When the Worst Week Becomes the Best Week

After the St. Peter’s Fiesta 5K I began the task of recovering from my Jumper’s Knee and sore left Achilles.  It was the heat of summer but I tended to run inside more.  My reasoning was that if any sort of re-injury happened I was at the gym and could simply step off the treadmill and leave. 

I had found a way to ‘cheat’ my way back to training while also healing.  It was by using a very slow ‘burn.’  I began with a very slow 5mph jog, upping the speed .1 every minute or so.  Once I got to 6mph I upped it .1 every 2 minutes.  By the time I hit 7mph, right about where I liked to run I had been on the treadmill usually about 20 minutes and my legs were warmed up.  It worked and I noticed the pain lessening despite still running.

Gradually I worked my way back outside, which included a 5 mile run in 90 degree heat and humidity.  I got home and thought I might have gotten some color when in reality I was a deep shade of purple from being close to heat exhaustion.  I survived that run and with my confidence returning I was asked to run the Irish Pub Race in Harwich, a 5.2-mile race.  Of course I accepted.

There was not a lot of time to do any sort of specific training for the race.  There were a lot of people crammed in the area along the Herring River on race day but I was still able to find a spot to stretch and think by myself.  I knew that my friend James, known as Tuna then, J-Bone now, was running the race as well but I did not go out of my way to find him.  Once I get in my zone before a race I hate to be bothered.  Is anyone else like that?

The early-August morning was overcast, temps in the upper-70’s, and humid.  Not wanting to sweat in my eyes I wore a thin white skull cap to keep the sweat at bay.  I started the 5-mile race fast, a problem I am still having trouble overcoming.  It can be difficult to pace yourself when the rush of the starting gun takes over.

I took off and was enjoying a good run through some hilly roads.  About 2 miles in I began to get hot.  The skull cap keeping the sweat from my eyes also kept the heat from escaping.  I began to overheat and found myself slowed almost to a stop nearly 3 miles in.  Now, not having the proper equipment I had no idea as to what my time was at that moment.  My goal had been to finish the 5.2 miles in 40 minutes. 

Despite being overheated and gassed from starting so quickly I continued onto the finish.  I completed the race in 42 minutes, a good time no doubt, but disappointing for my harshest critic: myself.  I felt like I had sabotaged myself by wearing the skull cap and starting the race so fast.   I shared a beer with my friend James inside the Irish Pub once he finished the race but in the back of my mind all I could think about was the dreaded ‘what if’s.’  I hate ‘what if’s.’

Once I got home I put the Irish Pub Race to bed and looked for another race to wash the bad taste out of my mouth.  Everyone kept telling me that I ran a good race but it was of no consequence.  Luckily I found another race only 5 days later.  I signed up and prepared for what I hoped would be a sort of redemption.  The Old Home Week Race in Centerville was only a 3-mile run, I did not run in between the races so that my legs would be as fresh as possible.

This race was the first time that my mother got to see me run.  She came along with my Aunt Kelly and cousin Keith who had already become the prodigy as far as running in the family before finishing high school.  I had hoped that my good friend, and running mentor, Emily could have been there to run with me but she did wish me good luck in a text.  I politely said my goodbyes to my mom and aunt and went off to the end of the beach parking lot where the race started and finished.  I needed to get into my Beast Mode.  I began to stretch using the sand dunes to my advantage.  It was during this time that I noticed for the first time in nearly 2 months I had no pain at all in either leg.  My Jumper’s Knee was healed finally.  This coupled with my own desire to get ‘redemption’ for my self-proclaimed ‘poor race’ made me realize this was going to be a hell of a race.

I could barely contain myself at the starting line and when the gun sounded I let it all hang out.  My cousin Keith was gone out of sight pretty fast, but this was not about winning for me.  This was about beating myself, putting to bed the Irish Pub Race, and leaving every ounce of energy on those roads.

It was lucky for me that the race was in the late afternoon, I was pouring sweat but the wind off the ocean kept me from overheating.  It was all falling into place.  Has anyone had a race where every single thing goes right?  That was what the Old Home Week Race was for me.  I approached the home stretch, my legs were tired but not in pain.  I kept chugging along waving to my mother and aunt as I approached the finish line.

I laid it all out there as I made my final push.  Much to my surprise, and to put a capper on an almost perfect race, there was Emily at the finish line.  She had made the 15 minute drive from Yarmouth to Centerville and cheered as I crossed the finish line.  I had finished in 21:34, 7:11/mi. 

