Redemption

 

Step 1:  Start Running

Step 3:  Run a Three Hour Marathon

September 2011

You can drive the excuse bus to your heart’s content, but if you race, the only things that count are your time and your place.  And so it was that Jay, a runner of unquestioned talent and dedication, ran a three hour marathon at the age of 52, with a time of 2:59:35 at the Colfax Marathon in May.  Jay’s performance was the result of his focus and determination.  It was a remarkable feat.  Well done Jay!

The question that is left hanging in the air is; can you do better?  I endeavored to up the ante and set my sights on the American Discovery Trail Marathon on Labor Day.

Jay’s performance is evidence that proves my hypothesis that the best way to train for a marathon is to race up to the event; to acclimate your body to race pace.  I have had success in the past with this approach.  When I ran 2:59:29 in 2006, I had run two other marathons in the six weeks prior to that effort.  But this year I just didn’t feel like racing that much.  I was envious of the successes my training mates were having on the weekends.  Emotionally, I just wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.  If you toe the line, you’ve got to be ready to race.  If you’re going to all that effort and expense to race, you’ve got to be all in.

Without the feedback of race pace training, I was at a loss to determine what pace I would be capable of holding for 26.2 miles.  A lactic threshold test would shed light, but who’s got time for that?  Plus that sounds really painful.

Here was my thought process.  In March I ran a 20 mile race where I averaged 6:50 / mile with all miles within seven seconds of that average.  That was before summer track workouts.  Given the slightly downhill course at the American Discovery Trail Marathon and 12 miles of speed per week plus many long runs over 20 miles, 6:40 / mile seemed like a reasonable pace; therefore a 2:55 marathon. 

The logistics of the point-to-point marathon are always problematic.   I awoke at 3:30 AM in order to get to the race.  My tried and true pre-run breakfast of peanut butter and honey on a bagel was supplemented with a Cliff Bar and two bottles of my proprietary sports drink.  It was astounding how long that bus ride took from the finish line to the start in Palmer Lake.  Dozens of runners abandoned the line for (too few) port-a-potties which made for some strange bed-fellows in the bushes.  I never warmed up less before a race; barely a 100 yard scamper to the starting line.  I tossed off a ratty old T-shirt and the race began.  Despite the rush to marshal the runners, the start was orderly.

Two miles into the race a group of five runners took the pace down to a level that I was not comfortable holding.  I let them go and settled in beside the first female.  We’ll call her Eve.  And merrily we rolled along at 6:38 / mile for the next ten miles.  At mile 12 Eve dropped off the pace and I sensed a change in the race.  Just after the aid station was a good time for self evaluation.  I felt great.  I was breathing easily.  My self-talk was positive.  “You’ve done all the right things to prepare.  You’ve eaten well.  You are well hydrated.”  I committed myself to the next 10 miles. 

Miles 12 to 22 were a blur.  I focused on my pace, which averaged 6:46 / mile over the rolling hills.  Just as gravity holds the world together, there is a pull from runners ahead of you on the course.  Slowly and deliberately, but inevitably, I overtook five runners. 

At mile 22, the stress of the pace and nearly 68 minutes of mental focus took its toll.  My self-talk became a desperate, pleading mantra of “just hold 7:00”.  For the last four miles it was all I could do to average 7:08 / mile pace.  I lost two minutes over that stretch of the course.  Even with the fade at the end, this was the best race of my life.  I ran the whole way and never once looked back.

Four factors contributed to my success: minimalist running, living a marathoner’s lifestyle, a perfect taper and ideal weather conditions. 

A year ago I switched from cushioned running shoes to flats.  Prior to that, I had suffered most of the common running injuries: inflammation of the IT band and of the peroneal tendon, plantar fasciitis, hamstring tears and bone spurs.  I have been injury free for a year.  For the American Discovery Trail Marathon I chose to race in a pair of Nike Bowerman Cross Country spikeless racing flats.  This was a good choice given the loose footing. 

Maintaining a state of marathon readiness means a commitment to exercise and diet.  I live like a monk.  Each week is filled with a long run of around 20 miles and 12 miles of speed work.  That speed work is broken into three workouts: a track workout of short to mid-length intervals, a four mile tempo run and High Intensity Interval Training of four miles. 

Tapering is like catching a falling knife; too soon or too late and it’s a bloody mess.  I caught it just right.  The stiffness and soreness dissipated.  I started to feel too rested.  Reviewing my Fitness Record I felt confident I’d done enough.  Here was my weekly mileage – (long run) for the weeks preceding the American Discovery Trail Marathon.

52 (22) miles

57 (22) miles

55 (24) miles

52 (26) miles

46 (20) miles

30 (11) miles

22

The weather was ideal.  The temperature at the start was in the mid 40s.  Rays of the rising sun filtered through the trees, exposing the runner’s breath.  A five mph south-easterly breeze kept runners cool, but was not enough to slow us down. 

An opportunity like this only presents itself a handful of times in your life.  At 47 there aren’t many left for me.

