Run the Year 2017

A new year, a new, giant challenge for myself.

Somewhat on a whim, I decided to try to run the year: 2017 miles in 2017. Breaking that down, that's around 5.5 miles per day, every day, or 38 miles per week, every week.

Realistically, I'm not going to run every day. Nor am I going to average 38 miles every week. Heck, I hit 30 this past week, and am only hoping for 30-34 this next week. So there is going to be a little bit of long-term planning involved.

At the same time, I can't really think about the whole year, or I get completely overwhelmed. I think I can do this. It's going to take some serious mental focus and more than a little motivation, but I think it's possible.

At the same, I have some other goals for this year. Some I've had before, but I'm approaching with new vigor this year. So here are my goals for 2017:

1. Run 2017 miles. 
2. Run from Lake Superior to Eagle Mountain (I have a route now)
3. Become a certified running coach (RRCA is the plan)
4. "Run" the BRT. 

I think #1 and #4 are the "reach" goals for this year. The others are more in line with past goals and possibilities. 

It should be another good year. 

Winter Running

I think my favorite part about  running in the winter are the picture possibilities.

Turkey Day at the Races.

In what may be at risk of becoming a Thanksgiving tradition, I again ran the 1 mile Tough Turkey race and the 5k Gobble Gallop up in Duluth on Thanksgiving. The difference this year is that I actually intended to run both of them. 

As usual, this is a bit of an off-season time for me, so I’m never quite sure how I will feel or how well the races will go when I sign up for these. I was feeling a bit flat the day before, and had pretty well thrown away any real hope of doing well in either race by the time Thursday morning came around. 

As she did last year, G had signed up for the 5k only, so I took the opportunity provided by staying with my parents and headed down solo to check in and do my mile warm up routine. It was just above freezing this year, with a tiny bit of moisture in the air. Not ideal conditions by any means for a mile race, but better than last year. 

The advantage and disadvantage of racing in your home town, especially when you’re fourth generation in a town of 85,000, is you know a lot of people. There is no hiding in Duluth for me. Prior to the race, I ran into my brother’s best friend and his two kids, as well as his parents and brother (who was also running both races that morning). As I went through my dynamic warm up, I heard an occasional “hi Jamie” from the crowd, not knowing who was saying it. And, of course, I know the RD for this race, so I took a brief second to say hi to him before I finished my warmups. 

G and my parents showed up before race time (I think my dad has been on a bit of a nostalgia trip this year, watching me race for the first time since high school) and in time to watch the 1/4 mile kid’s race at 9AM. This is usually a highlight, as all the kids chase a guy dressed up in a turkey costume down the road, and many of them run with their parents. And since it’s a children’s race, they all get to wear bibs with the number “1” on them. 

The mile went off at 9:10 on the dot. As usual, it was a much smaller field than the 5k, with only 100 or so runners on the start line. The mile usually has a large number of kids and, as they do, they all took off at an almost absurd pace. I let them sprint their hearts out, taking it out in a quick pace (4:45 or so according to my watch). I don’t know that I could have done anything near a 4:45, but I wanted to see if anybody would make a race of it. 

Nobody did, and I eased off to about 5:30 pace or so, and, looking back every hundred meters to make sure nobody was closing, crossed the line in a surprisingly easy 5:40 to win by eight seconds. Unless I am forgetting something, this may be my first overall win since I was a sprinter in high school.  The fact that if I had run the 5k at that pace, I would still have been 3 minutes out of first place diminished the elation not one bit. That was the first time I feel like I’ve executed a solid race strategy in a long time. 

Of course, the start time of 9:30 for the 5k meant that I now had less than 15 minutes before the start of my next race. I had just enough time to catch my breath (while running to my car), swap out my number, and say hi to my parents before the 5k started. I missed seeing G between the races. And due to apparent blindness on my part, I missed seeing her finish the 5k as well. 

As usual, the start of a 5k with 2,200 runners was chaotic. I put myself in the front line, and in the dash from the line got caught heading out a little faster than I intended. This time, though, I quickly sorted myself out and slowed to what I thought would be a sustainable pace. 

