About 20 years ago, I was in Las Vegas with an evil mentor. This was a guy with some real talent but a consistent ability to make questionable lifestyle choices which would push him to the brink of financial ruin. Any decision he made was almost certainly the wrong one. He’d pass credit cards to sales clerk and say things like “hey, if they tell you to keep my card, do me a favor and give it back. They’re just kidding.”
It was my first trip to Vegas. He was teaching me how to play blackjack. I lost $20 and was crestfallen. He lost a bizillion dollars and also seemed crestfallen. We had given the blackjack table our best effort. We went to the bar. Drank. Talked. After a few minutes, he slammed down his drink, looked furtively towards the casino, and said under his breath “I’m going to go win it back.”
On Saturday, I ran the Healthy Kindey 10k, which was my chance to win it back. About a month ago, I was unhappy with my run at the Scotland 10k. This week’s race was almost exactly the same course — I think it started a half block further downtown, but it ran the same direction, covered the same difference, and was basially the same race. I often finish a race unhappy. Er, that’s too extreme. I often finish a race wishing I could run it again with the opportunity to do better. In this case, I had the chance.
I did do better — but only a little. And this was after concentrating on my training a little harder. I’ve decided to run the Fairfield Half in June, and I’ve downloaded Hal Higdon’s half marathon program. I started in a few weeks late, but I’ve been following the plan. I like it — he’s got running pretty much every day, on the easy days just for three miles or so. There are also some short intervals, like 400m and some hills. I was in San Francisco last week, and I did an awesome hill workout. I felt like I was in good shape.
The day started off great, fun ride down to the city with Steve and John. We have a constant debate on what time to leave, and this time was no different. We got an awesome parking space that expired at 9am. So with an 8am had to run fast, and get back to the car before the NYPD issued us a $70 souvenir. It’s quite motivating.
John and I did a good warmup — he’s a much faster runner, but he claims even a slow warmup is valuable. We put in a mile or so, and then lined up for the start. The three runners in the US marathon team, Abdi Abdirahman, Ryan Hall, and Meb Keflezighi, were running the race. Somehow, the Olympians were in the first corral. I guess they’ve earned it.
Once the gun went off there was a little craziness. There were two guys in front of me who seemed to be on some sort of fun run or had just graduated from the Orlando School of Tourist Pacing. That’s surprising, usually it’s an even start. But then we were off and there were some guys behind me throwing elbows trying to get through. Maybe I was their Orlando Tourist.
My takeaway from a month ago is that I lose a lot on the hills. In the commute to the race, we were talking in the car about hills — and reached the conclusion that if I pushed it too hard on the hills I would burn up a lot of energy and wouldn’t be able to to make it up later. In the earlier race, I did feel like a lot of people were passing me. I prefer when no people pass me. That’s a better number.
So I tried to run the race on effort — do even effort on the uphills, even if that means running a little slower. I thought I’d try for a 6:30 pace overall, see how that went. First mile 6:35. OK, so much for 6:30. Second mile 6:40. Not so good. So I thought to myself “self, we gotta work on this effort thing. What effort is this, on a scale of one to ten? 11? Come on, be honest. You’re only cheating yourself. That’s pathetic. OK, 8. This is an 8.” So I decided I’d try to keep an 8 effort throughout.
When I hit the hills, which really start coming in the third mile, I tried to keep my effort to an 8, and at some points it felt like I wasn’t pushing hard enough. Mile 4 I had a split of 7:06, which was about a second faster than I ran the same hill in the Scottland 10k. So that’s good. Easier effort, faster number. It’s all in the head I guess.
Overall, I ran 10 seconds faster than a month ago — 41:49 vs 41:59. So that’s good. But I had been working hard, so I had hoped to win back a lot more. But 10 seconds is all that I got. 6:40 pace.
I’m going to try to blog more — I know everyone says that. But I do want to write more and not get hung up on these post. This one took a week to get out. Pathetic!
It’s been a long cold winter. Well, not really. It was a short, warm winter. Great conditions for running. For cross training. Well, I guess I ran. I did go to the gym a few times. I have seen my bike. It’s still in the garage where I put it last fall. Everything is going according to plan.
