Shock and Blah

Part I: Shock

I guess you can say I’m stunned.

I almost couldn’t believe my ears when Chris Daughtry was sent home from American Idol last night. So much for my prediction that he would win the whole thing.

Remember my post recommending that some Vegas casino open up wagering on reality TV show outcomes? Thank God nobody ever listens to me. If that scenario had ever materialized, chances are I would be out a lot of money this morning, and spending the next several days screening calls from my bookie and looking skittishly at any overweight Italian wearing a patterned shirt. I don’t need that kind of stress. But really...who would have bet against Chris?

On the flip side of that coin...if there had been gambling lines two months ago, what do you think the odds of Elliott making the finals would have been? 50 to 1? 100 to 1? 1000? He’s like George Mason University in the NCAA hoops tournament: flying under the radar while the big names knock each other out one by one, and delivering surprisingly strong performances at key times. Yet it still seems no one really gives him much of a chance. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.

Last night’s unexpected turn of events also highlights two key lessons:
1) Perhaps all those people who yammer about how TV has a mass dumbing-down effect are on to something. There’s really no rational reason why I should get emotionally invested in a glamorized singing contest, or why I should care about who gets fired from the board room or sent home in a limo or voted off the island. Yet somehow, on some level, I do. And if anybody other than Terry wins Survivor next Sunday, I’ll probably be bummed out about that, too. So how stupid does that make me?
2) Regarding my prediction of the Idol winner: please realize at any given moment, on almost any given subject, there’s a better-than-average chance that I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. Just thought that needed to be said.


Part II: Blah

Five of us met at the track this morning. It was our first speedwork session since the marathon, so we made sure to choose a simple workout.

Some of us (me included) are shifting gears in our training somewhat during the summer, to focus on different races and shorter distances. My next serious race (separate post coming soon) is less than five weeks away, so I didn’t want to take too long of a layoff before getting back into the training groove.

We chose a workout that on paper appears to be very quick and painless: three sets of 100m, 200m, 300m, 400m, with equal distance recovery each time. Total distance 3000m of speed, with 3000m recovery.

The workout absolutely kicked my butt.

It was one of those workouts where nothing felt right at all: I was constantly short of breath, felt strange muscle twinges, had occasional pain in my back, and generally lacked any snap or spring in my stride. I also felt about 20 pounds heavier than last week, which – if you’ve ever seen the way I eat in the week after a marathon - may not be that much of an exaggeration.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to feel any better than I did this morning. It usually takes one or two efforts like today’s to blow all of the cobwebs out of the pipes, and get my body reacquainted with the demands I’ll be placing on it again over the next few weeks.

So now the bad workout is out of the way, and things are almost certain to only get better from here.

Except for the fact that I can’t watch Chris Daughtry on TV anymore.

Read more...

Spellbound

Did anyone else let out a cheer when they read this article?...

***
Top spellers to vie on prime-time TV
National Spelling Bee final to air June 1 on ABC

By DARLENE SUPERVILLE
Associated Press

WASHINGTON - Move over American Idol. For the first time in its 79-year history, the National Spelling Bee — the original "reality TV" — will go prime time for next month's drama-filled finals.

After 12 years of showings by the sports cable network ESPN, the final rounds of the two-day Scripps National Spelling Bee will be shown live at 7 p.m. June 1 on ABC.

"I think we're ready for prime time, and I think America is ready for spelling bees in prime time, too," said Paige Kimble, the bee's director and its 1981 national champion. "We like to think of ourselves as the original reality television programming."

ESPN spokesman Mac Nwulu said the bee really is a sport, though without the physical contact. The pint-size spellers endure rigorous practices and training; some even have coaches.

"It's captivating, just sitting down there and watching these kids spelling words you've never heard before," he said.

About 275 spellers, ranging in ages from 9 to 15 and about evenly split between boys and girls, will compete for the national title and more than $30,000 in cash, bonds and scholarships.
***

Longtime readers of this blog may remember that I’m completely fascinated by the National Spelling Bee. I circle the day of the Bee on the calendar like regular people mark upcoming weddings or birthdays.

