A different kind of wall

When you read about marathon running, it’s fairly common to read about ‘the wall’. ‘The wall’ usually being somewhere around mile 18 to 22 where there is a significant drop in energy level. As I’ve read about the wall, the distance of 18-22 seems about right given that the body will run out of normal carbo stores around that point. It’s also the point just beyond most training plans. Most training plans stop around mile 20, so it’s no wonder the body does a double-take around the point of reaching new ground.

I felt like I’d done enough long runs, both distance and time, to avoid the wall. My longest run was about 3:15, so longer than my actual race time. That run was 24 miles, so not quite as long as the race. I’d done 6 runs of more than 20 miles and 3 runs longer than 3 hours. During those runs I worked on nutrition as well to ensure my stomach could tolerate food during the race. Even during the race I kept up my water intake and ate almost 250 calories an hour of mostly Hammer Gel.

Still, come mile 22 I hit my own wall. I wasn’t out of energy – I felt good. My mind was still functioning well – I know because I could still do math in my head including calculating average pace. But there it was, my legs, more specifically both calves and my right hamstring, quite quickly were in a near-cramp state. Perhaps it was the effort and pace, perhaps it wasn’t enough salt intake (though I had plenty of that too), perhaps it was new territory. Anyway - there I was.

Now what? I hadn’t prepared myself for hitting a wall. I went through the strategies I knew. I tried focusing on breathing. I tried sending breath and energy to my legs to relieve some of the near-cramp. I tried mantras. I tried gritting my teeth. I tried ignoring it altogether. Connecting to nature. In some ways each helped a little, or at least I was able to keep my legs from cramping full-on. Almost – I did walk once for about a minute, though running actually felt easier. I did stop once and stretch my calves, and then I was off again. The near-cramping was such that it significantly altered my stride and my form – shorter strides with very little knee bend, a stiffer back which translated into stiff shoulders. Not pretty.

And then there was grace and peace. Twice in the last 4 ½ miles, I felt a grace and peace come over me. Both episodes lasted about ¾ of a mile and for those few minutes my mind was completely quiet, my legs though still hurting were softer, my stride opened up just a little, my pace smoothed out. During the race I wasn’t really aware too much of what had happened, only on looking back do I recall much. There was a surrender and letting-go to just running, forgetting about time, distance, cramping, breathing, or any other technique – just running. I don’t know how it happened, I just know it did, and it wasn’t even my doing. It just was.

This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced such ease on a run, though I’ve never been in this much discomfort on a run before either. Perhaps it was simply what my body knows from practice, when I stop ‘thinking’ and just am the spirit of running.

For most of the race I felt a great ease – letting my body be the guide of pace and effort, breathing and rhythm. There was no trying. It was only in the last 4.5 miles under duress that I went back into my head. Of course I could lament not letting go more in those last 4 ½ miles and that would deny the experience. It happened and I learned from that as well.

Our bodies really do know, more than our mind does, we just have to accept that grace and peace that’s always there and run with it!

What's next?

That’s the inevitable question that comes up after finishing a big event – what’s next? Sometimes it’s in our own heads, more often it’s from friends.

So first off – what’s next is RECOVERY. It would be good to be able to walk normally again, to be able to go up and down stairs without leaning heavily on the railing (or taking the elevator), even to just be able to run a few steps.

I used to be in a place where very soon after finishing a big event, the question of ‘what’s next?’ would pop into my head. I seem to be past that stage now. Still I know for many people it an can an unquenchable thirst; reaching one milestone and immediately wondering and chasing what the next one will be. It’s also not uncommon for some people to fall into a depressive mood for a while after finishing a big event. After all, they’ve spent months and months preparing and getting ready for an event, with so much focus on it, and then suddenly it’s over and no next thing to focus on. What’s next becomes the obvious question.

For me, I can certainly think of many possibilities – running a marathon with not such a fast time goal, running an ultramarathon, even shooting for that sub-3 hour marathon, or running faster in shorter events. This marathon was about as perfect as I could imagine, so if I never ran another marathon, I’d be thrilled with this one. At some point I will likely pick one to consider and maybe even do (probably the ultramarathon).

