Q & A

Q & A: This past weekend, I completed a 60 kilometer/37 mile training run. In many ways it was a dry run for the race which is approaching in about one month. What follows are some questions that people have asked about the preparation as well as my answers. Hopefully this clarifies what my process for the run was.

Question: How long did it take you?

Answer: Time on my feet was 6 hours and 2 minutes. I ran 18 miles out and 19 back. The first half was 2:45. The second was 3:17. At the midpoint I met my wife, Carissa, who had refills of Gu and water as well as some food. This midpoint break was about 15 minutes (although I honestly didn’t keep accurate track of the time).

Question: What did you eat and drink during the run?

Answer: During the six hours I consumed 8 Gu (720 cal), 7 scoops of Perpetuum mixed with water (945 cal), a PB&J (about 430 cal), a serving of M&M’s (about 250 cal), potato chips (about 300 cal). This was approximately 2,600 calories—about half of the total calories burned. The total fluids consumed were about 2.5 quarts during the run. I also had a salt pill to replenish my electrolytes.

Question: How were your feet afterward?

Answer: Not good…not bad. I developed a blister on the ball of my foot about mile 7. I was not able to do anything about it until I met up with my wife when I was able to lance it and cover it with duct tape. The next day I noticed that I had two dime sized blood blisters on both “ring-finger” toes. I guess over 16,000 individual foot strikes will do that, even when the irritation is only minor. Fortunately I was able to also change my socks mid-way which helped.

Question: What about your legs?

Answer: Interestingly my hamstrings were tight day one, but on day two the soreness moved away from there and into my quads instead. Most of the really tender areas were in my hips though. As a whole, my legs felt pretty good. In previous marathons I have had trouble with stairs for a day or two. Not so this time. That said, the last hour plus of the run was pretty painful. I kind of felt like the bones in my legs were going to snap in two with each foot-strike.

Question: What do you think about for six hours?

Answer: Well, for the first three Andrew and had some pretty good conversations about politics, athletics, our social circle, etc. On the way back, we started to run separately for various reasons. Much of that time, I was alone. Even though I didn’t want to think about the discomfort I was feeling in my legs, it dominated much of my thoughts. I avoided looking at the mile markers too much. That really messes with your head. It was kind of like spending a night in a disgusting hotel room. You lie there in the dark; the clock moves very slowly. You try to not so much ignore the discomfort as come to terms with it. The last ten miles, I was feeling pretty bad. However, I tried to focus on my stride and accept the new baseline of pain. For most of the time, I was also running constant diagnostics on my body: How are my feet? Am I avoiding lactic acid build-up? Fluids ok? Do I need more fuel? What is my heart rate? If you have ever driven an old car where you spend as much time watching the oil pressure as the speedometer, it is kind of like that. You spend a fair amount of time wondering if and when you are going to blow a gasket.

Question: What will you do differently for the race?

Answer: First I need to change my shoes. I was wearing my older trail shoes, and they were a bit too beat up to support my feet for that long. As well, I think the blisters were a function of the uppers being too worn and soft. Secondly, I need to pace better. We ran the first half too fast. The half hour difference between sections is evidence of this. I also need to consume more water. I had limited supplies to work with as I had to carry everything for each half. At least in the race, I will be able to refill about every 7 or 8 miles if necessary. This should help me stay better hydrated.

Question: Did this training run provide you with the confidence that you will finish?

Answer: Not exactly. If anything I learned that I am growing rapidly as a long distance runner. The mistakes I made during my 50K run were not repeated. The minor problems that I had this time are all simple fixes. I have a strong plan and my fitness level is where it belongs. The only question that remains is the mental component. The race will be like tacking a half-marathon onto the end of this training run. At that point it will be a deeply psychological task; I can tell that already. Near Mount St. Helens there are these lava tubes that are essentially long caves. When you first step into them, you are reluctant to stray too far from the light coming through the opening. However, you go a hundred yards into the blackness and gain a little confidence. Ultimately, you need to leave the opening behind and trust that somewhere after the darkness is the exit hole. It becomes an exercise in controlling apprehension. The run is going to be a lot like that for me. The last couple hours will be wandering in the dark trying to manage the mental strain brought on by time and pain. I suppose that I will only have 100% confidence when I come to the finish line. But isn’t that true for most things in life?

Question: Have you figured out yet what this means, why you are doing this?

Answer: If you mean beyond the scholarship, then the answer is yes. At first this was purely a physical exercise. Could I train my body to execute this task? Somewhere along the line, the task took on a more mental or psychological aspect. I have been thinking a lot about athleticism recently and what constitutes a truly fit person. At first I thought that training for this would make me a fitter athlete. What I have come to realize is that I don’t think that has necessarily happened. I may be marginally stronger, but I am not aerobically better off. I was going to check my body fat percentage before and after, but I suspect now that it (sadly) hasn’t changed much. If anything, I think I am mentally fitter. I have a better sense of what my true limits are and have come to realize that I rarely push myself anywhere near the edge of those limits. Perhaps I now have a greater sense of confidence because I know now just how deeply I can dig when necessary.

