I don't quite know where to start...a whirlwind weekend in Houston and now the 2012 Olympic Trials Marathon has come and gone and it shifts, for all the participants, from the focal point of massive preparations to the shifty annals of memory, where emotions and events coalesce and settle into an impression and a feeling. For some, bitterness will tinge the experience. Watch the 4th place finishers if you're in the mood to witness heartbreak. For others, like myself, the joy of being there will reign. I ran 2:22:03 and finished 66th out of 113 starters and 85 finishers. The races for the 3 spots on the Olympic team and the dynamics of the races up front certainly warrant a post of their own. The experience of coaching 4 athletes at the Trials was a real privilege and honor, and could be another post. For today, though, I'll focus on my story strictly as a runner.
For me, a 35 year old with 20 marathons under his belt and a PR of 2:17, the Olympic Dream had been gone for several years. However, with recent marathons far off the sub-2:19 qualifying time -- 2:25 (with a tailwind at Grandma's 2011), a DNF at Twin Cities in 2010, and 2:29 (2010 Boston) -- I felt compelled by pride and respect for the gravity of the event to train to the best of my ability and to compete like I belonged there.
Training became an exercise in faith and patience. My early season test, the Mpls 13.1, showed just how far I had to go. I ran 1:11:00 for the half marathon, slower by 1:30 than the marathon pace required to qualify for the trials. While I did not necessarily "go the well" in that race, I could not have run that much faster.
Part of the problem, I realized, is that I had become too accustomed to staying within my comfort zone. The fire and drive that makes you that 10 seconds faster on an interval, or that gets you to hold on to a pace for an extra mile in a tempo run...that fire had dwindled, or more accurately, had been extinguished by the long hours of studying, the short nights of sleep, and the various other pursuits that had taken precedence in my life.
When the fire goes out, how do you get it back? The two keys for me were 1) fear and 2) the support of friends, family, the athletes I coach, and runners and the running community in general.
Fear? The marathon should be feared, and the high level of competition at the Trials should be feared...and the fact that I had a qualifying time just 2 seconds under the standard meant I had even more to fear. This quote sums it up well...
"Fear is the strongest driving-force in competition. Not fear of one's opponent, but of the skill and high standard which he represents; fear, too, of not acquitting oneself well. In the achievement of greater performances, of beating formidable rivals, the athlete defeats fear and conquers himself. " -- Franz Stampfl
And the support to do it...the ability to take a little lighter load at school this fall, to back away from coaching Nordic skiing, to take the extra time away from activities with friends and family. It means everything to have people say, "wow, that's really amazing that you get to do that." It reminds you of the purpose of your training during the long, hard weeks when the race is far away and all you have is the grinding regiment, the aches, the cramps, the early morning alarm clock, the doubts and the fears.
I considered, last summer, finding myself a coach. Being self-coached has its benefits -- no one knows you better, especially when you've been competing for 20 years. However, sometimes you need that outside perspective to tell you what you don't want to hear. Instead of finding a coach, which seemed like a gamble so close to the Trials, I sat down and set up a training program for myself as if I were writing it for someone else...some other 35 year old journeyman, coming off a couple of years of ultras and struggling to find those faster gears. Then, I vowed to hold myself to the standard I'd expect to see in another athlete who's training for the Olympic Trials.
What that meant for me was less putting workouts off for a day or two, not missing any of my second workouts, cutting out some junk miles, getting in more of the "auxiliary" training -- strength, core, plyos -- and probably most of all, getting back on the track.
Somewhere I had developed a real aversion to doing track workouts. I continued to do some speed work, but mostly in the form of timed fartleks (1 minute on/1 minute off, e.g.). These have their place, but obviously I had lost a lot of speed and it was a big priority to improve that aspect of my running. It would be pretty tough to judge that progress unless I went to the track.
So I did it. I had a hard time for several weeks...you compare yourself to where you once were and you compare yourself to the guys you'll be racing against. At a certain point, though, I found a groove with it, and actually started to enjoy it again. I was making progress. I wasn't as fast as I once was, but I improved and I felt fast.
I tapered well, and despite a few days of neurotic obsession with my tight hip and sore foot and doubting this, that, and the other thing, I managed to arrive in Houston feeling fairly confident in myself and genuinely excited to run a marathon.
Knowing this would likely be my last Trials, if not my last competitive marathon, felt like an added pressure. How will I finish...how will this portion of my career end? I didn't really know how fast I could run. I had had one or two workouts that suggested I could run in the 2:18 range, so I kept the dream of running a PR of 2:17 alive in the back of my head. Objectively, though, you have to look at what the majority of your workouts say, not what the best one says. And objectively, I thought I was probably in 2:22 shape, maybe 2:20 on a good day.
The first miles were fast and fun, tucked in with a massive pack in the cool morning air...nothing goes by faster than the first few miles of a marathon. At 4 miles I was at 21:00 and running with U of MN alum Justin Grunewald. He told me he was trying to slow it down to 5:20s. I felt comfortable running 5:15s, but I had to be honest with myself at this point and admit that I didn't feel comfortable enough to run 22 more miles at that pace. It was fairly breezy and the course was up on an elevated parkway at times, which made the wind a more serious factor. So rather than pushing ahead, I ran with Justin and soon we had a good pack that worked through much of the race together.
