Veteran’s Day: Catching Up

Well, it’s been a while, huh?

Man, a lot has happened since my last post in March. It’s been seven months, to the day. I look back at that post, and it’s hard to imagine trying to even summarize everything that has gone down since then. I won’t try and do it all in one post – I owe those of you who actually take the time to read my posts some actual details. But I’ll hit the major points tonight, and try to go from there over the coming weeks.

For those of you who weren’t aware, we lost my grandmother, Tokuno, in the tsunami. Even as I type these words, it doesn’t seem real. It’s hard to think about, really. She died when the tsunami hit the rest home in Kesennuma at which she spent portions of her weeks. Some were evacuated to the roof of the building, but unfortunately she was not one of them. We don’t have a lot of detail on it, and it’s difficult to even try to imagine, so I try not to think about it too terribly much. It was an absolutely agonizing several days as we waited for word from our family, glued to televisions, Skyping with relatives who were not in the affected area, and watching news reports on the internet. For some time, there was simply nothing. For all we knew, we lost everyone. My dad carried an especially heavy burden for those days, as he received only a 30s phone call from his brother in the wake of the tsunami before the call terminated. For days, we knew nothing other than that. There was simply no information. Then, as we slowly started establishing accountability, we finally received word on the death of my grandmother. My youngest sister was the first to learn, and it was she who had to notify my dad. Finally, at least we knew.

In the wake of that, I pushed hard within my chain of command for release to deploy to Japan for what was beginning to be known as Operation TOMODACHI, which is Japanese for “friend.” Through the hard work of a dedicated network of peers, supervisors, and what I can only see as divine intervention, I was able to navigate the complex military bureaucracy and soon found myself deployed to Yokota Air Base, Japan. What followed over the next month, I consider the most honorable thing I have done yet in my career. My role was small, miniscule even, in comparison to the dedication the US military poured into that mission. But I count myself a lucky man to have been able to participate for even a brief period of time. Hopefully, I can capture in writing some of my experiences there and share them with you all.

Because life is life, while all this was going on, Jen and I were undergoing a major transition. We decided to leave active duty and pursue an opportunity with the Alaska National Guard, so as all this was going on, I was assembling application paperwork, conducting interviews, and praying for the best. Shortly after returning, I received word I was selected, and thus began major preparations for a huge life transition. Also no small potato! The summer passed quickly, between work, prepping to leave, and everything else, not a day was wasted. We sold cars, bought a new one, filed paperwork, and generally tried to figure out how we were going to live in a radically different location.

Oh, and there was also a lot of running. While in Japan, I didn’t have a lot of time to train, so I just tried to stay as fit as possible. Coming home and getting back in the groove was no picnic, but with the help of my friend and mentor Matthew Whitis, I got back on track. There were successes: at the age of 34, I posted a 4:47 mile / 10:44 2 mile in a local track series in the dead heat of the SC summer. And there were frustrations: my 5k race times were nowhere near where I wanted them to be. But through it all, I trained hard. Looking back, I consider some of those workouts achievements in and of themselves. The last track session I hit in SC was 20 x 400 with 200m jogs, alternating sets of four between 78 and 83s per quarter. I haven’t done a workout like that since college.

The move was incredible. Everything just seemed to keep working out and falling into place, to include finding a buyer for our second car literally days before we drove out of town. We spent time along the way with family (I built an earth oven with my pops in MN, which was super fun), and caught the fall colors on our way up the Alaska Highway in Canada. We saw wildlife, and scenery that would literally blow your mind. And then…we were here, in Alaska. Not for long for my better half, though. After ten days here, Jen got on a plane and spent four incredible weeks in Ethiopia. While there, she supported a new clean water/well rehab project and taught health and hygiene courses to the types of folks who still think disease is caused by evil spirits. You can learn more about her work at http://www.projectwuha.com, and I simply can’t express how proud I am of my wife.

Which pretty much leads us to the here and now. To be honest, I’m not sure where Run For Something is going in the future. Recently, I re-connected with some old friends, who have established a new NPO called Team Run For Veterans (www.teamr4v.org), and the focus will be on supporting athletic opportunities for disabled vets. Supporting vets has been on my mind for a while, and my new job up here in the AK opens some unique doors. I’ll continue to support Mocha Club’s clean water work in Sudan, but I’m considering making this year more about R4V. Today is Veteran’s Day, and to be honest, I’ve had vets on my mind for some time now, wondering how I can better support my own brothers and sisters.

Oh yeah…running…well, by now you should know me well enough to realize I’m 100%. 100% stop, or 100% go. I’m happy to report it’s still 100% go these days. My first act as an Alaskan was to participate in the Bonny Sosa Tuesday Night Run racing series here in Anchorage, and I didn’t suck. In fact, I manage to place top three in five consecutive trail races. The running scene here is vibrant and a rock-solid aspect of the community – the Bonny Sosa runs are essentially cross-country format trail runs, all hand-timed, and require only a 5$ entry fee. Volunteer-supported, and city-led. The courses are held secret until the time of the race, and each race, which occurs weekly in the fall, is held at a different location. One night, we saw over 1000 Anchorites ranging from newborns to octogenarians out there for the race. It’s one-of-a-kind and a definite kick in the ass.

It’s not going to be like SC, where I could race and train on the track and roads year-round. We’re officially in winter, and the snow ain’t going anywhere. But I feel strong. Strong-like-bull strong. Strong enough to post solid track workouts at altitude, and follow them up with a 3.5hr mountain bike ride of 24 miles and 2400′ of elevation change starting from 7500′. Strong enough to stomp treadmill workouts on the same day I post PRs for a 1000m row on the Concept2 (3:29 if you were wondering). Strong enough to get out in the backcountry on my splitboard and feel like I have miles of travel in my legs. Strong like…well, you get the idea. There’s a turkey trot in a few weeks, and if conditions aren’t heinous, I think I can get under 17. After that, Jen and I are looking at cross-country skis and running snowshoes for winter fitness, but we’re still learning the winter ropes up here.

