Team Skorch

It has been an amazing few weeks in global marathoning and I still don’t really know what to think about it. The way that the event has evolved in such drastic terms, in such a compressed amount of time, has just been incredible. The human form has basically remained unchanged now for well over a dozen generations so we cannot say that this is a product of sudden mutation/evolution. Surly, Jim Ryun could have run 3:45 for the mile if given the proper training of this era and the benefit of better surfaces on which to compete on. Hicham El Guerouj (WR holder in the mile at 3:43.13) is no more a freak than Ryun was 40 years ago, just as the marathoners of today are no more advanced than the versions of themselves that raced 26 miles just a few years back. So why then, is a 2:07 marathon, which is still an amazing time for the distance by the way, no longer competitive? How is it that a man can can now run 2:05.xx in legal conditions and still get beat soundly by a man who runs nearly a minute faster? I’ve been wrestling with those questions all week while I’ve been training and I still cannot say that I know for certain what the answer is but, my best guess is this: Ignorance.

Being labeled ingnorant is often taken as an insult and when we call someone ignorant, that is often our intent; To insult or belittle. However, in this case, I am paying the highest compliment I can to these athletes and I only wish I could be as ignorant as they are. I wish that I could unlearn all that I know about racing and the distance of 26.2 miles. You see, these men no longer fear the event. It is no longer a test of endurance. The marathon is now another test of speed. It used to be that one had to marshal his energy carefully over the long hours of this race so that he didn’t crater-out late in the day and crawl in, beaten and defeated by the miles. The marathon was seen as some sort of asphalt Everest and all of us shuttered in beneath the shadow it cast. We went out with caution. We held back and hoped it was “our day” and rightly so. From the standpoint of basic human physiology, we are only meant to be able to run about 20 miles in term of how much energy (fuel) we can store and process. Go out too hard and you’ll pay for it. Simple. Cruel. Fact. However, we now know that those specific limitation are attached much more how your process that energy. Not how much ground you cover with it. In the simplest of terms, you need to find that magical Red-Line in your transmission and then just stand astride it for as long as you can. If you can cover 26 miles in just over 2 hours, you don’t need to worry about running out of fuel. 2 hours isn’t really that long when you think about it so now the question is, how far can go you go within that time frame? For some of these men (with the number growing monthly these days) the answer to that question is, damn near 26 miles.

So that’s really the difference. These East African elites don’t have to be afraid anymore and they’re not. They simply train to the best of their abilities and then race in the moment. Did you see anyone throw on the brakes in London last weekend when a pack of 11 hit the half in 62:30? Nope. They strode on and one by one, they peeled-off the back but there were still 3 left until Emmanual Mutai rolled away in a fashion that I have never seen before. He picked it UP off of that pace. He pulled the pace down to 4:30 a mile and ran away with such ease it shook me. I couldn’t believe how good he looked. He even sprinted the last 200m like it was a track 10,000m, running 2:04.40!!. And he wasn’t the only one. 2nd and 3rd both bolted in while still running 2:05:45, neither looking defeated or beaten by the distance.

Boston was even scarier. They went sub 62 for the half and there were well over a dozen still involved. Yeah, yeah, I know. Tailwind, downhill… whatever. If you’ve ever truly trained hard and actually raced a marathon, you know that what they were doing out there was beyond amazing, regardless of conditions. Then, with the uphill sections of Boston being what they are and where they are placed, you would think that the pace would give at some point. You would think that someone would win but that someone would also suffer, and badly at that. Nope. There was shot at around 22 miles or so that was taken from overhead that I hope I never forget. Geoffery Mutai was sprinting. Perhaps not relative to his actual top-speed but, he looked as if he was full-out and just steaming past the people that lined the course. It gave me chills. No one should be able to look that good at the end of a marathon but I got the sense that no one over told him that. He doesn’t know that you’re supposed to come in to the last straight sagging like a punch-drunk fighter late in the 12 round. He flew home. When the clock came into view and he ran under it, I laughed out-loud. I’ve been a track geek my entire life and have studied this sport more closely than anyone you’ll meet and honestly, I thought that not much would surprise me anymore. I’ve seen a lot in the last 22 years and their isn’t much new under the sun but I’ll be damned if I didn’t seriously think for a second that the clock was malfunctioning. 2:03.02 just isn’t a real time… “No way he just ran that fast, closed that fast, and looked that good doing it. No way. And oh yeah, there’s a dude running his first marathon 4 seconds behind him… Looking every bit as fearless as the winner.” They just aren’t afraid anymore and it’s a beautiful thing to watch unfold.

