Category: Running Blog

Posted on

The Comeback, part 57

For years I always did it by myself: set my training plans, ran my miles, charged through my races, alone, didn’t need anyone else, preferred it that way.

Then I wandered into a crew where we ran in packs, and then I met a person who ran by my side, stride-for-stride in perfectly matched cadence, and everything changed. Now I wear a tattoo and a ring as symbols of all the new places they’ve taken me, not just for my body, but inside my head.

Those who have been along with me the last 5 years know about all the challenges I’ve had in that time, none show-stopping, all of them hurdles, a continuous bank of hurdles, as I’ve tried to get back some of my magic from before the pandemic. And it IS magic, as wonderful and elusive as all magic is. And I just couldn’t get it back in my hands.

The last couple of weeks I was sitting it the house watching the snow pile up outside ruining yet another edition of comeback plans. That old treadmill in the basement was more than I could bear, and the square indoor track at the town gym looked more like an onramp to injury. Started wondering if there was any way I could continue, any way I could be ready for all the spring events (I won’t call them races any more) I had already signed up for.

And then–this next part is going to sound stupid, but really it isn’t, and yes it’s coming from the advantages of privilege I hope I somewhat earned–I woke up to a string of texts from my partner in running and in life, who had just had a bit of a meltdown that morning over that obsolete treadmill and the software that could no longer be updated or serviced, putting her own training plans for Boston at risk. By the afternoon a new treadmill was on the way, oh yay, just great, right? Because we all love treadmills so much.

I’m solidly in the era of last purchases: my last suit, my last car, my last treadmill, so I went for the top recommendation by Runners World, Wirecutter, etc. Not the most expensive machine, but one that would do the job and with a screen big enough that these old eyes could read. And of course the upsell was a discount to a video training platform, so why not, let’s try it for a year.

The first workout, I just set it to manual mode and walked a mile watching a track animation. Boooooring, just like any treadmill. The second workout, why not, I looked for a run/walk program and found a couple of video series featuring Tommy Rivs, the world class runner who is trying to make a comeback from cancer, or who is at least living his best life until it returns, and that best life includes running to whatever level he can.

Now I’m not going to suggest that I was anywhere near as broken as Tommy Rivs, but I was broken. And within the first 10 minutes of that first workout in a series of 30, walking and running with him while he talked, I wasn’t broken any more, or at least I wasn’t alone in being broken. It’s a “beginner” run/walk program, and he was quick to say that “beginner” meant anyone who is coming back from injury and wants to be strong again. So yeah, after 25 years, 250 races, almost 30 half marathons, 2 marathons, I’m back to being a beginner again. And it’s so strange, one workout in, I haven’t felt as optimistic and energized since I first ran with that crew and first ran with that girl. Bonus: the sequence I’m started with was filmed in Spain and Portugal, where I have multiple bloodlines.

Surrender is something I learned long ago in one part of my life, and you’d think that I’d know to apply it to other parts as well, but, you know, defiance is the foundation of my character, it’s even in my DNA. Tommy Rivs can’t run more than 30 seconds at a time and may never again. I can already do better than that. Yet here we are, me surrendering to his story and his advice, and him leaving me some of what he’s got left. And thank god for his help, because I can’t do this alone–don’t want to do this alone–any more. I’ve got my crew, my wife, and now a ghost of a trainer pulling me along, and who knows where I’ll be able to go now. Great things can happen when you just give yourself over.

Running is not an individual, solo sport. Never has been, in spite of our stubborn efforts to make it one. Running is community, running is survival, running is celebration, and you need other people for all of it. Running above all is love for everyone who joins in, and a hand to grasp when you need to be pulled up again. And in just a few minutes on that treadmill, down in the basement on a cold winter’s day, I was reminded of all that, and started to regain all that, and I am sure, absolutely sure, that I will be back for good this time. See you out there in 2026. Tommy too.

Posted on

Running arc: the final years

Running shoes, singlet, shorts and hat laying in a pile on the floor

Most of my running career, I’ve planned a year or so in advance: time goals, training blocks, race schedules, trips. Eventually what were once fast race 5k years got blended with slower half marathon and marathon years. Was always enough to keep me going to the next thing, but, except for marathons, training was inconsistent and haphazard depending on what was coming up. And there’s a price for all the whipsawing. 

The last few years of medical conditions and chronic injuries have played also havoc with that approach, and I found myself in a constant panic of trying to catch up on distance progressions and make up for lost time and force myself to build to races I had no business doing, which resulted in a virtuous cycle of undertraining and pain and disappointment. I don’t have the focus or the discipline or the natural athletic talent my wife Mary has, and it’s been hard keeping up without the right tools. This spring, a too-ambitious, too-soon schedule of distance races collapsed under its own weight and questionable motivation and a shaky back. Running was not fun any more.

So I took a breath and went back to basics, as if I was a brand new runner. All the way back to the most basic of basics. Conditioning over running, attention to strengthening QLs, hip flexors and medial glutes above all (my weak points apparently). Run-walking at its most elementary level (30/30 program to start) without advancing too quickly for any reason. Sure, pin on a number every once in a while, but do your scheduled workout even if you’re in the back. Don’t worry about it. No one cares. You should only care that you’re still out there.

And it’s working. Slow but sure progress, not only for my body but for my mind. Not only is my back better, not only do I appreciate the progress, but my head is getting back on straight too, and I’m enjoying the sport again without worrying whether I can finish what I started on any given day. Maybe I’ll even try to get rid of the noticeable shoulder drop and hip collapse from all those years of carrying around computers and luggage. Anyway, there is light.

There’s also the realization that there may not be much time left, and that maybe there’s only one last competitive cycle available to me, that most of the people I’ve competed against over the years have all sat down already. And that’s what I’ve been laying out recently, the competitive arc that takes me through the next five years towards the end, with the hope that the end never really comes.

So, this year, 2025, it’s only about recovering and being able to get back to running consistently and comfortably, short distances only. Regular strength, stretching, tai chi, qigong, yoga. No distances past 10k. Some speedwork mostly as strides.  I have a few 5k races here and there through the end of the year to keep it honest, although I’m really only out there to have fun with the pack.

