9 December - 6 miles (45 minutes), in Baltimore City
10-11 December - off
12 December - 10 miles at APG, including a mile "time trial" (5:54, near-DNF), followed by 10 minutes easy, then 3 minutes faster, 1 minute easy, 3 minutes faster, 4x(90 seconds faster, 90 seconds easy), warmdown (70 minutes)
13 December - a.m. 5 miles (35 minutes), p.m. Baltimore City Christmas Lights Run +, for 12 miles (90 minutes)
14 December - a.m. 5 miles (35 minutes), later a.m. 4x(Patterson Park hill, up), jog down (@ ~4:00 each, both ways) - 4x(30 seconds faster, 30 seconds easy) in both the warm-up and the warm-down. 11 miles total (73 minutes)
15 December - Wandering around Great Falls Park for about 130 minutes - 17-ish miles.
16 December - a.m. 5 miles (35 minutes), p.m. Gunpowder Falls trails for about 10 more miles (80 minutes)
17 December - 10 miles in part with the Monday Night Run, including 10x(30 seconds faster, 30 seconds easy) (70 minutes)
18 December - off
19 December - 10 miles at APG, including a mile "time trial" (5:37), followed by 10 minutes easy, then 3 minutes faster, 1 minute easy, 3 minutes faster, 4x(90 seconds faster, 90 seconds easy), warmdown (70 minutes)
20 December - 10 aimless miles at APG
21 December - 4x(Patterson Park hill, up), jog down (@ ~4:00 each, both ways) - 4x(30 seconds faster, 30 seconds easy) in both the warm-up and the warm-down. 11 miles total (73 minutes) - windy and a little snowy the whole time
22 December - 27 December - holiday frenzy = only figurative running-around
28 December - 4x(Patterson Park hill, up), jog down (@ ~4:00 each, both ways) - 4x(30 seconds faster, 30 seconds easy) in both the warm-up and the warm-down. 11 miles total (73 minutes) - weather-wise, less bad than the last time, but worse than the first time. First hill felt easy, in 3:55, but crashed and burned at around 3:10 on the second interval. Pulled together to finish the last two in 4:07 and 4:10.
29 December - 8+ miles (60 minutes) around the Inner Harbor
30-31 December - off
1 January - 6+ miles (45 minutes), Patterson Park/Fells/Inner Harbor
2 January - 10 chilly, windy miles at APG - 34 degrees, feels like 28 - gravel and bay loops. (70 minutes) Later, 3-ish miles (20 minutes) around the Inner Harbor, just for fun.
3 January - 9+ slightly-less chilly, windy miles at APG, with a "mile time trial" on the gravel loop, starting at 20 minutes in, in 5:50. Slower than the last time, faster than the first time, but a far more even-paced effort than either time (and not all-out), so it's acceptable, for now.
4 January - 10 miles in cold, dark downtown Baltimore (70 minutes)
5 January - 11 miles in bright, sunny, daytime Baltimore, including 10x(30 seconds fast, 30 seconds easy) at around 50 minutes in. (80 minutes)
6 January - 8 miles across the city and back, post-Ravens-game (60 minutes)
7 January - Back to the grind at APG; 10 miles on the gravel loop and bay loop (70 minutes)
8 January - And, at long last, back to the Gilman track, for my first workout in forever. 2.5 miles warmup, 2x1200 @ 4:36, 4:34, 4x800 @ 3:05, 3:05, 3:04, 3:04, 2.5 miles warmdown. 3 minutes jog rest between reps. ~9 miles total. (~70 minutes total)
Total time: 1569 minutes
Total distance: 212 miles
. . . And that's a whole lot of numbers, without a whole lot of sense behind it, which just goes to show how much "on paper" really counts.
The interpretation, though, is that, really, since sometime this past spring, I've had a hard time putting together any sort of consistent training mileage. From late April until, well, pretty much this past month, it's been race, race, race until I finally burned myself out. It was fun while it lasted, and served a purpose at the time, and even led to some pretty nifty experiences and results, but was hardly a plan for long-term progress.
With that in mind, my first and foremost goal for 2013 is to train consistently again, which means a lot of testing the waters to figure out what sort of training pace/volume is supportable at this point. Based on my recent running, 60-70 miles per week, to include some higher-quality faster stuff, seems to be pretty achievable for right now, while still being challenging by virtue of incorporating faster stuff. I'm not feeling terrible on every run anymore, and, more importantly, I'm enjoying running.
Make no mistake, I've got a long way to go. Christmas logistics cost me a solid week, and my most recent track workout (first in forever), while not totally draining, was not very fast, although those paces FELT really fast. It's going to take a while to get some speed back. But I'm feeling ready for that process now, and excited to see where it takes me. I have some thoughts in mind for how I'd like 2013 to play out, but for the time being, I'm enjoying the feeling of all of the possibilities that come with being back on track.
(P.S. - if anybody's looking for a cat, I still have two good ones that need good homes . . .)
Showing posts with label baltimore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baltimore. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Monday, July 30, 2012
Week in Review: 22-28 July 2012, and Speedgoat 50K Race Report
For the first time in a while, a list of dates and mileage:
22 July: 11 miles (77 minutes) on a soupy-hot morning, across Baltimore and back, west-to-east
23 July: 10 miles (70 minutes), in and around Patterson Park
24 July: off
25 July: 10 miles (70 minutes), in and around Patterson Park
26 July: off
27 July: 1+ mile (12 minutes), in the morning, running with bags to catch a train at Penn Station in Baltimore, to kick off this wacky weekend. 3-ish miles (33 minutes) evening at White Pine (8,000-ish feet altitude) to shake out before Speedgoat
28 July: Speedgoat 50K (444 minutes, 31+ miles), 7:23:17, 39th overall
Total time: 706 minutes
Total distance: 66+ miles
And now, the Speedgoat 50K:
I'm putting the picture first, because that's the most unequivocally beautiful thing about Speedgoat. A 50K that, with 11,000+ feet of gain/loss (this year, with the course changes, it was probably over 12,000), all at altitudes above 8,000 feet, going as high as 11,000 feet, with nasty, steep, rocky climbs that will haunt your dreams, runs more like a 50-mile race, is not exactly the easiest sell. But it's that way on purpose; as the t-shirt tag line goes, the course is "A Meltzer-Designed Nightmare."
