The Last Leg

The Flying Falcon Relay team for the Detroit Free Press Marathon last weekend-at least three of us-- Science teacher Michelle Tindall, Math teacher Jason Kong, and me.

This was my first race relay and it was exhilarating: watching members of other teams waiting on the tips of their toes as another runner raced in the hand off chute to pass the timing chip. One sprinting in, the other sprinting out, barely touching as the Velcro bracelet switched hands. My blood swirled with anticipation as I went from window to window on the bus, gawking at the elite runners.

I saw, for the first time, the glorious Kenyon Bird. That's my name for the elite Kenyon runner--so fast they are exotic. My lord did those first and second place winners of this marathon fly, sprinting at mile 20 so fast, by the time I got my camera phone to photo they were accepting their winner medals. I crouched on the steps of the relay bus in awe, and they ran by close enough I could have touched them. I think I actually tried to.

I did some jogging along the beach (near Belle Isle) while I waited for Judy because I couldn't sit on the bus watching anymore. I couldn't wait to run.
Our team had gone to dinner the night before to estimate timing-- Michelle did a full half-marathon, Judy's daughter did the second leg, Jason the third, and Judy handed off to me (we estimated the earliest possible times and she got there around 10:50, later than we estimated but earlier than we thought she would, and, when I saw her, I knew we were doing better than we hoped.) I ran the last leg of the race.

Well, it was my last leg in more than one way.

The Saturday before the marathon, I did something unpleasant to my right hip and thigh on my long run with TNT. After the run, I took an ice bath, felt better, and ran the next morning. This further did something unpleasant to my hip and thigh, so I stayed off of my legs, at least running-wise, until the relay marathon. All the runners I complained to about running on cold, untrained legs said that was perfect, that I would be well tapered for the race. I was. I also took mucho vitamen IB (Ibuprofin) and some muscle relaxers the doctor gave me so my leg would not bother me on the run. And, for the most part, it didn't.

The last leg was about a 10K length, starting a little after mile 20. I planned to go almost a minute faster with each mile (I started at an oh so brisk pace of 13 minute per mile) so I could slowly warm up my legs, esp. my right hip and thigh.

I was starting to feel really good around what I thought to be mile 24 of the race and what my Garmen assured me was around my fourth mile of running. Someone on the side of the road was cheering for us and I had passed a few of the runners I saw at the hand off chute. Someone, well or ill intended, I don't know, but someone yelled: "Only one more mile to go!!"

Well, almost unconsciously, everything in my body surged forward, I pushed myself as in a fartlek and dropped two minutes from my pace--which had speeded up to an 11 minute mile. I was now sailing at a 9 minute per mile pace (for me that's sailing; the Kenyon bird probably sleeps at this pace.) I envisioned seeing the finish line and my team any minute. I think this image made me even faster as I passed a few more people I recognized from the hand off chute. This surge strained my leg and my lungs a bit past where I thought I could go. No worries though, because soon I could gulp down some water and collapse beside the finish chute. My legs felt like they were on auto-pilot but that the circuits were going to break and shut them down any moment. Just a few more minutes, and I'm there. When I saw it.

The 25 mile mark.
OH SHIT! That liar!! Why didn't I trust my Garmen??? I looked down, sure enough, I had only gone 5 miles. I had an entire mile left to run on flagging, auto-pilot, felt like tree stump legs and squeezed in the fist of a giant lungs. There is a law; a law I am sure no runner has broken. That law is simply this: you do not run your last mile slower than your first.

In fact, I think there is a related law: you run your last mile faster than any of your previous--esp., idiot, if you are only running a 10K and you have smartly paced yourself to have left over energy for a surge at the end. So with these two laws in mind, I dealt with auto-pilot legs and squeezed up lungs and surged a bit more just to show them who was boss.

