tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15995678016782418222024-03-13T00:30:05.379-06:00An Incondite AdventureStories and insight on ultrarunning, mountaineering, adventure and life captured momentarily and updated sporadically.Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-17918671576880413202023-10-08T08:09:00.138-06:002023-10-09T10:09:08.769-06:00Chicago Marathon<p>"Have you run Chicago?"</p><p>After hearing how many marathons I have run, the most common question is about Boston, but it seems to be about Chicago after that. I have never run this historic race despite having a house about 4 hours away. After knocking out Boston again in the spring, I felt it was time to finally do it. With a guaranteed entry time qualifier, I signed up. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHS7YXcmmzQPgoOFlgP7HjyFGnW5f8kJfNKA-M___et63uIRyIuPWTEWJP1wLm9qb4eNOAIirqCd-CSiIVERzRPt_GMZhcbAcBrdpOpcw6NFtCCyrktWRBQGewBqINo7L4s8bfpAQbkJcPPYkjAfISyrQFIsv2WfQJPsCW3suC1bpv9brrN9TR47OmPlYp/s4080/IMG_20231007_083030930%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHS7YXcmmzQPgoOFlgP7HjyFGnW5f8kJfNKA-M___et63uIRyIuPWTEWJP1wLm9qb4eNOAIirqCd-CSiIVERzRPt_GMZhcbAcBrdpOpcw6NFtCCyrktWRBQGewBqINo7L4s8bfpAQbkJcPPYkjAfISyrQFIsv2WfQJPsCW3suC1bpv9brrN9TR47OmPlYp/s320/IMG_20231007_083030930%20(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p>My goal was to run Two Hearted in June. I wanted to run it years ago but something always seemed to get in the way. First, I ran Grandma's, the next year I blew my ankle out playing volleyball, then the pandemic canceled the race, then I was stuck in China for the pandemic, and after that, I had to run Grandma's again to get the Boston qualifier. In 2023, I finally went to do the race. We drove up to the UP and set up camp. At packet pickup, the guy said. "We are all running the half tomorrow." I laughed. There was a half marathon, a full marathon, and a 50k. I was in the full. But the guy was not joking. Extreme heat and fire danger had them call off the longer races. I was livid. I had trained since Boston for this and wouldn't have come all the way for a half.</p><p>The race itself was insane. It is mostly a single-track trail, hilly, and muddy. We went out like a bullet and I found myself in 3rd. We were sprinting and I felt for sure the 1st place guy would come back. This continued for about 5 miles and the guy with me and I felt we had missed a turn. As we were debating going back, 1st place came running at us. We all had a little chit-chat on the trail and decided to press on. Soon we found the next mile marker and continued. At this point, I left the other guy and tried to chase 1st. I could see him occasionally in the woods but never got closer. At 9 miles I stepped into a mud bog, lost my shoe, and crawled around trying to get it back for a few minutes. I finished in 2nd on one of the hardest runs through the woods ever. The guys in 1st and 3rd were entered in the 50k. I felt robbed of my 87th marathon and another win.</p><p>Fast forward to fall. Summer training was adequate as I kept some miles going. I even ran a few 5ks in 18:05 and 18:35. These were the fastest times I have run in a 5k in more than a few years. After getting back to work I started running some with the XC kids and tucked in a few 20 milers, although not really following any workout plan. There was a big event happening I was slated for and when that was canceled, I decided to do something drastic. On Friday night, with one hour left before the race closed, I signed up for the Warsaw Marathon happening on Sunday morning, less than 36 hours in advance. Again, the weather was great and I jogged along, mostly running with some Irish guys, and taking it easy. They faded at the end but I enjoyed a nearly flawless outing, feeling completely in control, and finishing in 3:20 with no issues. With focus, I am sure I could have gone sub-3:10. </p><p>The next weekend was Oktoberfest. While the calories and the lack of sleep did a number, I returned home with an issue in the gut. This caused me to miss work and stay in bed on Monday and while it lessened over the week, it was persistent. I flew Friday night to Chicago. After being awake for 25 hours, I crashed for 4 hours and then proceeded to ride a bike about 15 miles to the expo and various shopping experiences. Sleep again was elusive, and I walked to the start line. The hype was incredible, the internationalism high, and the weather freezing. The race started when it was in the 40s and never got much warmer. </p><p>As the throw-away clothes began to fly, the countdown was on. My goal was minimal: enjoy Chicago. I was thinking around 3:10, and if that didn't work, back off from there. Things were not in my favor; Warsaw in my legs from two weeks before, Oktoberfest, the stomach issue, flying overnight, and that beast (lack of significant miles). I did not expect to make it without feeling the repercussions. </p><p>Chicago is the only race I have run where there is a separate start for each corral (not wave). Starting in B corral (wave 1), we watched the top people take off, and then we were held there for a few minutes before being sent off. This just added to the sprint that was the start as, combined with the hype of the race, we now had a clear road ahead. The pace was blistering and I frequently tried to slow down, to little avail. With the tall buildings and numerous underpasses, GPS was somewhat fickle and it was impossible to get a good gauge on continuous running pace. By 10k I was significantly under my fastest goal time of 3:10. Knowing that later I would pay for this, I resolved to just keep it steady and see what happened. </p><p>At halfway I was at 1:29:52, just eight seconds under the split for 3 hours. For a few miles after, doubt began to creep in. Slowly the legs felt a bit more fatigued and I figured that eventually, the wheels would come off. Yet through 20 miles the pace held. My resolve hardened and my goal was to just hit one mile split at a time, doing nothing significant. With about 5K to go, I started to feel it, and I caught the 3-hour pace group by 24 miles. The 25th mile was a challenge as my stomach cramp returned. Going any faster was not an option, but I could hold on. with 1.2 mi to go I dug in. If I could run the last mile in 7:35, I could make it in under 3. A little hill with 400m to go sent one last message that this was a fight. Cruising across the line, I was ecstatic. 2:59:10, a negative split. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9-2J6k9eMX7i-LwGrGzZMuM2_iJDEZt_kKdPadxsMa7XhlR6cdlRdU4Y5s9wCg0y1H0WbUIYsIn2VcWZoPesicGCxrkbA7DseiSNEtVMRz4_kHxrgM-4eJL6mqadu0Of5tEHeyMOWUYVe8UbmXmPGwLrMGMrm5RdspNtBVsyg0nGdnLEr0pnSiaSiNeR/s3147/IMG_20231008_111739941~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3147" data-original-width="1799" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9-2J6k9eMX7i-LwGrGzZMuM2_iJDEZt_kKdPadxsMa7XhlR6cdlRdU4Y5s9wCg0y1H0WbUIYsIn2VcWZoPesicGCxrkbA7DseiSNEtVMRz4_kHxrgM-4eJL6mqadu0Of5tEHeyMOWUYVe8UbmXmPGwLrMGMrm5RdspNtBVsyg0nGdnLEr0pnSiaSiNeR/s320/IMG_20231008_111739941~2.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>To run sub-3 after all that happened, at my age, on this training - I could not be happier. Things just came together, and there is something to be said about talent and experience. The aches and discomfort on the long walk to the bag drop reminded me that there is complete bliss in spending all you have in the moment; to be your best and to keep aiming high gives a power that can't be taken otherwise. A chilly post-race beer and ringing the Boston qualifier bell (literally you ring a bell) was a great ending. Luckily, I was staying close to the finish line and was home soon after. I even jogged about a mile to the subway to head out for the night!<p></p><p>A little over a year ago I was resolute that I would never break 3 hours again. Now I have done it twice since. And while that time is not what really matters, it does feel good to do at 43 what took me until my 5th try in my 20s to do - crack 3 hours. Marathon #88 is in the bag. Where to from here???<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798213.567879763821153 -122.7860482 70.188347436178844 -52.473548199999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-60671146599308138992023-05-31T05:03:00.014-06:002023-06-11T02:04:59.266-06:00100 km Swim Club<p><br /> I hate swimming. I really do. </p><p>That's why when the 100km swim challenge came up at my school, I had to do it. If it was easy, it wouldn't be a challenge for me. So I signed up and pledged to swim 100km in the school year. That is more than manageable; however, I would have several periods of significant breaks due to focusing on running. </p><p>Swimming is gross. Would you take a bath after someone else in the same water? What if that bath had loads of other people in it (think middle school kids that find peeing in a pool hilarious)? What if the bath water for all these people wasn't ever changed? What grosses me out more: cruising over and over the same band-aid on the bottom of the pool or watching the glob of black hair tumble along the tiles from lane to lane? Perhaps it is the goober of snot that gelatinously floats along, recently discarded from that COVID case? A fair amount of people do not wipe properly after defecating, so where do you think the leftovers go?</p><p>Turning laps in a pool is not enjoyable; yes, I know there are those out there that call it therapeutic, even cathartic, but they are idiots. I don't care what others say. One must survive the pitch-black bike ride into school at 6am, to the icy pre-swim shower (why do I need to shower if the pool chemicals are strong enough to kill COVID and disease from fecal matter?). Speaking of chemicals, have you ever walked into a pool and been hit with that overpowering smell of chlorine? You take comfort in it, rationalizing it as the solution to all that urine and butt particles you are about to swim through. But then you think, no, I can smell these toxic compounds from the doorway, what happens when I am sucking deep breaths 1/4 inch off the surface of that pool for an hour? How can that be good for the lungs? And that toxic water goes in my mouth and up my nose with every turn. Is that destroying my gut? What could survive in me after this chemo-like treatment?</p><p>Swimming is a lonely sport. In fact, it might be the only sport that is better alone. A run, a ride, golfing - these are more fun with others. Go bowling alone and you might have a diagnosable condition. Softball, volleyball, football, and baseball cease to exist without multiple participants. But put more than one person in a lane at a pool.... then someone is staring daggers at you, always scraping your feet with their hands, and making a flip turn the most terrifying, near-death experience of your day and you avoid the head-on collision. It's an activity that begs to be done alone. </p><p>Swimming is the only sport where you have to shower <u>before </u>you workout, but after the workout, it isn't as necessary. What's that all about? Pop in headphones on a run or bike and you get hours of music, podcasts, or audiobooks to focus on. Otherwise, connect with nature and enjoy. Listen to the wind in the trees, or watch people go by outside of interesting buildings. In a pool, you hear nothing and see nothing except for that same black line below you and my breathing which sounds like a little kid blowing bubbles in this chocolate milk through a straw. </p><p>I crept into a categorical black hole from kilometer 1 to 70. I just did it. Some days I didn't, and others I did, and slowly but surely the distance added up. The last bit was the hardest. First, after many months away from swimming due to training for Boston, I worked myself to 10K to go. Then the weekly count came out, and it said I had 13k to go. No, says I, I remember last week it twas 17 and I swam me the required distance I did to make it to 10 and that's that. No, says he, the boyo that runs it, you see, and we have us a wee bit of a debate. Jame, says I, has 10 to go and I'll be a frog's uncle if yous says to me that this wee lass is going to best me. Aye, says he, you was at 20K for the start and you dones 7 so be you at 13. Nay, says I, I'd been at 17 and done me a round 7 and I be at 10. Well, back and forth did we row and callith upon the Google history did I claim, and sure enuff did it prevail a column switch and miscalculation. 10k to go be-ith the magic number. </p><p>Well, shit if I didn't face it from there. 10K and every morning sunny and warm, which is about as rare in Poland as a winning lottery ticket. I tried to fit in a swim after work and sure enough, the fire alarm went off. So waved down in the pool, I put on a long coat of fleece, hobbled out among the elementary students, and checked in for the roll call. Went back in and with minutes left of open swim, hammered 200m freestyle in my fastest time. Still, the day dicked me out of 500m. I can't stand the idea of another bout in the pool to make up for this lost distance. But a week later I capped the 100k, fittingly doing my last swim (2.5K) 100% alone from start to finish in the pool. It was like a lap of honor, or maybe it felt like a funeral. </p><p>The challenge was within me. If I had set out to do this, really do this, I probably could have been the first one done. If I had made this my daily routine and only form of workout, I would have crushed it early and moved on. The fact that I missed weeks (and months) of swimming at a time while focusing on running just prolonged this stupid challenge. There were many times when I was the first one in the water, often the last, and occasionally the only. I swam before school, at lunch, and in the evening. I swam before and after runs and rides. I swam when it was sunny out and I wished I was out there. I swam when it was cold, wet, and dark and wished I was in bed. But like all challenges, showing up at the start line is half the battle. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNc41hH3DLu0UsncY-Z1HMvV2TTX087Dr6W663XN3qvaCwc3M2ra0o7SnNYXStsog4yL0oFbnptt65qfI4Y8EUZh0-GVk-zZCs6DV0NTeiiF_jQ3i3BXBPGpjq_84Mcgx7NyaYdXovSPUhpXp3FoRRarLpeboFogA5xRg61XAvciG6G3cMuJsoGq7TNw/s4000/IMG_20230609_153451162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNc41hH3DLu0UsncY-Z1HMvV2TTX087Dr6W663XN3qvaCwc3M2ra0o7SnNYXStsog4yL0oFbnptt65qfI4Y8EUZh0-GVk-zZCs6DV0NTeiiF_jQ3i3BXBPGpjq_84Mcgx7NyaYdXovSPUhpXp3FoRRarLpeboFogA5xRg61XAvciG6G3cMuJsoGq7TNw/s320/IMG_20230609_153451162.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I swam 100k and all I got was this stupid t-shirt.</td></tr></tbody></table></p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Warsaw, Poland52.2296756 21.012228723.919441763821155 -14.144021299999999 80.539909436178846 56.1684787tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-12732264796557282872023-04-17T09:47:00.199-06:002023-05-06T19:46:19.325-06:00Boston Marathon 2023<p> At 2:49pm on April 15th, 2013, two bombs went off at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Three were killed (with a police officer dying later during the manhunt), and hundreds were injured. The race was stopped, and the city shut down for the week while a search was conducted that has been unparalleled in recent memory. While several of my training partners were there (and safely finished) at the time, I was in South Africa, ignorant. Only when I awoke the next morning and the news rolled in did I begin to understand what had happened. It would be nearly 10 years before I could fully comprehend the impact, after reading books and watching documentaries of that fateful day. However, April 16th., 2013 marked the moment I committed myself to return to Boston, undeterred by terrorism. One year later, I toed the line in Hopkinton and tackled the best 26.2 miles of my life. Not only was it a beautiful, powerful day, but I also ran my best time ever. It was my 5th Boston.</p><p>To mark the 10-year anniversary of that horrid day, I vowed to return to the Boston Marathon with my friends who were there that day. It would be my 6th Boston, but 1st in 9 years. To get there, I had to qualify, and doing so would take my best effort in many years. I did so in June in Minnesota, nearly breaking 3 hours. I ran several fall marathons, but none had the promise of my former years. Training in earnest from January on, I fought the darkness, cold, rain, and wetness of a Polish winter to prepare. I avoided illness and injury, but my miles and pace did not progress at the preferred rate. In March I flew to London to do a training run with my friend, Kirsten, who would show no mercy. He didn't, but I got a great first 20 miler out of it. I only felt better from there. My workouts never took off, but I never felt sore or tired either. I still had many doubts arriving on the line. It felt like my time to run fast was behind me. While I was happy just to be there, there was a voice inside that said, "If you are going to go to Boston, go big."</p><p>My flight to Boston, slightly delayed, left me heading to the expo Saturday afternoon. It was packed, and I hustled out of there, catching a glimpse of the memorial outside Marathon Sports. I did bag a quick jog Sunday before dinner. Marathon Monday arrived as usual, with a long walk to the bag drop, then out to the busses, and the horribly long ride out of town. As usual, Athlete's Village resembled a refugee center, this year more than ever as bags had to be dropped in Boston so anything on a person was going to be left in Hopkinton. It was the most rag-tag bunch of flannel, ugly t-shirts, and broke shoes you have seen at a major race. It all goes to charity, but fashion sense had long left the building. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedYT7wfEzWfokJ9psslxL-i0QNFNHPh_rSPUNH8C0StZZNWKXSug8lHfNhz5OiWISd8UPymoqR3XPniz6qL_ysJRpqddRZha6Oa8UvlIDJNsye8YFWtrqwrfeBqGs5Vycu10lDG6VGALpp-MdZ1Do6iv_T9WRy3VsHItvRyX-VnJ55mgsrpTbCfr54Q/s4000/IMG_20230415_163315368_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedYT7wfEzWfokJ9psslxL-i0QNFNHPh_rSPUNH8C0StZZNWKXSug8lHfNhz5OiWISd8UPymoqR3XPniz6qL_ysJRpqddRZha6Oa8UvlIDJNsye8YFWtrqwrfeBqGs5Vycu10lDG6VGALpp-MdZ1Do6iv_T9WRy3VsHItvRyX-VnJ55mgsrpTbCfr54Q/s320/IMG_20230415_163315368_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the finish line but before the race</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEXNckv55mK1Q1q9lWdUqsmWiLeRPUDMlFMh4FbS9qrH6E3fx0CG1JBy26jHervP3kq1RgiK27ybqMIEtxBgRJtbYIkIc9F21cQMWxd82cGP33e7rckpbxCKzqD41SWdv5iMDd8Af0eWhP1-ubct8PFFIaGvMcUz_EllawozR4x_S0ICQgPWsHXNy7A/s4000/IMG_20230416_100627317_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEXNckv55mK1Q1q9lWdUqsmWiLeRPUDMlFMh4FbS9qrH6E3fx0CG1JBy26jHervP3kq1RgiK27ybqMIEtxBgRJtbYIkIc9F21cQMWxd82cGP33e7rckpbxCKzqD41SWdv5iMDd8Af0eWhP1-ubct8PFFIaGvMcUz_EllawozR4x_S0ICQgPWsHXNy7A/s320/IMG_20230416_100627317_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site of the 2013 bombing. RIP. </td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Just a reminder there is a long walk from the village to the start, and although I was in Wave 1, I was in Corral 8, the last. I was a long way from the line, and the rain came down as we started the walk. I shed the pants and fleece but kept the t-shirt until the last moment. Although the rain was present, it wasn't too cold, and the early miles of running kept me suitably comfortable. I made a promise to hold back in the early (and easiest) miles, and to my dismay, I ran the first (and easiest) mile a bit slower than goal pace. By 5 miles I was on pace but it really should have felt easier to go under the pace at that point, and I was worried. It was here I caught Lindsey, who was going for 2:54 and was a coral ahead of me. He was not feeling strong and made the call early to let off the pace. Just then, I blew a tire. My shoelace was undone and I pulled to the side of the road. My wet, frozen fingers, coupled with the super laces on the shoes made it impossible to get the knot undone. I called for help but by the time a spectator jogged over, I managed to get it set and was off, having lost 40-50 seconds. It took me 2 miles to catch Lindsey again where we fist-bumped and wished each other well. I moved on toward Boston.</p><p>I ran very in control for the next 5 miles as the rain had let up into an occasional drizzle. I figured there was nothing to do now but wait. But the anticipation mounted as the inevitable noise neared, and soon enough we were rolling past Wellesley College and the notorious scream tunnel. Articles came out in the week prior asking students not to kiss the runners due to disease control, but it stopped not a single girl from being out there. They were deafening, and in an attempt not to blow by too fast, I swerved over for some high-fives. The pace here always drops a bit and I crossed halfway in 1:28:30, exactly as I wanted. Anything over two minutes fast at halfway is said to lead to a blow. But on the other hand, it is a rare person who negative splits this course, so you have to have time in the bank. I chilled further, cautioning a first-time Boston girl from Canada who qualified in 3:01. She was a metronome, but I advised her to hold back on the downhill into Newton Lower Falls. We did, gained 8 seconds, and yet loads of people flew past, only to face their fate in the coming miles.</p><p>The Newton Hills make or break runners. Either you thrive or you die. Most die. It is the culmination of 16+ miles downhill followed by 4 miles up and then another drop. Statistically, Boston is a net downhill course and can be fast, but if you run it poorly, you pay dearly. The first of the hills is not bad - it is the longest but the gradual profile makes it runnable. I was through the first without losing a step. The 2nd hill is a bit steeper but the very runnable distance after the hill allows one to get back on track. Two down, two to go. The third is perhaps the crux; it is short but steep and you've now done two and Heartbreak is so full of energy you know you can pull it off. I felt this hill in the past, but this time it was benign. Only Heartbreak loomed. As I rounded the curve and started up it, I struggled a bit. I could feel the pace drop and I did not have the turnover. Perhaps due to the weather, the crowds - albeit still awesome - did not seem as thick as in the past at this section of the course. Still, I passed loads of people and soon I was over the top. I knew there was a false summit here and after a dip, I was on my way up and over the next peak on the way to Boston College. My pace in the hills was solid and I lost no time. I started the second scream tunnel into BC and it was loud. Here I was on the lookout for a former student and there she was, as promised, and snapped a brief video of me. I only just saw her at the last second and the video shows just how quickly I was passing spectators. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz42HRNDSLpokC4pS4KK8WjH1FHVTJXwCHu2uGSvOTmN5BgEtyMeeup1WuJQlFDllA1WY_NPP7Za1E4EsP0ow' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>I held back on the descent from BC as well, having heard (and experienced) the problems that can come from going too hard here. Still, we were inside of 7K and that was a good place to be. The crowds are pretty consistent and although there were no rancorous Red Sox fans out (yet - they would go on to lose), the energy builds as the city nears. The road is long and straight and it does get challenging to keep plowing forward. It is the anticipation of the end but with that unfortunate distance between you and your goal. But soon the famous Citgo sign loomed in the distance. The journey was nearly over. A quick calculation with 2 miles to go suggested I would make my time barring any major blowout. Crossing the 25th mile, the route takes a nasty little rise over the turnpike. This hill did not register in my memory from previous attempts, but I had read about it recently, having forgotten its significance. Sure enough, it stung and it was just long enough to change the stride. The only solace is that under this gigantic sign is the 1 mile-to-go marker. It is a welcome site. </p><p>The last mile at Boston is not an easy one. The little underpass, which at any other mile would hardly register, gives a little bit of sting, and climbing out of that tunnel seems to take longer than it should. For those close to their mark, this can really disrupt the flow. When the mind says GO! the body might struggle to respond. Rising out of that dip, the best 6 words in marathoning bounced around my head: "Right on Hereford, left on Boylston." Unfortunately, it is uphill. My friends expressed feeling this significantly in post-race recaps and, while in retrospect I think my pace slowed, I was still passing people heavily. I had my time in hand, but many who started minutes ahead of me did not. Because of this, I was able to cruise down Boylston with little worry and let people go. I ran firm but certainly not with the same emphasis as before. However, I must say I stuck to the middle of the road, not dismissive of the tragedy on the sidelines of 10 years prior. Seeing the finish line is exciting at Boston, but it looms. While Boylston is probably one of the shorter sections of streets on the entire course, the finish line takes quite a while to reach from when you can see it. Giving the obligatory wave to the many fans that were screaming, and a solemn nod to the site of the bombing memorial on my left, I crossed the line. 2:57:11.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyhD5Zryl6SAwhofDQmw86Njt5vasHnly0kZ8ugN9y9sLwZRG8tf0O1dEfr5SvWU_JITSCpgSChHgK-wqjOvMydJ3bcahIPrWc-VnLKl6hOr5VeZWeRaIuV63DbTLFyYZpNUEB4DfBjFzJhhUFPHYkwFqOMRkmZ1NbcE3F2TZh0Q7X-PFo3D_HpfeLw/s4000/IMG_20230417_134451180_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyhD5Zryl6SAwhofDQmw86Njt5vasHnly0kZ8ugN9y9sLwZRG8tf0O1dEfr5SvWU_JITSCpgSChHgK-wqjOvMydJ3bcahIPrWc-VnLKl6hOr5VeZWeRaIuV63DbTLFyYZpNUEB4DfBjFzJhhUFPHYkwFqOMRkmZ1NbcE3F2TZh0Q7X-PFo3D_HpfeLw/s320/IMG_20230417_134451180_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very cold and wet after the race. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>With a howl of accomplishment, I had run under 3 hours for the first time in 9 years, since I was last at Boston. I didn't know if it was possible, but everything went right. My training never missed a day, and while I never ran all that many miles, I did workouts and four - 20 mile long runs and four - 50 mile weeks. As Kirsten says, "Consistency is key." Fueling was an experiment. I was desperate to try Maurten for something new. They were sold out at the expo, so I had to buy 1 Gu. But I had Maurten on the course for the other two gels. I missed the first handout around mile 11 and I was worried I wouldn't have the fuel to get home, but the last two gels helped. It tasted rough, but those, coupled with the shake to start the day, probably did help. Having heard good things about the product, I think it paid off as I never had a sour stomach, which is extremely rare. While my legs were sore, they never locked up. Even with Boston's 2nd half much harder than its first, I nearly negative split this race. Just 11 seconds off an even split with all those hills. I may have run my perfect race, never getting out of control, and always handling what was to come. Buoyed by this achievement, I floated down the road. But after the medals and the mylar blankets were handed out, Boston rebounded. A wicked rain began to fall, ice cold, and the walk to the buses was suddenly far less celebratory. Grabbing my bag, I began limping toward the Irish pub that was the meeting point for our group post-race. By the time I got there I could hardly move, and shaking with frozen limbs, changing was nearly impossible. I tucked into a couple of beers and Guinness soup, but the discomfort was high. We had no place to sit and I began feeling ill; the noise was mounting as more finishers and fans poured in, and we had no plan. I excused myself and stepped outside. Instantly I felt better. The cool air blasted my face and life came back into me. Taking the train back to the hotel, I showered and crawled into bed. Life returned, and medals around our necks, we headed out to the Irish pubs of Boston to bask in the glory of having run (and run well) the world's greatest marathon. </p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Boston, MA, USA42.3600825 -71.058880114.049848663821152 -106.2151301 70.670316336178843 -35.902630099999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-59625495153849953072022-10-30T05:16:00.085-06:002022-11-15T04:51:06.633-07:00European Trifecta<p>Another summer behind me, another chance to get back on track with training. This time, though, we moved to Poland, and we happened to arrive in a heat wave. For a month it was 90 degrees or more! Training was not easy, but on top of it was jet lag from the move and all the new hire activities (lots of dinners, eating, happy hours, tours, etc.). We were in a hotel for a month, awaiting our house. This meant a lot of people (and one dog) in one room, constantly eating out since our kitchen looked like something kindergarteners would use for make-believe. Diet was not strong. We had about a 5-mile bike to get to school each way, meaning we'd put in about 60-80 miles of cycling a week with trips to downtown on the weekend. When the weather finally broke, we were treated to beautifully clear skies and temps in the 70s. Suddenly my long runs skated by, with a couple of 20 milers feeling great. I also started hockey and took on a year-long swimming challenge. The body came back a bit.</p><p><b>Warsaw Marathon</b></p><p>The day dawned bright a clear, a big improvement over the last two weeks of misty rain, clouds, and cool weather. The race temp was 49 F but it felt warmer in the sun. I have never seen a city marathon so relaxed; the start area was not closed off and family and friends could walk an athlete to the bag drop trucks and over to the start line. The pace started off relatively slow on somewhat narrow roads. I was surprised that the 3:20 and the two 3:15 pace groups did not seem to be out faster. I hovered between them, thinking a 3:20 would be respectable, but by halfway, I was on 3:18 flat pace, far too slow for the 3:15 group. They were running erratically, as I would run a 7:09 mile and fall back from them and then a 7:30 mile and be ahead of them. It wasn't good pacing so I left them, running the last 12k at 7-8 seconds faster than the first 5k. I only felt stronger from halfway on and I kept it in the bag, knowing that there was no glory in a faster time, and other races loomed this fall. By 39k I had passed the second 3:15 group, dwindled down to a few. It was a 3:14 flat to wrap up the day, which felt great for the training I did (or lacked). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHqxEKfbDRJyp1dVZrQvg67DERa_0MftntIhODPCz3Z3nzl0H2-qBbwpUW3SwGD_JVgAAIvVLA5z8cq3aFv9H_nCXmIEYlO5xga_CycYpQYGmTnd5i2oiTh9dFzly0MGt8zjbf4E345XcK9RHIMfow7qQ2mop6igPh1yi0G_C0URa1O2ed2QlN-xzXA/s1280/Warsaw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHqxEKfbDRJyp1dVZrQvg67DERa_0MftntIhODPCz3Z3nzl0H2-qBbwpUW3SwGD_JVgAAIvVLA5z8cq3aFv9H_nCXmIEYlO5xga_CycYpQYGmTnd5i2oiTh9dFzly0MGt8zjbf4E345XcK9RHIMfow7qQ2mop6igPh1yi0G_C0URa1O2ed2QlN-xzXA/s320/Warsaw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3Aauwrdp3AzM2SouUC93tE2tVjnXeGzXuZJ-_DE7oT4z1BTnknESqnPMuVGfu9lMz7k2FRkggAThqgslmiVBm1NZs4YA8kmtGryOSObVD1vNyxHG5qjDECL82fDhT884vwDp9y8pPFTpTCruPN3gOc6z915WWKi2qKOgdo_kmbu6wcuenb5bURMdFQ/s4000/IMG_20220925_123904240_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3Aauwrdp3AzM2SouUC93tE2tVjnXeGzXuZJ-_DE7oT4z1BTnknESqnPMuVGfu9lMz7k2FRkggAThqgslmiVBm1NZs4YA8kmtGryOSObVD1vNyxHG5qjDECL82fDhT884vwDp9y8pPFTpTCruPN3gOc6z915WWKi2qKOgdo_kmbu6wcuenb5bURMdFQ/s320/IMG_20220925_123904240_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>Recovery seemed to take longer than it should for a race that went so well. I felt great immediately after, sore the next day, and worse the next. I swam a lot that week and jogged on Thursday and Saturday. But the dead legs lingered throughout the month. </p><p><b>Venice Marathon</b></p><p>Dawn over Venice could mark the beginning of a great day - just not for me. I didn't run well here three years ago and today would be more of the same. Even staying near the terminus, I had a decent 25 min walk to the buses. From there we drove out to the athlete's village which was another 800m walk after the buses let out. Where a few years ago there were tents, now it was just open space (filled with people). It was another mile walk to the starting line. By the time the gun went off, I already had about 3 miles in me. It was hot for marathon weather, and sweat came early. </p><p>Things were fine for much of the way. I ran easy, hitting 7:40s per mile for a lot of the way. I came up on a pace group and ran the next 3 K with them, all of them slower than it should be. My rhythm was disrupted. I vowed to leave them if they missed a fourth straight K but they suddenly went way faster. It would spell the beginning of the end for me. I hit the park in ok shape, but on the rise up the causeway, I missed my first split. I continued to fade from there, and by the time I hit the island, it was all over. I had nothing left. I faded and walked about 5 times on the bridges. By the time I saw the family at about 41k I was exploding. My bonk was hard and unforgiving. The worst part was that after finishing I had about a 2 mile walk back to the hotel (where I couldn't shower) before a cab to the airport and then renting a car, followed by a 90 minute drive up north. I made it a few hundred meters in the crowded streets before sitting down and cramping up. Eventually I could stand and limp on. It was a terrible blow, and not encouraging for the week ahead. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvNRQfURUz6OUOFaJYst9Dik36r_oECDX5kHn7WxSw_jpR8KfkT_PAYpaTJYSqhvqgSeNXu_T_AgISemv26NedN9LGAy6eIHJ2igZiaBS6G_iMc0zeQ2agFUMPtxXZr7lgdlD_vVSU5u7ZW3recj9djGa8X5MncvjVAk3zBxVgB3okNGI7GPlxZ91Zg/s1600/venice%201.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvNRQfURUz6OUOFaJYst9Dik36r_oECDX5kHn7WxSw_jpR8KfkT_PAYpaTJYSqhvqgSeNXu_T_AgISemv26NedN9LGAy6eIHJ2igZiaBS6G_iMc0zeQ2agFUMPtxXZr7lgdlD_vVSU5u7ZW3recj9djGa8X5MncvjVAk3zBxVgB3okNGI7GPlxZ91Zg/s320/venice%201.