Taking on this monster just 10 days after Badwater, without the benefit of altitude or mountain training, seemed like a a terrible idea. But it also seemed like an exciting challenge. I had been signed up for the race since January, just after Bandera, where my performance there inspired me to raise the bar once more in a competitive field. Still, I didn't know how I was going to feel after Badwater, but after a few days of "normal" running earlier this week, I felt ready for the challenge. As I saw it, it was a great opportunity to
(1) get a "Wasatch 100 preview" (i.e. determine how likely I am to die on the mountains during that race)
(2) compete against a strong field
(3) have a fun day in the mountains (probably)
So the "exciting challenge" assessment won out. Tina helped me make travel plans just a few day before the race, and on Friday, I scrambled through three trains, a bus, two planes, and a baggage-loaded run to Penn Station to make it to Salt Lake City at around 6 pm, just about 12 hours before the start of the race. Collin picked me up at the airport, and we went about the business of picking up supplies for the race, and heading up the mountains towards Snowbird for pre-race camping and shake-out run. After our shake-out run, I was a little worried about dying on the mountain. While I wasn't exactly gasping for breath, my legs were still feeling a little tired from Badwater, and the thin air was just making me feel . . . slow. Collin was moving along much better than I was, and, for the first time in my life, I felt severely disadvantaged for living at sea level.
But whatever, the race was happening, either way, so by the next morning, when I was dressed and ready to run, all of that was in the back of my mind . . . at least until the gun went off. Within about ten minutes, maybe a fifth of the way up the first climb, I was probably in about 100th place. Everybody seemed to be charging up the mountain with reckless abandon, while my poor tired legs were screaming at me to slow down so they could suck down the paltry amount of oxygen that my lungs were delivering to them from the disturbingly-thin air. It occurred to me that maybe this should have gone into the "terrible idea" bin instead. But here I was, out on a beautiful, sunny, 70-degree day, climbing some awesome mountains, and taking in some awesome views (sadly, sans-cell-phone, which I had forgotten in my rush to the starting line - otherwise, there would be more pictures here), so I figured I may as well soldier on.
By the time I hit the steep, rocky climb to Hidden Peak (mile 8+ into the race), my place had stabilized a bit, and I was getting into a little better rhythm on the climbs. I tagged the top at 1 hour, 58 minutes, and hauled down the backside of the mountain with reckless abandon, smiling and laughing as I skidded down an alarmingly steep drop over loose dirt and rocks, overjoyed to finally have gravity in my favor, and to be passing people.
The next climb and descent came and went without too much fanfare, except to say that the descent was over a pretty significant loose-ish rock-pile, reminiscent of a descent at MMT, but not quite as long, and over rocks with a bit less permanence in the landscape. This took me to the 15-ish mile aid station, the "turn-around" point, and I could see runners coming out of the aid station towards me, many not looking so great. At 4 hours and 27 minutes into the race at the "turn-around" aid station, it was around 11 a.m., and with the sun high, and the elevation "low" (as in, slightly under 8000 feet here), and 100-degree F temperatures predicted in the valley, conditions were starting to take their toll on the runners. I heard one runner say to another on the downhill, "I'm so wiped out from all of the climbing - I can't even bomb this downhill." Considering that I was still keeping a steady pace, and not feeling catastrophically bad, I began feeling optimistic about the remainder of the race.
On the way out of the turn-around aid station, fortified by an orange popsicle and an unexpected cold-water-dousing that nearly gave me a heart attack, I caught up to Collin, and we stuck together for a little while up the next climb, a long, wide service-road style, Hellgate-like ascent (except at higher altitudes). I settled into a brisk hike, and soon was passing people on my way to the top . . . which involved a very cruel left turn up a steep (but mercifully short) rocky hill, where there wasn't a trail so much as a series of flags to follow, all of which had me crawling on hands and feet to get to the top. After passing a few more people, a merciful downhill into the next aid station followed . . .
But mercy was not to be the case from there on. Not quite three miles to the next aid station, 3100 feet of climb, and a few hundred feet of drop, for good measure. When we started running downhill out of the aid station, I knew something was "wrong." Sure enough, when we reached the base of Baldy, we turned right, up a rocky, steep, arbitrarily-marked nearly-vertical grade. This was the lowest point of the race for me, as I struggled on hands and feet, stopping several times, before I finally reached the top. Once I was over the top, I gradually settled into a running rhythm again, but not before several people who were recovering much more quickly than I was managed to pass me and keep going.
And from there, it got worse. From the tunnel to the top of Hidden Peak, the last aid station, there was another descent, followed by a prolonged, nasty climb. I was with another runner for most of this climb, but I was still dragging myself through, and slowing him down for most of it, since, with a little over a mile to go, he went ahead and kept on going. At this point, being at nearly 11,000 feet altitude, climbing up a stupid-steep slope, 25 miles into the race, my non-mountain sea-level disadvantage became most painfully apparent. Fortunately, at the top, 6 hours, 30 minutes into the race, there were cheers for "Baltimore!" (I was wearing my red Falls Road Racing singlet), and promise of a 5-mile downhill to the finish line.
