What a 3 weeks!

Well, hello there fearless readers! I know it's been quite a while since I last posted. Since April 23rd, to be exact. It has certainly been quite a 3 weeks. One filled with both personal and professional highs and lows. And of course, the thing that suffered has been my blog. I am so sorry to have disappointed my faithful followers and I hope this post is the one that gets me back on track.

Anyhow, I won't bore anyone with all the life details of the past 3 weeks. But in short it kinda goes like this:
 Awesome meeting about Sam with IST team at his school; running 3.1 miles without stopping; cancelled a show; ran my 1st 5K race in years with Becky; landed a new job; awesome NYSSMA score for Mag and her cello; had tough but positive conversation with boss and colleagues about leaving; rode bike for first time in a couple years for 15 miles; had a piss-poor crappy run about 2 weeks ago; opened pool; hit 1st weight-loss goal; dropped a pant size; saw Iron Man 3 with the family; had back-to-back crappy runs last week; still lost .8lbs; watched Beck and her sister run the Pink Ribbon Run Mother's Day 5k; back on my running game this morning. Phew!

So, I think I'll keep this post to a discussion of things marathon-training-related.

First off, about that 3.1 without stopping. It was the afternoon after my last post that I went out for a run and decided to push it a little. I have been doing runs made up of alternating intervals of 4min/6min runs separated by 3min walks. Following that model, I average between 43: and 44:30 for 3.1 miles, or a 5K. My 16 week marathon plan that begins June 16th requires that I am able to steadily run 3 miles 4 times a week. So, with that in mind, I eliminated the walk portions and tried to maintain a steady albeit slow running pace. Much to my surprise, I completed the 3.1 miles in 37:33. Yeah. Haven't gotten down to that again yet, but averaging between 39: and 41:.

It was 5 days later that I ran my first 5k in many years. Honestly I've only ever done one about 6 years ago. This time was much better. Becky and I got up at 6am on a Sunday morning. The Wegman's 5k was unusually early because it was paired with the Flower City Half Marathon. We arrived in downtown Rochester and parked in the Court Street Garage. The air was crisp, but pleasant. Becky weighed whether or not to wear her fleece pullover whereas I, carrying my own warmth and built-in fur coat, knew I needed nothing other than my trusty red spandexy moisture-whisking running shirt. (Love the feel of the shirt, but I have to admit that I still feel like I look like a giant sausage link when I put it on.) We watched enviously as the half-marathoners took their start. I actually had that momentary "dear god, what the f*$k are you doing?!" thought that I always have to fight so hard to suppress. And I wasn't even running this half marathon! (And yes, let's remind ourselves that I am not running a half marathon at all! Just jumping right to a full 26.2! Hence the WTF thought!)

Half an hour later it was the 5k'ers turn. The energy in the air was palpable. And infectious. No dread. No worry. Just smiles all around. Becky and I exchanged nervous hand squeezes as we each cued up our respective playlists. Hers on the ipod, mine on my phone (along with my interval timer.) I hadn't yet decided if I was going to run the whole thing or stick to my intervals like I had been doing. The amped up announcer, who had been giving an energetic play-by-play of the half marathoners a few minutes earlier, implored us to get ready. I can't remember what apparatus (starting pistol, air-horn, bell-tone) signaled us to start, but all of a sudden there we were in a lake of people (I'm reserving the "sea" metaphor for Chicago) moving forward. Becky and I are both used to starting our runs with a 5-8 minute warm-up walk, but in a race with thousands of others you basically just start running. It's a run of small bouncy steps at first as you really don't have any room to spread out. But then the field opens up and within a few yards of the starting line, you can establish your pace.

I cranked up Fun.'s Some Nights album and started my interval timer. The first run interval beeped as it concluded and in the moment of the race, I made the decision to run the entire thing without stopping. As I tried to program my brain to fight the urge to run faster than I was used to (I've been warned by many   people and training guides about what a dangerous combination excitement, adrenaline, and mob-mentality can be at the start of a race,) I realized that I had absolutely no clue where the heck I was going! I hadn't studied a map of the course. Hadn't memorized any markers. I was at the mercy of the crowd and course signs. I had no sense of distance other than my music and knowing where I typically am on my usual course when a certain song comes on. And you know what? It was kind of liberating. I am the kind of person who instinctively has the inclination to want to know where the "end" is. Thankfully, due in large part to my study and work in theatre and film, I've trained myself to focus on process. That journey I keep talking about in this blog. Except when I am actually running. My brain is constantly asking, "Where's the finish line? Are we there yet?" (Yes, I was that kid...) I'm working on it, but it's still ever present at times. So, during this race I had no choice but to not worry about where the mile markers are or where the finish is because I really had no idea!

