Bulldog has Quite a Bite!

With 29 miles completed and just two miles to go, my calves cramped with such force that I was thrown to the ground. Writhing in the dust of the trail, muscles locked shut, I screamed with pain and frustration. So near and yet so far . . .

My day had started at 3 a.m. and preparation for the Bulldog Ultra went well. By the time Todd and Tiffany arrived to pick me up at 4:30 a.m. for the drive to Malibu, I was buzzing with excitement and apprehension. Six months of training were about to be put to the test.

There were plenty of nervous giggles on the way up, but predominantly we traveled in silence, each of us acclimatizing to the magnitude of the adventure we were committed to. "It's not too late to pull out," I joked. "Yes it is," came a unified reply from the front of the car. We were, clearly, in this together. It felt good to know we would journey our first ultra together.

All too soon we were gathered with a couple of hundred other 50k entrants, stretched, fueled, and lubed. I said a prayer of gratitude for the early morning mist that would keep us cool for the first 10 miles or so. After the first calf-crunching 7-mile climb, the trail broke through the marine layer. The view was spectacular, reminding me of trekking in the Himalayas, with numerous mini peaks jutting through the low cloud. Here, there were just a few hundred feet below the clouds, but it might as well have been several thousand. The trail was quiet, wildlife still waking.

A quad-busting decent took me back down to sea-level, and by the time I arrived at the half-way point at a little over fifteen miles, about three hours out from the start, I was ready for a major refueling stop. Fresh clothes, peanut butter and honey sandwich, fluids. I emerged from the aid station refreshed and ready for the real challenge of the second half.

First time around the two-loop course, I had run through the first aid station at four miles, chatting idly with other runners as we moved past. This time, temperatures now in the 90s, I stopped willingly. Ice was poured into my hat, freezing cold water sprayed on my body, my bottles refilled, and encouraging words thrown at me . . . "Just another 3 miles of unforgiving, calf-busting climbing to go!" they joked as three of us headed up the slope.

Although my legs had started to feel painful at about mile 22, making each step of the final descent uncomfortable, I kept taking in plenty of fluid and what I though was enough nutrients. As I came out of the last aid station with two miles to go, it was going to be hard, but not, seemingly impossible. And then it happened.

To be thrown to the ground by my own body was a new experience. And as I sat up to stretch my calves, my thighs cramped in response. I had never know cramps this intense, strong, or long lasting. When another runner stopped to praise open the muscles in my legs, I could see him sweating with the effort. As he pulled me to my feet, my body weight on my legs was enough to fire my calves into cramping again. For a moment, I thought the pain was going to be enough that I would soil myself. Right there on the trail in front of my fellow runners. This was going to be a day of many firsts!

That moment passed, thankfully, without becoming a first. But I was still just a mile and a half from the finish with not even the ability to crawl. I lay on my back and started to laugh. I started to think of all the stories I'd read in the last month of long distance runners in moments of bodily breakdown. Each one had survived by invoking the same ritual: focus on one step. Take just the next one step.

My running buddy Tiffany arrived up the trail and volunteered to gently massage my legs. When they cramped, I swore at her out of pain, imploring her to pull on my muscles harder to unlock them. Eventually, they stayed looser for several minutes. Another runner gave me some Endurotabs to swallow. After sitting for 15 minutes, I stood up. Ouch. Horribly painful yes. Throwing me to the ground. No. This was progress.

As I shuffled up the trail like a robot, wincing with each step, an EMT came running up the trail. "You guys seen a runner down? We have reports of a runner down." I think that's me. But I'm up, I'm OK. Behind him came the race director. I was getting the full experience.

She looked at me with concern. I could tell she was considering pulling me from the event. A little more than a mile to go and I was about to be pulled. "Who's running for President?" she asked. "Obama and McCain," I answered. "And who's going to win?" Obama of course. "Wrong answer!" she replied. And then laughed. "I don't think I can pull you for that though. OK, I want you to go in to the finish with these guys," she said pointing at a race volunteer who had been at the previous aid station.

I hobbled off the trail and into the last mile-long section of covered road that lead to the finish. On the flat, I was able to break into a slow run with Tiffany one one side and Deb, a longtime ultra runner at my side. When she heard this was my first ultra, she beamed. "Awesome! You're gonna make it, I promise you."

