Country Music marathon

April 27, 2015

Country Music Marathon – Nashville, TN

Not many endurance sport activities are more awkward than “running along to support someone in a marathon,” and that’s what I did this weekend in Nashville.

I’ve run exactly two marathons, both at the end of Ironman, and Saturday I jumped on the Country Music Marathon course at Mile 18 to support my friend Mark for his last 8 miles. By then, he was a veteran soldier and I was a well-rested, baby-faced-rookie dishing my new-aged arsenal of annoying cliches.

“You look great, buddy!”

“You got this!”

“Your tougher than this course!”

“Car up!”

Most of my inspirational quotes were met with a soft grunt or groan, but I know he appreciated my company.

It’s just so weird!

Last year at Ironman Louisville I had a someone join me at the 13 mile turnaround and I literally didn’t remember who it was. I was telling this story to one of my buddies on our Wednesday night group runs.

ME: “Yeah, I was so out of it I could barely stand up and some guy was walking with me, asking me all kinds of stupid questions and trying to get me to talk about LIFE when all I wanted to do was lay in an ice bath.”

HIM: “That was me, you asshole!”

Oh…

So, that’s how I felt when I was running with Mark. It’s kinda like trying to cheer up a heavy sleeper the minute they wake.

I’d been running for two miles when he hit mile 20. A spring chicken cruising at a pace just out of Mark’s comfort zone. “We’re gonna have to slow down a bit, man.”

Okay.

In retrospect, it was fine and I’m sure it helped him, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I felt like a party crasher who didn’t bring a dish to pass.

Three miles from the finish line we saw a woman lying in the fetal position on the side of the road. She had her left arm in the air with a “thumbs up,” like she was in great shape. She was not.

I kneeled down to touch her shoulder and asked if she was okay. She rolled over onto her back with a thud and said, “I’m from Canada, it’s sooo hot!”

I held her hand and her body temperature was through the roof. My fingers must have felt like ice cube on hers and I told runners to send back help.

“It’s just so hot,” she said in a distant voice, then she said, “I’m gonna get sick,” before turning away to do just just that.

It didn’t look good, but she still had a sense of humor, so it calmed me a bit. She was also a little salty about bonking so close to a PR. It wasn’t meant to be.

I ceremoniously removed her race belt and fastened her watch around it. I had no idea what to do other than just be there while we waited.

Two cyclists came to the rescue with full bottles and a pack of ice to hold on her forehead. Eventually an ambulance showed up and they put her on a stretcher.

As they slid her into the van, I heard her ask, “Can you at least let me run through the finish line?”

The EMT smiled and said, “Let’s just work on standing up first, Jill.”

Her name is Jill Libby and I would love to hear how she is if you know her.

——–

As the ambulance pulled away, I wished I had asked her to cut off her timing chip and let me run it through the finish line. Hopefully there wasn’t too much worry at home.

And Mark did just fine without me. Battling the last 3 miles to finish his first of two marathons this year. I’ll be running his next one, but it will be at the end of Ironman Chattanooga.

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April 27, 2014

Nashville's Country Music Marathon

Today was the two year anniversary of my first half marathon and I celebrated by watching valiant efforts and fighting back tears. Well, I actually stood behind the finish line and watched a slow herd of battered souls chomp on cookies and chips while rejoicing that I chose not to run, but still . . .

Thousands limped by with huge smiles it took me back back to that painful day two years earlier when I embraced what may have been the proudest moment of my endurance life, including Ironman. I’d only been running about 4 months when I took the half marathon challenge, and it sparked a fuse that burned out of control.

That race hurt so badly I started laughing at mile 10, and getting delirious at mile 12. Somehow I crossed the finish line in 2:14 without walking. It was a major victory and I proved it by wearing my medal all day . . . then deep into a major-league afternoon/night of celebratory drinking. I could barley walk the next day, or week. Battle scars reminding me where I’d been.

