Coming to Understand Me.

Over the Christmas break, during my freshman year in college, I talked a buddy into driving nearly 400 miles out of our way just to see a girl.  Not just any girl though, as she would eventually become my wife.

My family was living in Brunswick, Georgia at the time and a high school was driving seventy miles north to the Savannah mall to exchange a Christmas gift.  I went along for the ride.  As we crossed the I95/I16 interchange a road sign foretold that Florence, South Carolina was 185 mile ahead.  Andria's family resided in Florence.  An idea flashed in my mind and a plan was hatched.  Since we had gas money (that's how I remember it anyway) Jeremy agreed to make the detour.  I called Andria to make sure she was home and off we when.

The funny (and infuriating, for Andria) part was that we ended up meeting a a McDonald's off the interstate for fifteen minutes.  She hoped we would follow her back to the house, but since neither Jeremy nor I told our parents about the change of itinerary I felt we didn't have much time to spare.  Needless to say she was a little pissed.  Andria, her sisters and mom went to the trouble of cleaning the house especially for me.  I like to think I have repaid the debt in the years since.  And it is one of the funny memories of our twenty years together.

So in reality, my buddy and I drove a total of six hundred miles on a whim to see a girl I had been dating for two months.

Who does that?

Apparently my dad.

During the road trip a few weeks ago to visit my dying grandmother our conversation broached many subjects.  A couple of stories told of his time in the Navy, stationed in Charleston, South Carolina.  On one occasion he and a buddy drove from Charleston to Macon, GA, visited with my grandparents for about an hour, then hustled back to base before they were reported late for duty the next day.

Another time he was driving from Charleston to Atlanta to see a girl he met in Daytona Beach while in high school.  They were pen pals (a quaint relic of the past) and he knew both her home address in Augusta and that she was attending college in the Atlanta area.  Well, Dad got as far a her parents' home in Augusta before her father explained the impossibility of continuing on to Atlanta and returning to Charleston before his next duty aboard ship.  Twelve hours for at least a twelve and a half hour trip.  Not to mention time to find his friend and make have a cup of coffee.  Dad reluctantly faces facts and returned to base, only half way to his destination.

I have not taken many spontaneous road trips in my time.  But I like to think this wandering spirit, this urge to strike out is a trait handed down from my dad.  Part of that wanderlust that make ultramarathons so appealing to me.

On occasion you have time to take time.  Other times you are short of time and must make haste.  There there are the days that you recognize your own or imposed limitations and rearrange your course.  Today feels like the latter.

Motivation For Getting Out of Bed

What reason would I have for posting this clip to my blog?  To illustrate just how crippling self-pity can be.  There are many days I feel like shit and can read a laundry list of reasons to justify those feelings.

To understand how and why self-pity can be so dangerous read this post by Paul Gilmartin.

In case you are wondering, in this little play I am both Paul Sheldon and Annie Wilkes.  Sucks.  Doesn't it?

Losing To Gain

I spent some time in a hospital ICU ward this week.  Not the place I expected to be on Monday night when I woke up Monday morning.  My role was that of visitor.  Comforter.  Remember-er of times past with more joy and laughter.

My grandmother has lived a long life.  There are incredible memories of summers spent with her and my grandfather in Macon, Georgia.  A trip to the space museum in Huntsville, AL.  A tour of the Bluebird bus factory - I rode one of their buses to Catholic school as a child.  Even a lookeeloo around a cigarette factory.  Weird I know but it was their way of keeping my moving, exploring, learning.

I recall times when I was not a stellar grandson.  That visit while in college was not great.  I wanted to be anywhere but with them at the time.  At this moment I feel like an ass in that memory.  That may be where the distance began to grow.  But are relationships ever the saw as we move from childhood to adulthood.

Then there was the Christmas Eve mass.  I won't go into the details but my grandmother made a statement that caused great offense in my heart.  I resented those words for a long time.  I convinced myself that I did not love her the same way I did as a child, her only grandchild.

Several years passed before I gained perspective on her words and the significance of her statement.  What I chose to ignore in the moment I embrace now.  Oftentimes my feelings of worth or value are based in misunderstanding.  There was no malice in what she said.  I wish I recognized that at the time.

As I said my goodbyes yesterday I considered forgiving her.  Then I realized I am the one in need of forgiveness.  My heart was hardened to her love, to the joy that she obviously felt for me and my daughters.

Days will come when we are forced to say goodbye.  Don't be afraid.  Don't avoid the moment.  Express your love and appreciation and heartfelt thanks for what the special people bring into your life.  I am forever thankful for my time with her this week.  I am thankful she knew I was there - to feel my love, my warmth, my embrace.  We don't always get that opportunity.

*Update - My grandmother was moved to hospice care.  Thank you for all the prays, well wishes and expressions of concern.

Naming My Demons

I am afraid.  I try to put up a brave front and not let these thoughts rule my life or inhibit my forward progress.  Some days these fears seem bigger than myself, overpowering in their pervasiveness.  Some are general, some are specific, yet they all affect me on some level.

The purpose of this post is to acknowledge the fears that paralyze me and attempt to defuse their inherent power.  I may not be able to overturn them in the short term, but by writing them down I hope to lessen the impact they have over my psyche.  Before you label any of this notions are ridiculous or silly take a moment to example was affects you on a deep personal level.  I am not asking for responses.  Just consider what keeps you awake at night.

I am afraid that

• I will become on my worst days exactly what  I think I am.
• I will never be able to contribute meaningfully to my household.
• My children will be just as emotionally compromised as I am.
• My wife will realize I am not the partner and spouse she deserves.
• In a moment of weakness I will cheat in my marriage.
• I will never have money.
• When a friend truly needs me I intentionally not respond.
• My children will not have enough to eat.
• The people I most care about will eventually realize I am worthless and shun me.
• I am less that other people believe me to be.
• That people will hear the negative thoughts in my head and agree.
• I will push everyone away just to prove that it would eventually happen.
• My passive-aggression will drive a wedge in my relationships with family and friends.

