The Missoula Half Marathon - The Trial That Was

Preparation
The past couple months had turned out to be pretty hectic with the end of the service year approaching. Unlike training for Snake River and CdA, miles were interrupted by travel and festive occasions. I felt that I was still able to maintain my current fitness level more or less, despite a drop in overall mileage and a more liberal diet. Prior to running Missoula, I had no intentions of setting a PR, yet still harbored the possibility somewhere in my subconscious.

Race Course
That possibility stuck like glue all the way to the starting line in Montana. Rising early for the 6am start, I had little time to rest the previous evening, especially with a rowdy bunch who's revelry extended far to long into the early hours of race morning. Despite this, the scenery, crisp air and cool temperatures provided near perfect race conditions, and many were whispering about the fast and flat nature of the course. So, jacked up after hearing the National Anthem sung while gazing over a mountainous horizon as the sun rose, I felt incredible when the cannon (really, a real cannon) blasted and the race was on. With fireworks blasting off behind the start, I forgot all about the "moderate" race that I had planned to run and the fact that my recent preparation for the event was par at best.


The First Miles
My mind was pretty blank at the start, not really focused. I was a tad overwhelmed by the landscape and the "epicness" of the whole event - so much so that forgot to start my watch at the starting line. Anyways, the pack of racers despersed across the road,  scattering at pace along the dimly lit road surrounded by forest and field. I could not help but take in all that was around me for the first few miles. The road winded past national forest, covered by a natural canopy of foliage from the adjacent timber. The course dove down by a river for a bit and over a nice steel framed bridge. I was on cruise control for the first half of the race, feeling extremely good at around 6:20 per mile. I was set to crush my previous PR and at that point I had no doubt in my mind that I would. Honestly, I was a bit surprised but was more than happy to be running strong.


Crash
Sunday was definitely a PR day for many of the participants in the Missoula Half and Full Marathon, including a friend of mine who knocked two minutes off her previous HM finishing time. The course begged a great opportunity to do so myself, and I thought I would. Flatter than a pancake, with a few slight downhills and plenty of shade, the course was tip top for a fast day. As I rounded corner after corner, these stretches of pavement were welcoming. Coming into mile 9, with no signs of significant fatigue, I crashed completely. At the time I seemed to be hyperventilating - my breathing became labored and I was extremely lightheaded. I attempted to push through, thinking that it would wear off. Rather, it got worse and to my great dismay I had to stop on the side of the road. For a few seconds I bent over in an attempt to catch my breath. I told myself that I needed to continue and started to jog, slowly picking up the pace. My mind and legs wanted to go, but my internal systems were rebelling. The rest of the race was an agonizing crawl, an entire 60+ seconds added to my pace. I was passed by multiple runners as I tried to find fuel in the tank to finish strong. I was completely drained and could not even surge down the last stretch towards the finish line. I was relieved to be done, utterly exhausted both physically and mentally. A friend took a picture of me down that last 200m of the course - the look on my face is of pure pain and disappointment. Despite having to stop and slow down, I crossed at 1:29:53, not bad considering the circumstances. I was presented a medal by a little girl, which immediately put a smile on my face. 

Post-Race
In the minutes that passed after the race, I was reeling about how sudden my crash was on the course. I knew I had gone out pretty quick, and had lost track of my pace, but did make an effort to slow down when I felt I was pushing it. I guess I was shocked at how drastic the race turned, how great the start was but how horrible the finish turned out. My first conclusion was that I did not run a smart race whatsoever and that I had paid dearly for it in the end. It was a battle that I had struggled through, and learned a whole lot from.

Takeaway

The Missoula HM came at a unique time in my life. Being in the throws of a desire to improve my running form, while also wanting to enjoy the last weeks out here in the Northwest is a tough plate to balance. I think my biggest mistake was letting go of the rationale that the plan was to run a moderate race and enjoy it all, without going for glory in a PR. I knew that a fast race wasn't realistic; however, the course and my peers led me to believe that in the moment it was totally possible. The reality caught up to me and I was knocked about.

I did enjoy this HM, but for reasons other than my personal performance. I think this experience revolved around that of the other. My friend's astonishing PR was an amazing accomplishment for her - I got to experience her finish and share in an embrace that meant a good deal for the both of us. Enjoying the event with friends from all around was great too. The hospitality that Missoula showed to all racers was phenomenal and I would definitely consider returning for the marathon in future years. It was an all around fantastic experience, despite my personal turmoil during the latter half of the race. I am now going to make the focus of my training on pacing, for I see it as a true art, something that requires practice, technique, time and experience. I have decided to do a marathon come the Spring, and am excited for a new endeavor.

