Training Hard

So yet again I find myself looking ahead to an ultra with little to no training.  The Delano 12 approaches, and I'm almost in good enough shape to run a 5k.

Come to think of it, I've only managed to be in decent shape for Delano once, and that year I was too dumb to only run for the prescribed 12 hours. (I just like to say I got a really good warmup that year... for a bit more on that, check out the Delano Day)

In any case, I was wondering if maybe some of you could tell me how an out-of-shape novice such as myself is supposed to run a 12-hour (or a 5k, for that matter).

Maybe one day I'll learn how to really train. 

Maybe not.

Blast From the Past: Ultra Experience From My Pre-Ultra Days

The gravel road passed quietly and relatively easily underfoot; the silent stillness all around struck me as a stark contrast to the rest of life, but experience had shown that the trail gets that way, especially when the run intrudes upon North Farm's typical 1am slumber.

Miles had come and gone, and there were yet miles to come and go, but the distance already covered was promptly forgotten, and the distance to come had not yet been brought to the fore.  The entire effort was encompassed completely in the now, although this did not erase the steadily growing fatigue in both the legs and the mind.

The steady cadence of leg turnover seemed the only consistent aspect of reality; even the moon and stars changing more noticeably than the organic, yet mechanically cyclical sound of foot hitting rock over and over and over and over.

Little did I know at the time that such a serene experience could be found, almost paradoxically, in the competitive fire of a race spanning days just as well as the simple late-night 12 or 15-miler in which I found myself.

Maybe This Is Obvious...

This might simply be a commentary on a concept that most understand well, but in my humble opinion it bears reiterating from time to time...

I think one of the simple joys that ultrarunning allows us is a typical willingness to do stuff.

(I know.... "doing stuff" is a far too specific and technical term...)

Albeit indirect in most cases, something about an intentionally trained ability to rise to the occasion is a necessarily versatile quality.

This was illustrated to me in a running situation on Sunday; I had run a half (don't laugh...) that morning, and while eating afterward, when a friend mentioned wanting to go for "12 or so miles" that afternoon, I didn't even have to think twice (even with ulterior motives aside...).

Obviously, this example is a direct effect of the distance-running-specific training, but after contemplating it a bit further, it seems that we can extrapolate quite a bit from such training.

Just think of the last time a friend or family member asked you to come along for something outside your normal routine.  What might have been an intimidating prospect to most was just "something else" or "something new" for you.

I also think it goes beyond the oft-mentioned dictum of "Well if I can run XXXXXX Epic Race/Run/Event, then I can do anything..."

 

I think it's more of a newfound outlook than a comparative look back.

Yes, success breeds success, but with the type of sport we're in, seeking out that next challenge or simply taking the blows as they come is ingrained in us.

This is something we all innately comprehend, but perhaps it's worth thinking about from time to time.  It's got some pretty cool implications...

Into the Mist...

It's been a while since I've gone into a race with precisely no expectations other than that of a completion.  I suppose most wouldn't consider such an event a race, but since I paid an entry fee and got a shirt, it's got to be a race, right?

It's been nearly three months since my little stroll up the road with the Alabama Relief Run, and as such I figured it's about time for me to get off my lazy duff and make some sort of re-entry into the running community, even if such a return would prove to be slightly anticlimactic.  The Mountain Mist 50k appeared to be a tame enough candidate.  With this in mind, I set about a rigorous ultra-training regimen of 20-30 miles/week, and I made sure that I prepared for the rugged Monte Sano trails extensively with my 2 runs of about 4 miles on said trails.  (ow... my tongue just hurt my cheek...)

With such a monstrous fitness base, and the oh-so-pleasantly damp weather of the weeks leading into the Mist, I was only assured of one thing:  it was going to be sloppy (in many respects...)

Race day came; the miles came; the mud came; the rocks came.

And went.

I must admit that an amendment should be made to my previous statement regarding the anticlimactic nature of the run.  The truly remarkable feature of the run was how unremarkable it truly was.

