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From ER to PR: A Sasquatch Takes Vegas
Ah, Las Vegas … Sin City … the City of Lights … a crossroads of human peculiarity closely resembling a cracked out, urban format version of ‘True Blood’ where the abs are replaced by copious amounts of cowboy hats. Apparently marathon weekend also featured the rodeo and professional bull riding, so, needless to say too much more, this was a truly colorful and shapely people-watching weekend! Regardless, Vegas was my A-race, the one that I sunk more blood, sweat and miles into than I have for any other race in nearly four years. This was my fourth attempt at the sub-3-hour marathon, which has eluded by as little as 59-seconds and as much as 18-minutes. But this time it was going to be different, right? The work was done, conditions were prime, there was nothing standing in the way of my success, was there?
Four years ago I set my marathon PR during the Boston marathon, racing against my buddy Justin in a friendly bit of competition, I ran a 3:00:58, which was fantastic! Why did I fall short then? I calorie crashed late in the race, the timing of my nutrition was a bit off. After that I flopped two more attempts, the next at the 2010 Chicago marathon, where I flopped horribly thanks to an extremely syrupy Gatorade mix that prompted an untimely, repetitious bout of regurgitation from miles 16 to 22 … finish time, 3:10:49. My third strike came at the 2011 Boston marathon where, once again, errors in nutrition culminated in a less than spectacular finish time (3:16:18), but a fantastic story and finishing photo. The most important thing for me to take away from all of these races was what I learned from my mistakes, right? Of course!! And you can bet your ass I did, but the learning curve was obviously quite a bit flatter than I would have hoped for … apparently I’m a little slow. Now with all that fine learning and raceducation, what could possibly go wrong on attempt ole lucky number 4?!
Picture it, Massachusetts, Thanksgiving weekend, second week of taper and my eyes squarely focused on Las Vegas. Strong. Fit. Fast. Healthy. Oh no … wait just one second … yah, about that last one, yaaaaaaaah, not so much. While home with my entire family for the holiday weekend, my darling sister was sick with the black plague of upper respiratory infections, which I apparently contracted out of pure brotherly love. As a result, I spent the bulk of that weekend just trying to sweat the damn thing out, laboring with a 102+ fever and looking like a mere shade of the healthy self that ran the Turkey Trot that Thursday morning bright and early. Now, you may ask, “Did I still run that weekend?” Ha! Please, you know I did, but it was a seriously cut down version of what I had planned on doing. I mean seriously, you’d think that with my ridiculously congested lungs and lovely fever that that would be enough of an obstacle heading into race week for me to deal with, but I had no such luck, and this was soooooo far from over.
Tuesday morning rolls around, still battling this upper respiratory crap, and I wake up looking like friggin’ Eddie Murphy in ‘The Nutty Professor’ with a lower lip the size of a banana boat! I really, really wish I was making this stuff up, but there it is!!! 
After trying a few different ways of dealing with this apparent allergic reaction, to what I am still uncertain, I went to the ER where I was given steroids for the allergic reaction and then a potpourri of other drugs to deal with the chowder in my lungs and the lingering fever that just didn’t feel like leaving. In the span of a week my body had gone from being primed for greatness to a pharmaceutical waste dump that could barely run half a mile without coughing up a pound or twos worth of globular mucous masses. I was a hot mess and starting to FREAK out about race day.
Fast forward a few days and I’m staring to be on the mend, but the lungs are still pretty shoddy. I get to Vegas on Friday night and it’s colder there than it is on the East Coast! What the hell is that all about? To be fair, the weather conditions when I got there were pretty perfect, mid to high 50s with a light wind, that is until the following morning. I get up for my shakeout run with an few 100m pick ups thrown in the mix and I end up running in a nippy 37-degree sunny morning with a 20-25 mph wind kicking around, just what I always wanted!!!! Regardless, my legs felt good and I was looking forward to meeting up with some Twitter folk for dinner that evening (@SkibbaDoo, @SugarMagnolia70, @CoachKristieLV, @Moonkinrunning, @_SilverGirl_, @SnowVols) and just having a chill night, which I did. It really was pretty sweet.
Race day morning, just to add to the pressure of the weekend, my coach for this race, the White She-Devil (@le_diable), arrived to come and lay witness to her handiwork in person, or, in her words, “make sure you don’t f*ck up.” We go grab breakfast at Einstein’s Bagels and review our race plan one more time. While there she tells me about one of her friends that ran that morning, went out a smidge too fast, pushed their limits, buckled a bit in the last 10k, but threw everything she had at her race. The story stuck with me and reaffirmed the validity of our plan for the day: don’t go out too fast, be patient through the first half, and make the second half of the race my bitch!! Shortly after breakfast we went and met up with Jamie (@lucky7runner), a fellow Team Sasquatcher, and picked up a pair of arm sleeves from her, which I had asked her to grab while at the expo since it seemed like it was going to be a bit colder than I had prepared for (I will forever be in your debt Jamie). I grabbed the sleeves, wished Jamie good luck in the half, and went upstairs to put my feet up until go time.
Time marched along quickly and it was soon time to get ready to rumble. I got changed, threw on some SERIOUS metal to get my head in the right brain space, did a few down and up dogs to stretch out my hips, calves and hamstrings, and then it was out onto Las Vegas Boulevard to get loose with WSD. For those who know me, as serious as I do get pre-race I am still a goof, so imagining me skipping down the street doing my plyo-metric leg looseners, followed by a nice easy jog, is not all that odd. After hitting the bathroom it was off to corral #2, which was a joke, because they didn’t check bibs or segregate the waves at all, and I saw my friend Jennifer (@jnnnln) all ready to go. We not-so-stealthily edged our way forward and claimed our place in what then appeared to be the lead pack? You really couldn’t tell at all and, in the end, who cared.?! They weren’t really paying attention to anything going on in the corrals.
BOOM! The gun sounded and the time for wondering was over, it was time to see what I could do.
The first section of the marathon course randomly wove and braided through some weird “neighborhoods” and industrial park-like areas that were quiet, isolated, and with very little if any crowd support. To be honest, I didn’t care at all, because I was on a mission and there wasn’t anything that was going to distract me from my objective. Every once in a while on the course I saw the WSD running in the opposite direction, keeping me on task. I kept the pace comfortable, smooth, and right in the vicinity we had talked about (6:40ish) through the first half, basically hanging with a small cluster of wily gentlemen that kept me in check. Once I hit the half-marathon mark EVERYTHING changed and the gloves came off …
… and apparently so did the wheels for the race organizers as the Full marathoners collided with the Half runners, like a sweat swelled tsunami. Interestingly enough, the half-marathon was supposed to start about 90-minutes AFTER the full, with the two merging and sharing Las Vegas Boulevard, etc., for the rest of the race. Only problem was that the half started a little early and when I got to the merge, which was a sharp left, I literally slammed right into three or four people from the half running 8 or 9-minute miles that were pushing into the single lane delineated for the full. I felt like the Blues Brothers driving through the city streets of Chicago the way people were slamming into each other all running down the finish line; it’s 13.1 miles to the finish line, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of endurolytes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses. Some choice words were issued for me regarding my fore-checking skills, which I dutifully disregarded, and the race continued, albeit with a slight change in tone. Honestly, I got so pissed off at the fact that the half was now greedily usurping the ENTIRE road that my nice 6:30ish pace I’d been holding erupted to more like a 6:10ish pace. If I could have laid waste to all the people that had forced their way into the marathon lane, which was no larger than the Central Park bike lane, I would have. I’m sorry, I’m usually not so aggressive about such things, but I was not going to let this logistical snafu jeopardize everything I worked for.
When I first signed up for this race I honestly thought running the strip would have been more fun, enjoying the pretty lights and interesting people, but I got in such a zone that everything else just disappeared and I just kept pushing. For a time I had no idea where I was on the course, because there were at least 3-4 mile markers that were missing, but once I figured out where I was my thoughts returned to the story of the runner from that morning. All I kept thinking about was that last 10k, “there is no way I am slowing down. Whatever I have left is going to be left on this course and slowing down is NOT an option.”
