Cleveland Marathon Race Report in Backwards Order So It Has a Happy Ending

Mile 26.2: I cross the finish line with the clock saying something like 4:07. I can’t remember when I was this relieved to be done running.  It’s by far my slowest marathon ever. I don’t care. I only wanted to stop moving forward. Now that I have, I never want to think about running ever again. There is the usual amount of talking with friends and other runners, and I almost always enjoy this war-stories aspect of racing. But I have to get over to the store, and I’m also in a hurry to get out of the relentless sun. And I’m just about dead anyway. That sun had been as bad as I can remember from any race – even last year’s Another Dam 50K where it was in the mid to upper nineties. I stumble out of the Browns Stadium area as best I can.

It’s an awfully long uphill walk back to the car. I can still hear them: the announcers are saying that there is a heat advisory for runners and that everyone should be careful. I’m thinking, ‘why the heck (except heck wasn’t quite the word) are they saying this here at the finish line?’ I’m also quite annoyed by their poor attempts at humor (“I can’t even drive 26.2 miles!”) Perhaps I was just in a bad mood.

Mile 25.8: Ladd Clifford jumps out of the crowd to jog a hundred meters or so with me. Somehow, in the space of about 15 seconds, we are able to catch each other up on what happened in the entire race: how we each did, how our friends did, the current temperature, etc., etc.

This is a down-hill section on East 9^th Street where I ought to be running real fast. But it’s all I can do to hobble and keep from falling forward and doing a face plant. My mile pace is probably on the order of 15 minutes per mile.

Mile 25: I now realize that I’m not going to make it under four hours. I would need to increase my speed to better than ten minutes a mile, and that’s simply not going to happen. Not when each mile has continuously gotten slower with nothing to reverse the trend. Why was a four hour time important, anyway?

Mile 24: Somewhere around here, I hear from behind, “Had enough yet?” It’s Michelle Wolff, who goes cruising by at her usual steady pace. I can see that she will easily break four hours. And all I need to do is stay with her to do the same. I manage to do so… but only for a while. She gradually fades away into the future. The heat is nearly unbearable. I’m going out of my way to stay in the shady areas, sometimes I’m even running on the sidewalk.

Mile 21: At this point we move away from the lake. From past experience, I know that these next five miles will be the nastiest of all. We’ll be zigging and zagging up and down city streets through industrial and office parts of the city. It’s ugly, but not so bad when you’re running fast. Today I’m most definitely not. But all I need to do is to continue these ten minute miles in order to still finish under four hours. Shouldn’t be a problem.

Mile 20: Almost there! Well, not quite. The clock says 2:55, and I think, ‘things could be worse – all I have to do is nine, or even ten minute miles to finish in 3:50 or so.’ Terry Hawk passes me and says, “To think I used to do marathons that fast!” I reply “me too,” but he’s gone already. We’re out of Rockefeller Park and are now running along the lakeshore. The park was pretty, and this is too in a different way. I had hoped for some sort of breeze from the lake, but there’s none to be had. The water is as calm as it gets. And now I’m out in the sun again.

Mile 17: Moving from University Circle into Rockefeller Park on Martin Luther King Junior Drive, I’m in big-time pain. Every step hurts. This is arguably the prettiest part of the course, and I’m not enjoying it in the least. There’s construction on MLK Drive featuring orange barrels on each side. I run inside them in order to cut the tangents as much as possible. A few friends pass by. I think they can tell that I’m in pain. The only good thing for me here is that it’s shady.

Mile 15: Only about eleven to go. It’s getting tremendously hot, and we’re baking as we run into the sun on Chester. I just ran my first ten minute mile, but that’s only because I stopped to dig a gel packet out of my pocket at the aid station. I’ll get back down to nine-minute miles with no problem.

Mile 13: Hey, I’m half-way! And my time of 1:47 really isn’t that awful. All I need to do is run even or slightly negative splits, and I can still do something close to 3:30. That’s not so bad. The fact that each mile has been progressively slower than those prior doesn’t phase me; I’ll get through this. The half marathoners had split off a bit over a mile ago. It’s now a lot lonelier out here. I smile and wave as I see Chris Ganz and Larry Orwin on the side of the road cheering me on. The only little fly in the ointment is that everything hurts. Or put it this way: there’s nothing that doesn’t hurt.

Mile 10: The enthusiastic 7:59 per mile pace group passes by with hoopla galore. It makes me want to puke. It’s not my first such experience for the day, and I somehow feel that it won’t be the last. A mile or so ago we went up an extremely steep hill that almost killed me. Where did that come from? It wasn’t there last year. That hill caused me to run an 8:41 mile, the slowest of the day so far. Why does every part of my body hurt so much? Gee, I hope there isn’t an association with this pain and my slower pace.

Mile 8: I’ve run the last couple miles with Beth Bugner and Ladd Clifford. Ladd’s back has been bothering him, and he was thinking of dropping down to the half. I almost convince him to just run easy and finish the marathon with me. Almost, but not quite. Peer pressure doesn’t always work with Ladd. Beth on the other hand seems to be surging. Both Ladd and I are having a tough time keeping up with her. Eventually she moves on ahead, with Ladd in tow. I have to ask myself whether Beth is really surging or not. If not, that means that I’m slowing down. I decide not to think about it.

Mile 6: Debbie Scheel passes by and we run a little bit together. She had started back further than I, and had gone out easy. I tell her that she was smart. In my case, I don’t think I’d really gone out too fast. Most of my miles are in the 7:50 range, and I think that this will be sustainable.

Mile 3.5: The early miles have been a whole lot of fun. It seems like all my friends are out here with me, and I’m talking with all of them. The Veterans Memorial Bridge had been as spectacular as always. Edgewater park and neighborhood are great as well. So what if I’m not quite as fast as last year; I’m having fun.

Mile 0: It’s warm already. I’m in the up-front corral along with the 3:10 and 3:00 pace groups. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I snuck into a barrier opening. I talk with Jeannine Nicholson, and we finally find Ladd Clifford and a few other friends. These starts are always exciting and fun. I can’t wait to get going!

Prior to the Start: The group photo, and even the restroom line in Browns Stadium were fun. Good to see everyone. Can’t wait to get in line and run.

Had enough yet?

By Yourself, Or With Others?

That was always the follow-up question from the priest. There I was, in the confessional, admitting to 'impure thoughts and actions'. My answer to this question was, unfortunately, always no.

But of course here I'm talking about running, which is indeed pure. And as I discuss the subject with my  friends, it appears that some of them can't seem to run alone at all.

This used to strike me as a bit strange. I used to run alone almost all the time. It was mostly only Saturday mornings that were for running with friends. And now it seems that I'm evolving more towards the social running thing. I still do some runs alone, but the ones with friends are much better.

I'll be running with friends next week in Cleveland - about 20,000 of them. Today is the last long run. It'll be on the towpath with friends as well.

Fourth Again

Words cannot express the amount of fun it is to be back in the hunt. I already mentioned this a little in a previous post - Are You a Runner or a Racer? But then it happened again last week. I was running the National Crime Victims Rights Week 5K in Medina (don't bother googling it - it wasn't a huge one), and there I was, not too far at all behind the leaders.

Never mind that it was a tiny turnout. There were probably less than twenty of us. It didn't help that they started the race *early*! No, never mind any of that; I was in the hunt. And I could see the leaders - including Ladd Clifford - the whole time. I even passed someone during the final mile. I even even began catching the leaders.

Never mind that they were caught by a traffic signal (did I mention that it was a tiny race?). Alas, Ladd and the other two still had me. And my time, 22:20, was extremely slow. But I was in the hunt.

This was only a few days after the On My Own Two Feet Marathon. Then over the weekend, I ran fairly far and fairly well, including a decent Saturday treadmill run in Chicago and then two plus Hinckley loops on Sunday.

The fatigue did catch up with me a little bit today. I was pretty tuckered out. At least I'm not in any kind of tremendous pain any more. Pain yes, tremendous pain, no.

Tomorrow I'll be at it again.

Dreaming

I had a dream last night...

I was running Burning River. Surprisingly, it wasn't a nightmare. I was simply running it.

I hate that.

Are You a Runner or a Racer?

Terry Elsey asked this question of me a while back. My reaction was similar to Dorothy's when she was asked by Glinda whether she was a good witch or a bad witch. In other words the answer was, "huh?"

It is a good question to ask oneself however. No doubt you need to be a runner before becoming a racer. And no doubt there's nothing wrong with not being a racer. (In other words, not that there's anything wrong with that!) It's a bit like the difference between a runner and a jogger. It's a state of mind.

By the way, I like the saying I saw somewhere that said, if you don't know whether you're jogging or running, go faster.

I suppose you could say I float between being a runner and a racer. Racing only comes to play during races themselves, when the competitive spirit takes over. This is not to say that you need to be in the hunt for a top spot to be a racer - you may just be in competition with a couple others or even with yourself. Of course here's where the definition gets a little more blurry. More than it was before, even.

