Is 13.1 more than I can handle?

Crazy, crazy, crazy.

Two weeks back when I stumbled into a couple of mountain trail races with only 6 training days in 7 years, I was stunned by my great results(see the last post).  I was also driven to find a certified road race before winter so I could better measure my abilities and have a solid starting point for a spring training start. 

Scouring the race calendars, I was disappointed that I couldn't find a certified 5k or 10k road race within a couple hour's drive.  Determined not to go into winter without knowing a time that I could plug into training calculators,  I went off and did it again.  Yep, I stuck my neck out and once again set my course for uncharted territory.  On September 4th I signed up for the Denver Half-Marathon, to be held on October 18th. Just 6 weeks away!  After taking a couple of weeks for tapering before the race, I had 4 weeks to prep for a 13.1 mile race.  If only. 

Beginning to train for my next impossible challenge, I'm feeling a bit sore in both calves.  No surprise since I just ran down a lot of terrain quickly and without the benefit of base training to condition my legs to such abuse.  Pain is the name of the game sometimes and I tell myself that I'll just increase the distance and speed gradually and everything will be dandy. 

Following a 7 mile run on the 10th of September I remove my socks and notice that my left calf is swollen.  In fact, my calf pains have not become that much better and this is the last straw.  I'm done.  I have to stop running altogether and hope for the best.

Ten days pass and I step out to test the waters with a easy 4 miles at a 9 minute mile pace.  It feels OK and now 2 weeks from my taper (as if I can taper from such little training!) I'm running again.

I do everything I can imagine to prepare, including a test run at my hopeful race pace, while wearing my new racing shoes.  6 at a 7:30 mile pace.

Standing at the start area the morning of the 18th among the masses of trained runners, I try to think positive thoughts. My stats aren't encouraging though. 
1) I have never been a serious runner. 
2) Prior to the 2 trail races, I haven't raced or trained in 7 years.
3) All running in the last year, including the 2 trail races total 35 days.
4) My average training distance since the last trail race is 5.4 miles.
5) I've never raced this distance & have only done 1 other road race longer than 5k.
  While I'm at it, other stuff I could dwell on while I'm out there today:
1) I'm in my 40s and can't possibly just start running and do well right away.
2) I have completely flat feet that probably aren't well suited for this.
3) I have one less hamstring muscle in my left leg due to an ACL operation, years ago.
4) I have asthma.
5) The elevation for this race is 1 mile above sea level.

The amount of this data that I'll allow into my head during the race?  Hopefully 0. 

The gun goes off as dawn breaks.  There are thousands of us and the start is a little slow.  Before long there's breathing room and I settle into a pace that I think I can sustain for the whole race.  I don't have much proof of this but several of my runs lead me to believe that 1:38 or 1:39 is within striking distance for me.  It's a gamble though because if I go too fast and fall apart a few miles before the finish, time will rack up very quickly.  I just don't have true idea of what my limit is and I don't want to find it.  I hope to luck out an skirt along just below the limit for the whole race.  And here's how it goes...

1)  7:22
2)  7:04
3)  7:19
4)  7:15
5)  6:58
6)  7:18
7)  7:12
8)  7:18

8 miles in and I'm doing OK, but 9 and 10 have me thinking that I've gone out too fast.

9)    7:21
10)  7:30

I haven't been pacing anyone to this point but as I start to feel my hamstrings grow tired, I quickly pick someone and force myself to hold on.  It's tough but as we close the tenth mile out I start the "only 3 miles" pep talk and within it, I find my legs once again.  I begin to gain ground on those that I've marked for pace and that blows even more wind into my sails.  I'm back and I'm looking to crush some competition.

11)  7:17
12)  7:17

Just one more mile and and then a .1.  At this point I'm pulling people in and no one is passing me.

13)  7:05

My GPS shows that the total distance for the race is 13.3 and I've just closed out the 13th mile feeling strong.  Of the handful of races I've completed in the last 20 years, I've always managed to have a good kick to the line.  I don't know where it comes from.  Speed work has never made it into any of my last minute training plans.

I know from walking around before the start that we are about to make two quick turns and then we'll be just a couple hundred meters from the tape.

We bend sharply to the left and I open it up.  I'm moving so fast that it seems like everyone else is standing still.  I'm blowing by people left and right and catch one last runner before crossing the finish line.  My GPS data tells me I covered that ground at a 4:40 mile pace.

Chip Time:  1:36:23 !

