Getting into Gear

So I was out on a 12-mile run this afternoon and it occurred to me that I had a lot of, for lack of a better term, "crap" attached to my body. So I thought I'd use the opportunity to simultaneously write about my favorite running gear and hone my design skills. Just click on the image and it should open in a new window. Click on it again to enlarge it.

(By the way, my wife reluctantly took this photo. "You're so gross after you run," she said. "And I look like a freak taking your picture in the middle of the driveway." Thanks for being a good sport, hon. Love you!)

Oh, and look below the photo for a few more of my faves.



Other items:
Adhesive tape: "Sir, you've got blood on your shirt." I was on the treadmill at the gym a few years ago when a lady next to me made the observation. Sure enough, I saw the embarrassing blood and the underlying cause - runner's nipple, a relatively common ailment that occurs when your shirt chafes your skin. The solution? Simple pieces of clear adhesive tape. Not pretty, but certainly prettier than scabby chest parts. Price: $1 per roll at the Dollar Store.

Vaseline: Sure, stores will convince you that Body Glide is the way to go to keep that chafing at bay. Not for this frugal guy. Good ol' Vaseline works just as well for a fraction of the cost. Price: A couple of bucks at Walmart.

Timex Ironman watch: Mine's pretty basic - it keeps up to 10 split times and that's about it - but it's a good device for a lot of reasons. One, it helps me to set my pace on some of the predetermined routes I run. Two, it makes sure I get home in time for my wife to go to work in the morning. What else do you really need? Price: $25 at Amazon.com.

Cheap sunglasses: ZZ Top was right, you don't need to spend a lot of money on fancy eyewear. The ones I wear are just Oakley-style knockoffs from Kohl's. I like the way they fit, they do a good job of keeping the rays off my eyeballs and I think they look okay. If I break them (which I'm prone to do), then I can just get a new pair. No harm done. Price: $15 at Kohl's.

Forest Gump and Me

I caught my first glimpse of him early on a Saturday morning as I drove into town for the start of the annual Zionsville Anti-Mini Marathon. He wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt, a black pair of shorts and a hydration pack slung across his back, and he slowly jogged along the side of the road, a solitary figure moving through the early-morning mist.

I didn't think much of him until I saw him again at the starting line. It was there when his appearance struck me.

His reddish hair was long and unkempt, like it hadn't been washed in days nor cut in months. His beard, the same. His forehead was deeply lined and tan, and his eyebrows were streaked white by the sun. His eyes were distant. Honestly, he was kind of weird looking, a little "off," like a homeless guy in running clothes.

So of course I introduced myself.

"I'm Steve," he said, his voice low and resonant. He seemed shy, like long conversations weren't his strong suit.

"You do this race before?" I asked and nodded to the woods beyond, to the start line of the half-marathon course I'd run five times before.

"First time here," he said and looked at his shoes. "But I've been running a long time."

"Really?" I said. "How long?" I expected him to tell me about a lifetime spent running. His answer, therefore, surprised me.

"Well, I left my house at midnight from Greenwood and it was pretty windy all night. I'm a little worn out." Greenwood is south of Indianapolis, roughly 30 miles from where Steve and I stood.

"Seriously? Wow. You do a lot of ultras?"

Steve smiled at the question, a little sideways facial twitch underneath his beard. "Sure. I just finished a 100-miler in Calfornia. Hitched my way across the country to get there."

Turns out, Steve's run a bunch of ultramarathons. Been doing them since high school, he said, which, as it happens, wasn't that long ago. "I'm 20," he told me, "but I look a lot older." He said he's met all the big names in ultramarathon circles - Scott Jurek, Dean Karnazes and the like. "They're all pretty cool guys," he said and looked back at his shoes.

By then it was race time. I wished Steve luck and headed out. The Zionsville Anti-Mini is a 13.1-mile race that requires runners to complete four 3.something-mile laps. On Lap 3, I passed Steve. He was still plodding along.

"Way to go, Steve," I said as I passed him. "Keep it up." He smiled that sideways smile again.

For a few minutes, I actually felt pretty good about my accomplishment - I just passed a guy who runs ultramarathons, I thought. And then reality struck; at Mile 13, I was going to be done. I could walk back to my car in the parking lot and head home.

Not Steve. For him, Mile 13 only marked a point just beyond halfway. When he was "done," I realized, he still had another 30 miles to go to get back home to Greenwood.

Suddenly, my accomplishment didn't seem so great anymore.

I've been thinking a lot about Steve since that race. I wonder what motivates him? I wonder, is he running toward something? Away? And what does he hope to find when he gets there? What must the world seem like 20 or 30 miles into a run at 3 in the morning? What goes through a man's mind?

Whatever the motivation or the reason, I'm glad I met Steve. He is exactly my opposite. Where my life is structured and rigid - filled with school bells and soccer practices - Steve's seemed open and free. He reminded me of Forest Gump running across the United States. Or Christopher McCandless in "Into the Wild," just experiencing the world and his place in it. I'm not saying I'd want to be Steve, but he was fun to meet, and his free spirit was something to experience.

I hope I can capture some of that spirit in the future.

Keep running, Steve. I hope you find what you're looking for.

Note: The picture at the top of this blog was taken before the start of the Zionsville Anti-Mini Marathon. That's me on the left (I'm not sure why I'm standing like that) and Steve on the right.

New stuff = motivation

Author's note: Holy crap! I knew I hadn't blogged in a while, but this is ridiculous. Sorry. Won't happen again. Well, maybe it will, but it's a nice thing to say...now, on with the post...

I downloaded some new songs to my iPod the other day. Just a couple of ditties from iTunes - a little Cake, some Prodigy, a dash of Radiohead. And about two weeks ago I received and wore the new Headsweats visor I ordered (thanks, Sean, for the recommendation). I got some new Livestrong running shorts, too.