All this leads, of course, to the story of my most recent race: the On My Own Two Feet Marathon in Kent.

I had run the first half of the race with friends, some of whom were doing only the half marathon. The race was small potatoes. In fact, there were only twenty-something marathoners and eighty-something half-marathoners. But it was for a very good cause: victims of domestic abuse. The Race Director, Melissa Cairns, felt strongly about the subject, and we were all there to support her cause.

After that first half (it was two loops) in the cold rain, Ladd Clifford, Patti Tomasello, and several others were done, and Bob Pokorny, Beth Bugner and I continued on. The time had been slow by my usual standards - 1:53 or thereabouts, but the trails and mud had taken some toll.

As I pulled a little ahead of the others after the half, it dawned on us that no one was coming the other way (on this 1.5 mile stretch). Beth exclaimed, "hey - we could win a marathon!" When we finally did see someone coming, there was only one of him.

For a while I was in the hunt. At least I thought I was. Reality struck when I was passed by a female on the trails section - at about mile 17. I saw her and the lead guy again on a different out and back section of rail trail. They were, despite my best efforts, still pulling away from me.

The rain never stopped, and the trails became slicker and slicker. This is not to mention that I was also getting tireder and tireder. I never gave up on pushing the pace however. But there could be no doubt that I was slowing down in real terms. Even so, I was surprised again when another guy came from behind and passed me at the end of the trail section, with about a mile to go.

We talked a bit, but no matter what I did, I couldn't stay with him.

I finished as the third male with a time of 3:53. Even though it was a slow time, that competitive racing thing felt great while it lasted.

Now if I could only go back to being a runner long enough to run faster. An hour better would do.

If You Can't Run Well

If you can't run well, then run a lot. That's been my philosophy lately. Last year at this time, I was running well and running a lot. For a long time this year, with this PF flareup thing, the Jacksonville disaster and all, I couldn't do either. Now I'm finally pounding out the miles again, but they're slower than I could ever have imagined running miles could be. And the pain is fairly steady - no better, no worse. But if I so much as think about trying to pick up the pace... the PF lets me know about it. Kent is right around the corner; less than a week away. I ran 17 on the towpath yesterday, and will be doing 2 loops at Hinckley in less than an hour. At least that's the plan. That will give me well over 80 for the week, after 89 last week.

For Kent itself, I have no high hopes whatsoever. I want to get to the finish. Many of my friends are in Boston for tomorrow's race. I wish them luck, and I almost wish I could be there with them.

Serious

I try hard to not take myself too seriously. My running is another matter. I do take that seriously. Unfortunately, sometimes all that seriousness spills over. This can be a bad thing. It's hard to say for sure, but it probably started with my Mohican experience last year. Although I'd already been suffering with Plantar Fasciitis that had begun in January. But the running had otherwise been going well. And I'd had great expectations. The running gods struck me down that time, and I haven't been quite the same since. By the end of 2011, things were beginning to look up once again, and I was doing some serious thinking about my 2012 running. I'd probably do some marathons as well as an ultra or two. Under consideration was the new spring version of our NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run. Just before my first serious race of 2012, the Jacksonville Breast Cancer Marathon, the gods struck again - the PF got bad again. This, just as things seemed to be really coming together in serious fashion. Since then, I've tried to get even only a little serious again. Or perhaps I should say that my running has been getting a little more serious.

Except that it hasn't. The pain is still there no matter how you cut it. I have been slowly (and I do mean slowly) getting the mileage back. But I can't lick the pain. Last week I did 20 in Connecticut, and it didn't go too badly for me. Today I did some Hinckley Hills, followed by some trails for the first few miles of the Hinckley Buzzard 50K Run. It didn't go well. I felt sort of like a misfit; I couldn't do roads well, and trails were even worse. I suppose I need some serious downtime. If I thought that would work, I'd do it. Seriously.

Newbies

They just make me sick. All the hoopla and happiness. Don't they know that they're supposed to be miserable? Yes, I'm talking about all you newbies out there. I went to Columbus (for the Last Chance for Boston Races) with some of you, and also met up with a few others. I had to put up with all the talk about accomplishments and joyful running. I had to cheer everyone on, and act like I meant it. Well I didn't. I'm miserable and unhappy, and I hate running. Everyone else ought to too. . . . Okay, I was kidding. Really. I absolutely love all you new runners, and I love the fact that you're out there accomplishing things. You are invigorating and enriching the sport that I've loved for 38 years or so. May you continue to join us oldies.

Giddyup

Yes, I'm back in the saddle again. It seems that every now and then the running gods strike me down, reminding me of something I've been known to say: there's nothing more miserable than a runner who cannot run. After the Jacksonville disaster, I took a week and a half off. I needed it. But Debbie would tell you that I was bouncing off the walls. Now the PF pain has subsided, at least enough to allow me to run a few miles yesterday and today. I don't know why the running gods do this to me. Do I get too 'uppity'? I do know this much: its a long road back. But at least I'm in the old saddle.

Breast Cancer Marathon / Jacksonville Marathon / 26.2 With Donna

The race has three names, so I listed them all in the title. No matter what you call it, it's a great event for a good cause, and a lot of fun.

Fun, unfortunately, wasn't the first thing that came to my mind for most of the race. We drove up from warm, sunny Sanibel, where we'd gotten used to temperatures in the low 80's for most of the week... and found howling winds with near record low temperatures in Jacksonville. It was 26 at the start, but the wind made it feel much colder.

I met up with Debbie and Michelle before the start. We got into the corral and jumped and ran around to keep warm. I talked with Bill Rodgers a bit. I told Debbie and Michelle that I'd had a bad week of running although I didn't mention my PF problems in detail. I was hoping that I'd have a reprieve for the day.

It was just getting light when we started. I tried to keep up with Debbie, but gave up after the first mile. I then fell in with the 3:20 pace group. I was having difficulty even staying with them. Then I realized that they were running faster in order to take walking breaks. This routine was definitely not going to work for me. So I fell behind them too. It's funny that I've been so speed impaired lately. Maybe it's the PF, but I also seem to be short of breath a lot.

Not that it mattered. My PF began to ache big-time by about mile 3. This is as much pain as ever - even including last year's Mohican run.

The three miles we spent on the beach as the sun was rising were spectacular. And with the hard-packed flat sand, it wasn't overly difficult. For most people, that is. I was in pain at the time. I saw Bill Rodgers again, and we said exchanged pleasantries as he was about to turn off for the half-marathon. I strongly considered turning back as well, but something made me keep going.

As the course took us on beach roads and nice neighborhoods, I was slowing down more and more. Now I was really beginning to wonder if I'd be forced to drop out. It would be a shame to come all this way and wind up with a DNF, but the pain was practically unbearable.

Somewhere around mile 12 an aid station was handing out ibuprofen. I know that taking Vitamin I during a run is a big no-no (and they probably shouldn't be handing them out). But I couldn't think of any other way to get through the run.

Half-way went by in 1:59:30, and I had to push the pace to manage a sub-two hour half. I was starting to think that I'd have to walk the entire second half to hope for a five-hour marathon.

But the pain subsided, a little. This was, however, enough to allow me to keep going and even maintain a nine-minute pace. The math was telling me that I'd have to stay at or better than that pace in order to beat 4 hours.

Mile 20 went by in 3:04. I was cutting it mighty close. Then somehow I actually picked the pace up a bit (only a bit) for the final 10K. I passed Michelle in the final mile and a half, hoping she'd be able to make it under four as well.

I crossed the line in 3:58 and change. It probably tied my Personal Worst time. Michelle made it under the Four-Hour wire as well. Debbie had finished with a very fast time.

They walked, and I limped, for a bit before we got on our respective buses out of there.

This blog has been focused on my own problems. The people who have been through breast cancer, including a dear friend for whom I ran this race, have been through problems on an entirely different level that puts my puny problems to shame. The event itself is a wonderful one on a great many levels. I'd recommend it to anyone.

Now I need a rest. A lot of rest.

Sanibel Sauntering

For some reason, I much prefer loop courses to out and back ones. I suppose this has something to do with the fact that men don’t like to turn around and retrace their steps. And why that is, I’ll never know.

On Sanibel Island, however, there is mostly out and back running. Not all, but mostly. This is especially so if one wants to explore the running up on Captiva Island (separated from Sanibel by Blind Pass, which is also the name of our condominium complex).

During my first run on the island, I slowly made my way up there, crossing the bridge to Captiva after about 30 minutes. Captiva is quieter and more residential. Rich folks type residential. After 55 or so minutes, my PF began to ache a whole bunch. This doesn’t usually happen during a run; even when the PF is really bad, the aching almost invariably occurs whilst I’m not running.

But this time it was so bad that I was forced to turn back. The pain subsided enough for me to make it, and even do a few extra, enabling me to call it 15 for the day.