I may add to this list as other ideas float it.  The sad fact is that this list will probably grow.  These are not concrete fears.  Nothing to do with the weather or the economy or geopolitical upheaval.  I cannot control that shit.  The fears that consume me all originate squarely between my ears.

You will not see any fears related to running on this list.  My desire to run my fly in the face of work and personal commitments, however the act of running does not elicit a fear response.  Running takes me to my happy place.

I will conclude on this - I am feeling better as a result of types these thoughts out.  I began writing this post Friday afternoon and within an hour or two the fog was begin to lift.  The reason my writing has been focused on mental health issues of late may be due to a lack of racing.  Training is not the same as racing.  I have two months to prepare for my next race.  Soon...

Hell, Rearranged

The trials of life can either forge us into something stronger, unbreakable.  Or reveal the true nature of human frailty and leave us fractured.

Just as the Japanese sword maker repeatedly fires, hammers and cools a blade to temper the steel and remove impurities we can strive to become hardened for the pitfalls that await us in life.  One certainty is that it will hurt.  You must not simply endure the pain, for no one can endlessly endure.  You have to learn to fight back.  And fighting back often requires a supported effort.

I am learning that sometimes fighting back means asking a friend to pull me from the railroad tracks.  I may be aware of the speeding train.  I see it barreling toward me.  The shriek of the whistle is audible.  But my body is paralyzed.  Getting out of my own way becoming impossible.

Then I see another person in my place on the tracks.  I shout a warning.  No sound escapes my throat.  Maybe they are unaware of the danger.  Or possibly they are paralyzed in the moment as I was.  Do I have time to pull they clear.  Am I even capable of saving them.  Only time will tell.  Unfortunately the hands on the clock face are invisible to me.

Hang on a while longer.  I won't discount that the train is purely a fabrication of the mind.  Real to both of us.  Real as anything in the physcial world, yet completely of our imagination.  

Please hang on for a little while longer.

Reflecting

It is interesting how the last year has gone.  I finally tackled a few hurdles.  After a couple of false starts I managed to earn my first two marathon medals and qualify for Boston under the new timing guideline.  ::I totally forgot to mention my first ultra and that my wife is running as well.::  There have also been the friendships and connections made during that time.  These people have not only been great sources of information, they have also afforded me the opportunity to see myself in a different light.  They have enabled me to expand my realm of possibility.  These friends/acquaintances have also enabled me to think more clearly, more critically about myself.  Not "critical" in a negative sense, but in a way that strips the unnecessary for my being and boils everything down to the essential elements.  

What I find is that today I like myself more because of these people.  Not that there is more of me to like; rather, these folks afforded me the opportunity to discover what is valuable and important in life.  Not accumulation.  Not status nor position.  Its experience.  "You can't take it with you" is a common refrain.  Worldly possessions remain in this world.  Objects can be misplaced, lost, stolen.  Memories are forever.  Whether they are locked in my mind or the collective memories of my accomplices or committed to paper.

One lesson that the last year reinforced is that few things are permanent.  There is definitely an ebb and flow to life.  Change is constant.  What I choose to cling to on this day may be cast aside with barely a second thought tomorrow.  That does not minimize the impact of the encounter.  The impression stays long after the person has moved on.

These impressions made the deepest impact on two facets of my life.  Ultras and alcohol.

I may not be a true run-junkie, but I love the fix running brings.  And I love the feeling of accomplishment that comes from running a long damn way.  Going further than before.  Building the training schedule with seemingly impossible numbers and then having to mesh it into my life with grace and balance.

The breakthrough for me is that alcohol had been the roadblock to achieving any sort of grace or balance.  While not an alcoholic I did drink to feel the affects.  I did drink to experience the buzz.  And when life interrupted my dance with the buzz I would get pissy.  I'll be brief but this is how I explained it to my wife last night

Drinking with a group or at an event is fun and part of the overall event.  Its fun and engaging.  Drinking at home is just sad and lonely.  Rather than being part of the experience it becomes the experience.  Not that I don't want my daughters to see me consume alcohol, nor do I consider alcohol bad on any level, my ability to be an engaged nurturing father is compromised when I drink at home, alone.

She responded that she was proud of me.  Proud that I am considering these ideas in a critical way.  Proud that I set myself up to walk away from temptation.  She is proud that I am testing myself not giving in to what is easy.

So to the people that opened my mind to the possibility of a better me - thank you.  Even for some of you that were only here for a passing moment, your impression will be felt for a long time.

Separating Existence From Reason

The maker's workshop.

While working through my ideas of a creator, a supernatural being responsible for all that we see and possess, I stumbled upon the two separate ideas.  1) The consideration and possible acknowledgement of non-random design of the universe.  2) The need to worship this creator.

As I write this I am sitting in a production-built home.  The builder has constructed over four hundred homes in this development alone.  This builder has constructed thousands of homes similar in design and function across this country.  It is a decent home, sturdy and stable.  There are noticeable defects though.  Things that should have been corrected on the drafting table.  Issues that should have been rearranged during the construction process.  Call back items that the builder refused to acknowledge after handing the keys to the new owner.

I know that home construction is a fairly simple process to understand, even if you do not grasp every detail.  Bulldoze the site and prep for the foundation.  Transform trees into lumber into walls and roofing systems.  Apply shingles and sheet rock.  Connect electrical, water and sewer lines.  Finish off all the steps that turn an assemblage of materials into a structure, suitable for habitation.

But at no point do I feel it necessary to worship the builder as omnipotent.

At this point somebody will say "you cannot compare people to God, we are simple and incomplete and ill-equipped to understand the design of the universe."  So?

Others will ask "How can you compare mistakes in delivery or construction of a house with the majesty of the nature, with all its wonder?"  Easily, because I see the mistakes.

We cannot address the presence of a "perfect god" while glossing over or ignoring the mistakes in creation.  It is either naive or shortsighted.  

