A Bridge Too Far - Venice Marathon 2019

I have always said that races that start with that long bus ride out to the start are tough - who wants to fathom running all that way back to the finish? After a two-mile walk to the busses (since Venice is car-free), I boarded a bus and with no seats open, sitting with my back on the accordion section and my butt on the hard, metal floor.  After an hour, we arrived and walked about 3/4 of a mile to the athlete's village and then another 3/4 of a mile to my corral.  This was a lot of walking before a marathon.  There would be more. Much more.

Flashback:  The idea of Venice came when looking at fall marathons. I had toyed with something in Switzerland, the UK, or Dublin, but then my great running buddy Kirsten said he would join us, so we booked.  Kirsten is a fantastic runner, and after hammering Comrades this year, he was injured. It was touch and go for a while before it became clear that he would not be able to run. So while we made a trip of it, I was alone for the race.

Flashforward some, but not all the way: April 1. It's no fooling, I blew out my ankle badly.  A month on crutches followed by every-other-day of physical therapy for another month. I believed I may never run again, but my body healed quickly, and I was running by the start of summer.  August brought intense heat and humidity to Delhi, and every run was a suffer-fest. Looking back at logs, I saw I was running more days than the year before, so more miles but less recovery from the excessive sweat loss.

Jump ahead to last week: Airtel Half-Marathon.  I have come off of 4 days of no running with the worst bacterial infection of my gut ever. Missed my long run. I toe the line not really giving a crap about this race - Sarah and I were going to run together, but she has opted for a slower start due to injury. I ask around to the guys in my corral, and all want to go sub-90, so I don't care to run that. I just say, whatevs - I'll do like 7:20/mile - and go. A mile of dancing around the slowpokes (and I am in the 'A' corral)... the first mile is about 7:18 so I feel like it is good. After that, I just keep dropping the pace and think, "I am not running any harder to go faster, this is ok." Mile after mile they peel off in 6:30s and I have no stress. I catch and pass all that wanted to run faster than me and soon I am clipping off the final miles in sub-6:30s. I feel no pain, no struggle. I cross in 1:26:40, easily the best time I have run since South Africa, and could have done 1:25 if I was willing to hurt. But I am on cloud 9 and go play a softball game. I took it easy the days after the race, cycling, and jogging. On a simple 5K run on Thursday, I have a shooting pain in my butt that won't release and concern grows about being able to run Sunday, especially after an overnight flight Friday.

Jump ahead (or back, wait, where are we now? Oh, right, Venice.):  My corral is #6. I see no one else with a 6. Fat people and those wearing costumes have numbers like 4 on their bib. I make my way to the back of the line. Many thousands of people are ahead of me before the race starts.  I try to work my way through the crowd once the corrals release at the gun but the mass of humanity, and people taking selfies, limit progress.  It takes me over 4 minutes to walk to the line, and even then, I can barely run.  My first mile is just under 8 minutes, and even that is achieved only with efforts of surging in and out of people along the grass and curb-lined side of the road. If my ankle was going to go, it was now. I manage to drop 7:08 for the next two miles, a testament to how fast I am going considering the huge amount of people.  It is too fast, but I want out of there. Will this cost me later? I can't say, but by 5K I am back on track for a 7:20/mile place, which should land me at about a 3:13.

I continue to negotiate place by cruising through the stream of people. I am ticking off miles around 7:15 for a long time, and by 10 miles the running becomes more reasonable. We have followed a canal (go figure) the whole way.  A large overpass greets me at 12 miles, sending the first message to my legs that maybe not all will be well.  I don't feel good b/c all of the surging early on to find space has made this feel like a 5K race, not a marathon. I continue to blow by huge sets of people which never lets me zone out since I can't gauge my pace off others and check out for a while.  I cross the half in 1:36 flat. I begin to lose interest.  What am I running for - an arbitrary sub 3:15? But I keep sticking it, content to know that the quicker I run, the faster I am done. The family is waiting at the finish. Kirsten will want beers. I'd better do this.

