Post-Op

 

So far, so good. I am told that the surgery went well, and now comes the recovery. It's not easy getting around and being careful, but maybe I'll get used to it.

Last Run... (for a while)

I was thinking that yesterday's run would be my last before tomorrow's surgery. I met up with an old friend, Dave Gajewski, and we had a chance to catch up on a lot of things. Surprisingly, when I awoke this morning, I felt like I was ready to run again. Now, this would be my last run before submitting to the knife.

Besides the usual joy of running and getting outside to enjoy nature and getting myself into some kind of shape (better to say keeping myself from getting into worse shape), I had another incentive to get out today. The Moon was full, and it was a blood-orange supermoon, and it was about to be eclipsed by the Earth's shadow. I was aware that it may be obscured by clouds, and even if not, most of the eclipse wouldn't occur until after the Moon had set in these parts.

But it was worth a shot. I could indeed see the Moon, low in the Southwest, as I began my run at 5:00 AM. For the best viewing of the setting moon, I ran to the highest place with the best visibility I could think of: St. Ambrose Church and School. It's adjacent to Brunswick's two water towers, a clue as to its relative elevation. Clouds came and went at times, obscuring the view. But every time I thought it may be gone for good, it would reappear. Each time I saw it, it was more orange. And of course closer to the horizon.

It was pretty cool to watch it set. I couldn't really tell whether the eclipse was visible or not because of the dancing clouds. But it was cool, nonetheless.

After the show, it was back to running. I could just run the two miles back home, but instead, I explored some of the city streets to the East of the church. I'd been on some of those roads before, but not often and definitely not recently.

Eventually, I wound up on Hadcock, and then headed back to the West via Keller-Hanna. By the time I got home, it was time to get ready for my MRI. I was happy to get these slow and easy six and a half in. I hope I'll be able to run again, and the sooner the better.

I can't accept credit for this photo; I found it on the internet. But it IS the way the Moon looked today.

AT Surgery

A little over seven years ago, I began to experience pain in the back of my heel. Of course running seemed to be the cause, but walking and even driving also appear to be culprits. Since then, the pain has subsided at times, but a lot of driving, as well as intense or long runs often bring it back in full swing. It’s always there at some level.

It was diagnosed as Achilles Tendinitis. Over these years, I tried all kinds of non-invasive medical treatments, acupuncture, physical therapy, taping, and a variety of drugs and ointments (ibuprofen works best). Nothing seems to work completely. Even when I don’t run, I still experience pain from walking or driving. Of course, when I do run, the pain is that much worse, mostly afterward.

Being sick and tired of hobbling so much, I’ve decided to get surgery to try to fix the problem. It’s next week. I’m told to expect a recovery of about nine months. I hope that after that, I will be able to run again. Maybe even pain-free.

To my running friends, it’ll be like I am in quarantine again. I’ll miss you all.

Fragrant

Fragrant. That's the word to describe today's run. No, not me. I'm talking about the wildflowers along Lester Rail Trail, lending their scents to any runners who happen by.

~

As it happens, there are some runners on LRT today. They appear to be Harold Dravenstott, Andy Wolff, Michelle Wolff, and Dan Horvath. The sun comes and goes, as clouds move in and out. There's some misty rain, and then other bright times. Harold has to leave, and then later on the Wolffs do as well. Dan is all alone.

This is almost like old times, thinks Dan. He used to do extra miles - more than anyone else, and he's doing so now, he thinks. But then reality occurs. His Achilles tendon makes itself known with the beginnings of what Dan knows will lead to the usual big-time pain. And the other reality is that this run will only be, at most, twelve miles, as opposed to one of Dan's long runs of 18-20. He hasn't done anything like that in months and months. But he's reasonably happy with today's twelve. Even that is the most in several months. 

As he's finishing up. the pain is coming on strong. And it does indeed assert itself even more on the ride home.

Dan tries to think about the fragrant flowers instead.

Over it (the personal reasons)

In an earlier post, I expressed the practical reasons why I wouldn't take back the NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run (NC24) Race Director duties. I finished that post off by saying that "my life has changed, and I've moved on." I thought I'd talk a little bit more about that moving-on statement.

Northeast Ohio is home to a wonderful and accomplished ultrarunning community. Ultrarunners are great people, and they make loyal and lifelong friends. I mentioned Larry Orwin in that previous post. He's one of them. For a good decade or so, I was proud to consider myself a member of this group. 

Unfortunately, a couple years ago, I gradually found that I was no longer able to participate in many of the ultrarunning events due to physical problems and limitations. I won't go into all these, but suffice it to say that they're related to age and injuries. As a result, I've participated in fewer and fewer ultra runs, and I've slowly become out of touch with many (but not all) of my ultrarunning friends. I suppose this is just part of moving on and getting over things.