I have seen a video of me finishing and it is not pretty. Everyone else seems to have their arms raised, shouts of joy carried on the wind, babies held in their jubilant arms, streamers of celebration emanating from their pores. Then I come bounding in, no smile on my face, just grim determination. The minute my feet pass the timing mat, I stop--not slow down. Just a stop and a sigh, my face red, my legs about to collapse under me and I hobble off camera. It's as if I didn't even know I finished and I think that's how I felt. When I got home, I slept all day, all night, and woke up nearly late for work. That's when I realized something was not quite right with right leg. I hurt so bad I had to crawl up my stairs to get my clothes for work. I went that night to Dr. Jurist, the sports doctor for our school, and he gave me news I can barely think on. He took X-Rays and said that it looked like I have two stress fractures: one on my right hip and one on my right femur--yup that oh so important, weight bearing femur.

Tomorrow I go to Troy Beaumont for a radioactive bone scan. Yippy, I get to drink nuclear shake and then sit in a tube for 90 minutes. I am praying that it is soft tissue damage and not bone fracture. I must get back to training. I will run that marathon. I will not let my early nightmares come true. The doctor said I should pick another marathon. No. I told him I couldn't. I had raised money for the Leukemia society for this particular marathon. He said I should reevaluate how I "participate". I will participate and I will run it, I thought, but didn't say cause he had already looked at me like I was a lunatic about three times during our discussion of how I might have gotten injured. He especially didn't like my comment about the fists fulls of vitamen IB I took before the Free Press race.

Blog Action Day

A runner's temperature (only when running--unless they spend ALL their non-running time in a hot tub) is about 20 degrees higher than the air temperature. This is why you see those "crazy" runners out in shorts and a singlet in 50 degree weather--that's nice and balmy. I prefer winter running myself--and I used to HATE the winter! I learned when racing my first 15K last April in Flushing, MI on an unseasonably hot (read 80 degrees!) day how much I love the winter!!! I didn't understand why I kept getting so out of breath, so dizzy, why my time was so ridiculously slow, other than the fact that the race is set in no-where-village, and I got lost. I couldn't believe there were signs as the labyrinthine course wound around farms, through sub-divisions (where the nonchalant suburbanites simply continued mowing or watering their lawn as we ran by without even looking up) around middle schools and back into another subdivision. Few people to flag where to go next, no blocked off roads. Just some orange cones every now and then. I finally asked a runner near me, "How do you know where to go???" "hhm," she was puzzled at the very question. "I live two streets down from the finish and I've done the Tax Trot for five years." Ah, I finally realize everyone (except me, that is) lived in Flushing or knew somebody from Flushing.

Well, here I was, someone who trained in winter weather and wearing a black turtle-neck and long black running pants, huffing my way to the finish--screaming, "Where's the finish line?!!!" There were almost no markers the last mile or two of the race, so I just I ran back to the start line and realized the start was not, in fact, the finish. Oh no, the start was in front of Flushing High School but the finish was behind the school on the other side of the parking lot. Silly me for thinking the finish line should be in a clearly marked, obvious place. Well, I was one of the last ones in and the heat was killing me.
I worry about the increasing frequency of these "unseasonably" hot days. What if they don't become so unseasonable anymore?

Here's what this means for runners:
Temperature Heat-stress risk 75º-85º
Heat cramps or Heat Exhaustion possible 86º-105º
Heat cramps or Heat Exhaustion likely. Heat Stroke possible. 106-115º
Heat Stroke highly likely after 120

Now add 20 degrees to each of the above. Tragedies like the Chicago Marathon may be more frequent if global warming continues at the rate it is.
No amount of PowerAde will help us then.

Running doesn't kill, heat does

This is my first TNT mentor Leslie Jones and her sister Tara. Leslie and coach Ken are by far the biggest reasons I stuck w/ TNT and running. Leslie and her sister Tara were so supportive and so fun--they always came to group runs in Royal Oak, offered to drive me to Kensington w/ them (but I discovered Stoney and loved it), led awesome fundraisers and just listened to all my running stories (and passed many of them on). Well, this picture (despite our grins) represents a sad moment: Leslie and her family are moving the Minnesota and this was her going way party at Bastones and Cinq. I will miss her so much but because of her, even though she is leaving, she helped me build a strong enough foundation that I will keep running and raising money despite what kind of mentor I may have without her.

