So, after 17 weeks of ups-and-downs, I felt like I was ready for the marathon. However, in the middle of my taper was the annual Sabino Sunset Run, which is my favorite race on the SAR calendar. It's a tough 7.4-miler, up and down a steep hill. I wasn't sure how to approach it: go all-out and hope the six days between it and the marathon would be enough recovery, go all-out only on the uphill half, or take it kind of easy for the whole thing. I finally decided on the first option because a) the prospect of a PR and doing well in my age group was too enticing b) I needed the points to move up in my Grand Prix category and c) YOLO! And that's basically what I did, though I didn't start out very fast, and missed getting a PR.
I was pretty sore in the few days after Sabino, so the pre-marathon week had even less miles than I'd planned. This was also the week in which the Boston Marathon bombing occurred. Fast forwarding to the evening before the marathon: I heard over the radio that suspect #2 was captured just as I was pulling into the hotel after the drive up from Tucson.
But my mind was focused on the run coming up and, in particular, getting enough calories, hydration, and rest. After a good pasta dinner put on by the race organizers, a trip to Food City to get some breakfast items (granola bars and apples) and a few hours sleep, I was up at 4am to eat, prepare, check out of the hotel, and drive over to the start, warming up in the pre-dawn chill (mid-40°s). The lights of Jerome shone brilliantly from the mountainside far above.
Cottonwood AZ is a nice town. Seems to be the opposite of nearby Sedona; unpretentious, down-to-Earth, free of BS.
The run started in a park, promptly at 6am after a nice intro from an organizer and a great rendition of the national anthem. There were about 60 runners for the marathon start. A call was made for "competitive runners" to go to the front but nobody moved. I took off my hoodie and placed it on a fence. The sun had just risen and finally the gun went off.
At mile one, I looked at my watch, 9m20s had gone by, which was good, I had planned to start a little slow. The course climbed gradually upwards, through Old Town Cottonwood, then there were a couple of steeper sections. As planned, I increased speed only slightly in this section, passing a few people.
The course leveled out and went into Tuzigoot National Monument, crossing a bridge over the Verde River, then hooking left onto a USFS road. I was looking forward to the point where the road turned to dirt and it arrived sooner than expected. I was three minutes ahead of a 4-hour pace and maintained that as the road paralleled the river and a giant black slag heap, rose steadily uphill into a forested section, and got rockier as it plateaued a few hundred feet higher than the start. The race leaders, having already reached the turnaround, flew by, gratifyingly not tremendously far ahead of me. I felt great as I reached the mile-11 turnaround and picked up the pace heading back down the dirt road.
But things began to not feel so good at around mile 16 or 17; although I'd been drinking water at every other aid station (and slowing down to walk when doing so) and consuming a gel every 45 minutes, suddenly the pace felt unsustainable and I slowed for a brief walk. After concluding the downhill, I went into maintenance mode and just tried to sustain a steady, though slower pace. My legs never stopped hurting in the last 8 miles, but at times it was easier to push the pain away, and certainly much easier than in previous attempts at a marathon. There was a nice trail section, a loop through a state park with several lakes and many people fishing along the paths, a short section through woods, all very well marked and guided by friendly volunteers.
Just before mile 24, I walked for about 50 yards, then steeled myself for the final miles. I just wanted it to be over. Finally, at 4 hours and 55 seconds, I crossed the finish line and it was over!
Somebody later asked if I was bummed to go over the 4 hour mark by less than a minute. The answer is no: I trained for a 4-hour marathon and hit the target, so I'm happy. It was a 15% improvement in my marathon PR and those other times I had to stop and walk for a few miles so really I don't even count them as running a marathon. With only two brief stops, I consider this my first true marathon run... and it was a tough one, with hills and long unpaved sections and even singletrack. I'll strive to be back next year and be in even better condition!
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
Marathon Prep Summary
In December, I scanned the list of spring marathons and found an ideal candidate: a late April marathon in Cottonwood, Arizona. The timing was right for 16-18 weeks of training, it was an out-and-back course (I don't like having to be bussed to the start), it sounded like a beautiful location, it was only a few hours drive away, and the temperatures would likely still be mild (Cottonwood, located in central Arizona between Prescott and Sedona, is higher elevation than Tucson).
To recap my short history with 26.2-mile runs:
Also, at the same time I signed up for a training program with a local running shop (Fleet Feet Tucson) that went through the winter. I intended to use that to get a little bit faster for the series of local 5K and 10K runs put on by the Southern Arizona Roadrunners, but knew that it would help for the marathon as well. Ostensibly for people who were doing their first half-marathon, this program incorporated interval training at a local high school track, taught some very useful dynamic stretches and other warm-up routines, some running clinics and great advice by their coaches. Furthermore, I was in a bit better running form starting off, having done a few long trail runs.
Even so, there were a few set-backs along the way. First, I twisted my ankle stepping on the edge of rough pavement during a night run. Fortunately, it wasn't bad and I took only 4 days off from running. Second, in the middle of training I developed persistent pain in my heels. I thought it could be a fore-runner of plantar's fasciatis but was advised that it was likely just due to running with tight calf muscles. I took a few more days off and also started stretching & massaging my calves more frequently. It made for some extra "easy" weeks and threw off my schedule of gradually increasing long runs. So, ultimately, I cut back by 15% and ran around 600 training miles, peaking at a 56-mile week and 21.5-mile long run.
In addition to the track workouts, I ran a lot of trail miles and all my long runs were mixed road/trail. I figured this would be less wear-and-tear (the variation of trail running versus the repetitive strikes of road running), but it also simulated the Cottonwood course description.
I improved my 5K and 10K PRs by 4%; no doubt that could have been greater had I not been focused on ramping up my mileage so much. The best part was finally doing a 20+ mile run and not being terribly sore afterword, in fact just doing a 21-mile run and feeling like I could keep going. That told me I'd finally done enough work to actually be ready for a marathon.
