Short Distance - Big PR

As I huddled in the concrete irrigation channel looking at all my coworkers soaked and shivering I had to laugh a little. It's not often you're cold in Hawaii and yet somehow we'd managed it quite nicely.

It was the morning of the mock PRT (Physical Readiness Test), a full length practice to get us ready for the full test in November. Our command is really focused on having everyone pass and therefore used this preemptive test to see where the overall fitness level was before we' actually get graded.

I knew I could pass, it'd been years since I'd had an issue finishing the 1.5 mile run within my age-group time requirements, but I was still a little jittery. Most of the time if you blow a race you just get upset, if I had a poblem with this run I'd have a black mark against me in my service record and get put into the command's mandatory fitness program (probably more likely to hurt than help).

This mock PRT was broken down into two sections, one starting at 6 a.m. and another at 7:30. Apparently they didn't think that anyone would voluntarily show up to the earlier run and half the administrators hadn't shown up on time, the course hadn't been ironed out yet, and they had planned on less than 30 people doing the run (about 90 of us had the same idea to run it early and avoid the Hawaiian heat which starts aggresive and early).

At 6 in the morning, Hawaii is still pitch black. We stood around the field in groups, chatting amicably, waiting for the head administrator to show so we could get the show on the road. Then it started sprinkling.

We laughed about it at first, our testosterone showing. Bring on the rain! Ha ha. Then the wind started to pick up and the sprinkling turned to pouring. Testosterone went out the window, we started scrambling for some cover. Some people had parked close enough that they just sprinted for their vehicles (probably the fastest they would run all day), others like me opted for the closer concrete drainage. There was a small hill with a concrete gap build in, it looked like the entrance to a bunker or something but didn't go anywhere. What drainage value it has, I don't know, but it did provide a semblance of shelter from the rain and wind.

About forty of us piled into the crack. For a couple minutes we were laughing at ourselves and how Hawaiian rain storms typically only last a few minutes. Then we were shivering and joking about huddling together for heat. Five minutes later, rain and wind still going strong, we were joking about the headlines the next morning across the nation "Dozens of Servicemen Die of Hypothermia in Hawaii".

Eventually the rain died down and the requisite people showed up. We attempted to get warmed up, jumping jacks (a military staple) and some ineffective stretches. They obviously weren't prepared for the number that showed up as everything took forever. It took a good portion of an hour to do the push-ups and sit-ups portion. No one ever worries about those, they're run on an honor basis. That is, you count the push-ups and sit-ups you complete in the time frame and report how many you've done. Unless one of the administrators notices a person having problems with the exercise they're just about impossible to fail.

The only good thing about these delays was that by the time the run portion was started the sun had peeked over the mountains. Our shirts started to dry and the temperature had risen enough (thankfully) that I didn't feel too stiff when I lined up at the start.

I'm always nervous before the physical readiness tests for the reason I listed above, but this one had a little extra riding on it. I'd recently, somewhat jokingly, challenged my supervisor to beat me in the PRT. So I'd started treating this mock PRT like a practice for a race; not only did I worry about messing up and having it go on my record but I was also anxious for it to go well to avoid potential embarassment in front of my coworkers.

I'm not much for speed running, never have been, but I run quite a bit so I thought that was a pretty good foundation for having a good run. I figured I'd start out at about 80% of my top speed, keep it up as long as possible, and hope for the best. It was only a mile and a half so I could push myself pretty hard and not have to worry too much about blowing up before I finished. I hoped.

They shouted "GO!" and we were off. One of the nice things about running in smaller 'races' is that the crowd thins out pretty quickly and getting into your groove isn't as difficult. That was definitely the case here.

I started out with my 80% in mind, running as close to a maintainable sprint as I could. I thought there was no way I could maintain it for the full distance but I was going to go as far as I could.

Then I reached the 'quarter' marker and the volunteer yelled out our time as three minutes. That was depressing. I mean, running harder than I ever had for a PRT and only being set up for a 12 minute time? I was still running at my goal pace, body feeling good, and I was barely going to beat my normal-easy time? I wanted to yell.

When we reached the turn around point another volunteer was yelling out times and we realized that the 'quarter' marker wasn't close to the actual quarter distance. I heard this second volunteer yell out "5:15" and felt my spirits return a bit.

You see, I've never beaten the 11 minute mark in the 1.5 mile PRT. Partially it's that I'm not a particularly fast guy and partially it's that running shorter/faster races never appealed to me. This time, though, if I could keep the pace up I would beat my personal record (PR) of 11:09.

We reached the same 'quarter' volunteer on the way back, I was still on pace. I ignored the time, knowing that it wouldn't be an accurate guage of pace. I just needed to focus on my feet and keeping them moving the same speed they'd been going.

