The Hard Shit

Joseph Vinciquerra | February 10th, 2010

“Let’s plunge ourselves into the roar of time, the whirl of accident; may pain and pleasure, success and failure, shift as they will – it’s only action that can make a man.”

(Goethe, Faust)

While I generally try to stay away from profanities in my writings, there is simply no other way to portray the mounting challenges encountered during this stage of training other than describing it as “The Hard Shit.” Certainly, there is a certain majestic aspect to qualifying for the Boston Marathon, and by extension, the training that takes place through the winter in preparation for the big event in April. For five years, in fact, this promised majesty is what kept me focused on running a fast enough qualifying marathon so that I too could be permitted into the Boston club. And while I’ve had my fair share of setbacks over the past twelve months, training has so far been going very, very well.

But sooner or later, even the strongest begin to show weakness. As I’ve begun to ramp up the running volume over the past six weeks – 12, then 14, then 16, and most recently, 18-mile long runs buried within proportionately growing weekly totals – the weight of training for a solid marathon performance during the typical northeast off-season has become increasingly noticeable. I’ve done the work in sub-zero temperatures, and I’ve done the work in blowing snow and pouring rain mixed into the same forecast. There has been no such thing as a “straight” run – no workouts where I simply “do” a certain number of miles. Every one of my long runs, for example, has either finished with 5k at race pace, or has been comprised of multiple segments at faster-than-marathon pace. The routes I’ve chosen to run have substantial hills by design, and like Boston, the downhills hurt just as much as the uphills. Through all of this, it’s been cold, dark, and hard.

This past weekend I came the closest to crying “uncle” that I have in a long, long time. On schedule was an 18-mile long run that had substantial “ups and downs” to mimic the Boston course. High temperatures for the day would barely see twenty degrees, and the wind would be omnipresent. I planned a route that would put me back at my house at the halfway point, so that I could stash a water bottle and bit of fuel in the front seat of my car (I didn’t dare put it inside the house – knowing full well that a stop inside would result in an all-too-easy bail-out). My usual bunch of training partners, on this particular weekend, had gone missing. The sun that promised by all other indications to come out in the early afternoon never did. Instead, as I opened the front door to start this training session, only the blustery wind, grey landscape, and barren roads greeted me.

“This,” I said, as I took those first couple of strides, “…is the hard shit.”

Miles one through eight went fairly well. I didn’t have my usual snap, but it had been a tough week of workouts and the start of a head cold had already begun to make its presence known the night before. With ten weeks to go, however, skipping the long run was not something I saw as an acceptable option. At mile 9, I made my way back to my house and my car to pick up fluid and fuel. A Clif bar and a quick half-bottle of chilled water was all that I took in before tossing both back in my car and heading out toward mile 10. With every step away from my house, the run only got harder.

The local traffic was picking up. Most people were driving to and from the grocery store to pick up food for the Superbowl parties they no doubt were preparing for. I thought about big comfy chairs, delicious snacks, and luscious drinks all in front of a big screen television in a cozy, warm, room. None of that was now. Now, was all about fighting the wind that was only increasing in magnitude and decreasing in temperature. And the worst of the hills were coming. Every mile began to wear on me – and while I was holding my target pace, it was getting harder and harder to do so. My otherwise nimble frame felt like a ton of bricks, and my legs were not unlike giant, rigid cranes. Half-mile segments were feeling more like two-mile pieces. If you’ve ever run a marathon, you know full well what those last couple of miles can feel like. This run was no different. I had 18 on the schedule, and on this particular day, after going out and putting in the effort to do the hard shit, I didn’t have the capacity for one step more than 18 miles in my legs. For the first time in a long time, I ended the run at my driveway, without a single ounce of “push” left in me.

Days later now, and I’m just coming back around. The tickle of a head cold turned into full-blown one (pardon the pun) as I expected it would, but the extra rest afforded by this planned recovery week has gone a long way toward resetting my system. This week’s runs are easy and relatively short. My “long run” this week, for example, is only 12 miles, which is a welcome break. But the hardest workouts still lay ahead.

