Freedom!

Since the KDF marathon I have had multiple requests for my take on the JayBird Freedom bluetooth wireless headphones.  Today JayBird re-tweeted to over three thousand followers a comment from me, during April's testing phase, of how awesome these headphones are (damn, just gave away the ending).  So I decided I probably needed to take the time to write the review, considering that I've had these headphones for over a month now and have put them through their paces.  I'm not a professional reviewer, but I'll give this my best shot.

You will recall from an earlier blog post that I had spent some energy before the marathon trying to discover ways to disencumber myself from the weight and wiring of the gear that I carry during my long runs or races.  When it came to the headphones, I knew I needed something light, practical, and durable.  My on-line research led me to the JayBird Gear Freedom JF3 Bluetooth Headphones website.  JayBird boasted itself as the "Official Training Headphones of USA Triathlon".  They also made some other promises about being "shakeproof" and "sweat proof'ed" with a lifetime warranty against sweat damage.  The reviews that I read from other sites were also very positive.  So I decided to take the chance and ordered the headphones.  I received them with next day shipping and began testing them immediately with only days remaining before the marathon.

If you search on YouTube you will find a few "unboxing" videos of the JF3s (such as this one) that show how pretty the packaging is and go step by step through every piece contained in said packaging.  I'll sum it up by saying that the JF3s showed up in a package that looks like this:

Nice box with chiseled jaw tough guy on front.

I will say this for the packaging:  The JayBird people put a lot of thought into the aesthetics of the packaging.  Probably more so than Apple, and for anyone who has unboxed an iAnything, you know that is saying a lot.

Inside the box were the JF3 headphones, a magnetic hard clamshell style carrying case with rubberized texture, 3 sizes of ear tips, and 3 sizes of what JayBird calls "secure fit ear cushions".

The package also included these behind the ear hook things.  On first sight, and with prior experience with similar hardware, I judged them to be uncomfortable and completely useless and they've never left the box.  Forget about them.

Useless.

The first thing I noticed about the JF3s were they were light weight.  I mean really light weight.  The JayBird Gear website lists them as 16 grams.  JayBird's claim that you can "completely forget about your headphones" is very nearly on the mark.  Once they are in and you start moving, you almost forget that they are there.  Paring the JF3s with my iPhone was also seamless and followed the same pairing protocols as most every other Bluetooth device.

It took only a few minutes to determine the correct size ear tip and secure fit cushion to comfortably fit my ear.  Once I had done so I placed the JF3s snugly in my ears and discovered that my situational awareness was immediately reduced.  The JF3s are like wearing hearing protection.  Unlike other in-the-ear headphones, the JF3s cut out a lot of ambient sound.  I don't know what the decibel reduction rating of these earphones are, but I could probably get away with wearing them the next time I am on the gun range.  I would caution anyone who runs on roadways or in environments where auditory exclusion can be a hazard to forgo running with the JF3s.  A herd of angry stampeding elephants could most likely sneak up behind you while you are wearing these things.

On my first run, I placed my iPhone in an armband on my right arm (which is also advised by JayBird because the Bluetooth transceiver is in the right earbud), fired up the tunes and proceeded to give it hell on the treadmill.  The JF3s sounded great and as I pounded along I was very acutely aware that the headphone cord was missing.  I have been so accustomed to dealing with the cord that the absence of it was so noticeable that it was actually mildly disturbing, but in no time you can clearly understand why JayBird named these headphones "Freedom".  With the secure fit cushions inside the curve of my ear, the JF3s stayed securely in place; never once even threatening to fall out.  The sound was clear and the bass was awesome.

Mile 20.  The One Man and his JF3s still pumping away.

The same week that I received the JF3s I wore them during the Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon.  26.2 miles and the JayBirds performed like champs.  At no time did they become uncomfortable or irritating, although after some profuse sweating the cord that connects each earbud did stick to my neck and pull against the earbuds when I turned my head from side to side.

My only other gripe was the button operation took some getting used to.  The small buttons on the side that are used to change the volume are also used to change the music tracks.  Short clicks are used to change the volume and to change tracks you have to hold the buttons down.  This can be somewhat awkward when you are running.  And really I'm probably being a little picky, since the middle of a marathon was probably not the best place to attempt to acclimate to this feature.

The large center button on the right earbud is also the button that is used for pairing, pausing and playing music, and answering phone calls.  This button is a little stiff and pressing it requires that you secure the earbud housing between your thumb and middle finger while depressing the button with your index finger.  Not doing results in you feeling as though you are trying to cram the earbud through your ear and into your brain.

In the last month I've had the opportunity to use the JF3s extensively on runs, in the gym, at home, and around the office.  I've used them with my iPhone and my iPad and have wandered around the house with them in and the device several feet away and they have not cut out or lost signal (standard Bluetooth range being about 30 feet or so).  Conversely I have however had my iPhone on the front of my left hip and bent over to tie my shoes, at which point the headphones did cut out when my body was completely blocking the phone.

I also found the battery life, which JayBird advertises as 6 hours (and notes in their fine print "varies dependent upon usage and device" - whatever the hell that means) lasts me a little less than 5.5 hours.  With constant usage I encounter the low battery tones at around 5 hours 15 minutes to 5 hours 20 minutes.  The battery is usually dead within 5 minutes after the tones begin.  This really isn't that big of a deal except that I have to make a conscious effort to ensure the earphones are fully charged before heading out on any excessively long run.  The JF3s are also charged via USB cable with a mini B connector.  The USB cable must be plugged into your computer to charge and charging time is roughly 2 hours.  JayBird does offer a North American AC adapter for the charger on their website for $9 USD.

As far as using the JF3s for phone conversations - the integrated microphone didn't perform so well in noisy environments, such as being out on a run with some wind and traffic in the background.  Callers had difficulty hearing me in those conditions.  In quieter conditions the mic seemed to work just fine.  Although having the integrated microphone for calls is a nice feature, I didn't purchase the JF3s as a headset for phone calls.

So the rundown is as follows:

Pros:

• Very well made headphones with solid construction.
• Ultra light weight.  You really do almost forget that they are there.
• Good sound and awesome bass.
• Simple and easy pairing.
• Multiple sizes of ear tips and secure fit cushions to fit almost any ear.
• A very nice hard clamshell style case to protect your investment.
• A lifetime warranty against sweat damage.
• Aesthetically pleasing packaging (if you care about that kind of thing).

Cons:

• Earbuds are like wearing hearing protection.  Situation awareness is significantly reduced.
• Sweat makes the behind the neck cord stick, pulling on the earbuds when you turn your head.
• Battery life is slightly less than 5.5 hours instead of the advertised 6 hours.
• Must be charged through a computer USB connection. 

In summary, the "cons" listed above are really more than negligible annoyances and the "pros" far outweigh them.  I consider the JayBird Freedom JF3s a must have for anyone who is active and spends any time running, hitting the gym, or in any other kind of training where a headphone wire is an annoyance.  The $99 US is well worth the price for these headphones and the ability to operate unencumbered by headphone wires is absolutely priceless.  Although these headphones are the first pair of wireless headphones that I have owned, I don't believe that I could have made a better choice.  So what are you waiting for?  Buy a pair.  Do it now.

G.


As an end note:  I had someone contact me today via Twitter who said that their JF3s were pretty much unusable and that they were not happy at all with them.  At first glance it sounds like a bad set and I certainly hope that he can work with JayBird to get a new pair.  I really do think these headphones are awesome and I would hope that he gets a decent set so that he can really enjoy them the way that I do.

So, Michael, if you read this blog and have an opportunity to deal with JayBird Gear customer support, I'd like to get an update.  I've never had to deal with them and I'd like to know how they treat you.  I'd also be interested in your take on the JF3s once you get the issue resolved.

Water, Water Everywhere...

The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner describes a tale of a man who makes some bad choices, endures the chastisement for said choices, suffers a lot, and then spends his remaining days recanting his tale to others so that they can learn from his mistakes.  That is the One Man's synopsis anyway (sorry Coleridge).  Thursday night it was my turn to play out my version of the Mariner.

