Free State Trail Marathon

In the six weeks leading up to the Free State Trail Marathon by Clinton Lake in Lawrence I managed to sprain an ankle on three successive trail runs. Two (both the right ankle) were within five yards of each other on two different occasions out at Wyco. The third (left) was done on a training run out at Clinton Lake itself and was the worst of the three, putting me on crutches for a couple of days and preventing me from running for ten. When I did get back to it, I stuck to roads, not wanting to risk another twist before race day.

So it had been three weeks since I'd run on any kind of trail and the injuries had also prevented any long runs over about 15 miles since Run Toto Run in February. My overall mileage had been pretty decent though (40-50 per week), so I wasn't as worried about being undertrained so much as I was about another nasty sprain which had me quite anxious by the time the race arrived. The Clinton Lake trails, while nowhere near as hilly as Wyco, are just as technical, possibly more so in some sections, and require a great deal of concentration. My goal was to finish, pure and simple, and to do so without confining myself to crutches once again. Maybe that wasn't a lofty goal, but it seemed plenty challenging enough.

Both my ankles taped up, Jill and I arrived at the starting area at about 7:20pm and milled around for about 40 minutes while other marathoners and half-marathoners gathered. The 100k and 40 mile runners had left an hour earlier. I had toyed with the idea of up-sizing to the 40 miler at one point, but the ankle turns put paid to that, and at that moment, even the marathon seemed quite an optimistic goal. Some of the usual crowd, including Ben, Dick Ross, Sophia, Puccini and assorted nerds were there. The weather was great; cool with a slight breeze but warm enough for t-shirt and shorts.

At 8, the gun went off and me and my fellow marathoners set off on about a half-mile stretch of road before we turned right into a field. The first 5 miles or so weren't in the woods on the single track, rather were cross-country type trails, mostly grass covered. I really felt good and thoroughly enjoyed this section. It thinned out the line of runners, basically eliminating traffic concerns right away, not to mention it was probably the best smelling run I'd ever done, with the sweet Spring scent wafting over everything.

Finallly we returned back near the start line, ran down a small hill and entered the woods for the first time. The first few miles of single track I had not run on before, and, while not the most technical portion, I was immediately on high alert for ankle gremlins. I trod very carefully during the rockiest and rootiest bits and kept my stride length short and careful everywhere.

For the most part, I was on my own to the extent that I couldn't see anyone in front or behind me at all, but occasionally I would catch up with someone or they'd catch up with me. One particularly chatty Michelob Ultra rep was running in front of me and seemed half the time to be talking to himself, no other runners being immediately visible. I passed him after a couple of miles and he jovially informed me of the beer that would be waiting for me at the end.

The aid stations were perhaps more spaced apart than at Wyco, and several were unmanned and just contained water, so it was quite an insulating experience, but other than the slight anxiety regarding my ankles which never entirely left me, I was relaxed and feeling strong. Almost without realizing it, I'd been running for almost 2 hours when I hit the shoreline trail. This is an extremely rocky mile or so of trail right on the banks of the lake. It's almost impossible to go full out here, even on a perfect day, but I was particularly careful on this occasion because of the multiple opportunities for sprainage. It made it rather rhythm-ruining, so I was quite glad when it finally ended and found myself at a big aid station in a clearing that was probably pretty close to the half way point.

I'd had a gel already, but I stopped for a few seconds, drained a little cup of coke and ate a packet of Gu Chomps which gave me a bit of a lift. I headed back into the woods for a relatively flat stretch of trail that I was pretty familiar with from my training runs. I Godzilla-posed for a picture a couple of miles later, then soon after found myself on a steep uphill section of road. A quick dip back into the single-track, then around an aid station, where I was told I had 9.5 miles to go, and I was heading down the same asphalt hill and back into the woods for the final time.

'Final time' meaning I still had 9 more miles of single track trail of course. A fairly technical stretch, fatigue was by now playing its full part. I felt I was keeping a good rhythm, but apparently either I had slowed down quite a bit or those behind me had perked right up because I was caught by maybe five or six people during the next few miles and didn't catch anyone myself. My ego was unaffected, however. I was too concerned with not blowing it by face planting so close to the end to care.

