Pulling out early

Nothing prepares you for a Half-Marathon like 9 flights, 4 hotel rooms, conference room chairs, bad food, restless sleep, jet lag, 25 minutes to empty and refill your suitcase, and a 2.5 hour drive to yet another hotel room.

Wait... did I say half-marathon? I meant half-marathon epic failure.

Yep, I pulled a DNF (Did Not Finish) last weekend.

Worse... I pulled a rare DNMITM2 (Did Not Make It To Mile 2).

I'd entered Sunburst 1/2 marathon in South Bend weeks ago, while still riding my Big Sur high, with the best intentions. Ok, maybe not the best intentions. The best intentions would be to train hard and prepare well for the race. The intention I had was to score a medal. That's more like a mediocre intention.

What I hadn't intended was to have two solid weeks of West Coast business travel leading up to the race.

Still, I gave it a go.

I stretched. I moaned. I stretched some more. I made my way to the start and took off at the gun, feeling optimistic. Well, I kept telling myself I was feeling optimistic. Deep down, I don't think I believed myself.

The easiest mile of any distance race is the first mile. If you're struggling that first mile, you can't expect it to get any better. You can hope, but it's just not going to happen. For me, the first mile was a tale of ever tightening hips and lower back. All of that well-meaning stretching was being undone. Rapidly. Then, the course turned away from downtown. From that point, every step took me further from the start, and my car. It was decision time, and the only reasonable decision was to step off the course. I'd gone 1.6 miles.

I jogged back to the start and, miraculously, found the bag I'd left at gear check, not yet tossed into whatever van was going to take it to the finish. That little bag held my wallet and my phone, which itself held directions to the hotel.

By the time I walked the two blocks to my car, I'd already picked up a slight limp, my right hip completely stiffened up. After 3 miles of running, I was in worse shape than I was after my marathon.

Every DNF sucks... wasted money, wasted time, general self-loathing. I hated that I couldn't finish, even though I knew that if I'd continued, I'd surely have wound up injured. Making a tough choice is rarely easy, even when you know it's the right choice. Choosing to quit needs to be a very tough choice, else it becomes too easy to throw in the towel at the first hint of self-doubt. You've gotta be tough, but, you gotta be smart, and if quitting is the right thing to do, you can't let your ego, or insatiable taste for medals, cause you to make a stupid decision.

I'll take my next race more seriously.

Ok, my next race will the the Tap N Run, which is by definition not to be taken seriously. But the one after that, totally serious.

And, I will stretch more between flights. Promise.

The moderately bright spot in this tale is that the medal that I coveted, and didn't earn, turned out to be pretty lame.

Good running,
Doug

Happy Running Day

Today's National Running Day.

Go out and celebrate with a big steak!

Kidding. Enjoy your run today and be glad you have running in your life.

Good running,
Doug

PS - I run because it reminds me I'm alive. Why do you run?

Los Angeles - Photo Safari

Off to the City of Angels for bidness.

One of the many, many insanely cool things about Indianapolis in May is race cars at the airport.

This beauty was driven by one of my fans, Lloyd Ruby, in 1961.

I wasn't there in 1961, but I believe the sign.

It's a gorgeous car. Pic doesn't do it justice.

Fake Helio DW12. It has the big swoopy side pods,

but no rear wheel guards.

Who do they think they're fooling?

Still.. looks awesome.

I landed in LAX to sun, low humidity, cool, light breeze.

That's crack for runners.

So, even though it was late evening to my body, I headed out for a short run.

It was miserable. Not only did I run like crap, which always happens when I try to run in the evening, but I'm staying near the airport. Is there anything more depressing than an airport hotel? Yes... the area around an airport hotel.

But, the run was totally worth it thanks to one sight which will delight any respectable Simpson's fan...

It's The Lard Lad... sorta

That was the highlight. Seriously. I looked for other things to photograph, but it was too depressing. There was a big "EBT Cards Welcome!" sign plastered on the front of a Jack-In-The-Box. How depressing to think that folks on food stamps are eating burgers and fries.

But don't despair dear way-above-average-looking readers, the LAX Westin has a fountain...

Your average, run-of-the-mill fountain defiler would dip into that lower bit there, hidden from the bellmen and security, and call it a day.

Me, I respect you all too much for that.

I climbed the little fountain stars and pulled an upper-decker...

Deep, cool, refreshing in the upper deck of the fountain at the LAX Westin.

Did I stop there?

Hell, no! This fountain defiler has declared a new go big or keep your socks on attitude!

I defiled the fountain in the lobby, right in front of the registration desk AND the hotel security desk, just to show them I wasn't messing around.