To recap my short history with 26.2-mile runs:
- 2010: had only ever run 13.1 miles max, thought "what the heck, let's see what happens." What happened was I ended up walking 8 or 9 miles of it.
- 2011: bumped up my training, had done a 21-miler, but due to a combination of factors it was pretty much an instant replay.
- 2012: bumped up my training further, but still well below a typical marathoner, and didn't improve overall.
Also, at the same time I signed up for a training program with a local running shop (Fleet Feet Tucson) that went through the winter. I intended to use that to get a little bit faster for the series of local 5K and 10K runs put on by the Southern Arizona Roadrunners, but knew that it would help for the marathon as well. Ostensibly for people who were doing their first half-marathon, this program incorporated interval training at a local high school track, taught some very useful dynamic stretches and other warm-up routines, some running clinics and great advice by their coaches. Furthermore, I was in a bit better running form starting off, having done a few long trail runs.
Even so, there were a few set-backs along the way. First, I twisted my ankle stepping on the edge of rough pavement during a night run. Fortunately, it wasn't bad and I took only 4 days off from running. Second, in the middle of training I developed persistent pain in my heels. I thought it could be a fore-runner of plantar's fasciatis but was advised that it was likely just due to running with tight calf muscles. I took a few more days off and also started stretching & massaging my calves more frequently. It made for some extra "easy" weeks and threw off my schedule of gradually increasing long runs. So, ultimately, I cut back by 15% and ran around 600 training miles, peaking at a 56-mile week and 21.5-mile long run.
In addition to the track workouts, I ran a lot of trail miles and all my long runs were mixed road/trail. I figured this would be less wear-and-tear (the variation of trail running versus the repetitive strikes of road running), but it also simulated the Cottonwood course description.
I improved my 5K and 10K PRs by 4%; no doubt that could have been greater had I not been focused on ramping up my mileage so much. The best part was finally doing a 20+ mile run and not being terribly sore afterword, in fact just doing a 21-mile run and feeling like I could keep going. That told me I'd finally done enough work to actually be ready for a marathon.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Running 2012 and Into 2013
Crunching the numbers, and counting on two or three more workouts before the year is out, I'll have run 1150 miles in 2012, a nearly 50% increase compared to 2011. But I actually ran with about the same frequency, just increased the average distance per run by over two miles. It has been a good way to meet people, make friends, burn calories (more effectively than biking), get out in nature, feel healthy, and so on.
I ran a lot of the events on the Southern Arizona Roadrunners calendar, particularly those in the Spring, and found that I'm about 20% slower than the winners in my age group. However, there was an odd outlier: in the Sabino Canyon run, I was only 10% slower. That could just reflect a smaller field. I did miss Ragnar Del Sol after doing that the two years prior—it's a very social event, and a great deal of fun—so I'll have to find a way to make that happen again.
Kicking off 2012, I ran on New Year's Day with TTR, on their Wasson Peak run in the Tucson Mountains (Saguaro Park West). That was a very beautiful 15-mile trail run, though with a mile-long series of steps to descend, which was quite painful. This was only my second run with TTR. I did another in the late spring on Mount Lemmon in the Catalinas and sprained an ankle, running fast over loose rocks into Marshall Gulch and not paying enough attention. I knew it was sprained right away, but still hobbled up to the aid station atop the mountain (in retrospect, I should have just sent word with another runner and waited there).
So I was injured for a few weeks. Coincidentally, my wife broke her leg ten days later, requiring major surgery and recovery (an entry for another time, perhaps). Later, when she was able to move around without assistance, I started training for the Labor Day run at Saguaro East, which is very challenging, both because the course is quite tough and because you have to train in the middle of a Tucson summer. As usual, a number of times the heat and humidity got to me, and I walked back. Another time, a summer monsoon storm swept down the mountain, with powerful lightning strikes all around as I ran back, getting caught in drenching rain in the last mile. But on Labor Day, the training paid off and I ran a PR of just under 65 minutes (then was a little miffed that I'd relaxed during the latter half of the race and could have done it faster).
Throughout the year, I'd run periodically on the network of trails at the end of east Broadway, which is the trail-head closest to our house. These trails are mostly flat, so it's more for fun than anything else. I connected up a series of trails on the map to maximize coverage and minimize cross-over, calling it the "Sooper Dooper Looper." I meant to run it in the early summer, but a number of things prevented that from happening: I came really, really close to being bitten by a western diamondback rattlesnake so was a little spooked, then part of the trail was marked closed due to "killer" bees, and I decided to respect their decision to close the trail, later the injury and summer heat. But finally in the fall, I ran the 17 miles on a nice morning with lots of cloud cover.
I ran Bear Canyon Loop twice in the fall (once in November with TTR, once in December with friends, on a drizzly, misty, cold day) and PhoneLine once with friends, as part of a memorial to a friend/acquaintance who died unexpectedly (it was his favorite run). These ones reminded me that, while I've never felt the so-called "Runner's High," trail-running is really fun and I find myself thinking "I should do this everyday." Especially with BCL's 17-mile length and 2000'+ ft. of elevation gain, I felt like I'd crossed a new threshold, being able to do these long runs without needing days to recover before running again. But, later on, in TTR's Loma Alta run, I made an effort to big up my pace and that time was sore for 3+ days (luckily just muscle soreness).
In January and February I had been training for the Lost Dutchman Marathon in Apache Junction, AZ; hoping to get my marathon time under four hours. I did long runs up to 21 miles but it wasn't enough and, on race day, I started getting leg pains around mile 18. I walked most of the rest of the way. It's a great event and maybe I'll be back one of these years. A friend on DailyMile suggested that for a marathon, you really want to get in like 450+ miles in training. I'm planning on signing up for one that's in April of 2013, so am ramping up my miles and long runs again now.
