So I've all but given up on the grandiose notion that I'd be able to head into Brooklyn this weekend, rock out a 1:23, and coast into the NYC Marathon. Frankly I have no idea what the hell I was thinking. Maybe I figured I could use magic? Or drink unicorn blood until I was Keyan? Who knows. In retrospect it seems one part bad math, one part underestimating how difficult a half marathon is, and one part being completely and totally full of myself - maybe even two and a half parts of that.
Even if a glimmer of hope still existed, I'm so sore from my first softball game of the year - ON MONDAY! Which reminds me...when did I become old? Four days later and I'm still so sore that sleeping hurts.
I'm still going to run it - not because there's part of me that thinks there's still a chance, there really isn't. But there's something distinctly refreshing about making a ridiculous claim, realizing there's no backing it up, and then running until I vomit. We can only hope that while I'm laying semi-concious on the side of Ocean Parkway, the aubulence drivers will let me hit the siren. WoooooooWooooooooWoooooo!!!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Boston Part II
This is way past the fact but the Boston Marathon last Monday was slightly F-ing spectacular. Life changing even. Like finding out that Mickey Mouse killed a guy in ’72 over a drug debt. I love Mickey. How could he do that? But there’s a blood stained shirt and affidavits that once he gets a few in him he gets all stabby. While I can’t confirm that, I do know that I’m a different man since Beantown. I jumped in at mile 11 a boy and turned off the course at mile 24 a boy that wants to run a marathon. Not quite a man, but no longer just a dude who likes to do three milers through Times Square.
So what’s the next step? Welllllllllllll. Fact is that I want to pop my marathon cherry in the NYC. This is my city, this is my home, this should be my first marathon. I want to distribute 26.2 miles worth of high fives. Take it from the SI into the BK, kill some Queens, cross into Manhattan and distribute the ^5s like I’m being contracted by a high five distribution organization, trudge through the Bronx, and get back into Manhattan ready to rock and F-ing roll. Then rock Central Park like I’m the Beatles in ’68.
Despite the fact that we’re theoretically not allowed to run the race because of work, I really am not looking at NYC as something I want to do well – just do.
But to get there I need to qualify. Theoretically, I could probably just get in with some help, but there’s nothing that appeals to me about being in a race I didn’t earn. So I’ve got one chance to make it happen and that’s this coming weekend in Brooklyn. I have to turn a 1:23 over a distance I’ve never even come close to racing, at a pace I have zero chance of keeping, on a course I’m going to fall apart on. I haven’t run a race longer than a 10K in years, but now I’m going to turn a half at sub 6:20…Sweet.
More is coming but my B-Town run is attached along with my shots from the race.
So what’s the next step? Welllllllllllll. Fact is that I want to pop my marathon cherry in the NYC. This is my city, this is my home, this should be my first marathon. I want to distribute 26.2 miles worth of high fives. Take it from the SI into the BK, kill some Queens, cross into Manhattan and distribute the ^5s like I’m being contracted by a high five distribution organization, trudge through the Bronx, and get back into Manhattan ready to rock and F-ing roll. Then rock Central Park like I’m the Beatles in ’68.
Despite the fact that we’re theoretically not allowed to run the race because of work, I really am not looking at NYC as something I want to do well – just do.
But to get there I need to qualify. Theoretically, I could probably just get in with some help, but there’s nothing that appeals to me about being in a race I didn’t earn. So I’ve got one chance to make it happen and that’s this coming weekend in Brooklyn. I have to turn a 1:23 over a distance I’ve never even come close to racing, at a pace I have zero chance of keeping, on a course I’m going to fall apart on. I haven’t run a race longer than a 10K in years, but now I’m going to turn a half at sub 6:20…Sweet.
More is coming but my B-Town run is attached along with my shots from the race.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Boston Part I
I'm running Bos-tan.
I dunno. 13 miles but pretty F-ing pumped. Rocking 11 - 24. I'll log this bad boy later. But if you're near the finish have a laghar waiting. Wicked sweet.
