Over the past few weeks, I’ve been doing a little PR work for one of our websites that sells plus size bras.  The website is hosting a contest that will donate $250 to the fund-raising efforts of a single walker in an upcoming Susan G. Komen 3 day for the Cure event.  I’ve thus been scouring the blogosphere for those who might be interested in spreading the word about this contest.

I’m not surprised that I’ve found quite a bustling internet community around the Susan G. Komen 3 day events and it’s funny how well I can identify with many of them.  For instance, Laurie talks about the importance of earplugs for camp.  How I wish I had those while trying to catch a few winks at a major exchange during the Ragnar Relay.  Paula talks about the finish.  Here’s a quote that will sound familiar to anyone who’s ever finished a marathon:

Walking into holding was not something that you can describe. To know you finished the walk (even if you did only walk 27 out of 60 miles) is amazing. Everyone is there cheering you in. As I was walking down the aisle of cheering people I saw my med team and they looked so proud of me. It just felt simply amazing!

There are some things with which I can’t identify, though and I’ve read some truly heart wrenching stories over the last 3 weeks.  There are those who have survived and those who have died and (perhaps most depressing) those who have fought off breast cancer once or even twice only to be overcome by the disease a few years later.  In just about every case, however, it’s amazing how many people these women (and some men) have inspired.

At least half of the bloggers I’ve contacted are people who didn’t exercise much before taking on the challenge of the Susan G. Komen 3 day for the cure.  Make no mistake that this event is one that requires training akin to that which we runners undergo when preparing for a marathon.  Walking 20 miles may seem easy to us at first glance, but 20 miles at any speed is nothing to scoff at and doing it for 3 days straight is an accomplishment worthy of note.

It would be easy for many of these people to say, “That’s not something I’m cut out to do” or “I’ll never make it”, but they keep going (and that’s why energizer is a major sponsor).  The thought that a friend, relative or co-worker looked death in the face drives them on.  Little by little they walk, increasing their mileage until they do it.  They have mottoes like “Whining causes blisters” and “Blisters don’t require chemo”.  They find out what they’re really capable of when they put their minds to it and they don’t quit.  They find a vibrant community of other people doing the same thing and along the way they raise huge amounts of money for the fight against breast cancer.

I continue to be inspired by these people.  My only regret is that we only have one donation to give.  I hope that the contest will drive enough traffic to the website so that it grows enough for us to donate more next year.  If anyone knows of someone who is walking this year, please direct them to the contest:

http://www.allplussizebras.com/susan-g-komen-3-day-for-the-cure-reach-your-goal-contest

Tweets and Facebook shares would be much appreciated as well. Thanks!

I watched Spirit of the Marathon a few nights ago and I’ll admit it…I cried. That sweeping helicopter shot over the huge crowd at the starting line always gets me. More than any other part of my marathon and half marathon experiences, the feeling of anticipation while standing in that crowd of people at the start is etched solidly into my memory.

The movie wasn’t quite what I expected. I thought it was going to be a documentary about elite runners and how they train, etc. Instead, it follow 6 runners of very different backgrounds as they train for and eventually race the 2005 Chicago marathon. There are two elite runners, but the others are a varied group of people: 2 first time runners, a 70-something man and a 30-something guy trying to qualify for Boston. Interspersed are interview clips with historians and famous runners commenting on various aspects of training, racing, etc.

Watching the group training runs in downtown Chicago made me miss my Saturday morning dates with Richie, Justin and Steve. I haven’t even seen Justin and Steve since the marathon and only saw Richie briefly when I dropped Alice off to babysit his son a few weeks ago. I was on the tipping point of ramping up my training and the movie seems to have pushed me over the edge. If there had been any light left in the day when the movie was over, I would have laced up the racing shoes and immediately ripped out a tempo run.

