A recent visit with my 95-year-old mom, a resident of a nursing home for the past 7 years or so, is always a delight for me. Especially when she looks back and says things her mom said to her.

When I walked in, she asked if I liked her haircut and new perm job. Of course I did!

She then spoke in German, which was part of her family’s vernacular while growing up. Then she asked if I understood what she said. I told her it was something about her hair.

Good guess! Yes, she said it was something her mother always said, when one of her 11 siblings complained about getting ready for church or on a date. It translated to, “If you want to look pretty, you have to suffer.”

As I left, the thought stuck in my head and I recalled a slogan from Wigwam’s Ultimax Sock, when it was introduced at the Hawaii Ironman Triathlon Championships in 1995, in Kona. It went something like this: “Some run to compete, some because it’s so darn comfortable.”

As a competitive athlete for over three decades, I realized that I compete for other reasons. On the other hand, I really like feeling comfortable while competing. I know my feet have always carried me through my competitions for other reasons than comfort, but without the comfort, my performances would surely have suffered.

What the slogan was trying to get across was whether you are a competitive athlete or a weekend warrior, it is important to feel good about what you have on your feet.

 

Because I put my feet through more than most athletes, I know without that comfort factor, I would not have reached many of the finish lines I had in sight. Comfort can also mean no blisters, no bunching up in the shoes and no slipping down the ankles.

 

Since I began testing Ultimax in the mid 1990s, then under the project name of “Absolute”, I have experienced few blisters. In fact, I would have to look through my log books to see if I commented on getting a blister in the past 10 years, other than the one I got this year, while running one night, in a 448-mile race from Turin to Rome, in ankle deep water for 5 hours. That is a long time, with thousands of miles and under many conditions, where most got blisters.

 

In most cases, getting a blister in a race can result in poor performance or even the dreaded DNF (Did Not Finish). With any Wigwam sock I have worn, blisters have not been a concern and with the few I have gotten, the conditions just softened my feet and made them susceptible. Yet, unlike my mom’s saying, I did not suffer and still looked pretty (good).

 

Certain factors that appear before us and later put together can some times make for an interesting story or comparison.

The weekend before my daily visit with mom, I was in St. Louis for USA Track and Field’s annual meeting. Prior to the meeting I had free time and met with Bob Keppel, a high school classmate living in the area. Then following the meeting my nephew Kevin Pirrung from O’Fallon, just outside of the city, picked me up and took me to visit with his family.

 

On the way to the Interstate 70 on ramp, I saw 2 runners approaching, recognized one and told Kevin to get in the next lane. Too late, he hit a huge puddle and it drenched the runners on the sidewalk, as they tried to avoid the splash.

When I look back and put the German translation and the Wigwam slogan together, I knew it was very difficult for these two unsuspecting runners to look pretty, feel comfortable and I’m sure they suffered a bit, with the water that doused them, in the cold temperatures that day.

The runner I recognized was installed in USA Track and Field’s National Hall of Fame the night before and gave an eloquent and inspirational acceptance speech. He actually had been elected the year prior, but deferred his induction a year, because he lived only 25 miles away from this year’s event and it would allow more of his family to attend.

 

Craig Virgin, from Lebanon, IL, had his story told through a video presentation, prior to his turn at the lectern. We learned of a farm boy, suffering from a genetic urological disorder, on antibiotics for nearly 6-years to keep him alive, and how he became, in his own words, “A white Kenyan” winning back-to-back cross-country World Championships, three-time Olympic Games qualifier, 1976 NCAA CC Champion and more.

I had never seen Craig, even when he was performing, look anything more than the All-American he was. Somehow, seeing him drenched, made me realize it isn’t about looking good or feeling good, it is all about being good. Whether you are, or it is, does not make a difference, as sometimes it just isn’t pretty.

Accomplishing what we set out to do, is what we should all strive and whatever else is associated with that, can only be judged by others. Look pretty, suffer, but accomplish.

 

Thanks mom!

See you in a few miles….roy

Each Thanksgiving season I tangle with the holiday traditions and running on the roads and trails around my hometown.

With so many communities offering versions of Turkey Trots, it is difficult not to participate in the fun.

In the middle of October I finished what I considered to be the last of my competitive races for the year, but still maintained thoughts of running on the trails in my area and maintaining my fitness level.

With the lure of these community-based events, I am lured once again into competing, or at least participating.

Following my 4^th national championship of the year, a 50-mile road race near Boalsburg, PA, just a mile from State College where attention has been drawn to Penn State, I decided to enter one of the “Trots”, a 4-mile course in Institute, WI.

It was many years ago that one of the organizers, who taught at the elementary school, invited me to join their event, offered me a comp entry and provided me with a hotel stay the night before. Hard not to take someone up on such a nice offer, so I accepted.

I asked what I could do in return and offered to speak at the spaghetti feed the evening before, present the awards or announce the winners. I was told they just wanted me to be there, nothing more was required.