But, enough about me . . .

Today’s weather was perfect and tons of East Nasties were on the course. I saw most of them and graciously took this group photo with my personal flip phone.

Admittedly I didn’t see much running until I left the finish line and walked along Woodland Street to witness the misery that is Mile 18 of a marathon.

My final destination was the Nashville Running Company water stop where I volunteered to rake paper cups out of the street for an hour. Tons of runners thanked me for the hard work, and while that never gets old, they had no idea how much I love grounds keeping.

The encouragement flowed from my lips as well, but it’s hard to seem convincing when someone stumbles by in a stupor and you’re screaming, “You got this!” For many, it was getting dicey, and considering mile 18 is often called the marathon wall, I’m sure the fact that it was all up hill didn’t help.

It was inspiring and I can’t say enough about how good it made me feel to see all of these runners pushing themselves to the limit. Throwing it on the line to be better people and create an endless stream of positive energy in my city.

That said, I do have a small beef that I need to get off my chest.

I get that people like to run with music, but I feel like it steals from your experience. Especially when the entire route is lined with live bands and tons of crowd support shouting inspirational bible verses or Michael Scott quotes. I mean, I’m raking my ass off and spewing goodness to all these wonderful people but half of them can’t hear me because they’re listening to Eye of the Tiger on their iPod. Talk about sucking the wind out of your cup raking.

Yet, here they were, 30,000 people, exhibiting countless hours of preparation and sacrifice. A truly moving scene, and I can honestly say I felt the same way long before I was a runner and was merely shooting emotional marathon videos that made people cry their eyes out.

There can never be enough inspiration in this world and few events showcase human spirit better than a major marathon. Every year it reminds me that life is for living and there’s no better time to pursue that freedom than today. I just wish the cranky drivers that complain about “their street” being closed for a few hours would figure that out.

I mean, look at these happy Nasties:

May 14, 2013

Gulf Coast Triathlon Guest Blog – Robbie Bruce

Last Saturday, Jim, Allie, and coach Robbiewent to Panama City to crush Gulf Coast. The following is a race recap from Robbie who continually inspires me with his words and actions.
He takes us through his preparation, his game plan, and how it all played out in the race. It’s a great read that’s loaded with helpful triathlon strategy.

GCT Recap- Freedom to find my Edge – Robbie Bruce

There is a certain freedom that comes with going into a race without real knowledge or data of your current fitness level. The last 4-6 weeks have been both frustrating and enlightening. Battling and nursing a nagging Achilles injury leading up to Country Music Marathon was frustrating. But my result, and what I learned about myself and my fitness at CMM, was enlightening. It will most likely go down as one of the defining moments of my triathlete career.

I spent the majority of the 2 weeks before Gulf Coast Triathlon just trying to recover and get healthy enough to give myself a shot. Not just to “complete” it, but race it. My race week usually goes from ready-confident-relaxed to nervous-anxious. The week before GCT it went in the exact opposite order. Many of my friends asked “how do you feel?” And my response was,” I’m actually pretty confident and I have no reason to be.” It as a weird feeling. One that I have not been accustomed to but will welcome back with open arms if it presents itself again.

I drove to Panama City Beach solo on Thursday. It was actually nice to make the trek alone. It have me plenty of time to think, plan, re-think, and plan again. I was brainstorming a variety of game plans on how to attack GCT. All were quite different but with the same objective. Find out where I am and where I need to be for Kansas 70.3. I shared my options with many close friends and athletes. Having so many people in my life that are involved in the sport, that I coach, or just close friends is so invaluable when it comes to races. They always give great insight and are totally objective and usually in areas that I fail to be. I got into PCB around 3-4. I checked in, grabbed my packet and tried to settle. I was staying by myself and I must say, I enjoyed every minute of it. I got to create my own bubble of focus. Finished the night off having dinner with a few of my athletes and turned in early.

