I’m staring down the barrel of a 45,
I’m swimming through the ashes of another life
There’s no real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45

– Shinedown, “45″

Putting It Where It Needs to Go

I’m not really sure where this is going to go, but I’ve got a lot of pent up pain, frustration, anger, fear, and I gotta get it out; but in a healthy way. Lashing out at my family last night was the wrong way. Insecurity about what my future holds has me angry. Made me jealous and spiteful that here I am, all jacked up, and everyone else in the house is just going about their business like nothing is wrong.

“What’s the matter with you guys, can’t you see I can’t breathe?!”

“Can’t YOU feel how awful I feel?”

“Aren’t you completely devastated that I may never be able to perform athletics, strenuous activities, nor outdoor events in the same ways that you are used to seeing me perform?”

And of course all of this is just pathetic and selfish self-loathing weakness that continues to creep up on me just as I think I am displaying the epitome of strength during recovery.

What I want to be vs. actually putting that into action daily is still a wide chasm.

From Sickness Comes Strength

If you know me, then you probably know Arthur: the single-cell, tissue-eating parasite that did it’s best to see that I would never return to Nicaragua by shredding my liver and putting me down for well over a month.

But, I’m a fighter and I vowed to fight back, and with the help of an awesome doctor, who is fast becoming a family friend, Arthur was put to rest, and a new, more conscious Christian Griffith was developing – crushing old habits, developing new ones, regaining a focus towards training and making a strong commitment towards learning more about faith, people, friendships, sacrifice, sharing, and growing.

Headstrong, and ready. Shaken and stirred, but settling in.

Breathing Matters

I hit the streets and the treadmill and martial arts with a unwavering focus for three weeks after leaving the hospital, building up from barely able to walk, to running, as of today, 3.0 miles at 10:58 pace.

Yea, I know, slooooow, but dammit, I was coming back.

Only one small problem – I can’t breathe.

I have no internal power. I can’t sniff nor take deep breaths. In conversations, I have to pause many times just to breathe, and after awhile this causes a lot of side-stitch-like pain in my sides, shoulders and around my heart.

I can’t even begin to tell you how running feels. Its kinda like I ate a whole bunch of thick chucks of broken up driveway cement, and then it just shakes around in my gut as I trot along, stinging different areas of the abdomen with random gut-shots that I never see coming, nor can plan for or avoid them.

I really, really want to come back athletically, but of course, it takes the ability to breathe to run fast(er).

Diaphragmatic Paralysis

During my hospital follow-up visit to doc Blass, just two days ago Wednesday, May 2, I explained that all seemed well. Aside from the 1950′s, nasty-ass antibiotic, I felt good.

No, I felt GREAT!

My color tone had come back, my weight was increasing, and I was happy to be re-introducing training-type activity back into my life; but, I just had this nagging issue of still not being able to breathe, something that I had struggled with since this all began, just for different reasons. Oddly coincidental, the first time I couldn’t breathe was due to inflammation around my lungs caused by the amoebic infection.

…but now, well, keep reading…

Doc shook his head, said that wasn’t normal nor expected, called a pulmonary specialist for a consult, and sent me across the street for some chest xrays and a fluoroscopy, a sort of radiology real-time video test of the internal structures in the body.

It didn’t take long – in fact, all I had to do was try a simple little sniff test and Bam! I’m being referred to has having diaphragmatic paralysis caused by phrenic nerve damage. The right half of my diaphragm simply did not do anything during breathing, while the left side, the good side, rose and fell as expected. It was pretty unnerving to watch in real-time.

Photo: when I breathe, I only get the power from half my diaphragm. The other half does nothing. It just sat there. The Phrenic nerve, responsible for firing off this breathing functionality is damaged, squeezed or severed.

So NOW What, Freak?

Man, I don’t know.

I am currently working on half a breathe. Half a VO2 max, I guess. Half power. Half strength. Sometimes, I feel like, Half’a man.

I’m just now coming out of the shock. What I thought was going to be a routine, pat-on-the-ass, “you look great, now go away” doctor visit, turned into a new challenge requiring a whole new set of fancy neurologists and pulmonary specialists, doing such fancy things as CT scans, brain and spine MRIs, and breathing tests; and of course all this directed under the supervision of my good buddy doc Blass.

Damn man.

Seriously. It just sucks.

I’m ready to get on with it already. And worse, what if this is permanent?

What if the nerves somehow were severed or damaged during the insertion of the drainage tube?

What if the only option is surgery?

I won’t do surgery. God, or whomever, gave me this body and these strengths (and weaknesses) and I intend to work with what I got. My goal is to continue to fight. Fight like a crazed freak.

I will get back, it’s just now going to be an even longer, harder fight with very little certainty today in what the end result(s) will look like.

So be it.

I’ll be the best that I can be. Anything less, and I’d truly rather be dead.

If you would, help me be strong – in whatever form that might take.

Pretty sure I can’t get through all this alone.

Thanks…

Since I acquired “Arthur”, my parasitic brotha’ from another mutha’, people have been asking me a lot of detailed questions about my journey, how long will this journey take, and will I ever be the same again.

Early on, when I started getting sick, I vowed to chronicle the entire journey using Facebook’s new timeline format; however, as cool as I think am, reality is that people do not follow every move I make on Facebook, so they’ve been getting bits and pieces here and there, but never really knew the whole story.

This is the whole story:

In early March I experienced a week of terrible GI issues. TERRIBLE! but I chocked it up to some bad wings and continued on in life. After all, I’m training for a 3:05 at Boston – no time to dilly-dally.

A week or so later I began to get left-side shoulder and chest pains coupled with shortness of breath, headaches and low-grade fevers. You know what means, right? According to WebMD, possible heart attack. This threw me for a loop because a week prior I had my heart checked at Piedmont Hospital and came out with a perfect zero score. WTF?

I went to the ER on Monday, March 26th, and long-story-short, was told I had “the heart of a lion” . They decided to check for a blood clot in the lungs, but after a few tests, decided there were no indications of any pulmonary issues, either. The ER docs settled on a diagnosis of Pleurisy which is inflammation of the sack around your heart and lungs, usually caused by an infection somewhere else in the body.

They sent me home with an RX of 800mg of Motrin and one Pepcid AC to be taken each day and I should be fine.

Didn’t work.

I laid out of work all that next week, and my fevers began to climb. This is about the time I wrote the post titled “sick of  sick.”

