Reader Mail

I titled this post Reader Mail.  Its not actually mail from a reader; more of a question answered about running after a marathon.  Turns out that the query came from a fellow runner through dailymile.  This guy is a hellacious runner and much faster than I could ever be.  In the past year he has lost 50+ pounds, ran a 4:46 mile and a 2:55 marathon.  And this guy turns to me for advice???  Needless to say, I am humbled.

At any rate, read my take on running after the marathon and see how it sets with you.

__________

How quickly any runner can return to the running after a marathon is a product of that person's particular physiology, long term training, individual goals and mental resiliency.

I do not like extended breaks whatsoever and try not to "rest" more than two day consecutively. Since February I have concentrated on running high mileage and found that my body responds well. One key for me is that I don't really aim for speed work. I run fast when I feel capable and slow when I don't.

Aside from refueling and hydration, muscle fatigue and mental fog, how soon you get back to running is up to you alone. Books, coaches and even friends whom do not run all have their own opinions, but those opinions are based largely on the experiences of others. Again, I say to each their own.

A few weeks back I ran 64 miles over 20.5 hours. I finally stopped when my ankles tightened up. I didn't run again for 4 days, mainly due to mental fatigue and personal issues that made running seem impossible. It was all from the neck up. My body was fine.

Two weekend ago I ran 35mi with a single rest day before and after. Then last weekend I ran 25mi on Sat and 24mi on Sunday while taking Monday as my rest day. I did run the preceeding week from Tuesday on, so I didn't rest up prior.

The point to remember is that my goal through ultra training is time on my feet while aiming for a mileage number. There really is no pace goal. I have a fixed number of hours I would like to go for, them a total number of miles I hope to hit. But the survival aspect of running a marathon plus kicks in so I incorporate numerous walk breaks and sit-downs to keep the mind sharp. A focused mind can overcome many physical ailments.

To answer the question of how soon to run after a marathon is larger subjective and individualistic. What are your career goals in running? How often do you want to run a marathon? How long do you want to be a marathoner? Do you have aspirations of running further than 26.2? Are there time goals on your list? All of these questions are important to consider.

As for "losing" anything, you could lay out with only moderately paced running or walking for a few weeks and not lose anything.

I am curious about your background - average weekly mileage, regular pace versus top end pace, number of races you have completed, etc. If you are just starting out just listen to your body and do was feels good. If something begins to hurt that is the time to evaluate the variables in your running form/training to determine the source of discomfort.

Good luck and let me know how things work out.

Between me and you, I love to run long ridiculous miles and thumb my nose at the people who say I (or people like me) are crazy. I think "crazy" would be to not even try.

__________

So readers, I have a question for you.  What is your recovery routine after The Big Race?  Do you take time off or do you stay in the saddle and keep chasing the horizon?  I would love to read your answers in the comments.

As always, thanks for finding your way over here.

My Craziest Idea Yet!

The last thirty-six hours have been pretty dark.  Lots of bad thoughts have rattled around my brain and left me feeling rather shitty.  But as these things usually go, I eventually settle back, evaluate the situation and begin to isolate the reasons for the fog.  Sometimes there is no identifiable reason.  This time there is.

As part of training for Cactus Rose I was planning to participate in the Woods Ferry 24 hour trail run.  I have not run a timed event and really need to practice for running through sunrise since I flamed out at Lumberjack.  However, finances being what they aren't, I cannot make the trip to Chester, SC for Woods Ferry.  

When the realization hit that I could not make the trip I went into a spiral.  Did not understand why till this afternoon during my ten miler.  A twenty-four hour run is not a 5k nor a marathon.  An entirely different level of epic shit.

Like a bolt of lightning from the heavens, a flash of inspiration hit.  A dear friend willing to listen and commiserate suggested I do my own 24 hour run around town.  What the Hell?  Why the Hell not?  I think I shall!

The details have yet to be worked out.  I still have to obtain final approval from the Home Office.  On Saturday, September 3rd I hope to run a solo 24.  I'll do what I can, as my body and weather permit, taking breaks when necessary.  Click the link below for the challenge on Dailymile should anyone want to join me virtually.

