I Thought, Therefore I Was

Rene Decartes walked into a bar and ordered six shots with six beers. The bartender lined them up, but then decided to ask, "are you sure you can drink all these?" Descartes paused, then said, "I think not." And then he immediately disappeared.

I love that one. Last week's long run went well. I managed the distance without mishap, and the old AT didn't hurt overly much afterwards. I began to think that perhaps I'd be able to get through the upcoming Buckeye Trail 50K after all. This week's long run is a different story.

It's mile twenty. This is where the Wall occurs for many runners. After hours of hard effort, a runner's glycogen becomes depleted, often at this point in a race, causing any effort at forward motion to be extremely difficult. Proper nutrition, sensible pacing, not to mention training, can help stave it off. Personally, I run so slow, and tend to my nutritional needs well enough, that I hardly have to worry about the Wall at all.

But this day, it rears it's ugly head. Things had been going fairly much like they had last week: I'd started on the Lester Rail Trail at four and run close to six miles before meeting up with Michelle Wolff, and run about twelve with her, and finally am now just finishing up with six to seven more. The difference between the last run and this one, however, is that this one started out in pain. By now the AT is really killing me. I believe it was Thursday's speedwork that really did me in.

Now I am really hobbling. The nine-thirty to ten-minute pace has suddenly changed to twelve to thirteen minutes per mile. It's like running through thick gelatin, and every time my right foot strikes the ground, I feel that shooting pain. Step, ouch, step, ouch...

The doubts creep in. Can I make it to twenty-four again? Should I even try? And of course, why am I even doing this?

Here are the answers. Yes (I do make it, but slowly), probably not (but I do), and mostly for training in case I still, in spite of everything, want to try BT50K.

At this point, I think not.

But I still haven't ruled it out completely.

It's Now or Never

Partial lyrics from the song, It's Now or Never, by Elvis Presley

It's now or never, come hold me tight
Kiss me my darling, be mine tonight
Tomorrow will be too late
It's now or never, my love won't wait

These lyrics, along with other random thoughts, were going through my head at various times during this morning's run. The now or neverness refers to "training" for the upcoming Buckeye Trail 50K (BT50K). Yes, "training" is in quotes for a reason. It's only three weeks away and I'd sure as heck better get moving - especially by doing 20+ mile runs, of which I've done nearly exactly zero (notwithstanding last week's 18) in the past month and a half. In a recent blog post about Critical Success Factors (CSFs), I pontificated that at least one CSF for being able to complete a 31-mile run is to be able to run at least 20-miles. Today's saga begins at 3:00 AM.

3:00 AM
I'm awake before the 3:40 alarm. Must have had the old internal alarm at an early setting, even considering having been up late babysitting the grand-kids. I'm up drinking coffee and packing for my journey in no time at all. A CSF for long runs is providing oneself enough time to run. And for someone who does not like to be running late into the morning or worse, this means starting early.

4:00 AM
The run has begun; I'm a few minutes into it, on the Lester Rail Trail. I am beginning to think more seriously of making this a 24-miler. 20 would be acceptable, but 24 would be that much better. And I'm on the course where it's happened in the past. It takes four six-mile loops on this trail. Sounds tedious to some, but it usually (when I'm in shape) works out for me, You can call me lots of things these days, but 'in shape' isn't one of them. Guess I will see how it goes. The moon is setting in the west, and it's very pretty.

4:30 AM
The fireflies are making this an enchanted run. I fancy that they're blinking back at my headlamp, but it's more likely that they're just lighting up because they can. I am thoroughly enjoying myself in the dark here. I do need to be sure to save some energy for the later miles. In other words, enjoy, but not so much that I'm speeding up in an unsustainable way.

5:00 AM
Michelle Wolff has joined me as planned. and we're beginning another 6-mile loop. We discuss our (running) plans for the day. She's considering doing two 6-milers, and I've only got three to go. I'd gotten myself some water and gel, removed the headlamp, added a hat, and doused myself with repellent. The sun isn't above the horizon yet, but there's a pretty glow to the northeast.

5:36 AM
"What was that?" asks Michelle. We quickly turn back and retrace a few of our steps on the trail. There, crawling along, is a crayfish that Michelle had nearly stepped on. After discussing lobster dinner, I also wondered out loud if the little guy was running the entire six miles. Michelle mentioned that he may have a tough time with the couple road crossings. Not for the first, or last, time today, I swallow a small bug.

6:05 AM
The craw-dad is still close to where we'd last seen him, but he is still on the move. The 17-Year Cicadas, asleep during my first loop, are now singing away. I also spot a few of them alongside the trail. They're a whole lot of fun.

6:45 AM
Michelle is done. She probably ran around ten miles. I stop to talk before she drives away. I tell her how a fly bit my calf - one of the few areas that I didn't spray. I get some more gel and water before taking off for my final seven and a half.

7:20 AM
I am back at the car once again. I could have simply run by the parking area for my final four and a half, but thought I'd better get even more gel and water. I am still not sure whether 24 is in the cards for me today. It's getting warm, and that doesn't help. At least I'm nearly to 20; I can quite soon if I want. But 24 still beckons. The fuel will help.

8:05 AM
The fuel did indeed help; I made it the entire way. I finish up a bit slower than I started, but all in all this was a pretty good long run.

