Why I Did What I did

After spending the past couple of days reconstructing and analyzing the events of the Japan Day debacle (there are still gaps in the story where my memory still fails me), I realize that the main reason why I raced so hard and ran so fast at the start wasn’t really about the P.R. After all, I’ve been in plenty of similar situations before, where I started a race planning for or anticipating a P.R., yet have never lost control of my speed to the point where I’m threatening to pass out. So why was my Sunday race any different? Well, the truth is that beyond the time, beyond the PR, what I wanted the most of out that race was a personal breakthrough performance.

Honestly, it has been way too long since I’ve run a “good” race. It didn’t happen in Brooklyn (because I had to help a friend). It didn’t happen in Jersey (because I was sick and it was too hot). It didn’t happen in Ragnar NY (since my pace was far below what I had anticipated) and it didn’t quite happen in the Flushing 13.1 either (because well, I got lost!). In fact, the last time I finished a race in a somewhat respectable time was way back in March, when I ran the Blues, Salsa & Shamrock 5K and got a PR! That’s a long time ago! In between these races, my training has been a never-ending revolving door of sickness and injuries, false starts and DNS-es. So yes, it is readily apparent to me that my overwhelming passion to PR this race as a sign of my official comeback may have clouded my judgment and made me throw caution to the wind. But then again, I’ve never passed out in a race before. How could I have known that I could get in so much trouble with just a 4 mile race?

Yes, I do consider myself fortunate to have survived the debacle with barely a scratch on my body. However, I am still disappointed that I wasn’t able to finish the race with not even a mile left to go. I’m also disappointed that I allowed my personal pride to dominate and take my running to a risky and dangerous place. With yet another failed run, my summer of fruitless racing continues. My confidence in running has not been the same since the spring ended. I wonder if and when my next opportunity for a comeback race will be. I wonder if I’ll be ready. I wonder when I’ll be able to find myself in running and racing again. These are the questions I have that still remain unanswered. I hope I can find answers to them soon!

The Race That Wasn't For MeA DNF Report from the Japan Day 4 Miler

Two consecutive races. Two times I've found myself in the grass mid-race lying on the side of the road. Last time, I was there as a pit stop to help out a friend. This time, I was alone, not feeling well and not even sure why or how I got there. I knew though even as I laid there, too dizzy to think, out of mind and out of sight of any of the other racers, this outcome was entirely my fault.

Of course I couldn't have predicted such a miserable performance in my worst nightmare when I got up this morning. I had been hitting good times on the track the last couple of weeks. I ate well the night before, hydrated like crazy the day prior, and had gotten decent sleep the last couple of days too. Although I was expecting no less than a PR as my goal in this 4M race, that seemed entirely reasonable given that my 4M PR pace is 6:09 from 2 years ago while my 5M PR pace is 6:02 and my 5K PR pace is 5:56. Just for kicks, I did a random 3M tempo workout around the lake earlier this week and my pace for that was 6:07. So even if I wasn't in tip-top speed running form, I should still be able to PR relatively easily if I could manage a half decent race.

The first sign of trouble came when I was lined up in my corral waiting for the race to start. My brow was already wet, beads of sweat were dripping down my bandana and Garmin reported a heart rate in the upper 90s even before the race begun. What was this craziness? I had only gotten in 2 warmup strides of about 100m that weren't very intense and I feel relaxed as can be. Yes, the weather was warm (79 degrees F) and humid (67%) as the thunderstorm that was promised overnight never materialized, but it wasn't stifling hot and I thought for sure I was acclimated to running in these conditions. So I didn't pay attention, even as the race announcer warned us to be careful running in this humidity. I was just so focused on starting out the first mile as fast as I can.

I was hot and bothered right out of the gate. I didn't like the fact that it was humid, I didn't like the fact that I was behind hundreds of runners even in the first (blue) corral and I especially didn't like the bumping and jostling that went on the first quarter mile. I just wanted to get out of the pack, run clear and establish my PR pace. I came out off the 103rd street drive and attacked the west side hills. I ran mile 1 as if I was running my usual mile intervals out on the track. I thought I was running easy, but in retrospect, the fact that I was moving up in the pack as I was climbing each of the series of three hills meant I was running way too fast. I didn't look at the Garmin until I passed the first mile marker. 5:49. This is faster than any previous first mile pace at any road race. This is faster than 5k pace. This is even faster than any 1M interval run I've ever done on flat ground!

But instead of slowing way down to accommodate a more appropriate pace, I continued to press. In my mind, I knew mile 2 was mostly downhill and there was no way I was going to let up going downhill after suffering through the three uphills. After 0.5 mile though, I did slow down, but just enough to maintain the same perceived effort as the first mile. I was starting to not feel well, but didn't attribute it to anything until I inadvertently looked down at Garmin and saw that my HR was now at 198. 198?! That is one or two beats above what had been my previous max! I've never seen anything above 190 prior to the last mile of a race before. No wonder I felt like crap. I must slow down. Must. Mile 2 came in at 6:00 even.

