Project Hiatus

You may have noticed that I have not posted in a while.  Not for lack of interest, but for lack of opportunity.  I am still running, albeit a lot less than I would like.  I am in the midst of a separation from my wife and that has put quite the crunch on.  It is a terrible situation, with two little girls involved as well.  They are my focus, so I have to put this on hold.  I made it to approximately Dover-Foxcroft.  Hopefully I can pick this back up in the spring...hopefully.  I am in a significantly different place than I ever thought I would be.  Maybe this winter I can find myself.

Where am I?

I started to do a post on Presque Isle and became frustrated.  Frustrated with the fact that there is not a lot here.  I have not done a post on where I was for a while and I thought it time.  I am heading south, still, on the Aroostook Scenic Highway on Route 11.  West of Oakfield, north of Patten but nearing I95. 

Here approximately.  At some point I have crossed out of Aroostook County and into Penobscot.  Being on a scenic highway I decided that I will post a few pictures.  Not of me, but of where I am. While searching for those, I found this about Aroostook County:

When Maine coined the slogan "The Way Life Should Be," someone from Aroostook County was clearly on the committee. We are like a foreign nation up here in The County (what the rest of Maine calls our huge chunk of moose-blessed real estate)-- closer to Canada than any significant population of fellow-Americans. And we (proudly) are not of the times. We grow potatoes and look for the longest checkout line at the store so we'll have more time to chat. We grow potatoes and watch the Parade of Lights come down Main Street in Presque Isle on a -10° night. We grow potatoes and probably have more churches per capita than any other place else on earth because the spirit of Maine individuality dictates that theological schisms be resolved by one party splintering off and starting a new religion. We're friendly, tolerant, helpful, grateful to be alive and appreciative of our beautiful surroundings. We're also honest and trusting, the way people should be.

I like the sentence with "theological schisms."  Here are the relevant photos of what I found.

Notice how I have the sunset at the end?  That's the way it should be.

The Tragedy of Time

Chatting with a colleague this week made me realize there is a downside to competing for time.  She was asking about some time off and was I going to do anything fun.  Yes, I usually take the day after a race off.  A recovery day.  Just in case something major happened or I have that weird little metabolic issue kick up; it makes me dizzy.  Or, the most likely culprit, I am hung-over.

She is a runner, goes out for thirty minutes every other day and enjoys the run.  Just for the run’s sake.  I am a runner, too.  Each of my runs has a purpose.  To make me faster.  She shook her head and said she could not do that, she just likes to run.  There might be something to that.  She is never dissatisfied with a run.  I frequently am.  She is never preoccupied with a pre-race meal or a taper or the pace with which an interval is run.  I am.  She is never disappointed by her effort.

I have gotten so preoccupied with setting a new PR, placing where I want to place, and maintaining an even pace, I have lost my perspective.  I am training for a race where I feel I could have done better last year.  During my final tempo trainer, I bonked.  It was hot, I had not eaten or drank properly before going out, and I went out too fast.  Shortly after half way I stopped and backed way off willing myself to just finish the run.  I ended the run ten seconds slower than last year’s race time, and I had screwed it up.  I have got to remember that I am now achieving times on a messed up trainer that, three years ago, I would have never believed they would be associated with my name.

I have also lost sight of the beauty of running.  Being the only man in an office of women for three years taught me one thing.  Beauty can have a purpose.  I can have a purpose to my running.  I can’t lose sight that, while my performance might be less than my expectation, I am still doing something beautiful.

Doldrums

I am ticking towns from Maine off the list. I have taken the first miles west and, currently, I am heading south down Route 11, The Aroostook Scenic Highway, from Ashland to Sherman.  From there I will continue south on 11 to Medway and turn west again toward Millinocket . In Travels with Charley, Steinbeck started his cross country route in a similar area. If memory serves me, he got very bored. My intention was to profile all of these neat little running communities across the country; however, this is not working out so well. I am finding that there are not a lot of runners where there are not a lot of people. This utopia of welcoming running communities does not exist.

This is not to say that Maine has no welcoming running communities. The people that run that I have made contact with are welcoming. Even the people who are not runners were very welcoming. It does give way to a math lesson. Let’s say 5% of the population runs. That means there are less than 1000 runners in all the cities I have profiled. Total. The only way I am going to find these people is through the internet, and, then they have to want to be contacted, and respond. They also have to love running so much they are on the internet talking about running, or in a race result. My chances of finding one of these people every 20 or so miles is slim. Steinbeck became frustrated with Maine, and I will admit I did too. Then I got to thinking about it on tonight's four miler. How could I get frustrated with a place for not having what I wanted. It's not Maine, it's me.