Home Runs and Critical Success Factors

There was a dearth of major league home runs back in the eighties. It had been several decades since Babe Ruth had hit sixty in one year, and even twenty-plus years since Roger Maris had hit his sixty-one in nineteen sixty-one. The question arose, why can’t any of the players approach those totals anymore.

The answer came back this way. No one can hit sixty home runs anymore because no one can hit fifty.

Yes, the home run kings in those years would hit in the neighborhood of forty-five to forty-eight. Only very occasionally would anyone even get close to fifty.

And then came goosed up balls, smaller parks and, most of all, better chemicals. But that’s another story.

What does this have to do with running, you ask? These questions and their answers come to mind:

Q: Why can’t you run sub 3:20 marathons anymore?
A: Because I can’t run 3:40 marathons.



Q: Why can’t you run 100 miles anymore (I only did once, by the way)?

A: Because I can’t run 100 kilometers anymore.



Q: Why can’t you run 30-mile training runs anymore?

A: Because I can’t run 20-mile training runs.

This gets into the area of Critical Success Factors. A Critical Success Factor for completion of the Buckeye Trail 50K (BT50K) is to be able to run twenty miles. Since RTR, I haven’t been doing long runs. In fact, I’ve hardly been running at all. Part of this is due to vacation, part to the illness. And then there’s always the Achilles Tendonitis. We’ll always have AT.

Yesterday, with BT50K looming less than a month away, I decided that it was now or never for a long run. Long is, as always, a relative term. I’ve always considered 18 miles, or roughly 30K to be the minimum to be considered a run long. I didn’t have a great deal of time; I’d have to hoof it just a bit. Did I manage to get at least 18?

Yes. The run was not half bad. It could otherwise be called a success.

Of course the AT is worse than ever. But that’s another story.

Epic

What makes a run an epic? There can be no doubt that epic is in the mind of the beholder. For any runner, some runs will be epic whilst some will be ordinary. With these thoughts in mind, here is a list of attributes that may make a run into an epic run.

 

1. It has to be long. Certainly there have been some great 100-meter races, run by some great runners. Maybe you can call some of these runs epic. But I can’t. In my mind, the run has to go on for some length to be epic. Of course distance is relative.
2. It has to be difficult. Of course as we age, more and more regular runs begin to become difficult ones. Like distance, general level of difficulty will always be a relative thing.
3. It has to be unique in some way. Maybe a new distance, a new time, or simply a challenge that’s new in some way. As with distance and difficulty, eve uniqueness is relative.
4. It has to be storied. This is the very definition of epic, “a long poem, typically one derived from ancient oral tradition, narrating the deeds and adventures of heroic or legendary figures or the history of a nation.” You guessed it: even story-ness is relative.

 

There you have it. If a run is long enough, difficult enough, unique enough, then of course there will be stories about it. Therefore, of course, number four is the most important.  Did I also mention that the items in the list are relative? What’s epic for me may not be for you, and vice versa.

 

Having said all this, my Rock the Ridge 50-Mile run was epic almost any way you slice it. I’m sure there are runners out there for whom RTR would only have been a walk in the woods. But for most of us, it would probably be nearly as epic as it gets.

 

It does get a bit more problematic with everyday runs. Some of my runs in Europe were pretty darn cool. Up and down along the Danube, two loops around Lake Bled; those were epic, or nearly so. But then there’s everyday runs at home.

 

RTR was only a bit over a month ago. I anticipated easing up afterwards, especially with the two weeks of travel that followed; I simply didn’t expect to run much at all in Europe, much less do any runs of the epic variety.

 

But it was worse than that. I got sick during the trip. It was a sinus infection that got progressively worse the longer we (Debbie had it too) stayed. Then it got worse still after I arrived home. After a dose of antibiotics, and some pain management for my continuing Achilles Tendonitis problem, I’m finally back to running again.

 

But I lost a lot of fitness. A real lot. Now a ten-mile run, something that as little as a month and a half ago was a something I at for breakfast, might be epic. In fact, yesterday’s ten – the usual park bike-trail variety of a run, could be considered epic: it was long (relatively so), difficult (much more than it should have been), unique (it had been over a month and a half) and (now) storied.

 

Epic is as epic does.

Running in Southeast Central (Europe)

Southeast Central is my own description for this part of the planet. It includes the destinations we traveled to during this trip: Austria, Slovenia and Croatia. We also visited Slovakia, Bosnia and Montenegro, but I didn’t run in those places.

Vienna, Austria

It’s 4:45 AM. I turn left out of the Hilton Danube to run Northwest along the river. There are nice all-purpose trails adjacent to the river, as well as everywhere else around Vienna. It’s a little over a mile to the first bridge, but instead of going across the river, I turn left to go into the city center area. A couple miles later, I come back, and this time I do cross the bridge.

There’s a long, narrow island in the river. Most of the bridges pass over it to get to the other side, but I was able to exit the bridge onto the island for some further running. Actually, quite a bit further. I turn left, further away from the hotel, intending to get to the end of the island before turning back.

I never make it. It’s a very nice serene place that has almost no  development, but after going on and on and on, I finally decide that enough is enough and turn back to go home. I had determined earlier that ten miles was all I’d have time for today, and this should just about do it.

