“Getting Strong Now”

Runners are supposed to have a mantra, a phrase or few words to repeat to themselves when they need to dig deeper, whether they’re pushing up a tough hill, trying to up their pace, or just trying to keep going. I’ve read about these mantras in books and articles, and some of these pieces have offered suggestions, but I never found one that I liked.

Then one day while training for the marathon and climbing a steep hill, I thought of the classic Rocky scene where he climbs the staircase in his sweats and raises his arms in victory. That thought led me to “Getting Strong Now”. I think it’s the theme song from Rocky… I honestly don’t remember any other lyrics… but I remember that phrase and the tune that goes with it. Ever since, when I need to dig deep that little phrase plays over in my mind. Something about it makes me want to go harder, even when my body wants to quit. I guess I have a running mantra.

Oh yeah... I ran a marathon.

I started a running blog, but I didn’t even document my first (and so far, only) marathon. How much sense does that make?

Looks like my last post was after the eight mile trail run… over a year ago. I’ll try to recount the last 15 months.

After two half marathons, I decided 2011 would be the year to run my first full marathon. I ran the Columbus half marathon in 2010 and loved it. The course is flat/fast, it has lots of energy from about 15k runners and 100 bands/djs along the route, and I just had a great experience. It’s also run in mid-October, which means cooler weather. With that in mind I chose Columbus for my first full marathon.

I can’t find my training schedule, but I remember it was 18 weeks long. As with most of my race training schedules, I took one I found online and adapted it to my own style (such as training four days a week, planning the long runs for Saturdays). I must have begun training in mid-June. Looking back the first few weeks of training were uneventful. First long run was 8 miles, the next week 10 miles, then I began spacing long runs out, two weeks later running a 12 miler, followed by a 14, and then the training started to get serious…

Dirt Dawgs!

Here’s a picture from last Saturday. Me (left), Kyle (middle), Tim (right)

Early last week I got to thinking about races, since I had yet to register for a single one in 2011. I was looking online for a 10k or something similar to whet my running appetite. I stumbled across something close to home, cheap, and coming up soon: The Dirt Dawg 8 Miler. Located in Dayton, only $9, and Saturday was only four days away. The catch: it’s a trail run.

Let’s go over my trail running experience. In 8^th and 9^th grades I ran track. ONE TIME during track practice, I did a training run on the cross country course. Oh, and I also ran laps around the driving range a few times on the high school golf team (punishment for being caught throwing clubs). That’s all I’ve got.

Immediately I want to do this race, but I’m reluctant to cut my trail running teeth on an 8 mile course, all by myself. I start to wonder who I can drag into this and Kyle comes to mind. Kyle is a friend I grew up with. We played on the same junior pro basketball team (the Bulls), the same little league team (the A’s), and the same babe ruth team (Red). When we got older I transitioned to golf and tennis. Kyle became a cross country runner. Kyle lives in the Cincinnati area now and we’d recently reconnected and run a little 5k together. I knew Kyle was my best bet to getting a partner for the Dirt Dawg 8 Miler.

An email and a phone call later and we were committed. With no time to train, I realized this would be a unique experience. I’d have no time goal, because I’d have nothing to compare this race to. I would just go out and try to not break an ankle. For only $9, I’d be able to just enjoy the race and see how much I liked trail running. I was more excited than I’ve ever been for a race.

We decided to meet up at the race, and Kyle invited his friend/coworker Tim.

Here’s the description of the race (blue), with my comments inserted (black):

Out and back with 1.24 mile lolly-pop turnaround.  Total distance is:  8.26 Miles (felt like at least 12)

The first mile has 2 sharp hills (‘sharp’ sounds like steep but short… not accurate, these hills were steep and long) with a quick descent brings you to a mile worth of flat meadow running (by the way, quick descent means you’re probably slipping half the way, and possibly falling). Miles 2 and 3 are a roller coaster (indeed) though old growth forest that include: slippery bridge crossings (nearly fell on each bridge because they were at 90-degree turns and I never slowed down enough, hand rails saved me numerous times), stream jumps (fun), rooty footing (the rooty footing was a killer the entire race for some one who’s always run on the road; exhausting), and off camber fun.