In the last 10k, I did slow a little, but not a lot. The head wind that had picked up with about 7-miles to go was starting to wear on me, as was the long false flat that I had been staring at. Within 2-miles of the finish everything was on fire, but I could see the Mandalay Bay was close and that meant the finish was not far from my grasp. Those last 2-miles seemed to last FOREVER regardless of how hard I kept pushing, and, to be fair, I spoke with 3 people later on that had the course measured out a little more than a half-mile too long, based on their Garmins. The last few turns to the finish line were horrible, but I was there and the clock read 2:50!!!!
As I crossed the finish line I tried catching my breath, but my lungs just wouldn’t allow it thanks to all the sludge and congestion and all I could do was cough. Every step or two another violent cough, which started to worry me cause I was starting to feel a little light headed. I took a second to gather myself and decided to go into the medical tent to warm my lungs up for a minute and see if that would help at all, which it did. Sitting there in the empty tent it hadn’t even fully set in yet, I hadn’t even looked at my watch to see my time!!!
Victory NEVER felt so sweet!! Official finish time 2:50:29 (10:29 PR), 27th Overall Finisher, 25th Male, 7th in AG, and, a negative split on the back half that also was a half-marathon PR (1:26:08 first half, 1:24:21 second half). The plan, the training, and the weather was pretty much perfect even if my health wasn’t and the night was mine to revel in!!
December 9, 2011 No Comments 
The Bits & Pieces of Winter Running
After this past weekend’s lovely little bit of freezing cold rain and bewildering snowfall, which I sadly had to run a 14-mile interval and tempo-progression workout in, it became evident that I should talk about winter running wardrobe essentials … I just can’t believe I had to start it up so early!! It’s truly fascinating to look at the various evolutionary processes that we all undergo as we become increasingly more involved in running.
First, it is simply the act itself. The idea of running more than a mile on the track, a la the required annual fitness test in middle and high school, which I’m not even sure they do anymore, was daunting. Then 5km (“Eww”), 5-miles (“Gross”), 10km (“I think I’m gonna be sick”), 10-miles (“I just threw up in my mouth a little”), a half-marathon (“Yep, I definitely threw up in my mouth and may have wet myself a little too”), and then a full marathon (“Just shoot me and use my meaty carcass to sustain your families, fertilize the Earth, mount my skull over your hearth, oh yah, and these shorts probably should be burned after removing”). Recently, I had an epiphany as I received my latest order from the fine people at Brooks Running, the evolution of my winter running wardrobe!!! Oh yah, I know there are items essential to the female running wardrobe, well, this time I am going to go into an item or two from the male canon.
Over the past several cold, cold winters I have gone through a dramatic shift in running attire. In the early years it was about being comfortable with the idea of wearing tights AT ALL, which was difficult for me to even comprehend having grown up in a house with a dancer/ballerina who wore them all the time for everything. They were distinctly and singularly for the opposite sex and the furthest thing from masculine. So, in the beginning, I wore adidas track pants and oh what a terrible, awful idea that was. Heavy, cumbersome, and just terribly inefficient for running, it was like running in a sweat logged sumo suit.
I then graduated to the much maligned and fashion police felony of shorts OVER tights maneuver. Little did I know that this widely accepted New England, late fall, soccer maneuver was so horribly frowned upon! My good friend Bill Risch and I caught hell for this one for like two years!! After much goading I finally took the leap and just rocked the tights, which I still don’t really like, but what can you do? Run inside on the dreadmill? I’d rather be run down from behind by an entire cycling team. It’s just a little running around like a cartoon stick figure through Central Park and they just aren’t flattering to wear.
Now that I’m comfortable with the whole tights thing, there is another gentlemanly matter that should totally be discussed openly, and that is the little, or large, matter of making sure “Heavy D and the boys” (euphemism courtesy of BroSquatch) are kept at an optimum temperature and you are not left fearing the possibility that things may shatter if accidentally grazed. Oh yah, you know what I’m talking about and for those of the female persuasion this is a very real fear! For a while now I’ve worn compression shorts under my tights simply for the additional support since I have been prone to hamstring problems in the colder months, but I also thought they helped with keeping the ole “twig and berries” (euphemism courtesy of Austin Powers) warm, but I was wrong. I tried other methods to withstand the arctic frost, including wearing my bib pinned to the front of my tights just to protect the “schwartz” (euphemism courtesy of Dark Helmet) from the wind. This methodology worked well for me for a while, but never enough to make training or racing in the winter even remotely comfortable … that is until now. Well, I finally found something that’s helped with this particular issue and it is something, much like tights, that I would never in a million years think I would EVER wear, but those days are long since over and these bad boys are amongst my winter gear essentials!
Behold, the Brooks Equilibrium Wind Brief!!! Tighty whiteys are one thing I swore I would never wear again, and I won’t, but let me tell you, these things are on a whole other level. I first bought a pair on a whim, because after doing about 30 runs at temperatures where most living organisms stay indoors and having not found any sort of solution that was either comfortable or made sense, it was time to pull a Monty Python and go for something completely different. Honestly, I dreaded the idea of wearing these things … I mean look at them! I know this is going to sound way cooler than it is, but they look like standard issue Storm Trooper briefs. The material covering the exterior is like a cloth version of the metal sheets you get wrapped in AFTER a marathon! It’s just weird, BUT fantastically effective. Climate controlled bliss for a “fireman” (euphemism courtesy of Eric Cartman) is a truly wonderful thing!! I’ve gone a couple seasons with these, and even incorporated the wind shorts into the mix as well. Seriously, gentlemen, these things are comfortable, never ride up or bunch, are remarkable in shitty, windy, cold conditions, and aren’t expensive at all. What they do require is not feeling really awkward and goofy when you pull them out of the drawer and put them on, which I have to tell you I do every single time I do. Check them out gentlemen and fall victim to the dark side of the force!!!!
November 2, 2011 1 Comment
All I wanted was RnR & got this 10K
Over the weekend I participated in the Rock n Roll New York 10k in Prospect Park in Brooklyn, the “Coolest city in the Country”. Now, my only previous experience with Rock n Roll races was the San Diego Marathon a couple of years ago as part of a relay team and that was kind of a nightmare, so I was interested to see how things went in my own back yard. This race was thrown into my schedule just to keep me racing and running under competitive conditions and because we couldn’t find a half-marathon reasonably close that fit my coaching and training schedule. Heading into it, my training with the White She-Devil was progressing quite nicely, the torture was consistent insane and, as I’ve mentioned before, I just did what I was told, but did have a little bit of a hitch in my giddy up thanks to some tightness in my right leg – a little in the hamstring and a little in the calf. Regardless, I went into Prospect Park with the intention of racing the race and seeing where I was physically.
To be honest, for the 36-hours prior to the race I really had no desire to go and race at all. I just wasn’t feeling it at all. It all started with packet pick-up on Friday night. I got there with my info in hand and had to stand in this crazy, long line at Super Runners Shop in midtown waiting to NOT get my bag or shirt, because they ran out, being squawked at by a couple of intense and totally flaky women whipping about. The only upside was that I could get my bib and timing tag so I wouldn’t have to deal with that crap in the morning. That whole experience was just unnerving and irritating in its inefficiency and psychosis, which left me wanting to do anything else but race in the morning. Sleeping, eating, and watching the EPL (English Premier League for those keeping score) was sounding so much more exciting and desirable than a 5 am wake-up call, a long ass Q train ride to the park, and a chilly morning’s gallop in short shorts.
Well, the insane air raid siren alarm goes off, I go through my routine and get my butt in gear and on the train. I spent the ride down, listening to The Haunted (so appropriate heading into the Halloween season), and reviewing the texting conversation between White She-Devil and myself about the pace plan for the race. It went something like this:
SS: Instructions for tomorrow?
WSD: Win
SS: Duh … of course?!
WSD: OK, but in all seriousness … Get a good warm-up, don’t go out too hard, race the 2nd half. Race it for real, it will give us good data.
SS: First mile split?
WSD: How do you feel about 6-6:10 range?
SS: Do I have to answer that? Fine. It shall be done.
Reading it again I couldn’t help but feel bullied into that pace, like Mouth coercing Chunk into the Truffle Shuffle in “The Goonies” … Come ON!!! Do IT! Come on. DO IT!! I changed into my PureFlow on the train and surveyed the mass of runners making the journey with me and was pretty impressed by the sheer quantity of people that paid like $75 for a 10k race and to get a really, really heavy medal!
