were sticking to each step. I unzipped my vest, and it was saturated. I held it puzzled, trying to recall if it snowed or rained on me while I ran. I could not for the life of me recall if it did or did not at the time, though I stood there and tried to think about it. I couldn't quite put my finger on why my fifth layer--a heavy fleece vest was so wet. Each subsequent layer was drenched, and it slowly dawned on me what had happened. It was sweat, yet I never once had the sensation of sweating. I expected all five layers to be bone dry.

I climbed into the shower... not feeling the hot water. Letting it all run out until it was cold again. And my mind was clearing. I thought I might take my temperature after the shower, and fumbled for the thermometer. Finding it, letting it register, it was 96.0F. I can only imagine what it was when I walked in the door, most likely below 95.0F.

The most important valuable lesson here is that I did not realize how cold I was. I never once realized I was sweating early on. Had this run been a few more miles, it would have been quite dangerous. So, while these temperatures can be run comfortably and safely, it is just as dangerous to overdress as it is to underdress.

I will now learn to appropriately dress for my cold runs and recognize the signs and symptoms of hypothermia.

A Reflection on The Girl of Years' Past

2010-01-01T06:05:00.000-08:00

Odd that New Year's would come for me with no resolutions. It's not that I am without goals, but those goals aren't resolutions, per se. One of the most common resolutions, of course, is to "lose weight" or "get fit." That's not where my head is for 2010.

This week, I was combing through old photos on an SD card for my daughter and came across some P90X "before" pictures that were three years old. Months before my first marathon. I hardly recognized myself as I peered closely, some twenty pounds heavier than I am today. And the weight was everywhere, not just my belly--I was just... bigger. My arms, my shoulders, my hips, my legs--even my face.

Fast forward to two years later--a little less than a year ago, I remember peering at myself in the mirror where that three-year-old visual was my exact self image. Still. In my mind, I was OK in clothes maybe, but soft and slightly heavier than I should be--the girl from the "before" pictures. Certainly not fast, and I didn't look like a runner. I then truly looked at the girl in the mirror before me, lean, fierce, runner-like, and I wondered who she was. I didn't recognize her and wondered from where she came...

Now, I am on the other side mentally. I have become accustomed to the "runner" me, and I don't recognize the girl of three years ago.

I am all about goals, but no resolutions for me this year.

A Little Tempo Run

2009-12-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

I awoke, yanked from my dreamy slumber, aware of two things: My twin tapping my shoulder complaining of hunger and the wind buffeting the house. It was 7:30 AM. My two best running buds, Rick and Travis, had already been running for an hour. Good for them. I'd just slept 9.5 hours straight. I was feeling lazy.

Today's run called for 2 mile warm-up, 5 miles between 7:45 and 7:50, and a 3 mile cool-down. Now, I have to admit a few things. While I might be "warm" after two miles, I am usually not ready to kick it into a decent pace quite yet. I also knew that the 5 miles at that pace was going to be a challenge to finish. Or, so I thought. And once I did finish, I was going to need a walk break to recover, and it was really the last three miles that were going to be hard. I knew I'd be excited and challenged enough to finish the "hard" part.

So, I considered two alternatives. One, flip the cool-down and warm-up miles (3 first and then 2), or two, run all 5 up front and when I was done with the workout, I was done. I decided to take it by feel. I ran my first mile especially slow, asking nothing of my body yet, 9:14. I then gradually worked the pace down, and by 3 miles was feeling good, but decided I'd feel even better if I just kept going. So, I finished the 5 easy, and was feeling great and ready to work.

I locked the next 5 miles in at 7:47 pace, and started counting backwards from 39:00 minutes. When I had 8 minutes to go, my mind was thinking maybe I was tired.. and I really did have to convince myself it would be worse to say I couldn't do the run; or didn't do the run than it would be to just hang in there. But, I found as I approached 4 minutes to go, I was getting so excited I'd nailed the run, that my energy surged, and I actually wanted to pick UP the pace.

I am quite pleased that I did well, and found the 7:47 surprisingly comfortable to hang at for awhile!

Treadmill Running

2009-12-13T09:37:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, one of the athletes with whom I am working asked me: "Is it OK to do all of my training on the treadmill for the half marathon coming up in March?"

I thought it was a great question, especially as we head into winter. I know his goals well, and where he is, so he received a very specific answer. But, as I was running today (outside for the first time in a week), I decided to explore this topic a little more deeply as a blog entry. In short, it really depends.

I used to go outside and tough it out under any conditions. My first 10-miler ever was when the air temperature was 10 F, and the winds were blowing heavily. I ran dressed like the Pilsbury dough boy, with a scarf wrapped twice around my nose and mouth to help me breathe. I've run in rain, freezing rain, pouring rain, sleet, wind, mud, ice, snow and triple-degree temps. I've been caught on the trail with the tornado sirens going off as a twister touched down less than 6 miles from me; and I've been caught on the trail, alone at night, only to find no light whatsoever available to me and more than a few miles to go. So, it's not that I am not tough enough to brave some questionable conditions.

Running on the treadmill has more than just those obvious benefits--protecting you from less than agreeable conditions.

