Mile for Mile

2011 Year In Review

2012-01-02T23:41:00.001-05:00

2011 marks the first year I've kept a training log consistently through the whole annum, so--I actually have something to review! It's been a really strong year for me, with several PRs at shorter distances and one win to my credit. Longer distances continued to be problematic, with the Vermont City Marathon being--at least relative to the sky-high expectations I had for it--a bit of a low point.

2011 In Numbers
Races:        11
PRs:            4 (13.1M, 4 Mile, 5K, 10K)
Miles Run:   2110
Shoe Pairs: 4?
Prize Money+Gift Certificates: $125

2011 in Races

Derry 16M. First race of the year. What I remember most vividly is how cold it was when I walked down to my car at 6am that morning--right around 0F. Bonked hard at mile 14 and somehow toughed out the last 2 miles, which is about the only time I've ever beaten the bonk over any distance.

At the time I was thinking "never again", but the memory must have faded because here I am, all signed up with Derry just three weeks away!

Derry Boston Prep 1-23-11 43/657 16M 1:49:30 6:51

Old Fashioned 10M A mediocre effort. Training had been very challenging (my logs including such entries as (*** treacherous w/ snowmelt!) (imagine black diamonds in place of asterisks), and (more snow, sheesh!) --after two consecutive missed days.

Foxboro Old Fashioned 10M 2-20-11 47/521 10M 1:03:22 6:20

Hyannis Half Marathon. Conditions were...interesting. Rain alternating with snow alternating with more rain. Frigid puddles on the streets. I had almost forgotten this was a PR. It surprised me because I hadn't had good training (quality or volume) over the winter. My old record was pretty soft though (set on the hilly Applefest course). A good day to not be doing a full marathon, as one of my teammates did.

Hyannis Half Marathon 2-27-11 47/2683 13.1 1:23:20 6:22

Blue Hills Foxtrot 10M Man, I love this race. It was a beautiful spring day in the woods, the way it always is that time of year. I led the 1st 3 miles, but then somebody slipped by on the Breakneck Ledge trail descent. Complacently settled in for 2nd. Where's the competitive fire, Woodruff?

Blue Hills Fox Trot 10M 4-10-11 2/139 10M 1:07:27 6:45

Keybank Vermont City Marathon It started off so well (don't they all!). But then the clouds cleared off, the cursed daystar leered down at us, and the temps shot up into the 80s. by mile 18 I was cooked, wobbly-legged and sick. It was a long hike to the finish. I had plenty of time to reflect on how I suck at marathons. I'm pretty sure that lady in the picture kicked my ass.

KBVCM (keybank marathon) 5-29-11 287/2668 26.2 3:29:51 8:00

Highland Sky 40M. My first Ultra! A race I am proud simply to have finished. This run had so many good things going for it--beautiful scenery, views, blooming mountain laurel, falls, and highland meadows; awesome, incredibly helpful volunteers, and a similarly great field (you have a chance to do some chattin' in an ultra marathon). What a great 7 hours. The last 2+ hours...well, that got a little rough. But I'm over it! Looking forward to doing this race again in 2012!

Highland Sky 40M 6-18-11 62/178 41M 9:18:16 really slow

Bridgton 4 on the 4th My traditional 4th of July race. Also my first race as a 30-year-old. Existential shock! Calamity! Wait, no, I'm still here--all good.

Bridgton 4 on the 4th 7-4-11 19/1850 4M 23:24 5:51

Summer Slump. Tired with racing for a bit. Motivation to log heavy miles plummeting. Achilles hurting. Summer slump, err...break! Hiked with friends. Did a two day solo on the Monadnock-Sunapee trail. Still doing routine maintenance runs, but otherwise nothing to report.

Houghton's Pond Trail Race My first race back after Achilles pain made me take 10 solid days off running. That sucked. This was mainly just a reference-point. I lacked the endurance to effectively race at 10K distance, especially over hills.

Houghton's Pond 10K (trail) 10-2-11 9/228 10K 39:18 6:20

Canton Fall Classic 10K The freak snowstorm that cancelled the Bills Pizzeria 5K also postponed the CFC, so I decided to hop in. At first I was exhilarated about winning it, but on reflection, it's hard to take it seriously. Let's just refer to the Race Highlights, shall we?

"Woodruff's winning time was the slowest for men in the race's history. The men's field was greatly affected by the reschedule. The new date conflicted with a New England Championship meet where several expected competitors ran for their clubs"

Consider me deflated.

Canton Fall Classic 10K 11-6-11 1/188 10K 36:06 5:48

Norwood Turkey Trot 4M: A great race and PR day for me. Last year I had a dream of breaking up HFC's top 5, and this year I did! A warm day for November--everyone was in shorts and singlets.

Norwood Turkey Trot 11-20-11 9/612 4M 21:56 5:29

GNRCYO 5K: This was the last race of what I think of as my Fall Season. I really wanted to cap it strongly with a PR--and I did! There's really nothing with quite the same short-lived savor as setting a PR. It's sublimely delicious--for about 5 seconds. Then you start thinking, "hmm, maybe I can do 16:30".

GNRCYO 5K 12-3-11 3/144 5K 16:49 5:24

How does Danny Hart SIT DOWN with BALLS that big!

2011-12-21T11:15:00.000-05:00

I saw this on the Science of Sport "Best Sports Videos of the Year" blog post. If we could get announcers like that for running events, broadcast race commentary might even be popular!

GNRCYO race report

2011-12-03T12:00:00.001-05:00

I've been waiting for this race all week. Not entirely because of my excitement at another chance to set a fast time either. There was certainly that, but also a feeling that it was good time to reach a caesura--soon. My ankles felt a bit complainy, similar to the ignored signals I felt in late July prior to an enforced period of low activity due to Achilles pain. More importantly, psychologically, I felt like I was peaking out. Rationally (from external measurements such as races and track workouts) I know I'm in the best physical shape of the cycle, but mentally I start to flake a little--not wanting to get up for hard workouts, not really excited about planning what I'm going to do next week.

I deliberately decided not to dwell on this before today's race, however. Instead I just thought about last Tuesday's workout and how well it went. "5:22s", I thought to myself. "I'm physically ready; I can totally run that pace!"

My goals were simple: PR in under 17 minutes, kick home the last 0.1mi in under 30s, and...win. OK, winning a race is a tricksy goal--you never know who's going to show up. But winning at CFC wasn't without effect in the way I saw myself, i.e., as a front-runner, imparting that funny, sometimes delusional, usually (but not always) valuable mental state that tells you "yes, absolutely" it should be you out there with the whole field at your back and nothing but empty road in front.

So, when the race started, I did exactly that. After the first 200m or so I captured the lead, spinning down the long decline of Albemarle street to the first mile marker. For brief period the noise of the chasers faded and it was silence, but then I heard foot-strikes behind me. I ignored them and carried on.

Last year I had opened in 4:59, which was bad. This year I was hoping for 5:15, only slightly under-pace. I hit the mile marker and...5:15. On the money.

I held the lead through the half-way, but after turning the rotary, my invisible companion stepped up and took the lead. I tucked in and did my best not to lose contact, hoping to burn past him once back on Alebmarle street.

Mile two in 10:38. My brain informed me, quite incorrectly, that I had just run a 5:19.

Back onto Albemarle. The TriValley guy had opened up perhaps 20m. It wasn't looking too good. Then a CMS guy jetted by me--worse on worse. At this point I had already more or less made my play. Naturally I wonder (like I always do) if I could have toughed out a few more seconds, perhaps hung with the CMS guy for at least some way while he charged up the hill.

In this case, though, it was not to be. I did have one more goal though. After cresting the Albemarle hill, I started pulling for all I was worth back toward the finish. mile 3 in 16:04.

"16:33", I thought.

The last stretch. I saw the clock, 16:20-something, and kicked through in 16:29. 16:29! Unbelievable! Indeed, yes. I checked my watch: 16:49. OK, more believable. Still, that last 0.1 seems a bit long--I don't think I was running a 7:30 mile pace for the final kick!

So, final verdict? I'm happy. What a fantastic run it's been since August, when I had to go 10 whole days without running to let my Achilles rest. I'm feeling grateful that my body gave me the chance to deliver performances better than I could have guessed a year ago. It's so easy to take being healthy for granted--while you're healthy. I'm trying not to.

As a side-note, it's cool to see how this race's field has progressed since its first running in 2007. Then, our own Zac Laidley took it in 16:58, with the next runner almost a minute behind. The next year it was won in 18:03. Then in 2009 Andy took it in 17:32, with only one other runner under 18. Last year Kevin Gray won in 16:49, with 3 runners total under 18, including me. Then, this year: 5 runners total under 18, and 3 under 17. I will flatter myself into thinking that running strong from the front today maybe helped with that.

Final results: 3rd overall, in 16:49 (5:25 pace).

Here are some random photos for you. These are actually from the Norwood TT, two weeks ago:

Thanksgiving Week Recovery

2011-11-29T09:08:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving week always takes a toll on my training plans. Overeating plus staying out too late every night will do that! This year I attempted to do my long run in McLean Game Refuge, which was silly because of the amount of damage the freak October snowstorm did. Blowdown every twenty yards! After attempts to run continuously began to look increasingly silly, the workout degenerated into an impromptu trail maintenance session. Then I ran back along the trail, looking at what I had done and measuring it against the amount of work still to do: I hadn't even made a dent.

Additionally I somehow managed to cleat my own calf pretty hard during the Black Friday Ultimate game. It was pretty sore the next few days. I'm not complaining though--that game was totally worth it!

So, here I am with one more week until the unofficial end of my Fall season this Saturday. Despite residual soreness, I limped over to the track for my final interval workout. 3 x mile with an 800m cherry on top, in 5:24, 5:22, 5:22, 2:40. This is about what I want to do in the 5K on Saturday. As I hoped, I felt looser, stronger, and generally better jogging back than I had jogging out; I'm feeling like I'm back in trim for my final effort.

Nothing else hard to do, just an easy 9 miler Thursday, then on to round out my string of PRs with a <17 minute 5K. Now is the time!

Norwood Turkey Trot race report

2011-11-21T19:46:00.001-05:00

Sunday marked my third year running the Norwood Turkey Trot. This year's edition--the 25th--featured a brand new course that finally moved the race start from the car dealership on Rt. 1 to the nearby Norwood High School. Consequently I knew nothing about the course layout except for the general verbal description from the sign-up sheet ("yes it's still hilly"--more or less). It was an unseasonably warm day, with temps over 60--pleasant weather for singlet running. I ran through the cemetary and down through some small neighborhoods around the high school to warm up, and returned in plenty of time to take the line.

As usual for fields that fill from the front (with competitors approaching the pack from the direction of the starting line), seeding was tricky, with early arrivals getting swept back and needing to fight upstream. I followed a guy and girl in BAA singlets onto the sidewalk and then back into the pack in the 2nd or 3rd rank.

This seemed plenty high up, but when the siren sounded I realized there were a good 50 people ahead of me. My goals for this race were: (1) PR--hopefully by a lot; (2) Come in inside the HFC top-5 (they usually bring a wicked good team to this race, so that's no joke). So I was a bit chagrined when I realized I had seeded myself about 50 people back, and a big pack of people (dotted, far ahead, by HFC singlets) was sweeping out ahead of me.

Fortunately I found a good line on the left-hand side of the road and sprinted the first 100 yards or so to get position. Then the course swept into a long downhill and, primed as I was by that sprint and the nervous energy of the start, I bombed down it. The first mile mark appeared before I knew what was happening: a 4:58 split, which is pretty damn fast for me, hill or no hill.

I tried to get my legs under me and focused on the two HFC guys ahead of me. The course stayed flat for the moment, and I felt strong; breathing in control, effortful strength flowing from my core out into my limbs. The course shot out into a parking lot and then 180'd around an island--I did my best to hit the racing line, but ended up swinging too wide.

Then it was on to the Nichols St. Hill. I took the left turn and a blast of wind hit me, for a moment almost seeming to suspend me in place. I buckled down and set to pulling up that hill for all I was worth. This did not stop someone from sling-shotting around me--a good play, as with the wind in my ears I didn't hear him coming at all.

2nd mile split passed in 10:35. 3rd mile split passed in 15:56 (a substantial net drop from the course start).

The fourth mile featured a big climb back up to Norwood HS. Well, I shouldn't call it big. Big when you're trying to run a 5:30 mile. My position was pretty well established by this point and I didn't feel anyone near me, but that was no reason to slack off. Once again I set to the work, and it was pretty stiff going by this point. I fought my way up to the top of the hill, and then almost went the wrong way around the rotary because I mistook the police officer's hand-signal. I could see the finish on my left-hand side, and tried to pick it up (though in retrospect I think I could have done more here--it was a pretty soft finish).

I saw the race clock reading 21:?? and started my kick. I knew I was going to PR, but breaking 22 minutes would be extra awesome. A final effort, and I checked my watch: 21:56!

Once I got my wind back, I walked around for a bit with a goofy smile on my face. I think I may be past the point in my running career where a PRs are truly unexpected. I know my body a bit too well, and have a pretty good idea when it's in record shape and when it isn't. Today was a day when it definitely was, and I just had to deliver.

It's been a pretty great fall season for me so far. The only thing that would cap it all would be to decisively break 17 minutes in the 5K, something I've never done, on track or road. I am racing again in 2 weeks, at the GNRCYO 5K. That will be my opportunity!

CFC 10K race report

2011-11-06T19:01:00.002-05:00

A little backstory. In my last race, the Houghton's Pond 10K on October 2nd, I had been training seriously for about 4 weeks following my semi-traditional summer slump. I started strong up the first long hill that climbs away from the Pond, and soon found myself in the lead pack. #3 faded a bit, and then it was just me, chasing the leader about 50 yards ahead of me. This continued for about 3 miles, the leader pulling slightly further away, but never quite breaking contact. Then, around mid-point--it was like the bottom dropped out. I searched for power and there was none. Massive slump. More or less the whole front-pack soon streamed by me, and I faded to 9th.

In retrospect, it was pretty obvious the aerobic base just wasn't there, nor was the necessary muscular strength to negotiate such hills.

For the last month I've been working to fix those things. Mileage crept up to the mid 50s; "track Tuesdays"; on Wednesday the "15 minutes of power": hill sprints, core exercises, push-ups, pull-ups, lateral leg lifts, etc. How did this play out on the hilly CFC course?

First, pre-race went as well as I could ask. My process is always evolving here. I had a light dinner last night, and then 1/2 a tortilla for breakfast. Following the new performance advice ("drink to thirst"), I had very little water--only a few sips, really. I timed my 2 mile warmup well, and arrived at the starting line just starting to sweat (as my HS XC coach advised, back in the day).

I felt really strong from the gun, legs moving effortlessly in my lightweight racing shoes (Nike Free 3.0s with the insoles taken out). I went out with another 10K runner from HFC, knowing they usually bring a good team (although no John Sullivan or Bob Ruel this time, unfortunately). However, an unaffiliated runner soon shot to the lead.

I felt like I could stay on his shoulder, but I was a little unsure about his pace. (Remembering the words of wisdom: "In the 1st half of the race, don't be a dumbass; in the 2nd 1/2, don't be a wimp"). I decided to keep running my pace.

The leader had put a good 150 yards on me by mile 2, which is mostly downhill or flat. At this point my brain was saying: good, you're totally in the mix for a top-3 here, just hang on.

Something funny happened over the 3rd mile, though. The leader came back. A lot. He was only 5 seconds up on me at the mile-3 mark (16:55 to 17:00). On the next significant uphill I pulled in right to his shoulder.

At this point, my brain is still thinking: awesome, you can definitely hold on for a top-3 here! I know, right? neck-and-neck with the leader, who is clearly fading, and I'm thinking, maybe I can get 3rd place. For once my brain is not keeping up with my body.

Fortunately my body has more sense. It overrides the equivocating signals from my brain and passes decisively. Now I've got the target on my back. Time to run hard.

Mile 5, still no sound of pursuit. I start my watch. Time to run this flat hard--just like it's the last 2k interval in the track session. Now I'm thinking, obviously: win. Hold the pace and win.

At last, turn the corner onto Washington St. I accelerate and start reeling in the tail end of the 5k race. Kick, kick, kick! Cross the line in 36:06. Victory and an enormous PR all at once. Couldn't have gone better.

So happy that everything I did payed off. I changed a number of things, and they all contributed to help me raise the bar. The main ones were:

Superior pre-race. Did not overeat. Did not overdrink.
Consistent track sessions. Practiced running 5:50 pace in 4x2k workout and--surprise!--that's pretty much what I ran in the race.
Consistent strength work. Usually my core feels weak during a race. Today it was fine, even on the hills.
Most of all, switching to light shoes for the race! I like training in fairly light shoes, but my trainers must still be a couple oz heavier than my racers. So obvious, but still not something I've done since high school.