The next 5 miles were the happiest downhill miles of my life, even with the nasty rocks for the first mile or so. In addition to gravity in my favor, the air thickened as I followed the winding trail to the finish line. I was solidly in whatever place I was in at that point (which turned out to be 39th), so there was no need to push too hard (although at the very end, a runner did come close to me, prompting a bit of a finishing sprint). Instead, I kept a steady pace, enjoyed the scenery, and felt a sense of gratitude for accomplishing what I had accomplished in the race, in spite of circumstances.
Collin came in about 20 minutes later, and we spent a little time after the race drinking UltraGen recovery drink and soda, hanging around the finish line and socializing, and watching the awards ceremony. Kilian recorded the fastest time, but was barred from prize money because he cut switchbacks on his way to the win, which is allowed in European mountain racing and skyrunning, but not in this particular race (which was a part of the skyrunning series, so that was perhaps the source of the confusion). He was still recognized alongside Rickey Gates, who took second, as the fastest runner of the day. Anna Frost took the win on the women's side. And for what it's worth, it was a lot of fun to be part of such a deep, fast race.
7:23:17, 39th overall, and the first non-mountain, sea-level competitor to cross the line, and still shaking off Badwater fatigue - I'd say that's a pretty solid result. There were definitely some steep climbs where I lost a good bit of time, and there is lots of room for improvment in my mountain-running ability, so this result has me curious to see how I could do in a mountain race with some actual specific mountain-specific training at altitude. But that's for another time and place - for now, considering that I don't feel completely crippled after this run (just generally tired), I'm excited about my next round of races and training in August and September . . . more and better-prepared (but still most likely full of awesome surprises) adventures soon to come!
22 July: 11 miles (77 minutes) on a soupy-hot morning, across Baltimore and back, west-to-east
23 July: 10 miles (70 minutes), in and around Patterson Park
24 July: off
25 July: 10 miles (70 minutes), in and around Patterson Park
26 July: off
27 July: 1+ mile (12 minutes), in the morning, running with bags to catch a train at Penn Station in Baltimore, to kick off this wacky weekend. 3-ish miles (33 minutes) evening at White Pine (8,000-ish feet altitude) to shake out before Speedgoat
28 July: Speedgoat 50K (444 minutes, 31+ miles), 7:23:17, 39th overall
Total time: 706 minutes
Total distance: 66+ miles
And now, the Speedgoat 50K:
 |
| The 2012 Speedgoat 50K course (photo credit: Tetsuro Ogata) |
Taking on this monster just 10 days after Badwater, without the benefit of altitude or mountain training, seemed like a a terrible idea. But it also seemed like an exciting challenge. I had been signed up for the race since January, just after Bandera, where my performance there inspired me to raise the bar once more in a competitive field. Still, I didn't know how I was going to feel after Badwater, but after a few days of "normal" running earlier this week, I felt ready for the challenge. As I saw it, it was a great opportunity to
(1) get a "Wasatch 100 preview" (i.e. determine how likely I am to die on the mountains during that race)
(2) compete against a strong field
(3) have a fun day in the mountains (probably)
So the "exciting challenge" assessment won out. Tina helped me make travel plans just a few day before the race, and on Friday, I scrambled through three trains, a bus, two planes, and a baggage-loaded run to Penn Station to make it to Salt Lake City at around 6 pm, just about 12 hours before the start of the race. Collin picked me up at the airport, and we went about the business of picking up supplies for the race, and heading up the mountains towards Snowbird for pre-race camping and shake-out run. After our shake-out run, I was a little worried about dying on the mountain. While I wasn't exactly gasping for breath, my legs were still feeling a little tired from Badwater, and the thin air was just making me feel . . . slow. Collin was moving along much better than I was, and, for the first time in my life, I felt severely disadvantaged for living at sea level.
But whatever, the race was happening, either way, so by the next morning, when I was dressed and ready to run, all of that was in the back of my mind . . . at least until the gun went off. Within about ten minutes, maybe a fifth of the way up the first climb, I was probably in about 100th place. Everybody seemed to be charging up the mountain with reckless abandon, while my poor tired legs were screaming at me to slow down so they could suck down the paltry amount of oxygen that my lungs were delivering to them from the disturbingly-thin air. It occurred to me that maybe this should have gone into the "terrible idea" bin instead. But here I was, out on a beautiful, sunny, 70-degree day, climbing some awesome mountains, and taking in some awesome views (sadly, sans-cell-phone, which I had forgotten in my rush to the starting line - otherwise, there would be more pictures here), so I figured I may as well soldier on.
By the time I hit the steep, rocky climb to Hidden Peak (mile 8+ into the race), my place had stabilized a bit, and I was getting into a little better rhythm on the climbs. I tagged the top at 1 hour, 58 minutes, and hauled down the backside of the mountain with reckless abandon, smiling and laughing as I skidded down an alarmingly steep drop over loose dirt and rocks, overjoyed to finally have gravity in my favor, and to be passing people.
The next climb and descent came and went without too much fanfare, except to say that the descent was over a pretty significant loose-ish rock-pile, reminiscent of a descent at MMT, but not quite as long, and over rocks with a bit less permanence in the landscape. This took me to the 15-ish mile aid station, the "turn-around" point, and I could see runners coming out of the aid station towards me, many not looking so great. At 4 hours and 27 minutes into the race at the "turn-around" aid station, it was around 11 a.m., and with the sun high, and the elevation "low" (as in, slightly under 8000 feet here), and 100-degree F temperatures predicted in the valley, conditions were starting to take their toll on the runners. I heard one runner say to another on the downhill, "I'm so wiped out from all of the climbing - I can't even bomb this downhill." Considering that I was still keeping a steady pace, and not feeling catastrophically bad, I began feeling optimistic about the remainder of the race.
