Raramuri Star-struck

I recently had the priceless chance to meet Raramuri runners Arnulfo Quimare and Miguel Lara. Quimare won the Copper Canyon ultramarathon featured in Christopher McDougall's book Born to Run, narrowly beating Scott Jurek. He finished second to Jurek the following year (2007). Miguel won the same race in 2011 and 2012.

l to r: Miguel Lara, me, Arnulfo Quimare

Dean, director of the Allerton Trails Half-Marathon, organized the meeting and local runner Bill Dey connected the two of us. Dave and Debbie Hensleigh graciously hosted us. Dave guides trips through the Copper Canyon and helps Raramuri use their talents to earn money. Gustavo Luzanno, a fellow runner who helped Caballo Blanco lay out the course for the ultra was there as their interpreter.

While chatting, they mentioned that pavement was hard (literally) for them to run on. They prefer trails. Hearing that from these natural runners, and having had the experience I had at the IL Marathon, I decided to look for a shoe I'd be more comfortable with on roads. Pavement is much harder than the ground humans evolved running on, even the hard, sun-baked savannah. It's abrasive, too. I think I've found the shoe, and I'll be posting a review shortly. For now, I'm going for a run in said shoes.

Not my slowest marathon

"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you find you get what you need" -- The Rolling Stones

A single marathon can elate and deflate you, even simultaneously. It can show you the limits of your perception and it can teach you how real and unimportant pain can be.

The 27th of April gave us nearly perfect weather for a marathon in CU this year. The race organizers pulled together a great team of volunteers to direct traffic, run aid stations, and do so many other things most runners never think about. Spectators lined the course, cheering.

If you've read any of my recent posts, you know I bruised my metatarsal 3 weeks ago. I found that I could ease pressure on my bruise by wearing shoes with plenty of room for my muscles to relax and toes to splay. To avoid foot problems in the marathon I made a last minute switch and grabbed a roomier pair of shoes than the ones I'd been training in. This would have ironic consequences: each time I landed each foot slid in its shoe and rubbed against the bottom, which felt much like the road thru the thin Vivo sole. By mile 9 the bottoms of my feet were feeling pretty raw.

Until then I had been running with Brandon Smith at about a 6:20 pace. We were aiming for a sub-2:50, if things went well maybe 2:45. I had ideas that my injury might require goal adjustments, so I had lowered my sights to 3:00, but I was still hoping for a small neighborhood of 2:45. Brandon accomplished this with a 2:48:16. Way to go, Brandon!

At mile 9.5 we left Meadowbrook Park and I started slowing and watching Brandon fade ahead. My feet hurt with every step, but they really hurt when the course turned or when the asphalt had been repaired in the road or when I tried to push off with my foot. Or when there was a crack in the road. As we neared the split between the half- and full-marathon courses, a guy pulled up beside me and said "c'mon, let's finish this." Heh. I think he felt bad when I replied "I've still got half to go." And it was going to be a rough second half.

We headed west in Champaign, away from the finish line, and I dreaded the remaining miles. I knew my pain showed clearly in my expression and my gait, and I imagined the spectators either felt sorry for me or were horrified, not wanting to imagine the pain I was going thru. I let my pace slow more as I told myself this was just a long training run. We turned south and ran by Centennial High School and my thoughts turned to slogging or even walking the rest. I could cheer all the runners as they passed me. I truly thought this would be my slowest marathon.

photo courtesy of Elliot Brinkman

So what. I'll keep running, or at least giving it my best approximation. Passing the 19-mile aid station I realized there was just a mile over a 10k to go, which didn't help my feet, but it made my head better. I can finish a 10k any day. At mile 20 there was a clock, a reading of the impersonal reality that lived outside my pain. The clock read 2:15:xx. I was astounded. I did a quick calculation and realized a sub-3:00 was still possible but I would need to keep steady motion. Ouch. Really? Ouch. I can't have my self-pity? I still have to try? Ouch, ouch.

I chased sub-3:00 for the last 6 miles. As I entered the Memorial Stadium I saw 3:02:xx on the clock. Sigh. I crossed the finish line with an official time of 3:02:27, a PR, but short of my goal. Maybe that's better. Goals that remain elusive keep us striving, which is the point: moving, improving, becoming. I plan to chase that sub-3:00 at Boston next year. Maybe even 2:45.

healing

My foot still hurts. The metatarsal got bruised two we... I just read that in addition to the three dead there were several amputees as a result of the bombs that exploded in Boston last Monday. My foot will heal.

