Tag: marathon

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From Denver, with Love

MDRA 15K August 5 2018 (57:31) and Pike’s Peak Marathon August 19 2018 (5:38:31)

My summer hiatus apparently wasn’t limited to just school. It’s been a while. I’ve missed this. I could pull many excuses for not updating: It’s summer, I was in Oklahoma for 4 weeks for army training, I was travelling last week, blah blah blah. In any case – that’s all bullshit and I regret not maintaining this. There is a dose-dependent output of positivity and peace that comes with writing and meditating, and I haven’t been more aware of that since falling off the practice of both exercises for the last couple of months. My mind is more erratic, my motivations less clear, and increasingly I feel out of touch with myself and my friends. But like most things in life, I seem to preternaturally learn the same damn lessons, repeatedly, the hard way. Perhaps some of you are familiar with the feeling – if so, you’re not alone. Take comfort (or more likely, despair) that you’ve got my company in your perpetual self un-doing. As I’ve said in the past, misery loves company. And I got you covered!

End melodrama. Let’s talk races!

I have quite the slew of races planned (and ran) in the next 2 months. July would have been an ideal training month for an ultramarathon, 2 marathons, and a handful of shorter races between then and October. Unfortunately, uncle Sam fit for me to spend 4 long, horribly warm and humid weeks in the middle of what can only be described as a state-sized hair-dryer. For those of you not aware, I am taking a scholarship from the Army for medical school. All expenses paid, plus a stipend, healthcare, and a nice chunk of extra change 6 weeks every year, with food and housing provided wherever it is I do my training. It’s quite the deal – and if you haven’t seen enough of my race photos, let me tell you that I fucking love America. Taking care of vets and their families is enough of a sell for me….just not in the Midwest. If you’ve never been to Oklahoma, keep it that way. It’s a hot, moist, cauldron of nothingness. On the bright-side, if I could manage even 30 miles a week in 110 degree heat with 80% + humidity, I would find solace in the cool, breezy, dry Minnesota August.

At least I thought.

The very next day after getting back to Minnesota, I saw to it to race and run with my friends as a celebration of my return to lakes, friends, normal temperatures, and delicious damn food. It just so happened I could get my fix of (almost) all the above running a 15K with my Mill City Running race team. Now, a 15k is one of those nasty distances that combines the intensity and lung-burning of a short race like a 5k or an 8k with the added benefit of having to sustain that pace for what feels like forever, not unlike a marathon. Couple that with gnats, heat, and humidity, and you’ve got yourself a damn fun race! And, honestly, given the circumstances, it really was. I was back home, I was with friends, I had great competition, and as I’ve come to learn very well in my life, all shitty things come to pass. And if nothing else, there is always, always¸ food at the finish line.

Fast forward another week and a half. It’s a (actually) beautiful day. It’s still dark, there’s a light breeze, it’s dry, and today’s high?  It won’t even break 80. But right now, it’s hovering about 50 degrees. Disregarding the fact that’s 3am, I’m making an entire pot of drip coffee to be shared between two people. As I pour the bigger half of the full carafe of liquid nirvana into a thermos, I’m unprepared for what nature has in store. One of my best friends and I are headed to a little low-lying place called Mt. Bierstadt, and wer’re determined to catch the sunrise from its peak. I am wholly unprepared for a mountain race in just 4 days, but today would be as good a day as any to try and play catch up. The mountain face outlines the background of our hour car-ride southwest from Denver. Each passing minute uncovers that much more of the landscape that would captivate me for the next week. I’m cautiously eager to get to our parking spot, right about 10 and a ½ thousand feet above sea level. Mt Bierstadt sits at just above 14 thousand ft – a popular ‘14er’ that many out-of-towners ascend during their stay. What better way to celebrate a new state than to run up one (two) of its peaks.

It’s an hourly occurrence where I ask myself why I live in the midwest and not near mountains. From Switzerland, to Italy, California, and now Colorado, each time is like the first. Except even better – I get to amass a larger and larger list of places to retire. Actually, to live and retire. Just 3 more years in Minnesota…

I’m ridiculously fortunate in how my body tolerates exercise and climate. Less than 24 hours in Colorado and I have hiked/ran 3.5 miles to the highest elevation I’ve ever been on Earth without so much as a headache. I (try to) never take for granted just how lucky I am. Hence Eric and I’s early-ass hike up here.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. Nothing more touristy than getting a picture of yourself at the elevation marker of a peak. It’s cliché. It’s sort-of petty, and absolutely unoriginal. Normally I’m not one to have my picture taken in front of landscapes/objects/buildings/etc. I much prefer the view of the point of interest than to have my awkward self juxtaposed with whatever awe-inspiring entity sits in the background. But it seemed only fitting at the time. And damnit if I don’t feel at least a little adventurous getting to the top of a 14er. I’m the laziest person I know – it’s an achievement for me to do something this physically active without the motivation of food/medal/t-shirt/photos waiting at the end.

