A Different Breed

Like I said, the runners that I’ve been reading about so much lately are a different breed.

Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

The Charlottesville Marathon post will probably be my last running post for a while. My Google search for “knee pain after marathon” turned up this gem, among others:

“To be blunt, you are beating the hell out of your body. Racing three marathons in four months is almost always a sure ticket to disaster as you have now found out.”

I’m guessing the coach who wrote that would say the same thing about racing an ultramarathon, 2 marathons (one a PR), a half-marathon (PR) and a 10-miler (PR) in 5 months.

Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

So, it’s ice, rest, and lots of “Vitamin I” (Ibuprofen) for the foreseeable future. I’d like to think I can get one more marathon in this fall, but doing a 50-miler a month afterwards ain’t going to happen. When I am able to run again, I’m going to have to start my marathon training again from scratch, and I’m now realizing that a mere 1-month recovery time in between long-distance races is just dumb. Sure there are people that can do it – there are also people that routinely log 60, 80, and 100+ mile weeks. I’ve been reading too much about them and forgetting that they are a different breed.

It would be an understatement to say that I’m disappointed about this turn of events. While I haven’t been able to train as much as I’d like (and nowhere near enough to support the distances I was racing – a big contributing factor to my injury), my burgeoning identity as a marathoner has become important to me. I just hope that with time and patience I’ll be able to get back on the roads and trails to run long and – next time – run smart.

Charlottesville Marathon

I toed the line at the Charlottesville Marathon (actually I toed a spot on the pavement somewhere in the middle of the pack) not really sure what to expect. I was confident that I could run the distance, as I had completed both a marathon and a 50K ultra within the past 6 months. And, I was reasonably familiar with the route, having run most of it at one time or another, and having driven the few miles that I hadn’t run, so there wouldn’t be any surprises in the terrain.

I fully expected that I would finish the race. I just wasn’t sure how ugly it was going to be – the hilly course, the warm weather forecast, a knee that had been giving me trouble, and a resulting lack of consistent training over the last month were all worrisome. But, Jennifer’s last words to me as left home at 5:30 a.m. (I don’t think she had slept any better than I had) were “remember it’s supposed to be fun.” I kept reminding myself of those wise words and before I knew it, we were off.

I forgot one other cause for worry – I had to go to the bathroom and you can’t run 26.2 miles with a full bladder. Of course, this realization arose too late for me to have any chance of making it into one of the portajohns before the race started. I knew that there would be ample opportunity to duck behind a bush or into the woods once the race got out of town and into the country, but I wasn’t sure I could wait that long. Fortunately, the course runs right past my church. So, right about the mile 1 marker, I veered 90 degrees off the road, through my church’s parking lot and into the building, and was able to get a much better perspective on life. Nature’s call answered, I ran out of the building (attracting quizzical looks from several passing runners) and merged back into the pack.

The next several miles passed without incident. We hit a big hill at mile 5, but I had run this part of the course a couple of weeks earlier so knew what to expect. We crested the hill, and before long were at the turnaround point for the half-marathon. The field thinned out considerably at this point, as a lot more runners had turned around and headed back for the second half of their 13.1 mile race than had kept going for the nearly 20 miles remaining in the marathon. As we passed the turnaround, the runner next to me pointed behind him and said “smart”, then pointed ahead of him in the direction we were going and said “stupid”. We both laughed, and continued on down the road along with another 500 “stupid” people.

The middle portion of the race went fairly smoothly. I settled into a nice rythyhm and plugged along, occasionally trading places with one of the same 20 or so runners that were running nearly identical paces. Every now and then I’d pass someone whose heavy breathing or shuffling feet showed signs of trouble. I passed a few others who looked like they could have been going a lot faster, including one guy who was in conversation with another and had just told him that he had run 58 marathons without a DNF. “It may not be pretty,” he said, “but I’ll finish.” Obviously impressed, the other guy said something about mental toughness, to which the vet said “well maybe, I guess, but it’s really because the finish is where my ride home is.” Gotta love it.

A couple of miles later we hit another big hill. Runners began to spread out at this point, as fatigue was starting to play a more significant role. We turned off the main road for an out-and-back stretch down a winding country road, and I tried to read the runners’ faces as they passed by in the other direction. Some were looking strong, a few even happy. Others were clearly having a hard time and I wondered if they were going to make it to the finish. Most, though, remained inscrutable – whether due to intense focus and concentration, or a brave front put up to guard against others seeing their internal struggle with pain and fatigue, or both, it was hard to tell. There was a bit of comic relief as the guy who had been talking with the 58-marathon vet suddenly yelled out to nobody in particular, “where the &*%! is that turnaround?!”

I hit mile 20 still feeling fairly strong, and was then treated to a long downhill – although it didn’t seem nearly as long going down at mile 21 as it had going up at mile 5. Then, at the bottom, I was greeted with the best surprise I could hope for – my own personal cheering section. Jennifer and the kids were camped out on the roadside with handmade “Go Daddy”, “Love You”, “You Rock”, and “Run Fast” signs. What wonderful support.