Hey LAX Westin, your fountains? Yeah, they're my bitches.

Flying all day makes me cranky. Fountains tend to tip the scales the other way. Next time you're feeling a little cranky, find a fountain, get in, and send me a picture. We'll all be glad you did.

Good running,
Doug

Run Big Sur, Change Your Life

I've struggled with how to best sum up my Big Sur Marathon experience.

It's been over a week, and every time I start, what comes out, falls short.

During that amazing weekend, I met so many wonderful people, and heard so many inspiring stories, that I've decided to let those stories make my point for me.

In no particular order...

There were 3 women from the greater-Indianapolis area who were on my flight out, meeting 4 other friends, to run Big Sur. Why? Because one of their gang of seven was turning some big-number birthday and, when asked what she wanted to do to celebrate, said "I want us all to run Big Sur!" Bam! Gauntlet thrown! She must be a most-excellent running buddy and friend, because all 6 of her cohorts flew out and saddled up.

There was my friend Brady who was running Big Sur in memory of her father, and to raise money and awareness for the disease that took him. (Read it here.) As if tackling the hills of Big Sur with the emotional burden of such a run weren't enough, she also has been fighting anemia, which really jacked up her training. Her coached advised her not to run. She didn't listen to him. She had to run. She passed me on an uphill.

Jerry, in the airport, was kinda creeping me out at first. You wouldn't blame me for being creeped out if you'd been there and seen the older gentleman who kept looking over at me, with the huge grin on his face, as we waited to board the plane home. I overcame my creeps when it was apparent that the smelly couple sitting next to me were eager to tell me all about their trip to Hawaii, and Jerry had taken a window seat and had the rest of the row to himself. I slid over and we exchanged pleasantries.Turns out, Big Sur had put that now-less-creepy grin on Jerry's face. It was his first marathon.  He'd started running a few years ago. He said he'd had a bit of bad health and wanted to turn that around. He said that in the folksy way Midwesterners do when they really don't want to talk about the bit of bad health. In his mid-sixties, this quiet, gentle Rose-Hulman Mechanical Engineering professor decided to try the marathon. That takes some serious balls... serious, perfectly machined, mechanically engineered, balls.

Large Ball Bearings.

Jim is from DC, and also was my bus-buddy on the ride out to the start. He started running marathons with his brother many years ago. He'd run Marine Corp Marathon 10 times, and another local race in Virginia another 8 times. His right knee complained sometimes, but never so much that he couldn't keep running. A couple years ago he did the math and thought it would be cool, and possible, to pull off a nice landmark-type accomplishment. He's had to squeeze in some extra marathons since then, but Big Sur was just 3 weeks after his 60th birthday, and it was also his 60th marathon. And likely his last. He told me with solemn determination, that he'd injured himself on his most recent marathon, and though his troublesome knee was on it's last leg, he wouldn't miss Big Sur, even if he had to crawl.

The woman sitting behind me on the flight from Phoenix to Indy, a tall, but not overly athletic looking black woman, heard me tell Jim's story. She quietly let me know that Big Sur was her 64th marathon. She too wanted to run 60 marathons before she turned 60. She hadn't run a step since childhood before she set that goal... at age 57. Let that one sink in for a minute. Zero to 60 marathons in 3 years... that's essentially 17 a year, about 3 every 2 months. And she was 57. Who sets a goal like that? What kind of person achieves a goal like that?

There was a couple that got married at Big Sur. Not at the beginning. Not at the finish. At the 25 mile marker. I know! But wait, it gets better. The bridesmaids and groomsmen also ran the marathon. They all met at mile 25. Even the pastor ran the marathon, but not wanting to wreck his finish time, he ran ahead, completed the full 26.2, and then jogged back to the 25 mark to officiate the wedding. The service took 29 seconds, which the bride made a point of noting so she could subtract that time from her total. Then the couple started their life together, hand in hand, with a hellacious half-mile climb, and then a long downhill to the end. Symbolic? Let's hope so, but not in the "it's all downhill from here, kids" way... in a good way... like the struggle to come together is rewarded with an easier road ahead, together. Sure, the bride was sweaty, and probably a little smelly, but seriously, can you imagine a sweeter story?

Then there was the forty-something guy, a little over-weight, a lot under-trained, who decided he needed a kick in the pants. He needed a challenge, one he couldn't back away from, because it was just too good to miss out on. In a fateful moment of whimsy, and courage, and stupidity, and irresponsibility, and WTF-ery, he signed up for a race he'd wanted to do since the first time he'd seen an ad for it in RunnersWorld, many moons ago, before he'd run more than 3 miles at once. He hadn't trained for a marathon in ages. He had been running, but his body was in mutiny. He had no idea if he could make it to that finish line, or even the starting line. But he did. And during that weekend, out on those breathtaking 26.2 miles, though he knew that running was good for him, that he needed to run, he was reminded how much it meant to him. He was reminded that running is a gift. He fell in love with running again.