I’ll generally spare you the views from the top, and overall from much of my time in Denver and CO in general. I can’t provide you with really anything that a great google image search wouldn’t get you faster and better anyway. You’d have the added benefit of not having to read my wall o’ text just to sift to the good stuff. I will share some more pictures of me, however. Pictures from Denver, Colorado Springs, Garden of the Gods, the Olympic Training Center, the air force academy, etc are far less intriguing to my narcissism than photos of me racing.

Okay, Pike’s Peak Marathon. Flash back to June. Within hours of completing grandma’s marathon, I raced home to see if there were still spots left for this awesome challenge. As luck would have it, the registration this year was slow, so in no time I had my spot secured and a flight to Denver booked for a race I had no business running. I picked one helluvan event to launch my career into trail racing. I had never ran up more than anything above a 10% grade hill my entire life, yet me and a thousand other people would be averaging about 14% for half a fucking marathon. All to race back down the exact same way we came to cap off a full marathon. It’s epic shit. It’s dope as fuck. It’s aptly described by lots more expletives. But most of all, it would be damn good fun.

Full disclosure – I’m an atheist. But if there is a god, she fucking loves watching me run marathons. I’m up to 5 now, and I haven’t had anything less than perfect weather for each one. I learn a little bit more about myself every time, and the finish of each one is a step closer to a truer, more authentic version of myself. Calm, cool 48 degrees here. I loved every second of it.

And fun it was. I couldn’t predict how I was gonna tolerate the climb, how I would handle the altitude, how I would feel on the downhill. I had no real predictions on how long it would take. I really didn’t even plan on racing. I was here for the challenge, to meet people in the starting corral and on the trail, take pictures, videos, stop at the top, and above all eat the food at the aid stations. And I did every one of those things. I even managed to finally get my feet underneath me during the descent (not before tripping constantly and falling three times, narrowly missing splitting my head open) and race. I was a kid in a candy store. Well, a really high up candy store with some seriously fast trail hikers, but definitely a happy kid nonetheless. I was stripped of all notion of pace and speed. I had no idea what would be a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ time. I was living as close to the essence of being a blissfully unaware and unassuming human on this planet as possible – to use my two legs (some hands too, shit gets real rocky above the tree line) to move, my mouth to share conversations with amazing people, and my heart to love every second of the adventure.

If I had one regret about this race, it was not buying trail shoes. From the top of the mountain to not even back to the tree-line I fell 3 different times and was still really not moving that fast. I finally figured that if I was gonna make it through the finish on my own two feet, I was gonna have to accept that the much better trail runners were gonna pass me. I was okay with that. What I lacked in preparedness and rock expertise, I could somewhat make up for on the ‘flats’ (not really a thing on this course but I suppose anything less that 10% grade could be a ‘flat’).

The stories of people I’d heard from the expo the day before, and the day of the race, were nothing short of inspiring. Wounded vets, long-time ultrarunners, world-record holders, you name it. Just look at the winner from that day – the dude biked (yes like the one with pedals and shit) 250 miles in the 4 days leading up to the race to raise money to combat climate change. And then set the course record for fastest descent. And won. I find its stories like these that illicit two reactions from people. Self-deprecation, or inspiration. It’s taken quite a bit of training, but more often than not I now find myself in the latter category. It’s a practice in recognizing the voice we all have in our head that says ‘I could never do that,’ ‘Those people are special,’ and ‘I wish I could be like them.’ We have a tendency to immediately forget all the things we’re capable of and focus on comparing ourselves to others, at the expense of positive self-esteem and self-worth. I try (keyword: try) to change the paradigm – ‘If someone is capable of doing that, what can I do?’ You recognize, and appreciate, the achievements of others. You give them credit, and get inspired by what they are capable of. And that positivity can translate into making yourself better. I try to put that into practice – you would have asked me 6 years ago that I could run 50 miles, or up a mountain, I would have said no fucking way. But I listened to people that have, and have done even more. I awe in their achievements and am inspired to push my own limits a little farther. But more important than all of that – I kept some really good friends.