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Completely spent with 1K to go</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bAFsB643otiqplh_pF6gni4wJth8FEhxDf0dkdnuKIinj92ftBQYkTL1TtvAKL6YnYi7YW53Qq5VjAc-tPbDGqpzxgZ5_6yAxCsixKM87A5WEJ3NGIRbtzLH7wRaoqrawEJGnDaRoWAr5BNnIzOcaIHYcjp4ZSVlI3rpHozPYrFgXNanwxNr_fecBA/s1600/venice.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bAFsB643otiqplh_pF6gni4wJth8FEhxDf0dkdnuKIinj92ftBQYkTL1TtvAKL6YnYi7YW53Qq5VjAc-tPbDGqpzxgZ5_6yAxCsixKM87A5WEJ3NGIRbtzLH7wRaoqrawEJGnDaRoWAr5BNnIzOcaIHYcjp4ZSVlI3rpHozPYrFgXNanwxNr_fecBA/s320/venice.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lonely road to the finish line</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Frank Shorter said, "You have to forget your last marathon before you try another." Unfortunately, I would not have that luxury. </p><p><b>Frankfurt Marathon</b></p><p>We spent the week eating and drinking out way across northern Italy. The pain in the legs was significant for the first few days but faded. The walking helped. A lingering hitch behind the knee was all that remained come the day before the race. We had a little hang-up as the hotel we booked, which was just blocks from the train station and start/finish line and expo, turned out to be the seediest street I have ever been on, not just stayed. Sex shops were on every corner, prostitution rampant, and more people doing meth on the street than I care to see. We saw someone shooting up between their toes, women with scabs all over their faces, and many without teeth. The noise went all night, and at 9am the next morning, the club on the bottom floor of our building was still going hard. People would drop their pants at random, or burst out shouting. We decided safety was more important and left after just one night. </p><p>A very messy starting area finally released into the streets, and for most of the run, things were fine. I felt pretty good considering it was my second marathon that week, my third in a month, and not as young (or well-trained) as I used to be. But by 30k, the deep emptiness just got to me. I started taking walk breaks at aid stations to hydrate since it was pretty warm again for a marathon. At first, these were about 2k apart but soon they were 1k apart and getting harder. I really struggled, but not in a crampy bonk way. Just out of gas. I limped in, my time very certainly my slowest marathon ever (when you control for trail/mountain races). I can't say I enjoyed it, but I can say I did it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPa0zVBkda5UzZ3Ynrtl0Ev8f8s1SH3qe4mkCpFZ_4gq3hs0Yn46O7euA_WYyY1SsBTrDq7OFj2xoG0zgm1amafVA6h_dB9Rpv-N2Und4PvyKKPqlSrUy-jFk7LNFtAIepUPgBHMvZzMqIt5fhY_Irg-UXFrhWcWQ80vHu0rtn3FXGStv2IvYAvTcDA/s498/frank.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="498" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPa0zVBkda5UzZ3Ynrtl0Ev8f8s1SH3qe4mkCpFZ_4gq3hs0Yn46O7euA_WYyY1SsBTrDq7OFj2xoG0zgm1amafVA6h_dB9Rpv-N2Und4PvyKKPqlSrUy-jFk7LNFtAIepUPgBHMvZzMqIt5fhY_Irg-UXFrhWcWQ80vHu0rtn3FXGStv2IvYAvTcDA/s320/frank.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fine here?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAyZTV4ynmI6Grut78YGnmP8swZh0NP7gcvHzkbuh37S3uxYZjjOka_G7t7cguiTyGUL-c0jkji8z8mwHMPKSwcGSXAJK4GfsrlOynx8AHGosCo95sVA_CYElWvkArwXZ-YZpXBHVtXrv6aEluY67K3KY8s2LjEdL9HnlJfahumQH_5Q6AfXP_3tVMw/s475/frank1.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="475" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAyZTV4ynmI6Grut78YGnmP8swZh0NP7gcvHzkbuh37S3uxYZjjOka_G7t7cguiTyGUL-c0jkji8z8mwHMPKSwcGSXAJK4GfsrlOynx8AHGosCo95sVA_CYElWvkArwXZ-YZpXBHVtXrv6aEluY67K3KY8s2LjEdL9HnlJfahumQH_5Q6AfXP_3tVMw/s320/frank1.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near death at the end</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmifyL1evGscq9TRL9QSPYqOUqo5sRyvGLouWJrD0oCuLtP0xJQHHCgTVdBfTdEfaSu6L_6fl2XzQYoMzZxV0IJeyfD_NKQI-LQtMt-SSeErhB6QSgBHRh-oI2ku1-of0xD1OWZd6RcK0PNlCjZRYLehu_60HFMzXyJHaH6zfkTNa2tAaL92xY02YEA/s4000/IMG_20221030_154342321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmifyL1evGscq9TRL9QSPYqOUqo5sRyvGLouWJrD0oCuLtP0xJQHHCgTVdBfTdEfaSu6L_6fl2XzQYoMzZxV0IJeyfD_NKQI-LQtMt-SSeErhB6QSgBHRh-oI2ku1-of0xD1OWZd6RcK0PNlCjZRYLehu_60HFMzXyJHaH6zfkTNa2tAaL92xY02YEA/s320/IMG_20221030_154342321.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venice and Frankfurt in a week!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Warsaw, Poland52.2296756 21.012228723.919441763821155 -14.144021299999999 80.539909436178846 56.1684787tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-70153482025929742012022-06-18T09:07:00.157-06:002022-06-21T15:11:16.004-06:00Grandma's Marathon In the crisp dawn air, looking down a corridor of pine trees, I can see Boston in the distance. Granted, it's a 1500 mile drive from where I stand now, and a good 9 hour flight from my next home, but today, all that lies between me and that race is a 26.2 mile time trial along the lakeshore. <div><br /></div><div>But let's not forget the title of this blog. After humidity, gastritis, 53 hours awake traveling home, 1000mi of driving in 3 days and housework, I had a tough transition to say the least. But the hits kept coming as we found our flight leg from Chicago was delayed (17 hours in the end). This would lead to a missed connection to Duluth. We tried to get there another way, another airline, no go. What if we flew to Minneapolis, Madison, or Milwaukee? No, full. What if we flew from Lansing, Flint, or Detroit? Sorry, no seats on connecting flights till Sunday or Monday. We had no choice; we drove. I put in a good 5+ hours to Beloit, WI before we took a rest in a Super 8. After 6 hours rest and a quick bite, we drove on trading the time behind the wheel in order to save the legs, arriving after about another 6-hour haul. Expo, dinner and rest was all we could manage before a 4am wake up. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMf0sDbu3nwOySWWjlEyDhKmP-j4HVPzCEddxDZKVbx-6LF02TkstMvqJIsUnNwoiPDGlE3JZjenzYmd0Mqy8Qfj36VWalL__iZAKgGSgqEuTmh0rdCjyB5LT4VWIukrWFJg0cJRXt5OUHnVJ403lNbWrucyNA43W_dJhy-bACHthzzjCEZpfEVy9eQ/s648/Driving.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="648" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMf0sDbu3nwOySWWjlEyDhKmP-j4HVPzCEddxDZKVbx-6LF02TkstMvqJIsUnNwoiPDGlE3JZjenzYmd0Mqy8Qfj36VWalL__iZAKgGSgqEuTmh0rdCjyB5LT4VWIukrWFJg0cJRXt5OUHnVJ403lNbWrucyNA43W_dJhy-bACHthzzjCEZpfEVy9eQ/s320/Driving.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the quick flight we planned on</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Jumping into the last open seat on the bus, I sat and joined 59 other hopefuls singing "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield which was blasting over the radio. I would hear those lyrics in my head throughout the day. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Staring at the blank page before you, Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>All feelings of guilt about my cheat shoes left me when I look around me in the corral and see nothing but Nike Vaporfly shoes on every competitor. The weather, which has been in the high 70s the last week and is aiming for 80s and 90s on Sunday and Monday now has cooled to the mid-50s. The sun is out and the wind, with strong gusts, is from the Northeast, so we have a tailwind the entire way. There could not be better circumstances for the race. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>I break tradition, Sometimes my tries are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, But I can't live that way</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>Early miles peel away. Though I have targeted a 7:01 (3:04 marathon), I can't seem to avoid running between 6:51-6:57. It's all time in the bank, and I have to ease way back in order to not drop even more time. By 10k I have nearly a minute in hand, and by halfway, I cross in 1:30:20, which is just too fast. I can't go slower it seems, but at the same time I have no delusions about going sub-3. My only goal from this point forward was to not hemorrhage back time. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1-Xyl2Ncuc5gIlaJiRcW7FQ1dzweGrAmQGoNxiAoPnkxt1Fm2Q9NpGI9uEsm-Dmx91QoQ1vN746WCvvpAB4pgJJRELUANX8jn3wxpwgSA_XLNR2FxV6cLBMvbw2bUtBIY4GInHHL2R-bQF1jOX_HKPKPWP_nDGco0xLmEREGbKYcC-diaRHHv1rgfQ/s780/IMG-20220618-WA0021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="428" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1-Xyl2Ncuc5gIlaJiRcW7FQ1dzweGrAmQGoNxiAoPnkxt1Fm2Q9NpGI9uEsm-Dmx91QoQ1vN746WCvvpAB4pgJJRELUANX8jn3wxpwgSA_XLNR2FxV6cLBMvbw2bUtBIY4GInHHL2R-bQF1jOX_HKPKPWP_nDGco0xLmEREGbKYcC-diaRHHv1rgfQ/s320/IMG-20220618-WA0021.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full stride near the finish</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I see Sarah and my friends with whom we worked in South Africa, Jay and Sara, at mile 19. All systems are go, and I feel as if I have not yet began to race. But a letdown sets in, and Lemon Drop Hill looms in the distance. In 2017, I don't remember this hill but as I see it coming over the next mile, I know I am going to remember it this time. Slowing significantly up the overpass, I managed to grab back most of the time lost on the up, though it is my first "slow" mile at about 7:03. My stomach sours significantly and I now have 4 miles left to hang on. At 24, there was not much left in me. As Gary Bjorkland said, "Grandma's Marathon starts in the middle of the woods, runs along the beautiful shores of Lake Superior, and finishes at a pub." I say, it was "19 miles of bliss, 5 miles of work, and 2 miles of absolute pain."</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyPk2P88r9ugnm4TzLRjX2oci2Qw16mXgszo8lxLfm_s99IbxFhQvsQ4k_gRYo5b1nfZbtl_azAoTg95sAWPDGDVC7ko2Shl02EZtI2uk24LuW7s_COMNIGhBhQ5_qynOQRWCpuPvULk0U-uDti013j2UDrLKOMCJaO9ySDiRP_IGQ0AKq1siR_y7dA/s1024/IMG-20220618-WA0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyPk2P88r9ugnm4TzLRjX2oci2Qw16mXgszo8lxLfm_s99IbxFhQvsQ4k_gRYo5b1nfZbtl_azAoTg95sAWPDGDVC7ko2Shl02EZtI2uk24LuW7s_COMNIGhBhQ5_qynOQRWCpuPvULk0U-uDti013j2UDrLKOMCJaO9ySDiRP_IGQ0AKq1siR_y7dA/s320/IMG-20220618-WA0014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to hold on to sub-7 pace around 23 miles<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i>Reaching for something in the distance, So close you can almost taste it</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Thank god the bricks have been removed from Superior Street, but even though I wanted to push at this point, I had nothing. The bridge over the highway was a zap, and as I came off the back side, a stiff headwind blasted me in the face. I had been yo-yo'ing between 6:55s and 7:03 per mile for the last few. I turned off the water along the freighter and a guy that I had been near all race said, "Go with me. Come on!" I told him I was broke, and he said just go, but when I stuck the pace, he was not with me. Oh well. I rounded another corner, saw Sarah at 26, and just held on. I could go no faster, and I crossed the finish line in 3:01:39 with absolutely nothing left. I put it all out on the course and came home with nothing to spare. Collapsing into the arms of a support crew, I was put in a wheelchair, my vision blurred and dizzy. It took a few minutes but I got up and walked out of there, 8 min and 21 seconds to the good of Boston. In all my training I did not think I would get here, especially not after the injury and the heat and stress of leaving China and driving all the way to the race. I probably have not run a better race, or at least not in a long time. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmoV6Sab8W01tbziV3zSOuP6T2FrXRGC6HMcFLPpdVYj76uYNA6oHrHS57d0HGZMabPm3T07j7H2LgnaVS_x8UKHGNdnlIEb3IV3rRyjPifiMPNNAPPxfGfVIxzqDBs47CzQtFXJNejQL8HiREhKhj8u8hRbkL09gvmvtdj9IZU6t5eproND6FlaOrQ/s1024/IMG-20220618-WA0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmoV6Sab8W01tbziV3zSOuP6T2FrXRGC6HMcFLPpdVYj76uYNA6oHrHS57d0HGZMabPm3T07j7H2LgnaVS_x8UKHGNdnlIEb3IV3rRyjPifiMPNNAPPxfGfVIxzqDBs47CzQtFXJNejQL8HiREhKhj8u8hRbkL09gvmvtdj9IZU6t5eproND6FlaOrQ/s320/IMG-20220618-WA0012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty jacked at the finish but looked at watch for first time</td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><i>Drench yourself in words unspoken<br /><br /></i>I have not run faster in over 20 marathons, spanning back more than 8 years to my last Boston. </div><div>My time put me 11 min faster than 2017 but yet I finished 129 people back this time. This race has obviously become much more competitive. The number of women around me for multiple miles outnumbered the men at that time, something I have never seen in any race. But I didn't come here for anything other than a time to get me into the Boston Marathon, and it is pretty safe to say I have done that. While there are no guarantees, I must be in. In no time in the 10 years since the BAA has held a graduated qualifier has the accepted time been over 8 minutes. I expect to be admitted, but I will have to wait until September to be sure. But for now, I am a BQ'er and that makes 3 straight decades of my life that I have qualified for Boston. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Today is where your book begins, The rest is still unwritten</i></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRntPut9iJ9zoNiP46B-9WAPJSdz2Zp0PODBjytDgse0Bx2UJD2jo88sQYEeW27kKDj01sCEIl5qt96SqfMuAqaOrLo_n9dOlHsqBwsUvH8yUUAhca775vz3acydyjciHKqdVzj5g3R5VSDTkGaDAY0kUGWtAFzP3E5N4hQ8fOPdxjI_aVSUtkx5MpPw/s4000/IMG_20220618_113249013_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRntPut9iJ9zoNiP46B-9WAPJSdz2Zp0PODBjytDgse0Bx2UJD2jo88sQYEeW27kKDj01sCEIl5qt96SqfMuAqaOrLo_n9dOlHsqBwsUvH8yUUAhca775vz3acydyjciHKqdVzj5g3R5VSDTkGaDAY0kUGWtAFzP3E5N4hQ8fOPdxjI_aVSUtkx5MpPw/s320/IMG_20220618_113249013_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For my Fourways boys - see you April 2023!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><i><br /></i></div>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Duluth, MN, USA46.786671899999988 -92.100485218.476438063821142 -127.2567352 75.096905736178826 -56.944235199999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-63098062841452133462022-06-14T21:11:00.003-06:002022-06-15T10:07:21.325-06:00Pre-Race Jitters<p>When 2022 began, I set a goal to requalify for the Boston Marathon and join my friends from South Africa back in Beantown for the 10th anniversary of the bombings. My first real training in several years was sailing along and I was building mileage and nailing a pace that had me scoping the 3-hour marathon again. Then one day, for no rhyme or reason, I finished a run and went to the ground. Searing pain in my lower back had me doing MRIs and physical therapy. It ultimately proved to be a strained muscle, perhaps a stressed ligament in the hip area, which pulled on the back/pelvic joints. </p><p>The injury cost me 15 days off and another 2 weeks to get back to reasonable running shape. In that time, the weather turned disgusting, and regular runs were leaving me stumbling to the finish, with legs twitching all day, a constant headache, nausea, and even occasional diarrhea. I'd had enough. There was no way I was going to be able to do the kind of training needed to run a Boston Qualifier in these conditions. Running was supposed to be my outlet, my break from the stress, and instead, I was going on runs and suffering, only to be more and more fed up with the Chinese on the path, cutting me off, covering their mouths and noses as I ran by, and blasting annoying music. I called off the marathon attempt - well, I would still run in June but easier, no pressure for the time. I cut back my mileage to 40mpw, took away the 20 milers, and readjusted the goal pace to around 7:19/mile (about a 3:12). I started to feel better and running became manageable again. </p><p>When it became clear that my fall marathons would be too late to use for Boston, I had a choice to make - miss Boston or pony up and do the work and hope it was enough to give it a go. So I got back to it, adding mileage and resuming the long run. My weeks got back to 50 or so miles with a few workouts. I went from 0 runs over 16 miles to doing three 20 milers in three weeks. Karma for my injury came full circle when weekdays of gross heat and humidity turned to slightly cooler, rainy Sundays, making those long runs possible again. I wasn't running necessarily all that much faster than pre-injury but I was running longer, more consistent workouts in significant humidity, and I was feeling great, recovering well, and my hope is that all these months put together will pay dividends when the gun goes off June 18th. </p><p>Then the humidity became bad. I got gastritis in the final weeks and no run felt good. I even took an extra day off at the end. Stress was at it's highest in the final days, trying to leave a country with no certainty of being able to get out. It was not an ideal finish. </p><p>Some key workouts are listed below:</p><p></p><ul><li>10x1K - most of them under 4 minutes.</li><li>Continuous cutdown run. 1 mile easy. 3 miles @MP (7:10, 7:00, 7:02) 3 min jog, 2 mi @ HMP (6:47, 6:39) 2 min jog and 1 mile @ 10K (6:15). </li><li>After a 10 miler, I planned on 2 mi warm up and 4 mi MP. Instead ran 7:13, 7:12, 7:02, 6:53, 6:34, 5:58 in a cold rain, absolutely unloading. </li><li>2 mi warm up. 3x2mi @HMP (6:40, 6:37) 3 min jog. (6:31, 6:31) 3 min jog. (6:38, 6:36) 1.5 mi down.</li><li>10mi "warm up" with Sarah in 1:18:47 and then changed into the new Vaporfly. 8mi solo sub MP (6:52, 6:49, 6:53, 6:52, 6:49, 6:46, 6:48, 6:44).</li><li>4 mi warm up. 2x4mi @MP (7:10, 7:08, 7:04, 7:04) and (7:09, 7:05, 7:08, 7:04) with 3min walk. 4 mi cool down.</li><li>2mi warm up. 4x1200m (4:46, 4:44, 4:48, 4:48) w/ 2min walk on each. Then 4x400m (88, 88, 85, 87). 2mi down.</li><li>Yasso 8s (800m) in 2:59-3:01 w/ 2 min recovery. </li></ul><div>China was oppressive, both in weather and behavior. There was a lot of racism and anti-Westerner sentiment that made things challenging. Two years of no travel outside of China (and restricted, stressful jaunts here). It's one thing to be challenged by the weather and another to be challenged all of the time in every aspect - from professional to athletic, to personal. My only two marathons in China were 6 days after not running for 3 weeks in hotel quarantine and the other after a summer of no running due to heat and after 8 days off in Tibet. Hell, even before that I only jogged a marathon in my final year of India. So it's been a hell of a long time since I challenged myself to rise up. Just getting to the US was a breath of fresh air. I can only hope that just 6 days of not working, eating well, cooler weather, and stability/security will leave me primed for the hardest race I will have run in many years. Will it be enough? Time will tell.</div><div><br />Literally. Not only has the Boston Qualifying time for my age group dropped from 3:15 to 3:10 in recent years, but Boston has also become so popular that on any given year, it takes a time 2-7 minutes faster than the cut-off to be accepted. Not only does this mean I have to run faster, but I won't know how fast it takes to enter until September. Sitting on my run for more than three months until I find out my fate is not the easiest way to do this (assuming I go sub-3:10 in the first place). But I have no choice. Come decision day, my time will be accepted or it won't. </div><p></p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, China23.1290799 113.26436-22.893660191601988 -27.360640000000032 69.151819991602 -106.11063999999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-23567628581834311672022-03-26T21:35:00.003-06:002022-03-27T01:26:14.040-06:00The Pain of Potential Dreams<p> Well, I didn't start a blog with this title to publish stories about things going smoothly. </p><p>I have been running better than I have in years. I felt good. But we know this does not last when 2020/2021 continues into 2022... After two months of consistency, base, and improved pace, I have hit a roadblock. </p><p>Thursday - March 3. A 10-mile workout. After a 2 mile warm-up, it's 3x2 mi at half marathon pace. I cruise them in 6:40-6:30s, but I feel a clicking in my butt. It is uncomfortable, but it doesn't hurt and doesn't stop me from running well, so I persist, that is until the workout ends. The second I stop, BOOM! I cannot walk. There is a pain up my leg that cannot be good. I limp home on the cool down but when I change to shower, I cannot stand. I am on crutches that night and know this is a <u>big</u> problem.</p><p>Was it too much volume? (Doubtful). Was it the new shoes and a footstrike issue? (Probably not since it didn't happen with the new shoes and didn't hurt Mon-Wed on different runs in different shoes.) Am I getting old? (Yes, but that's irrelevant). It is possible that with this increase in training, my weak right ankle has led to an imbalance and it has created this problem. Maybe not (due to accute onset), but I'll work on it just the same. </p><p>A visit to the doctor Friday and then an MRI Saturday. The pain which was radiating all over my back and ass Friday has subsided and is now localized directly behind my right kidney but on the bone. I fear stress fracture, just as I had back in about 2006. Alas, the MRI is negative, but I cannot run. The pain is oscillating between my pelvic bone/sacrum area and deep in my ass cheek, like where the leg plugs into the pelvis. One time it hurts there, then later it hurts on the pelvis (back). It seems to change daily and over the day itself. <br /><br />I go to the physio for a 2nd opinion, and he stretches and cracks me in 50 different directions before sending me to do a series of strengthening exercises. I am free to cycle so I put in an hour a day on Zwift, wanting to kill myself out of boredom. Monday (10 days after the injury) I am back in for more stretching and strength. The pain is no better. We decide to back off the cross-training and exercises to alternating every other day. I was supposed to be back running by this day so I am devastated. </p><p>There is no fracture. There doesn't appear to be a tear (I can do explosive movements). He thinks I have a problem with the pubocapsular/pubofemular ligament. This puts pressure on the sacroiliac joint, which explains the floating pain. I'll buy that. So with no break, tear or inflamation, what do I do? He says recovery should quickly.... I took Celebrex for 6 days to no effect. Icing shouldn't help (but I do it anyway). I then sat on a hard massage ball for hours a day, trying to release this stress. Improvements came. So I started running. After 15 days off, I tried and failed. The next day was better. I struggled the following. So I booked an appointment with the city's best sports medicine doctor. He thinks it is a muscle strain, gives me topical rubs, and says we do a shot in the sacrum gap if it doesn't clear. </p><p>Now I am a week of jogging in and looking like I might be past it. I have lost endurance and speed. </p><p>At the new year, I had more than a training plan's worth of time to prepare. I was solidly moving toward a fast time. All that work gone. Cardiovascular fitness lost. Consistency. I will have to build back now in less than 3 months, and do the most significant distances and workouts in the highest temps and humidity. We have hit 90 degrees in March with humidity never to abate. I don't have high confidence in my ability to do what needs to be done. There's no excuses, only this time to get it done. But it will be a challenge now, moreso than ever before. </p><br /><i>They lured the men away<br />They promised wealth and riches<br />A thousand miles from home<br /><br />Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile<br />Murdered for their troubles, left to die<br />Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry<br />Their numbers were few but they did the job of many</i><div><b>The Hardest Mile -Dropkick Murphys</b></div>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, China23.1290799 113.26436-29.88142935602049 -27.360639999999947 76.139589156020492 -106.11064000000005tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-68341083651464898772022-02-14T18:51:00.000-07:002022-02-14T18:51:02.556-07:00The Call of the Road<p>COVID has been awful - full stop. From a running standpoint, I have little to show for it. After my <a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2020/05/white-pine-trail.html" target="_blank">full run of the White Pine Trail</a> in spring 2020, things have taken a turn. I managed the <a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2020/12/2020-guangzhou-marathon.html" target="_blank">GZ marathon </a>in December 2020 after almost 3 weeks of no running due to quarantine in moving to China. After taking most of the sweltering summer off running, I ran and <a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2021/10/a-win-for-homeless-love.html" target="_blank">won the Homeless Love marathon</a> after a week off touring Tibet in Oct 2021. Now, all other races in China are canceled for the foreseeable future, meaning no return to the <a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2009/08/conquering-wall-great-wall-marathon.html" target="_blank">Great Wall Marathon</a> for me. </p><p>With the move to Europe nearing, I will have new opportunities. No more pitiful void of routes and events. No longer will humidity stifle my drive. An abundance of races will be in my neighborhood, and a plethora of beautiful cities will host more races than needed. It's time to rediscover my purpose.</p><p>2023 marks the 10th anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing. My best training buddies from South Africa were there that day and they plan to return a decade later. I went a<a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2014/04/boston-marathon-2014.html" target="_blank"> year after the bombing</a> in an attempt to ensure my freedoms cannot be taken away. But in order to join my comrades for this anniversary, I would have to re-qualify - something that poses a significant challenge when the last two years have been pure junk running. In fact, I have not posted a BMQ (Boston qualifying time) in 8 years, at that very aforementioned Boston. At 41, this becomes one of my more difficult endeavors. In order to do this, I am going to have to do something I haven't done much of in the past decade - train.</p><p>Normally, I just run. Whatever miles I bank training with an XC team or getting out there most days is ok with me. I typically average around 30 miles a week. But that will not be significant enough to work this time. Other times, I race into shape, running races and finding fitness in the moment. But there are no races this year - I'll go from October to June without the chance to run one. I need a sub-3 hours, 10 mins just to <u>register</u>. That time alone will likely not be enough to get me in. Due to field size, faster times get priority. It could take a time 3-6 min faster to get in, which will not be known until long in the future. Due to a lack of races, I have determined my best chance of doing so is at Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, MN, on June 18th, just 6 days after landing back in the USA after nearly two years away. </p><p>I am largely <a href="https://www.baa.org/races/boston-marathon/train/levelfour" target="_blank">following this plan</a>, but improvising the month of May with other workouts I love. I had an extra 4 weeks from when I started the plan to the taper, and I am unsure how I will handle the heat and humidity of May. It is amazing what a little consistency can do for a guy. After just 4-weeks of 40 miles per week, I am strong and fresh. Due to the pace required, I have had to add two days a week of workouts in order to ensure that I have a threshold that will allow me to push the pace come race day. Holding on and surviving won't get me qualified. Additionally, I am using the long runs as a third workout, splicing in segments of marathon pace and faster to prepare for the race ahead. My workouts have been spectacular so far as I am punching out all of my goal times with relatively little effort. My recovery is solid. I am cautiously proceeding as to not push the pace or miles beyond the plan and risk overtraining and/or injury. If I do that, I only have myself to blame. At least this way, I have a plan to follow and then can offload some of that blame on the plan ;) The plan peaks at around 60 miles per week, and I feel that is sufficient for the work. I will emphasize pace over high mileage. </p><p>My biggest fears are twofold: heat and safety. The humidity will be a problem. I have never run well in it, but the silver lining here is that I will be 1) in better shape going into the harshest months and 2) I will gradually ease into the hotter and wetter conditions rather than just starting right into the storm. I can only hope it is enough. Speaking of hope, I have another issue. Flights are banned to/from the USA and China. We aren't 100% sure if we can get back in time. Once there, I don't have a vaccination (the China one is insufficient for US standards). So, I have to get vaccinated immediately and hope that I do not experience side effects in the days prior to the race. We all will have to isolate somewhat as Omicron rages on because getting sick in the days prior to my one shot at this time will be the worst-case scenario. </p><p>A new addition to the plan will be the experimentation with some of these high-tech shoes. I have the Nike Vaporfly Next %2 - a significant investment in my goal as they run about $225. I'll try them out for portions of the workouts/long runs closer to the race to get the legs used to the formation. I can't say I love the idea of the "cheat shoes" but they give a significant advantage and I could use the help. If they are legal, I am open to the idea. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2hwm2FobmxFAWfudPpNY-VKg5qPbLpy4iRsMSUX6mygcWqyjdNDZLrlVXhPjiIiTA8LOLCxq-12ItiD_Fv4Yte52nY1bSZ4DxEdMMWOFlTQqpXsyrtL7SGw1H93DmWoQLjH2fa9VJYgHyEn95ks-l-_czP4HaG58x26Xyy1R_9lxEBcIr3-oLy_T84A=s1599" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1599" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2hwm2FobmxFAWfudPpNY-VKg5qPbLpy4iRsMSUX6mygcWqyjdNDZLrlVXhPjiIiTA8LOLCxq-12ItiD_Fv4Yte52nY1bSZ4DxEdMMWOFlTQqpXsyrtL7SGw1H93DmWoQLjH2fa9VJYgHyEn95ks-l-_czP4HaG58x26Xyy1R_9lxEBcIr3-oLy_T84A=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Space-age monstrosities</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>2020 sucked. 2021 sucked. Will 2022-2023 be better? Only TIME will tell. </p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, China23.1290799 113.26436-5.1811539361788448 78.10811 51.439313736178846 148.42061tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-48872207720986989242021-10-17T01:52:00.097-06:002021-11-08T20:58:12.892-07:00A Win For Homeless Love<p>I am not usually much of a charity runner. Races like Comrades and Boston, well, I have just qualified for rather than raise money to buy a spot. Maybe it was COVID and the thought of people suffering made me want to give back. Maybe it was COVID, and a lack of racing opportunities had me yearning for an event. Either way, COVID was to blame and when my local watering hole, The Happy Monk, sent out a notice to run to raise money for Homeless Love, a charity organization that makes and delivers meals to the homeless, I was in. There was just one problem.</p><p>I wasn't running. Hmmm. In my younger and more vulnerable years, a 2-month notice for a marathon would have been extreme. Hell, I could run a marathon in the past on two days' notice. But this year, the heat and humidity of China limited my training in the spring (not to mention a total lack of anything to train for). When we were not able to go home for summer, we traveled China, and weeks went by between lacing up the shoes. I coached cross-country, but the few days a week of 3 miles at 10 min/mile were hardly going to count as training. I needed to do more.</p><p>People do not understand, but it's hot here in Guangzhou. That's an understatement. It's hot here like ghost peppers are spicy. But the humidity is the killer. All summer and fall, it has been ungodly. After the summer break, a 3-mile run left me near death. Literally. I felt as if I ran another mile, I would end up on the ground. Slowly I got used to running in the heat of the day and even extended my distance a bit, toying with double-digit runs (something I hadn't seen since <a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2020/12/2020-guangzhou-marathon.html" target="_blank">December's marathon straight out of quarantine</a>). Sarah supported me strongly, growing her long run to join mine and then jumping on a bike to support and grab drinks from stores while I added mileage. I supplemented my running with biking on Zwift to avoid the heat (but was sweating no less). I dabbled with morning runs to add mileage to my relatively short and slower runs during XC practice. I became acclimated to the humidity (somewhat) and started feeling like maybe, just maybe, I would run this thing. Then the other shoe dropped.</p><p>Tibet has always been on my to-visit list. When I lived in China 13 years ago, we wanted to go, but political unrest shut it down to foreigners. It stayed that way for a while. COVID did nothing to help, keeping it closed since the onset of the pandemic, and my attempt to secure a permit in the summer failed. With haste, I applied again in the fall but with no real indication, it would happen. With less than two weeks before travel, my permit was approved and we were off to the roof of the world. </p><p>The problem is, we couldn't run. You are not free to roam about in Tibet, not to mention the fact that you spend your week between 12,000-15,000 ft. elevation. Regarding my training, when Sarah asked me what I would do if we got to go to Tibet right before the marathon, I said, "Acclimate." I brought my running shoes just in case. After 5 days off, I went for a two-mile jog, so slow and breathing so hard it hurt. I snuck in a 2 miler and 3 miler on the last two days of the break to make for a whomping 7 miles in 8 days! So after a week in Tibet we returned to the flatlands with 8 days before the marathon (this is sounding familiar...)