Monday night I had just sat down for the night at about 10pm. Mowing was done. Weeding was done. Weed Whacking was done. I was in the midst of doing my long overdue laundry, with two small loads now flipping in the dryer as one, and another in the washer. I grabbed "Ender's Game" off the coffee table and start to read, and halfway through the first page, I hear a loud metallic bang. I checked on everything upstairs and went downstairs, still hearing running sounds, but it was only the washer. The dryer was still heating, but it wasn't spinning, and I wasn't just trying to boil my clothes, so I shut it off.
I've never even thought about taking apart a dryer before, so I needed a little help from the internet in figuring out what to do. Once I did though, it wasn't too bad, except for the part where I realized I left a few tools inside the dryer (a phillips head from my multi-screwdriver and a pair of plyers I was using to wedge the drum up while I put on the new belt, which was the problem). So I got to take it apart and put it back together again a second time just for fun (and even found where those two "extra" screws were supposed to go). It wasn't too bad. I got it apart the night it broke, and found a belt (thank you SEARS) and got it back running the next day.
I was expecting it all to take up the entire night, so I was pretty happy with still having sunlight left to go running. So I geared up and the first mile I felt like I was just floating out there. Ever since the halfer, I've been tight and felt really heavy out there, and every run has been a little bit of a struggle. Even with the progress I'm seeing in times, it just felt like it was really hard and even a little painful. Last night was incredibly easy, and I decided for once just to enjoy it, and not push for any time. I just wanted to slow it down and enjoy running again, which I haven't done in a while. So I just went for a nice steady pace, didn't get out of breath, and let myself feel the air and the sunshine. Even with holding back, it was the 3rd best time I've had.
It kind of made me think I need to do this more often. I may even think about just ditching the watch too. Running was becoming both a chore and an addiction lately, instead of something I just do because I love it. It was something I had to do because I was frustrated or bouncing off the walls, and while I was out there I was too concerned with pushing and getting a few extra seconds off every time. I know in the winter, I took myself to task for not working hard enough because I wasn't trying to push it out, and was just happy with myself for being out there. That needed to be done, but I think I swung everything too far the other way. I need to take time to enjoy the progress too. Remember, I was running a 5K at 35+ minutes when I started at the Crim in 2009, and I just knocked out a 27:38 last month. That's a lot of change in less than two years. Let's face it, I can't expect that ratio of change to persist forever, so I'm going to have to enjoy things while I'm out there too. Otherwise, it just won't last.
This is essentially a motivational blog for myself to keep track of my renewed love for running. Well, maybe love is too strong of a word, but let's say I try to enjoy it, even when I loathe the very thought of it. I also hope it will serve as a motivator for others like me that aren't your typical sized athlete, but still have the grit to go out there and challenge their limits. A little motivation from anyone reading this couldn't hurt me too much either...
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Awful, Just Awful. I mean, P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C
By Thursday last week, a lot of things were really starting to get to me. Eventually this ballooned into me having no choice but to go out for one of my "frustration runs." Now, when I'm running distraught, my feet are almost stomping through the pavement, my body is flailing all over the place, and my form is definitely not the same as when I'm in my usual calm running state. The point of these are usually just to get it out, and get it out quick. I normally burn bright, going exceptionally fast, and then just completely fall apart not long into it. The usual amount of time it takes is probably somewhere between 15-30 minutes. Most of the time it will all work out to where I die off a good distance from home and have to walk back and think through things after I've burned off all my gas. It's pretty therapeutic, and gets my wits together, but in no way is it ever to be considered a "good run."
Thursday night, I went out for one, telling my fiance that I would be back when I: A) Ran out my frustration. B) Ran out of light C) Ran out of charge on my mp3 player D) Ran out of energy, whichever came first. Eventually it was a mix of the dark and the happy running blueberry man on the front of my Blueberry Festival Race shirt rubbing my chest raw that did me in. I checked my watch and I had been out for over an hour, bad form and all, still not feeling like I purged everything, still not tired, and in complete disbelief that I had gone that long in that state, but more astounded that I hadn't looked at my watch to realize it. There wasn't any "in zone" running either. I felt every pounding step vibrate from my foot to my head, and was never really in any state of peace where things around me melted away.
Friday night was a complete emotional drinking blow-up that I haven't had in years. I'm still completely embarrassed about it, and how I just kind of let it happen. If you're pounding IPAs and high gravity beers (I know at the Torch it was Shorts Huma Lupa Licious but what I drank at the Red Baron I don't remember), then have a little bit of whiskey and tequila, these things are bound to happen. Needless to say, there was no happy ending to it, and it involved a lot of sickness and my poor girl driving me home (and a little bit of both combined). It really wasn't until after that I realized what I was doing, and I felt like a stupid early 20-something again. It didn't help that I actually had things to do Saturday.
Saturday morning I was in no shape to drive across the state to Holland for the Tulip Festival. I had planned to run the Tulip race, but obviously that wasn't happening. It was Jen's birthday and this was her plan, and I had promised to drive the 4 of us (Jen, Ken, Jessi, and I) there, so I force myself into it. The drive seemed to be over before I knew it because I was focused on how bad I felt, but a little Qdoba and a little bit of Coke on the trip there brought be back to the land of the living.
It was a good visit, but I still feel like a piece of crap for making us delay going there by a few hours (trying to gather myself in the morning) and missing the race (which had a really cool burgundy shirt of running tulips). We still did everything else we planned: seeing downtown, the big windmill island, the dutch villiage, and New Holland Brewery. Yes, we still went to New Holland Brewing, even though I hardly wanted to look at another beer. Good thing I've had most of their beers, the other styles were not that appealing, and I didn't have much to try. I just wanted to try the Imperial Hatter (Imperial IPA) and the Red Tulip (Red Ale), so I got a 10oz of the Imperial, and planned on getting a growler of the other on the way out for a souvenir.
The food there was quite good, but the service was lousy (and I'm never one to complain). After requesting my Red Tulip growler, about 20 minutes went by with nobody helping us and our waitress came back telling me they won't do a growler of the Red Tulip. Apparently, for some odd reason that was the only one I couldn't have. The Imperial wasn't good enough to get a growler, but I tried to figure out something else I could get. I like The Poet, but a growler of Oatmeal Stout heading into summer won't ever get finished. I'm not a fan of Golden Cap or Sundog. I didn't want a full one of the regular Hatter, because I was already full up of IPAs at home, since Jeff was in Friday. So I went through all the possible options and just told them to forget it.
I still don't know the reason they couldn't do the Tulip. All they told me was that it was a special brew that they couldn't do growlers for. I guess I don't get what the problem was. If it's a cost thing, price it accordingly. I'm pretty sure there was no way it was impossible to fill a jug with it one way or another, so that can't be it. I just don't know. I've never had a brewery refuse to make a sale, especially when I only had 1 beer. It kind of seems bad for business. They did offer to let me sample the Tulip because I said I wanted to try it, but at that point, I was kind of just done with them. So I tipped the waitress the standard 18% (which was probably more than she deserved) and we left. I'm not really one to shun Michgan businesses, but I think they may be on my naughty list now. It was just disappointed, because I've always wanted to go there, because I love their Mad Hatter so much. I realized there, though, that I've had a lot of their wares and either didn't like them or they weren't my style. A few even sounded like bad ideas, and I wasn't exactly adventurous considering the night before. Honestly, is a Red Ale all that special, anyway? Probably not.
We didn't get out of there until maybe 9:45, and we had been seated since 8:00, so it even made us late for the return back, and this time I noticed how long the drive was. It probably didn't help that my back power window crapped out on us and it was half down all the way home, which was cold, loud, and annoying. Just one more thing to fix, I guess.
Anyway, Jason and I actually ran last night for about an hour, and it felt pretty decent. It's getting really warm out so we need to build up everything again. It's a lot easier with cool air on you, instead of hot sun, and hot pavement that seeps through your soles into your feet. I'm really starting fess up to the idea that the Half-Marathon broke me a little bit too, and a lot of what's happened lately is a subconcious sabotage so I don't ever have to run that far (or further) again. So, new goal...when they open up the Crim course this summer for all the registered participants to do their practice run, I think I'm going to try to be one of the people that go through it twice and do the 20, running, walking, or crawling. Big words, I know, but everybody needs a goal.