A Year Over Two Wheels

Before coming to Spokane to start my service year in the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, I made the decision to commit to commuting to work by bicycle for as many days as Mother Nature would allow. There were a bunch of mountain bikes stored in our garage upon our arrival, many of which needed TLC. For the first couple weeks I rode a 90s Schwinn mountain bike, cruising to and from the House of Charity. I had further aspirations of learning how to ride a fixed gear bike, something I observed many in Boston doing and took a liking to it.

My search began. I needed to find a two wheeled whip that I was content with and that was easy on the pocket of a recent college grad and aspiring volunteer. As mentioned before, a dude set my up with the '73 fixed gear Motobecane that now totes my around Spokane's city streets [and sidewalks, unfortunately]. Aside from the few icy/snowy days in winter and the times where it just needed a rest in the garage, the Motobecane has traveled well over 500 miles to work and back. In what seems to be an endless marathon of commuting, I've come close to a few bumpers and have met the pavement a couple times under black ice. Through it all, I've come to respect the simple machine that is the bicycle and have learned its parts and functions. I have been humbled by its maintainence, attuned to its many noises and needs. Grease under my fingernails, dirt on my back, and countless soaked sets of clothing keep my coming back to spin again and again.

The 3.73 roundtrip commute to work is more complicated than I initially perceived. As the roads change due to climate and construction, I can never take for granted the path well trodden. One moment I can be riding without thinking of where I'm going, the next I have to reconsider my path because half of the street is dug up. Most days my commute is active - I am always aware of my surroundings, always considering my outfit for the weather, always expecting the route to change for whatever reason. This activity prepares me for the day, allows me to come down to earth, or up to earth, depending on what time it is. I wake up to sun on my face, audio to get a solid head-nod going, and the movement of my legs to get the blood flowing. In the evening, the cycle home is calming as darkness surrounds and silence pervades. I am able to refocus in the rhythm of the pedal stroke,  something that fixies guarantee.

Before coming to the Northwest I rode a Specialized roady. I knew little to nothing about how to maintain it, relying on local bike shops and mechanics to change flats, investigate noises and give tune-ups. I look forward to putting in long miles when I return at the end of this summer, but I'll come home with a deeper appreciation of the machine and knowledge to tend to it properly. I think every cyclist should get to know their bike more - time spent with the bike while off the bike is more valuable than I'd imagined. A deeper relationship is formed, a symbiosis if you will. You become more wise and most likely a better cyclist, a master of your machine.

The subtleties of the bike commute are what make it one of the best parts of my day. I become a full observer of the people and landscapes I pass, moving along but exposed to all that is around. I am not shut up behind the windshield of a car. This allows me to interact with my surroundings, engaging my senses. I can stop to watch the sun set on the big sky, veer of my usual route to check out new sights and sounds, often times just to exercise my curiousity. I can simply lock up downtown, with no parking spot to find and no meter to pay. I have freedom to roam, freedom to crush the pedals in a cinematic sprint, or take it easy and cruise. For the urban dweller, I really see no reason why not to be a fellow of two wheel transit.

My service term is almost to a close and I have realized this - I have not covered more miles in my life, by foot or by bike, than I have this year. By calculating the number of hours I have worked, subtracting days of inclement weather, bike repair and time away from Spokane, I estimate that I've covered roughly 900 miles in this year of bike commuting. I never really thought about it - just a simple 3.73 miles a day, sometimes more depending on the circumstances. But when it all adds up, it's quite something. The Motobecane has held up very well, and still rolls on. If you haven't considered it yet, do now. You'll get fitter and happier riding a bike, whether you're toting around town/campus, going on joy rides or cycling to work. It'll be one of the best things you'll ever do.

Halfway Host 2011

On a side note - my top picks for the best LPs of the year thus far

How I Became A Runner - Ch. 2 - The Question of "Why?" Part II

The relationship of man's mind to his body is a real mystery. Both work together for the body to function properly, constantly sending signals back and forth for internal and external homeostasis. When it comes to sensation and the feelings that result, we naturally tend towards those which  bring us enjoyment and pleasure. We eat good food, drink good libation, travel, laugh, relax etc. On the flip side, we tend to deter from things that cause pain and strain on the mind/body complex, things both physical and emotional. This subconscious polarization of the person towards pleasure and away from pain seems to be a default many of us learn in our childhood and in the culture we live in.

