Heat Down, Speed Up: 2015 Lifetime Miami Half Marathon

Vamos por el chifrijo! … Mae, dejastes tirado a tu compa! … Hay que ganarse los frijoles molidos!

20,000+ strong at the starting line

Mile 0: 20,000+ strong at the starting line

Every time I passed a Costa Rican runner, I’d blurt out some random tico chatter, usually about food.  At first, they’d respond and even ask me a question or two.  Towards the end, they’d simply smile and continue punching the air in front of them, battling the demons of pain and fatigue.

But though I was getting tired, demanding more of each lungful and feeling the harsh shock of pavement shoot through my legs and into my hips, I was giddy on the inside.  I hadn’t run farther than ten miles in the last three months and was far from peak condition.  Despite this deterioration, I was still committed to running the Miami Half Marathon for the fourth time, and there I was, cruising through the city at mile 12, feeling grateful that I wasn’t wincing with every forward leap.

left to right: José, me

left to right: José, me

If you’ve been following my running adventures for more than three years, then you’re probably tired of my Miami posts.  In fact, you probably didn’t even make it to this sentence without groaning, wondering why I can’t seem to avoid running this race year after year.  Miami is ostentatious, the traffic is often unbearable and the heat can be the worst if you don’t count Rick Scott, Marco Rubio or the state’s relentless push to disenfranchise minority voters.

But goddamn if the yearly Miami Marathon and Half Marathon isn’t one of my all-time favorite races.

There’s two levels to Miami’s allure.  The first is purely physical and will appeal to pretty much anyone.  The course, organization and production are all reflective of the city itself: beautiful, over the top, and infused with an indelible Latin flare that makes you want to dance.  There’s no denying the sound of thousands of jaws dropping as they crest the MacArthur Causeway to see purple cruise ships resting quietly on the ocean.  Fast forward a few miles and you’re zooming north on Ocean Drive past restaurants and classic hotels.  If you keep going, you’ll wind up returning to the mainland on the Venetian Causeway, where many bridges connect the thin islands that play host to some of the most gorgeous homes you’ll ever see.

Mile 5: Ocean Drive

Mile 5: Ocean Drive

Along the way, aid stations are packed with friendly volunteers, eager spectators and every single Latin American flag coloring your periphery.  Turquoise and terra cotta high-rise condos watch haughtily from the beachfront, reflecting the morning sun, and every manner of Spanish is heard from the sidewalk: vamos, vamos! … Dele, ya casi! … Eso campeones! …

Mile 8: Golf courses and palm trees

Mile 8: Golf courses and palm trees

But what really keeps me returning is that every year I’ve managed to use the race as a backdrop to strengthen my friendships.  I didn’t know my cousin was a diehard runner until she earned her first medal under urban palm trees.  The next year I visited a good college friend and met her husband, catching up on years of growing up.  Otter joined in 2012 and lived through a race experience better left unwritten, yet somehow fondly remembered.  Last year I ran an emotional race with my in-laws and raised money in memory of my uncle, taken too soon from us by brain cancer.

And this year I finally managed to run a half marathon with a friend from high school.  Though I’ve been lacing up for over six years now, it has mostly been interpreted as lunacy by my Costa Rican friends.  I’ve been totally fine with that, and have taken every single usted está enfermo as a compliment and point of pride.  But this year, my buddy José signed up for the half, either inspired by personal initiative or to silence the nagging voice of his good friend Solera, who had been pestering him for years to run the distance.  Back in high school, he was hands down the most athletic of my friends, having been a lifelong fútbol player.  Over the years, he had run several races from 5 to 10ks, including the backbreaking Cerros de Escazú trail run from 2013.  And though I had been joined by my friends Javier, Gabriel and Ricardo on the race circuit, they’d never run 13.1 miles.

Mile 10: Venetian Causeway

Mile 10: Venetian Causeway

“You’d better run under two hours,” I told José as we logged a short run along the Rickenbacker Causeway.  “I don’t want to hear that it was easy or that you finished relaxed.  Kill yourself out there.”

Mile 11: Toll Booth

Mile 11: Toll Booth

“No way, dude,” he chortled, knowing I was only half kidding.   “I’m going to take it easy and enjoy myself.”  He has a history of running races for fun, oblivious of his time, crossing the finish line happy and ready to eat.  But I decided to egg him on a bit and light the competitive fires that he harnesses when he works, plays fut or dukes it out on Smash Brothers.