I signed up for the 2-mile that year, as usual, by the time November shows up on the calendar, my race calendar is already completed and I don’t care to add any more dates to it.

It was the shortest race I had done in years, as usually I opt for the longest of the events offered.

Let me tell you, it seemed like an eternity running, those two country miles on the roads. One forgets how to run fast when one does not run fast for many years. Painfully slow, I completed the run, took second in my age group and felt embarrassed with my time and the guy who beat me, who was a friend and never beaten me before.

One thing I did learn was how much fun it is to run the shorter distances, for a change. Year-after-year of running the majority of my races at the marathon and ultramarathon distances seems to make the end of the year start to drag.

After thinking about it, I really should not be embarrassed to run in any event I choose, if I choose to run in them for the right reason. Running in the “Trots” has been fun and no matter what event you participate, just do it for the right reasons, your reasons. I went back and took 1^st this year and won a turkey too.

In Pennsylvania’s Happy Valley, I wore my Compressor’s by Wigwam, but because it was freezing at the start put on a light liner sock over them to keep my feet warm. I also knew it would be getting warmer, so I wore my Wind Sleeves under a long sleeve top and singlet. Eventually the top was shed and the sleeves kept my arms warm until I hit the sunny section and pushed them down around my wrists.

The hills on Tussey Mountain are known to wear you down. With 5,000 feet of elevation climb your legs are pretty worn out by the time the final 3-mile descent to the finish takes place. Luckily, my legs felt great and I was able to pass a few on “the way down”. I know, without taking the necessary measures prior to the race with appropriate clothing choices that would not have been the case.

Managing to run 8:49:02 and placing first, meant earning my 68^th national title, as the Tussey mOUTaiNBACK served as the host of the USA 50-mile road championships.

Part of the thing I like most about the race is that it is run through Rothrock State Park and it feels like a trail run, more than a road race. The long climbs and descents, are tempered by the trees shedding their colored leaves, making the journey through the woods much more enjoyable and never feeling like the run would be endless.

As I move into December, where I have no races planned, I look forward to perhaps getting on snowshoes and trying out some of my Wigwam winter gear. I won’t have to worry about speed, just comfort! What better reason to get out there?

See you in a few miles….roy

There was a race I signed up for in 2008 with the intention of using it as a training event for my marathon in China. The Great Wall Marathon was reputed to be one of the most challenging in the world, partially because of the 5164 steps. I decided a 103 story race up Sears Tower would be great practice so I trained, I climbed and I stepped for a month before heading to Chicago. My focus was being as prepared as I could be, and making sure I lived up to the faith Project Athena had placed in me. Sunday morning I was scheduled to start at 9:00 am with no idea what to expect, I was excited about spending a weekend in Chicago. My procrastination in booking a hotel left few options, so instead of staying downtown I settled for a hotel near the airport.

The reminder of how quickly life can change became even clearer on the way to dinner. The night before the race, a group of us were getting together for dinner. I climbed in the backseat of a car, glad I didn’t have to drive for once, as we headed to the restaurant. Less than five minutes from the hotel, I had no idea how much things were about to change. The discussion in the car was about planes, triggered by the busy sky so close to O’Hare and general conversation somehow became reality as we were hit from behind without warning. An explosion shattered the rear window and I remember thinking the car had been hit by an airplane and it was coming thorough the back window. I could hear screams, glass shattering and metal screeching, but I remember being very confused about what was happening. When we finally stopped moving I recall seeing broken glass all over me and I was wondering what had happened. I couldn’t wrap my head around any logical thought and it was as though my brain could not catch up to real time or to physical sensations.
Somewhere in the process, between the accident and the hospital I learned we had been hit by a 19 year old, driving his parent’s Corvette. People who saw the accident said he was drag racing and weaving in and out of lanes. A firefighter had seen him heading toward us and estimated his speeds were more than 80 mph. From my position in the backseat and pictures I saw later, it explained the explosion behind my head, although I can’t understand how I survived.
After an ambulance ride to the hospital and several hours in the worst emergency room I have ever seen, I was released in the middle of the night. My friend, who was there to do the race with me, was the person who picked glass out of my head. I saw the doctor at the time of admission and not once after that. The pain was a screaming, living thing that had taken up residence in every cell of my body. The pain was so intense it was impossible to focus on any one thing, so I focused on my anger and my fear. I was angry at the driver’s recklessness and I was angry I was being cheated out of doing the Tower Climb. I lay in the hotel bed for a couple of hours, unable to sleep and not knowing what to do with myself. I was conflicted internally and couldn’t seem to find a place I didn’t hurt physically and emotionally. Yet I also was so completely consumed with how different things could have turned out and the reality of life’s fragile state, which was completely at odds with my other emotions. I had reassured everyone that I was not doing the climb and I would call them in the morning when I woke up. Through the early morning hours, wide awake, hurting and yet grateful, I spent a lot of time wishing. I wished again and again it hadn’t happened and the night had been different. I was in Chicago because of a spinal fusion and my effort to recover, yet I was in more pain than before. I thought about a lot of things, deep and meaningful life questions that come naturally with glimpse of your own mortality. Throughout my recovery I had been unwilling to accept someone else’s opinion about what I was physically capable of doing and I questioned if this should be different. I knew nobody would agree with my decision, but at some point during those hours I knew one thing. I realized that if in fact I was going to choose my life and my circumstances, it meant doing so in the most challenging of moments also. By the time 5 am came I was both furious and calm. It felt so unfair, that someone else’s actions, beyond my control were going to take something from me that I valued.

