Losing the Passion

I ran the Goodlife Toronto Marathon yesterday, and it was very good. The crowds were enthusiastic. The weather was made to order. The route was pleasant, diverse, scenic, flat in lots of places, downhill for a long while, with a steep half-kilometre climb uphill that made it interesting. The medal was huge, the participants were a nice mix of familiar faces and freshly-minted athletes, the dramas were recognizable and new. The water station people were having fun, and their faces lit up when we thanked them for their efforts.

My feet hurt like hell. One guy spit into the wind and I felt the spray while I was double-fisting gatorade at mile 20. Cars, buses, and streetcars were crossing in front of me and drivers were venting their anger and frustration in any number of ways. There was a pretty strong breeze in my face a lot of the way.

I loved every minute of it; I was as happy thanking the woman who yelled 'nice hair' (might not have been addressed to me, not sure... (!)) as I was cursing blue murder at the streetcar driver crossing in front of me in the final metres of the race. It was an adventure all the way, chock full of little stories and events and emotions and lessons... and that's not the only reason I run marathons.

For me, the marathon experience is about checking out new places to go for marathons, reading reviews, talking to people, studying maps. It's about the history and geography of cities and towns, the shopping strategies, the entertainment possibilities, the local beers, the hotel pools and the museums and art galleries. It's about the spontaneous conversations that break out with other enthusiasts on the course, in the food line at the end, on the street outside the hotel.

I know a couple of people who have lost the desire to run marathons. That's not a bad thing since I know they have other passions that are all-consuming. It's heartbreaking when people don't have something that they are passionate about, when they've lost interest in everything. That's hard to imagine.

Recently two of the most popular Canadian motorcycle magazines featured editorials that talked about losing the passion for riding, and they were written in the first person by the editors of the magazines. And there was no sense of redemption, no "eureka" moment. It was sad beyond measure; what the hell were readers to think?

My dad was a truck driver all his life, and he truly loved trucks. He talked about trucks and driving all the time. About traffic and routes and stores he went to and what bad truckers did and what good truckers did. That was passion.

So don't run marathons if you've lost interest in it. Dive into something else. Like rock climbing (which is incredibly interesting and complex, and endlessly challenging). But find whatever it is really fast, because life is way too short and you have to be a total glutton about it.

The Anti Runner

I have a profound respect for the distance of 26.2 miles in the time leading up to running it. I'm not nervous in the least. I'm extremely meticulous in my preparatory rituals.

I eat very sparingly the day before and the morning of the marathon, always the same things. This is what I eat: an outlaw omelette the morning before, a whole wheat turkey sandwich for lunch, a couple weird gel things at the expo (hey, it's free, mustn't be rude), a small plate of pasta for supper, and a packet of instant oatmeal for breakfast the morning of the marathon.

I spend lots of time ensuring that I won't give the portapotties a second look through the race unless I've hydrated slightly beyond retaining capacity. My greatest fear is, as you can see, becoming a crapping spectacle that goes viral on Youtube or something. Be honest: wouldn't you absolutely die of shame if that happened to you? I would have to leave the course, mop up at the closest Burger King that didn't have locked washrooms, and catch the next flight to somewhere I wouldn't be recognized ever, somewhere like Botswana or Latvia.

Once the race starts, I'm totally fine. I concentrate on pacing myself, enjoy the scenery, chat if anyone around me is so inclined, and enjoy the fresh air as the day progresses. I go with instinct as well; if I feel like I can give it a bit extra, I do.

After the first hour (it usually takes me between four and four and a half hours to run a marathon) I start to discipline my mind. The conversation with my mind usually goes something like the following, but not out loud. That would be crazy.

Ok, mind, it's time to focus and realize who's boss here because things are soon going to get a bit tougher. You are the AntiRunner and you will step aside. Stay right there where I can see you. None of your tricks will work. I've prepared for this, so I know when I'm truly in trouble. All systems are being objectively monitored; your machinations that are designed to make me walk or lie down will be observed and discarded. Near the end of a particularly tough race, I may get a bit angry at your tricks, but I'll still recognize and reject them. Because the pain that you keep trying to make dominant in my thoughts is purely ephemeral; it will end instantly when I cross that finish line. And I'll just be sore at that point. Sore and ecstatic. And you will crawl back into the background where you belong, only to slink back the next time I tempt you.

Funny thing is, this struggle with nameless, excuse-making, timid elements happens in all sorts of other endeavours as well. If I prepare painstakingly and have a plan for executing my intentions, no matter what I'm planning and executing, I simply need to carry it out with reasonable caution and attention. But I must never give over to the niggling unfounded fear of going through with something that I know is right and reasonable and in my best interests. I find that the exercise of fighting the urge to quit, the urge to whine and make excuses during a marathon, is useful, and carries over into everything else in life.

When I ran Chicago

Even a lot of non runners will recall that the Chicago Marathon made headlines in 2007 when water stations started to run out of drinks. The heat soared while the sun blazed pitilessly on the huge assembly of runners. Every non runner I knew was wagging his/her finger at me after that, thinking that all of their misgivings about long distance running had come to pass. This was the Armageddon of running: I think they half expected to see media reports of Jesus and Ryan Hall taking all the runners to their eternal reward. They just didn't get it; it was simply the huge scale of the thing that magnified an otherwise simple problem.