On the way out of the turn-around aid station, fortified by an orange popsicle and an unexpected cold-water-dousing that nearly gave me a heart attack, I caught up to Collin, and we stuck together for a little while up the next climb, a long, wide service-road style, Hellgate-like ascent (except at higher altitudes). I settled into a brisk hike, and soon was passing people on my way to the top . . . which involved a very cruel left turn up a steep (but mercifully short) rocky hill, where there wasn't a trail so much as a series of flags to follow, all of which had me crawling on hands and feet to get to the top. After passing a few more people, a merciful downhill into the next aid station followed . . .
But mercy was not to be the case from there on. Not quite three miles to the next aid station, 3100 feet of climb, and a few hundred feet of drop, for good measure. When we started running downhill out of the aid station, I knew something was "wrong." Sure enough, when we reached the base of Baldy, we turned right, up a rocky, steep, arbitrarily-marked nearly-vertical grade. This was the lowest point of the race for me, as I struggled on hands and feet, stopping several times, before I finally reached the top. Once I was over the top, I gradually settled into a running rhythm again, but not before several people who were recovering much more quickly than I was managed to pass me and keep going.
And from there, it got worse. From the tunnel to the top of Hidden Peak, the last aid station, there was another descent, followed by a prolonged, nasty climb. I was with another runner for most of this climb, but I was still dragging myself through, and slowing him down for most of it, since, with a little over a mile to go, he went ahead and kept on going. At this point, being at nearly 11,000 feet altitude, climbing up a stupid-steep slope, 25 miles into the race, my non-mountain sea-level disadvantage became most painfully apparent. Fortunately, at the top, 6 hours, 30 minutes into the race, there were cheers for "Baltimore!" (I was wearing my red Falls Road Racing singlet), and promise of a 5-mile downhill to the finish line.
The next 5 miles were the happiest downhill miles of my life, even with the nasty rocks for the first mile or so. In addition to gravity in my favor, the air thickened as I followed the winding trail to the finish line. I was solidly in whatever place I was in at that point (which turned out to be 39th), so there was no need to push too hard (although at the very end, a runner did come close to me, prompting a bit of a finishing sprint). Instead, I kept a steady pace, enjoyed the scenery, and felt a sense of gratitude for accomplishing what I had accomplished in the race, in spite of circumstances.
 |
| Sweet Speedgoat swag - no fluff, all useful running stuff. (yellow is men's shirt, pink is women's shirt) |
7:23:17, 39th overall, and the first non-mountain, sea-level competitor to cross the line, and still shaking off Badwater fatigue - I'd say that's a pretty solid result. There were definitely some steep climbs where I lost a good bit of time, and there is lots of room for improvment in my mountain-running ability, so this result has me curious to see how I could do in a mountain race with some actual specific mountain-specific training at altitude. But that's for another time and place - for now, considering that I don't feel completely crippled after this run (just generally tired), I'm excited about my next round of races and training in August and September . . . more and better-prepared (but still most likely full of awesome surprises) adventures soon to come!
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Week in Review: 12-18 February 2012, and The Lost Art of Devotion
Numbers:
12 February: 10 miles (70 minutes) on the coldest Baltimore morning this winter, 10 more miles (70 minutes) on the coldest Baltimore evening this winter.
13 February: 1 mile (10 minutes); sick stomach day.
14 February: 10 miles (70 minutes) at lunch with Luke, in my makeshift Ritz "compression-boxers" outfit.
15 February: 1 mile (10 minutes); whatever.
16 February: 11+ miles at lunch (80 minutes), including 3 miles at high-5-minute-mile pace with Luke and Brent; 3+ miles in the evening (25 minutes).
17 February: 20 miles (140 minutes), all over APG, just because.
18 February: My "running devotion day" - 10 miles in the morning (70 minutes), 10 miles mid-day (70 minutes), 10 miles in the evening (70 minutes), walking everywhere in between (about 13 miles of walking)
Total time: 685 minutes
Total distance: 97 miles
A couple of crummy days dragged my weekly mileage total back into double-digits (albeit high double-digits), but all things considered, I am okay with this.
Now, some words about devotion. Allow me to wax Catholic for a moment here, unpopular though it may be, since I think there is some value to be found here . . .
A "devotion," in the Catholic context, is an act, often centered around a particular object or artifact, repeated periodically, as witness to the faith. All of that amounts to a resounding "who cares," unless you realize that in the Catholic tradition, believers are (or, should be, anyway) acutely aware of the inherent reality in an apparently symbolic act. (Huh? Keep reading . . .)
The doctrine of transubstantiation (the belief that the bread and wine used during the celebration of the Mass, become, during consecration, the physical body and blood of Christ) is the most dramatic example, but even more mundane "devotions," such as reading and meditating on a passage from the Bible, from the Catholic perspective, share this quality. Giving time and self to the devotion results not only in the symbolic appearance of the act, or even just the tangible consequences of the act, but, most importantly, and most uniquely, the often unnoticed, but very real intangible transformation of the participant and the larger world through the act.
Which, by way of providing something concrete to clarify the conceptual, brings me to my running devotion. I'd been toying with the idea of running three 10-mile runs in one day, one in the morning, one at mid-day, and one in the evening for a while now. Not because it would necessarily be difficult or challenging, but because I felt that the experience would be meaningful somehow.
I hadn't set a date for it, but considering all of the turmoil this past week, this past Saturday just felt like the right time for the devotion - for one full day, to give myself to running (and, generally speaking, bipedal motion - I went everywhere on foot that day, walking 13 miles before, during, and after runs), and to see what would come back to me. I also decided, last-minute, to take a picture from each run, to try to capture the energy of the moment. And here's what happened . . .
Awake on my own at 6:30 a.m., after a 2-mile 2 a.m. stumble with a friend back to my house from Max's in Fells, addled by too many "value" Belgian beers, in a slow blur, I rolled out of bed, leaving her still sleeping soundly, to wrestle on running gear, tend to the cats (fortunately, the one that followed us most of the way home decided not to follow us into the house), and numbly lurch those few steps forward into my first 10-mile run of the day.
