It's official; the fall racing season for the Garris family is
about to begin! With the arrival of football and the promise of
cooler temperatures comes the expectation of longer trail runs and
excitement of new race goals. I've always thought of distance
running as a fall/winter sport, and living here in the low-country
has only reinforced that opinion. Having officially signed up for my
first 50 miler, I wanted to collect my thoughts and bridge from the
end of my running season last year to what lies ahead.
I've been loathe to write about or even discuss my DNF at the
Tsali Frosty Foot 50k in January. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out
what went wrong. After a consistent 22 miles with some really
enjoyable moments, I found myself struggling to walk up a
non-technical, gentle climb to the aid station at mile 24. The day
had been surprisingly hot for North Carolina in January (mid 70s and
sunny), but I didn't think the conditions were to blame. I ate my
remaining food, hoping that I was just bonking and would recover
after consuming some calories. I continued to feel worse as a number
of runners passed me, offering words of encouragement (we all know it's easier being the one doing the passing...). I
convinced myself in those two miles that I should quit. As I
stumbled into the aid station, that's what I did, despite the
encouragement of Jordan and the aid station volunteers to continue.
I sat down in some bushes, and just cried.
On the way home, and in the weeks after, I tried to figure out why
I quit. I'd like to think it was because I wasn't “having the race
I wanted.” I ran 4:45 for the same distance just a month before.
While that was a significantly easier course, I felt I had adjusted
my expectations for the challenging terrain of Tsali, but at mile 22,
the race was suddenly not panning out the way I'd planned. Could I
have walked the last 7 miles? Maybe, but I didn't know how long that
would take, and Jordan and I had to get all the way back to
Charleston that day (a six hour drive). Did I train enough? Hills
are hard to come by here in the low-country, but we have treadmills
and a bridge. Did it hurt too badly to continue? My legs were
cramping on the mile walk back to the car, and I remember thinking,
“there's no way I could walk 7 more miles feeling like this...”
Did it just hurt too badly?
I've been thinking a lot about pain recently. One of the first
things Jordan told me as I began to contemplate running the Last
Chance 50k was, “sometimes, it's supposed to hurt.” I started my
running life as a 'fragile' runner. My triathlete friends stressed
that “pain is your body trying to tell you something.” I think I
went a little overboard, slowing down or even stopping my training at
the slightest tweak in my knees or feet. What I didn't realize is
that the sports I enjoy hurt. No matter how fit or fast or young or
old you are, it hurts to push your body over the distances and at the
speeds required to be competitive in distance running and cycling.
It's unrealistic to run 5 or 20 or 50 miles and expect every moment
to be pain free. What defines those that succeed are how they deal
with the inevitable pain inherent in pushing one's body to its
potential. That is not to say that we ignore our bodies; the trick
is to be able to distinguish between injury-related pain and
effort-induced pain. As Greg Lemond said, “it doesn't get any
easier, you just go faster.”
I don't know if it was injury-related or effort-induced pain that
caused me to quit at Tsali. For the next four months, common notes
in my training log were 'brain not in the right place' and 'pain in R
knee.' My running was sporadic and frequently frustrating. Only by
late April, after completing a 14 mile run with local running
friends, did I finally start to feel like a runner again, and begin
to think about goals for this season. Even now, I'm still not sure
if it was my muscles that gave out, or my mind. But one of those
possibilities hurts just a little bit more...
So here's the race schedule for the fall; along with some shorter
local races, Jordan and I are planning on running the FATS 50k
(http://fats50k.com/) in North Augusta as a warm-up for the Lookout
Mountain 50 Miler, (www.rockcreek.com/lookout.rco) in Chattanooga in
December (our Christmas present to each other). I'm understandably
anxious; it's almost 20 miles farther than I've ever run before, and
features over 6300 ft of climbing. I don't know how my body will
react to this challenge; I will train it the best way I know how.
But this time, I will be damn sure of how my mind will react. I know
it will hurt, but now I know it's supposed to.
Nathan
PS – I want to plug two books I've recently read that have
formed the basis for my mental preparation for this season. The
first is Scott Jurek's Eat and Run: My Unlikely Journey to
Ultramarathon Greatness. While not fantastically written, it's
an interesting look into the mind of an elite ultrarunner, his
preparation, and his mental strategies during races (it also includes
a number of vegan recipes I'm interested to try). The second is A
Life Without Limits: A World Champion's Journey by Chrissie
Wellington. Chrissie (I think the entire triathlon community refers
to her like that) had just begun dominating ironman distance
competitions when I was first introduced to the sport, and to hear
the story of races I followed online and in magazines from her own
words was fascinating.
