Barefoot Monologues

A Journey of the Sole

Category Archives: natural running


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For My Friend, the White Horse

‎”WE are the messengers. Fueled by the message we carry. When the message is of Truth/Beauty, love, Hope and Peace, we will always have the strength to find our ways home, on this, our beautiful Mother Earth. Run Free!”
-Micah True, March 26, 2012

Run close, my friend,  to the mountains
Stay ever a heartbeat away
Cover the low moon with your wings
And walk tomorrow’s miles today

Watch the sun race the purple sky
And know you’ll pass her once again
When time frees your soul and you find
the fabled trail that doesn’t end

Dust ascends on the horizon
A deep, rumbling thunder without rain
The sound of rampant hearts, a legion
Earthly, feral and unconstrained

The search will end as it began
A trail of footprints, a bird and a feather
When a white horse dies on a sandy road
All wild hearts mourn together

For Micah True (Caballo Blanco) – 1953-2012


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Two Runners, a Jogger and a Cry-Baby: How a Bad Advertisement Became a Good Motivator

Are you a jogger, or are you a runner?

Yeah, I know – you’ve heard the debate a thousand times before, so have I. But I’ve always been fascinated by how the question so thoroughly encompasses a social conflict as well as an internal one for many of us. And this label game is just a tiny reflection of the bigger elitism vs. cynicism picture, seen just about anywhere among groups of people. But I find it particularly interesting as it applies to the sport of running, because where you are on the scale is, really, sort of up to you.

But sometimes it can seem like it’s not up to you. Product marketing is getting shrewder and ever more marginalizing these days. And it’s starting to get personal. Pearl Izumi, for example, recently released some controversial ads that highlight the elitist end of the runner vs. jogger spectrum, like this interactive brochure, and this photo ad:

One of my favorite bloggers, VanessaRuns, wrote an article the other day that presented a favorable opinion of the ads, and then immediately felt pressure to redact most of what she said and post an apology about it. I don’t necessarily want to get into how I feel about that in this post, but I will say I am ashamed of the person who would subscribe to an intelligent, free-thinking woman’s blog, and then decide to bring an air of censorship to it the moment Vanessa writes something he or she disagrees with. It goes against everything we are as barefoot runners who live a lifestyle of tolerance, acceptance and inclusiveness.

But Vanessa wasn’t the only person who had something to say about the Pearl Izumi backlash. Jason Robillard writes that people who are offended by such advertising are just being babies (his usual logical stance, along with a teachable moment thrown in for good measure), this blurb at Fitsugar.com expresses total disgust, and Darren Rovell over at CNBC writes here that he isn’t sure what to think about it. Seems Pearl Izumi really got some attention with this ad. Which is….well, exactly what an ad is supposed to do. By definition, it is a brilliant campaign! Unlike this one, which pretends to be brilliant but is actually very stupid:

But besides being a hot button for everyone with two thumbs and an opinion, Pearl Izumi’s ad campaign can be interpreted as a call to arms for all who love to run. And I mean Really. Love. to run. Hear me out on this. Sure, at first glance it might look like a bunch of elitist bullshit written to exclude all the fatasses regular people like me who can’t run a sub 4-hour marathon (or even train for one without stopping for beer halfway through). That’s how I first reacted to it, anyway. But then as I spent more time trying to understand how I’m supposed to feel about the message, I realized it wasn’t actually excluding me at all.

Because I think of myself as a runner, and nothing in that ad takes that feeling away from me. Frankly, I kind of identify with the whole “run like an animal” thing. It’s powerful imagery, and it fits in with how I would describe my feelings about running.

What I’m saying is that how you react to this ad campaign reflects your own opinion of yourself as an athlete. Just take a minute and ask yourself: Are you one of the “runners” they’re talking about, or are you a jogger? Where do you feel you place on the spectrum? How do you describe yourself to non-runners? Do you even care what these ad guys think about your running abilities? And who are you supposed to be comparing yourself to, anyway?