I ran the NYRR Scotland 10k on Sunday. I guess it could have gone worse. That’s too pessimistic even for me — I should say it well as well as I could have expected it to given my training. I’ve just not been pushing myself this winter. Without a marathon to train for, it’s been hard to keep concentrated on varying training. Or running fast. And not eating everything in sight. I’ve put on at least five pounds, and that’s not easy to pull around the track. What I really needed was a race to remind me that without work there is no reward. And learn that I did.
The additional weight and lack of training equated to a :35 difference in my time on this 10k versus what I ran in my fastest central park 10k, which was in December of 2010. It seems like so long ago.
The day started off great. I traveled to the city with fellow Taconics Steve and John, and even though I wasn’t driving, everyone agreed to meet at my house. So I just had to go outside and wait for my transportation to arrive. Like a movie star. Or a prisoner. John, as well as being an extraordinary fast runner seems to drive quite quickly as well, and even though we left at 6:15 we were in the park checking out the port-a-potties by 7:20 or so.
I was in the first corale for the start, which was great. It’s an interesting dynamic before the race — as this was a points race, there were a lot of familiar faces. One of my favorite things about these NYRR races is the dynamic between the runners – everyone is in pretty good shape, and everyone has been training hard. Or at least a little. And yet for a 10k race, everyone is pretty sure they aren’t going to hit the wall or drop out. We’re all going to finish. Wait, I feel like I’m totally jinxing my next race. But there is a little less stress for me in a 10k than in a marathon. Maybe that’s my problem!
A couple of brief words from race officials, the singing of the Scottish national anthem (not a harmonious tune. But I think that’s in keeping with the original.) And then we were off. My first mile was in 6:33, right on the money. There were some folks passing me, but I stuck to my pace hoping to keep running my own race. Second mile was at 6:43. More because of the crowds. 3rd mile at 6:43. And then came the hills.
It is great running in New York. There are always people to hold on to. Or to be passed by.
Me in green. Not happy.
Mile 4, alas, seems to start right in the middle of the back of Harlem hill and then just be a big stinking turd of a mile for its entire length. I put in a horrible 7:07, and never made it up. 6:41 and then a 6:37 for the final mile. And I felt like I was really pushing hard for the final mile. Horrible feeling after the 6th mile maker, with .2 miles to go, it seemed so freaking far away. Really really far. Like too far for any runner to run. ”It’s less than a lap of the track,” I thought. ”Fuck the track. You haven’t been going to the track. Why are you mentioning the track to me now? You weren’t there for the track, now the track isn’t there for you.” I think about six people passed me. I felt like I was standing still.
I crossed the line and kind of wanted to die. 41:59. But who’s counting?
So how did I respond to this feeling of defeat? I signed up for a bunch more races. The Healthy Kidney 10k is coming up and it’s almost exactly the same course. I’m going to run the Fairfield Half in June. I hear it’s a hilly course, but I’m excited to train hard, do a speed workout every week, and see what happens.
Other than that, I gotta live with my thirty five seconds of pain. Better things to come. Maybe I’ll blog more. That’s better than running, right?
Yesterday, I ran the Boston Buildup 20k. This race is part of a great series of races, run about every other week during the weeks leading up to the Boston Marathon. The courses all seem to be challenging and hilly, and the distances get progressively longer. I had run the 20k last year, which was a slightly different course, and the 25k the year before. I’ve enjoyed the races immensely and recommend them to anyone who is looking for a challenging winter run.
When I say “enjoyed” the races, rest assured I am speaking firmly in the past tense. Before each race, I have a feeling of impending doom. I mean, these are courses designed to mimic the challenge of Boston. Except they are shorter, so you’re supposed to run them faster. And they are earlier in the year, so they are colder. It’s also a hard core crowd, so the field can thin out and it’s hard to hitch a ride with other runners. The motto of the series is “Front load the torture.” I’m just saying.
This has been a rough year running-wise. I missed getting into Boston by, oh, let’s just say 28 seconds. And I seem to have a little work to do, so I can’t actually find a spring marathon that I can run that fits into my schedule. I’m also still nervous about my hamstring, as even though it’s been six months since I blew it out, I still feel it when I’m pushing hard. Excuses, excuses.
