Suck It Up, Buttercup.

After a hiatus from the normalcy of training, nutrition, life, and work that started off the summer of 2012 as a truly amazing experience for me, it is time to get back to the basics that made me feel stronger than I ever have in my life, physically and emotionally. I'm going back to my normal diet state, which pretty much makes me a super-powered herbivore :D. I'm going back to my (essentially vegan, with some outside experimentation - I never stop experimenting) optimal dieting simply so everyone who wants to spend time or meals with me does not forget how much of a huge pain in the ass I am to be around. Or maybe it's because I'm now officially a social ambassador for PROBAR and I get amazinggg vegan whole food bars that make me so happy I want to eat nothing else (except for massive salads. And cookies. And other delicious healthy things that are so good my non-vegan friends think I'm an evil magician).

The real reason is a combination of things that leads to a singular cause: to be as fit and strong as I humanly can be when the world ends on December 21, 2012. Although if I could be as strong as a cockroach by then I'd likely outlive all humans...I'll ponder that one later. My 2012 season was going as great as I could have imagined - I'll do a season wrap up sometime soon, as it's pretty much over. Then 6 weeks of losing fitness (3 of which I didn't even touch the comforting saddle and bars of Slice of Life) kinda got in the way. Crashing in a really good position in the final lap of my last two races of the season didn't help build things back up either, so it's back to the drawing board.

Don't get me wrong when I say this (but I'm sure most people will get me wrong aside from a few who really really know me), I'm not satisfied finishing this season in category 2. It was my bare minimum goal for 2012 back in the spring when I was category 4. I finished it within 6 weeks of racing and was looking (and, more importantly, feeling) great to be hitting the upper goal of 2012. Race Mayor's Cup in the Pro/1 field, if not that then put in my upgrade request (from what I hear it sounds like it's more complicated than going pro) after a podium in the 2/3. But alas none of that is happening, I won't even racing Mayor's Cup. Now I know most people think I should be off the wall pumped that I'm cat 2...and I was amped......back in June. I have no reason to believe I should be category 1 at this point given that shortly after my upgrade everything fell apart except for my (invincible) bike itself - she held on nice and tight. I joked to my teammates/friends that TCR stands for Travis Crash Resistant. Hey, if you can't laugh at yourself stay away from me because you're no fun!

I got caught in a vicious cycle of:
1. Something problematic or interfering happens (crash, injury, travel, etc).
2. Subsequent loss in fitness due to lack of access to training or inability to train.
3. Struggle emotionally with losing fitness...fight the urge to believe hope is lost.
4. Remember that I *am* strong and it WILL come back, it just takes time.
5. Step 1 comes back along, manifesting itself in a new form...before the fitness had time to return.

This happened about 5 times over. It included 3 crashes, which were literally the best (not worst) of the problems. After June this year has absolutely sucked, and I've let my fitness and health fall off far more than it needed to given the difficulties. I believe external things can only effect an individual so much. Because no matter the negative external source, a strong and mentally tough individual will be able to find a way to either overcome said difficulties or use those difficulties as motivation. Regardless of what happened this summer, I'm not pleased that I faltered in my motivation and performance. Looks like it's time for yet another "Return to Glory", but on a whole different level.

On that note, I shall take the very wise advice from probably the most influential person in my life. It's time to stop deflecting and complaining and to "Suck It Up, Buttercup": the famous, never out of place nor uncalled for, always 'well played' words of Deb Kroot.

Tour of Washington County 2012 Stage Race Report

Stage Races: There are epic ones like Le Tour, Giro, Vuelta, ATOC, etc. Then there are the ones the rest of us call stage races, which are awesome in their own right...just don't think about any of the big ones when you're tired and sore on day 2 of 2! My first ever stage race was this past weekend, the Tour of Washington County (hereafter TOWC) in the towns of Smithsburg, Boonsboro, and Williamsport in Maryland. It was a 2 day set up of a Saturday Road Race (43mi) and Sunday TT (10mi) & Crit (20mi). All in all this is pretty short for a Category 3 stage race, but it made for a good first go at stage racing. As a 'kicker' and because I was making the 10+ hour trek, I added in the TOWC Kick-Off Criterium on Friday night in Hagerstown, MD - seen here.

Friday Night. Double fisting and in the 23lb of Ice Bath in order to prepare for the stage race ahead.  (Note: Don't try this before doing a stage race. Especially if you are under 21 - and I mean AGE, not RACE AGE!)

Road Race: Smithsburg
Friday tired me out a little, it was faster than expected to say the least...but it went well enough that it was worth it. Saturday came along and I headed to the race. I met Tim Durrin at Midas to get my car fixed while we raced. During warm-up I was on the phone with Midas and paid for the work order! The course was a rolling 6mi circuit, with some hills and one 'wall'-ish hill. As the race went on, it slowly and unknowingly beat my legs down...we tried some attacks and burnt those matches to no avail whatsoever - it stayed completely together. On the last lap I started to get pings (like many others I later discovered) and on the last wall - 2 miles to go - I got full hamstrings crap on the left side. I was able to sag the climb and survive, using the downhill to reposition. Coming into the finishing mile I was positioned top 10, gained a few slots and was 5th going into the last up-down before the finishing kicker/hill. This time it fully seized up. I was in third position, gaining on 1 & 2. I had to stop pedaling and use my right leg to downshift. I survived, edging out a gaining 4th place by a half wheel! Got the 4 second time bonus (note: this comes into HUGE play later on!!). Even more importantly, after the 14 points in 2 days I have officially rounded out my Category 2 upgrade. Time to hammer away on the TT and get a GC slot!

ICE BATH!! We emptied the hotel's ice machine. Baller status.

Time Trial: Boonsboro
First ever TT, second ever time on the TT bike (Thanks Ralph!!). First time in a speed suit (Thanks Jon) and first time with a TT helmet (Thanks Adam). I didn't realize it until the race started, but the rear brake was rubbing every time the frame flexed from standing/accelerating/climbing. I pushed it from my mind as best as I could and just hammered away. Legs were not happy, I couldn't get my HR to my 185 "sweet spot" that I hold steady for 20-30mins on breaks, but I was moving. I ended up 4th in the TT, 25 seconds out of first place.

The weekend's fuel of choice. Homemade no-bake granola bars!

Crit - 20 Miles 14 Miles: Williamsport
We didn't know the TT/GC status until we arrived. I was in third, 21 seconds out of first...and just 4 seconds out of 2nd. The two guys ahead of me were on the same team...not fun at all! The guy who was in 2nd place was the guy I edged out in the road race. Had I not held on with the cramp, I would be 12 seconds out of 2nd place GC - a near impossible feat to overcome. The time bonuses were 3-2-1 seconds @ 25%, 50%, 75% completion of race, and then 6-4-2 seconds at the finish. It was clear, I needed to crush this race and had no time to relax...I would be going all in for every single sprint. I could handle sprinting every 5 miles, thanks to my repetitive sprinting training. But the race was shortened to 14 miles due to an ugly crash in the masters race. Now I would be sprint every 5 laps, or 3.5 miles....on an uphill 150m drag. Uh ohhh. There was no alternative, so I stuck to the plan: 2nd place GC.


