Simple Truths

The last year (coincidentally nearly a year since I posted here) has been hell on my running.  There's been classes, and moves, and Firm business, and I will tell you plainly, the last couple months I have just had a hell of a time getting out of bed in the morning to get a run in before work.

This week, I have done it twice, even when it would make me late.  I just did it anyway.  That morning run really does make things better. Ironically, the fatigue and general malaise which lead to me not running are conquered by running...

This isn't news, this isn't a surprise.  Sometimes though, you have to get reminded of that which you know.  Get up, get out, even just 20 minutes.  Go for a run.

I have some Firm business coming up that's going to keep me from running for the next couple of weeks. (For a Company that prides itself on physical fitness, they sure do get in the way of mine quite a bit.)  I need you people, very simply, when I come back to just ask, "Dan, did you run today?"  Be my little Nike-clad Jiminy Crickets.

And while I'm gone, maybe think about it for yourself.

Let's get in a run.  Help me, and I will help you.

Nothing friendlier than a good run...

Not the Intended Effect

So this was supposed to be a gripey entry because my run this morning got off to a horrible start. I wanted to run in my Vibram Five Fingers this morning (quite a few people walking around here in them) and enjoy some pseudo-barefootin' on the Waikiki beach. Ran into trouble early on. Found out my particular model of Vibrams, the Sprints, do not keep out sand. They are pretty open around the top:




In fact, they sort of pull it in and rub it against your feet, so it's kind of like running with two rock polishers on your feet. So, I stop to get the sand out and return to the nice brick walkway which spans the main drag.

When your feet are sandy, sweaty, and oceany? The VFFs don't want to go back on. After about five minutes of struggling and murmuring (and getting “is he a stalker?” looks from the cute surfer girls nearby) I got them back on and went back about my business.

Down the road a ways, I pushed the button on my iPod to see how far I'd gone. I have a little gadget which attached the Nike+ sensor to the strap on my Vibrams. When, however, I had replaced my shoes, the sensor slipped too far to one side, so it wasn't reading anything. Six minutes of running, and I was reading a 10th of a mile at a 37 minute per mile pace. Even I'm not that slow.

I fought the urge to just give up and go back. This run was ruined, but well, I was in Hawaii, and enjoying the early morning weirdness all cities ooze. So I kept going, and shut off the iPod altogether. No music no mileage; just running.

It was awesome.

See, I had realized when I first really got into this running thing that my Firm had made me obsessed with speed, which was why I hated running. I am beginning to think though, that somewhere along the line, I became equally obsessed with distance. I had to record my distance and watch my little Mike graph go up on the website. It occurred to me while running this morning that I told myself, “self, let's keep going and just have a fun run.” Wait a minute; didn't I do this whole running thing BECAUSE it was fun? Shouldn't EVERY run be a fun run?

Without that little timey-whimey distance device, I was free. I stopped to look at a store, and I sprinted across intersections getting ready to change. I was again out running for the sake of running. As a side effect, I wasn't focused on how I was running, and in my Vibrams I fell into a natural barefoot stride, and felt like I could go all day. Unfortunately, I have to go shower and go to work.

I do love my Nike+, and will continue to measure time in my Nikes, but I think when it's just me and the Vibrams, it's going to be just me and the Vibrams. Even in the Nikes, I am going to need to be careful about how wrapped around the axle I get with distance. I remembered today why I want to run, and that is just to enjoy it. Thanks Nike, I will just do it.

See the Town...

I'm going to tell you a little secret; if you want to get to know a city, I mean really get to know a city, you want to run in it. Before, I have talked about how I ran the Rocky Run in Philly, and with my buddy Jim in the suburbs there. I ran in Tampa Bay out onto the causeway watching the calm water and mistaking feral cats for hungry alligators. Let me tell you about running in Vegas.

Middle of June, I was in Vegas for my Brother-in-Law's wedding, and sure enough, I packed the Nikes to see if I could get a run in. Luckily, the first night there was neither enough alcohol or Star Trek slot machine binges to keep me from getting up in the morning to see the Strip at a 10 minute mile pace at 6 AM. What a difference a few hours makes!

