Happy trails

It was a cold and dreary morning, that early wintry day in February. Our training run had taken us on a Detroit City tour, with a post-run community activity at the local soup kitchen in the basement of Saint Leo’s church. Bundled up in several layers of running gear, the nine of us had started out on our eight mile loop at 7:30 in the morning, and it was here on this gray and blustery Monday morning that the idea of doing an ultra marathon came about. A 50K trail run on the occasion of Kai’s fiftieth birthday had been planned for early spring, and after the Blue Planet run last year it seemed an appropriate challenge for the new year.

With a few trail training runs under my belt, but not nearly enough to be fully prepared for this fifty-kilometer distance classic, peppered with some sixty-five hundred feet of exaltations, the five of us boarded the plane to San Francisco. The flight had been delayed for forty-five minutes due to a fuel leak, but at long last was given the “go ahead.” Barely in our seats, we were ushered off the plane again as the mechanical problem reared its ugly head once more and caused the plane to be taken out of circulation. Two hours after the original flight departure time, we jetted into the moonlit sky. Upon our midnight arrival, we split up for the night, and within minutes of stepping outside the arrival terminal, my shuttle service drove up to the curbside to chauffeur me to his home to spend the night. 

By the time I rolled out of bed at my Uncle Mel’s homestead, the sun had already burned off the morning fog. The panoramic lookout from the backyard boasted a magnificent view of the bay area, with the airport showcased center stage. Out in the distance, a string of planes were lined up in the sky for a final approach, and soon thereafter, one-by-one, touched down for a perfect landing, each time setting off a plume of smoke where the rubber met the tarmac. A spotter’s paradise to say the least! But there was no more time to watch the comings and goings of these shiny birds in flight, as the main event was early Sunday morning, some ninety miles south in the Big Basin Redwood National Park.

 
1. Golden gate 2. Daughter Malka, cousin Judy 

Shortly before noon, we turned the corner for a leisurely drive to our base camp at Boulder Creek. The ride took us alongside the infamous San Andreas Fault by way of acres of vineyards and a long-lost hippy town leftover from the seventies. As we inched closer to our final destination, the trees became taller and wider, lining both sides of the winding road, ultimately leading us to the park entrance. After a short walkabout through the redwoods we ventured back out to rendezvous with the rest of the team at Scopazzi’s, a stylish and cozy Italian restaurant near the golf creek villas, -- our hangout for the night. We turned in by 11:00, and I finally dozed off after sufficiently having muffled my ears from the tumultuous surround sound of dozens of croaking bullfrogs in the pond directly outside of my window.  

 
1. Dress rehearsal Pontiac trails 2. Kai, Karin, Jean, Lori

As it turned out, the 50K trail run in the Big Basin* Redwoods was a challenging and strenuous endeavor, however beautiful, serene, and very peaceful. Some of the ascends along the way were so steep that I had to push my quads to keep in motion. On the other hand, the descends were a RUSH!!!! It was a running affair extraordinaire, jumping over rocks, roots, branches and smaller potholes on a sometimes narrow undulating meandering trail, carpeted with a soft, decaying organic matter. At times, from up high, I could see the glistening of a narrow stream flowing gently down below. If this is what heaven is like, sign me up! Of course that was my exalted state of mind for the first 25K as we avidly storm-trooped into the forest shortly after 8:30 in the morning! The second time around, three and a half hours later, the engine was shifted into a lower gear, sputtering during moments of steep inclinations, almost forging anaerobic conditioning. 

While by mid morning, the weather was a balmy eighty degrees, down under the canopy, these towering gentle giants sufficiently shadowed the forest floor, keeping it to an ambient and comfortable temperature. The odoriferous smell of the majestic redwoods and the smoky scent emitted by the charcoaled tree trunks and stumps from a recent fire were, in a way, refreshing and invigorating, and the fizzle and sizzle of the rushing water spilling over the edge into the emerald colored stream down below made for some picture perfect moments!
 