I actually felt really good throughout this race, countering my feeling at the beginning of the day. I looked at my watch less often than I sometimes do during races, running more by feel than by the watch, and that seemed to work really well. I found myself running with a group of maybe 5 runners taking a similar pace, which made the whole experience easier. 

When I did check my watch, for the most part I was surprised by how fast I was running. I was consistently between 6:05 and 6:15 pace throughout the race, only slipping lower than that on the uphill from downtown Duluth up to Fitger’s. Despite the faster pace than last year, I ended up with a lot of gas left in the last half mile, and pushed it in a little faster 

I’m actually a little disappointed that I didn’t look at my watch a little more often for the actual time I was running. I finished the race in 19:05 for 27th place over all, and 4th in my age group, but I am quite sure that I could have run a good deal faster if I had pushed a little more. I think in this case I just didn’t have enough faith in my fitness. 

I am quite happy over all with the result of these two races. I finished each race faster than I did last year, and finished 40 second up on my combined 1 mile and 5k times from last year. 

That said, I got left in the dust by G, who improved on her time by a full 10 minutes. She improved so much that I missed her finish, thinking I would have to run back in the pack a ways to see her . . .

Bucket List Race

Well, it happened.

A couple weeks back, I signed up for the lottery to get into the Garry Bjorklund half marathon. I'd tried once before, and didn't make it in, so I'm happy to make it in this time.

I grew up watching this and Grandma's Marathon every year, walking down the hill four blocks from my house to cheer on the runners at the top of the largest "hill" (Lemondrop) on the course. I always figured that if I ever ran a half or a full on roads, this would be the one to choose. I will pass my sister's house at exactly the halfway point, and pass my parents at Lemondrop, and see from there how I can finish.

It will be interesting to see what I can do on a road at sea level. My fastest half to date was run up near Boulder on the trails, so as long as I pace myself reasonably well I can pretty well bank on a PR.

It will be interesting. I hope it's fun as well.

Back on the Wagon

The training plan wagon that is. As ever, I am already feeling more fit than I was before (even though I'm only on week three). There are a few things I'd forgotten about jumping on a training plan, though.

1. The metabolic implication: I eat constantly again. 
2. Physically, I am more tired on a training plan than off of it. I sleep better, but am occasionally tired at odd times. 
3. Mentally, I find it easier to get out for a run if I have the raw numbers of a training plan staring me in the face. 
4. It's a whole lot easier going off of somebody else's training plan (I"m using Eric Orton's plan from "The Cool Impossible" again. It has worked for me in the past.), than trying to create my own. This one offers enough flexibility that I can easily alter it to my own needs. 
5. Training by heart rate works well for me. 

I also found that my breathing methods (mentioned in my last post) match pretty well to my heart rate zones. If anything, I was running faster than I should have been when I was using rhythmic breathing alone. 

A Focus on Breath

In my race report for the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon, I went on a bit about my strategy of focusing on my breath for the race. I didn't go into much detail, but it definitely helped me out during the really difficult portions of the race (read, the last 15 miles).

Since the relative success of that race, despite the cramping, I have been continuing my experiments in rhythmic breathing, and I thought it worthwhile to write a post about it.

First, a general primer on rhythmic breathing, as I learned it. I believe I read about it first in an article on Competitor.com or a similar website. The basic theory is this: your core naturally contracts and activates on an inhalation, and relaxes and collapses on an exhalation. Most people run in an even pattern (2 steps in, 2 steps out, or a 3-3 or 4-4 pattern). This leads to the collapse always happening on the same foot, which can cause greater fatigue.

If, instead, you run on an odd pattern (3-2 or 4-3, or even 2-1 if you're running particularly quickly), you can even out the fatigue a little bit. It also provides a rough gauge of how hard you're working.

Additionally, the theory suggests that you should be breathing from your stomach and diaphragm rather than your lungs, as that gives you a fuller breath.