Now, on my way to the starting area, I have to say, there was one thing that I saw that completely took me by surprise. I mean, seriously, there is nothing in the world that can prepare you for seeing two guys, seemingly boxers by the sweat suits and shadowboxing, running towards you one of which with a shake weight bouncing up and down in his two hands. Oh yah, this was something to behold, I tell you. I stopped walking, watched the two rather large gentlemen cruise by, and then just gawked at his form and technique using both hands on the shake weight while running. RIVETING!!
It took a while to shake that image from my head, but once it cleared and I dropped my bag, etc. I went through my 20-minute warm-up, as prescribed by WSD, and headed for my corral. Temps were pretty much perfect, I felt loose, but still skeptical about the race plan. At the sound of the start I eased into the race and just trying to find a nice rhythm and cadence while getting out of the thick of the pack, that lovely initial swell surging forward like an above ground pool bursting through one of its walls. First mile I just kept in check and found a runner to basically pace off of so I would have a fair measuring stick and, amazingly enough, basically did that mile to spec, 6:09. From there is just worked it rhythmically trying to stay comfortable and whenever my calf started getting pissy with me I backed it down a bit. First loop of the park was solid, then coming up the “big hill” for the second time my right leg was a little crankier about it, but the second I cleared the hill and the pitch of the road dipped I felt completely fine again and just kept my foot on the gas, which was pretty much a 5:53 pace (WSD wanted me to be sure to point that out).
The last 2-miles were spent chasing down the same two people, a really nice Kiwi (New Zealander for those requiring an explanation) and a dude in a long sleeved black shirt. The three of us basically took turns pushing the group, rotating from lead to back of the pack, all the way until the last 800-meters when I decided that I’d had enough of that. I went from the back of our little pack to the front and just closed the damn race out. After crossing the finish line I immediately turned around and slapped five and shook the hands of the other two and thanked them for keeping me honest for the last couple of miles. When I looked down at my watch and was kind of disappointed, solely due to the fact that I had run a 37:07 PR at the Cow Harbor 10k not long ago and I had just done a 37:09. Oh well, they won’t ALL be PRs and this was NOT my goal race, so I moved on.
I got my bag, then the shirt that they didn’t have for me the night before and went to watch some of my friends finish up and see how they did. Unlike the majority of people at the race, I had no real issue with gear check, I also refused to use the RnR back pack bag that they gave out, because I wanted something much more recognizable and different so I could retrieve it easily. But, once my friends finished up and they went to get their gear, HOLY CRAP was it a complete cluster f*ck!!! Lines for each truck were really long, there was only one person or maybe two staffers on the truck retrieving them and absolutely NO discernible system for their storage. All the bags were just in heaps to be tossed and sorted through, just awful! OY!!! RnR, ya might want to get it together with the organizing and logistics, this is not the first time I’ve experienced this with you guys!
All in all it was a successful race day where I finished better than I have in a New York race ever and actually won my age group for the first time since I did a random 5-miler in MA when I was 15 years old. Final stats were as follows: Finished in 37:09, 25/4305, 20th male, 1st in division.
October 25, 2011 1 Comment
Brooks Brought My Feet PureBliss!!
It only took three weeks, eighteen runs, and two months of waiting for them on pre-order, but I can now safely say with utmost certainty that I am smitten with the Brooks PureProject. Sure, it may be a little excessive to be in love with a line of running shoes, but come on, seriously, if women can obsess and swoon over every possible variation of footwear and roadies can jones over bike porn, then a mythical creature with a running addiction can be smitten with his new kicks!
The Brooks PureProject has a few different options out there to sample, the Connect, Grit, Cadence, and the Flow. Aesthetically speaking, the whole line is just slick. The design is sleek, the accents, colors and construction are well thought out, and you really can’t find much, if any, fault with any of the offerings. The color palettes are outstanding. Personally, I hate the use of white in running shoes and the ONLY shoe in the whole line that features any white is the women’s Connect, which is fine by me. Save that one model, the women’s line is solidly done in variations of blue, black, grey, and a brownish color for the grit. The men’s side is a sweet potpourri of green, grey, and black … straight up BALLER! Love it!
Now, as for my personal testing of the line, I am only covering two of the four. I’m a bit apprehensive about testing out the PureConnect due to my gnarly busted up toes (thank you soccer and basketball for breaking them a few times and making things difficult). The Connect is a featherweight, minimal shoe with as little material as is necessary, which just may be a bit less than I can handle at the moment. The PureGrit is the trail running shoe and is one that I definitely will be sampling at a later date, don’t you worry. That leaves the PureCadence and the PureFlow, which I’ve been pounding on and putting through the intense rigors of my White She-Devil prescribed workouts. Seriously, the variety of paces, terrain, and weather conditions I’ve put these two pairs of shoes through are more grueling than the field testing Michelin puts their tires through.
First, maybe not the first to arrive but for review, are the PureCadence. I’ve progressively been working my way down to more minimalist shoes over the last two years, spending most of the last year rocking the Ravenna and this one is a nice full step even further down. They are insanely light, flexible, breathable, and have a more traditional-style sole compared to the rest of the line. The new Internal PDRB ramp (for smooth transition and midfoot running) and Nav Band at the midsole are a great step forward, although the Nav Band is so loose around my slender feet that it doesn’t really do anything at all.
The PureCadence performs fantastically. I loved it during my speed work and shorter tempo runs, but it has taken some getting used to for my longer miles. It is extremely comfortable and it has just enough structure to make this pronator happy. Now, with them adequately broken in, I definitely am enjoying them a lot more. The Cadence has officially found its place in the rotation, but is not the creme de la creme of this line, in my opinion, that honor belongs to the PureFlow.
BEHOLD!!!! The PureFlow! Seriously, when I first popped open the box and the bright green was almost glowing through the brown paper they were wrapped in all I could think was, “This looks like it could be gravy!” No, not THAT “gravy” … you know who you are for thinking it! As soon as I pulled these out of the box I could hear choirs of angels and cherubs singing in full chorus … oh yah, it was a moment of epic proportion, like Arthur pulling the sword from the stone epic. The PureFlow has the same Nav Band seen throughout the line, which I once again didn’t notice, but has what feels like a wider toe box, less lacing, and perhaps the best cushioning I’ve felt in a running shoe. The wider toe box I’ve gotten used to a bit, but I do wish that the lacing went a little further down the shoe, as my dainty, narrow feet really like to be hugged a little bit more and not have so much room at the forefoot that I’m slipping around in them. Regardless of those minor issues, they look and feel badass and, as we all know, it is REALLY important to have badass looking shoes out on the course.
On the road, the Flow performed far beyond my expectations. They are extremely light, responsive, and did I happen to mention that they may have the most exceptional cushioning of any shoe I’ve sampled. I’ve done numerous speed workouts (800s, fartleks, tempo runs) in them and have loved every one of them. I even did my 18-mile “Dress Rehearsal” pacing run in Chicago in them and just crushed it feeling absolutely amazing, like running on marshmallows and enjoying the sweet, sugary deliciousness with my feet!!! Only minus that I noticed with this particular model is that, much like the Green Silence, they don’t like getting wet at all. The material used is so light and stretchy (almost spongy) that once they start taking on water the material expands and loosens up and no matter how I tighten them they still have a lot of play.
With two down and two more to go in Brooks’ PureProject, thus far I have to give them high praise for the advances they’ve made not only stylistically, but on the technical side as well. The Cadence and Flow are absolutely fantastic and have lived up to all the hype leading up to the line’s release. Stay tuned for my review of the Connect and Grit in the coming weeks!!
October 21, 2011 5 Comments
From Fall-icle to Furball
As seems to be standard operating procedure for us bipedals, Sasquatch included, when the Earth completes a full orbital revolution of the Sun we must take a moment and assess ourselves, reviewing our primary action items, and gauge our overall status on this plane of existence. I know, DEEP. Well, I was recently asked about my running past and how the hell I got to where I am now and in my recollection of it all I realized I have yet to truly tell the tale. Honestly, it was hardly an epic journey, but it was certainly more amusing in the retelling than I had previously thought. And so, without any further introduction, From Fall-icle to Furball!