“That’s actually smart,” I said, picking up the pace.  “You’ll definitely want to run another one if you have fun.  But honestly, if you wanted to, you could run under two hours easily.”

Two days later, I was standing by the American Airlines Arena, listening to the music booming off the speakers of the starting line, doing something I never thought I would do in Miami.  I was shivering.  The hordes of runners around me were joining the frenetic dance, especially the Latin Americans.  Truth be told, it was merely 53 degrees, a temperature also known as Running Perfection of Elysian Proportions, Climate Divine and Let’s Kill This Bitch.  But if you asked any of the thousands of Caribbean, Central and South Americans shaking in their corrals, for this party in the city, someone forgot to turn the heat on.

Mile 11.5: Cheer Zone

Mile 11.5: Cheer Zone

Normally I would have been ecstatic – 53 degrees, a flat half marathon and homemade meatballs in my stomach?  This course wouldn’t stand a chance.  But after last year’s injury (and this is the last time I will mention it, I swear), I slid far from my fighting condition.  So I figured, screw it, let’s do a fitness test.  Let’s run this thing without checking the Garmin.

Mile 13.1: Finish Line

Mile 13.1: Finish Line

As I reached the finish line, I picked up the pace, passing runners who began their sprint too early.  I crossed the familiar orange and blue finish line for the fifth time.  I stopped my Garmin and looked at it for the first time all day and saw 1:34:36, a Miami course record by almost six minutes.  Not too bad.

After grabbing my post-race goodies, I found a patch of sunlit grass by the charity tents.  I sat down and happily munched on a cookie while drinking a protein shake and waiting for José to finish.  Regardless of what his finishing time was, I really just wanted him to enjoy the experience.  I knew that nothing today would necessarily inspire him to embrace the sport like I have.  It’s been a long time since I came to terms with the rarity of my passion (though the blogging community does make me question whether we’re truly a rare bunch).  But if he at least had fun, maybe he could join me elsewhere and add himself to my select cadre of running friends.

0125_mediamiami 15I saw him emerge from the crowds, slightly dazed with a wan smile and his arms drooping at his side.  I went to congratulate him on his first half marathon and for killing expectations by running a 1:54 debut.  He was definitely tired, blistered and spent, but most importantly, he was happy.  We spent the next hour or so talking about the race, what he thought about it, funny or interesting moments that happened between start and finish.  He sounded like a kid after his first roller coaster, detailing every loop and corkscrew.  Perhaps I could convince him to run others, I thought.

“Dude, I realized that this is an excellent reason to travel and visit new places,” he said, with that curious timbre of someone realizing something meaningful and profound.  “But I don’t think I’ll ever run the full thing ever.”

I’ve heard that before.  Maybe I’ll see him join the ward sooner than I thought.

Qué bien que la paso con ustedes.  Nos vemos en Boston!

Qué bien que la paso con ustedes. Nos vemos en Boston!

End of Year Recap (2014)

I can’t remember the last time I ran so little.  The last two months I’ve averaged around 8 to 12 miles a week, which is less than when I started running in March of 2009.  Even when injured, I’ve been able to routinely knock out at least 100 miles per month, with consistency being the name of the game.  But since November 1, I’ve decided to take it easy.  For once, finally.

Though it wasn’t my choice.


The story is familiar to those who have been following my race stories.  In October, I tried to run two marathons in one weekend, and ended up aggravating my right IT band.  Four weeks later, I was scheduled to run a marathon, and instead of taking it easy, I decided to chase a fast time.  Despite my knee hurting for 22 miles, I managed a one-minute PR.  After that, I decided, it was time to rest.

miami-marathon-12-groupAnd rest I have.  This hasn’t been “rest” like diehard runners do, where they take two days off and then make up for the absence with hard intervals.  I’ve legitimately sat at home and let my trainers collect dust, even as picture perfect 45-degree days beckon me with perfectly blue skies.  Almost two months later, my right knee seems to be back to normal.  I haven’t fully tested it out, as I haven’t gone on any runs longer than 8 miles.  But so far, it feels great, fresh and ready for the challenges of the new year.  But before we can look forward, it’s fun to cast our glance backwards and see what the year on our feet has brought us.

