Over the course of 27 hours this past weekend I: - shuttled 11 different adventure racers (at between 2 and 5 at a time) in my car, - drove 400 miles through the Catskills in upstate New York, - went white water tubing down a surprisingly difficult creek in the company of a bunch of drunken college kids, one of whom was standing half-naked, potbellied and very drunk in the middle of the river screaming "ROBERTO, ROBERTO" looking at each passer-by to see if they were Roberto and then saying disappointingly, "you're not Roberto," - saved Abby when she was caught in a strainer (which is not like a colander) in the aforementioned creek, - started what would have been a 6 mile walk with two people wearing bike helmets, bike shoes, soaking wet clothing, hydration packs and carrying kayak paddles, - scrounged around the woods multiple times in the dark to find anything (sticks, napkins, energy bar boxes) to keep our campfire going, - loaded 70 bikes on and off trucks many times, - slept in the back seat of my car for only a total of about 90 minutes, - made a host of awesome new friends, - had a total blast, - the whole time thought "when can I do one of these crazy things"
All in a day (and night's) work for a volunteer at The Longest Day (and Night) Adventure Race.
Today is National Running Day, so to celebrate Abby and I went for a run. Revolutionary concept, I know. We actually took it upon ourselves to make it a two day celebration: two runs and a frozen yogurt breakfast.
Yesterday morning, we met for a run. Well, really we were meeting for the chance to have dessert for breakfast, but it seemed that it would be a good idea to run first. We met in Manayunk and decided to run on the tow path as opposed to our usual trail route. What we didn't know was that it would turn out to be a day at the zoo.
About a mile out, we passed a Canada goose along side the road guarding her goslings. We've both spent enough time running along the river to know to avoid these angry geese, especially when they've got their babies. So we ran quickly by them.
Soon after we came upon another animal: a large turtle sitting in the middle of the road. A turtle? Huh? I'd never seen a turtle, especially as large as this one, just chillin on the tow path. We discussed the oddity of this, ran by him. Oh, and we named him Buddy. We turned around shortly thereafter only to come upon Buddy again still in the middle of the road. Many biker, in addition to runners, were out on the path and we worried about Buddy's safety, especially being that he looked like a rock.
I spoke to Buddy trying to coak him out of the road as Abby took it upon herself to literally kick him in the ass.
"Is he a snapping turtle?" Abby asked as she approached him.
"I don't think so," I responded, as she gave him a careful nudge and he arched his head, sprung forward and looked generally pissed off. We both took a quick step or two backwards, giggling the whole while. I continued to verbally coax Buddy. Abby decided to give it one more try. A quick tap on the rear produced a similar although more agrivated response from Buddy. Abby and I took off running, sprinting really, in an attempt to get the hell away from our angry new friend. After sprinting several hundred feet, between laughter, Abby noted "we probably don't have to run so fast, turtles don't move that fast." We slowed down and looked back only to see our Buddy in the same exact spot as he had been when we started.
So much for trying.
Running back on the same path, we encountered our geese friends again although this time Mama Goose, Papa Goose and all the little Baby Geese had taken up residence strewn about the path and grass along the side. Hum, what a pickle. Well versed in sprinting from animals by this point, Abby and I negotiated the easiest and safest path around the goose broad. Mama Goose hissed loudly at us as we ran past. I made the ultimate mistake by looking back and making eye contact with a ticked off goose mama. Luckily, she didn't launch at me and have my leg for breakfast.
With only a mile or so left before the coffee shop where our frozen yogurt breakfast awaited us, we mananged not to encounter any more animals.
A turtle, some geese, dessert for breakfast and always wonderful company and conversation (including discussion of our tendency to give names to everything, alive or inanimate- case in point: Buddy)- a great way to celebrate running, even if it was actually National Running Day Eve.
