In July, I felt great running a 7:32 pace 5K. Then I hurt my wrist playing softball, spent three weeks doing basically no physical activity while it healed and finished the month feeling slow and lazy. And that was a great thing.
In July, I felt great running a 7:32 pace 5K. Then I hurt my wrist playing softball, spent three weeks doing basically no physical activity while it healed and finished the month feeling slow and lazy. And that was a great thing.
Before I started reading Haruki Murakami’s “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,” I had already decided to run every day this month.
Forget 5Ks and half marathons, I think I have to become an ultramarathoner.
Training for a race ideally involves lots of running, including runs that at least approach the distance you intend to cover. For the New York City Half Marathon, I did not do those things.
I have a tremendous amount of gratitude for the person who decided that after the Disney World Half Marathon runners should be given this box with chips and cheese.
What does running a race feel like?
That’s what my friend Kelly wants to know. I learned in my very first journalism class that one of the things you cannot talk about without attribution is how another person feels. Such instances of “ESP” earned you a ride in a virtual ejection seat (this professor is pretty entertaining).
But having run tons of 5Ks and half-marathons myself, I can describe my own experience.
Narrowing it down to single words depends on the day: exhilarating, frustrating, satisfying, free, exhausting, amazing, painful, essential.
The first one is anxious confidence. Standing in a corral with hundreds or thousands or tens of thousands of my sportily attired best friends, I know I put in the training yet there are no guarantees of what will happen once the gun goes off. In the last minutes the adrenaline begins to build. A national anthem or jet flyover (that’s only happened once) only enhance that.
BOOM. We’re off. The first half-mile of 13.1 is chaos. I’m alternating between flying and throwing on the brakes as I navigate my way through a dense crowd of people running at all different speeds. I try to move to the far left where there’s usually a lane to avoid much of the craziness, but often it’s like playing sideways Frogger finding the right nooks to duck in and the right people to follow.
Then the crowd thins out as we spread into an ever elongating snake through the streets of whatever city. I try to get a sense of how well I made it through relative to my goal pace but the real answer comes with a sign that says “Mile 1.” The time on my watch is almost always faster than I expect, bringing immediate instructions from body management to breathe and settle into my pace.
It’s here that I take a good look around, checking out the scenery and those around me. Is there someone who’s running my goal pace? Someone a tiny bit faster? Let’s keep them in view and let their strides lead the way.
The next few miles are the hardest. They’re the ones that make me question my sanity and whether I can maintain this pace for another hour. I do my best to not think about how many miles remain, but it’s impossible. Breathe. Settle in. When my stride or pace feels off, I often think of a song to get me back on course. This song:
WE are, YEAH I said it, WE are….LEFT right, LEFT right then, LEFT again…That’s my fast, comfortable pace. I’m working hard, but not destroying my legs in mile 4. I do this on my tempo training runs too, so while the music plays in my head, I see the bike trail by my house flying by in the memories of runs that I CRUSHED.
Miles 5, 6, 7…cruising. Confidence builds with each one. In my head these are the miles I “click off” as if they are checkboxes on a form. Get through that seventh mile anywhere near goal pace and I’m on top of the world. I’m about to hit the stretch where I feel the best. My stride is open and free, gliding along knowing I’m only counting down the miles now. I think ahead to the finish where volunteers, family, friends and random city people will be lining the street yelling encouragement while thumping music plays and a guy on the PA calls out names of people crossing the line.
Miles 8, 9, 10…Thoughts of Sunday mornings at sunrise stepping outside my house and doing long runs at these distances. Week after week, building muscle, getting used to being on my feet that long, up hills, through heat and cold, splashing carefree through the rain. At the end of this leg is a major mental milestone. Just a measly little 5K to go. The math is easier too. Figuring out what time is possible in mile 7 is an educated guess. At mile 10, I’m adding three numbers with a much better idea of what’s left in the tank.
Mile 11 I’m hanging on. One more good one to set me up for the final stretch. Breathe. Push. Forget about what hurts. Think of the food at the finish line. Twenty more minutes of hard work and then I can collapse on the couch the rest of the day. I’m not running for a week after this so there’s no reason to leave anything in reserve.
Mile 12. Go. Go go go. I’m thinking about the million two-mile runs I’ve done, many of them with a giant hill after working all night. This is cake. I try to pick out someone ahead of me to catch. It won’t happen immediately — this is a longer game. I have two miles to reel them in. At the same time, my mind turns to a macro view. All those training runs, those first 11 miles, and here we are. There’s only a tiny bit left. WE’RE DOING THIS. No matter how many times I’ve raced this distance, the end is a real thing. It’s an accomplishment, something I’ve worked toward for months and I’m about to reap the reward of every drop of sweat.