Fri- The Day Before
I woke up with a feeling of freedom. I was loose. I was ready. I had a SBR workout with all of the X3 athletes that morning and told myself I would listen to my gut and decide on a game plan when I got done. It was so great to have my athletes around. They are all so fun, positive and just flat out great people. It’s an easy bunch to stay loose with. I have found over the last 2 yrs that the more athletes I have at a race the better I do. I think it helps relax me as well as view the race much differently. The workouts went off without a hitch and I retreated back to my condo for decision time. It was pretty clear to me as many of my friends had also pointed out the day before. The Final Game Plan I have myself was:

I’m going to play to my current strengths. I will crush the swim. On the bike I’m going to play it conservative. I know I have the short term power but no idea where my bike fitness is so ill play it safe until mile 40ish and listen to my gut. The home stretch will be the hardest and windiest. I’ll count the guys in my age group that pass me on the bike. Then, I’ll get off the bike and run like hell for as long as I can and as fast as I can. Steady in the first 5-6 then negative split the back half. That’s it.

Swim- My ability.
Bike- smart.
Run- like hell

I was confident with that plan. Now it was time to prepare for it. Spent the rest of the morning getting everything ready for Sat. Grabbed a quick lunch with Allie and Jim and then back to the condo for more rest and preparation. Bike was checked in at 4 and then Jim and Allie and I hit up a steakhouse like true snowbirds at freakin’ 5pm. I got back to the condo around 6:30. Again. More relax and prep time. I was getting impatient. I was just ready to race. When I get to that point I just get bored. Bored. Bored. Nothing to do but sit and think. Think. Think.

Within about a 15 minute span I got 3 messages all from 3 different people that really put my focus for the race into overdrive. One was the photo you see below about “The Edge,” and then a text and Facebook message both centered around my epic debacle at Ironman Louisville. Both, in a light -hearted banter of seriousness, the theme was . . . “Don’t let that happen again.” It wasn’t “don’t fail.” It was more, “Just do it.” I had my plan and now it was to execute that plan all the way to the edge. Stay on the edge for as long as I can and when it’s time to go over, just make sure you’re falling forward and not backwards. Test yourself. It was time. I was ready to race. Hit the sack around 9 and slept like a baby.

Race Morning–
I often wake up on race morning in a massive hurry. Hurry to get ready. Hurry to war. Hurry to get to transition. This morning I was calm, focused and relaxed. Got my stuff together. Checked in with my athletes and walked out of my condo for the short walk to transition. Headphones in. Music flowing. An easy stroll. Totally relaxed. No expectations. No “I should be able to do this today.” Instead it was, “Today I will give my absolute best effort and empty whatever “fitness” tank Ive created.” I can control that. Everything else is out of my control. Meandered my way into transition to prep my area. A friend from Nashville spotted me walking into transition and said “Man, you’re cutting it close huh. There gonna close it in a minute.” I didn’t seem to care. I was just relaxed.

I prepped my area and as I was about to walk to the swim 2 guys on my rack stopped me and asked if I had ever done this race before. I responded with “Yes, this is actually my 5th straight year.” They predictably countered with “Do you have any tips for first timers.” I said “Yea. Just have fun man. That’s it. Just enjoy it and have fun. Too many people take themselves to seriously. Especially on race day.”

As I heard myself uttering those words I also came to the realization that I’ve come along way since my first race at GCT. I have so much more fun now. The sport is meant to be fun. I made my way to the swim start (had to switch swim caps) and chilled with my athletes before the start. It’s such a cool experience being able to go through a race like this with them. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right coaching, friend, I’m also racing balance when I’m participating too. But I do the best I can. Everyone seemed loose, which made me relax even more. Grabbed my wetsuit as everyone else made their way to the swim start. Jim and I didn’t start till late so we got to kill sometime hanging out. We shared some laughs. Both of us fairly relaxed.

