Maudlin Marathon Musings

Illness Takes Its Toll 

Ten days of coughing and a slight fever hacked into my training. I ran yesterday and found myself considerably slower than before Father Sickness gripped me in his long mucousy fingers. Only 18 days remain before the marathon and I've yet to complete my longest run. I should be tapering now and not attempting to squeeze in 16 miles this week, then 12 next week, then into race week. 

I believe I'll attempt the 16 and see how much time it takes. There's a middle ground between a leisurely pace and huffing and puffing to avoid the street sweepers. I'll see what the very near future holds.

 

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Congrats to the U.S. Olympic Marathon Team

 

Screwy Qualifying System Leaves Men's Third in Doubt

Yesterday, Olympic hopefuls crowded the start line in Orlando, Fla. for a shot at being one of six American runners representing the nation at this summer's games in Paris. And the winners are:

Men

• Connor Mantz - 2:09:05
• Clayton Young - 2:09:06
• Leonard Korir - 2:09:57

Imagine you apply for a job, go through a tough selection process, then get  told: "You're hired. Welcome aboard, unless we find someone better." 

Such is the case with Leonard Korir. Mantz and Young already ran automatic qualifying times under the magic number 2:08:10, begging the question of why bother with marathon trials if somebody somewhere else who didn't compete against the same field can just wander in with the correct time and snap up your spot. (Granted, you won't find many 2:08 marathoners wandering around the 50 states, but it's the principle of the thing.)

Leonard Korir hoping no 2:08's show up.

 

 Dyestat

O'Keeffe Breaks U.S. Women's Record

Women

• Fiona O'Keeffe - 2:22:10
• Emily Sisson - 2:22:47
• Dakotah Lindwurm - 2:25:31

In the corny simplistic women's race where the first three finishers go to Paris, O'Keeffe rocked the house in her marathon debut. A debut, an Olympic qualifying record, and summer in Paris.

 

My Circle Story

 Maybe she'll be joined by Leonard Korir.

CIM Marathon Stats

10,000 Stoopwaffles

Stoopwaffles sounds like a Nazi death unit on the Eastern Front. But nothing so dire here. A Stoopwaffle is a confection I was handed post-race. Very tasty. California International Marathon runners hailed from 32 countries and all 50 states. But how many tubs of Vaseline were used? Scroll down for that and more.

Marathon Report: CIM 2022

 

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Lessons galore awaited me in my 7th marathon. New approaches and techniques had been incorporated into my training, lending uncertainty to the final outcome. Would these new elements cause me to bonk? Blow up? Grimace in the presence of photographers? Here's what happened.

Back in July, I was goofing around on the web instead of working on my book. Ending up on the California International Marathon website, I had a pang of nostalgia. Once, I'd signed up for the same race, intent on qualifying for the  prestigious Boston Marathon. But injuries by the crate load sidelined my training and appeared to end my running career. 

Anyway, 14 years later, I signed up for CIM. My 2022 training commenced with the goal of breaking five hours. But then I went on vacation. My hopes of incorporating training runs with travel fizzled. I lost two weeks.

Back home again, I only had 10 training weeks left. Some running economies would be necessary. Preparing for Surfers Point the previous year, I'd been steamrollered by my 21-mile run. Slow as I was, that distance was practically the same amount of time it would take to run the actual marathon. To keep my legs fresh, I chose to limit my longest run to 16 miles. 

My goals were to finish 26.2 with a smile and only lightly brush the fabled Wall. The smile would have to await circumstances. As for the Wall, I planned on taking electrolyte paste—known as "gu" and also a popular brand of exercise paste—earlier than I normally did and staying well hydrated.

Since rain was forecast for race day, I packed the poor man's rain coat: a 33 gal. trash bag.

Sunday in Sacramento

At 4:45 AM, rain swept the parking lot, drops beading on windshields. Boarding a drafty school bus, I was conveyed with my fellow runners to the start-line near Folsom Prison. CIM sure didn't skimp on Porto-Potties. I was able to locate one without too much hopping around. There were almost 9k runners waiting in the drizzle for the the race to start. I figured to hang out in the back, go out slow for the first few miles, than dial up the pace, hitting the second half of the race with more zip. I'd make up the time and bust five hours like dropping a dish on bricks. 