</p><p>I pitched up to the race with little expectations other than it was going to hurt. Thankfully, the heat was down and the humidity was replaced by a stiff breeze, the best day of weather from March till early November! The race started at 8am in the Happy Monk - yep, IN the bar - that was a first. We jogged out and down the trail. I knew I was looking good since most people would be in the half marathon and no one was making a bid for it. The first loop was relatively uneventful despite the fact that there were supposed to be three water stops and there were none. Also, we were so "fast," there was no one to guide/marshal the course so, at a crucial turn, I was pleased I watched the video tour in advance. Others weren't so lucky...</p><p>I ran much of the first 10k with a small group of Brits, then on ahead with a Chinese guy, but by 10 miles, I was alone. I crossed the half marathon point ahead of all of the half marathon runners, but I still had a lap to go. The good news was I felt fantastic. My longest run in a year was 13.1 miles. My attempt to go 15 ended in a dehydrated, crumpled heap on the ground weeks ago. I have run a lot of races but this was a long way on my own. It wasn't until 15 miles that I found Sarah waiting on a bike and this provided the first water I had all race. It would prove to be a limiting factor. Just then I was stopped by the traffic police for about 3 minutes. The pain rushed to my legs and the momentum died. Once released, I started up the stairs to the steep bridge and things started to go backward. I sacrificed a slow mile to get over the bridge and then got it back on track, but that was the last I "kept pace." The final 8 miles were a bit of a slog, and the pain really set in by the end. Also, this was a Sunday morning in China, so people were all over the bike trail, constantly stepping in front of me. I was not at my best and may have shouted at children and old people. </p><p>But like all things, it soon ends, and I crossed the line a good 20 minutes ahead of the next guy for my 6th marathon win (2nd in China). This marks my 81st marathon and my first since December 2020. This wasn't a race about time or place though. It was about getting back out there, hurting a little, and remembering that not everyone has had it as easy as I have. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcIC6rJRJYn97Vlh0PXqTInhdOaSvXQyaFJoioIbpLEY-hyXvKOhx_fkQwp4nERRROEbi-GyvpKUPd0nGCYWU28_TjT7CLJNQs4oWusGT8adkF0zoNGmlNv9QPggfmZa4ttPEUyiRim4h/s960/246137891_10104116902980642_6301142919157295918_n.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcIC6rJRJYn97Vlh0PXqTInhdOaSvXQyaFJoioIbpLEY-hyXvKOhx_fkQwp4nERRROEbi-GyvpKUPd0nGCYWU28_TjT7CLJNQs4oWusGT8adkF0zoNGmlNv9QPggfmZa4ttPEUyiRim4h/s320/246137891_10104116902980642_6301142919157295918_n.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing strong despite a rough last 10k</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujohR0WVHYZPsgl6VcBkzwl4q6ukyCPGtC8J7_lca6lk8pTFTHUpKrzu0WEKBA6Ntw7MS6e948BBIIWRuBXJvbTbd_BrnbtkiX4kLdBV8w3rqYwOD53KxW2SfqU3j1zmdPVm7ZkexYacz/s960/246352434_10104116903075452_3979660138484109331_n.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujohR0WVHYZPsgl6VcBkzwl4q6ukyCPGtC8J7_lca6lk8pTFTHUpKrzu0WEKBA6Ntw7MS6e948BBIIWRuBXJvbTbd_BrnbtkiX4kLdBV8w3rqYwOD53KxW2SfqU3j1zmdPVm7ZkexYacz/s320/246352434_10104116903075452_3979660138484109331_n.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty glad to be done. It was getting hot.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsShC8keFdlq4cX8evYwigvh3pRg2ipOFiEs08DMXbYhxAGsafvhDsQ8trm-GoNKFdfxblJ5YdXKazOeJimBBFpU0jSXr7ekQ2bm6n9vW-K79SMY_OrEoGUSqmRDUsRfFneT2K7J8Qh3fC/s960/246277787_10104116902930742_124695626704548227_n.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsShC8keFdlq4cX8evYwigvh3pRg2ipOFiEs08DMXbYhxAGsafvhDsQ8trm-GoNKFdfxblJ5YdXKazOeJimBBFpU0jSXr7ekQ2bm6n9vW-K79SMY_OrEoGUSqmRDUsRfFneT2K7J8Qh3fC/s320/246277787_10104116902930742_124695626704548227_n.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">81st marathon; 6th win</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br />The Happy Monk Marathon raised 57,500 yuan, not bad for 50 or so runners! That will provide about 11,500 meals to the homeless, which is a win in any book!<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHJpyBJzWKVHoCvoXgKadcHFZCBMe7Yc1U3H2evuciyMnQe4Kd7MZKLEZARker76HFhLRtz6d9AHF7QDvm9CBRO3GpOOmJshxqQV8I93y7WUjkt_ca3ZuYetYqC0c-_g_HsvUcDKhEBxs/s1620/happy+monk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1620" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHJpyBJzWKVHoCvoXgKadcHFZCBMe7Yc1U3H2evuciyMnQe4Kd7MZKLEZARker76HFhLRtz6d9AHF7QDvm9CBRO3GpOOmJshxqQV8I93y7WUjkt_ca3ZuYetYqC0c-_g_HsvUcDKhEBxs/s320/happy+monk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpp7L1W5PJJxuXFB44i9XvT53F4cPAESD9OxX3efESiV2NkN0Rr0GXcLAnuyw5W7m-LuBIdC1X7yVLi_R-U5xVDuoqoAq0qJVRFBNpGYMumklpmmx8T7uR1szPTSTfKkiOJkFwzdSMajuw/s1620/monk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1620" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpp7L1W5PJJxuXFB44i9XvT53F4cPAESD9OxX3efESiV2NkN0Rr0GXcLAnuyw5W7m-LuBIdC1X7yVLi_R-U5xVDuoqoAq0qJVRFBNpGYMumklpmmx8T7uR1szPTSTfKkiOJkFwzdSMajuw/s320/monk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, China23.12911 113.264385-5.1811238361788448 78.108135 51.43934383617885 148.420635tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-47740236689527792422020-12-13T04:04:00.126-07:002021-04-10T06:33:21.600-06:002020 Guangzhou Marathon<p>I was hoping for my 80th open marathon to be special. But as 2020 reared its ugly head, opportunities fell off the table. As December neared, I was about to find out if I could, in all actuality, run a marathon off the couch. </p><p>GZ marathon is done by lottery (for a look at the registration form, <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/19ZP-9Vr7jWGM0uJ07lReEe-4RaaoiLQ2/view?usp=sharing">check this out</a>). It was always my intention to run it, but as COVID wore on, I was stuck in the US, barely running, as we worked from 6pm-midnight or 1am, then got up to work 7am-noon or 1pm all fall. My runs, when it wasn't raining, windy, and freezing (my winter clothes are in India still), were short and lackluster. When the lottery opened, I passed, saying maybe next time. But that sense of adventure was grumbling and if 2020 has taught us anything, it is to take an experience when we can get it. I entered, was accepted, and realized I had 1 month to get ready.</p><p>However, smack in the middle of this 1 month period was a move to China. We spent the first week running all over the state for COVID tests, documents, permissions, packing, and closing the house. I barely jogged. Then we flew 2 days to get to China and were placed in a hotel for quarantine for 15 days, unable to leave the room. I made the most of it, jogging in place. FOr 15 straight days I "ran" nowhere, bouncing around the few feet allotted to me, barely getting the heart rate up. I worked up from 30 min to 1 hour, most days at 60 min, using none of the muscles I needed for distance running. To make it more challenging, we ate only delivery food for every meal, and cigarette smoke from other rooms blew into ours most of the day. The 20 min core-floor routine I set out to do left me staring, my nose inches from piles of many long, black hairs (and quite a few short ones). It was a disgusting trial and after more than 2 weeks, we had fresh air and sunshine again. The race was 6 days away.</p><p>The first three days of freedom were hectic with all kinds of clearances and registrations mixed up with shopping to set up the house. Going from 23 hours a day of laying down to 12 hours of walking and standing shocked my body. I got out for two runs along the river in my new hood, but the 4-mile jaunts left me destroyed! Shin splints ripped my legs up like a newbie 6th grader, and my quads ached. I took the next day off and slugged Ibuprofin like candy and iced with frozen hot dogs. On Friday morning, I got back out there for a 2-mile jog. I averaged about 9 min/mile. Yep. This was going to suck. That night was the school's Christmas party and to add insult to injury, I was in a 1-month no booze commitment. Mind you, this had nothing to do with the race I was about to foul up; rather, just a reset after many, many months of life in the US on a lake during COVID. With the stress of trying to get out of the country, packing, traveling, quarantine, and all the celebrations of the holiday season (and newly arrived in China), it was a real testament to mind control to put in this month. I would need that mental fortitude on Sunday. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxl7I9SBbWTJH-E6AH7Tx0oj5kntAAAc9PUigsiIK-OhxCY-lGxzWDASrbmd_8xZWIvONRU0X6up_Hww7R7t4J4OLG9CwNTr5WTbkuuObzHQ8DfEXs6ED0uVfCcUt2cF-Ytyv5-73wujs/s1600/IMG_20201208_070607833_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxl7I9SBbWTJH-E6AH7Tx0oj5kntAAAc9PUigsiIK-OhxCY-lGxzWDASrbmd_8xZWIvONRU0X6up_Hww7R7t4J4OLG9CwNTr5WTbkuuObzHQ8DfEXs6ED0uVfCcUt2cF-Ytyv5-73wujs/s320/IMG_20201208_070607833_HDR.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRp9R4fFL0jIFu6joV0nTn1JdVr1HWzFs7PsdC4Fcrpa1lUR8ReyB2oO3MOfHMmsUlF968U1Sr2tIKQxhqHG-bKXHXWC2fGJrLtWqJD5uw67BGD_0x3qg90sHTmdGVg9CYWl3WSjzugWl/s1600/IMG_20201208_071247053_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRp9R4fFL0jIFu6joV0nTn1JdVr1HWzFs7PsdC4Fcrpa1lUR8ReyB2oO3MOfHMmsUlF968U1Sr2tIKQxhqHG-bKXHXWC2fGJrLtWqJD5uw67BGD_0x3qg90sHTmdGVg9CYWl3WSjzugWl/s320/IMG_20201208_071247053_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a> </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH7m4J4tkvMvJtgIr4bJwSSfg8NI5v2PecFrLe85aWd_TaTJVzbdFFb6Ndb2eiT5DdTIVluMZur7ZRj3T_6p5zsRp9vBD4ZucMGR1p5Hl-92i3flxrFQ_fE4TNv_Voxi1ZvmVDoHF6jBc/s1600/IMG_20201208_071234113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH7m4J4tkvMvJtgIr4bJwSSfg8NI5v2PecFrLe85aWd_TaTJVzbdFFb6Ndb2eiT5DdTIVluMZur7ZRj3T_6p5zsRp9vBD4ZucMGR1p5Hl-92i3flxrFQ_fE4TNv_Voxi1ZvmVDoHF6jBc/s320/IMG_20201208_071234113.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p>Daily registrations online declaring my temp and exposure to the disease were required daily for the two weeks prior. A negative COVID test was also needed a few days out. We had to register for a time slot to pick up the packet and bib. There were temp checks, the COVID test results, and an app that had to be completed prior. </p><p>With three days of running (10 miles total) in the last 25 days, pain was in my future. I took the metro to the start, along with 20,000 of my newest friends. The race was highly organized and easy to navigate once on the ground (not so with the online presence). Small, red dots lined the corrals keeping people 1m apart. While this was not adhered to, there was far less scrunching and shoving than I would have expected, though I was in the B corral. We had 70 degrees and 86% humidity at the start, and it promised to be a warm one. My regimen of anti-inflammatory drugs would probably raise concerns with WADA, but it got me to the start line without the injury I had earlier in the week. The gun went off and I felt like I was in a 5K. There were too many people so it wasn't fast, but I went out in 8:21, and people blew by me like I was standing still. I had no choice; after almost 3 weeks of doing no running, I had to start smart. I ran an 8:06 and a 7:58 the next two miles, then put the breaks on. At 5k, people were still passing me by the hundreds. I have run enough races to know they wouldn't last. The only pandemic facing this group of runners was a sickness of wearing VaporFly shoes to run a 4+ hour marathon!</p><p>I was locked in pretty good to 8 min/mile pace for a long time. By 10 miles, I was right on, and my watch had me spot on 1:45:00 at halfway (the course took a jump around 11 miles and my watch and the "official" markers were no longer in sync - They had me at about 1:46 and change). The crowds were plentiful as the race ran mostly along the river. From 14-18 miles it got a little drab as we got away from the water on an out section. I kept it chill, never pushing, though the pace started to come into the high 7:40s on its own. I was ecstatic with how the run was going. I thought 4 hours might be a real possibility earlier in the week but now, with 10 miles to go, I was on track for 3:30. I couldn't have asked for more as a light drizzle washed over us. </p><p>Everything was good until 21. I slipped to an 8:12 with a water stop, and the reality that I was completely unprepared started to sink in. Somehow I brought it back under 8 for the 22nd mile, though that was the longest one of the day it felt like. The last 5K were.....a negotiation. I had no ego, no pride. There was no time I needed to hit and no one around me I felt compelled to beat. I was just glad to be out here, to be able to race during a pandemic, and to be able to run a marathon, let alone my 80th, on essential no training. I slipped off the pace but by seconds, not minutes. I refused to give in and walk. I would run till the end, no slower, and yet I didn't need to bury myself to get there. I stayed in control and maybe gave up a spot here and there to a charging young man, but for the most part, I continued to pass many people who had gone out so hard. </p><p>The final Ks were quiet as no fans were permitted in the stadium for the finish. I passed 26.2 miles on my watch in 3:29:58, and that was good enough for me. Nearly 500m later, the finish line arrived, and my time was 3:32:15. I am not going to be a Garmin bitch but I had the course 0.3 mi long and on this day, that mattered! Either way you slice it. - watch or course - I ran a deadpan even split 1st half to 2nd. It was, perhaps, one of my finest executions of the 80 jaunts so far. But before I could relish in the accomplishment, I went through some pretty rough post-race moments. The legs were done, the bowles in cramping, and I got dizzy if I stopped. It was a long and painful limp from the line to the exit, then a 1km walk to the restaurant where I toweled off in the bathroom before destroying some enchiladas. I waddled on down to Bravo Brewing and enjoyed my 1st (and 2nd and 3rd) beer in a month! </p><p>To say I did this "off the couch" would be hyperbole. I did do some running in the weeks before travel. I did bounce around during quarantine, and I didn't fit in 3 jogs the week of the race. But to do a marathon off of it, at 40 years old, let alone in 3:30? I am stoked. By 8K I had run more than I had run in nearly 4 weeks, by the half I better my longest in the fall, and at 20 miles had eclipsed what I would have to go all the way back to May to exceed. It had been more than 9 months since my last marathon, a gap I have not had in marathoning since I began. I missed so many races this year but I got this one done. I always say a marathon is a marathon, no matter how fast you go, and this was the epitome of that phrase. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia15nWXi0vEQSLwdFm_vsUonO2n36HuEoaEBlijS-jq2ULhfaL-lTjPYsAVy-VYXgX4dYcrAgZHLXq05Zl1804yTOQDQsHTukhVU86siFLkcRqjF8fzEGPCV_kDiKo-DBMoaUW1OB-Ls7K/s902/IMG_20201213_174320_944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="902" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia15nWXi0vEQSLwdFm_vsUonO2n36HuEoaEBlijS-jq2ULhfaL-lTjPYsAVy-VYXgX4dYcrAgZHLXq05Zl1804yTOQDQsHTukhVU86siFLkcRqjF8fzEGPCV_kDiKo-DBMoaUW1OB-Ls7K/s320/IMG_20201213_174320_944.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuDZR1d_yFuY71Gbh-R9Ft5bU-1UwX3XTaW98cQiLY0LjU3_ZdokQBpZS_uYx1J_qK42MhK7ARVfYonJYpjbebjzYwFjKELYcV4HICfS0G-uDWU19gpxALPW4t1EikbV4eypy641dWFRM/s1600/IMG_20201213_115159936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuDZR1d_yFuY71Gbh-R9Ft5bU-1UwX3XTaW98cQiLY0LjU3_ZdokQBpZS_uYx1J_qK42MhK7ARVfYonJYpjbebjzYwFjKELYcV4HICfS0G-uDWU19gpxALPW4t1EikbV4eypy641dWFRM/s320/IMG_20201213_115159936.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtPFDQqHsDwRhF66AKHt21EpN1Jh4OwVR2a05Dfd4oQvB-w6WkSqwVTOJf8L20cG5f_9ScwSzwqSGeqmPpfKJ6PQTAwIblm-jU-aVKlDXqu0rIbdI2Qxc91_QmLS18x49Rl04BXH4FDJ_/s1600/IMG_20201213_115154893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtPFDQqHsDwRhF66AKHt21EpN1Jh4OwVR2a05Dfd4oQvB-w6WkSqwVTOJf8L20cG5f_9ScwSzwqSGeqmPpfKJ6PQTAwIblm-jU-aVKlDXqu0rIbdI2Qxc91_QmLS18x49Rl04BXH4FDJ_/s320/IMG_20201213_115154893.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Guangzhou, Guangdong Province, China23.12911 113.264385-7.8495276448747866 78.108135 54.107747644874792 148.420635tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-80883752014810391682020-05-31T09:33:00.000-06:002020-06-01T14:59:52.757-06:00White Pine Trail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When COVID-19 hit, I needed to do something when the world was falling apart. When the lockdown happened in India, I took to the campus, running laps around the Tiger Turf. Run, turn left, repeat, about a billion times. I was running 5-8 miles on that small, rectangular field, begging for an overuse injury. But on that first run I got the idea in my head to do a marathon on campus - that's about 943 left turns on the turf. Unfortunately (or a big blessing), we took an evacuation flight out of the country that week and repatriated to the USA for the duration. My Two Hearted Marathon (that I missed last year due to the ankle injury) was canceled. Disappointed, I needed a new goal.<br />
<br />
Dinking around on Google Maps, I found a trail that I have crossed over and back in the car or a bike every time I went to Big Rapids. Four years of owning this house and I had no idea there was a great trail 15 minutes from me. <a href="http://www.whitepinetrail.com/map" target="_blank">The White Pine Trail</a> is a 92.2 mile, former railroad track-turned trail, that runs from Walker, MI (Grand Rapids) to Cadillac, MI. It is the longest such trail in Michigan and a state park the entire way (perhaps one of the most narrow state parks in the country!). The trail is relatively wooded, oscillates between paved and dirt sections, and passes through about 10 quaint towns. People run, bike, snowmobile, and ride horses on it. With it right there, I had to run it. Due to my recent disastrous history with ultra events (see pretty much every endurance story I have written in the past 7 years), I quickly pushed out the idea of running it straight through. But why not run the whole thing in segments? My journey had begun.<br />
<br />
Since coming back to the US, I had been getting back in running shape. I bumped the miles up, did a 20 miler (which I didn't even do in prep for my fall or winter marathons), and worked up to 60-70 miles per week. I ended a 20 miler with a 6:30 mile. But my best day was the day after I did a 13 miler. Three days before I had slipped a disc in my back helping a friend move junk and was in major pain. I then headed out for my run which was going to be a double run; instead, I did the 13 miles straight in about 7:20/mi. I felt great, so when I had 12 miles more the next day, I was pumped. The route was partially on dirt roads and was very hilly, but I was flying. My last 6 miles were under 7:00/mi and my last 5K in about 20:20 or so, and I was still holding back. The next week I did 5 straight days (14, 12, 13, 10, 10.5) of double digits, all in single runs. I then ended the week poorly with many days on the boat, in the sun, staying up late, and celebrating too much with end-of-year goodbyes. I spent Memorial Day eating brats and tater tots. It was not ideal. Tuesday-Sunday I had 100 miles to run, and for 5 days I would be on the White Pine Trail.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdDj7_d6xZbDCIo21hUoOLbfSkjmY_9SQryYwr4naTPIaHMhhLmT3F1AqNcJD8mjfSj_E6bp9aqk7UJtiAYDtB8pRnYwOjWuDX-hwpVasuppKM_-yzfj7ct68ZYIdrK07QXlwspuliAtt/s1600/IMG_20200526_062435349_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdDj7_d6xZbDCIo21hUoOLbfSkjmY_9SQryYwr4naTPIaHMhhLmT3F1AqNcJD8mjfSj_E6bp9aqk7UJtiAYDtB8pRnYwOjWuDX-hwpVasuppKM_-yzfj7ct68ZYIdrK07QXlwspuliAtt/s200/IMG_20200526_062435349_HDR.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Day 1: Comstock Park to Sand Lake</b><br />
21.5 miles<br />
3:00:59 (8:25/mi)<br />
<br />
Start 6:25am<br />
I arrived at the non-descript trailhead as dawn was breaking. Today was the hottest day of the year so far, and it was a steamy start. I wandered off, feeling very clunky wearing a vest after not using one since the Grand Canyon. I started very slow, cautious not to run too fast too early. Sweat was dripping in the first few moments, and I was soaked by mile 3. Soon after the start, I merged with the true WP trail, having run about a half a mile farther to get there. The trail is mostly flat so there was not much variation, and on I went passing runners and cyclists. I felt better by 8 miles or so and drank about 40oz of water during the run. It wasn't enough. I was goosed in sweat on my first day of a big week, and I knew that would factor in. My feet hurt (all the pavement?) from mile 16 on, and although my time dropped a lot by the end, I was very determined not to run faster with 4 more days left of big runs on this trail.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_rPJdjDqzwFmHU8FTmpWD5Ocz-cbvWhLKoR6rh0OMVZQxmicCFiL96SOShOExVFw4CQkjQVkVFQGgpL9zIWqxk_yuK-nzT_PJrEjOc9FterrjRZq-kucSxD1bOkeu5LyjqR2FW2nngWj/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_rPJdjDqzwFmHU8FTmpWD5Ocz-cbvWhLKoR6rh0OMVZQxmicCFiL96SOShOExVFw4CQkjQVkVFQGgpL9zIWqxk_yuK-nzT_PJrEjOc9FterrjRZq-kucSxD1bOkeu5LyjqR2FW2nngWj/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0000.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of the trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVxVXRyXHzQq7Ba5VmwMiUvxdv4Avq79pgdLfjsp4lT37wu3ok55msSZ95fQzK-F-CRlyVZiBWINOPnCZgHuO3f3cwqSd_mr0SN1_VAA1YUwpOM8Nze0zP6yqbVHmDbq-VhiolkBKkT86/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVxVXRyXHzQq7Ba5VmwMiUvxdv4Avq79pgdLfjsp4lT37wu3ok55msSZ95fQzK-F-CRlyVZiBWINOPnCZgHuO3f3cwqSd_mr0SN1_VAA1YUwpOM8Nze0zP6yqbVHmDbq-VhiolkBKkT86/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0010.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">finishing up with the girls 21.5 miles later</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82nKQ3Wd2JL1sgH1F2NPu1RNv9eZwhyphenhyphen5G7u51uynnk9d9QlKWGd8fGxWlRsGEw2w0J4ShrekB1idNX2vDTkXp7CqxowmbMapEw2UHxWdrE9mEgskbzOp7bt_M2HshC_myYdphhyphenhyphenzubsVs/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82nKQ3Wd2JL1sgH1F2NPu1RNv9eZwhyphenhyphen5G7u51uynnk9d9QlKWGd8fGxWlRsGEw2w0J4ShrekB1idNX2vDTkXp7CqxowmbMapEw2UHxWdrE9mEgskbzOp7bt_M2HshC_myYdphhyphenhyphenzubsVs/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0012.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leg 1 is done</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Day 2: Sand Lake to Stanwood</b><br />
20.4 miles<br />
2:52:07 (8:27/mi)<br />
<br />
Start 6:32am<br />
I was really worried about today, fearing not being able to recover from the first day. But right out the door, I felt better than I thought and even had to put the breaks on early to keep in smart. I saw so many people on the trail yesterday but today I saw just 3 the entire time. It was super humid again and everything seemed to roll on well for a while. But I started to feel cruddy around 12 and bad by 16. The last 4 miles were a huge struggle as I felt really empty and had a sour stomach. Upon finishing, I was pretty spent and struggled most of the afternoon trying to re-hydrate. Temps crept toward 90 again. It was 17 degrees hotter than the historical average for the day and 26 degrees hotter than the same day a week earlier. I picked the wrong window for this run.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tTgUz2DJNs6m_IA-ug2xkGASPop8-uqq3LTjI_S-sZFMQPzEmslFJ3rBtil47JoRA0uricl95F7CqzWb-rj-cay9JrRfie3NnizHnfU9Tf4L8rgHyQC5p9FmZRwgJW1a73jnLdY43V2a/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tTgUz2DJNs6m_IA-ug2xkGASPop8-uqq3LTjI_S-sZFMQPzEmslFJ3rBtil47JoRA0uricl95F7CqzWb-rj-cay9JrRfie3NnizHnfU9Tf4L8rgHyQC5p9FmZRwgJW1a73jnLdY43V2a/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0013.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of leg 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_KSUHuKY79VftYLaJuqJ5amycX7OcszVkk_qmoAQyrG_TRAAsrrfnCA02LBQw2a7-zAVVYZs03SgQk-cSefmLhS47onL92ftAqcxH-cqY4zGM5eZh9eCCYYiV1pHhBWFr3Bp-9V93-rC/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_KSUHuKY79VftYLaJuqJ5amycX7OcszVkk_qmoAQyrG_TRAAsrrfnCA02LBQw2a7-zAVVYZs03SgQk-cSefmLhS47onL92ftAqcxH-cqY4zGM5eZh9eCCYYiV1pHhBWFr3Bp-9V93-rC/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0017.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">A rough finish </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Clal5AKkX9qR3vSZKy2W8uo0yIfjNmuvW7tzVpUXv2slqOW4COS423HwUGemUm3LM4zet5ngEktYz3OAyhkmnAwlaDKHdpLGsKMdd8xR3akViS_9_cIwL4RsJt8gV2I15RslJGi7V57d/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Clal5AKkX9qR3vSZKy2W8uo0yIfjNmuvW7tzVpUXv2slqOW4COS423HwUGemUm3LM4zet5ngEktYz3OAyhkmnAwlaDKHdpLGsKMdd8xR3akViS_9_cIwL4RsJt8gV2I15RslJGi7V57d/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0014.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hurting bad after 20 more miles in the humidity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Day 3: Stanwood to Paris</b><br />
16 miles<br />
2:21:04 (8:47/mi)<br />
Humidity: 94%<br />
No. of people I saw on the trail: 3 (1 cyclist, 1 runner, 1 dog walker)<br />
<br />
Start: 6:24am<br />
Recovery yesterday was a problem. I couldn't hydrate well, had no appetite, and was very sore. Today started poorly and continued throughout. It was stinking wet out there (with blue skies) and I stumbled from the start. My slowest mile yet was my first one and although I got it back together, I needed multiple walk breaks to get keep from shutting down. I pushed an extra mile on the trail today (to limit tomorrow's distance) and I paid for it dearly. At the finish, I hunched over and threw up. I was dripping with sweat just standing there. The rest of the day was uncomfortable, stomach off, with a splitting headache. My face was ashen and sunk in. My body was not handling the humidity and I was hurting. I feared not being able to finish this journey.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnVVwKkejTTaSrHbhuIFQxM1VEzBi45Hau8nIs7lYhKZRJmjaMtZcdG-JbcS8pQSitOG6cfATKSPiKd5Wa6GMHmn28T3ZdBOcjv7Xt3m3E3gMh_-FM-42mHSvMxcMwFsAwYCbkOJNv3I0/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnVVwKkejTTaSrHbhuIFQxM1VEzBi45Hau8nIs7lYhKZRJmjaMtZcdG-JbcS8pQSitOG6cfATKSPiKd5Wa6GMHmn28T3ZdBOcjv7Xt3m3E3gMh_-FM-42mHSvMxcMwFsAwYCbkOJNv3I0/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0018.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not excited for leg 3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3fI-OKzRtOgPrnCC2hlUYae1TYYmNb9Zywkww7fEoZW8Cv2KmNaUopELOtQe6ZKrrVNkg7LbcChGeQ3F9WPSvJEYzTU3KaOElmG7VV-s-g7cDCiYaWtu1nOmHAElXicng3cGOEuUvnn2/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3fI-OKzRtOgPrnCC2hlUYae1TYYmNb9Zywkww7fEoZW8Cv2KmNaUopELOtQe6ZKrrVNkg7LbcChGeQ3F9WPSvJEYzTU3KaOElmG7VV-s-g7cDCiYaWtu1nOmHAElXicng3cGOEuUvnn2/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0016.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post vomit at the end, very done and dusted</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Day 4: Paris to LeRoy</b><br />
19.34 miles<br />
2:51:47 (8:53/mi)<br />
# of people I saw on the trail: 1 cyclist (in the final quarter-mile)<br />
<br />
Start: 7:37am<br />
Amazing what a good night's rest can do. I awoke with less of headache and pain in my legs than I had in the previous 36 hours. I got a later start owing to the cooler temps and further away starting point. Rain greeted me early and held for more than an hour, ranging from drizzle to pouring. The humidity stayed high but the temps were much lower than previous days which helped. I never felt good but even though today was rough, I never felt worse than I did yesterday or in the final miles of day 2. I managed 10 miles of consistent running before taking a walk break and then did 2-3 miles after that with a brief (~1 min) walk. Every half mile felt like 2 full ones, and my pace slipped low even though I felt like I was running faster. I arrived in LeRoy short of distance but the trail broke away from the road and I ended up getting picked up 1.1 miles further down than anticipated. Feeling much better than yesterday, going the extra mile did hurt a bit. But I came home and had a better day than any other, going for a boat ride, doing some dishes after grilling, and a short bike ride. It was my first functional afternoon of the week. I am looking forward to finishing this trail.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijsH95XtBCY2QV8ublG3AhhfCIxrbxzi8sJMt74j_cGFTaBL-JPJBIFZHQsqMl_w15oHi_lP-Qeln3lww6dxcpbl3g0jYAT12MpEwVvBScz3q6uvLXlpU1anYHx0wIsuLy8gduXyjcfV3/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijsH95XtBCY2QV8ublG3AhhfCIxrbxzi8sJMt74j_cGFTaBL-JPJBIFZHQsqMl_w15oHi_lP-Qeln3lww6dxcpbl3g0jYAT12MpEwVvBScz3q6uvLXlpU1anYHx0wIsuLy8gduXyjcfV3/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0011.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of leg 4, ready to rock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqFGosdNh8YYlLXdo04OmfmoyEp7bOx07wxS1lhyphenhyphen3q7iNe6ZCW6bAxa2Kq9DHyxThUQ3U5F_JJpuqwtAVboiv86M1FsPfw3Q0IeMiDmWfas7EMMEyc2jMUsIRMS98Q6NIhuORkA5188Qd/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqFGosdNh8YYlLXdo04OmfmoyEp7bOx07wxS1lhyphenhyphen3q7iNe6ZCW6bAxa2Kq9DHyxThUQ3U5F_JJpuqwtAVboiv86M1FsPfw3Q0IeMiDmWfas7EMMEyc2jMUsIRMS98Q6NIhuORkA5188Qd/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0009.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing up well with Kaze</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKaEYI88MOQDZm87cy4IRkJFaUs0PkDkJ4FVRN2Fma-Y361l8ELtUmJnT3pN1hn2FMl_JppD3xFj9OgUvRJgbNOyFPguB0GKJHKpac-fIcfFVW5b_IIC7eER9_tcfZNZUJh077RQXS_vK/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKaEYI88MOQDZm87cy4IRkJFaUs0PkDkJ4FVRN2Fma-Y361l8ELtUmJnT3pN1hn2FMl_JppD3xFj9OgUvRJgbNOyFPguB0GKJHKpac-fIcfFVW5b_IIC7eER9_tcfZNZUJh077RQXS_vK/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0008.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 down, 1 to go</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Day 5: LeRoy to Cadillac </b><br />
15 miles<br />
2:02:54 (8:11/mi)<br />
# of people on the trail: 20+<br />
<br />
Start: 8:39am<br />
The dawn was crisp, 40 degrees cooler than this week's high, and humidity much lower. It was the perfect recipe for the final day. I had 15 miles of trail left, my shortest day, due to going a bit longer on each of the two previous days. I huffed off, making good time on the trail, but not feeling great in the legs; my IT bands were tight and I felt like I was limping a bit. But my pace was good, and I kept on down the trail, determined to finish this challenge off. I felt better as time went on and soon I was cruising. With a few miles to go, I let go of the worry and cruised, dropping the miles below the 8 min mark. I arrived in Cadillac to an anticlimatic trail finish - the wide path ended at a road and a sidewalk continued around the lake. Neither had a trail marker and the 91st wooded mile marker I had seen was nearly two miles ago (and I knew the trail was 92.2 miles by reports). That about sums it up: an anticlimactic finish for an anticlimatic trail. Paved nearly all the way with almost no turns, there are many better trails, but this one was a good challenge to take on. I felt brilliant afterward, buoyed by the finishing speed and the culmination of 5 days and nearly 100 miles of running. We ordered food for take-away and ate by the lake, chilly in the wind.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYSd9SE6w3FED7ATD7pdVjW5fG_YU-but6Khj_aEoQFiH83Qvvf_ON0JbvuFJCI1n3EMpl-rV7lB7_gONnQmsiArofcbt_1CmeFKmX6JnNCdZn6wFKAV9_6m9g2vE2AtNnf6Mdw5FNrGH/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYSd9SE6w3FED7ATD7pdVjW5fG_YU-but6Khj_aEoQFiH83Qvvf_ON0JbvuFJCI1n3EMpl-rV7lB7_gONnQmsiArofcbt_1CmeFKmX6JnNCdZn6wFKAV9_6m9g2vE2AtNnf6Mdw5FNrGH/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0007.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leg 5 - the end is that way</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUIYDVgbhxYUBm4sWp8FIvqcW4R5F7Dv-HBknWy1I5-Z6PygOgAMDv-aEdNxj8xaJQgcS5unW_1lIisKK99_gbJcy53B71VEyoeu6eVjS75MCqNkQfVVy7sYVrqi55GhTHI-dXCcfUorQ/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUIYDVgbhxYUBm4sWp8FIvqcW4R5F7Dv-HBknWy1I5-Z6PygOgAMDv-aEdNxj8xaJQgcS5unW_1lIisKK99_gbJcy53B71VEyoeu6eVjS75MCqNkQfVVy7sYVrqi55GhTHI-dXCcfUorQ/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0006.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finish in Cadillac, 92.5 miles later</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKibcIwZEF-PNxtzSHjJNO6cOfNxWfm7QoZ0SqUizBS6TedcONbBhWBCbDCnU2GGdAKlZ4jxQajBTQl4M9hMBKCc5JoOwPm201prwSUlASsnZloHsBe2hqjMSEfxMv22uC46h6d_DrViIA/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKibcIwZEF-PNxtzSHjJNO6cOfNxWfm7QoZ0SqUizBS6TedcONbBhWBCbDCnU2GGdAKlZ4jxQajBTQl4M9hMBKCc5JoOwPm201prwSUlASsnZloHsBe2hqjMSEfxMv22uC46h6d_DrViIA/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0002.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rounding out the run for an even 15 mi on the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And because we like round numbers, I did a nice 7.8 mile run on Sunday to make it 100 miles for the week. I finished the last mile with my girls running with me. In 6 days, I had run more than I have ever run in a week (excluding the week of a 100-mile race). It was very difficult, but not because I couldn't handle the distance. My body was used to bouncing back from 15 mile runs in 7:30/mi pace like a snap and I was feeling the best I have felt, maybe ever. The humidity to start (3 straight days of 90% or more humidity) left me empty, dehydrated and trashed. My body doesn't respond - water doesn't go in or stay in. I deteriorated. The last two days of the trail (when I already had about 60 miles beneath me) were much better because the weather improved. If I had this good weather all week I may have been able to do it much faster, or if I did this trail over 6 or 7 days I would have flown. Then again, if the humidity stayed, I may not have finished, or worse. So, silver linings...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Views From the Trail</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8l4ESwDaLByekv3zE2QjVD3Dgqh4C8DP83pLKCmOSR6SZfIcCa_5Z_8vyuEYfuyEQC7ACp9wScFQTBoOzPqBCHuKbk4RAYIx_lhTXxIkD83Xs5zl1v_AfHFYx4abzRskDz7T9yYqP46-/s1600/IMG_20200527_083303243_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8l4ESwDaLByekv3zE2QjVD3Dgqh4C8DP83pLKCmOSR6SZfIcCa_5Z_8vyuEYfuyEQC7ACp9wScFQTBoOzPqBCHuKbk4RAYIx_lhTXxIkD83Xs5zl1v_AfHFYx4abzRskDz7T9yYqP46-/s200/IMG_20200527_083303243_HDR.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ZY6tCrFocwvuDqnXpWg9tC2q39xxsc-OoYtIUv4RG6hb0fvvdi5HcNoR4O-w7wnkLNoYY084ejfVwFdFoj-9BGZcfmZx_awNM1AOjAYWgA1lXblhmt5efxAMhQ6UPE5K348GC2Givb7R/s1600/IMG_20200530_091324495_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ZY6tCrFocwvuDqnXpWg9tC2q39xxsc-OoYtIUv4RG6hb0fvvdi5HcNoR4O-w7wnkLNoYY084ejfVwFdFoj-9BGZcfmZx_awNM1AOjAYWgA1lXblhmt5efxAMhQ6UPE5K348GC2Givb7R/s200/IMG_20200530_091324495_HDR.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1up6Ut5cM8OcQWEDfZlRXmu0NbcfOqVyyoapjlMBhV64DQa6huOHBibcsJvLw1TWuN-uIeCbR1iiTc2JWc4E7Vq1k_qMP8VskdrKptzokwRuQ4DPzmFD2u_goBDvg_R3I2QrWEWQDy8T9/s1600/IMG_20200529_095029045_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1up6Ut5cM8OcQWEDfZlRXmu0NbcfOqVyyoapjlMBhV64DQa6huOHBibcsJvLw1TWuN-uIeCbR1iiTc2JWc4E7Vq1k_qMP8VskdrKptzokwRuQ4DPzmFD2u_goBDvg_R3I2QrWEWQDy8T9/s200/IMG_20200529_095029045_HDR.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpVHLCojwJSUgir89o19-V-CSRuVcPgJTQr0DcUqXtD-gwHf1NerGjEV2XXceyOeuFNfbcO0dX-RIdjx_t8RbELrY0-xRwnnSSDN9zwL-6Vw3nPqB1WyKC1_yEaxSrGT_qVr8BZ3w0rJK/s1600/IMG_20200528_080624247_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpVHLCojwJSUgir89o19-V-CSRuVcPgJTQr0DcUqXtD-gwHf1NerGjEV2XXceyOeuFNfbcO0dX-RIdjx_t8RbELrY0-xRwnnSSDN9zwL-6Vw3nPqB1WyKC1_yEaxSrGT_qVr8BZ3w0rJK/s200/IMG_20200528_080624247_HDR.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8stzElosa7l_lnlA0vTCkU-YFi35snG5S6OKCt3sEoR8xWOwa3AZyMkki8SD-OAllf2qYSPUsvcnUbMQsJ-NMHF0GW_IY6tO4AIN2mUVy6LvMxEPGejOtSnIxUzyT3fUD1OmFGJngv54m/s1600/IMG_20200527_083311976_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8stzElosa7l_lnlA0vTCkU-YFi35snG5S6OKCt3sEoR8xWOwa3AZyMkki8SD-OAllf2qYSPUsvcnUbMQsJ-NMHF0GW_IY6tO4AIN2mUVy6LvMxEPGejOtSnIxUzyT3fUD1OmFGJngv54m/s200/IMG_20200527_083311976_HDR.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr1X9zxG2jWKNFW1XDrCkaGRJEDkutPSGpRhXrkwjuSZtkfHZV-QKsLX4TbdSzd6iLN-QGGIdAlOSaeeGJaidn_Kwros7gE90YRKm5Uo_wTXEM8OgURKiccB4HolLrMM0woPBkOP-isSv/s1600/IMG_20200528_080612712_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr1X9zxG2jWKNFW1XDrCkaGRJEDkutPSGpRhXrkwjuSZtkfHZV-QKsLX4TbdSzd6iLN-QGGIdAlOSaeeGJaidn_Kwros7gE90YRKm5Uo_wTXEM8OgURKiccB4HolLrMM0woPBkOP-isSv/s200/IMG_20200528_080612712_HDR.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