I do consider the idea of some being, a creature of another dimension, a creator of worlds with a conscience far beyond our understanding.  But to be worshipped?  Probably not.  Rather than placing such a being on a throne bathed in light and exalted by lessor entities in the empty invisible space between the rich blue sky and the inky blackness of space, I imagine a cobbler.  A tinkerer maybe.  Some old, hobbled soul with a lifetime spend making and fashioning and assembling.  Make something from nothing more than scraps and an idea.  See what comes out of it.  Declaring the finished work neither good nor bad, neither whole nor incomplete.  Simply done.

And we are left of figure out the why.  What spurns on such a being to make and mold with little regard for the product?  I consider it is nothing more than to see what comes of the creative process.

So when I look at nature, or man-made creation, I can admire the exquisiteness of the design.  How systems are melded together, sometimes harmonious and sometimes calamitous.  But do I feel it necessary to drop to my knees and praise a god for making all things good and evil, beautiful and ugly?  No more so than I bow down at the construction office in my neighborhood.

Cutting to the Core

You do not do enough

You do not have enough.

You are not enough.

You do not matter.

These are messages that can crush one's spirit when repeated at the wrong time.  Whether you say it to the mirror or you hear it from people in your circle believing any of these statements will keep you from being enough.  From mattering.

For some people enough is global, they matter on the large-scale, big picture perspective.  For other people it is on a local level.  Then there are the folks that matter only within the four walls of home and family, and for them that is enough.

Figure out what makes you matter.  Consider what your enough should be.  

Still working on determining my enough.  Just less anxious about it today.

My VFFs

These are pictures of my first pair of Vibram Five Fingers.  They have approximately 625 miles of mostly asphalt road running and minimal trails.

And yes, I had run in these beauties just days before snapping these photos back in February.  Where you could see my toe nails that is a product of a slightly too small fit and slightly too long nails.  Once I quick wearing socks in Spring 2010 my nails quickly cut through the leather.  This problem has not been repeated in my two pairs of Bikilas.

Finding Purpose

The world is a wonderful place.  It can also be a living Hell.

Volumes have been written on why bad things happen to otherwise good people.  Spiritual folks take solace in saying God has a plan.  That Our Creator makes bad things happen for a reason.  He does not give to us what we cannot handle.  To hell with THAT!  What about children.  I could give examples of what I mean and dare you to find the plan.  But I digress.

That statement was the straw that broke my psyche once upon a time.  It broke one morning in a Sunday School   class.  Someone relayed the story of woman with borne with a physical limitation.   Apparently her existence was extremely difficult, but tempered by acceptance.  I story was recounted by someone I did not like anyway.  I snapped.  I shouted out my refusal to accept such condemnation by a Creator to a life of suffering for the sake of others.  My wife freaked out.  Fortunately I took steps and sought help.

Now, in this moment, after experiencing and confessing a very dark period I am caught in troubling thought. Was I meant to experience this. Is my willingness to write about my troubles a vehicle for raising awareness & understanding in others - whether they be sufferers or onlookers.

I lashed out and raged against this very notion, that we are given flaws and sacks of crap to make us stronger.  To be an example and strengthen.  I hated the idea of suffering so others could grow.  Again, not all suffering sows the seed of healing.

I still question why people take comfort in being an imperfect copy of an infallible being. Why would a/the maker intentional screw up a manufactured product unless it is meant for a consumer based economy.  To be used up and tossed out.  What is to rejoice in that?

Why build a flaw into the system?

To make us weak?  

To leave us vulnerable?  

To cause us to be afraid?

No.  Thank. You.  

I can accept my flaws as the randomness of nature.  Nothing intelligent in my design.  My life has certainly been bereft of intelligence. Ha!

I will accept my flaw so long as I am able to tell the story.  Based on the response, there is power in sharing this experience.  Many people run for causes - cancer, homelessness, disaster relief.  I may have found my cause.

Survival

This is not a topic I cared to write about today, but the with all the turmoil in my mind this week I had to pour it out.  Hopefully it will drain away like receding flood waters and leave me on dry ground again.

It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you are not.

For people who don't understand it is impossible unless you live it first hand.  Until you feel its icy hot grip on your soul do you realize what it must be like.  Sometimes one is blissful unaware.  Things just work out that way.  Shrug your shoulders and move on.  Try something else.  But when the realization hits, it is akin to standing on the railroad tracks, staring at the train as it bears down upon you.  Frozen.  Unable to react.  Resigned to the inevitable.  Accepting of one's fate.

Life has no reset button.  Rare are true second chances.  I know of a few people who have kick started new opportunities.  I am amazed by their raw courage and determination.  What pulled them back from the precipice may remain a mystery to me.  All I can feel is that they possess something I do not.

What awakens the addict from a stupor and enables a life to be reclaimed?  I think it is fear.  What keeps the addict locked into the cycle of use and abuse?  Fear again.  The difference being fear can either cause one to act or freeze one in inaction.  We can be afraid for what we stand to lose, either way.  For all my recent writings I still live in fear.

Of myself.

The quote atop this post was sent to me in the wee hours of this morning.  It came from a true friend, someone that may not fully know or understand me but truly wants the best for me.  One part of me is thankful that such a person walks this earth.  Another part of me questions why someone would even bother.  But she listens.  I have special empathy for my wife.  Andria has to deal with me on a daily basis and is at a loss for how to respond when these moments arise.  All she can do, as can I, is hold on and hope to ride it out quickly.  Thankfully I do not become violent or speak out abusively.  All my anger is thrust inward.  The tendency is to cannibalize myself.

As for the quote, the message sent in the dead of night, I had but one thought.  For as little as I think of myself during weeks like this one, I fear that I am even less than that.  What if I am worse than the darkest thoughts I can imagine?

This shit isn't pleasant.  I am thankful I never took up drugs.  I am thankful I am not an alcoholic.  I am thankful I do not abuse Andria or our children physically or emotional.  I am thankful I do not harm myself physically - regardless of what people say about ultra running.