After a hectic day, I settled down to what I believed would be a pleasant dinner at my favorite Cuban restaurant.  After enjoying fricase de pollo (chicken fricassee), I was immediately beset by a sharp pain on my right side, just below my ribcage.  The pain continued to increase until I had to excuse myself and make my way outside into the parking lot for some fresh air, where I promptly vomited.  Not a nice way to end a dinner.  The problem was that even after seeing my fricase de pollo a second time, the pain wouldn't go away.  I went home and suffered for another thirty minutes, sweating profusely and becoming pasty and pale, before the pain finally, mysteriously, and abruptly disappeared.

After some badgering from my family, I found myself at a local ER.  I won't even begin to go into detail about how much of a treat this was.  But take into account the X-Ray tech who wanted to tell me about what kind of tough guy he is and how he used to get into bar fights all - the - time, or the front desk receptionist, who showed up in my room later, introduced herself as the respiratory therapist, and had trouble hooking me up to an EKG machine because "we're facing each other and left and right are backwards," you begin to see what I was up against.  Thankfully the doctor seemed like he had his act together, but I didn't see him until the very end; after the obligatory fluid collection, radiation exposure, and blood-letting.

After the doctor asked how I was feeling, to which I replied, "Other than basking in the afterglow of having recently vomited, I'm great," (actual words) he proceeded to tell me how all of my results were normal.  Given the nature of the meal just before the onset of pain, and the area affected, he believed that I may be looking at the early stage of gall bladder disease.  But what was more disturbing to him were my creatinine levels.  They were elevated and this, he said, was an indicator of renal (kidney) failure or the body suffering from severe dehydration.  I smiled slightly and had to stop him right there.

The last few weeks I have been pushing really hard.  Maybe too hard.  And to be quite honest I haven't been very smart about it.  I have dialed back my running mileage, but I've turned up the heat on my weight lifting.  And on the days that I run I have been pushing my pace over the shorter distances.  Those things, in and of themselves, are really not the problem.  The issue is that what I've been doing to fuel myself over those last few weeks has been more than negligent, it has been just plain stupid.  The last several weeks my morning has started off with a quad venti mocha from Starbucks.  I sip this designer blended coffee drink throughout my morning workouts.  After changing into my work attire, I follow up with a nice cold recovery drink of Mountain Dew; often with a Mountain Dew chaser as breakfast.  When I permit myself to get to lunch (which sometimes doesn't happen until more than several hours later), it is composed of some fast-food drive through crap with a caffeinated beverage to wash it down.  Where is the H2O in all of this you might ask?  Making fewer cameo appearances than Charlie Sheen on Two And A Half Men, that's where.

So you can already see the setup for the dramatic ending, right?  Two weeks or more of excessively high caffeine consumption, zero water consumption, lack of any meaningful nutrition, and increased workout intensity.  All culminating in a painful vomiting finale - complete with trip to the ER - with yours truly in the staring role.  And while I'm thinking about it, I'm also quite positive you could add increased work-related stress in there as an active ingredient too, but that has been the status quo for so long now that it is in the same category as breathing.  The point is, that I made some very, very, very poor choices and the end result was clearly predictable.  Well, maybe to everyone but the guy who was making them.  He has a bad habit of still believing he's indestructible.

So after catching an earful from the doctor, the nurse (who wrote WATER!!! in big letters across my discharge papers), my wife, and my best friend  - who was also kind enough to remind me that I'm not 25 any longer (thanks, Dave, but you're still older and not nearly as sexy) - I was released back into the wild to consider the error of my ways.  Which included an improved nutrition and hydration plan.  Well, actually just a plan.  And considering that there was really no plan before, anything can be considered "improved".

Rare wisdom from a fortune cookie.

Friday I felt okay, but there was some residual lethargy that remained hovering just along the edge of my day.  I skipped Friday's workout and devoted the day to consciously and consistently taking in nothing but water, Met-Rx protein bars, and fruit.  I skipped the designer coffee and sodas; waiting patiently for the beginning of the symptoms of caffeine withdrawal that I knew would be coming.

It was during the wait that I noticed the little piece of paper that has been taped to the top of my computer monitor at work for the last few years.  During a particularly turbulent time for me both personally and professionally, I opened a fortune cookie at lunch and out popped this bit of pre-printed musing,

"A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner!"

At the time I considered it very apropos and promptly taped it to the top of my work monitor.  It has been there ever since and I have referenced it often.  Friday's referral to that quip is what inspired the title of this post.  I read the paper, thought of the water fountain in the hallway, the bottles of water in the refrigerator at work, and chided myself by whispering the words of Coleridge, "Water, water everywhere but nary a drop to drink."

Today I also skipped my scheduled long run.  I spent the day at work and still felt a little off.  When the dreaded withdrawal headache showed signs of making a debut I quickly downed some Excedrin and within a few minutes (and a bottle of water later) I was feeling fine.  So the plan is to stay on top of the hydration and get a much more solid nutrition plan in place than the emergency one that I instituted.  Perhaps after several days I'll allow myself the pleasure of a designer coffee, but the sodas are out for good.

Monday is the start of the Runner's World Summer 2012 Run Streak.  At least a mile a day from Memorial Day to July 4th.  I plan on jumping back into my training then.  After three days of proper hydration and decent eating I should be whole.  Moreover I hope this time I've learned my lesson.  Last year, around this time, I was stricken by kidney stones less than a week before I ran the KDF half marathon (perhaps another hydration issue) but, being the tough guy that I am, I ran it anyway.  Going forward I know that I can't keep relying on tough guy stubbornness to carry me though.  I guess Mr. Incredible really isn't 25 anymore.

"He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn."

"An Outer Covering For The Human Foot..."

This past week I've indulged in trying to find a "maintenance" training plan for my running and re-investing in my weight lifting.  I also spent a portion of this week's runs flirting with the whole minimalist running thing.  That debate over barefoot running has ebbed and flowed like the tides of the ocean with strong forces both for and against.  I'm sure that it will continue to rage long after my running shoes have been recycled for the last time.  Like many others I had read Christopher McDougall's Born to Run and raised a curious eyebrow at the seemingly magical properties of running "unshod".  I'm almost ashamed to admit that also went out and bought a bag of chia seeds which I began promptly ingesting.  Hey, look...anything to give me an edge over the Grim Reaper, you know?

So anyway, my initial outing was a 1.25 mile run (before I was interrupted by work).  The last 1/4 mile was done in just my socks.  Other than some minor friction on the big toe of each foot I felt like the run went well.  No residual soreness the next day, so on the following run I decided that I would crank up the intensity a few clicks over the same barefoot distance just to see what would happen.  This time around I left the socks behind too (blaming them for the friction).  I even had the 1/4 mile run recorded so that I could play it back to evaluate my foot strike.  Yes, I am a geek and I do over-analyze everything.  I cranked up the speed of the treadmill and ran on the balls of my feet like a good barefoot runner should; flying along at a 7:00 minute per mile pace.  Which is way faster than I normally run.

The good news?  After a little awkwardness the barefoot portion of my run felt pretty good.  I remained on a constant forefoot strike the entire way with little conscious effort, and my speed was much, much faster than I would have otherwise anticipated.  A mostly positive experience.

The bad news?  The socks only had a little to do with the big toe friction.  My tender feet, long protected by shoes and boots, were just out of their element.  There was still some 'belt burn' after the run.  My calves also took a beating, as did the arch of my left foot.  The residual aches and soreness that lingered days after this run were borderline injured; a result, I guess, of the super speed that I turned on.  Even though all the cautions against transition to minimalist running warned of increasing distance or speed too rapidly, I still made a silly miscalculation somewhere.  Oh well, back to the drawing board.

On Saturday I took a trip to one of the local running stores to find a pair of Vibram FiveFingers.  After perusing (does anyone use that word anymore?) the online selection of Vibram's, I elected the KSO.  It seemed to be the most versatile FiveFingers available.  On Vibram's website, no matter what activity you selected, the KSO was right there as a suggestion.  Running?  KSO.  Watersports?  KSO.  Hiking?  KSO.  Tactical entry on a barricaded subject?  Well, Vibram didn't have this category on their website.  But if they did I'm certain that the KSO would be one of the suggested models.

