A couple of days later, we got word that we were in!

Fast forward to last week. I’d had to revise my original travel plans to add a business trip in front of the vacation in Houston (never thought I’d say those three words together). The trip was to visit my undergraduate alma mater, Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo California. A great school, and a beautiful place too. One benefit was that I’d get to take a couple of runs in Poly Canyon, where I’d grown to love running in my mid twenties. So when I landed in SLO midday on Wednesday, I immediately donned my running shoes and headed out to the canyon. The plan was to do an easy 5 or 6 miles, and have some time to catch up with some professors, get something to eat, and do a talk for engineering students in the evening. Plenty of time.

When I hit the canyon, I was hooked again. I wound several miles out, and rather than cut it off where I’d planned, I decided to try to do the full canyon loop. Thing is, it had been over twenty years since I’d last done that. And I missed a turn at the barn by a creek waaay out in the middle of nowhere. I might still be out there had I not happened upon a mountain biker who graciously directed me back to the campus, by way of Highway 1. Locals will recognize how lost I’d become – the 5-6 mile became 11.

Usually getting bonus miles like this wouldn’t be a big deal – it was beautiful, fun, and I had time to do most of what I’d planned. But I was on my way to Houston, to run a flat fast marathon course. And I didn’t need to chew up my quads by winding up and down the hills in Poly Canyon during my last bit of tapering. My legs were still pretty tired the next day. I couldn’t chance being miserable in Houston, so I didn’t do that second canyon run I’d planned.

Instead I flew to Houston, and figured I’d do an easy 3 or so, with my standard three, minute-long accelerations to stretch my legs out two days before the race. The folks at the hotel directed me to the trails along the Buffalo Bayou, telling me that they went on a ways, and that they were pretty nice. I must have gone the wrong way, because what I found was a sandy asphalt trail winding along a shallow muddy trickle underneath a series of overpasses. No problem getting those accelerations in – I was just happy to be done.

With the taper complete, all that’s left to do is to rest and refuel. And in this case, take in the Olympic Trials. Our Eastside Runner crew sat down to take in the opening ceremonies. One of the highlights there was getting to meet some running legends. Joan Benoit Samuelson – the winner of the first Olympic women’s marathon in 1984 posed for a picture with Sue, Theresa, and Larissa. I got to shake hands with Frank Shorter, and spotted Bill Rodgers in the crowd as well. And it was incredible seeing the last four American Olympic medalists (Frank Shorter 1972/1976, Joan Benoit Samuelson 1984, Deena Kastor and Meb Keflezighi) all standing together on the stage.

The trials were amazing. In the men’s race, as expected Ryan Hall pushed the pace hard, which separated the leaders pretty early. By the midpoint, it was a four person race with Meb Keflezighi, Ryan Hall, Abdi Abdirahman, and Dathan Ritzenhein made it a close one until the final loop. Ritz had fallen back bit from the three others, while Abdi was hurting but holding in third. At mile 24 Meb took the lead from Ryan, and ran home. Ritz made it close with Abdi, but simply ran out of course. I’ve long admired Meb – and seeing him win this was great.

The women’s race was also an excellent one. Desiree Davila took the lead early, although kept a more conservative pace – allowing the women to speed up as they went. Shalane Flanagan held close much of the way, taking the lead later in the race. Kara Goucher and Amy Hastings hung with the leaders, but letting the others set the pace. And one of my favorites – Deena Kastor, ran with the lead pack until later in the race. At mile 18 Amy took the lead but couldn’t hold it – gutsy move! She dropped back a bit, which left the lead pack of Shalane, Desi, and Kara to finish in that order.

Having the opportunity to see legends and truly elite competitors live and up close was an amazing experience. They make running marathons look easy, basically gliding along. But we know that’s really the product of focus, determination, and lots of hard work.

Race morning didn’t start out so well for me. I’d slept well, but my stomach was a bit off. I wasn’t sure whether this would be a race interrupted for some mandatory stops. I taxied to the starting area, and joined the Marathon Maniac group picture, then made the rounds of the porta-potties trying to find my “happy place”. At 7 am, the gun went off, and I began my thirty-fifth marathon.

My race plan was pretty simple. I wanted to try to keep under about a nine-minute per mile pace and see how things went from there. Prior to Houston, my previous three marathons had all been under 3:45. Based on my poor taper, and how I felt that day, I wasn’t confident I’d be able to continue the streak. So I plodded along at a modest pace, just under 9 min/mile. My heart rate started out a bit high, but settled down after the first mile.

The course over this stretch took us along a rather full section of highway, and then dropped us into some neighborhoods. Once we were there, the crowds remained pretty constant for the duration. I was nice being able to draw some good energy from the people shouting out to us. The bibs had our names, and I’m not really used to that. This meant I’d hear people calling out my name to encourage me – and inevitably my brain wouid react as if it were supposed to know them. The effect was odd – each time I’d begin to drift off into marathon-zombieland, I’d get awakened with some kind words of support.

