"Soo...you're running next Saturday?"
Been awhile huh? A lot has happened since 2018 came upon us, and I've been holding on for dear life, but, all is well.
Back tracking a few steps..
First, I now know that the cliche, "just wait until you have kids" isn't so much a cliche, but rather a humbling reality. Your life really does get flipped upside down, in the most beautiful, exhaustive way possible. My man is 6.5 months now, so the sleep does get better. You just need to accept sleep walking for the first few months, and eventually, it balances out, hopefully.
It was a long, and painfully cold winter. I tip toed and flirted with exhaustion on a regular basis due to the lack of sleep and not so much overzealous workouts, as I have in the past. I had a lingering foot, ankle injury that I couldn't seem to shake for the 2nd half of February and all of March. I'd take several days off, run easy and feel good, and within 24 hours, the lingering pain would creep back in. It was frustrating, and worrisome. I've been pretty fortunate with injuries throughout my athletic career, and for once, I was unwillingly thinking, if this doesn't clear up, you need to get it checked out. The odd thing was, there was no bruising or swelling, which made it even more confusing.
I was 2 weeks out from "Just a Short Run 30k," my excitement and the crisp spring air had me desperately wanting to run the race as I committed to it a few days into the new year, but my hope was wavering. I went for a 5 mile run, nothing crazy about it, just time on feet. I was tapping into that familiar rhythm without pain, until the final half mile, "NOOO, come on.." I frustratingly gimped back to the car, and didn't run for another few days. Back to ice and rest, again. Less than two weeks out now, I had accepted that my spring races were likely not going to happen. I rested for a few days, and 6 days before the race, something just clicked, like the running and sleep gods conspired to test my sanity. An original 30 minute test run turned into a 60 minute very slow run, more importantly, there wasn't a speck of pain and some hope was restored. Maybe, just maybe?
My wife asked how my run went when we sat down for brunch, and I said, "ya know, for the first time in 6 weeks, there was no pain." Her eyes wide, "soo, you're running next Saturday?"
"Just put it on my tab," my thoughts exactly, not even 24 hours later. My foot and ankle were finally feeling good, and by bedtime that Sunday night, a head cold hit me like a freight train. I called off work for a few days, and curled up on the couch, struggling to breathe through my nose and nonstop sneezing and eyes watering. Only a few days away from race day now, blood sugars creeping up in the high 200s, and my head felt like it would explode any moment. There was no congestion below my head so that was reassuring, no cough or wheezing, just my severely tired down body adapting to the Western PA springtime air.
36 hours before the race, my congestion dramatically cleared up. Talk about timing. For the first time in 6 weeks, I believed I was going to run and finish that race, and my longest run to date. 18.6 miles.
I got to the race early, one of the first runners to show up. The sun was just beginning to creep up the horizon. I had plenty of time to spare, so I walked down to the North Park boathouse and sat along the lake. I was sharing that precious moment in time with an older man who was photographing the incredible natural reflection of color off the lake and the morning sky. Something like a Bob Ross masterpiece. I was doing a dynamic warm up, as the air was quite chilly but I felt comfortable. I looked around, watching birds sift through the colorful sky, I was in awe of the natural beauty. I showed up that morning with zero time aspirations, I just wanted to run and if it turned into a race, that was bonus.
The race consisted of a 5k, 8k, Half Marathon, and the 30k. I chatted with a fellow 30k racer, he was prepping for the Laurel Highlands 70.5 mile race later that spring. A level of insanity I haven't found, yet. I glanced around and took notice of a smaller frame, lean middle aged runner, but he had legs of a veteran, he meant business.
The 1 minute countdown was on. My last parting thoughts, "please let me finish this."
Steady effort was all I was hoping for until mile 10. I settled in really easy the first 5k, I was alongside the older runner, he had a quick turnover, and looked very efficient. I put headphones on for races longer than a 5k, although never too loud, I still like to hear everything around me. Little over an hour in, I focus in on easy breathing and getting water at every aid station. Still, I am running alongside the veteran runner and we finally speak rounding the lake just shy of mile 10.
"Man, what a beautiful morning, you're looking great man, super smooth stride," I shared as we were mirroring each other still halfway through the race.
"Hey, thanks so much man, yeah I am feeling pretty decent this morning, just trying to remain steady, these rolling hills can get ya," he uttered back to me.
