I’m not old. Really, I’m not. When I was in high school, I perceived that adults just a few decades older than me were old and out of touch. But that couldn’t possibly apply to me.

Right?

Here I am, a “man of a certain age,” if you will, two decades older than most of the adults I knew when I was in high school. At an age of such a towering height that I never thought I’d actually get there back in my sepia toned youth.

Life moves along like a mighty river, doesn’t it?

There comes a point where, after you’ve owned that shiny new car for long enough that the paint begins to fade a bit and the new car smell is a distant memory, that a little red light appears in a previously unnoticed corner of the dashboard where the speedometer lives. It’s called the Check Engine light, and the message behind the persistent little reminder carries a cryptic message. The message is this:

“THE FUTURE IS NOW, M—–F—–!”

There was a brief moment of about eight years duration when I thought I would live forever. Looked about the same, felt about the same, had about the same amount of energy, but over time, little changes made their way through the spiraling DNA that encodes me. I didn’t notice it until one day I realized that I couldn’t read small print on the page. Time to grab a pair of +1.5’s from CVS and accept the fact that I’m my grandmother now. Yikes!

Marathon running has chased back a great deal of the entropy that will eventually encase us all in its comforting coffin, but every once in a while, something slips through. In my case, it was heart palpitations.

Mostly harmless, my primary care physician told me. No doubt your run of the mill stress brought on by the usual suspects: job, city living, social concerns, concerns about the future. Terms like diet modification, self care and meditation were thrown around.

After informing my physician of my family’s history of heart ailments (father and grandfather both passing away from failure of that vital organ), he prescribed a series of tests designed to ferret out how my body is holding up, since I am pretty much halfway and change between birth and the heat death of the Universe.

One of these tests is called a “Holter Monitor,” and it looks exactly like this:

The monitor is a chip approximately the size of a USB drive. It is attached to the chest by plugging it into a cartridge which itself is attached to a plastic adhesive patch. Once on the chest, it monitors your heart beats over a two week period. Once the two weeks are up, I will mail the monitor to a processing facility that will download the data and send it along to a cardiologist, who will then forward any findings to my primary care physician.

And I get to wear this thing for two weeks! Yay!

Luckily, since I am in the final training cycle for the California International Marathon, I can wear it while running.

“Of course,” the technician said as he demonstrated how to attach it to my chest, “you can’t really wear this while running.”

“The hell I can’t,” I replied as courteously as I could manage through gritted teeth, “the literature tells me, right here,” (animated gesticulating at the small pamphlet opened on the examination table) “that I can exercise, and even shower with this damn thing glued onto my left pectoral. Of course I’m going to run with it on!”

“How much are you planning on running?” He asked.

I almost told him the truth, which was about eighty miles over the next 14 days. Instead, I said “I’m training for a marathon, so there will be some serious jogging.”

I expected a counter argument, but instead, he congratulated me on my dedication to exercise, and grabbed a handful of extra patches for me to use in case it fell off during my run.

The monitor was attached on a Monday a few weeks back. On Tuesday, I ran six miles at my 8:45 marathon pace with no ill effects, either to me or to the patch.

The next day, Wednesday’s track workout, was the acid test. On tap: after a mile warm up, four one-mile tempo runs at my hard tempo pace of 7:45 per mile. And it was a warm day. I started the workout, tentatively poking at the patch to make sure it was still attached as sweat poured down the front of my shirt.

Midway through my last mile, I felt the patch unglue itself from my chest and fall through my shirt.

I finished the run, carrying the patch in my hand, and drove home. A six mile hill run and a long hilly 12 miler was on my schedule for that week, along with various recovery runs, and I had to figure something out.

After reviewing the directions for applying the patch, I saw the error: the technician did not scrub my chest with soap, rinse it off and let it dry, or shave any hair in the area where the patch was supposed to stick. He did, however, scrub the skin with the included skin pad, but not for the recommended sixty seconds to remove any dead skin.