Does this dance have a name?  Of course...

The Do Epic Shit 24 Hour Non Jog


**UPDATE**


The top male and female finishers, on foot and/or wheeled, will receive a Do Epic Shit tee.  Quantities are limited so winners will receive what I send them and like it!

Motivation

When I first thought of running an ultramarathon I suffered delusions that it would be awesome.  These delusions were grounded in the sense that doing something kick ass such as running on foot for one hundred miles would quite possibly be the best thing ever.  Little that I could do alone would ever match such an achievement.  Reading about the likes of Jurek, Krupicka and Roes will do that to a person.  Then you go and do that thing and reality settles in.

That shit was hard.  Unfortunately I did not prepare myself mentally for whatever unforeseen incidents may happen.

Maybe I was enamored with the belt buckle.  Who doesn't love a little bling with a kick-ass back story?  Quite possibly I was overly impressed with myself and hoped everyone else would be as well.  Naively I assumed my trek to the one hundredth mile, though not easy, was well within my ability.  After all, you have to want it.

I read a post entry from another newbie ultrarunner this morning.  A couple of her bullets points reminded me of the real reason I wandered into the Port Gamble wilderness (even "gamble" seems ironic now).  Her reasoning also reminds me why I am charging ahead with another ultra in the fall.

During that cold spring evening when the clouds finally parted and I could see the twinkling stars I was already lost.  My knee was already shot and my voices were a chorus of doubters singing out why I was a failure and fool for even making the trip west.  How could I even consider running one hundred miles when walking 12 or 8 or 4 or even one more mile is so agonizing.  That night I was utterly alone.  I had not seen another soul except for the volunteers working the aid stations.  However, those kind souls could not offer the aid I needed.  So onward I crawled.  And with each step the stabbing sunk deeper into my knee.  It would be two months before I could run pain-free again.  And with each stab of pain the voices got louder.  I became more frantic.  The only approximation would be losing my children in a crowd.  Probably the reason I don't particularly enjoy Disney or crowds.

I sometimes wonder if I could have forged ahead had I not been alone.  If I could have stayed on my feet another two or three hours and seen the sun rise over the treetops I may have kept going.  I can only speculate.

What I am certain of is that while I remember the physical pain of that night, I have moved past the emotional distress.  Failure was the hat I wore that night, but with it a hard lesson was learned about motivation and reward.  I was motivated by a trophy and rewarded with knowing when to stop short.

Now my motivation is going farther.  To greet the sun while on my feet.  While still in the race.  My motivation is to survive the night and the terrors and laugh at any attempt to stall my progress.

This next ultra is not about earning the buckle or even surviving the night.  It will be about surviving myself.

Who The Hell Cares?

As I struggle with the ups and downs of life, and assess my record nearing the mid-point of my statistically calculated lifespan I begin to ponder meaning.  More to the point "who gives a damn?"

Who really gives a damn that I want to run.  That I want to run ultras and good as far as my mind to bully my body into travelling?  That while someone may think the piddling distances I run in training are arduous for some, those miles are a drop in the bucket to the spans I dream of covering?

You know you gives a damn?  Me.  I am the only person I have to please in all of this.  I run to feel spent.  I run to process the emotions and disconnect from the mental stresses.  I run today so I can live a little easier tomorrow.

There is not sponsorship to earn.  There is no prize money to win.  There is no product to push.

The only thing I have to push is my ass out the door and down whatever path I choose to follow.

Some days I do feel like Superman, with the alter ego.  Off road I am the guy that gets little right.  Lots of "give a damns" to resolve.  Too many at times.  And most with piss poor results.  Then get me on the streets with running shorts and shoes and nothing but my own energy stores to slow me down.  Anything is possible, even with a shit knee or busted toe.  Oh to hell with Superman.  I feel like King Kong!

So when I threaten to skip a run or even pass on some cross-training bullshit I need to ask myself "who the hell cares?"  

I should!