Every runner has reason to feel pain for the bombings. Runners share a passion that binds us together like an extended family and when a family member is hurt, we all hurt. Spectators and volunteers are part of this family. Boston is a Mecca to runners and holds much of our history and tradition. The first Boston Marathon was held in 1897, just after the first modern olympics where the first marathon was run. The race has continued annually ever since and it is the only marathon to have continued for as long. Boston is where Kathrine Switzer registered as K. V. Switzer and broke gender barriers in marathoning. It's where Bill Rodgers captured America's imagination and won 4 out of 5 years in the late 1970s. It's where Salazar and Beardsley battled it out for 26.2 miles in the 1982 heat. Boston is where "Tarzan" Brown broke John "the Elder" Kelley's heart, giving name to the (in)famous Heartbreak Hill, and it's where Geoffrey Mutai ran the fastest ever marathon in 2:03.02.

I am warmed to see runners all over the country organizing memorial runs and posting #runforbostons. I'm reminded of the enduring spirit that running naturally selects for and cultivates. I am also reminded that running is a gift. In fact, life is a gift. One can show thanks by treating others kindly. We are strong but fragile. Life is short and painful enough without our efforts.

I am grateful to be healing. I managed to get a careful 8-mile run on roads yesterday. The foot didn't bother me. It was the first run since injuring it for which I can say that, and I didn't push it. I've missed crucial speed workouts during the taper that would have sharpened me up for the race on Saturday. I'm still hoping to come in under 3:00. I sure would like to go to Boston next year.

Here's a good report on the incident at Boston:
http://www.cnn.com/2013/04/15/us/boston-marathon-explosions

Bruised

"I'm out," I thought. "Maybe for the whole season," hyperbolically. It wasn't getting better. Then I stepped off the road onto the grass. Aaahhhh. Wow. What a difference.

I still only ran 2 miles. It was my first run in 6 days. My second since I bruised my metatarsal in last Saturday's half marathon. I ran Sunday, the day after. I had to get in one last long run on pavement before tapering my distances in the last 3 weeks before the Illinois Marathon. I had to get in that last 28-miler.

A 1/4 mile into the 28-miler I thought it was a bad idea. I still thought it might be 5 miles in. I changed my mind by mile 7 and I still don't know. I injured my foot on Saturday, not Sunday. I might have made it worse on Sunday; I might not have. Yes, I'm defensive. I wanted that 28-miler on country roads.

Over the week I've been minimizing time on the foot, wearing two insoles in that shoe and one in the other to help balance things out (I usually don't wear insoles). I've been stretching muscles in my foot, moving toes around in weird ways, trying to loosen and strengthen supporting muscles to take pressure off the bruised spot when I do put weight on it. Treating the problem as well as the symptom.

It actually is getting better. Not fast enough, but it is. Today's run was exhilarating! I hope tomorrow offers me a run, too. If it does, I might be more adventurous.

I run, therefore I am

"Don't call it a comeback." -- L. L. Cool J

As my marriage and my career fell apart last year, I escaped from the turmoil and uncertainty of what lie ahead thru running. I escaped sometimes into solitude and sometimes to a group of people I could understand. I'd escaped for years this way from the same marriage and career that were now falling apart. These elements had required me to ape being someone I wasn't and they were going away. It was liberating and scary.

As I fell in love last summer I realized what my marriage had lacked. I realized what I had given up on for the marriage. As I talked with my love about my dreams and hers I realized what I had given up on for the career. Life no longer seemed foreign. I started to believe I could live as me, not aping someone else. I stopped being scared. I no longer had a life that I had to run from.

I stopped running. I stopped being me.

I would learn that I had run not only away from a life that seemed so far from my values, dreams and goals, but I had run also to understand and fulfill those things. I ran away from someone I'd aped, but I ran to myself.

