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.

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.

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

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.

The Spartan Race

                I have struggled to write this blog, not so much because of the emotional aspects swirling in my head but because in addition to losing my Spartan Race bib on Saturday I also lost my thumb nail and fractured my finger. Typing with 9 normal fingers and one the size of a bratwurst is somewhat challenging.

                I will admit I stepped to the start line of the Mid-Atlantic Spartan Race confident in my abilities but nervous about the true impact that a summer bout of the flu and a sore throat had on my training. Also, I was concerned about the 3^rd degree massive sunburn I received the day before on my back. However, immediately upon starting I knew that I was in for something completely different. I will be honest, I don’t remember all 18 obstacles or in their proper order and my sunburn was quickly forgotten. I know that on the first wall I went over I fractured my finger, though at the time I didn’t realize it I just assumed that my torn off nail was the reason for the agonizing pain. But I kept going….over walls, under mesh netting, through tires inserted into walls, over Hagrid size trees, into water and over terrain that left my ankles hesitant while my brain screamed just move.  There was dragging of cinder blocks and water with rocks that was quite chilly despite the humid temperatures. The first cargo net was scaled with surprising ease despite my dislike of heights.

                I remember the 400 feet of barbed wire well. I remember the guy in the kilt and tee-shirt yelling “Mind over matter…if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” Annoyingly distracting but it served its purpose I kept going if only to get away from his barking voice. (It was during this obstacle that I lost my bib…please observe a moment of silence for bib# 13792, it gave its life nobly).

                It was also here that I met Gail. Gail was a first time racer whose team had left her behind. She was gallantly trying to keep going. I realized at this point my time was shot to hell so I slowed my pace and helped Gail finish her first race. Apparently her friends didn’t exactly describe what she was getting into with much accuracy and she had contemplated quitting…something I too had considered in the middle of the barbed wire when the lactic acid was killing my stomach and my muscles.

                Together we finished the remaining obstacles we ran through a mesh tube and got pelted painfully with paintballs from a 50c weapon. Scaled yet even more Hagrid size trees and carried buckets of gravel and made it over 5 walls with out falling. We together overcame our fear of heights and made it over the even larger cargo net, with the help of the nice volunteers on the ground who all cheered us on and high fived us as we hit the ground.

                In addition to obstacles we completed insane amounts of burpees….I didn’t attempt the monkey bars (Gail fell mid-swing), I knew that my shoulders wouldn’t handle the swinging. I fell off the balance beams (big muddy feet are not agile), missed the hay bale by mere inches with the spear(my arms were exhausted and by this point I was contemplating that there was indeed something the matter with my hand), missed the teeny tiny paint ball target (I blame the weapon), the ascending walls were more than Gail and I could manage alone and after a nasty tumble off the soap wall that took all the remaining skin off my elbows and was more than my thumb could bare, I completed burpees 151-180. The remaining 6 came from seeing Gail struggle valiantly to complete her remaining 12. I bargained with the very nice volunteer about splitting Gail’s remaining burpees so that she wouldn’t have to struggle…he considered for a moment and said he was ok with that.

                It was during these last burpees that I spotted my mother nervously standing at the finish line. I had told her that it would take me no longer that an hour to finish the course, while I didn’t know the exact time I knew that I was longer than I had anticipated. So between burpees I waved…it took several times before she waved back. I found out later that according to mom we all look alike regardless of race, gender and any other distinguishing feature so it took her awhile to realize the person waving while completing “some funny little exercise” was in fact her kid. She apparently had witnessed people tumbling off the 8 feet wall in a myriad of manners that didn’t look safe or gentle for any joint. She said she was terrified that I would come flying over the wall and break some body part (she wasn’t aware that I was already broken).

