Nick Brown

Life has been kind of rough since the marathon. I feel over trained. A combination of post race and work related depression has swept over my psyche. My shoulder healed, I’ve gotten a few swimming sessions in, but my knee is still in pain and I can’t really run. If it wasn’t for the kindness of a few key individuals (and some damn fine pot roast) I think I would have gone berserk by now. Needless to say…a vacation has been long overdue.

My step sister Jenn gets married a week from today (Thursday 03 July). Interestingly enough, she is marrying a nice young Irish lad in the country of Ireland itself. Some Google action a few weeks back led me to discover a triathlon on the 28th of June on the other side (west) of the Island. I pounced on the chance to race in Europe, registered for the race and made arrangements to arrive early enough to get settled and make the drive cross country.

So Wednesday found me taking leave from work, packing up my tri gear (Thanks Matt!) and catching a flight from S.D. through Philly to Dublin.

The flight was a great chance to unwind. I was lucky enough to be the only person in my row from Philly to Dublin. I had plenty of room to stretch out my bum knee and the flight crew was even nice enough to bring me bagged ice so I could treat the knee from time to time. Chris Berg helped me get some recovery tights that also made the flight more beneficial then uncomfortable.

I arrived in Dublin and immediately rented a car big enough to fit the bike box. I’ve spent some time in Japan and experienced life in a country full of 3 bangers and 1.3L engines…but I wasn’t expecting to find it in Ireland to. My rented Hyundai Tucson is one of the biggest vehicles on the road. I had to learn how to drive on the right again, and this is the first time I’ve had to shift a manual transmission on the left. Freaky at first, but I’m coming along. The roads over here are so narrow and the speed limits are high enough to let yourself get into a bit of trouble…..

I managed to find my way out of Dublin and through the country to my sister’s place. Ireland is definitely “village centric”. I doubt the population density and pattern has changed much in the last few hundred years. It was strange to be diving past clusters of modern homes and then into towns with narrow euro-looking streets and ancient shop buildings. Every now and then I’d pass a church that probably had a few hundred years on the city of Jamestown Virginia.

After spending a few hours catching up with my sister, I fell into a coma until this morning (Thursday). I woke up, re-packed my race gear and used google maps to find my way across the country to the resort town of Kilkee. There is a real lack of major highways in Ireland, and it took me more then one sheet of paper to write out the directions (since I lack a printer on the road).

It took me about 5.5 hours to get from coast to coast. I probably could have made it in four, but it took me a few hours to get used to Irish sinage (or lack there of), road name system (or lack there of) and roundabouts (nope, these are everywhere!). Needless to say, I spent some time recovering my foot steps and asking for directions. Every now and then I would get lost and then magically end up back on my route a few turns down my sheet of paper.

I can’t get over the Irish accent. Its everywhere over here! I crack up laughing at commercials on the radio and I can’t help to smile when I have to ask people to slow down when the speak to me. Its almost another language to me sometimes…..

I made it to Kilkee just as race registration opened. I spent a good deal of time people watching. Bikes aren’t quite as advanced as at races at the states, but there were a few gems on car racks. I could pick out the sub 10% body fat bodies of experienced racers, but not as many as back in California. I think the accents made all of the pre-race nervous conversation around me even more exciting. I felt giddy.

The weather is kind of nasty. I haven’t seen the sun since I landed. The high as been around 54 degrees and (break break….a french couple just walked up and started cuddling right in front of me….why does every other word out of their mouth sound like the “poo”?) its been raining on and off. The wind is kind of nasty to. I’ve been in California to long…I’ve forgotten what weather feels like.

After registering I walked through the resort town to take in the area and spy on the transition area. The swim will take place in the North Atlantic…I think I’m going to wear my “sleeve” wetsuit. The course looks like it is protected by the brunt of the Atlantic swell by cliffs on both sides, but the conditions still looked like soup. Waves violently bashed up against the cliffs off in the distance and the wind felt a bit chilly this evening. I jumped into a pub and ordered a pretty hefty salad and my pre-race Guinness.

The race tomorrow is an Olympic distance event. I think there will be about 600 racers and if the course is at all like the country side I drove through I’m going to have some hills to contend with. I’m sure the swim and bike will feel fine, but I’m worried about my knee for the run. My plan is to load up on Motrin before the race and just see how it feels. If worse comes to worse, I’ll just walk the 10K run. I’m just out here to have fun anyways…

Unfortunately, all of the hotels in the area are booked due to the race tomorrow. I’m stealing the wireless internet in the lobby of the hotel that hosted race registration. I expected this dilema…so my Euro-UV is parked out back with the seats down and blankets and pillows set up next to the bike box. I’m sure I’ll sleep fine. (break break….a French couple just walked up and started cuddling right in front of me….why does every other word out of their mouth sound like the word “poo”?)

