Update to "Just" and "Only"

I got a lot of great feedback about my blog about runners using the words “only” and “just.”

Therefore, I think it’s only right that I clarify. There are instances when the words are justified, and in fact encouraged when relating to running.

And I would like to thank my friends for pointing out these great examples. If you have others, please feel free to add them to the comments section at the bottom.

Here are a few of my favorites I heard:

·      I just ran a marathon, so I’m going to eat an entire pizza.

·      A 5K is just over three miles.

·      I am only eating cheeseburgers and drinking beer, because I just did an Ironman.

Those are perfectly acceptable exceptions to the rule.

On the other hand, the worst usage in the history of running came from Ben Reeves yesterday, when he uttered the words, “Just Leadville.” For those of you that don’t know, when a runner says “Leadville,” he is generally referring to a 100-mile torcher-fest that starts at 9,200 feet of elevation and climbs as high as 12,600, and of course I’m not talking about a single climb. There may be tougher races out there, but there certainly aren’t a lot of them. No matter what, the original rule should never be broken when referring to Leadville. In Ben’s defense, I think the question that led to that was something like, “What races do you have coming up?” So, it may be in the gray area.

If you have any other exceptions and/or terrible violations, I want to hear them.

Please Stop Using "Just" and "Only"

I’m on a crusade to outlaw the words “only” and “just” from the vocabulary of every runner.

I hear it all the time, and the words just don’t work.

Go to a race expo sometime and ask 10 people if they’re running. I’d put money down that at least half will slump their shoulders and say something like, “I’m just doing the half.”

On almost every Saturday, I hear a fellow member of Runner’s Edge of the Rockies say something like, “I’m only going 14 miles today.” I’ve heard the same thing for 16 and 18 miles, too. For some reason, people stop using it when they hit the 20-mile plateau. Of course, that’s also when people will literally run an extra 10 feet because their Garmin watch says, “19.97 miles,” and they must eclipse 20.

My guess is that half the people reading this blog are runners, and they’re thinking, “Yep. That sounds about right.”

The other half only run when evil clowns are chasing them, and they’re thinking, “You’ve got to be (fill in the blank) kidding me. Do people actually think that?”

First things first. Nobody ever runs JUST a half marathon. According to Running USA, 1.85 million people crossed the finish line of American half marathons last year. That’s a lot of people. In fact, it’s a 284 percent increase since 2000. An impressive number.

However, there are 315.9 million people in the United States. That means if nobody ran more than one half marathon in 2012 (a ridiculous assumption because those that run one tend to run at least a few, but play along with me), only 0.59 percent of the population accomplished the feat last year.

As for ONLY going 14-18 miles on a training run, I think it’s a considerably less ridiculous assumption to say that people who run that far are probably training for a marathon or ultramarathon.

There were less than 500,000 marathon finishers in the U.S. last year, putting us at 0.15 percent of the American population (again, assuming no repeat runners).

It’s time to stop apologizing. It’s time for people to accept responsibility for what they’re doing.

You’re running a half marathon? Say it proudly.

You’re training for a marathon? Say it loud. Own it.

Here’s the thing, though. I don’t want this rule to apply only to those who run 13.1 or 26.2.

Anyone who gets up off the sofa and heads to the streets or the treadmill should accept the rule, as well.

You’re running a mile for the first time in your life? Good for you. I hope you enjoy it.

Other runners don’t care how far you’re going. Keep your head up out there, and wave or give a head nod when you pass a fellow runner.

We really aren’t judging you. Most of us are just happy to see you out there, and we’re only cheering for you.

And maybe we’ll see you at the starting line someday soon.

2013 Sunburst Marathon

“Here’s your bib. The timing chip is attached. Keep an eye on our social media in case the race is cancelled.”

“Thanks. Wait. What?”

I was in South Bend, Ind., and the weather looked perfectly clear. But the forecast apparently was calling for a 95 percent chance of rain, and tornados were touching down throughout the Midwest.

It’s a strange feeling, mostly nervousness mixed with a significant amount of guilt. I was watching CNN, as the good people of Oklahoma were being attacked by another round of tornados. I mean, seriously, was I really worried that a marathon might be cancelled when people were facing life and death?

But of course I was.

This is one of those marathons where I thought I had people convinced to join me, but when it came down to it, everyone else bailed. I flew to Chicago, where I got to see my good friends Brandon and Betsy for the first time in several years.

I drove from Chicago to South Bend, arriving in the early afternoon. My brother went to law school at Notre Dame, and I’d been to visit a few times. Let’s just say I wasn’t expecting a whole lot from the course. Outside the campus, which is pretty amazing, I didn’t remember South Bend being overly scenic. On top of that, all the reviews I’d read talked about the extreme heat every year (an Indiana marathon in June isn’t necessarily a good idea).

