Half empty, or half full of it?

When will I learn?

Better yet, when will I heed what I've learned?

Even more so, can I possibly be this far off track?

Is anyone else wondering if I'll write this entry entirely in question form?

Let's backtrack a few months, shall we? (There I go again... sorry) After I finished August's Rock 'n' Roll Series Chicago half marathon in PR-shattering time, I had this great idea.

"Take a week off, run a long-run the following Sunday, and if you survive without incident, schedule another half for after the Detroit Free Press half in October," I said to myself.

(I'm in this pic... top middle... the one looking like he's not hurting)

So I did just that, and I did better than just "surviving." So I decided to register for October 23rd's St Louis inaugural Rock 'n' Roll half marathon event and do back-to-back weekends of running.

Why not? I ran very well (for me, at least) in Chicago, had plenty of training time with the Air Force marathon in my scopes, and hey, I'm a runner, I can do this.

Sure I can.

I got this.

Maybe not.

Since my disappointment in Dayton, I've been light on the training in the hope that proper diet and recovery time would help me negotiate Detroit's event just fine while not turning aches and pains into injuries. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, and now I've got the legs of an 80-year-old (not the one who ran a 3:25 marathon this past weekend, mind you) and am concerned that I've bitten off more than I can chew.

I'm not injured, per se, but I'm certainly not 100%.

Maybe I shouldn't be complaining. I have social networking "friends" who completed two marathons last weekend. I have other "friends" who are Ironman-caliber athletes, training for hours each day and doing things on the course I can only dream of (keep it clean... I mean time wise).

But that's just it... I don't have hours to train each day. I have no coach, limited time for medical care, even less time for PT, and I"m negotiating a move and a job change.

I also have friends who drink a lot of alcohol.

Why, then, do I insist on scheduling myself like I'm a single, childless, 20-something pro athlete when I could join my buddies at the bar and spin my yarns about wonderous times breaking PRs in the Windy City?

It's just about official, folks... my decision making paradigm needs a tune up.

I'm glad I have friends making their way to STL this coming weekend(both kinds... athletes and drinkers. A couple do both!), because I certainly will need someone to slap some sense into my head and remind me that old people don't heal well, so stop taking this stuff seriously and then training for it lightly.

Hmm... maybe I DON'T need them to remind me.

Ok, if you believe any one thing I ever write to you, this HAS to be it... do NOT, under ANY circumstances, over extend yourself without a solid training and recovery plan. You need to be spot on with your goal, then meet it with a war-time sense of urgency and compliance. Don't deviate from your plan, and if you find that you under planned, reconsider your goal attainment date.

These races get pricey, and in today's economy it's sometimes hard to justify "throwing away" $100 in race fees because, "Well, I'm just not sure I'm ready." But if that's what you're saying, you may want to listen.

For all the running I've done this year, I was nowhere near ready for the marathon in Sept., and the damage I did to my body then has not been fully repaired, so I'm now hobbling into the central time zone with a half-ass idea that I'm actually going to be able to run another 13.1 miles.

I'm going to do it... because I'm not smart enough to say, "No... I've had enough." Same reason I like catching on a softball team... please come run into me at the plate. I like having the sense knocked out of me. It lets me see that I still have some.

More to follow, gentle reader. That is, if my upper body still works after having to drag my carcass across the finish line next Sunday.

Peace, love and band-aids.... nothing fixes a sucking chest wound better.

Athlete vs. hobbyist... is competition the difference?

I've had a lot of time to think recently.

Mainly, my thinking was done during the last 10 miles of the Air Force Marathon while I was trudging along wondering how in the hell I got myself into a different predicament in almost the exact same location as last year. The answer to that is simple, and we'll cover it later.

First, let's look at the topic that was floating around my head as I was trying to focus on planting my feet in a manner that wouldn't send shooting pain from my ankles to my molars

... am I an athlete, or just an obsessed running hobbyist?

Quick search of the Internet and http://www.dictionary.com defines "athlete" as: "a person trained or gifted in exercises or contests involving physical agility, stamina, or strength." So, by that definition, I'm an athlete - I'm (somewhat) trained (certainly not gifted) in a contest involving physical stamina.

I'll buy that... the same site defines "hobby" as: "an activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation."

This appears to apply as well.

So as I hobbled along trying to keep the pain and frustration out of my head, I contemplated whether I was taking all this running/racing too seriously. I mean, what event am I going to actually come close to placing in... and who am I fooling that I might actually win something?

