When did that happen? Really? Yes, I suppose I now very willingly associate myself with a sport I once detested, and even swore off openly. It’s somewhat amusing as I sit writing this, relating and reminiscing on the trials and tribulations of the first steps towards becoming a runner. All of which are stemming from a series of conversations with a fellow co-worker and friend training for her first half marathon. In reality, this half marathon is her first real introduction to running. Albeit she is doing this for an excellent cause primarily, I never shy at the opportunity to encourage someone along coming into a sport with such negative social stigmas and false stereotypes (I myself guilty of that at one time). Not to say those don’t come with some very real physical pain that most any runner can relate to with little difficulty when they themselves ventured the same path, but any of us that now indentify themselves as a runner, know that the sport gets a bad wrap from many sides.
Historically, I never really liked running, but I always admired the discipline and athleticism of those that ran. Why I didn’t like running, I can’t really say. Perhaps it had much to do with the negative press it consistently and persistently received and receives. Maybe it was because I was a heavier kid, and the thought of running whether I wanted to or not, was always associated with discomfort. Maybe it was because I was told I had low arches (and do), and running was not a good sport for me. Maybe it was because I was (and am) a cyclist, and nothing would ever compare or come close to the caliber of enjoyment I experienced there. Not to mention the weird rivalry and elitism any athlete fully engulfed in one discipline seems to have for another. However, what I can tell you, is that all of this only did one thing, and that is preventing me from adopting and loving a sport as much as I do running until my mid to late twenties.
It certainly has been a journey. I can remember watching as a kid marathoners and triathlons from small to Ironman distance, and having such strong admiration. Thinking of them as super-humans, accomplishing such unfathomable feats. Never once however, did I think I could accomplish anything along those lines. Some scientific study this, some study that on that negative affects of running. So naturally, if running was so bad, these individuals must possess some mutant powers. Of course, doesn’t that make perfect sense?!
No.
I can remember really venturing first into running in my late teens. Using it mainly as an opportunity to try to keep some level of fitness in my off-season from cycling. Or even use it in conjunction with my training on the bike. There were even a few times thinking back as I write this that I came very close to breaking that barrier into the happy world of running; that epiphany that comes all the sudden when you realize, ‘Hey, this isn’t torture…actually damn, I really enjoy this!’
I trail ran then, staying inline with the mountain bike culture and scene I was in at the time, meaning obviously if roadies were tools, so must be road runners. (We were so much more in tune with the spiritual essence of the sport!) That changed over the years, perhaps after a got a road bike (and matured). Road running slowly worked it’s way into my routine, once getting to a monumental 11 miles with my Pop pedaling by my side, but I never struck any type of consistency. And that was the theme until about three years ago.
Maybe that’s what happens to all cyclists that move to the city from regions of striking contrast. Running just became an easier and equally enjoyable outlet for me. Truthfully, pedaling for an hour over a nightmarish Brooklyn Bridge (read absent-minded tourists), then up an overly crowded west-side highway to finally escape Manhattan via the George Washington bridge to find some scenic riding northward, only to be joined by every NYC tool roadie in their club kits, soon lost it’s appeal. Or worse being pedaling in three to six mile circles through the cities biggest parks (read hamster). Sure, I realize that may be harsh, and certainly they aren’t all tools, I just miss those long rides (or short even) where you would not grace upon another soul. Ahhh, Colorado, someday you and I will meet again and settle down for good.
And so, running slowly found it’s way into my life. As with many, it was also for me, a way to keep myself in shape as I slowly became disenchanted with cycling. Surely, not initially as something I’d ever choose over pedaling. But then it happened; it I can’t really put my finger on, but a few months in, this time I knew it was for life. And strangely, it was without question one of the most difficult few months I have ever had adapting to a sport.
Running, despite the common notion of being a low barrier of entry sport, I would argue is everything but. Rather it is a very accessible sport, potentially the most accessible. All you need is a pair of (good) running shoes (or do you?), and the open road right out your front door. Although, if it were just that easy, wouldn’t everyone be in love with running? As with anything it’s what’s lost in the details, and that is educating yourself, often through trial and error. For those of us out there that are not biomechanically blessed to perfection, you will hurt when you first tackle those few miles (or hundred). I suffered through debilitating shin splints after ramping up too quickly when I first started, aiming for a marathon right away because I thought my cycling fitness would be an easy and direct transition to running. How wrong I was, and it resulted in a very frustrating eight weeks removed, and missing my marathon.