It was fun to be there with my wife who has been my biggest supporter, and I am so proud of her efforts and accomplishments out there as well. But I'd say the highlight of the race for me came towards the end. I was inside the final mile coming around the corner of State St. turning onto Main St. to head east. The course had been fairly level to this point and as I rounded the corner I spied the daunting looking hill as Main St. moved past the Radisson Hotel and  over the Genesee River. "Aw shit!" I thought to myself, knowing full well I was on tired legs. Nice of them to put the toughest stretch towards the end of the course. Fucking bastards! Anyway, all along I had been within a few paces of the same people; an older fellow who would crank for about a hundred yards, then walk; a very nice looking woman in her late 30's who I happened to conveniently settle in behind for a good chunk of the race (a very motivating view...); a double for actor Shemar Moore who was clearly taking it slower than he needed to for the sake of his 2 young daughters running with him. (See, there's someone for everyone in a race. I kept hoping Beck would come around so she'd have something nice to look at as well...); and then there was this guy. He was in his 20's probably 6'1 and pushing 300+lbs. He was doing great. He'd run some, then walk some. We'd be near each other, then he'd be ahead. Or I would be, then he'd catch up. As our pack rounded the corner onto Main and started to ascend the hill, I could see him several yards ahead of me, struggling. And then he stopped to walk. It wasn't an "ok, I'm gonna still be aggressive and make this a work-out" kind of walk. It was an "I've had enough of this shit" kind of walk. It was a walk of defeat, of giving in. I knew that walk well. I've engaged in that walk many times over the years, even in recent weeks. I wanted to do that walk as well when I saw this hill, but I knew that it wasn't an option. This race was the first marker. The first test. The first hurdle moving towards Chicago. I wasn't going to not take that hill. I pulled up along side the guy, tugged on his shirt-sleeve and said "C'mon bro...you and me...big guys taking this hill together..." His eyes widened and a huge smile came across his face. We started our run up the hill. People along the side of the street were cheering us. They had been there all morning cheering all the runners but in that moment they were cheering for us. We attacked that hill like we were two warriors storming the Citadel, certain victory awaiting us at the top. We knew there was still a half mile to go once we got there, but it didn't matter. We reached the top of the hill and rounded the corner onto South Ave. "Yeah!" we shouted and shared a hi-five. I patted him on the shoulder and moved ahead as he slowed down to walk. A few paces ahead I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure I didn't just kill the guy, leaving him lying in a heap in the middle of the street. Instead, he was walking with purpose, passion. Aggression. He was swinging his arms with energy, smiling huge. And as I returned my gaze forward, he started to run again, determined to tackle the homestretch and charge the finish line. In the end, it was a good race and a nice way to get my feet wet in the whole race environment. I did it in 41:13. Not my best, but not my worst. But I know (to quote Fun,) "It gets better!" As I looked around the finishing area for Becky, I saw my hill buddy being hugged by his friends and family nearby. There were smiles and back pats all around. He looked around and we caught each other's eye. There was no big wave or talk. Just a simple smile and a head nod in each other's direction. Honestly, that was all that was needed. The acknowledgement that for a moment, we helped each other do what neither of us thought we could. Both of us knowing that in spite of the illogicality of us being there, we were and we did what we set out to do that day. Brothers in arms, defying expectation. Defying history. Defying Habit. Taking steps forward toward new selves, and leaving who we were behind.

UPDATE: in the 2 weeks since that 5k, I've been frustratingly inconsistent. I still manage to get in my prescribed number of workouts, but never on any kind of schedule, and always as an annoying afterthought. This inconsistency and lack of prioritization culminated in 2 of my shittiest runs this past Friday and Saturday. I felt like it was 5 or 6 weeks ago. Legs felt like crap, breathing sucked. No rhythm, ended up walking most of it. Then, I watched all of these women yesterday running for Breast Cancer. Inspiring! Becky and her sister did great, and Becky even made the front cover of our local paper, having run the final 100 yards with our kids! Last night she was looking at the results and pointed out that a 75 year-old woman did the 5k in 31 minutes. Yikes. I'm a wuss. So, with that in mind, I got up today at 5am and ran my 5k work-out. Non-stop. Did it in 38:02. Good time, legs felt good, and when they seemed like they might not, I acknowledged the game my brain was trying to play and pushed through. And that, my friends is how you get back in the game...

So with that, some stats and goals for this week. First of all, I am down to 268 lbs. That's 20.8 pounds in 9 weeks. I was 268.8 last week and thought for sure that I was going to gain a pound, but luckily it went in the other direction. Bullet dodged!

Goals for this week: Get up every morning M, T, W, and Th to exercise.
Mon- 3.1 mile-Done (38:02)
Tues.- Rec center for some weight training
Wed.- 4.7 mile loop
Thurs.- Bike 15 miles
Sun.- Medved Lilac Festival 10k!!
-Get up every morning and do 20 push ups
-Make sure runs/work-outs are a priority not an afterthought.
-Blog Sunday night!

All aboard the marathon training train! Next stop...10k on Sunday!

So, why run a marathon?
Because we can do more than we ever think possible.

Back in the game.
All roads lead to Chicago!

Back in the saddle...

Oops, I did it again. (I apologize for the lame Britney Spears reference. Totally unintended, promise!) It's Tuesday afternoon, and I was not able to keep my vow to post Sunday night or Monday morning. My apologies to all you faithful readers out there, anxiously waiting by your computers with anticipation...(I do  hope you can get the sarcasm here. Not that I am sorry, but that you have nothing better to do than to wait for...oh, you get the picture!)

So, let's jump right in, shall we? The stats:

Weight Sunday 4/14  275.8 

Weight Sunday 4/7    273.8 (down 2 lbs from previous week. Yay!)

Total weight loss to date: 14.9 pounds in 6 weeks

Mon 4/15  run/walk 4.1 mi. (time not kept-2 different outings-see last week's post)

Wed. 4/17 run/walk 4.65 mi.  01:09:00 -Windy as shit. Legs starting to feel good again though.

Fri.  4/19 run/walk 3.1 mi. 00:45:27  Rec center day. First really good feeling day in over a week though.

Sun. 4/21 run/walk 3.1 mi.  00:43:55 -Outside with my sister in-law, Rachel. Felt good. 

Distance for week: 14.95 miles. 

As the week was going on, I kept feeling like it was gong to be another "meh" week. However, each day out  was an improvement. And the weight loss was a vast improvement over the prior two weeks. A big shout out to my lil' sis Rachel for joining me Sunday morning. She's just recently started running to prepare for her employer's involvement in the Rochester JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge 5k in a few weeks. The run was good and almost a return to my previous best time. I'm sure she was holding back seeing as how she's 1/3 of my weight and half my height. (Had to dig-ha, ha.) But it was a nice run. It was interesting to do the whole "can you hold a conversation while you're running" litmus test. Admittedly, that was kinda hard.

