Happy Birthday to me.......
When I started this blog, I did so in conjunction with a trip to a foreign land, a radically different culture, the unknown, and inspiration was limitless. Since my safe return, I've found it difficult to publish on any kind of regular basis. I still overflow with random thoughts, but they don't often cross the emotional threshold that causes me to actually sit down and write. I think that this past weekend I may have discovered a source of constant, powerful inspiration. It's pretty straightforward, but clearly not for everyone. Here it is: Voluntarily subject yourself to subject yourself to situations that involve great physical duress, hypoxia, lactic acid build up, and potentially toxic side effects. That'll pretty much do it.
More specifically, last Friday, the 22nd, was my 41st birthday. I've been training for my second marathon for quite some time now. One of my best pals, the often referred to Mr. Abbott, suggested that we run the Mt. Diablo 25K Fall Trail Run, as a birthday present no less. OK, it sounds strange, offering up an afternoon of punishment as some kind of reward for surviving for 41 years, but we have this bond...never mind, you just won't get it. Anyway, I replied without hesitation, "Sure!". Neither of us, however, checked the fine print. Yes, it was only 25K. Both of us are capable of that distance without too much drama, Mike being much speedier than I. This particular race had one small detail that neither of us fully appreciated. 5000 feet of climbing. That's 5000 feet up, and even worse, 5000 feet down. By the time we realized what we had signed up for, it was too late, we had arrived. Neither of us was in perfect shape either. I've been battling a chronic calf injury since the San Francisco Half Marathon earlier this year, mostly because 250 lb guys aren't ideally suited for any kind of distance running, never mind the hill climb. Mike had recently competed in a half Iron Man from which he hasn't fully recovered, keeping some kind of opportunistic lung infection around as a souvenir. So, Abbott loaded up on Sipro, me without my leg brace (which had disappeared into a sea of laundry at home), and neither of us with the good sense to bring any means of carrying water on the trail. We both have jobs that require rational thought, honest. It was upon this last realization that we were told of the location of the aid station. A mere 8K up the trail, but that information was quickly followed by the side note that it would take us about 1 and a half hours to reach said aid station, so at least one bottle to carry was advised. Undeterred, we decided that the ambiance of the Bataan Death March would add to the experience.
As I scanned the parking lot for someone I could hit up for some sunscreen (yeah, forgot that too), I sized up the competition. Competition in these events is a catch all term to refer to my fellow participants. At my size and age, my only real goals are to a) finish and b) not die. So far, I've managed to accomplish both on each attempt. Yee ha. Sizing folks up is just a vestige from the days when I was a competitor. It's always interesting, however, to see the different types of people and physiques that occur around certain event types. Trail runners are a different breed from road runners. The best part being that they're much nicer. Everyone running in a trail run is openly supportive of his fellow competitor. I didn't pass one person on the way up who didn't give me a "good job" or "you're almost there". Before the race as well, the atmosphere is different. We met a woman who, like me, was celebrating her birthday by participating. Difference being she was obviously an actual running. Older than me I'd guess by a few years, but with the rail-like sinuey physique of someone who spends a lot of time on the road. That's the other interesting thing about trail runners. You tend to run into many more folks who are big distance runners, ultra marathoners and the like. All ages, pretty much 50/50 women and men, with all kinds of body types, the one common feature being a lack of body fat. There are people who appear "solid" but also many older competitors, the collagen fibers required for the chiseled look long since gone, but you know as soon as you're on the trail together, every one of them is going to leave you in the dust. I just love that there are so many of us out there doing it.