And that’s what a lot of this backlash comes down to: comparisons. People routinely look at others and then look down their own deck of cards to see how it stacks up. If their own stack falls short, it can result in some bad feelings. I know, I do it all the time. And here is what being a runner looks like today in my mirror:

  • I started running 2 years ago, but before that I jogged like a moron for about 8 years
  • I run in minimalist footwear only (and sometimes barefoot)
  • I typically run between 15 and 20 miles per week
  • I run 3 to 5 days a week, but I’d run all 7 if my legs allowed
  • I have run 5k, 10k, and half marathon races
  • My longest non-race run so far has been 12 miles
  • I am somewhat overweight and generally prone to injury
  • My comfortable running pace at the moment is between 10:30 and 11:00
  • I run at my comfortable pace, or slower, about 80% of the time
  • The fastest mile I have ever timed was 8:40
  • My fastest 5K was just over 30 minutes
  • My only half marathon finish was 2:36
  • I like to always be training for a running event
  • I am currently training for a half marathon and a 50K, both in May
  • I am not sure I will finish the 50K, but it won’t stop me from trying
  • I can honestly say I run for the sake of running
  • I can honestly say I run for the beer social benefits
  • I can honestly say I run because it makes me feel like a badass

The above list of running qualifications could be considered pretty amazing, embarrassingly lame, or anywhere in between. It all depends on who’s looking, and how their deck stacks up to mine. If I hold up my cards to almost anyone in my family, many of my friends and coworkers, and roughly half of the American population, I’m an incredible athlete. To most of my runner friends? I am somewhere between average and mediocre. But I can’t even hold a candle next to the amazing ultra marathon runners that I have met and look up to, or have heard about along the way. I can’t even stand at the starting line of the same race. Because I didn’t qualify.

My point is that I can choose to compare myself to all the most elite runners and feel really bad about myself. Or I can choose to recognize how close I really am to those guys, as compared to the rest of the world who doesn’t run at all. If I choose the latter, I can still proudly call myself a runner and smile for miles. Running is always better than not running. And this is what I try to remember when I start to feel bad about my running abilities (or lack thereof).

But, sometimes it is beneficial to compare yourself to those better runners. Feeling driven to always improve yourself adds strength to your character. And that is precisely why I have decided I like the Pearl Izumi ad. Maybe you found it offensive. Hell, it was offensive. But if you have any fight in you then you’ll also recognize it as a challenge. A flaming gauntlet. An older brother standing at the top of the hill, taunting you from above:

You wanna be a runner?
Well then stop jogging around the block like a girl.
Run somewhere dirty.
Let the sweat mess up your mascara for once.
Learn to love the pain and fatigue.
Be passionate or don’t bother.
Go hard.
Push your limits.
Let yourself fail.
Sign up for a race you can’t even finish yet.
Take some goddamn risks sometimes.
…Cupcake.

Does your mind taunt you like this when you’re in the middle of a difficult run? Do you love it? Do you run to escape, meditate, relax, reflect, recharge? Do you run to get better at running? Do you feel strong, alive and invincible when you’re out there on the trail?

Yeah?

Well then what the hell are you worried about that stupid ad for?! They were talking about you!

And if you are just out there pounding pavement toward a 4 pound weight loss for your best friend’s wedding or making up for last night’s cheese pizza, then you probably don’t give a shit if someone calls you “just a jogger.” The ad wouldn’t even catch your eye anyway. And neither would this article, in fact.

So you can all relax, everybody. No one is taking away your Runner’s License. It’s still valid, and accepted everywhere your feet land. So STFU and RUN.

Now, can we talk about how Pearl Izumi just sells cushy traditional running shoes and nothing minimalist? What a bunch of wussy hobby-joggers. 🙂


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“Don’t Blame the Shoes”

Image

Life has been a little crazy, abnormally busy and consuming lately. I haven’t had any time to write in this blog…I almost want to apologize to it for my neglect.

But. While I am busy working up the next amazingly well-written post (snort), please take a moment to view my article about the Barefoot Running movement on Coach Rick’s blog, The Marathon Solution. Coach Rick is a Boston Marathon coach and inspirational marathoner and speaker, whom I wrote about here.

So please go ahead and read my article “Don’t Blame the Shoes,” and then stick around for awhile. Coach Rick covers a lot of topics on his blog. You might learn something.