In the afterglow of my nearly perfect race, I sat and watched as runners celebrated with one another.  It is a scene we’ve all witnessed.  Little children hugging parents and parents hugging their adult children; reveling in the moment.  There is a tacit understanding that we are in a different class.  We find pleasure in exploring the limits of our physical capabilities, embracing the pain that exertion produces.  A rare wind blows in our faces.  Perhaps it is different from the one that most people enjoy, but it is one that running provides. 

For the record; 10^th place, 4^th master, 1^st in my age group, 2:57:15 and a personal best by over 2 minutes.  Can you do better?

My Inspiration

My Inspiration

May 2011

By Carl Mather

Imagine a year where you run three marathon PRs.  A year that is injury free.  You would begin to think that trend would go on forever.  In 2006 I experienced such a year and was fully confident that 2007 promised more of the same. 

As 2006 ended, I was running well; five marathons – three in a six week period, including three personal bests.  I hoped to ride that wave of success into 2007.  The plan was to run the Greenland 50 K in May, the Leadville Marathon in July and volunteer as a pacer for the Leadville 100 mile race in August.  In 2008 I’d be ready to run the full 100 miles. 

The reality was a succession of injuries and declining results.  I ran, and I raced, but the thrill was gone.  There was little distinction between my races and my training runs; mostly that I had a number pinned to my chest. 

My intervention was surgery on my arthritic big toe in March of 2008.  I now have a steel screw in the first metatarsal of my right foot.  I rushed the recovery and broke that bone.  In May 2008 my older brother, John, suffered a massive heart attack and died.  He was 45, a loving husband and father of two.  It was in the aftermath of John’s death that my mother, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer three years earlier, began a slow decline.  She succumbed in July of 2009.  In August 2009 I fell and tore my rotator cuff.  I ran with the pain for eight months and had surgery in April of 2010.

But, this is not a tale of woe.  This is a story about motivation and finding joy in simple things – like finding a $20 bill in an old pair of jeans.  It is a story of friendships. 

Through all of this, running was my constant outlet.  When you are running and racing well, it is easy to motivate yourself to get up early and train; to push yourself.  When your stock is low, it seems that no ray of light can pierce the gloom.  But one did.  It came in the form of an email on Friday, the 13^th of August last year.  The email was an invitation to a group run on the Highline Canal.  I had trained with or raced against most of these guys for the past 18 years.  We ran 16 miles that day.  Somewhere along the way, someone asked if I was training for a specific race.  No, I replied, I just wanted to run.  The closer we got the finish, the faster the pace became.  Like a junkie after a fix, I was euphoric and wanted more.  We started meeting Saturday mornings.  The core became:  Tim, Ken, Randy, Jeff, Mark, Kevin and me.  

Kevin and I competed in a ½ marathon trail race on Sunday, the 13th.  The next day, his wife found him on the floor having a seizure.  It was sobering news when we heard of his surgery to remove a brain tumor.  His return to running has been amazing. 

Mostly, we are just a pack of guys talking about:  sports, food, home repairs, training methods, movies, injuries and running shoes.  Oh, and we also tell really bad jokes.  You can hear us coming from about 100 yards away.  If you run on the Highline Canal early Saturday mornings, you have probably seen us.  We are the guys who great you with a hearty “good morning!” 

Running with these guys gave me something to look forward to at the end of the week.  It helped bridge those tough winter months.  From the beginning of December to the end of March, I ran seven training runs of 20 miles or more and 11 runs over 2:30.  I am too weak willed to have done that on my own.  And they were all quality miles!

Mark, the youngest of the group, told us of his plans to propose to his girlfriend on the banks of the Charles River on the Saturday before he was to run the Boston Marathon. 

At the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon Randy placed 3^rd and Jeff placed 2^nd in their respective age groups.  Tim and Ken ran the Boston Marathon in under three hours.  Mark proposed to his girlfriend and she said yes.

On May 7th, the anniversary of my brother’s death, I ran the Greenland 50 kilometer event.  It was a disaster; the worst race of my life.  The temperature climbed toward 80 degrees and I got heat stroke.  Halfway through the third of four laps around a hilly, 7.something mile course, I resolved to abandon the race.  But as I approached the aid station, I saw Kevin handing out water and sports drink.  After all that he has been through, there was no way I was going to quit the race.  Kevin helped me find my water bottle and I suffered through the last seven plus miles. 

During that last lap I had a lot of time to ponder the question, why do I do this to myself?  Here are some reasons. 

Mark reminds me of myself when I was in my late 20s except that Mark is a really nice guy.  He graduated from a Big East college, the University of Pittsburg, and lived in Boston.  He brings a fresh, inquisitive attitude to running.

Tim – We all have aches and pains; from minor stiffness to injuries that require surgery.  But Tim has seen more than his share of doctors, physical therapists, chiropractors and shamans.  He has the ability to run through pain.

Ken is the most consistent runner in our group.  I’ve never seen him have a bad run.  Ken’s father died when Ken was about the same age as my nephew was when my brother died.  That reminds me how fleeting life is.

