Closing in on 400

I was suddenly in the street and moving with purpose. Judging by the light reflecting off the city’s skyscrapers, it must have been late morning, bordering on noon. I dodged oncoming pedestrians as we made our way in opposite directions through the crosswalk. Something caught my eye down the side street to my left. When I looked over, I saw, wait…could it be?

“Ryan.” A voice called out to see if he’d look up.

“Ryan!” this time louder. He did look up this time, as he pulled a fresh pair of blue Oakleys from a plastic shopping bag and adjusted them on his face. Shaggy bleach blonde hair, almost yellow, stuck out in all directions around the earpieces.

“Yes, it’s Ryan Hall,” his wife Sara called out as she pushed her way through the crowd converging on her husband, as if to say, “I’ll wait for you on the other side.”

He started handing out autographed postcards that had a long desert road reaching back into infinity and the caption: “Do what you love” on some and “Never give up” on others.

I fumbled in my pockets for my iPhone to snap a picture then cursed myself, pursing my lips and realizing, of all times, that I’d forgotten my phone.

As Ryan neared me, he looked down at his watch that had started beeping. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “Gotta jet.” But as he disappeared, the beeping got louder rather than softer. My shoulders dropped. “Gotta jet, indeed,” I said aloud.

My eyes snapped open. The dawn began to filter into our room, about the time I usually think that I have another merciful hour to sleep. But not this morning. I gently shook my wife to make sure she too got out of bed.

I stumbled to the dresser and pulled on my Brooks shorties, brushed my teeth, and willed my legs to loosen up as I Frankensteined down the stairs. I took my water bottle from the freezer, and in no less than seven minutes since Ryan Hall’s watch beeped in my dream, I was out the door to tackle a 9.2 mile loop before work.

If all goes according to plan, my 400 miles between June 1 and July 31 is less than 24 hours away. To put it simply, it’s been a lot of running. So much so apparently, it has infiltrated my dreams.

It’s funny. I normally reserve the afternoons for my longer runs, opting for what feels like a blissfully short 5K to start the morning of which I sleepwalk through half of to “feel the day.” But yesterday, the mercury rose to 98 degrees and coupled with the humidity, it pushed the “feels like” temp well over 100. To get my p.m. mileage in for the day, I had 10.8 miles on the agenda with strides and drills at the end making it 11.1 for the afternoon. Dedicated? Maybe. Stupid. Most certainly. I commanded myself to keep the pace light and easy as I circled my 5.4 mile loop twice, giving myself the option to bail if things got too hot.

I finished the run ok but the last two miles left me lightheaded and standing under a cold shower when I returned home. The heat advisory for today had already been issued, so I slugged water bottle after water bottle, got to bed early, and set the alarm for 5:30 to *gulp* get those nine miles in before it got unbearable.

After falling immediately asleep, I awoke several times thinking I had to get up and get moving, only to realize that the room was still dark. I rolled over. I slept on my back. I tucked a pillow between my knees. I tried to focus on the hum of the fan. But the harder I tried to fall asleep, the more awake I became.

You see, when I take on longer runs in the morning, I get nervous, worried that I won’t have enough to complete the run or take too long that it makes me late for work. It’s not until a mile or so into the run that I let myself relax and realize that I’m out there, doing it, and I’m going to finish it.

So, after laying awake for so many hours or minutes, I’m still not sure, that must be why Ryan Hall seemed so real walking toward to me. While I puttered around the house, the dream stayed with me, and I thought, Ryan Hall waking me up for a run in the morning has to be a pretty good omen.

Gotta jet.

Olympic Trials Ramblings

When the gun went off on Saturday…rather, when the gun went off on NBC, Saturday afternoon, I sat in my friends’ basement, helping myself to some chips and salsa, sipping on a Chimay, and thought: this is it.

The 2012 Olympians. Courtesy of Runnersworld.com.

 

Christmas morning, err, afternoon, had arrived.

 

As I mentioned last Friday, I’d had this day circled on the calendar for some time. I followed the journeys of the favorites and the hopefuls leading up to race day. I drew on their experiences and used them as my own motivation when storm clouds moved in around my head. The time had finally come and the stories had all merged together on one spot as they always do: the starting line.

