Race strategy

Yes, I finished the BSIM last year. As I told my wife, I ran a great half marathon in that race, the second half was a nightmare of walking and slow, shuffling that barely passed for running. This year I want to run the whole thing (I know, I worked with Ken Ottmar's story in Saturday's Herald about there being no shame in walking,and agree there is no shame there, but I want to run). To accomplish that this year, I have run further and taken on many more hills in my training. I feel a lot stronger than last year. If I have a regret, it was that I didn't lose weight during this time and I worry about carrying 220 pounds over 26.2 miles (I weighed about 210 last year). Oh well, too late now.

Mentally, I'm dividing the race into parts. The first 10 miles will be the most enjoyable. It's down hill and, of course, the energy of all the participants pulls you along (often faster than it should). The keywords for me here: patience and relaxation. I know I'll be plenty fast enough, I just don't want to be too fast. And I know there will be traffic challenges, but I can't spend too much energy on those.

You know what comes around 10 miles. The key words getting up Hurricane Point: have faith and stay within yourself. A whole lot of training gives me the strength to make the climb, but I don't want to race up this hill. It can feel like you're moving like a slug up the hill as other runners fly by. I've got to remember that most of those runners are on relays and are fresh (the exchange zone is right at the base of the hill).

Down the hill, recovery and focus. It can beat the crap out of your toes and burn a whole lot of energy trying brake going down the back side of Hurricane, at least, that's what happened to me last year. On the advice of one of our running columnists, I've done a lot of practice running down hill, worked on not leaning back, on rolling my feet heel to toe through the hill (rather than that jabbing braking motion, leading toes first).

Another climb around Mile 15.This is where it ended for me last year, where I had to walk. This is focusing and remembering all the training I did, practicing taking on hills when I was tired. Reminding myself, it can feel better climbing then descending. A crucial spot in the marathon for me (if I could, this is where I'd put my son and daughter to be yelling, reminding me I can do this "Go Dad Go!")

The 20 mile mark. I hit that last year as I was being passed by a pair of women. "Look, we're just a 10K away," they shouted as an encouragement. ONLY a 10K? Not so long ago finishing a 10K was a major accomplishment for me (that, and, when I hit this point last year I must have been be semi-delirous, because I kept thinking a marathon was 24 miles long). I'll probably think about my boss through here, because there are times I want to give up and that's when she tells me something to the effect of, "we will do this, we have no choice." And I get mad at her, but I do it, blaming all the pain and anguish on her. And in the end I should thank her for challenging me, for making me better.

The last two miles or so. D-major hill at D-minor time. I will have come through the Highlands, remembering last year and the hug the guy gave me last year, and how I felt it was the spirit of my deceased father when he said, "everything is going to be all right." And I'll be thinking of him and my mother, who holds my hand and strokes my forehead and makes me feel strong. And as I crest the hill, I'll be thinking of my wife and how when things get tough we find ourselves running toward each other, funny (in a lovely way) how God made our love that way.

I realize now, having written this, what a strange and wonderful journey it is, this marathon thing. I think I'll try to run the whole thing, and yet, savoir the wide range of experiences at the same time. I'm hoping you do too. Say hi when you run past. Good luck, God bless you.

Getting "right" with the marathon

An errand today took me past the finish line of the Big Sur Marathon. The welcoming tents are going up, the Big Sur flags are waving in the breeze. I hadn't planned it, but I took the turn south on Highway 1. The highway mileage sign on the side of the road says Big Sur 26(.2) miles. For some reason it made me remember a scene from one of my favorite movies.

Ray Kinsella and his wife are enjoying an evening picnic on the lush outfield of their baseball field. Kinsella gets up, and gazing off at something in the distance says wistfully, "I have just created something totally illogical. ... Am I completely nuts?" His wife joins him at his side. "Not completely," she says. "It's a good baseball field Ray."

I am about to do something completely nuts, attempt to run 26.2 miles for no real good reason. Maybe that's why I felt at that moment when I made the turn down Highway 1, I needed to get "right" with the marathon.