I decided I could either accept the situation, or confront it and write my own ending to the story. Desire and fear are powerful motivators of action and for me I was feeling both. I had an urge to live my day, knowing how quickly it could be taken. I wanted to be true to the determination and passion that had brought me here in the first place. And with every breath I took I felt fear. I worried about the long term impact of the accident. Getting out of bed, I was physically unable to lift my head off the pillow without using my hands to pick it up. I could hardly swallow, the muscles in my neck hurt so badly. I couldn’t eat and taking a drink was enough to make me scream. The act of getting up and getting dressed was so painful it made me question my decision. I managed to take Tylenol and headed downtown, lining up at the door of the stairway without sleep or food and barely able to dress myself. I was consumed with pain and nausea and although I couldn’t fathom getting myself up 103 stories, I couldn’t imagine not trying.

I did it, climbing 2109 steps. I had no benchmark to gauge it by, and I might not have done as well as I could have. I did hit my two main goals though, I finished and I didn’t throw up. My satisfaction had nothing to do with the race, and nothing to do with my time. I felt a deep sense of pride in taking the moment, defining it on my own terms and fighting for it. I would never look back on this and wonder if it were a chance I could have taken.

It is easier to face a challenge in ideal circumstances, like the ones I had at the start of the weekend. I had trained, I was with friends, and had prepared for the event. But in that one moment, the reality of how little you can actually prepare for life and how little control you have was clear. That was where my emotion was living and life reflection is impossible to avoid. It is impossible to not ask yourself questions about how you have lived and what you will do with the day you have in front of you.

In Steve Jobs famous Stanford speech he said “Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

He was right, with the wisdom only experience can give you. Everything I had prepared for, my expectations, my time goal, none of it mattered. It didn’t even matter if I failed to get to the top, because at least I could make a decision to start. In that moment I did feel naked, naked of all pretenses, stripped so bare and so vulnerable by the closeness of death that nothing else mattered. I was emotionally naked and without guard. That can be a frightening place to be, and since then I have made an effort to live life with less pretense and fewer masks. I remind myself the things I worry about are really not all that troublesome and what I am stressed about today will be forgotten tomorrow.

This year has been a year of challenges and decisions. In 4 days I will again line up for the climb. The tower is now the Willis Tower and I have since completed races around the world. I have also had another spinal fusion and am currently in the early stages of recovering from this. I will line up at the door of the staircase feeling challenged, physically disadvantaged, and unprepared. I am fearful of how my body will respond and what kind of setbacks I might feel. At the end of the day, my time for the climb won’t define me and neither will much else about this year. The issues that seem so big today will fade but what will define me are the decisions I make about how I live my life, my gratitude for today and how honestly I live my life.

I know the importance of showing up and facing the challenge. Steve Jobs spoke about living life naked and this is often my biggest challenge. Because it means I will take chances, face challenges and jump over the edge with only faith to catch me. I can admit I would like to be someone other than me some days, and on other days I don’t care. I can embrace all the parts of me that make me who I am, including my weaknesses, and always be ready to say to hell with what I should do. I embrace my passions knowing the reward and thrill of life when you are fully open. I dream it, live it, love it and am thankful for it. If you have ever been on a roller coaster, jumped out of a plane or made a decision to leap with all your heart straight out of your comfort zone, you know the thrill. There is nothing like it and only in that moment when nothing is certain are you fully open and naked. None of us can say for sure where we will be tomorrow, next week or even in the next moment. I hope along the way I become the person I want to be, and I hope I show the world the person I really am. Nobody expected me to do the race and no one would have blamed me for not doing it. But it wasn’t about what anyone thought of me for doing it or not doing it, it was about stepping into my decision and owning my life. It was about my ability to show up even on the days when life isn’t fair and the cards you are dealt are bad. Sunday, as I line up to run 103 flights of stairs I will carry this with me, knowing whatever the outcome, in my faith and in my life I am following my heart.

They get it right every time!

When I entered my 25^th Milwaukee (Wisconsin) Lakefront Marathon, I had visions of training hard and racing the guys in my age group for a win. Over the years, I had taken my share of age group awards away from the lakefront and thought it would be nice to take home, not only a finisher’s medal, and a second one to make it special.

Two days after submitting my entry application, I received an email suggesting I join a group of runners in support of Jenny Crain’s continuing physical therapy.