As I headed east, flooded with fresh daylight, the light fullest of possibility, I turned last night's memories over in my mind. Liking ice cream on Tuesdays, the "Eating Disorder Warehouse Supercenter," subjecting China to genocide, five abortions, one "on" a person in an act, and somewhere, amidst all of the dark humor, the little light of a genuine "I love you," from a friend, to a friend. And then this happened:
7:17 a.m.
And the shadow that I had been chasing was overwhelmed by the orange glow of the still-breaking daylight, and the ivy on the brick an abandoned building on the east side of Baltimore. And it occurred to me that, even here, there was far too much light in the day to dwell on the shadow. Now westward bound, the subtle warmth of the sun bathing my back on an otherwise cold morning, I headed home. The first run.
A few hours later, my friend trounced unceremoniously down the stairs, and, dangling a metal water canteen from a carabiner, I escorted her, in her huge green-plastic-framed accidentally-hipster sunglasses, down Eastern Avenue back to the Legg Mason building, as we pondered, among other things, why the birth control ring hadn't been adapted as a suppository yet.
Because there was no reason not to, she gave me the tour - all of the typical office cliches, but surrounded by amazing views of downtown Baltimore that I had never seen, that made me wish I had brought my phone. After cleaning out her "dumpster car" (because if you accidentally leave perishable food in a closed car overnight, it ends up smelling exactly like a dumpster), laughing all the way (because a car that smells like a dumpster is just plain funny), she drove me out of the dim garage, and dropped me off at the Polish monument at Harbor East, and I walked the 2+ miles back to my house alone, arriving at about the right time for my second run.
This time I felt a little more solid, and even the climb up the north side of Patterson Park on Baltimore street felt bearable. As I descended towards downtown, I came across this:
1:30 p.m.
Sun high in the sky, illuminating equally the lavish Legg Mason building in the background, and the vacant lot in the projects, surrounded by a barbed-wire-topped fence where I stood. And it turned out that, in the light of day, everything, no matter what it was, all together, all at once, could be something beautiful.
With a new awareness of my place in all of this, I weaved nimbly south on Charles Street, narrowly avoiding a low-speed car crash (and leaving the dozens of other onlookers as the witnesses), through the bustle of the Inner Harbor, along the waterfront promenade, and back to the east. The second run.
A leisurely 1+ mile walk to Panera and back to re-fuel, and I returned in time to finally get around to charging my iPod shuffle. As I sat on the purple carpeted floor in my basement, vaguely feeling the daylight dim, my anxiety grew as I could feel the heaviness in my legs. Even with the music, this might be unbearably uncomfortable . . .
But within a few steps, I could feel the energy release, and, as if I hadn't run a step all day, I bounded across the grass in the park, towards the sunset, looking for my chance to capture the dying light:
5:30 p.m.
And as the sun set, unaccompanied by any of the brilliant colors that I had hoped for, and night fell, my pace quickened nonetheless, as I passed people on the streets just beginning their prowl for that ambiguious "good time" on a Saturday night. Even in the darkness, there was an energy waiting to be captured and channeled. Running low-6-minute-mile pace, joyfully, I passed a group of photographer-types, bulky DSLR cameras hanging from heavy straps around their necks, and, as the panorama from the end of the pier at Fells Point came into brilliant view, I felt the light of a camera flash behind me.
I slightly regret now simply smiling back at them as I headed inland - a picture of me, in a bright red shirt and tiny black shorts, heading off into the dark blue backdrop, might have been something worth keeping. But it might be worth even more in its mysterious life elsewhere. Soon enough, I was home again, closing out appropriately enough to Rage Against the Machine's "Tire Me" on my iPod shuffle, and happy to rest. The third run.
Restless legs and a restless heart moved me to walk 2 miles back to Fells for pizza and people-watching, and as I came full-circle on my cold, solitary, sober walk home, I felt strangely satisfied.
Nothing obviously remarkable had happened today. And I could still feel remnants of of the past week's emotional roller-coaster. But as I reflected on the energy I had drawn from different sources throughout the day, the path ahead became clearer.
Because ultimately, devotion gives an act deeper meaning, and a life beyond the apparent life of the act. Too often, people act in ways to pacify, to appease, to divert, to delay, to self-medicate. Acting this way makes you a victim, subject to the whims of the world, struggling to keep head above metaphorical water.
But devotion to an act - true conviction to its cause, its substance, and its outcomes on all levels, breaks the cycle of victimhood. My running devotion made present the light and the energy that brings beauty to my life, and also gives back energy to others, not only in obvious ways, but also in ways that I may never even know happened. And in that way, my destiny becomes a matter of choice more than chance.
So if there is a single point here (and there probably isn't, but because we grasp for resolution, always, there needs to be at least a reasonable approximation), it's that if you're feeling lost and unfulfilled, maybe you should get off the damn internet and find a devotion - something, anything, that you can do regularly and purposefully, that brings new positivity into the world. And just let the meaning reveal itself.
Or, just watch this video. See if I care.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_BstJzcQNA
12 February: 10 miles (70 minutes) on the coldest Baltimore morning this winter, 10 more miles (70 minutes) on the coldest Baltimore evening this winter.
13 February: 1 mile (10 minutes); sick stomach day.
14 February: 10 miles (70 minutes) at lunch with Luke, in my makeshift Ritz "compression-boxers" outfit.
15 February: 1 mile (10 minutes); whatever.
16 February: 11+ miles at lunch (80 minutes), including 3 miles at high-5-minute-mile pace with Luke and Brent; 3+ miles in the evening (25 minutes).