After wandering through Mestre, I reach the park for some pathway running. I am beginning to wane now, feeling empty and flat.  I sense this will go south but I agree to stick the pace I have set through 20 miles.  That is a good day done.  I hit 20 after having to really work the last two miles, especially considering there is another nice, long overpass leading to this point.  But then I am done, toast.  With little focus, I gain about 40+ seconds in the next mile.  The next is worse.  By the time I hit the causeway, I decide to walk (the first time I have walked in a marathon in many, many recent runs).  I chug a whole bottle of water, mostly out of the idea of a long day of drinking to come, but some is that I feel guilty these 500ml plastic bottles are being tossed to the road after one sip. Get more green, #VeniceMarathon !!  I continue to hemorrhage back time on the causeway into the city, being passed by people but also, ironically, still catching some. I also remember that I started up to 4 min behind some of these people so I don't feel completely guilty about my sloth-like performance. 

The bridge across the water

Cobbles near the finish

a typical alley (not on the route!)

on the temp bridge a few K from the finish.

Finally, I reach the island and drop down to the waterfront. I would like to say the next two walk breaks were my last, but that would be like saying I had two beers post race - lying. While the views of the islands and canals were rewarding, they did not make up for the pain and suffering that was happening. Now the bridges started and the steep inclines and sharp declines ripped what was left out of my legs. There were many of these hurdles and the race really slowed for me.  There is a little detour into San Marco square with crowds about 15 deep - pretty intense.  By the time I met the family at about 25.5 miles, I was laughing. It was an implosion of epic proportions. But all was good - the end was near. About 7 more bridges and I was done.  It hurt. 

I limped clear of the line and had hot tea (I don't know why). There was another bridge right after the finish line, which I found to be a sadistic way to finish a race.  Poor markings and information meant for some confusion in finding the family but I did, and we had about a 2-mile walk home. It seemed to take forever down the narrow alleyways and I was at the brink by the time we hit "home." A shower, food, and a few drinks later, normalcy resumed. We spent the evening out.  For the day I ended up running (and walking) about 34 miles. I hurt for days after!




I ended up running 3:22 flat, which, considering I was on about 3:13 pace at 20 miles, is about the biggest blown tire I have had in a long, long time (Like 1:20/mile on average!).  Factors: 1) No long run. One 18 miler in training, the longest since February. After 20 miles, it's unknown territory and I didn't have the miles. 2) Out to fast. Too much surging in the early mile to find open road. With no endurance, I couldn't afford to run those early miles at that pace. I usually am more cautious, but did not hold myself back this time. I paid.  3) Ran too hard the week before. The race was definitely in my legs still and I felt it. If I had been as fresh for the marathon as I was for the half, I might have even run impressively.  But I was toast all week and it was deep inside come race day. I faked it for 20mi, but then it couldn't hide anymore. 4) With Kirsten out, the pollution, the humidity...I just didn't have the spark for this one. It was like something I had to do, not wanted to do.  While I was on a high post-half marathon, this race was not a good reinforcer.  I took 4 days off and struggled for two runs before coming back to Delhi. Now it is indoor running for a while. I have to get some motivation back. 

365 Days of Dedication

What can you do for a year straight?

My father was a man with man hobbies.  He had firearms, an old jeep, and an airplane. He would get really into these things, spend a lot of time and money on them, but over time they would fall into the depths of the basement or garage and eventually be sold.  However, once he retired he decided to pick up piano.  He took lessons and played everyday for a year straight, rewarding himself with a tattoo of a treble clef on his arm. And since he did one year already, why not keep going for another? So he did and got another tat. After 2 years of piano everyday, he decided to switch to bass guitar. More lessons and practice and a whole year of that and a bass clef tat followed.  Only after 3.5 years of daily music did he miss his streak when he was out for a wedding.

Inspired by my father, I took on a challenge this year as well.  Flashback 18 months ago:

At a Christmas party, people started doing pushups (as they often do - what do your Christmas parties look like?) and a decree was made.  With the holidays coming and people traveling, exercise often dips while food and drink intake spike.  So, it was announced we would do 50 pushups a day for the duration of the holiday.  Now, I do not remember this being said (that kind of party I guess) but when I heard about it the next day, I was in. Over break I did my 50 a day while traveling through Germany, France, and Switzerland.  It wasn't always easy as we were in cars, skiing, dog sledding, and hitting Christmas markets, but I did it.