So, I took all of this to the trails and roads this week and I’d by lying if I said it didn’t fire me the hell up! In a former life as a younger man, I would have seen these marks as ice-cold water to my own flames but now, they only serve to inspire me. There isn’t anything to really be afraid of. It’s only pain and like I always say, “Pain doesn’t really hurt.” Just stop being afraid and you’ll see what’s really out there. That’s the best I can do with what I saw this last week.

Run a ton,

Skorch

It’s a strange thing to even be thinking about not racing anymore. After all, I have spent nearly all of my life, both man and boy, attempting to hurl this body forward over measured distances as fast as I possibly can so, to say that I may not be doing it much longer seems as strange to write as it does to let pass through my synapses. In fact, if you had raised the question of, “When do you think you’ll hang up your flats?” to me even two years ago, I wouldn’t have had an answer for you. Now, I’m thinking in phrases that I have never uttered to myself before; One last push… This is your last chance to get this formula right… If you can do this all right over the next 18 months, you can ride off into the sunset…

I’ve always been afraid of ending up as that hopelessly unhappy aging athlete that can’t chase down the younger versions of himself anymore but just won’t give up. I’ve known too many that have stayed too long and it saddened me to see them put there forehead against that precise spot on the wall over and over and over again and just bang away. Outside of the equation, it was so easy for me to look at that runner and just say, “It’s over man. You’re not going to run faster than you ever have, ever again.” but it’s never as easy to point that perception on ourselves. I was terrified of not being able to see my own declining velocity as an obvious sign to stop howling at the moon and just disappear up onto the forest trails, away from comparisons and defeated, embarrassing splits, now so much slower than they used to be. Would I have the guts to know when it’s time to step away? I honestly didn’t know until the last 5 months of semi-injury and loss of motivation showed me that I am far more than someone who can get skeleton-like gaunt and run a fast marathon every now and then. I see now that I am capable of not doing this and that I can quiet the demons in my head that rail at full-volume against sleeping past 6am and demand flying 20 milers every seven days. I can take a hold of my own vessel and do with it what I will. I can run. I can not run. I can race. I can not race. I can choose to stop this and guide my fire into other arenas. I can stoke my insides up again and make one last push towards what it is I have spent so many days in the last 6 years dreaming about. I can still chase a truly good marathon and then just vanish for all time from result pages and course record listings. I can cover all the miles I want and never again give a damn what they average out to be. I can see the end now and it doesn’t scare me at all.

All that being said, I’m still in this and can see myself still getting more fit than I ever have before. The running I did last spring/summer was some of the best of my life and showed me new ways to get better results from the time I put into this. I am still on the upswing and the numbers don’t lie. I ran two very good 10ks without doing any real specific training at 10k race pace. Not one step in fact. That first race shocked me in a way that I have never been shocked before by my own running (see: “I didn’t see it coming this time” blog post) and that effort showed me that my body will still do good things even if I take very different approaches to my training. In fact, I SHOULD be looking for new ways to shock my body while still relying on my above-average aerobic endurance and ability to burn fuel efficiently for long periods of time. In writing this here now, I see that this will be best used by myself when I proceed over the next few months in building a new plan. There is always something new to learn. Even after doing this for 20+ years.

My plan is to take a much, much longer arc to getting back into racing shape this time around so that my body can adapt to what I’m asking of it and so that I can actually enjoy what I’m doing. The last 5 weeks have been excellent in that regard and I’m back in that wonderful groove of being able to do whatever I want on a run again and know how my body will take it. I cannot tell you how good that feels. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here and I want to stay in it as long as I can. I don’t need to rush. I DO need to get this right and know what it’s like to run faster than I ever have, if only one more time.

Run a ton,

It has been raining here for days now. It stops for a few choice moments while the sun is up but for the most part this early winter deluge has been unrelenting. All of the rivers and spillways are running full-tilt and raging with what looks to me like diluted chocolate milk. Everything around me is bloated with water and swollen to the touch. The trees look as if they could suddenly rupture and spill themselves onto the ground with an empty, now relieved shell left behind with nothing in it. If you have never lived here or visited, I can tell you that this is not what we would call “normal” but at the same time, I cannot rightly tell you that it is abnormal either…Thankfully, we also have wonderful respites from all of this that only a lucky few lucky souls like me get to see.

While buried in the forest that lines the Clackamas River in McIver Park today, I ran under one of those classic, beyond-blue Oregon skies that you just want to fold up and stuff into a bottle so that you can spring it above you like an umbrella the next time that all the gray pushes you too close to the edge. It was as if all the clouds were frighted away by some unseen beast that flew over the ridge above me, beyond my sight line. Everything around me suddenly seemed clean and shiny and new again. The colors were so bright and fantastical I fully expected an UmpaLumpa to appear around the next bend, singing some barely understandable rhyming tune about why running is so wonderful. Shafts of intense, heated-light blasted through the weak canopy above me and drove steam up from the soil into the still cold air and it parted as I flew through it, fast is if I was attempting to drag it around my waist like a transparent drape. The low-angled sun made it impossible to see much in front of me when the trail wandered to the SW. All that was visible then was the outline of knuckle-like rocks and roots in front of me. Everything appeared glazed and waxed and I stayed light on my feet until the light was aimed again over my shoulder, out of my eyes. It was what I imagine it would look like if you ran toward God… With all the rain that has fallen this week, there were large, gin-clear, shin-deep puddles in some of the low lying areas that I attempted to circumvent early in the run but splashed through like a child over the last 10 miles or so. Truth be told, the cold water felt amazing on my legs and it served as a topical elixir of sorts, giving me energy that I did not expect when I set out for my workout today. In all, I covered 14 miles through this virtual playground and wished for the strength to run 14 more, such was the joy all this gave me.

When I moved here years ago, the folks from back home that didn’t know any better told me, “Don’t move to Portland! It rains all the time!” I would always laugh, knowing full-well how far that was from the truth but, even after nearly a decade later, I could have never anticipated how amazing those days are when that rain does part. I would give you a dozen or more days of rain if I knew the payoff was a day like today.

Run a ton,

Skorch

I guess that I was waiting for some amazing turn of events to happen in my life so that I would have something incredible to write about here but, that isn’t what this blog should be about. I mean, who is really reading this thing anyway? This is for me and I need to remember that. If I feel trapped inside my head and need to say something, if only to myself, this should be the place to do it.

The fact is, my running has been lacking a great deal since I pulled up lame in a race at the beginning of July. I lost momentum, strength and motivation for about two months. I was still grinding hard and working out but, my runs were uninspired and forced. I was going through the motions and counting each step, every day, until I was done. “Christ, I can wait to get this over with” is hardly the mantra that someone should be entering into an 18 mile run with. Last week, I just sort of shut off. I had a lot of other important things going in my day and I let them take priority for a bit. It felt strange to let that happen as I have never in my 19+ years of running let my thoughts flow in that manor but, it was what it was. My body needed a break and my mind just couldn’t fire hard enough to over-rule that request. I watched a ton of football. I ate copious amounts of pizza and stayed up late playing poker. I got away from whatever it is that drives me so hard while I’m training and it felt pretty damn good. I can’t lie about that.