I am coming out of a poor running month. The week before the race I look forward to most, I got sick. Nothing major, just a cold with some body aches. The timing was terrible. I was very well prepared, but no running for eight days before the race and I had to bail on a run that was to be a 5k does things to the mind. Still not feeling well the week after caused me to just plain not go on two more. My elder daughter is giving us a difficult time with going to bed and there were some nights that five miles at 10:30 seemed impractical. Family reunion, hangover(s), allergies, the list goes on. It adds up to a lack of motivation.

Tonight marked one of the changes in seasons for me. Starting with the first of the year, inside, then as it warms inside nights and outside weekends, then as it gets lighter outside all the time, then as it gets darker inside nights and outside weekends again before returning inside. Tonight was back inside at night. While this does yield some flexibility in when I run; I don't like it. 'Tis the season of late summer doldrums.

The fitness center smells the same. This time of year there is the additional smell of chlorine from the pool. I did not want to be in there and as I started the mill it made a noise like I had been the last one on it so many miles ago. Mile one was creaky, for both of us. In mile two there was no joy in Mudville. I wanted to stop, the inferiors were restless. Virtually silent when I am outside, they reared their ugly voices. I consciously made the decision to go on. It is not like I was killing myself, either. I could sustain this pace for a long way if I needed to. After I hit half way the tide started turning. I had the thought about Maine vs Me, and I thought about the drudgery of the winter season, but the more I thought about the more I seemed like a tour de force. I can tick off towns in Maine and be out of there by Thanksgiving. I can register for a couple of races and my training will take care of the mileage. If I use the mill and schedule properly I might gain some pretty good speed over the winter. By the time I get to the Hudson River Valley I will be outside again.

Doldrums broken, motivation rejuvenated in four easy miles. Maybe the mill is not so bad after all. All those good thoughts happened on the mill. As I left it dawned on me that I still loath the mill. All of that happened in my head. My head happened to be on the mill. My head loves to run, no matter where.

Life's little reset button

Taking the first steps west is refreshing.  Having started out cruising around the crown of Maine for a month going every direction but west on a cross country journey from east coast to west, now, finally headed in the right direction.  This is nice.

I usually run after work.  I like the division.  Pushing hard at work, sometimes having a good day, sometimes not, but that run right after is just the ticket.  You think better when you are running.  It allows you to process the day, and, if your run is long enough, you stop thinking.  By the time I get home, and ready to settle into the evening I am refreshed.

I find also that if I have to miss a run, or have not had the quality for which I am looking, things can get noisy in my mind.  When I first started running it was toward the end of a significant weight loss.  At the time I had lost roughly sixty pounds walking and using Weight Watchers.  Not walking like strolling about, but walking to the point of becoming sweaty and winded.  The next logical step was get out there.  After that first run I knew something had changed.  I came to realize that I had lived my entire life with an incredible amount of white noise in my head.  Like standing next to a powerful fan and that first run, and all the subsequent ones, shut it off and keep it shut down.

Missing a few, for one reason or another, allows it start back up.  Then I muster the gumption to head back out and I feel like an enormous weight is lifted.  Life becomes clear again, and I have discarded the distorted perspective.  I notice it with my wife, too.  Having two children she has had two hiatuses (hiati?)  She is just starting running for the third time.  I can see the change in her mind.  I think that is one of the reasons why runners gravitate toward each other. 

The only why I know how to describe it is addiction.  At first it is a habit; then it gets so you need it.  As far as addictions go, I like this one.

Dash and Splash

I have gotten out of the habit of posting, mostly because I have gotten out of the habit of running.  I had a race, and, as has become custom, I got sick the week before.  I was encouraged, though, because I came down with it a full eight days before race day and began Cold Eeze and increasing fluids.  No luck, I still got sick.  Being over thirty I can't shake colds in three days anymore.  Here I am 12 days later and it is the first day I felt good all day.  So I ran five and a half today.

I ran the race though.  It is my home course.  My parents, and I, live in upstate New York.  We do not live together.  Visiting them frequently I run this course whenever I am down there.  At the turn for the 5k you could see their mailbox.  There are no long hills or arduous climbs, but there are a lot of quick ups and downs that make it a challenging course.  Enough so that it is tough to PR, which I did not do.  I put in a ton of intervals and tempo runs and got to run 2.5 miles in the week leading up.  I am left feeling like I could have done better.  Possibly cracked into a 22:xx for the course.  I have decided that I like feeling like I could not have done any better.  In this case, I could have.  I think.  Check out the results.  It is the 2011 Keuka Lake Dash and Splash.  I am in 36th.

The absolute best part of the race is the bar-b-q at my folks after.  Everyone brings some food and I throw on some chicken speedies.  This year the Utica Club was my treat, and my dad volunteered some Molson Canadians and Genny Light.  Cheap beer is always more fun with friends.  And it was fun.  Thank you to JP, Mary Ann, Deborah Ann, Rick, Ellie, my wife Erica, my parents Russ and Judy.  I won't lie.  The best part was not the party.  The best part was high fiving my daughter, Irene, at the turn.  I could see she didn't think I would do it; but, was elated that I did.  She hi fived Mommy, too.