Why do I mention these trinkets? Because they help. Well, they help me anyway. See, no matter how dedicated I am to running, getting out there on the road or treadmill day after day after day can get a little monotonous. The same songs, the same clothes, the same scenery - it can get redundant, and it can make even the most obsessive athlete think about taking a break.

But something about a new item can take a little of the edge off and can give me something new to keep me going. New songs, new shorts, a headband, all of it gives me a fresh perspective on the road.

New scenery, too. Last weekend I was in Portland, OR, for a journalism convention. I taught a class at 8 on Saturday morning and then, rather than sit in on a couple of additional sessions, I decided to hightail it back to my hotel, throw on my running gear, lace up my shoes and head out to the Riverwalk along the Willamette River. It was a beautiful little trail along the waterfront, taking me past the Saturday Farmer's Market underneath Burnside Avenue and a quaint little shopping plaza a little farther south. In the water were several rowing sculls filled with dozens of people learning the sport. The weather was beautiful - 60 degrees and partly sunny, just perfect for an extended run. I probably ran eight miles that morning, but it certainly didn't feel like it. I was too busy checking out the new sights to worry about how far I ran. If anything, I had some extra fuel in the tank. I was ready for more, and that motivation was enough to get me through the next several days once I returned home.

I'm not suggesting you go broke trying to find new stuff to keep you going. Just small stuff can be enough. A new set of music. A new snack. A new trail. That's about all I need.

Oh, and the new water bottle I've got my eye on...and that new running shirt...and those socks I've been thinking about...and...

Happy running!

My idol Scott Jurek and me

So I've finally got a running idol. His name is Scott Jurek and he's an ultrarunner.

For those of you in the dark, an ultrarunner is anyone who runs distances farther than a marathon. Fifty, 60, 100, 150 miles at a stretch, these men and women take extreme sports to the extreme. They run races like the Badwater, a 135-mile race that starts in Death Valley, CA (200+ feet below sea level) and ends at the Portals of Mount Whitney (8,000+ feet above sea level) in July (average temperature, 115 degrees). Or the Western States, a 100-mile run that takes place on trails in California's Sierra Nevada mountains. That ultra starts at the base of the Squaw Valley ski resort and ends in Auburn, CA. Runners climb a cumulative total of 18,000 feet and descend a total of 23,000 feet on mountain trails before they reach the finish.

But what makes Scott Jurek cooler than most is not that he's won those races multiple times, which he has (he won Western States seven consecutive times and Badwater two times). No, I admire two other qualities that Jurek possesses that go beyond his unbelievable endurance - his tenacity and his sportmanship.

Granted, I've never met the man and probably never will (though it'd be really cool - Hey, Scott - can I call you Scott? - we're about the same age. Wanna go out for a drink sometime?), so this is all based on accounts I've read, including Born to Run by Christopher McDougall and an article by Steve Friedman in the April 2010 issue of Runner's World.

First, his tenacity: By all accounts, Jurek was never the fastest guy growing up. Yes, he was fast, just not as fast as his teammates, who used to call him "The Jerker" because of his slow speed. As he moved beyond high school and college, though, Jurek realized, while he wasn't necessarily speedy, he could keep a good pace for a really long time. That tortoise and the hare wisdom certainly applies here; Jurek still holds the course record for the Western States with his 9:20 pace over 100 miles. I can run a 9:20 pace. Hell, I can run a 6:30 pace, but not for 100 miles. That's insanely awesome.

Second, and perhaps more important, Jurek's sportsmanship is above reproach. It seems "Jerker" only applies to Jurek's running style. The man is most certainly not a jerk. Quite the opposite, in fact. According to every article I've read about Jurek, at the end of every race, whether he wins or loses, Scott Jurek waits to cheer on every single finisher, no matter how long that might take. Think about that - every single finisher. That's a hell of long time, especially in an ultramarathon, which might take a couple of days to finish. Are you kidding me? I don't care how fast or famous you are, that kind of regard for his fellow athletes makes Scott Jurek top-notch in my book.

So there you have it, Scott Jurek, my running idol. I thought about him today as I ran - a 17.5-mile loop where I averaged 8:40 miles. I was burned out at the end, though, nothing left in the tank. That run made me think about the feats of endurance that Scott Jurek completes on a regular basis. And when I was done, I just wanted to go inside, ingest about a gallon of fluid and take a nap. I couldn't even imagine staying out there for who knows how many hours waiting for my fellow competitors to finish. I admire Scott Jurek for his athleticism. But I admire him more because he is a good representative of the sport.

Run on, Scott Jurek. Run on.

Happy running.

Slow and Steady

We made it. Better yet, we made it together.

As I previewed a couple of weeks ago, this weekend, Sean, my college buddy, and I completed the ING half-marathon in Atlanta, GA. For me, it was my 10th (or 11th, or 12th - I've lost track) race of that distance. For Sean, it was his first. Granted, he finished a full Ironman a year or so ago, but he admitted to me at the starting line that he'd never signed up for just a run before.

I'll admit the race was a different experience for me for two reasons. First, for all the races I've run, I've never run one with a partner before. I'm used to sticking in the headphones, cranking the tunes and going. On Sunday? No headphones. It was just me and Sean and 16,000 other runners.

Second, I'd never run a race at that pace before. While I'm not as fast as I used to be, I can still average an eight-minute mile or so for 13 miles. Sean, on the other hand, cannot. The cancer he had more than 10 years ago left him with poor circulation in his legs. He explained that when he exercises, the blood in his legs starts to pool and his heart starts to pump harder to push that blood through his body. If he's not careful, his heart rate can spike to an unsafe rate. He takes beta blockers about an hour before he works out which helps to regulate his heart rate, but the medicine only works to an extent. Sean wears a heart rate monitor, and I found myself constantly asking him how his heart was doing as we ran. If the pace was too fast, we'd have to walk for a bit. Once his heart slowed below 120 or so, we started to jog.