Amidst all this trouble, I still lost a few pounds (again). Rewarded for bad behavior (again), ugh. I don't feel like I'm winning, though. Sorry Charlie (Sheen). If I don't shape up, I'm going to pull my own runner card. It's bad enough that most of the runners I follow on here are superstars compared to me, but when I'm not even keeping up to my standards, I really feel like a slacker.
Thursday night, I went out for one, telling my fiance that I would be back when I: A) Ran out my frustration. B) Ran out of light C) Ran out of charge on my mp3 player D) Ran out of energy, whichever came first. Eventually it was a mix of the dark and the happy running blueberry man on the front of my Blueberry Festival Race shirt rubbing my chest raw that did me in. I checked my watch and I had been out for over an hour, bad form and all, still not feeling like I purged everything, still not tired, and in complete disbelief that I had gone that long in that state, but more astounded that I hadn't looked at my watch to realize it. There wasn't any "in zone" running either. I felt every pounding step vibrate from my foot to my head, and was never really in any state of peace where things around me melted away.
Friday night was a complete emotional drinking blow-up that I haven't had in years. I'm still completely embarrassed about it, and how I just kind of let it happen. If you're pounding IPAs and high gravity beers (I know at the Torch it was Shorts Huma Lupa Licious but what I drank at the Red Baron I don't remember), then have a little bit of whiskey and tequila, these things are bound to happen. Needless to say, there was no happy ending to it, and it involved a lot of sickness and my poor girl driving me home (and a little bit of both combined). It really wasn't until after that I realized what I was doing, and I felt like a stupid early 20-something again. It didn't help that I actually had things to do Saturday.
Saturday morning I was in no shape to drive across the state to Holland for the Tulip Festival. I had planned to run the Tulip race, but obviously that wasn't happening. It was Jen's birthday and this was her plan, and I had promised to drive the 4 of us (Jen, Ken, Jessi, and I) there, so I force myself into it. The drive seemed to be over before I knew it because I was focused on how bad I felt, but a little Qdoba and a little bit of Coke on the trip there brought be back to the land of the living.
It was a good visit, but I still feel like a piece of crap for making us delay going there by a few hours (trying to gather myself in the morning) and missing the race (which had a really cool burgundy shirt of running tulips). We still did everything else we planned: seeing downtown, the big windmill island, the dutch villiage, and New Holland Brewery. Yes, we still went to New Holland Brewing, even though I hardly wanted to look at another beer. Good thing I've had most of their beers, the other styles were not that appealing, and I didn't have much to try. I just wanted to try the Imperial Hatter (Imperial IPA) and the Red Tulip (Red Ale), so I got a 10oz of the Imperial, and planned on getting a growler of the other on the way out for a souvenir.
The food there was quite good, but the service was lousy (and I'm never one to complain). After requesting my Red Tulip growler, about 20 minutes went by with nobody helping us and our waitress came back telling me they won't do a growler of the Red Tulip. Apparently, for some odd reason that was the only one I couldn't have. The Imperial wasn't good enough to get a growler, but I tried to figure out something else I could get. I like The Poet, but a growler of Oatmeal Stout heading into summer won't ever get finished. I'm not a fan of Golden Cap or Sundog. I didn't want a full one of the regular Hatter, because I was already full up of IPAs at home, since Jeff was in Friday. So I went through all the possible options and just told them to forget it.
I still don't know the reason they couldn't do the Tulip. All they told me was that it was a special brew that they couldn't do growlers for. I guess I don't get what the problem was. If it's a cost thing, price it accordingly. I'm pretty sure there was no way it was impossible to fill a jug with it one way or another, so that can't be it. I just don't know. I've never had a brewery refuse to make a sale, especially when I only had 1 beer. It kind of seems bad for business. They did offer to let me sample the Tulip because I said I wanted to try it, but at that point, I was kind of just done with them. So I tipped the waitress the standard 18% (which was probably more than she deserved) and we left. I'm not really one to shun Michgan businesses, but I think they may be on my naughty list now. It was just disappointed, because I've always wanted to go there, because I love their Mad Hatter so much. I realized there, though, that I've had a lot of their wares and either didn't like them or they weren't my style. A few even sounded like bad ideas, and I wasn't exactly adventurous considering the night before. Honestly, is a Red Ale all that special, anyway? Probably not.
We didn't get out of there until maybe 9:45, and we had been seated since 8:00, so it even made us late for the return back, and this time I noticed how long the drive was. It probably didn't help that my back power window crapped out on us and it was half down all the way home, which was cold, loud, and annoying. Just one more thing to fix, I guess.
Anyway, Jason and I actually ran last night for about an hour, and it felt pretty decent. It's getting really warm out so we need to build up everything again. It's a lot easier with cool air on you, instead of hot sun, and hot pavement that seeps through your soles into your feet. I'm really starting fess up to the idea that the Half-Marathon broke me a little bit too, and a lot of what's happened lately is a subconcious sabotage so I don't ever have to run that far (or further) again. So, new goal...when they open up the Crim course this summer for all the registered participants to do their practice run, I think I'm going to try to be one of the people that go through it twice and do the 20, running, walking, or crawling. Big words, I know, but everybody needs a goal.
Amidst all this trouble, I still lost a few pounds (again). Rewarded for bad behavior (again), ugh. I don't feel like I'm winning, though. Sorry Charlie (Sheen). If I don't shape up, I'm going to pull my own runner card. It's bad enough that most of the runners I follow on here are superstars compared to me, but when I'm not even keeping up to my standards, I really feel like a slacker.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Backslide
Jerry in his self-named sitcom Seinfeld once said, "Never bet against the backslide." While he was speaking to something quite a bit different than where I'm going with this, I think the idea that quitting anything you've been doing for long enough really is "like knocking over a Coke machine," and you do have to "rock it back and forth a few times" before it goes over.
I had just set a new 5K PR (again) up in Midland, while being sick, just a few weeks after finishing my first Half. Not only that, the Tuesday after, I ran my home course that Jason and I always run in 29:34. Getting this run under 30:00 was a goal we set for ourselves last summer when we were running it in 32-34s consistently. Then, again on Thursday Jason and I both ran it under 30 again to seal the idea that it was a one-time fluke.
Too much success can go to your head. After Thursday, there was still that left-over Easter candy sitting around. I had been nursing it slowly, and keeping within my goal calorie range, but screw it right? I took down the rest of the basket. Cadbury eggs...eliminated. Reese's eggs...gone, sandwich baggies of squirrel nut zippers and mary janes...emptied, mallo cups....conquered (the spoils of which were the play money, cha-ching!). So, yeah, I guess that tells you that I pretty much went on a tear, and also that when the older generation is gone, I, myself, may keep all the "old people candy" makers afloat.
With Lent being over there's also the ability to get back to eating fast food and pizza, swilling pop and beer, and not only negating runs in the caloric sense, but stopping them before they even happen by feeling like crap. Let's do an honest run-down of shame, why don't we?
Fast Food - I first broke the levee with the 16" Big John Steak and Onion on Tuesday, which I maybe ran off 1/3rd of on the same day. No other instances to report.
Pizza - I wanted to wait and get an actual good pizza and go out to eat, but I had a nice little frustration day Wednesday. Jessi wasn't feeling well and didn't want to go out so we caved to the call of Little Caesar's Hot-or-Ready Pizza special. We ended up buying two mediums, and two breads, and it seeped into two days of eating like crap. Really bad, I know.
Pop - On Easter I managed to find out about Mello Yello Zero coming out and one of my friends managed to find some. Unfortunately this is the same friend that, like me, has an obsession with MY, so she cleaned the place out of it completely. I vowed not to crack a soda until I crossed its path, and did so at a Speedway near work last Monday. They only had 4 bottles, but I took all of them. I've since finished those, had the Mexi-Coke that came with my Easter basket, and during the Pizza incident split a 2-liter of Wild Cherry Pepsi with Jessi (and by split I mean I probably drank 3/4 of it). I had two Vernors at a wedding on Saturday. Also, this Monday night I couldn't shake a headache and I fed it a Coke, which worked. Another piece of honest shame written in the book of truth.
