Ring, August 31, 2019

I ran the 71 mile loop around the Massanutten Mountains last Saturday, August 31.  10 days later I am still trying to make sense of what happened.

Going into it, I thought it would be reckless and foolish to even try to come near Adam Watkin's inhuman time of 14:23 from 2017 (hereafter "AW2017"). I feared blowing up even in an attempt to go sub-15 hours because the high temp was due to be 83 degrees (F).  Instead, I turned those fears into a series of process-oriented mini-goals: 1) run a conservative first third (till Camp Roosevelt, mile 25); 2) at Camp Roosevelt, ice down and hold pace on climbs until Crisman (mile 34); 3) if feeling good at Crisman, eat burritos, cheetos, doritos (and anything else ending in "os") and gently accelerate in last half and see what's under the hood.

Somehow, someway, this worked. I was 5 minutes behind AW2017 time at Milford Gap (mile 13). At Camp Roosevelt (mile 25), I was about even with those splits, so had somehow made up those 5 minutes, even though the heat and humidity of the morning was already taking its toll. From mile 25 on, I began gently pushing deeper and found a rhythm that seemed to work for me. At Crisman Hollow, I saw Martha and the kids, which elevated my spirits and helped me push further.

Throughout the afternoon, my lead on AW2017 increased, even though in each section, I just knew -- KNEW! -- that I must be giving up time on that lead. The short mountain section (miles 40 to 48) took so much out of me mentally and the heat of the afternoon was not kind to me in the various exposed sections on the ridge. Even though my splits showed otherwise, my doubts intensified greatly when I reached Powell's Fort. I only had 8.2 miles to go, but there was no aid set up yet and I had to rely on Martha and the kids. I wasn't sure where they had parked the car in relation to the marker for Powell's Fort from previous years, so I had no way of knowing my exact split for that section and whether I was accelerating or decelerating compared to AW2017.

After Powell's Fort, it did dawn on me that I was so close.  I motored up the forest service road to Signal Knob, with only a couple walking breaks over the entire 3 to 4 mile section. I got to see the Signal Knob view before sunset (approximately 7:20 PM) and then found a renewed sense of purpose in those last 5 miles.

Among the takeaways from this project were:  1) consistent mileage paid off; 2) gym exercises paid off, particularly in feeling strong hiking uphills and less deterioration in the final miles; 3) course knowledge and visualization techniques completely helped in the latter sections; 4) eating on uphills is a worthy investment; 5) perpetum, caffeine (ice tea, gus), ensure are elixirs; 6) solid, but conservative pacing in the first 1/3 to half was critical to my overall timing.

A final takeaway for me is that, every time I run with the VHTRC clan, I feel more indebted to the community and the volunteers.  Everyone is supportive of each other; everyone seems to recognize that we do this meaningless running thing for some greater purpose. While those purposes go unspoken, kinship and empathy are the byproducts of this silent meandering.

Go anonymous runner go!

I have procrastinated writing this blog entry because I have had the recurrent feeling that I should develop deeper feelings about the meaning of the Boston marathon in 2014.  What happened in 2013 was tragic and I would never minimize or ignore the physical and emotional loss that many experienced.  But, while I may have observations about the difference in this year's race from my prior experiences (2011, 2012), I won't pretend to have anything profound to offer about last year's events.  My main feeling about the whole thing is rather crude and unenlightened: why did I run Boston in 2014?  Because anyone that tries to instill fear into others through violence should go ahead and pleasure themselves.  If you are looking for more subtle words like "inspiration," "redemption," and "renewal", well, I just used those words, so you can stop right here.

I am not trying to malign those that found great meaning in this year's event.  Indeed, as an atheist, I am forced daily to find meaning in the most mundane adventures, observations and linguistic conventions.  But, my own perspective about the 2014 BAA marathon was one of tunnel vision: a focus on intense training, running my best race with minimal impact of injury, rather than some transcendent meaning of putting right foot in front of left.  Surely, on April 21 of this year I felt a tidal wave of human kindness, camaraderie and esprit de corps: a beautiful celebration of running, determination and humanity.  And, honestly, I feel that after many races, both large and small.  The handshakes with and pats on backs of strangers, the euphoria of accomplishing something with your fellow denizens of planet earth, the existential contemplation of why we are so determined to do things that are meaningless at heart: these are all wonderful feelings I think many runners share in most races.  You don't need to run Boston to feel this; just find commonality with your neighbors by shoveling their sidewalk when it snows or giving them an ear to squawk at.

Training
My own training leading up to this year's Boston was intense.  It began in June of last year: yes, June!  I trained most of last year for the Marine Corps marathon but didn't compete because of an injury. So, I restarted training in December for Boston.  Along the way, I quit drinking (temporarily), lost 19 pounds (temporarily) and lost my mind (temporarily...or at least I hope).  I started a regiment of weightlifting to avoid further injuries.  In total, I spent 9 - 1/2 months giving birth to the performance I am about to write about.  Forgive me if I spare few details or indulge a runner's appetite for mile splits, wind direction, protein versus carbohydrate consumption, and other minutiae; as I said above, I lack for larger philosophical insights in this post.

