Run August 14 and September 6, 2010
I rather doubt I'll get much backing from the medical profession on this one, but I really do believe this: marathons are a miracle drug. A little background is in order. On August 3rd, I had the second worst bike accident of my life. Over the past 40 years, 900 races, and 300,000 miles, I've gone down more times than I can count. Several of the crashes resulted in broken bones or other significant injuries, but 4 ribs, a collarbone, and puncturing a lung was a new high for damage. In terms of recovery, it was my worst crash, but I list it second because the other involved a serious head injury (even with a helmet on, you can scramble your brains when said helmet breaks a car windshield).
After two nights in the hospital, the doctors and therapists agree I am fit enough to head home. All tell me that the real danger (the lung fully collapsing) has gone unrealized and now it is just a matter of waiting six to eight weeks for the bones to heal. They suggest I let pain be my guide as to what I should and shouldn't do. That's not really very good advice to give an endurance athlete, but I don't argue the point.
A week later, I'm back at the hospital for a follow-up appointment. The orthopedist says everything appears to be healing well. I tell him I've been going on walks to stay loose. He thinks that's a good idea, and says as long as I don't push or pull too hard with the shoulder, the bones will heal at about the same rate either way. So, I go ahead and spill the beans:
"I was going to do a really long walk this weekend."I'm pretty sore just sitting in his office, so this isn't exactly new information. And with that blessing, I head to Danville to "run" Howl at the Moon.
"How long?"
"Eight hours."
"Well, if that's your idea of a good time. You might be pretty sore by the end."
Attending ultras can be a lot like living in a small town - it's a bit disarming how much people know about you through the grapevine. People I've never met before see my arm in a sling and immediately offer, "You're the guy who hit the tree."
I check in with my lap counter and make my way to the back of the starting grid. With over 300 entrants, Howl is one of the larger Midwestern ultras and I don't want to be slowing down the runners on the trail. The course is a 3.29-mile loop of mixed grass, gravel, and pavement winding through the woods and fields of Kennekuk Cove Park. Like all of central Illinois, it's pretty flat. The time limit is 8 hours and my thought is that I should be able to do about a lap per hour which will equal a marathon.
I have a pretty simple policy when it comes to mixing pain killers and exercise: don't. Therefore, if things start hurting too much, I'll just call it a day. After all, I'm really out just to socialize and avoid going stir crazy. It's not like anybody will think less of me for packing it in early.
The weather is quite cool for August in Illinois, so the lead runners tear off from the start, wanting to get in as many laps as possible before things heat up. I stroll along easily, chatting with other walkers and trying to construct a mental map of the course. This latter task turns out to be embarrassingly difficult. With the overcast skies there are no shadows to indicate direction. It takes me until lap three to realize that the course is clockwise.
At the end of the first lap, I notice the clock reads 1:02. Darn, just a bit slow. Partial laps don't count so I have to pick it up if I'm going to get the marathon. I decide to walk a little faster on the second lap and see how that feels. It feels OK, but it's more effort than I expect. When I get back, I check the clock and am completely confused by the displayed 6:12. I then realize the clock is counting down, not up, and that the first lap reading must have been 7:02, not 1:02. My body may be lame, but it appears my brain is taking the day off altogether.
By lap 3, the field is getting jumbled as faster runners lap the joggers and walkers. I get lots of friendly hellos as runners pass by. The leaders (including SLUGs Tommy Doias and Brandon Janosky) are laying down a ferocious pace. Female SLUG Jennifer Eichelberger is also looking strong and staying close to the front of the women's field.
On lap 4 the clouds part and things change dramatically. In half an hour conditions go from pleasant to oppressive. Suddenly, there are more walkers than runners on the trail and quite a few others who decide to take a seat in the start/finish area for a while. I notice it, too, but I'm still happy enough to be outside doing something, that I continue my tortoise strategy: taking no breaks and completing each lap in just under an hour. By lap 6, I'm passing more people than are passing me. Of course, they're still ahead of me on laps, but it feels good to be keeping up. Plus, I now have many more people I can talk to.