17 February: 20 miles (140 minutes), all over APG, just because.
18 February: My "running devotion day" - 10 miles in the morning (70 minutes), 10 miles mid-day (70 minutes), 10 miles in the evening (70 minutes), walking everywhere in between (about 13 miles of walking)
Total time: 685 minutes
Total distance: 97 miles
A couple of crummy days dragged my weekly mileage total back into double-digits (albeit high double-digits), but all things considered, I am okay with this.
Now, some words about devotion. Allow me to wax Catholic for a moment here, unpopular though it may be, since I think there is some value to be found here . . .
A "devotion," in the Catholic context, is an act, often centered around a particular object or artifact, repeated periodically, as witness to the faith. All of that amounts to a resounding "who cares," unless you realize that in the Catholic tradition, believers are (or, should be, anyway) acutely aware of the inherent reality in an apparently symbolic act. (Huh? Keep reading . . .)
The doctrine of transubstantiation (the belief that the bread and wine used during the celebration of the Mass, become, during consecration, the physical body and blood of Christ) is the most dramatic example, but even more mundane "devotions," such as reading and meditating on a passage from the Bible, from the Catholic perspective, share this quality. Giving time and self to the devotion results not only in the symbolic appearance of the act, or even just the tangible consequences of the act, but, most importantly, and most uniquely, the often unnoticed, but very real intangible transformation of the participant and the larger world through the act.
Which, by way of providing something concrete to clarify the conceptual, brings me to my running devotion. I'd been toying with the idea of running three 10-mile runs in one day, one in the morning, one at mid-day, and one in the evening for a while now. Not because it would necessarily be difficult or challenging, but because I felt that the experience would be meaningful somehow.
I hadn't set a date for it, but considering all of the turmoil this past week, this past Saturday just felt like the right time for the devotion - for one full day, to give myself to running (and, generally speaking, bipedal motion - I went everywhere on foot that day, walking 13 miles before, during, and after runs), and to see what would come back to me. I also decided, last-minute, to take a picture from each run, to try to capture the energy of the moment. And here's what happened . . .
Awake on my own at 6:30 a.m., after a 2-mile 2 a.m. stumble with a friend back to my house from Max's in Fells, addled by too many "value" Belgian beers, in a slow blur, I rolled out of bed, leaving her still sleeping soundly, to wrestle on running gear, tend to the cats (fortunately, the one that followed us most of the way home decided not to follow us into the house), and numbly lurch those few steps forward into my first 10-mile run of the day.
As I headed east, flooded with fresh daylight, the light fullest of possibility, I turned last night's memories over in my mind. Liking ice cream on Tuesdays, the "Eating Disorder Warehouse Supercenter," subjecting China to genocide, five abortions, one "on" a person in an act, and somewhere, amidst all of the dark humor, the little light of a genuine "I love you," from a friend, to a friend. And then this happened:
7:17 a.m.
And the shadow that I had been chasing was overwhelmed by the orange glow of the still-breaking daylight, and the ivy on the brick an abandoned building on the east side of Baltimore. And it occurred to me that, even here, there was far too much light in the day to dwell on the shadow. Now westward bound, the subtle warmth of the sun bathing my back on an otherwise cold morning, I headed home. The first run.
A few hours later, my friend trounced unceremoniously down the stairs, and, dangling a metal water canteen from a carabiner, I escorted her, in her huge green-plastic-framed accidentally-hipster sunglasses, down Eastern Avenue back to the Legg Mason building, as we pondered, among other things, why the birth control ring hadn't been adapted as a suppository yet.
Because there was no reason not to, she gave me the tour - all of the typical office cliches, but surrounded by amazing views of downtown Baltimore that I had never seen, that made me wish I had brought my phone. After cleaning out her "dumpster car" (because if you accidentally leave perishable food in a closed car overnight, it ends up smelling exactly like a dumpster), laughing all the way (because a car that smells like a dumpster is just plain funny), she drove me out of the dim garage, and dropped me off at the Polish monument at Harbor East, and I walked the 2+ miles back to my house alone, arriving at about the right time for my second run.
This time I felt a little more solid, and even the climb up the north side of Patterson Park on Baltimore street felt bearable. As I descended towards downtown, I came across this:
1:30 p.m.
Sun high in the sky, illuminating equally the lavish Legg Mason building in the background, and the vacant lot in the projects, surrounded by a barbed-wire-topped fence where I stood. And it turned out that, in the light of day, everything, no matter what it was, all together, all at once, could be something beautiful.
With a new awareness of my place in all of this, I weaved nimbly south on Charles Street, narrowly avoiding a low-speed car crash (and leaving the dozens of other onlookers as the witnesses), through the bustle of the Inner Harbor, along the waterfront promenade, and back to the east. The second run.
A leisurely 1+ mile walk to Panera and back to re-fuel, and I returned in time to finally get around to charging my iPod shuffle. As I sat on the purple carpeted floor in my basement, vaguely feeling the daylight dim, my anxiety grew as I could feel the heaviness in my legs. Even with the music, this might be unbearably uncomfortable . . .
But within a few steps, I could feel the energy release, and, as if I hadn't run a step all day, I bounded across the grass in the park, towards the sunset, looking for my chance to capture the dying light:
5:30 p.m.
And as the sun set, unaccompanied by any of the brilliant colors that I had hoped for, and night fell, my pace quickened nonetheless, as I passed people on the streets just beginning their prowl for that ambiguious "good time" on a Saturday night. Even in the darkness, there was an energy waiting to be captured and channeled. Running low-6-minute-mile pace, joyfully, I passed a group of photographer-types, bulky DSLR cameras hanging from heavy straps around their necks, and, as the panorama from the end of the pier at Fells Point came into brilliant view, I felt the light of a camera flash behind me.
