Finding the Balance

None of us like to admit it, but we all have our limits.

Almost nobody is the runner (or triathlete) they would like to be. All of us are bound by countless barriers that prevent us from training more consistently, or performing better in races.

Some of those limits are beyond our control – our age, our genetics, and (although it may be sexist to say) our gender. This is just as true for elite athletes as for everyday back of the pack runners. There’s ample evidence at races: some runners can simply train less and still run faster than others who spend much more time and effort training. We all know the guy who you never see on the road for several weeks, then he shows up at a local 10K and runs 36 minutes.

Sure it’s frustrating, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Like they say, the first step to being a great runner is to pick the right parents. Fatalistically, our highest level of performance is largely determined before we are even born.

Yet no matter how genetically gifted a person is, somewhere out there lies a physical task that is unattainable. It’s just at a different place for each person. That guy who can run a 36 minute 10K on minimal training may have a barrier of 32 minutes. Somebody else may never break 40 minutes. For elite level marathoners, it’s somewhere under two hours. Paula Radcliffe’s might be 2:10. Although the boundaries to these limits are nebulous (maybe Paula is capable of 2:05 or better - who honestly knows?), they are as immutable as the laws of nature.

So we all have a physical barrier that is unsurpassable. On top of that, we have additional limits that we impose upon ourselves, in how much time and effort we dedicate to maximizing our potential. These limits are largely determined by how we prioritize our training in relation to everything else in our lives.

If training is a relatively low priority, we will never come close to approaching those physical boundaries. Typically, the self-imposed limits completely overshadow our genetic predisposition, so most of us have no idea what our true potential might be. In fact, it’s entirely possible that there’s someone more gifted than Lance Armstrong walking around out there who is oblivious to his gift because he’s never been involved in athletics.

On the other hand, the exclusion of extraneous concerns allows us to fully maximize our potential. This is exactly the theory that has produced dramatic improvements in American distance running over the past several years: gather a group of promising athletes together, provide all of their living expenses so they don’t need jobs, give them expert coaching, and let running be the sole focus of their lives for several years. (It seems like an obvious formula – so how come it took us 20 years of getting our butts kicked to figure this out?)

The rest of us make our own decisions as to how much time and effort we devote to reaching a certain goal, and how much we set aside for other things. That balancing point is in constant flux; it may vary greatly from year to year based on countless other circumstances.

Eventually the runner in us strikes a bargain with all our other roles (as a family person, a professional, etc.), and uses whatever hours we are allotted during the week to develop our athletic talents, and gain an approximation of where our ultimate barriers might reside.

That's actually part of the attraction for many runners: the chance to explore the outer limits of our body's physical capacity at a given task.

I’ve often wondered about where my limit as a marathon runner lies. It’s a romantic notion to ponder how fast I could run if I were fully committed to training. Really now - who wouldn’t want to know? After several years of racing, I think I have a ballpark idea, which I’ll save until the next post (in the biz, that’s what's known as a “teaser”).

There’s no question that if I didn’t have a job, slept eight hours per night and took midday naps, spent as much time as I wanted in running or cross-training, and could afford unlimited physical therapy or massage therapy, I could easily shave several minutes off my marathon time. But for me, that reward wouldn’t justify the sacrifices required to attain it (plus, I couldn’t watch nearly as much reality TV – and what kind of life would that be?).

Over the years I’ve struggled to balance of the amount of training I do with my roles as a husband, father, and provider. It’s taken a lot of trial and error, and there were definitely times when I overemphasized running to the exclusion of more important things.

Right now, the balance I have is comfortable, if delicate. I’m usually satisfied with the amount of training I can do, and I’ve given up the longing to find out what my ultimate limits as a marathon runner might be.

All of which brings me to the task I’m facing this weekend. But today’s post is long enough already. Come back tomorrow, and I’ll elaborate more.

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Birth of a Trail Runner

Occasionally I get the opportunity to introduce a fellow runner to my favorite local place to run: Garland Ranch Regional Park in Carmel Valley.

I’ve been running through this 4500-acre preserve for more than a decade, and my love for the hills and trails has not diminished with the passing years. If anything, my familiarity with each trail and pond and rock formation has helped me appreciate the area even more than when I first explored it.

Taking someone into the park with me is frequently a symbolic stage in my relationship with that person. For some reason, I feel more kindred with somebody after running through these trails than I do when running together on the roads.