The race started. My legs were fried, my left hammy was toast, and the course was such that I couldn't avoid standing after turns and on the hill. This was going to be interesting, but I made my plan and if my hammy blew up and I pulled out...so be it. I came all this way to break legs, I wasn't leaving without it happening even if it meant breaking myself. The pack held together pretty much entirely (thank goodness!).


I must say that if you were in this race or watching, I raced this 100% textbook - I could not have positioned or raced barely any better (and I almost never say anything like this). I was ready and more willing to go deep than any other person in the race. I knew it, too. And I was on fire. Sprint 1: Positioning, excellent. Result, 2nd place. 2 seconds down, I'm now 2 seconds back and didn't see #334 or #332 in the mix (1st & 2nd place GC guys). Good. Sprint 2: Positioning, textbook again. I attempted to seated sprint this one in order to save my hamstrings/legs for the final 2 sprints. Seated I still pulled off 3rd place, gaining 1 second. Now I was 1 second down. Sprint 3: Decent positioning...5th wheel into a 120deg turn and people going on your inside is okay but not great. I went hard. I needed this one. I dug deep and got 2nd, sighing as I crossed the prime. I was not virtually in 2nd place GC. "All" I had to do was beat #334 on the final sprint. No cakewalk there. Last lap: I am burning all over. Worse than Friday, at least muscularly. I hold position and am 4th wheel. No sight of #334, I refused to look back. 2nd place was laying 0.7 miles ahead of me. Final turn! Some A-HOLE decides to dangerously cut inside of me (likely cause of that ugly masters crash). I couldn't crash now. I took the turn so wide I was riding the outside curb, with no draft and a 10m gap! I started my sprint, accelerating well considering the cumulative toll on my legs. I slipped into one guy's draft and was instantly out the other side. Only 1 man in front of me now...gaining, gaining, I needed more distance! The final turn killed it for me. I had 2nd bagged and would have had first given just a little more road (as the winner informed me). On this day I was okay with being second...but only because it pushed me into 2nd GC :p haha. I ended up placing in every sprint gaining a huge 9 seconds out of a maximum 15, something even I didn't know if I was capable of doing. I guess the toll of the heat and the stage race hit everyone.

If you're not first, you're last! At least I managed to split up the teammates.

It was an AWESOME experience. I am so pumped from this stage race I want another ASAP, but likely will be waiting until Green Mountain for it. Over the whole weekend (including Friday) I got 25 points, which is kind of crazy...as I planned on getting 11 in the races. I'll take it, and on Thursday I received my Cat 2 upgrade. Time to rock out with the big(ger) dogs! I have so so many people to thank that I will be doing a separate post to thank all of you! But still, THANKS - you know who you are.

Slice of Life. Officially Unveiled. (Post 2A of 3 post series)

So, I had this post completely written out. It was about 3 times as long...and went to post it via the mobile app today and it deleted most of the post.

Thus, I will have to completely re-write the post (~3 hours solid work) where I talk about the bike itself, the technology behind it, and the wonderful feel of riding it. This is now the "naming" post for my new bike, because that is the only part that was not cut off and deleted. Enjoy!!

I don't even know how to write this post. I've put so much time and effort into thinking about purchasing a bike that verbalizing the actual culmination of physically having and riding THE bike is difficult. All I can say is that I could not be one bit more pleased with going through on buying the bike. I had a couple points of "unsure-ness" along the way: 1) When I had my Madone tuned at Gorham Bike and it felt like a completely new bike. So good that I considered I might not actually need a new one - but then at the end of my first ride on it, a mechanical issue occurred that was inherent with the bike itself. This once again clarified how much of a step up getting a new bike would truly be. 2) When I first was on the new bike, it felt weird. The best analogy I can come up with is like an exponential form of how a first time customer at Maine Running Company feels when he or she wears an actual running shoe that is properly fit for the first time ever: it feels so different the individual is not sure it is 'right'. But as soon as he or she gets a few minutes on it or goes for the first run, it makes whatever they felt previous to this new shoe like a completely different activity than running.

This is what I felt once I had a few miles on the bike. It was a world of difference. But every single difference was a massive improvement. So much so that at first the bike even felt awkward to turn (I'm not kidding. My first turn out of the GBS parking lot onto Congress St was sketchy at best. I'm glad no one from the shop saw or they would think they just sold this beautiful bike to someone who struggled making a simple turn!)

Now to unveil the official name of my Giant TCR Advanced SL 2: Slice of Life. I was really set on naming my bike 'Dexter' because that was my (at first) humorous cycling/athletic alter-ego that began with the CompuTrainer workouts in December. However, I was calling myself Dexter and not my bike. My Trek was named "Lamia", Latin for 'witch', 'demon', or 'child-eater'. I named her on the way down to the 2011 Witches Cup, as my plan going into that race was to win it. It was a bold move (I don't think I told a soul about the name at first). Had I not won the race, the name of my bike would have been a constant reminder of failure. Had I won, it would have been a very fitting name. As for the 'child-eater' translation: I was a Category 4 cyclist, and was still not racing with the 'big boys'. Thus, with the bike, I was not taking down the MEN with her...I was taking down the kids who look up to the Cat 3's, 2's, and 1's (whom the 4's and 5's admire).

Slice of Life is a reference to Dexter the TV show. Dexter is a blood spatter analyst at a Miami police station, and just happens to be an assassin as well. Warning: Do not think I am going "off the deep end" or getting "dark and evil" with this name. It all started because about 5 years ago when my uncle and cousins pointed out that I look A LOT like Dexter in the show. Then friends in college picked up on it pretty quickly too. The pictures below are me from Halloween 2010.

Dexter only kills people who 'deserve' it by his father's standards and moral code, and only kills when he has complete proof of the victim's wrongdoing. His boat is named "Slice of Life", which is blatantly fitting for both his profession (blood spatter analyst) and his hobby (assassinating bad human beings). This late name-change from Dexter to Slice of Life (SoL) is because Dexter is the person and Slice of Life is the boat. Also, Slice of Life is fitting because it represents both a sliver and a huge part of my life. Cycling both breaks up and completes my day, nearly every day - as I just completed a half year of not missing a single day of cardio (including the period of having a broken clavicle!) As Dexter does his work on Slice of Life, I do mine. He typically disposes of his victims on his boat, while I plan to make my competitors (victims) suffer on my bike. So it all works out pretty darn well, and I can still be 'Dexter' without naming my bike Dexter as well. My bike is Slice of Life, a beautiful and stealthy Giant TCR Advanced SL 2, and I am the assassin that operates her as we take names and (hopefully!) kick asses.

Slice of Life. Hanging out at her favorite stomping grounds...Gorham Bike and Ski!