What a surprise I was in for.

I stayed at the hotel directly across the street from the starting line. It’s a nicety I’ve experienced a few times, and I always love it. Non-runners might not appreciate it, but avoiding the port-a-potties at the start of a race is a real luxury.

It came in extra handy this time. When I went to check my gear bag (we were finishing a few miles away from the start, and I always want a dry shirt to change into after a race), I realized I had forgotten my gels.

For those of you that don’t know, a gel (aka – a Gu, Clif Shot, Carboom,…) is basically an energy food substance that they pack into this pouch that fits easily in your pocket. Every runner uses at least a few of them during a marathon. And almost every one of us truly hates the damn things. Imagine trying to drink melted gummy bears, and you’ve probably got the picture.

Anyway, during a marathon, you burn so many calories that you really need to replace them somehow, and gels are the most common way. It was only seven minutes from 6 a.m., when the gun was supposed to go off, but I decided it was worth the risk. I ran back to my room, grabbed my gels and made it back to the starting line just as the national anthem started.

I was relieved until the gun went off. That’s when I realized I forgot my electrolyte tablets, which I use every time I go 20 or more miles because they help me avoid cramping up. I pushed the idiotic move out of my head and just focused on running.

As it turned out, the 95 percent chance of thunderstorms left a five percent chance of nothing. And that’s exactly what we got. There were a few drops at the beginning of the race but nothing more, and it felt pretty refreshing and helped me wake up.

As we left “Downtown” South Bend, I saw a woman wearing a Colfax Marathon shirt.

Here’s a warning to those of you that haven’t run a lot of road races. If you wear a shirt from another race, you should expect people to ask you about the race.

When I caught up to the woman and asked her about it, she started laughing because a guy running next to her had done the same thing. It seems that she had not actually run it, but had driven from Virginia to volunteer at it because she was friends with the race director.

The guy, Travis, had run it the year before. The three of us ran together for a while until the woman decided to back off the pace. Travis and I kept running for another 10 miles or so.

I was worried about the course because it was a series of out-and-backs, which I haven’t really liked in past marathons.

In this one, however, the course was absolutely beautiful. Most of the race was run along the St. Joseph River. There weren’t a lot of spectators along the route, but that has never really bothered me. A lot of other runners thing I’m weird for saying this, but one of the reasons I like the smaller marathons is that my fellow runners are generally more willing to talk, which makes the races go by more smoothly for me.

On the final out-and-back, which starts at Mile 11 and turns around at Mile 18, the lead runners started going by me when I was just over halfway through the race. Sometimes seeing a bunch of runners so far in front of me is discouraging, but for whatever reason (it may have been the fact that there weren’t that many in front of me – because it was a smaller race) I found inspiration in the lead runners. They kept their heads down as they went by, and they clearly were running great races, maximizing their energy.

I felt a blister forming on second toe of my left foot (my pointer toe?) about that same time. It’s certainly not unusual to feel something that’s at least moderately uncomfortable during a marathon, but I usually don’t have blister problems.

I kept going, and as I ran along the river, crossed it and headed back the other way (toward the turnaround to go back the exact same way), I found a peacefulness in the water flowing by.

The sun stayed mostly behind the clouds throughout the race, but for about 20 minutes along the river, it shined brightly.

I saw several of the people I had run with earlier go by and cheered them on as they went. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll repeat it anyway. One of the best parts of a marathon is that almost every runner is competing only within himself/herself. So when a friend (or someone you met a few hours before) is ahead of me, I always have a feeling of joy for them instead of jealousy that they’re beating me. The bottom line in my marathons: the only time I’m upset is when I’m not performing as well as I want to be. It has nothing to do with anyone else.

Coming back, around Mile 19, I passed a guy wearing a pink tutu. He had been close enough for several miles that I heard people talking about him even after he went by. He was running with a sign that said, “I’m running in support of those with MS.” I’m always impressed with those people out there running for a cause.

But I still don’t ever want to get beat by a guy in a pink tutu (that may or may not contradict what I just wrote, but it is what it is).

If you ask any marathon runner about Mile 20, the first thing they usually say is, “The Wall.” It’s the point in the race where most of us feel like a train hits us headfirst. It’s that point where we go from “I feel pretty darn good” to “why did I ever think I could do this?” within about 10 steps.

In my first 24 marathons, I hit the wall somewhere between Miles 20-22 a grand total of 24 times. And possibly it was more like 48-50 times.

In South Bend, though, I found that elusive “runner’s high.” I’ve had it several times in training and a few times in shorter races, like 5Ks, but I’ve never even approached it in a marathon.