2014-04-06 06.38.54This year didn’t quite have a defined purpose like the previous ones have.  2011 was the year of the marathon, where I went beyond the one-a-year mindset and began exploring the distance in depth.  2012 was the year of geography, with states being added to the log like cereal boxes in a shopping cart.  2013 was the year of the ultra and that mythical realm beyond the banner marked 26.2.  This year, for better or worse, was a little scatterbrained.

There were new states, to be sure.  I ran through the deserts of New Mexico, past Midwestern monuments and on 0503__albuquerquethe shores of New England.  I ran on school campuses, Air Force bases and national parks.  There was an ultra thrown in for good measure (though my performance was far from good).  But most notably of all,  it was also a year for speed.  I lowered my 25-month old half marathon PR to 1:29 and inched ever closer to my Boston Qualifying time by notching a new marathon PR of 3:22.

Those last two stats are incredibly important for me.  I’m not just a runner because I like improving my times.  Though few of us like to admit it, there will eventually come a time when we simply can’t get faster.  It’s about self 0511_1_delawaremarathon 27improvement, be that longer distances, faster times or simply being the best runner that you can be.  For now, though, despite the dalliances in ultra distances and running certain races “for fun,” I’m still very much a competitive runner.  And that means running fast.

So though it might be tempting to remember 2014 as the year where I ran a 3:22 marathon while very injured, I’m confident that the history books will focus elsewhere.  Instead, I will remember how an otherwise nondescript excursion to Maryland became an opportunity to catch up with a good friend and meet her entire extended family.  I will fondly recall the trip to New Mexico, where I got 2014-bighorntrail50k-11together with old friends from college and new friend from the internet.  Memories of a brutal 50k and the generous friends who drove us across the state will always come up when I think of Wyoming, just as a lifelong friendship that started in high school will color my thoughts of Maine and New Hampshire.

And so, with my legs recovering from a pretty intense year, it’s time to look ahead to 2015, a year with a singularly ambitious goal: a Boston qualifying time.  As a known sandbagger, I don’t always like to publish my expectations, but with a goal as lofty as running a 3:04 marathon, I need to light multiple fires under my ass to make it happen.  About a month ago, I earned a spot at the 2015 Berlin Marathon, the fastest marathon in the world, and that is 0920_airforcemarathon 01where I will attempt my first ever BQ.  As monumental as that day will be, I won’t start it alone.

This is a point I can’t emphasize enough.  Though running itself is a lonely man’s game, this project of mine has been anything but lonesome.  Though I may not have known was 2014 was really “about,” it took a Christmas missive from a relative to put it all in perspective.  2014 was about solidarity, support and family.  From the outpouring of emotion at the Miami Marathon, run with a charity for my dearly departed uncle, to pacing my father-in-law at the Air Force Marathon, it was about using the sport to help 1004_sebagoothers.

Every state has written a new story about people, those who joined the race, offered kind words of support, opened their homes, or met me afterward for a sweaty drink.  This countrywide, soon to be global effort would mean nothing were it not for the truly wonderful people that have helped me with each and every race.  Runners sometimes get a bad rap for talking about their sport too much.  But if you felt this much love, I don’t see why you’d want to talk about anything else.

On your feet, everyone, always moving forward, onwards. 

Happy New Year, share your experiences, and look at that map!  Almost done!

RaceRaves is Live!

As someone who wants to run all over the United States and (hopefully, eventually) the world, I am always researching new races.  However, it’s not always easy.  Though a plethora of blogs and articles exist about races, they don’t always include the information I want.  Even large events, like New York and Chicago, can sometimes be plagued by a glut of information that can be cumbersome to sift through.

That’s where RaceRaves comes in.


The site is the brainchild of Mike from Blisters, Cramps & Heaves and his wife Katie.  They set out to create a space where runners could outline all of their races, rate them on several key components, and supplement those reviews with their own blogposts, pictures and videos.  The ultimate goal is to have a community where runners can discover new races, meet like-minded individuals and keep track of their achievements in one cohesive space.