Beer - The shocking thing is I didn't pop one open Easter Sunday as soon as possible. Out of the "Four Horsemen," this is my favorite and the one you'd usually see riding out first to end me. I didn't even feel like having beer that weekend, the next weekend, all during the week. It just didn't even seem appealing, and I was saying that I still think I will stick to the "weekend only" rule. I did actually pick up a six pack of Short's "The Curl" to save for when I did feel like it.
Monday night after the headache dissipated, a new one arose. My computer was giving me trouble, and blogger wasn't saving as I wrote my Half-Marathon entry, and I lost half of it. It was late, I was frustrated, and I wanted to finish the stupid thing that night before I went to bed, so I went Curling and had 4 of the 6 beers just finishing that thing up. Sadly, it was probably still better the way I had it the first time, because I was definitely less interested in the rewrite. It happens.
So there it is, the whole story of my success-driven complacency...wait what? There's more? Oh, shitake mushrooms (hey, I run a clean show now, people).
Last Saturday I was planning on running another race. This time there were 3 I was split between. I could have went down to Detroit for yet another Belle Isle one, the "Spring Into Nature" race I missed last year. I could have stayed local and do the Paul Webster Memorial run that benefits both UM-Flint Students and local children with life threatening illnesses. Then again, I could have went to Owosso really early and did the Humane Society run. I even could have visited my step-grandma, who I haven't seen in almost a year, which is too long. Whatever I did, I knew I should be back for a wedding at 6, but it wasn't a requirement (at least that's what she told me).
The alarm went off at 6, and I wasn't ready to get up, so scratch the Owosso plans. I went back to sleep and I wake up again at 8 thinking to myself, "Well, I have an hour to get to Richfield park for the Webster Run and I still have time to get ready and get down to Belle Isle, what am I going to do?" "I think I'm going back to sleep." I didn't even get up until 10:30, and to compound things, Jessi, her dad, and I went out to Starlite for omelettes and blueberry pancakes. Probably a nice 1500 calorie swing there.
Once you start down this path, it kind of affects everything else. There were a few things I wanted to accomplish Saturday, since I was going to be home anyway, and a lot of it just never happened. Half the reason I forced myself to that wedding was because I failed so much at the rest of the day. That only made me worse, because a shirt I haven't worn in 5 years suddenly fit. Sunday, I meant to catch up on the run I skipped Saturday, but I just ate TV dinners (yes, plurar, as in like 3) instead and watched season 3 of The Wire. It was just a total system failure of whopping proportions. Of course with all the big news about Bin Laden Sunday night, it swept the whole day under the rug in my mind.
Since Sunday, though, I've started to turn things back around. I ran Monday, and did the home route at a 30:32, which wasn't as bad as I hoped. I needed to see a 32+ time after all this slacking off. I shouldn't just be able to be almost completely counterproductive for nearly a week, not run for four days, and only gain a minute on a run where I'm not even pushing and my joints feel like rusted hinges. I felt like I was almost being rewarded for my bad behavior by getting my 3rd or 4th best time on my own home route (that I've ran and timed for over a year now). Yesterday, I put in another run, so at least I'm back to even on the exercise portion. The Monday taco night, with the Tuesday taco left-overs put me in a deeper hole in the diet department, though. Starting today I have to make up for all of this during the rest of the week, and over the weekend, though the other half of me is still screaming at me "Why? The scale doesn't lie, bud, and you haven't gained a pound, enjoy yourself!" Cue "The Munchies" ABC PSA from the 80s...
I had just set a new 5K PR (again) up in Midland, while being sick, just a few weeks after finishing my first Half. Not only that, the Tuesday after, I ran my home course that Jason and I always run in 29:34. Getting this run under 30:00 was a goal we set for ourselves last summer when we were running it in 32-34s consistently. Then, again on Thursday Jason and I both ran it under 30 again to seal the idea that it was a one-time fluke.
Too much success can go to your head. After Thursday, there was still that left-over Easter candy sitting around. I had been nursing it slowly, and keeping within my goal calorie range, but screw it right? I took down the rest of the basket. Cadbury eggs...eliminated. Reese's eggs...gone, sandwich baggies of squirrel nut zippers and mary janes...emptied, mallo cups....conquered (the spoils of which were the play money, cha-ching!). So, yeah, I guess that tells you that I pretty much went on a tear, and also that when the older generation is gone, I, myself, may keep all the "old people candy" makers afloat.
With Lent being over there's also the ability to get back to eating fast food and pizza, swilling pop and beer, and not only negating runs in the caloric sense, but stopping them before they even happen by feeling like crap. Let's do an honest run-down of shame, why don't we?
Fast Food - I first broke the levee with the 16" Big John Steak and Onion on Tuesday, which I maybe ran off 1/3rd of on the same day. No other instances to report.
Pizza - I wanted to wait and get an actual good pizza and go out to eat, but I had a nice little frustration day Wednesday. Jessi wasn't feeling well and didn't want to go out so we caved to the call of Little Caesar's Hot-or-Ready Pizza special. We ended up buying two mediums, and two breads, and it seeped into two days of eating like crap. Really bad, I know.
Pop - On Easter I managed to find out about Mello Yello Zero coming out and one of my friends managed to find some. Unfortunately this is the same friend that, like me, has an obsession with MY, so she cleaned the place out of it completely. I vowed not to crack a soda until I crossed its path, and did so at a Speedway near work last Monday. They only had 4 bottles, but I took all of them. I've since finished those, had the Mexi-Coke that came with my Easter basket, and during the Pizza incident split a 2-liter of Wild Cherry Pepsi with Jessi (and by split I mean I probably drank 3/4 of it). I had two Vernors at a wedding on Saturday. Also, this Monday night I couldn't shake a headache and I fed it a Coke, which worked. Another piece of honest shame written in the book of truth.
Beer - The shocking thing is I didn't pop one open Easter Sunday as soon as possible. Out of the "Four Horsemen," this is my favorite and the one you'd usually see riding out first to end me. I didn't even feel like having beer that weekend, the next weekend, all during the week. It just didn't even seem appealing, and I was saying that I still think I will stick to the "weekend only" rule. I did actually pick up a six pack of Short's "The Curl" to save for when I did feel like it.
Monday night after the headache dissipated, a new one arose. My computer was giving me trouble, and blogger wasn't saving as I wrote my Half-Marathon entry, and I lost half of it. It was late, I was frustrated, and I wanted to finish the stupid thing that night before I went to bed, so I went Curling and had 4 of the 6 beers just finishing that thing up. Sadly, it was probably still better the way I had it the first time, because I was definitely less interested in the rewrite. It happens.
So there it is, the whole story of my success-driven complacency...wait what? There's more? Oh, shitake mushrooms (hey, I run a clean show now, people).
Last Saturday I was planning on running another race. This time there were 3 I was split between. I could have went down to Detroit for yet another Belle Isle one, the "Spring Into Nature" race I missed last year. I could have stayed local and do the Paul Webster Memorial run that benefits both UM-Flint Students and local children with life threatening illnesses. Then again, I could have went to Owosso really early and did the Humane Society run. I even could have visited my step-grandma, who I haven't seen in almost a year, which is too long. Whatever I did, I knew I should be back for a wedding at 6, but it wasn't a requirement (at least that's what she told me).
The alarm went off at 6, and I wasn't ready to get up, so scratch the Owosso plans. I went back to sleep and I wake up again at 8 thinking to myself, "Well, I have an hour to get to Richfield park for the Webster Run and I still have time to get ready and get down to Belle Isle, what am I going to do?" "I think I'm going back to sleep." I didn't even get up until 10:30, and to compound things, Jessi, her dad, and I went out to Starlite for omelettes and blueberry pancakes. Probably a nice 1500 calorie swing there.
Once you start down this path, it kind of affects everything else. There were a few things I wanted to accomplish Saturday, since I was going to be home anyway, and a lot of it just never happened. Half the reason I forced myself to that wedding was because I failed so much at the rest of the day. That only made me worse, because a shirt I haven't worn in 5 years suddenly fit. Sunday, I meant to catch up on the run I skipped Saturday, but I just ate TV dinners (yes, plurar, as in like 3) instead and watched season 3 of The Wire. It was just a total system failure of whopping proportions. Of course with all the big news about Bin Laden Sunday night, it swept the whole day under the rug in my mind.
