Running through mud (or what I have learned)

Today’s run was the first early morning jaunt I took since the previously-blogged marathon. I’d been putting off the colder temperatures due to being sick. The cold I suffered (but like a man, mind you), came about as a result of running said marathon.

As I was slogging along my six-mile route, and still dealing with the after effects of the cold (manly-like), I was launching sortie after sortie of snot rockets. NASA had nothing on me. It made me realize that running is not a pretty sport. It’s kinda gross what with the sweating, spitting and snotting.

But I also came to the realization that there was a lot I didn’t know going into the marathon that I wished I had known before. There’s plenty of information online for first-timers – if you know the right questions to Google (do these running pants make my butt look sporty?). Or you can plunk down some serious cash and buy one of those daunting tomes the running mags publish, only to get bored and use it as a coffee table.

Here, then, is a list of the things I wish I had known back when I started running:

• Shoes: I knew shoes were important, but not how important. I was more concerned about price than I was about comfort or foot safety. What I learned was that shoes matter. A lot. More than any other gear. Get to a running specialty store, not a sporting good store, and get fitted. It will make your run easier, faster and you will beat all other runners the first time you run in an event (no, you won’t, but your feet will thank you.
• Immunity: My thought process has always been the more exercise you do, the stronger your immune system will be. So the longer you run, the healthier you’ll be, right? What I learned is quite the opposite. Apparently, when a person commits the body to more than 90 minutes of strenuous exercise, it begins to break down the immune system. To combat the problem, increase your vitamin C intake before half and full marathons and the like. And avoid sick wards. And sick people. Like Rotarians and Kiwanis.
• Listen to your body, part one: I’m pretty stubborn. It’s not easy for me to take the advice of others. It’s not easy for me to accept help. And, come hell or high cliches, if I say I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it. So if I say I’m going to run 10 miles, I’d better do it. What I learned was your body is very vocal. There’s no law saying you have to run until you drop. If your body says stop, then stop. If it tells you to walk a bit, by all means do it. If you gotta poop, get to a toilet. Don’t ever be that guy.
• Listen to your body, part two: Five days a week, I’m a slave to the alarm clock. Too many times I’ve committed to getting up and running, only to (pun alert) run myself into the ground. What I learned was that it’s OK to shut off the alarm. If you’re tired, sleep.
• Tunes: The only thing you should be listening to is the Best of Barry Manilow. No questions asked. Kidding. What I learned is that different tempo songs will motivate the speed you run. Build your playlist around that. I listen to everything from Pantera and The Black Crowes to 10,000 Maniacs and The Ramones. Just don’t forget the Manilow.
• What you should learn: Don’t listen to me. Find your own answers and what works for you. There are plenty of things to learn, but ultimately, it comes down to what your body reacts best to.

The Wretched Recovery

Having finished my first marathon, I was sore, but I had never felt better, more alive. I knew there would be a couple days of rest and recovery. I was prepared for that. Two days and I would be back out there, running that road.

What I hadn’t considered was how the strain I had put on my body would weaken my immune system. And it did.

I know it did because I ended up with a cold three days later. Two days of not running has turned into six. I’ve got a croaky throat and a general heaviness in the chest.

But instead of lamenting the downtime, I’m using it. I’m writing and drawing this blog. I’m learning to listen to my body. It’s telling me to rest instead of pushing myself too hard to the point of making illness worse.

Now I admit that I had my whiney moment. Why me? I eat right. I exercise. I pay my taxes! Whyyyyy?

It didn’t last long. I understood why. I’m also more at risk because I work in a hospital, one of the most germ-ridden places a person can work.

However, as long as I let my body heal and keep up the good diet, I’ll be back out there in no time.

I’d better be. I’ve got a half-marathon to run on Feb. 8.

The Wretched Marathon: Unofficial Race Report

I don’t think I could have been more ready to run a marathon than I was yesterday morning, January 12, 2014.

The weekend had been planned months in advance. Coach Kitten (which is how I refer to my wife, so get over it) and I were heading to Southern California for the second annual Honkers Motivational Marathon. It would be a first for both of us. It would, in fact, be many firsts for us.

Some time ago I mentioned that I wanted to walk a 5K. Keep in mind that I had no idea how far that was (3.1 miles), but I felt it was something I should do. After all, I walked a lot. After we walked our first 5K, we started to get this urge to run a 5K. We sort of walked-ran the second 5K. The third one we ran. It was amazing.

Since that time, we’ve run more 5Ks, and we ran a half-marathon. A marathon just seemed like the logical next step, no matter how much my fear protested.

