SOSH Running Dogs

Sep 27, 2004
5,576
Your worst nightmare
Traut,

My simple answer to a complicated question: you should be getting at least 30-40 percent of your calories from lean protein. This is much harder than you think because proteins are largely inconvenient to eat unless you're constantly at home. Protein naturally packs far less calories per gram than refined or starchy carbs, so you'll also be having less calories in greater masses of food.

Once you break the cycle of bagels, crackers, baked goods, cereal and rice, you'll be amazed at how the cravings disappear.

Try having a sugar free protein shake to create a daily baseline and then build from there with eggs or egg whites, chicken/fish/turkey and legumes. Track your food to make sure you're not going overboard. This isnt a license to eat a 3-egg ham and cheese omelet every day. ; )
 

sass a thon

Member
SoSH Member
Jul 20, 2005
2,265
So I posted this on Facebook but figured I'd repost here. I'm omitting all the junk about our trip and the food we ate and will just post the part about the race. I ran with my friend Lauren, with whom I trained all season. We had a few other friends there, one of whom was going to meet up and run me in.


I always figured that once I got one full marathon under my belt after years of running half marathons, I'd have a good idea of what I was capable of and that I'd know how aggressive to be in my pacing. As the Vancouver Marathon approached, I realized I was wrong. A marathon is a beast of a race, so you never really know 100% what you can do on any given day, especially on a new and unknown course. My first marathon was White Rock in Dallas in December. The weather was perfect, the course was made up of streets I've run hundreds of times, and I had my husband by my side the entire time. Based on his advice, I decided to go out at 9:20s and speed up if I felt good later in the race. I ended up feeling spectacular at mile 18 and speeding up to finish with a 9:09 overall pace for a time of 3:59:53. I squeaked by 7 seconds under 4 hours and was ecstatic.

I trained a bit faster for Vancouver, but had no idea what pace to attempt. What was a reasonable amount of time to shave off just five months later? Did I want to push myself to the limits and risk being miserable the entire time or start out conservative? Would it be easier to run a consistent pace the entire 26 miles or should I plan to start slower and then speed up? Too many questions.

The elevation chart made the route look relatively flat through 16 with a big bridge at miles 17 and again at 24. I decided that I'm not quite ready to commit to the risk of being miserable and exhausted for a full 4 hours, so I decided to run consistent 9 minute miles and see where that put me; I hoped I'd be able to speed up quite a bit at the end and maybe finish at 3:55.

The temps were supposedly 43/45 degrees at that point, but with full-on sun, it felt quite a bit warmer. My throwaway long sleeve shirt was gone before the end of the first mile and my gloves were ditched quickly after. I don't remember much about the first 6 or 7 miles except for talking and laughing with Lauren, watching my Garmin religiously to be sure we kept out pace, and being somewhat concerned that my legs felt a bit sluggish and tired. I expected things to be tougher than my first marathon as I was running 20 seconds faster each mile, but the rule of thumb is generally that you should still be feeling really good at mile 13, the halfway point. So to be feeling that my legs weren't at 100% at mile 7, I was a bit concerned. I remember hoping we hit the 10 mile mark soon so I could take my first of 4 planned GUs. Shortly after taking GU #1, I realized that one of them had fallen off of the safety pin attaching it to my shorts. PANIC. I depend on my Espresso Love GU mentally and physically and there was no way I could run a marathon with only 3 of them. At this point, we had passed a couple of GU Stops but they were completely out already thanks to the half marathon. I had no choice but to take half a GU at 14 and the save the other half for 18.

At this point the course had been a mix of flat and several rolling hills. I seem to remember more hills than flat roads, but I'm not sure how accurate my memory is. We'd passed through Chinatown, past Rogers Arena (home of the Canucks), past False Creek's inner harbour, through Strathcona (Vancouver's oldest residential neighborhood), and into beautiful Stanley Park. Unfortunately, the half marathon took place almost completely in Stanley Park, so for a good 5-7 mile stretch in the middle of our race, the water stops were all out of cups and the GU stops were already abandoned. I was irritated and starting to worry about being able to hold this pace, much less speed up at the end. It was feeling pretty warm by this point, so a lack of water was cause for concern.

Crowd support was all over the place; most of the time I don't remember much more than a few people scattered here and there on the streets but there were a few areas where we ran through a tunnel of cheering spectators with entertaining signs. Our names were on our bibs and Lauren and I got many shoutouts throughout the morning, including my favorite around the midway point when a guy shouted, "Nice pacing ladies. Stick together!" You can never really be sure how long you'll be able to run a race with someone as everyone feels different on race day, but to still be side by side at mile 20 was fantastic and though we never spoke about it during the race, I knew we were both thinking about it.

We exited Stanley Park and made our way up a sizeable hill and over the Burrard Street Bridge (the same bridge we'd have to cross again at mile 24). After crossing the bridge, there were two separate out-and-backs in the cute beachy town of Kitsilano. This was undoubtedly the toughest part of the race. Out and backs are always tough, but this stretch felt even tougher thanks to some hills and the knowledge that we still had another trip over the bridge to tackle. Around mile 19, Lauren pointed out an upcoming GU stop that was fully stocked. I grabbed the first one I could get my hands on: vanilla. At that point, it could have been broccoli flavored GU, I didn't care and sucked it down as quickly as possible.

Miles 21-24 seemed to last forever. I took my final GU at mile 22 and if you had asked me at mile 23, I would have sworn it must have been a placebo. I was exhausted and the caffeine that normally gives me a boost felt like it had no effect. It was at this point that I had to remind myself a dozen times that if marathons weren't meant to be difficult, everyone would run them.

Lauren and I weren't talking much by that point as we knew we needed to conserve all of our energy. Lauren and I parted ways around mile 23 in Kits and I don't remember much about that mile aside from exhaustion and the intense desire to see the Burrard Street Bridge ahead of me. Finally, I turned a corner and there it was. Even better? I spotted Nick and Kristi on the side of the road. Kristi joined me just as I approached the bridge to run the final 2 miles with me. Nick trotted past me to join Lauren and I heard him say, "And there's Lauren right behind her," which made me happy. I didn't have the energy to turn around, but I was so glad to know she was so close by. My 2 miles with Kristi are a bit of a blur, but I know I spent most of it whining about being tired, thinking about how nice it would feel to curl up on the side of the road, and asking Kristi if the finish line actually existed. Running over the bridge felt like running through molasses but finally we got to the top and go to enjoy the downhill. We'd been dodging people all morning so my mileage was way over; when my watch said 26.2, I still couldn't even see the finish line, which was mentally defeating. I begged Kristi to distract me, so she told me about funny signs she saw on the course. Having her by my side for that tough stretch was so incredibly helpful. After the downhill the course flattened out for the home stretch and suddenly, flat felt like uphill. I was moving at a decent clip, but I truly felt like I was barely making progress. I so badly wanted to be walking or laying down, but I knew that wasn't an option. I had trained for 5 months and been running for the last almost 4 hours; my Taurus stubbornness comes in handy during races and there was no way I was going to do anything except run as fast as I could towards the finish line.