I am not even going into the toll RDing takes on loved ones. Or the considerations for travel and any other personal events.

It's hard to have a fire in the belly when you're in pain. And it's hard to remain in touch with some of the people who still have that fire. It's enough to get you over it. And to move on.

Over it (the practical reasons)

The NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run (NC24) began in 2009. I was Race Director that year, and I continued to assume the RD duties each year through 2015. Being RD was a ton of work and worry, yet it was enormously fulfilling. This was mostly because we had a dedicated team of individuals, all committed to working together to make and keep NC24 the world-class event that it was. I absolutely loved these friends; they were like family. Here is a post about these wonderful people. 

It was with great gratification that I was able to witness the continuation of the race by Vertical Runner Race Management (now Mid Ohio Race Management). Something I started (and put my heart and soul into) had persevered; I couldn't have been happier. But NC24 did not take place in 2020 due to Covid-19. And now the question arises, what will happen in 2021? Mid Ohio Race Management has not said anything, and many wonder whether the event will take place at all again this year.

My friend Larry Orwin has been one of NC24's greatest promoters. He was part of that great race organization team and has also run the event (often quite well) many times. Because of the uncertainty about Mid Ohio Race Management (and probably without communicating with them), Larry asked me if I would consider taking back the NC24 RD duties. The question gave me pause.

As you may have noticed from what's been said so far, NC24 was a wonderful experience for me. What would happen if I tried to resurrect the race and my position as RD? Here's a shortlist of some of the many things that would need to happen.

1) The reincarnation of the event would need to be financially viable. This means getting substantial sponsorship funding because the race fees are not enough to absorb the costs.

2) The race organization team would need to be rebuilt. NC24 was a Medina County Road Runners (MCRR) club event until 2015. Mid Ohio Race Management made it a for-profit event thereafter. As RD, I was able to get MCRR members to volunteer. Organizers and volunteers would need to come from someplace for any future event.

3) The location would need to be secured. Although there have been challenges, Edgewater is an awesome place to hold a run such as this. NC24 wouldn't be the same anyplace else. Yet obtaining the permit (which was never easy) may no longer even be possible for a lot of reasons.

After thinking about it in these terms, not to mention all the additional considerations, I now realize that I can no longer realistically expect to direct NC24. It's sad but true. My life has changed, and I've moved on. My 'NC24 RD' era is over, and as much as I hate to say it, I'm over it.

California Runnin'

 California Running

We visited California in order to see all of its wonderful National Parks. I was able to get out and do a little running as well. Here are the stories of those runs.

Twentynine Palms

They say it gets cold in the desert at night, and they’re correct. But it’s a dry cold.

We stayed in Twentynine Palms in order to visit nearby Joshua Tree National Park. This is the desert, folks. Big-time. And the desert can be a fine place to run early on an April morning. It was pleasantly cool, and the stars were shining brightly. I didn’t get real far, but I loved it!

Carpinteria

In my neck of the woods, it’s fairly unusual to spot seals during a run. I guess it’s less uncommon here in Carpinteria. This seaside beach town near Ventura was our home base for our boat ride to Channel Islands National Park (where I managed to also run a tiny bit up a mountain after our hike). It’s a neat place to run with beaches and bluffs galore. There is a lot to explore, and explore I did. 

In Carpinteria after the run along the shore

Of course, I didn’t manage to run as far or as fast as I’d planned. But when did that ever happen?

Marina

I’m running uphill in order to get down to the beach. That’s what happens when you have HUGE sand dunes. After a certain point, I am running through soft, sinking sand, and my progress, slow as it was, becomes much slower. I do make it to the beach (and this involves a steep descent from the dunes), and it’s pretty cool so early in the morning.

Incidentally, Marina is near Monterey, also on the bay of the same name. We’re here to visit Pinnacles National Park, which is an hour away.

American Canyon

This is the gateway to wine country, and we’re here to visit Napa Wine National Park. Okay, it’s not quite an NP, but we’re treating it like one – visiting as many wineries as humanly possible in a short period of time.

The running is surprisingly fantastic. It’s surprising because after reviewing the area on Google Maps before heading out (as I always do in unfamiliar territory), I still hadn’t been aware of the nearby Bay wetlands trail system. But the area and trails are extensive.

The thing is, like most guys, I don’t like to turn back. Instead, I prefer to find circular routes, but this is hard when you don’t know when or whether the course will take you back at all. No one said this attitude of mine makes any sense. As I head out on the trail, there’s a closed-down landfill on one side (complete with facilities to convert the methane to electricity and also goats to eat the grass), and wetlands on the other side. I keep thinking that the trail will curve around to the left, circumnavigating the wetland lakes. It doesn’t. It goes on and on, eventually curving back to the right. Now I am hoping that it will return me to my starting point after going around the landfill. It does.

