Update: Born to run

This year's Houston Marathon didn't quite go as planned. My day ended after just a  mile-and-a-half with a bum knee. I knew my knee was a bit sketchy beforehand but I had hoped to muddle my though 26.2 miles this morning and deal with the consequences later.

Unfortunately, the pain got to be too much going over the viaduct and once I stopped at the first water station there was no hope of getting back up to speed.

I did see some behind-the-scenes things at the race this morning that I've never had the opportunity to see before (and hope I never see again).

I'd like to thank the officer on Hardy just past the first water stop for his help. He called back to race control to let them know there was an injured runner who needed a ride back to the GRB. I never did get his name, but, thanks.

Thanks also to the crew in the "sag wagon" who took me back downtown. I had to wait until the entire field had passed before they picked me up so I saw crews cleaning up the water cups from the street and picking up discarded clothing.

On the way back we saw crews taking down the banners and gates around the various start lines.

I also want to send a special shout out to the medical crew at the GRB. It sucked having to abandon the race but they were all chipper and upbeat. Since it was so early they also weren't very busy so I was treated like royalty. I must have had at least two doctors a couple of aides and a few other support folks helping me out.

It certainly wasn't the way I had envisioned today going but, it certainly could have been worse. At least I'm physically able to run a marathon and I'm fortunate enough to live in a city that has a thriving running culture and the resources to put on a great race.

Born to run

As y'all read this drinking your morning coffee and holding your doughnut, I'll be taking my annual tour of Houston by foot with some 20,000 of my closest friends and neighbors. So, enjoy your relaxing morning - and save some doughnuts for me.

Marathon Course Map

Saturday morning run

While y'all are reading this, I'll be running 31 miles through the woods at Huntsville State Park. Have a great day!

Touring the island by foot

The fog got thicker and thicker the closer I got to the coast. There were stretches of the highway that were almost pitch black.

The morning dawned but still the sun hid behind the low lying clouds. A grey haze hung over the island.

The view toward the Cruise Ship Terminal across Harborside before the marathon.

On our first leg west along the seawall you could hear the crash of the waves and the rush of water - but you couldn't see it. As one runner said - it was like being in a Stephen King novel. But alas, the sun eventually burned off the fog and the temperatures began to climb. Back up the seawall to East Beach and Apffel Park. Then toward the Strand and the start of the second loop.

For 18 miles I kept on running. Then it was time to play the survival game. The next two hours may have seemed tedious, but running a minute and walking a minute brought me home with no distress. As the race dragged on, that 60 seconds of running was, at times, painful, but that 60 seconds of walking? I was living in the moment, baby, and loving it.

As opposed to the custerfluck that the Houston Marathon resembles for the first 9 miles, the Galveston Marathon was a relaxing run. A couple of hundred brave souls ran the full route as the marathon returned to the island after a 21 year hiatus. There were a few logistical problems - but for an inaugural race I thought the organizers did a fantastic job.

I'll be back.

Pounding the pavement

My knees and calves are still a bit sore from running 26.2 miles through the streets of Houston on Sunday - but it's a good kind of sore. It reminds me that I'm still able to lace up a pair of running shoes and do something that most folks can't do. It reminds me that running a marathon isn't about coping with aches and pains and exhaustion; it's about coping with your own mind. It's not that hard if you break it down -- just put one foot in front of the other and repeat...over and over and over...

Here are a couple of pictures to let you get a sense of what it's like just before the race. Both of these pictures were taken about 6am Sunday - the first is outside the convention center and the second is inside the convention center.

I wish I had some in-race photos to share with y'all but, since I refuse to run with anything I don't need, I don't. The most stunning sight continues to be the sea of runners crossing I-10 on the Elysian viaduct in the first mile of the race. My favorite sight will always be seeing my wife and girls along the course.

