Trails, Hills, and Hunting

I’ve run three marathons since my last post: the Teton Dam Marathon (again), the North Country Trail Marathon (Manistee, Michigan), and the Golden Hills Trail Marathon, (Berkeley, CA). The month before the Teton Dam Marathon, I was travelling through Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize with a group of students so it was difficult to train regularly, and the heat and humidity were killers, but the scenery made up for it—rain forests, pristine beaches, volcanoes, Maya villages, and Mexico City’s Chapultapec Park.

As soon as I returned from the trip, I put in a 20 miler and trained consistently until the race. Race day came with a terrible wind, but mostly at our backs, which helped push me up Summer’s Hill and finish in 10th place overall with a PR for that course (3:27). The new race directors changed the course (again) which eliminated some of the hills at the beginning and made it easier than any of the previous versions of the course.

In July I cracked some ribs while I was waterskiing and ended up not running for about a month (not waterskiing either which was a bummer). But gradually my ability to breathe deeply without pain returned and I returned to running. I prepared for the North Country Trail Marathon. It was the first time I went to run a marathon solely for the sake of checking it off my 50 states list; what I mean is that the only thing that took me to Michigan was the race since I have no friends or family there and my wife didn’t go with me. I simply caught a plane on Friday morning, rented a car at the airport, drove to the Manistee National Forest, checked in for the race, set up my tent, went to town for some dinner and site seeing (I’d never seen any of the Great Lakes before), and then returned to my camp and slept in my tent. In the morning, I ran the race, which was a beautiful, winding, leaf-covered trail through the woods. My Garmin couldn’t get reception for most of the race, which created a nice primitive feel of simply running through the trees. At about mile 20 I tripped on a root and landed face first. A little delirious after my fall, I took a wrong turn for about .5 miles, but realized my error and returned to the course. I finished in 3:56 and took first in my division. Due to some complications, we waited forEVER for the results, and then I started another race: rental car race to the airport to catch my flight. After some insane driving, I arrived about 20 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave only to find out it had been delayed an hour. Whew. Too much racing in one day. But it was nothing compared to the people who did the same course TWICE (North Country Trail Ultra 50 Miler) and sprinted to a photo finish. Insane.

My last marathon of the year was my hardest yet: The Golden Hills Trail Marathon. I knew it was hilly, so I trained on hills, but even that was not enough to prepare me for the difficulty of this course. It is literally up and down the whole way on a rugged trail, some hills so steep you have to walk them. But the redwoods were inspiring and the views of the bay. Still, I pooped out by the end and had to walk off-and-on for the last few miles to keep from cramping. I finished 15th overall in 4:25, my slowest marathon time yet. I stayed with my sister, and her hubby took me to the wharf and Golden Gate Bridge after the race. I also won a small four wheeler at a raffle. I ended up renting a pickup and driving back instead of flying. The kids were excited about the four wheeler and had a good time driving it around the back yard for the next few weeks before the snow came.

Golden Gate Bridge

San Fran Bay

The Golden Hills Trail race was good preparation for hunting season. I hiked all over Idaho with my boys trying to fill a general deer tag, but had no luck. On a whim, I bought my first spike elk tag and harvested this beauty the same week.

After the Mesoamerica Tour in the spring, two fall marathon weekends, hunting season, and a work-related trip to Egypt and Israel for two weeks right before Christmas, I decided to take a break from travelling during the winter (i.e., I was in the doghouse). Maybe towards the end of the summer or this fall I’ll try to run a few new states. In the mean time, I’ve been training to run the SLC marathon with my brother (it’s his first, and he’s lost like 30 pounds training!) And then I’ll run the Teton Dam again. My “barefoot form” is going great. I’ve been training hard in my crappy old shoes with no injuries and quick recoveries. If I could only eat right consistently I’d be lighter and faster, but have you tried those new Reese’s Peanut-Butter Cup Minis? Yum.

Barefoot Form

Teton Dam Marathon, June 2009, Mile 20

Last June I ran the Teton Dam Marathon again. I tried to average an 8:00 minute pace but just couldn’t keep it up after mile 20.