Jenny and I go back some time. She was an outstanding collegian runner when I first met her at a Milwaukee race. She was full of vigor and enthusiasm and always mindful of her “duties”, as an emerging elite athlete. She always made time to talk to those with questions, looking for advice, or just wanting to talk running.

Together we served on the Athlete’s Advisory Committee for USA Track and Field. USATF requires 20 percent of all its committees to be composed of athletes and the AAC requirements are more stringent. To serve, one must have competed on an international team or placed high in a national championship. Jenny met both of those requirements.

Then one day, in August of 2007, as she was finishing up her training run along the lakefront, where the marathon we would run for her finishes, she was hit by a motorist who fled the scene, resulting in brain trauma, paralysis and coma. She was gearing up for the Olympic Marathon Trials, then, suddenly she was an invalid. Read her story at http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297--13329-0,00.html.

Jenny’s battle cry was “make it happen”. She meant, don’t just sit there, do something to get the results you are looking for. A fund was set up to help with the enormity of medical expenses and her expression to make it happen became the Make It Happen Fund.

Her friends with the local running club, the Badgerland Striders, took note and began hosting an array of fund raising events. Jenny’s friends knew what she would have done for them and they in turn supported every effort and event to help raise those much-needed funds.

Over the next several years, she showed marked improvement, not only as a result of the monetary help, but some of her friends donated their time as professional therapists and worked diligently to give her every chance to recover. She eventually regained some of her speech and mobility.

Of all the fundraisers, this one would set the standard. A goal was set at $75,000, the cost of one year of therapy. The event would be an unforgettable one. At its peak, 85 runners signed up to run the marathon, linked together, each committing to raising a minimum of $500.

I asked Wigwam for their support in this effort and they readily and eagerly came on board as one of the sponsors. Each runner was given a pair of running socks to get them started and to get them to the finish line. On race day, they passed out hundreds of their quality running socks to those assembled at the finish line, to watch the Jennipede, as the team became known.

As the weeks drew closer to race day, there were injuries, people moving to other areas and other reasons, so the numbers dwindled to 62. Part of the reason the event was chosen, was to chase a Guinness World Record for most runners linked together to complete a marathon that stood at 53.

Although the record attempt was secondary, to raising the money needed for her continued therapy, it became an integral part of bringing attention to the event and thus raised awareness. Before we knew it, the original goal was broken, reset and broken and reset several more times, bringing in over $100K prior to race morning!

Novice and veterans tethered to a rope, slipped through a carabineer, found their position, printed and signed their name showing their designated position and gallantly approached the back-of-the-pack at the start line on October 2, 2011.

Veterans stated how doubts had entered their thoughts, while first-time marathoners shook, not from the cold, but nervousness. Anyone could be the one to end the race. A misstep, a bad day, muscle cramps all entered the reality and enormity of what was about to take place with the crack of the starter’s pistol.

The first bathroom break took 15 minutes. Not acceptable, I thought. The next time, the gals entered the portable toilets and the guys discreetly provided “urine samples” in cups, which were accidentally spilled on the lawn, before we quickly returned to running.

A couple of sprained ankles, as runners stepped in potholes, a couple of falls as a trailing runner could not see a hazard, and one runner with severe muscle cramps. Any of these could have ended the record attempt, but the team survived and power walked for nearly 10-kilometers (6.2 miles).

At mile 26, the Jennipede received a most unexpected and cheerful welcome, by spectators two-deep on each side, carrying us through the final two-tenths of a mile in the finish chute. Once we all crossed the finish line, we were immediately surrounded by paparazzi, spectators, family members and friends taking photos of the historic accomplishment.

Before removing ourselves from the cord, we once again were required to print and sign a document showing our finishing position, to meet the requirements set by Guinness.

My Maltese friend, Victor Vella of Italy, and I purchased 100 Grand Bars and a race volunteer passed them out as we completed the necessary paperwork.

Robin Gohsman, the team organizer then went from supporting the line from the rear, to center stage as the master of ceremonies. In quick order, two proclamations were read from the Mayor of Milwaukee and the County Executive, proclaiming October 2, 2011 Jenny Crain Day. Then the most important presentation of an oversized check in the amount of $100K was presented to Jenny and her brother Peter Crain. Peter accepted on behalf of his sister and thanked everyone from the bottom of his heart, as one who had also endured the day tethered to a rope.

Lastly and unexpectedly, each person was called up individually, and presented with a commemorative medal to mark the success of the Jennipede. I realized running was more than winning medals, but this one was really special, engraved with our name on it, along with Jenny’s.

If you would like to support Jenny’s future care, please visit: http://www.active.com/donate/jennycrain/roypIrRUNg to donate. Thanks!

See you in a few miles….roy

“The real glory is being knocked to your knees and then coming back. That’s real glory.” – Vince Lombardi

 

This has been my year to get knocked to my knees. And knocked again and then again. I cannot say I have had a year with as many challenges as this one.

 

I headed into this year with an Ironman registration, numerous marathons scheduled and a fierce plan to do it all. Although I knew a surgery was out there somewhere in my future I had no idea it was about to become “now”.