Instead, I had to wait for the morning when the feeling had died down a bit. I still made it out and in some of the hottest weather we had all summer, I ran a warm up mile, then ran hard for 3 miles, threw up about 4 times and then ran a cool down mile back home. After work, I ran to the gym with Alice, did a leg workout and then ran home. For the first time in a long time, I slipped into bed physically exhausted and slept like a log.

I’m certainly far from the shape I was in earlier this year, but I’m mentally back. I can feel that the speed and endurance will quickly follow.

Three years ago, I wrote a post about failure in a tempo workout that inquired about M.H. Alderson, to whom the quote, “If at first you don’t succeed, you’re running about average,” is attributed.

This week, his family chimed in. As it turns out, Mr. Alderson was a pretty good guy. He earned a purple heart and two bronze stars, returned to the U.S., got married, became a small town newspaper publisher, a great father and a civic leader. He died of cancer in 1984. His quote was originally inspiring to me because I’ve read about so many successful people who started out with a string of failures. Even people who seem invincible, like Lance Armstrong and Richard Branson, have there bad days (like today in Mr. Armstrong’s case).

I remembered writing the post three years ago because it included a lot of fun quotes. I had forgotten why I wrote it. The two comments from Mr. Alderson’s family this week led me back to that post and I read it with a smile. As I previously mentioned, the post was about a failed tempo run. I was trying to run 3 miles at 7:35 pace. I only got 2 miles before I had to walk. At the time, I was wondering if I’d ever be any good at running. I was feeling a little bit like I’ve been feeling the last few weeks. I was questioning why I race and why I spend so much time at an activity that on the surface seems rather pointless.

That post from 3 years ago reminded me that it wasn’t pointless because this February I nearly held that 7:35 pace for 26.2 miles and one month before that, I held a 6:48 pace for 13.1. I’ve worked hard in the time since that post and I have improved - quite a bit. When the sun is hot and it’s hard to breathe and the workouts hurt, it can be hard to see that improvement, but if you’ve been consistent and you look back over a longer time, you can see that it does matter.

So, when your heroes are being plagued by doping scandals and sex scandals. When they don’t seem so much like great heroes anymore - and all heroes have their shares of bad moments (they are human after all) - look back at yourself. You may be your own hero.

This week, I’ve been hanging out with the family in a nice home up in the Smoky Mountains outside of Gatlinburg, TN. I haven’t been running at all. The neighborhood streets are very narrow, very steep and very curvy. Alice and I decided it was much too dangerous to run on them…or maybe that’s just a convenient excuse.

In any case, we’re not exactly sedentary. Yesterday, we decided to tackle the Chimney Tops, a popular 2 mile trail in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The trail is steep. It climbs up 1700 feet over those 2 miles and our progress was slow. Wendy isn’t as used to cardiovascular exercise as Raffi, Alice and I are, so she was feeling the effects. About 1.5 miles into the hike, she couldn’t go any further so she and Raffi hiked back down to a stream while Alice and I continued to the top.

At this point, I should back up and mention a peculiar incident that occurred earlier on the trail. We were climbing a particularly steep part of the trail when a shirtless teenage boy went running past us at full speed, breathing very heavily. His run didn’t last very long and he stopped about 50 yards ahead of us to catch his breath. Then, he started dancing. Right there in the middle of the trail, he attempted to do the robot. Soon, his father called him back to the group and the whole group eventually passed us while were were resting near a stream.

Fast forward about 45 minutes. Alice and I had reached the top of the trail after leaving Raffi and Wendy behind. To reach the spectacular view at the top of the Chimneys, one has to climb about 100 yards up a series of rocks. It looks like this:

http://www.summitpost.org/view_object.php?object_id=19860

Note the caption on the photo. Alice and I proceeded up the rocks, wary of the 100-200 foot vertical drop on either side. Proceeding on all fours, the climb wasn’t horrible, but the rocks were hot and burned our hands so there was little time to rest and analyze the tricky path up. There were also quite a few people coming down, so we had to wedge ourselves into small spaces to let them pass. We were about halfway up and dancing boy was sitting with his family about three quarters of the way up when a lady emerged near the bottom of the climb.

