On April 2nd, 2011, I was poised to run my first 100 mile race at the Philadelphia 100 Endurance Run. Things don't always work according to plan. What happened instead was a 24 hour collection of zaniness and comaraderie that changed everything.
Chapter II, in which Pete finds fantastical adventures on the path to insanity
Resumption
For training, I decided to continue my every-3rd-week-peak-run plan, but to also cut mileage the other weekends to 1/2 and 1/4 the peak. This seemed to work really well and kept my shin from being an issue until the last few weeks. Also contributing was some expert deep massage and electrostim from the maestro, Johnny King-Marino. Then I looked at the calendar: only 4 months left to the race! That meant time just for five long back-to-backs, starting immediately. I managed to fit these in, partially because I was directing a new PhillyFit winter trail running group on Saturdays. This selfishly allowed some companionship in the middle of runs, as I'd go out before and after each scheduled trail run. I owe a great deal to those brave individuals who stuck with it, and who often volunteered to run longer, or on Sundays, with me (often because they wanted to help). These mainly included John C., John T., Kristie, Steve, Jeff P., and Jeff L.,along with a host of others. The snow was very tough to deal with this winter, as it showed up often and lingered long.
Resilience
Several runs became much harder due to ice, snow, and the reluctance of others before me to slog through foot-deep drifts just to make tracks I could then follow (what is wrong with people these days?). On one such run, Steve and I were following some ski tracks until we came across the skier, who thanked us because had been following OUR tracks. Still, in general, I was slacking a bit, knowing that the race course was completely flat. Most of my longest runs were just dull back-and-forths at Forbidden Drive, Oaks, Ridley Creek, or the Art Museum rather than hitting the trails. I knew that I wasn't in my best cardiovascular shape, but I was also learning a lot about nutrition, walk/run strategies, and mental approaches.
Recognition
As the race approached, I found myself focused almost entirely on the challenge. In this time, Lori put up with a tremendous amount of narcissism, to which I am eternally grateful for her amazing patience and belief. Between the long Saturdays, the long Sunday mornings, and the need to recover and plan, it was becoming hard to balance the task with the rest of my life. I was silently counting down the miles left (244 miles to the race! 14 today, that's 5% of the total remaining!) and the dwindling number of really long runs. For my 40 miler, I took Friday off, which meant that I ran it all alone. Plus, it had snowed 16 inches the day before. Where could I run? I finally chose Oaks, a paved path that luckily had been plowed. Unfortunately, I tried several offshoots--the River Trail, the Schuylkill River Trail--but none had been cleared or even had any tracks! Miserably, after exhausting myself in deep snow trying to find open routes, I retraced a 3 1/2 mile stretch of the Perkiomen Trail, occasionally passing just the park rangers who looked more incredulous at me each time I passed (sadly, not the first time this has happened to me). In this run, I suffered by bonking the last 15 miles. Even so, on this day I learned a valuable lesson about running anerobic. The legendary ultrarunner Ann Trason is memorably quoted, "It hurts up to a point, and then it doesn't get any worse". This always gets a laugh, but now I understand its underlying wisdom: running in glycogen deficit is not pleasant, but it's not intolerable, either; perhaps it can be managed with the proper mental focus. No idea whether my biochemical theorizing is legitimate, but at least I convinced myself of it. The next day was another 20 miles on a cold morning. By the end, I was having trouble keeping warm and actually ran in thick sweats and a sweatshirt over my running clothes while trying to keep up with Jeannie. I learned that weekend that I need to eat everything in sight to recover before going out the next day.
Turbulence
After the 40 miler, I was beginning to get nervous as my last two long weekends approached. Could I really get through these? Each peak weekend, I was already far surpassing my previous 2-day run total records. As it turned out, the 40 miler was the low point, but not the most challenging run. That was to be my next long run of 45 miles, in mid-February. In reflecting back on my many adventurous outings, this might top them all. It started ominously, at the dark and lonely pre-dawn head of Forbidden Drive. Within steps of beginning, a shadowy figure of a bounding animal shot across the trail ahead of me. What was it? Much too big for a fox, and too remote a location for a dog. It sure looked like a wolf to me. And in the dark, under a clear sky and a full moon, perhaps something more ominous than a wolf...a werewolf?! As I contemplated this in the first mile, I realized it was likely a coyote, rare for Philadelphia, but (as I later found out) previously seen on occasion in the area. Regardless, this was clearly an omen, but one that my hardheadedness failed to heed.