Hope your nice and warm for the first large creek crossing that begins the lolly-pop. It could be low, knee-high, frozen or a combo of both, just expect to get wet! (2" to 4" deep) (Not as bad as I expected, there were rocks to cross on, icy and slippery rocks, but taking it slow I kept dry). The first section of the loop contains some meadow running (to warm those wet feet!) and technical single track (being a trail newbie, I didn’t realize how narrow ‘single track’ is; at some points I was being brushed by twigs on both sides) with a few tree jumps (jumping over logs during a run makes you feel like a real athlete, loved it) and crossing the same creek another mile upstream (the second crossing was a little more difficult, the rocks were loose and some were under an inch or two of water so one foot did get wet, but still not as bad as expected). A quick climb (not quick, I tried to take it quick to catch back up to Kyle and Tim, that about killed me) and a smooth decent brings you to the end of the loop... and only 3.51 miles to the finish.

A perfect January trail run! (a couple inches of snow, 22 degrees, there is no such thing as a perfect January trail run in Ohio)

Kyle doesn’t compete much any more; he claims to just run four milers with his wife. And he’s got a nerve problem in one foot. But he’s got a very strong base. I found that out when we ran the 5k together and he ran off without me on the last mile. Tim is a cyclist who also has a very strong running base. I am not like these guys. If I don’t train for a distance I can’t rely on a base because up until a year and a half ago, I couldn’t run a mile in less than 11 minutes.

We agreed to run it together and have fun. Out of the gate Kyle jumps off the side of the trail and starts passing people. Tim and I weave our way through the pack and try to keep an eye on him. I guess by ‘running together’ Kyle means ‘keep up with me’. Tim and I hang a few yards behind Kyle for the first mile and talk a little bit. He’s done a couple half marathons like me (only faster) but lately hasn’t been running more than four miles or so (like Kyle). For the first mile or two we both complain about how difficult the trail is and we wonder why Kyle is setting such a hard pace to keep up with.

In the first meadow section we try to engage Kyle, thinking that maybe he’ll slow down if we get him involved in our conversation. I bring up some old stories from our childhood and get short responses. Tim tries to talk about work, with less luck. We don’t manage to slow him down but we do catch up to him. I hang with the pace for a little while then I start to drop back as they both speed up.

They were about 15 yards in front of me when we hit a series of STEEP descents and I fell on my rear. ‘Steep’ doesn’t do it justice… all the hills were steep. These hills were nearly walls. With the inch or two of snow we received the night before, they were beyond slippery. There were actually wooden handrails at these sections, but even with both hands holding the rails you slide down these hills (unless you’re one of those fancy trail runners with the chains on your shoes). My shoulder was sore the next day, of all things. I’m guessing I hurt it during my fall.

Kyle and Tim gradually distance themselves from me, and I notice that Tim is starting to inch away from Kyle. When we get back to the meadow I decide to gradually cut the distance between us. Tim is about 10 yards in front of Kyle; Kyle is about 30 yards in front of me. Over the next mile or so I cut the 30 yards down to about three. Kyle looks back for me and I think he lets off the gas enough to let me close in the last few steps. I tell him that I’m on the verge of death. He asks if I want to try to catch Tim. I tell him I want no part of it. He says we’ll compose ourselves on the last bit of meadow running and then make a go at it.

About a mile from the finish he asks how I’m doing and I tell him I’m happy to keep the pace we’re on. We’ve picked off a few people here and there, and I can’t remember being passed since the very beginning of the race. I’m not worried about all those freaks that left me in their dust… I’m just happy to still be holding a solid pace. He says he’s breathing hard and is content with the pace. Tim is almost out of sight now.

During the last couple miles we picked off a couple older guys. One guy surprisingly hangs on about 20 yards behind us for a while. The final climb was brutal. I wanted to stop and walk so bad; everything hurt. I could tell that guy was trying to gain on us. Kyle and I stayed together, followed the markings and saw the finish line. With about a tenth of a mile to go the older guy was making a move. I told Kyle, who said he hadn’t noticed, and he agreed that we should start our final kick to make sure this guy didn’t have a chance. There's nothing I hate more than being passed on the final leg.

