Post Race: A Time for Reflection and Second Guessing

A week has now passed since the Las Vegas marathon.  I have spent this week recovering and reflecting on the race and my experience there.  This was the first marathon in which I accomplished all three of the goals I set before me: I finished, qualified for the Boston Marathon, and ran it in 2:59:09.  I knew in the first two miles that I would be able to finish under three hours.  I felt so good and strong for the first 24 miles.  It was exhilarating!  The last two miles were a different story.  I suffered a painful exhaustion that hurt throughout my entire body. Fortunately, I did not slow down more than a minute per mile during that phase. 

Post race reflection is a critical part of a runner's life and necessary if he hopes to improve upon his performance in later races.  As a marathon is an exceptional event that punctuates the staid quality of day to day living, it illuminates and reveals much.  The revelatory material, however, cannot be obtained except through conscious reflection and musing.

As with any great accomplishment, I have felt many congratulations from friends and even myself.  This fruit should be savored and enjoyed for all that it is but I find it can be a dangerous trap too.  Indulgence in too many feelings of a self-congratulatory nature leaves out the less pleasant but necessary questions of a more critical kind.  Did I put everything out on the course?  When I hit the wall, did I give in to the desire to slow, stop, or do anything less than my all?  What aspects of my performance could be improved by modifying my training? How will my experience in this last race inform my preparations for the next one?

I think that post race feelings have some similarities to survivor's guilt. Just as the survivor questions whether he truly did everything he could have done to save those who did not make it out of whatever disaster they shared, I find that I must find specific bits of the evidence that I did indeed do my best. In this race I simply have to remember the last quarter of a mile when I was starting to make audible sounds as I rasped for air. All I wanted to do was stop.  My body ached all over.  Instead I picked up speed and actually regained my earlier pace. This incredible exertion took its toll as I was as emotionally taxed as I was physically.  In an uncontrollable moment, my emotions took over and I began to sob between breaths.  The tears coursed down my cheeks as I found the finish line in sight.  I finished having given my all.

With respect to my training, I know that I need to increase my overall mileage from week to week. My speed was fine but my endurance needs some work if I am to avoid such levels of exhaustion (though I have never successfully avoided such a feelings in a marathon). The Las Vegas marathon was also relatively flat, the Boston marathon is not. I must prepare for my next marathon by including hill work (repeated runs up steep hills). I have put together my new training plan and have included such hill climbs.

I am always impressed by the lack of energy I feel in this recovery period but such feelings give me the opportunity to slow down and assess where I have been and now where I am going. Such a valuable gift is made possible by the total exertion of the unconquerable runner. 

Training and Preparation

"I don't train. I just run my 3 to 15 miles a day." 

-Jack Foster

Most accomplishments in life require training and preparation.  Those feats that appear in headlines or history books come about as a result of much unseen effort.  Like an iceberg, the more substantial part of the story often remains unseen.  Running exemplifies this characteristic of life with unusual accuracy.

The longer the distance, the greater the need for conditioning.  Even shorter runs bring with them an exponential increase in risk of injury if the runner's mind and body have not been prepared properly.  A baseline of fitness must be built incrementally, one run at a time.

As I reflect on my upcoming marathon, I remind myself of each component of my training.  I have built a baseline of endurance through gradually running greater distances from week to week.  Saturday long runs were critical in cultivating the mental and physical stamina for a marathon.  At their longest, twenty miles and further, my joints and muscle systems developed in ways that will withstand the prolonged use and abuse of the race.

My preparations have also included weekly quality workouts.  The cardiovascular system requires more than simple endurance but also strength and efficiency.  By running at a tempo pace for twenty minutes or more at a time, my muscles developed more effective ways to utilize glycogen and anaerobic sources of energy as well as raw strength.  Through interval training (where I ran repeated short distances of 800 meters to a mile with brief recovery periods between bursts) I have augmented my cardiovascular system's capacity to get oxygen to exhausted muscle cells. 

I have also been mindful that in the end it is in the recovery from these runs that true conditioning takes place.  Only by eating a good diet and allowing plenty of time for the body to rebuild from the rigors of training have I been able to cultivate a level of fitness that will enable me to improve upon my last race performance.

In the final two to three weeks before the race, I have enjoyed the fruits of the training by tapering the number of miles I run.  In the taper, I run less and take time to build up stores for the actual race.  The challenge of the taper lies in an increased desire to run: I find myself craving the distance and the speed.  As I get closer and closer to the starting line I begin to feel like a race horse at the gate, yearning to put it all on the track.  

