Running Times, Online

12/17/08

Dear Readers,

Hope all is well on your ends and you are getting ready for the Holidays.

So, I am almost done for the year, I was just looking back on things and I have run forty-nine (49) races so far this year and by 2009, I will be at fifty-one (51) races of all distances from 1 mile up to 100K and next year I plan to do some even longer and shorter races, just to keep things interesting.

My last race was “The North Face Endurance Challenge 50 Mile National Championships” on December 6, 2008. This race was one of the most competitive and difficult 50 Milers that I have ever run.

The race had the likes of Matt Carpenter (one of my idols in the sport of Ultra/Endurance running) and Uli Steidl (Uli had never lost a ultra until this race), along with 200 of the biggest, baddest and toughest Ultra guys in the country and world (there were guys from Japan, Canada, Germany, etc…).

I was excited to be in the mix and be able to run with these guys.

The race starts early, 5:00am which is fine with me as I like running early but it was a new experience for me running with a headlamp (required item) so we did about 2 hours with artificial light before the sun came breaking onto the scene which was splendid.

The race was right outside San Francisco in one of the most beautiful areas I have ever run. Big climbs (10,000 feet of gain and loss over the entire race) and narrow single track trails, who could ask for more.

I was content to run with the pack for much of the early part of the race as I didn’t know the course (which is going to bite me later) and my plan was to stay with Uli and Matt Carpenter till the end.

The group was pretty big for the first 15 miles, probably 10-15 guys all talking and chatting, we were catching up and I loved it. I even got to talk to Matt Carpenter for a few minutes which was a dream come true and it was neat to observe how he was racing and trying to figure out who was a contender and who was running over their head.

I saw some guys that I like racing (Hal Koerner, Zack Miller, Philippe Rolly, etc..) and got to meet some guys that I wanted to meet such as Kyle Saggs (and his crew: Anton Krupicka) and Leigh Schmitt and also a bunch of the best women in the country, such as Kami Semick. I am planning to be racing these guys/girls in 2009 at various races including the Western States 100 Miler.

This was a big deal and I was right in the middle of it.

There was a long climb (maybe 1500 feet or so, really steep) on the “Matt Davis trail” (I always think of a stud runner I know when I think of this trail, named Mark Davis) and I lost a few minutes and came into the aid station at 24 miles about 3-5 minutes behind Matt Carpenter and Uli in 5th-6th place or so, this was not good as I was supposed to stay with them but I keep thinking I will get them on the way back and I was picking up time coming back down the climb until and this is where everything went horribly wrong. I got to an intersection (which at the time I didn’t even realize was an intersection as there was a runner blocking the direction that I needed to go) and continued down the “Matt Davis trail” I was still running hard to catch the leaders and I was sailing past the people still coming up the climb but they were not yielding to me (which is common practice in a trail race as the trail can be quite narrow in sections) and I started to think, “What is going on?” If 5 or 6 other people had come there before me, wouldn’t these folks be moving over? So after about 15 mins of running down the trail, I asked someone, “Have you seen anyone come this way,” and I got back, “Yes”.

Then I clarified, “Have you seen anyone come running this way?” and got back “Not that way.” And that is when I realized I lost the race.

The guys/girls I was racing were the best in the world and you can’t make a mistake and I had just made a big mistake. This was not, oh, I didn’t tie my shoe properly and I have to stop to fix it or I drank to much and I keep having to slow down to use the bathroom, this was a major, major error.

Giving those guys any advantage however small would be huge problem and I just gave them 15 minutes and of course at that point I was also lower on the trail about about 500-1000 feet and to compound the situation I didn’t know where I went wrong only that I was headed the wrong way and the only way to fix it was to go back up the mountain.

So, I turned around and climbed back up the hill/mountain passing a lot of the same people I had just run by in the other direction, it was so difficult to keep my focus but I did and I managed to locate where I went wrong and proceed to the 30 Mile Aid Station.