But for all that I am thankful, I would be most thankful for this cycle to end.  I pray you never have to experience this existence.  It is nothing to write home about.

________________________________________________________________

It is difficult to say how these cycles begin or end.  I do not know if the triggers are chemical or emotional, environmental or internal.  Usually I can feel the wave beginning to crash.  At that point there is no way to stop the tumble.  

Maybe this one started at the foot of the biking trail, as I looked longingly at the packed earth and swaying branches.  Turning away, while it was the right choice at the time, may have proved ultimately to be the wrong choice.  

Maybe it was the unhappy, inconsolable child during the ride home and days since our trip.  It is not her fault.  She is only a child, a precious gift that I do not deserve.  I wonder if I really am equipped to be a parent.  And here is a confession - whenever someone innocently proclaims that I am a good father I want to backhand them.  Personally I find that statement laughable.  I would love to be a good father.  All I can admit to is trying.

In reality, all I know is that when the voices tune up and form a chorus in my head I cannot shut them out.  They will sing to my failings and rejoice to my faults and I am simply an audience of one.  Lone sinner in the pews, waiting for this sad service to adjourn.

I am hovering on the edge today, not sure which way I am leaning.  I could be on the way to shore, letting the wave play itself out.  Fortunately I have felt the full drowning tumbling force of a crash once.  Only once.

All this is to say that if you know someone experiencing this sort of existence, don't tell them to keep their chin up.  If only it were so easy.  The best you can provide for is to be an ear or shoulder.  Listen. Ask a few questions.  Examine recent events for a root cause, should one exist.

Another quote pops to mind presently.  Another person - a survivor of far different demons than my own, someone who's story I admire greatly - says that we should spend more time living than analyzing.  Don't know if I am there yet.

If you do know someone in this same situation and do not care to listen - due to either lack of time or interest - don't bother asking.  You may get more of a story than you bargained for in the end.

Adrift

I have been struggling with words lately.  Such is the roller coaster.

When these emotions hit I consider putting an end to my blog.  No one wants to read such meandering drivel - thinking of you, Mike - and I do not care to waste anyone's time.  I can only roll through this so many times before it becomes repetitive.  I feel stagnant.  Drowning.

There are words to write though.  I have to refocus and prepare for a presentation with Google.  That is why I am travelling to Chicago in August.

A couple of truly incredible people see something in me and believe in me.  Time to dig in and discover what is worth believing.

Unless something truly strikes at my heart this may be my last blog post for a while.  

Thanks for reading.  

Thanks for encouraging.  

Thanks for being.

 - Logan

Invest Wisely

Sunday evening I finished reading Why We Make Mistakes by Joseph T. Hallinan.  It is a study of human behavioral patterns involving decision making and judgmental errors.  While it is a short read Mr. Hallinan packs in tons of information based on surveys and clinical research.  I have to say it was a fascinating read.

One area that Hallinan shines a light is stock market investing.  Researchers discovered that moderately informed novices are no worse at forecasting price trends than seasoned and highly trained experts.  Even the prospect of higher commissions did not improve the success rate for the professional stock brokers.  This is not to say that the hotshot traders were unmotivated by increased income potential.  After all, cash is the name of that game and the measure of success. 

The research illustrated that an overload of information can lead to overconfidence and an overestimation of self.  We trick ourselves into believing we are smarter than we actually are.  We believe we are capable of more than our abilities.  Overconfidence instills a sense of bravado.  All this creates an additional inflated sense of value.  This is where we falter.

Hallinan's summation is that the only commodity we truly possess is time.  Information is flawed.  Perspective is skewed.  The value of information is based upon the intent of the deliverer and the perspective of the receiver.  It is impossible to know everything.  We see as they want us to see.  The person providing the information knows this and presents the information as it best suits his purposes.  We can only judge a situation or course of action based on what we are allowed to know.

There is a tipping point in the information overload.  At some point you can ease off the pedal or back away before enough becomes too much.  This is true in athletic training.  

It is also true with relationships.

Invest your time wisely, or your losses may be costly.

Tell The Rain Not To Drop

People have a habit of interjecting their thoughts when least appropriate.  Or when most inopportune.  Or best timed to cut deep and lay waste to killer mojo.  Those people are assholes.

One commonality among endurance athletes is the misunderstanding of our obsession by the uninitiated.  The crazy looks.  The questioning stares.  I have read numerous posts and comments lately on this very subject.  As a rule we - marathoners, ultra marathoners, triathletes, etc - are viewed as obsessive, arrogant, egotistical, selfish maniacs.

Tell me I am insane.

Tell me I waste my money.

Tell me I misuse my time.

Tell me I am a bad father.

Tell me I am a selfish spouse.

But don't tell me they know what it means to be me.  That they understand what I do.  That they understand why I run.  Far.

They may not get IT.  That is okay.  The real question is do they get that they don't get IT?

Tell the rain not to drop.  But don't tell me not to run.

When Giving Up is For the Best

I cannot recall at the moment (and presently have no patience for research) if I have discussed my suspected mental illness.  Nothing major at this point, but I have running to thank for that.  I could not say that six years ago.  There was a crap job with no support from management.  There were financial issues that I am still dealing with today.  There was quiet a bit of questioning of my self.  One constant during that time was that I drank.

Let me make one thing clear now - this is not a general rant against alcohol.  Society is not ruined by the manufacture, distribution, sale or consumption of alcohol.  But it does not come with out problems.  However, the question of prohibition was settles ninety years ago.  So drink.  Enjoy.  But please... be responsible.

My issue is how my body deals with the physical process of metabolizing alcohol and its effects on my emotions.  Not the drunken I LOVE YOU MAN crap that we love to laugh about.  More like the quite tempered, nasty, angry, hateful things that can surface when the mind is compromised.