Anyhow, it was a good week for finding my way back into it. There were no profound discoveries this week. No big connections (that was last Monday and Tuesday.) Really, this week was about getting back to basics. Trying to understand where my body and mind are at at this moment, so I can best use them this weekend. My wife and I are running the Flower City Challenge Wegmans 5k on Sunday April 28th. It should be fun. I've been following a solid run/walk pattern of 4min/6min runs separated by 3min walks. Lately I've been trying to up the later run stretches to 5min/7min. Seems to be working out. 

The body is an interesting machine. I still don't feel like I have found a "comfortable" place with it yet. That is, in terms of the mechanics of it. Lot's of good questions are popping up though. How does my foot hit the ground, and how does that affect how my legs feel? What is my posture like and how can that adjust to optimize efficiency, alleviate pain and fatigue, make for a smoother run? How do I breathe? When does it get difficult? What's the rhythm? Am I a mouth breather, a nose breather, or both? 

Then there's the mind. The old slogan for The United Negro College Fund says "the mind is a terrible thing to waste..." Robin Williams said, "the mind  is a terrible thing..." At the beginning of this process when I was asking my buddy Thom about how to approach training and the duration of running a marathon, he told me that my legs and body will be strong. In fact training now with the weight I'm carrying, by the time race day comes along and I am 60-70 pounds lighter, my legs will be like iron (in a good way.) Then we talked a bit about aerobic training vs. anaerobic training and the idea that you should condition your heart and muscles to rely on oxygen for fuel. Great. Working on it. Then, he said the muscle that will give me the biggest grief is my brain. Holy shit, is he right. Even when things are working well, and the run is good, there's my brain second guessing me. "Great, you feel good doing 3.1, but can you sustain this for 26.2?" Or, "Wouldn't this be easier and more pleasant if you just stopped and walked?" Or most of the time, "Are you fucking nuts? Why do you want to do this to yourself. Stay home. Watch Avengers (again.) Eat a bag of popcorn you fucking idiot..." I keep trying different things to occupy my brain, but haven't settled on any one formula yet. Some days it's listening to music. Other days it's news or human interest stories on NPR. Other times it's just silence and nature. It doesn't help that in my adulthood, I've recently come to the realization that I suffer from (and always have suffered from) a certain level of ADD, and can get easily bored and distracted. I guess in a way, the focus needed during running has been a good mental exercise for helping me deal with that issue. 

In any case, I guess what it all boils down to this week is that with all of the personal growth and discovery I have been making on this journey, I still have yet to really find my groove when it comes to the actual practical application of getting out there and running. That's not a complaint or a gripe. It's an observation. Lucky for me, I enjoy being a "student." I am as much about the process as I am about the goal. (Just ask anyone who works with me when I direct a show.) Do I want to move forward? Yes. Do I want to see results? Yes. But the things I am learning along the way, be they profound ("I'm connected to cavemen...") or mundane ("how do I breathe?") are as much of what this is all about as those 26.2 miles in October.

So why run a marathon?

I have no fucking idea. :-)

Say it with me...

All roads lead to Chicago!

A Loss for Words...

     I went through my day yesterday (Monday) reminding myself that I needed to sit down later that night and write my blog. I thought about the week I had pertaining to my training and eating. It was a difficult week, having sustained a minor injury and a miniscule weight loss. As I got into my car to begin my 35-minute commute home, I turned on the radio. I usually listen to Dr. Laura on Sirius XM just for kicks (I don't always agree with her, but it's fun to listen to anyway.) Sometimes to change it up and have a good laugh, I might switch it over to Playboy Radio or Opie & Anthony for a few minutes.

     I turned on the radio and it was still set to the CNN station that I tuned into the night before when I ran out to the supermarket. I left it on as I drove along not really paying attention. My ears and brain started to click into the words being spoken by Wolf Blitzer. "...explosions...city...finish line...onlookers...Boston..." I remembered that the Boston Marathon was happening that day and I immediately zeroed in and paid more attention as the report went on and I was able to piece together that there had been two explosions at the Boston Marathon yards away from the finish. Scarce details came forth and I immediately texted my buddy Thom who I'm doing Chicago with, to ask if he knew anyone running in Boston. He wrote back to say he knew some people running and they were all ok. As details began to materialize and the nature of the explosions became clear, I tried to think if we knew anyone in Boston. At times like this, social media is a godsend. I checked in with Becky's cousin at BU. All ok. Checked in with a friend from high school. All ok. Good. But still...

     I am just starting this journey to becoming a marathon runner, but in my short time in that world (and just barely touching the tip of that world,) one thing has become clear. For me right now yes, all roads lead to Chicago. But for the hardcore, avid marathoner, all roads lead to Boston. It's the grand-daddy of all races. The oldest distance race in America. Not to diminish the scale or significance of running Chicago, but the hardcore marathoners run a race like Chicago, or Philly, or Atlanta, in order to qualify for Boston. there are only 23,000 runners (compared to 45,000 in Chicago.) Every one of them meeting a specified criteria of speed and time in order to be allowed to run in Boston. For the true marathoner, it's the pinnacle. A crown jewel. Like climbing Mt. Everest. I've heard people talk about it like a pilgrimage. The way a Muslim aspires to visit Mecca, a Jew to Jerusalem, or a Catholic to the Vatican. It's a race that many admire and glorify, and comparatively few ever get to run. I know I never will, but I'm developing that reverence just the same.