Eventually, start time came. Michael bid me farewell as he moved up to the front and off we went. I'd say we had a good 200 feet before we made the left turn onto the first switch back, and straight up. No warm up, arrive and drive baby. I managed to keep the pace as the fire road turned into a single track. Having been unable to locate my GPS since the half marathon, I'm not sure how far I'd run when finally I had to walk. The trail was just too steep and I noticed that the guy running in front of me wasn't actually gaining any ground on me as I walked. Walking didn't make it much easier, my heart rate was barely manageable, I just don't get the opportunity to train on hills like these very often if ever. We finally crested the first section of climbing after what seemed like an eternity. The single track once again opened into a fire road and the first decent. Being the first decent, my quads were still fresh so controlling my speed and maintaining balance on the loose gravel was work but doable. The decent wasn't very long and soon turned into rolling hills that in turn became a solid climb. The road leveled off at a campground where the aid station was setup. I had been running almost 2 hours with no water. The weather wasn't nearly as hot as it could have been, there was a breeze, but it was very dry. I forced myself to take on as much water and Gatorade as possible, along with a couple of bananas, cookies, and potatoes. After about 5 minutes, it was off to start the second half of the climb to the summit. It was nothing short of brutal. Departure from the aid station was deceptively pleasant, the breeze made it almost cold and the trail flattened out along the side of the mountain for a while, passing beneath the canopy out of the direct sunlight for a spell. That all ended soon enough as we passed above the tree line and into a narrow single track surrounded by high hedges of brush. The temperature was on the rise both externally and internally. The bloated feeling I had after pushing fluids at the aid station disappeared quickly as my parched insides quickly absorbed whatever they could. The sweat poured from the brim of my hat and my legs burned. The peak was in clear view most of the time, marked by a large observation tower and various antenna. Not that it helped, the summit loomed like a mirage, never coming any closer until just minutes from the top. Thankfully there was a water fountain to go along with the observation deck, the view was awesome but ultimately, the water was sweeter. A minute to enjoy the view and I started the long decent home. I was WAY too aggressive on the top section. I didn't work much to control my speed as I lengthened my stride and let momentum hustle me down the hill. I left the people who passed me on the way up far behind. I quickly reached the previously inviting breezy hillside. Funny how terrain can so radically change just by reversing direction. What seemed flat on the way up was suddenly a painful climb on the way back. I had some chest pain, my left arm hurt (or at least I thought it did) and thoughts of a widow-maker embolism in the middle of nowhere crept into my endorphin soaked brain. I was dehydrated, low on sugar and ATP. I thought about my family, just in case. I reached the aid station again, the course was shaped kind of like an upside down keyhole. The heat was up, the breeze down, so I forced myself to take on fluid again to the point of nausea. Onto the final leg, the long almost 6K decent down a very steep and winding fire road. They say that every mile of downhill can sap as much as 40% of your leg strength. That math wasn't adding up for me but now I was really in the middle of nowhere and there was no other way out. The steps became increasingly painful as fatigue set in, once again the fluid that had so recently almost caused me to burst was gone, my insides were like a desiccator.
Finally the road flattened out, for the first time in the race I was running on level ground. I actually felt pretty good so I picked up the pace a bit. However, having become a slave to my now missing GPS, I was unable to judge correctly the distance to the finish. I went too hard, too early. I ended up walking for about half a mile with Jake, a 22 year old triathlete and student at San Diego State. Yes, I felt great as a 41 year old crossing the line with someone just over half my age, but ultimately, I was just happy to finish (and not die). I am so sore today that I can barely move. Traversing steps takes mental preparation, I notice just how many steps there are in my life, 14 just to get to my bedroom. My quads feel like rocks (and not in a good way), my abs are sore in places I didn't know I had muscles, even my arms are sore. On balance, it's still a "good" sore though. I'm glad we decided to run the race, I'm stoked to have finished. 3:56 was my time. 61st out of 89 overall. So I'm confident as my second and last marathon approaches, this race being much more difficult than any other run I've ever attempted, including the San Francisco Marathon.
I'm not sure exactly what it is that drives me to do these things (other than hanging around Abbott). I think maybe Ferris Bueller comes closest:
Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. You know what I mean. Peace.