Since Sunday, though, I've started to turn things back around. I ran Monday, and did the home route at a 30:32, which wasn't as bad as I hoped. I needed to see a 32+ time after all this slacking off. I shouldn't just be able to be almost completely counterproductive for nearly a week, not run for four days, and only gain a minute on a run where I'm not even pushing and my joints feel like rusted hinges. I felt like I was almost being rewarded for my bad behavior by getting my 3rd or 4th best time on my own home route (that I've ran and timed for over a year now). Yesterday, I put in another run, so at least I'm back to even on the exercise portion. The Monday taco night, with the Tuesday taco left-overs put me in a deeper hole in the diet department, though. Starting today I have to make up for all of this during the rest of the week, and over the weekend, though the other half of me is still screaming at me "Why? The scale doesn't lie, bud, and you haven't gained a pound, enjoy yourself!" Cue "The Munchies" ABC PSA from the 80s...
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Feverish Loonie Speed
There were two races I wanted to run on April 23rd. I kept trying to separate them in my mind and pick a clear winner, but I just couldn't pick. The first one involved running with the Detroit Police down at Belle Isle in Detroit. It was for a great children's charity, and I still hadn't been to a race at Belle Isle. On the other side of the coin, there was a race up in Midland being hosted by favorite minor league team The Loons (LA Dodgers A Affiliate), and they were going to give all races a ticket to the game that night. Both are just over an hour from me. Both were 5Ks. I've never ran in either place, but there was a good chance I could run Belle Isle later. One is only in its second year and the other was celebrating its 5th anniversary, but I couldn't figure out whether I wanted to run a smaller or bigger race either. I just couldn't pick, and eventually the registration for "Run With the Cops, Not From Them" closed up on me online. So that kind of made up my mind for me, and I registered for the Loons Pennant Race.
The Wednesday before the race I started getting a really bad sore throat. Luckily I had Thursday and Friday off from work, due to a mini Easter shut down. So I tried to rest up and do good by myself. Thursday the sore throat went away, but it went into a miserable sinus thing with a pretty good fever. I was burning up, my nose was stuffed but still running all over, my head hurt, and I was just a total mess overall. Pretty much the same story Friday, and I went to bed incredibly early hoping I could sleep it off.
The alarm came on Saturday, and I started to get up. Jessi woke up and asked "You feeling any better?" and the answer then was "No." After getting a shower and getting ready, though, I did feel a bit better. I was still really sniffly, and about as achey as could be. The fever was still there, but I went anyway. The plan was to try to run a little and walk the rest of the way, because just driving in the state I was in was feeling like a chore.
I picked up my packet after stopping in the restrooms on the concourse trying to wash up my hands so the volunteers wouldn't catch my germs. My face was red as hell, and I was still really achey and feverish. I didn't want to do this at all, and I was pretty sure my nose would be doing more running than I would. I went back to the car to get out of the cold wind and sat there until it was about 10 minutes to the start, putting on my bib, drinking some water, and wishing I stayed in bed.
When race time came, I just put on some music early, and stayed off to the side in my own little world away from everyone. Eventually I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and began running with everyone else. My bib was obviously for the run, so I figured I better just give it a shot, and off I went. I could feel every step flowing through my entire body like a wave from the bottom of my foot to the top of my head, and I immediately felt overheated. However, I did feel my nose start to clear up, and was breathing pretty decent. So I decided that I could take this one slow, and said I'd be happy with a 32 or 33 minute time.
Early into the run, before mile 1 was over, we went off the roads into the Pere Marquette Trail. It was about then that tunnel vision set in. I don't remember the run, anybody around me, hills, bridges, the river next to the path, nothing. I went into some sort of zone with my music, and the only thing I remember thinking was "I need to get this thing over with." I just wanted to get to the finish and be done. I didn't break out of this stupor until I passed the 2nd mile volunteer and heard him say "_____-teen: ___." I had no idea what he said I was doing, and I didn't care, eighteen, nineteen, whatever. I didn't even really think about what that meant for my time, whatever he said. I just went back down into the haze until I came off the trail into the city again. By then I knew I was almost done.
So I started pushing hard, and regained my awareness of the people around me, my aching body, the fact that I felt like someone lit me on fire, but I didn't care. I knew if I got to that finish, I could stop running, and that was all I cared about. That was, at least until I hit the turn. I saw the clock and couldn't believe my eyes. I was still looking at getting a time under 28:00. So I tried to push and cross the finish before that clicked over, and I didn't quite make it. My clock time was a 28:04, and it still didn't register. I grabbed a water and a banana, sat down on the steps and enjoyed a nice rest. I got back up just after, still feeling like crap, and then it hit me...I probably just set another PR, while sick, without even feeling like I pushed myself too hard. How is that even possible?
I tried to find some sort of explanation by looking at the winning times and seeing some indication that the race was short. It was a loop, so the all downhill explanation isn't there. Everything seemed to be in order. The winner times seemed about right to me. I even heard a few comments saying they thought it was a bit long. I went back to the finish for a bit to watch a few others come in, especially the 35 minute people, because that's where I used to be, so I love going back and rooting them on. I was wiped, though, and the sickness started coming back. I went back to the car and took a nap.
I was considering just driving home and skipping the game at this point, but I felt better a bit better after some rest. I still probably should have just went home, but I walked to the Boulevard Lounge instead, and got a burger and a cranberry juice. By then I was doing alright, and I decided to stay for the game. I went back to check on my official time as they were giving out the awards to the age group winners, a 27:38. They had my town listed incorrectly as Midland, but I felt like I owned the place at that point, so it was okay. So much for breaking 10 minute miles, I just broke 9. I loitered around for a few hours, walking around the town. There were a few hours there where the sun was out and it felt like it was baking some of the sickness out of me. It didn't last long though, and it got really cold and cloudy again.
I was still thinking about leaving, but I stayed for the whole game. I did have to get a hot chocolate and stand by the fire pit to make it through, but it was worth it. The game ended with a Loons walk-off double in bottom of the 9th, after an appearance from the Rall E. Camel on the big screen. There are a few kids there that will probably be Dodgers eventually. They've already sent on Clayton Kershaw and Jerry Sands, and I think they'll turn out a few others in the coming years. I'll have to head back for a few more games this year, because it's great, affordable fun, even when the weather's miserable and you're sick.
The Wednesday before the race I started getting a really bad sore throat. Luckily I had Thursday and Friday off from work, due to a mini Easter shut down. So I tried to rest up and do good by myself. Thursday the sore throat went away, but it went into a miserable sinus thing with a pretty good fever. I was burning up, my nose was stuffed but still running all over, my head hurt, and I was just a total mess overall. Pretty much the same story Friday, and I went to bed incredibly early hoping I could sleep it off.
The alarm came on Saturday, and I started to get up. Jessi woke up and asked "You feeling any better?" and the answer then was "No." After getting a shower and getting ready, though, I did feel a bit better. I was still really sniffly, and about as achey as could be. The fever was still there, but I went anyway. The plan was to try to run a little and walk the rest of the way, because just driving in the state I was in was feeling like a chore.
I picked up my packet after stopping in the restrooms on the concourse trying to wash up my hands so the volunteers wouldn't catch my germs. My face was red as hell, and I was still really achey and feverish. I didn't want to do this at all, and I was pretty sure my nose would be doing more running than I would. I went back to the car to get out of the cold wind and sat there until it was about 10 minutes to the start, putting on my bib, drinking some water, and wishing I stayed in bed.
When race time came, I just put on some music early, and stayed off to the side in my own little world away from everyone. Eventually I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and began running with everyone else. My bib was obviously for the run, so I figured I better just give it a shot, and off I went. I could feel every step flowing through my entire body like a wave from the bottom of my foot to the top of my head, and I immediately felt overheated. However, I did feel my nose start to clear up, and was breathing pretty decent. So I decided that I could take this one slow, and said I'd be happy with a 32 or 33 minute time.