     I had a rough week training and weight-wise. Last Tuesday I did 3.1 miles in 00:43:51. My best time yet. Then the week got away from me. I couldn't get to the rec center until Friday after work. I felt good though. I wanted to push myself so after my initial warm-up walk, I set the treadmill at a 4.7 pace. I was going along nicely, feeling good when all of a sudden at the 2.1 mile mark I felt a searing pain in my left calf. I cried out and almost fell off the treadmill. I got what I thought was the worst cramp I have ever gotten. So, I went over to the blocks and stretched it out. I walked around the rec center a bit. Tried to take in some fluids. I massaged it. It was really tight but I got back on the treadmill and tried to continue. Within a minute of starting again, the pain was back. That was it. I was shot for the day. I left pissed and defeated. Saturday should have been a long walk, but by that morning, the tightness and pain were still present. Even if I went out on Sunday, I was losing a day no matter what. Clearly, it was more than a cramp. I definitely pulled the muscle. I was so frustrated. I have come so far, but I still have such a long way to go. I have no time to lose a day or two or three. Add to it that at my Sunday morning weigh-in I was only down .3 lbs from the prior week. So, Sunday morning I begrudgingly went out for the long walk. My father in-law came along (he has been a distance runner in the past and is trying to get going again as well.) We did a good paced walk of about 4.3 miles. Felt good to be out, albeit my leg was still tight and sore. But the walk did it good.

     That was the end of the week. Only 3 days of exercise and a small weight loss. Call it a "meh" week. And then Monday comes. I get up Monday morning to go out on a walk/run before work. It's a new week, leg is  feeling ok. Try to rev the engine up again. Get back in the saddle, ya know? Can't slip into a funk. Can't back off. As I go out, I can tell that my legs feel like lead weights trying to run through water. FUCK!! I think. It feels like 4 weeks ago. No matter what I do, I can't seem to get them going. So, about half a mile in, I decide to walk the whole thing. I did 3.1 miles, but came off it frustrated. 

     And then Boston happened. Of course I feel so bad for all the people injured and the families of those who died. And I can't even begin to make sense of the senseless violence and evil in the world and why someone would be compelled to do such a thing. But what keeps coming back to my mind is the runners. My heart breaks for them. They who have worked their whole life for this moment. This chance for personal greatness. I'm only beginning to understand the personal significance of that moment. Whether you've been running since you were a child, or you're 41 and only started 5 weeks ago, you've been preparing your whole life for this moment. Everything you've done has led you to this event. This moment. This purpose. And to have that all taken away from you because of some evil person or persons. To come so close to the grail, the ring, Nirvana, whatever, and to have it be taken away. And not because you failed. Not because you gave up. But because some evil bastard wanted to hurt people, destroy life. It just makes no sense to me. And all afternoon, I felt some strange connection to everyone who ran. The ones who finished, the ones who did not. I guess it was that sense of brotherhood again. So Monday night, I went out with my daughter and I ran. I ran a mile without stopping. I willed my legs into a state of lightness. It was my personal protest to the evil in the world. It was my way of saying to whoever did this thing that they cannot stop us. They can't stop us from running. They can't stop people from living their lives and doing the things that give them joy. It was my reminder to myself that I can't be stopped by a hurt leg, or disappointing weight, or fear of disaster, or the thousand other things that can happen and get us down.   

With that said, I think I'll close this post with what comedian Patton Oswalt said on his Facebook page last night: "When you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, ‘The good outnumber you, and we always will.’”

So, why run a marathon?

Because no matter who or what tries to stop you, you must continue to do that which is important to you.

All roads lead to Chicago. 

Small gains...Big victories

       So, it seems that although I am having unprecedented success at maintaining my exercise schedule and eating regimen, I seem, of late, to have trouble staying on target for my blog posts. We got back from our trip to Ann Arbor, MI late last Thursday night, and then the weekend and subsequent week got away from me. To all my faithful readers out there, I sincerely apologize for the tardiness of this post and hope to stay on track with posting Sunday nights/Monday mornings from this point on. 

So, without any further ado, here are last weeks stats:

Weight Sunday 3/31  276.9

Weight Sunday 4/7    276.1

Total weight loss to date: 12.6 pounds in 4 weeks

Tues 4/2  run/walk 3 mi.  00:46:00

Thur. 4/4 run/walk 3.03 mi.  00:49:58 -legs were like lead, had to stop several times to stretch

Sat.  4/6 walk 4.65 mi. 01:19:18  walked with Beck. Had to work to keep up with her pace.

Sun. 4/7 run/walk 3.1 mi.  00:45:05 -started doing alternating intervals of 4 min run and 6 min run separated by 3 min walks. Going well. (Actually shaved 00:01:14 off my 5K time today, Wednesday)

      I know the weight loss was not as big as prior weeks, but I still have to remind myself that we went away on a trip and I managed to lose. My eating was not terrible by any means, but there was more sodium, some caffine, some processed things. However in the past on a trip, and especially visiting my family, I would have been up 5 lbs. The fact that I was able to come home down at all was a small gain, big victory. 

      Also the fact that I got up early on vacation twice to go out and run was a huge accomplishment for me. A trip would have been the perfect excuse to say "oh, I can skip it today, I'm on vacation ..." But you know what, that's a bullshit excuse, and one that I have use many times before. But as I am learning, this journey is, among other things, a journey of NO MORE EXCUSES. "It's Easter, so just today I'll eat whatever I want..." Bullshit. "I'm driving on a road trip, so it's easier to eat a burger in the car or a bag of chips..." Bullshit. (Becky actually fed me yogurt while I was driving. We must have looked ridiculous, and had a good laugh)  "I'm visiting grandma. I have to eat whatever she puts out or she'll be offended..." Bullshit. And man, you do not want to offend dear Florence Meltzer by not eating her food she puts out, the "nosh'odai" as we call it. (Probably wrecked the Yiddish spelling.) Gotta hand it to the "little hurricane" as my aunt calls her. The woman is 87 years old battling cancer, had just had a chemo treatment that morning and still managed to put out a spread. Grandma did start to get offended until I reminded her that I'm training for a marathon and trying really hard to watch what I eat. The scene then played out thusly:

   Grandma: No, no. That good that you're doing that. So...how much weight have you lost?  