"And why should I give a damn?  What does it really matter in the long term?"

Only my health and happiness and stability are at stake.  Other than that it is not a big deal.

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.

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.

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

I Am an Ultrarunner! - Chapter One/Departure & Arrival

Yes.  Yes I am.

If I ended this post with that statement I would disappoint a great many of you.  Truthfully I sum up the weekend with the title of this post and be satisfied.  Like after Thanksgiving dinner.  But there is a story to tell.  I have been overwhelmed by how many of you have come along for the ride, even those of you who ran in Boston on Monday.  Even in my darkest moment my thoughts to many of you individually.  Thank you for running with me in spirit.

*WARNING* This will be a detailed report.  Everything will be included. *WARNING*

Thursday morning the family broke habit and stopped for breakfast on the way school - me, Andria and the kids.  I really wanted to spend a moment with them before heading off on my adventure.  It was nice seeing them off to school with Andria for a change.  The trip to Charleston was uneventful, save for the stop for a sandwich for hitting the airport.  That morning I received a tee shirt via FedEx and immediately put it on.  When we walked in the restaurant I caught a dude in a silent chuckle and remembered the shirt.  It became the mantra for the weekend.

It was a long haul to Portland via Houston, TX.  One highlight was meeting a guy on the flight to Houston that once met Dean Karnazes and his parents at an event.  Finally limited into the hotel at 1am PT.  That would be 4am for my East Coast body clock.

Friday was a whirlwind.  Debbie texted a time and location to meet up for the ride to Port Gamble.  I had time to kill and set out to acquaint myself with Portland.  Voodoo Doughnuts - yes, the "magic" is in the hole.  Hobos - hat is sadder than a homeless dog?  Not a stray dog, but rather a dog belonging to a homeless person.  Seems so much more disheartening.  Rain - lots of rain.  

Debbie found me at the Washington Park station and off we went to Trader Joe's for last minute provisions.  Then back to Washington Park for a 4 mile hike on muddy trails (with only one pair of jeans I wore that mud home to South Carolina).  From there Debbie's husband joined us for the ride out to Terri's house.  Terri agreed (for no other apparent reason than her love for Debbie) to drive Debbie, Jodi and myself to Port Gamble and work as our crew and backup pacer.  Debbie and I both planned to go the full 100 miles, Jodi jumped up to the 100mi only three days prior to leaving for the race.

Due to Friday afternoon traffic we left Portland 90 minutes late.  Terri's sweet new car was already on its way to being trashed.  And it was overstuffed.  Debbie and I shared the backseat.  However we could only see each other if we leaned into the front headrests.  Overstuffed.

Jodi reserved a hotel room (villas were not available. something about a tiger or cougar) and we settled in after a quick stop for sushi and a beer.

Saturday morning we were awake early and hit the Twitter pretty quickly.  We were at most 15 minutes away and quickly set out.  Camp still had to be set up.

Start/finish area.  Vrrrry wet.

Yes, a bear does shit in the woods.  Unless it wanders into camp.

Found high ground on the moor.  Surrounded by swamp on all sides.

The hill which runners approach the finish line is behind the truck at the right.

The finish line.

After setting up the camp, with the help of Dre, Debbie's Canadian friend, we ambled to camp HQ for pre-race instructions.  Fifty-five runners were there for 50mi, 100k or 100mi.  Race rules allowed entrants to drop back to a shorter distance if necessary (foreshadowing).  At eight o'clock the starter lady shouted something and we were off.

The course is a 12.5 mile loop.  It is a combination of gravel service road and single track trail.  Port Gamble in on the Puget Sound west of Seattle, WA.  And it was all wet. Rain had fallen for two weeks solidly.  Slop awaited us.

Coming soon - Chapter Two/Chasing the Lumberjack...

Doubt; On Climbing My Own Private Everest

Doubt is the great leveler.  Let doubt creep in and suddenly the probably becomes impossible.

Doubt crept in yesterday.  The door was left ajar by the exhaustion of the weekend.  And the excitement of doing things I had not tried previously.  And for milestones on the calendar.  One week from today I'll be in my post-ultra life.