When I started this blog, I did so in conjunction with a trip to a foreign land, a radically different culture, the unknown, and inspiration was limitless. Since my safe return, I've found it difficult to publish on any kind of regular basis. I still overflow with random thoughts, but they don't often cross the emotional threshold that causes me to actually sit down and write. I think that this past weekend I may have discovered a source of constant, powerful inspiration. It's pretty straightforward, but clearly not for everyone. Here it is: Voluntarily subject yourself to subject yourself to situations that involve great physical duress, hypoxia, lactic acid build up, and potentially toxic side effects. That'll pretty much do it.
More specifically, last Friday, the 22nd, was my 41st birthday. I've been training for my second marathon for quite some time now. One of my best pals, the often referred to Mr. Abbott, suggested that we run the Mt. Diablo 25K Fall Trail Run, as a birthday present no less. OK, it sounds strange, offering up an afternoon of punishment as some kind of reward for surviving for 41 years, but we have this bond...never mind, you just won't get it. Anyway, I replied without hesitation, "Sure!". Neither of us, however, checked the fine print. Yes, it was only 25K. Both of us are capable of that distance without too much drama, Mike being much speedier than I. This particular race had one small detail that neither of us fully appreciated. 5000 feet of climbing. That's 5000 feet up, and even worse, 5000 feet down. By the time we realized what we had signed up for, it was too late, we had arrived. Neither of us was in perfect shape either. I've been battling a chronic calf injury since the San Francisco Half Marathon earlier this year, mostly because 250 lb guys aren't ideally suited for any kind of distance running, never mind the hill climb. Mike had recently competed in a half Iron Man from which he hasn't fully recovered, keeping some kind of opportunistic lung infection around as a souvenir. So, Abbott loaded up on Sipro, me without my leg brace (which had disappeared into a sea of laundry at home), and neither of us with the good sense to bring any means of carrying water on the trail. We both have jobs that require rational thought, honest. It was upon this last realization that we were told of the location of the aid station. A mere 8K up the trail, but that information was quickly followed by the side note that it would take us about 1 and a half hours to reach said aid station, so at least one bottle to carry was advised. Undeterred, we decided that the ambiance of the Bataan Death March would add to the experience.
As I scanned the parking lot for someone I could hit up for some sunscreen (yeah, forgot that too), I sized up the competition. Competition in these events is a catch all term to refer to my fellow participants. At my size and age, my only real goals are to a) finish and b) not die. So far, I've managed to accomplish both on each attempt. Yee ha. Sizing folks up is just a vestige from the days when I was a competitor. It's always interesting, however, to see the different types of people and physiques that occur around certain event types. Trail runners are a different breed from road runners. The best part being that they're much nicer. Everyone running in a trail run is openly supportive of his fellow competitor. I didn't pass one person on the way up who didn't give me a "good job" or "you're almost there". Before the race as well, the atmosphere is different. We met a woman who, like me, was celebrating her birthday by participating. Difference being she was obviously an actual running. Older than me I'd guess by a few years, but with the rail-like sinuey physique of someone who spends a lot of time on the road. That's the other interesting thing about trail runners. You tend to run into many more folks who are big distance runners, ultra marathoners and the like. All ages, pretty much 50/50 women and men, with all kinds of body types, the one common feature being a lack of body fat. There are people who appear "solid" but also many older competitors, the collagen fibers required for the chiseled look long since gone, but you know as soon as you're on the trail together, every one of them is going to leave you in the dust. I just love that there are so many of us out there doing it.