After moving to my current locale five years ago, I secured a stash of discarded mini-bottles.  Bourbon.  Scotch.  Vodka.  Etc.  I would come home every day and have a drink or two.  Not the end of the world.  Plenty of people do the same.  Besides, I was not drinking and driving.  But I was not participating in the functioning of the household.  I was not being an active father.  Nor was I being an attentive spouse.  I was just being.  And that sucked.  My weight was also creeping up.  Unattractive in so many ways.

Things changed when I stumbled upon marathons.  I figured to seriously train I should consider drinking less.  There was also that promise to Andria that I would not buy alcohol since we were so strapped for cash.  Kept that promise.  For a while.  Sometimes the lessons just won't stick.

Beer would still make me sleepy.  It wrecked motivation.  Sure, it was short term.  But when you live in the moment sometimes "short term" is all you have.  And here in lies the greatest lesson from my first ultra.

I knew that after finishing the run I would want a beer... or three.  That keg in the Lumberjack basecamp was sweet.  Beer at 10am never tasted so good.  And the four local brews I downed back in the Portland hotel room that night were awesome.  Even a few drinks with the guys at 3 Non Joggers made for a nice evening.

Then I had a thought.

The keg around the camp fire was communal.  The visit with 3NJ was social.  While I did not need the alcohol to enjoy myself, the focus was not on drinking.  The focus was on spending time with some truly awesome people who are doing things I really admire.  Beers were just part of the process.

However, usually when I drink I drink solo.  My wife is not a drinker except for special occasions.  Maybe one glass of wine a month.  Again, no reason really.  So when I do drink - alone - the social aspect is missing.  And with the absence of a social framework all I am left with is the alcohol-induced fatigue and whatever mental minefield lay in wait.  The fuse is lit.  And it is short.

The beauty of running Lumberjack - and possibly running ultras in general - is that I was in a blissful state of exhaustion for a week afterward.  It was nearly euphoric.  I reveled in the experience.  This may be one more reason why I want to continue running ultras.

So I decided that I would take a new tact with my drinking.  Since I like beer I would not quit completely, but rather, I would abstain till race day.  I would reward myself for a hard run training cycle.  Seemed like a solid plan.  Then I bought a six pack of beer.  When Andria saw me bring it in the house she knew it was a mistake.

I told her of my plan.  She liked it.  Would save money and help me be more present.  But by buying that six pack I had already given up on something I had carefully considered.  Time to try again.

A friend said she quit alcohol completely to achieve clarity in an otherwise cloudy life.  By all accounts it is working.  I think I have clarity.  What I need is commitment.  So I drank my last on Monday evening.

My next race is August 14th.  After that is October 29-30th.  This personal prohibition only covers half marathons and longer.  I want to feel I earned that next beer.  A 5k or 10k just doesn't cut it with this plan.

What I have realized is that running has replaced alcohol for me to some degree.  Some people drink to mellow out.  Check.  Some people drink to improve their self-esteem.  Check.  Some people drink to shove aside some emotional baggage.  Check.  Running has done the first two.  Running is helping me work through the third.

Basically running is helping me become a better me.  I have tried therapy but I was left with the same doubts and concerns.  I have tried medication, but potential side effects and symptoms of withdrawal are unwelcome.  Any day with a bad run is still a good day.

So don't be self-conscious about drinking in my presence.  I will not get preachy.  Its my thing and I am fine with my decision.  You do your thing.  But if you feel obligated to offer me a beer, I'll have to ask you to keep it on ice till I finish my next race.  Then I'd love one.

Score One For the Runner

Talk of late has been about goals.  I have several, mostly of the short term variety.  Such as races and run related events.  My wife on the other hand has few goals of a personal nature.  With the responsibilities of motherhood and work she has difficulty even finding thirty minutes of a neighborhood run.  So long term planning is usually at the back of her mind.

Enter Girl Scouts.

Andria has been involved with Girl Scouts since she was a child.  Most recently she has been a leader for our daughters' troop over the past five years.  Sure, it is a drag when responsibilities for planning and staging meetings, weekend trips and leadership training interferes with home life.  But she does it for numerous reasons.  Now she has another.

Camp Sandy Ridge outside Bennettsville, SC will host The Cookie Cup.  It is a Warrior Dash/Rugged Maniac style 5k with obstacles through the hills of a Girl Scout camp.  Andria spent several summers at Sandy Ridge as a child.  Now she says she wants to participate in this race.

When she told me of her interest I noticed that gleam in her eyes.  That gleam that only racers get.  It reveals anticipation and excitement and uncertainty.

Training for a 5k will be the challenge.  Taking time for herself is one of Andria's great weaknesses.  There is always someone or something needing attention.  Andria often puts herself last, if she even puts herself in the que.  Simply addressing the possibility of entering a specific race is a major step.

August 27th cannot get here fast enough.

What's Up, Doc?

I like carrots. 

I find them tasty. Especially with hummus. Yet they are not always my first choice when looking for a snack. Something else may seem more appealing at the time, even when all I need are a few carrots to feel satisfied.

However, a carrot is not always a carrot.  Sometimes it is more than a simply snack.  On occasion a carrot is more that a mere garden vegetable.  A carrot becomes more when that carrot is...

An Ultra Marathon.

My carrot is the next ultra.  Turning this exercise fad, this passing fancy, this wild-eyed pursuit into a lifestyle is my ultimate goal.  Along with the titles husband, son, father, and friend, I want to be known as an ultra runner.  Not for reasons of ego or excess, but as a statement of what I am.  So that people will know I do not make commitments lightly.  That I follow through.  That I pursue to the last.  That I do not give up.

For the uninitiated, endurance training is a selfish endeavor.  Participation in endurance events is an expensive pastime.  Unfortunately time and money are held in excess here.  If you know then you know.

However, the carrot that is ultra running will give me an extra push when work sucks and the life gets tough.  Giving my best efforts personally and professionally will make toeing the starting line so much sweeter.  I will tackle the tough days with the same tenacity I found on the trail, to endure, to overcome, to persevere.

