Marathon Redemption

Two weeks later I look down at the medal they draped around my neck after I crossed the finish line and I still smile.

I'm a marathoner. I've got the bling to prove it.

Two years ago I started a marathon, but did not finish. Believe me, the sting of a DNF after running 19 miles lingers for a long time.

A few injuries and tweaks here and there this time around, but for the most part I kept the wheels on the wagon.

My longest training runs were a couple of 20 milers, the second one was absolutely fantastic. But I still wasn't sure whether I could do 26.2.

When race day for the Kansas City Marathon came on Oct. 18, I was eager. And ready.

My goal was to finish. If the day was going well, under 4 hours would be great. If not, just finish, at least faster than Oprah. Oprah Winfrey is a marathoner, finishing the 1994 Marine Corps Marathon in 4:29:15.

I finished. I whomped Oprah. I broke 4 hours. I still almost can't believe it.

This race was important to me. So very important.

It may be silly, but the pain, mostly emotional, still stings from the Milwaukee marathon a couple years ago. I was injured, sure. But I have been beating myself up for not getting it done. Not finishing what I started.

I started the Kansas City run with a huge monkey on my back. Think gorilla-sized. Maybe even King Kong.

That dude is heavy. It took me 26.2 miles to shake him, but I did it. Left that sucker on the ground.

As for many other areas of my life at the moment, I am not exactly maintaining a steady pace. Work, family and other aspects are filled with way too much drama and uncertainty. I may even be suffering from a bit of burnout. My running has provided much needed solace.

Didn't really mean to declare radio silence on the blog, but that was one item that had to be pushed aside for the moment.

I've strapped on the Mizunos a few times since the marathon and it's been somewhat of a struggle. My knees ached. My legs felt dead.

Went out this morning and felt more life in my legs than I have for quite some time. Maybe my body is starting to bounce back.

You know what that means.

Time to pick another goal and start training for another marathon.

More mind games for marathoners

Something is different this year. 

I blew off a race today. 

The Labor Day 5K in Leawood drew me to the starting line each of the past couple of years. It’s a flat and fast course. Last year I PR’d. 

I have been thinking about the race, and even encouraging others to partake. But this morning, I laced up the Mizunos and headed out. For a semi-long run. 

My work schedule this week is going to play havoc with my running schedule. So I wanted to be sure to get my runs in. The idea of a 5K sprint just wasn’t appealing. 

All of my running focus at the moment is on Oct. 18. The Kansas City Marathon. 

I am obsessed with redeeming myself. Two years ago I attempted a full marathon.  It didn’t work out so well. Looking back, I realize now, I started the summer with an overuse injury. 

Guess what?  Logging lots and lots of miles and running longer than I had ever run before in my life was not a good strategy for healing.  19 miles into the marathon in 2006 I was limping. Big time.  

DNF city. And the demons of self-loathing and self-doubt have been running wild inside my mind ever since. 

This summer, I have been feeling much, much better. I have been logging my miles, focused on the fall. My previous marathon failure, though, has left me toting around a bunch of extra emotional baggage. As strong as I feel at the moment, will I really be able to get it done -- finally -- in October? 

I know I should weave in some speed work. But this morning, I was much more focused on getting in a solid 8 miles with hope of making me stronger for Oct. 18.

A runner's recovery week

What a beautiful morning for a run.

I sure do love cutback weeks. The training schedule seems to have this build-you-up, slap-you-down rhythm to it.

Last week I missed a run – my stomach was churning through the night and I just didn’t hit the streets last Thursday – but still put in a respectable distance. Plus, last Saturday I did 16 miles in the blazing heat.

By Monday I was feeling a bit as if I had been hit by a bus.

Then the training schedule decided I had been slapped down enough.

Monday was a light few miles. Tuesday called for 6. This morning when I went out for 4, I found more pop in my legs than I had all summer.

It was amazing. The 65-degree temperature and the gorgeous sunrise weren’t bad, either.

Like I said before, what a beautiful morning for a run.

Of course I'm a little crazy. I'm a runner

Hi everybody. I’m Oz Runner.

“Hello, Oz,” they reply.

I’m a Garmin-o-holic.

“That’s OK. We know what you are going through. We are here for you. Admitting you have a problem is the first step.”

Um, it’s not really a problem. As long as my Garmin works.

Today, my little buddy behaved like the good Garmin Forerunner I have known and loved for the past year and a half. 6 miles run. 6 miles recorded. 6 miles downloaded to the computer.

I love this guy, in a manly, recognizing it is – mostly – an inanimate object sort of way. It just seems like he really gets me.

Before my Garmin came into my life, I never was very diligent about keeping a running log. Sure, it is kind of fun to relive your training run while moving the computer mouse around the course on something like mapmyrun.com to figure out how far I went.

Or you can always drive along a running route before or after a run to check your mileage. Oh boy, that sure is a blast.

Not anymore do I have to do such things. No sir. I’ve got my Garmin.

On a whim, not really planning what route I need to run, I can get a quick glance at the training schedule, head out the door and create a route on the fly to hit just the distance I need that day.

OK, I recognize I can get a bit obsessive about this thing at times. On my weekly group runs, for example, sometimes according to my personal Garmin, I will come up short by a tenth, or maybe two-tenths of a mile from the 10, 12 or 14 miles or whatever I was supposed to run that day. Maybe my GPS was a bit off from the Garmin of the guy who plotted the course, maybe I cut some corners or maybe I just got off track by turning my Garmin off when coming in for a water stop, then walking a bit and then restarting it.

Sure, I try to be casual at the end of the run and all as I stop, sip a cup of Gatorade and chat with my fellow runners for a bit. And yes, then I have been known to run in the parking lot to get my full tenth or two-tenths of a mile in. Once I even drove home, then ran in front of my house for one-tenth of a mile.

It’s just so magical when my little buddy beeps and displays the completion of another full mile. Yes, it’s silly. I’m probably a little crazy. But I am a runner. Aren’t we all at least a little bit crazy?

My Garmin ate my homework, er, training run

I haven’t trotted out the-dog-ate-my-homework excuse since, oh, about the fifth grade.

While it didn’t work so well with Ms. Chase – she sure was a great teacher, but she didn’t put up with any nonsense – I am forced to try again. You gotta believe me. I did the work, but it just disappeared.

This time the culprit isn’t my once-beloved St. Bernard – you can’t imagine the size of the goobers that dog could produce, but I digress – but my Garmin.

Yes, yesterday I put in my miles. Seven of them. Really.

But then as I went through my morning routine – sitting around waiting for the sweat to stop dripping off my body so I could take a shower, brewing a pot of coffee, checking in on the Tour de France (Go Garmin!) – I plugged in my Forerunner 205 into my PC.

Got the electronic beep that said it was downloading the latest running history. But when I clicked into the chart……it wasn’t there!!!

What the heck?! It was like my seven miles in 1 hour and 6 minutes on a hot, steamy summer morning – July 22 to be exact – never happened. The sweat definitely was dripping off my nose so I know I ran. The hallucinations don’t usually cause me any problems until I am about 16 miles into a training run on a 90-degree morning in August. But the computerized chart wasn’t there.

Guess I am not the only one struggling to get out of no running vacation mode. Do you think the Forerunner is pouting because I only took him on one run while out in Colorado?

I had another dog once who hated to be left behind at home when I went out for a run. Even as Jesse aged and started dealing with a little arthritis that slowed his pace considerably, the dog went crazy if I put on my running shoes and didn’t grab the leash to take him along. Sometimes I would have to take him out for a warm-up mile, drop him off back at home and then finish my long run.

That dog was high maintenance. I sure hope my Garmin buddy gets back to his grab-and-go self by the morning. We’ve got to log 6 miles, according to the schedule. It’s time to get serious about training and, like Ms. Chase so many years ago, I’m not inclined to put up with this nonsense.