Funny looking back now, ‘cuz I was just about to find out what “sick” really was all about.

By Friday of that same week, I could no longer stand it. Every night I would have fevers as high as 104+ and I would soak all the bed linens, complain about worsening shoulder pain, and wake up Babette every couple of hours for Advil and sympathy.

At 4:00 a.m., Friday, March 30th, I was back in the ER and they decided I needed to be admitted into the hospital.

A team of doctors was organized that included a couple of internal medicine doctors, infectious disease doctors, a surgeon and pain management folks (called PCAs). Shout out to Dr. Blass, the infectious disease doc, as he quickly became my favorite. A straight shooter with a quirky sense of humor. Loved him. Bedside manner matters.

I was in the hospital for 13 days. Friday March 30th until Thursday, April 12th and was tested for a million and one possible viral and bacterial infections. A CT scan and MRI uncovered a 8.8 cm abscess on my liver. 8.8 cm, y’all!!! that’s huge. About the size of the lid on a jar of Duke’s mayo.

Lovely CT Scan

The grey matter? yea, that’s my abscess. Nice, huh?

(click image for a larger view)

Finally, after Dr. Blass consulted with another physician from Central and South America, they settled on a hypothesis of Entamoeba Histolytica Amebiases. In people language, this means a nasty parasite, an amoeba, had gotten hold of me and was trying to kill me.

The belief was that I somehow got infected by contaminated water in Nicaragua, or contracted by someone who was preparing food with the amoeba on his/her hands. Being that I spent quite awhile in Nicaragua, I could not pin down one specific situation as there were a multitude of ways I could have gotten it.

On April Fools Day my white blood cell count peaked at 24,000. Normal range is 7-10,000. My body was using the whole army + reserves.

The doctors attacked the parasite with a high powered, broad range of antibiotics while providing a schedule of powerful pain relief via oxycodone, oxycontin, morphine and a dilaudid pump. They expected to see my fevers begin to diminish in about 2-3 days as the antibiotics ripped through my system like the Roman Army.

2-3 days later, fevers are still strong. Pain is still strong. I began to get scared and didn’t mind telling people about it. I had a problem, that no one could diagnose with any certainty (yet), and the drugs weren’t working. I read that less than 1% die from this infectious disease, but I began to fear I was going to fall inside that small percentile.

But I stayed true to updating Facebook as often as possible both for friends and family, but also as my timeline journal.

A week later, still no drop in fevers. The only thing that brought me any happiness at all was the many visitors that would come and hang out with me in the hospital. Some saw me in good spirits (i.e. drugged up), while others saw the crying, sweating, angry Christian who was scared and shivering and suffering tremendously.

After consulting a friend at the CDC, Dr. Blass, weighing all the options, decided we needed to drain it and it need to be done “tomorrow”. Yes, there were risks of further infection, especially when no one was sure exactly what I had contracted, but a second MRI showed no reduction in size of the abscess, and instead showed it filling with more “liquid”. Something had to be done. We couldn’t just continue waiting.

They wasted no time and before I could blink, I had a tube in my gut, inside the abscess on my liver. They had drained an incredible amount of fluid manually, but also kept it inside me for a few days, allowing it to “drip” drain.

After they removed the drain tube from my gut (video below), my fever spikes began to drop to 100 degrees or less.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFd5fOCJ6nI

This was encouraging.

I still felt like complete shit and still had tremendous pain, but my blood was showing improvement. Enough so, that it made more sense for me to continue recovery at home to prevent getting even more sick in the hospital.

Today, April 16th (Boston Marathon day, sniff, sniff) is the fifth day I have been home. It’s been tough, but my wife has been a saint. She has been taking care of me like a nurse and her love for me has never been more evident than through this ordeal. I owe her my life.

Friends, too. People have been so kind to me, including some people who I have not been very kind to in the past. I found myself apologizing and opening up to people I never expected to. You really know where you stand with people during times like this and I learned a lot through this experience. It’s safe to say that this has changed me, all for the better.

So, while I am not out of the woods yet, I’m fighting like a madman, and I will be back. I have lost 15 pounds or more, and yea, I look pretty emaciated with a frail-looking  physique and sunken, black eyes, but I don’t care. I have more inner strength now than I’ve ever had. I see this as a wake-up call …a second chance, and I’m not going to waste it.

Thanks to everyone who followed along on facebook and wrote me notes, messages and sent cards. Thank you to those who visited me in the hospital. You truly were part of the reason I am making it through this. I found out just how much people mean to me – more than anything else – and that in itself is a gift. I plan to use it wisely. I plan to follow the lead of those who are so very giving and put my skin in the game, too.

So there. Long as usual, but as brief as I could be. I left out lots and lots, but if you read this far, I’m happy.

Cheers! …from the couch of Christian Griffith

A dream that wasn’t a dream, until it became a reality, now looking not much like a reality at all.

I’m sick.

In fact, I am more sick than I have ever been in my 41 years of living on this planet.

Today makes a full week, and the fifth day of a constant cycle of shivering-to-death, then sweating so profusely that everything on my body becomes soaked, including my hair. In fact, right now, right at this very second I’m in sweat stage. I ate the second half of an avocado and within five minutes my t-shirt is soaked, my hair, my shorts …and sweat is running down my arms as I type.

Photo: me, right now, 11:05 a.m, with a 102.2 temp and drenched in sweat.

I sweat, then I shiver …rinse, repeat. There are a pile of sheets and blankets in the corner of our bedroom just because of me soaking them during the night.

The body aches are tremendous causing the worrier inside of me to question whether I’ve somehow done something else. Back, joints, shoulders, neck, all sensitive and weak, slow and clumsy.

Walking to the kitchen is a chore. Steps, slow.

My head hurts so bad that it makes me moan, and I know I can only write in short little spurts before having to go lay down for a little while.

So why in the Hell am I writing? Because I want to document this. Just like when I wrote Bruster Boy, I want to know that someday I can come back to this and relive it.  When I get cocky, or stupid with my training, planning and decision-making, I can remember what happened when I was this sick. This low. This disappointed. At 4:30 a.m., still unable to sleep, I told my wife I was going to document it. That I needed to.

She just told me to quit talking at 4:30 in the morning, and rolled over.

Lesson Learned

Even though I have been home all week trying to get over this, yesterday, because I had invited a whole slew of University of Georgia Marketing and Web folks to the agency for a strategy discussion, I had to be there to lead it – sick or not – as I was not going to cancel on them after they had traveled all the way from Athens just for our meeting.

