We Crossed The Line!

Much Thanks

In an emotional whirlwind, we crossed the finish line of the 2006 Vancouver marathon. I say "we" because I did not achieve this goal on my own. By my side for the past six months of training and throughout the 4 hours, 26 minutes and 2 seconds of race time was my partner, girlfriend, unconditional supporter and one of the toughest and most determined person I've ever known. I'm proud to say that I finished a marathon, but I'm more proud to know that I did so with her by my side.

Also with me were the brave individuals I've met and shared stories with who have been personally affected by the blood cancers the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society seeks to cure. Many of my closest friends and family members contacted me throughout this program to share their experiences. For some it was a parent, sibling or close family member. For some it was the experiences of personally battling cancer. Many of these stories came from people I've known most my life, but had never known of their struggles, their pain and their resolve. Some stories came from people whom I've never met. I carried with me these stories, these experiences for 26.2 miles in hopes that this effort could honor their fight.

Finally, with me were the countless people in my life who offered their support, love and encouragement. My family has always given me nothing but overwhelming support when it comes to athletic competitions. This race was no different. From my parents in Detroit, grandparents in Florida and Michigan, family throughout Michigan, Mississippi, North Carolina and Ontario; to my friends throughout Metro-Detroit, Kalamazoo, Ohio, Chicago, San Francisco and Atlanta. All offered much-appreciated encouragement that aided tremendously. I wanted to specifically thank our coach and mentor throughout this program. Ken's enthusiasm and love for this sport was infectious. His advice and guidance was a priceless benefit. Thank you Ken for all your efforts. You helped turn a linebacker into a marathon runner.

With a tissue dab of the eye, I'll move on to the highlights of one of the greatest experiences of my life:

Pre-Game

I awoke at 5 am, nearly two and a half hours before the start of the race with a feeling in my gut that was not entirely unfamiliar. This was the feeling of game day. I grew up knowing this feeling all-to-well on Saturday mornings in the Fall. The early morning of the marathon was oddly similar. It took me over an hour just to get dressed. We're talking vaseline, BodyGlide, a pair of socks, singlet, hat, wrist band, shoes and some strategically placed bandages. How I managed to take an hour putting this gear on is baffling. While pre-race nerves are still clouding my memory, presumably I obsessed over each article of clothing like each was going to make or break the race. Looking back, It had been over six years since I last prepared myself for "game-time." While I left the helmet, pads, tape, cleats and #36 jersey in the archives, I couldn't help but enjoy the revisited anxiousness of game day.

Starting Line

The anxiousness felt in our hotel room, soon turned to concern when I glanced out the window. Rain greeted us like naive tourists. In speaking with natives of the Pacific Northwest, such rain is a normal way of life. Our normal way of life involved bone-chilling winds, snow, ice and sleet. Never did I train in the rain. Was I dressed properly? Will I be able to make it in water-logged shoes? What will four hours of running in soaked clothes do to my body? I didn't get much of a chance to ponder these initial thoughts. Before I knew it, "Oh Canada," was concluding and the starting gun sounded. As I shuffled across the starting line among the sea of garbage bag clad runners, the adrenaline and excitement rushing through my veins overwhelmed my rain-soaked shirt, shoes and socks. By mile two, I had stepped directly in a series of ankle high puddles. I simply kept sloshing along.

After what seemed to be a few minutes, the race leaders came flying by in the opposite direction of the down-and-out first section of the coarse. The effortless strides of the Ethiopean leader was amazing. I later read that after building a large lead, he was able to hold off the second place runner by only 4 seconds. I also learned that this same runner approached the starting line for the first time only 20 seconds before the gun sounded, in an effort to stay dry as long as possible. At the speed I saw him running, I doubt even the rain drops could catch up to him.

Entertainment

A few miles into the race we approached the first band providing us with a water-logged cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival.

"I see the bad moon rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightning.
I see bad times today."

A catchy tune with a good running beat, but not exactly the words of encouragement I was looking for. These shouts of support soon came from the brave spectators that lined the side lines. My purple Team In Training singlet proudly displayed "Michigan" on the front, prompting numerous people to encourage this well-traveled foreigner to knock off another mile. To add a little more local representation I often pointed to the old-English "D" on my wrist band to announce that Detroit was here to play. I got nothing but love from the city of Vancouver, and all of it was tremendously helpful, especially during the rough stretches.

By mile 6, a local indie rock band belted out a distinctively Canandian tune. Despite the rain and chilly temps that surely made their guitar strings feel like pins and needles, they jammed with flannel shirts and hiking boots for a greatly appreciative runner.

I remember the music that was played throughout the race so vividly, because it was an unbelievably effective means of appeasing the mental strain that this race soon delivered. There was a D.J. in Stanley Park at mile 13 playing what appeared to be a mix of Weird Al Yankovic with a crazy Indian beat. He was having such a good time behind his turntable, that I couldn't help but gain a little energy despite the quality of the music. There were a group of pre-teens strumming the only three cords they knew to in a cover of Detroit's own White Stripes. I again pointed to the "D" on my wrist. At mile 18 and again at around 22 there were a group of college kids turning the day into a party and even pumped Aretha Franklin's "R.E.S.P.E.C.T" from their balcony for another eerie shot-out to Motown. All this music, combined with the dozens of crazy marathon fans along the coarse allowed us to break up the monotony and proved to be a great benefit.