Anyway, the local running store I visited only had the KSO in what I would consider to be clown colors.  Orange and black, Kool-aid red, or some weird urban camouflage.  I mean, really?  I'm already going to be traipsing (another $5 word) around in shoes with toes for God's sake.  Did I really want to draw more attention to them by looking like a Ringling Brothers clown on his day off?  But I did decide to try them on to determine the size I needed.  The kid that was helping me seemed genuinely annoyed to be helping me, and I'm not sure that even if they had the right color that I wanted - black over black - that I would have purchased them there anyway.  Honestly, the whole attitude has put me off really going back to that particular LRS in the future.

I left the store and quickly consulted the Vibram website to determine if there was another local retailer close by.  Fortunately, Quest Outdoors was close and after a quick phone call I was assured they had the KSO in the size that I needed, and in black.  I won't go into details, but I will say that the experience that I had shopping at the Quest Outdoors store was phenomenal.  The staff was more than helpful and willing to spend the time with me that I needed.  At their suggestion, I even went up a size from what I had initially thought was a good fit and it turned out to be the right move.  The major difference I think is that the staff at Quest Outdoors were actually runners.  The kind of hardcore runners that you look at and know they have paid their dues and are doing what they love.  Not pimple faced kids who think running high school track makes them shoe experts.  And those same Quest folks, who by-the-way also own and run in Vibrams, spent some time talking to me about the transition to minimalist running and encouraging me to leave the road for trail running.  I will most definitely shop there again.

So here they are!  My Vibram KSOs.  I've spent some time in them over the course of the last two days and I can tell you that the experience is unique.  I've literally had to change the way that I walk to keep from feeling like I'm slamming into the ground with every stride.

Envy me, Fred Flintstone.

Webster's defines a shoe as: "an outer covering for the human foot typically having a thick or stiff sole with an attached heel and an upper part of lighter material (as leather)."  The Vibram's certainly aren't typical.  I'm not even certain that they meet the definition of a shoe.  Whatever the hell they are, I'm looking forward to my next run wearing these things.  Hopefully they will mitigate "friction toe".

At this stage I'm not certain that I will be a convert to the minimalist running set.  There are a lot of promises that the true believers make with regard to the benefits of running sans built up running shoes.  Some of the claims make me want to believe too.  However, I've never been one to follow the crowd, no matter how large or how small that crowd may be; or how adamant and convincing their arguments.  I've always followed my own path.  That is what works best for me.  But then, isn't that what this experiment is all about?

Making Up for Monday

Monday just didn't start out so well for me.  Not that the typical Monday is on the top of the list of "feel good days" for most everyone.  After lamenting about not having a solid training plan after the KDF marathon (see prior post here), I came up with what I thought was a pretty good plan.  I was returning to serious weight lifting, which I hadn't done in quite some time, and I was going to dial my running mileage back and begin to focus on form and speed; both of which I'm sure are atrocious to the experienced/professional runner, which I am not.

Last week started really well.  I hit the weights three days last week and alternated with decent runs on the other days.  Monday I just couldn't pull my butt out of bed at any meaningful time and I ended up getting to work later than I had planned (I've been using the gym at work on a regular basis).  Needless to say, the later I arrive at work the more potential there is for me to be pulled away from any personally productive direction and pulled into something that will consume more than its fair share of my day.  Such was the case Monday.  I consoled myself by believing that toward the end of the day I would have an opportunity to get my workout in.  Realistically I knew that wasn't going to happen, but sometimes it is better to have some hope than no hope at all.  And, of course, at the end of the day I was mentally and physically drained.  So I simply went home and immediately felt like a loser the rest of the night for having failed myself.

This morning I refused to allow myself to fall back into the bed and pushed my way to the office at an hour that I assumed would be safe.  Despite being delayed about 40 minutes, I managed to make my way to the gym to begin getting my missed workout in.  I had a scheduled run today so I knew I was going to have to double down.  The weight lifting felt somehow unfocused, and I worried that I might be out of juice for the run after.  I very nearly packed it in after the lifting session.  But instead I climbed on the treadmill for a 3.1 mile run that turned out to be one of the fastest runs that I've had in a long time.  I intentionally cranked up the speed (maybe as punishment for missing yesterday's workout) and really focused on staying more on the balls of my feet.  My gait felt a little strange at first, but eventually I settled into a comfortable stride.  That now has me thinking that my next lower mileage run, I might begin to experiment with minimalist/barefoot running.  Just like my daughter and her first 5K, maybe I need to remember what it was like to run as a kid.  I've been considering the minimalist running for some time now, but never wanted to become engaged with it during my marathon training.  So with no clear racing schedule ahead, this might be a good time to give it a try.  Regardless, today's workout made up for the lousy/loser feelings I had yesterday.

Gold member, Baby!

On a lighter note.  I was flipping through my iPhone pictures, after updating my phone's OS, and I found the screen shot of my congratulatory message from Starbucks after reaching the coveted Gold level!  You'll remember that I thought that I had forgotten to take a screenshot, but apparently that wasn't the case (refresher post here).  The picture was right there in my phone's camera roll the entire time, but didn't show up until after the update.  Guess I'll need to be careful about the kind of pictures of I'm taking.  Thanks for the confidence shaker, Apple.

But my Gold Card is on its way and, as the message says, will arrive in 6 to 8 weeks!  I'm on pins and needles just waiting. </sarcasm>  Until then, my mocha addiction had increased from a triple to a quad.  All things considered, I'm not sure that is a positive thing.

Running "Throo" The Zoo

Today was the 2012 Throo the Zoo 5K run/walk.  I ran this race last year and had a good time with it.  It is a fast course and travels "throo" the local zoo.  I had planned on my son and older daughter running it with me this year because it is a short, fun run.  My six year old daughter, however, nearly begged to run the course with her older sister and brother, and caving in like some pushover father, I signed up the entire house.

Now keep in mind that my youngest has never participated in any running events outside of school PE class.  This would be her first.  I honestly expected this "race" to last about 300 yards before it turned into a quality father-daughter stroll through the rest of the course.  Wrong!  With her older brother and sister running ahead (this being their third 5K they were of course now veteran runners) this kid turned it on and practically kept it on the entire 3.1 mile course.  And, as is a trait that is uniquely her own, she never stopped talking the entire way.  What follows are the excerpted highlights from my run with her.

Start
Madia:  "Are we going to win?"
Me: "Crossing the finish line is winning."
(About 10 seconds of quiet contemplation follows.  Believe me, for her, that is an eternity.) 

1/2 Mile
Madia:  "Are we almost finished?"
Me:  "No."
Madia:  "This is a long way."

WTH?  Is she running on air?

Mile 1
Her running jacket comes off and it suddenly becomes all business. The kid kicks it into high gear.

1.5 Miles
She spots a race photographer.

Madia:  "Is that the paparazzi?"
Me:  "Yes."
(Full minute of Madia singing Lady Gaga's Paparazzi)

Madia:  "I'm going to have a mansion and servants when I grow up."
Me:  "Good.  I'll live with you."

Mile 2
Madia:  "There are a lot of people running."
Me:  "Yes."
Madia:  "I don't think we're going to win.  Adults run really fast."
Me:  "Winning is making it to the finish line."
Madia:  "Do I get a medal when I finish?"
Me:  "No.  This is a small race.  No one gets a medal."
Madia:  "That's not very fair."

2.75 Miles
She can now hear the cheering of the crowds along the final stretch to the finish line.

Me:  "Do you hear the people cheering?"
Madia:  "Are they cheering for kids too?"
Me:  "Yes."
(The pace suddenly increases exponentially.)

Finish
Madia:  "Daddy, did we win?"
Me:  "Yes."

The race was left immediately in the past and her sole purpose turned toward finding a PowerBar.  She had one after meeting me at the finish line of other races and now she was determined that she had earned the right to have her own.  I couldn't contest that in the least.

Paparrazi!  Hard to believe, but not posed.

People make a big deal out of raising your children.  They write books about it, give seminars and lectures, conduct classes, and put "experts" on talk-shows to spew all the latest tips on rearing your progeny.  And while it certainly is a big deal, none of of that ivory tower crap can substitute for getting down in the trenches with your kids.

