820th Place? Hey, not bad!

Somewhere around Mile 9 of the race yesterday, an odd and pleasing thought began to form in my mind. I was going to make it. This was not the foregone conclusion you might think: The longest I had run in training was 9.5 miles and that run, three weeks ago, had left me exhausted. Now I polled my body parts and found wide disgruntlement, but none of my constituents seemed actually about to quit.

We still had the Naval Academy Bridge to cross. It had been a formidable uphill slog the first time across, roughly at mile 4. Now, an hour later, it looked impossible. But Team in Training had coaches stationed along the climb for moral support and, presumably, to keep an eye out for folks in real distress. Their messages to me: What a view, huh? (You’re doing great.) Think of the nice breeze up top. (You’re doing great.) Let’s pull over and stretch those calves a minute. (You’re doing great.) This is it, this is the last hump, from here on just pull for the big finish.

They lie, of course. There were another half dozen hills before the finish, and while they were more modest, there was always another one…and another.

Until there wasn’t. Then there was just the finish arch and an enthusiastic crowd still there, still cheering even after hundreds of other runners had finished.

For the statistically curious, here are the facts:
Time: 2 hr, 43m 2 sec. Overall pace, 12:27 per mile. This was 820th out of 1,023 entrants. One hour, 10 minutes behind the winner and roughly 1.25 hours ahead of the last finisher. In the group Men Ages 60-64, I was third out of five.

My final fund-raising total is roughly $2,400, compared to my target of $1,800.
The DC/Maryland group of Team In Training collectively raised more than $265K.

My goal had been a level 12 minute pace, which would have led to a finish time of 2:38:00. I missed that by five minutes. However, by my mid-stream reckoning, I was already five minutes behind my target pace by Mile 8. A chunk of this came at roughly the midpoint, when I paused to take off my shoes, rub my feet, stretch and rub my calves and hamstrings, and generally recharge. That was two or three minutes all by itself. It seems like I did not lose any more time in the last five miles and probably did the last third of the race at a faster average pace than the first two-thirds. It didn’t feel that way while it was happening, it felt like a slog.

Still, if I had managed 12 minute miles, I’d have finished 40 spots higher. (OMG, I’m not thinking of doing this again??)

The dog that didn’t bark…

When Coach Josh fell in stride next to me in mile six of Saturday’s run, I was able to report delightedly that my quads, hamstrings and glutes all hurt.

The big news, as veteran mystery readers will realize, is the dog that didn’t bark. My ilio-tibial band, bane of my existence for the last six weeks, was blessedly silent. The good news is, I can run and feel merely tired, rather than crippled. Bad news is I’ve blown five weeks from the middle of a 20-week training program.

But oh, what I have learned!

For example, I have good feet. This is worth knowing, and it came to me from Dr. Riccardo Tersigni, a chiropractor at Sport & Spine Rehab in McLean, with which TNT has a deal. Nice guy, checked me out, verified that there’s nothing anatomically weird going on, all my joints and muscles seem right, though I’m apparently a little weak and wobbly in the hips, which may be what’s causing the upper leg motion that’s stressing the ITB. He had a variety of exquisitely painful cures to offer, but no hard sell. He was happy to agree that if I got tired of pain, all I had to do was cut back on the activity causing it. (“Doc, it hurts when I do this…”)

It’s always refreshing to encounter that attitude in a health practitioner.

I also hooked up with a personal trainer at my health club who’s working with me on some balance and core strength exercises. Plus I’m doing stretches and the foam roller morning and night. Although the fancy, targeted ITB brace was useless, an ordinary elastic knee brace from CVS seems to be working. At any rate, SOMETHING seems to have helped. Gone are the sharp, stabbing pains from ankle to hip on every stride. In their place, just the normal aches that come with exercise.

Still, the longest distance I have done in training so far is six miles, and I have a 13.1 mile event six weeks from yesterday. I’m increasingly confident that I will finish the distance (a) upright and (b) the same day, but there’s no denying I’m way behind.

I’m not behind in my fund-raising, thanks to the many friends and colleagues who have stepped forward with generous donations. As of today I have exceeded my commitment of $1,800. A number of donors have cited personal connections or experiences, simply reflecting how wide a swath blood cancers cut in our world.

