Top Ten: Things That Don't Make You A Runner

Let's face it, a lot of runners are cocky, arrogant or elitist. Running is competitive, it comes with the territory. There is a lot of literature out there on what makes someone a runner: "You know you're a runner if..." Sure completing your first half marathon could be your defining moment, the moment you knew you were a runner. But what do us long time running elitist snobs think?

Subtly I have picked up on some traits that definitely don't make you a runner. I am not about to rant about mile times and mileage volume.  Running is one of the few sports easily shared by athletes of different ability levels.  No I am talking about running culture.

Top Ten Things That Don't Make You A Runner

1- Runs are measured not in distance or time but in calories burned.
You have confused the activity of running with Weight Watchers or 12 Minute Abs.

2- The fuel belt is a daily running accessory.
You wore a fanny pack in middle school gym class, didn't you?

3- Running in shorts that are baggy or knee length are comfortable.
You also tried out for the high school swim team in cut offs and a pair of 'water shoes'.

4- The tech shirt from the race expo was so fashionable you raced in it.
This isn't the NBA draft.  We don't walk around and give interviews in our new gear.

5- You paid for coaching.
You paid for sex.

6- Runner's World is a worthy source of training and racing tips for you.
It's great that you built a bicycle from erector sets and an old tricycle manual but I don't want to ride it.

7- There is a 13.1 or 26.2 bumper sticker on your car.
Tramp stamps and teardrops.

8- The name Steve Prefontaine escapes you.
This is like telling a rock cover band about Kurt Cobain.

9- You were pleasantly surprised when the 5 kilometer road race ended shortly after mile three.
If your next thought is marathon I strongly suggest consulting a distance calculator.

10- You have been caught egregiously self seating at road races.
Your fifteen seconds of running fame: Look ma I'm on tv!  I'm the one wearing basketball shorts and a fuel belt sprinting ahead of the Kenyan.

Maine Marathon & Half Marathon: A 'Shitty' Race

Endurance sports are frustrating.  Performance benchmarks and achievements make the results of endurance competitions indisputable, exact and pure (assuming no performance enhancing drugs). Consider two questions.  Who was the better player in their prime, Michael Jordan or Lebron James?  Who was the better high school runner Steven Prefontaine or Allen Webb?  Unlike the argument that might ensue over question one, question two can be answered and quantified fairly accurately with track times.  Exactness is great, it doesn't lie but it also means every time you go to race, you know exactly where you stack up to that of your competition and maybe more importantly, to your own past performances.

To this point I had ran a personal best every time I had raced the half marathon.  This was my fifth attempt at the distance.  Despite my inconsistent workouts, increased weekly mileage volume and a course change that added several formidable hills I was positive going in.

The writing is on the wall, the shit hit the fan... not really sure how best to articulate this except being blunt about it.  If you have the shits during your warm up and BEFORE the race, it probably isn't going to be the best day.  Two miles in it was my legs that were feeling like a pile of shit.

I was wrong when I judged all the competition to be in the marathon.  In fact the half had a nice field up front including:  Marube (1st), McCarthy (3rd), Bunker (4th) and of course, the rando outta state dude no one knows who shows up on whim(2nd)!  At about four miles I realized it was going to be a long day when I found myself running side by side with the marathon leader and eventually winner, a man that needs no introduction but will get one just the same, the golden boy of Maine running, the founder of the fast food challenge, a guy that leaves no wounded soldiers or burgers, Bob Rob Gomez.

One of the highlights of my 'race' was probably the two miles I ran with Rob.  We talked a bit, as the half marathon turn around came into view I gave him a good luck COUNT IT fist bump.  Then he let me put down an unanswered surge so I could keep some pride and reach the half marathon turnaround before him. (See Rob's blog for details of his marathon victory!)

Running alone, my pace slowed.  Everyone behind me was now passing on the other side yelling and cheering as they went.  For the first time I began to pay attention to a nagging feeling I had had for the last couple miles.  The urge to take a shit.

Just as I was feeling super ass sorry for myself Chris Harmon darted out of the crowd and joined me.  He had been suffering from another near hernia and had ditched the idea of running the marathon and was now just jogging the half with a friend.  I quickly alerted him of my intentions to stop at the next bathroom.

Thanks to Maine running photos for these!