Here's what I have in mind for 2013:
I ran a lot of the events on the Southern Arizona Roadrunners calendar, particularly those in the Spring, and found that I'm about 20% slower than the winners in my age group. However, there was an odd outlier: in the Sabino Canyon run, I was only 10% slower. That could just reflect a smaller field. I did miss Ragnar Del Sol after doing that the two years prior—it's a very social event, and a great deal of fun—so I'll have to find a way to make that happen again.
Kicking off 2012, I ran on New Year's Day with TTR, on their Wasson Peak run in the Tucson Mountains (Saguaro Park West). That was a very beautiful 15-mile trail run, though with a mile-long series of steps to descend, which was quite painful. This was only my second run with TTR. I did another in the late spring on Mount Lemmon in the Catalinas and sprained an ankle, running fast over loose rocks into Marshall Gulch and not paying enough attention. I knew it was sprained right away, but still hobbled up to the aid station atop the mountain (in retrospect, I should have just sent word with another runner and waited there).
So I was injured for a few weeks. Coincidentally, my wife broke her leg ten days later, requiring major surgery and recovery (an entry for another time, perhaps). Later, when she was able to move around without assistance, I started training for the Labor Day run at Saguaro East, which is very challenging, both because the course is quite tough and because you have to train in the middle of a Tucson summer. As usual, a number of times the heat and humidity got to me, and I walked back. Another time, a summer monsoon storm swept down the mountain, with powerful lightning strikes all around as I ran back, getting caught in drenching rain in the last mile. But on Labor Day, the training paid off and I ran a PR of just under 65 minutes (then was a little miffed that I'd relaxed during the latter half of the race and could have done it faster).
Throughout the year, I'd run periodically on the network of trails at the end of east Broadway, which is the trail-head closest to our house. These trails are mostly flat, so it's more for fun than anything else. I connected up a series of trails on the map to maximize coverage and minimize cross-over, calling it the "Sooper Dooper Looper." I meant to run it in the early summer, but a number of things prevented that from happening: I came really, really close to being bitten by a western diamondback rattlesnake so was a little spooked, then part of the trail was marked closed due to "killer" bees, and I decided to respect their decision to close the trail, later the injury and summer heat. But finally in the fall, I ran the 17 miles on a nice morning with lots of cloud cover.
I ran Bear Canyon Loop twice in the fall (once in November with TTR, once in December with friends, on a drizzly, misty, cold day) and PhoneLine once with friends, as part of a memorial to a friend/acquaintance who died unexpectedly (it was his favorite run). These ones reminded me that, while I've never felt the so-called "Runner's High," trail-running is really fun and I find myself thinking "I should do this everyday." Especially with BCL's 17-mile length and 2000'+ ft. of elevation gain, I felt like I'd crossed a new threshold, being able to do these long runs without needing days to recover before running again. But, later on, in TTR's Loma Alta run, I made an effort to big up my pace and that time was sore for 3+ days (luckily just muscle soreness).
 |
| Caught by RossZ while running on the AZ Trail at Saguaro National Park |
In January and February I had been training for the Lost Dutchman Marathon in Apache Junction, AZ; hoping to get my marathon time under four hours. I did long runs up to 21 miles but it wasn't enough and, on race day, I started getting leg pains around mile 18. I walked most of the rest of the way. It's a great event and maybe I'll be back one of these years. A friend on DailyMile suggested that for a marathon, you really want to get in like 450+ miles in training. I'm planning on signing up for one that's in April of 2013, so am ramping up my miles and long runs again now.
Here's what I have in mind for 2013:
- Get faster (am part of a Fleet Feet training group now, which includes interval training, and I'll probably rejoin ESTANDA for their track workouts)
- Run the Brian Mickelson Memorial Marathon in Cottonwood AZ on 4/20, follow my training plan for Jan-Apr, build endurance further
- Compete in my age group for the SAR Grand Prix (I'm already signed up for their first 8 events)
- Volunteer for some events (first off, probably the Fleet Feet trail run event at Colossal Cave)
- Do four more of the TTR runs (Wasson, Winter BCL, Catalina Peaks, and Sunset trails) and 4-6 in the fall
- Do another run on Catalina Highway (not the Mt Lemmon marathon or ½-marathon though) and one on the Madera Canyon road
- Run at the Grand Canyon (probably South Kaibab + Bright Angel or just Plateau Point out-n-back)
- Run in the Tucson Parks&Rec summer track&field series, and maybe one of the summer marathons in MT, if the vacation schedule works out
- Go under an hour at the Labor Day run
- Have fun and stay healthy!
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Labor Day Run
The annual Labor Day Run at Saguaro National Park (East) is one of my favorite events. It's close to home (3.5 miles), it's said to be the only running event in a national park, and it was the first ever run I competed in (the 2008 edition). The course, with rolling steep hills and one monster 1.5-mile climb, is tough. What makes it really, really tough, however, is the fact that it takes place in what is, essentially, the middle of the summer here in the Sonoran Desert. I try to do a little better each year, but that means training in the most humid time of the year for Tucson. So the course has kicked my ass plenty of times; usually I find that the heat and humidity gets to me about halfway through, at the base of the big hill, and I end up jogging back, or hiking across the loop and back to the start.
Other times of year—when I'm not training for Labor Day—it's just fun, a great way to get out and enjoy some natural scenery. I've seen deer, gila monsters, rattlesnakes (western diamondback and Arizona black), desert tortoises, coyote and bobcats. I've witnessed amazing sunsets, starlit nights and satellite passes, and also awe-inspiring lightning storms (both distant and holy-crap-I-could-die sweeping over me). I was just a little trepidatious the first time running it around sunset and into twilight (mountain lion and killer bee attacks have occurred out there) and afterwards started the first of a series of entries like "ran the Saguaro Loop at sunset and did not get attacked by [bats|bees|cougars|etc|etc]."