The race doesn’t start until 11:00 AM tomorrow. Race registration didn’t close until 10:00 PM tonight. Obviously, the Irish aren’t much for early mornings.

My legs felt like goo for the week and a half after the marathon (which was on 02 June). Even once I started running again, my legs felt powerless for days on end. On the 18th I finally felt like I got back my form. Justin and I went out for a 90 min. aerobic run and the first thirty minutes felt great. So great, then when my left knee started to bother me I just ignored it. My mind thought….”Shut up body! I don’t need to listen to you…I know whats best for us!” And my body revolted…..

As soon as we stopped running I could feel my knee swell up. The outside of my left knee was so tight I could barely walk. Since that date….I’m pretty sure I have a case of ITB syndrome or runner’s knee. I didn’t break or tear anything, but a slender muscle on my left knee is protesting and keeping me from running pain free. I managed to gut through a track workout the next day, but that was the end of it. I haven’t run since and my knee still hurts……

Oh yea….another culprit for the knee problem is probably the VO2 max test I took two weeks after the marathon. I ran to “exaustion” while breathing through a funny looking and quite uncomfortable mask. I’m not thrilled with my max numbers and I wonder if I could have held on for a bit longer (I was still in my “jello” stage of recovery. The new heart rate zones and threshold data are worth their weight in gold though…..

vo2-max

I’m more motivated then ever to lose 10 lbs before Arizona after seeing what that could potentially do to my VO2 max.

Yesterday I ran further then I ever have before. I couldn’t have asked for better conditions on the course or a better outcome. I am waking up this morning with no regrets and I’m thrilled to have met both of my pre-race goals on my first attempt at the 26.2 distance.

Finishing Superfrog in April and then Wildflower in May left me with only about three short weeks to recover and focus on the marathon. On paper this didn’t worry me. My initial goal for Rock ‘n’ Roll was simply to experience what a 26.2 mile run feels like before I attempt my first Ironman Triathon. However, I am a re-occurring victim of “goal creep’.

I ran the San Digueto Half Marathon in February, surprising myself with a 1:26 finish. The two Dave’s (Dave Nislet and Dave Platfoot) were key to my strong finish. They set a shining example of how to pace a distance run, staying calm in the front half and steady through the hills. All I had to do was latch on and learn. On paper, the 1:26 13.1 mile effort (through some rollers), illustrated that I might be capable of a 3hr marathon on a fast course. Thus my first goal, a three hour marathon, was born.

In the weeks to follow Marty Taylor made sure that this first goal was entrenched in my mind. Marty, who does not believe in modest goals, became very vocal with anybody who would listen about our 3 hour marathon dream.

(Marty already had one sub-three hour effort under his belt)

My second goal was to negative split my race. I wanted to know that I have the fitness to dig deep and push through pain in any lengthy effort. I needed that gem stashed away in my hip pocket. A positive thought of a past struggle to be pulled out when future efforts start to look bleak and ominous.

Thats how early May left me with high hopes for first marathon and only three weeks and some happy thoughts to get there. I became nervous I was setting myself up for failure. My longest run before the race (actually my longest run ever) was a two hour sixteen mile push. I had a few 90 minute efforts and before I knew it I was in a taper week again. Coach Felipe stepped up to remind me of the benefits of the substantial aerobic base I’ve built cycling and swimming in the past six months. Marty was there to keep my ego inflated and assure me that I’m faster then I think I am.

The day before the race some Navy related stuff kept me busy. I couldn’t get a workout in to get the blood flowing in my legs until damn near dusk. I decided on a half mile warm up, two miles at race pace (6:52 min/mile) and a half mile warm down. I felt horrible. The race pace felt difficult to maintain and my heart rate was about 5bpm higher then I wanted it. I was sluggish. I fell asleep the night of the race worried.

I woke up quick at four Sunday morning. The thoughts of the rough workout the night before disappeared as I focused on getting out the door and to the race on time. After a quick jog and a shower I gathered my things (taking note at how much less preparation is required for a foot race then a tri) and jumped in my truck. Its a quick drive down to the Airport where race parking was set up. Before I knew it I was jammed into a sea of vehicles, all trying to get into the dirt lot. From my vantage point on the PCH (not to far from where I would be struggling to finish a few hours later) I could see what seemed like endless lines of vehicle headlights. This was my first awe-inspiring view of the shear masses running with me.