By weeks end, I was planning my next move and ready to start again new. My plan had worked; get away for a bit and the fire will come back. When hasn’t it, right? I know that I can still push this machine and make it light and hard and fast again. I know this because I still burn. I still want to run fast and ride (run) off into the sunset. Funny word, the last because I feel it getting ever closer. Far closer than I ever could have imagined as a boy of 13 years so long ago now. I am ready to run again. I will be ready when the rains come and I will attack like I have before. Spring will warm the air in a few months’ time and my legs will be hard like wood when it does. Until then, run a ton.

Skorch

You can choose do to whatever you like. Your will is free and it is your own. You are bound by nothing. You can live wherever you chose and if you have the courage to jump, you can be there tomorrow. You are free. Free to live or slowly die. Free to march forward or to be marched over. The choice is always there, for everyone…

You can let your past bury you and add a weight to your frame that will make it impossible to move, or breathe. You can dull your mind with potions meant only for celebration. You can abusively choke your insides as these liquids betray your wishes. You’re drinking to forget and all you can do now is remember…You can rely on these things to put you down for the night. You can chose to poison yourself into believing that nothing can be done…

You can also rage against everything that has held you here and get on with your damn life. You can eat clean, delicious, fresh food and use it to power you mind and body forward. You can get up before the sun and hammer your one-millionth hard 20 miler and remember how good it felt in that moment for the rest of your life. You can feel pure and young again…If you choose to.

You can realize that you have but one body and that you own it. You don’t rent here so, you had better think about that before you take even one more step. You can get out every day and figure out how to make yourself harder and stronger and faster. You can learn to suffer more and suffer longer. You will do this because you know that it is only there that you learn anything about yourself. The discomfort and pain will clear your mind. Colored bottles will only serve to cloud it again. (If only they could see that and chose to live…) Imagine what this life could be for everyone if we just chose to move forward and ride this god-damned thing until the wheels fall off…

You can choose to stay wherever you are or you can move your mind forward. You can study and learn all that you can about everything around you, both domestic and far, far away. You can use that knowledge to make you less afraid of what you did not know before. You can accept that we are all citizens of this world and our mothers are the same. You can replace your dismissive assumptions with kindness. You can save energy by being kind… There is no reason to be unkind…Not ever. 

You can choose to do whatever you want with this life and your age has nothing to do with anything. Your education has nothing to do with anything. Your parents and their lot in this life has nothing to do with anything. You can make this time, your time. Now.

You can choose. Even with an actual gun pressed against your head, you still have the ability to chose: Live or die. There is always a choice. You always have a choice…

Skorch

It’s a wonderful thing to still be able to shock myself with a good race after doing this for so many years. Usually, I know all too well exactly what kind of shape I’m in and pretty much just “fall in line” after the gun goes off. Often times that limits what I do on that day and while I may still race well, I seldom “kill it” like I did last week.

I ran a rather large, albeit not that competitive, 10k on a course that I was not sure would yield a fast time. There was a long downhill section shortly after 3 miles which lead to a long uphill section that went continually from 4.25 all the way to 6 miles. Both grades were gradual but, not short. I was also at the tail-end of a training segment that I thought was not designed to allow me to race that well.  That segment was basically made up of a lot of 15 to 16 mile runs with 6-8, ten second sprints about 60 min into the runs. I combined those days with my hill sprints and core work and also 20-22 mile runs every Sunday. No tempo, no at-pace reps or anything of the like that would make me think that I could sustain 5:15 pace on a course like the one I addressed earlier. So, I went out to simply stand on my redline for as long as possible to see what that effort would bring.