The Truth

This past week I was in Red Rocks Canyon climbing during spring break. For me it was a week off from work and also a week off from my training. Even as I was recovering, this project—and more specifically the idea of truth—was on my mind.

At the end of my freshman composition class, I ask each student to look at how he or she did on each of the individual skills that we studied during the trimester. For example, when it comes to sentence fluency, they need to consider whether they exceeded, met, or did not meet the standard. Meeting is a B. Exceeding is an A. They were also asked to look at the aggregate of the various scores for the individual skills and determine how they think that they did overall. There were quite a few students who said that, although they did not exceed on many traits, they thought they deserved an A because they tried really hard.

My buddy, Andrew, and I attempted to climb a 2,000 foot rock climb called Epinephrine while we were in Red Rocks. On the third pitch (out of about 17) I led up what I thought was the route. The climbing got significantly harder and more dangerous than I thought it should. In struggling with the thin crack and lack of feet, I busted open my finger tips. Blood was everywhere—on my gear, the rock, my hands. I continued up, placing very insecure gear hoping for something to change. It didn’t. Eventually I wedged a chock in the crack and lowered off back to the belay. From there I started up a wide and difficult to protect chimney. I climbed up…then back down. I searched out on the face and deep in the cold recesses of the crack for a way to make passage. Ultimately I failed to make it to the next belay station. That section of the route is graded only 5.6, which makes it—in theory—easy enough for the most novice climber. But I failed. There was no way around the fact that although I tried—the wounds still adorn my hands as evidence—I was not successful, was deeply humbled, and was more than a little humiliated by my failure.

The harsh truth is that trying does not equal success. This is one of the things that I respect most about climbers. They understand that there are no points for trying. You either ascend the route, or you don’t. They comprehend this cold dichotomy in a way that many of my freshmen don’t. It is true that effort is to be acknowledged. Without effort, there is never growth. However, one should never assume that effort always results in growth and effort itself is not growth; it is only output.

Too often we are willing to lie to ourselves and live in the land of delusion because we don’t want to know the truth, which is that we failed. Climbing punishes self-delusion in a way that few other sports do. Death, paralysis, or broken bones can be the result when the climber does not look honestly at himself and the situation. As for my freshmen, I understand that they are just barely teenagers and have long way to go in terms of developing the ability to reflect honestly upon their strengths and weakness, but as a teacher I will not be one more person patting them on the back with a generic “Good job!” and sending them down the line. At a certain point they will come face to face with reality. Perhaps that moment will come when they are sitting in a final exam during their inaugural college year. The platitudes that inflated their sense of self-worth will evaporate leaving them exposed to the truth of the situation. What might they think of me then?

I am a month away from the ultra-marathon, which is my thesis defense. Passing the 26, then 35, then 40 mile marks are the penetrating questions. Did I learn to hydrate and balance electrolytes? Was the hill training adequate? Have I learned to control my head when the task becomes more psychological than physical? Whether I exceed, meet, or fail, it is incumbent upon me to face the truth. I cannot claim what I did not earn, yet I can celebrate what I was truthfully able to achieve.

20/20

Sunday morning: Wildwood cut a meandering line of black, sucking mud through the dense white fog encasing Forest Park, and my feet traced its route like many weekends before. The giant Douglas firs stood wrapped in ethereal gauze like great stoic slalom gates. As a result my line of sight was reduced to less than fifty-feet. Despite these low hanging clouds, I knew exactly where I was. The trail is signed at quarter mile intervals making the task of judging distance the easy charge of addition or subtraction from your starting point. My brain was similarly socked in. All thoughts were grounded like so many sullen, resigned travelers sunk into black vinyl chairs. I churned through the muck and the fog, gaining hard fought ground due to the slippery mud; between my ears there was nothing but static.Perhaps these first twenty miles were so easy to tune out because they were so common. My feet were intensely familiar with the rivulets of water carving jagged paths down the center of the trail. Scampering across the slick wooden bridges at the hairpin turns came naturally—light, soft steps to avoid taking a spill on the slime. It was high school: not always easy to navigate but recognizable; not always clear where the route lay but unthreatening; not always enjoyable but well-defined.

Monday afternoon: the white line cut a laser-straight path down the side of Boones Ferry Road. Even as I wobbled on my tired legs, the strip held true. To say that I was at mile twenty-six would be both the truth and a lie at the same time. I was only six miles into the day’s run, but yesterday I had completed twenty. The plan was twenty miles, on back to back days. Knowing this, I will let you decide exactly where I was. Regardless of distance, at least I knew where I was mentally. My mind was warring with my legs. The road stretched out, flat and straight, before me. Each stride accomplished only a few feet, and I was chasing a horizon line that kept skipping cruelly out before me. My psyche was agitated. I should have felt fresh, but my legs felt sodden and heavy. Despite the bright sun on them, they had refused to warm up. In previous marathons, I still had a kick to give as I crossed the finish line. It was hard to believe that I was really only six miles in.