This is the reality of Boston. Qualifying is hard. Training for it is hard. Damn hard. But honestly, if it were entirely in my power to change things, I wouldn’t have it any other way. These challenges grow people; these challenges galvanize. When I hear people nonchalantly chatter about “doing Boston someday” I smile knowingly, thinking about doing the hard shit. And what it takes. Some will find it within them, but most won’t.

Thanks for reading.

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Graveyards & Ghostships

Joseph Vinciquerra | January 28th, 2010

Right now, it’s the time of year I like to refer to as “the dead of winter.” February, the month I perennially suffer through as I feel furthest from Fall, and furthest from Spring, is set to begin in only a few days time. The days may be growing longer, but the trees are completely leafless, and the skies are a cold, vacant lot. It is here that I find myself twelve weeks from the first major athletic goal I’ve had in a long time, the Boston marathon. And like I have so many times before, with races of various disciplines and distance, I continue my preparation for the event with nearly singular focus.

Once every third week I execute a workout that consists of a mile and a half warm-up followed by ‘x’ number of repeats up a 400 meter-long hill. When I’m running up the hill, I’m going virtually as fast as I can while trying to maintain a strong, focused form. At the top, I revert to a jog, do an easy lap around the hilltop of around another 200 meters, then continue back down the hill to do it again. Up. Down. Repeat. And while there may be plenty of appropriate hills near me to do this workout, I’ve always chosen to do this particular session in a cemetery.

On the surface, I suppose I could attest my selection of this locale to the fact that no cars are ever on these cemetery roads, making for a nice, uninterrupted area to train in a very specific way. I further submit that the hill I run is “just right” for the purposes I seek. Not too steep, not too short. But I’ll be honest, there’s more to it than that. There’s a certain peace I find there. A solitude paradoxically represented by countless headstones – each aligned toward the roads I run. Toward me as I run.

Today, the northeast was being inundated by a cold weather storm front. While it has been relatively mild as of late, with dry roads and grass showing, a strong system moved in and brought with it gusting winds and snow squalls. In an effort to “beat the weather” I got an early start to the workout, but a fair-weather run was not to be. Just one mile into my warm-up – on my way to the cemetery – the snow started. It was blinding – literally, white-out conditions. I accelerated, ramping up my pace to get into the gates of the graveyard fast so that I could be removed from the traffic along the main thoroughfare. Pat, pat, pat, pat, my footstrikes were marking fresh tracks in the new snow, striding down the hill, taking the left-hand sweeper into the cemetery, and making my way to “my” hill. Even under the freshly fallen snow, I could make out the seam in the pavement that marks the “start” of my interval. Almost by instinct, I pressed the lap button on my monitor and began the first interval. Climbing the long, snaking hill up, up, and up through the twisting tunnel of trees. At the mid-way point, the pitch steepens, and as I made it there a flock of blackbirds ballooned aloft before quickly settling back in their perches. Perhaps they recognized me? Up ahead, I saw the other seam in the pavement that marks the “finish” of my interval, and again pressed the lap button.

Lap 1.

To run a hill at full steam causes the body – and mind – to do some strange things. Most of the time, I end up thinking not about training, or racing, or the purpose of the workout… but about the company I keep in this graveyard. Those headstones. Always there, always quiet. Each and every one of them, a marker. A reminder, in fact, of someone’s life. I would have never known any of these people - not growing up in this area, there’s no chance of relatives or friends of family, yet I feel as though they look on me as I repeat this routine. What must they think? Down the hill, striding carefully as the the snow was starting to glaze over, I made my way back to the bottom in order to start the next interval. The quiet little buzz of my lap button sounds like a cannon in this place, and I’m going back up the hill. And now, with the exertion, life starts to creep in. All of those “big picture” theories and hypotheses. The turbulence of the day, the week, the year. As much as these running efforts physically hurt, there’s a catharsis attained that makes me feel like I’m on autopilot. Like a ship listing in the tide. Things begin to “un-complicate” – to straighten out, and to align.

Lap 2.