At the 72nd St transverse, Flyer PD recognizes me, tells me I'm doing a great job and motivates me to keep up the pace. I do, but only for a short stretch. The treachery of Cat Hill was about to begin and I was dealing with a HR that was unsustainable for running on flat ground, much less climbing what seemed like Mt. Everest to me at that time. I look my foot off the gas pedal and took the hill slow. I knew I had at least 30 seconds in the bank for a PR so the pace wasn't as concerning to me as was just getting over it with as little damage as possible. Runners were passing me now as I focused on just running toward the Cat, then toward the traffic light at the end of the hill. As I was climbing though, I began to feel dizzy and nauseous. Not the kind where I'm about to puke, but the kind where you feel as if you weren't getting enough oxygen upstairs. I had never felt like this in a race before and didn't know what to do. I was about to crest though and thought the feeling would go away after the hill, so I continued running.

I crested and glided down the hill at a slower pace still while waiting for the dizziness to subside. But it never did. It got a little more intense as I ran by the Met. I took some water at a rest stop. Up in the distance around the bend, I could make out the mile 3 marker. I looked down and saw that my HR was 185, still much too high for cardiovascular stability. My vision was getting blurry. As I ran the little minor hill leading out of the Met, it hurt too much to even open my eyes, so I closed them for just a second. I drifted in and out of consciousness and I started swerving. That scared me. I pass mile 3 at 6:21. I took a few more steps and realized my dilemma. One on hand, I had one more flat mile to go. Even if I ran something slow for this stretch (like a 6:30), I'd still get my PR. On the other hand, my body was failing terribly, my head was terribly dizzy and it was taking all of my focus and concentration just to coordinate my legs to move in a straight line. After another five or ten steps, when I almost collapsed onto a neighboring runner TWICE, I knew right then that there would be no PR that day. I found the nearest convenient exit behind some bushes and trees and ducked in. Once I saw that no one was around, I collapsed onto the grass and passed out.

The events that transpired afterwards were hazy at best. I know I stayed down for at least fifteen to twenty minutes. I know I limped over to baggage to grab my stuff. Then, after realizing that I was way too dizzy to walk home, hid in the Northern Woodlands of Central Park for a good couple of hours. In between, there was alot of cursing, emoting, contemplating, and trying to figure out how a race that was meant to go so right went so terribly wrong. Thank goodness I found an isolated and peaceful piece of land in the woods surrounded by trees by the side of a gently flowing brook where no one visited and where I could hide from my shame and escape my embarrassment for just a little while. It is incredibly ironic that it took a DNF (my first no less) for me to find such a majestic place in the middle of Central Park.

Summertime - Sweating The Small Stuff

It's getting a little ridiculous. Can someone please turn down the outdoor furnace...please?

I've barely had time to get over the disappointment of missing a spring marathon before I'm blasted with the heat and humidity that is often associated with mid July in the city this past week. Seriously, what is up with that? It's barely the first week of June and my colleagues already feel as if I've had enough sun to pass as a Hispanic!

But aside from the ever climbing temperatures and the chariot of fire climbing ever higher into the sky, there is another way I can tell that summertime is indeed upon us. Interesting, this one does not involve the weather or even taking a look outside. Instead, I can tell that summer is squarely upon us by the e-mails, phone calls and twitter messages I receive asking for training plans, coaching advice, and general guidance for running a fall goal marathon. It is quite funny that even though I haven't yet begun to think about my own training for Chicago this fall, I've already been ironing out the details and putting the finishing touches on training plans for the same marathon for a few of my friends. Obviously, we have different goals (as my clientele, if I can them that, consist solely of those who have either never run a marathon or have just done one or two and looking to improve...in other words, I'm not dealing with any veterans or elite runners here!) But still, it is a challenge to schedule workouts and build a plan in preparation for a marathon that I know so little about. To circumvent this predicament, I've given out only 4 week assignments and asked them to return for the rest. This will give me some time to research the course, devise an appropriate training strategy and build my own plan before constructing one for others. I will also use this time to gauge their individual and personal commitment to marathon training. If they have problems sticking to a 4 week 4-5 runs/week basic regimen, How would they fare for 12 more weeks with more mileage and higher intensity?

My point in all of this is to relate how insanely crazy it is that so many runners are already planning for the fall when summertime, as much as it pains me to say, has barely begun. There is something to be said to living in and enjoying the moment, which I'm trying to do by taking a short interlude from marathon training and instead focusing on "Summer of Speed". There will be ample time afterwards to adequately plan, train and prepare for a marathon that is three to four months away. For if there's one thing that my traumatic misadventures this spring has taught me, it is that the training itself cannot merely serve as a means to an end. Rather, we as runners must enjoy and learn to appreciate the training as part of running, because in us, the process of transformation is just as important as the final result. We ought to never lose sight of that.