Welcome to Fall. Give me Money.

Fall Colors Breaking Out in the Cascades

Fall!

There is a brief window each fall when the days are still long and warm, the kids are back in school, and my pesky little job teaching young writers hasn’t yet started up for the year.

Setting aside the fact that I happen to love back-to-school shopping (office supplies and new jeans for everyone!), fall is simply the best.

Let’s start with the fact that in the Northwest there is no better weather than in September and October. It’s not exactly sunbathing and headed down to the old swimmin’ hole weather, but for running the cool mornings and warm dry afternoons are perfect because it lets me use more of my unnecessarily complex running wardrobe. Early morning runs require a lightweight windbreaker (of which I own three, in different colors and in three slightly different styles). In the afternoon I can decide between sleeveless, short sleeved, or lightweight long sleeve depending on temperature (and mood).

And the marginally maintained school bus pulling away from the corner in a cloud of diesel smoke means the kids are off the streets, off the trails, and out of the corner booth at my favorite coffee shop. No more getting run down by mountain bikers in Mad Max armor. On the first day of school, I ventured out to the Real Running Super Secret Trail Running Test Grounds, which are somehow always crowded with people despite being super secret. I made my way around my usual 4 mile loop twice before seeing another soul, and that was the park ranger, who was wandering around the woods befuddled by the lack of teenagers smoking and making out on the picnic tables. It was perfectly awesome.

Fall also gives me a chance to dig into the bucket of running gadgets I have stashed under my desk. Reflective bands, blinky lights, headlamps, running packs (to carry the other assorted gadgets I might need). It’s an accessory hound’s dream!

It’s fleeting, though. In a few weeks fall will give up and winter will take over. If you’re looking to mark it on your calendar, it’s the day before the Seattle Marathon.

Race Season

Speaking of the Seattle 26.2 mile foot race, marathon “season” is upon us. The usual suspects in Portland and Seattle are coming up soon, and if you haven’t started training yet, you might want to get started. I usually run in at least one of the major local races each year, but this year I’m on a small race kick. This year I’m on the lookout for any race in a town I’ve heard of but never been to, any race for a cause that is only marginally a cause, and any race that has a distance with a “plus or minus” after it. So come on North Yelm Approximate Marathon Distance Running Race for Feline Depression! I’ll buy that t-shirt.

Whatever your pleasure, do yourself a favor and sign up for at least one fall race. The calendar is jammed, and as the weather turns you’re going to need something to get you out of the house and log your miles.

Listenings

Yes, I’m that guy who is always running with headphones on. But despite my rock and roll exterior, I’m not always listening to . Am I the only one who is listening to old podcasts of “Car Talk” while I run? Honestly, the podcast has revolutionized my training. I don’t need two and a half minute bursts of energy from . I need forty-five minutes of distraction from pain and suffering. As a bonus, I get my training done and sometimes I learn a little something about colors, or pain, or fetal maturation. Thanks Radiolab!

Best Column Money Can Buy

Last night we watched the Morgan Spurlock documentary “The Greatest Movie Ever Sold,” the premise of which is the effect of product placement and overt advertising on filmmaking. This got me to thinking about how to continue to fund the ever-expanding budget of Real Running. What I need are some sponsors.

How easy it would be to casually mention my BRAND NAME shoes or the refreshing flavor of BRAND NAME hydration right here in this column! I could go on about my great BRAND NAME watches, or BRAND NAME compression shorts.

Heck, I’ll even promote products that have nothing to do with running. For the right price. And the right price is free stuff. Ahem. I know someone who works for someone who sells, promotes, manufactures, or distributes running products is reading this.

Tweet

It took me a while, but it happened. I’m on Twitter. Follow me @GregVanBelle. I’ll even promote your product there. You know, for the right price. See above.

Running Your Age

Sooner or later, usually sooner, every runner faces some variation of this question: why do you do it?

Why do you torture yourself? Why do you put up with those nasty black toenails and the technical shirts that smell like the floormats of a teenager’s Honda? Why do you get up at dark-thirty and spend an hour trudging around in the rain?

Here’s the thing about these questions: they don’t really want to hear the real answer. Anyone asking a question like that isn’t interested in the real reasons behind your passion. The person asking the question wants you to say something that is, in their minds, equally as crazy as your commitment to running in the first place so they can brush you off as insane and go about their day.