They don’t call them ‘speed hands’ for nothing. I’m pretty sure I clocked that last mile in under 6 minutes. How can you not run fast when you basically get to fall down a mountain for 13 miles? And everyone knows you shave off AT LEAST 10 seconds per mile if you can keep your tongue out.

I read a book recently. The Blue Zones. It talks about the core tenets of longevity, based on the populations of people that have the highest per capita centenarians. Lots of old people who are healthy and active af. These demographers and social scientists studied everything about these people – what they ate, how much they exercised, how close their families were, did they go to church, etc. One of the best predictors of longevity? Your social network. The more isolated you were in retirement, the higher your rate of diabetes, depression, Alzheimer’s, etc, even when factoring in for other lifestyle habits. The stronger your bonds with other people, the longer and healthier your life will be. I just happen to be fortunate enough to have maintained a few of those close friendships since I was in grade school. Like many lessons I’ve learned since ‘adulting,’ its those friendships that keep you in check, and I know too well the consequences of social isolation. So in closing, this is a shoutout to great (best) friends. I wouldn’t have had an experience even remotely as fun and exciting without my best friend Eric (nor would I have gotten the badass pics of me at the finish, thank you iphones). Between the reminiscing, the restaurants, the conversations with mutual friends, hell even just a hot bed and shower for a week, there are almost no experiences in life that aren’t made complete with the company of the people that you love. Whether you meet them the day before the race, or in college, or met them before you started middle school, it’s people, even more than mountains, that fill this bumbling, newly-minted trail-runner with happiness. Now, if only I could get my quads back from that descent…

Eric and I hit up the OTC on our way down to Manitou Springs for the race. No, they aren’t real medals, but apparently that torch was the same one they used in Atlanta in the ’96 games. I could never have predicted I’d be the one clean shaven in a picture with Eric Johnson, but that’s life.
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The Calm Before The Storm

Irish 8k 2015 – 28:32

That wonderful running store that I score pancakes at, and have so far convinced a handful of med school buddies to join me, have a race team. It’s an all-inclusive, all experiences welcome team of runners that encompass many of the same folks that I get the opportunity to run with on Friday mornings. It’s a great excuse to be late for class. When I first got into running with them more frequently (almost 3 years ago!) I became really intrigued in taking this running game to another level. I loved the feeling of competing when I ran my marathon PR just a few months prior and certainly being on a team with a bunch of fast and friendly people was a sure-fire way to keep me motivated to train. Especially through the awful summer months of brutal heat and humidity. And I’ll be honest, running the same distance over and over, especially for my crazy and easily distracted scatter-brain, can get monotonous. Moreover, this would allow me to actually train for speed in a way I hadn’t before in my running life. Hell, I would sometimes even ask myself to sprint during training. Yes, me, at my (slow) maximum velocity. There are a good number of high school friends who can attest to just how awkward a Ryan Duff can appear while trying to use an uncoordinated 6-5’’ wingspan to hit full-speed. It’s amazing I never got hurt. It’s more amazing no one else got hurt. Luckily for me, 5k’s and 8k’s are still not sprinting speeds, and if I have to ask myself to try in training, I can do it in a socially isolated venue, before most people are awake, on an early morning track workout. Preferably near the pole vault mats.

I digress. Suffice to say I was signed up and ready to really try my hand at something new. I signed up just in time for the first race of the year, an 8k in Saint Paul at the turn of the season. I was feeling fit(ish) and this race seemed like it had exactly what I needed going for it. I happened to also be trying to bring down my marathon PR at the Fargo Marathon that May, and to do so I was gonna need to improve my top speed. This race would be a great first foray into just such an endeavor. Out and back. Not too far. It was spring-time so the weather was (should have been) solid. In actuality I’m pretty sure it was sleeting at the start. You get what you bargain for in this state. That’s me in the front of the photo. Still have those shoes BTW.