Picture it, the Upper West Side of Manhattan, 2004, in a bizarre twist of fate, the job that was going to keep me in New York is stripped from me before it really even started, as my fickle employers decided to cut our entire department after only two weeks sending my boss, myself, and three others scrambling to find alternative employment. It wasn’t something I could’ve foreseen, but was nonetheless an unavoidable disaster, which put me in the throws of a very unhealthy depression. What kind of unhealthy, you ask? Why, one that was full of large quantities of food, a ridiculous contribution to Coca-Cola’s profit margin, a well-pronounced love affair with baked goods, and an amazing coaching record on FIFA for PS2 (Viperz FC dominated all of Europe). It was an epic fall that sucked the life force clear out of me.
In the wake of that employment disaster I found myself living with DG (you’ll get no more than that about her), coaching soccer on the weekends, editing grad school and thesis papers, and spending the bulk of my week employed, using the appropriate neologism, as a Manny. Oh yah, it was baller! Hanging out with a 6-year-old boy with an incredible brain for science and nerdiness was actually pretty friggin’ awesome. Well, in addition to my descent into a life of odd jobs, I also stopped being active, really not doing more than the little bit of soccer I played with my 2-8-year-old classes. Needless to say, the only thing that I was gaining was girth … topping off at a delicious 236 lbs of pure Sasquatchian laziness after about 9-months!! You don’t believe me?! Check out the photographic evidence below!
Now, as fate would have it, DG, who had NEVER even been a participant in a gym class in her entire life, decides to join a club called “Marathon Running” at school for credit. I swear on my life it’s true. I couldn’t make this up in million years. Anyway, once she got into a bit her asthma, which had plagued her entire childhood, teen, and young adult life appeared to have disappeared! With a new found love for cardiovascular exercise she got a bit cocky and seeing this mass of humanity flopped on the couch that once been a runner, she wielded the most lethal three-word attack anyone can throw down … the infamous triple dog dare. She dared me to race her at her next race (a 4-miler)! Oh yah, apparently playtime was over and go-time was next in line! What ensued was a battle of the sexes with the evocative power of that “Who broke my window” ad from the 80’s.
With the gauntlet thrown and DG now completely obsessed with this “club” and training, I was going to have to actually extract myself from the mold I had created with my big, stupid body and actually start running again. Just for a little background, I did run the previous two years while at Columbia, just to keep from becoming a complete lunatic (partial is always acceptable), but only say 3-5 miles during the week, or I played basketball in Riverside Park if the weather was nice. That being said, the first run I went on after my athletic hiatus was a humbling, humbling experience. I was so used to running faster and carrying less weight that I went out and just ran like I used to and, let me tell you, my legs, lungs, and sweat glands did NOT appreciate it whatsoever. I remember getting to the Park without any issue whatsoever, like a gazelle bounding across the plain, but that was short lived and within 2-miles I became the gazelle that was mauled by gang of lions and was now a pride snack, basted in a 3-week old rotten bacon scented sasquatch sweat (yah, I smelled absolutely delectable). As I rolled the door, thankfully to an empty apartment, I put my keys away and sat on the floor to “stretch”, but I decided that corpse pose was a better idea. The next day was worse as my olde friend DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness) decided to come by and have a chat with every muscle fiber of my body and tell them all to eat more sh*t and die! Fortunately this didn’t persist and things did get better.
We finally hit race day several weeks later and squared off as equals. Really, it was quite tastefully done. We each went to our own corral and ran our own race and tried our very hardest. Of course, I wasn’t quite trained up enough yet AND I had never run a NYRR race since living in New York, so when the gun went and everyone started I get caught up in the swell and just went after it, like a guy sprinting for water after eating a whole dried poblano. That first mile was agony, sweating bullets, everything on fire, praying for unicorns to come pee on me and take the pain away (put that in there just for you Sharon), but there was still three miles to go. I fought through and crossed the finish line where I proceeded to quickly step to the side and try not to vomit on myself or anyone else! Two minutes later, still dry heaving and pale, DG comes through the finish line looking like she was ready to toe the line again in five minutes, eyes glistening, huge smile, and barely breathing heavy. The race was mine … but man did I look like crap!!!
So, how did I get into running? A triple dog dare bet with a girl!!! On that race day I ran 4-miles in 33:32 and just a couple of weeks ago I ran a 10k in 37:07. A lot has changed since that bet and what a wild ride it’s been!!
October 1, 2011 Tags: bet, dare, race
3 Comments
The Cow Says, “MOOOOOve it!”
I cannot tell you the last time I was nervous before a race, legitimately and horrifyingly nervous. You know what I’m talking about, the good kind where you’re standing there in the thick of your corral looking at everyone stretching, putting on their game faces and sizing up all of the competition. During my soccering (proper footballing) years, I was notorious for being substituted briefly, going to the sideline just out of sight, and puking from sheer nerves. So, as my stomach gnomes broke out the glow sticks, bumped the industrial techno, and began raving on in “The Core” (the baddest club in the land) I was toeing the line of the 34th Cow Harbor 10K in Northport, Long Island hoping to keep my modest breakfast in its appropriate location. If only everyone at the start line knew that was going on I think most people would’ve stood a little further away from me.
Cow Harbor 10k Elevation Chart
A little background and perspective to this morning’s race, number one, this is the first time I’ve raced a 10k in two years, a fact that I had to look up to be certain it was even true. Yep, two years, and the last time I did it was this very same race. Secondly, my 10k PR time was set on this course three years ago with a mark of 38:44 (6:15/mile), which put me 6th in my age group and 74/4183. Thirdly, the course has two notable hills that kinda knock the stuffing out of you a little bit, one leading into mile two and the other right around mile 5, but the finish is fast (Check the course out below). Lastly, having discussed the race with the White She-Devil and reviewing her expectations, aka “our plan”, for the race I got a wee bit intimidated by it all. With all that being said, I felt a considerable amount of pressure given the intensity and volume of the training I’ve been hammering out, my previous finish time, and the expectations of a diminutive and dominating divinity foreseeing furiously fast furry feet the likes of which I have not experienced in some time … so yah, this had all the earmarks of a fantastical and epic panic attack … or, stress induced regurgitation … either way pretty exciting!
As we return to the starting line, the bulk of my energy was being spent trying to ignore those goddamn party monster stomach gnomes and focus on the task at hand. During the week I debated the pros and cons of wearing my Garmin for the race and decided that Lil’ Bastard (yes, that’s its name) had no place on this course and bailed on it. I honestly would not have been able to deal with the 1-mile auto-lap beeping randomly before or after the course mile markers I’d likely pitch a curse-laden tantrum amidst a troop of Boyscout volunteers if it auto-lapped before or after the course mile markers. I wanted a clear head focused on the task at hand without any watch obsession or obnoxious jingling. In correlation with this maneuver I also decided to simplify the race plan to one my brother and I mastered after years of flawless execution during our ridiculous soccering days … the plan, simple: JUST GO! Stop thinking, stop questioning, stop fearing, and JUST GO!!!
When the starting gun fired sending out my wave, just a minute behind the elites, I let myself drift into the middle and then the back of the pack as everyone just gunned it. After the first turn my legs loosened up a little more and then it was go time. We went a small incline, which dipped right into a nice steep, long down hill that far too many of the other runners were hitting the breaks on. After a brief section of flats we reached my favorite part of the race, the hill!!! Now, there are two of them on this course that are just mean and nasty, but the first one is the creme de la creme, big, bold, and beautiful! This thing usually takes the stuffing out of everyone and it almost had me this time as I tried to almost sprint up it. Right at the apex I could feel myself start to cave, but I pumped my arms out, crested, and kept pumping away to maintain my pace and recover. After that, the rest of the race was pretty much a blur where I simply listened to the clock watchers at the mile markers, subtracted my 1-minute, and just kept cranking … that is until the hill that Squatch forgot!