It was a good thing I didn't hold my breath.  Race pamphlets always say something like "with portable toilets located conveniently along the course..." conveniently located my ass!  We passed two water stops and almost three miles until we reached mile ten and I darted into a toilet for some sweet relief.

The last three miles were my fastest three of the day and amazingly no one passed me during my pit stop.  All told I was a matter of minutes from where I wanted to finish.  My failed race, quantified exactly by every minute and second I was off my goal.  Over the years I have come to realize that the best thing to do is to forget and move on quickly.  What better way to forget your race day woes than some beer!  I headed out for some lunch and brews with the gang and found an evening full of fun.

Trails To Ale 10K

It still escapes me how I had never run Trails to Ale.  I'm always jacked to try a new race, especially one that promises beer at the end.  This year I made sure to hit up the online registration and made a special trip to the MRC so I could get my beer tattoo the day before.  This was the last week in a four week cycle, and my first week in more than a year over eighty miles.  Tired, I was certain my drinking performance would surely outpace my race performance.

Not long after the start.  Thanks Maine Running Photos!

The rain let up in time for the race.  Half mile in I found myself running side by side with the eventual winner, Representative Goode.  Goode, who once told me over dinner that he preferred to be a large fish in a small pond was doing his best to make the most of his trip from Bangor to the big city.

The nice thing, the race featured a significant net elevation drop.  The not so nice thing, three and a half miles around the boulevard in the mud and water.  Even when dry the boulevard is a heart breaking, energy draining, home wrecker.  Two miles in Goode was keeping the pace honest, doing all the work with me holding on.  Finally a little before mile five he took off.

I managed 20 second faster than B2B despite the wheels coming off before mile 5.

As we quickly separately I could hear my college coach in the back of my head with some choice quotes: "People are going to pass you but you can't let everyone pass you!"  Getting dropped has always been an exercise in damage control for me and this day would be no exception as I would lose over twenty seconds in the last mile and half.  Luckily Harmon was in third trying to hold his hernia in so there was no worry of losing second.

FYI - If you stay long enough they just give out the rest of the beers.

To say the Shipyard beer tent was a ray of light shining through bleak skies was not an exaggeration.  As I negotiated with some of my more sensibly drinking friends to use their numbers to go back for thirds, fourths and fifths on beer the sun began to poke through for the first time.  It was the beginning of a long afternoon of drinking and football that would leave me with a real case of the Mondays the next day.

I was time for a much needed down week and then next up is the Maine Marathon weekend!  Looking forward to crushing miles, chugging beers and many a good laugh!  The lesson learned on a muddy 10k: Seadog blueberry beer is no good out of a can, daft only for me please!

Good Bye Summer

Last week was the end of August and my first week over 70 miles since, well, I don't know?  Since my last post I have tried two races and both successes by my account.  On July 20th I ran and won the Jason Hussey 5K in Greenland, NH.  It was hot as balls out there, low to mid nineties and no one showed up.  Then in the first weekend of August I ran in Beach to Beacon for the first time in years.  While I didn't have an elite number I got a decent starting spot and hit my goal of running 5:20 pace or faster.

Not much left in the Beach to Beacon 10K. Rocking Cabot headband and shades that were later drunkenly lost at the after party.

For the first time since last fall I have a decent race schedule set up.  Always a little disappointing to see the warm summer weather go but the fall should bring great temperatures to race in.  Looking forward to it!

Injured

As I age I have become more patient with injuries, but not much.  After taking a few weeks off and getting back in the gym (Rocky 4 style) I have returned for a couple weeks of strong running.  On another positive note, set backs are not without some gained wisdom.

Most frustrating this time around was sustaining a non-running injury that prevented me from running.  After quizzing my insurance company I learned that chiropractic visits were covered.  It just so happened one of my former teammates from UNH had just started his own practice near Portland.  I had never seen a chiropractor before and given the location of the pain I felt I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Runner's pet peeve: Doctors that tell you to run less.

Any runner hates the doctor for the same reason, they usually always tell you that you're running too much.  Divulging my weekly mileage to any healthcare professional elicits a look of disgust that leaves me wondering if I just shot their dog and desecrated the body while their family watched.  Fortunately, my friend Dave (Doctor Dave) just pauses and says, "So it's really killing you not to be running."