The scary part about investing thousands of dollars into anything, especially something you "already have" to some extent, is that you don't fully know that it would all be worth it until you get that feeling: the pure feeling of completeness and perfection. When I took my first ride on my new bike, at first I felt concern. The bike felt sweet(!!!) but not insanely awesome like I expected. Then I hit bumps in the road, exceeded 30MPH, took some corners hard, hung out in the drops, did a few sprints. It was literally an out of bike and out of body experience. I was feeling something 100% different than I was used to. I was feeling a true machine that was set just right for me. The combination of a top-end bike and a great fit finally melded with me. Last fall Jamie Wright (owner of Gorham Bike and Ski (AKA GBS), and fellow teammate on the Base-36/GBS squad) told me, "We have to get you on a 'real' bike." My response, "What's wrong with my bike [Trek Madone 5.2]?" He told me the difference in stiffness alone will amaze me and, almost more importantly, my competitors. I knew he was serious, as I now have the exact same bike that he has...and he's the owner of a bike shop with access to multiple brands and every tier of bike imaginable. Obviously I didn't get this bike because it was what he had, I got it because it is the absolute best and best for me and my purposes (argue about Shimano Di2 or Campy EPS all you want...then give me $5000+ so I can upgrade to that model and I will gladly shut up...maybe...because I love my new SRAM RED soo much! By the way: SRAM RED, my new component set, is post 3 of 3 in this series). Many of you might see an apparent "conflict of interest" as he is the bike shop owner of my team's sponsor and he's telling me a new bike will make a world of difference. Well, to all you haters out there, the bike is a world of difference...and as with any team at any (decent) bike shop we get some level of a discount on purchases. Thus, Jamie was 1) advising me as a friend 2) advising me as a teammate 3) making a smaller margin of profit on my purchase than other customers 4) I was pretty obviously going to buy my next bike from GBS regardless of what he said 5) he honestly wants me to have every single possible advantage of performance, comfort, and enjoyment in cycling because as teammates we feed off of each other's energy and successes. Example: when Jamie led out for me this past fall, he was the reason I won sprints...sometimes I barely even had to work to win sprints. Once, I took the final sprint of the Saturday Morning Ride (SMR) at the cookie jar with a sprint effort I would deem about 75%. That is absolutely nothing, especially for such a strong group of cyclists in such great late-season shape. Jamie just absolutely hammered out the pace into the sprint that no one had the ability to accelerate and challenge me for the sprint. This was no way a sign of my strength, it was a display of execution on his part. Do you believe me now? I would hope so, haha!

Our first real ride together. Beasting some 20% grades :).

All I can say is that Slice of Life is a beautiful machine and we will have many wonderful miles together as a team. The bike feels amazing and has already proven itself to produce some amazing results...I'll try to get back to work on my full-fledged post regarding no only how amazing of a bike it is, but why it is such an amazing machine.

One Little Run, One Giant Step

Today was a big day. Really big. Those of you who know me are probably thinking about how I ran at the Mid Winter Classic 10 Miler this morning. I did run, but this is clearly not what I am talking about (especially since I ran it as a workout). Actually, I won't even be talking about the Mid Winter Classic...for now haha.

What (actually, whom) I am referring to is my Dad. If you know the Kroots, you know we have skied since it was physically possible - I started in 1991, before I was even 3 years old. We've had a condo up there for two decades. It's in our blood. So, when injury or, for my brother, college gets in the way it makes for a struggle of a winter. I, to be honest, have diverged from my crack-like addition to skiing that I once had. I think you get the picture, so let's get back to my Dad. Today was the first day since his diagnosis of Leukemia that he skied. He tried to muster up the strength a few times between rounds of chemo and spikes of energy in Spring 2011, but it sadly was not in the cards. Then it was time for the bone marrow transplant and skiing wasn't a thought in anyone's mind. I know it was still something he would never cease to yearn for, but the focus was on life itself - not the smaller things in life that make it what it is.

Fast forward to fall of 2011, ski season approaches but he's still on a small chemo regimen that hurts the energy levels, attention capacity, and some motivation. Also, my Dad has always been a BEAST when it comes to the cold - it does not effect him. But after his diagnosis, even if the temp in the house is much below 70F he might struggle a little.Thus he was quite reasonably concerned with completely freezing and being miserable. On December 9th, 2011 my Dad was up at Sugarloaf and had the plan to finally go ski. His legs were somewhat swollen from edema (which eventually got worse, leading to his very recent hospital stay), and he simply could not - despite all his effort - get his damn foot into his ski boot. It crushed him, I talked to him later that day and he didn't have to say that it hit him really deep; he didn't want to think something so simple could hurt him that much. It did. It was something he's been waiting more than a year for, something he loves and that makes him feel at home.

After the hospital stay, the swelling was reducing and he was feeling better. Just earlier this week he finally felt that he could focus and he mentally felt good for the first time in just about a year. Then the weekend came along, he wanted to go up to Sugarloaf mainly as a getaway to relaxed after getting out of the hospital last Saturday (8 days ago). My take: this was the weekend he truly wanted to ski, but he didn't want to externalize it for concern that his swelling was still too bad to ski. I'm sure he'll tell me if I'm full of crap or not once he sees this haha.


He said he'd go out today if he could get his boots on and the energy going. I got a text at 8:44AM "If I can get the boots on.......". He wished me luck in the Mid Winter Classic 10 Miler and I told him to keep it for himself. I finished the race/workout, turned on my phone and didn't see anything from him. Then at 11:32AM I got the text: "RAMDOWN TO WIFFLETREE!!!!!!!!"

He was clearly excited out of his mind that he took a run: not just any run, it was his own Run For Glory - far bigger than mine has even been and will ever be. We texted back and forth and then I tried calling him after I left the awards ceremony for the race, but he didn't pick up (thanks to Sugarloaf's miserable cell service) so I told him to call me. He called me after 1PM when I was at work, and just talking about being able to ski I could tell he was tearing up. My brother had told me it was the happiest he had heard my Dad in a long time, but hearing it for myself was something different. I was talking to him and hours after taking one single run at Sugarloaf he still seemed to be in shock from the experience. He really was happier than I had heard him in years. Literally, that's how big of a moment it was for him. I was exhilarated from hearing him explain it all, getting emotional about something that he would do 20 times in a single normal ski day.

It was pretty cool: he skied with Jimmy Cliffe, the guy who essentially taught Jase, Lex, and I how to ski, and they went up Sawduster. Then the choice was Double Runner (pretty short) or Whiffletree (much longer, but still basic terrain). They went Whiffletree. Then at the top of Whiffletree Jimmy turned right to go down the trail (green circle - easiest terrain). My Dad didn't go with him immediately so Jimmy looked back at him, wondering why he wasn't going with him. My Dad said "Let's go left" - which means but one thing...he wanted to hit up King Pine, where there is no easy terrain; it has more vertical, less grooming, and is a lot tougher than Whiffletree. Jimmy was shocked: he was looking at this guy who had been crushed by chemotherapy, irradiated to the point of being dropped to nothing, had a bone marrow transplant, struggled all fall, and then just gotten out of the hospital a mere eight (yes, 8) days ago - and that very same person who had been through the ringer was suggesting to hit up King Pine. Naturally, Jimmy went with it. As it is clear my Dad does not budge - Leukemia didn't stop him. Just being there already made his year. They headed to King Pine, took the chair up, and then it was go time...

...and he loved every last minute, every last inch of that run.

The Big Guy - my budbud - just after tearing it up at The Loaf: 2/5/2012.

The Run For Glory - Part II (Maine Edition)

A brief background: January 26th (Thursday) was my 23rd birthday. Last year, I ran 22 miles to celebrate my birthday...a tradition that I have no intention to cease! As the route of the Run For Glory Part I - RFG I - Tyler Socash made a spectacular running route that was a Tour De Rochester.