Loudspeaker banter from someone, then a woman sang "The Star-Spangled Banner," then the race began. Seventeen and a half minutes later, I crossed the timing mat. Downhill, then up. That would be the pattern for most of the race. You run a little different going uphill, conserving your energy, then drop your arms and let your legs swing back on the downhill. These weren't steep hills, nothing like what I trained on, but they grew monotonous. 

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Pretty green country with farms and horses, and people outside in lawn chairs. "You're almost there," yelled someone on the second mile. No one laughed, not even the man who said it.

I smiled at people cheering. ("You've got this.") It was a good way to pump up my own energy. But in the course of things, I let my pace lapse. By around seven miles, I realized I needed to hustle. As we ran through suburban Sacramento, past high school cheerleaders, taiko drummers, djs spinning techo mixes, musicians and vocalists, I sped up. By around the 13.1 mile mark, I was closing in on goal pace.

"It Could Be Worse," said a homemade sign, "You Could Be at Work." The overcast sky parted and we ran under a clean polished blue sky. Wadding up my "raincoat", I jammed it into a trash bag held by a teenage dude. "Watch," I said, "It'll rain now." He snorted in amusement.

Too much water; that's what my stomach said. I felt bloated. At mile 18, I couldn't touch another Gu. I also noticed that walking ached almost as much running. Between miles 21 and 22, we ascended a bridge over the American River. Coming down the other side, a man yelled, "You're on the fast part now."

Really? My legs felt as heavy as iron girders. As we entered the Sacramento city limits, a woman checked her cell phone and cried, "86.6 percent of runners have already finished." She seemed delighted to convey the information, as if responding to popular curiosity. The only runner I cared about was me. Dark clouds drifted overhead.

Best message of the day was held up by a boy of around nine. His homemade sign read: "This is the worst parade I've ever seen."

While I was holding pace, I still hadn't made up lost time. At mile 23, I took off, giving it all I had left. 

Grit-your-teeth time. Everything hurt. My feet burned as if running on lava. I hoped for an injury so I could walk in. 

At mile 24, the rain resumed. I was grimacing for all to see, praying the finish line would rush forward to meet me.

Then we were in downtown Sacramento. The rain eased off. The finish line was just past a jigsaw beyond the 26 mile sign. Straight then left. My wife Joy waved from the sideline. "See you up ahead," I called. Then the course hung a left dogleg and the finish line awaited 

A woman passed me. An odd hobbling man passed me. To break five hours, I needed afterburners like a Titan rocket.

Wobbling over the finish line, I checked my time: missed the goal by 24 seconds.

And So?

Clearly, I should've picked up the pace sooner. I tended to weave across the course, wasting even more time. Still, I bettered my last marathon by 22 minutes. I also discovered that 16 miles is just fine for the longest of the long training runs. I didn't smile at the end, but I didn't suffer from a lack of electrolytes. I felt relatively good.

You race like you train. I trained to finish and did. If I want an afterburner, then I need to improve my chi running form, strengthen my core muscles, and set aside a dedicated running day for speed. I also need to practice marathon pace when my legs are heavy.

As we entered Christmastime, I'll allow my body rest for the next few weeks. But I'm anxious for the next marathon. Perhaps Los Angeles? Starting January 1st, I'll have a whole 11 weeks to train.

Marathon Countdown

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Very little on the running front lately. I'm still depressed over the Dutchman's death and don't feel like blogging or Tweeting or working on my next book. I look for reasons not to do anything. But the marathon approaches this Sunday and I'm not so bummed out that I'd eat the race fee, hotel room, or months of training.

My goal remains to once again break five hours. Last year's Surfers Point race only counted a hundred or so marathon runners. Lots of elbow room. The CIM sports around 10k. That means close contact with my fellow humans in the first few miles. So I've factored that in as an asset to slow me down when every instinct cries, "Take off!"