We all know they Strip at night; the throngs of people, the heavy smell of smoke and booze, the din emanating from the open casinos, the clacking of semi-pornographic cards vendors are run through their fingers to try to get you to take their wares in order to have the young lady featured on the card show up in your room. (I have an inkling the young lady who would show up at your room bares little resemblance to the wanton nude on the card; I never intend to find out for myself though, so if anyone can clue me in, I would appreciate it!) That's the Strip at night, a swirling Dali-esque miasma of light and sound made surreal by the inability of your senses to absorb it all into your consciousness. So what happens when the sun comes up?

There I was, six in the morning, out to see for myself. I started from the Las Vegas Hilton, running past the Sahara, and looping around between it and the Stratosphere to bring me onto Las Vegas Boulevard, and toward the center of everything. At first, it was very quiet, and I didn't see a whole lot of anyone. Pleasant really. Then, the cast began to assemble.

First, there was the college age man, looked like a jock, still stumbling under the effects of whatever inebriation he had indulged the night before. He looked angry, and kicked at things on the ground. I passed him carefully, and was probably about a hundred yards past him when I heard him exclaim at the top of his lungs, “FUCK!” A bestial cry which I can only assume involved a female of his species who was no longer in his company. The homeless (I assume) littered the sidewalks, causing me to on at least one occasion actually jump over one's sprawled legs reaching nearly to the street. Perhaps I stereotype to call on the word “junkie” but that kind of unconsciousness I think comes only at the point of a needle. I saw another homeless man, his tweed jacket threadbare, his shoes white leather and very pointy. His hat was like something Radar O'Reilly would wear on “M.A.S.H.” and under his arm? A laptop computer. His prized possession? Spoils of theft? I suppose those aren't mutually exclusive states of being.

When I got to the Venetian, I saw the gnomes. OK, that's the image that came to my head, but it was the workers who came out, cleaning the street, working on touching up the front of the hotel. They were all in blue coveralls, and probably 90% Hispanic, and I knew their jobs were to disappear before the tourists would normally appear on the streets.

I experienced another surreal moment as well. I was running south, so the sun was rising to my left as I ran. Once I made it to the main Strip however, I nearly didn't see the sun; it was instead eclipsed by the Venetian, the Wynn, etc., as I made my way down an artificial canyon of artificial places. Then suddenly, the world reversed; the light and heat of the rising sun came from right, as if the world had shifted around me, or hours had passed and the sun was now setting, that golden light one can only find in the afternoon illuminating the now cleaned sidewalk before me. Then I realized it was only a reflection of the real sun, bouncing off the Trump Hotel at least half a mile from me, but projecting as if it were our own star. In but a moment, maybe a few dozen meters later, the world reverted to rightness and I left that glare. When I blinked though, the reflected sun still showed in negative in the phosphenes in my closed eye, a temporary burn on my retina.

There was one more group out there as I ran as well; the other runners. We nodded in camaraderie as we traveled through this great and terrible landscape, almost alien in our own way moving through, yet part of the surroundings which made for Vegas in the morning. Each of us was seeing the city in a way others would not. Each of us sharing an intimate glimpse behind the curtain of Vegas' wizard.

I love seeing new places this way. As I write this I am sitting in the Atlanta airport, delayed in a trip to Norfolk, Virginia. I hope the delay doesn't stop me from getting up in the morning, the one morning I will be here this week, and getting in just a couple miles, just a quick glance behind the curtains of this city as well. I will let you know...


TIME PASSES

Well, here it is, the next day, and after one of the most hellacious travel sessions I have ever had the misfortune to endure, I finally actually arrived at Fort Monroe, just across Chesapeake Bay from Norfolk. Didn't get to bed until midnight, but I knew I would be angry with myself if I didn't get up and make the effort. So, 6AM, sure enough I was up at at it.

I am so glad I did. Beautiful run through historic buildings, and a great traffic free path along the ocean. This West Coaster saw his first sunRISE over the ocean. Saw the seagulls and had a great run. Also ran around the historic moat in the middle of the Fort and stormed the battlements. Fixed everything wrong with the day before, and set the tone for the rest of the day. I mean, look at this!








Can't wait to find out what city I get to run through next. No better way to get the feel... but if in Vegas, watch for the junkies.

Week eight- This is a Fluke...