Those hills are just killers, and at mile 24 I was on the verge of hamstring cramps. I felt terrible, and had to walk a little off and on. I still managed to beat my time from last year and took first in my division, which was fun.

Between Boston, Lake Wobegon, and the Teton Dam, I had run three marathons in about two months. My plantar fasciitis was acting up, but luckily I had a reason to take a break from running: his name was Thomas.

With a new baby keeping us up late, it was easy to find an excuse not to run much. I tried to squeeze in a run here and there, but I was getting frustrated with the plantar fasciitis, which seemed to be getting worse. I took a few weeks off from running in the early fall and focused on some deep calf stretches. That helped a little, but the pain came back as soon as I started running again. I ran a 5k just for fun in October. But by the time November rolled around, I had gained 10 pounds since my last marathon, and hadn’t run a distance more than 10 miles for several months. I needed some motivation. I needed to register for another marathon. So I did. Thanks to the encouragement of some friends in Dallas, I registered for the Cowtown marathon in Fort Worth, Texas.

We stayed at the Hutchings Hotel, which I'd highly recommend.

The pork burritos were amazing!

I started training again, and that’s when the barefoot form epiphany occurred. I was doing some research on running shoes and running form when I came across an article about some crazy-man called “Barefoot Ted.” He had run the Boston Marathon barefoot. What an idiot, I thought. Until the article made the claim that barefoot running improves your form and reduces injury. With my plantar fasciitis annoying me, injury reduction was just what I was looking for. But how could you run barefoot? Wouldn’t it tear your feet to shreds unless you spent months building up caveman-like calluses on your feet?

I did some more research and found several more articles touting the benefits of running barefoot. The arguments were all the same: 1) running barefoot naturally causes you to run properly, with the outer-edge of your forefoot striking the ground first, then rolling onto the ball of your foot, then absorbing the impact with the arch and achilles/calf like a spring, the whole motion occurring directly beneath you rather than in front of you; and 2) running shoes ruin your form by causing you to strike the ground with your heel first, your foot slightly in front of you, placing the majority of the impact on the knee and hip. Ironic, huh? The better your running shoes, the more you’ll heel strike, and the more injuries you’ll have. The less padding on the heel—in other words, going barefoot—the more you absorb the shock with the natural design and function of the foot, and the less injuries you’ll have. It made sense.

I stood up from the computer and jogged around the house a little on the hard floor. Immediately, I could tell that there was some truth to the argument. But I wasn’t about to start running around on pavement or a treadmill with my bare feet. So I started to look for footwear designed for a “barefoot from” style of running. Everything I found was either too extreme (Vibram Five Fingers) or too expensive (Newtons) or really not much different than a regular running shoe (Nike Free). Finally, I concluded that my best option was already in my closet: my older, “worn out” running shoes.

Like most runners, I was in the habit of buying a new pair when the heel of my shoes had lost a significant amount of its absorption power. So I put on my old running shoes for my next run, and changed my form. I forced myself you land on the forefoot, with a shorter, quicker stride. At first it felt awkward, like I was Mr. Twinkle-Toes prancing around. It also made me realize what a serious heel striker I normally was. And the next day, as I anticipated, my calves were sore, especially the lower half. But I also noticed that my joints, and really my whole body, just felt a little better at the end of my run.

I kept it up, gradually increasing my miles, and my speed as I adjusted to the form, and made some adjustments in my form. I concentrated on making sure my forefoot touched the ground first, but not so much that I was “on my toes” and straining my calves. It was more like a gradual roll from outer edge, to forefoot, to full foot on the ground, to heel lifting, and foot rolling forward into the next stride. It felt lighter, quicker, and more natural. Very soon, I had adjusted to a comfortable “barefoot form.” And my experience proved the claims I had read to be true: my legs stopped hurting so much. My plantar faschiitis went away. My knees and hips didn’t ache anymore after longs runs. My bowels even felt less-jostled and irritated. I was even able to run a little faster and felt less winded.

After every run using this form, I came home exuberant about how good I felt. The only noticeable strain was on my lower claves, but I supplemented with some calf raises, and soon enough, I had done my first 20-miler with my new form, and felt fabulous. I couldn’t believe the difference. The heel strike felt totally awkward and unnatural to me now whenever I tried it. I was convinced that barefoot form was the right way to run, and I could do it in my old running shoes with no problems. But I knew the truest test would be the marathon.

