Myrtle Beach Marathon -- Hanging On For Dear Life!

Last Thursday, I hopped in the car and headed south on I-79.  This was a date I had circled on my calendar many months ago.  Time to run the Myrtle Beach Marathon!    

Ain't nothing like a ROAD TRIP!  Sunset over the New River gorge. 

I made it as far as Winston-Salem, North Carolina before crashing at a dump of a Motel 6.  The room smelled like it had housed a smoker's convention and some homeys hung outside my door partying for most of the night.  

The next day, I drove down to Myrtle Beach.  I stopped counting the Waffle House's along the way but I do confess I like their egg white omelet with a splash of tabasco sauce and a side of tomato slices.

I'm here!

I checked into the motel and headed straight to the convention center to pick up my race packet.  Myrtle Beach is an "interesting" place.  While it sounds good on paper, as I drove around, I found it to be schlocky, touristy tangle of amusement parks, golf courses, and calabash seafood restaurants.  Do you like gun shops, next to strip clubs, next to billiard halls (smoking allowed), next to a Bob Evans?  Then Myrtle Beach is for you.  Do you like saltwater taffy, kettle corn, and boiled peanuts, with a funnel cake or two thrown in for good measure?  Then come to Myrtle Beach, and you will think you've died and gone to heaven.  To each his own I guess.

Scintillating view from my hotel balcony -- a vacant mall with a roller coaster behind it.  Oh, the splendor!

Later in the day, to dissipate my stress, I went for an easy 3-mile run to check out the course.  Flat as a pancake and perfect for those looking for a PR or a Boston Marathon qualifying time (a BQ, for short).  I caught a bite to eat and headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.  

Race morning, I headed down to the starting area, the parking lot of a huge shopping mall complex, for a couple of 5-minute runs and some stretching.  Then the magical moment arrived!    

Some almost 7,000 runners toe the line in the pre-dawn darkness.

I was concerned about getting caught up in a logjam of runners in the early part of the race so I plowed through the crowd up towards the head of the pack.  Then the gun went off.

This is a tale of two very different races.  The first 20 miles went about as well as I could have dreamed. I was floating steadily around 7:30 - 7:40/mile and experiencing no difficulty at all.  My repaired knee felt fine.  Mentally, I felt fine.  I was hitting water at the aid stations every two miles.  I took in my standard race table fare of Endurolytes and Hammer Gels.  No problem.  As I neared mile 20, it dawned on me that I was way ahead of PR pace and, for the first time, I began to realize I was within legitimate striking distance of a BQ, a 3:30 for my age group.  Looking back, I am not so sure this was a good realization to have.

Then, out from the shadows stepped what my friend Eva and I refer to as "the mean dog".  So begins the second race.  In general terms, the mean dog is a metaphor for the totality of insecurities, doubts, and fears one feels as driven by an external stimulus.  In my case, the external stimulus was the lack of glycogen, i.e., I had hit "the wall".  Somewhat predictably, this occurred circa mile 20.  Suddenly, my perfectly executed race wasn't so perfect anymore.  Suddenly, I felt kernels of doubt that were growing with each foot stride.  The mean dog was definitely off its leash.  My initial strategy was to ignore the mean dog.  Mentally, I worked through the steps to derive the expectation of a quadratic form y'Ay but that did not help.  I sang cheesy 80's pop tunes to myself, but that only temporarily masked my growing suffering.  Thinking about trips I was going to take in the summer, unrequited love, the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, how many times I've seen the Cleveland Browns play live ... none of it could take my mind off of my own compounding misery.  

I became increasingly tired and my feet were becoming harder to lift.  My hip flexors were starting to tighten and my calves were engaged in this shaking rigor.  The knee with the new ACL was now objecting to this sudden surge in mileage.  My panicking mind began to oscillate back and forth between a jumble of crazy, haywire thoughts and lightheaded nothingness.  Occasionally, I battled panic and desperation, as I began to run the math calculations through my mind -- "Shit, I just ran an 8.  Let's see ... let's see ... that's a withdrawal of 30 seconds from the time I banked.  So ... does that get me in at 3:30?  What pace do I have to hold then from here on out?"  Then, for no apparent rational reason, I began to become cranky, testy, angry ... pissed, actually.  I became pissed at the cop who would stop traffic at a major road while it seemed the whole frigging world waited for me to hurry it up for 100 yards to make it safely across.  I became pissed at old, blue-haired ladies sitting and clapping in lawn chairs telling me I looked great and I only had a few more miles to go.  I became pissed at dozens of Catholic school kids shouting at me and trying to hand me water at every aid station.  For the love of God, be quiet, stop looking at me, and let me finish this damn race!!!  Around mile 24, I became nauseous.  The weather seemed unseasonably warm to me (it did, in fact, reach 72 that day).  With every bit of mental strength I could muster, I kept telling myself "Run.  Don't stop.  Pick it the hell up, Phil.  Go.  Go!!!"  I was putting everything I had out on the course.  The words Sarah texted me the night before rang in my head, "Run them down!".  The words Joey texted me the night before rang in my head, "Go get it man."  The words Eva texted me the night before rang in my head, "The dog may be mean, loud, and strong.  But you are stronger."