It does. I run back on the other side – the island can’t be more than a quarter-mile wide – and I head home. It was such a nice quiet run along the Danube that I don’t know whether any of my subsequent runs on this trip will be as good.


Lake Bled, Slovenia

I use the words beautiful, serene and scenic enough in my travel blog, so I’ll try not to do so as much here.

It’s around 4:30 AM, and I’m out running around the lake. It’s beautiful, serene and scenic. There. I failed already. But it’s mostly just serene in the early morning darkness; the beautiful scenery came as it began to get light.

Which it did by the end of my first time wound the lake. Slovenia, it seems, is just beginning to wake up, and it’s great. My Garmin tells me that it was 3.7 miles around, so I take off again, this time in the opposite, clockwise direction.

This time I make it back much faster – at least a minute or so. Now I’ve got to do another two and a half to make it ten for the day. What to do? Run up to the castle on the cliff, of course.

I didn’t make it all the way up; it was time to head back. But I did walk up later on, as part of an afternoon hike around the lake with Debbie.

My two laps around Lake Bled

Plitvice Lakes, Croatia

Not feeling too well, but wanting to get a quick run in, I venture out and am immediately hit by the crisp, ice-cold air. I can hear the falls all around (there are thousands), but I don’t see them since I am only running on the road – it’s still a little dark to wander onto the trails. I don’t get too far, but at least I can say I ran in Plitvice.


Hvar, Croatia

Hvar is an island in the Adriatic Sea, not far from the Dalmation coast. It’s still a little cool, and I am still not feeling well – now I have an earache to go along with the sore throat. But today things is a little better, so out I go. I go into Hvar town, around a few bends, and then back. At two plus miles, it’s better than the other day, and better than not running at all. And I even managed to take a few photos.

Running in HvVillage

I get out for another run on Hvar the next day. It’s another beauty of a day, but once again, I don’t get too hvar.

Hvar Marina

Dubrovnik!

The exclamation was added by poetic license! I’m out the door at five. I am still (!) not feeling all that well, but at least this hotel has coffee.

Dubrovnik is a medieval walled city at the southern tip of Croatia's Dalmation Coast. It's a stunning location.

I’m not all that confident of finding my way around here. It’s a complicated place, with jumbles of streets all over the durn place. I do know that we’re a few miles away from the old walled city itself, but there’s a little bit of sprawl here. I decide to make for the old city, just to say I got there (and hopefully back).

The worst problem is that our hotel is not on the map that I have. I’m therefore not entirely sure where I’m starting out from. Once I do get moving, however, I do see some landmarks that are indeed on the charts. It turns out that it’s not so difficult – I run just to the city wall, and then back, for a total of six hilly miles. Not too bad.

In addition to that slightly sub-epic run to the city walls and back, I do get out for a couple other shorter runs in Dubrovnik.


Zagreb, Croatia

I am finally feeling a little better, and I'm ready for a decent run today. Maybe even good. But probably not epic. Epic will have to wait for another trip, or at least another day.

Out the door of the Westin Zagreb, I head south, away from the Old Town. We'd done a lot of walking there, and I thought it was a little too congested for running. South would take me to the river, and possibly some nice paths.

Zagreb is our last stop, and today is the day we will be flying back home. Our trip has been enjoyable, and we've seen many great sights.

After nearly two miles, I do reach the river, and turn west. There are indeed some nice paths, but before long I come to a 400 meter track. I turn in and do a couple laps. As expected, my pace improves. But the paths along the river are so inviting that I exit the track and continue running west.

By now it's about 6:30 AM, and other than on the main drag, I've only seen a handful of people. This seems strange, but after running in other parts of Central Europe, and many other parts of the planet, it's not unexpected; some people simply sleep longer in the morning.

As I'm beginning to think about turning back, I reach a lake, and naturally begin to circumnavigate the thing. The thing, however, turns out to be bigger than it had originally appeared, and I begin to worry about getting to far away from home.

I turn back and return mostly the way I came. It was a very nice 7.5 mile run. Yes, nice; maybe even good. But not epic. Just like my other runs on this trip.


Also, please check out my travel blog post for this trip. You will enjoy it... And that's guaranteed.

as expected

Isn't it nice when things work out the way you expect? I sure think so. In fact, predictability makes up a large part of my job responsibilities. As you undoubtedly expect, joy of fulfilled expectation applies to running as well.




All too often, I begin a morning run with certain performance related hopes, goals and expectations, only to be disappointed. A slower pace, reduced distance or sometimes some kind of pain often get in the way.




But not today. Or even yesterday. Both yesterday's speedwork and today's new subs 11 miler went just as I wanted them to. And even through the AT is still talking to me (I had a lot of pain after RTR), I am fairly well pleased with  myself, thank you.

Rock the Ridge

I’ve always loved this video of runners at the Western States 100-Mile and other mountain ultramarathons. I may never do the ones shown, but I am inspired to run in beautiful and challenging places.

Debbie and I at check-in

And I have. It’s been my good fortune to have had the opportunity to experience running in some wonderful locations, some of which are even close to home. Mohonk Preserve and adjoining Minnewaska State Park in New York, home to Rock the Ridge, would prove to be second to none in terms of spectacular beauty and overall challenge. This video shows it off well.