Chiropractic tables are space aged instruments that look like something from A Clockwork Orange.  Dave assured me that they were harmless and we began.  After a thorough checkup Dr. Dave said, "Well there's nothing wrong with you."  This is another thing most athletes hate to hear.  Instead, we want to hear the problem and more importantly, the solution.  Moving on he checked my spine and pointed out that he could make two adjustments.  Contorting my body like a pretzel I heard a pop, but there wasn't any pain.  Just like cracking my knuckles.  Then Dave adjusted the left side (the injured side).  I heard the crack and felt a bolt explode through my upper back.  Dave laughed as I did, almost as if to say, did you hear that!?

IKEA customer service nightmare: Having to carry the chiropractic table.

Less than twenty four hours later the pressure at the base of my spine was gone.  This left me with just a tight butt to deal with, which was most likely the piriformis.  Dave instructed me to gradually return to running to see how I responded.  After some good stretching, exercises and tentative running I was back on my way.  Crisis over, at least for now...

Port2Port - The Brian Hinchee Memorial Run

I.  THE EVENT

Many crazy ideas are conceived with a buzz on, and this was no exception.  A couple months ago, my friend Wes and I were enjoying several frosty pints of beer at the Ice Bar.  I was sharing my desire to one day tackle an ultra run, and a minute later Wes had posted to Facebook that we were running from Portland to Portsmouth.

We needed a cause for such a crazy event and it didn't take long to decide on one.  In 2010 we had both lost a dear friend to depression.  Brian, who had run with us at the University of New Hampshire was known for his sense of adventure, contagious smile and sharp whit.  The urge to make a run in his honor had always been there, but we needed something unique, something that embodied Brian.  Above all else, Brian was about getting friends together for a fun time, meeting new people and sharing his adventures with any that cared to join.  We had found our event.

II.  THE TRAINING

Wes moved to Portland last fall, and I had been enjoying having one of my UNH brothers so close.  We began the arduous task of training to run the eight to ten hours it would surely take.  I was inspired by the passion that Wes immediately brought to the event, calling local companies and writing up press releases.  We worked together to get the word out but Wes was the driving force, always one step ahead of me.

Wes had been doing very little running over the winter while I was coming off a great fall marathon.  Our training met in the middle, running our key long run workouts together.  Everything seemed to be coming together.  Two weeks before the run I threw down a 20 mile/ 10 mile double in eighty degree heat.  I was confident and I felt almost over prepared.  "The hay was in the barn," as our coach would say.  Translation:  Don't be a total f-ing moron and you'll be fine.  And then I was a total f-ing moron.  I got roped into a street game of bball, a sport I hadn't played in nearly five years.  The next day five miles was a struggle, two days later I called it after just three miles, five days later I couldn't make it a mile.  Roasted, toasted and burned to a crisp.  I'd be sitting this one out. 

III.  AN ANTI-CLIMATIC SEND OFF

I was heart broken I won't be running but I immediately shook off the feeling of defeat.  This event was much bigger than myself.  We had teammates coming from as far as NYC to run.  I took over responsibilities of lead support vehicle and continued to push for a couple relays.

On Saturday June 15th Wes and a small group of runners departed from Monument Square in Portland unceremoniously at 5:07AM ET.  The sun was already shinning and it was in the fifties.  Luckily there was no humidity.  The first fifteen miles I provided two aid stops, blasting Beastie Boys, dispensing water and sandwiches.  Everything was smooth so far.

Plenty of play time while Wes hydrates.

After the runners departed from each station I went through a mental checklist of responsibilities: check the map for the next aid station, make sure the relay runners knew when they were up, update Facebook feed with Town Line Winners, total distance covered & post any pictures,  text Wes's family with an update, check the map for the next stopping point, answer any random calls or texts requesting specific updates, and changing the music that was always blasting loudly out my car.

Race & Media Director Hoog with Leg 1 runner Skip.

Once we reached Arundel I began to push the water and food.  I started to get worried about a couple of the runners as people were beginning to sweat a lot.  We stopped at a random tire shop and I finally got a hold of our EMT.  She was waiting just a mile down the road.  We hurried off and met up to learn she wasn't planning on following us since everyone looked fresh.  I took her bag of supplies and said I'd call if we had a problem. "NO, don't call me, call 911 if you have a problem..." and it was farewell to the EMT!