“The Garmin ate your training run?” I can hear her say, the scowl forming on her face. “Yeah right.”

High-altitude cross training

So there I was, 10,000 feet up, and staring at my running shoes. My running shoes stared back.

And I didn’t go running.

It was vacation, after all. I didn’t mean to take a vacation from running. It just sort of worked out that way.

Last week I flew to Denver with a mob of family members. Between aunts, uncles, cousins, a grandmother and a very good family friend, we just about had enough people for our own traveling circus.

On the first day, I did strap on my Mizunos and go for a run around Denver. I cruised by Coors Field, the Lower Downtown area and then back up the state capitol.

Felt pretty good considering that I was a mile above sea level. It also was fun to get the runner’s view-vantage point to see how much my hometown has changed over the years.

But then we piled into a couple of vans and headed for the high country. Stayed in a cabin that was at least 9,000 feet high with a few dirt roads and a bunch of rocky trails nearby.

Between all of the horseback riding, river rafting and hiking – I did do a bunch of mondo hikes – I just didn’t make the time for a morning run. Best hike of the week: A steep, winding three-mile trail that takes you from the rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison down to a beautiful secluded reservoir. Then, of course, after visiting the site known as Hermit’s Rest, my son and I had to drag ourselves back up. The 7-year-old Ozling and his love of hiking in the mountains and fierce determination left his Daddy proud.

I drank more beer in the past week than I have in the past six months. Maybe as many as three or four for the week. I didn’t end up paying too big a price. Only came back with a couple more pounds than I left with.

My training schedule was waiting for me upon my return. It’s only a piece of paper, but I think it was glaring at me.

I realize I can’t get this week of training back. It’s important, I realize. Just before I left, I did take the plunge and sign up for one of those lengthy fall races.

Definitely time to get back to work.

Can we just call this past week a bout of high-altitude cross training?

An oasis for runners

I figured something out this morning.

You’ll probably think it’s silly that I haven’t noticed before now.

But here it is: I’m not a camel.

No, really. I just checked. I looked in the mirror – it was kind of hard to turn my head around to the back, but I did it – and found that I didn’t have any humps. Not even one.

So, I must ask myself, why have I been wandering in the desert without any water?

Well, in this case the desert consists of the streets in my neighborhood that I use to piece together routes of a few miles during the weeks. But on these steamy summer mornings, I might as well be running in a desert.

Hydration is important under those conditions. But I never liked to carry water. The sloshing in the bottles drove me nuts. Trying to stash bottles along my route didn’t really work all that well either.

I saw those runner’s fuel belts, but they always looked uncomfortable. I know how bad it feels when my shirt rubs in the wrong places. Can’t imagine what my hips would look life after five miles of chafing against a fuel belt.

But then I saw one of those Amphipod belts. I got a small one a while back to stash my cell phone in on longer runs. My ankle had a nasty run in with a pot hole a few years back and I made the not-wise decision to walk back home, more than a mile. I decided that if I ever have another problem like that again, I want to be able to get on the cell phone and call the Mrs. Oz taxi to come pick me up. But I digress.

The point is, the Amphipod belt worked great. No chafing. It made me start wondering, hmmmm….look at that other Amphipod belt that comes with a form-fitting water bottle tilted to the side. Bet that wouldn’t slosh too crazily.

I picked it up, admiring it, each time I went into the local running store over the past month. Price seemed a bit steep, but I finally brought one home.

It was amazing this morning as I took it along and was able to take a few gulps of water at two miles, then again at four. I didn’t feel nearly as run down at the end of the run.

So, to review, here are the big lessons: 1. I am not a camel. 2. Runner’s need water.

Give me time. I just might start to figure out some of this running stuff. Eventually.

Runners and peer pressure

Don’t know if I set a very good example for the Ozlings this morning.

They both still are in elementary school, but we already have been warning them about the evil pull of peer pressure and, more importantly, how to resist.

Some of your so-called friends, we say, eventually may offer you drugs (“No, not like the ibuprofen daddy pops like M&M’s after a long run. Some drugs aren’t really medicine and don’t come from the doctor,” I say), some may offer you alcohol (“Yes, little Ozling, no need to be alarmed that daddy is drinking a couple of glasses of wine with dinner tonight. The kind of alcohol your “friends” may offer is different,” I say, drifting off for a moment as I recall various dalliances in the past – it really was a long time ago -- with wine coolers, pitchers of beer and the occasional pitcher of Kamikazes…..Mmmm, Kamikazes…), and some may offer you various forms of inappropriate hanky panky (“Umm, we aren’t going to get into the details of this just yet. Probably not a problem because I don’t think you are going to be allowed to date boys until you are 35, maybe 38,” I tell my little blonde daughter of an Ozling.)

But if the Ozlings’ peers offer them miles, my advice definitely is going to have to be of the do as I say, not as I do variety. Anybody offers me the chance to run a few extra miles, I obviously have no defenses.

I can’t explain it. This morning, I clearly gave in to peer pressure.

The all-important schedule for the race that has yet to be officially entered called for 12 or 14 miles this morning. I still am trying to be cautious and pretty much had decided I would put in a respectable 12 as I drove to the group run this morning.

Then as we all said our typical “Good Mornings” and exchanged our “How far are you goings?” a trio of the folks I typically run with all said 14. “I was thinking 12,” I said, “but what the heck? I’ll join you for 14.”

That’s how it starts, I guess.

My mother always wondered if all my friends jumped off a cliff into a lake, would I join them? Guess I proved this morning what kind of stuff I am made of. No making up my own mind and remaining true to my convictions for me. No siree. If my buddies ever went flying off a tall cliff, I clearly would find myself floating in air, screaming “Cowabunga!!!” before it dawned on me, “What did I just do?”

Guess I’ll need to be careful in the future if I ever see my pals going for a hike along a trail flanked by high cliffs and steep drop offs. And I’ll definitely need to make sure I stay away from the guys in the Saturday morning group who are training for an ultra marathon.

“How far are you going?” I might ask. “Oh, 24, 25,” they’ll reply. “Want to join us?”

Yikes.

Mid-Year Running Check-up

Time to go to work.

Now that we are a full six months into the year, thought I would check in to see how I am doing on the goal of 1,000 miles for the year.

Turns out I’m behind schedule. But not by too much.

Through Monday I’ve logged 499.6 miles so far in 2008.

I’ve got plans to get in the other 500.4 – and then some – as I am ramping up the weekly mileage. Just started a marathon training program.

Should keep me out of trouble this summer.

I don’t have a completed entry blank for a fall race where I can put all this training to use just yet.

In the meantime I’ll just strap on the hard hat, pack a lunch pail – and lace up the Mizunos – and go to work.

Overconfidence is bad, bad, bad...

We are big fans of the checklist here in the house of Oz. I used to scoff at such things, but I’ve definitely come around.

I’ve got the grocery checklist to guide the weekly purchase of peanut butter, Eggoes and other assorted staples.

We’ve got a checklist to make sure we bring all of the proper camping equipment so we have a tent, wine, cooking stuff and food. We definitely don’t want to be left foraging for nuts and berries when attempting to survive in the wilderness.

I don’t have a race-day checklist, but maybe that needs to change. If I had one before leaving the house for Saturday’s Hospital Hill Half Marathon it would have looked like the list above – and maybe it would have set off enough alarm bells that I actually would have remembered to bring a functioning brain. And, more importantly, leave the delusions at home.

Well, I didn’t. And as it turned out, Saturday was a bit of an adventure.

The running has been going so well this spring. Very well, if I do say so myself. The training has felt great. Each new race, it seemed, brought a new PR. What the heck, I thought. Let’s go for it at the Half Marathon.

The good men and women at Garmin were kind enough to help sponsor this race, which included fashioning teams of Garmin-equipped (an aside: the 405s are beyond cool….and way expensive) pace leaders.