As my wave crept up I made my way to the starting corral. As all the guys flowed in to the corral, looking around, sizing up the competition, nervously chatting I made my way to the front corner. Quiet. It was game time. The calmness, relaxed, laid back feeling vanishes when I put my goggles on. It’s a different view. It’s what racing looks like. The feeling presumably comes from all my years swimming. Goggles on. Step on the block. GO! I went over my game plan in my head. Pressed my goggles against my face. Shook the hands of both the gentlemen on my right and left, wished them good luck and set my line to the first buoy. 5-4-3-2-1 BAM!

The Swim-
As the gun goes off my first thought is, lets see if someone jumps out hard in front. I’ll hop on their feet and let them pull me. Some guy started like a bat out of hell. I made my way across the water to try and get his feet. Held it for a minute. Damn. This guy is in a WHOLE other league than me. I could prob hang but I’d be toast. I fell off his feet and began to cruise with another guy. We stayed side by side. Both waiting for the other to make a move. I was probably about :2-3 faster per 100 than he was so it was decision time. Work with him, or drop him and go solo. I felt great in the water and decided go on my own.

There wasn’t much current so sighting was easy. As I hit the first turn buoy the NASCAR game started. I began to catch the waves in front of me and the ocean became a congested highway of slower swimmers, people floating in their damn back, breast stroking . . . Come on people. Move!

I spent the cross section weaving in and out, hit the final turn buoy, and headed home. I picked up pace and sighted off the hotel. Weave. Move. Go around. Sight. A lot of the same. I sighted the finishing chute and picked up my kicking. As I streamlined it towards the chute I had no idea what my time was or if others in my age group were ahead of me. Got out of the water. Looked at my watch. 28 mins? Man. Nice swim, Robbie.

I was pumped. As I ran up to T1 a guy yelled “2nd blue cap out of the water. Two minutes down.” I thought “Man, that dude was flying.” He ended up with the fastest swim of the day and it was obvious my choice not to go with him was a smart one.

T1-
Same stuff as usual. Helmet, shoes, blah blah. I hate talking about transitions. So I’m not.

Bike-
Heading out on to S. Thomas Dr and settled in. I was preparing for 56 miles of NO IDEA what I’m capable of. I knew I would get passed but also knew I could catch some on the run. I kept telling myself to relax. Be patient. It’s all about the run. The forecast called for storms and wind rolling in and if it was anything like last year the last 16 miles would be hell.

I went by feel. Left my heart rate monitor at home in purpose. Just thought to myself “I can hold this for X duration.” Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. One after another. Passed. Passed. Passed. Dropping . . . 3, 4, 5 in my age group.

As disheartening as it was. It is what is. I could’ve gone with and then walked the run. Just stick it to the game plan. Be patient.

The next 30 miles was more of the same. It was nice to see my athletes on the course. Give an encouraging word and get one in return. Don’t know why. But it makes the ride always seem shorter.

The rain and wind began to come it about mile 50ish. As I hit the coastline I was averaging 22mph. I wasn’t going under that. Nope. I had plenty in the tank and was realizing I may have held back too much. But who knows. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. 6-7-8-9. I got passed by 4 guys in my AG in the last 15 minutes of the ride. Every ounce of my competitive valor screamed GOOOOOOOO! Go with them. My mind. My confidence. “Robbie. Chill. They can’t run with you. You’ll pick them off one by one. Just wait. ” I had absolutely no idea if they could or could not run with me. But I told myself they couldn’t. Cruised the rest of the way into T2. Time 2:32. 22MPH.

T2- strip down. Load up. That’s it. Now we race.

Run-
Simple. Negative split. Run like hell. Pick them off.

I came FLYING out of T2 like I was shot out of a cannon. I was a little too amped. About a 1/2 mile in I had already caught one guy. Mile 1 — 5:48.

Ummmmmmmm. Robbie. Cool it. You’re not Crowie. Relax unless you wanna do a 10k recovery walk back to the finish. I still had 12 miles to go and plenty of time to catch people.