And I did. Eight and a half hours after starting, I cruised over the finish line, where my wife and daughter were waiting. Their homemade sign said, "Ultra dad. Ultra husband. Ultra marathoner." That moment was one of the sweetest in my 15 years of running.

Now Sheehan's quote had become more than inspirational. It had become a lived experience . . .

“If you want to win anything—a race, yourself, your life—you have to go a little berserk.”

8,000 — 32 — 100+

“Success means having the courage, the determination, and the will to become the person you believe you were meant to be.”
Dr. George Sheehan, Author, Running & Being

8,000 feet in elevation gain; 32 miles; heat in triple digits . . .

This year, one of my goals was to move beyond marathoning and into ultra-running. This Saturday, August 23, that goal will be realized as I, along with my training buddies Tiffany Forster and bare-foot running stud Todd Byers, will complete the Bulldog 50 kilometer event in Malibu State Park. (Todd will be wearing shoes for this event, the first time I will have seen him run in shoes in almost 18 months!)

While finishing the event will be a big accomplishment, it is the six months of training that are the real win. As a result of that success, this event will mark a new beginning as well as an end. Bulldog now also heralds the start of my year-long training for the Goretex Trans-Rockies Run, a 6-day, 125 mile event in August 2009.

My run at this new level also requires some thank-you's:

To my family: Teresa and Hayden, who have adapted to my training schedule, long weekend runs, and occasional (?) crankiness, while showering me with encouragement every step of the way;

To Tiffany: training buddy extraodinaire, for the joy, humor, and mutual support we have shared over hundreds of miles—and for reminding me that youth is a state of mind and heart;

To Todd: for an bottomless stream of tips, training guidance, and wonderfully bad jokes that have made the miles fly by;

To Drs. Ron and Mary Hulnick and the staff, faculty, and fellow students at the University of Santa Monica: after many years away from running due to injury, in 2000, it was what I learned in the M.A. Program in Spiritual Psychology that showed me how to get running again in a sustainable, enjoyable, and self-caring way.

To Spirit: I have shed so many tears of joy, gratitude, and humility on my runs. The gift of my running experience continues to grow, inspire, and open me to deepening levels of beauty in my life.

So, starting at 6:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, your prayers, blessings, Light, and/or general groovy vibes of your chosen persuasion are welcome for all the runners in the Bulldog events.

I'll close with words from the master, George Sheehan, once more, “If you want to win anything—a race, yourself, your life—you have to go a little berserk.”

PS: I'll be celebrating with two of my very favorite things:

• A weekend at Disneyland, (including several repeat rides on Space Mountain!)
• Attending the guaranteed-to-inspire Graduation ceremonies at the University of Santa Monica. These are held this Sunday, August 24, at 2 p.m. at Royce Hall on the UCLA campus. This year's speaker is the remarkable Roberto Assagioli.

PPS: Want an insight into the mental attitude that keeps me on track for six months of high-intensity training? Click here to find out. �

What Does $250,000 Look Like?

You've seen those movies too, right? Ransoms, pay-offs, robberies, safety deposit stashes, that kind of thing. I'm always intrigued as to how much space that amount of money takes up. What does a hundred grand look like? In singles? In twenties? In hundreds? A duffel bag? A suitcase? What does a large sum of money really look like?

Well, this past weekend, I got to look a quarter of a million dollars, right in the eye. Literally. And I have to say, there are few things more beautiful.

$250,000.00. That's the goal of a group of almost 100 Team in Training members in Long Beach alone. And they'll do it to. 100 extraordinary people with shared, extraordinary goals. And this 250 grand comes is all denominations. Shorter, taller; older, younger; heavier, lighter; blond, brunette, and dark hair; all races, creeds, and abilities. $250k never looked so good!

I was facilitating a short clinic for them on the mental aspects of running. We talked about what it takes to keep the mind focused and clear—in short, how to use it as a tool to empower marathon level running as opposed to being used by it and experiencing fear and negativity. Thanks to the generosity of Robert Foster at I Live Inspired, I was able to plug them into my inspirational channels for runners and walkers for free—they'll get individual, daily motivational messages to their phones as part of their training at no charge.

