Why We Run

For those who have known me over the years or followed my ramblings on social media, they may have been witness to a fairly dramatic transition over the last two years. A few years back, I was not really a runner. I may have run occasionally when some bit of fear was chasing me, but I did not identify myself as a runner.

Now I talk, write, post constantly about running.  I think about it constantly, not only why I run, but why I now have to allow it to envelop me. I've attempted to write about this new identity before here on this blog, though I think I will be struggling with this one for years.

Enter the new episode from Solomon Running TV. Bernd Heinrich is an inspiration and captures the essence of what I have been chasing for some time. I could watch this man for hours.

"The essential thing is to run, period... and to do it for a long time, and consistently. Then everything takes care of itself."

That Night I Dreamt of Rocks

"Philistines may think that we were madmen indeed to go through such suffering and danger to arrive at this lonely spot. What did you hope to find up there, they may ask. Glory? Nobody cares about young fools who waste their best years in meaningless combats far from the eyes of the world. Fortune? Our clothes were in rags, and the next day we would go back down to a life of slaving for the barest essentials. What we sought was the unbounded and essential joy that boils in the heart and penetrates every fibre of our being when, after long hours skirting the borders of death, we can hug life to us with all our strength." - Lionel Terray

I hit my time to taper down. Felt odd in that I was not really doing heavy mileage to begin with, but I knew that it was better to be under-trained than over. At least this is what I told myself each night as I tried to fall asleep.

I was under-trained. That was understood.

But would I be able to use the accumulation of miles over the last year and a half to get my ass through three rough ten+ mile loops. The race was put on by Rick at NJ Trail Series. I had run a few of their races before and found them to be well managed, well stocked, and tough.

Could I do it? One loop. Absolutely. I even imagined I could get through it quickly if necessary. Two, sure. Three… unknown.

That is the fun with doing a first ultra. One does not know how the day will go until one is deeply embedded in the situation. That is when you begin to understand what is possible.

So in my downtime where I wasn't running as much, I had to do something race related. I prepped. I pulled materials together and planned the nutrition strategy. I went through the hydration. Clothing needs, socks, shoes, contingencies. Over and over I laid it out and convinced myself that it was happening.

Night before the race I put it all out in the guest bedroom. I knew I’d be up at 4am packing it up and getting ready for the car trip to the start line. I could have done it in the dark by that point.

Like always, I got there early. The sun had not crested the hills yet as the first batch of runners left the start/finish line area. This group consisted of the few running the 100k (six loops) and a larger group taking on the 50 miler (five loops). There was an hour for nervous pacing and prepping before we 50k (three loops) runners lined up.

I had heard Rick’s start-line prep talk before. As he has mentioned on other courses, you aren't running by GPS distance, you are running his course. Don’t complain if is it is longer/shorter, rocky or rooty.

Loop one felt okay. It was hard but well within my wheelhouse. After the yelled "go!" we were off along a grassy stretch next to the road before we turned and headed up a rocky ATV road that headed into the Wildcat Ridge Management Area. After a brief climb we were onto some undulating single track that wound through the woods through weird Appalachian-style garbage dumps. Sadly, it reminded me of dump areas you would find in some backwoods areas of Vermont where I grew up. Eventually the trail climbed up and up as it made its way to the open ridge line. Few seemed to take in the overlook on the first pass, we were still bunched so it was hard to stop and smell the flowers. I did stop and pause on loop three on the cliff's edge for thirty seconds before heading off for the finish.

After the first top out along the ridge we wound down a rocky dirt road to the first water station (mile four & nine). From here we headed out into the real nonsense. Up and down and up and down through rocks that ranged from small and unstable to large and unstable. There didn't seem to be a piece of flat footing for four miles. I believe I thought this was interesting on the first lap. It got progressively more miserable on the second and third pass. Eventually the "Nam" business calmed down and we hit more rutty dirt road. We then moved onto a bizarre paved, steep downhill spell through a quite suburban neighborhood until we were eventually back at the start line.

Still feeling good at this point

I hit the full aid station in good shape. Reloaded my bottles, grabbed more gels and quickly took off for the next pass.