What is not a fluke however is the fact I managed to do another 13+ run on Saturday! Now, in the interest of full disclosure let me also mention it hurt like hell.

We'll get back to that though. As the week started, I again wanted to avoid the early morning cold, so I did my Tuesday run in the afternoon on a track. Though the track part itself is not the most scenic of run paths, the path encircles a brand new astroturf field. I mentioned last week I had done a little bit of barefoot on it, and this week, I did a bit more. I noticed when my feet started getting used to it, my toes splay like little antennas looking for the best way to land. Then, when I was done and put my shoes back on, it was like my feet could feel every thread and seam in my socks. I really want to do more of this in the coming weeks.

On Wednesday I did get up early and did six miles. Good steady run, no major issues or epiphanies to report. I was a bum on Thursday and allowed events to overcome running that day, but also wanted to rest up a bit before the big run I had planned for Saturday.

Those of you who are familiar with Sierra Vista- my usual running area is the loop formed from Buffalo Soldier Trail, Avenida Cochise (by the sMall) and Highway 92. Starting near Coronado and Avenida Cochise, most of it has a really nice multi-use path around it, and a full loop is just a smidge over six miles. I have worked out little addendums (most of which you can find charted on www.mapmyrun.com under username fb.DaniF.734) to get the odd distances. Last week, My 13+ was a six mile loop with the seven mile loop and little loop combo. This week, I decided I wasn't going to go over the same ground twice.

Starting at Gas City on Buffalo Soldier Trail, I circled Sierra Vista (BST to 92, 92 to the Fry/92/90 intersection, up the bypass to the East Gate of Fort Huachuca, then back down BST to Gas City). According to the aforementioned Map My Run site, that's 13.44 miles. What the site didn't tell me is that it's a tough damn route!

I've obviously driven all these roads, but in the safety and convenience of a lovely car like Helena, you don't notice certain hills, or which way the wind blows, or where there are shoulders on the road or not. You just drive. Running means a lot more interaction with your surroundings, and in many ways that is good, and I never got bored on this run, but a lot of these factors slowed me down. Also, by the time I hit the Fry/BST intersection by the Main Gate, my legs were extremely angry with me. We persisted though, and finished up (though they aren't really speaking to me in anything right now other than sharp wincing pain), but my pace was much slower than I usually run- My long runs have been consistently between a 9:30 and 9:50 mile pace, but this one was 10:18.

So I felt a bit of a setback, until the little voice in my head I attribute to God (who always speaks in Johnny Cash's voice) said, “Hey dumbass, you just did two half-marathons in a week's time and you can still walk.” Johnny had a point.

When I started this little venture, I didn't believe I would quite be ready for a half-Marathon by the end of the full schedule. Yet by week eight, I have done two of them. Something funny I did notice; the zombie-like out of breath pain-filled state of being I was in at mile 11 Saturday, I used to hit at mile three. Anyone reading this who's shared time with me in Our Firm will remember Foster the non-runner. Right now, the non-runner is gone.

That's something I want to make sure isn't a fluke...

Like a Buddy Cop Movie...

It's very possible I learned a life lesson running this week. It's kind of a foo-foo lesson, and one you'd likely hear on Sesame Street, but the Children's Television Workshop may be right.

As I have engaged in my little bout of self discovery through distance running, the point has always been I am racing no one but myself. How do I see myself when running?





But for the first time since starting this madness, I set out to do my Saturday long run with someone. This person shall remain nameless so as to protect his reputation from being associated with the likes of me, however this is someone who does this stuff a lot. Triathlon competitor, done a couple Marathons, in ridiculously good shape. He deigned to go out running with my slow ass.

I did warn him- I've been running between a 9:30 and 10:00 mile average for anything over five miles. One of my mantras has been to relax and run. I told him he would likely be bored with how slow we were moving. He made a very good point back to me- we were preparing to run 10 miles. How many people did we know who would run ten miles at ANY pace? We have a pretty physically oriented firm for which we work, and yet, the usual run is about speed, and rarely about endurance. Endurance is the great equalizer in running. An interesting side note is the fact that women in sprints have never been able to get close to men in comparable shape. However, the longer the race gets, the more competitive the genders get. Women are as likely to win an Ultra-Marathon (50 or more miles) as any male competitor. Take for instance Jenn Shelton:



Runs Ultras all the time and apparently drinks tequila like it's water. Amen.