Next year, 2026, is about gradually improving performance over a sustained schedule of 5k and 10k races, nothing longer. Again, mostly just being out there, but allowing myself a couple of target races towards the back half of the year. Let’s get one full solid year in before anything else.

2027 will be a new age group for me (yay seventies), and yeah, I’ll be going for as much hardware as I can. There will still be some cycles, with A, B and C races, with even some of the C races specifically chosen to be medal-possible. I’ve gotten 44 age group awards over the years, and would very much like to get that to 50. Will probably be the last year of running towards the front for me.

And after that, a slow retreat. 2028 looks like it could be a farewell to some of my usual suspect races, especially the Chicago races. Maybe there’s a progression where I could run my last Shamrock Shuffle into the Chicago Spring 10k, my 10th in-person Soldier Field 10 into Chicago 13.1 for my 30th half marathon. I have a difficult history with Chicago 13.1 and feel like I need to make some peace with it.  There will be quite a bit of sadness with this year, saying goodbye to favorites, to anchors on the schedule. That’s just reality, and in that reality, even more peace and gratitude.

By 2029 I’ll likely be back to local races around me, just 5ks. I’ll be that old guy chatting up the new runners at the start line, pulling them up towards the finish line. No real plans beyond here except to keep moving as long as possible, racing butterflies and bunnies through the forest preserves and all that.

Along the way I’ll want to fill in some of the missing links of my running resume, some of the shorter iconic races I haven’t yet done, like Peachtree, Wharf to Wharf, Beach to Beacon, Crescent City Classic, maybe Cherry Blossom Run.

This arc will seal 30 years of running and 25 years of competition and if I make it that far, it will have been great; and if I don’t, it still will have been great. We don’t know what will be our last race or our last run. In the realization that there’s an expiration date, it’s important to know that the day will come sooner or later, but with some care, it doesn’t have to be today. That’s my plan and I’m sticking to it.

When that day does finally come, I’ll be glad to say one last time, closing as I always do, with this:

There may be younger runners. And there may be faster runners. But every once in a while, into the setting sun on a warm summer’s night, there is no more magnificent runner, than me.

Thank you to anyone who has read this far, and who will be sharing the road or following along via the inevitable overshares on social media in my last running years. See you out there, and bless you all.

Posted on

El Viejo

When I first started running 25 years ago, in my 40s, there was this guy on the indoor track at the fitness center I ran on during cold winter days. He was at least 10 years older than me, probably more, and he would lap me like clockwork no matter what my pace. I used to think, “If only I could run like that guy. If only I could run like him.”

Eventually, over the years, I became that guy, a stronger runner for younger runners to chase, lapping the others in the gym, finding some success in local races. By chance I ran into John fifteen years later during a run in a local forest preserve. Now he looked old. He looked slow. He was slow. He was coming towards me and I waved him down and introduced myself and told him the story, and he laughed…we laughed. “Well you don’t want to be like me now.”

But once again, a few years later, here I am, and I am him again. 

Every few years the photographer David Jaewon Oh asks me to stand still for a portrait when he comes to town to shoot a running event. The first photo is waiting for the start of The Humboldt Mile in June 2018. The second photo, waiting to cheer at the Chicago Marathon in October 2023. There may be more somewhere to fill in the gap, but these are enough for me to react like Winston Churchill did when confronted by painter Graham Sutherland’s famous portrait of him, which Churchill later had his wife destroy. The semi-fictional exchange from The Crown sounds about right: 

Winston:  It is not a reasonably truthful image of me!
Sutherland: It is, sir. 
Winston: It is not! It is cruel!
Sutherland: Age is cruel! If you see decay, it’s because there’s decay. If you see frailty, it’s because there’s frailty. I can’t be blamed for what is. And I refuse to hide and disguise what I see. If you’re engaged in a fight with something, then it’s not with me. It’s with your own blindness.

Yes, well. I would almost rather be called slow than old because at least there’s something you can do about slow, although…now I have no choice to admit, I am El Viejo. And I embrace it, yes I do.

A few months ago one of the faster runners in our crew (if only I could run like her) told me to stop using the word slow when posting on social media, mostly in reference to myself, but really for everyone. We’re so happy to see you out there with us, she said. It’s about the experience and the support and not the pace, she said. She’s right of course, and those are things I already knew. What to do with this competitive fire still left, somewhere down deep, and not a little competitive insecurity: 42 age group awards, want to make it to 50…and in saying that, I’m showing the insecurity of the what ifs…what if I had tried harder in high school, what if I hadn’t sabotaged myself with so much alcohol and tobacco, what if I had started younger and stayed with it, what if I hadn’t gotten sick. My own blindness.

There are only so many days. One of my regrets, and I’m a person who has so very few regrets, is that I didn’t start running marathons sooner, that I waited until I was 61, because surely I could have gone sub 4 or something that never would have been enough. As it is, I’m coming up on 250 races, only one of which was a DNF because I messed up some meds. The list of DNS had been growing because I’ve become smarter about backing off in the face of undertraining mostly due to injury–one of my mantras is to live to run another day–and I’m almost ready to stop counting even as I’m nowhere near ready to stop racing.

247 race bibs, 2001 to present.

Following that mantra, and helped by the reminder from Kim (my sister was named Kim too), this season I accomplished what I set out to do: I ran every race I signed up for except one, which I missed because of COVID, and I hit a modest time goal in my last 5k that indicated to me that I was in fact on my way back and gave me a green light to turn things up for next year. I did cut plans for a couple of fun runs at the end of this year and the start of next because my wife Mary needs to heal a foot issue, and those races would not have been the same without her.

Next spring will be light: the season opener at my 15th Shamrock Shuffle in March (still a little sore at those guys, another story), and a time check at the Ravenswood Run 5k in April. Then it’s getting my daughter married before I pour in the heat of the rest of the schedule, and stress this old body to see if it can take the load of marathon training in 2025. If that happens, great. If not, and I’m back to being a 5k/10k kind of runner, with an occasional half marathon thrown in, that’s great too.