100 people, the vast majority or whom will be running or walking their first marathon. Are they doing it for weight loss? Increased fitness? Bragging rights? To test themselves? Partly, for sure. But that is not what will keep them on track with their training and fundraising goals. Not when the going gets tough, which, somewhere along the line, it will. It's part of the journey.

Time and again, people ask me, "How can I stay on track with my fitness goals more consistently?" I ask, "Imagine you have already attained your goal. You are that fit, right now. Do you see that? OK. Now—what will you do with that level of fitness?"

The answers vary, but they all get pretty personal pretty quickly:

• I'd be able to run with my son a little. He's training for college track. I'd love to run with him occasionally and share in that.
• I'd pick up my granddaughter and swing her around in circles and hear her giggle.
• I'd feel strong enough to take my grandfather out in his wheelchair and we'd spend the day at Huntington Gardens.
• I'd be able to hold my head high, knowing I was caring for myself.
• I'd have the energy to really spend time with my family/volunteer/start my dream business
  
• I'd raise money for . . .

THESE are the things that will keep you on track. Commitments that involve serving others. That are founded in giving, sharing, and caring. That's where the fuel is to feed the engine of commitment.

The Team in Training organization knows that. And 360,000 participants have raised $850 million dollars doing it while completing marathons, 100-mile bike rides, and triathlons. It's a system that is proven over and over again.

Neale Donald Walsch once said, "Discover that your life has nothing to do with you, and it will becomes your more than ever." Team in Training is that vision made manifest.

Create a vision and live into it. If you want to learn more practical ways to do that, read the step by step approaches in my book.

Create a vision. Use your run to build it, energize it, and make it real.

Happy trails!

What You Get is What You See

"What do you see?"

I turned to the group of runners peering into a large, mile-long, 100-foot deep gash in the earth adjacent to our running route along the Los Angeles River in Long Beach. Silence. I prompted them to throw out their answers.

"A big *#@!ing hole." Good start. Anything else? "A scar. Nothing. A grave."

"Anything else?" I did not want to answer my own question unless I had to.

The youngest runner (why was I so surprised by that?) gave me what I was looking for . . . "An Egyptian Queen, floating on a gold colored barge, slowly floating down the Nile."

I watched the other runners as he spoke up, and saw all their faces soften, open, and the group started nodding. They did not have to say it, the youngster had given them all a valuable lesson.

It took about two, maybe three years, but that "big *#@!ing hole" is now one of my favorite two miles that I run. When I get there, I'm three miles into my run, or have three to five miles to go on my way home. I'm in full flow.

I run the narrow dirt path alongside the tranquil water-filled channel and drink in the energy of life—an explosion of wild flowers, tall reeds, elegant Cranes, Blue Herons, Snowy Egrets, and, each week, more and more birds whose names I don't know. Rabbits, butterflies, and in the early, misty mornings, coyotes.

What is it that transformed that "scar" into a burst of wilderness that replenishes, invigorates, and inspires me each time I run in it (in it, not through it)? Vision—the ability to look at what is, to see what can be, and then living into that. Action—the ability to create the transition from the one to the other. Commitment—the willingness to embrace and reconfigure challenges that come up. Whatever they are. Accountability—the fearless and consistent tracking of action through to successful completion.

One person's "big *#@!ing hole" is another's wilderness-refuge-in-waiting. Whether it's in relationship, at work, your initial training run in preparation for a first ever 5k, or at the base of a steep hill at mile 23, I promise you this: It's never a case of "What you see is what you get."

What you get, rather, is what you choose to see.

Happy trails!

For Crying Out Loud

It's not unusual to see tears at the finish line of a marathon. Tears of joy, pain, relief, laughter. However many shades of tears there are, they have probably all been spilled at 26.2. I've certainly shed my fair share of finish line tears.

But starting line tears? For me, this was a new experience—and one I recently had at the San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon.

Don't tell anyone, but I had purchased a last-minute bib from a friend of mine who was not able to run. Not having run the even t before, I surfed around the web and read intimidating posts about difficulty accessing the start line, challenges with parking, and a course with numerous challenges: freeway surfaces, big camber for several miles, noise of the every-mile bands.