I set a 66-minute PR out there early this spring. That was taking it easy in the first couple of miles with their roller-coaster hills, gradually ramping up and running the last 5K at my max pace. I didn't get to train a whole lot until late in July. My first few training runs established that a significant speed-up, e.g. a sub-1-hour time, was probably not going to happen by Labor Day, but shaving two or maybe even three minutes off of my PR could happen (with a lot of hard work). However, after a number of training runs throughout August, I still couldn't seem to go faster than 29 minutes to the base of the hill or less than 14 minutes on the hill, only a tiny improvement on my PR splits, and still requiring a huge effort in the last 5K in order to improve my time.
Fast forward to race day, 6:35AM. I started closer to the front—less people to pass—this time. But I'm still slow, so not too close. I was amazed to look at my watch and see about 7:15 had gone by in mile 1, 14:30 by mile 2. I slowed down a little bit to save energy for the hill. Topped out on the hill (mile 5) in 40:40 and felt pretty good (slight side-ache). This was the 2-minute improvement I was looking for! But somehow, elated that the PR was well in sight, I slowed down and stopped watching the split times, just cruised along at a slightly slower pace. I picked up the pace again in the last mile, but it was too late, the sub-64-minute time was not going to happen. Still got a PR with a 64:45 minute time (on my watch; it turns out the official time of 64:53 is from the gun, not from crossing the line) and 126th place out of 779. So it was a moment of some mixed emotions: glad for the PR, but a little bummed that I did the last few miles slower than in training.
Next year, my training goal will be to achieve the sub-1-hour time!
Other times of year—when I'm not training for Labor Day—it's just fun, a great way to get out and enjoy some natural scenery. I've seen deer, gila monsters, rattlesnakes (western diamondback and Arizona black), desert tortoises, coyote and bobcats. I've witnessed amazing sunsets, starlit nights and satellite passes, and also awe-inspiring lightning storms (both distant and holy-crap-I-could-die sweeping over me). I was just a little trepidatious the first time running it around sunset and into twilight (mountain lion and killer bee attacks have occurred out there) and afterwards started the first of a series of entries like "ran the Saguaro Loop at sunset and did not get attacked by [bats|bees|cougars|etc|etc]."
I set a 66-minute PR out there early this spring. That was taking it easy in the first couple of miles with their roller-coaster hills, gradually ramping up and running the last 5K at my max pace. I didn't get to train a whole lot until late in July. My first few training runs established that a significant speed-up, e.g. a sub-1-hour time, was probably not going to happen by Labor Day, but shaving two or maybe even three minutes off of my PR could happen (with a lot of hard work). However, after a number of training runs throughout August, I still couldn't seem to go faster than 29 minutes to the base of the hill or less than 14 minutes on the hill, only a tiny improvement on my PR splits, and still requiring a huge effort in the last 5K in order to improve my time.
Fast forward to race day, 6:35AM. I started closer to the front—less people to pass—this time. But I'm still slow, so not too close. I was amazed to look at my watch and see about 7:15 had gone by in mile 1, 14:30 by mile 2. I slowed down a little bit to save energy for the hill. Topped out on the hill (mile 5) in 40:40 and felt pretty good (slight side-ache). This was the 2-minute improvement I was looking for! But somehow, elated that the PR was well in sight, I slowed down and stopped watching the split times, just cruised along at a slightly slower pace. I picked up the pace again in the last mile, but it was too late, the sub-64-minute time was not going to happen. Still got a PR with a 64:45 minute time (on my watch; it turns out the official time of 64:53 is from the gun, not from crossing the line) and 126th place out of 779. So it was a moment of some mixed emotions: glad for the PR, but a little bummed that I did the last few miles slower than in training.
Next year, my training goal will be to achieve the sub-1-hour time!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Lost Dutchman Marathon
A few years ago I saw a flyer for the Lost Dutchman Marathon in Apache Junction AZ, which is held annually in February. It sounded like a fun course, starting out near the mountains east of Phoenix, a place that I hadn't visited before. However, in the next couple of years, I participated in the Ragnar Del Sol relay race, which is held a few days later. But this time around, I didn't find an organized team in time for the early entry fee, so decided to go for plan B. The decision was made easier by the fact that two new friends, Becca & Matt, planned to run the marathon as well. So back in November (2011) I signed up and started ramping up my running.
To recap my previous marathons, in 2010 I tried for the first time, despite never having had run more than a half marathon. I ended up having to walk a lot, six or seven miles. I knew I had to build up strength by training more and also gain confidence through longer runs. I overcame some injuries and did a bit of interval training. I worked up to 17 then 21 mile runs before tapering. In the summer I had another go at a marathon. It didn't go well, muscle cramps started by the halfway point. I tried to run parts of each mile in the second half, but it was extremely painful. So for the Lost Dutchman, I knew that I needed to build up even more muscle (and core) strength. It went well, I did some intense trail runs, an eight mile run uphill on the Mt. Lemmon highway, tried to follow a plan of tempo, progression, and sub-pace runs. My longest run was 21 miles again, but in stark contrast to the prior experience, I felt fine afterwards and recovered very fast. But an attempt a week later to run 90% of a marathon did not go well—muscle pain set in by mile 17. I had to begin tapering and hope for the best.
Unfortunately the third time was not the charm and my marathon followed the same template. Various pains that had me starting to walk by mile 18, and walking all of miles 22-25. At this point I don't know what the next marathon I'll attempt will be, but I do know that the training will have to be even more intense.
To recap my previous marathons, in 2010 I tried for the first time, despite never having had run more than a half marathon. I ended up having to walk a lot, six or seven miles. I knew I had to build up strength by training more and also gain confidence through longer runs. I overcame some injuries and did a bit of interval training. I worked up to 17 then 21 mile runs before tapering. In the summer I had another go at a marathon. It didn't go well, muscle cramps started by the halfway point. I tried to run parts of each mile in the second half, but it was extremely painful. So for the Lost Dutchman, I knew that I needed to build up even more muscle (and core) strength. It went well, I did some intense trail runs, an eight mile run uphill on the Mt. Lemmon highway, tried to follow a plan of tempo, progression, and sub-pace runs. My longest run was 21 miles again, but in stark contrast to the prior experience, I felt fine afterwards and recovered very fast. But an attempt a week later to run 90% of a marathon did not go well—muscle pain set in by mile 17. I had to begin tapering and hope for the best.