A few months ago I bought an arm load of books to pass the time while not running.  I also am interested in writing styles.  Quite be accident I picked up two books - Into Thin Air and The Kid Who Climbed Everest - about expeditions to the "roof of the world".  Could not have been a more fitting way to build up to the Lumberjack Endurance Run.

Bear Grylls, on speaking of the South Col, the last camp before any push to Everest's summit, says that no amount of money or technology can get one to that point.  Above 26,000 feet helicopters are useless.  There are no roads so wheeled vehicles are not a consideration.  And while one needs the proper equipment to make the bid, supplemental oxygen, crampons, ice axes and the like do nothing without the will to use them.

The same goes for this coming weekend.  One could get in the car and drive one hundred miles.  But no one is handing out belt buckles for that.  Covering ground on foot by running or walking (or crawling) is the only way to achieve this goal.

This week is about battling the doubt.  I plan to run some, so I don't forget how.  Most of my packing is done.  I have to stay in the present some with the family and real life still in play - kids, school, dance.  Come Thursday and everything changes.

Thank you to everyone that has offered encouragement and support.  I appreciate your faith in my abilities.  My anxiety comes for not being able to fully express everything in my head and heart.  Sometimes I feel that because I cannot find words to flesh out these feelings I would if they are real or valid.  Non-runners don't get it.  Even short and middle distance runners look at me as if I am some sort of freak.  Experienced marathoners have questioned my sanity (I have done this as well).

My ultimate goal is not the belt buckle.  What I need to know is that when I have nothing left to give, and lay shattered and broken, I can find enough "something" keep moving.  It is either in me or not.  I have it at this moment or I don't.  There is no need to put it on the packing list for its not something I can simply forget at home on the coffee table.

I just hope I find it.  And have the fortitude to use it when I do.

You may ask "why run 100 miles?" if it is this debilitating emotional, not to mention physically.  Because I can't find what I seek in a book.  It's not on television or online.  This level of discovery is not available to me on a therapist's couch.  5k, 10k and marathons are not long enough to tear down and rebuild my spirit.

My spirit is in need of renovation.

This is why I run.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 5

The long-lost, out-of-order, going-to-be-serious, but-not-so-much-anymore ultra runner blog post.

Speed or distance?

This is the question that plagues me today.  It is the question that drives me.  To answer this question is to chart a  course of my running life.

Do I run fast as hell and burn a path down the road?

Do I run as far as possible and race the sun/moon across the skies?

As I write/think about this I like the idea of timing my runs by the movement of celestial bodies, rather than an LED screen.

Look to the night sky and find Orion.  He is my guardian.

 - Logan

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 12

Vision.

I am nearsighted.  Need corrective lenses - either glasses or contact lenses.  Usually I wear my contacts when running.  At night I need clear vision for things that lurk in the shadows.  During the day I'll kick about in my sunglasses, but I still where my contacts to see at a distance.

The thing is this morning I ran sans corrective lenses.  I never saw what hit me.  My right knee suddenly developed an incredible pain.  The run only came close to my planned ten miles because I was on and out-and-back route.  The final two miles was a long slow plod.  Thoughts of bagging the Lumberjack nearly drove me to tears.  Walking up and down stairs required a break to let the discomfort subside.  The pain in my knee was surpassed only in severity by the thought of not going to Seattle in two weeks.

I read at somewhere today (the source escapes me) that to be a successful ultra runner one needs vision.  You cannot simply hope to finish.  You have to believe.  You have to see yourself finishing.  A vision of what lay ahead may be one of the preeminent traits an ultra runner should possess.  

If I plan to complete the Lumberjack Endurance Run I must see the finish line.  I need to visualize myself crossing the finish line.

The lone finisher of the Barkley Marathons in Tennessee last had but one reason to run that event last year.  To run all five loops.  That is a pretty clear goal.  In the twenty-five years of the Barkley over 800 men and women have assembled at the starting line.  Only eight have finished.  Last year's finisher was the ninth.  See the finish line.