First I dropped in exhaustion then I let out a nice profanity-laced rant expressing my happiness at my redemption.  Needless to say my mother was not thrilled with my ‘colorful’ language, but it was a primal release for me.  I had never felt as good as I did at that moment after feeling so low only a few days before.  There was no pain after running, only the complete exhilarating exhaustion that comes from knowing you did your absolute best.  For the record my cousin Keith finished 2^nd overall, finishing in a sparkling 17:14, 5:45/mi.

I had done what I had set out to do and with my 3^rd and 4^th races down I knew that there was only one thing for me to do.  I needed to step it up and try my hand at my first Half Marathon.  Have any of you ever run what you feel to be a ‘perfect race?’  Have any of you been motivated to sign up for another race quickly after running a poor one?

Off in the dunes at Covell Beach where I got into Beast Mode

Waiting at the starting line in Centerville.

In the midst of my profanity-laced celebration, mom was so proud of the race, not my language.

Getting ready to go.

Impossible Is Nothing - Zero to Half Marathon

Impossible Is Nothing Part 4 - Zero to Half Marathon in 6 Months

Christopher Setterlund

October 3, 2011      

   

     I would like to say that my journey from zero to half marathon in six months was easy but that would be a lie.  It has been one of the most difficult challenges I have ever undertaken but it has also been one of the most rewarding.  The fact that I have lost thirty-two pounds is more of a side note rather than the main headline.  My run in the Harwich Cranberry Harvest Half Marathon October 2^nd was a testament to my own drive and determination.  Hopefully I have inspired others to run since I was positive back in March that not only would I not run, but that I was not physically able to.  If I can do it anybody can.

            My training for this half marathon began shortly after my last race in mid-August, Old Home Week in Centerville.  I upped my mileage from 78 miles in August to a shade over 150 in September.  The most surprising thing to me was that it was not the actual running part of the training that ended up being a problem, but as with nearly all of my races there ended up being drama to go along with everything.

            My drama came in the form of a drunk man on a bicycle only 6 days before the race.  Attempting my final long run before the half marathon, a 15 mile trek from my home in South Yarmouth along Rt. 28 to Wychmere Harbor in Harwich, I ran into trouble.  Well, actually, I hurdled into trouble.  When coming up on a bar less than three miles into my run around 4:30pm a man came out from behind a pair of pickup trucks wobbling and pushing his bicycle.  I yelled but had little other alternative but to attempt to leap over the back of the bicycle as the man swayed forward and back and I had no idea where to go.

            My leap got me over the bike but I landed awkwardly on my left leg, oh it hurt.  Angry I quickly turned and shouted at the drunk.  My adrenaline rush got me moving again along Rt. 28 and carried me a ways until I began to think about my upcoming race and the potential for injury in my left knee.  I began to overcompensate for my left leg by running a big lopsided, focusing on my ‘good’ right leg.  This helped my left leg but ended up straining my hip flexor which any runner knows is quite painful.  I completed my 15 miles, struggling mightily toward the end covered in swarms of black gnats which made it look like I had been doused with pepper. 

            I was in pain and a lot of it, I worried about the race on that Sunday and took two days off from running to let my hip recover.  I ran that Thursday with minimal pain and thought I was fine; then I went to the well once too often.  Running the next day my hip gave out and left me with a searing pain after only four miles.  I had to walk back to the gym nearly three miles, pretty embarrassing when you look like a runner but have to hobble like an old man.  Stretching, ice and heat, and ibuprofen were all I had at my disposal with only 36 hours until the race.  I did it all, over and over, Friday night and Saturday and hoped for the best.  I kept quiet just how badly I was hurt because obviously people would tell me I should just not run.  That was not an option in my mind.  In my mind this was a culmination of a journey, it was a hugely important day in my life.  I was going to run the half marathon for me, to show my family and friends that anybody could become a runner, and I was going to honor my grandmother and my late aunt by wearing the pink breast cancer awareness ribbon on my shirt. 

      “Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” – Lance Armstrong

 

            That quote was what I kept in my mind when I arrived at Harwich High School on race day.  I knew my hip was bad, I knew it was going to end up hurting me, I just didn’t know how long it would take.  Sadly for me it would not be too long.

            The sun came out just in time for the race to begin and I was looking forward to running alongside my Uncle Steve in my first half marathon much like I had done in my first 5K race in May.  This dream would last for just under two miles when the inevitable pain in my right hip returned with a vengeance.  I turned to my uncle and told him my hip was on fire, he told me to shout down the pain.  I knew I would have to deal with this increasing pain for the next 11 miles but also looked at the pink ribbon on my shirt and remembered why I was not going to quit.