Unfortunately the third time was not the charm and my marathon followed the same template. Various pains that had me starting to walk by mile 18, and walking all of miles 22-25. At this point I don't know what the next marathon I'll attempt will be, but I do know that the training will have to be even more intense.
Monday, November 21, 2011
El Tour 2011
Next year will be the 30th annual El Tour de Tucson. 10,000 riders are expected. I first rode in the 10th El Tour, way back in 1992 (and, for various reasons, didn't get back into road cycling for a long time). I've been looking back and looking forward; reflecting on what has changed, what has stayed the same, and figuring out that I need to continue training to finally get a sub-6-hour ("gold") time.
In '92 I got to the start way early, and stood around freezing my ass off, because the low that night was near freezing. In 2011, it was warm enough for just a short-sleeve jersey. Back then, my borrowed bike was all-aluminum, so it was fairly heavy, but more than that, *you* where the shock absorber--the pain in my hands didn't go away for days. Now, I'm riding on carbon forks, seat stays, and a seat post and it makes a huge difference.
In '92 the route was also 111 miles, but clockwise--we went west to the base of the Tucson Mountains before turning north. It was my first experience with the thrill and fear of riding in a pelaton, a mass of wheels almost touching, the hiss of brakes as near-misses occurred all around. And, of course, being passed by nearly everyone.
Nowadays the route goes southward first, and stays on city streets. The start is so slow that, in the middle of the pack where I line up, literally minutes go by between the starting gun and when it's time to start moving (and even then, better not clip both feet in!). The most important thing about El Tour, and one that thankfully hasn't changed, is that there's at least one police officer and each and every intersection on the entire route (dozens and dozens of intersections). So many kudos to the cops from Tucson and Pima County. They're there all day, giving high priority to every group of cyclists, lowest priority to all the motorists (many of which are noticeably irate)--it is a nice inversion of the normal order.
But back to the start. There are always large groups of Team In Training riders, tending to go a little slower, some of them already struggling to not be separated from their group. This year a number of them decorated their helmets with monkeys on top of empty beer cans (flying beer monkeys? anyways, it was kinda neat). I'm impatient at the start and spent the first hour passing people, or trying to avoid getting stuck behind other rides. Maybe because of the warmer weather, this year there weren't nearly as many dropped water bottles and other detritus. I passed Bill Walton--giant guy on a giant bike.
Another cool thing that hasn't changed is an El Tour tradition: a mariachi band serenading the cyclists at the first "river crossing" (about 50 or 60 yards on a dirt path across the Santa Cruz river--a century ago, it would have been flowing but alas, progress). It's great to see that. They don't have to be there, and it's maybe not all that fun--playing for what, hours? while getting all dusty and having endless streams of riders hussling past you, most of them not even acknowledging your presence? Kudos to them as well.
Further on, I witnessed a first: a pile-up. Riders were being attended to and disentangling their bikes. Everybody looked OK. This was around where we had gone east past the city dump and were paralleling the freeway on frontage roads. I was trying to stay in pace lines but, more often than not, either got dropped or rode away and had to bridge the gap to the next group.
It wasn't long before we turned north and headed into my home turf--the far eastside of Tucson. Another thing that has changed with El Tour is that there are many more spectators, particularly in these suburban areas (include the northwest side)--folks just out at the end of their driveways, or gathered on corners, to cheer riders on. One lady had a giant pot held up above her head, ringing it with a spoon or something! I think that could be more tiring than riding a bike.
Two hours in, we passed Saguaro National Park (east unit) and then the closest point to my house: 3 miles as we hit a nice long descent. Back when the course went the other way 'round, it was one of two long gradual ascents, which I definitely was not prepared for. Now I was sailing down it at 35, passing people on the way down. Then I hear the ding-ding of a bike bell and know a tandem is about to pass me--they descend like crazy. As we zag west a little on Speedway, I get behind a couple of other riders, one of whom was (after just now checking the number on the results page) the other celebrity in the race: home-run king Barry Bonds. But he slackened quite a bit as we turned north and began to climb for the first time, so I had to leave him behind. I followed behind an old dude up the rest of the hill, then passed him on the twisty-turny path down into Canyon Ranch and the 2nd "river crossing". By odd chance, there was a big gap ahead of us and when, we got off the bikes he said "thanks, I would have gotten lost on those turns" and I said "thank you, you pulled me up most of Kolb!"
I was grateful for the little break here and walked the bike through the dirt, but some people want to ride through and they're always pushy, like totally irritated (like "on your LEFT, damnit!") that they might lose a few seconds by having to go around you. But this year, I was a little faster, so it was just a few of these types, instead of the whole lead group from the 85-mile start).
The only steep grade of the event is a short hill coming out of canyon ranch. I thought about not dropping to the small chain-ring but then took stock of how drained my legs felt already (not quite halfway) and decided not to take that chance. I overheard someone say, "you guys are an hour behind the lead group."
Another fun part, after a couple more hills, is zooming through the foothills. Around three hours in I was at the halfway point. But the second half would be less even, have headwind, include the bumpiest roads, plus I'd be even weaker and slower. There was a strange pain in my right calf. I knew going in that I hadn't done enough long distance riding to be confident of that 6-hour time, and now here was the proof. So at that point it became more about just having a good ride, stopping at a few more aid stations than planned, then trying to get going fast again to hop behind a passing pace-line and stay with them! And that's the way it went.
In another reminder of years past, the final rest stop was again my favorite: excellent brownies, salty snacks, friendly volunteers. Kudos to those folks as well.
All told, by the time I finished, thirty minutes had been spent stopped somewhere and the rest, six hours and sixteen minutes, were riding. Looking forward to next year!
