Yesterday marked 63 days until the 2022 Chicago Marathon! I can’t believe it’s almost here. Fundraising for St. Jude continues as well, and I’m a little over $2000 away from my goal. You can donate here, if you’re able to support.
Speaking of the fundraiser, my friends at Monolithic Brewing and I are putting on an event on Wednesday, August 31st, in an effort to raise even more for the hospital. $2 from every full pour ordered will go directly to St. Jude. $2! Along with that, we’ve secured donations from local breweries, restaurants, and more that we’ll raffle off. A free round of golf for four, as well as courtside seats to a Creighton men’s basketball game this winter, will also be available. The event will take place from 4-10, and I’ll be there after my radio show ends at 6:00. Hope to see you there!
I played football from fourth grade until my first year of high school. Rarely good, I did it because that’s what kids did, and I had dreams of someday suiting up for Nebraska, before getting drafted into the NFL. I still remember the first time someone in my life1 told me I wouldn’t be making it to the pros. I was incredulous at that idea! He turned out to be right.
But I played football. I enjoyed it enough to not quit until I realized I wouldn’t really contribute much to the high school team, instead deciding to focus on cross country and track. As a kid though, I played throughout my formative years.
I didn’t like getting hit. Certainly a problem when playing the game of football, it took until my last two years of my “career” to crave the contact necessary when playing the sport. I’d close my eyes, kind of curl up into myself, bracing for a big hit. I don’t really remember that helping a whole lot! The pain was still felt, I still went to the ground. That’s how it went, throughout much of my time “playing” football.
You remember when you were young, discovering pain, and not knowing if you were hurt or injured? Well in those moments, I’d usually side with injured. “Sorry coach, I can’t go back out there,” I’d say after a hard tackle. Did this happen every game? No. Did it happen enough for the coach to think I didn’t want it? Probably. A time or two a season, I’d use this as an excuse, get out of the game, and start thinking of spending the rest of my afternoon on a couch watching the NFL. I loved (and still love) watching football, but it took time for me to realize it probably wasn’t in my DNA to keep playing as the sport got faster and more violent. Especially since I wasn’t fast in 10-15 yard bursts anyway.
I initially went out for track as a freshman as something to get in shape for football season. There were unofficial spring practices in the morning, no pads involved, and one of the football coaches was also the head coach of the track and field team. He recommended myself and others go out for that, as a way to stay/get in shape, and I wrongly assumed I’d be a sprinter, since I also fancied myself as a wide receiver.
I think I was a sprinter for all of 20 minutes.
Quickly changing to a distance runner, I’d come to find out I was pretty good for someone that hadn’t regularly ran distances before, let alone for someone that didn’t know how to pace a mile vs. a two mile vs. a 5k, the latter of which I would run the following fall in cross country2.
I didn’t love it though. I ran because I was good. I ran so I would letter in a sport, and get one of those cool jackets that’s been sitting at the back of a closet at my parent’s house since the spring of my senior year. Wouldn’t you know it, there’d be those days at a race where I felt a little hurt, but was I injured?
At most track meets when I ran, they’d have a mile and a two mile. Given I seemingly run at least five miles a day now, it’s baffling to think back to that point, when two miles seemed like an eternity. One meet in particular was at my high school, Omaha North. A fast track3, I ran one of my two races, the mile or the two, and still had the other to go. But I wasn’t feeling that great afterwards, and if I’m being honest, I just didn’t feel like running again. Was I hurt? Sure. Injured? No. I dropped out of the second race, watching from the stands.
In 2019 while training for the Chicago Marathon, I got a bad case of plantar fasciitis. Throughout the summer, I was running (sometimes) and golfing (often). So when the recommendation from a family friend was to rest, I couldn’t believe my luck. At the time, you didn’t have to tell me twice not to run. I was seemingly always looking for an excuse to cut a run short. I didn’t stop golfing, but my running became non-existent for a week or two.
I feigned sadness about missing time on the trail. What I truly felt was relief. My heart wasn’t in it, my head wasn’t in it, and my body certainly wasn’t in it. All the progress of 2018 had disappeared by the time training started in June. I was running after work, in the heart of the summer, a sure recipe to get burnt out, both literally and figuratively. At a certain point I just wanted to get past October, so I could get back to life without being forced to run. I don’t remember considering dropping out of the race, but I had no desire to run another marathon.
Was I injured? For a spell, yes. Did I say I was injured when I was probably hurt? For weeks after, also yes.
The log week 10:
Sunday: Rest
Monday: 12 miles, with 9 in the AM and another 3 at Peak Performance’s Monday Happy Hour
Tuesday: 9 miles, with 6 x 800 meter intervals at a 5k pace
Wednesday: 6 miles
Thursday: 11 miles
Friday: 8 miles, with 8 x 10 second hills + 8 x 100 meter sprints late in the run
Saturday: 15 miles
Weekly total: 61 miles
Training total: 612 miles
I am getting faster. I am getting faster in ways I didn’t see coming this year. I am getting faster in ways I didn’t see coming this year, and it’s really doing a number on me. Reevaluating goals. Questioning what’s possible now, what’s possible in the future. It’s been a wild few weeks.
If my 16-miler a couple weeks ago, with 12 of them hanging at a 7:16 pace was a knock on the door of my potential, Tuesday's 15 miles at 7:59 per4 + 12 more at 1:30:535 the next day was breaking the damn door down. I couldn't believe I was running this fast, without the usual spiking of my heart rate. I couldn't stop thinking about my runs. I couldn't stop talking about it with people — Riss, running friends, anyone that would listen to me — DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID?!