I was having problems keeping track of the total miles because sections of the course were on the Eastern Trails, which forced me to drive an alternate route.  We split off Route 1 onto Route 9A in Kennebunk.  The Town Line races were heating up and so was the day.  On the one hand I had teammates remotely trash talking the town line races via my online updates and on the other I had Wes requesting more frequent rest stops.  He didn't need to ask, I had already begun stopping every two to three miles as we had realized the heat was becoming a problem.  There were an increasing number of missed calls on my phone including some from a pair of bikers that had headed up from Portsmouth but couldn't find us.  Leaving the runners to a second stretch of trails I scheduled a rendezvous point on Route 4 South of North Berwick.  Like clock work the runners and bikers rolled in together from opposite directions.  I quickly divided extra supplies to the bikers and they joined the runners.

IV.  THE FINISH

Route 4 through South Berwick to Dover offers little shelter from the sun and the temperature had climbed to about seventy degrees.  Wes was beginning to show the strain of the first forty miles but his spirits were high.  Before he arrived we all decided it best to avoid telling him how far he had left.  I would continue to drive along with the runners as traffic would allow, playing 80's beats and yelling out the window, stopping every couple miles.  

Runners continued to trade in and out of legs and fresh runners joined from New Hampshire.  This allowed me ample time to enjoy the company of others as I recruited resting runners to co-pilot.  With the bikers in place I drove a full two miles ahead and refueled (iced coffee for me, gas for the car).  We gathered shortly before the state line, the relay runners anxious to get the race on.  Driving down the road and parking I barely had time to position myself on the bridge as several runners came sprinting down the hill.  Nick D, the winner, dramatically raised his hands in victory!

The race for the State Line!  Nick took it in a down hill sprint.

As the runners continued through Dover I again went ahead.  We were short on water.  As some of the runners grabbed supplies Wes pulled in and stood under a tree.  Walking over I could tell he was emotionally drained.  It became hard for me to contain my own emotions but I did my best verbally directing him through the next sections of the course.  We were down to the final ten miles but I didn't tell him this.

Wes overcoming a stomach ache to enjoy some Root Beer.

The run to Newington soon became hectic as three of the runners took off over two miles from the town line.     At this point most of the runners had 20-30 miles on their legs and I admired their guts.  It was then I realized that Wes had fallen far behind and I turned the car around.  He had fought through earlier bouts of stomach discomfort but now his feet were killing him.  We switched him back to his more cushioned shoes and I positioned myself at the walking bridge.  Some time later Wes marched through, head down, refusing any rest.

It was just past four and we were parked less than two miles away.  I quickly threw on my running shoes and began jogging.  I realized I won't be able to make it and stopped jogging before Wes came by and saw me.  It would mean a lot to him if I could do it but I had been in pain all day.  Thankfully Carolyn had already secured a parking spot a half mile from the finish.  I had just enough time to get parked and catch them!  I limped the last five minutes in with Wes and the rest of the runners.  We had done it!  Wes had just run the 60 miles from Portland to Portsmouth!  We were all physically exhausted as we exchanged congratulatory hugs.  As we headed to our cars I already heard people begin talking about next year... yes, next year I thought, when I too hope to run the sixty miles.

V.  THANK YOU

The whole crew!

Brian was special in so many ways.  For me it was his big heart and honest expression of emotion that I will forever aspire to live up to.  So, with that I'd like to express my gratitude to everyone that was a part of the first ever Port2Port!  I love my UNH family and I'll never forget this.  It was truly amazing to watch the runners encircle Wes and march up the long sun bleached asphalt of Route 4.  I feel very lucky to have shared those last few steps with everyone as Wes reached Portsmouth square.  It was another truly great adventure shared among old friends and the start of many more memories with some new friends.  I know that Brian would have liked that.

Cabot Trails Relay

The first rule of Cabot is: What happens at Cabot, stays at Cabot. I could easily picture a shirtless Ed Norton saying this in a crowded fight club basement. Instead it was an equally skinny shirtless distance runner. Despite the rules, people talk and throughout the years I had caught wind of enough watered down Cabot legends to know it would be a wild ride. Still, describing Cabot to one who has never been, well, how do you explain the color blue to a blind person?

