Dripping in This Strange Design...

Been a few months since my last post...summer has come and gone and now fall is rearing its (sometimes ugly) head.  It is a chilly, wet Saturday morning as I type this. 

I've always struggled with the changing of the seasons.  Spring and summer provide plenty of sunlight, long warm days, bright colors, and hot temps that are a runner's dream.  But alas, as with everything, nothing stays the same.  Plants start to die, the colors turn drab, the temps fall and things just don't seem as lively during the fall months.  I do love bonfires, running through leaves and enjoying the scenery that any given fall day in Montgomery County provides, but...I struggle with the change.  I do like consistency and routines.  I am, indeed, a creature of habit. 

One high point this fall came on Sunday, September 30th.  The Heritage Trail Marathon - put on by the fine folks at Planet Adventure Race - provided a fast and flat course to PR on.  Only my 3rd full trail marathon, the course was so fast and non-technical I obliterated my other two times (4:56 in June at Tell City and 5:18 in August at Eagle Creek) by well over an hour with a 3:50.  Not to mention a negative split: 1:58 out and 1:52 back.  Smart, positive running. 

The only bad thing to come out of that day was a nice gash I opened on my head around mile 16:

It hurt like hell for the first few minutes, as I picked up a leaf or two in an attempt to stop the bleeding.  No such luck, and apparently all the aid stations were chattering on the radio about a bloodied runner heading their way!  The staff of Planet Adventure and a Fort/WL Parks Dept employee, as well as a fellow runner, were VERY kind and compassionate when helping me after I finished.  I will never forget their assistance! 

Much like the seasons, another big change in my life took place as I had to say goodbye to someone very near and dear to my heart.  Not death-related, but heart related.  She played a very big role in my happiness over the past year, but sometimes two people aren't meant to be a couple, lovers, or even friends.  Sometimes, that's just the way things are and wrapping your mind around that is one of life's most difficult tasks.  You can accept it and move on, but it doesn't make it easier.  I love her with all my heart and always will.  She knows who she is and what she will always mean to me.  I wish her health and happiness.  <3

Looming on the horizon...The HUFF50K on 12/29 and Purdue men's basketball.  Both have the potential to be better than expected or huge disasters!  Purdue will take their lumps against the upper-echelon teams in the B10, and so I'm hoping for a .500 finish in league play with an 18-20 win season.  Maybe not an NCAA tournament team, but perhaps an NIT team.  Would love to get to WL this year to see the newcomers play!
 Until next time...one foot follows the other, one foot follows something new. 

Knockin' on Heaven's Door.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself.  "Who put those stairs there?"

I was plodding along in this morning's Eagle Creek trail marathon - 26.2 miles of trails that make Turkey Run look like Milligan Park - and I noticed the set of rickety wooden stairs up ahead.  With less than 3 miles to go, I wanted nothing more than to coast into the finish chute, fling my shoes and socks off and enjoy the misting tent of cool water Planet Adventure had set up for finishers.  But alas, 'twas not to be. 

I groaned, strained and took a few deep breaths before running (which gradually dissolved into a fast walk...and then a walk...and then a slow walk) up them.  "It's your last obstacle to conquer before it opens up.  Get up these and you'll be fine."  Easier said than done, dipwad. 

The day had started inauspiciously.  Upon opening the hatch of my Dad's vehicle, we discovered that I had forgotten my 96oz Camelbak backpack.  Oof.  The big boy.  Nowhere to be seen on a morning where the humidity was hovering in the 80s.  After a brief discussion, we determined that it was pointless to fret about it, as it was lying in the back seat of my car 45 minutes away.  I hatched a new race strategy, stretched, and we mosied on over to the start/finish line. 

Beginning (almost) promptly at 7:30, I felt good in the early miles.  Like...real good.  My splits - while I was actively trying not to look at them - were in the 11:15-11:45/mile range, which had me feeling pretty chipper.  I had set a pre-race goal of 4:30:00, but that was in optimum conditions.  These were not optimum conditions.  The air was thick and heavy...downright sultry. 