At first I thought the slower pace (about an 11:30-mile average) would be a problem for me. I wasn't used to it. I hadn't prepared for it. And I worried about Sean. Would I just arbitrarily start going too fast? Would Sean, being the competitive person he is, try to work too hard to keep up?

Turns out, those worries were for naught. In fact, I found the pace to be liberating, even exhilarating. See, the thing is, it turns out people who run 11:30 miles are way more fun than people who run eight-minute miles. At the faster pace, it's all business. No one talks. No one smiles. It's just running, running, running for 13 miles.

At 11:30 there's a lot of chit-chat. There's a lot of camaraderie. At an 11:30 pace, there's time to slap fives with the kids who line the road. There's time to say a genuine "thank you" to the volunteers who hand out Gatorade and water. There's time to actually enjoy the scenery (including the really hot woman we ran behind for some time - thighs so tight you could bounce quarters off of them) and appreciate the spectacle of 16,000 people bobbing along a street at the same time.

Along the way, I met people and actually had conversations with them, like the group of barefoot runners who talked about remodeling their Web site (the address of which escapes me at the moment) and the guy who saw my 1993 Ball State Bike-a-Thon T-shirt. "You from Muncie?" he asked in a race in the middle of Atlanta, GA. He'd run the Muncie Endurathon, which, according to him at least, is the longest running half-Ironman in the country.

We cheered at each mile marker as we neared the finish line. Or, well, I cheered. The people around me weren't quite as rousing at that point, but I think they appreciated my enthusiasm. And when we reached the finish line, Sean and I crossed it together. Sean said he was pleased with his time (about two and a half hours). Me? I was pleased with the time I had, too - not clock time, mind you, but a great time just the same.

In the end, that race made me realize something pretty important about life. It made me realize how valuable it can be to slow down from time to time, to appreciate the little things, to not constantly worry so much about what's around the next corner. That race reminded me that it's not the finish line that's the most important part of the experience; it's the journey to get to there that matters.

And it made me remember how important it is to have good friends. I'm glad I ran that race with Sean. I think he was glad, too.

I can't wait to do it again.

Happy running.

The agony of da feet

It's a good thing my wife hates feet. She always has, which is helpful because if she married me based on the current quality of my dogs, she'd be running for the hills as we speak.

Bottom line: While running may be good for a lot of things, it isn't good for the tootsies.

I don't mean to be too graphic here, but I can't avoid it; my feet are disgusting. At present, I have the following ailments: three black toenails, several big calluses on the tips of my toes, some thick calluses on my heels and a Band-Aid covering a blister on my Achilles heel. Don't get me wrong, my feet feel just fine, they just look gross.

I'm not alone. According to an October 2009 New York Times article, "Most runners end up losing a toenail from time to time. It is called onychoptosis, which means 'falling nail' in Greek, and is typically caused by injury or stress to the nail." Additonally, an article in the January issue of Runner's World indicated black toenails are a badge of honor. "Congratulations!" the article states. "These bruised nails are tiny trophies conferred upon you for roughing it out." In a strange way, then, I should be proud of my damaged feet.

Still, I'm glad the problems are confined to my feet and not, say, my forehead. At least I can keep my toes covered. Then again, summer's coming soon, which means flip-flop weather.

Sorry, honey.

The Undead Soul of my Soles

It is with a heavy heart that I lay to rest my Asics GT-2140s, a pair of shoes that lasted many miles and traveled with me over countless trails, potholes and...

I'm not dead.

Excuse me? Who said that?

Me. Down here.

Oh, hey shoes. Sorry about that.

What's this about me being dead?

Well, I mean, I just meant to say that, well, you're not really dead but you're...well...

Just say it. I've been replaced.

Well...yeah. Sorry.

No you're not.

Sure I am. Well, a little.

No you're not. You're not sorry at all. You were always planning to get rid of me. I knew it when you got those barefoot running shoes at Christmas. Sure they were lighter and cleaner. But I just chalked it up to a phase. You know, some passing fancy. But now...now you've got this new pair. And BROOKS of all things. BROOKS!

I said I was sorry.

Well sorry isn't gonna cut it, mister. I mean, c'mon, we went through so much together. We ran a MARATHON together.

Yeah, that was my first marathon...good times...good times...But look, it's over. I'm sorry. It isn't you, it's me...No, I lied. It really is you.

Really? What's wrong with me?

Honestly? You stink. Literally. You really stink. And you have holes in the toes.

Yeah, well, you're bald, so what's that got to do with anything?

Touché. But anyway, it's just different. We've just grown apart. That's all. Nothing more. We just have different goals in life.

Oh, I see how you are...just use me until I'm worn out. Just use me until I'm no good for anyone or anything, and what do you do? You just find another pair and keep on going your merry way.

Well, yeah...you're shoes, after all. That's sort of how this works. And you're not good for nothing. That's why you're in the garage. Come spring time, I'll use you when I mow the lawn.

MOW THE LAWN!! IS THAT ALL I'M GOOD FOR TO YOU? MOWING THE LAWN!?

Well...yes.

Oh...well...I guess the lawn's all right. I mean...it'll get me outdoors...

See? That's the spirit.

Promise me you'll say hi from time to time?

Promise.

All right then. Sounds fair.

Glad we got that settled.

Just remember I'm not dead.

I'll remember.

Happy running.

Confirming/conforming my suspicions

Editor's note: This was written in advance. Some a lot of editing was necessary.

I met my nemesis today at the gym. You remember my nemesis, the pompous, egomaniacal jerk nice guy with the Boston Marathon jacket I complained wrote about who occasionally makes a point to show me up runs on the treadmill next to me. His name is Mephistopheles Paul and, as I suspected, he drowns kittens in remote ponds seems pretty nice.

Turns out he stole the Boston Marathon jacket ran the Boston Marathon last year. He told me he cheated ran it in three hours and 16 minutes. He said he's planning to club a baby seal run the Indianapolis Mini Marathon this May.