In his defense, we barely knew each other.

I took one of the replacement pads and after attaching the chip and following all the instructions to the letter, reapplied the chip to the chest site. The monitor stayed where it was applied for the remainder of the week’s runs. However, due to my physical activity, regular removal, skin preparation, and reapplying of the patch was necessary. Applying strips of sweat resistant bandage tape to the sides of the patch helped with my peace of mind, and I’m going to finish the two week period with two patches to spare.

I just wonder what the cardiologist is going to think when she sees my heart rate running all over the place. I guess I’ll find out.

Junk food: Eaten!

10 pounds: Gained!

Aerobic Capacity: Lowered!

Leg muscles: Slack!

Motivation: Seriously?

Running break: Accomplished!

Urge to train: …Rising? Maybe?

It’s one of the risks you take when you deliberately take time off from training and allow your body and mind to recover. And it’s not like I was completely lazy. I ran most Saturdays, but easily and socially. I hiked, did a bit of trail running, and even attempted a bit of speedwork.

A total of 55 miles run for the month, more than most non-runners would consider running for a year.

But just like how one looks around while on a two week vacation and says “This is my life now,” completely forgetting about all the real life stuff waiting patiently at home, I fell into the trap of “yep, my running is going just fine!”

And it is, if all I’m I’m trying to get out of running is a weekly social leg stretch and the occasional quick hike down a trail. But I didn’t create this blog with that motivation in mind.

I’m 56 years old, in great health, and I want to know how long and fast I can go with the right kind of dedication and training. Can I qualify for Boston, and perhaps run even faster?

Most importantly, I want to know if I have the fortitude, discipline, and love of the sport to buckle down and do the training in the first place.

And not just the training, but every part of my life connected to the physical effort:

Can I cut the crap out of my diet so I can lose the ten pounds I gained, and then lose 10 more?

Can I spend those hours at home after a hard day at work more efficiently so I can get to bed on time for 8-9 hours of sleep each and every night?

Can I write out a schedule that includes a long morning run, then get up when the alarm tells me to so I can get it done?

Can I commit to a daily flexibility program without it turning into a STAR TREK episode binge watch with token hamstring stretches during the commercial breaks?

Can I practice the self care I need to make sure that my training doesn’t negatively impact my personal relationships, job, and other goals that are just as important as training for a marathon time goal?

And can I maintain these adjustments to attitude and habit long enough to either reach my running goals or come to the conclusion that I simply don’t want it enough?

Nothing wrong with being a recreational runner. Millions of people are. Is that what I truly want?

THAT is my “why.”

THAT is what I want to find out.

Listen to Frank Shorter ask Meb Keflezighi about the strategy he used to win the Boston Marathon in 2014. Listen to Meb’s answer and Frank’s response. That is the essence of the question I am asking myself.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVjt5yBte4o&t=0m41s

The California International Marathon is five months hence, to the day. I created a base building training schedule for July and August designed to get me ready for the three months of quality training necessary to get me to the start line on Sunday, December 8th, 2019 with a reasonable shot of hitting a specific time. With the exception of four miles of repetitions and intervals, it is all easy running. Part of me thinks I’m being a bit too easy on myself with this schedule, but it is designed specifically to leave me with no excuses. Is a marathon time goal something I want, or not?

Long before I reach the end of this schedule, I’ll have my answer.

Jobs. Family responsibilities. Car trouble. Time commitments made but then forgotten. Bad weather. Then even worse weather.

Lack of motivation, depression, anxiety, regret, loss, lack of sleep, overall lack of energy due to the constant grinding of life against one’s limited physical, mental, social and spiritual resources.

#Amirite?

Still gotta train, though!

It’s been several months since my last entry, and I apologize. But, you know, stuff.

So, where am I at? Right now, I’m in a pretty good place.

