Burnout

        Do I still want it bad enough?

            This is the question I find myself asking as I sit 2 weeks from my first marathon on Oct. 28^th.  The honeymoon phase of my relationship is officially over.  Now as with all relationships I have to find out if it is really worth it.

            For nearly a year and a half I ran every time with a sense of enthusiasm and joy because it was something I never thought I’d even be able to try let alone succeed at.  Race after race, milestone after milestone, it all worked seamlessly.  Now after 5 months of marathon training I find myself sitting here with a severe case of burnout. 

            Sure, I can come up with extenuating circumstances that have thrown my training off.  My job has been terrible at making a clear work schedule.  I find myself unable to set long term runs since my schedule seems to change every week.  I can easily think of a half dozen runs ruined by this incompetence. 

            I could also point to actually going too hard in my training and having nagging injuries catching up with me.  These make it difficult to maintain a normal running schedule when you're constantly having to rest aching body parts.  I have had pain in my hip flexors and groin for months and the left heel pain has made it tough to walk at times.  Still, I have continued on.  I have bought a few different insoles for my shoes, a foam roller for my muscles, things that I had hoped would reaffirm my commitment and keep me motivated.  Yet here I am 2 weeks to go wondering not only if I can do this, but if I want to.

            I liked the idea of pushing myself time after time.  I felt like this was all coming too easy, the distances, the races, the weight coming off.  All of this kept my feet moving for a year and a half.  I am thinking that the idea of running a marathon clouded my judgment.  The actual training is an unbelievably arduous process that has tested me beyond what I thought.  

            Running in and of itself is hard enough.  Add to that my stress-filled cooking job, the heat, being on my feet all day, I was at a disadvantage before I even hit the open road.  That I even made it this far is a victory in and of itself.  I am looking back at my charted runs since I began Memorial Day Weekend.  These are the facts.  In the calendar year before I began marathon training I had logged 920 miles.  Granted there may have been something here and there I missed, and bike riding and other forms of cardio were not counted, but that averages out to just under 19 miles per week.  Since starting training I have been regularly topping 40 per week, a good sized jump from what I was used to.

           Before marathon training I had run a distance of 15 miles exactly 3 times in 14 months.  In the 5 months since beginning marathon training I have eclipsed 15 miles 9 times including 3 20+ runs.  My beginner training program suggested only 1 20 miler.  I have also included several difficult hill runs to prepare myself for the 12 miles of hills in the middle of the marathon route.  Those are the straight numbers.

            I am in the tapering phase now, dropping my long runs to 17-18 miles.  I cannot find the motivation to even step outside.  The process of getting my gear ready, going to a place to run, stretching, and actually running does not thrill me like it used to.  Could it be as simple as I am fatigued from a really good hard training regimen?  Could it be that it does not excite me since I am always running on my own?  Many times I tell myself I have come too far to just give up.  I paid my money for the race and have every intention of running it, but then what?

            I wanted to run a 10K trail race in Nashua, NH the day after my 35^th birthday, November 3^rd.  The thought of amping up for another race has me seriously rethinking that prospect.  Do I finish my training, run my marathon, and take some time off to recharge my batteries?  Is it that easy?  Trying to get motivated will be even harder during the cold winter months, right?  Hitting the road when it’s sunny and 75 is much easier to do than forcing yourself out the door when it’s cloudy, breezy, and 35.

            So I find myself asking ‘Do I still want this?’  I look at my medals and race bibs and wonder what it all means.  Even a few months ago I had these plans to run the Boston Marathon next April with the ultimate goal being to go run the Honolulu Marathon in 2014.  I can’t see myself doing 2 more full-length marathon training programs.  It is not fun for me right now, it feels more like work, like a job.  I’ve had my share of injuries and doubt but I never thought of giving up.  I thought that I was a runner now, it was part of me.  Maybe I still am.  Maybe my fellow runners, especially ones who are training for their first marathon, or remember how their first one went, can give me some encouragement.  It obviously is bothering me if I have written this much.  All I know is in 2 weeks I will complete my marathon, my time is not important anymore.  What happens in my head and my heart in the days and weeks after that will tell me if I am truly a runner or just a poseur who got as far as he could before turning back.     

When A Run Gives You A Life Moment

 

I love to travel, I love to write, I love to run.  If I get a chance to mix the three together it usually ends up being something very special for me.  In the 16 months that I have been running I have learned that sometimes the moments that make up the event are more important than the event itself.  What does that mean?  Just look at these ‘stories’ I tell of running experiences.  They could easily be as simple as: I ran a race, here’s my time, yay, on to the next one.  The straight facts are all well and good but it’s how I feel emotionally, what I see, what I experience, those things that make running more than just exercise.  It is an excuse to live more.

A perfect example of this ‘excuse’ is my recent trip up to Lincoln, NH.  I wanted to go back for the first time in over 20 years and hike Flume Gorge again, and visit the Old Man of the Mountain site again.  However there was something that superseded all of that: The Kancamagus Highway.  ‘The Kanc’ is a 34-mile stretch of nearly untouched wilderness winding through the White Mountains between Lincoln and North Conway.  There is no food, gas, and basically no cell reception for that distance.  For me it was a no brainer to go and run some of it.