   Sandy: Well, about 11 pounds in 3 weeks.

   Grandma: Oh, that's good. (pause) You can't see it but...

   Sandy: Um, well, uh, ya know it takes time for it to--

   Grandma: (indicating my wife standing nearby) Now, her though..Becky, you really have lost 

                      so much weight. You can really see it!

   Becky: (trying to be gracious about the compliment while giving me my props) Well, thanks      

               Grandma. It's been about 4 years and a lot of work. But anyway, Sandy's doing it. He's 

               gonna get there...

   Grandma: I know, but you can't see it on him, but you can really see it on you!

      And so on. Woman, if you thought there was any chance I was gonna partake of your nosh, you blew it! No, in all seriousness, Grandma tells it like it is, right? Becky read something the other day that said something like it takes 4 weeks for you to feel a difference in your body; 8 weeks for you to see a difference; and 12 weeks for everyone else to see a difference. I just passed the 4 week mark and I have to say that I do feel a difference. I feel lighter, taller. I feel a little smoother. My pants are starting to not fit right (annoying but satisfying!) The other day my dear friend Stephanie told me she did think she could see it in my face. We had a good chuckle about that and about when people say that. Steph has fought an ongoing battle with her weight as well and followed up the compliment with "WTF? Right? Like that's the part we are most concerned with? Really? Why does it work from the top down? It should work from the bottom up!" I started to laugh as I imagined how different conversations would go. 

   Grandma: So...how much weight have you lost?

   Sandy: About 11 pounds.

   Grandma: That's good. You can't see it though. You're ass looks the same.

   Sandy: Um...well....(awkward silence)

   Grandma: But Becky...her ass looks great! Becky, you can really see how much weight you've  

                     lost in your ass!

    Results. We are a goal and results oriented society. We check the scale. We check the stopwatch. "I need to see the numbers drop. The weight go down. The time go down. The speed go faster..." I was bordering on feeling pissed, defeated on Sunday. I lay in bed and for the first time in weeks, I didn't want to go run. I had that momentary "WTF am I doing, do I really want to do this?" I couldn't see the big victories. And I wasn't appreciating the small gains. My daughter Maggie came into the bedroom, sat down on the bed and said "come on Daddy, let's go to the rec center." I looked at her. 11 years old, trying to motivate her old man.  I thought about my grandmother who even though she's battling cancer, gets up every morning and puts on a nice outfit and some make-up. Who jumped off of the couch multiple times to get her grandkids and great-grandkids a drink; a napkin; a fork. "Jesus," I thought to myself. "If she can keep moving, keep doing things, then I sure as hell can." I know her example was part of what helped me go out and run in Ann Arbor.

   And so, it is a potent reminder that we need to be sure we see the forest and not just the trees. Life is about small details and big pictures. In the film Any Given Sunday, there's a great speech delivered by coach Tony D'Amato played by Al Pacino. (A segment of it is making the rounds in a commercial for Jeep...) There are some quotable ideas and lines but the essence is the following lines which I think are applicable on this journey:

  "We're in hell right now gentlemen. Believe me. And we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell one inch at a time... You find out life's this game of inches...The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break of the game, every minute, every second...We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when add up all those inches, that's gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing! Between living and dying!"

Down .8 lbs is still down. Getting up on vacation to run even though it was slow and hard, is still getting up. Small gains, big victories. Inches. Seconds. It all adds up. And it keeps me going.

So, why run a marathon?

So grandma can see it in my ass ;-)

All roads lead to Chicago!

    

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world...

Well, worry not fearless readers. Although I'm late with this post, it's not without good reason. First off, as stated last week, I'm not dead yet. I'm sure some of you may have feared the worst, but actually I'm late due to the fact that the wife, kids, and I traveled to Ann Arbor, Michigan this week to visit my grandmother who is waging a battle against cancer. In fact I'm sitting in a room in a Microtel as I'm writing this. Little by little, I am discovering what it means to become a runner. Case in point, a trip like this would be an excellent excuse to not run on the days I'm supposed to. Not eat the way I'm supposed to. But as I'm discovering, this whole process is about changing my lifestyle. Changing my habits of behavior and mind. And so, I got up this morning and went on a lovely run in beautiful Gallup Park along the Huron River today. But more on that in next Sunday's post.

For now, here are last weeks stats:

Weight Sunday 3/24   281 lbs.

Weight Sunday 3/31 276.9 lbs.

Total weight loss to date:  11.8 lbs.

Hello 270's! Been a while! Nice to see you, but hopefully won't be staying long!

Tues. 3/26  35 min run/walk 2.25 mi
Thur. 3/28  45 min run/walk  3 mi
Sat.  3/30  1 hr 15 min  run/walk  4.5 mi (ran 2)
Sun  3/31  1 hr 15 min  run/walk  4.5 mi (ran 2)

I tried a new route Sat/Sun. One of those days was supposed to just be a long walk, but I decided what the hell. It felt good. It wasn't easy by any means, but it is getting easier. The run stretches were 2 sections of 1 mile each and I was able to run those non-stop and consistently (albeit at a pretty slow pace.) Got a long way to go, but I am moving in the right direction one baby step at a time.

So, on my Thursday run last week, I had a truly profound moment. A moment that signaled my arrival into the brotherhood (and sisterhood) of runners. A moment that every runner experiences and is never quite prepared for no matter how inevitable it is. It's overwhelming when it happens. All encompassing. A return to a more primal self when all we could do was run to get from place to place, without the modern conveniences and comforts we so take for granted. Yes true believers, as I ran through a wooded park with nary an establishment in sight, I...fledgling runner, wayward traveler on the road to Chicago...had to go to the bathroom. And not number 1. Yes, the other. Whilst running.