In spite of what was, for some, a thoroughly salient day, I was paradoxically thrilled at the mundane sense of routine that I felt.  Make no mistake, I don't mean to say that Mt. Mist was boring; quite to the contrary, it never fails to hold my rapt attention.  Moreover, I intend no negative connotation with the word "mundane."  Riddle's blazing time, Rob's second reverse-double, several friends' PR's, perfect weather, the true fun of slopping through the mud - the list of positive attributes of the day goes on and on.

I still liked the feeling of it being just another day at the office.

Maybe it's the sense of perspective I gained from covering a few miles in October.  Maybe it's the sense of perspective I've gained from running, watching, doubling, and playing in Mt. Mist a few times before.  Maybe it's the sense of perspective I've gained from the past year and a half of various personal trials and tribulations.

Maybe it's all of it.  Maybe it's none of it.

Somewhere along the way, the fresh-out-of-high-school-cocky-thought-I-was-fast-wannabe-ultrarunner changed into something else.  I can enjoy the sport for more than I could before.  I'm by no means renouncing my naturally over-competitive nature; I simply think that I've gotten to a point that it doesn't drive everything I do running-wise.  (maybe...)

I can enjoy the running for what is.  I can still train and run fast to enjoy the competitive side of things, and I can still train to run ludicrously long events, but I can also just train to run happy.  I'm hoping to light the competitive side again soon, and I'm hoping even more that I can merge this competitive motivation with the "just run happy" motivation in ways I've never done before.  It should be exciting to see what ideas we come up with...

Congrats to all Mountain Mist racers.  This Mountain Mist stroller is still sitting back and enjoying the ride.

Irony and Contrast

Ironically, the mild temperature was a bit of a shock to the system at the start of the run.  Cold air's bite had lost some of its bark, or at least said bark was beginning to fall on deaf ears.

Pleasant conditions managed to offset a bit of a twinge in the right achilles, both of which seemed to demand attention, the greater of which receiving the lion's share of an audience.

The achilles can wait.

A few cars scattered about, some lazily puttering down the road, many waiting idly while owners tended to business elsewhere, all of them appearing to be out of place in the world through which we run.  The oddity of this sentiment was striking with realization that I, too, would board such an entity within a couple hours.

Soon enough, perhaps too soon, the run had ended, and modern life began again.

Is this what it's like to feel anachronistic?

today's run

it was slow.  it was sluggish.  it was sloppy.

but even sans form and grace of motion,

by the end, i was happy to be out there,

and isn't that what it's all about?

Enter the Chill

I am somewhat surprised at how excited I was to get out to run this afternoon.  With the cooling temperatures, my typical m.o. is to fight the urge to climb under a blanket and take an ill-advised nap after work.

Not that I don't stay excited about running during the days.  Quite the contrary; while at work it seems to consume my thoughts, leaving me pining for "the fix."

However, much to my chagrin (usually...), by the time I've made my 15 minute drive from my office to change, the weight of the day has usually begun to hit, leaving me to fight the mental battle.  Ironically enough, the mere act of waging the internal war is usually the first act of surrender; paradoxically, not showing up to fight (i.e., not thinking about it) is typically the best way to get out the door for that first, and often most difficult, step.  Once this has been accomplished, the rest is usually a breeze.

Today, for whatever reason, I was as excited about the run when I pulled my bright blue road shoes out of the truck into the cold air as I was sitting in front of a computer screen 2 hours prior.

This bodes well, I hope.

For all to often, Winter brings the aforementioned trickery of the mind.  It's a time when we've got to remember what we know deep down as runners.  The immediate discomfort, cold, tired feelings are, more often than not, simply false alarms, another manifestation of the weakness we are eternally seeking to purge from ourselves.

We know how to push past it.  We understand how it works.  We simply need to act on that instinct.

If, as students of this eccentric activity, we can manage ourselves in such less than convenient conditions, then we'll emerge in the springtime that much more fit, ready to race, ready to push that much harder, and ready to enjoy it all the more.

...of course, all that being said, maybe the true mark of success in this situation is learning to "enjoy it all the more" while the nip is still in the air...