Running, Born to Run, and Philosophy
Yes, running. No, not the Springsteen song. Yes, philosophy.
Awesomest running book...ever.
Update: Last time I checked in, I was bruised and battered from my first “ultra”, a 50K. Thirty-one miles and some change crushed my body and my mind, leaving me emotionally desolate for a handful of hours. I couldn’t understand how I could be so prepared, and yet so unprepared. Of course, those hours passed, and I soon found myself reading about my next ultra endeavor, the Can Lake 50-mile ultra.
I did get examined by my doctor, and I had some minor running injuries. Some tendonitis, one or possibly two stress fractures. None of them severe. Three to six weeks off of my feet should do the trick, and today was exactly three weeks from the race. So, I headed out to Garden of the Gods to run a few laps. It felt amazing. To be back out again, running for the sake of running; nine miles later, and I was pretty ecstatic, despite having a chest cold, 85º temps, 50mph winds, and more hills than I’m used to. I didn’t push the pace hard (I ran half of the miles with the wifey, and we like to go at a very leisurely, conversational pace.) except for one of the 3-mile laps, where I maintained about an 8mpm pace up and down the hills. That felt…glidey. I liked it.
So I’m back on my feet, prepping for my next big challenge, the Pikes Peak Ascent, a half marathon up to the summit of Pike’s Peak. For runners in the Springs, this race isn’t really anything to brag about, but for me, it’s the end of a 16-year grudge match between that mountain and me. It started with a relatively slow summit in 1994 with a group of students. At the top, I was fascinated by the number of people running up. When I asked one of them what their story was, I found out that there was a race to the top of the mountain each year. Sixteen years later, I’m finally running that race.
I’ve been reading a book front to back that I’d previously only read snippets of here and there. It’s called Born to Run, and I highly…forcefully…recommend it to anyone who believes this story about themselves: “I’m not a runner. I hate to run.” It’s an enlightening journey into the very philosophy that drives running, along with some history behind my newfound passion, ultra running. It’s a very quick read, and you don’t have to love or even like running to appreciate it. I personally guarantee you that if you pick up this book and read it with an open mind, even if you’d previously hated running, by the end you’ll be wanting to close the book and hit the road on foot. It’s well-conceived, well-intentioned, and well-written. I enjoyed it. I think you will too. (Thanks for the loan, Cliff. I’ll be sending it back with your care package.)
My experience with the ultra and this book have brought me to a place where I’m once again reconsidering the very fundamental ideas that I have about running. Not so much doing an about-face; more like further embracing ideas that already had grabbed my attention. So, to wrap up this little sporadic stream of consciousness session, I’ll share a few ways I plan on changing my approach to running:
- I plan on running with my iPod less and less, as I’ve rediscovered the beauty of outside sounds as the soundtrack to outside sights.
- From now on, I’m going to buy cheaper, minimalist shoes for running.
- No more distance-based long runs. At least not in the traditional sense of “16 miles, then 18, then 20….”. More like “I’m going to run around that lake.” or “I’m going to go out for two hours and then work my way back.”
- From now on, speed work will always be fartlek. I’m tired of splits and pace and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
- I don’t care if I get faster, go farther, or get “better”. I’m just going to run. No more goals. Just running.
That’s not to say that I won’t still “train”. Just that training will look a lot more like running and a lot less like work. It also doesn’t mean that I won’t still race. Just that racing will look a lot more like running and a lot less like competition. I’ve come from hating running to being a lover of running for the sake of running. I don’t want to lose that.
I have nothing else to ask of running. Not health or weight management. Not glory. Running already gives me everything and more that I could ever ask of it. My gift in return is that I’m no longer going to take running so seriously. I’m just going to go and enjoy myself.
Why I Changed My Position On the iPad
Lots of hype, then lots of confusion (sound familiar?), and a collective “Meh.” from techies everywhere. Thus was the arrival of Apple’s iPad.
“It's much cooler in person.“
I was no different, and to the uninitiated, I resemble an Apple Fanboy. I use only Macs, I predominately use Apple software, and I even carry an iPhone. Heck, Uncle Steve’s even convinced me to pay a ridiculous amount of money for MobileMe, something I could easily get for free.
So naturally, I wanted so badly to love the iPad. When it launched, and I looked over its list of features (and lack thereof), I joined in on the collective “Meh” and found myself disappointed and unaffected. What is the iPad, if not a giant iPhone that doesn’t make calls? (or, more practically, a giant iPod Touch, though nobody seems to be drawing that comparison for some reason…)
Of course, this was before I touched one.
Last night, I found myself in our local Apple Store, standing for quite a long time at one of two very large tables at the front fully loaded with iPads to spare. Granted, this can’t be a full review, because I spent a little less than an hour with the device, but I’ll at least give you my reasons why I no longer think the iPad is stupid:
- Um, it’s cool. There were MP3 players before and after the iPod. There were smartphones before and after the iPhone, and there were tablet PC’s before and after the iPad. But the iPad’s cooler. Sorry.
- It blows Kindle and other e-readers out of the water. Keep your E Ink.
- Gaming’s better. Than the iPhone. Than the PS Portable. Than Nintendo DS. It’s better.