I was checking my watch and felt I was probably on about 4hrs 20 pace, but when I reached the same aid station as I'd passed at 13 miles and they told me I had 3 miles left, I realized I was further from the finish than I realized and had no shot at that. My feet were hurting by now; I knew I had at least two blisters (turned out to be three), which I figured were probably partly caused by me not having run a trail in 3 weeks. These last three miles seemed to last forever, but finally, I made it to the same hill I'd entered on some three and a half hours earlier and climbed it, turned a corner and there, like a soothing warm bath, waited the finish line, Bad Ben, Dick Ross and of course Jill. My final finishing time was 4:47:00. 42nd out of 88. A solid middle-of-the-pack finish, which I was more than happy with given the joints-that-shall-not-be-named that had cursed my previous few runs.

I was absolutely spent, but really pleased. As tough as the last few miles were - and believe me, there were times when I was asking myself why the f**k I'd chosen this sport for a hobby in recent years - it was all worth it. The trails were in terrific shape - very little mud - the weather was perfect, and I had another marathon under my belt. Most happily of all, the crutches weren't needed. This also undoubtedly goes into the books as by far the best smelling race I've ever done.

Wonderful work as always performed by the Nerds at the aid stations and the finish line areas, Bad Ben, Sophia, Dick Ross, Puccini the wonder dog made this another great, low-key and friendly event. While right now I am in awe of those that did the 100k and 40-miler, I have to admit, that pewter belt buckle you get for the 100 would look pretty good on me, so who knows, maybe next year I'll really go psycho. Then again....

The Marathon - Part 2

A lot of thoughts were going through my mind at this point. In no particular order, here were some...
1. What would my friends and family think?
2. What about all the people who'd donated money for charity?
3. If I did somehow make it to the finish, would I be dead last?
4. Finish or not, how would I make it home, through two flights and three airports the next day?
5. What would I do if the left leg went out too?

The last question was a big one. Up until now, leftie was doing almost all the hard work, but there's only so much I could ask of it. Would it hold out?

I hauled myself up and kept going, resolving that I would not stop again for any reason. I knew I might not be able to start again if I did.

The next few miles ticked by slowly, but the ice bags and tylenol did help somewhat. It also illicited some sympathetic words of encouragement from onlookers. I ate my GU, went through the Scottsdale Art District I'd ambled so comfortably through only one day earlier - I was a little sad that I hadn't got to enjoy this part running. I'd been looking forward to that section ever since I'd done the drive through. Limping painfully through it wasn't how I envisioned it back then.

At mile 20, I started picturing myself back in Overland Park doing one of the routes I'd been running for the past few months. I always ran loops of 10k or less, so I knew exactly how far I had to go, and though I hadn't done it walking, I was at least vaguely aware of the fact that I'd never gone further at one time, walk or run, in my life than I had completed then.

The sun became a factor over the next few miles. I was by this stage at peace with the fact I was going to finish in a much slower time than hoped for. I started picturing myself as a heroic warrior with some serious injury, perhaps a gunshot wound, heroically making his way back to base camp to present news of the war to the General lest the battle would be lost. As my skin turned red and my eyes squinted, I walked down a wide open highway in an increasingly sparse crowd of runners and spectators.

At mile 24, I could feel the leg start to deteriorate more, but knew that with only 2 miles to go, it would basically take something like it falling off altogether for me to stop. Nevertheless, it slowed me down even more, and I started wondering what exactly I had done so wrong to deserve this.

At mile 25, another runner came up on my shoulder and said something - I don't even know what, but it was enough for me to strike up a conversation. He too was carrying an injury - a bad ankle - and seemed to come at the perfect time for me, being quite willing to keep me company the whole way in. We passed the last water station and grabbed a drink, and all at once, we saw the last turn into the Sun Devil stadium parking lot ahead. We turned, then turned again, and there it was... the oasis in the desert - the arch representing the culmination of 4+ months of hard slog in the cold, the heat, the rain and the snow.

Determined that my finish line picture would be of me running, I tried to break back into a run for the last few steps, but instead managed only a strange skipping motion, my right leg now able to take almost no weight at all.