“There’s an easier way over here!” she yelled up the hill. That made sense. After all, I’d read about 8 year olds successfully reaching the summit of the Chimney Tops. We scrambled back down only to find that the “easy way” was blocked by a fence with a “hiker alert” saying that the area was closed for rehabilitation.

When this close to the edge of a steep vertical drop, I tend to listen to the National Park Service and not go into closed areas, but it had been a long climb to get to this point and dammit, we wanted to see the 360 degree view.

We climbed the fence and made our way a long a gently sloping path around the peak. This was indeed much, much easier. When we reached the end of the path, there was a steep, narrow 30 foot climb to the summit. It was a little more treacherous that the longer climb on the other side, but it seemed easier to swallow our fears for 30 feet of climbing.

We pinned our backs against the rock face so hikers descending could make their way around us. Meanwhile, dancing boy and his family brushed past us in the other direction and waited in a tree for the descending hikers. When the last hikers were down, an old man at the summit yelled down at us.

“Come on up and get your money’s worth!”

From the bottom, I swear it was Larry the Flip flop guy, but that seemed impossible. Dancing boy’s family started up and dancing boy reluctantly followed. Alice and I lined up behind.

“Do you want me to go first, or do you want to?” I asked Alice.

“I’ll go first,” she replied. “If you were to fall, we’d both die. If I fall, you can catch me.”

The logic sort of made sense and she started up the steep climb. I looked up, grabbed the rocks with my hands and started up behind her. As I looked past her at the very slow progress made by dancing boy, it occurred to me that Alice’s logic was slightly flawed because a fall by the eccentric dancing boy would certainly take both of us out.

No sooner had this thought crossed my mind than he started kicking the side of the mountain erratically. Dirt and rocks fell into our face. Then, he screamed a loud, high pitched scream and let go of the rocks. I don’t know how he stayed on the mountain as he stood straight up and turned around, facing out toward the open air.

“I don’t want to die!” he screamed has he started to rapidly descend, out of control toward us.

“Oh shit,” I said to my daughter, “we gotta get the hell outta here.”

Adrenaline shot through me as I slid down the rocks. Thankfully, the tree prevented us from going over the edge as we slid past the narrow trail. The screaming continued from above.

“Where are you going? Mommy! Mommy! I want my mommy!”

Alice and I scurried along the narrow ledge like squirrels on an electrical wire.

We heard another high pitched squeal behind us.

“I want them to leave me alone! Mommy! Mommy! I don’t want to die!”

We could then here dancing boy’s dad telling him to get down as fast as he could. Alice and I clambered over the fence, past dancing boy’s mom and aunt who were having a conversation about camelbaks with another group and started back down the trail.

A quarter mile later, dancing boy ran past us at full speed, his back full of giant, puffy welts. His sister soon followed and we eventually found them bathing in the same stream where Raffi and Wendy were waiting for us.

Later, dancing boy and his mom hiked down behind us and asked for Benedryl. He had been stung multiple times by angry bees. We had none, but they made it all the way down and found someone at the bottom with Benedryl in their car. We’re pretty sure he is autistic, which explains some of the behavior we witnessed. Still, he outweighed both of us and he looked like he was going to kill himself and take both of us with him.

If I ever return to the Chimney Tops, I’m going on a cooler day and I’m taking the “hard” way.

Lately, I’ve been reading Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers on the recommendation of the headmaster of Alice and Wendy’s school.  It’s an interesting read with some pretty interesting studies on the factors that go into success.  In many cases, those factors might be initially unexpected (such as being born early in the year makes you a better hockey player), but when the reasons for the somewhat unexpected factors are examined, they suddenly become more obvious.