My friend Linda Rafalski first called my attention to the race when she told me that her son Doug had signed up for Rock the Ridge and asked if I’d be running it too. I provided my usual response to nearly all questions these days: “Huh? What’s that?” But I did look into it and quickly became fascinated.

Fast forward through months of training and anticipation to race day. Doug, who came up from Philadelphia, had an entourage of family and friends to support him, and I had wife Debbie. Debbie would spend the day with the Rafalski clan, and that would make things easier, especially if Doug and I would be running fairly close to one another.

RTR Trail Map

Back to the challenge. Here are some actual excerpts, that I am absolutely not making up, from the course description:

• By the time you’ve finally caught your breath from the climb up Lenape Lane, you’ll meet with another one – this time up and over Guyot Hill … the route steers toward (and then past) the remarkable Bonticou Crag, a rock formation that is perhaps the most noted in the Preserve, and a veritable treat for the eyes.
• As you leave Spring Farm, you will climb yet again, first somewhat steeply, and then more gradually. … you’re now heading south toward the lands of the Mohonk Mountain House, where you’ll ascend to the Skytop Tower, the highest point in the first half of the course, and arguably the most scenic viewpoint of anywhere along the Shawangunk Ridge.
• As you stop to experience the beauty of the most scenic waterfall in the ‘Gunks, take a few deep breaths, as it is time to begin the most difficult climb of the entire Rock The Ridge course. From the base of the falls you will climb over 400 feet in less than one mile to the shoreline of Lake Minnewaska. Just smile and remind yourself how much you love hills.
• And with that climb accomplished, suffice it to say that the best is yet to come, as you will spend the next four miles ascending another 500 vertical feet to Castle Point. Along the way, you will drink in another brief view of Lake Minnewaska before gradually seeing more and more of the eye-popping views of the Palmaghatt Ravine, Gertrude’s Nose, Hamilton Point, and the Lower Hudson Valley 30 miles in the distance.

None of that, the challenging climbs or the scenic beauty, was exaggerated. The entire event was very much as advertised.

Gatehouse before the start  Greg Rafalski photo

The start from the historic Gatehouse was great, as was the initial tree-lines lane. Soon the climb began. After a couple uphill miles, I began to walk the steeper sections, trying to conserve energy, as Doug ran up ahead. I knew he’d trained hard, but I didn’t know whether running hard up these initial hills would take too much out of him. And even though I was slowing, I wasn’t so sure about my own ability to continue with this much vertacality.

The start  Greg Rafalski photo

I continued up the “carriage roads”, which are surfaced with crushed stone and are narrow for roads but wide for trails. They’re fairly soft and not technical, so they make a really great running surface. And the weather could not have been better: it was partly to mostly cloudy and seasonably cool for late April.

I saw Doug at the first aid station, but then I lingered, trying to fortify myself for more climbing. I eventually made it up to Skytop tower. Although I’d been admiring the great views all the way up, this was simply spectacular. I could see nearly the entire ridgeline, and also Mohonk Lake, the famous Mohonk Mountain House, and Minnewaska State Park in the distance. Someone later told me that several different states could also be viewed from here.

There were some gentle downhill sections before the course leveled out a bit. A little past half-way I entered Minnewaska State park, where I’d be running for the next 13 or so miles before returning to Mohonk Preserve. I looked at my watch, and determined that I was averaging a bit over ten minutes per mile.

Awosting Falls  Greg Rafalski photo

After famous Awosting Falls, there was more serious climbing. I saw Debbie and the Rafalski crew at about mile 27. That was a sight for very sore eyes. They would stay here to see us after we looped around Minnewaska and were heading back. Debbie told me that Doug looked great. I, by implication, I said, looked like crap! This thing is uphill the whole way, was all I could say.

Just after some aid  Debbie Horvath photo

There was more climbing yet to be done. This entire ascent, begun around the 22-mile mark, continued past mile 30, where I reached Castle Point. Like the Skytop Tower climb, this one was also beautiful the entire way up, but the panoramic scenery at the top was about as spectacular. And at about 2,600 feet above sea level, this was the highest point on the course. It occurred to me that I would now descend about 2,300 feet in these final 19 miles. Except, that is, for one more smaller ascent at mile 45 and the uphill final mile. No worries, thought I. The tough part is done.

Doug at Castle Point  Greg Rafalski photo

My pace improved a great deal, now that I was back back down and around this nine-mile loop. I saw Doug ahead of me for a couple miles, and we wound up at the 36-mile aid station at about the same time. There we were able to see, and get assistance from, our joint crew, for the second and final time. Debbie informed me that I looked better now.

The great scenery continued as I returned into Mohonk and ran along the rock climbing area. As I reached mile 40, my Garmin watch informed me that the battery was low. It died completely in a couple miles. Doug and I were now running together for the first time since the early miles. I was my usual talkative self, even talking about being talkative. Doug indicated that he preferred silence, so I shut up.

The ascent at mile 45 was tougher than expected. I slowed, and then walked, and watched as Doug floated away. That was okay, I thought; I would recover and pick it back up again, as I’d done time and again during this run. Those final five mostly downhill miles would be a piece of cake.

I did pick it back up, and I felt great doing it. I grew stronger and stronger and finished with a super sprint. I was thrilled with the relatively fast overall time. After the run, I was only a little sore.