It started innocently enough. I had arrived at Northponds Park that chilly afternoon, determined to get in my 3 miles in under 45 minutes. As I got out of the car and began my warm-up walk, I felt that ever subtle but distinct twinge in the bowels. At that point I was 1/10 of a mile in. I stopped and looked back at the public restroom building on the southern edge of the park that runs along the route 104 service road. I was in quite a conundrum. To turn back or not turn back. That was the question. Whether 'tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous bowel urges or to take off these slimming spandex pants, and thereby relieve oneself...(Sorry. I direct Shakespeare ya know...) So, I decided I could tough it out and make it around the pond (Northponds is exactly 1 mile around, and after all, I did have my big boy running pants on!)

So, with determination in my mind and heart, I set off. It wasn't so bad. I was actually able to distract my thoughts and after a few minutes the urge had subsided. Well, any of you local readers who know Northponds Park know that on the far north side around the 4/10-half mile mark, there is a hill. It's not a big hill. But even so, hills suck ass. For me the best way to tackle a hill is to take it aggressively. I up my pace a little, pump my arms and legs a little harder. I grit my teeth and grunt. And when I get to the top, it feels darn good. Most of the time. This time however...not so much. I reached the top, the theme song from Rocky pounding in my head. As I reached the apex, the pinnacle, there it was. That feeling returning with a vengance as if to say "I'm back asshole. Nice going!!" I was not going to make it all the way around. I panicked! "What do I do?" I thought looking around as if by some miracle of wishful thinking a porta-potty or another restroom building would materialize out of thin air where there was none. But alas, my wishes fell on deaf ears. The gods did not drop a toilet down from the heavens. I had no choice but to high tail it into the thicket of trees and look for a spot. I found one that seemed masked enough from the running path and the road to my north. And there, in the cool embrace of nature...I shit in the woods. Like many a runner before, and many to come, I dropped said spandex and made my involuntary contribution to the ecosystem. Ah, sweet relief. There was that momentary bliss that naturally follows but that was quickly eclipsed by a second wave of panic. I had no toilet paper. No wipes, nothing. I could use my underwear but that would mean having to stand up and risk being seen by passersby as I stripped my shoes and pants off to get at said underwear. What should I do? The last time I was in this predicament I was 10 years old and ended up with poison ivy on my ass for 3 weeks. I tried to reach into the deep recess of my mind and strained to recall critical information I learned when I was a cub scout for a week (something about all those brown shirts in a room chanting made this little Jewish kid just a tad bit uncomfortable.) Hmmm, look for dried leaves, Maple or Oak is best. And ones on a branch are better than ones on the ground. Better chance that an animal hasn't defecated on them. Oh, and stay away from ones that are shiny and are 3 leaves clustered together (alas, this information was imparted to me after the poison ivy incident of 1982.)

There I was, squatting down in the woods, looking for something to wipe my ass with when it hit me. Here I was a modern man, used to all the conveniences and creature comforts of modern life taken back to a primal self. I was, in that moment of relieving myself in the woods, no longer Sandy Nagar, 21st century man. I was an animal. I was our ancestors. I imagined that this must have been what it was like to be a neanderthal or a caveman. You got from one place to another by walking. If you wanted to get there quickly, you ran. and if you needed to relieve yourself, you stopped where you were, dropped down and did it. And nearby would be someone else also doing it, then running off. Or maybe an animal would be sitting nearby, your actions indistinguishable from theirs. For once upon a time, we were nothing more than animals walking the earth. Running across it. There was no distinction between us and animals. There was no worry about that project, that deadline, my cholesterol, my heart rate. There was the run. Get from here to there. That's it.

As I grabbed a clump of maple leaves from a nearby branch, I remembered a section of Song of Myself by Walt Witman from his work Leaves of Grass:

...I think I could turn and live with animals, they're so placid and self contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the earth. (And then...) The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric YAWP over the rooftops of the world.   And with that, I continued on my way. Finishing my run. No records shattered. Not even a personal best. But better for it nonetheless. Oh, and by the way...it should be noted that as I passed the restrooms on the southern side of the park, they were locked, a CLOSED FOR THE SEASON sign tauntingly fixed to the door...   So, why run a marathon? Because I am man. Primal. An animal. All roads lead to Chicago!

I'm not dead yet!

I n the classic 1975 comedy Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the royal guards walk through the medieval village calling for the townsfolk to "bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!" An old man being carried over the shoulder of his son is crying out quite emphatically, "I'm not dead yet!" It's a phrase that I utter to myself after almost every workout. In the first minutes of a run/walk, I do sometimes feel like I am being dragged kicking and screaming into moving, exercising. And this journey, it's goal, sometimes feels like a quest for the Holy Grail. Elusive, mythical, grand in it's implications but also personal and intimate. There's this thing that seems so unattainable, but has profound meaning. And you embark on the quest to find it knowing full well that the odds are against you and it has always eluded you before. Yet, despite these insurmountable odds, off you go on the journey, searching, pursuing.