That wound up being around three of today’s seven miles. Along the way, I saw and heard wild turkeys, coyotes, wild chickens, said goats, and all kinds of birds. Not to mention one hot-air balloon. 

Klamath

Owl: Who, who is that, running on the road?

Raven One: It’s just a human, out for his early-morning run. He’s got a headlamp. And one more thing.

Owl: What’s that?

Raven One: Nevermore.

Big-as-half-a-fist Slug: I see him. Look out! He almost stepped on me! Watch it, buddy! I can probably out-run you, anyway.

Nearby Snail: Me too!

Raven Two: Hey Human, I hope you are enjoying this. We’ve got perfect peace and quiet. The Klamath River that you’re running above (at times, way above), is beautiful and serene. Now that it’s getting lighter, you can see across and to the cloud-hugging hills beyond. Notice the tall redwoods all around you. Stop and enjoy it before you move on.

Human: Okay, you’re right. It’s great.

Woodpecker: Peck, Peck, Peck.

Raven Two: Oh, and one more thing:

Human: What?

Raven Two: Nevermore.

Redding

Goals for today: 1) Get some real running in, not the junk that I’ve been doing; 2) Get some mileage in, not the junk that I’ve been doing; 3) Explore and have fun; just like I’ve been doing. We’re in Redding because we visited Lassen Volcanic NP. 

Plan A: Parsons High School (Home of the Tigers!) Track – I discover that the track, and even the school grounds, are locked up tighter than a drum. I do manage to get into the school area, but then I think better of my chances of getting arrested for trespassing, so I leave.

Plan B: Run along the Sacramento River – There are people in the woods. I am on the dark trail, and I encounter some clothing hanging on a makeshift clothesline in the woods. I then realize that this is a homeless-type camping situation, and here I am running through with my headlamp. I then see other people, like zombies in the woods. Maybe they ARE zombies? I’m out of here too.

Plan C: Run along the Sacramento River (on the GOOD side) – There is a paved bikepath on the opposite side of the river, and I eventually find a way across and onto the path. It’s good running, but I’m nearly out of time, so after crossing the famous Sundial Bridge, I turn and head back.

As for my goals, here are the grades – 1: C, 2: B, 3: A.

Merced

This “Gateway to Yosemite” isn’t so much of a gateway because it’s over ninety minutes away. But the running would be good, wouldn’t it? 

Let me state upfront here that I’m not a pervert. Yes, yes, I run through school grounds in the early-morning darkness, trying to break into tracks (unsuccessful for the second straight run). And yes, I occasionally pick things up that I find – things that would be better off left where they lie. Like that dildo in Indiana. This time it was a couple of cards with pics of young ladies. One is a California ID card and the other is a  California driver's license. Now that I have these in my possession, I suppose I’ll have to take them back and mail them to their owners.

This run is mostly on the wrong side of the tracks, literally and figuratively (it’s a poor part of town). Due to the tracks and frequent trains, I almost can’t get back without retracing my steps. I don’t want to do this, but I do, and it gets me the ten miles that I wanted. A slow ten, but a ten nonetheless.

Ridgecrest

I'm in the trashy (figuratively and literally) part of town. Some neighborhoods were fairly nice. But this area, back closer to the hotel, is awful; there's litter everywhere. This is not to say that the running itself has been good.  But more on that later.

By the way, Ridgecrest is home to the China Lake Naval Air Weapons testing station. Also by the way: there is no lake here (it's a desert) and it's not in China. Furthermore, there is no ridge, nor is there a crest here in Ridgecrest. We're here in order to visit Death Valley National Park.

As nice as it is to run in new places and discover things, I wish I could run well. But the Achilles pain is too severe. I just shuffle around for six miles instead of the planned ten.

Story of my life.

Here's the link to the travel blog post.

Boston 2.1 Half-Marathon Race Report

It feels the same, says Dan, to no one in particular. That's because no one is running nearby - the Boston 2.1 course is pretty spread out, you see. Besides the smattering of other runners, there are a few bikers and the occasional Amish buggy. What feels the same is the running. He ran the 2.0 version of this race about six months ago, and there were several similarities, with only two notable differences.

Similarities: Same great out and back course on the all-purpose trail through Amish country. Same wonderful weather. The friendly small-race atmosphere is just as fun. The pace, like last time, is fairly steady the entire way, and Dan will try to finish strong. Or at least not weak.

Differences: Dan ran twice as far last time. And Dan ran about a minute per mile faster last time. No big deal(s).

Dan wonders how things could have gone so far south so quickly. The Achilles pain did not help.