In the open, where the light managed to come through, the underbrush was alive with fresh green leaves, and three leaf clovers perked up into the sky, flaunting their delicate bell shaped flowers. An abundance of ferns flourished along the creek and around the falls, and tanoaks and stands of madrone provided enough shade to keep them out of the direct sunlight. On the backside of the 9K loop, after the seemingly never ending uphill, the trail changed its geography to a chaparral-type environment, exposing the trailblazers to the bright and burning sun. The shrubbery was in full bloom, painting the hillsides in a soft, indigo haze, making it a perfect habitat for bumblebees, honeybees and a variety of stinging wasps to forage. Perhaps it was yonder in the forest where they nested and where, in a previous year, some runners were attacked by a swarm of aggravated hornets!
 
After the first rounds of 17K and 9K loops, the runners were sufficiently dispersed that it became a solo run for me, with an occasional encounter of Japanese hikers clearing the way on approach. They applauded as I went by, and wished me a friendly, “Good luck!” I wanted to stop and tell them what Paul Tergat told me once: “Luck is not what we runners need! We have trained too hard for this. Only success is what matters!!” But then again, I hadn’t trained so hard for this event and thus carried on without making a fuzz.
 
The wildlife was limited to banana slugs, blue jays and squirrels, although black-tailed deer, bobcats and coyotes were also listed to exist in this habitat. The crows were cawing away in the eerie forest, perhaps hoping for a dehydrated or injured runner to fall off the trails. By now, with the weather having sufficiently heated up and the intensity of the workout requiring more hydration, I had run low on Gatorade and was getting nauseous carb-loading on my margarita-flavored shot blocks! It would be at least another thirty minutes before reaching the Gazos Creek Picnic area for a chance to re-hydrate and take in some insipid salt capsules.
 
As thoughts of feathered vultures evaporated into the mid-day air, the Big Basin wilderness continued to be full of adventure, when all of a sudden, in the still and dark and mighty forest, at less than a hundred feet away from me, I spotted a black bear unpretentiously hanging out near the trail. His shiny black fur and chestnut brown fuzzy ears were not as cute now in the open as when watched from behind bars in a zoo! I looked back and ahead, but there was not a soul in sight. While slowly and softly tiptoeing forward, my head was spinning on what to do next. And then, just like magic, this life-limiting forest hazard transformed into a burned out tree trunk! Paranoia had come and gone, and now with some extra adrenaline, caused by my near-miss bear attack, I rushed up the hills!!

At the aid station, fully stocked with salty and sugary snacks, fresh fruits and boiled potatoes, Uncle Mel greeted me with an enthusiastic “There he is!” I refueled and refreshed, took in some tasty sweets, vivaciously shared my running experience in paradise with Coach Melvin and soon was back out on the trail following the yellow markers for the second and final repeat. All in all, it took seven hours and fifty three minutes to complete this challenging but scenic wilderness run, at times crawling under or climbing over fallen tree trunks. Although exhausting, it was at the same time exhilarating! It felt good to finally join the ranks of ultra marathoner, and crossing the finish line made it official. My goal was to finish under eight hours and so I did. After all that, it was time to power down the engine and replenish my battered physique with several servings of spicy chili and hot chicken soup. 

Never give up

As “luck” may have it, three weeks prior to the Miami marathon, I injured myself seven miles into my long run and was diagnosed with a severe calf strain. Medical advice escorted me to the sideline with at least four weeks of no running! Upset and angered by my fate I resorted to physical therapy, massages and a prayer for a minor miracle, but by the time race day came around I did not feel at all encouraged to successfully taking on the challenge at hand. Twice before, in Dublin and Ottawa, I had been in similar predicaments and miraculously pulled through at the end, so could there possibly be a “three times is a charm” outcome in Miami?