I have learned that running gives you more of a feel for your surroundings than driving does.  I could have driven through The Kanc and seen and appreciated it, but I wanted to feel it.  I wanted there to be nothing between me and the landscape, running gave me that excuse to live more.

Not only was I going to run part of The Kanc, but I was going to start at the highest elevation, 2855 feet, at Kancamagus Pass.  If I was going to do this I was going all out.     

I arrived at Kancamagus Pass close to 6pm, it was a bit windy and cooler than expected.  The views of the nearby White Mountains immediately caught my attention and I stretched under a gazebo which gave me an unobstructed panoramic observation.  I had to remind myself that there was running to do.  See, I hadn’t run in 10 days due to a really annoying left hip injury.  I had been tinkering with my stride and ended up costing myself some prime training time in the middle of my first marathon training.  Running a super steep course was the last thing I should have been doing but I have always been very stubborn.  I kept my injury pretty hush, at least how bad it was, cause someone would have tried to stop me.

Within the first ¼ mile I started wishing someone had stopped me.  The grade was 7% or more for the majority of the run and my hip immediately was in pain.  I thought to myself that this was probably my last run for a good long while, no Falmouth Road Race in August, no Cape Cod Marathon in October, which would mean no Boston Marathon 2013.  I decided that if I was going to be out for a while at least my final run would be a great scenic one.  As I was running I remembered something that my Uncle Steve had told me, that you can never run slow enough when training for endurance.  Sure, this was in reference to my marathon training, but I thought that slowing down would not only let me appreciate my surroundings more but it might also save my hip.  It did.

Before I had gone a full mile my hip felt better, my legs loosened up, and my run went from being a death knell to being the most amazing run I had ever done.  I didn’t care about time, this was not a race, hell, it wasn’t even any sort of training run.  This was, as my good friend Deanna would love to hear, running for fun.  I stopped and took photos of the mountains and took the time to wave to just about every passing car.  The reason for that was so lots of people saw me in case I got jumped by a bear or something.  Hey, no cell reception meant no calling for help, right?

My original turnaround point was Lily Pond, a spot just over 2 ½ miles from Kancamagus Pass.  I got there, took some pictures, and breathed in the air before deciding it wasn’t enough.  I wanted to go further.  Something was happening along that highway.  My hip was not healed, oh by no means, but the dire prophecy of it being ‘the end’ was disappearing.  I could now concentrate on running and the experience of running The Kanc, and not about whether my hip was going to give and I was going to need an ambulance.

After close to 4 miles of running steeply downhill I knew that it was time to head back, clouds were rolling in and I knew that if it rained there was no way I could sprint back to my car uphill.  Besides, I had gone further than I expected and was in relatively little pain, especially when it hurt to lie on my left side even a few days earlier. 

I began my ascent back to Kancamagus Pass, going very slowly, close to 10 min. pace, my hips were getting a workout for sure.  The 7% grade ended up being classified as a Grade 2 climb on MapMyRun.com.  The scale was 1-5, with 5 being lowest, so I felt even better about what I had done afterward when I saw that statistic.

As much as I enjoyed the scenery, and the runner’s high that came with 7 ½ miles of steep hill running, I was still looking forward to stretching and then relaxing.  I made sure to take a photo of the sign designating the elevation I had just run at, just in case anyone wanted proof.  Despite it being cloudy I stuck around Kancamagus Pass for a while longer just thinking about what I had done, and how I had felt before I ran compared to after.

Running The Kanc was a once in a lifetime run, my excuse to live more might have saved my running soul.  Sure I am still achy in my hip, but if The Kanc didn’t break me than nothing short of running Mt. Everest will.  In my time as a runner I have wanted to continually push myself past my limits, this was no different.  Most people for their first ‘rehab’ run might do 2 miles on a treadmill.  Me?  I did 7 ½ through the White Mountains.  I am not saying I’m some sort of machine, that’s Emily’s department not mine, I am probably pretty stupid for risking my health.  Since I never thought I would be ‘able’ to run I now want to see just how far these legs can take me.  I’d rather have been hurt running The Kanc than jogging on a treadmill, at least I’d have a damn good story.

Isn’t that what life is all about?  Seeing just how far you can go?  It’s all about risks, if you don’t try you don’t get anywhere, you don’t fail, but you don’t succeed either.  I am happy with myself today knowing that I set out to run The Kanc and have done it.  

Running gets your body in better shape, and I feel it has gotten my mind into better shape.  If there is a ‘runner’s high’ is there also ‘runner’s depression’ if you can’t run?  What are your ultimate ‘dream runs?’  Mine is the Honolulu Marathon, 2014 might be when that happens.  Until then, every mile is a story of its own.     

The White Mountain landscape along 'The Kanc.'

When I finally was able to enjoy what I was doing.

Lily Pond

I wasn't kidding about the elevation.

This is actually less of a slope than I ran most of the time, still looks steep.