I nearly lost that vision this morning.  In the meantime I shall rest.  I shall apply regular cold and heat treatment to make the knee well again.  As my knee regains its strength I expect my vision will become clearer again.

Because seeing is believing.

*UPDATE*  I saw the accompanying video posted to dailymile this morning.  It is an excellent example of vision.  Do you see the fall or the finish?  What do you think the winner saw?  The losers?

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 11

"I didn't need to know that I could run 100 miles before tackling the century distance; I needed only the courage to do it."

 - Elinor Fish, former editor, Trail Runner Magazine (March 2011)

Courage is an interesting trait.  Some challenges go unmet because they hold no interest.  Some people realize they are ill equipped to meet the challenge.  And others still lack the courage to rise up and confront the task before them.  I lack courage.

Running one hundred miles may seem insane.  Some may consider it dangerous.  One might even say foolish.  You may even say while it not for you, there is a certain amount of admiration for those runners that do tackle the longest of endurance races.

I will contend that courage is the life preserver that carries you to "certainty.  Once you met the challenge courage is not longer as important as regular training and nutrition.  Courage helps you to face the unknown.

Fear used to enter my mind when considering "the marathon".  I shed that fear.

The idea going beyond 26.2 miles left me uncertain.  After last night's 50k trainer, I realize I am capable of more.  Fifty miles appears within my grasp.

I will need courage going to Port Gamble in nineteen days.  Courage will maintain my calm.  Courage will keep my gaze steady.  Courage will keep my stride fluid.

But my trust that my need for courage will be temporary.  I am looking to replace courage with certainty.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 10

Until today physical issues were not a concern regarding my upcoming attempt at an ultra.  Damn bicycle threw a wrench in that, but all I can do now is be careful and be smart.

Thank god I don't have to ride a bike at Lumberjack!

My "issues" that I have written about here and on dailymile of late have nothing to do with running and everything to do with how I see myself in everyday life.  I think my goal is to prove to myself that I am truly capable of amazing feats of physical and mental endurance.  And just maybe I can carry that enduring quality to other areas of my life where I feel less "awesome".  Sometimes my running bravado is nothing more than window dressing to disguise how timid I am when not on the road.

I have no idea how I will respond when the miles get long and slow, or when the night gets dark and cold.  But I already know how I react when confronted with obstacles.  That is "the wall" I hope to smash.

I listened to a podcast this morning where the hosts discussed running a one hundred mile race.  They compared it to childbirth.  Even though these guys will never know the pain of childbirth they do know that a woman delivering a child cannot take a "DNF".  You have to go all the way.  Its time I took that attitude.  Its time I stopped taking a DNF in life.

This is one challenge I am ready to tackle.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 9

You can never tell how steep something is until you rub noses with it.

 - Bear Grylls' father, The Kid Who Climbed Everest

I was in a bit of a crisis this morning.  Not thinking of bagging the ultra, but I was in serious need of a mojo adjustment.  Thirty days is still a long way out.

This got me thinking about my motivation for participating in this event.  I need to frame my motivation to know I can pull through when chasing the buckle is not enough.  I have to find my desire when "wouldn't that be cool" no longer matters.  Time to admit why I want or need to complete this race.

What will completing an ultra marathon mean to me?  Do I need to finish an ultra to be "somebody"?  Down deep I think so.  It may not be the best reason to participate in race of any length, from 5k to beyond 26.2.  But I need it to prove something to myself.

I have a lot of fears.  I am controlled by some pretty strong inhibitions.  My biggest obstacle (among many) is that I do not consider myself "worthy" or "good enough".  Maybe this race will allow me to see myself as others see me.  

Of course somewhere in the back of my mind I question if I shall ever find what it is I am seeking.  The high from my Boston qualifying run in Myrtle Beach less than thirty days ago has already worn off.  Not that I'm demeaning the value of the finish.  It seems to have had little carry over.  I am afraid that the same thing will happen after the ultra.