When I got back to India, I kept going.  I figured, why not keep it as a regular part of my routine? People often ask how I get in my running and I am always confused by the question. It is just something you do every morning before you do anything else. It just is part of the routine, like breakfast and a shower.  I started out with 15, 15, 15, 5 and worked up to 25/25, and occasionally 30-35 in a go.  Sometimes I would forget to do a 2nd set and have to cram them in before bedtime or do them in an airport, but I did them.

This went along without a hitch until the first week of June, 2018. I was bounding through the Grand Canyon and things went a little south. I crawled out, literally, and ended up in the hospital. I missed a couple of days while laying in a bed and once I was released from the hospital, I needed a few days to recover. After a week or so, I started back up with the pushups. Day in and day out I did them, but my clock had reset to day 1, and I had a new end date.

For the next 365 days I did 50 pushups a day, without fail. No matter the day: hangover, post-race, traveling, after an Insanity workout - I did them. I did them on the starting lines of marathons, I did them at the finish lines of ultras. I did them when sick and when I injured my ankle and toe and had to do them inverted off a couch. 365 days times 50 pushups a day is 18250 pushups. It was probably a bit more because I did about 60 a day for the last 8 weeks or so. If you count the work done before "the incident," it was more than 27000 pushups. I got stronger, sure, but the real strength gained was in the mind, the commitment of doing something everyday, even if I didn't want to. 

Now that the challenge is over, I am looking for the next goal. I picked up Duolingo because I regret not being better in another language. I started working on that everyday and plan to do a year of it straight. Work the body, work the mind.

And speaking of the body, I have kept the pushups going, even after the year mark, just because, you know, it's part of the routine. 

Bad Things Happen in 3's (Or More)

I awoke on a Wednesday with a cold. It was the first time in a very long time that I was really sick. After making it through the day, I played in a softball game at night, sliding for a fly ball in the outfield and ending up with a raspberry leg wound that covered a third of my leg. Now, let's limp ahead a few days.

After not playing volleyball for many months, I wanted to get back out there. So on a Monday night, we played. The first hour went fine but then things turned. Passes weren't made, balls went out of bounds. Our 1-0 lead quickly turned into 13-1. It was terrible.  Their backcourt guy was creeping up, dumping shots short on us. I tried to burn him deep but he returned it. A moment later he dumped another one. Frustrated I swung hard - at best this was over his head and in play; at worst I would send the ball to the rafters and buy us a moment to recover.  It went sailing out by a mile and I put my hands to my head, exasperated. Then, WHAM! I am on the deck.

Just like that. Hit the ball, step left, step right and CRACK, CRACK CRACK! I felt my right ankle blow like fireworks, popping off three or four times. I dropped like a rock and put my hands to my face as pain raced up and down my leg. It hurt so bad I couldn't roll over to my back for a moment, even though my friend was telling me to get down. I laid on my back, hands buried in my eyes to push down some of the pain that seemed to be bubbling over.  I knew instantly that I was in trouble.

Within a couple of minutes I could pull my shoe off. Teammates rushed for ice and had my ankle wrapped in a bandage. I kept it elevated, unable to move for several minutes.  When the blinding pain had subsided, I hopped into a wheelchair and moved off the court.  But sitting there I grew dizzy and, fearing I would blackout from the pain, pulled myself back to the floor.  Sarah arrived, and I was wheeled to the gate, into a cab, and to the hospital, that sits - thankfully - about 2 min from our door.

This doesn't look good

Half cast

An very Indian experience later and I was back from the x-ray, my foot not broken, and half casted to reduce mobility.  I crutched around for a few days and had an MRI.  When I met with the doctor, he put the images on a light screen. "Oh no!" he said, eyeing the first image. "Yeeeeeshshh" he hissed, glancing to the next, then, pointing and speaking to his assistant, "Look how big that is."  Now, when different circumstances may have called that comment a compliment, it wasn't the case. He turned back to me and said, "This is a serious injury."  "Well, it felt serious," I said.

Diagnosis: Full thickness tear of the anterior talo fibular and calcaneo-fibular ligaments. Contusion on medial malleolus and medial aspect of the talar dome.
Translation: Two of the three ligaments that hold my ankle together are ripped and there is a sizeable bruise on the bone of my foot.