I lined up at the start with the 1:50 pace group. At this point, if I had been in a scary horror movie, this is the part where people in the audience would start to scream: “He’s not really dead! Get out of the house while you still can! No, no, no, nooooo! Don’t open that door!”

Instead, it was a scary horror of a race reality show. Still, I could have used some audience members screaming at me. “It’s 80 degrees and what must be 200 percent humidity! What are you thinking?! This is the Hospital HILL run, remember? It has lots of HILLS! Get away from the 1:50 pace group while you still can!!!!!”

No such warning was shouted. So the horn went off. And we were on our way. At a freaking clip of about 8 minutes (the fastest) to 8:46 (the slowest) over the first 6 miles.

I chatted it up with the fellow members of the pace group. I felt superior and mighty as I heard fellow runners huffing and puffing severely. (That was some bad Karma that was going to come back and get me very soon). As we went up the first real hill. I wasn’t really out of breath. No pains. No problems. Or so I thought.

With the flick of a switch, my legs were gone. Turned to absolute jelly.

Uh oh.

“Oh yeah,” I thought. “This heat and sticky, sticky humidity is kind of ridiculous. In fact, this is really the first hot weather run of the year so my body isn’t exactly acclimatized to such conditions. I probably should have left some energy in reserve, going out slower then kicking it toward the end of the race. Whoops.”

It wasn’t just me. I noticed one of the two 1:50 pace group leaders at about the 8-mile mark. Someone saw the cute little Garmin-logoed “1:50” sign he was carrying and asked if he was still on pace.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m not having a very good day.”

Uh oh.

Mrs. Oz managed to catch a nasty cold. She didn’t look to be in any condition to leave the house when I walked out the door. So I was mighty surprised to see her whooping and hollering with the Ozlings just before the 9-mile mark.

I was feeling kind of low and spooked about whether I would have the energy to finish. A high-five from the littlest Ozling and a splash of ice-cold water from the bottle Mrs. Oz provided were amazing rejuvenators.

I gutted it out. My splits slowed quite a bit. It’s inevitable when you mix in some walking with the running.

The other runners on the course were awesome. With about a mile and a half to go, a runner came up behind me and shouted encouragement. “Let’s get it moving. We’re almost done.”

I jolted back into a trot. I pushed it for a while – the hill blessedly was pointing downward at the end of the race – but then began to slow just as the finish chute approached.

Another runner called out, “C’mon! Almost there. Don’t stop now!” I began to surge, noticing that my fellow runner then began to slow. “C’mon! We can both finish strong. Let’s go!,” I called out to him.

At this, we both kicked it. I had long ago given up any hope of a PR. Pretty much had given up on breaking 2 hours. Finish the race and avoid overheating so much I would get taken to the medical tent. That's not a terrible goal, right?

Then I looked up at the finish clock and saw that it said about 1:59:15.

I muttered an obscenity – can I blame it on my weakened condition and the nasty heat?—and then bolted for the finish line. I broke 2 hours with 32 seconds to spare.

So from now on I will rely on a race-day checklist. Or at least some common sense. Make sure my brain is functioning. And leave the delusions at home. Nasty hot days are not the times to pursue a PR.

Burns oil, but still running

Cosmic coincidence? Maybe.

I choose to consider it part of the Universe’s ongoing plot to mess with my head.

The same week I mark another year on the planet, my beloved car – Ok, so it’s a 1998 Saturn and not necessarily beloved – decides to flip its odometer to 100,000 miles.

As I tend to do in these situations, I internalized the car’s mileage and considered it some sort of reflection on the hard driving I have put my body through over the past four decades.

That brings us to today’s half marathon.

I was feeling a bit like the oil-burning clunker that I drive to work. And I wanted to prove that I have some tread left on the tires and some giddy-up remaining in the engine.

Didn’t set any speed records – or even a PR – at the Hospital Hill Half Marathon. But in the 80-plus-degree heat and high humidity, I didn’t break down and need a tow to the finish line, either.
Still working on a race report. I did finally get to meet Topher and his family. He not only writes an award-winning blog, but he’s a heck of a nice guy and a good runner.

Taper madness

Why is an idle runner's brain – OK, OK, this idle runner's brain – so
eager to hop on the crazy train at the first opportunity?

For weeks and weeks now I would look at the training schedule, see
that I was supposed to go 8 or 10 miles and think, "Oh, today's a
shorter day."

Then last night I was glancing at the course map for Saturday's half
marathon. "So there's the 1-mile marker, the 2, then the 3…..Yikes.
It's a long way until I even get to the half-way mark," I thought.

Guess my goofy psyche didn't want to wait until race day to let the
mind games begin.

I blame it on the tapering.

Running bunches and bunches of miles – or at least as close as this middle-of-the-packer gets with his training schedule – seems to be good for strengthening the heart, lungs and legs. It might not make my mind stronger, but it at least keeps the grey blob inside my head busy so it can’t make trouble.

I’m still debating whether to drive the course on Thursday or Friday before Saturday’s race. I did that last fall before running the Kansas City Half Marathon. Mostly it was helpful, but it did freak me out a little. Those hills were steep in the first few miles.

With a name like Hospital Hill Half Marathon, Saturday’s course, I realize, isn’t going to be as flat as a Kansas prairie filled with pretty sunflowers.

I am leaning toward a 13.1 mile drive so I can visualize my run and plan a little race-day strategy. Maybe something a little more sophisticated than go out too fast, burn lots of energy on the hills, bonk and then hang on until the finish.

So what do you think? Are the possible benefits of a little pre-race planning worth the risk of triggering a raging storm of I-think-I-can’t mind games?

Mystery runner race report

She appeared out of nowhere and started asking me questions.

“How fast are you going to run it?”

I had been noodling over some possible times to shoot for, but I hadn’t dared write them down or even say them out loud. Then it would become an actual goal, a marker to measure my success – or failure.

“I want to come in under 40 minutes,” I replied, kind of taken aback about the forward question from someone I had never seen before but answering it anyway.

“A lot under 40?” she asked, but peppering me with “Are you going to go out too fast in the first mile?” before waiting for a response to the first query.

“Yeah, probably,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t mean to go out so fast, but a lot of times it happens that way.”

She had short gray hair. Seemed to be in her 50s. She talked some more, telling me she had run the Amy Thompson run on Memorial Day in Kansas City for years and years. We talked about how we probably shouldn’t start so far up in the pack, but it was a reasonable strategy or you just spend so much of the first mile or two using up energy, and taking time while weaving through folks who probably should have found a spot more suitable to their pace a little farther back.

I know I would just block the true rabbits in the race so I try to stay out of their way at the front.

Then, just before the gun went off, she walked away. Absorbed by the crowd so quickly that I almost wondered whether the woman actually had been by my side talking. Or if I had just imagined the entire conversation.

But the race was on. And, yes, I did say, “Holy Crap!” out loud when my Garmin beeped off the first-mile split. It was under 8. Shoot. It was under 7:30.

“Easy there, mister,” I admonished myself.

But I was doing OK. I kept checking my legs. They were pumping fairly well. A little tired from recent runs, but a decent level of energy.

I dialed it back a little. No need to flame out with a big surge too early.

Started feeling a little weary around mile 3. Not long after I saw some of the folks from my Saturday running group passing out water at an aid station. They shouted encouragement. They whooped. They hollered. One guy had on a grass hula skirt and a coconut bra.

I felt a surge of energy as I laughed my way down the road.

When I needed another boost I replayed my pre-run tunes inside my head. Liz Phair’s “Extraordinary” and “Stars and Planets” were blasting through my iPod in the car on the way to the race.

“the ones that shine the brightest aren’t stars at all, they’re the planets just like us….
And from big to small, we all shine, shine, shine…”

Checked out the Garmin. 4.3 miles. Come on. Push it. Push it. Just a little more.