Over the coming weeks, I want to tell you all some stories, and share some ideas and passions. If you want to hear about anything in particular, I’d love to hear about it in the comments section. I’ve already got a suggestion to talk about strength work as it relates to endurance, and I think it will be interesting to talk about how runners get through harsh winters and emerge ready for summer/fall racing. I’ll be honest…posting every day just isn’t realistic right now (or ever probably), but I think if I set the bar low enough (weekly sound good?), we can see some success. Jen, Eric, and Megs – thanks for your encouragement and re-igniting the embers of creativity. Until next time, true believers…

Race Report and Update: Governor’s Cup 8k (13 Nov 10)

“On your left.”

Nothing.

“On your left!”

Still nothing.

“ON YOUR LEFT!” I find myself running sideways trying to slip past the guy with no concept of someone trying to pass on his left, and our shoulders collide as I pass.  “On your left means on your left,” I gasp as I haul ass past him, leaving out a long list of choice pronouns I’d like to tack on to the end of that sentence.  The issue at hand is that the front of the Governor’s Cup 8k pack  is running into the back of the Governor’s Cup Half Marathon. The races share the same course for the first 2+ miles, and the race direction started the 8k a scant ten minutes after the half-marathoners took off.  Now I’m bobbing and weaving through the crowd, just hoping this isn’t going to slow me down.

There’s one guy ahead of me, and he’s far enough out of my league for me to not even think about him. He’s a local masters runner who’s allegedly been training only a few weeks now, but that’s what he always says before he shows up and throws down a 15 minute 5k. Anyway, I dropped the only other guy around 1.5 miles, which was disappointing because I was hoping not to run solo for the back half of the race. But, here I am again in no-man’s land with only myself for a pacer.

After we break from the half-marathon course, everything falls strangely silent. There are no spectators, no nothing at this point. At Mile 3 I hit my watch and don’t like what I see: 12s slow for the last mile. This is the point in a race where I struggle the most. In the past, I might have simply packed it in, and given up any hope of running near my goal. But I’ve worked very hard on my mental game in the past couple years. I tell myself it was a slow mile as a result of all the bobbing and weaving. I know the next mile is all flat/downhill, so I decide the best thing is to push the next mile very aggressively.

Rebounding after a slow mile...

Shortly after this, I see Jen, who has borrowed a bike and is riding around snapping pics of me and our friends Matthew and Steph Whitis, who are both running the half.

“Yeah! You look HOT!!!”

I can’t resist smiling even as I focus on going 20s faster this mile.

My watch at Mile 4 shows a 5:20 split, which puts me back on track to finish in the upper 27s for 8k. I’m back where I need to be, and to tell the truth, feeling pretty good. I’m working very hard, but think I can probably maintain this pace over the next mile.

There are now some scattered spectators as I draw closer to the finish. Then I see it: the half-mile uphill standing between me and the finish. It doesn’t look that bad, I think. But as I begin my ascent I quickly find my stomach growing more and angry at the amount of growing acidity in my body. Uh-oh. Red-line City.

Then begin the crippling dry heaves.

I feel my pace slipping.

The grade slackens, but I am suddenly overcome by an overwhelming urge to stop and throw up. At this point I feel like I am crawling.

Don’t you stop. You want to throw up, fine. But you’re at least going to be moving when you do it So I keep moving, making awful gagging sounds and faces.

About 100m out, in sight of the finish line, all the spectators, and most importantly, the race photographers, the gig is up. And so is whatever’s in my stomach, which thankfully isn’t much.

I manage a semblance of a sprint, and cross the finish in 28:12, happy to be done with it.

In retrospect, it was not a bad race. It highlighted some weak areas in my training, and as my first race in five months, not a bad start. Most important for me was the lesson of mental tenacity. Being alone out there in a race when things aren’t going as planned is a tough spot. Ten years ago (a decade? Has it really been that long?) the demons would have been in charge. As a collegiate runner, my number one struggle was my head and overwhelming negativity. More than likely, I’d have mentally quit and coasted the remainder. This time, though, I fell back on some tried and true techniques – positive mental chatter and form cues – to help get me back on track. Unfortunately, my fitness level wasn’t quite on par with the course demands, but that’s an easy fix: train harder. On a humorous note, check out http://orders.racephotonetwork.com/QPPlus/Images.aspx for some funny pictures of me in the middle of the dry heaves both on the hill and approaching the finish.

Whitis and Me

As for the results, I was second overall, first in my age group, and the proud recipient of a $55 check. The time was also *technically* an 8k PR, although I was faster in the first 8k of the Reedy River 10k back in Feb.  In the half, my friend and training partner Matthew Whitis (the dude in red next to the handsome gent in blue ) ran away from the field in 1:14 and finished first, which was awesome.  Over the past year, I’ve trained with Matthew more than any one person since running in college. We do most of our long runs together and occasionally help each other through some of our quality sessions. He’s getting ready for the Rock n’ Roll Phoenix Marathon in mid-Jan, and I expect he’ll be one of the top masters there. The dude eats high-mileage weeks for breakfast, logging 100-120 with complete nonchalance. When I start to think my mileage numbers are a big deal, all I have to do is ask Whitis what he ran last week and I get an instant ego check.  

Since the race, I’ve increased both my mileage and intensity. Hill repeats, track intervals, mixed tempo sessions – “It’s all deadly,” to quote a favorite movie. I’m hoping I can break 17:00 before Christmas, and looking at a fast 5k in Greenville on 23 Jan as being a good place to target 16:30.