Boston
Boston being Bahston, there always is something special in the air on Patriot's Day, especially because that air is thick with lots of words pronounced without "r"s. This year, the crowds were noticeably larger in Natick, Newton, and other points farther from the finish.  If every marathon finished with the crowds that existed all the way out at mile 6 on the Boston route, there would be many happier runners out there.

The race
A major downside of this year's race was all the logistical complications that arose from increased security.  All three years I've run, I have taken a bus from Marshfield, MA where Martha's parents live to the start line.  This year, as some expected, we were turned back and I almost missed the start of the race.  Once again, the balance between security and convenience seems to be struck too heavily for the former than the latter.  Because they could not inspect all the buses, they force them to drive to the same location, where thousands of people cluster together.  Dare I ask: how does putting all the uninspected buses together, in the same 100 meter radius, with many thousands of runners, improve security?

With that logistical annoyance over, I got to the start with about 5 minutes to go.  Amazingly, I felt calmer than I ever have in a race before.  I have to thank a nagging injury for that.  Somehow I always get injured 4-6 weeks out from my next big race and this year was no exception.  But, knowing that I may have to slow the pace, or perhaps even leave the race, to avoid severe pain or damage, made me somewhat nonchalant about the whole endeavor.  It was imperative to start conservatively and pay attention to any signs of early fatigue or the injury recurring.

The weather this year treated most of us well with low humidity and temperatures staying moderate throughout the day.  My own preference in running marathons is for temps in the low 40s.  But then again, I'm covered with the hair density of a grizzly bear.

I sneaked into the back of the 2nd corral, where I was assigned, to avoid slowing up others in case the calf seized up early on.  The gun goes off.  I am still calm.  I run the first mile slowly -- 20 seconds off pace -- I think "well, that will only matter if I'm 20 seconds behind my goal time." (Which was sub - 2:40...stay tuned).   After this very gentle start, I was able to strike my goal pace without much effort -- a superbly awesome feeling!  This is how marathoning should be in the early miles; the taper makes you feel invincible, but you use that feeling to conserve all available energy for the end.

After starting this conservatively because of my injury, I must recommend getting a nice calf tear or a hamstring pull before your next race.

The next 12 miles fly by just a few seconds off target (average = 6:07 pace/mile) and I'm feeling great; no conversations with my injury and I only had just begun to feel a little weakness at around mile 12.  I started hitting the energy gels from there on.  The Wellesley girls between 12 and 13 never disappoint.  They create a tunnel of scream that is beyond deafening.  It always makes me run a mile split 10-15 seconds faster than I should. They did it again this year.

I came through the half in 1:20:02.  Without any flare up in the injury and not really out of breathe, that alone felt like an accomplishment.  But I had to march on.

Another quirk of this race was my attempt to direct some of the cheering attention to myself by putting my name on my jersey.  It started off with all four letters -- P-A-U-L.  Then the U fell off, so I was everyone's "PAL."   "Hey Pal, keep it up," I heard often. Then the L came down, so I was just "PA."  Then the P came off, so I was "A."  It was a riot because only college-aged weirdos were into shouting for a guy going by the name of "A."  Was I "A" for anonymous?  What I "A" for "almost there."  Mostly, I just got very confused looks.

At mile 15, I noticed that my legs were feeling grumpy.  At least that meant I was working hard. I felt like I had energy left, but also that I was running a smart race. I kept pushing, but not aggressively, and told myself that I wanted to be in good shape when I passed Martha, parents (in-law), and my boy at mile 17.  I ran by them at 17 point something and got a nice surge of energy and positivity.  I blew kisses to them.  There is nothing like the support of your loved ones along the course.

At mile 19, on the 3rd hill, I was passing people. This was gravy for me. And also a very uncommon flavor of gravy.  I also knew that I had to save some energy for a kick because I was 10-15 seconds behind my goal pace.  As downhill person, I wasn't going to gain that time on the hills, so I had to push it on whatever downhills were left.  And, oh yes, there are 5-ish miles of sweet, sweet decline at the end of Boston -- what a gift.

Heartbreak hill at 20.5 was not easy -- it never is -- but it's never as bad as everyone says it will be.  It's just relatively worse than the rest of the course.  Perspective people!  Shortly after, at mile 21, I decided to put the hammer down -- I had something left in the tank although you never know how much.  I knew I was a few seconds off my goal pace, and downhills awaited me.  I had to take advantage of the downhills and push to the finish.

While I wish the end of the story was accomplishing the goal of a sub-2:40 finish, alas, that was not in the deck of cards.  I surged many times in the last 5 miles.  I would push for a 1/3 of a mile reaching 5:50-ish pace, and then my body would resist any further effort and I'd slow considerably.  I pushed again and again -- perhaps 4 - 5 times, but each time, I was thwarted...by myself.  I gave that race every last ounce of my non-existent soul. But I did not have enough on Monday, April 21, 2014.  I came through the tape in 2:40:18.  (About that 20 seconds I lost by going out slowly from the start....)

