Running to Kansas

I love running the mountain trails around Boulder, to gain elevation and be in the trees and dance on the rocks and over the roots.

I also thoroughly enjoy a run on the open space trails around Boulder as well – the Gunbarrel and White Rock trails, the Boulder Valley Ranch, some of Dowdy Draw, and especially Marshall Mesa. Marshall Mesa was the trail of choice this morning as I run the full loop.

One of the reasons I like running Marshall Mesa is that there are spots where the only thing around you is grassland. If you look west you’ll see the mountains, if you look south you may see the windmills of the National Renewable Energy Lab. But otherwise there are places with no civilization in view. It’s quite remarkable.

Many times when I’ve run this trail I feel open and energized in this wide open area – I love wide open areas. And the thought comes, I want to run to Kansas across the high prairie and grasslands of Eastern Colorado. When I get to Kansas, I imagine myself saying why stop, let’s run the farm fields and open space of a wide open Kansas all the way to Missouri.

It will probably never happen, but I love the thought.

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!

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!

Freedom - a poem

Freedom

Tantalizing, trepidatious
I move one foot in front of the other.
I am a runner.
There is no greater joy in the three worlds.
When lightning strikes the earth
That is the cosmic step taking place,
When my heart and lungs are placed in my hands.
Life in dependent on breathing and feeling.
What electricity comes forth
In the sweat I feel in my mouth,
Inspiration that allows me to transverse
Disbelief, laziness, daydreaming.
When I breathe, all of those windfalls
Pass by as billowing clouds,
Seen by a boat set sail across the waters of confusion, summer, and time.

Within this temporal journey details are important.
I taste the sweet smell of water with its eight qualities.
I respect the gifts for my human body.
I revel in having time and space to run among the gods.
When I run I become one of those gods with no bounds,
Only pure joy is my water bottle.
I am sustained with the ultimate elixir, my goo-ru.
That vital inpsiration sends me across this entire planet
With the pitter-patter of drawl feet.

What bhumi can I not reach?
Place my feet on the path, ripples affect the universe.
Therefore when I breathe,
I inhale all that is confused, degenerated, and unhappy.
When I exhale, my knees strike high,
My Achilles is powerful, free from vulnerability.
Thus with the energy of surprise
I leap into this new dimension, which can onlybe seen
By the rapid movement of heart, feet, and mind.
May this incredible experience of movement
Be the source of all happiness.

Singapore 3/14/2005
Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche

This one's for Jerry

Jerry Lynch is a well-known author on sports psychology having written probably several books over the past 15 years. He’s taken all the wisdom and applied to collegiate and professional athletes all over the U.S. If you want to know more about Jerry, check out his website The Way of Champions.

I know Jerry from running. He’s part of a group I started running with last September. He’s always in great spirits and I always seemed to have a hard time keeping up. The last run I did with Jerry was last October. The group started from the Red Lion Inn in Boulder Canyon, went up to the top of Green Mountain and back down. It was a beautiful fall day, everyone in shorts and great spirits. The uphill was tough. The downhill was a trip as I did my best to keep up with Jerry son’s Brandon, two fast female runners – and Jerry. They all looked like they were just floating down the mountain and it was all I could do to keep up.

A few days ago I saw Jerry again for the first time since then at a surprise birthday party for his 70 years on this planet. He spends his winters elsewhere. I learned that run up Green Mountain was the last time he ran. He’s been injured ever since. Before leaving Boulder he ran and ran and ran – getting his fill before he left. While it sounded fun by Jerry’s account, it was too much.

Jerry is a long-time runner – I think I’ve heard well past 30 years of running. This was the longest stretch he’s ever gone without running. What was remarkable in talking with him was how calm and peaceful he was. You could tell he missed running and was thoroughly excited about running to Boulder again several weeks from now and starting to run again.

Later I commented to Jerry about what I experienced in an email. He confessed it hadn’t been as easy as it seemed. He’d gone through the same thing every athlete does who experiences an injury does – bits of frustration, anger, depression. In the end ‘peaceful acceptance’ as Jerry put it is where he’s at mixed with the knowledge of all the blessings life has bestowed upon him.

Jerry is surely hero material here, someone to admire for the way they live. To be a human athlete and go through struggle speaks to his groundedness and humanity. To be a recipient of his own wisdom and live it with grace is remarkable. To know running is only one part of his life speaks to his completeness. To continually offer wisdom into the world is priceless. To live with the gratitude he has for what life has given him is beautiful.