My motivation stemmed from several sources: I kicked it off with David Goggins' <i>Can't Hurt Me</i>, an inspiring story about from the hardest man alive. I re-read<i> Running with the Buffaloes</i>, <i>Once a Runner</i>, and Lance Armstrong's <i>It's Not About the Bike</i>. I watched movies like<i> Remember the Titans</i>, <i>Lone Survivor</i>, as well as some of Armstrong's races. If I choose to suffer, it really helps to remember what others have gone through. I wanted to see if I could do it. Why I don't think the body wants the long ultras anymore, I know it has the potential to do more.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8LeGvJtFGD6pAjOk64NSNYupiXoI4oeJ6pZPFqM8chyZ7rdRaLf8SO5bTk0ci71D8Fl4WeGCpmzhvEUaxIGzn0xyNiAiXwc3QrLeimY_wOO4eH-NhvEy1ppBEggZ75nIgrSQHynL83sZ/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8LeGvJtFGD6pAjOk64NSNYupiXoI4oeJ6pZPFqM8chyZ7rdRaLf8SO5bTk0ci71D8Fl4WeGCpmzhvEUaxIGzn0xyNiAiXwc3QrLeimY_wOO4eH-NhvEy1ppBEggZ75nIgrSQHynL83sZ/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0005.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWt2WEd8s1RkswVTM_jqiI5eVTkTqV6BuuoeN5Ep9na_mdKLVNs3bPithwV5zdPmYbgOmcb2cdBUfxApvTphHYDPITexkmi-5Awufe9RPY0tHxIe1eH0wnEHbo7jDlEcU9YyoiRu_dH3g/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWt2WEd8s1RkswVTM_jqiI5eVTkTqV6BuuoeN5Ep9na_mdKLVNs3bPithwV5zdPmYbgOmcb2cdBUfxApvTphHYDPITexkmi-5Awufe9RPY0tHxIe1eH0wnEHbo7jDlEcU9YyoiRu_dH3g/s200/IMG-20200530-WA0004.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QGpQGOeNA-ojKaqkR_s66MJ9uaen4Qk_wamXDepI4SNu_XAvPv2itAjxIlTuP3vMQ7nPoNAZA3_sA5MHUGUD8J-YOw-Q8XBnZOP5DBpGZWy8DSCHLr0oEDsn3hBjPkaA3dBju2zhxXiX/s1600/IMG-20200530-WA0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QGpQGOeNA-ojKaqkR_s66MJ9uaen4Qk_wamXDepI4SNu_XAvPv2itAjxIlTuP3vMQ7nPoNAZA3_sA5MHUGUD8J-YOw-Q8XBnZOP5DBpGZWy8DSCHLr0oEDsn3hBjPkaA3dBju2zhxXiX/s320/IMG-20200530-WA0003.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once a runner...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Cadillac, MI 49601, USA44.2519526 -85.40116189999999144.1609646 -85.562523399999989 44.342940600000006 -85.2398004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-55395412838212969712020-02-24T01:50:00.001-07:002020-03-05T23:40:52.080-07:00A Marathon Off the Couch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Man on first. 2nd batter of the game is up. A hard hit to left-center. I push off and take 5 hard strides to the ball. It is going to drop. I lay out and make the sliding catch. A cracking sound rips through my body. I know the guy on first could tag up or is caught off the bag from my catch so I throw the ball in, but I can't watch the play because I am unable to get up. After a few moments, I rise and finish the inning. I even bat 8 for 8 that day but can't even run to first base. I fear I have broken my ribs (cue <a href="https://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2019/04/bad-things-happen-in-3s-or-more.html" target="_blank">flashback of my blown ankle 10 months ago</a>).<br />
<br />
An ER visit and several consultations later, I am convinced my ribs are not broken and that I have torn muscles. I cannot run, jump, cough, burp, or sneeze without immense pain. Sleep is negligible as every movement hurts badly. I lose about a week thinking it is skeletal, and then I start on the anti-inflammatory medicine and patches to clear it up.<br />
<br />
I already have had significant interruption to my running. After the ankle healed in June, I got in a bit of jogging over the summer before a very minimal training plan going into <a href="https://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2019/10/a-bridge-too-far-venice-marathon-2019.html" target="_blank">Venice</a>, which hurt due to a lack of prep. Then the bad air set in, and - demoralized - I hit the gym for mostly weak cardio and weights. A trip to New Zealand did nothing to boost mileage, and then I came back and lost 5 days training to t<a href="https://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2020/01/pond-hockey-in-mountains-revistited.html" target="_blank">he hockey tournament in Leh</a>. The first day back from that I was cranking out 1km repeats with the high school boys. On the cool down, I felt the hamstring give a pop. That took me out for a week. Then, just as I was starting to get some real runs in, the softball injury. Am I getting old? Am I unlucky? Is this karma for my life's choices?<br />
<br />
New Delhi Marathon looked out. It sucked because I wanted that to launch me into real spring training. I also wanted it to be my 79th marathon because I have my heart set on a run this summer that I would like to be #80 for personal reasons. Now it looked like both were in jeopardy. I biked indoors for a week, then walked on the treadmill for another. With 6 days to go before the marathon, I walk/jogged a 10 miler on the belts. I backed that up with another day of walk/jogging and managed about 5.7 miles in an hour. My friend, Sarah, was running for a Boston Qualifier. Why not join her? Best case I finish this thing with her, helping her with her goal. Next best I join for a while and limp my way in. Worst case, I drop out, but I have never DNF'ed a marathon and I don't intend to start here.<br />
<br />
This is stupidity. I would never advise a runner who has been hurt twice in two months with no base mileage to do a marathon. But I am not new to this event. And as the title of the blog suggests, the properly planned race gets little airtime. I toed the line with 164 miles in 53 days of 2020, or about 21.8 miles per week. 19 of 53 days I missed, mostly due to injury. The risk of a lasting injury is high given my current training. But I want this. I <u>need</u> this.<br />
<br />
2:55am wake up, one canceled Uber and an hour later we were off. My friend, Sarah, agreed to keep it smart but I could tell right away she was in better shape than she thought. We ran 8:12 for each of the first four miles and I told her we have to back this off or accept the consequences later. She agreed and we managed a bunch of mid 8:teens and low 8:20s for a long way. We hit halfway in 1:49:00 or about 3:39 for a marathon pace. Things got more difficult for her in the 2nd half as they do but there were no issues. At 19.5 miles, she bolted for the bushes and had to take care of business. We rallied back for 2 miles before the issues returned. Self-doubt and struggle crept in at 22 miles but I tried to help her stay focused and keep moving through. She slowed a lot but we were ahead of pace and limiting the damage. At 24 miles, she was off the course again and I could only wait. When it hits, it hits. I knew then we would not break 3:45 as we lost 3 minutes to stops and another 4 to just the slower pace on the road after the stops (the legs flood, the muscles tighten, and it seems too far). But I asked her to put in one mile of hard work and she did, getting back on pace and driving home. She finished and we were at 3:45:24, not sub 3:45 flat but still 5 min to the good of her Boston Qualifying time. Not all races are about place or time - sometimes we run to test other things.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJ4FKaUchx-PFwYNf9dIeHtjvYmJ7y4aJME5PMYv8b4MrfH6W36wMxODNe_ZaEHLOE0EnxfO9M5R1lPPO7B-KXCFdbtVeDD3TARN0rg7Ozl4TcmwJdVyeVR_wJpU7HmYo0LBAf9KPUUSn/s1600/NDMF00117.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="1200" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJ4FKaUchx-PFwYNf9dIeHtjvYmJ7y4aJME5PMYv8b4MrfH6W36wMxODNe_ZaEHLOE0EnxfO9M5R1lPPO7B-KXCFdbtVeDD3TARN0rg7Ozl4TcmwJdVyeVR_wJpU7HmYo0LBAf9KPUUSn/s200/NDMF00117.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 miles in near India Gate in the pre-dawn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbx3s5reveeseSc1WKAtUnEQrvw5Nj_zA2jT9GDV6JPfxlJpwDlDwd-YieIPG1U0-PG8tarHrZlp32n8AlspH6MjRWlxoGOrNl-7AOAKL1R8NJY8inW2Xd-wEHIDbZDhqmAFcq8AOxYxMR/s1600/NDMS01251.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbx3s5reveeseSc1WKAtUnEQrvw5Nj_zA2jT9GDV6JPfxlJpwDlDwd-YieIPG1U0-PG8tarHrZlp32n8AlspH6MjRWlxoGOrNl-7AOAKL1R8NJY8inW2Xd-wEHIDbZDhqmAFcq8AOxYxMR/s200/NDMS01251.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 mile to go</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzoWl4-MZ1-1deeN83TLvkwc1hZDH8CTzgTFQ61ldYxo0XjDowe-5LVgioFo2oJVMilAsFig3iX6_PNqHo56WAVInB-424ZR2VsVTXoUaCjIyxg8xvZ8_74k2-0F5_pmHK3BX059-r_xaB/s1600/NDML01570.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzoWl4-MZ1-1deeN83TLvkwc1hZDH8CTzgTFQ61ldYxo0XjDowe-5LVgioFo2oJVMilAsFig3iX6_PNqHo56WAVInB-424ZR2VsVTXoUaCjIyxg8xvZ8_74k2-0F5_pmHK3BX059-r_xaB/s200/NDML01570.jpeg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keeping form on the track</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibv5586R-As6vd-s7xI48r4LB9xp1K7VRVDsNCQXZffCa9tANOk_t-lejvLRA1z2qcc3_z23n23OW2PYCncT5MF5PBWttt0ltMCxGFKpDPm2AMKM1aALxc-q43ze9rtZz7X2YJXsnPyCZQ/s1600/NDMM00013.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="1200" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibv5586R-As6vd-s7xI48r4LB9xp1K7VRVDsNCQXZffCa9tANOk_t-lejvLRA1z2qcc3_z23n23OW2PYCncT5MF5PBWttt0ltMCxGFKpDPm2AMKM1aALxc-q43ze9rtZz7X2YJXsnPyCZQ/s200/NDMM00013.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost at the line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Pacing this woman reminded me of all the times I have been helped out there on the course. My mind goes to Sarah, my wife, Rod Y., Mike R., Michael T., and Kirsten L who have patiently guided me along the roads, over the hills, and down the trail, often, if not always, at expense to their sleep, time, family, and the cost of travel. We are always alone out there in the sport of running - no one can do it for you. But sometimes it is nice to have someone along for the ride. And I am glad I got to do that for someone today.<br />
<br />
I felt very good despite not running more in a week than I did that day for the past 5 months. I played softball in the afternoon and now my legs are going to pay for that combination. But I got it done, and with some active recovery, I can start to train. March will be interrupted with travel, but April and May are booked for some actual running.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75X36NuXukq-4hT7WmApeM0CzSLqHuTszdnlxh-q8AbDSPKC2m7AS5ZYjfXzLjz6LrTXjgHQNYA6-X4QlDXHc0ggWOyoT43ksW7QNeHq9w-9XbldSg0TfbTKW6S9MdL_KlXWVW8cQ7DAz/s1600/nd+marathon+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQ8btB2YiExCIknA7fGKiPrF_Wo0Kg-ArvLKyzZKITGpM6OOHdQShKVBptu2qtj9bI3KAZ0dmfgtqbc6N7SQX1g55xsVvewRNtLG_QUw3Faol3c5d1bcMKCDhoXbWn46GnAQHzAOIMcwP/s1600/nd+marathon+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQ8btB2YiExCIknA7fGKiPrF_Wo0Kg-ArvLKyzZKITGpM6OOHdQShKVBptu2qtj9bI3KAZ0dmfgtqbc6N7SQX1g55xsVvewRNtLG_QUw3Faol3c5d1bcMKCDhoXbWn46GnAQHzAOIMcwP/s320/nd+marathon+2020.jpg" width="320" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75X36NuXukq-4hT7WmApeM0CzSLqHuTszdnlxh-q8AbDSPKC2m7AS5ZYjfXzLjz6LrTXjgHQNYA6-X4QlDXHc0ggWOyoT43ksW7QNeHq9w-9XbldSg0TfbTKW6S9MdL_KlXWVW8cQ7DAz/s320/nd+marathon+2020.jpg" width="256" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0New Delhi, Delhi, India28.6139391 77.209021228.3907261 76.8862977 28.8371521 77.53174469999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-80662835754409197912020-01-19T05:56:00.000-07:002020-05-31T10:31:39.584-06:00Pond Hockey in the Mountains - Revistited<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBoljToKbHv-raGuHmOqnBxuMQcNp-3ksg7iq-zmgW1qdpUelg4jlyadozMEea8jjlcf2Jk17843Oy7jwszgol8lEivrEOxVZ8vGvLKJzcZDD7B66RUAUIfvCQq9ydEP3g1HVGoPzLvsZ/s1600/morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBoljToKbHv-raGuHmOqnBxuMQcNp-3ksg7iq-zmgW1qdpUelg4jlyadozMEea8jjlcf2Jk17843Oy7jwszgol8lEivrEOxVZ8vGvLKJzcZDD7B66RUAUIfvCQq9ydEP3g1HVGoPzLvsZ/s320/morning.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">-30 C at sunrise in the Himalaya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>At 7am, the sun is only just peeking over the snow-capped mountain ridges. Inside, we are warm, sipping hot chocolate and light garlic soup, the breakfast of champions. Outside, it is nearing -30 degrees Celcius with the windchill, and we are heading out there to play hockey. No roof, no heat, just a frozen lake at over 12,000ft. It's Pond Hockey in the Himalayas. This is Leh, Ladakh, India, and today is the finals of the Indo-Canadian Cup.</i><br />
<br />
One year ago: I join a group from the Canadian High Commission to play ice hockey in the mountains. I tried to play when I first moved to Delhi but no info came my way. The next year I was all over it, yet the Canadian team didn't get a bid. I missed out on playing in the game that set the Guinness World Record for highest altitude outdoor hockey game. Last year, I did get to play. We lost in the semi-finals. I had 6 goals and an assist, the most on my team. You can find that post <a href="https://saltonyourskin.blogspot.com/2019/01/pond-hockey-in-mountains.html" target="_blank">here</a>. It was a fun weekend but this year we wanted to do better.<br />
<br />
<b>Thursday:</b> We flew up to Leh a day earlier than last year to acclimate better. The first 24 hours were spent eating, hydrating and either sleeping or lying down. I watched a bunch of movies and relaxed. Last year we were delayed 3.5 hours on the plane because the smog was so bad. With games starting Saturday morning early, we did not want to risk a delay cutting our time to prepare short. Thankfully, the flight did go out (an hour late) and we got to Leh easily. Right as we walked into the hotel, legendary hockey player <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viacheslav_Fetisov" target="_blank">Slava Fetisov</a> was filming a final interview for his project, The Last Game. We got to meet him, and as a Red Wings fan, this was a real honor.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkJ2-4oRh-dakYPecrg6hHp4r2O0DJ9r8E2Oaniwc3KnvYHPLkI5VaFdT-gDsOmsPusoUsCdysGZ_LW6i9x4dXblp87Fy3UL0kC4QXqyauKAxD2jlnVVxOhoK_jObYgFw2BK24tqKuesq/s1600/slava.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkJ2-4oRh-dakYPecrg6hHp4r2O0DJ9r8E2Oaniwc3KnvYHPLkI5VaFdT-gDsOmsPusoUsCdysGZ_LW6i9x4dXblp87Fy3UL0kC4QXqyauKAxD2jlnVVxOhoK_jObYgFw2BK24tqKuesq/s320/slava.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HOF legend Slava Fetisov</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Friday: </b>There was an opportunity to get out to <a href="https://secmol.org/" target="_blank">an eco-friendly school</a> (no fossil fuels, solar-powered, grown own food) for a visit and have a skate with the children there. We helped them learn better skating and stopping and played a fun game. Since it was light hockey, I only wore my skates and gloves. A kid took a shot and hit me in the shin (which bounced to my other shin). Recovering from that I made a pass, caught my skate in a crack, and fell backwards on my elbow. I decided that was a sign to get off the ice. About 10 min later my elbow felt wet, and I knew instantly it was blood. I'd split it open pretty good and took some very questionable first aid from a lady at the school. Stitches were in my future.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsvd-sSKkCRiBkS8u4dxi2CyNb2WaxKiCE9ZKqa5fEmrUB5d79zGFBO2iGjw_7gWH2YCc6fkXlQMj7XR9jJAf3DNxlHfv1eAYXN7WgwN-bFFu70k44Y1WoC79xu7-erEPwaDaHZB0o0y5/s1600/IMG_20200117_110049188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsvd-sSKkCRiBkS8u4dxi2CyNb2WaxKiCE9ZKqa5fEmrUB5d79zGFBO2iGjw_7gWH2YCc6fkXlQMj7XR9jJAf3DNxlHfv1eAYXN7WgwN-bFFu70k44Y1WoC79xu7-erEPwaDaHZB0o0y5/s200/IMG_20200117_110049188.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">That will need stitches</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Taking a cab to the hospital, I was escorted by a woman from the hotel. We wandered around this building, trying to find a room, but with no signs, it was impossible. By happenstance, we came upon the doctor's office where he removed the hack-wrapping job, cleaned it, and ordered me for stitches. We returned to the lobby to register. I was ordered to pay 5 rupees ($0.07 USD), and I pulled out a 500 (about $8 US). They didn't have change and said to forget it. We hunted for room #40 for a while longer and finally came to the surgical theater. It looked like the move set of "Saw." Fluid stains and bloody bandages littered the floor. Antiseptic cleansers lay open on tables. The bedsheet on the gurney was a canvas tarp like you would use when painting or cover a boat. It, too, was riddled with dark red stains. The man said to jump up on the table and lay down. I stared at the filth, shook my head and said "no way." He looked at me for a moment then down at the bed and back again, trying to make sense of my concern. He seemed to get it and flipped the canvas over, gesturing to hop up. I shrugged, prayed, and sat down, trying to keep as few points of my body in contact with the bed as possible. They washed me down with iodine and, after verifying I was getting a clean needle, they tried to give me a local anesthetic. The woman opened the suture kit and stuck it through my skin. I tensed with pain. The medication had done nothing (it was probably water, or if I am lucky, saline), and proceeded to knot and aggressively tie four stitches in my arm. I winced each time, fighting the pulls of thread and the prick of skin with no numbing agent. A rough night followed as I had a very swollen arm that ached with pain and made me nearly scream out each time I touched it to the bed. I was uncertain I could still play hockey. It bled all night. I guess you get what you pay for (or don't pay for).<br />
<br />
<b>Saturday:</b> Morning came and I had to cut the wrap off. Circulation helped and I slapped on a large bandage and went to breakfast. We dressed in the hotel (since there are no locker rooms at the pond and it is very cold), and boarded the bus. Like last year, we arrived at the pond in town and started to shovel the snow off the ice. It took 1 hour to remove it and a lot of work at this elevation.<br />
<br />
But then <b>game 1</b> was on. We faced off against Randstad Blue, a mix of good skaters and weaker players. Jeff had an early shot that was left lying in front of the net and I came in a banged it home for the first goal of the game. The rest went along nicely except for a semi-breakaway I had which ended in me getting cross-checked in the neck. We won 3-0 so I had the game-winning goal.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixpLrNTQO3G5fq76PovsL0zvu4CFamM1hKIT_BaHuNYEVeZ8OFlFtz1RrYvF_zfwdDXySBKgCcSCwLOMk83LVOzVVtdBBqSU-KHS8sfM1d1pJwD15uciu5tpbPAYi6z9lOwlO-uWMiqLM/s1600/slurpie+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixpLrNTQO3G5fq76PovsL0zvu4CFamM1hKIT_BaHuNYEVeZ8OFlFtz1RrYvF_zfwdDXySBKgCcSCwLOMk83LVOzVVtdBBqSU-KHS8sfM1d1pJwD15uciu5tpbPAYi6z9lOwlO-uWMiqLM/s320/slurpie+line.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slurpie Line (#s 7-7-11)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Game 2:</b> After a half an hour off, we returned to the ice (after sweeping and shoveling of course) to face the Scouts, a military team-based high in the mountains of Ladakh. Their oxygen capacity and physical fitness greatly outmatched ours, and it showed. Red was all over us every second of the game on that small ice surface. Our line never even registered a shot on goal. We would get the puck and three red jerseys were there, chipping and breaking up the play. We were outgunned from the start and suffered a 1-0 loss.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_eigdVHQERHXya8NosUhdLaUWgECwT02aE5iTxz6o2JXx-PN0uSfVSfEMBx2qkx1yt7V_xU0uAy36F-QMz1Ik3ZmnQNEqND6vbwG8yoKAcOK_B1P89JCs9cmtBNbKe-HaY99WmFYhMpwE/s1600/49432835628_7e20109b52_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="799" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_eigdVHQERHXya8NosUhdLaUWgECwT02aE5iTxz6o2JXx-PN0uSfVSfEMBx2qkx1yt7V_xU0uAy36F-QMz1Ik3ZmnQNEqND6vbwG8yoKAcOK_B1P89JCs9cmtBNbKe-HaY99WmFYhMpwE/s200/49432835628_7e20109b52_c.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhausted trying to get something done</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtti5ivR8CFQTOgAXSeBjy0LF0GgU5-jsrpC134b68LK7ABHVqKfBxBOOs8f5zUFC9VXj55JsGU-fr-hSFCkhHwyFoc6iR_2zNTjy96fUhLovD6vqosTxBs9OVEl-aaW5Kn0QGQ4vNop1g/s1600/49433310466_16224cceb0_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="533" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtti5ivR8CFQTOgAXSeBjy0LF0GgU5-jsrpC134b68LK7ABHVqKfBxBOOs8f5zUFC9VXj55JsGU-fr-hSFCkhHwyFoc6iR_2zNTjy96fUhLovD6vqosTxBs9OVEl-aaW5Kn0QGQ4vNop1g/s200/49433310466_16224cceb0_c.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A frustrated Slurpie (7-11) line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2Ip81KwgwYbJDEg7JJ8J6cLTycvlHk_X0NwUP2ZweEM6xOo4PsTdCA2PXe8kbvH25S5DUHjy-gu3iH0-UOGxZ2dnbL3zLnswgBpvLj1MIFHYQUZb-7CgK3iBdEkD6qqLiWnaN8hAslQS/s1600/49433515282_3f1c1b8433_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2Ip81KwgwYbJDEg7JJ8J6cLTycvlHk_X0NwUP2ZweEM6xOo4PsTdCA2PXe8kbvH25S5DUHjy-gu3iH0-UOGxZ2dnbL3zLnswgBpvLj1MIFHYQUZb-7CgK3iBdEkD6qqLiWnaN8hAslQS/s320/49433515282_3f1c1b8433_k.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I deflect a shot between my legs that goes wide of the net, the<br />
closest we come to a shot on goal.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Game 3:</b> We finished the morning playing the Randstad White team who also had a mix of players, though we expected them to be tougher. Their fast defenseman tried to carry the puck out and I went at him, chipped it away and went in. With him hanging on me I was able to beat him to it and slide it far side past the goalie for a 1-0 lead. I later had an assist on Jeff's goal. We won 2-0 and again I had the game-winner plus an assist.<br />
<br />
<b>Charity Game: </b> A bus ride down to a river took us to a charity event. First, we hopped on a pond to play against the Indo-Tibetan Police Team. Exhausted from our games, we expected defeat from these faster guys. Right off the opening face-off I came at a guy just like Game 3 earlier in the day and picked him. I chased the puck to the corner, peeled back, kicked it ahead, and slid it to Jeff for a one-timer. It was about the last good play we had. It is in the video below. We were exhausted. We finished the game and helped pushed disabled athletes on sleds in a charity game. It was fun and felt good but soon the wind and the fatigue of the day caught up and we needed to be done.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxAsRnTNUuoSZ_MjUP8AgAKHbiWfwgS7Ymc0d9tUMZgmt-1ii-Phj1U4INa9mavR8Jv5laoKgFvM_r0pUReMQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKesfo80yBxrMtUDW-AMmV7ttcvjbtF-H52vc6vLzWIBXH_WXfrafhOGcHrT7TBWgT5yqYJagfsKHB63dvw0PcC5oKuW6HasL8U9jK2Wr9zjQUDeKWaDCd3BK6Ob-u639kboOLZ4k8Lx_u/s1600/pee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKesfo80yBxrMtUDW-AMmV7ttcvjbtF-H52vc6vLzWIBXH_WXfrafhOGcHrT7TBWgT5yqYJagfsKHB63dvw0PcC5oKuW6HasL8U9jK2Wr9zjQUDeKWaDCd3BK6Ob-u639kboOLZ4k8Lx_u/s320/pee.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Sunday:</b> We rose early to bitter cold and prepared for the final games. The semis and finals were hosted on the "big rink", a purpose-built venue with seating and boards. As the #2 seed, we had to play #3 which was a rematch with the Randstad Blue team. We had a chance early on when Jeff and I went to the net. He opted not to pass and put a backhander over the net. They played us tight to a scoreless tie at the half. On the first shift of the 2nd half, we struck. Ricky (D) picked off the puck and slides it to his other D-man, Sylvain, who taps it to Jeff. He sends it ahead to me and as I cross the line I pull a drop pass where Mike takes it and fires it home. Nothing like a goal where everyone touches the puck. 1-0. That goal is below.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzedg0CgSrZFgKRa-H7jKsuIbC-SNsvEz2sKIBAB_n99nTjer9yJFfFLSjUSOk_psik0idd45m8oPnaS6e9_A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
A few moments later Scott scores on line 2 and we are up a couple of goals. I missed a one-timer but then we get a break. Jeff wins a face off and Mike sends it down ice; meanwhile, I am racing up the left-wing and break into the zone. It is snowing and sunny but I am able to discern that one of the people breaking to the net is our guy. I hit Ricky, who jumped up from defense on the play, and he slams it home (see below).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxsukhmCX3T4xwrF5zQF58hFWhdkz1F2zqDouPhZr06cbNO0-XwOBDqyvAj9zsj72rqHW5FucMdY9SkbKc3_A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
In the final moments, I pick off their defensemen and might have been in alone but I am tripped and draw a penalty (below). At the horn, I have 2 assists, and we win the semi-final 3-1.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy5JRv97ty8dncFgTSQaFaAv9GNKay4-VAQ9q9d7TK7C77ybQ04g1JziflWpV9ur-XZ-VOX-3sFpXqzy2jRQg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
<b>Finals:</b> We have one last game and it is a rematch of the Scouts who just killed the White team 6-1. They are the home team, trained at altitude and have the fans. But we have big ice. No more of that small pond where they are all over us. No, now we have boards we can use and open ice to pass on. This is the hockey we grew up with. We are ready.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6yklOgRRr-Nkw6bvxZWMIa1UX9raBwbmWrxQu0116alvyTcphTULjMtNYsR_ysQel5KEVMRMvO_TmoZQFEBwxB3UMG6dLKSU95SPISAc4nEfIXNnFckvMj-GaK78xi57HBeLtS-hICXy/s1600/49433521292_b2972a9a7f_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6yklOgRRr-Nkw6bvxZWMIa1UX9raBwbmWrxQu0116alvyTcphTULjMtNYsR_ysQel5KEVMRMvO_TmoZQFEBwxB3UMG6dLKSU95SPISAc4nEfIXNnFckvMj-GaK78xi57HBeLtS-hICXy/s200/49433521292_b2972a9a7f_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Face off with the Slurpie Line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaF69IZD2GBrWk4AzSm2oBzbzyWQl5APniiYRbVYwhfjqlYAcUL06DSzzL9ZPKAc46FNiaPUp6vSVpaudkau0fkMaytcxd88sHdIRHhoURPilwT6uTWg5j7bCWc6v0VBXXzCT_poysXVo/s1600/49432833518_ed80852209_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaF69IZD2GBrWk4AzSm2oBzbzyWQl5APniiYRbVYwhfjqlYAcUL06DSzzL9ZPKAc46FNiaPUp6vSVpaudkau0fkMaytcxd88sHdIRHhoURPilwT6uTWg5j7bCWc6v0VBXXzCT_poysXVo/s200/49432833518_ed80852209_k.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeff and Justin - 7's</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX6YH69-904XVDBKe9tVfagC43p5TPOeU7fPe7q4sHH2-AneDoiOgy9O7JDEJ5rw9KNSlFDy3jJXatfkVEKFZ-xvdQZvLjQ4tyXS_murU2dTTLdWotoZCkxpTZPRaZhy2Ij7gGfGDRJyS0/s1600/49433521542_6d99acb74c_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX6YH69-904XVDBKe9tVfagC43p5TPOeU7fPe7q4sHH2-AneDoiOgy9O7JDEJ5rw9KNSlFDy3jJXatfkVEKFZ-xvdQZvLjQ4tyXS_murU2dTTLdWotoZCkxpTZPRaZhy2Ij7gGfGDRJyS0/s320/49433521542_6d99acb74c_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little through the legs dangle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The pace is fast but it is apparent we have room to work. At about the 5-minute mark, I break for the net and Jeff sees me coming. It is a perfect pass for a one-timer, but I miss. Luckily it hits me in the foot and goes in (see below). We take what we can get. 1-0.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx3HQ9_UdmLImznbr-v1zh2RzK7lUs-5LqYnlT3bMBoksICrrhh5wCOYyJcYVIII-RKY4ohxnX0zf5wY5tnzQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Moments later, our winger on the 2nd line plain outworks their defense and scores a lovely goal. We are up 2-0. We have a solid lead at the half, but our team is worried. I try to give a speech, reminding them that this ice is different and that these guys are more tired than we think. I get laughs but I am serious - they lack the jump. My guys don't look convinced but I know what is happening. The Scouts up the pressure significantly in the 2nd half. They get to the puck first and want it more. However, they just don't seem to get quality chances and their shots come from bad angles or are deflected. I see the puck go to their end at the end of a long shift and I bust ass to get there in time to pull a waster on the goalie. The bench yells as it looks like it goes in, but the refs are far off and can't tell so it is called a no goal. A shift later we ice the puck and the time runs out. 2-0 victory, and my 3rd game-winning goal in 5 games.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Delhi Sacred Bulls - 2020 Indo-Canadian Cup Champions</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiEUK01_2sOFj25cM7l_1BfB_W0-3WSRcLFGJvK6zOA2_LnBYh4p-RdZmWCWjd_B_xFsIX_5rPXo-hnbEC11-u4AKOWrrwXGIiSKNUePe0SenvRVe5RDeD-h2BuIi88U279e3qtLoKFSb/s1600/champs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiEUK01_2sOFj25cM7l_1BfB_W0-3WSRcLFGJvK6zOA2_LnBYh4p-RdZmWCWjd_B_xFsIX_5rPXo-hnbEC11-u4AKOWrrwXGIiSKNUePe0SenvRVe5RDeD-h2BuIi88U279e3qtLoKFSb/s320/champs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Champions</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Leh34.1525864 77.5770534999999234.0474809 77.415691999999922 34.2576919 77.738414999999918tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-69859796863413014802019-10-27T01:13:00.000-06:002019-11-05T03:09:02.436-07:00A Bridge Too Far - Venice Marathon 2019<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
<b>Flashback</b>: 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.<br />
<br />
<b>Flashforward some, but not all the way</b>: 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.<br />
<br />
<b>Jump ahead to last week:</b> 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.<br />
<br />
<b>Jump ahead (or back, wait, where are we now? Oh, right, Venice.):</b> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQ9WzZkrdYhfAqqSaA0XLYCX8cwhinj2He0aBpsMbrGhj5hbkdwP7UPN99e2yxD-DV-DF1sn0mRz3i0vqOqPCGI0zfCwfN_vtjGsmSrafRvDielOYOvq5-2c7tTvAS4ujlf9FtcIVZJP1/s1600/bridge.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQ9WzZkrdYhfAqqSaA0XLYCX8cwhinj2He0aBpsMbrGhj5hbkdwP7UPN99e2yxD-DV-DF1sn0mRz3i0vqOqPCGI0zfCwfN_vtjGsmSrafRvDielOYOvq5-2c7tTvAS4ujlf9FtcIVZJP1/s320/bridge.jpeg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The bridge across the water</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFeJKzqBMHX3VM4HES5a_mOmNdDvyYjRTlATPY30pb15zr7OziTl_Qh5_G0vwOpmspAr59awb9hlH281ZblQy7nzHFVnD-YeAIHAdTIslH5J0Ov-c_ie9RrzhcGl-RBXEe5qiWVNvhMt_/s1600/cobbles.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFeJKzqBMHX3VM4HES5a_mOmNdDvyYjRTlATPY30pb15zr7OziTl_Qh5_G0vwOpmspAr59awb9hlH281ZblQy7nzHFVnD-YeAIHAdTIslH5J0Ov-c_ie9RrzhcGl-RBXEe5qiWVNvhMt_/s320/cobbles.jpeg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Cobbles near the finish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7wnJHpP1JT_jF9_Y6LcH0bs-kxrHLAv9Cc1D-DevOSGbplkKFhti0gaQ_SiFso2ejZMudMMFands5G4hRilMjDLg4m4s8hLeLvbS5-KvWsaMH9n0g0wZ85S0Q8GOKPZ-wjj4SCxQNNg8/s1600/sarah.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7wnJHpP1JT_jF9_Y6LcH0bs-kxrHLAv9Cc1D-DevOSGbplkKFhti0gaQ_SiFso2ejZMudMMFands5G4hRilMjDLg4m4s8hLeLvbS5-KvWsaMH9n0g0wZ85S0Q8GOKPZ-wjj4SCxQNNg8/s320/sarah.jpeg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">a typical alley (not on the route!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkwx9eIEUL5tOMkwlXUYtqu5Halyj1XgQpk6uY14oA73nphbGVmU4CvghCJaqoE7WZ37AWQm49zG6bNDzOR6UaWEpaxuCV-5aaZZRUTbf-O-9wMQrrpp9dJo6OV1IL223ezTqhoeCYFgI/s1600/venice.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkwx9eIEUL5tOMkwlXUYtqu5Halyj1XgQpk6uY14oA73nphbGVmU4CvghCJaqoE7WZ37AWQm49zG6bNDzOR6UaWEpaxuCV-5aaZZRUTbf-O-9wMQrrpp9dJo6OV1IL223ezTqhoeCYFgI/s320/venice.jpeg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">on the temp bridge a few K from the finish.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />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. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFzoIg9bnxTwCO8i6IxBNzD9DvJw25GVEbe6tJm3UPwb4Gip6TQ5DmYuQs1mRXp18LJOpLCCb_TaonZjWmwuxZs0HdMsoL7eTstgjzhXzXS9hxd80L5jf_ZQoDbtJB0M6aAAOd78FwnZy/s1600/marathon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="777" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFzoIg9bnxTwCO8i6IxBNzD9DvJw25GVEbe6tJm3UPwb4Gip6TQ5DmYuQs1mRXp18LJOpLCCb_TaonZjWmwuxZs0HdMsoL7eTstgjzhXzXS9hxd80L5jf_ZQoDbtJB0M6aAAOd78FwnZy/s320/marathon.jpeg" width="155" /></a><br />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!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInmszFCuWyRzWO2yMZUfWbaxpawBwGAlxZkLWI70VufOhmFLPMa1eiJGX_BQwfFz49WmWfuiVVt88ajhSqMxXH5bwDrGwEx2DbkVQ7kX2A99mJFI909nK_x9Nfg7XsHtm0Q8lbdUCHNTS/s1600/post+run.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInmszFCuWyRzWO2yMZUfWbaxpawBwGAlxZkLWI70VufOhmFLPMa1eiJGX_BQwfFz49WmWfuiVVt88ajhSqMxXH5bwDrGwEx2DbkVQ7kX2A99mJFI909nK_x9Nfg7XsHtm0Q8lbdUCHNTS/s320/post+run.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