With the threat of thunderstorms on Sunday morning, the organizers did an awesome job of keeping everyone informed as to what would happen in the event of violent weather in the area. As it turned out, it was wet but the thunderstorms stayed away. Thanks to all of the volunteers along the course - without your hard work this race wouldn't be possible. I get up at 4:45 a.m. and run in the cold and wet because that's what I do for fun, the race volunteers do it so I can have my fun. And thanks to the quarter million folks who turn out on the streets during the day to cheer us on. There are times during the race that I feel I'm running out onto the Cotton Bowl field to do battle with the evil Sooners.

I realize that I'm fortunate to be able to run a marathon. I'm fortunate that I live in a city like Houston that hosts a marathon. After 23 marathons, my best marathon running days are behind me but I keep pressing on because I know that one day I won't be able to.

Living 30 seconds at a time

I was up in Huntsville this past weekend for my annual 50k trek through the state park with a band of other equally crazy people who thought running through the woods all day was a good idea.

The weather forecast was far from ideal with afternoon highs expected to top out in the mid- to upper-70's (not the best of scenarios for distance running). It wasn't all that bad in the end, though.

I ran the race (for the second year) with my colleague Rand Mintzer. Since he was recovering from an injury he was planning on running 30 second splits (run 30 seconds, walk 30 seconds, repeat). Given the weather forecast, it ended up working like a charm.

That's not to say it was a walk in the park, however. After 26 miles on course I was worn out. It became a mental game. How can I convince my legs to keep moving when I'm tired and hot?

I suspect most folks rarely, if ever, reach a point they have to push themselves past their physical or mental limits.  And that's a shame - because it's when you've reached that point that you find out just what you are capable of doing. It's when you reach that point that you have to decide how badly you want to go further. It's at that point that you are the most alive.

Over the last 2+ miles Saturday, my world consisted of the two or three feet in front of me and the next 30 seconds. I don't remember the last time I felt so alive as I did for those 30-40 minutes.

Eight hours of Zen in the woods

A view of Lake Raven (Huntsville, Texas) before dawn on 12/5/09.

On Saturday I spent an amazing eight hours running 33 miles (should have been 31 miles, more on that later) through Huntsville State Park (an hour or so north of Houston).

Up until last year Sunmart sponsored the Texas Trail Endurance Runs (50 miles/50K) but this year Sunmart ran into a little legal problem and dropped their sponsorship of the race. There was concern that the popular trail run was finished but thanks to Roger Soler, the trail run lives on.

By complete coincidence I met a fellow Houston attorney as I braved the freezing cold and climbed out of my car. He was running the race with a running buddy of his and asked if I'd like to run with them. Why not?

Everything went well on the first 7 mile loop. We got back to the start/finish line and ditched some of our gear and headed out on the first of two 12-mile loops through the trails. What we didn't know at the time was that the course had been changed - we would be running on the same trail the 50-miler was run on. The run was great, the weather was fantastic and the company couldn't be beat.

We crossed the start/finish line in about 4 hours and 20 minutes as we headed back out for our final loop. After 19 miles we were tired and our legs were getting heavy. I've always found that one of the hardest things to do was convince myself to go back out there for the final lap. But off we went.

Everything went swimmingly until we got to the aid station by the dam. Even though we had already been through there earlier the three of us managed to take a turn to the left when we should've turned to the right. We all had a weird feeling as we headed out to the back of the park. Something didn't feel right but we weren't sure what happened. Finally we stopped and assessed the situation and realized we were off course. We had no idea how we got off course or how far we had gone off course. It was time to backtrack.

And so back we went until we found the bridge and the trail markers. We still don't know how we managed to miss them -- but we were back on course. The upside of it was we covered an extra two miles. On we went and about 90 minutes later we crossed the finish line three abreast.

I've written about it before, but the beauty of trail running is living in the moment. You can't take your mind off the task at hand because of the roots, holes and other hazards on the course. My run partners and I spent eight hours on Saturday living in the present -- and there is no better way to live.

While you can't forget your missteps in prior trials, you can't let them ruin your trial prep. Every trial is its own beast and instead of dwelling on past mistakes, learn from them.

As our run shows, it's easy to get off track in the trails and in trial preparation. Sometimes you just need to step back and look at the overall picture to determine whether you're still on course. If you're not, stop and backtrack. If you look carefully enough you'll find the correct path.