I managed to, once again, surprise myself with my splits. I was definitely not unhappy with a string of 5:40’s for 5 miles. I don’t think I’d ever run that fast in my life – I did definitely feel physically like dogshit by the end of it, but I was feeling good about the overall finish nonetheless. I was, at the time, determined to run the Fargo Marathon in the spring and try to break the Women’s B standard for the Olympic Trial Qualifier. If you don’t know what that means, it’s the time you need to break in order to get invited to run at the Olympic Trials. Any American that wants to run the marathon in the Olympics has to qualify, so you’re talking the fastest people in the country. The women’s qualifying time is 2 hours 45 minutes, and I thought I had enough in me to shave a few more minutes off my PR to make it happen. However, in the midst of training, I was also ramping up the binge eating and falling deeper in the depths of my eating disorder. I don’t need to explain to you how those are completely incompatible states. I would not wish that fucked up habit on anyone, but this specific blogpost is not meant for what I have covered previously (don’t worry, next week we’re going that deep again). Below is me not in the front, not smiling like Mr. Sunglasses, but just a few steps behind my friend Jack Mullaney, who himself has an amazing story to share.

This race gave credence to the idea that I could do some short distance stuff as well. I wasn’t as single track minded as I thought I was, and despite not having run a competitive short distance race since some turkey trot 5k about 3 and a half years before, I could throw-down halfway decently with some fast folk. Unfortunately, as it turns out, this is the last race I have run since my mental health took a turn for the worst. Fear not! After a hiatus of a few years, my return is on the horizon…

I am returning to this race team. This year. In fact, this week, at ‘Flapjack Friday’ (I don’t even have to be late for class this week as we don’t start ‘til 9am!). My next organized race should be on March 10 with O’Gara’s Irish 8k. I’ll be coming back right where I left off. Same store, same race distance, same great group of people, with a handful of new faces thrown in the mix. I have no idea how fast I’ll be running this, but I’ll train like hell for it. Just like always. I don’t know what kind of physical shape I’ll be in, but I can assure you my mental shape will be better than it has since I can ever remember. It’s gonna be a blast. And I can assure you I’ll give myself the opportunity to run more than just this race for this wonderful group of people. I’m already making plans to get my Minnesota born-and-raised ass up to the great city of Duluth for the first time in my life to run the infamous Grandma’s marathon. I know, I know, it’s embarrassing I’ve never been there. Better late than never, right? I have no plans to be breaking a qualiftying standard, or my PR, or anything else. I do plan on having a great time, on sporting the MCR singlet, and a smile twice the size of our friend above. Well, perhaps depending on the weather. I really, really, really, do hate the heat.

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Third Time’s A Charm

Twin Cities Marathon 2014 – 02:50:53

I never raced in high school. I wasn’t in track or cross country (my running form left/leaves much to be desired). With the sports I did enjoy, the teams I was on were not exactly stellar. I honestly don’t even know what having a winning record feels like. It’s far from ideal for anyone who hates to lose. And, like most people, I really fucking do hate lose. Perhaps that’s why I got into this sport (more on that in a couple weeks – promise!). Distance running is an outlet that, more or less, circumnavigates that challenge altogether. Sure, you still compete against others. You can try to PR (personal record). Hell, if you’re that good you can actually try to win some races. But for me, and just about everyone else, that’s really not the point. When there is a race as large as, say the Twin Cities Marathon, there isn’t 1 winner and 12,000 losers. There are people who are just having fun. There are people running for charity. People running to check it off the bucket list. Folks running because it a tradition, or to motivate a friend, or running a destination race for its scenic beauty, etc. There are exponentially more reasons why people are running a race then there are people actually running it (or jogging, or walking, or sprinting – you get the picture). Take me for example. I had run this race a couple times. I was obviously not trying to win, but I do love the course. And I love the atmosphere, with the thousands of spectators and camaraderie built between all race participants. I had many disparate prerogatives influencing me to enter this ordeal again. Alas, there was one big, BIG reason I wanted to run that day. Why put in all of this training? All these thousands of miles?

Well, to try to go faster. Seems appropriate. And try I did. A competitive spirit that can’t find success as part of a team beating an opponent can certainly manifest itself by finding an opponent with itself. Or, better yet, a clock. I don’t remember when I first learned about this whole ‘Boston Qualifying Time[1]’ ordeal. What I do remember is that, once I did hear about it, that I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to try to make it happen.

