I thought since we’re all getting in the mood for Nashville’s Country Music Marathon, I’d post a video I shot when lived over on Music Row. This was long before I started running, but doing this every year was certainly a spark. There’s an East Nasty and a fun storyline with a little girl who is watching.
They told me I wouldn’t sleep much . . . and they were right. The Saturday before I had run the furtherst distance of my life, eight miles. It was a painful lumber in the rain with my fellow “Couch to 5K Graduate,” Grant, on the flattest of Greenways. Now, I was standing with 30,000 other people convincing myself I could go 5.1 miles further on what many consider one of the tougher 1/2 marathon courses. 
I stood next to my buddy Roger (who was also running his first 1/2) contemplating whether or not I could make it through the bathroom line in time to get back for the start. I passed and hoped the feeling would go away. Roger and I had the same goal of around 2:10 and started this journey together after a late night photograph revealed we were both turning into whales. We trained on our own, but this race was in our sights for months. His strategy was to listen to three songs with the same cadence over and over on his iPod to keep pace. Mine was to keep running. 
The gun went off and our corral inched its way toward the starting mat. I was cold, had to piss, and was suddenly feeling very intimidated by the idea of running so far. I stayed with Roger for about three blocks and his methodical precision started pulling away. My biggest fear was starting too fast, so I purposely went slow, and soon . . . Roger was gone. 
It didn’t take long before I started feeling the reality of a 1/2 marathon. As I got to the top of the infamous Demonbreun Street hill, I was barely 3 miles in and apparently falling asleep. This was a risk that seemed like it was sure to have a bad ending. 
But, I was on a mission and started using hallucinations to my advantage. For some reason, I thought I had really picked up the pace and started spotting Roger every couple blocks. I’d see him just within striking range and pour on the muscle with plans of flying by with a big back slap on the way. But every time I got close, I realized it wasn’t him. My haphazard racing style was no match for his West Point style of discipline.
For the first 9 miles or so, I was in pain, but nothing like I was about to face at mile 10. I rounded the corner in the Gulch and hit an absolute wall. In all my years of athletics, I have never experienced such a physical meltdown. My legs basically shut off. Instead of running I began to shuffle, and as you can see from the above photo, I was one of the sexier specimens on the course at this time. They wound us into Bicentennial Park and before cutting left toward the finish line, the organizers dropped in a couple of turnarounds that absolutely ground my soul into mush. It took every fiber of my being not to walk. 
My shins felt like they may literally crumble at any moment and it wouldn’t have surprised me if there were razor blades in my shorts slicing into my thighs with every step. With less than a mile to go and a downhill ahead to take me home, I still wasn’t sure I could make it without walking. Each step felt like I was putting my foot into a cauldron of boiling acid and that downhill would prove to be one of the more excruciating jaunts of my life. 
From watching several marathons in the past I remembered the finish line being on the other side of the stadium, but through the grace of God, I was nearly brought to tears when I my creaky ankles turned at the bottom of the hill and pointed at the finish line a mere 50 yards away. I saw the photographers hovering above ready to capture my glorious moment and put every ounce of energy I had left into raising my arms for the photo op. 
I was on the verge of fainting and these two girls didn’t seem to give one shit about the fact that my eyes were rolling back into my head. The good news was, that about 10 steps after the finish line, I found myself immersed in a claustrophobic sea of humanity, which may have been the biggest challenge of the race. I was a lost boy without a home (or a medal) and instinctively started shouting “Yo Roger” in the voice of Stallone looking for Adrian.
Eventually I got my medal and found Roger. We were the proudest two guys on the block and immediately started asking people if they were using their extra beer tickets. It was like 9:30 and we were putting them back like true Wisconsin born lumberjacks. We were so impressed with our feats that we wore those medals all day and night. He finished about 5 minutes in front of me and eventually went on to run a full later that year in Huntsville before moving to the Key’s to be a full-time musician. It was quite the memory, and in 3 days, I will be on that same course. No Roger, no fear, and hopefully no pain.