At around 10 miles, I slowed considerably.  I was feeling the effects of my lack of mileage due to the intensely hot June and July we experienced in Indiana.  Sure, I could have made up the miles on the treadmill.  But treadmill running vs. trail running are worlds apart, and I paid the price today. 

I came around and finished my first loop - 13.1 miles - in around 2:18.  Not overly concerned, I chalked it up to the humidity.  I took water from my Dad, ate half a banana and set out for loop two.  I had my handheld refilled and took a large water bottle with me as well, but had to ditch it after about 2 miles after discovering I simply couldn't run efficiently while trying to carry it (and 3 gels). 

We hop onto 56th St for a little less than a mile at miles 3-4, 9-10, 16-17 and 22-23.  Those last two were spent cooking in the sun, with absolutely no relief.  My plan was to make up some time there, but it fell apart as I was growing more weary with each mile.

At the 20 mile aid station, a woman met me about 25 yards before the station and took my handheld to fill up.  She said "You look better than some of the other runners that have been through here before you."  Whether there was any truth to that, I don't know.  But I loved hearing it and, at that point, needed to hear it. 

I set off on the last 10K as the strains of the June 28th, 2000 version of "Bathtub Gin" began.  Not an audience copy, but an actual soundboard copy.  My stride quickened and my head lifted.  The jam kicked in and Trey's melodic soloing - along with Mike dropping some huge bombs, Fish keeping a steady beat and Page laying down some fat chords - kept me going. 

The heat was bearing down on us, and my focus was now on putting one foot in front of the other.  My breathing had labored and I had to put my hands on my knees and semi-crawl up some of the remaining hills.  Jesus.  Why do I do this again?

I arrive at the last aid station - 1.1 miles from the finish - and took a shot of HEED and proceeded to make my way to the end.  There was no one within hundreds of yards of me in either direction (which is good...I didn't feel like bruising someone's ego or having my own ego bruised with a photo finish...oh who are we kidding, I love bruising ego's out on the trail). 

As the sounds of the PA announcer and music fill the air, I turn left into a clearing about 200 yards from the finish.  I see my Dad - a very welcome sight at this point in time - standing there encouraging me.  I give him a thumbs up and saunter across the finish line in 5:18:43.  Over 45 minutes past my goal time and 22 minutes slower than Tell City - a course with 8,800' of climbing! 

Today wasn't about timing or placing.  It was about redemption.  I had to live with last year's DNF for 12 months, and today was about shedding that monkey.  My 11th race of marathon-distance or more was not my best, but I am happy to be able to run as much as I do.  And for that, I am thankful. 

Have a cup of coffee and catch your breath.

I had a very weird dream last night.  They (who, exactly?) say all dreams have meaning.  What, then, does this one mean? 

I open the door to step outside into near whiteout conditions.  It's cold, dark, and I can barely see.  The wind is howling, it's snowing, and there's several inches of snow on the ground.  I am in a hurry, and I run to my car and start it up.  I let it run for a bit, and then carefully start driving down the road.  But...something is wrong.

The car doesn't seem to be moving as fast as it should be.  I accelerate, but pick up no speed.  It's almost like something is weighing me down.  "Could just be the extreme cold," I thought.  "But why does my car feel so...so...heavy?" 

And then I see it.

It was not noticeable at first, as I did a double take.  It was hanging down off the roof onto my windshield.  A white paw.  Not just any white paw.  A very LARGE white paw.  The size of a child's baseball mitt.  With black padding.  "Ummmm, what the...?"

I slowed down to less than 10 mph and rolled down my window and, as carefully and quietly as I could, stuck my head out of the window and peeked up onto the roof. 

Yep.  A polar bear was on the roof of my car. 

There it was, taking up the entire roof of my car, just sleeping.  I rolled up the window and tried to comprehend what, exactly, was happening.  I picked up a little speed and then applied the brakes sharply, wondering if I'd see him roll down onto the front of my car.  No such luck.  The paw disappeared, and I wondered if he was stirring...

...and he was.  I could hear the roof of my car groaning and straining under his enormous weight.  Panic was setting in at this point.  This had to be a dream, it had to be!  I watched as the speedometer crept up to 40, then 50mph and I suddenly braked and turned left sharply.  I slid for what seemed to be an eternity and looked over my right shoulder as the bear flew off of the roof, rolled several times into the snow, and disappeared.  I had no idea where I was but all I knew was that I was back on the road and a polar bear was no longer on the roof of my car.