In the last mile and a half or so there is one more hill that is short and a kinda, sorta steep, but not too bad. What makes this hill such a pain is its placement, because you have been hammering out those middle miles and then all of a sudden hit this stunner. It kinda sucked, but it did provide me with the opportunity to catch a few more guys. After we crested these three fine gentlemen and myself went back and forth pushing the pace and coasting, battling for position into the home stretch. Only problem with that was I couldn’t quite remember how far out we were, how fast we were going, or how soon we would get there. I was completely flummoxed. The fact that I hadn’t run that distance as hard as I was at the moment made it seemingly impossible for me to determine what was left. Yep, I may be developmentally disabled … believe it.
Anyway, as I continued to push along with these three gents I finally see the finish line and start to push the pack, one by one watching them fade. Not gonna lie, kind of awesome when it actually happens. About 400m from the finish one of them makes a last ditch effort to pass me, but the second I hear his feet hammering just behind me on my left I put the hammer down and finish it. Fears un-realized. Demons exorcised. PR verified. I clocked in at 37:07 (5:59 pace), 6th in my AG, and 47th overall. I think I achieved the White She-Devil’s seal of approval with that performance, but who can really say, she is quite small. There was one truly interesting moment, a little chest puffing moment if you will, where I was talking to this guy just passed the finish line and he started getting on me that I was definitely in the wrong corral and should’ve started with him and the other elites. Admittedly, I kinda dug that stern talking to. Regardless, I officially broke a barrier I had yet to at a race with that sub-6 paced finish and felt like I still had some speed to burn. Enough reveling in this success, back to the mines and the training plan … I swear, some of the stuff on this thing is designed so White She-Devil can just watch me die slowly. Lots more to come as this quest for the elusive sub-3-hour marathon continues.
September 22, 2011 No Comments
My Life as a Minion of the White She-Devil
In the late 1920s, a young man by the name of Robert Johnson found himself at the crossroads by the Dockery Plantation in Mississippi and, in a very Faustian move, sold his soul to the Devil to become a great blues guitar player and songwriter. In 2011, a furry Sasquatch walked out to crossroads by Tavern on the Green in New York early on a Wednesday evening and sold his soul to become a stronger, faster runner. The exchange was quick, painless at first, and without any hesitation. He agreed to do everything that was asked of him to the very letter as it would be written and would put forth an effort worthy of their praise. It was in that moment under a blood red sky quickly fading to the velvet Elvis-y night, that the Speedy Sasquatch became a minion of the White She-Devil.
It’s been a while since I have been happy with my training. I’ve put so much time and effort into getting the Team Sasquatch crew ready for their various events that I just lost that focus and drive. Over the last couple of months that desire for acid-filled legs, fiery lungs, and body-collapsing exertion has returned and, as a result, I decided it was time to take things even a step further and really make myself accountable for the goal I’m after … I got a coach. I know that I could write a plan for myself and go that route, but, honestly, I’m a little tired of writing plans and just wanted to be told what to do, no thinking at all, just do. It’s been a few years since I’ve had a coach, and yes I do realize that I am a coach, but, like any good psychiatrist has a shrink of their own, I knew I needed someone to keep me accountable and ask more of me than I would ask of myself. Enter the White She-Devil.
Her credentials speak for themselves, as does her incredible spirit and generosity, especially taking on someone as pig headed and whiney as myself. OK, I don’t really whine that much, it’s more of a “please, mistress, may I have another”-type whining. She asked me all the right questions: What’s your schedule like? How many miles max? Are there any injuries or restrictions that should be noted? Do you wear really short shorts? What’s your PR? Knowing full-well what I want to do, I simply responded, “No injuries, no restrictions, just tell me what to do and it will get done.” I swear, the moment the words slipped from my lips I could see my signature appear in blood on a dotted line in her head and the nicest, most genuine sadistic smile washed over her face.
Having signed away my training life it is now my duty to chronicle it all from now till I toe the line in Sin City (how friggin’ appropriate). According to my overlord and master, WSD, we’re dividing the training into two sections, one that is higher intensity and speed-work-based and then a slightly more traditional marathon training approach, all the while maintaining my 3 weekly group runs with Team Sasquatch, the JDRF NYC marathon team, and the Paragon Sports Saturday Long Run group. With that being said, and without further ado …
My Life as a Minion: Week #1:
It was my understanding, as told to me by my overlord, that week one was going to be on the easier side and that I needed to be mindful that my “easy” runs were in fact that, something that I had a real issue with last year, but have since remedied. Looking at my schedule for the week it looked really good and was ready to step up to the challenge.
Monday, I had a choice of resting a, an easy 60-min run or swimming, so I chose to do the latter two! Yah, I might have been a little overzealous so I did them both and did some light weight work and core. To be fair, I am so completely intimidated by the White She-Devil I may have gotten a little ahead myself, but that intimidation is good, it will likely continue to bring the best out in my running.
Mon. Summary: 1,200 yard swim, weights and core in the morning session; 8-miles in 60-minutes for the evening session.
Since I’m always running with the Team Sasquatch and JDRF crews on Tuesdays, WSD simply had me do my usual, albeit keeping it on the lighter end of the spectrum, and then doing some additional work afterwards. For this Tuesday she had prescribed 4 sets of 10-sec hill striders to be done after the group workout, which was timed fartleks. I took it easy with the group and after core with them ventured off to Cat Hill for my striders. She reminded me to be aware of my form, foot strike, and posture and that once my legs wake up and muscles start firing I should be able to go farther with each repetition, which was 100% accurate. First one sucked and I mistimed it and went too far, but I nailed the others and definitely felt stronger with each one.
Tue. Summary: 8.68 miles consisting of warm up, timed fartleks, hill striders, and cool down.
Wednesday brought me back to the pool and the gym for weight work in the morning, which was lovely, but due to senior citizen manatees in the fast lane I had to cut my swim a bit short. The evening workout was 60-minutes [20-min warm up, 30-min of pick-ups on the 3s, and a 10-min cool down], which was actually pretty sweet. The pick-ups are short and controlled at a 5k pace and recoveries nice and mellow. Nothing fancy, just a solid workout.
Wed Summary: 1,000 yard swim, weights, and core in the morning session; 8.00 miles with pick-ups for the evening session.
Thursday was especially simple; just do what the Team was doing. Yah, pretty sure I wasn’t going to screw that one up.
Thu. Summary: 9 miles, including warm-up, 5-mile progression, and cool down.
Friday morning’s workout is when I started to really feel it all and realize how real this was going to be. One of the things I absolutely dread doing is workouts within 12-hours of one another and it was at about 6:30 am that I realized that this was now going to be a fairly regular occurrence. So, after the 9-miles last night, I was now going to be attempting a “Steazy Mid-distance run for 70-80-minutes” … and my legs instantly went to the words of the Virgin Mary, “Come again?” Apparently the “Steazy” portion is defined as pacing somewhere between Easy and Steady, which is more or less a mid-tier tempo run, right? I think. Maybe. Well, that’s what I did and my legs totally hated me for the early miles and I was really happy my brain wouldn’t let me drop my pace later on. A little pride never hurts, except maybe your legs on a morning such as this. It wasn’t pretty and I only could do an hour and ten due to time constraints, but I got it done.
Fri. Summary: 9-miles of unpleasantness @ 7:10-20 pace.
As I hit the weekend I had kinda forgot to check my schedule, because I have my usual Saturday long run group with Paragon Sports and the rest of my crew and the mileage was set, but OF COURSE WSD had her own ideas and had me doing striders in the midst of the mileage. The fantastic group run went south through Summer Streets, over the Brooklyn Bridge and back, out to the West Side Highway, across 72nd street and into Central Park for a lower loop, totaling 16-miles.
Sat. Summary: 16-miles with the group & 6 sets of 10-second flat striders on the course, because the boss said so.
And now, to conclude my week I had a long run workout that I was really unsure of whether I was going to be able to pull it off to spec. The profile for the run was this: 30-min easy, 15 x 1-min @ 6:00-30 pace, 20-min easy, then progression run till I hit 14 miles, working down to 7:00 pace. It was humid as hell Sunday morning and after wishing runners well for the NYRR Long Run #2 I went to the Bridle Path and played in the dirt for the duration of the first 2 segments of the workout. The 1-min pick-ups were a little daunting with the 16 miles from the day before still lingering in them, but I managed to hit all my marks. The easy recovery felt like death, but I kept a nice steady pace. For the progression portion I got back on the road and did a lower loop and then back up East Drive to finish the 14-miles. I really didn’t think I was going to be able to bring the pace on down as dictated, but I managed to nail them and finished with the last mile at 6:50 pace. For the first time in a while I went ahead and ice bathed, which turned out to be a very good idea, because my legs felt like they were bursting with lava from the fiery pits of Hell!!!