When the finish line was finally in sight, Kristi slid off to the side of the road and I was on my own to finish. I typically move into a full-on sprint and give everything I have once the finish is in sight, but I truly felt like my legs were barely moving. It surprises me now to see that mile 26 was an 8:09. Since the markers on the course were in km instead of miles, and there were no clocks on the course, I had no clue how far off the clock time I actually was. There was no elation crossing the finish line; just pure relief and exhaustion. My body didn't immediately cramp up like it did after White Rock. Instead, my upper back and neck started to ache and my breathing became a bit labored. I saw an empty wheelchair on the side of the finisher chute and knew I had to sit down, which helped.

My chip time ended up being 3:56:10. Of course, the stubborn competitor in me wishes I'd knocked 10 seconds off the first very crowded mile to hit a 3:55, but I'm not beating myself up. I'm quite happy with my time, my ability to hold a pace consistently, and my ability to find a way to run negative splits despite exhaustion.

Splits: 9:17, 9:00, 8;56, 8:59, 8:59, 8:59, 9:04, 9:04, 8:58, 8:52, 8:25, 8:58, 9:01, 9:02, 9:09, 8:49, 8:56, 9:01, 8:47, 8:56, 9:03, 8:48, 8:44, 8:42, 8:53, 8:09, last .61 in 8:33.
 

Traut

lost his degree
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Jul 20, 2005
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Sass that's awesome! Too bad the race wasn't more organized. Fantastic splits and way to battle through adversity.
 

Kremlin Watcher

Member
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Sep 20, 2005
5,233
Orleans, MA
Hooray for Sass! Brilliant run. Great strategy, kept focused, and nailed it, especially when you felt gassed at the end. Way to go!

Love the 8:25 at 11, the mid 8:40s at 23 and 24, and the 8:09 at 26. Nice touch to end it hauling ass, especially when Garmin said you were already done.
 

Catch Me Bruno

fancy boy
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Dec 27, 2000
2,928
Burlington, VT
I haven't posted in here in a while, but I ran my 2nd Half-Marathon on April 9, 2011, and was 7 minutes faster than my first half-marathon in 2007. I chalk this up to old man power. Of course, old man came in 377th place out of 512 finishers, but the good news is that the run did not kill me.

Half Marathon Unplugged 2011

I'm running as part of a 2-man half-marathon relay in the Vermont City Marathon next week. Should be fun.
 

JGray38

Member
SoSH Member
Oct 31, 2003
3,044
Rockport, MA
I'll be in Burlington as well next weekend. Just doing a 5.1 mile leg of a relay team. My two running aunts started up a couple of relay teams, comprised entirely of family, should be a lot of fun.
 

sass a thon

Member
SoSH Member
Jul 20, 2005
2,265
I haven't posted in here in a while, but I ran my 2nd Half-Marathon on April 9, 2011, and was 7 minutes faster than my first half-marathon in 2007. I chalk this up to old man power. Of course, old man came in 377th place out of 512 finishers, but the good news is that the run did not kill me.

Half Marathon Unplugged 2011

I'm running as part of a 2-man half-marathon relay in the Vermont City Marathon next week. Should be fun.
Congratulations on the PR!!
 
Sep 27, 2004
5,576
Your worst nightmare
Sorry to repeat for those of you who know me on DailyMile and FB, but I ran the Harpoon 5-miler yesterday for the first time and it was a ton of fun. Flat, easy loop course, lots of hot/mostly under 40 runners, the vibe is more like a block party than a race -- plus 3 free pints of Harpoon brews and food at the end. The only bad part is it's very popular so you have to enter a lottery to get a bib. Still, highly recommended.

Despite a back injury, I bested my PR by 3 minutes -- from 51and change to 48:37, so that was nice.
 

Traut

lost his degree
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Jul 20, 2005
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My Desk
Sorry to repeat for those of you who know me on DailyMile and FB, but I ran the Harpoon 5-miler yesterday for the first time and it was a ton of fun. Flat, easy loop course, lots of hot/mostly under 40 runners, the vibe is more like a block party than a race -- plus 3 free pints of Harpoon brews and food at the end. The only bad part is it's very popular so you have to enter a lottery to get a bib. Still, highly recommended.

Despite a back injury, I bested my PR by 3 minutes -- from 51and change to 48:37, so that was nice.
Sweet run, PH.
 

sass a thon

Member
SoSH Member
Jul 20, 2005
2,265
Sorry to repeat for those of you who know me on DailyMile and FB, but I ran the Harpoon 5-miler yesterday for the first time and it was a ton of fun. Flat, easy loop course, lots of hot/mostly under 40 runners, the vibe is more like a block party than a race -- plus 3 free pints of Harpoon brews and food at the end. The only bad part is it's very popular so you have to enter a lottery to get a bib. Still, highly recommended.

Despite a back injury, I bested my PR by 3 minutes -- from 51and change to 48:37, so that was nice.
Congrats PH! Sweet PR. Sounds like a fun race. I wish I'd been a runner when I lived in Boston.
 

PT Sox Fan

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Jul 15, 2005
416
PA
So, I ran across the Grand Canyon and back on Saturday, and a few folks here had asked me to post some notes after I finished. Sorry it's so long.

Quick details: Distance (~42 miles), elevation (about 7000 ft at South Rim, 2000 ft at the Colorado River, 8000 ft at the North Rim; total elevation change about 22,000 ft), temps (about 40 degrees at the South Rim to start, topped out over 110 degrees in the "box canyon" section mid-day, was in the 40s at the end). Start time around 5am; finish time around 11pm. Total time in canyon about 18 hours. I can't figure out any pacing data, given the crazy terrain and the extended breaks to fill water, refuel, tape blisters, soak our shirts in the cold river, etc, but it's kind of a moot point. It was just about getting to the other side and back in a day without losing any body parts. For reference, I'm probably in about 3:30-40 marathon shape right now. My Garmin says I burned about 5100 calories, but I don't know how accurate that might be for something like this.

My buddy in Denver threw out the idea to do the Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim Run in the Grand Canyon back in March. Having never been to GC, I thought it would be a cool way to see it, and the 3 guys I ran with were all experienced adventure racers / endurance junkies. We rolled in Friday after a big lunch and a few beers (carb loading) and setup camp at the South Rim. Packing our gear the night before highlighted one of the biggest challenges with this event relative to a typical road race or marathon. Because it was entirely self-supported, you had to carry your own food & water, which took some thoughtful logistical planning. I ran with a 2-liter North Face bladder pack and a 20 oz hand-held bottle. Stuffed in the bladder pack were 12 GUs, a pack of Clif Shot blocks, a 12-pack tube of Nuun electrolyte tablets, cookies, trail mix, 20 salt pills, 1200 mg of ibuprofen, sunscreen, icy hot, and a Flip videocamera.

After a not-so-great night of sleep and a beeping watch at 3:30am, I wolfed down 600+ calories, checked gear, and headed out. At 5am, the sun was rising and the canyon looked incredible and enormous. From the south rim, runners have a choice of a longer, flatter, more-covered route to the bottom or the one we took, which was a bit shorter (7 miles vs 9 the other way), much steeper, and much more exposed to the sun and wind. But, the views were significantly better, which is what drove our decision. We would pay for it on the way back up at the end, though. Wind gusts were very strong (my hat blew off once and I held it almost the entire way down). The steep terrain and sharp switchbacks meant you had to "hit the brakes" the whole way down, which was a tough wakeup call for our quads right out of the gate. The hikers we passed gave us strange looks, and the mule scat was sometimes hard to avoid. Spirits were high in the beginning.