I don't remember exactly how or when it happened. Likely it was one of those "sure why not" or "I'll do it if you do it" moments that seem to plague crazy runners like us. Nonetheless, several months ago Abby and I decided to do an ultra marathon. I guess after a marathon, it's the next logical step. (Or illogical, as many would argue.)
Once we finished our last marathon, we wasted no time in planning the next step. Meeting for ice cream just over 24 hours after finishing, we began to search for the right ultra marathon: our destiny. I thought the search would be relatively easy, but it turned out to be a great deal more complicated and in depth than I'd imagined. As we looked into different races, we realized that, unlike marathons, ultramarathons come in all shapes and sizes (literally).
So it was necessary to come up with some criteria in order to narrow down our choices and finally arrive at our destiny. The week long back-and-forth between us revolved around several different categories. I have abridged and summarized this for ease of reading and understanding.
1. Distance- The major question was 50K or 50 miles. Although an ultra marathon is "technically"anything longer than a marathon, the vast majority of ultras are either 50K or 50 miles in distance. (There are, of course, longer 100 mile and longer ones, but let's not get in over our heads for the first one.) For metric system phobics, 50K is equal to about 31 miles (31.06 to be exact), about 5 miles longer than a marathon. We said "forget about the 50k races. Just doesn't sound like a huge challenge (though it could be, since it'll be on trails, so maybe I shouldn't say that so absolutely)." We agreed that based on the decision of desired date (see category #2), we would have the proper time to train for a 50 miler. We also wanted the challenge of a race nearly twice as long as anything we'd done before. I was, of course, sure to add this statement: "We can reevaluate this decision during training when it seems we're running more than sleeping and thinking 50K sounds like a really nice idea.)
2. Date- The next major decision was to figure out when this would all pan out. Initially, we thought the fall would be perfect. Take the summer "off" and then train again together come September for an ultra in December/January. Then we realized how quickly December comes after September. It's like 3 months, who knew? With the seemingly great amount of training recommended for an ultra, it seemed wise to push back our destiny date. In addition, as you will find in the rest of our decision process, December/January is not prime ultra marathon season, if such thing exists. So we expanded our search to spring time (and just for kicks added a fall marathon for another shot at a BQ).
3. Location- Unfortunately, we were unable to find an ultra marathon in our back yard so we knew from the beginning that travel some distance for any event. I decided that if we're going to travel any great distance, I think the ultra should be official. I don't want to train all this time, travel to wherever (Canada, Arizona, Kansas) and the "race" end up being some schmata Sunday morning run that the local running club organizes. People will look at us as if we're crazy for traveling so far for their silly run. In December/January being that it is winter, there are, quite obviously, very few events in the northeast. As we expanded our search, there became more options closer to home.
3. Course- When discussing the course, several different subcategories that come into play: a) Loop vs point-to-point vs out-and-back- I'm not liking the loop idea. Two 25 mile loops, that's fine. Three loops of a 15-20 mile loop, I could handle that. Fourteen 4 mile loops, not so much. Fifty times around a 1 mile track- kill me now! I'd prefer a point-to-point, maybe an out-and-back or a longer loop course. b) Terrain- If I'm going to run 50 miles or more anywhere, it had better be pretty. No roads. No farms. No "like someone else's lawn" crap. No flatness. I want trails. Real trails. c) Elevation- I definitely want some elevation change, but I don't know that I want to run up a mountain. I ran up the hill behind the Art Museum today and I was a little out of breath. Obviously, we will train for the elevation and will welcome a walk break up a hill, but it's just something to think about since we don't have "real" mountains in Pennsylvania. We might be getting ourselves in over our heads thinking that we could make it up a real mountain, alive.
5. Weather- Ah the weather. So obviously weather is a great unknown and you can't ever predict what it will be like, but we can definitely make some grand assumptions. New England in the winter will be cold. Very very cold. Not fun 50 mile run weather. Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina in the winter- very hit or miss. Probably going to be ok, but they do get freak blizzards or ice storms. Florida is always hot. Even when people in Florida think it's frigid, it's still hot running weather. The weather was definitely something to think about, but not get caught up on.