I showed up at my agency with a 101 temperature.

Everyone rolled with it, said it was cool, and that I did a good job, but it was a total embarrassing disaster for me. Before the meeting, I was shivering and barely able to talk while one of the account executives was covering me with a blanket and making me tea with honey.

By the time UGA showed up, I had switched to sweating. I endured almost two hours of technical and analytics strategy discussion with wet hair and visibly sweating in front of everyone – soaking through my t-shirt, dress shirt, and wiping my forehead every two minutes with a %^$#! napkin.

Think: George Costanza and the Kung Pao Chicken

After 30 minutes, I had no choice but to stop, collect myself, and setup a fan 12 inches from my body to keep some semblance of control.

At the end of the meeting – my hair was drenched, clothes soaked, pride in the toilet, and I just simply went home to crawl under a rock and die.

Whatcha Got Dude?

The doctors believe I have pleurisy.

Pleurisy occurs when the double membrane (pleura) that lines the inside of your chest cavity and surrounds each of your lungs becomes inflamed. Also called pleuritis, pleurisy typically causes sharp pain, almost always when you are inhaling and exhaling.

- Mayo Clinic

How? No freakin idea, but its the absolute worst thing, for the longest time, I have ever gone through. Ever. And yes, it hurts to simply breath.

You don’t realize how much you breath until every single breath hurts.

Heartbreak Hill? You Don’t Know the Half of It

I have Boston coming up in 18 days.

The Boston Marathon. The granddaddy of ‘em all. The one that scores of runners spend a significant portion of their running lives cherry-picking races just to get a time that qualifies them for entry; and there I was, lucky enough to score a slot on my very first try as just sort of light push by local running friends Amy, Laura and Jim.

Before that day in the car when they said I should try, I never even cared.

Although I always say I never cared about Boston, once I qualified and got selected, I felt extremely special and there started my love affair, like so many others, with this historical and famous marathon.

I was training hard for a 3:05 on this course.

Things were coming along nicely thanks to Bill Squires.

Three weeks ago I ran a 41:22 (6:39 pace) 10K race, and two weeks ago a 3:32 at the Georgia Marathon as simply a comfort gauge at the distance. It’s a hilly race with 1,543 feet of climb, so the goal was to simply become comfortable with the distance by not blowing up and keeping steady splits.

Everything was on point.

That is, until the Pleurisy.

This crap has killed me. If I don’t recover soon, it might be a long shot for me to even make it to the starting line of the Boston Marathon, let alone finish it.

The dread and disappointment I feel over this right now actually brings tears to my eyes. I know that I’m being overly emotional during this suffering, but I was so looking forward to this event.

The hype.

The streets lined wall-to-wall with cheering fans from start to finish.

Heartbreak Hill.

Shoots, even just the chilled back lobster feasts with my bride, pre-race.

Now, it’s possible none of that will happen.

A dream that wasn’t a dream, until it became a reality, now looking not much like a reality at all.

but today, I found euphoria, and now that I know its really out there, it’s going to make pushing through the wall that much more rewarding.

Here’s how it happened

Today, my training was 11.4 miles. Nothng too crazy, right? But in that run, I was to:

• hammer 3 x 1-mile intervals (6:58 pace)
• with 4,6,9 minute recoveries (9:34 pace)
• BUT, to finish off the intervals, I had to run 1.5 miles at that same pace (6:58)
• then click off another 3 miles at steady pace (8:20)

On paper, sounds like a piece of cake.

It wasn’t

After 2 miles of 8:20-ish pace, I kicked in the first 1-mile interval. 6:58 is a pretty strong pace for me right now in my re-conditioning, but I got through it.

4:00 recovery (9:34 pace, slow thank God!)

Then, the 2nd 1-mile interval followed, again @ 6:58, and I wondered if’d get through it this time. It was hard and I felt my form begin to crumble.

6:00 recovery (9:34 pace)

The third interval came and all the way through it, I thought, “man, 1.5 miles at this pace is going to break me.”

and I felt frustrated and defeated.

During the entire 9:00 recovery, almost another complete mile, I stressed over the last interval. 1.5 miles at 6:58 was gonna hurt bad – especially after 6 miles, 3 of which were 6:58 pace intervals…

THEN I PUT ON MY BIG BOY PANTIES

I’m sick of the little weaknesses that break me. I’m sick of having mad potential and throwing it away for super-sick, deeply-seated, deeply-rooted BS that I use to define why I do some of the dumb shit I do.

I’m sick of it.

In running …in life, in relationships, in everything. I’m sick of the bullshit. Period.

I started yelling.

“I got this mutha _ _ _ _er!” – and all kinds of colorful, cussing that built me up, made me feel strong and defiant and powerful and while some may look to the heavens, I looked within.

And it was time.

But instead of cranking that pace to 6:58, I went 6:53. My “punishment for being such a little bitch.”

and I ran hard.

By 1/2 mile into it, I knew it was going to take everything I had to hang on. On the treadmill, you can’t just slow down or you’ll get slammed into the wall behind you… You HAVE to keep up the pace.

I played all the mental games. Checking out mentally, listening to the loud Harry the Bastard mix on the speakers, thinking about naked women, …anything I could think of to get my mind off of my rapid breathing, sore foot and cartoon-character-feeling pace under foot.

Again, I yelled, out-loud and defiantly, “I got this!” and “You can’t break me!”

and I held on.

and got stronger.

and all of sudden, it stopped hurting.

“what?”

yup.

My breathing came under control.

My chest was pushed out, my feet moving swiftly under my center of mass, and my form was clean and tight.

My head went trippy, like some kind of special garden imagery filled my brain. Similar to how I pictured the “other side” in the book “The Shack”.

and I no longer felt bad.

In fact, I felt great.

The last .3 miles of that 1.5 mile interval was the BEST running experience I have ever had and that’s why I’m documenting it.

I dug deep and found “that” place that every athlete looks for.

…and I deeply, wantingly, want to go back there.

It was euphoria. And I found it on my own.

Today, January 30, 2012 might just be the first time I’ve seen the sun in Georgia all month.

Alabama feels my pain.

Apparently this has been the 7th rainiest month in Huntsville history and leading up to the Mountain Mist 50K, chatter was developing on the social networks, running lists and face-to-face conversations concerning the conditions of the Monte Sano trails for Saturday’s race.