If you have not already guessed I tend to obsess and over analyze.  For now I shall focus on enjoying the trip.  I shall focus on finishing.  I can worry about "after the finish" after I finish.

Thanks to Runfastermommy for sharing this video with me on Facebook.  I really needed to see it today.

 - Logan

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 8

Halfway.

Almost one month ago I finished the Myrtle Beach Marathon and turned my attention to an ultra.  Now that ultra is one month away.

Halfway.

Coming off the excitement of the marathon I was riding high and ready to take on the world.  An ultra seemed like the next step.  I have plenty of other marathons I want to tackle, but this particular race is just what I needed.  A new region of the country to visit.  A new group of friend to join.  And a new challenge to assault.

Halfway.

One month later the shine is wearing off.  I am only taking eight weeks to prepare for the Lumberjack Endurance Run.  Eight weeks to go from a marathon to one hundred miles.  I am sure I'd feel worn down even if I allowed six months to train.  The next four weeks just feels like an eternity.  But in reality time is flying.

As the days and weeks get shorter I believe the anticipation will grow.  Making preparations for the distance is the only thing that got me on the road today.  I cannot half-ass my way through a hundred miler.  A marathon... maybe.  I proved that on Saturday.  The Lumberjack will be different.

As the miles rack up I will feel it too.  The wear on my body.  The fatigue in my mind.  And the growing certainty that regardless of the outcome I know I am doing what I was meant to do.

I see these eight weeks like the one hundred miles of the ultra.  Excitement will reign at the start.  Relief and jubilation will greet me at the finish.  But that middle portion.  That will be the real deal.

I am glad to be halfway.  Now it seems real.

 - Logan

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 7

My naturally restless mind has been in a constant battle since I started marathon training a few years ago.  Training is about "doing".  Its about making something happen.

The most difficult task for me has not been getting the necessary mileage but rather getting enough rest.  A rest day always seemed like a "waste" day.  Getting more mileage was like a drug.  I loved seeing the weekly totals pile up.  Pushing farther was probably more important to my subconscious mind than any actual race.  I realize that this thinking is unreasonable, but it was how I thought.

I can truly say that my thinking has changed regarding the rest day.  Last Friday I welcomed the opportunity to do nothing in anticipation of a huge mileage weekend.  And today I revel in the stillness.  While my body largely feeling good, my mind in calm.  No urge to hit the road.

This feeling is still a little odd.  But it feels right.  Thus I am now a less reluctant adherent to the rest day.

 - Logan

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 6

I will concede that running one hundred miles sounds ridiculous.  Running anything close to a marathon distance when there is no finish line or medal awaiting you is equally laughable.  After all, where is the glamor and excitement in a twenty-plus mile training run.  Just more "miles in the bank" as some dailymilers like to post.

One dailymiler posted this morning that he does not understand the attraction to running distances greater than a marathon.  I think some 5k and 10k champions probably feel the same way about us marathoners.  For me it is about deciding to do something and seeing it through.

Will I finish?  I really don't know.  But I'm not worried about it.  When the race director says "GO!" I shall trek as far as my heart, mind, legs and stomach will allow.  If I cross the hundredth mile great.  Should I fell somewhere short of the goal, its still OK.  I will certainly be disappointed.  

There will be no heartache though.  For too many times in my life I failed to start, fearful of failure.  Now I accept failure as a potential outcome.  I am resigned to "good enough" being good enough.  

An online friend posted last week that "good enough" is akin to giving in.  This time I don't think so.  This time is about seeing how far I can go, how much I can achieve, how great I am capable.

The alternative to "good enough" is never even trying.  So regardless of the outcome I will reflect upon that weekend in April and say "yup, I lined up and put my ass in the fire".  Its not about ego.  Its not about being better than "you".  Its about becoming better than me.

 - Logan

Running Out of the Shadows

I have lived my life in shadows. Never the best at anything. I never qualified (in my mind) for second or third best either. The fact of the matter is that I was never considered the smartest or strongest or swiftest and handsome for that matter. The events of my life sort of fit into the background. My experience would not be the subject of books or movies. Hell, I often wondered if I made any impact on the people I met beyond the initial "hello".