6. Website- Being that it's the 21st century, we did all of our research online so we were easily able to compare the websites of different events. An event website that hadn't been updated in a few years was taken with a grain of salt. An obvious "homemade" website left question about whether the event was official or not. A colorful, informational, organized website made us happy. So we decided, as trivial as it seems, that the event had to have a nice website. It's really a security feature to ensure that we were choosing a legitimate event.
7. Name- Going along with the trivial website category, we also considered the name of the race. The Hellgate Ultramarathon kind of scared the crap out of me- why do something that is admittedly hell? The Mountain Masochist goes along in the same vein. (I should note that Abby said "I kind of like that it has 'hell' in the title :)" Most events don't have such intimidating names, but those that did were more heavily scrutinized, at least by me.
Distance- 50 miler, check. Date- in late March (March 27th, ahem potential spectators), check. Location- Charlottesville, Virginia, check. Course- one (very long) loop, primarily trails, definite elevation changes, check. Weather- hopefully not frigid, hopefully not scorching hot, still a wildcard, check. Website- very nice and official, check. Name- good unintimidating name, check.
Now onto figuring out how to train for this. I know one thing: there will be lots and lots of running. And plenty of good stories, I'm sure. Stay tuned.
Much of my weekend was spent on a search for a new pair of trail running shoes. I've worn the same brand, style and size of running shoes for the last 5 years, but my new entry into the trail running scene has necessitated the need for different footwear. I have a pair of Salomon Gore-Tex trail shoes, but with summer coming I need something more breathable.
After trying on many pairs yesterday, researching shoes online, buying a pair of shoes that were way too pink (and too small), I set out again today to continue the search. At one point I stopped into DSW, which has a surprisingly good selection of sneakers. I found several pairs of sneakers and sat down to try them on. Several minutes later a man who worked there came up beside me and asked if I was a runner. I barely glanced up while saying yes.
"Oh yeah, did you run Broad Street?" he added.
Still concentrating on my shoes and paying the man little mind, I said "No, I did another race that day, but I've done it many times."
He obviously didn't mind that I wasn't paying attention. Continuing the conversation that he wanted to have, he said "yeah, well that was my first time. It was great."
Now I was intrigued. I stopped looking at my feet and turned my attention and my body to him. He was, to say the least, an atypical runner. Tall and heavyset with a chipped snaggle-tooth and large, wire-rimmed glasses sitting crooked on his face.
"Whenever I see someone trying on sneakers, I like to come over and see if I can help them." He quickly added, "I did the Philly Marathon 8K too. That was great."
I realized that he was no "ordinary" runner. I could sense that running was new hobby and that he was extremely proud to laud his accomplishments. I wanted to know more and I wanted to continue to let him talk and beam with pride. I asked what he was doing next.
"Oh I don't know," he said, "I run with a group called Back on My Feet so..."
As he mentioned Back on My Feet, I nodded excitedly causing him to stop mid-sentence.
"You know about Back on My Feet?" he asked.
"Yeah, it's a great organization. Good for you." I responded. Back on My Feet is an organization started in Philadelphia to help the homeless get "back on their feet" and gain self-confidence, strength, pride and motivation through running. I frequently see people in BOMF shirts out running. I've read about the organization and seriously considered volunteering.
Acknowledging that I knew about the organization, my new friend and I looked at each other with a mutual sense of understanding. He needn't say more. I knew about his past, just without the details.
We continued talking for several more minutes, talking about brands of shoes, future race plans and nagging injuries.
At one point, he added, "at the shelter, we run at 5:30 in the morning. It's a great way to get the day started."