As I looked up at the finishing clock, I pumped my fist. Came in under 40. I Blew that PR away. By nearly two minutes.

Before leaving the house, I had looked up my time in this race last year. And my all-time fastest 8K from Al’s Run in Milwaukee a few years back. I have been feeling strong and I was thinking about pursuit of a PR.

But I hadn’t really decided. In fact I was wavering. Then I committed by saying it out loud to an ethereal runner who was there one minute and then gone.

Who was that woman?

Laughing at the lightning

Not sure whether it was faith or fear of self loathing.

Thunder rocked the house – and me awake – in the wee hours this morning. Crap, I thought, that’s going to be a fun run this morning.

The rain pounded on the roof. A giant flash of lightning illuminated our room and more thunder crackled outside.

Lightning already kept me off the streets one day this week. Not today, I thought.

I dragged myself out of bed.

Maybe it was faith that the skies would clear by the time I drove out to meet the Saturday morning group for our long run.

Or maybe it was fear that I would stay in bed, listen to the rain and then by the time I woke up I would see nothing but sunshine and blue sky, hating myself and my laziness for the rest of the long weekend.

Either way, I got out there. The group was quite a bit smaller. Maybe a bunch were scared away by the weather. Or maybe a bunch were just out of town.

The course had some monster hills again. My legs started feeling heavy. Thinking of my 8K on Monday, I decided to take it easy and save a little for the race in a couple days.

I logged 10 and a half and called it a day.

Now I can fire up the grill tonight, sip a beer or maybe a glass of wine – or both – with a clear conscience. Once again, I realize, it’s great to be a runner.

Taunted by thunder, tempted by dumb decisions

Stay flexible and be prudent.

I’m trying, I guess. Even though that’s not usually how I roll.

Wednesday night as I dozed off I was doing a few calculations and realized I would be on track to put in 30+ miles this week. That was a satisfying thought.

But don’t count your miles before you run them. As I woke the next morning, lightning bolts flashed and thunder laughed at me.

Rain drops won’t make me melt, I figured. But a lightning strike would leave me a little crispy. I certainly don’t have the speed to evade lightning bolts.

I dragged myself out of bed, but I didn’t run. So much for those 7 miles. So this is what it feels like to make a prudent decision, I thought.

Today I rose to a beautiful sunshiny morning. Should I get in the 7 I missed yesterday?

Well, tomorrow I am supposed to do 12. Then I have an 8K race on Monday. And the Half is coming up the following week.

A full 7? Not a good idea.

But I did get out. Ran 4. See? I’m being flexible and making good decisions.

Feels kind of strange. Maybe if I can keep it up eventually I’ll get used to how it feels.

Fill 'er up

I’ve been sputtering on fumes.

A couple 19-hour days at the office last week. A business trip to the East Coast. A continuing intensive soul-sucking project at work. Back-to-back Cub Scout camping weekends. Our usual hectic pace of family life.

My tank has been about empty lately.

Funny, though, I have been filling it back up not with rest, but by going on long runs. Treated myself to a 12 miler a couple Sundays ago and did 14 over a course with mondo hills last Saturday. Took the day off from work on Monday and went out for 7 miles.

While running, usually I try to work through some problem in my life. Or maybe mentally compose a draft on a writing project.

But I have been so bedraggled lately that running has been a Zen-like experience. My mind has cleared and I have focused mostly on the rhythm of my breathing or the pattern of my footfalls. Truly just absorbing the moment.

My running has become a rock for me to grip while turbulence swirls in much of the rest of my life.

I am getting more than a little excited about the upcoming Hospital Hill Half Marathon. Topher’s recent monumental decision also sent the gears in my head whirring madly.

In the meantime, guess I’ll just keep running and hope everything else moves back into balance sooner rather than later.

Back to work

“Get up. It’s time to run.”

What are you talking about? I am still basking in the glow of accomplishing a PR in the race on Sunday.

“That was two days ago. What are you going to do for me today?”

Who are you anyway?

“I am the training schedule and I must be obeyed.”

OK. So what did you have in mind this morning? A 3-mile leg stretcher? Maybe 4.

“8”

You have to be joking. 8 miles?

“I am the training schedule. And I don’t joke.”

Dude, you need to lighten up.

“Mr. Dude, you need to get out of bed and run. 8 miles. Now get going.”

OK, OK, I’m going already.

“You will thank me on that hot day in June when you are going up and down hills for 13.1 miles.”

Don’t push it, buddy.

Racing against thousands of runners -- and my own self doubt

I’m a huge fan of Margaritas, really I am.

The blender had barely stopped whirring last night when Mrs. Oz filled a glass with the delicious, frosty concoction and then looked askance when I said, “No thank you” to a glass of my own.

Not my typical response.

It’s not that I am some sort of world-class athlete with iron will for discipline or anything. But I did have a race this morning and yes, I am trying to set myself up to succeed.

So last night I did abstain. I even went to bed early. We had rented a couple of DVDs. By the time I got done watching one with the youngest Ozling, it was quarter to 9. So instead of staying up late to watch the second movie with Mrs. Oz, I read for a little bit and then turned out the light.

Yesterday I did run long, but I took it easy for a little over 9 miles. The Half Marathon in June is my true focus for this part of the running season so I needed some mileage, but I also wanted to rev up the engine today at the Trolley Run 4-miler. So I tried to leave some gas in the tank.

And rev I did this morning. Vroom, vroom.

The leader of my weekly running group encouraged everyone doing today’s race to take it easy on the first part of the course. It can be a bit congested with thousands of runners and walkers. And the early going is flat to slightly uphill.

I thought I was taking it easy. Sort of. When my little Garmin buddy beeped a first-mile split, though, it informed me I had gone a little over 7.

Then we hit the downhill portion of the course. Downhill is fun. The rest of my splits…..went negative.

I often have negative splits in my races. But it doesn't usually involve faster miles toward the end. They reflect negative thoughts of self doubt that fill my head late in a race. When I hit the mind games part of the race, they did in fact arrive. “You are going too fast. You know you are going to get tired. What if you bonk? “

“Shut up. I have been training. I’m doing OK,” I replied to the negative thoughts.

“Don’t you think if you keep going this fast you are going to bonk?” they counter.

I kept them under control. Mostly. I kept running steady and hard, but then a dude in an orange shirt came up beside me. He pushed ahead. I followed and pushed ahead of him.

We traded position about four times in the last ¾ of a mile. Then he made a final surge with what turned out to be a little more than ¼ of a mile to go.

I kept running hard, but gave in to the mind games and conceded that my legs did feel a little heavy. I gave in a bit to the fear of bonking – even as it was irrational with so little distance yet to go. I let Orange man go without a final fight and he crossed the line at least a couple hundred yards ahead of me.

Still, though, I kept the negative thoughts at bay more effectively than I ever have before. When I crossed the line, it was a PR -- with the fastest average time per mile of any race I have ever run.

I will learn from today and be stronger next time. And I will celebrate today's accomplishment.

Tonight, should Mrs. Oz pour a glass of the Syrah resting in our wine rack at the moment for herself and one for me, I certainly won’t say, “No thank you.”

Ragged

Get out of here, he said.

Guess I was looking a little ragged around the office. The past few weeks have been more of an adventure than usual at work. A bunch of extra late and early hours, a grueling trip and an intensive new project.

Don’t know whether my boss was just recognizing my extra effort or fearing I was about to goof something up or even about to drop. Either way, I accepted his offer and took the day off Friday.

So how did I spend my time? I went for a long run, of course.

A glorious, no rushing through it, enjoy a run in the sunshine kind of long, long run. It was fantastic.

Parked the car near a local trail that runs parallel with a creek. Tightened my laces, pressed the start button on my little Garmin buddy and then headed off. Turned around at about 3.5 miles and made my way back to the car.

A few gulps of Gatorade later I headed for 3.5 miles in the other direction. I was aiming for a moderately paced training run. Really I was.

