Sharing is caring...except when it's about unasked for training advice

I am a self proclaimed student of marathon running…I read books, I spend my days at the office listening to podcasts on marathon running, I read articles and scour all online sources for any little tidbit of data that will make me a better runner. I ask questions of anyone that I know that is faster than I am or has completed races that I hope to complete. I look for that person that is where I want to be with running and I learn about them and from them. That being said, I admit that I get frustrated when I am given unsolicited advice on training.

Regina inquired about my long run over the weekend, I replied that we did a little over 10 but walked a bit more than either one of us would have liked. To which a fellow classmate decided to provide me with her take on how walking will improve my marathon and that I need to work on increasing my walking speed. I politely explained that I need to increase my running speed, not my walking speed as the pace we completed on training on Saturday would not get us to the Bridge in time.  Unfortunately she was insistent that working on walking speed would help with my running speed. I was trying to be polite and not blow her off, especially since initially I felt as if her intentions were good. However, I became increasingly frustrated that she chose not to listen to what my goals/needs/desires were and instead focused on walking.

I don’t dismiss walking as a key part of a marathon…I have walked more than half of the last two I have completed….which is EXACTLY why I need to work on my running speed. My strength training. My stretching. My mental game. These are a few key factors that I need to work on to achieve my goal. I think what frustrated me was the assumptions made about me and my talents/abilities without asking.

I admittedly made assumptions about her talents and abilities based not on her age or her appearance but on the amount of grumbling she does about exercises we do. Personally, I assume if you regularly grumble about the number of lunges you have to do that you aren’t going to have a desire to push yourself to complete a marathon with a serious goal in mind. Also, if you don’t let me finish my sentence when explaining why walking isn’t the goal I’m personally going for, I’m not going to listen.  

 I  guess I need to remember that not everyone has the same thought process as me…that it is better to inquiry about the persons training plan and learn what works for them. And if the conversation warrants it, then share your training plan not as a “this plan is the end all be all” but more in terms of a “hey we’re both doing this whacky crazy thing, here’s what works for me” exchange of ideas.

 

 

 

 

Making Memories That Are More Important Than Running

Last night Jesi and I traveled to a Group Mission Workcamp Site in Pennsylvania in order to surprise her Dad for his 50th birthday. I will admit I was a bit bummed that I would be missing my training run since I've finally found a training rhythm, but sometimes there are things in life that are more important than training runs.

I lost my Daddy about two years after his 50th, it was sudden and shocking but at the same time I didn't grasp the far reaching impact of his loss. I was 18 years old and so overwhelmed with decisions and choices that instantly ended my childhood and made me an adult that I didn't really have time to think about anything. It wasn't until I continued to grow and age and have those important milestones that I truly grasped what that loss has meant to the overall picture of my life.

While Jesi kept thanking me for driving five hours round trip, missing my training run, staying up until 2:30 in the morning all so that we could spend a few hours to surprise her Dad; all I could think about was that I needed to make sure that she has as all the chances to do stuff like that. It's not a poor pity me, but more a desire to ensure that no opportunity is lost to make a special memory.

Training is important, critically important if I plan on meeting and exceeding my goals....but it's the memories of the people and those that we love that will last larger than finishing times and whether or not I got my Wednesday night run in.

Avoiding the Negative

Running effortlessly. Where everything falls into place. Your breath is perfectly timed to your foot fall. Your feet are softly touching the ground but have immense power to propel you forward with the lightest of touches. It’s a perfect moment in a runner’s day. That moment where everything is literally perfect. Seemingly effortless because it truly feels effortless.

 I had that feeling for a brief fleeting moment on Tuesday. Where I thought for a moment this is what the greats feel like. I am one of the greats. And then, my moment was shattered by a fellow classmate who snapped “JJ she said run to the yellow sign, not sprint.” Thankfully Regina spoke up and told me to do my thing.  

I honestly didn’t realize I was sprinting, to me I was just enjoying the feel and the moment and the energy of that fleetingly perfect moment. I was thinking about how this training session was going to make me a better runner. I was thinking about my footfall and how it was touching so softly, not that clodhopper like sound they make when I am tired and dragging. I was feeling the mechanics of my body and making those unconscious adjustments.

I will admit that I have been struggling with my reaction since Tuesday. In an instant, I had allowed someone’s negative, snarky really, comment to take away the awesome feeling that I was having. I was frustrated by her intrusion in my moment. Embarrassed that my hard work and effort were being belittled.

I appreciated Regina coming to my defense, but I spent the remaining time in class stuck in my head, and the thoughts of that morning still continue to pop in and out of thoughts. In an instant, I was left feeling like the odd person out. It is a lonely feeling, to feel as if you are the only one pushing and striving for something beyond the comfort zone. Reaching for something bigger than yourself. Reaching for something that just seems ever so slightly out of reach, but yet you know that if you keep going, keep pushing you will get it.

 I am not intimating that my fellow classmates are lazy or lack drive, we are all there at 6am when one could be sleeping in, but I feel that our goals, our DESIRES are different. In that difference is the basis for the snappy comment. The jab at me as a person. Me as an athlete. Me as a dreamer. Me as goal chaser.

 Andy Frisella talks about the concept of haters in one of his recent podcasts. It's such a common turn of phrase in modern lexicon that I must admit I was quick to use on my classmate. However, she wasn't a hater, she wasn't offering constructive criticism but she wasn't a hater. She just lacked understanding of who I am as a person.

And going beyond her lack of understanding of me as a person and taking myself out of the equation all together, the statement was more about her. She was stating something about something she is personally battling, something that was unsettling inside herself.

Though the larger philosophical part of me is trying to continue to hold that thought in my mind, it still bothers me that I allowed someone else’s negativity to impact my run. It is honestly something that I struggle with on a daily basis in my non-running life. Hopefully with time and practice, I will figure out how to discard/ignore those negative thoughts and vibes and just focus on that effortless feeling.

 

Day Two...here Wii go

The morning started out promising, I spent the morning running about a mile and change while stopping to take part in various cardio like torture at the direction of my trainer Regina. The five person boot camp ventured out and around running and exercising, laughing and getting to know each other as we began on our day by with an outdoor 6am exercise routine in August like temperatures and humidity.

Three miles was on par of the day. I prefer not to break my miles up, but was going to get at least two miles in after work with a goal of actually shooting for three consistent steady miles. Alas, Mother Nature decided to blanket us with torrential downpours, thunder, lightening and a myriad of warnings that caused me to make alternate plans.

The Wii....the island lap (the longest of the "runs") is roughly a mile....I did two island laps and a short lap just for good measure. Not exactly the run I wanted but I had to keep moving. I knew that if I didn't find some way to create the miles I would frustrated before I even began. On the upside, Wii Fit Island is a pretty fun place to visit everyone is friendly and waves and the dogs, though unleashed, are friendly and don't pester you.