***Race Schedule Update - My next race will be the Cactus Rose 100mi in Bandera, Texas this fall.  The humbling aspect of selecting this race this early is that I received an anonymous donation toward travel expenses.  I am still shocked.  Finishing that course would be the best thank you I can bestow.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 15

*I forgot to post this the week before Lumberjack.  I decided to post it now rather than delete it.*

The Round-up.  Last bits to sweep up.  I know I promised no more.  Sue me.

Sleep deprivation training

I decided that to prepare to be awake for more than twenty four hours I should stay awake for more than twenty four hours.  I didn't run in that time.  I'll say I was very excited at the prospect of running 10-15 miles when I got home after a long day on Saturday.  This would have been at the 39 hour mark but Mother Nature stepped in.  No training runs in lightning and heavy rains.  At least that's what my wife says.

Preparing "to quit"

While thinking about completing a one hundred mile ultra marathon I have thought about what obstacles will prevent me from finishing.  Injury.  Exhaustion.  Discouragement.  What I have not yet considered is a support mechanism for overcoming these obstacles.  Medical staff will determine the injury issue IF I should get hurt badly enough.  Exhaustion will win out if I collapse.  Discouragement will be the bugaboo.

For a example of how a rational person would prepare for this check out this post.  How to quit/not quit is definitely something that flew below my radar.  At least in compiling my race preparation check list.  I'll be thinking about this a lot this week.

I Am an Ultrarunner! - Chapter Four/Final Thoughts and Reflections

Are you sure? called the time keeper.

Yeah I responded.  I've got nothing left.

I completed my run at the Lumberjack at four o'clock Sunday morning.

Next stop was the campfire.  The night left me chilled to the core.  There were five or seven figures assembled around the fire, sharing stories and awaiting returning runners.  I reckon the anguish was apparent upon my face. They welcomed me into the circle, ushered me into an empty lawn chair.

100k is incredible one stranger offered.

You did great another said.

As if sensing my grief yet another said Let it out.  Say what ever needs to be said.

Then, looking up, I saw Debbie walking toward me.  She wrapped me in a motherly embrace.  Actually it was the sort of embrace I would expect if Andria were with me.  Warm.  Comforting.  Supportive.  Almost at the instant our eyes met I began to sob.  More than anyone she understood what that moment meant to me.

Jodi asked if I needed anything, food or otherwise.  All I required was my phone.  I had to call home.

It was 7 o'clock in South Carolina so Andria answered quickly.  Terri's new car has heated seats so I was able to warm up quickly once under a sleeping bag.  We had a good conversation.

By 445am I had stripped away all the clothes from the trail and crawled into my sleeping bag to get away from the world.  At this point I noticed just how stiff my right ankle had become.  I could not get comfortable but I managed to sleep.

Suddenly I was awake.  The sun was up and rain was falling on the tent.  Thank you Washington state.  Your weather is wonderful.  Time to start this day after three hours of sleep.  I felt much better, even though I was moving slowly.  Fortunately the fire was burning and the coffee was hot.

Let me say a few words about ultra runners.  Once you are in the community you are family.  They were quick to console and congratulate me.  They accepted me as a member of the community, even if I did not meet my goal.  And they were quick to supply any needs I had at the time.  I have yet to experience anything like this at any other distance race.  It is but one reason I am hooked on ultras.

And there are no beers or burgers like post ultra beers and burgers.  Holy shit they were good.

Final thoughts on my first ultra...

• Embrace the epic - if you dare not to be better than you are, you never will be.  The day I decided to run a marathon was a fork in the path of my life.  While I am yet to be the man I hope to become, I am not the same man that lived without purpose.
• Who needs shoes? - What more can I say?  I love my Vibrams.  You are looking at Vibrams 5 Fingers Treksports on the left and Treks on the right.  And yes, they are quite muddy.  With all the running, walking and foul conditions, I only suffered one mind blister and none major issues to my feet.  I did feel rocks and roots but that was to be expected.

• Falling short is NOT failure - The goal was one hundred miles.  I stopped at 63 miles.  But I did not fail.  Condolences are not necessary.  100k is still an ultra marathon and is twice the distance I ever covered at any one time.  I shall be forever proud of my effort.  While I did not run the entire distance I covered the distance.  Twenty-five miles were at a solid steady pace.  The final thirty-eight miles were at a walking pace, sometimes quick, sometimes slow.  Without any shortcuts.  I lasted longer than I had any right to.
• Knowing when enough is enough - A local runner friend named Julie asked recently, in front of my wife, if I would know when enough was enough.  I took the question to mean ultras in general, as in how long would I continue this silliness.  She actually wanted to know it I would blindly push through a potential dangerous or life threatening situation for the sake of a hunk of metal.  All I could say was that I hoped I would know.  Guess I passed that test.  I announced my decision to withdraw from the race before speaking with anyone else for one reason.  Only I knew truly how I felt.  Some people drop due to fatigue.  Hunger causes some people to drop.  Injury is also a major factor.  I made the decision and was prepared to live with it.  There was no need for a conference.
• Never doing this again to When/where will I do this again - This conversation did go through my head.  I said to myself that I was stupid for attempting such a ridiculous task.  My abilities were vastly inferior to other runners on the course that day.  Hell, that night.  No shame in getting chicked when the chick's in the midst of kicking ass.  Of course by Sunday night when we were back in Portland and I was alone in the the hotel room I had but one thought - I am so going to do this again!  I want to succeed.
• Importance of crew, pacer, general support in ultra running - There is no understating or undervaluing these people.  You need the support of family or close friends.  They may think you are crazy, but they better not be negative.  The Monday before I flew to Portland I suffered a major crisis of confidence.  Andria pulled me out of it.  For her faith in me I am forever humbled.  Likewise a good steady pacer is vital.  I did not run with a pacer but I saw people run with pacers.  Pacers are people able to shed personal glory and recognition, for the sole purpose of delivering you in one piece to the finish line.  And lastly, most ultra runners will not realize the goal of finishing without an alert crew.  Thick skin, quick reflexes and resourcefulness are all traits for a crew member.  And they must be willing to doctor blistered feet, wipe away your vomit and cheerfully accept whatever cussing you deliver through the delirium.  Because like the mother in childbirth, ultra runners should not be held responsible for anything said during the run, especially when hallucinating.
• Reasons for going to the Lumberjack.  Reasons for going now. - My reasons for running this race deserve a separate chapter.  My reasons for running this race now deserve the same.  But its time to wrap this puppy up and put it to bed.