 

In January, less than 48 hours from flying home from Phoenix where I had run a marathon, I went to my doctor’s appointment knowing the news was not going to be great, but knowing I was going to stay the course no matter what. I remember in vivid detail the image on the screen of my spine, the fusion and the doctor saying “broke” and “now”. The reality of his words and his plan did not sink in until much, much later.

 

I had a plan, I couldn’t do surgery! Let alone a surgery that would put me out of the game for over a year. I tried every angle. “I am registered for Ironman, the surgery can wait right? Well then I can do the surgery right away and then still train for Ironman, right? Or maybe I can just wait again, like I had after China and Africa? No? The pain really hasn’t been that bad, I think I was just exaggerating. Ok but I will wait and we will work something out.” The harsh reality that I rarely admit to anyone is that many nights I woke up screaming, literally screaming from the pain. I really assumed if I could train a little harder or work on my form a little more I would figure out what I was doing wrong and it would be better.

 

A couple months before, giving a talk at a running club I had referred to the likelihood of a future surgery. I referred to it many times, but I don’t’ know that I really believed it. After all I had been getting away with “one more race” for a few years

 

My doctor encouraged me to schedule the surgery before I left the office so I would have something planned. I did, but as I was scheduling it I was thinking there was no way in hell I was going through with it. I asked for the latest possible date they would allow and the scheduler went four weeks. I asked for six weeks, pushing the envelope. I left, drove to my office and by the time I made the 15 minute drive, reality was settling in. I was realizing the impact this may have. Training, races, commitments, work, life…all of it. I was going to lose everything I had planned for this year. I was also feeling a desperate amount of fear that I would lose everything I had already worked for. My biggest fear was I would never get it back?

 

The surgery was worse than I could possibly have imagined and at my two week follow up, my first comment to my doctor was a reference to his attempt at killing me. The actual recovery was made tolerable and at times enjoyable by an amazing group of friends and family that rallied in a way I would never have imagined possible. This included my little girl, my dog Annabelle. My best friend in the world, the creature that loved me beyond any love I have ever known, was with me for round two. Annabelle was 11 years old and at the time of my surgery was receiving treatment for an aggressive form of cancer. She had been an amazing source of healing through my first sugary in 2004 and she was with me again. She lay in my bed with me, she sensed my needs, and she loved me the way only a best friend can, just as she had the first time.

 

Annabelle hung in there for me and then suddenly, two months after my surgery, she was gone. Lying by my side in bed she left and finally got some peace. It remains one of the most painful and devastating losses I have experienced and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her desperately. The thought of her is still enough to bring me to tears. But in those tears and pain, gratitude lives by its side that she was here during the first months of my healing and by my side with her love.

I could go on with more major life events that have rocked my world this year, but at this point my life begins to sound like a country song. The summary is that I have been knocked to my knees more this year than anyone’s quota should ever be.

I had such a clear map for my life heading into the year and the outcome was clear in my mind and it was in my control. I feel a sarcastic irony as I ponder how far off course I am. My attempt at drawing my life map seemed to provoke some kind of pissed off karma!

 

Throughout this year I have heard over and over again how much others admire me and how inspirational I am. These and many other kind words are nice, but they never seem to fit me well. I am never comfortable with the statements so I work to accept them as graciously as I can.

 

I don’t’ say what I would really like to say, which is I am not inspirational at all. I am really just a person driven by fear and desperation and in my lucky moment’s maybe a bit of inspiration.

Following surgery I had permission to walk a few times a day. The limit was to be defined by my tolerance and pain. The lack of specific limits was a gift. My second day home from the hospital I was quite literally in tears attempting to walk to my dining room and will admit to some pretty fierce anger at my own pathetic state. In the anger at the most basic level I was quite simply afraid.

 

And so fear was my gift. And fear was my push three to four times a day. It drove me to keep going even when I was so tired and so slow I wanted to stop. Fear of failure, fear of stagnation, fear of losing my strength, fear of never being “there” again, fear of losing my determination, fear of everything! I am driven by the most powerful of motivators. By my 6 week check up I was walking 14 miles a day.

 

There was one more reason I kept pushing, something other than fear. Bigger and more powerful than the pain and the fear, my goal was clear.

 

My goal was quite simply to run. You see despite my plan to do Ironman, despite how much I enjoy cycling, despite my crazy desire to be able to do my own vacuuming and laundry again, the one goal that lives within me passionately is to run. Some people will read this statement and if they are a runner they will believe it and they get it. Others who are not runners will read that statement and make the usual comments people make when they don’t get it.

 

I can only explain that when I run, I am someone different. In my worst runs, in my highest level of pain, in my most miserable moments, I am a different woman when running. I am strong, I am fierce, I am a fighter and no one in this damn world is going to grab one piece of that from me. I am happy, I am peaceful, and I am confident and determined. I am complete and raw emotion and the emotion that lives within me contradicts itself at a rate of speed that is astonishing. Because in all of those things I am the fear, the challenge, the thought of quitting, the self doubt is living in there too. How do all of those emotions live in the simple act of me running? I am not sure except to acknowledge the beauty of a spirit is often in the depth of contradictions we experience and reflect.