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Smile like a Bad-Ass

 

Last weekend, I ran 12 miles.

It’s been six days since then, and so the triumphant feelings have dulled a bit. But the fact remains that I did it. To many of my readers, 12 miles is barely a long run. Even to me that distance isn’t much of a big deal anymore. It’s just four 5K’s back to back; a ten-miler plus twenty minutes. I’ve done it before and will again. But because of how this run felt and how I handled it mentally, it was as if my glass ceiling finally got smashed to pieces.

It wasn’t about the number of miles run. It was about the number of miles run with a smile on my face. It was the fact that by mile 11 I wasn’t obsessing about my sore feet or about how far I was from home like I usually do, instead I had a big, fat, bad-ass grin on my face.

A little back story. The last time I reached the 12-mile mark during a run, I was crying. It was the famously hilly Great Bay Half Marathon and I had tweaked my IT band at mile 7 because I didn’t know how to run downhill properly. I was in pain, I was disappointed by my performance, and I was tired of running. Worst of all, I was in a shitty mood during my first half marathon when I should have been enjoying the achievement.

Like I have done on some other regrettable occasions in my life, I let my bad attitude ruin what could have been an amazing experience.

But this week I was a completely different person. I crushed those miles. Yes, they were long…I won’t pretend that they were not. It took me longer to complete this trail run than it took me to finish the Great Bay Half Marathon on roads. This run was comprised of several out-and-back mini runs, so I would never be too far from my car and could make pit stops to drop clothes or get more water (which probably helped a lot). At times I was cold, because I was only wearing a long sleeve tech shirt over my tank top and the wind got through it during walk breaks. There were too many people near the start of the trail with unleashed dogs and I kept having to strong-arm Oscar to keep him from jumping at them. The effort screwed up my form and by the last pit stop my IT band was bothering me for the first time in 10 months.

But my mood didn’t falter, not once. When I hit the trail head at mile 9 I dropped the tired pooch off in the car for a short nap, and continued on for the last three miles. With better form my knee hurt less, but I still needed occasional walk breaks to ease the strain. At 10.5 I turned around for the last time and said to myself, “You got this, Trish. You’re a bad-ass distance runner, and you’re amazing. You’re about to run 12 motherf***ing miles.” It sounds dorky as hell now, but at the moment it made me smile so hard my face hurt a little. It’s amazing how far a little self-motivation can go when you’re alone on a deathly-quiet wooded trail.

At 11.25 the song “I’m Too Sexy” came on my iPod and I danced a little while I ran, bopping my head until I was dizzy and laughing at an old joke between my pal Lynsey and me. I thought of Lynsey and how I wished we could be finishing this run together. Then I stopped because my knee was screaming. Walking felt like a massage on my tired hips. My feet didn’t even hurt like they usually do – or if they did, I was in a mental state that kept it from annoying me. I ate the last of my mango slices and praised them for giving me the best (chemical-free) energy surges throughout the whole run. I ran through the weird concrete tunnel under the road for the last time and finished the water in my CamelBak. At the very end I passed a runner just starting her journey for the day and I was glad to be finished with mine.

When I reached the car I said to myself, “See how easy it is to run these miles without that shitbag attitude?” Yup.

The truth is, no matter how far you can run, no matter how many hours you put into training, it’s all about attitude. You can drop out of a race, you can injure yourself during training, but you don’t have to let your discomforts and limitations determine your mood. After all that I learned on this one 12-mile long run, I know that if I had the choice to finish the Pinelands 50K in a shitty mood or DNF it with a shit-eating grin on my face, I’ll take the DNF.

Because I feel like more of a bad-ass when I’m smiling.


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A Runner Puts Her (Bare)foot Down

Looking back at my last few posts on this blog, I am going to admit that I am a bit perturbed at what I am seeing. I have been expressing two deeply contrasting emotions:

1. absolute confidence that seemingly comes from nothing, about accomplishing a seemingly impossible task that I am, in a typical sense, not nearly prepared for.

2. crushing insecurity and doubt about accomplishing a difficult task that I, in theory, could adequately prepare for in the time allotted before the day the task must be completed.