We made good time to the bottom, crossed a bridge over the Colorado River and hit Phantom Ranch, where a bunch of folks were camping. At this point, we were feeling good and getting loose. We refueled and chatted with a few campers who could not believe we were heading up to the north rim and back, and the rangers warned us about water and the heat, which quickly became an issue. It was 7 miles to the next station, through a "box canyon" where a narrow creek and trail were sandwiched by rock walls that shot straight up for thousands of feet. Visually, it was jaw-dropping. The air flow, however, disappeared and the heat started to bake us.

The 3rd 7-mile section was pretty much all uphill. It was a grind--steep switchbacks, big rocks and logs to climb over. We reached the North Rim at about 1pm (8 hours). We had just crossed the Grand Canyon, which felt great, but we were only half-way done with our mission. We took an hour-long break, as my buddy did serious work on his feet (blisters & toenails that were sure to come off in a few days). It was longer than I would have liked, but it meant the sun would be lower when we would hit the "box" later in the day, and the heat was a major concern at this point. I had a swollen, half-dollar heel blister but was otherwise in pretty good shape. Our faces were caked with salt from all the sweating, so we kept pounding water and electrolytes. One of our buddies had fallen a bit behind, but he's a tough and very experienced guy, so we weren't overly concerned.

We chatted with a few folks who had also just gone South-to-North rim, as well, and when we started off on our run back to the other side, they wished us luck (and some shook their heads at us and said we were nuts). The initial descent felt a little "creaky" after the longer break, but we started rolling and chewing up mileage. The heat was taking its toll and exhaustion from the event really started to kick in at 30+ miles.

We hit Phantom Ranch (near the Colorado River) around 7pm, and I took advantage of a pay phone to call my wife and let her know that I was alive and had “only 7 miles and 1 more little hill to go." Well, that little hill was a 5,000 ft climb that will go high on my list of most miserable experiences. After crossing the bridge, we started up the switchbacks.

The final 7-mile climb took 4 hours! Do the math - that's over 30 minutes per mile. I'm not sure if I can find the right words to describe what it was like, but it was punishment at an extreme level. I can't count the number of times I spent bent over at the waist, hands on knees, sucking wind after just having cranked up 3-4 switchback sections. The big concern with choosing this route is having enough water to make it to the top. Fortunately, darkness set in to cool things down, but it messed with our minds as we staggered up this seemingly never-ending climb. With our headlamps on, seeing critters dart in front of us and weird shadows kept things interesting. This was gut-check time, and I was very happy that I had my buddy with me, and we kept each other motivated and moving toward our goal.

Reaching the trialhead at the finish almost caught us by surprise, but it was truly exhilarating. It was an amazing experience that I got to share with some outstanding guys. I'm not sure if I will do it again some day, but I'm awfully proud of what we accomplished and will cherish the memory of the weekend. Needless to say, many beers were consumed around a campfire the next day.
 

Traut

lost his degree
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Jul 20, 2005
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Pat, that's one of the best running stories I've ever read. What a great journey. Wow.
 

Ryo Sen

Member
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Jul 14, 2005
438
almost boston
Quick question for y'all on behalf of my fellow (non-SoSHer) newbie runner: aside from carrying water during runs, any suggestions for gum or mints or candy or something to keep your mouth & throat from drying out when you start breathing more through your mouth? This friend has some health issues, including asthma. Thanks!
 

rbeaud

Member
SoSH Member
Jul 15, 2005
348
Orange, CT
Quick question for y'all on behalf of my fellow (non-SoSHer) newbie runner: aside from carrying water during runs, any suggestions for gum or mints or candy or something to keep your mouth & throat from drying out when you start breathing more through your mouth? This friend has some health issues, including asthma. Thanks!
I think the real goal should be to get hydrated before the run. Drink water frequently on a daily basis. For a newbie runner, it would seem unlikely to "out run" your hydration given initial distances should be fairly short. The water you bring is more for moral support (unless you were dehydrated before starting).

Now I tend towards gutting it out and have run up to 15 miles without water. I hate to carry anything while running. Gum I usually ditch in the first half mile. That's me though.
 

Hooper'sslide

Member
SoSH Member
Apr 14, 2008
32
Central New York
Hello all-
I am going to be staying in Foxborough this weekend for a family reunion on Saturday and to take the kids to their first Sox game at Fenway on Friday. I have a scheduled 16 miler for the weekend. I am trying to figure out if I'd be better to just get out early and do the run on Friday morning before I leave Central NY or if I'll be able to find some decent running loops in and around Foxborough. I am staying on Foxborough Blvd; I can send a link to a map if anyone would like. I have been doing most of my long runs on trails (I had a great trail 15 miler last week in the Adirondacks) but could certainly do this one on the roads if need be.

Any suggestions for a nice long run in or around Foxborough would be greatly appreciated. I would love to do trails or relatively secluded roads. I don't mind a few miles on a main road to get somewhere but I'd hate end up doing 8 miles out on a main thoroughfare and then just turn around and run back. I have a Garmin watch so I am fine just taking off on general directions; I don't need a detailed map with mileages or anything elaborate.

If you don't know of anything that long, I'd appreciate a 5-7 mile loop in the area as well. My wife and I are going to take advantage of family as babysitters and get out for a run on Saturday or Sunday depending on my long run.

Thanks!
 

Kremlin Watcher

Member
SoSH Member
Sep 20, 2005
5,233
Orleans, MA
Ironman Lake Placid - ready or not, here I come.

The hay is in the barn, equipment is all set up, race plan is ready. Going to be quite a day. Nine months of work and planning all comes together Sunday at 7:00 am. Very, very excited. Three years ago I was a fat pig sitting on a couch. Sunday I will be something else.
 

rbeaud

Member
SoSH Member
Jul 15, 2005
348
Orange, CT
Ironman Lake Placid - ready or not, here I come.

The hay is in the barn, equipment is all set up, race plan is ready. Going to be quite a day. Nine months of work and planning all comes together Sunday at 7:00 am. Very, very excited. Three years ago I was a fat pig sitting on a couch. Sunday I will be something else.
Good luck Kremlin! I will be looking forward to the race report.
 

Traut

lost his degree
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Jul 20, 2005
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Ironman Lake Placid - ready or not, here I come.

The hay is in the barn, equipment is all set up, race plan is ready. Going to be quite a day. Nine months of work and planning all comes together Sunday at 7:00 am. Very, very excited. Three years ago I was a fat pig sitting on a couch. Sunday I will be something else.
Godspeed Kremlin!
 

Kremlin Watcher

Member
SoSH Member
Sep 20, 2005
5,233
Orleans, MA
Here it is, as promised. A bit dramatic, maybe, but it was a big day for me.