Because now I’m solidly El Viejo, who gets to say things like every day is a gift, every mile is a gift, every step is a gift, every breath is a gift, every start line is a gift, who gets to say things like that and mean every word. And I guess now that’s my gift to you, because my running is really not about me any more. It’s not that my time has passed, it’s that my time means so much more now than to worry about the time to the finish. Living in the moment with all of you, in the crew, in the mid-pack, inevitably in the back of the pack, wherever we may be, that’s where you’ll see El Viejo for a while longer at least. Not in any hurry to be anywhere else anytime soon.

Of course one thing that won’t ever change is my closing mantra:

There may be younger runners. And there may be faster runners. But every once in a while, on a warm summer evening into the setting sun, there is no more magnificent runner, than me.

So, see you all out there in 2024. It’s been a joy and an honor to share the road with you, and always will be. If you call out El Viejo, I’ll answer to it because I own it now, with honor and pride, with appreciation and humility, and with a great deal of gratitude. Thank you for letting me tag along.

 

Posted on

2023 Mini Shoe Reviews (including a mini rant)

Fall 2023 shoe rotation

One of the silver linings of coming back from a long-ass injury and recovery period is the opportunity to build a new running shoe rotation. Here’s what’s on my feet these days, after discarding the expired and the worn out and the troublesome. Feeling really good about the rotation and how I built it—will give some quick thoughts on each shoe.

But first, a mini rant. The state and cost and cult of running shoes is completely ridiculous today. Like most runners I had fallen into it too: ultra-cushioned, super stack height, plated and whatever, thinking I had to have the latest and greatest not only to compete but for the fashion of it all as well. And seriously, why are we paying those prices. While I’m no physical therapist, I am pretty sure that much of the latest shoe technology only weakens our feet over the long term (Born to Run was absolutely correct) in return for short-term performance and comfort. It’s a dangerous and unnecessarily expensive game to play if you have a horizon beyond the next season, and I want to keep going as along as possible, so I’ve stepped off that bus. 

Okay, back to building the new rotation. My mission was to return gradually to medium stack height and medium drop, with enough firmness that proprioception (can you feel the road beneath your feet?) returned to my running experience.  These old legs will probably never get back to the era of my beloved zero-drop Newtons, but this transition rotation is taking me from 10mm drops to a target of 4-5-6mm, with stack heights that won’t break an ankle on a sharp turn.  I also wanted a wide variety of brands and purpose, with lightweight trainers mixed in with the everyday. All of that could have ended up costing a lot of money; it didn’t, because my last filter was to avoid paying full price for anything. With two exceptions, I used heavy discount codes or sale pricing of 40% or more to buy some truly excellent shoes, waiting for season’s end, discontinuation of colorways, whatever was available for savings. You can still find most of the models in stores and online for little money.

These are all road shoes–the trails around me are wide, crushed gravel so no need for technical footwear. Research and recommendations came from standbys Kofuzi and The Ginger Runner, with assists from Doctors of Running, Believe in the Run, Ed Budd, and occasionally others. They’re all easily found on social media.

Top row, from the left:

PUMA Deviate Nitro 2
Absolutely fantastic and a tremendous amount of fun. Once you’re in rhythm and up on the plates you feel like you could go forever. All the cushioned foam is successfully offset by a full carbon plate–these are everything I wanted the sloppy Nike Invincibles to be but weren’t. The grip is outstanding especially on wet pavement.  I’ll likely move on from the plate and the drop after this pair, but they sure are a ride for now. Medium to long runs. 32mm stack, 10mm drop. 6.3oz.

New Balance 1080 v11
Legacy shoes from the old rotation that still have some miles left on them. A lot of people didn’t care for the heel counter in this version but I’ve had no issue with it. 1080s are the shoe I first started running in about 25 years ago, and I’m glad I returned: a solid distance shoe anchoring the longer distance portion of the rotation, and still with some pop. Will definitely buy v13 when they come around on sale in a few months; reviews have been been good and drop has decreased to 6mm. Long runs. 30mm stack, 8mm drop, 10.1oz.

Brooks Hyperion Max
Never cared for Brooks shoes: way too heavy, way too much drop. Hyperion Max though, just wow. These are incredible. Light, fast, versatile. Nothing “max” about these, and I reach for them more and more. Would even consider for race day for a 10 miler or half marathon. Only thing about them, because of the unusual heel they’re a little strange to walk in, but once you’re up during a run I can’t think of a shoe that’s a better or more pleasant ride. Medium to long runs. 33mm stack, 8mm drop, 7.9oz.

Middle row, from the left:

Hoka Mach 5
In my quest to get back to sane stack heights you’d think I’d cross Hokas off the list, but not these. The best Hokas I’ve ever run in since the early Cliftons and the Tracer. These evolved from a few of their mid-range shoes from a few years ago—Clayton, Cavu—and with moderate cushioning for a Hoka they are fast and light. Please don’t ever change these. Short to medium runs, especially tempo and threshold. 29mm stack, 5.5mm drop. 8.2oz.

Nike Pegasus Turbo Next Nature
The original Nike Peg Turbos were my favorite running shoes ever, and as every review in the world will tell you, these are not anywhere near the same shoe, you can hardly tell they’re from the same lineage. But honestly there’s nothing wrong with that, and the Next Natures are almost a throwback to the time before running shoes completely lost their minds. These are rock solid everyday trainers, period. Nothing to get overly excited about, nothing bad, they just get the job done. Half of the foam is recycled, so there’s something to be said about being responsible as well. No regrets, hoping Nike reduces the drop but not holding my breath. Medium runs. 32mm stack, 10mm drop, 8.6oz.

Adidas Adizero SL
Another no-nonsense quality everyday trainer like the Next Natures. Nothing much more to say about these except that I got them for $50. $50! Medium runs. 35mm stack, 8.5mm drop, 8.6oz.