I held back and tried not to push the pace at all during the first of three large loops (after the initial 2.2 mile loop). I think this was key in allowing me to recover from the initial faster miles. On the second loop, I tried to balance caution with some slow progress on runners who were ahead of us. We hit the half marathon just under 70 minutes having run a lot of miles in the 5:20s. By the latter part of the second lap and going into the third, I knew I wasn't going to be able to cut back down to 5:15 or faster, but I did feel confident that I could hold what we had been doing.
At the same time, I was increasingly left to do the pace-setting on my own. The group had dwindled and splintered. Grunewald was actually ahead of me at this point. Clint Verran, a long-time competitor of mine, was settled in behind me. He had returned from injury just in time to get a qualifier at Cal International in early December, so his fitness was not 100% and he was content to try to hang on.
We were starting to see more and more guys dropping out along the sides of the road. I tried to keep the pace honest, and going into the third lap I started to move more aggressively to try to catch people. Over the last 5 miles, I caught a lot of guys...the fast early pace took its toll on many. Mile 22 was a 5:40, my slowest of the race, and at that point I really tried to drop the hammer and shift into a racing mentality. The next two were down in the mid 5:20s, and then I slowed slightly again, though continuing to pass a few guys.
Clint caught up to me with 400 meters to go. I tried to go and hung onto him as best as I could. When we turned the corner with 200 to go, there was no one else within striking distance. Clint swung wide and slowed, allowing me to go ahead of him. We came in together, with him sitting a half step behind me. He told me that he wanted me to beat him because I did all the work. That sort of humility and sportsmanship says a lot for his character, and sums up a lot about what's great about the sport.
At the end I had a moment of realizing that this was it, the end of an era in my life, and I got pretty choked up. No, I'm not retiring from running...I was never good enough to "retire" and frankly, the love of the sport has always come first for me. I'll be running in some capacity for as long as I can. But competing at this level is something special and finite, and it has been an honor to brush shoulders with greatness.
For me, a 35 year old with 20 marathons under his belt and a PR of 2:17, the Olympic Dream had been gone for several years. However, with recent marathons far off the sub-2:19 qualifying time -- 2:25 (with a tailwind at Grandma's 2011), a DNF at Twin Cities in 2010, and 2:29 (2010 Boston) -- I felt compelled by pride and respect for the gravity of the event to train to the best of my ability and to compete like I belonged there.
Training became an exercise in faith and patience. My early season test, the Mpls 13.1, showed just how far I had to go. I ran 1:11:00 for the half marathon, slower by 1:30 than the marathon pace required to qualify for the trials. While I did not necessarily "go the well" in that race, I could not have run that much faster.
Part of the problem, I realized, is that I had become too accustomed to staying within my comfort zone. The fire and drive that makes you that 10 seconds faster on an interval, or that gets you to hold on to a pace for an extra mile in a tempo run...that fire had dwindled, or more accurately, had been extinguished by the long hours of studying, the short nights of sleep, and the various other pursuits that had taken precedence in my life.
When the fire goes out, how do you get it back? The two keys for me were 1) fear and 2) the support of friends, family, the athletes I coach, and runners and the running community in general.
Fear? The marathon should be feared, and the high level of competition at the Trials should be feared...and the fact that I had a qualifying time just 2 seconds under the standard meant I had even more to fear. This quote sums it up well...
"Fear is the strongest driving-force in competition. Not fear of one's opponent, but of the skill and high standard which he represents; fear, too, of not acquitting oneself well. In the achievement of greater performances, of beating formidable rivals, the athlete defeats fear and conquers himself. " -- Franz Stampfl
And the support to do it...the ability to take a little lighter load at school this fall, to back away from coaching Nordic skiing, to take the extra time away from activities with friends and family. It means everything to have people say, "wow, that's really amazing that you get to do that." It reminds you of the purpose of your training during the long, hard weeks when the race is far away and all you have is the grinding regiment, the aches, the cramps, the early morning alarm clock, the doubts and the fears.
I considered, last summer, finding myself a coach. Being self-coached has its benefits -- no one knows you better, especially when you've been competing for 20 years. However, sometimes you need that outside perspective to tell you what you don't want to hear. Instead of finding a coach, which seemed like a gamble so close to the Trials, I sat down and set up a training program for myself as if I were writing it for someone else...some other 35 year old journeyman, coming off a couple of years of ultras and struggling to find those faster gears. Then, I vowed to hold myself to the standard I'd expect to see in another athlete who's training for the Olympic Trials.
What that meant for me was less putting workouts off for a day or two, not missing any of my second workouts, cutting out some junk miles, getting in more of the "auxiliary" training -- strength, core, plyos -- and probably most of all, getting back on the track.