“It’s gonna be a mud-fest” pretty much summed up the overall sentiment.

It was.

Getting the Hang of This “Steady” Pacing Thing

It appears, and I say appears ‘cuz I’m known for flip-flopping completely like I never actually learned a damn thing, but it APPEARS that I’m finally starting to understand pacing better – and its all because of this pesky ankle injury.

And yes, I know y’all are sick of hearing about it.

I’m sick of it, too.

Weezy’s really sick of it, and uses it as an open opportunity to clown me, but screw him, he’s a camo-wearin’ redneck.

But, the injury forces me to take races easy. I’m constantly concerned about the weakened ankle, and I take extra special care to manage pace and foot placement accordingly.

Easy to do on the road. Not so easy on the rocky, muddy Monte Sano trails.

Aid Station 1 – 6.5 miles

I’ve been focusing on shorter racing lately and hadn’t run an official ultramarathon since UTMB in August. Yikes! I was concerned that I might have trouble running 31 miles at this point in my training, so humble was the name of the game (if that’s possible for me).

My race plan was simple:

• Carry nothing but a small water bottle. No nutrition.
• Swipe something light at each aid station. Rely on sports drink.
• Stay no more than 1 minute at any one aid station.
• Run slowly, enjoy the day, and just see what happens.

Here’s my best advice for Mountain Mist, and some might not like me giving it away to newbies to the event, but when that gun goes off, it’s in your best interest to run the first mile, fast, with the front pack through the park streets. You might get a little gassed, but once runners dip into the trail, things slow down a bit and you’ll recover, but best of all you’ll avoid a nasty “conga line” that develops very early.

Funny thing is, a lot of people are starting to learn this little tip so that first mile is getting faster and faster every year.

I was running behind popular GUTS runner Sally Brooking and Monte Sano local Rob Youngren for that first 4 mile gradual climb to the dirt road at the top. I kept the pace slower than last year, hovering around 8:45-9:15, and paying close attention to heart rate. If I started to gasp at all, I slowed down.

One thing that makes Mist such a great race is that although there are some really tough sections, there are also some really fast, runnable sections. The winding trail just before aid station 1 is a perfect example of this.

Can I get a witness?

6.5 miles done and I feel as good as a runner can feel.

Aid Station 2 – 11.5 miles

After the first aid station, runners begin a short, but steep technical drop, which this year was also ridiculously muddy. I caught up to Sally again and noticed that she was also taking the technical downs with a little more care than usual. Sally’s dealt with ankle/foot issues on the trail in the past, so I followed suit.

Hitting the powerlines trail, I hear Sally yell, “Christian, do you see any footprints?”

First of all, no, I did not; but second, that little experience reiterated for me what a smart, experienced trail runner Sally really is. I would have never thought to look for footprints. I was just cruising along oblivious. It was because of her that we quickly figured out where we went wrong, and fixed it without any lost time.

Let’s make sure I remember this at Fuego Y Agua 100K in Nicaragua next month.

About 8.5 miles in comes the first significant, gnarly climb – K2 – a short, but steep crawl that really reminded me how much I need to train more for trail climbing before the Bighorn 100-miler in June.

I power-hiked 90% of the climb.

Sally passed me cuz she rocks climbs.

At the top comes more of that fun, rolling Monte Sano trail running. Since we were up high, there was minimal mud and a pack of us dipped and rolled at a steady pace all the way to aid station #2.

It was during this section that I started an all day affair of leap-frog with an Alabama local named Will Barnwell. All day long from this point until the very end, I’d pass Will on the climbs and flats, and he’d crush the downs leaving me in the dust. It was a running joke all day (no pun intended). I got him in the end, but only because Mist finishes during a long climb and flat finish. Had it finished on a descent, he would have gotten me.

Aid Station 3 – 17 miles

This next section of Mist after aid station 3 has the only part of the course I do not like, and to make it worse, I had to be extra slow and careful not to turn my ankle. The only way to describe it is to imagine yourself running down an old dried-up creek bed. Ankle-biting rocks about twice the size of softballs, that move, shift, and roll and there is absolutely no avoiding it. No side trail. nothing. You HAVE to run across it for about 1/2 mile and its slow, painful and annoying.

This entire section was pretty brutal. The mud following the psuedo creek bed was probably the worst of the entire day. You can try to write about how muddy something is, but unless you were there, it’s hard to really grasp it. I could really see it eating people up in this section and I passed a lot of people who either went out too fast, or who were getting slowly whittled down with mud challenge and frustration.

Running through thick, slippery mud is tough because, like sand, it sucks the life out of you. Each step takes more effort and careful planning than it would otherwise. It’s physically taxing and mentally exhausting.

Still strong. Still steady. And a little bit lifted from passing runners along the way.

Aid Station 4 – 20.5 miles

It’s time to focus on the upcoming waterline climb.

The foreshadowing leading to waterline is another unique and interesting element of Mountain Mist 50K. The section starts out very rocky, and aside from a few short stints of clear trail, it pretty much stays that way until you approach the beginning of the waterline section.

What is waterline? Waterline is one of the unique factors that so many associate with this race. A long, gradual uphill along a stretch of trail built on top of water pipe that eventually dumps runners into the mid-section of a waterfall.

I like to fill my water bottle from the falls even though people think I’m nuts. I did it again this year. Giardia be damned.

After the waterfall crossing, runners have to climb out from the falls, using both hands and feet, on extremely muddy, slippery rocks. One slip and you could easily find yourself bouncing to the bottom of the ravine, so its steady as she goes.

Runners then cross a second waterfall bed and begin a climb that would make Barkley veterans proud. Well, kinda, because although its as steep as something you’d find at Barkley, it’s much shorter of a climb – about 1/4 mile straight up from the second waterfall bed.

If you’re a newbie to Mist, this might make you cry.

I’ve seen it happen before.

Jus’ sayin…

Aid Station 5 – 25 miles

Yahoo! Ultraunning list member Heather Whiteside was manning this aid station and it was nice to see a friendly face. I was still running comfortably, albiet sick as Hell of the mud, and after a few pleasantries, blazed out of that aid station quickly. Although I had no real time goals, I did want to ensure I ran under six hours.

Miles 26-27 can feel really long. Muddy jeep road to nowhere. But, I passed a few guys here, and before long I began that familiar EXTREMELY technical descent into McKay’s Hollow. Keys 50-mile and Peanut Island 12-hour race winner Tatiana Spencer was hanging out here, which was cool, but very unexpected, and she asked if she could run into the hollow with me.