We crossed in 1:17:58 (Kyle) and 1:17:59 (me). Tim finished 30 seconds ahead. That’s about 9:30/mile… which sounds slow, but on that course, in those conditions, I’m happy with that time. We finished 57, 59, and 60 out of 143 runners.

It was a really fun finish, following a downhill that allowed me to compose myself. After the finish I asked Tim what happened to running together… after all we had been trying to slow Kyle down for the first couple miles. Why had he then taken off and left us? It turns out Tim is pretty competitive. He felt like Kyle was trying to beat him, so he mustered up the strength to pass him, in hopes Kyle would give up the fight. If I had been up for it, I still think Kyle would have given Tim a run for his money during that last mile or two. Either way it was fun chasing the two of them for eight miles. It made me run harder and racing is infinitely more fun when you've got a partner out there. 

My first trail run was a success. It was an entirely different experience than a road race. The mental and physical challenges were unique. Overcoming those challenges was extremely gratifying. I will return to the Dirt Dawg 8 Miler, and next time I’ll have a goal: 1:10:00.

As everyone stood around a campfire warming up, we found a cooler full of bottled water and pop. I’ve never had pop after a race, but that Dr. Pepper was calling my name. It was awesome. I’d like to request that some one have a cold DP waiting for me at the end of every race. Krispy Kremes are also welcome.

I had Christmas down in Africa

Straight No Chaser's "The 12 Days of Christmas"... fun song to listen to, kind of annoying to replay in your head, over and over again, during a run.

What does it take for me to comfortably run six miles in 14° weather? Time to Break. It. Down.

1. Shoes
2. Socks (no need to layer here; my feet never get cold during a run)
3. Underwear
4. Underwear #2
5. Brooks running tight
6. Under Armour running pant (any more layers on the waist and I’d lose circulation in my lower half)
7. Under Armour ColdGear long sleeve shirt (worth its weight in gold)
8. Thermal long sleeve shirt
9. Short sleeve t-shirt
10. Wind breaker vest (nice high collar keeps my neck warm)
11. Mizuno knit gloves (look simple, but the best running gloves ever)
12. Nike tech gloves
13. Jersey hood (stole it from my dad; I think it’s meant to be worn under a hard hat)
14. Mizuno knit ear band (just bought this one, doesn’t slide down at all, matches my gloves, love it)

14 items. I didn’t realize it was that many until now. Ridiculous.

Pros of winter running: I love the crisp air and how easy it is to breath. I love running while the snow is falling. I love the way your muscles feel tight and springy at the onset of a cold run.

Cons of winter running: Layers upon layers and the time required to get them on. I miss throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and being out the door in seconds.

Last night’s run was a success. As always my hands warmed up quickly and I shed the first pair of gloves, packing them into the front of my pants to further arm myself against penile frostbite. After about four miles I shed the second pair of gloves and my face started feeling too warm, so I pushed the hood up onto my forehead. That was funny because the moisture in the fabric from my breath froze immediately and the hood was stiff the rest of the time.

The route was out and back. My plan was to run semi-comfortably on the out and improve by at least a minute on the back. This is always a struggle when I run into town because I’m running downhill out and uphill back. So when I’m most tired I have to force myself to run faster. I succeeded by running the back side 1:30 faster.

The reason for pushing myself to run faster on the second half? I’ve been reading into a new training philosophy. My old methodology was to do my maintenance runs at a comfortable/moderate pace, long runs at a easy/slow pace, and intersperse speedwork sessions once every week or two. This allows my legs to feel more rested and energetic. The philosophy I’ve been reading stresses frequent hard runs; faster long runs and maintenance runs. The idea is that instead of letting your legs rest and refresh, you train yourself to run on tired legs. Some people are even using this method to train for marathons with a long run of only 16 miles. Instead of training your legs to run 22 or 24 miles, you train yourself to run on tired legs for those last ten miles. I’m not saying I plan to use this method when I train for my first marathon, but I’m intrigued by the concept.

“Cant’cha smell that smell?”