My stomach still wasn’t right, so I made a stop just after the six mile marker. There’s no delicate way to say this – I had to decide whether this would be a longer or shorter break. I took the chance that taking the shorter break for now, might be enough to settle things down. Surprisingly this seemed to work, although that wasn’t clear for another couple of miles. By then, I’d caught up to Larissa and Theresa as we headed south on Montrose. I said hello, but kind of hung back, unsure whether I’d be up for talking much. And so we continued past Rice University, past some really nice houses, and more neighborhoods.

By then I’d noticed that paradoxically, my pace was pretty good even though I still didn’t feel 100%. My spplits were regularly under 8:30 with my heart rate steadily in the mid 140s. If my legs and heart weren’t lying, and my stomach was okay, I could have a pretty good day. And so it went – between mile markers 8 and 18, I averaged a nice 8:27 min/mile pace. I’d was beginning to feel tired, but just as I gave myself permission to ease up a bit, Theresa ran up next to me and told me that I was going to pace her to a new PR.

Theresa’s lead-up to the race was interesting. She’d been really busy with work, and had run about once per week for a while – essentially just doing her long weekend runs. Not a conventional training program, but given her health, strength and determination it was working. And although she refused to say so (not wanting to jinx it) – she was running a good pace, and feeling good too.

At mile marker 21, I looked at my watch and noticed that we’d just done an 8:05 mile. Wary of overdoing things, I told Theresa that I planned to slow down to closer to a 9 min/mile pace for a while. My hams and calves were hinting that they might cramp. I told her that she should feel free to continue on. But that’s not how it worked. Through mile 23 we continued to be close to eight minute miles. And then after a slower mile 23-24 (8:22), we went back to 8:07. I knew that if we held steady, we’d be in under 3:45 – ample for a new PR for Theresa.

By now we were heading back into downtown on the Allen Parkway. I didn’t notice at the time, but we’d had a slight downhill grade until about mile 25 – so I’m pretty sure that helped too. As we hit the 25 mile marker we entered downtown. Running on the same streets we’d seen Meb and Shalane lead the way the day before was like running with a nice tailwind. Unbelievably we did our best mile all day then – hitting a 7:42 pace. Making the turn for the final quarter we actually sped up a little. We crossed the line just under 3:43. Wow.

One of the things I love about running is the way we can surprise ourselves. Watching Theresa take in that she’d just run a 15 minute PR made my day. And thinking about how I’d been able to crank things up at the end made me feel very good about my own race.

By the time Theresa and I finished, Dan had time for a nap (he cmae in at 3:05). We’d seen him just before the last turn cheering us on – just the boost we needed to dig deep. I finished just ahead of Theresa, but it turns out she’d spotted me some time at the beginning – so she beat me in by about seven seconds. Our friend Kathleen came in at 3:51 – sounds like some IT band issues hit her in the late miles. Larissa felt the warmer than usual temperatures in the late miles, but finished strong in 3:54, just ahead of Sue and Ken. We walked a bit stiffly in to collect our finisher shirts and eat some food.

That evening, we celebrated over some great Mexican food, complete with margaritas. The next day was a fun tour of the Johnson Space Center, outside Houston. Getting to see the Mercury Redstone and Saturn V rockets, see the simulators, and visit Mission Control was a kick.

All in all a very nice trip. A small part of that was being pleased with my race. The bigger reason is that taking it all in with friends.

Some of these pictures were provided by Larissa Uchiyama and Theresa Novillo – permission for use is pending.

Charts and Graphs for Running Geeks

The charts tell the story pretty well. I enjoyed a five minute negative split, powered by a decreasing average pace. Fastest splits were at the end. This is the way it’s supposed to be. Thing is – if I claimed I’d done it on purpose, I’d be lying. My heart rate averages trended up slightly, more significantly when we pushed the pace to sub-8 min/mile. Definitely a good day for running.

One quarter I decided to take a running class, figuring I could use the exercise.  We started out by running a mile or two around the track.  I clocked in as just about the slowest runner in the class.  It felt a bit discouraging – after all I was going as fast as I could muster.  And I was still being left in the dust. 

Several weeks into the class, we started running out along a dirt road that led to Poly Canyon, northeast of the campus.  It was about a mile to the end of the road, and began using how I felt on this out and back route to gauge how I was doing.

I’m pretty sure that I was  still the slowest at the end of the quarter, but I felt more confident.  I began employing some mind tricks to keep myself focused on whatever my goal pace or distance was.  I didn’t let myself think about what I’d do when I finished – figuring that was just getting ahead of myself.  I told myself that if I could complete a fast mile, I could use the same focusing techniques to earn an A in one of the tougher classes.  By then, I’d noticed that there was something about doing this running thing that I kind of liked. 

Later that year, I ran my first 5k, also out along Poly Canyon Road.  I remember feeling good about running the whole way, and even passed some folks who had gone out too fast.  The race took us into Poly Canyon itself, along a single track trail, before turning us around and heading back to the finish in front of the gym.

I will never forget how it felt the first time I came across a finish line.  I pushed myself harder approaching the finish and hearing the small crowd gathered there.  Running in and feeling the energy was amazing to me.