Loop two started strong. What I found, though, was that as I came upon each hill, each rocky descent, I had to suffer through the thought that I would have to do this one more time on much more tired legs.

It was a few miles into the second ten that something got out of whack. The sun came up higher in the sky and the temp began to climb. I found myself needing to drink more. I guess I let my salt levels go south because at around mile seventeen the cramping began.

Pain begins as a manageable force. It grows along the way. Eventually it becomes all encompassing but still something that you can push out and move through. I knew that it was either going to get much worse or I was going to find a way to let it dissipate.

The pain became comprehensive. I couldn't ignore it anymore as the fire worked from deep inside my hips down to the tips of my toes. My mind burned with it and I found myself emotional and foggy. You begin to question that damage that is being inflicted with each step, to the point where I found that I could barely take the steps. My legs were seizing up. I was at a very uncomfortable trot, a shuffle. I was deep into the death march.

I ran (walked) miles nineteen to the aid station contemplating calling it a day. I would be at my car. I could rehydrate, get things back in balance, sit and end the pain.

At the aid station I stood in front of the food not sure what to do next. Someone asked me if I was okay. I said no, not at all. Explained the problem. She forced some salt tablets down my throat. Put some fantastic salty chips in my hand. Told me to regroup until I was ready then get my ass back out there.

I sat next to my car for a few minutes going through a quit in my head. It just wasn't going to work. I couldn't comprehend it. I sent a quick text to my wife telling her that I was in a bad way but was going to walk the damn thing if I had to. I took off before I could get a response.

For loop three, I had the pleasure of knowing that everything I was doing would be the last time. It didn't mean that things were easier though. As my body balanced itself out, I found that I could trot some sections, hiking the steep stuff. I eventually came upon a fifty miler (I believe her name was Lara). When I told her that I was in a world of hurt, she laughed it off and told me that I looked great. That little bit of reassurance was what I need to keep the pace up to get me across the line. She and I ran off and on together for the last few miles. I mentally attached myself to her and felt like she was dragging me in.

10,000+ feet of elevation change. I got there in 7:47:11. A few minutes under my target.

I immediately started to feel better the moment I crossed the line on the pavement. I did not have to run anymore that day, and now I knew that I could do just about anything I put my mind to. I just wouldn't be doing much for the new few weeks.

Some of the gear that got me through:

Shirt - Proudly wore my Altra Ambassador shirt. After the race I had a few conversations about the shoes. I believe it came from me wearing the shirt because it definitely wasn't because of my stellar results (or form).
Shoes - Altra Lone Peak 1.5. Best mountain shoe on the market in my opinion. I thought my feet would be wrecked, but they didn't have a mark on them.
Socks - Injinji Run 2.0 Original Weight. Coupled with the roomy Altra's, these toe socks have saved me from blisters, damaged nails, and otherwise bloody feet.
Bottle - Ultimate Direction Fast Draw Plus. Packed it with Gu's and flattened pieces of sandwich.
Waste Pack - Some small Nathan pack I picked up that fit about five more Gu's.
Nutrition - About 15 Gu's, a few pieces of PB&J, some chips, and a few bottles of Fluid Performance drink.
Hydration - The Fluid and either too much or not enough water. Very rarely did I get the balance right.

Can You Train For a 50k on 25 Miles a Week?

For months I've been working on a post about trying to manage the balance between work, family and finding the time (and will) to run long distances.

I'm now looking back on the unfinished post last touched weeks back. This is how it started...

"I am desperately in need of some inspiration in otherwise uninspiring times."

A bit odd to be quoting myself but looking back it now warrants inspection. The buildup to my recent (first) 50k race was not going well. Over many months, starting in December 2012, I had devised a thorough training plan that then seemed to systematically breakdown week after week. My running had gone from a study in joy to just another reason why I sometimes consider myself a failure.

Any job hunt or "best companies" list search turns up plenty of language around work/life balance. It's what most "young" people add into their "must haves" in determining their reason for selecting one company over another. It is expected that life should truly be a balance between the do what you love and and love what you do-job and all the rest of the world outside of that.

But what about work/life/training balance?