I was humbled. And stunned. And in awe. Here was this man, who likely at times in his life was at the lowest of low- homeless, jobless, likely suffering from addiction, without friends or family and definitely without a hobby like running. Now he had a roof over his head at night, a job when many don't, accomplishments in running, a reason to wake up in the morning and undeniable pride encircling him. In an instant, he put my whole life into perspective. I felt like the luckiest person in the entire world for what I have and for having met him.
We ended our conversation as he went to go help another costumer and I went to pay for my sneakers. As I walked away, I realized I hadn't asked his name. I wanted to know his name, but I also wanted to commend him. On my way out, I stopped the manager-looking person standing near the front door, "excuse me, what is that man's name?" I asked as I pointed towards him, already happily helping another customer.
"Charles," she replied, with question and trepidation in her voice.
"Thank you. He was really nice and I just didn't get his name."
Relieved, her face lit up with a huge smile as she said "oh wow, thanks, that's so nice."
As I walked out and reflected on my encounter, I teared up, moved and inspired. I've said that the reason I run is because I can. So, obviously, does Charles. There are undoubtedly few similarities between Charles's life and mine. But we're both runners.
Tomorrow morning, we will both wake up at 5:30 to run and greet another day.
Nearly four months after the blister from hell took possession of my big toe causing me weeks of pain, then an open wound, then an infection, then more pain, then a scab, then a scar, today I finally got a long-awaited pedicure! A lovely post-down-pouring-rain trail run (which involved "running" knee deep in water across a creek and skipping over, across and through many mud puddles) this afternoon with Abby and Brent presented the perfect opportunity for a pedicure. My feet had been soaking in my water-logged shoes for an hour so there was no need to soak at the nail salon.
A cautionary note: this picture is deceiving because it make it look as if I have a full complement of toenails. From the left, toes #1, #5 and #7 are without toenails. Pedicurists are miracle workers! (I will save us all the agony by not posting the before pictures, nor any of the pictures of the blister.)
After each race, there's always one question: so what's next?
Very often, my next race is planned before the current one is over. This time I had nothing officially on my calendar until September. However, big plans were (and still are) in the works for the next adventure. (Stay tuned for the full low down when Abby and I determine our destiny.)
My next run, however, was today. I took yesterday off and got a massage to ease my sore muscles. By this afternoon, I was SO ready to run. When I got home from work, I quickly changed, put on my new race shirt and went outside ready to brave the cold, rain and a couple tight muscles. I walked the first couple of blocks, nervous to start running.
Then I started running and everything just fell back into place. My quads may not have been so excited that they were being used again, but everything else felt great. I ran to a nearby park. I ran around the park and onto a little trail through the woods. And then I ran it again. And again. I didn't want to stop.
Feeling so good just reaffirmed to me what I've known for some time, but still occasionally question- I am meant to be a runner.
Last night I didn't fall asleep until 3:15 am. I was WIDE awake. Not tired at all. I had to force myself to get into bed and close my eyes with the hope that eventually I'd drift off. Less than four hours later, well before my alarm clock went off, I was bright eyed, bushy tailed and antsy to start another day. What the hell was wrong with me?
Simple, I hadn't run. I had WAY too much energy and no way to burn any of it off. Sometimes I feel like I'm spinning around but going no where, like a hamster in a wheel. My legs and mind restless to get out and explore. Luckily, the cure is simple. Lace up my sneakers and put one foot in front of the other. No matter what, it always feels good because it what I'm meant to do.
With apologizes to Bruce Springsteen, baby I was born to run.
"The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry."
-John Steinbeck
Today was a shining example of very well laid plans not being executed as thought. As Abby, Ali and I lined up for the start of the New Jersey Marathon, we all felt remarkably good. Not that there weren't nerves circling around and not that we didn't worry or question the task ahead of us, but we were loudly singing obnoxious songs while waiting for the race to start, so we weren't that bad off. Unfortunately, that changed pretty quickly.