So when I'm climbing a long chunk of pavement in cold rain and close-to-freezing temperatures, I ask myself why the hell I am out there. My quads are burning and my heart feels as if it's going to burst out of my chest. I keep my eyes fixed on the apex of the hill, thinking "reach the top and recover". The anticipation of finishing the climb then striding a bit to get my breath back is consoling - as much as that thought can be. Instead of lounging at home with a cup of tea and a good read, I've chosen to spend my Sunday afternoon suffering through rain, hills and long miles. This act defies my innate tendency towards comfort and pleasure and I am definitely not enjoying myself at that moment. Better yet, my mind is telling my body to stop. There is pleasure in the sport though. It is more of a pleasure "after the fact" rather than the typical pleasure you experience during  an act. Most endurance sports maintain this "post activity" pleasure, especially in the training. They are unique in this way and have many humans addicted. Despite this, I am still inclined to ask the question, especially to the die-hards out there - the triathletes, ultrarunners and touring cyclists.

I guess I began to piece this answer together when the miles started increasing and I kept on running. There was never some complicated decision whether to continue on or not; it just happened. One of the biggest factors in my development as a half-marathoner is my friendship with a guy by the name of Jon Moen. I met Jon back in November at a Thanksgiving dinner. I was reading Born to Run by Chris McDougall at the time and was beginning to become fascinated with running. When I found out Jon was a triathlete, I felt inclined to pick his brain. As a consequence, Jon and I started to run together on Sundays starting back in December. Braving the elements, we covered many miles together running intervals and mile repeats. Before this I was training by myself on every jaunt, accompanied only by my thoughts and the occasional iPod muse. 

Though I enjoy mile after mile of solitude, running with a partner or group of people adds a communal dynamic to training. Those around you become a source of motivation and encouragement. There is comradery in having someone else on your shoulder, suffering along with you. Knowing that I am not in it alone is the fuel that allows me to drive harder and dig deeper. Having a road buddy keeps you committed, keeps you honest about the effort and work you put in. Sometimes it boils down to the simple fact that you shared in a solid workout together. From this comes understanding, even empathy, from the other. Finding community and friendship on the road is a pleasant additive to the sport, something I have come to appreciate very much so. I can say that Jon is one of my mentors; he possesses a tenacity that I strive to emulate, and a will to push on through pain. In my eyes, he's pretty much a machine. When all is said in done, I am grateful to have someone to share a workout with, converse on the road and become a better runner in the process.

So the winter months wore on, wearing out my Nike Free 7.0s and taking a tole on my psyche. March was looming ahead, and I felt I was going to be ready for Snake River. I came to a point where I needed some new sneaks so I picked up a pair of Nike Free Run + which turned out to be an excellent choice. Since January I've been sporting the same pair, treading over 300 miles in them. There minimalist transition design allowed my Achilles and calf muscles to expand and strengthen. Struggling with ankle injuries picked up on the soccer pitch in college, I initially feared that running would reek havoc on my those joints and tendons. Yet, the range of motion the Frees allow enabled my ankles to strengthen, much to my content. I'll save minimalist running topics for another day, but in the meantime, check out Runblogger. This blog was created by my former research professor at Saint Anselm College, Dr. Peter Larson. He provides a great source for literature on running science, minimalist running and all the stops in between.

Finish - how sweet hardware tastes

Anyways, back on topic. March came and I found myself standing at the starting line of the Snake River Canyon Half Marathon. I had been through months of training leading up to this point but wasn't turned off by one bit of it. I was relaxed, excited, ready to embark on a new adventure. The course was flat as a pancake so I new it would be pretty straightforward - good for a newbie. The Snake River Canyon itself is a beautiful area. Down near Pullman, WA, the drive takes you 5 miles  into the canyon where the river sits clear as a mirror with the surrounding buttes reflecting off of it. The scenery became a topic of conversation at the start of the race, but many soon turned their focus to racing.