My wife so kindly asked why I didn't just go to the gym and run on the treadmill...honestly by the time I realized that I couldn't run I also didn't want to venture out and drive back across town through roads that often flood, so improvisation came into play.

I wouldn't recommend Wii Fit as an all the time alternative, if only because it will leave a bald spot in my carpet, but as a last resort to keep the momentum going it's the perfect solution. Some kind of movement is better than none at all.

Marine Corps Marathon 2015 Training Begins

Another marathon training season has begun. I always feel that I start out the training season gung ho and filled with passion, only to fizzle out mid way through. The fizzle more often than not is the result of outside factors: my thyroid, unseasonably strange weather of one end of the spectrum or the other, major life event. This year I plan to stay the course. My intention is to follow the Hal Higdon plan to a t. After thinking about my disastrous marathon from last year I have found a few key areas that I plan to focus on that will make this year’s race more successful.

 

This training season I plan to:

 

• Work on strength training
  • Specifically glute and upper body strength to improve posture
• Increase core strength
  • This could go with strength training but it’s a key component that needs its own focus
• Increase flexibility
  • I need much better overall flexibility but, my hip flexors are notoriously horrible; working at a desk job makes them worse. Working them is incredibly painful but necessary to be successful
• Strengthen my knowledge about running and training techniques.
  • Basically just read everything I can. Watch documentaries. Just learn my craft as much as possible.
• Have fun         
  • This I think will be the most challenging component of my plan, but I need to remember to have fun. Remember why I started to run. Remember that I am accomplishing that something only about 1% of the world’s population has ever accomplished.

SURPRISE!!! The Weekend Does Contain Calories

I am forever baffled by those that spout stories of great unhealthy weekend excesses, and then finish by saying “but I ran/exercised on Saturday morning”. A statement that sounds as if it’s their attempt to justify their behavior; or perhaps their assumption is that by saying it out loud it will have a magical impact and negate the bodily damage that was done by too much of whatever they partook in.

 

I am not a prude or a teetotaler; I have a multitude of stories of my weekend (sometimes not limited to the weekend) excesses. However as someone that now prides myself on my fitness and my focus on health not my consumption of alcohol beverages, I am frustrated and baffled by those that feel that they can out exercise a bad diet.

 

Why spend the week in the gym, putting in the work and the sweat and at times tears, only to undo those efforts in a few short hours? Those few drinks, that rich food from the restaurant, that decadent behavior more often than not totals more calories than burned during your combined workout effort during the week.

 

Personally, a weekly splurge or treat isn’t out of question…I’m pretty steadfast on some things but even I need my occasional froyo splurge or pizza treat. Moderation is the key to success when it comes to your food plan and exercising. Reward yourself in a manner that reflects your hard work not in a way that will completely undo your hard work.

 

If you’re not progressing, if you seemed to have stalled and are stuck stagnate in your journey take a few minutes to look at what your weekend activities look like. Contrary to popular belief, the weekend counts just as much as the other five days in the week….especially when calories are involved.

Why me? A pep talk to myself.

Why me?

 

It’s an understandable question; one that I took a few minutes to ponder while sitting in an all too familiar waiting room. The lab request form in my hand and my sleeve rolled up, waiting for the all too familiar battery of tests. Nearly two decades later, two decades, and the feelings of frustration, fear and anger seem to surface pretty easily.

 

I was beginning to think that finally my body, the organism that had been attacking me for a majority of my life, had finally given up its struggle and allowed me to declare victory. I run for fun, I roll through mud for fun, granted it’s under barbed wire with people yelling at me to go faster, I scale walls for fun. I’m a four time marathon finisher, five time half marathon finisher. I’m a Spartan!

 

December 30, 2013 found me sitting in an all too familiar waiting room, of an all too familiar lab. The décor may have changed but not really. It’s still sterile. Cold. Uncomfortable. The following day found me ringing in the New Year with a new diagnosis.

 

Hypothyroidism.

 

Seriously?! I’m a marathoner and a Spartan! Who currently is not allowed to marathon or Spartan.

 

My lab results revealed levels that were out of range by over 400%. A figure that didn't get there overnight, but the symptoms, looking back, that started about a year ago always had a logical reason; they seemed to fall in line with my training schedule. I merely chalked the fatigue up to training harder for my races combined with the fatigue that has plagued me since my bout of hyperthyroidism as a teen.  While I was "thrilled" (so to speak) to finally have a diagnosis and a name to put on what had becoming overwhelming fatigue (a phrase that doesn't properly explain the depth of my exhaustion), along with a host of other symptoms….I was disheartened when I realized that for the time being I am unable to train.

 

For the last few weeks I have been silently, longingly, looking at my social media feeds, watching everyone’s gym stories, their below freezing runs and their various accomplishments scroll by me. I don’t begrudge my fellow Spartans and other racers their gym time, I just wish I was able to take part.

 

It’s hard. It’s frustrating.

 

Why me? A question that has been rambling around for awhile. Until I get a response, somewhere deep in the back of my brain.

 

Why not me?

 

I am after all a marathoning Spartan. It’s not as if I haven’t been there, done this before. The symptoms and name might be different but the impact is the same. Besides, a quick Google search of athletes and hypothyroidism yields a list of Olympic athletes that I feel honored to be among. Perhaps this just means I have become such a beast at the gym that my body can’t handle ME.

 

I will admit that it’s not all sunshine and sprinkles’ raining down on a herd of unicorns, but it’s something that I can do. Do I want to do it, not especially. But I will.

 

Why me?

 

Because. I am a marathoner. I am a Spartan. I can do anything. And I will…..after I take a nap and my pill. Until then, I will continue to stare longingly at my friends who are training and preparing for races and competitions and remind myself, that I can do this, again.

 

 

 

 

And so the recovery begins......with a road trip

I woke up Sunday as sore as I have ever been in my life. My swollen feet had thankfully reduced in size but were still tight in my shoes and socks. My biggest concern was my Achilles which was so red and inflamed that my ankles could barely move. Walking was really more of a shuffle mostly because of pain, but also because I feared moving my ankles the wrong way would result in me rupturing something. The agony was enhanced by the fact that the guest bed we were sleeping on was unbelievably uncomfortable. I spent the night slowly tossing and turning trying desperately to find a position that was moderately comfortable.  Honestly, if I could have managed to get up and down on the floor I would have slept there as it would have been far more comfortable than the bed.

Everything on my body hurt, including my nose. I realized after some thought and consideration that it came from my hat pushing my sunglasses into the bridge of my nose.

After breakfast we piled into the VW, me behind the wheel, and began the journey home. I drove about the way I walked, slowly and thoughtfully. The lateral movement of switching from the gas to the brake was painful to say the least so I often had to physically lift my leg in order to move it from one pedal to the other. Realizing this, I decided slow and steady with ample car lengths between myself and other drivers would ensure our save arrival back to Frederick.