To those who have already given, thanks. Anyone else who’s pondering: Don’t think we have to stop at $1,800. You keep pushing that number up there, and I’ll keep going one more mile each weekend, and we’ll accomplish something important together.

Drop by http://pages.teamintraining.org/nca/zooma11/jmckeonymw to donate today.

OMG! ITB TMI

Any time you reach a halfway point, you’d better be prepared to dodge some flying metaphors. We all know that well begun is half done and half a loaf is better than two in the bush, or something. And thanks to Yogi, we know that half the game is 90 percent mental. But we also know that half-baked ain’t good and a halfway house is not a place to take your shoes off and stay a while.

So how does my half marathon quest look from halfway along? Answer: harder than expected. I had thought, having done a 10K (6.2 mile) race not that long ago, and regularly logging two or three miles in exercise runs, that building up to 13.1 miles over 20 weeks would be very do-able. That was before my right Iliotibial Band made its existence known.

The ITB is a band of tough fibrous tissue that runs from the hip to the outside of the knee. It exists, apparently, for the sole purpose of hurting when you run too much. It first tapped me on the shoulder during our five-miler on the National Mall on February 26 and has been a steady presence ever since.

Running uphill isn’t good for it. Neither is running downhill. The only real cure, it seems, would be a month of complete rest, but that ain’t in the cards. So, with the help of Coaches Mark and Josh, as well as the vast international runners’ gimmick industry, I have adjusted my mantra from “eat my dust” to “breathe in, breathe out, move on.”

And I’m not kidding about the runner gimmicks. I’ve bought a foam roller to stretch out my ITB, a process so painful I have to remind myself I’m doing it so my leg won’t hurt. Plus an elastic brace for just above the knee to hold the ITB in place so it won’t rub. Come June 5 in Annapolis, I’m going to look like Kevin Costner in Tin Cup.

I’m giving the leg complete rest this week. No running at all before Saturday. This will also give me time to nag the folks who have promised financial support but not come through yet. I’ve filled out my re-commitment papers for TNT, which means I really am going through with this. I will try to find a reasonable middle ground that will get me to the finish line as something other than a limping, staggering mess.

It will probably turn out alright. But remember, Mother Nature always bats last.

And remember, your contributions will not only ease my pain but help fight blood cancers and support some people who are facing real ordeals, every day.

Think it's easy being a water boy?

Well before dawn last Saturday I parked my car on Eighth Street just off Constitution Avenue, double-checked the meter hours, tightened my scarf, pulled down my cap, and reported for work at Fluid Stop 3/17 at the National Marathon. In the frigid darkness (whose idea was this, anyway?) long rows of six-foot tables were taking shape on both sides of the Avenue, in front of the National Archives, and a TV crew was setting up nearby.

It turned out to be a fascinating day. Considering the size and scope of our station (at miles 3 and 17) and the intensity of the set-up process, I first thought this had to be overkill. Then it occurred to me that these folks had done this before, and knew better just what was ahead.

What was ahead was overwhelming. The first runners at about 7:15…a trickle…then the deluge. A dense mass of people swept by us for 40 continuous minutes, then thinned out for a while, then ended and gave us a 20-minute pause before the marathoners came by the second time.

People have no idea how exhausting it can be handing cups of water to runners. You think, holding two little paper cups at arm’s length, how hard can it be? Try it for a couple of hours  some time, without pause, in the freezing cold.

Sometimes people come at you with such intensity you want to drop your cups and flee. Sometimes they jostle and trip each other, or flail for the cup and miss. Some want you to jog alongside them and pass them the cup like a relay baton. Others run right for you, then at the last second skip you and grab their water from the next guy, leaving you ready to shout after them “Yo! What am I, chopped liver?”

The guy that won, Michael Wardian, does more than a dozen of these a year, and he’s off to South Africa in a month for a 56K, and then an 89K. And Saturday morning, as he cruised by Mile 17, he didn’t even glance at the rows of eager water bearers on either side. Didn’t feel our pain. Didn’t acknowledge our shivers. Just ran by.

I tell ya, it’s a jungle out there.

At the opposite extreme, the final runner passed Mile 17 just before 11 o’clock, after nearly four hours on the course and with nine miles to go, trailed by a DC police cruiser, an ambulance, and a row of trash trucks. He smiled, waved, took a cup of water and kept going.