Yes, I did go through a Lynyrd Skynyrd phase in adolescence. I can only stomach a couple of their songs now. Other bands I periodically loved: The Doors (I’m still okay with some songs, but is there a worse voice than Jim Morrison? Besides Ke$ha), KISS (much like their list of decent songs, a very short phase), Phish (not sure how I avoided suicide without the help of marijuana; really? 15 more minutes of that same chord?), and Caedmon’s Call (contemporary Christian band, think Jars of Clay only whinier).

I guess these were all attempts to ‘be different’. But by so attempting I chose to listen to the same bands all the other ‘different’ kids listened to.

Back to smells; I’m reflecting on my seven mile run last night. I can remember a variety of smells; which is impressive if you know how badly my nose functions.

1)       Dryer sheets: I’m always surprised at how strong the smell of laundry can leak out onto the sidewalks in the morning or at night while I’m running by.

2)       Donuts: When I run by a donut shop, my heart skips a beat. I am passionate about donuts. Cream-filled long johns, iced jelly filled, chocolate iced, or your standard glazed; I love them all.

3)      Cigarette smoke: I wonder if smokers realize how strongly their smoke permeates everything around them. I ran by a house last night where they had left clothes out on tables from their yard sale. I could literally smell the clothes while running by. 

4)       Car exhaust: I hate when I run behind a car and get a breath full of the exhaust. If I remember, I hold my breath until I’m out of range.

Then there’s the old house smell from a run three or four months ago that I can’t forget. As I was making my way down Warren St I passed an old house and I caught the faint smell. It made me feel nostalgic, but I couldn’t immediately identify the connection. I don’t know how to describe the actual scent, but a mile or two later connection dawned on me. It was the smell of my great-grandmother’s house (Grandma Edith). It’s not a very strong smell. Back in the days we used to spend there, I don’t remember noticing it. Was it the smell of old people? Or old house? Or something else? I’m not sure, but I was taken back to that house in Indiana when I caught the scent.

I remember the old wood, warped wood floors and the rugs. I remember the screened in porch, NASCAR always on tv, the cracked sidewalk in front and the metal handrail leading to it that we used to jump on and slide down, the small backyard where we played wiffle ball, the old record player where I hid my brother’s baseball glove and forgot about hiding it for months until Grandma Edith called and told us where she found it. “She found his glove… it was in the record player.” Mom said. “Oh yeah, I hid it there.”

If I could sum up that house in one word, it would be cozy. I wish I had taken the time to visit more often in the final years of Grandma Edith’s life. I miss that place, its smell, and my sweet great-grandmother.

Now I know where my next running route will take me, right by that old house on Warren St.

“Feel the whole city behind you”

That is the slogan on my 2010 Columbus Half Marathon shirt… a very nice, blue Nike Dry-Fit shirt, I might add.

Two weeks ago I laced up my Lunarglides for our second half marathon together; now I’m ready to break it down for the blog.

I chose this race for a few reasons. It boasts a flat/fast course, lots of bands/djs along the route, and a large field. No need to explain why I wanted a flat/fast course after making my half marathon debut in Cincinnati. As for the bands/djs and large field, those were my favorite aspects of The Flying Pig. Nothing helps me more than the adrenaline that comes from running in a large pack, being cheered on by spectators, and listening to music along the way.

The field was sold out, with 5,000 runners in the full marathon, and 10,000 in the half. Thanks to my qualifying time from Cincinnati, I was able to start close to the front of the pack in corral two. It was a long cold wait, as I got to the corral 40 minutes before the start. The weather was crisp, mid 40s I think, and clear skies. Too cold for standing around, but perfect for running. With gloves on I paced, high stepped, shivered, and kicked around until it was too crowded to move.

The corrals helped a lot. Cincinnati had a similar field size, but without the corrals it was a much more congested start, too much passing during the first quarter mile. At Columbus I got through the start and into what I thought was a nice pace (8:20/mile) almost immediately. During the first mile I felt a little sluggish; I wondered if the lack of sleep and poor eating in the two days leading up to the race were going to take a toll.

Side note: At the expo on Friday I had picked up a pace bracelet, which I was excited to use. It was a simple paper bracelet that broke down the target mile splits to achieve your goal. Luckily they had one for a 1hr 50min half marathon, my goal exactly. Wearing it right next to my watch I could easily keep track of my progress towards the goal.