The final miles through the Carmel Highlands are the worst. At that point last year my toes were battered and blackened, there were stabbing pains going through my kidneys each time I attempted to run, and I was quite nearly overwhelmed with a feeling of failure, not just in the race, but in my life. As I've written before, my spirits were picked up by the man who hugged me at one of the last aid stations and told me "everything is going to be alright," as well as the runner in the last two miles who patiently listened to me complain and then moved past - on the back of his shirt it said "No whining allowed." A good kick in the pants for me.

As I drove down and back through the Highlands on Wednesday, one thing kept echoing through my brain, "this is doable." The hills, which a year ago had seemed like cruel stepsisters of Hurricane Point, seemed, through sober eyes, more like swells, things I am strong enough (through training) to ride out. The descents, though steep, won't have to beat me up as much if I stay disciplined and maintain my form (don't brake by hitting toes first, don't lean back. My mantra, lean forward, roll the feet through, work with it, not against it). Even the final "da minor hill at da major time" seemed achievable, similar hills at similarly tough times I've conquered (better word, survived) in my training runs.

The last two weeks, the question I'm most asked by friends and co-workers has gone from "how's the training going?" to "are you ready?" I haven't had a straight answer for them, but today, visualizing myself through those final miles - just, I don't know, getting right with it - I feel a whole lot closer to saying, "Yeah, I'm ready."

I'm sitting at the finish line Sunday of the Big Sur Marathon, leaning against one of the big dumpsters sipping a beer. "I've just done something completely illogical," I say to my wife. "Am I completely nuts?" She picks up the cue, knowing I've watched that movie about a thousand times, going through a box of tissue each time. "Not completely," she says. "You ran a good race Dave."

unscheduled stop

I've been really blessed to have been healthy all through my training. No missed days because of illness or injury. I think of this as a miracle of sorts because both my daughter and wife have gone through colds and flus this winter, but not me. About a month ago I was praying/counsoling a young friend of mine and she was spraying me (not intentionally of course) with all sorts of germs from her cold (I remember thinking at the time that getting sick could just kill my training, but not willing to put myself out there, well, that would just kill who I am). So, I was feeling almost down right cocky about my health ... until Friday. About four miles into a 12-mile run I felt, as Winnie the Pooh would say, "a rumbly and my tumbly." I needed to go to the bathroom, and not in the "I'm a guy and will just sneak behind this tree" kind of way. This is the first time that's happened to me. I was in the middle of a neighboorhood, about two miles away from a public bathroom. I had no choice but to make what was meant to be a slow, work the kinks out run into a bit of speed training. (I was also reminded of the story one woman told me last year about having the same thing happen to her, except she was running on the trails in the Santa Cruz mountains, out of range of a bathroom. Without toilet paper she was forced to improvise. Her running bra has never been the same.) Well, I made it safely, although there were some stressful moments, and the rest of the run went just fine. But that night I felt a lot more sore than I should have. The next morning the stomach flu hit full on. This was the same flu that had swept through my nephews and my family the week before, after we came back from Disneyland.

Eight days away from the marathon, I don't think it's the worst time to get sick. I'm supposed to be tapering anyway. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. The worst part of the flu was over by Sunday afternoon. Now my stomach's just a little tender, I get fatigued a little easier and I'm a lot more grumpy. I'm heading to the gym right now for some easy eliptical stuff (it's going to rain any second). I'm sure I'll be fine ... really.

STORY UPDATE: Here at the Monterey County Herald we have reporters working on some of your story ideas for the Big Sur Marathon. Thanks for those. Our coverage will really kick into gear on Thursday with Donald Buraglio and Mike Dove, our running columnists, giving advice to those runners looking to beat them (my advice, don't follow their advice).

WEATHER UPDATE: It's looking like it will be sunny on race day (yah!). I'm thinking sleevless tee (w/sunscreen) on race day and I'm packing a couple of those reflective blankets to wrap around me and sit on during the wait at the starting line. Five more days, oh my.