At the 30 Mile Aid Station, everyone was surprised to see me so far back and I keep asking “How much behind the leaders am I?” No one would tell me they just keep saying, “Come on, lets go.” So I came in grabbed some water and PowerGels and left with my Pacer, Jean Pommier, who was awesome, as I was pretty upset by my mistake and didn’t really feel like pushing as much as he did at first. Eventually, I got back into the race and realized that I had a chance to make the top ten and catch some guys so we ran hard and moved up from 13th or 14th place back into the top ten.

I ran with Jean until 44 miles, when I picked up Mark Gilligan, who is just a blast and we cruised in the last 6 miles but still were smashing miles when we could.

I have to thank these guys and also Steve Stower (a stud runner from the San Francisco that ran the 100K National Championships with me earlier this year and qualified for the 100K World Team but then got hurt, I hope he gets better because we could use someone as tough as him on the team) for getting me in touch with all these guys and helping me to do as well as possible given the circumstances.

The race, while not going as well as I had hoped was still terrific and I was one of the lucky people in the world to run that course, it is truly incredible and some of the views were to die for (and you could if you didn’t watch your footing).

I am excited for this race next year and want to be right up with those guys or whoever is there so there is no chance for error next time.

I want to “Thank” everyone that made this trip possible, like my sponsors Powerbar, Moeben and MarathonGuide.com and also my family, work (Potomac Maritime) and friends, for helping me and allowing to to chase my dreams, I really can’t do it without you all.

Today, my wife and I are having our second (2nd) child and I need to get things in order for that, right now.

Hope you enjoy the post and look forward to hearing your comments.

Best Regards,
Michael Wardian

Ed. Note: Congratulations to the Wardians! Their second child, a healthy boy named Grant was born on Wednesday, December 17th.

October 24th, 2008

It is going to be very difficult to transition back into ‘just a guy out running’ when I get back to the States. I have touched on the fact that I get noticed everywhere I travel, but not the specific reactions on daily runs. I get chased on every single outing. I can’t honestly think of a single workout, where I have not turned to see a pack of giggling school children tearing after me. This usually occurs on my solo runs, when I am not flanked by a crew of elite runners.

I am talking Beatles and Rolling Stones chased. It’s hard to stay 100% focused, when you have roughly twenty five school girls trailing me, while laughing their heads off. Even more disconcerting, is the fact that often the lead pursuant lasts by my side for minutes. Rocking what amounts to a traditional catholic school uniform, with or without shoes, which are irrelevant because the school shoes probably hinder performance. I’ve had to swallow my pride on numerous occasions, when running what  deemed to be a brisk pace, but proves to be no bother for a gaggle of ten year-olds. Don’t worry Mom. I don’t pull a Mr. Macho, and drop the hammer on a bunch of kids, more likely because of the deep set fear that I might not be able to drop them! I usually just continue about my pace, until even the stubborn drop off. But not without a signature see ya gesture of both arms spread outward, in a praying motion, to say ‘Is that all you got?’

Do alarm clocks rule, I mean ruin, your peace every single morning? Waking up is actually quite easy for me. Forgive me, for I am just a city kid, and anything related to animal husbandry is completely foreign. Roosters actually can’t contain their excitement until dawn, opposite to common cartoon logic. No, they start roughly at 2 AM and repeat with gusto on the hour, until what ever time it is chickens go sleep. So I have woken up about three times every morning, before actually planning on waking up. The pessimist in me says, “Aww I hate roosters, ruining my sleep everyday.” I have gained exceptional perspective on this trip. Now I say, “Sweet! I get to stay in bed for a whole extra 3 hours!” So waking up is not too hard to do.

Training:

I know that I have kept harping on how I can feel the marked improvement at altitude, but I can feel the ease of each run still developing. That said, I am still getting housed on my fartlek workouts. I had not been able to get a straight answer concerning run distances earlier on, so I stopped asking the guys. On Thursday, I found out that our previous fartlek workout, which took a total of 56 minutes to complete, spanned about 18km (a little bit longer than 11mi). I rolled in about 3 minutes after the lead pack, and tried to do some mental math, but couldn’t fathom how fast the recovery portions were being run. No wonder I am getting dropped every single workout. The recovery pace is below 5:30/mi pace! At least I roughly know my way around, and can wander back towards the direction of home if stranded.

October 13th, 2008

I am not talking about another US offensive. Most of my more memorable moments have involved complete and utter baffling scenarios. Here are some of the more noteworthy instances.