So don’t waste a second coming up with a good answer. There isn’t one. A good answer would poetically dig down and express the joy of effortless miles. A compelling answer would convey the beauty of a mile of winding singletrack with nothing but the sound of your shoes hitting the dirt. The best answer would make the questioner want to lace up the shoes and head to the track.

No such answer exists. I just shrug and say, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just crazy.”

Here are some other stock answers you might want to have pre-loaded for the next time someone asks…

“I’m part Kenyan. It’s just in my blood.”

“I’m not good at any other sports.”

“I’m staying fit in case I have to run from the cops.”

“I save a lot of money on gym memberships.”

“I just like to hurt myself. I’m into that. Wink.”

Then just walk away.

Every time someone asks me any variant of the “why do you run?” question, I do reflexively ask myself the same question. What’s in it for me? I think the simplest answer is that I run so I can eat whatever I want. That might be all there is to it.

However, once you get beyond basic health maintenance – which is for most the only reasonable excuse for running – what is the reason to keep going? Weight management and fitness only requires a few miles a day. So why does my training log show so many 60 mile weeks?

I don’t want to speak for both of you, but I have come up with a pretty decent answer, and it came to me on my 40^th birthday.

For no good reason, I decided that for this landmark birthday I would challenge myself to a mile for every year of my life. 40 for 40. Try explaining that to your family and friends.

It was during my (failed) attempt at 40 miles on my 40^th birthday that I finally figured out, for me, what this running thing was all about.  We have established that I will never win a race. I will likely never be faster than I am now. I have no extrinsic motivation to lace my shoes and run.

Maybe it is just a variant of the classic mountain climbing excuse “because it’s there,” but when I filter out every other possible motivation to keep running, I do it because I want to see what this old body can do. I run distances because I can. And I want to see just how much I can do.

Human endurance is an incredible thing, and in the western world, we live largely free of circumstances that require us to really use it. We read remarkable tales of survival and sea or in the mountains, and they are remarkable precisely because they are so rare. 

I don’t want to be stranded in the mountains (been there, done that) or adrift in the ocean on a dismasted yacht. But whatever force gets people through those situations is precisely the force that makes me want to see just how far my legs can run. It’s a survival instinct that I hope to never have to actually use.

It’s that force that took me around my first marathon course, and it’s why I found myself at the Redmond Watershed recently in an attempt to run 40 miles on my 40^th birthday. I came up short with an injury, but I’ll be back next year. 41 for 41.

My First Ultra!

Be warned, new runners. 7 years ago I struggled and cramped my way through a 10k race and finished feeling like I had just climbed Everest. A few weeks ago I found myself standing ankle-deep in a puddle in Bellingham thinking it was reasonable to run 50k in the rain, snow, mud, and wind. It will happen to you.

I mean, if you can do 6.2 miles, why not 13.1? And certainly if you can run 13.1 miles once, you can do it twice. So why not sign up for a marathon? And so it goes.

When I ran my first marathon I really didn’t even know that there was such a thing as a longer distance than that. I crossed the finish like feeling like I’d just climbed Everest and figured I’d done it. All that was left to do was run 26.2 miles faster.

Then a funny thing happened. Every time I tried to get my body to go faster, it just broke. So my marathon times never really changed. Well, I said to myself, if I can’t go faster, I can do more. So I set goals of doing more marathons. Two things happened with that plan. One, I went broke paying entry fees and booking hotel rooms. Two, I got hurt more often.

On a doctor’s advice, I started running on “soft” surfaces more often to reduce the impact injuries I was suffering. I’d be out running 4 miles on the trails and groups water bottle carrying athletes would bound past me and bounce uphill over the rocks and roots. These strange creatures are ultra-marathoners.

Ultra-marathons? I didn’t know there was such a thing. But once I knew there was a distance goal above 26.2, I just had to have it. Because I’m an idiot. And I hang out with idiots who think such things are reasonable.

So back to the starting line. I was trying to be serious about what I was about to do, but I looked around at the 300 other people in my starting group and noticed that they all had silly grins on their faces. Some of them were even laughing and joking around. Are you people insane?