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. </div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Venice, Metropolitan City of Venice, Italy45.4408474 12.31551509999997145.0840994 11.67006809999997 45.797595400000006 12.960962099999971tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-76560503188787020452019-06-17T08:31:00.000-06:002019-07-02T09:10:18.069-06:00365 Days of Dedication<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What can you do for a year straight?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Inspired by my father, I took on a challenge this year as well. Flashback 18 months ago:<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br /><br />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. </div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Mecosta County, MI, USA43.6201025 -85.35496499999999343.2523885 -86.000412 43.9878165 -84.709517999999989tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-52138508830252154242019-04-18T22:55:00.000-06:002020-02-16T20:58:16.458-07:00Bad Things Happen in 3's (Or More)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8jk-YTvGldfM9d4dqwAUl2Tq1gvS-DBQlPjpAp3o2gwwpO07R8VwanEkRRUIROTAz4U8Lf06fDEWLDE1BdtV8LhlvT0b8duZlwDJ6rcbNbM_-nSaTaPCQ8g9tjiPaVWlSj1UGsql0pWV/s1600/IMG_20190401_192713749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8jk-YTvGldfM9d4dqwAUl2Tq1gvS-DBQlPjpAp3o2gwwpO07R8VwanEkRRUIROTAz4U8Lf06fDEWLDE1BdtV8LhlvT0b8duZlwDJ6rcbNbM_-nSaTaPCQ8g9tjiPaVWlSj1UGsql0pWV/s320/IMG_20190401_192713749.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This doesn't look good</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JNJJ1F-kn_SAIewPsOHB-dXz5oA7lj_QYphWTC9ItMuy5ljv3-FoU5zKysqFzHC-vDtwoQW9JWdE8i6a0NT48dFQSGntjXA794GsX5Ybb9ZLUptJb5JkqOvAxtddM3V8ArAqTLLotyVU/s1600/IMG_20190401_200541702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JNJJ1F-kn_SAIewPsOHB-dXz5oA7lj_QYphWTC9ItMuy5ljv3-FoU5zKysqFzHC-vDtwoQW9JWdE8i6a0NT48dFQSGntjXA794GsX5Ybb9ZLUptJb5JkqOvAxtddM3V8ArAqTLLotyVU/s320/IMG_20190401_200541702.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx91VssrNajER165Ig2q3zuBDc80TdQtDpx37BLtK-UYvGcAp-P7wh8J-9oYb_TqamRt5WrfnVK-YAUAOlD7RgFBZEkbkZG-uRzceMuRxZ83jd5kb2guDtqiYTQM013WxlYgyLttucvy8D/s1600/IMG_20190408_171727673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx91VssrNajER165Ig2q3zuBDc80TdQtDpx37BLtK-UYvGcAp-P7wh8J-9oYb_TqamRt5WrfnVK-YAUAOlD7RgFBZEkbkZG-uRzceMuRxZ83jd5kb2guDtqiYTQM013WxlYgyLttucvy8D/s320/IMG_20190408_171727673.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half cast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b>Diagnosis</b>: Full thickness tear of the anterior talo fibular and calcaneo-fibular ligaments. Contusion on medial malleolus and medial aspect of the talar dome.<br />
<b>Translation</b>: Two of the three ligaments that hold my ankle together are ripped and there is a sizeable bruise on the bone of my foot.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Uwrc7N3Q1lviYDdbmb7vyHTYVqoLC8_10K1JwMwzPMROtg6cIyDdcnUIFh3aAB2dBXImoUxjF-4RJXUXB79SwBG-w73xd_zDO8M2RArzxYonmgaAnekDPf9sO8ll9amvlSu3OBogx-n7/s1600/IMG_20190408_171724299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Uwrc7N3Q1lviYDdbmb7vyHTYVqoLC8_10K1JwMwzPMROtg6cIyDdcnUIFh3aAB2dBXImoUxjF-4RJXUXB79SwBG-w73xd_zDO8M2RArzxYonmgaAnekDPf9sO8ll9amvlSu3OBogx-n7/s320/IMG_20190408_171724299.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broken toe and bruising on top part of foot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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. </div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8Bx_eXIC2rJlym7RiBT937B4x9PTel04fsSOyE3MuWxDOIH3mWnxdiFOj7Bg239CVgqJH8Ovd0NPL_-2jCVWEzu0fZnbhswOC6ibDI73jkvaYasg6y0fkyajcjCWemWEZOs7ESfK2YDV/s1600/IMG_20190409_102557318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8Bx_eXIC2rJlym7RiBT937B4x9PTel04fsSOyE3MuWxDOIH3mWnxdiFOj7Bg239CVgqJH8Ovd0NPL_-2jCVWEzu0fZnbhswOC6ibDI73jkvaYasg6y0fkyajcjCWemWEZOs7ESfK2YDV/s320/IMG_20190409_102557318.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside, non-torn side still bruised a week later</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQl0s316PqOlmEoYTyvP0yl7hUYIE2nXayiyOEXGJDiTExTI3QUd-a8MVHy6ZiLGyj7y_NeBZq-fFi3m023z1kAqkDeuPr8ytd1y21zRcOAZE86A9d8OWrVQ-5s__2LU_GB0VVznPyOWl/s1600/IMG_20190409_175759505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQl0s316PqOlmEoYTyvP0yl7hUYIE2nXayiyOEXGJDiTExTI3QUd-a8MVHy6ZiLGyj7y_NeBZq-fFi3m023z1kAqkDeuPr8ytd1y21zRcOAZE86A9d8OWrVQ-5s__2LU_GB0VVznPyOWl/s320/IMG_20190409_175759505.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruising on torn side - 1 week later</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWlEMESnGi0lhiADc-vXbPJw9lmuBGgPdr8peO2KjtKtpMuxNgV9FnFMSGsLCiusqGAof5Z1UF-Q8_Y18HlUh35kc6GyJZES4YksJpnFJbhS3bvc0roOkTK_c9at1DKa6ShAlSG7sxwG-/s1600/IMG_20190409_175813886.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWlEMESnGi0lhiADc-vXbPJw9lmuBGgPdr8peO2KjtKtpMuxNgV9FnFMSGsLCiusqGAof5Z1UF-Q8_Y18HlUh35kc6GyJZES4YksJpnFJbhS3bvc0roOkTK_c9at1DKa6ShAlSG7sxwG-/s320/IMG_20190409_175813886.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkql9GihhBN-EMjAFogKKjcS8JhLiudMFjCzjYt5evA-XSMj1JrySzQNo-f09hipxF4S_2awjZbDAGj_2b7NagUTXpTQnHtYlOlYdIznhDkTjOo53iOgCT30b2cRYrU2sti7AA8QrEaSM/s1600/IMG_20190410_111828758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkql9GihhBN-EMjAFogKKjcS8JhLiudMFjCzjYt5evA-XSMj1JrySzQNo-f09hipxF4S_2awjZbDAGj_2b7NagUTXpTQnHtYlOlYdIznhDkTjOo53iOgCT30b2cRYrU2sti7AA8QrEaSM/s320/IMG_20190410_111828758.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swelling on inside ankle - 10 days post injury</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcvjeJXpxXwSDO8uqmJ8xxRU5OBfj37nic0Uh5IPRRzeqD7JXMXqPUINeqrs9SP5BQsmeXt3Fj9YZ0Phm5ueftV8k87c4GdJw5-X3CcDn1NgsawZhLWCm4K2857_NtxMHplMLBJn4FvP9/s1600/IMG_20190410_111844766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcvjeJXpxXwSDO8uqmJ8xxRU5OBfj37nic0Uh5IPRRzeqD7JXMXqPUINeqrs9SP5BQsmeXt3Fj9YZ0Phm5ueftV8k87c4GdJw5-X3CcDn1NgsawZhLWCm4K2857_NtxMHplMLBJn4FvP9/s320/IMG_20190410_111844766.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swollen, gross elephant foot (lines from the Ace bandage wrap in skin) - 10 days post injury</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. </div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0New Delhi, Delhi, India28.6139391 77.20902120000005228.3907261 76.886297700000057 28.8371521 77.531744700000047tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-26476071365823960652019-01-21T04:48:00.000-07:002020-05-31T10:18:39.365-06:00Pond Hockey in the Mountains<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2dGiJB7EbMjNFcI_9spnELhyygZi-WNYF0uO77z1ImDMCylJqpdKvgh5Fd49ikcsiaD9EaAPCz-uwd0tJGHidHJWQI4AhS_nGyu6x-zj9BoWNkIS0LftdboWGVnZalpg7df7BOqzzzS6/s1600/IMG_20190118_072616238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2dGiJB7EbMjNFcI_9spnELhyygZi-WNYF0uO77z1ImDMCylJqpdKvgh5Fd49ikcsiaD9EaAPCz-uwd0tJGHidHJWQI4AhS_nGyu6x-zj9BoWNkIS0LftdboWGVnZalpg7df7BOqzzzS6/s320/IMG_20190118_072616238.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the plane next to us on the runway? No? It's less than 100ft away...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHnuHHTSLl25QFHiJUC2TX0I-TuKCYJU1P4YbkKafT6N-qaF_yIhFGNZl9g6W2Z3fgyF3bIyqAm3lVeYnceiCV-TeWn7ZmEYWmCozJwMhYvKnfbLOXydFEQp3rHVS2PNS_7D1Q038CJQW/s1600/IMG_20190118_102814101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHnuHHTSLl25QFHiJUC2TX0I-TuKCYJU1P4YbkKafT6N-qaF_yIhFGNZl9g6W2Z3fgyF3bIyqAm3lVeYnceiCV-TeWn7ZmEYWmCozJwMhYvKnfbLOXydFEQp3rHVS2PNS_7D1Q038CJQW/s320/IMG_20190118_102814101.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDiOv3JU1mOmqGldRUpe83NdpzYyWlIizZy4FWFyFK5BaVAR8jHWy78MlmWgpc825aWwuYqaVYo11dj8HkMUAa3ucM556UzSYhbXf2ZGTX6mh7eTeEDb5QIlScXhce3q2qyAi9ZsCkS_Y/s1600/IMG_20190118_102334825_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDiOv3JU1mOmqGldRUpe83NdpzYyWlIizZy4FWFyFK5BaVAR8jHWy78MlmWgpc825aWwuYqaVYo11dj8HkMUAa3ucM556UzSYhbXf2ZGTX6mh7eTeEDb5QIlScXhce3q2qyAi9ZsCkS_Y/s320/IMG_20190118_102334825_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsETktn_iHT0QnhWa87z4-4vSXMivl3rrlxy9-OvRjcumCJ03ho_GiRI0AhWZ63ofrNyOHfXIPXogqiLD3Mbk4lr8g3_gxb1wCpjkuiAkz4nj9RlauByYjHNA1pzz9xb5B-ACZL2zx-8vC/s1600/IMG_20190118_100859144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsETktn_iHT0QnhWa87z4-4vSXMivl3rrlxy9-OvRjcumCJ03ho_GiRI0AhWZ63ofrNyOHfXIPXogqiLD3Mbk4lr8g3_gxb1wCpjkuiAkz4nj9RlauByYjHNA1pzz9xb5B-ACZL2zx-8vC/s320/IMG_20190118_100859144.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVlDTPGuoYda23UpkxJXE3s3Fdwy8KIYXWaplBttYZyGy1X-RRnnmMxCvfasWrBCOBuhC6b1jxkDEV-AsNDqmGeuqatpMeOeRanEVJEV7DtlWa4R1I-h0tX3fIl6EFZH1AQfRiCoE5sP9/s1600/IMG_20190118_102946582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVlDTPGuoYda23UpkxJXE3s3Fdwy8KIYXWaplBttYZyGy1X-RRnnmMxCvfasWrBCOBuhC6b1jxkDEV-AsNDqmGeuqatpMeOeRanEVJEV7DtlWa4R1I-h0tX3fIl6EFZH1AQfRiCoE5sP9/s320/IMG_20190118_102946582.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZ1tkb-Jac4QtgZ82D_PCOlPt3ySCZfAebOx5vFagVIxiank2XLeFJkEFBoDK3fg67DvECXD2oNYGLmYxXPkboQFy9pYwBLYmRGiziGyc6WJznZNrqCy2OZksgwhvq01gGwJXvq8kdwED/s1600/IMG_20190118_101232338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZ1tkb-Jac4QtgZ82D_PCOlPt3ySCZfAebOx5vFagVIxiank2XLeFJkEFBoDK3fg67DvECXD2oNYGLmYxXPkboQFy9pYwBLYmRGiziGyc6WJznZNrqCy2OZksgwhvq01gGwJXvq8kdwED/s320/IMG_20190118_101232338.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPGtQBepSjtwSvZp0L2PtF6tMNLR0luDTzty2CYim1X0Q-wuDu8kcgIfi1Io_GkXzuyu3yIAna2wxaYFNBYmLeytp0cWkohTY50phMv9hRnzM7KY5rMUgP7iVTCJj0iwGfEj1y-igITr9/s320/IMG-20190119-WA0000.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dubai and Delhi riding to the rink</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPGtQBepSjtwSvZp0L2PtF6tMNLR0luDTzty2CYim1X0Q-wuDu8kcgIfi1Io_GkXzuyu3yIAna2wxaYFNBYmLeytp0cWkohTY50phMv9hRnzM7KY5rMUgP7iVTCJj0iwGfEj1y-igITr9/s1600/IMG-20190119-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPGtQBepSjtwSvZp0L2PtF6tMNLR0luDTzty2CYim1X0Q-wuDu8kcgIfi1Io_GkXzuyu3yIAna2wxaYFNBYmLeytp0cWkohTY50phMv9hRnzM7KY5rMUgP7iVTCJj0iwGfEj1y-igITr9/s1600/IMG-20190119-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZieTeCnUnUFfNLT_ypWeDROUz-jitVFSZwQfCQwafKF-ROha5evEs7QE2pvbTDek4Ow08RWqK5_gChgpCshgmm-Mg4I5pcHMcK3RrBlXQfHs2WaC6f3O5Go55tN9NXbtsBUuhGlyjW0I/s1600/IMG-20190119-WA0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZieTeCnUnUFfNLT_ypWeDROUz-jitVFSZwQfCQwafKF-ROha5evEs7QE2pvbTDek4Ow08RWqK5_gChgpCshgmm-Mg4I5pcHMcK3RrBlXQfHs2WaC6f3O5Go55tN9NXbtsBUuhGlyjW0I/s320/IMG-20190119-WA0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overnight snow on the rink - it took more than an hour to clear the ice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNkIM-TzYKf4PNzvUAlbzdmoQaikzd9TkRoRuTsOWSkMYAxgjFgT0Kr298GhIhpMJs2ynGjIwbuKn2EgFJ38c7XKszcScMa1KDuJINFMWGidlyrRwkXVZre8ZQZT2b_QHhLkuxrdtQjQmc/s1600/IMG_20190119_085048239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNkIM-TzYKf4PNzvUAlbzdmoQaikzd9TkRoRuTsOWSkMYAxgjFgT0Kr298GhIhpMJs2ynGjIwbuKn2EgFJ38c7XKszcScMa1KDuJINFMWGidlyrRwkXVZre8ZQZT2b_QHhLkuxrdtQjQmc/s320/IMG_20190119_085048239.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AES Teachers - Michael, Kristin, and Justin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEhlITgPwU74GUYzhXmZC2jiEYgn8Hniq3I6sobLl_Yvsj-AwM9gbKGdvTq9bKQvTZ3Cd6ZgwRKYdDRvlNAvD8zwxKW2OcnqyVQfwNnR8kJqOxfzi4yOfhnBgZezw7M3mE1h1iflUiQBR/s1600/IMG_20190120_092144520_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEhlITgPwU74GUYzhXmZC2jiEYgn8Hniq3I6sobLl_Yvsj-AwM9gbKGdvTq9bKQvTZ3Cd6ZgwRKYdDRvlNAvD8zwxKW2OcnqyVQfwNnR8kJqOxfzi4yOfhnBgZezw7M3mE1h1iflUiQBR/s320/IMG_20190120_092144520_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">AES Teachers - Michael, Kristin, and Justin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8jjaeK1ZY8j69E97pRXfiwE_tFvLpdV6HrrYVEoOc_ob9kSAKFKMkczs8PZ_AwSlgttK0pPsXsP-s2jK0kK7-BilvX-E2vbnfs039F_4OyXOtFosI8TumiEH9IM7mYPxKWeyxn0v2GzB/s1600/IMG-20190119-WA0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1003" data-original-width="1280" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8jjaeK1ZY8j69E97pRXfiwE_tFvLpdV6HrrYVEoOc_ob9kSAKFKMkczs8PZ_AwSlgttK0pPsXsP-s2jK0kK7-BilvX-E2vbnfs039F_4OyXOtFosI8TumiEH9IM7mYPxKWeyxn0v2GzB/s320/IMG-20190119-WA0012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I pull up on the boards against the India select team.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_haFSmm3-BMo5RJTqO_J71RYpOyir5fZfrXv7qtLo4a3HE_yZVZXKHO-sCC7ecaSJAjmZejrfSKz0d-XiSX3bCRm1bpJVwbXoHG1oWl74CDa5AbuR4ZG8jJaKRtJ8DKHwDXE75yaAngl/s1600/IMG-20190119-WA0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="1280" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_haFSmm3-BMo5RJTqO_J71RYpOyir5fZfrXv7qtLo4a3HE_yZVZXKHO-sCC7ecaSJAjmZejrfSKz0d-XiSX3bCRm1bpJVwbXoHG1oWl74CDa5AbuR4ZG8jJaKRtJ8DKHwDXE75yaAngl/s320/IMG-20190119-WA0014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our forward gets lose and scores against the India select team with under a minute to go to give us the win.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM424fl_dTZRKbmn0c87Ofh2DFtQ2B3TMTYakVw0XCp3uMTvXQCkM8F_XanHW7zFN9gWnXDOFzoWK8LRxBLnISZXRKHSAUPRuqEDnd1BttT5u-tJQbpijO8tInAYlEkshyphenhyphen1hfhhr1nt1FB/s1600/IMG-20190121-WA0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM424fl_dTZRKbmn0c87Ofh2DFtQ2B3TMTYakVw0XCp3uMTvXQCkM8F_XanHW7zFN9gWnXDOFzoWK8LRxBLnISZXRKHSAUPRuqEDnd1BttT5u-tJQbpijO8tInAYlEkshyphenhyphen1hfhhr1nt1FB/s320/IMG-20190121-WA0010.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Supporting the efforts of charities at the Ability Cup</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxPEO9oH3yYWF0zrcr1TL7n4a1Bc84uXXagWPfR93dkFyj0zVHDkE1vnHOoDW_E3bOfCxpae92i2bJiV29FqA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7q_HV9TPD8f_e5bdwwQWFqsOJA4sQ5ggHCDRZC05u0KVsYX8hmmb490SaNfUK-TWmJt1AileaOetkPLSzL6oLvEv25c3bwhG-3QqKziriwchbXN6SH5jqLObJiHXVIxGhBwI6mZhiwBQq/s1600/IMG-20190120-WA0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1280" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7q_HV9TPD8f_e5bdwwQWFqsOJA4sQ5ggHCDRZC05u0KVsYX8hmmb490SaNfUK-TWmJt1AileaOetkPLSzL6oLvEv25c3bwhG-3QqKziriwchbXN6SH5jqLObJiHXVIxGhBwI6mZhiwBQq/s320/IMG-20190120-WA0002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I scored this goal by going through 3 guys and roofing it while the D pulled me down</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
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. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRoEf89DI39IQJr5CxrpY5yU1igM-zrQIXIoisA5KipWoNPRPwk6jp0GM5BAX5zlE7Nko2Xns8eFVTpYu4WMKN_ciJstm074OVXKkJLV4T3GeyMn7Db2fq77_Zs3hK6gE99nkYDLl6GY_/s1600/IMG_20190120_114535731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="1600" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRoEf89DI39IQJr5CxrpY5yU1igM-zrQIXIoisA5KipWoNPRPwk6jp0GM5BAX5zlE7Nko2Xns8eFVTpYu4WMKN_ciJstm074OVXKkJLV4T3GeyMn7Db2fq77_Zs3hK6gE99nkYDLl6GY_/s320/IMG_20190120_114535731.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leh hockey rink </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2Y5Ul4-enX6nTum_bb0x_4OZffQguqvHdjHoInAEjHSloGyC1QdWg3DFKTB1x0y8OjJTyiQq5pXd6tYbLAD9EaqxuYHC6Pi7MA38VrwkeSRFpXuYJtnozypR3PnvZndJGA2cnJx5UPjq/s1600/IMG_20190120_114907556_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2Y5Ul4-enX6nTum_bb0x_4OZffQguqvHdjHoInAEjHSloGyC1QdWg3DFKTB1x0y8OjJTyiQq5pXd6tYbLAD9EaqxuYHC6Pi7MA38VrwkeSRFpXuYJtnozypR3PnvZndJGA2cnJx5UPjq/s320/IMG_20190120_114907556_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the finals from the rooftop above the rink</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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. </div>
<div>
<br />
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. </div>
</div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Leh34.1525864 77.5770534999999234.0474809 77.415691999999922 34.2576919 77.738414999999918tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-83591217579853590732018-11-11T15:55:00.000-07:002018-11-20T03:56:01.777-07:00Athens - The Original Marathon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In 490 BC, Persians landed at the Marathon plain with the intention of attacking through to Athens. Heavily outnumbered, the Athenians waged battle and against all odds, emerged victorious. As the legend has it, a messenger named Pheidippides was dispatched to cover the roughly 25 miles that lie between Marathon and Athens. He covered the distance on foot, and arriving at the Acropolis, announced "Nenikikamen" (Rejoice, we conquer) and dropped dead. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Of course, this legend is riddled with skepticism as I have long known as a runner and have further confirmed after a visit to Greece. It is almost certain that Pheidippides did exist - he was a hemerodromos: a military member trained to run long distances and deliver messages. It was, after all, the 5th century BC. Every indication was that another runner delivered the news of victory in Marathon. Whether he dropped dead or not is unknown, but it adds a certain flare to the story now, doesn't it? In the meantime, we should not discount Pheidippides who is said to have run from Marathon to Athens to Sparta in an effort to rally the Spartans to come to the aid of the Athenians. When it was clear that they would not reach Marathon in time, Pheidippides turned and ran back to inform the Athenians (a round trip of 300 miles in about 4 days) who lead the charge. It is in his honor of this journey that the Spartathlon was created. Read Dean's account of it <a href="https://www.runnersworld.com/runners-stories/a20836761/the-real-pheidippides-story/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Either way, this folktale is why we, today, run the marathon and why I am sitting on the cold track of the Marathon town stadium, a short bus ride from Athens, Greece. We will (roughly) retrace the route run by the messengers to Athens. The course itself is unimpressive; it runs between two iconic stadiums but every bit of it is just a paved suburban highway. Historic sites are off the path and the hilltops and valleys could be many places. But it is the novelty we seek: paying homage to the original route that started this madness. For me, it will be my 75th open (non-ultra, non-Ironman) full marathon. It is a loose milestone, not like 50 or 100, but the 75th has a bit of a draw. </div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOtp_CxCILRpra53htEW7sEyGg7u_JAWvSG3XyO9TH42SPqsQ4wGCtFo-3pVrHruziyYzJt3n0-Lxf9xtuPI1I4CRAJwt3CLb_hNpk9nAHTRW3PkAdjH7_s5Ppa876P3sPr6jr0fYx8Ce/s1600/IMG-20181111-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1152" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOtp_CxCILRpra53htEW7sEyGg7u_JAWvSG3XyO9TH42SPqsQ4wGCtFo-3pVrHruziyYzJt3n0-Lxf9xtuPI1I4CRAJwt3CLb_hNpk9nAHTRW3PkAdjH7_s5Ppa876P3sPr6jr0fYx8Ce/s320/IMG-20181111-WA0000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to Marathon for the marathon with the Ropers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9mr6K2aqbMFvhJeM24fOjlZPKq4PzZefK0PCi2Oqo6neIRFD3PP4g_dYrVDnm-hZtNgV2Goy676OwLtQXAJHCEVlu2k2pCrvt6yjt96RmzD6h3BYTyA5nLjvOIE9boNJjzvV6x7N6ywC/s1600/IMG-20181111-WA0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9mr6K2aqbMFvhJeM24fOjlZPKq4PzZefK0PCi2Oqo6neIRFD3PP4g_dYrVDnm-hZtNgV2Goy676OwLtQXAJHCEVlu2k2pCrvt6yjt96RmzD6h3BYTyA5nLjvOIE9boNJjzvV6x7N6ywC/s320/IMG-20181111-WA0001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon Stadium - pre-race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We almost didn't make it here. Our plan was to do some white-water rafting and trekking in Nepal. All plans were made, but in September, I felt the marathon calling again, and decided to make a trip of it. Never have I planned such an endeavor so close to the date. Our travels took us first to Athens and immediately up to the ancient site of Delphi. Feta cheese, pork souvlaki, tzatziki, and wine fueled our travels. We then flew to beautiful Santorini for more indulgence. Seafood, wine tasting, horse riding, and hot tubs occupied our time. Back to Athens for a tour of the Acropolis. Running was rough: short jaunts with huge climbs and descents. We walked everywhere, adding many miles to the legs. But this trip was more about the run. It was about seeing an amazing country that should be on most anyone's bucket list.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ra7d-6m5wxozH_RYpj8ueXNU4-66Kogb3laAVpbDPAJdoOAwNp_a6P1d8GwArm_S8eSeDjhEmNFJn6SrrnWABNcDzKls_q1Z4KzTWFzf8x9gYntxoZCwxsaMod6ElUjd0N2PzS5zTGMF/s1600/IMG_20181106_101256195_HDR-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ra7d-6m5wxozH_RYpj8ueXNU4-66Kogb3laAVpbDPAJdoOAwNp_a6P1d8GwArm_S8eSeDjhEmNFJn6SrrnWABNcDzKls_q1Z4KzTWFzf8x9gYntxoZCwxsaMod6ElUjd0N2PzS5zTGMF/s200/IMG_20181106_101256195_HDR-EFFECTS.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLLGIMKFU6R2hp_e1rPvefeQTLtgdKM7XFPtX20tyf0u18dzNgNAp-7DGRepA5zqKW4cUGchp9ND1kSoRSB5ioDvaV5Z12cT2RyF-iNIui8HgvWo3X8FjGAsnvjs4CqRkBEBQFjbOltRw/s1600/IMG_20181106_153010145-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLLGIMKFU6R2hp_e1rPvefeQTLtgdKM7XFPtX20tyf0u18dzNgNAp-7DGRepA5zqKW4cUGchp9ND1kSoRSB5ioDvaV5Z12cT2RyF-iNIui8HgvWo3X8FjGAsnvjs4CqRkBEBQFjbOltRw/s200/IMG_20181106_153010145-EFFECTS.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our lodging</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-aBWY_Hf4yM5kPYirSzMSnudogwd215ZRQp4PDeD-TdomwlS0gFS6dWOTeT-uVTwlB_1mgEqDRK5H1uinTh2VfX1IBaat-gOLlJ9mH-NbD26j-XmMdIB_hNLD8b-f6v7pPfFIoNxg6s3v/s1600/IMG_20181106_170203106_HDR-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-aBWY_Hf4yM5kPYirSzMSnudogwd215ZRQp4PDeD-TdomwlS0gFS6dWOTeT-uVTwlB_1mgEqDRK5H1uinTh2VfX1IBaat-gOLlJ9mH-NbD26j-XmMdIB_hNLD8b-f6v7pPfFIoNxg6s3v/s200/IMG_20181106_170203106_HDR-EFFECTS.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on Santorini</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XK7p_Wklor5azMdtm6t3vSVbSkHihU3Zbn6pl45MKcVo39Okxcwmuyn2JYsSm0TsfY8ojdp2XYAEpT56Ju9jVlwbOoqFJy8giJ4CvB7ZlRcR8YXZ2jjue5qjNYJehwGy_iWW4_bKqmlP/s1600/IMG_20181107_104419217_HDR-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XK7p_Wklor5azMdtm6t3vSVbSkHihU3Zbn6pl45MKcVo39Okxcwmuyn2JYsSm0TsfY8ojdp2XYAEpT56Ju9jVlwbOoqFJy8giJ4CvB7ZlRcR8YXZ2jjue5qjNYJehwGy_iWW4_bKqmlP/s200/IMG_20181107_104419217_HDR-EFFECTS.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santorini</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
The sun slowly warms runners in Marathon though the air is chilly. A stiff tailwind promises a benefit on the course but causes problems during the 1.5 hour wait for the gun. Despite the rigorous seeding process, unwelcomed people still make it into my corral - the front one after the professionals and invited runners. We make our way down the road, but I have to jump on to the cobblestone sidewalk to get around people, dodging metal barriers along the way. We make a slight detour at 4km to loop the graves of the Athenians site (which I doubt is the route the ancient messengers took) before plowing on. Most of the first 12km is downhill and I got out pretty fast. Originally, there was no plan for this race. My recovery from the R2R2R kept me slow. I figured a 3:30 or so. But then I did a half marathon in 1:28 flat and felt like I had some potential back. I only did one 20 miler this fall, and even that was earlier than I would have liked. But overall, I was running more miles per week than I was last winter, so I felt better going into this run, minus the week of travel and gluttony. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Having committed to a faster pace in the early miles, I stuck with it. The net decline of the first 10km was met with some very difficult uphill. From 7-20 miles, I only remember going uphill. Despite the trend, I tried to keep a similar pace, but the consistency was difficult over the varied terrain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://theblogbyjavier.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for route profile athens marathon" border="0" src="https://theblogbyjavier.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/profile.png" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We passed through the area ravaged by forest fires earlier this year. It was well lined with supporters and I could taste the charred wood in the air. It was sad that such a landscape was destroyed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The climbing continued until about 32km where it was, literally, all downhill from there. I paid for my early pace, the net downhill start, and the difficult climbs. My knee began hurting and I just grew tired. However, after running 75 of these things I have a point where experience takes over from training, and I began getting consistent again. While I can't say I felt good, I kept it together. The last 10km of the run were constantly downhill, so much so at times that it hurt. I grew very tired of the run but was determined to finish in a similar pace as I set out. We dropped down the final hill as crowds lined the street. The final stretch angles into the Panathenaic Stadium, site of the original (modern) Olympics. I crossed in a little over 3:13 which is the 2nd fastest I have run in 5 years (but a solid 16 minutes from my best, set just 5 years ago).<br />
<br />I would love to blame the post race beers, dash to the airport, two long flights and a layover for my sore legs, but they hurt pretty damn bad right from the finish. Perhaps it was the training, the lack of training on hills, the week of walking around a lot, or maybe just the early pace. It doesn't matter. One thing remains true, whether it's your first or 75th, when it is done, it is done, and it cannot be taken away from you.<br /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaElA5vaBGmyhuHKGUfLVvVWRJHUg1kRVfZQ384hGUAmbmNlsWpJj3oC8KPl_93bV9AhTYABRaX0JnVxAeh-EdMWAW7FuwG2wUr6BMj63OIPU8Noul8xmEXoNZAIi-hUhZ9sAU6bx926_/s1600/IMG_20181111_123059473_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaElA5vaBGmyhuHKGUfLVvVWRJHUg1kRVfZQ384hGUAmbmNlsWpJj3oC8KPl_93bV9AhTYABRaX0JnVxAeh-EdMWAW7FuwG2wUr6BMj63OIPU8Noul8xmEXoNZAIi-hUhZ9sAU6bx926_/s320/IMG_20181111_123059473_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very tired at the finish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbTTkVbenVyXnFdbKPAUnGAy58KazPwESw4YcCxCCwN9jiS1iXGKjYhIFQuLvXmqcxw5goUMXcUTvQVdKItaHNGscEa1Y9IN3bqO6wL3hSksvwyO-6j3cPvaHonusFyBZWklaLuPRkTO0/s1600/IMG_20181111_125451486_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbTTkVbenVyXnFdbKPAUnGAy58KazPwESw4YcCxCCwN9jiS1iXGKjYhIFQuLvXmqcxw5goUMXcUTvQVdKItaHNGscEa1Y9IN3bqO6wL3hSksvwyO-6j3cPvaHonusFyBZWklaLuPRkTO0/s320/IMG_20181111_125451486_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurel wreath, sparkling wine, 75</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2yulnObNANe401g0Uxq1yHsBkkRIay6IAix1-Y1VIsOoXRgkibV-WQ0akxIOC1Qd-W86462YIE4mI8tgSLoNQ39rtlysqoc1rV6r9dtUyy4HAwC6pvXKB4ThItN-MaFe0lRR6p5rsucc/s1600/IMG_20181105_135158210_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2yulnObNANe401g0Uxq1yHsBkkRIay6IAix1-Y1VIsOoXRgkibV-WQ0akxIOC1Qd-W86462YIE4mI8tgSLoNQ39rtlysqoc1rV6r9dtUyy4HAwC6pvXKB4ThItN-MaFe0lRR6p5rsucc/s320/IMG_20181105_135158210_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temple of Poseidon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTtGuJEVFyjbtcbX8HGtFAGwrn2QnwFbGA0FWVLfXMTd4kglS4GaM0I2rOKLF43vdG6BVnoBHj5VGqVOBQUgOx0Q9ajhXysMTR5Hq0zq98u-zkWTzqrClb4quCX9wNcArR97Zqjh4EOsf/s1600/IMG_20181109_075245487_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTtGuJEVFyjbtcbX8HGtFAGwrn2QnwFbGA0FWVLfXMTd4kglS4GaM0I2rOKLF43vdG6BVnoBHj5VGqVOBQUgOx0Q9ajhXysMTR5Hq0zq98u-zkWTzqrClb4quCX9wNcArR97Zqjh4EOsf/s320/IMG_20181109_075245487_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temple of Zeus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHK6V2gIIHt0Ya2bT-oc-sxrR2jeZpaXf6XXHKNyk6OPVU6rxbv7AhUy6JwcBIhquxi7j0IfyWBCiIpLU-B_Nc8me_0Z_GtA7WVCfl8PAaMyy2pxaJ_DZcx8HJ3Xy3lT3Lu-HtJUkbJEX5/s1600/IMG_20181109_101901746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHK6V2gIIHt0Ya2bT-oc-sxrR2jeZpaXf6XXHKNyk6OPVU6rxbv7AhUy6JwcBIhquxi7j0IfyWBCiIpLU-B_Nc8me_0Z_GtA7WVCfl8PAaMyy2pxaJ_DZcx8HJ3Xy3lT3Lu-HtJUkbJEX5/s320/IMG_20181109_101901746.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parthenon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Athens, Greece37.9838096 23.72753880000004837.8836966 23.566177300000046 38.0839226 23.888900300000049tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-17647243784073578872018-10-21T08:47:00.000-06:002020-05-31T10:09:50.023-06:00Running Angry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is India. I was supposed to play in a nationally televised, promotional ice hockey game Saturday night against the Indian Police. Hours before game time it was called off. Never mind that I rearranged my entire weekend to make this happen. Oh well, shit happens in India. At least I got to watch MSU play that night...except that after nearly two hours of broken internet viewing, weather delays had ensured that I had a choice to make: watch the whole game and end up with about an hour to rest, or go to bed around 11pm and rise at 3:45am for a half marathon....I hit the sack.<br />
<br />
Two weeks ago I finished work and headed out for an evening run, angry with things. I just needed to get out and run and with no plan, I headed toward Lodhi Garden. My first mile was fine, but the next a big drop. Then again. By halfway I was humming along, running harder until the pain went away, and then a new pain came, different this time, but it beat the feeling from before. So I pushed. I dropped every one of those 6.3 miles faster than the last, and still had room to go. Then a funny thing happened: I started running faster on all of my subsequent runs without having to try harder. It was suddenly easier to run a faster pace on a normal run. This is the point in the season where a runner has a "rust buster" - the run that moves him from that stagnant pace of training into the realm of control. At a month out from Greece, I now knew I would be ready.<br />
<br />
Pollution headache aside, I felt fine (considering the hour) heading to the race on a slightly warm Sunday morning. We wandered through the throngs of humanity and I tried to poop in the bushes but the result was minimal and disappointing. As we jostled to hold our position in the corral, more people bumped passed but the race went off right on time. Unfortunately, narrow roads and too many ignorant people meant the first mile was a disaster. I weaved and bobbed through, passing people walking at 1km and those destined for a 3 hour half marathon. It had a few choice words for these folks. Soon the crowd thinned and I settled into a pace. My friends were off ahead, both of them eyeing 1:28-1:30. I had not been running fast and with a softball game just a few hours off, and a marathon in a few weeks, I decided not to push. But the miles came quickly and easily as I passed person after person and soon I was locked in.<br />
<br />
Delhi, like many parts of the world, is strange for running - or by that definition, maybe it is on par. I saw shoeless people, those that started too fast, and those that went by in sub-6 min miles at the 8 mile mark (must have been asleep for the start). I passed a man who was belting out "huh-huh" on 5 second intervals. He was wearing headphones but that didn't stop me from saying, "You know you are making that noise out loud, right?" He either ignored my chirp or was too distracted from his <i>50 Shades of Grey</i> audio book to notice. Must have been the good part by the way he was huffing. I moved ahead, but soon ran into a woman steadily moaning as she rolled past 4 miles. I thought, damn, she must be a firecracker in the sack, but then thought, no, she expends too much energy on the run...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEgaC0SyujEM-SVNReIae0wfStG3pr3pGhM3huXhnl9lV0tuBAceCeP3GapUaiDiCRjMDx_9mBtugIlA7YMPHTFSSUFdAzFDF-e5svFxmVHpOY5Hz8BZeB30iQ14TJHWqKa5q1HVTNz3H/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-10-23+at+4.41.30+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEgaC0SyujEM-SVNReIae0wfStG3pr3pGhM3huXhnl9lV0tuBAceCeP3GapUaiDiCRjMDx_9mBtugIlA7YMPHTFSSUFdAzFDF-e5svFxmVHpOY5Hz8BZeB30iQ14TJHWqKa5q1HVTNz3H/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-10-23+at+4.41.30+PM.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldlRDONfyozHKj4stZVEkeTzEhO5Hlq961hZGHs3f4XWuxs6Xxd9FzcmRycjfnsB5DXA8oDMi4_5UExa1j-1EC2brATIqJeJqG05TV1iBrJ_bdKLQUzp97b7qQCdGtr9GUJGAahhV3pt5/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-10-23+at+4.41.13+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldlRDONfyozHKj4stZVEkeTzEhO5Hlq961hZGHs3f4XWuxs6Xxd9FzcmRycjfnsB5DXA8oDMi4_5UExa1j-1EC2brATIqJeJqG05TV1iBrJ_bdKLQUzp97b7qQCdGtr9GUJGAahhV3pt5/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-10-23+at+4.41.13+PM.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Luckily, I didn't encounter any running/sexually confused participants again. I did roll by some aid stations sponsored by Nature's Valley but instead of delicious granola bars, they had pork rinds. I passed. With about 6k to go I caught and passed my buddy Michael who runs steady but tends to go out faster than I. I rounded India Gate and headed back, content not to push the pace, never feeling like I was really getting after it. I crossed in 1:28:01 which is just on 6:40/mile. I had run about 10 of the 13 miles faster than all but any two miles during training this fall (see earlier paragraph on angry running). I have done no speed work in the past 7 months and still ran a decent time. Sure, it's about 10 min off my best but any day you can show up and lay it down way outside of your training pace is a winner. In fact, it must be one of the fastest half's I have run in many years since I haven't been racing much the last 5 years and we used to do these things as post-marathon recovery runs or as part of long runs in Joburg. But it's not always about the time...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxm7cB-Dgh9lgoQ6tsx1BSYcHAQ0Kde4hXZGSm_FNiBIoQnjC5YtiBbqiO_chQDOd9lr1PrmN0qsLJRu9T7RfG69-IuEc2hyphenhyphenizPu9j_bPS-dPo1cczeOs-FJtp71VmHKv1JCRe9pUo4Xa/s1600/Screenshot_20181021-080239.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxm7cB-Dgh9lgoQ6tsx1BSYcHAQ0Kde4hXZGSm_FNiBIoQnjC5YtiBbqiO_chQDOd9lr1PrmN0qsLJRu9T7RfG69-IuEc2hyphenhyphenizPu9j_bPS-dPo1cczeOs-FJtp71VmHKv1JCRe9pUo4Xa/s400/Screenshot_20181021-080239.png" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The negative splits and consistency speak to experience</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I regretted not waiting for Michael and the amazing Mercedes that would have been my ride home had I not hustled out of there and grabbed a tuk tuk. Sweat drying, I started to get chilly in the morning air - air that was no doubt slowly killing me, which I tried to ignore as my driver, who tried to rip me off on the price before I lost it on him, drove up the wrong way of a highway off ramp and nearly killed me. Home and a shower. I absolutely hammered two breakfasts at ACSA before going 5-for-6 at bat in our 9:30am softball game (we won 18-10). Of course, I indulged in the post-game beers to cap it off, before heading home to watch the replay of the MSU game. There was foul language hurled at the television in the loss. I hate Michigan! However, despite the loss, all in all, not a bad day. I should run angry more often. </div>