In the past six months, my family and I have gone through a significant move. Not far in distance, but further enough from my job to put me a little more out of pocket each day as I manage my new commute. While this move was underway, we welcomed a new little man into our lives. And while all of this was going on, I was looking to build up my mileage so that I could attempt my first pass at an ultra-distance trail race.

See, I was turning 40 this year and had planned to do something significant. I wanted to do something both as a reward and punishment for getting old. As my running mileage picked up last year I thought to myself that a running challenge would be just the thing to show me that turning 40 could be better than 30... or even 20.

I didn't want the watch or the new shiny, fast car.

Instead, I found a race and put it on the calendar. Life be damned, I was going to make it happen. The problem was that good parts of life kept getting in the way of me developing and building to the point where I could have the confidence to complete this thing. Every week I would have my plan written out and over and over runs would be a little shy of the prescribed distance. Long weekend runs wouldn't pan out. My family life and obligations would take precedence (sometimes happily, sometimes not) over all other things.

I wasn't upset that these things were getting in the way (usually). I was terrified that I was slowly getting steps closer to failure. Each missed check-mark in the plan would send me into a bit of a mental tailspin. I watched Unbreakable. I read blogs and articles on running long. I couldn't get away from the fact that I was signed up for the Wildcat Ridge Romp 50k, a fairly challenging course made up of three 10.7 mile loops through some rocky, rooty New Jersey wilderness. August 10th loomed on the calendar.

My mileage hovered around 25 to 35 miles a week. It just didn't feel long enough to pull it off. As I eased into my "taper", I told myself that I was going to go out and give it a shot. I believed I had the toughness and fortitude to get through the pain of it, and I've always been a proficient and quick hiker. At worst, I would walk it in. I would have 12 hours to go roughly 32 miles. Seemed possible if I could focus on running your own race. So I made a plan to write RYOR on my arm and venture off into the woods.

This was not going to be a race but a run... or possibly a walk. I was going to finish.

Wildcat Ridge Romp 50k race report coming soon...

Community

One week on, many tens of thousands of words have already been put on paper and screen expressing sentiments regarding the tragedy at the Boston marathon. I don't know that I can add much to the dialogue but I do have something.

I love my running community.

By most runner's histories, I am a newcomer. And I have found a welcoming, challenging group of people. Each choosing to suffer for their own personal reasons.

And everyone suffers in this sport. Never equally, but equally consistent. From the elites setting records to the weekend warriors bringing up the back of the pack, each hurts their way through each and every run. And yet, to quote Jeff Edmonds, "ours is not a violent sport."

I remember back to a particularly difficult trail race I ran last year. The wheels were coming off in full force and I found myself suffering through an overwhelming feeling of loneliness out there in the woods. I had been running alone for the last few miles. I was practically walking and people behind me were catching up. Each one slowed down, checked to see if I was okay, and gave me some encouragement to keep going. One even cruised with for a few minutes to chat. He got me running again and brought me into the next aid station where I was able to right the sinking ship.

These were my competitors telling me to pick it up, to finish with them. The loneliness subsided and I ran through the pain of the last 6 miles.

Whether it's Patton Oswalt's uplifting rant or numerous others out there, the message is clear; for every bad, angry person trying to push their skewed outlook on the world, trying to prove to the world that this is a bad place, there are a million citizens that choose good.

Ultimately, few run endurance lengths for bad reasons and I would say that none have been made worse psychologically or spiritually through the regular act of running. It is a sport of the internal, and it didn't deserve what happened in Boston.

Road Marathon vs. Trail Ultra: Which Is Harder?

Road Marathon vs. Trail Ultra: Which Is Harder?

Interesting post from Sarah Lavender Smith at The Runner's Trip. I always enjoy her thoughts on running and this one is a look at the challenges that come with two very different types of racing. Very different in format and form, but both difficult none the less.

Makes me think of the importance of specificity training.

I love running in the woods, but because my next "A" race is on the road, I've been pushing myself up and down the streets. I know that the pounding of pavement is what I need to be able to jump my next hurdle.

Then on to a 50k trail race... and into the woods.

Pro Compression Sleeves

Just got a pair of compression sleeves from Pro Compression in the mail. I've heard talk of how effective compression wear can be for endurance athletes, and also I've read the opposing studies.