And you know what – this TV thing was partially my idea! For as long as I can remember, I’ve been telling anyone who would listen (read: my wife) that I couldn’t understand why the Bee wasn’t featured more prominently on the television landscape. I'm actually on record recommending that the Bee has its own dedicated weekend, just like the Super Bowl or Boston Marathon.

The best part of this prime time deal is that the earlier rounds will still be televised earlier in the day on ESPN, so those of us who dream of watching six consecutive hours of competition are still satisfied. By the time the final round is broadcast that night, I'll probably be having leg cramps and difficulty staying focused - it will be like the last miles of an ultra, but in the comfort of my own home.

I know I’m a bit, um, unorthodox in my interests, but I can’t be the only one out there who is hooked on watching hundreds of pre-teen wonder kids sweat it out under the national spotlight. And I’m convinced that there is a vast untapped market of spelling fans out there. Yes, I typed that sentence with a straight face.

I mean, look at what’s happened to poker in the past few years. These Bee kids are at least as compelling as those slobs. Why couldn’t ESPN package the Bee as a series, like they do with the World Series of Poker? At the very least, the ratings would certainly outdraw professional hockey.

If you doubt my passion, I've submitted a couple of links for you to review as Exhibits A and B. Before I was a blogger, I wrote articles about each of the last two National Spelling Bees, for no other reason than it seemed like a perfectly fun thing to do. When I first started Running and Rambling, I wasn’t sure how this whole blog thing worked or where it might lead me, and I posted one of my spelling bee articles just to see how it looked in the blog format.

Since I only had about three readers back then, chances are that post went unnoticed by a lot of people reading now. (On a related note, to Jeff, Karen, and Danny: you can click off this page right here, and not miss anything you haven’t seen before.) So I’m linking to that early blog post here, and linking to another article from the previous year here.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to instruct my TiVo to clear out its schedule for June 1st.

Read more...

Malcolm Gladwell and Plinko

For various reasons, I didn’t post nearly as much as I thought I would last week.

I had this general fatigue, which shouldn’t be surprising in the week following a marathon. Work was busier than usual, and it just seemed like one of those weeks where a lot of things were going on.

The primary reason, though, was that I hadn’t been running. At all. Not one mile.

The one-week layoff was by design, allowing my body to recover from the marathon. I also welcome the downtime as a much deserved mental break – it’s refreshing to have a brief respite from planning workouts or worrying about getting to bed on time or obsessing about weekly mileage.

But the creative drought was something I didn’t quite foresee. I’ve heard about this phenomenon from several writers who utilize their daily run to facilitate the process. The well-known running philosopher George Sheehan was often photographed hunched over his typewriter wearing his running tights and sweatshirt, with beads of perspiration still visible from his morning run. He wanted to put the ideas on paper as quickly as he could after stimulating the creative juices.

In fact, an article by Kristin Elde in this month’s Runner’s World discusses the power that running has to tap into a reservoir of otherwise underutilized cognitive power. She quotes Malcolm Gladwell (author of The Tipping Point and Blink), who says he runs three to four times per week, and uses that time explicitly to work out his writing problems.

Now, I just happen to have this thing about Malcolm Gladwell. He’s a brilliant writer with razor sharp insight, and has a way of writing about all manner of esoteric subjects in a way that reads like an espionage thriller. He can tell you about a syphilis epidemic in Baltimore, or an Ivy League admissions policy, or a retrospective analysis of the “Pepsi Challenge” taste tests in a style that’s not merely interesting – he actually makes you wonder why you didn’t realize these topics were so darn compelling a long time ago.

Over the past two years he has become my favorite author. I’ve also learned that he’s a passionate, knowlegdeable sports fan, and – to top it all off – he even has a blog. It’s probably a good thing I don’t actually know him, or else I’d be in danger of developing some kind of man-crush on him. (Wait...was that out loud? Let's move on...)

So Gladwell is a writer who runs a bit. I’m a runner who writes a bit. And it turns out we have this one small thing in common: the act of running facilitates our writing.

