White Pine Trail

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.

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. The White Pine Trail 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.

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.

Day 1: Comstock Park to Sand Lake
21.5 miles
3:00:59 (8:25/mi)

Start 6:25am
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.

Start of the trail

finishing up with the girls 21.5 miles later

Leg 1 is done

Day 2: Sand Lake to Stanwood
20.4 miles
2:52:07 (8:27/mi)

Start 6:32am
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.

Start of leg 2

A rough finish 

Hurting bad after 20 more miles in the humidity

Day 3: Stanwood to Paris
16 miles
2:21:04 (8:47/mi)
Humidity: 94%
No. of people I saw on the trail: 3 (1 cyclist, 1 runner, 1 dog walker)

Start: 6:24am
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.

Not excited for leg 3

Post vomit at the end, very done and dusted

 Day 4: Paris to LeRoy
19.34 miles
2:51:47 (8:53/mi)
# of people I saw on the trail: 1 cyclist (in the final quarter-mile)

Start: 7:37am
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.

Start of leg 4, ready to rock

Finishing up well with Kaze

4 down, 1 to go

Day 5: LeRoy to Cadillac 
15 miles
2:02:54 (8:11/mi)
# of people on the trail: 20+

Start: 8:39am
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.

Leg 5 - the end is that way

The finish in Cadillac, 92.5 miles later

Rounding out the run for an even 15 mi on the day

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...

Views From the Trail

My motivation stemmed from several sources: I kicked it off with David Goggins' Can't Hurt Me, an inspiring story about from the hardest man alive. I re-read Running with the Buffaloes, Once a Runner, and Lance Armstrong's It's Not About the Bike.  I watched movies like Remember the Titans, Lone Survivor, 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.

Once a runner...

A Marathon Off the Couch

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 flashback of my blown ankle 10 months ago).

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.

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 Venice, 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 the hockey tournament in Leh. 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?

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.

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 need this.

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.

5 miles in near India Gate in the pre-dawn

1 mile to go

Keeping form on the track

Almost at the line

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.

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.

Pond Hockey in the Mountains - Revistited

-30 C at sunrise in the Himalaya

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.

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 here. It was a fun weekend but this year we wanted to do better.

Thursday: 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 Slava Fetisov 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.

HOF legend Slava Fetisov

Friday: There was an opportunity to get out to an eco-friendly school (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.

That will need stitches

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).

Saturday:  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.

But then game 1 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.

Slurpie Line (#s 7-7-11)

Game 2: 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.

Exhausted trying to get something done

A frustrated Slurpie (7-11) line

I deflect a shot between my legs that goes wide of the net, the
closest we come to a shot on goal.

Game 3: 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.

Charity Game:  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.

Sunday: 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.

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).

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.

Finals: 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.

Face off with the Slurpie Line

Jeff and Justin - 7's

A little through the legs dangle

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.

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.

Delhi Sacred Bulls - 2020 Indo-Canadian Cup Champions

Champions

A Bridge Too Far - Venice Marathon 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bridge across the water

Cobbles near the finish

a typical alley (not on the route!)

on the temp bridge a few K from the finish.

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

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




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

365 Days of Dedication

What can you do for a year straight?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Things Happen in 3's (Or More)

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

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

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

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

This doesn't look good

Half cast

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

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

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

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

Broken toe and bruising on top part of foot

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

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

Inside, non-torn side still bruised a week later

Bruising on torn side - 1 week later

Swelling on inside ankle - 10 days post injury

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

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

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