Early into the run, before mile 1 was over, we went off the roads into the Pere Marquette Trail. It was about then that tunnel vision set in. I don't remember the run, anybody around me, hills, bridges, the river next to the path, nothing. I went into some sort of zone with my music, and the only thing I remember thinking was "I need to get this thing over with." I just wanted to get to the finish and be done. I didn't break out of this stupor until I passed the 2nd mile volunteer and heard him say "_____-teen: ___." I had no idea what he said I was doing, and I didn't care, eighteen, nineteen, whatever. I didn't even really think about what that meant for my time, whatever he said. I just went back down into the haze until I came off the trail into the city again. By then I knew I was almost done.
So I started pushing hard, and regained my awareness of the people around me, my aching body, the fact that I felt like someone lit me on fire, but I didn't care. I knew if I got to that finish, I could stop running, and that was all I cared about. That was, at least until I hit the turn. I saw the clock and couldn't believe my eyes. I was still looking at getting a time under 28:00. So I tried to push and cross the finish before that clicked over, and I didn't quite make it. My clock time was a 28:04, and it still didn't register. I grabbed a water and a banana, sat down on the steps and enjoyed a nice rest. I got back up just after, still feeling like crap, and then it hit me...I probably just set another PR, while sick, without even feeling like I pushed myself too hard. How is that even possible?
I tried to find some sort of explanation by looking at the winning times and seeing some indication that the race was short. It was a loop, so the all downhill explanation isn't there. Everything seemed to be in order. The winner times seemed about right to me. I even heard a few comments saying they thought it was a bit long. I went back to the finish for a bit to watch a few others come in, especially the 35 minute people, because that's where I used to be, so I love going back and rooting them on. I was wiped, though, and the sickness started coming back. I went back to the car and took a nap.
I was considering just driving home and skipping the game at this point, but I felt better a bit better after some rest. I still probably should have just went home, but I walked to the Boulevard Lounge instead, and got a burger and a cranberry juice. By then I was doing alright, and I decided to stay for the game. I went back to check on my official time as they were giving out the awards to the age group winners, a 27:38. They had my town listed incorrectly as Midland, but I felt like I owned the place at that point, so it was okay. So much for breaking 10 minute miles, I just broke 9. I loitered around for a few hours, walking around the town. There were a few hours there where the sun was out and it felt like it was baking some of the sickness out of me. It didn't last long though, and it got really cold and cloudy again.
I was still thinking about leaving, but I stayed for the whole game. I did have to get a hot chocolate and stand by the fire pit to make it through, but it was worth it. The game ended with a Loons walk-off double in bottom of the 9th, after an appearance from the Rall E. Camel on the big screen. There are a few kids there that will probably be Dodgers eventually. They've already sent on Clayton Kershaw and Jerry Sands, and I think they'll turn out a few others in the coming years. I'll have to head back for a few more games this year, because it's great, affordable fun, even when the weather's miserable and you're sick.
Brenty Claus (sans red suit) Conquers the Martians
When you're leaving for a new destination race, even within your own state, sometimes it's just best to leave a good deal early. This, and "don't buy any running shirts, you'll get plenty along the way" are the only 2 major pieces of advice I've come up with over the nearly two years I've been going at it out there on the road. It doesn't matter if you have directions or not, things can happen. The race can get moved at the last second, you could have trouble finding somewhere to park, or your registration could get misplaced. Anything can happen. What happened before our first half marathon was kind of interesting.
I knew the Martian races were happening at a place called Ford Field in Dearborn. What I didn't know was that everything in Dearborn is named after Ford. When I got to where I thought we were supposed to be, I saw a few of the 26.2 and 13.1 signs on cars, but it seemed like there weren't enough people there. When we walked in all geared up for running, a clerk at the desk of "Ford Field" asked us if we were there for the race. After telling her affirmative (if you take your K-9 to Human translators out we actually said "yes"), she said, and I'm not kidding "Ok, you want to be at Ford Field, not Ford Field." Yes, really. So after staring at her blankly, which I'm guessing happened a lot that day, she told us how to get there.
After following her directions we ran into a mass of people and no parking, but Jason eventually pointed out a "For Lease" sign on a business, which is just as good as a "Free Parking" sign. We quickly got out of the car and followed the masses to where they all seemed to be going, and found out the place was just a big field/parking lot. Ohhhh...ford field, I get it. After picking up our shirts, we had 5 minutes until race time. So we just had to slip on the shirts under what we had on, pin on the bibs, throw the rest of the packet stuff away, and get in line for the race. So much for a warm up and a stretch, or even mentally calming down after nearly missing the start. Like it or not this race is happening now...and, oh crap, I forgot my headphones (Coby 2) in the car.
Jason and I wished each other luck, and off we went. The start was an immediate uphill, which tightened up the calves instantly. In came the immediate doubt, and around me I heard a few others vocally expressing the same. Just then, I heard somebody yell out "Brett Favre! Brett Favre!" I look up and there's a silver-haired, middle-aged man that could probably pass for Favre out getting his mail and crossing the street as one of the racers called out his doppelganger's name. You could tell by his smirk that he'd heard that one before. That got me laughing and I took the next few steps a little lighter.
Not long after, I came across an Army soldier running the half-marathon with full backpack, and figured that if he was running it like that, I could probably make it with my human weight too. Still though, how bad-ass are our service men and women? Me and another guy talked with him a bit (as much as our breath allowed) and found out he just got back from Iraq, and apparently this was how he was spending his down time. Somebody deserves a B.A.M.F. on their wallet, for sure.
About mile 2 or so, I was starting to get into a groove, and we had the pleasure of running down a highway ramp, and headed into a ridiculously long stretch of straight shut down mini-highway. It was nice to run in a place that was relatively flat, but it was also pretty open, and my face was collecting a nice film of dirt the whole way. From mile 2 on, all I could think about was getting to the turn-around, and apparently it couldn't come fast enough, because I was pressing hard. At one point I actually caught Jason, which was proof I was going way too fast. I was pressing into 9 and some change minute miles getting to the half point, and for the distance we were going, this was not a good idea for me.
Despite that, I kept pushing on, and hit the turn-around, only to have the mental block come in with me thinking, "wait, I gotta do this whole thing again?" I slowed down to a running version of dead crawl and, though I didn't stop, it was looking like I might as well have. Then it happened, again. It seems that somehow, whenever I feel like I'm going to fade out, I get a little friendly push or some divine intervention. About mile 7 or 8 a bigger guy like me still forcing himself toward the halfway point threw out a low five to me, and told me "Keep pushing, you're doing it for all of us." At that point, I really did feel that this thing wasn't just for me, it was for all us big guys out there. I had to try to be the best of us, try to be the fastest guy my size, and get this thing done to do us all proud.
Suddenly I was back up, and catching back up to the people that just passed me in that bad stretch. In mile 9 I made a friend and she said it was about this point that she wonders why she does this to herself. I said that in another mile I'll be pushing farther than I've ever run before. Then she said something about how "we" would probably have to stop in a bit. I assured her I didn't plan on walking and kept going, eventually losing her, but Jason passed and lost me about this point as well.
Mile 10 hit, and so did the temptation. All around me people were dropping like flies, stopping to walk, and I was passing the lot of them, but there were so many ahead, around, and behind me that just quit there. It would have been so easy just to join them. I thought, "Well you did the Crim distance, that's pretty good, right? Everyone else is walking, there's no shame in that, right? Look, everyone else is taking a break." I just couldn't do it. I don't know what it is in me that just refuses to let these races beat me, but I just won't surrender defeat like that. So I kept pushing toward that Army water station I knew was up there from the trip down, and as I approached I started to realize something. I was in uncharted waters.
I just breached the 10 mile mark, and I was still running. Not only that, I looked around me, and there were only the skinnies. There were no big guys ahead in sight. I was all alone, and I was noticing the volunteers were really excited to see me up there. They really cheered me especially hard, and it wasn't long after that when I started hearing it from the runners too. It may sound cheesy, but it was the first time I really felt completely respected out there. People just kept verbally tipping their cap to the fat guy passing them or keeping close to their side.
However, the real challenge was yet to come. Every long race seems to have its race-breaker. The one spot that is put in, by design, to break all of us and pull our running legs out from under us. I didn't know it, but that was about to come. Instead of going back up the ramp with a slight incline like I thought we would, we cut slightly off to the left onto a trail, and then, after a hard left, there it was. It was a nice short, but steep, hill and a lot of races were buried there that day. I know I passed more than 10 people just in that very short stretch. I didn't come out unscathed, either. I know I really slowed down from that hill, but not anymore than anyone around me, and I was still gaining here and there. A man next to me said to his son "See that girl with the water bottle, we can get her," and I followed with them to pass her in mile 11.