Finally, I came to mile 25.  Then I knew, I knew I had this race in my grasp.  My closest friends know the type of year I had last year and several tall hurdles I had to cross.  They know, and I know, all the time I spent so utterly focused on this race.  It is not at all my intent to lay on the melodramatic sugar to all that I have said here.  Suffice it to say that I was so happy and so humbly grateful and as I reflected on these feelings and the path that I've walked, I shed tears that last mile all the way to the finish line at 3:24, a PR by 20 minutes and a BQ by 6.

I hobbled over to the medical tent and had to sit down because I was just trashed.  After several minutes, I went and grabbed some food and beverage at the runner's tent, moseyed over to my car and did some stretching, popped some Ibuprofen, and then proceeded to go on a hunt for the tallest, darkest coffee I could find for the ride home.

Damn forest fires I encountered an hour out of Myrtle Beach.  The guy on the right decided to relieve himself while waiting.

The culinary crown jewel -- a South Carolina sweet potato

In closing, qualifying for Boston represented a challenge I had set for myself, a goal to shoot for, nothing more, nothing less.  Everyone is different, and everyone has different goals they set for themselves.  For some, finishing a marathon is a goal.  For others, running a marathon for speed is a goal.  Both are wonderful accomplishments.  Neither is better nor worse relative to the other; they're just different and unique to one's personal universe.  My 3:24 would be a joke to runners far better than I am.  My buddy Ben wants to be able to someday dunk a basketball.  That too would be wonderful accomplishment.  There's no patronizing going on here.  I take nothing for granted, and am deeply appreciative for any goal that I, my sister and her family, and my friends can meet.  And I always ... always ... try to live life one hour at a time. 

A Few Thoughts On Winter Running

I have had several conversations about running in the winter in recent months.  While I am far from an expert on the topic, I decided it would be kind of cool to share a few things that might help others in their winter runs.  

As some of my friends know, I lived in Bozeman, Montana for nine years, and Anchorage, Alaska for two years.  Also, I lived in Flagstaff, Arizona for two years (While talking about Arizona and snow in the same sentence might appear to be oxymoronic, my home in Flagstaff sat at almost 8,000'.  I experienced, by far, more cold and snowfall here than any other year I lived in Montana or Alaska!).  During those 13 winters, I ran regardless of snow or temperature, learning a lot in the process.

In my opinion, the key to winter running is layering.  You then simply add or subtract as the climate so dictates.  As for what I wear, I'll start from the top of my body and work my way down.

Head: I wear a synthetic wicking biker's skull cap (Pearl Izumi) anywhere from about 10 to 40 degrees.  If it gets much colder than 10 degrees, then I switch to a SmartWool cap.  It would have to drop well below zero before I would consider putting on a face mask.

Some people have trouble breathing in cold air while running and even develop coughs as a result.  That was never a problem for me so I don't have much to suggest.  I fooled around with a heat exchanger face mask when I was on a climb of Denali.  Within a few miles, the condensation from my breathing froze up on the mask; I cached it right away and never used it again.

Top:  If it's 25 to 40 degrees, say, then I wear a black Patagonia lightweight long sleeve top made out of Capilene.  On top of this, I wear a black short sleeve top made out of Capilene.  Very good material, easy to clean, and does a great job of wicking.  If you are the type that gets cold easily, then you could consider using increasingly popular merino wool base layers.  Capilene is wonderful stuff but does suffer from what I call "flashover".  In other words, it does such a good job wicking sweat that if you stop, the sweat condenses on the outside of the material as hoar frost.  You then get chilled.  This isn't a problem for me because I'm never just sitting around on my runs.  As far as its positives are concerned, merino wool, in my opinion, doesn't suffer from this as much, keeps you a bit warmer, and provides warmth even when wet.  One popular brand among my outdoor/mountaineer buddies in Alaska and Montana is Ibex, but I'm sure SmartWool and Patagonia are good too.

Finally, on top of the two Capilene layers, I wear a Patagonia Nine Trails shell jacket.  If it gets below 25, then I switch out the Nine Trails jacket with a nordic ski jacket I have from REI.  The jacket is lightweight, and form fitting.  The material is built up in the front to block the  wind but of a substantially lighter weave in the back and top to allow for venting (this is the same idea as some biker's jackets I've seen).  If it gets much colder than 10, then I add another layer of expedition weight Capilene on top of the two base layers.