I feel the most peaceful, the closest to my true self when I’m on the trails. So if running with someone on the roads is like dating, then taking that person to Garland Ranch is like bringing him or her home to meet the family. It’s like the first hometown date on The Bachelor – the best opportunity for the other person to get an accurate snapshot of the person I really am, for better or worse.

Therefore, just like when I was dating, I’m somewhat selective about whom I take with me into this setting. And yesterday, I brought somebody with me to run the trails for the first time.

Yesterday, I ran in the park with my son.

We hadn’t done any running together since last week’s 5K workout. In the meantime, he hasn’t complained of any leg pain, and just for good measure, I bought him a new pair of running shoes. (And since I put a picture of my own shoes here a couple months ago, I figure I’d do the same for him. So here they are…)


(Same question I asked about my own shoes – do they look fast?)

Since the Big Sur 5K course has some trails, I figured we needed to do some training in the dirt. He has been in Garland Ranch before on his bike, but the majority of the park is off-limits to bikes, so running was his opportunity to see things and go places that were completely new to him.

We ran on a couple of my favorite trails, and he enjoyed hopping over rocks and maneuvering around roots and branches as we went along. We met his sisters and mother for a rest break at the “waterfall” (not a real waterfall - just a trickle of water down a rock face. But the name sounds cool, doesn’t it?), then resumed our adventure on a couple more single track paths on the way back to the car.

I have no idea how far we ran. It was probably close to three miles, including all the walking breaks. I wasn’t at all concerned about the distance.

More important to me was the number of times he said “Cool!”, or “This is fun!”, or “I like this” as we were winding our way through the trees. When we finished, he said he liked trail running a lot better than laps at the track, because he likes to “see all the nature.”

Last week’s workout convinced us that the kid is capable of finishing next weekend’s 5K. But yesterday’s run might have done something even more important: it planted the seed in him that perhaps there is more benefit and enjoyment to be had from this activity besides just entering and finishing races.

He also gained some awareness of what I do on the weekend mornings while he's still resting in bed. The next time I come home muddy and sweaty, he'll understand what I've been doing and why I enjoy it. Maybe he has a better sense of the type of person his Dad really is.

He's discovering things in himself and in nature that he hadn't known before. He's learning things about his father that I could never teach him by merely talking. Best of all, he appears to be enjoying himself along the way.

Call it another beautiful run in Garland Ranch.

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Hurricane Drums

If you've ever browsed my website of article archives, you may have come across a version of this article I wrote before last year's Big Sur Marathon. I wasn't a blogger then, so I've tinkered with this article a bit, and the current version is below. It's about one of my favorite parts of the Big Sur course...


It's been twelve months, and I can still hear them.

Most marathons make an honest effort to provide some sort of course entertainment for the runners (after all, it can be a very long time to stay focused), but none lend themselves as easily to inspirational accompaniment as the Big Sur International Marathon.

The scenic coastline easily echoes the beauty of instrumental music, and there are several points between Big Sur and Carmel where runners are encouraged by orchestras, jazz bands, bagpipes, or piano sonatas. However, all of these sounds fade in comparison to the impact of the Taiko drums at the base of Hurricane Point.

Japanese Taiko drums originated over 2000 years ago as instruments of war. Their thunderous sounds were ideal for intimidating an enemy army from a distance. The drumbeats could be heard across the whole battlefield, and changes in pace or pattern were used for coordinating the movement of large numbers of soldiers.

Once a battle was waged, the constant drumming above the din reassured and motivated the soldiers to continue fighting, no matter how formidable the opponent appeared. They knew that as long as they heard the drumbeat, the battle plan was still in effect.

During the Big Sur Marathon, runners hear the drums before they see them. Depending on wind conditions, the first faraway sounds are picked up about 1-2 miles before the Little Sur River bridge, where the drummers stand on the shoulder of the road. The bridge sits at 40 feet above sea level, and immediately after crossing it, the runners begin the 2.2-mile, 520-foot climb to the top of Hurricane Point.

Hearing the drums in the distance, runners know they are approaching the signature climb of the race, and even experienced racers get a slight sick-in-the-stomach feeling about the challenge that lies ahead.

Talk about intimidation from a distance.

At the base of the hill, the emotional dynamic changes. The sound of the drummers grows louder and louder, until you pass right in front of them and see them pounding away relentlessly. Amidst the thunderous drums you hear shouts of encouragement from the congregating relay runners, and your heart thumps harder as you take the full measure of the daunting obstacle ahead.

It's a pure fight-or-flight situation, and (assuming you don't quit the race right here) the adrenaline boost emboldens your spirit and puts some extra spark in your legs as you take your first brave strides upward.