But which one? We decided we didn’t want to lose our marathon virginity to a larger, more popular race. We also wanted something that was going to not be too hilly. Oh, and it had to be (for me at least), in the middle of January. What? That’s cold! So it had to be somewhere warm.

A not-too exhaustive search revealed the Honkers Motivational Marathon in Anaheim, California (you know, where Mickey Mouse lives). The inaugural event had somewhere around 100 runners. This year the race had around 250 runners in the marathon, though the half and 5K portions of the race sold out. Still, it was a small group. The course was described as being flat and fast (that was partially true). And the forecasted temperature for the day was in the 70s. Every aspect fit the (goose) bill.

The only drawback is that is was not close to home, and it would require an overnight stay. This is something we had not done as a couple for many many many years. But we resolved to do it. We registered, booked hotel accommodations (thanks, Embassy suites!), and made sure the car was ready for a six-hour drive.

Having made the jaunt from the Central Valley to Anaheim (somehow surviving Los Angeles freeways), we checked in and picked up our race packets. One of the highlights of the experience was getting to meet Pam Kane, the founder of the race. How many marathons can you say that about? She is a warm, gracious and friendly woman who cares about the sport and strives to put on the best event possible (thanks, Pam!).

Falling asleep Saturday night proved to be almost impossible. If it had not been for the sheer exhaustion of the day’s drive, I believe the anticipation of Sunday’s race would have kept me awake most of the night.

After an encouraging text from my guru – my running Yoda, as I call her – Layla, I drifted off to get as much rest as my nerves would allow.

Race day arrived. Despite my nerves doing what they do before such events, I felt centered and ready. We checked out and made our way to the course start, a little baseball diamond and park adjacent to the Santa Ana river trail about two miles away from the hotel.

A very cold woman chattered her way through the national anthem as the runners queued up. We counted down at 10 seconds as a group, and, even though the starting pistol jammed, we were off!

The “flat, fast” course was exactly that except for the stretches that dipped under roadways. It wasn’t so rough, and trying to cross the busy city streets would have proved rougher. Plenty of aid stations dotted the first half of the race. After 1.5 miles or so, the 5Kers turned back, freeing up the pathway a bit more.

If I doubted that I was meant to run this race, my doubts were assuaged when I saw the angel. The dark predawn hours gave way to gray skies, the clouds parted, and there it was. Angel’s Stadium with its giant A logo. Yeah, that was cool. On I ran.

Mile six came soon enough and I was keeping an 8:25 pace or so. I couldn’t say for sure, because my running app struggled with tracking under the overpasses. I made the loop and headed back the way I came (is that a guy in a Chewbacca coat?). Coach Kitten and I passed one another and I smiled and mouthed words of encouragement.

Mile 13 hit at the starting point, and the half-marathon runners finished their race. The route became even emptier. There were stretches where there was no one around me in my field of vision. Things got rough. Each aid station became a welcome sight. My pace slowed. A lot. I mean, a lot.

To this point, the most I had ever run was 19 miles. I had run that almost nonstop. On this particular day, I had to walk more than I would have liked. When running start to hurt, I walked. And when walking hurt, I ran. That was how the majority of the last half of the race went for me.

A footbridge crossing the river and two very vicious hills stood between me and the final turnaround. The path wound its way into Yorba Linda, along the opposite side of the river, which teemed with waterfowl of many varieties. The higher the sun climbed, the warmer it became and the more ducks, cranes and, yes, geese became a welcome distraction.

Finally, the last turnaround was in view. I asked those attending it if it was. They assured me it was. “Thank God! I wanna go home,” I probably said a little too loud.

“Home is that way,” one guy said. I turned around and headed back.

Though the final stretch is mostly a blur, I did have to walk a bit (mostly due to threatening a Charlie horse in my left calf). Once again, I saw Coach Kitten and warned her of the horrible, evil hills that awaited her. As mile 25 passed, I picked up my pace. I found my wind. I picked it up and ran as fast as I could (by this time I figured my pace was in the 11-minute zone, though since my phone had died a couple miles back, and I had no idea what my exact time and pace was).

There it was. The finish line! It was the most beautiful thing ever in that moment. I charged for it. I got my medal and my towel. I laid down in the cool grass and died.

But when I un-died, I stretched and struggled to find my legs again. While waiting for my cohort to finish, I learned I placed fifth in my age division, coming in at 4:21:09. I received a second medal. I got a little misty.

At 5:43:37, Coach Kitten came along. I was allowed to present her with her medal. It was the best part.

Although it was a wretched slog, and one of the most painful things I’ve endured, the overall experience was one of the most rewarding and amazing events of my life.

The Wretched Mile goes on.