The Route: RFG II. The primary destination for this run is my Mom's grave, in Temple Beth El cemetery in Portland...11.23 miles in the most direct route by foot. I would say this is pretty amazing, considering I thought of the destination a month in advance and clicked Point A (Home) and Point B (Cemetery) and got almost exactly half of 23 miles. Pretty much perfect, I would say. But, if you look at last year's route you will quickly learn that the RFG route is comprised of as many possible destinations within the given distance. I was able to fit in nearly 10 checkpoints of importance within the 23 mile jaunt that was based off of a single  destination.

Once again I dedicate this run to both my Dad and Mom. My Dad's determination and ability to remain as positive he has over the past year is moving well beyond simply being inspirational. He prevailed in a fight that brought him to some very, very grave situations on multiple accounts. This year's route is a tribute to my Mom, Deb, who passed away in 2008 of lung cancer in a battle that was two days short of the longest and shortest year of my life.

:::::The Run For Glory - Part II:::::

The preparations: Yet again, I had no intention to stop the entirety of the run. With my Dad in the hospital recently, training took a backseat and actually helped me prepare and rest a bit better for the run than I otherwise would have. I drove home Wednesday from being down in Boston with my Dad, ate a simple pasta dinner and relaxed to watching Fight Club, a classic. I couldn't sleep too great but got to bed at 1AM and woke up at 8:15 for the 11:00AM departure. I went downstairs and fed the dogs, getting breakfast (toast/PB/banana) ready, and staying relaxed. My first birthday present came unsuspected! My dog peed on the floor shortly after eating...a sign that today's run was going to blow, or that I was getting the rough stuff out of the way. I ate breakfast while cleaning up the mess, in order to neither sacrifice my eating plan nor the floor of my kitchen!

I showered and got a little stretch/rolling of the ITB in and took about four more than expected, but extremely necessary, pre-run weight drops that could have hit me hard about 10-15 miles in. I aimlessly hung around situating what I would be wearing (it was going to be a heat-wave, 34F with some wind - but wind above 30F has only slight effect), and getting my nutrition set. This was my first run ever that I would be taking in a legitimate amount of fluids and calories, I had done it many times cycling and was not very concerned with adverse effects. I then talked to my sister a bit online, as it was almost 5PM for her.

At 10:15 I grabbed my Generation UCAN pre run mix and had that while I picked up Owen Lisa at Maine Running Co in Portland, where he would accompany me for the first 8-10 miles.

Back home with Owen at 10:45. I changed up into gear, filled a pocket with nutrition, and hit the bathroom one last time. Asked my brother to drop a bottle of water, Shot Blocks, and a GU at the cemetery...then it was go time.

The Departure: In the same fashion as I have hundreds, or even thousands, of times before I left the garage bay at 12 Coveside for pretty much just another run. This one is definitely the most special run I've had from home, by both inner meaning and the physical undertaking.

The Plan: As I just happened to finish the 22 miler last year in exactly 2:50:00 (unintentional, I hit the button and looked down and was quite surprised), my goal is to run my birthday in 2:50:00...until I get a 2:50 Marathon. This would require a pace of 7:23.5/mi, definitely doable after I already did 19.5 @ 7:16. Because the route I made ended up as a planned 23.36mi, that would

Mile 1: (7:08) Both Owen and I were well aware that a pace of 7:23 would be more than manageable for my 23.6 miles, so there was no stressing at all over starting pace. We both had Garmins on, which made monitoring the pace pretty simple. Out from Coveside and South on RT88. At a half mile we were moving just above 7:00, and we chatted briefly about it being a fast start. I felt totally relaxed (even though the run was only 1/47th completed). We hit the 1 mile mark that I knew all too well in a pace that was notably faster than my A goal. [Start: Cumberland]

Mile 2: (7:04) Hit this one quick as well, and Owen suggested we back off - smart man! We did, but the next mile was very downhill and I was sure we'd have a fast one with little effort. [Cumberland - Falmouth]

Mile 3: (7:03) Downhill, but really easy from backing off. Really nice feeling nothing effort-wise from hitting near 7-flat.

Mile 4: (7:16) This mile was one of the hardest of the run, geographically. Uphill 3-3.5 and 3.75-4. Still held 7:16 without trying to push. Nice to know that early on things were clipping off so easily (B Goal was 7:23 pace).

Mile 5: (7:14) Thanks to my good friend, Coreen, I had a bottle of water waiting for me at mile 19 or so, which is also mile 4 and change. I already felt weirdly parched, likely due to the slight sore throat I had that morning and the dry air. Owen kindly ran ahead, snagged the bottle, and I got 4oz in or so...enough to keep the sore throat from bothering me. It also set me up really well to take in a gel (GU Roctane). Owen said

Half hour. Take in anything yet?". I hadn't, and this guy knows fueling DAMN well - he lays down a 9:02 Ironman and closes in a 3:15 Marathon (including walks + bathroom) which was our current pace. The Roctane went down easily, and from there I committed to taking something in approximately every 30min. Once we had already developed a "big" cushion, even on 7:16 pace. We really made a solid effort to hold it right around that level; 7:15 was the 'plan' for the next 5-10 miles.

Mile 6: (7:18) Sooo...there was a box-spring on the running path on Tukey's Bridge (connection of Falmouth to Portland). We saw something up ahead and were confused. Owen, once again as the great companion he is, surged ahead to lean it against the railing so I could go through in stride. It was a surprising thing to 'run' into, which made us wonder how the hell it got there. Now in Portland! [Falmouth - Portland]

Mile 7: (7:14) Good ol' Veranda Street. Nothing difficult, but it has this little kicker of a hill that always bugs me when I ride into the Sat AM Group Ride out of CycleMania. After I muttered something about this, Owen and I started trying to figure out where I would hit some hills. We thought pretty darn hard, and didn't come up with all that much. Noting the fact that we struggled to figure out what hills I would hit, we laughed at how flat of a route I would be taking (I didn't go out of the way at all to map an "easy" route. I had one destination, and it was going to be pretty much an A to B run).

Mile 8: (7:14) Nick met us on his way from Maine Running Company (MRC) - where we both work - on the Boulevard. For those not local, the boulevard/Back Cove is a classic running area in Portland and I'm glad I could make it part of my run. As we navigated the puddles that were basically nasty clay water, I took in another Roctane - which Nick kindly brought me...free of charge. I told him if I missed my goal time he'd be seeing cash come his way. I had the gel and some water he brought for me, and he was nice enough to hold the bottle while I wasn't drinking.

Mile 9: (7:26) "Holy crap that was slow!" - and my original goal pace was 7:23, it was solidified that 7:16 would be my bare minimum expectation now. This mile had a hill none of us were expecting: from 8-9 it was literally constant uphill, a gain of 100ft on side roads that had sub-optimal footing. Nothing crazy, but definitely a legitimate one for this route. This mile cruised very closely by my Aunt and Uncle's house, a very close friend's old house whose mom passed away from cancer as well, and by a property my mom sold while a real estate agent.

Mile 10: (7:05) Owen's last mile, got some good downhill after the last one and things moved very smoothly...despite crossing Brighton Ave between a few cars. We hit Stevens Ave in good stride and Owen bid us adieu, wishing me a good second half to the run. As I mentioned Owen is a 9:02 Ironman and an article just came out about him in the Forecaster <---Check it out! I took another GU Roctane once Owen departed and had some of the water Nick was carrying for me.