Thought all day about what it could mean, but could not figure it out.

One Foot Follows the Other, One Foot Follows Something New

* sips coffee*

Oh, hello there.  5+ months since my last update.  The winter doldrums have, thankfully, come and gone.  WORST.  WINTER.  EVER.  Just a "blah" feeling I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried.

Currently I'm watching "Breakfast at Wimbledon" and trying to figure out what I want to do today.  Run this morning in humid but not hot temps?  Hang around the pool with Calli?  Hit the gym and work in some stairs and bike work?  Why not all three?

What's happened since my last post?

1)  Purdue's basketball team finished up a mediocre B10 season and played Kansas - eventually national runner-up - quite well in the NCAA tourney.  It's sad to think I won't see Rob Hummel in a Purdue jersey anymore, but with any luck we'll be watching him in the NBA thanks to the T'Wolves.  Excited to see the new crop of players come in and want to stomp IU to shut their mouthy fans up.
2)  Ran Winona Lake again in April.  50 miles worth of trails, 30 of which were covered in a steady rain.  Dropped last year's time, and a morning start certainly helped, as I didn't have to finish in the dark with a lamp on my head. 
3)  Completed first trail marathon last month down in Tell City.  8,800' worth of elevation gain, which is simply ridiculous and challenging.  Ducked in under the 5hr mark with a few minutes to spare.  A great road trip all-around, as my friend Shanna accompanied me down there.  Fun times.

 Work is good, running is good, life is good.  Looking forward to continuing a great summer of hard running and seeing where it leads me. 

"Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, we may find amounts of ease and power we never dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength never taxed at all because we never push through the obstruction."

Pantomime Mixutres of Heaven and Earth

My foray into trail running didn't begin in earnest until only recently; say, within the past year or year and a half. The bulk of my running up until that point consisted of countless hours on the treadmill and running up and down the sidewalks and streets of whatever town I inhabited (Lafayette or Crawfordsville).  Now don't get me wrong: I love running and the countless physical and emotional benefits that come with it.  But it would be safe to say that more than once I was getting bored with my usual daily routine.  Burnout followed boredom, the dreaded "B" word every runner wants to avoid.  

In the fall of 2010, I started to mix things up and started changing my running scenery.  I went off road, through parks and trails and paths not seen by cars or your average person.  I traveled to Shades and Turkey run and various other places that were covered in rolling hills, dense forests and bubbling creeks.  This training and my love of seeking peace and harmony with nature culminated in my 50 mile, 9 1/2 hour romp through the trails at Winona Lake, Indiana in April 2011.  As I passed through the chutes mere minutes before midnight, exhausted and exhilarated, I was convinced that I could not feel more one with myself and the Earth.

Or so I thought.  

Then came the Eagle Creek Trail Marathon/Half Marathon, on the evening of January 28th, 2012.

The week leading up to this event had been an unusual race week for me.  I had ended up in the hospital about a month beforehand with severe dehydration, requiring 3 units of IV fluid.  I had never felt that bad in my life, and it really put a scare into me.  It had convincingly put a hamper on my training, as I was scared to push myself for fear of going into a hydration deficit.  While I did the Bop to the Top triple step with no problems on 1/21, I made the decision to take an entire week off from anything running or cross training-related.  It was a highly unusual move going into a half marathon, one to be run on the trails at night taboot.  I told myself that since I had taken the entire week off before to be careful, do not get sucked into "race pace" and to just enjoy myself and the scenery. 

As Saturday rolled around, I hastily gathered my gear (another unusual move for me, for most events I'm super prepared ahead of time) and hit the road around 4:00pm.  I arrived around 4:45pm, leaving me plenty of time to soak in the sights and sounds of Eagle Creek in the dead of winter  A biting wind skipped off the reservoir and dropped the temperature at least 10 degrees.  Running events - particularly trail ones - inspire a sense of camaraderie among everyone involved, and as I stretched and headed to the start line I couldn't help but smile at my surroundings.