Yes, they are insane. And I was now one of them. So I grinned and made a lame joke to person standing next to me. And before I knew it, Scott Jurek was telling us to have fun out there…Fun?

Running any distance is ultimately about seeing what your body can do. It’s about testing your fitness and your mental toughness. I was about to find out what I could do. I had never run anything over 27 miles in my life, let alone with thousands of feet of climbing on muddy, snow-covered trails and fire roads.

A mile into the race I started noticing a few things. In most marathons, we all queue up and put our heads down, waiting for the starting gun. Then we huff and puff our way quietly through the first few miles. In an ultra, people are smiling, patting each other on the back, talking about training, asking about friends. Someone running near me noticed that my shoes were the same brand he wore. Cool man. Nice kicks.

At the second aid station – which emerged out of the snowy forest like some sort of frozen, tented oasis, one of my ultra-running friends was manning the water pitchers. He couldn’t run this race, but he came out anyway to be a part of it. He recognized me as I came in, gave me some advice about the course, smiled and kicked my butt out of the aid station and up the hill. That doesn’t happen at your local 10k.

In the middle miles I fell in with a small group of men and women and we ran together for a while. I slowed down a bit on a steep climb (it felt steep to me, anyway) and a woman I don’t know and had never seen before the race stopped and kicked my butt to keep running. You don’t get that in your average half marathon.

And eventually my watch ticked over 26.2 miles. Then over 27. 28. I was in new territory. My longest ever run, and it didn’t kill me.

I dragged myself across the finish line, eventually. Two more of my ultra runner friends who couldn’t run this race were there, directing traffic, high fiving finishers, and basically hanging out having a good time. I dwelled on the fact that I had just finished an ultra marathon for roughly 30 seconds before one of these “friends” asked me when I was going to sign up for a 50 miler.

Be warned. It will happen to you, too.

How to Die in the Woods

Back in my more adventurous days I was unfortunate enough to spend several unplanned nights in the wilderness. These were usually mountaineering efforts gone awry, long approach hikes washed out by bad weather, or rare instances when a climbing partner got hurt. But that was mountaineering, and we openly talked of that risk. It was a known entity. Climbers dismiss such nights as a quick “bivvy.” It’s part of the adventure, and over time you learn the difference between an inconvenient night on a rock ledge and a life-threatening situation.

Having given up any real vertical aspirations, I assumed I was pretty much done with the unplanned wilderness overnight adventure. But on a recent trail run, as things started to spiral out of control, I was smacked in the face by the reality that running in the wilderness is no different from climbing in the wilderness. Things can go wrong, and if you make enough mistakes, you can die on a trail run just as easily as you can while climbing a mountain…Using my recent experience in New Zealand to illustrate, I’m here to tell you how to do it:

1.     Go alone. This way no one will be there to see those embarrassing last moments as you slowly die from exposure or a head injury.

2.     Ignore the Weather. The run in question was in a national park known for being both the rainiest and the sunniest place on the north Island of New Zealand. As weird as that sounds, it should have at least registered in my brain as a variable in my plan. When I woke that morning, heavy rain clouds were racing in from the ocean. The mountain I intended to run the flanks of was shrouded in mist. But instead of using my actual senses to assess the situation, I looked at the online weather report, took the optimistic high temperature, and dressed for that.

3.     Don’t research. I had already glanced at a 100 word description of the track I was going to do. Most of the trails I’d been on in the week or so before this had been very well marked and logical. I hadn’t once used one of the maps carried. And I was still riding the high I was on from the day before, where I just randomly happened upon a brilliant track that wasn’t on any maps or in any guidebooks. Just go for it! So I left for the mountain with no maps.

4.     Be in a hurry. This is important if you want to die, because when you’re in a hurry, you forget things. You forget to charge your GPS watch, for example. Or you forget to refill your hydration pack. Heck, you even forget to grab a fresh pair of shoes because you know there are some shoes in the car already.

5.     Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. The very kind woman at the parking lot near the trailhead was a little concerned about my plans. I was going to do what they considered to be a 2-3 day tramp in 3-4 hours. As I stood there shivering in my shorts and tank top (see #2) she asked whether anyone would miss me if I didn’t return. That’s exactly how she phrased it. Umm, yeah. Eventually. If I don’t get off an Air New Zealand flight in a week, people might miss me. But no. I hadn’t told anyone my plans.