Eventually, start time came. Michael bid me farewell as he moved up to the front and off we went. I'd say we had a good 200 feet before we made the left turn onto the first switch back, and straight up. No warm up, arrive and drive baby. I managed to keep the pace as the fire road turned into a single track. Having been unable to locate my GPS since the half marathon, I'm not sure how far I'd run when finally I had to walk. The trail was just too steep and I noticed that the guy running in front of me wasn't actually gaining any ground on me as I walked. Walking didn't make it much easier, my heart rate was barely manageable, I just don't get the opportunity to train on hills like these very often if ever. We finally crested the first section of climbing after what seemed like an eternity. The single track once again opened into a fire road and the first decent. Being the first decent, my quads were still fresh so controlling my speed and maintaining balance on the loose gravel was work but doable. The decent wasn't very long and soon turned into rolling hills that in turn became a solid climb. The road leveled off at a campground where the aid station was setup. I had been running almost 2 hours with no water. The weather wasn't nearly as hot as it could have been, there was a breeze, but it was very dry. I forced myself to take on as much water and Gatorade as possible, along with a couple of bananas, cookies, and potatoes. After about 5 minutes, it was off to start the second half of the climb to the summit. It was nothing short of brutal. Departure from the aid station was deceptively pleasant, the breeze made it almost cold and the trail flattened out along the side of the mountain for a while, passing beneath the canopy out of the direct sunlight for a spell. That all ended soon enough as we passed above the tree line and into a narrow single track surrounded by high hedges of brush. The temperature was on the rise both externally and internally. The bloated feeling I had after pushing fluids at the aid station disappeared quickly as my parched insides quickly absorbed whatever they could. The sweat poured from the brim of my hat and my legs burned. The peak was in clear view most of the time, marked by a large observation tower and various antenna. Not that it helped, the summit loomed like a mirage, never coming any closer until just minutes from the top. Thankfully there was a water fountain to go along with the observation deck, the view was awesome but ultimately, the water was sweeter. A minute to enjoy the view and I started the long decent home. I was WAY too aggressive on the top section. I didn't work much to control my speed as I lengthened my stride and let momentum hustle me down the hill. I left the people who passed me on the way up far behind. I quickly reached the previously inviting breezy hillside. Funny how terrain can so radically change just by reversing direction. What seemed flat on the way up was suddenly a painful climb on the way back. I had some chest pain, my left arm hurt (or at least I thought it did) and thoughts of a widow-maker embolism in the middle of nowhere crept into my endorphin soaked brain. I was dehydrated, low on sugar and ATP. I thought about my family, just in case. I reached the aid station again, the course was shaped kind of like an upside down keyhole. The heat was up, the breeze down, so I forced myself to take on fluid again to the point of nausea. Onto the final leg, the long almost 6K decent down a very steep and winding fire road. They say that every mile of downhill can sap as much as 40% of your leg strength. That math wasn't adding up for me but now I was really in the middle of nowhere and there was no other way out. The steps became increasingly painful as fatigue set in, once again the fluid that had so recently almost caused me to burst was gone, my insides were like a desiccator.
Finally the road flattened out, for the first time in the race I was running on level ground. I actually felt pretty good so I picked up the pace a bit. However, having become a slave to my now missing GPS, I was unable to judge correctly the distance to the finish. I went too hard, too early. I ended up walking for about half a mile with Jake, a 22 year old triathlete and student at San Diego State. Yes, I felt great as a 41 year old crossing the line with someone just over half my age, but ultimately, I was just happy to finish (and not die). I am so sore today that I can barely move. Traversing steps takes mental preparation, I notice just how many steps there are in my life, 14 just to get to my bedroom. My quads feel like rocks (and not in a good way), my abs are sore in places I didn't know I had muscles, even my arms are sore. On balance, it's still a "good" sore though. I'm glad we decided to run the race, I'm stoked to have finished. 3:56 was my time. 61st out of 89 overall. So I'm confident as my second and last marathon approaches, this race being much more difficult than any other run I've ever attempted, including the San Francisco Marathon.
I'm not sure exactly what it is that drives me to do these things (other than hanging around Abbott). I think maybe Ferris Bueller comes closest:
Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. You know what I mean. Peace.
posted by Jaybeau at
10:32 PM
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