I’m only about halfway through the book, but so far the theories of Outliers confirm my overall beliefs about success in life being a lot like success at the poker table.  It’s a combination of luck, talent and hard work (Glenn will appreciate this, I’m sure).  There is no doubt that poker is a game of skill.  It’s also very obviously a game of luck.  The skill comes in minimizing losses during unlucky times and maximizing gains during periods of luck so as to come out ahead in the long term.

In life, we’re all dealt unlucky hands from time to time.  We’re also presented with lucky opportunities.  These things we have little control over.  It’s how we handle them that matters.  Opportunities come and go.  Many people don’t recognize these opportunities, or are too lazy to take advantage of them.  They’d rather focus on the unlucky times.  They’re unlikely to be successful.  Those who minimize their losses in the unlucky times, recognize the opportunities and work hard to take advantage of them are the ones who will be the most successful.

That’s really a brief and somewhat poor summary of what I’ve already read.  The book’s examples are descriptive and fun to read.  I’m sure that for every example Gladwell produces one might be able to produce a counter example, but it’s a good read nonetheless.

Sometimes when I’m feeling sorry for myself, I wish I would just win the lottery.  Then I could do whatever I wanted.  I could travel around the world, stay at the luxury resorts with the extraordinarily comfortable mattresses and the 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.  Then I remember a dream I had when I was in high school and Volleyball was such a large part of my life.

It was a time when vampires were popular in culture due to movies like the Lost Boys and Interview with the Vampire - much like the vampire buzz that now surrounds Twilight.  I dreamed that I was vampire.  It was a really realistic dream.  I felt it.  I was suddenly lightning fast, incredibly strong and I could jump as high as I wanted.  I was the king of the volleyball court.  In time I grew depressed.  I successful and kicking butt and nobody knew that I was a vampire - but I knew.  I knew I hadn’t earned my success and it was no fun.  In the dream I quit the volleyball team and spent my time watching from the bleachers wishing I wasn’t a vampire.  I woke up glad I was just normal Brian.

I guess my point is that the journey is half (or more) of the fun.  It can be hard to remember when you’re in the unlucky times - you’re injured, out of work, or just spinning your wheels - but a victory earned through hardship is so much sweeter than one that is handed to you by default.

It’s been another stressful week at work.  I had a difficult “easy” run this morning that was supposed to be 6 miles, but wound up being only 4 miles.  Richie ran 16 this morning and was a little disappointed at not getting a full 20, so he hit me up for 4.  That was good for both of us as I might have skipped my afternoon run otherwise.  We took it slow for 4+ miles and chatted the whole way.  When I got home, I opened up my Napster account, put on some Jimmy Buffet and Beach Boys tunes, then cooked up some Tilapia in a white wine lemon butter sauce.  I was trying various rum based shots while cooking which isn’t necessarily the best thing to do the night before a race, but the race is in the afternoon so I’ll hopefully be okay.

In any case, the Beach Boys tunes took me back to my high school years when I was playing volleyball.  I used to listen to the Beach Boys’ “Made in the USA” album on my Walkman religiously.  My favorite tune was the remake of the old Mamas & Papas tune, “California Dreamin’”.  At the time, I was obsessed with volleyball.  I started playing volleyball in the 5th grade, which was a rarity for a boy living in Missouri.  I’ve also been 5′10″ pretty much since the 6th grade.  So, I was one of the few good volleyball players in the greater St. Louis area at the time.  I traveled around the Midwest with a club team and when I got to high school, I was a backup on the varsity team during the state tournament my freshman year.

As I progressed through high school, my teammates and opponents grew up around me.  I went from middle hitter to swing hitter to opposite hitter to setter through my high school career.  My senior year, I went back to opposite hitter and made first team all district.  I dreamed of moving to California, majoring in Marine Biology and playing volleyball.  If Men’s college volleyball were as prolific as, say, Men’s college track and field then I might have had a college scholarship somewhere, but I settled for majoring in Physical Therapy and playing intramural volleyaball at St. Louis University (we did win the intramural championship).