But as I pondered things going on at work and in the rest of my life lately, the adrenaline coursed through my veins, the tension rose and my pace inexplicably quickened. As I neared 13 miles after the second turnaround, I was only a minute or so off my half marathon PR time.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

I did manage to slow it down for a final mile or so of cool down at least.

It felt good to get a good run in. We had friends visiting from out of town and a weekend packed with activities so I wasn’t able to get out on Saturday. It also helped dump some of the tension I have been carrying around inside lately.

I paid the price for an overly ambitious pace, though. My legs were sore for most of the weekend. Only this morning on a brief 3-mile leg stretcher did they start better after I had the chance to work some of the kinks out.

Got a race coming up this Sunday. A four miler that ends on the Country Club Plaza. Then of course we’ve got Nancy’s 10 on the 10th coming up. I’ve also been getting excited about the Hospital Hill Half Marathon in June. Still trying to figure out what I might want to do in the fall.

A little racing and a lot of running should bring my fall plans into greater focus.

Travel marathon

It took 12 miles, but I got out all the crankiness. Almost.

Was a bit of a grouchy bear when I woke up this morning. Mostly it was the after effects of this week’s trip, I think. Running was the tonic that I prescribed. It seemed to work.

I now am feeling refreshed and much more content, thank you very much.

Only ran one other time this week, but walked what seemed like a million miles around Vegas and the sprawling convention center. My calves were tighter than if I had just raced in a half marathon.

Had a joyous – and at least in my traveling past, unique – experience in the Phoenix airport thanks to U.S. Airways on my flight home Wednesday. It was a tight connection, but we actually landed on time. I could have made it.

Then we sat. And sat.

“Well, sorry about the wait, but we are looking for someone to push the jetway over to the plane so we can open the door,” the pilot said.

A few more minutes go by.

“We found someone to move the jetway, but it looks like he doesn’t know how to operate it,” the pilot informed us. “They are going to find someone else.”

More minutes tick off the clock.

“Um, I guess we have a power failure in that jetway. Now we need to get pushed back from this gate and we will drive over to another gate with a working jetway.”

About 10 minutes more go by. We pull up to a new gate. They do in fact open the door. I get off.

My Kansas City-bound flight is gone. They book me on a new flight – scheduled to leave in four hours.

That flight ends up being delayed for yet another hour and 15 minutes. Spent more than five hours just hanging in Phoenix. At the airport. My, what fun.

By the time I landed and headed home, it was about 1:30 a.m. I found the boy Ozling sleeping in my place in the bed. He looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb him. I went and slept on the couch.

Welcome home.

How would she run in those boots?

So last week, duty called, forcing me into the office in the wee hours on both Thursday and Friday.

Two planned runs? Scratched.

This week, duty called again, sending me on the road for a business trip. Monday was spent on airplanes, so no running then.

This job thing is really starting to get in the way of my running. If only I could find a sponsor for a middle-of-the-pack, never going to win a race runner who likes to run the occasional half mary, a few 10ks and maybe one day a marathon. I could quit my job and train full time. Any takers?

No? Oh, well, I’ll keep training anyway.

Tuesday, I laced up the Mizunos and headed out the door of my Las Vegas hotel.

The time change sure was messing with my body. My internal clock, and my watch (which I didn’t reset to local time), both were telling me it was 7 in the morning, as it was back in the Land of Oz

But in Las Vegas, it was only 5.

I cruised through the casino/lobby in my running duds to get outside. It’s awesome to get the runner’s-eye view of a new locale. No better way to check out the scenery as far as I am concerned.

Probably an all-time favorite was on a trip to San Francisco. Ran along the waterfront and saw the early-morning sun glint off the Golden Gate Bridge. Truly stunning.

Anybody else have favorite spots where they have run while traveling?

A run during a visit to Boston last year was nice, though my hotel was in a crappy part of town. I did run long enough to get to some more interesting scenery than the industrial, highway-choked section where I happened to be staying.

This week I started cruising along the Vegas strip. I got my six miles in, but it was kind of disappointing.

It was cool to run by the Eiffel Tower, a few canals of Venice and gawk at all of the posh hotels. My what bright lights. Ran by a few early-morning revelers who had yet to call it a night.

Ran by one young lady, a local who seemed to be taking a break from her morning run. At least I think she was a runner. She was wearing skimpy shorts, like a runner's. She was wearing a skimpy top, much like a runners. But she also was wearing thigh-high leather boots with semi high heels.

How in the heck did she run in those?

You'd think a Tiger would be cheering for the Wildcats

If you tell my college roommates, I’ll deny it.

Today, I – involuntarily, and possibly accidentally, I’ll say – let out a scream of “C’mon! Pound those guys!” while watching a certain basketball game that was determining the final participant in the Final Four.

My encouragement was for the team in white.

Back in the day, my college days, while living in our apartment – in Columbia, Missouri – we eagerly anticipated the chance to walk across campus and see the epic battles between our mighty Tigers and those prairie chickens, er, Jayhawks from the other side of the state line in Kansas.

Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I didn’t have a team to root for in this year’s tournament. I’ve always liked Roy Williams (again, if you tell my boys from the college days, I’ll deny that too), and I like the ACC hoops tradition, so I had been rooting for Carolina.

But this afternoon, especially during the final 16 seconds, I was cheering, actually shouting, for those guys from Lawrence. They look good. Self seems like a good guy. I think they might do it.

If they do, and if anybody should claim I was excited, or even happy, about the prospect, I’ll deny it.

Who wears short shorts?

I do, that’s who.

As I was suiting up for my Saturday morning long run, I picked up my tights in one hand and my shorts in the other. Dropped those tights right on the carpet of the closet.

When I bop out the door for a run, it’s not about the fashion. One glance would confirm that. A windbreaker came off the sale rack. I’m down to two mismatched cloth gloves -- one blue, one green and one with a huge hole in the pinky finger (somehow I lost one member of the matching pair and I just didn’t want to buy a new set so late in the season). Thought about wearing only the green glove, but that seemed too much like a Michael Jackson kind of deal and who needs that weirdness?

So it wasn’t about fashion, but I definitely was making a statement Saturday.

It’s time for Spring to arrive. The calendar says so. I say so. So rather than giving into the early morning chilliness, I just decided to pretend it was a balmy day of the newly arrived season. Kind of a mind over matter thing.

Granted, I was one of the few, the proud (the crazy?) to show up in the group clad in shorts, but I took pride in it.

The temps were in the 40s. Low 40s, mind you, but that was good enough. I didn’t completely freeze off my patoot. Plus, as my bare legs covered the 10 miles, it made me think of the sunny days ahead.

Keeping up

Good morning, Mr. Lactic Acid.

You hurt so good.

Haven’t felt you zapping my muscles for a while. I’ve been running quite a bit lately. But yesterday, I had a real workout.

Met up with my Saturday morning running group as usual. Winter had to get at least one last blast in. As I was driving to the course, snowflakes nearly the size of my palm were flying at my windshield.

It seemed kind of chilly at the start, but after we started running the skies cleared, the temperature rose a bit and it was an awesome morning. A truly beautiful day for a run.

The group was much smaller than usual. Might have been the weather. It certainly looked worse than it turned out to be. We also have a highly popular St. Patrick’s Day run around these parts. Hmm, let’s see: go for a long run out in the boonies in what looks like a blizzard or gather in Westport with thousands of enthusiastic runners, dash for a 5K and then drink beer….hmmm, what to do, what to do?

I took off with my normal pace group, but a fellow participant I had run with before seemed to be edging out in front. I just hung with her and chatted. Within a mile or so, we had left the group behind. We warmed up with a 9:40 and a 9:39, but then proceeded to fire off a few miles in less than 8:30 each.

The course had some good-sized rolling hills, but we just attacked them. We did our last of the 10 miles in 8:33.