At the Miami expo I purchased some calf compression sleeves and decided that I would try out these ugly black neoprene support hoses and see if they could carry me to the finish line. For this race my objective no longer included a new personal best or a qualifying time for Boston. This time there was neither time nor distance pressure as the big test was reduced to whether or not I could run part of the marathon course let alone finish the whole enchilada.

Not well rested with only four hours of sleep the night before the race I showed up at 5:30 in the morning at the Bay front Park for the start of the Miami marathon with 9,000 other marathon and half marathon runners. Thirty minutes before the race the forecasted rain started to come down and shortly thereafter turned into a tropical downpour. By the time the start gun went off we were soaked to the bone and waded through two inches of standing water towards the start banner on our way to the Macarthur Causeway linking downtown Miami with South Beach.

I had hydrated well and carb loaded with pesto pasta at La Gastronomia, a cozy authentic Italian restaurant in Coral Gables and spent my final waiting time before the start of the race doing my newly acquired MIHP yoga stretches. Curious bystanders looked at me bewildered wondering what in the world I was trying to do. Nan, a local friend and massage therapist had treated me to a final deep tissue massage two nights earlier at Jerry’s famous Deli over a dish of eggplant penna pasta and a Corona garnished with a fresh slice of lime, and nothing that could have possibly be done to ease the pain had been overlooked.

Highly conscience of my temporary injury and the possibility of further injuring myself I started the foot race insecure of myself, analyzing every step of the way! The runner crowd at the start was constrictive but contrary to the New York marathon this was actually a good thing, forcing me to a slower pace. As we turned the corner I survived my first hurdle a slight bridge incline, with flying colors and on the down slide could see the three mile long Causeway contoured by a string of purple lights reflecting off the waterway. It was still dark and the silhouettes of four majestic cruise ships towering over the port of Miami painted an exotic maritime picture.

Half way across the Macarthur I was still standing and running and in the distance could faintly see the shoreline with its art deco pastel green, blue and pink high-rise buildings. The rain had subsided and the darkness gave way to the dawn’s early light. Some sunrays streaked through the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean and temperatures were a humid sixty degrees. My shorts were still drenched and clinging to my legs, and my feet were squeaking in my soaking wet socks and new Cumulus Asics running shoes. I wore an orange singlet with matching bib and shoelaces in sync with the ING color scheme. A few onlookers were out on the sideline consuming their coffee and donuts and as we got closer to the half way mark the crowds grew both in size and sounds!

Somewhat pleased to still be running I zoned in on the course ahead looking for the orange mile markers while at the same time circumventing the puddles of brackish brown rainwater in potholes, around corners and low spots on the road. At six miles I was feeling no pain but my time was atrocious! Could I have gone faster? Should I perhaps click it up a notch? Somewhat tempted but undecided on what to do I kept within my comfort zone! At the ten-mile marker I clocked in at ninety two minutes, ten minutes slower then what I was accustomed to. Annoyed and disgusted with the results, reality finally set in what I had already known from the onset but not really wanted to accept. This race was over before it began and now any miracle glimmer of hope of finishing with a Boston qualifying time dissipated into the humid morning sky! While the legs were doing its thing the psychological warfare took over with questions of “what if” scenarios.

By eight o’clock the Floridian landscape had come alive and the volunteers at the hydration stations were enthusiastic and plentiful serving up Gatorade and water at every mile along the way. The Miami River glistened and rippled gently underneath the Venetian Causeway and around the five Venetian Isles as we continued on the return loop towards the half way marker at Bay front Park. The ING Cheering zones were a spectacle of orange mambo jambos. A tumultuous sea of supporters face painted from top to bottom in Royal Dutch orange and decked out with ING thunder sticks and noise makers. An adrenaline rush for sure! At the second cheering zone and close to the half marathon break away point I encountered my dedicated support group of two. Anne and Chaim were waving from the sideline, camera ready and holding up a cheering sign saying: Ruuuuuuudy Go!! And lo and behold I found some extra rocket fuel to boost my gluts and hamstrings into CHI running orbit!