My legs were stiff from a few tough runs this week. Slipped the sleeves on and cooked dinner. I was shocked to feel the difference in how my calves felt.

Won't say that I am converted, but I will have to try them a few more times over the next few days and runs to see if they really make a difference.

Why I Run, Possibly

I spend a great deal of time trying to understand why it is I obsess about running. Why does it take up so much of my thoughts after the running is done?

For my family, I would like to live longer, but I know that I do not run for health. I could give a shit about that unless it is working toward the end goal of being able to run faster or go further.

I don't run to lose weight. That became an easy, natural by-product of the miles. The extra pounds had to come off. Now I do everything I can to keep enough calories coming in to push the growling stomach away.

Beauty in a snowstorm

Two other possible reasons come to mind. Suffering and the commune with the natural world.

Second one first. I like nothing more than listening to my own breath and footsteps in an otherwise quiet environment. I can't find that indoors, and I love the woods, the dark streets. I am at peace there.

This is why I don't do headphones, why I do not run with friends. Not because I don't like music or conversation when I move, but because everything is so loud all the time. Home, commute, work. It is nice to hear very little, to give myself the opportunity to think to the point of void. When it all just wipes away.

Then there is the suffering. Anyone who has known me over the last twenty years knows that I have always been a fan of self-inflicted melancholia. When I was younger I sought out creative and (occasionally) destructive ways to suffer through life. I eventually smartened up, but never lost the need to feel torment. Running into pain filled the gap. As long as there is a further distance or harder route to attempt, I know that I will never be without my beloved misery.

I am going to spend some time over the next few months probing these thoughts further.

Learning to love it as it goes away

When I first got back into running after a few years away, I started on the treadmill. It seemed like the safest way to test the waters and it saved me from venturing too far from home before my heart and body would collapse. I could simply hit stop and go lie down on the gym mats when it was time to end. I hated every minute of it.

Once I felt confident enough in my endurance to get out of the streets, I rarely got back onto the mill. Occasionally, when the weather was particularly rough, or my time limited, I would strike out again on the rotating mat.

When winter hit, I found myself heading downstairs to our building's gym more frequently. In sub-20 degree weather it meant less gear prep and less time. I could run through a few miles and be back in time to deal with my early-waking toddler.

It was painfully boring.

At first, I could only do a few miles at most before I needed to stop. Time went slower on the treadmill, faster paces felt harder to maintain. It was no longer running as a means to liberate, but meandering as chore... checking the training plan box.

Then, a few weeks back, I seemed to push through the barrier. I found a mental test waiting for me that reminded me of my first long trail race. In that race, in the woods at mile fifteen, I was alone and trudging up and down rocky muck. I hadn't seen anyone for 30 minutes or so and started to lose track of my distance from the last aid station. I was staring at the ground ahead of me and nothing else.

On the treadmill, I go through the same grind. Can I continue to suffer, staring straight ahead at the blank white surface? My eyes relax and go unfocused. The wall could be six inches from my face, or it could be miles. It is here in this head space that I find out if I can do this distance. I am beginning to find that I like the mental challenge of the treadmill and actually look forward to it. There is no change of scenery to distract me, no undulating hills to keep my mind focused on the immediate. Instead I am left with a goal in mind and a ticking red clock counting off each slow second.

Now, in just a few days, it goes away. I am moving to a new house with beautiful quiet streets to run. A trail head sits just a quarter of a mile down the road. But I won't have the treadmill left to taunt me, to fill me with doubt and make me question each run. Very oddly enough, I am going to miss it.

Jez Bragg Completes 3,054-Kilometer Te Araroa Trail Expedition

Great article from Meghan Hicks of irunfar.com on the extraordinary 1,898 mile run by Jez Bragg through New Zealand. I hope that the record holds for a long time.

The Long Year

I'm working on a post with the same title over at I Did Get Fun. My other blog (one in a growing list of distraction blogs) features my details on raising a very active, inquisitive, sometimes challenging toddler. Not too different from managing my running life.

The long year. It captures all aspects of my life over the last 12 months. Of course I'm aware that the year can be neither longer nor shorter than what the year is. It just is the length of time that it is. On the other hand, the way it feels is the way it was perceived, and it felt long.