For my next trick I managed to explore Ding Darling park from the back end. There is a one-way road through the park, and I found myself going into the exit and against traffic (one car the entire time). I stopped to look for gators, but no luck. After going back out I ran down Troon Court. This Troon was substantially ritzier than ours.

You would think that a fairly easy run followed by a day off would allow me to run fast, strong, and/or long. It didn’t. There are only four days to go before Jacksonville, and things are definitely not boding well.

The PF was as bad as ever as I ventured out early Wednesday morning. Even so, I felt like I was doing a pretty good pace as I ran east on the main drag, and then south on Rabbit Road. Then I turned right to go to the end of West Gulf before turning back. This leg took me about 59 minutes, and I was guessing that it was about 7 miles.

I got back faster – something like 57 minutes. I was still hoping it was 7. Then I checked it on gmap-pedometer: 6.2 miles each way. That’s pretty darn slow, considering that I thought I was keeping a good pace. I did manage to run about 3 additional miles for the morning to make about 16 in all. It’s just too bad it wasn’t a faster 16.

My last couple Sanibel runs were on the beach. These weren’t very fast. The PF wasn’t as awful, but it was still there. And of course I’m eating way too much. Way too much. I’m not very confident about Jacksonville.

I Only Fell Once Today

There was a good patch of ice underneath the couple inches of new snow. More importantly, only one person - training partner Dave - saw it happen. That's always my concern when I fall - who saw me?

We're now getting our long lost winter weather. It could still be worse, and it could certainly be colder, but over the last few weeks, often as not, we get a couple inches of the white stuff for the day. Most of the time it melts away fairly quickly, but it's starting to get annoying.

I backed out of the last two Saturday group runs (that I was organizing myself in FB), but I did make it out today. Today the group was just Dave and me. And the snow was bad enough, and getting worse as we went. I could've easily missed this one as well as the others, but I didn't. We made it around the big loop okay, snow covered roads and all. We then ran around the lake in the now deeper snow. Still no mishaps, although we were slowing down due to the bad footing.

It was that last two mile loop that got me. Solid ice - Big fall. And it sure hurt me right in the pride.

In and Out Part Deux

Somewhere in the distant past (maybe a year ago), I blogged about running inside and outside during the winter. Here I go again.

The overly mild winter weather is now gone, and things are back to normal for Cleveland in January. I'd go as far as to say that it could still be way worse. But we are finally getting our fair share of snow and cold. Not that I like it, but I'm not complaining. Wouldn't do any good anyway.

What I am trying to do is to not let it hamper my running. At least not too much. On the one hand, running outside in awful weather helps make us mentally tough. I also prefer not to be too much of a weather wimp (or, if you prefer, 'weather wienie'). But on the other hand, I like to keep at least some quality workouts in my schedule. That's where the mill that I love to hate comes in. So you have toughness on one hand, and quality (read: speedwork) on the other.

What to do? Some of each, of course. I managed to do two pretty good mill speed workouts this week. Unfortunately, the other runs, mostly outside, were pretty poor. They were either lousy because of my fatigue or because of the weather. Perhaps some combination.

The good news is that the sinus infection is cleared up. I've got another day and a half to go on the antibiotics. I'm not in as good condition as I'd hoped for Jacksonville, but it (my current conditioning) will have to do. Things could be worse. Oh yeah. I said that already.

I'm Not Proud of This, But...

...But I ran 27 miles on my dreadmill this morning. I'm almost never proud of my mill runs. I hold on too darn much. I don't step on the mill any more than I have to; it usually (but doesn't always) depends on the weather. I've had days worse mill runs than today however.

During the run I'd actually had thoughts of doing thirty. I suppose 30 would be something I could be slightly more proud of than 27. But three problems arose: 1) I was beginning to run out of time (although I probably could've still done it), 2) There was only the same old junk on TV, and 3) I got a little tuckered out.

The plan before I had started thinking thirty was for twenty-four. Looking at things this way, I suppose you could say that I exceeded expectations.

The plan before I began thinking of twenty-four was to do fourteen. Outside. And now we get to the heart of the matter.

I set it up myself: a fourteen-mile group run on the Parkway - the last part of the Green Jewel 50K. Several had signed up, so it should have been a good, albeit not so long, training run. Naturally, I like to actually show up for the runs that I set up. But I wimped out. Here's why.

Reason #1: the weather. The winter has been so incredibly mild that when we get a little cold and snow - what would have been a good day last winter - we, including me, go a little crazy with fear. I just didn't want to drive on snowy/icy/slushy streets in order to run on snowy/icy/slushy streets. But I still feel a bit wimpish about not making it.

Reason #2: my wellness. Or lack thereof. I came down with a cold the week before Christmas. That's over three weeks ago. It slowly got better, and then proceeded to get much worse right after New Year's Day. The much worse part is when the sinus infection took hold. Running, and everything else, has been a struggle ever since.

Finally realizing that it's not going away on its own anytime soon, as well as after some nudging by Debbie, I went to the doctor yesterday. So today I'm on amoxicillin. And still running, although many of my recent miles were on the mill. Why take a chance on things getting worse when the outside weather's so lousy anyway?

Unproudly moving foward. That's me.

According to Plan

In running as in life, some things go according to plan, and some don't. In both endeavors, it's pretty important that we learn to adapt when the detours occur.

Here's a plan: I'm in a race, and at some point I simply run faster than everyone else and win the whole dang thing. Naturally, this plan is only a pipe dream for all but the very best runners at any given race. And it's almost never come to pass for yours truly.

On Saturday I lined up for the first annual MCRR New Years Eve 5K, looked around, and realized that my competitors were mostly kids and older folks. I found myself running with Bob Pokorny, Ladd Clifford and Alan Dravenstott. Ladd wasn't racing, and peeled off. Alan, who I believe is in the eighth grade, slowed just a bit at the turnaround, and Bob (who certainly could've beaten me if he'd tried) fell back to run with Alan. Suddenly there I was, all alone at the front. What do I do now? With Bob coaching Alan to try to catch me, I had to try to run even faster.

I beat the kid, Bob, and everyone else. It was a great victory. Well, I'll call it that anyway. What made it even better was the PR factor: my time was 17:49; I'd never even broken 18 in a 5K before. How did I manage this feat, you ask? I ran the course Jeannine Nicholson designed, and it turned out to be short by about a half mile. I suppose I can't count it as a PR after all. But it's still a win. And it was surely according to plan.

The plan for Sunday was to run Ladd's 5-mile New Years Day Hangover Run. That was all I was going to do because I'd also had plans to do the second annual Landis Loonies Marathon the next day. But then the weather warnings began.

We've been blessed, so far, with an extraordinarily warm and mostly snow-free late autumn / early winter. Everyone's been remarking about it, many saying things like, "We're gonna pay." When we did receive the weather warnings about January 2nd, everyone, including yours truly, was that much more afraid. The storm warnings didn't sound that dyer - just typical winter stuff. But they were enough to freak everyone out.

I began to think that I wouldn't want to drive the hour plus out to New London Ohio in a storm, just to run a little unofficial marathon. Since I'd be running five with the bunch a little later on Sunday, I decided to hedge my marathon bet and also run earlier with Debbie, Debbie and Michelle. Good to see Debbie Fernandez again. This earlier run amounted to ten parkway miles.

This put me at fifteen for the day. I could still conceivably still run the next day's marathon if the weather held. I'd been anticipating going into Panera at the end of the five as we'd done the previous day after the race. That's when Jeannine suggested that I run another hour with her and Bob.

Not that I've ever had any, but this was against my better judgement. It would eliminate any chance I'd have of running a marathon the next day, even though I'd been leaning more and more against the idea anyway. The extra seven or so miles actually went quite well.

I didn't, unfortunately, feel quite well Monday morning. Nothing special - just sore and tired. Certainly not well enough to run a marathon. And the funny thing was, the snow wasn't so bad. I think I could have made it out to New London fairly easily. But the damage had been done. It turned out that I couldn't get myself to run at all yesterday. So I went from a plan to running a marathon to a goose-egg in my running log.

Today is Tuesday. I ran twenty today to atone for yesterday's non-run. Ten out (in the snow which has finally arrived) and ten in (on the mill). It wasn't the greatest running, and it wasn't according to plan.

3,676

That's the most miles I've ever run in a year. An average of more than ten per day, it beats last year's total of 3,465 by 211. And last year had been the most miles ever to that point by 75. All this becomes (sort of) bad news when combined with my average pace and race results.

My average pace was 8.53 minutes per mile. This is nearly the slowest pace for all the years I have on record. For some reason I managed to run slower (8.7 minutes per mile) in 2009. Last year's average was 8.31, and I thought that was slow.

My best 5K time was about 21 and a half minutes. This compares with times right around 20 minutes in previous years. My best ten-miler was about 71 and a half minutes - several minutes slower than last year. It's the same with the half-marathon (1:33 or so).

Surprisingly, I did manage to run a decent marathon time in 2011: 3:16. This didn't beat my best 2010 time, but it does compare favorably with most of my 'thons of recent years.