Throughout the race, I found other runners that helped me pace through the first 10 miles of the trek. I reached the halfway point at 45:16 so I got ambitious and thought I'd try to run sub 1:30. Well, that didn't happen. I lost my pacer at mile 11 and really struggled through the last 5k of the race. My legs felt like bricks; I had no pop whatsoever and craved for food and the finish line. This is "The Wall" endurance athletes talk about, a thing I had never experienced before. Well, I definitely hit that wall, and found some will from the external ether to get me over it. I came in at 1:30:33, a super race in my book. I  had set a reasonable go of coming in  under 1:35 but surprised myself by doing it much faster. The post race picture pretty much sums up the race - I was ecstatic that I had actually finished a half-marathon, something that was a daunting task back in January. From that point on, I can tell you that I was bitten by the running bug, still have a scar, and continue to be addicted to its venom. Psyched at a new found hobby, I continued training with Jon and jumped on board with a small running club in Spokane.

Continuing to put on the miles after the Snake River HM, I set new goals for myself to become fitter and break my previous race time. Right of the bat, I fell into the mental trap of having my sole focus be on an improvement of fitness. For a time before the Coeur d'Alene HM, I became hypersensitive to my workouts, constantly scrutinizing them. I fell off from the joy of running that I had acquired from months previous and beat myself up mentally when I missed a workout or had one that did not meet my expectations. This did not bode well with having to deal with life at work and home. Though running was a positive outlet, I began to obsess over it. The physical pain was easier to handle at that point, but the mental battle that ensued was a bit more formidable. In time I would be brought back down to Earth, but not until I learned some lessons about myself as a runner.

How I Became A Runner - Ch. 2 - The Question of "Why?", Part I

For the past few months, I have continued to ask myself, "Why do I run?". Objectively, it is a monotonous activity. Yet, its effects are almost all internal, aside from the wonder the general public feels when we witness the fastest individuals in the world, not to mention ultrarunners. After much thought, I'd have to say my answer is a complicated one. It revolves around simple reasons of staying fit and feeling the endorphins racing through my system. It also revolves around my work at the House of Charity and the struggles I face on a consistent basis at the shelter. It involves an evolution from the subconscious necessity to run to a combination of a want and need to run. I could try to stuff it in a nutshell, but that would not do the answer justice.

I think I stuck to running because my mind was trying to escape from the constant stressors that were being thrown my way at work. Facing homelessness, poverty, addiction, intoxication, illness and danger left me vulnerable, unsure of how to handle myself, and how to let others help. This, on top of the "aloneness" and alienation felt from being away from home, family, friends, even college, was extremely hard to shoulder. In one word, it was overwhelming (in its fullest meaning). Feeling and experiencing so much, without knowing how to process it, running provided a temporary escape, an outlet to ease my mind.

Running became the most effective way to duckdive the waves of headache that kept rolling in from the horizon. It provided a constant in a time when I was still acclimating to a new job and a new region. The basic repetition of the motion, the pattern of the act, kept me sane. Winter approached and I knew I would be facing harrowing times on the wet and sandy roads/sidewalks of Spokane's suburban sprawl. The necessity to keep moving had me dodging ice patches and puddles, leaping over slush muck and getting sprayed by passing traffic. It beat up my shoes, and tested my body. Yet, in the dead of winter, running on a fresh snowfall, I was at peace with myself and my surroundings. I was able to bury my struggles and meditate on the season, on my purpose in Spokane and the possible motivations that kept me striding. 

Footfalls on 4 inches of new snow are quiet. The roads after a snowfall are quiet. Wildlife is bundled up in den and nest. The only noise you hear is your breathing. Its rhythm is soothing. In these moments I witnessed the raw nature of my humanity  showing it face, free from all distraction. Winter was a transformative season in which running became a tool for acceptance. I accepted the inevitability of my aloneness. I accepted my vulnerability and the harrowing emotions that lurked inside of me. Where at work I often felt helplessness and defeat among a brutish population, I found strength and progress in running. Still, I had no real answer to why I kept tackling miles on road and trail. By January, I had recognized that running was my medicine and that I had come to enjoy it very much. 

On the move, my only competition is myself, and the only expectations I have to meet are my own. I can constantly tune the dial on both. In cold and snow I had control, and I still do. I think many of us run for this reason, amongst many more. The revelation had sunk in that running was doing so much for me, and that I wasn't hanging up the sneaks anytime soon. Fueled by the lure of challenge, I sought my sights on participating in my first significant road race. It was the Snake River Canyon Half Marathon in Pullman, WA, a couple months down the road in March. The thought of conquering 13.1 miles of turf seemed like a lofty  but attractive one, so I hastily put in my registration and began training. The weeks following that click of the mouse would turn out to be more of a mental battle than a physical one. By sprinting, pacing, climbing, aching, thirsting, starving and doubting I began to find out who I really was and discover a potential that I never could have imagined.

