Going the distance

37,400 of my closest running buddies and I ran the Chicago Marathon last Sunday (10/9/2011).  You will not find my name among the 'official' participant list because I 'borrowed' a bib from an injured friend.  I ran the race as my last 'LSD' before my official marathon next month in Indianapolis.  I was presented with an opportunity to put into practice some of the things I was exposed to at running camp earlier this summer - specifically 'Good Form Running' and a run/walk strategy introduced to me on the last 'official' run of camp.  So I thought, "What the heck, it's only a marathon..."

I finished in 5 hours and 28 minutes.  That's a lot of time to be in my head with myself.  Here's what I heard:

• A marathon is life compressed into a long run - with life, comes death.  A woman gave birth shortly after completing the race.  At the start, she was 39 weeks pregnant with doctor’s consent in hand.  She finished in about 6:20, giving birth about 7 hours after crossing the start (yes, 40 minutes after finishing).  How cool is that!   Sadly, a man collapsed and died 500 yards from the finish line.  He was a firefighter from North Carolina, running to raise money for burn victims.  He was 35 years old, and 'the picture of health.'  I hear he was on a sub 3 hour pace. 
• I ran with the 5:30 pace group, led by Steve.  On his pace bib, he had written "I have run 97 marathons/ultras since my 60th birthday."  I heard myself say "Steve knows how to do this!"  Steve told us we would be running a 'modified Galloway approach" - 2x1 run/walk strategy.  I was determined to 'stay slow' and kept reminding myself this was a 'training run.'  All I had to do was keep Steve in sight.  Easier said than done in a crowd, made easier since he had a big helium balloon attached to a 4 foot string.  Sunday was Steve's 63rd birthday.  
  
• Logging a ton of training miles does nothing to increase bladder capacity.  I am a chemical engineering phenomenon - able to consistently produce more water than I consume.
• You can learn a lot about the folks you run with when you can actually breathe as breathing is necessary for talking.  It's also necessary for running but when the clock is ticking, who has time to think about breathing?!
• You do not have to kill yourself via bladder explosion to stay with the group.  I discovered you can run into an alley (behind a tree, or a pole, or wherever), take care of business, and still see that pace balloon when you get back on course.   Catching up is just a matter of not walking when the group walks.
• Best saying on a T-Shirt worn by a runner - "A marathon is 26.2 miles because running 26.3 would be crazy!"
• The crowd cheers just as hard for those 'at the back' as those at the front (or middle, or wherever).  And, you can actually interact with them.  A woman was passing out hard candy around mile 9.  I grabbed a handful, and ended up giving it to some kids cheering a couple miles down the road - huge smiles!
• The pace balloon got very annoying when a small breeze appeared, smacking us in the head as the 'little ducklings' followed 'Big Duck Steve'.  We drew straws to see who would stomp the balloon at the end of the race.  Steve decided to take the balloon off and we gave it to a kid about mile 19 - another huger smile.
• As soon as the balloon was gone, bladder pressure disappeared.   Positive proof Pavlov was on to something.
• Near the end, I had a harder time keeping up the walking pace than the running.  What's up with that?
• I just had to run the last two miles giving myself the cherished 'negative split.'  Did the clock win in the end?
• "Official' or not, you still hurt the same after completing 26.2 miles.

In past races, Pride demanded that I run as fast as I could, as long as I could, as far as I could.  "The clock is ticking!  Run, you fool! Run faster!  Let your inner Kenyan free!"  This approach usually got me to around mile 20 or 22. In the past, the monkey named Doubt would jump on my back about mile 18, relentlessly pound me with the giant baseball bat called Pain, and I would end up walking somewhere between mile 20 and 22 bumbling and stumbling to the finish.  I would mentally abuse myself for being so weak.  I would not relish the fact I finished, rather I berated myself for not attaining the desired time goal - "You failed!"  

That didn't happen Sunday. 

Sunday was about Acceptance - embracing the experience rather than the event. Accepting the marathon is not race, but a distance.  On Sunday, miles 20 to 23 flew by - no wall in sight and the monkey did not get a ride!  Accepting my abilities as a runner – neither particularly fast, nor particularly slow, but on the slower side of average. (OK - that lesson took six marathons, just proves I'm slow!) 

In the end, I came to finally accept and embrace finishing the race is the goal, not the time it takes.  There may be fast days, and there may be slow days.  If you run smart, you can always go the distance. 

Who will win?

The alarm goes off. 

The devil on my shoulder starts up -  "You're tired.  Your legs hurt.  Your shoulder aches.  Your ankles crack loudly every morning when you roll out of bed.  You don't want to get up, let alone get up and run."

The Angel answers - "Never give in."

Devil:  "It's cold, it's dark, you're sleepy. (I'm sleepy!)  The bed's warm.  Just a few more minutes.  You do not want to get up, let alone get up and run."

Angel:  "Never give in."

Devil:  "The suns not even up yet.  What the hell are you doing getting out of bed?!  Your gear is cold. The floor is cold!  You don't want to get up, let alone get up and run!"

Angel:  "Never, never, never, never--in nothing, great or small, large or petty--never give in...."

I shiver as my feet hit the floor, shudder as I pull on my clothes.

The devil works harder.