I suppose the best news is my ultra times. I ran a 50K PR of 4:24, and actually beat that by a minute en route to my 100K PR of 9:31. I ran some other decent 50K times as well.

So what am I saying here? That I'm running more and running slower? I suppose that's the easiest way to put it. I'd better start hitting the old track.

I Woke Up Lean and Mean

This is noteworthy because I do so fairly seldom these days. But I have been pounding out the miles, even some with some amount of quality. I stepped on the scale and it read.... 154~! That's the best since BT (Before Turkey).

And I ran well too. After a painfully slow start - the first three miles were at 9:30 pace that felt much faster - I did manage to get down to tempo pace for the required three miles. Today, this was four laps around the high school. Something of Substance - Not bad.

Then it was another slow struggle to get home.

Will I be able to keep the leanness and meanness up? Time will tell..

Things I Saw (and Heard) on My Run Today

A Run to Remember

It's a familiar story; at least this first part happens every time we are traveling... I wake up a few minutes prior to my 4:00 AM watch alarm. I stumble around the hotel room, trying to make coffee, get dressed, etc. in the dark, without waking Debbie. Eventually, I make it out the door as quietly as I can.

By about 4:40 AM, I've emerged from my hotel, the J.W. Marriott Guanacaste in Costa Rica. Whoa. It's really dark out. I've run in the dark before, but usually with at least some ambient lighting from streets or buildings. After I get away from the hotel itself (where lighting is toned down so as not to attract sea turtles away from their usual routes), there are hardly any other lights around anywhere. I can hardly see a thing.

There is no moon, so the stars are very bright. I look for the Southern Cross. I often see it whilst running in Hawaii, but many of those runs are in late winter and early spring. When I don't find it, I figure that it just hasn't risen yet. I do enjoy the other stars however. Ursa Major, the Big Dipper, is at it's highest point, with its pointer stars pointing out Polaris, the North Star, almost at the horizon. Orion is as spectacular as always, except it appears to be at some odd angle, with Sirius almost at the wrong side. My world is turned upside down (or, more properly, on its side). I can also make out the Milky Way. All of a sudden, I spot a shooting star. That's always a good omen.

I notice that it's surprisingly warm and humid. After only a few minutes of running, I reach what I call the loop road. Its a semi-private road at the Hacienda Pinilla, a resort area that consists of our hotel, a smattering of houses and condos, a golf course, and not much else. I figure the development isn't going as well as planned with the economy and all. It's a good place to run, because the road forms a five-mile loop around the area, and there's almost no traffic.

I ran the loop twice yesterday, so I'm familiar with it. There are a few easy rolling hills; some fields and open land; a golf course and pond; some woods and wilder areas. Perfect.

The goal is three loops today. If I can do each one progressively faster, all the better. I've started a little unevenly, unsure of my footing in the dark. That's okay - better to start slow than end that way.

After only about 15 minutes I'm already beginning to see the first hints of lighter sky to the east. That's also the point when I begin to hear the growling. It starts so low and seems so far away, that it's hardly noticeable. Although it's a scary deep/low growling, howling and roaring, my first thought is that it's only dogs barking somewhere very far away.

But it's not all that far away; as I approach the heavier wooded area, the sound gets louder and louder. It is almost impossible to describe. I've never heard anything quite so primeval; so prehistoric sounding. Am I scared? YOU BET I AM.

Could it be howler monkeys? I didn't think they'd be around here because it isn't exactly part of the rain forest; Guanacaste is a somewhat drier province of Costa Rica. I begin making a mental list of the various animals here that can kill me: jaguars, crocodiles, various snakes, etc. None of them sound like this. I conclude that I must have discovered some previously unknown nest of T-Rex's. And yet I don't turn back.

The noise level continues to increase until I'm past the most heavily wooded area, and then it gradually fades away. I guess I survived, but I never figure out what the heck the noise was.

A car, the first one, comes from behind and passes by. A couple hundred yards ahead, I see the tail-lights swerve around to the side of the road before it continues on. I don't find out why until I reach that same spot. There's a horse standing in the middle of the road, and because of the darkness, it wasn't visible until I was a few feet away. I think he's about as spooked as I am.

It's getting much lighter as I complete the first loop in one piece. That was slow, and I pick the pace up as I begin loop two.

The forest noises are still there, but I don't fear them as much this time. I reflect that this is a strange phenomenon: I still don't know what it is, but since I survived running by once, I figure that I can do so again. If it was something that would kill me, it would be just as deadly this second time around. But I do indeed survive once again.

This time I spot the horse ahead of time. I also see large birds on the road ahead of me. They look like eagles, but I'd learned that they were local hawks. They're on the road, pecking at things like crows do in our parts. When I come by, they grudgingly get out of my way.

The time for my second loop is indeed faster than the first, and after a drink from my stashed water, I begin the third one. The sun is up now, and it's getting even warmer than when I started. I immediately see two large, bright kelley-green birds making a ruckus in a roadside tree. It's tough to get a good look at their heads, but I decide they must be green macaws.

With about a mile to go I spot a dead snake in the middle of the road. It's brown, and not much larger than a garter snake. Just a bit further on, I spot a second dead snake. This one is also fairly small, but it is colorful.

Having dedicated a great deal of brain cells to learning the poem that could save my life, I recall the operative phrase now: 'Red followed by yellow will kill a fellow.' It looks like this:

___________________________________________________________________
red |yellow| black |yellow| red |yellow| black |yellow| red
___________________________________________________________________


The serpent's colors are red, yellow and black, in that order. Yup, it's a coral snake. The head is gone, but it's otherwise intact. I suppose that without a head it won't hurt me. But it occurs to me that I ran by this way twice before - what was it doing then?

I finish up with the third loop being my fastest. It was a good run.


A Little Follow-Up

Later that day I brought Debbie over to see the snake. She helped confirm that it was a coral snake.

I learned that it's rare to see a green macaw. But I'm certain that's what they were.

And the noise? The next day I see, and hear, howler monkeys from a boat, and I determine that that's what made the noise. A couple days later, I actually see them in the trees making their howls. Mystery solved.


Other Costa Rica Running

I ran that loop several more times during my stay. Once I actually did four loops, and even those got progressively faster.

Mid-way through our vacation, we moved to a different hotel (Marriott Los Suenos), several hours to the south. The running was not nearly as nice there. I did manage to do some beach running, and I also made a few trips up, and back down, a huge hill.

I actually found myself missing those howls.

Also check out our travel blog entry. You really should, you know.

Buckeye Woods 50K

I was the Race Director as well as a runner for the 2nd Annual Buckeye Woods 50K yesterday. What a blast!

There were 27 starters and 13 finishers, and the conditions were every bit as challenging as last year's. Last year it was a snowstorm, and this year it was rain, wind and mud.

I tried to stay in contact with the leaders (Dan DeRosha, Frank Dwyer and Bob Pokorny) during the early laps, but Bob and Frank got ahead after a while. Although I eventually caught up with Frank, Bob increased his lead and cruised to victory.

My main focus was to hold a steady pace. And I did so, at least for the most part. Most of the 5-mile laps were around 45 minutes, along with an additional minute or two at the aid station. My final loop was a bit slower at 48 minutes, but I'm pretty happy that I didn't crash. My finishing time was 4:50, good for second place, and a few minutes slower than last week's time.

As always, it was wonderful to see the even unfold, and to be out there with all my friends. Yeah - what a blast!

The Glass

Why is it always half-something? Can't we just get that glass all the way full?

Speaking of Half-Somethings, I ran the CWRRC Fall Classic Half-Marathon yesterday. It was a great day for running in a lot of ways (the weather, seeing friends, etc). I ran a steady pace with splits of about 46.5 and 47 minutes to finish in 1:33:43, good for second in the Geezer division.

The glass is half-empty view: this is 5 minutes slower than my best half a year ago (1:28 and change at Stomp the Grapes).

The glass is half-full view: this is 5 minutes faster than the last half I did a couple months ago (1:38 and change at Sam Elpern Memorial).

If one wanted to consider the glass 3/4 full, they could say that I'm on the upswing, and that I'll be a holy terror in 2012. Watch out.

1914

In 1914, the world had yet to witness:
-two World Wars, and dozens of smaller ones
-the Great flu pandemic of 1918
-the Great Depression
-plastic
-Nuclear power and bombing capability
-the Internet
-Global Climate Change due to Human activity

On this date in 1914, Cecelia Horvath (my Mom) was born. Today we celebrate her 97th Birthday. She has led, and continues to lead a rich and interesting life.

What makes her most special is her optimism and enthusiasm. She is always positive; I simply cannot remember her ever saying anything negative at all, except for some occasional self-deprecating humor.

Cecelia has a bunch of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She enjoys being with her family above all else.

Happy BirthDay, Mom!

Thankfulness

A friend who is not able to run due to recent surgery let me know that I ought to be thankful that I can run at all, much less manage a 3:22 marathon. This was in a response to a link I posted in FaceBook to my recent Blog entry about the Inland Trail Marathon. My FB message announced the link as, "My sad story." My friend understood that this was intended to be tongue in cheek, but still let me know that I ought to be thankful.

He's right. Anyone and everyone who is able to run at all should be thankful for that capability. All of us have different inherent talents and all of us train at some level. We should all give thanks for these things.

In case you didn't know, I happen to love running. I love virtually all aspects of it, and there certainly are many. And I don't think I take it too very much for granted. This appreciation was enhanced this injury-plagued year of mine. This is not to say that I couldn't be even more thankful - I'm sure I can. I'll keep working on it.

Inland Trail Marathon 2011

Blame it on Ladd and Bob. They ran with me for the first 7.5 miles or so of the Inland Trail Marathon. And of course I wound up going faster than I had planned. I did inform them that I'd be blaming them for something, no matter how my race turned out.

Expectations were decidedly not high. Although I've been saying that I'm on the upswing, I was still certain that I still lost a bunch of fitness in the past few months. So the plan was to go out at an 8-minute pace, and possibly try to pick it up in the second half. Negative splits always feel good. A sub-3:30 would be fine with me, thank you.

Except Bob, Ladd and I didn't go out at an 8-minute pace. We went out at a 7:40 or so pace. I didn't complain too much. The cool temperatures and slight headwind felt fine, and I wasn't hurting.

When Ladd and Bob turned around to run half-marathoner Marsha in, I maintained the same pace, more or less, for the rest of the first half. It was fun seeing Marsha and the other MCRR half-marathoners go by. I turned around with 1:41:20 on the clock. Near the turnaround I saw Michelle, Dan and Jack. Cool.

Now I began to think I might be able to run 3:20 or even slightly better. All I needed to do was to maintain a 7:30 pace for the entire second half, and I'd have it in the bag. Now the wind was partially to my back, and I did do several consecutive 7:30's. It felt good to run strong and pass people.

Somewhere around mile 20 or 21, the math started to not work out quite so well. I hate when that happens. There I was, running with the same, or slightly more effort, yet those 7:30's were slipping north. With a couple miles left, it began to appear that a sub-3:20 was out of the question, and then my hamstring began to cramp. Not a total knot, but almost. I knew that I had to slow it down some more or risk winding up with a hamstring turned into a pretzel.

The wind was in my face for the tough final 3/4 mile, and I slowed even more, coming in at 3:22 and change. This was good for first in the Geezer Division and 13th overall. The medal says, "First Place Overall", not "First in Age Group".

I do really love this race. It's straight, out and back, usually great weather, straight, flat, fast and straight. Some folks don't care for the straight part, but it don't make no nevermind as far as I'm concerned. I only wish I had been in slightly better shape today.

So what can I blame Bob and Ladd for? If I'd gone out at an 8-minute pace, I'd have done much bigger negative splits (as it was, my second half was faster than my first by about 20 seconds). But I probably would have still been slower overall (but perhaps felt a little better physically). So maybe I should thank them. Nah.

Could it Really be This Simple?

No, I don't mean as simple as trying to look like Roy Heger. I mean as simple as watching my weight. But since I mentioned (and included a photo looking like Roy, I suppose I ought to say a little more about that.

I stood in for Roy so that he could run his own Run with Scissors race this year. Debbie, with encouragement from Shannon, decided to dress me up like Roy for the occasion. It was quite a hit for the race.

This came a day after Debbie had dressed me up like Lady Godiva for Connie's Halloween party. Yes, that was quite a hit too. And no, I'm not afraid to do anything these days.

Back to weight watching. A few weeks ago Debbie and I got back on the Weight Watchers diet. Now I've lost six or so pounds, and I'm feeling great! The PF still hasn't gone away entirely, but it's much better. And so are all the other little injuries I'd been plagued with lately.

Now I've got to get into shape for this Sunday's Inland Trail Marathon. In fact, I did lose quite a lot of fitness since June. It won't be back by Sunday, but at least (I think) I'm back on the upswing.

My theory is that putting less weight on these old joints for seventy miles per week makes a huge difference in regards to injuries large and small. Could it have been this simple?

A Race to the Death

Author's note. This went into the latest MCRR Newsletter. I haven't been doing much actual racing lately, but it's good to think of these things now and then.

Have you ever had a Race to the Death? You know, a race where you're near the finish, and A) you are simply *not* going to let this runner coming up from behind pass you, or B) you are going to catch and pass that runner ahead of you before the finish, no matter what. *That's* a Race to the Death; you're going to beat that other runner, even if it kills you.

What's that? You mean you *haven't* had a Race to the Death? Actually, I haven't had all that many myself. I'm so well spent by the end of most races of any length, to care much whether I'm able to pass or hold anyone off. You can just call me, "Kickless Dan".

Having said that, I actually have had a couple (only a couple) memorable moments. Once as part of a relay in Michigan I had a sandy trail leg. I was being stalked by an Ohio guy who was even older than I. I ran faster and faster, trying to hold him off, but he kept pace. Finally the single track opened up to a two-track trail for the final mile and a half. He pulled up even, but I simply was not going to let him pass. We sprinted to the finish in what I'd call a tie. After we both collapsed at the exchange, we talked and over the years have became friends.

Some of you may know Joe Salwan. He's in my age group, and we've had a pretty good rivalry over the years. It all began at the 2000 Buckeye Half Marathon, where I passed him with a mile to go, but then, after some back and forth battling, he passed my in the final tenth of a mile in a final mad sprint to the finish. Yeah, he got me... that time.

Mayor Ladd Clifford usually beats me by exactly one minute. Whether it's 5K or 50K, Ladd gets me by that same amount. At one particular 50K we'd run most of the way together and I thought I could at least tie him when, with a mile to go he learned that he had the opportunity to catch Charles Elkins before the end of his 3rd (of four) loop, so he took off. Ladd not only beat me by a minute (again), but managed to catch Charles before he began his final lap - something we'd both promised not to do. So at that point he had two of us mad at him. I still haven't forgotten.

And then there's Dan vs Connie. To the best of my knowledge, the *only* times I've ever been able to beat Connie is when she is racing a week after a race of 100 or more miles. Competitive as she is, she still doesn't like getting beat, especially by the likes of me. So naturally I had to say some smart remark as I passed her near the end of a 5K after she'd run a 100-miler the previous weekend. The same thing happened on the brick road at the finish of the Twin Sizzler - smart remark from me, and Connie had done Western States just a few days earlier. The best one came at the Akron Marathon, a week after she'd run 141 miles at NC24. I passed her as she stopped at an aid station for some water (at about mile 20). "Don't you know how to run and drink at the same time?" I asked as I went by. We had recently practiced just such a thing. I managed to get a really mean look out of her that time. Never mind that Connie has absolutely killed me on other occasions (when she *hadn't* run 100+ the previous week); I got her those times, and she ain't getting them back.

Are you a runner or a racer? The experiences noted above to the contrary, I'm probably more of a runner myself. But I do love racing, and I love rivalries. I even love my rivals. They are what make it all so much fun, and most are my friends and MCRR members. Without them, what's the point in racing?

Most of all, I love a good Race to the Death.

Okay, I'm Going to Run Inland Trail No Matter What

There was this story about the great Finnish Runner, Lasse Viren. In the 1972 Olympic 10,000, he and two other top runners got tangled up and fell. They say you could see it in their eyes: two of the guys became dejected because they realized that now they wouldn't be able to win. They thought they might be able to win if everything went right for them, and it hadn't. Viren had a different look: he was thinking about *how* he was going to win now. He'd gone into the race thinking that he was going to win no matter what. Viren won, and set a world record in the process.

So, still fighting these injuries, and still wondering what bad thing could be next, I'm going to run the Inland Trail Marathon November 6.

More on racing in my next post.

The Question I'm Afraid to Ask

Up and out of bed at 3:45am, I don't actually get out the door until 5:30. That's par these days. It just seems to take that coffee longer and longer to begin to achieve the desired affect.

In order to run fast, you've got to start fast, according to Michigan runner Terry Elsey. Although this concept can be taken too far, and it's always good to finish strong, Terry nevertheless has a point. The days I start really slow, I quite often manage to simply stay slow. Today I start relatively fast. The PF has generally gotten better, although it's still not 100%. As I've tried to pick things back up again, I seem to have acquired some other new aches and pains, including a very tight right hamstring (the PF is in my left foot).

Tired of feeling weak and slow, I've been losing weight (finally working with Debbie following, loosely, the Weight Watchers plan). I've also been minding my strength and other training. Using the new hang bar is a good thing. My mileage is back up to 70 per week, and I've been picking up the pace. Just a bit.

It's been obvious to me that I need to work on this intensity stuff, and so I have. I did one interval session on the mill early last week, and then a long run on Friday. Saturday I tried some gentle speedwork, and that's when I noticed the tight ham for the first time.

Today I fail my attempt at a tempo run (during miles 2-4). My definition of tempo has always been and is still three consecutive miles under seven minutes without a stop. My time for these miles is 22:07, but I'm not too discouraged. I'm still in the midst of my comeback, I tell myself. It will take time to come all the way back.

I forge on, moving slower and slower as I go. Even so, it feels like I'm running fast. I finish the 11-mile route in 1:33. That's also about par these days, but it should've been faster considering the tempo attempt.

As I'm approaching the house, I see Rita coming my way. I decide to turn and run back out with her a while - I wanted to get a couple more miles in anyway. Rita is telling me about her daughter's wedding and her own injury problems. I'm listening intently, when my foot catches something and I yell out, "Yeow!". It's that darn tight hamstring, and now it's suddenly a full-blown pull.

I hobble back home, which luckily isn't too far.

Now I fear that I had better call it quits for the year. I'd been considering three races: Inland Trail Marathon, the Fall Classic Half, and the Buckeye Woods 50K. They're generally all in jeopardy now, especially the first two.

The question I'm afraid to ask? Okay, here goes: "What more can go wrong?"

Turning the Corner

Have I gotten out of the downward spiral? Is my running finally improving once again? It's hard to say. I am certain that I'm not where I was a year, or even six months ago. But maybe... just maybe, I'm better than I was a month ago. In addition to training a bit harder once again, I've also lost a few pounds. That never hurts.

The PF is still there. I'm trying hard to simply keep it from getting any worse. I believe that I may be succeeding, at least in that effort. I still believe that that's the main culprit in my loss of fitness since Mohican. I'm just getting tired of excuses.

And I'm tired of not racing. All my friends are doing Chicago, Towpath, Columbus, etc., and here I am, marathon-less. Who knows? Maybe I'll still think about Inland Trail in November. Stranger things have happened.

Slow Disease

NC24 is now history. It was another insane weekend (not to mention week, month, year), and another successful race. The thing took a lot out of me. But that's not what this will be about, and it's not an excuse. This is about a condition that I seem to be having lately: Slow Disease. Having had this plantar fasciitis (PF) injury all year, it shouldn't be a surprise that I lost some fitness. The only questions where, how much, and when would I take notice of it.

In spite of the fact that I acquired the PF in January, the first half of the year was actually pretty good. My speed did suffer, but I made some of that up with mileage. I made good showings at the Mad City 100K, the Cleveland Marathon, Another Dam 50K, and a couple others. And then came Mohican.

Although I was by no means fast before that debacle, I have definitely been a different (read: slower) runner afterwards. I've had a couple not-so-bad moments, like doing okay at the Moebius Green Monster 50K, and winning my age group (with a fairly slow time) at the Perfect Ten-Miler. But I would still say that I'm in a downward spiral. Those times/results would have been better a year, or even six months ago. And then I tried to run the Sam Elpern Memorial Half-Marathon a week ago.

I'd been in Connecticut all week again, and working my butt off again. Last time it was mostly painting; this time it was virtually all painting. I'd never thought that painting was that strenuous. But it wore me out, and my training runs that week sure showed it. On one occasion I hit the track, and the best I could do for mile intervals was the 7:30 range. That's pretty bad for me. So I shouldn't have expected much when I showed up at this Norwalk, CT club half-marathon.

It started and finished at a school. I started well enough, going well under 7 minutes for the first downhill mile. Now, if I could only keep this up, I thought. I couldn't. I couldn't even come close. Almost all my miles were in the 7:30 range again, with a couple slipping almost to 8 minutes. That's pretty ridiculous. The course was hilly, so of course that and the heat slowed me down a bit. But 7:30 miles? I finished in 1:38 for an average pace of... you guessed it: 7:30 per mile. The course was no more hilly than the Stomp the Grapes Half I did last year, ten minutes faster. Ridiculous. Oh. Said that already.

Since then, the downward spiral has continued. I've only run a few miles a day for the last week now. I did get one 15-miler in, and that almost killed me.

I'm not sure I know where the mojo went. I have to say that along with the ability has come the desire. I just don't have the will to train hard any more. For now, anyway. We'll see what tomorrow will bring.

What If the Best Runners Came, and Nobody Cared?

The title applies to the IAAF World Championships that I wrote about in my last post, I Don't Get It. There, the best track and field runners in the world showed up, and no one seemed to care.

The title also applies to the NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run. This one's my baby, and it's only a week away. And since it's the USATF National Championship, the best ultrarunners in the country show up to compete, and once again, no one seems to care.

Oh, some do. Virtually all of the participants, volunteers, families and organizing committee care very much. But where is the media coverage? Why doesn't the city come out and support the race? A National Championship event coming to Cleveland? Why isn't the Greater Cleveland Sports Commission at the forefront of promoting and garnering support for the run? Why isn't the Plain Dealer covering it?

You got me.

I Don't Get It

Disclaimer: I am a runner. Anti-Disclaimer: I felt this way before I was such an avid runner. Although it's hard to say for sure. That was a long time ago.

The reason for the claimer, disclaimer and dis-disclaimer is that I am about to commence a rant about track and field. What don't I get? Why isn't 'Athletics', as T & F called in other parts of the planet, the most avidly followed and watched sport? How is it that the IAAF T & F World Championships are relegated to a network called Universal Sports that nobody seems to watch, along with a couple brief recap shows on NBC?

The 'Worlds' are surely the most important track meet on the planet next to the Olympics. Like the Olympics, they occur every couple years, but on the odd ones. I often feel that I'm the only person I know who eagerly anticipates and avidly watches them. Most of my friends, even the runners, don't even seem aware that they're going on.

I have a difficult time understanding why this is the case. Surely the drama of a 1500 meter race far surpasses that of an NBA game. The raw power and speed in the 200 meter race is definitely more exciting than that in an NFL game. And a 5000 or 10000 meter race is much more engrossing than any Major League Baseball game.

Nope. I just don't get it.

Green Monster

I don't know why in the world I thought this would be a good idea. Maybe because my friends were doing it? Because it was an inaugural event? That it would give me a slight amount of redemption, or at least put me back on the right path after Mohican? In any case, there I was at Steve Godale's first annual Moebius Green Monster 50K, trying mightily to not fall completely by the wayside.

It was a pretty good first four 10k loops. It was the fifth one that got me. The first three were in the 55 minute range, and the fourth was right at an hour, so I thought I'd have an easy sub-five hour run. Not bad on a fairly tough course.

"No hill higher than a two story house", they said. Maybe, but there were a *lot* of those house-sized hills. And roots. And rocks. And mud. Although the mud wasn't as bad as it was for last week's training run there, it still slowed me down some.

The PF is still around, but wasn't especially bad this day. I believe that I've lost a lot of fitness because of it however.

Would I even make it through the last loop?

5:01. That was my finish time, after the final, very bad, loop. I think I was in fifth place, but what a struggle. The best part is, it's over!

and the Other Half is Physical

The title of this post refers to the Yogi Berra saying that baseball is 90% mental... and the other half is physical. That saying naturally applies to running as well, except more so.

This morning I find myself stumbling into the bedroom closet just as the 0400 watch alarm is about to chime. I almost always beat it, no matter how early its set. Trying to keep quiet, I dress into my running clothes and swig down a 5-hour energy. Maybe this will get me out the door faster than the usual coffee.

It’s been tough to get going lately. This is at least partly because we’re in Connecticut, trying to perform major surgery to Veronica and Barry’s house: mostly painting, plumbing and taking stuff to the city dump. So that may be a good portion of the physical part of why I’ve been tired and sore. But even before this week, most of my runs have been slow and tired. It could be my continuing injury saga, or the ongoing oppressive heat and humility. Maybe that is 90% mental part.

But I think the mental part goes further. My heel is, actually, beginning to heal, as is the rest of me. At least it’s better than it was. Even so, I am still burned out. I have a decent run now and then – including a tempo run at North Park last week and another here on the Housatonic trail. Most runs, however, are as tired and slow as ever.

I want to get out by 0500 in order to have enough time to run 20 miles and get back at a decent time. I sit at the computer first to check email and weather. This is always a Big Mistake. It certainly was Saturday, the last time I tried to get out for a long one and wound up starting so late that I settled for 10 instead. Yesterday I couldn’t get out the door at all.

Big Mistake it is again. Besides attending to NC24 matters and other things, I talk with Veronica a bit. I’m out the door at 5:45. This is much later than planned, but I’m determined to do 20 anyway. Debbie will just have to wait for me to begin painting a little later than usual. Since it rained quite a bit yesterday, I decide not to do the trail today. Instead I go down the hill and up the other one on Daniels Farm Road to the track. Those first three miles are slow ones, but with the hills and waking up (still), I’m not concerned.

It’s the fourteen miles at the track that weigh on my mind. The sun is already up as I start my circuits. It gets early early around here. (This is another Yogi saying – “It gets early late around here” or something like that.) That’s not so bad, but now it’s getting warm as well. And humid.

I am dripping with sweat as I complete my first track mile in something like 8:50. The next several are progressively faster – in the 8:40’s, 8:30’s and then some in the 8:20’s. By the time I have 10 in, I’m feeling like I’m doing well and am fairly pleased with the progression of the mile times.

"You're in fantastic shape" says a high-school soccer girl who's nearby when I stop for a sip of my water. She'd been there for almost the same amount of time that I was. "Thanks, I say. And so are you", since all high-school soccer kids are in great shape. At this point, however, the heat is beginning to get to me. The sun is beating down, and I only have a half-bottle of water left. I should have brought more. My mile times begin to slow. I’m putting in more effort than ever, but Miles 12 and 13 are close to nine minutes. I decide to try at least one more, and it comes out closer to ten minutes.

I decide it’s time to head home. I suppose I could slog through it, but that trend is very discouraging. I do slog the final three and barely get back in one piece.

So at least I got 17 in, but it wasn’t the 20 I wanted. Is it physical, or is it mental? The answer is yes.

A Bad Millennium

Word has it that legendary sea explorer Jacques Cousteau and his ship discovered a sunken boat from ancient Greece. Among the artifacts brought up was a bottle of wine. Cousteau opened the bottle and took a good swig. He immediately spat it out, saying with Gallic aplomb, "That was a bad century!"

One more story: five or ten years ago, some radio announcer said this about the Chicago Cubs: "Any team can have a bad century... but now they're having another one."

I mention these things because I seem to be having a bad millennium. I can actually trace the badness back to the previous millennium, to an injury I incurred in 1997. Something called plantar fasciitis. Until that point, I'd been having some very good years, but after that, they weren't so stellar. Sure, there were some ups and downs, but the ups were never quite as up as 1996 and before. And the trend continues into this millennia that we now find ourselves part of.

It's to be expected that there will be good and bad days, weeks, years, etc. And this year I actually have had some really good running days. I've blogged about those. And I've also blogged about the bad ones.

This week, month, season (being summer) have all been mostly bad however. Last weekend's running was actually better than expected, with 14 on the towpath Saturday followed by two Hinckley loops Sunday. It was Monday through Thursday that weren't too good. They old PF is as bad as ever, and the groin pull has been re-injured.

Maybe I should just give up and wait till the next millennium rolls around.

Yin and Yang

Patient: "This PF really sucks. My heel is killing me."
Doctor: "Have you ever had this before?"
Patient: "Yes, a couple years ago."
Doctor: "Well, you've got it again."

That's one of my dad's old vaudeville jokes. But it also sums up my experience with PF treatments. I've had this latest round since January, but I've managed to get some half-way decent running in throughout the first half of the year. The PF pain has come and gone, and I've been fortunate that for most of the time it's been gone.

But it has definitely came back with a vengeance during and after Mohican. It's strange how I knew going in that that run would be a watershed for me, but didn't know just how until now.

It's also funny how, even when the pain is there, I can still occasionally run fairly well. And other times, not.

Case in point: I went out for a run Saturday morning from our hotel in Gettysburg. We were there for the Living History with Barry and Veronica. I absolutely love the landscapes there; what a serenely beautiful area to stage a bloody battle. I had this one day to run, and I surely wanted to take advantage of it.

It was still dark when I started, so I did some loops around the roads (mostly Presidential Circle) surrounding the hotel, movie theaters and other hotels and restaurants. The number of loops turned out to be nine. I figured them to be just short of a mile, and I challenged myself to run each one a bit faster. I even did the last four at something like tempo pace.

Even though I was feeling some pain, the run was going quite well. Now I had 5-6 to go to complete what I wanted to do today. So I ran out away from these local roads... and almost immediately into the National Park. This surprised me, since I had believed that we were far away; this must have been a different part than that which I was familiar with. The landscapes were beautiful in this part as well, and there were cannons and historical markers all over the place.

So the run began with a good effort, and ended with a scenic run through history.

Monday was the Fourth of July: time for the Medina Twin Sizzler 5k/10k. I'd taken Sunday off, and although the 'ole PF was hurting, I had hopes of running at least close to last year's times.

It was great to see all my MCRR and other friends. The town square was buzzing and alive with activity. The 5k didn't go according to plan. Just after that downhill start my PF began hurting more and more. And, like Mohican, everything else began to hurt as well. I was even having trouble catching my breath. I came in at 21:30 something; about a minute and a half slower than last year. And this one just about killed me. How in the world would I be able to even get through the 10k?

After 2 uphill miles there, I was having trouble keeping an 8:30 pace going. Then we hit some down-hills, and I managed to take a minute a mile off that time. For this race my time was 49 minutes. I'm almost positive that's a Personal Worst. By a lot.

And now I'm really hurting. (I think I've said that before...)

Aftermath

Yeeeoww! I stopped and yelled this out during this morning's run on the Lester Rail Trail. The cause of this joyous noise was a sudden excruciating pain in my groin. It must have been what they call a groin pull. The pain went down my entire right leg.

The run - four 6-mile out-and-back loops on the Lester Rail Trail - had been going fairly well up until that point. It's too bad that that point was only about 150 yards into the run. What to do? I nearly walked back to the car in order to drive home and call it a day (at 5am). But no, I decided to try to gut it out, at least for a while. Sure enough, after some slow shuffling, I eventually got to a point where I could run again.

And speaking of pain, most of it went away fairly quickly in the days following Mohican. I say most because the pain in one particular body part (my heel) decided to linger longer. Yes, my PF continues to be as bad as ever. I wish I knew the exact moment in the race when it occurred, but I suppose it really doesn't matter.

Although I knew that Mohican would be a watershed for me, at least for 2011, I had in fact been running better (read: a bit faster) in the weeks leading up to the race. So it's not too surprising that I'm running relatively fast once again. I've got some tempo runs and speedwork sessions under my belt. It's just too bad that these types of runs hurt my PF the most.

Now I'll have to try to make something of the July 4th Twin Sizzler races in Medina. With a groin pull now to go along with the PF, it should be interesting.

I managed to get through today's 24. I even managed to run fairly well - under 8:30 pace, for the middle two laps. The fourth lap proved difficult, however. This may have been a result of all the other follies.

Mohican

I now believe it was the plantar fasciitis that got me. It didn't necessarily appear that way during the run. Sure, my heel hurt, but everything - every bone, muscle, tendon and brain cell - hurt as well. Every stride, every footfall, was painful. I'd felt this way before, but never with 87 miles yet to run. And that's the part that was hurting those brain cells. I think that by favoring my left heel, combined with the twisting, turning, uneven surface of rocks, mud and roots, I caused additional bio-mechanical problems that brought the house down.

Everything about this run was truly a love-hate thing for me. I loved driving down to Mohican the night before with friends Ladd, Frank and Marsha. We three guys had planned to stay together as much as possible for the first half. I loved seeing old and new friends at the check in, dinner and meeting Friday night. I've said it before and I'll say it again: ultrarunners are some of the best people I know. I hated not being able to sleep more than two hours in our tiny cabin due to the campfire smoke that was like being two feet away from a chain-smoker.

The start was okay. It was not too hot, but extremely humid due to the rains the night before and earlier in the morning. After a half-mile or so, we reached the single-track trail. I'd anticipated that there may be a slow-down as we 300 or so runners (about half were 50-milers; the rest of us were centurions) entered the trail. What occurred, however, was a total traffic jam. Who wants to totally stop running, when there are 99+ miles to go? Eventually, we started walking, single file, up the switchbacks. Since the race had started at 5am, it was still dark, so the line of flashlights traversing the winding trails was surreal.

After about 10 minutes of walking we began shuffling on some of the straightaways. There were some extremely muddy areas, and without trail shoes, I began having some difficulties already. As unique an experience that this single-file trekking in the dark was, I hated it. I had absolutely no control over whether I could run or walk; I absolutely had to do what the group was doing. Worst of all, when I could run, I didn't really want to - it was that tough out there already.

Even several miles into the run, I was still with groups of runners going single file. The larger group had broken into smaller ones, but it was still impossible to get around them. And I was still at their mercy in regards to walking or running. Naturally the steep sections were for the walking, but there seemed to be way too few flatter areas. I even asked Ladd at one point: "Do you think there will be any areas where we can run for more than just a couple minutes?"

Ladd, Frank and I were never far from each other. After a couple hours, we could finally stay together for a while and avoid those groups a bit more. It was probably about 7 or 8am when I started to notice the scenery. The woods were truly beautiful, and, now away from the crowds, I thought about how much I loved this.

But not for long. Things were already starting to hurt. Ladd said we were 13 miles in at about the three hour mark. This was actually a good, smart pace, but it was beginning to get tough for me to keep up. Not to mention painful. How would I be able to do it for 87 more torturous miles?

I forgot about all this for a while as we crossed a stream several times and then climbed up and over a small, muddy cliff. This half-mile or so section may have taken a half-hour or more. It was fun, but also frustrating. The rest of the terrain was also terrible, but that part was the worst. Yes, it's the old love-hate thing on steroids. There was actually a very nice running section between the dam and the covered bridge aid station, but it's too bad that this was only about a half mile long.

After that aid station I found that I couldn't stay with Ladd anymore at all. He wasn't moving that fast, but I just wasn't able to hold even that pace. My overall pain was increasing, and the humidity made it difficult to catch my breath. This was shaping up to be an anaerobic ultra run for me. I made a couple remarks about all this to Frank, but I think he was having at least some difficulty as well.

By the time we got to the final aid station before the completion of the first 27-mile loop (mile 22 or so), I was totally spent. I did get a word in to Ladd and Frank that I didn't know if I'd be able to complete the loop, much less start the next one. I don't think Ladd believed me.

At this point things got worse and worse. I had been thinking that perhaps I'd recover and at least go on to some extent. Before the start, I'd had no contingency plans at all; I was going to finish no matter what. Now that ever step hurt, I was nearly in a panic - wondering whether I could make it back for even that first loop. My movements were slower and slower and more and more runners began passing me. I knew several of them, and they tried to encourage me. It didn't work. There was just too much pain and suffering. I was hating every minute. It didn't help that when I did try to run I tripped and fell. This was on top of a few other minor falls earlier in the run.

Eventually I saw it: a way to get back quicker: a short-cut! This would eliminate the extremely vertical final two-mile section of the course. Since I was going to be dropping, I had no qualms whatsoever about taking this route back in.

The 25 or so miles had taken me six torturous hours. It was such a relief to get off those terrible trails. For all I know, I may have been the first to drop. But I didn't care one bit.

Now I've been in a lot of pain (still) and am unable to run. Regarding trail hundred-mile races, I'd say they're out of my system for good.

Couple additional thoughts:

$200 for this race was way too much. I'd even be saying that if I'd managed to finish. The aid stations and support were okay, but not to the extent that they justified this cost.

And 300 runners (plus marathoners later on) is way too many for these trails. 40 to 50 should be the maximum.

I was amazed at how much my well-meaning friends were disappointed for me (for, not in). They wanted to do anything and everything to help. But nothing would do. I only needed to get off my feet. And to never think about anything like this ever again.

I should also mention that Patrick Fisher was to pace me for the final 23 miles. I'd been thinking that there's be none better. He felt bad for me, but there was nothing he could do at that point, either.

It was great to see Debbie and Kathy there at the start/finish area. I was sorry to disappoint them most of all, but they gave me encouragement anyway. And a nice ride home.

I am amazed that anyone can complete a race like this. It's not just 100 miles. It's 100 miles over the roughest terrain imaginable. Yet, Ladd and several others did make it. I'm in awe.

Out of My System

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), that's the way I'm looking at this upcoming Mohican run. Maybe it's good to be apprehensive and anxious. I am, in spades. The thing about getting it out of my system is that the voices had been working on me for some time now. "You MUST do a 100-miler," they tell me. "The sooner the better," they go on. Assuming I can complete Mohican, I'll be able to silence those voices and move back to the normal ones. You know, the ones that tell me to run 3 shorter races over a weekend and such.

And this brings me to my goals:

1) Finish the race
2) Don't drop out
3) Run 100 miles and get to the finish

If I do accomplish all that, it would be nice to finish in a half-way decent amount of time - mostly because I get kind've tired at night.

One other thing: I hate trail shoes and carrying or wearing anything (that I don't have to for modesty). This means that I'm having trouble with water and that I'll probably run the race in road shoes. I'm just not a trail dog. Arf.

... and Run Like a Turtle

So the whole thing goes,

Eat like a horse,
Drink like a fish... and
Run like a Turtle

This is one of Roy Heger's favorite mantras. One can do far worse than trying to emulate Roy, although I've joked with him that my goal is to be the exact opposite of him in every way possible. Just call me the anti-Roy. This is all the more interesting because many have compared Roy's appearance (beard, long hair, hippie clothes, etc.) to that of Jesus Christ. I suppose this would make me the anti-Christ, although I'm not really all that devilish. Okay, maybe a little.

This year, though, against all my most basic instincts, I've somehow managed to become more like Roy. Not in looks, mind you. But I've been running more and more miles, doing them slower and slower, doing them more and more on trails, and now I'm going to (be trying to) run a 100-miler. It's almost impossible to get more like Roy than that. Unless, of course, I was going to be doing multiple 100-milers. Or running them over impossible terrain. This one (which is tough enough) will most likely be plenty for me, thank you.

Back to turtles. I love running fast. Check that. I love being able to run fast. Of course in order to be able to run fast, one must run fast, at least at times. And this is something that simply hasn't been happening along with all those miles. I did manage 6:50 for two consecutive miles at the MCRR 'Quickie' a couple weeks back. And I also got down to sub-seven pace with the gang on the Lester Rail Trail the other night. I can't even call them tempo runs until I can do three consecutive miles at this pace, but these two efforts almost killed me. Today at the Trumbull HS track, I couldn't even come close. Heaven help me at Twin Sizzler and other upcoming shorter races.

So now I'm scared to death about next week's race, and I'm also afraid that I'll never get my mojo/speed back, afterwards. I supposed I should only worry about one thing at a time. Just call me Touche' Turtle. But ya doesn't have to call me Roy.

I Lied

In an earlier post I said that I'd decided against Mohican. I'm sorry to say that I lied. I know this hurts my constituents and especially my family, so I'd like to apologize to all of them, and sincerely ask for their forgiveness. I also hope this doesn't spoil my chances for re-election.

After a better-than-expected run at Another Dam 50k, my excuses (not in shape, can't handle trails, heat, etc., etc.) dried up. So rather than continue to be called a chicken by Ladd and Frank, I went ahead and registered for Mohican. Lord help me..

Another Dam 50k (Millenium) Run

You can just call me Millennium Man. That's because I wound up with number 1000 at this year's Another Dam 50k Run in Englewood, which is near Dayton, Ohio. I suppose calling myself Runner of the Millennium may be taking things a bit too far over the top.

"Just run real fast so that you're done before it gets too hot." This was my advice to anyone concerned about the anticipated heat for the day. We'd been hearing that the high would reach 94F. But they could be wrong, and even if they're right, 94's not really so bad, is it?

"Dan, do you remember the trails being this tough?" asked Ladd between huffs and puffs. My answer was, "Now I do!" It was just beginning to get hot. The first (of four) laps went fine, although the trails were indeed tougher than I remembered. One good thing: they were much less muddy than last year.

Ladd stayed with Jeannine as I ventured on ahead; Janet, Marsha and Charles were out there as well. I saw some of them coming and going from time to time. That's what makes AD50k so much fun. Not to mention the road trip aspect of it.

Yes, the trails were less muddy. Except for the second lap, that is. A brief heavy downpour occurred as I started that second circuit. The cool rain felt wonderful, and I was enjoying every minute of it. Then three things happened in succession: 1) the rain stopped; 2) the trails became muddy - really muddy; 3) the heat returned, this time accompanied by gobs of humidity. The mud was especially thick and heavy. All this made the second loop, which had started out so nice and cool, a tough (and slow) one.

The third loop, on the other hand, went extremely well. The mud had dried up as fast as it had appeared. The heat was still increasing, but for some reason that didn't bother me at this time. Roughly two miles of the 7.9 mile course are exposed to the sun. This includes the dam itself. The rest of the trails are nicely shaded; very nicely shaded. The one turned out to be my fastest, and it's where I felt the best.

So now, 3 hours, 30 minutes into the run, I had another hour and 10 minutes to finish in 4:40. Why is that important, you ask? Because 4:40 is the course record for men's grand masters division. Beating this time would put me in the record book and also net me a $75 gift certificate to a local running store. That's $25 for winning the division and a $50 bonus for breaking the record.

One hour, ten minutes is what I'd been averaging, so it wasn't an unreasonable expectation. Except, that is, for the heat. It was 11:30am, and the temperatures were really getting up there. It was taking it's toll, but I was going for it anyway. Gauging my pace on the times I hit the aid station, I had a chance as of the first stop, but almost not at all for the second. I never gave up the effort, but I just couldn't make it in the time I wanted.

The result was a 4:43. This was still good enough to place me 8th and 1st among the grand masters. It took almost forever to cool down and clean up. I learned later on that Dayton's high for the day was 98F! But running fast did get me out of the heat that much faster! My advice proved correct for a change.

And Now for Something Really Different

That would be, of course, a hundred-miler. Really different for me, anyway. And I don't take this stuff lightly.

It was ten years ago that I did Mohican. I've told everyone a bazillion times, but I may have never mentioned it here in the 'ole blog: Debbie, who was my support crew, made me promise to never do another one of these things ever again. In a moment of weakness, I agreed. The funny thing was that I wasn't that bad during or after the run; she was just worried about me.

Now, a decade later, Debbie is letting me out of my solemn promise. But I've decided not to do Mohican. It's Burning River or Bust. More on all this later - just wanted to get this out there.