Bottom row, from the left:

PUMA Liberate Nitro 2
The only shoes in the rotation I’ve had second thoughts about, but only because they are best suited to track workouts and I don’t have convenient access to a track. Very light and fast, not much cushioning and the road feels like a shock compared to other shoes. The heel counter is troublesome because it’s sharp and bites if you don’t have sock coverage on your achilles. Would also have preferred a lower drop in a shoe like this. Not being entirely fair because I haven’t been able to run in them enough to form a solid opinion, but I think I may transition these to walking shoes before their time. Speedwork only. 28mm stack, 10mm drop, 6.3oz.

Nike Streakfly
Another excellent shoe I bought at very deep discount when Nike was discontinuing colorways. Fun and very fast with enough cushioning to use as lightweight trainers. Also solid race day shoes for 5k or 10k when you don’t want to run in plated shoes, which, more and more, is my preference not to. Short runs, tempo and speedwork, short races. 32mm stack, 6mm drop, 6.0oz.

Adidas Takumi Sen 9
Man these are fast shoes, with fiber rods instead of full carbon plates. Like the Streakflys, I use these as lightweight trainers and they  have become my preferred 10k race shoe; wouldn’t go longer than that though. Short runs, tempo and speedwork, short races. 33mm stack, 6mm drop, 6.4oz.

This rotation should last me well into 2024, although I’ll have to update the New Balance 1080s by spring. May also add in some Sauconys next round as my legs get used to lower drops.  I do still have a pair of Nike ZoomX Vaporfly Next% (38mm stack, 8mm drop, 6.6oz.) with some miles available on them for racing, and I’ll have to make a decision for the half marathons on next year’s calendar because I’m beginning to believe that if you’re not an elite runner who takes extra care to build specific foot strength, plated shoes will not only weaken your feet but rip them apart.  In the meantime though, this may be the best and least expensive shoe rotation I’ve ever had, and I’m extremely happy with it. Your mileage may vary of course, but if any of these are interesting to you, please look to the online reviews and videos for more complete analysis, and look for them on sale at your favorite shoe source. 

Posted on

Route 66: the long road home

As much fun as I had during my race sequence this spring setting PWs (Personal Worsts) by a wide margin at nearly every distance, including my first DNF in almost 250 races, I do believe I’ve begun to strengthen the infrastructure and regain the rhythm enough to begin to reverse that trend. Time to leave those PWs behind—may they stand forever—and come back as, not the runner I once was, but the runner I can still be.

Never did my 2022 running wrap because there’s wasn’t much of anything to wrap. At the risk of repeating myself from the near sudden end of Soft Reboot coming out of the spectacular 2019 running season, 2020’s The Year of Unrunning, and 2021’s Running Resurrection: inactivity during the pandemic and the resulting injuries broke me. My body. My spirit. My body again. And again. Fought it best I could yet not enough, described it and what I would do about it and what I wanted for myself coming out of it, and all of it is still true.

There is nothing more to say, looking back, running backwards from that last good race in California, to Chicago. There’s power in metaphor: I’m 66 now and Route 66 is the only road open to me, the only road forward, the only road home. Not sure how much time I have left, so I might as well take it slow and enjoy it, make sure I’m still moving, make sure I keep showing up.

Crash. Yeah, this pretty much summed it up.

There are still always going to be roadblocks of course. A (last?) bout of COVID. Meds askew. Wildfires. I’m only getting to this today because even now that the smoke has cleared a bit, it’s 90 degrees outside and too hot for old guys to run.

The foundation of the turnaround is acknowledgement that my problems were of my own making. That my knee hurt because I wasn’t running. That my back hurt because I wasn’t working out. That other problems had root causes in lack of hydration, poor nutrition. The shoulder that’s shorter than the other by an inch because of all those years carrying heavy computer bags and luggage? Fix it. Fix everything, fix all of it.

Some things are worth bringing back.

    • Inspiration from local heroes: Erika, Callie and Tom; my indomitable wife.
    • Inspirational and informational readings from those far away: Dicharry, Benzie, Kara, Born to Run 2.
Callie featured in Born to Run 2

Some new/old mechanics:

    • A sustainable cadence of strength, mobility, stability, with regular and planned pilates, TRX and yoga taking precedence over running.
    • New shoe rotation, gradually working my way back to basics to re-strengthen and feel the world through my feet: less cushioning, lower stack heights, lower drops, firmer ride, more variation. Proprioception is key!
    • Chia seeds.

Some very personal things:

    • Acknowledging loss, yes. Youth. Speed. Friends. Time.
    • Rediscovering joy. Energy. Passion, but passion with tempered perspective.
    • Strength from my crew: little do they know how much energy I draw from them, how much they help keep me going, especially now that I’ve been able to be there more often.
Photo: Ramsey Lujan, Tungsten Photographic

And finally, a new commitment to just run through it. Stop being so careful. Stop acting so…broken. So…old. A choice to leave the last and the best of me streaked on the sidewalk and the asphalt and the trail. Sweat and tears and all that. Even bleed a little. Expose the heart. Some days all I’ve got left is heart.

A heart shocked back into action. Photo: Ramsey Lujan, Tungsten Photographic

Run Free. Breathe Deep. Finish Strong. I’ve known for a while I’m in the Finish Strong phase, with much too much risk that it was just “finish.” Too young for that. May not end up being the 94 year old running his 25th marathon, but…

Maybe this isn’t just Route 66. Maybe it’s the October Road of my life. In the broader expanse of my running career, this is like mile 23 of a marathon… when looking all around me I see others in various degrees of trouble and pain, the moment when I could easily shut down by choice or by my body flat giving out…and instead, I choose to take, we all choose to take, whatever it is we’ve been carrying on our shoulders all this time, we take it and gently lay it on the side of the road and head off for the finish line. This is my Route 66 now, my October Road, my long road home. And I’m very grateful I still have it in front of me.

October Road
Provided to YouTube by ColumbiaOctober Road · James TaylorOctober Road (Special Edition)℗ 2002 Sony Music Entertainment, Inc.Released on: 2008-05-05Producer:…

 

As always I will close this with my mantra because it is always worth telling myself over and over and over again right until the end:

There may be younger runners. And there may be faster runners. But every once in a while, on a warm summer evening into the setting sun, there is no more magnificent runner, than me.