“sure, come on…”

And she did.

A couple of minutes later I heard someone bearing down on me from behind, and I thought it was her, but nope, it was that pesky Will Barnwell hammering the descent into McKay’s like it was flat. I simply don’t know how he did that with all the mud, technical drops and horrible footing. Kid can hammer some downs, y’all…

I really do like McKay’s Hollow. For some reason, it just feels magical down there. Always remind me of the 1985 Tom Cruise movie, “Legend”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rW_u7wfvTE

It’s a really beautiful section of forest and trail, but no, I haven’t seen any unicorns down there.

Of course, being that we were now in the muddy flats, headed towards the third and final gnarly climb called rest shelter, I caught Will and we also caught another dude whose name I did not get. He had lost his water bottles and asked if we could share any fluids with him.

I tossed him my water bottle, about half full with sports drink, and told him to keep it until the finish. I knew I could down some coke at the top of rest shelter and then it was only 1.8 miles to the finish, so I was good. No worries. He looked like he needed it bad, so it was cool wid’ me.

One less thing to deal with.

Fajitas?

As I made my way up the  switch-back climb of rest shelter, I saw a familiar bald head in the distance.

“Fajitas! What up fool?”

He was kinda limping and not motoring along in his usual style, so I figured he must have gotten hurt. Remember, this is the dude who ran 280 miles 3 weeks ago at Across the Years, and someone who’s performances have been the awe for many of us throughout all of 2011.

We chatted for a second, and I passed, …but, I know Joe. He’s just like me, and although the pleasantries of conversation were just that, he hates to be passed and many times will fight back when it happens. I expected today would be no different.

Aid Station 6 – 30 miles (only 1.8 to go)

At the top of rest shelter, I skarfed down three cups of Mountain Dew and took off. I just knew that Joe was going to come back and get me and I wanted to fight him off, the bald bastard.

The last section is short, flat and fast and since I was feeling good, I had no problems running 8:30 pace along this stretch.

I was so very proud of myself.

Congratulating myself for a great, even-paced race, and proud to be kicking a pretty strong pace to the finish.

Nobody was gonna catch me, right?

Right…?

Then I heard the footsteps.

“Oh no, here comes that ^&%#! Joe,” I cussed to myself.

But nope.

Rob Youngren.

This deflated me more than Joe catching me.

Why? Because Rob ran the race course throughout the previous night, then, turned around and ran the official race afterwards. He had ~60 miles on his legs and he was passing me in the last half mile in the 8s.

I was in awe.

Much respect unicycle-boy.

Finish Line – 5:43:15

Cool – only 28 minutes off last year’s time. In those challenging conditions, I’ll take it.

But the best thing about the finish was how I felt. Usually, I’m flat-out crushed, and usually because I went out too fast and suffered for many miles.

Not this year. Not this race.

The even-paced, chilled-out approach netted out pretty well for me and I felt like I could turn around and run it again …but I ain’t Rob, so I didn’t.

What Did I learn?

Man, I’ve learned a lot through this injury, the Skarfing Project, and ALL the sessions from the school of ultrarunning hard knocks, but specific to this race, the following were keys to what I call a successful race (regardless of no PR):

• Pacing: This was key. I had brief periods of overall fatigue, but I never felt rough.
• Weight loss: ran the race at under 190 lbs – for you whippets that’s still huge, I know.
• Carry less = Less stress: Just a water bottle. After all, aid is there for a reason.
• Strength training: my body felt strong. Nod to the deadlift training.
• Consistent running: Very little holes in my marathon training. Strict consistency.

And that’s it.

Mountain Mist #5 in the books. Five more ’til I get that jacket.

*** Here is the Mountain Mist Garmin data showing course, elevation and pace information.

…and I must mention the ride back to Atlanta with my inebriated compadres, Fajitas and Weezly Weezle “the redneck rat”. Some funny conversation went down in that car, y’all. Oh, to be a fly on the wall, …er, windshield. Comic relief. We could’a sold admission.

As many in the ultraunning community have heard, Georgia runner (and swell pal) Joe Fejes ran a fantastic race at this year’s Across The Years 72-hour race.

Dude ripped off 280 miles, winning the event, and exciting all of us who watched him, both on location, and from keyboards and computer screens around the country.

ATY Race Report

Joe does not currently have a blog and asked if I would post his report.

Enjoy:

• Joe Fejes – 280 miles in 72 hours {pdf}

Congratulations Joe – we’ze proud of ya here Gaw’ga.

If I fail, then at least I know my limitations and know that my true level of dedication does not match what I want it to be (or wish it to be)

It’s kinda scary really; but at least I’ll know, and I can scale and mold my athletic future with a better sense of ‘self’

Some people believe New Years resolutions are only proclamations destined to fail.

In my eyes, those people have already failed before they started.

I Love New Years

It’s a time reflect, and a time to dream.

While I didn’t clobber every race goal I had, I nailed a few gems that offered a glimmer of hope that I can continue the quest for improved athletic performances. A couple of 2011 accomplishments that I’m most proud of:

• 3:13  marathon at Mercedes Marathon in Birmingham
• 5:15 Mountain Mist 50K Trail run
• 1:30 half-marathon at Silver Comet
• A handful of 5, 10, and 15K wins at local races

And a few other tidbits included in the ongoing running resume.

Biggest Hurdles for Success

I am my own worst enemy.

I get a coach, and I don’t follow.

I race when I should rest.

I talk when I should listen.

I eat ridiculous amounts of food, and many times the wrong food.

But I’m not about to give up.

Skarfing – a Two Week Project in Discipline

So check it – about the food thing – I know I suck at it, and I continue to suck at it; but one thing I do know is that transparency and accountability are key factors for success where I’m concerned.

Starting Monday, January 2, 2012, I begin The Skarfing Project – A visual food log created via Tumblr and shared across the social grid grid via Twitter and Facebook.

The visual food log works like this:

• Every time I eat, anything, I first have to take a picture of it
• Each food image is automatically uploaded to The Skarfing Project
• …and shared on the Skarfing Facebook page.
• …and shared via the Skarfing Twitter page.