Kevin – Six months after having a tumor removed from his brain, Kevin competed in the 25 kilometer race in Greenland.  What more can be said of his commitment and resolve.

Randy is ‘The Mayor’ of the Highline Canal Trail.  It seems he knows everyone and has positive things to say to all.  He keeps the conversation lively.

Jeff is the runner I aspire to be.  He shows me what I could be if I were more talented and trained better.  His 2:38 at Boston is legendary. 

With mates like these, how can I keep from running?

I run for my brother John.  I run for my family.  I run because it feels good.  I run because I like to compete.  I run, therefore, I am.

The point is, we all have experiences that shake our resolve; events and circumstances that distract us from the things that bring meaning to our lives.  Our greatness lies in our ability to overcome those obstacles.  There are roads and trails to be run.  Let’s get to work.

Second Thoughts

Second Thoughts

A Quest for a Sub 3 hour Marathon

October 2006

By Carl Mather

(With credit to Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights Big City)

You are definitely the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning.  The location is new though you cannot say that the surroundings are entirely unfamiliar.  It is Sunday October 15^th, 7:20 am, ten minutes before the start of the Long Beach International Marathon. 

Your Garmin Forerunner 205 is causing you suspicions.  The proof is the data being registered for elevation; alternately reading -1 ft, 3 ft, -4 ft, -7 ft.  You are mildly amused. 

How did you get here?  Let’s go back to the beginning of the year.

There was the 16 mile race.  You ran so hard; you busted a gut, literally.  You felt like you had the runs, but were shocked when you saw the toilet bowl was filled with bright red fluid.  You tried to convince yourself that it was Excelerade that you could not digest.  Runner’s Ischemia was the wife’s diagnosis.  That episode resulted in a colonoscopy before being given the go-ahead to run some more.

You ran Boston; got the medal to prove it.  It was a dream come true.  You got your picture taken with Bill Rogers and Frank Shorter, two childhood idols. 

On May 21^st you ran the Colfax Marathon along the nation’s longest main street.  The temperature was in the 80s by the finish.  You were thrilled with your finish; 3:10:46, 11^th overall, 2^nd in your age group. 

You ran the Arby’s Rocky Mountain ½ Marathon on June 11^th because it was your birthday.  You finished 11^th overall, 2^nd in your age group with a time of 1:27:20.  There was a nice picture of you running alongside former World Marathon Champion Mark Plaatjes; it must have been in the first 10 yards of the race.  

Your weekly training consisted of three workouts and averaged about 35 miles/week.  Those workouts were a track workout, a tempo run and a long run.  You ran training races of 10 and 15 miles, finishing second in both.

You ran the American Discovery Trail Marathon in Colorado Springs on September 4^th.  Four weak miles spoiled your hopes for breaking 3 hours.  You finish in 3:01:36, 6^th overall and 2^nd in your age group.

At the Boulder Backroads Marathon on September 24^th you started the race with Dean Karnazes who was partway through running 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days.  Your attempt to run three marathons in six weeks pales in comparison.  You received the 1^st place age group award, a very nice framed poster.  You hung it in the smallest room in your house.  The wife repainted the walls to match the poster; so sweet. 

Your bounty for the year also included:  two plaques, a premium water bottle, his & her Road ID tags, some cool medals, two pint glasses, a nice big coffee mug and gift certificates with which you purchased a pair of shorts and a long sleeve technical shirt.

Your Fall vacation plans brought you to Southern California.  The wife and daughters planned to spend the day at the American Girl Place in Beverly Hills.  You were given the green light to run Long Beach, so here you are.

The drill is routine for you by now:  Carbo loading, obsessing about clothing like a nervous bride, little sleep the night before, bowels vacated in a fight or flight response, the tying and re-tying of shoelaces, etc. 

The horn blasts.  The Forerunner keeps you from going out too fast, as others do.  Two and a half miles into the race you crest the highest point on the course; 45 feet above sea level.  During the first ten miles you hold your pace and enjoy the spectacular ocean scenery.  Then you turn right as the half marathoners head home.  You overtake one runner after another, banking precious seconds.  At mile 17 the first female passes you.  You glom onto her and ride her wake for the next six miles when she drops you like a 42 year old has-been.

Disaster strikes in the 25^th mile; a stitch.  You clock 8:20 and your hopes of a sub three hour marathon are fading.  You rally and run the 26^th mile in 6:19 as if chased by demons of marathons past.

You round the bend, down the hill to the finish where the race clock relentlessly keeps time.  The significant digits you make out are 2:59 and the seconds march on 34, 35, 36.  The gathered witnesses are cheering.  You are screaming.  You cross the line at 2:59:42 (2:59:29 chip time.)  It is a moment sublime.  Officially you finish 20^th overall, 3^rd in the Master’s Division.

You will be ill for several days.  You will recover physically, but there will be an emotional tank to refill as well.  There will be goals to set and miles to cover.  You will be back, but it will take time.  You will have to go slowly.  You will have to learn everything all over again.