I had no concerns about what my run would be like—I know I get to choose that for the most part. But I was concerned about getting to the start line in time, so I left wonderfully early and arrived two hours before the race was due to begin. In fact, I left Del Mar (about ten miles away) an hour earlier than my running partners Todd and Tiffany left Long Beach (about 120 miles away!).

It proved to be the best choice I've made in a long time.

What I experienced was akin to the night my daughter was born. Sure, when I arrived, I had my pick of the bananas, electrolyte drinks, and unused portapotties. But I'm talking about something else.

I'm talking about not just seeing, but feeling the day build. Individuals and groups arriving. Some in silence as they stretched, some laughing. Nervous laughter, bold laughter, playful laughter. I positioned myself by the Elite Runners corral, and watched as the wheel chair athlete's arrived. I saw rigorous independence as each one moved out of their day use chairs and into their competition machines."

The Marine band arrived, including two musicians who would be running the event. I saw strong young men and women with gleaming eyes and uniforms. I felt the vibrant energy of the marathon building, an affirmation of life, and thought of war, an affirmation of death. To have both feelings inside of me at once stretched my heart further.

And then the elite runners arrived, led by a group of tiny African men. They were small in physical stature, but that was all. These men are lions. I could feel it, see it, sense it. I thought of the history of Africa. As an Englishman, now living in the United States, I am doubly aware of the impact of imperialism, centuries of ruthless exploitation, and slavery on the entire continent of Africa.

And as I looked at these men, I had a visceral sense of their power. The power that would carry them across the finish line when I was only half-way done. The authentic power that lives in any being who is doing what he loves the most. That gives himself and his god the clearest form of expression through devoted action.

And in that moment, as I stand in the wake of the quiet, fierce, powerful humility of these men, I realized that whatever it was that my ancestors had sought to plunder from Africa and its people, they never found it. It is not something that can ever be taken; it is something that can only be given.

And I cried. For Africa, for its people, for the errors of its subjugators, and for the rivers of blood that have flowed across the centuries. For forgiveness.

And then I cried for joy. For running; for runners; for the way that our sport can transcend history and brings us together into the now. This event. This stride. This breath.

Apparently I ran the slowest marathon I have ever run that day, four hours and fifty minutes. I did not know at the time, because I had no watch. And every timeless step of the way, even the ones that hurt, I continued to bask in the simple beauty of our shared humanity as runners.

That day I truly experienced my own dream come alive. Much sweeter than running longer, or stronger, my answered prayer is to run deeper. Can I get an "Amen"?

Happy trails.

Running is Creative

"The amazing distances that a healthy individual may be able to run after only a few months of training can lead to an increased sense of one's ability to master challenges and to attain goals that seemed remote only months earlier. One's entire belief system about the degree to which one's life is self-determined, or internal (versus other- or fate-determined, or external), may be influenced by such successes."
Sachs & Buffone, Running as Therapy

This weekend, I'll be running in the San Diego Marathon and look forward to meeting other running Souls there. Every one of us tens of thousands of runners will have something in common — there was a time when we had never run a marathon. For a good number, that will still be true as we all line up at the start on Sunday morning. A few hours later, that will no longer be true. There will be no arguing with that. Something entirely new will be true.

Sure, they can say they have run a (first!) marathon and that's an enormous achievement. But something much bigger will also be true — that they have the power to create their own truth, their own experience, their own possibilities, their own reality.

I know no other sport that can spotlight this truth as quickly. Year after year, I have seen myself and others challenge their thoughts about how far, or even IF, they could run, and let go of the stories that have limited them. All the reasons why not (time, place to do it, not being good enough, fast enough, etc, etc) fall away under the powerful focus of intention, action, and, especially, shared commitment.

This year, at least once, challenge what is true for you about your running. Run a new distance, whether it's a first 5k, 10k, half or full marathon, or an ultra distance. Discover anew that what is true for you is what you tell yourself is true for you—and will continue to be so until you challenge it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The folks at SofSole recently sent me some of their products to try out. As my mileage is increasing from 35 up to 45-50 miles a week in preparation for the Bulldog 50k in a couple of months, I am listening carefully to my body, especially my feet. Having been sidelined with plantar fascitis a couple of times in the last fifteen years, I am always on the look out for products that will prevent a reoccurrence.