I started running farther out along the trail, making it 3.5, then 5 miles.  There’s a nice stretch where you climb around 500 feet, coming to a ridge.  The first time I made it up the hill without stopping, I was struck at how great it was to turn around and see such a clear sense of progress.  Looking down the hill I’d just climbed I could see the trail winding through the switchbacks,. 

One day I completed the entire 8.2 mile loop through the canyon, running up hills, past cattle and horses, and catching the views of the seven sisters – the string of volcanic peaks that extend from San Luis Obispo’s Bishop’s Peak all the way up to Morro rock.  I was soooo tired, but truly amazed at how I’d earned the views along the way.

That’s about the time I started thinking that anything was possible if I put my mind to it. 

So when I was back at the University on business this week, I managed to fit in a run into the canyon for old time’s sake.  More of the land along the road and along the return to the campus has been developed, but Poly Canyon is still amazing.

I’m writing this as I travel to Houston, to run a marathon this coming weekend.  I’ll definitely carry the spirit I rediscovered with me there.

As an aside, I did learn a good lesson running in the canyon this week.  After twenty years, you might forget a bit of the course.  I took a wrong turn crossing a creek about 4 miles out, and might still have been out there had I not encountered a helpful mountain biker who directed me back to the campus.  So my easy five miler turned into a more difficult eleven miler.  But there’s a reason I’d call them “bonus miles”.

Jeffrey Lee was a 21 year old student, set to move to Seattle when he was to graduate at the end of the school year.  He completed the half marathon just under his goal time of two hours, and then collapsed at the finish line.  Jeffrey was bright young man, a great student and friend to many.

G. Chris Gleason was a 40 year old lawyer from upstate New York, an experienced athlete, having completed Ironman Lake Placid this past summer.  He was pushing a 3 hour time in the full marathon when he went down just a quarter mile from the finish.  Like me, Chris was a father of two kids, and married to a marathoner.  I passed a guy being attended to by paramedics near the 26 mile mark.  I don’t know if this was Chris, as I would have passed this point about 40 minutes after Chris did. 

Apparently neither Jeffrey nor Chris has any known health risks that made anything think twice about whether they should have been out there running.

But when things like this happen, people react (or overreact) in different ways.  Some members of a online running community saw this as an reason to say “tsk tsk” to folks who attempt to run distance without training properly.  While this happens (I’ve done it), these comments were made before anything at all was known about the runners in question.  Generally, it’s prudent to withhold one’s judgment until there’s something to inform one’s judgment.

Judging by the front page of the Philadelphia Daily News the next day, the local media sees this as an opportunity to sell more papers.  The guy pictured on the front page, crawling after finishing, had just run a 2:24 marathon.  That’s a five and a half minute pace per mile.  It’s bound to take a bit out of you.  It’s also about five minutes off of the top finishing time for the day – so this guy was in contention, and had to have trained pretty well for the event.  But the front page paints a gloomy, dire picture of endurance sports.  That’s screwed up.  And then there’s the cranky Philadelphia sportswriter who claims that “human being were not built to go 26.2 miles at a clip”.  In the same column he offers opinions on Socrates as well as football.  Oddly – he talks about how barbaric marathoning is, but offers no such observations about a sport known to cause long-term brain injuries.  Any thinking reader will discard this sort of tripe.

Conversely, the article cited on the front page is actually quite good – check it out.  Barbara Laker, the author talks about hitting the wall while doing her first marathon, and how another runner made sure she was okay, and talked her into believing she would finish.  I remember feeling doubt and disorientation around mile 22 in my first marathon.  All I could think of was what it had taken me to get to the starting line – that’s the hard part.  I eased up, relaxed, the clouds cleared, and I finished.  She nicely captures the leap of faith required to get to the starting line in her article.  She also does a nice job of expresses the sadness we all feel when we hear of things such as Chris and Jeffrey dying :

“Every marathon has moments you never forget. And last night, I couldn’t stop thinking of the two men who died running down a dream. I imagined the deep pain that their relatives and friends must feel.  Last night was supposed to be a time to celebrate, not mourn.I don’t know exactly why or how they died.  But I understand why they were out there.”

Thank you Barbara for your thoughful words.  There are risks to many things we choose to do in life.  Life’s sometimes an uneven mix of preparation, determination, genetics, and chance.  Best not to live in fear of what we don’t control, and don’t know.

After completing the Bellingham Bay Marathon back in September, I was looking for one to close out the calendar year.  I took a gander at the helpful Marathon Maniacs calendar, and saw Philadelphia on November 20th.  I’d thought I would try a small event, closer to home.  But the timing was right and I’d get to click off marathon state number fourteen.  So – Philly it would be.

I set out for Philadelphia early on Friday morning, two days before the race.  Flights were uneventful, and after checking in to my hotel, I ventured over to the race expo.  Afterwards, I went and got a  taste of what eating dinner out in downtown Philly would be like.  The short answer to this is “expensive”.  I rounded the evening out with a nice walk out to Independence Square, taking a nice look at Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell without the crowds.  It was a nice way to cap the evening.