In '92 I got to the start way early, and stood around freezing my ass off, because the low that night was near freezing. In 2011, it was warm enough for just a short-sleeve jersey. Back then, my borrowed bike was all-aluminum, so it was fairly heavy, but more than that, *you* where the shock absorber--the pain in my hands didn't go away for days. Now, I'm riding on carbon forks, seat stays, and a seat post and it makes a huge difference.
In '92 the route was also 111 miles, but clockwise--we went west to the base of the Tucson Mountains before turning north. It was my first experience with the thrill and fear of riding in a pelaton, a mass of wheels almost touching, the hiss of brakes as near-misses occurred all around. And, of course, being passed by nearly everyone.
Nowadays the route goes southward first, and stays on city streets. The start is so slow that, in the middle of the pack where I line up, literally minutes go by between the starting gun and when it's time to start moving (and even then, better not clip both feet in!). The most important thing about El Tour, and one that thankfully hasn't changed, is that there's at least one police officer and each and every intersection on the entire route (dozens and dozens of intersections). So many kudos to the cops from Tucson and Pima County. They're there all day, giving high priority to every group of cyclists, lowest priority to all the motorists (many of which are noticeably irate)--it is a nice inversion of the normal order.
But back to the start. There are always large groups of Team In Training riders, tending to go a little slower, some of them already struggling to not be separated from their group. This year a number of them decorated their helmets with monkeys on top of empty beer cans (flying beer monkeys? anyways, it was kinda neat). I'm impatient at the start and spent the first hour passing people, or trying to avoid getting stuck behind other rides. Maybe because of the warmer weather, this year there weren't nearly as many dropped water bottles and other detritus. I passed Bill Walton--giant guy on a giant bike.
Another cool thing that hasn't changed is an El Tour tradition: a mariachi band serenading the cyclists at the first "river crossing" (about 50 or 60 yards on a dirt path across the Santa Cruz river--a century ago, it would have been flowing but alas, progress). It's great to see that. They don't have to be there, and it's maybe not all that fun--playing for what, hours? while getting all dusty and having endless streams of riders hussling past you, most of them not even acknowledging your presence? Kudos to them as well.
Further on, I witnessed a first: a pile-up. Riders were being attended to and disentangling their bikes. Everybody looked OK. This was around where we had gone east past the city dump and were paralleling the freeway on frontage roads. I was trying to stay in pace lines but, more often than not, either got dropped or rode away and had to bridge the gap to the next group.
It wasn't long before we turned north and headed into my home turf--the far eastside of Tucson. Another thing that has changed with El Tour is that there are many more spectators, particularly in these suburban areas (include the northwest side)--folks just out at the end of their driveways, or gathered on corners, to cheer riders on. One lady had a giant pot held up above her head, ringing it with a spoon or something! I think that could be more tiring than riding a bike.
Two hours in, we passed Saguaro National Park (east unit) and then the closest point to my house: 3 miles as we hit a nice long descent. Back when the course went the other way 'round, it was one of two long gradual ascents, which I definitely was not prepared for. Now I was sailing down it at 35, passing people on the way down. Then I hear the ding-ding of a bike bell and know a tandem is about to pass me--they descend like crazy. As we zag west a little on Speedway, I get behind a couple of other riders, one of whom was (after just now checking the number on the results page) the other celebrity in the race: home-run king Barry Bonds. But he slackened quite a bit as we turned north and began to climb for the first time, so I had to leave him behind. I followed behind an old dude up the rest of the hill, then passed him on the twisty-turny path down into Canyon Ranch and the 2nd "river crossing". By odd chance, there was a big gap ahead of us and when, we got off the bikes he said "thanks, I would have gotten lost on those turns" and I said "thank you, you pulled me up most of Kolb!"
I was grateful for the little break here and walked the bike through the dirt, but some people want to ride through and they're always pushy, like totally irritated (like "on your LEFT, damnit!") that they might lose a few seconds by having to go around you. But this year, I was a little faster, so it was just a few of these types, instead of the whole lead group from the 85-mile start).
The only steep grade of the event is a short hill coming out of canyon ranch. I thought about not dropping to the small chain-ring but then took stock of how drained my legs felt already (not quite halfway) and decided not to take that chance. I overheard someone say, "you guys are an hour behind the lead group."
Another fun part, after a couple more hills, is zooming through the foothills. Around three hours in I was at the halfway point. But the second half would be less even, have headwind, include the bumpiest roads, plus I'd be even weaker and slower. There was a strange pain in my right calf. I knew going in that I hadn't done enough long distance riding to be confident of that 6-hour time, and now here was the proof. So at that point it became more about just having a good ride, stopping at a few more aid stations than planned, then trying to get going fast again to hop behind a passing pace-line and stay with them! And that's the way it went.
In another reminder of years past, the final rest stop was again my favorite: excellent brownies, salty snacks, friendly volunteers. Kudos to those folks as well.
All told, by the time I finished, thirty minutes had been spent stopped somewhere and the rest, six hours and sixteen minutes, were riding. Looking forward to next year!
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Knees And The Damage Done
"You're gonna blow out your knees by the time you're 40" someone told me, when I took up running a number of years ago. Well... here I am almost 40 and, yes, I have had some significant knee problems recently.
All those miles on pavement I was told, would wear down my knee joints over time. My standard response was that having good form and not over-doing it would prevent this outcome. I still think that can be the case. After all, there are runners in their eighties doing major events like marathons and Ironman triathalons. When you're running right, you can feel the shock being transmitted through your body, safely past the knees. And, at a moderate pace like mine, the shock is not particularly large.
But what happened in the past few months is that I neglected to follow the common sense guidelines.
Dec 27th. In the evening after doing a PR < 23 min 5K, I banged my knee on the side of something and later felt a sharp pain on the side and middle of my right kneecap. I thought maybe it would go away and tried biking on it, and doing a short run in the next couple of days, but it hurt pretty badly. I was hobbling to work; going down stairs and even sitting were pretty painful.