That guy, as I'm sure you realize, was me. The last guy, not the creepy-smiling professor.

Big Sur is not the place to go if you want to set a PR. I talked to a hundred or so runners after the race. They asked what I thought of the course, how I'd handled the many micro-climate changes, what I thought of the views, if I was coming back, what I was going to tackle next. Not one of them asked what my finish time was.

Big Sur is a tough marathon that attracts runners who are looking for great beauty, on the course, and within themselves. These are just a handful of the stories I heard or saw or lived that weekend. Every one of them starts with a simple declaration: to step out of what is comfortable and do something difficult, scary, audacious, challenging, memorable, affirming, altering, awakening, inspiring, and glorious that will change you, for the better, forever.

The absolute best thing about really doing something, is that as soon as you do, you can't wait to try something else. You can't wait to expand your understanding of who you are and what you're capable of.

Are you challenging yourself? What have you always wanted to do that also scares the hell out of you? What is it that you don't know if you can even do, but just by trying, is going to make you stronger and your days on this wonderful planet a great story that will inspire your great-grand kids to find their own adventures?

What hill will you climb just to see the view from the top?

Me? You'll see, or read, soon enough. But we're not talking about me.

What's next for you?

Good running,
Doug

Monterey, CA - Plaza in Cannery Row

Day after Big Sur

Big Sur photo safari

This was a very special event for me. But I'll get into that stuff in a day or so.

For today, kids... sit back, and you might want to go to your big monitor for this post. It's the mother of all photo safaris*.

This is Big Sur...

First, let's get this out of the way...

Wasn't in Monterey 15 minutes before

I found this beaut just outside the Expo.

(For those new to DR365, I defile fountains... a lot.)

I'd done some homework and scoped out an iconic Monterey fountain in the middle of a big-ass plaza by the wharf.  It was super-close. And now a planter.

Is there anything sadder than a no-longer-a-fountain?

Classy stenciling on the plaza walls. I'm pretty sure they meant

"No Bikes OR Skateboards",

unless they are cool with one or the other, but not both. Seems unlikely.

Runners are great people. The best people. We know that. At the Expo, you mingle in and around a big... what's the term for a group of runners?... a fartlek? No... a sweat band! Yes, a sweat band**. Anyway... here are some special runners.

Bart Yasso - inspiring, engaging, hellacious runner. Even better guy.

Also Chief Running Officer at Runner's World... a nice gig.

Also a fantastic speaker, which we'll discuss another time.

Brady and Ben - I "met" Brady through her blog and twitter.

The first post of her's I read was about wanting to do Big Sur,

I was signed up 15 minutes later.

You can follow her awesomeness here:

http://bradygervais.com/running-for-good

Mark Remy - writer at Runner's World who I met

at a pub across from the Expo. Insanely nice dude.

I bought two of his books (this and this).

You should, too.

Dean Karnazes - the Ultra Marathon Man himself

The guy is ultra-human. And very cool.

Meeting Dean was a big deal to me. I had a chance to tell him how his book The Ultramarathon Man, and how he tries things not knowing if he can do them, changed not just my running, but my perspective on life. I am not kidding. The day after I finished his book, I started my first streak... 100 miles in 7 days. He was very gracious and warm.

Big Sur is a point-to-point race, so you board a bus, at 4am, you to the start.

Stepping on the bus is a seminal moment.

Once you're on, there's only one way back

... across the finish line

The start village was packed with marathoners.

This is my tribe.

And they are a very patient lot when it comes to waiting for Port-a-potties.

Ok, enough foreplay... Let's get to some racin'...

At the start, I thought this was scenic. I had no idea.

I was about to get my eyeballs blown out.

See that red and white doojie way the hell up there? That's the start.

I properly corralled myself at the back of the second wave.

Guys are just gross. I apologize for my entire gender.

Ah, there it is. The shit is on!

Wait! I forgot to start my watch!

Hold on... ok, the shit... is... oooonnnnn... NOW!

After a few miles of downhill, where it felt like you were falling out of the sky,

we popped out of the giant redwoods,

which I totally forgot about until just now.

Crap. Totally missed them.

Looks I have to come back.

Now it gets unfathomably beautiful.

Very happy cows.

 See that mist? Pretty, right? Things is, it's actually the harbinger of death!