Admittedly close to the half marathon break away point thoughts of calling it quits and finishing the run on a half marathon distance crossed my mind. When setting out for a half marathon the famous Penguin saying: “Half the distance twice the fun” is certainly appropriate because that was the objective, but conversely once committed to “Twice the distance half the fun” the same rule must apply. And so with already two hours under my belt I began my second half!

The mind over matter decision quickly faded once I passed the fourteen-mile marker point. I remembered one of my Alaska running cruise mentors tell me once that not every race can be a good one and to capitalize on those that feel good and back off and enjoy the ride on the others. His Paris marathon was one of those blooper runs and consequently he hopped on and off the course at corner cafes to enjoy some European mélange and fine pastries. He eventually crossed the finish line and lived to tell about it. With that advice in mind I decided to do exactly that and take-in the scenery, socialize with other runners and at one point ended up giving a helping hand to a fellow runner that had crashed into the concrete due to some leg cramp. Together we walked off his malady and before long he was running again. The blind leading the blind sort of speak.

The weather had warmed up to a balming seventy-five degrees and at eighteen miles my quads began to fill up with lactic acid making my legs uncomfortable and heavy, a phenomenon I hadn’t experienced during my last three marathons. The course took us through the beautiful and lush residential neighborhoods of Coral Gables and Coconut Grove. Poinciana palm trees were part of the local flora and provided for some occasional reprieve from the hot and muggy morning sun. The locals were out and about sitting in lawn chairs, some offering cool refreshing water running from their garden hoses and others still in bathrobes with “men’s best friend” tight on a leash watching the field of runners go by.

The twenty-mile marker point was the turning point to the finish line and around the corner a brass band staged behind the bleachers was playing “When the Saints come marching in”! Further down the road a pair of Bongo players provided for some rhythmic interludes and as the drumbeat faded in the distance I could finally start counting down the miles one by one. With the downtown high-rise buildings coming in sight I braced myself for a final sprint up the Brickell Bridge and down the stretch to the finish line. Tired, disappointed yet pleased with my “spinner” finisher medal I turned in my timing chip, had an oatmeal cookie and jumped on the metro mover to the car parking lot. After a hot shower at the Intercontinental hotel, our comfortable base camp, I put my legs on ice for a while! That night we met up with Nan at Versailles, one of the top rated Cuban restaurants in “little Havana” and feasted on a scrumptious local culinary dish. Back in Michigan the weather had snow and cold freezing weather in the unforeseeable forecast. And so Marathon number twelve had come to an end with the quest for Boston to be continued!

My first marathon

With a little more than two months to go before the Dublin city marathon, it was time to get in shape. Having had no long distance running experience, my goal was to simply finish in five hours flat. An eleven-minute mile. Nothing too extreme, just one foot in front of the other! The hundred day training schedule was cut in half to meet the October 28th deadline. With an already busy work and workout schedule every minute awake needed to be spent getting ready for this Irish event on the October Day holiday. Ignoring some of the major "don'ts" in the marathon rulebook, ten days into my training program I was on the injury list. The operative word being "o-v-e-r-training", not uncommon among newcomers to the sport, but nothing a week of rest could not cure! After three weeks of ice pack treatments without gaining the desired results my marathon career appeared to have come to an abrupt halt. With air travel booked and marathon application in hand the thought of having capitulated and being sidelined left me cranky at best. "To run or not to run" that's the question! Advice from concerned family members and friends not to run helped me make up my mind. Run and finish!!! Now that’s the spirit. Bring on the sneakers!

The flight to Dublin through New York and Paris had me running from arrival gates to departure terminals to meet my tight airline schedules. The dingy baggage claim area in Dublin was filled with marathon runners from all over the world and soon I was engaged in conversations with, in my eyes, veteran runners. Questions on training schedules and "my best" times and techniques were cleverly circumvented from being answered. I simply had none! Here was a gathering of wealth of experiences and proven practices and I needed to pick their brains, never mind how well prepared I was.... Information I had picked up from running books was regurgitated to keep the conversation slanted towards my curiosities. By the time the last piece of luggage came of the belt, I had picked up some valuable tips and pointers...