A little backstory:

I am a pace leader for the LA Roadrunners running club, the official training program for the LA Marathon. Which means that every Saturday morning from September through Marathon Day in March, rain or shine, I rise at oh-dark-thirty in the blessed ayem, a full ninety minutes earlier than I do for my day job, slam as much of a healthy breakfast as I can down my pie-hole, and drive to Marina Del Rey to meet several hundred runners who depend on me and about ninety other “PL’s” who have made the same commitment, and lead them on long training runs around Marina Del Rey and up into Santa Monica. Along the way, we provide coaching, encouragement, friendship and at times a bit of therapy as we make our way along sidewalks, beach paths and the occasional shoulderless stretch of roadway on our 10,12,14,16,18,and 20+ mile runs.

I pace a group corporately named “Run Group 6,” which means we run 11 minute miles on these long runs as part of training for a 10 minute per mile marathon pace. Which means that as the calendar falls headlong into the throat of winter, we spend a increasingly long amount of time in each others’ company. In the case of our longest run coming later next month, that time will be around three hours and forty minutes.

These runs are always done with the idea that suffering together creates a diverting, relaxed congenial atmosphere. Running as a social lubricant.

It also means that as pace leaders, we are expected to be  stronger runners than the runners we are leading. Can’t do that if you are suffering as much as the runners under your care.

Need a motivation to train? There you go!

Because when the actual race gets tough, as it always does around mile 18, we are the ones our fellow runners will look to for encouragement and motivation. And we need to be in a position to provide it.

Life got a bit rough for me during the holidays late last year, and it was tempting to let things slide and just sleep in on the weekday mornings, and surrender to MASH and Star Trek reruns in the evening after work. And a few times, laziness won out. But overall, knowing what will be expected of me at the LA Marathon pushed me out the door. And oddly enough, who’da thought, running can lift burdens and provide much needed perspective on non-running aspects of my existence.

Life evened out after the new year, and I surprised myself with the realization that I ran twenty miles more in January this year than January last. It was a major accomplishment.

But then, oddly enough, it began to rain in Los Angeles. A lot.

And right about that time, my car needed some much needed attention, requiring me to take “alternate transportation” to that all important day job.

The bike.

Not the motorized kind, mind you. The regular kind. The kind that you have to pedal in order to push through the rain.

So for several days, I donned all the rain gear I could find and biked through the sloppy wet streets in a downpour to the Expo line train station, rode the train as close to my work as I could, then pedaled the rest of the way there. A change into some dry socks and shoes, and I was good to face the workday. Then, at five pm, re-don the wet shoes and socks and lather, rinse, repeat to home.

Life happens, right?

Like when the derailleur on your back wheel gives out just as you decide to pedal your way through a six inch pool of standing water a hundred yards long, as the uncaring automobiles slide past you sending little tsunamis up and over your calves, your rain gear now useless because God chose that moment to give you a demonstration of what old man Noah must have gone through back in the day, and when you get home, you end up dragging half the puddle you pushed through all over and into the new carpeting your landlord installed as a justification for the rent increase.

And you’re going to towel off, don your running clothes, turn around and do a six mile hill workout after all that?

Hello Hawkeye, Trapper and Frank Burns. What are you up to this fine evening? I’m sorry, but I’m not that strong.

Besides, I will have to _walk_ to the train station tomorrow morning because the garage had to send out for a part that will take a full day to get to them so they can install it. Oh boy.

But take heart, friends. I’m going to pull this off. Here’s how:

According to my training log, I ran 180 miles from January 1^st of this year to yesterday morning. Was shooting for around 220, but considering everything, I’ll take it.

With four weeks of training “build” and a two week taper before the marathon, I will be running my highest mileage weeks, and I feel strong, and mentally and physically ready to push through whatever training, and life, throws at me.

The greatest decision I made this training cycle was to NOT overlook the LA Marathon on the way to Mountains 2 Beach, my BQ race. Of course, I’m training for both, but I am approaching the LA Marathon as a separate race entirely: I am training _specifically_ to run the LA Marathon at 8:45 per mile pace, or in a 3:50 finish time.