Race Day

I spent the day before the race doing a bit of sightseeing, and then turned in early.  After a fitful night of sleep, the alarm woke me just before five(that’s two a.m. by my normal body clock for those keeping track at home).

I ventured over to the start in time in time to meet my fellow Marathon Maniacs for a group picture.  When I arrived there just before six, it was pretty quiet.  Just thirty minutes later it seemed there was people everywhere.  It was all I could do to make the clothing drop, find my “happy place”, and line up with all the others.

Marathon number 34 started slowly, as the 25,000 of us ambled towards the starting line, with little room to move.  Six minutes later after the gun went off, I hit the start and began running.

The early miles were definitely crowded.  We ran past the international flags on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, and bore left onto Arch, heading towards the waterfront.  Given my usual preference for smaller events, running in such a mass of people was an adjustment.  More than once, someone would come up along my blind side and we’d bump.  It kind of reminded me of a mass start to a swim in a triathlon.

We turned south and ran along the Delaware River for a while.  Here people began to spread out a bit more.  By the time we turned towards the Old City, it felt more sane.  Around mile five, we passed Independence hall, and turned west on Chestnut.

The stretch through Penn and Drexel was pretty raucous – lots of cheering.  We hit a couple of hills (minor by Seattle standards) passing the zoo.  I backed off a little bit here – mile 8 is pretty early in the race, and by then I’d banked enough time against my sub-four hour goal.

As we headed into Fairmount Park, I’d settled into a pretty steady pace. Sporting my new heart rate monitor and GPS, I was able to get a sense of my effort as I went.  In the early miles, I’d managed to keep it lower than I’d expected (high 130s, low 140s), while clicking off good mile split times (sub 8:50s). 

We passed to the west of the art museum, where the half split off from us, and turned north into the long out and   back stretch of the race.  Between mile 14 and 15, then front runners past us from the opposite direction.  Definitely humbling to see then gain a full ten miles on me over the course of about 2:10!

The stretch north to about mile 17 felt a bit challenging mentally.  I typically split the race into three parts.  The early miles (up to 10-13) I just try to settle into it.  The middle miles (to mile 20) are about grinding out a strong, sustainable pace.  The final 10k is about digging deep – either to push to a strong finish or just to hang on, depending on how the middle miles went.  I was trying to figure out which kind of final 10k today would be. 

Mile 17-20 got a bit interesting.  We hit an unusual three-point junction in the course (this is near the 17 mile marker on the course map).  The northbound runners branched to the left over the Falls Bridge to do a 3/4 mile out and back, and the southbound runners joined us at between mile 21 and 22.  We headed out over the bridge, and did a short down and up before returning.  Three groups of runners converge at the same spot.

As we came back to the junction, I’m about 75% sure that a woman cut the course in front of me.  She suddenly came up from my right side – near a gap in the fence separating us from the folks heading out to the short out and back.  If she did cut it, she shaved about seven or eight minutes off of her time – which hardly seems worth it (unless she was trying to get a Boston Qualifying time from it).  She promptly pushed about 100 meters ahead of me.  There were a number of stretches of out and back, where the course would be subject to someone doing this – I noted it in the park as well.  Can’t be sure that’s what happened here, and can’t worry about stuff like this – but I don’t really understand why someone might do it.  Who wouldn’t want to earn their posted time fairly? 

We headed down a hill into downtown Manayunk, before turning around.  As we climbed up towards mile 20 and 21, I was feeling good about finishing strong.  As we  hit the long stretch where we’d seen the frontrunners coming in before I’d turned it up a notch.  Karen, a runner from New Jersey who I ran this stretch with was contrasting how good she was feeling now with her final 10k in the New York City Marathon last year.  She was digging deep and her confidence was infectious – I found myself digging in to keep up with her. 

All of my splits for the final 10k were under 8:30, with the final 5k 8:20 or better.  Mile 25 was my fastest for the event – a sub-8. 

I was feeling some pain by mile 25.  I checked my heart rate and saw that it was in the low 160s – better than I would have expected.  Grinding out that final half mile or so, heading towards the Eakins Oval was hard.  I thought about Scott Jurek’s blog post “This is What You Came For”, about how he focused on the essentials of running while doing continuous 1k loops for 24 hours.  I wasn’t running for 24 hours, but Scott has always inspired me by being a great athlete, and a very nice and authentic person as well. 

I’d monitored my cadence throughout the race (it was several strides per minute faster than it had been), and glided across the finish.  Improbably I came in at 3:43:51 – my third consecutive sub-3:45 finish.

I hung out for a while at the finish, pleased with my effort.  I’d run a pretty smart race (first time in a while), monitoring things like heart rate and cadence to figure out how I was doing.  I focused less on the mile splits than I had for a while, confident that I’d hit my goal pace.  And I had enough left during the final 10k to make it interesting.