What is interesting to me though, is that in every story telling some version of the quest for the Holy Grail (and I tend to reference films, such as Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, The Davinci Code, the aforementioned Monty Python, and my personal favorite, The Fisher King,) the actual attainment of the Grail itself is secondary. What figures most importantly is the journey. Every character starts out searching for the object, the goal. But what happens is that along the way towards that goal they learn things about themselves, and about life. They are richer because of what is gained on the journey. Indy and his dad find common ground and reaffirm the love between a father and son; Robert Langdon discovers a renewed sense of faith and balance between man and god; Jeff Bridges' character in The Fisher King learns to place the needs and well being of others above his own. What matters is the journey. The path. I may never finish a marathon (I sure intend to though!) But each step along the way yields it's own rewards. Those rewards are physical of course (losing weight, building up strength, more energy.) However, they are just as much emotional and spiritual as well. It's a journey about overall well being. You start to change your habits of mind. Things that have been "I cant's" for so long (I can't run more than 2 minutes; I can't get out of bed at the crack of dawn; I can't go more than a day without eating meat,) slowly turn into I cans. I can run 6 minutes without stopping. I can get out of bed at 5:30 and go out to walk in the snow. I can survive (and even enjoy) 2 weeks of mostly vegetables, fruits, grains, and even like it! (ASIDE: Tonight, however, is the first night of Passover. All bets are off. Matzoh ball soup and turkey here I come!) 

So, with that said, this weeks stats:

Weight Sunday 3/17   283 lbs.

Weight Sunday 3/24   281 lbs.

Total weight loss to date:  7.7 lbs.

A smaller amount, yes, but still went down. I know where I went off the rails a little bit. (It's amazing what a misplaced dinner roll or two can do to your metabolism. Course correction on tap this week!)

Mon.  3/18  run/walk 2.15 miles  31:30 min   (alternating 3 min and 5 min runs with walk time in between)

Wed. 3/20  run/walk 2.82 miles   42:00 min (upped the running portions to 4 min and 6 min ) 

Fri. 3/22   run/walk 3.15 miles    49:05 min (4 min/6 min running again)

Sat. 3/23  walk 3 miles   1 hr.

Total miles this week: 11.12 miles

Last week I mentioned briefly that I am discovering the simple joy of going out very early in the morning. Last week I did that 2 out of my 4 days. Monday was at the rec center, and Saturday was out in the neighborhood. There is something to be said for being up when no one else is. There is a quiet that we almost never get to experience in our waking, regular daytime hours. Even at the rec center (which was practically empty at 5:30 am,) the contrast between the bright florescent light of the gym and the pitch black outside the windows is striking and eerie at times. But also calming. However, the time I notice the serenity of it the most is Saturday mornings when I'm outside. In our neighborhood, the only thing you hear besides your own footsteps is the occasional cry of the coyotes in the adjacent woods. They are far off, voicing their last claims to the darkness before they drift of to sleep. I find myself listening to things more than I usually do. More than I think we all usually do. At some point I put headphones on and listen to NPR on that walk, but not until I've taken time to just listen. Last Saturday was especially interesting. Being out that early (I was on the streets at 5:40am) is a fortress of solitude. You are alone with your thoughts, your body. Nothing to keep you company but the darkness (and the fading coyotes.) There was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. Nothing substantial, but just enough to make white all the lawns that were green and brown the day before. 

Stepping out of my house, I immediately noticed different sets of animal tracks crisscrossing my front yard. Rabbit tracks here. Deer tracks there. A cat had come right up to my front porch. These tracks were all over the neighborhood, and I began to feel like perhaps I'm not as alone as I had thought. This feeling was solidified when to my surprise about 75 yards down the street from my house progressing in the same direction I was now headed, were the footprints of not a wild animal, but another person! The shoes were significantly smaller than mine. My best guess would be a woman, size 6 or 7. Here was someone crazy like me! Actually, they were probably crazier. Their footprints were spaced farther apart than mine which meant only 1 of 2 things. They were really tall, or they were running. Due to the size of the feet, I figured it was the latter. She had been out early. And she was fast. My first reaction was "Damn it! This is my time. My route. How dare you come out here and go the same route I'm going, and be faster!" That reaction quickly faded as I watched her footsteps and began to appreciate and admire what she was doing out here in the wee pre-dawn chilly Rochester hours. I was envious (in a good way,) and even felt aspiration. To get out here and fly. God, that had to feel great! I began to listen some more and hoped I would pick up on the crunch of her footsteps. I felt like some sort of tracker scouting the frozen wilderness, scanning the footprints for a change in pace. (OK, a real tracker would have put their ear to the ground too, but shit was cold!)  Once or twice I stopped to listen, but couldn't pick her up. In the end, the only footsteps I could hear were my own. She did follow the exact same 3-neighborhood route I take though. And at one point, I came across her footsteps side by side with her own tracks as she clearly had doubled back, the same way I would be doing. She was faster, and earlier. Maybe our paths will cross some Saturday morning. Maybe by then, I can fly by her side for a little bit.

The experience of seeing her tracks was a reminder of the dual nature of this whole endeavor. Running is solitary. It can be lonely. But it's also communal. Someone is out when you are. Someone went even earlier than you because, like you, they are on a journey. They are trying to attain the unattainable. In 6 months and 17 days, I'll be adrift in a sea of humanity. Side by side with 45,000 other brave souls. Each with their own story. Their own journey. Their own reasons for doing this thing. We will all be together in our solitude. That is the paradox

So, why run a marathon?

Because I'm not dead yet!

All roads lead to Chicago!   

1st week post registration

So...6 days ago I registered for the 2013 Chicago Marathon. I then, in a state of shock and over-zealousness, posted it on Facebook. The outpouring of support and encouragement has been so unexpected and overwhelming, and has moved and inspired me more than I can possibly have anticipated. It is also a little intimidating. Perhaps it was foolish to put it out there on FB. Foolish to start this blog. The whole world (well, my whole world at least,) knows what I am embarking on. And for a moment, quite a few moments actually, as the comments and well wishes rolled in, I thought to myself, "Good God. What have I done!?"

I am now beholden to all of you out there. Every step accountable to my friends, family, and acquaintances. And ya know what? Foolish or not, that is just what I need. During my training this past week, in the moments when I thought, "ugh, do I really want to do this?" I then thought of everyone wishing me well. Encouraging me on. Having my back. I thought about my kids who are so excited for a road trip and so excited that their daddy is getting into shape. I thought of my wife who has been cooking me "clean meals" all week, buying me training journals and books.