I continued to get a lot of respect the rest of the way. It seemed like every other person I passed at this point wished me well, because a lot of us had been fighting each other off a lot of the way on the back side of the race. One woman, who I had been going back and forth with for the past 5 miles told me "doing this at your size is amazing" and I didn't even take offense at all. I just took it as it was meant, as a compliment. It was the first time that I felt like I earned everyone's respect out there. I know at this point that I belong, but to hear that much from others letting me know I do was just, I don't know, almost an out-of-body self-realizing experience.
As we neared mile 13, I hit the nitro. No matter how far the race is, it seems that seeing the indications of the end make me find something left I didn't know I had. I lost the people that had been fighting to keep in my range, and started picking off some others as I hit the last turn. I tried to keep the sprint, and I did until i finally hit the end. I turned and rooted on the others in my group to the end, and chatted it up with the lady again, and told her good job. I grabbed my water, and then realized that I was a bit woozy. I guess running for that long and suddenly stopping will do that to you, so I started to walk it off a bit and got my wits back.
Eventually I found Jason up getting some bagels and pizza, and trying to recover. He was dead too. I got my banana and a bagel, and stretched out for a bit. Then we had to go get more water, and sat down at a picnic table. There was a lot of discussion about how maybe we better not ever try a full marathon, how dead we were, how we felt, and how maybe we won't ever do even a half marathon again after that. I guess our "10 miles is just as good as 13.1 if you feel good after 10" training program wasn't as accurate as we thought. That last 3.1 is hard, both mentally and physically. Well perhaps it was harder, because is was actually 3.4. Yep, the Martians measured wrong, and we did end up going .3 long, so I have an actual time and an adjusted time (to correct for the .3 extra) for that race. What kind of cruelty is that, you horrid aliens, making us poor Earthlings run an extra .3 just for fun? Oh well, my actual time for the 13.4 was a 2:24:11, and the adjusted (for 13.1) is a 2:20:53.
After the race, we lumbered back to the car and drove to Miller's Bar. Miller's is semi-famous in Michigan and is often touted as the best burger in Southeast Michigan. After waiting about 30 minutes we took two seats at the bar, and probably lost the bartender's attention the second we ordered our drinks. With Jason off drinking completely and me in my non-alcohol Lenten phase, the water and cranberry juice probably didn't excite him too much. I think since we weren't boozing, we kind of got snubbed. Our food took forever, but at least we were getting the best burger ever, right?
Well...I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion. We we're perfectly primed subjects to be impressed. We were exhausted, starving, and completely anxious for the burgers. They just didn't deliver for either of us, though. I thought it tasted a little like a mix of McDonald's and this place up in Traverse City called Don's. Not bad, but not the Excalibur, be all and end all, we were primed for. Honestly, an average Flint or Detroit burger will blow them away any day. That being said, though, if you are in the area, it is still worth the trip. The cash only honor system where you tell them what you had and they ring it up is charming, and it's fairly reasonable in price. It's just not something I would go out of my way and travel for like many people have.
After eating we headed back to the finish to get a photo of us together, and got roped into taking down a tent, which had a loose pole that popped out and hit me on the leg. Luckily it didn't do much more than bruise me, because it could have been a nice lump or a broken foot. Wouldn't that be the breaks, getting hurt after a race while trying to do nice and help the coordinators take a tent down off from a platform (see below).
Finish Photo (an hour later)
Martian Police
Shirt Front and Medal
Back and Medal
Anyway, that's how it went, and despite the post-race whining and crying, I'm already signed up for another halfer. I have shaken off the bad feelings and still think I want to do the full marathon, it may just not be this year. I actually recovered from the whole thing pretty well, and was already back running the Tuesday after. That was probably too soon and I did take a little down time the next week after a sore knee, but I got right back in gear after that. After sifting through some photos and looking at times, I found out there was one guy about my size that beat me, but I also found out that this guy is actually a semi-well-known, fully-sponsored, fat runner guy. So he's maybe the best of us, and you know what, I'll get him next time.
Still more to come, I haven't caught up quite yet...
*5/26/11 EDIT*
Jason managed to find us in a video from the Dearborn Patch. Starting at about 0:56 and ending about 0:59 you can see us come and go on the left bottom of the screen and run through the frame as we started out the journey.
I knew the Martian races were happening at a place called Ford Field in Dearborn. What I didn't know was that everything in Dearborn is named after Ford. When I got to where I thought we were supposed to be, I saw a few of the 26.2 and 13.1 signs on cars, but it seemed like there weren't enough people there. When we walked in all geared up for running, a clerk at the desk of "Ford Field" asked us if we were there for the race. After telling her affirmative (if you take your K-9 to Human translators out we actually said "yes"), she said, and I'm not kidding "Ok, you want to be at Ford Field, not Ford Field." Yes, really. So after staring at her blankly, which I'm guessing happened a lot that day, she told us how to get there.
After following her directions we ran into a mass of people and no parking, but Jason eventually pointed out a "For Lease" sign on a business, which is just as good as a "Free Parking" sign. We quickly got out of the car and followed the masses to where they all seemed to be going, and found out the place was just a big field/parking lot. Ohhhh...ford field, I get it. After picking up our shirts, we had 5 minutes until race time. So we just had to slip on the shirts under what we had on, pin on the bibs, throw the rest of the packet stuff away, and get in line for the race. So much for a warm up and a stretch, or even mentally calming down after nearly missing the start. Like it or not this race is happening now...and, oh crap, I forgot my headphones (Coby 2) in the car.
Jason and I wished each other luck, and off we went. The start was an immediate uphill, which tightened up the calves instantly. In came the immediate doubt, and around me I heard a few others vocally expressing the same. Just then, I heard somebody yell out "Brett Favre! Brett Favre!" I look up and there's a silver-haired, middle-aged man that could probably pass for Favre out getting his mail and crossing the street as one of the racers called out his doppelganger's name. You could tell by his smirk that he'd heard that one before. That got me laughing and I took the next few steps a little lighter.
Not long after, I came across an Army soldier running the half-marathon with full backpack, and figured that if he was running it like that, I could probably make it with my human weight too. Still though, how bad-ass are our service men and women? Me and another guy talked with him a bit (as much as our breath allowed) and found out he just got back from Iraq, and apparently this was how he was spending his down time. Somebody deserves a B.A.M.F. on their wallet, for sure.
About mile 2 or so, I was starting to get into a groove, and we had the pleasure of running down a highway ramp, and headed into a ridiculously long stretch of straight shut down mini-highway. It was nice to run in a place that was relatively flat, but it was also pretty open, and my face was collecting a nice film of dirt the whole way. From mile 2 on, all I could think about was getting to the turn-around, and apparently it couldn't come fast enough, because I was pressing hard. At one point I actually caught Jason, which was proof I was going way too fast. I was pressing into 9 and some change minute miles getting to the half point, and for the distance we were going, this was not a good idea for me.
Despite that, I kept pushing on, and hit the turn-around, only to have the mental block come in with me thinking, "wait, I gotta do this whole thing again?" I slowed down to a running version of dead crawl and, though I didn't stop, it was looking like I might as well have. Then it happened, again. It seems that somehow, whenever I feel like I'm going to fade out, I get a little friendly push or some divine intervention. About mile 7 or 8 a bigger guy like me still forcing himself toward the halfway point threw out a low five to me, and told me "Keep pushing, you're doing it for all of us." At that point, I really did feel that this thing wasn't just for me, it was for all us big guys out there. I had to try to be the best of us, try to be the fastest guy my size, and get this thing done to do us all proud.
Suddenly I was back up, and catching back up to the people that just passed me in that bad stretch. In mile 9 I made a friend and she said it was about this point that she wonders why she does this to herself. I said that in another mile I'll be pushing farther than I've ever run before. Then she said something about how "we" would probably have to stop in a bit. I assured her I didn't plan on walking and kept going, eventually losing her, but Jason passed and lost me about this point as well.
