Category: Races and Events

Check back here to see my racing history, ‘accomplishments,’ and upcoming events!

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Race Numero Uno

Twin Cities Marathon 2012 – 03:54:35

Welcome to the world of running, Ryan Duff! It’s been quite the journey since this beautiful early October morning over 5 years ago. That was my first registered, official, chip-timed race I ever competed in. There are few times I can remember where I had more fun in my entire life. I’m not sure how many other marathoners are screaming from excitement during their debut after 26 miles. Nonetheless, there I am at the bottom of Summit Ave just a few short blocks from the capital building.

So – what was the inspiration for me to start this marathon journey? In a lot of ways, this was a long, long time coming. I remember from an early age going on runs with my mom as she trained. It was always relaxed, and I think that was when I first understood how much I love to talk and talk and talk and…

BLOG. Well, we’ll see about the latter anyway. But running loops with your mom as a 3rd grader, I believe, stimulates quite the creative juices. My mom is an excellent confidant (a trait we share, though I’m definitely not on her level), and is a terrific outlet for a kid who can really, really vomit a stream of consciousness. Any existential pondering you can envision, from relationships to religion, thoughts on society, meta-cognition (I’m seriously not making this shit up – I was much more intelligent as a grade-schooler than I am now), you name it, I poured it out. All while running. It was a space that we created that I not only never lost, but found a way to expand. I didn’t have her to communicate with as I ran in college, but I did use that energy and that ability to exercise my mental faculties to peruse the subjects of my head space that gave rise to insightful questions. Even in high school, I would use my sparse solo runs to speculate on many of those issues I had unearthed as a kid. Is there a God? What distinguishes platonic relationships from romantic ones other than just physical intimacy? What happens when you die? Is there free-will? What makes people act against their own self-interest? These essentially unanswerable questions were borne out of this safe-haven of free thought. I was fortunate to have my mom help me cultivate my presence of mind that allowed for such inquiry.

That type of deep, meditative, even spiritual endeavor lends itself well to a healthy dose of distance running. Or perhaps just a great explorative outlet for a quasi-ADHD mind. Either way, when I signed up for this race in the spring of 2012, I was excited to have something to really train for. I was going to be following the footsteps of both my mother and sister, who had completed the journey years before. I was certainly behind my big sister though, who was barely a teenager when she clocked in under 5 hours. Better late than never I guess.

Most of the training I had leading up to this race was based on what I thought I needed to do to accomplish just finishing. I ended up running through a stress fracture in my leg, and was really side-lined for about a month with Plantar Fasciitis about 2 months before the race. It sucked. I got through it. Not the crux of the story. What I really want to get at is, after this race, the training wasn’t really about racing anymore. I’ve been running consistently for years, and (albeit with a few years of eating disorder thrown in) I have really only run a handful of actual races. The miles and miles you spend every week on the road is transformed into a space that feeds you energy and vitality, joy, and catharsis. Hell, I’m sure I have maybe even experienced a little peace. As cliché as it sounds, the training is the destination for me. The long runs in the blistery snow and cold, tempo runs in the muggy, nasty Minnesota heat. Eating pancakes with friends on Friday morning after a few miles shooting the shit. Waking up early Wednesday morning to do some ball(ovary)-busting workouts with some kick-ass peeps. Being greeted by the sunrise on the south side of Lake Harriet, or by the booming Minneapolis skyline crossing the Broadway Avenue bridge. Dodging squirrels racing under your feet as they adjust to their human compatriot rounding out loops in Theo Wirth Park. Yeah. It’s in these places and spaces that I grew (and grow) my love for running. As I have matured (and regressed in a sense, and then subsequently grew stronger than ever), this persistent attraction to the sport has manifested something much bigger than myself (for a later post). But suffice to say, for now, that after this race, well, there was no going back. I was hooked!