My finish time, 5:46:07, was slower than I would have considered possible, yet I was far from last, with runners, walkers, joggers, and crawlers still coming in. I said goodbye to my new friend and headed straight into the medical tent for more ice, my biggest regret later that I hadn't secured his email address.

I had done it. Everything that I'd feared came to pass, and yet, somehow, I'd fought through it and finished my marathon.

The Marathon - Part 1

It's now Tuesday. I'm back in KC, and my marathon experience is over. I was going to write about it right after the race, but the truth was, I was too exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally. Yesterday I have less of an excuse for, but the travel home and the usual "getting home" type errands (picking up the dogs, getting food etc) got in the way then. So finally, now, here's the full account, and needless to say.... actually, enough of my yapping. Let's boogie.

The Rock n' Roll Arizona Marathon
Before the race, I was quite nervous. My leg was still causing me some concern, but I figured I surely wasn't the only one with a last-minute niggle. I needed to just shut up and run. If I'm honest, I knew that I was probably playing with fire a little by risking it. It simply didn't feel like my other aches I've encountered through training. It wasn't even that it was more painful. It was just different somehow.

I resolved to ignore it, and give it my all. My theory was that if I made it to the first major turn, at about mile 5, and felt OK, that I would probably be able to get through the run and then I'd deal with any injury afterwards, safe in the knowledge that I'd banked my first marathon successfully.

The gun went off right on time, and off we trotted. As I crossed the start line, I saw John Bingham standing with Bart Yasso and some others on a little balcony type thing a few feet off the ground. I took my hat off and waved it as I passed, and was pleased to see him recognize me, as he shouted "Hey man, looking good!" while I ran by.

The first mile or two went by uneventfully enough. Off to one side, I saw what might well have been the first person to drop out. He was stretching, and looking in some pain. Rather selfishly, I said to myself "Well, worst comes to the worst, I won't be the first person to drop out". My leg was feeling OK. I could certainly feel some pain, but it was confined to the inside shin and I didn't think it would restrict me too much if it stayed at that level.

Perhaps the most comfortable segment of the race was from about mile 5, when I made that all important turn, to mile 9. I started to feel very comfortable. I was maintaining an easyish pace of around 9:30/mile, but gradually speeding up as I found my groove, and I had some fun with a group of runners dressed in Foot Locker outfits who were giving out beads. I took their picture and received beads in return. I wore these for the next mile or two before they began to be a distraction, and so I took them off and presented them to a young girl who was watching from the side of the road.

Up until now, my biggest issue was my shorts. The elastic lining had long gone, and I think a combination of my weight loss and me having two GU packets in the back pocket made them very loose. I ended up having to hold the GU packets in my hands to avoid having to constantly adjust it. I peed in a bush at around mile 8 - every port-a-pot seemed to have a line - and motored on.

We went up a very slight incline at around mile 9 and a woman said to me "I guess this is the hill, huh?" - I told her there was another one at mile 24 to look forward to and sped off.

It was mile 11 when the problems started. I'd almost forgotten about the injury altogether but found out very quickly at that point that it had absolutely not forgotten about me. The pain started on the inside, suddenly becoming much sharper, and then the dreaded outside shooting pains started and my leg began to buckle. I tried running through it, but soon I was limping quite badly. At mile 12, with no improvement, I started to accept for the first time that I might not make it. I felt tears begin to accumulate behind my eye, and tried to tell myself that this too would pass.

It didn't.

I somehow managed to get through another three miles before the reality hit me. I walked through a water station and this time, couldn't start running again. My right leg simply had nothing left. I had completed the first half in just over 2 hours, but I knew I had only one chance of making it through the second half and that was to walk. In all the training runs and tune-up races I've done for this thing, from a 1 mile jog to a 20 mile long run, I've never onced stop to walk other than to get a drink, and now, here I was, finally at the race I'd been working to the whole time and I was walking with 11 miles still to go. It was disheartening and disappointing.