Mile 11: (7:04) Nick and I were cruising along, pulling out seemingly effortless splits. I will be honest that I didn't know the level of fitness Nick would be in, and wasn't sure if he'd be joining for just a few miles or 5+. This ended up working out well for him as running with me was going to be his last real work before the Mid Winter Classic 10 Miler. His plan is to go 65-70min, but after putting in two miles of near 7-flat pace and being completely conversational...he's going to be pushing the 65 minute time, no doubt there. At this point we were onto Congress St and headed towards the primary destination, Temple Beth El Cemetery. Nick and I ran the snow-ridden sidewalks uphill without losing any real time on this mile.

Mile 12: (7:09) The entire purpose for this route. It is a place that you never really 'want' to go, but a place to which you will never really hesitate going. There are many, many things that remind me so well of my Mom and so it is extremely easy to remember and smile or laugh. Regardless, there is something different about the proximity of being close to someone. I guess that is precisely why we have cemeteries; it’s really that simple...you just don’t recognize it until that sort of scenario comes your way. We ran into the cemetery and turned to the right around the circle that encompasses most of the graves. Halfway up the right side I stopped and looked in just above the bushes that are along the same line as my Mom, trying to best estimate where to go in the snow covered flat. In this cemetery there are no headstones, but plaques, so in winter it is difficult to pinpoint where the actual plaque is. Fortunately, a memento my grandparents left on my Mom’s birthday was peeking out of the snow and easily showed me the exact spot to where I was headed.

Let me digress and add that there is not just the significance of my Mother’s resting place, but immediately next to her is the plaque that marks both my Dad’s father (Hy) and his twin (Sam, my Dad’s uncle). My Dad’s father had esophageal cancer in the early 1980’s and survived an extremely low survival procedure, something around 5% at the time. He was deemed cured, as he had many years of being cancer-free thereafter. Nearly a decade later he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, which eventually claimed his life. I have some recollection of my grandfather, but sadly I was too young to really have known him well. As for my grandfather’s twin, he is not actually buried in the Temple Beth El Cemetery but has his name on the plaque for he lived much of his life in Portland. Finally, next to my Mom and on the same plaque is a plot for my Dad, a plot that he very nearly came to meet on multiple accounts within the last year. He was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia on December 28, 2010. There were some very grave times between his diagnosis and his eventual, and thus far very successful, bone marrow transplant during which the focus became the next few days versus figuring out things over the next few months. In similar fashion as his father, my Dad has battled very strongly and is doing extremely well with no current signs of cancer from both his blood and his bone marrow.

Here I was standing in the path in the cemetery facing my Mom, my grandfather, and his twin. I slowly and silently walked through the snow towards my Mom, just as I have done so many times before. I turned to where the plaque would lie underneath the snow and as I began to crouch down I could see a small hole melted through the snow. Through that hole I could see the dark, rippled metal of a plaque. From where I was standing, I knew without a doubt that it was my Mom’s plaque. I kneeled down in the snow and was completely calm and seemingly silent despite being halfway through the 23 miles at a pace I had no intent of running at from the getgo. For those few moments I felt detached from myself and had no sense of fatigue or tiredness whatsoever. After reflecting and paying my respects I kissed my hand and pressed it to the cold steel, stayed kneeled for a moment, and once again walked silently away from my Mom in the same fashion as I walked through the snow.

After returning to the path Nick and I searched for and found the nutrition my brother had left for me minutes earlier: shot blocks, a GU, and water. We continued the run by completing the circle around the cemetery; Nick said to me that it was great that I included visiting my Mom in this run, but since the moment I thought of a route this was the only way I could have imagined it happening. We exited the cemetery and I realized that I felt extremely fresh and both physically and emotionally energized, when stopping mid-run usually causes more discomfort than relaxation. It’s pretty amazing what a simple thought or uplifting experience can do for you.

Mile 13: (7:16) Back down Congress St to Stevens Ave, we continued at a comfortable pace. I took in another GU (Espresso Love) and slugged some more water. I still didn’t feel any need to get in calories, but was well aware of the benefit it would provide within an hour’s time. After the silence that ensued from the visit to the cemetery, we began to chat again…mainly about cycling and how Nick is shocked that with my body type I manage to run as well as I do. He told me I should really have a go at track cycling, which I think would be an absolute blast.

Mile 14: (7:15) From Stevens Ave to Noyes St. Along Brighton Ave we ran by Brighton Medical Center (part of Maine Med), where my Mom had many scans done during her battle with lung cancer. I had also been in this very building quite recently; Maine Med’s orthopedics division is here and I had met my doctor during the recovery from my broken clavicle, which made the preparation for this run much more difficult than it would have otherwise been. Just towards the end of this mile we were cruising along the downhill that was the uphill that caused our slow 9^th Mile, and there was a train coming through that was blocking the way. I cursed it at first sight and Nick asked what was wrong…I pointed ahead and he said “what are we going to do?” my retort was “Well, we sure as hell aren’t going to stop running.” We kept our stride heading towards the train and when we were less than 50 meters from impact I let out a sigh of relief and literally jumped for joy at the unbelievable coincidence that was gracing us. We did not let up one bit as the train fully passed the street. I wasn’t sure what the delay would be for the crossbeams to lift (there was also one blocking the sidewalk). As we were 10-15 feet away it began to lift and passing under it, I reached up mid-stride and tapped the beam with my hand, laughing about how crazy the situation was. I have been stopped many times due to train crossings, and the one time I really really did not want to be interrupted – it was perfect timing.

Mile 15: (7:15) When creating this route I was trying to find places of significance to make as checkpoints. And with the primary destination being 11.25 miles away from my house, I didn’t have all that much flexibility. I knew my parents had lived in Portland in their first house together, but wasn’t sure where, so I asked my Dad what the address was: 101 Dartmouth Street. It was barely out of the way from my out/back to the cemetery and I’d be able to add it in without extending much past 23 miles. When mapping it out, I saw there was both Devonshire and Noyes streets (my little sister’s middle name is Devon, and my Mom’s maiden name is Noyes). This happened to be pure coincidence, but I couldn’t leave either out. We ran past Devonshire and Noyes, turned right onto Deering Ave (my Dad went to Deering High School), and a left onto Dartmouth. (Note: Google maps is great, but the numbers of addresses are not always correct!) We had to go one extra street in order to pass by 101 Dartmouth, and continued to Forest Ave in order to reach my final destination of importance, University of Southern Maine, which is where my Mom spent some of her college time. This little continuation resulted in why the total distance ended up as 23.60 and not 23.36. We hit the next side street that would lead us to USM, went through the parking lot, took a flight of stairs in full stride, and crossed through the campus to Bedford Street. Hitting the flight of stairs so quickly was a shock to my quads, and suddenly I felt noticeable fatigue and tension in my muscles. It was bound to happen eventually, but the stairs were a big trigger (we could have taken a ramp instead, but stairs are too much fun to take at 7-flat pace).