In any case, this was my longest race in, er, well, since Boston last year. I’ve only had two races in the last six months, one a 5k and one a 5 miler. So I was nervous about running 20k (12.4 miles. I’m just saying.) Whatever stress I usually feel before a race was exponentially worse this time — I felt unprepared and out of shape.
Building up to the race, I checked the weather a lot, as usual. I was working in Vegas, so it was a little hard to read that Sunday was going to be 18° with 30 miles an hour winds. I had a lengthy text exchange with a fellow Taconic runner – Caitlin, a fellow running blogger. She was bitching about the weather, and I tentatively suggested that we not run it. That suggestion was met with some comments that hypothesized I wasn’t fully committed to running and that perhaps I should reevaluate my feelings about running that race along with a self-searching assessment of my masculinity. I am embellishing a little here — but Caitlin suggested that I run, and so therefore I was shamed into it. Six other Taconics were running as well, so it was going to be a regular party.
The morning of the race it was cold as promised. I left early, had a nice drive, went to a Starbucks close to the start. Got a Starbucks. Drank it. Man, I hope reading about running is as interesting as writing about running is.
We had access to a fantastic middle school gym before the race, and did some quality hanging out. It’s great to see so many great people before a run, and because this series is small, I’m starting to recognize people.
Photo: Fred Gaston
I stressed about my clothing. Just like high school. Except in high school, I didn’t give a crap what I looked like. Actually, I wasn’t worried what I was going to look like. I was worried that I’d be too hot. Or too cold. Or neither. It was windy as crap. So I decided to wear TIGHTS! Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’m a fan. Other than looking like a middle-aged ballerina, I stayed warm. I wound up wearing a vest I haven’t worn in a race in years — it does help keep the wind down. It is high-vis yellow though. So I looked like a middle-aged ballerina moonlighting as a traffic cop.
The start of the race was wonderfully chaotic — I saw some race pictures that implied that there were some sort of pre-race instructions, but basically there was a mob, then a horn, then everyone ran. Pretty much in the same direction. As no one seemed to know which way the race was going, I wound up in the back of the pack, and had to fight my way up a little bit. That was great in that it forced me to start slow.
Truthfully, I wish I had a better race plan. I mean, I wanted to run 6:50, but I knew almost from the start I didn’t have it in me. It was so cold I felt it was hard to work efficiently. So I kind of pushed as hard as I could in some sort of a “well, it’s cold out here, don’t go nuts.” And then I’m beating the shit out of myself. Don’t go nuts? Why didn’t I stay home and eat bon bons? Good lord, it’s a freaking race. So I’d push hard. Feel the hamstring. Easy killer. Think about the length of the race “man, you should have run a freakin’ 10k. What the hell is a 20k anyway? No one runs 20k. What’s next? go by a Hectare of land? Maybe order some mutton? 20K. For fuck’s sake.”
After the first couple of miles, I was hanging around with the same group of people, but there was a fair amount of ebb and flow, people speeding up on downhills (me) and slowing down on uphills (me). I was wishing that I knew someone who was running about my same pace — it gets weird to run with a total stranger in a small race. In a central park race, everyone is your rabbit. Not so much when there are only five people around you. That being said, I talked briefly with a woman Erica who was pretty much doing better than I could have hoped for — right below 7:00 pace, which was great. I had not air to talk, but at one point I said “you’re getting me through this race, thanks.” And she claimed it was me who was getting her through it. She was a great runner and a good liar!
The hills were rough — long uphills. But then downhills. It reminded me of Boston. Except I didn’t want to die quite as much on the downhills. Which made me feel I wasn’t working hard enough.
It was weird. I knew that I had some crappy first couple of miles, like a 7:48 on a particularly vicious mile 5. I knew I’d never make that up. So I needed a strategy to make it worthwhile, like a target time, or something. I just figured I’d hold on and then try to push it for the last 5k or so.