Which is what made the end of this past week, 11/18 in the training cycle, so frustrating. Was I hurt? Was I injured? I went to bed on Thursday night, with 22 miles on deck, not knowing if I could do it.
I had to juggle my runs more than I’d like during the week. Early on, for work. My weekend long run moved up a day because of a prior engagement. I never felt overly fatigued, but by the time Thursday’s run was finished, I had already hit 43 miles over the course of four days.
I first noticed something was wrong when I got into the office later that morning. An odd pain had appeared a little over halfway up my left quad. I’ve gotten pretty used to running pain the last couple years. Usually some stretches or rolling my leg will do the trick. If not, ice and some rest, and I’m good. Since 2020, I haven’t had to miss a whole lot of runs because of pain. I feel like I know my body pretty well now, and respond to it accordingly.
I wasn’t in pain when I walked, but felt something wrong when I stretched it. I massaged it here and there throughout the afternoon, annoyed at how much it was bothering me. “This week? Of all weeks to get hurt, this is the week?” I couldn’t stop moping. All night long, I stretched, rolled, and iced my leg. Hoping things would improve, nervous about the longest training run of my life the next morning.
I usually use the night before a long run to completely throw myself into it. I’ll think about mileage markers. I’ll mentally prepare myself for hours on my feet. Sometimes it’s something as simple as telling myself I can do it. Other times I’m just excited, ready to get out there. This time, all my energy was focused on thinking about my leg. I went to bed in an odd mental state, not knowing how I’d feel hours later.
I felt good when I woke up. I went through my usual morning routine, although it was a bit altered given it was a work day. I did some prep for work, stayed hydrated, and was feeling good. A night of rest had helped. The pain was basically non-existent. I wasn’t injured, I was hurt, and even that might not have been the case anymore. I left an hour before the sun rose, ready to knock out the longest non-race yet.
By mile ten, I was most definitely hurt again.
The log week 11:
Sunday: Rest
Monday: 10 miles, with 6 in the AM and 4 at the final Peak Performance Monday Happy Hour of the summer
Tuesday: 15 miles
Wednesday: 12 miles, with 7 of them fast
Thursday: 6 miles
Friday: 22 miles
Saturday: 5 miles
Weekly total: 70 miles
Training total: 682 miles
Any time I begin a run in the dark, my HR is always a bit elevated. Which made the beginning of Friday’s run all the more annoying, because I couldn’t tell if it was the usual darkness or if it was the slow return of the pain in my left quad. I had calmed myself down by mile four and, while my pace wasn’t what it had been earlier in the week, it wasn’t supposed to be, given I was running 22. I hummed along, happy with the cool weather, enjoying the CFB podcasts in my ears.
The pain slowly returned, and by the halfway mark, I was using some of my old tricks to make sure I’d finish. Did I ever truly doubt I’d finish? No. Was I worried? Absolutely.
All the while, I couldn’t stop thinking about what this type of pain would have meant for me in 2019. What it would have meant when I was running in high school. What it would have meant when I was playing football as a kid. I would have quit. Hell, I wouldn’t have even started. The alarm would have been turned off, I would have had a normal workday, happy to avoid even more pain.
This week though? I was scared. Scared I would miss a run. Scared about a lingering injury sticking with me for another couple months. Scared about what it would do for me mentally. What it could mean physically, losing some fitness. I hated the feeling. I used all of this as motivation to finish, happy with my growth as a runner, as a competitor, over the last few years.
I’m doing better now. By Saturday night my legs had settled into the usual pain that comes with a long run. Annoying enough to require a few extra rolls, but nothing concerning. Sunday I woke up good to go, happy with a rest day on tap, but pumped to know that I could go out for a run if training called for it. In hindsight, it seems like Thursday was just one of those days. I wish it wouldn’t have taken the shine off an otherwise monumental week — hitting new benchmarks with my pace and my distance — but it’s better than the alternative of something seriously wrong.
That said, I was able to do a “comfortable run” at a 7:59 pace? Do I dare to dream?
This was my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend. I swear this isn’t a line from SPACEBALLS.
To be honest, I don’t think I ever learned how to pace myself in high school. In a time before GPS watches, I would just kind of run, trying not to get out too fast, for fear of tiring myself out well before the race finished. I’d see my coach, whether on the trail or near the finish line at the track, and change my pace based off what he said to do.
I am 99% sure that Kearney’s Colby Wissel set the (then) state record for the mile at the North meet in 2004, running a 4:10.44.
This was a “comfortable run,” which for me this cycle has meant keeping my HR between 143-158. Most of that is in zone 2. In my last 2.5 years of running, I don’t think I have done one mile sub-8:00 in that HR zone but once or twice. That morning I did it in seven of my first ten miles.
This run was three miles zone 2 (with two of those miles going sub-8:00 with my HR sub-140) + seven miles zone 3 + another couple to finish off slow. I had multiple miles go sub-7:00 per. A month ago I wouldn’t have believed something like this was possible.
It's crazy how well you get to know your body, especially when something is not right. My wife claims I am just nuts about 6 weeks out from a race because I overanalyze any tweak or twinge that is not normal. As you said, you get use to exercising in pain when you do endurance sports so it's easy to fixate on little aches and pains that may seem out of the ordinary. Glad you were able to push through. Loved seeing that sub 8 pace and hoping you can pull it off. Happy Running!
The physical is real…but so is the mental side. Take care of both. Good word here , Josh.