Making lemonade

Bottom line on Saturday’s eight-miler: I had a hard and painful time. And I got a lot of good one-on-one coaching.

We ran in Rock Creek Park, from Pierce’s Mill north to Wise Road and back. Four miles each way. That makes eight. Our longest previous run was six.

Northbound was mostly uphill, particularly near the end. Coach Mark had warned us of “a bear of a hill” in the last half mile, but I thought he was playing mind games, overstating the hill’s awfulness so we’d feel great when we reached the top.

Wrong. The hill was a beast, and well before we reached the top, I was hurting. And had four miles left between me and my car. I turned downhill and made it another mile before I had to pull over to the side to stretch and massage my screaming right knee. At least three fellow trainees stopped to see if I was OK. Then I fell in with our mission mentor, Abby Smith, who was doing a walk/run rotation. I stayed with that for a while, then fell behind again, feeling like my right leg might fall off at any moment.

A couple of minutes later Coach Josh jogged up in the opposite direction, turned, and fell in beside me. “Did Abby send you to check on me?” I asked, and he replied, “Absolutely. So how are things?”

Well, let’s see…Not particularly winded. Heart rate OK. Left leg doing great. Right leg hurts from ankle to hip. Josh then convened a five minute clinic on everything from running down the road’s center line (the only level spot) to getting some new shoes with more stability and motion control. Pronating like crazy, aggravated by the skewed road surface. Plus, get serious about hydrating – you should have emptied that bottle twice already – walk in from here – ice the parts that hurt – take the next two days off – and come back slowly – it’s too early in the program to get hurt.

Somehow, I ended up feeling that there’s nothing wrong that can’t be fixed, and come mid-morning on June 5, I’m going to be River-dancing across that finish line. Maybe, if I can just address this one specific problem, I’ll have a breakthrough.

At a minimum, I expect a placebo effect from the new shoes…which will be welcome, because there are lines still lurking on our training schedule that say “12 miles” and “13 miles.” Remember, http://pages.teamintraining.org/nca/zooma11/jmckeonymw to donate.

OUR SUMMER MARATHON/HALF MARATHON TEAM HAS RAISED $120K SO FAR!!

You've still got your health...

There’s a well-worn joke – actually a whole family of jokes – in which one guy relates an absolutely staggering chronicle of misfortune piled upon woe piled on disaster. His friend listens sympathetically, then notes, “Well, you still have your health.”

Back in my earlier incarnation as a PR entrepreneur, one of my most valued clients was Edison Electric Institute, whose annual convention was a highlight of my year. My contact there was Tony Anthony, a man of wit, charm, good cheer and great imagination. I had fallen out of touch with Tony since joining the ranks of the full-time employed about three and a half years ago, so I was shocked to hear he had died over the weekend. Cause of death was a heart attack, apparently quite unexpected. Tony was not near retirement. He was roughly my age, maybe a little younger.

At the other end of the scale is the news, which rippled through my Squatting Toad writers’ group over the last few days, that a young writer one of our group has been mentoring for the last year or so actually sold the novel he was working on – as part of a two-book, million-dollar deal followed within days by a movie sale that added another half mil to the pile.

More on Squatting Toad in a later post, maybe. For the moment, suffice it to say we are six middle-aged guys (OK, maybe a little older than that) for whom the news of life-changing wealth dropping on some undoubtedly undeserving youngster was not as well received as you might think. The email exchange reached a point where one of us actually asked, “Am I the only one who sees inspiration in this tale?”

When I related the story to my wife, she said the author “probably has a gorgeous girlfriend, too,” to which I replied, “Well, if he didn’t before…”

What does all of this prove? Nothing, except that, as someone once said, life is what happens while you’re making other plans. Right now, the only long range plan I have is focused on getting through a 13-mile race on June 5. But as Coach Mark keeps saying, “it isn’t a race, it’s an endurance event.”

Kind of like life, if you’re lucky. In the end, the dogs bark but the caravan moves on, the lone and level sands stretch far away, and the torturer’s horse scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

And I’ve still got my health.

As always, you can encourage more of this drivel by contributing here.