Reading through your own blog posts is definitely a good way of surveying your own issues. I mean, whatever happens in Pineland on May 27th, I’m probably going to look back on these last few weeks of undulating confusion and either be completely embarrassed, or laugh at myself. But either way, my recent habit of allowing outside influences to keep me in a persisting state of inner conflict has got to go. It’s not how I usually do things – I am much braver than that.

I mean, I’m usually the type of person who jumps feet-first into the icy waters of unknown scary things, holding my nose and wearing nothing but a red swimsuit. And holding a big ole’ bucket of chum. With the exception, of course, of when those decisions affect other people (like moving to California tomorrow, for instance).

So…why, on this occasion, am I acting like a feeble child who can’t so much as choose a balloon for herself? Why do I let other people’s opinions attach like a virus to my doubts, and why do I allow myself to so easily vacillate from confidence to hesitation and back again?

The answer is probably because this is the biggest high dive (or the biggest pail of fish chum) that I’ve ever endeavored before. It’s intensely scary. The more I think about it, the scarier it becomes, and the easier it is for me to forget my original reason for clicking the “Sign Up” button in the first place:

Because that day I decided I’m okay with failing. And even though I might fail, I would feel like more of a failure if I never even try.

This is something important for me to remember, the next time someone tries to knock some logical sense into my head about this race.

And I would like to thank my friend Jason Robillard, who wrote this post about “Choosing Impossible Challenges“, for once again reminding me what kind of person I actually am – and it’s not the person who wants to live a safe, predictable, boring life.

I am going to stay signed up for the 50k race. Hills and all. And I am going to run it until I’ve either finished 50 kilometers, or until I decide to accept a DNF. I am going to learn a lot that day, not the least of which will be how strong of a person I am. I’m dying to find out.

Other related posts:
Flirting with a DNF
γνῶθι σεαυτόν(know thyself)
My Final Thoughts on 100 Miles


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Why I Might Not Run a 50k – Yet

As it stands, I am no more than a mediocre distance runner.

I am a better than bad distance runner who has made friends with some really good distance runners, and has subsequently been caught up in the exciting culture of the ultra marathon. Ultra marathoners, especially ones of the barefoot variety, are these fascinating, motivating, awe-inspiring and infinitely friendly people – who will tell you without a doubt that you can do what they do. Even if you have inadequate training and you are a mediocre distance runner like me. They are like running salesmen, and they’re really good for your self confidence.

And if you love to run, like I do, the ultra marathon culture is catchy. Every day it seems like a new person signs up for a 50k after having never run, for example, more than the distance of a half marathon. And these guys make it look so darn easy, which is why I signed up for a 50k, in a moment of sheer go-big-or-go-home insanity. Jason tells me that it’ll be easier than I think. Vanessa tells me I can finish it no problem. Pablo tells me that the training for his first 50k was no more strenuous than a few back-to-back 8 mile “long” runs, and he did fine.

I think the problem is that it’s easy to overestimate someone else’s endurance capacity if you’ve never run with them.

Here’s what I mean. Yesterday I ran 10 miles with Heather and Brad. They’re much better than mediocre distance runners. It’s an eye-opener when you’ve always done your long runs alone or with someone who is on your endurance level, and then one day some friends take you out on trails (when you’re primarily a road runner) that beat the shit out of you by mile seven, while they’re still floating uphill like gazelles. And they’re older than you.

Today I am seriously considering dropping down from the Pinelands 50k to the 25k. And not because I don’t think I could do the 50k. I probably could, simply because if I’m signed up to run 50 kilometers that day, I’ll finish if I have to crawl across the line. But I may not enjoy it. Pineland, Heather tells me, is 100% steep, rolling trail hills. Just hearing that makes me think of being totally unprepared last year for the Great Bay Half Marathon, because it had these ridiculous hills – and I’d only ever trained on flat roads. I finished just the same but it was so emotionally defeating that I didn’t run for almost a month afterward.