Then my feet started really burning. I'd gotten a few twitches from them since the start. Apparently my stride changes a little bit when I'm pushing my speed and I was getting some blisters in weird places. They were really hurting when I rounded the last corner and saw the finish 80 yards away.

I thought of what it would feel like to beat my PR (and my supervisor) and pushed it out. There was one guy about twenty feet in front of me and I focused on passing him. I had this nagging suspicion that I'd slowed down when my feet started to really hurt and I knew that if I didn't pick it up, and quick, than I might end up close-to but not better than my best time.

He sped up as we closed in. I sped up. We flew through those last 80 yards at a dead sprint. Apparently I had a little more gas in the tank because I managed squeeze past him a few yards from the finish. We grabbed our cards and crashed in the nearby grass.

One of the techniques the administrators came up with for the PRT was to simply record finish times in order and hand out cards to the finishers. Then you'd go up after everyone finished, give them the numbered card and they would know what time you had by what place you finished.

We waited around. I felt pretty good, I knew I'd passed with time to spare but was really interested in finding out what time I had. In my heat I'd finished 6th. I knew my supervisor had been on duty the night before and wouldn't be running with us, but for some reason I wasn't concerned with him at all. PRs aren't something I generally track and pursue but this one had been such a difficult one over the years, so elusive, that it had developed it's own deep meaning.

Once the last person finished we all crowded around the guy with the clipboard as he called out finish places. He wasn't calling out finish times unless the person failed but I managed a glimpse over his shoulder as he took my card.

10:47

I couldn't believe it.

This is one of the great things about running. I'll never break a world record for my speed but it meant the world to me. When I had finished in 11:09 I'd been 23 years old. Now, almost exactly five years later, I beat that time by 22 seconds! And now that I know I can break 11 minutes, now I'm thinking that with a little more training I could break 10:30 by the time the real PRT rolls around in November!

There won't be any headlines like "Guy Breaks 1.5 Mile PR!" or even "Irony: Frozen Servicemembers in Hawaii!!", but I won't forget this for a long, long time. Or at least until I break this PR.

(Originally Posted 19 September 2009, Runners World and Myspace)

Abnormal Motivation

Another writer suggested recently that I pick a subject to ponder for the week while running, then write about it after the seven days are up. This week's subject; motivation, though I think it picked me this week rather than the other way around.

A couple of days ago my supervisor, in front of the whole shop, asked me if I was in FEP. The Military loves it's acronyms and in this case FEP stands for "Fitness Enhancement Program". When someone has a hard time passing, or fails, the Navy Physical Readiness Test (PRT) than they are automatically put in FEP and do three mandatory command-coordinated workouts a week.

My supervisor is new to the shift and hasn't been around while I've talked about races I'm running, the tri's I'm training for, or the really cool new workouts that have come out recently. He simply came to the shift, looked at me, and assumed that I wasn't within Navy standards.

A year ago I wouldn't have been insulted, I was out of shape and looked it. I've never had a hard time passing the PRT but I wouldn't have faulted the guy for thinking that I might. Now though, I've lost twenty five pounds, run a marathon and multiple shorter races, and do a variety of workouts at least four times a week. Right now, the Navy PRT (for my age group: 45 pushups, 55 situps, and a timed 1.5 mile run) is basically a warm up. I still look like a big guy, but rather than fat-big I just look stocky (or so I thought).

This supervisor, who smokes and probably weighs 160 pounds soaking wet, looks like he'd have a hard time opening a stubborn pickle jar. I gave him my best you-can't-be-serious look and calmly told him in front of our entire work shift that just for saying that I was going to have to smoke him on the next PRT. He said "Oh" and went back to whatever it was he'd been doing.

So this morning, instead of the long, slow run I would normally do, I did two miles of hard-core intervals around the track. I've been training for some longer races that will lead to the Honolulu Marathon in December but I think for the next month until the PRT I am going to throw in some variety. Namely speedwork, intervals, and some killer hills.

Motivation comes in many forms. Some run for health, some run to lose weight, others run because someone made a negative implication about them in front of their co-workers. Before, I just looked at the PRT as something I had to do every six months, now I'm looking at it like a race. It's something to train for, something to work towards, and in doing so probably setting a new PR. Look out PRT, look out supervisor, here I come.

(Originally Posted 04 September 2009, Runners World and Myspace)

Big Az Hill

I have been off-schedule this week with my runs. You know how that is, some weeks are just too cluttered to put in the workouts you'd hoped for, the kiddo was sick, the wife had meetings, I did too many squats the day before and my legs were jello... It happens to everybody.

So it was a bit of a surprise when I realized I had 40 open minutes this morning. I grabbed my running shoes and dashed out the door, no plan, no route, just the desire to try and fit in a decent workout in less than an hour. As I set out I started thinking that maybe I needed a hill workout, the perfect way to get in some burn in a short time. Otherwise I was going to have to settle for just a quick couple miles before heading back.