I relaxed in my hotel room for a while, and headed out to the Philadelphia Museum of Art – enjoying some wonderful Monet, Cezanne, Eakins, and some Dali sketches.  I wandered out of the galleries to a beautiful view of the city from the top of the steps. A great lobster dinner capped the evening for me.  A nice trip, and a race I felt good about.

charts and graphs for running geeks

Once in a while I’ll see a pace chart that I really like.  There’s a nice steady downward  trend indicating negative splits, relatively low variance, and a nice kick towards the end.  I’ll even take that slowing between mile 25 and 26.2 as evidence that I’d not held too much back . 

I ran with my new TImex Global Trainer GPS and Heart Rate Monitor.  I’m not very happy with the device, but it was definitely useful to be able to monitor heart rate data as I ran – it’s a great indicator of fatigue level, and a reasonable predictor of what I might have left in the tank.

marathon maniac group picture provided by scott stader, a fellow maniac.

A while back, I was heading out for my weekend long run. I’d completed the Bellingham Bay Marathon the weekend before, and was thinking about what would be next. Given everything on our plates, mulling whether to do a road marathon vs. trail ultra, local event, vs. traveling seemed an extravagance.

Thing is – running is a great way to spend time with friends. When you’re out on a 15-20 miler, you’ve got a fair bit of time to enjoy some company. You’ll swap stories, and gain fresh perspective on things.  When I run alone, it’s excellent quiet time. I spend the time thinking. Again, 15-20 miles gives you time to breathe a bit and get some healthy distance from whatever is on your mind.  I run because it feeds my soul.

So – as I drove up to run in the mountains with some of these thoughts swirling around, some words from an Indigo Girls song I was listening to crystallized some things for me.  The title “Watershed” caught my attention. For years, a nearby watershed park has been my reliable spot to do longer runs. Since training for the New York City Marathon nine years back, I’ve easily logged several hundred miles out there. But as I listened to the song, the words brought more than simple sentimental value.

“Up on the watershed
standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
till your agony’s your heaviest load
You’ll never fly as the crow flies
get used to a country mile
When you’re learning to face the path at your pace
every choice is worth your while”

That day as I negotiated the trail up to Pratt Lake, in the Cascade Mountains, I played the song over and over in my mind.  A middle of the pack runner like me has long internalized that running requires taking each mile as it comes.  In life sometimes it’s harder to remember this.  We’ll often get tangled up in our own expectations of what should be.  But that’s not always how things happen, is it?  I enjoyed my run out to Pratt Lake – up and down hill, over rocks and through water.  Each time is different on this trail.  I’d come here about a year ago, and got snowed on while navigating the rock slide areas just above the lake.  Definitely did some “country miles” that day.

Soon after Pratt Lake, I went ahead and registered for the Philadelphia Marathon.  I usually prefer smaller events.  In this case, the timing was right, and I was able to use mileage for the airline tickets.  And I get to check off another state on my way to someday becoming a 50 state marathoner (13 down, only 37 more to go).  One of the wonderful things about this particular life’s goal is that I go to some beautiful and interesting places – the Black Hills of South Dakota, some trails outside of Lawrence Kansas, Logan Canyon in Utah, the National Mall in DC and New Orleans (doing the first post-Katrina major sporting event in 2006).  My pace to fifty states is slow – perhaps one or two per year.  At this rate, I’ll get to fifty when I’m about eighty. 

But that’s okay.  No point in rushing, just to check things off of a list.  The country mile’s the reward, isn’t it ?

This is exactly what I was thinking when I registered for the Bellingham Bay Marathon.  It was to take place on September the 25th.  In my seventeen years of living here, that permits me exactly one week of summer weather before the curtain of fall descends, and we have a steady mist that will persist until the following July.  Perfect!

Imagine my shock when I arose on race morning to hear the steady drumming of rain outside. 

The marathon is a point to point run, starting at the Lummi Nation School, on Gooseberry Point, northwest of the city.  The busses leave downtown Bellingham at O’Dark Early, bringing us out to the school.  By the time we lined up for the start, the sun has come up, and the rain had stopped.  It felt a bit warm and muggy.  However, this calm turned out to be pretty temporary. 

They sent us off promptly at 7:30.  As we crested a hill leading us out to the shoreline, the wind really picked up.  It was a nice tailwind – made me feel like I was running downhill as we wound along Bellingham Bay.  Looking at my mile splits, I was a bit concerned that I was taking the early miles a bit too fast.  I’d ease off a little bit, but would click off another brisk one.  I blamed it on the tailwind, and enjoyed the nice view across the bay. 

We turned inland just before hitting mile 6.  The tailwind became a crosswind, and we continued on some gentle rolling country roads, followed by a stretch on some paved trails.  I felt like I was working harder than usual, just to hold a straight line with the crosswind – I remember observing a line of runners in front of me, all leaning into the wind – almost like sailboats.  I wish I’d taken a picture.

Things got more interesting when we turned to the south, as we ran just to the west of the Nooksack River between mile 11 and 12.  The crosswind became a headwind, and the difference to my mile pace was marked.  Some of that was fatigue.  But a big part of it was the wind.  Employing my Chi Running tricks (straight column, forward lean, gliding steps) didn’t stop it from feeling like work.