OK, it's not really the harbinger of death, but it is the harbinger of blow-your-hat-off-for-fun-before-it-knocks-you-on-your-ass wind.

And now we're in it.

It looks all calm and peaceful.

It's not.

It's cold and windy and steep and forever.

I should point out that there are about 7 feet of flat on this course. You are either going up, or down. Sometimes the easy ups actually feel like flats.

More of nature's beauty.

Look how beautiful nature is, kids.

Ok, these guys really ARE harbingers of death...

Chinese drummers, though clearly they are not all Chinese.

The drummers sit at the base of The Climb. The climb up to Hurricane Point. This 2+ mile steep-ass, unrelenting climb makes you wish one of those drummers would have clubbed you when you went by. One of the REAL Chinese drummers... he'd do it up right.

As brutal and soul-raping as the climb is, the views are spectacular...

The top, Hurricane Point, was shrouded in that first harbinger of death. The peak is exactly at the 12-mile mark.

Truth is, I managed the climb to hurricane point well. Only stopping for pix. I was more than a little proud of myself. If I recall correctly, I said something about making Hurricane Point my bitch... not sure.

Very shortly after Hurricane point is, with the possible exception of the finish, the highlight of Big Sur...

Bixby Bridge

I remember the first time I saw an ad for Big Sur, many years ago, before I ever dreamed of doing a marathon. Every ad features a photo of the bridge. It's a siren song. I stared at it, for a long time, and I knew I wanted to run across that bridge one day. But I never thought it would actually happen.

It's not every day one gets to live out a half-a-life long dream. When I put a foot on that bridge, I remembered seeing that ad. I got goosebumps. I got chills. I teared up. I was acutely aware of how lucky I am to have the health, means, and opportunity to fulfill such an audacious wish. I'll never, ever, forget that moment.

Just after the bridge is Michael Martinez. Michael plays a grand piano, in tails (Michael, not the piano), on the course. You might want to send the kids to the other room for a sec... good? cool.

Having a guy play a grand piano, in tails, on a marathon course, is fucking awesome.

Ok, back to PG-13.

Me and Micheal

The best damn orange I have ever had in my life!

Alien working an aid station. No clue.

I should probably note that about this time, things went a little bad... race-wise. As a flatlander, climbing is a little foreign to me. I was telling a guy on the return bus that the biggest hill in the Indianapolis Marathon would go unnoticed at Big Sur. I trained on what hills I had. It got me to mile 19.

At mile 19, there was an especially steep climb, paired with a vicious wind. I hadn't walked a step to that point, but I fought this one too long. I ran out of "climbers". They had served gallantly, but what little climbing muscles I had, clocked out and went home for the day. They didn't bother telling me, they just left. I figured it out when, as I was running an uphill, I noticed walkers passing me.

I accepted my reality, remembered Mark Remy's first rule of running ("Have fun"), realized that torturing myself wouldn't be fun, and started walking the uphills. No pouting. No whining. No denial.

Know what? I worked. On the downs, and "flats" I felt fantastic! Usually after 20 miles, my hamstrings turn to steel rods, and my calves fill with concrete. But today, I felt great. Not fast, but great. And I was having fun again. I just couldn't climb anymore. No biggie.

Plus, I had more time for pictures...

Runner friends... think about your last marathon.

Now imagine running a marathon with this kind of scenery.

I know, right!?

Yeah, I got nothin'. She was really playing the harp, though.

People actually get to live down there.

Mile 23 is famous for the strawberries.

The best damn strawberry I have ever had in my life!

From the strawberry station on, it was head down. Left-right. Look good for the spectators. Get to the finish, and...

Bazinga!

I have this thing where, after a race, I stand around the finish and congratulate those who finish around me. At a marathon, this is especially cool, because I've usually been running around these people for a couple hours. My Midwestern ways freak out some people, but most are gracious, and appreciative. Try it sometime.

The best damn cookie I've ever had in my life!

Best damn, and smallest, and out of focus, grapes I've ever had in my life!

Best damn cup of horrible beer I've ever had in my life!

Leaving the finish area of a big race is always bitter sweet. You don't want it to end. But it must.

I was shocked to see a bus that would take me to

just across the street from my house in Indiana.

But, I still had stuff in my hotel room.

Throwing up pictures and tapping out captions is the easy part. Summing up the experience will take some time. For now, I'm going across the street, to a most excellent recreation of an English pub, and have a beer and meat pie.

Good running,
Doug

*All of these images are by me. Feel free to use them, but please include a link to the blog post. Thanks.
** I'll say it... I love the idea of a group of runners being called a sweat band. It just came to me, and it tickles the hell out of me. There, I said it.