How I Became A Runner - Ch. 1 - The Beginning

This past Sunday I ran the second half marathon of my life.The race took place in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, roughly 40 minutes away from Spokane. The weather conditions beckoned an awesome race, as did the landscape. Winding through parks, neighborhoods and along the massive lake, I finished with a time of 1:27.58, a PR in my nacient career as a runner. What I came away with that day was more than a satisfactory time - it was a sense of pure enjoyment, a feeling of relief, a regained confidence in myself and my fellow man.

To the observer, the activity of running is quite simple. Yes, it requires technique, but requires little to no coordination like almost all other sports do. Many in the running community debate form and footwear and its suspected benefits to the efficiency of the athlete. We can analyze and hypothesize, but the fact is that many run without getting into the specifics. I have to say that I am a bit of both, a runner who likes the technicalities and the philosophy of the human in motion. Running has become a giant part of my life, in a time where I have struggled and triumphed within myself, moving down a path of self doubt, discovery and growth.

I found running quite spontaneously, at a point where I simply wanted to stay fit. Back in October of last year, I was playing in a local soccer league. I was happy to continue with soccer out of college, but soon found myself on a team with too many players and not enough playing time as a result. I decided I would not continue, and was left with a good chunk of time on Sundays/Mondays, my weekends given while working at the shelter. I began running down by the river sporadically during the week in the pair of Nike Free 7.0s I had picked up over the summer.

In high school, running was punishment in baseball, so naturally, I built up a subtle hatred for it. In college, I played sports to stay fit, and thought little of training outside of practice and games. Starting to run solely for the sake of running was foreign to me, yet I grasped it subconsciously I guess, and continued on. October turned into November and I was still running. I entered my first race ever, the Jingle Bell 5k walk/run on November 20th. I remember it to be a grueling race, all 3.1 miles of it. After climbing what to me now is a bump in the road, I heaved on the side of the trail, so close to the finish. I did finish, and really felt the effects in the days that followed. Through the first 6 weeks of my running life, I had run for no real reason that I knew of and had completed a race in the process.

Lace Up

Excuse me for my absence. It's been almost two months....woah...time flies. Autumn has finally given away to the chill of Old Man Winter. I'm actually looking forward to it, especially the snow. It'll be nice to hit the slopes in evenings. While the winter brings glad tidings, the shelter is buckling down to accommodate the masses. Tonight will be the first of our warming center hours where we are open all night. The Emergency Sleeping Program runs year round upstairs; however, we open our main floor to men who can't get a bed when the temp drops below 20F. Should be interesting to see how it runs.

Oh, since I mentioned running...I'm addicted. I ran 10 miles last week, the longest I've ever gone in my 22 years on Earth. I ran my first 5k this morning in 20:57. I can't stop! I recently finished the book Born to Run which was a huge inspiration to get out on the road. I feel that it is affecting other areas in my life in that I have this renewed energy to be progressive and motivated. I've been doing runs every week with the Flying Irish running club in downtown Spokane. I've put together a proposal for a program called Run to Overcome at the House of Charity. If approved, the program will aim to improve the mental and physical well-being of homeless individuals while attempting to instill constructive skills to overcome unhealthy behaviors/lifestyles.

It was been a busy time of year, but it's all good stuff. Long hours at the shelter are a bit tiring but the steady flow of exercise is keeping me chipper. My housemates and I have really blended well. It am recognizing more and more how valuable to this experience and how lucky we all are that it is working out so well. A few of them like to run and all of them enjoy a good dinner and libation! Yet, because relationships have grown out here, they have not filled the void of friends and family back home. I continue to miss all of you, but am settling with the disconnect. I can't tell you how much I look forward to coming home at Christmas! Jubilation is well over due.

While it seems to be a ways off, I've started to take steps in preparation for next fall. I'll be taking the GRE just before I come home in December. I'm thinking I'll apply to a few programs - UNH M.S in Kinesiology and Fordham for an M.A in Ethics & Society (to name a couple). My interests are a bit broad, as I'm torn between pursuing exercise science/environmental or a more philosophical path in ethics and moral theology. It'll be a lot of work but it's quite exciting. I'm dying to get back into the atmosphere of academia.

I do feel that I have learned much during my 3+ months in Spokane. I have been able to put life skills into practice at the shelter, and am content that I can introduce new ideas to the position. Folks are trying to convince me to stay a second year, but I know I belong back in New England for the time being.

Snowfall is much anticipated...Mother Nature, please overfloweth...