Absolutely nothing that was said in those previous four sentences is remotely true. After Doug pulled away, I struggled mightily to get up that big hill at mile 45. It seemed to take forever. I was so sore and beat up that I was incapable of running smoothly again when the course did begin to take me back down. I wound up doing a painful ultramarathon shuffle for virtually all of those final five miles. It was indeed wonderful to finish, and especially to see Debbie and everyone else – Debbie even ran a little with me as I came in. But that time – 9:02 – was painfully slow. Doug (who done really great for a first ultra!) and Paul, a guy I’d run with most of the way, finished at about 8:39, a time I would have been very happy with. What a difference a strong finish makes!

The Finish!    Debbie Horvath photo

Now my Achilles Tendonitis is as bad as it’s ever been, and I think that may have been a major factor in my poor final miles, as it contributed to the shuffling. I can only hope that this latest AT setback won’t hang around too very long.

Overall, Rock the Ridge was a fantastic experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. It was every bit worth the effort to run in this beautiful and challenging place.

The Hay is in the Barn

I have heard this phrase before, also in relation to having done the training but waiting for the race to happen. And happen it will: Rock the Ridge will occur a week from today.

Multiple weeks with totals above seventy miles - check. Back to back long runs - check. Some hill training (but maybe not enough - check. One more medium-long run on the towpath with friends - should be checked in a couple hours. Race started and completed - no check just yet.

Check back with me in a week.

Attack From Above

It was only a mile and a half into my run. I was on the all-purpose trail, deep in the woods, minding my own business. And then I felt a little scratching on the top of my head. Instantly, several thoughts occurred to me:

• That felt a little strange. It was like someone was playing a trick on me.
• Was it a branch? It felt like one. But (after a quick look around), I realized it wasn't.
• I quickly looked around and above, and I saw it. An owl!

Now since I was wearing a hat, and since it was only a little scratch anyway, I would suffer no permanent damage. But Mr. Owl did spook me a little. It landed in a nearby tree as I shined my headlamp his way. Then it took off and swooped down at me again! As you may imagine, I hightailed it out of there.


I made it out of the woods alive. The strange thing is this:


It was the second time I was attacked by that guy (or gal). The first was a year ago when I was running in the same area, also donning a hat and headlamp. That time I didn't see the owl, but something rearranged the hat and headlamp enough to make it shine sideways. Since, as with this time, there were no nearby low branches, I could only conclude that it was the owl.


And the even stranger thing is this:


It was the second time within the week that I'd encountered an Attack From Above. The first time had actually only been a couple days ago. There was some planning, and some cause and effect involved.


To prepare for my upcoming Rock the Ridge 50-Mile run, I had originally planned to do back-to-back 20-Mile runs for this past weekend. It had been a long time since I'd done anything like that, but it seemed like a good idea. Further, the first long run could be on the towpath in Brecksville or Peninsula before work on Saturday, and the second could be the 20-Mile Drop, a race I'd done last year. Unfortunately, the weather got in the way.


Several days out, I began to notice that the forecast did not look to be conducive to comfortable long runs: Heavy snow was predicted for Saturday, and extreme cold (for April, or actually for anytime) was predicted for Sunday.


I changed my plans. Instead of taking Friday off, I ran that day, managing to get enough miles in to make my 70 for the week. I would take Saturday off, and did not register for Sunday's race, (re)planning instead to run long close to home. It's often the drive that's more of a concern than the run when the weather's nasty.


Sure enough, Saturday's snow was indeed heavy. Did I mention that this was April? Per my revised plan, I didn't run. The snow was beginning to subside as I drove to work. I was on route 82 in North Royalton, heading under the Ohio Turnpike overpass, when I noticed a snowplow on the bridge above. Little bits of snow were falling over the edge of the bridge, onto 82, and I realized, too late to do anything, that it would also fall on my car. Had I thought quick enough, I would have stopped just before the bridge, letting the plough go by first. But I didn't think that quick.


The snow and debris did indeed fall on my car. Only a little at first, but then a lot. A real lot. Right on my windshield. Enough to bust it up badly on the passenger side.


Enough attacks from above now. Enough!

The Joy of Failure

There have been instances where I go out for a run with high hopes for a great, or at least a good performance, but for some reason the thing ends as a miserable failure. I revel in these Miscarriages.




I've posted about training failures before: as far back as 2007, and as recently as a week ago. Of course some of my races turn out to be stinkers too.




But not all that many. Most races turn out more or less the way I expect them to. Chalk it up to experience, preparation, or what have you. Actually, I do have something: allowing for failures during training so that they (hopefully) do not occur during races. So an occasional stinker of a training run truly doesn't bother me... Just so it doesn't happen too often.




On the other hand, it's a real confidence booster when a run is beginning to turn south, but I'm able to somehow right the ship. This was the case for Sunday's long run on the Lester Rail Trail. I started extremely slow, then picked it up nicely for the middle miles as Will Bertemes and Harold Dravenstott joined me, and then struggled mightily to get the final 6 of the 24 on my own. Yet I did manage to get through them. I paid the physical price the rest of the day, but that was a small price to pay for the added reassurance that I can do it when I need to.