Last week, I visited the home of my roommate, Reuben. His family lives way out in the sticks, makes Kapsabet look like NYC. We stepped off the matatu into a desolate looking area, in the Rift Valley region. He said that we would have to take a bike taxi to the house. We spotted one boda-boda, but had to track down the owner of the bike. This is not India, so I don’t plan on riding triples on this bike, for an unknown distance. I don’t think the rider really was eager for that option either.

After some haggling, we secured another bike, and began to walk them down a path. We walked for near 10min. I almost said, ” Hey I am not paying for you to escort me, while walking your bike next to me.” Finally I hopped on the back of the bike, and Reuben actually rode someone else’s acquired bike, behind us. I’m glad I kept my mouth shut, because the ride took about 25 min through arid farms, over rough rutted dirt roads. Once we finally arrived, Reuben arranged to keep the one bike, and the bike taxi guy left back to the highway. I kinda felt stranded, as the guy had clearly refused to come back, all the way out here in two hours.

The family shamba, farm, was a model of efficiency and obvious diligence. Reuben’s father, is an absolute character. If I were to describe him, it would be a more youthful Kenyan version of Mr. Furley (Don Knotts to everyone in my generation and younger), from Three’s Company. We ate a great meal of chicken and mashed potatoes. Then we took a tour of the farm, and he showed me all the various crops he was growing. Reuben showed me the mud-walled home, that he built himself.

The memorable part came when it was time to leave. I had recovered from my morning run sufficiently and felt adventurous. I told Reuben that he could ride on the back of the borrowed bike, while I pedaled us back to the road. This bike was not fully equipped for riders, but it did have a metal cage on the back for goods. Reuben agreed, and I mounted the bike. Bikes in Kenya do not come in sizes, and the only size would equate to a maybe 61cm frame size (I ride a 58cm bike which is big). The bike also weighed at least 50lbs, due to the various steel mountings all over the bike.

I straddled the bike and took a few pedal strokes and Reuben took a running start and hopped on the back of the bike. Immediately I began to swerve under his weight, he is about my size. We took a few big correction swings, where I swore we were going to bite it, but I got it under control. Now back home I ride a single speed bike around town and to work. Once I got the bike under my control, I wanted to test my boda-boda skills. Within 400yds., I was tearing down the road at a breakneck pace(pun intended). The wind muffled most of Reuben’s screams, not sure if it was terror or laughter. Often I barely had time to make last minute corrections, for turns. The bike handled like a runaway Buick, without power steering. So many times, I came extremely close to dumping the entire bike and included riders. As we raced through the country side, I yelled at sheep, cows, children to clear a path for the out of control transport. The only reaction we received from farmers, working their fields, was dropped jaws and unbelieving stares. I am pretty sure a white guy, carrying a Kenyan guy, while riding a bike at ludicrous speeds, is not an everyday occurrence in those parts. We made it back to the starting point in roughly 7 minutes! Yeah we had a bit of downhill to our advantage, but Reuben assured me that was the fastest he had ever seen one those bike move. We actually didn’t have a planned dismount, just an emergency bail next to a barbed wire fence, just before crashing down some rocks.

The second encounter, was filled with shock on my side. About six weeks ago, before my family sent me a whole collection of books, I checked out the local library. It is situated on the road, between my house and town. I decided to stop by one day, to check out what they had to offer. This is not an ordinary American style library.

The compound has a menacing fence surrounding it, and A GUARD CARRYING AN AUTOMATIC RIFLE! I meekly approached the guy, and said I just wanted to check the place out. He told me that I had to check my backpack with him. I squinted and tried to figure if this was legit. I told him, “I’m just going in for a few minutes and will be back out.” He replied, still holding the rifle, “These are the regulations and you must leave your bag with me.” Rifle trumps all persistence.

The library is separated into two buildings, children and adult books (yes I understand how that sounds). I find the head librarian at the main counter. He asks me why I am here. I tell him that I am just staying around here for a few months and might want to come here and read or even check out a book. He gave me a grave look, and started to look me over. Do I look like an international paperback book thief? Because this guy sure gave the impression that I would fit the bill of such a criminal.