Fitness:

• Logging all running (and strength training) on my Daily Mile profile
  • Advanced marathon training schedule (15 weeks)
    • Peaking for Boston Marathon in April
  • Implementing a unique strength training program focusing on core
    • Kettlebells
    • Mobility and joint strength
    • Bodyweight movements
    • Functional development
    • Swimming

What is the Ultimate Goal?

the loss of muscle has made a muscular looking doughboy, …just a doughboy.

The immediate goal is simply to see if I can be 100% strict and adhere to my program, and measure the results of such.

The overall goal is work towards body transformation.

When I first started running in 2006, I was fat. By 2009 I was eager to improve my race times and performances. By 2010 I started setting my sights on actually becoming a real athlete.

When I lifted weights as a runner, I just got big(ger).

When I quit strength training to “just run”, I got faster, as intended, but now I am weak; but more than just being weak, the loss of muscle has made a muscular looking doughboy, …just a doughboy.

I like having muscle, and I want it back.

There has to be a happy marriage between muscle and running fast. This two-week experiment will lay the foundation for whether or not I can actually be strict and follow-through on something as intended.

If I do, the reward is to continue.

If I fail, then at least I know my limitations and know that my true level of dedication does not match what I “want” it to be (or wish it to be)

It’s kinda scary really; but at least I’ll know, and I can scale and mold my athletic future with a better sense of “self”

Why? Why Am I Doing This?

First, I want the ultimate in accountability, while also keeping the process uber-simple. Writing a food log is a pain in the @ss, and even for only two weeks, but photos are are easy, very real, and something that I can quickly and easily look back on. Also, I’m hoping for feedback from people as I struggle through the food maze.

Second, I wanted to experiment with using the social grid, and its tools, in unique and interesting ways with regards to goal achievement and communication. Maybe something cool will develop from this experiment.

Invitation to Make Fun of Me

If you’d like to follow the two-week experiment, please connect with The Skarfing Project via one of the links below:

• Tumblr: The Skarfing Project
• Facebook: Skarfing Facebook page
• Twitter: Skarfing Twitter page

I’d love to get your feedback as I go along.

The first challenge is merely two week. Two weeks. I can do anything for two weeks.

Uber-strict. Me and the web. Tomorrow, January 2, 2012.

{me} “It doesn’t hurt if I shuffle.”, I explained. “Just need to see how damn fast I can shuffle…”

{Dink, RD} “Be careful. Good luck.”

Mile 1

“oh, man, am I limping?”

“Feels stiff, …yea, I’m pretty sure I’m limping”

{me} “Yo, Weezy, am I limping?”

{Lil Weezy} “Yup, a little bit.”, … “yea, you’re limping.”

“damn…”

Mile 2

“oh man, there’s Ami.”, “she’s running good these days. Probably being smart and holding back.”

“Should I pass? Better not. Just settle in behind for a little while.”

“This is probably a mistake, but I feel pretty good, I’m going…”

“Of course I feel good, it’s only mile 2.”

Mile 3

“what pace group is that?”

“3:25? Oh God. This is bad. But I feel good.”

“I’ll just settle in with this group for awhile.”

Mile 4

“man, yo, hella turns - don’t these neighborhoods ever go straight?”

“these 3:25 peeps seem slow to me right now.”, “wait, that’s stupid, just chill”

“naw, the ankle seems good, I’m gonna push it.”

Mile 5

“wow, cool, puttin some distance on the 3:25 group.”

“nice”

“…wonder if I can catch the 3:20 group?”, “is there a 3:20 group?”

“nice, a crowd. let me fix my posture a bit. Gotta look like a belong here.”

“dude, you realize that’s cheesy right?”

“Slap the kids’ hands. It’ll make you feel good, too”

Mile 6

“Well lookie here. it’s John Price.”, “jus’ gonna run along side him quietly for a second…”

“man, he’s running pretty fast, but I’m gonna pass him on this climb”

{small talk}

“he’s not going with me.”, “man I hope I run like him when I’m his age. Dude has the life!”

“who are these country bumpkins talking to each other with me in between them? Gonna let these fools go.”

“whoa, was that John again? Damn, he’s hammering this downhill. I’m not going with him. I’ll get him later.”

“…maybe”

Mile 7

“aw, man, more tight-turn neighborhoods.”

“Look at John, he’s waaay up there. Damn older dude is putting the smack down on me.”

“these tighht turns suck. I better pickup my foot more on the turns. Protect, protect, protect the ankle…”

Mile 8

“Oh, man, am I slowing down? Here comes the 3:25 pace group.”

“screw it, I shouldn’t be up here anyway, but if I’m slowing now, already, this is no good.”

“I’ll just run with them.”

“There’s John. I’m gonna get him again on this climb. Wonder if he spent too much early?”

Mile 9

“whoa, pacer dude, whatch out killa’ – stoppin’ for water without looking behind you ain’t too smart”

“I’m gonna get ahead of these guys again.”

Mile 10

“whoa, what the hell? Those dudes just hammered past me…”

{another runner} “I think they just picked up the pace”

{me} “Glad you noticed that, too. I was starting to worry.”

“But they’re still going hard.”

“putting mad distance on me quick. Am I slowing? Why am I not chasing them?

“too early, just chill.”

Mile 11

“now I know why race reports called this section boring, but I’m happy to be going straight”

“more hands to slap! Cool. I dig the kids, man”

“better inventory. How do I feel? I’m getting a little tired. Where are those 3:25 peeps?”

“Damn! they have 50 yards on me.”

{outloud, and loud} “I suck.”

Mile 12

“The miles feel like they’re clicking off. Half marry point next.”

“Can I hang in? Ankle feels fine, but I’m wheezing.”

“No consistent training for a month, could my fitness be way off?”

“oh shut up, you know you are over-reaching. Just don’t do anythng stupid, dumbass.”

Mile 13

“Cool. 1:42. I expected much worse.”

“halfway done.”

“Can I negative split? Is it time to pick it up? Not sure I can. I’ll wait.”

Mile 14

“whoa, that’s some cold wind. Strong, too”

“yikes, it’s like running into a wall of molasses”

“ok, shit, this is draining my energy…”

Mile 15

“Why is she calling out splits when there’s a race clock right there?”

“They call this race fast? I’m losing energy like somebody stuck a pin in me.”

“Wonder if Babette is going to try to find me along the course. I hope not, actually. I might quit.”

“This wind SUCKS!”

Mile 16

“welp, back into the neighborhoods. I don’t like these neighborhoods”

{getting really grumpy now – nothing wrong with ‘hoods.}

“ok, so we’re climbing now. Great.”