</div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0New Delhi, Delhi, India28.6139391 77.20902120000005228.3907261 76.886297700000057 28.8371521 77.531744700000047tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-17378778687863898562018-07-03T09:56:00.001-06:002018-07-03T15:16:46.988-06:00Mountains - Part 1: Elbrus (Russia)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This post is the first in a two-part series where I recap climbs from the past that was never posted. The first installment is going back exactly 3 years ago to 2015 where I ventured alone to Russia to scale Mt. Elbrus, the highest peak in Europe, and one of the Seven Summits. They are posted in the present so they do not get buried under previous posts. </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwlqU7fPvW74X5X-kd8JjR-BnfrDg3ZKbwIY-sXbhfP-X-YFiZZ8zIXXH_E0aVkgLMfA9S7j5zqfSDYdqdKaw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
June 27, 2015<br />
This rich, prep-school kid next to me with his Rolex Submariner is nice enough, but he wont shut up about vacation homes, collecting cars, and the string of hotels his daddy owns back in Mother Russia. Luckily, I am on the nicest flight of my life from London to Moscow - Business-class seats that are wide and recline, and I sleep the whole way there, a nice rest after toting the kids around London for the past week. My reward is 12 days alone in an attempt to tick off my 2nd of the 7 Summits: Mt. Elbrus in Russia.<br />
<br />
The bliss is over when I touch down and have to make my way across the city from one airport to another. On my puddle jumper from Moscow to Mineralnye Vody, all of the announcements are in Russian. A mighty cheer goes up upon landing and I think, I have heard this on risky landings but on a nice day? Perhaps a safe landing is not a foregone expectation of purchasing a flight ticket in Russia, or maybe the landing gear was broken, how am I supposed to know?<br />
<br />
I load into a van with a group (unsure if they are climbing partners as I cannot understand them) and travel 3 hours north to Elbrus region. The drive is flat save a few mining piles. I arrive and thankfully find a single room waiting for me (the rest have doubles) as no one else speaks English. They try to engage me, the obvious foreigner, in a bit of chit chat but it soon dies out and they return to themselves, which suits me just fine. I prefer to be left alone and focus on my goal. I do need to walk across the street to rent some gear as my down jacket is in the USA and my crampons and trekking poles are not up for the task anymore. Returning I try to call home but it won't connect and the power is out. My shower will have to wait.<br />
<br />
The next day we took a chairlift up to 2500m for an acclimatization hike. It was immediately clear many people had never done this. One guy asked, "What are crampons?" and I had to show another how to use trekking poles. We went up very slowly and stopping too often for too long. The weather went from fair to poor with rain and sleet. We finally crested Mt. Cheget at 3400m. Down in town, though I only needed two items, I had to wait while almost ever other member of the group was fully outfitted for gear. I should have been done in a few minutes but instead watched the entire movie "Brave" in Russian before my turn. Only one other member of our group is experienced, and the lone female member looks fit, but I am concerned about this squad as the mountain sees 15-30 deaths a year due to the quick changes in the weather. Our weather has been poor and we have yet to see the sky.<br />
<br />
Vladimir, our guide, takes us up the mountain to practice ice techniques. No one but I has used an axe before, but we don't do crampons because he says it will be too hard for them to learn both at once...We rode a chairlift up today that was 60 years old. If I hadn't seen a scrap pile of old chairs, I would have sworn we were riding the originals.<br />
<br />
On the 27th we headed up Elbrus for the first time. The chairlifts take us from 2350m to 3400m just like that. When then hiked up snow nearly 3 hours to 3900m as slow as possible and then worked on technique. It was a good refresher. My reward was purple chucks for dinner....beets. After that was beetroot soup. If there is a worse food out there, I don't want to encounter it. I managed to get through it by mixing them all together and adding tons of salt, pepper, and butter.<br />
<br />
July 1: We are up the mountain for good. Chairlifts and a snow cat get us to our huts at 3900m. We have wifi and toilets! We had heard horror stories of the huts on Elbrus but ours were plush with its own dinning room. We left at 11:15am to head up to the famed Pastukhov Rocks at 4600m, got into crampons, and then climbed 200m more to the top of the ridge. It took 4 hours round trip and most of it was in a cloud with swirling winds. Others struggled but I ran down the final few hundred meters feeling good. Then I felt horrible. I had a splitting headache, my stomach was off, and I stepped out to puke. I didn't have enough water for the altitude and paid dearly for my aggressive descent. Some meds from the guide sorted me out. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPgSqHzqdZ0V2Ofeo214iC7bxNM-S0uDkElrrZ1NBylNWMtYcRnFY3zJhNOB3xnPkNxTdulgk2AHQgUrdke6_7rksR5ZRBDotzjmQfQD5_7CPXcxkB2dkpgajU7qm8pJ-SPXiJX-9OlQv/s1600/DSC_1862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPgSqHzqdZ0V2Ofeo214iC7bxNM-S0uDkElrrZ1NBylNWMtYcRnFY3zJhNOB3xnPkNxTdulgk2AHQgUrdke6_7rksR5ZRBDotzjmQfQD5_7CPXcxkB2dkpgajU7qm8pJ-SPXiJX-9OlQv/s200/DSC_1862.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our home on the mountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiALgskkLm4fotvv_hSuhUInCz_R4uyv2Bll6zKbHuFt_cQIw9dxomjaMW2HArm_ywpS-qreE5owgGK8aCSFTLBKqiK6u1KBq1MwgIHEcPGuZzk0nxQHBJHVMSj_jNntZDm16dsoFEwUr6b/s1600/IMG_0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiALgskkLm4fotvv_hSuhUInCz_R4uyv2Bll6zKbHuFt_cQIw9dxomjaMW2HArm_ywpS-qreE5owgGK8aCSFTLBKqiK6u1KBq1MwgIHEcPGuZzk0nxQHBJHVMSj_jNntZDm16dsoFEwUr6b/s200/IMG_0011.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from my bunk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />July 2: Climbed up just 200m today and sat for a while on the memorial rock, watching the mountain. Then our group got into the snow and built a snow woman, boobs and all. I guess a bunch of Russian men are longing for more women out here. I sit at dinner and watch as people take the communal bowl of sour cream and eat from it with their spoon, or individually eat the veggies out of a bowl of salad. I get translated to me about 25% of what the guide instructs, and about 1-2% of what is said at dinner but I manage to be ok. It is lonely on the hikes with no one to just banter with.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3dxfxnet-wqFCIRjUeNPQ2LoZcooSqKz_rSDaTyDalnkUaRkc6vSFkby8rc3ZSB7L9aa_3h4KvNsYRQ5x7PQcvxMwYMsoALyF4dPC0tEU3zRGhujxj8Zvk6cdbNCyYtXi6mZDgb4FwA_/s1600/20150702_100911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3dxfxnet-wqFCIRjUeNPQ2LoZcooSqKz_rSDaTyDalnkUaRkc6vSFkby8rc3ZSB7L9aa_3h4KvNsYRQ5x7PQcvxMwYMsoALyF4dPC0tEU3zRGhujxj8Zvk6cdbNCyYtXi6mZDgb4FwA_/s200/20150702_100911.jpg" width="112" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Do you want to build a snowman?<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
July 3: Midnight. Summit day. After little sleep, I rise and get ready in the vestibule, trying not to wake the others. I shovel a quick breakfast because, as the Russians say, "No porridge, no summit." By 1am I am in full gear, including crampons, and take a 10 min snowmobile ride (that costs me $100) to the top of the Rocks at about 4800m opting for a long climb than my team. I feel this is criminal but it is the way of the mountain. Most of the lower slopes are as wide as a football field and during the day, climbing with snowmobiles and snowcats plowing by is like finishing in a canoe with jet skis all around. I begin hiking with a new guide who says nothing during our hour and a half together. We stop only once for a break but otherwise we inch up, step-by-step, the steep face. I feel terrible and once at the top of the ridge, we sit in the snow, freezing, until the rest of our party is brought up to 5000m by snowcat. They arrive but mill around, and I am eager to leave.<br />
<br />
We plod in a line up the ridge of the East summit, mostly in a cloud but occasionally a break in the sky showed glimpses of the impending sunrise before stealing it away again. Eating and drinking is near impossible as the slope is about 45 degrees and the blowing wind threatens to pull us off and freeze our extremities in minutes. We are not roped (nor would I want to be to these people). Eventually, in the light, we dropped down into the saddle between the summits. The wind was so strong we had to hunch down to speak to each other, like the army under the blades of a helicopter. We dropped one trekking pole in exchange for our ice axes and faced the West summit. The climb was unbearable. The wind would yank someone off the mountain so we threw ourselves forward, buried the axe, hunkered down, and took a few steps when it abated, only to repeat frequently. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz6At6Hf7-dCP2X3uYnhc62k_DORHLFWEcqa3guqsgGGTYjitORd3R7SWeGqNEDXxFr4Lv1mpcFR9fWL1dRVg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />At this point several of our party decided to turn back. We almost lost another when his hat blew off and he tried to run after it across the slope. He tripped in the snow and on his crampons and started to skid down the mountain before he slowed and the guide dove on him. After pushing on in the hurricane, we hit a fixed rope and clipped in. Halfway across the traverse of the face the guide pulls his head from the radio and yells "Turn around!" What?!?! The winds are punishing on the top and the final ridge is unclimbable. I beg him to proceed to the turn and just wait and see and we do. We are at 5555m and the summit lies at 5642, just 87 vertical meters above us, over a few rocks, all fixed rope. But it is clear we have no choice. We must turn after 6 hours of effort to get here. The summit is 20 minutes of climbing (on a good day) away, but today is not that day.<br />
<br />
Instantly we are in trouble. The wind, which has been awful the whole time, now is raging in our face. I am wearing glacier glasses but can't see anything as specks of ice blast me in the face. Thankfully the guide swaps me for his ski goggles and that part improves. The wind has turned the snow into balls so it is like walking on Dipping Dots. The footprints in front are blasted away instantly so footing is difficult and the going is slow. What should have been a relatively quick jaunt down is hindered by exhaustion, bad weather, and the fact that we have been climbing for hours and have no summit to show for it. During some of the more technical portions there are a few slips and lucky catches. Once on the main slope I would walk until collapsing in the snow, wait for others, and plod on, over and over. I crash into camp with 15cm of snot hanging from my nose and I am too tired to change out of my wet socks and pants.<br />
<br />
A day of hydration, rest, and refueling still leaves me smashed and I know that there is no chance of a repeat attempt, and no one here wants one. The next day we pack out and return down the mountain. My day gets weirder from there. We males head to a Russian mineral spring. During the 2 mile walk, we follow a garbage-lined path in the woods to a market where Gypsie woman are selling goods. I am told to sip water from a pump spewing water out of the ground. I do so reluctantly. In the banya, we strip and enter a sauna that is between 80-100 degrees Celsius. I can only do about 5 min in there before stepping out. My choices are to jump into a small pool or go to the shower. I choose pool and instantly bolt out of it. It was ice cold. Back in the sauna and I come out to the shower, pull a cord, and a bucket of ice water falls on me. We repeat this charade. Back in the sauna I meet Sasha, a man who makes me lie down, bare ass in the air. He takes a branch of leaves from a bucket of water and starts smacking me with the branch up and down my body. When I don't think I can take the heat and pain any more, he tells me to flip over. No Way! I eventually do, balls to the sky, and he beats me again. Thoroughly sore and somewhat embarrassed, I leave, into the ice pool, and onto the bench for hot tea again. They ask me (I assume), "How was it?" and I tell them they are all crazy and sit down with welt marks in the shape of oak leaves on my back. I decline a repeat round of the torture, convinced it is a prank on the American. I then turn down a chance to do it to someone else and learn I got to go first as I was the guest.<br />
<br />
Team votes to go out for dinner. I did not, as it meant spending more money and having no one to talk to but majority rules. I enjoy a few beers, lamb, veal, and even tried liver (of what animal I cannot say). I get my t-shirt and certificate and walk home. I awake about to burst. Convinced I ate too much I try to sleep. Nope. I vomit in the toilet and spend the next 4 hours doing so every 30 minutes. It stopped at 530 and by 7am I was showered - weak legged and bubbly stomach. No breakfast for me. I said goodbye to the team and tipped Vladimir 4000 Rubles and left in a van, solo. The driver seemed to think it was a challenge to double the speed limits and take lots of chances on the curvy mountain road going down the valley. Dehydrated, nauseous, and with no air con, I was in pain for all 3 hours of the drive. I spent 3 more sitting on the floor or standing in line in the hot, noisy little airport before my 2.5 hour flight to Moscow. From there I had 2 hours transferring by train and wandered with this big pack to my hotel where I ate crepes, my first meal in over a day. I slept 11 hours.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8voV6ihoGLM7mapxSIizLWsLothpKEaqTDTkqYZC4SRZWLWNhN1GjPV1BCbzl0fltXRgvOJH3T3CmnOa3zdrVaua3LDqFjBjeRFNAah01Lal-sBgIk2cD3vJ59Zjummkb5x8S65LtmYo/s1600/20150709_092857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8voV6ihoGLM7mapxSIizLWsLothpKEaqTDTkqYZC4SRZWLWNhN1GjPV1BCbzl0fltXRgvOJH3T3CmnOa3zdrVaua3LDqFjBjeRFNAah01Lal-sBgIk2cD3vJ59Zjummkb5x8S65LtmYo/s200/20150709_092857.jpg" width="112" /></a></div>
<br />
My trip capped off with a self-guided tour of Red Square. I wanted to see Lenin but it is closed on Tuesdays, the only day I was there. Figuring out the subway was an ordeal as the stops are all in Russian characters and don't go in order on the signs. It is difficult to be a stranger in a strange land.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLHyUAZtjmpLwzm4msMH_RvBuEtlOb1xY3J40IuW5v86e6NzESP79qkEAcEw2i4sk3UG996WdfE5129TGYteLew3irFt0LNwXZ3h1ziD2HHKNDHG9UwGnmY81T5p5SqyuxeyUGf65ghOen/s1600/20150628_044848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLHyUAZtjmpLwzm4msMH_RvBuEtlOb1xY3J40IuW5v86e6NzESP79qkEAcEw2i4sk3UG996WdfE5129TGYteLew3irFt0LNwXZ3h1ziD2HHKNDHG9UwGnmY81T5p5SqyuxeyUGf65ghOen/s200/20150628_044848.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A subway sign</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL601n1PtJrkluo8M6O2Mcbg669hYVeHtI-Eu-WPKhLp0bLPxWwLG21R-6IPJUuCpKnsYqaKu5JUrpz_2C-XoyN1_t4_4UWG1nhmj0X6u_SHgfAb4kvquIGa9C5hnzN5yXosUOzM5BSXX2/s1600/20150707_063226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL601n1PtJrkluo8M6O2Mcbg669hYVeHtI-Eu-WPKhLp0bLPxWwLG21R-6IPJUuCpKnsYqaKu5JUrpz_2C-XoyN1_t4_4UWG1nhmj0X6u_SHgfAb4kvquIGa9C5hnzN5yXosUOzM5BSXX2/s200/20150707_063226.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Subway decor in Moscow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg397vd6hqFHMHKlWuNiyV1Q5dmwnJM6ZpaQ7hi3MYlJqLvF54IOBrhZU24WubEaI1Dpz7OtXNOYb-MxFo8hxwnj2-2Lw6HN1NQ_ld98OEddXejnxSUldi65WGXj6kYKWyqCo_kGYau2CRd/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg397vd6hqFHMHKlWuNiyV1Q5dmwnJM6ZpaQ7hi3MYlJqLvF54IOBrhZU24WubEaI1Dpz7OtXNOYb-MxFo8hxwnj2-2Lw6HN1NQ_ld98OEddXejnxSUldi65WGXj6kYKWyqCo_kGYau2CRd/s200/IMG_0032.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Square</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXJ15w4POOE52MeUEvTgCCKtQlNXSaZCPWm46N0U0L1_poJEMGEJEiocgWaMTNUfsZV8rXpDrPqLhou-BTAc67ph6Bmk2MWP-yXmUF0KuQwByjCBFS2GC0QKL9kHDGoZ51vUHvdt80ZcL/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXJ15w4POOE52MeUEvTgCCKtQlNXSaZCPWm46N0U0L1_poJEMGEJEiocgWaMTNUfsZV8rXpDrPqLhou-BTAc67ph6Bmk2MWP-yXmUF0KuQwByjCBFS2GC0QKL9kHDGoZ51vUHvdt80ZcL/s200/IMG_0035.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Square</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb0b1oQO0LMETN9J3KXDL1Hz5zpCcZ3yO-SOuwkNhME68YtV34_N9J29KcVLZ1hxH7Mjcy7KT49tey7ErDbQuNDZ6eDEt5E5xsfrE3riZFBpnPCaSZWMb6DGBf5we2nLa3lhYB2Nno1yV/s1600/IMG_0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb0b1oQO0LMETN9J3KXDL1Hz5zpCcZ3yO-SOuwkNhME68YtV34_N9J29KcVLZ1hxH7Mjcy7KT49tey7ErDbQuNDZ6eDEt5E5xsfrE3riZFBpnPCaSZWMb6DGBf5we2nLa3lhYB2Nno1yV/s200/IMG_0039.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kremlin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLPy8DGmB7puT3a-hxkv43jq6NNZSOUYE2q1QwgPA29l96mv2TVal6rDMuCm8a4QXtKtg1w3h5fQ4Yz4Xc1NXOG5wjYXCKRwlQdYMBqChCr4jO9FaSNV4gwB-hPacqgt7SNL4hLYj08r5/s1600/IMG_0031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLPy8DGmB7puT3a-hxkv43jq6NNZSOUYE2q1QwgPA29l96mv2TVal6rDMuCm8a4QXtKtg1w3h5fQ4Yz4Xc1NXOG5wjYXCKRwlQdYMBqChCr4jO9FaSNV4gwB-hPacqgt7SNL4hLYj08r5/s200/IMG_0031.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lenin's Tomb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am disappointed to not have made the summit and know I can climb these peaks. However, I survived an exciting , solo trip to Russia and have the story to tell so I am eager to do more.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Mt Elbrus, Kabardino-Balkaria, Russia, 36161643.3499382 42.44533009999997819.941287199999998 1.1367360999999789 66.758589199999989 83.753924099999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-20292474842741010462018-07-03T08:22:00.003-06:002023-12-02T10:00:29.378-07:00Mountains - Part 2: Illimani (Bolivia)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This post is the second in a two-part series where I recap climbs from the past that were never posted. This installment is going back 1 year ago to 2017 when I ventured alone to Bolivia to scale Mt. Illimani and Sajama, the two highest peaks in Bolivia. They are posted in the present so they do not get buried under previous posts. Much of the language comes from my journal at the moment.</i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
June, 2017<br />
This trip started in the worst way possible. We didn't get the house we made an offer on. Then I dropped my phone, cracking it. We drove to the airport and got stuck in 1.5 hours of traffic, only to find my flight delayed, then delayed again so that I would miss my connection. I flew to Miami on a later flight and missed departing to Bolivia by 15 minutes. I was put up in a terrible airport hotel for 24 hours until the next plane left. Little did I know that check-out was at 11am, so by the time I got there and laid down, I had to leave and park my butt in the airport for most of the day.<br />
<br />
Upon arriving in La Paz, I made my way to my hotel, albeit a day later than planned. Thankfully, they amended the reservation and didn't charge me for it, which was nice, and warranted since the room didn't have hot water, an English-speaking television channel, or decent wifi, but they did have an ok breakfast. The elevation of La Paz is around 3,500m, which meant I had to arrive several days before my climb to acclimate. On my second day, I wandered the streets up to the highest ridge around town, and scrambled over crags, nearly falling to my death on the rocky outcroppings before heading back down, avoiding hordes of stray dogs.<br />
<br />
The next day I walked about 3 miles to the minibus station and figured out how to get on the right bus that took me to La Cumbre, a high point about 15 miles from the city. The elevation there is 4,400m so it was a good chance to acclimate some more. The bus was crammed with people, babies, and supplies, we headed up, stopping for food for most just outside the city. 30 min later we arrived and I was dropped at the side of the road with odd stares. I hiked up for about 5 min but the wind was hammering and the temps far colder than I anticipated so I basically sat huddled for an hour before deciding to go back down. I had a hard time hitching a ride back but a guy finally stopped and took me to town, for a fee, of course.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyiM-t-a_IKHHxYDMCi9BDHWtUbkKUbcL3Y4yGeExCdcVm-bIaQa2RiWxkC_Lb0StArLTfddnwTkzWfrXs3qAHIZoXRnFrjv2IARUQJ7mtfO3dvR-gHSu-NFIDIDM7eNaZuhMDRPzGWaS/s1600/Illimani+2017.mp4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyiM-t-a_IKHHxYDMCi9BDHWtUbkKUbcL3Y4yGeExCdcVm-bIaQa2RiWxkC_Lb0StArLTfddnwTkzWfrXs3qAHIZoXRnFrjv2IARUQJ7mtfO3dvR-gHSu-NFIDIDM7eNaZuhMDRPzGWaS/s320/Illimani+2017.mp4" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I walked 5k back to town and stopped in Wild Rover, this "Irish" hostel where I was to stay the days after my climb. It was gross: a bunch of 20-somethings all drinking and trying to hook up. At 1:20pm. On a Monday. They had no rooms for earlier than my date but I stayed for lunch anyway, getting through a BBQ burger and a salad as I hadn't had vegetables in three days. Tomorrow, we go up.<br />
<br />
June 27<br />
With the anticipation finally over, I packed up my gear and met my guide. We threw my bags into the car and piled in with a driver and headed out of tow. Long, winding roads took us up and out, some of them dirt, some of them paved, all of them with dangerous curves that every driver felt entitled to hug as tight as possible. I remain entirely convinced the greater danger in climbing mountains is the trip there and back. It took several hours, all of it with Illimani in the distance, to reach the massif itself. Luckily, there was new road put in due to some filming and research in the area. Otherwise, the climb would have taken an extra day and a hike of about 4 hours from the road.<br />
<br />
Instead, we pushed on, crossing not-so-small streams and weaving through some hefty rocks. We bottomed out many times, scraping the car all over the so-called road. But eventually we made it up to the fast plain that is base camp, just at the foot of the mountain peak itself. There is not a prettier sight in the country, I am sure.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLz4wGCjFgV03UmmWBYCGblwjre3hM7-htYiatGSQMcASZnsNkrzcF-IVVgaj7z0YhJmtwmG1iaBx8tdaIjxQYDGgBn4u6kmoaT0aaOHjtDHmpbi0kvAzcaQ17mA2e3fmkYkHICy51hyphenhyphen_9/s1600/G0020287.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLz4wGCjFgV03UmmWBYCGblwjre3hM7-htYiatGSQMcASZnsNkrzcF-IVVgaj7z0YhJmtwmG1iaBx8tdaIjxQYDGgBn4u6kmoaT0aaOHjtDHmpbi0kvAzcaQ17mA2e3fmkYkHICy51hyphenhyphen_9/s320/G0020287.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Base Camp 4,400m</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our driver dropped our gear and took off down the mountain with a promise to return several days later. After unpacking the loot and setting up the tent, there really wasn't much to do but drink tea and stare at the mountain. I took a wander down the road and headed up a valley lined by rock walls. There were llamas everywhere and waterfalls coming off the mountain. I went up for quite a while, scaling some rock walls and hiking far, hoping to push acclimatization.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ytw8PhbsGQ-evZHZwYHAkgsGTOyr78ZwpK4SA7rRwEru17QuPS7XEXsqGyeAEF16qvg4frILq60MxfTH1cr67hpg12IBrR_Kyhw2cPJJQ0krAW5hwYszINesFyiugDMD6wYsmKgotp37/s1600/G0030289.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ytw8PhbsGQ-evZHZwYHAkgsGTOyr78ZwpK4SA7rRwEru17QuPS7XEXsqGyeAEF16qvg4frILq60MxfTH1cr67hpg12IBrR_Kyhw2cPJJQ0krAW5hwYszINesFyiugDMD6wYsmKgotp37/s320/G0030289.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of base camp from higher up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xNVeXst-GxTIkl4AP3ZghA3BFZY_NRE7F9ZibEVSRDbM2ePKn5BJepecB1aOdLy3-jFG2QHDpfz9N0gzP35DZKg9BlHREQ6jn9QDl_AwfeiQLaAQ33OQAUs-jUSyIqFQWuexUwmos8eN/s1600/G0040291.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xNVeXst-GxTIkl4AP3ZghA3BFZY_NRE7F9ZibEVSRDbM2ePKn5BJepecB1aOdLy3-jFG2QHDpfz9N0gzP35DZKg9BlHREQ6jn9QDl_AwfeiQLaAQ33OQAUs-jUSyIqFQWuexUwmos8eN/s320/G0040291.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back down on my hike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Temps dropped rapidly as dusk drew closer, and after glancing at the lights of La Paz and El Alto in the distance, I retired for some rest, of which I could get little of in a tent. My borrowed sleeping pad had a hole in it so I felt every rock of the plain. We woke early and tried to get warm as the sun was still working its way up. Breakfast and a late start with a full pack up the trail. My guide and I shouldered decent-sized packs, but a porter grabbed the bulk of our load. I cannot believe how much weight I still had and it was a good thing I could carry some. These guys show up from miles down the valley, come up in sandals, shoulder huge weight, and still beat most people up the mountain. A ranger showed up at the last second and collected the climbing fee, which was about $3.<br />
<br />
Our route traveled up and right across the mountain. The going was easy at first but became more and more steep as the day went on and the heat increased. More rests were needed as we inched our way up the difficult and sandy single track toward the high camp. Moments of doubt began to creep in as the mountain loomed high above us; I looked back down and was amazed at how far we had come, but looking up, there was much more to scale. Since we didn't have our tents in our bag, there was no sense in going higher without the porter. We paused just shy of the high camp and rested until the porter arrived. Other than being hungry and thirsty, I was feeling alright and not effected by the altitude. Usually, within 2 min of stopping, I had my breath and was itching to go. The stopping and waiting was the most frustrating. My endurance is good but my patience is not. I just want to plow on and get it done. This, however, is not a hurry-up sport.<br />
<br />
High camp was a sketchy place. Not bigger than about 30-40 feet wide and long, it was perched on the ridge just at the snowline. We were at 5500m (18,200ft), the Nido de Condor "Condor's Nest" and it was a precarious situation. My tent was on a shelf not wide enough to hold it, and ropes were strung to keep it tied down. A strong gust of wind looked to pull it down the huge gully to my left, with me wrapped inside. The entire place smelled of fecal matter and urine as there were no other options for doing your business. I had a pounding headache that abated after some hydration, Tylenol, and rest. Our time here was brief; we would make dinner and try and sleep, but we were leaving at midnight.<br />
<br />
I, of course, could not sleep. My Swiss cheese Thermarest was worthless and I felt every one of the rocks. My rest on the tundra last night was a gift compared to this place. My head is pounding and I have a 12-14 hour trip ahead of me when today's 3.5-hour trip was enough to put me in this state. I think about the mountains as Cheryl Strayed said in "Wild", you may come to find yourself, and find meaning, but what you find, at least initially, is nothing but suffering. The summit may be bliss, but the journey is ripe with discomfort. If it wasn't the rocks beneath me keeping me awake, it was the flapping of a tent-like kids' with a parachute in gym class - that sealed the deal. I stayed warm with two hot water bottles tucked in my bag, but no rest for me, again. At 1am the alarm went off and I pulled on whatever clothes I was not already wearing. Getting plastic boots on in a tent is a chore. I choked down "breakfast" which was basically chocolate and tea. Crampons, helmet, and 2:05am - we were off.<br />
<br />
The route starts from high camp by hugging a rocky ridge. It didn't seem like it at the time, but this was some of the most difficult footing, as I would see coming down in the light. Instantly I was too hot and stopped to pull off my Goretex jacket, which was under my impressive down jacket. I ate some Gu and drank water but Andreas kept chirping about the power of cocoa leaves and how they make you strong and help stomach issues and headaches. I took a couple of rounds just to appease him. I don't buy it, and it feels like you are chewing a handful of leaves you have raked in Fall time only you have to hold them in your lip, like dip. It tastes like sucking on an unused tea bag.<br />
<br />
On we slogged making switchbacks across the mountain face, though it was hard to gauge distance when only 3 feet in front of me was illuminated. But it was probably best, because as I would later find out, the route is surrounded by cliffs and crevasses, and it was terrifying. After about 2 hours we were going well but my new crampon popped off. This was not a problem as it was not too steep, but elsewhere this could be an issue. Then it came off again! Andreas helped me get it on, which was nice, but I felt like a bit of a wad. Would you believe it? My other crampon came off. I don't know if I was having a boot or crampon issue but it wasn't good. Andreas checked his watch and it was 5:00am. He said we would be on the summit in 1 hour. This was good news but since the sun rises at 6:30, it would be hard to get a good summit picture. My mistake, like in an ultra, was taking this opinion as fact. Spurred on by the finish, I felt good, yet after an hour I could now see the peaks across from me, and they were higher yet - a problem since I was on the tallest peak around. My hopes sank, the headache peaked, and my stomach went south. I couldn't go 5-10 min without needing a rest. "30 min" Andreas would say, and then 15 min later, "30 min." I started to bonk hard; his concern started to rise. We rounded a corner and popped out onto the summit ridge. "30 minutes," Andreas said. I sat in the snow. "Todas bien?" he asked. No, I said, feeling poor. I considered turning around at this point. The summit was only halfway (and since we had to go to base camp, not even halfway). I decided to press on. We arched around the dome in a cloud, with a swirling wind obscuring the view. Eventually, it relented and we stood, unceremoniously, on the unassuming summit, 6438m (21122ft). Andreas hugged me and I posed for a picture. We left quickly with me in the lead and on belay. However, the wind obscured the view, and not wanting to walk into a crevasse, I sat in the snow while Andreas wandered around for 10 minutes looking for the route.<br />
<br />
I felt good heading down for an hour or so. My battery died so I took no pictures of the amazing ice walls. I grew tired and started tripping on my own leg often and would sit in the snow to recover. We could see high camp but it never seemed to come. The last hour was painful and riddled with stops. I crawled in and the waiting porters laughed at me while I stripped off each piece of clothing an chucked it aside. Sweaty and exhausted, it was 9:45am. It took 5:35 to get up and 2:05 to get down to high camp but I swore it was twice that. We were hustled out of there within a half hour for the long, dusty descent to base camp. The craggy rocks and precarious footing were made all the more tenuous by wasted legs. The extra weight on my back made cutting switchbacks difficult. I was roasting from wearing my fleece and Goretex pants still. We were down in about 2 hours but it was a tortuous route that felt like it took all day.<br />
<br />