Sun. Summary: 14-miles of vicious brutality on dead legs.
Week #1 Total Mileage = 71
Can’t wait for next week … I think … maybe … perhaps … it’s up for discussion.
August 24, 2011 1 Comment
GSSI Testing: Party Like the Pros
In the weeks following the 2011 Boston Marathon, a random twist of fate brought the good people of the Gatorade Sports Science Institute (GSSI) to me and I was invited to participate in nutrition and endurance testing while they were in NYC for the 2011 NFL Draft. My first thought was, this cant be for real, why the hell would I be chosen for such a thing?! But it was real and after sitting there and staring at the invitation I went ahead and accepted. In my mind I simply thought, how often would I have the opportunity to go through the same tests that professional athletes go through? Secretly, all I wanted to know was if I would sweat a Gatorade color while in black-and-white!!!
The testing was part of the GSSIs efforts to help endurance athletes gain a better understanding of how their bodies work and provide ways to improve their athletic performance via nutrition and hydration. It consisted of a Body Composition (BOD POD) assessment, the Wingate bike test, 1-mile run estimating VO2, and a fueling survey with a sports scientist. When I got the sheet describing all of the tests I was ridiculously excited and then mortified to be put under the microscope a little bit, but once I was told one last little surprise bit of information all that apprehension went away. I was told that in addition to the testing I was also going to have the opportunity to sit and pick the brain of U.S. Olympian and long distance runner Dathan Ritzenhein, which just so happens to be among my favorite U.S. distance runners. Too cool!
Now, to give you a little perspective on how crazy fast this all happened, I received the email at 3:22 pm that Tuesday and I essentially had 24-hours to pull together all of the medical releases and doctors signatures so that they would even let me participate, which turned out to be a rather daunting task with work and such an incredibly tight window to get everything in to the powers that be. Im amazed that I managed to pull it all together in time, but thanks to the help of a few friends and some shameless ignoring of the work on my desk I was all systems go.
Thursday rolls around and Im basically on the edge of my seat until the clock rings time-to-go-oclock and I bolt out of the office and head to midtown west. Its just my luck that while I am en route the sky opens up and the heavens crack in dramatic and biblical fashion. The streets are flooded and the rain is coming down in sheets. Regardless of the inclement conditions I get my sorry butt there and I go from excited to absolutely mortified and intimidated by the scene once I walk through the door. I know most of you have seen the commercials during almost every sport on TV with the treadmill, bike and all the rest set up in a white room with lab scientists around well, this was staged EXACTLY like that and I quickly descended into the pit of my stomach.
The BOD POD: This was the first test and perhaps the most embarrassing. This test is designed to determine your body composition, the ratio of lean (muscle) mass to fat mass. First of all you are asked to tear down to just compression shorts and are then weighed, which I was a little self-conscious about. I found out I was 190 pounds, which was news to me! I hadnt weighed myself in probably two or three years and I never thought I was that heavy, but I hadnt done anything than eat since Boston, so it kind of made sense. From there you go into the BOD POD in just the compression shorts and this really amusing red swim cap. Now, the BOD POD itself looks a lot like a giant egg with a window, or Dr. Evils escape pod, or the chamber in The Fly that creates the Brundle Fly! Very ground control to Major Tom. You simply sit inside the POD silently, they press a few buttons and BAM its done! If youre claustrophobic it probably isnt that comfortable, but all in a painless experience that provided me with some interesting information. I was hoping for a little gamma radiation experiment and to turn green and jacked when I get mad, but alas it was not to be. What I did learn: I was in the Moderately Lean category with a percent body fat of 16.5.
The Wingate: Next up was the Wingate stationary bike test, which is designed to measure anaerobic capacity, power and fatigue; the energy system responsible for quick bursts of energy such as those used during interval training. Basically what you did for this test was climb onto this special stationary bike and are then asked to build up your cadence until you are at your maximum output at which point they count down from ten and throw a load of resistance on and you are supposed to continue to sprint as fast as you can with that load on for 30-seconds. Now, when they told me a load I thought a really big steep hill, well, I was wrong. This was basically like pedaling at full speed on a flat and then being thrown onto the steepest slopes of Everest and being told to maintain that cadence and pace! It. Was. Ridiculous! Seriously, this test should be called the Emasculator, because there is no way you feel like any sort of athlete at all, let alone in shape, by the time you are done with this one. So, I was cranking right along, the lab tech called out the 10-second count, I pushed to maximum warp, and then WHAM they the load on and I was immediately put in my place athletically. The only thought running through my head was the same that runs through my head whenever Im having a bad run, just do NOT stop turning your feet over! I managed to fight and push my way through the duration, but only just barely, and the techs said that I did a lot better than most of the others that had come through did, which I took as them just being nice, but who can say? It was incredibly tough yet interesting as I spun my legs loose and they showed me the computer data from the test. The results were as follows: Peak Power = 1,413 Watts (W), Fatigue Index = 60.44%, Anaerobic Capacity = 9.7 W/kg.
1-Mile Sub-Maximal Treadmill Run: So, after the humbling of the Wingate test I had the opportunity to redeem myself running on the treadmill, something I loathe doing, but at least it was something I know I can hold my own at. This test sub-maximally estimates your aerobic capacity (VO2 Max), the energy system allowing you to continue activity for a prolonged period, as well as also factoring into how well you recover between bouts of exercise. Here I was simply asked to put on a heart rate monitor and run a mile at a sustained comfortable pace, which was a 7:25 pace. Funny enough, there wasnt much more to this test than that. I was somewhere in the 95th percentile (54.35 mL/kg/min).
Fuel Survey: Lastly, I sat with one of the technicians and went through a myriad of questions regarding my fuel intake before, during and after my workouts in an effort to assess whether I was fueling properly to achieve maximum performance. I found this to be one of the most interesting aspects of the testing, because I felt like I fueled well during training, but I only scored 13/30. The major reason for my score being so low was that I didnt fuel heading into my workouts. For my morning workouts I generally just rolled out of bed and got them done without an fuel intake and it was the same for my evening workouts, but my saving grace was that I did fuel up within 30-minutes of completing my workouts with carbs and protein (thank you Athletes HoneyMilk & HoneyStinger). Furthermore, I redeemed myself with the fact that I am good about hydrating, which they also tested that morning courtesy of a urine sample. I was a little shocked by my low score, but it was great to hear their suggestions and I also appreciated the fact that they werent trying to sell me on the new Gatorade Pro Series.
Once the testing was finished I had the pleasure of sitting with and talking to Dathan Ritzenhein, whom Ive watched race on a number of occasions, but never did I realize how small he is or, probably more appropriately, how large I am by comparison. I mean seriously, I look like I am superimposed or photoshopped into the picture of the two of us I truly am Sasquatchian … call me GIGANTOR!!!! Anyway, while I sat there with him we talked about some of the different workouts him and his coach use to get him ready to race, discussing the merits of the track, shorter high intensity workouts, and the idea that mileage is King. We also talked about the Olympic trials in Houston next year and how we both think that having the mens and womens trials on the same day sort of cheapen the experience. The last Olympic trials were held at the New York and Boston marathons giving each gender their moment in the sun, so to speak. I was extremely pleased at how down to earth Dathan was and the ease to with we spoke. It was refreshing and a moment in time that I will definitely cherish.
I have to thank the Gatorade Sports Science Institute for this amazing opportunity to undergo the rigorous testing processes that professional athletes go through for assessing their endurance and nutrition. It was an incredibly enlightening and unforgettable experience, so thank you!! Since that time Ive experimented with what I learned and have had fantastic results, most noticeably at the Reach the Beach Relay Massachusetts. I feel like I now have a much more solid grasp of my fueling and hydration situation and will continue to fine-tune it over the summer heading into the fall marathon season.