He told me he was a high school dropout Ball State grad and he was a former ex-con pole vaulter.

I told him I hated him and all he stood for it was nice to meet him and I'd see him around.

I knew I was right about him all along.

ATL, here I come

I'm getting excited. In a little more than a month I'll be heading to Atlanta to run the ING Half-Marathon with one of my best friends from college. What makes it even cooler is my other best friend from college will be joining us.

But what makes this cooler still is that, had it not been for some great doctors, my friend's unbelievable spirit and a pro athlete with an inspirational story to tell, this event could have never happened.

That's because just 13 years ago, my friend nearly died.

Sean, my fraternity pledge brother, my cycling partner, my roommate, my bud, was diagnosed with testicular cancer in 1997. I remember the date well because it was the same year I got married. Sean was supposed to be one of my groomsmen. He'd already gone through a few rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, but he was bound and determined to make it to my wedding.

He made it through three pictures.

On our wedding day, the photographer came to Sean and Doug's apartment. (Doug is the other friend who will be joining us in Atlanta. We all roomed together in an off-campus house our senior year in college, and, once my wife and I got married, Sean and Doug still roomed together in the same apartment complex where I lived.) The photographer wanted to get candid shots of us guys getting ready. Once we were all suited up, we stood in a row outside of Doug and Sean's place. There were three shots. In the first, Sean was smiling widely. In the second, his smile had faded. By picture three, the smile was gone.

Sean never made it to the wedding. His sickness made it impossible for him to attend. I know it devastated him.

I have never seen someone so sick in my life. As Sean would often tell us, his doctors needed to treat the cancer agressively, to the point where they nearly killed him. That was by design, he said. The treatment was geared to kill the cancer, and in order to do that they had to nearly kill the patient. It was a tenuous line between life and death that Sean walked for several months.

But a few key elements kept Sean pushing forward. One was his amazing family. Sean's parents dropped everything to come and take care of their only child. That type of unwavering love must have been a beacon for Sean. Another was Sean's health before he got sick. To put it mildly, Sean was an athletic maniac. He had been a member of the Ball State cycling team and his mile splits in runs put mine to shame.

The other element was Lance Armstrong. Yes, THE Lance Armstrong. You're probably familiar with Lance's story, how he battled testicular cancer and came back to win an unprecedented sever Tours de France. Well, Sean had the same cancer, and as a cyclist, he had followed Lance's story as it had unfolded, this just a year or so before Sean was diagnosed. That story gave Sean hope. In fact, Sean ended up having some of the same doctors as Lance from the IU Med Center.

Sean wrote Lance once, when Sean was in the midst of his illness, and Lance took the time to write back. Lance sent a photo, and on the photo he had written, "Sean, Believe in yourself. Believe in your doctors. Believe in the treatment." It wasn't until after Lance's book It's Not About the Bike came out that those words would make more sense. In the book, Lance talks about how he wasn't a particularly religious man, so he found the things that he could count on—namely, himself, his doctors and his treatment. Those words made a difference for Sean, and they did for me, too. To this day, I still wear my Livestrong bracelet proudly. I don't care what people say about Lance Armstrong, about his personal life, his place in history; all I know is that when my friend Sean needed a lifeline, Lance Armstrong was there.

Which brings us to next month and the ING Half-Marathon. Yes, Sean recovered from his cancer but not fully. He still experiences difficulty with his legs and feet. He can't run or ride nearly as fast as he once did. He even told me I could run off by myself down in Atlanta; he didn't want to hold me back.

Are you kidding me? We're running that whole race together, and we're going to have a great time. We're going to soak in the scenery and enjoy the whole experience of it all. We're going to relive college memories and make some new ones along the way.

And it's gonna be awesome.

Happy running.

IT's a pain in the band

When I ran my first (and so far only) marathon this past November, I felt great for more than 15 miles. And by great, I mean really great. I knocked out the first 13.1 in way less than two hours and I thought, with a pace like that, I'd be well on my way to breaking the four-hour goal I'd arbitrarily set for myself. In fact, part of me thought a finishing time of a little over three and a half hours was even an outside possibility.

My hip, though, felt otherwise. Just past Mile 15 I started to feel something—a dull throb that started on the outside of my left hip. That ache quickly became a sharp pain, and no matter how great I felt in the rest of my body (my lungs, my feet) that pain wasn't going away. Pretty soon it was all I could think about. I didn't want to stop, but by Mile 18 I had no choice.

I tried to stretch, but nothing worked. Nothing I did really addressed the root of the problem. I tried to do the few hip exercises I knew, but they didn't get to the source of the pain. Whatever ailed me seemed to be deeper than my muscles. I pressed on, determined to finish this race I'd trained so long for, but as I watched the four-hour pacesetters, then the 4:15 group pass by, I knew a good time wasn't in the cards. I limped over the finish line in just under four and a half hours.

After the marathon, I came home and showered, and while my hip still hurt a bit, it wasn't debilitating like it was during the race. In fact, a couple of days later I ran on it again—just for a few miles—and I felt fine. And that was frustrating. How could a 38-year-old in good physical shape with no other ailments suddenly start experiencing these problems? And how could these symptoms go away as quickly as they started?

I researched a bit, and while I've not completely diagnosed the problem, I had a theory. Last week, I tested it out.

On Wednesday I ran a 12-miler on some great country roads by my house. I love runs like that, out in the middle of nowhere. As I usually do for safety, I started my run facing traffic, but after about six miles, I felt the beginnings of that same hip pain. Rather than stop, though, I simply switched to the other side of the road so I was running with traffic (thankfully the roads I run are not heavily traveled). What was interesting was that, instead of intensifying, the pain in my hip abated. After a few more miles, it was gone. All from simply switching to the other side of the street.