Top of Profile Page: the animal icon next to my name is one of five options (Turtle, Horse, Goat, Cheetah and Camel)

Top of Profile Page: the animal icon next to my name is one of five options (Turtle, Horse, Goat, Cheetah and Camel)

Mike and Katie reached out to me in May of this year to help with the site’s functionality, features and look.  It has been a pleasure for me to collaborate with them on the user experience and to brainstorm big ideas for the future (and as you might have guessed, my profile on the site is already robust).  That’s because the site’s usefulness and appeal depend entirely on people like you and me.  If you’re the type of runner that is always excited about a getaway race or simply someone looking for a fun 10k in your state, this is the kind of site that will help you learn more about those opportunities.

Further down your profile, the site organizes your races according to PR, Future and Past races.

Further down your profile, the site organizes your races according to PR, Future and Past races.

But first we need people to sign up and help make this the community it can be.  As bloggers, we depend on each other for feedback, insight and perspectives on the sport.  Wordpress and Blogspot are only as useful as the people that write on their platforms, penning opinions and stories.  Those of us who write about running do so for many reasons, but one of the most crucial is to tell the world about that new race that made us suffer a wonderful myriad of emotions from gun to tape.  And yet, in three months, as we’ve continued writing, that story may be hard to find, even for your most dedicated readers.  RaceRaves aims to keep all of those stories in one place.

Past races, ordered chronologically, with results and overall ratings

Past races, ordered chronologically, with results and overall ratings

I am very excited by this site and I want it to be successful.  With a thriving community of runners and writers alike, it could become a hub for 50-staters and casual runners alike.  Please check it out if you’re interested and spread the word to your own readers and social circles.  For more information on RaceRaves, please read Mike’s post and feel free to post any questions or comments about it here or on his site.


Giving Up: 2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon

I give up, really, I do.  At this point, I can do nothing else but admit outright that I don’t know what I’m doing.  After five years and twenty-seven marathons, countless different training plans and goals, I finally learned that the sport is too varied and unpredictable to truly harness.  Some people, like super-human Michael Wardian or the indefatigable Chuck Engle have managed to tame the marathon, the latter of whom has run up to 25 a year averaging under 3 hours each.

But I am not Chuck Engle.

2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon Google Earth Rendering

2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon Google Earth Rendering

I’m sorry, this might sound a little melodramatic, so let’s back up and explain things.  Four weeks ago, I tried to run two marathons in one weekend.  Though I ran the first one in 3:37, I had to drop to the half marathon for Sunday’s race because of an intense pain in my right knee.  I spent the rest of the month nursing that injury, keeping the pain at bay while still logging enough miles to stay fit.  However, I couldn’t run more than 12 miles a week without taunting fate.  I had signed up for the 2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon earlier in the year in hopes of attacking my 20-month old marathon PR.  But as the month went on with not a single long run, my expectations gradually fell.

I stood in the middle of downtown Indianapolis, thrilled to be huddled with several thousand other runners.  Icy winds were slicing through the city, channeled by buildings and making their way into my clothes.  I shuffled my feet while blowing warm air into my gloves and checking my watch.  I had not layered up so much for a marathon since my first run in 2009.  A few crowded blocks away was Ryan, who ran his first half marathon in Shiprock, New Mexico, looking to improve his time on a flatter, less arid course.

Mile 1 - 4 and 25 - 26.2 took place in the city

Mile 1 – 4 and 25 – 26.2 took place in the city

The first five miles wind in and out of Indianapolis, under bridges and several tunnels.  We were given wide, four-lane roads for those opening miles, giving runners plenty of room to find their pace.  From the very start, I was hyper aware of every last sensation pulsing through my legs.  For the first four miles, as we ran around the obelisk at Monument Circle, past University Park and the Middle Eastern stylings of the Murat Shrine center, everything felt fine.  I paid attention to every meaningless sensation to see if it was the advent of pain, but as long as we were in the city, I felt strong.

Until I wasn’t.  That tiny, yet familiar tingle of discomfort emerged just past mile 4.  It wasn’t a sharp pain or a dull grinding, but a deep tickle, like tennis elbow.  I kept running hoping that it would just be an echo, but it lingered.  My heart sank and I shook my head.  I didn’t think it would happen so early in the race.  Four miles in and my right knee had begun to fail me?  How would the remaining twenty-two miles feel?

