Who's Got Time For Laundry?

After six months of training and accumulating gear and clothing to prepare me for this race, there is nary a shirt, sock, jacket or pant in my dresser that is made of moisture-absorbent cotton. Cotton clothing to avid runners is like non-alcoholic beer at a NASCAR race. Both are absolute no-no's. The quick-drying, moisture-wicking fibers that now dominate my clothing arsenal have kept me dry, light and warm the past six months. For this, I am grateful. I'm not grateful, however, for the after effects of training in these techie-T-shirts. You see, after returning from a usual training run, my clothing reeks like the inside of my college refrigerator. Upon first whiff, I usually do the "look both ways before sniffing the pits," routine to confirm that the stench is, in fact, my own. How could this be? Was I practicing poor hygiene? Can my neighbors smell me? How do I explain to my girlfriend why I smell like the elderly Eastern European guy in the coffee shop? These are all questions I regularly pondered.

I did some investigative work and confirmed that my personal hygiene fortunatley was not the culprit. I'm an Old Spice guy. I was not looking forward to a shopping trip to one of those expensive male boutiques where the proprietors will want to wax my eyebrows after selling me floral deodorant. I discovered that my running clothes pull moisture away from the skin allowing it to evaporate over the large surface area of the shirt, shorts, etc. This clothing doesn't absorb the perspiration, it simply traps it in the outer fibers allowing it to quickly evaporate. Before evaporating, however, the warm, moist layer of fibers becomes a breeding ground for nasty skin bacteria. (I checked, all humans have skin bacteria, even the man-scaped guys at the boutique salons). The moisture evaporates, but the odor causing bacteria remains to welcome me back from a long run. Hence the stank.

Training in these clothes nearly every day, became an overwhelming burden in the laundry department. I was doing three to four loads of bacteria killing laundry each week. I then got smart. I shower after every run. My clothes need cleaning after every run. Why not address both needs with one effort? The solution involves climbing into the shower post-run, fully-clothed, with a cup full of laundry detergent. After derobing, I simply dump some soap on the mound of soaking clothes, squeeze the water out after bathing and hang for drying. By the next morning, the clothes are dry, bacteria-free and ready to go. My embarrassed girlfriend took one glance at my bathroom (above) and coined this practice "Little House on the Prairie," in honor of the pioneer days without washing machines and dryers. Pretty funny, but I doubt Laura Ingalls Wilder was training for a prairie marathon. I do know that because of this practice, I've avoided my little house of the stinky.

Countdown Begins

12 days and counting. Now that the bulk of my training is complete and my fundraising goal has been met, I can finally look ahead to the big day. I've started by studying the coarse map like Magellan on the high seas. I've plotted out each hill, each mile and determined when I'll take a sip of liquid and when I'll eat an energy gel. I've got my shoes, socks, hat, body glide, and vaseline ready to go. I've got just under two weeks to convince my body that this is going to be a good thing. A good friend and former college teammate of mine and now marathon veteran promised to give a "win one for the Gipper" pep talk via telephone. I'm even starting to research Vancouver culinary hot spots for our pre-game meal. This combined with the anticipation of well-needed vacation from work is overwhelming my thought process.

The above map is the Vancouver marathon coarse. As you'll see, it takes us through the heart of the city, through a very large park, and over a couple bridges. We cross the Burrard Bridge and its 100 ft ascent twice. I'm convinced that this will be the toughest part of the race. To make matters worse, I've been glaring at this bridge on a daily basis from a web cam. Some days I think it's actually taunting me. Regardless, I'll be prepared mentally at mile 17 and again at 23. Hopefully my legs will be in line.