By the time we merged with the half marathoners around mile 17, I was definitely feeling it.  My mile splits were slower, but still respectable enough.  We wound through neighborhoods for a couple of miles, eventually landing on a trail heading through Squalicum Creek Park.  This was a nice stretch, with clear views out over the bay.  The sun had come out too.

Whatever sense of tranquility we’d had on the trail went away shortly after mile 20 when we hit the waterfront.  The wind had picked up again.  It was about now that I saw one of the more unusual things I’ve seen during a race.  As ran past the end of a waterfront building, I saw an entire group of runners directly in front of me suddenly shift three feet to the left.  I thought they’d jumped to avoid something in the path, but as I found out seconds later – it was a gust of wind. 

It was the same story heading through Boulevard Park, and got even worse as we ran up the Taylor Avenue dock.  As we turned to head up the ramp taking back onto the streets, I was pretty wiped out.  I’d stopped looking at my overall time, instead focusing mile by mile.  And I was surprised that my splits were still under nine minutes per mile, given how I was feeling.  I’d given up on my ‘A’ goal – under 3:35, held faint hope for 3:40, but felt good about my chances for 3:45 or better.

The last two miles had us backtrack towards downtown.  I was definitely ready to be done too.  By the time I ‘d passed the 26 mile mark, I’d slowed to a near-8:50/mile pace.  Spent, but happy with my effort, I came in at 3:42:22, my fastest in nearly two years, and third fastest ever. 

I spent a long time in the finish area – eating a bunch and drinking lots of electrolytes.  I got a massage that nearly brought me to tears (apparently I was pretty tight).  And I spent some time catching up with running friends, and swapping stories about the “Mighty Wind”.

One of the things I love about distance running is the stories we earn and share.  And today was a good day – those gusts will increase in speed every time I think about this race.

Charts and Graphs for Running Geeks

You can pretty much tell where the wind changed, by looking at the splits.  Still – a good day.

When I used to feel stress at the firehouse … I had the simple solution : Throw on a singlet, put on the shorts, lace up the running shoes and do a hard six miler in the park. Every run solved a problem or reduced its significance. I liked to say a run cleaned the chalkboard of life.

A big source of inspiration for me, as I was recovering from my bike accident in 2008 was New York City firefighter Matthew Long.  He’d been struck by a bus while riding to work.  He suffered extensive internal injuries.  Matt was initially given a 5% chance of survival.  Yet three years later, he lined up at the start of the New York City Marathon, to run the race of a lifetime.  His is an amazing story.

I survived because I had trained my heart to do the same. Becoming an Ironman had kept me from becoming a dead man.

Matt’s book The Long Run is available in paperback now.  It’s a worthwhile read – particularly for those dealing with life-altering injuries.  You can check out his interview with Jon Stewart, talking about what he was up against, and some of the things that made a big difference for him.

It seemed that with each conversation I had with a doctor, the longer my road to recovery became.

I’d first read Matt’s story in the New York Times, just before he ran the 2008 New York City Marathon.  I was nearly four months from my own adventure with a negligent driver.  Reading about Matt making it to the starting line again gave me a glimmer of hope that I might do the same.  Reading and seeing his path to the finish line in Runner’s World in early 2009 was a transformative experience for me.

While in my own recovery, one of the things I struggled with the most was setting my own expectations about when or whether I’d get back to where I’d been before the accident.  Recovery from a serious injury such as a Traumatic Brain Injury does not have a straight path.  There aren’t timelines you can count on.  In a situation like that, it’s hard to figure out what a reasonable baseline of expectations is – at work, running marathons, or with life in general. 

“Matt, come on.” she snapped. “Look how far you’ve come” But I didn’t want to look back. And I couldn’t look forward. I had always lived in the present. I used to wake up every morning expecting to make that day more fun than the day before … Then I got run over by a bus and I couldn’t do anything or see anything. I couldn’t see that last week I had walked 30 feet down a hallway, and this week I walked 60 feet, and next week I might walk 120 feet. I didn’t see that things were doubling. I just saw one thing. Me in a damn wheelchair with a damn colostomy bag hooked to my side.

Matt’s story illustrates this difficulty very clearly.  Prior to his accident, Matt had completed several marathons – including a personal-best (and Boston-qualifying) 3:13 weeks before the race.  He’d also completed Ironman Lake Placid in a very respectable 11:18:01.

Everything changed on the morning of December 22, 2005.  He had to retrain his body in order to become independent again.  In order to start running again, he needed to walk.  In order to walk he needed to stand up.  In order to stand up, he needed to convince himself that he could do it.

“I am very confused about how I feel about my accident.  I ask “Why?” knowing that is a question never to be answered.  I ask to have a full recovery, and that will only be answered in time.  I find myself negotiating with God day in and day out …”

Talking about what it took to stand up again only scratches the surface of the degree of challenge Matt faced.  Coming to terms with some of the consequences of suffering extensive muscular and nerve damage in his core took several years.  Matt’s ability to talk about this will ring true to anyone who’s faced an uphill recovery – focusing on rebuilding both body and your spirit takes incredible determination, and (as Matt tells us) – and incredible amount of support – family, friends, and faith.