For now though, I am going to relish the experience and aftermath of this marathon. For now, I’m going to relax and recover, and then go out and enjoy all the Boulder trails just to enjoy the trails, to dance with the dirt, be outside, celebrate the body – and do it with no goals in mind whatsoever. That’s what’s next.

3%

That’s the difference between my marathon time of 3:06 and running a sub-3 hour marathon. Just 3%.

Being so close to the magical sub 3-hour mark, my mind has wondered there. In some ways the difference between a 3:06 and under 3 hours seems huge and in some ways it seems like very little. It pure terms of numbers it’s a 14 second per mile difference from 7:06/mile to 6:52/mile. Not much really for just 1 mile, but it seems like a lot over 26 miles.

In major competitions, the difference between first, second, and third place can sometimes be measured in seconds or even less. The difference being 0.1% - a tiny fraction of a difference. The Tour de France cyclists race for over 80 hours and the difference between first and second is often just a few minutes, even less than 0.1%. To that measure 3% seems huge.

I’ve trained well for the past 6 months. I pay attention to what I eat and nutrition. I do my best to get a good night’s sleep. I stretch (sometimes) and have done yoga for some core strength and flexibility. I get bodywork; I have a recovery drink after almost every run. I pay attention to form. I’ve done pacing work and endurance work. So it is no accident that I had such a good race. Much of this is just the way I live.

There’s also the rest of life to live from all the little things that are so enjoyable and refreshing like hearing birds upon waking to all the little nuisances – oil changes for the car and such.

I’ve lived well, and turned it into good training and a nearly perfectly executed race. The question becomes what’s the difference to gain 3%? It is more speedwork? Or strength work? Or better nutrition, more bodywork?

That 3% gives me perspective. The pros and serious competitors do all they can do for the extra 1%. There’s a lot of focus required for that additional 1%, to go from being extremely good to being the best, at least for one event. I’ve put in my share of that effort over the past 30 years of competing – and still I’m impressed with the focus the pros have.

There’s a question of is that 3% worth it?

I don’t know.

What’s this measured against anyway?

I don’t know that either.

Will I go for it? ;-)

I don’t know either – I’m still in recovery mode.

I do know if I do, the only reason will be to see if I can do it, nothing more.

For me it’s something to ponder with curiosity, perspective, amazement, and wonder.

3%

Amazed at the Masters

In this case, Masters are those in the 40+ age category. Almost two years ago I joined the masters category though it didn’t mean until to me until I started running in races.

After seeing the results from the Tunnel Marathon where 11 of the top 20 males were masters, I wanted to write more about the Masters!

When I was involved with ultracycling, I was frequently one of the youngest out there; a majority of riders were in their 40s and 50s. I knew how much of a difference maturity, patience, and experience made. I learned a lot being around those riders, as well from my own experience. The older riders seemed to fare better on the long rides as well. What was not apparent was the absolute speed or strength, especially since these rides were longer – 12 hours or more.

I’ve also heard for a long time that the age groups between 35 and 50 were some of the most competitive out there – from marathons to Ironman to triathlon, and so on. I’d look at race results and I would be amazed at what I saw, both for the actual times and how many strong competitors there are.

Now that I’ve joined the masters, I’m starting to see things a little differently – and actually feel it.

First is the body - certainly the body declines in ability over time – and yet athletes continue to prove that it’s not as much as you might think. Even in my case I’m amazed at the times and pace I’m able to run. I’ve also seen this proved over and over in endurance sports. Even as I write this, Arthur Webb is out running his 15^th Badwater 135 running race – he’s 71! Just a month ago, a team of four cyclists with an average age of 79 finished the Race Across America – 3000 miles – in 9 ½ days. I could go on. Age is not the physically limiter we once thought it was.

Perhaps most importantly is the experience an older athlete has. After so many hours and years of practice, the older athlete can come to know his mind and body extremely well. Combine that with life experience and that’s a powerful combination of potential! The general consensus is that is takes 10,000 hours of practice to begin to become an ‘expert’ on a topic. By age 40 or 45 or 50, there are many with that many hours of athletic experience. I’m in that category as well with over 8,000 hours on the bike. Experience does matter.

I’m thrilled to be a top 20 finisher at a marathon, finishing in the top 5%. I’m also completely humbled and amazed by my ageless peers who finished ahead of me.