6.     Be cheap. The well-meaning ranger suggested I purchase the official topo map of the mountain before I set out. These maps are unbelievably good and are produced by the New Zealand government to keep people from dying in the woods. But fourteen dollars? I’ll be fine with this promotional map I got from a brochure on guided summit expeditions, thank you.

7.     Be proud. A mile into this trail and I knew it was going to be a struggle. Steep climbs, slippery descents, treacherous stream crossings, and waist deep bogs were the order of the day. When my under-charged GPS watch died at mile 6 (see #4) I had already been struggling on this trail for almost 2 hours. Do the math. But rather than turning around, I kept pressing on, and before long I was past the halfway point. I think. I didn’t have a map (#3, #6).

8.     Take risks. Sure, there’s an easier way to cross that river about a half mile upstream, but this is a more direct route. This is the logic that almost did me in. Leap to one rock. Solid. Breathe. Leap again. Miss. Slip and fall into the freezing river. Narrowly miss smashing your skull on a rock. Watch in slow motion as the rock you jumped to starts rolling toward you. Think about 127 Hours. Panic.

I eventually dragged myself out of the forest and back to my car, of course. But I spent over half of what turned out to be 21 miles talking to myself like a crazy man, worrying that I was hopelessly lost, and cursing myself for being a moron.

Be careful out there. I need both of my readers to keep this thing going!

Coming in Next Month's Issue

 In next month's Northwest Runner, I give advice on how to die in the woods! Here's a preview: Ignore signage like this:

Bet you can't wait for the rest.

DNS

I just put a few scorch marks on the Real Running credit card signing up for a few spring and summer races. Sixty dollars here. Ninety dollars there. I even snuck in a thirty-five dollar entry fee. Bargain! Of course, that doesn’t include a t-shirt.

Not that I need another t-shirt.

Over the last year I signed up for a dozen races. I ran in six of them. Race fees, like most airfares, are non-refundable, which you would think would be motivation enough to not miss an event I signed up for. But no. I have come up with some really interesting excuses to avoid toeing the starting line recently. And with the spring and summer race season starting up in the Northwest, I thought I’d offer myself up as a cautionary tale to those of you with your credit card out and your calendar open.

First, let me just say that it is too darn easy to sign up for races. Open a website, click an event, click a few more buttons and now you’re the proud owner of spot on the starting line. All races look great online. Neat logos, fancy interactive course maps, pictures of smiling finishers holding medals or flowers or infants, or all three.

But that’s another issue entirely.  We’re here to chase all those entry fees I kindly donated to the race organizers last year.

I consciously chose to skip one race. It’s true. I bagged out. I thought I’d have more time to train. I thought I could cram in a few long runs right before the race. I’d run 26.2 miles before. What the heck. But the week before the race, as I labored through the last mile of a short run on a flat road, I knew I would do nothing but suffer if I laced up the shoes for marathon weekend. So I quit. I stayed home and watched a Top Chef marathon on TV. I still think this was a wise decision. A DNS is better than a DNF any day, if you ask me.

Compare that to last summer. I was in good running shape, had been training hard, had a couple of great long training runs under my feet, and had plans to do a marathon I’ve wanted to do for years. The day before the race, I was tempting fate by walking around the yard barefoot. Fate broke my toe. The day before the race. No run for me.

Later in the summer I was traveling in the week before a trail race. I was supposed to fly home the night before, get a good night’s sleep, and show up at the trailhead ready to go. Instead, my flight got canceled. And the next one was overbooked. And the other airlines didn’t have flights until morning. I did finally get on a flight. And as we started our descent into Sea-Tac, the race was just starting. Missed that one.

A month later one of our kids came home from school sick. Within three days everyone was sick. Day four was the Portland Marathon. Since even getting out of bed was a struggle, I didn’t figure running around the streets of Portland was the best idea.

I slept through my alarm on a race day in November.

I wrote down the wrong date for a race in December and missed it by a week.

And now I’m looking at this slate of races I have registered and paid for between now and summer and wondering what circumstances will come my way and prevent me from getting to the starting line. I’m putting my money on alien invasion.