I see it now, I'll be at the farthest point of my run, and it will start raining.  Not a calm drizzle to cool you off - a deluge.  The kind that will instaly soak you to the bone.  Then the wind comes up - cold and hard.  The rain is horizontal.  The elements are against me, combining to instantly soak my wind/rain proof running jacket.  It's going to be a long hard slog back home into the storm, fighting just to keep on my feet.  I do not want to get up, let alone get up and run!

A whisper from the Angel.

"You cannot tell from appearances how things will go. Sometimes imagination makes things out far worse than they are; yet without imagination not much can be done. Those people who are imaginative see many more dangers than perhaps exist; certainly many more than will happen; but then they must also pray to be given that extra courage to carry this far-reaching imagination."

"Shut the BLEEP up!"  I'm not going to run! I need the rest!  I'll meet the gang like I do every day at "Semi Dark Forty Five", have coffee and whine about my problems for an hour.  But I am not running when I get home.

I better check the weather before I go - a clear cool day, not a cloud in the sky.  Brisk. Summer is looking to slip away with a whimper. Great day to pound the pavement. 

I see an inspirational item in my inbox:

On what I can imagine to be a chilly October day in 1941, Winston Churchill addressed the student body of Harrow School.  During his speech, he uttered the excerpts my Angel echoes above.  My inbox contains almost  the same message today.  The weather is the exact opposite of what I imagine. 

Is someone trying to tell me something?

Who will win today - the Devil or the Angel?  I think I'll go for a run and think about it.

Thanks Coach!

My wife and I want a covered porch on our house.  I'm a do it yourself kind of guy.  We got the building permit the day before I left for camp.  Trouble is, we have an older home.  There are concrete steps leading up to the front door.  Not like the ones you see built today.  These are SOLID - a mass of concrete that is smack dab where we want the porch. (You see where this is going, don't you).

Yesterday, I decided to solve the problem.  There's just something about a cool fall day, men, and power tools.  Not just any power tool, mind you.  A jack hammer - Woo hoo!!!  Six hours later and here's what I have:

Now, if I could just remember where I parked my backhoe.

"Ben, what does this have to do with running?" I hear you asking.  So let me I'll tell you. 

Imagine James Bond for a moment, ordering his signature martini - "shaken, not stirred."  Now imagine being shaken for six hours while trying to man handle a 70 lb beast doing it's best to go anywhere but where you want it to go.  After that, start shoveling concrete rubble out of the way.  A day of manual labor - the kind that makes you thankful to work in front of a computer! 

That comes close to my day yesterday.  To say I was rattled is an understatement.  Exhausted and in pain.  My forearms and shoulders ache.  My legs feel like rubber.  My toes hurt for crimeny sake!  As my dad used to say, "I'm too tired to 'break wind' " (he used a different word, starts with 'f').  And my wife's ears hurt because I am whining so much. 

Off to bed I go.  I do not sleep well because every time I turn over, the muscle I land on screams out!  I awaken this morning to the sound of rain.  "Yes!"  I think.  I'm not going to run in the rain today.  I get a day off!  Then I hear coach.

"Day Off?  Day ON!"

So much for a day off.  I did take it easy (schedule called for a run of 15 miles), and I worked out indoors - 10 miles on the spinning bike, then a 5K on the treadmill (and yes, 180 BPM for you GFR fans out there). 

I actually feel a whole lot better.

Did that really just happen?

I just had one of those moments.  You know, the ones that touch you in a way that you know from that moment on your life will never be the same.  Like the day you first kissed your spouse to be.  The day you first saw the twinkle in your child's eyes.  The moment you realized your parents are human (not superhuman).

I spent the last 5 1/2 days in Northern Minnesota at running camp.  I can hear catcalls already -

"Jeepers Ben!  What a goof!  You can run in Chicago for free!"

"Are you serious?  Running Camp?!  What a dork!"  (I am, and darn proud of it!)

I was at The Dick Beardsley Marathon Running Camp held at Rainbow Resort in Waubun, MN.

The Coaches

It was the first of what I hope to be many.  It was one of those 'moments' you don't have often - words simply can't convey the experience.

What do you say when someone asks what you did at running camp?

"Did you run?"

Duh?! (kind of like asking how far your last marathon was).  I could talk about the running workouts, the 'stretching' session prior to the workouts and the sound of Doc's voice - "Everyone looks great!  Except Robert!"

Bills Squires, Dick Beardsley, Bill 'Doc' Wenmark

We laughed, we grimaced, we ate too much, we stayed up late and whined when we got up (maybe not out loud, but in my head I did).  We heard some great stories, a lot of sage advice, and fought to stay awake during after lunch sessions (can you say food coma?)

We talked and listened about our families, experiences, friends, travels, jobs, and childhoods.  We made new friends and caught up with old ones.  We were moved to laughter and tears by coaches and campers. 

And we ran.  Some fast, some slow. Some not often, some multiple times a day.  Sometimes single file, often all over the road.  Trails and pavement.  We learned to 'waltz' on the road (three steps per second - one, two, three, one, two, three...)  I used muscles I did not know I had and found energy reserves I did not know about.  Always in the sun.

Almost - my camp ended with a 5 mile run at 'Oh Dark Thirty' - Me, Dick, James, Debra and Sue.  Watching the moon set and the sun rise.  The perfect ending.

What will I say when asked "What did you do at running camp?"

I could talk about what I heard the coaches say, or I what I learned from them on the road.  What the other campers taught me, or what I learned about myself.  In the end, I think the shortest answer is the best.

Dick Beardsley Marathon Running Camp 2011

I made friends.