My cell phone rang while I was making my way through traffic. Surprise surprise….it was Marty. “Hey dude, where ya at?” We both quickly figured out that he was amazingly only a few vehicles behind me in line. (I think this was the only time I was in front of Marty all day). We ended up parking right next to each other and catching the same bus to the start of the race.

Holy Port-a-Potties! When we got off the bus there were hundreds of them, and each one had a line of about 30 people waiting lighten their load. Luckily, the start of the race was right next to Balboa Park, and all I really needed was a discrete tree.

We found Dave Nislet and Justin Spinks in the first coral and lined up with the 3hr pace group right behind the Kenyans. Looking back on the 17 thousand people behind us (yes, I had to jump to see over the people around me) was intimidating to say the least. I almost expected to be crushed by them all at race start, but when the gun went off I quickly found a comfortable pace.

Marty only ran with us for a short period down along Balboa Park before he took off. Dave, Justin and I stayed back as close to our pre-determined 6:52/mile or 3 hr pace as we could. It took real restraint to not take off as a good number of folks flew by us. Turns out, I would see many of them again.

The first four miles were a steady and slight decent down Balboa park into Downtown. I let my pace creep under 6:52 (with a close eye on my heart rate) since I knew I would be climbing again shortly. I wanted my HR under 165 but it stayed closer to 170 the whole time. I convinced myself that how I felt was more important then how my heart rate monitor said I felt. Justin and Dave and I clicked these first few miles off at about a 6:40 pace.

The crowds were amazing, I couldn’t believe how many people were up supporting the runners. In many places along the entire course, there were more people lining the street the at most finish chutes in the races I am used to. Almost every stage I passed was pumping out a familiar tune that seemed to insert some life into my cadence and turnover. The energy was awesome and probably as much to blame as the descent for my first few quick mile splits.

Soon we were dumped into downtown. The crowds continued but the green from Balboa Park was replaced with glass and steel. I passed Beth Allen in the crowd, awake this morning to cheer on all the Breakaway runners. I would have liked to have managed a witty comment, but all I could muster was a wave and a grunt. In miles four through seven I seemed to find my 6:52 pace and runners continued to stream by. Dave, Justin and I continued to verbally re-assure each other with keywords like “easy”, “on track” and “right where we need to be”. The restraint wasn’t easy, but we had a lot of race in front of us.

Next we were on the 163 continuing north out of Downtown. This was the steady climb that had been the subject of much nervous pre-race conversation. The climb lasted from miles 7 through 10. We were surounded by the green of Balboa Park again, but now the effort increased a little bit. I let my HR rise and tried to keep from falling of the pace a little bit. This distanced me ever so slightly from Justin and Dave. My pace settled at 6:58/mile and my HR rose to about 175BPM. I accepted the risk and was counting on some recovery on the backside of the hill.

I think the descent was rougher on me then the ascent. It lasted about a mile and was steeper then the climb. My legs seemed to be at an uncomfortable turnover and stride length the whole way down. Soon I was running side by side with Justin and Dave again.

The bottom of the 163 hill turned into Friars Road. I think this point, a few miles before the half marathon mark, is where reality set in for many runners. Gone were the mass crowds and greenery of Balboa and Downtown. The landscape turned to one of concrete and commercialism. I slowley started reeling in some familiar race kits. Pace and HR stayed as close as I could keep them to about 6:53 and 168.

I had my Garmin set to automatically record every 1.0 mile lap. I started to notice that the expected beep was coming earlier and earlier before the race mile markers. I made a mental note that I would probably have to be about 30 seconds faster then my Garmin said to make the actual 26.2 mile mark in 3.0 hours.

Somewhere in this period I met Pat. Just a random dude who happened to be running at about my pace. It was strange to be able to carry a casual conversation while we were racing. He was from LA and was familiar with the Southern California Triathlon scene, so we had plenty to talk about. Somewhere in our discussion he observed that I was drinking an awful lot at every aid station. I guess I was. At every station I was taking as many cups of Accelerade as possible and always washing them down with a last cup of water or two. Before I new it, the front of my shirt was stained red from spilled sports drink. I looked like either a: a toddler who had spilled a bit to much coolaide or b: A man bleeding from several chest wounds.