Wednesday's run was definitely more of the letdown variety. I ventured into the dark park with a plan to do my usual 10-mile route. A good solid pace, despite the hills would have been nice. But I started so slow on the downhill section, that I was never able to recover. I only did 6, and I was happy when it was over. Today's run was better.




Only a month to go now. Rock the Ridge is just around the corner.

When Does it Get Easier?

I am fond of telling new runners who lament the difficulty of running only a few miles that it gets easier. I lie. After over forty years of running, I'm still waiting for this to occur.

Got my second consecutive 70-mile week in. Now I only have about four more to go before Rock the Ridge. Hey, maybe at some point it really will get easier... Nah!

Anatomy of a Bonk

In my mind, a critical success factor for the successful completion of a 50-Mile race such as Rock the Ridge is to run a lot. I define a lot as several consecutive 70-Mile weeks, beginning about.... wait for it... now! Am I making the grade, you ask?

For 70-Mile week numbero uno (which was actually last week), I did a 21+, an 8+, three consecutive days of my fairly hilly park 10-Milers, topped off by a 10 from home on Friday. Saturday would be off to spend time with the family as Valerie is visiting.

I started those 10 started fairly slowly, but then a funny thing happened: I got slower and slower so that by the end of the run, I was barely crawling. I figured that I had done something that I hadn't done in a while: I bonked. This was likely due to following my fast diet the two previous days and getting relatively few calories before heading out, not to mention still recovering from the change to daylight savings time. But I made it; I capped off a slow week with an even slower Friday run. Yes, 70-Mile week number one was in the books.

Today would be different. I needed a 20-mile long run. Didn't I? Aren't long runs part of the same critical success factor of running a lot? Yeah, I think so too.

This time it didn't happen. I crashed again, but worse this time. Why, you ask? Probably too much fun and merry-making with the family. Sort of the exact opposite of Friday's bonk. I'll call it an un-bonk.

So now with a 10 instead of a 20 today, I'll have to step things up for the rest of this week. Time to start the big push.

The Stars in Alignment

Three runners, let’s call them Runner F, Runner M and Runner D, are part way through their Hinckley 9-mile loop in the early morning darkness. They’re admiring the stars, and Runner D mentions that he had attended a Star Trek concert with his Trekkie of a son-in-law last night. He consequently didn’t get as much sleep as he’d have liked. He also notes that he plans to become even more sleep deprived tonight as the hour is lost due to the shift to daylight savings time.

Runner F asks the name of the bright star that’s directly in the west. Runner M answers that Runner D will probably say it’s Venus. Runner D, who truly didn’t need anyone to answer in his behalf (but also truly didn’t mind), corrects Runner M, explaining that Venus can only be in the east in the morning, or in the west in the evening. He goes on to speculate that the “star” is probably indeed a planet, just a different one; probably Jupiter.

A couple days prior, the stars came into alignment for Runner D, as he went ahead, gulp, and registered for Rock the Ridge… By Jove!

Green Jewel: I Was Having a Great Run, and Then THIS Happened…

Did that Subject get your attention? Hope so.

I’m heading southeast on the Valley Parkway, approaching Royalton Road, also known as Ohio Route 82. It’s roughly 20 miles into the Green Jewel 50K (GJ), and I’m having a great day. Amongst the GJ road crossings, however, this may be the busiest of the lot.

I can see the traffic signal from well over a half mile away. As I get a bit closer, I begin to think about timing my approach so that I can cross on green with little or no waiting. I know that if I were to just miss it, I’d have to wait an eternity (well, maybe 2 or 3 minutes, and I know – that’s nothing compared with the 5 hours or so that I’ll be out here – but it’ll sure seem like an eternity).

As I get to within a third, then a quarter mile from the signal, I am upset to see that it’s still red. I had been hoping beyond hope that it would go through a red-green-red cycle, with me arriving just as it changes to green again. But no, it’s staying red. This means I have to run even faster to try to make it on the next green, rather than the next to the next green.

It’s 200 yards, then 100 yards away, and I’m sprinting. At about 25 yards, it finally changes to green, but I have to keep sprinting in order to make it across before it changes back to red.

It happens just as I enter the intersection: I zig, but my left knee zags. It’s a sudden, extremely painful twist, as the knee seems to get off its normal tracking. I scream out in pain, but I don’t think anyone hears – the closest humans are in their cars, waiting for the signal to change (which it does as I limp up onto the opposite side). I’m sure that was by far my fastest quarter-mile in quite a long time, and up until the twist and shout, I had been actually enjoying it. Now, with 11 miles to go, would I be able to finish at all, much less in a respectable time?

With Michelle Wolff at the start. Yes, I know:
the tights.                        Shari Geiger photo

This my 3^rd GJ 50K, and I also completed the only GJ 100K. Those other two had been in the 4:30 range, and I have no illusions of running that fast today; I only want to complete it at a steady pace. Okay, if you put the thumb screws on, a sub 5-hour time would be nice, but really, I am focused on that steady pace thing. At the start I tell Michelle Wolff that if I can complete this GJ without crashing, I’ll register for Rock the Ridge, a 50-miler in New York State.

I mentioned that I had been having a great day. I am averaging about 9 minutes a mile, and I’ve actually been picking that pace up since around mile 14. Perhaps it was a tad early to begin my Final Sprint to the Finish.