But, there is one caveat: The treadmill needs to be calibrated, accurate and of very high quality. Treadmill speeds and distances can vary wildly, seriously misleading you into believing that you were running a specific pace or distance. Generally speaking, you get what you pay for. The less expensive, fold-up treadmills are far less accurate. There are a few brands (e.g., Precor) that have come out on top of numerous speed and distance accuracy tests. If you consistently run on a particular treadmill, make sure you've done your research.

Here are some advantages of treadmill running:

1. Pace teaching. I've run so many miles on my treadmill at specific paces, that I easily and quickly settle into desired paces and hold it steadily. I've "learned" exactly what certain paces feel like. I honestly believe it's so many miles on the treadmill that have given me the "machine like" quality to my legs and pacing that I've developed.
2. Safety. Ok, rather obvious, but there are definitely times it's just flat out more safe to run indoors (late at night, icy conditions, lightning).
3. No cheating on the treadmill. You are forced to hold the pace (as long as you can hang on) until that portion of your run or workout is complete. If your treadmill is accurate, this is a no-brainer. You can't slack off.
4. Lower impact than road running. This can be great if you are recovering from an injury, but also a good measure if you are always running on asphalt or concrete. I wouldn't want to run all six of my weekly runs on roads, and sometimes the trails are not convenient to get to.
5. Successful hard workouts. If I have a particular workout coming up that requires a very specific pace over a certain distance (like 1K repeats), and the workout seems rather challenging, I will more often than not do it on the treadmill to be sure I'm nailing it. This is especially true if the paces might be impacted by terrain other than a 400M track (which for most of us isn't readily available).

And a few disadvantages of excessive treadmill running:

1. Burnout. Too many runs back-to-back on a treadmill become quite monotonous. I've learned to deal with runs of up to about 9 or 10 miles pretty easily, but beyond that, I really have a tough time. And it isn't a physical thing, it's all mental. I just get bored and my mind wants me to stop. And after several days of nothing else, I just dread hopping on the moving belt.. and sometimes call it the "dreadmill."
2. Lack of strengthening supporting tendons, ligaments and muscles. Let's face it; if you only run on a treadmill and then suddenly go run a single track trail with a few rocks and roots, if you're lucky, your stability system (e.g. peroneal tendons) will only be sore. Worst case, you will be far more likely to roll your ankle or otherwise hurt yourself.
3. Preparedness for road running (impact). Yes, the treadmill is lower impact. A lot lower. If you are going to be competitive on road racing, you need to do at least some of your miles on the road to prepare your musculoskeletal system for the rigors of what's coming.
4. Learning to pace on your own. Sure, treadmill can help teach pacing, but if you don't go out and verify that you can hold your pace and practice it without the treadmill, don't expect it to work on race day.
5. Inability to deal with race day conditions. If you've never run in wind, cold, heat, mud or other inclement conditions, you might be surprised on race day. You should experience each of these to some degree if you ever expect to race in such conditions.
6. Lack of hills. I hate hills. Really. Those of you who know me know that I will go to great lengths to avoid races with hills if I care about my time. But, that being said, running hills as either part of your regular run or as striders at the end or even full-on hill repeats will make you more powerful. And if race day has hills (up AND down), you'd better have practiced on a few of them.

A few tips on successful treadmill running:

1. Treadmill isn't equivalent to running outdoors. Lack of wind, a moving belt, etc., make the treadmill just slightly easier than an outside run. Set your treadmill to a 1% incline always as a baseline equivalent.
2. Break up the run. Consider even something as simple as one minute at one pace, the next minute at another, and go back, alternating minutes. Expand to longer times, and possibly vary many slightly different speeds. It gives your mind something to look forward to. If your goal is to run 7.5 mph for the whole run after a warm-up, try varing between 7.3 and 7.7, inching up and down as certain minutes tick by.
3. Mark the segments of your run. You might have seen my "10 beads" entry. I keep a stash of pretty, hand carved bone beads in the windowsill by my treadmill. I just move them one at a time from the left to the right of the treadmill when I am doing intervals or segments of a fartlek of any kind. I used to have a string of beads across the front of my treadmill, and I would slide beads to the right as certain percentages of my run were complete.
4. Watch a movie or t.v. show, or listen to an audio book. Ok, this is only for the easy runs. If you are running hard, you won't be able to concentrate. But, this can be a great way to click off the miles if you are just trying to put some distance onto the belt.

Treadmill running can be a great supplement to your training. But don't let it rob you of the joy of running outdoors! Most of us didn't fall in love with the sport at the gym.

Vitamin "Do"

2009-12-04T06:42:00.000-08:00

People make fun of me when I travel and they see the regimen of supplements I take every morning. Actually, all day long it takes me to spread things out, take multiple doses, etc. I guard my secret mixture, both in contents and quantity, because I really do believe some of what I take gives me a competitive edge (in addition to just helping me stay healthy or make up for a lack in diet).

But, there is one supplement in particular I take that is getting a lot of attention lately. For the record, I've been taking it in high doses long before it was "cool." It could be the most powerful supplement I take, impacting my health, athletic performance and is a key factor in my injury prevention. And if you aren't taking it yourself, you should add it to your mornings (and quite possibly evenings) as well. What is it?