Running is like the Plinko game on The Price is Right: I have all of these ideas for posts floating around inside my head that are the chips resting at the top of the board. They're more or less worthless up there. It’s only when I’m out on the trail or road that those chips bounce around my brain and eventually make their way to the bottom of the board, where they become something tangible.


Sometimes I’ll get an idea that’s the equivalent of a $5,000 chip. More often, my notions are like the chips that land in the $0 slot. But regardless of their future value, they all have to go through the same process before they are revealed.

So today I went running again, fired up the big Plinko game in my head, and all sorts of things came bouncing down. Here’s a brief preview: spelling bees, strawberry fields, sexy guitar players, and oh, yeah – maybe a bit about running, since I'm actually doing it again. (I also came up with the whole Plinko analogy during today’s run – but you probably guessed that already).

Obviously, no one will ever mistake my talent for Malcolm Gladwell’s. My writings probably won’t even justify the money your boss is paying you to read this blog. But I’ll at least try to keep things interesting enough over the next couple of weeks to keep you checking your Bloglines list.

That’s right: I’m promising randomness and mediocrity. And believe me, I’m capable of delivering.

(And if Malcolm ever happens to read this...if you’re ever in Carmel Valley, drop me an e-mail. We'll go running some day.)

Read more...

Through the Darkness

"Out of darkness comes light, twilight unto the heights...
Said, thank you to my God, now I finally got it right
And I'll fight with all of my heart, and all a' my soul, and all a' my might."
- Matisyahu, "King Without a Crown"


I’ve still got a couple of leftover items from last weekend’s Big Sur Marathon to talk about before I get the race completely out of my system. Just bear with me a little longer…

First, the leader of my son’s Good News Club reported to my wife that last week my son asked the group of his classmates to pray that his dad’s legs would feel better soon. Which speaks to a couple of obvious points:
1) I was in a lot of pain last week. I spent the better part of last week hobbling around in slow motion, wincing and moaning the whole time. Apparently it was even worse than I realized. And…
2) I mean, how great is this kid? He way more selfless and considerate than I was at his age – or ever, come to think of it. I guess the simplest thing I can say is that when I heard that story, it didn’t surprise me one bit.

Second, I wanted to revisit this idea of going through dark, desperate straits during the marathon. I described how it happened to me. I received e-mails from people who had similar experiences.

As you would suspect, most people ran into trouble at the same part of the course – Carmel Highlands at miles 21-23. No one who has run a marathon should be surprised to hear this.

The thing I wonder about is that in the aftermath, runners often talk about how disappointed they are to have succumbed to hopelessness and despair, even if they only faltered to a slight degree. And truthfully, I’m no different. It’s only been one week since the race, and I’m already second guessing why I couldn’t have gone just 20 seconds per mile faster for three tough miles, to shave one extra minute off my time.

It’s a natural thing to consider, but also somewhat pointless. I mean, to some degree or another, everybody goes through a difficult stretch like that during the marathon. If you are running hard and pushing your limits, you are going to suffer. It’s just part of the deal that we sign up for when we choose to take on this particular event.

It took me a long time to accept this fact, and in the meantime I frequently beat myself up for losing my focus or straying from my target pace in the latter miles of several races. I used to think I was psychologically “soft” for being unable to stay confident and positive throughout the most difficult stretches.

But here’s the thing: I was killing myself last Sunday. My feet were torn up, my calves and quads were on fire, my stomach was cramping, and I felt like my legs were made of lead. I inflicted so much pain on myself that four days later, my son was praying for my recovery. And in some form or another, two thousand other people were doing the exact same thing.

So the real question should be, why wouldn’t somebody’s thoughts turn a bit negative under these circumstances? I can’t imagine somebody going through similar conditions and being able to completely block out all of those physical alarms.

It’s almost like a chicken-and-egg scenario: do our thoughts turn bad because we are struggling physically, or do we struggle because we lose our psychological focus?

The answer I’ve settled on goes something like this: my physical training before the race prepares my body to carry me through the most difficult stretches of a marathon. The better my training is, the more efficiently I will get through those dark miles (i.e., without losing too much time). But that doesn’t mean I won’t encounter self-doubt or other mental anguish along the way. That particular obstacle is unavoidable, no matter how well-conditioned someone is.

But here’s the funny part: going through that darkness is the part of marathon running that many of us appreciate the most.

Those of us who are hooked on this sport know that there is nothing more rewarding than working our bodies to the brink of failure and facing down our inner demons, then somehow pulling ourselves through to emerge triumphantly on the other side. Some finishers will tell you they don’t even know how they get through those difficult patches, yet they always find a way.

And every time we go through that fire, we gain a self-appreciation and self-respect that is (as MasterCard would say) truly priceless. What’s more, we’re thankful for the hardships that helped us earn this awareness, because they aren't so easy to find in our everyday lives. Many of us become addicted to the feeling, and start looking for another race to renew the fight all over again.

Those people are called marathoners.

Read more...

Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Office

(I had a story that I wanted to tell last weekend, but it just didn’t fit in well with the other posts, so I saved writing about it until this week. Apologies to Pearl Jam for the title...)

About 5 weeks ago I hinted at the fact that I was working in a new office, sharing a room with two other people. I only slightly exaggerated my concern about being able to listen to Green Day and Fall Out Boy on my computer like I was accustomed to in my previous work space. (Sure, I'm learning new job duties and taking on increased responsibilities, but I can still find time to fret about these things. I’m gifted that way.)

I soon discovered that my fears were somewhat unfounded. One of the women in my office spends a lot of time off site, frequently vacating her desk for a half-day at a time.

And the other woman is as deaf as a post.

She’s one of those ladies who looks about 70 years old, dresses in outdated fashions, and takes about five full minutes to rise from her desk and shuffle over to the printer. And it took me a while to understand that her failure to respond to my questions wasn’t just her way of giving me the cold shoulder.

I’ve since learned that she pretty much relies on lip reading, and unless I raise my voice to a near yell, she’s pretty much oblivious to noises around her. Her desk sits behind the front counter of our office, and I pass back and forth in front her several times per day, yet she barely notices.

So we settled into a pattern where we each go about our own business – her typing and printing whatever unknown tasks she is responsible for, and me plugging away at my computer with my head bouncing happily to Yellowcard. Honestly, it’s an ideal arrangement (Believe it or not, I’m more of a keep-to-myself type in the workplace. Blogging is like channeling some alter ego.).

Then one day last week she startled me by tapping me on the shoulder while I was sitting at my desk with my back turned. After my initial jump, I saw she was holding a small white bag out to me, and said “I stopped at the bakery on my way in.”

I peeked inside the bag, and saw that she brought me a dozen donut holes.

This was on Friday morning. Less than 48 hours before the Big Sur Marathon. There was no way in heck I was eating those donut holes.

But I put on a happy face, thanked her about ten times, and made a big fuss over how nice she was to think of me. I placed the bag beside me until a bit later in the morning, when I opened my desk drawer and dropped it inside.

About 30 minutes later she tapped me on the shoulder again. Again, I jumped. When I turned, she was holding another white bag, and said “It looks like [our office mate] isn’t coming in, so you can have her bag, too.”

It took me a few seconds to return my jaw to its upright position before I could manage going through the same routine of thanking her again, then waiting a while before hiding this other bag in my desk next to the first one.

On my way home that night, I dropped the bags in a trash can in our parking garage. I knew I wouldn’t be eating them that weekend, and they were getting a little stale to bring home for somebody else to eat.

I felt kind of bad, though. I think I played the situation off well enough to avoid hurting the old lady’s feelings, but I still felt like it was almost disrespectful to be so dismissive of her goodwill offering.

Perhaps my actions say something about the importance I placed on last weekend’s race. More likely, they just demonstrate my overriding neuroses about anything I perceive to be a threat to my running. Either way, I wanted to make some sort of amends this week, now that the race is over and I’ll pretty much eat whatever the heck I feel like for several days.

So this morning I brought her a donut, and told her to have a nice day. She smiled and seemed happy. Then I went back to my desk and cranked up the Foo Fighters.

Just like that, all was well in the office again.

Read more...

Scenes From a Marathon

(Author's note: This is an expanded version of the article I wrote Sunday night for Monday's Monterey Herald)


The 2006 Big Sur Marathon is in the books. You’ve read the articles telling you the primary results: who won the race, how many people finished, etc. But there’s always so much more to the story. Here, then are some details that didn’t make headlines, but were memorable nonetheless, from the 2006 Big Sur Marathon.

Cool new pre-race ritual: With his sisters at Grandma’s house and his Mom out to dinner, my son chose to relax at home and watch Star Wars with me the night before his 5K race. Which was very cool for two reasons:

1. When I was seven years old, my absolute favorite movie in the world was Star Wars. And every time I think this kid and I don’t have much in common, he never fails to do something exactly the way I would have at the same age. And…
2. No matter how many times you see it, watching Luke Skywalker blow up the Death Star is simply a fantastic motivational boost. I totally had the Star Wars theme in my head the next morning.

Best way to start a race: I can’t claim to be Scottish, but there’s no more inspirational song to hear at the beginning of a marathon than “Scotland the Brave” played on the bagpipes, which has become a BSIM standard over the years. It never fails to put a jump in your step and courage in your heart.

In fact, I’ve made a mental note to travel to Scotland some day, just to see what all this bravery fuss is about.

Karnazes spots the field 10 minutes: A lot of us were on the lookout for ultrarunner Dean Karnazes making his way south on Highway 1 for the first half of his out-and-back double marathon. Unfortunately, Karnazes was a bit behind schedule, leading to the unusual scene of thousands of marathoners yelling “Hi Dean!” to him during the first mile while he passed in the opposite direction, finishing his run to the start line before turning around and running an “official” time of 3:33.

This wasn’t in the race brochure: On an open stretch of road during mile 7 lay a skunk that had probably met its untimely demise under the wheels of the countless buses traversing the road in the early morning darkness. The result was the aroma of freshly-killed skunk drifting almost a full mile down the course, growing increasingly strong until runners finally passed the scene of the crime.

Biggest missed opportunity: When we crested Hurricane Point, thick fog was all around us – we couldn’t even see the ocean directly below. I felt bad for the runner from Indiana next to me and commented in true Yogi Berra fashion, “It’s a really nice view here, when you can see it.”

Then again, maybe missed opportunities are OK sometimes: Of course, when the sun did finally come out, temperatures warmed up very quickly. It went from “cool and foggy” to “hot and stifling” faster than any year that Mike and I can recall.

Most unexpected race garb: My 2-year-old daughter’s favorite shirt is solid blue with a giant Cookie Monster face depicted on it. Imagine my surprise to see a runner on race morning with the exact same shirt. I didn’t even know they made an adult version. I wonder if you can special order it in coolmax.

Sharing the love: I ran most of the race very close behind or ahead of the 1st place woman. Appropriately, the spectators and walkers go crazy when the first place girl runs by. I heard a full three hours worth of “Go girl!” or “Hey – first woman!” and all sorts of whooping and hollering. For some reason, the crowds don’t make as big a fuss over the 28th place male. But running near the lead woman is a nice way to hear a lot of cheers – and if you close your eyes, you can just pretend they are for you.

Completely random and improbable accomplishment: This was my fourth straight year of being the 28th overall finisher. I'm not flashy, good-looking, or blazing fast, but you can call me Mr. Consistency.

The sons also run: My 7-year-old son ran the 5K, then hung around the course to cheer me across the final bridge at mile 26. He then ran the rest of the way with me to the finishing chute, thereby crossing the marathon finish line ahead of Mike’s 31-year-old son, who ran his first Big Sur Marathon in 3:30. Both dads were very proud.

After pain comes pleasure: there’s really no way to describe how good it feels to be massaged by six hands at once shortly after finishing a marathon. But that’s just what happens in the massage tent following the race. If we could figure out some way to go back several times, one of these years we might just skip the race, and duck in and out of the massage tent throughout race morning. That alone could be worth the price of a race entry.