The first mile marker appeared and I started to worry a little. My bracelet said I should hit the first mile in 8:25 and I was a few seconds behind at 8:29. Not much slower than my target, but it worried me anyway, I thought if anything I'd run the first mile too fast. I tried to pick up the pace by a few seconds to get back on track with my 1:50 goal.

The next mile marker shows up and I hit it in 7:48. That scared me a little; I made up for the slow start, but that was a little faster than I wanted. I worried that pace would take a toll on my legs, since it’s only about 10 seconds slower than my 5k pace. I tried to back off a little and then hit mile three in 7:46. “Okay Josh, take it easy. 8:20 is your pace. 8:20 is what you can handle for 10 more miles. Not so fast.”

Mile four… 7:50. “Slow down a little!”

Mile five… 7:41. “Crap!” Now I’m thinking I’m going to hurt myself. I don’t think there’s any way I can keep up this pace, but I’m starting to notice that it does feel comfortable.

Mile six… 7:45. “Okay, if this is what feels comfortable, just stick with it as long as you can, then back off. You’ll be so far ahead of your goal, you’ll be able to afford slowing down the last three miles.”

Mile seven… 8:02. That mile featured the biggest incline on the course. At this point I’m thinking: “Okay, 8:00 pace is much safer. Just stay between here and 8:20 and you’ll be in really good shape.”

Mile eight… 8:01. “Good. Stay here.” At this point I realize I am going to achieve my 1:50 goal, even if I run out of steam and have to cruise in at a slower pace.

Mile nine… 7:56. “Easy there.” Also I remember thinking here that I couldn’t believe how fast this race was flying by. My first half marathon seemed to go on and on. It seemed like every time I looked up during this race, I was coming up on another mile marker.

Mile ten… 8:02. Here is where I realize I picked up the wrong bracelet. I have a very good chance of finishing in 1:45.

Mile 11… 8:09. “Okay, if I want to finish in 1:45 I’ve got to stay close to this pace.” Legs start to feel heavy here.

Mile 12… 8:12. Legs feel like concrete. “I can handle anything for one mile right? 1:45 is mine!”

The half marathoners split off from the full marathoners about a quarter mile from the finish line. When I see the banner and look at my watch I know I can cruise in and achieve my new goal. “I can’t believe this is almost over already.”

As I’m approaching the finish line I hear my name over the speakers. Pure joy lifts my hands straight up; I think I may have even pointed with both index fingers, like I’d just won the Boston Marathon. I felt like a star. If some one would have asked for my thoughts after the race, I’m sure I would have started my comments by thanking God. Looking back I’m a little embarrassed about pointing to the sky, but after watching others finish, I realize it’s a natural reaction to being cheered on, hearing your name announced over loud speakers, and finishing a race.

Mile 13 (+.1)… 9:01. Total… 1:44:45. “I did it!” That’s eight minutes and twenty seconds faster than my previous half marathon time!

The finishing tunnel is what it’s all about. Ice cold chocolate milk (heaven on earth). Krispy Kreme donuts (so good it felt wrong; I knew these would be waiting for me and thought about them frequently during the race). The bananas were a little green (no thanks). Another chocolate milk? Sure. And finally a plain bagel to nibble on while watching the full marathoners come in (not so much fun tasty, but I knew I needed it).

That’s the breakdown of my race; here’s my breakdown of Columbus:

It was a blast. The scenery was great; who knew our state’s capital was such a lovely city? I’m sure some did, but not me. Over 80 bands/djs played on the course. There was hip hop, bluegrass, a guy playing bagpipes, and everything in between. My favorite was a trio of OSU kids playing the ‘Chariots of Fire’ theme. Running to that song was like a dream.

The spectators were not as much fun as in Cinci. Even in the cold rain of this year’s Flying Pig, the streets were surrounded by noisy crowds. In Columbus they were silent in comparison, and most only cheered for their own friends/family. I had to look hard for a few high fives, which were abundant in my first half marathon. In Cinci they were so energetic and supportive that there were a few times I literally thought I was winning. “I must be lapping all these people in front of me!” (Don't you hate it when people use the word 'literally' when they don't really mean 'literally'? Just me?)