I will post the Presque Isle post in a few days time.  I actually made contact with someone up in Aroostook Country and am working on a time to talk with him about the running club.  I have made my first few steps west through Presque Isle and am 12 miles out of my next target city where I will turn south again.  I have some good stuff coming.  Including getting into the mountains of Maine.

I am still here

I am still out here.  It turns out I am fallible.  Last Sunday I reached Presque Isle and I am working on that post.  In the time since I got a cold.  I did not run or feel well.  I ran 2.5 this morning and felt like absolute poopie.  I have not given up on my task and I am headed West; Sunday is a race.  Here is to a good race, more coherent posting, and that interview I have scheduled with the President of the Aroostook Mustherds.

Inferiors

I don’t remember where I happened on the term, but I know I did not invent it.  Those nagging thoughts that tell you to stop doing something just because.  Because you are not good enough, you are not worthy, you are not capable, you are not whatever.  I hear them frequently while I am out there.  Sometimes during a race when I know I have not hit the goal I set they start in.  “Back off a little, you already missed it, with all that extra effort you still are not going to be satisfied at the end.  Save it for the next race.”  Sometimes in the heat (heat meaning any day where I feel mildly uncomfortable, there are rules for running based on temperature and humidity).  “It’s too hot to run.  You criticize people who run in weather like this, what are you a hypocrite?  You could really hurt yourself.  You could die.”  Most often it is on the mill [treadmill].  “Just stop, mill running is the worst form of running.  It is running you, you are not getting much benefit.  That television is irritating, you hate it, just go home and come back when there is no one here.”

These are the inferiors.  Those voices that can drive you to turn back, stop the mill, or never get off the couch.  I suspect many of the people that are amazed that I line up at my races knowing that I am never going to win, while at the same time professing to not know why I run four days a week are jealous.  I will admit that I want them to be.  Jealous of the fact that their inferiors are louder than mine.  That they let theirs win.  My suspicion is that their jealously lies with the fact that they think I don’t have them.  That they think I am somehow immune to self-doubt.  This belief that I have immunity is what keeps them trapped in a life of inactivity.  A life they secretly hate. They think they are not special.  They are wrong.

On a lot of days, yes, I don’t hear them.  They are just not there.  That is what happens when running is a habit, or, as I call it, my addiction.  The voices telling me to run are louder than the ones telling me not to.  One of the things I am thankful for is the fact that I can see things from both sides of the coin.  I was once obese.  I was once a drunk.   I was once a smoker.  I was once one of the people that had to get off the couch to make the change, and I heard them loud and clear.  Here is a secret.  I still hear them.  They say different things to me than they did when I started, but they still pester me.  Learning what to listen to is the key to mastering them.

The challenge comes with discerning the difference between hearing the voices and knowing  when you should stop.  The Inferiors are sinister.  They will voice anything to get you to stop.  Your body is the one to listen to.  The best I can say is that this comes from experience.  If you hear those voices, push through, and end up hurt, remember.  That voice was subtly different.  That was your body.  Remember when you push and do not end up hurt, too.  The difference in the voices is the key.

After you learn to tell the difference you can start to quell them.  There are various ways of doing this.  Some people just ignore them; like playing an away game.  I find this difficult.  In fact, yesterday I came to a halt during a tempo run because I was “hurting.”  I should have backed off.  At least it was not a race.    I have a difficult time ignoring them.  The way I have found is to keep it fresh.  I used to run with the same music, the same playlists.  Now I create a new one for every run.  I also try to vary my routes.  Sometimes I can tell where I am by the stains on the road.  If I was out running for time I could tell my splits by the music.  Have a slow opening mile and that makes a tough mental run.  Change the music and I don’t know the splits.  I stopped the inferiors.

I think the best tool is to realize that everyone hears these voices.  Some are so loud they are almost debilitating.  Others are quiet, others crescendo, others decrescendo, but everyone has them.  Keep running while learning to know when to stop so that you don’t get hurt.  Those of us out there every day are not any different from anyone sitting in their living room.  We are not immune.  We have tough runs and runs where we quit.  The difference is we get out there again, inferiors or not.

Gear

My shopping strategy is self described “seek and destroy.”  Meaning I know I don’t need to find the perfect thing.  Say I am out shopping for a gift for the boss.  Ten minutes, tops.  Birthday gift for wifey, 15, and that includes the card.  Sounds insensitive, sure, but you see something you know she would like, get it and stop fussing about if there is something she would like better.  I know she loved the microwave egg poacher and the happy fourth birthday card she got four our fifth anniversary.  My point is I am a fast shopper, unless I am shopping for running stuff.