It was just within reach to some plausible, yet challenging enough that I would never have considered it ‘low hanging fruit.’ It did initially seem elusive however. I needed to average 7:00min/mi pace for the entirety of the race to make it happen. When I first started training seriously for it I don’t think I even knew what a split was, let alone marathon pace workouts, lactate threshold, VO2 max workouts, strides, etc. were. I avoided the track like the fucking plague (although that hasn’t really changed much). Half the time I only made guesses at how fast I was even running. Suffice to say, I was going to need some help. I found a plan by Pete Pfitzinger, a former two-time Olympian, who has written a book that has helped many runners succeed in shaving off time to achieve PRs called Advanced Marathoning. It topped out at about 70 miles per week and included all sorts of workouts and terms I had never heard of before. And because I found this plan as a stand-alone pdf online, I had to do some googling to figure what the fuck a tempo run was. I was basically starting from scratch

What I lacked in knowledge, I made up for in grit. I live in a place that, for about 2 months during the fall, provides the most pristine climate for mindlessly exercising on the roads and trails while you cyclically breathe in and out the crisp, calm of the gently changing season. Everything in between that is a humid, hot sticky mess, or worse, a frozen wasteland of torturously low temperature that it becomes commonplace to hear on your television that you will die if you spend too long outside. That winter before this marathon was undoubtedly the most brutal I’d ever experienced as a Minnesotan. Actually, it was the most brutal that most people had ever experienced in Minnesota. We didn’t see the sun, or the will to open our front fucking doors, for months. But as any running addict can tell you, it did not stop me. If I had time and energy, I was putting one foot in front of the other for whatever mileage I had scheduled. And this was before I started a focused training plan. I was unknowingly sowing the seeds for a successful summer of training. Strengthening my mental fortitude for when workouts would be hard not because God had it out for the northern hemisphere, but because I was going to move my body for stretches of time at a pace that showed I had it out for myself. Sunday long runs that January were a real treat. You betcha. Fuck you mother nature and your negative 65 degree wind chill.

My training started in early June. It also happened to be the first full summer I would spend in Minneapolis. In the past I was either at home or filling up my time volunteering overseas in the most beautiful country on the planet, Italy. But needing to study for and take the MCAT, as well as work and make money and ‘adult’ and all that nonsense, I was stuck around my home city for the summer. I fell in love with it even more.

If winter was unbearably cold, summer in Minnesota is equally unbearably hot and muggy. I would take subzero temps with a low wind-chill over 100% humidity before sunrise any day of the week. Especially when you’re finding out what a marathon pace run is and you have one scheduled at the end of a 60 mile week. But goddamn if it didn’t feel great when I got done. Drenched in sweat, exhausted, legs feeling like jello, those training sessions are when I really began to experience training. Not just mindless miles at the same pace day in and day out. Real, ovary-busting workouts. Not just little fartleks (Swedish for speed play – I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to use the word in a post) that started and stopped as I pleased. Nah. I put in workouts that I could. Not. WAIT. To be over.

But lo and behold, they paid off! I remember running one of those MP runs about 4 weeks before this race with a brand new Garmin (never had owned a GPS watch before, and will never not own one since). I was clicking off 6:45 min/mi and I was really surprising the living shit out of myself. Read more about it here It’s not that fast by any means, but I didn’t think it was too bad coming from a former 195 lb. high school linebacker just a few years ago. And really not bad considering I was just beginning to be indefinitely harassed by a persistent little eating disorder.

If there is one thing I am good at it, it’s finishing strong. Always making sure I have enough in the tank to pull some wicked speed (for me anyway) out at the end. My splits, even in my first marathon, went down from beginning to end. This day was no exception. It’s a special feeling when you know you got your goal in the bag and you let loose whatever you got left as a sort of gift to yourself. It served me well enough to Boston Qualify (BQ) by a solid 14 minutes. I didn’t win the race that day, but I sure as hell didn’t lose. I won some pride, and a ticket (that I’ve yet to punch!) to a historic event. I’ll take it.

[1] As an aside: For those of you who don’t know, the Boston Marathon has a qualifying time standard that limits entry of participants based on a recent marathon time and their age. It’s a world-renowned event, and many of the most elite marathon runners from across the globe compete at this race every spring. Someday I’ll go there!

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A Long Trot With My Best Friend

Twin Cities Marathon 2013 – 06:05:11

Round 2! This would be another fantastic day for a long run. I love this course and the cities it spans. I knew immediately after the race last year that I’d come back for more. I loved the idea of getting faster and stronger at this distance. I didn’t feel completely destroyed the last time, and my splits (if you don’t know what splits are they are just your per mile pace) got faster at the end of the race the year before. There was so much excitement and energy (and candy and Gatorade), I fed off of all of it. You stand out quite a bit wearing American flag shorts, which helps make you an easy target for cheers and jeers. Nonetheless, I know I wasn’t the only runner who could feel the collective enthusiasm for the event making my way down Summit Ave. That year was my event. It was a great debut to the marathon – it was my race. But, this race would be quite different than the first one. This was not my race. As in, I was not running this race for me. Enter Rebekah.