“…and it keeps going, wonderful…”

“I’m definitly slowing. My ankle is gettng stiff. I started too fast. I suck.”

Mile 17

“Oh god, my form is starting to flail.”

“Maybe I’ll listen to music.”

“Screw it, I’ll just get annoyed.”

Mile 18

{3:30 pace group} “Is that Christian Griffith?”

“Aw man, who is this saying my name?”

{{{ look back }}}

“Great… 3:30 pace group is about to clip me.”

“Such a punk I am. Everybody I know is gonna catch me…”

“Ouch! great, here it comes. I knew it wouldn’t last. Hang in there ankle, you %^%$#!”

Mile 19

“Welp, there they go.”

“3:30 peeps got me…ankle hurts…fitness sucks…I’m gonna be lucky to break 4 hours.”

Mile 20

“just a 10K to go, but I feel terrible. Nothing left.”

“who’s that huffin and puffin behind me?”

“AMI! aw man, she’s gonna clip my wings, man”

{me} “Hi Ami.”

{Ami} “…”

“Damn it.”

“Good for her, but I’m still bummed.”

“I’m gonna try to stay with her…”

“yea, right, fat chance.”

Mile 21

“beautiful. Really? More ^%$%! neighborhoods?”

“Maybe I should just walk. Clearly I’m totally shot-out and my time is gonna suck, anyway.”

“man, Ami is way up there now, I have no chance of catching her. She’s running a smart race. I’m impressed.”

“walking is, of course, out of the question …Like Anton says, a slow shuffle is still faster than a fast walk.”

Mile 22

“Walkers? wow, these are fast looking dudes, too. Went out too fast? S’ok kids, I feel ya…”

“I’m just gonna settle into a comfortable pace and just gut through this.”

Mile 23

“5K to go. Come on ankle. I’ll run straight, upright and land mid, just please don’t rip.”

Mile 24

“there they go, just keep on a’passin’”

{sigh}

“I’m so dead. This is the longest 2-miles of my life. Please just finish…”

Mile 25

“There it is, right? The 25 mile flag?

“wait, it’s not…”

“wait, yes it is… phew, I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“last mile. Can’t punk out. Gotta find a good finishing gear…”

“Hold on, there she is again. I saw this skinny chick awhile back. I’m gonna catch her.”

“Don’t speed up. Its futile. I’m gonna get you.”

“Dude, really, machismo right now? You just got smoked by a slew of folks. You’re racing now?”

“Doing it anyway…”

Mile 26

“There’s the finish, where’s Babette?”

“I don’t see her.”

“Oh well, who cares? I’m finished. I’m going to eat everything in sight.”

{looking up at the finish clock}

“Cool, 3:37.”

Update: After writing this post, I did in fact do the 2011 Thanksgiving Atlanta Half Marathon and it went surprisingly well. At the last minute, after some nudging, I switched out the Vibrams for the Hoka Bondi shoe. I wrapped the ankle with a small amount of sticky tape, laced ‘em up tight, and started out trying the 5/1, run/walk thing.

That run/walk stuff is no good for me, but I did find an easy sub-9 pace that was just right and prevented any ankle aggravation. I set the body at that cruising speed and just clipped off the miles one by one, pain-free.

1:52 (8:43/mile) – 22 minutes slower than my Half Marathon PR, but obviously I’ll take it!

photo: a couple of hours after my spill. Worry sets in.

Injury Sucks

For those who have somehow ducked my whining and balloon-ankle photos on Facebook, I am currently in the middle of my first real injury of my running “career”; and while I’m sure there is no optimal timing for any kind of injury, mine happened right towards the latter end of a strong, productive period of fast marathon training where I was showing solid improvement each and every week.

Having brought my half-marathon time down to 1:30, and with 5-weeks yet to peak for that sub-3 marathon at Rocket City, December 10, I did the most stupid thing a marathon trainee could do – raced a short, 15K trail race.

Cruising downhill, and having a couple of close calls and all-out falls already, I was wondering to myself if racing this thing was really a good idea or not… then, C-R-A-C-K, OOMPH!  I stepped in a hidden, leaf-covered hole, heard a snap, and dropped to the ground crawling around and screaming at the top of my lungs like a wounded seal.

All those heart-exploding speed training episodes, the half-marathon PRs, those sadistically painful, yet pleasurable, workouts where I swore Jennifer Vogel, my coach, was trying to kill me…

Just like that. Game over.

Oh, But it Gets Better

RICE, they say…

Well, this is what happens when an idiot like me, with great intentions, tries to follow directions…

I frost bit my own $%* ! foot. Say hello to my blistered ice burn:

photo: cool. freeze-burning my skin as an added bonus. Swelling, at its worst.

I blame the seven Vicodin the day after; and yes, they were prescribed.

Well, not seven, but, well, you know how it goes…

I felt no pain.

I should never do drugs. Any drugs. I do not know moderation.

A Student of Discovery

It’s sort of a paradox, really. I’m well known for being unconventional, hard-headed, arrogant and a little crazy in my thinking. People much smarter than me advise me. I don’t listen. Doctors, other runners, friends, family, they all experience this with me. Some continue, some give up.

(thanks to those who don’t give up, by the way)

I’ll bet I’ve seen more head-shaking and gotten more “told ya so” comments and emails than anyone else on earth.

Thing is, I’m a student of discovery. The proverbial “gotta touch the stove to see if it’s hot” kinda dude. I really don’t believe anything until I experience it, and usually, the way my brain works, believe the opposite until I prove otherwise.

It’s a disease.

Enter Vibram Five Fingers

I had pretty much written off Vibrams. For one, it’s not really barefoot training. Barefoot training is “without shoes”, and I live in the city, so when I want to train barefoot for all its benefits, I train barefoot on a treadmill to avoid debris, rocks and glass.

Second, ironically, new Vibram models are starting to look more like shoes. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I find that my Mizuno Wave Universe, or my all-time favorite, the Saucony A4 racing flats work best.

But, once I could walk again, though still hobbling, limping around with my lower lip all poked out and sad, I came to realization that I was most comfortable, with less pain, when I was barefoot.

Desperate to run, and yes out of better judgement from docs and friends, I tried running about five (5) days into recovery – and everything hurt. Even big-ass, balloon Hokas hurt like crap, and out of all of my shoes, and I have a lot, they were the absolute worst with this injury.