Disclaimer: I should add an explanation of why I drove. My mother was tired and frazzled after a stressful morning and Jesi, who is an awesome driver, had never driven with my mom as a passage. Due to the confluence of events it truly was the best solution to have the gimpy marathoner behind the wheel. This was not my first time driving in this condition so I felt safe in attempting the journey. I figured if I could drive the Beltway after a marathon I could drive Route 30.

By the time Jesi and I arrived at the apartment in the early afternoon, I felt for sure that I would never walk properly again. My muscles, despite a lathering of Ben-gay that morning, were tight. My hips would not allow any form of normal walking without the joints separating. My quads seem to pull in unnatural ways every time I moved my legs forward. My ankles seriously felt like they could not bend as a proper ankle should.

[Yes I’m sure you are reading this thinking what in the world is this lunatic thinking and how/why does she derive any pleasure from this marathoning thing? I have no answer.]

As I finally crawled into our incredibly comfortable bed I thought to myself at least it couldn’t get any worse. Note to self and everyone reading this….never, NEVER say that. EVER!! Apparently when I reapplied Ben-gay to my quads, I didn’t realize that my pj pants would redistribute the Ben-gay to other places.

There I was laying in bed, unable to move much less move quickly, trying to figure out how to sit up and get off the bed in order to get to the bathroom. Part of me wishes there was visual documentation of my frantic attempt to get myself into a sitting position and then off the bed only to realize the 400 mile (ok more like 14 feet) trek to the bathroom-my legs were burning in pain as I tried to walk while my personal area just burned.

Thankfully my sense of humor has remained somewhat intact during the healing process. The combination of a sense of humor and finally having a restful night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, was a winning combination in the healing process.. Though I knew, despite thinking it couldn’t get worse, I knew that Monday would be a brutal pain day as the second day usually was the worst healing day. I went to sleep comfortable and with a prayer to the marathon healing gods that they would be gentle on me and my return to work.

Garden Spot Village Marathon....hanging with the Amish and singing with P!nk

The April 3^rd morning was chillier and windier then I had anticipated as I made my way to my first marathon of the season. I could hardly believe that I would be doing two marathons this year. I decided my first of two marathons would be The Garden Spot Village Marathon in New Holland, PA. When I signed up I forgot to check the evaluation map to see that this would be the hilliest run of my life. However, what initially drew me to the marathon was the purpose of the marathon; all proceeds would be used to help the Benevolent Fund at the Garden Spot Village Retirement Community. The race was staffed by a volunteer staff that was predominately made up of residents. I chuckled when I saw that the parking lot attendants were residents of the community, the men in their electric orange hats and vests waving (unnecessarily I might add) their orange glow sticks and greeting runners with a smile and good morning. It was quaint and heartwarming.  

 I stepped to the start line shortly before the 8am start. My normally peaceful starting line routine was interrupted by a “Chatty Cathy” who felt compelled to discuss my calf sleeves and her own personal sock issues. I tried to be polite but dismissive in hopes that she would leave me alone. She finally got the hint, or spotted something shiny, and left me to gather my thoughts and find the right music to start off my first marathon of the season.

I have never been at a road race, much less a marathon, with so few people. With barely 1200 of us in line for a half marathon, relay and full marathon, I was unsure of how to act when there wasn’t pushing and shoving for space. Also to cross the start mat in less than 15 seconds after the actual start was quite strange for me as I am so use to the Marine Corps Marathon nearly 20 minute wait from the first running crossing the start line to when I get my chance to cross the start line.

It was a little congested at first as we wound through the cottage area of the community and out into the town of New Holland. Once we left the residential areas we were able to spread out on the country roads. The fresh country air was amazing, though the biting cold and wind was definitely an obstacle. I made it over the first hill large hill and was greeted by my enthusiastically cheering mother and fiancée standing at the end of the driveway of the house where we were staying. It was sweet to see my mom, who had never attended one of my road races, cheering for all the runners as they went past, shouting encouragements as they went by. Jesi even ran with me for a few minutes to see how I was doing and to see how the course was.

 I was, despite the hills, on record pace. This was the first race where I had studied the course map and made a plan for how I would tackle the hills and other course features.  I had done the pre-planning because I had allowed the weeks to slip by and had only put in 48 training miles over three months (compared to my normal 350 miles over 5 months). I decided to focus on my carb loading and studying in hopes that it would help me overcome my lapse in training.


 There were water and aid stations with porta-pots every two miles, which is a fantastic treat for any distance runner. Especially the porta-pots. Though I will admit to a slightly disastrous, and somewhat embarrassing, pit stop around mile six. I will forgo the details other than to say cold hands, confined space and the monthly curse do NOT make a good combination. My shriek of surprise from cold hands could be heard by the EMT standing nearby. Upon my exit he asked with a concerned look if I was ok, I merely stated the seat was cold and went running on my way for fear that there would be further questions.  


 It was at the next mile that I ran into, almost quite literally, Jesi, Mom and the friends whom we were staying with. The four had kindly piled into the van to come find me on the course and cheer me on, however I was unaware of their supportive plan or the fact that the road had been opened up to vehicle traffic-and my focus on the turn in the course I nearly found myself as a hood ornament on their Toyota van. My initial thought upon seeing the closeness of the van and the drivers seeming ignorance of the large mass of oddly dressed people, was a string of non-Mom appropriate words followed by an internal chuckle when I realized my mother was in fact in the van and would have lectured me for my words. After I got over being startled, we all waved and they cheered through the windows as I turned down yet and other hill and went on my way.

At the start of the race there were a lot of spectators given the overall size of the marathon pack which was a surprise. However by mile 7 and change, just past the half marathon turn around point I noticed that the supporters began to thin out. Within feet of passing the half marathon turn around point I was alone. Not only were there no spectators there were no other runners. I felt briefly that perhaps I had made a wrong turn somewhere on the flat road, but realized I had been on a flat road so it was unlikely that I had been misplaced. I thought briefly of the times I got stuck in Beltway traffic, barely going 5 mph for miles, with what seemed like thousand of cars in front of me, only to get through the congestion to find that all the other cars on the road had seemingly been abducted by aliens. It was during my pondering of Baltimore traffic patterns, that I spotted the orange cone that marked the course, and the object that would keep me on course, literally and emotionally, for the rest of the race.

As I came to realize that I was alone I took stock, there I was, just me, my Superman shirt and my iPod on unfamiliar roads in an unfamiliar place. At first the experience was cool. I focused on my now personal record setting pace and enjoyed a portion of the course that was moderately flat. My goal to not step in any “road apples” (a local euphemism for horse poop) kept me focused as well. I would occasionally spot other runners ahead of me in the distance and we would play leap frog more or less as we would alternate passing each other near water stops until they usually pulled ahead of me.