After a hiatus of 2/3 of a year, I'm running again. As new hopes disappoint and life proves continually uncertain a peace comes from living authentically. Tho sometimes the only thing that makes sense is to go run, I still have nothing to run from. My eyes are on the life I want, not the one I don't. It's scarier because it's a life I have to make.

Finally, Indiana

I can't remember exactly when I made the goal, but I want to run an ultra in each of the 50 states, plus D.C. In some cases I'll settle for a marathon, but I'd rather run an ultra. While I'm living in Illinois I'd like to take care of most of the Midwest since travel is now much easier and cheaper than it will be after we move.

I live about 40 miles from the Indiana border, so next to Illinois one would think this would be the easiest state. For some reason, tho, it has taken me 2 1/2 years of running ultras to finally get this state done. And it wasn't easy: I had to run 50Ks on two consecutive weekends. Well, that or choose between Indiana and Iowa, both states where ultras are hard to come by.

My plan was to run strong at Hawkeye in IA and just take HUFF as it came. If you read my last post, you know "strong" is not a good description of my run at Hawkeye. So I wasn't sure how HUFF was going to play out. I just knew I'd take it easy.

The trails at HUFF were completely covered in snow. For scenery this gave us a beautiful blanket of white covering the forest. As a running surface snow tends to suck out energy as every attempt to push forward results in some reverse motion. In other words, the footing was less than firm. Since the snow was packed down, tho, it still was very runnable. The weather was also good. At the start the temps were in the single digits, with wind chills below 0 F. The sun was shining as it continued to do all day, and temps rose into the 20s before most of us finished.

As it turned out, I never really faced battles at HUFF like I'd faced at Hawkeye. I never questioned a finish (just occasionally begged for it to come soon). I did cramp in one spot in one quad, but not until late in the race, and I realized I was favoring that leg.

So 8 states down. That's California, Massachusetts, and a few in the Midwest:

42 to go. The plan for this spring is to knock-off Minnesota, Missouri, and Michigan.

Report on the Hawkeye 50K, a race where you can drop your pants

Before I go into my race report let me say that Tim did an awesome job of directing the inaugural Hawkeye 25/50K.  The trail was so well-marked that there was never a question whether you were on course.  Tons of email updates about trail conditions, weather, providing maps and directions all reduced the worry and uncertainty leading up to race day.  He rounded up some great volunteers, too.  They endured some pretty nasty weather and managed to stay upbeat, which was contagious to us runners.

The weather conditions at the start were an off-and-on drizzle with temps in the low-30s.  Pretty nice for mid-December in the Midwest.  That would change.  Throughout the race the temps steadily decreased and the rain became more on than off and heavier and gradually turned to sleet and finally snow.

The first lap I headed out near the front of the pack at what felt like a comfortable pace.  I was loaded up with Perpetuem solids and GU chomps and I quickly realized exactly why Race-Ready shorts have drawstrings in addition to the elastic.  I guess the solids added more weight than my usual gels, or I've always just tied my shorts in the past.  Whatever: they were comin down.  In the first 100 yards I was already making wardrobe adjustments, trying to tie my shorts and run the single-track trail that started each loop.

We quickly left the trail for a few miles of road running.  This is where I felt strongest.   Most of my training since June has been on roads around town since thesis deadlines and a teaching assignment have made driving to the trails harder to justify -- not to mention that my daughter is now becoming a little person and I like spending time with her and my wife.  Running 10+ hrs per week I can justify, but driving 1-2 hrs for most of those runs has really started to seem like a burden.

So I haven't really run many hills since June.  This would come back to haunt me...

We left the roads for a crushed gravel trail.  This was probably my favorite portion of the race.  The trail was very well-maintained and pretty flat, with a few gentle ups and downs.  We ran right along the lake with a lot of tree cover.  Coming off the roads into the trees, it starts to feel a bit warmer as the trees block the wind.  Here I really began doubting my choice of wearing long pants over my shorts.  They'd seemed warm even along the windy road.  I'd been reassuring myself that it would be getting colder, but my legs were really feeling warm.  I first tried bunching them up around my quads.  After they fell back down a few times I just stopped and took em off.  That's when I realized my bib was pinned to my pants.  sigh...  run and think.  Aha!  I rolled my pants up so that the bib showed and started planning a quick way to stop to secure them into the straps on my Nathan hydration pack.  Damn this pack is handy!  (I've fastened jackets and even shoes in it.)