Tara is our Royal Oak hero-- she defeated a blood cancer that impacted the development of her bones and still gives her pain. Despite this, she also ran with our team and definitely outran me!! She did this in all kinds of weather, terrain, and pain in her legs. She did not "take precautions" because of her smaller bone structure (she told me once that because of her cancer her bones stayed at the development of a 13-year-old while the rest of her continued to develop). Tara ran faster, longer, and more often as race day approached and finished the Bayshore full marathon putting her all in.

Well, a lot of people are saying that Chad Schieber of Midland, Michigan, who died last Saturday at the Chicago marathon, was stupid, that he should have stopped before he died, that he knew he had a heart problem and should have taken precautions.
Guess what his "heart problem" was? His big heart problem was a mitro-valve prolapse-- so saying that his heart problem should have made him slow down in the heat or stop is like saying my hang nails should force me to stop typing or at least slow down.

Many people have this and many of them run very fast marathons because it is a minor heart irregularity. I have a PFO (I forget what the acronym stands for--so I just call it my heart UFO). This PFO was a congenital irregularity with my heart and according to my heart doctor nearly %20 of the population has this, but most, like me, don't know it until they have a stroke or other symptom of a problem. As babies, the walls of our hearts are not sealed so that, before the heart's muscle gets stronger, blood can pass easily between the left and right ventricles. By the time we are toddlers, that wall is erected, sealed, and strong. Well, with the UFO condition, that wall never gets sealed up all the way--so there is a "communication" between the left and right side that allows blood (and tiny blood clots) to get through. I have been running in all weather with this and I am still alive, sore in different parts of my body each week, but still alive.

What does it mean that someone who has a "heart problem" should take precautions? Should they run slower than they can? Less often than they'd like? Take more breaks than they need? I don't think so. Running to the best of your ability is what makes running such a joy--anyone who trained for a marathon would certainly not have held back in training nor the big day because of a minor heart irregularity.

I think it is heartless to blame this man for his death and ignorant to blame running itself as so many couch potato doctors do. How many massage therapists and doctors have asked: "Have you ever considered just NOT running" when I go to get advice on my clicking knees, pulled hip flexor, sprained ankle, low back pain. Um, nope, I haven't and I won't. All kinds of people think runners are asking for injury. Well, yes, we are, so is everyone who does any form of exercise. It is the paradox of life that to build something new you must tear the original down. Our muscles get stronger because we tear them when we lift and our bodies say, "Oh yeah?? Well try tearing THIS down!" and builds a bigger bicep--or, in the runners case, trunk solid legs. Same goes for the heart and lungs of a runner--"oh yeah? you going to push me that hard? you going to make me pump that fast, heave that heavy? Well, try pushing this!!" and our hearts and lungs improve. So we get more pulled muscles-- we also get stronger muscles and stronger hearts. That is what this man did for his heart--he made it stronger by running. Not a stupid idea at all. So what killed him?

Heat and humidity.

Many people who run long distances have difficulty knowing when they are in danger-for a number of reasons:
Reason one:
after some miles, your body greatly increases dopamine in anticipation for the usual pain when running and then further increases it in peaks and valleys as the run continues. This is often helpful because it allows you to keep running, to keep feeling good, and to stay positive. You only notice how much pain you are in when you walk or finish the race--that's why some marathoners (I saw this at Bayshore) literally have their legs stiffen the minute they cross the finish line. One of my TNT contacts, Patrick Strait, ran all out for the Bayshore marathon, felt really good approaching the finish line, gave one last surge, and then fell and was forced to crawl to the finish line and put his foot on the mat so his time could be counted. In his mind, the few feet before the finish line meant victory, meant race done and so his legs locked and he fell. He felt no pain in his legs for the 26 miles before that.