Mile 10 hit, and so did the temptation. All around me people were dropping like flies, stopping to walk, and I was passing the lot of them, but there were so many ahead, around, and behind me that just quit there. It would have been so easy just to join them. I thought, "Well you did the Crim distance, that's pretty good, right? Everyone else is walking, there's no shame in that, right? Look, everyone else is taking a break." I just couldn't do it. I don't know what it is in me that just refuses to let these races beat me, but I just won't surrender defeat like that. So I kept pushing toward that Army water station I knew was up there from the trip down, and as I approached I started to realize something. I was in uncharted waters.
I just breached the 10 mile mark, and I was still running. Not only that, I looked around me, and there were only the skinnies. There were no big guys ahead in sight. I was all alone, and I was noticing the volunteers were really excited to see me up there. They really cheered me especially hard, and it wasn't long after that when I started hearing it from the runners too. It may sound cheesy, but it was the first time I really felt completely respected out there. People just kept verbally tipping their cap to the fat guy passing them or keeping close to their side.
However, the real challenge was yet to come. Every long race seems to have its race-breaker. The one spot that is put in, by design, to break all of us and pull our running legs out from under us. I didn't know it, but that was about to come. Instead of going back up the ramp with a slight incline like I thought we would, we cut slightly off to the left onto a trail, and then, after a hard left, there it was. It was a nice short, but steep, hill and a lot of races were buried there that day. I know I passed more than 10 people just in that very short stretch. I didn't come out unscathed, either. I know I really slowed down from that hill, but not anymore than anyone around me, and I was still gaining here and there. A man next to me said to his son "See that girl with the water bottle, we can get her," and I followed with them to pass her in mile 11.
I continued to get a lot of respect the rest of the way. It seemed like every other person I passed at this point wished me well, because a lot of us had been fighting each other off a lot of the way on the back side of the race. One woman, who I had been going back and forth with for the past 5 miles told me "doing this at your size is amazing" and I didn't even take offense at all. I just took it as it was meant, as a compliment. It was the first time that I felt like I earned everyone's respect out there. I know at this point that I belong, but to hear that much from others letting me know I do was just, I don't know, almost an out-of-body self-realizing experience.
As we neared mile 13, I hit the nitro. No matter how far the race is, it seems that seeing the indications of the end make me find something left I didn't know I had. I lost the people that had been fighting to keep in my range, and started picking off some others as I hit the last turn. I tried to keep the sprint, and I did until i finally hit the end. I turned and rooted on the others in my group to the end, and chatted it up with the lady again, and told her good job. I grabbed my water, and then realized that I was a bit woozy. I guess running for that long and suddenly stopping will do that to you, so I started to walk it off a bit and got my wits back.
Eventually I found Jason up getting some bagels and pizza, and trying to recover. He was dead too. I got my banana and a bagel, and stretched out for a bit. Then we had to go get more water, and sat down at a picnic table. There was a lot of discussion about how maybe we better not ever try a full marathon, how dead we were, how we felt, and how maybe we won't ever do even a half marathon again after that. I guess our "10 miles is just as good as 13.1 if you feel good after 10" training program wasn't as accurate as we thought. That last 3.1 is hard, both mentally and physically. Well perhaps it was harder, because is was actually 3.4. Yep, the Martians measured wrong, and we did end up going .3 long, so I have an actual time and an adjusted time (to correct for the .3 extra) for that race. What kind of cruelty is that, you horrid aliens, making us poor Earthlings run an extra .3 just for fun? Oh well, my actual time for the 13.4 was a 2:24:11, and the adjusted (for 13.1) is a 2:20:53.
After the race, we lumbered back to the car and drove to Miller's Bar. Miller's is semi-famous in Michigan and is often touted as the best burger in Southeast Michigan. After waiting about 30 minutes we took two seats at the bar, and probably lost the bartender's attention the second we ordered our drinks. With Jason off drinking completely and me in my non-alcohol Lenten phase, the water and cranberry juice probably didn't excite him too much. I think since we weren't boozing, we kind of got snubbed. Our food took forever, but at least we were getting the best burger ever, right?
Well...I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion. We we're perfectly primed subjects to be impressed. We were exhausted, starving, and completely anxious for the burgers. They just didn't deliver for either of us, though. I thought it tasted a little like a mix of McDonald's and this place up in Traverse City called Don's. Not bad, but not the Excalibur, be all and end all, we were primed for. Honestly, an average Flint or Detroit burger will blow them away any day. That being said, though, if you are in the area, it is still worth the trip. The cash only honor system where you tell them what you had and they ring it up is charming, and it's fairly reasonable in price. It's just not something I would go out of my way and travel for like many people have.
After eating we headed back to the finish to get a photo of us together, and got roped into taking down a tent, which had a loose pole that popped out and hit me on the leg. Luckily it didn't do much more than bruise me, because it could have been a nice lump or a broken foot. Wouldn't that be the breaks, getting hurt after a race while trying to do nice and help the coordinators take a tent down off from a platform (see below).
Shirt Front and Medal
Still more to come, I haven't caught up quite yet...
*5/26/11 EDIT*
Jason managed to find us in a video from the Dearborn Patch. Starting at about 0:56 and ending about 0:59 you can see us come and go on the left bottom of the screen and run through the frame as we started out the journey.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
"No Mon, I'm not dead..."
First off, forgive me for not being able to resist keeping the "Cool Runnings" continuity there.
Secondly, what happened? Well, let's just say I got roped into a gentleman's agreement to give up social networking for Lent. So I've given up the facebooks, the twitters, the blogs, the message boards, and pretty much all those good time wasters that are out there. Before doing so I wondered how it would affect me and if I'd actually get anything more accomplished or feel like I had any additional time. Honestly, I don't think so. I may have paid more attention to movies I rented, and had a small backslide into reading comics again, but that's about it. I blame Felicia Day and "The Guild" and IDW for putting telepathic zombies in Ghostbusters and Star Trek comics (also Transformers and GI Joe, but that's not important). In the mean time, my friend and the comic shop guys have been bringing me up to speed on other things as well. I'd feel childish reading them if the writing on a lot of this stuff didn't have more depth than half the crap on TV. Ok, so maybe the Infestation stuff is lacking there, but the novelty of a zombie Stay Puft Marshmallow man is hard to pass up. Mostly, not doing my online things just made me feel a little more disconnected from my friends, especially the ones I don't hang out with regularly.
Anyway, I edited out the swears so I could take off the adult content warning, and I'm going to try to catch this thing up...
The Shillelagh
I was not happy with this one at all. I just couldn't keep going hard and died in mile 3. I ended up running the 4 miles in a 40:08, which isn't bad by old Brent standards, but I didn't want to be over 10-minute miles on short races anymore. So this one had me mad...no, pretty much flat out pissed...the whole rest of the day. That didn't help when the old concrete laundry sink downstairs sprung a leak on me later that day, but that's taken care of. Well almost, the old sink still needs to get out of the basement, which I'm thinking will be in pieces.
Corktown
I started off the day going to church at St. Anne's in Detroit, which is officially our oldest parish in this state. The church itself was built in 1886, and absolutely gorgeous. I was only able to go to the English mass in the chapel, but I'd like to go for mass in the main church if I can bring my translator (my younger sister). My 3 years of Spanish has completely evaporated out of the top of my head.
For the race itself, I took the approach of just trying to flat out run until I couldn't breathe and push the entire time. The Shillelagh the day before had me full of steam and I ended up knocking out a new record for the 5K. Just like I said, it fell, with a 28:53. Then I ended up falling into some St. Patrick's Parade festivities, and did another showdown of American and Lafayette coney islands. I still like American better, nothing's changed, and my friends are dead wrong. The war continues, and now I have recent research.
Pot O'Gold
Just to purge the Shillelagh demons further, I had to do another 4-miler. I walked downtown, and then had to come back home (and walk back again) because the shirt they had was a sweatshirt. It was 60 degrees out. No way I'm running that bundled in that high of temperature. Jessi met me downtown to see me off. I saw some people I recognized from the Shillelagh and blew by them for a 38:36. Shillelagh demons purged.
