Knowing What’s Ahead-Marathon Training Tips

Robin and I (along with Dave Nelson who was visiting for the weekend) got a strong 14-miler done yesterday. The weather was near perfect and all involved survived the treacherous KC sidewalks without incident. Of course, Robin and I are preparing for the KC Marathon Oct 20th. Dave is headed to Erie, PA in 2 weeks continuing his journey to complete a marathon in all 50 states. Go Dave!!

One thing I’m integrating into Robin’s marathon training is course familiarity. For the past several weeks we’ve been doing the long run of the week on a section of the actual race route. For instance, yesterday we ran from the start line to the 14 mile mark. The week before we did a run that included the distance between mile 9 and mile 18. Next week we’ll try and do something that will preview the last third of the race course.

This approach breeds confidence. Simply knowing what is coming up can enable one to behave like an in-tune runner, one that pushes harder at the appropriate time, strategically holds back, hits hills with gusto, and can get lost in the running zone because they know where they’re going and how they’re going to get there.

I saw this in action with Robin yesterday. He’s normally a pretty talkative guy. It’s obvious when he’s having a rough time because he’ll stop conversing and start concentrating really hard. Two weeks ago when he hit the wall, he started getting down on himself, uttering between breathes, “sorry..I’m hurtin’…go on without me.” Yesterday, when things started getting hard, he said, “I know I can make it to 75th street…it’s just a little ways to Brookside Blvd… and from there, I’m home free.” Sure enough, when we did get to Brookside Blvd (the last 1.5 miles of our workout) he got a little pep in his step and then finished the run really strong.

I know it’s not always possible to actually train on the course of your target event and reap all the benefits of familiarity-conditioning, however, there are simple things you can do to become somewhat aware of what you’re getting yourself into on race day.

1) If possible, get there a day before the race and drive the course. Take mental notes and get your mind wrapped around the distance. This can be an enormous advantage on race day.

2) If you can’t physically get out on the course beforehand, at least look at a map and try and memorize the important details. Where are the hills? Where are the aid stations, port-o-potties, major spectator areas?

3) If available, check out an elevation chart of the course. Many races advertise the fact that they have a “flat” course. In a lot of cases, nothing could be farther from the truth. Flat is a relative term and only you can determine if what’s deemed flat is actually flat by your standards.

4) Don’t put too much stock in what you hear at the expo, read in magazines, or find when you search the web. Make up your own mind, see for yourself, and take all reviews and advice with that proverbial grain of salt.

The Bike is Still in the Box

Since the Vineman 70.3 experience I have been quite content with simply throwing on the Asics and hitting the road using my own two feet. The simplicity and ease of running has been a welcome respite from the logistical demands of full-blown triathlon training. Aside from the occasional ride on my old beater bike with my dogs, I have yet to get back on the saddle. The Cervelo, as a matter of fact, is still dismantled, in the box, and sitting in the corner of our spare bedroom. I figure I’ll have to put that thing back together sometime soon since I’m going to do a bike tour of Lake Tahoe in a few weeks. Or maybe I’ll just let it rest and ride the beater-bike instead. Getting back into an aero position right now just doesn’t appeal to me for some reason.

Since I’m not allowed to swim for another week because of the LASIKs and the tri-bike is boxed up, running is pretty much the only thing I’m doing to stay in shape. My sights are set on the KC Marathon (with Robin) October 22nd then we’re heading down to the Route 66 Marathon in Tulsa November 18th to run with Leslie.

My routine has been to run 3 days out of the week. Tuesday is mile-repeat day. Thursday I do a fairly decent length tempo-run. On Sundays I go slow and long. The focus is on quality over quantity and also getting my core stronger. I’m doing a lot of planks and stability work on the exercise ball these days. Mainly though, I’m trying to get my legs and lungs as rock-solid as I can.