Reason two: Trainers/coaches/and your own self repeat this mantra: "it's not about physical but mental toughness" (The first time my coach said this, I got deja-vu, then I remembered that my brother said the same thing to Rachel, my sister-in-law, on their honeymoon hike through the Smokey mts; I don't think it went over so well in that situation). Anyhow, you are trained to talk yourself out of the pain, to dissociate and think about something happy, to imagine the finish line--anything to avoid focusing on the pain. Any seasoned runner would have this strategy down so pat they might not even be aware they are doing it, esp. at such a critical moment.

Reason three: Heat related injuries are very, very similar to your run of the mill I wish I were dead exhaustion past a runner's "red line"--the farthest point they can go until they've used up all their glycogen stores and begin to feel like two elephants moved in and are sitting on their lungs and legs. Almost always, simply slowing your pace and getting to the next water/gel not only stops this pain but makes you feel even more energized. Heat related injuries cause edema before more serious coma and death from the imbalance of water to electrolytes. Edema (swelling hands, legs, feet) is also a common symptom of simply running long distance w/out enough salt in your body (again the next Gatorade or gel stop alleviates this).

Reason four: It was frickin 88 degrees and more humid than a sauna (See post below. I ran in the fricken soupy hot air Saturday and Sunday) and was OCTOBER people!!! OCTOBER. Not supposed to be hotter than an August noon. Therefore, the people running the race were not prepared w/ enough electrolyte giving drinks at closer stops along the race route and the runners themselves were not able to prepare properly for the heat either with their own water and sports drinks.

Reason five: Runners feel the pain, but most who train for a marathon have trained for months and months--this has been their goal and many runners look forward to a marathon with the same anxious hope that people look forward to their wedding day. So, they have run some pretty tough training days and they will absolutely run through anything the BIG DAY. This is not unique to the runner who died but a mental condition of all competitive runners. There but for the grace of a cool drink of water goes any runner.

Running in that type of record breaking heat and humidity is bound to end in tragedy. I don't blame the racers. I don't blame the organizers. Races are huge events. Stopping one is like stopping a train mid speed: it takes many officials, a mile or so of squealing, grinding breaks, and an extreme but unforeseen emergency. Neither do I blame the volunteers handing out water. Runners do not need nearly enough water on a typical October Saturday than they do on an August noon. No. I blame our increasing emissions of greenhouse gases and rising temperatures. The heat kills, not the running.

Maximus Pain

The first Saturday in October, as hot, as humid as the first Saturday of August on that fishing boat at our friend's wedding, and yet, it feels like those icy branches are gripping from the inside the outside of my left thigh--Yes, I've pulled my gluteus maximus. I went to Stony w/ Lou and Tony at the ripe time of 7:20 a.m. this morn. We were supposed to do 12 miles. I covered 12 miles, but didn't run them all. After it felt like the steel claw of a determined terminator gripped my left butt cheek, every time I tried to run, especially up hill, I yelped (and swore a few times) in pain and had to do some limp walking. So I ran a good seven and limp walked a good five.

I was doing so great the first six miles. Wow--how beautiful Stony is in the a.m. I looked to my right going over one of the bridges and the water looked like a pastel painting--glossy but w/ a bit of fog and muted oranges and reds spreading across the calm surface of the water. It was so transcending and I was listening to James Taylor: "I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I'd see you again." It's about one of his friends, Suzanne, who died in a plane crash. "You've got look down upon me Jesus, you got help me make amends. I can't make it any other way. My body's aching and my time is at hand. You've just got see me through another day. OOOH I've seen fire and I've seen rain." and I was now into the forest and the trees made a canopy above me and I was going up a hill, feet in closer arms pumping higher and at the top of the hill the trees gave way and I could see rays of the sun beaming down in streaks through the clouds--like prisms from God and I almost cried it was so beautiful and suddenly nothing but beauty matter, nothing but this flying feeling and God and the beauty that he makes for us and how he is there in everything around and in us. I realized I didn't need anything but this, this moment.
As you can see, the running high was kicking in. I felt high and dizzy at the same time. Holy humidity--when I looked down at my fingers they were so puffed up I thought I'd never get my rings off--they hurt they were so puffed. I poured some of my water on my face and when some fell into my mouth I tasted an ocean--so much salt. At mile four, I started to worry that I had edema and maybe that one sickness our coach told us about where you feel drunk because your brain is swelling from too much water and not enough electrolytes and salt.