I went to Port Gamble because someone I did not know asked me to do so.  Debbie did not really know me but felt comfortable enough.  Russ McGarry of 3 Non Joggers welcomed me into his home Monday night.  We joked that I was a stalker, but Russ said that when I said I was an ultra runner he took that as a sign of my earnestness.  My sincerity.  My trustworthiness.  It seems normal then that I would accept Debbie's invitation to travel alone, three thousand miles from home, to run one hundred miles in a forest.  It was trust freely given, but it was trust easily earned.  I told her but I will state again that I can never thank her enough for the faith Debbie displayed in me.  I could go on but I think I've embarrassed myself enough.

Some weeks back during my last group run with the North Myrtle Beach Running Group I met a big-time Canadian coach with heavy marathon experience.  As we talked about my upcoming race he asked if I wanted speed or endurance.  Only for the rare breed it is nearly impossible to maintain both.  There may still be a few minutes or seconds to cut from my marathon time.  What I realized in training, or confirmed on those trails along the banks of Puget Sound, is that I want to run long.  If I get to the finish quickly I would be cool, but it's about the journey not the destination.  What a sweet journey it is.  I also realized on those trails that I am for all intents and purposes done with road marathons.  There are still roadies to run, they no longer hold the same fascination.  Save for one...

Lastly, I chose to run an ultra now.  2012 appeared to be the year.  The idea was that I would need time to get ready.  The problem is that I am in a constant state of getting ready.  Getting done should be the goal.  Thus when the invitation came I could not hesitate.  I needed that deadline.  I needed that race day on the calendar, with a schedule to make and travel arrangements to secure.  My getting ready would become getting done.  The outcome became secondary.  Unimportant really.  Sure, it was still important in my head.  My heart had other ideas.  Maybe that is why the anguish of not completing the one hundred miles is less painful now, for it was truly more about the journey than the destination.  

Two weeks prior to Lumberjack Andria had asked why.  There was no easy answer readily available.  I had the idea but not the words.  When those words finally formed in my head and I was able to explain my need to do this now her entire outlook on the event changed.  She went from overly concerned and skeptical to fully invested in my confidence.  She became my enthusiasm.  My determination.

My final statement is that ultra running is not for everyone.  We all have our limits in life.  There are obstacles we choose not to extend beyond.  My ultra was for going beyond 26.2 and beyond physical and emotional limitations.  I succeeded on both accounts.  Hopefully this series opened your mind to new possibilities.  To new opportunities.  Not just in running but in life.  Find what pushes you through barriers and beyond the comfort of your current condition.  Discover your passion and what strengthens you.

I feel as though I am leaving so much out.  There may be an infinite number of words, thoughts and emotions to express the full scope of this weekend.  I have enough to trigger memories and fill the gaps.  This blog is my way of not forgetting.

Thank you for sharing in the memories.

Previous installments - Chapter One/Arrival & Departure
                                      Chapter Two/Chasing the Lumberjack
                                      Chapter Three/The End is Here
                                      Perfect Ending to the Ultra Weekend

Additional perspective on the weekend from our crew member, Teri.
And a bit more from the lady that invited your's truly on the adventure of a lifetime, Debbie.

I Am an Ultrarunner! - Chapter Three/The End is Here

The clock said 10:45 pm as I strode out of camp for the fifth time.  Little did I know what lay on the trail ahead.  Had someone asked me if I were prepared for what unfolded on this loop I would have said no, but would have charged ahead anyway.  This is what I came for as Scott Jurek is known to say.  Pain was to be expected.  The physical is brutal, whether one chases a PR in a road 5k or is on a quest for a Boston Qualifier in a marathon.

What I find lacking in the shorter distances - yes, 26.2 miles is now short for me - is time to experience and deal with emotional challenges.  The marathon field can sweep you to the finish so long as you stay on your feet.  Running with hundreds or thousands or tens of thousands has that effect.  Hell, my BQ in February was due in part to the 3h10m pacer practically crawling up my back over the final 2/10 of a mile.

I did not have the luxury of a pacer yet.  Still on my own.  Lars, my pacer stopped by after my third loop to check on my times.  I felt the night would be fine but knew he would be necessary to cover the final twenty-five miles.  So the plan was to text him a time to show up for the final two loops.  Before Loop Five I sent a message asking that he show up a seven o'clock to begin number six.  Seemed reasonable enough given that my knee was looser.  Unfortunately that loose easy feeling would not last.  

In fact any chance at feeling good evaporated in the night before I escaped the glow of the campfire.

From the first true step into this loop my right knee felt worse that before.  I find that any attempt to describe the pain in the joint is sadly insufficient.  While I speculated about the nature of the injury earlier in the day, I was not completely aware of what it was - ITB.  

Iliotibial Band Syndrome.

Fuck.  Me.  

Hard.

I have experienced knee pain before.  This was an entirely different kind of hell.  The mud was not a bother.  The cold was not a problem.  The very fact that I was still on the course was the issue.  Any downgrade was excruciating.

I shall apologize now to any and all ITB sufferers for my April Fools Day joke.  Very poor decision.  Bad karma.  Rotten mojo.

I knew I was screwed when the first aid station was not reached in less than 90 minutes.  Of course it was nearing midnight and I needed to be careful, but I had sufficient light from my headlamp.  I just could not make steady headway with the knee.  It took two hours to reach aid station #1.  