No pears of wisdom here I’m afraid. I finished the race in 1:29:32. Last year, I ran 1:27:47, so I was about 2 minutes slower. I just wish I had a better plan and and died out their on the course rather than taking it easy at the start.
I think what I need to do is target a race — like a 10k even, and make a training plan, have a target time, and go for it. I’m a bit listless without a marathon in the spring, and I need to bring the focus back to my training.
That being said, I had a great time — saw some great people, got in a good run. I just wish it had gone about 2 minutes faster. I’m just saying.
Nice warm day on Sunday, so it was off to the races!
It was the NYRR Join the Voices 5 Miler in Central Park for me. And it turned out to be a good day.
I don’t think I can oversell the weather. It was 44° at the start according to the race results, but it felt much warmer. Last year, this race was a 10k and it was, according to my notes (!), 30°. It was like a summer day. With a few thousand emaciated people waiting to hurl themselves down the same trodden road they’ve run many times before.
I met my friend John up here in Croton — we had an extended email exchange of what time to leave. He is a much faster runner than I, and therefore likes to leave much later than I do. I wanted to leave at 6:30am. I think he wanted to leave at 7am. We settled at 6:40am. Met a few more Taconics, then went down in separate cars for logistical reasons too boring to articulate.
In the city, we found some awesome on-street parking, went to Starbucks to get a coffee. It took about a million years to get served, and then we were running late. And not a good late either. It was my idea to park on the west side, because the start of the race was on the west side. Unfortunately, bag drop was quite close to the — dare I say it — east side. I had a rather non-optional need to use the portapotty, so I was getting a little stressed. But wound up making it to the start with a few minutes to spare, but absolutely no warm up or no spare time.
One of the great things about doing more of these NYRR races is there is always a friendly group at the start. On this race, I was in the first corale, and there were no elites, so we were right up at the starting line. I hung out with a bunch of the Taconics — the older guys seem to know just about everyone, and it’s a blast to get a sense of kinship before the gun goes off. Once it starts, no more talking alas as we’re all trying to not drop dead from a lack of oxygen.
The start was great for me, even as some of my friends found it a bit jammed out of the gate. I was shooting for a 6:31 pace, and I came in at 6:14 for the first mile. A little fast, but I was feeling good. The second mile has the dreaded cat hill in it, and I tried to push keep my effort steady, and wond up with a 6:28. Mile 3 is the flattest mile in the course, and I did a 6:18. Mile 4. Oh man. Mile 4. Rolling hills. In a 10k these west side hills seem to be pretty pleasant. In this shorter race, I was just freaking hating it. Pushing as hard as I could, but feeling like I was standing still. I was trying thing of the distance left in the race, and just work towards finishing. I was working towards quitting running. 6:34 pace for this mile. Off my target.
Now I was in the final mile. Bring it home. Leave nothing out there. Bullshit. I would have left it all out there for a cheeseburger and a cup of coffee. After 3 minutes into the mile, I felt like I was hitting my pace and I started to look for the “800m to go ” no sign. Good grief. They put out a 800m sign, right? Where the hell is it? When will this race end? These shorter distances should be easier. I think I’m hitting the wall. In mile 5. This race sucks.
I kept running and someone said “quarter mile to go” so I though “no signs” and realized I was getting close. Tried to open it up. Finished in 32:22. Exhausted.
Found some friends afterwards. One friend, another Greg (we have many Gregs in the Taconics) said “man, that was a PR for you, no?” And I was all like “no way man, I feel like crap. No way.” But then I went to my phone and checked my spreadsheet and yes, yes it was — about 25 seconds faster than I ran the Portugal Day 5 miler in May. Nice.
But still, I felt like crap. So I guess I don’t know what I learned. Leave earlier? Warm up? Ug.
Afterwards we all went to a bar and hung out as a team. It was fantastic. Good friends, good times.
I guess I am happy — I feel like a better strategy would have been a slower few seconds in the first couple of miles, and then a more even pace throughout. I’ll have to figure out how to do that sometime.
I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I pulled my hamstring last summer. Since then, I’ve been taking it easy, cycling, etc. This last week I got hit by a car. Not to make anything too easy, I went to the track on Thursday (car was Tuesday) and felt like absolute crap. Tried to do an 800 and stopped after about 300. Not so good. I realized the only way I was really going to kick start my training was to enter a race. So kick I did.
