Toelio

Guy on his wedding night starts by taking his socks off. "What happened to your toes?" asked his new bride. The guy answers, "Toelio." She says, "You mean polio." "No, toelio," he goes on, "It's a childhood disease I had that leaves the toes all mangled and bent like this."

Next he takes his pants off. "What's wrong with your knees?" asks the bride. "Kneasels" he replies. "You must mean measles." "No, it was kneasles, a childhood disease that leaves the knees crooked and malformed like this."


When he takes is undershorts off, she says, "Don't tell me. Let me guess: you had Smallcox."


Now back to toelio. I call my black toenail that. It's my left big toe, and it's good and black. And painful. The worst part is that I seem to keep injuring it further, driving it to become even more black. Now I can put up with that little bit of pain, but last time I lost a big toenail, it wound up - six months later - becoming a *large* amount of pain. That would be when I had to extract it with the pliers because it was coming off anyway.


One root cause seems to be my Salomon XR Mission shoes. Gotta stop wearing those for anything more than a few miles.


Speaking of a few miles, I did do a few in them yesterday: 23 towpath ones to be exact. I've been hitting the TP fairly regularly for my Saturday medium to long runs. And of course there's always Hinckley on Sundays.


I think things are looking up a bit. The fact that my main malady of the moment is toelio, and not severe butt pain or PF, is telling. Those other problems haven't been 100% eradicated, but they have improved. 


It doesn't hurt to run any more!!! (in a small voice, at least not too much.)

Innarguably Innaugural - The Canton Marathon

Michelle Wolff, Debbie Scheel, Dan Daubner, Dan Horvath
and John Pavlick after meeting at 4am and driving to,
and arriving at Canton
Thanks to Dan Daubner for the photo

They spelled inaugural with two n's on the bib. Twice. But then they spelled it correctly on the ribbon attached to the medal. The medal, by the way, weighs in at about seventeen pounds. I'm going to donate it to the US Olympic Committee so that they can use if for hammer throw practice.

After answering the question, what were you thinking when you scheduled a medium-sized city marathon mid June? about a thousand times, the race committee's big day had finally arrived. The race was only a couple minutes away from the start. There were long porta-potty lines going right across the road that we believed we'd be starting the race on. We thought this because they had the pace signs all along the road there in front of the stadium, and because that's where everyone else was beginning to line up. So what if we'd trample the poor potty-goers.

That's when I got into a disagreement with Verrelle Wyatt. He told me that the start was way down and around the bend in a park. "No way," said I, "it's right here in front of us." And that's when a race official called out for all of us to follow her, pied-piper-like, to the actual start which was 3/4 mile away - right where Verrelle said it would be.

We arrived at 6:01am for the 6:00am start. Then they announced that the 6:00am start would actually occur at 6:20am, so I went for a jog to keep loose. I was going to say, keep warm, but it was already warm and humid. I was jogging back on the adjacent sidewalk at 6:15am, when the gun went off, sending the runners towards me, but on the road. I scuttled over far enough to go over the timing mats and then begin running in the desired direction. I suppose they figured that a delayed start followed by an early start at the same race equals an on-time start.

I don't mean to be overly critical. Some rookie, or should I say innaugural, mistakes could be expected. By and large, everything worked very well.

Even the weather. Going in, everyone was concerned about heat. At Cleveland, Boston, and gobs of other spring marathons it had been a major factor. The forecast for Canton wasn't hopeful either: the sunny high was to be in the mid to upper eighties. In fact, the skies stayed cloudy, the air humid, and it never got all that hot at all. There was even a misty rain and a brief downpour late in the race.

The other things that went well had to do with organization and planning. The aid stations, traffic control and finish line were all done exceedingly well. I know that runners come to expect these things at big races these days, but I appreciate all that went into the day.

How did my run go, you ask? I started out at an 8-minute pace and held that fairly well until mile 12 or so. That's when the hills started to take their toll on my pace. Half-way went by at just about 1:45.

The second half wasn't quite so spectacular. I slowed and then slowed some more. 20 miles went by at about 2:45. Even that isn't so awful, but I still had a 10K - and yet more slowing down - to go. 10-minute miles ensued as the hills only seemed to get bigger, I finished in 3:46 and change.

I'm pretty sure that all the hills caused me to run a slower than expected time. Yes, they were tough, but I've run tough ones before. I just don't like it when I slow down like that.

Even so, it was my least bad marathon in a while. Things can only keep getting better, right?

Endless Summer

This May they had to cancel the Madison, WI Marathon due to record high temperatures in the mid-nineties. This followed other events that were either canceled while in progress, or had to offer deferments or had to take other measures to deal with record high temperatures.

The Canton Marathon is tomorrow, and we'll see temperatures close to ninety. I'm not looking forward to that. Why O Why did they think that a big (okay medium) city marathon in June would be a good idea? The ones in April and May couldn't even manage. Okay, that's it for complaining and feeling sorry for myself. That's also it for running content.