Time distorts. The minute-and-a-half or so that it takes to run full-steam up this hill can feel like an eternity, yet the whole session seems to tick by so quickly. Every time I come around the hilltop, my tracks from the last interval are virtually covered up. Almost erased. The wind and the snow are everywhere, completely inescapable. Yet the headstones that line both sides of the road remain clear and all seem locked in their dull gaze toward me. I remember doing this workout many years ago – in the same place – wondering if I would ever make it to the Boston marathon. And while I thought today about the possibilities of where I may be five years from now, I’m certain I thought the same five years ago when I first started running here.

Lap 6.

The snow let up, and the wind died down. My legs started to ache during the last interval, the figurative planks began to creak. I made one more loop around the hilltop before descending the hill for the last time of the day. The sun was still out, but very low on the horizon as I began the long, two mile cool-down jog back home. At the same time, the bright winter moon was clear in the sky, and a new chill was rushing through the air. Out of the cemetery, the roads were clear of snow. Traffic had picked up as rush hour approached, and the smooth, bouncy stride that I began the workout with today was degenerating as I began to fully feel the effect of the hill intervals. The weather was downright atrocious today, befitting the physical effort, I suppose, of marathon preparation in the dead of winter. But as I made my way home, I couldn’t help but think (as I often do), if I could speak to just one of them – just one of “the watchers” as I like to call them – I would ask them what it is that they see when they’re watching me.

Thanks for reading.

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One Two Ten

Joseph Vinciquerra | January 3rd, 2010

Today is the second day of the new year, and I have to say I’m elated at that. While I always hate to quantify the passing of time, I’m less reluctant today to view this as “just another week” – instead, like most, I feel that a new beginning has commenced. And with 2009 largely characterized by loss and disorientation, I’m glad to be feeling sharper and more focused than ever as this new year begins.

I don’t believe in stating resolutions, but I do believe in resolve. The latter being more like a mode of operation than that of meaningless words written or spoken in a singular moment. It is with that attitude that I greet the next 365 days, for I believe part of my disappointment with 2009 was primarily due to my diminished resolve. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, mind you, rather, this past year was simply one misfortune after another – the ol’ one step forward two steps back scenario.

In September, I enjoyed simple miles on the bike. My ankle was about 80% healed and I had no agenda. No races to train for and no real training program to follow. And like so many of us do while we’re out on the bike, I took the opportunities given to me during those long rides to sort out my objectives. I knew I would be facing an odd year of training – basically trying to rebuild the lost fitness from the summer, and at the same time, trying to get used to running (fast… and far) again after having a broken ankle. I didn’t put any pressure on myself with numeric goals, nor did I take to heart the words of my orthopedist who suggested it would be at least a year - at best – that I would regain my running fitness and lack of discomfort in the ankle from the damage caused by the break. I knew the year would be odd in that I would be starting base-building in September and trying to peak in April for Boston. Peaking in April, for us north-easterners, is not common. And even then, what would happen after April? While the uncertainty of the season bothered me at first, the freedom to dig deep and explore my true interests was a welcome return to the “old me” that would often find peace in the planning process.

As you likely know from previous posts, I charted a course for 2010. With Boston being my first major running objective since late-2008 and the Syracuse 70.3 Half-Ironman marking my return to multisport, two lines were drawn in the sand and the skeleton of a 2010 racing season began to take shape. And when there’s a skeleton of a racing season on paper, suddenly everything in life begins to work again. Little stresses disappear because that “bigger picture” is constantly flickering on in the background. Daily workouts flow into weekly structure which is all part of a month-by-month training plan toward those objectives. Training partners rejoin, group workouts commence, and the constant swapping of notes between fellow athletes soon becomes an hourly activity. Blogging, facebook updates and twitter feeds rarely deviate from training-related news.

It could be anything, I suppose. Basket weaving, stamp collecting… I don’t know. Training for sport, for whatever reasons, is my thing. There’s not enough space on the blogosphere for me to wax philosophical on the “why’s” of what I do. But what I can say unquestionably is that the time spent on the bike and out on the roads running is time spent meditating. It’s not always comfortable, and it’s rarely easy – but it always all just makes so much sense – and it’s a needed and welcome thing to be a part of the “bigger picture” again.

