As far as the running life goes, I cannot say that 2011 worked out as planned.
There never was a plan.
The training was day to day. Things happened; I reacted.
Last year's training log featured zero 100-mile weeks. There is not much of a training log, either. Most of the year is unaccounted for.
As Haruki Marukami puts it in "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running," "I don't know why, but the older you get, the busier you become."
Last year did include long stretches of solid, quality-based training. There is perhaps no other year that I was as consistent with not only speed work, but group speed work.
It was also an excellent year for our running club. Our coach, Jerry Alexander, is a game-changer, our very own Bill Squires.
I didn't really realize this until just a few minutes ago, when I searched for my results at Marathon Guide. I have only one marathon result in 2010 and 2011.
It goes back, in a sense, to the 2010 Chicago Marathon. 2009 had been a great year. I had averaged about 10 miles a day, including breaks. I PRed in the half, won a small marathon and ran well at the Philadelphia Marathon. But 2010 got off to a shaky start. Early in the year I got a foot infection that required five weeks off. Come May, I went all-in in preparing for the marathon. Then, in the weeks before the race, I picked up an odd case of sciatica that meant basically zero running for the last week of the taper. To make matters worse, we ended up catching a hot day. For the first - and hopefully only - time, I dropped out of a marathon. This was a low point.
It took months after Chicago for me to get my body in order. By then, my life had changed. During my taper for Chicago, I started a 20-month, Saturday master's program at American University. For a journalist, it was like adding on another assignment or two per week. Getting in good training became considerably more tricky. This continues to factor into my running life now, as I'm two courses away from getting my MA in Interactive Journalism in May.
In 2011, a good week of training had me getting in about 85 miles. Busier weeks left me time for more like 60 or 65.
At some point last year I decided that 2012 was the year I'd go to Boston. Thing was, I would need a qualifier. Given my schedule, though, I was not sure if I wanted to do a fall marathon, recover for a couple months and then start preparing for Boston. I also knew that I did not want to focus on a marathon in the spring. Somehow - I am not able to recall exactly what I was thinking - I decided I would focus on shorter stuff in the spring and cap the season with the inaugural Gettysburg North-South Marathon.
I think I was thinking that it was time to stop thinking so much.
It was time to do something new. In the running world at large, 2011 will go down as a year, as many have written, that the marathon was totally and utterly redefined. Course records were broken at all five major marathons; the world record is now 2:03:38.
The way I see it is that the idea of running 20 miles with your mind and 10K with your heart is basically out the window. For pros like Geoffrey Mutai - who won the Boston Marathon in the fastest time ever run and then broke the course record in New York - the marathon is no different, really, than the 10K. The distance, in other words, is no obstacle: For Mutai, for example, 20 or 22 miles is not the time when you start to wilt; it is a time, despite the pain, that you go all in - and accelerate.
You don't hear running dorks talking about Lydiard and Pfitzinger that often anymore. Now, more often, you hear Canova and Rosa - or Salazar, Mahon and McMillan.
By taking a break from the marathon, and by taking a break from structure, I was able to rethink what I was doing. I thought about a lot of the mistakes I had made in training. I thought about how, on one hand, I continue to improve; on the other, I feel like I have not come close to realizing my goals.
Things did not click for me last year until mid-April at the Pike's Peek 10K. It's funny, too, because I almost pulled out of this race the night before. All spring my right heel had been a real bother, and the week leading up to Pike's Peek it was particularly tight. The afternoon before, after I got home from class, I went over to the gym (it was raining) to do a shakeout on the treadmill and see how it felt. Well, it felt pretty bad. After I got back to my apartment I sat down on the couch, somewhat bummed, and talked to Emily about it. She offered me a glass of wine. Then I had a second (and I think maybe a third.) Suddenly, my heel felt pretty much fine. I ate dinner and went to bed.
The next morning I had no race plan. I was loose. Warren Zevon was the perfect pre-race music.
Pike's Peek is really an amazing race. For one, I have never been on on a starting line (at least in the first couple rows) with so many ridiculously fast African runners. You get a great mix of locals, and the point-to-point course is as fast as it gets. Minutes before the start Andy Sovonick asked me what I wanted to run and I said, without really thinking, "mid 32s." I eased into it, going through the mile in around 5:10. Then, up ahead, I saw Chris Sloane, a comrade who had a really inspiring year. "There's the race," I thought. I caught up to Sloane, and we worked together much of the way, with him slipping away around 4.5 miles. We both ran big PRs. It was my first time under 32 minutes, as my chip time was 31:38 (top picture).
Racing without any real plan last year - without putting any pressure on myself to peak for anything - really re-connected me with the pure spirit of racing. Get on the line, get out smart, gradually work your way onto the pain train. Cross the line, shake the hands of anyone around you, feel good about it. You raced. You did not do anything stupid; you gave it what you had.
Racing is not pretty. I remember Pikes Peek as one of my more, as my college coach used to say, effortless efforts. In reality, for Sloane and I it felt like what you see in this picture:
Things are good on the work front. I started a new job recently at the Department of Transportation. Rather than drive 45 minutes to work, I hop on a bike and get there in 5. I also was recently named Senior Editor at the Washington Running Report. When it works out, I've developed a habit of racing and reporting.
Long story short, I have hit a good rhythm. I feel very blessed. Today, in fact, I'm an uncle: This morning my sister-in-law gave birth to Lucas Edward Pullman.
When I started marathoning in 2005, if you had asked me what I planned to be doing - as a runner - at 30, I would have told you, "winding it down." Transitioning, as they say.
It's my hope that, at 30, I'm just getting started. There are too many great examples right now of runners who are running personal bests well into their 30s. Look at Meb!
There's more I could go into, but I think I'll leave it at that. I think I dropped some hints, maybe, about my planned training approach for Boston, but I would rather not write about it yet. I will not, in other words, be blogging about my 12-week prep for my next marathon. I've learned that it causes me to put too much pressure on myself.
I will, however, keep a log and publish it after April 16. If I can remember, which is somewhat doubtful, I will tweet about my daily training.
Anyway, it's 9 p.m. Getting past my bedtime ...
