Choosing a Side of the Fence [Part 2]

Two summers ago, I wrote a post about Choosing a Side of the Fence.

It stemmed from a discussion I'd had about my future in marathoning. Back in early 2012, I'd debated registering for Chicago again. I'd completed four marathons. Did I need to do another?

At the finish line later that year, I was sure happy I had. To date, the 2012 Chicago Marathon remains my standing PR. Mother Nature provided ideal race conditions that day allowing for Jeff and I to knock 12 and 20 minutes off our standing PR's.

This year I was in for a change.

Late spring I was hopeful that after a few weeks in the PT clinic, I would be able to jump back into training. But as weeks turned into months, I had to come to the realization that a marathon wasn't in the cards for 2014.

That's when frustration really started to set in. So much so, that a few weeks ago I had a complete melt down in the PT clinic.

So for the first time in many years, I found myself on the opposite side of the fence on Sunday. Instead of being a participant, I was a spectator.

I thought about that scenario in the weeks leading up to the race. How would I react to not running the race? Would I be sad? Relieved? Even more frustrated?

As race day approached, I found I was in better spirits than I expected. I was looking forward to watching Jeff and some other friends. I hoped that I could replicate my Mom's to-the-minute spectator guide and see my friends at various points through the city.

Friday night, instead of carb loading, I made Jeff a sign -

It was fitting since Jeff and Ann had turned me on to Untappd while we were in California. I enjoyed creating a handmade sign. It made me remember the last time I'd taken the time to draw a sign by hand - my brother's homecoming from Afghanistan.

It was after the sign was complete that I started to become excited about watching the race. I couldn't wait to put on an old pair of running shoes, grab my Ventra card and hit the streets with the Untappd sign.

When Sunday morning came, we did just that.

Seeing Jeff for the first time on Addison was a rush. It's funny to say that as a spectator. While Jeff ran the race course, we tried to hop trains down to see him through downtown. Jeff was moving at a good clip and we missed him around the 12 mile mark. We then headed down to the south side.

Somewhere in between the miles through Little Italy or Pilsen, a marathoner's best laid plans can unravel. We waited just past the 21 mile marker on Archer for awhile, carefully scanning the crowd for red shirts. Then we saw him.

I could tell by the look on his face that he was happy to see us but also that he was in the toughest part of the race. The wall. But he had a goal and was determined. There was no doubting that. As the body begins to give up in the marathon, it's your mind that keeps one foot in front of the other. But you don't have to tell that to someone who's running marathon 10. Instead, you jump in with a few jokes. A story from earlier in the day. Or just to be by their side for a few blocks. Saying nothing. Saying nothing and wondering if he was listening to "Call Me Maybe" yet.

After I ran over to the side to get out of the race path, I watched him chug along down Wentworth. He looked strong. He was going to do it. He was going to smash his PR. Now it was just a question of by how much.

As I headed on the red line back to the north side, I received a text alert. Jeff had finished. Not only had he finished, but he had absolutely crushed his previous PR.

I smiled as I read the alert again.

Being on this side of the fence is pretty awesome too.

Missed [Running] Opportunities

Do you ever have one of those days where you just can't get your sh-t together?

Yesterday was one of them for me:

I woke up and checked my weather app. It read 60 degrees. In Chicago. In January. Amazing. A run must happen today!

I went through my get-ready-for-work routine and left the house for the bus stop. As I walked down to the bus stop, I recalled my backpack being quite light. I had left my running shoes at home. And not just any running shoes. A brand new pair of shoes that I planned on breaking in today. A brand new pair is heaven after running in a pair towards the end of their useable life.

The thought crossed my mind to go back home and grab the shoes. How negatively could my commute be effected if I left ten minutes later?

I looked down at my phone and saw a text from my mom. It read 'Lunch?' and that was it. I kept walking to the bus stop and didn't turn around. A few things happened in a matter of minutes that sidelined my lunchtime run plans.

As I looked up to cross the street to the bus stop, a fast runner passed me with a bright pair of compression socks on. This only made my situation worse. He was out there, getting his with his bad ass compression socks and I was waiting for the damn bus. Fail.

I boarded a crowded bus and stared longingly out the window and we traveled down Sheridan and on to Lake Shore. I saw more of them. Men and women. Wearing shorts. Smiling. I was on the wrong side of the road right now and couldn't help but beat myself up about it. 

I tried to console myself by saying I'd run when I got home. It would still be in the high 40's then and incredibly warm for a January evening. As my workday progressed, I watched the weather outside my window change to rain and dark.

I walked back to the bus stop as a light rain began. A little rain is nothing. I'll run through rain I thought. Then the skies opened up and it poured buckets. Around 20 of us waited for the bus with only the cover of our somewhat useless umbrellas. Our feet became wet followed by our pants and then our backs. Eventually the bus arrived and all the wet dogs piled on the bus with the other wet animals.

I tried to take myself to a happy place while in this situation and imagined if I'd gotten up early and run like the guy in the compression socks.

Where Do Old Running Shoes Go?

Everybody likes a new pair of shoes.

Especially a new pair of running shoes.

Once you cross the bridge into distance running, your running shoes no longer last a year. In fact, some critics say, they shouldn't.

Let's say you're running eight to ten miles a week. More than likely, in a year you're going through two pair.

The average runner can get anywhere between 250 to around 400 miles on a pair of shoes. The disparity in numbers has to do with your weight, stride, weather conditions and some other factors.

Last year I ran 600+ miles in 9 months ( The first three I was injured.).

Unfortunately, I'm a runner who gets closer to 250 rather than 400 miles on a pair of shoes. How do you know when you need to get a new pair? It varies from person to person, but for me, the warning sign is shin splints.

At the end of a moderate run, I'll notice my shins are sore. My first though is 'Shin Splints, really?' Then I start thinking of when I got the shoes. Now figuring that out can be tricky, so I save myself from guessing.

When I get a new pair, I write on the bottom of the cushion the first date I ran in the shoes. I can then look at my Nike+ to track all the miles I've run from that date until now and see where I'm at.

Without fail, I'm plus or minus 20 miles of 250 every time.

I've been using the shoes I ran the Marathon in for the fall and winter. They'll see a few short runs, but then I'll move in to a new pair of Adidas adiStar Solution's.

So what happens to a pair of shoes after they're no good to run in?

Some people turn them in to their gym shoes or for everyday walking shoes.

But if you're burning through three or four pair a year, you have a surplus of otherwise decent shoes.

I recently dropped off a few pair in a Shoes 4 Soles bin. (Soles4Souls shoe charity donates shoes to adults and children in need. www.soles4souls.org ) Even still, I have a pair at my parents house, a pair in the trunk of my car, a pair at work, and, somehow, I still have another four pair in my condo.

I guess an old running shoe surplus is a good problem to have.