A 22 Mile Week

Last updated on: May 12, 2009 at 7:37 pm by Justin Whitaker

A 22 Mile Week 2009-05-12T19:37:00-06:00 Justin Whitaker

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Tuesday: 6.2 miles
Thursday: 6.4 mi
Saturday: 7.2 mi
Monday: 2.4 mi
Total: 22.2 miles

I was hoping for 25, or perhaps even a full marathon’s worth, 26.2, but the beating that my body sustained on Saturday’s run cut short those ambitions.

In truth I think the trail run, with its at times steep inclines and descents was tougher on the body than either of the two half marathons (13.1 mi) that I’ve run. That run, Saturday in Helena, taught me some good lessons though.

First: know thy course. I had perused the map and saw that it was zig-zaggy and appeared to go over two mountains (small ones, mind you), but I really should have studied it to the point that I could anticipate each new incline and descent well before I came to it.

I asked a fellow runner at the start who had done the race several times before, “so, it’s just two main hills, right?” She smiled, “ohhhh, it’s more than that,” gesturing with her hand a sort of up-down, up-down, go around and more up-down course structure.

I positioned myself around the 1/3 area at the start (1/3 of the runners ahead of me, 2/3 behind). The race starts on a steep hill, 20 degrees or so, the kind your car will slide right down in wet snow. This then curves into a mild incline, rounding a hill before the first set of brutal zig-zags.

This is where the pack grew thin. The first 20 or so runners were far enough ahead by this time that they were literally out of sight. Several of us got stuck behind a slow climber in the wooded switchbacks, waiting for a clearing wide enough to sprint ahead and back onto the narrow trail. Finally I took my shot and soon left a small pack behind me with a few other quicker runners.

Approaching the first summit we hit a patch so steep that I and several others simply walked in long strides, moving as fast as or faster than those who tried to jog up it. Then the down-hill!

I don’t know how my knees survived this as well as they did, but for every bit of crazy climbing I’d just done, now I had the reverse: a steep, narrow, rocky descent. Using the “windmill,” a technique Rev. Danny taught me last year at the AAR meeting in Chicago, I managed to pass by yet more runners, one vowing to see me again “on the way back up.”

“The way back up” consisted of a looooong meandering climb over our second mountain. I did see that guy again breifly, but then joined another fella who seemed intent on passing people. Next came an even longer descent, more switchbacks, long cross-ridge sections, and a stretch paralleling a road headed back toward town. One guy caught up with me there and I asked if it was downhill from here. “Yep,” he lied.

So I kicked it in a bit, passing a few more as we started a gradual climb and a sudden switchback taking us away from town. By this time my legs were exhausted. “No more hills,” I thought to myself plaintively. I had also started to develop blisters from all of the ups and downs, so it began to feel as if each step was on a razorblade.

Soon we were at the the summit again (of the second hill we’d climbed, but this time much closer to town), and a lone volunteer stood with water at a table cheering us on, “all downhill from here!” Luckily I was just behind a woman who knew the course who kindly let out a, “nuh-uhhh,” and wagged her finger jokingly at the smiling volunteer. On the way down we chatted a bit: her knees were killing her, I told her about my razorblade bilsters. She said there was just one more rise, then pure downhill as we re-entered town.

“Okay,” I thought, “I can handle one more – but just one.” I was exhuasted. The downhill became even more difficult than flat running, as I worked to keep balance and to slow down suddenly with each 90 degree turn on the switchbacks. I knew we were nearing the end but my legs and feet were at it. They were done.

I eased up considerably, trying to maintain a balance between out-of-control fast and slowing to a walk. I lost sight of the woman I was chatting with and let two others pass by me, then a couple more runners after that. For the first time that I could remember, I was finishing weak. While others were kicking it in for that last mile, I was just trying to stay upright. As we hit a dirt road approaching down one woman I had passed earlier came up on me fast and then, bam, she tumbled into the road. I stopped, asking if she was alright, but she popped right back up and was off.

It was only the last 200 meters, finally on relatively flat concrete, that I could sprint. All those muscles (that I didn’t know I had) that had been working to keep me from falling forward or off to one side could finally relax as I powered toward the finish line. And power I did, almost catching up with a few of those who had passed me on the downhill. But just so happy to be done!

I finished 30th out of 101 men with a time of 1:08:21.1, which put me ahead of all but 14 of the 126 women. So 44th overall out of 227 runners. Not too bad.

The rest of Saturday was devoted to resting, including a nap and a very nice dinner out with the family. Sunday I popped my blisters and even managed a few sets of tennis with Julie (and very much looking forward to more). Then I was off to Star Trek with my 13 year old nephew, where he chose front row for us as I picked up popped corn.

Then Monday I found myself with really bad mid/lower-back pain. It could be from the run: breakdown of muscles causing kidney damage, lack of hydration causing bladder damage, incorrect posture causing back muscle damage. It could have been a strain from the tennis (doubtful, we played light). Or… It could have been induced from watching a movie 8 feet in front of me on a 50 foot screen. My guess is that it’s a combo of the movie and back-strain from the up/downhills on the run.

Anyhow, between that, my gimpish feet, and a scarred hand (a result of a shoelace malfunction on a run a week or so ago), I’m a beat-up unit. But I still tried Monday night to reach that 25 mile goal. In the end, or about 1 mile into the run, it was the blisters that got the best of me. I’d run a bit, then walk. I even tried running faster, which didn’t seem to help (hey, it was worth a try). So my 25 mile week became a 22 mile week.

Ahh, C’est la vie. Once my feet heal up and presumably this back pain goes away I’ll be back at it. Thanks to all for the support thus far!

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