By 10k we were out of the city and running through leaf-draped neighborhoods.  I had warmed up quickly, but the wind was still in my face and I had decided to keep my hat and gloves.  My leg was tingling with each step, but the pain was manageable and for several random stretches, nonexistent.  I alternated between surprised confidence and renewed panic as the discomfort would return.  Up ahead the half marathoners split from the crowd and I seriously considered making that left turn.  I could run a half marathon and call it a day with no one calling me out.  But this was my last race of the year and dropping to half the distance was how my last race ended.  I didn’t want this to become a pattern, regardless of how it might benefit my legs.  So I stayed with the marathon crowd running next to Fall Creek, further into the city neighborhoods.

The Indianapolis World War Memorial on the right

The Indianapolis World War Memorial on the right

As I reached mile 10, I noticed a shift.  The pain had moved like a worm from my knee to my hip.  I had never felt this before.  Countless times I’ve read about runners having hip injuries and I’ve never understood what it meant until now.  Every push from my leg revealed a tightness on my right side, as if my groin were made of dry plaster, but I was happy to have my mind off my knee.  It was a masterwork in mental legerdemain, willing myself to focus on my hip to avoid facing a rebellious knee.

We continued running through beautiful neighborhoods with small pockets of spectators cheering at every corner.  Just past halfway, we ran deeper into Indianapolis’ residential tapestry, briefly next to the White River.  I was starting to feel small knots in my left calf, and a few miles later, I felt my right patella begin to falter.  It took one walk break during an aid station to learn that I had to keep moving.  Forward motion was, for now, the only thing keeping my body from buckling, and even the shortest respite would flood my legs with lead and pain.

The only significant hill in the entire course was run southbound on Meridian Street around 25k.  I scaled it easily and continued running with the flow of traffic.  The wind was ripping sunburnt leaves from trees, adding a new, dry coat to the packed, paste-like layer of brown on the pavement.  We ran through Butler University’s campus, along the Crest Hill Cemetery and past the Indianapolis Museum of Art before taking a highway ramp downward to a thin path.  By this point, I had either loosened up completely or my body was drunk on adrenaline because the only pains coursing through me were coming from the bottoms of my feet.

I had kept a couple within my sights for several miles.  He was wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt and she was in a hot pink singlet.  It took me another mile to reel them in, where I tucked myself behind them to block some of the wind.  We were running east on Burdsal Parkway, just past 35k and under an orange canopy, when I heard her tell him to go on ahead.  I pursued him as he accelerated, dropping his friend.  The sun had been out for about an hour and a nearly cloudless sky watched over us.  I was barely sweating, running easily in freezing temperatures but I could still feel the sting of the headwind pushing on me.

"The End" Burger at Bru Burger Bar

“The End” Burger at Bru Burger Bar

I began a conversation with Mr. Sleeveless through quick breaths.  It was his fourth marathon and he was feeling excellent.  I told him that if by mile 22 he felt great, then he was in good shape to earn a shiny new personal best.  He just had to keep his focus and make it happen.  He decided to use me as a pacer and locked his pace with mine.  A mile later, we passed Ivy Tech Community College, whose classic, Greek architecture could have been one of the many monuments that graced this marathon’s course.

I didn’t realize it until a sharp right turn onto Meridian Street, but I was completely focused.  Aside from the brief chat with Sleeveless, I was running with tunnel vision, blinders on both sides of my head, staring squarely ahead, watching the course and nothing else.  Because after that turn I saw the skyline rising above a blue backdrop, as if from nowhere.  Had I turned my head at any point in the last mile I might have seen it earlier, but I was laser-focused on the next three steps.  With the city up ahead, I could smell the finish line, hidden somewhere among the buildings.  That’s when I reached mile 24 and glanced at my watch.

“Oh, shit,” I said aloud.  My eyes widened, I felt an emptiness in my stomach and I surged ahead.

I left Sleeveless behind.  Several reflective storefront windows confirmed that I was running alone, using a helpful tailwind to pass slower runners.  The time for keeping it together was over.  Just two miles removed from the finish line, it was time to empty the reserves.  I stomped on the pavement, breathing through my teeth, feeling each step grind my feet to mush.  I pumped my arms and kept going, skipping the last two aid stations and passing mile 25.  I glanced at my watch again.