[The physical therapist] finished by writing, “If you want to run, all the better.  I would never tell anyone they couldn’t do what they wanted to do”.

One thing to remember is that determination takes many forms.  Sometimes it’s digging deeper to run faster or longer than you thought you could.  Other times it’s dealing with setbacks and not giving up on yourself.  Knowing that if you can’t run today, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The power of Matt’s story for me is how he focused on “I Will” instead of feeling defined by what he couldn’t do.  It’s the gift of hope.

Check out his book The Long Run, or the Runner’s World profile of him.

My training for the event was marginal.  I’d taken a couple of weeks off to have jaw surgery in May, and had been dealing with some fatigue issues since.  No speedwork (other than a single track workout).  My race goal was to simply run it as fast as I could – given that a Boston Qualifying Time (BQ) was not likely.

Kris had a very ambitious training ramp.  She’d ramped from a seven or eight mile base to marathon in less than three months, including her three week taper.  Her motivation was definitely a BQ – with the qualifying times getting tighter next year, she would need to run about six minutes faster (dropping from 4:00:59 to 3:55:00). 

This is what brought us to climb onto a yellow school bus with other runners on the morning on July 25.  It was already sunny and warmer than it had been – with the temperature at the finish projected to be about 75.  We both felt a bit nervous – knowing that the heat would make things more challenging.

At eight o’clock, Brian counted down and sent us off.  We warmed up for the first three quarters of a mile on a slight downhill grade.  And then we entered the namesake tunnel.  The Hyak Tunnel is about 2.25 miles of straight, dark, dampness.  It felt like 50 degrees, around 10-12 degrees cooler than outside.  You can see the light at the end the whole way, which should give you a sense of hope.

Here’s the thing though.  Running in the darkness with 300 friends takes a leap of faith.  Your eyes take a while to adjust, and you’re conscious of not wanting to run into others.  I wore a headlamp, but it didn’t help much.  We tended to run in groups, sharing whatever available light there was.  Great metaphor there – sometimes you have to take that leap of faith, and trust yourself to do what you know you can do.  Focus ahead, and keep moving.  Remembering this would have helped me later in the race.

I came out of the tunnel into the first aid station, and crossed the 3 mile mark, at about an 8:20 pace – which was pretty good.  Shortly after I exited the tunnel, my friend Tony passed me.  And not by a little – he was flying!  If he kept that up, it was going to be a really great day for him.

I felt pretty good, better than I had on some recent training runs.  I kept a brisk pace, going just under eight minutes for mile 6, and felt pretty good doing it.  I paid attention to my cadence and form, focusing on keeping to 82-85 strides per minute, with a forward lean and engaged core (Chi Running basics).  I tried to remember to relax my legs, to simply let them fall, rather than push too hard.  And it worked.  I was averaging 8:15 miles for the first ten miles.

When you run faster than planned, it’s important to pay attention to how you feel.  Listen to your body and all that.  Shortly before the midpoint of the race, I began feeling fatigue in my quads.  It had warmed up a bit too.  Still, my splits looked good.

Around mile 15, my pace slowed about 14 seconds per mile.  And then crept up towards 8:45.  I alternated between taking it easy, and pushing myself to keep to a sub 8:30, because that made a PR possible.  The BQ was out of reach, but the prospect of doing a new personal record was not.  If I was able to keep under 8:20, it could be done.  So miles 20 and 21 were good ones, timewise.  By then I was really hurting though. 

At mile 22 we passed the old finish line, and the grade decreased, so that the course felt mostly level.  Problem was I really needed that downhill by then.  Miles 22-24 were tough ones.  And then at mile 25 my wheels fell off.  A sub 3:40 time was probably beyond reach, and so I gave into the fatigue.  And that bothers me.  I ended up walking most of mile 25-26, too tired or mentally beat to dig deeper.  And that bothers me.

I did mile 26 at a 13:07 clip.  Realistically, that’s probably just 3 -4minutes slower than I would have mustered by running.  But I felt like I gave up just 1.2 miles short of the finish.  Bummer. 

In the final analysis the time isn’t the important gauge of an event.  By the clock, this was my third fastest of 32 marathons.  Not bad.  But I didn’t feel good about the effort.  It felt like I let the thing beat me – just when it was time to take some deep breaths, slow down a bit, and trust myself to do what I’d trained for.  Not the race, but for what life gives you sometimes.

Next time, I’ll hopefully be able to do more quality training – long peak runs, and some speedwork.  Some good lessons learned.

Tony had indeed done well.  It was a new PR for him, by about 15 minutes!  I saw Kris come in, just missing her BQ by about two minutes.  A new PR by about five minutes, but still disappointing to miss her goal by so little.  Other ESR friends came in too – Leslie got a PR, as did Mark.  May was interviewed by a journalist from Taiwan, who remembered her being one of the top finishers in a race there last year.  Bill finished at the faster end of his expectation, and Janet looked strong when coming in second in her age group.   Apparently some bear sightings occurred too.  All in all a good day for the ESR crew.

chart and graphs for running geeks

The chart tells the story nicely.  Upward trend in the second half of the race, with the wheels coming off for that final mile.

pictures taken by Matt Hagen, added 30 July

Kris completed the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic.  This is a 200 mile ride (not a race, not timed) that’s happened for over thirty years (other than in 1980 when it was cancelled due to the ash from Mount St. Helens).