I continued feeling wonderful with myself having made it to the half way point in roughly three hours. I still felt fabulous, even though I felt slight discouragement seeing the faster marathoners on their way back where the out and back portions of course crossed together, but I had decided before taking off that the days goal would be to finish, so I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

But it was shortly after the half way point that despite my pleasure at doing so well granted my lapse in training that my forward motion started to become more and more difficult emotionally. While the water stops were close together and well stocked in the beginning the further I got on the course I noticed that the selection of protein and food was dwindling to bananas that had been sitting out for awhile and gu’s (a product for which I have a love hate relationship with, emphasis on hate). The promise of pretzel fish and mini Oreos were dashed by the time I got to the tables as the supply was depleted or honestly looked so picked over that my germaphobe OCD inner voice wouldn’t allow for me to eat something that had been handled by other runners, who like me had no access to soap and water.

I was concerned, I had packed my Camelbak based on what the event organizers had stated on the website would be available water stops. As the miles and time went by I started to become concerned that my small Larabar bite and my bag of Skittles wouldn’t sustain me. By mile 17 I began to ration out my Skittles, as my protein bar had been consumed at mile 8. I understand that it is the runner’s responsibility to provide their supplies, however when I read on the website the various items that would be made available I packed my food supplies accordingly.

Also, the lack of human presence began to unnerve me. I expected to be running with traffic; I did not expect the thoughtless and reckless manner in which drivers drove the back country roads. I found myself on numerous occasions hopping off onto the shoulder of the road to avoid being hit. The Amish children were a welcome sight. Many would look up from their chores and wave and those that were in the buggies would also smile. Contrary to public perception, the Amish are a warm and loving community and they demonstrated that at various points during day as they waved and smiled and wished runners good luck. However, other than the sporadic sighting of the Amish we were busily working on their farms, there were no other people.

I managed to run until mile 17 quite a feat considering the longest distance I had run since my 5 mile race in December, was four miles. From mile 17-20 I was alternating between running and walking while I would count in increments of 10. A miscalculation in my head would ultimately be my undoing during those last 7 miles. I somehow assumed the upcoming mile was mile 20, and accordingly calculated in my head the number of miles until the finish line. While I ran I calculated my approximate finish time and while realizing I would no longer break my own personal record, I would be pretty close. However, despite my optimistic figuring the small voice in my head began to taunt me with doubts.

The doubts got even larger when I realized that instead of approaching mile 20, I was instead approaching mile 19. For some reason that extra 1.2 mile that I hadn’t counted on seemed insurmountable. How I could I possible do 7.2 MORE miles, the thought of 6.2 miles was bad enough. That moment as I came up to the mile 19 marker I felt that I was at a crossroads with myself. Would I be able to go on? Would I be able to make it to the finish line? Would I ever be able to sing P!nk songs on key while running?   

I finally convinced myself that I couldn’t give up, my mileage until the finish line was in single digits. Not to mention the lack of spectators meant that I would have to sit on the side of the road and wait for at least 45 minutes for one of the Garden Spot “sag” wagons to come by. So, I decided I might as well keep going.

There was a lot of self talk during those last few miles.

“How after 20 miles could you possibly consider giving up?”

“You have done this before, it’s not like this marathon thing is anything new.”

“Buck up you Dweeb.”

“You’re wearing a Superman shirt, live up to!”

As I kept pushing forward, now this time walking as my Achilles was so painful that bending my foot was excruciating. I could tell that my feet were swollen in my shoes and my quads were on fire. But I kept going. It was during those last miles that the orange cones became my life saver. My focus moved from the number of miles to just get to the next cone. A tactic that helped propel me forward.

I refocused my mental energy from the pain in my feet and legs to the beauty around me. I started to really notice the farm country and the horse auctions. I would wave at each buggy as it passed. I began to focus on anything but the fact that I was completing a marathon. I tried to ignore the growling of my stomach and would sip water. I sang along to my iPod. I counted sheep (not to sleep but to stay focused) and chickens. I realized that as I focused less on the task at hand I began to move faster. Though I will admit that if I went any slower I would have been going in reverse. I began to run in increments of five, though I only did that a few times as I was fearful of the pain in my Achilles.

I was disappointed that what I had hoped would be a personal record finish was no longer a possibility-but now the focus was just finishing in one piece. I was discouraged that aid stations had been closed up or were out of food except for bananas that had been in the sun, going on six hours. But while I was disappointed about the lack of people and support, I reminded myself that I could do it and that finishing was my responsibility.

I finally saw the turn off to the finish line and texted Jesi that I was almost there. As I made it closer to the finish line I forced myself to run. For some reason I have always made it a point that I run across the finish line. No matter how exhausted or sore I am I will run across the finish line. Granted, my actual running and my perceived running are often quite different.

As I looked up I saw Jesi coming towards me as I slowly began to run, she stepped in stride with me. I remember saying haltingly “can’t stop.” She smiled and said she wasn’t about to make me. Off to the finish line we went with Jesi chatting along beside me.

The residents who were seated near the finish line started clapping as I stepped on the timing mat at 6:47:04.


I must admit that the medal was by far one of the simplest I have ever received, but the utter joy of the residents that were passing the medals out made up for the lack of size. The kind grandmotherly woman acted as if she was bestowing the Olympic gold medal on my neck. She lovingly placed the medal on my shoulders, asked if I needed anything, asked where I was from, asked me a myriad of other questions that I’m not sure I answered articulately and thanked me for participating in their marathon.

I was disappointed that the concession stand had closed up and that there was no post race food, as I had been dreaming of the homemade chicken pot pies and pretzels that had been mentioned as post race protein fuel. But disappointment was quickly replaced with exhaustion. I was able to hold off the feelings for the last hour while I walked the remaining 6 miles but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to get to the car and back to the house where we were staying. The thoughts of a warm shower and bare feet outweighed my desire for any food. Jesi kindly led me back to the car carrying my Camelbak while I walked wrapped in my aluminum foil space blanket contraption. As I shuffled I finally took a breath of relief that it was over and that I would soon be in comfortable clothes and not moving. Analysis and thoughts of the race would come later, after the turkey sandwich that my mom would make and a night’s sleep.  

2013 Race Schedule

• April 3, 2013: Garden Spot Village 1/2 Marathon, Relay and Marathon, New Holland PA
• May 4-5, 2013: Frederick Running Festival Nut Job
• May 4: Twilight 5k
• May 5: Frederick Half
• May 11, 2013: Color Run, Baltimore MD
• May 18, 2013: Warrior Dash, Budds Creek MD
• June 8, 2013:  Run or Dye, Washington DC
• August 10, 2013: Spartan Sprint, Amesbury MA (with New England Spahtens)
• August 24, 2013: Spartan Super, Leesburg VA (Elite Heat)
• October 12, 2013: Baltimore Half Marathon, Baltimore MD
• October 27, 2013: Marine Corps Marathon, Washington, DC (Running in support of Super Fi Fund http://www.active.com/donate/semperfifundmcm2013/jjbell)

I'mmmm BBBAAACCKKK

     Marathon number three is less than 72 hours away. Who would have thought when I began this journey a little more than two years ago that I would find myself doing it again, again and again? And this year I have upped the ante with a race schedule packed with two full marathons, two half marathons, several 5K’s and several obstacle course races. My goal is to better document my journey this  year-not only to track my own process but to perhaps provide some tidbits, albeit novice, of advice to runners beginning their awesome journey.
     My intent is not to bore one with split times (a concept I’m still trying to understand) and nutritional facts (again something I’m learning) but I’m hoping to focus more on my personal growth and journey. I will attempt to post more regularly then I did when I first started this blog nearly two years ago.