My greatest race memory is mile 12 of the Raleigh City of Oaks Half-Marathon in 2009. I think about it all the time when I need a boost on a long run:
That was the best mile I’ll ever run in my life. Not the fastest by any measure — the BEST. The biggest shot of adrenaline surged through my veins when I saw 7:18. Not only was it ridiculous for me to go that fast in mile 12, it was at that point that I knew I was going to crush my personal best. I went into that race wanting to finish in 1:45, and with this mile I knew I could do the next one in 9 minutes and still beat that goal. Anyone looking on would have seen me pumping my fist. YEAH!!
Mile 13. The finish line calls. The first half of this mile is like number 11 — hang on. The second half is about pushing every last bit of energy through the soles of my shoes as my legs and lungs burn. And yet, it’s a celebration in my mind. Just like the last leg of the Tour de France where the winner glides along sipping champagne, my brain knows at this point how close we are to being done and how satisfying it will be to stand there with a medal around my neck.
With every step the city gets louder. A few people here and there on the sidewalk becomes small groups, then entire blocks with a line of people holding signs and offering WOOOOOOs and shouts of encouragement with the names of the runners around me. Cow bells are ringing. The bass of the finish line sound system is thumping. The archway with its ticking clock comes into view. Yes yes yes yes yes, go go go go go. Finish. Finish. Finish.
A few more steps, a big exhale and a glance at my watch. A personal best, right on goal time, a little slower or a time that means I simply finished. Breathe. Relax. Drink. Another look at my watch and I’m already debriefing. Whatever that number means, I’m evaluating it in light of how I trained, and what happened during that race.
But most of all I am done. I have accomplished. I will eat pizza and take a nap. And in a week I will tie my shoes, step outside my door, and take the first steps toward next time.
Sometimes we don’t accept our limits and get humbled.
Yesterday I set out to run the DC Rock ‘N Roll half marathon in 1:45, and crossed the finish line in 1:58:34. Clearly things did not go according to plan, but really the plan was the problem.
In the month before the race I dealt with a bad cold and then bronchitis, which left me feeling exhausted all the time and having a hard time breathing in cold, dry air. That meant skipping all but a few of my planned training runs in favor of rest, hoping that “tomorrow” I would feel better. A lot of those tomorrows came and went without much relief.
Finally, after getting the official bronchitis diagnosis, I did get some lovely prescriptions, which did help but had side effects that included even more fatigue and making me feel really warm even when sitting on the couch.
So obviously when it came time for the race, I took that month of basically zero training, tiredness and imperfect lungs and decided what the heck, let me try to run my second fastest half marathon ever.
Through the first five miles, things were going great: 8:04, 8:10, 8:04, 8:00, 8:07. I even for the first time followed a pacing group to keep me on target.
But then in mile six the wheels started coming off. The mile time (8:31) will look pretty normal, but it’s misleading. At the end of the mile, the course started up a giant hill that continued into mile seven. Usually, hills are a strong point where I surge ahead of a ton of people. I train on them all the time and really take pride in that. But in this race, I just didn’t have that reserve to push through and come out on the other end able to slip back into my normal pace.
That was the story for the rest of the race: 10:14, 9:28, 9:20, 9:53, 9:41, 10:26, 9:35, :53.
In the past, I’ve done a few races where I didn’t think I was in great shape, but found those energy stores to push later in the race. This time, every attempt to pick up the pace was like running in molasses. I would go maybe 30 seconds before I couldn’t sustain it anymore and had to slow down.
My already elevated body temperature also made me drink probably twice what I normally do during a race, which both cost me time (running and drinking is hard) and was a feeling I was not used to at all. I probably shouldn’t have taken the meds pre-race.
I also should have set a more reasonable goal somewhere around 1:52, and felt good about hitting that and coming back to fight another day. Being unrealistic just made me frustrated (in mile 11 I spiked a Gatorade cup into a trashcan) and gave me a little bit of a setback in what had been a lot of progress getting over my sickness.
At least I got a cool medal out of it:
Time to get really healthy, and do another one in a few months, site TBD.
This is the time of year I usually post my latest big injury that is going to wreck all of my running momentum and make me woefully out of shape by the time spring has sprung.
But, (knock on wood I don’t get hurt as soon as I hit the publish button), that’s not what I’m here to do today. I took a long time rehabbing the ankle/knee issues I came down with last year, and have been able to avoid tearing anything in my knee while walking on Metro cars.
The result is that based on my times from a mid-December half-marathon and a 5k a few weeks ago, I’m in the best shape I’ve been in since late 2009. Of course that magical year that featured personal bests in every single race I entered ended with a stress fracture in my foot. Here’s to hoping I can get to next month’s Rock ‘N Roll half in DC in perfect health and continue with a fun year of racing.