Boston Success Flies Under Detroit Sports Radar

(Brian Sell, Member of Hanson's-Brooks Distance Project finished 4th at the 2006 Boston Marathon -- photo courtesy of Adam Hunger/Associated Press)

Yesterday was the 110th Boston Marathon. For many American sports fans, this event is a mere blip on their radar screens. Americans, especially Detroiters, love their sports and devote a significant amount of time and energy rooting for their favorite athletes. Detroit's professional basketball and hockey teams are currently the best teams in their respective leagues, and the amount of publicity and media coverage they receive is often overwhelming. If it were it up to the throngs of loyal supporters in this town, the Red Wings long-time captain, Steve Yzerman, would be on the fast track to sainthood. The Piston's Chauncy Billups regularly gets mobbed in shopping malls and grocery stores by adoring fans. A wide majority of these sports fans, however, are clueless to the fact that some of the world's greatest athletes live, train, shop and work in their own back yards. Four of the top 15 finishers of yesterday's Boston Marathon are members of the Hansons-Brooks Distance Project. Sponsored by a local running shop, this team trains through the streets of Metro-Detroit in an Olympic development program that produces the nation's top distance runners. These runners relocate from all parts of the country to train as a professional no more than a few miles from where I've been logging my training runs.

I had the opportunity to meet a few of these runners at a recent Team In Training clinic held at one of the Hanson Running Shops. They fitted me for a pair of shoes, recommended some race-day apparel and answered a laundry list of questions I had about training for a marathon. I didn't have to wait in a line of autograph hawkers or push my way through mobs of fans. A humble and unassuming professional athlete could not have been more accessible. It was like stopping into the local YMCA to ask Chauncy Billups for advice on free throw shooting or getting a golf lesson from Tiger Woods at the Belle Isle driving range.

The major difference, of coarse, is the exposure that elite runners receive in light of the popularity of other professional sports. As proof, this morning's Detroit News included a brief mention of the success of these local runners at the Boston Marathon on its back pages, opting for lead coverage of the city's more popular baseball and hockey teams. The coverage from the national media was anything but thorough and even poked fun at marathon runners. This year's Master's champion Phil Mickelson and Wilmbledon champion Roger Federer each pulled in over $1 million in prize money for winning their respective sports' most coveted tournament. The winner of the most prestigious marathon in the world earned only $100,000 yesterday in Boston. Fourth place winner Brian Sell and tenth place finisher Clint Verran have trained just as hard as any of the world's elite athletes. They would both likely argue that running 100 miles a week all-year round in Michigan, is a hell of a lot more gruelling than knocking down a series 30 foot putts at Pebble Beach.

I bring this point up, because the past six months of training has opened my eyes to a new sport and given me a new-found appreciation for the amount of time and pain that goes into preparing yourself for a marathon. I'm no different than the next sports fan in Detroit. I follow our local teams regularly and celebrate their victories as if I'm an actual member of the team. The local running team who dominated the Boston Marathon should be no different. Deserving of some coverage by the mainstream media outlets, the elite runners of the Hansons-Brooks team will have settle for a blog entry by a newly-won fan.

Surplus of Shoes

It is generally recommended by medical professionals and running gurus who have mentored me through my training that running shoes should be replaced when the odometer reaches 350-500 miles. With the amount of punishment the average runner inflicts on shoes, even the most expensive, technologically advanced running shoe breaks down. The cushioning in the mid-sole that absorbs the shock eventually becomes ineffective, usually before the rest of the shoe starts to show significant signs of wear.

Then I learned that these recommended mileage limits are also dependent upon the runners size. At just under 200 pounds, I am considered "large" to the unapologetic shoe designers and manufacturers. Therefore, my shoes will be lucky to reach 350 miles before my shins and knees start to absorb the shock and stress.

You can see above the end result of following this recommendation. None of these running shoes currently overwhelming my closet are more than a couple years old. Most of them, however, have entered a life of retirement because their meters all expired. These shoes, however, barely show any visual signs of age. Most didn't even get the chance to get dirty. None had the opportunity to wear to the point of my big toe busting out of the sole. This is what I've always expected to see when I finally give up on a pair of athletic shoes.

I bring this point up, because I'm having a difficult time simply discarding what looks to be a perfectly functional shoe. Therefore, in a fit of hard-headedness, I occasionally lace up a pair of retirees and give them another shot. Seldom are the medical professionals and running gurus wrong. Every bit of contact with the concrete shoots straight to my legs as a reminder that stubbornness and an affectionate relationship with running shoes are not positive attributes when training for a marathon. Instead, I'll keep buying a new pair every 3-4 months and watching the retirement community in my closet grow.