I'm under no illusions that I would have won this race if it had run on its usual day--heck, the field was 1/2 the size of normal. But I'm OK with that--you race the field you get, and sometimes you have a breakout day when none of the other uber-fast guys show up.

...and hey, I'm the defending champion now; might be I can still drop another minute or so, and be competitive for next year!

CFC 10K tomorrow

2011-11-05T15:17:00.000-04:00

Canton Fall Classic is tomorrow. It's only coincidence that I'm running it, since originally it was the same day as the (canceled) Bill's Pizzeria 5K. But, where BPIZ got canceled, CFC was only postponed, so I get to run it after all! This is a really beautiful, hilly 10K--the fact that it is the location of my 10K PR says more about how few 10Ks I run than anything else. I've had about two months of good training, and its been a full month since my last real test in a race. In other words, I'm looking to really drop the hammer and find out where my fitness lies.

Here's the top 10 from last year:

    1 Chris Mahoney     32 M  32:37  5:15 
    2 Kevin Gray        32 M  35:08  5:40 
    3 Edward Gardner    34 M  35:16  5:41 
    4 Adam Greenspan    28 M  36:05  5:49 
    5 John Sullivan     50 M  36:36  5:54 
    6 Bob Ruel          58 M  37:21  6:01 
    7 David Woodruff    29 M  37:38  6:04 
    8 Alan Berch        21 M  38:32  6:12 
    9 Norman Everett    22 M  39:04  6:18 
   10 Dave Foley        49 M  39:18  6:20

I'm really looking to race without being overly distracted by my watch. In fact I'm thinking of starting it at the 5 mile mark, since the only thing I really care about pace-wise is that I run the last (largely flat) 1.2 miles at sub-6 minute pace. In general, based on the track workouts I've done, I think 5:50-pace isn't out of the question--but again, just looking to beat as many guys as possible here!

Here's hoping for a fast day. I'll update with post-race thoughts tomorrow.

Track Session #4: cruise intervals

2011-11-01T09:34:00.000-04:00

It's getting a bit nippy out, these mornings! The fun thing about track work this time of year (i.e., right before going off DST), is that it is DARK when you get up, even if you're getting up at 6:15. I was kind of worried the track would have snow on it, but with the amount of insolation it gets, I shouldn't have.

Speaking of snow; that 5K last weekend? Canceled. Newton Public Safety had enough to do Sunday morning besides make sure a race course was clear. You wouldn't think 3" of snow would do so much damage, but this snow was about as wet and heavy as it gets. A lot of trees and branches came down!

That means a different race and a different goal. Now I'm planning on doing the Canton Fall Classic 10k, which was postponed from last weekend to this weekend.

I never blogged about last week's intervals. They went poorly. It's funny how how you feel about a particular workout is entirely determined by how you measure against the goal you set yourself, even when the goal is completely arbitrary (and in this case, not particularly smart). Last week's goal was 3x mile intervals @ 5:20 pace, with 70s recovery. This was a little bit ambitious, because my best 5k pace is 5:34s. I ran 5:20, 5:35, and a demoralized 5:46.

Not wanting to repeat that mistake, I planned on doing 4x2K intervals @ 5:50 pace (my 10k pr is 6:04 pace), with up to 150s rest. It turns out that was WAY too much rest; I only used 90s of my first rest period and limited the next two rest periods to the 90s as well. 70s might have been manageable.

Times: 7:12, 7:15, 7:08, 6:58 (7:15 = 5:50 mile pace).

I felt fresh and strong throughout, with enough vim to kick the last quarter home in 77s. So it went...well. But maybe the bar was just too low this time. The next race will help me figure out where I stand.

Back in training -- Track Intervals

2011-10-18T22:09:00.002-04:00

It's been a while since I posted. I had some Achilles pain in August that took a while to clear up, but at last it relented and I have been earnestly back in training since the beginning of September. My goal for the autumn is to work on speed, and I have a bunch of short races lined up. In fact, I've already returned to racing as of the first weekend in October, when I did the Houghton's Pond Trail Race (10k). It was great trail running weather; cool, clear, but muddy from the previous day's rains. I finished in a pretty limp-wristed 9th place, having lagged badly in the 2nd half. I'm happy to be racing again, but it's hard to be really happy with a race like that when you know there's so much more that you could do.

That brings us to the present. I told myself I wanted to work on speed, and that means some quality time on the track. I am a perennial track-avoider, and I think it shows in my running weaknesses (i.e., I don't feel very efficient at a fast pace, and become aerobically maxed out disproportionately early relative to my muscular strength/fatigue resistance).

Nonetheless, I think the best way to teach your body to run fast is to run fast, and the easiest way to do that is intervals on the track. I've just got to actually do them. Today was session #2: 8x 600m intervals at 5k race pace, with slow (~70s) 200m jogback.

First two were intentionally a little restrained. (I'm an old man of 30 now--I have to ease into these things!)

goal: 120s
126s, 123s, 115s, 118s, 119s, 118s, 117s, 111s

Coming up with interval workouts is one of those situations where I kind of wish I was working with a coach. My immediate goal is to crack 17 minutes in the 5k (122.4s 600m intervals); I knew that was a little easy vs what I could do, even in comparatively weighty trainers. Does that mean my goal is too conservative? (a 20s jump in my 5k pr feels like a big step). On the other hand, it's not like I wasn't sucking wind by the end of each interval--and I better not be gasping 600m into the actual race! I'm shooting in the dark here.

I will have one more track session next Tuesday prior to "Bill's Pizzeria 5k" the following Sunday. Exact plan still unknown. Perhaps 12x 400m at 5k pace with short recoveries.

Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway Overnight

2011-08-02T17:02:00.004-04:00

I just got back from an overnight on the Monadnock-Sunapee Trail, starting at Monadnock State Park HQ and sleeping at Crider shelter last night. To make day 1 a bit more interesting I did an out-and-back from Crider to the summit of Mt. Pitcher (about 4 miles north on the trail). The hike was meant to express a minimalist style, where I brought the least possible amount of gear in order to see what was truly necessary (or very, very useful). In that spirit I did without a sleeping bag, ground pad, tent, cook-stove (and associated cutlery/food), and any extra regular clothing beyond my long-sleeved tech shirt and spare socks. What I did have was:

Guidebook/map
rain-shell
fleece
zip-off nylon trousers (worn)
camera, sunhat, sunglasses.
compass, knife, iodine, gps, cell phone, headlamp, head-bugnet, ace bandage, ibuprofen, bandaids, emergency matches.
a 50oz hydration bladder, and a 1-qt gatorade bottle.
A little shy of 7700 calories worth of food.

All told I don't think my pack weighed much more than 18 lbs with all water reserves full. This was great, because I've found I can run OK with packs weighing around 10% of my body weight. Much heavier than that and it grows difficult.

These two days were amazing! I'm not going to try to sum them up. Follow along with the pictures below:

public

Here are a couple of other notes to go with the pictures:

About two miles out from Crider Shelter, I was starting to feel it. It was hot, it was muggy, and I had a cloud of midges and deerflies boiling around me that would do Pigpen proud. In short, I was begging for rain. A few drops fell, but nothing serious. Then, less than 1/2 a mile from Crider, it started to rain in earnest! Blessed relief...I was so happy I just sat in the rain for 20 minutes before meandering down to the shelter and settling in for nap.
I had the most amazing nap! The rain was coming hard outside and it was thundering, but I was snug as a bug in the shelter. I really considered calling the day right there, but eventually the rain stopped, and I reconsidered my plan to make it to Pitcher Mountain.
The minimalist overnight went OK. I took out everything from my backpack and used as a pad between me and the hard wood floor of the shelter. The mosquitoes were pretty horrible, but at least my bugnet kept me from being bitten all over my face (the whining of mosquitoes is still exquisitely annoying though, even when they can't reach you). Eventually the skeeters went away and I fell asleep (around 8:30, probably). Woke at 12:15am and then sort of cat-napped on-and-off until 5. It was a bit chilly. I ended up wearing my rainshell while using my fleece as a cushion for my bum. If it had been a little colder I would have worn the fleece and just sucked it up. Sleeping on wood planks never hurt anybody. The whole affair was a bit spartan, but I just reminded myself that I got to enjoy the pleasures of a light pack for two whole days, which seems to me to more than balance one uncomfortable night. Still, next time I'm thinking of bringing a ground-pad.

Here are some rough times and distances:

Day 1: 28.2 miles
7:10 leave Monadnock State Park HQ
8:02 summit Mt. Monadnock.
10:10 Eliza Adams gorge
noon Nelson Village
1:45 Crider Shelter (18.1 miles from the summit of Monadnock)
5:35 leave Crider
6:38 summitted Mt. Pitcher.
7:40 return to Crider Shelter

Day 2: 20.0 miles
5:45 leave Crider Shelter
8:45 swim at Silver Lake (20 minute stay)
9:45 Eliza Adams Gorge
11:00 Dublin Trailhead (11 minute break).
12:20 summit of Monadnock, again.
1:12 return to HQ and car.

Highland Sky 40M Race Report

2011-06-19T23:05:00.003-04:00

Highland Sky Trail Run:
Distance: (nominal) 40 miles; (claimed by aid stations): 41 miles; (distance traveled): ??
Location: Davis, WV
Course Composition: Steep singletrack: 44%, road 32% (mostly dirt), upland meadow/rocks: 24%
Goal: Finish (Bonus: Break 10 hours).

Report: The day starts in the cool, gray light of early dawn; 5:45 in the morning, and runners milling around the starting area, settling into their gear, sorting through their dropbags and making a last visit to a portajohn, while Dan the RD calls out names on a megaphone to confirm all starters. My buddy Joel has driven us in--me and his friend John, who was awesome enough to put us up the previous night.

I'm struck by the seeming ordinariness of the field. It's by and large a pretty unassuming group of reasonably fit-looking people of varying ages and gender. It's not at all obvious--in the way it sometimes is in similarly-sized road races--who the ringer is who is going to run away with the show. It occurs to me that either stamina is the most invisible of all human superpowers, or--if you take the Born to Run line--that what we're doing is not all that remarkable, doing what we were designed to do, "justifying our own existence", as Jack London puts it:

He was realising his own meaning in the world; he was doing that for which he was made—killing meat and battling to kill it. He was justifying his existence, than which life can do no greater; for life achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.

At 6 am sharp the pack trots off into the misty morning; I am setting out to see for myself what my body can do.

We are running down a dirt access road, rugged hills looming up to either side of us, horses grazing peacefully in amongst the long green grass and wildflowers. The pace is easy; I feel light and full of strength. I think I can sustain this effort level forever. We make a left turn off the road and begin working our way up past the first aid station around mile 3, following the beaten path of other runners through the long grass.

I let myself drift into the trail trance, disappearing for the time in the larger queue of runners that forms up in the single-track. The trail is soft and slick with mud from last night's rains. I think I am probably somewhere around mid-pack. Trying to change positions seems pointless; we're so early in the game, not even 5 miles in.

We start switch-backing our way up the steep slope of one of the ridges that make up the Appalachian divide, stinging nettles batting against our shins. We reach a stream crossing, the water flowing swiftly down through a pool and into a gorge that stretches deep down on our left-hand side, the depths concealed by swaying green foliage. We gingerly cross the slippery rocks, soaking our feet to the ankles.

The trail continues on like this for a while, up to the top of one ridge, then bombing down the far side, then up the side of another. I am feeling excellent. Though I'm still focusing on keeping it easy, the initial large pack has broken up quite a bit, and I've moved up several places. There's always somebody to run with at this stage; I am not the most outgoing runner, but I appreciate the company. The flagging is excellent. Whenever I think I haven't seen one for a while (usually while head down, watching my footing) one literally baps me in the head.

I see Joel at AS #3 (~16 miles) and he asks me if I've been eating enough. I'm pleased to report I have been; the salty trail mix I packed and copious water have gone down pretty easily, and I've been eating much more steadily than the runners around me.

A final bit of climbing and then a turn onto the road bring us to AS #4, around mile 19.5. This is the start of the "Road Across the Sky", a rolling dirt road that runs lengthwise along one of the ridgelines. it's about 10am; I've been running for a little more than 4 hours. I am way, way ahead of my guessed time, but still feeling fine.I sit down and change my wet and muddy trail shoes and socks for fresh socks and my road shoes. I also think to slather on some sunblock and grab my hat. The day is still mostly overcast, but getting brighter and hotter by the minute, and the course has us up here on the high plateau for a while.

The "Road Across the Sky" is uneventful. I catch a runner I had let go by while I was changing my shoes, and exchange some pleasantries. I say he might be seeing me again; he says "At the finish!", encouragingly (he turned out to be wrong about that, in part due to events neither of us could foresee).

At AS #5, somewhere around mile 23, I accidentally drink some Mountain Dew, thinking it was lemon-lime gatorade. The road is straight as a ruler, and all rolling hills. You can see the top of the next hill from the current one, and the long swoop of descent and climb. I walk as appropriate. While on one ascent, I see a lean guy running shirtless with just a water bottle jogging up behind me. What a hero! He reaches me and falls into a walking step, and we exchange pleasantries. His name is Jason and it turns out he's a 2:57 marathoner. Wow. I think ruefully about my so-called pacing strategy.

Jason and I finish out the road together, making it to AS #6 around mile 27. We arrive just as the #4 woman is leaving; she had been camping out there for a good 20 minutes, trying to put it back together after booting. She says she might be looking at a long 14 mile hike back home. No talk of dropping though; tough.

We're turning off into Dolly Sods now, beautiful upland meadow, and a completely different biome from the lush verdure of the ridges. We can see the sods stretching away all around us, lacking only sheep and a shepherd piping out a lonely air to make the scene complete. Rather I should say "I", since Jason has gapped me by this point (for a while I see him toiling ahead in the distance). I am mostly running still, but it's been growing more intermittent, the excuses needed to walk growing slimmer.

A mile or so down the road I and a few other runners pile up against an unmarked intersection. Strange; the course has been beautifully marked the whole way. The larger, main trail continues straight ahead, but is demarcated by a "private property" sign. Another smaller trail leads off to the left and disappears into trees. Both show signs of recent foot traffic. Imagine you're there, standing at that intersection with a half-empty waterbottle and three other runners in the same boat as you. What do you do?

I ended up following one guy down the left fork for a ways. No nearby blazes. Then preceding down the main trail a ways; another intersection, still no blazes. Some people in my group continued on. I began backtracking again, with plan to either return to the last known blaze and take stock, or find another runner who had done the course before and get his advice. I didn't find such a person, but I did somebody who thought he remembered that Dan had worked out some problems with a private property owner so that the course could go over his land. So! That sounded promising! Back to the "private property" branch and onwards.

Still, I and a few others very nearly go down the wrong side of the ridge, but somebody "halloo's" us back onto the proper course. Oddly, I feel somewhat refreshed by getting lost. It's been an excuse to walk around a little bit, and relax that relentless mental focus on making forward progress. Now we have a clear goal, and I am jogging again.

We hit an interesting rocky patch, where it seems great rocks slabs are broken into fissures, and rise into odd formations like fairy towers in the desert. I am a little too fagged to appreciate it properly; AS #7 (mile ~33) has become a singular focus in my mind. I am starting to need it bad. Where is it already? Surely we didn't burn that much time wandering around lost (oh yes we did, of course we did) how many more turns...? Ah! There it is! This is supposed to be Dan's son Willie's aid station, but I don't get to see him (he must have been out fixing the trail flags when I went through). I have some fruit, some HEED, fill up my water bottle, and rather reluctantly kick out onto the trail again.

This stretch is awesome. Clear, easy downhill, perfect for light jogging. Or rather, it should be awesome. Somehow I just don't feel enthused about running. I decide to hike for a bit until I feel better.

Leading up to the race, I had a chance to talk to both Joel and Katie about their experiences running Highland Sky, and I'm pretty sure both of them used the word "suffering" to describe certain parts of it. My plan was to avoid suffering if it all possible; I just wanted to finish, not be a hero. During this stretch, I return to that thought. "Well, am I suffering?"

My first response is no. I think of many hikes I've done, even since I was a small boy, finishing exhausted but happy. Certainly not suffering. It's all just too beautiful up here to be miserable. But as the descent continues it's a little harder to keep up the pretense. At a certain point I have to admit "suffering" is probably a fair adjective.