Ironman Lake Placid Race Report

This has been a difficult race report to put together. The entire Ironman experience has been pretty overwhelming: making the commitment a year ago to doing this race, putting together a training plan, undergoing hip surgery in the fall to ensure I could continue running, spending a small fortune on equipment, the seemingly endless training program, injuries, recovery, fitness gains – at some point a couple of weeks ago it all became too much and I was ready for it to be over, was ready to race. In somewhere between 500 and 600 hours of training since last September, I put in over 3,000 miles on the bike, hundreds and hundreds of miles of running, hours and hours in the pool and the open water, and days and days at the gym. Read everything I could on training, nutrition, fueling, and race planning. Had my cheat sheets for the Lake Placid course all memorized. I had visualized the race and rehearsed it probably 200 times in my head. I had my pre-race and race nutrition and fuel plan calculated to the gram and calorie. So in the increased intensity and immediate build-up to the race, I began to get pretty shaky. My first Ironman. 140.6 miles, no outside assistance. The Lake Placid course famous as one of the most difficult Ironman courses in the world. I had to believe that all of the work I had done was sufficient, and that I was ready. I didn’t know it, but I believed it. For your first Ironman, you can’t know, but you can believe.

We drove up to Lake Placid on Friday, a leisurely seven hours. On race weekend, the town is completely consumed by all things Ironman. It is one of the most popular Ironman races in the world, and the attraction is clear: Lake Placid is a beautiful little town nestled in among the Adirondacks, pretty as a postcard. And during Ironman, about 3,000 nutcase athletes and their families and supporters, along with hundreds of staff and volunteers and spectators, descend on the town in a frenzy of fitness and exercise and competition. The McDonald’s in Lake Placid practically goes dark during these four or five days as the horde of fitness freaks shun fast food in favor of anything that will help them go faster on Sunday.

After checking in for the race at the local high school and picking up a few goodies at the Ironman expo, I head back to the hotel for a light swim on the race swim course in Mirror Lake in downtown Lake Placid (despite the town’s name, the lake in the town is Mirror Lake; the actual Lake Placid is about a quarter mile away from the main drag). I can’t add any more fitness at this point in time, and it is much more important to be rested and healthy for the race than to try to work hard. So I swim about a mile with some friends and family before heading out for an early dinner and bed.

Saturday is much of the same. I am pretty anxious about the race at this point, so I wake up at 5:00 am and spend a couple of hours walking around town and the race course. I start planning my race day, from the moment I wake up to the moment the race ends. If I keep busy and channel my nervous energy, I am more likely to do something productive and be less of a pain in the ass to my family. I spend the rest of the day eating, a brief (30 minute) bike, eating some more, spending some time with family, having an early dinner, and completing my race set-up. Bring the bike down to the transition area in the afternoon, as athletes are required to check their bikes in and set them up on Saturday to avoid total chaos Sunday morning (imagine 3,000 bicycles in a space about half the size of a football field). I rack my bike and spend some time walking around the bike corral – there’s probably $10 million worth of bikes in this space. Tri people take their equipment really seriously.

Saturday evening I complete my race prep: pre-race nutrition; six big bottles for the bike leg; six fuel belt bottles for the run. My own concoction of race fuel made up of Hammer Perpetuem, Hammer Endurolytes, and soy protein. Also load up four small flasks with Hammer Gel, two for the bike and two for the run. Load half the bottles in bags to pick up at the halfway point of both the bike and the run, get the other half ready to put in my bags to start the bike and the run. Go to bed early, try to get some sleep. But as with many running their first Ironman, nervous energy gets the best of me and I sleep maybe three or four hours.

But I wake up feeling pretty amped. This is it, this is the day. Nine months of planning and hard work, all coming together. Go back to the bike and finish setting it up, loading the bottles into the racks, topping up the tires with air, setting up the computer, and generally making sure things are all ready to go. Load the fuel bottles into the run bag, making sure everything is in place for a smooth transition out of the water and then off the bike.

At about 6:30 I pull on my wetsuit to the waist and walk to the beach, where almost 3,000 athletes and a greater number of family, fans, race officials and volunteers are all gathered, getting ready for the big moment. Zip up the wetsuit, get hugs and best wishes from the family, put on the swim caps and goggles, and head for the water. It is finally time.

Enter the water at 6:45, all going to plan. Ironman swims are all mass starts – everyone goes at once. But with almost 3,000 people in the water, it can get crowded, especially in such a small body of water as Mirror Lake. So we’re all entering the water, thinking about positioning for the long swim to come, all knowing that pretty much no matter what course or strategy you choose, it’s going to be like swimming in a blender. There’s just no room. I had been warned by more than one experienced Ironman to keep as far right as possible, to keep away from the fray, to give it a few minutes and try to swim in clear water. But as I was doing my race planning, I thought to myself: screw it, you know what, that’s part of the experience. Ironman is tough. I wanted to embrace the entire experience, including swimming in the middle of the pack, no matter what. So I pick a spot about 10-15 feet from the starting line, behind the fastest swimmers but ahead of most everyone else, which is where I estimate I will come out on the swim. I know it will be rough in that scrum for at least a half a mile, but I’m ready for it.

And when the gun goes off at 7:00, the long day finally begins.

I wait for a few seconds before I start my stroke to allow the swimmers ahead of me to get some separation to give me room to swim. Put the head down, start the stroke. I am a good swimmer, strong and confident in the water, and I immediately start to put pressure on the swimmers in front of me. I start swimming over and through people, as others swim over and through me. Every few strokes I have to pull up and take a break because there is just no room to swim – the surface of the water is made of people. And we’re all there, arms and legs churning, trying for speed and position, probably for 400-500 yards before I can finally get in a rhythm and find my stroke. But finally at some point on the out leg of the first lap, in between a punch in the face and a kick to the stomach, I find my stroke and put it in cruise control. Stroke after stroke after stroke, I start to cruise through the pack, passing whenever I can find open water. Not going too hard, knowing I have probably 12 more hours of work ahead of me, but just swimming efficiently. Make the first turn at a little over half a mile, then another quick turn for the return leg of lap one. I find a spot “on the cable”, the steel line linking all the swim course buoys back to the finish line, which allows me to follow a straight line back without having to lift my head to find it, saving precious energy. I find a pace that I feel like I could swim all day long, and I am passing people comfortably. The day is starting well.

Come out of the water at 1.2 miles in 34 minutes, pretty much right on plan. I might have been able to go faster if I had started in front, but it’s my first Ironman, and a few minutes here or there isn’t going to blow my race. I am pleased as I jog around the beach and re-enter the water for lap two. A couple of dolphin dives and I’m back at race pace, nice and smooth. Lap two is a repeat of lap one – swimming over, around and through people. I find a spot on the cable again so I don’t have to raise my head to orient myself, and just cruise along comfortably to the turnaround, make the last left, and head for home. On the last leg, I find a guy swimming at about my pace, so I attach myself to his hip and draft all the way in, saving energy and getting a bit of a ride at a nice pace. Pop out of the water at 1:08, right on target. Feel great. Unzip the wetsuit, pull it off the shoulders and run for the wetsuit strippers. Drop to my ass, they pull off the suit, I jump up, say thanks, grab the suit, say a quick hello to my family as they yell their support, and head for T1.