I had to dash in the car, get home, shower and then the Oz family hit the road for a daytrip into mid-Missouri. The lack of post-run stretching and then sitting in a car for several hours probably has a lot to do with the slight muscle soreness I am feeling today. No biggie, though. It actually feels good.

Immediately after the run I told my partner that as she edged away from the pace group I was just sticking with her. She looked incredulous and said she thought I was amping up our pace. We both laughed. Not sure who exactly was responsible, but it was a great run.

Visions of spring

I remember it now as if it were a dream.

The bright sun warmed me as I stepped out of the car. I unzipped my fleece and tossed it aside.

The light gloves and hat remained on, but I would shed those soon after beginning the run. Unzipping my wind jacket to let the breeze in also brought welcome relief.

What a glorious run it was. No thigh-numbing cold. The tips of my hair sticking out from under my hat did not freeze over with ice crystals. My cheeks did not sting.

I soaked it all in, every minute. Every mile. This morning, as my cheeks once again were stinging, my thighs were feeling the grip of the cold and I had to keep flexing my fingers to get the warm blood flowing, I thought about the promise of spring’s imminent arrival and my recent run on a bright, pleasant morning.

Now, it seems like it was a dream. But, really, it was only Saturday.

Time to go

We sincerely were glad to see you when you first arrived.

Come on in and let me take your coat. Can I get you a drink? How’s the family? Any new pictures?

You cracked us up with your stories about the latest adventures of the little ones. We reminisced and enjoyed the visit by a friend we had not seen in quite some time.

Sit, dinner’s ready. We ate, we laughed, we opened a bottle of wine. And then another. Good times. Good times.

Then the hour started to get late. We didn’t want to be rude hosts. But as our eyes grew heavy and we stole glances at the clock, you didn’t notice. You weren’t even slowing down. Midnight came and went. 1 a.m. soon was in the rearview mirror.

We’ve got to work tomorrow. Then you cranked up the music. And started dancing. On the furniture. Dude, you are going to wake the children. Craaackkk! There goes a table leg.

Uncool. Very uncool.

This essentially is how I am feeling about winter.

Fall completely rocks. I even like to see winter arrive. The crispness to the air is refreshing. A blanket of snow is absolutely beautiful. I was thrilled when the season started.

But now? Enough already.

I know, I know. It can't last too much longer, and others have had it far worse. Our old home in Milwaukee probably won’t dig out from all the snow until June. Chicago has not exactly enjoyed a picnic. But we’ve been smacked around by our share of ice storms this year. The snow keeps coming – and these jokers in this town don’t seem to know how to plow or shovel sidewalks. They keep shutting down the schools, exacerbating the daily chaos of our lives. My scheduled runs have had to be scrapped a few times.

When I do go out, it often devolves into a struggle to stay upright rather than a quality workout. Thursday morning didn’t seem so bad. At first. Then the sleet arrived.

My glasses have fogged over before. Running in the rain, I have had them covered in drops. Thursday was a first. The glasses soon were covered in a solid glaze of ice.

Rubbing them with a gloved finger did nothing. I needed an ice scraper like the one I use on my car, only smaller. Anybody know where I can get a miniature scraper?

What's the matter with Garmin?

OK fellow runners, the Philosophy Café now is open for business.

If a runner runs 6 miles, but doesn’t record it on his Garmin, did he really run?

This isn’t just one of those hypothetical if a tree falls in the forest ponderings. I am really wondering about the answer. Sort of.

This morning as I stumbled down the stairs to gather my gear and head out, I strapped on Garmito. As I turned on the power, it beeped at me. “Low Battery,” it whined.

For a moment I thought it had taken some kind of reading of my body and issued an alert. I was feeling kind of tired, but was I really that run down? Wait a minute. The warning was about the electronic device, not me.

Then as I thought I might be able to sneak in a run before the Garmin completely lost power, it went dark.

For a moment, I actually thought about scrapping my planned run. Pathetic, I realize. But I like my running companion. I like to hear the reassuring beep as I tick off the miles. I love plugging it in on my return to log my latest progress.

Nevertheless, I bundled up, sucked it up and headed out the door. Without Garmito.

I guess I ran 6 this morning. Don’t really have any satellite-in-the-sky-tracking-my-progress proof, though.

I got the low battery warning on my Saturday run, but it had enough power to survive the distance. I had the sucker plugged in the night before both times.

Something definitely is going around lately. People all over the place are getting knocked flat on their back with the flu and other assorted versions of the nasties.

Do you think my Garmin has caught a cold?

Extra fluffy

All is right with the world.

The flakes are falling. Big time.

I got my 8 miles in. Yesterday.

The perfect medley of tunes is providing a mellow Sunday morning soundtrack.

The cakes were extra fluffy and warm this morning. Mmmm.

Good tunes, good grub, but where's the good attitude?

Help me, fellow runners.

I went out this morning for a jaunt and once again encountered face-stinging, thigh-numbing cold. Enough already.

Many are suffering through far more severe winters this season. Running Jayhawk, Jason and Leah and Mouse all are getting dumped on by near-continuous ice, snow and arctic blasts in Chicago. Our previous home in Milwaukee has been getting dumped on big time this winter. One of the top 5 snowiest seasons, I think they are saying.

Still, even down here in the land of Oz, the ice storms, snow and cold are notching chinks in my runner’s resolve. I’m trying to catch a glimpse of sunny rays poking through the clouds, literally and metaphorically. Spring has to be coming soon. I’ll bet we shouldn’t have to deal with these truly unfriendly temperatures for all that much longer, but I need some help bucking up.

I would love to hear some of your coping with the bleakness of winter strategies, fellow runners. The Oz household has no gym membership nor treadmill, so those aren’t options. I need to get my tail on the road in the elements.

So I need to bundle up with fleece and other cold-weather paraphernalia. But most importantly, I need to wrap up in a good attitude. That’s the part that’s been hurting lately.

While not perfect, my approach involves good tunes and good food.

My buddy Henry, a fellow runner from Omaha, was appalled at my tendency to listen to what he considered to be boring podcasts while driving to and from work. He responded by sending me a tremendous gift: a couple of mix CDs.

Granted, I had at least a few of the artists already on my playlists. I had some KT Tunstall, Liz Phair, John Mayer and Colbie Caillat. But I felt even more tragically unhip than I usually do when I realized the depth of my tunes void when Henry introduced me to The Fray, Red Hot Chili Peppers, New Radicals, Feist and Natasha Bedingfield, among others.

I have been Jamming moreso than listening to Podcasts on my morning and evening drives lately. It’s definitely a welcome mood booster. I just have an old iPod classic, and not a compact iPod shuffle, so I don’t take the tunes on my runs, but I can see how that would be cool.

My other strategy involves food. Sure, I just about ate my weight in Girl Scout cookies in January, a couple of Dove Bars got scarfed in a fit of indulgence – and maybe a little self pity – and I did go for a juicy burger with piles of blue cheese and a mound of sweet potato fries the other day.

That’s not necessarily a helpful sort of food, though.

Comfort food – the kind that satisfies your soul and fuels a runner’s body – Now that is what I am talking about. On Sunday, I decided, I must roast a chicken.

Sliced some red potatoes, some carrots, quartered an onion and quartered some fennel (it looks weird, but try it; it’s awesome when roasted.)

Then cut a lemon in half, slice a whole head of garlic in half and then stuff it up the patoot of a chicken (after first removing the assorted stuff inside, of course)

Dump the veggies in roasting pan, put the chicken on top. I dribbled some melted butter over it, sprinkled with some salt and pepper. I got a little fancy schmancy with some sprinkled herbs de Provence, but you could also just toss on a dash of thyme.

Place that sucker in a 425 degree oven for an hour and a half to almost two hours. Take it out, let it sit for about 15 minutes. Then slice away and feed your friends, family, your soul and your runner’s body.