The early forecast is 60% chance of thunderstorms, but I have faith Saturday will turn out in the runner’s favor. I’ve worked in the news business long enough to know that extended predictions are iffy. Much like my prediction for this race from two weeks ago.
This will likely be my ultimate test of trusting my taper. I was going strong until Saturday, but temporary illness squashed my training plans for Sunday and Monday. Tonight, I’ll put in a little jog and maybe run again Thursday, but I haven’t had a run over 5 miles in almost three weeks. The workouts have been loaded with swim and bike, though and I have to trust the cross train.
Initially I thought I would go after a PR in this race, which would be something less than 1:42, but I think I will likely just use it as a training day and finish around 1:50 or something. It’s a tough course and I have the Rev 3 Olympic the following Sunday. (You can track me at Rev on Twitter @miketarrolly).
Anyway, this would certainly be a lull on the training confidence meter, but I know the energy of the crowd and the rally for Boston will be a huge driver once I cross that timing mat. It was my first half last year and even though I said what I just said, I really plan on getting a burst of adrenaline that helps me crush the streets of my own city.
Nothing will make you feel like a “non-Ironman” more than being sick. The last two days I’ve battled spring allergies, good old fashioned gunk, and some serious psychological doubts. But, there really is opportunity in everything, and what I learned (or more importantly remembered) yesterday couldn’t have come at a better time.
When I see that “4 Months” remaining on my countdown clock, I begin to realize this race will be here and gone before we know it. The training has been steep and will only grow in intensity, but while time flies, it’s really important to take a step back and just look around. That’s exactly what I did Sunday and Monday. That’s when I realized I was dehydrated and depleted.
I spent most of yesterday re-kindling my love of juicing fresh fruits and vegetables. The transformation was no less than amazing. I went from barely being able to talk, breathe, or walk, to feeling better than I have in weeks.
When you train at this level, you rarely recover and a specific workout doesn’t really show up for a couple weeks. They talk about nutrition being the fourth discipline of Ironman and on many levels, it could be the first. Momentum, willpower, and pure desire can only carry you for so long. At some point the body will shut down without the proper fuel.
I still feel remnants of sickness, but there is no question I’m on the rebound, and fast. I feel like pounding a workout right now, but will likely just take an easy jog after work. And, let me tell you the key part of that last sentence is “I feel like pounding out a workout.” For the last few weeks I have been “motivated” to pound a workout, but it’s pretty rare that I’ve actually wanted to hammer.
I’ve been trying to listen to my body for the last 4 months, but a lot of times I block myself out and power through when I know I’m not ready. This is a bad plan. We learn and improve in small increments. Humans have an amazing ability to go above and beyond, but I think that’s what coach means by saying we only have a couple matches to burn a year. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to burn them in training.
So, the key comes back to this. Proper nutrition, hydration, and performing a workout plan that will slowly elevate you to the level you need to reach. If I stand on that start line in Wisconsin and “feel like” I can do it, I probably will. If I stand there less than in my best mental and physical shape or worn down, I will have major doubts.
From what I can tell, Ironman training is a slippery slope. It’s not as simple as just logging miles. It is a complex weave of balance and belief. More than anything, I want to be in the best shape of my life that day, and more importantly, I want to feel like I’m in the best shape of my life.
Just under a year ago I toed the line for my first 1/2 marathon a nervous child in a man’s body. I had never run more than 8 miles and was attempting 13.1 on soon to be sweltering day in Nashville, TN. Over 30,000 other runners stood in front of and behind me waiting for the magical moment. And I really had to pee.
The pre-race lines were way too long and I stood in corral 16 squeezing my legs together and hoping that somehow my need for a bathroom would go away. Then the people started moving and I followed. It was too late now.
I crossed the start line and began to run. The crowd and energy made me forget both why on earth I would try something like this and my urge to find a hidden tree.
The Nashville Skyline stood proud in the distance and I slogged my way toward the center of downtown. Thousands of fans cheered and held signs above their heads and I was swept up in the emotion as I ran by my first Nashville apartment. The Honky Tonks were rockin’ and I nearly floating as I made the turn towards the big long hill that everyone complains about.