After a month or so of this, I have found quite a few advantages, and one disadvantage to this technique.

Advantages

1. Fatigue: I have not gotten a single side stitch since trying, and sticking with this technique. 
2. Focus: as I said in my Eugene Curnow report, I found that this technique gave me a focus on when I was tired and cramping, and my mind was going dark places. I could focus on my breath and, despite my fatigue and cramping, I could still maintain a solid running pace. 
3. Meditation: On another note, I have found that I enter a more meditative state, since focusing on your breath is a central tenant of meditation, a practice I have recently taken up. I often end the run feeling much more mentally refreshed than I have in the past. 
4. Pacing: breath gives you an idea of where your pace is. 4/3 is generally very easy. 3/2 is getting into a harder, but sustainable pace. 2/1, well, that's hard.

Disadvantages

1. I find it hard to actually get 4 steps on my inhale. And I sometimes have difficulty fully expelling on the exhale. It is something that's getting easer the more I practice, but it is a disadvantage. 
2. I know only 1 song with a 7/4 (or 7/8) beat. And I know 1 song with a 5/4 beat. This is an issue. 

Has anybody else tried rhythmic breathing? I'd be curious to hear your thoughts and/or advice. 

Eugene Curnow Race Report

That was one for the books.

Let's start with a little background. As you know, if you read this blog, I haven't been posting for a rather long time. That is because, between a move and a couple trips, I haven't been running all that much yet this summer. As a result, I came into this race underprepared, without a suitable long run, and having not trained seriously in a month or so. I had managed to get a couple solid runs in while I was on a trip to Colorado the week (!) before, and I think the move qualifies as good training (our entry is on the third floor).

Even so, I felt cautiously optimistic about my chances on the day. I thought that, if things went ok, I would run around 4 hours. If they went well, I could probably do 3:50 or 3:45. If they went poorly, I figured it would be around 4:15. Spoiler alert: I ran 4:11. Things went poorly.

The short version for those who want it: I started fast. I went for it from the start, taking advice from others who noted that the trail got more technical at parts as you went along. Despite some insole issues (I ended up taking them out entirely), I ran well through the first three aid stations. I averaged 8:30 pace or so through those sections, even with stops to take out my insoles, but then the wheels fell off. Right at mile 11, the cramps set in, and they didn't quit the rest of the race.

I considered dropping out. I didn't.

A more detailed description:

Pre Race:

I drove up from the Cities the night before. My dad was driving the same route as well, so we met up in Carlton, giving me the chance to leave my car there, and thereby get an extra hour of sleep. They had buses from the finish to the start leaving at 4:45AM. I wanted to avoid that.

It was somewhat surprising to me that my dad offered to get up early and drive me to the start. It should not have surprised me, as he has always jumped at the opportunity to watch any of the three siblings race or compete in any sporting event. His schedule for the day allowed him to come to the start and at least a couple aid stations, depending on how I was moving.

I can't think of a better motivation to move quickly than the chance to see your father at an extra aid station.

Start to Skyline: Cruising in the Early Morning Light

The low-key start was typical of trail races: a non-line in the dirt (seriously, there wasn't any indication of where the start line was), a few brief instructions, and "Go."

The likely race leaders sped off up the hill. I settled in with the following group. I had inklings already that the day might not go well. My legs didn't feel any spring from my taper. Nonetheless, I cruised this section easily, settling into the 3-2 breathing pattern (3 steps inhale, 2 steps exhale) that I would return to again and again over the course of the day.

Out of the dirt road and across the Spirit Mountain ski hill, the sun's rays still seemed almost parallel, and I reveled in the cool, clear morning. The forecast was for a pleasantly cool day for Minnesota in July, but I still wanted to take full advantage of the coolness of the early morning. On to Skyline Parkway, and I remarked to another runner how easy it seemed so far, to which a runner farther up the road said "Just wait, it's a little early to be saying that."

I cruised into the Skyline aid station at sub-6 minute pace, 3.5 miles into the race, 400+ up from the start, and 26 minutes into the race.