It was beautiful out

Ahh, today I was living in California again, not Oregon, not Seattle. The sun was out, the puddles had dried up and I could wander outside without a jacket. Checking the 10-day forecast I'm seeing a whole bunch of sunshine. So I have a feeling it's not going to rain on us during the Big Sur Marathon (oh my, did I just put the hex on us?). There are days I kind of like running in the rain. But 26.2 miles of the stuff? and the wind that often comes with it? No thanks. And today, the air was so clear, I bet the views from Highway One in Big Sur were spectacular. Ah, just 10 more days

Here at the newspaper we're in full planning mode for our coverage. Just wondering, anything you runners who will be out here would like to read about friday-Monday in the Herald? We're already planning stories on how there's no shame in walking during a marathon (although it's my goal not to walk), on the mental challenge of getting up Hurricane Point and through the Carmel Highlands (am I the only one intimidated by this prospect?), as well as some last second advice from our running columnists, Donald Buraglio and Mike Dove, and maybe some pointers on how to recover in the days after the marathon. Personally, I'm interested in reading how to handle the post-partuem depression. With the goal of the marathon behind me, how do I refocus my exercise life (the prospect of qualifying for Boston keeps bouncing around in my head, although my body is a long way from being capable of doing that). E-mail me any ideas you might have to dkellogg@montereyherald.com

New respect

I have a new respect for all you parents of young children training for the Big Sur Marathon. I say this because most of the past nine days I've spent with three of my nephews, ages 10, 8 and 6. Now, they are great kids and I wouldn't trade them for the world, but being with them, geez, and I thought going up the final hill at Big Sur was the ultimate gut check. Try standing in a Disneyland line for 45 minutes - in the rain - with three emotionally spent boys, "Unca Dave, when's it going to be our turn? How come the line is so slow? When is it going to stop raining? When's Dad going to come back with our hot chocolate?" Shortly after the kids crashed each night and sometimes before, my head hit the pillow. Now, it wasn't like I was handling the kids alone. Their mom and dad were there too, as was my wife and daughter. We all pitched in. But it sucked out all my energy, leaving me feeling, well, like those days when my kids were their age. So, how do you find the energy to train and still bring up kids (I just read in Runner's World about the mother of three shooting for a spot on the olympic marathon team)? Luckily, the bulk of my training is behind me. I went on a 22-mile run (in the rain, of course) with many big hills before the kids arrived. All went well (although not as fast as I had hoped), and I have to say I had a lot more energy left after that run then I did after a day at Disneyland with the nephews.

resigned to running in the rain

I'm pretty sure it not going to stop raining here . . . ever. With that in mind, I guess I better just get used to it, there's a good chance it will rain on our Big Sur Marathon parade. But that's OK. After my melancholy blog about motivation and getting out the door on a rainy day, I actually had a real good 13 miler. Yep, it rained pretty hard on me in some places, the rain went horizontal in others (hitting me smack in the face), there were times when the wind seemed to make me run in place, but I survived. So, let it rain on April 30, I'll deal with it.

I usually walk the dog about dusk every night. There's a spot on our walk where there's a nice view of down the coast, Carmel beach, point lobos, and sometimes, beyond. I sometimes think I can almost see Hurricane point from there. Tonight we had a rare (for California) thunder storm. I looked down the coast and saw lightening hitting, just about where I think Hurricane Point is. A few seconds later I could hear (and feel) the thunder. I felt like Frodo Baggins, looking at the tower of the all-seeing eye, feeling fearful, but also purposeful. . . . Oh, for gosh sakes Dave, it's just a run.

getting out the door

So this is what it's like to train in seattle. I'm sitting in our family room looking out at another gray, rainy day. This is always the hardest part, getting out the front door. I feel like my dog. When I kick him out of the house in the morning he creeps slowly step-by-step through the door, then, when he's through, he looks back at me and barks. Oh well, it's opening day in baseball, the first sign of spring and 27 days until the marathon.

back on the horse

I got back on the horse wednesday after getting thrown off at mile 18 of my planned 22 mile run on Monday. I went for 10, no problems really, just that nagging demon saying a little louder that it's always easier to walk. The old football coach is right, once you quit something, it makes it that much easier to quit the next time. Why is that? Why is it harder to go for a run when you've taken a few days off? Why is it harder to resist that cheese burger when you just gave in and had one last week?