The sun was rising and it was starting to get hot. I ran for what seemed like forever and finally reached the “roundabout” at Music Row. People were everywhere and the band at mile 3 was knee deep in a Stones’ classic.
This scene repeated itself for the next 8 miles and I was elated . . . until I suddenly realized my legs felt like bricks. I could hardly move and my “swift” 10 minute pace fell like a rock to 11:30, but I kept churning. I would not walk.
It was all I could do to stay on my feet running down the final hill and turning into the finish line chute. Somehow, I made it, and it was the most amazing feeling. I entered 2012 with no intention of running and less than four months later I ran a 1/2 marathon. I felt invincible.
I have come a long way since then and have many bigger plans, but after the events in Boston and the show of community pride following the tragedy, I couldn’t stop thinking about that initial run down Broadway in my hometown. Today at lunch, I happened to be on that very road, stuck in traffic, and wished I could just park the car and run. Next Saturday, that is exactly what will happen.
It’s a little early to be talking about the dog days of summer, but wow does it feel hot today. I took a little 20 mile ride this morning at 7 o’clock and was baking by the time I left the house for work. I think my dog feels it, too. She seems depressed.
Sometimes the thought of doing two-a-day workouts from here through August is daunting. It’s not so much the exertion as it is the time. Squeezing 3 hours in and around work really grinds me down at times. Typically I find myself doing some amended version of the day’s plan, and I think you have to do that or you’ll go insane.
But that’s nothing in the big scope of things. What’s really important in this world, in our lives?
I just got a text alert that they found they found poisonous ricin in a letter sent to President Obama. While I’m skeptical, it does bring up emotions similar to what I felt after 9/11.
That day I was working at a news station and stood in horror watching the buildings burn and collapse. The event was horrible in its own right, but I remember feeling a sense of “things will never be the same.” From that day forward we would be hyper focused on terrorism and generally trusting people would be more difficult.
Living in fear is no way to go through life and Boston has raised the energy again. It makes me sick that someone would do that and want to foster more skepticism in everyone’s life. But as I look around at the positive thoughts and rally of the aftermath, I see how much good there is in the world. People all over Nashville and the rest of the country are running to show power in numbers and that, quite frankly, we’re sick of this shit.
Stay strong. Work hard with good intention through the dog days of summer. Kill them with kindness.
The first marathon I ever watched was in Nashville. My mother came with her childhood friend, Susie, to support Susie’s daughter in the 1/2 marathon. I remember being amazed that Heidi was running that far and literally stunned by how many others joined her. We watched the beginning on Lower Broadway, but made our way to the finish line for the rest.
I squeezed up next to the fence and gazed in bewilderment as the elite runners flew by mile 26 at a sub five minute pace. I was about 10 years younger and in decent shape, but remember thinking I couldn’t have run the last 100 yards that fast if I used starting blocks!
People were so positive and energetic as they encouraged the runners through their final steps. I was not used to the early morning activity and marveled at the genuine smiles and happiness. I didn’t turn into a runner that day, but it was always in the back of my mind.
Susie, at 60 years old, may have been the happiest of the bunch. She stood next to me and shouted at all the shirtless young guys, “Whew! Way to go hottie!” “Wow, sexy thang!”
I was kinda funny and embarrassing at once. Finally, I gave her a look like “what the hell are you doing?”
She matter of factly brushed me off by saying, “Oh, they love it.”
And she was right. Nothing makes you run harder than an unsolicited compliment.
By the end of that afternoon Susie’s brash advances (along with the awkward reactions of the guys) had me rolling on the ground.
Now, it is today, and some bitter and demented person or persons decided they wanted to squash the fun. I am sad, confused, and angry. Like everyone else I think it was cowardly and twisted. I search for answers, but nothing will explain why someone detonates bombs on innocent people.
What makes me sad is how some of happiest moments of these people’s lives were ripped away in a split second. How someone just like Susie was having the time of her life dishing inspiration to people who dripped sweat for months and miles to find that finish line. How so many would have been able to say “I finished Boston.” And how, instead of simple sweat, they were left with blood and tears.