Perspective -- running and otherwise
Compared with previous marathons, I did several things well on race day.  (Comparing my training cycles would take another couple blog posts, so I'll spare you those details.)  I ate well leading up to the race.  I ate and hydrated well during the race. And I conserved energy early on, keeping an even-effort, and basically almost even paced race throughout.

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[Nerd alert: if you abhor the maths, you may want to skip the next two paragraphs.]

In a previous Boston attempt in 2012, the standard deviation of my 5k splits was 21 seconds.  This means, that looking at the roughly 8 5k splits of that particular race, nearly all of those splits would be within 1 minute and 24 seconds of each other.  In 2014, nearly all of my splits were within 12 seconds of one another!  A 7-fold reduction in the variance of my splits!  While, I did not have the energy or turnover to kick it in at the end, I was able to put out a consistently hard effort throughout without feeling like I was sandbagging the race or jeopardizing the second half with a fast start.  Over the Newton hills, my 5k splits slowed to a 6:11/mile pace over these sections, which makes me prouder than almost anything else I did on Monday. This was probably the first race that I executed with tactical sense that was intentional from start to finish.

Unlike any other race I've run before, I had my eyes focused on my heart rate.  A strategy I adopted on the fly was to run the first 3-4 miles by feel alone.  Then I observed the heart rate that corresponded to that pace.   That number, 172, was a little high, I thought, but the pace felt right and the heat and other factors may have contributed to that higher number.  Having established what my baseline was going to be for the day, I decided that I would not move higher than 172 unless I was hitting a hill or pushing myself at the end.  I think this technique contributed to a successful pacing strategy.

[Nerd alert over]
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I am quite blessed that my parents drove up from New York to watch me run.  My in-laws once again provided incomparable emotional support and hospitality.  My wife has put up with 9 - 1/2 months of training and agonizing over my training.  I am so fortunate to be able to be supported while engaging in my own selfish passion for running.

While surrounded by such a great outpouring of the human spirit, and warmth of our sun and the gentle breezes on Patriot's Day, I simultaneously felt as if so many things we do, especially running, are meaninglessness in the scheme of the universe. As far as my performance, this paradox kept me cool as a cucumber right from when the gun went off to the very end, which was beneficial.  As far as life, perhaps this paradox suggests we should be grateful (to whom?) for what we have, and to distract ourselves from negativity as much as we damn well can.

I am sorry I cannot provide some deeper truths about what the 2014 Boston means or what it represents for our society.  I threw my entire corporeal existence into that race.  It was fun.  The people were electric and beautiful and crazy and emotional.  It was an experience.  I am very happy nobody tried to stop us.

Old Dominion Race Results 2012

This is a very simple post.  Each year dozens of runners spend a day or so running the Old Dominion 100-miler race and afterwards they create a hardcopy of their splits/results for each runner.  This information can be quite valuable to runners in the future who may want to see what various past performances entitled, but it's not available electronically from their website.  Here are the 2012 results: (unfortunately, I had to convert the four pages of the pdf I made into four pic files, so it's a bit annoying if you want to flip back and forth).

Two do ten to the two

Going into my first (and possibly last) 100 miler, I had but one goal: to finish.  Lots of people say that, but that's the only thing I really, really wanted.  Sure, a silver belt buckle might be nice; sure, placing respectably might be another quaint touch.  But all I really wanted out of my legs and heart was crossing that line.  I got that, and some of the goodies too.

(Matt and I at the starting line.  I like that my head is cutting out one of the zeros, so it appears as if we're carrying tremendous hydration equipment and proud smiles and about to tackle a 10 miler.)

The wonderful side of the Old Dominion 100 course is nature.  The OD course runs through George Washington National Forest and is laid-out on either very pleasant trails (with one major exception, see below) or packed gravel roads through rolling country side.  It's simply gorgeous.  I found myself in a meditative trance in lots of sections, simply enjoying the views, the fresh air, the songs of birds.  Sometimes I was whistling while in the trail sections (okay, maybe I was trying to scare off bears, but I'd prefer to think I was communing with nature).  Add in every runner's dream weather -- low humidity, temps between 55 and 75, and a cool breeze -- and you have yourself ideal conditions for running.

 (One of the bucolic views from a road around the GW forest.)

Obviously I've never run another 100 before, but I've run enough hills, trails, hilly trails, switchback roads, fire roads, etc., to know a tough course when I'm cursed with running one.  So while beautiful and inspiring on the one hand, the Old Dominion course is as tough as nails going through your other hand.  You know the phrase, "what goes up, must come down?"  Surely, the OD course did not violate this sacrosanct rule.  But every major up in the OD is seemed to be succeeded by the turn of phrase, "...must come down (in a rocky, slow-tip-toe over potential skull-crushers)."   One of my strengths as a runner is going downhill.  Not so after mile 70 in this course.  Two people passed me on a major downhill at about mile 78, and put enough time on me that I wouldn't be able to catch them.  By mile 70, my quads were shot and because of the fear of tripping and landing head-first onto a rock, I persistently pussyfooted on the downhill trail sections.  Maybe I was so careful because we were advised at the race briefing, "not to call 911" because emergency crews from 3 counties show up.  Wait, isn't that a good reason to call?