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Fast Friends and Flapjacks

Mill City Running – Every Friday

 

I participated in a research project the summer going into my senior year of college. Basically, a grad student at the U of M was looking for runners who would volunteer to come into the labs, get their VO2 max tested, their body fat measured, and their blood drawn. I’d come in once or twice a week to foam roll and run on a treadmill, or run on the track. I can’t tell you which one I hate more. But overall it was a pretty easy way to make $150. This grad student and myself chatted about running and marathoning. I mentioned to her that I was training for the Twin Cities Marathon that fall (2014) and that I had found a training plan online that I thought was helping me get into pretty great shape. I also mentioned that I used MapMyRun to map most of my routes online to get an idea of where to run to fill out my daily mileage. She, being a much more accomplished and talented runner than myself, suggested I invest in a GPS watch. I sheepishly admitted that I had absolutely no idea what that was. Like, the driving navigator thing with the stupid commercials? Nope. Just a watch that tells you how far and how fast you’ve gone. How have I not heard of this? I had no idea the technology existed. Luckily for me, I lived about 4 blocks from a family owned and operated store. They cater to every and any individual looking to buy, well, anything and everything about running! Yes, even for an amateur like me. Enter: Mill City Running.

This place had been up and running for about a year since I had moved so near to its location. I’m sure I’d passed it dozens, hell, maybe over a hundred times and had never stepped inside. Mostly just never had to. There is not much I’m good at it, but if there is something I do well it’s use the fuck out of my running shoes. The shoes I was training in that summer up until I stepped foot into this amazing boutique had seen well over 2000 miles. Two thousand. And they’re still around, for sure. Albeit with their fair share of holes and completely worn-down soles. Alas, I was determined to qualify for the Boston Marathon (that post is coming soon), and if knowing, instead of guessing, my time and mileage was going to help me, then it was time to get a watch. And probably some new shoes.

It was inviting. Warm. I was greeted by many friendly faces (who I’d come to know with some familiarity as the months progressed) who were eager to help me. I said I needed a watch – a GPS watch. Oh shit, was I ever getting fancy. They probably thought what I really needed was someone to dress me like a human being. My normal garb of worn out flip flops, stained t-shirt, and athletic shorts unquestionably looked profoundly stupid. My wardrobe has matured since, even if I haven’t. While watch shopping, I made sure to replace my worn-out, filthy running shoes too. I was introduced to some new Asics styles (my favorite) and some that were on clearance. I found some that I liked, and there I was with some new Asics Gel Cumulus 16’s and a Garmin Forerunner 10 GPS watch. As I readied to check out, I was told about running events that the store put on just about every day of the week. Most of these were in the afternoon, but I was NOT about to get my sweaty ass out in muggy Minnesota with the sun blazing at 90 degrees with 100% humidity. But one day did catch my attention. Flapjack Friday – 6:30am. Growing up I used to have pancakes just about every day before school, and I often ate them on long-run days for breakfast pre-run (my nutrition has matured as well). They were and are still my favorite meal ever. And at 6:30am, I couldn’t pass that up. What could be better than running a few miles in the morning and eating some free pancakes? I’d come next Friday for sure.

And I was more motivated than ever to do so. The next day I took that watch out for a workout. I still remember it like it was yesterday. The workout is still in my google calendar: Marathon specific 17M w/ 14M @ marathon race pace. One mile warm up and BLING. My watch vibrated: 7:39min/mi. Not bad I thought. Now it’s time to bring it down. I needed to average just about 7 minute miles to achieve my goal of qualifying for Boston. I clicked the next 5 miles off with only one above 6:55min/mi. Holy shit. Maybe I’m not as slow as I thought. And I felt great! So I picked it up. I finished with my last 5 miles at 6:37 or less. Did I just run that fast? Granted, this is NOT fast for anyone with real talent, but it was much faster than I thought I could move so comfortably. I loved this little watch! And, I think I’d earned some pancakes.