Training is going well. I surprise myself week after week with running. While establishing an aerobic base, my mileage is beginning to add up again as I make my way up toward those crucial 20 and 22–mile workouts. Speedwork feels good, and the tempo workouts are consistently executed week after week. I’ve regained a rapid leg turnover, and overall my form seems to be close to what it was in 2008 when I ran at my best. On the bike, I spend alternating sessions on my road bike and my triathlon bike. On the road bike, I’ve maintained a fairly high percentage of my summer value of threshold power which I aim to keep steady until after Boston, while on the triathlon bike, I continue to work on my position, trying to get back to my low, aggressive form of 2007. In the grand scheme, I am most interested to see how a year of pure-running and a year of pure-cycling will combine to form the foundation of my 2010 triathlon fitness. With a few short-course triathlon events peppered in my schedule this year, and a likely go at the Tupper Lake Tinman triathlon as my first entrance back into the half-Ironman distance since 2007, I’m eager to lay it down and set some new Personal Records.

It’s just another rambling post, but it’s a new year and a renewed me. I enjoy blogging when I can, and I hope you’ll continue to keep up with me here and on the social networks. January is always a strange month – the furthest month from the previous season, and the furthest month from the next one. Some can lose their way. But every day counts, and they all add up to something greater. In sport. And life.

Thanks for reading.

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Going Home

Joseph Vinciquerra | November 23rd, 2009

Silence now the sound
My breath the only motion around
Demons cluttering around
My face showing no emotion

Training has been in full swing and life is moving along as it often tends to do. My broken ankle is almost a memory – I find that it aches on cold and damp days (usually the day before the weather change, actually, making it a convenient tool for forecasting the next day’s conditions) and is often pretty sore after a good, long run. Otherwise, I think the healing process has gone well.

A lot of people have been asking me what my training program looks like. Most weeks consist of four key runs: the easy run; the tempo run; the speed run; and the long run. The easy run is just what is sounds like, easy. It’s a day for shaking things loose and working on my stride mechanics. I take an extra 10 to 15 minutes after each easy run session and work on my toe-off and foot-strike, paying particular attention to my side that had the broken ankle. The tempo run is always my favorite – these are usually done on Tuesdays – when I’ll do something like 1–mile repeats at threshold pace, or a traditional Fartlek workout. The speed sessions are like a recipe for my “secret hot sauce” so, sorry folks, no details there. And of course the long run is just what every marathoner will tell you: it’s a long. run.

In all, the mileage is starting to build up and the body is feeling accustomed to running again. Having fought through ITB friction syndrome earlier this year, and having not once, but twice injured my Achilles tendon, I’m more diligent than ever with stretching and massage. And, of course, I’m always on the lookout these days for the surprise, wet, wooden bridge waiting to pop up out of nowhere causing me to slip and break an ankle. Hey, ya’ never know.

So, if you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you might think that schedule seems a little light. Similarly, if you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you probably also suspect I have something up my sleeve. Well, you’re right. I found out earlier this fall that there would be a new Half-Ironman race added to the official 70.3 schedule for 2010. And as I eluded to in my previous post, I was dabbling with the idea of actually getting back into the sport after a one year hiatus as a pure runner (and another year as a pure cyclist). Triathlon, you see, takes a lot of time and commitment. Not that pure running and cycling do not, but to be at the top of your game in triathlon – you need to do the work. And there’s a lot to do. I was, even if only for a moment, content with calling the Boston Marathon my one big race of 2010… But then, someone had to go and organize a Half-Ironman in the backyard of my home town. And I just couldn’t say no to that.

Next September is the Ironman 70.3 Syracuse race, and the roads that comprise the bike– and run-course are literally the roads I started riding and training on from the age of 15. I have a memories ranging from learning how to fix my first flat out near Tully on Apulia road, to team time-trialing all the way back to Jamesville with the Syracuse Cycling Team. To not go back home and race this course would be missed opportunity – especially given that it’s the inaugural year of this new race.

So, there it is. Next year will be the year I start competing in triathlon again. A little bit sooner than I initially thought, but for good reason. When I temporarily left the sport, it was because I saw no value on trying to race Ironman year after year. My goal was to get to Kona some day, and only by qualifying (I’m lottery adverse). And while I did a stellar time at Ironman Lake Placid, I knew it would take several more years of dedicated run- and bike-training before I could throw down next to the top five guys in my age groups. I might never get there, but then, I said the same thing about Boston five years ago.