He walked behind the desk and pulled out a form, that I would have to fill out. He told me that I would have to get a local to vouch for me, in case I skipped town on some fees. On top of that I had to get that person’s national security ID number and even then this person would be checked out and had to be in good standing within the community. I said to him, “Do I really need to do all this, even if I just want to read here?” He didn’t flinch and said, “Yes. Yes you do no exceptions.” I took the form and tried to give the impression that ‘yeah of course everyone has to pass the Homeland Security background check in US before they can read the next Stephen King book.’

Thankfully, I received a shipment of about ten books, from the family in California, which have held me over this entire time. This trip has been a great eye-opener, in so many ways. I return home in ten days and will post many pictures, once I get to a stable internet connection. Thanks to everyone who has posted comments, I really appreciate it and it helps with homesickness.

Training:

I am just hitting my last big week of training this week, before I come back down into a taper. I will be running a half marathon about a week after I arrive home. The rain has slowly backed off, which has allowed the roads to become more conducive to training.

I have been counting down the amount of hard workouts, that I have left in Kenya. I only have one of each variety left, but a little sad because I have finally began to hold my own. I can’t wait to see what the effects of the altitude and dedicated training, will have once I return to sea level in Charleston.

October 9th, 2008

It is nice to know that some American staples have crossed international borders. For instance, I have received a few packages, from the wife and family during my time here. The average travel time of each package is roughly two weeks. Which is not too bad, considering how far out in the country I am staying.

Let me tell you about the Kapsabet Post Office. I was fortunate enough, when I first arrived to meet the Postmaster, in Kapsabet. I had inquired with him, how I should I direct mail from the States, to eventually end up in my possession. He said, ” Just put, Attn: Postmaster, your name and ph# below, and I will call you when it arrives.” I was blown away, to get such first class service without having to sign up for anything special.

Two weeks later, I get a phone call from the Postmaster, alerting me that a parcel has arrived for me. Here is where it becomes a slice of home. That was the last phone notice I received. Since then I have had maybe four other packages sent my way. I do not deal with the Postmaster, and hadn’t seen him since my first week in town. My point of contact is now a United States Postal Service clone, or drone you might say.

Here is our routine. “Hi, I would like to see if you have any packages for Neil McDonagh.” The reply, “Do have identification?” “No, I guess I will come back tomorrow.” The next day, I bring proper ID and they say there is no package for me. I happen to be at the track the following morning, and since it is on the way, I stop into the Post Office. I ask the same clerk, if there are any packages for me. “Do you have ID?” I say, “But I just showed it yesterday to you, don’t you remember me?” Honestly at that point, I hadn’t seen another white person in two weeks. I found it highly unlikely, that I may have a body double roaming the streets without my knowledge. She of course holds her ground, and deadpans me, ” You need identification.”

This lady really does not like me. Do I know why? No. Although I am pretty sure that whatever list I have landed on, is not short. The only thing I can compare our interactions for the past eight weeks, is a direct mirror of, Jerry and Newman, from Seinfeld.

I enter the post office.
“Helllllooooo Bernice.”
“Hello Neeeeil.”

ID through the metal, bars. Bernice disappears with great regret, and without haste. She always disappears for between a 10-30 sec. count, which I presume is enough time to lean against a wall and possibly pick a piece of lunch lodged between a tooth. Re-enters stage right, and my ID is promptly thrown back on the counter, as she walks back to her desk. No explanation, or maybe try again tomorrow salutation. This lady really does not like, which is why I always pay my customs fee in the fashion of the movie, Big. A hodgepodge of bills and coins in no order or reason. I just feign ignorance that I do not understand the intricacies of the Kenyan shilling.

She has been really stonewalling me with my last package. She has resorted to telling me to go to some outside window, around the back of the building. This window is manned by what seems to be a janitor, who seems baffled by my request, notably the English part of it. Next time I refuse to go to the back window, and she takes less than a half-hearted look. I am steamed, because I am really looking forward to this last package.