 

Crisis of Confidence

                This morning I definitely suffered a crisis of confidence. While running this morning it seemed like the task laid out before me seems unreachable. I’m not sure if it was the stifling heat of the gym or the impact that the cast on my right hand has on my gait. Regardless of the issue I started to doubt myself, my training and my overall abilities.

                My run this morning was decent, time wise I won’t be breaking into any record books but I did my run on a 3% incline at a 5.6mph speed. It was challenging beyond any basic without obstacles and mud run that I have attempted thus far.

                The Marine Corps Marathon is now 110 days away and I’m realizing that I’m behind in my distance training. I think part of it is a lack of motivation….some of it could be that once again I’m dealing with an injury. While I’m proud of my mangled hand, and what has turned out to be a torn thumb ligament, I’m finding the cast is messing with my balance and I find it distracting. The other factor in the lack of motivation is not having someone to run with. Intellectually I know that running is a solitary sport, part of what drew me to it as a means of dealing with life, however as I need to run longer and longer distances I find the lack of running companionship to be challenging.

                It was ironic that as I sat down to write this I spotted a link on the Mud Mafia Facebook page from Runner’s World about how to stay motivated. I found a few of the tips helpful, others made me chuckle but perhaps it will help others find their way. (http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297--11733-0,00.html)

                In the end I know that I need to man up and just do it, as the cliché Nike ads all say. No one is going to be able to accomplish this but me. I may have the assistance of my trainer Regina and my fellow troops in SoldierFit along with friends that are also pursing similar goals, but in the end it is I alone that needs to get out of bed and run. I have achieved much harder things but I think part of why I struggle is that those where incidents that were thrust upon me, I had no other choice then to push forward. This time, I have put the pressure on myself; I have made the conscious decision to put myself through these paces.

                One thing I came across last night was the poem “Invitcus” by William Ernest Henley I had jotted it down for some reason or another (prior to the popularity of my dream boy Matt Damon’s movie of the same name) It has provided me with a degree of perspective and focus:

Out of the night that covers me, 
Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be 
For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the Horror of the shade, 
And yet the menace of the years 
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 
How charged with punishments the scroll. 
I am the master of my fate: 
I am the captain of my soul.

A Successful Race with Killer Socks

                The Marine Corps Irish Sprint turned out to be my best running (of the non-obstacle variety) experience so far. I finished the 10K in 1:21:10. Probably not a terrific record breaking time by any stretch of the imagination but the day was full of new experiences, a snazzy shirt supporting the Peoria (IL) Police Benevolent Association and an awesome pair of Superman socks, complete with flapping capes.  

                The majority of the race was a trail run, something I have never done before. Still lacking health insurance and possessing a desire to have an injury free training season, I took the trail was reserved enthusiasm. I kept a consistent, somewhat slow pace and watched for rocks, tree roots and anything else that would be an issue. On the other hand, when I was on the sections of the course that were asphalt I was more gung-ho and let myself run full out. I just let myself go and focused on the sun and crisp air as I just relaxed into the run.  The hills were a challenge mostly because they were hills but also because they were trail hills. I walked the larger trail hills and made some valiant efforts at running the asphalt hills. Overall, the course was a new experience for me because I haven’t run a course that is so hilly before so I tried a few techniques that I have learned from Regina (my friend and trainer) and just used the day as a learning experience.

                The day wasn’t just devoted to furthering my knowledge of my body and running. I’ve been tinkering with my playlist for awhile. Vacillating between using audio books (Rob Lowe’s dulcet tones make a nice running companion by the way) and using a combination of bass pounding and classical music. After much trial and error and frustration, I finally created a play list that kept me going at the right moments and also seemed to provide the necessary “breather” music when it was time to ease up a little.

                And no race would be complete without me befriending a runner or two along the way. In fact I slowed my pace a little bit to run with “Birthday Girl” (despite chatting about everything else we didn’t exchange names) who was celebrating her 45^th birthday by running, her friends who had joined her for the race had left her behind. She was struggling so we chatted and kept going for awhile. We eventually got separated but I made sure to wait for her once I crossed the finish line so that we could get our golden tickets together.  My mom teased me about once again helping out another runner. I honestly don’t know why I feel compelled to do it, but somehow it makes the day more special and the accomplishment of crossing the line sweeter. It’s not an ego thing, just a human nature kind of thing.

                I was super stoked to cross the finish line. Not just because I felt like it was the best race I had ever run but also because its completion meant that I got entry into the Marine Corps Marathon, which sold out in a record 2 hours and 30 minutes.  

A Belated New Year's Resolution

As a new year’s resolution I vowed that I would write/journal/blog every day. While I wrote in my nice little journal everyday…..for about a week, I seemed to have abandoned my blog lately. It was originally intended to track my journey as I prepared for my first marathon. Even during that process I was lax in my writing.

As the weather has turned even nicer than the unseasonable warm winter we have had in Maryland, I have found myself running and training more. With that increased time on my feet has come an increase in my internal mumblings that I have felt more compelled to jot down as of late.

After watching Spirit of the Marathon, a really amazing 2007 documentary that was gifted to me last year as a “must watch” while prepping for my marathon…..I must admit that I didn’t watch it until last week, I was inspired. And as a result, my focus and drive was kick started. I want to ensure that I am properly prepared for this year’s Marine Corps Marathon.

While going through the Hal Higdon running plan that will in 18 weeks prep me for my second marathon, I realized how unprepared I really was last year. Due to injuries I was really sidelined in training….honestly it’s kind of a miracle that I was able to complete the marathon when I take into account my overall lack of mileage and long distance running prior to race day.

So I have decided to rectify that this year by ensuring that I take a focused, well planned and injury free approach to training. Along with that process will hopefully be more blog posts with thoughts about training, life, mud runs, strange toe nail issues and not getting smushed by a car….a task that proves challenging when living in the while trying to train for marathons.

This post, while not especially exciting or long winded as previous posts, will kick off my 2012 blogging attempt. Lets hope this year is better then last, with more posts and fewer injuries. Cheers!

PS Due to a less than positive experience with champagne, none was consumed in the writing of this blog....though you are welcome to imbibe to help me start off my belated New Year.

Now What?