This evening, under the influence of some Captain Morgan, I was reflecting on those Beach Boys tunes.  While I didn’t move to California, I did ultimately move to Florida (still warm and beachy) and I got a Ph.D. in Oceanography (sooooo much better than marine biology).  The life isn’t quite as I imagined in high school, but it ain’t so bad.  In high school, I envisioned my destiny as a volleyball player.  Now, I know I’m really a runner.

So, on the eve of my next race that will be contested mostly against high school runners, I had to smile just a bit at the long circuitous path that has led me here.  I often wonder what life would have been like if I had realized I was a runner in high school.  How good could I have been?  On the other hand, if you’re happy with your life, you can’t complain about what go you there.  You can’t change the past anyway.  So, it’s onward and upward.  Maybe I can take down a few high school runners tomorrow.  We’ll see.

I really enjoyed John L. Parker Jr’s Once a Runner so I eagerly requested the sequel, Again to Carthage from my local library.  I guess with such high expectations I set myself up for disappointment.  I don’t want to say that the book was bad.  It certainly had its moments - for example, when Cassidy easily outruns a group of spoiled brats in a 4×400 m relay.

Even moreso than Once a Runner, Again to Carthage is a series of vignettes.  It takes place over the course of a few years after Cassidy has graduated from law school and integrated into society as a “normal” person.  After losing friends and family members for a variety of reasons, Cassidy begins to question his life and realizes that he’s not done running, but he’s running out of time.

He retreats to his family’s land in the North Carolina mountains, enlists the help of his old friend, Bruce Denton and sets out to qualify for the 1980 olympics in the marathon.  The training is interesting, but the book’s climatic moments are somewhat more unrealistic and unbelievable than the original.

It’s definitely worth a read, but don’t expect to enjoy it as much as Once a Runner.

Yesterday, Jess had an interesting post daydreaming about life as an independently wealthy runner.  She laid out her typical day.  I’ll confess that I think about this very thing from time to time.  Here’s what I’d do:

1)  Wake up and start a run before sunrise

2)  Stretch

3)  Eat breakfast

4)  Shower

5)  Go back to bed

6)  Have a leisurely lunch

7)  Spend the afternoon reading or working on a pet project and snacking

8)  Run an easy afternoon run

9)  Shower

10)  Have a relaxing dinner with moderate amounts of whiskey

11)  Relax, read, work on pet project some more

12)  Sleep

That would be kind of nice.  We’ll see where life takes me.

Yesterday was hot, but I didn’t have any outdoor workouts scheduled.  Still, I had a lot of meetings around town and I ended up doing a lot of walking around in the heat.  The rest of family was out for the evening doing various things, so I had the place to myself.  After running many errands in the heat, I decided that a nice cold rum punch sounded pretty good.  So, I picked up a bottle of Appleton White Jamaican rum.

At home, I tunneled to the back of the cabinet and dug out the big souvenir glass I got from T-Rex after the Disney half marathon.  I filled it with ice, grabbed my shaker and mixed my favorite citrus rum punch:

1 & 1/3 oz Jamaican rum

2/3 oz triple sec

1 & 2/3 oz orange juice

2/3 oz lime juice

I shook the mixture, poured it into the glass and then topped it off with 7-up.  It was cold and refreshing.

Now, I normally do most of the cooking in the house, but when nobody’s around I find it difficult to go through the trouble of making a real meal.  So, I popped 40 pizza rolls in the oven and relaxed with my rum punch.  I ate all 40 pizza rolls (1470 calories if you believe the package) and then made myself another rum punch.  I now had a full belly and was feeling pretty good really buzzed.  I relaxed for a while, read a few blogs, wrote a blog post of my own and then decided to settle down with Again to Carthage by John L. Parker Jr.