Jackpot! Two days ago, I am back at the teller window, but this time I have the ace up my sleeve. I am chatting with my buddy, the Postmaster. I tell him I have been waiting a while on my last package. He makes a face, and glares at Bernice. I hand her my SC Driver’s license, with a big smile. She returns after a minute or two, with my package and maybe four other US Mail priority boxes, which look to have been punted from USA to Kenya. As I am filling out the required forms, in front of the Postmaster, I can’t help but revel in the situation. As I get up to leave, the Postmaster tells me to drop by and say goodbye. I assure him that of course I would. I also assure Bernice that I would come by to say goodbye to her for the last time, with a huge smile, volleyed back with an equally forced grin. Some things really aren’t that different.

Training:

The most notable thing over the past few weeks have been the fartlek workouts, that I have been joining. The group is usually in the range of thirty guys. They argue about the scheduled plan for the workout, which I always excuse myself from, because I know I am of no concern. When members of your group were pace-makers for Haile G’s WR marathon a few weeks ago in Berlin, you realize that “easy” is a whole different ballgame.

I usually get dropped somewhere on the 2nd or 3rd rep. Of course, yesterday’s workout was no different. The workouts span almost an hour by themselves. Yesterday’s workout consisted of 3min hard with 1 min jog recovery (not a jog by the way, just not all out) repeated eighteen times! The workout covered roughly 18km. These workouts kill me. I also realize that fartlek workouts have been the weakest link in my training routine, and it really shows. I just hold my ground and finish the workouts and try and keep the pack in sight, up on the yonder hills.

*Postal Employee names have been changed, but if you go there, it will not be hard to find the characters mentioned.

October 5th, 2008

After church, I usually head into town, to get my fill of emails and blog postings. Church here runs from anywhere around 90min to maybe 3hrs, depending on how much the guest preacher has on his chest. By the time I make my way out of church, my breakfast of buttered wheat bread, has began to fade leading to a hungry tummy. Thankfully a few hotels (restaurants) are open on Sundays.

Eating at most establishments is an enjoyable experience. If all tables are spoken for, just sit down at any one that has an open seat. No one cares, and a waiter will be with you shortly. When I say shortly, I mean that there will be a guy standing over you in 30 seconds. He will ask you what you want, because most people have made up their minds before they enter I guess. If you ask for some time, that translates to exactly one minute. So honestly you should think about what you want before you enter. On Sundays, I usually like to order, Yai fry chapati, which is 2 fried eggs rolled up pigs in a blanket style, by two big chapatis. Chapatis are a cousin of the pita and tortilla, being sweeter than the tortilla and lacking the pouch ability of a pita. Basically, they are tasty, that’s it.

The waiter will most likely not look at you or write down your order. He will repeat the same process to about three more tables, before he returns to the kitchen. Then yelling, Waffle House style, commences, and you are convinced that your meal is being made. Sometimes it takes a few tries before you hit on something the kitchen has made, or is willing to make that day. Beaten, a few times I have asked, “Ok,…..What is ready now?” I have been amazed that my orders always come out correct. The only translation issue has been, what I viewed as the international ‘Gimme the bill’ motion, of air handwriting. Over here that means, “Bring me some more tea please.”

Training

I have been training pretty hard, this past week. I can feel my fitness gaining, despite the daily heavy rains trying to hamper every run. I joined into a big fartlek run on Thursday. Determined to not make any bonehead watch mistakes, like last time, I just used my stopwatch plain and simple.

The workout consisted of : 1min/1minRest/2/1R/3/1R/4/2R/5/2R/6/2R/5/2R/4/2R/3/1R/2/1R/1/done probably collapse

As usual I was dropped by the 3 min portion, but surprised that some other guys were behind me! At the 6min mark I had finally caught another straggler, thankfully because I was thoroughly lost. We ran together hard, until at the final 2min repeat, he dashed off into a maize field. No doubt to answer an urgent call from nature. I finished the workout very strong, and was very pleased with the outcome. I finally hooked up with the main group, for a 35 min cool down back home.

Sadly , I have been doing some of my training alone, because I just can’t pull myself to join some of the kamikaze sessions. I wish I could, but I just see only burnout and a flaming wreckage of legs. I have a ticket back to the USA, these guys are fighting for one.

Hope everyone is doing back home.

Neil