We drove downhill on twisting, rocky roads for about 4 hours. I faded in and out as it was too bumpy to drink. We had to switch cars once and then drove around downtown for about 40 min. I thought they couldn't find my hotel but the cab was restricted from certain roads (traffic control rules). We ended up at the company headquarters and switched cabs again. 25 minutes later I was at my hotel and on the phone with Expedia for the next 2 hours. On the Illimani, I had made the decision to leave Bolivia without climbing the second mountain, Sajama. Each call would drop; I would call back and repeat my story to a new representative. They would ask me for a number to call back, just in case, and I would repeatedly tell them I was in Bolivia. They called my mom (the number on my account) many times. $725 later I got a new flight, 3 days on. I just wanted to go home. The summit was bittersweet; I made it but felt disappointed with the adventure.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzr31wo7OWCvTxy-I2KOjxBQZ0hh_c7k-5YdEVTwoGZIRGDK0k1esvTL1xo63RvKwfD0WgmeymXmhA78zepyg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0La Paz, Bolivia-16.489689 -68.119293599999992-16.489689 -68.119293599999992 -16.489689 -68.119293599999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-56864925531071862532018-06-07T21:21:00.000-06:002018-12-13T01:16:30.337-07:00There and Back Again - R2R2R<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoMaS4hL9rkdkOCxf8_0QWdsGNPNITQVPpd7_zqoWO-lNYqlURJAc1EvsLAnYyDmqx1Q0BV-lzkbpN28yiOEuYuNg0GptzZIS4i4VHdkWhGlANYfBU-8jJ94qUaM_RZLwJ7YwDS7zJluR/s1600/IMG_20180606_145152571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoMaS4hL9rkdkOCxf8_0QWdsGNPNITQVPpd7_zqoWO-lNYqlURJAc1EvsLAnYyDmqx1Q0BV-lzkbpN28yiOEuYuNg0GptzZIS4i4VHdkWhGlANYfBU-8jJ94qUaM_RZLwJ7YwDS7zJluR/s320/IMG_20180606_145152571.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlA4Y4RgWE6-M17hFoTgzRnDAZMHdK0CEDPtpm8ENXzN3cKBqhsf8zP5O3K9KdAFe0bc4-trMIDKbVzrnjs2oR8WQf3TWRIYlthRKCvgA7AVd5D0-9dCUKxZFUvZKN8fj6shR3BwkuYoF/s1600/IMG_20180606_145159193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlA4Y4RgWE6-M17hFoTgzRnDAZMHdK0CEDPtpm8ENXzN3cKBqhsf8zP5O3K9KdAFe0bc4-trMIDKbVzrnjs2oR8WQf3TWRIYlthRKCvgA7AVd5D0-9dCUKxZFUvZKN8fj6shR3BwkuYoF/s320/IMG_20180606_145159193.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone should run across this thing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's midnight on June 7th, and a chill runs through my bones despite being in a desert. It is anticipation - the feeling of excitement I get when I know what I have to do will not come as a given. That scene from Shawshank Redemption materializes in my head, where Red says (ah, Morgan Freeman's voice can inspire anyone), "I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain." I glance out, but my headlamp only illuminates the next 40 feet, and I know what lies beyond it cannot be seen by a mere torch. If I could see it, in that moment, I might turn back to the comfort of a bed. But I am not here because it is easy. I am here because of what Emerson said about "what lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us." And I never hoped that to be more true. Because out there in that vast void, the darkness more than night, lies before me the Grand Canyon of the United States, and I am about to run across it - in summer - and turn around and do it all over again. </div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<i>18 months earlier:</i></div>
<div>
Long-time running buddy Michael, as is his fashion, sends me a note about some big runs he wants to do. I have retired from the ultra, but my interest piqued at his plans, and we said, let's run across the Grand Canyon, in the summer, and then run back again - the runner's classic Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim (R2R2R). The thought of this bucket list run kept me going for many months while I struggled to deal with pollution, living in India, and finding a purpose in running. Michael, meanwhile, flirted with elite running while coming dangerously close to not running at all, then broke his foot at the end of the year. Our goal was now in jeopardy and Michael wasn't able to train. We pulled the plug, but something in each of us did not want the dream to die. I tried to recruit another guy but he couldn't make it. So, March 1st came and went, our drop dead date, and I sent a hard message to Michael, one that said we can do this. His reply was, "Let's go" and it was on.<br />
<br />
True to the title of this blog, we did not plan well. We didn't want this huge reconnaissance of a mission down to every last detail. We just wanted to run, and when it hurt, slow, and eat and walk when we felt like it, on our terms, not driven by competition or the clock. Our agreement was to high five at the start and head down the trail, and we would take it from there. Some say that's ill advised on a 50 mile foot journey in harsh environments like the Grand Canyon. Others call it adventure. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I ran two marathons in February and completed my third Two Oceans Marathon (56km) down in South Africa at the end of March. I found 35-45 mile weeks again and got very strong in the core. I padded my days with 15 milers on the weekends and threw in two 20 milers for that added push. It was the most amount of running I had done in a year, and probably years. But no training in India was really going to save me from the vicious pounding of the downhills, the uneven terrain of the trail, and the relentless uphill climbs of the Grand Canyon. I figured it didn't matter as Michael and I would just survive it together. Then I got the call.<br />
<br />
Michael freaked out. He had done some running and put in some really significant weekends. But he struggled on a 50k and decided he was not ready. I felt like I had talked him into this twice already and I would not be responsible for a third time. What if he got hurt? What if he needed to be hospitalized? What if he fell and died? I didn't want that hanging over me. I told him to call it off. But I was still going at this (after all, I bought the ticket and the hotel).<br />
<br />
It made all the difference. Perhaps because I wasn't motivated, or maybe because someone would be there, I wasn't giving the R2R2R its fair respect. I figured we would just make it. But when I was suddenly on my own, a fire sparked inside that I had not had for a long time. I started running. I put in a 20 miler. I upped my weekly mileage consistently to 50+ and then I turned a corner. I started running more (went 9+5, 10.3, 7.3+6, and 11+4 in just 4 week days), put in my 2nd run of the day in the Delhi heat (100-108 degrees F) and hit the gym for leg presses, weighted, lunges, and squats. I averaged a half marathon per day for a while, and hit 72.6 miles in a week (my most since South Africa four years before).<br />
<br />
My journey begins on the South Rim at the Bright Angel Trailhead: elevation 6,860 feet (2,093 m) and descends for 9 miles to a low point of 2400ft. After that I climb for more than 14 miles up to the North Kaibab Trailhead: elevation 8241 feet (2512m). When I get there, I will turn around and do it all in reverse. My body will experience 21,100 feet of elevation gain/loss over 47 miles (to put that in perspective, the Leadville 100 has 15,600 ft. over the total distance).<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdW1oAERCtzhKXcHEO99LIuQ8-3C_nvE030ZoMRHK5op3PyssAp93l-v-Iz5RNiXIasmqK2roTL2M4dhyphenhyphenel0o-DCqSn6Jp5NFjeW0xaetuqUenFH2uAMJ5xI3QHxCBz9a0TQG6zqGbdpzI/s1600/IMG_20180606_155048507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdW1oAERCtzhKXcHEO99LIuQ8-3C_nvE030ZoMRHK5op3PyssAp93l-v-Iz5RNiXIasmqK2roTL2M4dhyphenhyphenel0o-DCqSn6Jp5NFjeW0xaetuqUenFH2uAMJ5xI3QHxCBz9a0TQG6zqGbdpzI/s320/IMG_20180606_155048507.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Survival kit - to be carried into the Grand Canyon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My watch ticks midnight and I start down the trail. In the first half I'm only worried about two things causing me a problem: mountain lions and falling off the trail. Within steps of starting I stumble and find myself dangerously close to an edge that leads into blackness and certain death. I proceeded down the twisting, turning Trail past 1 1/2 Mile Resthouse and stopping only briefly at 3 Mile Resthouse house for some water. It is very difficult going downhill this much and by the time I reach Indian Garden Campground, I have lost 3000 feet in elevation in under 5 miles. It is like doing a road race if the course was all sand and down a set of stairs. I run into a couple of hikers almost immediately from the top and after that a guy looking for his sons who went to the river hours before. I eventually crossed them and I don't see another soul for almost three and a half hours. Just after Indian Garden, I am able to run a little bit better as the trail somewhat levels. Despite being all downhill, I am trying to save my legs and the difficulty of the course still has me running between 10 and 12 minute miles. It feels slow but I cannot see more than a few few ahead, the trail is rough, danger is high, and I know there is work to come.<br />
<br />
Although it is dark I can still see tremendous rock formations and rivers winding their way down with me. I make my way to River Resthouse which is about 8 miles down from the trail head, but I don't know this. I have left the map and the passenger seat of the car at the trail head, my first big mistake of the day. My memory tells me that the bridge is somewhere around 7 miles but in fact it is much further. I pass the last point and start to work away from the river, convinced that I am on the wrong trail. As I start to climb again, panic sets in. The 7th, 8th, and 9th mile pass and I am certain that I am going to run 15 miles, turn around, and head back up without completing my journey. However, out of the darkness the river returns and I cross Silver Bridge, avoiding the murky waters of the Colorado River below.<br />
<br />
At Bright Angel camp I refill water and I'm startled by deer who are mesmerized by my headlamp. Now starts a significant climb from the river's bottom and the lowest point on the course 7.2 miles up to Cottonwood Campground. It is the longest stretch on the course. However, there is only 1600 feet of elevation gain in this long stretch and I am able to run nearly all of it. With the threat of falling off the edge now removed, I turn my attention to avoid stepping on hairy spiders and scorpions. When I'm not fearing being poisoned from below, I fear disease from above. Moths are attracted to light, and and what human orifice lies just below a headlamp? I ate more than a few months. But what eats moths (besides me)? Bats. They continuously dive-bombed right in front of my face catching whatever bugs I wasn't already consuming. Since you can't see them coming, the gush of their wings inches from my nose is quite a shock in the darkness.<br />
<br />
Just after Cottonwood Campground (~17mi) I encounter a creature on the trail, its eyes gleaming off the light from my headlamp. It is a skunk, and I throw rocks at it trying to scare it off the trail but it only becomes more aggressive, inching towards me, hissing, and turning around to spray. Not wanting to spend the next 30 miles - and several days - smelling like a skunk, I relent and climb the scree, through the cacti and around to a further point on the trail. Skunk wins this round.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASVGT1r54EJbK2kQwQee6yriVFTc-EGASpBkZ33GoYeYhnQHQpNCOsYYA3Wf9jZ5qysG-w4zW2100ahThV0hIuhkvACZz2ly9W4UtqEyZ-riWGT1MaFDf56erqLRrstjOEXtyCuUMd1kW/s1600/IMG_20180607_051408868_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASVGT1r54EJbK2kQwQee6yriVFTc-EGASpBkZ33GoYeYhnQHQpNCOsYYA3Wf9jZ5qysG-w4zW2100ahThV0hIuhkvACZz2ly9W4UtqEyZ-riWGT1MaFDf56erqLRrstjOEXtyCuUMd1kW/s320/IMG_20180607_051408868_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise on the climb to the North Rim</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The temps at the start were cool and I have left my long sleeve shirt in the car, along with my gloves. It pays off in the canyon, with temps reasonably warm (85 degrees), even at 2am. But as I climb higher towards the north rim, the temps drop quickly and I find myself starting to get chilly, even though the sun is starting to rise. This will mark my second major mistake of the day. My GPS watch tells me that I am nearing the top of the North Rim; however, I have yet to reach the tunnel and I know this is more than 1.5 miles from the top. The trail is very sandy and difficult to walk up. I stop for water and my fingers get wet as does the cloth on my water bottles. The temps have now dropped back to almost 46 degrees Fahrenheit, and my fingers have gone numb. After 5 hours and 42 minutes, with hands freezing, I crest the North Rim at 8241 feet, having covered between 23.5 to 25.1 miles, depending on the source. My hands are shaking so badly I cannot open my pack. I quickly eat and refill my bottles. I beg a hiker to loan me his gloves which I will return as I start down the trail and catch him. While they provide little help I make a phone call home checking in with Sarah. It has taken me longer to get here and it was more difficult than I anticipated. I am at a low point and my voice crumbles in dismay. She encourages me to start down the trail where it will be warmer and mostly downhill. I do so.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dykeqo13dXc0bbzzPHV8VkDFbNKZOYoncbKzeZj6TaGKt_4zhefw6GPFnVDkUXdN4ENNsJ876kn-hW7m2IX7w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOwAlSdShmY">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOwAlSdShmY</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKEVRwHkIFbO_ZzGwOGf4-eNHUSkGBprFhjIhcMil9fwHkAuEQTv1tdWOwTRGY9ybaV3c7wQetxXwbnj6ndjoTjy1yU8-T4efYqIRPTN4y06A-0tZ5uFjMYN00SQHa3dSTCvZ7Djw_bqB/s1600/IMG_20180607_072144677_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKEVRwHkIFbO_ZzGwOGf4-eNHUSkGBprFhjIhcMil9fwHkAuEQTv1tdWOwTRGY9ybaV3c7wQetxXwbnj6ndjoTjy1yU8-T4efYqIRPTN4y06A-0tZ5uFjMYN00SQHa3dSTCvZ7Djw_bqB/s320/IMG_20180607_072144677_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The morning view coming down the North Kaibab Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Within 2 miles of heading down, my fingers start to recover, temps rise, as does the sun. I pass many people who have started their journey from the North Rim that morning. They give me encouragement, baffled by the distance I have come already as nearly all of them will stop at the bottom of the canyon to camp for a night. Some say, "God bless you," others "Way to go," and my favorites are the ones who say nothing. The good part about this stretch now that the sun has come up is that the entire 13 miles down to the river is runnable. I question whether this is a good idea as there is still much left to do but I am okay with walking up the last part if needed. The trail winds down with high, red cliffs and green valleys lining rivers. After several hours of continuous running, my legs are growing tired, but the river marks a major milestone. It just never seems to come. By the time I pass Phantom Ranch I have had enough. The heat is excessive and my body has done its job. Refilling my bottles at Bright Angel, I make a decision. It would be my next major wrong choice on this journey, and a costly one.<br />
<br />
I opt to carry on and go up the South Kaibab trail. I am tired and I know it is about 2.5 miles less than the route I came down, and I am now at 9.5 hours and have many miles left to go. What I don't consider is the following: 1) it is steeper with a higher elevation, 2) it is more exposed, 3) there is no water (damn map in my car), and 4) there are far fewer people on it. I cruise across the Black Bridge and BAM! I am done the moment I start the climb. Just like many times before (see TRT, Comrades 2014, and 2nd Leadville posts for the same situation). I am done running, my head spins, and I think I am going to pass out. I sit on the trail. It is about 100 degrees, and there are 7 miles and more than 5000 ft of elevation gain left. A group of guys offer me Gatorade and salt tablets which I take willingly. It is about this time where I realized that my packet of e-caps that I had with me fell out of my pack around mile 1 and I have not had any additional electrolytes other than food in 38 miles, despite hydrating well. After they feed me and put a bandanna on my head, I struggle up the hill to search for shade of which there is little. When there is some, I sit in it. Another family fills me with e-caps and water (which is gone within a mile). I manage to walk about 100m at a time before sitting when I find a shaded rock. By sit I mean crumple into a ball in the dirt with my leg muscles in full spasm. I take out my phone (no signal) and leave a final message to my wife. I feel passing out or seizure are likely outcomes and no one is here to help, not like they could do much. I fear death and get scared for the first time in any race or on any mountain. But the thought of seeing my family spurs me on and I pick myself up out of the dirt, over and over again in the hope that I will get home. The idea that I'm going to get home in time to take a shower before I need to check out of the room as long left my mind. However, I still can catch my flight home so I work my way up the hill. More than I want to shower I want to catch that flight and get home.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLyI50uHRVd6PkbPaPQ_jr9k1rEeRuUQ-DA8f97nB46tfDNv84NaAFMGG3ssLURlj1UKejNBtkzLEw1KzZErcuMd5E4tXTHn_vS610yp2UWOdESqqZxrDEwEuJv2tk4iug0wTX9Tk0js9S/s1600/IMG_20180607_135141949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLyI50uHRVd6PkbPaPQ_jr9k1rEeRuUQ-DA8f97nB46tfDNv84NaAFMGG3ssLURlj1UKejNBtkzLEw1KzZErcuMd5E4tXTHn_vS610yp2UWOdESqqZxrDEwEuJv2tk4iug0wTX9Tk0js9S/s320/IMG_20180607_135141949.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No refuge in the Grand Canyon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After 2.5 miles from the river I arrive at a place called Tip Off (4.4 miles and 3200 ft from the top). There is an emergency phone and I go pick it up. 911 connects me to search and rescue and I explain that I am in bad shape. They encourage me to walk briefly up the hill to a toilet shed, where there are provisions stashed. I am unable to open the box and I sit in the shade until some German hikers come. They go back down and call search and rescue and get the instructions to open the bin. I eat chips and electrolyte drinks trying to recover while lying under a toilet shed. The ranger advises me to stay there for the rest of the day until it cools down. It is about 11 o'clock so it will be many hours before that time. After a long while, I locked the crate and started up the mountain. The going was steep, the sun blistering hot, and I needed many breaks in the shade. Simply stopping, standing, or sitting would lead to muscle cramps and dizziness so I ended up laying on the rock or the dirt. My legs would often cramp and I would sip water rations knowing that there was not other water on the way up. I could take slow steps for 2-3 minutes and then rest for 5 minutes or more. After what seemed like an eternity I reached Skeleton Point. I had 3 miles to go and another 2000 ft to climb.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDksyqR2wtX0GczcwI542ecjMEic4GVGJRYHXAZYb_IsR25egw6vH2uX_p9y9Q14VpqlgUcrmVzZwd3zo90xAfMZFjnd5KJHhPess3wVpSHl6-0drj1mfpkaSJlsny63YoUCqp85i_Lvas/s1600/IMG_20180607_135155421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDksyqR2wtX0GczcwI542ecjMEic4GVGJRYHXAZYb_IsR25egw6vH2uX_p9y9Q14VpqlgUcrmVzZwd3zo90xAfMZFjnd5KJHhPess3wVpSHl6-0drj1mfpkaSJlsny63YoUCqp85i_Lvas/s320/IMG_20180607_135155421.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view far below Skeleton Point and just above my first respite point at Tip Off (visible in lower left)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I beg a hiker for a bottle of water which he relinquishes. I am only able to make it a minute or two at a time without stopping. It is a long, relentless climb to the next point which takes me about an hour and 40 minutes for one and a half miles. I reached Cedar Ridge which stands just 1100 feet below and 1.5 mi from the top. However I am absolutely destroyed when I get there. No amount of reflection on past races, reading, or training can prepare you for when things go wrong. The pain and hurt inside cannot be envisioned or shared. It remains only for the one in dire need. Empathy is not an attribute to be wasted on the ultra runner. No matter who is out there on the trail with you at any one point, when you run the ultra, you are alone. Utterly, unequivocally alone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIADpo2egO_CoXSq-l7g69iIN9u7Pyxbu69Stx4M6e6qKUTMY5RUnETiY_nUhKesw9kK0FfdycWK7JzD58Um_IFvQKJMUyYtWqt6nTCDwhxka1MdjHGaKp0b1kg0dw-bviZLXW4OMlMQpG/s1600/IMG_20180607_192426587_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIADpo2egO_CoXSq-l7g69iIN9u7Pyxbu69Stx4M6e6qKUTMY5RUnETiY_nUhKesw9kK0FfdycWK7JzD58Um_IFvQKJMUyYtWqt6nTCDwhxka1MdjHGaKp0b1kg0dw-bviZLXW4OMlMQpG/s320/IMG_20180607_192426587_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign on the trail - too real</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Collapsing in a heap, I am unable to go any further. Another German couple takes interest and watches me throw up everything I have drank in the last half-hour. They consider this to be enough and walk out to the edge of the canyon and make a call to search and rescue (my phone would never work on this run other than at the North Rim). There is another dropbox and I am encouraged to drink water and eat salty snacks but I cannot do either. Instead I lay on the dry, roasting ground for two hours while flies attempt to lay larvae in my mucous membranes and ants bite me relentlessly. The couple call Sarah to tell her I am okay but struggling - the first she hears of me after being overdo in the canyon by 7 hours. It is now clear to me how people die on mountains: When the body shuts down, it seems so simple for us to say, "Just get up and move" but for the person in dire straits, it does not happen. On the mountain, wind and temps will cause a person to slowly die (perhaps oxygen too). Out here, I have never been so thirsty - I felt as if I was shriveling up, yet no water would go in. The heat was relentless and sucking the life from me. In a few hours it would be more than 50 degrees colder than it was in the afternoon, and the exposure would surely have caused hypothermia. A body too destroyed to move would be too beaten to fight the chill, and I suspect death would follow far before the next sunrise.<br />
<br />
The couple goes for a hike and when they return I throw up again, unable to have eaten or drank anything in my time there. They call for rescue again and the Rangers agree to send someone down. It will take 2 hours. I decide that two hours is far too long. It will be dark by then and cold and once the ranger gets there I will only be prompted to get up and walk out anyway. After arguing with the German man who claims I can't even stand, let alone walk, I get vertical and hobble up the trail. I figure 2 hours of moving closer to home is better than two hours of sitting there and still having a climb left to do. I am so close to finishing the run that with all that has happened it is the only saving grace I can muster. Never in the history of running has 1.5 miles seemed so long for me. Although it takes me a long time, I reach the top of the South Kaibab trail head as the sun sets. My GPS watch has long stopped working but my distance is around 45-47 miles and I have been out here on the trail for 19 hours and 39 minutes. I feel nothing - not joy or pain. I feel like the ride is still moving but I have stepped off. But I did R2R2R, even if it took me 8-9 hours longer than expected. (The first 38-40 miles took about 9 hours 10 min. The last 6.9 miles took 10.5 hours.)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUF5tro_H4B6Iv159eJJQ8MS0_lMyooZdm_OODuaZ8maV2jHBZe8RhojROp6EbZU0pG0JcjhF_c6Xv4vcT8ZSDLitIDshyJanjZoH0yPcNLjVh5lgfHP4Yh9FlFJpwhTzWf4DFBYv45vTZ/s1600/Screenshot_20180607-193954.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUF5tro_H4B6Iv159eJJQ8MS0_lMyooZdm_OODuaZ8maV2jHBZe8RhojROp6EbZU0pG0JcjhF_c6Xv4vcT8ZSDLitIDshyJanjZoH0yPcNLjVh5lgfHP4Yh9FlFJpwhTzWf4DFBYv45vTZ/s320/Screenshot_20180607-193954.png" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't just do it for yourself; run for a cause</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-VPwwnucE4" target="_blank">2nd Half Video</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-VPwwnucE4</div>
<br />
The ranger that was dispatched to get me comes to the trail head a moment later and I introduced myself. He asked to check me out and my vitals, although low, do not alarm him. He phones in the results and the supervisor suggests we do more tests. After sitting in his car and warming up for a while, I give the Rangers a bit of more of my history. The combination of past and present suggest to him we might need a little bit more help and soon an ambulance arrives. They are reluctant to hang an IV bag but my blood test comes back and immediately they go into action. I have <a href="https://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/hyperkalemia-causes-symptoms-treatments">hyperkalemia</a>, and they need to get me to the hospital to avoid heart attack. I am to be airlifted to Flagstaff but before we can take off my symptoms stabilized somewhat and the paramedics opted to drive me (I think they were happy to get the overtime). I have now been awake for 24 hours; we arrive at 11pm to the ER where I spend 4 hours before being admitted. Although my potassium has stabilized, my ck levels (measure of muscle breakdown in the blood that causes kidney issues) is at 11500 (just 230 times over the normal of 50), a problem called <a href="https://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/rhabdomyolysis-symptoms-causes-treatments#1" target="_blank">rhabdomyolysis</a>. Over the course of a day and a half I get vitals once an hour and take more than 10 liters of fluid via IV. I sleep less than 6 hours in 3 days.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpgKSs7N8mUFEBwUaUCgIYyFzC4-r4jd9Ro40DDnY-HQWK6TMBzLOPOvoGqplMF-Z5tJxI0wFULxgfwiBDFtrh4U8kS28JSHeLdBBOMdLuxdBA2-p9IVMCYf2GeHfsyIy5KK9ocdcfbIX/s1600/IMG_20180607_232422249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpgKSs7N8mUFEBwUaUCgIYyFzC4-r4jd9Ro40DDnY-HQWK6TMBzLOPOvoGqplMF-Z5tJxI0wFULxgfwiBDFtrh4U8kS28JSHeLdBBOMdLuxdBA2-p9IVMCYf2GeHfsyIy5KK9ocdcfbIX/s320/IMG_20180607_232422249.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ER visit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQ91eY1jxyek4GZN1WPNMn_04fgSqZ_sDNjxKrW1nZItKqMVpdfDreXL_jzOEvxzF7GpUMVg0uqliFyYxn9LajZT22ifKO4Sr2xa_pui0ggQX29oOjLsF2KRzkeRj4oEMj5kA5elS0D_y/s1600/IMG_20180607_232803812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQ91eY1jxyek4GZN1WPNMn_04fgSqZ_sDNjxKrW1nZItKqMVpdfDreXL_jzOEvxzF7GpUMVg0uqliFyYxn9LajZT22ifKO4Sr2xa_pui0ggQX29oOjLsF2KRzkeRj4oEMj5kA5elS0D_y/s320/IMG_20180607_232803812.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Grand Canyon tan right there</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
The major problem is my vehicle is at the Grand Canyon, 1 hour and 45 min away. With it is my wallet, so - once released - I have no transport and no funds to get there and back. Just a guy covered in dirt with 11 bandaged holes in his arm from procedures, stinking to holy heaven, begging for a ride. Luckily, my world travels never has me far from connections; my old friend Joe from Johannesburg popped over from his home in Flagstaff. In between hikes he went out, retrieved my car and brought me clothes. Why did I need clothes? Oh, that's right. All my stuff left in the hotel was missing. Sarah called and they claimed I requested a late check-out (I didn't) and was gone by noon (I never went back). Yet my items were nowhere to be found. Park Services is investigating it with a string of robberies. Items missing: 2 charger connectors and cords, Garmin charger, 4 port adapter, Timex watch, MSU Track bag, headphones, Ipad, Reef sandals (my favorite kind with the bottle opener in them), Columbia trekking pants, my shirt from climbing Mt. Elbrus in Russia, and a brand new, never worn pair of underwear. For some reason I put the rest of my items in my car before running - I can't say why. And, thankfully, I made a last-minute decision to throw my wallet in the car before going to the trail head - otherwise that would have been a serious problem in getting gas, food, and a plane ticket home.<br />
<br />
37 hours after pulling into the ER, I am busting out of there, against the wishes of my medical care team but no longer able to sit in a bed, pee in a cup, and be limited from the IV's in my arms. I head south, trying to make a flight that afternoon. I call to have a friend book it as I am driving. He does. As I stop to enjoy an In-n-Out burger, I get the email confirmation of the flight - 7 weeks from today. Luckily, Sarah is able to call and get this canceled, just as she was the other flights she had booked to get me out of there before knowing I was destined for the 3rd floor of Flagstaff Medical Center. After eating the price of the original ticket, we ended up paying a whopping $560 for a one-way flight out that night (again, Sarah had to get Expedia to refund me the $40 insurance I inadvertently booked), and a day and a half extra on the rental car. I had 8 hours to kill in Phoenix airport before an overnight to Chicago and a puddle jumper to GR.<br />
<br />
What was supposed to be a scant 48 hours after I left Michigan ended up being 4.5 days, the wheels touched down again in Grand Rapids, and I had flown 3001 miles, driven 470 miles, and run 45 miles (and sat in an ambulance or hospital bed for 39 hours). But I saw every inch of that Grand Canyon - twice - solo, in summer.<br />
<br />
<b>Epilogue</b><br />
<br />
<i>1 week earlier </i>- I work all day in India, load 7 suitcases into a van in 118 degree heat, and commence to fly 20 hours with kids, plus an added layover of 7 hours plus a 4-hour drive from Chicago - I arrive beat. Jump into a hockey game - my first in a year - that night, and roll into my new house extremely sore the next day. I move furniture and boxes for 36 hours before driving to the airport to fly out. I forget car seats in the car. Then realize I have no wallet. Then no paperwork for the trip. I get all this and try to start the car - it wont start. I am taken to a shop for coolant. After two hours, I am finally more than 10 min from my house. The flight to AZ is delayed 3 times (inside, at the gate, and on the runway). I am hardly able to walk at more than a limp and I have less than 14 hours till this run. Not an ideal start.<br />
<br />
<i>2 weeks post race</i> - My recovery was slow. The pain in my back from the hospital bed turned out to be the worst of my "injuries" with my legs bouncing back more quickly, though attempting a 1.5 mile run 12 days post still was indication I am not back. My energy is low and I will need weeks to be back to normal, if not longer. I am, however, very glad to be alive considering how this could have ended.<br />
<br />
People ask if it was worth it. The answer is not simple. No run is worth risking your life over. I should have never been in real danger - popular trail, access to water, fit enough to do it - but if the body goes, it goes. People drown in 2 inches of water and die on jogs around their neighborhood. And make no mistake about it - it wasn't the heat, the pace, the elevation, or the distance that did me in - I have been there before. It was my own body. I have a clear pattern of my body responding this way, no matter my preparation or pace, the altitude or the distance, and the result has been the same. It wasn't always that way, but it has been for quite some time. I can keep doing this and the result will be the same: I will end up going from running well for hours to complete shutdown in a matter of moments. The only question is: will I need medical care to survive the outcome? And that is not a good conundrum to be in. While I am glad I completed this epic run, I am not happy with what it took to do so. One day, the levels will spike and I won't bounce back, and I do not choose to push that envelope anymore. I am retiring, again, from the ultra, and I am very happy to do so. There are many other adventures out there. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com4Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona, USA36.1069652 -112.11299728.3845231999999967 -153.4215912 63.8294072 -70.8044032tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-56703596678976512432018-05-05T20:48:00.000-06:002018-05-22T02:10:53.934-06:00The 5th British History Half Marathon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a year since the 4th BHHM (<a href="http://saltonyourskin.blogspot.in/2017/05/charge-of-british-history-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">which you can read all about here</a>), but not much has changed in the course of history from the perspective of the rebellion. However, fast forward 161 years, or even just 365 days, and much has changed. This year we were without leader and founder of the BHHM, Jason Coleman, who, rest his soul, has departed (to Ghana to work). Like the charge of the British retaking Delhi, we picked up the flag (note cards) and soldiered forward across the battlefield (streets of Delhi).<br />
<br />
Laura, Evan, and I agreed that the show must go on and in doing so, formed a collaborative to recreate Jason's run. The course was a simple copy from last year (though we added a stop and 1km to the route). Jason left his notes on index cards with us but we soon learned they were scribbles of shorthand reminders - the story was in his head. This forced us to do a little research to complete the picture as the "run" is really a journey between historical stops, each one a major site relating to the British occupation, and subsequent Sepoy mutiny, of 1857. We solicited a few runners to be "hosts" of stops and sights. Some new additions were cloth bibs (with 1857 as the number for all participants along with a photo on them of last year's run), tech t-shirts, and a cyclist to help carry items and take photos (thanks, Rob). Now, while people registered (we had 30 sign up), I was already up the road, logging miles for the day. Due to the slower pace and frequent stops, I considered this the perfect ultra training - lots of time on my feet in the heat, plus a different pace with intermittent running. I met the bus at Coronation Park for the beginning of the run.<br />
<br />