If you already have a good endurance base established, repeats and tempo runs are a great way to kick training up a notch or two and increase cardio-vascular stamina. Done prudently, “speed-work” can make you a stronger and faster runner. I like mile-repeats best because, unlike 400 meter or 800 meter intervals, the mile is long enough to make you forget about running as fast as you can and instead, run fast enough to benefit from the workout.

I’m not gifted enough to run efficiently going full blast for an entire mile, but I can keep a pace that’s fast for me for that distance and still exhibit good form and sustain steady breathing. The distance helps create this efficiency because being a substantial chunk of ground to cover, it necesitates a degree of energy conservation and, for most, requires enough time to complete to allow for a thought process to take place. In my book, speed, in relation to endurance running, is about controlled exertion and finding pace while staying relaxed. I think doing 400 meter and even 800 meter repeats can end up being sloppy because the tendancy is to just run unbriddled and all crazy-like.

Anyway, if you want more advice about running and training just shoot me an email or leave a comment here. I’m working on a running coach certification right now and learning a lot about program design, proper training methodology, and injury treatment and avoidance. I actually should get back to the test I’ve been trying to finish for the past month or so. More later.

Thanks for reading!

Kansas City Marathon: Running for a Cause

Back in February I was asked to donate a gift to the Children’s Mercy fundraising dinner and auction, A Red Hot Night. My contribution: an 18 week marathon training program complete with personal training and coaching, a custom plan, and running with the winning bidder and getting him or her to the finish line of the 2007 Kansas City Marathon in October.

To my great surprise, the gift, which was packaged with a Garmin Forerunner 305 and a race entry, went for $1600!

The generous, winning bidder, Robin Fowler, is an attorney here in KC and father of two boys. This will be his first attempt at a marathon. We’re 8 weeks into training and just today finished an 11 mile run, the longest he’s gone to date.

After getting through a few marathons of my own over the past 4 years or so and reaping the benefits of the gift that is the running-lifestyle, it’s been good to give a little back. It’s so easy to get self-absorbed when involved with endurance-oriented sport. The drive to get more fit, to obsessively push the limits of the body and mind farther and farther, can develop into pure ego-mania. Don’t get me wrong. I get off on accomplishment just as much as the next person. The endurance-journey is a profound realization of self, an existential portal. There’s nothing more re-affirming than physically doing something that most find impressive or unendurable.

I think there’s more to this thing than mere self-satisfaction though. My belief is that we live and act and push the limits of what we can do because at our core we need inspiration in order to find meaning and to sustain the notion that most everything is possible. This is what makes us human, the ability to inspire, the capacity to be inspired, and the potential to believe.

At every one of my 11 marathons I have experienced an interesting mixture of emotions. Upon crossing the finish line and getting the medal placed around my neck, I obviously feel a sense of relief and accomplishment. The training is done and I finished the race. Each time I’ve gone through this process though the pride takes a back seat and I am drawn back to the finish line to watch other runners finish their races and complete their journeys. This is what I relish the most: the joy of watching others do what they thought they could not, the privelage of witnessing the will of another rise, fall, and rise again, and the nourishment from sharing with total strangers the inspiration generated in those raw and splendid moments.

I Can See Clearly Now

I’m very happy to share that I succesfully underwent LASIK surgery yesterday and now have 20/15 vision! “Normal” vision, of course, is 20/20, the arbitrary benchmark set by eye doctors that establishes what a normal person should be able to see 20 feet from an eye chart. My eyes allow me to see from 20 feet what a “normal” person is able to see from 15 feet. For once in my life I’m above average.

The procedure was quick and painless.

All in all I was at the clinic for approximately 3 hours. The majority of that time was spent double checking my eye-sight and prescription (upon my request because I was paranoid) and allowing for the Valium to take effect. The surgery itself only took about 20 minutes.

I felt very little during the correction process. The most I experienced was a small amount of pressure. Imagine a suction cup pulling on your eye-ball ever so sightly. That’s what it felt like. I was awake the entire time and, in fact, had a pretty detailed conversation with the surgeon about weight training and nutrition after he learned that I was a personal trainer. We covered everything from Gatorade alternatives to the proper way to incorporate plyometrics into a fitness routine.