At least he got through this without too much embarrassment. At least the pace was steady. At least he's still walking erect afterward. Barely.

Final time: 2:06. It could have been worse.

Not a Run Report

As I hobble around the house like usual today, I have an extra little spring in my step. That's because, for the first time in the past 372 consecutive days, I took a day off from running.

Why would I do such a thing? The best reason I can provide is, I just didn't feel like it. And how do I feel about this now? Pretty damn good.

Meteoric

They always appear when you least expect them. It's a minute or two after five, and I am driving towards the track where I am to meet Michelle Wolff for some speedwork. The entire sky suddenly brightens and then goes dark again. I look up and see the cause: a very bright green moving object. It's much brighter and faster than a plane, As soon as my brain can determine that it's a meteor, it disappears back into the darkness.

Michelle tells me that she didn't see it. She had probably not started out yet. The important question in my mind now is: would today's run be as meteoric? I'm mostly kidding here. I haven't done anything at all speedy for a good month. But today, I'm going to try. A little.

The important thing is to not hurt myself any further. I usually do pay for anything ambitious with excruciating Achilles pain. If I'm going to hurt anyway, why not push it a tiny bit faster?

Michelle has her own program. I decide to do some gentle 800s. I do one in about 4:10. That's slow, but I am happy with it. The best part is that it actually felt good. Not the Achilles, although that could be worse. No, I mean that it just felt good for my whole body to open things up. NO MORE SHUFFLING!!

I manage four more like that, and I realize that that's enough. Not quite meteoric, but I'm quite satisfied. It's good to feel tired and sore without having pain that's completely debilitating.

During breakfast, I remember to ice my Achilles. It still isn't too awful. But five minutes later, it is. It's completely awful. Debilitating with a capital D.

I don't know whether it was the ice or just a delayed reaction to the relatively hard run. But it's disappointing. And painful.

Run 1 of Year 2

After one year of running every day, you would think I would have learnt a thing or two. Especially when things went downhill so much towards the end of that year. But no, here I am, running again, without a day off.

Even though it's cold, it doesn't feel as frigid as yesterday. Today, I'm running on the Lester Rail Trail with Andy and Michelle Wolff, and Harold Dravenstott. Our blistering-fast early pace has slowed just a little. After some back and forth (the entire trail is only three miles long), we drop Harold off and go on for more. About 12 down, 4 to go, think I. Perhaps I will be able to do it if we run slow enough. I thought I'd heard Michelle say that she and Andy were going for 16. It turns out that she said 14. That's a huge difference. HUGE.

We complete the final few, and I feel pretty good. Pretty good like I just ran a good strong long run good, not pretty good like I only ran a few steps good. I may need to begin calling 14 miles the new 18 miles, so it can be considered a long run.

Streak!

I did not run on April 2, 2020. But I have run at least a mile – usually much more - every day since. I know other runners with multi-year streaks, but this one-year thing has been a big deal for me. Not that I would recommend such a thing. In fact, I’d rank it up there with some of the dumbest things I’ve done, running or otherwise. Here are some further thoughts.

The reason such a streak is new to me is that I’ve always thought that taking one or two days off per week is a good thing to do. Now, I think so even more.

This year-long streak coincides nicely with the worst 12 months of the pandemic. That’s no accident. For one thing, although I like to run when I travel, I sometimes miss a day here and there, especially when I have a long flight across time zones or some other major time constraint. But since the only recent travel has been via road trips, I haven’t had this as an excuse. I should also add that owning a treadmill has helped, mostly because the winter was so bad, and we couldn’t get away to someplace warmer. 

3,719 miles. That’s slightly more than the number of miles covered from January through December of 2020. It averages out to 10.18 per day, and it does not include walking miles. This is not to say that the running was fast, however. It was the slowest of my life. My average pace for these miles was just over 11 minutes per mile.

Even though the pace has been slow, some of the miles were actually okay. They include the GVRAT miles (May through August), and a pretty good marathon last October. Because of this, had someone asked back then how the streak was going, I would have provided a positive response. 

Recent weeks, however, have not been good at all. My Achilles Tendinitis pain suddenly became much worse after a track session about a month ago, and the running has been awful since. And even though my mileage was steady (at about 70 per week) prior to that, much of the running was just shuffling or being a treadmill wimp.

Bottom line: I need a day off. Maybe even more than one. It will come sooner rather than later. At that point, I’ll be a little less dumb.

My weekly mileage (notice the downward trend)

More Intensity

Thoughts from today's slog:

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

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

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

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

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

The throb of suffering

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running in Beckley

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Quarantine has Ended

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank goodness – the new one works fine now.

One Step too Many

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

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

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

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

MCRR President's Corner - March 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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