Posted on

Running Resurrection

So many others have overcome so much more. Serious diseases and debilitating medical conditions. Addictions of all types. Chronic injuries, and surgeries. Brain tumors. Prison time. Obesity. Poverty. Mental health crises. Litanies of personal loss. Bike crashes. Car crashes. Literally being run over by a truck.

And that’s just the people I know, my people who keep the lights on, people who have made or are making their way back to running, inspiring everyone else in their paths. So while it seems trivial to share my recent struggle, it’s the only struggle I’ve got, and in attaching myself to these others and in saying everything out loud comes revival or maybe even resurrection, I hope. Running resurrection.

May not be the kind of athlete that Greg Itahara (Itahara Design) had in mind when he designed this limited edition phoenix singlet for Nomad  last summer. But one day next summer I will stand strong and straight and  rise again and rock this in a flight of absolute sweat-drenched glory. 

In last year’s year-end post, The Year of Unrunning,  I asked and answered “what do we want out of this,” and committed to some things: slowing down, continuing to find new places to run, rededicating to new goals or choosing to choose none at all, and especially to relearning the things I thought I already knew.   

Fate and fortune had other ideas, little did I know how many. The trials and trails of 2020 crossfaded to the starts and stops and starts and stops and starts and stops of 2021, yielding the lowest mileage I’ve run since I began more than 20 years ago. Even as the year ends, and I try to pick myself up yet one more time, I’m back to a walk-run regimen with paces that make me want to shield my Strava activities from public view (I don’t, but still).

At the beginning of the pandemic I predicted it would be a marathon, 26.2 months, and it looks like I was right. If we count from February 2020, that puts us into April 2022 before we see some exit light. (I also predicted 1 million US dead, and sadly, it looks like I was right about that too.) What I didn’t predict is what a toll two years of isolated inactivity would take on my body, especially in this last eight months.

Of all the running injuries I’ve had, and I’ve had them all from IT bands to shin splints to plantar fasciitis to whatever (except for knees), back injuries are the absolute worst. Most painful by far, puts you down the longest.  I’ve gone into some detail about the how and the what in other posts and won’t repeat myself here, but man is this different. And now I’m forcing myself to live my physical life differently. Standing up and sitting down differently. Rolling in neutral position when I lay on the couch or get in bed. Thinking before bending or lifting or pushing or pulling. Getting nervous about making the bed or doing the laundry or pulling on my socks or tying my shoes. Actually listening to (and obeying!) my physical therapist, and reading Jay Dicharry’s Running Rewired like he’s the second coming of Danny Dreyer and Chi Running. Promising to pay more attention to hip flexor strength and flexibility than to distance or pace—it’s all in the hips. Moving back from less shoe to more shoe. And yet, there’s always a motion that generates a twinge that makes me acutely aware of where I am right now.

No matter.

Because 2021 was also a year of wonder and miracles. Dropping to one knee not knowing if I’d be able to straighten up again (she said yes!), then, a few short months later, marrying this incredible woman who will be running by my side for the rest of my life. Being blessed by the birth of my first grandchild. Seeing my son and his own beautiful bride celebrate their marriage after three postponements. And although Omicron pushed the holidays to January this season, there’s peace in knowing that everyone has made it through so far, that we’ve been and will continue to be brave in the teeth of crisis, and that the hugs will be so much more powerful and sweet when we’re all able to get together in one place again.

With all that do we really want to talk about what’s next for running?

Yeah of course we do but let’s make it quick. Future training plans? Strength and mind before mileage. Future race plans? Four on the calendar instead of the usual 20, for now at least. Refocusing on 5ks to half marathons only, and nothing longer than 10k in the summer months. I see some friends returning to the sport, and some new runners, which prompts me to remind myself of some unsolicited advice:

Run every run like it’s your last. Every single one of them. Because you just never know, it just might be. All of us have an expiration date, a best-if-used-by date, and we damn well better use it all because eventually that tank does empty out and sometimes it explodes without warning.

In parallel, as I approach retirement (this is what 65 looks like), and no longer feel like I need to control things, and no longer want to let things control me, there’s some stuff I want to do for the first time in a long time, or for the first time ever. I’ll save all that for another post in another place, but I will say this, for running and for everything else:

I don’t have a bucket list. I only have today.

If you run long enough there comes a moment—maybe it’s when you’re running through the forest with the bunnies and the butterflies, maybe it’s when you cross the finish line of your first 5k, maybe it’s slogging through your neighborhood in the cold rain, maybe it’s at mile 23 of a marathon—a moment comes when you pause and lift off whatever you’ve been carrying on your shoulders all this time and lay it gently on the side of the road, when you make your final peace with everything you’ve been running away from, and make a new peace with all the things you’re running towards.

For a long time I thought maybe we’d only be lucky enough to get one of those moments. Now I know they are endless, and are something we create, and are all on a path of possibility I’m beginning to call Running Resurrection. One of those resurrections is possible every day if, like their cousins miracles, we only look for them. Sometimes the path is lit, sometimes it’s not, but we can always bring our own light.

So as I start over again, as I embrace the period of my life when simply waking up means it’s a good day, I’ll end this post in hope with my usual mantra:

There may be younger runners. And there may be faster runners. But every once in a while, into the setting sun on a warm summer’s night, there is no more magnificent runner, than me.

Thank you for sharing the road in peace and love. Have a great 2022—I hope to be out there with you all!  Running, in resurrection.

 

Posted on

0 miles

 

Can’t say I’m a happy camper right now.

Second setback in two weeks, both triggered by bending the wrong way doing household chores. Each time it’s been a little less painful but a little more discouraging.

Missed the weekend, looks like I’m on the shelf for a few days more, and I’ll need to use them to sort out some things. Was getting overconfident in how good I felt, probably pushed the strength training too much, don’t think I pushed mileage or pace but who knows. Even though I backed off everything in the last two weeks since the first incident, reaching for anything is an adventure right now and running seems like a distant hope.