Kris did about 140 miles the first day, leaving just 60 for the second day.  I’d tried to goad her into doing it all in a single day, but she pointed out that we’re both registered to run a marathon in a couple of weeks, so technically she’s in her taper for that.

Kayla was down at a theater camp in Portland this past week, so with Kris riding I needed to get down there on Saturday morning to catch her show and pick her up.  Side note – great camp – the Columbia River Gorge School of Theater does a great job at keeping things fun, safe, and challenging the kids to improve there performance skills.  Definitely recommended for interested kids!

Logistically, this posed a bi of a challenge.  The younger child would spend Friday evening and Saturday with my parents while Kris was riding, and I was between here and Portland.  I got a chance to visit with some family in Portland on Friday evening.  Saturday, it’d be showtime and then back up to Seattle.

Aside from a hellish ride south on Friday, things went well.  Great visit, and the performance was great.  Kayla had a great time at the camp – and was already lobbying for more time there.

We hit the road shortly before noon.  I figured we’d stop[ to get something to eat early afternoon, hopefully getting home around 4 or so.  As luck would have it, we ended up stopping for lunch in Castle Rock, which is where Kris would stop for the night.  She’d texted me about her progress, and I figured we were about 60-90 minutes ahead of her.  It seemed silly not to try to say hello.

So Kayla and I finished lunch and headed over to the high school where Kris would arrive.  When we got there, I looked around for a place to leave her a message if we didn’t catch her.  Kayla hung out outside, waiting for Kris to roll in.  Suddenly, I heard a horrible crashing sound, and then some people saying “cyclist down – call an ambulance!”.

I turned and looked – there was a small crowd of people gathered over by the entrance to the parking lot.  Incoming cyclists need to make a left turn across traffic here.  We’re still not sure what happened, but the driver of a Honda Civic had run into a cyclist on his way into the lot.  The rider had been been knocked about 12 feet or so, but appeared to be conscious.

I checked on Kayla.  She’d apparently seen the accident – not well enough to see precisely who was where, and when.  I asked her if she was okay – and then we walked over.  The cyclist was indeed awake and moving around.  He was banged up, and definitely shaken up – but was responsive to questions like “what year is it”, “what’s your name”, etc.

I’ve tried to find out how the cyclist is doing – but have not yet heard.  I can only hope he’s okay.  I honestly didn’t know whether it would have been better for us to move away from the scene, because of the feelings a cyclist getting hit stirs in both of us. Both Kayla and I are definitely still processing what happened to us.

Today I heard that another friend riding with his son, had a very close call. Around mile 167 or so, he was hit by a pink tricycle that had been unsecured in the back of a pickup truck coming the other way. It hit Greg’s tire, wiping out his front fork, and causing him to fly over his handlebars. Very fortunately, he’s just bruised and scraped. Wow.

Well – after that, there was really no question that we’d stay and see Kris ride in.  And she did, still smiling after riding farther than she had in a single day.  She had a decent ride the next day, and was in Portland in time to catch the first bus back up to Seattle.  We’re very proud of her, and are really happy that she had a safe ride.

If you’ve got a cyclist friend or family – give ‘em a hug.

greeting Kris in Castle Rock after she’d completed her first day’s ride for the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic.

For the past two July the firsts, I’ve visited the fire station that answered the call for my accident – Station #12 in Redmond.  Getting to thank people for saving your life is quite amazing. 

The first responders have a code they try to adhere to – called 7-7-7.  That means no longer than seven minutes to get to the scene, seven minutes readying a patient for transport, and then seven minutes to the hospital.  For Traumatic Brain Injury patients like me, time is of the essence.  Taking longer can jeopardize the patient’s life, or leave them vulnerable to sustaining brain damage.

Perhaps from their standpoint, the cyclist hit on Old Redmond Road near Grasslawn Park at 8:30 that morning posed no special challenge to them. Perhaps they simply did their job, making sure I was stabilized, and made it safely to the trauma center at Harborview Hospital in Seattle.

But it’s clear that what first responders like those that helped me, are true heroes.  What they do really matters – as it did to my family and I that morning three years ago.

They invited me back into the firehouse, and we talked for a while.  They asked how I felt, whether I remembered anything about the accident, and whether I’d spoken to the driver at all (I haven’t).

We talked about efforts to create stricter negligent driving laws, and I told them about some of the people who shared their stories in Olympia in support of the Vulnerable User Bill (signed into law by Washington Governor Christine Gregoire this past May 16).

And then we were interrupted by a call they needed to answer.  I stood by my bicycle and waved as they left, thinking about how they’d done this for me not too long ago.

In many ways, I’m happy to leave these memories behind me, and simply move on.  But remembering this anniversary by saying “thank you” is a reminder of just how blessed I am.