The Coarse

Even in the rain and fog, Vancouver is an absolutely gorgeous city. The coarse took us through a combination of neighborhoods and downtown districts before entering a huge urban park named after Lord Stanley, the same 19th century Canadian Governor responsible for professional hockey's greatest prize: The Stanley Cup. The park is full of amazing redwoods and lush vegetation. At times I couldn't help but raise my head above my shoulders to take a glance at the top of the trees. For nearly four miles, we trotted through this park that would be an ideal paradise for a marathon training Vancouverite.

Just after existing the park I knew that the first significant climb of the day was near. I studied the coarse map and elevation grid to the extent that the Burrard Bridge was not going to be a surprise. At the foot of the bridge, just as the incline started, our good friend, Elenore met us with a shout of encouragement. She even jogged up the 100 ft ascent with us injecting some much needed energy into our bodies. All it took was a familiar face some some well-wishes, and we had scaled the bridge for the first time.

Over the bridge was a series of neighborhoods with many more spectators. Some with signs. My favorite was a group of girls holding a sign that read, "Your ass looks great in short shorts!" By mile 22, it was highly unlikely that I looked or smelled anything close to attractive. Regardless, we both felt strong and kept plugging along until we revisited the Burrard Bridge at mile 25. Here, I knew it was the 4th quarter. Gut check time.

At the foot of the bridge on our return, my partner decided kick it into a different gear. With a burst of energy, we were off at a pace that seemed like a couple minutes faster than what we ran the previous 25 miles. I remember grunting a few times and blurting out a few "come on's!" to verbally acknowledge that we were almost there. I'd like to be able to better describe the last mile and a half, but most was an absolute blur. I remember the crowds of people thickening as we passed mile 26. They became even more vocal. Cow bells, air horns and whistles joined the noises. I kept staring ahead at the large domed stadium that marked the finish line. As we got closer I could start to hear the race moderator announcing the names of the finishers. My legs were almost completely numb. Running side-by-side, Erin didn't say a word. Nor did she let up. She simply put her head down and grinded out the last half mile.

The Finish

I do remember seeing the large blue banner with "FINISH" crossing the road ahead. The crowd was now hanging over the metal barricades that guided the runners to the end. According to the pictures from above, I flung my arms in the air before crossing. I do not remember doing so. At 4 hours, 26 minutes and 02 seconds I crossed the line. Erin was a step ahead, as she was the last mile and a half.

We were met by many smiling faces and pats on the back. The above medal was placed around my neck like I was on an Olympic medal stand. With a big hug from Erin, I couldn't help but get a little choked up. As we made the short walk inside BC Place Stadium, the numbness in my legs quickly turned to pain. My calves and thighs began to cramp and my shoulder and neck tightened up. Runners all around us were doubling over in pain. While uncomfortable, the emotions of the moment made it all bearable. I'm not sure whether or not I'll ever run another marathon, but I'm certain that I'll never experience a similar feeling as crossing the finish line in Vancouver.

Final Thanks

As the Run With Rorai web log signs off, I'd like to once again thank all whose support, love and encouragement made this program possible. Thank you to those who visited and left your comments. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Talk to you soon.

Vancouver Bound

My vacation is within reach. Tomorrow morning I'll be boarding a flight en route to Seattle for a few days of latte drinking and salmon eating. We'll be visiting some friends/family. A Friday morning train will take us to Vancouver. I've been scouring guide books, restaurant reviews and tourist info the past week just to quell my anxiousness. In case you couldn't tell from the frequency of this week's musings, I've been less than productive at work. "Is running a marathon really a vacation?" asked a co-worker. I didn't hesitate in answering. I may not be lying on a tropical beach with an unbrella floating cocktail in hand, but this is my vacation, and I've never looked forward to one more. I've attached a few photos of Vancouver that I've been day dreaming about the past week.

One Last Time

(View of Belle Isle Park)

(Scott Memorial Fountain - Belle Isle Park, Detroit, Michigan)

This past weekend my lovely training partner and I gave thanks to the ever-so-loyal Belle Isle park for permitting us to burn shoe rubber over its streets, trails, lawns and occasional sheets of ice for the past six months. We participated in the Belle Isle 5k to benefit the Nature Zoo and all the critters who have warmly welcomed us throughout this time. Shortly after the start of the extremely non-competitive run, I realized that I had never before run a 5k race. We quickly eased into our marathon pace on a very familiar stretch of the island. Without intent, we passed a few people. Then we passed a few more, then a whole pack of runners. In an unexpected way, this became quite fun. The past six months of training, I passed snow drifts, broken bottles, dead squirrels, grouchy geese, and the occasional bar patron stumbling to his car. Rarely did I pass other runners; never in race conditions. It became energizing, and by mile 2 I was at full stride at nearly two minutes faster than my marathon pace. I still kept passing. I finished at a full sprint after the last guy I passed took it personal and made sure I crossed the line looking at his back. 22 minutes seemed like just 2. I was winded, but I felt strong, felt confident, and felt good.

The fleet-footed philly at my side throughout my training placed 3rd out of all women and took home a medal. I'd like to think that the confidence and energy this day brought, was Belle Isle's own way of giving a little back to those who'd braved its winter winds and blistering cold for hours at a time. Sort of like a marathon runner's home court advantage. I doubt this will be the last time I ever visit Belle Isle, but it will be the last as a marathon rookie.

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.