June 5, 2011 6 Comments
2011 Boston Marathon: More Than A Race
When I look back at my experience at the 2011 Boston Marathon and try to find the words to adequately convey all that transpired Ive been at a loss. What transpired on April 18th fell well short of expectation yet far beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Happiness and bliss, heartbreak and sorrow, pain and peace, a myriad of descriptors ineptly fall from my lips giving no credence to a day that truly deserves more, so in order to give voice to the inexpressible I shall borrow from one whose words are far superior to my own and resonate with the story still to follow:
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places
Heading into race weekend, as I mentioned in my previous post, my nerves were getting the best of me mentally, but physically I felt good to go. My two runs up by my parents house were smooth, relaxed and completely comfortable. Mechanically I felt sound, I was on my home turf, and I had the support of my family and friends that were going to be out on the course. Those two days prior to the race went almost entirely according to plan, which should have been my first clue that something was going to go awry, because in the Sasquatch family nothing ever, and I do mean ever, goes the way we plan for it to. The night before the race my travel companions, Eissa and Elyssa, and I made the trip south into the City and little by little I felt the tight knit confidence I had built up over those couple of days slacken and begin to unravel.
That evening became an unfortunate comedy of errors, where we made a slight miscalculation in the reading of the address for the apartment we were staying at. We were on the right street, only about 400 numbers and a couple of miles away on a night when bars were just starting to empty as Ray Allen drained the Celtics game winning three-ball with seconds on the clock, so grabbing a cab was an adventure all its own. Once we finally got ourselves situated, Id say settled, but I just wasnt, I simply laid there staring out the window from the couch where I was sleeping and just kept fidgeting and fidgeting, freaking myself out that I wouldnt hear my alarm or Id go get dressed and realize that I forgot something essential. Those are the things one comes to expect on the night before a big race, but what weighed on my mind the most had nothing to do with logistics or preparedness, it was about disappointment. Not anything physical, but rather a feeling heading into the race, a pressure that I had slowly been piling upon myself all week long and now my chest was feeling the full burden and displacement of that weight on the race still to come.
I wanted nothing more than for Boston to be the culmination of what was an amazing spring season for everyone on Team Sasquatch, a moment where I was no longer a coach but just a runner amongst 26,000 others careening through the streets of Massachusetts. But, in a moment of unequivocal shock and fear I felt as if I was stripped bare beneath a single spotlight on a dark stage with the eyes of the world trained on my every moment. A little dramatic in interpretation? Yes, absolutely, but the fear that was swelling within my chest that I would not be able to put forth an effort worthy of my Team, my family, Maddys son Stone, everyone that donated to my fund-raising, and my own pride was so much so that there is no other way I can describe it. I could feel myself buckling beneath the Atlas weight my mind had cultivated and I just continued to stare watching the night sky absorb the last shades of mercury and cobalt in its black velvet cloak.
I was greeted into the new day with the jarring and unbelievably annoying shriek of the air-raid alarm on my new iPhone, which I have learned to love and hate. My morning routine went without incident, but I was still on edge and extremely jittery. I ate, all bathroom issues were resolved, all my gear was accounted for, the only thing that was even remotely in question was whether or not to wear a sleeveless base layer underneath my race shirt, which I spent the day before writing all the names of the contributors to my JDRF fund-raising on. After being outside for a while and feeling the briskness of the wind, which had blown all the flags straight, for the duration of the morning I decided that being a little warmer was a good idea. This was the first mistake of the day.
As the race began I stripped off my throwaway shirt and settled in with the rapacious hoard in wave 1 corral 5 that seemed to consume the entire roadway. Why wasnt there enough room for people to get into the corral? I have no idea, but it was a mess. The never-ending mass of humanity amoebically swelled and surged forward and as I crossed the start mat I finally began to relax a bit, at least mentally. Unfortunately, and much to my chagrin, I could still feel the tension and stress in my ribs. The first mile few miles were good and slow, which was exactly to plan, and when I hit the 5k mark I had pretty well settled in pace-wise, but it just wasnt clean and fluid. The tautness in my chest felt like two big hands threading their fingers between my ribs and pressing on my lungs. What was worse was that my legs felt a bit stiff, something I thought would just work itself out over those early miles, but apparently I was mistaken. So, on the one hand my head was a lot clearer, on the other my body had lingering doubts.
Shortly after the 10k mark I was up to speed and was holding a nice steady pace, but I was feeling like crap and now the day was starting to heat up. Somewhere along that stretch I tossed off my nice lined pair of Pearl arm sleeves, which was oh so refreshing, but that was far from the end of my mid-run tear down. A little further along my shorts became a phenomenally useful storage receptacle with my favorite hat being shoved into my crotch and then my wonderful Sugoi gloves jammed in the back. This is significant, because when it finally came time to strip off the nice Falke base layer, which I thought I was going to need for the duration of the race, at mile 8 there wasnt any storage space left in my newly developed Swiss Army shorts. What soon followed was my runners interpretation of a woman taking her bra off without removing her shirt and Im not gonna lie, the bra trick is far cooler and more fun to witness than watching the missing link trying to maintain a 6:50 mile whilst stripping a fitted base layer from under a singlet. It was an ugly piece of mobile performance art that a few poor souls running behind me enjoyed, highlighted with a guffaw or three. Once I was free from that sleeveless Bastille I felt so much better, but the damage may have already been done.
As we hit the Tunnel of Love two things became abundantly clear: #1) the bulge in my shorts was completely unnatural and oddly misshapen, and #2) the rest of the day was going to be a battle. The pressure in my chest was still present (albeit to a lesser degree), my abstinent legs begrudgingly continued to turn over, but I was still getting my nutrition in and holding the pace I wanted, so it couldnt be that bad, right? Exactly! So I held on, I kept on cranking, but it didnt last as long as I would have hoped. Around mile 16 I went to continue my nutrition regiment and realized the potential for an occurrence of the Inverse Newton Law what goes down must come up was a serious, serious possibility and I decided to pass on any sort of force feeding another error.
Right after the 30k mark, the fade was on, like a Jersey Shore trip to the barber. My legs were asking questions I didnt have the answers to, my stomach was agitated with the needle buried below E, and for such a lovely sunny day, the clouds were starting to roll in around my head. Somewhere just past Heartbreak Hill the World began to spin ever so slightly and I knew that if I was going to finish I had to stop and shake that off. Shortly after cresting the hill on the downward slope I tried to hit the reset button and bring everything back together. The walk was brief and it helper clear the cobwebs, but it didnt last. Within the next mile I had to do it again, and then again, and then the time between each stop became shorter and shorter. As I felt my body begin to knot up from the stop and go I took one final look at my watch and saw that my goal was gone, this was not going to be the day I had so hoped it would be.
I kept moving and the more I thought about the goal I worked towards all winter, no matter the weather, watching it slipping away I felt a little piece of myself break. I listened to the crowd pushing me to carry on, to get my legs turning over again and I did, but as my pace and finishing time continued to slip I took a deep breath, looked about the course, and decided to make something of what time and distance that remained by helping whomever I could. There was nothing for me to prove by forcing the issue, but I could help others who still had their goals in sight. I started talking to everyone around me, encouraging them to push a little longer, to find their feet and fight their way to the finish. My walk breaks became strategically placed in locations where others were walking, fighting off cramps, really anywhere there was an opportunity I could do something for someone else to get them to the finish line.
Then, right after making the final left hand turn onto Boylston Street, bringing the finish line into full focus, I felt my legs under me and was just going to push it out until I saw this guy shouldering a taller fellow along the course. Seeing the smaller Irishman awkwardly carrying the much taller gentleman, who was almost completely out on his feet, I stopped and asked if he wanted a hand. He said that he was OK and that I should push on, but I told him my goal was long gone and that he looked like he could really use the help. I stepped in and took the mans other arm and we started working our way towards the finish line.
As I leaned in and took the mans other arm, in broken, vomit laden English, he asked me my name, to which I replied, but when I asked him his Im pretty sure his synapses decided to take a breather and the Irishman filled in saying his name was Don. I have no idea why I cant remember the name of the Irishman. I really should know, because I talked to him long after the race was over. I digress. We slowly ambled along the race route, Dons legs just barely bearing any weight, and I called out to the grand stand waving my other arm to get them cheering him in, hoping that that would help wake him up a bit. We hit the finish line mat at 3:16:18, about three feet from a guy who had just proposed to his fianc, and we hauled Don over to a medic with a wheel chair. The Irishman and I shook hands and congratulated one another as we walked on.