This leads to my next point, which is kind of gross. Actually its really gross. You’ve been warned.

I have the rare ability to pee while running. All I have to do is wait until there is enough pressure and then relax. If its far enough into the race, I’m already covered in sweat and liquid from the aid stations, I really cease to care about my appearance. I wait until I’m running on my own, away from crowds, and just let go. If I’m running fast enough my shoes even stay dry. I probably did this three differen’t times along the marathon. I think its great because I’m not afraid to take in large quantities of liquid nutrition, which can be hard for some people to do during foot races.

Bottom line: It can be dangerous to run directly behind me during a race. Draft at your own risk.

I crossed the half marathon line at 1:30:02. This was actually about 45 seconds slower then I wanted to be. I accepted that I had some hard miles in front of me, put my head down and carried on.

Miles 14 through 19 were flat and fast for me. My pace dropped under 6:50 to average out at about 6:47. My heart rate was now well above 170, at about 174. I was surprised how good I felt so far above my supposed aerobic threshold heart rate. I was now rapidly passing people. The motivation boost from dropping runner after runner only further fueled my surge. I lost Dave and Justin and was on my own.

Miles 19 through 21 were basically through my backyard. I’ve logged some miles over the Ingrahm bridges and along Mission Bay during since I’ve moved to PB. The familiar scenery helped, and I was even greeted by some familiar faces cheering from the sideline. Noel and Amanda were out to watch the carnage pass by. Once again, intelligent speech alluded me and all I could manage was a grunt. The pace continued to get harder to maintain but I seemed to be ok. My heart rate climbed to 180.

Miles 21 to 24 were some of the bleakest of the race. We were along the mudflats of the San Diego River. There was little shade and the sun was starting to peak through the early morning haze. It was along this stretch that I heard somebody in the crowd say “Hey, that’s 3 hour Andy!”. I looked behind myself and spotted the red singlet of the 3hr pace guy. He was a volunteer from the San Diego Track Club, and his job was to run exactly a three hour marathon. In the beginning of the race he carried a sign on a stick, but now he just had the numbers 3:00 written all over his singlet. I didn’t like having him so close, and I tried to surge again. I was starting to get hot spots in my feet and focus more and more on maintaining my running mechanics. Life was getting difficult, but I hadn’t hit the wall. My pace was becoming slightly erratic, between 6:40 and 7:00.

There was a slight out and back along this portion of the course, which meant I got to pass a U2 cover band twice. I can’t stand U2. Who would want to devote their entire musical efforts to such a lame group? Why are they the band I pass twice? Why not one of the funk groups we passed downtown? Or the angry-teenager-metal-group that was rocking their brains out at 9:AM? I digress……

As the pain increased, I tried to focus on the little things. If I kept my mind off my position along the race course, mile markers came faster. Thoughts like “In three more miles I’ll be at mile 23. 3.2 miles is nothing. I can run 3.2 miles……just three more miles” became common.

The 26th mile was definitely something. If I ever hit the wall it was in the last mile. My legs just stopped listening to me, flailing wildly at times. My pace wasn’t erratic anymore, but stable at well over 7 min/mile. My heart rate was over 180 BPM. I needed the race to end. We turned into San Diego’s Marine Corps Recruit Depot and I knew I was so close to the finish. Marines were poking their heads out from buildings, I like to think they were in awe of the suffering going on in the streets.

Finally I rounded a corner and sighted the finish line and stands of spectators. I heard an announcer mention something about three hours and could see a race clock that said 2:59:….something. My vision wasn’t good enough to read the constantly changing seconds. I don’t know where I found the gear my legs dropped into but suddenly I was sprinting. I think the crowd even responded to my last minute surge. There was no way I was going to let 3 hours tick by. According to the Garmin I hit 4:30 min/mile and 191 BPM. I don’t know if I trust that validity of that pace, but I know I was running faster then I had been all day.

I crossed the line in 2:59:47. My second half marathon was done in 1:29:45.

In the finish chute I was approached by medical personnel several times. I think I looked kind of scary with my red accelerade stains and slow and ginger walk. I know I wasn’t all there. Just look at these finish photos….

Here are my race results:

Double click on the below images if you really want to get into the weeds……

So I finished the marathon in under my three hour goal and negative split the race. I also avoided injury and I seem to be recovering pretty quickly. All in all, the marathon was a pretty darn good experience. It renewed my love for the drama and challenge of endurance races. Most importantly I know what 26.2 miles feels like……Thats going to come in handy in November.