The Hardest Run I Never Did

First, the fact:

I am not running the Summer Beast of Burden 100-Mile Run this year.

Next, the speculation and introspection:

It would be partially true to say that when I packed my bag this morning (on auto-pilot, as has been the drill for some time now), and walked down to my car at around 1100, to find the passenger-side window broken out, and my backpack, water bottle, tote bag, and all of the food in my trunk stolen from my car, that the ensuing 4+ hour ordeal to make things as "right" as they could be (i.e., restore the window, if not my property) made a 7+ hour drive to Lockport, NY prohibitive given the timeframe for the race, and that's why I am not starting.

It would be partially true to say that since Speedgoat, my weekly mileage totals have been, with great difficulty, 42 miles two weeks ago, 23 miles last week, and an anemic 10 so far this week (albeit with two days to go), and that given that I back-slid so badly into Badwater, and managed to somehow far-exceed expectations there anyway, it would be very risky to attempt another 100-mile race on such poor training, especially considering that this past week, I was deathly ill (to the point of sleeping all day this past Tuesday),  and that's why I'm not starting.

It would be partially true to say that since this time last year, I've run Badwater, six 100-mile races, a 50-mile race, two 100Ks, five 50Ks, five marathons, and attempted the North Coast 24-Hour National Championship race twice, and that 1300 miles worth of marathon and ultra-racing in a year might, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, be enough, and that's why I'm not starting.

But the most complete, significant truth is a lot more complicated than any of that . . . 

At this time last year, I was just starting to start over, no longer engaged, and, quite honestly, afraid of the void that I knew she would leave.  

So I ran. A lot.

I ran at 3 a.m. down deserted city streets.  I ran in spite of fences topped with with barbed wire in the rain, fences I bravely (if stupidly) scaled.  I ran in obscenely bare legs in an improbable snowstorm on my 30th birthday.  I ran in deserted woods in the frigid cold at midnight.  I ran loop after loop around a park by the shore of a lake.  I ran in the scorching hot desert.  Sometimes I was careening down steep, winding, mountain single-track trail at breakneck speeds. Sometimes I was trudging up similarly steep mountains, hands on knees, straining to keep making forward progress.  Sometimes I was shuffling along at death-march pace, nearly too exhausted to keep myself upright.  And sometimes, I was running effortlessly, and felt like I could run that pace forever.

But no matter what, I was still running, half because I wanted to prove that I was "better" than before, and half because I was afraid of what might happen if I stopped.

But today, this morning, walking up to my car, sneakers crunching on the broken glass, the sound and sensation warning me that something was wrong before I even saw the window, I felt, for the first time since this time last year, an uneasy truce inside myself.  

Because the reality is, pesky matter of the marathon PR aside, I've improved significantly on nearly all of my same-race performances from 2011 to 2012, not to mention taken on a number of new challenges with great success.  At this point, considering all that I could have done, and, out of that, what I failed to do, I have no significant nagging regrets.  In fact, I think that the level of success that I've achieved this year hasn't truly sunk in.  

But more importantly, as I stood there, staring blankly at the broken glass, my first coherent thought was: "Today, I have nothing to prove.  Today, for the first time in a year, instead of running, I am going to go home."

And that, honestly, even in consideration of all of my crazy adventures this past year, is the scariest thought that I've had in a long time.  

In a relative sense, it would be "easy" to drive for a long time, and sleep in my car, and put on my running shoes and clothes, and run for hours until I've completed another unimaginably long race.  I know how to do those things.  Over the past year, I've become an expert of sorts.

But it's truly "hard" for me to pack up and go home before even starting the race, to go home and start the process of learning to live without being "dependent" on running to fill every one of those difficult moments.  It's "hard," especially given the last few months, to take a step back from the frenzy, to restrict my running to a plan, to set daily mileage goals, and weekly mileage goals, and goal races, when I've been bouncing from one adventure to the next, with very little thought in between, for so long.  I did these things once, but it's been so long ago now that I barely remember how to do them.

But for the sake of long-term health and success, in all aspects of my life, that's where I need to be right now, starting today.  With one last possible 100-mile "adventure" aside, my schedule is blank from today forward.  And, right now, that's a scary, but necessary thing.

Finally, the conclusion:

I will not run today.  But don't mistake this for an "I am no longer running" manifesto.  I don't plan to stop running anytime soon.  But, just like at this time last year, it's time for me to rethink my strategy, revise my approach, and reframe the way running fits into my life.  And that's not without bumps and jolts early on, but, as this past year has proven, over the long haul, this is a difficult thing that needs to happen, if greater successes are to come in the future.

I hope that this has been somehow interesting/educational/amusing/informative for all who took the time to read it, even though it is mostly about not running, which pretty much everybody does (or doesn't do, whichever construction is most comfortable for you).  (And I hope I'm not waxing overly long and poetic here, because this is as concise and direct as I can be right now.)  Good luck to everybody who will be running the Summer Beast of Burden 100-Mile Run tomorrow; enjoy everything about the race, and if things fall into place, hopefully next year, I'll be right there with all of you.