Wanting to run Chicago at some point, I figured 2008 would be perfect because organizers would overcompensate in order to avoid the bad publicity a second year in a row. So we drove the ten hours to Chicago on the Friday in October 2008 and settled in to a bit of sightseeing and Expo browsing on the Saturday. Never having been to Chicago before, I was absolutely loving it. What a great city, so much to see and do.

I've seen countries that are smaller in acreage than the Chicago Marathon Expo. Everyone who was anyone in running was there, signing stuff and making speeches. I got a poster signed by Deena Kastor (I framed that baby), met Bart Yasso and Ryan Hall, watched the Kenyans smile and tolerate silly questions, and just generally spent my childrens' inheritance on stuff.

A whole other Armageddon waa unfolding on the hotel room TV during that time as George Bush appeared every day to confirm that the world had not ended and that he was going to rescue some of the largest corporations in the world. Heady stuff when you're trying to concentrate on running a marathon.

Our hotel was a twenty minute drive from downtown, so Sunday morning we arrived a bit early and drove straight into the cavernous parking area under Millenium Park. It was already 20 degrees Celsius a couple of hours before the start, so I knew we were in for another warm one.

I think most runners will agree that the biggest concern you have after you've run a few long races is that the organizers won't get so overly liability conscious that they shut the race down just because it's a bit warm. I'm not trying to show a disregard for the wellbeing of people who get dehydrated, etc., during a race, but for me it's really quite simple; if I'm starting to feel a bit lightheaded or if I'm clearly overheating, I walk. If, after training for a marathon, you can't handle a bit of walking, or you are so hell bent for leather that you push yourself to the hospital, so be it. Again, it's not quite that simple in every case, but in a whole lot of cases it is.

Anyway, the Chicago Marathon started at 8:30 am, which is ridiculously late in the day for a marathon to start. However, I had no problem with that because obviously the late start helps to ensure larger, more awake crowds, and that's a big part of the appeal of Chicago. So that heat kept building. And there was not a cloud in the sky. By the time I crossed the finish line 4 hours and 38 minutes after the start, the temperature was over 30 degrees Celsius.

So what was the run like. Well, it took me seven minutes to get across the starting line. And the crowds of spectators from then on were unremittingly thick and loud. The crowd of runners never once thinned to the point that I could run without zigging and zagging to avoid other people's feet or the sudden braking of run-walk groups. That sounds like I'm complaining, but I most certainly am not. It was exactly what I expected.

The water stations were well stocked, in fact better than many at the smallest of marathons that I've run. Medics were everywhere apparent. The course itself was endlessly fascinating, although the endless bridges were a bit disconcerting (for me). Yes, I walked a bit near mile 20, just because it was getting really hot and I was getting a bit lightheaded. I still think, by the way, that a few little hills would actually help my legs to stretch out a bit; an utterly flat course tends to destroy my leg strength earlier than a course with the odd hill.

So when I crossed the finish line I continued chatting with a guy I'd met a couple kilometres back (I met and chatted to quite a few people, probably the most fun part of this or any race for me) and we continued to the meet-up area where my wife came along to the beer tent. Excellent FREE beer. On a sunny hot day, in Chicago. We then continued on the the 96th floor bar of the John Hancock building which was packed with runners having a great celebration. The view of Chicago from there was absolutely breathtaking.

So good luck to all runners doing Chicago on 10/10/10. Remember, unless it's of paramount importance to you to qualify to run in Beantown or something, listen to your body and push it only as far as you can without ruining your fun by ending up in an ambulance. There's no free beer in the ambulances I'm told, and that would really suck.

Spectators at Scotia Toronto Marathon

We arrived at the Scotia Marathon finish area after the marathon had been in progress for a bit over an hour. The first finishers, which would certainly include the 2009 champion Mungara, were expected at around the 2:08 mark. I was looking forward to this, naturally, since I'm almost always out on the road while the first finishers shower, eat, and basically land back home in Kenya. What I didn't expect was just how intensely emotional this experience would be for me as a spectator.

I was completely blown away by the purely superhuman performance of the top four men and the top four women, all of whom blasted past the finish line faster than men and women had ever done before on Canadian soil. When you witness a historical, unparalleled performance in any field of human endeavour, it makes even the air around you feel different. It was one of those "I was there when..." moments for me, and I thought that was the highlight of the day. However, incredibly, there was a helluva lot more drama to come.

When you've run a race before and experienced the pain, glory, disappointment, joy, sorrow that come with it, watching tens of thousands of individual dramas unfold in front of you half a kilometre from the finish line is almost too much to take in. After you start cheering the runners on, after you start to will each one across the line just down the street, you no longer care that you're losing your voice and looking like a wildman. There are people limping on the arms of medics, runners who appear not to be breaking a sweat, others who look like they've reached the top of Mount Everest. Some are intensely focused on getting to the finish; others high five everyone along the route. Still others are practically dancing with the ecstasy of achievement. Tears are flowing everywhere from happiness and pain, sometimes both.