Isn't finishing a distance like this enough, regardless of how I get there? (legally, that is... I'm not Rosie Ruiz or Milli Vanilli)

The real question is whether my competitive nature, usually kept in check, has taken over my love of hitting the road and is now driving me to constantly improve, rather than enjoying the scenery and feeling good about possibly adding a few years to my life. Although truth be told, that marathon made me wish for a low-flying plane landing on top of me or a wildebeest stampede bearing down on me like a scene out of "The Lion King"; something crazy to take my mind off the agony would've been OUTSTANDING.

Trying to squelch competitive drive is like trying to stop an avalanche by holding up two hands and yelling, "Whoa there big fella!"... it just ain't happening. If you've got the gene that makes you want to constantly show well in any arena, it's not easily turned off. I firmly believe you can build a competitive spirit into someone, but if they already have it you need to harness it, massage it, and fuel it until gametime, then unleash it upon others like the old me on ice cream and pumpkin pie (just keep your hands and feet away from my mouth when I'm eating those two things and you'll be fine).

All things being equal, I'm a relatively calm guy. I have my moments, but I'm not fanatical about things. But my running has begun to frustrate me because I feel like I'm capable of much more. I'm also wanting more out of my running... I want to lead, I want to float effortlessly around the course, I really want to finish in the low double digits of a field. Jesus, I sound like a spoiled kid...

It's painfully clear what needs to be done... I need to train more. That's why my psoas (both sides) seized up on me at mile 16, making it painful to even lift my legs - lack of training. I need to practice what I preach, get out there and improve all facets of my performance. Most importantly, I need to specialize in something.

What? Now you've gone from a confused athlete/hobbyist to a specialist? Gimme a break, Kev. (I know that's what you're thinking, because I thought the EXACT SAME THING when it first entered my head)

The reality is I need to have realistic goals, and my current situation does not afford me the time, money, patience, child care or mental focus to properly train for anything longer than 13.1 miles. Can I run longer distances? Yes. Should I run longer distances? For training, yes?

Can I properly devote the time and effort into becoming a "marathoner", by which I mean "running the entire way"?

No.

My reality is that for as determined as I may think I am, I need to break away pieces of the obstacles that have presented themselves over the past year or so and allow myself a clear path and the ability to focus in on a singular goal.

So I'll specialize in running the half marathon distance. Anything shorter is a time trial for the 13.1 mile events... anything longer is a test of endurance to show I can outlast my mental blocks on the course.

And my singular goal? I want to run a sub 1:30 half marathon by the end of 2012.

That means I need to knock almost 25 minutes off my current time... almost two minutes per mile.

Unrealistic? Probably.

Unheard of? Probably not.

Pressing my "hobby" to it's limits? Screw my hobby... I'M AN ATHLETE!

See ya in three weeks at the Detroit Free Press half marathon... I'm shooting for 1:50. For those not in the know, that's three minutes and small change faster than my current PR.

Peace, love and reality... the way you see things is how they really are.

I L*** (?) running... What? What did he just say?

I love the "L" word. Not the cable TV drama about lesbians (ok, that show IS pretty hot), but the word "love". I love how it's used and misused, under- and over-rated, embraced and ignored... the list goes on and on.

I love running... not the kind of love that makes you want to knit little things and send out invitations (ok, I guess I DO send notes when I run certain events), but the love for life I feel when I'm doing it.

I love the feeling I get when it's just me, the road, a clear head, sweat, sun, breeze, pain... I love it all. I love hills, inclines, and that which makes my body ache. I love the satisfaction of setting and accomplishing a goal, and I love knowing I'll do it all over again sometime soon.

I love the look on people's faces when I help them with their run and they do something they never thought possible. Run a mile, a 5K, pass a fitness test... I love the pricelessness of their happiness, even for that single moment in time.

So why is it I have such a hard time expressing "love" for another person? I love friends, and can express that love without issue. (Incidentally, this post came about because a distant friend of mine who also blogs and is VERY good at it wrote something recently that made me smile, think about her, and say to myself, "I love her spirit." That led to me think, "I love her." The irony here is she has no idea I think these things, which is fine because it's a platonic love I'm not looking to pursue... but blah, blah, blah... HEY! Man up, reach down, grab a pair and get back to your storyline jackhole.)

Sorry folks... I do tend to ramble and drift off track. Good thing there are people on the running course to follow. Yep, that's why I'm never in the lead, but I digress...

So why can't I tell someone I love them?

Take it easy on me here... I realize you're expecting some diatribe on running, and I gave you a tidbit, but the self-realization portion of this blogging experience is important. In other words, settle down, hold on for the ride, and you may just learn something about yourself.