Funny thing about roads that I've since learned, especially roads out in the country: They have a high "crown" to them, a high spot in the center to allow water to run off to the sides when it rains. Run long enough on one side of those roads—say, facing traffic with your left leg lower than your right—and eventually you're going to feel some pain.

Turns out, I'm not the first to discover this. An article from the Running Times discusses how the iliotibial (IT) band, which starts in the pelvis and runs along outside of the leg, can be aggravated by just such an activity as running along the side of road. When I switched to the other side, I was able to alleviate the problem by taking that constant pressure off my left hip.

Now I'm not sure if this is the medically correct answer to my problem. All I know is that when I switched sides of the road, the pain went away. I was able to run 12 miles pain free. It's definitely something I'm going to keep tabs on in the future.

(Oh, and to keep you up on my calf, luckily it was a small(ish) pop. It still hurts a bit, but I'm going to try running on it this evening at the gym. Wish me luck.)

Happy running.

A pain in the leg

So I was going to write about my hip and how, after a long run, I feel pain. I was going to write about how I discovered that running on country roads where there's a high crown can lead to problems in the IT band on your left side if you run facing traffic. I was going to write about how I discovered if I ran on the other side of the road, with traffic, the pain in my left hip went away.

I was going to write about all of that. But now that story has to wait. I've got a bigger pain to worry about, this time in my calf.

It all starts with a pop. I'm running along, as I was tonight, and I can feel and sort of hear (though that latter is probably in my head) a "popping" sound. It's the sound of my calf muscle, wound tighter than a drum as always, pulling or tearing or something to that effect. When it happens, as it has several times before, my heart sinks because I know it means several days, or perhaps weeks, of recuperation.

My recovery depends largely on the severity of the pop. A little one means a little discomfort. It means lots of extra stretching and some stiffness each morning. But a big pop is worse. A big pop means my calf swells up to twice its normal size. It means I can barely walk, let alone run, for a week or more.

No amount of stretching beforehand seems to help prevent the pop. It just happens. Like tonight. I was just running along on the treadmill, not terribly fast, just moving at a nice steady pace. I was shooting for seven miles, but by Mile 5 I was feeling so good I thought I might run a little longer, nine or even 10 miles. I was watching the Texas v. Oklahoma basketball game on the TV above my head and I was thinking about the ING half-marathon I'm planning to run in Atlanta in a little more than a month with my good buddy from college.

And then came the pop and all of my thoughts went to my leg. As is usually the case, I can still run on my damaged calf; it's afterward when the pain really sinks in. So I ran a little bit more hoping I had imagined it, hoping the problem wasn't really a problem at all. No such luck. I shut the machine down after 6.2 miles and attempted to stretch. The problem is, the pull is so deep inside the leg I have yet to find a stretch that really gets to the root of the problem.

It's now been a few hours since the pop, and I'm sitting here on my couch waiting to see what the outcome of this pop will be. So far, it seems like this one may be rather minor, but it may be too soon to tell. Tomorrow morning will reveal a lot.

Until then, I'll keep stretching and cursing my muscles.

A spoonful of masochism

It's been a punishing few days at work. First, the HiLite website went down on Friday, the same day the paper came out. Then, I faced the ire of some upset readers after they read a particularly sensitive staff editorial. What's interesting is I had control over none of this. The staff's Web team is in charge of the nuts and bolts of the site and the staff editorial was decided upon and written by the student editorial board. Regardless, as the adviser of the newspaper, I'm in a unique position; I'm directly responsible for nothing yet I'm indirectly responsible for everything. And as a visible first line of defense, I often get to feel the brunt of the scrutiny that is an inevitable part of the job.

But rather than lashing out at others, I responded this weekend with a bit of self-punishment in the form of some pretty serious workouts. I've responded this way for a long time. My earliest memory of "therapy via exercise" was in early college after my girlfriend of two and a half years and I broke up. I was devastated to be sure, but rather than wallow in my misery, I hit the gym. There was something about pushing my body to its physical limits that allowed me to clear my head and mellow the pain and inner turmoil I was feeling. I would come out on the other side of those workouts tired, drenched in sweat, often unable to lift my arms above my head, but somehow feeling better than when I went in.

Since those early days, I've found a true therapeutic benefit to exercise. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not suggesting that I somehow damage myself or my health via these bouts of exercise. Rather, I use the inner pain or confusion as motivation to push myself externally. And when I emerge on the other side, it's a sense of renewal I feel. It's a feeling that's akin, I imagine, to a Native American who completes a vision quest, albeit without all the peyote or the near-death experiences.

It's always been difficult for me to admit when situations are beyond my control. I understand that concept, but I don't embrace it, and as that sage Tom Petty sang, it's the waiting that's the hardest part—the waiting for the situation to resolve itself, the waiting for the reaction that I know will come, the waiting for a time when I won't think about the problem during every waking minute. So I find activities to fill that time. Exercise seems the logical choice, and it's rarely failed me.

This weekend was no exception. After a 10-mile run yesterday and a one-hour weight workout followed by a five-mile run today, I came home to find that the website's back online and the sponsor of the club who was upset over the editorial e-mailed me to let me know, while she still doesn't agree with the viewpoint, she understands the process and the students' right to publish that opinion.

And I feel better. While the problems in my life won't ever stop or completely go away, it's good to know I've found a way to cope—a healthy way, that is. While I can't control every situation, I can control how I respond to those situations.

Happy running.

The soundtrack of my life

For years, Saturdays have traditionally been my "long" days for running. I look forward all week to a few free hours when I can escape from the world to let the wind blow through my hair—or, well, buffet my bald head at least.

Still, when the big day arrives, it's difficult to get past the inevitable monotony of it all. No matter how much I like being by myself with my thoughts (see previous posts), 10 miles or more on the road or the treadmill is a long time to listen, even to the dulcet tones of my own inner voice. Which is why I have embraced the advent of the personal music device.