2012 was already set to go down as the year with no winter. And now there's no spring, either. That's not all. There are tornadoes, flooding and drought galore. Hurricanes began well before hurricane season. And everything that grows, hibernates or seasonally migrates here in Ohio is very much ahead of schedule. All this after 2011 was one of the hottest years on record. The Climate Change Deniers are generally keeping quiet these days.

It baffles me how there can be anyone who denies that things are out of control. Their fallback position is that even if it is happening, we human beings aren't the cause of it. Sorry, but they're wrong about this as well. The link between our greenhouse gasses and the warming of the planet are well established. This consensus had been reached years ago, but the deniers had been fighting it with what I call the Big Lie. At least in those cases where fossil fuel industry money is behind the notion, it's a Big Lie. I'm aware that there may be a few deniers who simply don't know, or won't accept the truth. But now, as I say, they've piped down.

Surely most non-scientific types have to rely on what they hear from the scientific community. It's too bad that they also hear the 'other side' in the media. What isn't disclosed is that the other side  - the deniers - are almost entirely made up of people with a vested interest in the status-quo.

If we now accept that climate change is indeed happening, and that human activity is the cause, why do we even consider electing politicians who will only add to the problem? There is no shortage of ideas to at least curb some greenhouse emissions. We need more of these, not less. Some politicians want to kill any renewable energy ideas in favor of the narrow-minded, short sighted and short term policies that have gotten us to this point.

Humanity will survive climate change. Even some other species will do so. The planet will actually even recover some day. The only questions are how well, and when. How well will we survive and what quality of life will we have? And when will the planet be able - or be allowed to - recover? Or at least begin to turn things around.

Some day we'll all have to face our grandchildren who will grow up in a world much different from our own. Will we be able to say that we at least tried to keep the planet in decent shape for them?

For more on this topic, see my debate with Dave.

The Long and Shorts of It

If you like this blog, I'm happy about that. I hope you'll keep reading. If you don't, well, sorry.

Back to you folks that do. Naturally, you can read through these new posts as well as the older ones for free. But if you want to see it in book form, and also see some additional stuff that's not included here (because it's older, was intended for a different audience, etc.), you can go to amazon.com and get hold of my new book, The Long and Shorts of It. Please check it out; it's pretty cool.

Thank You. We will now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Smashmouth Running

Here’s the sequence of events – complete with causality - as best I can describe them.

Dan with Angelina Lips

1. I started running about forty years ago. In the process, I also managed to get old. This caused
2. Plantar Fasciitis (PF) every now and then, including the latest bout that began a year and a half ago whilst attempting some speedwork on a treadmill. This caused
3. Slow Disease (SD). SD is insidious in that it enables me to continue running, albeit only very slowly. Time passed, but the SD continued. This caused
4. Disappointing times in races and workouts and general frustration. This caused
5. An attempt at a speed workout on the track about a month and a half ago. It was my first time at the track in months, so the SD was rearing its ugly head. I forged on anyway, and this caused
6. Me to pull something in my butt. It could be piriformis syndrome or some form of sciatica, but I prefer to simply call it Butt Syndrome (BS). This caused
7. Me to change my gait, however little, since I no longer had a full range of motion. This caused
8. Even more SD, and even more disappointing race results. Among these was the Cleveland Marathon of last week. This caused
9. Me to take several days off, something I hadn’t done since my previous debacle, the Jacksonville Marathon. This caused
10. General malaise, but then I actually began to feel a bit better. The PF was subsiding, and even the BS became a little better. Too bad the SD only got worse. All this caused
11. An urge to get out and run again. So I did six on Thursday, took Friday off, and then met up with some friends for a nice little run on the towpath Saturday. The plan was to run from Lock 29 to Station Road Bridge and back for an easy 14-miler. Patti Tomasello and Shari Geiger had turned back earlier, whilst Donna Hofmeister, Dave Gajewski, Jack McDaniel and I continued on to the Station Road Bridge area, took a break and then began to saunter back south to Lock 29. Things were going swimmingly, except for one minor, itsy-bitsy little problem. I still didn’t have full range of motion in my left leg due to the lingering effects of the BS. This caused
12. My foot to find the one board that was one-sixteenth of an inch above the rest, on the small wooden bridge we were traversing about nine miles into our run. This caused
13. Me to stumble forward. This caused
14. Me to grab onto the handrail on the side of the bridge to avoid falling directly, face-first, onto the bridge. This caused
15. Me to swing around to the right, smashing my face - especially my mouth - directly into the side of the bridge, rather than the floor. It also caused
16. Me to twist my butt, further hurting my BS. Naturally I was now flat on my back (how did I get there?) looking up at my friends, who all seemed very concerned (why weren’t they laughing their heads off?) This caused
17. Me to pause. Points 12 through 16 had taken all of a half-nanosecond, but had seemed to take place over hours or days. Now time was passing normally once again. I got up and hobbled back to Lock 29. My friends were nice enough to run slow to stay with me. This caused
18. Me to take some more time off, beginning today.

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.