Two runs and a jump…

The jump is in my fundraising account, which has gathered in more than $1,000 in the last 10 days. I continue to be surprised by the zeal with which people are contributing, as well as the size of the donations.

My old bud Steve Perry put in $131, which seemed kind of odd to me until he explained that (a) this was $10 per mile and (b) if I don’t finish the race, he wants change. He also says he lives near the course and often mans a water stop on race day. If I see Steve coming toward me holding out a paper cup…

The two runs were a five-miler on the National Mall Saturday morning and a four-mile “hilly” run in today’s early morning hours. Saturday’s run was sociable and pleasant, starting at Third and Penn and traversing the south side of the Mall, the Washington Monument, the WWII Memorial, Reflecting Pool, and Lincoln Memorial before reaching a turnaround point on Ohio Drive.  Given some stuff to look at and some folks to run with, the five miles seemed, if not effortless, at least nowhere near as hard as I’d expected.

This morning’s run around the neighborhood (seeking out hills to climb) was cold, dark and lonely and prompted diverse reflections on the Oscars, the Big Bang, the Meaning of Life and the not-unrelated question of just what the heck I think I’m doing.

Interesting book review in the Post Sunday on how artists and their works change in old age. Good to know, I guess, that Verdi was 80 when Falstaff premiered. I keep reminding myself, also, that Winston Churchill was older than I am now when he became prime minister in 1940.

On the other hand, to paraphrase my old hero Tom Lehrer, by the time Mozart was my age he had been dead 25 years.  

I may also have another way of turning time on itself. I’ve now had three consecutive runs interrupted by untied laces. And being a “man of a certain age,” if I once bend over to tie my shoelaces, nine times out of 10 I’ll discover I need a rest room…soon. The coaches have promised a clinic on lace-tying, though I suspect they’re joking. But just to be safe, maybe I’ll buy a pair of those little clippie-things they sell for kids’ shoelaces.

What do you think, maybe Buzz Lightyear?

You never know, y'know?

Yesterday I put together a list of colleagues and other business connections and sent out an email. The responses started coming in almost instantly, and a couple of them surprised me.

One person whose name I had put on the list because “you never know” bounced right back with $100 and this note: “My dad died of non-Hodgkins lymphoma 15 years ago and I also admire anyone willing to take on the training and dedication to do a half marathon!”

Another coupled his C-note contribution with this message: “My sister lost her battle with acute lymphocytic leukemia in July 2008 at age 47.  I did a TNT Half in Nov. 2010 in her memory. Great cause. Thanks for doing this.”

All in all, $500 in 15 minutes. Reaching the financial target suddenly seems less impossible. HOWEVER, as I replied to one correspondent, “I guess this means I’m really going to have to do this, huh?”

Un-learning what comes naturally...

I promised a few digressions into realms other than the sweaty and sore-footed, and here’s the first, wherein PP tries to make a connection between practicing the piano and learning to run right.

Piano lovers tend to talk about the Chopin etudes like this: Well, you know, all through the 19^th century, everybody wrote etudes, and they’re mostly all dull technical drills. What sets Chopin’s apart is that they are such original, daring, beautiful MUSIC.

Trouble is, Chopin’s etudes are technical exercises, meant to teach something. If you’re trying to learn one, better be prepared for some reps. And be prepared to un-learn what seems like the most natural way of doing things.

Take the so-called “Harp” Etude, Op. 25, No. 1. About two-thirds of the way through comes a passage that sums up the technical challenges of the piece. The left hand is mostly playing an arpeggio just below middle C, but on alternate beats has to go down an octave and a half to a low B-flat or D-flat. It has to happen fast, has to be accurate, and HAS TO be played with the pinkie.

Now, no pianist really trusts his left pinkie. We tend to keep it at arm’s length. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) It’s a weak, skinny finger; it tends either to miss the target key altogether or sound it too thinly. So all of us (don’t bother denying) tend to double up the third and fourth fingers to hit these crucial low notes.

That’s inefficient, inaccurate, and just plain WRONG and ol’ Frederic ain’t letting you off the hook until you learn to do it right. That’s what makes it an etude and not just a pretty piece.

Cut to last Saturday’s run, when Coach Mark fell into stride alongside me and offered a short list of stuff I wasn’t doing wrong, exactly, but could certainly be doing more efficiently and more…correctly. Some of it meant un-learning what comes naturally.