 

In my real life the emotions and thoughts scream so loud I can hardly hear myself think. In the moments of reflection I am like everyone else, and just trying to prove the doubt can be quieted. Running is my gift, my therapy, my way of conquering the world and all of the hurts and pain it brings. But it is also my celebration, and is grateful for everything beautiful it delivers to my door. Running defines a part of me that cannot otherwise be defined and in many ways defines me.

 

So February 2011 found me once again fighting to walk to my dining room, then to the end of the drive way, then to the end of the block. I had been here before and anticipated I might be angry about being here. Instead, I found a surprising peace in the fight and the moments of fighting to get there are some of my best moments. It was an amazing discovery to feel the same inner celebration in reaching the end of my driveway as I did in reaching the end of a 50k. I realized it was a lesson in the importance of the journey versus the distance. I found a glory in getting back up.

 

I continue to find glory in this fight back and although I am slow in coming to acceptance, I find glory and pride in the midst of fighting back again. In 2004 I thought I would do this once and I would be “fixed”. I didn’t see the fight coming but I meet it every day.

 

In Annabelle’s departure, I have two new canine loves and my days are filled with the love of my three dogs. I am secure in the love of my family and friends and although the odds aren’t great I am the proud owner of another Ironman registration. The other things that have knocked me down this year, I will put in my basket of faith and know I can face the challenges.

 

Every day, every single day, I am grateful for this. I know in my heart as I say it that it is true. It doesn’t mean that I am not angry and that I don’t have resentful moments. Those who know me well have witnessed some of my tantrums which are heavy with profanity and not in the least bit logical. I feel fear thinking of what my future holds as I work to gain strength. I feel all of those things but at the end of the day I am still grateful EVERY day. How can I not be?

 

The gifts I have received through my journey are so many and so significant. The love and support of my family, my little Annabelle hanging in there with me until just after my surgery. An amazing group of friends who rallied around me in a way I would never have dreamed, and of course a fabulous box of Wigwam socks!  I am grateful because every single adversity I have ever faced in my life, no matter how big has made me better on the other side. I realized a long time ago, I am a fighter. And if I am fighting I am glad to be fighting for health.  I am doing my first marathon since surgery in two weeks and no matter what my outcome I will be out there, getting back up. 

 

"The most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well." -Pierre de Courbertin

 

Sometimes you are in the right place at the right time. What you do and how you react to developments may define who you are.

Half dozen years ago, when my wife was alive, she purchased a book for me, signed by the author, knowing I liked World War II history and autographed books. The book was about the quest of two divers trying to discover the name of a submarine and how it met its fate.

Over the years, they had to develop better scuba gear to reach the depths unencumbered by suits with an air supply from above. The boat rested in deep water off the shore of New Jersey and had an aura of mystery.

The two were unlikely partners that became one with their goal of identifying the U-boat no one seemed to have a record of its whereabouts.

One of the divers was a salvager the other a purist. One would bring up artifacts and sell them, while the other got his rush from discovering the things he dove for and leaving them the way he found them. Eventually, after lots of investigative work, trying to discover the name of the ship and how it came to be there, both agreed to leave everything intact, once they could put a name on the boat.

The book Shadow Divers was written by Robert Curson, who later would appear at another bookseller, along with the two subjects in his book. I had the opportunity to see and hear them and to learn something more in the process.

Both of these divers were different in many ways, but the one thing they agreed upon, was that their coming together to discover the final resting place of the German sub, was a defining moment for each of them. They learned from each other and they discovered themselves in the process.

Nearly dying to reach an artifact that would give them the final piece to the puzzle they searched for, brought them to a new level of friendship and brotherhood. They both learned that their opposite personalities had certain characteristics that they initially had not seen in one another. Their dislike for each other faded away with the adventure they agreed to take on together.

I too learned from these two gentlemen, John Chatterton and Ritchie Kohler. I learned that I had a defining moment, after searching my memory for such a time in my life. Well, actually, there were a number of defining moments. That too is fine. Having more than one defining moment and realizing when they were helps us understand who we are and what shaped us.

For me, that moment came when I put on a pair of Wigwam socks, laced up a pair of something resembling running shoes and headed out the door with a goal of running 2-miles. I did not reach my first goal of running 2-miles, but

I found the determination to continue, even with the pain associated with a beginner, not knowing how to start a training program and suffering because of it.

The shoes were really not meant for running, they were purchased at a discount store and they caused foot pain. The days of trial and error taught me many things, perseverance being at the top of the list.

Without that one moment, when I saw an overweight lady jogging by my house and something clicked inside my brain and told me it was time to start exercising, I would not be who I am today. I would most likely be an overweight 2-pack-a-day smoker, instead of a world-class ultra runner.