I stopped my worrying brain by reminding myself that at the TNT water stop one of our runners said she had intense shin splits, real painful. When I told her maybe she should walk, she shook her head. "Too stubborn huh?" I said.
"Yeah," she grinned.
I knew what she meant (trail racing on a sprained ankle counts as stubborn too). So I dropped it.

Anyway, I shook of my growing fear of getting drunk on brain swell by remembering her stoicism. Runners are not wimps. So I turned the music up and flowed with it and tried to enjoy the humidity inspired dizziness--speeding down hills with longer strides and slowing my way up hills with shorter strides and higher arm position. Ken in my head directing me. "Let gravity pull you down" I felt my legs just revolve under me and leaned more to my toes. The left side of my left butt cheek started to ache--but it wasn't an intense pinching/gripping pain yet. It seared more up hills, so I slowed a bit and then made up for it down hills.

I got some food w/ salt in me at the 6 mile stop and stretched. Then off refreshed and running. For the first time, my legs failed me before my lungs and before my spirit. At mile seven they began to feel like unbendable stumps of wood-like rigermortous had set in and I would soon fall on my face while trying to move forward on unmovable legs. I had to stop and walk and walking felt more painful because I could feel even more how stiff my legs moved. I picked up the run again at a down hill and, just as a mother on her bike and a daughter in front of her on her legs trotted behind me, a sudden pain gripped my left thigh. I yelped loudly and the mother and daughter (whom I didn't hear because of my blaring I-pod) past me as I limped to a walk and then "shit!" slipped from my mouth before I saw the young, startled girl pass me on the left.

From then on I walked and jogged in intervals of a quarter mile, each quarter run more painful, until I saw Tony running toward me. "Oh. This is what I have been dreading. Oh, I am so embarrassed," I said to myself as soon as I saw his blue singlet. I thought I was so slow he had run to find me to see if I had fallen into a ditch. But when he yelled out "Can you see the mile marker? Point it out!" I realized he was on his last four miles--two out and back to make 14 miles. When he reached me, I told him about my pain and he asked if I needed help getting back-if he should stay w/ me or get a car. I said no, I'll walk back. I walked the rest of the way in, slower with each step. It hurt to walk even--and especially up hills. I walked fast on the down and slow on the up. I didn't stop at stop signs--I was in so much pain I felt like a dumb beast and didn't care if a car hit me.

When I got to the 12 mile mark, Lou, Jim, Lisa, and Tony were waiting. As I got within a few feet of the TNT flag, Jim rang the cowbell for the second time and despite my pain it made me grin. I was done! I had promised him that he would ring the cowbell twice for me: once at the 6 mile mark and again at the 12.

On the car ride home, Lou told me that I was limping in so slowly that as soon as they saw me, Lisa told him to ring the bell. Tony retorted that he would be ringing it for ten minutes with how slow I was going. Jim, ever proud of his bell skills, said, "I know when to ring it!!" and he did ring it at the perfect time.

When I got home I took an ice bath and it actually felt good--my left thigh doesn't hurt as badly.

I will run a very slow and careful three miles tom at 7 a.m. with Tonya from TNT.

Totals for this week:
Sunday: 6
Thursday: 5
Saturday: 12 (w/ only 7 ran)
Total: 23 covered (18 ran)