2,000 feet of elevation gain.
This story starts long before these last three months of preparation. Two and a half years ago I began to run (running 1-2 miles every few days is all). I had no idea what I was doing, why really I was running, and what the benefits/downfalls of running are/were. People lacking information just like myself in a gym, on a treadmill, surrounded me. I was programmed to step on a machine, press start; push an up button to a desired speed and go until I couldn’t. Looking back this means nothing to me. I sometimes warmed up running, I sometimes cooled down running, I did speed work on treadmills, I did intervals, but I didn’t know why. I fatigued quickly, which usually cut the runs short.
After a few months of this I ran a 5k in a triathlon; my time was miserable, but I worked as hard as I could. I was unprepared, and uninformed. I trained and raced in cheap shoes, had no clue how to pace, how to strike; keeping things simply said: I had no clue what I was doing.
After that race I spent several months trying new shoes, tried striking differently, started training with others, and paid more attention to what I was doing, although I can still say at this point I just placed my foot in front of the other because my friends and myself could push each other. After a season of 11 triathlons, a couple half marathons and some of my best memories, I found myself preparing for the Boise Half Ironman in June of this year. I made time enough to prepare for the run, but decided to pay little attention to the advice I needed the most: “you are going to spend the most time on the bike. You are a good runner, so that should be easy. You need to build a better base on your bike,” Michael Blevins.
I now question why I even traveled to Boise, only to disrespect those individuals who really prepared for the event. I spent way too much time in the water, flatted on the bike twice, and was morally trashed for the run. I finished the 13.1 miles in 2.3 hours: not great, but considering the beating I endured on the bike it was appropriate. While driving me home my mom asked, “you want to come back next year?” I could only mutter the words, “I am going to sell my bike.” Once I got home I placed my bike in the garage and paid it no mind until I had to clean it to sell it.
At this point, July 2010, a client of Vitality, Danya Allen, wanted to prepare for a marathon, so we started with a simple 4-month building regimen. During the preparation she lifted, ran 4-6 days a week, ran with me, paced accordingly; simply put: she was ready to run 26.2. Unfortunately after a 20 mile training run a sharp pain in her leg developed. Scared that the pain was a stress fracture I allowed a solid week of rest. Even after the rest the pain resided and we had to cancel the run.
This leaves me here today writing a story not about my inspirational running partner and friend, but writing my story about running an overwhelming 26.2 miles that I will never revisit. I have learned a lot running with Danya, witnessed her desire to run, and her incredible persistence. I became a better runner because of her. Funny to think that while I prepared her for this race she influenced me, and prepared me just as much.
The initial route I had planned was a long course stretched across the Wasatch Valley, but anyone can run that. After the news of Danya’s leg I wanted to run something much more challenging than the 26.2 miles. Frankly put: I am ready for the run, but because it will be my first and last long distance run I wanted it to be an adventure. The route I planned two weeks before the race is this:
Begin at the mouth of Emigration canyon, climb to the top, descend to Mountain Dell Golf Course, climb back up to the top of Emigration, and kill the decent down to 700 east and 800 south.
I was not sure how exactly I would perform seeing how I can descend quickly (naturally who cant with gravity on your side?), but after an eight mile climb I knew my quads would be toast. No one questioned my ability, or desire to run this route, but the Sunday before the run I started getting anxious; this anxiety is a regular occurrence before any event in which I participate. I wanted to focus on having fun, running with good friends and the people I loved, but I could only envision myself falling apart on the climbs. After a solid week of anxiety, lack of sleep, and depression I woke up to eat an egg sandwich and a peach.
The run was set to begin at 8:00 am. Melissa, Mary, and Steve (my co-pilot) were there to get things started. Melissa ran the first mile with me setting a good pace for the run. After the first mile Ryan caught up to me and began his adventure. We initially wanted ryan to run the first and last three miles with me, but being who he is, ryan couldn’t leave it alone and ran 8 miles with me. At this point the first climb was crushed, I had energy, but still had 18 miles left. At the summit, looking down that road was more or less discouraging. Nick, Steve, and ryan were there to cheer me on, snap some pictures, feed me, and hydrate me-without them I would have not done nearly as well.
Once I hit the turnaround-11.5 miles-I was just about mentally drained. I knew that the decent I had just made was now another climb. I was tired, but thankfully a great soundtrack was blazing in my ear. Some people love punk, some love metal, some love hardcore music while working hard. For those, like myself, who are honest, I like Lady Gaga , shitty rap, and poppy mainstream music, and use it as inspiration. The first 2.5 miles of the climb were fueled by a cliff bar, coconut water, and the song titled, “Black and yellow.” The climb was slow, and I hurt. I stopped twice on the climb to gain some composure, but realized that stopping did not allow me to gain much. I reached the switchback and met up with the crew.
Ryan was stretching, preparing for his “last two miles.” We started another climb; not much was said until Nick jumped out of the bushes yelling “yahahayahhaaa.” Apparently scaring the shit out of us seemed like a great idea; it was. From there, Nick and Ryan helped push me up the last long climb of the day. Reaching that summit once again was, for lack of better words, fucking amazing. I looked back on the climb I had just made, turned around only to realize I was still 11 or so miles away from finishing. This left me with a very strange feeling. One that nearly made me cry. For some reason at this point I felt alone, empty.
The empty feeling left once I saw another crew of besties driving up the canyon: Cody, Tj, and Karen. They hopped out of the car and immediately matched my pace never leaving my side.
“How are you feeling?” Karen
“Ha. I feel okay I guess,” Chase
Ten miles out from finishing, I began to weep. I guess you could say I was happy that my friends loved me enough to support me during this milestone. I felt whole again, grabbed some water, snagged a fruit bar and began to run again. At this point, Karen, Tj, Cody, and Ryan were pacing with me. We ran together until Ryan had enough making his journey end at 14 miles for the day (not bad for a guy who has not ran since 2008). He bid me a farewell and I jammed on my way. At mile 19 I started to feel fatigued. Something I had not ever felt before. Karen concernedly asked, “have you ran a marathon before?” with a tear and a whisper of, “no,” she reassured me that the wall would pass in about 20 minutes. I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted to hear that no wall would be coming.
The next several miles were the hardest I have run. Ever. The pace may have only been at 6.7-7.2 mph, but every part of my body began to fall apart. I began to cramp in my traps, forearm, and hamstring. Mentally I was finished. Thank tiny baby jesus for Karen being there to keep me moving. Thank Tj for hitting all of the lights and prepping all of my drinks. Thanks to Cody for showing me the brighter side of the run and coaching me through the hard times. Thanks to Gary for the claps, and yells. Thanks to Tony for the comedic relief. Thanks to Nick for the 20 some odd stops he made during the run. Thanks to Steve for stopping, and providing me with water and fuel. Thanks to Mom, and Melissa for running what you could, but the real thanks is given to Ryan for showing such determination. Even with a broken rib, back, and knee replacement all within the last year he kept me going when I needed it.
The final miles were miserable, fun, painful, and loving. I love everyone who helped get me to the finish line only to watch me stumble around crying. I may never run another marathon, but those 26.2 miles will forever be mine. I will probably never meet another individual who runs/ran that exact course, so the 4.5 hours I spent running it are mine. Whether it is good, bad, or indifferent I hurt, I was challenged, and had a great time with great friends. To me, that is what functional fitness is all about.
Challenge yourself when you can. For only you can overcome what struggles you will encounter.