It was 10:30 PM.  The sugar and the alcohol were playing conflicting games in my bloodstream.  Before I even opened the book, I was off the couch.  I was dying to try out my new racing shoes.  Foregoing a shirt in the dark night, I threw on some running shorts and my lightest running socks.  I laced up the new racing shoes and headed out the door with a very specific two mile route in mind.  I walked quickly through the dark, soupy humidity like a man on a mission.

When I arrived at the route’s starting point, I quickly went from walk to brisk run.  My legs were fresh and unencumbered by the weight of my trainers.  I charged through the first quarter mile feeling like a high speed hovercraft floating over the pavement.  I couldn’t see my Garmin.  I had no idea how fast I was going, but I knew I was moving at a pretty good clip and I felt like I wasn’t putting any effort into it at all.  I came to a point where uneven pavers make the sidewalk treacherous.  In the dark, I couldn’t pick my through like I normally do in the daylight.  I didn’t slow down.  I just high stepped my way through that block so I wouldn’t trip.

When I arrived at the park - the one mile mark and the site of so many painful interval sessions - I stopped briefly  to turn around.  I was dripping with sweat from the humid evening, but I didn’t feel one ounce of tired.  I looked over the moonlit lake and started to laugh.  I don’t know why.  I couldn’t stop.  I was a shirtless guy with bright orange shoes standing alone and laughing on a street corner in the middle of the night.  I looked at my Garmin only to find the battery drained.  Somehow, this made the whole thing even more humorous.

I decided I better get moving before people started calling the cops to come remove this crazy man from their neighborhood.  Fortunately, I was feeling fast.  I zipped home again with that incredible floating feeling in my legs.  I returned to my starting point with a huge grin on my face.  I was in love.

I don’t know exactly how fast I went but it wasn’t all out.  The Garmin died at 0.94 miles and registered an average pace of 6:50 min/mile up to that point.  I didn’t slow down after that, so I figure I was sub 14 minutes for the two miles.  It’s not lightning quick, but considering I finished feeling almost as fresh as when I started, I was giddy with the possibilities.  I think there’s a good chance I’ll be running that midnight 5K on the 4th of July.

Hey, it’s two weeks in a row! It’s amazing what some time at the beach and time away from running can do for one’s ability to read. Well, I suppose that’s misleading. It’s not like if you’re illiterate, you can take some time off from running and hang out at the beach and hope to suddenly be able to read…Of course, if you’re illiterate, you’re probably not reading this right now anyway.

What I mean to say is that I’ve actually had time to read over the last few weeks and I put another book in the bag. I requested Again to Carthage (the sequel to Once a Runner) from the library and it did not arrive in time for the weekend.  Instead, I checked out Duel in the Sun by John Brandt.

Duel in the Sun is the story of the 1982 Boston marathon.  Some Many would call it the greatest marathon in history.  This, I knew.  What I didn’t know was that the two main players, Dick Beardsley and Alberto Salazar, essentially fell apart after the marathon.  The book progresses pretty nicely, weaving the post marathon trials and tribulations (Salazar’s depression and Beardsley’s drug addiction).  Sometimes it even loosely ties said trials and tribulations with the physical equivalents during the actual race.

The book certainly wasn’t the page turner that Once a Runner was, but it did keep my attention.  I do think that Brant went a bit overboard trying to postulate that the 1982 Boston marathon itself was the cause for the downfall of both runners.  While both runners certainly pushed their bodies past their limits during the marathon, I doubt that Salazar’s asthma was solely the result of that race.  More likely, it was spurned by years of high intensity (over) training.  After all, Salazar did win the New York City marathon the following year (albeit in a significantly slower time).  Likewise, Beardsley continued racing hard without adequate recovery following Boston and drove himself into the ground.  What is evident is that the 1982 Boston marathon was the pinnacle of the careers of both men.

For my part, I did 3 easy miles on the treadmill this morning at the gym.  I followed that up with some stretching and an extra long shower.  I did 4 miles in the unrelenting sun with Alice this afternoon.  She was sore from yesterday’s run, so I finally know that I’m doing some good.