As insructed, my wife drove my loopy-butt home afterward and I took a good, long nap to allow my eyes to recover and heal. The “nap” turned out to be a 13 hour sleep-a-thon. I awoke at 6am this morning, peeled off the protective eye covers, and was absolutely blown the @#$% away! Talk about an eye-opening experience.

The only negative is I have to refrain from swimming for 2 weeks since infection is a concern. I’ll have to apply some drops for a few days and make sure I don’t rub my eyes at all. Other than that, I’m cleared for active duty and have arranged to go for a 12 mile run tomorrow morning with Robin, a local attorney I’m coaching to run the Kansas City Marathon in October.

More on Robin next post.

Ironman Inspiration

I’ve watched this motivational video over and over again the past few days. Turn the volume up on your computer and check it out. Be careful though, you too may get bit by the bug!

Ironman Fever

2.4 mile swim—112 mile bike—26.2 mile run.

These distances have taken on mythical proportions.

For me, the mere thought of others enduring such a physical and mental challenge induces a mind-bending shutter or, at other times, an incredulous chuckle. The sentiment being that the ridiculous distances, the goal to become an Ironman, are not rational pursuits for sensible people like me.

I’ve recently been knocked off my rocker and jolted out of my senses. The endurance-bug has finally proliferated through my body and has ravaged my brain. Mental processes that, until very recently, had been hard-wired for self-preservation have irreparably been altered. I’ve got the fever and now have visions of pushing beyond my pre-established limits.

I want to complete an Ironman.

This pursuit will be time-consuming and a challenge in itself to manage effectively. At this point, I can’t even begin to describe what my plan will look like both in terms of training and balancing the Ironman journey with life. The title of this blog will serve as a constant reminder that my family and friends, doing good work, and staying healthy are the pillars of my life. They must all be solid. They must all together stand strong in order for me to do this.

Tentative target race: 2008 Ironman Wisconsin (early September) http://www.ironman.com/events/ironman/wisconsin

Vineman 70.3 Run

Some mild cramping in both quads the last mile of the bike had me a little concerned. I kind of suspected at that point, rolling into T2, the 13.1 mile run to finish off my first half Ironman was going to be tough. A gut check. Team Lee was spread out all along the transition area at Windsor High School, snapping photos, shouting words of encouragement, and projecting good, positive vibes. Their therapeutic presence snapped me out of my anxious state and allowed me to focus on what I needed to do next. I dismounted smoothly, jogged my way into T2 to rack my bike, and started getting myself into running mode.

Take helmet off. Remove sunglasses. Pour water over head to clean off and revive. Water too warm. Not refreshing whatsoever. Note to self: bring small cooler next time to keep fluids cold. Put hat on. Why did I bring a black hat? Oh well. Put sunglasses back on. Wipe off feet. Pull socks on. Put running shoes on. Cliff-blocks in jersey? Check. Jelly beans in jersey? Check. Re-apply sunscreen? Naw, screw- it! Drink Gatorade. Also too warm. Yuck! Need something cold to drink. Need to pee. Which way is out? Focus! Sign over there says, “Run Out.” That must be it. Remember to pee. Time to move. Let’s go!

After relieving myself in a Port-a-Potty, gulping down a cup of Gatorade, and dumping some cold water on my head, I headed out. Of course, the omnipresent Team Lee was there pushing me onward. I was moving forward, fueled by their energy and powered by the simple sight of familiar faces. My people gave me a much needed rush and another outstanding send-off, but I was on some seriously wobbly legs.

I turned the corner, left the spectacle of the transition area, and headed back into the wine-country. The adrenaline rush of transitioning from the bike to the run wore off quick and reality set back in. It was only about 3/4 of a mile out when the cramps in my quads came back, the fronts of both legs grotesquely bulging like two knots ready to cinch down at any moment. I stopped in my tracks, crouched over, hands on knees, and just stayed there. Still as a statue. Put on pause. I was afraid to even so much as twitch in fear that I would seize up beyond the point of recovery. A flashback of a similar breakdown zipped through my mind.