I finish lap 8 at 3:25PM. I'm a tenth of a mile beyond a marathon, but I'm still feeling pretty good and 45K sounds much more ultra-ish, so I decide to put in another two miles on the short out and back, which is open from 3:30 until the finish at 4. Packing all the competitors into the small space with the clock counting down transforms the atmosphere from perseverance to excitement. The bulk of the field is running again. I get caught up in it and jog a bit myself. It doesn't hurt to move quicker, but I can only go for a about a hundred meters before I start breathing hard and that hurts a lot. I alternate walking and jogging and hit 28.32 miles with 2 minutes left on the clock.
The post race party features Lee's Famous Chicken and several beverage choices. One great thing about being off the meds all day is that I can select the fermented variety. The other great thing is the realization that, sure I'm sore, but I wouldn't call it suffering. In fact, I wouldn't call it any worse than what I've been feeling with the meds just a few days earlier.
Lots of SLUGs collect hardware, most notably Brandon who scores the overall win with just over 53 miles. I'm glad he was well past 50 because it frees me from fretting over what might have been; I had set 50 as my goal distance before the crash.
I spend the night at my Sister-in-Law's house in Champaign; the 45-minute drive being far preferable to coming all the way back to St. Louis. While that means I have to prop myself up on her couch rather than lie in the relative comfort of my adjustable bed (sleeping horizontal is not an option when your ribs are broken), I'm tired enough that I get my first good night of sleep in a week and a half.
The next day, I feel renewed in a way that is hard to describe. There's still pain, but I seem to have made a transition from "being hurt" to "getting better".
While some days are better than others, the trend continues. The following Thursday, I manage to run, albeit slowly, the 3.6-mile trail race at Castelwood. The next Sunday, I get in my first long run; 2 hours on the Greenrock trail. The Thursday after that, I run the Castlewood race at a tempo pace and manage to score an age group win. That's enough to convince me that I don't have to give up on my season goal of running a sub-3 at the Wineglass Marathon in October. I resume my training schedule noting that the only workout of consequence that I've missed is the long, hard run that Howl was supposed to be. Flatlanders is already full and a 6-hour on pavement only four weeks before the goal marathon would do more harm than good, anyway. The only other good option is the Heart of America Marathon on Labor Day. Fortunately, there's no entry deadline; you can (and some do) sign up half an hour before the start. I don't cut it quite that close. I register two days before.
By trail standards, Heart of America would not raise any eyebrows but, in the stopwatch-obsessed culture of road running, this course is considered severe in the extreme. Simply put, the only way you run a PR and HOA is if you've never run anywhere else. The course leaves Columbia to the south with a small hill coming in just the second mile. After four miles, the course leaves state highways in favor of a loop on rural roads. The 16-mile loop has four significant climbs, the most infamous being Easley hill which climbs the bluff up from the Missouri River. It's nearly a mile long and gets quite steep in the middle. After the loop, it's back into town the way you came (including one more climb). The final kick in the teeth for those falling apart at the end is that you run right past the start (and your parked car) with nearly 2 miles still to go.
But course design isn't really what makes HOA such a beast. It's the heat. Labor Day in Missouri ranges from Hot and Humid to Really Hot and Really Humid. While this year's forecast calls for some heat by midday, I leave for Columbia at 3AM with the temperature a modest 63 degrees F with a very tolerable dew point of 57. I arrive in Columbia a bit before 5 to find similar conditions.
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| Dawn start |
The first mile is gently downhill. There are a few runners up the road, but a larger pack forms at a pace that feels quite comfortable. We go through the first mile in 7:42, which seems about perfect to me. The next mile is uphill, but the pace doesn't change much. We're running into the wind and I hate to leave the shelter of the group, so I adjust my effort accordingly. The flat mile 3 goes by in 7:10 and I decide I'd better back it off. The typical advice is that you should run a training marathon no faster than 30 seconds a mile off your goal pace, which caps my effort at 7:15's. Fortunately, a few other runners come to the same conclusion about the pace, so I still have some folks to run with. Not much changes for the next few miles but when we hit the first big climb in mile 8, our little group breaks up.
I don't mind being on my own for a bit, especially since the road surface turns to gravel after mile 9. With the whole road to myself, I'm able to stay where the gravel is firmly packed. This is important on the long descent to the river because my racing flats don't provide much traction on this surface. Once on the bottom, the course takes the Katy Trail (also gravel) along the river for a bit before returning to paved roads for the big grunt up Easley hill. Christine Fisher, the second placed woman pulls up alongside me and, after a short chat, moves on ahead.
While still safely below race pace, I've covered the first half of the course about 5 minutes faster than planned. I had thought that I'd pick up the pace in the second half, but that no longer seems wise. Instead, I decide I'll just push the hills and keep the pace even everywhere else.
It feels good to increase the effort on Easley. I've spent the last 80 minutes in what legendary coach Daniels describes as "quality junk" - the space between easy running and marathon effort. It's generally not an efficient pace to train at - too fast to recover and too slow to improve fitness. I'm happy to return to familiar levels of effort, even if it does mean bigger gulps of air. I find that my ribs don't hurt under the heavy breathing. My shoulder is getting a bit stiff, but I'm not pushing so hard that I really need to pump my arms, so it doesn't slow me down any. By the top, I've caught back up to Christine and we go through the half together at 1:40:18.
Christine is keeping her effort very even while I'm pushing the hills and cruising the flats, so we go back and forth for a while on the undulating course. At 16 miles, the cloud cover breaks and there's an immediate jump in temperature. There's almost no shade on the second half of the course, but the organizers have prepared for this by increasing the frequency of the water stops.
At 20 miles, we're back on the highway. I didn't mind this section at 6AM when it was dark and free of cars. In the daylight, it's not particularly scenic, especially compared to the beautiful roads we've just traveled. There's enough traffic that we're confined to the wide, but broken shoulder. And, it's getting hotter by the minute. I pass several runners who are clearly not enjoying this part of the race.
Of course, learning to press on regardless is exactly why you do runs like this. Christine is not far behind me and there is another runner just ahead, but I try not to think of my position. Hammering in the last few miles would destroy the value of the workout, tearing me up too much to do any more quality training before Wineglass. I turn my focus inward and think about breathing, cadence, and keeping the effort firm without going deep.
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| Mile 26 through Columbia |
I cross the line in 3:20:19, making it one of the most evenly split marathons I've ever run (the second half was 17 seconds faster). I'm a bit surprised to find that I've actually made the top 20 (18th), taking second in my age group. Times were a bit slow this year, which is odd since conditions were relatively good.
Walking the mile and a half back to the car is good for the legs, but has my shoulder feeling pretty sore. I clean up in the bathroom of the meet motel and drive back to the finish. It's now 11AM and the heat is really filling in. The 5-hour finishers are looking like they would have been OK with an even earlier start. I grab a couple cookies (really good cookies, too, not the usual supermarket crap you see at so many finish tables) and some water, then decide to take a nap in my car before the awards party.
The post-race festivities are hosted by Shakespeare's Pizza. They are determined to prove they can cook pizza faster than marathoners can eat it. Pie after pie is delivered to our tables and we happily rise to the challenge.
On the drive back, the 2:30AM wake up, the effort, and the heat (my car's A/C is broken) catch up to me and I have to stop for a nap. Once home, I have a relaxing dinner, get ready for bed, and realize that not only have I gone through the whole day with no pain medication, but it feels like I might be able to fall asleep without any as well. Sure enough, I sleep soundly through the night and wake the next morning feeling rejuvenated. I've taken no medication in the days since. There's still a ways to go, but I've gone from "getting better" to "back".
Do I really think marathons are a miracle drug? Truthfully, yes. Not so much for what it does for your body, but what it does for your soul. The long effort releases endorphins that are far better than drugs for controlling the pain without all the nasty side effects. Being physically tired helps you sleep. Most importantly, doing something significant gives you faith that this will pass and you will be all better someday.
There are two very important caveats. First (and this should be obvious, but we're talking ultrarunners, here) is that this is just nuts if the injury is to a load-bearing member. Completing a marathon will do no favors for a broken foot or recovering IT band. Second, you need to be sufficiently fit that you can complete a marathon easily. If walking or jogging 26.2 miles is taxing your endurance, you'll simply be giving your body that much more recovery work to do. However, most ultrarunners can find a pace that feels comfortable and allows them to complete the distance without risking complications. And, for those folks I heartily recommend, "Take two marathons, and you'll feel better in the morning."
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