I know I’m not a young man any more. Haven’t quite accepted thinking and acting like an old man though and you know, that may never happen. There are ways through this: break it apart, be more careful and thoughtful about the pieces, be a bit more patient with the road, be accepting enough to tamp down some of the goals, for this year at least.

Talking it all over and sorting it all out with Mary has helped tremendously–she’s been there herself, and is always there for me. I’ll live through her marathon training for the summer. Seeing my crew and everyone else around the world accomplishing amazing, magnificent things–did you see TTB Chicago Friday night?–keeps the fire hot. My training activity may look a little funky over the next few weeks or months, but I promise myself and promise you I will be advancing best I can, and will be accountable for every day. And if that means walking + cheer squad is all I get, that will just have to be it for a while, and I’ll make the most of it.

Maybe I have 10 years left in this sport, at least that’s what I told myself when I tattooed ‘Finish Strong’ on my shoulder: carry it to 75, then see. Taking the time now to make sure I get every last year being out there with you all: that’s my primary goal right now. Every other goal– age graded PRs, medals on the wall, notches on the belt–is secondary. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be drafting off you for a while longer, tapping into your energy, evangelizing the message of an experience runner, bearing witness like an experienced runner, right up until the body says ‘no more.’ And that my friends I hope is a long long way off. Thank you for listening today. Cheering you all on with all my heart.

Posted on

Runners, please continue to mask up!

Some updated perspective for athletes as we start to move outdoors again—what do we know now that we didn’t know last summer and fall, and how far apart do we need to be? This is important for people who may come in contact with runners and bikers as they venture outdoors as well.

First headline: it’s now well established that COVID is transmitted via aerosol transmission. This article explains how that works in detail, and transmission is not limited to large droplets in close proximity, but also occurs iva aerosols at much larger distances.
Transmissibility and transmission of respiratory viruses
In this Review, Leung provides an overview of the transmissibility and modes of transmission of respiratory viruses, the viral, host and environmental determinants of transmission, and common non-pharmaceutical interventions for mitigating respiratory virus transmission. She also discusses the recen…

Second headline: six feet is not near enough, especially when considering well-established slip-stream airflow dynamics for runners and bikers. You should never run or bike or walk directly behind someone else, and even with offset the distances you need to leave are 15-20 feet for runners, 30 feet for slow bikers, and 60 feet for fast bikers. That’s if you’re moving in the same direction; if you’re coming at each other, best to step off the path completely. Updated article about aerodynamics:

Belgian-Dutch Study: Why in times of COVID-19 you should not walk/run/bike close behind each other.
What is a safe distance when running, biking and walking during COVID-19 times? It is further than the typical 1–2 meter as prescribed in…

Third headline: just because you’re vaccinated doesn’t mean you can’t contract or spread the virus. Vaccines do not give you sterilizing immunity, only some measure of effective immunity which is also impacted by the vaccine rates of the people around you. Even after completion of a vaccine protocol, you can still be part of a chain of disease, spreading virus even if you are asymptomatic. It remains critical to continue to wear masks in public–this especially means us, runners and bikers. Helpful information:

You Got Your COVID-19 Vaccine. Now What?
Experts weigh in our what you should—and should not—do once you’ve been fully vaccinated against COVID-19.
Please continue the efforts to keep everyone safe. There is no one single solution or safety method–we all need to do everything we can, every single time, to slow or prevent the spread of the virus.
Posted on

Flashback: 2016 Semi de Paris

5 years ago today I landed in Paris on Friday to run this race on Sunday. Still have raw GoPro footage somewhere that I never got around to editing, but this recap video from the race organizers captured the spirit of the day beautifully. I feel like I was one of the portraits in the opening sequence, and in the final moments.

Every runner will tell you that if you run long enough, you will have a moment when you stop running away from something, when you lift whatever it is that you’re carrying on your shoulders and set it down gently on the side of the road, and then start running towards something new. Sometimes we only get one of those moments in our lives, sometimes we get a few. This race was definitely one of the most important of those moments for me.

On Monday I flew to Rome to visit my daughter who was studying abroad there, back to Chicago on Wednesday…one of the most peaceful and most transformational weeks of my life.

 

Posted on

The Year of Unrunning

The Year of Unrunning

Running isn’t easy. We all know that. Running is demanding and challenging and unforgiving; running is rewarding and meaningful and lifesaving. Running is a lot of things, and it’s never easy. But to say that running this year was hard, with everything else that we faced each day, no, that’s not a true statement. While running wasn’t hard in 2020, while running wasn’t cancelled in 2020, for me at least, 2020 was the Year of Unrunning.

Stepped off the scale this morning somewhat surprised and pleased that my weight was within striking range of my training weight, somewhat unsurprised and horrified that my body fat level is almost twice what it was coming off a marathon a year ago. And you know what? In this season of miracles, none of that really matters. After my health scare last February, I’m happy to be alive. After the world went on fire in March, I’m happy we’re all here talking about things, even if it’s not the usual year-end victory-lap wholesomely-positive messaging celebrating a full list of accomplishments, illustrated with spectacular photos captured on our spectacular runs.

My Year of Unrunning started with downtime recovering from whatever it was that almost killed me, and adjusting to new physical limits and new meds. A steady cadence of injuries on the way back, some old, some new. In the end all that resulted in half the mileage I normally run, and the least amount I’ve run in 15 years. Filled in with virtual races and virtual challenges that sort of kept me moving: there’s still a rack of medals and too many t-shirts. None of it was the same. Every time out the door was an issue, a hesitation, an opportunity for self-doubt to take over, and take over for good. I don’t know what it was that I was doing, but it didn’t feel like running, at least not like the running I remembered.

Unrunning came very close to becoming unraveling, and, until I caught myself this morning to bring myself here, I almost let it happen.

Many of the runners I know have been struggling in varying degrees north and south of me. I see the level of their workouts on Strava, I see the changed tone of their posts on Instagram, I see their confessions on Facebook as the brave faces and self assurance start to peel back a bit. Runners who were so strong last year have become content to be very ordinary this year, and when we look to them to find the motivation to start our own workouts, as has motivated us so well in the past, often we find ourselves looking in a mirror: so many of you too? Well if they’re having trouble, what can the world expect of us, of me.