I’m in Los Angeles for the autoshow. The weather is nice here. Apparently it’s nice here a lot. I’m surprised more people don’t live here. Well, if a lot of people moved here I’m sure they’d just drive everywhere and clog up the freeways. I’m glad that doesn’t happen.
Today I got up and ran the Get Fit Be Fit 5k, which went really well. This is my first race since my injury last summer, and as I may have mentioned, I am a little off my game having recently been hit by a car. That being said, this is my first morning here so I woke up early with some energy. Had a few bowls of fruit loops and headed off to the start.
There was both a 10k and a 5k to run, and I couldn’t decide what to do. The 5k is stressful but it’s over quickly. The 10k feels like more my distance, but this course was two loops of the 5k course, so I knew it would be too easy to just drop out after a loop. So 5k it was.
The race was managed by Frontrunners Los Angles, a local running store. As far as I know, there is no relationship between the store and the New York running team. I stopped by the store to preregister and was told the race was super flat. I felt I was lied to.
The Taconics have no van
I did an easy 20 minute warmup and ran a little bit with the folks doing the 10k. Got a good look at the course and some of the folks involved. I will say this about LA — they know how to put on a race. The road closures were perfect, there was a freaking expo with about 15 booths. I couldn’t believe it. Really nice. Before the race, they had a local trainer and a microphone tell everyone to line up for their pre-race warm up. She had everyone run in place and touch their toes. I’ve been told never to run in place and I can’t touch my toes, so I did a bunch of strides with a few other competitive runners out there.
I wanted to do 6:20s throughout, which is what my training plan last summer suggested. However, I was in much better shape last summer than I am now, but I thought I might as well see what happens.
The gun went off. And we were off. Did pretty well for the first mile, 6:19. Then I looked ahead of me and saw something that looked very much like a hill. And indeed it was. Not a huge hill, like 100′ or so. But man it was hard. I was thinking to myself “self, this is why you should be thrilled to live in Croton. Hills. This is what you came for. No, self, actually you came to run a flat fast 5k so you can feel like it’s OK to take time off and recover. You can do a good time. Hill or no hill. Don’t look at your watch. Moderate your effort. Look around. Start counting Starbucks. That’ll pass the time.”
Mile 2: 6:33. That’s no good. But even before the split we had started to head downhill. And I was feeling better. OK, not better, but closer to the end.
The race had thinned out a bit at this point and I ran with another guy for about 200 meters. Then he faded a little bit and I pushed through. Mile 3 6:19. There was someone counting off splits, and he said “19:11″ as I passed. I realized I had a chance to get it under 20. And I did – 19:55. Average pace of 6:22. I was 2nd in my division.
So now I guess I’m competitive. ”SECOND? Who the heck was in front of me who was in their 40s?” I looked at the results and the guy who beat mean ran a 17:22. OK, that’s fast. Bless him.
I’m happy. I’m not in great shape, but I did get under 20. My back still hurts a little bit from the car accident, but I’m glad I was able to hold it together. Leaving the race, I realized I had no pictures to really reflect the scene. Then I saw a van. From a local running club. Painted. With the local running club logo. I guess there’s some money out here with the nice weather.
I was in the city doing a project and managed to sneak out of work around 9am to go for a run. By “sneak out” I mean leave work after telling everyone, my client, my co-workers, the cleaners, everyone, that I was leaving. I feel so guilty about sneaking out that I am about the worst in the world at doing it.
I’ve got a good strategy for mid-day runs in the city. I belong to New York Sports Club up here in Croton, and can therefore, it seems, stop in at any club in the city and use the locker room. I guess there is other stuff to do at a gym other than change, shower and poop, but for me, I’ve got my routine down. As I felt guilty about leaving work, I thought about taking my phone on the run. What if there is some sort of work crisis and they need someone to tell jokes about it? Or what if there is some sort of city scene that needs recording, say a homeless man painting a landscape or a young child pick-pocketing a playmate? My phone has a camera, and I could capture those sort of things. Alas, I couldn’t find just the right pocket in my shorts for the phone. We’ve all been through it. I’m not going to put it in that gross inside pocket. The front pocket is too deep and it’ll just flop around and make me nuts, and the back outside pocket, which has some sort of punitive elastic in it, seems too tight or not big enough or something. And I felt guilty, so I had to start running and get out there and get back to work and do nothing.