Thursday 4:00pm- I drove North with a fellow Cabot rookie and spent the night at our team captain's house. He introduced us around to some fine Bangor drinking establishments: cougars and stiff drinks! Our night was capped off by a trip to the infamous 'asshole of Bangor.' We retired somewhat early in high spirits and full bellies.

Friday 5:30am- The drive to Nova Scotia started early. After a vehicle change and the first of many Chinese fire drills we were off. Shortly after an uneventful border crossing I dozed off only to wake hours later. Our car was traveling north of a 100mph in a downpour. The drive itself was at least eight hours, with some stops for poutine and pictures with animal statutes.

Saturday 7:00am- This year's Cabot Trails Relay (CTR) consisted of 70 teams running 17 racing legs for a total of approximately 180 miles. Each leg varied in distance and difficulty. Three days before leaving I discovered I had been re-assigned to the hardest leg, leg 9.

Despite our coaches strict instructions to the runners with late day legs to 'sleep in' we were quickly told by the veterans there was no sleep at CTR. Utilize the backseat cat nap! As the gun sounded for leg 1 we were already 5k down the road with our cars parked safely off the road at a Where's Waldo water stop. If you ever have the displeasure of hearing the Where's Waldo Theme song, I feel your pain.

The race progressed with each new leg beginning at the finish of the previous. Unlike other relays, each leg starts at a specific time allowing for 17 mini races. Our coach tallied the cumulative times from each successive leg to track our team's progress.

I borrowed all these pics from my teammates since I was too lazy to take my own.  Thanks!

Saturday afternoon- Our cars continued to move along the race course, aptly described by our captain as road race meets bachelor party. Well said, from the man dressed in a tiger shirt and green running tights, looking like he just stepped out of middle school drama class as Peter Pan's lost boy. Runners began to separate into two distinct categories: those that had finished their leg and those that had yet to run, or were running again. Slowly but steadily the party was beginning. Drivers were retiring to Alexander Keiths while others were dosing their coffee with sweet tasting spirits.

Saturday approximately 7:48pm- What is there to say about leg 9? Run up a mountain, run down a mountain, run 5K, kiss your summer races good bye your leg muscles are now meatloaf!
  “Win your leg and everyone knows who you are!” These words echoed in my head. I really wanted to win! And then I was told the second place team had their best runner doubling on leg 9. I got some hurried instructions: if he goes out too fast don't go with him up the hill but keep him in sight, if he holds back don't let him slow the pace to conserve energy for his second leg.

I had the first night leg but was quickly told- No one on our team finishes leg 9  after sun down!

Needless to say I wanted some glory at my first Cabot and I was nervous. When the official said 'Ready, GO!' I hovered in 5^th for a quarter mile. The pace was slow and we didn't have much flat left so I just took off. Very soon my speed slowed up the mountain but I kept telling myself: You are running real fucking slow but no one is near you so they're running slower, just keep pushing.

Thirty minutes later (calves dead tired)- There was snow on the top and a moose (which I didn't notice). I picked up speed and accelerated the mile or so across the summit and hit the downhill. Hello two mile long San Francisco hill. Even my EZ Pass won't let me drive by the tolls this fast! A couple minutes from the bottom I felt my quads begin to tighten. I finally hit the flats and got a good rhythm going, which lasted for about a mile and a half. I finally passed my teammates and yelled to find out how far I had left. After finishing I learned that I had destroyed the field, with the second place nearly 6 minutes back.

"If you win your leg everyone will know who you are!" -Adam

The legs progressed throughout the night and as the sun rose we had preserved our lead with some of our better runners still to race. For the final leg we gathered back in town, where we had first started. As the final runners ran through the crowds I retired to my room for my first of two naps. Sandwiched between what little sleep I managed to get was the banquet. I pounded a couple Alexnader Keiths, enjoyed some steak out of a cooler and then grabbed a full two hours of sleep knowing the Maine-iacs had won.

Sunday about 3pm- I woke to the excited sounds of my teammates. Drink some fucking vodka!!! The party was beginning, it was time for the leg 18. What can I say about leg 18? What happens at Cabot stays at Cabot!