However, that was all ‘par for the course’, as instead of deterring me, it encouraged me to find just what I was doing wrong. In my case, which is often the case for me, it was simply too much, too soon. During this time, I was fitted for orthotics thinking my ailments were perhaps also because of my low arches. Ailments that besides shin splints included a mystery tightness in my right calf after five to six miles. So, with orthotics in hand, two months of rest and education, a properly fitted pair of shoes with gait analysis, and most importantly realistic expectations, I was ready to hit the road again.
So, I began again, with minimal base mileage for three months, with twice-daily strength exercising of the problem areas, and general overall core strength routine, which I can’t recommend enough. Slowly my ailments dissipated, even with the mileage increasing, I was feeling better than ever. My body adapted, I dropped the orthotics entirely a year later without issue (musculature and efficient form/technique taking their place), and soon found the challenge of running more than just a challenge, but an enjoyment. The places my feet now carry me, offer such an amazing perspective of the world I am part of. Miles upon miles in the twilight around the city and boroughs of NYC, you’d be amazed at just everything you can see.
Thus, my parting thoughts on a lengthy reflection for all those getting started, or looking at training regimes of the age-grouper to pro, is to remember that nothing happens over night. Often those looking in focus only on the end result, and are amazed at the accomplishments before them. However, just remember these races are a snapshot of an accumulation of months, years, or a lifetime of training. There are those naturally gifted, and those that will find it more difficult, but what they both share without question is that each can accomplish anything they commit themselves too. The mind is a powerful thing; and of course a little bit of love goes a long way.
So will I ever write one of these reflections for swimming? Nah!
Knock Out. Knocked Out. With certainty, I found myself on each side of the acronym found in the title of this post this past week or so, and like other themes in this blog, it may go without saying that this title carries a few different meanings of it’s own. It seems odd saying that a lot has happened since the last post, but thankfully some the lot being the lack of random blizzards every other week with multiple feet of snow, and the return of sunshine and sixty degree weather.
Starting from the ominous Friday of my last post, written as Brooklyn again got pummeled with a blast of winter dumping some 12 inches of the white stuff with drifts upwards of double that. Followed immediately the next day by an exciting trip to the country that lightened my wallet significantly, to yet another two-plus hours running in freezing drizzle, root canals, with a triumphant week end bed-ridden flu-ish finale while I slept the first near 60 degree sunshine away (and missed my first training day). Which brings me to today, and with the near completion this afternoon of travel plans for Kentucky locked and loaded, and sans some in between details, that about covers it.
First things first, let me introduce you to the newest member of the family. Due in three, actually two, short weeks. I’d like you to meet…
Argh. Yeah, this purchase was coupled with some serious guilt. But to back up a few weeks, or months rather, I knew coming into this season, and getting into triathlons, that I would be looking to purchase a new rig this year. Sadly, it was hard to believe looking back that it had been near five years since my last bike purchase (and serious cash departure); the S-Works that I built from the frame up and still serves as my primary road bike.
But if I may digress for a moment, there is probably enough behind that (bike lust lapses) for a whole separate post being as I rarely went more than a couple years between purchases. That, largely being also the host of reasons for the distance that grew between myself and cycling over the past half of decade. Well, the passion is back, along with a few others now, namely running. And do you know what all of that can again be attributed to? Having someone that believes in you, supports you, shares your passions, and encourages you every step of the way toward realizing your goals. Yeah, she’s rad.
Now, where was I? Ah yes, well coming into this season, I knew a tri-rig was on the horizon for me, and I also knew that fitting myself for a tri-bike was not something I even wanted to get into. The geometry and nuances of this bike position were something I had never once approached in 15 years of riding. (Of course that’s probably because I always thought tri-geeks were a bunch of tools.) I had a few options, and with weeks to months of research (surprise), ended up going with a pretty renowned fitter via a recommendation from Joe yet again, in Bethel, CT.
Based on that recommendation, I made an appointment with the owner of Bethel Cycle, Greg Pelican, approximately three weeks back. Greg a world-class duathlete himself, and a stand-up guy with an amazing shop that I can’t not recommend, took over two hours with me dialing me in with a preliminary fit on the Serotta Size Cycle. We discussed options, which ultimately came down to the Cervelo P3 or the Cannondale Slice. Both of which I somewhat came to my own conclusion before coming up should they be viable options after the fitting. Well the Slice was Greg’s weapon of choice (not that I’m in his league), and seeing as he has lunch with the lead engineer for Cannondale (also headquartered in Bethel) it was a no-brainer.