I dunno. 13 miles but pretty F-ing pumped. Rocking 11 - 24. I'll log this bad boy later. But if you're near the finish have a laghar waiting. Wicked sweet.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Return
Running is a cruel and fickle mistress. Some days it fills your heart and soul with beautiful music, and the next you catch the early flight home from San Diego and a couple of nude people jump out of your bathroom blindfolded like a goddamn magic show ready to double team your girlfriend. Such is the way of the sport.
So after a couple months of Mozart-esk running bliss I spent the past two weeks in injury recovery mode waiting for my foot to heal. I had been feeling pretty dope-tacular before the injury, so spending the time riding the pine was kind of a bummer. When I finally laced them up last night I got a quick lesson in how fleeting being in shape is. Just two weeks and my physical fitness has faded faster than Britney’s looks.
I was hoping yesterday’s run was just an anomaly, but I dropped another four tonight and I’m hurting. I’m slow, my legs are heavy, hills have been kicking my ass, and I’m getting winded just tying my shoes. Normally this wouldn’t really be a problem, it’s just a couple weeks back on the horse and everything will be right as rain. However, I’ll be banditing part of the Boston Marathon next Monday to help pace a friend up Heart Break Hill and I don’t know if I’ll make it right now.
Granted she’s planning on going a touch under 8 minute pace so I should theoretically be able to roll out of bed and knock that out backwards, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a little worried. With all my talk leading up about the run being a walk in the park I’m going to have a long ride home if I’m bailing at mile 6.
More importantly, I was really amped about the run. Boston is like the holy grail of running. It’s almost as if every time it’s title is even mentioned a glistening white light should shine from the heavens and a choir of angels should coo. But chances of me rocking the 3:10:59 qualifying time to ever run the race legit is pretty F-ing slim. I watched the race last year and in my eyes it’s everything running purists build it up to be. If you have any love for the sport it’s hard to be in Boston for the week leading up without getting caught up in the mystique. So after five days completely immersed in the scene I’m going to be chomping at the bit to get out there.
But I guess pushing through is what being a runner is all about. So for anyone up there next week check me from miles 10 – 23.
So after a couple months of Mozart-esk running bliss I spent the past two weeks in injury recovery mode waiting for my foot to heal. I had been feeling pretty dope-tacular before the injury, so spending the time riding the pine was kind of a bummer. When I finally laced them up last night I got a quick lesson in how fleeting being in shape is. Just two weeks and my physical fitness has faded faster than Britney’s looks.
I was hoping yesterday’s run was just an anomaly, but I dropped another four tonight and I’m hurting. I’m slow, my legs are heavy, hills have been kicking my ass, and I’m getting winded just tying my shoes. Normally this wouldn’t really be a problem, it’s just a couple weeks back on the horse and everything will be right as rain. However, I’ll be banditing part of the Boston Marathon next Monday to help pace a friend up Heart Break Hill and I don’t know if I’ll make it right now.
Granted she’s planning on going a touch under 8 minute pace so I should theoretically be able to roll out of bed and knock that out backwards, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a little worried. With all my talk leading up about the run being a walk in the park I’m going to have a long ride home if I’m bailing at mile 6.
More importantly, I was really amped about the run. Boston is like the holy grail of running. It’s almost as if every time it’s title is even mentioned a glistening white light should shine from the heavens and a choir of angels should coo. But chances of me rocking the 3:10:59 qualifying time to ever run the race legit is pretty F-ing slim. I watched the race last year and in my eyes it’s everything running purists build it up to be. If you have any love for the sport it’s hard to be in Boston for the week leading up without getting caught up in the mystique. So after five days completely immersed in the scene I’m going to be chomping at the bit to get out there.
But I guess pushing through is what being a runner is all about. So for anyone up there next week check me from miles 10 – 23.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
My Injured is More Injured Than your Injured
The first round of the New York Tournament Challenge ended at midnight on Saturday – or Sunday, depending on what day you attribute the minute after 11:59PM on Saturday to. Considering my day doesn’t officially end until I start getting my three hours of sleep I’m going with Saturday. If you don’t like that we can have words playa. Bring it!
