Self inflicted torture

I think back to a time around 6 or 7 months ago that I couldn’t run to the end of the block. After a hundred yards my lungs would ach, my chest would burn, and my head would take on a pulse of it’s own, beat red, covered in sweat and my head was throbbing. I remember about 5-6 months ago almost puking at 2 miles. I remember the first time I ran 2.5 miles without stopping. Even after showering I would continue to sweat for another couple hours, face still flush red for several hours after running.

I remember about 2 months ago running 4.5 miles straight for the first time. I couldn’t walk afterwards, my calves were locking up, my thighs twitching and cramping up. I remember on that same 4.5 mile run I actually collapsed to my knees one block from my house. I recall the first time I ran 5.5 miles straight at 5:30 am. The earliest I’d ever been awake during the work week and the furthest I’ve ever run in my life. I remember when I got to work at 8am I could hardly walk. Walking to get coffee was next to impossible.

Still only about 2 months ago I recall the first time I ran 6.4 miles straight without stopping. This past weekend I ran the furthest I’d ever run at 9.2 miles – and it hurt. At mile 8 I was having troubles lifting my legs to take the next step in my run, my hips were sore and it started to feel as if I was running on bone – I could feel every pounding step, needles on the sides of my ankles, knives in my hips, and little monsters with sharp teeth biting my calves.

So this past Sunday I partook in my first ever run / race competition. The Austin Half-Marathon, a grueling hill-packed 13.1 miles – nearly 4 miles, or 43% longer than I’d ever run before – and I’d never run on hills like this before. It was 6:45 AM and around 45 degrees outside when I took off my long sleeve warm-up shirt, and took my place among nearly 11,000 other runners.

After about mile 3 I was sort of wondering why I got myself into this. I just didn’t feel that into it for some reason, and realized I had a long long way to go. I grabbed my first on-the-go cup of water at around mile 4 which was an experience as well. I’d never tried to drink water while running and ended up with the majority of it up my nose and down the front of my shirt.

The torturous hills kicked in at around mile 7 – it was as if running on a treadmill for the first 7 miles then switching it up to a stair master, or literally running up 10 flights of stairs, and then hopping back onto the treadmill. It was absolute murder – but I kept going.

I recall at one point I asked another runner where we were at? He told me we were on mile 10 – and I got a huge lift knowing that I only had 3 miles to go. Then about a half mile later I asked some other people, not sure why, but I asked them – “are we approaching mile 11?” and they literally laughed – “we’re just now coming up on mile 8" they scoffed. Needless to say that deflated me a lot – I now had wrap my mind around having another 5 miles to go.

After mile 8 it was as if I had two miniature people on my shoulders. Just like you recall in the cartoons. On one shoulder a devil telling me to stop, rest, go ahead and stretch, and the other voice on the other shoulder saying – no chance, keep going, no one else is stopping, this is what you've trained for. This internal conversation would only get louder and louder over the last 5 miles – the urge to stop growing and growing with each pounding step. Each hill I would get over would just bring the next hill into focus. I could see people to my right and my left falling apart, but I could also see people twice my age running faster and stronger than I was – and the voices in my head telling me to stop, and pointing out the amount of pain I was in – but I kept going.

Along the route people would read your name on your bib and yell your name, tell you to keep going, etc., which was a big lift. I saw my family at mile 5 which also gave me a boost.

As the final mile came into focus the home stretch started on 10th avenue, and went to 9th, then 8th … etc., acting as a visual countdown to the end of the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. At around 6th avenue or so I heard my wife and kids screaming my name, my son propped up on my wife’s shoulder smiling ear to ear – eyes fixed on me – and all of a sudden the pain was gone – the needles were removed, the monsters stopped biting, the negative voice on one shoulder vanished – and I was able to hit the gas for one last 50 yard sprint.

When I crossed the finish line I could have collapsed. My legs were wobbly and the needles returned to my ankles, and my legs started to seize up – it felt as if someone had chopped off my feet and I was walking on my bare leg bones - the acid build up in my legs was severe. I grabbed my finisher’s medal, some water, a banana, etc., and found a quite secluded place to stretch. When I bent over to touch my toes, head down, I closed my eyes, and I almost started to cry. It was such an emotional experience, a relief, an accomplishment. I didn’t stop once – although I wanted to stop after about mile 5 and every step thereafter.

I ended up finishing in 612th place out of 10,989 finishers or in the 95th percentile; my pace was at 8:03 minute miles for 13.1 miles for a total time of 1:45:30. I didn’t stop once. I got faster each mile with my fastest mile being at Mile 10. On a treadmill, if you’re interested, an 8 minute pace would be a setting of 7.5 – without any incline – for 1 hour and 45 minutes straight - however there was most certainly some extreme inclines and declines in this race.

Some interesting tid-bits. I got beat by a 70 yr old male, and a 55 yr old female – but I also beat some kids in their teens and early 20’s. I was the fastest “Allen” on the course, out of 19 others. The next closest “Allen” was 6 minutes behind me. I was the fastest “Dustin” on the course out of 9 other “Dustin’s”. The next closest “Dustin” was a full 20 minutes behind me – and he was 23 years old.

Baby I'm amazed...........

I had this dream the other night. I was taking some courses at a college somewhere. The way we got from classroom to classroom was to ride in an old beat up cabin cruiser boat that had no upper deck or motor. It was really just a shell of a boat. The interesting thing was the boat simply floated along about two feet off the ground. It would move along the walkways with all of us students onboard…. stopping and starting as students would get off and on.