We may not know at the time what our defining moment is, but we must be on the lookout, so that we do not let it slip away from us.

No matter the cost, we must pursue a goal, one that defines not only a moment in our lives, but also the future and who we become.

See you in a few miles….roy

Well.....It's done. 
 

My latest adventure took me to Ireland. I cannot say, my last run, because it was truly an adventure. Although, it was titled the IAU Trail World Championships, it had very little, what most would consider a trail.

The course consisted of roads, some gravel paths leading to and from the mountains and lots of bogs. In case you don’t know what a bog is, it is, as we were told the day before, “soggy ground.”

In order that no one would sink, too far, while crossing, a designated bog route, marked with small flags, was where we were to run, or risk being lost. Staying near the flags was a necessity, as some would discover.

Most of the USA Trail Team felt that this was not a true trail run and some even said it was not running because so much of the course was impossible to run.

One individual compared it to the Tour de France, with the toughest section ahead being impossible to run. The riders would have to carry their bikes for several miles, thus taking away any advantage the fastest rider might have and destroying the integrity of the competition.

Clearly, not everyone felt the same, as many runners performed well and some actually thrived. Most of those runners also had opportunities to run on rugged terrain in their training and possibly some may have had mountain climbing skills, as well.

Personally, I enjoyed the adventure, but clearly I was not prepared to compete over terrain of this nature. I stayed steady, but it was a steady hike and not a steady run. My feelings swung like a pendulum to ‘what am I doing here’, to ‘this is lots of fun and unlike anything I have ever done’, to ‘I wish this was over, but I know I cannot make the cutoff time to finish.’

Runners who were coming my way on the return trip were saying how crazy this was. One lady coming down said she wasn’t going any further and was headed back down to the aid station to catch a ride back. I wondered what I would find on the other side after I reached the top. I found out all too soon—“soggy ground”.

When I posted on my facebook page that I EARNED my first DNF (Did Not Finish) in an ultra I received condolences and sympathy messages, but the 2 that stuck out were the ones that I remember.

The first was from longtime running friend, Marty Sprengelmeyer of Iowa, who said, “Don’t worry about DNFs. If you have never had one, you have never truly challenged yourself.”

The other from marathon runner Jenny Chaudoir, of Green Bay, WI, who stated, “DNF to me stands for “Did Not Fear”—you didn’t fear to give it a shot.”

I believe I have challenged myself plenty in over a quarter century of ultra running, but obviously, I never did any mountain climbing in the middle of any of them. I will continue to challenge myself, but limit it to running, in the future.

I also believe I have not feared anything I have taken on. At first there might be some apprehension, but once I am at the start that fades into the feeling of ‘Bring it on, I can do this!’ I really enjoy creating challenges and having some doubt whether I can accomplish what I set out to, without that, racing would be rather mundane.

There usually is disappointment when not finishing what one starts out to complete. In this case, when I heard there would not be time to continue, I was accepting and thought, ‘How nice, I don’t have to crawl and climb over that mountain again.’ Three trips across the mountains was enough for me in one day.

I did find out that my trusty Wigwam Compressor socks made a huge difference, especially during the mountain climbs. And through the bogs, they didn’t bog me down. The mud did not stick to them and they never felt soggy—like the ground.

Over the next few days I had time to relax and see the local attractions, one being the mountain I first ran up, with my girlfriend, Chris. Physically and emotionally the race did not defeat me. And afterwards I also heard stories of what some of the others encountered.

My teammate, David James, from Arizona, was following a British runner when suddenly the Brit sunk and immediately Dave after him, up to his chest. He reached the Brit’s waist and shoved him up and out and the Brit then gave him a hand and pulled him out.

Some runners were beat up, one for sure had a broken arm and another thought she might have. Most agreed, it was one of the craziest and toughest events they ever had.

As we flew home a few days later, I told Chris I was thinking of a quote by Theodore Roosevelt that would aptly describe our adventure into the unknown. He said, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.”

See you in a few miles….roy

What’s your limit? Have you heard this before? I don’t know what my limit is, but I am testing the boundaries to see what it might be.

Disappointed that we did not gain entry to the Comrades Marathon in South Africa, the world’s largest ultra marathon event, my friend Victor and I decided to create our very own personal challenge.

Patterned after the Goofy Challenge an event at Disney World that has individuals running a 5K, ½ marathon and marathon on 3 successive days, we decided to run 3 ultras in 3 weeks, with the first one on May 21, 202.6K, the next 100K on May 28 and the final leg a 722K run from Turin to Rome starting on June 2 – totaling about 1,050 kms, equivalent to 25 marathons, in 18 days.

Nove Colli, or the 9 hills, pitted us against the environment and topography as the temps were in the low 90 degree range on race day, and started at noon with a controlled start, whereby all runners stayed together the first 20K to negotiate busy traffic out of the city of Cesinatico.