You do your best to prepare your children for the "real" world by giving them the basic tools to survive - an education, some street smarts, a little common sense experience, and hopefully a certain moral and ethical standard as a gauge.  You also try to ingrain in them habits that will serve them long after your direct influence is no longer an immediate factor (i.e. "If you don't -insert directive-, then you are going straight to bed!").  One of the ways you do this is by leading the way and serving as an example.  I can't say that when it has come to my family that I've always been very good at this; I've never had a good blueprint for it.  But it suddenly struck me today, as I was running alongside my daughter, that I was being given the rare opportunity to see it as it was happening: a little girl who found being fit and active, running a race with a few thousand other people, to be the most natural thing in the world.  I only hope that I can do as well with the rest of it...

No Plan Is No Good

What's worse than having a training plan and not following it?  Not having a plan at all.  As the saying goes, "Failing to plan is planning to fail," etc., etc., etc.

So the KDF Marathon came and went and with it the last major race on my calendar.  It isn't that I don't want to run another full or half marathon, it is that I simply just haven't targeted any particular race.  The NYC Marathon was a long-shot with the lotto system and Chicago has already filled up.  Nothing else is really tweaking my interest at the moment.  Which is perfectly fine.  I have had thoughts of this "off" period being utilized for training to improve my speed for shorter distance races, maybe getting into some trail running, or really cutting back on the distance running all together and turning my focus back to serious weight training.  In the week since the KDF I just really hadn't made a determination of what I wanted to do.  I did go on a three mile run on Wednesday, that felt really good.  There was some residual ache in my left hip after the run, but nothing lingering.  Considering that was only four days after the marathon, I was pretty impressed with my recovery.

Which brought me to Saturday.  I spent the night plagued by insomnia and musing over what my morning run should look like.  Without having decided on a specific goal, the possibilities that flashed through my sleep-less mind were plentiful.  Push for speed.  Play with time.  Just keep pushing distance.  I had also read this blogger's post on training on a treadmill at a 15% grade!  Sounds crazy, but I like crazy.  I also wondered how far or how hard I should really push after the marathon only a week behind me.  After all, I'm not getting any younger and my body will sometimes rebel just to drive that point home.

Thunderstorms covered the area the entire night and when the alarm clock finally went off I drug myself out of bed and headed off to the gym.  I still didn't have a plan, but I figured that I'd just "wing it".  I'm sometimes pretty good at that.  Not so much today.  I climbed on the treadmill and fired it up.  I'll spare you the boring details, but I played with speed and elevation (even trying out the 15% grade).  In a lot of ways I felt like I was just wasting time instead of achieving any specific objectives or providing myself with any benefits.  The end result was that I made it just over two miles - two agonizingly slow miles - and I then I simply decided to call it a day.

While I could blame lack of sleep, horrible nutrition (which is a chronic problem), or my body still recovering from the marathon (as some of my friends have suggested), the real problem seemed to be a lack of focus.  Without any specific goal in mind, and given that I was on a treadmill versus street running, the motivation just wasn't there for me.  The missing motivation was a workout killer.  Every since I began running I have always had a specific goal to my training; whether it was performing well on PT evaluations for work or preparing for the next race.  Without a specific training plan or goal I felt like I was just flopping around like a fish out of water.  Not that I was suffocating by any means, but that I found myself in an environment that I was just absolutely unfamiliar with - the No Goal environment.

The rest of this evening, then, will be spent analyzing and developing a plan to go forward.  Even if is is just a plan for maintaining my base, so that should I pick a good race in the next few months, the training won't be that daunting of a task.  Besides, I always perform much better when I have an objective to complete.  And I feel better about myself when I can check off the training log for the day.  It might be time to start eyeballing the race calendar as well.

It's important to have goals.  Which invariably means you have to have a plan for achieving said goals.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a healthy degree of spontaneity (some might say too much).  I just know that when it comes to my workouts or my running, that I get a lot more out of them when they are mission specific.  And when you line up at the start of any race (a metaphor for many things), haphazard training won't get you to the finish line.  You have to have a plan.  And as Hannibal Smith used to say, "I love it when a plan comes together."

A Marathon Sized Blog Post

Advance Warning

This post will most likely be very long.  I am able to make that prediction right from the very start because of the amount of crap that I have floating around in my head that is begging to be placed here for your reading pleasure.  So with no further ado...

Saturday was the 2012 Kentucky Derby Festival mini Marathon and Marathon.  What follows is a verbose recanting of my pre-race activities, my race report, and some emotional touchy feely stuff thrown in at the end for good measure.

Pre-race Stuff

Friday night I had a pre-race dinner with my friends from RunTheVille.  There were some familiar faces and some brand-new ones.  This is really a good group and the support, friendship, and camaraderie that the members show each other is phenomenal.  It is interesting to see a group of people from diverse backgrounds drawn together by one common interest.  At least a healthy one that is.  I'm sure the same statement could be made about an AA meeting.

Nothing classier than a little Walmart branding.

I went home that night and began laying out all of my race day junk: running clothes, post-run change of clothes, shoes, Bodyglide, etc.  I put the Garmin and the new JayBird Freedom headphones on their chargers and then headed off to bed for what amounted to about 5 semi-decent hours of sleep.  I had posted once before that I sleep like crap.  That fact still hasn't changed.  Although I did stop taking the OxyElite Pro three days before the race.  Early in my weekly reading I had stumbled across an article somewhere about a marathoner who had collapsed from heart failure at the finish line.  I took this as a sign and decided to knock off the thermogenic a few days before the race.  No sense in tempting Fate.  Not that I haven't given her a run for her money on many other occasions, but this time I wasn't feeling quite so lucky.

The iPhone alarm buzzed at 04:50.  I hit "snooze" a couple of times and finally drug myself out of bed, showered, ate a quick breakfast of toast, apple butter, and milk, and then went about getting my gear on and packing things into the car.  It did take me a few minutes to find my RoadID.  I hadn't placed it with the rest of my gear and I just knew that if I didn't find it today would be that one ironic time that I collapse in the middle of a run with no identification.  So RoadID securely on my wrist I finally made it out the door around 06:15.

In the car I was still feeling pretty blasé about the marathon.  This wasn't by any means arrogance, and certainly was not confidence, but rather a feeling that I was going to go out and push myself to do what needed to be done to get through 26.2 miles.  Nothing more, nothing less.  As I pulled out of the neighborhood I turned on the Sirius XM and was immediately treated to Richard Marx' "Should've Known Better."  I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I know that I did feel my testosterone drop about 10 points almost immediately.  The rest of the ride to downtown Louisville was uneventful.  I parked about a mile away from the finish line in the Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts parking garage.  A cherry of a choice that would come back to haunt me later.

I had e-mailed with an RTV friend and another group of marathoners who were meeting in front of the KFC Yum! Center at 06:00.  I knew there was no-way those folks would still be around, and I certainly didn't see them as I made my way to the starting corrals.  The race had sold out at 18,000 people and just after passing the starting line, maneuvering through the crowd became nearly impossible.  The event organizers had placed the gear check on the same street that the race was starting from.  I didn't find this to be very logistically sound.  As I shuffled through the throngs of people, I began to pay attention to the bibs that everyone was wearing.  The half marathon participants all had green race bibs, and the marathon runners had grey bibs.  So as I made my way through a sea of green bibs, I began to feel very smug about the fact that I was running the full marathon.  "Yep, I'm a tough guy.  Got my grey bib right here to prove it."  "Hey, how you doin'?  I'm running 26.2 miles today."  "Why, yes, I am wearing a grey bib.  It is pretty bad ass."

After squeezing through the gear check crowds I heard someone calling my name.  I turned to find an old friend that I had gone through the academy with.  His wife was running the marathon and he and his kids were there to support her.  We spent several minutes catching up on where we were in our careers and who from the old days was doing what.  So after embracing him, I set off to find my corral.  Some of the RTV members had said they were meeting at the Paul Hornung statue outside of Louisville Slugger Field.  I found myself at the PeeWee Reece statue completely on the other side of the building.  Funny thing about being a guy who doesn't really care about sports -  all those names and statues look alike.  Amazingly enough, they must look the same to other runners too because I found all of the RTV members, minus one, at the PeeWee Reese statue.  The other guys and girls were running the half marathon; some their first ever.  I was the only one running the full.  Okay, I have to be honest at this point.  I lied earlier about feeling smug.  Instead what I really felt was a little isolated and alienated; although not necessarily in a bad way.  However, with my friends that feeling now was tinged with a bit of sadness.  I really don't have an explanation for that, except that in a crowd of thousands I was once again trudging off alone to face down 26.2 miles.