After doing some research and eventually seeing a doctor it was clear that it was Patello-Femoral Pain Syndrome, sometimes called "Runner's Knee." It basically means that you've worn away some cartilage on the underside of the kneecap. This is usually due to bad form, where your patellar-femoral tendon is moving at too great of an angle relative to the knee. It's actually more common in women because they naturally have a higher "Q angle" here--more of a Y than a guy. Probably some asymmetry in my motion set up the condition for this to happen. One stupid thing I sometimes did was to pull my knees inward while cycling. Then I read that it basically has no aerodynamic advantage so, you know, don't be stupid. I'd also injured this knee years ago in a skiiing accident so that definitely could have contributed (my rehab for that, once the initial swelling was gone, was to do nothing, another thing that was also not smart).
But once I got serious about my right knee and started doing RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) it began to get better. On the advice of the doc I took maximum doses of Ibubrofen for a week (which was literally all I could stomach). After that week I was able to do a 10K again, not at my planned pace or anything, but without making things worse. Cycling still hurt, I think because the full flexions aggravated the condition. All told, it was about a month before I could run at the same intensity level and a few more weeks for cycling--and the bulk of that time no doubt has more to do with my failure to treat it immediately and appropriately.
Mar 1st. I went for a big trail run, taking on some long, steep sections. Not only was that new for me, but I had only allowed less than two days for recovery from an event that had left my quads really, really sore. What's more, I really hammered my knees on the rocky descent. Well, the next time I went out running, after about ten minutes, I noticed a pain developing on the side of my left knee. It got worse and pretty quickly, I was walking home.
At this point I was basically hoping it would go away. A few times over the next two weeks I'd go for a run and the same thing happened, within minutes my left knee felt so bad that it was clear that continuing was not wise. It wasn't a typical pain--pushing through it seemed possible--but I had to figure out what was going on. After seeing the doc and doing more research on the net, I found an exact match for my symptoms--Iliotibial Band Friction Syndrome (funny enough it is sometimes also called "Runner's Knee") or ITBS.
It's bad news. It's nearly always caused by a spike in training--pushing yourself well beyond what your body is comfortable doing. It hides--you feel fine, you feel strong, you feel like running and so you do, but by the time you feel it again, you're doing more damage and are back to square zero. Furthermore, the more often you experience it, the more likely you are to encounter it again. It's not uncommon for people extreme cases of this condition to give up running.
It's not actually in the IT band itself, which is a tendon that extends from the hip to the knee on the side of your legs. Rather, it's an inflammation where part of the IT band attaches to the tibia, in particular where it crosses over the "lateral epicondyle", which is a bump on the side of your leg just below the knee. At about 20 degrees of knee flexion the pressure on the tissues between the lateral epicondyle and the IT band are the greatest. Inflammation builds progressively here and begins to interrupt your gait. A few minutes of rest can be all that is needed for the pain to go away. But--it's a weird thing--when you become accustomed to a certain level of capability, accepting any limitation of it is very frustrating.
I bought an e-book (free sample here) by Paul Ingraham who reviews what's known about this condition, what works to treat it, and what doesn't work. It's a fantastic investigation, a hard-nosed look at the evidence versus unsupported misinformation (of which there is quite a bit). He suffered from ITBS for a long time himself after surviving a grizzly bear encounter and running down a mountain, a treated patients with it as a massage therapist. I really appreciate his skeptical, evidence-based approach, going to primary sources as well as his own experience to determine what is actually known here and what actually works. His advice can be boiled down to rest and "megadoses of well-timed icing." (If you suffer from ITBS and want to know all your options, I highly recommend purchasing his book).
So I tried it. Another week with no running (or cycling) and some time spent applying ice to the side of me knee. Finally I went running again and the severity of the problem was reduced by maybe half. A significant improvement, but I was hoping it would be completely cured, so this was still pretty distressing. More aggressive treatment was required! So for three days straight I was icing the knee pretty much every waking hour. "ITBS may consist entirely of inflammation" is one of Mr. Ingraham's conclusions. My own interpretation of this is that it is not a muscular problem but a circulatory problem. Perhaps the leg uses the compression created by the interaction of the ITB and the lateral epicondyle as a pump to get blood up past the knee to counteract the forces in running that drive blood down to the feet? You can feel the swelling when ITBS is just starting, even if it is not visible, it feels to me like your muscles are starting to twist.
By this time I had become aware of subtle differences in the way my knees felt and had formed a goal of not running until the left as good as the right. After another three days of infrequent icing, I tried running again, and this time felt major improvement. That was five weeks after the initial symptoms, five weeks where I couldn't do a continuous run longer than a couple of miles.
That doesn't sound like a big loss (and again in this case, it probably could have been shorter--say two weeks--if I'd known exactly what I was dealing with up front and had been smart about it). But running gets to be an addiction to the point where, even faced with the need to stop it for a few weeks can seem like a major problem that you would do anything to overcome. Your plans for being at a certain level months ahead suddenly are in jeopardy. You may have to cancel events. Your friends will be posting their workouts and you'll burn with envy. You've lost, as I said, some of your core capabilities, with some threat that they are compromised for good.
Another week after the "comeback" run I completed a fairly challenging event (Sabino Canyon) at a pace slightly faster than my time last year (when I was majorly sore--at this point muscle soreness feels like sweet relief compared to knee pain). That was a week ago, and, if things continue to go well, in another month I'll be back at the level where I was last in December (and, briefly, in February).
Now I'm a zealous advocate of the "10% rule" (never increase your distance or your effort more than 10% per week). Lesson learned!
All those miles on pavement I was told, would wear down my knee joints over time. My standard response was that having good form and not over-doing it would prevent this outcome. I still think that can be the case. After all, there are runners in their eighties doing major events like marathons and Ironman triathalons. When you're running right, you can feel the shock being transmitted through your body, safely past the knees. And, at a moderate pace like mine, the shock is not particularly large.
