End of the Beginning

When marathon day came, I was relatively calm, knowing that it was quite likely I would not be able to finish the race. The place where I lived was a long the marathon course at about mile 7 or 8, so I knew I could drop out at that point if my ankle was bothering me too much to continue. Before the race began I took 4 Tylenol, and brought several with me in the key pocket of my shorts. The weather was unseasonably warm--in the upper 60's/low 70's at 8 am when the race started. (By the end it was in the low 80's and sunny) The beginning of the race went better than I could have expected. I concentrated on keeping my stride even, since my first run on my sprained ankle made my knee and hip sore, as my body attempted to ease the burden on the ankle. I knew if I was going to run the marathon, I needed to force myself into a even stride. I succeeded at this for the first 8 or 9 miles, where I averaged about 10 minutes per mile. By the time I reached mile 8, I knew I could finish the race. My ankle was bothering me somewhat, but not nearly as much as it had just a couple days earlier, and I was far enough ahead of the sweep bus that I knew I could slow down later if I had to.

I had to. By mile 12 I started a a pattern of running and walking, and after about mile 14, the heat was pounding down and my ankle was not doing very well. One thing I hadn't thought about when spraining my ankle was the affect that 2 weeks of practically no training would have on my fitness. My cardio had deteriorated a bit since I wasn't able to train properly--that combined with the heat, and my ankle made it difficult to fun at all. After about mile 15, I walked. I had actually practiced walking on the treadmill after my injury, both for rehab, and because I knew if I was going to finish the marathon I'd have to resort to walking at least some of it. After I began walking the miles passed excruciatingly slow. I was far enough ahead of the sweep bus that I knew I could finish the race, but my time would be horrible. Somewhere around mile 17, a guy had a garden hose propped up to shower hot runners. I went under it foolishly, and the water seeped trhough m shorts and completely soaked my shoes and socks. As I walked on my feet began to hurt, forcing me to stop, untie them and rearrange the insoles. It helped some but the discomfort soon returned; I knew I didn't have time to stop again if I was going to finish so I went on. The miles got progressively worse on my feet, and my legs were also feeling quite sore by this point. While walking is easier than running, the muscle use is a bit different, and I wasn't used to walking so many miles at a brisk pace. By this point, I had almost completely forgotten about my ankle injury. I dug in and hobbled my way to the 25 and a half mile mark. With the finish line in sight, I popped some more Tylenol, and brought myself to back to a run for the first time in over 10 miles, and kept on all the way to th finish. I felt kind of silly being a young fit guy at the back of the race surrounded by older runners, and people clearly less athletic and fit than I was, but I knew it was somewhat absurd for me to even try running the race with my injured ankle, much less finish. My final time was around 5 hours and 55 minutes--just under the 6 hour limit for official finishers, but I wasn't worried about the time. I finished!

In the aftermath of the race, I realized my wet feet had developed severe blisters, which combined with my soreness, essentially made me unable to walk for 2 or 3 days. It took almost a month for the blisters to subside, and my ankle continued to bother me. When I began training for the race, like so many other marathoners, I considered it a one time shot: I'd complete one marathon then hang up my hat, and tick the task of my list of things to do during life. After the marathon however, I remained frustrated that I was unable to actually run the whole race. I wanted the race to be enjoyable, not exrcuciating. This made me begin training for the marathon the next year. When the next marathon came, I hadn't trained as much as I had for the first one, but I had more experience, and I wasn't injured. I didn't have any expectations for the race, I just wanted to finish a lot faster than the last time, and run for the whole race instead of walking so much. I started out the race well at about a 9 minute mile clip, but it began raining at around mile 3, and continued through mile 12 or 13. Considering my problems with wet feet during my first marathon, (and several other experiences during training runs) The rain made me slow down and become more cautious about my feet. Luckily, I had learned a thing or two about running shoes and socks, and was wearing a pair of Features socks which did a good job of drying ot my feet even though at one point the rain reached a down poar. I finished the first 13.1 in about 2 hours and 3 minutes, but due fatigue and worry about blisters, I slowed considerably during the second half to finish in 4 hours and 35 minutes overall. While this was a huge improvement over my first run, I knew it was not the best I could have done. I wasn't even that tired after the race, and I finished the final mile in under 9 minutes. I was disappointed that I allowed myself to slacken the pace during the middle miles, but glad that I had managed to run the whole race (except for walking to take drinks/gels/etc). That was the 2008 Twin Cities Marathon, which essentially takes us up to today. Since that race, in observing that I wasn't that tired, and my joints and feet came out unscathed, I realized I could have run faster. So I made that my next goal: to run the 2009 Twin Cities, but this time, do it in under 4 hours.