But, off in the corner, still stained with a little dog poop stuck to ‘em from when one of the new puppies found the same corner, were the old Vibram Classics. Quite a bit dusty, with a couple of small rips in the toes, and a little curled-up from lack of use, but still wearable – and just as damn hard to put on.

I chuckled at how goofy they looked, ‘cuz, I’m sorry, but Vibram Classics really are ridiculous looking shoes, and I stepped on the treadmill to give it a go.

Day 11 of Recovery

And, I haven’t worn anything else on my feet since.

photo: Day 11, Hoping they carry me 13.1 tomorrow in the Atlanta Thanksgiving Half-Marathon.

An Idiot’s Guide to Why This is Working

I promise, I don’t know anything. I’m really, really stupid when it comes to doing the “right” things for training and recovery, so take all this with a grain of salt; but as this student of discovery thing I talked about, I think I have some good ideas why this is working so well for me:

1. I have a neutral gait. Therefore, I do not need any stability or corrective orthodics.
2. Because of this neutral gait, when barefoot, my foot is in its most natural state.
3. In Vibram Classics, my feet stay flat and as close to ground as possible.
4. Because of this more natural state, and low center of gravity, my foot is never being pulled, pushed, nor sliding around in any one direction that causes pain or aggravates the ligaments further.
5. The Classics have a super wide collar. This prevents any squeezing of the foot or tender ankle.
6. This lack of collar-squeezing, combined with increased foot freedom discourages additional swelling

Here’s the thing: I think shoes, and especially the huge sole-lift of the Hokas, were hurting me because they squeezed my foot and created instability. Even folks without injury have complained that the Hokas created instability for them, so it only makes sense that the same would be the case WITH injury.

When your ankle is that sensitive, even the slightest movement in the direction of, or away from, the injury center is enough to cause agonizing pain and aggravate the ankle sprain even worse.

What do you think? Am I crazy?

Ready for Even More Stupidity?

Tomorrow will be day 12 of recovery, and I’ve decided I’m still running the Atlanta Half Marathon.

…in Vibram Classics, of course.

I’ve never run more than six miles in them, so this should be interesting.

I know, I know, but would you consider thinking I’m less stupid if I said I’m running side by side with my wife? She doesn’t “race”, but instead runs 5:00 and walks 1:00, over and over again, until she finishes. I think it’s called the Galloway Method, but she could care less if it was called the jack sh!t method. I get the biggest kick out of Babette’s approach to running. No real training, no stress, no outrageous goals, no ego – just all fun and smiles and games.

She’s also never had a DNF.

I suspect if I can complete the full 13.1 in Vibrams, at her pace, I’m looking at 2:30 minimum on that hilly intown course.

Ugh.

But who cares? At least I’m running, and while I love to run fast, It’ll be cool to chill alongside Babette for this Thanksgiving event.

Next Steps

I know a lot of people think I’m nuts, but I’m used to it. If I’m wrong in my approach, then I have to live with it, no one else; but aren’t we are always told to go with our gut and do what feels right?

This feels right.

I believe that I can heal myself actively and nutritionally. Like an animal.

The moping game is over. The sadness is over. The “woe is me” is OVER.

I have to try it my way because I believe its the right way for me.

Maybe not everyone - Hell, maybe not anyone…

But it feels like its right for me.

Eye on the sub-3 at Mercedes

So nope, I won’t get to chase that 2:55 marathon goal at Rocket City, and while that really bums me the #$%! out, I’ll just set my sights a little further out in the year and come back with a furious focus.

I can do that. I will do that. And if you’re a betting kinda person, put your money on me.

But I’m still running Rocket City, and even though he’s been training like Rocky IV in Russia, I’m still gonna beat the crap outta’ Weezy.

Whatcha got, kid? Come get me. The prey is wounded, sucka.

After a challenging training run this morning, I found myself listening to a little Cat Stevens, and every single song that came on made me somehow apply the sentiments to running.

I’m so #$%$! addicted, and you get to hear all about it:

Can’t Keep It In

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb_03LP55Lc

-

Every new training day is like a completely new beginning.

Every single one.

The night before training, I lie in bed and think about the ways that I am going to push through the tough stuff, make my feet go faster, push those hips out further …and let ‘er rip.

I imagine it, picture it. Run through it over and over in my mind.

“Remember to smile, “ I say to myself, “It makes it easier.”

I remind myself how lucky I am that I have this ability. Not rock star ability, but just simply the ability to run. Flinging my body through the air, catching it, and doing it again.

I am healthy, happy, excited and living life to the fullest. Setting new goals and chasing them with a passion that consumes me.

It never gets old.

There’s always the next challenge, the next step, the next level.

I refuse to settle.

I’m really enjoying …running fast.

Where Do the Children Play

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PiiZrZTrOFY

-

Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me.

…and then, I ride the train, or walk into work, or view the people on the sidewalks, and I wonder what’s wrong with them.

No one plays anymore. Everything is so serious.

Drivers honking, middle fingers flying. Silence on the elevators. Silence on the train. Impatience in grocery store lines. Chest-thumping arguments on Facebooks.

It’s all so exhausting. …and kinda sorta sad.

But my training is my play time.

Aggressive play that fatigues me enough to rival any pharmaceutical calming alternative.

It frees me from all the angst and worry and frustrations and social banter that means absolutely, positively 100% nothing.

It reminds me of the joy of my family – which is 100% everything. It reminds me that I am free. I can move my body and feel good whenever I want to and nothing else matters but the sound of my breath, the beating in my chest, and the form of my body. Constantly scanning, evaluating, adjusting, so the pace never falls.

And if it does, so what, there’s always tomorrow.

Sitting (but only for second ‘cuz on my way)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrDHysMdu6U

-

I am working extra super duper crazy hard.

I have huge goals.

Training for this 2:55 marathon has been an humbling, dramatic series of incredibly challenging training runs.

And with only 39 days of training left,  I’m still way behind.

I need to be at a sub-38:00 10K, but I’m only at 39.

I need to be at a 1:25 half-marathon, but I raced a 1:30 five days ago.

And while the math shows my marathon at more like 3:10 at best, I’m not going to give up.

If I can train myself to run 20 miles at 6:53 without falling apart, I can force a progressive run for an additional 6.2, I know I can.

And even if it ends up that I can’t, then I will try again.

and again.

and again.

and again.

This is the most fun, I’ve ever had in my life.