Pride must come

There comes a point in time in this process or journey of mine, I would gather, that a certain sense of pride would come in to play. Weight loss, one might argue, impressive... 125 pounds lost and kept off for five (5) years. Three (3) marathons completed with two (2) more scheduled over the next couple of months, many other races done, improvements made...

Still as I sit here, I find it difficult if not impossible to be proud of what I have accomplished. Had anyone else done what I have, it is with great confidence I can say I would hold nothing but the utmost respect for him or her.

The root (or in reality root-s, plural) of this issue stem from two separate yet likely inextricably linked issues.

It has never failed that as soon as I accomplish something great, my attention immediately turns to "what wasn't". Whether it be the desire for a faster race time, a bigger loss on the scale, whatever the case may be, the unnerving and unsettling itch to shy away from the positives in an effort to unearth the negative is, in my lay person's view, likely a deep seeded study in psychiatric turmoil. Surely, there is medication for that.

Generally I am not of the belief in instantaneous reward for my efforts. I do not fall into the reality TV show line of thinking. I neither ballooned to 355 pounds, nor learned to run a marathon overnight. Surely, all of the other obviously far more positive changes in my life would not take hold and manifest themselves in a nanosecond. At times, I feel I would welcome that. Then, in a fleeting moment or less, I quickly realize that results without effort, a journey without a path, offers little in the way of true reward.

While this may make my journey far more challenging and filled with detours, delays and other frustrating encounters, there is perhaps no other way I would want this to be.

The other obstacle, perhaps far more fatal in nature, is the unwillingness of my soul to accept that things are different. There are times when I, still, see myself as a morbidly obese man, struggling to survive all the while wishing life would no longer continue. It was that difficult to live. Worse, I would argue that what I was doing was anything but living. In the end and without much effort at all, I was mounting my own assault on my very being in an attempt to no longer be. There was no effort to play a lead role in my own life, rather I would take satisfaction from others "doing".

At some random points during rather nondescript runs, I am forced to remind myself how amazing it is that I am able to run. Something so simple. Seven years ago, this was a pipe dream of epic proportions. Now, slow as I may be, I am the doer.

Losing sight of myself is still easy, although these days in a different way than before. At least now, I am playing the lead and directing and producing. Still not thrilled with where things are today, I am saddled with both a blessing and a curse. I am better and yet still want to be so much better. I am a winner and still cannot win.

I am learning... just not fast enough to unlearn what I already know and perhaps never knew.

Time to go to confession

Every now and again, I must admit, I still feel like a little bit of an outsider looking in. Admittedly, thanks to the gift that has been and continues to be running, I have been able to take a much more active role in my own existence. It's funny that even after having dropped 125 pounds and keeping it off for about 7 years, regardless of the marathons, training groups, whatever have you, I still see "fraud" in the mirror, almost daily. My Type A, all-or-nothing personality almost mandates this to be the case. I am sick of that person in the mirror, the likes of which is it nearly paralyzingly painful to assemble into a coherent sentence.

By the time 2010 comes to an end, I will have run about 500 miles more than in 2009 - an incredible accomplishment. Still, I am greatly disappointed in myself. The most important goal for 2010, in my eyes, was to get my weight down to the level I wanted - about 200 pounds. Never in my adult life have I seen that number on the scale, unless someone else was being weighed.

It is ridiculous, I understand, to consider this entire journey a failure given all things accomplished, amazing people met and experiences had. Too, there are so many more miles to be run, races to be finished, memories to be made.

With all of the successes over the past few years, it amazes me equally how easy it is to toss my soul - my very being, if you will, under some mythical bus that exists, at least from what others tell me, in my own mind. How unfortunate.

Never let it be said that I desire to be "that person" who enjoys beating up on himself. In the same breath, it almost appears that may be the case. Reaching some perhaps arbitrary weight goal may [or may not] lead to a certain sense of relief, complete with a release of this omnipresent tension that seems to virtually suffocate me at times. Hardly exaggerating, it is difficult if not impossible to make it minutes without considering nutrition choices past, present and future.