Anyway, I had a sneaking suspicion that Team .2 was trying to hoodwink the group by sandbagging in the final week, and then dropping silly sick miles right before the buzzer. It would turn out later that night that they were in fact sucking as much as it had previously seemed, rather than just formulating a cunning plot to lull the Claudites (Team Claude’s loyal minions) into a false sense of security.
But with this potential ruse in mind I set out Saturday night prepared to throw down mean mileage the likes of which I hadn’t touched since my freshman year of college.
I decided to play a game of just the tip and take my run down the West Side Highway, around the southern tip of the island, up to 46th and back across to 8th. I figured it would be close to 13 miles, and enough to make me feel like I contributed something to the cause. I didn’t feel great, I wasn’t properly hydrated, the top of my right foot was so sore that I considered calling it a night after mile four, but 13.1 miles later I clocked in with a semi shockingly quick 1:24 without really pushing too hard. I felt good, my legs had a lot left and I was happy – until three hours later when I couldn’t put any pressure on my left foot.
****Caution: Scientific quackery to follow****
I was pretty surprised with the time but more surprised that I had injured my left foot despite feeling fine during and after the run. But over the last few days I’ve realized that the runner’s body is a finely tuned machine, the likes of which should not be tampered with by making unnecessary footwear changes.
Ya see, after running in a pair of size 11 Vomeros for the better part of the last year, I came across an extra pair of size 10.5s and decided that they would be a better fit for me. Now I realize that the half size was enough of a change to totally throw my feet out of the game leading to a freak injury.
Now I’m no podiatrist, exercise physiologist, biomechanical specialist, or sports orthopedist – I’m a runner. So this scientifical evaluation of what happened may be completely baseless gibberish. I’ve been known to produce my fair share over the years and this is no exception.
What I do know is that the size 11 Vomero had a little more room in the forefoot than I liked, and I know that I’d been sizing down to 10.5 in a lot of shoes lately because Nike has been widening the forefoot of most models to accommodate the average runner’s complaints that Nike’s were traditionally narrow. I’d been running in size 11s Vomeros for the last year partially because that’s what my size has been listed as so that’s what I always get when shoe orders get placed, but also because my left foot is a half size larger than my right so I’m pretty flexible with either a 10.5 or 11. What I didn’t realize is after putting my last 300 miles, (which has been a real turning point in my running) down in a pair of size 11s, my foot had grown accustom to the placement of the sipping and flex groves in the size of that shoe.
We’re talking maybe an eight of an inch difference in the main metatarsal flex point in the forefoot of the 10.5s and 11s, but that tiny bit was enough to move the flex point of the shoe away from where my foot naturally flexed. The result was that shortly after I started running in the 10.5s I injured the top of my right foot.
At the time I assumed it was due to lacing too tight, and I used a skip lacing technique – skipping the 3rd eyelet to try to relieve the pressure on that part of the foot. In retrospect it had little to do with the lacing and more to do with the fact that the slight difference in the flex groove position was impeding the shoe from flexing naturally with my foot on toe-off. My foot naturally continued to flex the way my foot naturally flexed, but without the shoe working with it the shoe was creating a pressure point on my foot with every step.
I found myself scrunching my foot forward during my runs to try to find a more comfortable point – again, in retrospect I was actually trying to move my foot towards where it would be positioned in the size 11s to align myself with the flex groove.
I finished the run, albeit in a bit of pain but nothing catastrophic. But that’s when the real trouble began. Shortly after my run I noticed severe pain in the lateral side of my left foot. Mind you my left foot was fine before the run, fine during the run, and fine after the run. But a couple hours later and I couldn’t put pressure on it. Three days later and it’s possibly worse.