My goal was to see if I could come to the end of a marathon and actually feel good, which had yet to happen in the nine I’d run. The last few miles of every marathon I’d run were always filled with pain, my body screaming for me to stop running, and my mind asking, “Why are you doing this? You’d better not ever do this again.” And then the post-finish-line waddling around in pain. Could I finish a marathon in under four hours and not feel the horror? That was my question. Here’s the answer: YES! I did it at the Cowtown Marathon in Fort Worth, and I attribute it entirely to the barefoot form.

I trained trying to achieve a consistent 8:00 minute pace, but planned to run the marathon at a slower 8:30 pace. My goal was to run a steady 8:30 pace from beginning to end, finish in under 3:45, and see how I felt. As usual, I felt great for the first part of the marathon. But with the adrenaline and energy, that’s always the case. I just concentrated on not speeding up. I knew the true test would be how I felt at mile 20, 22, and 24, as always.

As I worked my way through the teen miles, I felt so good and strong, with plenty of breath, that I continually had to resist the temptation to speed up. The weather was cool and I stayed relaxed, and kept my pace. I kept telling myself, “Wait until mile 20, then see how you feel.” At mile 20, I still felt good. Yes, I was tired, obviously, but I didn’t have that horrible “stop-running-now!” feeling that usually crept over me at about this point. “Wait until mile 22, then see how you feel,” I told myself. And sure enough, at mile 22 I was feeling better than I ever had at that point. I was smiling. I was happy. I was even enjoying this part of the race. I was passing people who were hitting the wall of pain and/or exhaustion. “Wait until mile 24, then see how you feel.” I kept my pace, and at mile 24, I can honestly say that I actually felt good. I was not miserable or discouraged or trudging along. My legs were tired, especially my calves, but I felt light, strong, and relaxed. My bones didn’t feel like they had been hammering against each other for hours. So I let myself speed up a little. And then at mile 25 I quickened to just under an 8:00 minute pace, and my last mile was my fastest mile of the race. AND I FELT GOOD! Tight was all, whereas usually I felt tight and achy and stiff and sore and miserable.

Some hot cowgirls at the finish line

It was the first time I had ever run the second half of a marathon faster than the first. It was the first time I could walk around afterwards (which we did, around Cowtown) and feel well-enough to enjoy myself. It was the first time I finished a marathon and felt like I could say to myself, “You know what, that wasn’t so bad.” I could even begin to understand how for some people, running a marathon at a comfortable pace could be easy. And it could be done in a pair of $29.99 Sauconys from Big Five. When I ran a 3:15 at St. George to qualify for Boston, I felt so TERRIBLE after, I thought I had reached the peak of my running; I could never go faster than that or farther. But barefoot form has opened a whole new realm of possibilities. My goal of running a sub-three-hour marathon doesn’t seem impossible anymore, and for the first time I can imagine actually running an ultra marathon. I’m 37 and feeling like my best running days are still ahead of me.

Cruising around Cowtown

This guy was AMAZING on the mechanical bull!

Ride 'em cowboy!

Lake Wobegon Trail Marathon

My darling sister and her darling daughter

Two weeks and five days after Boston I ran the Lake Wobegon Trail Marathon in Minnesota. I’ve never run two marathons that close together. It was a beautiful, small race with about 150 participants. It runs along a railway that has been converted into a paved trail. The whole race is flat and scenic, through the trees, along lakes, beside farms. It was a perfect day for running, cool and cloudy with a little breeze. And I had my sister, her husband, and their darling 16 month-old daughter braving the cold to cheer me on. I also met some amazing racers, including a man in his seventies who was 47 states into his second time through the 50 states. He had run more than 300 marathons in his life. Wow! My goal was to run 7:30s as long as I could. I lasted until about mile 19 then slowed way down and finished in 3:27 (21st place, 3rd in my division). Every race, I’m amazed at how difficult the end is. My body just completely runs out of gas—emotionally, mentally, and physically. I’ve yet to run a marathon where I don’t think to myself, “Why am I doing this?” during the last few miles. Yet the next day, I’m already thinking about and getting excited for my next race. My next race will be my hometown Teton Dam Marathon. It’ll be the third time I’ve run it. It was my first marathon in 2007. I’m really hoping to finish in under 3:30 but it’s a tough, hilly course. I need to lose some weight if I’m going to improve my speed and stamina. But I ate cookies for breakfast this morning. They tasted so good after my 5 mile recovery run. Chocolate chip. Yum.