On the other hand, some have absolutely thrived and have provided epic inspiration. Weekly mileage through the roof, PRs from a mile to 5k to marathons and beyond. I have special respect for the runners who had the courage to start and complete marathon training cycles even knowing that their race was cancelled, who then ran a virtual race, alone, even when it was their first time—I am in absolute awe of you. As I’m writing this, one friend is attempting to complete the 210-mile Chicago Outerbelt Loop this weekend, in freezing cold and pouring rain, after just crewing one of her friends on a run across the entire country. Absolutely amazing.

And yet…we miss our habits. We miss our regular routes. We miss our massages and our yogas classes that we want to do, and the strength and stretching that we don’t want to do. We realize how fragile our alleged mental toughness really is, how fragile our bodies really are. We miss our friends, our community—oh do we miss our community: the crew runs, the races, and especially the sweaty hugs celebrating accomplishment each and every day we’re out there, the chatter of hope and disappointment but mostly hope because tomorrow is another day and we know we will lift each other to a new level, today and tomorrow, with the incredible energy we pass to each other, friends and strangers alike, often without knowing it.

Instead, I felt like I spent most of the year constantly being brought down to a lower level in an evil parallel universe, this Year of Unrunning, exhausted, angry, dodging those who refuse to do their part and wear masks, whether they’re running or just out walking their dogs. The incident where I almost got punched out in Belmont Harbor is still with me, I still think of it every time I lace up my shoes. Running may be a privilege but life is a right and responsibility is a requirement. I have a very hard time with people who are so careless, selfish and lazy to openly threaten the lives of others.

Still there were benefits to the Year of Unrunning: learning to slow down again (side effect of mask doping), learning to run without predetermined purpose. Stopping to let the maskless pass by turned into stopping to admire the view in the moment, with or without a photo record of it, to catch my breath and clear my head without really needing to. Running off hours or off route led to new experiences. My summer was spent getting reacquainted with the joys of biking. My fall was a spectacular fall foliage tour. And…there were those moments we all know as runners: the moments when we pause and take whatever we’ve been carrying on our backs all this time and lay it on the side of the road and just keep on going. This time, that load may have been the entire year.

So where are we gonna just keep on going to? In this pause as this Year of Unrunning comes to an end, during the time when my race dance card for next year would usually already be full, now I only see a very few deferred races that may or may not happen, pretty much a blank sheet of paper looking forward. There had been a plan for another Chicago Marathon next year, which I am more than happy not to run because the twice-postponed wedding reception for my son and daughter-in-law is happening on that date. So now is the perfect time to ask the question:

What do we want out of this.

To answer that, I’m looking again to the tattoo on my left shoulder, which will celebrate its five-year birthday next week., tattered wing and all.

2019 Nike Unsanctioned 002 Photo: Mike Calabro

Run Free. For someone who spent so much of my life feeling boxed in, or more honestly, boxing myself in, running has become an essential way to explore the world and more importantly, explore myself. Places I haven’t seen, destination races to the extent we’re even able to travel in the next few years…there’s always a new place to explore within an hour’s drive, hidden gems, other people’s favorite routes, and we’re going to find them.

Breathe Deep. For a child who suffered from asthma and an adult who sabotaged himself with smoking, being part of the running community, both in Chicago and around the world, has come to mean the most for me. Every run in peace and friendship, every run like it may be my last.

Finish Strong. May be entering this phase now. While I hope I have many years left, there is an expiration date and even if I ignore it, there will be an end. But not today. Today I will gather strength and energy and continue and keep moving with all that’s left.

Beyond that, I don’t know yet. I don’t know what my goals are or if I’ll even have goals. I don’t know if I even want to think about whether or not I’ll have goals. This is a chance to start over, to relearn the things I thought I knew, to experience new growth, to reconnect to my friends and the community and the roads and the trails and the air…to rededicate and start it up again, to bridge the Year of Unrunning to a new running life.

I’m excited for what I hope to reclaim. I’m even more excited for the new things I hope to create. Most of all, I want to be able to say once more, with confidence, and with refreshed enthusiasm and credibility: there may be younger runners, there may faster runners, but every once in a while on a warm summer evening into the setting sun, there is no more magnificent runner, than me.

Anything less is to sacrifice the gift, as Steve Prefontaine preached and as I’ve held close to my heart all these years. And in this time of giving, what a gift of hope and love it truly is, for ourselves and each other.

See you all out there in 2021. We need this sport and we need each other. Let’s make sure we get there. Peace all.

Posted on

Soft reboot

Runners love to say, with equal measure of pride and defiance and self-motivating courage, “there may come a day when I can’t do this any more, but today is not that day.” Truth is, as much as we like to think of it as far off in some hidden future, none of us really know when that day will come, until suddenly, without warning, it’s here. Almost. Maybe.

Two Sundays ago, at the Surf City marathon weekend in Huntington Beach, California, I ran the best age-graded half marathon of the 27 I’ve done since I moved up to the distance in 2010. Last Sunday I was hooked up to half the medical machinery known to humanity in the emergency room at Lake Forest Hospital, beginning a sequence that led to my heart being shocked back into submission on Tuesday.

This Sunday, today, after my soft reboot, before I attempt to put on my running shoes later this week and set out again, I’m sitting here re-assessing hopes and goals and mission and meaning not only for this race season, but all the way to an end that has become all too visible over the horizon.

What got me here was not overreaching at my race, or poor nutrition choices over the decades, or some undiagnosed congenital heart condition, or even the unexploded ordnance of all the bad things I did to my body during my extended youth. I was waylaid by the common seasonal flu, a relatively mild case because like a responsible adult and citizen, I had gotten my flu shot this year as I do every year. This year, though, either the virus or the coughing sent my heart spiraling into an atrial flutter, where the lower chambers keep the proper rhythm, but an upper chamber does whatever the hell kind of freeform dance it wants to do whenever it wants to, kind of like Left Shark on crystal meth.