I get to the point where the trail turns back upwards, marching straight up a ski hill. I remember that this is where Joel jogged the ascent to catch his opponent in 2008 and ultimately broke him to win. Shit, I think, I bet no one runs this today.

After the hike up the ski trail, a long and tortuous descent follows over a mud-slick trail that has been christened the "Lehman butt-slide". It's fun in its way; I am a little detached from it, just trying to keep making forward progress. Occasionally I am stopping to stretch now, even sitting to do sitting stretches. I know this is a big no-no (sitting down is dangerous; you need to keep making forward progress!), but the temptation is strong, and it seems to be helping, at least briefly.

I've been hiking down through these woods for a while now. Occasionally runners have hauled me in, but not as many as I would have guessed. How bonked is this field, anyway? And furthermore, where is AS #8?

I make it passed a few steel traffic-sign posts staked upwards to serve as bollards, and cross back onto road. OK, now I'm scenting the barn a little. But I'm still walking. Man this is hard. Oh, a tent! It's AS #8! (mile ~37).

I refill my water-bottle and eat some fruit and jelly-beans, but I pass on the salt and the vitamin-I. Everyone's so nice at the aid stations. The lady there assures me that I've got this in the bag and am definitely going to finish. That's nice to hear. No point in dilly-dallying; 4 miles to do and this isn't about to get any easier. I start trudging.

Sometimes I play the "let's see if we can run to that landmark!" game, but not too often. Mostly I'm too busy running over this stretch in my head, because Joel showed it to me yesterday evening. About so far, and then the left turn onto the trail paralleling the highway; then crossing the highway; then up the access road to the Canaan resort, then some trail stuff I didn't get to see, and then the finish. Four measly miles.

After about two miles, I am about sure that finishing this race is the hardest athletic thing I've ever done, not just in absolute terms, but even normalized to my fitness and abilities. I thought I was pretty tired jog-walking in the KBVCM; hah! This is qualitatively the same kind of fatigue, but it's just on a whole other level.

I think there really ought to be an aid station at mile 40. I don't need food, but somebody to give me a hug and tell me everything's going to be ok would be just ducky.

Around mile 40. Somewhere up the Canaan access road. No end in sight. I start thinking of it like walking laps on a track. OK, that was probably like 100m right there. That...ok, that was pretty close to another 100m. So we're about 1/2 way through 400m. Good! Progress. Let's count steps. Hmm....123456789....199, 200,201, two-hundred...something, ugh, this is stupid. Why don't we just think of something else..... OK, so that had to be a lap.

The next 1000m are pretty much all like that.

Then the crest of the hill; below me down a paved path is the Finish! I lumber into a trot. I cross the line! Finished!

Lying on the grass never felt so good. Joel is hanging out by the finish, and Katie is wandering around with their 2-year-old son Oscar. Later Joel helps me fetch my car (which contains, among other important things, my dinner ticket), and opens doors for me the whole way (perhaps a first for a man on crutches at Canaan Valley Resort, or most other buildings).

Reflections: Most of all I'm happy to have finished. This is the first course I've attempted where merely going the distance felt like a pretty good accomplishment. I also hit my 10 hour WAG in a time of 9:18 or so, and perhaps without getting lost would even have gone under 9. All that's pretty good!

Beyond that, though, I feel like this race has clarified and expanded on things I learned about myself from my first two marathon experiences. It's hard to be really satisfied with a race where you have to trudge it in so slowly. Together I take these experiences as a test of resolve and spiritual fortitude, what you might call "grit". Can you learn grit? Can you train it? Or it just a part of your character?

I don't know, but I'm happier taking the trial, accepting the rather unsatisfactory result, and then trying--however futilely--to train up this part of me that is the first to quit. How many people, either from lack of opportunity or lack of inclination, never get the chance to test themselves?

PS: A Big, big thanks to all my wonderful hosts on this trip: John & Jodie, Luke & Catherine, and especially Joel and Katie for putting me up. (Matt & Kate, I just assume I can crash on your futon..., oh well thanks to you guys anyway :D ).

Thank you I'd like to have my legs back, now

2011-06-04T15:40:00.003-04:00

I know it's only been 6 days, but I'm ready for my legs to stop feeling so dead and flat. It's hard when it's so gorgeous, and just the perfect weather for a long run. I've been running every other day. Yesterday I did 5 and...yeah; still pretty dead.

Last post I implied I was going to run a fall marathon. Well, I thought about it, and now I think I AM going to wait a year before taking another shot. I found through the last cycle that I enjoyed the mileage I was putting in, but I did feel like it constricted my racing options quite a lot. I skipped JJR entirely because I couldn't figure out a way to make it work with my long run. And marathon training inevitably means less speed training. I've been spending a lot of time running no faster than 10K pace, and that's making me impatient. I'd like to get back to actually improving my 10k pace--which I think is a pretty soft PR (albeit, not as soft as my marathon pr).

So the tentative plan is: finish off my long running phase with Highland Sky, then get back to speed training, with hopes of running a fast 10k in the fall, hopefully followed by a reasonably fast 1/2 marathon at Applefest. I will post later with a more comprehensive race schedule, but right now I expect to reprise the Bridgton 4 on the 4th, and run the Marathon Sports 5M for the first time.

Vermont City Race Report

2011-05-30T21:41:00.003-04:00

Night before the race I knocked off early, feeling as relaxed and ready as could be hoped. Ev and I had taken a leisurely hour's stroll around the neighborhoods that stood off behind the hotel, and the evening air had been fresh with the smell of rain (indeed, as we were hanging out before bed, there was yet more thunder, and more hard driving rain outside). I planned on waking up at 6:15, in time to take the 2nd shuttle to the start. When I get a particular wake-up time in my head, so long as I am not very tired, I can usually rely on some part of my brain to pull me awake before the sounding of my alarm. But this time something funny happened. I blinked awake and checked my watch: 3:05. 3:05! Coincidence perhaps, or perhaps not. The subconscious mind can play funny tricks.

The sky drizzled a light rain down on us as we waited in the parking lot for the shuttle to take us to the start. I blessed the heavy overcast as a propitious sign; my worries of a scorching hot day began to fade (prematurely, as it turns out).

Reaching Battery Park and feeling the cool wind sweeping off the lake put the final seal on my plans: I would start at 6:45 pace, and shoot to break 3 hours.

The rain quickened as we stood in the starting corral. This was to be my first race in contacts--a recent acquisition. I felt pleased to have my decision to go to that trouble vindicated; glasses are a nuisance in the wet.

We were counted off, and then the whole mass of us, several thousand strong, surged forward into our first loop through the downtown Burlington side-streets. I ruthlessly held my pace to no faster than 6:45; despite that, it crept lower anyway; I seemed to be holding steady on uphills, but gaining time on the declines. The first charge up Church St. felt marvelous; the energy of the crowd was electric; the shops and restaurant awnings that Ev and I had passed by in leisure now streamed past in a blur; the human energy concentrated in one great continuous cheer.

The rain continued as we started on our out-and-back on the highway. I took the opportunity to gain a little distance, hugging the very edge of the shoulder on the long curves that made up the road, staying well to the side of the running pack. I took my first shot blok at mile 5, as planned.

At the turnaround I get a wave from Ricardo, perhaps 30 seconds ahead of me. Damn! I thought. One of is way off-pace here, and I don't think it's me (Ricardo had been saying he wanted to break 3:30 the previous evening).

The cruise back along the highway felt effortless, the incline at mile 8 negligible. I dutifully ate shot bloks at odd-numbered miles and chased them with a little water at the ensuing water stops, though I didn't feel the need of them. I caught up with Ricardo somewhere before mile 9, his great coughing fits resounding over the sound of the crowd. It was amazing how well he was managing it, and I wondered what he would be doing without that chronic cough.

By mile 10 the rain had stopped. We were on the long stretch through South Burlington, and the pace no longer felt effortless, but neither did it feel difficult. Around mile 11 I snagged a gel to use for later. We wove our way through a small neighborhood and then began to work our way back northward to the 13.1 mile mark.

I was beginning to feel the mileage now. Nothing serious, but the realization of 13 more miles still to come was sinking in. As I think I mentioned in an earlier post, I once had a little bit of bonk around mile 13 in a long run, but talked myself back in the game, telling myself you will feel stronger at 17 than you do right now--and somehow that came to pass. I sucked my gel, took some water, and told myself the same thing.

We passed through a canyon-like stretch of bike trail and through the sewage treatment plant detour (which smelled like what it was). Soon we could hear the booming voice of the Taiko drums declaiming the incipience of the Battery Street Hill. Another great crowd here; the drummers and the cheers made mile 15 one of the easiest on the course--I topped the hill and took stock of myself as I passed under the "Start" banner.

Some fatigue in the legs; breath still coming easy; not thirsty, tired, but still strong. I had hit the half in 1:28:30 or so; still planning on holding the pace. You will feel stronger at mile 17 than you do now.

A runner should beware making promises he can't keep. At mile 17, two things happened. (1) sudden, immediate need for a portajohn. (2) the full emergence of the sun. I don't feel badly about stopping--there was really no question about that--but I am somewhat equivocal on the subsequent mile.

Ironically, the externalities of mile 18 were wonderful; on the course map it had looked like an afterthought; a lazy turn in a local neighborhood, necessary only for burning up distance. But that neighborhood was out in force, and filled with unofficial aid stations: oranges, watermelons, water, hoses: it was all there. Sadly, this was where I was forced to take full stock of my physical situation, and it was not good. My legs were getting heavier by the minute, and burning with a fire as though I had been running 400m repeats, instead of the ~8:00m pace I had been managing since my rest stop.

When I reached mile 18 I paused for a second and looked to my right. Two miles back in that direction were the start and finish areas. Food and water and rest. I looked to my left. That way lay 8 miles of pavement; steadily worsening outside conditions, and steadily degrading physical condition. I looked back to the right and I thought about it.

I really, really thought about it.

But there are degrees of quitting. I have only DNF'd a race when I had a legitimate and immediate fear of injury--and that only once. So I turned to my left and kept on plodding.

I was using the same kind of jog-walking that I used to limp home in Hyannis. I would run for a bit, while the fire in my legs built and built. Then, when I didn't think I could stand it anymore, I would walk for a stretch. It hurt to break my self-promise not to walk. Inevitable? I wish I knew. Maybe if I had held to a 9-10 minute jog the fatigue signals would have plateaued eventually, or maybe I just would have hurt myself. I didn't gut it out long enough to learn.

Around this point--mile 20, I think--I heard distinctive coughing echoing from behind me. Still clinging to a little pride, I did my best to hold to a run. All the same, Ricardo passed me not long later, asking me what had happened. "I'm done," I answered. "No no," he protested. "Drink some gatorade!" I appreciated the well-meaning advice. If only that would have fixed me. For that matter, if only I had a nice honest cramp--important muscle groups gone completely out of my control. That would have been preferable to the silent firefighting battle I was waging, pain pit squarely against determination.

Some interminable time later we picked up the bikepath for the last 5 miles home. Occasionally glimpses of Lake Champlain would emerge through the trees. The canopy above largely protected us from the sun, though not from the rising heat and humidity. The water stops had signs indicating the severity of atmospheric conditions: "Low" meant ideal running conditions, from there ranging through Moderate and High to Extreme, which meant very dangerous levels of heat and humidity. The water stop at the beginning of the bike path was advertising "High".

For my all own demoralized state, the bike path was a pleasant enough place to nurse along a little bonk. You know you are in sorry straits when you slow down to take water at the 25.6 mile station (I wondered why they even had one there--now I know!) Just as I was approaching the entrance to Waterfront Park and the finish, the 3:30 pacer man caught up to me. Sigh. I mustered a little bit of gas and passed him, sweeping through the crowds that lined the chute leading into the finish. A final, desultory kick brought me home.

Final result: 281st, in 3:29:42.

Grade: F (I walked!)

Allowing 4 minutes for my bathroom break, I had almost the exact same result as in Hyannis, in nearly the exact same time. Given the extra volume I ran, the extra quality workouts, the extra consistency--I never, never would have guessed this outcome. Needless to say I am disappointed. I have taken two good licks at the marathon now, and both times it's knocked me on my ass. This is a tough distance. My reward for three months training was not any pride of accomplishment, or glory to privately gloat on. Instead, I got another stern lesson in endurance racing, from the only real teacher there is.

But it is not a cheap reward. I will take it and value it commensurate with its cost. To sum it up in two parts:

In shorter distances, the conditions of the race can usually be relied upon to make you faster. In the marathon, however, the race only makes me faster. It does not make me stronger or more enduring. In that sense, the race is the enemy.
There is a formula for calculating your expected marathon time: take your 1/2 marathon best x2, and add 10 minutes. That would make me a 2:57 marathoner. I have been implicitly following this advice--acting like a 3 hour marathoner who once had a bad day and ran 3:25. But 3:25 is not my personal best because of some anomaly. It is my best for the very good reason that on race-day I can only run 18 good miles. It is time to start acting like a 3:25 marathoner who is honestly trying to better his PR, rather than setting out to run the 3 hour race I somehow conceived that I deserved.

Time to repeat what I said after Hyannis. The marathon and I aren't done. I will be back, I will try again, a little stronger and a little smarter. And this time, I don't mean to wait a whole year.

Goals

2011-05-26T18:20:00.002-04:00

I am in the phase now where there is nothing I can do to help my upcoming race except eat and sleep sensibly and try not to hurt myself. There's not much left to do but blog. So, as promised yesterday, here are my goals for the Marathon:

If peak temperature is expected to be < 72 degrees:
A: 2:59
B: 3:04:30
C: sub 3:20, and no walking

if peak temperature is expected to be > 75 degrees:
A: 3:05
B: 3:15, and no walking.
C: no walking.

Right now it's not looking good for an attempt to break 3 hours. I know I'm not the strongest hot-weather runner, and there certainly hasn't been an opportunity to work on that with this cool, rainy spring. I am praying to the weather spirits for a cool, misty morning, but if it's sunny and warm, then I'm going to be very prepared to adjust my pace expectations (if temps are expected to peak over 85 degrees, I'm planning on ratcheting down my starting pace even more).

Looking back.

2011-05-25T22:07:00.003-04:00

I am not a believer in a full two-week taper before a big race. After one week of minimal running I am edgy, keyed up and impatient; after two, I feel dull and less-fit, like the edge has come off. Physiologically it may not be possible to lose significant fitness over two weeks, but psychologically it doesn't feel that way.

That was a long-winded explanation for why I was still doing "quality" as late as last Saturday. I've been alternating long runs designed to simulate marathon endurance requirements with 16 milers designed to simulate marathon speed. Two weeks ago I did my peak distance run; last Saturday, my peak "specific endurance" workout: 6 miles lead-in followed by 10 miles at marathon RP.

Rather than just talk about the Saturday run though, I thought I'd look back over key workouts this training cycle. These are the days I'm going to be leaning on this Sunday to remind myself what I'm capable of, and to remember all the work I put in to get to the starting line.

April 2nd, 17 mi @ 7:20 pace This might be an odd choice, given that this was supposed to be a 20. But I still remember how easy this pace felt, surging over the hills through the wildlife refuge in Natick. Snow had fallen the day before, and my only fueling was a few mouthfuls eaten at my turnaround. Despite the inglorious walk home, what I was left thinking was: all I need is to work out my nutrition, and I will kill this 3:10 marathon time. In fact it was around then that I decided I was selling myself short with a 3:10 and started targeting 3:04.

April 24th, 16 mi @ some horrible time: I had been sick this week, and missed two straight days of running. Given that, you can imagine how keen I was not to blow my long run. The first 12 miles weren't too bad. 13-14 were pretty rocky. 15-16 were pure suffering, running right into the teeth of the bonk wall, every fiber of every muscle screaming to throw in the towel. But...for once, I didn't throw in anything. I finished the damn run, and the last two miles ended up being 7:48 pace. If I can do that, then I can run this 26 (i.e., do better than run 20 and jog-walk the last 10k).

April 30th, 22 miles. The notes from my running log say: "22 w/ 2x 2mi @ 6:55, and last 6 @ 7:14. Beautiful day, strong throughout. Consumed 4xBloks & 1xgel. Had 2 water stops." The subtext there is: I got my nutrition right, and everything else followed easily. This workout gave me loads of confidence that my basic fitness would be in the right place to run a BQ time.

May 22nd, 16 miles. Last Saturday's run. 6 @ 7:12, followed by 10 @ 6:40. This was test to see how hard breaking 3 hours might be. Right when I finished I had mixed feelings about it. I had kind of wanted it to feel easier as I was wrapping up, and instead felt somewhat fatigued. But then I thought "hey, here we are, mid-stream in training, on the back of a 9 miler with 3x mile intervals 2 days ago, running 10 miles at faster than my fastest contemplated marathon pace over rolling hills, and pretty much hitting it on the nose. So what if I'm a little fatigued?" So I decided I was happy about it after all, and took it as testament that I certainly have the leg speed I need.