Vitamin D. It's not just for your bones. After Deena Kastor's bone cracking injury in mile three of Beijing in 2008, and subsequently testing positive for a Vitamin D deficiency, it is widely known in the athletic community that Vitamin D is essential for calcium absorption and an important preventative for stress fractures. But, new evidence suggests there are other reasons athletes should be taking high doses (some sources suggest up to 2,000 IU per day if you are getting little to no sunlight).

"Activated Vitamin D is a steroid hormone that regulates over 1,000 human genes. Recent research indicates intracellular Vitamin D levels in numerous human tissues, including nerve and muscle tissues are increased when inputs of its substrate, the prehormone Vitamin D, are increased. A consistent literature indicates physical and athletic performance is seasonal; it peaks when Vitamin D levels peak [due to ultra-violet ray exposure in sun light], declines as they decline, and reaches its nadir when levels are at their lowest." (Source)

"Although few studies have looked closely at the issue of Vitamin D and athletic performance, those that have are suggestive. A series of strange but evocative studies undertaken decades ago in Russia and Germany, for instance, hint that the Eastern Bloc nations may have depended in part on sunlamps and Vitamin D to produce their preternaturally well-muscled and world-beating athletes. In one of the studies, four Russian sprinters were doused with artificial, ultraviolet light. Another group wasn’t. Both trained identically for the 100-meter dash. The control group lowered their sprint times by 1.7 percent. The radiated runners, in comparison, improved by an impressive 7.4 percent." (Source)

"More recently, when researchers tested the vertical jumping ability of a small group of adolescent athletes, Larson-Meyer says, “they found that those who had the lowest levels of Vitamin D tended not to jump as high,” intimating that too little of the nutrient may impair muscle power." (Source)

Even training outside, you might not get enough: "[Earlier this year,] researchers found that many of a group of distance runners also had poor Vitamin D status. Forty percent of the runners, who trained outdoors in sunny Baton Rouge, Louisiana, had insufficient Vitamin D." (Source)

It's a simple, inexpensive add to your routine, and well worth it. Hmm... or, maybe we should all organize a week-long sunny, tropical cruise during the winter just for runners! It's 15F here this morning. Brr.

10 Beads

2009-12-02T12:25:00.001-08:00

I'm now convinced the human body is capable of a lot more work when you think you're tired and want to quit. The effort required to complete a tough interval session, or race, or anything that pushes you close to that edge becomes mental. Because when you are running at an uncomfortable pace or for an uncomfortable amount of time, you can always just stop. It's simple. (Now, I'm not talking about pressing through a workout that you should really modify because your body is feeling particularly flat on a day, or over trained.)

My lazy body urges me at the slightest pressing, "Hello? It's me again. Um, I think I'm kind of tired. *Yawn* See?" Or, say, "Could we just take a bit of a break? Maybe, rest our feet up on the couch and eat some bon-bons? That sounds like a lot more fun than this."

Yesterday marked my first day of a little speedwork / interval work since the end of 5K season in May 2009. While I feel I have lost little strength and endurance from Chicago (I am running very strong since about three weeks after the marathon), it is evident the 5K sharpness I used to recognize has waned. I'm hoping to acquire a new 5K PR (<22:00) at the end of January in my favorite Kansas City race (the Groundhog 5K / 10K). Thus.. I need to do a little work!

In preparation for that, Vince gave me 10 intervals at a decent pace (a nice little intro to get my feet moving again). Typically, my mind has trouble keeping count (yes, I'm blonde) after about the fourth interval. So, I had the clever idea of starting with 10 beads, and moving one from the right to the left for each interval. This actually ending up being a fabulous idea, as my mind was able to visualize an end to the work, measure progress, and know that with each interval, I had less and less to go each time. And I ended up feeling better and more focused as each hand carved bead moved, thrilled when I had only one bead to go. Sometimes, it's the little things...

Faster?

2009-11-15T07:33:00.000-08:00

"How much faster do you think you can really get?" echoed in my ears. I didn't really have an answer, but I had a feeling. Not the kind of feeling that I'd maxed out my ability and was on my way down (as suggested by the question). But, a warm, swelly feeling in my chest. "Just you wait and see..." I thought.

For those of you who followed my other blogs, particularly my work to qualify for Boston (where my singular goal was to run a 3:50 marathon yet having a current PR of 4:16 and change), you'll know how far I've come. And as I approach my 43rd birthday in January 2010, the question was probably a fair one. After all, it was only four years ago I couldn't break 30:00 in the 5K, and only a few years before that I had no hope of doing anything like running... ever.

I've just really figured out how to race in the past year. And I am just grasping what it takes to get faster. This blog is the "what comes next" after finally qualifying for Boston. 22:00 isn't going to be my PR for the 5K, nor is 3:38:22 going to be my PR for the marathon. I will write about my training / runs, my diet, my thoughts, my races, my set-backs, my victories.

I promise.. this is not the peak. I feel the potential burning through me. Now, it's time to bring it!