It’s a long run to T1 from Mirror Lake – we run, wetsuits in hand, from the lake uphill past the post office, then down the hill past the Olympic Arena, then down to the Oval, the speed skating oval where Eric Heiden won all his gold medals at the 1980 Winter Olympics. We will all cross the finish line at more or less the same spot he did, which will be pretty cool in about 11-12 hours from now. We run into the Oval and transition, grab our bike gear bags and head for the changing tent and absolute chaos. Imagine 300 or so totally OCD, type-A personality athletes, all trying to change out of swim gear and into bike gear as fast as they possibly can in a space the size of a few two-car garages. Taking off swimskins, stuffing wetsuits in bags, putting on helmets, shoes, race belts, calf guards, sun block, sunglasses, then trying to run out of the tent in bike shoes – a total mess, but all part of the experience. I get out of the tent and grab my bike in decent time, and head for the bike exit. Hop on the bike after re-mounting my chain (it had come off the chain ring, a common problem in transition), click into my pedals, and get ready for a seriously long day in the saddle. There’s a hard left and then a right and a steep downhill to get us started, and we are all pretty amped to be at the beginning of the bike leg. 100 yards down, 111.99 miles to go. Huzzah!

And so the longest part of the day for me begins. Ironman Lake Placid offers one of the most challenging bike legs in all of Ironman, with lots of hills. But the beginning is pretty mild, some easy rollers and downhills, a couple of hills to moderate the pace, but nothing too bad. The first ten miles or so are mostly gravy, and I get some good speed going. I have done a ton of homework on race pacing, and know that you cannot have a great bike split followed by a crappy run and consider your race a success. Blow yourself up on the bike and you will walk the marathon. And I had made a promise to myself when I signed up that I would do this race right. I would swim the swim, bike the bike, and run the run. And to do that, I needed to ride an intelligent bike leg. I knew what I was capable of doing over 112 miles in a stand-alone bike ride on a hilly course. I also knew that if I tried to do my stand-alone bike pace today, I’d be walking the marathon.

So I dialed it back a bit. Build some good speed on the downhill rollers, use the momentum to get up the mild climbs. Do this for about 10-12 miles, nice, easy, comfortable, feeling great. And then we get to the Screaming Descent. Being in the Adirondack Mountains, there are many literal ups and downs on this course, and we were about to begin one of the great descents in all Ironman bike courses. Four miles down into the town of Keene, with slopes that can produce speeds of up to 55 mph for the stoutest at heart. Time to save some energy, grab the handlebars, lock the knees into the frame, drop the head, and just go with it. The sensation of almost flying down these hills at over 40 mph (I don’t have the bike handling skills to push it much more than that) is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Triathlon bikes are not built for this – they have short wheelbases and can get very squirrely at high speeds. But I suck it up, point the front end downhill and let it go. The four mile descent takes maybe six minutes. My arms cramp up as I squeeze the brakes to moderate my speed as the real lunatics fly by me on the left at over 50 mph. It takes a lot of focus to hold the front end steady at these speeds. One wrong move, one slip of the hand, one missed curve and it’s all over. But it’s also incredibly exhilarating to fly down this hill at these speeds.

Soon we reach the bottom of the descent and come back to earthly speeds, making the left hand turn at Keene, heading north toward Jay. This begins a fairly monotonous if easy part of the course that goes on for about 20 miles or so, just spinning at between 16-22 mph depending on the terrain. I use the hills when I can to gain momentum on the downhills, saving energy on the uphills. We pass into Jay and north to Ausable Forks, more of the same. Hit the turnaround in Ausable Forks and head back toward the turn to Wilmington, where the real work will soon begin.

By the time we reach the right turn onto highway 86 to Wilmington, we are about 35 or so miles into the bike course, so well over halfway done with the first loop. But in terms of effort, we’re maybe 25% done. The first real test comes now, as we turn onto highway 86 and go pretty much straight up for a mile. This is when Ironman Lake Placid starts to show its teeth.

The initial climb into Wilmington is over a mile long, and it begins to dawn on me that after about two and a half hours on the course, the real work is just beginning. Up we go, an endless line of bikes slowly winding our way up the mile-long hill. Hauling yourself up these inclines is real work. It’s hot. There’s a couple in their front yard with two enormous goats cheering us on. But there is still a long way to go. Make it to the top, get a little relief, and keep going. Mile after mile we go up and down, up and down. A sharp right in Wilmington to add a mile to the course so it makes the full 56-mile loop, turn around, back to Wilmington, another hard right, then a left as Whiteface Mountain looms above us. The hard work is done. Now the really hard work starts.

Riders have named the next ten miles, the last ten miles or so of the bike course, calling them the Cherries (after some lakes along the course), the Stairs (a long series of really hard but brief climbs) and The Three Bears (Baby, Mama, and Papa, three monstrous climbs right at the end). The course here is really beautiful, running through a lovely gorge along a river with some beautiful vistas. Not that I would normally have enough time to look at it, but at some points along the way today I am beginning to move pretty slowly up these hills, so at the very least I notice that it is quite a beautiful place to ride through.

Trudging up the hills, a massive effort going into this both to keep my speed as high as possible but also to manage my workload to leave something in the tank for the second 56-mile loop and then the marathon, I realize that I am in fact really enjoying myself. Yes, it’s hard, but that’s what I signed up for, that’s what I trained for. I am passing people, people are passing me, but we’re all here hauling ourselves 140 miles because we want to. And I really am having a great time. So I haul myself up through the Cherries, cruising hard on the downhills to grab momentum for the ups, manage my way through the Stairs, sometimes taking it easy up the hills, sometimes giving a little extra, taking in my fuel and water, working hard. About 50 miles down, only 6 or so left on this loop, still less than half done with the race.

Finally get to the Three Bears, after thinking to myself, “Wow, this bike course isn’t as hard as everyone says. Sure, there are some hills, but it’s not that bad …” Then Baby Bear is on us, and then Mama Bear, and then, as my eyes have trouble focusing on the hill ahead of me because it’s so ridiculously steep, we climb Papa Bear. Eating my words, I am standing on the bike in my smallest gear, just getting the pedals to turn over. There’s a huge crowd cheering us on up the hill, but man am I moving slow. You know those guys at the Tour de France, churning up those monstrous climbs, just standing on the pedals and throwing the bike from side to side to generate leverage? That’s me, only 10% as fast. Supreme effort finally carries me to the top, and the climbing is finally done. 55 miles of hard work in the bag, 57 more to go.

We coast downhill into town and the crowds get thicker. Turn left on Mirror Lake drive, and there’s my amazing family to cheer me on. I zoom by them and hundreds of others as they yell and scream. That’s a big boost, because now we have to do that entire bike course one more time. Through town, down the hill past the Oval, and head back out of town. The second loop is more or less the same as the first, but I put a lot more thought into it to manage my energy and fuel usage. The keys to Ironman success are really pace and fueling. Most of the athletes on the course could get through it at a constant pace on all three legs if they paced and fueled well. However, research prior to the race and the experience on race day demonstrates that most Ironman participants get one or both of these elements wrong, often badly. The most common mistake in Ironman is going all-out on the bike, showing off great strength and bike fitness, but depleting the body before the marathon. Good coaches tell you this: the Ironman run course is littered with strong cyclists walking and talking about what a great bike leg they had. I am determined not to be that guy. So I take the second loop at an easier pace than the first. Same ups, same downs, same screaming descent into Keene, same ridiculous climbs at the end. By the time I reach Papa Bear at mile 109-110, I am tired but I am not cooked. I let dozens and dozens of people pass me in the last 20 or so miles. That’s cool – I will run past them as they are walking the marathon.