The streak is over: Mike’s Lance Armstrong-like streak of consecutive age group victories came to an end this year, as he finished second in the 55-59 age group in his slowest Big Sur Marathon time of 3:12. When it was announced at the awards ceremony, the crowd let out a collective gasp like when Mandisa was voted off American Idol. Count on Mike to have the eye of the tiger next year when he turns 60 – all you 60-year-olds should be very afraid.

Best reason to make friends with fast relay runners: Individual age group winners traditionally receive a bottle of Blackstone (Monterey County) wine. The winning 5-person relay teams don’t get separate bottles, but instead are awarded a large magnum bottle. You know they have to open that bottle sometime – so why not stop by with a corkscrew some night to congratulate them?

Warmest reception for age group winners: Hugo Ferlito, chairman of the BSIM board, stands on the podium while awards are handed out after the race. He shakes the hand of each winner as they exit the stage, and when local runners pass by, he embraces them in a warm hug. It’s a great feeling to get a bearhug from the chairman - and just another example of the hometown charm at this world class race.

Hopefully some of these stories and other articles about the marathon will inspire you to join Mike and me for the 22nd running of the Big Sur Marathon next April. You now have a full year to train for it, so go ahead and get started! We’ll be here to help you along the way.

Read more...

Big Sur 2006 Report

So much to say...where to begin? I guess it makes sense to start with my race. This could get long-winded, so it might be a good idea to fix yourself a nice tall drink, and pull up a comfortable chair. Go ahead. I'll wait a minute.

(Waiting.....) OK? Here we go...

Looking at the numbers, especially after everything I’ve written over the past week, you might conclude that I’m disappointed with the way things turned out. You would be right, but only a little bit. I've certainly made my intentions clear about chasing after a sub-three hour marathon.

In my last few marathons I had been fairly conservative in the first half, kept a consistent pace through the late miles, and come in just a few minutes above three hours. So my mindset going into Sunday’s race was to be a little more aggressive in the early going, which would hopefully do one of two things: 1) establish a slightly faster-then-normal pace that I could maintain consistently to finish a few minutes under three hours, or 2) give me just enough of a cushion that I could slow down a bit and still duck in under the wire.

I ran the first four miles ahead of pace but very comfortably; these are the gently downhill miles that are the easiest of the course. Beginning with mile 5, the course leaves the shelter of the tall redwoods and traverses vast coastal pastures - these next 4 miles are a long, gradual uphill stretch that lies exposed to the wind. It was during this section that I hit my first decision point.

My heart rate monitor was beeping above my target level while I was clinging to a pair of runners to draft as much as I could. If I slowed the pace and dropped from these runners, chances are that my heart rate would have been just as high even while running slower, since I would be facing the headwind on my own.

(And as far as the weather goes, let me say this: it was pretty typical Big Sur weather. The winds were mild at times, stronger at others, and generally unpredictable. When the sun came out, the course seemed to warm up in a hurry over the last 10 miles. So conditions were far from ideal, but not worth complaining about. We’ve had much worse. You just take whatever you can get at this race, and Sunday was a perfect example. )

The other thing that bears mentioning with this race is that if you find yourself in the first quarter to third of the pack, you will run long stretches of the race on your own. There just aren’t a lot of fast runners who sign on for this race, because it’s about the exact opposite of what you look for in a PR course. So any time you have a chance to draft with a pack of runners, you need to take advantage.

I made the decision to stay with this pair of runners, working harder than I would have liked but keeping with my strategy to be more aggressive. We broke apart on the descent to the base of Hurricane Point, but by then I had caught up to the lead female runner, and ran with her most of the way up the 2-mile climb. After another downhill mile I crossed the Bixby Bridge, the halfway point of the race at 1:29:25 – more or less right where I wanted to be.

From this point I just wanted to keep working hard, taking the race one mile at a time, knowing if I kept an average of 6:50 per mile I would finish in 3 hours. The road kept rolling up and down, and I was gaining a handful of seconds per mile, but beginning to feel the strain.