Bottom:  I wear Under Armour shorts all the way down to 25 (by the way, these aren't the shorts I use when racing).  At 25 or below, I wear some Under Armour tights and put the shorts on top.  For what it's worth, I use Capilene underwear too.  If you wear cotton underwear, which absorbs sweat, then you are completely defeating the purpose of layering and wicking.  If it got below 10, say, then I wear runner's underwear for men and I add a pair of Cloudveil Symmetry pants.  Wonderful pants!  This year I tried experimenting with CW-X PerformX Tights when it got below 10.  On me, they run quite snug and tight; I have not made up my mind if I like them yet.

Hands:  I use lightweight merino wool gloves from SmartWool from 25 to 40.  Below this, I switch to an ice climbing glove from Cloudveil.  Much below 10, and I wear the lightweight merino wool gloves inside a polarfleece mitten; you can add handwarmers if it is a long run.

Feet:  This is a slamdunk.  I like SmartWool merino wool crew socks.  I wear these from 40 down to 10.  If it gets much colder than 10, then I switch to a heavier grade merino wool hiking sock, also from SmartWool.  Some people also like to wear gaiters for extra protection; I do not.

As for shoes, if the rail-trail or roads are relatively bare and dry, then I wear my usual running shoes (Brooks Launches these days).  However, if there is more than 2-to-3" of snow on the rail-trail or roads, say, then I wear my trail running shoes (I recently upgraded to the new Brooks Cascadia 6's).

Finally, if the rail-trail or roads are icy, then I wear "cleats".  Over the years, I have gone back and forth about cleats.  Yaktrax never worked for me -- they either came off or I destroyed them.  In Alaska, I switched over to something akin to Get-A-Grip's and those did seem to work.  However, I had to replace the carbide spikes regularly.  STABILicer SPORT's are nice but they are heavy and will pinch your toes together.  Flagstaff was big-time Kahtoola country.  While I have no experience with their MICROspikes, I heard some praise.  My friend, wonderful ultrarunner Gancho Slavov, uses homemade spikes, or Screw Shoes, with satisfaction.  This might be an inexpensive, good option although it is a pain in the ass to do this if you don't have a power drill.  Finally, my friend WVU cross country runner Maria Dalzot showed me what might be the best option of all if you are a serious runner and have the money.  They are called Ice Bugs and are essentially a running shoe with the cleats built into the outsole.  This is what I'll try next winter. 

You need to be careful doing a lot of running with cleats because it changes your stride and gait over the course of time.  I tore a hip flexor by running all the time in cleats up in Anchorage a few years ago and it sidelined me for a couple months.  This just before a Ranier climb :-(

Winter running certainly isn't for everybody.  However, it never hurts to maintain a base heading into next running season.  If anyone else has some ideas, then by all means chime in here!  I've always enjoyed the silent solitude of a winter run and much prefer it to treadmill work in a gym.  Try it; you just might like it!  I have some great memories of running along the Coastal Trail up in Anchorage and looking up to see the shimmering Northern Lights, or rounding a bend in the trail to see a moose walking towards me.  Those are memories I wouldn't trade for anything.         

This and That

What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
- T. S. Eliot

It's been awhile since I have posted anything. We are in the thick of old man winter here in Morgantown, West Virginia and with it comes some tough running through the snow and ice (I'll write more about this topic next time). School is going great guns and I have been blessed with a stellar Linear Models class; our future is safe in their hands ;-)

I saw Sarah McLachlan a couple of weeks ago in Morgantown. Wonderful concert and display of musicianship. She pulled out all her classics but the one song that really spoke to me that evening was a beautiful acoustic rendition of "Good Enough". The closest thing I could find to it on the Internet was this old video. Take a listen if you have a minute. It's just gorgeous:

I finally got to cut my racing teeth 01/09 at the Fairmont Run to Read Half-Marathon. To say I was happy is a complete understatement. My final race time was a 1:33 which was a PR for me by over 3 minutes. While my knee was a bit angry, it bounced back nicely the next day. Really the only explanation I have for this is all the cross training, due to "Coach Beth", and the intelligent small-scale running I have done. Throw in a good dose of pent-up excitement and anger, and you have the perfect synergistic cocktail! Sooooo ... the next hurdle is to hold my breath, take another baby step, and throw the hammer down on an actual marathon. And that is exactly what I am determined to do come 02/19 at Myrtle Beach.

It's been 7 months since the surgery and I would say my knee is 90-95%. I have only one more month of PT, in the form of plyiometrics and agility drills, and then I am officially done with that. There'll also be another visit to the Cleveland Clinic in March. The only lingering aftereffects of the knee reconstruction are occasionally the articulation in my knee is not as smooth as in my other knee. This could be due to some roughness in my cartilage and I have therefore started taking the mildly controversial Osteo Bi-Flex. Also, where the screws were inserted into the tibia to attach the ACL graft gets numb and irritated. A day of rest and some Ibuprofen alleviates this.