I will put up another blog post tomorrow about goal-setting for the marathon. See you then!

last long run before KBVCM

2011-05-16T21:10:00.003-04:00

Saturday I did my last long run leading up to KBVCM. The goal was to run my projected finish time (and then some). That test, combined with my two 16 milers with 8 and 10 mile race pace sections (done weekend before last, and pending this Saturday), would hopefully leave me in good stead for the Marathon itself.

I'd felt a little flat the last couple of days and woke late, but gamely set out nonetheless, first setting my GPS watch to only show me time. Without any pace feedback, I settled at a pretty easy speed. My course consisted of one loop (7.5miles), one out-and-back (7.35 miles), a second out-and-back into Wellesley (6.57 miles), and a final out-and-back along my home road (2.83 miles). Grand total: 24.25 miles:

Split	Hour:Minute:SecondTime	MilesDistance	Minutes per MileAvg Pace
Summ:	03:10:06	24.25	07:50
	00:59:38	7.50	07:57
	00:57:47	7.35	07:51
	00:51:09	6.57	07:47
	00:21:30	2.83	07:36

I felt pretty happy about that, particularly the fact that I unconsciously negative split each lap. The mileage did take its toll, though, and I ended up pretty useless for the rest of the day. Aside from Saturday productivity, the only casualty was my wrist:

Apparently my GPS banging against my wristbone for 22 miles doesn't do anything, but for 24 it's a whole different story.

I've been fairly consistent with my training, and have three solid weeks of 60+ mileage under my belt (which is pretty high for me). On top of that, I've actually been doing some quality along with my volume, in particular "Tempo Run Tuesdays" and good amounts of marathon pace training during the long runs. All of which is to say, I'm feeling ready. So ready, in fact, that a niggling voice has started to intrude. It says: What about 2:59?

Stupid, scary voice.

nearly ready

2011-04-30T17:58:00.002-04:00

I just finished my 2nd-to-last long run leading up to KBVCM. My goal is 7 minute miles (a 3:03:24 marathon). From the splits below I feel like I'm almost there. Not only was this my fastest long run, but this was by far the best I've ever felt as I mopped up the last few miles.

Split Time Miles Pace

1 00:32:28 4.36 07:27
2 00:13:22 1.93 06:56
3 00:20:21 2.78 07:20
4 00:36:53 4.98 07:24
5 00:13:33 1.97 06:53
6 00:43:25 6.00 07:14
Summary 02:40:06 22.01 07:16

I have one more long run, and it's going to be a lot slower; maybe 7:50-55 pace. But it's an important one, because I'm actually going to be running my marathon time: 3 hours, 5 minutes. I am also looking forward to my two remaining "medium-long" (16 mile) runs. The goal is to run the 1st with 8 mi @ 7:00s, and the 2nd with 10 mi @ 7:00s. If I hit all those marks, then I'm going to feel like nothing can stop me!

Imprudent Speed

2011-04-16T21:50:00.003-04:00

Another Saturday, another long run as I prepare myself for the Vermont City Marathon on the last weekend of May. Although my own personal challenge is still a ways off, Marathon fever is in the air here in Boston this weekend, and it is hard not to be a little swept up in it. Monday morning I'll be heading over to nearby Wellesley to spectate, dreaming marathon dreams as I watch the runners stream by on the same road I've often trained on, and thinking....someday!

But for now I still need to focus on the week-to-week. On my last long run two weeks ago, I set out to do 20 on a long out-and-back, completely devoid of provisions. Fresh snow had fallen the previous day and I helped myself to some at my turnaround, but other than that I was running savage. Predictably, I crashed out at mile 17.

Was it the lack of fuel, or was my pace (7:20s, with some 7:00 sections) just too ambitious for my fitness? One of those two variables is easy to eliminate, and, having acquired a good supply of gels, I meant to do so today.

The run broke down into three sections: a 9 mile loop that included the Cutler Park trail and a section in Newton, an 8 mile out-and-back in the direction of Wellesley, and then whatever was left (hopefully 4 miles, in whatever manner was convenient). I left water and grub outside my house, giving me two resupply points over the course of the run.

The first 9 mile loop passed effortlessly in around 7:17 pace; a crisp, slightly chilly spring morning, even allowing for my comparatively late start--the marathoners should be so lucky to have such a morning this Monday! I hit my first resupply feeling great; consumed a gel and some water, tightened my laces, and headed off on the next leg.

By my turnaround point in the 2nd leg (mile13), I had started to feel a bit peaky. Very deliberately (and with some difficulty) I forced myself to stop tracking my own pace (which, in this second leg, had been running around 7:10s). "You will feel better and stronger at mile 17 then you do right now," I kept reminding myself as I started to head the 4 miles back to my house. This was a somewhat bold claim, given how I had cratered at mile 17 the last time.

But it was true! What a great surprise. As I hit mile 15, I felt strength trickling back into my legs. By mile 17, when I stopped quickly for my 2nd gel and a swig of water, I surprised myself by feeling downright decent.

The overall feeling of well-being got me about halfway into my third leg. By mile 19, I was just thinking about how best to hold it together for another 15 minutes. Chainsaws buzzed. A boy with a fishing rod said "hello, SIR!" to me as I ran by, which seemed incongruous in the face of my sweat stained and no doubt haggard expression. Above the street, the endless river of rolling metal that is I-95 poured by in a continuous flood.

I finished the last leg in around7:24 pace.

So here's the thing. I'm really happy to have run around 7:17 pace for 21 miles at this stage in my training. I've thought for weeks that the ~7:20 pace just *feels* right for a long-run cruising speed. But. The conventional wisdom is not to try to practice for your race by actually running your race in training--that would be silly. And yet, if I extend my next run by a couple miles, that's basically what I will have done.

I'm thinking this is probably one of those times when your own pacing intuition can mislead you. If 7:20 was really a good long-run training pace for me, I could probably be running 6:40 pace in the marathon (and I'm pretty sure that's not right). The other way this is hurting me is time-on-feet; I'm not practicing holding a steady level of output for a full 3.10 hours.

The natural solution is to just run my long-runs slower. Save speed for mid-distance runs during the week. 20 miles @ 8s, followed by 2-3 miles @ 7s, for instance. There's nothing preventing me from this, except lack of discipline in responding to the information my GPS is telling me.

It is reassuring what a big difference the fueling made, though. I don't know why I need to keep learning and then re-learning this same lesson. Really makes me wonder how the old-school marathoners did it, back when they barely even bothered with water. (Maybe that's just it, though--the fields were so much smaller, perhaps in part because very few people actually *could* run the distance like that).

----------

Boston Marathon Top Fives
This is kind of my own version of filling out a basketball tournament brackets--and as prognostications go, it's about equally lousy, I'm sure!. My methodology was to pick people with good, recent Boston performances, or good performances in the last New York Half. I tended to down-play the monster times some of the elite field have posted from Berlin, Rotterdam, etc., since I don't think those courses reveal much about Boston's particular requirements. I know--repeat winners in both races is a little bit of a cop-out. On the men's side, it's mainly because Cheruiyot was just that awesome last year. On the women's--well, it just seems like it would be *too* awesome if Kara came back to win it this year. I don't want to get my hopes up :-)

Without further ado, predictions for the outcome of this Monday's Boston Marathon:
1. Robert Kiprono Cheruiyot, Kenya 2:05:52 (Boston, 2010) CR
2. Gebregziabher Gebremariam, Ethiopia 2:08:14 (New York City 2010)
3. Tekeste Kebede, Ethiopia 2:07:23 (Boston, 2010)
4. Alistair Cragg, Ireland Debut
5. Peter Kamais, Kenya 2:14:58 (New York City, 2010)

1. Teyba Erkesso, Ethiopia 2:23:53 (Houston, 2010) CR
2. Kara Goucher, USA 2:25:52 (New York, 2008)
3. Dire Tune, Ethiopia 2:23:44 (Frankfurt, 2010)
4. Tatyana Pushkareva, Russia 2:26:14 (Boston, 2010)
5. Desiree Davila, USA 2:26:20 (Chicago, 2010)

Recrudescence

2011-03-19T15:47:00.003-04:00

Today felt like the first true run of Spring. This happens every year, and it is something I eagerly anticipate: the day when the crusty shell of winter cracks and all things seem to be leaping into motion again. It is not only a matter of the weather but also the day when time and opportunity coincide to create the conditions for a perfect run. The air is cool, and piles of snow still lurk in the shadows, but the sun is warm, and the brisk wind carries no bite. The miles pass easily. I am doing 18--the first long run on my road to 26.2 in Burlington, VT. Hills and wind only seem to make me stronger. My plan is to run 16 then step up to 7:00 (race pace) for the last two--to get used to running that speed on tired legs. But it's one of those days when holding back is impossible. I am not looking at my watch. Only occasional glances over the middle 12 show my pace falling from 7:24, to 7:20, to 7:16. At last I hit mile 16 and accelerate, and now I do start to feel it. But it's a good feeling, the best possible kind of tired.

I didn't bring any water--something I won't be able to get away with much longer. When I get back home, I see the wind has baked on crusty streaks of salt across my forehead and all down my temples. It's 10am and already I know it's going to be a good day.

OFTM Race Report

2011-02-21T23:20:00.002-05:00

Every race presents its own unique challenge. Sometimes the challenge is the weather, sometimes the terrain. Sometimes it's your own level of fitness, not being where you want it to be. When I reach the start line of a race, I try to let go of all my suppositions about what the day's challenge was supposed to have been. When the gun sounds, there is only the race, and me.

I don't always succeed in this. But the point, when it works, is that I don't beat myself up about, say, driving rain preventing a PR day. Or, more to the point for this weekend's race, a bitter snowy winter partially (but not entirely) excusing a string of bad training weeks, leaving me nowhere near where I hoped I'd be in terms of fitness.

I ran the Foxboro Old Fashioned 10 Miler on Sunday. When I reflect on the race in the light I described, I give it a performance of....adequate. I was breathing hard; I felt sluggish, I did not feel quick, or excited, or aggressive. I went to work on that race like a man digging a ditch, or filling in the ditch some other dumb fella had just dug. Little excitement in the last mile except at the prospect of finishing.

I was slower than last year. But at the same time I held up OK. From the perspective of the year's theme ("redeeming the long race", remember?) it was satisfactory, or at least not a disgrace.

I think most of this is just winter blues. Last Friday, on my walk home from work, a warm wind was blowing through the town of Needham MA. I stripped off my vest, and then my fleece, stuffing them in my pack, and ran in my shirt-sleeves, warm air against my skin. It felt beautiful, like running is always supposed to feel.

Spring can't come soon enough.

2011 Prospective

2011-01-30T20:47:00.006-05:00

If there's one goal I'd like to achieve in this year 2011 CE, it could be summed up as: redeeming the long race. 2010 was a tough year for me and long races. I was in fact 0/3 successful races over the 10 mile distance. Some of these failures might not be obvious externally but--you always know when you didn't do the job you set out to do, even when your time or your place doesn't look so bad.

With that in mind, I'm happy to have had a strong start on that goal with the Derry 16M last week. I already blogged about it a bit on the club website, so I won't repeat the details. I was pleased to hold up well mentally over the last few miles, winning a little redemption from the embarrassment at Applefest (no you didn't miss a post--it was so bad I just never blogged about it). On the other hand, I was daunted that I ended up needing that mental reserve; my legs were wasted by the end, and it was pretty clear to me that, mental toughness aside, I wouldn't have been able to keep running more than another mile or two, forget 10.

That's not entirely surprising, as this snowy winter has kept my mileage way down--I've only been in the mid 30s these last few weeks.

Derry Mile 6

Mile 13

With all that in mind, here's a rough calendar of long races for 2011:

Old Fashioned 10 Miler (certain) 2/20 : last year went well. Hopefully I can live up to it this time around.

Hyannis Half Marathon (certain) 2/27: I've raced twice in Hyannis, one half, one full, neither successful. I'm going to turn it around this time!

DRB 50K (tentative) 4/17 : did this on a lark last year after my running friends from W. Va visited. I wasn't very serious about it and dropped out after 25K. Would like to return and finish the darned thing. I just have to come to terms with the pace that goes with the terrain, and the fact that, for this particular style of race, walking != fail.

Vermont City Marathon (certain) 5/29: It took me a year to get excited about running another marathon! At last I am, and I'm going to rock the shit out of this one! Burlington VT, here I come!

Highland Sky 40M (strong tentative) 6/18: How awesome would it be to go do an epic trail run, and visit my W. Va friends, all in one trip! I'm not sure how it'll play out, but I'll have a ruddy go at it--unless after Vermont City, I think my body is just physically unready for it.

Applefest Half Marathon (tentative) 10/1: I couldn't stand it if 2010 were my last mark on this race, but I'm not quite prepared to sign up for it again. Hopefully after Hyannis I'll be filled with confidence and ready to tear it up.

Mount Desert Island Marathon 10/16 (pure speculation): A friend mentioned this to me, and I went "oh, THAT race!" I had heard about it before and been really intrigued. I mean--the race has a fjord! What more could you want! Unfortunately the field is so small that I'll probably have to sign up soon if I really want to do it--I don't know yet, so we'll have to see. (any of you readers run it before?)

To get ready for all this distance awesomeness, it's apparent to me that I need more base. Like, lots more. Through a highly non-scientific process, I have seized on 70 miles as a peak marathon training volume, which I want to do running 6 times a week, no doubling up. I think if I can do that, then that BQ marathon time will just come naturally.

Summer of Speed : retrospective

2010-07-05T23:21:00.002-04:00

So what happened to my summer of speed! I mentioned it, then never wrote another word about it, or much of anything else. Well, in one sense it went unexpectedly well. I was able to break my old 5K pr at the Gilio 5K in May. That PR--17:35--actually came from at an away dual meet. Bloomfield, maybe? Anyway, looking back on it, I don't think all those high school XC courses were wheeled out very carefully--if I were really picky I'd probably have to give the honor to one of my old times at Wickham: 17:53, I think--but I'm not really picky; that was just a rambling aside about why some of my old PRs are the least squishy.

Writing that made me nostalgic for Wickham Park. I can practically smell that burned-grease odor that always permeated the top of the pavement hill from the nearby concessionary. I bet thousands of kids who raced there can remember the same thing.

.... Hm, right, Summer of Speed. The 5K went well. I wasn't really sure what to do next. I didn't quite feel enthusiastic about digging around for another 5K flat enough to challenge my track PR (17:08, thanks for asking). Then I ran the club handicap mile and damn near yakk'd (my own damn fault. Damn afternoon races--it's like the only race I do in the afternoon all year. I totally forget how to eat beforehand).

That pretty much takes me to the last race: the Bridgton 4 on the 4th. It always astounds me to see 1800 people all toeing the line in the middle of small-town Maine. But maybe it shouldn't surprise me--the race is well run, and the town is always hopping that time of year. The course, however, is not easy. Not trail-race hilly, of course, but still--you need to respect that first hill, and you need to be thinking about the rollers on Dugway, or they will EAT you (I am sorry to be reporting from personal experience, here).

Yesterday's rendition went over much differently. I was a bit worried at the start that I hadn't got enough water, as it was shaping up to be hot, and there was none at the line. A lot of high school kids and campers come out for this race, so there was a fair bit of horseplay and clowning around in the parking lot adjacent to the race start. I skulked around in the shade as best I could and tried not to think about being thirsty. Props to the two guys (girls?) dressed up in full-body duck suits--those things must have been wicked hot.

We were thoroughly anthemed before the RD handed over the starting pistol and set us to our marks. The shot rang and we were off. Almost immediately, a pleasant surprise. The heavy feeling in my legs disappeared, and along with it the doubtful boy-I-wish-I-had-studied-for-this-test sense that came from two pretty so-so weeks of training. I felt good. I knew I could run the flat opener much harder, but I picked my own pace and ran it confidently.

I don't remember having to think about the hills, which is always the best way to do them. Mainly I remember carrying my strength into the last mile, passing a guy, he catching up again; kicking--just a little too early!--fading off behind me as I crossed the line.

A good race, a personal CR by 20 seconds. As usual, when I finish a race with a little vim left, I have to wonder if I could have run harder. The price of running a controlled race, perhaps?

I am closing the book on my summer of speed for 2010, although it's certainly too early to write off the possibility of a 2011 edition. Now it's time to start thinking about Applefest, and then Baystate Marathon. Next calendar race: Marshfield 20K (speaking of squishy prs...)

Spectating the JJR

2010-04-25T18:22:00.014-04:00

Immediately following the Blue Hills Foxtrot, I jumped in my car and made my way over to Dedham to spectate the James Joyce Ramble. This is a fairly big 10k that puts up enough purse to bring out some serious runners. I didn't see any Kenyans this year, but the BAA guys showed up in force.

No fancy race commentary from me. I'll just post the pictures I took. Most are rubbish, and I missed half the club. Don't ever hire me to be an event photographer.

nice shoes, twinkle toes

too much energy for mile 5

I wonder if he caught that guy in the hat...?

I noticed the guy behind Maureen, because he's wearing a MV 20M shirt from 2010, which I know Maureen also ran. A rematch, apparently? I looked up his name in the JJR results, but when I cross-referenced the MV20 results, he did not appear, so I'm guessing he either borrowed the shirt, or the number. Incidentally, if it was a rematch, Mo would have smoked him--she finished in 212th place; he faded to 827th.

one more shot of Mo.

My only approach shot of Mel was totally obliterated by some other guy. Oh well.

Mike turns the corner.

I almost totally missed Dave. (I was looking for the mask, sorry!)

ditto Michelle.

this guy is not actually in our club. Looks like you could bronze him and put him on the top of a cross country trophy, doesn't he?

Blue Hills Foxtrot 10 miler race report

2010-04-25T17:21:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I helped the CSA put in its potato crop for the year. Potato planting is surprisingly easy. The farmer has already furrowed the field with his tractor, which takes care of by far the hottest and heaviest of the four jobs. The other three consist, in order, of: (1) chopping seed potatoes into about golf-ball sized chunks; (2) dropping the potatoes into the furrows; (3) hoeing over the furrows so the potatoes sit in about 2 inches of dirt. You couldn't have asked for a nicer day to do farm work: blue skies and temps in the 60s, new green on all the trees and robins caroling in the bushes. I'd figured to spend about 2 hours there, but somehow double that time drifted by before I knew it. Something about farm-work just puts you in the zone. Potato, flick, potato, flick, potato, flick, row after row after row....; after a while the action becomes unconscious and higher brain functions largely unnecessary. After the fact, I'm totally at a loss to identify what I was thinking about; I just don't remember ever being bored.

That aside had almost nothing to do with running, except that my back was a little sore this morning, prior to the Foxtrot. It worked itself out by the time I started racing. All right then, enough about potatoes! How did the race go?

What a fantastic day for a trail run! Cool and cloudy, not raining, but overcast in the particular way the sky has when it is earnestly considering it. The woods were an emerald dream of verdurous spring-time growth, rich dark mud, and flowing streams. We toed the line at 9am and got to it.

Right from the siren two guys jumped out ahead and I tucked in behind them. It was faintly possible they were running the 3 mile, but I thought it unlikely: you can usually tell a 5k from a 10mile runner by their arm carriage--besides which,the hard-core guys almost always do the longer distance at this race.

I love the course layout for this race, but I particularly love the first couple miles as they are fairly flat, your legs are fresh, and you can really fly, spinning over all the obstacles, your feet magically finding the stable ground between the rocks and roots that vein the trail. The trees blur by, and you take each downhill like a waterfall, inexorable, flowing always into the easiest path.

I don't run this race with a garmin. If I did, I would look at it and think I should be running slower. That might well be true--but I can't bring myself to do it. Flying through those early miles is just too much fun.

Around mile 2 I started losing contact with the lead pair. All my muscles were feeling strong, but my breath was coming fast, and I knew I had to hold onto it.

In 2008 (the last time I did the 10 miler), I somehow got confused during the race and thought the limed mile marker reading "5" actually read "6". As you can imagine, it was a bit of a psychological blow when I hit mile 6 again -- near the top of long up-hill. I was determined to have a better back half of the race today.

I took some water from the 'stop at mile 5 and I totally nailed it, except I got some on my glasses. I think my water station technique has improved.

Mile 6 and 7 are tough in this race. There's a couple long uphills to contend with, then the easy even Green Trail--which nonetheless throws some up at you--and then a brief section of the skyline trail, which absolutely sucks. I knew it was coming this time and was bracing myself for it. Perhaps too much so--in the middle of one of those long climbs, an HFC guy caught me! I willed for some faster turnover, but my legs were giving what they were giving. I caught up a little on the next down-hill, but not enough. Inexorably, he started to gap me.

I reached the mile 7 mark with great relief; The last 3 miles of the race are mostly pretty easy, and I still felt strong, my attitude focused on racing, not merely surviving. I flowed into the next downhill, feet finding the way.

Total solitude for the next three miles. I kept hearing what I thought were footfalls, but any time I hit a switchback turn (of which there are many), I couldn't see anyone behind me. At mile 9 I rejoined the green trail and picked up the pace. What a joy to stretch your legs after all the single-track where self-preservation forces you to be careful.

No one near me at the finish. A big kick over the footbridge, and I was done.

Results: 4th OA (AG ? ), time of 66? minutes

I didn't hang around for the awards so I don't know exactly how I did. Although I wasn't foolhardy enough to attempt double-headering like last year, I still wanted to catch the JJRamble....

One observation: holy crap what a difference it makes on the downhills to land more on your forefoot. I experienced a big improvement in downhill speed since the Great Footstrike Conversion of '09. Heel-striking downhill on trail is scary; you take fewer strides, so each stride has that much more weight behind it. And if the plant is bad, you're already totally committed, so there's nothing you can do. Maybe you roll your ankle, maybe you just jam it awkwardly. It tends to make you cautious in a way I hadn't appreciated.

spectating the Boston Marathon

2010-04-19T17:48:00.003-04:00

Today I biked into Wellesley to watch the Boston marathoners go by. This was only the second boston marathon I've spectated in person, and I had a much better cheering spot this time. The runners really lucked out weather-wise; it was chilly but not super-windy, and it rained nary a drop. All told a beautiful early spring day. It was really inspiring to watch the elites go by: nothing but flow, a pure harmony of motion. What other terrestrial animals run like that? Us and timber wolves, and huskies, maybe.

When the men passed by Hall was in the lead, which I thought was not his plan (what happened to finding a happy middle between leading and settling in at the back of the pack?) All the same, looking at the results, he clearly knew what he was doing since he ran such a great time. Not a win, but what can you say to 2:05:51? That's not just great, that's a staggering time for Boston. You've got to give it up for the new Robert Cheruiyot; he earned it!

I was looking for GNRC jerseys the whole time, but didn't see any! (I hung around 'til 1 o'clock, and I was pretty near the half-marathon mark). You guys must have slipped by me in the crowd. Hopefully my hooting and hollerin' cheered you on in spirit!

medical report

2010-04-04T19:57:00.003-04:00

When I started this blog, I was at the tail-end of the longest-running running injury of my adult career. It was a bit humbling; I hadn't been seriously hurt since I was 16, and that owing more to an uneven growth spurt than anything else. Now I was just another injured runner. Well, that experience had the silver lining of motivating the period of experimentation that I've been documenting over the last few months. I tried barefooting and Vibrams, and then when it got too cold I settled into a pair of Nike Frees, reconfiguring my gait in a rather dramatic way. All this was supposed to help me fulfill one of my listed goals: getting healthy. I thought an update on that would be appropriate, and I'm happy to report the result: about 98% there.

In late February, when I ran my Marathon, I was pretty sure I had it all figured out. My knee pain from the 2009 injury had gone away; my foot pain had vanished, and I could tell my foot muscles were a lot stronger. Many things did not work out on marathon day, but falling apart due to injury was not one of them. A week after the marathon, eager to hang onto all that hard-won endurance, I went out for a 20 miler. I ended up stopping at 19, feeling tired but mostly OK. But then! IT pain so bad I literally couldn't walk (inconvenient since I was still a mile from my house--fortunately after a rest I made it about 5 steps, and then things improved geometrically).

I recognized that episode as a signal to accept my body's inevitable inclination to take some down-time following my crest in February. I wanted to dive right into the next thing, but my body was not on board. So my summer of speed is to be preceded by a spring of loafing around (how clever of me not to call for a Spring of speed; I congratulate myself!)

Actually I think I'm through most of the loafing. I discovered a good stretch for IT pain, and then I discovered an even better therapy for it (although I haven't tried that trick with the 2L soda bottle yet). The therapy is just 2 barefoot miles on the track infield. I'm not sure if it's the barefooting or the soft, even ground, but whatever it is, it pretty consistently blows away the pain in my legs.

Yesterday I did 8 miles in Vibrams; today 12 on trails in the Frees (which are really falling apart in earnest now; I kind of like them like this--they've got credibility--but I don't think I can hang onto them much longer ).

My Vibrams, which I hadn't worn for a while and remembered to be a little small, actually slipped on pretty well. Only the pinch point on the side of my right foot is still there. I am considering "modifying" the offender (i.e., cutting a hole in it with an Xacto knife ). Drastic maybe, but otherwise I'm going to be going through bandaids at a ferocious clip (the Vibrams are too snug for socks).

That is all for now. See you out there!

Summer of Speed

2010-03-05T21:58:00.002-05:00

My legs were pretty blasted last Monday, but after that I was happy to find I recovered pretty rapidly. My run this Friday felt pretty much totally normal, except for some twinges on the outside of my left knee (I think just more IT band tightness, and nothing to worry about).

One consequence of switching to lighter shoes and consciously working on soft foot-strikes is that it's gotten harder than ever to signal my presence to other pedestrians. This was always a problem, especially in the woods. I would routinely sneak up on people, not out of any malice, but rather owing to the soft surface and a fairly rapid closing speed.

This morning, as I was running in the woods, keeping alert over the light dusting of snow that had fallen the previous evening, just such an occasion presented itself. I stamped to announce my presence to the person I was coming up upon. Nothing. I tried again, harder. Still nothing. At last I resorted to awkward "a-hem", throat clearing, but by then I was close enough that I surprised her anyway.

I need a bell.

What was this post about, again? Right! Next running goal! I've done distance for a bit; now it's in my mind to turn my attention to speed. My rationale is: I'm going on 29, and I'm healthy. Now may be the best time to take one last shot at some of my short-distance PRs. In particular I want a rematch with my 5k time. Unlike most other distances, four years of cross country and track in high school means I ran a lot of 5ks--and at least a handful of them were OK.

I was never super-fast, which is actually just as well now, because I don't have some unattainably awesome performance to measure myself against. My track 5K PR is 17:08. Last year, in trainers and coming off an injury, I still managed to run a 17:46 at the Gilio 5K. That makes me think I'm not too decrepit to make another run at this time.

I am contemplating a typically unsophisticated training strategy. Much like my marathon training ("do lots of 20+ mile runs"), my central principal will be: "you race fast by practicing running fast." I want to mix in "fast miles" to most of my training runs, like 5:30 or faster. Terrain and sunlight make this tricky (hills may be roughly accounted for, but it's hard to run really fast in the dark). There's always the track, but the track is boring. And besides, when I'm racing on roads, I like to practice on roads. Real courses have hills too.

That is all from me for the moment. Thanks for your supportive comments about the marathon, I'm feeling much better about it now.

Marathon

2010-02-28T20:28:00.005-05:00

The half marathoners are just finishing. I look at them enviously as they stream up towards the chute. My legs are burning. Why did I go out so hard? Why didn't I eat anything? Why did I completely ignore my race plan? I am only half-way finished and I'm a total wreck, pretty much done in. Grimly I begin the long, slow trudge that will take me once again over the course I just finished, each step feeling like it will be my last...and then I wake up. Just an anxiety dream (whew!). I look over at my clock, and it's still 30 minutes before my alarm, but I swing out of bed anyway. I have gotten loads of sleep. I feel strong and ready, like nothing's going to get in my way today.

A couple of hours later, I am in Hyannis, picking up my number and poking around the race expo. They have 26.2 stickers! Superstitiously I decline from buying one, as the race isn't run yet. I also run into Mike and say hello, but I'm feeling too restless to stay in one place and socialize.

I head back to my car to make last-minute preparations. My plan today is simple. I am going to run even splits, as slow as possible for my goal pace of 3:10. I've chosen 7:06's (really 7:00 - 7:06), figuring that would give me 3:07:25, assuming I run long by 2 tenths of a mile. Every 5 miles I'm going to have a gel and wash it down with some water. If necessary I have shot bloks (more runner candy) to eat over the last 10k. If things are going really, really well, I might try to pick it up a little at mile 21, but I'm not counting on it.

I'm actually not thinking of this race in miles at all, but in leagues (three mile intervals). That way I can think to myself, "I'm only running 9! Hell it's even a short 9, that's not so far!").

Minutes before the start, I have lined up by the 7 minute/mile pace sign. (This turned out to be unwise; the starting queue filled from the front, and newcomers pushed us back from our chosen starting position. A little irritating, but the race is chip-timed at start and finish, so I guess it doesn't matter much). Someone next to me says, "anyone here looking to run a 3:10?" and I say I am. He's a pretty fast-looking guy with sport sun-glasses running over his ear warmers, and a 70.3 tattoo on his left calf. That's good-- I won't say no to some company.

Race start. I knew this would be hard and I wasn't wrong. People are streaming by me. Even though I queued up at my goal pace, which I am now running ruthlessly, looking at my garmin every few paces to be sure, I apparently queued up too high--I'm one of "those" runners! d'oh! My erstwhile pacing buddy is off like a shot. Too fast for me; I'll either see him again or I won't.

I see for Melissa for the first time. She looks like she's settled into her goal pace already, just like me. There's a lot of traffic between us so I just drift on, mentally wishing her luck.

Mile 1 passes; for me I am reading 1.02. Worse than I feared, but it's the first mile, which is always hard to run efficiently because the mob hasn't thinned out yet. Second mile comes: 2.04. Shit! I am a little worried. If that keeps up, I'll run 26.7, a full extra half mile; and I thought I was being conservative guessing I would run 26.4!

The miles drift by. The 10ks turn off around mile 5, and things thin out still more. The weather has really cooperated. It's cloudy and cool, with no rain. I am enjoying myself (first 20% of the "enjoy every mile" goal? Check!)

By mile 10, I am pretty much surrounded by half marathoners, and I start to feel a little residual pull as they all hasten into their last 5k. I keep it cool and have my second gel. Things have gone right according to plan so far and I'm trying to keep it that way.

End of the first loop. The half-marathoners turn up towards the hotel to make their finish. I was worried this would be disheartening, but actually I feel super hard-core and kind of inspired that I'm going to be doubling down on what was the entire race for most of the field. I am working on my 5th league, and things still feel great.

As I start league 6, I'm already thinking about league 7; I know it will be a critical one, where I expect to find out if my pacing assumptions were on the money. It's deliciously quiet. The clouds have cleared away and I can see blue sky. A bit of a wind picks up, but I'm not complaining. Given the nor'easter I spent so much time last week worrying about, it would be hard to ask for a nicer day.

Around mile 18 I start to feel my old friend, the Resistance. He is way ahead of schedule. I am suddenly filled with worry and doubt. I've got another 8 miles to do here! I remember what I said to myself ages ago: "if you run into the Resistance and it doesn't seem like you can go on, just run another 2 miles. That's not so bad, right? 2 miles against the Resistance, and you don't have to feel too ashamed of yourself."

I make it another 2 miles, then eat my mile 20 gel, walking.

I don't want to dwell too much on the next 10k, because it was pretty ugly, and you can probably read most of the story in the pace chart. The disappointment, the gradual certainty of my pace goal slipping away, all present and accounted for. I would pick some visual goal, run until I reached it, then walk for a quick 0.1 until the burning subsided somewhat in my legs, and then repeat. If I were to be a determined optimist, I would say my walk-jogging technique has improved significantly, even since Martha's Vineyard.

(One bright note: remember my erstwhile pacing buddy, the one who took off like a shot? I caught him! He was walk-jogging too, even slower than me).

After some unreckonable period, I reach the last mile. The muscles in my calves are rippling spasmodically and I'm a little worried about them. Despite everything I still want to finish and at least get a time. This is full on Xeno's Paradox mode; the first half of the race seemed equal in time and difficulty to the next 10k, the next 5k similar, right on down to this interminable mile.

The last quarter mile. I imagine myself setting off around a track. One loop, that's it. It's awfully nice of these people to hang around and cheer in us marathoners. Somehow or other I make it up the hill to the finish. The clock says 3:25:56.

I really wanted to hang around and find Mel and Mike after the finish, but my mental state just then was not so good. I don't think I really appreciated how much I had invested physically and psychologically into the race until it was over. Now all I could think about was slinking away some place quiet to sulk, and that's what I did.

I am still working out how to feel about my first marathon. I am mainly disappointed, but on the other hand, I know plenty of people who would be happy to run a 3:26. I am not ashamed of it or anything. I could certainly have run a mentally tougher race, but even if I had fought like a tiger I don't think I could have shaved 16 minutes off my time. I wanted to enjoy every mile. I wanted to be so strong that I could run the last 10k of a marathon with strength and confidence. And I wanted to qualify for Boston. I did not do any of those things.

Well that's all a bit of a pity-party, but it feels good to get it out of my system. The nominal purpose of this blog has concluded, but I am somewhat in the habit of it now and I expect it will continue. Stay tuned for a post about my next running goal!

Final Tally:
Time: 3:24:56 (edited; official results took 60s off my time)
Distance: 26.2 (26.55 by garmin)
Place: 39 overall, 18AG (out of 383 finishers).

blast from the past

2010-02-23T07:25:00.003-05:00

Last year, just around the time I started running with the GNRC, I ran a small trail 3M and was lucky enough to win it. The race only had 60 people or so, but as runputt will vouch, a win's a win, right? Anyway, I kept circling back to the CRR website, hoping to find they posted some pictures showing how awesome I was, but gave it up after a few months. Now as I look at the 2010 races, I see pictures from 2009 appeared at last!

I think being the "Bunny Hop" winner pretty much says it all.

I thought hard about whether I wanted to come back and run the trail 10 miler (well, it's anywhere between 9.7 and 10.2 miles, depending on what tweaks they decide to do to the course this year), or to run James Joyce the same day. At last I decided I couldn't give up a race in the Blue Hills; rocks, roots, choppy hills, muddy puddles, and at least one stream to jump over; in other words exactly my kind of race. I'll swing by JJR afterwards so I can cheer on the rest of you! (but no double-header this time).

Foxboro Old Fashioned 10-Miler Race Report

2010-02-21T18:44:00.007-05:00

We had a warm and sunny, albeit rather blustery, day today for the running of the Foxboro 10 Miler. I had woken up this morning with a bit of a scratchy throat, but by the time I got to the race site the cruddiness had more or less subsided and I felt ready to race. This run was to be my last real sharpener before Hyannis, and I was hoping it would be a confidence booster. Also I have no time on the books for a 10 miler, and I wanted to leave a respectable mark in the sand.

I checked in, got my number and swag bag, and met up with some other club folks (so great to run into people I know at races... (Grand Prix <3!). Then I retreated to my car to relax where it was warm and quiet until it was time to head for the line. Outside, a fallen pine bough stirred restlessly in the gusty wind; beyond the trees I could see some of the more hard-core runners doing warmups. I felt pretty comfortable heading straight to the line, as I guessed (correctly) that my first mile would be an endless litany of keep it slow keep it slow keep it slow, nope too fast slow it down... no need to compound the problem by coming hot to the line.

Race start. A crisp beginning. My breath came easily and I payed ruthless attention to my GPS to keep it that way, determined not to get sucked into a faster pace than I planned. I was aiming for 6:15s; my half marathon PR pace is 6:27, but on an easier course (and in considerably better shape), I was pretty sure I could nail that speed.

The first three miles passed very quickly. We ran through the center of town and then turned down a tranquil winding little road surrounded by forest. By mile four the wind had started to push against me in earnest, but not enough to really sap my strength; I carried on, holding to my target pace.

The whole course proved to be pretty windy. I frequently found myself following the line of the runners in front of me as we weaved back and forth across the road, cutting tangents. Not all of it was well advised, but the cars were generally pretty forbearing in their not-running-over of us.

At mile 5 I heard hard breathing and was surprised to see the same girl I had beaten by a few seconds at the Norwood TT pass me decisively. I followed her for the next mile or so until we hit another patch of rolling hills and she faded off a little. I passed her, figuring not to see her again. I also passed an HFC guy, but I didn't recognize him from the super-fast pack-of-five that showed up for the TT last November.

Mile 8 saw us running over the last big hill. I was beginning to feel it by now of course, but I wasn't really hurting as badly as I expected. My GPS was reporting pretty even splits and that gratified me (granted it's much easier to avoid overrunning a 6:15 pace than a 6:45 pace, but still).

The last two miles of this race proved to be dead flat. My pace opened up a little, but I'm sure everyone else's did too; I certainly wasn't gaining much ground on the next runner. At about mile 8.5 I was passed. That girl again! I pieced together later that she was making a bid to catch the #2 woman, who ended up not far ahead of us in the chute. At any rate I was really impressed; usually when I start tailing off, you can stick a fork in me, because I am done.

The last flat mile passed in a blur. I think I could have turned on a lot more juice here, but for whatever reason I didn't. It was enough today just to finish in a good time and redeem myself a bit for blowing up last week.

Final tally:
Time: 62:01
Place: 23 (6 AG).
GPS distance run: 10.1 (damn, even with all that tangent cutting!)

After I made it out of the chute, I paused for about a minute and then turned around for another 4 miles. This wasn't really a "warmdown", exactly; the idea was to practice running into extreme aerobic debt and then let myself recover on the run. I probably did it too slowly to really prove anything, but it was nice to feel that 10 miles didn't leave me exhausted (it better not...!)

On the whole I felt that I ran a good but very conservative race -- fine since this was mainly just a rehearsal for Hyannis. For a while now, one of my long-term running goals has been to break the hour mark at the 10 mile distance; this race left me feeling that this is certainly possible for me, and perhaps even this year.

look at that even pace line! Much better than last week.

the hat--good swag; I have many shirts, but few hats. Also included was this reusable bag. Maybe some of you can help me out...why is the flap to the side-pocket at the BOTTOM of the pocket??

Mysterious...

Next Sunday is the Hyannis Marathon, which was the greater part of the inspiration for starting this blog. I will be sure to put up a good write-up for how it went when I get home, good, bad, or ugly. In the meantime, maybe you could all whistle up some good weather for me...?

Martha's Vineyard 20M : race report

2010-02-14T08:01:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I traveled down to Martha's Vineyard along with Trace and Mel B for the island's 20 mile race. I heard about this only early last week and immediately jumped on it, hoping it would school me in the ways of racing over half-marathon distance. And boy did it school me. I am very schooled.

The weather felt chilly as we stepped off the ferry, but 45 minutes of running around, trying to get my racing kit together and my bag on the bus, left me feeling warm. It was almost almost warm enough to go without my vest, but I was afraid of a stiff breeze coming off the ocean so I kept it on. I ate my hour-0 energy bar about 10 minutes before the start of the race and then headed out to the line.

We didn't have long to stand around talking at the line before suddenly the gun rang out. The crowd started like a herd of antelope and then surged forward. I do admire brevity at the start of a race, but that was a little too much. I settled in, meticulously watching my pace on the garmin, and let the speedy crowd surge by me.

My plan was to run precise 6:45 splits, as a prologue to running 7 minute miles at Hyannis. I stuck ruthlessly to this plan for the first league.At that point I was feeling so fantastic that I dropped my pace to 6:30s. I can't reconstruct what I was thinking exactly; in retrospect it doesn't make any sense. I was racing way farther than I ever had before and I knew it would pay to be conservative. But somehow all that reasoning went right out the window when I was in the thick of it. Just goes to show you can have the best pacing tools in the world and still be an idiot.

Around mile 8 I caught up to the female lead and one other guy, and we ran together for a while. Our group swept up Don somewhere around mile 11 or 12, after we had turned onto the bike path and begun our return trip northwards. I didn't look back to see if he was sticking with us.

I should mention that at around this time my race plan had me eating my hour-1 energy bar, but it seemed like too much trouble at the time. I abstained.

Passed the half-marathon point, still feeling fairly strong, but with more burning in my legs than I expected. First prickle of alarm.

Somewhere in mile 15, form deteriorated. Almost fell on ice due to careless foot plant. Heard Don call from behind to "watch out!". He surged by not long after.

Mile 17, walked for the first time. It's a dubious point of pride to say that this no longer brought me to the point of despair. Maybe I've just hit that point enough now where instead I just felt like alright, here I am again. Let's try to make it more run-walk than walk-run.

People streaming by me at this point. Fairly long stretch walking on sidewalk. Girl in hot-pink jog bra. Yow! I feel over-dressed, not to mention slow.

Manage most of the last 3/4 mile running, if you can call it that. Cross finish line with a theatrical grimace on my face.

And that was the disappointing end of my race. I'll get to the 'lessons learned' in a moment. The organizers put on a good spread at the high school, with hot soup and bagels and cookies. A newlywed couple had run in "Just Married" shirts; very cute. Also they had cake for everybody(!) We got to hang out a bit with Mo and DaveR, and some of their running friends. I had more or less gotten over my disappointment by now but was feeling a little peaky, as I sometimes do after a hard run. Trace, Mel and I took the 3:45 ferry back to Woods Hole, and that finished up my first visit to Martha's Vineyard.

Finish: 61st, 10th AG
Time: 2:26:46 (7:20 pace) (or 20.12 miles / 7:17 pace, by Garmin).

That chart pretty much says it all.

Lessons learned for Hyannis:

Plan physically and psychologically to run 26.4. Much better to get this into my head beforehand rather than have to confront it mid-race.
Pick a conservative pace and plan to run even splits. If I am trying to hit a certain time, my instinct is to run a bit faster than necessary to build up a "buffer". Unfortunately, if the time I am trying to hit as at all ambitious for me, this is a misleading impulse. It will take less energy to run even splits; if the pace is really too conservative then sure, I can drop the hammer in the last 5k. But the alternative is to risk a bonk, and if that happens it's all over. I need to run 7:11s to cover 26.4 in 3:10. Consequently I'm going to try to run 7:06s, allowing for some hills later in the course.
Eat gels during the race. I realize this is accepted wisdom, but sometimes accepted wisdom puts me in a contrarian mode that makes me do occasionally stupid things to prove out the idea for myself. Mel and Trace gave me a bit of a hard time when they asked how many gels I had taken and I told them "none". I couldn't really defend myself either, since what I did clearly didn't work. Ah well. Today I'll go and buy a variety. There must be one reasonably palatable flavor I can find.

...just as well I didn't tell them about my pre-race dinner of bacon and eggs??

Long Run, Saturday January 30th

2010-01-30T12:27:00.004-05:00

It's 12:38pm, and I am sitting, warm and comfortable, at my computer desk. A hot shower has rinsed away the last of my coldness, and a belly full of pancakes has ballasted out the high-energy but unsatisfying grub I downed during my run. I am feeling moderately pleased. Since you're already reading this, you're probably curious how things went. Well, let's go back to 4:30 this morning. I will sum up.

I wake up at 4:30, 5 minutes before my alarm. I am feeling just dandy, no pain anywhere. 30 minutes later, I am kitted out. My equipment load-out looks like this:
* the ordinary nylon pants, tech shirt, vest and hat.
* brand new mittens, with a chemical hand warmer in each one
* Petroleum Jelly, slathered over my nose and cheeks, as well as a few other spots.
* quart of gatorade in a 50oz bladder
* 3 energy bars, one already in my stomach
* bag full of gumdrops (poor man's gu)
* GPS watch.
* the Frees on my feet.

My nutrition plan will be to eat energy bars at hour intervals, starting at hour 0. I estimate it takes between 60 and 90 minutes for one of those bars to start kicking in, so it makes sense to start with one going. In particular, the bar at hour 1 will be crucial, because it should hit right around the 2.5 hour mark--where I got into trouble last week. The gumdrops and gatorade will be sprinkled in at various intervals as needed.

I step out the door. What a morning! The temperature and the hour are commensurate. The full moon is a stunning orb in the inky clarity of the sky, the snow-cover (no more than a dusting now), lit up with an ethereal brilliance. And cold, yes. Cold as advertised. Talk of your cold! Through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. / If our eyes we'd close then the lashes froze, 'til sometimes we couldn't see. Cold enough to make me think of Robert Service, but only in a theatrical light, for the wind was low, and it would take that to transform this chilly day into a brutal one.

Feeling light and easy, I settle into my pace. It seems hardly any time has passed before I am approaching the hour mark. I try my gatorade. Despite running the straw down inside my shirt with the tip pressed against my abdomen, it has still managed to freeze with ice. Damn. My hands are doing all right--better than last week, despite the conditions--but I still don't think I can fumble out my hour-1 energy bar and eat it. Double-damn. At around 80 minutes I fumble out some gum-drops and have a few.

I have long since passed through Dover center where I exchange Walpole street for Dedham street. Now I am starting up the Summer Street hill, and it feels grand. I gust up it like a leaf. I've been running for an hour and a half and at last the sun is coming up. Birds start singing, the hardy fellows. I wonder at the dumb tenacity that lets them live through nights like this. Amazing what you can do when you don't have any alternative.

I reach the Vellos parking lot around 6:50, and head out for a short out-and-back, in which I run into Jeff W and a pack of other GNRCers (sorry I didn't know you right away Jeff, my eyes were really blurry!). Alas they are just finishing. I return to the shopping plaza and orbit it a few times, but head out again around 7:02. Ah well.

I have gone 13 miles by now, and decide to do another Westwood/Dover lap. If I was worried about doing a long run in 2 laps I needn't have; everything is different this time and it's not the least boring. Back at the shopping plaza I had managed a few more gumdrops, but had to slip off my left mitten to manage it. I really struggled getting it back on and decided I wasn't going to do that again. Too bad. I have had my last food for the run.

My vision starts to get pretty swimmy at this point. I'm not low on calories--it's the cold. My corneas have stiffened up, and then to top things off I feel like I've got standing tears in each eye. Eh, I can see the road and cars, at least.

I hit Dover center for the 2nd time around mile 18. Feeling great.

Around mile 20 I take right off Dedham street onto Summer Street. Hill time. I am starting to feel the miles, but this is exactly what I came out here for today. I find I am anticipating what is to come.

I do not float up the hill this time. This time I have to think about it. It's resistance, but it's strictly with a lower-case 'r'; nothing like the devastating enervation that capped my run last week. I think of breakfast. A hot shower, then pancakes with syrup. It surprises me how viscerally I can imagine putting a warm slice of pancake into my mouth. I finish off the hill at mile 22, and try to coax myself into loosening up again and finding some kind of flow.

Back to the shopping plaza for the third time, at mile 23. At this point I had entertained some heroic notion of doing an extra out-and-back, making this into a marathon. But I'm pretty close to home by now, and that thought dominates all my other intentions. All right, then. 1 more mile. Make this another distance PR.

There's some stiffer resistance this time, on the last of the last legs. I can't say if it's my brain, knowing I'm almost done and trying to trick me into stopping a little early, or the declined energy bars at hour 1 and hour 2. I think, if the chips were down I could do another two miles, but not today. A warm house and a good meal are too near.

The final score:
distance: 24.2 miles (d.PR)
pace: 8:06 min/mile.

Thoughts from the run:
* The LLBean hand-warmers really do work (I found they were still quite warm 7 hours after opening them, just as advertised). Next time I will put them straight in my mittens, and not in the warmer pockets on the outside. I think I can manage this without burning myself, and it should much increase their efficacy.
* I need to make a checklist for these early morning starts. Things like: pre-shuck energy bars; and, bring money! (with those long runs, you never know).
* I clearly still haven't figured out the whole trick for eating on long runs, at least runs this cold. I'm thinking of peeling my energy bars ahead of time and then keeping them loose in my outer vest pocket, instead of my zipper trowser pocket. This means I'll be able to get at them with my mittens, but it also means they'll be brick-solid, like eating them out of the freezer. If I break pieces off and hold them in my mouth for a bit, maybe it will work.
* The gumdrops are *almost* a great energy food--nice and discrete, easier to eat and more palatable than gu, and (I suspect), just as a fast a glucose delivery mechanism. But they do have one little problem:

Can you tell which ones ran 24 miles with me? All that jostling does something interesting. It transforms the outer crusting of sugar into something resembling confectioner's sugar, light and powdery, messy, and easy to choke on. I feel there is some clever culinary solution to this problem. Deep-fried gumdrops, maybe?

Bracing for tomorrow

2010-01-29T12:37:00.002-05:00

I'm bracing for another try at that 10K. You know the one...the one you have to run 20 miles to get to. Rather than running in fear of the opposing force--let's call it The Resistance--I'm going to go out looking for it. The goal will be to run until I find the Resistance (or, all right, mile 24), and then run another two miles, right into its teeth. My hope is to gain some insight into whether there is anything on the other side. Even if I don't find out, I'll be able to walk away with pride if I can wrestle the old bastard for two miles.

It's supposed to be about 5 degrees out when I start tomorrow morning. I'm going to try to pick up some chemical hand warmers tonight if possible, since that's the only part I really worry about. It's especially bad on a run since once my hands have gotten too cold it's tough to feed myself. For similar reasons I am a bit undecided about my route. I would love another crack at the loop I failed at last week, but another walk back from Walpole in single-digit temps would be brutal. Now that I think about it I'll probably keep it local and swing by Vello's at 7. Maybe see some GNRCers for a change!

Long Run, Sunday January 24th

2010-01-24T21:42:00.002-05:00

6:15am: I am standing outside my front door, waiting for my watch to finish sync with the gps constellation. It is cold and dark; the moon has set; only a few stars peek out from behind the invisible banks of cloud. I am starting just early enough to fulfill my own rule: that any run measured in hours rather than minutes ought to be started in darkness.

Last night I worked out this route (endpoints somewhat obfuscated):

View Larger Map

Allowing for the extra distance to my house, it is tolerably close to a marathon. I stand up on tip-toe and feel the uncomfortable flair run up along the outer edge of my foot between my pinky-toe and ankle bone. But it is not sharp. I don't think I'm going to face another melt-down like last week.

I am kitted out; a bladder of gatorade rests between my shoulder-blades inside my vest. Two energy bars ride in my right pocket. I'm as ready as I'll be.

6:24: I check my watch; a slow start, but I have a way to go. This will be the last time I check my progress for the duration of the run.

6:30?: I am settling in, now, moving along in a tranquil rocking motion, smooth as I can make it. My foot feels OK and I am relieved.

6:40?: On Hartford St I look to the left and see the mackeral-striped clouds suddenly illumined in purple hues, hovering magically over the tenebrous snow-fields. Though these early runs have made this sight almost a common-place, it nonetheless never fails to move me.

7:00?: Early dawn has broken over me. I am on 109 now, and the cars are still driving with headlights, but they can see me and I can see them. Soon I pass through Medway. It is too early for pedestrians; Lords' red neon sign is lit, but the sidewalk outside is deserted. Minutes later I am past it, and onto the mostly deserted stretch of road that will take me to Millis.

7:20?: A few more miles. The sun is fully risen now, but it has yet to warm the chilly air. I am in Millis, just passing by 115. I will run a little further than turn around and double back on Spring Street, running by Tangerinis farm where in warmer days we go to buy our produce. Almost at my end-point on 109, I pass another runner, the first other pedestrian I've seen.

7:26?: Spring Street. I have caught up to a runner, and it turns out to be the same one I passed minutes ago. This time we exchange pleasantries. "You doubled back", she says. "Yeah," I answer, and then add inanely: "I'm going to Norfolk." "I thought you looked familiar..." she replies, and that seems so strange to me that I realize that the run has started to pull me into a weird mental space. I'm not sure how far I've gone, but I'm sure it's not all that far.

7:??: 115 South. Hitherto I have been in familiar territory, but this road is unknown to me. Telephone pole after pole after pole glide by me, webbed together with ribbons of sunlight. Everything feels a little strange. I know somewhere ahead there is a traffic circle, and I am supposed to turn left. Everything else is uncertain.

I remember thinking earlier how my foot hurt, only now that thought seems hilariously strange. Why say "my foot hurts", the way you'd say "my dog is acting up on me". What does it mean? I am all of a piece.

I pass a dead squirrel.

I clench my hands inside my gloves. They are cold, and that's the realest thing about this run right now.

7:55?: Norfolk. There is a traffic circle, and I know just what to do, which is to turn left. By this circle there is a Citgo station, and the Citgo station Has Diesel. This idea resounds in my mind like a bell.

8:20?: I am on Main St now, heading toward Walpole. Minutes ago I ate an energy bar, and the run's surreality is starting to fade (a moment of chagrin when I realized that I had forgotten to rip open the fail wrappers ahead of time, but fortunately my teeth did the trick). I am passing under and over and beside one of the commuter rail tracks, running straight as a ruler in the same general direction I am going.

8:40?: Walpole center, and 1A. I have started to think about finishing. When I get home it will be bacon and eggs for breakfast, I think. This road is not beautiful, but it has a good sidewalk. I think back regretfully on the quiet stretch of 115, eery otherworld though it seemed to me at the time. I am feeling a little spent, but basically all right.

9:00: More 1A. I run up a hill, and feel my muscles working, the first mild hint of complaint. I run down the other side, and everything loosens up again. Here is the next hill. I start up it, just a mild incline really, legs pulling me along and...wait...what? I am gasping. I feel like I've been teleported to 15,000 feet above sea level. My legs are suddenly leaden. My running form breaks apart like a tea cup dropped from a third story window. I fix on a red sign. Make it there, and I'll check my watch.

9:05: Only 20.15 miles?? Shit! Another 5-6 miles, at least! I battle momentarily with despair and then the despair wins. I am in Walpole, and it's going to be a bit of a hike home. But the thought of running suddenly seems unappetizing (Later, I will desultorily mix in some jogging, mainly to get home the quicker, but it does little to salvage the run). This is not the ending I anticipated.

That concluded my second attempt to run an approximate marathon distance, and while it went better than last week (3 miles, whee!), it left some things to be desired. It also left me with these thoughts:

* I like the single-loop format. It has disadvantages (in particular, it almost certainly means I need to do it solo), but it means there's a real cost of failure, and it also means I got to range farther afield than I usually do.

* My strategy of ignoring my watch was deliberate. Two weeks ago, when I ran 23, the miles were downright easy until the watch-check at 18. Then all of a sudden they started to get gradually harder, culminating in the last mile, which was really hard. I theorized that it was my brain that was making this so difficult--that if I didn't know where in the run I was, I wouldn't "know" to feel tired. Apparently my body is smarter than that. There appears to be a real physiological reaction around 20 miles. Not checking my watch had the disadvantage that I was completely unprepared for it, and it hit me that much harder.

It is trite to think of this as a "wall", but I do think of it as kind of resistance. There is something between me and mile 24 and it is pretty formidable. What I have yet to learn is: if I hit this thing head-on, grind against it for 1, 2 miles (and that is my optimistic estimate for how long I can fight against it), is there anything past it? Will it get better?

* In continuation of the previous thought: when I got to within a mile of my house, I decided hell with it and started running again. It was pretty jerky, but it surprised me by how not-horrorshow it was. What am I to make of that? Why did my body react so strongly earlier if it wasn't really played out? Maybe I gave up too quick? (answer, yes).

* I am feeling anticipation at the prospect of trying this same run again next week.

We botched it

2010-01-20T11:41:00.003-05:00

This is a politics rant. You might want to stop reading now.

What can I say besides the title? We botched it. We messed it up. It's not, by itself, that we lost. It's that we lost with such a crummy turnout! Less than 50%! I don't care if it's a special election. 50% is rubbish. No, excuse me, it's shit. Now Mr. Brown is going off to Washington, prating about how he represents the will of the Massachusetts people, and his signature campaign issue to kill health care reform. The "will of the people" who moved to universalize health care in their own state, and who have the highest health insurance subscription percentage in the union. Bitter irony.

I feel like we could have done more. I feel like I could have done more. Truth to tell I, just like the Coakley campaign, was prey to the same complacency. I didn't think Mr. Brown could pull it off. I voted twice, once in the primary and once yesterday, and I told myself that was enough. Clearly I voted for somebody who wasn't much of a campaigner. Whether she would have been a good legislator is something we won't get to find out.

We let it be about health care reform, but we let our opponents define what that meant. We let it be about scary CBO finance estimates and the ugliness of the legislative process in DC. We stopped speaking in the language of social justice. Is that so scary? Right and wrong aren't always abstract concepts. Often they're very concrete. Providing health care for our elderly population is expensive and hard. But it's also right. The same rightness applies to extending coverage to other vulnerable groups. The health care bills are both ugly ducklings, no question about that. But it's a dangerous kind of nihilism to reject a bill that isn't all you had hoped--isn't what would have written if only you had the power--just because it falls short of your aspirations. No bill is ever going to be what you wanted. Sometimes you still have to recognize a bill is better than no bill--especially this one--because make no mistake, if we kill this health care reform effort it will not be taken up again for a whole generation.

I am writing so much about the health care legislation because I see Coakley vs Brown as a referendum on Obama's domestic agenda. You may not agree.

So we lost. But what a miserable way to lose! 50%! Where's the passion, Massachusetts?

(edit: but you really shouldn't have called Schilling a Yankee's fan, Martha. That was kind of a blunder).

Derry sold out? Damn!

2010-01-14T17:52:00.002-05:00

That's what I get for waiting. For some reason when I looked at the site I fooled myself into thinking there was race-day registration, which usually implies a race that doesn't sell out. (for the non-local readers, this is apropos of the 16 mile road race in Derry, 10 days hence). I'm bummed about that--was absolutely planning on racing it--well, at least running it. I don't know if 7 minute miles (aka Marathon GP) would have felt like racing. I checked around for other similar-length races in the same time frame, but the New England racing calendar is actually a bit bare at this time of year (can't imagine why).

If anyone out there knows of a good 10-16 mile race in the next three weeks (and within a 100 miles or so of Boston, natch), post in comments. Otherwise I'll have to content myself with a long tempo run on my lonesome.

resuming trajectory

2010-01-10T07:38:00.002-05:00

Every training cycle I have ever embarked on eventually hits a patch of doldrums, where the estimated mileage I had scrawled out so nonchalantly in the beginning looms large, and my spirit for hitting those arbitrary numbers flickers. This is always the period to revise the end-target down to something reasonable--rather like with any project, you begin with grand hopes, but by half-way you can see the finish line well enough to adjust your expectations. For example, I had hopes of getting at least 2-3 good medium distance (aka 8-10 mile) runs in during each week. Instead it's been more like 1. It's easy to imagine racking up those runs in early October, when the trails are still open and the weather good. But in January my perspective changes. Part of it is needing to nail those 5am starts. "Rush hour" (if it can be plausibly called that), starts here at around 6am, so if I start an 8 mile run at 5:30 I'm going to be exposed at least to the rising edge of it. And morning commuters in the middle of winter are no joke. There's something about the way they drive--about the way they hug the shoulders, accelerate out of their right turns (usually while looking left for oncoming traffic), and tailgate their fellow-drivers that screams that they have other things to worry about than some runner by the side of the road. They've got kids to drop off, or a 7am meeting with a client, or a boss who's going to look over and see an empty seat and tut disapprovingly.

I have a somewhat antagonistic relationship with these people. I imagine them seeing me, and--if they think of me at all, which is not terribly likely, for all my visibility gear--thinking, why is that wacko running in the dark, in the middle of winter? Doesn't he know it's 20 degrees out? Go get a job and support a family like a responsible adult, ya hippy!

To which I answer, maybe if you stepped out of that car and felt the cold wind in your face you wouldn't need that coffee. Maybe if you stopped and turned your lights off and looked at Orion gleaming down at you, or turned your head and saw the snow-fields effulgent under the light of the moon, you wouldn't feel so depressed about where you're going this morning, wage slave!

Things usually deteriorate from there.

That was a long-winded way of saying that I don't always have the gumption to spar with traffic in the morning, or get up so early that I don't have to. On the bright side though, my long runs are progressing nicely. Two weeks ago I was supposed to run 22. I ran only 20.5 (albeit over a rather hilly route). Last week I got up early to see the snow and hear the plows grinding by, and found I didn't have it in me. I ended up cross-country skiing for an hour instead. But this weekend I was really looking forward to my long run. I got up early and went for a 3-part run, the first two legs with different GNRC-ers, the third solo. Until I actually looked at my watch to confirm I had hit mile 18, I didn't feel tired at all. (Indeed I half-way suspect that my suddenly heavy legs were a psychological reaction to knowing how far I had actually gone). In any event I toughed out to mile 23, pushing out my d.PR by another 2.5 miles.

25 miles next week? I think so!

Solstice

2009-12-21T12:49:00.003-05:00

The solstice is come, the first day of winter arriving in high style, cloaked in white. I always feel a subtle thrill at this time of year, when the daylight hours reach their nadir; when all seems still and quiet, when the season has slipped into its deepest slumber. And yet there is the knowledge that, with every day, the light waxes anew, at first imperceptibly, but with ever increasing speed. The light will increase to a flood, the sleeper stir and wake, the white cloak be cast aside, and the Season will spring up to meet the vernal equinox, and we with it.

It is probably too early to be thinking about spring.

The solstice also ushers in my 9th week of marathon training. When I began this project I sketched out a loose schedule I found online, and then proceeded to systematically ignore it. If I were to compare my progress in the previous week, I'd find I was a little behind in mileage, but 3 miles ahead of the proposed long run. I'm not too worried about that schedule -- it belongs to the "20 mile peak" school of thought, and I am increasingly of the "run so far in training that a marathon feels like stopping early" philosophy." I ran 20 miles last saturday, and am pleased to report that it was unremarkable. Not that it was easy mind you...but it didn't feel like an Olympian feat. I hope to increase my long run by 2 mile increments over the next 5 weeks, and we'll see where I go from there.

There is this to be said for endurance running: when you're running for speed, every additional second shaved off your PR comes dearer. Dropping your mile time from 6 to 5:45 is infinitely easier than dropping it from 5 to 4:45. But with long runs, each additional mile becomes increasingly insignificant. The leap from 20 to 25 miles does not daunt me nearly so much as the increase from 15 to 20. While I'm not there yet, I'm beginning to see on the horizon what I can only imagine is a kind of "breakthrough", a point after which the runner has no max mileage, as long as he can equalize the calories he's burning with the calories he consumes.

I started the new week with an easy 5 miles in the Vibrams. The snowbanks lining the roads are shear right now, and the sidewalks are plowed, but still covered in snow-pack, and in some places the wind has built up impressive snow-dunes. I left the prints of a barefoot runner in sand as I glided along. It's not cold; the sky is blue and the sun is shining brilliantly on the fresh snow-cover. What a happy run! I am all smiles.

"Hard Focus"

2009-12-09T21:07:00.000-05:00

One of my housemates sent me a blog link about hard focus, saying she had thought of me when she read it. This was flattering, but not very accurate. I was going to write a post about the connection between Hard Focus and running until I revisited the blog and saw that the original source of the idea had been lifted from Haruki Murakami's "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running", in light of which there's not much for me to say. I'll add only this thought: running is the easiest Hard Focus you'll ever get to do. There's no distractions and generally no excuses. There's a clear line between holding your focus and losing it. And, in the event of the latter, there's sometimes a long walk home.

That blog post resonated with me, starting with the term itself: Hard Focus, capital H, capital F. If you clicked that link above, I'm sure you know what the author is talking about. You have some project, maybe it's for work, maybe it's for yourself. You sit down to get it done, and there are a million things fighting you. A multitude of alternate occupations suddenly obtrudes on your attention: you could check your email, browse blogs, make a snack, anything but that one job. Battling that headwind to reach the steady plane of effort where real things are accomplished is indeed Hard, with a capital H.

So's running long distances though. I think that's what I like about the connection between running and focus. You don't just go out and run for two, three, four hours. You work up to it. You train, and your training is at least half psychological.

This made me want to try a little Hard Focus mojo on something besides running, and today at work I had a good opportunity, since I had a somewhat tedious job (testing out a new component I had written in a manner involving some tedious setup) that I was not especially looking forward to. I decided to treat the exercise almost like a workout. I filled up my water bottle, hit the head, took off my headphones, and I set my timer for two hours. For the duration of that time I did nothing but that one project; no email, no music, no web browsing, the bare minimum of interaction with co-workers. With 13 minutes to go, I had finished my testing and found that a part of my original design had been pretty naive, and that what I had wasn't going to work. That would usually be my cue to sigh and distract myself for a few minutes until I was ready to reconsider, but instead I kept my head down, and after 13 minutes passage I had a new design roughed out.

It worked pretty well, in other words, although by the time I relaxed my concentration at the end I felt rather "blown", unready to gather my focus for another round without some rest. Fortunately it was around quittin' time anyway.

I wonder how trainable this attribute is. If I could Hard Focus for 8 solid hours in a day I think I could accomplish pretty much anything.

Lost Week

2009-12-05T16:34:00.000-05:00

I phrased this blog as the documentation of an experiment in minimalist running and long distance running, and like any experiment there are bound to be some rough patches. This last week has been one of those. In the last six days I've gone all of five and a half miles, owing to pain in my left foot that did not clear up as expeditiously as I could hope. It hasn't been debilitating, but it's got that "wrong" kind of feel, and I reluctantly made the decision to scrap my mileage plans and rest it.

How infuriating that is! I hate these periods of low-to-no mileage. It affects my mood and my appetite, not to mention leaving me restless, as the remaining 95% of me is crying out to get moving, go somewhere, do something. All last week I kept wanting to stand up, shift all my weight onto the outer edge of my left foot, then gradually roll inward until my balance was on my big toe. About half-way across--there! Like rubbing your tongue against a sore tooth--it's obscurely comforting to be reminded that yes indeed, it still hurts.

This experience might be seen by some as a rebuttal against the argument for light-weight shoes. I am looking at it as a reminder not to jump into things too fast. All those blisters on my toes and the balls of my feet should have been sign enough that I had made a major change in where the stresses of each running stride were most profoundly felt. The day my left foot started to hurt, I had gone out for 5 fast miles in the Vibrams. It felt positively delicious, flying over the sidewalk in the pre-morning darkness, not so much a speed workout as an undisciplined series of panting, happy fartleks, running hard as the mood took me. Alas my feet weren't ready for it. I am coming 'round to thinking of barefoot running as a potent medicine, best taken in small doses.

Today I ran three miles and the pain was less. I think I can run on it now without preventing it from getting better (maybe complete rest would be smarter, but in this case I fear physical health and mental health are not in congruence, and the former is going to have to take one for the team). I hope everyone from the club who ran today had a good race! Sorry I wasn't there. Truth to tell I rather expected to be pulling a shift at work, but was reprieved at the last minute.

A day of mist and rain.

2009-11-26T13:39:00.000-05:00

I am in my hometown of Simsbury, CT today in consequence of our national turkey-eating festivities. It's a cool, drizzly day outside with no hint of sky to be found, but inside it is all the more cozy for alll that! Our familial feast is on for tomorrow, which has left me today to get in my long run for the week and then ruminate about it publically.

I stepped out the door at 6am, looking to run 18 miles -- the second time I've gone that distance. I was running with a pack containing a vest (in case I played out and had a long walk back home), a bladder with half-and-half gatorade and water, and about a box worth of granola bars. My initial plan had been to run up to the Heublein Tower and then down through Penwood state park, but I chickened out a bit at the thought of the long ascent up 185 followed by the access trail to the ridge-line, and headed towards Tariffville to pick up the ridge-line trail there.

The fog and drizzle were such that the dawn came on almost imperceptibly. Everything was quiet, except for some early bird-song caroling out from the river banks. I had some soreness in my left foot, but hoped it would go away after the first few miles.

Once up on the ridge I was treated to a really beautiful view of the valley filled with mist, the far hills across the way just barely visible as islands above a white sea. My spirits rose, but alas I wasn't to be treated to many more such views as my recollection of the trails was poor and I missed the upper ridge trail. When I checked my watch for the first time I found I had only gone 6.8 miles! Ugh...it seemed I had been running much longer than that. I had a granola bar at mile 9 and felt better.

Foot continued to be sore, but it stayed manageable. I made it to Rt 185 in good shape and spared a regretful look for the access road up to the Tower. Some other time! Around mile 12 I fished out another granola bar, but try though I might my clammy fingers wouldn't open the foil wrapper. I tried my teeth too, but without success. Eventually I gave up, but the episode was too funny to be discouraging. I started trying to guess where I'd hit mile 15, deliberately low-balling so I wouldn't be disappointed later by finding out I wasn't as far as I thought.

A few more miles brought me into Stratton Brook Park, and I actually managed to catch some joggers ahead of me (I had been running 9 minute miles up on the ridge, but I suppose I picked up a little speed once back on the road). The springy trail was a great relief, but my foot was still bothering me and I was trying not to favor it. From there it wasn't far to home; I started a new lap, and my pace dropped down below 8 minutes again.

The run came out to almost a perfect 18 miles, and I felt like except for the foot I probably could have done another two or three in pretty good shape. Foot is now quite sore and I'm thinking I'll take tomorrow off.

Lesson learned: Open granola bar wrappers ahead of time!

Mileage tracker:
M: 9
T: 5 (vffs, some speed mixed in. Foot starts to hurt).
W: 9
Th: 18

Turkey Trot Race Report

2009-11-22T18:02:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning feeling a bit sore and not particularly fast--reminders of yesterday's 16-miler. The race started at 11 though, so there was plenty of time to loosen up. I spent about half an hour in the back yard doing spring forms and generally prancing around, and by the end of it the idea of running a speedy short-distance race had become conceivable again.

I got to the race site plenty early and registered, putting down 'GNRC' as my club name (turns out that was wrong, but it ended up not mattering). Bumped into Mike and then Meredith, which was a nice surprise since I don't think I've seen her at a race since the Gilio 5k. Eventually a bunch of the others trickled in--including Don and all 3 Jeffs--and we ended up making a pretty good club showing.

I accepted the customary "you have to beat Don!" reminder, but was actually thinking you grand prix leaders might have been SOL, since I didn't have a lot riding on this race, and no reasons not to experiment by going out hard and seeing what happened. I slipped on my Frees, having briefly toyed with the idea of racing in Vibrams. However, my last attempt at speed in those things resulted in a 74s quarter (supposed to be the first quarter of a mile!), followed by complete O2 debt -- I decided not to get fancy and stuck with shoes.

Eventually we queued up for the start and were cow-belled off. One thing immediately became clear: HFC had brought the guns. Two went out with the lead pack with a third trailing closely, and then me with HFC #4 and another guy 20 or 30 yards back. Most of the first mile is a shallow downhill and we clipped right along, passing the 1 mile mark in 5:26 or so, and more or less fulfilling my intention of going out hard. By the time we started the uphill in mile 2 I was blowing hard and needed to slow down, losing contact with my little group. Mile 2 passed in 11:24, meaning I slowed down practically to a 6 minute mile!

I was running alone at this point, but I could hear footsteps behind me. Halfway into mile 2, HFC #5 passed me, ushering in my one race regret: by this time I had gained back most of my wind, and I think I could have made him fight a bit harder for the place. We doubled back on the race course and it was nice to see all the other runners coming in the opposite direction. I think mile 3 passed in seventeen twenty-something.

As I rounded the turn to take the final hill to the finish I caught a glimpse over my shoulder of the lead female and another runner not far back. HFC #5 was ahead of me by a few hundred yards, but by this time our displacement was pretty much fixed. I was accelerating up the hill, and so was he. I had enough left for an iddy-bitty kick for the chute, and that was it.

Results: 13th overall, 3rd AG.
Time: 23:23 (PR!)

I was pretty happy with that, but still a bit sad that I didn't crack HFC's 5-man monolith. Train hard, you guys. I'll be looking forward to next year :-) Also, I won this excellent cup, full of candy!

(The candy is no longer with me, except on a molecular level).

See Mary? You doubted there would be swag!

Other random ruminations: the limiting factor in this race was definitely oxygen uptake. My muscles all felt really strong, newly enhanced calves especially so. While I should probably stick to worrying about pushing out my blood lactate threshold in anticipation of my marathon, it got me thinking about doing more speedwork: 5:20 mile intervals, maybe. Anything to leave me gasping at the end. I bet I could take 10s a mile off pretty easily.

Daily mileage:
Fr: 8.3
Saturday: 16 (ran to Needham and back. Good times)
Sunday: 2M Warmup + 4M race.

Marathon Training Week 4 mileage: 47.

The searing competition of the Turkey Trot

2009-11-19T19:43:00.000-05:00

I was planning to do the Norwood Turkey Trot this year if I was healthy, and I'm feeling pretty healthy right now so I guess it's on. I was looking at the finish times from last year, and you know something? Hurtin' for Certain put 8 men under 6 minute mile pace, and 3 under 5:30. I have to say I'm a little impressed; for an allegedly "challenging 4 mile course" that's some smoking times. I'd like to say I'd be running with that top pack, but unless I get bitten by a radioactive spider tomorrow I'll have to settle for beating Don, so Mike and Jeff don't lynch me (this is GNRC club grand prix silliness -- Don is only a few points out of contention for the top spot and he would gain ground if I came between him and the others in the finish order).

Incidentally, looking at the google results for the Norwood turkey trot, I see runputt is #5, and no actual race page higher up the ranking. We are apparently spending more verbage on this race than the race itself.

Just to keep score, while I'm writing anyway:
(T)-- blister rest day.
(W) -- 4M / Frees (w/ socks --feet much happier)
(Th) -- 4M / VFFs (bleeding stopped; feet happier still).

I would like to do 7-8 tomorrow and then a long run Saturday, race notwithstanding.

hotspots

2009-11-16T07:13:00.000-05:00

Sunday: 1.5M WU, 4x800, 2:40-2:55.
Monday: 8.7M.

I think today closes the book on my short-lived experiment in sockless running, an experiment whose results were probably fairly predictable to anyone but me. As the arch of my foot flexes to absorb shock it's coming into contact with the lip of the inner part of my insole, which over the course of the last two long-ish runs has carved rather handsome crescents into the sole of each foot, each capped by a loose area of saggy skin about the size of a quarter. I took a visual aid but...actually you don't need to see that.

Feeling those hotspots building up, I decided to stop early, slipped off my shoes and walked barefoot for a while in the grassy marges, which were delightfully cold and wet with the morning's dew. As I was reluctantly slipping my shoes back on to walk the rest of the way home, three ladies ran by and asked if I was OK. Ignominy! At least the slow return treated me to a pretty sunrise.

Sunday's speed was fine, except I intersected with one of the last little-league touch football games of the season ("Packers vs Patriots", if I understood the infield chatter correctly), and the track was busy with parents and kids throwing footballs, killing time and awaiting their turn on the pitch. Dodging kids wasn't so bad, but whoever left that nerfbat and softy ball in lane 1 right at the 300 yard mark? Really now...

I think I'll stick to nothing more than barefoot striders for the next day or two while my feet heal up a bit, and then try another long run on Thursday, with socks. A ply of coolmax can take the fall next time.

new kicks. 12 miles.

2009-11-14T21:41:00.000-05:00

I should have liked to run with the club this morning, but I didn't feel up to a long run in VFFs, and I didn't have anything else I wanted to run in. So! An excuse for new shoes. I stopped by City Sports this morning and picked up a pair of Nike Frees:

The morning pickup was a good plan as City Sports is one of those stores where you more or less have to be waited on, and in the am the staff haven't yet been grated down to bare masses of nerve endings by the constant abrasive scrubby sponge that is consumer America. Anyway, the Frees have an interesting slipper-like feel, more like racing flats than regular sneakers (though the midsole is more substantial). When I put them on at home, running socks seemed to be an unnecessary imposition; I shucked them and tried again in bare feet.

As I stepped out the door it was alternating between a steady deliberate rain and a lighter mist. It had been absolutely pounding earlier in the morning and I wondered if anyone from the club had been out in the middle of it (the hardy fools). Got sync with the gps satellite constellation and went.

First half mile read 6:50 pace. Thanks Garmin! I dialed back, but somehow for the entire first 1/2 of the run I couldn't get my average pace much over 7:04. Here's a new problem then: in these light shoes I can't comfortably heel strike, and without heel striking I'm unsure how to run above a certain pace. It just feels awkward. Nonetheless I don't expect to be doing training 20 milers at 7 minute pace, so this is something I'm going to have to learn!

Another unexpected discovery: I'm really looking forward to ascents now. Not because I relish the work so much, but because an ascent means an absence of uncertainty about form. When a hill comes, I know exactly what my job is and it's just a matter of doing it. The rest of the time I'm still searching for that sweet spot that lies somewhere between heelstriking and prancing along on my toes.

I finished the back half of the run in 7:16 pace, and felt fairly good when I finished. Still, it was too fast. I won't be able to do that when I'm running 15 or 18 miles.

Catching up the last few weeks

2009-11-14T17:33:00.001-05:00

Quick overview of the last few weeks. The weekend after the Canton Fall Classic, and the very next day after the aforementioned 10-miler discouragingly reminded me what a breakable human being I am, I set out to the local track and ran two miles barefoot on the infield, dodging the ropes, cones and assorted debris left over from most recent football game. It felt great. There's really no other way to run barefoot but on your toes. You don't even have to try--your body just does it. In retrospect it's weird to me that I've never run two barefoot miles before. It seems like such a natural thing, but once I started running seriously, it was shoes shoes shoes all the way.

I got a pair of Vibram FiveFingers and started longer runs on pavement (and one brave excursion into the network of trails that runs outside my house). My calves were soon immensely sore, and it was pretty clear that if I seriously wanted to stick with this minimalism thing, it would be a long, slow hall cranking my mileage back up to what it used to be. In many respects it was like learning to run all over again: I was hurting in unexpected places, uncertain of how much and how hard I should be running, and even unsure of exactly how I should be running. Minor questions of form pestered me: how much should the ball of my foot precede the heel? Should my heel be taking any weight, or should it barely kiss the asphalt before springing up again? How much should I let my feet roll with each foot-strike? It was a lot easier when I just ran, without thinking about it.

Something else rapidly became clear as well: running in naked feet, or close to it, is great. It is, quite surprisingly, as good or perhaps even better than running in trainers. But it has its own limitations. Descending a steep grade is tricky--you have to extend your forefoot quite far to make leading contact with the ground, and then the braking motion as your leg slows the trunk of your body against the force of gravity seems less natural. Longer runs are difficult. After a recent 8 miler on pavement I felt like a car with a reamed-out suspension, absolutely no bounce left in my ankles and calves. And the knee pain is not gone entirely, though it has abated somewhat.

A recent run in Vibrams last Thursday made me pull back and reevaluate. It was hill repeats with the club, which meant a bright and early start (up at 5am and running by 5:10). The uphills felt grand, my feet flickering upwards like butterflies. It seemed to me I was blowing less wind and recovering faster at the top. But the downhills...hmm. The downhills weren't so good. It was that braking motion I mentioned earlier. My knee definitely let me know about that. Maybe I'm doing it wrong? Maybe I should be sprinting down the hill, so I don't have to brake so much? Maybe I could jog down backwards! Don't know, but the way I was doing it was certainly not working.

Later that day I thought of a tentative plan: VFFs for short runs and speed work. A lightweight trainer with a low profile outsole for long runs. I could alternate back and forth and get some benefits from both worlds. Of course I actually needed a trainer that fit that description, and I wasn't feeling too keen on going back to the Kayanos.

The next post has a write-up about the new shoes I picked up, and my first 12-miler in them.

why this blog

2009-11-14T16:49:00.001-05:00

"Why this blog" seems like a reasonable place to start. To answer, I need to scroll back a few weeks, to the Canton Fall Classic 10k in late October. The short story about that race: it was good; I PR'd by a lot and was pretty happy with my time. But when I finished, I had discovered a wholly new pain in my left knee, this time on the outside--a weird, dull, disconcerting kind of pain that made itself known whenever I bent my leg. This was super-frustrating after having spent the last several months getting over a nagging pain on the inside of that same knee, it felt like I was right back where I started. I wasn't even running in racing flats, but my trainers: asics Kayanos with not all that many miles on them. I ran a short 30 minutes the next day and the pain was still there. I took the next four days completely off, then did my long run of 10 miles the next saturday. Within a mile, the pain showed up like an unwelcome guest.

This ushered in a period of experimentation. I read up on minimalist/barefoot running and some of the ideas took hold. It occurred to me I didn't need to be a sports medicine doctor to explain why a toe-strike in bare feet would transmit less force to the knee than a heel-strike in expensive running shoes (in the former, the force is absorbed over centimeters as the heel travels downwards, but in the latter case, there are only the few millimeters of compressing foam). And if you always ran on the balls of your feet, as many runners advise, then what exactly is that exquisitely engineered heel strike zone in your running shoe doing for you?

I read Chris McDougall's book "Born to Run", and one line in particular stuck with me:

Running was the superpower that made us human-which means it's a superpower all humans possess.

Of course I've been running for a long time, but Chris was talking about something more specific: endurance running, the kind our ancestors did when they were persistence-hunting antelope on the open savanna. For all the running I've done, I've never gone more than 18 miles at a pitch. To the protagonists in Chris's book, for whom a long run would be 30,40,50, one hundred miles, that's pocket change. I'm really wondering how they do it. How do you run 40 miles? Is it something any reasonably athletic person could do?

....is it something I could do?

Here we come to the purpose of this blog. This is intended to be a log of my attempt to discover whether I have a little of "humanity's original superpower" in me too. In addition it will be a narrative of my experiments with minimalist running and my attempts to get really, truly, completely healthy. To timebox the effort, I'm signing up for the Hyannis Marathon, February 28th. Not only do I mean to run 26 miles, I mean to run them, light quick and smooth, and I'm going to enjoy every last one of them.

How's that for a marathon goal?