I purposefully placed myself in a corral behind the one on my bib.  I was planning on starting out slowly and I felt like this was the most effective way of making sure I wasn't in the way of other runners as I did so.  I hate showing up to a race and spending the first two miles bobbing and weaving through slower runners or speed walkers who have decided to jump right up front.  I spotted Corey Queen from Fatherverse in the crowd.  Couldn't miss Corey because of his Superman shirt.  I took a moment and introduced myself because we follow each other on Twitter but have never formally met.  We talked briefly before the race started.  Corey has the heart and determination the size of a mountain and it was energizing to talk to him before the start.

I never heard the starting gun, whether because of the size of the crowd or the distance from the actual starting line.  As the crowd began to move forward I started the music on my iPhone, turned on my JF3s and put them in my ears, and then started the Runmeter app on my phone before depositing it securely back into my armband.  Due to the sheer number of people it would be nearly 15 minutes before I actually made it to the starting line.

The Actual Race

"Race" might actually be a bit of an over-statement.  I was there to run a marathon but I sure as hell wasn't "racing" anybody.  My training had been lackluster from the start and my heart hadn't really been in it to begin with.  I knew starting out that somewhere later in the day this was going to become a test of mental perseverance and I had no illusions about that at all.  To complete the mission (and make up for my crappy quality of training) I was going to have to be smart about how I went about this.  I crossed the starting line, hit the start button on my Garmin and off I went.

I started out my race loaded down with chews, gels, and Gatorade.  I had this great fueling plan that I had all worked out in my head.  I wasn't dodging runners or walkers and I stayed pretty consistent with a slow and steady pace.  Around mile 3 I remember thinking that I had several more hours to go and feeling that detached, disinterested feeling again. At 4.5 miles in it began to rain.  That lasted about five minutes or so and I could see the edge of the cloud so I knew it wouldn't last long.  Despite the numb feeling that I was having, I was enjoying the scenery, the cheering crowds, the runners themselves.  So much so, that when I made the turn onto Central Avenue and started for Churchill Downs, I realized that I hadn't had a gel, a chew, or any fluid for the last 8 miles.  It was then that I made myself slow down, just inside the Downs and popped in a few chews and drank some Gatorade.  I began to berate myself for being too much in my own head and getting off track with my fueling plan.  I hoped that I hadn't compromised myself and resumed the run.

At the split, I started laughing when another marathoner began calling out, "Where are you going?!" to the half-marathoners as we made the turn South.  After running with so many people for the first 9 miles the street after the split felt nearly deserted.  The run down Southern Parkway was uneventful and I had to remind myself to keep fueling, but at Iroquois Park the strategy changed.  We were nearly half-way and faced with the first real climb of the marathon.  I wasn't going to be a hero at this point, as I had in the past, and power my way through those hills.  I knew doing so was a recipe for disaster on the second half of the run.  So I alternated between speed walking the climbs and running the descents.  Nothing significant to note in the roughly three miles through the park, except for someone dressed in a scary white Pegasus costume, giving high-fives at the bottom of the final hill.  That I intentionally avoided because it just seemed creepy.

The long run down back down Southern Parkway and 3rd Street was monotonous.  The crowd along the roadway had thinned considerably and there were few runners near me.  I fell in with people with whom I traded roles as "the rabbit" for several miles.  Eventually those same people either faded into the back or surged ahead out of sight and were replaced by others.   By mile 17 I was committed to walking the water stations, which I did to refill my hydration bottles.  It was also at this time that I started to be concerned about time, but then I remembered the admonition of a friend at the dinner the night before.  "Don't worry about anything.  Just get out there and enjoy it," he had said.  I was able to relax a little after that.

Just after the turn onto Breckenridge, and just before mile 21, I began having pain in the front of my left hip, but it felt deep; as though someone was driving a blade straight into my joint with every step.  I continued to push through because I had enough experience on training runs to know that oftentimes those pains will simply pass if I work through them.  It was also about this time that I started wondering just what the hell it was that I was doing and why I was doing it.  What was I trying to prove?  Who was I trying to prove it to?  If it was about being able to clear this distance, I had done that in January.  If it was about being a tough guy, I had a laundry list of accomplishments that had that macho crap stamped all over it.  Would I ever even consider doing this again?  What would the point of that be?  You see, the funny thing about being out there by yourself for this amount of time, pushing yourself through this level of exertion, is that you sometimes get so deep inside your own head that your thoughts begin going places that they otherwise would not go.  You become beset by your own inner demons.  Some, such as Self-Doubt, you have most likely met before.  Others, with no logical association to the challenge before you, decide to show up and crash the party.  It is certainly at this point that it becomes mental.  For the lone runner, it is here that you discover the limits of your mental toughness and the strength of your will.

At the next water station I bypassed the volunteers and went straight to the table to refill my hydration bottles.  I then headed toward mile 22 and Barrett Street where I spotted some very enthusiastic friends from RTV.  It really lifted my spirits to see them and after a frantic stop and some sweaty hugs I was rolling once again.  My renewed vigor didn't last long as I came to what is quaintly referred to as Mount Barrett, a very steep climb to reach mile 23.  I tackled the climb for a full 10 feet before I realized it was a futile effort and I walked to the crest.  The pain in my left hip had switched to my right as I made my way toward Baxter Avenue.  The run down Baxter Avenue was small rolling hills with a few bars along the route with patrons (some intoxicated) looking on from the their chairs or standing on the roadside.  The feeling from the crowd along this route was much different than the rest of the race course.  There was something more subdued and less enthusiastic about it.  It was at this point that I felt like an animal on display and it was an extremely uneasy feeling that caused me to push harder ahead.

At mile 25 medical crews were handing out cups of ice.  I took one and crunched on it as I moved along.  Shortly thereafter the low battery tones started sounding in my headphones.  Just before mile 26 they were dead.  So much for the advertised 6 hour charge time.  I tossed them in my belt and kept moving.  It was on Main Street approaching mile 26 that I found the 5:30 pacers.  I couldn't even recall them having passed me, which was mildly disturbing considering how few runners there seemed to be on the marathon course.  I knew I wanted to beat 5:30 so I turned it on to move past them.

The turn for the home stretch and the finish line found the runners spaced out enough that I was virtually running alone down the strip toward the finish.  It was then that over the blaring music they announced my name to the crowd, who promptly erupted in thunderous applause and cheers.  This carried me all the way to the finish.  Over 26.2 miles and it came down to this one moment.  The doubt, the pain, the hordes of mental demons - all forgotten in the sound of faceless voices celebrating what I had done.  For one single, shining moment I was a rock star.  And with the click of the Garmin button, it was over.

Reality Check

A shiny hunk of metal.

After having crossed the finish line, I noticed that the race organizers had moved everything further back from the finish line.  Last year's race had everyone bunching up just after the finish to receive your medal, and pick up some recovery snacks.  This year, after crossing the line, I wasn't even sure there were medals left.  I limped to the point several yards away where the volunteers were putting the medals on the runners.  Medal hanging around my chest, I made my way to the area where the bananas and Powerade were.  I wanted nothing more than to find some place to sit.  The pain in my left hip had returned so severely that I almost laid down on the ground where I was, but I knew I had to keep standing.  Laying down might mean not getting up.

My family and friends hadn't been able to come to the race, and watching the other runners excitedly reunite with their loved ones I was struck by a certain degree of disappointment.  My rock star moment was something that they hadn't shared.  I also knew that no matter how I tried to explain to them what had happened on this day - on the run and in the last few moments before crossing the finish - they would never fully appreciate the gravity of it.  I have used the title 'One Man Running' since I began running for a variety of reasons.  Standing there on the other side of the finish line among all the other finishers, silk ribbon and hunk of metal securely around my neck, I was reminded of one of those reasons.