Make the final descent into town, past Mirror Lake on my right. Sharp right hand turn behind the Post Office, then left in front of the Olympic Center. Right again between the Oval and the Olympic Arena (where the hockey team won gold in 1980), the left behind the high school and into transition. Hop off the bike, strip the shoes, and helmet, run into the changing tent. Bike gear in the bag, run gear on: visor, more sunblock, toe shoes, fuel belt. A quick trip to the privy, slap on some reflective tape in case of disaster and I end up running in the dark, and I hit the run exit feeling pretty good. Start the Garmin and head right down the main drag. My family is again there to cheer me on and I stop very briefly for hugs and kisses before starting the run in earnest.

The marathon is where you become an Ironman. I think a lot of people are perfectly capable of swimming 2.4 miles and biking 112 miles. It’s hard, but it’s manageable at some level for many people at many levels of fitness. You might be surprised by how many different body types and degrees of fitness (or lack of it) are represented at an Ironman. There are probably a lot of people who shouldn’t be there based on their fitness level, but many give it a go anyway. And where most people falter is the run, and for many reasons. Whether it’s a matter of poor pacing, bad fueling, inadequate mental preparation, insufficient fitness, injury, or some combination of these things, the run is where most of the failure comes. It’s just so much effort coming after so much effort already that it is just too much for a lot of people.

But I am determined not to be one of those guys. I have goals for this race and I am going to meet them. I hit my swim goal, made my bike goal, I feel pretty good, and no matter what, I am going to make my run goals: run the whole way, and finish in daylight. Time goals are not so important in my first Ironman, but I am going to run this race right. I promised myself last year that I would train and race my own race, and that meant I would run the marathon. No matter what.

So I start out at a nice pace, feeling pretty good. I’m at about 9:30 per mile or so headed out of town. There’s a steep, steep downhill section as you turn right to go out of town, and that’s not so bad this first loop, but I know I have to go up this hill twice and down it once more, so I store that information for the time being. Past the first aid station, grab some water, drink some of my fuel, and try to settle into a nice, easy pace. Find my gait, nice and easy midfoot running, already starting to pass people who went by me on the bike and are already walking. Sometimes the script writes itself.

The first three or so miles are pretty easy as we head for the ski jumps outside of town. Another steep downhill and then we turn left, and for me this is where the marathon really starts. We turn left onto Riverside Drive and begin an out-and-back section that seems like it goes on forever. It’s not particularly difficult terrain, but it seems endless. I lose the GPS signal so my Garmin can’t track my pace, but I think this is probably good as it forces me to run on feeling. And I’m feeling pretty good. I am focused, smooth, passing people by the dozens as they blow up after going too hard on the bike. I recognize people who flew by me an hour or two ago, and many are struggling pretty hard.

It is on this part of the course, the endless out-and-back, that the mental part of Ironman really begins. I remember one guy on the bike course telling me that the race doesn’t really begin until the second half of the run. I keep this in mind as the miles course by. The sun is still high in the sky, and I feel good. A few minor aches and pains, but I haven’t hit any walls or limits yet. Lactate in the legs is manageable, feet and calves feel good, right hip is holding up. There’s discomfort, but I’m used to that – that’s just what it feels like to run for me. I finally get to the turnaround at about mile 6 – 6.5, and that’s a big psychological barrier overcome: halfway to halfway there.

The way I have been managing the race up to now is to create a zone for each section of the race. The zone is the physical space that I can control in any one section of the race, where the outcome is totally up to me. On the swim, the zone was one lap. I was comfortable controlling my own pace and my own space in the race for one lap at a time. On the bike, the zone was about one aid station long (about ten miles) until it got difficult toward the latter half of the second loop. Then my zones got short – about one hill long. I would concern myself with just getting to the top of that next hill, under control, staying within myself and my own limits, controlling my pace, and then I’d worry about the next hill, the next zone, once I got there. And that seemed to work.

On the run, my zones were now starting to shrink. The first zone was making it comfortably to the first turnaround. Once there, the next zone was to make it back to the right-hander at the ski jumps. After that, the plan was to make the zones short and manageable: up the next hill, around the next bend, to the next aid station. I knew things were about to get difficult, so I was trying to prepare myself to run through some real discomfort. After the turnaround I’m still running pretty comfortably, and make it back to the ski jump turn in good shape. Then I have to make the climb back into town, and that’s when things start to get hard. The climb is not long, maybe 150-200 yards, but it is steep and it hurts. I plod up it at a reduced pace, still passing the walkers who had great bike splits, and put my head down and go.

Past the horseshow grounds on the right, back into town. Down the hill past the aid station at about mile 10-11. And then the fun really begins: the last hill into town, and I swear this is the steepest hill I have ever run up in my life. Almost no one runs up this hill. But I promised myself that I would run this marathon, and I do. I run, albeit quite slowly, but I run up the hill. The crowds are screaming and there is a saint of a man at the top of the hill, just a supporter, who has a PA system and he reads your name and number from your race number belt, screaming out support at the most difficult point of the run, and it gets me up that hill. God that was hard.

Make the left turn onto the main drag, up a long but gradual climb past the Oval, then right onto Lake Placid Club Drive on the edge of Mirror Lake, headed for the other turnaround. Stop at the aid station and replenish my fuel bottles. Pass my best friend who ran it last year as he yells out his support. Make it to the turnaround, the halfway point of the run, in 2:00. See my family again (a huge boost), give my wonderful wife a quick hug and kiss as I begin the second half. She is amazed at my time, but I tell her that the second half is likely to be significantly slower than the first.

I know this because I can feel it – I am about to hit the wall, or the line, or whatever you want to call it. Not really a glycogen bonk, but there is a point in everyone’s Ironman where you cross a line and everything, I mean everything, begins to get very, very difficult. And it is coming for me. My mental preparation stresses the positive and I strenuously avoid negative thoughts, so I have a plan for dealing with this, but I know it will be difficult. I pass my buddy again who is screaming in support, and I look at him and say, “Dude, this is starting to get really hard.” But that’s OK – I knew it would. And I am ready.

Turn left back onto the main street as I watch the really fast people turn right into the finishing chute. Not yet, but I’ll get there. Dial back the pace a bit, knowing that I will need every single calorie to get out and back the next 13 miles. A guy I met at a coaching clinic is there as a spectator and he runs alongside me for about 100 yards, offering encouragement. There is a lot of support out there, and it really helps.