The Quest Continued 2

Once I had sprained my ankle I began a routine that was all to familiar, and dreaded by every athlete: RICE. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Four of my least favorite words. I knew the ankle sprain meant I wouldn't be able to participate in the race, or at least, that my ability to race would be severly impaired. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to at least try to run. I had already paid my $100 fee, and trained so much. It seemed a shame not to at least start the race and experience some what it would be like to run. As I rehabbed my ankle over the next two weeks, It took the whole first week just to be able to walk at a normal speed without too much pain. My ankle and foot where deep purple and quite swollen. By the middle of the second week, I had a crazy idea: maybe I could run the race and finish. I was able to walk at a pretty quick pace with only minor discomfort; though running was much more jarring on my ankle, many people walked entire marathons. A few days before the race, I went out for my last training run, but it was more of an experiment than anything. The single lap I took around Lake Harriet was painful and slow. Not only that, but my fitness level had dropped off a bit because I hadn't been able to train for the past week and a half. I knew there was no way I was going to finish the marathon if my ankle was the same on race day.

Luckily, I had underestimated the power of adrenaline and painkillers.

The Quest Continued

...So my girlfriend told me she was going for a second lap. As I considered the implications of this absurd statement, she ran on ahead, while I stood incredulous with my hands on my hips. Being the the competitive person that I am I couldn't just stand there and let her show me up, so I ran on. I eventually caught back up, but by that point, the cold was really getting to me. My skin was almost as cold as the air and my core was beginning to cool down. By the time I finished the second lap I was pretty exhausted, and spent the rest of the day feeling sick, with hot spells and chills. I think I had a mild case of hypothermia.

To that point, this was the longest I had ever run in one go, and my foolishness for attempting such a distance having not run in months, with improper clothing, only reinforced my dislike for long distance running. My dad had once run the Boston marathon before it was a race where you had to be a fast runner to qualify--sometimes he'd ask me if I ever wanted to run one, and I had whole heartedly rejected the idea my whole life. It seemed pointless. I knew I could do it if I had to--I could rip out three sets of 20 pull ups--a lot fewer people could do that than run a marathon, I thought. A couple months later, my girlfriend registered for the Twin Cities marathon. I just shook my and kept hitting the weight room.

Over the summer while she was training for the marathon, I ran with her fairly often, but never anything longer than seven miles. I wasn't lifting any more, and my upper body was starting to slim down a bit. When the marathon day came, I took out my bike and followed the runners from about mile four to the finish. I had never watched a long distance race before; I was struck by the courage and determination of the runners, and also the huge amount of supporters that lined both sides of the course. I suddenly felt extremely stupid coasting along on my bike, while the runners struggled onward, because I knew I would rather be among them.

The next year, I was among them, and for a good part of the race, I wished I wasn't. I did everything you're supposed to do training for your first marathon. Worked up with short distances to longer ones. Ran a half marathon, and at least ten runs over 12 miles. I even did one run of 21 miles before race day. Then, two weeks before the race, I sprained my ankle--a fluke accident while playing disc golf. I had broken the ankle before, had problems with it ever since, sometimes spraining it four times in a single year, but it hadn't happened for at least a couple years till then. As the pain throbbed in my ankle I cried out in pain, but not because of the pain caused by my ankle. Heck, when I broke it I didn't even make a sound. I cried out because I knew all the training I had done was for nothing. That once again, I'd be coasting along on the sidelines...

The Beginning of my Quest to Run a Four Hour Marathon

Greetings travelers of the great blogosphere. You have accidentally (and perhaps unfortunately) stumbled upon the first ever blog of a 25 year old human male, named Hugo Rutten, whose goal in blogging is primarily a selfish one: to learn more about blogging, and use it as a motivational tool to work toward my goal of running a marathon in under four hours. I would like to think of this as a place where other average runners can come to receive or give encouragement and work together toward their goals.

The focus of this blog will be mainly on running related issues, my training, and ramblings. I will attempt not to stray far from this topic, and not to let the blog delve too deeply into other aspects of my life. (I know everyone has much better things to do with their time)

My running life started in high school, where I wasn't a runner but a wrestler. My running consisted of single laps around Lake Harriet in Minneapolis, which is about 2.75 miles, and various sprinting activities. Running was never something I enjoyed: it was a necessary part of my cardiovascular training. At best I was indifferent toward running, at worst, it was boring, painful, and slow, sometimes maddeningly so. I was a muscular 175lbs, which lent it self well to the bench press, and not as well to longer distance running. This sentiment continued into college where I lifted heavy weights and bulked up, even though I wasn't in sports; lifting was something I had grown used to in the wrestling off season, so I carried on. I still ran on occasion, but I had never run further than 4 or 5 miles once when I was hyped up on caffeine and had just gotten in a fight with my brother in London. (Which I highly recommend trying, though without the caffeine and fighting.)

By my senior year I was 210lbs with a lot of muscle, and some extra fat too. I was running less often, but I was still in pretty good shape--or so I thought. My girlfriend who was in a fitness class decided to start running, and one day when we were back near my old stomping grounds we went for a run around the lake I used to run around in high school. It was the middle of the winter--probably 30 degrees out (which actually pretty warm for Minnesota)--and after I got around the lake I was feeling chilled from my own sweat. I hadn't dressed for the weather, and hadn't run that far in months. As I went to leave the lake and finish the run, my girlfriend said she was going to do a second lap...

I just checked my watch... I've been writing a bit longer than I planned. I've got to get out for a run before its too dark! I'll post the rest of the story soon.