I even achieved a non-important thing in the 5k on Super Bowl Sunday by managing to not look absolutely miserable in a race photo:
Photo by Swim Bike Run Photography
I also got a reminder during a bonus walking lunge section after the race that I am 247 feet tall, and according to this picture have no knees:
I promise I have knees. They are sometimes temperamental, but they are there.
I don’t like to take credit for a lot of things, but when I saw this article in today’s New York Times about the boom in neon running gear — particularly shoes — I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible.
The piece really pegs this as a trend that has exploded this year, and I’ll mostly agree with that. But as a longtime proponent of rocking brightly colored running shoes, and more importantly, as a veteran of the running shoe industry, I can tell you this did not pop up overnight.
One of the central questions the story explores is, will it last?
“Most analysts do not track shoe sales by color, but it is clear that the shoe business is booming. NPD Group, a retail analyst firm, said sales of retail goods in the running category were up $39 million, or 12 percent, this year from 2012. Some attribute that, at least in part, to the new palette.”
I began selling shoes in 1999 as an after-school job and worked for that company until 2005. During that entire era, running shoes came in a very narrow range of colors. Companies did not branch out much at all. For men, the shoes were typically white with navy blue, and an accent of either black or something in the gold/beige family. In fact, “typically” isn’t even a fair word. Your choice was which logo went on the side.
Women’s shoes were slightly more adventurous, but still consisted of either white or grey, with some sort of baby blue, purple or a rare appearance by pink. All muted tones, too.
I moved to another company in 2006 and 2007, and that’s when this neon trend really got its start. But it happened slowly. Shoe companies are quick to jump on trends, but they tread carefully when it comes to establishing what those trends will be. Remember when there were only two choices in the minimalist shoes that are everywhere today? It took a few years for that to really become a thing.
The same was true with bright colors. In 2006, I bought a pair of bright yellow New Balance running shoes:
Perhaps the finest news crew ever assembled
Before that purchase, I’m sure I didn’t sell one pair to a customer. They were intrigued, would pick up the shoes and think maybe they would be fun, but ultimately get self-conscious and decide to play it safe and get what they saw everyone else wearing.
After I bought them and wore them around in the store, though, I sold tons. People loved them, but most of all they loved seeing someone else wear them. That’s what broke down that last little bit that kept them from embracing the fun that running should be. I was never a pushy salesman on things like trying to get you to purchase a matching jacket, but I encouraged everyone I could to branch out and pick up the more colorful version of a shoe. The same pattern of suddenly skyrocketing sales played out again when I bought a pair of bright orange shoes there, ones that I’m proud to say I wore setting my best time in every single race distance:
I can’t tell you the number of compliments I have received on my bright shoes over the years, whether it’s from someone standing next to me at a start line, or the Instagram picture I post of the latest pair I just bought. What I can say is that nobody ever, ever, ever, ever, ever said one word about white shoes with navy blue accents.
As long as the manufacturers keep making them, I will always wear shoes like these:
My current lineup
And if you’re looking for an interesting section for my Wikipedia page, I’m proud to say I played a role in making other people feel cool about wearing them too.
Signing up for races in Jacksonville, Fla., is dangerous to my health.
In late 2009, I registered for a marathon early the next year. A few days later, while on a training run, I got a lovely stress fracture in my foot. I spent eight weeks on the couch and ended up switching to run the half-marathon instead on little training.
This year, I planned to do the half-marathon there again, but a few weeks before the race, I started feeling a really bad pain just below my left kneecap when running or walking up/down stairs. I rested as much as I could, hoping I could at least be back to running by the time the race came around
That didn’t happen. Instead, I walked the 13.1 miles like this:
It was far more difficult to get through that long of a race while walking, but it was an interesting experience. Instead of being somewhat near the front with people of my same athletic level, I was way in the back with many who did a lot of walking in between spurts of running to get through the race. It was much more relaxing being able to take in the scene at a slower pace, but at the same time, it was much more difficult to keep pushing on for that long (3:04:31 this year vs. 1:50:49 in 2010).
Either way, the hardware at the end is the same:
It was nice to get back to my short-time former home, including an early morning trip down to the beach for breakfast and a walk next to the ocean. Cloudiness spoiled the sunrise, but it was still relaxing to be down there:
The trip started off in rough form. After working all night, I got on a plane to Charlotte, then connected to my flight to Jacksonville. Only, my suitcase didn’t make the second flight. When I got to JAX, I rented a car that despite being located in Florida, made me seem like a super out-of-towner:
So for about five hours, I was in Florida, with a Minnesota rental car while my suitcase was in North Carolina. At least my hotel had a Starbucks inside.
