That's the short version. My son finished the 5K in about 43 minutes.
I'll post a full race report later. Tonight I need to knock out a Monterey Herald article, and then I'll be back here with all the details - hopefully by sometime tomorrow. Despite the time above, it was a really good day.
My last order of business before any big race is a very simple, very symbolic one. After my final training run, I clear the memory of my stopwatch.
I typically let workouts accumulate on my watch for several weeks. It doesn’t serve any practical purpose, but it’s somewhat comforting to carry around a reminder of all the training I’ve been doing in case I ever want to reassure myself that I’ve been preparing well.
But today it was time to put that behind me. I did an easy 3-miler, then pressed the lower right button of my watch:
“Hold to clear last wrkout – hold to clear chrono mem”.
Just like that, it was done. And just as quickly, I mentally shifted into race mode.
The past is now prologue. The real story begins Sunday morning.
This will be my last post until after the marathon. Thanks for everyone's encouragement this week.
See you on the other side.
Like many runners, Mike and I tend to be somewhat competitive on race day, especially on what we consider our home course.
But that doesn't mean we aren't good sportsmen. So in today's Monterey Herald article, we've compiled some recommendations for any out-of-town runners who will be trying to beat us this Sunday. You can read the article here.
No need to thank us. Really. We're glad to help. Honestly.
(Author’s note: I get entirely too analytical and introspective when I’m tapering for a race. It’s like the physical energy I normally use for running is transformed into nervous energy during race week. This is a somewhat rambling post, so proceed at your own risk of boredom...)
Previously in this blog I’ve mentioned one of my primary marathon goals: covering the distance in under three hours. It will be my target for Big Sur this weekend, as it has been for just about every marathon I’ve done over the past several years. So I thought I should explain what I’m up against.
First off, running a sub-three hour marathon is pretty darn tough for any runner on any course. Doing so at Big Sur, with its relentless hills and typically unfriendly winds, is a very impressive feat.
And for someone like me to accomplish it at Big Sur is almost unbelievable.
I hinted yesterday that I have an idea of my “outer limit” of athletic performance. I think that if I maximized all of my genetic variables, at my peak racing age, I could probably have been something like a 2:40 marathoner. Admittedly, this is pure speculation, but I’ve done enough races at various distances to make an educated guess as to my capability.
But I’m not at peak racing age anymore. So if I were to rearrange my life tomorrow and completely commit myself to being a competitive runner, I could probably run something between 2:45 and 2:50.
As for the person I am right now, with the balance I’ve currently struck, my best performances land me right in the neighborhood of three hours.
Maybe a few minutes under, maybe a few minutes over. It’s always very close.
There isn’t much margin for error. If I miss a week of solid training or blow off a couple long runs or carry a minor injury to the start line, my chances are pretty slim. If weather conditions are bad or if I don’t follow the proper strategy on race day, it’s almost a foregone conclusion that I’ll be a few minutes over my goal time (see also: 2006 Napa Marathon).
I don’t often run sub-three. In fact, I’ve fallen short many more times than I’ve succeeded. It used to be extremely frustrating. But over the years, I’ve come to think I like it that way. If I could run sub-three every time I lace up my shoes, I would lose my appreciation for the accomplishment.
When I was a novice runner, I trained for years to break 3:10 and qualify for Boston. It was a monumental deal when I finally did it. Now that running 3:10 is more routine, there’s really no excitement in reaching that particular benchmark. But I do find the same thrill in chasing three hours now.
The number itself really doesn’t matter, except for some reason the “zero” numbers (3:20, 3:10, 3:00) are more psychologically compelling. I felt just as happy running 3:10 to qualify for Boston the first time as I was with my first sub-three marathon. The primary satisfaction was in having a goal that initially seemed out of reach, but eventually became attainable with prolonged, determined training and a courageous, focused effort on race day.
The notion of running a sub-three-hour marathon is like a beacon that pulls me through endless mornings of training. It’s the idea that makes me run in the rain, helps me wake up at 4:30 to do long runs, and compels me to do track workouts by myself when the rest of the group doesn’t show up.
In many ways, I really don’t have any business running a three-hour marathon. I’m far too big. I eat WAY too much. I don’t get nearly enough sleep. I never train as much as I plan to. I don’t take care of injuries or illnesses properly. I’m not genetically predisposed to be an efficient runner (and if you don’t believe me, I’ll post pictures of my parents and sister someday – nobody will ever mistake my family for a 4x400m relay team).
Yet this is the person I am. This is the balance in life that I’m comfortable with. And marathoning is the event I love.
So here’s what it typically boils down to: if I train like a madman for a few months, get just enough sleep to keep my car on the road on the way to and from work each day, and have sufficient discipline to keep my appetite under control for a while, I can approach the three-hour barrier with a legitimate hope of dipping below it. If I fail in any of those measures, the deal is off.
I’m actually thankful to have this challenge that intimidates and inspires me all at once. When I get philosophical about it (you know, as in this entire post), I feel like this specific goal in this particular event is what I was made to chase after. It’s like God created this exact situation for me, where I’ll only find success by bringing out the best in myself in training, then taking a leap of faith on race day.
Will it happen this weekend? I honestly have no idea. I think I’ve done a decent job with the “bringing out my best” part. All I can do now is wait to take the leap of faith on Sunday morning.
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.
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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