The sun was starting to go down by 6:00pm and as the cow bell went off signalling the start, hundreds of runners slowly began herding like cattle through the chute and into the woods.  

"Ho hum," I thought, as I fell into line on the single-track trail early into the race.  Tunes filled my ears as I could hear the whooping and hollering of other runners in front of and behind me.  An easy pace had me feeling pretty good as I watched the trail flow under my feet with each stride.  

And then it happened.  

After curling and winding through the trees near the reservoir, we hit a clearing before crossing it on an earthen dam made of gravel.  We were about 2 miles into the 6.54 mile loop (2 loops for the 1/2 marathoners, 4 for fulls).  Water stretched for hundreds of yards on either side, and I looked west and saw the sun peeking out from over the horizon.  It was a fireballish mixture of orange and red, blending in with the now dark sky as it made its escape into the night.  We wound around to the right off of the dam and ran along on gravel and I looked back to my right and saw hundreds of headlamps lighting up the distance.  They moved slowly but with a purpose, all lined up in a row as if they knew exactly where they were going.  It looked as though there were dozens of fireflies bouncing in rhythm.  It was at that exact moment where I realized that there was nowhere else I'd rather be than outside, enjoying what nature and the universe has to offer. 

We peeled back into the woods and our next few miles consisted of snowy, mud-covered rolling trails that cut through trees and lined the reservoir.  Small, steep inclines met us every so often, followed by sporadic descents on icy and slick stairs.  Since I was not "racing," my breathing was not labored but rather very comfortable.  I found a steady groove and kept it, as the ocassional runner passed me.  Ordinarily this would drive me insane, but I found solace in my pace and surroundings.  As the trail pressed on, I found myself more and more at one with the park.  My vision and world was confined to the 8-10 feet of light in front of me, a both scary and exciting prospect.  

Before long, around the 5 1/2 mile mark, we hit a long stretch 2-3" mud-filled trail.  My HUFF50K experience had taught me one thing: if you're in a groove, keep going.  Don't let anything stop you.  I kept my pace through the mud, feeling the squishing of the mud beneath my shoes as I clinched my fists and kept going.  My lamp shone brightly and reflected off of the puddles of standing water near and around the trenches of mud.  When I thought it'd never end, we hit solid ground and came down a hill and you could hear the music over the loudspeakers.  It was the start/finish line, and the chute was lined with spectators and lights.  Set up in the middle of a park in the middle of the winter at night, I thought "Was I in the circus?  Am I dreaming?"  It was totally surreal.  I was expecting clowns and monkeys and a ringmaster with a megaphone, but instead I got a large, bright time clock with red LED numbers and two disco balls on each side...

My second lap confirmed all of my thoughts and emotions from the first lap.  With each passing step, I felt as though I was floating through the park.  It was a clear night, and stars filled the sky.  When passing over the reservoir the second time, the absence of trees created a canvas splattered with clouds and tiny sparkling stars that encapsulated my entire line of vision in front of me.  I felt like I was running straight into a Van Gogh painting.  Each step I took was more purposeful than the last, as if each one could do no wrong no matter what.  I covered the trails, the hills, the stairs, and the mud as if I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going.  Like my mind and body were in sync and on autopilot, moving forward without even thinking.  I came down into the final clearing with a final burst of speed came upon the chute lined with lights and spectators and music.  I crossed the finish line and slowed to a walk, collected my medal (a medal made of wood from the park) and my thoughts.  I was breathing a little heavier now, and my breath rose up into the chilly air and disappeared above the light of my headlamp.  I looked around at all the activities, friendships, love, and humanity and realized that I had just run the most magical, serene run of my life.  This is what trail running is all about.  I felt like I could run another 13.1, and I was reminded of an old quote from Born to Run: "When you run on the Earth and with the Earth, you can run forever."

This event was more about finding myself than about running.  Attempting to discover what I want, who I want, and what everything means.  I felt like I accomplished a lot of things during my 2+ hours running at Eagle Creek, and I believe what I learned - patience, tolerance and perseverance - will help me as I move forward with the inevitable challenges I face in life.