Mile 16: (6:59) At exactly the connection to Baxter Boulevard and the “beep” that indicated Lap (Mile) 15 was complete – thanks to my Garmin 310XT auto-lap at every mile. Nick wished me luck with the final third of my run as he continued straight around the Boulevard to MRC – the end point for all my companions on this run. As he moved along I yelled to remind him to text my Dad and update him on the run’s progress: if you’ve been keeping up with my blog you will know my Dad was in the hospital on my birthday, recovering and improving from his short stint there. Nick said he would and we split, taking the Boulevard from opposite sides. I was going to finish out the last 8.6 miles completely alone, but was more than okay with that fact. I actually wanted to finish it out solo this year, it felt more ‘right’ this time around. I must note that having Mike and Tyle close out the last 5+ and 1.5 miles, respectively, was a great way to end my 22 miles last year. But this year I had more confidence in the distance, despite being only 7 weeks into being back to running after taking the fall off and recovering from my clavicle. At mile 15.5 I took my first shot block (of 6), recalling that Owen found it very convenient and helpful to take one block per mile when running. I knew my stomach could handle it with ease…and when given such a luxury you do one thing, eat as damn often as you can because your body will use it.

Mile 17: (7:05) Surprised at how quickly I ran my first mile alone (which was on the nasty, wet, loose clay that the cinder-like surface becomes when wet) I made an effort to keep the reins in tight. I knew I would be able to close quickly if I felt like I wanted to, but I was starting to feel a growing fatigue from the previous 16 miles of brisk running. I had been going at a pace I had never held for more than 14 miles, even when I was at Rochester doing XC. Now I was a cyclist with a habit of liking running far too much to leave it anywhere in the rearview mirror. I took my next block at 16.5, it quickly became something I looked forward to (they just taste so darn good!).

Mile 18: (7:01) I realized what had happened. My body had locked itself into a 7:00-7:05 pace regardless of trying to actively back off. While this doesn’t hold a candle to Nick Roosa’s 2011 NYC Marathon I felt a percentage of what he did, in which he wrote:

"Yet the strangest thing happened: In spite of my decision [to give up and stop running - around mile 20], my legs kept turning over, just as fast and just as painfully. I tried to quite but something somewhere far down beyond the layers of gratification, external senses, and rational thought, had taken control and wasn't going to let me stop it."

That, my friends, is running poetry. I mentally made an effort to slow the pace, to regain increased comfort, and to smoothly cruise home in what would still be under my optimal goal time. But nothing happened, everything continued the same; the pace didn’t slow, the fatigue didn’t increase or decrease, I just kept rolling along. Back across Tukey’s bridge and there were less than 6 miles remaining.

Mile 19: (7:01) Knowing the 5 mile mark from home, I recognized that the little add on at USM was going to make the run a total of right about 23.6 miles. Without any sort of calculation, I knew I would end up well under 2:50 for sure. The headwind that is always coming at me when I head North on RT 1 and RT 88 was becoming noticeable (or was it just simply fatigue that made the wind have more of an effect?). Either way, I had been grinding away at it since 15.5 and only began to notice it 3+ miles later. Second to last shot block down. At this point I really could care less about nutrition, but luckily I know well enough that if you keep putting in fuel your body recognizes this fact and will not be nearly as inclined to shut down in order to preserve its last reserves of glucose – creating the much feared ‘bonk’.

Mile 20: (7:03) The water Coreen had left me that morning was still on the side of Route 1, right where I left it after my swig shortly into mile 5. I picked up the bottle, but did not take the bar she had left me (I had 1 block left and 1 more GU Roctane, which would be sufficient). Turning onto RT 88 is a slight uphill, nothing bad by any means…but the damn thing always annoys me. This could be due to the fact that I enjoy the final sprint of the PVC Tuesday Night Ride, where I easily peak 40MPH on the sprint – taking every bit of benefit the hill offers. This is where I first put in a real effort to keep the pace going; if I could hold strong on the uphill then the long downhill would be effortless. I had put in a little effort to battle the wind the past 1.5-2 miles, but that mostly just started the steady increase of fatigue. Last block down after the hill, and I relaxed in attempt to drink most of my water. The downhill absolutely sucked, suddenly my quads were barking at me quite loud and I finally felt why downhills can crush any runner of any ability in a Marathon. The building fatigue had definitely been there the past few miles, but suddenly the underlying tiredness was alive and hating every step downhill. Adjustment: shorten stride, increase turnover (I am a miserably bad downhill runner)…result: no noted decrease in soreness.

Mile 21: (7:02) About .2 miles more downhill and then the hill that I figured would be the worst of the entire run, the reverse of mile 3 – where Owen and I backed way off in effort but still split a 7:03. I hit the uphill section and felt the need to open up my stride after the uncomfortable descent. My legs were still quite tired, but the painful soreness temporarily subsided as I surprised myself in taking the hill in under 7:10 pace. Once I topped the hill and settled back into pace, my heart rate was still recovering just a bit. I decided I would wait for the 2 miles to go mark to take my last gel. I knew I was basically home. 2.5 easy miles to go, I started to get a bit excited as I realized I was averaging about 7:10 and still had extra energy inside. Sure, my legs were pretty toast, but when you feel good on a long run there is only one internal desire: “Let’s close this thing, it’s time to play.” I held off the temptation for this last burst.

Mile 22: (7:04) I forced the last gel in, chugged the remaining water, and deposited them both in someone’s recycling bin. I might be 22 miles into a run, but I won’t just be littering…can’t sacrifice a 2 minute penalty! (And there was NO chance I would be coming back out to pick up my trash). At 21.6mi, I had exactly 2 miles to go. The lap split, I checked the total time…Boom! 2:37:20. I just ripped apart my 22 mile time by a whopping 12 minutes and 40 seconds!

Mile 23: (6:53) Now it was time to enjoy myself, which I had honestly been doing for the past few hours anyway…but for the real fun, closing strong and fast. I slowly sped up over this mile, testing how my quads would respond. Quads: tight, Hammys: tight, Calves: tight, IT Band: killer. Sounds about right since I hadn’t been training to go nearly this fast. The dirt covering the shoulder did not help much either and caused some minor traction issues that really pissed off my stabilizer muscles and ITBs. Clicked off a 6:53, I thought to myself “not bad but damn I can do a lot better than that!”

Mile 23.6: (3:45 – 6:12/mi pace) I started ramping it up, saw I was moving at 6:30, then 6:15, then 6:10. At 23.35 (exactly 400m from home) I noted the time: 2:46:30. I closed the 22 miler in a 1:30 quarter last year and had every intention to one-up myself. I closed the .25 in a crisp 1:25 (5:40 pace) and finished with a total time of 2:47:55 (technically 7:06.9 pace – my watch displayed 7:06 pace at the finish, see below). I was pretty damn pumped to see that I managed to hit such a good time for the distance and, had I continued, would have even split 24 miles in under 2:50! Looks like I’m ready for 2013…well, technically I won’t be doing a straight 24 mile run. Something a LOT more epic than just 24 miles is in the works. If you were on URXC, I expect you to know what I will be attempting for my 24^th birthday. If you weren’t, you’re in for a most pleasant surprise!