Back in high school I carried, by today's standards, what would be considered a giant Walkman tape player. It was good, but its limitations of only allowing for one tape at a time soon became evident. That device was soon replaced with a set of radio headphones that gave more music options, if only you could push through the steady stream of commercials or manage to tilt your head just so to avoid frequent interruptions of static.

But regardless of limitations, I was hooked by the thought of carrying my music library wherever I went. In fact, I would argue that the mp3 player is one of the most significant inventions for today's distance runner. Since those early days I've owned a litany of music devices, most of them from the iPod collection. They all work well to some extent, but prolific sweat and occasional drops on the pavement give my mp3 players a rather short shelf life.

Except for one, that is. Originally, the mp3 player I still carry was a gift for my wife. It's one of the first generation iPod Shuffles, the white kind that's about the size of a pack of gum. I gave it to her when our second son was born about four and a half years ago. It remained in the box long enough for me to realize that, while it was a good gift, it wasn't going to be part of my wife's exercise regimen. So I inherited it, and I have used it ever since.

Which leads me back to my original discussion about my Saturday long runs. It seems no matter how many songs I can put on my iPod, by Mile 6 or 7 they all seem boring and worn out. Motivational songs that work during the week no longer have their same luster. My solution is to save songs back. About every third week, I open iTunes and "rediscover" my music library. I find songs I haven't heard in months or years, and I put them on my iPod, replacing those old tunes that no longer work. It's a plan that seems to do the trick. I've never run out of inspirational songs, one reason being that by the time I'm done with the current tunes on my iPod, I've had the old ones off for so long I'm able to rediscover them. It's recycling at its best.

Something I've learned over the years is even the best runners find it difficult to get motivated from time to time. Trust me, I've been there more times than I'd like to count. But as a music lover, this is a solution that works for me. It's an opportunity for "me" time where I can listen to my music as loud as I want, and no one's there to judge or tell me to turn it down or turn it off.

I have read articles from runners who bemoan the advent of the music player, saying it takes away from the beauty and serenity of nature. While I can see their point, it doesn't prevent me from carrying my iPod wherever I go, for while there certainly is serenity and peace in nature, I've sort of grown used to seeing that same nature with my own personal soundtrack. While at times the two may be incongruent, there are moments, albeit fleeting moments, when the scenery and the song match together beautifully, when the music helps me transcend my body and my thoughts and takes me to another plane. It's those moments that I grasp hold of like a barnacle on a boat bottom. It's those moments that keep me coming back for more.

Happy running.

Live life to the fullest

As I reel from today's underwhelming announcement of the new Apple iPad (Really, Steve Jobs? The iPad? Seriously?), I am drawn to areas that make me feel better — not the least of which is running. And this provides me with an opportunity to discuss Reason #436 (these are in no particular order) of why I like running: To help me live a fuller life.

This information should come as no surprise to anyone, but, as it turns out, keeping fit is even better than doctors first thought. On Jan. 26, Time magazine reported the following: "Now a series of independently conducted studies on the effects of exercise in healthy older adults, published on Monday in the Archives of Internal Medicine, confirms that logging time at the gym not only helps maintain good health but may even prevent the onset of chronic diseases, such as heart disease, osteoarthritis and dementia." (Read the full article HERE).

I'll be perfectly honest and confess that old age scares the crap out of me and I want to do everything I can to stave off its effects. I don't want to spend my retirement in a chair or a bed, unable to live independently, unable to recognize my loved ones. So I do what I can to keep those potential problems at bay. I understand, of course, that old age is inevitable, as I understand that with old age comes certain inevitable "deteriorations," for lack of a better term. Still, I refuse to go gently into that good night, to borrow from poet Dylan Thomas.

But these studies give me hope. As I near 40, I am encouraged by my own level of fitness. I am heartened as well by the numbers of older runners who fill the starting lines of races I run (and who kick my butt, too).

But what also gives me hope are words from older, wiser runners than me. As I mentioned in my previous blog, I've been reading Haruki Murakami's book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Here's a man who's nearing 60 who runs more now than he ever did when he was younger. Murakami puts it better than me. "Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest," he writes. "If you're going to while away the years, it's far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog...Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that's the essence of running, and a metaphor for life...I believe many runners would agree."

Yes we do, Mr. Murakami. Yes. We. Do.

Happy running.

Talking about running with one who knows

I've been waiting all day to share this. I'm in the midst of a new favorite book: Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. A novelist and long-distance runner, Murakami writes less about how to run and more about how to live life. Nearing 60 and with 30+ years of running under his belt, the man has my ear. His writing puts voice to what I've tried for so long to explain to those who don't understand my strange (dare I say insane?) desire to run.

Consider this excerpt, for example: "I'm the kind of person who likes to be by myself. To put a finer point on it, I'm the type of person who doesn't find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone...to be neither difficult nor boring."

And this: "When I'm running I don't have to talk to anybody and don't have to listen to anybody. All I need to do is gaze at the scenery passing by. This is the part of my day I can't do without."

For Murakami, and for me, running is almost zen-like. "No matter how mundane some action might appear," he writes, "keep at it long enough and it becomes a contemplative, even meditative act."

The world got you down? Try this: "When I'm criticized unjustly, or when someone I'm sure will understand me doesn't, I go running for a little longer than usual. By running longer it's like I can physically exhaust that portion of my discontent. It also makes me realize how weak I am, how limited my abilities are. I become aware, physically, of these low points."

Murakami seems to speak directly to me, or through me. He is wise, this man. Then again, perhaps he was destined to write as he was to run. After all, he writes, "People basically become runners because they're meant to."

A wise man, indeed.

Happy reading, and happy running.

Best laid plans

I had every intention of getting up this morning to just crush a long run. I've had a good weekend so far — 5 miles Friday night followed by a quick 5-miler outside yesterday.

But now, once again, the unpredictability of life has gotten in the way.