Because of these unseen and quiet preparations, come Sunday morning, I will be at the starting line on the Las Vegas Strip, up to the challenge of the race.  In light of the many training runs, the race will be a reward, a gift to myself, and a celebration of the journey to compete.  The culmination of numerous runs and countless hours, this contest will reveal a bit of the unconquerable runner within me. 

Affirmation of Life

The temptation to deny or runaway from pain, though a very natural and understandable impulse, can lead to an impoverished and empty life. Pain does more than simply warn us of damaged joints or torn muscles, it provides a necessary contrast for sensations of wholeness and wellbeing. I submit that life, in its totality, cannot be affirmed without embracing pain.

An affirmation of life makes fulfilled living possible in the here and now of our world. Its antithesis, life denial, requires a retreat from everyday living and a concomitant fixation on an otherworldly vision. Most importantly, when we affirm life, we accept the interrelated and dialectical character of being human in a limited existence. Once we embrace such an understanding, the good and the bad of life can be navigated more effectively and appreciated more fully.

The ancient Greeks seemed to grasp this concept as indicated in their dramatic works. Greek tragedy has been interpreted most famously as a means of channeling off negative feelings and resentments within the community and its members (a process known as catharsis). Another interpretation offered by Friedrich Nietzsche is that in such dramatic productions, the community affirmed life and celebrated the painful struggle against the limitations of human effort on the stage of religious festivals. The benefits of such engagement included a renewed respect for their community and the roles each of them played in the ongoing struggles of life.

While I enjoy a good Greek tragedy as well as the next person, I am currently reflecting on a more visceral, life-affirming encounter with pain. I will be running in the New Las Vegas Marathon this coming Sunday, December 2. This race in particular inspires a number of thoughts on the pain and challenges intrinsic to running a marathon as well as the opportunities to come away with a renewed appreciation and greater understanding for life in its totality.

It is not my first marathon, so I have a general idea of what the encounter will be like. Yet, I have not run this particular race and every course possesses its own characteristics and particular challenges. Furthermore, there are so many variables within such a long and protracted race I know that I will meet new challenges. But there is one feature I am confident will be consistent with other marathons I have run: the pain.

I run every marathon with a hope of out performing previous races. This may mean a personal record or only a personal best for the type of course (if it is particularly mountainous, for example). I usually set three goals in the face of each marathon. Accomplishment of any one of these goals means that I encountered and overcame discomfiting forms of pain. Failure means that I reached the limit of possibility and arrived at the breaking point in my pain threshold. Such meaning, of course, presumes that I will invest everything that I have to attaining these goals.

The three goals I have set for this marathon are: first, to complete the race; second, to qualify for the Boston Marathon again (3:15); third, to finish with a time under three hours. I feel pretty confident about the first two goals but am not sure about the third. The fastest time I have run is 3:00:14. This course appears to be more difficult but I have been training at a higher altitude so I could be in a better position than might be thought. Either way, the challenge is there.

Over the remaining days between now and the race, I will visualize my participation, the pain, and accomplishment. I focus on steeling myself for the encounter and the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that awaits me in the upcoming days. My past experience and training inspire me with a curious confidence that I will prevail and realize further the unconquerable runner in me. I also know that I will return from Las Vegas revitalized and possessing an embodied affirmation of life in its totality.

Glenn Cunningham put it best: "In running it is man against himself, the cruelest of opponents. The other runners are not the real enemies.  His adversary lies within him, in his ability with brain and heart to master himself and his emotions."

The Ideal of the Unconquerable Runner

One of the most demeaning things one can experience is any event that renders him a victim. I have been bullied before and experienced the shame and degredation of not being able to do anything about it. The sickening sense of helplessness and the realization of the futility of trying to do anything only made my humiliation more acute.

I have also had moments of despair at feeling blocked from pursuing dreams or achieving particular goals. Life is full of complexities and hierarchies of needs that often relegate some of the most sought after features of life unattainable. Such "realities" have been especially frustrating, more so when life demands appear so uncompromising.

Victimized, undermined, and circumvented: all three words describe some form of conquest, or rather the condition of being conquered. In a very real sense the nature of living in a finite and limited world necessitates that we all will experience victimhood at some point. Our peers and fellow human beings share in this struggle and seek to maximize their own power and influence, to secure their own well-being and that of their friends and family, even at our expense.

Given this struggle in conditions made up of necessity and scarce resources, where does an ideal such as the unconquerable runner fit in? Runners race competitively against each other with clear winners and losers, victors and vanquished. Every runner, no matter how fast, at some point in some race will fall short of first place.