My role, aside from organizing this thing, was to talk about the memorial, our official starting point. We learned a bit, took the start picture, and headed through the streets of Delhi, covered with neon shirts and looking more than a little out of place dodging stray dogs and piles of garbage as we worked our way down the increasingly busy streets as the city awakened. The longest stretch in the first half is from the start to our first talking point, Flagstaff Tower, 3 miles in. We had a large crew that we kept for a good amount of the run.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c28jYthWZHM4b4X69sdIUuriK0XT_-oituTxo-KauUMqBQzIPZsuRji_LGIzOhk9zb4g4ghYXLRE_5oIvGTXtLxuknxjfMmAfrDlymGuINVB7YOTo3GFdvQIJr_hRFAcL4lOHtMtTMgH/s1600/start1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c28jYthWZHM4b4X69sdIUuriK0XT_-oituTxo-KauUMqBQzIPZsuRji_LGIzOhk9zb4g4ghYXLRE_5oIvGTXtLxuknxjfMmAfrDlymGuINVB7YOTo3GFdvQIJr_hRFAcL4lOHtMtTMgH/s320/start1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kicking off the running with a talk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJLvLjiLHaPItLoeb5Ak21tT-zIjArVAkKz3im_qZtuEF_gQMSgB5zYTRvpK4ZqQ46ekYC8_G8q4WOQQEpRFIQtOg22a2_pb7uHhnuzBJIgRiayteztr1TEUcoMYRXCqCWa760v59oF52/s1600/start.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="969" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJLvLjiLHaPItLoeb5Ak21tT-zIjArVAkKz3im_qZtuEF_gQMSgB5zYTRvpK4ZqQ46ekYC8_G8q4WOQQEpRFIQtOg22a2_pb7uHhnuzBJIgRiayteztr1TEUcoMYRXCqCWa760v59oF52/s320/start.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The full starting group</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSr7FqFXCAGI2rMKD_LE9Ga98n9L2hjTIg3MqXRZFF5sig9-OY4kARBjxy2KfEUB8xI6vp1TCMlFz5Wbz2wrFv_62R06aFEnaR9OHD1XBqMUQg8A3gwx_5yAfZ3PRw0TCwWuApxV9a5QlQ/s1600/delhi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1132" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSr7FqFXCAGI2rMKD_LE9Ga98n9L2hjTIg3MqXRZFF5sig9-OY4kARBjxy2KfEUB8xI6vp1TCMlFz5Wbz2wrFv_62R06aFEnaR9OHD1XBqMUQg8A3gwx_5yAfZ3PRw0TCwWuApxV9a5QlQ/s320/delhi.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Through the streets of Delhi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqdVZ4zeMTHVBPsxZhDoJws9KUza2ffgbhyxemqdRs2ectlqKkjr8EXZ_AexInmjAWHTKPPhkuUHUh0u5hpaN1Ehyphenhyphen5uvZjNOy_fISw42edS_6b7U0H9bYjWrnceHiyM4DPlJylACgqY1Y/s1600/flagstaff.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="1396" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqdVZ4zeMTHVBPsxZhDoJws9KUza2ffgbhyxemqdRs2ectlqKkjr8EXZ_AexInmjAWHTKPPhkuUHUh0u5hpaN1Ehyphenhyphen5uvZjNOy_fISw42edS_6b7U0H9bYjWrnceHiyM4DPlJylACgqY1Y/s320/flagstaff.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The group at Flagstaff Tower (yoga in the back left)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghApFpdqaCksQvpva607rnNQC4kzHUhyEX2QPWuIospTHDakFK4zTuH_2eNhdYxh7TFkX3bkakiqWVvM5ZTA68wgBK5XQepS5fIpOzsOZckBnnTlJof7hk6aGdNFqUeB5LbXIWsFlsPHpV/s1600/justin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="498" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghApFpdqaCksQvpva607rnNQC4kzHUhyEX2QPWuIospTHDakFK4zTuH_2eNhdYxh7TFkX3bkakiqWVvM5ZTA68wgBK5XQepS5fIpOzsOZckBnnTlJof7hk6aGdNFqUeB5LbXIWsFlsPHpV/s320/justin.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zach and Justin wait for others on the road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPioNiItoXPnwc6ebqjjSHIA6DTIQq7YIYsF_guV4s3gdzZ0oR8E0dOmhIXSZJRarpQZpfZfy1juGsm4KgT9jFcw77EO7iSISOxWvhly0QcUWptN6b3Q8LEfOyDUnYm1_7RoIM3pWt9BT/s1600/mutiny+memorial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1105" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPioNiItoXPnwc6ebqjjSHIA6DTIQq7YIYsF_guV4s3gdzZ0oR8E0dOmhIXSZJRarpQZpfZfy1juGsm4KgT9jFcw77EO7iSISOxWvhly0QcUWptN6b3Q8LEfOyDUnYm1_7RoIM3pWt9BT/s320/mutiny+memorial.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runners approach the Mutiny Memorial</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI272iL8n0IphxFyoRQWQMXq9F2N0vn59c0fCw_UWFiw6JakKDkCpW5SHEeakjYUuKC_TPEAgTEFpW3g2JYxPSeVUB1auGUdqCsNm7y-IRIkQGc0HewZ_2eAB73crtlPsnT3UHFSmkRJQf/s1600/red+fort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1042" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI272iL8n0IphxFyoRQWQMXq9F2N0vn59c0fCw_UWFiw6JakKDkCpW5SHEeakjYUuKC_TPEAgTEFpW3g2JYxPSeVUB1auGUdqCsNm7y-IRIkQGc0HewZ_2eAB73crtlPsnT3UHFSmkRJQf/s320/red+fort.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The group in front of the Red Fort in Old Delhi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We kept a pretty good group for the next few miles as the stops were very close together. While it was very warm, we all agreed we caught a break compared to last year where most stops took longer for people to recover and we did our talks in the shade. Our stops included ancient pillars, modern memorials, gates associated with bombings, beheadings, and other exciting and excrutiating facts, as well as the obligatory run through Old Delhi (no van full of goat heads or dead body like last year but still intense nonetheless).<br />
<br />
We completed our last stop at the Parliament buildings and visited the newest addition to the run, the Jason Coleman Injury Memorial - sight of the infamous collision of leader and immobile post.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkfQjyjwSZ3Zduz6DGQYKgASRjfMsoKBSi0YRTq9QK5d6qR1nz95pSFcE7nR1EqNnP7LPywD3ow3acYHo63xH-A1CacC8e1Mvym8X382svDTvxwe2kIxv7YXYAlX9Oizk_57mrYFg-EDj/s1600/memorial.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="545" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkfQjyjwSZ3Zduz6DGQYKgASRjfMsoKBSi0YRTq9QK5d6qR1nz95pSFcE7nR1EqNnP7LPywD3ow3acYHo63xH-A1CacC8e1Mvym8X382svDTvxwe2kIxv7YXYAlX9Oizk_57mrYFg-EDj/s320/memorial.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bernie immortalizing the Jason Coleman Injury Memorial</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As per usual, we grouped up again in order to finish together at AES, happy to be done but proud so many people started and finished this event.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPchUAMesbS0CiGvciIAdFA0BPPJEzc5CTesFBZzv7nNWi9zcPuj6ht0swfIs37L2uTh6wrR3q3_BqA20x9vNdxkPokmtEwB-Q4ScoLuM-6IUvgyfrLihoxfvIFfj_UjvajBlzIhbVSA4/s1600/miles+for+charity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPchUAMesbS0CiGvciIAdFA0BPPJEzc5CTesFBZzv7nNWi9zcPuj6ht0swfIs37L2uTh6wrR3q3_BqA20x9vNdxkPokmtEwB-Q4ScoLuM-6IUvgyfrLihoxfvIFfj_UjvajBlzIhbVSA4/s320/miles+for+charity.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Run for a cause</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
We went up to Mankers, grabbed some food, mimosas and Bloody Mary's were flowing, and the Blind School sent over massage therapists for our recovery. All in all, a pretty damn good day, but one made even better when you throw on the annual Lip Sync party that night. Has to go down as the best day of the year for me by far.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0New Delhi, Delhi, India28.6139391 77.20902120000005228.3907261 76.886297700000057 28.8371521 77.531744700000047tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-68112412817868076612018-03-31T03:49:00.000-06:002018-04-19T21:59:19.480-06:00Two Oceans Marathon: Revisited<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some call it the most beautiful run in the world; it would be hard to argue. All of the mundane city streets pass by while darkness prevails, and with the coming dawn runners find themselves approaching towering rock peaks, smelling the crisp, salty air, and approaching the forests that make this diverse route a holiday bucket list run for many. However, many will also agree that it is also one of the more difficult runs out there, at least from a course that is completely on road. At 35 miles (56km), it is a long pull, but beyond this, the fact that it is 28K of flat and downhill running which is then met by 28K of mountains, climbs, and descents, your legs will be toast by the end. It's a good thing South Africa does wine well.<br />
<br />
Prior to our visit, I hadn't done much work. I was more consistently running, though not far. We were sent on our yearly trip with high school students and I ended up in the mountains. While I hiked everyday and was exploring at altitude, I only managed a few brief runs. A week of touring SA left us happy and nostalgic. We missed our once family home and were happy to be back. The emergence of craft beer and the incredible quality of wine (and cheap price) made for decent consumption. The abundance of meat meant full bellies (and a little extra weight). I ran the days that were not packed with events: petting cheetahs, holding lions, riding (and feeding and holding and eating) ostrich, zip line rides with chameleons climbing on us, walking with penguins on the beach, and touring the winelands. In typical fashion, I arrived to the starting line less than prepared. Let the incondite adventure continue...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
With plenty of time to kill before the start, I sat in my car and listened to wave after wave of the half marathon depart. It was a cool, Easter Saturday morning, dry - rain had pelted Cape Town the previous two days and it was feared the race would be a wet one. Once the final gun had sounded, I departed the relative safety of the car and walked to the start line. It was a mad house, with no possible way of joining the corrals. Although I was a "B" entry, I went to the "A" corral as about 150 people were jammed outside of the entry to the gate. I found a similar situation up front but managed to squeeze close to the gate. I was greeted with the SA national anthem and instantly the words (well, the English ones, anyway) returned, after not having sung them in four years. After the homage, the crowd burst into Shosholoza, may favorite pre-race song. I must admit, I believed Comrades to own this tradition, but Two Oceans, perhaps because of the smaller corrals, gave it a real run for its money. Check it out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwD2lr3X6_I" target="_blank">here</a> (this is 2017, and the audio does not do it justice to the rising chorus, but it does give an idea of the people stuck outside the fencing.)<br />
<br />
The cannon blasts and we were moving. Nothing is reportable about the first 10k of this race. It is in the dark and down city streets with shops on either side. But the views over the next 25 miles are unchallengeable, so we tolerate the inconvenience. My legs are flat from the gun - not a good sign of things to come. I soldier on, running into members of my former club, the Fourways Road Runners. We chat and return to our own paces. I see many others who I vaguely recall from my many runs of the past, but I am running slower now than then, and I soon see no more resemblance. It is an odd feeling having run an hour and ten minutes and see you have a marathon yet to go.<br />
<br />
Once dawn comes we are moving through the course. I split the half marathon in a reasonable 1:43:30, and feel well in control. I would like to run 8:00/mile for a long while, and not faster. I know what lies on the other side of that mountain, and I don't intend to go harder than is necessary to arrive on schedule. Soon we are rolling though Fish Hoek, one of my favorite views in SA.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz05draqkIeJH3I62QqSAYbtsPNLZDTie8Kf47xEMD324qSRpu2E75lH2X6Flshpjw4iM995pdMdSD0ne6jTbuib4TP3rFT0B6A1wIM4-hUbGOS3vFgTPf1tSWCDqo1juicVoiW94CvUtG/s1600/fish+hoek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="800" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz05draqkIeJH3I62QqSAYbtsPNLZDTie8Kf47xEMD324qSRpu2E75lH2X6Flshpjw4iM995pdMdSD0ne6jTbuib4TP3rFT0B6A1wIM4-hUbGOS3vFgTPf1tSWCDqo1juicVoiW94CvUtG/s320/fish+hoek.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The course here follows the shoreline and the mountains in the distance bring a unique dichotomy to the landscape of the country. Just past town we cross my second favorite portion of the course: we drop, seemingly toward the beach but then angle away off into the land. Every year, the theme from The Chariots of Fire is played on a loop at this exact location. In one of my previous runnings there was a mist over the road and the runners in the fog, beach background, theme music, you get the picture....<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4JjX7BfNYwyX9DvfNnRuIpXxGEwj17bwbAwiKtXYRPa0e_BiJWl4a2t2_DKz1n1doP4OGjY7AYWQfkt89705Pbdas3u_b1cdgfQ8dOAuNkywJauRt-_46ksI8T-EOZrYyV1DPzUcM1KW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.38.48+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="405" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4JjX7BfNYwyX9DvfNnRuIpXxGEwj17bwbAwiKtXYRPa0e_BiJWl4a2t2_DKz1n1doP4OGjY7AYWQfkt89705Pbdas3u_b1cdgfQ8dOAuNkywJauRt-_46ksI8T-EOZrYyV1DPzUcM1KW/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.38.48+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crusin' just outside of Fish Hoek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Those without a run under their belt enjoy the next portion. The veterans know the fun is soon over. The last of the flat portions lie ahead, and then the halfway point marks the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end, however it helps to see it. I cross 28K, halfway, in 2:18, a reasonable pace yet slower than ever before and far off the split required for "Silver," the hardest silver in the country to earn. We meandered up Little Chappies and embraced the view as a drop in the road here could only mean the climb was near.<br />
<br />
My climb up Chapman's was steady. I had been in check for 2.5 hours. Now, I wouldn't say I let the dog off the chain because that would imply that I had any aggression in me, but I ran with a purpose and clawed back a few runners. It is quite a long climb with many turns and false summits, but it was lovely running.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3Px5y6Y8jGk2IYMs-Clt3ygKYbZUShH-lbY390meEFHy3MouIQCPX71PdnpPqRqkMJ9_I2rgzG0AiNd9Y6RQqvbJmgT0z2IoBvA_Z9oGYVir13xxAMQM5HqHLk-lshWoDhzwS6DdgUfv/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.39.18+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="405" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3Px5y6Y8jGk2IYMs-Clt3ygKYbZUShH-lbY390meEFHy3MouIQCPX71PdnpPqRqkMJ9_I2rgzG0AiNd9Y6RQqvbJmgT0z2IoBvA_Z9oGYVir13xxAMQM5HqHLk-lshWoDhzwS6DdgUfv/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.39.18+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading up Chapman's with a Fourways runner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmR3fy9MtJU&list=PLrUrrxCRuEmQi70EC9aHlpZceWdQtYFgq&index=1" target="_blank"><br />Runners heading up through the "tunnels" on Chapman's Peak</a> (previous year)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
That is, until the top. Greeted by the usual band of crazies dressed all in green at the summit, I rounded the corner and saw about 60 people in front of me walking. I was puzzled only for about a second when the force of a huge wind blasted me sideways. It was impossible to run, and people were weaving over to the aid station to get a drink. I soldiered on, dealing with the wind as it slowed my pace to 9:30-10:00 per mile on the descent! The first couple of kilometers off Chapman's is a relief, but after about 20 minutes I grew very sick of the relentless downhill. The lay of the road is such that your hips and knees are way out of alignment as you slam down the steep pavement and most people pay for this section of the course, no matter how they run it. You are, after all, more than 20 miles in and it is a mountain you climbed and ran down. Finally, the amazing town of Hout Bay, which had been below me for a long time, became level. Crowds are great here (being the only point to drive to for quite some time) and it is flat.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKYO4oTQmvDifcaGCeOgFfZNnL7cVAHY-0JxZlIscHzNdcbX8HNJpHDT4ve_RJO4wYDoD_84mxGtEaCtE2-Iq14JwoUi3C6BkXD0Veymi-EkgEevXYCX4poNIqqPcetrbCQvdol272eyDs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.39.34+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="404" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKYO4oTQmvDifcaGCeOgFfZNnL7cVAHY-0JxZlIscHzNdcbX8HNJpHDT4ve_RJO4wYDoD_84mxGtEaCtE2-Iq14JwoUi3C6BkXD0Veymi-EkgEevXYCX4poNIqqPcetrbCQvdol272eyDs/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.39.34+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fighting the wind (hat backward) with runners blowing all over the road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
My body held up as I worked through town and soon the 42K mark appeared. I crossed my marathon in 3:29:30, exactly the pace I wanted, but within a minute I knew that it was not to be. It was as if my body agreed to be cooperative for a marathon and not a step more. My legs got really tired and heavy, the course was exposed and the sun got to me. The mix of Energade and Coke was starting to take its toll on my stomach which had gone sour. I began the climb up Constantia Nek and planned to run it (less steep than Chapman's) but that didn't last long. I walked for the first time at about 44k, and it didn't seem to make a difference. People around me didn't pull away or catch up. It was just negative returns. I alternated walking and running for a while but the running was less and the walking more. I turned in a 14:00 min mile. Yep. Legit. I crested the top and started down but the groin muscles were so shot that I had to be very cautious. When I was running, I was back down in the 8:00-8:30 range, but anything up or down (and there is a lot of that from the top of Constantia to the end) and I would have to break it up with walks. My body just quit. People were going by me in waves and I cared not at all. Looking at my watch again, I saw that I had lost most of the 90 minute cushion I had with 9 miles to go.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt0krzC_wVqLhs6uoAqV4f8xihT_uFBC36hLeSas8RmoWHo2XP7_bQbBydn8_VVJHso1Ynnwh4Z3WQNGMFLnabF01ZInXImk_-FYMtLljS7iJEpVOpyryaJHsfnesXmohtr9yhy6JzVw4z/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.40.13+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="400" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt0krzC_wVqLhs6uoAqV4f8xihT_uFBC36hLeSas8RmoWHo2XP7_bQbBydn8_VVJHso1Ynnwh4Z3WQNGMFLnabF01ZInXImk_-FYMtLljS7iJEpVOpyryaJHsfnesXmohtr9yhy6JzVw4z/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.40.13+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the downhills, suffering on my way into Cape Town</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
After a murderous section of the forest behind me (I always have run poorly on that stretch and I think many would join me in that statement) I got out on the roads on the way to the university. I had about 30 minutes to run 5k to break the 5 hour mark and get the medal for doing so. I could not have cared less, so I took it easy. Then I decided, nah, I can run this and would go again until a hill or the pain got too much. Then I would say, "Screw it!" and walk. Lather, rinse, repeat. The pain was at its pinnacle, the will to push its lowest. It was haunting to think that I could no longer turn in a sub-30 min 5K. Something in me said I could, and that this was more mind over body, so I limped back up to a run. With 600m to go, I had 5 minutes in hand, and I turned to the guy next to me and said, "I have lost control of all other faculties. I think bladder control is next." It was a joke anyway, as there was nothing left to piss out.<br />
<br />
Down the hill and into the lawn the guy said, "Relax, you got this." I laughed because I wasn't surging - I was unable to break because my quads were shot. The finish chute was a blur of noise but I managed to see my girls hanging on the fence. I crossed the line and nearly collapsed, and grabbed a fence to hold myself up. The volunteers shouted for me to move on but I ignored them and the humming in my ears took over. After a moment I waddled away and grabbed another fence and watched the last finisher before the 5-hour gun scramble across the line. Many more were denied the Sainsbury medal, which I then collected. Never had I suffered this much at a finish line. I found my family and crumbled into the grass - the pain was so intense I kept my eyes squeezed shut. It took several minutes before I could breathe without huge discomfort in my chest, and many more before I could sit up. We wandered out of the stadium and up stairs (with breaks) to the bus. Sitting there, waiting to depart to the cars, I reached a new low. The hurt was so intense I thought I would puke. Tears were close and I didnt see an end in sight.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnblLMaqDFPfDSoc3ml7G8sZXkfZVYyvxjn0z3Bvt6v19KGeVdqTTF8_xgIN98Ao1n5m0pLfiZxda2to59X-JnMo6UWv-5y4sm2iWvuZEG_l0K9kU-w9qY5gOEDhK6lucZ6esI_HHO7YO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.41.36+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="396" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnblLMaqDFPfDSoc3ml7G8sZXkfZVYyvxjn0z3Bvt6v19KGeVdqTTF8_xgIN98Ao1n5m0pLfiZxda2to59X-JnMo6UWv-5y4sm2iWvuZEG_l0K9kU-w9qY5gOEDhK6lucZ6esI_HHO7YO/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.41.36+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing but pain on the faces of this group</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVtgWFiyzWHC8mkDMGLNTiT_-Mq_j1122w1YBGis-qmHn4p9oGX4RlOepLnyL_JDfRKHaVc7zPJXw9snVP3oVYHzbcFViCPHlhGrf3g0OrQad-qGi9kgV87oNxUixxiKMYWxYMSs3TQ2M/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.41.26+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="397" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVtgWFiyzWHC8mkDMGLNTiT_-Mq_j1122w1YBGis-qmHn4p9oGX4RlOepLnyL_JDfRKHaVc7zPJXw9snVP3oVYHzbcFViCPHlhGrf3g0OrQad-qGi9kgV87oNxUixxiKMYWxYMSs3TQ2M/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-04-19+at+11.41.26+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfZ2FkUAEgaE7ybeEVNolK7MXzfGsP6GOhyphenhyphenRy5GzMwy_PqUMr7gczZlNDLBhjBeY4TVqbyLXS947fa5lh9GRMqnJ9axTr9YoX_IuqQP-qOBKKI63C6ew11CyO_0LYfUAKFt7jw0zTZRaA/s1600/Oceans+Pain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfZ2FkUAEgaE7ybeEVNolK7MXzfGsP6GOhyphenhyphenRy5GzMwy_PqUMr7gczZlNDLBhjBeY4TVqbyLXS947fa5lh9GRMqnJ9axTr9YoX_IuqQP-qOBKKI63C6ew11CyO_0LYfUAKFt7jw0zTZRaA/s320/Oceans+Pain.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pain like I havent had in a LONG time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTvFrxIWut3hFDDKFoR1su5UAeOlMzJ2v7HwjwzZez-QDFKEYb3VHH619hbCvEbfeFmZTG0NHSBnluq1-ci8a8G52zaeuUBgejPQxoKEE0eRE0O9msQtlzcMUK6NOwdMwrPyFzK5owned/s1600/Oceans+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTvFrxIWut3hFDDKFoR1su5UAeOlMzJ2v7HwjwzZez-QDFKEYb3VHH619hbCvEbfeFmZTG0NHSBnluq1-ci8a8G52zaeuUBgejPQxoKEE0eRE0O9msQtlzcMUK6NOwdMwrPyFzK5owned/s320/Oceans+post.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally in a sitting position</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was a long bus ride to the car, upstairs to an apartment, shower, and down to the waterfront. After nearly an hour there, my food came, at which point I was so destroyed I was laying on the bench. I couldn't order a beer or wine I was so messed up. But a bit of walking and hydrating and I resumed some form. My overnight flight (17 hours) back to India does not rank among my more comfortable transportation moments either. But, as Kirsten would say, it was job done.<br />
<br />
I now realize that I can fake a marathon but I can't fake an ultra, and you can never be prepared enough for Two Oceans. I will do more consistent running and hope to add a couple of 20 milers before June 7th, the day I venture into the great unknown.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKnpJzF23FI" target="_blank">Promotional Video with clips from the 21k and 56k (in my opinion the people in this film are having too much fun).</a><br />
<br /></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0Cape Town, South Africa-33.9248685 18.424055299999964-34.768186 17.133161799999964 -33.081551000000005 19.714948799999963tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1599567801678241822.post-90838678649373859542018-02-25T23:17:00.000-07:002018-02-25T23:25:24.272-07:00Any Given Sunday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Given a choice to do something fun with friends or to continue your journey, would you opt for fun, or pursue the fitness? Or would you do both?<br />
<br />
The golf weekend was supposed to be last weekend. Now it is Sunday. What else is Sunday? The New Delhi marathon. Well, I guess you know where this is going. I would love to say my running has revitalized after Jaipur, but alas, recovery from that one led into an illness and I didn't run for 10 days. So I rolled into this weekend with 11.87 miles per week for the last month. Yikes.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoGQ43ceOY9DAOCbW2d597eGHY4aG63F1mG0xgR0WuhWnCehJpCnpxVM8MPZQ1TCj1um_5ve1K8oxUX0su37KZdKVgWIoJRdN2rMYbLRqxC7aw9i3rIBbaOcWyYqeH8Mz-TruHJtWulLK/s1600/IMG_20180224_131040407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoGQ43ceOY9DAOCbW2d597eGHY4aG63F1mG0xgR0WuhWnCehJpCnpxVM8MPZQ1TCj1um_5ve1K8oxUX0su37KZdKVgWIoJRdN2rMYbLRqxC7aw9i3rIBbaOcWyYqeH8Mz-TruHJtWulLK/s320/IMG_20180224_131040407.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't tell what worries me more: undertraining, the 430am sign, or the grammar in this sign</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My biggest issue in negotiating my spot on the golf classic was I didn't know the marathon start time. They didn't have it on the website and when I contacted them about it, they said it would be posted "closer to the start date." This was 12 days prior. It posted about 5 days before. When I showed up at the expo, I found a lovely handwritten sign informing me that the race had been moved to 4:30am; an ungodly hour but better for my day's plans.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17cKq3yjqS_jS2vaUz0jyv6gc9-sSAqmyYlcZYQJPz37MNnRZdUlyDlyAaghGDB9bveHtTcIhlbkxiMNNSp-LPxGCZVHAuV5BJFvUTeU7ptv3l38Jnh31lCC6Xma2IkN5v95jXR1epc85/s1600/IMG-20180224-WA0016.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17cKq3yjqS_jS2vaUz0jyv6gc9-sSAqmyYlcZYQJPz37MNnRZdUlyDlyAaghGDB9bveHtTcIhlbkxiMNNSp-LPxGCZVHAuV5BJFvUTeU7ptv3l38Jnh31lCC6Xma2IkN5v95jXR1epc85/s320/IMG-20180224-WA0016.jpeg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real official</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Rocking up at 4am, I found a toilet. It was a squatty potty, so I deposited the brown notes, but there was no toilet paper. That was an itch that would stick with me for 5 hours or so. I noticed the barefoot runners standing in pee. Not as interesting to me as the guy with fuzzy bathrobe slippers doing the same. I watched the usual Zumba warm-up and then connected with Michael, my acquaintance. He wanted a sub-3:20 so I said I would run him to that, at least for a while. He was joined by Evan and Raj, two of his friends from a running group. We hit the line but were delayed getting out by Sachin Tandulkar, the world-famous cricketer, who was speaking. Finally, we were out, and within 1K Michael was going away - his friends confident he was in shape and would be fine. I ran with Raj and Evan for many K, chatting and hitting the pace. Unfortunately, I did no prep for this run, and when they told me it was 4:45/k for 3:20, I said it was 7:40/mile. I mixed these in my head and started hitting 7:42, 7:41; 7:44 etc. over and over again. We hit halfway in just 1 min over pace for 3:20 and I couldn't figure out why when I had split everything spot on. Then I saw my error: 7:40 mile vs 4:45 kilometers. Ahh. No problem. I can claw back a minute. Michael was 3 min 45 sec ahead of us.<br />
<br />
Evan and I tried not to go too hard, too early, but we got the time back pretty quickly. That happens when you start chatting Boston and Comrades. Evan was flagging around 18 miles, his steps getting clunky and his talking less. I knew he would struggle to finish at this pace. I guided him to 32k (20 miles) and did some math - I needed 7:30s per mile to break 3:20. Well, that was the pace for the day so I had better go do what I said I would do. With a nod to Evan, who would easily get his personal best today, I moved on, eager to shift gears. I glanced across the street and saw Michael on his way back in. He was 2 min and 40 seconds ahead of me. I had yet to speed up so that means we had gained a min on him; something was wrong. I took it down, running 7:08 and 7:14 for the next few. I didn't feel great, as 11 miles per week will do to you in a marathon, but I was in control. Then I saw Michael, and I caught him with 1.5 miles to go, which means I took 2:40 out of him in just about 4 miles. I made him hand over his camelbak for me to carry and stepped in front to lead the way, shouting encouragement for him to stick with the pace. We pushed on, turned the final corners, and crossed the line in 3:19:23, good for 58th overall. I was in 118 at 12K so I figured that was a great negative split and I could have done more if I hadn't slowed to run in with Michael. Later I found out he only needed 3:25 for Boston (no wonder he didn't panic) but he still pushed for the sub-3:20.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNm01R1l6bJ_eSpZ6XDg0AVX_4cbvW68HOz3YDc8mb1Q2NDJZjjW7JFN7bN3N9Trmd2q7aj13rAUYXm5arpVSduWIv_3n4ZuHHqIsqysJz3LZUO3zKo1Fiht30Q1B4BChMLT3OAH7ziAsy/s1600/IMG-20180225-WA0000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNm01R1l6bJ_eSpZ6XDg0AVX_4cbvW68HOz3YDc8mb1Q2NDJZjjW7JFN7bN3N9Trmd2q7aj13rAUYXm5arpVSduWIv_3n4ZuHHqIsqysJz3LZUO3zKo1Fiht30Q1B4BChMLT3OAH7ziAsy/s320/IMG-20180225-WA0000.jpeg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#74 done and dusted</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3bpKEiuTvB6BiTtJsm1GyetLvcOYfIzM1lSUSwHxLsTIIJf2A2rQBB4KzrHZ2vDJDqTcpLsru8o7_BeO_SS2XzKwOmI5RZ86y2Ia3blFcjtqBvcUrmGaHIwqmrvNcea7k8qM63Y20PsQ/s1600/IMG_20180225_075607383_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3bpKEiuTvB6BiTtJsm1GyetLvcOYfIzM1lSUSwHxLsTIIJf2A2rQBB4KzrHZ2vDJDqTcpLsru8o7_BeO_SS2XzKwOmI5RZ86y2Ia3blFcjtqBvcUrmGaHIwqmrvNcea7k8qM63Y20PsQ/s320/IMG_20180225_075607383_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justin and Michael knocking out the Boston qualifier</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlipWsDLTC4pCiNOhItHvq7VC-WHwpBc3-lFMDXLLEcYtKFSYCFfO37yDwaYZQmN3U3jShgFb2NDoUgcj_6ciYYySSJKa8NqE_zoIpA9JcGrxOPPzTHWeX9Pi75lbHLETJecKcg56XW56W/s1600/IMG_20180225_080254113_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlipWsDLTC4pCiNOhItHvq7VC-WHwpBc3-lFMDXLLEcYtKFSYCFfO37yDwaYZQmN3U3jShgFb2NDoUgcj_6ciYYySSJKa8NqE_zoIpA9JcGrxOPPzTHWeX9Pi75lbHLETJecKcg56XW56W/s320/IMG_20180225_080254113_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprisingly good since I lost one of my Gu's on the course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately, the journey did not end here. After eating the food (first time I have eaten post-race Indian food), I started off. The roads were all closed around the stadium, so I had to walk two miles to the golf course. I was accosted by security and caddys when I walked into the country club looking sweaty and dressed in running clothes but they let me stay and do my push-ups (50 a day, every day) until everyone else came. I showered and hammered an omelet, toast, and bacon and we hit the links. I walked 18 holes of golf, probably another 5 miles, and drank beer the whole way. We had a great time, avoiding peacocks and making numerous inappropriate jokes (golf lends itself to so many, "That's what she said" comments). My group still finished 3rd on the day.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJBOFWDIlJycj_A7h-peob30oW1oFxeULkrs8NeeGzhkRYTkzMm5szGj12dbGajknw9V27isMAu5Lj__0ulID3ryeaM1VgiRV_zhAOhGe9TXbBRO0vg8IgbLhZWfc4F2iOlGXwJs42C64/s1600/IMG_20180225_102858110_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJBOFWDIlJycj_A7h-peob30oW1oFxeULkrs8NeeGzhkRYTkzMm5szGj12dbGajknw9V27isMAu5Lj__0ulID3ryeaM1VgiRV_zhAOhGe9TXbBRO0vg8IgbLhZWfc4F2iOlGXwJs42C64/s320/IMG_20180225_102858110_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hole #1 with a peacock on it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjDpSwRtjOu8yhxYxPXIalj4-sHRM2aw1cnGih2MHHPAsKTD8CGSs4PPRBrbbe_l3YFNL48Gek82pWrNHDxBRWnAAE8jWMYSWClY7je3PYTqOPzrlMJR_5RfdnsauojdKnoHW_aZ1-647/s1600/golf+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjDpSwRtjOu8yhxYxPXIalj4-sHRM2aw1cnGih2MHHPAsKTD8CGSs4PPRBrbbe_l3YFNL48Gek82pWrNHDxBRWnAAE8jWMYSWClY7je3PYTqOPzrlMJR_5RfdnsauojdKnoHW_aZ1-647/s320/golf+2.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24f5_r11vLW7L7ZhGZgBxHkJWWPKaAV-SkzVRmxfKUnII8tnFtO21H5g5yk4o51K8l-pP3V53ncav_Xg20ZWFKMgQuvSC-h_lxVJ-DqWfA58gAhZBewvz-taXL-HpGC7XO_9Gjs4cM5_l/s1600/golf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24f5_r11vLW7L7ZhGZgBxHkJWWPKaAV-SkzVRmxfKUnII8tnFtO21H5g5yk4o51K8l-pP3V53ncav_Xg20ZWFKMgQuvSC-h_lxVJ-DqWfA58gAhZBewvz-taXL-HpGC7XO_9Gjs4cM5_l/s320/golf.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trouble brewing on the 7th tee box</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4bif1ijLlvu1tAF-cYWzeH8ASnxbp5N7tjUyNSAR4ObYe1WoMqBaHwdX4wuLuznJXdEcTTNjDEQN7BLSfywDXiUbZouoyjJifkXDbgLalP-Oahwrc2qNIqWyhDdeCOo0E4AdC2Lze9s9/s1600/IMG_20180225_111435938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4bif1ijLlvu1tAF-cYWzeH8ASnxbp5N7tjUyNSAR4ObYe1WoMqBaHwdX4wuLuznJXdEcTTNjDEQN7BLSfywDXiUbZouoyjJifkXDbgLalP-Oahwrc2qNIqWyhDdeCOo0E4AdC2Lze9s9/s320/IMG_20180225_111435938.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our team, missing one, but we still finished 3rd</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finished the day off at the bar.<br />
<br />
I was pretty toasted. Maybe it's because I am 37, woke up at 3am, ran a marathon on no training, walked two miles to a golf course, walked another 5 miles playing golf, and drank beer all day, only to end up at a bar. Or maybe I am looking at this wrong. Maybe I am 37, woke up at 3am, ran a marathon on no training, walked two miles to a golf course, walked another 5 miles playing golf, and drank beer all day, and ended up at a bar. Awesome day. Yeah, that feels better to say it like that.<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter what you do with your Sunday, and you don't have to play softball or golf after a marathon. But you need to do something. So get out there and make it happen. Let the incondite adventure continue. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Note: If you are one of the 3 people that ever read this thing, you can now sign up on the side for email updates when a new post comes. Thanks for reading. </i></div>
Justin Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09426882586206370108noreply@blogger.com0New Delhi, Delhi, India28.6139391 77.20902120000005228.3907261 76.886297700000057 28.8371521 77.531744700000047