And then it comes – I hit the wall as I turn right and go down that awful, awful hill. Running downhill when you are exhausted and depleted is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. As your steps fall further away from you, it just sucks the life out of your legs. And it is always the case that once you go down, you have to go up. As I reach the bottom of this soul-killing hill, my legs want to quit. I slow down and walk the aid station, maybe 10-20 yards long, just enough to grab some nourishment and water. But I promised myself I would not walk this run. I promised myself. I made a deal with myself that I could rest up and relax, eat and drink whatever I wanted after the race, as long as I ran the marathon. The pain, the discomfort, it is all temporary and it will all be worth it, but only if I fulfilled my promise to myself, only if I closed the deal.

So at the end of the aid station, I start running again. Not with much speed, grace, efficiency or power, but I am running. Up the next hill. My zones are now shrinking to an absolute minimum – the next manhole cover, the next bend in the road. Just run to the end of this zone and then deal with the next one. But run. I am still passing people. There must be hundreds of people walking the course now. Faster runners are passing me as well, people with more gas or better fitness or better race planning. But I am still running.

Make it to the downhill at the ski jumps, about mile 15. Turn left onto the most mentally difficult section, the endless out-and-back. This section of the course will once and for all determine my race. It’s a long and winding road, more or less flat, but it seems like it never ends. And you know there’s a turnaround out there, waiting for you. Just make it to the turnaround, and you’re halfway done with the last half. Make that your zone. Just get to the turnaround. Within that zone I make each bend in the road a zone – just get to the next bend. Walk a couple more aid stations, maybe 20 yards each, just enough to choke down some fuel in the form of Coke, water and chicken broth (amazing stuff by the way), just enough of a fuel spike to get me to the next aid station.

After what seems like a lifetime of running, I finally see the turnaround. A huge psychological barrier – now I know, I really know that I can do it. Walk one more aid station on the return leg to grab some Coke and chicken broth, and then I actually begin to run a little faster. Not much, but I can feel it. I make my next zone the last bend before the ski jumps come into view. Get past the 20- mile marker, another huge barrier. I can run six miles standing on my head. The ski jumps come into view, a beautiful sight. By now, everything hurts and every step is really, really difficult, but I am still running, however slowly, still passing walkers.

Make it to the end of the out-and-back, about mile 22, and now I’m into the final stretch. Four miles to go. Two horrible hills left, but I can do this. Run up the hill at mile 22. Good lord that was hard. Zones getting smaller and smaller. Make it past the horseshow grounds. Past the hotels and houses leading into town. Still running, actually running a little faster now. Not fast, but faster than a couple of miles ago.

Finally get into town, about two and a half miles to go, and one final test: can I make it down and then up that beastly final hill? Run down the last hill, past the aid station – nothing I put in my body now will make any difference. Across the bridge, looking up at that hill. I remember thinking it was pretty steep when I drove up it on the way into town on Friday, and now I have to run up it after 138 miles? For the last nine months I have built a fitness vehicle to get through this race. Now, at the end, I need to get serious and drive this vehicle up this hill. It isn’t about how I look or how I feel, it is about what I am doing. I have a plan, I made a promise, and I will not let this goddamn hill get in the way. So I run up the hill. The saint at the top of the hill sees me, calls out my name on his PA and the crowd yells me up the hill. “Nice pace, man!” “You got this!” “Go, Josh, gooooooooo!!!!”

I make it to the top, and now I know the race is mine. Turn left onto the main drag and now I really start running. At the same time I am in complete agony but complete bliss. The rest of the race, two miles and change, is both the hardest and the easiest thing I have ever done. My strides get longer as adrenaline surges through my body and I begin to run fast – I think I ran the last two miles in about 15-16 minutes. I can’t really believe how fast I am going. My fifteen-year old daughter appears on my right and screams “I love you daddy!” I strip off my fuel belt and throw it to her, and losing that weight feels fantastic. My family yells at me from the sideline and I high-five them all with a huge smile on my face.

Make the right hand turn to go to the final turnaround with Mirror Lake on my left. Fly past the last aid station, with people yelling out in support. Make it to the final turnaround and see my sister-in-law who is waiting for her husband, my brother-in-law. She yells to me: “You’re an Ironman, Josh!!!!” I wave at her and make the turn. Literally on the home stretch now. Running as hard as I possibly can, still passing people. I try to get some separation between the people in front of and behind me so I can run into the Oval alone. Fly past the lane markers indicating the turn for finishers. Make the right hand turn at the gas station, headed for the entrance to the Oval. I’m all alone.

I went through this scene maybe a thousand times in my head. What would it really be like to finish my Ironman according to my plan? What would it feel like? I imagined it would be pretty cool. But I wasn’t really prepared for this.

As I sprint into the Oval, the crowd cheering, I break into a huge smile as all my plans and dreams of iron come together in one of the greatest moments of my life. My family is there, about 200 feet from the finish, yelling their heads off. I raise my arms in a moment of absolute joy and blow them all kisses. Rounding the final bend, I see the finish line. The announcer calls out my name: “Joshua Larson, you are an IRONMAN!!!!” Arms raised high as I approach the line, I just lose it and start screaming as loud as I can. I don’t even remember what I yelled, just that I was so overcome with the enormity of what I had just done that I had to let it out. My daughter, who watched it on the jumbotron that broadcasts all the finishers as they cross the line, said she’d never seen an expression like that. I hit the line in 12:54:54. I was done. I was an Ironman.

So that’s it, that’s my story. It really meant a lot to me. I don’t know when my next race will be, and am going to take some time off to recover and let my right foot heal properly (it never really was 100% after spraining it at the Boston Marathon, and Sunday’s activities did some more damage that will take a few months to heal). And I can’t really recommend trying Ironman to anyone – it’s a really crazy thing, one of the most supremely selfish things you could possibly ever do. It costs a small fortune, takes a year to prepare for, requires a ridiculous time commitment that you could otherwise spend with your family and friends, and is so overwhelmingly difficult that I am somewhat surprised I actually did it. But it was important for me for a lot of personal reasons, and it has changed me in some fundamental way.

The pain was temporary; the accomplishment is forever.
 

TallerThanPedroia

Civilly Disobedient
SoSH Member
Jul 19, 2005
25,546
Boston
toe shoes
You are my absolute hero.

Past the horseshow grounds on the right, back into town. Down the hill past the aid station at about mile 10-11. And then the fun really begins: the last hill into town, and I swear this is the steepest hill I have ever run up in my life. Almost no one runs up this hill. But I promised myself that I would run this marathon, and I do. I run, albeit quite slowly, but I run up the hill. The crowds are screaming and there is a saint of a man at the top of the hill, just a supporter, who has a PA system and he reads your name and number from your race number belt, screaming out support at the most difficult point of the run, and it gets me up that hill. God that was hard.
Yeah, that's a big hill:



That's the size of the big hill near me that I run, but you ran up it after a 100 miles. And you were doing this whole thing at 1650+ feet elevation!

chicken broth (amazing stuff by the way)
I'd never heard of this before, but I can see how that would be awesome when you're spent.

And I can’t really recommend trying Ironman to anyone – it’s a really crazy thing, one of the most supremely selfish things you could possibly ever do. It costs a small fortune, takes a year to prepare for, requires a ridiculous time commitment that you could otherwise spend with your family and friends, and is so overwhelmingly difficult that I am somewhat surprised I actually did it.
Heh, yeah, I half wish I hadn't just read this. This could be dangerous B)

Fantastic job, Ironman.
 