Despite my grief, the race must go on. As Auden said in Musee des Beaux Arts: 

"About suffering they were never wrong,

The Old Masters: how well they understood

Its human position; how it takes place

While someone else is eating or opening a window or just

walking dully along;"

Coyotes on the Fairway

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Three of them. Rain kept away all by the most fanatic golfers. Same for runners as I had the trails to myself. But glancing over toward theWilson-Harding golf course in the early afternoon, I spotted a trio of coyotes, all with their heads down, still as oil paintings. Splashing past, I figured they were waiting for rain water to force up some gophers. But there have been a lot of coyotes out and about lately. Perhaps LA DA George Gascon releases them per his cashless bale ways. Feral bastard; same for the coyotes.

Speaking of running, my California International Marathon arrives the first Sunday of December. My training has been erratic, but I'm standing strong on my 4:59 finish. This training cycle, my longest run will be 16 miles. Because I'm so darn slow, a run of 20 miles ala last year takes almost as much time as the marathon itself. The body takes a beating and needs more time to recover. And since the benefits of long slow distance wane around three to three and a half hours, I'm game to discover the benefits of running less. (Should they exist.)

This time last year I was aglow from Surfers Point.

Let's see what kind of glow awaits in Sacramento.

Literary Titan Interview with Author JP Mac

 

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What's the next step when life crumbles on all fronts but one?

And then the last front falls with the rest.

A brief interview with Literary Titan explores my reaction to extreme misfortune as chronicled in How to Run a Marathon in 13 Years.

Recently visited Tennessee and am growing more comfortable spelling the state name in various posts. More on the trip soon,

One Year Ago in Running

 

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It's almost to the day last August when I ran my first ten miler in many a year, enroute to Surfers Point Marathon. 

Now I'm enroute to the California International Marathon just as if it were 2008. They've been sending me invitations since I injured myself back in the day. I opened one last month and thought it might be fun to give it a try. 

I intend to break five hours. That's 11:27 a mile. It seems doable, but I will have a vacation in the middle of my training. I've planned around it, given myself more time. The vacation shouldn't interrupt the mileage buildup.

The book slogs forward toward its Sept. 9 release. I'm sooooo tired of it, but need to push on as if it were mile 24.

Adam Carolla Remembers

 

A fine place.

Back in the the dawn of time, Adam and I used to perform improv comedy together, drawing laughs from enlightened prehistoric beasts amidst the bubbling lava of a new planet.

Yesterday, Adam was decent enough to invite me on his popular podcast to share memories and promote my latest book. A good time? Most certainly and free water too, I might add. 

Below is an image of Adam as contractor and ladies' man Nick E. Chitwood from our time at the Acme Comedy Theatre. 

From l. to r.: myself, Adam and Bob Petrella
in a sketch from 1990.

How to Run a Marathon in 13 Years Races to Publication

NewsPostInsider

I'd like to show the fine cover, but won't until I set up an email service and fix my Squarespace website. The first email service I tried—Mailer Lite—was a bust that wouldn't allow me to complete the sign-in process. I'm learning toward Mail Chimp or Adwebber. More on that soon.

As for my JP Mac author website, it's an unfinished hash. Lots of great opportunities for SEO and I squander them. I'm thinking of hiring someone on Fivrr to tidy it up.  It shouldn't take that long. I want everything appearing fresh and professional before I launch the next book in September.

Funny how a website with the name Write Enough! is mostly comprised of short comedy videos. Another mystery in this great life. 

Running Book Speeding to Release

And not just any book: mine. Hoping to have an ebook version up by March 25. It's a short, snappy read about my 13-year journey to once more run a marathon. 

Be careful what you wish for.

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From Marathon to Couch Potato (And Back)

 

Coming Soon!

My 13-year-saga to complete a marathon. If you read this blog—perhaps one person does regularly—then you know my story.  But for the benefit of distance runners and the general public I am chronicling my fall and rise from a man training to qualify for the Boston Marathon to a broken specimen informed that he will never run again to man in his late-60s training for 26.2.

Out by Christmas in non-fiction ebook form? We shall see. I'll know more after I finish collating years worth of notes. 

The question arises: who cares? Could be most people. But I'm hoping anyone facing long odds will find hope in this brief tale. 