I am not sure what to make of all of this other than to say I will continue to work to be better, hoping to find "it", whatever that may be... that perhaps singular notion, feeling or thing that can help me dial in to my journey just a little bit more.

Again, I say... This is who I am today. I could be better. I could be worse. However I will always work to better than the day before.

2010 Spinx Marathon

Well, THAT was a good idea...

Or so I felt at the time. The hows and whys of what came to be my registration for the 2010 Spinx Marathon are still, even to the most well-informed, at issue. Nevertheless, perhaps through my sheer idiocy and willful and wanton desire to prove something [or nothing] to myself, it was decided that running this marathon - a mere 20 days after having run Chicago Marathon - was the right thing to do. Again, it was a good idea.

While I was excited for the race, I did have SOME sense of calm in that my only goal was to finish, not to PR. At times, mentally, I struggled with that. More often than not though, I was comfortable with treating it as a "long run."

Going in, the weather was going to be perfect, the weather I wanted in Chicago, really. Temps at the start hovered in the low 40s and the sun rose shortly before our 8:00 a.m. marathon start. No gun, no cannon, no air horn... just a "GO!" and all 700-plus marathoners were on the way.

The first 13 miles were about as I expected. This was after all, by and large, my back yard from a running standpoint. Familiarity with the area, with the rolls, camber of the roads would be assets to my run for the day. At the halfway mark, after having seen my wife for a Gatorade refill, I felt pretty good. My pace splits were "about" where I wanted, give or take. Actually, a little faster than I had hoped. Yet still, I felt decent.

The back half of the course, I am sorry to say, was a little bit of a different story. Rolling hill after rolling hill seemed to begin a constant onslaught on what was an already sore pair of hamstrings. Truth be told, I have been fighting a bad right hamstring for TWO YEARS now. You would think I would learn... Suffice to say, the constant climbs did not help.

Yet with all of that, even through mile 21, I was on pace to PR or at least come very close to it. The last 6 miles were set to be on a portion of our glorious Swamp Rabbit Trail. A portion that I thought, or at least dreamed, was a steady decline. In a word - no. What seemed like a gradual yet unrelenting uphill the entire time continued that tension on my hamstrings. Then, the cramping set in, especially in the calves. Much like in Chicago, the decision was made to "live to run another day", manage the pace, and finish with a flourish.

With a finish time of 4:51, I am proud to say I was about on par with my finish time at the 2009 Marine Corps Marathon. Even though I felt as if I understood my goals, I wanted better. I think I always want better. The stadium - a minor league baseball park where we crossed the finish line, was rather empty when I made the turn around the warning track. No matter. It was for me. The silence, to me and at that time, was nothing compared to the feeling of crossing that finish line. Addiction. Twelve steps. I think the rest is known.

It is clear to me that my love for the marathon runs deep into the recesses of my soul, not just in the running aspect, but also deeper and into the heart of all things pre-running for me. My ability to be a marathoner does not define me, although I find it hard to think of myself as many things other than a runner these days. At the same time, I want to be better. Constantly. Better at running, taking part in better nutrition. Everything. I know, it is a process.

So, 10 weeks from now will be Marathon #4 - Charleston Marathon, followed by Snickers Energy Bar Marathon in early March. My goals between now and than are simple... Stretch, get this hamstring in some better shape, recover with some nice and easy runs and slowly get my base back up.

Part of me, perhaps sadly so, wants to be disappointed in my efforts or, at the very least, in my results. I cannot be. That, I believe, is still the prior me looking for that easy way out, the path of least resistance.

Amazing but true.

So, through nutrition and some easy running, I will get back up there... Wherever there is.

Be well.

Addressing the obvious question: What's next?

Many thoughts and feelings enter my mind when I think back just a couple of weeks to the Chicago Marathon. Still, there is some disappointment that the running/weather Gods did not find it within their collective hearts to show mercy on my soul, allowing the searing, unrelenting heat to not-so-slowly but ever surely to broil my mojo to a crisp. Still, I am undeterred.

Prior to running Chicago, I was already committed to and registered for the Inaugural Charleston Marathon on January 15, 2011. For months now, I have been registered for the Spinx Runfest Half Marathon... or so I thought. In checking my registration late last week, I noticed I was registered for the Full Marathon. Well then...