I slightly regret now simply smiling back at them as I headed inland - a picture of me, in a bright red shirt and tiny black shorts, heading off into the dark blue backdrop, might have been something worth keeping. But it might be worth even more in its mysterious life elsewhere. Soon enough, I was home again, closing out appropriately enough to Rage Against the Machine's "Tire Me" on my iPod shuffle, and happy to rest. The third run.
Restless legs and a restless heart moved me to walk 2 miles back to Fells for pizza and people-watching, and as I came full-circle on my cold, solitary, sober walk home, I felt strangely satisfied.
Nothing obviously remarkable had happened today. And I could still feel remnants of of the past week's emotional roller-coaster. But as I reflected on the energy I had drawn from different sources throughout the day, the path ahead became clearer.
Because ultimately, devotion gives an act deeper meaning, and a life beyond the apparent life of the act. Too often, people act in ways to pacify, to appease, to divert, to delay, to self-medicate. Acting this way makes you a victim, subject to the whims of the world, struggling to keep head above metaphorical water.
But devotion to an act - true conviction to its cause, its substance, and its outcomes on all levels, breaks the cycle of victimhood. My running devotion made present the light and the energy that brings beauty to my life, and also gives back energy to others, not only in obvious ways, but also in ways that I may never even know happened. And in that way, my destiny becomes a matter of choice more than chance.
So if there is a single point here (and there probably isn't, but because we grasp for resolution, always, there needs to be at least a reasonable approximation), it's that if you're feeling lost and unfulfilled, maybe you should get off the damn internet and find a devotion - something, anything, that you can do regularly and purposefully, that brings new positivity into the world. And just let the meaning reveal itself.
Or, just watch this video. See if I care.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_BstJzcQNA
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Running Recap: December 2011 (and the rest of 2011)
As the month is almost over, time for one of those really boring "list all your miles" posts . . .
27 November: 1 mile (10 minutes)
28 November: 8 miles at lunch (56 minutes), 14 miles to the Fed Hill run and back (100 minutes)
29 November: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes), including some faster stuff (5x1 minute at 5-ish-minute-mile pace), 8 miles in the evening (56 minutes)
30 November: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes), 10 miles in the evening (70 minutes, Canton Square run)
1 December: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes)
2 December: 1 mile (10 minutes)
3 December: 14 miles, hiking, prepping the Balled Eagle 100 course (315 minutes), then 6 miles easy back in Baltimore (45 surreal urban minutes)
Minutes: 772
Miles: 92
4 December: 13 miles in the morning (90 minutes), 15 miles in the evening (105 minutes), all around the city
5 December: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes)
6 December: 2 miles easy (20 minutes)
7 December: 9 miles (60 minutes)
8 December: 9 miles (60 minutes)
9 December: 2 miles easy (20 minutes)
10 December: Hellgate "100K" - 66.6 miles, 790 minutes
Minutes: 1215
Miles: 126.6
11 December: 2 miles easy (20 minutes)
12 December: 1 mile easy (10 minutes)
13 December: 5 miles (35 minutes)
14 December: 9 miles, at APG (60 minutes)
15 December: 17 miles (120 minutes), at Susquehanna State Park (wish the intermittent rain hadn't prevented photography of this - it was beautiful)
16 December: 6 miles (40 minutes), around Baltimore - ouch, for some reason. Yoga after.
17 December: 52 miles (1000 minutes), Balled Eagle 100-Mile attempt
Minutes: 1285
Miles: 92
18 December: 14 miles (100 minutes), all over parts of the Balled Eagle course that I didn't get to run during the actual race.
19 December: 1 mile easy (10 minutes)
20 December: 10 miles at APG (65 minutes), yoga later
21 December: 10 miles at APG (70 minutes), 12 miles with the Wednesday Night Run crew (85 minutes)
22 December: 10 miles at APG (70 minutes), 11 miles in Baltimore (80 minutes)
23 December: 10 miles at APG (70 minutes), yoga later
24 December: 15 miles in Baltimore (105 minutes), partially around Ravens Stadium during marching band practice
Minutes: 655
Miles: 93
And, finally, this week:
25 December: 13 miles (90 minutes) around Baltimore
26 December: 15 miles (105 minutes) around the old haunts in Churchville (Campus Hills Shopping Center to the house in 4:25 . . .)
27 December: A rainy 15 miles (105 minutes) at APG; hot yoga later
28 December: A windy 10 miles (70 minutes) at APG; a cold 5 miles (35 minutes) around Baltimore
29 December: A relatively pleasant 14 miles at APG (100 minutes)
30 December: 15 miles around Baltimore (105 minutes), then another 4 miles (30 minutes) to yoga and back
31 December: 15 miles around Baltimore, in the morning, with a sunrise so beautiful over the Hopkins Bayview campus that I almost turned around to get the camera (almost - 105 minutes)
Minutes: 745
Miles: 106
So, if you've been keeping track (and I hadn't, so I had to go back through my blog and count), that makes, by my count, 4,045 miles that I ran this past year, a figure which may be a little low, since, as I went back, I found some weeks that I hadn't recorded, so I put in a "low" mileage estimate for those weeks. (Yes, I really can remember what I probably ran during certain weeks, given enough prompting about the dates and races that happened during those weeks.) That's an average of a little over 11 miles per day, which is kind of a neat (and totally an unintentional) number, since this was 2011 - maybe I can bump the average up to 12 this year, in honor of 2012 (if the world doesn't end on December 21st and screw that up . . .)
Since this blog is pretty thorough about every race I ran this year (other than the Kentucky Derby Marathon post that I still need to put up here at some point - maybe before the 2012 edition of the race), I won't belabor the recap. The short summary is that I started 2011 with a stress fracture, but still running at least 1 mile a day and keeping the faith that things would improve, and, lo and behold, after an awful 50K Holiday Lake return-from-injury race, I went on to set PRs in the marathon, the 50K (twice), 50 miles, 100K, 6-hour, and Badwater, not to mention getting a few giant, nasty monkeys off my back (namely, Grindstone and Hellgate). I ran a lot, met a lot of cool people, climbed some trash piles, had some bad days, had some worse days, and had some absolutely spectacular days.