There is one large hill on base called "Radar Hill", a hill with a road spiraling up it most of which is going upward at about a 45 degree angle. I started doing the math in my head, a mile to the hill, half mile uphill, half mile downhill, mile run back. Yeah, I thought, I can do it in time!

I kept checking my watch as I approached the hill, I was keeping perfect pace to make it back. As I started uphill I noticed a 'serious' runner on his way down. As much as I run I have a hard time calling myself a serious runner, they're the ones that are hardly breaking a sweat and yet still outpacing me. We nodded to each other as we passed.

For the next ten minutes I grinded out the hill. I kept expecting my body to protest the workout because the last time I started dragging almost immediately. The last time I'd tried the hill a couple months previously my legs started burning almost as soon as I set foot on it, this time I was motoring up the road efficiently without the feeling of impending collapse. I reached the top and looked around at the amazing vista. To some degree I realized how much stronger I was, but didn't really think about it before I started back down.

About twenty meters of downhill and I saw something startling. That same 'serious' runner was almost back to the top. Again! A second trip up Radar Hill? This guy is REALLY serious about his running.

As we passed I looked at him in amazement and said, "Two trips? Man, you are way more hardcore than I am." He smiled and we continued on our seperate ways.

Then this crazy thought occured to me, IS he more hardcore than me? Probably, but that doesn't mean I can't try, right? I mean, one of the motivational quotes that always moved me was (I'm very roughly paraphrasing, and I have no idea who said it) "If you know that you can finish, you're not pushing yourself." I did a quick inventory, and was amazed that my legs still felt pretty good. I did a quick time check and was amazed again, I'd done the uphill faster than anticipated and the downhill was waaaay faster than the uphill.

Am I seriously considering this? Turning around at the bottom and going back up? I was. I laughed at myself and reasoned that even if I couldn't finish it, at least I'd tried. So I paused at the bottom, tagged the light pole, checked my time once again and turned around.

About a third of the way back up I saw the runner again, I grinned and said a quick Hi.

He looked at me, shook his head a little, then grinned yup-you've-been-bitten-too and between puffs said "Good... Good..."

I'm not sure if I'm in way better shape than I was, or if the boost I got from having a 'serious' runner compliment me was enough, but I made it all the way back to the top and down again.


When I reached the end of the run I looked down at my watch "00:40:30".

Maybe not "Good... Good..." but certainly not bad.

(Originally posted 29 August 2009, Runners World and Myspace)

My First Marathon, Take Two

I recently posted the report of my first disastrous attempt at a marathon last December. What I didn't really go into in that post was the mentality I came away from it with. As I lay in bed for the two days immediately following the marathon, nursing my solidified calf muscles, the biggest thing in my mind was revenge. I decided I was absolutely signing up for the next year's Honolulu Marathon and I was going to completely blow it out of the water.

I couldn't wait to get back out, up the miles, find a pair of shoes I could love, and put to use all the lessons I'd had to learn the hard way. I envisioned myself running as many races as I could get into, doing cheerful 26-mile training runs every Sunday. Then, a glorious return to the HM and a smiling finish, crushing the beast completely.

Well, nothing ever quite works out the way we think it will. Oh, I've upped my miles significantly. I'm a much stronger runner than I have ever been before. I've got all the tools that I need to conquer the upcoming HM... except one. Confidence.

You see, in all of this planning I did for the year the biggest was to have at least one longer race. A confidence-builder, if you will. I needed something to wash the bad taste from the previous attempt out of my mouth. I needed a couple of positive points up on the board so I wasn't going into HM behind in the score. Somehow it just didn't happen.

It wasn't like there wasn't the opportunity. Hawaii has a wonderfully runner/triathlon-centric mind set. There's dozens of organizations that host informal and formal races practically every month. Yet all of the ones that I picked out and planned for fell through.

The biggest was the Kauai Marathon. I was ecstatic when I heard the Dean Karnazes was hosting it next month. Not only terrific timing for a confidence-boost (two months before HM), but as added incentive to attend and do well, Dean was going to be there. Non-runners who've heard of him are few and far between, but in the running world he's a really big deal and he was going to be on the next island over!

And I had to move. The timing of the move wasn't that bad, but it definitely killed the budget for a plane ticket, hotel room, food, race entry, cab rides... Aaarrrgggghh!

Honestly, I'd have starved myself for a month to pay for it but having a kid takes that option off the table. (Or keeps it on the table? I’m confusing myself with this figurative language)

The Kauai Marathon was the last big road race I had a realistic chance of attending... There's a couple of 5 & 10k's coming up, but not the long distance I need to get the monkey off my back. And time is running out.

I've got some chills. As I let some of the other races slip past, it didn't really concern me that much, but as the HM date gets closer I'm realizing exactly how much I needed a good race. It's like being a boxer, getting punched into the hospital, and as soon as you heal up... going back into the ring with the same guy who took you out. It's nerve wracking.