But overall Columbus was fantastic. I have only fond memories of my second half marathon. The course was awesome, the field was huge, the weather was beautiful, the music and spectators were plentiful (I testify that indeed I did feel the whole city behind me), and it didn’t hurt that I finished in under 1:45!

Tubthumping

I’m so far behind I think I’m ahead. One of my favorite sayings of all time.

Almost a month since my last post. So much to catch up on, but so hard to recall everything that’s happened. I’ll start with ‘the fall’, and see if anything else comes to mind.

Two weeks ago I ran my final long run before the race, a 14 miler late on a Monday night. The weather was nice and crisp, around the upper 50s, perfect for running, and I mapped out a route from the house, through downtown, through our old neighborhood, to the north end of town and back.

The first half of the run went very well. I tried to keep about a 9:10 pace; I didn’t want to push the speed and have to deal with soreness the next few days. I remember around mile 9 noticing how easy my breathing felt. I realized how far I’d come in the last year to be able to cruise at that pace for such a long distance without getting slightly winded. I know it’s not fast to many runners, but when I got started I could barely run one mile at that speed.

After about 10 miles I began to notice the heaviness in my legs. My breathing was still good, and I’d been eating energy shots, but that inevitable sluggish feeling was creeping up on my quads. My form typically erodes at this point. My feet get less and less clearance from the pavement, and to make up for it I gradually start lifting my shoulders (I don’t know why, but my body thinks I’m going to get further off the ground by doing this), until my neck and traps start to burn. So as I concentrate on relaxing my upper body, the clearance beneath my feet is still shrinking.

At mile 11 I’m on a neighborhood street with very poor lighting. I see an old lady walking a dog on the opposite side. She’s stopped, while her dog watches me pass. I worry the dog is going to chase me, and drag the little old lady by the leash. After passing them I take one last look back to make sure the dog isn’t coming and it happens. Poorly lit street, uneven sidewalk, tired quads, and shallow strides combine for a blunt contact between my right foot and a chunk of cement. Momentum carries my body forward, but my feet are way behind.

I once saw something on tv about how cats always land on their feet. They showed cats being dropped in slow motion, and it was neat to watch them twist around in the air, finding a way to get their feet under themselves every time. I think as humans we have some of that ability, maybe not to land on our feet, but to minimize the damage when we do fall.

I tripped on that sidewalk pretty hard; there was no way I was going to land on my feet. But I did instinctively shift my weight to my right side, carrying myself over into the grass, and I curled slightly so I did that kind of fall where you softly land on your forearm and roll onto your back, so it’s not really a hard impact. It’s more like a roll. Similar to the tuck and roll you see in the movies when some one jumps from a speeding train. It’s all about making the contact gradual.

So once my body comes to a complete stop next to the sidewalk, I lay there for a second, I’m not hurt, just embarrassed. I hop up and the 90 year old lady walking her dog at 11pm asks me if I’m okay. I am.

As I humbly trot off, I wonder how often other runners fall. After being a runner for all of 17 months, I’ve now fallen twice. And that doesn’t include the mere stumble, I’m talking complete body on the ground falls. I’m averaging 1.41 falls/year.

My other fall involved ice, so it’s less embarrassing… I guess. I stepped out on a cold winter morning to start my run. There was no snow on the ground, but there was a patch of black ice underneath the broken gutter of our car port. Just steps away from the front door put all my weight on one foot for my initial kick off. Right under that initial kick was a patch of solid ice.

This fall was like the ones in cartoons when people step on banana peels. My feet kicked straight into the air and I landed flat on my back. My cat-like reflexes could only save my head; I tucked my chin and kept my head from snapping back onto the pavement. I slid to a stop on the patch of ice and as I typically do when I fall, I laid there for a second wondering how I let this happen before getting up to see if anyone saw me. No one did. I got up and took this fall as a sign I shouldn’t be running, and returned directly to the warmth of my house.

Has anyone else fallen during a run and would like to share? Or non-runners who’ve fallen? Other people fall too, right?