Of course, as a pace leader for LARR Run 6, I won’t be running the marathon at that pace. I will lead my group to a 4:22 finish, running 10 minute miles. And by focusing specifically on the LA Marathon and training to run it at a full half hour faster, I will have the strength and perseverance to help as many runners as possible reach their goal of finishing the marathon in 4:22 or better.

Because life is challenging for everyone. And how do we find respite from our challenges? By challenging ourselves to accomplish something we once thought impossible, and having a little fun along the way.

Long story short: I want to qualify to run the Boston Marathon. My current marathon PR is 4:10, and I need to run under 3:35(*) in order to reach it. My goal: knock 40 minutes off my current time at the Mountains to Beach marathon on Memorial Day weekend in 2019, seven and a half months from now, crossing the finish line with enough cushion to guarantee myself a spot (I’m gunning for an arbitrary five minutes). Oh yeah, and hit the gong in triumph.

Sounds good. It’s a meaningful goal.

However, at this time it’s fantasy. Here’s why.

Until recently, my marathon training history consisted of training to run the fastest pace I could reasonably hope for with as few miles as I felt I could get away with.

This is not an admission of laziness. No one takes up distance running because they don’t want to push themselves. It is, rather, an admission of lack of time management, ignorance of basic marathon training principles, and an unwillingness to tolerate discomfort and pain beyond a certain threshold.

Back when I was running in order to chase away depression, anxiety and self doubt brought on by the Great Recession, I ran through remote portions of Yosemite National Park, the San Rafael and Dick Smith Wildernesses, Big Sur, the Sierra Nevadas, and anywhere else that would yank me out of the head-space I was in that told me my most productive years had passed me by. It worked, and it provided me with a solid base that powered my first 10k and half marathon races. Make no mistake; my fitness has improved. I can run at a 9:45 pace until I either drop dead or run out of road. I would not be able to do this if I hadn’t pushed myself in my previous training. But this new goal is going to require me to change the way I train.

After all, my recent time at the Ventura Half Marathon tells me that I am capable of training to run a marathon in three hours and fifty minutes. So why is my PR a full twenty minutes slower?

More on this in the next post.

But in the meantime, I have some pre-work that needs to be done. It’s one thing to commit to a new way of marathon training, or to any new worthwhile endeavor; it’s another to take a hard look at the non-running parts of my life and make the changes necessary so that new goals can take root and flourish. To wit:

1. Get to bed early enough to sleep the 8-9 hours I know I will need in order to recuperate from my efforts.
2. Take the time to plan my food needs and shop weekly (which has the added benefit of saving money otherwise spent eating out)
3. Clean and organize my living space so I don’t allow messy surroundings to influence my mood and desire to train.
4. Plan my downtime to really recreate and unwind. Watching Star Trek and MASH reruns is occasionally acceptable, but it can’t be my default position every time I’m tired and bored.
5. Understand that I will need to get out the door and train regardless of how tired or stressed I feel. A friend and coach I know uses the mantra “No excuses.” I need to find one that works for me.(**)
6. Perhaps the most important thing: understand that I run because I enjoy running. It’s what I do to unwind and recreate, and as such falls under the definition of self care. There will be a “job” aspect attached to this specific goal, but “resting and recreating” can apply even to the hard workouts. After all, at least I’m not at the office.

Life is short, and no one knows for sure what lies on the other side of it, so we need to make do with the opportunities we have before us right now, and we need to have the courage to face the uncomfortable transitions between what we have settled for, and what we dream of in those moments when we wish for a better life.

Which is why this blog exists.

(*) The new BAA qualifying standard for a male 55 years of age is 3:35. I will need to run faster than that time to have a chance to actually enter the race in April of 2020.

(**)A writer of my acquaintance once told the story of another writer he knew who would, every morning upon waking, point a loaded pistol to his head and ask himself “Are you going to get up and write today?” I don’t think such a tactic would necessarily apply to me, but who knows?