I find this ideal most fitting within the framework of my life struggle, not the specifics of any one race.  As long as I continue to run, drive myself and strive to improve upon my earlier accomplishments.  As long as I seek out excellence in the struggle for faster times and listen carefully to my body and its warning signals.  As long as I honestly put my all into every race and hold back no reserves.  As long as I embrace pain as the indelicate schoolmaster who must be accepted and yet never ignored.  As long as I step up to the line with my peers, rubbing shoulders with others who invest hours on black asphalt, I will always stand unconquerable.

Running is one of the few dimensions of life where I can truly envision a state of invincibility.  This unassailable condition does not describe the body or heart but an orientation towards life and the world.  By striving to become the unconquerable runner, I accept the limitations of a finite existence wherein only so much oxygen can be carried by my lungs and heart.  I accept that my legs can only turn over so fast.  I accept that muscles will break down and that joints can and do fail.  But, I refuse to stop pushing those boundaries.  The unconquerable runner draws upon every resource available at his disposal to face those limitations with each race.  Such invincibility laces up the shoes at ungodly hours in order to condition, train and cultivate the capacity to smash yet another barrier, to realize the ultimate victory of becoming more than he was the day before, to come one step closer to embodying the higher man.

The unconquerable runner never truly knows defeat because he never surrenders his cause and untiring efforts to overcome himself.  As I struggle to realize this ideal I am surprised to find the vicissitudes of other aspects of life swallowed up and rendered powerless.  I am no longer held hostage and overcome but stand unbowed.  The unconquerable runner is now little more than an abstract ideal, but with each stride under the blistering sun he becomes as real as the sweat that trickles down my temples.

Running as a Metaphor

Life presents many exhilarating highs and devastating lows. It is because of this feature of life that many of us strive to secure an existence void of these exhausting extremes. We seek out careers with medical benefits and secure retirement packages. Despite these careful precautions life has a way of undoing plans in surprising ways. Part of what can prove to be so devastating at these moments is the unanticipated nature of such interruptions.

Believing the self-help gurus and purchasing their many wares, we can come to accept a presentation of a world where a positive mental attitude and systematic planning can prepare for every eventuality. A little life experience and honest reflection belies the sales pitch of such noisy peddlers. Life presents a multitude of unforeseeable and uncontrollable hurdles.

But we need space and means to reflect honestly and accurately on the nature of being human, along with all of its challenges and opportunities. I suggest here that the act of running, particularly the marathon, provides a poignant metaphor and occasion to engage life in meaningful ways. Sometimes described as the distance to hell and back, the marathon (actually 26.2 miles) possesses particular qualities due to this substantial distance. The length of this race entails significant risks of injury, including dehydration, heat exhaustion, and even sudden heart failure. Yet, the sense of exhilaration and accomplishment at the end of such an endeavor is hard to describe. Most important of all, running pits us against the limits of our existence in very real, physical and mental ways that allow us to reflect on how we can and ought to engage the constraints that we all feel in various forms.

The best example of such an engagement that I have experienced took place in my first marathon. I had trained well and thought I might be able to run my first marathon with a time of 3:15. The race went very well until mile eighteen at which time a debilitating fatigue overtook me (sometimes referred to as the "wall"). I pushed through this combination of mental and physiological weariness until mile 20 when my legs simply refused to run at the pace I had been maintaining up to that point. I learned later that my muscles had reached their lactate threshold, which is the point at which the lactic acid is produced in the muscles faster than it can be removed. By mile 22 I could hardly move my legs beyond much more than a slow jog. I stopped and walked at times but found that starting to run again too painful, so I just kept on running (or rather hobbling). I eventually finished and felt the thrill of prevailing in spite of the failure of my leg muscles.

At the time, no amount of positive thinking or self talk could have taken away the lactic acid in my legs. All that was left for me was the grim and painful push through the obstacle. The magic bullet for this particular issue came about from research into specific training techniques that condition the body to produce less lactic acid during a race (for information on the biochemical physiology of the lactate threshold, here is a good webpage). Forms of speedwork (fast paced runs at tempo speeds or sprints at relatively short intervals) have proven very effective and I have never experienced such muscle failure in a marathon since.

Like my experience in that first marathon, we do and will continue to encounter impediments and challenges that are very real and cannot be wished away. They will be more or less debilitating but can all be embraced and engaged. At times, the best that we can hope to do is endure and continue. At other times, careful study and proactive responses can enable us to overcome the challenges. As subsequent posts and discussions on this blog will demonstrate, running as a metaphor and practice provides numerous opportunities for reflection and insight into living a meaningful and vibrant life.