At about 27F at the start, the air felt cool, but really not all that cold. There was some snow, and a couple slick spots in the early miles, but this isn’t all that awful either. There would be no weather excuses today. I’m more intent on enjoying this annual romp through Cleveland’s wonderful Metroparks.

 

About half-way             John Pavlick photo

After crossing 82, things go downhill fast. Well, that’s not quite literally true; the course is actually gaining in elevation, and with the occasional shooting pain, I am no longer running fast.

I am walking up the biggest hill, the one heading up to the Ridge Road crossing, and I’m walking pretty darn slowly. I stop at the aid station and take my time getting nutrition and fluids. As if that’s going to make any difference. As I begin to run again, my knee continues to come undone – tracking off its normal forward type of motion, and giving me shooting pain. In my more lucid moments – and those are becoming fewer and farther between – I realize that with about an hour and ten minutes to run 7 miles,  a sub 5-hour finish is in jeopardy. I have no idea why that time is suddenly such a priority. It wasn't so a while back, when I was on a 4:40 pace.

After more, but smaller hills, I reach Broadview Road, the highest point in Cuyahoga County, and therefore also on the GJ course. I’ve still got nearly 5 miles to go, but now that I’m on some gentle downhills, I’m doing better. I am also finding that running on the right side of the road (most of the course is on all-purpose trail, but this is an extended road part) feels better on the knee. Too bad I also have to dodge the traffic and the construction crew (they’re extending said trail).

My pace has improved to better than ten minutes a mile again, and the knee pain continues to subside, as I cross Brecksville Road, Ohio Route 21. I know that this final mile and a half is steeply downhill, and I approach with a fair amount of trepidation. What would this do to my knee? To top things off, I still have very little margin of error for that sub-5. Yes, I'm aware that this is pretty insane. Bear with me, please.

In spite of the inherent risk, I pick up the pace and run my two fastest miles of the day – without any knee pain at all! I cross the line in 4:56 – good for a 9:30 overall pace - and I’m quite happy with it.

George Themelis photo

So what to do about Rock the Ridge? I said I wanted steady, and didn’t get it; I had about 25 really good miles, and about 6 awful ones. But it was encouraging that the last four were some of the better ones. I guess I’ll sleep on it.

Almost a Long Run by Accident

"Don't run for a week."





That's what the nurse told me after I asked when I'd be able to run or do any major exercise like running again after the dental surgery I was having on Friday. Like any reasonably smart kid, I went with the philosophy that if you don't get the answer you like from one adult figure, ask another one. And so I asked the doctor; he said, "give it the weekend before you run again."




Precise definitions of when weekends begin and end are, in my estimation, rather amorphous. At least when it suits me. It was a nice weekend, and I had not run on Saturday. By Sunday, I just had to get out.



I heard that some of my friends were starting their run early. The later 7:30 AM run was to be of the Medina Half Marathon course. The early bunch were going to add six or so extra miles on the front end of that. Being of the early morning sort anyway, I thought I'd try for those first six, and then call it a day. Oh, maybe I'd do a couple more to just begin the Half course, but only if I felt well. Still just two days post-surgery, I thought I'd better not overdo things.


"How's your breathing, Dan?" asked Harold Dravenstott during those early and too fast miles. "Ughhh," was about all I could get out. But then I settled down a bit, and felt almost human by the time we were finishing those first six.




Big Group at the Gazebo before the start of the Half Course Run         Beth Anne Photo

Now it was time for the rest of the gang to begin the Half course run. It was a big group, and I thought, what the heck, I'll go out for a just few more. I ran some more with Harold, and also Theresa Wright and Will Bertemes. Although not as warm as Saturday, Sunday was a good day to run; bright and sunny, not very windy, and cool temperatures. I was certainly enjoying the camaraderie, as well as the day in general.

At some point I realized that I was pretty far into the course. Far enough, in fact, that I may as well run the whole thing. Will and I did miss one turn, and this resulted in a quicker than expected return to Medina Square.

But that was okay. I got 17.99 miles in (18 being what I consider a long run), so it was almost long. And it certainly was by accident.

Running with Theresa Wright and Friends Early on          Jim Blake Photo

Running with Harold Dravenstott by Medina Lake            Jim Blake Photo

The Kid WILL Stop Talking About Himself, but First This About His Recent Running

No one really wants to hear The Kid talk about himself so much, so he's going to stop. Really. Except that he does want to say this first (Notice he's not saying when he will stop).

The Kid is up at 3:30 AM. That's not too unusual. He had decided the night before not to run outside in the cold today, and had promptly gone to bed at 8:30 PM. It is unusual for The Kid to miss a Sunday run in the hills of Hinckley, but he really didn't want to fight the sub-zero temperatures today.

Last Sunday, The Kid did manage to run two of the infamous 9-Mile Hinckley loops. That actually went quite well for him. He was also gratified to be joined by so many of his running friends doing this or that in beautiful Hinckley.

The rest of the week consisted of a couple quite lousy outside runs in the snow, and some treadmill speedwork on days when the snow was even worse. The Kid had managed to stay off the mill for almost all of the mild winter, but this week had been a little different.

And so was today. Today called for a long run, and it had been years (yes, years) since The Kid had run long on the mill. Way back, way, way back, he had run as much as 24 miles on the mill, and he thought he'd try it again today.