Right now, training for the Half Marathon feels like the first few weeks with a difficult new piece of music. It may seem daunting, but then one day you’ll be playing the piece and cruising right by the passages that once gave you the willies. I hope.

Remember, visit http://pages.teamintraining.org/nca/zooma11/jmckeonymw to donate.

Avoiding cliches like the plague...

First week of training and already we’ve reached one of those crisis points, moments when you just have to step up to the plate, dig down deep, man up and BLOG even if you don’t feel like it.

Even if your tank is empty, the needle is on E, and the well of clichés is running dry.

Everybody knows the line about a journey of 1,000 miles starting with a single step. Misses the point. It ain’t step one gets you. It’s step 578, when you know you’ve got 1.55 x 10⁵ steps ahead of you and turning back still looks easy.

Started the weekend Saturday morning with what Coach Mark called a “nice, easy three miles.” Pavement Pounder did his three but can tell you first hand it was neither nice nor easy. Went out Sunday as scheduled for my 20-minute “easy” run and that was OK. But then, in honor of Valentine’s Day, had a two-hour “couples yoga” session in the afternoon…which was pleasant also but left PP in a state of relaxation that was barely distinguishable from a coma.

Monday was an off day, and a good thing, too. But this morning’s run brought surprisingly stiff and achy muscles and was not, er, all that it could have been. I can tell I’m going to have to avoid serenity and inner peace if I’m going to get through this.

Also, I think I need to buy new shoes. (As you can see, my excuse-making muscles are positively BULGING.)

On the plus side, I was delighted to get my first contribution, a nice $100 from Bill Van Wagenen of CH2M HILL. And I was thrilled to see that my blog had gotten 13 views over just the last two days. Even if five of them were from my son and daughter.

But I’ll be out there for my three-miler Thursday morning like a good PP. And I’ll answer the bell Saturday for the week’s “long run.”

That’s, you know, because my back is to the wall and there’s no tomorrow.

OK, OK, my back is to the window, and tomorrow is Wednesday. But the wonderful thing about clichés is, even when they’re meaningless, everyone knows what they mean.

Once again, you can learn more at http://pages.teamintraining.org/nca/zooma11/jmckeonymw, where your contributions will not only be gratefully welcomed but will help in an important effort against blood cancers.

 

So the first dog says...

Dogs talk in New Yorker cartoons.

Like the pooch a few years back who told his canine colleague, “I used to have a blog, but now I’ve gone back to random barking.”

I’ve shied away from blogging all these years out of a sense that the world had all the random barking it needed. So why am I doing it now?

Mainly, I want to write about a big project I’ve taken on: I’ve signed up to run a half marathon on June 5, for the benefit of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, as part of LLS’s National Capital Area Team in Training.

That’s 13.1 miles, in and around downtown Annapolis. I want a place to whine, brag, navel-gaze, beg for contributions and be reassured that I either (a) am or (b) am not completely out of my mind.

I ran a 10K race on Thanksgiving Day 2009 but haven’t done much since. This is more than twice the distance. What’s more, I’m pushing 60 and by the time June 5 rolls around I’ll be dragging it behind me. Now, I happen to believe that old guys seasoned men are among society’s great unappreciated treasures. Think of all we aren’t: We are not impatient. We are not hypercompetitive. We are rarely violent. We are not vain.

Okay, we’re vain.

So this is what I’ve signed up for: The race on June 5 is the ZOOMA Annapolis Half Marathon. It’s part of what’s billed as a national series of “women’s races,” although they do admit, in fine print, that men are also welcome. The average age of participants is 32, and 73 percent are women.

So I’ll be out there huffing and puffing through a crowd that’s a whole lot younger, fitter and more female than me. Let’s see where the vanity meter stands when that’s over.

But this isn’t about vanity. Nor about living forever, though as they say, so far, so good. It’s about staying in shape, meeting people, taking on something I’m not at all sure I can do, and who knows? Maybe even making a small positive difference.

I’ll be using this blog to keep anyone who’s interested up to date on how it’s going. I may mix in some other stuff: Some work, some music, some books, some family history. Maybe even a talking dog.

Hope you like it enough to come back. Meanwhile, you can learn more and contribute here.