- The user experience rocks. It’s easy to use like just about everything else that Apple develops.
Now, I can hear tech heads exploding everywhere. “What about THIS?” and “What about THAT???” Let me explain something to you, Tech Heads: Cool wins. Every single time. Users will always prefer something beautiful that does a few things well than something bland that does a million things incredibly well. Apple has proven themselves the masters of developing cool products. Make fun of it. Hate it. It doesn’t matter….cool wins.
Everyone jumped on the personal computer train when Apple got into the game. Everyone jumped on the MP3 player train when Apple got into the game. Everyone jumped onto the smart phone train when Apple got into the game. And I’ll be willing to bet just about anything that with the iPad, tablet PC’s will become more and more ubiquitous.
Will they all be iPads? Of course not. Someone will figure out a way to do it in a more cost-effective way and sell to the masses. But I still believe (now) that the iPad is here to stay.
Why do you love/hate the iPad? Can you think of any practical uses for it?
What I Learned About Myself and Running During My First Ultra
The start...of hell.
The 50K distance is a good foray into ultra running for the beginner, though. Mostly because it helps change your thoughts about distance without totally wrecking your body. As an example, my buddy and I ran a marathon in our training as a long run. Previously, when I’d trained and run an actual marathon race, it was this huge deal. A life goal I was checking off, and I didn’t run for weeks afterward to recover. On the day that my buddy and I ran 26.2, it was just another long run. I ran again two days later.
It was because of this run, after which I was exhausted, but not destroyed, that I assumed this 50K was going to be a breeze. I mean, not a breeze…but not as big a deal as I’d made it out to be.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
For some reason, I never quite got into the groove. Normally, I settle into the rhythm of running about 30 minutes in or so. At that point, I’m in the euphoria of running, and I might as well be gliding…it feels great. I never reached that point yesterday during my race. It was difficult going from step one through mile 16.
At the aid station at mile 16, something changed. I could feel a tinge of pain in my right foot and hip. My back was aching a bit, probably from the change in gait that my foot pain was causing, and my left knee felt, hmm, uncomfortable. “No worries,” I thought, “this comes with the territory.”
Not even two miles after that, I found myself in intense pain. Suddenly everything in my body was screaming for me to stop. My mind had caught on that my body was hurting so badly, and it was doing its fair share to help convince me to do just that. “Your lungs hurt. What if you have an asthma attack?” “You’re injuring yourself.” “There’s no way you can finish. Quit now before you seriously hurt yourself.” Quite honestly, all of these things (with the exception of “there’s no way…”) were true. It really was my mind’s way of trying to protect me. This very process has probably saved many ultra runners from serious injury and even death. But this was only 50K. Not dangerous distance. And not much further than I’d run just a couple of weeks prior.
A few more steps. The ultra running variation of DNF (Did Nothing Fatal) ran through my mind. My running buddy, who is quite faster than I am, was still with me, despite my slowing down to practically a crawl. He reassured me several times, “We finish this together.”, but I knew something was wrong with me. Despite gorgeous weather and all the motivation that comes along with a race day, something was broken inside of my mind and my body. I honestly didn’t know if I could finish.
I convinced my friend to go on without me, as I was strongly considering ending the day early. I definitely wasn’t lying, because at that very moment I was leaning more toward dropping out than continuing on. However, I knew if I simply told him that I needed to take it easy the rest of the way, he would have stuck with me. So I told him I may drop out, and off he went after some last words of encouragement.
I collapsed on the ground.
I haven’t cried in…forever. I don’t cry for much of anything. Right then, I was near tears. I felt like such a failure. For over a year, all I’d wanted was to be an ultra runner, and here I was, considering quitting. My body felt unable to continue. I felt completely defeated, emotionally, mentally, and physically.
So I did what I do any time I need encouragement. I called my wife.
She told me that whether I quit or not, I’m not a loser. I’d just had a bad day and I’d live to fight another. That was all it took. I stood up, put one foot in front of the other, and moved forward.
Every step I took was pain. Walking hurt less than running, but running hurt in different ways. By that point, the pain had caused pretty intense nausea, which made me not want to eat or drink, but any of my fellow distance runners will agree that this is not an option. So I continued to eat and drink, despite wanting to yack or just fall down and sleep at each interval.
The worst was the confusion. Why did I feel this way? I’d run this far before with no problems. I’m not a quitter. I couldn’t comprehend the way my body and mind felt. So broken. So defeated. By mile 24, I told myself that I was crazy for wanting to be an ultra runner, I hate running, and I’ll never do it again. There would be no next time.
As I approached the mile 24 turnaround (the course was an 8-mile loop), I saw up ahead my entire motivation for continuing. There was my wife, coming out to greet me.
The race didn’t allow for pacers, but I didn’t care and neither did she. She accompanied me on my final loop, encouraging me and prodding me along, not allowing me to quit. At that very moment (and every moment of what turned out to be the most painful eight miles of my life so far), she knew me better than I knew myself. Every cell in my body was screaming “STOP!”, but she knew I’d hate myself for quitting. Even if I was physically destroying any chance I had of running again, if I quit, I would have destroyed one of the only things I like about myself: tenacity. I’m not a quitter. Had I quit, I may never have run again for sheer shame. For me, quitting would have more detrimental to my running career than breaking every bone in my legs and rendering every tendon and ligament unusable.