Boston!

On Patriots Day, Monday, April 20th, I took my place in the sixth corral at the start of the Boston Marathon in Hopkinton. I couldn’t help but reflect on what had gotten me to that point.

About three years ago I was visiting my brother in California. I wanted to lose some weight and pitched an idea to him that I thought would motivate me. I proposed that we have a weight-loss competition. On the first Sunday of each month, we weigh in and whoever has lost the most weight wins that month. The reward: the glory of rubbing it in the loser’s face. My brother and I had always been competitive, so why not use our competition to our advantage? We could use any method we wanted to lose weight, all that mattered were the numbers on the scale at the beginning of the month.

I tried to eat a little better and exercise a little more at first, but my real success began when I started playing full-court basketball at 6:00 a.m. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at the church with a great group of die-hards. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, I started playing racquetball. I was having fun, and the pounds started melting away. I kept a record, only writing down my weight each time I hit a “new low.” Exercising naturally made me want to start eating better. My brother and I both were losing weight.

After a fall and winter of playing basketball, I had lost about 20 pounds. Sometimes, on a Saturday before a weigh-in Sunday, I would run a few miles on the treadmill. One day, I decided to run ten miles. I had never run that far before. By the time I got to about 8 miles, I was completely depleted. I had not eaten or drank anything that morning or during my run. I was ignorant. I knew nothing about long-distance running as I had never done it before in my life. I forced my way—walking and jogging—through the last two miles until I had, for the first time in my life, completed a ten-mile run. I took a long drink, went to the locker room, and fell asleep on the locker room bench, too tired to change clothes. Few times in my life had I ever felt so exhausted.

For some reason, I tried it again the next Saturday, this time with better hydration, and I felt much better at the end of ten miles. I started noticing the banners around town advertising the Teton Dam marathon, half-marathon, 5K, etc. and toyed with the idea of running the half marathon. I kept playing basketball three times a week, and did a longish run on Saturday. I started driving my car around town measuring running routes.

I was out working in the yard one day, when a friend stopped by and I told him I had run my first 13-miler. He encouraged me to try a 16 and then a 19, suggesting that if I could do 19 I could do the whole marathon. The marathon was about a month away, and I decided that if I could do the longer runs without incident or injury, then I would try the whole marathon.

I’ll never forget my first 19-mile run. We were at my parents’ cabin in Montana. On a Friday night, I went out and hid 12 ounce bottles of Gatorade in the bushes along a dirt road that wandered far into the forest. I cut up a Powerbar into small squares and put it in a baggy. And early the next morning, I was off. It was quiet and still in the forest. As I came around the bends in the road I wondered if I would cross paths with a bear. I clapped my hands loudly periodically to scare off any encounters. I saw a few deer and rabbits and ran with a camper’s dog for a few miles. By then end, I was spent, but excited. I had done it. I was terribly sore the next day, but after a few days of recovery, and all was well, I registered for my first marathon.

That was just less than two years ago. Now I stood on the historic spot of the nation’s longest-running marathon, six marathons under my belt, four-time Boston winner and course record-holder Robert Cheruiyot and Americans Ryan Hall and Kara Goucher only a short distance ahead of me, hoping to find a first place position on the podium at the awards ceremony.