"This is my longest run ever today, I am building up to Morgantown later this fall, so this is great early season prep," I exchanged back as he came off friendly and was open to chat before the race got down to the wire.
"That's great to hear man, stay hydrated, and get some sugar in ya, finish strong!" We were more than halfway into the run, and I was ready to see what I had in the fitness tank. I pulled ahead of him and was ready to finally call it a race.
As each mile clicked off, the zone became more intense. It's hard to describe the zone, sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's euphoric, most races though halfway in, it's a level of acceptance and peace overriding the pain that your threshold is likely enduring. A mode of survival yet an unstoppable will becomes your greatest strength. I remember crossing the half marathon mark and just thought, "ok, one more lap around the lake, you got this," not long after creeping up the first hill to make the long loop around the lake, shortly after mile 14, my hamstring spazzed, and spazzed hard.
"Ohhh Shit!" "Ok, Ok, Ok, you need water and take another GU," I am listening to my inner race shaman while trying to avoid a death march.
"Ok, dial back the pace, control your breathing, don't over extend your stride." Internal chatter was trying not to panic, as it's easy to do so when the body isn't cooperating. Rounding the lake, I'd run so many steps, another spaz. I knew this was going to be a tough push, as every race I've ran at North Park never fails to get the best of me.
Mile 17 clicked off, with hamstring and calf spasms over the last 5k. My pace was still holding relatively strong, despite the muscle spasms. With tunes on and in my own world, out of nowhere, the vet who I ran with earlier, strided by me, the first time I saw him since I pulled ahead, one hour earlier. "Hey!" I laughed out loud, impressed and inspired by him, "I caught a good stride," he shouted back to me running by.
"Damn, that's impressive," I thought. "Ok, this is officially a race, catch that man!" I had him in my sights. Simultaneously, and oddly enough, mile 18 just clicked and I am wondering,
"what the hell, I definitely have another mile left, this race is longer than 30k.."
One of the cops working the event waved to me and cheered, "almost there!" as I made a right hand turn, now under a mile and the smell of the finish line is quickly approaching.
With the finish line juices coming alive, I can't help but wonder, "where the hell is my man, did he run a sub 4 minute mile to the finish?!"
Few moments later, I found him walking around the corner near the tennis courts, half mile from the finish, "Hey man! Come on we got this, strong to the finish!" I slowed my pace to see what his situation was,
"Young man, I have a heart condition, I am ok, just being cautious, I'll see you at the finish, go go!"
I was stunned but at the same time, more than inspired to push the pace to the finish. I was riding an amazing high, rounding one last corner as I maxed out to the finish. Immediately upon taking my first few steps post finish, I held my hands over my head, and my body was flooded with that post race euphoria and exhaustion as my heart rate rapidly descended.
I turned around and saw my race companion striding in, heart condition and all, 14 seconds behind me. I went up to him, we hugged and shook hands, greatly respecting each other's efforts.
"Way to push the pace for me today, great job," in respect to me. While we were both high as a satellite on oxygen and blood flow, I was humbled, but his comment about a heart condition had me immediately forget about his kind words.
"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you, and what's the situation with your heart?" I was beyond intrigued.
"I am 62, and I came down with Afib a few years back, I was feeling weird for awhile, but this is the best I've felt in years." We shook hands one last time, I gave him my best wishes and we parted ways for our own post race endeavors.
I walked around after FT'ing my wife and son, worried about my legs locking up, I took more time than usual, but after 40 minutes, I was feeling good and hungry. Driving away from North Park, I had my tunes on a low level, and I was driving past lingering runners, giving their best last minute efforts. A few tears rolled down my face, thinking about the birth of my son 8 weeks earlier, the sleepless nights and long winter days. The unique experience of running along somebody twice my age, battling his own struggles, and that longing desire for the finish line we celebrated together.
I looked into my race companion's running resume a few hours later when the results were posted, stunned is an understatement. Malcolm East, 1988 Pitt Marathon Champion. Ran a 2:11 at Boston in the early 80s, I ran in the presence of a true world class elite runner. He was decades past his prime, but that didn't matter. He's experienced the highest of highs and lowest of lows, and lived twice as long as me, still chasing that lead pack. Something I'll never forget. Thanks for that moment in time.