Pulling myself out of momentary self-pity I stumbled back toward the finish line.  Corey still hadn't come in and just prior to the start he had made a comment about meeting him at the finish line.  So I stood there and waited.  Even though I knew Corey would have family waiting for him, it is something all together different when someone that has just suffered through the same pain is there to greet you at the end.  I didn't wait long and Corey came through the finish in true superhero fashion with his daughter running beside him (you can read Corey's story and see a video clip here).

After welcoming Corey back in from the road I decided to head back to the car.  My earlier decision to park a mile away now my next, and hopefully final, challenge of the day to face.  It took a minute to find my way out of the fenced off enclosure around the "Fest-A-Ville".  Not only did I feel like an animal again, but an angry, injured one.  So after making my way back to the street I literally limped/shuffled the mile back to the car.  I had the sensation that something was missing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what.

Post-race Thoughts

I had some residual soreness, especially in my left hip, after the race, but nothing like I would have expected.  I popped a few Advil and had a professional massage on Sunday where I discovered that my calves were a little more tender than I thought.  Overall, however, I felt pretty good and continue to do so.  So now I'm simply trying to determine what comes next.

And it finally occurred to me what it was that was missing that day that I limped my way back to the car.  In January, after running 26.2 miles, I was overcome by the dreaded "marathon blues"; a complete loss of interest in running.  This time, however, was different.  Not only did I not have that feeling, but I actually was ready to run again by Monday.  Perhaps not marathon distance, but ready none-the-less.  Quite honestly I'm a little surprised at both my physical rebound as well as my mental/emotional recovery.  I'm in a good place.  I just need to figure out how to make the most of it.

So there you have it.  Way more information than you probably wanted or was even interested in.  I should take a poll to see how many people just quit reading after a certain point.  I do promise you though no matter how painful it may have been, it was much more exhausting to write.  I'll do my best to treat my race reports with more brevity in the future; although I can make no promises there.  So until next time, I remain one man...running.

Exhaustion and Irritation

Exhaustion and irritation go hand-in-hand.  When one first shows up it is almost guaranteed that the other will not be far behind.  Sometimes they walk in together like the proverbial bull in a china shop.  Other times they sneak in quietly like a team of malicious ninja.  And yes "ninja" is the proper plural form of, well, "ninja".

The point is, I've been trying for two f'ing days to write about my experience at the Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon.  What I've written has become more of a damned chronicle than a blog post, but as I try to formulate my thoughts, do some editing, or get out everything that is swirling inside of my head regarding the race, something or someone jumps in to completely disrupt my work.  By the end of the day I am so completely burned out from the demands that have been systematically made of me that I don't have anything else left for me.

And speaking of work, going back on the job today didn't help things either.  Everything is piled up and the case files just keep coming.  And there is no support.  Guys who aren't in specialized units think that those of us who get to wear the cool pants are golden boys who have it made.  But at the end of the day they get to tune out, turn off and go home to their families.  While we get to go home and sleep next to a phone that we pray doesn't ring, but invariably does.  What's more, if it isn't the bastards in one place coming to me for their own selfish needs, then it is the emotional terrorists in other places who threaten to make your life a living hell because you aren't behaving the way that they have scripted.

Not a single person who surrounds me understands what happened this weekend.  They see the medal and they comment nicely on it, but they don't really, truly appreciate it.  They can't.  They didn't suffer through the mileage during long, isolated hours of training runs.  They didn't push themselves to the point of pain and beyond.  They have no idea what kind of mental and emotional hurdles that you have to clear just to be able to commit to putting yourself through that kind of trial.  Only the ones who have can and they are very few and far between.

Likewise, the marathon and my job are very much alike.  Unless you have done it, you can't understand what it takes to do it or the satisfaction that comes from having done it.  Nor can you appreciate the things that it also takes from you.  But that is the nature of both beasts.  They compliment, drive, feed, and help balance the other.  Like exhaustion and irritation, running and my career go hand-in-hand.

Marathons and the Quest For Gold

On Wednesday, April 25th, the ING NYC Marathon selected the names of the non-guaranteed entrants for the 2012 marathon.  I have never ran the NYC Marathon and decided to put my name in the hat on the odd chance that I might be selected as a first time applicant.  In true lottery fashion I also paid an $11 non-refundable "application fee".  I did this on the first day registration opened in January.  So I have waited patiently for four months to learn my fate.  The NY Road Runners made a huge promotion of how the runners would be selected during a 30 minute kick off event broadcast live on the web on April 25th.

So on Wednesday I settled quite comfortably down in front of my computer and browsed on over to the nyrr.org website.  After several long minutes of refreshing my browser (because apparently the website wasn't prepared for the amount of traffic they encountered and crashed) I finally was able to bring up the webcast.  I won't even go into how unorganized, un-"eventful", or horribly done the entire production was.  Suffice it is to say that it was 30 minutes of my life that I will never get back.  And to top it all off, they did not display the names of those selected or provide any information that would lead you to a link for searchable information, etc.  The whole thing felt like a sham.  Too bad for one of the largest marathons in the world.  You would think they would have this down by now.  It was finally announced (through Twitter channels no less) that credit card processing was taking place and that it could take until 10:00 AM the following day before anyone would have confirmation.  Following the advice of some friends, I logged into the profile I had created on the NYRR site.  There it was in glowing pixels on my screen - Marathon registration status: Not accepted.  Bummer.

I used to wonder what this dude was screaming about.  Now I know he is screaming in frustration.

They were kind enough to send me a "sorry about your luck" e-mail on Thursday at 9:11 PM.  I appreciated the prompt notification of my rejection (sarcasm).  I've had non-confrontational, passive-aggressive girlfriends who have been quicker and more direct with rejection than these guys.  Epic fail, fellas.  Reallly.

On a more positive note, I have been quietly, steadily pursuing my Gold Level membership with Starbucks.  Since December of 2011, when I loaded the very cool Starbucks app onto my iPhone, I have been striving for that elite level.  On Tuesday evening I was presented with this bit o' news when I drove up for a evening triple espresso:

Holy Crap!  Almost there!

So, as of Wednesday morning I am now officially a Gold Member.  Take that any way you'd like.  I should have snapped a screen shot of my "congratulations, you're an addicted sucker" notification, but I was too busy bouncing off the walls on my caffeine high.  But if anything positive came out of Wednesday, it was my successful attainment of an empty, meaningless goal; one that represents an average investment of $150 over the course of the last 30 visits to Starbucks for coffee that I most probably could have made at home for a fraction of the cost.  But then, I wouldn't get the cool designer cup and cardboard sleeve thing.

Tomorrow is the KDF Marathon.  I have already laid my gear out and the Garmin is charging up.  Considering that I am going to be out of bed at some ridiculous hour in the morning, I really should go to bed.  Big day tomorrow.  Wish I had a more positive feeling about it, but I'm really kind of numb at this point.  Perhaps I'll feel differently once I'm in the middle of the chaos at the start line tomorrow.  We shall see.

Naked As A Jaybird

I haven't been sleeping well lately; or sometimes not at all.  Not that this is any surprise or even unusual.  I don't think that I've ever slept well.  Could be the allergies.  Could be the stress of the job.  Could be the 5 trillion milligrams of caffeine that is in the OxyElite Pro that I've started taking again.  But that is a whole other post for another time.

5 trillion milligrams is 2,204,622.622 lbs or 1,000 tons.  That is a lot of caffeine.

Regardless, my insomnia has had some benefits; namely being able to research running gear in privacy while the rest of the house sleeps.  I don't care what they say, silence is golden.

With the KDF Marathon rushing toward me, and a bit of doubt having wormed its way into my head, I began brainstorming ways of making my run more comfortable.  Awesome Under Armour running shorts: check.  Balega socks: check.  Brooks Addiction 10s: check (which incidentally have become much more comfortable since the 20 miler I ran wearing them for the first time).  Bodyglide: Check.  Hydration and fuel: um, yeah.  The hydration belt.  That could use some tweaking.