I saw a lady cheering for passing runners and stopped to ask her to secure the pants for me.  Perfect.  Problem solved... until the pants fell out of the straps.  I realized they were missing at the next check point when they asked me for my bib # and I reached behind me to point to it.  Well, never trust a cheerleader with your pants, I guess.  OK, it was my fault, not hers.  That just sounded like a funny thing to say.

Needless to say I was pretty bummed out.  Not only did I lose my $80 pants that have gotten me thru so many midwestern winters, but I lost my bib #, which could (theoretically) mean a DQ.  I went back an forth with that scenario for a few miles.  "Crap!  I won't even be counted as a finisher!"  "Nah, Tim's a good guy.  He won't DQ me for losing my bib."  I was not in a good place mentally.

After crossing a spillway for the lake we left the crushed gravel path for the single-track trail that makes up the last third of the loop.  Adrenaline was pushing me a bit faster than I should have been moving at this point.  I felt physically strong as I tried to put the lost pants and bib out of my mind.  At first the trails seemed easy and I thought that I'd get away with all that missed training.  Then the cramps started coming.  The insides of my quads started seizing up.  Oh, boy.  I wasn't even half way done.

Then some good news came.  As I came back to the start/finish I started to explain my bib situation to the volunteers, and they replied "oh, are you #99?" pointing to a black pile on top of a drum in front of the social center.  Awesome!  I asked whether I needed to refasten my bib and they just waved me on.

After an alright 2:03 first loop I was back out for a second.  By now I was getting pretty drenched.  Everything I was carrying -- hats, gloves, and food -- started feeling heavy.  I decided for the first time to walk a little and readjust my load.  I also made it a point to start eating more than I had been.  I'd been eating the solids and chomps fairly continuously, but not enough of them, as I knew I should've gone thru half of my supply at that point.  I also wondered how the cramps would play out over the remainder of the race.

By the time we hit the roads I felt ready to make a good guess: not well.  My legs just kept feeling worse and I contrasted how I felt then with how I felt the first lap at this point.  Every minute or so a car drove by and blew a spray at me that was just a little heavier than the now continuous rain.  The headlights were menacing.  I could see a runner in front of me in the distance, not too far, but I didn't have the legs to chase her.

Finally we left the roads for the gravel trail, which was now a wet, muddy mess.  Not that it mattered: my shoes were soaked.  I could no longer see the runner directly in front of me except when the trail curved just right, but that didn't matter either: I was catching no one.  The rain was now becoming freezing rain; I was getting cold.  I was also slowing down as new cramps added to the old ones.  Each time I tried to pick up the pace a muscle would shoot pain at me and seize up.  I settled into a shuffle, which made it harder to stay warm.  I found, tho, that as long as I kept moving I kept warm enough.

Shortly after starting the second loop I had started wondering why I was doing these races, spending money and time away from my family to put myself through stuff like this and never seem to win.  Strangely, as the pain and weather both got worse I started to understand.  I don't know if I can describe it, but it's for the types of battles I was facing then.  I wondered whether I would finish, but I kept moving.  I wondered how much more pain I could take, how much colder it could get before I had to quit.  But I knew that for now I could keep going, so I did.

When I hit the single track I realized that the only shuffle I could manage was slower than my walk, so I settled into walking the rest of the course.  I ate more Perpetuem solids, which continued to settle pretty well, tho the ones I carried made an annoying "clickety clack" sound as they bounced inside their plastic container with every step I took.

With about 3 miles to go, the course passes the start/finish, so I ducked into the social center to warm up and change into a dry jacket.  I finally talked myself into going back out to finish the thing.  I was amazed at how good I felt -- except for my legs.  It was clear that I was being punished for all my missed trail runs.  I was able to run slowly again, but when I made a few feeble attempts at second gear, I received a lashing by the god of proper training.

By now the rain had turned to snow, and with a dry jacket I was no longer feeling cold and drenched to the bone.  I enjoyed watching the woods turn white as I finished what was -- to date -- my toughest 50K, not because of the course and not entirely because of the weather.  I guess life can present other obstacles.

Oh, yeah, my time was 5:01, to date my slowest time for the 50K distance.