 13th in my age group of 237
I'm very happy with this given my training, how could I not be? :)

One more race report, this time in 2010 and we'll be caught up to the present date.  A 10k road race and it's another eye opening experience.
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Born Runner, desperately late to the party.

This is an account of the first two races of three that I did in 2009.  The 3rd race report will follow.  All are somewhat remarkable for someone clearly running the wrong way.

In the summer of 2008 I retired from the USAF and we moved to Colorado’s ski country.  We picked the place we now live in because it looked like a great area for biking and hiking, and oh yeah that skiing thing.  Running?  It wasn’t something we considered.

In the summer of 2009, family was visiting and to entertain them, we took a ride up a gondola at a nearby ski resort.  Once we were up there, I noticed what looked like the finishing line of at trail race.  I simply had to find out the details.

As it turned out, what I'd seen was the end of a race that was part of a 5 part trail race series, all shorter events, all local.  Most of them were spaced at 2 weeks apart.  Before I could blink, I was signed up for the next one, two weeks away.

OK, what just happened is that a non-runner, having not been running for 7 years, signed up for a challenging and competitive, high altitude 5k hill climb, topping out at 10,000 feet with a claimed average grade of 12%.  Furthermore, I’d *never* gone for a trail run, much less a trail race!

I’ve really done it this time.  What can I do to prepare in just 13 days?  I’m guessing nothing.  I had pre-hiked the course but really couldn’t imagine what I was in for, aside from burning lungs, burning legs and possibly the sting of public humiliation.

Race day came and all I could think about was “What am I doing here?”  Of the 150 folks around me, surely I’m the only one in this position!

The whistle blows and just like that, oxygen debt has me and my lactate acid threshold comes along nearly as quick.  A big bottleneck forms as the mass hits the first trail constriction and puts me back because I’m on the backside of the mass.  The race leaders are streaming away at the pointy end of the group and I’m stuck in traffic.  The rest of the race feels much like damage control with my breathing near maximum output.

I just keep pushing on up as best I can and when the finish line comes, at long last, I think “Wow, that was an eye opener!!”.

As it turns out, a friend races this whole series and trains a good part of the year for it.  He’s also in my age group.  I find him afterwards and we talk through the “so how’d you dos”, waiting for the results to be posted.

For these trail races, my age group often provides a couple of people for the overall 1st, 2nd, and 3rd podium spots.   This area is a competitive location to race in.  You aren’t going show up at a popular race in Colorado and take an age group win without being talented and very well trained.  I expect to be at the bottom of my heap, if not lower. :)

The results post and of the 19 in our age group, my friend takes 4th in it.  Our top age grouper takes 3rd overall, of about 150 total racers.  I almost fall over when I see that I’ve placed 6th in my AG!  How can that be?  What would have happened if I could have been on the front of that bottleneck?  I’m stunned...and fascinated.

Next up…

So, I’m in for the next race in two weeks.  This time, it’s a 10k starting at 10,000 ft elevation and mostly at or above 10,000 feet.  Apparently I don’t learn.  Now, I’m signed up to really run, 6 miles at high altitude.  Standing at the next starting line, I’ve done a total of 6 training runs.  That’s hilarious.  Most of these were roughly 3-mile jogs just to try and get my legs conditioned to the idea of running.

Over 200 people showed for the 10K at 10,000 feet.  I’d guess that it’s much more appealing than trudging up a 12% grade with 150 friends.  This race is another first for me.  I’ve never done a 10k before.

Waiting for the start, I bump into my fellow age group buddy.  I tell him that I'm expecting something around 57 minutes and hope that I can actually manage it, but how could I know what to expect?  My second ever trail race, first 10k and at elevation.  I may just die up here.

The start area is packed when the countdown begins and we're off.  From the start area the route drops a little bit before heading up a steep climb.  Thankfully the trail is wide so there is plenty of room for runners to get their pace and place sorted out.  We top out after climbing about 100 feet to 10,460 and then start our fast descent down a wide and relatively smooth service road.  At the 1-mile mark my split is 7:16.  At 10,214 feet we hop on a narrow single track trail and begin our climb right back up to where we just came from.  I'm feeling good but I'm holding myself back slightly to keep from going too hard early on.  This single track eventually dumps out onto the service road we came down and it is pretty steep there.  I've been trading places with a few youngsters but what I keep seeing is my age group buddy right in front of me.  At the 2-mile mark the mile split is 8:39.  Now we’re on a steep section that I almost have to walk.  I'm still hanging in right behind John but I know for a fact that that's not going to last.  I have to assume that my ability to hold a steady effort will drop sharply before long.  After all, I have no base mileage, no stamina, or tempo workouts under my belt.  All I have is my genetics and the will to forge on.