Surfers Point Marathon Retrospective

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 Hindsight is 20/20, Fella

Yes, yes, but it's invaluable when assessing a race. First off, I'm jazzed to have:

A. Finished.

B. Finished ahead of my goal time. (5:30 or five hours and thirty minutes.)

C. Finished eight minutes ahead of my goal time. (5:22:49)

A set time helped me focus and not just in training. Without one I'd have settled for "just finish the wretched thing." (In the later miles, that temptation paced in the back of my mind, then settled in by the fire for miles 21 to 24.) Or else the more diabolically commercial "just finish the wretched thing and write a little book."

Loop Courses Have Issues 

Which is saying I have issues with loop courses. I didn't before. But then I'd never run one for a marathon. Every pleasing downhill grade must be run uphill twice. In the case of Surfers Point, the longest uphill grades were on the return trip. It was psychological. I kept thinking, 'I've got to do this again."

For slower runners such as myself, everyone passes you more than once. With multiple races and a wave start, runners from the half-marathon zipped by. Fast 10kers showed me their heels. Fortunately, zero 5kers left me in the dust. This constant passing triggers a hurry-up gene often experienced while driving. You must concentrate to suppress it and remain on pace.

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On the Subject of Pace

 I went out too fast. I knew I went out too fast. Prior marathon experience taught me I couldn't "bankroll" fast miles early for slow miles later. I'd risk bonking, missing my goal time, shuffling across the finish line, an abject example for the young. Yet I did it anyway. My half-marathon time was 2:33 instead of 2:45. During the latter miles of the race I felt myself grinding to a halt like a car running out of fuel. The virtue of patience should be exercised in the marathon's first half, then assess. 

Training Woes 

All self-inflicted. I didn't run enough days during the week. My cross-training fell away. My chi running form decayed at longer miles and I addressed the matter haphazardly. I didn't include enough pace miles in my long runs. And I neglected to generate enough faster miles in the form of tempo runs or track sessions. 

Nothing above detracts from my warm feelings. But should I attempt another marathon—unclear today—all these points would be addressed.

And I am writing a little book on my 13-year quest to complete 26.2. 

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I Finish a Marathon After 13 Years

My Finishing Time

As Winston Churchill once said: "If you're going through Hell, keep going." Achieved my goal of finishing in a certain time. That helped keep me going several times. Training is over for awhile. What ever shall I do now with all my extra time?
 

Twenty-One Miles Run and Done

 

Rose Bowl courtesy of Pasadena City College

Down in the arroyo where the Rose Bowl sits it was a southern California cold morning—41 degrees. I wished I'd brought gloves. Very nervous over whether I'd finish today. My chi running form was off. My feet burned from prior long runs and body parts hurt which shouldn't have.

Since I'd be running over rocky terrain, I waited until the dawn's early light arrived. As in times past, I focused on breaking the run into segments: six miles south, down and back to my starting point, along the Arroyo Seco Channel—a fancy name for a concrete flood control canal. Then a three mile loop around the Rose Bowl. Then two miles down and back to the south. 

After topping up my water belt bottles, it was north for five miles of mostly uphill running. Past the Devil's Gate Reservoir, past JPL, up into the Angeles National Forest. I encountered old Team in Training pal CJ bounding south along the trail. We chit-chatted briefly, then I pushed on to the Elmer Smith Bridge. From there it was five mostly downhill miles back to my Rose Bowl Lot K starting point.

Devil's Gate Reservoir courtesy of KCET

Adjustments to my chi running form really helped. But as my feet have grown with age, I found my shoes weren't large enough to handle foot expansion. This resulted in bruised toenails and, later, an emergency purchase of larger shoes. Also, the GU gel replenishing my glycogen tastes very treacly after a time. Gummi bears didn't seem as effective as back-in-the-day when I trained for the Phoenix Marathon. I need to quickly revamp my road menu. Two more long runs remain for assorted testing purposes.

Boy, did I ache the rest of the day. I'd forgotten about ice baths. Twenty-one miles marks the longest training run since a pair of 22 milers logged while preparing for the 2008 Eugene Marathon.

So now the Surfers Point Marathon seems real. My goal has been adjusted to five hours and thirty minutes. I've acquired a hotel room and need to wrap up a few more athletic loose ends. But after thirteen years, it seems I'll finally get a crack at another 26.2.