 

Here are some of my thoughts and observations during the Trials: 

• Blackhawk Down – First off, I love hockey. But part of me died inside when the Blackhawks scored with under a minute to play to send the game to overtime, thereby delaying the start of the Trials’ telecast. 
• Ctrl+alt+delete – Before heading to my friends’ house, I feverishly worked in our basement trying to set the DVR to record the Trials at 3:00. We had the dreaded black screen blinking “No Signal.” While I laced together a string of obscenities after each Verizon "help" page led me nowhere, I finally decided to unplug the cable box and plug it back in. Why is it always just that easy?
• My Dad the Faux Spoiler – I went into total media blackout at 9:00 a.m. EST. Though when I spoke to my dad later that morning the following ensued:

“Good morning.”
“Don’t say anything. I don’t want to know. I know it’s over.”
“Yep, it’s over. And I know who’s going.”
“I’m waiting until 3:00, don’t say anything.”
“Actually the women’s race is still going. Last time I checked, a pack of three had broken away.”
“Dad, seriously. Let’s move on. I’m in full media blackout until 5:00 tonight.”
“Well, since it’s running coverage, you could probably still live like a normal person and never know that it went on.”Truer words…but just in case, the Facebook, Twitter, e-mail embargo was in full effect.

• Wow Me – While this was a “Trial” for the marathoners, I hope that NBC sees that it was a trial for their Olympic marathon coverage too. And they failed. I'm mostly over the fact that there was no live feed (the intro paragraph of this blog aside), but you'd think with the delay between the race and the actual telecast they could have, oh, I don't know, put some splits up!? I thought the commentary was awful. Would it have killed them to flash up mile markers so we knew where the runners were on the course?  These athletes are covering 26.2 miles at 4 and 5-something per mile. Let me be amazed!
• Michael Wardian’s Ponytail is Everywhere – A cheer went up in the room when we spotted Michael Wardian’s signature backwards white hat and ponytail on the startline; he’s an Arlington, VA-based superhuman distance runner; we then proceeded to tell our, “Well, I saw Wardian at….” stories. Wardian also sprinted to the lead of the '07 Trials just to say he led; I thought Ryan Hall made it pretty clear that there'd be none of that this time around.
• Double Dip – Wardian ran the Houston marathon the day after the trials too. Dude got his money's worth.
• Home Cooking – Another cheer went up when we realized the runner leading the women’s race was from Falls Church, VA, just down the road from us. Then in the next frame, she faded. Alas.
• Wave Goodbye – I rooted so hard for Ritz to stay with the lead pack, especially at mile 18 when Abdi started waving his arms at the crowd. I was ready to wave good bye to his spot. Not a fan.
• Junk in the Front – Speaking of Ritz, did you see those “shorts” he ran in? Not just the shorts but everything else! My wife traveled to Massachusetts this weekend, and we usually leave those kinds of observations to her. But, I must have channeled her spirit because all of the sudden the words, "Check out Ritz's package," came out of my mouth. There's no recovering from that.
• Rainbow Bright - And speaking of fashion, Meb's shoes? Whoa.
• Cold as Ice - Desi looked automatic out there; I know Shalane won, but Desi just looks like a cold killer; she gives nothing away behind those sunglasses (except the lead, ba-zing!).
• Kenyan Trials – Funniest comment to my last blog goes to runDanrun; run_nyc74 posted: “I just wish Kenya had an Olympic Marathon Trial. I’d definitely watch that. It would be better than the actual Olympics!” To which Dan replied: “The Kenyan Trials can be watched at the Olympics as well....top 3.” 
• Christmas is Over – When it was all said and done, I sat back and blew out a long sigh. It felt like I was a little kid all over again and I had torn through all my Christmas gifts and it was suddenly over too fast….until we get to see them do it again this summer.

Let the countdown to London begin!

What were your impressionable moments from the Trials?

London Calling

I didn’t think it could be done. But, on a bright November morning in 2010, I awoke to my alarm, fried up some eggs, brewed a pot of coffee and descended into our basement with the Sunday Post tucked under my arm. I was going to watch the New York Marathon.

We all know running a marathon is a challenge. And even spectating a marathon in-person can be quite the workout. But watching a marathon on TV? Surely, there are other more exciting things on Sunday TV.

That morning, I didn’t crease that newspaper once. I sat riveted to the screen watching Shalane duke it out, and willing Meb to hold on to the chase pack. I submitted my NYC marathon entry that afternoon, then I did the only thing left: I laced up and went for my own run.

Earlier this week in my co-worker’s office, I had the generic “what are you up to this weekend” talk (even though it was Monday). Without hesitation, without even a thought to the NFL playoffs or my beloved and woeful Capitals, I blurted out: From 3-5 on Saturday I’m watching the Olympic Marathon Trials.