The rest of my weeks are filled with bike and strength workouts. I’ve built a new time trial bike specifically for the Syracuse race and I’ve been working on getting my position back to where it was when I did Ironman. The strength training is heavily biased to the upper body in order to prepare for swimming. I hate swimming. But I’ll begin hitting the pool again early in the new year after I establish some muscular base. Boston will keep the running right where it needs to be over the winter, while the trainer workouts on the bike will of course be geared toward a strong triathlon bike split. It should go without saying, that I won’t be toeing the line in Syracuse simply to “do” the race – I’ll be looking for a break-through performance. (I’m sure you didn’t see that one coming…)

Other than the swimming, it’s going to be a great off-season. And I already can’t wait to get out there.

–—

The temperatures are hovering in the mid-forties here. Often times during the week, I end up coming home after work and immediately go out for my run workouts, trying to beat the sunset. But, while I’m getting faster, the days are getting shorter – an unfair game. This past week I found myself four miles from home, running a fast tempo, as the temperature began to drop in unison with the sun. My ragged breaths suddenly became visible as the air around me got colder. And while I was pushing the limits of my pace, I felt at the same time as though I was being pushed. All at once the light was gone from the sky, and replaced by the crooked street lamps that line the way. I thought of Syracuse, and all that it was to me. The hills that I used to climb, and time myself on. The side-streets. The alleyways. I thought of the quarry, and the long loop, and all of the branch trails that Ginger and I used to explore. Into the dusk I continued to run, contemplating the persistence of loss.

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Full Circle

Joseph Vinciquerra | November 10th, 2009

The leaves have fallen and Autumn is once again upon us. If you’ve been keeping up, you know that running has been the game. After breaking my ankle in July, it’s been a slow but very positive rebuild since the thing healed. I wouldn’t say the ankle is a non-issue these days, but it’s not limiting what I do in training so much as it just keeps me worried – it hurts on cold days, the tendons around it are always tight, and I feel like all I do is stretch it to keep the range of motion as high as possible.

But the running pace is coming back to respectable, and I’ve gotten myself a satisfactorily good start to base building before any snow has fallen here in the northeastern parts. I’ve started structured running workouts, and most importantly, it just feels downright good to be out there training regularly.

Boston looms in April, and I can’t wait.

A training conundrum for us endurance athletes who participate in Boston is always: what does one do after they have a peak in fitness so early in the race season? For myself, I’ve only recently begun to answer this question. I’d like to retain that run-fitness and do some good efforts at the local classics, like The Boilermaker. I’ve also thrown my name into the NYC Marathon lottery because, well, it’s NYC and I figure it’d be one hell of a way to end the 2010 season.

Rewind. It’s now 2004.

Consistent with my “planning ahead” tendencies, I looked out on the horizon of my mid-twenties and felt torn between splitting my time between running and cycling, my two favorite sports. So I started training for triathlons and behold! I loved it. I did a year of sprint and olympic racing, a year of olympic and half Ironman racing, and then in 2007, a year of half-Ironman and Ironman racing. In retrospect, it was my favorite year of competition. And while an Ironman is certainly not on my calendar for 2010, I am beginning to think about starting up again.

When I finished Ironman USA, I secretly thought “okay, got it – did a good time, want to do a better time” and to follow up on that, I scribbled in my training log “need a year of running and a year of cycling before I go again.”

Life accelerates – my son was born, my job got crazy… And before I knew it, I’d done a year of running and a year of cycling. And here we are, standing on the edge of 2009 and looking down before we jump head first into 2010. I’m not sure how it’s all going to come together to be honest, but I am looking forward without question to racing Boston and then spending the rest of the season re-acquainting myself with triathlon.

So, let’s see: Cyclist turned runner, runner turned triathlete, triathlete turned cyclist, cyclist turned runner and… yeah, I guess so. Runner turned triathlete. Even I get dizzy some times.

Thanks for reading.

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