Initially I didn't feel too bad. I was limping, but mainly able to keep propelling myself forward, but by about mile 18, which seemed to take an eternity to come, I was badly struggling, my limps becoming more pronounced by the step. I began to fear the overcompensating would soon take its toll on my left leg. A medical tent was set up at this point, and, seeing my discomfort, a volunteer offered me ice, which I gratefully accepted. I sat down for a second, they attached two ice bags to my leg and gave me two tylenol. I told another woman I wanted to get back out there and she said "For sure", in a very certain kind of way, but I knew there was a chance I wouldn't even be able to stand back up, let alone walk another 8 miles to the finish line.

The Cause

It's occurred to me several times during training that it might be a nice idea to make my first marathon mean a little more than simply my own wish fulfilment. I did a little research into various causes that I could perhaps look to raise money for, but generally found myself stymied by the fact that the cause simply wasn't something that resonated with me. Don't get me wrong, most charities are highly worthwhile, but I think for me to embrace the idea of fundraising would require on my part a certain emotional investment.

I then received a packet in the mail from "Make Cures Happen", where the process is simple, and most importantly of all, was for a cause I really felt strongly about. Specifically, it raises money for research into the deadly trio of leukemia, lymphoma and myeloma. One of my friends died from multiple myeloma a few years ago. It's a vicious, aggressive and painful illness. So it wasn't difficult for me to set up a fundraising page and get the ball rolling.

I know this blog is rarely traveled by any but me, but if any of you happen to stumble upon this while looking for blogs about string theory, Obama's White House puppy choice or Ramen Noodles, I'd like to invite you to check out my fundraising page and make a small (or large) donation. The address is http://www.active.com/donate/mcharizona/halkysmarathon. All donations are tax deductible, and you would earn my undying gratitude.

I will be posting this link at the bottom of all my subsequent posts, along with a link to this blog entry. I have set a $500 goal, which I hope to reach by race day, so again, anything you can do would be very much appreciated.

The Daily Log 10/7/08

Note: I've actually been running 20 or so miles per week for the last 6 weeks or so, the longest single run being 7.5 miles. However, yesterday I put together an actual honest-to-goodness training schedule that will hopefully get me from here to 'zona, somewhat modified, but using a lot of the same principles as Hal Higdon in his excellent online training program. So with that said, here's the stats.

Distance: 3.08 miles
Time: 30:02 minutes
Pace: 9:45/mile
Weight: 200lbs
Terrain: Hills are unavoidable where I live, but this little 5k wasn't particularly intense
Temperature: Perfect running weather. Cool and calm.
Gear: Adidas running shorts, Asics Gel Nimbus shoes, Iron Maiden t-shirt
Hydration: None
Fuel: None
Medical: Minor left shin ache, knees felt a little stiff.
Recovery: Stretches, two Aleve, ice for the shin

This was a great little run. Other than one little 2 miler next week before the KC relay, this will be the last time I will run less than 4 miles until the week of the marathon (barring something unforeseen). My main goal was to control my pace. I can run a 5k at a little over 8 minute/mile pace, but I wanted to run much slower, at or near my projected marathon pace, and I was able to do that. Other than next week's race, I plan to run at this pace or slower from here until race day. With any luck, this will help keep the shin splints under control.

The Story So Far

So let me bring you up to speed on the situation as it stands.

As I've mentioned already, and probably will mention again, a marathon is something I've always wanted to do. For some, that might seem like a strange and misguided goal. Why would you want to put yourself through this after all? It's not like you get paid for it (unless you're one of the genetic freaks of nature that actually makes a habit of winning these things).

There's obviously a lot of reasons people do train for and run them. Some run for a cause, others to lose weight, some to win a bet, and many just to say they did it. For me, I guess I always assumed I would run one. I was always fast, and my string bean frame was perfect for distance running. Like most idiot school/college kids though, it soon became more of a priority to drink beer, skip classes and sleep late and before I knew it, what I'd once considered an inevitability had seemed more and more distant, and, ultimately, was forgotten altogether.