I have no time to seek a real medical evaluation so I’ll be taking a few days off to see if things heal up on their own, but lesson learned. Much respect due to the foot and the size 11. I no longer will stray. Ouchy.
Anyway, I had a sneaking suspicion that Team .2 was trying to hoodwink the group by sandbagging in the final week, and then dropping silly sick miles right before the buzzer. It would turn out later that night that they were in fact sucking as much as it had previously seemed, rather than just formulating a cunning plot to lull the Claudites (Team Claude’s loyal minions) into a false sense of security.
But with this potential ruse in mind I set out Saturday night prepared to throw down mean mileage the likes of which I hadn’t touched since my freshman year of college.
I decided to play a game of just the tip and take my run down the West Side Highway, around the southern tip of the island, up to 46th and back across to 8th. I figured it would be close to 13 miles, and enough to make me feel like I contributed something to the cause. I didn’t feel great, I wasn’t properly hydrated, the top of my right foot was so sore that I considered calling it a night after mile four, but 13.1 miles later I clocked in with a semi shockingly quick 1:24 without really pushing too hard. I felt good, my legs had a lot left and I was happy – until three hours later when I couldn’t put any pressure on my left foot.
****Caution: Scientific quackery to follow****
I was pretty surprised with the time but more surprised that I had injured my left foot despite feeling fine during and after the run. But over the last few days I’ve realized that the runner’s body is a finely tuned machine, the likes of which should not be tampered with by making unnecessary footwear changes.
Ya see, after running in a pair of size 11 Vomeros for the better part of the last year, I came across an extra pair of size 10.5s and decided that they would be a better fit for me. Now I realize that the half size was enough of a change to totally throw my feet out of the game leading to a freak injury.
Now I’m no podiatrist, exercise physiologist, biomechanical specialist, or sports orthopedist – I’m a runner. So this scientifical evaluation of what happened may be completely baseless gibberish. I’ve been known to produce my fair share over the years and this is no exception.
What I do know is that the size 11 Vomero had a little more room in the forefoot than I liked, and I know that I’d been sizing down to 10.5 in a lot of shoes lately because Nike has been widening the forefoot of most models to accommodate the average runner’s complaints that Nike’s were traditionally narrow. I’d been running in size 11s Vomeros for the last year partially because that’s what my size has been listed as so that’s what I always get when shoe orders get placed, but also because my left foot is a half size larger than my right so I’m pretty flexible with either a 10.5 or 11. What I didn’t realize is after putting my last 300 miles, (which has been a real turning point in my running) down in a pair of size 11s, my foot had grown accustom to the placement of the sipping and flex groves in the size of that shoe.
We’re talking maybe an eight of an inch difference in the main metatarsal flex point in the forefoot of the 10.5s and 11s, but that tiny bit was enough to move the flex point of the shoe away from where my foot naturally flexed. The result was that shortly after I started running in the 10.5s I injured the top of my right foot.
At the time I assumed it was due to lacing too tight, and I used a skip lacing technique – skipping the 3rd eyelet to try to relieve the pressure on that part of the foot. In retrospect it had little to do with the lacing and more to do with the fact that the slight difference in the flex groove position was impeding the shoe from flexing naturally with my foot on toe-off. My foot naturally continued to flex the way my foot naturally flexed, but without the shoe working with it the shoe was creating a pressure point on my foot with every step.
I found myself scrunching my foot forward during my runs to try to find a more comfortable point – again, in retrospect I was actually trying to move my foot towards where it would be positioned in the size 11s to align myself with the flex groove.
I finished the run, albeit in a bit of pain but nothing catastrophic. But that’s when the real trouble began. Shortly after my run I noticed severe pain in the lateral side of my left foot. Mind you my left foot was fine before the run, fine during the run, and fine after the run. But a couple hours later and I couldn’t put pressure on it. Three days later and it’s possibly worse.
I have no time to seek a real medical evaluation so I’ll be taking a few days off to see if things heal up on their own, but lesson learned. Much respect due to the foot and the size 11. I no longer will stray. Ouchy.
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