This was forecast to be a very windy day, with a wind advisory of gusts up to 70 MPH. Luckily, the gorge of the Wissahickon was quite protected, but the winds were howling up on the ridgetops. Suddenly about 5 miles in, amidst the dark stillness, I heard a resounding CRRRAAAACCCKKKK, followed by a tremendous and prolonged crashing of an enormous tree careening through the forest on its way down. Luckily, this was on the other side of the creek, but it was unnerving while somehow also magnificent. Soon after, I stopped briefly to throw away an empty gel pack; by doing so, I had to step on some ice and of course immediately flopped onto the ground and banged my elbow. Ironically, this was after running probably 100 miles on snow and ice that winter without a mishap. I guess I am graceful only when in full stride. Then Steve caught up me for some trail running. While Forbidden Drive had been mostly clear of snow, once we turned onto the trails, we found them a sheet of ice, and only on the trail itself--the rest of the terrain was bare! It was as if someone had invented an ice paver and run it down the trail. Fortunately, this lasted only a mile or so, and then Steve proceeded to exhaust me on rocky hills that I had once bounded up with ease, but now only he was doing the bounding! At one point trying to duck one of the many freshly felled trees, I cracked my head on a protruding branch. Things were really going well.
After Steve was finished, I still had 20+ miles to go. We stood at the parking lot in the strengthening wind, then looked up as a large pine tree emitted a sharp CRACK! and both watched a big branch dislodge and soar downwards close to us, only to crash onto the roof of the car next to mine! Clearly it was time for any sane person to leave, but not me; I had to see this through. The wind was really howling by now, with lots of small branches tumbling down onto the trail. Finally, about 6 miles from the finish, a limb as big around as my leg smashed end-on-end right into the trail, about 10 feet behind me. Okay, I got the message, time to wrap it up. But I had made my 45 miles feeling quite good, I'd discovered that I can tolerate solid food pretty well (PB&Js), and I had worked out a walk-run strategy beyond 30 miles that seemed sustainable for long distances. Plus, there was no way I'd have to put up with that many obstacles again, right?
Inertia
From that point on, my training became almost effortless, which was an amazing feeling. Twenty mile runs seemed like a jog in the park. My last big run, 50/25, was long and tedious, but it seemed almost routine. I had my nutrition, regimen, and pace. I didn't feel so much in a zone as much as just accepting of what needed to be done as part of the day's schedule. I often preach to new runners that they should strive to make weekday runs part of an automatic and unquestioned routine, like brushing their teeth every morning. Happily, I was finding this to be the case for my remaining schedule, and this gave me much needed confidence. It seemed to be acceptance of the task, and a belief that the training would enable the feat to be accomplished.
Chapter I
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter II, in which Pete finds fantastical adventures on the path to insanity
Resumption
For training, I decided to continue my every-3rd-week-peak-run plan, but to also cut mileage the other weekends to 1/2 and 1/4 the peak. This seemed to work really well and kept my shin from being an issue until the last few weeks. Also contributing was some expert deep massage and electrostim from the maestro, Johnny King-Marino. Then I looked at the calendar: only 4 months left to the race! That meant time just for five long back-to-backs, starting immediately. I managed to fit these in, partially because I was directing a new PhillyFit winter trail running group on Saturdays. This selfishly allowed some companionship in the middle of runs, as I'd go out before and after each scheduled trail run. I owe a great deal to those brave individuals who stuck with it, and who often volunteered to run longer, or on Sundays, with me (often because they wanted to help). These mainly included John C., John T., Kristie, Steve, Jeff P., and Jeff L.,along with a host of others. The snow was very tough to deal with this winter, as it showed up often and lingered long.
Resilience
Several runs became much harder due to ice, snow, and the reluctance of others before me to slog through foot-deep drifts just to make tracks I could then follow (what is wrong with people these days?). On one such run, Steve and I were following some ski tracks until we came across the skier, who thanked us because had been following OUR tracks. Still, in general, I was slacking a bit, knowing that the race course was completely flat. Most of my longest runs were just dull back-and-forths at Forbidden Drive, Oaks, Ridley Creek, or the Art Museum rather than hitting the trails. I knew that I wasn't in my best cardiovascular shape, but I was also learning a lot about nutrition, walk/run strategies, and mental approaches.