Still jet-lagged I awakened at 2:30 in the morning on "race day". Water, potatoes and pasta had been on the menu for the last 24 hours. Mix that with power bars and electrolyte drinks and it is easy to argue why we should have all gotten medals! This is fun? The day before race-day had been cold and blustery but now the weather had definitely turned in our favor. The winds for the most part had subsided and the temperature was a cool and crisp 10 degrees Celsius. Ideal running weather once warmed up! We left the hotel at 8:30 in the morning and walked for almost two miles to drop our bags off at the finish line. The side streets towards the starting line up were already crowded with runners. Eight thousand in all from fifty-three different countries had signed up. They were busy stretching and preparing for the challenge ahead. Not my thing ... Many of them were wearing gloves and black garbage bags over their running clothes to keep from freezing to death. Could have been my thing but too late now ... The airport veterans had never mentioned it! What else am I missing out on?? Although still several blocks away from the starting line, the voice over the loudspeaker started the minute count down… then the moment we had all been waiting for... The top runners from Kenya and Russia were off to position themselves ahead of the masses. From two blocks away we could see a solid mass of runners turning the corner at the speed of light. "Mein himmel, look at them go!"

Being in the back of the pack we started to "queue up" to move towards the starting line up, and the masses, however slowly, were set in motion. The electronic chip affixed to our shoelaces clocked us in as we crossed the starting line, six minutes after the first runners had past. We were off and the race was on. My injury seemed to have subsided and it felt great to be in motion. This running with the crowds was not ideal. If this was the Pamplona-running-with-the-bulls event it would have been life threatening! Trying to pass and going around slower paced runners became too much of a hindrance and soon I found myself running the sidelines. Much better until, … the corners. Running on the left side while going into a right turn would add “mileage” to the course. So weaving in and out of the mainstream became my strategy, and the occasional body bump followed by a sincere “xcuse me” got me running at a comfortable pace.

The first two miles went through the center of town and the crowds were truly amazing. Country flags, sponsor banners and colorful poster boards were waving in the air and the support groups were screaming and cheering on their teams to complete the audio-visual. The field started to open up and running became less constricted. I found myself mostly passing rather than being passed. Mile marker three was the first water station and I learned quickly that running and drinking without spilling all over, or choking to death, requires some real coordination. After finishing half the bottle I nonchalantly tossed it with the rest of its content to the side of the road where thousands of other ones littered the pavement, and started to feel like a real pro!! Pretty cool! Mile marker six, fifty-four minutes? My G-d I am running way under my 11-minute mile. Didn’t the airport veterans advise me to start off one minute slower than goal pace for the first few miles or so? Doing just about the opposite ... well what do they know!! Feeling great and running tall with solid strides. What else would you want? All my fears of re-injuring myself and not being able to finish the run were gone. What a Great day!! By mile marker nine I was running a comfortable pace and felt really in the groove, passing runners left and right! My ankle and knee joints were without an inkling of pain. That goop I put on before the start of the race is doing its job. Good stuff, reeeeeal good stuff… Running is just great! At the half marathon marker I was running a solid 9-minute mile and clocked in at 118 minutes. Two miles later at mile marker fifteen we had our first Lucozade station. Need that for sure now that I had at the last minute decided not to use energy gels. And that stuff did not taste too bad either, if you plug your nose and swallow fast!! So bottoms up and here we go again. No “wall” in sight! Slight burning of the “quads” maybe, but will run it off. While running I pulled out a small container with goop and generously massaged the bluish “miracle” substance on my upper legs. This should do the trick!! One-foot-in-front-of-the-other. Nothing to it, nothing to it!!