I got out and was alone about 4 minutes into the race which I was fine with since it allowed me to focus simply on what I was doing.  I was getting “fast” splits early on (at least faster that I thought I would get, given the effort level that I perceived) and not feeling all that terrible so, I kept  grinding. I knew that I could risk things a bit in the first 3 miles as I had a downhill section to rest a bit if I needed it so, I kept pressing on. Once the long climb to the finish started, I slipped into a gear that I knew I could carry the rest of the way in to see what it got me.  “…5:19…That’s not bad going up like this…Keep grinding…stay relaxed…. press now…not that far to go…here’s the really steep part…it’s not that long…6 miles must be around here somewhere…just throw yourself into this and go for home…5:25…with all that climbing?…Man, that’s not bad and I’m still flying…It’s flat now…I could have a decent time going…last turn…maybe 200m to go…stay clean….sprint if you can…32:36…Nice!…I’ll take that for now…on this course…Good day…”

I’ve run around that time quite a few times before and while it is far from my best, I was more happy with it than on any other occation for the simple fact that I didn’t see it coming at all. It gave me a boost and got me even more fired-up about my running than I was before, which was considerable. It made me see that it hasn’t all been done yet and that old can be new again if you just keep your mind open enough to let these days sneak up on you. I’m ready now to be even more patient with my running and to see this year through. I’m ready to take some shots at much better times soon and while I may be planning for them next time I toe the line, I won’t be any less happy when I reel them in.

Run a ton,

Skorch

I spent most of the first 4 to 5 miles of this run trying to tell myself that it “wouldn’t be that bad.” “Sure, it was going to get tough over the last half hour or so but, I’ll get through it”… “Yeah, it’s already 80 degrees and over 80% humidity with a brutal South wind blowing but, you can get through this”…I kept telling myself. But, I knew early on that I was lying, if only to myself. I was struggling early in the first hour and already eyeing up the passing farm houses for hoses or any source of water. That’s never a good sign as on most long runs, I am totally focused on what I’m doing and charging hard over the second half. This run however, was different as I knew that simply getting home was going to be good enough, at any pace.

When the wind went to my back, I could feel my insides start to cook and I did my best to say relaxed. I’ve run enough miles over the years to know that I wasn’t going to die or anything but even still, if you start to panic 10 miles from town, you can really get yourself in trouble. Things can go downhill quickly then and before you no it, you’re not running anymore and you’re a two hour walk from home. You see, my curse is that  I always know that I am going to make it and thatmy friends, is a very hard thing to know. There is nothing heroic about thrashing yourself like this as there is no real gain outside of the gray matter that occupies the sphere between my ears. But, even in lacking the “first to scale the great Everest” importance, there is still much to be learned out there (in life) while we are suffering badly. How far can you really go when you’re not able to go any further? Just how deep is this well?

 As I moved laboriously up a very steep valley hill that I normally storm over with my heels flicking up behind me, I began to feel my edges and they cut at me as I tried to ignore the fact that it felt as if I was running through an oven with a wool sweater glued to me… (Did I mention it was hot?) Water poured off of me and now, I was done with looking for hoses. I was looking in the ditches for half-full soda bottles or- dare I dream, a discarded bottle of water!! My mechanics were still sound and if you happened by, you would have never known of all the red lights flashing inside my head. You couldn’t have seen the stars forming in my periphery. I was becoming quite a mess, if only in my mind.

“Another mile down.” I barely noticed that I was still going as I was so distracted by my fruitless search for water off the side of the roads. “That wasn’t so bad. You’ve been here before and you’ve always made it.” Again, a hard thing to have to know. That you are going to make it that you do indeed have to go through the next 6 miles or so.  It’s not as if I was out there searching for home, begging my legs to keep running. On the contrary, I was begging them to stop!!It’s an amazing thing, the odd reflexes that one can develop after enough years (miles) have gone by. They say an aged soldier can march in his sleep. I was running purely out of neuro-muscular habit.