By the time I reached the point that I assumed was halfway I was three hours into the loop.  It is obvious that I am on a six hour trip.  The wheels are officially off.  My mind begins to reel.

The problem with being alone is I have no one to distract me.  No calming voice to talk me down from the ledge.  No one to say it will be OK.  Even the iPod has lost its appeal.  I was entering a very low place.

So the pain of the knee was causing me to stop dead every few minutes.  I didn't know how to stretch the ITB so I just kept walking.  Stopped went the pain got too much and started again once it subsided.  It was in the final three hours that I really broke down.

I chose this race for numerous reasons, some of which I'll go into later.  All of which seemed extremely valid prior to leaving for Portland.  They all remained valid once I was on the trail.  But only one reason kept me moving.

My wife.

Without Andria this trip would not have been possible.  Without her a great many things would not be possible.  Life without her is one of my greatest fears.  The emotional dam burst when I played out the call home.  The knee would make one hundred miles impossible.  Stopping short would be a failure.  In my mind at least.  Not getting that buckle would make this trip a waste of time.  Anything less than one hundred miles would be a colossal waste of money.  Everything had been built up in my mind to get that trophy.  It would validate everything.  Even if you don't understand what the buckle represents you know the buckle means something B-I-G.  Now I would have to explain to Andria why I had to quit.

To quit...

Something I am all too familiar with...

Quitting is one reason I went to Port Gamble.  To learn how not to quit...

Every time the thought of talking with Andria entered my head I doubled over in pain.  Imagine the worst stomach cramps possible.  However this pain was not physical.  Sure, the knee continuously reminded me it still connected two leg bones together (the first person to point out my error in anatomy will get a personalized Fuck You via FedEx overnight shipping) and continued to be overwhelming.  But the emotional pain was something else entirely.  I always stopped quickly though, fearful that another runner would appear from the darkness and crash my little party.

I'll say now that other than at the two aid stations I never saw another soul from the moment I left camp till I returned.  That is a long time to be alone in emotional misery.  Granted, Aron Ralston was in a much deeper situation when he cut his arm off, but dammit, this is my moment.

Combine the physical pain of the knee and the emotional anguish in my mind with the absolute dreadful nature of the loop's back half.  The gravel jeep road winded on and on after the second aid station.  There were not many landmarks so I could never gauge how far I had to go, other than rough guesstimates based on time.

I did find a distraction in the form of a jigsaw puzzle.  The race - this was no longer a race but rather an ordeal meant to be endured - had scattered before me and needed to be pieced together if I were to get out whole.  Time to assess everything:

• My knee was shot.  The thought of repeating three more loops in my condition made me want to vomit.  Thankfully I did not.
• I was running out of time.  If the fifth loop were to take five to six hours then I would blow past the mandatory cut off and be unable to finish the 100 miles, regardless of my physical condition.  My current pace projected out to six hours for the loop.  I would come in around 400am.  With stops for rest after each loop I would require another eighteen hours to earn the buckle.  From four o'clock I would have only fourteen hours till the cut off.  I might successfully beg for an extra hour... or two.  But four or more hours would be unreasonable.
• This loop would give me one hundred kilometers for the weekend.  Roughly sixty-three miles.  No further loops would mean anything in the context of recognition by the race organizers.
• I was freezing.  The forecast called for clearing skies by dawn, which would certainly warm me up, but the drop in temperature only made the joint pain worse.

A decision had to be made and lived with.  It actually was pretty rational in the end.  One can say I quit at Mile 57.  I simply had to walk another six miles through swampy and hilly trails to tell someone.

Being rational did not make the final few hours any easier.  In fact it became more difficult.  I just wanted out. I was ready to be done.  But I still wanted to go so much further.  Slowly I picked my way through the final single track.  While still on the gravel road I turned around thinking I had missed the turn in the darkness.  Fatigue did set in over the final hour.  I was peeing constantly.  It was the only thing keeping me awake really.

I began to make my way through that last swamp.  The downgrades hurt.  The water was cold.  The idea of stopping did not feel any better.  Then I stood at the base of the final climb.  Up and over and I would be done.  I remembered the second time I passed this way on Saturday morning.

I was with another runner, another ultra virgin.  He was largely unsupported except for one buddy at camp.  He said his friend might pace him for one loop but wasn't sure.  He had run one marathon I think and was underdressed for the day, but was willing to go as long as possible.  He even admitted he wasn't sure what to expect.  

Here's a secret, even the veterans sometimes have no clue what to expect.

I don't recall his name, so I am clueless as to how he finished.  I really hope he got that buckle, although I don't think so.  At any rate, on that second loop he was lagging behind as I neared the crest of the final hill.  As soon as I saw that camp I called back that we were back and raced in.  I never saw him again.

The climb now was extremely rough.  Aside from the knee I knew this was the end.  I still had yet to accept the finality of it all.  Still fitting the puzzle pieces together in my head.  That would take the rest of Sunday to sort out.  All I could think about was the pain of quitting.  Giving up.  Killing the dream of having the buckle handed to me.  Instead that fucking Lumberjack was handing me my ass.  On a plank.  Full of splinters.  Damn you Lumberjack.  There is no humor in these words.

When I finally crested that hill, maybe no more than a tenth of a mile away from the camp, I broke down again.  The spasmodic waves of emotion washed over me.  There were fits of fear, anxiety, terror, shame, self-loathing...  Whatever you can think of to cripple the mind at a moment like that, I experienced it.  The seconds passed by like hours to get back in camp.  I pulled off my red blinker light.  I heard Jodi call out in the stillness that she may have seen me.  So I turned off my headlamp.  I needed these last few minutes alone.

Finally I straighten up, held my head high, or as high as possible, and dragged my ass to the finish line.

As I approached the timer's table I called out:

Bib #1852...

Fifth loop completed for one hundred kilometers...

I'm done...

Coming soon - Chapter Four/Final Thoughts & Reflections

Previous installments - Chapter One/Arrival & Departure

                                     Chapter Two/Chasing the Lumberjack