I first resurrected the idea of running the big two-six a few years ago. I'd started running a little again and, though much heavier and slower, remembered my youthful idealism and signed up for the Oklahoma City Memorial Half Marathon in March of oh-something, and the world famous Chicago Marathon in October. Unfortunately, shin splints put paid to both. As I would soon find out, I'd ramped up too quickly. My "long run" peaked at 9 miles before I was grounded. The long, cold winter didn't help me return to the roads either. Before I knew it, March came and went, and so did October. I deleted the promotional emails I'd been getting from the race committees that I'd once been so addicted to poring over. I stopped running, and didn't pick it up again with any regularity until earlier this year.

A quick aside.... I've lived in the US for 13+ years, but have only been in Kansas City for the last two or so. Due to a confluence of events, I'd found myself in the wide open nowhere of Western KS for over a decade. Races in the town I lived in were about as common as Egyptian pyramids, and the almost constantly swirling wind made running difficult and sometimes flat out unpleasant.

So, back to the story, now I'm in the city, and a few months ago, due largely to Jillzibit, I started running again. She was training for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, and a week before the 5k, I agreed to run it with her, and signed up for what was, believe it or not, my first official "race" since high school, and I guess you could say I was hooked. A 4 miler at the KC Zoo, the Run For the Frogs followed, and upcoming on October 18th, I am running a 7 mile segment of the Kansas City Marathon relay, with three friends. I'll write about each at some point, but you can see where this is going.

Last week I started looking around for potential marathons, and quickly found the Arizona Rock n' Roll Marathon. From the timing, to the temperature, to the atmosphere, this seemed to fit all the things I was looking at for "my first time". 3 months isn't long, and there's a cold Kansas City winter ahead, but it's time I just did this thing, and even if the shin splints come back, the knees give out or the achilles tears, I won't regret trying.

Of course, ask me that again at mile 23 on race day and maybe I'll disagree... or swear at you perhaps.

The Basic Plot

So here, as promised, is the basic premise..

The players:
Halkzibit: Your protagonist. Your hero. The man with the plan. And no, to the doubters, it isn't a mid-life crisis propelling me towards wanting to endure four plus hours of pain for a t-shirt and a banana, it's simply the final realization of a lifelong ambition. From my youth running cross-country for my high school and watching people dressed as waiters, gorillas and Margaret Thatchers running by the Thames and Westminster Abbey in the early years of the London Marathon, it's just something that "looked like fun". Charmingly enthusiastic, or woefully naive?

Jillzibit: Your protagonist's girlfriend. The love interest. The running partner. All being well, when I do my first marathon, she'll do her first half, and there'll be a ride into the sunset (because neither of us will be able to walk)

Meadow: My dog. A pointer mix, and easily the fastest of the major players, her average mile pace is matched only by her IQ... 6.

Olive: Jillzibit's shih-tzu. Smarter and feistier than her bigger pal, but without the endless desire to chase her own tail and run into glass doors. More likely to go scuba diving than run two miles without collapsing in exhaustion.

The path:
You will join me while I train, complain and go insane over the next 3 or so months.

The suspense:
This isn't the first time I've trained for a marathon, but injuries stopped me the first time. Will I make it this time?

The payoff:

The Rock n' Roll marathon in Phoenix, AZ January 18, 2009.

Let's get ready to run-ble. (Yeah, they're not all gems).

The opening disclaimer

To avoid being sued, mercilessly mocked, shot at, satirized by Tina Fey, or barred from public places, I feel it necessary to state before going any further that I am not a professional runner, trainer or fitness instructor. I also am not an astronaut, fire fighter or welder, though I suspect these are less relevant to the issue at hand. My goal is simply to document my own progress in this quest for physical exhaustion. While I'm happy and egotistical enough to hand out advice if it's requested, bear in mind that I'm probably underqualified to do such a thing, and have likely either read it somewhere, or overheard it while waiting in line for Weezer tickets.

So with that being said, stay tuned, and later today I will endeavor to lay out the basic plot for the upcoming weeks. All being well, this story of personal humiliation, physical injury and impending burnout will end on January 18, 2009 at the Rock N' Roll Arizona marathon in Phoenix, AZ. All not being well, it could end much sooner.

Inspired yet? No? Well, sue me... um, no, wait, maybe you should stop at merciless mocking.