 (At mile 75 you too would be swinging your arms like an old man shuffling his way to the next shuffle board game.)

Matt and I stayed together for 48 miles.  When we run/race together we become a two-headed leap-frogging slingshot -- Matt powers on the uphills, hauling me with him; I charge the downhills, propelling him to follow.  This symbiosis put us in 5th and 6th place at mile 50 in about 8 hours and 45 minutes.  Sure, lots of time remained in the race, but that was a pretty respectable first half for such a hilly beast of a course thus far -- I thought I might even have something left for act two.  But I also knew that on some of the earlier hilly trail sections Matt was holding back for me.  At about mile 45 I told him, "we are both strong runners, but you are stronger.  There are people running in front of us that could use an additional challenge today, and you can serve that to them!"  Shortly after the next stop at mile 47, we started to part.  I am so incredibly proud of his perseverance and strength.  On his first hundred, Matt was so awesomely confident.  Case in point:  I say to Matt at about mile 35:
Me: "Matt, we just gained 9 minutes on our planned pace in the last 9 miles -- that's a minute per mile faster than anticipated." 
Matt:  "Okay" 
Me:  "I think this means we should slow up." 
Matt: "Sure, but let's catch Mike [Bailey, 300 hundred yards ahead of us] first."  Atta boy!

The Old Dominion race management and crew support were fantastic.  People actually volunteer to help us do this insanely stupid thing to ourselves, and they did this spectacularly well and with good cheer.  We're not running for cancer research or for global warming, not even to raise awareness about nasal fungus afflicting bats -- just because -- and people still help us.  The Old Dominion organizers are good people and create a very positive mini-society on race weekend.

My only complaint was the "medical check-ins," which I mention mostly for its humorous content.  Most ultra marathons weigh runners before and during a race to test for dehydration or over-hydration, and so did the OD.  Unfortunately the OD meds used different scales at each of the 3 weigh-ins.  At mile 43, the first weigh-in after establishing a baseline the night before, the medical volunteers assured me they had calibrated and would therefore "add back 3 pounds" to make the two scales equivalent. They also claimed I was down 10 pounds or about 7.5%, which would disqualify me.  I stepped on yet a third scale at this mile 43 check-in and according to that one was down only 3 pounds!  It seems we either have a varying levels of the force of gravity in Woodstock, Virginia or mis-measurement.  Adding to this pseudo-science, the meds were weighing on an angle.  Come on people!  Can I get a shout out to Newton's third law of motion?  Even if the angle of the ground was 10 degrees, this would reduce weight by 1.5 percent (the cosine of 10 degrees = 0.9848) out of the maximum allowable reduction of 7.5 percent.  Since my high school psychics arguments weren't working on them, I used the "other half" of my brain -- my "I used to be a New Yawkah" half -- and just walked away from the medical volunteers while they continued discussing whether to hold me back for being underweight.

Another funny thing I learned on Saturday: your running injuries are specific to length and speed.  After some years of running (and getting older) every runner has a list of ailments.  For me I have a left knee "thing," a right foot "thing," and a right hamstring "thing," and these are present at various points in running 10 to 20 miles.  On Saturday, it was as if I had an entirely new body -- none of those pains surfaced, but two new ones did -- now I have a left foot "thing" and a right hip "thing."  If anyone asks how I'm doing after running my first hundred miler, I'm just going to say, "things are fine, my RIGHT foot and LEFT hip feel great."

The Heberlein sisters were my crew support, in addition to plentiful help from Matt's crew (his father Greg, Sam and Damon).  I don't know how other runners finished without these folks at their side as well.  Martha and Emily were incredibly efficient, anticipated all of my needs, and moreover unselfishly kind to me, even when they were exhausted -- they were up for about 24 hours as well!  They stuffed me with a bodacious bodega of M&Ms, cheez-its, pretzels, ramen, sweet potato soup, taquitos, potatoes, plums, oranges, snickers bars, and probably a lot of other things that will make you diabetic. While they helped me to be a faster runner and lightened the pain, I am also literally proud to tears of how they helped build a supportive running community at the Old Dominion this year.  One of the guys who finished ahead of me, Mike (from 2 paras up), grabbed the mic at the awards ceremony the next morning and thanked them personally for cheering for him.  That is what I would like to think this sport is about -- camaraderie and community support and looking past the me versus you, and looking instead at each of us as challenging ourselves.