I made the difficult decision to pull out of the 2005 Kansas City Marathon at mile 20 because of severe cramping. This was my first and only “Did Not Finish” to date. The difficulty on that day was not only in my quads, but also in my hamstrings. I vividly remember being stuck, trapped in a biomechanical conundrum. If I stretched my quads, then my hamstrings seized up. If I stretched my hamstrings, my quads would painfully spasm. What I sight I must have been. Bystanders must have thought I was having a standing seizure or was performing an odd dance move. I can chuckle about it now, but for the longest time I could not bring myself to run that stretch of Kansas City. It wasn’t until I exorcised the demons with a finish the very next year that I felt confident again. I’ll never forget being assisted by a police officer, driving back to the aid station in his patrol car, and sitting there in the tent as runners continued on by. The most embarrasing part about that DNF was the ride back to the finish area. Somehow two race volunteers representing Best Buy got assigned to transport me in their Geek Squad-VW Bug. I was thankful for the ride, but I was pretty humiliated at the same time.

As I stood there massaging my legs, I told myself there was no way I was getting driven back, no way I was going to get a DNF here after all the expense, all the planning, all the training, and all that my friends and family had done to suport me. NO WAY these legs of mine would fail me. Not today.

I ended up doing what was necessary to finish. The 13.1 miles of the Vineman 70.3 was, by far, the slowest half marathon I have ever run. No matter though. Somedays it’s not how fast, but how determined. The cramping continued to be an issue for the duration of the run. I managed. The heat was brutal. I dealt with it. The distance swimming, biking, and running was the most I had ever put myself up against.

I stepped up, endured, and finished strong.

Much love to everyone who came out and supported me and to everyone who sent good thoughts my way.

Thanks for reading.

The Vineman 70.3 Bike-revised

The 56 mile bike segment of the Vineman 70.3 was easily the best part of my race. I felt the most confident while on the bike, enjoyed some spectacular California wine country, and had absolutely zero mechanical difficulties to contend with along the way. Smooth pedaling from start to finish with a total time of 2:51:59 (661st out of 1296 male amateurs).

There is absolutely no doubt that my trouble-free day was 100% the result of some generous and skillful work by my expert bicycle-mechanic-cousin Brian, who drove 6 hours to help me assemble, trouble-shoot, and fine-tune my Cervelo. If not for my cousin and his tremendous efforts, my Vineman-experience could have very easily ended prematurely in a breakdown of some sort and most certainly would have been frustrating and stressful. I cringe when imagining the scenario of dealing with an unfamiliar bike shop, some random, totally-slammed bike mechanic with 100 bikes in his que, who probably would have slapped my rig together haphazardly and indiscrimanantly. There’s enough to worry about on race-day and plenty of insecurity about one’s body and conditioning. The last thing you want to be concerned about and have doubts with is the state of your second most essential piece of equipment: the bike. I owe Brian a lot of gratitude. From advising on how best to ship my bike from Kansas City to California, to noticing that my tires desparately needed to be replaced, and everything in between…my cuz was seriously clutch. Thanks, Brian…you rock the house!

After being humbled in the water, I reveled in the uplifting presence of my family and friends at the end of the swim, had a great transition, sprinted excitedly up a steep, but short, hill from Johnson Beach, made two quick right turns, and started on down the road with all kinds of vehicular traffic making their way to the 2nd transition area in Windsor. I was immediately relieved of all swim-angst as I smiled thinking about my support team—Team Lee—cheering me on through T1. I think I would have been a serious head-case without them there. Since I was in the last swim wave and one of the last in my wave to finish, I entered an almost completely deconstructed transition area. There were race workers taking the bike racks apart and unceremoniously loading them onto trucks to clear the beach for non-race related sunbathers visiting the wine country for the weekend. The only racks left standing were the ones holding up the handful of bikes belonging to us stragglers. It was sort of like being that last table in a restaurant around closing time. I felt the akwardness of the situation, but didn’t have a chance to internalize the depressive nature of the scenario. Instead, I had Team Lee. “Go, Albert!” “Swim–Bike–Run!!” You can do it!!” I was blown away and still even now get a little choked up thinking about the incredible expression of love and timely support.