But I think what I'll remember the most about this "year of the rabbit" is that in spite of some rough patches, both in individual races and in life in general, on every day, in every race, I pushed through, got it done, and left very little (but not nothing) to regret. And I think that's ideal - enough success to feel as though the effort was worth it, but not so successful that I'm tempted to rest on any laurels in 2012.
So, in that spirit, I'll be taking on the Bandera 100K this coming Saturday. I feel fit, strong, and excited about this opportunity. But, more importantly, I feel excited about another year of running . . . which is a good thing, because I have many miles to run, and promises to keep . . .
27 November: 1 mile (10 minutes)
28 November: 8 miles at lunch (56 minutes), 14 miles to the Fed Hill run and back (100 minutes)
29 November: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes), including some faster stuff (5x1 minute at 5-ish-minute-mile pace), 8 miles in the evening (56 minutes)
30 November: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes), 10 miles in the evening (70 minutes, Canton Square run)
1 December: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes)
2 December: 1 mile (10 minutes)
3 December: 14 miles, hiking, prepping the Balled Eagle 100 course (315 minutes), then 6 miles easy back in Baltimore (45 surreal urban minutes)
Minutes: 772
Miles: 92
4 December: 13 miles in the morning (90 minutes), 15 miles in the evening (105 minutes), all around the city
5 December: 10 miles at lunch (70 minutes)
6 December: 2 miles easy (20 minutes)
7 December: 9 miles (60 minutes)
8 December: 9 miles (60 minutes)
9 December: 2 miles easy (20 minutes)
10 December: Hellgate "100K" - 66.6 miles, 790 minutes
Minutes: 1215
Miles: 126.6
11 December: 2 miles easy (20 minutes)
12 December: 1 mile easy (10 minutes)
13 December: 5 miles (35 minutes)
14 December: 9 miles, at APG (60 minutes)
15 December: 17 miles (120 minutes), at Susquehanna State Park (wish the intermittent rain hadn't prevented photography of this - it was beautiful)
16 December: 6 miles (40 minutes), around Baltimore - ouch, for some reason. Yoga after.
17 December: 52 miles (1000 minutes), Balled Eagle 100-Mile attempt
Minutes: 1285
Miles: 92
18 December: 14 miles (100 minutes), all over parts of the Balled Eagle course that I didn't get to run during the actual race.
19 December: 1 mile easy (10 minutes)
20 December: 10 miles at APG (65 minutes), yoga later
21 December: 10 miles at APG (70 minutes), 12 miles with the Wednesday Night Run crew (85 minutes)
22 December: 10 miles at APG (70 minutes), 11 miles in Baltimore (80 minutes)
23 December: 10 miles at APG (70 minutes), yoga later
24 December: 15 miles in Baltimore (105 minutes), partially around Ravens Stadium during marching band practice
Minutes: 655
Miles: 93
And, finally, this week:
25 December: 13 miles (90 minutes) around Baltimore
26 December: 15 miles (105 minutes) around the old haunts in Churchville (Campus Hills Shopping Center to the house in 4:25 . . .)
27 December: A rainy 15 miles (105 minutes) at APG; hot yoga later
28 December: A windy 10 miles (70 minutes) at APG; a cold 5 miles (35 minutes) around Baltimore
29 December: A relatively pleasant 14 miles at APG (100 minutes)
30 December: 15 miles around Baltimore (105 minutes), then another 4 miles (30 minutes) to yoga and back
31 December: 15 miles around Baltimore, in the morning, with a sunrise so beautiful over the Hopkins Bayview campus that I almost turned around to get the camera (almost - 105 minutes)
Minutes: 745
Miles: 106
So, if you've been keeping track (and I hadn't, so I had to go back through my blog and count), that makes, by my count, 4,045 miles that I ran this past year, a figure which may be a little low, since, as I went back, I found some weeks that I hadn't recorded, so I put in a "low" mileage estimate for those weeks. (Yes, I really can remember what I probably ran during certain weeks, given enough prompting about the dates and races that happened during those weeks.) That's an average of a little over 11 miles per day, which is kind of a neat (and totally an unintentional) number, since this was 2011 - maybe I can bump the average up to 12 this year, in honor of 2012 (if the world doesn't end on December 21st and screw that up . . .)
Since this blog is pretty thorough about every race I ran this year (other than the Kentucky Derby Marathon post that I still need to put up here at some point - maybe before the 2012 edition of the race), I won't belabor the recap. The short summary is that I started 2011 with a stress fracture, but still running at least 1 mile a day and keeping the faith that things would improve, and, lo and behold, after an awful 50K Holiday Lake return-from-injury race, I went on to set PRs in the marathon, the 50K (twice), 50 miles, 100K, 6-hour, and Badwater, not to mention getting a few giant, nasty monkeys off my back (namely, Grindstone and Hellgate). I ran a lot, met a lot of cool people, climbed some trash piles, had some bad days, had some worse days, and had some absolutely spectacular days.
But I think what I'll remember the most about this "year of the rabbit" is that in spite of some rough patches, both in individual races and in life in general, on every day, in every race, I pushed through, got it done, and left very little (but not nothing) to regret. And I think that's ideal - enough success to feel as though the effort was worth it, but not so successful that I'm tempted to rest on any laurels in 2012.
So, in that spirit, I'll be taking on the Bandera 100K this coming Saturday. I feel fit, strong, and excited about this opportunity. But, more importantly, I feel excited about another year of running . . . which is a good thing, because I have many miles to run, and promises to keep . . .
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