Below is a woman/rockstar/coach/athlete/warrior/best-friend named Rebekah. We go way, way, back. Like 6th grade back. A friend booming with poise, vitality, intellect, and above all someone who actually laughs at my stupid jokes, she is truly the living personification of female empowerment. We have maintained our friendship for over a decade – all throughout middle school, high school, college, as roommates, and now as adults (that term is more befitting of her than me). Our conversations go on seemingly never-ending, but always feel cut-short as we discuss anything and everything on life, motivation, love, politics, health, you name it. And don’t get us started on Lord of the Rings movies (but please do, we love them).

So I can tell you I was not happier than when she asked if I wanted to run TCM with her just before going into the summer of 2013. A chance to experience the trials and tribulations of a stupidly long race with someone I would trust my life with is not an opportunity I would pass up. I had entered the event already by the time she asked (I was hooked on running by this point, you can read about that here). It did not take much convincing on my part after she expressed interest. Before you knew it, we were both signed up and ready to go. In just a few months we would be lining the start line outside the used-to-be metrodome for a few miles of fun. This shit? It was going down. In a big way.

As has been the case for every time I have run this race, the weather was perfect. 35 degrees and sunshine with no wind is my ideal race condition, and was treated with that again that morning. Of the utmost importance, I was physically healthy the entire year before leading up to this race. No injuries, no missed weeks of training, and no running on shoes that I found in my high school gym locker that were one size too small with more than their fair share of holes. Not the same could be said for Bekah. She had missed some of her training due to some injury issues, but regardless we were toeing the line. We weren’t exactly on the same marathon fitness level –I’d kept up a training regimen for an entire year since last year’s marathon that was more mileage and harder workouts than I’d put in for the few months I’d spent training the year before. Bekah was making her debut with some hampered training, much as I had. But all of this was a non-issue for us. This was about running for hours with my best friend. It was about crossing off another impressive accomplishment for her, and realizing the joy it is to share in a transformative experience for me. Whether that meant she was helping me, I was helping her, or we coasted together, I was going to enjoy it regardless.

And enjoy it I did! It was a long day on the roads. For hours we chatted, for hours we didn’t say much at all, for some parts I spent motivating, and at the end we crossed together. Many of those miles were spent in a similar manner in which we hang out. There was no want of laughing, singing, quoting movies, intellectually stimulating conversation, and in an analogous manner of binge-watching Lord of the Rings, just shutting up and enjoying the ride. Running from Lake Nokomis to the Mississippi River up to Franklin Ave is a beautiful route. But it comes in what I consider to be the toughest, late ump-teen miles of the course that really test your grit. It’s generally a good time to listen the course rather than speak your mind. Those are only a handful of memories to live forever in my mind. It’s an incredible feeling when you’re accomplishing your own goals for your own values, but it’s an entirely different euphoria doing it in conjunction with your best friend. For me, it was an experience of a life-time.

But like I said from the outset – this wasn’t my race. It was Bekah’s. To date this is her only marathon (I will convince her to run again, I promise) and if anything, it’s evidence of her mental fortitude and perseverance. Her training had been hampered significantly, and she doesn’t come from the running background that I do. Add it to the list of incredible things she is capable of (it’s long, FYI). But don’t take it from me. Check out her website and podcast. We, by sheer happenstance, touch on many of the same topics in our respective outlets. Her work is dedicated to helping women develop body confidence, which is all about maintaining a healthy relationship with your body and ultimately transforming your life. Going free-form with some awesome women who share the experiences in health and wellness, it’s a must-listen for any woman (or man) needing to cultivate a nurturing relationship with themselves, their bodies, and their minds. Such a resource would have been useful for myself for years. If you’ve followed the blog so far then you have some insight into my eating disorder and subsequent recovery. It wasn’t pretty. And the longer this little experiment of mine continues, you can rest assured we’ll continue to dig up some of that buried trove of repression. I digress – just as this race was not for me, neither really is this post. If you are looking to move in a direction toward a positive, sustainable relationship with yourself and your body, you need to see this woman’s page and blog. Check. That. Shit. Out.

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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.