                I’ve noticed the last couple weeks that I’ve had this overwhelming feeling of blah. At first I thought I was coming down with some cootie virus, as I had heard sometimes happens after a marathon. But congestion, nose blowing and achiness did not follow. I’ve just felt sort of melancholy for no particular reason. The holiday’s, while in the past haven’t been spectacular, have actually been pretty decent so far.  I’ve just had this sense of “now what” running through my head. Even though I’ve been training for the FFAT I’ve still had this feeling that I lack direction. Then it hit me as I was driving home from my unsuccessful FFAT…I have spent the last year training for a huge event that is now over with.

                Initially, my training started as a way to get prepared for the FBI physical and fitness test but when that was put on hold due to budget cuts I on a whim signed up for the MCM. From January until October my life was focused on what foods I needed to eat, what body part was injured, my training schedule and finding socks that didn’t give me blisters and helped cut down on the post run stink. Now that the marathon is done and my body is feeling pretty decent and I have found the perfect sock, I am feeling lost.  

                I honestly didn’t realize until the last few weeks how much of my being was shaped by the experience of becoming a runner. My whole life has changed from my sleep pattern to my food to my need to plan my life around my workout and running schedule.

                A recent article in Runners World said that one needs to set new goals, which I have done to a degree. I have already signed up for my next set of races: two half marathons, a 5k and am waiting patiently for January to roll around so that I can sign up for the Marine Corps Irish Sprint. But when I think about a half marathon it seems so small compared to what I did. Then I feel like a pompous dork for thinking that a half marathon is small when I’ve only ever run one marathon in my entire life.

                It’s not that I don’t look forward to my race schedule that will also include a Spartan Race (or two) and a Warrior Dash, but I feel like I want to do something more. As President Bartlet on The West Wing would say “what’s next,” I wonder what’s next. I’ve accomplished a marathon (which I would like to do again) but now I want more but I don’t know what “more” looks like.

                Until I figure out what my “now what” looks like I’ll keep push upping until I pass my FFAT  and I’ll keep running and hopes that along the way I find a direction and purpose. 

Push-upping

                Today was a jumble of emotions. I started the day in the dark, traversing my way down 270 and 495 in morning rush hour to take my Functional Fitness Assessment Test (FFAT). I was a mix of excitement, nervousness and nausea. I also felt calm and centered. I had practiced the fitness test. I had visualized myself passing the test. Completing with flying colors and making my way across the state of Maryland to MSP Headquarters for my written exam. Slight hitch in the plan though. I didn’t make it past the pushups.

This morning’s FFAT was as follows:

Minimum of 18 pushups in 1 minute

Minimum of 27 sit-ups in 1 minute

16.25” sit and reach

10 trigger pulls in each hand

1.5 mile run in 15:20

                I received my letter inviting me to the FFAT two weeks ago. In the last two weeks I have been push-upping until my arms hurt in places I didn’t realize existed. I was concerned because I couldn’t get past 5 without feeling like my arms were going to collapse. And then low and behold Saturday morning I woke up and did 18 pushups. They were beautiful and left me with 15 seconds to spare. I was thrilled when I was able to repeat this feat several times over the next 48 hours, even increasing my total up to 22.

                However, it would seem that my efforts were for naught, at least in regards to the FFAT. I wasn’t getting far enough down in my pushups. I have to go all the way down to the instructor’s fist, so essentially 3” off the floor. I was getting about 4” away. 1 darn inch. I did 15 pushups at the test without a single one counting. When I became frustrated, I uttered shit and was told that I needed to maintain my composure, I realized that I wasn’t as prepared as I thought so I held a plank for the remaining 30 seconds of the exercise. I may not have been able to complete the pushups but I wasn’t about to take a knee before time.

                I was embarrassed and defeated. I had failed. Thankfully my instructor took a few minutes to demonstrate form and explain to me how I needed to improve. That 2 minute conversation did wonders for my spirits, though the sting of embarrassment was still there.

                I took an hour to wallow, bummed that I had failed. But then I realized in two weeks I had managed to go from not being able to push up to being able to do 22, even if they weren’t MSP regulation. I realize that the true failure would have been not trying.

                So for the next month, I will be push-upping and sit-upping during TV commercial breaks. I will take what I learned from the instructor and practice and in a month I will try again and this time, I will conquer those pushups. And instead of a mere 18 I’m going to push for more. I will show the MSP that I am the best suited candidate for the job.  

I showed you how great I am....I am a marathoner

Disclaimer: This post was actually written a few days after my October 30th Marine Corps Marathon, however procrastination and my incessant need for perfection has resulted in edits and rewrites. Plus, a strange fear of sharing my thoughts about the race has kept this blog on the task bar of my computer. 

                I did it. I ran a marathon. I ran 26.2 miles. 26.2 fucking miles.  Four statements I keep repeating to myself while looking at the medal that I received upon crossing the finish line. The medal that honestly has not left my line of vision since Sunday. I know that running and achieving goals that seem impossible is about the intrinsic reward but sometimes the medals and shirt are just really nice reminders of the blood, sweat and near tears of the day.

                I’ve been asked several times, what was it like? How was the course? Are you nuts?

My short answers: Indescribable. I have no idea. Probably. My pithy answers are usually not enough detail for the questioner so I try to dig down and come up with more expansive responses. But the truth is, 72 hours later, I still can’t properly formulate what it was like.

                There is the glee and sheer joy of accomplishing the seemingly impossible; a feeling tempered by sheer exhaustion and the agony of the pain in my foot. To be honest, there Is much about the day I don’t remember as my focus turned from looking at the scenery to focusing on the ground in front of me and trying to gauge if the pain bad enough that I need to stop.

                The not remembering really leads me into the next query about the course. Even after studying the map for days prior to the race in order to visualize and prepare myself for the day, in all honesty the preparation really went out the window once I got going. The pain was bearable until about mile 11 when I had to adjust my brace. By mile 17 the pain was shear agony and was of a level that I had never quite experienced before. What had already become a slow run at mile 11 became a walk at mile 17. My running companion in search of her own personal goals proceeded ahead. I attempted to run another mile, until the run was more than I could bear and my body screamed, probably many variations of four and five letter words until I gave up running and focused on walking.

The Monument that I somehow didn't see

                I look at the marathon photos of myself and for the life of my I can’t remember seeing any of the monuments or sights. I mean, how can one not “see” the Washington monument but for some reason I don’t remember actually seeing it….but there I am in pictures where my too big pants running right by the worlds second largest phallic. I remember snippets but I lack any true sense of time or location. Even with mile markers proudly proclaiming my accomplishment as I progressed through the course I have no true sense of where I was. Some miles seemed to go by so quickly I thought for sure I was doing a 4 minute mile while others seemed to drag on for hours.

Calling Regina while running

                I called my girlfriend Jesi and my friend and trainer Regina for much needed support at mile 20. Regina talked me through my fears with her usual no non-sense attitude and good cheer. Jesi just kept me company with news and details of her day (which I hate to admit I don’t remember, sorry babe). Their voices helped calm me fears and provided me with support and much needed reminders that I had come further than I had left to go.