Despite the fact that I had at least 5 more hours of racing to go, I started cranking as hard as I could so I could see Team Lee again at T2 as soon as possible. I must have passed about 30 competitors before it occurred to me that it might be a prudent move to slow down. This, I thought, would be necessary in order to conserve some energy for the grueling, heat-filled miles ahead of me.

I knew that the air temperature would only continue rising and since I got such a late jump on the course, being that I was in the final swim stage and started a full 2 hours after the 1st wave, there was no tactical advantage to go all out. The heat was already a factor. It wasn’t like it was 715am and “beating” the heat was a viable option. It was already getting hot. It was time to dig in for a grind, stay well-hydrated, stay well-nourished, and play it smart. It was not the time to haul ass.

The course was absolutely gorgeous with sections that were somewhat technically challenging. This was another reason to slow it down a bit. The snaking, rolling hills were fun to ride and the downhills were especially fast. One could see very quickly, in fact, that too much speed going into a sharp turn could quite literally turn a rider into a “Vineman!” I have to thank my friend, and fellow triathlete, Danielle, for scouting out the bike course during her training and sharing her thoughts and observations with me. I also have to thank my mom and my wife for convincing me to drive the course the day before the race. Being familiar with the course definitely raised my confidence and probably saved me from skiding into a ditch or flying off the road and crash-landing in some pristine, California grape vines.

I’m not certain how many different vineyards I rode through. There seemed to be quite a few. Every so often during the ride I would pass the entrance to a winery. I do remember passing Korbel; They were having a Carribean-themed “beach” party. Weekenders were sporting their best summer-vacation garb, intoxicated on the bubbly, carrying cases of the stuff to their cars. There was also the Roshambo Winery, named after the rock—paper—scissors game we’ve all played as children.

Aside: being curious about the origins of “roshambo,” I later learned that we can thank the French for the word and that, in fact, there are a couple of different usages found in the English lexicon.

This about sums it up:

Origin: American revolutionary war.

After: Jean-Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, comte de Rochambeau (1725-1807).

As a lieutenant general, comte de Rochambeau commanded the French expeditionary army sent to help the American Revolution during 1780 to 1782. His skillful leadership and professional wisdom were vital to the American-French allied victory at Yorktown in September 1781. Rochambeau was so skilled at kicking the British’s balls in battle, that his victories were called “Rochambeau’s”. His name, in corrupted spelling, became slang for any number of contests or confrontation resolved by competitive nut-kicking.

As in: Hey! I’ll roshambo (Rochambeau) you for the last beer! (etiquette usually dictates that the challenged gets first kick .. unless he’s an idiot).

Taken from: urbandictionary.com

I started thinking about the absurdity of masochism as a means to compete. Roshambo-ing for a beer? Who does that and to what frat do they pledge allegience? I’m going to make certain no son of mine ever goes near that house. Then I stopped and realized that the essence of endurance-oriented sport is not so far removed from the nature of roshambo-ing for sport. Both involve competition. Both involve pain. Both are voluntary. I ended up concluding that triathlon, especially at the full Ironman distance, is basically “competitive nut-kicking” with one’s self.

Let’s see: cover extremely long-distance (140.6 miles) without stopping, subject body to varying degrees of weather-related discomfort, force nutrient-dense “food” into stomach, drink copious amounts of fluid to almost stave off dehydration, take physical abuse in water as if not drowning wasn’t enough of a challenge, become physically fused with bicycle seat, throw in marathon at end for shits and giggles.