On long runs I carry a lot of gear.  A lot of gear.  In addition to the four eight ounce bottles of liquid on my Amphipod Runlite 4 hydration belt (I love my Amphipod belt), I also carry my gels, my chews, my iPhone, and my handgun.  Yes, I said handgun.  All of those items combined add an extra four to five pounds to my waist.  That may not seem like a lot, but over distance it can become a nuisance; the weight of the belt slipping down my hips as I run.  Plus I often place the headphone wire from my iPhone under my shirt so that it isn't in the way of swinging arms, etc.  There is a comfort issue there as well, as the wire eventually becomes sweaty and begins to pull and twist and seemingly take on a life of its own.  There have been times when I'm certain that the iPhone has come alive and has attempted to strangle me by wrapping the headphone wire around my neck.  Stupid Skynet.  Anyway, I've also been through three or four pair of Apple headphones because they do not hold up well with sweat.  So with hours of quiet time, I turned to the internet to begin solving my gear issue.

Winner!  Armpocket Aero i-10!

Two very important lessons that I have learned in my lifetime have been 1) travel light and 2) load balance.  Those two things have serious relevance when related to running.  My primary concern was getting what weight that I could off of the belt, and so I turned my focus first toward the iPhone.  The most logical choice was an armband, but which one?  The trick was to find one that would support the phone without taking it out of the Otterbox Defender case that is protecting it (have I mentioned that I'm seriously hard on gear?).  I also needed something that wasn't going to slide down my arm.  I'll spare you the long boring details of my search but I settled on the Armpocket.  Although I had my sights set on the Sport i-20 with its "20 cubic inches of storage capacity", it took a physical trip to Best Buy (two days later) to test the actual product before I realized that the Armpocket Aero i-10 was perfect.  I mean perfect!  As though the Aero had been designed around the iPhone 4s in a Defender case.  The Sport wouldn't even zip closed with the iPhone inside, but the shape of the Aero pocket matched the Defender case perfectly and it zipped right up.

Now that the iPhone issue had been addressed, what to do about that pesky headphone wire?  Again, more research on the net.  The obvious solution was going to be some-type of wireless Bluetooth contraption.  Lots of choices and tons of reviews, but I had specific requirements.  They had to be light, practical, and had to stand up to sweat.  Lots and lots of sweat.  Finally, on a whim, I searched for "triathlon" and "bluetooth".  What I found was JayBird Gear Freedom JF3 Bluetooth Headphones.  "Official Training Headphones of USA Triathlon".  The JayBird website promised that I could "completely forget about" my headphones.  "Shakeproof" and "sweat proof'ed to the extreme".  So far so good.  I'm all about things "to the extreme".  I started digging for reviews; all of which were very positive.  But it was the following video that sold me.

I ordered my pair of JF3s with overnight shipping.  They arrive today.

I tested the Armpocket on yesterday's morning run (along with my new Nike Dri-fit Miler Singlet).  It (they) performed like a champ.  Combined with the JF3s, some of my hydration belt/irritating wire issues should be solved.  There is still the matter of the handgun, but I really don't think that running in my tactical dropleg thigh rig is going to be an option.  Oh, well.  Some improvement is better than none.

Perhaps I really am compensating for that sliver of doubt with new gear purchases.  But the truth is, when facing down that 26.2 miles, none of that is really going to matter.  It will come down to heart and drive.  Cool armbands, fancy headphones, and evenly distributed gear absolutely won't carry you through the distance.  Only determination will do that.  And I have plenty of it...and fancy new headphones now too.

Keep Up Or Fall Off

Through a series of procrastinations, I have thrown my scheduled training days off.  This of course is no one's fault but my own.  I completely skipped yesterday's four miler, and can not even remember how it was that I went about justifying it to myself at the time.  I do remember that it was elaborate and, at the time, made absolute sense.  It had something to do with getting up at an ungodly hour and getting the run in.  In all fairness to myself, I was feeling exhausted and after coming home from work, went straight to bed and stayed there.

So with the foggy remnants of my justification still lingering in my head, I pulled myself out of bed at that unholy hour this morning and made my way to work, changed in the office, and headed up to the gym.  I've grown less fond of treadmills than I once used to be.  However, I believe that they do have their place.  I once told a friend that the treadmill was a good tool for forcing yourself to maintain pace.  "Keep up or fall off," I had quipped.  I climbed aboard the treadmill and fired it up.  No warm ups.  No preamble.  No sissy stretching.  Just the way I like things: climb in and hang on.

From the start I noticed two things missing: the pain in my knee and the pain in my abs.  Bonus.  So hoping that it wasn't simply a fluke, I gradually increased the pace.  The first few minutes were what I was expecting: calves and feet started their usual cramping/tightening act.  That normally hangs on until around mile two, then disappears.  Today was no different.  You would think that my body would have learned by now and would just give up on that gag.  I haven't fallen for it yet.  Around two and a half miles I decided to crank up the speed a little to get a better rhythm going and to push myself.  Amazingly enough nothing flew apart and I actually felt stronger.  So I cranked it up some more.  And some more.  And once again, just for good measure.  At this point I am flying.  How fast?  No idea.  I always keep the digital display of the treadmill covered to prevent distraction from all the data: pace, time, distance, speed, etc.  Plus I am seemingly always plagued by the nagging question of why it seems to take twice as long to run around the little virtual 1/4 mile track on the display than it does on an actual one.  I have as of yet to review my Garmin data (calibrated to my foot pod - yes, I'm a techno geek too), because I anticipate a harsh slap of reality and I'd rather hang on to the "damn I am fast" feeling for a while longer.

The point is, that the faster I ran the stronger I felt.  That is odd enough, but I'll take it.  Especially considering Sunday's horrible run, I really needed today's boost.  So maybe Sunday I was just fighting exhaustion.  Maybe it really was the heat.  Or perhaps even the time of day - I always seem to do better with early morning runs.  Regardless, the run was redeeming.  Now I just need to figure out how to get back on schedule, keep today's positive momentum going, and hope that the next several days are as equally redemptive.

Keep up or fall off.

Doubt

"The true measure of a runner isn't in time, but rather in the effort it took along the way." - Coach Jenny Hadfield, Ask Coach Jenny blog, Runner's World.com

The Kentucky Derby Marathon is a mere thirteen days away.  As I taper I have seven running days left; the longest of which is an eight miler the week before the marathon.  My training has been crap.  My heart just hasn't been in it and my runs have reflected that.  Aside from all of the normal day-to-day road blocks that have thrown themselves in front of my scheduled runs, I have also had to contend with my personal lack of motivation.  I have always been my own greatest enemy, and the last 14 weeks that bastard has been working overtime.

Yesterday's long run was the beginning of my taper: a scheduled 12 miles.  It was also another blow to my confidence for the KDF.  I woke up late and, feeling completely drained, battled with myself for hours over getting out and starting the run.  I finally forced myself out the door and to the park to begin my run around 1:30 P.M.  Temperatures were already in the 80's.  With only a few gels and nothing but water in my hydration belt, I had a sinking feeling that things weren't going to go well from the start.  With the first few steps I could already feel the pain in my knee and the stabbing pain of my strained lower abdominal.  But I came to run and I struggled through the first two miles, hoping that my body would loosen up and I could find my rhythm.  By mile three I realized that wasn't going to happen.  My legs felt like they were made of lead.  By mile four I knew that I was in trouble.  12 miles ended at 7.5.  I could have "slogged" through the other 4.5 miles, but I knew that I was risking injury if I did.  This was one time that I actually chose to listen to my body instead of pushing myself based on the belief that I somehow wasn't living up to my self-perceived tough guy image.

Logically I know, that as runners, we have good runs, bad runs, and runs that land somewhere in-between.  Yesterday's run was a shining example of a bad, bad run; one that, mentally, I didn't need to have with less than two weeks to go before the marathon.  I could look to a variety of causes for the horrible performance or try to assign blame to things such as temperature, nutrition (or lack thereof - I hadn't eaten before setting out), or a vengeful god who thought that a consistent head wind was a pretty funny way of getting back at me for the thousand or so heresies that I'm sure I've committed this week alone.  Regardless, it was the equivalent of a painful punch to the arm of my confidence.