We decided to run (at least for part of the race) with one of the pace groups, so that we would start off on pace and remain consistent. But when the pacer neither starts slow nor runs a consistent pace, it's hard to stick the aforementioned plan. The weather was opposite of typical race day weather. It was muggy and humid to start and cold and rainy in the later hours of the race. There were approximately 9000 people running today (only 2500 or so running the full marathon), which seems like a nice small race. But when the race starts out on a thin boardwalk and meanders through small streets, running with 9000 others feels like the running of the bulls.
And then there was the part where I hit the proverbial wall. At mile 2.
For some unknown reason (or reasons), around mile 2, my upper legs began tingling, feeling heavy and tight, my finger swelled up like sausages, I already had a sweaty salt mustache, my heart was racing, my breathing was inconsistent and felt like absolute crap. I pushed through trying to find my rhythm (or any rhythm, for that matter). But my legs continued to tingle and it was spreading down my legs, eventually getting to a point where I had little feeling in my calves and feet. By mile 5, after ditching the paceless pacer, it was becoming obvious to Abby that I wasn't doing well. I continued to assure her that I was hurting and confused, but okay. Having compiled a song list pre-race, we were excited to have a 26.2 mile sing-a-long. Trying to take my mind off my ailing and failing body, Abby offered to sing and I happily welcomed the distraction. She began singing "Maria" from The Sound of Music (a personal favorite soundtrack to sing during races because I know every word and singing all the songs start to finish occupies a good chunk of time). She sang the first two lines and then I tried to join in. I couldn't even my breath enough to do anything remotely close to singing. I exhaustively exhaled every third word or so, even though I desperately wanted to sing each and every one and do the arm motions as well. I knew things weren't going well and likely wouldn't be getting better.
Throughout training, Abby and I were very clear that we would attempt our goal, but should we be having an off day, midrace reevaluation could and would take place. I staved off reevaluation for almost 7 miles before realizing that I was getting worse and couldn't foresee getting better. We reevaluated. I told Abby that I was disappointed in myself for feeling as I was, especially because I couldn't determine a cause or explanation. More importantly, I knew I'd be more disappointed if I let my problems affect her. She was feeling and looking great. So I told her to go. I hesitated doing so, not because I didn't want to run alone or want her to go ahead, but because I was extremely scared by what was happening to me and wanted someone there in case I got worse. I told her I was positive that no matter what I would finish the marathon, I just didn't know how long it would take me or what physical shape I would be in by the finish. We made a few promises and shared a good luck hug. She ran ahead (looking fantastic) and I began walking (looking like hell). At that point, I was quite sure that I would be doing a 7 hour marathon.
When Abby and I parted ways, I was demoralized. I was upset with myself, upset with my body, upset with the weather, upset with the pacer, upset with a lot of things, upset for reasons I didn't know. One thing I did know and was completely sure about was that I had the ability inside of me to continue on and refocus myself away from the pain and towards my new goal: finishing the marathon. After a short pity party and dismissing the worst case scenario (being so dehydrated and hyponatremic that I would have an abnormal heart rhythm and pass out on the side of the road), I composed myself, drank some Gatorade, stretched my legs and continued moving forward.
I have done races of many distances, with varying levels of difficulty, in most every type of weather condition and with differing amounts of training. As a result, I know that I have an amazingly innate ability to get through just about anything. When I started doing endurance races (triathlons and marathons), I quickly discovered something about myself that I hadn't known before: I have a ridiculous amount of willpower, a extremely high level of endurance and am as stubborn as the stubbornest mule ever. Simply put, I do not give up.
So as defeated, distressed, upset, disappointed, troubled, saddened, confused and pissed off as I was, I quickly shook off these feelings and reminded myself that I had the power within me to overcome all that had already happened and anything that would come. Having little to no feeling in my legs for nearly 8 miles meant that even as I felt better, my legs were not 100% and would not return to such. I did, however, have one muscle in my body that was working better than ever and would end up having the performance of a lifetime: my brain. (OK, science buffs, I know the brain is not actually a muscle. Details, details.)