At the signal, we were off, cheers from the runners and the crowd filling the air. It took me three-and-a-half minutes to cross the starting line. The weather was perfect, very cool and overcast with a nice breeze. Elbow to elbow we made our way along the first miles of the historic course. Twenty-six thousand runners in costumes—Wonder Woman, Captain America, Three Men in a Tub with bathrobes and rubber duckies—and with crazy hairdos or decked out in matching, coordinated running attire, or plain old shorts and t-shirts filled the narrow road out of Hopkinton. What startled me was the sound, the rhythm of twenty-six thousand pairs of feet drumming the pavement like a storm. I tried to keep my pace slow, resisting the impulse to “bank time” on the early downhill portions of the race. I stayed consistently at 8 minute-miles, hoping I could conserve enough energy to maintain that pace on and after the hills during the last quarter of the race.

The fans and spectators were amazing, endlessly cheering, calling out names, countries, and whatever they could identify to give individual runners a boost. The rural part of the course was pretty, winding through trees, past lakes, and quaint neighborhoods. As we approached Wellesley, I could hear the famed “scream tunnel” of the women’s college students from a mile away. They lived up to their reputation as we ran past, buoyed by a river of cheering and signs reading “free kisses.”

I managed to clock 8 minute-miles for the first 19 miles, including the first three of four hills that conclude with “heartbreak hill” at mile 20.5. Again, the fans were amazing, lining the streets and cheering the whole way. It was the “shortest” marathon I have ever run, because there was so much going on, so many runners, so much support from fans, and so much history to consider along the course, that it went by very quickly. I was shocked at how “soon” I was at heartbreak hill. That’s when I started to break down.

None of the hills in and of themselves were very large or difficult on the Boston course (at least compared to hills I’ve run in training or on other courses), but having them in a series, mile after mile starting at 16 is what makes the last one so difficult. Any energy I hoped to reserve was gone by the top of heartbreak hill. It took me 8:58 to complete mile 20, the mile with heartbreak hill.

After that, despite the downhill portions, I was never able to regain my pace. I had to decide whether to reach my goal of 3:30 and suffer the pain, or just enjoy the race and minimize the pain and recovery (I had already registered to run the Lake Wobegon Trail Marathon in MN which was less than three weeks after Boston). I chose to enjoy it. The last four miles were still difficult, especially because the spectators are so numerous at this point that you feel like you are near the finish line, but it is still a long four miles away.

I saw my sister and her family cheering for me at mile 25, and then my sweet, pregnant, screaming wife on the home stretch at 26. The last .2 was a moment infused with history, emotion, adrenaline, reflection, enthusiasm, and the stuff of unforgettable memories. I crossed the finish line of the Boston marathon. Now, give me a heat blanket, my medal, food, drink, clothes, my wife in my arms, a train to the hotel, a warm shower, a nap, and an evening dinner at a nice restaurant. They did, all with efficiency and organization. What an amazing event.

Crossing the finish line in Boston

I must say that touring Boston with my wife the days before the race was as enjoyable as participating in the marathon. The expo, pasta and pastries in the North End (I recommend Giacomo’s pumpkin tortellini and a Boston cream puff at Mike’s Pastries—cannolis are overrated), walking the freedom trail and seeing the sites of the American revolution (watch HBO’s John Adams before you go), the Duck tour, Quincy Market, Harvard, Cambridge, the Back Bay and Newbury, Boston Commons, and riding the “T” with Red Sox fans made us fall in love with Boston. What a great city! What a great race! Truly the marathoner’s Mecca.

Next up for me: Lake Wobegon Trail Marathon in MN on a flat, paved railway trail trough the trees in two weeks. Then my local race—the Teton Dam Marathon. It’s a small marathon, and my goal is to place in the top ten with a time under 3:30. I’m still dreaming about completing a sub 3-hour marathon. Someday.

Four Days Till Boston

I just finished my last taper run (3 miles). My next run will be the Boston Marathon on Monday. I'm shooting for a 3:30, but I'll be lucky if I make it. The weather forecast is cool and rainy. Due to winter, almost all of my training has been on a treadmill, so I'm looking forward to a long outdoor run in Boston. Debbie and I are looking forward to a fun weekend. I'll post details and photos soon.

Boston, Here I Come!