Twenty Mile Run Tomorrow

Medical Island

 

This will decide whether or not I tackle 26.2 next month. My chi running form—good enough for 3 and 4 mile runs—tends to fall apart at longer distances. I've been focusing on my form, but there may not be enough time left before race day. So I'll proceed as long as I safely can. If it feels like Mr. Injury has again come a'calling, then I'll cut it short, eat my entry fee, and work on my form. It'll take a bit longer than anticipated, but I'm finishing another marathon. 

I contemplated my first 20 mile run a mere 15 years ago.

Awful Training Run

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A sub-par 18 mile run yesterday. I made rookie mistake in hydrating, energy, pace, you name it. I spent the day depressed. If certain issues with my running shoes aren't resolved, I'll need to push back my marathon. A mess, I tell you.

Surfer's Point Marathon Update

 

Yes, November 7th, a Sunday, will see me once again attempt to master 26.2 miles. For the last 12 years I've been searching for a method of running that didn't cause me knee pain. If you have time, peek at this, or this, or this, or this, or this or this. My orthopedist tried talking me out of ever trying to run again. But I knew better. Such high hopes I had. I assumed I'd be knocking out another marathon sometime in 2010.

Today I'm into my longest runs. This Wednesday, I'll run 16. Then the following weeks will see long runs of 18, 13.1, 20, 10, 8, some speed work, then the marathon. I'll know my goal time more exactly after my half-marathon run. Right now it appears a finishing time of five hours and eleven minutes is doable. It's exciting. I'd forgotten so much. Like nipple guards. 

More soon. 

A Salute to Athletes Who Didn't Quit

I know this subject. 

I know when I've run well and I know when I've listened to that little voice in the back of my head telling me I've done quite enough for the day. It's a moment lasting an instant when you must choose between believing your training or responding to a play-it-safe voice that smothers dreams. 

Training for a marathon in November, I've been battling the quits in hot temperatures. My times, to be frank, suck. But I've continued on as new inspirations emerge.

In Tokyo today . . .

. . . a woman competing in only her third marathon . . . 

. . . in eighty-degree temperatures . . . 

. . . against Kenyans . . . 

. . . became just the third Yank lass to medal since 1984. 

Molly Seidel ran like a champ, pushed the pace, and stayed in the hunt for gold and silver until the very end. At 2:27:46 - only three hours ahead of my fall projected finish time - Bronze Medal Molly displayed the heart that inspires even an elderly, injury-plagued marathoner such as myself.

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Speaking of grit . . . 

. . . Allyson Felix won her eleventh medal—seventh Gold—in the 4 x 400 meter relay. She surpassed Carl Lewis to become America's top Olympic medalist. Dating back to 1996, Felix has notched her medals in between a difficult childbirth, brutal losses, and, at 35, the hour-glass draining fast on elite speed. Allyson's unquenchable perseverance and mental toughness rated her those eleven trips to the podium.

Atlanta Black Star

As for me . . . 

. . . maybe I'll add another day to my running week. 

Sweat Home Chicago

Marathon number three continued my tradition of only running marathons with temperature extremes. At dawn it was an overcast, humid 75 degrees and climbing. My niece dropped me off near the lake-front start line around 7:00 AM. I checked my gear, loosened up with T'ai Chi, then stood in a tightly-packed brick of humanity waiting for the 8:00 gun. As the overcast dissolved into popcorn-shaped clouds, the sun rose above Lake Michigan. It felt like a furnace door opening.

Because of crowd size, it took me 20 minutes to cross the mat.

Interesting Stat:

The Chicago Marathon sold out all 45,000 spots back in April.

But only 35,867 passed the start line Sunday morning. That means 9,133 people figured out it was too stinking hot to run.

Lots of TNT runners from Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, New York City and even Louisiana.

The field was so packed it was tough to interval. Those who intervaled clashed with those who viewed the far right of the course as a passing lane. My goal was a 4 hour and 40 minute marathon. I aimed to interval four minutes running/ and one walking up to the half-marathon mark, then see how I felt.

Leaving Grant Park, the course turned onto LaSalle Street just past Mile 2 and headed north. No water at the first stop — they'd run out. There was a mob around the folding tables, shaking gallon water jugs to get the last drops. The surrounding street was littered with flattened Gatorade and Hinkley water cups from the preceding runners. (Wet, flat plastic cups are like ice. You had to watch your footing.) People were highly pissed — especially those without water belts. (I'd brought mine.) One runner had a bottle of Gatorade. He took a sip, passed it back to me. I took a sip and passed it on to another runner. This no-water business boded ill.