Skyline to Becks: Jarrow's Beach

Out of Skyline we took a turn uphill into the Magney-Snively nordic ski area. The trails here were deceptively smooth, but with the recent rains there were many low, swampy spots.

Partway through, still feeling good, I came up behind and older runner who had evidently started the race early. He was moving well, and I asked if he was the one runner who'd finished the race all 24 prior runnings. He was not, but was still inspiring.

I almost missed the turn for Jarrow's beach, but fortunately (I believe) Jarrow himself directed me down the hill and into the "beach." This was the first, and most, technical section of the course. It was an ugly mix of soccer ball-sized rocks, roots, water, and mud, and I picked my way more carefully than sometimes, not wanting to turn an ankle so early. I also took the opportunity to tighten my shoelaces.

Some more technical-minded runners passed me at this point. I don't often get passed, in Minnesota, on technical downhills, and I admit to being a little annoyed. But with new shoes (they were a week old) and uncertain training, I opted for discretion over valor. Soon enough, we came out onto the old railroad bed, where I again dropped the pace and passed the technical guys right back.

(One of the guys who passed me on Jarrow's beach mentioned that he would be running The Rut 50k in the fall, a race I hope to run myself some day)

This is where my left insole started causing me problems. My shoes were already soaked at this point, and the higher pace on the railroad grade caused my insole to bunch up in the front of my shoe. I've had this trouble with Altras before, but hadn't had ample time to test these shoes to see if they had the same issue.

At Becks, after seeing my dad for the second time in the race, and while getting my water bottle filled, I untied my shoe, adjusted my insole, and kept on running down the old dirt road, 7.5 miles and almost exactly 1 hour elapsed.

Becks to Fon-du-Lac: Speeding in frustration.

Not 100 yards from the aid station, my insole had already started bunching up again. In frustration, I knelt down to take off my shoe and remove it for good, to find my shoe was too tightly tied and I couldn't undo it. Fortunately, an angel of a spectator ran over and not only helped me take my shoe off, but took my insole to the lost and found for me.

Thank you!

Frustrated, I took off. I later found out on Strava that I had my third-fastest times (on Strava) for both the 1 mile and the 1 kilometer distance on this road(ish) stretch. I again passed those who had passed me at the aid station before we dropped off the road and into the woods to what was probably my favorite part of the trail.

Off the road, we stepped into a pine forest and a soft, gentle single track weaving along a ridge. I admit, these are my favorite trails: smooth, gliding, and gentle on your feet (especially when one foot is sans insole). There were parts along the ridge that were rather exposed, making me slow down lest I stumble to one side or the other and tumble down the hill. Then, at the end, it dumps you down the only section of ropes on the course. I admit to almost running straight into a log that sat at about chest height right at the bottom of the ropes.

My right insole started bunching up in this section, and I decided that at the next aid station, it would go.  10.7 miles in, 1:27 elapsed, remaining insoles: 0.

Fon-du-Lac to Seven Bridges: Cursing my Calves. 

Much to my surprise, my dad was waiting again at this aid station. I figured he'd be gone by that point, but as he said I was "moving well."

And I was. I was feeling great about how the race was going so far. I was pushing, but it felt sustainable I was sticking to my 3-2 rhythmic breathing. I'd covered almost 11 miles in under an hour and a half. I was moving well, despite my insole issues.

Out of the aid station, and on the first climb, the wheels started to come off: I felt the beginnings of cramps in my calves. I tried to get on top of them: I immediately popped (and bit, and coughed on) an electrolyte tab, and upped my consumption of these from every 45 minutes to every half hour. In the past, that was enough to stave off cramps. Today not so much. I upped my intake of gels and tabs to every half hour, and hoped that would be enough.

Even with the cramping, I managed to hold my own through here and not get passed. But I knew the rest of the morning would be difficult. 12.7 miles in, 1:46 elapsed, properly functioning calves: 0.