The struggle is inevitable, but the prize isn't so much a trophy, an Instagram picture with likes and comments, or a finish line. It's the perseverance and belief in your purpose, during those times of struggle is oddly, and most likely, where we grow the most.
Happy running and much love to all,
Andrew
Back tracking a few steps..
First, I now know that the cliche, "just wait until you have kids" isn't so much a cliche, but rather a humbling reality. Your life really does get flipped upside down, in the most beautiful, exhaustive way possible. My man is 6.5 months now, so the sleep does get better. You just need to accept sleep walking for the first few months, and eventually, it balances out, hopefully.
It was a long, and painfully cold winter. I tip toed and flirted with exhaustion on a regular basis due to the lack of sleep and not so much overzealous workouts, as I have in the past. I had a lingering foot, ankle injury that I couldn't seem to shake for the 2nd half of February and all of March. I'd take several days off, run easy and feel good, and within 24 hours, the lingering pain would creep back in. It was frustrating, and worrisome. I've been pretty fortunate with injuries throughout my athletic career, and for once, I was unwillingly thinking, if this doesn't clear up, you need to get it checked out. The odd thing was, there was no bruising or swelling, which made it even more confusing.
I was 2 weeks out from "Just a Short Run 30k," my excitement and the crisp spring air had me desperately wanting to run the race as I committed to it a few days into the new year, but my hope was wavering. I went for a 5 mile run, nothing crazy about it, just time on feet. I was tapping into that familiar rhythm without pain, until the final half mile, "NOOO, come on.." I frustratingly gimped back to the car, and didn't run for another few days. Back to ice and rest, again. Less than two weeks out now, I had accepted that my spring races were likely not going to happen. I rested for a few days, and 6 days before the race, something just clicked, like the running and sleep gods conspired to test my sanity. An original 30 minute test run turned into a 60 minute very slow run, more importantly, there wasn't a speck of pain and some hope was restored. Maybe, just maybe?
My wife asked how my run went when we sat down for brunch, and I said, "ya know, for the first time in 6 weeks, there was no pain." Her eyes wide, "soo, you're running next Saturday?"
"Just put it on my tab," my thoughts exactly, not even 24 hours later. My foot and ankle were finally feeling good, and by bedtime that Sunday night, a head cold hit me like a freight train. I called off work for a few days, and curled up on the couch, struggling to breathe through my nose and nonstop sneezing and eyes watering. Only a few days away from race day now, blood sugars creeping up in the high 200s, and my head felt like it would explode any moment. There was no congestion below my head so that was reassuring, no cough or wheezing, just my severely tired down body adapting to the Western PA springtime air.
36 hours before the race, my congestion dramatically cleared up. Talk about timing. For the first time in 6 weeks, I believed I was going to run and finish that race, and my longest run to date. 18.6 miles.
I got to the race early, one of the first runners to show up. The sun was just beginning to creep up the horizon. I had plenty of time to spare, so I walked down to the North Park boathouse and sat along the lake. I was sharing that precious moment in time with an older man who was photographing the incredible natural reflection of color off the lake and the morning sky. Something like a Bob Ross masterpiece. I was doing a dynamic warm up, as the air was quite chilly but I felt comfortable. I looked around, watching birds sift through the colorful sky, I was in awe of the natural beauty. I showed up that morning with zero time aspirations, I just wanted to run and if it turned into a race, that was bonus.
The race consisted of a 5k, 8k, Half Marathon, and the 30k. I chatted with a fellow 30k racer, he was prepping for the Laurel Highlands 70.5 mile race later that spring. A level of insanity I haven't found, yet. I glanced around and took notice of a smaller frame, lean middle aged runner, but he had legs of a veteran, he meant business.
The 1 minute countdown was on. My last parting thoughts, "please let me finish this."
Steady effort was all I was hoping for until mile 10. I settled in really easy the first 5k, I was alongside the older runner, he had a quick turnover, and looked very efficient. I put headphones on for races longer than a 5k, although never too loud, I still like to hear everything around me. Little over an hour in, I focus in on easy breathing and getting water at every aid station. Still, I am running alongside the veteran runner and we finally speak rounding the lake just shy of mile 10.
"Man, what a beautiful morning, you're looking great man, super smooth stride," I shared as we were mirroring each other still halfway through the race.
"Hey, thanks so much man, yeah I am feeling pretty decent this morning, just trying to remain steady, these rolling hills can get ya," he uttered back to me.