Here’s to you Jerry …

Surprise

I heard it last night – drops of moisture
as I dozed off to REM land.

On waking, my legs ached to moved

time for a run.

Temperature – colder than it’s been

hat and gloves, not worn in weeks.

Opening the door, standing at the threshold

moisture falls from the sky.

Hesitation, doubt, questioning

do I want to go out there?

A step into it

not rain, not snow, dry and fresh.

A quick change

something to deal with damp.

Off I go

with my warmup steps.

Whitish grey clouds redefine the horizon

a smaller bubble of a world today.

White specks falling, blowing

not rain, not quite snow, beautiful.

Legs gliding, lungs offering its own mist

arms in a rhythm, feet gracing the earth.

An internal peace, a playful smile

gratitude flows, a deep stillness pervades.

Back home, watch stopped

the end of another striking run.

What a way to begin a new day.

Micah True

We are the messengers, fueled by the message we carry. When the message is of truth, peace, beauty and love, we will always have the strength to find our way home, on this, our beautiful Mother Earth".
~Micah True

True recently passed away on a run near Gila, New Mexico. He was a beloved and respected member of the ultrarunning community. He will surely be missed.

The Thrill is Gone

I'll admit to stealing the title from the hit song by that name, but it seems to fit for now.

Two weekends ago I finished off three hard weeks of training. The training felt great up until the Monday morning afterwards when I woke up with extremely sort glutes. That translated into a limp for all of last week. A physical therapy (thanks Mike at Neuromuscular Strategies) session last Friday revealed that I probably strained both glutes. The dry needling from physical therapy was effective enough to have the limp go away, but the glutes and a few other spots are still sore.

By necessity I've slowed down and am getting some good rest. In that I can feel my reserves building again. I can feel the rebuilding of the body into a stronger runner! I know when this passes, I wll be stronger again!

Even with slowing down, I've done some running in the past 10 days and it's not the same - yeah part of the thrill and flow is gone (for now). My endurance is greatly diminished, speed is gone, muscles feel weak, stride is short, breath is choppy. Not that running has been no fun, but the flow and pure fun I've had for months has changed.
Despite some of the setbacks, my full moon run last Wednesday was breathtaking!

While I don't like being sick or getting injured, for me it can signal that I've hit an edge, and gone beyond it. In some ways this is actually good because if we always stay in our comfort zone, we never know what's possible. If we pay attention when we get sick or injured, we can learn some valuable information about our bodies and life. It's also an opportunity to slow down and rest, to rejuvenate the body and soul.

It's been nice to sit and read a little more, and to do all the things I know are good regardless of injuries including applying arnica skin cream, giving self-massage, stretching and yoga, jumping in a hot tub. What's not to like in all that!

For now, the thrill is perhaps diminished, not gone. I don't know how long it's going to take to recover - maybe another week, maybe three or four. I know I'm building a stronger body right now, I know I'll have more experience to draw from. I think most importantly though is I know the thrill will be back - and it will be sweeter than ever!

We Are the Show

Steve Prefontaine, often called Pre, was one of America’s top runners in the mid-70s. He had a style all his own – brash, gutsy, outspoken. Unfortunately he died in a car crash at 24 – the world will never know what he might have been able to do. Even in his short career he changed running.

One of Pre’s quote is this: “Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, 'I've never seen anyone run like that before.' It's more than just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better than anyone else.
It's being creative." If you’re ever seen footage of Pre racing, it’s true.

I’ve heard Michael Jordan, one of the world’s greatest basketball players ever, say something similar. That when we walks out onto a court, into a stadium, one of the things he wants to do is play as well and as hard as he can. There might be one person in the stadium whose only change to see him play was that day, and he wanted them to see what basketball could be like.

Jordan and Pre knew their talent and skills. They weren’t playing to show off their skills, they were playing to put on a show. Not a show of fancy, but of themselves, of their sport; playing to use all their skills and hours of practice to make art. When athletes like this play in this way is often when we’re most inspired and Jordan and Pre are two extraordinary examples of this.

Most of us will never have the audience or spotlight professional athletes do, yet our running can be just as much art and inspiration as Jordan or Pre. Our audience might be kids, or co-workers, or a spectator who is inspired by our efforts. I remember driving on a freeway and seeing a stream of women walking on a nearby road, it was the 3-Day walk for the Cure. I was moved by the effort these women were making, I’m sure most of them stretching themselves to walk 60 miles in 3 days. Jordan and Pre made a conscious choice of how to play. We can make a similar choice or not, but regardless what we do as athletes is often inspiring. It’s our show.