Just as Peter Pan said, I thought lovely, wonderful thoughts and up I went, flying. (Actually, I was running, but you get the point.) Stopping to walk and drink Gatorade and water at every water stop and running in the interim, I found my rhythm by mile 11 and was feeling much better. But I continued to remain overly conscious that my positive thoughts were the most important thing keeping me going.
I began noticing inspirational quotes on the back of other runner’s shirts:
“You don’t realize your own strength until being strong is the only option you have.”
“We are put in situations to build our character. Not to destroy us.”
"Run if you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must, just keep moving forward."
"If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves."
"It matters how you are going to finish."
I thought of things to humor myself:
- how silky (or not so silky) the roads were
- wondering how many comfortable beds there were in the mansions we ran past
- looking for runners with wedgies
- thinking about how much I would have to tip the person who did my post-race pedicure (my toes were in bad shape before the marathon and surely didn't improve after running most of the race in soggy shoes)
I sang songs to myself (some appropriate, some just plain random):
"We Shall Overcome"
"This Land Is My Land, This Land Is Your Land"
"I Have Confidence"
"Pocketful of Sunshine"
"I Want It That Way"
"Chasing Pavements"
And of course, the Rocky theme song, from miles 24 1/2 until the end.
I tried to help and inspire others:
- as I ran passed a woman breathing heavy and painfully sauntering along, I looked her in the eye and reminder her that the Ironman Finisher hat she was wearing meant she could do anything. We would later meet up and run together for a few minutes, sharing Ironman stories.
- at mile 21, I heard a man say "they said this was easy." I quickly responded by saying "there's no such thing as an easy marathon, that's the point. But you are closer than you've ever been to finishing this one, so keep going."
- while I was taking a walk break, a man ran past me and said "c'mon you've only got less than 4 miles left" prompting me to quickly begin running and blow past him. He yelled out "what the hell just got into you?" I turned around and said "you telling me the best news I've heard all day!"
- when I saw Ali at mile 23, I told her that in less than three miles, she was going to finish the fastest marathon she's ever done and that I couldn't wait to see her cross the finish line with her arms in the air. About 20 minutes later, I very loudly cheered and screamed as she sprinted across the finish line with her arms triumphantly above her head.
I also looked into myself for inspiration. The day before the race, someone at the expo shared a great late race inspiration strategy. He told us to think of 6 people who we would tell about our marathon accomplishment. Starting at mile 20 of the marathon, we were to picture one person per mile and imagine their response, visualize their reaction and envision how proud they would be. I had picked my six people, but I never got to the second part. That's because I realized I had far more than six people who would be proud, who would be amazed, who would be happy, no matter how I finished. I knew that the amount of perseverance and strength that I displayed today was enough and perhaps more impressive than a fast time. I started thinking, instead, of people who wouldn't be impressed. I couldn't think of a single person.
I was easily able to think of the one person who I knew would be the proudest: me. As I rounded the corner onto the boardwalk and ran the last mile with the ocean to my right and a host of rain-soaked spectators to my left, I knew what I was about to do would be one of my greatest accomplishments. I crossed the finish line ecstatic, relieved, tired and beaming with pride. My body had tried to fail me, but my mind performed better than I expected. In the face of challenge, you can either alter the challenge or alter yourself to meet the challenge. I couldn't change the marathon; it wouldn't get shorter or easier. I could and did, however, change my mindset to reach up to the challenge, knowing that what was inside of me was stronger and more powerful than the task ahead of me.
Today did not go as planned. But it was still a great day.
Marathoners (and support crew) post-race, still smiling
(Bess, Andrew, Abby, Brent, Rob, Ali)
It would be remiss if I failed to mention the stellar performances by my fellow runners. Abby, Ali and Andrew each triumphed at points and struggled at others but, most importantly, finished strong. With personal best times and performances to boot. I hope they are as proud of themselves as I am of them.