Of course, no one would be a runner if we gave up easily. Distances that commuters complain about, we're measuring up for weekend runs. Anyone who's done long distance learns to court The Wall, learns to love pushing past our mental and physical boundaries. I've tried explaining that to the wife but she continues to think I'm just plain crazy.

So, whether or not I can squeeze in another race I'll be lining up with everyone else for the Honolulu Marathon. Up until the starting gun I'll probably be the guy in the back swallowing constantly and looking slightly green around the

gills. However, once the feet start moving I have a feeling that all the nerves in the world won't hold me back for long.

(Originally posted 15 August 2009, Runners World and Myspace)

How to Unsuccessfully Attempt a Marathon

When I arrived in Hawaii last August I was a mediocre runner who really wanted to get serious. With a little research I found the Honolulu Marathon, which takes place every December, and decided that registering for it would give me the incentive to push myself. So I did.

My family was encouraging though they thought I was a little crazy. I’d done cross-country running in High School (with mediocre results) only to keep in shape for the soccer season.

Unlike me, my eighteen-year-old sister has been a pretty successful long distance athlete. She ran cross-country (with better than average results), and did long distance skiing for the high school. Jen thought the marathon was a cool idea and immediately volunteered to run it with me, despite the fact that she’d never run more than six miles at a time.

So we did the research. We found all the webpages, read some books, bought our bodyglide and gu gels. We found training plans. We figured we were good to go. I upped my miles and she started lacing up running shoes instead of skiing boots. She was still in High School, living with my parents in Alaska, so her outdoor runs were a little more complicated than the average winter runs.

She flew down in December, we were all excited and ready to go. Unfortunately, both of our training plans had fallen by the wayside, neither of us getting in more than 17 miles at a time. I’d had to move in the middle of my training, which really messed up where and how I was running. She’d been frustrated by the cold and had only gotten in long runs on a treadmill at the local gym. We didn’t appreciate the difference between a 17 mile training run and a 26.2 mile race. We would soon enough.

It might we worthwhile to mention that winter in Hawaii is otherwise known as “the rainy season”.

We lined up at the starting line, agreeing to run our own race but we’d at least start together. By the time the gun went off it had already started raining.

By mile 2 there was standing water on the roads.

As in any large race there is barely room to breath for the first few miles, let alone run your own pace, so we ran slowly and relaxed together.

At the 5k mark I had to pee, so I stopped and waited in line at the port-a-potty (she ran on). It wasn’t until I started to run again that I realized why the line took so long, all the other male runners who’d had the same urge were relieving themselves in the bushes on the side of the road. Well, at least I was safe from a public-indecency charge.

It was still raining. It continued to rain for the next hour.

I’d been halfway intelligent when starting out and put a spare set of socks in a Ziploc bag in my pocket. At mile 8, when it finally stopped raining, I paused and swapped out socks. It didn’t help much, my shoes were soaked and there was so much water on the roads already. Within minutes the new socks were soaked too.

My feet had started to hurt. Not the blister-hurt, more of an achy-my-feet-are-soaked kind of hurt. I tried a coating of Vaseline at the next aid station, but I had a feeling that the damage was already done.

For this race I’d chosen my most lightweight shoes, thinking they would dry out more quickly and I would tire less. The combination of wet feet and the shoe’s lack of padding were killing my feet.

By mile 15 every step was agony. It was pins and needles.

At mile 17 there is a loop. As I approached it I kept watching the runners coming out of the loop for a glimpse of Jen. Whatever the odds, we did see each other. She ran over, gave me a quick hug. We chatted for a second; she admitted that her feet weren’t doing so hot either but her adidas’ were handling it a little bit better. We went our separate ways, me into the loop and her on to the finish line.

By the time I came out of the loop I was in a painful schedule. Run for a minute, hobble/walk for a minute, repeat. I started doing the math in my head. Only 8 miles to go… sigh…

The last 8 miles were pure horror. My feet felt like they were going to fall off any moment.

Somehow I managed to finish. There was a lot of limping involved. I passed the finish line in a little over six and a half hours, an hour after my little sister. Her race hadn’t been much better, but being eighteen she’d handled it better.

Before the race my wife, a personal trainer, had jokingly suggested that I coerce my eighteen year old sister into getting a “26.2” tattoo after the race. This is apparently something that many first time marathoners do. I think we seriously considered it until we actually ran the race. There was no doubt in either of our minds that this was not a “successful” marathon. We did not “compete” or even really “complete” a marathon. We simply survived one. Barely.

(Originally Posted 15 August 2009, Runners World and Myspace)

As she got on the plane to go back to the frozen north we agreed that next year we’d do it again, and this time we’d do it right. There were plenty of lessons learned and believe me, we’d taken them to heart.