Can you imagine? A whole day of kicking yourself umercifully and voluntarily in the nuts. And for what? I think, after getting a small taste at Vineman 70.3, I understand the appeal of such an absurd and masochistic challenge. The answer is simple. To come out in the end tougher than when you started. If you can finish, you lay claim to the title Ironman, an endurance-masochist with an Iron-will, and yes…an iron set of cojones!

I seriously digress.

More later…I need to go run.

Thanks for reading.

The Vineman 70.3 Swim

 I had never swam more than 1000 meters in open water before the Vineman.  The 1.2 mile distance didn’t realy concern me though.  I was mainly nervous about the mad frenzy at the start of the race, that first 100 yards that can take one’s breath away and make you question, in an instant, why the hell you’re out there.

My wave was the last of the day.  All of the 38-39 year old amatuer males were clumped together and represented the largest swim wave.  Together we anxiously waited, conservatively treading water, approximately 80 strong.  Wetsuits were allowed since the water temperature was within legal limits.  I chose not to wear mine though because the thing still makes me nervous.

As it turned out, I was the only one, at least that I could see, not wearing a wetsuit.  When the horn went off and the craziness began I quickly realized that I made the right decision.  Almost immediately I started hyper-ventilating, feeling tight in the chest, and getting mildly panicked.  I shudder to think what would have transpired if I had been sporting that life-sucking wetsuit.  Unlike my episode in the water at the Bike Source Triathlon back in May, I was able to shake off the panic and recover fairly fast.  The amazing thing was how quickly the other competitors left me behind in their collective wake.

Since ours was the last swim wave, I literally was at the back of the overall pack of 2200 or so triathletes.  My wave began at 8:35 am.  The pros kicked things off at 6:25 am.  I figured afterward that a few of the elite pros were actually nearing the end of their bike leg as I was exiting the water! 

Swimming was acually pretty peaceful after everyone left me behind.  I was able to get in a nice, smooth rhythm and had plenty of space to accomodate my meandering ways in the water.  Racing is actually pretty pleasant when not getting kicked in the face and chopped in the backs of the legs.  There are zen-like moments in the water when you feel like you’re just gliding effortlessly and breathing easy, almost, but not quite, in your element.  These moments are interupted with sharp reminders that you are a mere visitor.  A foreignor just passing through.  There’s the unexpected swell that fills your mouth and nose with water just when oxygen is what you need, the dramatic change of light that transforms you into a child afraid of the dark, and the random fluxuations in temperature that make you wonder about the composition of the water.

There was one point during the swim that I was shocked out of my zone when my hand, on the down stroke, actually scraped the river bed.  I looked up and even saw some competitors ahead walking down the river in thigh-high water.  It was also at this point that I noticed that I wasn’t actually dead last.  There was one guy alongside me and a few behind.  The guy next to me started walking in the shallow water, wetsuit and all.  For some reason I told myself I wasn’t going to walk and so kept on swimming leaving him behind. 

As I got out into the clear I started feeling lonely.  As I rounded the far buoys to head back down river and back to the transition area, the loneliness really kicked in hard.  There was not a single other competitor around.  It was exactly at this moment that I heard the voice of one of my uncles from above, like a guardian angel pouring down comfort and strength.  My family had just arrived to cheer me on and just happened to be crossing over a bridge as I swam in sight.  Amazing!  This was just what I needed.  I took an extra long breath and turned my head skyward and saw my family cheering me on, shouting out my name and telling me to keep going.  I took the graces of this great timing and sprinted the rest of the way to the finish.

As I approached the boat landing where I was to exit the water I saw my mother on water’s edge waving me on home.  I got a little choked up as I made my way up toward my bike imagining how worried she must have been about me and thinking about the love of a mother for her son.

The first part of my 70.3 mile journey was complete. 

Stay tuned for my thoughts of the 56 mile bike leg of the Vineman. 

     

         

Vineman Photos

Click the grapes to see Vineman photos.