                During those last two hours of walking my mind warred with my body, specifically with my left foot. I fought to keep moving forward. Probably the biggest fight was my mind battling with itself. Dueling with whether I could complete what I had started. Questioning whether I was truly ready for the task when the longest distance I had run was 16 miles. The last time I had run any significant distance was nearly three weeks prior with my friend, Jason, during his Double Ironman.

                I fought with myself to keep going. To push thru the pain, both physical and mental. I realized how strong the battle was, when I began debating with myself about shedding my pants. The temperatures were now warm enough that I didn’t need the outer layer I had put on to keep me warm, but at the same time they were a comfort, they held my candy corn and were soft and comfortable. I’m sure they lacked aerodynamics but by that point I could care less about that….besides I was worried if I stopped to take them off I would somehow be unable to move again. It was in these hours that I learned that a marathon is as much about ones mental fortitude as it is about the size of one’s quads. I remember Jason saying a similar statement as I ran beside him a few short weeks prior.

Pushing through to the finish line

                When I finally saw the red arch with the large FINISH I found myself moving faster that I had in hours  and within a few seconds I was running….my sore ankle and foot along with my too big pants be damned…I ran like I had never run before, pushing myself across the finish line. As I pushed myself those last 100 feet I heard the vocals from the YouTube video “I’m going to show you how great I am” playing in my mind. The cheers of strangers propelling me forward.

                And in a seeming instant, after the high-fives from the Marines and the medal placed around my neck, it was over. I had my medal, my finisher picture taken, the boxed food (that I didn’t eat) and then it was done. I had done it. I wasn’t as fast as I had hoped, it certainly wasn’t as pretty as I had hoped (flappy pants aside)…but I did it. I had done the seemingly impossible. I had done what so many thought I couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t do.

                In regards to the final question regarding my mental stability….no I am not nuts. The truth is, those that continually ask me that question are the ones that can’t fathom: waking up early, going to bed late, pushing through indescribable pain, ignoring the nay-sayers and the inner voices. They can’t fathom achieving something so great and life altering because for them it’s easier to be safe in their existence. All of that is ok, for them. I’m not nuts…I’m hard working and driven and I’m a marathoner.

In front of the Iwo Jima Memorial post race

Wearing Two Shoes

Today was my first day without crutches AND getting to wear two shoes, more accurately two matching shoes. For the last seven days whenever I venture out (albeit against doctors orders) my feet have been adorned with one running shoe (right foot) and one Adidas slide (left foot). I have felt slightly self-conscious going out with mismatched shoes, I mean it's obvious that my ensemble is justified....especially when seen whizzing speedily down the main aisle of Target in the electric chair cart with crutches in the front shopping basket and my Mother yelling my full name to slow down. In my defense I only took out one poorly placed fixture. I mean seriously, who puts a shipper THERE....sheesh.

But I digress.....

Today I woke up, exactly one week from when the doctor said I had to remain off my foot and attempted with some minor grunting and much lace loosening to get my left foot into my shoe and off I went to class (yes I did wear more than my two shoes). My first workout went well. My trainer, Regina, came up with modifications....while my classmates were running I was pedaling along on the stationary. Our usual Monday arm day exercises were a tad more challenging only because I've spent the last seven days walking on my arm pits while swinging my body through two aluminum sticks while praying I didn't swing myself too violently and fall. (this has happened before) There were seated kettle bell swings, standing kettle bell swings, power max 360, rope battles, bicep curls, hanging crunches and push ups....lots and lots of push ups. I felt confident after class that I had successfully made it through with a minimum bump in my pain level.....down to a 4 from a 9.

Feeling confident with my new found magically shoes I headed to the post office where I must admit after having to stand in lane for 10 minutes I looked like a flamingo, standing one legged until I had something to lean against....and missing my crutches as I realized how fatigued my left foot was. However I focused on the positive...the nearly perfect form I had and the stellar work out my right quad was receiving.

Today showed me that I'm recovering, slowly but recovering. I helped the recovery process along with a 10 minute ice bath tonight. Yes, if you heard a loud intake of air and a series of curses in a somewhat high pitched voice, that would have been me getting into the ice water bath to soak my legs, hips and knees all of which are sore. But hey, it was all worth it because I got to wear my shoes...and as most of you know I love my shoes. Tomorrow.....I take a couple miles on the bike.

A Much Needed Well Placed Life Lesson

                I have been remiss in my blogging duties, as of late there has been little to report. I have been running and working out and training for the Marine Corps Marathon. It honestly seemed quite bland to bore my readers with my daily workouts and miles logged. Suffice to say that I have topped over 200 miles since July and countless hours with weights and workouts. However, this past weekend I got the opportunity to witness something so amazing that I’m still struggling to put into words exactly what it was.

                The basic bones of the day were a 3:00am wake up to drive two hours to Lake Anna State Park to cheer on my friend Jason as he completed a Double Iron, yes that says double. For those unclear on what that means….Jason set out to swim 4.8 miles followed by a 224 mile bike ride topped off with a 52.4 mile run. I arrived around 6:00am, after traversing the winding road back to the parking lot. It wasn’t until the sun came up that I saw the sign cautioning drivers about runners and bikers….all I saw were bouncing headlamps and flashing red lights, if I hadn’t know what I was looking at I would have thought E.T. and his posy had descended on Virginia.

                It was a foggy cool morning, that made me quickly realize I hadn’t worn sufficient clothing for the nearly 10 degree temperature difference from my house to the race but I put the thoughts of cold out of my mind and made my way up to the lighted tents in hopes of figuring out where Margaret and Jason were….well I knew Jason was out running but I wasn’t sure if Margaret was running also or had perhaps passed out from sheer exhaustion somewhere. I found the tent fairly easily once I realized they each tent had the competitors name on it. I stood patiently outside the tent until a blur of warm clothing and a pink hat came by….it was Margaret (who I hadn’t met and had only exchanged an email or two with the previous night) who was stirring soup and keeping an eye out for Jason. We exchanged greetings and handshakes and I was completely surprised at the amount of energy that Margaret had after being up for about 300 hours, okay I think at that point it was about 48ish but 300 seemed a better number when one considers that during that time she was running, feeding, cheering and helping out not only Jason but also Andy (one of the founders of the Spartan Race) along with anyone else who might need a hand, or two.

                When I looked up I spotted Jason….I was honestly giddy and probably a little shy. I had been following Jason since prior to his snow shoe race last winter. We had not actually met before now our friendship had been emails, Facebook posts and letters and care packages….meeting Jason was to me like meeting the most famous person you ever wanted to meet….and then get to spend time with. I was super excited and shy and nervous all rolled into one. So excited and nervous in fact that when given the task of running Jason his soup, I spilled quite a bit on me and then managed to get lost as I didn’t realize the runners turned off about ½ to ¾ of a mile from the start point….I ended up about 2 miles past where I should have been…thankfully the race director rescued me and Jason’s now lukewarm soup and deposited me with Jason.  For the rest of the day Steve, the director, reminded me to turn right….I was considering changing my Mud Mafia name to Turn Right.