So I’m going to try leaning more on good tunes, good food (and the occasional Dove Bar) and thoughts of sunny days sure to come soon. Hope some of this works for you, too, and I would welcome your advice on getting through to Spring.

Shh! Don't tell anyone else we're racing

When not blessed with blazing speed, stealth helps.

I ran the 9 on the 9th this morning. What a fantastic idea to shake off the winter doldrums. It’s nothing short of brilliant, Nancy. Thanks for your stellar performance as race director. I needed a race to get my running mojo flowing again.

It was a wee bit chilly as the Saturday morning running group gathered south of town in Grandview, Missouri. Usually the starting area before a race is filled with a little tension as the assembled racers survey the competition and fight off any last-minute mind games before the gun goes off. Everybody seemed remarkably calm today, though. They were just chatting away before the various pace groups were dispatched.

It was like they didn’t even know they were participating in a race.

Er, I guess they didn’t.

I sure wasn’t going to let them in on the secret. Some of these runners are smokin’ fast.

While running along the trail near Longview Lake I would put a runner in my sights, grind it out and pick them off at will as I cruised on by. Again, it was like they didn’t even know we were racing.

Maybe if some of those rabbits that normally line up in my 5Ks had a similarly lackadaisical attitude I might get the chance to place in my age group. Sometime before I am 70.

Toward the end of the run, I finally let my running buddy Jeff in on the news that we actually were in an officially sanctioned event. But I made sure to finish with a strong surge at the end just to make sure nobody could sneak up from behind at the last minute.

Granted, my 10:19 pace for the 10 miles (the watch said I did 9 in 1:32) was more at training pace than true race pace. But in my mind, and that’s perfectly fine considering this was a virtual race, I was flying.

Have you seen my mojo?

I’ve been getting out there, in balmy weather and bad, to log some miles.

But, Dude, I can’t seem to find my mojo.

Following a training schedule again and looking forward to some halfs later in the spring certainly is helping. But you know what would really help?

I need a race.

Before my lovely Ozlings unleashed a near case of the flying yarkies, or a possible strep attack, I was planning to do the Groundhog Run a couple weeks ago. Running underground to get beautiful 70-degree temps in February certainly has some appeal as I look out the window to see the latest batch of the fluffy white stuff covering the ground.

But alas, I was feverish and weak – moreso than usual – and had to log a Did Not Start (or was it a DNR because I did not register?) for the Groundhog.

As I mentioned, the ground is covered with fluffy flakes so this isn’t exactly prime racing season here in the Land of Oz and surrounding environs. Not many, if any, races to pick from in the coming weeks. What to do, what to do?

Then along comes Topher telling me about Non-Runner Nancy and her 9 on the 9th!

Perfect!

You can tell I’m psyched because, ordinarily, I’m not one to go with gratuitous exclamation points.

So I’m going to sign up (not exactly sure of the procedure, but I’ll figure something out) and on Saturday I’m going to do the run. I’ll bring the proper virtual mindset, imagining all the rabbits at the starting line prepared to smoke me and my other fellow middle-of-the-pack runners that will be smoked –and maybe even impressed – by my steady pace and dogged determination. This thing is awesome. She's got a race logo and everything.

This event is like a ray of sunshine brightening up an otherwise bleak winter landscape.

Johnny Cash, Ninja runner

That whole man in black thing seemed to work well for Johnny Cash.

I don’t recommend it for a runner who gets his miles in before the sun comes up.

The wind shirt I grabbed out of the closet this morning did its job in keeping me warm. But black tights, a black wind shirt and a black hat didn’t make me stand out very well to passing motorists.

I know this because the newspaper guy just about sideswiped me and then nearly took my head off as he chucked the morning news out his van window to the driveway I happened to be passing at the time.

I completely failed to heed the recent sartorial advice of Half-Fast who urged runners in the dark to do their part for safety.

“Before I run in the dark I try and make myself more reflective than a disco ball and just as cool. The thought of getting hit by a car is more than a little unpleasant, which is why I wear reflective shoes, reflective pants, a reflective shirt, reflective gloves and of course the ensemble wouldn’t be complete without my über-cool reflective slap bands,” Half-Fast wrote recently.

Just this past weekend I was checking out one of those reflective vests. I walked out of the store without buying it, though, so it didn’t offer much protection this morning.

Then to add to my missteps, I was bored with my typical routes so I went exploring. It took me along this nasty busy road that lacked sidewalks. Do my frequent leaps from the road to the grassy shoulder as the cars whizzed by make this count as cross training?

I got my miles in this morning, but basically I feel lucky that I didn’t become a hood ornament on somebody’s car.

I am going to have to make some adjustments to the whole Johnny Cash-Ninja look before I hit the road next time.

Wardrobe malfunction

OK, so my wardrobe malfunction wasn’t quite so dramatic as the Super Bowl saga from a couple years ago.

It was a wee bit traumatic for me, though. Well, maybe traumatic is overstating. Can we go with pain in the patoot?

No networks stand to be fined. Though I am about to pay a penalty in the form of having to invest in new running gear.

Cruising along in the wee hours this morning, I was merely hoping to log an easy three miles.

It wasn’t too chilly, but I had my running jacket on to break the wind. Dang, got a little of the fabric caught in the zipper. Run a bit, then mess with the zipper. No luck. Run some more. Mess with zipper a little more.

OK, that wind is kind of cold. Sure wish I could zip up this jacket. Pull, pull, yank…..!

Oh no.

The zipper died. It stared at me forlornly with a zippery but definitely mangled sort of smile. I looked back with a similar sort of confused and dazed look as the ones that settled on the faces of Janet and Justin back in 2004.

I think this jacket is toast. That’s a problem because the next few scheduled runs will be on mornings when it definitely is not going to be toasty outside. I need a nice shirt for a base layer, some fleece and my once-trusty wind jacket.

Going to have to make do with some sort of a plan B. Then maybe I can pick up a new jacket in time for Saturday’s long run.

Don’t really have room in the budget for one of the fancy, schmancy really pricey Gore-Tex models. But something tells me that here at the start of February I am going to have a few more days this season when I need to layer up.

What to do, what to do…..

Racing the storm

Thought I heard footsteps chasing from behind on the run this morning.

Move out, pump it and get going. I attacked a hill even though it was early in the run and I should have remained in warm-up phase.

As I looked back over my shoulder I didn’t see any fellow runners on the road. But with all of the meteorological hubbub over the past 24 hours, I did envision the coming storm following in my tracks, trying to catch and overtake me.

The last weather report I read before I went to bed last night said we could get pounded with as much as 8 inches of the fluffy stuff today. Just checked again and they said, “Never mind.” Now it looks like we are in for one to three inches.

Either way, I sure enjoyed my dry pavement and a pleasant 29 degrees this morning.

A gift from the Ozlings

Mrs. Oz had a bit of a fit Saturday morning.

“The fever has pretty much broken,” I protested as I pulled on running tights and a shirt.

“You came home from work early yesterday and spent most of the past 18 hours shivering with the chills from a fever,” she replied. “You should not go running.”

“But it’s the first day this season of the Saturday morning running group. I have been so excited about getting started.”

I was feeling better. At least a little. I thought.

After continuing to gather my gear, I tried to eat something. Got most of a banana down. Then my stomach started to churn. I did feel a little weak, I admitted – only to myself.

The boy Ozling had been fighting a fever earlier in the week.

Schools are not so much places for education. They are germ incubators. Children are not so much little people. They are Petri dishes.

Put them together? Parents are doomed, basically. Oh sure, we love the little creatures. But spend much time around the germ carriers and you can count on work schedules regularly being thrown into chaos. And you can count on picking up the flu, colds, strep or the other latest bug of the week from them. Sometimes it gets really serious. It can sideline your running.

This research study reported recently by Runner’s World heartened me at least a little. Apparently running – even in the chilly willy weather we have been seeing around here lately – can stimulate production of immune cells that fight of the nasties that would strike us down with illness.

