That Question: "What Should I Do?"

This exact thing bugs me most of the time I hear it.

Everyone asks this question. Everyone acts like they need an answer. Maybe some people actually do. Most really don't. Some people ask it and could really care less; I still don't know why someone asks for your opinion then doesn't consider it and keeps on...keepin' on. Ya know?

What this is about isn't actually "What I..or you...or he she they it...should do?" This is about a simple question, that is seemingly harmless and sociable, but tells a lot more than most people realize. Asking this shows a host of things. Uncertainty in one's self is the most common and strongest tell in this question. Why not hold off, and take a damn 'leap of faith'. Even though the leap of faith you'd be taking isn't anything big in the grand scheme of things. How badly could it REALLY go if you don't rely on someone else to make a decision for you, how horrible could that be? Hey, maybe you will even learn something about yourself. Jeez, now that'd be a really sad thing, wouldn't it? In a world where we rely on almost everything and have such close contact with almost everyone...we have become less of ourselves. And that sucks.

People are becoming less of themselves and more like the first person who responds to a text message. Think about that for a second.

[Pause. Seriously, think.]

Now, I understand well that every once in a while it is a genuine concern for direction in unknown territory, or asking someone who is, comparatively speaking, and expert in a field. To that, I repeat myself:

"How badly could it REALLY go if you don't rely on someone else to make a decision for you, how horrible could that be? Hey, maybe you will even learn something about yourself."

So, you know what? Next time you're thinking "What Should I Do?" just make your own damn decision. Don't ask someone just to show your uncertainty or need for input. You'll realize that it is a freedom with which you very well may have lost touch. Or maybe you'll think to yourself it was idiotic and why did you ever consider what I wrote here in the first place.

Well...at least someone made you think, for yourself, today. And if that is the case, then you're better for it.

Raw Power: The 'Final' Food Test

You all have clearly seen that my posts are pretty much about two things: food and bikes. The latter is ever-changing because, well, that is the nature of cycling.

The former (at least for me) is an amoebic, morphing organism that evolves to seemingly better and better levels. This is well explained, as I don't really jump into things without considering the implications and benefits or possible detractions of such a change. Thus, my slow move into vegetarian was pretty smooth (minus that little self-diagnosed anemia, thanks to not having good options on a college meal plan). After that, I was more cautious about changing my diet. Basically I took a more educated approach than a trial & error method! Trial and error is great when the risk is between small and zero, but not when it deals with your health.

My trip to Books-A-Million...the foodie book store in the old port apparently closed. But it is now an OYSTER BAHH. Oyster fans, check it out.

Which leads me to a really good spot: anything you do to change your diet, training, etc make sure you know what you are doing, why you are doing it, and how you plan to go about it. (This could mean using previous knowledge, a coach, nutritionist, or books. I would say consult your doctor...but there is some chance you could hear that something like a vegan diet is "extreme" and you need milk/red meat/'protein'. My doctor responded well when I said I was vegan - however, I have heard some pretty surprising stories...but if you should ask your doctor for a nutritionist reference, then I am sure you're on very good track)

This probably won't be the 'final' food test as the post title suggests, but in my recent diet of vegan and then adding gluten free...going raw is the concept that I have (for quite a while) believed to be the 'ultimate'. The detractors of (increased) inconvenience, not being able to cook, and more adaptation kept it at bay until now.

What pushed it over the edge, you ask? Nothing in particular. I suppose basic desire for improving myself, something that is pretty constant in this great sport of cycling: every day I am better because I do more (sometimes less!) and forge on to greater progress.

At some point I'll go into greater detail on the intricacies of eating raw. The basic idea is that everything is in its simplest form, ready to be disgested and completely unprocessed. There is no breakdown of enzymes. The food is pure.

My plan going forward (key: having a PLAN!! is key to changing things up): I'm not sure if I will go 100% raw because I truly enjoy cooking and baking, and there are some things that become quite difficult when being 100% raw. So the long term is a "we shall see". The short term will basically go as this:

• Buy more foods in raw form - and reduce non-raw purchases (see picture A)
• Cook/bake for specific purposes that I really enjoy versus cooking because it's what I am used to
• Work on un-cooking/un-baking (making things that are both raw and require preparation: see picture B)
• Make my current 'favorites' in raw form (granola bars, muffins, brownies, etc)

My trip to BJ's. When you eat as much as me, you buy in bulk.

Some things probably won't go, honestly my OTB (on the bike) food works so well I am hesitant to alter that. Bars + PROBARs have fueled me to many sucessful races and workouts over the past year that I don't intend to leave them behind. I will try to make my bars in a raw form - without boiling the  nut butter/sweetener mixture and also not baking them....time for a dehydrator or long-term uncovered fridge storage (poor man's dehydrator!).

Here's the TK take on RAW POWAHH. My theory in shortest form: Raw Power = More Watts = Win.

2013: The Beginning

Now is that interesting time of year as an endurance athlete. The race season is long since passed. You've taken time off, lost fitness, gained 'too much' weight, and let the mind wander. The 'off-season' was a haphazard compilation of fun riding, no riding, frustrating riding, and dreams of lots of riding. It was also a time to catch up on things that were but a figment of the imagination in the sweet-spot of summer racing and training: beer, late nights, that extra couple hours of doing something for no reason...essentially what everyone I know calls "life" or "fun". Aside from the extra time spent with friends -whether it is spent going out to dinner at 9PM or sitting at home catching up - I have few qualms with the dissipation of such things. This past week was the culmination of apathy for the structure and intensity by which I normally construct my training and general life planning. I had a hell of a lot of fun, saw many good friends (I'd like to 'give thanks' to the holiday bringing so many great people back home), indulged in good food and libations, and really let my training fall from a priority to a daily supplement. I ran in a race and played football the day after - two things I know make my body recoil in soreness...from Thursday through Saturday, I actually had to hold the railing while going down stairs. I went out to the bahhhsss with friends three times this week and shockingly enjoyed every bit of it (except almost falling asleep Saturday night!).

Some would think that these things signify that I am far from being prepared to re-enter training, or that it was such a "detox" that I will struggle to maintain focus upon an abrupt return to my daily toil. Neither of these are true. This ability to detach is critical in understanding the importance of every day's work and still being able to maintain focus on goals that are months or years away. Without an ability to step away from every minor detail, we lose sight of the entire picture. That doesn't mean that if a workout goes poorly then nothing matters or if a workout goes uncharacteristically well that all is perfect. It means you step away, understand the outcome, and grow. It's the beauty we experience as dedicated athletes while training: we wake up every single day knowing, not thinking, that we are better than we were yesterday. It's not always physical improvements though; every day offers different types and magnitudes of growth.

Today marks the day that I officially step into my training for 2013 and beyond (because what I do next season is more relevant to my future than the present). I am taking a variety of critical steps in improving my health, fitness, guidance, emotional strength, and my surroundings - both on and off the bike.

I leave you with something I saw this morning and see every morning when I wake up:

It is time to not only slowly 'return to glory', but to lay the foundation of the rest of my life. It would be foolish and simplistic to say that all this training is only for benefiting my future in cycling or even sport in general. Unlike many others, I do not carry the hope or idea that 2013 will 'go beyond my wildest dreams'. Thus, here is to 2013 reflecting the work, the dedication, the persistence that will lay a foundation of growth and fulfillment for years to come.

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: