More Intensity

Thoughts from today's slog:

Thought 1) In the movie, Lost in Translation, Bill Murray is an American in Japan to film an ad for Suntory Whiskey. Between takes, the director speaks volumes of Japanese words which are then translated for Murray simply as, "More intensity." The joke is not lost on me, or on anyone else who is sometimes confused by imprecise or incomplete instructions. It's also not lost on me because more intensity may be what got me into this recent mess. This mess, of course, is much more Achilles pain than usual, resulting in a startling decrease in fitness. Not that said fitness was all that great to begin with, but I was at least trying to do something of substance once in a while. And I'd begun trying to whip myself into better shape to run the Boston 2.1 Marathon on April 11.

Thought 2) Boston 2.1 ain't gonna happen. At least not in marathon form; I switched to the half. Even that will be a challenge.

Thought 3) That intense Achilles pain has subsided just a little in the past few days. It's probably because I've gone back to 100% shuffling. I don't even try to do anything of substance anymore. I was tempted yesterday when I met training partner extraordinaire Michelle Wolff. Michelle was doing mile repeats, something I used to eat for breakfast. I wasn't able to keep up with her for even one lap. This is actually a good thing, for reasons you can find within the thoughts above.

Thought 4) Along with the fitness for intensity, my mileage has suffered as well. I just can't run as far as I could in the even recent past. After getting through most of the winter on about 70 miles per week, I'm now doing far less than that. But then there's this stupid streak.

Thought 5) This Friday, my streak (running every day) will have reached a year. I'll post more about this, but there are two sub-thoughts here: a) this is surely the dumbest running-related thing I've ever done, and b)  I can't wait to take a day off.

The throb of suffering

Ibuprofen, my old friend
I've come to swallow you again
Because an aching softly creeping
Left its pain while I was sleeping
And the soreness that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the throb of suffering

In restless aches I jog alone
It hurts so much I wanna groan
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my feet were stabbed by sudden killing pain
That’s too much strain
And touched the throb of suffering

And in the naked light I crawl
Ten thousand knife-stabs, maybe more
Painful running without speaking
Painful running without listening
People writing poems with agony always there
No one dared
Disturb the throb of suffering

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Aching like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my feet that I might reach you"
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the pang of suffering

And the people bowed and prayed
To the Advil god they made
And the bottle flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the running gurus
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the throb of suffering"

It's not the wind, it's what the wind is blowing

The 60-mph winds were howling when I went out for my run yesterday. Unfortunately for our neighborhood, it was trash pickup day. I observed the vast majority of trash cans knocked down on their sides, some in the middle of the street, with the previous contents now spilled and spread around. I observed all the other cans with their lids opened from the wind, and debris flying out of them. In short, it was a garbage-a-rama.

Someone once observed this about strong storms: It's not the wind, it's what the wind is blowing! And this was the case for this run. I was lucky to not be hit by anything.

Running in Beckley

After I emerge from my Beckley, West (by God) Virginia Holiday-Inn, I run past the Microtel by Wyndham, the Sheetz service station, the McDonalds fine dining. In view of the Burger King, Cracker Barrel, Bob Evans, and Wendys. Across from the Country Inn & Suites by Radisson, the Fairfield Inn & Suites by Marriott, and the Courtyard Inn by Marriott. Then on by the Howard Johnsons by Wyndham, the La Quinta Inn by Wyndham, the Days Inn by Wyndham, the Super 8 by Wyndham, the Ramada by Wyndham, the Baymont by Wyndham, the Travelodge by Wyndham, and the AmericInn by Wyndham. I should note that there's also an Outback Steakhouse and a Ruby Tuesday nearby. All this to just get to the expressway interchange. 

Now I have to get across the pedestrian-unfriendly entrances and exits to I77/I64. This is no easy (or safe) task. After I go by some more familiar-type establishments, I get tired, turn around, and go through it all over again.

Highway Hell: I've been here before, many times, and in many places. Why am I doing this to myself, you ask? We're here in Beckley in order to visit the New River Gorge National Park, our county's newest. Here's a description of our hiking adventures.

My second day of running in Beckley is different. It's quiet. It's safe from traffic. It's almost serene. It's most of what I look for in a place to run. I'm running loops around nearby Tamarack, the Best of West Virginia. It's a tourist destination featuring local arts and crafts. And there's only one itsy-bitsy problem this time: when I try to breathe (something I do when I run) I get nostrils and lungs full of diesel odor.

The fumes are coming from the nearby expressway but mostly the adjacent truck travel plaza. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of big rigs are sitting there, idling away, polluting the air as well as my lungs. It occurs to me that any good this running is doing for my body is being undone by these diesel fumes.

Next time in Beckley, I'll need to find someplace else to run.

The Quarantine has Ended

It is with great pleasure that I announce that my self-imposed running quarantine has now come to an end. I've had both of my Covid-19 Vaccine shots, waited a while, and now I'm good to go. Back in November, I had decided that it was probably prudent to cease my runs with friends. Not that it seems all that risky, yet the risk of running with others was not zero. Now that time is over. 

Of course, the next question is, would they have me? Now that I've supposedly got this immunity, it's believed that while I shouldn't be able to get the virus myself, I also shouldn't be able to spread it to others. What does everyone else think? It turns out that they believe it too. I ran with a few of my long-lost friends a couple times over the weekend.

It was good. Really good. I hope we can continue.

A tale of my apparatus (Don't worry, it will be short)

During the early years, we had a runner at the NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run carrying a myriad of large American Flags. The flags were kept upright with the help of a brace/holder that the gentleman carried on his back. It was quite a contraption, and I’m sure it was both heavy and awkward to hold for hours and hours during an ultramarathon.

When he stopped to use the restroom, he was going to have to leave the whole thing outside because it was too big to take in. Wondering how it would remain upright, a friend remarked, “He probably needs to ask someone to hold his apparatus while he uses the urinal.”

We will return to this subject in just a minute, but did you know that the various lightsaber colors have detailed explanations? I was aware that the ones used by the bad guys are usually red, and those of the good guys are often green or blue. I had forgotten (or didn’t notice), that there are yellow and purple ones as well. For further information here is a geeky, detailed explanation of Every Major Lightsaber Color (And What They Mean).

I think about lightsaber colors when I see other runners wearing their Noxgear Tracer 360 lighted vests. Most mornings, I see a couple of other runners out and about in my neighborhood. I notice that Bob always has his set to aqua (let’s call it blue), and Rita’s is always green. Me? I’m the red guy. I hope that doesn’t make me evil. We're a pretty colorful bunch, and you can always tell us apart.

My Tracer 360 vest is sometimes referred to as my apparatus. My old apparatus became stiff and then broke. The piping (which carries forth the LED lighting over the shoulders) is made of some kind of rubbery/plastic-like material. When it broke apart, I tried to fix it with superglue, but that only lasted a couple days. I had to have it replaced with a brand new apparatus.

Thank goodness – the new one works fine now.

One Step too Many

Indulge me for a moment, whilst I do some analysis with regards to my Achilles Tendonitis.

• During last week’s speedwork, somewhere around mile 8, I stepped off the track to get some water and gather myself for my final two 800s. I struggled mightily to get through them, but I did. That’s when this latest round of pain began. At the time, I didn’t connect the pain with the poor finishing-up performance.
• I ran Thursday and Friday, but only a little.
• For Saturday, I’d planned to run twelve miles on the Lester Rail Trail. I barely made it to ten. The run had actually gone fairly okay until about mile seven, when I stopped at the car for a quick break. The poor performance began as I started running again. At the moment, I didn’t connect the pain with the awful final miles - I thought it was just poor fitness. But this time, as I got into the car and drove home, I realized that I was indeed in a great deal of pain.
• Sunday’s run was short and relatively painless.
• Monday, I ran my file-mile loop around my neighborhood, and once again it went fairly well. Then I stopped to gather myself for more running, and I realized I could hardly stand up, much less walk or run. Luckily I was home and not miles away. I called it quits and hobbled into the house.
• Today I stopped for a quick break after seven and a half, and that was it. Poke me with a fork; I was done.

What patterns emerge? 1) the pain always begins during a run (duh), 2) the pain always seems to occur after I stop for some reason (so maybe I just shouldn’t stop?), and 3) My body doesn’t seem to want me to run in double-digits anymore.

I know. I really ought to do something. Stop running, maybe. Stop running hard, probably. Stop running ten miles, almost for sure. It seems like I've tried all other remedies, medical and otherwise. But maybe it's time to revisit those as well.

MCRR President's Corner - March 2021

As President of the Medina County Road Runners (MCRR), I get my own corner. It's a column in each issue of the MCRR newsletter that's edited and published by Sydney Chinchana. Here is this month's column. It's similar to a previous article posted on this blog.

~

On an unseasonably warm February day in 2000, a relatively unknown runner from Anchorage surprised the field of other elite runners with a win at the U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials. We later learned that Christine Clark had trained on a treadmill during the frigid Alaska winter. Besides allowing for the volume and intensity required to compete at the top level, the treadmill running enabled her to keep an eye on her young children at home during the time that she wasn’t busy working as a medical doctor. Dr. Clark won the right to represent the U.S. at the Sydney Olympics and became the hero of treadmill runners everywhere.

I have a love/hate relationship with my True 550 Treadmill. On the one hand, it’s always there when I need it. And that’s been pretty darn often in these past couple of months. It allows me to get the quality of workouts and the volume of miles that I want. (By the way, I’ve had it for around 19 years, and I’ve probably got over 10,000 miles on it.) Some days, I just don’t want to face the snow, the cold, the ice, the slush, and especially the lack of places to run. If I have a longish run or an interval session planned, if the weather’s bad, it’s pretty simple to just crank the mill to the right setting and go.

There’s only one problem: I loathe the darn thing. At best, it’s boring as heck. At worst, it’s a crutch that I’m using only in order to record extra miles into my log whilst remaining warm and cozy. And I actually feel some guilt as a result. Not quite enough to get me to stay off it for good, but some guilt, nonetheless. So let me just admit it: I’m a treadmill wimp. But whenever I feel a little too wimpy, I think of Christine Clark. And after a couple days in a row on the mill, I’ll go outside for a run no matter the conditions.

My self-proclaimed wimpiness does not apply to my friends and training partners, even those who do occasionally hit the mill. Some of them, in fact, are tough as nails.

One guy who exudes toughness is my friend Larry Orwin. Larry runs gobs of miles, and he runs a lot of miles outdoors, weather be damned. I greatly admire that. A couple of years ago, Larry suffered a major injury. No one would have expected him to come back as strong as he had been, but, by working hard and being tough, he did. And he's still out there, pushing hard, putting in those miles whilst battling the ice and snow of this and every winter.

Don’t mind my wimpiness too much. If you use a treadmill occasionally or not so much, or if you run outside in all conditions, you can still pat yourself on the back. We are making it through this pandemic and cold winter, so that makes us tough no matter how you look at it. I will say this as well: although it may seem as though Larry’s view differs from mine, I think he would nod when I say that I’ve had some of my best and most enjoyable runs during the worst possible conditions, cold or hot.

As for me, I greatly miss my Larry and my other training partners. I can’t wait for this pandemic to be over (said every runner everywhere).

Never at dusk

There's no 'I' in Vitamin I.

I never take too much Ibuprofen (Vitamin I), and I haven't taken any at all in the past week or so. This is partly because I didn't want it to interfere with the Covid Vaccine. I may now, however, decide to pop one for the pain. This puts me in mind of an old Steve Martin routine, where he discusses not using marijuana. 

“I used to smoke marijuana. But I’ll tell you something: I would only smoke it in the late evening. Oh, occasionally the early evening, but usually the late evening – or the mid-evening. Just the early evening, midevening and late evening. Occasionally, early afternoon, early midafternoon, or perhaps the late-midafternoon. Oh, sometimes the early-mid-late-early morning. . . . But never at dusk.”

Sometimes he would follow that up with the reason it was never at dusk: because that's when the little people come out.

Back to Vitamin I. I may need to take one because this Achilles Tendonitis pain is nearly unbearable. I'm hobbling around the house like an old man. What? I am one? Well, let's just say an older man than me. Today's run on the LRT started out okay, but after 7 or 8 miles, quickly deteriorated into an awful pain-stricken shuffle. It's debilitating, and it's discouraging.

I am registered for a marathon in April (Boston 2.1, which takes place in Ohio) and a Half in May (Medina). As it looks now, I doubt very much that I'll make it to Boston, and perhaps not even Medina. 

Achilles' heel and other invulnerability

Achilles (not me - I wouldn't pose like this)

When Achilles was an infant, it was prophesized that he would perish at a young age. To prevent his death, his mother Thetis took Achilles to the River Styx, which was supposed to offer powers of invulnerability, and dipped his body into the water. But as Thetis held Achilles by the heel, this one area was not washed over by the water of the magical river. Achilles grew up to be a man of war who survived many great battles. Achilles grew up to become the greatest warrior who ever lived. 

Achilles was said to have died from an arrow wound to his heel, shot by Paris of Troy near the end of the Trojan War.

There was some horribly horrendous hobbling around the house yesterday following the 'discomfortable' speedwork. That's what happens when I try something stupid, like running hard or long: my Achilles Tendonitis (read: Achilles Heel) acts up. Yesterday it acted up big time - as bad as it's been in months. Today's short shuffle was still painful.

Speaking of invulnerability (we hope), Debbie and I were fortunate enough to receive our second Moderna Vaccine shots yesterday. Now our immunity should be at its greatest in ten to fourteen days. Some thoughts about this:

1) Today I'm now sore all over, not just my heel. This could still be a result of yesterday's run, but I think it's at least partly because of the shot. This soreness didn't help me during today's neighborhood sojourn.

2) We should be able to spend more time with, and be in closer proximity to our grandsons. In fact, I plan to be taking Vincent to a Youth Track program that begins next week.

3) We think we will be good to go with regards to a resumption of travel. We have some plans in the works.

4) I can begin to run with my friends once again. If they'll have me.

They ARE different

My response to a friend, who is a coach, discussing coaching elite runners vs recreational ones.

~

F. Scott Fitzgerald: “The rich are different from you and me.” 

Ernest Hemingway (responding): “Yes, they have more money." 

Dan Horvath: "The elites are different from you and me."

Dan Horvath (responding): "Yes, they run faster."

Discomfort Zone

 Yesterday's post was all about getting out of a comfort zone. Today it's about getting into a discomfort zone. That means it's about speedwork, sometimes known as something of substance. More specifically, 10 x 800, sometimes known as Yasso 800s. Check out this semi-amusing post about the workout itself. 

Been a while... For track running (almost two months), for getting out and away from home (except for yesterday), and for really pushing myself for a prolonged period (except for some on the mill, which shouldn't count for as much). So discomforture was anticipated.

There was no disappointment on that front. Oh, the first seven or so 800s were decent enough. They were all in the 3:50s and 3:40s; only a little slower than last summer and fall. It helped that there were a couple other people at the track to keep one honest.

The time for number 8 was 3:50, which was still fine, but the writing was on the wall. Now alone on the track with two 800s to go, things suddenly got real. It was just a shuffling jog for numbers 9 and 10, as they were well over 4 minutes each. 

The overall average was 3:57. That's pretty good, considering. But those last two.....

Comfort Zone

Just after sunrise on the LRT

For the first time in nearly two months, I drove somewhere to run. Now I'm here on the Lester Rail Trail, and I don't know what to do.

It's not that it's not nice. The sun is rising, the birds are singing, and the temperature is relatively mild. I just forgot how to run. I guess it's due to all that time on the mill. And the hood; whatever miles I've run outside, have been close to home, and most of those have been in my immediate neighborhood. How can I possibly run on this strange but interesting trail?

Oh, I know. I put one foot in front of the other and I go. It's not so bad.

But it's not what you'd call good either. Since I did 18 on the mill yesterday, not to mention 20 a few days prior to that, I hadn't been expecting much. Of course, I am not getting much.

I suppose that's okay. Now that I have re-learnt how to drive here to run, I will probably improve. Probably. I may even get to the track tomorrow.

But for now, it's interesting to just be outside that neighborhood-and-treadmill comfort zone.

How Slow?

Five years ago: Well, I can’t get any slower than this. Four years ago: I guess I was wrong; I *can* get slower. But this is truly as slow as I can go.

Three years ago: Walkers now easily pass me during races.

Two years ago: I should be ashamed to even record this activity in my running log.

One year ago: If I were any slower, I’d be moving backward.

Today: This 18-minute per-mile pace feels a little too fast. I’d better ease up a bit.