Before too long your body begins to protest the climb, and the drummers are no longer in sight. However, you can still hear their drumbeats above the sound of your heavy breathing and the howling of the wind as you soldier ahead in the midst of your battle against the hill.

I like to match the cadence of my strides to the rhythm of the background drums, as if I'm channeling the energy of the drums into my legs, to maintain my turnover and steadily reach the summit.

Shortly after the summit of Hurricane Point, the actual sound of the drumming ceases, but their powerful echo still resonates in my mind. Even as I'm passing the grand piano at Bixby Bridge, or any of the other musicians in the last half of the course, I keep the sound of the drums as my primary motivation as fatigue sets in.

I'm reassured in that as long as I can hear the drums in my head, I can keep my legs moving toward the distant finish line. I keep their rhythm through the final challenging miles, until I ultimately cross the finish line.

It’s only at that moment that I finally allow the drumming in my head to cease.

By now I've run the Big Sur Marathon so many times, and the sound of the Taiko drummers is so distinctively strong, that I'm able to conjure their rhythm in my head almost any time I need to. I frequently summon the drums when I'm ascending a long hill, or when I'm growing fatigued in the final miles of a 20-mile training run.

As the months drift toward the end of the year, my memory of the inspirational drumbeats of April grows slightly dimmer. But then the calendar turns to January, and I realize that it's time to shift my Big Sur training into high gear. Into February, the sound of the drums grows more prominent with each passing week.

By the time April arrives, I can clearly visualize myself at the base of Hurricane Point, close enough to the drums to feel their vibrations, charging ahead against formidable odds.

The drums fill me with dread. They also fill me with strength. The drums inspire and encourage me, through the race and through the year.

I can't wait to hear them in person again next week.

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Boston or Big Sur?

Sometimes a single word makes a big impression. I was reminded of that after my last post.

It didn’t hit me until I read several comments that I probably implied the wrong message about my shortcomings. I primarily felt stupid for not anticipating the situation that would arise with the kid’s shoes. But then I wrote about what a “good” dad would do, when the proper word choice would have been what a “smart” dad would do.

I wanted to convey that fact that I felt like an idiot, not that I thought I was an inadequate father. Unfortunately I was a bit off-target in expressing this.

So as always, thanks to everyone who left comments, because that’s what usually allows me to see if the message intended (by me) was actually the message received (by you).

OK, so enough of that. On to today’s post…

Every April, marathon runners in the Monterey Peninsula face a conundrum of sorts in deciding which marathon to run – Boston or Big Sur. Both are premier races, but for different reasons.

Boston is such a legendary and exciting race that every marathoner should run it at least once, just for the experience. Big Sur is awe-inspiring, and perhaps the ultimate “destination” marathon in America. If you lived halfway between the east and west coasts and had to pick one of these races to do...well, it would be a tough call.

Of course, there are always some locals who take the best of both worlds, and do both races every year.

We talk about all of these topics in our Monterey Herald article from last week, which you can read here.

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Sore Feet

My son and I couldn’t have asked for a better day yesterday to do our 5K training together. It was sunny, warm, and beautiful – in other words, exactly what Carmel Valley is supposed to be like in the spring.

I know we’re not completely in the clear yet, as there’s supposed to be rain again today and then a bit over the weekend. And I’m certainly not a meterologist, but there was just something definitive about yesterday’s weather. It was like spring had finally barged through the door, planted itself on the couch, grabbed the clicker, unbuckled its belt, and decided to settle in for a while.

It seemed like an opportune time for a good workout. I felt even more optimistic when my son stated that he wanted to cover at least 4K. He did 3800m last week, and wanted to progress onward from there - a good trait in a runner, I’d say. The conditions were ripe for a breakthrough day.

We did the following workout: 1600m jog, 400m walk, 1200m jog (fast last 100m), 200m walk, 800m jog (fast 100m each lap), 200m walk. Total distance 4400m.

Without telling him the distance, I asked how he felt, and he said he was doing OK. So we added one more flourish: 400m jog (fast), 100m walk, 100m jog.

Total distance…5000 meters!

After I told him the distance, he had about half a second to make an astonished face before I grabbed him in a bear hug and congratulated him like crazy. It was, as Simon Cowell or Paula Abdul would say, a moment.

He walked back to the car with a big grin on his face. I asked him again how he felt, and he said “tired, but happy.” Which was exactly the answer I had hoped for. Then he surprised me and took off ahead, racing me to the car. Clearly, the day went as well as I could have expected.

Or so I thought.