Back To San Francisco

The Long Run Rap

Hey Frisco,

How I missed yo.

Five past five runnin' down the Embarcadero,

Happy hours like whoa.

Past Fishermen's Wharf to Marina fields,

Where sun and sixties yields-

Running girls in spandex and high knee socks,

Always enough to get off my rocks.

Up the hill to Golden Gate,
Where so many have met their fate.

Climbing Spanish ruins- so mythic,

Admiring the great Pacific,

Far above a secret beach of the nudes,
With way to many dudes.

Scramble across a bbq pit at Baker Beach,

Finally knowin' the beggars are outta reach.

Around the expensive mansions of Sea Cliff,

The view of Land's End is certainly a lift.

I spy Golden Gate Park and the windmill.

The mighty buffalo are so still.

Sunsets at the Panhandle of Haight,

Their green shits first rate,

But it's gettin' late.

The hill of Alamo Square is loathsome,

The darkening streets of Civic Center are lonesome.

Cutting through the Tenderloin,

Everybodys tryin' to make some coin,

The boys be slangin'.

The girls be bangin',
The po-po be diligent,
But I still be vigilant.

All is quiet in City Hall,

But not at Market Street mall.

So many damn tourists,

Wishing I was back in Presidio forests.

The Financial District is solace,

No longer need that mace.

I aint' be sour,

I can see the Ferry Building Tower!

Eighteen miles and this runs done.

Back On Track

There was a post San Diego pulled muscle and then there was illness.  Third times a charm apparently.  This marks the end of week five of a Rocky4-esk training cycle that has seen a hermit like existence finally come to an end.

My plan called for a track workout.  Frankly I would have been there last week, them track workouts are my bread and butter.  Alas, it was best the snow did not melt until I had my wits fully about me and my feet firmly underneath me again.  The plan was for 3 x 3200 meters on 2 minutes rest (or 1 lap jog).  I'll spare you the arithmetic but needless to say I was pleasantly under my goal pace and very close to my PR half marathon pace.

A later trip to the bar, many an empty pint glass later and I may have stumbled onto my craziest running adventure yet (but more on that later).  For now the most important thing is I appear to be back on track (cheesy but yes I went there).

San Diego (Whale's Vagina)

Sometimes you need to take a step back and other times you need to step off the path completely… but not for long.  After nine days off I was chomping at the bit to get running again.  A few treadmill runs later I found myself back in the warmer weather for a whirlwind trip to the left coast.

My buddy Ian is going to start training for the Navy SEALS.  It seemed like an appropriate time to get a quick visit in.  Our friend Skip joined from New York.  Skip is training for Boston so the two of us managed to splash some legitimate runs into what was a sea of alcohol.

San Diego means a whale's vagina. Or scholars contend the translation was lost.

What better way to start an alcoholic bender than dance lessons from a sexy Filipino girl?  A couple Jager Bombs later and my dancing was actually getting worse so I headed for the bathroom.  As I washed my hands a black dude busted in excitedly.  Quickly he spotted his friend, a white guy with bleached blond hair waiting for the sink behind me.  “Dude all the girls out there are SLUTS!” I heard a sad whimpering voice respond, “Man, my girlfriend is out there.” At this point I should have turned around and asked, “Your girlfriend is a slut?  That’s awesome, what’s her name?”  But I didn’t feel like getting slugged so I abstained.

Beers, miles and tons of great food. Wow Hash House a-Go-Go!!!

A few days later Skipper and I tackled a fifteen mile run.  Ironically it was one of the few long runs in the past year I haven’t been hung over for.  Before the trip I had already made up my mind that this would be my last partying for a while.  My liver felt bruised and my wallet was hemorrhaging.  After completing the run feeling good my mind was set.  It is time to get back on the horse and maybe the wagon too (is it on the wagon or off the wagon, damn I can never remember but you get the picture).

378 Is Enough

After three hundred and seventy-eight consecutive days of running at least five miles outside I have decided to kill the streak....

2012 Running Summary

2012 Running In Review

Days Run: 366
Total Runs: 382
Shortest Run: 5 miles*
Longest Run: 26.2 miles
Total Miles: 3,290 miles^
Average Per Day: 8.99 miles

*At Least 5 miles outdoors each day.
^Of which, 10 miles run on treadmill.