Back to my question... I've kicked this around a lot. Part of me thinks it's the easy answer: I've loved before, I got hurt, so I won't allow it to happen again. Ok... 'cept if you have the feelings and aren't expressing them who's really hurting you, the other person or your stubborn sense of security?

There's another part of me that proclaims regularly, "You're madly in love with your child, there can be no greater love than that." Admirable, and accurate, but everyone needs a partner in life and when my son grows and finds his own, who will I have for me?

A small part of me says, "You're Seinfeldish... nothing's ever good enough for you, so you don't appreciate what you have." This, too, has crossed my mind quite often. Maybe I don't worry about it because I'm a giver, not a taker, so I don't feel bad about not fully accepting someone else because I'm not "using" them for anything. And besides, I have little girly hands so a woman with man hands kind of balances me out, right?

It's not that I'm incapable of love, and I tend to trust people until they give me reason not to, so why won't I allow myself to love in that mushy, girly kind of way? Am I not supposed to because I have male anatomy? Seems to me regardless of the way I'm built, I should be allowed and encouraged to love. So what's the hang up?

What I know is this: the love I have in my heart should be expressed in something other than worn out shoes, my ever-growing collection of race tech shirts, and luggage tags from running events across the U.S. I do love my time on the road, but it's time for something more... the question is, how do I get over myself to allow it to happen.

I love you... you read my ramblings and come back for more. It's not sweaty man love, or moaning beast-with-two-backs love. It's love, unmeasurable, unconditional, mostly unwanted, but very real. I'm sure other writers, the ones who get paid for their craft, LOVE their readers, because those folks help pay the bills.

Maybe I don't love me... now wouldn't that suck?

Regardless, something has to give. I want to share the passion for life that grows inside me with another being who wants to share it the way I do. I don't want a leech, or a "user", or a "poser", or some freak of nature who thinks me doing abysmal things to them is "love" (we can still get freaky though... just call it what it is... lust).

I love... therefore I am???

Hmm... this could go on for a while... where are my shoes? I need to run this one out of my head.

Peace, love, and LOVE... only you decide how much love you really want, and get, in your life.

Whatcha running from... or is that "to"?

It's funny what spurs the thought process on sometimes. It can be something small, like a fleeting glance of someone from the past. It can be a huge event, like holidays, births, weddings, etc.. Or it can be the loudest silence ever heard. That's where I'm at today.

Seems there are questions in life that must go unanswered because people aren't inclined to share information, or they just don't know how to share what's going on inside their heads or their hearts.

I'm not sure I get where the issue begins... childhood, trauma, or indifference. History being what it is, I understand the reluctance, but don't condone it. Truamatic events in one's life are a tragedy, but the healing has to begin somewhere. Indifference, however, kills... it kills the spirit, kills the soul, and kills the passion others have in life.

So the questions I'm asking myself are, "Where's the silence coming from?" and "Am I really hearing nothing, or am I missing the message somewhere?" More concerningly, "Do I even care what the message is?"

For my sake, here's hoping the last point of questioning is 180 degrees off the mark.

I'm coming up on this weekend's Chicago Rock 'n' Roll half marathon with a HUGE mental block... so many unanswered questions bounce uncontrollably inside my head. I struggled with the "voices" at last weekend's Heart of Detroit 10K, and still managed to get my act together and finish strong. But Chicago holds my heart in a special and truly scary way; it's the site of my biggest "failure" in my running "career", if you will, and I find myself terrified of the outcome there.

Last year's fiasco resulted in serious leg cramps leading to some deceleration trauma as I bonked and plastered myself into "the wall" at a speed comparable to 15 minutes faster than my personal best in the half (do the math right and I'll buy you a drink). Chicago also provided me the need (which I ignored) for medical attention, and a list of about 14 "never again's" for a race weekend. That list is scrolling through my head like the credits of a long movie... all sorts of recognition, albeit after the fact, with the hope I'll see something I've missed and have an ephinany like, "Whoa, where'd that come from?"

I've had a year to review, break down, rebuild, and rehearse to avoid the same disaster, and now here I am, six days from race day, and I can't clear my head to save my life. Why is my already feeble mind congested this way? Where is the disconnect? When will the noise subside?

Is anyone else hearing this?

Something's missing in my life, something bigger than I've experienced in recent memory. My son's been gone for a month now and I get him after the race, but I've acknowledged his absence and been blessed with many a long phone call from him over the past 10 days, so I'm thinking (using the term loosely here) that his trip to just east of the Mississippi is NOT what has me twisted like cheap Christmas lights taken down and boxed in haste.

I'm missing answers to questions I've asked myself 100s of times, yet when I try to focus,the questions disappear, leaving only the dead, white noise of public television which signs off after the National Anthem at 2 a.m.