Nice run on the westside highway, bunch of sub 8 minute miles. Felt great. Not a lot of people out there. I guess a lot of people were working. At 9am on a Tuesday. Can you imagine?
Headed back to the gym, took 34th street, crossed at 9th avenue and got hit by a van. Seriously. I was crossing the street, and there is this freaking van making a turn. He can see me, for sure, right? Wait, he isn’t stopping. He’ll stop later, right. Wow, maybe I should stop. Wait, it’s too late. This freaking guy is going to freaking hit me. I can’t believe it. This fucking van is going to hit me. He really fucking is. And then he fucking did.
He knocked me over. All I could think was “get up or he’s going to run you over.” OK, not so rational, but I got up. He stopped. I approached the driver side window. And I began screaming at him like a freaking lunatic. I always imagined I’d be somewhat passive when dealing with aggressive van-driving runner hitters. But I wasn’t. I suggested that he pull his car over and that we would consult with law enforcement about his continued participation in free society. He suggested that what was done was done and that the police wouldn’t be able to undo it. I suggested we discuss that with them, and again suggested he pull over, and asked him if, like some sort of barbarian, he was going to leave the scene of an accident.
He pulled over. It was a busy intersection. There was a police car there in about 30 seconds. They suggested that the driver distance himself from me. They asked if I needed an ambulance. Although I was scrapped up, I felt OK. They said they’d have to call a second car as it wasn’t their precinct.
While we were waiting for the other car, I walked around and tried to find witnesses. No one saw anything, of course. There was a MTA bus inspector close by, I asked him what he saw and he said “man, by the time I got over there, you were already on your feet giving him the business.” I was, indeed, giving him the business!
I should say right away that I feel a little beat up, but I’m fine. I saw Dr. Stu and I’ll see my GP next week. Some scrapes and bruises, and I tried to do the track yesterday and my back hurt a little bit, but it’ll all get better. I’m not currently planning on suing anyone or stopping running or not sneaking out of work or anything.
I got a receipt from the cops for the accident (w0w, a souvenir!) and now I need to go get the accident report for insurance. I have zero advice here. I was crossing with the light. I was wearing headphones, but I did see the guy clearly. Ug. I just hope I feel 100% by Sunday as there is a 5k (my first race since August!) I want to run. Be careful out there. Or don’t. It doesn’t seem to matter. :-)
It’s one of those fall days where it’s good to be a runner. Heading out for a long run today, it felt almost cold. I debated wearing compression sleeves or gloves or a hat. But after careful consideration (read: no consideration) I decided that I was going to warm up as I ran. As I always do. As everyone always does. A perfect day. Nice weather. Nice foliage. Man, here I go, sounding like a hippie.
I met the rest of the Taconics for the regular Saturday long run — I’ve been back a number of times since my injury, but I’ve always taken it easy, never running more than 8 or 9 miles. Today, I wanted to do 10 or 11, and I ran at a good clip for me, just above an 8 minute pace. Ran with a good group of good friends, we told jokes, made fun of each other, farted, all the usual stuff. There was some mud. There was some road kill. There was awesome weather, all in all it was a great day to be out.
What was special about today is I felt great throughout — no pain, no hamstring, nothing. I feel now I am well enough to injure myself again. My favorite 10k is tomorrow, here in Croton, but I’m not that ready to injure myself, so I’m going to volunteer to keep myself from running. But I am going to sign up for another race soon, maybe as soon as next weekend, when there is a 5k in Las Vegas.