Al Kayner
I chipped my windshield the Friday after St. Patrick's Day coming home from my friend's birthday party in Yale. On the way up to Bay City with Jason that same Sunday, the chip became a crack, just like in the commercials. First time that's happened. Jason had a little bad luck in the race and took a wrong turn with the 5K people. Given the fact there weren't signs and only 2 people to point out what to do, it probably wasn't too hard to get crossed up if you had headphones on. Speaking of, my trusty mp3 player was cutting in and out, but more on that in a bit. I ended up with a 47:59, about a 9:40/mile time, and another 8K record (destroying the Winterläufe time).
As far as the Coby mp3 player, I popped it open to diagnose the problem after figuring out it wasn't just bad headphones. The jack itself was coming loose from the board, and needed to be soldered back in just right, and unfortunately, I couldn't do so finely enough to save it. I almost had it, but on the last bit I wasn't steady enough, got some excess solder in just the wrong place, and ended up frying it when I turned it back on. The last song it officially played was "End Times" by The Eels, so it had a poetic death.
I'll write about the Halfer and beyond later. For now it's late and I just ran out of Firefly episodes to give me an excuse not to get to bed.
Secondly, what happened? Well, let's just say I got roped into a gentleman's agreement to give up social networking for Lent. So I've given up the facebooks, the twitters, the blogs, the message boards, and pretty much all those good time wasters that are out there. Before doing so I wondered how it would affect me and if I'd actually get anything more accomplished or feel like I had any additional time. Honestly, I don't think so. I may have paid more attention to movies I rented, and had a small backslide into reading comics again, but that's about it. I blame Felicia Day and "The Guild" and IDW for putting telepathic zombies in Ghostbusters and Star Trek comics (also Transformers and GI Joe, but that's not important). In the mean time, my friend and the comic shop guys have been bringing me up to speed on other things as well. I'd feel childish reading them if the writing on a lot of this stuff didn't have more depth than half the crap on TV. Ok, so maybe the Infestation stuff is lacking there, but the novelty of a zombie Stay Puft Marshmallow man is hard to pass up. Mostly, not doing my online things just made me feel a little more disconnected from my friends, especially the ones I don't hang out with regularly.
Anyway, I edited out the swears so I could take off the adult content warning, and I'm going to try to catch this thing up...
The Shillelagh
I was not happy with this one at all. I just couldn't keep going hard and died in mile 3. I ended up running the 4 miles in a 40:08, which isn't bad by old Brent standards, but I didn't want to be over 10-minute miles on short races anymore. So this one had me mad...no, pretty much flat out pissed...the whole rest of the day. That didn't help when the old concrete laundry sink downstairs sprung a leak on me later that day, but that's taken care of. Well almost, the old sink still needs to get out of the basement, which I'm thinking will be in pieces.
Corktown
I started off the day going to church at St. Anne's in Detroit, which is officially our oldest parish in this state. The church itself was built in 1886, and absolutely gorgeous. I was only able to go to the English mass in the chapel, but I'd like to go for mass in the main church if I can bring my translator (my younger sister). My 3 years of Spanish has completely evaporated out of the top of my head.
For the race itself, I took the approach of just trying to flat out run until I couldn't breathe and push the entire time. The Shillelagh the day before had me full of steam and I ended up knocking out a new record for the 5K. Just like I said, it fell, with a 28:53. Then I ended up falling into some St. Patrick's Parade festivities, and did another showdown of American and Lafayette coney islands. I still like American better, nothing's changed, and my friends are dead wrong. The war continues, and now I have recent research.
Pot O'Gold
Just to purge the Shillelagh demons further, I had to do another 4-miler. I walked downtown, and then had to come back home (and walk back again) because the shirt they had was a sweatshirt. It was 60 degrees out. No way I'm running that bundled in that high of temperature. Jessi met me downtown to see me off. I saw some people I recognized from the Shillelagh and blew by them for a 38:36. Shillelagh demons purged.
Al Kayner
I chipped my windshield the Friday after St. Patrick's Day coming home from my friend's birthday party in Yale. On the way up to Bay City with Jason that same Sunday, the chip became a crack, just like in the commercials. First time that's happened. Jason had a little bad luck in the race and took a wrong turn with the 5K people. Given the fact there weren't signs and only 2 people to point out what to do, it probably wasn't too hard to get crossed up if you had headphones on. Speaking of, my trusty mp3 player was cutting in and out, but more on that in a bit. I ended up with a 47:59, about a 9:40/mile time, and another 8K record (destroying the Winterläufe time).
As far as the Coby mp3 player, I popped it open to diagnose the problem after figuring out it wasn't just bad headphones. The jack itself was coming loose from the board, and needed to be soldered back in just right, and unfortunately, I couldn't do so finely enough to save it. I almost had it, but on the last bit I wasn't steady enough, got some excess solder in just the wrong place, and ended up frying it when I turned it back on. The last song it officially played was "End Times" by The Eels, so it had a poetic death.
I'll write about the Halfer and beyond later. For now it's late and I just ran out of Firefly episodes to give me an excuse not to get to bed.
Friday, March 4, 2011
I think I need to find a bobsled team.
After all this winter running, I'm getting what me and my several viewings of the movie "Cool Runnings" are calling a "Sanka Coffie Complex." Yesterday was not as bad as my driveway today, where I took one step and started sliding downhill, stopping only after getting a foot in a snowbank and stopping the other just before doing the splits completely (the Asics completely suck on ice). Running in it yesterday wasn't as bad as that, but there is a noticeable frustration in my voice when I saw it on our trail with a half mix of ice and ice glazed snow. IIIICCEEEE?!?!
Jason pushed hard yesterday, and I really fall behind on the wintery mix stuff. If it's snow...I go in deeper with each step, if it's ice....I have to be more in balance, and if it's the mix of both...it just sucks. He probably finished a 1/4 mile ahead of me on just a 5K, and I was pushing as hard as I could. Every time we'd hit flat pavement I tried so hard to catch up, then we'd hit the messy stuff, and back I'd go again. I'm tired of it. It really just needs to go away. Winter doesn't ever usually bother me, but this year, now that I'm running in this stuff, I'm done with it. Still though, it was about a 29 min flat 5K, so I'm happy.
Slight update in the potential race schedule. Red = not registered, but considering it
3-12-11 Shillelagh 4 mile Run - Flushing, MI
3-13-11 Corktown St. Pats 5K Run - Detroit , MI
3-17-11 Pot O'Gold 4 mile Run - Flint
Jason pushed hard yesterday, and I really fall behind on the wintery mix stuff. If it's snow...I go in deeper with each step, if it's ice....I have to be more in balance, and if it's the mix of both...it just sucks. He probably finished a 1/4 mile ahead of me on just a 5K, and I was pushing as hard as I could. Every time we'd hit flat pavement I tried so hard to catch up, then we'd hit the messy stuff, and back I'd go again. I'm tired of it. It really just needs to go away. Winter doesn't ever usually bother me, but this year, now that I'm running in this stuff, I'm done with it. Still though, it was about a 29 min flat 5K, so I'm happy.
Slight update in the potential race schedule. Red = not registered, but considering it
3-12-11 Shillelagh 4 mile Run - Flushing, MI
3-13-11 Corktown St. Pats 5K Run - Detroit , MI
3-17-11 Pot O'Gold 4 mile Run - Flint
3-20-11 Al Kayner St. Pats 8K Run - Bay City, MI
4-2-11 Martian Half-Marathon - Dearborn, MI
7-30-11 Warrior Dash
There are more, but I'm not going to list every potential race I'm doing that isn't coming up soon. Two things. First, I kind of hate the idea of running on back-to-back days next weekend, but the Irish in me likes to overdo St. Patrick's Day events. Already I'm making mixes with The Pogues, Tossers, Flogging Molly, etc. for the day, so I might as well channel some overdoing into something healthy. Second, the Half-Marathon. It's too early for it, I know, but I might as well shoot for it now to see what I'm getting into. If I have to stop, I have to stop. I don't plan on giving up for it and walking at all, but if it's ever going to happen, that might be the one. I wanted to do this race's 5K last year, so maybe I'm just making up for that. It's been in my reticle since this year began, and I even already bought a shirt especially for it (below). Might as well try to do it up right. I'm still quite a bit frightened, though.
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