The News Columns The Happy Runner
One of my favorite fun runs is a challenging course I have created which features quite a few of my favorite Warrenville places. I call it “The Best of Warrenville Run”.
As usual, I start out at mile marker five on the Prairie Path, located at the Gazebo across from the library. Instead of heading either east or west on the Prairie Path, this run starts with a slow warm up swing through town. From the library, I head east, past city hall and the Veterans Memorial on to Stafford which takes me past the Cenacle offices, the Community Building, police department and the Rec Center.
This can be a difficult time of the year to stay motivated. The leaves are off the trees, the clocks have been set back, and cooler, wetter weather has arrived.
In the Chicago area, it is the season when most runners take time off, or at the very least, cut back on their running time. It is good to take a break and necessary for healing and maintaining interest.
Eventually, every runner is sidelined with an injury that prevents doing what we love to do most. It can be very disheartening and disappointing. The only way to stay happy is to get busy healing.
The first step is to seek professional assistance and get an exact diagnosis, so that proper treatment can begin. Following the recommended therapy routines, however tedious, guarantees the quickest recovery. The more diligent we are, the sooner we will return.
Crossing the marathon finish line is an unbelievable, indescribable, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual experience. One’s life is truly never the same again.
It leaves me ecstatic, satisfied, thankful and peaceful for hours afterwards. All of life’s problems and challenges seem to disappear for a time. Perhaps, I’m just so sore and tired my attention can focus on nothing else! Marathon day is truly remarkable.
Not so long ago, conventional wisdom indicated a day of rest for every mile of the marathon, before starting to run again. Some coaches advised taking a full month off as the only correct recovery. Fear of the unknown led to severe caution.
On the wall of the ballet studio where my daughters spent endless hours of disciplined training there is a quote that, to this day, quietly reminds the dancers of the most important key to performance: One class missed, you know it; two classes missed, your instructor knows it; three classes missed, everybody knows it.
Your performance on the race-day stage will reflect your months of training. How has your training gone? Have you made slow and steady progress? Have you missed many runs? Do you have a nagging injury slowing you down?
A couple days prior to your big event, I suggest you honestly review your training carefully and formulate your race day strategy accordingly.
How you spend the day before the day before any long physical endurance event is critical to proper preparation, especially if you want to do your best or have a peak performance on race day.
I recommend getting to bed extra early and sleeping in late if you can. No matter how many marathons I have run, I still find it next to impossible to get any sound sleep the night prior to the race.
In many ways, the race begins long before the starting gun is fired. Mind and body subconsciously begin gearing up and getting ready for battle the day before, and no matter how many checklists I go through and how tired I am from travel, the minute my head hits the pillow the night before, I can feel the adrenaline rising, making deep restful sleep nearly impossible.
The American Discovery Trail Marathon, Colorado Springs
Written by Dwight ShermanOne of the secrets we’ve discovered to successfully completing two marathons in two days, or any long endurance event, is finding a way to slow down in the first half, so we have energy for the second half.
No matter how many marathons we’ve completed, it is still a difficult task to relax, stay patient, calm nerves, fight adrenaline, and conserve energy. Mike and Eddy slowed their pace in Albuquerque by staying in conversation with fellow runners and easing up when they felt stressed. Protecting my injured foot and ankle helped conserve my energy for day two.
Another secret, and one of the most enjoyable parts of “doing a double,” is replenishing fluids and calories. Carbo loading before a marathon has become an honored tradition and a great reward for all the months of hard training. It is not uncommon for marathoners to consume three to four thousand calories for a couple of days before an event.
I don’t know why I decided to go. I couldn’t run. I guess it was because the plans were already made, the plane and hotel reservations were booked, and the entry fees were non-refundable. Might as well go and make the most of it. There was something about keeping my agreements and going through with plans once they were made echoing in the back of my mind. Maybe, I just did not want to leave my wingmen and let Mike and Eddy have all the fun. At least I could go and cheer them on.
Fact was, I was still looking for a miracle cure for my injured foot. Three weeks of ice, rest, and Aleve had me feeling better, but just trying to jog was still a strenuous effort and not good for my injured foot.
(After completing a "2fer" (double marathons) over the holiday weekend in Albuquerque on Sunday and Colorado Springs on Labor Day, I asked Marathon Mike to jot down some of his thoughts on running. This is what he had to say.)