I am ordered off the foot for at least another week and told PT would take 2-3 months. He was happy with my fitness and said surgery was not needed.  I may be able to run and bike in the summer but I probably cannot do hiking, volleyball, or other lateral movement sports for 6 months or more.

Later that day, after watching my team play softball, I was crutching home and smacked my toe (other foot) on my crutches.  Instant pain, but the beer helped. The next morning after a restless sleep I tried to get around but couldn't walk. My toe was broken. Unable to move, I missed my team playing in the final game of the season.  Only via wheelchair could I go to the evening's closing ceremony. Oh, and MSU lost in the Final Four. Bad day.

Broken toe and bruising on top part of foot

Timing was not great -  I will miss: the softball tournament, the weekly Canada vs. USA softball game; the British History Half Marathon, the healthy challenge (and competition in our school that I have not lost in 8 years) and the Two Hearted Marathon (a trail race I was hoping to win this summer).   If I cannot come back and train, my trip to Venice in the fall for the marathon may be in jeopardy. I am still unsure if I can play weekly hockey this summer with my brother.  When it rains, it pours.

After 1 week, I cut the cast off. It was annoying and my foot floating in it, causing pain every time I moved. I was much more careful about my foot with it off than when it was on. 

Inside, non-torn side still bruised a week later

Bruising on torn side - 1 week later

Swelling on inside ankle - 10 days post injury

Swollen, gross elephant foot (lines from the Ace bandage wrap in skin) - 10 days post injury

So the above ends the summary of events and diagnosis. I am struggling, unable to do much of anything. All cardio is out and with the toe injury, just getting around is very difficult. People, kind as they are, have asked 1,000 times what happened, and it gets hard to answer. It is like reliving a trauma each time. They mean well. Other annoying comments have been the person who asks daily, "Any better today?" but not nearly as bad as the many, and I mean many, who have said, "Yeah, I have been there" or "I have dealt with this all my life." What? I mean, not to downplay it, but I can't imagine a ton of regular people being out for 2-3 months with full tears in most of their foot.  Not to mention, if this happens to someone regularly, they wouldn't play sports. I am so afraid to play again, knowing the pain it was to have it happen just once.

I am doing a lot of core work since it is the only thing I can do with my feet like they are. I started lifting a bit but 1) it is hard to get to and from the gym and around it and 2) lifting sucks.  My pushup streak is again in jeopardy as I cannot get on my toes (for a week I was doing 1-legged push ups, now I can't get any feet so I have to put my feet on the couch and do downward-angled push ups). After doing 6 months consecutive, my streak broke in the Grand Canyon. Since then, I have logged nearly 10 months straight, but I find myself in a difficult place to finish again. The thought of starting over demoralizes me. 

Pond Hockey in the Mountains

Before I moved to India, I learned of this great ice hockey tournament in the mountains. However, no matter who I contacted, no one could give me info. The next year I was determined to go, but again, it didn't pan out. This year I was resolute and, sure enough, the trip was on. The opportunity to play hockey, outdoors, on a pond, in the mountains of Leh at 12,000ft was worth the wait.

I played with a team of people from the Canadian High Commission. We were called the New Delhi Sacred Bulls and were 12 skaters in all. Luckily, most of us got a chance to play a few times before the tournament at a crappy rink in Gurgaon.  We flew out early on a Friday morning - or at least that was the plan. After arriving at the airport and boarding the plane, we sat on the runway for 3.5 hours due to "fog" (but we all know it was heavily influenced by pollution).

Can you see the plane next to us on the runway? No? It's less than 100ft away...

Eventually, we were off for the 1 hour flight to Leh, and were treated to some amazing mountain views on the way in. It was fairly cold in the mountains, with temps around -11 Celsius. We made our way to the hotel for lunch and a relatively uneventful day as acclimating was key.

Sleep is not easy at 3500m and we were up early for breakfast.  Because the games are on a pond, we dressed in our hotel rooms. Two teams boarded the bus, piling sticks and equipment in, and drove to the rink.  Snow had fallen over night and it took a good hour to "clean" the ice (shovel it then sweep it with straw brooms). I tell you, if you need a workout, try shoveling snow at 3500m. It leaves you gassed in seconds.