20 Miles and Cooperstown

(Opening Day - Comerica Park, Detroit: Detroit Tigers v. Chicago White Sox - April 10, 2006)

This past weekend was certainly eventful. I reached some significant milestones (no pun intended). First, I knocked out the longest training run of 20 miles and now look to taper my training to more manageable distances. I find it hard to believe that I'm now looking at a series of 14 mile runs as "manageable". The run itself went fine, through 15. I refueled with a Gu Energy Gel and a few swigs of electrolyte rich Ultima sports drink that gave me a little boost. By mile 19 my tank was empty and I was running on fumes. Afterwards, I tried to look at the run as an accomplishment worthy of praise, but I just couldn't stop thinking about the remaining 6.2 miles that still lie ahead. These thoughts were quickly subdued by the intense cold of another ice bath that awaited my return home. Four bagels, a banana, a PowerBar, 40 oz of water later,and a handful of my little ibuprofren friends and I was cashed out in bed for a well-earned nap.

Mid-way through this run, I passed the 500 mile mark for total training miles since I began six months ago. That's about the distance from Detroit to Cooperstown, NY. I'm finding that such statistical milestones help me psychologically. I've always resented professional athletes' selfish pursuit of personal statistics at the expense of team success. Here, however, my team consists of a pair of shoes, some energy drinks/gels and a trusty pair of wind briefs. I'm thinking they won't mind if I pat myself on the back. In baseball, 500 home runs in a career is a solid stepping stone to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. While curve balls prevented my own plaque from being hung in Cooperstown, I'll take solace in knowing that my team and I got there by reaching its own 500 mark.

On the topic of baseball, Opening Day arrived on Monday and brought with it a traditional rite of Spring. While running has taken over my personal athletic life, my allegiance and loyalty still rest with our beloved and often heart-breaking baseball team: the Tigers. To celebrate my recent accomplishments I traded in the energy bars and replenishing drinks for a bag a peanuts and an ale. As the first pitch was thrown, the spirit and excitement was palpable throughout the city. Throughout my training I've logged more miles running around an empty Comerica Park than any other place. This day I was joined by 47,000 others and a spirit that quelled the sore legs and cranky knees. Spring is now officially here and it couldn't have come at a more opportune time.

Martian Marathon and Ice Baths

I got a little taste of race day this past weekend. Team In Training participants, including myself, were permitted to run a training run during the Martian Marathon in Dearborn Heights. There I was able to experience the race-day environment while getting in an arduous 18 mile run. I've participated in distance races before, but forgot about the entire scene that unfolds prior to, during and after a race like this. I found the starting line by following the winding sea of humanity patiently waiting with their legs crossed for a port-a-pottie to open up. Maybe its nerves, or maybe its just over-hydration, but these events seem to motivate a simultaneous urge to empty bladders by the thousands of runners waiting for the start. I, on the other hand, am content with a strategically placed tree or shrub. The other thing I forgot, was the over-the-top eccentricities that many runners possess. Being that it was a martian-themed race, I saw everything from E.T. dolls pinned to shorts to giant inflatable martian hats. This was mixed together with men in hula skirts and even a woman dressed like a cow. Very strange, but made for some solid people watching and a diversion from my cranky knees

I finished the 18 miles with cheers at the finish line. All of the support on the side of the road really does give you that added push at the end. I finished strong and felt oddly good.......until I got back to the car. With a belly full of bagels and bananas that I hoarded like an animal before hibernation, I started to stiffen up. By the time I returned home, I knew I was in for some serious discomfort. Four hours later I walking with a solid limp and the sensation that each step would be my last. Of coarse this was followed by sufficient whining and sympathy seeking behavior. I continued my regular practice of ibuprofren popping and ice bag loving, to no avail. The next morning I decided to take drastic measures. I filled the bath tub with cold water, dumped a bag of ice in it, plunged my throbbing body into the water and made myself a marathon runner cocktail. This cocktail, however, was lacking a lime or an olive, but came with one howling human. After five minutes, the shock wore off and I was able to relax for 15 more minutes as I marinated in 40 degree liquid.

The next day I felt amazingly better. I was able to pop out of bed with minimal pain and grouchiness. I'm not sure if the ice bath was the cure-all, but I'm definitely planning on future arctic plunges.