Pace slowed to a 6:40 for mile 2. Another one bit the dust. I passed 1 guy in my age group every mile for the first 5 miles. I was feeling solid. Smooth. Like a runner. The rain began to fall and helped cool me off. Every time I would come up behind someone I’d make an effort to pick it up and blow past them. Bye. Break them. Leave them with no inclination they could stay with me. The pass was permanent. The one on your bike was not. As I rounded out of the park I was done seeing people in front of me. I couldn’t see anyone to catch. I was also creeping towards my “edge.”

The first 2 miles were a mistake. I went to fast. Legs were hardening. Pace was slowing . Body was heating up. I was on the edge. I hit about mile 7 and it became “you can hold this “feeling” for 6 more miles.” Had no idea of my pace, but figured I could teeter on the edge for that long.

In a focused haze I mustered a few hand signaled “Hey, thanks,” to friends as they passed. Remembering some. Not others. I was red lining. Came around a corner and saw Allie, and remember her saying “finish.” That’s what I was going to do. She also informed me later that it looked like I had fallen on my face when she saw me because of how red my face was.

Miles 10-13 were a blur. A lot of the same. I wanted to walk so bad. I looked at my watch and new getting in under 4:40 was a shot. I’ve done this GCT so many times so I knew the run course was long. So I couldn’t go by pace, time, calculations. I just had to go. I was hurting bad. I turned the corner down S. Thomas for the home stretch. I could see the finish line. I was still a ways away. 500-600 meters maybe. Looked at my watch. 4:47…. Not going to lie. For a moment I thought “it’s long. So of you just cruise it in no shame in not going under 4:40. ” No. Not today. The old me would’ve taken that route. But I’ve changed. It was go for broke. Empty the tank. All of it. Head down and give it hell. Fall over the edge. I sprinted with all I had. I crossed the line. 4:39:52………. My hands on my knees. Legs wobbling. Chills from overheating. Red faced. Tank emptied. I couldn’t quite muster a physical smile but was smiling inside.

1:33:56 for 13.41 miles to finish. I was helped out of the finishing chute where I was asked if I needed to go to the medical tent. “No mam. I always look this bad when I empty the tank. ” I was happy with my time but more so bc I wasnt so afraid to fail that I didn’t give myself the opportunity to win. I don’t mean “win” an award or getting 1st place. Giving 100% of your effort now matter the time is a win. I gave it all I had. I left every ounce of the athlete I brought to GCT on that course. Now. Recover. Reload. Do it again at Kansas 70.3 in June.

GCT STATS
26 overall
Swim- 10 OV
Only out swam by 2 people in front of me and I ran faster than both

Run- 13 OV
Of the 13 that beat me. I out swam them all by more than 2:00

May 3, 2013

This Is Absurd

I knew there was a chance of rain for this Sunday’s Rev 3 Triathlon in Knoxville, but 100% is a little ridiculous. To make matters worse, the other guys I’m training with (who are not going) have been making weekend party plans all day!

I got absolutely drenched last weekend in the Country Music Marathon. My first tri of the year was soaked and freezing. Now this. But, I’m looking forward to the challenge and a test of will that can only help me in the long run, right? Heading out at 7 in the morning.

April 29, 2013

Country Music Marathon – Post Script (one day later)

As I looked around Corral #1 at my fellow racers, I kind of chuckled inside. Three hundred and sixty five days ago I was swaying nervously in Corral #16, having only started running three months earlier. But Saturday, on a cold rainy morning, amazingly, I felt like I belonged.

I exchanged chit chat with other runners, people just like me, who were cool and confident about the road ahead. I looked down at my bib #1805 and knew that meant I had predicted a finish around 1:30 for the half marathon. I’m not sure how many corrals there were, but the throng of people went backwards as far as I could see. I was literally starting 5 rows behind the elite runners.