Dubai and Delhi riding to the rink

Overnight snow on the rink - it took more than an hour to clear the ice

Our first game was against the Dubai Buds.  This team had played together a bit in Dubai and that was an advantage for them (we had not skated as a team). However, we started out hot and I scored a few minutes in by coming across the middle and beating the goalie glove side.  We were tied  1-1 going into the second half when I scored a wrap around goal to give us the lead. We didn't have a team goalie so we had to have a local player in net, and this proved to be a disaster. He let in 4 goals, not one of them a legit shot. Long, half-ice shots bounced in. It was devastating to lose (4-2) when we could have skated with that team. I had both goals, and we now knew how to prevent the problem in the future - limit their shots.

AES Teachers - Michael, Kristin, and Justin

AES Teachers - Michael, Kristin, and Justin

The next game that morning was against the India Select team, basically an all-star team of the local players.  They were young and fast, but like the Qatari national team in Doha, they were one dimensional.  I didn't score in game 2, but I had to skate a lot on both ends of the ice to keep the attacking and defending happening. We rotated centers, so I played every other shift.  We played to a 1-1 tie with just a minute to go when one of our players got loose and scored. We won, 2-1, and had 30 min rest. Our final game was against a team from Bangalore who was very inexperienced. They mostly were learning roller hockey and some had never been on ice. They picked up a few women from the Indian national team.  We handled them pretty easily. I scored early, and then Kristin got one. An AES parent, Matt, wanted a goal since he was going to miss the 2nd day of the tournament, and I was able to bring the puck out from the corner and find him in front where he buried it for a 3-0 lead. Bangalore managed to get one but we still won.

I pull up on the boards against the India select team.

Our forward gets lose and scores against the India select team with under a minute to go to give us the win.

We loaded on to buses and headed down the mountain about 20 minutes to another couple of ponds. We were there to skate with several other teams in a charity event called the Ability Cup. One team was the India Army team, another a group of kids, and the last team a group of disabled athletes who played on sledges.  We laced up our skates and pushed some of the athletes on sledges around then joined them in a game. As tired as I was, it was invigorating to see all these different people of all ages and abilities learning the game and loving being out there.  We left, pretty toasted after 3 games and a fun skate event. We returned home to shower and had a few cocktails before dinner, which was  a banquet with local performers and music. If we weren't so exhausted, it would have been a wild night. 

Supporting the efforts of charities at the Ability Cup

Sunday was the final day of the tournament. I awoke extremely sore: my lower back was aching and my legs toast, but we had to get back out there. Luckily, there was no snow overnight so we didn't have to clear the ice. Unfortunately, cracks were forming in the ice and would only get worse throughout the day. We finished as the 2nd seed on day 1 so we drew the India select team for the elimination round. Again, I scored early in the game. Our task was to limit shots, but it made no difference: a long, rolling, slow shot trickled past our goalie. We did what we could but they just kept shooting and the goalie just didn't know how to stop the puck. We lost 4-2 in the semi-finals.

I scored this goal by going through 3 guys and roofing it while the D pulled me down

There was no time to lick our wounds as we played in the consultation game against Bangalore immediately after. I grabbed a water bottle and a puck between games to try and fill the cracks but it was to no avail. We started out strong and controlled the game from the start. I split the defense and buried a goal while being pulled to the ice. Then there was a hard shot from the point that rang off the post and behind the goalie which I tapped in with little effort. We were rolling and scored a couple of more. I tried desperately to set up Kristin and our defensemen for a goal. I won a few faceoffs back to them but they just didn't find that back of the net. We won easily.  We grabbed some beers and went to the rooftop to watch the final game: India select vs. Dubai Buds.  India won 2-1 with a goal late in the game. They completely out skated Dubai who looked like they could barely skate - altitude was definitely a factor. 

Leh hockey rink 

Watching the finals from the rooftop above the rink

Despite being exhausted, we wandered around town and stopped in Wanderers for some momos. We nearly froze waiting over 1 hour but all was well returning to the hotel where we enjoyed some drinks late into the night.  

I had 6 goals and 2 assists in 5 games, but more importantly, we played hockey outdoors in the mountains on the highest outdoor ice rink in the world. It was an amazing experience and I cannot wait to play again next year.