I was riding along in the boat and thinking: I would love to show my granddaughter this amazing mode of transportation. But then, I thought, she would probably not be impressed. I am 57 years old and amazed by something that seems to float and automatically function with no one controlling it. She was born and raised in a world of computer images, special effects, iPods, and cell phones. She would probably not think it was that fantastic.

Friday Schmiday

I've already done all the training I can do for the half-marathon and so today and tomorrow are supposed to be filled with rest and relaxation. So I drove to a nice little sub shop during my lunch today, ordered my sandwich, and was going to eat my lunch in my car and listen to a little Jim Rome (http://www.jimrome.com/) (Sports talk) but I turned the key and just heard a little 'click' ' click ' which wasn't a good sign i.e. el battery es no working. That's just awesome!

So I asked two guys who were getting into the car in front of me if they had jumper cables, and could help - "nope, sorry duuuude". Then the gal next to me who was pulling out - "Nope sorry, I just took them out of my car" yeah right! Of course you did I mean who wouldn't make a point of "removing" jumper cables from their car. Then another couple pulled in and quickly said "no, sorry" and wouldn't even make eye contact with me, as if I was was a homeless bum looking for some spare change - why don't you put on some more makeup lady! I wanted to say.

So I sat back in my car, dejected, wondering what Jim Rome was talking about today, watching other people who got in their car and took for granted the fact that their car started "You don't even know!" I wanted to scream. It was also starting to get cold outside, the "Feels Like" meter had dipped into the 30's, and the wind was gusting.

As I hung my head I looked down at my wrist and my eyes fixed on my hemp wristband with the letters "WWJD" on it i.e. "What would Jay Do" so I decided to pull myself together and scope out a hill that I could push my Civic down and roll-start it. There was only a small hill, about a 50 yards away that served as the 'exit ramp' if you will from this particular parking lot onto a 6 lane highway - so there were some risks. Right now I had a dead car in a parking lot, I could end up with a dead car on the freeway. So I looked at again at my wristband and thought, ok here goes nothing.

I proceeded to back out my Civic with the ancient heel-toe push method, cranked the wheel and then started to push it towards the aforementioned exit ramp. All the while people are looking at me from the comforts of their "Running" car and most likely have heat, music, maybe even Jim Rome on the radio I thought? Even one gal I could see through her windshield was saying to herself "oooooo" as in "ooooo - sucks to be him" - and she was right. I made it to the exit ramp, hopped in and popped it, and nothing happened, "click" "click" and it was getting closer and closer to the highway and then I popped it again - and finally it sputtered and started.

So I pulled into my parking garage back at work, turned off the car, and checked to see if it would turn back on. Nope. So in about another 3 hours, I'll have to push start it again.

So much for R&R. TGIF!

A father's guidance...

I recall a time when we were living in a duplex at 3831 Findlay lane in Longmont Colorado. I think I must have been around 6 or 7 years old at the time. It was a relatively small house and there was a bathroom located between the dining room area and living room. I remember one time I used the restroom and whatever 'actions' or 'functions' I carried out in there apparently must have been heard through the thin hollow door.

When I came out my dad told me to turn on the fan next time so that "people can't hear what you're doing in there". To this day, when I go to use the restroom either to go number 1 or number 2 I always turn on the fan.

At lot of kids who grew up without dads missed out on this type of guidance.

Where were you when...

A lot of times I've heard, "I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard that JFK was shot". However some of us are not old enough to have gone through that. However we've all been around long enough to have gone through Sept 11, 2001. I'm just curious if that had the same impact? Personally, I know exactly where I was when I heard - I can see it clearly in my eyes.

I was on my way to work, driving down C470 highway heading towards I-25 right around Quebec / University blvd when the radio station I was listening to reported it. At the time, they weren't quite sure the significance of it.

Family Road Trips to Maine

Growing up, economical family vacations were often defined as a trip to Maine. The 6-8 hour drive in the old Plymouth seemed endless, and Gid was not one to speed. I remember his explanation that other cars just appeared to be whizzing quickly by because they were traveling in the opposite direction. I later figured out that it was also because they were going at least 10 – 15 mph faster than we were. To his credit, Gid always felt the need to provide something educational, so he included activities like a tour of the paper mill in Rumford, Maine. The ultimate destination, though, was a visit to see Grandpa Records sister, Aunt Ida, in Livermore Falls. A visit to see Aunt Ida, who modestly considered herself a “handsome woman” (see photo), was no frills* but always included homemade molasses cookies waiting for us upon our arrival. (* There was no indoor plumbing, but the outhouse was just a few steps up from the kitchen in the attached garage.) The stay at Aunt Ida’s farmhouse was broken up with side trips: visits to the lake and to see Aunt Amy, Ida’s sister, another widow, a retired school teacher who lived in a fancier house (indoor plumbing) in North Leeds. The highlight of the trip was often a visit from Ruth and Jake who had always just returned from one of their many trips to Moosehead Lake. Ruth and Jake were considered a bit odd and talked about with pity because they were unable to reproduce. This was also offered as the explanation for why cousin Ruth had the energy to play with us kids, crawling around in the fort we built under a card table. Most of the time, though, the subject of the conversation (as in all of Aunt Ida’s letters) came around to which relative was feeling “poorly”. I will try to remember this and censor myself as I get older and feeling more poorly….