I planned to awaken early before everyone got up to hit the country roads just beyond my neighborhood — a nice hour out and an hour back — but the sound of hard rain and strong wind gusts at my bedroom window scuttled my plans. Fine, I thought, I'll sleep a bit longer and hit the gym. Foiled again, this time by a promise I remembered I gave my son to go to the bookstore so he could spend the gift certificate that's been burning a hole in his pocket since Christmas.

So I'll go after the bookstore, right? Wrong. Damn those cursed Indianapolis Colts and their 3 p.m. game and my neighbor with his brand new 62-inch HDTV twisting my arm (okay, he didn't have to twist all that hard).

And after the game? Maybe. But by then it'll be dark, the gym will be closing and I won't be able to get in much more than three miles or so. Plus the fact that my wife will have been with the kids the whole time I'll be watching the game.

And so the day has slipped away before it has even begun.

At least I've found time to blog.

Happy running.

The mind matters

What do you visualize to get pumped up during a run?

I ask because I think my visualization's kind of silly, but it does the trick. When I'm getting worn down in the middle of a long distance, I imagine it's the end of the Olympic marathon. I'm the underdog. Everyone's counted me out. The favorite enters the Olympic stadium for the last lap and a half of the 26.2—you know, the "victory lap" portion of the race. There's a polite cheer. He gets the first 100 under his belt and he starts to round the first turn.

Then there's a roar as I burst through the tunnel. My eyes are focused. I'm breathing hard.

And I am haulin' ass.

It's about here that I tee up my favorite kick-ass tune. (My faves are "Fever Dream" from the "300" soundtrack and "Guns" from "The Rundown." Check 'em out on iTunes and you'll see what I'm talking about.)

My pace gets faster. The favorite, he hears the cheer and he looks back at me. At first he's dismissive—he's so far ahead—but then he sees that I'm gaining on him. He tries to go faster but it's not happening. I'm too quick. His lead dwindles...quickly. Just before the last turn, we're about 20 yards apart. By the end of the turn, I'm breathing down his neck. The finish line looms in front of us. The crowd's going nuts. We're neck and neck, trading the lead.

And then, right near the end, I look over at him. He looks at me. His eyes are wide. He's giving everything he's got and he knows I know it.

That's when I smile, find another gear...and win the race.

Told you it was silly, but it works.

So what say you, blogosphere? What do you visualize? I'd love to hear it.

Happy running.

Hello, outside, my old friend

For those of you who have slacked a bit on resolutions to get in shape, note that this marks the beginning of a three-day weekend, and that presents a new opportunity to ramp up efforts to get, and stay, fit.

That being said, it's amazing the rejuvenating power of the great outdoors.

Today was my first day running outside for...well...I can't tell you how long. It was still a bit chilly, a bit damp, a bit foggy—"fuzzy," a friend's daughter once called it—but the roads were clear. Finally. After five miles on the treadmill last night, I didn't think I could take another day of staring at my reflection in the window. So I laced up and headed outside.

It was glorious. All of the stars had aligned, it seemed, to allow me the perfect running conditions. I had dressed perfectly—shorts, a Dri-Fit undershirt, a long-sleeve shirt over that, gloves, a headband to keep my ears warm. I used my new Ironman watch, a Christmas gift, to keep mile splits. The music on my iPod kept hitting the right tunes at the right time (a little Paul Oakenfold, a little Prodigy, a whole lot of Girl Talk)...

...and I flew. Or I felt like I was flying at least. The miles ticked by and I got stronger. I kept track (thanks to the watch): Mile 1—8:30, Mile 2—8:27, Mile 3—8:25. And so on. Mile after mile.

I had planned to run six or seven miles. In the end, I ran 10. My time on that last mile? 8:00.

It's supposed to rain tomorrow, but I'm not planning to let that deter me. I've gotten a taste of the great outdoors. And I'm hungry for more.

Happy running.

Time is not on my side

Until tonight, I haven't run since this past Saturday.

And that's a problem.

I'd like to run more and I have good intentions. See, I like to research various workout plans to find ways to improve my performance. Just yesterday, for example, I printed off a 10-week half-marathon training regimen, and it looked great. It looked do-able.

Only it wasn't. The problem? I can't run six (or even five) days per week. I'd like to (Heck, I'd like to run every day if I could, though I know that's not healthy), but it's a logistical impossibility. The reasons are myriad. First, it's winter, and that means it stays dark until after I've already arrived at work and gets dark again about an hour after I come home. Second, I have young children. It's not like I can leave them home alone while I scratch my running itch. Third, life gets in the way. Just last night, for example, I didn't get home from school until 8 p.m. so I could participate in the eighth grade academic night. Early morning workouts aren't an option either. I already get up at 5:45 a.m. just so I can get to work on time, which means I'd have to get up at 4:30 in order to get anything meaningful done; plus, the roads are still dark and snowy—not very safe this time of year.

All of that means my running is sporadic at best. I know it's important to find time to work out, and trust me when I say motivation isn't the problem. But who has the time? I can't believe I'm alone in this, which is why it's all the more frustrating when I see running "gurus" provide workout plans as if they don't have a care in the world. Don't they have families? Jobs? Lives? Does anyone have a plan for a busy working dad? If you do, I'd love to see it.

There may be hope, though. My neighbor works at my gym. He suggested the other day that I could stay after hours to work out while he cleans up the place. He's there anyway, he said, and there are a few other guys who stay, too. That might be a solution. I could go after my kids are in bed and still have enough time to get in a decent-sized run. It'd mean I wouldn't be home and showered until 11 p.m. or so, but it beats doing nothing. There are worse ways to spend an evening and it would beat skipping three days between runs.

Happy running.

Karma's a, well, you know

I'm too competitive for my own good.

I like to think I'm in shape. When I get on the treadmill at the gym, I like to believe I can hang with the people around me. I either keep my pace faster or, if I'm next to some young buck who starts off on a six-minute-mile pace, I run farther. For that latter scenario, it's a tortoise and the hare mentality: That fast kid usually gives up after a mile or two while I'm still pushing forward.