“Little do they know that running--even in frosty conditions--strengthens not just our hearts and quadriceps but also our lymphocytes and neutrophils. These immune cells protect us against attack from bacteria and viruses that cause illness and infection. Indeed, a study from the University of South Carolina reported that people who exercise have 20 percent fewer colds than their sedentary counterparts,” a report in the magazine declared recently.

I do believe that I tend to fight off most cases of the crud thanks to my running. But this time, it was not enough.

Even Superman couldn’t fight Kryptonite.

I didn’t run Saturday, laying around the house for much of the day feeling just, “Blaah.”

How low can you go?

OK, I didn't know it at the time, but yesterday was...balmy.



I added the balaclava to my usual get up this morning. The extra warmth was appreciated, but it also sent my breath shooting upward, fogging my glasses and leaving me essentially blind as cars whizzed by while I tried to run on the shoulder of the streets.

So I risked a little frostbite and being T-boned by some careless motorist in the pre-dawn darkness. At least I got in a few miles.

No worries. Let's just say I eat danger for breakfast.

Brrrrr!

As I ran into the wind this morning, it seemed to grab me by the shoulders, smack me across my face and suck the breath right out of me.

I'll think of this run on a sweltering summer day in July when I am suffering through a long run.

And smile.

Choices

I got a little wild and crazy with Mrs. Oz this past weekend.

This is sad, I know. It’s not sad that we would resort to such activities, but it is sad that our version of wild and crazy these days consisted of…

going over a spreadsheet with the family budget. Yes, sad indeed.

It would be nice, though, if the cash going out came closer to matching – or even better – falling short of the cash coming in. Chalk it up as another goal for 2008.

This allegedly is a running blog – I say “allegedly” because the running, and frankly the blogging, has been a bit limited lately – so I am not going to digress much further into the world of personal finance.

I bring this up at all, though, because of thoughts the budgeting exercise triggered.

What is budgeting, really, besides making choices? It’s about how we choose to spend our money.

Sometimes the choices we make are not so good. We can be wasteful. Other times it’s not so much frittering away bucks on self-indulgent junk, but just meandering and not paying much attention to how we spend our money. Going out to dinner a lot, eating out for lunch too regularly, frequent visits to Starbucks, partaking frequently from iTunes and other splurges leads to a lack of focus that doesn’t leave much cash left over for what’s truly important. It’s a poor way to save and stretch for a bigger goal. Maybe a cool vacation. Real good college educations for the young’uns. Or that new gas stove I sometimes lust over.

There’s definitely a financial aspect to my running. I go through at least a couple pairs of shoes a year. To pinch some pennies, I pushed this last pair closer to 400 miles. My feet had been hurting lately, but still I waited. Then I went out this morning for the maiden voyage in a brand new pair of Mizunos…..aahhh…it was like running on pillows.

I also am shelling out some cash for my running group. It seems like a worthy investment to get regular water stops on hot summer days in Kansas, camaraderie with some fellow goal-seeking runners and the accountability of the group that helps keep my weekly running on track

As much as anything, though, my running is about how I budget – make choices – about the way I spend my time. Getting up at dawn and blasting out for a morning run sometimes makes the morning rush of getting lunches made, the Ozlings off to school and me to work a little more hectic. Bugging out for a couple hours or more for a weekend long run also can impose a burden on the family.

Lately, since the half marathon way back in October, really, when I do run, it has been more of the meandering variety. I’ve been logging a fair amount of miles and hours on the road, but I have not really been getting much back in return. I definitely enjoy my runs for the running – the crisp feel of a morning breeze, quiet early-morning streets that feel like they belong only to me, the occasional treat when an owl hoots or a fox darts across the road and the satisfying feel of my healthy heart pounding away when I am running hard. But I enjoy them most when I can take satisfaction from the moment, but know also that I am investing the exertion and discipline for something down the road, a longer race.

So, with a little focus and more deliberate spending of my time and money, I might just finish 2008 with a couple of completed half marathons, maybe a full, and…a gas stove.

Conspiracy?

Apparently running only a couple times a week – and then on one of those days going for 7, 8 or more miles – isn’t too smart.

Or so my right foot has been telling me.

Twinges and tenderness on my forefoot are symptoms of an overuse injury. My shoes have north of 350 miles on them so that probably isn’t helping anything.

It’s mostly been a scheduling thing.

Take this week, for example.

I ran long on Sunday. So on Monday I wanted to take a day off. Then the boy Ozling woke up ill with a mild fever that lasted for two days. Mrs. Oz and I took split shifts – I stayed home in the morning and she worked and then we switched for the afternoons.

Mrs. Oz needed to leave extra early on Tuesday, so that prevented me from getting out without causing major disruptions for the family.

On Wednesday I had to hit the road around 6 a.m. to make my way to Topeka for a business meeting.

Today we got dumped on by a mere three inches. It was enough to cancel school, however. The wimps. By the time I got the driveway shoveled, the cars cleaned off and a strategy worked out for what to do with the Ozlings (daycare is also closed on snow days. No, we didn’t leave them home with the cat. Hmmm. That’s an idea to keep in mind for the future, though.), again, no time to run.

On Friday, I have to get to work in the pre-dawn hours to work on a project.

I am starting to wonder whether there is some sort of conspiracy to keep me off the streets.

All of the rest seems to have done my foot some good. It’s not hurting nearly as much today as it was earlier in the week.

The really good news is that my running group sessions start up in another week or so.

I’ll pick up a running schedule for a spring half marathon or two. It will give me a daily guide to keep me a bit more consistent and lock in a weekly appointment for a long run.

I can’t wait.

992 to go?

Since happily being united with Garmito, my little Garmin Forerunner running buddy, last March, I managed to hoof it 721 miles.

I was running earlier in the year, but my record keeping was shoddy. So I’ll just go with what the Garmin recorded.

Many other runners may run many more miles, but I am striving for a pace that offers the enjoyment of regular runs, the benefits of steady training, the mind-clearing and stress-relieving impact of exercise – all without doing so much my body starts to crumble.

So, if I could do 721 over 10 months, would it be possible to log a nice round 1,000 with a full year of training?

What the heck. Let’s give it a go.

I got 2008 off to a decent start thanks to the Kansas City Track Club. They put on an annual New Year’s Day Fun Run – complete with donuts and hot cider at the end. SeeKCRun chronicled the event with great photos.

I was thinking Topher of I’ll Run for Donuts might show up, but, alas, he showed better judgment than to tackle the snow- and ice-covered trail. It definitely was slick in spots, but I just slowed down and took my time.

Indeed, it was a fun run. I got in 8 miles. Plus, a free donut. Chocolate topped with a cream-filled center. Mmmmm.

What a great way to start the day – and a new year of running.

With 1,000 miles of running – or somewhere in the vicinity – that should leave me in decent shape to run a race or two. Hmmm….. choices, choices, choices….

I definitely want to enjoy some of the area’s iconic events. Everybody keeps talking about the Groundhog Run. A 5K or 10K through an underground network of caves in someplace called the Hunt Midwest Subtropolis offers 70-degree running temperatures in January. Some fellow runners have mentioned feeling claustrophobic, but it’s definitely a race I want to try at least once.

The Trolley Run in April is four miles of fun in April that winds through some of Kansas City’s beautiful neighborhoods down to the Country Club Plaza.

The Hospital Hill Half Marathon in June certainly is something to shoot for. My only question is whether I might also squeeze in another half marathon earlier by doing 13.1 in Lawrence in April or in Lincoln, Nebraska, in early May.

So this gets me through the first six months of the year.

I’ve still got unfinished business when it comes to 26.2. An injury-induced DNF after 19 miles in 2006 planted a marathon monkey, make that a gorilla, firmly on my back. Could this be the year that I shake him off? If so, where and when?