I had been sick all week and the only exercise I mustered was a 2 mile run on Wednesday night that left me weak. Sometimes being a little under the weather can help calm the nerves and it definitely did as the horn sounded and my feet started paddling their way down a water logged West End Avenue.

Everyone I talked to before the race said, “Don’t start too fast,” and I clearly didn’t listen. I was floating along at my 10K PR pace for the first mile and downtown Nashville lingered like a carrot at the end of my stick. I promised myself to regroup and slow down, but the second mile was even faster! I was raging out of control, and by the time I reached the top of the long hill and hit mile 3, I had basically set my new best for a 5K at 22:54.

The good news is, I used to live on the course and knew I had a nice long downhill before climbing to the top of Music Row. Mile 4 was a little more under control, clocking in at 7:32.

The end of that hill nearly nailed me to the cross, but I forged into the Belmont campus where another long and steady decline awaited. I was humming nicely when I felt my shoelace flopping, and my mother screaming, “Tie your shoe, Michael,” so I stopped to do just that. My hands were cold and suddenly I forgot how to tie a double bow knot! It was full in-race spaz mode and must have tied 5 knots into that lace which I’m guessing took about 20 seconds, accounting for my slowest mile (7:49) of the race. The worst part the feeling you get standing out of a crouch, but I quickly found the groove and nearly ran over some animated kid raking water stop cups in the middle of the street.

We turned left at the bottom of Belmont and snaked through a nice little neighborhood that is normally packed with people, but this time I saw a lot of abandoned signs staked in the yard that said, “Good luck, Jim” or “This water is for Felix.” Really, that was the most unfortunate part of the rain, it kept the fans inside or on their porches. And even the ones who were out there were kinda cheering from inside their ponchos. The band support was a little sketchy, too, but I totally get why musicians wouldn’t want to fish their gear through the middle of a monsoon.

Coming up 12 South was a bit of a bitch. There are about 6 rolling hills and the last two tested my limits. That’s about the time I started feeling my left IT Band get a little squirrely as well. From experience I knew it was the downhills that made it flare, and sure enough I was headed toward the longest one of the course, 16th Street, Music Row East. I did my best to hold back a little, but as I began my decent, the music and screaming fans jacked me through the roof. That was the most energizing part of the course for me and sent me down the hill like a rocket.

Cruising into the Gulch at mile 10 was my nemesis last year. I could hardly feel my legs, but Saturday I felt pretty strong as I passed on yet another water stop. It was really hard to drink water in the freezing rain, but I probably forced down three or four gulps during this race.

We turned the corner and ran through a shin deep water puddle on our way to the Farmer’s Market at Mile 12 and I was more or less in a daze by this point. I knew we had two annoying switch backs ahead and did my best to stay with the ever-increasing pace of the closing runners, but at mile 13 I hit a wall.

As we exited Farmer’s Market, we curled right then back left to climb the final hill. My knee was on the edge and I took it easy. I was running out of gas quickly and knew I had to focus. We swung around the block, then pushed another small hill before hitting the bridge and I heard sort of an inspirational run on sentence from fellow East Nasty, Geeky Gunjan, that gave me the jolt I needed. I was on the bridge, nearly at the “point one” finish and another East Nasty, who I didn’t recognize, gave me a verbal push as he blew by toward the finish. I turned the corner and sprinted home.

It seemed like it was over in a flash. I felt pretty good about the race, and happy with my effort, but know I still have room to grow. Ironman Wisconsin training has been unbelievable in my progress. Training with guys like Jim, Daniel, Mark, and Kevin has pushed my limits beyond anything I could have imagined. And coach Robbie’s inspiration and wisdom has opened my eyes to endless possibilities.

So, that was the race. I signed up on a whim 10 days before and crushed last year’s time by 32 minutes, while beating my February 1/2 PR from New Orleans by five minutes. The coolest part of all of this is that I wasn’t really sore this morning and knocked out 20 minutes in the pool and a short bike ride to keep it loose.