I'm missing... maybe that's it... I'm just simply "missing." Missing like an automobile engine with a bad spark plug. Missing like most major league batters swinging at a Justin Verlander 100 MPH fastball. Missing like... like... DB Cooper?

Missing...

I think I better find something... quickly... because what I'm not missing is the chance to redeem myself in Chicago this year.

I wonder if what I'm missing is the sense that I'm being heard... but by myself? Ludicrous at best... so if not me, then by whom?

The scariness just set in again.

Peace, love, and Windex... something needs to clear the haze off the looking glass of life.

Crossing the (finish) line

If you've known me for any length of time, you know this much... for as political as I can be in my speech, I tend to say it like it is.

Unfortunately, I failed to remember that knowing your audience is a huge part of getting the proper message across, and I'll publicly apologize in this forum for my random spewings last week.

I ran Macomb County's "Let's Move" festival of races half marathon April 30, and finished in a respectable 2:02:29. Before I go any further, I need to thank the wonderful crew at Total Health Systems (http://www.totalhealthsystems.com) for not only allowing me to sport their team shirt and represent them, but for getting me ready to run as well. Their staff is amazing, they offer wonderful services all under one roof, and they're all sorts of fun and friendly! Without those folks, I'd be tighter than a watch spring and running myself right into an injury. I seriously don't know how I ran without their services. But I digress...

I wasn't very happy with my time, seeing as how I just broke two hours in NOLA back in February. However, taking into consideration that I hadn't trained anywhere near enough for a half marathon, my time, although slower than I hoped, was decent.

Decent, that is, until I started lamenting my efforts to my physical therapist... you know, the guy responsible for loosening me up and fixing the wreck that is my 41 year old body? Word to the wise... don't piss off your PT.

So I'm telling him about how I'm not happy and want to run faster, and he is smiling and nodding (he ran the half in 1:56 and change) and then I say something to the effect of, "... had I been training, I would've smoked you out there." Good job, Kev. It's now officially on.

Folks, gotta tell ya, if you don't know where your gluetius medius or illiac crest is, my PT is NOT the guy you want introducing you to those spots for the first time. That is, he's not the guy unless you like pain so intense it makes you wish a tree would fall on the treatment room so the session would stop. (I'm kinda sick that way, so bring on the pain)

Needless to say, he had a good time working me over the last couple of sessions. I'm extremely thankful, because even though it hurts, it's all for the best. Probably could've done without the sadistic laughter, but I think I'm paying extra for that anyway (just kidding... my insurance covers it), so it's all good.

Short story, long... my PT probably would've been painful anyway, but there's nothing like opening your mouth and ending up with your foot so far in it you can actually taste your illiac crest. (Ok, at this point, if you're not sure where it is, look it up on WebMD or something... you'll get the joke)

A bit of humility, a little less competitive spirit after the run, and a lot more preparation before it would've made this an entirely different posting. Hmm... maybe it was supposed to happen this way so I'd have something to write about.

Thanks again to everyone at Total Health Systems, and a special thanks to my PT. You know who you are, and you know I respect and appreciate all you do for me. My most profound apologies if my challenge to your skills on the road came across as arrogant or demeaning.

And to those who may have the wrong idea by my ramblings here... Total Health Systems' staff is TOTALLY professional and there is nothing "negative" I could say about them. I may joke about the pain, but anyone who's gone through PT knows there's pain to be had in the process, and there is no better place for your recovery needs. I consider these people my friends, and I'm very glad they're my caregivers.

Up next... the Henry Ford Healthcare System 5K in beautiful downtown Detroit. I wonder if I have childcare for this one... hmm.

Peace, love and leather... stylish, but scary in an exam room.

At what point does absence become abstinence?

Let's cut to the chase... you'd think I'd have a better plan for populating this blog. I mean, who in their right mind has a training schedule but can't fit in writing about the training?

Oh, wait... I have a training schedule? Damn, there's another thing I've been forgetting.

To bring us all up to speed, I ran the Rock 'n' Roll half in Denver and finished respectably, although not under two hours as I had hoped. Admittedly, I took it easy and didn't want to hurt myself in the altitude, as did many I assume, because I was reeling people in like crazy... like 10s and 20s at a time. Guess starting with the 11th corral when I was placed in the 7th originally may have had something to do with that, but after my meltdown in August and the cramping at the AF Marathon, I was thankful for a healthy finish that left me feeling refreshed, and fulfilled, at the end of the weekend.