                The jousters were quite nice….they didn’t smack me too hard just enough to knock the wind out of my gut which for their safety was probably a good thing. Mom said she had already planned to smack the jousters if they hit me too hard…something about picking on people their own size was mentioned. I looked behind to see that Gail had made it safely through the nice gentlemen in the skirts and padded q-tips and I sprinted to the finish line with a surprising burst of energy that I felt I had lost for the last little portion of the race.

                I learned a lot from the Spartan Race, some of which I’m still processing. It was the most physically challenging and humbling experience I have chosen to put myself in. Also, Spartan Races are best completed with a team or at the very least with a friend who is significantly taller than you are. While the time wasn’t my best and I honestly could have done better, waiting for Gail and helping ensure she got across the finish line became as important as me getting there. I couldn’t see leaving her behind as her friends had done.

                When asked if I would do another Spartan Race my immediate reaction was “hell no” but as time has passed, I realized how truly awesome my time was in the overall picture (191/683. Time wise this wasn’t my best race but in terms placement, stamina and sheer guts and overall accomplishment it was.  With more training and a strict adherence to the WOD regiment in addition to my other work outs, next year will see me once again taking on the Spartan. Perhaps I will try one of the larger races….with the Death Race not out of the realm of possibilities.

                I have been called many things over the last few days…nuts, crazy, masochist, insane, klutzy but the name I’m proudest to bare is Spartan finisher. My bloody little finger and I will proudly tell all who cringe the story of the epic battle and the awesome friend I made.

                Now it’s on to training for my first marathon…..after a nap of course. 

Success! Complete with a nap and a near heart attack

                Today’s running excursion was a moderate success. In terms of distance and speed it’s probably not worth mentioning however in regards to pain (or lack thereof) it is. After being inspired by The Barn Beast’s theory of PTFU (Prepare The F*#k Up) I decided to do just that and take this running thing by the horns, ankles and calves be somewhat damned. As it seems that running on hard surfaces like roads, sidewalks and anything else that resembles a race course has been challenging, I decided to run on a treadmill. Aside from the freezing temperatures and its impact on my asthma I felt that by using a treadmill I didn’t have to figure out a way to get home should I get too far away and my ankles gave out. Crawling is not something I like to do unless it involves looking for contact lenses.

                The gym where I sometimes work out is small and most importantly free. It has two treadmills. An elliptical. Some interesting bicycle contraptions.  A few weight machines. And one of those lounge chair ab torture things that look like the wrong move would result in you being turned into a sandwich. It’s a pretty basic gym that I should probably mention is located inside a retirement community. Since I am often times “volunteered” by the Volunteer Director (who happens to be my mother) I get to use the gym for free.

                When I arrived this morning one of the residents that I recognized but couldn’t remember her name was there working her way around the various machines.  I started out on the treadmill at a gentle walk, all the while wishing I had remembered my ear plugs to lessen the volume of the TV playing. Honestly, I was surprised that CNN studios weren’t suffering from feedback in NY from the volume of the TV in the gym. While I am a great fan of Christine Romans and the CNNam crew, I typically listen to their show at a much lower volume. After starting my jog the kind lady whose name slips my mind, my description of short with gray hair and glasses drew a groan of irritation from my Volunteer Director mother, decided to use the lounge chair ab torture thing which happens to be in front of the treadmill. As I was running along listening to the commentary on the situation in the Middle East I began to realize that my gym companion had stopped moving. When I peaked over the top of my machine I realized she wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed, my initial thought was horror that the torture contraption killed this little lady whose name I don’t know but who is very sweet. I was much relieved when I heard the loudest snore I have ever heard escape from this little tiny person.

                We were joined shortly by another resident who fits the previous description and again whose name I can’t remember. (In my defense there are over 400 residents who for the most part have gray hair and glasses). She walked slowly on the treadmill next to mine while I ran until I felt the slight twinge in my ankle and knew I needed to stop while the getting was good. As I slowed to a walk the lady who had decided to nap in the ab lounge chair torture contraption woke up and acted as if she hadn’t been asleep and quickly began crunching away…nearly giving our new gym companion a heart attack since she didn’t realize there was someone snoozing on the gym equipment. It was quite a humorous way to spend time in the gym.

