The list of races.

I ran ten miles today and pulled a sub 7 minute mile on my final mile. I’ve been training for about a month with five left to go. I’ve been doing timed 2 minute hand release push ups drills and can pump out about 65-70. Looking at this now, I want that final mile to be sub 6, I want to be able to pump out 100 pushups in two minutes before I leave to go to my event, also marathon ready, also totes strong. I think I’m on track to attaining that.

But do any of you really care about any of this? Do you want me to take pictures of the meals I’m eating? I’m sure as hell I wouldn’t care.

So as promised, I’m going to break down the list of races I’m going to do before I retire from this for good. Ready? Here goes:

All of them.

I am not keeping this a five year plan. Rather, I’m going to keep doing this stuff until I’m an old man with a cane and a million stories to tell. I’m going to slay these dragons until I fall apart.

Why did I change my mind? I realized some things over the past two weeks. I know now that doing crazy things, training till I puke, traveling to races with awesome people and ultimately testing every ounce of my being isn’t just a part of me; it is me.

Being the best Dad I can be to my son, working my good job, spending time with loved ones, and running with sandbags on my back, yeah, that’s a life I can be happy with.

The thoughts of going up to Vermont again and heading back to the small country town of Cuba, Illinois make me so excited I could scream. I’m finally going to qualify for and run in the Boston Marathon. I’m going to go to Nicoaragua and run up a volcano. I’m free.

Few people in my regular life understand why I do the things I do, but they don’t have to. The times I spend preparing for and doing the crazy things I’ve done are my best times aside from my time with my son. Even now, years later, I still glow when I tell the stories of my triumphs and failures.

I’m going to do the things that make me feel most alive again and when I finally can’t do it anymore, I’ll teach my son. He ran a five k with me last year when he was six years old.

My son and my races. It might not be a life for you, but to me, it’s damn perfect.

The DNFs

I hate failing at things. I mean, I really hate it. I always want to be the best at everything all the time. I’m not, but, if it’s something I’m passionate about, I will dump myself into it with everything I have and the results are usually favorable. It’s how I operate inside of racing and outside of it.

However this is life and there are failures. Passion can make you wake up at three in the morning to go for a run, or even push through a race while injured (one time I finished an ultra marathon with my ankle duct taped in place), but sometimes failure happens and brings it’s lessons. It always brings lessons.

In the racing world, I’ve had two DNFs. DNF stands for Did Not Finish for those of you who don’t know. They destroyed my pride each time they happened and really, even to this day, bother me on some level.

My first happened at The Northeast Suck. Joe Decker brought his event to Maryland and I drove down to take it on after training like a maniac for it. It was the first time I met Joe and wanted to perform well so I trained. And trained. And overtrained and injury.

In the middle of the event, my foot clicked and all the sudden felt like it was on fire. Stress fracture. I was out and completely heartbroken. Really, that race was just the beginning of my real racing career and friendship with Joe, but I didn’t know that at the time. I was just bummed.

See, I didn’t have a lot of experience at the time at racing or any of this. I was just a guy trying to see what he was made of and didn’t understand that damage that overtraining can do to the body. I learned that night and as proof, I am writing this on a rest day while my mind tries to shame me into going for a run. No sir, you are fine right here.

The second happened at the 2014 Winter Death Race. I had finished some very hard races at this point and felt like I was superman going into that race. Superman doesn’t need to eat when there’s sandbags to be carried up the mountain. Who cares if you threw up all the water you drank? You’ll be fine. Nothing can stop you. Camelbak frozen and can’t drink? Fuck it, you’ll be fine. Why do I keep throwing up? Where am I? I can’t think, what the fuck is wrong with me. DNF.

It took me a long time to figure out just what the hell happened to me at that race. I was on such a good streak of races and finishes that I overestimated myself and underestimated what thirty hours of straight racing could do to me in the cold. I stopped taking care of myself and was rewarded with a sweet failure as a result. I think that might have been the most valuable lesson I’ve learned and I’m sure it will serve me well over the next five years.

As much as I hate to say it, my DNFs have made me better and smarter. Sometimes as much as you pour yourself into something, whether it be a race, a job, a relationship, you will fail and your lessons are the most bitter fruit you can imagine. All you can try to do is learn from your mistakes and only have to taste the fruit once.
-S

The Grind.

I’m about a week in on my training and I couldn’t be happier about how it’s going. Everything hurts and it’s hard to walk. I’m not setting foot in a gym for this entire six month training; it’s going to be lots of running, carrying heavy shit uphill, sandbags, calisthenics, more running, being uncomfortable, and doing whatever else I feel like. 

What I’m happiest about is how strong my running game is this early on. I’m a bigger guy, even when I completely cut down, it’s hard for me to get below 185 pounds. So I’m never the fastest runner at events, but I’m usually one of the strongest. So as long as I go into this event able to do an ultra at a reasonable pace, I’ll be happy. And judging from how good I’ve been feeling on my runs, I’ll have that in the bag by the time I’m done with my training. 

What I’m not happy about is how ungodly, stupid, cold it’s been in the northeast. Holy shit, it was like seven degrees yesterday. The first 10 minutes of every run or ruck I go on is murder, but in a way that’s good. I’m sure I’ve gotten soft over the past three years so some extra adversity will only make tougher when it’s time to perform. 

So that’s where I’m at. I’m eating healthy, not drinking,  running every day, and feeling like my body has been beaten by a large man with a meat tenderizer. Life makes sense again.