Oh come on

The course veered right and a volunteer with a megaphone belted that we had two turns left.  I did not let up, keeping my legs moving faster than ever, pushing air out of my lungs, my fists practically punching my chest.  The faint echo of the finish line grew louder with every person I pushed behind me.  With just a half mile to go, I couldn’t help but smile.  As long as I kept moving like this, I felt great.  I knew that just past the finish line, I would be consumed by pain, wincing at even the slightest movement.  But for now, as I scorched the path like a shark, rushing ahead in constant movement, obeying that base instinct to just – keep – moving, loving every second of it, I felt amazing.

Ryan and I, finishers at Bru Burger Bar

Ryan and I, finishers at Bru Burger Bar

At the risk of sounding supercilious, I couldn’t help but feel that this was my Sammy Wanjiru moment.  He set the marathon world on fire in the summer of 2008 by winning the warm, humid Olympic Marathon in Beijing in absolutely fearless fashion.  He held the half marathon world record and by October of 2009 had won the London and Chicago Marathons.  Back in Kenya, his newfound fame and fortune had plagued him with problems.  Famously profligate, he squandered a lot of money on gifts for friends and enormous bar tabs.  This prodigal lifestyle took its toll on his training, and when he arrived in Chicago on October 2010 to defend his title, few experts put their money on him.

But what happened on that warm Chicago morning would go down as one of the greatest duels in the modern marathon.  Wanjiru traded leads with his Ethiopian rival, Tsegaye Kebede (who took bronze at the 2008 Beijing Olympic Marathon) all the way to the Roosevelt Street bridge.  His final surge came just a minute before crossing the finish line and defending his title.  No one would have predicted a great performance from him, but somehow, through magic or a ravenous hunger for it, he made it happen.

The parallel is not airtight for many reasons (including his untimely and mysterious death) but part of me could hear Toni Reavis’ avuncular voice chortling about my surprising performance with shock and awe.

Because despite running a maximum of 12 miles a week since October 5; despite having a persistent IT band injury in my right knee that no amount of stretching could exorcise; despite starting this race with my confidence at record low levels and my head elsewhere, I reached the finish line of the 2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon intact, having miraculously and imprudently pulled out of my ass a 3:22:14 personal best.

2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon Medal, the first of a 4-year series that come together to make a large frame.

2014 Indianapolis Monumental Marathon Medal, the first of a 4-year series that come together to make a large frame.

And because of all this, I have given up on understanding what puts together a solid marathon training plan.  I’ve done the traditional 20-miler three weeks before, sometimes adding or removing a week.  I’ve skipped out on 20 in favor of a faster 16-miler, I’ve increased my mileage, favored speed over distance, opted for distance over speed — you name it.  But the fact remains that my newly minted PR happened after a persistent injury, and four weeks of spinning classes with absolutely minimal running.  I just don’t get it.  All signs pointed to disaster, yet I made it happen.  From now on, I guess I’ll just run and leave the thinking to sports scientists.

But I was right about the finish line.  Three steps after crossing the timing mats, my legs became encased in concrete and each joint felt swollen to twice its normal size.  My knees, hips, feet, and even my Achilles tendons were aching.  But as you might imagine, I was far away, stuck between pride and confusion, elation and wonder.  I limped all the way to the hotel, where I showered and changed at a sloth’s pace before going to Bru Burger Bar with Ryan, who was enjoying equal success, having earned himself a 1:54 half marathon PR.

As I bit into a juicy burger fittingly named “The End,” I reflected fondly on the race and the season.  The goal was always to come to Indianapolis to bring down my personal best.  I had spent months visualizing it.  But that morning, I was certain that I was doomed.  I’m still not sure how it happened (or the more tantalizing concern of how much faster I could have run if I had been completely healthy) but it did.  Maybe my legs were the right amount of fresh and rested after an entire year of nonstop training.  Or perhaps my desire for redemption stopped the pain signals from reaching my brain.  Either way, that’s one minute closer to Boston.

Not a bad way to end the season, I thought.  We paid the tab and I winced back to the car as every single part of my legs screamed in pain.  Not bad at all.

Marathon_Map 054 (IN)


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