Please Note Guin in the background :)

My thoughts of the 23 miler this year were first the concern of completion, having not run at all this past fall and having broken my clavicle on November 15^th. The clavicle caused an initial setback and also a couple really bad pain flare-ups that actually had me questioning if I would even be able to physically run on my birthday (I would have walked the 23 miles if it came to that). Once I put in the 19.5 mile run and didn’t have any subsequent pain, I knew all was well…even my prospective goal of 2:50, which had been a massive concern. However, I committed myself to running 2:50 for every year until I run a sub-2:50 Marathon on my birthday. Seems easy enough, just be capable of running 15-20 seconds per mile faster every year for one additional mile. Being one year better in fitness and strength that really should – hypothetically – be no problem whatsoever. Thus far it has worked out fine, but going out solo for a 2:50 Marathon is going to be a big challenge; a challenge for which I will not be unprepared.

I know this report has become extremely long, but that’s what this year’s run has meant to me. Being at home, the route has so much more significance. And with my dad being in the hospital on that day, it has made me appreciate the health and fitness I currently have even more than ever. I have never taken anything for granted. And when it comes to athletics, I never had it easy (except maybe the beginning of freestyle skiing, thanks to my recklessness and lack of belief that I could actually get hurt in any way, shape, or form. Note: I never once got injured from skiing. Not once. I don’t know how and it’s absolutely crazy). I tried every event in indoor track with no pleasant result. Then I offered to run the mile on a whim as a sophomore – back when I had “Krankles”. Krankles was a clever combination of ‘Kroot’ and ‘Ankles’, created by my friend, Nic Lolar. Krankles are similar to kankles, but unique to me. The seniors on the team called me a fool for choosing to hop into the mile and claimed “I didn’t know what I was getting myself into”. I didn’t really care to listen, and somehow I really enjoyed the experience despite that horrible feeling when you run distance all-out for the first time: oxygen debt, misery, cramping, etc. My first hill workout ever, I locked up on the third (YES I did say #3) repeat of 10. It was ugly, my body rejected doing the work. Eventually, over a couple years, I was able to tear up an 11x800m workout on grass averaging 2:45. I went from stocky kid, to not-quite-so-stocky kid. My Krankles had slowly receded, until Coach Mazzurco told me my ankles were actually ankles at long last! That was actually a pretty big moment, when years of effort had finally paid off to the point that my body was changing itself.

Now my fitness puts to shame anything I had in high school (except my 800 to mile speed). Also, I am leaner, more fit, and more capable than I ever have been. I am ready to step it up to the next level (that one’s for you MRC crew) and look back at the end of the year seeing a different athlete in my own past.

As always, I want to give a few big shout outs:

First off, to my Dad: He has shown me how amazing and powerful one’s soul can battle. On multiple accounts he has been to hell and back and somehow gotten stronger with everything that is thrown at him, good or bad. He has also shown me that it is not always so simple as ‘fight fight fight’ like everyone wants to believe in the blissful ignorance that is so engrained in our society. Like it or not: This shit sucks and nothing is going to make it disappear. It might get better, it might go away in time. But you know what? It might not. The only thing you can do is rebound, bounce back better, fiercer, stronger than before. My Mom said it best, and my brother quoted it when speaking at her funeral: “This sucks…it sucks”. Sometimes that is as simple as it is; there are things that can completely take every last bit of energy out of someone no matter how strong he or she is. After the past couple weeks, my Dad just received an excellent report from Dana Farber regarding the kidney issues that hospitalized him for 10 days and kept him in the hospital through my birthday. I didn’t get to see my Dad on my birthday, but he knew how much this tribute of a run meant to me and I told him I would say hi to Mom for him. As far from him as I was, there was a great closeness that I felt.

To Owen Lisa for talking some sense into me when I had any sort of doubt in being able to complete the run, whether it was hitting my time goal or making the distance without destroying myself. On a few of the runs we had together, I expressed concern that I may have to ditch the 2:50 time goal because things were just not coming together. At one point he looked me dead in the eyes and said sternly, “you’re doing that 23 in 2:50, there is no alternative”. He snapped me out of my (very very rare) self-inflicted funk of doubt. That is exactly something I would tell myself, something I have told myself in hundreds of circumstances: only one option exists, and that is succeeding. Thanks for giving me a dose of reality.

Also, to Nick Ramharter, who gave me some great company in the middle miles of a long run that can seem to drag on forever. Nick has also dealt with some tough family health issues of late with his wife, but just a couple months later all is well and she is doing great! For miles 8-15, I dedicate a part to her continued health and to all that her family had to go through as it was completely worth it, thanks to her quick and full recovery. I was shocked to see we were coming up on 15 miles when it was about time for him to finish up and head back to the store. Nick is very experienced, both athletically and in life. And for that, his wisdom on both levels was a pleasure to hear about. If I have any bit the talent and commitment to training that he does when I am his age, I will consider that a big accomplishment.

I want to give a big shout out to my big bro, Jason. From having no athletic interest since high school soccer aside from his love of skiing, he began running this past spring and made some amazing progress – both physically and emotionally. He was far out of shape, when he was a solid 180 5’11” in high school. After hitting a lifetime high in weight he rebounded with intent to get it back together. His goal ended up being to run the Maine Half Marathon last fall. I thank him for putting a whole lot of trust in me for coaching him from running a few miles here and there, to doing the half. He absolutely hates running in the rain, and race day was as nasty and cold and wet as the fall gets. He sucked it up and worked his ass off to a 1:45:05 – 8:02/mi pace. When he and I ran a 13.1 long run earlier this summer it was 1:55 – 8:46/mi. He took off 10+ minutes (nearly 40 seconds per mile) in a few months’ time for just a half marathon. Also, he entered into the Boston Marathon with the Dana Farber Leukemia and Lymphoma Team, in support of our Dad.

Clearly, it is only logical who is next: my sister, LEXXXIIIIIII!, also known as "Alexis" (that's typically how I will address her, whether it be vocally or by message). First off, I miss you like hell but I know you're having a blast so I won't hate you for it. I want to note that (as I said in my last post) that my sister is currently abroad for a co-op in Lebanon, while all of the recent stuff has been going on with our Dad. She's a fighter and stuck it out so well and an inspiration to us all. I meessseeee you!

Penultimately, thanks to everyone for putting up with the massive delay of my run report and for all the prayers, wishes, and support you have given my Father and our family during the past couple weeks while my Dad was in the hospital in Boston. Once again, he has bounced back – feeling and looking better than ever.

And, lastly, a friend of one of my Dad’s close friends – a 69 year old man named Wally – is going in for a bone marrow transplant next week. Initially he had his doubts, but after much deliberation and many concerns being addressed he has decided that the best course of action is to go ahead with the bone marrow transplant. I had the pleasure of meeting Wally and his wife today when my Dad and I stopped by his room at Brigham and Women’s hospital this evening after my Dad’s appointments. So, if you would, send a positive thought Wally’s way, whether you believe in the potential benefit or not…because it can only help, and it feels good too.

Thanks to everyone in my life for making the past, very tumultuous year as good as it was and for sticking with the Kroots through yet another crisis. If it weren’t for all the great people we have in our lives, it wouldn’t have been so easy for my Dad (and all of us) to keep so positive through everything we have gone through and is undoubtedly in part responsible for why my Dad is still with us, because there is too much kindness and love and support to leave behind.