Honorable mention should go to the crowds, as they lined the streets everywhere along the 26.2-mile course. They were all bundled up in scarves, hats, gloves and overcoats, some pushing strollers, others carrying infants. The neighborhoods were empty and everyone was out and about! By the thousands they had come and gathered near the sidelines. What a morale booster and in such great spirit and support. Some supporters generously handed out candy sugar boosters. Others were applauding while saying …well done ... well done … as if the race was already finished. Children were holding out their hands to the runners for a “high five” and were seemingly pleased when responded to. Over there, three nuns with father Sarduchi, modestly clapping and being cheerful. Their bright red noses and flaming red ears starkly offset their pale faces. And look, over there were four old ladies standing on an island in the middle of the road with rattles and ratchets making noise as if their life depended on it. I could not help but chuckle and cheer THEM on!! What a SCREAM!!

At mile marker eighteen my quads started to really burn as if to tell me “You‘ve done enough chap. This is the farthest you have ever run at one time and we have had enough of your non-sense! Give It UP!!!” Admittingly the running had become painful and uncomfortable but with “only” eight more miles to go nothing could stop me now! Or could it??… This lactic acid is evil! Plain Evil! The road to Phoenix Park at mile marker nineteen was on a respectable incline to make matters worse. The crowds were ringing bells and clapping their hands while saying … “running well … keep it going … you’re almost there … well done… well done”! All the sudden a woman running next to me cried out: “Can some one tell me why the hhhell we are doing this?”… Dead silence! Only the sound of rhythmic running. I cracked a faint smile! Yes my dear, this is torture, real torture and we paid some big bucks to do it to ourselves!! As we meandered through the park the faint-bladdered among us converted trees and bushes near the side of the road into public rest stops. Men in full view and women discreetly behind the foliage!! By mile marker twenty-two more and more runners started to walk or were on the sideline overcoming their leg cramps! I was told that nothing can prepare you for the last six miles and was beginning to understand the meaning of that statement. My pace was steady but slower, my legs were becoming heavier and stiffer and pleaded for release only to be pounded by every step on the pavement. This is hell! Pure hell…I hate running!

To stay motivated and keep going at a reasonable pace I now needed a mind-over-matter approach. My time seemed reasonable and I did not want to give up too much. The four-hour half-marathon pace was shot but I was still way under my five-hour goal. This was serious business and I just needed to get the job done. That’s all there is to it. JUST DO IT! As we came out of the park the road back to the finish line was on a downhill and with that a different set of muscle aches was set into motion. The good news: Only three more miles to go. The bad news: At least another 30 more minutes!!! Trotting along I all the sudden remembered having looked up the word Marathon in Webster when I first became interested in the sport. “Mar-a-thon (mar’e-thon) a foot race so called in allusion to the story of the Greek runner Phidipidis who ran one-hundred-and-fifty miles from Marathon to Athens to tell of the victory over the Persians (490 B.C.E)… and than dropped dead!!!!” … As my mind continued to wander, I remembered having seen a documentary on Kyriakides, the Greek runner who had narrowly escaped execution during the Second World War and due to malnourishment was never to run again! Yet, in one of the all time running dramas he saw victory in a come-from-behind win in the “Boston”, the most prestigious foot race of them all! An awe-inspiring story, but after almost twenty-four miles, the only thing keeping ME in motion were visions of crossing the finish line.

The last two miles seemed much longer but what a rush!! Turning the final corner onto Nassau Street I almost fainted. Look at them all! Hundreds of leprechauns were sitting on mushrooms on the sidelines with rainbows and pots of gold spanning the sky. Green shamrocks were raining down on us like in a New-York ticker tape parade and ice cool Guinness draft beer was spouting out of several fire hydrants on both sides of the street. What a party … but then I was reeled back into reality and for the first time saw the finish line in the distance. I was still running and standing but burned, bruised and humbled by the experience. Four hours, thirteen minutes and twenty seven seconds had passed since we first crossed the starting line. And now it’s over and done and all I could hear in the back of my head was the crowd saying in chorus … well done …well done … well done!!