            Slowly my uncle faded from sight and it became me against the pain.  My goal had been 1hr. 50mins. finish time but that goal was replaced by simply crossing the finish line.  I thought that this was doable for the next few miles as I began to get my second wind around 7 miles deep.  This second wind usually amounts to getting into a smooth groove in my running motion naturally increasing my pace, but this time there was no increase in pace.  There was only a slowly increasing burn in my hip that started getting into my head.  That coupled with the sun beating down on my shaved head made me doubt whether I would ever see the finish line.

            It came to a head as I passed the 8-mile marker.  I began to feel like I was simply going to fall over from the pain in my hip coupled with terrible stomach pains.  I needed a distraction if that was possible when running 13.1 miles.  It came down to concentrating on my breathing and waving to as many small children as I could to keep me from passing out from pain.  The final five miles were a mix of horror and inspiration, the pain would get to me but I would think of my grandmother and my aunt and remember that they were the ones I was dedicating my run to.

            I crossed the finish line in 1hr. 55 minutes, heard my name announced over the speakers, and quickly found a spot to collapse.  My hip hurt so badly that it brought tears to my eyes, I sat against the fence looking down at my right leg and then at the medal that I was given by a young girl as I crossed the finish line.  My walk back to my car which should have taken no more than three minutes took twenty, I gritted my teeth and carried on.  I remembered the quote from Lance Armstrong and knew the pain would only be temporary but the fact that I completed my first half marathon would last forever. 

            So here I am the day after, my hip in pain but a smile on my face knowing that I accomplished my goal.  I went from not running at all to running and finishing a half marathon in 6 months.  It makes me believe that my goal of running the Boston Marathon is not impossible.  It makes me believe that my next half marathon in February will produce a better time.  It makes me believe that anybody who has a dream or a desire can accomplish what they set out to with hard work.  I am proof that impossible is nothing. 

 

 

6 months, 5 races so far

           

Impossible Is Nothing - Setback and Redemption - Part 2

Impossible Is Nothing - Part 3 - Setback & Redemption by Christopher Setterlund

Part 2 of 2: Redemption at the Old Home Week Race

     In order to get my redemption and carry on with my new found running passion I needed a second race, another race in the same week which was a foreign concept to me.  I found my answer thanks to my Aunt Kelly who told me my cousin Keith was running the Old Home Week 3-mile race in Centerville 5 days later.  It was a quick turnaround no doubt, but it was that or stew about my Irish Pub failure until October.  The answer became even more obvious when my mother said that she wanted to come and see the race; it would be the first time she had ever gotten to see me in action.

            This race was in the late afternoon and it immediately had a different vibe than the Irish Pub race did.  Having family there for support made it easier to focus, and having it start at Covell’s Beach meant that I was able to use the sand and waves to meditate and stretch before the race.  I got another good sign when I was able to do my full range of stretches with no pain at all in either leg.  Even up until the Irish Pub race I had felt some lingering twinges of pain in my knee but now it was gone.  I was finally back to 100%.

            With a renewed sense of confidence I ran my best race thus far.  The weather was cooler and less humid than the Irish Pub race, and the course was shorter and flatter which added up to finishing the race 22^nd overall with an average 7:11 min. mile, 21:34 total.  I passed my aunt and my mother as I closed in on the parking lot where the time clocked ticked away at the finish line.  I also passed my cousin Keith who finished 2^nd overall, simply amazing, he is the prodigy of the family that is for sure.

            Then as I approached the finish line I got a bit of déjà vu.  From the right side my friend, my running buddy and mentor Emily popped out with her hand out for me as I passed just as she had done during the CapeAbilities race in May.  I had no idea she was going to be there, it really meant a lot to me.  I know I am going to embarrass her writing this but hey people deserve the credit when they help change someone’s life for the better, right?  All of the running I am doing is because she made me believe I could do it when I was positive I couldn’t.  I wanted to say here thank you so much for everything you have done for me, you are the absolute best.

            Now after I finished the race my redemption had come and I was able to release that doubt I had held onto pretty much since before the Gloucester race.  I felt like I was born again and that the future for my running was limitless.  I did let out a loud, profanity-laced, celebration which made my mother cringe but I needed to release it all somehow. 

            There are 7 weeks to go before my true test, a half marathon, but for now I am enjoying the feeling of being down, feeling defeated, and pulling off a pretty good redemption run.  It is sort of a storybook ending but it is not an ending at all.  It all fell into place and I am so grateful for those who supported me, especially the ones who were there with me at the Old Home Week race.  Remember, Impossible is Nothing, I believe it and keep living it with every run I do and every race I compete in.  If you believe it you can be it.  Cheers!

Part 1 of 2