I started out with the SofSole inserts at the Palos Verdes Half-Marathon a week ago with my Running buddy Tiffany. We were joined by her friend Patrick, who was running his first ever Half Marathon. Patrick finished strong and redefined for himself what was possible! That was a joy to see.

The PV event is held along the Pacific Coast, a beautiful location with a lot of hill climbs and descents—the kind of topography that puts added strain on my calves and plantar muscles and can also lead to blisters. I came home in bliss, feelings strong, not the hint of a blister. I will confess to having a second secret weapon: the folks at SofSole had also included some cushion performance socks. The next sentence may not be G-rated — my feet felt as though they were being made love to for all thirteen miles. These socks are incredible. They are orgasmic. Coupled with the inserts, I experienced the highest levels of support to stay strong, healthy, and injury-free.

Well enough talk of foot orgasms—I'm off for a light run to prep for this weekend. Wishing you all happy trails and happy feet!

Prove Yourself a Liar

In just a few weeks, the Team in Training organization will launch its next season of training groups for runners who are interested in achieving a new goal while raising money for Leukemia and Lymphoma research and patient support. Many of the people in those groups—in fact the majority of them—will never have completed a marathon before. Right now, it seems about as possible as flying to the moon.

Amazingly, in three months time, those same people will be crossing their first marathon finishing line. And while the camaraderie, training, and shared experience will have provided them with many answers along the way, there will be one big question there to meet them at the finish line. That question is this:

What else can't you do?

Once you have looked at one impossible thing and achieved it, the neat line that has separated the idea (for it is only that, and idea, a thought) of what is possible and what is impossible is forever erased.

What is it that carries something from the impossible to the possible column? Four essential elements: Desire, Preparation, Accountability, Fun.

As my friend and master life coach Steve Chandler points out, too many of us look for the "how to" when we are presented with new challenges: "Oh, I could never run a marathon, I don't know how to." That's looking through the wrong end of the telescope. First comes the want to. And I coach my running clients the same way—find a reason to run other than yourself. What will you do with the greater health, mobility, sense of achievement? That will create your want to. Perhaps you'll be able to keep up with your kids or grand kids. Perhaps you'll be able to inspire or support someone else making a life-affirming decision—if you think your spouse needs to exercise more, model that, share that, live that with them. Perhaps you can raise money for those in a less fortunate position that yourself. The possibilities are endless. Find your "want to."

Indiana Basketball coach, Bobby Knight was right on the money when he said that, "Most people have the will to win, few have the will to prepare to win." Lack of preparation has become so endemic in our society that it has now actually become an acceptable excuse, "I'm sorry, I'm not prepared to do that." Exactly. Practice, practice, practice. Preparation brings the "how to" into being, brings it alive in you, brings you into contact with support.

As an addict of many shades, I know the power of accountability. There have been many times in my life when I was not willing to do something for myself, but I was willing to do it for someone else. Sounds crazy. Then again, addiction is crazy. I started each journey of sobriety by knowing that I'd walk into a room each week and report whether or not I had kept my agreement with them. I did it for them long enough, I learned to do it for myself. It's a lot harder to miss those 6 a.m. training runs when you know there's someone else waiting for you on the street corner. (Shameless plug: you can also get daily inspiration delivered to your phone now at www.IRunInspired.com).

First law of lasting change? In my view it's this: If you are going to succeed at anything, you have to find a way to make it fun. Train with buddies; stock up on the gear that you like; visit those you are raising money for; run events that involve swimming through trenches of mud; whatever it is for you, find it.

I've heard it said both that, "The impossible is where God likes to play," and "Joy is the proof of the presence of Spirit." Stand at any marathon finishing line and you'll see that both are wonderfully, powerfully, and undeniably true.

So . . . what can't you do? Now, prove yourself a liar.

For me, registering for the Bulldog 50k later this year has put me back in "impossibility." 100+ degree temperatures; 8,000ft overall elevation; 50k of hot, dusty, August trails in Southern California. Perhaps I'll see you there! Living with the impossible has already lifted my training, running, and joy to new levels. It can do the same for you.