The hills were relentless, with climbs lasting 8 to 9 kilometers and going up as high as 507 meters to an altitude of 787. A couple would not be that difficult, but 9 major climbs, totaling 3,220 meters, took their toll, as did the heat and then the cool mountain air.

At 172-kilometers, my partner was overcome by the sun and needed to sit in the shade of the tent used as an aid station/ristoro. He told me to press on and I did. With 30-K left, it seemed like a sprint from that point.

As the cyclists passed me by, in the accompanying event which had thousands of bicyclists on the same course, racing in packs of 25, crossed the centerline, the oncoming driver was forced to swerve and I had to take evasive action. I dove to the side of the road, in a driveway hitting my left hand on the curbing, jamming my elbow in the process.

When I got up, the bikes were gone, the car was gone and all that remained was the road ahead. I shook it off, wrapped my hand in tissue and grabbed my water bottle in that hand to stop the bleeding. I pressed on and the anger pumped through my blood and I picked off 20 runners in the next 20-K and finished in 28:29:30 in 28^th place overall and 1^st in my category.

Victor came in an hour later. We were both pleased it went as well as it had. Our roommate also finished just under 29 ½ hours, so we were 3 for 3 on a tough day, where many did not finish. 50 arrived within the 30 hours limit out of 113 started.

After the race we evaluated what we had done right and what we could have done better. I was pleased with the support I had gotten from my Wigwam compressor socks and the knowledge that the arm warmers could be used effectively to adjust my body’s heat. Our feet were in great shape and our combination of walking and running left our legs feeling fresh rather than beat up.

During the week in between we headed for the sea at Santa Marinella, about an hour north of Rome, swam and soaked in the water. We then went to Civitavecchia and soaked in the soothing, hot mineral Roman baths at Ficoncella. A visit to Victor’s regular massage therapist, Andrea topped our rest and recovery week.

The del Passatore served as the 100K World Championships years ago and I was going to go, but my wife was not comfortable with it and I did not go. This was my chance to finally run the course over the mountain pass between Florence (Firenze) and Faenza.

Starting on a busy shopping street, the famous Via dei Calzolai, in the heart of Florence, nearly 1600 runners passed the Duomo, the beautiful cathedral and headed for the mountain about 5-kilometers away. The climb started after just 2-kilometers and did not end until 48, with a total elevation gain of about 1,200 meters at 913 meters above sea level, when the downhill started.

Victor and I joined up with a runner from Napoli (Naples) by the name of Angelo. It was his first ultra and he confided he did not know what he was doing and just wanted to finish. He mentioned he had been at the Nove Colli as a rider the previous week.

Again, we practiced what we had learned the week before and steadily made it to the top. Once there we searched for our drop bags and discovered they did not arrive. So, we had no warm clothes or lights for the journey down the mountain pass. Victor was adamant that we were cold and needed warm clothing and they came up with a t-shirt for me and what appeared to be a tablecloth with a hole cut into it, nothing like the nice CW-X clothing I was expecting.

We took what they gave us and eventually Angelo’s support vehicle pulled alongside and he gave us some long sleeve t-shirts and gloves. We were now outfitted to run comfortably, but only Angelo had a light.

The final 10K was well lit and we told Angelo to go ahead as we were going to walk it in to start our recovery for the next race just 5 days away. It was a wise decision, letting the heart rate come down and giving us the ability to get right to sleep after a warm shower. We finished together in 13:57:57.

The next few days we just rested and had a massage, running around was not an option, although the sea and the baths were inviting.

The race from Turin to Rome was a celebration of the unification of the 12 provinces of Italy under a common flag, 150 years ago. We started at Turin’s Piazza Castello, the ancient capital and would run to Piazza del Popolo in Rome, the new capital in less than 7 days 10 hours.

Using what we had garnered in the 2 previous races paid dividends as many of the runners went out too fast and faded just as fast. The 17 starters were cut in half in the first 2 days of 90-degree temperatures. We moved up from the last runners to the front by day 3, running in 2^nd and 3^rd on day 3.

Victor developed shin splints and was slowing us both down. He felt it was best that I run ahead and he would deal with his problem on his own. I charged to the front, only Antonio Tallarita, a friend of mine from Reggio Emilia, Italy, who works for Lombardini, a company purchased by the company I worked for 36-years, Kohler of Kohler, WI. At that point he was out of reach and that is where I wanted to be too, out of reach of those in pursuit.

On day 5 I took and extra hour of sleep, getting 3 hours and then pushed straight to the finish in a time of 6 days 18 hours and 12 minutes. Antonio had finished in 6 days and 3 hours, fully supported by an accompanying camper with driver, doctor and massage therapist. I went solo and was not given much support, so was at a clear disadvantage. Victor arrived about 12 hours later, proud, like me, to have finished, with minimum assistance, and taking in stride whatever difficulties we had to face. His was the first adventure beyond the 200k, which came only weeks earlier.

Did I find my limit? No, I will keep searching, creating more challenges and pushing the envelope. Without that, I am not everything I can be.

Tales of a fat guy training for his first ever 5k.