One of the best parts of this past weekend was the awards ceremony that Old Dominion does the next morning.  I've never been at a race where each finisher comes up to accept a gift (sometimes a belt buckle for coming in under 24 hours) and is asked to say a few words.  There was a palpable sense of thankfulness, peacefulness and cheerfulness among the crowd, as most runners shared their thoughts.  Since, upon reaching the finish line the night before, my first words were, "now that was a stupid thing to do," I mentioned that this was my first 100 and, possibly, my last 100 -- that type of blasphemy didn't go over so well on a crowd of zealots.

For those keeping score at home, Matt and I finished 4th and 8th respectively out of 52 starters and about 39 finishers.  Matt finished in 20 hours and 2 minutes and I came in at 20 hours 53 minutes. 

The worst moments in life are those existential quandaries when the paths we face are obscure and fraught with uncertainty. And the best rewards in life are those that come after hard efforts.  Ultra running provides the rewards without the quandaries -- just keep moving forward and you'll feel great.   I don't know if I'll run for this long again, but I'm happy I pushed myself this far.

(The end.)

Boston's finest

Why do we do the things we do?  Why would anyone run 26.2 miles?  (Or maybe you wouldn’t, couldn’t, and/or disdain those who do.)   For me, simply, challenging oneself defines who you are, irrespective of the forms of those challenges.  The joy of running 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston on Patriot’s Day is not only because of the challenge that that course represents, but also because of the outpouring of humanity one experiences along the way.

Several weeks ago I realized that my hamstring was healthy enough to conceive of the idea of finishing Boston this year.  (See last posting about being hamstrung by a hamstring).  So a-marathoning I went last Monday in Boston.  Given my injury and the possibility of seventh-level of Hades type heat, it was difficult for me to identify explicit goals for this year.  As I rode the bus to Hopkinton from Marshfield with the Marshfield Road Runners Club, I certainly knew that first among these goals was “don’t get more injured…stupid.”  A corollary was to “train through” – that is, to hold back enough during the marathon so that training for certain much longer and impending events would not be sacrificed.  Dear Matt Broaddus also helped me to realize that if I was not running this year to beat my previous best time, then perhaps I should try to experience the race in a deeper way; enjoying the sights, the sounds, the people, whatever came to me along the way.

There were two distinct phases to running Boston this year – the first, a stroll through the first 15 miles; the second, beginning abruptly at mile 15, was the realization that the heat, hills, and a quick pace for the first half were coalescing into one gigantic problem. No race I have run has taken so much out of me at such a sudden juncture.  

First phases first.  Some readers may note that I should refrain from describing my pace early on as a “stroll.”  Of course, it was not exactly as such.  But truth be told, Boston’s terrain is very kind to you in the beginning of the race: you feel as if you are floating for the first 5 downhill miles.  I found myself smiling for the first time in a marathon.  I was enjoying the fresh air, the view of small ponds on the side of the road, a Led Zeppelin cover band, a male Japanese marathoner dressed up as Minnie Mouse.  This year I particularly enjoyed and went out of my way to slap “high-5s” to the thousands of kids with their hands outstretched (and some without…ouch!...sorry kid, but you deserved it).

 (Feeling photogenic in the first half.)

Several people I knew cheered for me this year.  Among those I knew, Stephanie from work and her beau yelled out to me at mile 6.5.  That was a rush. Several people held up signs reading, “Keep it up Random Stranger.”  You know, even completely impersonal encouragement works in a marathon.  After seeing Stephanie, I had another 10 miles till I got to see Martha at mile 16.5.  Seeing your other half in the middle of these races is a complete psychic boost.  With some extra morsels of energy, I blew her some kisses, and for about 10 seconds, felt better about the heat and the impending 3 hills.

Enter phase two.  While in the first 15 miles, I enjoyed the crowds, ran with upright posture, smiled back at on-lookers, and ran according to my body’s feel, all of that fun crap stopped abruptly at mile 15.   84 degree heat in a marathon makes Guantanamo-style torture seem fun – indeed, you truly wished you were being water-boarded.  As one runner this year described in a delirious state afterward, “Nobody runs in a sauna.”

One of the main reasons runners like that suspicious-sounding “Paul Jacobs, 33, of Washington D.C.” finish the Boston marathon is the community spirit of the Boston spectators.  People living along the race course brought out their hoses to cool people off; the fans cheer endlessly with spirits; spectators spent hours outside handing out ice, which to an overheated marathoner is worth its weight in considerably more valuable matter.  Just one example of this gemuchlikite is how Janine, Max, Emma, and Jake (of the Heberlein clan) chalked encouraging words on Heartbreak Hill for certain fans they knew (yours truly included), and cheering for countless others.  Maybe, the pain of running a marathon is worth the creation and deepening of wider social bonds that occurs on days like last Monday.  Maybe.

(The encouraging, and very large, words of Emma, Jake, and Max; Upside-down view for readability.)