Official results:
Placed: 55 out of 146
Age group: 5 out of 11
Average pace: 9:58

Night and Day

Since this is the year of The Wretched Mile, I’ve decided to keep a running journal on the days that I actually run (unlike today when I blissfully slept in), so that I can look back and see what seemed to work versus what didn’t. Here then are two days’ entries from this past week ending with a side-by-side comparison of my splits (runnerspeak for average pace per mile).

January , 2014, 6.06 miles
The alarm didn’t even have a chance to go off this morning. My body was ready to run. It’s as if dog DNA was pumped into my blood during the night.

“Wanna go for a run, boy? Huh?”

Yeah! Yeah! Let’s go!

I’ve added push-ups to my morning stretches. I’ve also added planks, because I’m weird like that.

When it came to the first run of the new year, I felt like a little kid. It was pure fun to be out on that road, running free. Though it wasn’t the best run (read fastest) I’ve ever had, it definitely ranked up there with the most enjoyable. And I have to remind myself this is why I’m doing this.

It is blissful.

It is making me healthier.

It is pumping me full of sweaty, energized, little endorphins.

When I think like that, I get far more excited than nervous for the upcoming marathon.

January 3, 2014, 6.06 miles
Instead of talking about what a struggle it was to wake up and drag my tired carcass out of bed this morning, I thought I would look at the data of yesterday’s versus today’s run. According to runkeeper (the running app I use on my iPhone), both runs were 6.06 miles. And I ran an average of 7:48 per mile on both days.

Yesterday I was ready to go. Today was an epic struggle. Here’s how each mile stacked up:

Day: 1-2-14 / 1-3-14
Mile 1: 8:29 / 8:28
Mile 2: 7:45 / 7:48
Mile 3: 7:40 / 7:37
Mile 4: 7:39 / 7:41
Mile 5: 7:44 / 7:44
Mile 6: 7:29 / 7:31

Pretty interesting comparison, I think. Especially considering the urge to run over the urge to sleep. I may do this in the future for those running number nerds out there that like this sort of thing as much as I.

Fortnight of Terror

Two weeks. That’s right. Fourteen days until I will find myself running through Anaheim in the Honker’s Motivational Marathon. Needless to say (but I’m going to say it anyway), I’m a tad terrified. Well, OK, maybe terrified is too strong a word. How about overwhelmed? Yeah, that works much better.

But what is it that’s got me so worked up? I try to keep myself in check by asking this regularly.

Is it the distance? Could be. The farthest I’ve run to date is 19 miles. It’s common training practice not to run more than 20 miles a few weeks before the race. And if I pace myself I should be able to run another 7.2 without too much difficulty. So I’m not really worried about the distance.

What about the people? True, I get a little fretful in a crowd. Even my morning runs are solitary — and in the dark. Races, except for the rare, uh, exception, are typically held in the day. It seems to reduce tripping hazards. Once I get running with others, I’m pretty comfortable with it. I even get a little competitive, in an entirely friendly way (Conan the Barbarian was friendly, right?) in fact, I really like the camaraderie.

The time perhaps? I figure I will probably finish somewhere in the 4.5 hour range. It’s nowhere close to the BQ (Boston Qualifying) time, but I’m not trying to qualify for the Boston marathon. I’m going to be running because I love running.

And that’s what I have to remind myself. It’s about the love of the sport. It’s the freedom and the ability to run. And run. And run.

Last week as I was taking a walk on my morning break. The air was crisp and cool. The skies were clear and bright. It was more like a fall day instead of our typical Central Valley bleak and foggy winter days. An older gentleman, probably in his late 60s or early 70s was running the opposite way on the other side of the street. He had on his running gear. Tech shirt, shorts and earbuds attached to his iPod. He wasn’t speedy. But he wasn’t walking. He was sweating hard. He was making every step count. That’s when it made sense to me. Here he is, running in his golden years (cue David Bowie), because he can. Because he wants to. Or maybe because his wife is a raging hag and he needs an excuse to get out of the house. He point is, he is still going.

It’s reminders like that which give me the confidence I need to tackle the challenge that will be here before I know it.
And after that, then what?

Yeah, I’ll do it again.

The year of the wretched mile

I ran 6.31 miles this morning. I’ve had mornings when I’ve ran nearly 20. There was a time when I used to wonder how the hell anyone could even run a mile. I called them weirdos.

I was jealous. Why not me? So I started running. One step after the other. In January of 2014 I will run my first marathon. Then I will run a second.  Then a third. I’ll add a sprinkling of halfs and 5ks in there as well.

Its going to suck. It’s going to be miserable. Wretched. In short, absolutely amazing.