As bad as it was, just as an good race horse can, I was “smelling the barn” soon enough and even though I was reduced to a pace that was easily a full minute per mile slower than normal at this stage of my long runs, I knew that I was nearly done. That got me to 21 miles (and a sad 2:22+ total time) where I was left a sagging mess. Once you stop running on a run like this, your often left to stagger-out dripping, cramped circles as you collect whats left of your energy and thoughts. I looked across the street to see that I had stopped in front of a fire department building. Salvation!! Surly there was water inside enough to get me up the hill and home. The contents of the cold bottle that the gentlemen inside gave me tasted better than anything I had ever rolled over my tongue in my entire life. I was still cracked and wasted but, I was good enough to walk home now (angry and defeated from leaving this run a mile short). This was going to end after all!! I was truly starting to wonder.

Most of the rest of the day was spent jamming down fluids as I tried to stay on point at work through the afternoon. It was no small feat to keep it together but, I knew that there was value in the fatigue and that I had advanced far more than my fitness on that run. But, I also knew that I had damn well better set water bottles out on my route the next time those conditions meet me in the morning. Wow, what a run…

Skorch

So many times I’m just lost on the run… I seem to wake up and find myself 7, 8, 9 miles in and turning for home, almost completely unaware of what I’ve done over the past hour. It’s as if there is some sort of clock-stop out there on the roads that holds everything still in my mind as I run. It almost seems strange that anything has happened while I was away. Perhaps that is a bit of an unintentionally arrogant statement, as if  the world is holding its collective breath until I return but, often leaving before dawn, I find that things are completely unchanged when wander in, wet and tired. Lights are still turned off. Blinds still drawn tight, blocking the now blinding sun as it crashes over the leaves and streets outside. I am left to wonder, “Was I really gone for two hours? Did anything at all even so much as stir when I left?” It makes me wonder if what I did really matters. Did I run for any sort of purpose? Did I accomplish anything this morning? Did it really happen at all? Maybe I’m down in my bedroom, still wrapped in warm dreaming, merely projecting myself out over these prairie roads… What is real and what is not is barely discernible to me anymore but as the saying goes, “Perception is reality.” If I perceive that I ran today, I most likely did and my day is better for it.

Grind… float… dream… sleep… wish… regret… build… smile… release…

I’ve had trouble staying mentally focused these last few weeks with my training and I feel like I have been very inconsistent with my recovery days but, I’m still feeling good about my running because my long runs are going very well. No matter how the rest of the week goes, my Sunday 20’s have been very good and I feel like that will pay off later this year. Right now, I need to build as large of an aerobic base as I can so that I can support the rest of my 2010, bumpy as it has been so far… 

I remember as a much younger man always enjoying being out there for a “long” time (my ultra running cohorts would laugh at the notion of run only lasting a bit over 2 hours being considered a “long” run but, I am covering over 20 miles in that time) and enjoying the challenge of doing something I had never done before. I still remember my first 12 mile run when I was all of maybe 14 years old. It was a cold, clear fall day and uncharacteristically windless. I was out early in the day. I remember that because the rising sun kept my face warm the first  three or four miles as I ran East and forced me to squint before turning North onto some roads that I had never before traveled on foot. I remember being excited by the notion that I had lived near these places for my entire life up to that point but, for whatever reasons, had only even driven over these routes but a few times before. The familiar but new territory inspired me to push hard and the excitement of going beyond what I had done before kept me pressing all the way up my driveway that day. I walked a crooked path across the cold grass of our front yard, still wet from the melting of that days’ frost and slumped in the folding chair that sat in our entryway. I remember my insides churning a bit as I gulped down too soon water that was too cold but, feeling so good from my effort that I grinned all morning, too tired to do much for the next several hours. It’s funny to think about that because now (not to brag) I will jam out a 20 or 22 mile run and then go to work the rest of the day, hardly phased. “Eh, no big deal”

What is the same now however, is the buzz I get the rest of the day after going long. It makes any day easier to deal with and that is no small feat anymore. Sure, a 20 every Sunday will get me fit but, it also propels me forward and that is far more important to me most of the time. I run long because I love it and if I can gain some (trivial) fitness from it well, all the better I guess.

Run a ton.

Skorch