I think about the volunteers and security guards who went from token support to life savers instead of changing out of their yellow t-shirts. The neighbors, the shop owners, and the students that look forward to this day like no other, but will never think of it the same. I think about the people who squeezed up next to the fence and gazed in bewilderment as elite runners flew by at a sub 5 minute pace to cross the most prestigious finish line in running. And how now, because of a lost and distorted mind, those same people, who stood cheering for hundreds of strangers, will never be able to stand on those legs again.
Finishing a race is an incredible high. You’re exhausted, but completely relaxed and at ease with the world. You’re endorphins soar and your most genuine and compassionate sides flourish. The simplest things in life take center stage. A hand shake, a high five, a hug. Today, thousands shared those moments with friends and family before their serenity was shattered by indiscriminate violence, and once again, left us asking why.
When logic goes out the window. When the pain is greater than we can understand. When the suffering seems to have no end. There’s only one thing you can do. Keep the faith.
This morning I got on my mountain bike around 7 am and rode to the Moosic City Dairy Dash to run a 10K. It’s a nice little race. Very flat, fast and they feed you ice cream with pasta. This was my first 10K (last year) and it’s pretty amazing to think that, in essence, I treated it as part of a training day.
I hate to harp on this, but I’m nearly 50 and just started running last year. It hasn’t been easy and I have been putting in a ton of effort, but the difference you can make in a year is quite astonishing.
I was actually pretty proud of my time last year, 54 minutes and change, but it was unbelievably difficult. I was seriously close to fainting around mile 5 and somehow sucked it up to finish.
I’m not even sure how to quantify this progress in training, but I think the best evidence is how I felt hammering home on a heavy bike after running hard in that race. And now, I sit here writing, when last year I was already in bed taking a nap. There is just no denying I am, at the least, giving myself the opportunity to get more out of life.
The consistency in moods, the follow through on projects, the overall energy level. All of these are directly tied to what I would consider a marginally insane workout plan.
A lot of the time it’s difficult to see progress. It’s like wiring electrical in a new house. You know stuff is happening, but you don’t really notice results until the lights come on. Today another light came on. I think it was in the basement, but it gave me another jolt of confidence that will push me one step closer to, not only the Ironman goal, but the person I know I want to be more often.
There is no substitute for being strong in mind and body. Clear about who you are and what you want. Comfortable in your own skin and decisions. It doesn’t happen overnight, but it happens . . . if you work it.
Headed down to the YMCA for my swim workout over lunch.
200 Swim
200 Pull Buoy
200 Kick
200 Pull Buoy
Then a bunch of 100 sprints.
Well, just as I was about to start my sprinting, the lifeguard blew my ears out with her whistle.
“Gotta get out of the pool. There’s lightning!”
Part of me wanted to get in her face and tell her I didn’t care about lightning. The other part saw it as an excellent excuse to not have to do a bunch of 100 meter sprints. The third part of me remembered that “Every missed workout is a missed opportunity,” and that rang the loudest.
I can’t help but think that most lifeguards actually hate swimmers. I know it’s not social hour, but most give the impression that swimmers are wasting their time. I didn’t tell you to be a lifeguard and sit there bored for 8 hours! But, I kinda get it too. The thought of being a lifeguard probably seems a lot cooler than it actually is, especially if you’re trapped in a sterile pool instead of a Baywatch beach. But that’s no reason to seem happy when lightning cancels my workout. Well, maybe it is.
Anyway, I guess I’ll have to settle for a tempo run in the rain after work. Someone explain why I’m doing this again?
The more I swim, the more I fall in love with being in the water, and that is going to be huge when the cannon goes off in Wisconsin and nearly 3,000 other racers jet off for the same buoy. You can watch video all day, but I don’t think there’s any way to understand how that will feel. A mosh pit of epic proportions with the added bonus of deep water.
This video gives some pretty cool tips for open water swims and I must say the most intriguing part is drafting. It seems like it would take a shit-ton of practice to feel comfortable on someone’s feet or their hip. Either way, there’s some interesting stuff in here (and yes, coach, you have already told us a lot of this, but it’s great to see the video . . . hint).