So I jog out from my apartment and waltz into the store on a hot, sticky, Friday morning just as the sun is rising. A handful of serious looking (and some with rather casual demeanor) athletes stood around and chatted, drinking coffee. I modestly poured myself some and introduced myself to a handful of others. I was met with the some gracious and warm environment as I had when I first stopped in to buy my shoes and watch. After a few minutes, a tall, scruffy man stood himself up on a podium. He introduced himself as Doron, a ‘friend of the store,’ and welcomed the ultimately drowsy crew of a few dozen stalwart runners to ‘Flapjack Friday!’ The routes were simple (and later I would learn, simply beautiful). A four, five, and seven mile route were offered, with pace leaders to lead groups of varying speed. With the good vibes still running through me from my marathon pace workout, I thought it best to jump in with the 7min/mi group for a nice and easy 5 mile route along the river. I was initially a little shy, but opened up just a little bit every mile. I learned the stories of some phenomenal athletes. An Olympian even worked at this store! And there were tons of people talking about the Boston Marathon, and this 100 mile trail race, and all these other crazy events. I was in good company. We made our way back to the store and I was introduced to perhaps the most important and life-changing idea I’ve ever encountered in my existence. Pancakes – with peanut butter. They were incredible (though I can’t say I have always had a great relationship with peanut butter in the past, read more of that shit here). More importantly, I started making friendships. I started learning about other types of races and events. I learned about this ‘Mill City race-team,’ and during the winter I learned about a little something called November Project (read that shit, I promise you’ll love it). I made it to as many Fridays as possible, and was always so interested in learning about other people’s goals, ambitions, and race plans. I loved the camaraderie. And there was an absolute abundance of fast and talented, yet humble, athletes. So many inspiring souls from all different backgrounds. I wanted to be friends with all of them. And I was! How unfortunate it was when my injury, and ultimately my eating disorder, brought me so much shame, change in weight, speed, and guilt about my disgusting habit, that I would again not permit myself to return to a wonderfully supportive group of people for the better part of 3 fucking years.

I was running a tempo run in June 2015 when I got a terrible pain in my hip. I was about 5 or so miles in and was a pretty far ways from home. I kept trying to run through it, but the pain kept getting worse. I ultimately ended up walking 2 miles back home, and that was a struggle. Having been at in the grips of a binge-eating disorder (I do implore you to read my first post for more info) for a year and a half, I went back home and dealt with that stress how I naturally trained myself to. I bought a frozen pizza, doughnuts, a pop, and a pint of ice cream from the convenience store I lived above. You can imagine how fast it was gone. That was a pretty typical occurrence, 2, 3, 4 sometimes even 5 nights a week. It was hell. And all the while I was sidelined from the roads due to this nasty, debilitating pain in my hip. I couldn’t even walk normally. It would be months before I got over that injury. But it would be years before I got over that disgusting habit. The binge-eating. And since my last binge over two months ago, that’s exactly the way I’m going to keep it forever.

This is Jeff, he is awesome. He and his awesome wife Bekah run this place.

This week has been the most emotional of my entire life. I have cried more times (out of happiness) than I thought I was capable of. To this store, November Project, and all of my dearly missed friends, I have a message: Thanks for taking me back like I never left. Thanks for not judging me, for being supportive, for listening to my story, even if you didn’t ask for it. Know that if I ever enter those dark moments again (I won’t), that you won’t be the last people I see. I’ll look to you, for you, for help. And support. Running is the language in which I speak most fluently, and to have so many passionate and empathetic listeners is what brings me so much joy in the conversations that we share. Even if it’s fucking freezing outside. ‘Til next Friday – and flapjacks. With peanut butter, of course.

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Just. Show. Up.

November Project – Every Wednesday

This morning marked my return to working out with a group. But not just any group. You are truly not a badass until you have sweated with this collection of studs right here. I can’t believe the shame of my own weight-gain and binge-eating disorder kept me from showing my face for almost 3 damn years (you can check out the fuller story here).  Had I had the courage to open up about what I was putting myself through, no doubt my recovery would have taken on a far more expedient (and less potentially disastrous) course. It’s almost impossible for me to fathom now, but I would literally change my running routes, avoiding that dark but inviting spot between the Guthrie Theater and Mill City Museum, just so no one would see me. Just so no one would know how much I had changed. All the while I knew damn well in my head that not a single one of these tremendous humans would hold an ounce of judgement toward me. Not one of them would have been anything but supportive, kind, and uplifting. All while kicking each others’ ass (in a good way!) through a dope workout. Man, oh man, I just couldn’t brave through my negative emotions. I even had the example of a strong and courageous friend (read his post, his story IS inspiring) to use as a template. Jack shares his own experience battling, and recovering from, an eating disorder. I could have used his bravery right there and then to buttress my self-confidence and open the fuck up to someone, but, I did not, and suffered as a result. Perhaps it just wasn’t my time. I’ll be damned if it ain’t my time now.