Despite the fact that I would love to become an ultra runner and be part of this culture, I think perhaps I’m just not ready yet. There are some hard, inevitable facts in my way. The first and biggest one is that I am overweight. The same effort it takes me today to complete 10 miles could probably get me to 16 or 18 miles if I was at the correct weight. Actually, forget anything else – that’s really the only thing holding me back. If it was easier for me to train, then I’d be less afraid of bigger distances and back-to-back long runs. I honestly believe I have the same insane drive as everyone else, which is why I fit in with them so well. I just don’t have the fitness to back it up.

And that’s what it really comes down to. I signed up for the 50k because I want to run it, because I love running that much, and because I’m the same kind of person as all of my crazy ultra running friends. The only difference between me and them is they’re not overweight and I am. And until I’m as fit as them, I’m just not going to be able to effortlessly make the huge jumps in distance that they routinely do.

I hope nobody takes this as me being self-depricating. It’s really not – this is way past a self-esteem issue. This is simply a logical conclusion that I am at a performance roadblock, and I must get past it if i’m ever going to become a better than mediocre distance runner. I am sad about the thought of setting aside my 50k goal, it feels like giving up and I almost never give up on things I want.

But I also don’t ever settle on being mediocre.


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Having Second Thoughts?

Picture stolen from Vanessa Run's blog

Over the past week or so, I’ve been doing some major doubting of myself and my ability to complete my upcoming ultra-marathon. I am intimidated by my own reckless ambition for ever signing up, and I am daunted by the training schedule, the long runs, the hilly trails, everything this race entails.

I mean, even the words “Ultra Marathon” are intimidating. It’s a phrase that sounds exclusive and elite. The words conjure up images of rail-thin career distance runners wearing backpacks and hats with flaps, looking parched, exhausted and famished. I picture the guy who writes books on the subject, covers 50 or more miles weekly and probably has a BMI under 16. Sorta like the dudes in this picture.

An ultra marathoner is cut from a cloth much finer than mine. I’m not even in the right league. Take my frame for example: I’m short, heavily-muscled and far from runner-skinny. I run slowly and by any ultra marathoner’s standards, I don’t run very far before I tire out and want to go home. I’ve never even completed a marathon, and mostly because I don’t like the training schedule. Aside from my love for running and my penchant for going big (or going home), I really have no business showing up at a 50k this May.

I have a few friends who are training for the same race as me, and for a couple of them, this will be their first ultra too. And because I don’t really know my ass from my elbow when it comes to proper training, I watch them. I watch their base mileage climb to twice that of mine, and I watch their long runs reach 14, 16, 18 miles…while I’m still floundering over this weekend’s 10 mile run (that I should have done last weekend…but didn’t feel like it). It scares the hell out of me when I think I’m doing fine at something, and then I see someone else hustling their ass off toward the same goal. Makes me think I’m missing something.

The day that I signed up for this thing, my attitude was so positive. Maybe too positive, maybe not. I mean, I may have fellow racers running 40 miles per week already, but I also know people who ran their first 50k after never having run more than half marathon distance. I suppose that when I clicked the “Sign Up” button that day, I was thinking of them.

I was also thinking of my character. I’m a bit of a risk taker when it comes to difficult goals, and so far every time I jump face-first into something impossible, I succeed. Not only do I succeed, but I usually blow my expectations out of the water altogether. Among other things, I became Captain of my cheering squad the first year I joined; I won a half-boat college scholarship with one essay; I tried out and got a good part in a college play during my hardest academic semester; I created an acclaimed installation in my college’s art gallery that seemed way too much to accomplish; I accepted a full-time job doing 90% Photoshop work when I barely knew Photoshop, then became better at it than anyone I know; I went from graphic designer to art director in four years time, and did well at it even though I thought I didn’t have nearly enough experience; and I ran my first half marathon 9 months after learning to run barefoot. I’m not good at everything, but I am good at accomplishing my hardest goals, and often when it seems like I shouldn’t be able to.

Right now it’s about three months out from the 50k, and I’m still intimidated by the thought of running anything more than 10-12 miles. Other than at the 50k itself, I don’t have a whole lot of desire to go that far. Especially not by myself, in the deeply wooded trails of the New Hampshire winter. Those trees can get damn lonely.