I ran the St. George Marathon on Oct. 4. It was pouring rain at the start, and poured rain the whole race, and poured rain after the race as well. But the cool weather kept me going. We started in the dark, and I couldn't see my Garmin for the first 6 miles, and I didn't dare try to turn on its light (which I never use) for fear I would accidentally shut it off. So, afraid that I was running too slowly, I ran too fast, and finished the first seven miles under a 7 min pace. I needed to maintain a 7:24 pace to qualify for Boston. I was a little worried that I had gone out too fast, but I also knew that I would need to bank some time for the Veyo Hill and others. The St. George course was more hilly than it appeared to be on the elevation map. People who had ran it before had told me that, but I kept thinking it would be all down-hill. It was, and it wasn't. After the so frequent, slight decline, even the level portions started feeling like hills at a fast pace. I felt really strong up through mile 16 and I was a few minutes ahead of pace. I thought I had it in the bag. So much so, that I even stopped and gave my sweatheart, Debbie, a kiss at mile 16 when I saw her.

Running in the Rain, St. George

But I started to get tired after that. My water-logged shoes felt heavier and heavier, even on the downhill. At mile 19 there was a small hill that killed my pace, and I really started to worry that I wasn't going to qualify for Boston. Mile by mile I grew more and more tired and more and more worried. Finally, at mile 24 I hade two miles left and only about 17 minutes to make my time. I knew I had to push myself hard to keep an 8 min pace if I was going to make it. Mile 25 took me 8:07, and I felt like I was going to die. My legs were really hurting, and it was all I could do to keep them going. "Stop" my legs were saying. "Go" my mind was saying. In the end, my mind won. I finished my last mile in 7:57, and completed the race in 3:14:10. I've never pushed myself as hard physically (and perhaps mentally) as I did for that last half mile. But the fear of coming so close and not making it was enough to keep me holding on. I was dizzy, and black spots appeared and disappeard on the perimiter of my vision as I crossed the finish line. My legs we cramped, aching, and didn't want to stand or walk. I found a chair behind the McDonalds orange punch booth, and a kid who was serving punch brough me glass after glass. It was still raining, and the post-race chills were awful. I hobbled to the clothing drop, eased into a sitting position on the grass, and put on my sweat pants and sweatshirt like a ninety-year-old man. Debbie, who had greeted me at the finish line and then gone to watch a friend finish, I couldn't find. And I shuffled around in the cold looking for her. When we finally found each other, she helped me to the car and we cranked up the heater. Ahhh. It was over. A warm shower. Clean clothes. An animal-style burger, fries, and a chocolate shake at In-N-Out Burger, a nap on the drive home, and I was feeling much better. I've never been so sore after a marathon, especially my calves. After a day or two of recovery it finally hit me--I did it! I qualified for Boston!

Swim, Bike, Run - My First Triathlon

On August 16 I did the Rush Triathlon in Rexburg, Idaho. Question: which is more fun, (a) running 26.2 miles or (b) swimming 1 biking 26 and running 6? The answer is (b). What a blast! It was a cool morning, so the water at Rainbow Lake felt warm. I was one of the few who didn't wear a wetsuit--I figured it would save me time on my first transision, and it did, which I needed because I'm not a fast swimmer. After the horn went off and we scrambled into the water kicking and splashing, elbowing and bumping. I have a hard time swimming straight and had to keep looking up to adjust, but I finished the swim in 33 min., which was good for me. Then I dizzily scampered to my bike, took of my goggles and cap, slipped on a shirt, and headed out. I didn't wear socks, but pedaled on top of my shoes until I could coast, then slipped my feet in. I really enjoyed the bike race. It was the first time I had ever raced anyone on a bike since I was a kid. I knew the course well since I had been training on it, so I knew where to excellerate and where to conserve my energy. I passed serveral people, and towards the end of the bike portion I was with a few who would pass me, then I would pass them, etc. About 100 yards before the transition area, I slipped my feet out and pedaled on top of my shoes, the jumped off and hobled to my transition spot. I slipped my running shoes on, my hat, grabbed a drink, and was off again. I averaged about a 7:00 minute pace on the run and finished in fourth place in my division at 2:41. Training for a triathlon was time-consuming, especially the bike/run days, but the race itself was a lot of fun. Much more intense than a marathon. It was a good goal to help me get in shape for the St. George Marathon in October, where I hoped to qualifay for Boston by runnning in under 3:15.