Marathon training isn't something to be taken lightly.  I have a friend who says, quite bluntly, that you can't half-ass marathon training.  There is some truth to that.  The mental and emotional forging is also something that absolutely can not be ignored.  For those, like myself, who train solo, the hours spent alone during training runs bring you face-to-face with demons that you could never have anticipated, or perhaps would never have otherwise known.  As Corey Queen very poignantly observes in his blog Fatherverse, "...this is when you feel most alone amongst everyone you know, because no one else is going through this..."  [You can read the entirety of Corey's post concerning his own marathon training here.]  Those who have not properly prepared for the physical and mental challenge are most certainly setting themselves up for potentially catastrophic failure.

And so a sliver of doubt has embedded itself in the back of my mind.  Mentally I have faced trials that outweigh marathons.  The will - the fortitude - to push myself to my limits and beyond exist without question.  What is lacking is my desire, and the lack of confidence in my physical preparation gives me pause.  One too many weekly runs missed.  Too many long training runs that just lacked a solid feel.  Aches and pains, that in other times would seem negligible, threaten to become difficult to ignore. These are things that only those who have pushed the distance can understand.  Come marathon day, I will need to have made peace with all of these things; putting faith in what training I have done since January's 26.2 will be enough to carry me through.  It will have to be.  Because in my tough guy world there is no such thing as Did Not Finish.

When Physical Therapy Isn't

In 2006 I had my knee severely injured during combatives training.  I'll spare you the details, but the anterior cruciate ligament was completely torn, both menisci were torn, and the end of my femur was chipped.  I underwent surgery less than a week after the injury, which included complete reconstruction of the ACL using cadaver tissue (double bundle method), repair of both menisci, and a graft to my femur.  The injury itself and the recovery process rate right up there with the most difficult things that I have ever had to face.  The specter of never again being able to do all of the high speed, low drag things that had always been a part of my life loomed large in front of me.  For someone who prizes himself as a man-of-action, this was a terrifying prospect.

I was fortunate enough to have an extraordinary orthopedic surgeon, as well as a group of athletics oriented physical therapists who guided me through months and months of hard work.  And when I say hard work, I mean painfully hard work.  The muscles of my leg had atrophied.  Gaining full range of motion was excruciatingly slow (emphasis on excruciating), and any attempt to do more than a fast walk felt like someone driving a spike into the end of my femur.  My full rehabilitation lasted for over a year, but I'm a stubborn sonvabitch.  In the end, I re-gained most of my strength, range of motion, and ability to run.  It should be noted that even before the injury, I was in no way, shape, or form a "runner".  I struggled with running in any context and only did what was absolutely necessary to prepare for, and survive, PT tests for my career.  Never-the-less, my evolution as a distance runner would never have been possible without the skill and guidance of the doctor and the physical therapy crew.

After the One Man Running Marathon on January 6th of this year, I was immediately stricken by what some refer to as the "marathon blues"; the desire to run (any distance) was just gone.  I took just over 7 weeks off from any serious running, during which time I may have ran 10 times - the longest of which was 4 miles.  At the end of February I realized that I needed to jump back into training mode if I were going to make the Spring Triple Crown Races or have any chance of finishing the Kentucky Derby Marathon.  So, like the bone-headed tough guy that I am, I went out for a nice 13.1 mile run.  The shock to my body was not pleasant and my joints, especially my knee took a beating.  During that run I had also rolled my ankle - that didn't seem serious at the time - but translated into knee pain later.  The pain has lasted ever since.

Fearing that I had re-injured the soft tissues of my knee, I went back to see the same surgeon who had put me back together originally.  He assured me, much to my relief, that it was simply an over-use inflammation of the joint (did I mention I hadn't stopped training during this time?) and that it was most likely the result of stress brought on by a slight limit in the range of motion of my ankle.  He prescribed me Pennsaid to rub into the joint and sent me for physical therapy with a group that was different from the ones that I had last visited 5 years ago.

The visit with the new PT started out well enough.  The office was crowded and very busy, but I was encouraged early on by seeing one of the PTs that I had worked with five years ago at this new location.  We shook hands, embraced, and after a quick catch up he remarked how far I had come in the last five years (I'm telling you, it wasn't pretty).  The PT that I was to meet with that day was a runner and after some investigative questioning he spent a decent amount of time evaluating me; everything from the strength of my extremities, to my walking gate, my posture, my balance, etc.  The final conclusion was Patellofemoral Stress Syndrome as a result of weak hip muscles.  Not surprisingly on the same side as the knee on which I had surgery.  He recommended a series of stretches and strengthening exercises and took me out to the floor to begin with the promise that he would straighten me out so that I would have a good marathon day at the KDF.

After a 10 minute warm-up on the stationary bike, I was led through four stretches for the hamstrings and glutes.  Nothing too strenuous.  The exercises for increasing the strength in my hips, however, demonstrated just how weak they actually were.  I used both machines and a Thera-Band to really punish my hips and glutes.  While the exercises were explained to me with a brief demonstration, once I began working the technique the PT was off to manage another client.  Only when I was finished with the prescribed number of sets and reps would the PT return, only to quickly demonstrate another exercise and then be off again.  Now, I'm absolutely not someone who needs a baby-sitter, and I've spent more time inside gyms than some of the younger PTs there have been alive.  But I felt like that my health insurance was paying a healthy price for what essentially amounted to personal training.  Any good personal trainer would stick with their client to make sure that each set and each rep is done in a manner that doesn't promote injury due to fatigue, bad form, etc.  The same obviously doesn't apply to the physical therapist - patient relationship.  It also wasn't the same quality of care/personal attention that I had received all those years before.

The real kicker came when I was informed that I needed to strengthen my core.  Placed in a plank position, my feet were hoisted into bands so that my body was semi suspended.  I then did hip raises, which amounted to the equivalent of of an inverted v-up.  I like to think that I have decent core strength, but this was something new and I could really feel the strain in my lower abdomen.  Once multiple sets of these were complete, I was then told to hold the plank position and rotate my midsection from side to side for multiple reps and sets.  When all was said and done I had the same soreness that you might experience from muscle fatigue after a good gym workout.  I was told to use the stretches I had been shown daily and to come back two days later.  The PT wanted to see me two days a week prior to marathon day.  This is where the doubt started to set in.  Something was buzzing in the back of my head and I was uncomfortable, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

As it turns out, I strained my lower abdominal muscles.  To an extent that they were tender to the touch for days afterwards.  This has impacted my running over the course of the last week as well.  This wasn't residual soreness - this was a strain.  Obviously my own fault since I really am stubborn, still think I'm 25, and push myself 100% in everything.  I just over-did it.  But there was also an absence of the PT to monitor me as I went through each exercise.  With the marathon looming less than two weeks in the distance, this was no time for an injury.  What's more, this didn't feel like physical therapy.  This felt like a poorly managed personal training session.  One that I'm paying for now in more ways than one.  So I have elected to not return.  I received the diagnosis I needed.  I understand what needs to be done to correct the problem, and I don't need to bill my insurer for what I can do at home or in my own gym (as the PT was kind enough to provide me with a Thera-Band before I left the office.  God knows what that cost!).

My view of physical therapy was shaped by the attention and results that I achieved those years ago when I went through hell with my knee.  It was a rehabilitating, strengthening, and healing process that entailed personal attention and an obvious interest in my progress.  My recent experience ended up feeling impersonal and almost assembly line like; with the end result of me being less stable (or well) than before I went in.  What is even more disturbing is the number of young physical therapists who are employed there (their PT certificates on the wall less than a year or two old) who appeared to be regarding their jobs with the manner of a juice-gym desk attendant whose interest in how they look is somehow an equitable part of the equation.  The more experienced guys, like the PT I met with this day and the one with whom I had worked those years ago, simply seemed pulled in a hundred different directions.  The "therapeutic" piece seems to have been lost somewhere in the mix.

So for my trouble at least I am now armed with the information I need regarding what is causing my knee pain, and I also have a direction in which to go to resolve it.  I'll also be quickly rehabbing my strained abs prior to marathon day.  And I'll be doing it on my own.  Because in the end, it all comes down to just me anyway - one man...running.