After completing a marathon last weekend and boarding the plane for home, I found myself with a little time for reflection. Thinking back on the past 24 hours, I began to appreciate more fully, what a gift running has been.
My ’50-state quest has taken me to parts of this great country that I would not likely have otherwise visited. I’ve run in big cities, in front of millions of spectators, as well as in small towns, with no one watching except the local livestock.
My Warrenville buddies, Fast Eddy, Marathon Mike and I, were reminiscing the other day about places we have been, things we have seen and marathons we have run together over the years.
It has been quite an adventure, seeing the country up close and personal, as we ran through the scenic vistas that can be found in all of our cities and states.
When I posed the question as to which marathon was the favorite, we quickly agreed that it was impossible to choose. They were all memorable and unique, and each one was the best in one way or another. Every marathon is memorable and the best part of all of them is being able to share the experience with hometown friends.
For me, the strangest marathon I have ever run was the 1982 Mardi Gras Marathon in New Orleans, long before I met Mike and Eddy. I had run just two previous marathons, Chicago 1980 and ‘81, and when a friend suggested we go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, it was mainly to have fun in the dead cold of February in Chicago. He mentioned, “By the way they have a Mardi Gras Marathon, and it is supposed to be a really fast course. Maybe you could improve your PR.”
He promised some bayou fishing for redfish on Saturday, running the marathon on Sunday, with Bourbon Street in between and after. It was billed as a jam-packed weekend of fun. We would be escaping winter for a few days of warmth in the Deep South—right?
Wrong! It was miserable. Windy, raining and cold, with temperatures in the mid 30s. We should have cancelled our fishing plans, but we thought, “What the heck, we’ll layer up and be fine. It’s above freezing and at least 30 degrees warmer than Chicago.”
I had always wanted to ride in an airboat across the reeds in the swamp, and as we headed out, our hopes were high that once the sun came up, we would warm up, catch some fish, and have a great morning. Well, we caught some fish and had a few laughs through chattering teeth, but the weather got worse. When it started sleeting, and we could not feel our toes or move our fingers to wind our reels or even think about baiting a hook, we called it quits.
To this day, I still say the coldest temperature I have ever experienced is that wet, cold, windy 37 degrees in the backwater bayou of New Orleans. It took hours to thaw out. It made sitting in the stands at a subzero December Bear game seem warm!
Marathon day was little different. We rose early and headed for the start line in Mandeville, LA. Remember, this was pre-internet days, so mostly you just showed up and registered on race day with little or no knowledge of the course or anything like an elevation chart. The only thing I really knew was that my friend said it was a fast course. I had also read a brief description of the race that said it was a fun event, and I did remember something about a bridge.
What I didn’t know was that, with the exception of the first and last miles, the entire race was run on a bridge. The largest bridge in the world! The causeway across Lake Ponchartrain is twenty-four miles long.
As we completed the first mile and stepped on the bridge, all I could think of was how cold I was the day before. Most of the runners had covered themselves in black plastic garbage bags to attempt to keep warm. This was not unusual at the beginning of a race, but many never took them off. In the early morning light, it was quite a sight. There we were, running bags of garbage, as far as the eye could see, on a bridge that appeared to go on forever.
For a few hours and many miles, you could not see land in front or behind—just more bridge. Every so often, dense fog would roll in and completely envelope the bridge. There were no spectators, few water stations, and a constant noise of water smacking the bridge.
It was eerie to say the least, and as the race progressed and the pack thinned out, there were times when I could not see another runner in front of or behind me. I was thankful when I heard someone gaining ground on me, and when I turned to strike up a conversation I had to laugh. It was a guy running in a black leotard with a pink tutu, carrying a pink parasol in his right hand. He said, “Be careful what you bet,” as I complimented his running attire! I hadn’t noticed any costumes at the start; perhaps it was too dark or they were under the garbage bags, but I saw quite a few more in Mardi Gras costumes as I continued running.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally saw land, and the last mile is something I will never forget. It was packed with spectators in full party mode, cheering wildly. After quiet monotony, it seemed like pure bedlam. What a contrast! What a finish!
The statement, “The shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” took on new meaning for me that day. I got my PR—3:11:07—and I have never run faster since. Maybe I just wanted to get off that darn bridge!
They stopped running the bridge course in 1984, which makes it kind of special. World’s longest bridge? Yea—and I ran across it!
I sure wish Mike and Eddy would have been there with me.