After my wife and I fell asleep last night, our son came down to our bedroom complaining that his feet hurt. Both of them, on the tops of the arches. We gave him some motrin, a massage, and a heating pad, and eventually resettled him in bed.

So, um,…maybe we overdid it a little bit yesterday. Luckily his feet felt OK when he woke up this morning, but I’m taking last night as a red flag that I need to be a little more cautious in progressing our workouts.

It also occurred to me that he might benefit from an actual pair of running shoes. When he’s running with me he wears his school shoes, which are also his everyday walking around shoes, and his working outdoors shoes, and his pretty much doing anything except going to church shoes. (Obviously the kid doesn’t have quite the same shoe stipend as his father.)

And of course as I typed that last paragraph, I felt stupid for not recognizing that this could potentially be a problem. You know, a good dad would have figured things like this out ahead of time. Preferably before his son became injured.

Hopefully we can resolve the issue before it gets any worse. I’ll spend some time today or tomorrow looking for a basic pair of running shoes to get him through the race without hurting.

Because my primary goal is that he enjoys himself on race day. After all the training he's done so far, he certainly deserves it.

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...And All Californians Shouted "Amen!"

The sun has been shining all day today. Not a trace of rain in sight. It's 76 degrees outside with blue skies and a slight breeze. Spring is definitely on.

Hopefully this also signals the imminent termination of Californians complaining about the weather. Our long national nightmare is over.

I'm heading outside to run with my son.

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From Kelly to Alan

This morning I ran for 35 minutes, and it seemed odd.

I typically base my taper off of a three-week framework that Pete Pfitzinger wrote in Running Times several years ago. The general idea is to have a handful of hard workouts interspersed among several short, easy runs, while gradually bringing your overall mileage downward.

Yesterday was a fairly difficult 13-miler (on the loop), and tomorrow will be 11 miles with 7 at marathon pace, so that made today an easy day – the schedule called for 30-40 minutes at an easy pace.

After several weeks where my shortest run has been about 7 miles, it felt very strange to turn and head for home after running only 15 minutes. I tacked on an extra 5 minutes just to appease my OCD tendencies, but ended the workout feeling like I had barely started. I guess that’s the point.

Anyway, my mind usually starts to wander when I’m running aimlessly, and this morning was no exception. And this morning, it kept wandering right into Kelly Clarkson’s abs.

I’ve watched her “Walk Away” video a handful of times over the past week now. It’s a funny video, and the tune is fairly catchy. In the video, Kelly wears an outfit that covers her arms and chest, but leaves her stomach exposed down to her low-rider jeans.

And I need to be careful about how I say this, because I dig Kelly. And like I said, the video is amusing. But I can’t help thinking that she still needs to raise her game a bit when it comes to showing us her stomach.

It’s not that it’s a bad-looking stomach. Far from it, actually. But it’s clearly not in the same league as Beyonce’s, or Shakira’s, or the all-time classic: Britney Spears circa 2002.

Sure, that’s a tough comparison to make, but ab-baring is definitely a game where you have to bring it strong, or don’t bring it at all. And - just to re-state for emphasis - Kelly’s good. She’s probably better than 99% of us. She’s just not world-class.

Since this is (ostensibly) a running blog, I’ll use this illustration. Remember Alan Webb in 2001? He was the best high school runner in a generation, poised to take the world by storm. Then he started running in international meets and getting his butt kicked by Kenyans and Moroccans and even a lot of European runners. He won the Olympic Trials 1500m by almost a half-lap in 2004, but didn’t advance past the preliminary round at the Athens Olympics.

He was still the best miler in America, but he wasn’t quite world-class. But now a few years later, he holds his own against international fields, and his name can be legitimately entered into a discussion of the world’s best runners.

So let’s think of Kelly Clarkson’s abs like the 2001 Alan Webb. She’s got one of the best looks going, but Beyonce and Shakira are totally kicking her butt right now – they’re her versions of Bernard Lagat and Ramzi Rashid (using the same analogy, Britney Spears would be Hicham El Guerrouj – simply the best miler ever). And if she wants to compete at their level, she needs to step it up yet another notch.

She's winning-the-Olympic-trials good, but not competing-head-to-head-with-Beyonce good. There's a big difference.

But she’s still young, like Webb, so there’s cause for hope. And personally, I’m pulling for her to jump into that world-class discussion – I mean, there’s always room in the talent pool for another hardbody, right?

Not to mention, this is the kind of competition I could really enjoy watching over the next couple of years.


(See what kind of crazy things can happen if I don’t get enough running?)

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