I am a fan of running stuff.  Gear.  I like Clima-dry and dry-fit and SmartWool and hats and water bottles and SOCKS, man do I love socks.  I got my new job and to celebrate I went out and replaced my threadbare Nike socks with some Asics low profile ones.  I also bought a pair of SmartWools that I have not even tried out.  These I just like.  They are a little expensive, but take some out for a test run, and I think you will be sold.  I also have various technical tees, tanks, underwear, shorts, pants, gloves, etc.  The niftiest thing I have is this water bottle you can strap to your hand.  Nathan makes it.  Holds about a pint, perfect for me, it has an id card, and a little pouch the exact size of an energy gel with a little clip for a key.  A little bit like a running purse.  Wait, exactly like a running purse.  Mine even matches my shoes.  The only thing I think I might be missing is a visor.  I have, what I would consider, a lot of gear.  It is handy, not top of the line, but it works and I know I cannot justify getting anything else. 

I still shop.  Frequently, I will park at the end of the mall that has the Dick’s and take 20 minutes poking around.  What I find amazing is the amount of stuff that is out there.  The gimmicks and tricks astound me.  Some of the stuff is true, water vs sports drink on a run over an hour.  You have got to dig deep on the web to find out how to most effectively use the stuff.  Many of the drinks were designed to keep athletes, real athletes, going during a foot ball workout in south Florida, or a marathoner out there in the marathon.  A four mile run does not justify a quart of Gatorade.

Same kind of tricks go for gear.  Sometime you read an advertisement and think, “If I don’t get this shirt I will die from heat stroke.”  Most likely not true.  And if you but the wrong kind of shoe your feet are not going to fall off, and you probably won’t damage them permanently.  Just make sure they fit and get out there.  If they look cool with a sweet pair of socks, big bonus.

I still shop.  I have a lot of gear.  Once I find a visor it will most likely be time for new socks, or shoes, or who knows.  How will I know if I need it, if I don’t shop for it?

Caribou, Maine

When doing my initial research for a city I usually just Google the name.  So far, I have gotten lucky with getting the town’s web sites.  Caribou’s made me laugh out loud.  The very first link on it is a proposed medical marijuana ordinance.  Coast to coast, I guess.  It made me think of a time in Ohio, during the Olympics, when one of the American snow boarders tested positive for marijuana.  The press was deeming it performance enhancing.  One of the guys I was with said, “Performance enhancing?  That shit makes you cough.”  I still think of that when I see medicinal in the same sentence with marijuana. Also, it made me think of Dazed and Confused when John Stewart's character kept making everything better because he did it, "on weed."

With yesterday’s five and change and today’s abridged intervals I am in Caribou Maine. By the numbers, Caribou is like the last three towns I have come by.  Really, really white.  Almost no crime, aside from theft.  All of the income data suggest below average, but I wonder if the tourist income and the coastal property values skew the numbers.  I wonder how it would look if you were to make create a data set taking out everything south of I95?  A question that will remain rhetorical.  

8,000ish people call Caribou home making it the second largest city in Aroostook County.  Amongst the local attractions here is the Nylander Museum.  Olof Nylander was a native of Sweden, geologist, and naturalist who is immortalized in Caribou.  He developed a reputation for being a tireless and innovative fieldworker.   The museum was built in 1938 by the WPA and houses several exhibits, including large taxidermy.  Admission is free to all and the museum is open Tuesday - Saturday during the summer months. 

Caribou is the first place where I have found a race.  An organized race.  Labor day 8k pictured above (ladies notice the shirtless specimen on the right, oh my)  Last year Thomas Beckum won in 27:58.  I did reach out in an attempt for an interview, or some comment on running in extreme northeastern Maine; but, that request has, so far, gone unanswered.  Last year the event had 35 runners.  Small, but I am encouraged to see running activity.  This year it will be run on September 5th.  I will be reaching out to the race director.  I have also happened upon the Aroostook Musterds, a running club in Aroostook County.  My attempts to contact them have also gone unanswered; but, again encouraging signs that once I reach more populated areas I might have better luck.

With half of the intervals I intended today I am less than 20 miles from my next stop.  Once again, my intentions were to to hit the track before eight.  I left my house at precisely noon.  Walking out the door with more than a liter of Gatorade into noticeably viscous air with cicadas sounding heat advisory warnings from every tree should have been a clue to a tough session.  The heat was the last thing on the list.  Thursday I raced the sun laying down an absolute trail of smoke during a four miler.  My legs had not quite recovered.  I have been running long enough to tell the difference between your mind telling you to stop and your body.  Today was my body.  I listened.  Keeping me from collapsing on a scalding hot track, under the "Home of the Spartans" sign, with Dr. Greene staring into my face telling me I was in good hands.  I listened, came home, and took my daughter for some orange sherbet.  18 and change away from Presque Isle.  Then my first purposeful steps west.