But what happened in the past few months is that I neglected to follow the common sense guidelines.
Dec 27th. In the evening after doing a PR < 23 min 5K, I banged my knee on the side of something and later felt a sharp pain on the side and middle of my right kneecap. I thought maybe it would go away and tried biking on it, and doing a short run in the next couple of days, but it hurt pretty badly. I was hobbling to work; going down stairs and even sitting were pretty painful.
After doing some research and eventually seeing a doctor it was clear that it was Patello-Femoral Pain Syndrome, sometimes called "Runner's Knee." It basically means that you've worn away some cartilage on the underside of the kneecap. This is usually due to bad form, where your patellar-femoral tendon is moving at too great of an angle relative to the knee. It's actually more common in women because they naturally have a higher "Q angle" here--more of a Y than a guy. Probably some asymmetry in my motion set up the condition for this to happen. One stupid thing I sometimes did was to pull my knees inward while cycling. Then I read that it basically has no aerodynamic advantage so, you know, don't be stupid. I'd also injured this knee years ago in a skiiing accident so that definitely could have contributed (my rehab for that, once the initial swelling was gone, was to do nothing, another thing that was also not smart).
But once I got serious about my right knee and started doing RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) it began to get better. On the advice of the doc I took maximum doses of Ibubrofen for a week (which was literally all I could stomach). After that week I was able to do a 10K again, not at my planned pace or anything, but without making things worse. Cycling still hurt, I think because the full flexions aggravated the condition. All told, it was about a month before I could run at the same intensity level and a few more weeks for cycling--and the bulk of that time no doubt has more to do with my failure to treat it immediately and appropriately.
Mar 1st. I went for a big trail run, taking on some long, steep sections. Not only was that new for me, but I had only allowed less than two days for recovery from an event that had left my quads really, really sore. What's more, I really hammered my knees on the rocky descent. Well, the next time I went out running, after about ten minutes, I noticed a pain developing on the side of my left knee. It got worse and pretty quickly, I was walking home.
At this point I was basically hoping it would go away. A few times over the next two weeks I'd go for a run and the same thing happened, within minutes my left knee felt so bad that it was clear that continuing was not wise. It wasn't a typical pain--pushing through it seemed possible--but I had to figure out what was going on. After seeing the doc and doing more research on the net, I found an exact match for my symptoms--Iliotibial Band Friction Syndrome (funny enough it is sometimes also called "Runner's Knee") or ITBS.
It's bad news. It's nearly always caused by a spike in training--pushing yourself well beyond what your body is comfortable doing. It hides--you feel fine, you feel strong, you feel like running and so you do, but by the time you feel it again, you're doing more damage and are back to square zero. Furthermore, the more often you experience it, the more likely you are to encounter it again. It's not uncommon for people extreme cases of this condition to give up running.
It's not actually in the IT band itself, which is a tendon that extends from the hip to the knee on the side of your legs. Rather, it's an inflammation where part of the IT band attaches to the tibia, in particular where it crosses over the "lateral epicondyle", which is a bump on the side of your leg just below the knee. At about 20 degrees of knee flexion the pressure on the tissues between the lateral epicondyle and the IT band are the greatest. Inflammation builds progressively here and begins to interrupt your gait. A few minutes of rest can be all that is needed for the pain to go away. But--it's a weird thing--when you become accustomed to a certain level of capability, accepting any limitation of it is very frustrating.
I bought an e-book (free sample here) by Paul Ingraham who reviews what's known about this condition, what works to treat it, and what doesn't work. It's a fantastic investigation, a hard-nosed look at the evidence versus unsupported misinformation (of which there is quite a bit). He suffered from ITBS for a long time himself after surviving a grizzly bear encounter and running down a mountain, a treated patients with it as a massage therapist. I really appreciate his skeptical, evidence-based approach, going to primary sources as well as his own experience to determine what is actually known here and what actually works. His advice can be boiled down to rest and "megadoses of well-timed icing." (If you suffer from ITBS and want to know all your options, I highly recommend purchasing his book).
So I tried it. Another week with no running (or cycling) and some time spent applying ice to the side of me knee. Finally I went running again and the severity of the problem was reduced by maybe half. A significant improvement, but I was hoping it would be completely cured, so this was still pretty distressing. More aggressive treatment was required! So for three days straight I was icing the knee pretty much every waking hour. "ITBS may consist entirely of inflammation" is one of Mr. Ingraham's conclusions. My own interpretation of this is that it is not a muscular problem but a circulatory problem. Perhaps the leg uses the compression created by the interaction of the ITB and the lateral epicondyle as a pump to get blood up past the knee to counteract the forces in running that drive blood down to the feet? You can feel the swelling when ITBS is just starting, even if it is not visible, it feels to me like your muscles are starting to twist.
By this time I had become aware of subtle differences in the way my knees felt and had formed a goal of not running until the left as good as the right. After another three days of infrequent icing, I tried running again, and this time felt major improvement. That was five weeks after the initial symptoms, five weeks where I couldn't do a continuous run longer than a couple of miles.
That doesn't sound like a big loss (and again in this case, it probably could have been shorter--say two weeks--if I'd known exactly what I was dealing with up front and had been smart about it). But running gets to be an addiction to the point where, even faced with the need to stop it for a few weeks can seem like a major problem that you would do anything to overcome. Your plans for being at a certain level months ahead suddenly are in jeopardy. You may have to cancel events. Your friends will be posting their workouts and you'll burn with envy. You've lost, as I said, some of your core capabilities, with some threat that they are compromised for good.
Another week after the "comeback" run I completed a fairly challenging event (Sabino Canyon) at a pace slightly faster than my time last year (when I was majorly sore--at this point muscle soreness feels like sweet relief compared to knee pain). That was a week ago, and, if things continue to go well, in another month I'll be back at the level where I was last in December (and, briefly, in February).
Now I'm a zealous advocate of the "10% rule" (never increase your distance or your effort more than 10% per week). Lesson learned!
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