I’m also thinking about the spring. I am not a bitter person, I hope, but I missed boston this year by like 27 seconds. I feel like after rest, some cycling, etc., whatever, I am ready for a spring marathon to get into Boston for 2013. That’s healthy, right? It’s not like I’ve been denied something and I’m clawing it back into my paws through spite and anger, right? No, not at all. I’m just going to run through the freaking winter like a lunatic, do track repeats on icy ovals, and then run through some suburban shithole in order to be allowed to sit on a school bus in New England again. That’s totally normal.
Seriously, I am excited about getting back into it. I’ll see how I feel next week, but I’m considering the New Jersey marathon. It’s just a week after Boston, so I can train with some of my friends who are running that race in order to get a good time in mine. Totally healthy.
Most runs are the same. Same route. Same pace. Same running buddies. Same hills. Same issues. Same persistent injury.
Of late, I’ve had very little of the same. Since pulling my hamstring a little over the month ago, it I would love a little sameness — but I’ve been doing different things to try to get better. I’ve going to a whole bunch of spinning classes. I’ve ridden my bike. I’ve taken time off. It’s all been great, but I’ve missed things being the same. As anyone who knows me will point out, in general, I fear change.
This last week I was in San Jose, and had a run that, for no particular reason, was different. I had a long break from work in the middle of the day, and I ran from the hotel to the what I’ve come to realize is the town of Alviso. This is an old village with a marina which borders the San Francisco bay. You run past the marina into a public park, and then along an elevated trail along a slough (don’t bother looking it up — it means swamp).
It’s been a rough year. Two close friends have died. The recession continues. I’ve got some close friends going through rough times. Oh, yeah, I injured myself. I’m out of a fall marathon.
And it’s the end of summer. Kids are going back to school. Work is gearing up. Just fell into another project that’ll make me busier than I’d like. So much stress building, it’s hard to forget it.
But there was something about this run that broke me out of all that.
It was different because I haven’t been running well, and all of a sudden I was running well. It was different because I was out on a run in the middle of the day when I might well have been stuck at work. It was different because although I was still worried about my hamstring I was feeling OK. It was different because I had stumbled upon a place so naturally beautiful that I had time to stop stressing. I could run another mile. I could turn around a little further than I had planned to, a little further down the trail.
Fuck yeah. That was a great run. Not at all fast. But different.
Alviso Slough / Photo by Jay Mooy
This is my 3rd pain free run. 3 miles today. Slowly. I feel better, but a little pain at the end. I’m taking it easy. I promise.
Last night I had a dream about running. Listen, with the amount of ambien I take dreams are pretty rare in and of themselves, but a dream about running, that’s a real treat. I dreamed, Dr. Freud, that I was running pain free, fast, through a trail. And then there was a bright light. And I was safe. OK, the safe part and the light part didn’t happen, but I did dream I was running fast and pain free.
Alas, so far, it’s just a dream. It’s been a ten days since I did something to my hamstring, and I’ve yet to recover. I’ve was on vacation, now I’m out of town for work, and I haven’t been able to kick this injury. Last week, I ran a good mile (after taking four or five days off), then biked hard a few days. Wednesday, the day before yesterday, and one week after my injury, I tried to do a three mile run. First mile OK, then bad bad hamstring pain, walked it back in.
I’m lucky in that there is a freakin’ spin studio in the hotel next time mine, and I went to a spin class with some friends and colleagues (OK, they’re clients, but don’t tell anyone I’m fraternizing with the clients. No good can come from that. It’s not like they read my blog. Right? Right?). As I mentioned to my, er, colleague afterwards I felt like I was a serial killer who had struck again — I had finally found a release of my built up energy by pushing myself on a spinning cycle. Is that metaphor too weak? Too strong?
Spinning gets a lot of criticism from the biking community, but there is no question it’s a real workout. I wore the Garmin and my heart rate was higher that I’d get from a bike ride. I never wear the heart rate band while running, but I’m going to start. So much to learn.
But, seriously, I’ve missed running so much, it’s scary. I’m not letting myself get too worked up — as soon as I get home I can seek some proper care. I’m going to spin again tomorrow, take Sunday off, then maybe spin a bunch next week. Maybe, sometime next week, I’ll try to run again.
In the mean time, I’m trying not to eat 55 cheeseburgers a day. So far, I’ve kept it to 54.