He gets the brand-new pair of Mizuno Wave Riders out of the box. The Kid absolutely loves Wave Riders. He starts up his movie, Black Hat, and begins running. Within the first mill mile, The Kid realizes that he's seen this movie before. Well that wasn't very smart. Good thing he has a backup movie, Ex Machina.

This movie isn't bad, and neither is The Kid's run. He makes it to 24, and he's not too much the worse for wear.

And maybe he'll go on talking about himself a little while longer.

Is The Kid Narcisstic? Nah - He's Too Important for That

Astute readers will notice that some of the posts in this blog involve The Kid referring to himself in Third Person prose, like he does in this recent post. This is sometimes taken as a sign of narcissism. But it's not always bad news; sometimes it's a good thing.


In any event, the kid is not a Narcissist. Really.

The Kid is Fine.. Really.

The Kid announces that he needs to stop into the porta-potty that's conveniently located half-way through the famous Hinckley 9-mile loop. "Don't wait for me," he says, not for the first time on this particular run. His running friends didn't listen the other times; contrary to his request, they waited for him at the top of Bellus Road hill, and also at the top of County Line Road hill. This time he really means it.


They don't wait this time, but they do drop the, "Are you okay?" question. And that's not for the first time either. "I'm fine," the Kid tells them. And that's not for the first time either.


The Kid is getting over a cold, and he's been coughing up gunk at times during this run. He doesn't think he's relapsing, but one never knows. He sounds worse than he feels.


Yesterday's long run in Medina saw more coughing, more, "Are you okay?" questions, and more "I'm fine" answers. But that one was 20 plus miles, at a pace much, much faster than the Kid is used to. Of course he was going to cough. Today, he's merely still recovering.


So for the last time, the Kid is fine.. Really.

Porta-Party

Today was the day the Hinckley 9-mile loop course record, originally co-held by yours truly, would fall. A group of fast kids planned to run at 8:00 AM with the goal to take that record down. But first some of us early-birds had to get their 6:00 AM Sunday morning constitutional in.

Speaking of constitutionals, there's the matter of the portable toilet in the Hinckley Spillway parking lot. We all wear plenty of reflective material as well as bright flashing lights of all colors. The better to see and be seen by drivers whilst running on the roads around the park. Some of the lighting has just about gotten out of hand however. One person wears flashing lights that are so bright they're nearly blinding. I wondered if it takes a small portable nuclear power plant to supply the electricity. When said runner entered the porta-potty, from the outside was so well lit, it looked like a porta-party!

Porta-Party!

And yes, the record did indeed fall. Several runners made it under the old 1:07 mark, with Renee Harden turning in the fastest time of 1:02.

I can only rest assured that my other record, the number of times this loop has been run, is pretty safe at the moment. I believe it's somewhere between 170 and 200. I could check, but I won't just now.

The early birds along with the fast bunch

He Tasks Me

I recently watched Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan again for the first time. I had forgotten how good that movie is. Considering all the Trek flicks, it's certainly the best of the bunch. There are at least two quintessential Star Trekky and quite memorable lines. One occurs when Khan cunningly traps Kirk in the center of a planet. Kirk tries desperately to find a way out, telling Khan that he will have to come and get him. But Khan answers, "I've done far worse than kill you. I've hurt you. And I wish to go on... hurting you. I shall leave you as you left me, as you left her. Marooned for all eternity, in the center of a dead planet... buried alive. Buried alive." As a result,  all Kirk can do is yell, at the top of his lungs, KHAN!. The other memorable line occurs as Khan is thinking out loud about how Kirk Tasks him. Please do click at least that last link. I'll wait...

Okay, welcome back. Now of course you're wondering, "Who tasks you, Dan?" Well that's easy.  It's my running coach, Sven. Sven, by the way, is invisible.

It seems as though Sven's been tasking me more lately. Said tasking has involved 60-mile weeks through the thick and thin of January in Northeast Ohio. It's involved slogging through snow like I did for several runs last week, and trying to keep up with the fast kids today. It's even involved staying off the treadmill and getting outside as much as humanly possible in January in Northeast Ohio.

On Thursday, Sven had me run 10 miles in the park through a couple inches of new fallen snow. It actually took me two hours to accomplish that feat, and it was tough. Yet I enjoyed that winter wonderland run as much as any I've done in a long time. I followed that up with 13 from home in much milder weather on Friday.

It was today, Sunday, that Sven tasked me the most. At least the most in the last couple weeks. He had me show up at Hinckley to run with the fast kids: Frank Dwyer, Caitlin Oblander and Debbie Scheel. Frank seemed well-rested as usual, but recovering run-aholic Caitlin and super-mileage specialist Debbie ran well despite other recent running. Recent running, that is, of the fast variety.

It was a good thing that they all took it easy on me. They politely waited at the top of Effie and the other Hinckley Hills, and didn't even complain when I launched my usual silly stories. Those were fewer this time around however, because I was pretty anaerobic today.

All in all, it wasn't a bad day: I did a 3-mile lake loop, the usual 9, then another lake loop and a couple more with Debbie.

I think Sven is happy with me... For now.

After the run with the other kids, another bunch showed up, and I managed to photo-bomb their picture. Jeanne Ineman photo