After passing the intersection at the top of the hill that we first climbed, we head off to the Southeast on a single track trail and now we're on a continual climb to an 11,000 foot peak.  At 2.6 miles the trail turns steep for 3/10 of a mile and I decide to quickly walk this section.  I hit the 3-mile mark and the split is 12:01.  At 3.4 miles the trail turns steep again just below the summit and once more I walk for 2/10 of a mile to the top.  From here, hold onto your hats because its nearly all downhill to the finish line.

With about half of the race left and with the majority of the climbing done, I open it up as best I can.  I'm still feeling pretty good at this point but I've lost sight of my friend.  The only contact I have with other runners is a 20 or 30-something that isn't maintaining an even pace.  At this point of the race we're on uneven ground and you really have to continually read the trail surface for each foot placement.  After running downhill a little while I can tell that I'd like just a little more mid-sole protection but aside from that, my shoe choice is paying off.  My fourth mile averages to 9:30.

At 4.2 miles our trail hits another single track and the course takes an extremely sharp turn back toward the start area.  2 miles left in this race and I'm feeling fine.  Shortly after making this turn I see another runner ahead of me.  It seems like I might be able to reel him in by the finish and become very interesting in doing so.  At 4.8 miles I'm right on him and I hop off the track to his left and push by.  I definitely don't want him to latch onto me so I move the pace up for a few hundred meters.  Mile 5 split comes in 7:26.

Aside from my surge past the runner, I've been keeping a pretty steady pace.  5.5 miles marks the bottom of a small hill and I power up it keeping my speed.  Coming down the other side of the hill, at the very bottom there's a slight dip across the trail and my right foot digs in.  In an instant, I'm down and down hard onto my hands and knees.  My GPS data shows that I went from a sub-7 minute mile clip, to a slide and never stopped.  I was back up and running almost instantly.  Not soon enough to keep all of my external layers intact however.  I glance down and see blood on both of my lower legs and there is certainly some pain.  Bent on not letting this skip off the dirt effect my finishing time, I'm right back at the same pace and my 6-mile split is 7:20.

I can hear the distant cheers from the finishing area and I have one last rise to crest before I can see it.  People are lining the trail and yelling stuff like "Right on, looking great!" and I feel quite strong.  I push hard to the finish and cover the last 2/10 of a mile at an average pace of 5:42.  Right across the line are my racing buddy and my wife.  He exclaims, "Great job! You were right behind me!!"

My finish time is 52:41.  Faster than I could have imagined.  Of 209, someone in our age group took the race, 1st place overall.  Of the 33 that showed up for our AG, my pal takes 7th, I’m into 9th.  Another top ten finish for me with very near Zero training.

Now I have a problem.  I’m hooked and really want to find a certified road race to close out the season.  A certified road course will give me a basis to move forward from.

Next up, another first.  A half-marathon following another 24 sketchy training runs.

Yes, I'm running wrong but I’m clearly not wrong for running.

My Marathon – A day I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

It seems surreal to look back on this.  As if it didn’t really happen but it was too painful, too costly to ever deny or forget.

In the spring of 2002 I had returned from a month long deployment to Las Vegas with the USAF.  I was an occasional and recreational bicycle rider but it was too difficult to travel with a bike and the required riding gear.  On these roughly once a year deployments, I’d take up jogging a few times a week.  Once home the running shoes would be tucked away and the biking resumed.

This time, a few days after returning from Vegas I told my wife that I wanted to look into becoming a runner.  A few hours later I had surfed the web and I came up with another proposition.  “Let’s do a marathon!”  The answer was a willing and excited OK.  We reviewed Runners World’s top 20 marathons and noted that St. George was within a day’s drive and far enough out that we’d have time to train for it.  We signed up.

After breaking a bone in my right foot at a track meet many years earlier in high school, I was convinced that I was not built for the sport.  Thus my focus with our training was for us to build up slowly and do everything possible to avoid injury.   I took one of Hal Higdon’s longest marathon plans and stretched it out to cover the entire time between spring and the October race.  We ran over 750 miles in preparation for St. George.  It was all completed at a conversational pace.  No stamina runs, no LT runs, no speed work and no race pace mileage.