I hit mile 20 in 2:15 – leaving me 45 minutes to do a final, very hilly 10K. I had a good chance to do it, but I was definitely feeling the pain.

I clicked off mile 21 in just over 7 minutes – meaning I was slowing down. And up next were the two toughest miles of the course – miles 22 and 23 through Carmel Highlands.

I’ve suffered through the steep hills of the Highlands many times during my marathon career. It’s a backbreaking stretch of road that can completely demoralize the best of runners. It’s the place where my inner demons emerge, and my body cries out against the pain I inflict upon myself to continue onward.

This year I felt more desparate than others – probably because of the extra effort I had spent earlier in the race. There were several times when I felt like I was barely keeping my legs moving. More than once, I gave myself a visible target to reach before I could stop and take a walking break: just make it to the next cone, the next telephone pole, the base of the next hill. The marathon became a nearly continuous series of 50-yard efforts, and it was all I could do to move from one to another.

Somehow I willed my body onward, and surprisingly never gave in to the temptation to walk. And while it felt like I was jogging in place, my mile splits were 7:26, 7:46, 7:18 - not a complete collapse, but just slow enough to put me behind my target pace. I hit mile 24 at 2 hrs, 45 minutes. It was still possible to break three hours, but with the way I was feeling I knew the odds were heavily against me.

I maintained my “dead man running” mode through the final two miles, and while I remained optimistic, in the back of my mind I knew I would just miss the goal time. The strategy I had employed was effective in putting me in position to succeed, but I couldn’t make the final move when the need arose. My only goal became to maintain forward momentum all the way to the finish.

Then came the silver lining. The 26-mile marker sits on the Carmel River Bridge. When runners cross the bridge, they see the finish line for the first time. And waiting for me just across the bridge were my son and wife, yelling and cheering me on.

They had done the 5K earlier in the day, and hung around the finish to see me home. And in the space of about two seconds, I did the following:
1. Glance at the finish line clock, which had just turned to 3:00:00
2. Turn and look over my shoulder to make sure no one was gaining on me, and
3. Gesture and call to my son to run with me down to the finish line.
And from there I shut the motor down, and jogged the final 200 meters to the finish line with my son right beside me. I probably could have broken 3:01, but at that point it didn't matter. We crossed the finish line together and started telling each other about our races while I staggered through the finisher’s chute.

Now, the three events above happened in precisely the specified order. I’d like to say that if the clock had read 2:59, or if someone had been hot on my heels, I would have done the same thing. But in all likelihood, I wouldn’t have. Thankfully, I didn’t have to make such a call, and the happiness of the last 200 meters more than made up for the disappointment of missing my goal time.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. I think that when God closes a door, he usually opens a window. I feel that if it wasn't meant to be for me to break 3 hours on Sunday, maybe the outcome was scripted to happen exactly as it did: with my son and I crossing the finish line together, sharing a moment of joy and relief, reveling in our mutual accomplishments.

Even without the memorable finish, I would have been satisfied with my effort on Sunday. I made a calculated gamble that didn’t quite pay off, but gave me my second best result here ever. To get there, I navigated through some very dark psychological waters, and pushed my body nearly to its limit to persevere.

I have even more to say about this race that I’ll discuss in the days to come. My son had a very enjoyable day, which I'll report on soon, and he has already mentioned doing another race someday. I’ve touched on a couple of other issues in this report that I’ll explore further in future posts. My next post will probably be our Herald article with some memorable snapshots of marathon day.

One thing is certain: there will be NO running this week, so there’s bound to be a lot of rambling. Most of it will be about Sunday, but then I’ll move on and talk about the new direction my training is taking over the next several months. And this blog just wouldn’t be complete without mentioning yet another music video hottie I’ve had on my mind lately. So I’ll definitely keep the information flowing during this down week.

Finally, I wanted to say thanks again to everybody who sent kind words before and after the race. It means a lot to know there are people out there interested in your results (you know, besides those who have the obligation of being related to you). As I’ve said before, running is an extremely difficult sport – so I’m glad to take every little bit of encouragement and support I’m fortunate enough to get.

Read more...