Looking back on all that transpired on the course, completely ignoring my finish time, this may be the best race I have ever run. My time was far from what it should have been and the world did break me, but I am so happy and proud of what I did in that broken place that I think this may have been my best race to date. This one was for Stone and Maddy Hubbard, you guys are amazing, and I hope the effort I put forth is worthy of your names and all of those that appeared on my back.
May 3, 2011 4 Comments
Running With The Devil
It is none too often that I can reasonably and factually say that I dont have something to say, whether its inane, meaningless babble purged from the stagnant, dusty recesses of my brain or the lofty, intellectual, Sasquatchian lexicon laden musings of my absurdly nerdy synaptic bundles, but over the last eight weeks Ive lost me words. Ive been absolutely flummoxed, staring blankly at the glow of a few lines of text, edited, re-edited, re-written, struck through, and discarded, which gets to be quite taxing on a furry mans mind. Just the same, I have come to an understanding and whilst the hour may be late for such an epiphany, the timing couldnt be more perfect.
*Note: Each song coincides with the section below it*
Within a few strides of leaving work for this past Boston Marathon weekend, Fear is your only God! blasting in my ear balls, and I could feel all the cylinders fall into place one click at a time. I knew from the moment that I started scheduling this spring racing season last fall that it was going to be ambitious, but I didnt fear it. I welcomed the challenge with a good plan and a fistful of bravado, but it is one thing to see it on the calendar and another to start living it. As time carried on and everything on that schedule became more real the nerves started to settle in and set-up a nice Hooverville in my stomach, keeping me in persistent knots. The first quarter of 2011 most closely resembled a Sasquatch plate spinner on the Ed Sullivan Show, in perpetual motion, the fur creating a sweet optical illusion of speed, hoping to just be quick enough to keep from breaking any of the plates. Much easier said than done and in the end one plate did fall, the question is which one?
In February, I journeyed far south to a vast foreign land called Texas, where I ran the Austin Marathon, which, and it pains me to say this, was a pretty sweet race. In addition to myself, there were a number of Team Sasquatch runners participating in both the half and full marathons and in retrospect this was a race fraught with demons. Each runner was locked up in foot-to-face combat battling the stigma of a bad race, the self-inflicted moniker of slow, pushing through an injury, getting their nutrition and its timing down, or finding their love for the sport again. I dont know if youve ever experienced this, but its like running with a psychotically possessed version of Peter Pans shadow punching, kicking, clawing, and pulling at you, breaking your will, trying to force you to concede. They fought for every stride and every breath and when it was all said and done the day was ours and it was Mojitoclock! I couldnt be prouder of the effort, tenacity, and mental toughness that was on display over the weekend and to make it even sweeter the majority of the Team members their had never met in person, but the camaraderie was such that you would think they trained with the Tuesday & Thursday Night Torture crew in New York. It was like hanging with the Goonies, just not sure who Sloth wouldve been probably me though!
Fast forward four weeks and I leave the Right Coast for the self-proclaimed, yet deservedly maligned, Best Coast for the LA Marathon. It is while in the City of Angels that I come to realize that even the best-laid plans are not without their flaws. After a lovely and relaxing Friday and Saturday night with my brother and some friends it was time to toe the line once more, but due to a few crossed wires I ended up running the race on my own rather than pacing anyone. I thought to myself in the final moments before the race began, ok, this will be a solid training run with Boston just up ahead. Of course that is before all the choirs of Angels decided to cry, weep, piss, spit, raspberry, snot, puke, and crap all over us. Within a mile, not a few, a mile, the rain started coming down lightly and progressively got heavier. That was fine, I can deal with that, but the temperature of the rainwater and the lovely punishing wind gusts that careened through the city streets, like Mr. Freeze in a Maserati and humbled me.
By mile 18 my calf locked up, I was 17 lovely shades of blue and purple, run/walking, then just walking and shivering, and at mile 21 my shoulder angel and devil decided to make an appearance. Its only five more miles, you can totally do this, collect your medal, and take a nice eleven and a half hour shower with the water on scorching! said the prideful devil turning my face and staring me down intently. What are you going to gain from this run that will help you prep for Boston? A medal? A nice calf injury and hypothermia with a side of upper respiratory infection? What would you tell one of your runners? queried the exasperated angel backhanding the side of my face. Feeling defeated, but knowing I was making the right decision I flicked the little devil into one of the massive freezing cold puddles and walked off the course. It was the first time Ive ever DNFd a race, even though the LA Marathon website has me finishing in 3:45 or something, and the almost shameful feeling that settled in was one that lingered like a storm cloud following Snoopy, zapping him as he tried to escape it.
The week after LA was all about getting that irksome, deafening, prideful little voice to, as my Pappy would say, stifle thy self. Tuesday was back to the routine with work, training, and refocusing on the prize, Boston. Each day whipped past and then I found myself sitting at my computer working on training plans on a decent Sunday afternoon passively looking for motivation to even leave my apartment, let alone go for a long, hilly and completely isolated 21-mile run. But, in a flash, there was a nudge and another and one more and as they flashed upon my twitter feed it was time to man up and get my ass in gear. I ate, hydrated, got all my gear together, and marshaled myself to a course that I tell anyone I train, Do NOT do this alone. I needed to do it. I needed a real test for my legs that was challenging and done at a pace indicative of my training and aspirations for Boston.
I crossed over the GW Bridge being blown to the side, as per usual, feeling that slight twinge in my calf and just kept going. Once over the bridge it was all about me and my head. I kept thinking to myself, if your calf goes to hell and you have to walk back this is going to be one long, long day! But after the first good climb I just focused on the run, enjoying the peace and serenity of the park, the absence of all distractions, and the simplicity of just me and the road. My favorite feature of this course, and why I love it so friggin much, is a one mile climb dead in the center of it that can be oh so humbling, but I pushed through it and, like the super running dork that I am, when I cleared the crest I clapped for the effort. Yah, I was a total tool that day, but on that particular day I had to give myself a little credit for sticking with it. I negative split the back half of the course passing the one other runner I saw on the course, but not before sharing my water bottle and endurolytes with him, apparently he was a little unprepared. Having slain the mighty Pallisades Park course I felt ready for the beast that is Boston.
Within the single beat of a hummingbirds wings its time to taper and it just wouldnt be a normal taper if something weird didnt happen, right? Whether its the lovely aches and pains or those last few training runs that just feel like crap, something always seems to rise to the surface. Well, during the last month of my training I started hitting the pool regularly to give my legs a rest and just keep working my lungs. Two Fridays before the marathon I hit the pool and get 1,000 yards in quick before I erupt at the senior citizen save the manatee float parade that was bobbing its way along the Fast/Medium lane. I jump out, head down to the locker room to shower. Just as I get there I stop and take one good deep breath to settle the magma coursing through my veins and when I let that breath out I got into the worst back spasm I have ever experienced in my life, only on my lower left side. The spasm is so violent that I have to pseudo-dash for the bathroom so I can puke my guts out. Why? Who the hell knows, but it was ugly, the discomfort lingering for days, and whatever confidence I had cached was purged to the porcelain Gods that one fine day.
Needless to say I had a hard time shaking all of the detritus from my mind heading into Boston Marathon weekend and whats worse is that I havent been even the slightest bit excited about the race. Yes, I am one of those people that tend not to get excited until the day of, but this was different. I have nerves!! I decided weeks ago to dedicate my race my race to Team Sasquatch member Maddy Hubbards 14-year-old son Stone who was recently diagnosed with Type-I Diabetes, something to which I am extremely proud of. The incredible generosity of the Twitterverse is something to marvel at. With the support of more than 50 contributors, my own personal time goals, so many others tracking my time, my back still bothering me, and my boss cranky about me missing work on Monday those aforementioned nerves started feeling like a swarming hoard of sadistic animatronic Its a Small World After All characters holding a concert in my guts.
Before long Ill be toeing the line and I will know how this story will end, but what I do know regardless is that I will keep fighting and endure.
April 22, 2011 3 Comments