When the gun went off I settled into a pace that I felt I could run all day long.  This turned out to be right around 8 minute miles.  St. George is known as a fast marathon but it isn’t a flat or purely downhill course.  At around mile 7 there’s an intimidating hill that can really pack a punch if you’re not ready for it.  One thing we did do in our training was hill work.  My focus was on being prepared for any punishment the course held and the race was known for being brutally down hill in the later miles.  We ran down many long mountain passes in prep for race day.  The uphill climb at mile 7 didn’t faze me.  I actually increased my pace there and pushed over the top.  I was having a lot of fun and things were going well, really well.  Tick, tick. tick…if I only knew what was soon to come.

The weather was great and I couldn’t imagine my first marathon going better as I cruised past the half-marathon point, maintaining my 8 minute mile average.  I was feeling good and thinking 3:30 was easily mine.  The temperature was on the rise though and I started seeing some runners having problems cramping.  Me? All systems go!  Mile 14 gone.

Somewhere just past mile 15 I started feeling pressure at the ends of each big toe, with every foot strike.  Over a short span of about a mile or less this went from pressure to pain and grew in intensity.  What was going on?  I simply couldn’t get my head around it.  I stopped repeatedly to retie my shoes, pulling the laces back and resnugging my heal.  Nothing saved me.  Now, each time my foot transitioned to flat, fire erupted, again and again.  And oh my gosh, there are 10 miles left in this race!

I didn't put in the effort to cross the last 15 miles to have it all fall apart now.  It’s not over.  It’s not.  (Just wait, “It’s not over” will gain new meaning).

I forged on.  My pace naturally suffered because I was always bracing for impact.  It was terribly painful but I took my mind elsewhere.  I talked to people.  I looked for others in pain and offered any encouragement I could, never mentioning my little issue.

Do you remember what I said this race was known for? “ …known for being brutally down hill in the later miles.”  The pressure being exerted on my toes increased.  The more my resolve grew, the more the course put the screws to me.

That last mile seemed to take forever.  Slow motion with real-time pain.  As I approached the tape, I pushed it up.  I had been held back and had plenty of energy for a sprint to the line.  Yeah, the faster I went, the more it hurt but hey, it’s all over now.  …no, it’s far from being over actually, but I don’t know that.

I crossed the line and immediately sat down to lose the shoes.  It wasn’t much relief to get them off but it was a different kind of pain.  I walked around in the grass waiting for my wife to come in.   She had a good and uneventful race, coming in a little slower than she’d hoped but was happy with her first marathon.

My time was 3:43 and some change.  I feel good about that under the circumstances.

Speaking of change, this race turned out to be the most expensive event that I’ve participated in.  What happened was that my already flat arches somehow got flatter or some similar occurrence that would cause both of my feet to gain a half size in length.  I started the race with size 10.5 feet and matching shoes.  I finished the race with size 11 feet in size 10.5 shoes.

Now, the more hobbies one has, the more specialized shoes/boots one has.  If your shoe size changes, the more shoes you have the more expensive it is.  To have an idea, go get prices on upper end downhill ski boots, mountain and road biking shoes, 3 kinds of xc ski boots, Gore-Tex hiking boots, motorcycle riding boots and every other shoe you own.  In the end, I simply couldn’t believe how much this race cost me! 

And yeah, I lost both big toe nails too.

A race to remember!  A race to forget!


If anyone reading is thinking about their first marathon or training for their first marathon, I wouldn't worry about this too much.  I'd never heard about runners feet permanently changing in size until it happened to me.  It's uncommon and guess I was just running the wrong way, again.  :)

Getting it wrong, my introduction to running.

An accidental runner.  My first experience with organized running was being invited to run on my high school track team as a freshman.  I was told by my coach that I ran wrong and that I had an odd gait.  Sadly, he didn't offer much more than that as a coach.  I ran in the wrong shoes apparently, and that put an early end to my high school running career, before the first season ended.  This left a bad taste in my mouth for the pursuit.  In the USAF, running caught up with me as part of the yearly fitness test.  I was required to run 1 . 5 miles as quickly as possible and to be then graded against the entire sum of personnel within the Air Force.  To my surprise, with no training, my times landed me in the top 5% of the entire USAF.  Based on these times I was asked to be a team member on a memorial relay race, where I would run one mile on the open road.  Again, with no training (the wrong way), I turned in one of the faster times, 4:54.  Each one of my PRs listed has an interesting story that goes along with it, which I'll get to.  I ran each one of those events the wrong way.  Perhaps one day I will finally get it right.  My next race is a half-marathon in May.  It is going to be interesting!  I promise you that.