                Jason and I ran together for awhile. We talked. It felt like we were old friends, we just chatted about everything and nothing. Jason shared a lot of his knowledge about running; the psychology of racing and the need to appear cool and collected when you pass someone so they don’t try and blow you out of the water; our habit of dropping F-bombs while running; and most importantly we discussed the best candy (Swedish fish of course the awesomest but I explained the greatness of Mike and Ike’s). All while running a consistent pace, that actually has been my best pace so far.  

Jason and Margaret

                This was my first time at an event like this as a spectator much less as someone there to help. I was confused about what to do and how to do it. I was unsure of Jason’s routine so I tried not to yammer too much…I think perhaps in my nervousness I did. But after some time, Margaret who had taken some much needed time to stretch out and hopefully catch a nap or a few winks of sleep took back over and finished running the race with Jason. I will be honest, I was grateful when Jason said he wanted Margaret to take over….the race was getting hard and I realized that Jason was struggling in ways I didn’t understand.  I had come to help in whatever way possible and I was concerned that I wasn’t going to be able to uphold my promise.

Thoughtfully Chaotic HQ Tent

                I happily and with gusto took over as HQ person…after a quick orientation from Margaret “this is heed,” “this one has two scoops of this and one scoop and a little of this and a goats tail” (ok no goats tail) and “this is plain water” she took off to pace/run/keep Jason going. For a while I was lost. And chilly and sore. My sprained (what I thought at the time was sprained) ankle was not thrilled with the miles I had just logged so I found an ice bag, submerged my foot and waited. Not exactly sure for what….but I waited none the less. At first I had missed that I hadn’t brought a book but then realized I might miss something. After about an hour and a couple loops with Jason running and Margaret giving me a heads up about what to get, I began to get a hang of the routine. Everyone cheered and clapped for everyone. Yes it was a competition but it seemed to be more of a personal competition rather than a competition amongst each other. Even on the loops I did with Jason each time a runner passed they shouted out words of encouragement or a thumbs up to those they passed by. If those were too physically demanding a smile or head nod. Perhaps these competitors seemed to go by some unwritten rule that it’s not always about beating everyone, but just doing your best. I don’t know if that’s an unwritten rule but more the adage that I have always gone by and I found it reflected in these athletes, there’s always going to be someone better than you so the only thing you can do is your best. As the Mud Mafia mission statement says "take care of other runners on the course because you’re traversing the same battlefield," I definitely saw that in action on Sunday.

                As the hours rolled on the sun came up and burned away the morning fog. The day warmed up but not so much the runners would be uncomfortable, at least from the heat. I iced my foot and waited until I saw Jason and Margaret come around the bend and I would stand up and wait for Jason to round the cone and Margaret to let me know what was needed. In the in between times I would observe the other athletes, some of whom had finished and promptly fell asleep the second they sat down forgoing food or liquid for sleep which they had been deprived off for 30+ hours. (Think about how exhausted you are when you go a normal day without sleep….now consider what it would be like to run either a double or triple Iron and see which you would prefer….food or sleep).

                As for those still racing, I would watch and try and figure out their back stories, I wondered what led them to this event. This moment. What amazed me was that everyone was smiling. Perhaps it was delusion setting in but they were genuine smiles of joy. Yes, joy.  Even at their most exhausted moments not a single person dropped their shoulders in defeat they kept pushing forward. Some rounding the cone marker in some fanciful manner others just running, but all seemed to have this sense of joy. Whether they realized this or not is a different story, but to me that’s what I saw joy and exhaustion.  

                After 30 hours and 35 minutes Jason completed his journey. He carried the American flag across the finish line while the National Anthem played in the background and Margaret by his side. He had done it! His bright blue eyes shining, and there was a smile upon his face. He and Margaret hugged a hug that silently spoke volumes to what they had been through. Margaret had run 40+miles, had helped two athletes cross the finish line in their first triple (Andy) and double (Jason).

Jason and I, post race

                The two collapsed into their chairs under the tent and relaxed and enjoyed a Boca burger and laughed and smiled at each other. Incredulous at what they had completed, giddy from exhaustion, I jokingly said I should have brought some adult beverages along with me….both laughed and said they would probably pass out and die from the alcohol. After some relaxation time it was time to pack up the car. Jason and I sorted through clothes and other stuff and learned that we both have a similar need for organization. The three of us laughed and talked, I’m not sure about what exactly, but I remember Jason teasing me about my perchance for noticing shoes. After some strategic placement of tables, bags and bike wheels….I got to touch Jason’s time trial bike….we all hugged and said our good-byes.

                I spent the two hour trip home listening to Mumford & Sons trying to wrap my brain around what I had seen, heard and felt throughout the day. I remember one thought was a feeling of gratitude for being able to take part in something that was so personal for Jason. I was grateful for the new friend I had made in Margaret. I was grateful for the stupidity that was my ex and her decision to leave me because without that I wouldn’t have had the chance to partake in all that I had for the last 17 hours.  I just felt overwhelmingly grateful.

                Since then I’ve been trying to figure out the other lessons in that day….trying to figure out and explain this feeling that has been with me since watching not only Jason cross the finish line but so many others. I’ve been trying to discern the knowledge that was imparted on me and then roll it into my everyday life. I think like many of the life changing events that have happened, it takes awhile for that message to become clear. For now I’m just enjoying this feeling of euphoria and fogginess that seems to be pervading my thoughts. It’s not often that you can pin point a life changing event, for me the Virginia Double was that, for reasons I’m still trying to fathom.

                I suppose this is a long drawn out blog for something that, for me, only last 17 hours from start to finish, but usually the response to my telling of the events is a head shake and “you people are crazy,” I felt compelled to verbally vomit everything I can remember about that day here where I know judgments will hopefully be limited to a “good grief she’s wordy.”

                I suppose I just wanted to share about the fortitude of a small band of hard working, focused athletes who showed me the resilience of the human spirit and body and a sense of humor about life despite the need for massage amounts of body glide and other creams.

EPILOUGE

                I willingly went to the doctor the next day and learned that the ankle that I thought was sprained, and therefore was ok to run on despite some pretty gnarly pain, was in fact severe tendonitis. I was grumpy Monday, Tuesday and most of Wednesday especially from the amount of teasing I received for being accident prone and various other phrases. This time I seemed to be more easily offended because this time the injury came from doing something I have come to love. It was the result of hard work and passion and a drive to achieve the impossible. Once I got my indignation under control and my grouchiness at the situation seemed to subside, I began to refocus on the MCM and thought about the small band of focused athletes and what they taught me….it’s not about winning it’s about doing your best and giving it your all. With that in mind I am not focusing on the injury but the recovery and the end result. MCM here I come.