Here’s to all the Masters out there!

Goals, Pacing, and Strategy (Tunnel Marathon)

After deciding to race a marathon in July, the next question was, ‘what would be my goal?’ The first one that came up was simply to finish. I knew that one was very realistic even if I walked the whole thing. So then it was a time goal. I knew I could do 3:30 since I’ve done plenty of training runs at an 8:00/mile pace or better. That one was also very realistic but wouldn’t push me to an edge. The next goal was a Boston Marathon qualifying time, which for the 40-45 year old men is 3:15 (7:27/mile pace). This seemed possible as well after running a 1:35 half-marathon this past February. Time to get serious, what could I really do?

3:10? Yes, I figured I could do a 3:10. I also asked my friend Marty about 3:15 and even 3:10 and he agreed. It would be hard and I could do it.

Could I do better? In my head I had 3:08 if I was really on and running well. Maybe …

I just had to figure out how to actually run a 7:15/mile pace for 26 miles, and that’s where working with Marty was awesome. He set up twice-a-week pacing runs for me for 6 of the last 7 weeks before the race. I really enjoyed doing that, both on the track, and on the road – and those pacing workouts really set the foundation for the race.

So the plan was to run the first mile at 7:45 and then settle into a 7:15/mile pace for the next 19 (until mile 20) and then see what I had left. That would get me to 3:10.

The first three miles was dead on – 22:15 – and I hit this after running 2 ¼ miles in a tunnel with just the feel of my body and the pace. This was also the flattest three miles of the course. Mile 4 was 29:10 (a 6:55 mile), followed by mile 5 at 36:20 (a 7:10 mile). With the elevation starting to drop just a little pacing was a little off and still right in a good range. When I did my pacing runs in Boulder I remembered the sensation of the pacing so I could try to duplicate that sensation, or some sense of it. With a different elevation, cool weather, and a solid taper, the first 5 miles were a breeze and much easier than the pacing I had done in training.

I had been trying to use my Garmin watch for pacing, but it seemed to give me numbers all over the place with a pace varying by 30 seconds or so within a minute of checking the watch. I knew my pace wasn’t that erratic. After mile 5, I tried following the watch, but it was too frustrating. At that point, I decided to follow my body feel. That’s worked pretty well for most of the year – AND – I knew I was in a completely unknown area, both for pacing and distance. Still I decided to trust my body.

I kept a smooth pace hitting mile 8 at 57:30 (7:11/mile pace), which was a minute faster than predicted. Still I wasn’t pushing at all. Mile 10 went by at 1:11 (7:07/mile pace). The time at the half way point was 1:32.33 (7:04/mile pace). That was a half marathon PR for me by 2 minutes and nowhere near the effort I used for the half marathon I ran in February. Still feeling very good and not pushing.

At this point I was a little excited – could I do a negative split? That felt very doable. 3:03:24 would be a 7:00/mile marathon pace. Could I hit that? That would mean a 1:31 second half. Possible?!?!? I also knew it was still too soon to increase my pace, so there was a balancing act there between my body holding a good, stead, strong pace, and not listening (too much) to the echoes of glory ringing in my head. A long way to go still.

At two hours I had covered about 17.2 miles (I think) or just under a 7:00/mile pace. Mile 20 was between 2:19 and 2:20 (I couldn’t see the seconds on my watch) – still under 7:00/mile pace. Still going strong. 22 miles was between 2:33 and 2:34 (that means I ran the 8.9 miles from halfway to this point at about a 6:50/mile pace!).

Just around 2 ½ hours I finally started to feel the effort. I wasn’t sure when it would happen, but I knew it would. Around this point, we made a turn and had about a ¼ mile of wind, twisty, steeper trail. That was too much of for my legs and quite quickly it felt like both calves and my right hamstring were getting tight and wanting to cramp. Yikes – still over 4 miles to go.

The last four miles were hard! This wasn’t the wall I’d read about where energy is gone and the mind is sapped; this was my body yelling for a stop. I am going to write about these four miles in another post, what a journey that was. In that last four miles I stopped once to walk for a bit, I must have looked quite hilarious waddling down the trail arms and legs swinging in an awkward rhythm. I also stopped once to stretch my calf. A third stop was almost necessary about ½ mile from the finish – that one I pushed through. My pace was all over the place – I just needed to keep going and get to the finish. The last 4.2 miles were over 7:30/mile pace.

