The New Year's Day Run

I don't remember exactly when it started.

On some New Year's Day morning several years ago I woke up and decided to run. The distance happened to be 10 miles, which at the time was a stretch for my athletic endurance.  Since that day, every year, on New Year's Day I'm compelled to run 10 miles.

Some years the 10 miles has felt like 20 while other years (typically when I'm in the midst of training for a marathon or Ironman) the 10 miles was a cakewalk. I tend do some pretty deep thinking when I run (like most runners I suspect), so combining the stillness of a holiday morning plus the mindset of starting a new year - the contemplative thoughts get pretty active.

I've tried to figure out why I'm so compelled to run on New Year's Day, even more than my normal desire to run. I think the reasons have changed over the years as my age brings new perspective and depending on what happens to be going on in my life. However, I think the underlying drive though is a desire to shock the system on a day that has such symbolic meaning for new beginnings.

Even if I'm not in a place where I feel like I need to have a "new beginning", I find value in pushing my body out of it's comfort zone for a while. Over the year's I've had moments of such clarity while running that I've come to expect that if I head out for a run with some problem or challenge on my mind, that by the end of the run a solution will have made itself clear to me.

I've read or heard two people I admire very much tell stories of how a run, outside of their comfort zone, brought clarity to their lives in an otherwise challenging time. One was Tony Robbins at an event I heard him speak at, and the other was Dean Karnazes in his book Ultramarathon Man. Early on, this brought some validation to pushing myself on a New Year's Day run. Now, it's so ingrained in my annual routine that I don't give it a second thought no matter what shape I'm in.

By running on New Year's Day, maybe I'm expecting (or hoping) for that clarity of thought that Tony and Dean experienced as I contemplate how I want to craft the upcoming year of my life. Whatever the reason, I always feel better when I get back versus when I left; I've run off any extra calories I might have consumed the night before; and I feel ready to face the new year with optimism.

By the way, this year's run will feel more like 20 miles than a cakewalk.

Catching up

Hanging out the with the Tour de France devil at EurobikeWow! It's been a long time since I got a blog post up. To bring everyone up to speed, here's the short version of why.

After my DNF at Lake Placid last year and with my 40th birthday this year I decided in early 2010 that while I couldn't get back to Ironman to redeem myself just yet, I wanted to do something big.

After doing some research and talking to friends I decided on the Vermont 50 ultramarathon. I had never run longer than a marathon before and in the long term I thought it would help with the mental and physical stamina needed for my next Ironman attempt.

Soon thereafter I landed a dream job as the Marketing Manager for a bike company which meant a trip to Interbike. However, Interbike ended the day before the Vermont 50 which meant no go on the Vermont 50, so, I looked for a different race, and found the Rhode Island 6-hour Ultramarathon in November.

Training was progressing well until the trade show time in September. While it severely limited my training, I felt privileged to be able to go to Eurobike in Friedrichshafen, Germany and Interbike in Las Vegas in September. But, between the travel, jetlag and 12+ hour days at each one week show, I missed several key long runs.

Unfortunately this left me playing catchup on my training. If you've ever tried to play catchup on any endurance sports training you'll soon find out that it just doesn't work that way.  First I injured my achilles and missed 2 long runs. Then on my last 20-miler I was getting severe IT band pain.

So, after consulting with my coach and family I made the decision not to do the ultramarathon. It was a very disappointing decision but it's the way life turned out this year.

And so now I start planning for the next event. Now that I've settled in as the Marketing Manager for Montague Bikes I hope to be able to update this blog on a more frequent basis.

I'm very fortunate to be working in an industry I'm passionate about in a field I'm also passionate about. It's providing me with incredible experiences that I want to share and hope this blog will be the medium that allows me to do that.

Thanks for staying tuned!

My Tipping Point

Photo Credit: Go GratitudeI'm a big fan of Macolm Gladwell's book by the same title as this post in which he described what the tipping point means as they relate to a group's momentum toward something - an idea, trend, etc - until it reaches the "tipping point". Until the momentum in a way becomes self-perpetuating because a critical mass has developed.

Over the course of this spring I'm noticing a lot of similarities with the tipping point in how I was approaching my training. I've been participating in various types of races for a long time and after discovering triathlon have turned up the volume on the amount of training I do each year in preparing for goal races.  For the past several years, even though I'm not a competitive athlete in the sense that I'm trying to make the podium, the idea of beating my best time or moving up the rankings in my age group has been an important motivator to keep training consistently.  I've approached the calendar year like a true competitive athlete by staying fit in the off-season and following a periodization plan in an effort to build, peak, recover and do it all over again for the goal races I establish.

One definitive trend I've noticed from year to year is that my motivation level changed significantly after signing up for a race. Even if I was planning on a race but hadn't yet signed up yet, the act of clicking submit on the race entry seemed to trigger a physiological reaction that brought me right from early spring until the end of the season. This annual process had become so routine that I never put much thought into it until now.

Why now? It's now almost May and I have yet to sign up for race. I have some plans and goals but haven't clicked the submit button on any of them yet.

Despite this I trained all winter, to the point where I over trained and injured myself forcing me to take several weeks off.  I rode the trainer in the basement and got more than my money's worth from my Netflix subscription, I got to the pool to keep my swim stroke consistent and I ran, a lot, always outside. I ran in blizzards, sub-zero temps, freezing rain, you name it.  I hadn't signed up for a race. I hadn't done that kind of off-season training unless there was an Ironman in the near future. Why the disciplined schedule? 