Recognition
As the race approached, I found myself focused almost entirely on the challenge. In this time, Lori put up with a tremendous amount of narcissism, to which I am eternally grateful for her amazing patience and belief. Between the long Saturdays, the long Sunday mornings, and the need to recover and plan, it was becoming hard to balance the task with the rest of my life. I was silently counting down the miles left (244 miles to the race! 14 today, that's 5% of the total remaining!) and the dwindling number of really long runs. For my 40 miler, I took Friday off, which meant that I ran it all alone. Plus, it had snowed 16 inches the day before. Where could I run? I finally chose Oaks, a paved path that luckily had been plowed. Unfortunately, I tried several offshoots--the River Trail, the Schuylkill River Trail--but none had been cleared or even had any tracks! Miserably, after exhausting myself in deep snow trying to find open routes, I retraced a 3 1/2 mile stretch of the Perkiomen Trail, occasionally passing just the park rangers who looked more incredulous at me each time I passed (sadly, not the first time this has happened to me). In this run, I suffered by bonking the last 15 miles. Even so, on this day I learned a valuable lesson about running anerobic. The legendary ultrarunner Ann Trason is memorably quoted, "It hurts up to a point, and then it doesn't get any worse". This always gets a laugh, but now I understand its underlying wisdom: running in glycogen deficit is not pleasant, but it's not intolerable, either; perhaps it can be managed with the proper mental focus. No idea whether my biochemical theorizing is legitimate, but at least I convinced myself of it. The next day was another 20 miles on a cold morning. By the end, I was having trouble keeping warm and actually ran in thick sweats and a sweatshirt over my running clothes while trying to keep up with Jeannie. I learned that weekend that I need to eat everything in sight to recover before going out the next day.
Turbulence
After the 40 miler, I was beginning to get nervous as my last two long weekends approached. Could I really get through these? Each peak weekend, I was already far surpassing my previous 2-day run total records. As it turned out, the 40 miler was the low point, but not the most challenging run. That was to be my next long run of 45 miles, in mid-February. In reflecting back on my many adventurous outings, this might top them all. It started ominously, at the dark and lonely pre-dawn head of Forbidden Drive. Within steps of beginning, a shadowy figure of a bounding animal shot across the trail ahead of me. What was it? Much too big for a fox, and too remote a location for a dog. It sure looked like a wolf to me. And in the dark, under a clear sky and a full moon, perhaps something more ominous than a wolf...a werewolf?! As I contemplated this in the first mile, I realized it was likely a coyote, rare for Philadelphia, but (as I later found out) previously seen on occasion in the area. Regardless, this was clearly an omen, but one that my hardheadedness failed to heed.
This was forecast to be a very windy day, with a wind advisory of gusts up to 70 MPH. Luckily, the gorge of the Wissahickon was quite protected, but the winds were howling up on the ridgetops. Suddenly about 5 miles in, amidst the dark stillness, I heard a resounding CRRRAAAACCCKKKK, followed by a tremendous and prolonged crashing of an enormous tree careening through the forest on its way down. Luckily, this was on the other side of the creek, but it was unnerving while somehow also magnificent. Soon after, I stopped briefly to throw away an empty gel pack; by doing so, I had to step on some ice and of course immediately flopped onto the ground and banged my elbow. Ironically, this was after running probably 100 miles on snow and ice that winter without a mishap. I guess I am graceful only when in full stride. Then Steve caught up me for some trail running. While Forbidden Drive had been mostly clear of snow, once we turned onto the trails, we found them a sheet of ice, and only on the trail itself--the rest of the terrain was bare! It was as if someone had invented an ice paver and run it down the trail. Fortunately, this lasted only a mile or so, and then Steve proceeded to exhaust me on rocky hills that I had once bounded up with ease, but now only he was doing the bounding! At one point trying to duck one of the many freshly felled trees, I cracked my head on a protruding branch. Things were really going well.
After Steve was finished, I still had 20+ miles to go. We stood at the parking lot in the strengthening wind, then looked up as a large pine tree emitted a sharp CRACK! and both watched a big branch dislodge and soar downwards close to us, only to crash onto the roof of the car next to mine! Clearly it was time for any sane person to leave, but not me; I had to see this through. The wind was really howling by now, with lots of small branches tumbling down onto the trail. Finally, about 6 miles from the finish, a limb as big around as my leg smashed end-on-end right into the trail, about 10 feet behind me. Okay, I got the message, time to wrap it up. But I had made my 45 miles feeling quite good, I'd discovered that I can tolerate solid food pretty well (PB&Js), and I had worked out a walk-run strategy beyond 30 miles that seemed sustainable for long distances. Plus, there was no way I'd have to put up with that many obstacles again, right?
Inertia
From that point on, my training became almost effortless, which was an amazing feeling. Twenty mile runs seemed like a jog in the park. My last big run, 50/25, was long and tedious, but it seemed almost routine. I had my nutrition, regimen, and pace. I didn't feel so much in a zone as much as just accepting of what needed to be done as part of the day's schedule. I often preach to new runners that they should strive to make weekday runs part of an automatic and unquestioned routine, like brushing their teeth every morning. Happily, I was finding this to be the case for my remaining schedule, and this gave me much needed confidence. It seemed to be acceptance of the task, and a belief that the training would enable the feat to be accomplished.
Chapter I
Chapter III
Chapter IV
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