At first I had thought I was suffering from a simple case of dehydration, because my canary in the coal mine, my lower back, was radiating with burning pain. But even after re-hydrating and ingesting an armful of gels, sports beans, and salty snacks, I could feel something was still wrong—my heart seemed to be going too fast, confirmed by pulling on my heart rate monitor which indicated I was in zone 4, a threshold run, even though I was laying quietly on the couch.

My doctor’s service recommended I not worry too much about it and sleep on it and see what it was like in the morning. While Mary was driving me to the hospital my expectation was that they would hook me up with an IV, slap my bottom and send me on my way. After a few tests and an EKG, no no no said the ER doctor, you’re staying the night.

And doctor by doctor, nurse by nurse, tech by tech, test by test, it played out from there. Even if you don’t let yourself be afraid, you can see it in the faces of the people around you. They can hide the fear but not the concern. Common enough condition, and a safe standard procedure, they all said. We see it all the time. You’ll be fine. Easy to say when it’s not happening to you, when as the hours pass you’re starting to understand how and why people enter the hospital and never leave, or if they do leave, they give up entirely to somebody else’s care, they sit on the couch and don’t get up again.

Through it all, and to everyone who would listen, I asked, or more simply let it be known: please, however this turns out, please let me be able to run again.

Everything was fine, in the end. Solid echocardiogram (no heart disease), clean transesophageal (no blood clots), and a successful cardioversion (where they shoot electrical currents to your heart to bring it back in line) worked on the first try. The feeling of being broken is passing relatively quickly. I’m gradually getting used to the adjustment in blood pressure medication that came with the introduction of channel blockers to lessen the likelihood of this happening again, along with a couple of other minor issues that will disappear in a week or two. The good news for the days to come is, solid heart, clear lungs, no unexploded ordnance after all. So as usual, what remains is all in my head. And here’s what my head is saying:

Twenty-one Septembers. Twelve racing seasons. Two marathons. These are all finite numbers, and because they are, time now takes on a much different meaning for me than chip time or personal records or race pace. Ten thousand kisses. A hundred more times to visit with one of your children. A few dozen sunrises over one ocean, a few dozen sunsets over another. More finite numbers.

More important than when do we cross the finish line, or how fast do we go, the real questions are, how do we get to the start line, and what and who do we bring with us. Resurrection and redemption are powerful concepts and I don’t mean to overdramatize, but they are very much on my mind—what can you make of yet another chance, can you embrace the changes that, in the immortal words of Warren Zevon, will allow you to “enjoy every sandwich.”

Or, more directly, who do you love most, who do you need most, and are you willing to take their hand every day—every single day—and let the love radiate from that connection, not as some effusive but ephemeral force dissolving into the universe, but as a focused intentional sharing with everyone around you.

So yeah, I may still have a time goal or two, but those are secondary goals now, far down the list. Love for the sport, love for the people who share the road with me, love for every day and every gift that brings my heart rate up—I’ve known in recent years on some level that this is the way, and now I know for sure how important it is not to allow a single moment of it to pass without saying it out loud.

Run free. Breathe deep. Finish strong. That mantra will never leave me, one reason why it’s tattooed on my arm. My next tattoo? An imperfect but strong and grateful heart, shocked back into life, finding and spreading love, counting down until the end. I’m cleared to go. Can’t wait to see you all back out there.

 

Posted on

First race of the season–Surf City USA Half Marathon–hit my first goal of the year: age-graded PR for half marathon (old PR stood for five years). Real time was 2:02:36 which will impress no one, but at my age that translates to 1:36:24 which at least gets me smiling a little. Close to hitting the stretch goal of getting back under two hours, with three more half on the schedule this year. The other major goal of an age-graded PR for 10 miles is well within reach too. Let’s see what some speed work can do this spring.

Posted on

All about the rest days

“Injury risk, in this view, comes from changes in your training load, rather than, say, the angle of your knee.”

[from Outside]

What Artificial Intelligence Says About Running Form
Researchers deploy machine learning to match running styles to the risk of different types of injury

 

Also, interesting article that preceded this one, although with a horrible title:

The Automatic Hobbyjogger Detection Machine
Using machine learning to recognize who’s a serious competitive runner and who’s not could teach us something useful about avoiding injuries
Posted on

Essential yoga poses

My instructor would also insist on Malasana, or Garland Pose, a squat that’s especially effective for athletes who sit at a desk all day.

[from Outside] 

5 Yoga Poses Every Athlete Should Master
Alyx Walkinshaw, a yoga and fitness instructor at Railyard Fitness in Santa Fe, takes us through five of the best yoga moves for athletes to help prevent injury and increase overall strength and flexibility. For more on this topic, check out the full article, “The 5 Best Yoga Moves for Athletes.”
Posted on

DPRT long run

Too much fooling around with the GoPro on today’s long run, but still got in 8 miles on the Des Plaines River Trail and Half Day Forest Preserve on a beautiful winter’s day.

Posted on

2019 Schaumburg Turkey Trot Half Marathon

Wrapping up the year in the cold and wind and rain. A bridge too far, can’t do back-to backs any more…dead legs after Thursday’s strong 5k, plus overdressed and undertrained, and first time over 9 miles since the marathon. But, I got my medal, and Mary crushed it and took her second AG 2nd place in three days.

Posted on

Schaumburg Turkey Trot Half Marathon

What time is it? Race time.

Schaumburg Turkey Trot Half Marathon & 5K
Join the Thanksgiving tradition at the Schaumburg Turkey Trot Half Marathon & 5K Run/Walk. Everyone gets a finisher medal and cinnamon roll at the finish line! Schaumburg, IL Use #TurkeyTradition to share your photos! Event times, dates, location and all other details are subject to change prior…
Posted on

North Shore Turkey Trot

What time is it? Race time.

5k this morning.

North Shore Turkey Trot
On November 28th, the North Shore Turkey Trot is headed back to beautiful Highland Park! Enjoy a beautiful course running through the neighborhood while sporting your premium goodie bag.