My conclusion after having lots of time to ponder the question during many hours or training over the past several months is that I reached an internal tipping point. Call it a critical mass of experience or a desire to stay fit or even just the joy of exercising. At some point it became more important to me to just experience swimming, biking and running than to use them as a vehicle to reach some destination (finishing the race). Maybe it was my first DNF last year, maybe it's reaching a birthday with a zero in it this year. Frankly, I'm not sure of the reason and maybe it's a combination of several.

I do still have goal races I want to do this year and in the future (and it will be interesting to see how I react after actually signing up for those races), but for now I'm grateful to be in a place where I train to have the experience and not just to get ready to race. 

Decisions, decisions

I've started this post several times but right now there is no end.  The topic is next year's race schedule and there is no end because I haven't committed to what I'm going to do.

After the disaster learning experience in Lake Placid this summer and between the huge cost to compete in an Ironman and the time away from the familiy, I'm weighing some different options that will give me the challenge I'm looking for, not make me broke and give me some balance with my family.

The current front runner for a primary race is a 50-mile ultramarathon.  The problem is, that even after preparing and competing in 2 Ironman distance triathlons, attempting a 50-mile running race is approaching the end of my current perception of what is possible.  Which, coincidentally, is just what I'm looking for.

No commitments yet, but some serious research is underway.  Anyone out there who wants to weigh in on their ultramarathon experience would be much appreciated. I've already gotten some great input from Thomas on Twitter and my buddy Nathan (who completed two 50-milers this year!). I'm slowly building a twitter list of ultra-runners - please let me know in the comments who should be added to the list.

Photo Credit: Reano Deano

A tale of two races (Part II)

I did everything I could to recover from my Saturday race. I used The Stick, stayed off my feet most of the day, took a nap and even took a hot bath with some fancy bath salts that my wife had. I don't know what I was expecting to feel like but my muscles still felt pretty beat up from the intense Saturday effort.

It was an early start to the day when I woke up at 2 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. My alarm went off at 4 a.m. but my eyes were already open as I lay in bed. After a traditional pre-race breakfast of Green Goodness and protein powder, my family and I were out the door and arrived in South Berwick right at 5 when transition was supposed to open.

Pre-race was pretty laid back. I had a sweet transition area spot at the end of a rack leaving plenty of room for my gear. I had enough time to catch up with the other GSTC'ers racing, Dave and Tom, along with a few other folks I knew from the local tri-scene.

The Swim
After a first place age group swim the previous day I was definitely confident at the swim start. Probably too confident. Instead of going out strong and steady I red-lined for the first 100 yards and found myself hyper-ventilating. After laying off the effort for about 15 seconds and regaining my composure I went back out and finished the swim strong. I ended up 7th out of the water in my age group but pretty sure I lost a couple of places with my early pacing mistake. Overall, I was still happy with a sub 28 minute 1.2 mile swim.

The Bike
The first few miles of the bike is when I started to realize it might be a painful day. Even my intentional effort to spin easily over the first few miles of flat roads, the residual muscle soreness was still very present from Saturday's effort. I tried to get into a steady rhythm and eventually got into a groove and did my best to not work the leg muscles too hard.

I did go through several bouts of doubt as to how I would respond on the run. I tried not to let too many negative thoughts build up about what the run when going to be like if I had sore muscles from going easy on the bike. I was thankful that I did some reading about David Goggins and his perspective on dealing with pain and suffering while racing.

I also kept repeating to myself one of my favorite perspectives on keeping a positive attitude: that nothing we do or feel has any inherent meaning, only the meaning we give it. I could either commiserate with myself about the running pain I was anticipating, or, figure out a way to embrace it and help to feed my drive to finish.

The Run
Thankfully, I managed not to commiserate. However, I did suffer. With every stride my muscles ached but I was able to maintain my nutrition and hydration so that the only thing I had to do was focus on blocking out the leg pain and keep putting one leg in front of the other.

One thing I did better in the race than any other that I can remember is get hyper-focused in the present moment. Typically in longer races, my mind is racing with everything from calculating my pace to watching my heart rate. I have a hard time finding that place I can usually get to in a training run, where a 2 hour run is done before I know it. This race was different. As much as I hurt, I never walked and there were several points where I didn't really remember any details about the previous mile or two.

I do remember virtually every step of the last two miles. I saw the mile 11 marker on the road, my energy level felt good and my hydration felt good, so I went as hard as I could the race of the race. It hurt so so much, but if you are a reader of this blog, then you know about my first and only DNF six weeks earlier, and finishing this race (the 2nd in 2 days) became what I perceived as an emotional must.

As I crossed the line I could feel the lump in my throat grow and eyes start to well up. My wife and son were waiting for me at the line and I couldn't hold it back any longer as I gave each of them a huge hug. I know they didn't care whether or not I DNF'd in Lake Placid, however, they had both sacrificed so much to let me train for my races this year that I was super motivated to finish this race and be able to hug them at the end. Something I wanted to do so badly in Lake Placid but never got the chance to.

A couple of good friends, Paul and Tony, were also there at the line. It was especially good to see them both because they were also in Lake Placid. I had spent the equivalent of several days training with Paul preparing for the event (and he had an incredible inaugural Ironman performance). I think he had a unique perspective on how disappointing Lake Placid was for me and how satisfying it was to finish the Pumpkin Challenge.

My triathlon journey has taught me some valuable lessons this year. I'm expecting next year's journey will be just as valuable!