And when you see friends and they see you, it's a feeling that's hard to convey because you know what it means to you to have wild cheerleaders when you're within striking range of the finish line. The stories that have led each and every one of those runners to this point are written all over their faces; they don't run 42 kilometres for no reason at all.

So go to a marathon that you're not running in simply to cheer, and you'll see exactly what I'm talking about. After watching that you'll find action thrillers and dramas positively humdrum by comparison.

Barefoot Running

I think it's fine that increasing numbers of runners are shedding their shoes and pounding the pavement and cement on bare soles just like their prehistoric forefathers and foremothers did. I simply find it a curious thing for people to want to attempt. I also wonder how many runners try it and stick with it. I know, apparently there's scientific evidence that this prevents shin splints and knee ruptures and endless other things, and I wouldn't try to dissuade anyone from doing it. I just don't see these apparent benefits making sense when I see it in practice. For one thing, very few of us can go through the day barefoot, so we don't have an opportunity to toughen up our feet. Our prehistoric friends didn't have to run on cement and asphalt. They also quite likely impaled their feet on small sharp rocks on occasion. Most importantly, they didn't have shoes, so they were running barefoot for the same reason they climbed trees when a tiger showed up: because they had no choice.

I ran two marathons this year in which I saw barefoot participants in action. In the first, the barefoot runner completed the race in almost exactly the same time as I did, and there was a helluva lot of cement on that course. My cushioned feet were hurting more than they usually do after a marathon. So that runner had my admiration; she appeared no worse off than I was. In the second race, the barefoot runner was limping along on the outsides of his feet at about mile eight. He was toast; there was no way he was getting to the finish unless he crawled.

I like the cushioned soles on my extraordinarily light running shoes. I also like electricity and the endless things it allows me to do effortlessly. I like using matches to light fires (which is a rare requirement in my world) since I couldn't rub two sticks together effectively if I had to.

I'm probably missing something in this barefoot running thing. I love being barefoot, if it's warm and there's a beachful of sand surrounding me, or if I'm on the couch watching TV. I wish I understood the appeal of running barefoot, but I don't care enough to try it.

And by the way... Vibrams are shoes/slippers with thin soles. If you wear them, how do you figure you're barefoot?

Most Famous DNF in History

It was called the Marathon of Hope. It was never about Terry Fox, as he said endlessly. It was about declaring war on the Bastard Cancer that was eating away at his body, destroying him at an accelerating rate while he had barely reached adulthood. Terry Fox was on a mission to rally his fellow citizens to join in his war. He knew that he would likely die. He also knew that he wanted to prevent this terrible destruction from being visited on others. He asked that every Canadian donate one dollar toward cancer research.

So Terry hit the road, determined to run across one of the biggest countries on earth. Through initial public indifference, bone jarring exhausting miles, and near defeat, he persisted. Would he have given up if a large corporate donation hadn't arrived? Maybe. But that didn't happen. What did happen was that Terry Fox's dream began to take shape. The public caught on; they were fascinated by this guy who didn't bother to cover his prosthetic leg, who was ruggedly handsome and unerringly intense in his focussed message. The war took shape and continues to be raged today, seemingly unstoppable.

Terry Fox only got about halfway across Canada before the cancer spread to his lungs and stopped him for good. He didn't finish his race. What he did do was set in motion a campaign that has, to date, raised more than half a billion dollars. The Terry Fox Foundation has contributed to some incredible advances in the fight against cancer; untold thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the dollars raised by Terry Fox's legions of runners.

On Sunday, September 19, 2010 I went to the local Cambridge Terry Fox Run. I put a couple of "In Memory of" stickers on my new commemorative tshirt, one for my father and one for my mother-in-law, both of whom died of cancer. I was one of 210 runners of all ages, shapes and sizes, 60 more than showed up last year. The man ahead of me at registration proudly took his sticker to add to his Terry Fox certificate; he had run every Terry Fox run since they started. I overheard another man telling his little daughter that this was how she would change the world, that she was changing the world that day.

This little band of 210 warriors did something important on Sunday, 30 years after Terry Fox began his campaign. For many of us it was a very personal vendetta. It was a very satisfactory battle in a war that is gradually being won, one runner at a time.

The Running Community

Runners, despite being an incredibly diverse group of people from all backgrounds and professions, are often true to the stereotype of gravitating immediately to the topics of running and food when they converse. Which is not at all weird. Food rocks, and after all, why wouldn't we talk about running?

Overwhelmingly, runners also praise each other's efforts with enthusiasm, with frequency, and very seldom with criticism. Praise is the runner's currency. Everyone on dailymile.com knows that. The more you give, the more you get.

Runners also give advice with willingness and patience. It's really quite incredible just how much sharing and communal help is involved in the running community. In races, it is very common for struggling runners to get tons of encouragement, and even for runners to psce themselves with a struggling runner and team up to get them through.

So if you're a new runner, be prepared to be amazed at how the running community will totally embrace you and bring you along. There might be communities of common interest out there that are as inclusive as the running community, but you'd be hard pressed to find them.

So join us on dailymile.com and see what I'm talking about.