Somewhere I had developed a real aversion to doing track workouts. I continued to do some speed work, but mostly in the form of timed fartleks (1 minute on/1 minute off, e.g.). These have their place, but obviously I had lost a lot of speed and it was a big priority to improve that aspect of my running. It would be pretty tough to judge that progress unless I went to the track.
So I did it. I had a hard time for several weeks...you compare yourself to where you once were and you compare yourself to the guys you'll be racing against. At a certain point, though, I found a groove with it, and actually started to enjoy it again. I was making progress. I wasn't as fast as I once was, but I improved and I felt fast.
I tapered well, and despite a few days of neurotic obsession with my tight hip and sore foot and doubting this, that, and the other thing, I managed to arrive in Houston feeling fairly confident in myself and genuinely excited to run a marathon.
Knowing this would likely be my last Trials, if not my last competitive marathon, felt like an added pressure. How will I finish...how will this portion of my career end? I didn't really know how fast I could run. I had had one or two workouts that suggested I could run in the 2:18 range, so I kept the dream of running a PR of 2:17 alive in the back of my head. Objectively, though, you have to look at what the majority of your workouts say, not what the best one says. And objectively, I thought I was probably in 2:22 shape, maybe 2:20 on a good day.
The first miles were fast and fun, tucked in with a massive pack in the cool morning air...nothing goes by faster than the first few miles of a marathon. At 4 miles I was at 21:00 and running with U of MN alum Justin Grunewald. He told me he was trying to slow it down to 5:20s. I felt comfortable running 5:15s, but I had to be honest with myself at this point and admit that I didn't feel comfortable enough to run 22 more miles at that pace. It was fairly breezy and the course was up on an elevated parkway at times, which made the wind a more serious factor. So rather than pushing ahead, I ran with Justin and soon we had a good pack that worked through much of the race together.
I held back and tried not to push the pace at all during the first of three large loops (after the initial 2.2 mile loop). I think this was key in allowing me to recover from the initial faster miles. On the second loop, I tried to balance caution with some slow progress on runners who were ahead of us. We hit the half marathon just under 70 minutes having run a lot of miles in the 5:20s. By the latter part of the second lap and going into the third, I knew I wasn't going to be able to cut back down to 5:15 or faster, but I did feel confident that I could hold what we had been doing.
At the same time, I was increasingly left to do the pace-setting on my own. The group had dwindled and splintered. Grunewald was actually ahead of me at this point. Clint Verran, a long-time competitor of mine, was settled in behind me. He had returned from injury just in time to get a qualifier at Cal International in early December, so his fitness was not 100% and he was content to try to hang on.
We were starting to see more and more guys dropping out along the sides of the road. I tried to keep the pace honest, and going into the third lap I started to move more aggressively to try to catch people. Over the last 5 miles, I caught a lot of guys...the fast early pace took its toll on many. Mile 22 was a 5:40, my slowest of the race, and at that point I really tried to drop the hammer and shift into a racing mentality. The next two were down in the mid 5:20s, and then I slowed slightly again, though continuing to pass a few guys.
Clint caught up to me with 400 meters to go. I tried to go and hung onto him as best as I could. When we turned the corner with 200 to go, there was no one else within striking distance. Clint swung wide and slowed, allowing me to go ahead of him. We came in together, with him sitting a half step behind me. He told me that he wanted me to beat him because I did all the work. That sort of humility and sportsmanship says a lot for his character, and sums up a lot about what's great about the sport.
At the end I had a moment of realizing that this was it, the end of an era in my life, and I got pretty choked up. No, I'm not retiring from running...I was never good enough to "retire" and frankly, the love of the sport has always come first for me. I'll be running in some capacity for as long as I can. But competing at this level is something special and finite, and it has been an honor to brush shoulders with greatness.
Chris I remember seeing you as a high schooler as you where one of the best in the state. Then I followed you as you made a dent in the Stanford running program. It was when you moved home to MN to start with Team USA MN I truly got to know what a great runner but even more a great person you are. It has been so much fun calling you a friend Chris. While this chapter has closed I know that there is so much more for you to still do as a runner and as a coach in our great sport. Thanks for letting me watch it unfold all this time.
ReplyDeleteI'm sitting here, stumped for something to say, because you pretty much said it all. "Great race" just doesn't seem to cover it. It's difficult to put in your best effort when you know the podium's out of reach and when you go from trying to PR every race to hoping for that one last really good one, but I think you got all you could out of yourself that day. Congrats.
ReplyDeleteCongrats on the awesome finish and doing what you wanted in Houston! It was exciting to follow and know someone who was there, doing it and doing it well. Thanks for the teaching and giving me an intro to the world of marathons!
ReplyDeleteIt is a real honor to say, "I coached Chris Lundstrom."
ReplyDeleteCongrats on your Oly Trials - for you and your runners!
ReplyDeleteCongrats, Chris. It was an honor to brush coaching shoulders with you in the early 2000's. I especially enjoyed what you shared about you and Clint V over the last 200 meters. Great stuff! Coaching often puts me in a reflective mood and I "sneak a last look" as we leave a meet to freeze the moment in my mind. Glad you took a moment to do that at the Trials.
ReplyDelete-Andy