Running for several miles on LaSalle, you'd get an occasional breeze through the tall buildings. I'd take off my visor and savor the cool air. Then out into Lincoln Park where the water stations remained a problem. Runners were surging across the street to the first one they saw. Sometimes there was only Gatorade. Other times, volunteers couldn't keep up with demand and runners served themsevles. Whenever possible, I grabbed two cups, drinking one and dumping the other over my head. (In today's Chicago Tribune, the race director blamed runners for the water shortages, citing those who took two cups.)

Around mile eight, I saw an old white-haired runner drift off course and ask a spectator if he could sit in his lawn chair. (The guy helped him down.) By now, sirens whooped all over the city as ambulances rushed the first heat casualties to the hospital.

The heat was getting to me. For the moment, I slowed but kept the same interval. But as we turned west onto Adams, the shade disappeared. No tall buildings, no leafy tree-lined streets with brick apartments. I passed a medical tent and it was full: runners on cots and others holding ice bags to their heads. Past the half-way point, I started tossing out goals like a passenger on a sinking boat dumping freight. Dropping to a 3:1 run/walk, I slowed pace even more. After frying my brain in Honolulu two years ago, I listened to my body and if it said walk more, I did.

We doubled-back east on Jackson and finally found a little shade. Turning south on Halsted to mile 17, I was mostly walking. I'd pick a point and run to it, or run half a mile, or choose a runner going about my speed and tag along. I took another salt tablet, but skipped goo as it made me retch.

Somewhere around mile 18, the cops bull-horned that the race had been cancelled. No finishing times would be official. Please walk. There was a great deal of confusion. By now, the city had opened up fire hydrants and fire trucks stood at certain intersections hosing down the crowd. (Not to mention ordinary Chicago citizens with garden hoses doing the same.) Finally, in the Mexican neighborhood of Pilsen, around mile 19 it sunk into the vast majority of runners that the 2007 Chicago Marathon was toast — just like them. Some runners dropped out at the nearest medical tent where they'd be bussed back to the start line. Some ran on. A nasty rumor surfaced that we wouldn't get medals. This put me into a black mood.

Come what may, I was determined to finish. Because my legs hurt, I ran 1:1 off and on to around mile 22, then walked to mile 26. Along with many others, I ran the final .02 because there were cameras present. 24,933 runners crossed the finish line.

And they did give out medals.

I finished in 5 hours, 48 minutes and 23 seconds. Check the Comments of my previous post where Jeff Carroll has listed my unofficial splits.

One man died and over 300 were hospitalized for heat injuries.

The people lining the route were great. Many offered water or ice cubes, staying on to cheer in the heat long after the race was called.

As for the "other" race — the front end of the marathon where people actually had a chance to win — Kenyan Patrick Ivuti beat Moroccan Jaouad Gharib by .05 of a second. (2:11:11) The top woman's finisher, Ethiopian Berhane Adere edged Roumanian Adriana Pertea in the homstretch. Pertea thought she had the race knocked, and eased off, waving to the crowd as she neared the finish. Adere poured on the coal to catch and pass Pertea for the win. (2:33:49.)

Given my injuries since April, I couldn't think of a better race to cancel. But if I'd been a TNTer who'd fund-raised and trained for this moment, or a runner eager to pr, I'd be supremely miffed at Sunday's outcome. For over a week, I'd been tracking the temperature. I knew it would be hot and humid. Hence, the race organizers did also. I find it hard to believe they couldn't increase the amount of water stations, change the start time to earlier, or better prepare for the heat onslaught they knew was coming. The Honolulu Marathon faces these conditions every year. No one could pick up a phone?

In any case: mission accomplished. After 30 years, I finally finished the Chicago Marathon.

Thanks to Ryan, Raul, Jeff and K for the emails. I'm walking around fine after sleeping eleven hours last night.

As for now, I'm not looking at any marathons before next fall in Pasadena. But don't tell anyone I'm entering.

They'll kick me out to avoid extreme weather.

(All photos courtesy of the Chicago Tribune.)