She knew this. She kept me going.
The last eight miles was hell. And that’s not hyperbole. I literally think that hell might be just eternally running on broken legs, uphill, for seven miles…over, and over, and over again. Even at the very end, which is about a one to two mile or so descent to the end, I considered quitting. Seriously. Just laying down and dying right there. But I didn’t. Thanks to some well-timed texts and calls from other great friends and a wife who wouldn’t let me quit, I plodded on, and ran across the finish line.
All told, my final lap took as long as the previous three combined. My third lap had taken nearly as long as the first two. As I crossed the lonely finish line, the race staff was…amazing. My heros. They made me feel like a million bucks instead of like a loser who didn’t even come close to his goal time. They celebrated with me as they handed me my finisher’s medal and plaque. I’d completed my first ultra, and they let me know it.
Once in the car, I collapsed. My body shut down. I couldn’t talk or think or move, I just laid there, clutching my medal, nearly welling up in tears again. I had such a strange mix of shame and pride. I couldn’t believe how difficult this run was for me, considering it wasn’t really all that much further than I’d run before with no problems. It’s only a fraction of the distances I’d like to go in the future, and all told, the day was gorgeous. There was no reason for me to have had such a terrible day, and I felt incredibly confused about that.
Yet I was proud. Proud that I’d overcome something that even the fastest runners that day didn’t have to deal with. As they sped through the finish line, they had the pride of knowing that they’d prepared well, worked hard, and finished strong. I had the pride of knowing that I’d prepared and overcome hours of intense physical pain to shuffle across that finish line. I’d earned my finisher’s medal with a very different kind of fortitude than the kind the top three had used to win their gold, silver, and bronze.
If getting into the car was difficult, getting out was nearly impossible. I think getting into my house was just as grueling as the last lap of my race. My legs had locked up, and I could tell that I was pretty seriously injured. The rest of the day wasn’t really interesting at all. Warm bath (ice bath, schmice bath), nap, awesome celebration meal provided by the wifey, and relaxation for the rest of the day.
It’s Sunday now, and I can tell my body’s broken. I still feel a tinge of embarrassment over my time, but it’s eclipsed by the pride I feel when I look up at the mantle and see my finisher’s plaque. The “I hate running. I’ll never run again.” temporary insanity of yesterday has been replaced with a resolve to run a 50-miler next year; even if I run my legs into the ground. I’m analyzing my training methods, nutrition, and overall physical health, figuring out ways to make the big distances a little less dangerous – a little less daunting.
Ultra running is transformative. It bares your soul, mind, and body like very few activities can. Yesterday, it bared mine, and I didn’t like what I saw. But I still have my fortitude. And next time will be better. Next time I’ll be stronger. Next time…
The Oscars: My most ironic indulgence.
You may or may not know that I’m an aspiring filmmaker. Everything about filmmaking is fascinating to me. From writing to directing and even acting, I love it all.
I often tell people that The Academy Awards (Oscars) are my Superbowl. I like sports, and follow them as closely as I can, but what I mean by this statement is that as most people give a damn about which NFL teams are playing in the Superbowl, I give a damn about about which films are nominated for Best Picture.
The comparison doesn’t really hold water on all levels, though. Mostly because the two teams in the Superbowl typically are the best teams in the league that year. The Oscars, on the other hand, are much more political. Many of the best films, filmmakers and actors are overlooked because they didn’t have the resources or political clout needed to fit the bill.
Which is why I consider it somewhat ironic that I care so much about the Oscars. In some ways, they represent everything I hope for and dream about professionally. In others, they represent everything I hate about Hollywood.
Love/hate…yet I can’t look away.
So know that tonight, as I’m watching The Oscars, I’m both elated and tortured. Frustrated and fulfilled.
And a little hungry. I’m always hungry.
Movies That Made Me Cry
I was having a conversation with a friend at work about movies that make us cry, and I realized that though I emotionally connect with a lot of films, and have no trouble empathizing with characters, I don’t really cry so much anymore.
That being said, I’ll admit it. I’ve cried in movies. And here are a few that did it to me:
Where The Red Fern Grows
Little Ann starved herself to death because she lost Old Dan. They made me watch this emotional torture flick in second grade. Seriously?
Old Yeller
Just like Where The Red Fern Grows, except Travis shoots him in the face. Another great one for the kids.
E.T.
Four little words: “I’ll be right here.” Whoa…woop…yep, a little tear just slipped out.
Dead Poets Society
Yeah, I memorized O Captain! My Captain! after seeing that movie. Once I stopped bawling, that is.
Million Dollar Baby
In addition to crying, I also threw objects at the screen whenever Maggie’s family was around.
The Notebook
Admitting that I’ve even seen this is difficult, People. So try this on for size: I own it. And it’s the last movie I remember actually sobbing in. Their love is forever. It’s forever.
What about you? Any movies make you cry?