I watched her face fall. Then it contorted in skepticism. Then the laughing began.
“I’m sorry. You’re going to watch running? For two hours?”

I hadn’t anticipated how this might sound. In my head, the thought of three spots on the line to go to the Olympics -- the Olympics! -- was all the reason I needed. To somehow live through Again to Carthage, and share in the hope, glory, and devastation of these athletes who have dedicated so many miles, so many hours, so many years of their life to just run 26.2 more and the right to do it again on the grandest stage.

And yet, I got laughter as a response. I may as well have said that I was going to watch the puddles freeze outside. But, I’ve had January 14 circled on the calendar since the summer.

When I really became a student of the running game, the 2007 trials were just ramping up. I remember flipping through Runner’s World, thinking Who are these guys? Now, names like Ryan Hall, Dathan Ritzenheim, Nick Arciniaga, and the Brooks Hanson’s project, are all part of my vocabulary. (Side note: I’ve met two thirds of the 2008 men’s marathon team. Boom.)

The past three weeks, I’ve been in my glory. Between the Flotrack coverage of Davila, Hall, McMillan Elite, Marathon Road, the Running Times feature on the '84 trials, and the Runner’s World online coverage, it’s been hard to focus on much else.

For some, the Olympic team is on the line. For others it’s the culmination of years and years of training just to meet the standard and get to compete in the race.

I will be detached from all electronic communication and news sources until 5:00 tomorrow evening since NBC, in their infinite wisdom, is not live streaming or live broadcasting the race. Rather, they have the “special” from 3-5.

So, if anyone needs me, I’ll be downstairs.

Hecklers Beware

What is it about the human condition that compels non-runners to holler out their car window at those who do run?

Lately, I’ve taken to running later in the evening because of the August-in-June temperatures that we’ve had in D.C. Despite the later start date, the traffic continues to pile up on the main road of my route. Running against traffic as all smart runners do, it offers a glimpse into the windshields of the poor commuters still riding home from toil. And that in turn elicits these types of responses:

• The WTF – this is the outstretched arm, open palm, reading lips, “Hey! WTF?” The only appropriate response in my mind is to smile and shout, “Jealous!”
• The Shout and Drive – this one is a little more cowardly and one I mostly encounter at stop lights; you can feel the eyes on you and almost see the wheels spinning to get out that oh so witty comment. The light turns green, the window comes down, and as they pass, shout: “Run, Forrest!” or “Hey, runner!” Genius.
• The Whooper – I get this one on long stretches of highway; this is the window down, “Yeeeoooowwwww!” a real blood curdling scream as they speed by at 65 mph.
• The Fashionista – this is my favorite, it’s the commentary on my running attire; “Nice shorts,” “Who wear’s short-shorts?,” “Put some clothes on,” are the typical fare. Note there are no comments on my shirt. More on that in a second.

"The Ryan-Hall-running-past-the-Wellesley-girls-ear-cock."

I’m fairly confident that if push comes to shove, or rather if it looks like push is coming, I’ll be faster than my cowardly heckler yelling at me from the safety of their car. But rather than get upset and toss up a choice finger or run up the hood of their car as Quenton Cassidy might do, I’ve taken the approach of playing along. It’s nothing terribly witty but enough to throw Johnny Clever off his game.

If the comment or gesture comes from inside the car with the window down, I give them the Ryan-Hall-running-past-the-Wellesley-girls-ear-cock. I also like to pair that with a big shit-eating grin.

If the window is down and the comment is about the length of my shorts, I enjoy yelling back, “In your dreams, Lover.”

I have to say, my favorite and most impulsive response came on a particularly balmy Sunday afternoon. I was two miles into a ten miler and running alongside traffic before descending onto the Big Rocky Run trail. I ran shirtless as I’ve taken to doing in the heat (with sunscreen applied, of course). I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a hairy dude. Reports have gone out that an emaciated sasquatch was roaming the Fairfax woods….

So there I am, shirtless and seventies in my split shorts and not much else, when I notice two guys pointing and laughing as I go. I catch them looking and smirk before pointing at the one in the passenger seat, rubbing my chest in a circular motion and mouthing, “Ohhhh, yeah.” This earned me more laughter, a big thumbs up, and some applause as we went our separate ways.

So, next time you find yourself on the receiving end of some unoriginal taunting, see if you can play along and disarm the less-intelligent…and less speedy.