"This is my longest run ever today, I am building up to Morgantown later this fall, so this is great early season prep," I exchanged back as he came off friendly and was open to chat before the race got down to the wire.
As each mile clicked off, the zone became more intense. It's hard to describe the zone, sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's euphoric, most races though halfway in, it's a level of acceptance and peace overriding the pain that your threshold is likely enduring. A mode of survival yet an unstoppable will becomes your greatest strength. I remember crossing the half marathon mark and just thought, "ok, one more lap around the lake, you got this," not long after creeping up the first hill to make the long loop around the lake, shortly after mile 14, my hamstring spazzed, and spazzed hard.
"Ohhh Shit!" "Ok, Ok, Ok, you need water and take another GU," I am listening to my inner race shaman while trying to avoid a death march.
"Ok, dial back the pace, control your breathing, don't over extend your stride." Internal chatter was trying not to panic, as it's easy to do so when the body isn't cooperating. Rounding the lake, I'd run so many steps, another spaz. I knew this was going to be a tough push, as every race I've ran at North Park never fails to get the best of me.
Mile 17 clicked off, with hamstring and calf spasms over the last 5k. My pace was still holding relatively strong, despite the muscle spasms. With tunes on and in my own world, out of nowhere, the vet who I ran with earlier, strided by me, the first time I saw him since I pulled ahead, one hour earlier. "Hey!" I laughed out loud, impressed and inspired by him, "I caught a good stride," he shouted back to me running by.
"Damn, that's impressive," I thought. "Ok, this is officially a race, catch that man!" I had him in my sights. Simultaneously, and oddly enough, mile 18 just clicked and I am wondering,
"what the hell, I definitely have another mile left, this race is longer than 30k.."
One of the cops working the event waved to me and cheered, "almost there!" as I made a right hand turn, now under a mile and the smell of the finish line is quickly approaching.
With the finish line juices coming alive, I can't help but wonder, "where the hell is my man, did he run a sub 4 minute mile to the finish?!"
Few moments later, I found him walking around the corner near the tennis courts, half mile from the finish, "Hey man! Come on we got this, strong to the finish!" I slowed my pace to see what his situation was,
"Young man, I have a heart condition, I am ok, just being cautious, I'll see you at the finish, go go!"
I was stunned but at the same time, more than inspired to push the pace to the finish. I was riding an amazing high, rounding one last corner as I maxed out to the finish. Immediately upon taking my first few steps post finish, I held my hands over my head, and my body was flooded with that post race euphoria and exhaustion as my heart rate rapidly descended.
I turned around and saw my race companion striding in, heart condition and all, 14 seconds behind me. I went up to him, we hugged and shook hands, greatly respecting each other's efforts.
"Way to push the pace for me today, great job," in respect to me. While we were both high as a satellite on oxygen and blood flow, I was humbled, but his comment about a heart condition had me immediately forget about his kind words.
"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you, and what's the situation with your heart?" I was beyond intrigued.
"I am 62, and I came down with Afib a few years back, I was feeling weird for awhile, but this is the best I've felt in years." We shook hands one last time, I gave him my best wishes and we parted ways for our own post race endeavors.
I walked around after FT'ing my wife and son, worried about my legs locking up, I took more time than usual, but after 40 minutes, I was feeling good and hungry. Driving away from North Park, I had my tunes on a low level, and I was driving past lingering runners, giving their best last minute efforts. A few tears rolled down my face, thinking about the birth of my son 8 weeks earlier, the sleepless nights and long winter days. The unique experience of running along somebody twice my age, battling his own struggles, and that longing desire for the finish line we celebrated together.
I looked into my race companion's running resume a few hours later when the results were posted, stunned is an understatement. Malcolm East, 1988 Pitt Marathon Champion. Ran a 2:11 at Boston in the early 80s, I ran in the presence of a true world class elite runner. He was decades past his prime, but that didn't matter. He's experienced the highest of highs and lowest of lows, and lived twice as long as me, still chasing that lead pack. Something I'll never forget. Thanks for that moment in time.
The struggle is inevitable, but the prize isn't so much a trophy, an Instagram picture with likes and comments, or a finish line. It's the perseverance and belief in your purpose, during those times of struggle is oddly, and most likely, where we grow the most.
Happy running and much love to all,
Andrew
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