                In the end, after the overly loud TV and snoring gym companion, I did a 12 minute 1.5 mile run at 4.5 mph with a 2% incline. I ended up walking about that same distance between the warm up and cool down.  Not an awesome workout but I’m pleased with how long I went without pain. Most importantly, I’m feeling like I have my confidence back. I’ve got my game face back and I’m PTFU. It’s a little over 3 weeks until my first race ever and I’m feeling like I’ve got it. 

When-Thoughts on passion, shoulder sockets and music

                Yesterday was a pretty awesome day. I spent a few hours at the Frederick Fight Club snapping pictures of my buddy Mischa as he trains for his bout in a couple weeks. I watched as Mischa sparred with a couple Junior Golden Glove winners. A truly awesome experience. The energy was indescribable, but inspiring was definitely thrown in the mix of feelings. Being in a room with a bunch of guys that are doing what they love with such awesome talent and desire. The time really caused me to reflect on what I’m doing to fulfill my passion of running (as well as fulfill my overall life’s passion). The end result of the afternoon left me with a feeling of wanting to do more. To step up my game as Mischa would say.

                I’ve already alluded to my boot camp days and times as my set “when” days. The in between days I fit my work outs in when my time allows. Typically I try and work out first thing in the morning so that my day starts out energized. Though as the weeks have passed I have found on the non boot camp days I am working out twice a day; once in the morning and then again in the evening after supper. As Mom is working up her strength to recover from stay in the hospital I am walking with her at the local mall for an hour each morning.

                As I’m typing this I am feeling like I wanted to go longer and harder this morning. I had definitely had moments during our arm work out that I thought my shoulders would surely fall out of their sockets and lay on the Astroturf covered pitch, to my credit I pushed myself with 15 pounds today up from 10. I’m still not completely discounting the chance that I may be doing more ab and arm work outs after the affects of the ice on my shoulders has worn off.

                I realized over the last few days that so much of my schedule is built around when I work out. When I need to eat. My goal of being in shape for my list of races and ultimately the marathon has driven me to change my lifestyle. Some might say it has taken over my life and perhaps they are correct in their assessment of my new found behavior. Part of it is excitement in finding something that just seems to suit me. Part of it is finding something new and challenging that seemed in the past as unattainable. Part of it is really to keep me from going completely insane while I search for a career that suits me as well as my new found passion. (Career focuses currently: Marines, FBI and law enforcement)

                I have a race every month except for July and September.  I was going to try and pack those “free” months but decided to allow myself some down time on those months to focus solely on training and perhaps some biking and camping adventures with friends.  September is the month prior to the marathon and knowing my ankles tendency to be cranky I want to focus those weeks entirely on the marathon. Besides, my two week sojourn to the beach will provide me with ample training opportunity…what better way to greet the day then a run along the beach as the sky turns from navy blue to sun kissed pink and orange.

                Now when I run I feel like I’m chasing that sunrise. I’m beginning to feel comfortable in my stride. I still need to work on my breathing and my speed. My days as a basketball and soccer player have programmed me to take off full speed ahead without any concern for the fact that my body will perhaps stop breathing sooner than I would like. Now my focus will be on slowing down and having a consistent pace. I’ve tried music of varying types but can’t seem to find anything that keeps my stride even, not too fast and not too slow. Eminem and P!nk are fabulous for my emotional state of mind but do little to keep me from tearing up the ground. My next attempt is classical music. I’ve been going through my CD’s pulling out the music from the days when I was striving to be a classically trained musician in hopes that something will match my stride and keep me on pace.

                I have one month until my first race. A 5K mud race sponsored by 368 Athletics and held at the Ceresville Mansion. It will be nice…close to home, short race that will allow me to quite literally get my feet wet. And there will be beer. Beer is always a good thing.