100 Miles Per Week, the Hard Way

Okay, first some stuff you don't really care about:

1 January: 15 miles (105 minutes), Patterson Park and wherever

2 January: 12 miles (85 minutes), out to the Fed Hill Monday Night Run and back

3 January: 10 miles (70 minutes), lunch run with Luke at APG

4 January: 10 miles (70 minutes), another APG lunch run, then another 4 miles (30 minutes) out and back to yoga

5 January: 8 miles (55 minutes), abbreviated APG lunch run, yoga later

6 January: 1 mile (10 minutes), in the Detroit International Airport, in cowboy boots, in a vain attempt to catch my flight to San Antonio, which had already left

7 January: 62 miles (617 minutes), Bandera 100K, 11th place overall

Total Time: 1,012 minutes
Total Distance: 128 miles

8 January: 1 mile (10 minutes), real lazy

9 January: 15 miles (105 minutes), out to the Fed Hill run and back, chasing the pack because I was about two minutes late (caught up in a couple miles)

10 January: 10 miles (70 minutes), APG lunch run, yoga later

11 January: 15 bitter miles (105 minutes), in dark, cold, windy rain (yes, that is a type of rain), in part with the Wednesday Night Canton Run crew

12 January: 1 mile (10 minutes), because life was too busy to allow for more . . . on the best-weather day of the week, no less . . .

13 January: 21 miles (127 minutes), Druid-Hill-ward, in moderate cold (35-ish degrees), but ridiculous wind (35-ish mph, probably) . . . almost intolerable

14 January: 27 miles (183 minutes), all over the industrial east side of the city (and a little bit of Fells Point in there, in a nod to civilization), less cold and windy than yesterday, but still no picnic

15 January (early, still within the 7-day window): 12 misguided miles (85 minutes), 25-degree weather, 15-mph winds, in a flimsy pair of boxers because I didn't have access to running shorts - that hurt in the wrong way, but felt great otherwise . . .

Total Time: 695 minutes
Total Distance: 102 miles

Two weeks into 2012, and I'm 2-for-2 on 100+ mile weeks. Yes, I know that the mileage mark is sort of arbitrary, and maybe in some cases counter-productive (and maybe, by some accounts, 30 or 40 miles too low as goals go), but for the most part, I think that being able to get out there and make 100 miles happen in the span of 7 days, even with a couple of days that were pretty close to a total loss (like Sunday and Thursday of last week) says something about the type of shape you're in, and the type of results you can expect to see when you jump into a race without any particular planning or strategy . . .

Which brings me to Bandera, and my next adventure, the Winter Beast of Burden 100-Mile Run, next weekend in Lockport, New York. While my result at Bandera was good, and I was more or less happy with it at the time, I can't help looking back at it and feeling more and more disappointed. Sure, I finished in a time that, many years, would have won that race, and, by all accounts, is some of the fastest running I've ever done on such nasty trails, but I finished the race feeling basically okay. I wasn't hobbling away from the finish line, I didn't need help up and down stairs, I didn't pass out in my car. I drove to San Antonio and back that night, took pictures at Riverwalk and fielded jeers from drunk, boisterous Texans (maybe because of my black puffy coat and dark blue skinny jeans?) . . . I came back to camp at 4 a.m., and was out of it for the rest of the day for lack of sleep, but not for effort in the race. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that that's the best I've felt and the quickest I've recovered from an ultra.

And, in a way, that's a good thing. I want to be able to run like this for a long time, and I want to feel fit and ready to compete in a lot of different races and have a lot of fun experiences and all that jazz.

But in another way, it's a disappointment. To see some of the top-5 finishers hobbling away from the finish line, barely able to walk . . . sure, that sucks for them, temporarily, but, at the same time, I can't help feeling that if I had been truly willing to submit to that level of pain, I could have been hobbling back to the car from the finish line, just ahead of those guys . . .

Which brings me to Beast of Burden, a race where I won the summer edition in 2010, and where I set my 100-mile PR (16:19 and change). I was in good shape then, yes, but probably not better shape then than I am now. I'm not convinced that back then, I could have woken up in a place that's not my home, put on a pair of worn boxers (backwards, so the fly didn't come open, at least not in the more-indecent front), and braved 25-degree temperatures and relentless winds to drop mile after mile sub-7-minutes as if it were no big deal.

So it seems that I am in great shape physically, but perhaps mentally, I'm not ready to make that leap. I'm not ready to submit to the kind of pain that, in the past, allowed me to do more with less. So this week will be focused on mental preparation (although running will happen, undoubtedly . . . I'll be throwing down another, hopefully Ravens-victory, 10 miles or so after the game, to officially kick off the week). I'll spend some time thinking about how it feels to RACE 100 miles, to run out there fearlessly and not look back, and, perhaps most importantly, realize that now that I have even more, I need to do even more with it.

Because experiences are all well and good, and for as much as I run, in the colorful places where I run, I have no shortage of them. But the thrill of going all-out and duking it out with top-notch competition doesn't come along every day, and not being able to sieze that moment when it comes . . . well, that's REALLY 100 miles the hard way.