In short order I reached the railroad trestle over the Willamette River. The steep footpath was overhung by dried blackberry vines, and their thorns raked my bare legs as I climbed up to the bridge. There are only two quick ways across this aquatic, geographic barrier between Portland’s suburbs and the more agriculturally minded mid-valley region: this bridge or the I-5 Boone Bridge. The first is technically illegal but generally safe as the trains don’t run along it anymore; the second is legal but the insane choice due to the speeding freightliners kicking up gravel and debris. Running the trestle was awkward and perturbing. Despite the regularity of the individual ties, it was hard to develop a rhythm. To the side, there was decking, but it was strewn with rock. Ironically the footing was far worse than any trail I had ever been on.

On the other side, you almost instantly emerge in suburbia. City buses lumber along. Traffic snarls at the on-ramp to the interstate. Big box stores rise cement block by cement block. Through this frenetic and unsympathetic landscape, I continued with over ten miles to go. Seductively, Donut Land perfumed the intersection with Tualatin-Sherwood Road. Through the expansive windows of the public library I could see patrons lolling in chairs with magazines. In crosswalks, I had to slalom pedestrians while dodging SUV’s that barreled through intersections. The unwavering white line gave way to square after mind-numbingly identical square of grey concrete sidewalk.

The day before running these back to back twenty-mile runs I was filled with a degree of nervous anticipation. Would I be successful? How bad would it hurt? Would I have the energy to finish? They say hindsight is 20/20; looking back on the accomplishment, it did not seem to be too bad. Afterwards, I did not ache although I felt physically drained. My feet were blister-free despite some bruised toenails. However it would be hyperbole to say that it was undemanding. What is easy to forget is how mentally taxing the second day was. If I had not forced myself to go point to point and left my cell phone at work to prevent being rescued, I may have given up because my mind would not cooperate and not because of my legs were too fatigued.

In my estimation therein lays the fundamental challenge of college. In some ways the work itself is not drastically harder. The difficulties lie elsewhere: four more years of chasing grades after the quadrennial expanse of high school; the temptation of 3am trips to diners; lounging lazily when no one is there to hold you accountable; the perception that your pace of progress is glacially slow when everyone around you seems to be zipping ahead; epic lines at the bookstore; and more. Like in an ultra-marathon, the race is not to the swift. As a battle of the will, success is achieved by the dogged and the determined…and the prepared.

Tuition

Consider the following tuitions: Portland Community College costs $2,668 a year; Chemeketa Community College will run $2,850; tuition for Portland State University will more than double the tab at $5,764; if you want to go to a state school in Oregon, you can choose the University of Oregon, Oregon State, or Eastern Oregon which will cost $6,174, $5,911, and $6,072 respectively. The jump to private colleges in the state is even more jarring. More than double the cost of a state tuition to reach that of Marylhurst University which runs $15,570. At the far end of the spectrum is Reed College where tuition for 2010-2011 is $40,940 not including room and board or other fees and Lewis and Clark College which is $36,394 not including various additional expenses such as health insurance, meals, or “Green Energy Fees”.

It is common knowledge that the costs of a post high school education are spiraling out of control. This post is not intended to belabor that point. Instead I cite the above data to make a different point: the proceeds from this scholarship, your pledges, can make a very real impact on the ability of a student to pursue a college education. My goal is to raise $2,500 through donations and pledges. This was a deliberately chosen target for a number of reasons.

First, many of my students who may be interested in college are likely to pursue school at a public college or university. This amount will fund nearly the first full year at two area community colleges. It would get them close to halfway through a year at one of the state universities.

Second, the goal is realistically attainable. $2,500 divided by fifty miles is $50 to raise per mile. If just fifty people pledge a $1 per mile, I can reach this goal. A pledge of this size is within reach for many people. Consider dinner and a night at the movies; there between the hors d’oeuvres and the two tickets is a potential contribution. Gas right now is about $3.50 a gallon. Filling the average sized, sixteen gallon tank is the amount of this kind of contribution. Keeping the car gassed up is non-negotiable in most of our lives. I would argue that a post-secondary education is also a non-negotiable thing as well.

At present, I have been able to raise almost $1500 in pledges and straight donations and am over half way there. Please help me reach my goal.

Even if you can’t pledge now, please consider doing one of two things. Forward this blog on to the people who you know who may be interested in this project. Ask them to read about the scholarship itself and to follow along as I post about the process. As well continue to read the blog yourself. I will continue to update it weekly. Just the presence of readers indicates to my kids that there are folks out there who are supportive of the project.

In the end, know that however you choose to support this project is welcome and meaningful.

Lastly consider the value of this contribution to the student. A worker with a high school diploma can only expect to earn $1.2 million during their working years. A bachelor’s degree nearly doubles this to $2.1 million. This also brings us back to one of the big goals of the project: to inspire students to maintain forward progress in their schooling. I have talked to many students who see high school as the gateway to college; however, with the cost of college getting farther and farther out of reach for them, their incentive to even graduate is diminished. Consider the value of your readership in terms of dollars, cents, and motivation. A lack of a high school diploma cuts earning potential by a third. Perhaps it is hyperbole to assert this conclusion, but your pledge to this scholarship is assisting the student in the short term as well as their entire lifetime by raising their earning potential and providing them with critical opportunities that only education and financial well-being can offer.