And the guilt? Well that is two-fold. Cost surely, but secondly was the realization that I had become one of those guys that can afford a bike beyond his (current) athleticism, especially if I go for the HED hoops, which is a very likely scenario. We’ll see. There is only one person I’m out to prove wrong, and that’s me. I can also be assured that that bike will be motivation in itself. It’ll beg to be ridden hard. It’s a damn sexy bike and I just hope I can do it proud.
So that, a nice visit in the country with Melissa and Jason, and two tortuously boring four hour trainer rides ended the last week of February.
Other highlights of last week included another (imagine that) cold and rainy long run on Wednesday. Michelle and I thought back over a year of training, and looking at my logs, it’s kind of scary how many long runs have been in the rain and/or inclement weather. And despite my blog entry about being optimistic, man does it start to wear on you. The run was good, but two and a quarter hours in the rain/freezing drizzle left me feeling especially fatigued, and probably kicked off a chain reaction. However, I knew I had a recovery week coming (which I’m in at present), so I trudged on, finished a root canal on Thursday with a night over in Jersey, which led to a few nights of staying up just a bit too late, loosing routine, and being surrounded by the onset of change-of-season colds in NYC.
So, ignoring a morning sniffle was all it took as I set out this past Saturday on my long weekend spins, on what also happened to be the first beautiful and warm (55 degree) day of the season that I wasn’t about to miss. Absolutely gorgeous, but I slowly unraveled through the hours. I remember wondering why I felt more tired then I should have, and probably as a result stupidly pushed myself a little harder to compensate. Well, that four-hour ride sent things disastrously in the wrong direction, and took the last bit of energy I could have had to fighting a cold, and threw it to the wind (so to speak). That afternoon, the cold came on hard, and what was meant to be a fun night with tickets to South Pacific, only culminated with me getting worse, and again staying out too late.
Well, Sunday hit near 60 I think, but I really couldn’t tell you how nice it was. I spent the entire day sleeping. Michelle woke me up twice to stuff my face (thankfully I never lost my appetite fully) and then immediately sent me back to bed. The rest worked wonders, and two days later I’m nearly recovered 100%, not to mention being fully recharged.
I know what some of you are probably thinking, and that is that I’m doing too much. Well, that’s one way to look at it. But it’s not the case. The approach was right, however I made some nutrition and sleep mistakes that week, in addition to factors outside of my control, that nudged me just enough in the wrong direction. Good news is that I’ve learned from my mistakes, and will be able to spot the warning signs earlier. Whether I heed them is a whole other story.
And here we are. That about brings us up to date more or less. Enjoying a rest week, and finally booked and locked in for Kentucky this afternoon. It becomes more and more real every day. How awesome is that?
I did get called f@*ing crazy though by a fellow borough neighbor, shoveling out his car from a two foot drift. But it was a triumphant expletive, followed by very Brooklyn, Keep it going!
One hour kicking it over in the heavy snow, wind, and the completely empty streets of pre-dawn South Park Slope. Doesn’t get much better than that.
By no means was this morning a Death March, not by my definition, experience, or current standards. I can even say with complete confidence that my personal definition of such will continually redefine itself in the coming months. However, it’s been the frustratingly difficult winter weather we’ve been dealing with this winter in NYC, and the culmination of the hours and triple digit miles logged by foot, and a few more by wheel to date, spent in frigid temps, rain, snow, and ice in the wee hours of the morning…
Even still, it’s rad! Really. And trust me when I say there isn’t much in this life that makes me happier, more in tune with the core of my very being, and completely at peace than times like these. Sure, sometimes it’s hard to put one foot in front of the other, saddle up, or kick some water, but once it happens, there has never been a time I regretted the decision.
Ross, the Nostalgia part, that’s all you man. Damn, those were some rides; sun poison, near hypothermia (shut up, I couldn’t stop shivering!), and more rain and snow than NY could throw at me in ten winters. As I trucked it over the Manhattan Bridge shortly after 6AM this morning at 38F in a steady rain shower, completely solo in a city of 8 million, eyes over the East River and feet kicking over towards a waking Manhattan still shrouded in darkness, nothing but a big smile was smeared across my face.
And sure, 15 miles in a balmy 38F, with some ’sprinkles’ is hardly a Death March, but this morning as my mind wandered, it pulled back some great memories of the real ones, and the stiff competition it’s going to take to knock them from their reigning status in my books.