This was the poster my brother hung up in my Dad’s hospital room on Day 0 of his bone marrow transplant:

The Tumultuous Lead-in to Run For Glory - Part II

Due to the past week's events, I'll be doing a lead-in entry to my 23 mile birthday run:

2011 was tumultuous, and 2012 began in similar fashion. 2011 kicked off with my Dad's diagnosis of Leukemia just before the new year began, and the following very bumpy and long road from a very scary situation to complete remission to a successful bone marrow transplant (BMT). The transplant went very well and, aside from the inherent difficulties of a BMT, relatively smooth. It was a slow process from initial release from the hospital to gaining strength and resuming most normal activities. A huge day for me was when my dad and I went for a bike ride, it was a great experience to see him make a big step and enjoy himself. Aside from everything going on with my dad, things were pretty good. Leading up to December I had only been cycling and was kicking it into high gear to prep for the PVC Double Loop, a group ride gone awesome race with cash for the 8 sprints. However, the Tuesday before it, I broke my collarbone and was sidelined. My team still did excellently, in spite of preparing for me to be our sprinter...everyone stepped up HUGE and we were able to take two (or maybe three?) sprints in the race.

So I had a broken collarbone only 10 weeks out from my birthday and would take a few weeks to even start running. It was a very premature crunch time sort of situation. I knew my build (from running about 30 miles the entirety of July through early December to a 23 miler late January) was going to have to be well planned, and even better executed. I'd probably be able to do it regardless of planning...but I had set the goal to do 23mi in 2:50:00 (2:50:00 was my time for 22mi last year) - this was the tough part: 7:23/mi for a few hours on a fall season completely void of running. The base fitness was there from cycling, but my injury prone self was looking down an ugly road with a lot of injury possibility to come my way. I like the thrill of being in a fairly high pressure situation. I was ready for the challenge of going from a freshly broken clavicle to basically a sub-3:15 Marathon in 10 weeks.

So the training began. Day 1 after the break, I couldn't walk over 2.5MPH, it hurt like hell. You'd never know how much you bounce when you walk until you are extremely sensitized to it. I biked on an exercise bike. I walked outside for a few miles within that first week. By 15 days I ran 3 miles @ sub-7:00/mi pace...it killed my legs pretty bad, but I was quickly beginning to understand exactly how much fitness cycling gave to me. 8 miles while still in the brace, 10 miles on Christmas morning (~6wks post fracture), 14 the next week, 16 the week after (8 of it on bad ice). Setback - my clavicle aggravated the skin it was pushing into to the point I had trouble going up/down stairs due to the bouncing. Down week. 11mi the following Tuesday. Then my risky, but VERY rewarding, 19.5mi run @ 7:16 pace on January 14th. It was official; I was going to be able to hit my goal barring another clavicle-induced setback.

Then something pretty unsuspecting happened. My dad had some fluid build-up in his body, his appetite dropped to nothing, he felt like he had a cold...then the flu. It was quite reminiscent of just over one year before when he was then diagnosed with Leukemia. But the transplant had gone GREAT, his blood counts had been perfect, the bone marrow biopsies had all been clean...but something was awry. It was  Upon making an unscheduled visit to his doctor at Dana Farber (DFCI) we quickly learned it was his kidneys, hence the massive fluid build-up (20+ pounds). It was a reversible situation, but he was immediately admitted to the hospital that day on Wednesday, January 18th. Thanks to having myself, my brother, and my dad's girlfriend as a great support system, my dad had someone there with him almost incessantly while still allowing each of us to get done what we needed. I stayed in Boston on Wednesday (thanks to my brother's good friends Sevi and Courtney) and in the hospital room Thursday. I came home for the weekend to recover from my lack of sleep and get all my stuff together to camp out in Beantown for the next week. I managed to hit Friday Night Fights, getting a second place on pure adrenaline - as I had been stressed, nearly sleepless, and moving all out for the past two days with all the tests, retests, and checks my dad was going through at the hospital (and he was about 5 times as worn down as me! It's amazing how he just gets through all of it).

I had a semi-relaxing weekend, and went back down to Boston on Sunday. This time I stayed at a hotel down there, and was luckily able to set up my bike/trainer (surprised?! haha...gotta keep the streak alive!). This week was slower moving, most tests were done and it was just all about getting the fluid out and getting the kidney function back in the right direction. Finally, on Wednesday, it looked like he was really back on the right track. So, in a tough decision, I headed home to do my birthday run on my planned route in Maine (to be discussed on my next entry). I was pretty bummed that my dad was in the hospital for my birthday, but was relieved that he was improving and the end of his stay was coming up shortly. He was released today, Saturday, and is extremely relieved to be back in his own bed. Ironically, after his bone marrow transplant he was released on my brother's birthday! I definitely could have run 23 miles in Boston, but my route in Portland had so much meaning and would be a tribute to my mom...so it was something my dad understood very well and something I couldn't let pass. Had my dad not been doing so well, I would have reconsidered.

One huge thing to note is that on January 13th my sister, Alexis, flew out to Beirut, Lebanon for her second co-op at Northeastern. It's something she has been absolutely thrilled about since the opportunity presented itself and she had no idea if it was even possible for not. I am very excited for her experience over in the Middle East and the cultural experiences she will learn to appreciate and enjoy as part of her everyday life. I've never gone abroad with the intent to experience a culture, I've only gone for vacation. So I envy two things: 1) her desire to spend 6 months in a place where she knows no one and 2) to take the step and do what she loves with the confidence to know she's going to have a blast regardless of the circumstances. She is keeping up a blog (probably a hell of a lot more interesting than mine: www.lexinlebanon.tumblr.com) to let everyone know of her adventures in the Middle East. Check it out!...Now!...Seriously, what are you waiting for?

There my sister is...trying to adjust to the 'unknown' in Lebanon, just starting to settle in, and all of a sudden our dad is in the hospital. Even though the situation was well under control and all the necessary tests were being taken care of, she was still thousands of miles away in a time zone seven hours ahead of home. We talked with her on Skype and kept her up to date as best as we could, but it's tough to know how difficult it can be in her shoes. She's stronger than she shows and even tougher than even she knows, but no matter what it hits you like an anvil. My brother went to Italy for a semester abroad just after my mom was diagnosed with Stage IV Lung Cancer. I knew what it was like to be separated from home (Lex and Jase had college in Boston - the location of both of our parents' treatments, but I was in Rochester)...but never have experienced the detachment of thousands of miles and time zones and excessively expensive hypothetical trips home. To sum it up, both my sister and brother have had it pretty tough being abroad...which is supposed to be the time of your life. My brother worked through it, had his ups and downs, and walked away with an amazing experience he would never have had another shot at. I have no doubts my sister will keep up her excellent attitude and excitement, and eventually come back to America in July saying "Nooooo but I want to stay another month!".

Overall, we are now home and happy to be home once again. Despite an as usual drawn out discharge and rushing to get medication filled for pickup by the end of the day (many of you know this drill on some scale), his spirits were high and got progressively higher until he was in the comfort of our home.

Thanks to my Dad's strength and the great support of my brother, my dad's girlfriend, and all of our family and friends...we once again have come out of the hospital healthy, happy, and overcoming yet another bump in the road. Coincidentally, this reminds me of a quote from my first entry on this blog: a motivational poster my Dad got me years ago. "Challenges: A bump in the road is an obstacle to be fought or an opportunity to be enjoyed...it is all up to you." My Dad's hospital stay was surely not enjoyable, but sticking together and coming out on top once again is far more complex and much better than simple enjoyment.