So who are these people? What do they do? This is called November Project. It’s the greatest group of people in the world that get together on Wednesday mornings well before the sun comes up to hug, sweat, and workout. There is no cover. There is no necessary equipment (you might wanna bring a jacket if you live where I do). No membership fee. No personal trainers. It’s you and your favorite people on Earth. For a half hour you motivate each other to grab the morning by the horns and ride it into oblivion. You look forward to freezing cold mornings with an icy smile on your face cause you know you just changed the goddamn world. Think I’m exaggerating? Since it’s inception with a couple of rower bros from the NE United States in 2011, the movement has attracted people from all over the world, with tribes spanning 3 continents and 8 countries. And it’s growing. And it’s FREE. There is no sign-in, no dues, no tax, and no bullshit. And it’s for everyone. Sub 3 hour marathoners to couch potatoes to heavy lifting gals and guys to total couch potatoes. It doesn’t matter – and it never will. I couldn’t have envisioned a better environment to really recover in.

BTW this is Jack and I – basically this is my face all the time during workouts.

I literally, literally, LITERALLY, cannot wait to spend every available Wednesday morning here. I was first introduced to it by my good friend pictured above. It sounded as strange to me as I’m sure it does to you right now. He said something about hugs, and sweating, and a…project? What the hell was this cult? I was mildly curious, and majorly skeptical. But, as my actions are (almost) exclusively dictated by my do-whatever attitude, I thought I’d give it a shot. I’m up anyway, right? It’s really not that early for me! Let’s check it out……and then subsequently come as often as possible. I was one workout in, and I was hooked. The boombox, the hugs, the fuck-yeahs, the deck of cards, it was a thug-style workout that I couldn’t have envisioned until I showed up myself. It had been years since I had had the ability to really train with people. To throw high-fives and motivational ‘You got this!’ out to people, most of whom I’d never met in my life. I went from stranger to comrade within the time it takes to give a hug. And there were many, many more hugs than one. From every fitness level, everyone was just having just fun. There was encouragement. Excitement. Competitiveness. I was sold. And clearly these peeps were too.

Nothing defined my isolation more than missing these incredible workouts with these even more incredible champions. This morning was epic. I hugged. And yes, Ryan Duff cried. A lot. Med school will surely de-rail my attendance here and there (I even anticipate a few #wemissedyou in the future). But not a hump-day went by during my ‘hiatus’ that I didn’t think about coming back. To getting back to propelling myself and others to absolutely beat the crap out of the morning and do work. There is always an aura of mind-numbingly intense positivity in this space that it’s actually euphoric. I missed that terribly – but now I don’t feel like I have to. I can #justshowup, be myself, and let it all out. I don’t carry the shame or despair with my every step anymore, and it frees up all of that mental energy to actually exude some high vibrations to the tribe. Especially for those that may struggle to hit the 6:27am start-time.  I can’t make up for that lost time, but I can try. How? By spreading the word. Come. Find a tribe near you, or if you live in the MSP area, get your behind to the river between Mill City museum and Guthrie Theater on Wednesday morning, 6:27am. I’ll be there. The tribe will be there. You’ll get addicted and won’t even want to quit. And why would you want to? No doubt my recovery will be spent sharing the love with these people who have the capacity to receive it, and who give way more back. If subzero, pre-dawn workouts are crazy, a disorder if you will, well, it’s one I can’t get behind. But don’t take it from me. #justshowup and find out.