Something tells me though, I think I’ll manage this time.
Well, depending on who reads this, this entry’s title could take on a number of meanings. In fact, it indeed has a number of meanings, so let’s see if we can catch them all… Today, by my calendar reads February 21, 2010. That means six short months to go to the big day in Kentucky, which precedes the biggest and best day (insert many other equally rad adjectives here) by just three weeks! (There is another blog for that coming soon.) What a year this is shaping up to be.
Kentucky is the ultimate goal, but of course to keep things interesting there are a few little fun small bumps along the way so far here, here, and here, and maybe even here again for a fun run. And few others that may pop-up. Needless to say I’m very excited about the racing season and the challenges that lie ahead. To catch everyone up, I’ll take a small jump back to the end of November, last year. Well even further perhaps, to October where a friend of mine, in an innocent AIM chat gave me just enough motivation to register for Ironman Louisville. Why not? I was in the middle of marathon training realizing that really anyone can do these things if you just focus, center, and apply yourself. I tend to have a very focused personality, and once I set my mind on something, it’ll be hell or high water before I get steered off course. Of course it helps if you love it too. Always a positive.
So jumping back ahead to November, I ran the Philly marathon, hired a coach (thanks John) via that same friend that got me into this, took three weeks break, and jumped back in with the training December 12, 2009. Maybe at some point I’ll get a snapshot of the schedule, but taking a quick look the last couple months consisted of recovery/adaptation for the first 7 weeks (2 swims/3 runs/1 ride/1 rest), to the present base training at heavier volumes of 2 swims @ 3,500-4,000, 2 runs now @ 2 hours/60 minutes, 2 rides at 4-5 hours each, and lifting a 2 days a week. One of my swim days also includes a ride in the evening now for an hour. While the swim distances are remaining steady, my Tuesday long runs increase by 15 minutes a week, and rides increase every 2 weeks by an hour approximately. Basically just a lot of volume conditioning, increasing as the season progresses. That and a lot of early mornings.
All my training has been done outside throughout the winter, as I’m no fan of the gym. With the exception of the pool and lifting of course, which I combine days so to limit my time there. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to catch the subway over there at 5:20AM, in the cold. Least the trains run consistent that time in the morning. Outside of that, for all of us, we all know how damn cold it’s been this winter, so most of my runs have either been in or in the residual affects of this:
There is something really nice about it however, despite the few treacherous days where I probably should have headed to the gym. Definitely quiets things down out there, not to mention being incredibly peaceful. I finally got some quasi trail shoes to handle the winter, and it’s been an incredible help. The newest additions to the family are some Brooks ASR 6’s. Maybe I’ll post-up a review of those after a few more runs. Today that definitely wasn’t the case, as the mountains of snow are finally starting to melt. It’s funny how running has moved to the forefront as one of my most enjoyable sports. I know cycling got me into this all, and in fact…well I’ll save that post for another day. Anyway, today was a balmy 36 degrees. Wow, that felt nice.
Swimming was a little bit of a worry at the start, as I literally hadn’t done any real lap swimming since I was a kid. Wow, besides conditioning, it really just came back to me immediately. I mean I am no expert of course, but the mechanics were definitely still in there. Even in a short couple weeks the kick-flip confidence came back. I guess I have my folks to thank for putting me on, and enforcing those few years on the Yorklyn swim team back in good ol’ DE.
And lastly those rides…
Let’s just say 3-4 hours on the trainer is painfully, tortuously boring. Yesterday after approximately 10 weeks, I was finally able to get out there as it was not snowing nor was it 20 degrees with a wind-chill in the teens. Again a balmy mid to high 30’s, made for an awesome ride. Couple of us headed out, and even though it was a down week for me with a easy 1-2 hours scheduled, I agreed to an easy spin up to Peirmont. Well, let’s just say I had no idea how easy it would be. I don’t think 65 miles has ever taken me in my life as long as that took. That’s good though I suppose, as those two 20 minute waiting breaks for someone to catch-up really assured an easy day! Zing!!
If you’re a cyclist, I think you’d appreciate those. Thanks for the tip Joe, and you know I’m going to enjoy busting your chops all the way up to game-time. However, with you, I know the feeling is mutual.
I think that about brings us up to the present. But I can’t sign-off without thanking enough, nor can I believe how blessed I am to have the most wonderful, supporting, loving partner that is with me every step of the way. I really not in a million years could do this without her. My day-to-day coach and nutrionist in training and life! You rock lom-face.