In all honesty, I have never considered quitting a race so frequently.  My calves started cramping as of mile 19; my pace had slowed drastically from that glorious-feeling first half.  When not trying to break one’s previous best time, the motivation to move forward abates.  What is the purpose of finishing when you’re supposed to keep yourself fresh for the following weeks?  I tried making my mind gravitate towards positive thoughts, but like a dog distracted by a squirrel, I would inevitably wander back to the only thought I truly believed at the moment – quitting right now would end this pain.  So why, in the 84 degree heat and without a discernible goal to finish, did I cross the line?  In short, Enid and Jerry were waiting for me at mile 25.5.

(This is NOT how you want to finish a marathon.) 

I have the extreme good fortune of having the most wonderful in-laws on the planet.  Consider that Enid had knee surgery only a couple weeks ago, but insisted on getting herself to the sardine-packed Kenmore Square area and both of them waited around for 3+ hours to see their son-in-law claw himself to the finish line.  Undeniably, part of the reason we runners run is the social bonds running cements, and I do not just mean when you go out for a jog and your legs feel like concrete.  As part of the challenge to oneself, sometimes you also make a commitment to others – “Hey, for hours on end I do a silly activity of putting one foot in front of the other, and in a day and age when we have about a thousand substitutes for this activity.  Want to come watch?”  Surprisingly, some people say “yes,” and I take that seriously enough to want to finish these sometimes exceedingly painful activities I start.  

The lesson here, I think is two-fold: 1) when trying to accomplish something difficult, pre-commit to others that you’re going to do it; humans are social beings and those commitments egg you on when you need egging; and 2) the form of what you do for fun or pride is irrelevant – running is absurd an activity as any – it’s the people you find along the way that matter, so choose activities where the people are good people, whether they are your teammates, partners, or observers.  Running Boston this year fit both these concepts.  Thanks be to those who made it an experience worth writing about.

Does one osmosisly obtain the luck-of-the-Irish when you're a Scandinavian racing on St. Pat's Day? In a word, no.

Even after 30 miles on Friday evening, including being threatened by an animal of unknown species while on a darkened trail, I woke up Sunday morning feeling fairly unsore (not a word, I know, but the somehow "fairly unsore" is not tautological with not sore.) This was good news and somewhat surprising given that I hadn't done that type of mileage in quite a long time -- er, five months (see last blog post). I showed up early to the race, but parked a mile away on purpose to get in a nice, slow warm up. Foreshadowing: note that on the list of things one should do to prevent injury, I have both done one pretty unintelligent thing (running for a long while just a day or so before a race) and one pretty smart thing (warming up).

The race began as most do for me with a surge of adrenaline from the id and the subsequent response by my frontal cortex -- "just what in the hell are you doing...again?!" I passed the first mile in 5:32, which was almost exactly my goal pace, but still something that I thought beyond me on this day sans taper. Just after the first mile, I caught up to the women's lead pack and thought I was in for trouble at that pace. In fact, they ended up using me as a draft for the next 3 to 3-1/2 miles -- it was really cool being a rabbit for these powerful Ethiopian female superstars. It was helpful for me to keep a consistent pace knowing there were other people behind me -- and tripping my heels at various points, actually, which reminded me of the joys and frustrations of true cross-country and track competition in high school. Of course, I didn't mind being their wind blocker because this race was a tune-up for me and something quite serious for them, particularly when you're racing for a four day cruise for two (seriously that is a prize in this race) or other such luck-of-the-Irish prizes. Perhaps if I lead one of them to victory, we can share in the prize?

We passed the 5k mark in 17:10 -- hallelujah! That meant I beat my high school 5k PR by 20 seconds -- in the middle of a 5 miler! I was getting tired but cinder block legs hadn’t set in yet either. One of the Ethiopian women begins to make a move about this point, and the other stays with me. A bit later the one staying with me asks, “how far left?” 1.4 miles. She doesn't look happy about that. I give her some encouragement – "you are strong; stay close to her and try to outkick her" -- and then she starts a very pleasant-sounding groan of pain. It continues for the next mile...I don't mind one bit...it sounds, well, aroused to say the least. She asks several more times -- how far? I look at my watch and respond. With a mile left, this is where I begin to make a move, so I pull ahead of her by a couple yards; her response -- "don't go!" I didn't know what to say. Had we developed such an intimate relationship already, such that I was to stick with her to the end, or did she know something I didn't? She did. I keep pushing. She catches me, and I pull ahead again. There's 3-4 guys in front of us, and I've made it my plan to race more competitively this time, so I am thirsting for better positioning at the finish…

With 600m to go, I start to contemplate my strategy -- kick it in at 400m. The Ethiopian woman is now 10 yards back -- sorry hun, I've got to get these gents. I surge. My right hamstring twinges -- weird, never felt that before...AHHHHH! The most excruciating pain of my life surges through my right leg. Somehow I don't fall but I come to an immediate stop screaming, "F@$% F@$% F@$%!!!!!!" I start carpet bombing f-bombs as I hobble and crawl. I have a quarter mile to go but I am walking through the worst moment of bodily agony of my entire life. The crowd sees my hurt. They start cheering for me. My reply is an Andrew Dice Clay assortment of self-loathing tirades, s-mines and f-bombs. And then I think, "Boy, this is really stupid -- what extra damage am I doing to my hamstring by trying to finish a ‘fun’ run?" But the crowd is going nuts for me, which never happens when you’re just another joe coming in well behind the leaders. The race director announces my name and says, "Now that's the grit and determination we like to see!!!" How can I stop at this point?