And so, the first week of my "official" marathon training has passed. I sat down with my wife and sort of formulated a plan of attack. Sometime in June will mark 16 weeks from race day. Becky bought me this wonderful book, The Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer (David Whitsett, Forrest Dolgener, Tanjala Cole; McGraw Hill, 1998.) It is a training program based on a course the authors taught at the University of Northern Iowa 5 times over a decade during which they took a class full of non-runners of all shapes, sizes, and ages and took them from step 1 to completing a marathon 16 weeks later. It's an inspiring book detailing the week-by-week regimen, as well as providing a guide to the mental exercise of running a marathon. There's also loads of anecdotal reading in it. I highly recommend it to anyone out there thinking about doing this.

However, to prepare to embark on that regimen at the 16-weeks out mark, I need to get up to being able to run a steady 3 miles without stopping, 4 times a week. So that's my focus over the next few weeks and months. I did set some benchmark goals to shoot for. I will be running a 5k on April 28th, and a 10k on May 19th. Gotta have something to shoot for, right?

So, this first week I actually did what I set out to do. I signed up for the marathon. I put it out there for everyone to see. I formulated a plan of attack. I  exercised 4 times (3 days of my Cto5K program, 1 longer walk) and I ate healthier than I have in years (more on that later...)

Here are the stats:
Weight on Monday 3/11: 288.7 lbs
Weight on Sunday 3/17: 283 lbs
Weight loss to date: 5.7 lbs

Mon: 31:30 minutes, 2 miles   walk/run
Wed: 31:30 minutes, 2 miles   walk/run
Fri: 31:30 minutes, 2.10 miles  walk/run
Sat: 1hr, 3.1 miles walk (brisk)
Total miles for week: 9.2

The total for the week was 9.2 miles. Pretty good for me. But, compared to what a "marathoner" should be doing...well let's just say I have a long way to go. But in the past, when I tried to get into shape, I would never do more than 3 days a week. I convinced myself that was enough. And even that, I would have a hard time sustaining. So, I did it for one week. Woo hoo! Small victories. Now let's see if I can do it for another. And another, and so on... Honestly, I've always wimped out or found an excuse to stop after 2 weeks (rehearsal gets too busy, kids stuff gets in the way, work stuff, my own laziness, etc.,) Not this time though. Cuz you're all watching! (Incidentally, as of this writing, Monday 3/18, I've already been out this morning before work!)

Becky has been cooking "clean" food for me. A week or two of no meat, dishes made with quinoa or wild rice, lots of vegetables and fruits. Water with cranberry juice, dandelion tea, and lemon or lime. No artificial sweeteners, no preservatives. No dressings or sauces. Nothing processed. Don't worry, I'm not going all hippy drippy vegan and shit (no offense to my hippy drippy vegan friends out there!) It's just to jump start my metabolism and clean out my system. There's a lot of years of beer, wings, ribs, Chinese, so on and so forth, built up in there! It has actually been enjoyable and fulfilling. And I feel great. I recommend trying it sometime.

Starting week 2 of exercising with that giant goal of a marathon in mind, looming on the horizon. It does change things I think. It gives you a purpose for doing it. Yes the purpose and rewards of exercising are internal, I know. "I'll feel better. I'll look better. I'll live longer. I'll have more energy, reduce cholesterol, improve my heart, loose weight, yada, yada, yada..." But, having that tangible, concrete event out there? Marked on my calendar? For me, that helps up the ante. My wife would often get pissed at me that those other reasons weren't enough to do something about it for real. It wasn't that they aren't important. But lacking self-confidence gets you. Your own mind spends years telling you "you can't." You start to fall into an acceptance. A sense of "Well, maybe this is just who I'm supposed to be. The fat friend. The fat dad." You know the one. There's always the guy. The big guy who's a barrel of laughs. The guy who has the reputation for being able to put down the most wings. At the wedding, the guy who elicits the comment, "Wow, he moves really well for a big guy!" To which someone responds (or maybe even he himself,) "Yeah, you should have seen him when he was younger and not overweight." I've been that guy for so long now. And it hurt. And it was frustrating. But it was also comfortable on some level. And I was starting to settle into thinking that maybe like it or not, that's just who I am.

But then, one day your'e doing something with your son. And he says so innocently, "I can't wait to be big like you one day...well, I mean a grown up. Not fat or anything..." That knocks you on your ass like a freight train. We hope our kids find their own way, and be their own person and such. But we also want to be the one they admire and look up to. The one they aspire to be like. A hero in their eyes. But then your kid reminds you that there is something about you that they don't admire and it's sobering. But is it enough?  Again, it's that touchy feely, metaphysical reason. And that doesn't always spark it for everyone. And on some level, it hasn't been enough in the past. But then it gets said at just the right time.  Pretty much on the eve of deciding whether or not to run a marathon. That tangible event staring you in the face. 26.2 miles. $175 paid. Added to all the intrinsic reasons for getting into shape, it all elevates a few notches.

So I'm off and running, so to speak. BTW, 3 out of the 5 times I've run/walked the past week (including today) I did it in the wee hours of the morning before work (or before Saturday got going.) I think I'm on to something. I really enjoyed being up when no one else was. The quiet of the world asleep. I'm more rested too. And seeing as how I've cut out caffine, it wakes my ass up too. But, I'll talk more about the joys of morning next week. For now, the new world is here and it's a frightening and inspiring place. Go get it!

Lastly, I'm going to post this question every week and see what my answer is. Maybe it'll change. Maybe not. But Thom told me a few weeks ago that I needed to ask myself this when deciding whether to do it or not. So, here it is:

Question: Why run a Marathon?
Answer: Because I have to.

All roads lead to Chicago!