Compound this by thirty-five years. I skated by in school. I was not athletically inclined. More of a life spectator than life participant. Most of my stories were retold tales of other peoples' adventures. Sure, I spent four months in Beijing. I have an interesting story behind meeting my wife. There are other moments worth mentioning. But nothing that really made even me stand back and say "wow".

I often wondered if I even mattered. Outside my little circle of family I was curious (concerned) about my impact on the world. A former supervisor had a saying about our individual worth in the workplace. Put your hand in a bucket of water then pull it out. If the water does not fill the space your hand occupied then you are not replaceable. Otherwise we are all interchangeable. Not an entirely true statement but I get the point. And my pleas for assistance in this career confirmed my own diminished self-value. Ask for help enough and the response (or lack of) is telling.

"Do I matter to you once we part ways?"

So I longed to matter. I yearned to end the invisibility. I want to be noticed. Not for ego. But for value. I believe that all anyone wants is to know that we matter. On some level we affect people in positive ways and have a lasting impact. Whether it is art, music, literature, business or sports the impact one makes can be monumental or sublime. I don't need a ticker-tape parade down Main Street. A simple "thank you for being you" is usually enough.

Running has shredded my invisibility. My training motivates people to get active. (So I'm told) My racing inspires people to set goals. (So I'm told) My writing encourages people to share their own stories full of triumph and tragedy.

Sometimes I wonder about my place in all this. Maybe I am "too out there". The crazy thing is that every time I ponder receding to the shadows for a breather something amazing happens before I am able to retreat. A new connection is formed. An intriguing opportunity arises. An awesome recognition is bestowed upon me. These moments remind me that people see me in a way that I recently that foreign.

My wife jokes that I ego is growing to an uncontrollable proportion. An running friend commented that "the genie is out of the bottle". I think it is simple that I no longer shrink into the shadows. I try to stay humble. Speak with me in person and you will see it. I am still shy in social situations. Public boasting is still not my thing.

My new visibility has amazing consequences. Old friends are taking up running. Strangers are becoming new friends. Opportunities to test my limits and shatter my boundaries are coming up fast. No one truly knows how this all affects me, but I am impacted.

I don't long to "hear" myself talk. I don't need to have my ego stroked. I don't care to amass a cult-like following. I do hope to hear that someone improved an aspect of their life due to my example. Inspiration often arrived out of the blue. Encouragement may come from unexpected places. The best statement I could hope to hear would be "I did this because you did it too."

I am tired of hiding. Tired of being unnoticed. Tired of being inconsequential. I am not tired of running though. I have so many miles to go and so many stories to live.

Or something like that... Running has brought amazing, caring, wonderful individuals into my life. And no one has asked anything of me other than to believe in them. To be honest and trusting and hopeful. To be a friend. I run to live. 

I have a few stories to tell. Some are public. Some are private.  What I do know is that telling my story has helped heal the people involved. My story has comforted people, knowing they are not alone in their suffering or struggle.

Discovering my "visibility" is the cause of my smile today.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 5

No Excuse Sunday.  I have Peter A. to thank for that bit of inspiration.  Today was about not letting excuses deter me.

Woke up thirty minutes late.  Was slow to get moving.  Had a bit of a headache.  Too much Guinness and not enough water after last night's nineteen miles.

Rain was on the radar.  Lots of rain with the potential for thunderstorms.  Never really materialized though.

The rain was falling as I stepped out.  It wasn't too cold so I left the raincoat at home.  Left it in a wad with the excuses.

I had a lot of thoughts about running an ultra today.  "Can I do this?"  "Which will falter first - my body or my mind?"  "How will I respond if things go bad with a long way to go?"

Today's run answered a few questions.  My body held up.  Strategic walk breaks work well.  My mind stayed strong.  I worked hard to get to the 20mi today.  I passed my house at 13.5 miles and again at 16.5 miles.  Would have been easy to chuck the rest of the run and hit the showers.

But that is no way to earn the buckle.

 - Logan