So I figure I’ll either find a way to somehow throw aside my fears and loneliness on the trails and get those miles in before the race, or I won’t and I’ll have to wing it that day, hoping for the best. After all, I’ve done a lot of winging it in my life and so far it’s worked out pretty well.

And I have the most amazing people to turn to in these times, those who have cautioned and those who have inspired. Some don’t even realize how much they do for me. Take Vanessa Runs, for example. She is running her first 100-mile ultra this weekend, and she wrote about it today, in a post called “Final Thoughts on 100 Miles.” In it, she said something truly amazing:

I know that 100 miles is not a distance that belongs to the elite. One hundred miles is just ground and earth and mud and space. It belongs to all of us.

When I read this, I pictured Vanessa instead of my usual mind-devised, underfed and overblown elite ultra marathoner. I pictured a regular person in a plaid skirt and visor, holding a simple water bottle and trekking up the pretty hills of San Diego County. I know Vanessa runs about a million miles a week but still…it gave me some hope. And it made the ultra marathon mine. Mine, as much as hers, and as much as Patrick Sweeney’s or Shelly Robillard’s.

Sometimes I wish I could take someone else’s words and wear them in my running shoes, write them on my hands or hear them in my iPod –  because words like those are something to run on. Twenty minutes after I read Vanessa’s blog entry I went out for an amazing 4 mile run that felt like 2…and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I can make 14 miles feel like 7, 20 feel like 12. And I thank her for this.

I will also thank Jason Robillard for daring me to sign up for this race, but not until after I cross that damn 50k finish line. And it may not be the finish line of this 50k, it could take a few attempts…but I know it will eventually happen. And I look forward to that day.


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Active.com: Top 5 Half Marathon Fears and How to Conquer Them

Hello readers! Jump on over to Active.com and read my latest article about conquering your fears over running your first half marathon (or any new distance, really). I intend on putting this here so I can revisit it every time I shake in my boots about that 50k I signed up for.

Check it out here!

And because today is the kind of day that I need motivation to get up and running, here’s some for you:


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Today’s Trail Run Brought to You by: Solid Ice.

Only in New England can you go 4 trail miles out and back and run through dirt, sand, mud, sheer ice, snow and flood waters in the same day.

Stats

  • Number of miles run: 8
  • Number of times I stopped to pee: 1 (not even two miles in…too much coffee)
  • Number of GUs consumed : 2
  • Number of times I had to walk/slide through sheets of ice: 4
  • Number of times I had to wade through knee-deep water: 2
  • Number of other runners on the trail: 1
This was the first time I’ve run 8 miles since my stint of injuries earlier this year. Basically every long run from here on out is going to be my longest since then, until they just become my longest runs ever. I was tired when I was through – trails are easier on my feet but harder on my leg muscles, which is good. But I didn’t feel dead, like I remember feeling last year during Half Marathon training. I’m taking that as a good sign.

This was also the first time I’d ever run the trails by Lake Massabesic, and they go out pretty far. But I’m not sure I really knew what to expect. And I figured I’d be out for awhile so I took pictures of my experience.

The run started off so well. Aw, look how pretty those trees are, and the soft pine needles on the ground. Awww.

Lake Massabesic is just so pretty this time of year, isn't it? It was nice to start out the run meandering through the sites.

The trail didn't stay nice for long. About a quarter mile down it started to get gnarly. I didn't think there would still be so much ice, since it's all melted near my house 10 miles away. Snow racers come through a lot and draw lines in the trails, that ice over. Makes it hard to find a spot not to slip on.

A couple miles in, I come across this bullshit. You can't see it here, but there's lake on both sides of the path and currently this section of the path has become one with the lake. I had to cross it twice, soaking myself up to my knees in slushy water. I cursed myself the whole time for not choosing the wool socks.

A half mile from my turnaround point, I saw this sign. Yeah, tell em! I wish those smart folks could be hired to write highway signs.

My turnaround point. Those trees are tall. That's all.

No, that is not poop on my shoes. It's mud and dirt and hard work. And my Vivos match the rocks.