I was told after the race by Marty that if I was really running at the edge, something would happen around mile 22, and if I was running too hard, it would have happened earlier. While I may have perhaps ‘lost’ a couple minutes in the last 4 miles, if I slowed down earlier it would have been the same two minutes. The 3:06 time was it – that was as hard as I could do.

Thanks to Marty for the advice, and pacing. And thanks to a body that has such a fine and subtle knowledge – better and deeper than I could do with my mind and with effort. All-in-all that was pretty close to perfect for pacing and strategy.

Tunnel Marathon

This past weekend I ran my main race for the year – the Tunnel Marathon in North Bend, WA. What an incredible experience! I don’t mean just the marathon itself, but everything around it – the training, the preparation, the rituals of getting ready, the beauty of the course. A lot of this I’ve written about previously - still the finish and experience spawned so many new reflections. You’ll read about all of it soon.

Officially this was my second marathon finish, the first was the Seattle Marathon in 1996 after just 6 weeks of training and a painful 4 ½ hours of alternating between running and walking resulting in incredibly sore ankles, knees, and hips. Clearly not a good way to prepare. This time around I have 14 months of running behind me, besides so many years of athletic endeavors. It some ways it felt like every bit of that experience came right into being all at once for 3 hours.

Early in the year I choose the Greenland 50K in early May as a key race. It became clear about a month before that I wasn’t ready yet for that distance. I wanted a race to focus on and thought a marathon would be a great choice to ramp up to. After some searching I found the perfect race – a downhill, trail marathon, at lower elevation, on the edge of the Cascade Mountains near Seattle where I’d lived for 15 years. What a great way to return and enjoy such beautiful country. So I signed up for the Tunnel Marathon with 400 other runners.

This year would be the 5^th year for the Tunnel Marathon. It’s named for the old two mile long railroad tunnel that the course goes through near the start. It’s almost perfectly straight and so once you enter you can see the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ two miles away where the tunnel ends. The course begins at the Hyak trailhead of the John Wayne trailhead. For the next 21 miles the course follows the John Wayne Trail amidst the incredibly magnificent trees and lush beauty and greenness of the Cascades. The last 5 miles are on the Snoqualmie Valley Trail with an ending right at North Bend Way just east of North Bend, WA. Not a car on the entire course and only about 100 meters of actual pavement the entire way.

The race was perfect in so many ways. A beautiful trail. No cars. The weather was stunning at about 50-55 degrees, overcast and even some rain during the rain. It meant it was quite humid as well. I finished completely soaked. The tunnel itself was disorienting to begin with to run in so much darkness with just a headlamp, and then the body and senses settled and it was fabulous. I’ll say it again – the trees and forests and groundcover in Washington are magnificent, so much different from Colorado, so alive and lush. So joyful to run through so much of it. A few spots of great views. A number of high trestles to get the feeling of being in the tops of the trees for a few moments. A small, informal race which I like. So many great volunteers out on the course cheering and offering water; the race director was even able to run with so many great volunteers. When I saw the finish line before the beginning I thought it would be quite odd being just a small spot on the side of the road. It turns out that was perfect too. Small and cozy. Everything with a few steps of each other, which for me was good. Plenty of food including homemade chili, Coke which hit the spot perfectly, first-aid right there, the finish line and announcer. If you didn’t know what was happening, you’d have no idea why there were a couple hundred people on the side of the road.

Two days later I’m still hobbling around and completely sore. It means I ran completely, which was a goal. I didn’t care how long recovery would take, I just wanted to run hard and not end up injured. That’s what I did. More about that later too.

I finished in a time of 3:06:04! Holy cow! I was 21^st overall out of almost 400 runners, 19^th overall male. In the master category (40+), I was 11^th, so if you’re doing some math that means there were more finishers over the age of 40 in the first 20 than under 40! I’m totally thrilled! I’m not much for medals, but I wore mine proudly and hung it on my lamp when I came home.

Enough for now, but more to come …