Oh, and I started all this business at age 48, did this half at 49, and got 19th out of 677 in the 45-49 age group. It’s not too late if you really want it.

Here are my watch splits from Saturday:

Mile 1 – 7:15, Mile 2 – 7:03, Mile 3 – 7:28, Mile 4 – 7:29, Mile 5 – 7:49, Mile 6 – 7:09, Mile 7 – 7:19, Mile 8 – 7:38, Mile 9 – 7:19, Mile 10 – 7:23, Mile 11 – 7:26, Mile 12 – 7:32, Mile 13 – 7:42, Finish 6:11

Last year’s pace: 10:16
This year: 7:27

April 27, 2013

Blame It On The Rain

It rained the whole race. Then it rained four straight hours after the race. Country Music Marathon was good running, but a bummer on all other levels.

People did their best to brave the elements and cheer on runners, and in the end, there was great support by the fans. For running, it was almost perfect, and thankfully I felt strong for most of the race, even though I came out way too fast (possibly because I started in corral one). I was shooting for something below 1:40 and built a nice cushion by doing the first two miles at an average pace around 7:08. Even the third mile, which is almost all a hill, was around 7:20. I was feeling it. But that’s not all I felt.

Around mile 9 my IT band started acting up and I elected to back off a little. My pace was pretty strong and sub 1:40 seemed like it was in the bag, but I couldn’t read my watch because of contacts and the rain, so I was just looking for a “7” on the pace count and hoped it would all work out.

It did work out. I finished in 1:37:28, which is about 35 minutes faster than I ran this course last year and 5 minutes faster than I ran the very flat New Orleans Half. All in all a good day, but literally two minutes after I crossed the finish line I was freezing.

Soaking wet and standing there in a tank top, I quickly grabbed a race blanket and pulled it tight around me while I waited for friends to finish. I walked out of the chute, looked for somewhere warm to hang, but unfortunately there were no options. I walked back and forth near LP Field and was perplexed at why they didn’t open the stadium for people to get out of the rain. It was absolutely brutal.

People were shivering and waiting for people they couldn’t find because everyone looked identical wearing their “Rock n Roll marathon” warmer blankets. It was a steady rain in 50 degree weather and I’m staring up at this massive stadium that is basically locked. I don’t care if marathon people asked or not, the people in charge of LP Field should have saw it coming and offered the facility. It is an incredulous oversight and I don’t care about politics or safety or anything else. It should have been done.

So, instead, I wandered like a vagabond, teeth chattering, and legs shaking, trying to find people I knew. I ran into exactly two people I recognized, but had no clue how to find Rebekah, whose warm clothes were waiting in my car.

My knee ached and I contemplated walking 6 blocks to the car and back, but thought it would be best to just hang, then walk together, and leave. After almost two hours, I decided to go to the car, change, and bring her bag of clothes back. All told, I was standing or walking in the rain for over 3 hours. It was miserable and I still can’t believe they didn’t at least put up some more tents or something. Not like it’s their first marathon in the rain.

Anyway, the actual race was great considering the circumstances. The post-race, however, was a nightmare. I know you can’t plan for everything, but the forecast was calling for this exact weather a week ago. It would have been very easy to make this a better experience.

April 26, 2013

My Always Inspiring Teammate

Daniel never ceases to amaze me. He is pure, authentic, and full of genuine passion for friends, training, and life. Someone posted this quote from him (that I assume ran in the Tennessean) about the upcoming marathon. He has a way with words that always seems to lift and inspire you to run toward your next day, week, or race. I’m proud to know him and have him as part of the Crushing Iron team as we inch closer to Ironman Wisconsin.

April 25, 2013

Revisiting My First Country Music 1/2 Marathon

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.

April 23, 2013

Country Music Marathon

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.

April 17, 2013

I'm Doing The Country Music Half

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.