Sure, the race director was quick to offer to knock me down to the Half Marathon, but... I just couldn't do it. Somehow, a quick and fleeting sense of clarity in that special way that normally only affects great artists, geniuses and speed chess players brought me to the decision to run the Full.

Sure, recovery from Chicago is still ongoing, to some degree, although I will say that I feel good - both mentally and physically. Part of it, I believe, is retribution. I voluntarily left everything I had on the streets of Chicago.

The Spinx Marathon, aside from being just a mere couple of minutes from my front door, offers the opportunity to continue to learn about myself, in the whole sense, as well as in the marathoning sense. My goal for this race is simple and two fold: Finish and treat it like a long slow day. Not all races, I have slowly learned, have to be raced.

I continue to be amazed where running has taken me, the people with whom I have been so incredibly fortunate to spend time.

This weekend will be another step down that path. Here's to hoping the weather is a bit better.

Share the ride.

I almost forgot...

In closing this chapter of running for 2010, I nearly forgot to post the ceremonial post-marathon medal-with-beer picture. So, without further delay:

I have a feeling there will be another picture, similar to this, posted within a few days time.

Share the ride.

Race Report - 2010 Chicago Marathon

The shoes unlaced, race bib put up, soreness leaving. The 2010 Chicago Marathon took me on a roller coaster ride of emotions and a wide spectrum of physical conditions. The 2010 Chicago Marathon helped me learn a great deal about myself as a runner, marathoner and a person.

As a whole, the Chicago Marathon experience was stellar. From the Expo to the course to the post-race resources, the entire deal was top notch. I truly enjoyed finally meeting the other Chicago Marathon Online Diarists as well. A truly great group of people and a wonderful cross section of the running community as a whole.

Chicago is a beautiful city, filled with amazing architecture and history. As you undoubtedly know by now, I was also rather enamored with the food culture of the fine city of Chicago as well as its great local haunts for pints of Chicago's finest ales. Visits to such mainstays as Lou Malnati’s, Al’s Italian Beef, Gino’s East, Garrett’s Popcorn and Goose Island Brewpub made the Chicago experience that much better. But back to the matter at hand…

The morning of the marathon was met with some trepidation. I knew temperatures would be "higher" than initially anticipated, but few knew what would be in store. With a start temp of about 60 degrees though, I felt comfortable enough with my training and abilities to make my top goal of 4:22 happen. As the runners started and made their way through the Start, I slowly began to realize what was ahead. This was going to be a big day.

The morning started off well enough. Temps were right at 60 degrees and the sun slowly began to rise with the hopes of a triumph on this day. After a good luck hug and kiss from my wife, I made my way down to the start area… the 15 minute walk did me some good, shaking out some early morning nerves. The air felt good, although not the crisp and cool air I had been hoping for or remembered at MCM last year. Not surprisingly, I was not the first into the “open” corral. Nevertheless, I found a place and settled in. This, I truly believed, was going to be awesome.

The corrals all filled quickly. Random strangers making comments about the weather, possible concerns, race goals, anything you can imagine to anyone and everyone who would listen. Anxiety was clear.

By 7:30 a.m., there was nothing left to do other than the simplest thing a human being can do… RUN.

The emotion and grandeur of the start of the Chicago Marathon is hard to put into words. Running down Columbus Drive and under the bridge, hearing the screaming voices, U2’s “Beautiful Day” blaring over the loud system. Amazing.

Before I know it, I am in a rhythm. My goal for this race was a simple one to track: 4:22 or 10:00 minutes per mile. The early portions of the race, through the heart of the city, were fantastic. Slight rolls in terrain here and there but, by and large pancake flat. My splits were good. No, great. By the half way mark, I was at 2:11:31 – a hair over where I wanted to be, but still well within striking distance and I still felt strong. I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of my amazingly supportive wife at the half way point. That could not have come at a better time. I lost only a little time through the 25K mark.