It’s just a shame they couldn’t have stayed with me over the next 5 miles. The wheels didn’t come completely off, but they wobbled quite a bit. At least it wasn’t just me – everyone around me seemed to be in similar shape. Time-wise, I was doing well, for me anyway – I was on track for beating my PR of 4:32 as long as I stayed under 12-minute miles. That was a good thing and a bad thing – a good thing because it meant I had been running well. A bad thing because “the voice” that tends to pop up in runner’s heads in the latter stages of long distance races did its best to urge me to take advantage of that cushion. It was a convincing voice, as the 4:15 that I had in my sights turned into a 4:20, and wound up being a 4:24.

Still, a good outing, especially considering the fact that I had told Jennifer to expect something between a 4:30 and a 5:30. Like I said, I wasn’t sure how I was going to do.

So what’s next? Probably one more marathon in the fall. In a couple of weeks I’ll be submitting my entry for the lottery to get into the Marine Corps Marathon on October 26. I’ve always thought there would be a satisfying “so there, take that” sort of irony in me running that race.

If I don’t get into the MCM (they get more applications than they can accept), I’ll find another (if you have any suggestions for a good mid-Atlantic September/October marathon, please leave a comment).

After that, the next step up the ladder – the JFK 50 Mile Race on November 22.

Many miles to go between now and then.

The Runner

View this trailer (better yet, buy the movie) for a taste of why ultramarathoners do what they do.

David Horton, as remarkable for his faith as he is for his renown as an extreme ultrarunner, was the race director for the 50K that I did in February. Now you can see what he does when he’s not directing races for others.

See For Yourself

Obama explained it much better than I did.

See for yourself.

Is There Anything That She Won’t Say?

So now Obama’s an elitist.

Give me a break.

First, read the article that spawned the whole brouhaha and get some context. Obama is responding to the suggestion that “white working-class don’t wanna … vote for the black guy.” Rather than buying into that racist motive, he suggests that many people in small towns in industrial states have become cynical about government because administration after administration has promised change that has not come to pass. “[O]ur challenge,” he said, “is to get people persuaded that we can make progress when there’s not evidence of that in their daily lives.” His subsequent comments about the reason for people’s bitterness and frustration simply show that he understands why people feel the way they do.

And for that, Hillary calls him an elitist. “[M]y opponent said that the people of Pennsylvania who face hard times are bitter,” Clinton said during a campaign event in Philadelphia. “Well that’s not my experience. As I travel around Pennsylvania. I meet people who are resilient, optimist positive who are rolling up their sleeves.”

Could she be any more patronizing? It’s hard to imagine.

It does get funnier, though. Now she’s pro-gun. Maybe she and Mitt hunt varmints together.

Last Lecture

Perhaps you have already seen Randy Pausch’s “Last Lecture”.  Millions have.  If not, I encourage you to do so.

The video below is an abridged, 11-minute version.  If you want to see the original 76 minute version, go to his web page.

 

Too Quiet

The old cliche in the Western movies, typically uttered before the bad guys attack, is that “it’s quiet … too quiet.”  I’m not expecting an attack, but “too quiet” describes my house right now.  Jennifer and the kids are up at her mom’s in Pennsylvania for spring break, so it’s just me, the dog and the cat. 

That means no chattering, no squabbling, no Hannah Montana music, no Rescue Hero videos, no reminders about getting homework done or putting clothes away, no piano practicing, no “vroom vrooms” or lego towers crashing down the hall, no calls of “Mommieee” from across the house. 

Just the clicking of the keyboard and the hum of the refrigerator.

Too quiet.

Eye Opener

I had something of a rude awakening yesterday.  I had not run since the 10-Miler last weekend and a follow-up 4-mile run that afternoon, courtesy of an aching knee that I had taken away as a race souvenir along with the commemorative t-shirt and finisher’s medal.  But with the Charlottesville Marathon looming, I set off in a cold drizzle for a long run on the portion of the marathon course that I had not run before.  While I typically do my long runs on the 10-Miler course, I knew that it was important to get some idea of what I am in for in 2 short weeks, so I ventured off for parts unknown.  

Aesop said that “familiarity breeds contempt”, but the familiarity that I gained with the marathon course yesterday bred nothing but a solid measure of respect.  The course description promises “rolling hills throughout.”  That’s one way to put it.  Everything’s relative, I guess. 

In any event, I was able to get around 12 miles in with no damage done other than a healthy blister due to wearing the wrong socks for the wet weather.  I was pleasantly surprised with my time, and my knee actually feels a bit better for having been stretched out, so that’s good.  The best thing about the run, apart from getting in some much needed (although not enough) mileage, was getting familiar with the course. 

I should survive the marathon, but it could be almost certainly will be rough.  Is it some sort of sickness that I’m looking forward to the experience?