I look at the clock with 10 intensely painful yards to go -- if I walk just a few paces faster I'll still break my PR for the course. I do. I PR. Sadly, by only 10 seconds, but at least I have that victory. I fall onto the fence in the finisher's pen. I almost cry.

My first four miles were 5:32, 5:35, 5:32, 5:36. Without being hamstrung, I almost certainly could have kept a 5:40 pace or better putting me at 27:50 or so -- over a minute faster than my previous PR. The agony of defeat, injured defeat, is really, really hard to stomach.

(Try to spot the point on this graph where the hamstring snapped.)

As I write this, my leg is elevated on my desk at work, I reek of old man (i.e. ben gay) and furthermore look like an incontinent geriatric because I bought a compression band soaked with menthol which dripped down my pant leg and makes me look like I had a little accident. I had to stop 4 times on my walk to work this morning as my leg spasm-ed. This is now my fate for at least a week -- during prime Boston training season -- hopefully not much more.

I am simultaneously angry, and lacking any aspirations for my athletic future, but also trying to be hopeful that this will be a short recovery. I can only hope at this point.

We ran 50 miles and all we got was butterflies of glee...

This is my first blog post...ever. Funny that it took the singular act of running 50 miles to motivate the transition from overly-facile facebook blather to blog blather. Welcome to this particular medium of blather. I hope I'll do more posts in the future on subjects ranging from running to non-running, but hopefully always with a modicum of logical consistency.

This story begins sometime in October of 2010, when Matt Broaddus, Bill Pelton, and I sat down at the Biergarten Haus on H Street in WDC, and decided we were going to become an ultra triumvirate. That is, we would train together and generally support one another as we endeavored to go long. Fittingly, I had dubbed 2010 the year of "length over strength" -- a bridge term that, to me, also conveyed the principles of breadth over depth and patience over immediate satisfaction. And so it was that we began our adventure by drinking huge steins of German beer, eating a mammoth sandwich of ham and cheese, and deciding to spend the next few years burning off the calories we consumed that night.



Fast forward about a year and Matt and I had developed a fairly consistent weekly regiment of running between 25 and 40 miles at a time. We set our sites on the Tussey mOUnTaiN-BACK (their pun, not mine), which is a fairly challenging 50-miler running on the hills (er, mountains) around Penn State college. Last weekend, on October 23, 2011, Matt and I ran this great race.

Joining Matt and I was my wife, Martha, and Matt's father, Greg. A more efficient, supportive, and honest support crew one would be hard-pressed to assemble. The four of us drove to State College on Saturday afternoon, enjoying the wonderful autumn foilage, which was peak aluminum foilage in our minds. After packet pickup at the hotel, we joined the all-you-can-eat pasta dinner associated with the race at the hotel. (Q: how many calories are in the estimated three pounds of pasta I ate? A: somewhere around 3000.) After dinner we listened to someone I'll refer to as Andy Rooney lecture us on what a soppy bunch of milquetoast wimps we modern runners are. I knew we were in for a steaming heap of condescension when Rooney started with the question, "how many of you run with a water bottle?" The lecture proceeded to berate us for running with camelbacks, GPS watches, legs and other extravagant nonsense. Channeling Rooney's voice, "Why is it that runner's today feel like they have to breathe so hard? Back when I ran, we held our breath for hours at a time, only respiring when absolutely necessary." Thanks for the pep talk, Andy.

Back at our room, we made some conscientious preparations for the morning and all four of us got a good night's sleep.

The night before Bill had surprised us by saying he might make it out to the race, but that morning we found out that he wouldn't be able to make it. I'm frankly inspired by anyone willing to travel 4 hours in each direction to watch someone else run at the pace of molasses. Thanks Bill.

Race day began somewhat uneventfully, which is probably a good thing. After Martha and Greg got their caffeine fix, we made it to the race site on time and stayed warm in the car until we were forced to brave the 40 degree chill. Matt and I spent time at the start line back-to-back which was a really effective way to warm up, although I will note that having another man's shivering ass jiggling up against your own constitutes necessary cause for deeper self-examination .



The gun goes off. I can't speak for Matt, but I hadn't been very nervous prior to the race, and for some reason, it still seemed like we were so ready, so focused that this was simply what we had to be doing at that moment. Plus, unlike a 10K, where you get this adrenaline rush from going out with all 6 cylinders pumping, in an ultra, the beginning is a tortoise-like anticlimax of shuffling and put-putting. In that vein, we moved cautiously at about 10 minutes per mile pace up the first hill which is about 2 miles long and goes up about 800 feet. Many runners were in front of us at this point. I found that reassuring. We were newbies to this sport, so going out fast on the first hill sounds like about the worst idea since sliced bread.