I started running again this year. It was hard at first. Then it was fun and exciting. Then I discovered the overuse injury. I recovered, then re-injured myself. Now, as I get back to full health, I spend a great part of every day thinking about and mentally planning my next outing. 

Because of my early-rising little guy (see blog link above), I have found that I have to get out long before the sun crests the skyline if I want to get some time on my feet. With each day it gets colder and darker, so the process becomes more drawn out; 

• Alarm rings - I fumble with the watch, then stare at the ceiling wondering why I do this. I flash through excuses and reasons to get just a little more sleep before he wakes
• Run starts - I stagger my way through dressing and shoe tying. I hit the cold air and take off. The first 10 minutes are spent questioning why I am doing this
• Middle section of the run - My mind goes quiet and I forget what I was thinking. Most likely the only "silence" I will experience all day
• The close - Run my ass off to finish things so I can get inside. The runners high is a real thing. Sometimes I feel that I could put my hand through a brick wall
• Rest of the day - Thinking about doing it again

It's the same every time. So, I cannot imagine that 2013 will be any different. In place of the standard resolution setting that comes with the close of each year, this time I am going to focus on a few goals. I have another long, most likely harder year in store for me (and my family). I won't need to stop doing things. I will need to start being more efficient with what I choose to do.

A move is in the books. I am looking forward to our first house in a new town. A trail head sits just a half-mile down the road. But, I am well aware that there will be a significant amount of work ahead of me. This will mean less free time and more lawn mowing.

On the subject of free-time, we have a new one on the way. Raising a little guy has been the hardest, most fulfilling thing we have done together. My wife and I just barely survived our first little bad sleeper. Let's hope that number 2 likes naps.

And in this mix, I want to throw some new running projects. New races and endurance runs to challenge what I think I can handle (now on even less sleep). 

I want to run for LBI, our summer community devastated by Storm Sandy. I want to set a PR or two, and I want to tackle the longer version of Mountain Madness. Going into the race this last September, I never believed I could move for that long over that type of terrain. Now that I know that I can, I want to do it again, and do it over 50 kilometers. 

I want to bring my son into all of this and teach him the trails, get him to love being out in the woods as much as I do. 

I want to find happiness in my job. I will need to find more time, or better use of it, so that I can be there for family and friends.

I want to keep demanding more of myself... keep pushing my limits just out of reach. Hopefully,  I won't find them in 2013.

The Birthday Run

Read an interesting article on the idea of the birthday run. One mile for every year.

As I approach the final five months into my 40th, I've started to get a bit sentimental. Too many years wasted on soured relationships, self-inflicted pain, late career climbing and generally difficult living. 

The pain of the run has helped me clear my mind and settle into middle age knowing that there is a chance for some type of physical and mental redemption. I have been living in repair mode for the last few months, but think I can get there by May.

I will dedicate this run to wasted youth.

Galaxie 500 song below captures it nicely.

Figuring Out What to Do Next

Sunset over the bay a half block from the house

I've been blessed to have the opportunity to spend the last 8 summers travelling to Long Beach Island, New Jersey.

My wife grew up there, spending her long summer breaks on the sand, working her first jobs in its shops and restaurants. To my son, it's where we go when it gets warm.  It's where he learned to love miniature golf.

Roman (with blanket) outside the beach house

Now, Storm Sandy has come along and disturbed our world down there. I'm afraid that what we knew, what my wife and son know of the place will be forever altered.

I've spent the last two weeks trying to think about what I can do to help. In my dark, cold apartment I began to put my plan together.

Over the last year, I've run more miles on LBI than any other place. It is flat, straight and boring. Exactly what I've needed to build the mental fortitude for long distance running. Summer running there is watching blurry landmarks miles ahead stay miles ahead of you as you pound away, foot over foot.

So, I am starting to put together a plan. My first thought is and end-to-end-to-end run of the island (36 miles), raising money for a local charity. The challenge I have in this part of the process is determining which charity and when to run it. Most immediate recovery efforts will be completed or at least stabilized before I can do this so right now I'm thinking more long-term in my choices.

In terms of timing, I'm thinking July 4th. We will see. More to come.

Barnegat Light on the northern tip of the island