Seven Bridges to Grand Portage: The Power Lines

I'd heard, of course, of the infamous power lines. I knew of the 9 brutal hills, the lack of shade, and the brambles. I found them to be both better and worse than I expected.

Not for the first time, nor the last, I was glad I was in the first 20-30 runners. With the wet weather, the power lines were muddy, the creeks were high, and the footing was difficult. I can only imagine that it got much, much worse as the day went on and more people scrambled these hills. Gradients of up to 40% don't make for swift going on the best days.

Even so, I found these less difficult than I anticipated. The steep uphills let do some dynamic stretching on my calves, and the steep downhills were reckless and fun. The descents were steep, short, and muddy enough that I knew I could slide if I got out of control. Save for grabbing a raspberry bush at one point (ow) this section went better than I had feared.

Two hills of purgatory (not nearly as bad as they suggest) and into Grand Portage. 15.5 miles in, 2:17 elapsed, 3 steps in, 2 steps out.

Grand Portage to Petersen's: Quads are Gone

This section just got hard. My quads started cramping up at this point. People started passing me. I could run for a little while, at a slowish pace, but then my quads would seize up and I would be forced to walk for a while as I tried to loosen them up.

Even so, the trails were beautiful double track. If I am calculating correctly, it was about 8:30 in the morning: a little before the time I usually start running in the morning. Despite the condition of my legs and the difficulties I was having, I was still grateful to be out, even as I was debating dropping.

It's not a true race unless you consider dropping out, right?

17.5 miles in, 2:39 on the clock, functioning quads:0.

Petersen's to Forbay: Still Cramping.

I'll be honest, it's Wednesday now while I'm writing this section (I started on Monday) and I don't recall this section all that well. It was difficult again, but I managed to keep going and push through.

And I began to notice something interesting in this section: there were still times where I just didn't feel like I could move. My quads and calves were still cramping horribly. Even so, I found that if I could just focus on three steps in, two steps out, I could actually move at a decent pace. In fact, it was almost as quick a pace as I maintained during the first part of the race. I also found that, as is the case with meditation, focusing on my breath is an excellent way to pull my focus away from anything else.

I could still feel the discomfort and seizing, it just didn't matter as much.

Out onto the Munger trail, and I knew I should really be pushing it again. I managed a solid 7:30-7:45 pace. Even so, I was passed on this section.

"How's it going?"

"Cramping"

"Oh, that's a tough way to run."

"Well, I've been running on it for 10 miles, so I'm used to it."

"Ha. Good luck!"

20.5 miles in, 3:09 Elapsed. No 4 hour marathon likely.

Forbay to Jay Cooke: Flat Trails. 

Not much to say on this section. I knew I could finish at this point. All thoughts of dropping out were behind me. Now it was just a matter of keeping on. I hit a very decent pace on the dam, after devouring a pickle at the aid station. The cramps soon caught up again, and I stepped to the side of the double track cross country ski trail (to relieve myself) as another person passed.

At this point, I was out of all competition except the one with my self. Or so I thought.

During one particularly agonizing stretch of cramp-induced walking, a runner I had been swapping back and forth with the entire race passed me again.

"You're gonna pass me one more time, aren't you?"

I wasn't so sure, but he turned out to be prophetic.

22.9 miles in. 3:34 elapsed. Pickles consumed: 1.

Jay Cooke to Finish: Enter the Gnar. 

Another aid station meant another pickle.

Across the Swinging Bridge! I'd been waiting for this the entire race, and now I found myself a little seasick, to be honest.

A brief bit of smooth, easy trail quickly gave way to remarkably gnarly single track along the St. Louis River. I slowed to a walk often in these last three miles, now counting down the tenths of a mile rather than focusing as much on my breath. When I did, though, I still managed to run at a normal pace, which is still remarkable to me.

I was passed by a couple runners in this section, though fewer than I expected. And I did, indeed, pass my trail buddy for a last time shortly before popping out to the Munger Trail again for the finishing "sprint."

26.2 miles completed, 4:11 elapsed. Marathons completed (total, not including ultras): 4.