I ran past a woman, who said with at least a little snarkiness that only comes after running 22 miles, “How the hell are you running so well this far into the race?”

I told her, “For the first time ever, I found my second wind at Mile 20, and I’m just going to ride it as long as I can.”

She almost smiled, and probably would have if doing so didn’t hurt so badly after running that far, and wished me well.

There is a fairly significant hill at Mile 25 (a simple speed bump at this point in a race is significant, but this one was about a half-mile long), and that’s where the extra energy stopped. I struggled up the hill, put my head down at the top and willed myself to the finish.

The Sunburst Marathon is probably best known for its finish and for good reason.

After about 25.7 miles, we ran onto the campus of Notre Dame, turned across from Touchdown Jesus at Mile 26 and ran down the tunnel onto the field at the Notre Dame Football Stadium. Since it rained the night before, the field was soggy, just like countless games I’ve watched on television.

The finish line itself is right on the 50-yard line.

No, there aren’t 80,000 people screaming as you enter, but it’s still a pretty awesome feeling to enter a stadium with so much history and tradition (I really don’t think it matters whether you’re a Norte Dame fan or not).

It was far from my fastest time, but I was really pleased with it. The course was nice, the volunteers were nicer and the weather cooperated fully.

I drove back to Chicago and got to spend more time with Brandon and Betsy (and their son Connor, who was celebrating his second birthday).

I’m always a little hesitant about going on marathon trips alone, but it always seems to turn out wonderfully.

Marathon No. 25 – and State No. 24 – is in the books.

And I’m thankful for everyone in South Bend (and Chicago) who made the trip great.

InVinceable

This blog has taken awhile. I've started and stopped several times. I wasn’t even sure I should write it because I feel like it’s not my story to write.

But the more people that learn about Vince DiCroce (visit http://andsoitbeginsagain.com to read his blog – and you should read his blog) and his courageous battle brain cancer, the more his story and his fight can inspire people like it has inspired me.

Vince had pacers for the race, but I'm pretty sure
he paced them more than the other way around.

I met Vince in 2006 when I first started with Runners Edge of the Rockies. He was fast, much faster than me. Sometimes he slowed down enough for me to run a mile or two with him, and he always had time to talk after runs for guidance or motivation.

At the time, I had never run a marathon. In fact, I don’t think I had run more than about seven miles.

Vince had run dozens of marathons, and soon after I met him, he completed his first of seven Ironman competitions. I didn’t know it at the time, but 29 of Vince’s marathons and all of his Ironman triathlons have come since he was diagnosed with brain cancer in 2004.

He never mentioned it to me, and clearly he did not let it define him. Over time, the tumor shrunk, and so did Vince’s race times.

Last November, Vince set a PR in every race he ran, including a blistering 3:03 at the Richmond Marathon.

But three days later, during a physical, doctors discovered that the tumors had returned. I’m not going to go into detail because he does so very well in his own blog, http://andsoitbeginsagain.com, which I highly recommend reading and following.

Vince writes very well about the biggest battle of his life. He wrote, “My friends in my running group (Runners Edge of the Rockies) are still in disbelief about the 3:03 and wondering how soon I will break that 3:00 barrier. Soon enough they will know that I am not Superman.”

Superman is the appropriate descriptor for Vince.

Many of us were shocked to learn about the diagnosis, but few of us were surprised to see Vince back out with us cranking out miles on Saturday mornings after he finished his first round of radiation.

Someone started a “Run with Vince” program, meant to encourage people to run a distance in the Colfax Marathon that was beyond their comfort zones. You know, if Vince can sign up for his first Ironman before he had ever done a triathlon of any distance, surely other people could go out and run a 10-miler, half marathon or even a marathon.

As the weeks went by earlier this year, I was fortunate to run with Vince three or four times during Saturday morning training runs, and it wasn’t long before I started questioning whether I could keep up with him.

I asked if he was planning to run any part of the Colfax Marathon, and he said he was thinking about doing the half. I encouraged him, but I had a sneaking suspicion he would not be running that race.

Vince (third from left) inspired a new look for a lot of members

of Runners Edge of the Rockies. This is a few of them.

By that time, about 200 of us had acquired “InVinceable” shirts to wear in support of Vince, and several of us shaved our heads to join Vince in his current look.

A few days before the race, I saw Vince at a party, and he confirmed what I had suspected.

He wasn’t going to run the half. He was going to run the full 26.2 miles, just like his wife and daughter, who both committed to run their first marathons.

On May 19, Vince and seven InVinceables crossed the finish line in 3:56. While it wasn’t the 3:03 he ran six months before, it was one of the most remarkable accomplishments I have ever witnessed. In sports or in life.

Vince may have written that he’s not Superman. I’m still not convinced.