By 30K, the sun was fully up and blazing. No more skyscrapers to shield the sun’s strength-sapping rays. I stopped, felt sick, and pulled off to the side. Not thinking about 4:22 any longer, my thoughts went very, very dark. My mind hurt, my heart hurt. My soul hurt. In sum, things were not going well. The notion of waiving down med staff came into my mind. But… I… couldn’t…

About 100 feet ahead of me, I see a female runner, pacing me, slow down, stop, wobble and collapse in the span of about 5 seconds. Medical staff were to her side quickly. Sobering, beyond belief.

I stammered on. Miles 20 through 26 were a mix of slow running, some walking, and a great deal of cramping, despite hitting every single water stop on the course. Survival was my goal. And I was not going to die to be victorious on this day. It just was not a day for me to hit a 4:22. I could live with that.

Crowd support for this event was, to say the least, outstanding and virtually non-stop. Without that, it is difficult to say how I would have fared on this day.

With 800 meters left, seemingly every leg muscle cramped, I wanted to finish strong – make that, as strong as possible anyway. In the distance, I see a flag waving. Largely insignificant to 95% of the runners on the course, it was the Flag of Bavaria, Germany – where our family is from. The strength I pull from my late Uncle, with whom I shared amazing times and a stunning visit to Germany cannot be understated. Losing him to metastatic prostate cancer a couple of years back has been both a point of deep sadness, still, as well as a source of strength to move forward. Seeing the “Blau und Weiss” flying in the distance made my thoughts shift to that place. True, dark as those thoughts were at the time, there was NO way I was not going to finish and finish STRONG.

Thinking back to what my late Uncle used to say: "If you are not progressing, you are regressing", I kept moving forward. The final left turn made, the Finish in sight, cruise control set… We are coming in for a landing – albeit a rough one. Mugging it for the cameras, finishing upright, all victories today. Space blanket, medal, water, banana. All of these were great things. Sadly, all I wanted was to get out of the sun. The long mile-long walk back up Columbus to our hotel was painful, filled with pauses for possible nausea, pauses filled with massive cramping, and bouts of quick, flaring emotion. Proud yet sad and disappointed. It was strange. The hug from my wife outside our hotel seemed to give me some of my long lost strength back. I was not “human” again. Not yet, anyway.

After an hour of so of lying around in our hotel room with my legs in the air, drinking any kind of liquid I could find, I cleaned up and my wife and I went out to a great little bar, Dublin’s, for a burger/beer celebratory meal. A great day, ended with whom and in the manner I would not have better prescribed.

Chicago Marathon taught me a great deal. For one, you cannot control everything. When it comes to marathons, you can control even less. My training, or so I felt, put me in a position to be successful. Little did I know, on this day, that it would take me about 23 minutes longer to achieve that success. Running – and marathoning – for me, are hardly about times and all that comes with that. Sure, I want to improve. I think that is a reasonable expectation for anyone taking on this endeavor. What I found, despite the trials, traps and darkness along the way was a sense of self within the greater whole of it all. I knew I was a marathoner. What I did not know was to what lengths I would have been willing to go to be that very thing. MCM in 2009 was not this drama-filled. Chicago Marathon 2010 made it clear to me just where my heart and soul lie. Running has, in fact, saved my life. The best way I can give it the respect due is to be the absolute best I can and give what I have on that day. That day, 10 October 2010, I left it out there and then some. Time could have been better. Headaches could have been less. In the end, it was about something so much more.

Long Time Gone

While it has been some time since I have written here, the song remains the same. Running, running and more running. That, work and occasionally something resembling sleep has made up the vast majority of my life of late. Not that there is a single thing wrong with that.

The remainder of 2010 is getting rather booked. Coming up is the Lehigh Valley Half Marathon (April 25th), Chicago Marathon (October 10th) and Spinx Half Marathon (October 31st). Under serious consideration is one more marathon before the end of 2010 with Thunder Road (Charlotte, NC) and Rocket City (Huntsville, AL) vying for my registration fees. Both are on the same weekend in December.

Even 2011 is getting some attention. Marathons such as Snickers (Albany, GA), Big Sur (Monterey, CA), Grandma's (Duluth, MN), Marine Corps (Arlington, VA) and Philadelphia are on my radar. It is so preliminary right now, but it is rather fun to consider the possibilities.