Before dealing with the puddle-o-doom for the second time, I crossed a bridge and really liked the view of the lake from it. The first time I crossed the bridge there was a man out on the ice. Now he's gone. I'll try not to think too much into that.

Yeah - that's all ice. Fun times. I walked that stretch.

I ran out of water in the last two miles. I wondered to myself if that was drinkable*

*And speaking of that, did you see this video yet? Shit Ultrarunners Say. Hilarious.


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So I signed up for a 50k Race…I mean, how hard can it be?

Thanks to Vanessa Runs‘ awesome helpfulness, here’s my answer:

Yeah, you read it right. Back-to-back long runs. Thankfully, the real commitment to craziness, according to this schedule, doesn’t start for a whole month (thanks to a smart commentor, Jason Fitzgerald, for catching it – because I thought it was this week – yikes!). But, I mean…did you see week 11? That’s 24 miles on Saturday and then 10 on Sunday!

Gulp.

Okay, okay. Maybe this isn’t so out of bounds. I did want to increase my weekly mileage this winter anyhow. And I can (hopefully) run without hurting myself if I go nice and slow. I mean, I’m not going to win the race anyway, so forget that. But because I’m REALLY slow right now, I can work on speed during the week, along with some lifting and strength workouts.

I will admit something, though. I am not holding myself to the full 50k, if it becomes unreachable to me that day. I promise not to beat myself up if I have to stop after the first of the two 25k loops (and then beg the race director to let me pretend I’d signed up for the 25k, to avoid a DNF). With that said, if I spend these next four months training my ass off and manage to not get hurt, then I can’t see why a marathon wouldn’t be possible. And once I get to a marathon….well, what’s five more miles? Right?

But I am not completely obtuse. I know that most people train for years and years to get to ultra-marathon status. They run these things with serious goals in mind, besides beer and social networking. They are lithe and strong, they have earned their runner’s bodies, they can easily run a mile in under 7 minutes, and they haven’t eaten ice cream in at least 18 months. And most importantly, yeah so they’ve already run at least a few 26.2’s.

But me? Well, I’m a slow-as-fuck runner who averages between a 10-12 minute mile (these days it’s 12, and sometimes worse), I’m overweight, short, and I haven’t picked up a free weight in…at least 18 months. And I’ve never run more than 13 miles in my entire life. And that one time that I did? I didn’t even do a great job, I ran down a hill wrong and busted my IT band.

And I worked hard for that half mary. Busted my ass, even. I lost weight, worked my way up to three 10 mile long runs and one 11 miler. But since that didn’t seem to work for me much in the end, I think maybe this time I’ll go about it in a completely different way.

Oh, I am going to train. I’ll try my best to knock down all those back-to-back long runs. I’ll start doing strength training to even out. We’ll see how it goes. But if something starts to hurt? I’m going to stop and rest. If it starts to feel like a job? I’m going to stop and rest. If I can’t get all the miles in? I’m going to spend more time at the gym doing strength training. I’m not going to stress about it. I’m going to call these next four months of training The 50k Slacker Program. The way I figure it, I may actually be the least experienced person at the whole race, and my completion of it will be out of sheer dumb will, kind of like Forest Gump running cross country. And because I’m going into this just to have a good time, I’m going to let my Slacker attitude prevail, all the way.

So with that in mind, I have 5 possible goals for this race, in descending order of successfulness:

  1. Finish the 50k and drink my first beer as an ultra-marathoner (take that, disbelievers!)
  2. Finish the 25k and have time for more beer
  3. Drink Jason Robillard’s share of the beer while he runs 50 miles
  4. Drink beer with a bunch of cool barefoot running people like a total slacker
  5. Walk around barefoot drinking beer and wearing somebody else’s cowbell around my neck (they give away a cowbell instead of a medal, how cool is that?)

No matter what happens, though, I will come away from these four months fitter, lighter and stronger than I am today. So even if I don’t complete a single one of these goals on May 27th (although I’m pretty sure that walking around barefoot with a beer in my hand won’t be much to tackle), the Pineland 50k will have done me a whole lot of good.

So what’s to lose, right?

(except dignity, self-respect and the ability to stand?)