Not so today. Guy next to me started off at an 8.0 (7:30 mile). Me? 7.0. So I started ramping up the pace. By mile 2, I was at 7.5. Dude next to me? 8.2. I began to envision me racing with this guy, his silhouette fading quickly out of sight while I labored along getting farther and farther behind.

I upped the treadmill to 7.7—a 7:45-mile pace—and held on. Surely this guy would be stopping soon. Surely if I couldn't outpace him, I could outlast him.

But alas, I couldn't keep up. After five miles, I had to stop. Dude? Still going strong. I stepped off the treadmill, wiped it down and headed over to the weights, disheartened. Twenty minutes later, my treadmill neighbor finished his workout. He headed over to the lockers at the back of the gym to get his jacket. On the back, there was a logo: "Boston Athletic Association: 113th Annual Boston Marathon. April 20, 2009."

So much for complaining about resolution runners in my previous post. That's karma for you.

Happy running.

Sign me up...or in...or something

I want a sign for the gym. Something like a get-out-of-jail-free card in Monopoly. It would say, "I have been a runner since (year) and a member of this gym since (date)." The sign would allow me to bypass the "resolution crowd" and actually get on a treadmill during the next couple of months. It would be the equivalent of getting to the front of the line at a fancy club:

"Ah, Mr. Streisel. Good to see you, sir."

"My usual treadmill, Paul?"

"But of course, sir. Right this way, sir."

Not that I have anything against the resolution crowd. Good for you, I say. Way to get motivated. Way to set some positive goals this new year.

But I write this because two days ago I got stuck in the resolution crowd rut. Contrast the gym population on a Tuesday before Christmas at around 6 p.m. (about 10 people) to the population this past Tuesday at the same time (about 60 people). There were lines everywhere—lines for the treadmills, lines for the weight machines, lines for the bathroom (not really). I had to bypass the treadmill and hit the elliptical machine. It was a decent workout, but it was no run.

So I tried a different strategy tonight. I waited until 8 to go to work out. It was a good idea. There were plenty of treadmills available; I was even able to run a full hour (seven miles).

Still, I'd like to exercise a bit earlier. Looks like that won't happen for a while, though, and that's frustrating.

Which is why I want a sign. Either that or I'll wait until the resolution crowd goes away...I figure by Feb. 20 I'll be good to go.

Happy running.

The Great Outdoors

Am I the only person who dreams about running just about everywhere I go?

I was driving to Ohio a couple of days ago with my family, and along the interstate were all of these big copses of trees. Some of these mini-forests seemed pretty extensive. And while it was a prohibitive 13 degrees outside, I couldn't keep my mind from saying in a not-so-quiet way, "I wonder what it'd be like to run in there?"

I do that all the time. For example, on New Years Day (after the OSU Rose Bowl victory, of course—Go Bucks!) I watched the premier of the HGTV Dream Home. This year the home is just outside of Santa Fe, NM. It's a nice house, full of all sorts of lovely furnishings and comfortable seating areas, but all I could think about was the outside. With all of that desert-y scrub plus all of the craggy, lunar-surface-looking rocks, I thought it looked like a tremendous place to get in a few miles. In fact, during the show, there was one split-second glance of a guy running out there in that wilderness, and I thought, "That could be me." I've registered to win the house each day since the contest opened.

When I was on my cruise to the Bahamas in early December, we were unable to make our Sunday port of call because the water was too choppy, so we were stuck on board the ship. That whole day I could've kicked myself for not bringing my running gear (I was supposed to be "relaxing"). I just felt like a good few miles would've made the whole day a bit brighter.

When I fly over mountainous areas. When I drive past a great looking trail. When I see a magazine picture of an amazing sunset. All I think about is running there. I wonder how many miles I could get in. I wonder what I'd see. I wonder how lost I could get before I find my way out.

My next trip will take me to Portland, OR. I've never been to the Pacific Northwest, but I've seen pictures.

It looks like a great place to run.

Happy runnning.

Treadmill trials and tribulations

I have a love/hate relationship with the treadmill. I love the results. I love not having to run in 8 degree weather or packed snow, but I hate feeling like a hamster in a wheel. I hate how much I sweat. I hate staring out the same window at the same boring parking lot for hours at a time.

So I play mind games to get through the workouts. Today was no exception. The first game I play is to see how far I can get before I start sweating profusely. Can I make it a mile? More? Today's distance was officially 1.14 miles. After that, you don't want to run near me (or else you should wear a poncho).

Game 2 is the "how fast can I get" game, where I bump up the speed a little bit each quarter mile. At Mile 2, I was running easily at a 7.0 (8:34 mile) pace. Then I bumped to 7.1. At 2.25 miles, it's 7.2. 2.5 = 7.3. And so on until I get to a pace where I feel like I'm working to hard to keep going up or I get bored.

Game 3 started today. At about 3.5 miles I was getting bored with Game 2, so I thought about my previous blog. In that entry, I mentioned being able to run a consistent seven-minute mile. Could I still bring it? At mile 4, I pushed the machine to 8.5 (7:03 mile) and held on. At 4.5 miles I was feeling pretty winded. By 4.75 miles, I didn't know if I'd make it—that "speed down" button looked awfully tantalizing. 4.9...4.91. I started counting my steps between hundredths of a mile. There were 10 between increments. 4.92 (10 steps) 4.93 (10 steps) 4.94 (10 steps)...the sweat was getting thick...4.95...I wanted to hit my iPod to play my favorite pump-up song, but my arms couldn't get there...4.96...4.97...Almost there...4.98...4.99...

And I made it! A seven-minute mile. It was official. Take that, 25-year-old me. I could still bring it. Well, once anyway.

I still have no idea how I used to do that consistently mile after mile.

No matter. There will be more time to figure out if I can do it more than once. After all, there are more treadmill games to play before this winter is over.

Happy running.