The next 7 miles were completely downhill. I can only describe the amount of elevation loss as instilling in you the certain knowledge that you're in the earth's mantle by the end of it. The pace here was probably in the low 8's or high 7's. Shirley it was a little fast, but comfortable nevertheless. Martha rang the cowbell for us at the rest stops; Greg gave us good cheer and offered gels. Always, they both had their cameras at the ready. The four of us were hitting our stride.



Running through this part of Western PA in the fall was gorgeous. The sun in the morning lit up the oranges, yellows and reds of the trees, and we had several overlooks that were beautiful enough to distract from the switchback climbs we were doing every half hour or so. Pretty consistently, Matt and I were picking up the pace, and moving into a 8:20 to 8:30 region that we thought was a little aggressive, but probably still a safe risk to be taking. Even with 35 miles ahead of you, we felt good enough to assert that we might be able to maintain for most of it.



Slowly but steadily we passed dozens of runners that had started out ahead of us. We passed one woman in the 20 mileage region, and talked with her enough to learn she was currently in second among the fems. We congratulated her on being so bad-ass that she might just place second. Personally, it made me feel like we were just a tinsy-bit bad-ass ourselves having passed her.

Matt and I communicated well throughout. At mile 25 we discovered we were going sub- 7 hour pace (3 hours and 27 minutes for those keeping track at home). That was about a mega-light year faster than we had expected to run. But, while we were both feeling the effects of those 25, neither of us felt like we were struggling as of yet. I described it as "perhaps I could go another 10 miles at this pace, and I wouldn't mind slowing down afterward." Matt seemed to agree. Several downhills later, we had amped things up to around 7:30 pace; we maintained that for five or so miles. That started to take its toll big time -- at about mile 36 Paulyboy really wasn't feeling his chipper self anymore.

Earlier in the race, particularly on the downhills, I was probably pushing Matt a tad faster than he would normally have run and hopefully for good cause. But, Matt, the eternal Energizer bunny, seemed to be feeling exhilarated at about the time I was falling apart, and thus helped me to dig deep and push ahead. Actual conversation at mile marker 41:

Paul: Matt, I've been really struggling over the last 4 or 5 miles. I'm falling apart.
Matt: Yeah, I think I'm starting to feel it too.
Paul (to himself): "THINK!?" you're "starting" to feel it? This is a fifty miler, broheim. What is your kryptonite, superman? A 600 miler?

I tried my best to maintain pace and I was helped along by that superhero among friends, as well our illustrious support crew. I could see upon their faces that I looked like a mouth-breathing sack of lactic acid at mile 40. But never once did they say, "almost there" or "you look great" (when we obviously weren't or didn't). Martha and Greg's honesty was really important; insincerity at those moments would probably really throw off your mental focus, and I think we both knew we could rely on our support team to be honest brokers with our sometimes not-so-ideal situation.

We climbed two more hills between 40 and 46 and then we were rewarded with the last four miles of the race in another mayhem of downhill mantle-chasing. The downhill felt so good we began rapping to the beat of a Tribe song for a few minutes which was totally confusing to other runners. Matt and I must have picked things up to sub-7 for a good piece of the ending. That was a fun way to finish, and even better was Matt's idea to cross the finish line holding hands, promising each other to come into the end photo-finish-like so that they would be forced to declare us a tie. In the end, I believe what Martha describes as my "schlumpy" posture lead the race officials to declare me the leader of our two-man pack. Honest to goodness, I don't understand how, even with my Egor-like hunch, I could have been 2 seconds ahead of Matt.



The feeling of finishing was nothing short of emotional elation for me, as tends to be the case for races that I spend a lot of time training for. The hugs Matt and I exchanged and those we received from Martha and Greg were the type that make you exuberant and wistful and melt into a better mold of a human form. We had conquered the unthinkable -- not just finishing 50 consecutive miles of running, but finishing strong after making dozens of decent decisions about pace, nutrition, hydration, etc. Numbers mean so much to runners, and I find many of them to be arbitrary cutoffs, inane taxonomies but, for those keeping track at home: 1) we just barely ran negative 25-mile splits (3:27; 3:25); 2) we broke 7 hours (arbitrary, but still sweet, at 6:52); 3) we finished in the top 10 (8th and 9th, closely separated by Egor's schlump); and 4) perhaps most importantly, Matt and I are still both fully convinced we did not compromise a single inch by running side-by-side -- the real power of numbers is in the fact that sometimes the synergy of two people working together creates something greater than any of them individually. Sometimes 1 plus 1 equals 3.

I'll speak for us both by saying that we owed this all to each other and to the loving support of our friends and family, but most of all to Martha and Greg.

Now, if all goes well with recovery, I believe we'll be turning our sites to something a bit longer. Stay tuned.