Fastforward to February and I'm running the 2nd annual Mardi Gras half in N'awlins. Didn't train as hard as I wanted, and walked to the starting line shaking my head... not a good sign.

Gun goes off, music's pumping, and I stride out... and holy hell, this is easy!

Gotta be a joke... hurricane's coming in or something right? Twisted ankle around the next corner? This is going way too well.

I push through the pain around mile 10 and find myself looking at the trusty Garmin thinking, "This is gonna be close" (I was shooting for breaking the 2-hour mark... like I trained to do so or something equally amusing). So I step it out a bit.

And the race steps back at me.

WTFO? Where did that push back come from? I didn't hit a wall, I got dragged through the rubble of a wall the race built then wrecked in front of me.

Mentally I'm questioning my existance, even going so far as to curse my mother for birthing me (sorry mom). This just got rough.

I look up, and there's the mausoleum-looking structure that served as a landmark for last year's finish line. Only about 500 or 600 yards to go.

I look down at the Garmin... I've got about a minute. I am NOT an Olympic-caliber sprinter. This is gonna hurt.

I look up at the heavens... God, I know we have an understanding, and I rarely ask you to kibitz, but please, if you have any sympathy for this many-time sinner, help me find some energy to finish this within my goal.

Ok, I prayed... and it was in desperation... shoot me. We'll deal with that issue later.

And into high gear I went.

The flashy show off kid who had been running 20 yards in front of me the entire race was a little closer in my crosshairs, and I had some energy left to burn.

Full stride, hands chopping the air like Bruce Lee kickin' some overweight goon ass, look of determination on my face (I know this because the best running pic of me EVER shows it!), and I'm closing in on the finish line.

People lining the finish would say I was sweating... those were tears folks... this push really hurt. But I passed Mr. Flashy Pants and tore off toward the pomp and circumstance that is the Rock 'n' Roll finish line.

And then I finished... a quick glance at the Garmin almost made me fall over... 1:59:58. I broke two hours by two SECONDS. Thank you God... now back to your Corona and beachfront view, because I have some recovery to do.

I guess recovery takes two months, because here I am, mid-April, faced with another half in two weeks, and then a 2nd one the weekend after, and I'm sitting in front of the computer rather than dealing with the beautiful Michigan 40 degree spring day and running my ass off.

Ah, the things we do to ourselves.

Peace, love and procrastination... I'm putting that last one off for a while.

A lesson in self importance

Days pass, weeks pass, and I think, "Why haven't I blogged about anything lately?" Could be that I've been so wrapped up in my own "center of the universe" mentality that I've forgotten someone out there may actually benefit from my thoughts and/or experiences. Or it could be that I'm a lazy ass and never got around to it... I vote for this explanation (because I'm not looking to make an excuse).

I ran/hobbled the Air Force Marathon last weekend. Ran the first 21 miles, then watched the knots in my calves expand to the point where I could see the damn things through the calf sleeves I was wearing. Five miles of walking later, with multiple cups of fluids at every stop, and I was able to trot my way through the last quarter mile and finish with a mind-blowing time of 5 hours, 24 minutes, 12 seconds. Rah me.

I'm not happy about that time. Nor am I happy about the skinny little female 30-something officer in my building who ran another marathon that same weekend in around 4:42... oh, and thanks for mentioning you were sick the week before smart ass; apparently they don't teach Ego 101 in OTS. It's been hard for me to wrap my head around what's keeping me from finishing these runs strong... maybe because I keep coming back to me.

I once wrote (and repeated out loud many times) that the selfishness of running was not in my nature. Figuring it would catch up with me eventually, I just kept plodding away until it came time to address it. Now's that time.

The selfishness of distance running really can't be explained properly to those who aren't doing it. Non-runners see it as any one of a number of definitions of crazy... "Why spend three hours on the road running further than I chose to drive in a day, Kev?" But it's not just the time pounding the pavement. It's the mental prep, the meals, spending a few hours enjoying panelists' commentary at an expo event, the countless searches for new training techniques, and, of course, the expense of new shoes, clothing, supplements, gels and whatever else we need to get the job done as close to "right" as we can.

I feel like I should apologize to those who take backseats when I'm trying to focus on my events. Not because of the time I spend away or not responding to texts, phone calls or emails (BTW, whatever did we do BEFORE the advent of cell phones? I'd kill for those times again). More to the point, the apology should be for my poor-ass showings at these runs.

I'm running the Denver Rock 'n' Roll Inaugural Half Marathon in mid-October... if I don't finish sub-2 hours I may have to reconsider this hobby. I'm just not this important.

Peace, love, and a huge dose of humility... it does the body good,
Your current keeper of the DD Form ID10T