So anyway, I set out with a running partner, who as someone far more professional at this than I, had all the right gear, including this spiffy little gizmo which told us exactly how far we had run at any given moment, our pace, and his heart rate. (Let me also point out that it beeped when his heart rate went under 120- and it beeped often at my pace.) As we cruised along though, we chatted, and he kept pointing out we were making good time. In the end, we did a little more than we planned- 11.2 miles, and we did it in 1:37. This is odd, because we actually hit the ten mile mark at the time I had previously done the nine miler.

Now, my legs did complain a bit after, but with someone to work off of, to pace with, and even just to converse with while running, it went by faster, and if you were watching, I went by faster.

So perhaps there's a CTW moral to the story- two heads (or sets of legs) are better than one. Sure, I am only competing with myself, but that doesn't mean I can't bring someone along. Maybe now I should see my running self like this:




When preparing this, I went looking for the Lone Ranger to put up top in the "loner" part, but I always found him with Tonto. Obviously, he's already learned this lesson.

Week one down, and thank you Fatboy Slim.

Well folks, here I am, not even 30 minutes after the end of week one of my Marathon Training... And I think I am still in the game.

I adopted the Hal Higdon Novice training schedule which I thought fit my general level of running fitness based on my recovery. I have been regularly running between 10 and 12 miles a week, and this one starts you off at 15, so not that high a jump, and seemed a challenging progressing without teetering over into crippling stupidity. Several friends (including my good friend Jim- Shout out to my Brothers!) recommended schedule based on running time instead of distance to allow for flexibility in running; i.e. run 30 minutes rather than 3 miles so I can run whatever path my run takes me. Call it being too brainwashed by my firm, but I like a measured schedule. I think I am just used to running my distance so I am sticking with that for now until I do get bored with my trails.

That being said, I did exceed what's on my schedule for week one. Sierra Vista had a cold front come in this week. Tuesday's three miles was no big issue, but it was mighty cold Wednesday morning. I ran my three, but ended up having to be outside longer for a firm-related bit of administration, so to keep warm I ran another two miles. Keep in mind the psychological shift this signifies for me. I ran to increase my comfort level. Weird. Thursday was even colder, so I cheated- got up early, threw on clothes, and before I'd even gotten outside or woken up started running. Thirty-two degrees out, I didn't spend a second in it walking. Ran out the door, ran in the door. But did it!

Friday as you see is rest, and this morning was the week's long run. I did my six, but only parts of it felt as relaxed as I had on the five I did a week ago. The path I ran had a steady uphill for the last two miles, and it was telling on me. Pushed through though, but I realize I need to work more on relaxing my form.

Learning all kinds of stuff from the McDougall book "Born to Run" (which is not, as I initially thought, about Bruce Springsteen). The chapters on hominid running being responsible for us evolving into an intelligent species makes so much sense- if it's junk science, then it's hot rod junk science. The chapter where a Westerner learns to hunt antelope on foot from the Kalihari Bushmen was riveting. As a long time science fiction fan, I have long been of the mind realizing something is possible can make it happen- in other words, young man watches "Star Trek" as a kid, grows up and invents the cell phone (no, seriously), or the iPod (no really, it's in a documentary called "How William Shatner Changed the World" hosted by... well, William Shatner of course). Seeing there are people in the world who can run down an antelope not by speed, but by endurance (they rarely go faster than a 10 minute mile) has opened up my head to amazing possibilities. Our bodies ARE designed to do this, but like a car that we don't drive properly, or don't do maintenance on, they are not performing like they can or should. Maybe that's the Apple in the Garden; sitting and eating instead of going and catching. We've been on the road to damnation ever since.

So there I am, tired but good tired, feeling really positive and looking forward to week two (after my rest days!). Oh- and a quick thanks to Fatboy Slim. As I was dragging myself uphill those last two miles, my iPod switched over to "Funk Soul Brother," which happens to have a beat exactly at my most comfortable steady run pace. I was able to "Right About Now, Check it out now" right up that hill. Word. Maybe next week I'll play "Weapon of Choice" and pretend to be Christopher Walken.