Traut

lost his degree
Lifetime Member
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Jul 20, 2005
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Kremlin needs a tagline. Something having to do with iron. Perhaps "I am ironman"
 

sonofgodcf

Guest
Jul 17, 2005
1,646
The toilet.
Damn Kremlin, that is one impressive (and nicely written - gave me goosebumbs) story. I had jumped on to boast that I had just run my first half marathon today (during which I think I decided that 13 miles was enough); I can't imagine doing an Ironman, or any other triathlon for that matter. I'd drown about five minutes in.
 

Hildy

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Jul 15, 2005
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I used to run a reasonable amount--20 to 25 miles a week--but stopped about 11 years ago (not coincidentally, the stoppage coincided with the appearance of children.)
For some reason, it felt like time to start again, so about two months ago I started going to the local track and logging miles. (I figured the track would be easier on my aging and out-of-shape infrastructure.)
I started slow, did walking/running, etc., and am up to 3.5 miles as far as distance goes. I run from 3 to 5 times a week. I'm running 10-minute miles, which pisses me off, but I can't seem to get the time down.
Signed up for a 5K in Vermont on October 2. (My brother nagged me into it. It's his birthday and he is running the main-event race: a half marathon.) I just found the 5K training program on Cool Runnings via this thread, so thank you! I don't know if I can do a half marathon, so am trying to figure out a different way to help the Jimmy Fund.

It feels so nice to be back, and I am going to kick my childrens' asses on the slopes this winter.
 

bosoxsue

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Aug 16, 2001
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Great job, Hildy! Welcome back to the fold. I wouldn't beat yourself up about 10-minute miles. You'll probably get faster and most definitely will surprise yourself with your pace during that 5K. Good luck training. I haven't skied in ages, but I remember that when I did, my legs were in such good shape from the running that they weren't sore at all at the end of the day. So yeah, you'll show those kids a thing or two.
 

Jerrygarciaparra

My kid has superpowers
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Jul 31, 2001
3,410
Montpelier, VT
I heard the Half filled up really quickly this year. I know a bunch of folks who have done it before and say it's a great race.

Looking ahead a bit, do any of you keep running all winter?? It gets cold and snowy in my neck of the woods, but I was hoping with the right gear I would still be able to get out at least a couple of times a week. I'm hoping to do my first Marathon in May and it would be great to be able to stay on the road for most of the winter.
 

Dummy Hoy

Angry Pissbum
SoSH Member
Jul 22, 2006
8,232
Falmouth
I heard the Half filled up really quickly this year. I know a bunch of folks who have done it before and say it's a great race.

Looking ahead a bit, do any of you keep running all winter?? It gets cold and snowy in my neck of the woods, but I was hoping with the right gear I would still be able to get out at least a couple of times a week. I'm hoping to do my first Marathon in May and it would be great to be able to stay on the road for most of the winter.
My crazy wife runs all winter (Cambridge/Somerville)...the only specialized gear she really has (aside from winterized running gear- hat, vest, jacket, pants, etc) is a pair of YakTrax. (http://www.yaktrax.com/) You can't really run on cement or anything with them, but if you have routes that are covered with snow/ice, they work really well.
 

Hildy

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So: Fartlek. The cool runnings instructions were somewhat vague, as in, "run the following distance, and toss in some sprints." How long? How many?
I also apparently need to find a good, relatively untravelled hill nearby. I live at the bottom of a nice steep one, but it's only 1/10th mile long. Is there an app for this? :)

Edit: Reading back through this thread, I see that JerryGarciaparra started back running in May and is doing the half marathon while I am doing the 5K. I seem to have set the bar mighty low over here.
 

Traut

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The joy of fartleks are they are fun. I intentionally do them with no plan to keep longer runs fun. When I'm getting bored, I'll look at something ahead and think "run as hard as you can to (that telephone pole, street sign, barn, tree, store, whatever. It's like being a kid. I've also taken to running almost as hard as I can up hills. I think this has helped make me a much stronger runner.
 

Jerrygarciaparra

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Hildy ; there's a slight chance I may be over-ambitious in my running. Truth be told I am still at the "just happy to be able to finish" stage. Plus after quitting smoking I had tons of nervous energy to burn off. And with both kids now in school I had the time, since they get on the bus at 7:30 and I don't have to be at work until 9:30

I did do a bunch of walking last winter and was fine with layers. Bottom line is I'm a pretty cheap guy and not crazy about the idea of paying for a gym membership to run on a treadmill.
 

Kremlin Watcher

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Hildy - no such thing as setting the bar too low. The most important things in running are having a goal and enjoying yourself while getting there. It is vastly more important to finish your next race with a smile rather than fret about your goals.

As for fartleks, it depends on your distance. If you are doing a 5K, then your longest runs will be no more than five miles (if that far). Put in maybe a quarter mile, or two to three minutes, of hard (maybe 90% of max effort) running into each mile and finish your run at about the pace you want to race. Mix in one to two of these hard effort runs per week and you will notice real gains in your fitness. And hill work also produces great benefits. The length of the hills themselves is not super-critical, but as Traut suggests the key is to run hard up hills - don't slow down up the hills and you will get stronger.

And as far as cold weather goes, just dress warmly. I ran for years in Moscow when I lived there, including during the winter, and you might be surprised how easy it is to run in the cold. Wear a good hat and you'll find that the running warms you up nicely. I run year-round and really enjoy a long run on a cold day.
 

Bongorific

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I'm more worried about unplowed roads than I am about the cold ; certainly the bike path where I now do my running will be closed.
No lie, get a pair of windproof pants or underwear. I trained for the Disney Half during the winter in Upstate NY. I did a 10-miler on the first really cold, snowy day in December and literally froze my balls. I was wearing fleece pants and a wicking pair of boxers, but the wind blew right through them. The next day I got a pair of EMS windproof pants on sale and it made a huge difference.

On a happier note, I just got new running shoes this week and was quite giddy breaking them in this morning.

 

Traut

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they sell windproof underwear for running. get a pair. on a cold february saturday, i almost got penile frostbite. i'll never chance that again.
 

Hildy

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Here's the training thingie I'm using:
Cool runnings
I think the longest run in there is at 6 miles, which is eminently doable.
I'm still running on the track, simply b/c I have lousy running routes near me. In one direction from my house I run into Rte 9, and in the other direction another busy street, so it's kind of a pain. There's a good path around the local lake, but it's only a couple miles.
JGP, my brother lives in Montpelier--if you are anywhere nearby there, I can ask him about the routes he uses in the winter.

I'm going to go down to Marathon Sports and have them look at the fit of my shoes to see if I've got the right kind of footwear. They are lighter shoes--Adidas Adizero, I think Aegis, and I really love them b/c they have helped get me to use the front of my foot more thoroughly in my stride. But one pf my feet is a half size bigger than the other, and I think I need to get the fit better on the small foot.
 

Jerrygarciaparra

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Hildy ; I live in Montpelier as well. It's a small town, I probably know your brother.

I have some road routes that I've been running too ; last year they were not very timley with the plowing.

Thanks for all the tips ; sounds like I'd be wise to protect my tenders when running this winter