Rudolph Ramble 8K - 12/13/15

While it’s a relatively small and short race, the Rudolph Ramble was something I’d been looking forward to for quite some time. It’s not often I can jog to the start of a race from my front door, and Chicago races never disappoint in terms of seeing friendly faces or racing with some quick competition. But most importantly, the race was an 8K, the same distance I’d competed at in college.

See, me and this 8K had unfinished business – namely, I sucked at it during my brief collegiate years, despite literally dedicating my life to training for those 5 miles. With my recent success, new PRs at various distances, and some sick new kicks (thanks Hoka!), I was looking forward to having a little chat with the ol’ 8K distance.

~

Waking up race day morning to the weather-equivalent of ‘meh,’ I yogged the 2.5 miles through the puddles and rain to get to the race’s start. Located at Diversey Harbor, the majority of the race was to take place on the paths I’ve been running on since I moved here (it’s not hard, though – there are like, 2 routes to run in all of Chicago).

Despite the rain, feeling pretty meh, and REALLY craving one of those donuts they were handing out (BAD IDEA SAM), I was instantly put into a great mood by all the wonderful faces I saw! From high school teammates (hey Em!) to Fleet Feet staff (hey Bobby!) to college friends (hey Allie!) to my dad (hey Dad!), it was like a mini-reunion with all the runners in my life.

Don't worry - I beat him:)

Trotting over to the start, I made my way towards the front, only to find Logan, another Fleet Feet associate who I’ve been able to get to know thanks to my constant lurking at the Fleet Feet Sports in Lincoln Square. We share similar PRs over the 8K distance, and agreed that we’d stick together, going out in 5:30 pace for the first mile and seeing where that would take us.

After some muddy strides, the national anthem, and a silent pledge to myself to not get chicked by the really fast-looking girl next to me, we were off!

Soaking my feet instantly, I was resigned to stomping around in soggy sneakers the rest of the race; the consolation: everyone else was in the same boat. Logan and I settled into 6^th and 7^th place, along with 2-3 other Fleet Feet racers, as we watched 1^st and 2^nd take off, never to be seen again.

We rolled together nice and easy through mile 1, hitting 5:26 and feeling pretty fresh. Our pack stuck together as we wound our way back on the course, hitting mile 2 right at 11:00, maintaining a consistent 10-second gap from the 5^th runner in front of us. I took the lead of our group here, trying to subtly catch 5^th ahead of us, but the gap remained the same as we came through mile 3 in 16:30ish.

#SQUAD

Here, I told myself I’d start to pick up the pace, as I’d felt relatively relaxed all day. In looking back at my splits, I did no such thing, but managed to keep 5:30 pace and gap myself by 5ish seconds from the group I’d been running with. Rolling through mile 4 and missing my split, I told myself to make the push to catch that 5^th place runner, and actually got within 2-3 seconds of him. However, I was really starting to strain, and hitting the slightest of uphills coming up from beneath the bridge, hit a wall, hard. 5^th place took off, and out of nowhere another runner came flying past me – he ended up beating me by 7 seconds, all in the last 400 meters.

The last stretch was pretty interminable, and my horrendous form combined with trying to avoid the massive puddles made for a pretty ugly finish. But, with a goal of 28:00 going into today’s race, my official finishing time of 27:26 was a mere 6 seconds off my college PR.

Stoked, I turned around to see Logan finishing not too far behind me – later, we rejoiced upon hearing that we’d both won our respective age groups (me, 25-29; Logan, 20-24). Chugging some delicious apple cider, I made the slow trek home, content with the near-PR race and hungry for the next! Which, unfortunately, won’t be until the New Year; alas, I’ve got a pretty awesome schedule lined up for 2016 already, so stay tuned for my next post!

In Step Trail 7-Miler + Brookfield Zoo 5K + Apple Cider Century + Run&Roll Duathlon + Chicago Marathon + Lincolnwood Turkey Trot 5K+ Arnold Turkey Trot 5K

This race report will be a bit different than past posts, simply because I’m lazy and haven’t kept up with blogging. Since my last report (http://samwelchruns.blogspot.com/2015/10/ironman-madison.html), I raced a 7-mile trail race, a 5K, biked 100 miles, and jumped into my first duathlon (have I mentioned I’m an idiot?). Then ran the Chicago Marathon, and followed that up with a local Turkey Trot 5K suckfest, then a new 5K PR (maybe) at another Turkey Trot. So here’s a quick recap of the past two months, compressed into soundbites you might actually read (maybe).

~

In Step Trail 7-Mile (9/19/15): 6 days post-Ironman, I started this race with very minimal expectations, minimal sleep, but maximal shoes (wow that was terrible). Racing in my demo Challenger ATRs, I ran the first 3 miles relaxed in 2^nd place, then took the lead at the halfway point and ran scared all the way home, setting a new course record in the process.
TL;DR: pwned the guy racing in Vibram FiveFinger toe shoes, setting a new CR (1^st overall, 43:53); HOKA ONE ONE FTW.

Brookfield Zoo 5K (9/20/15): Literally less than 24 hours later, I definitely ran on less sleep and even fewer expectations. Warmed up for literally 2 minutes, viewing the extra 18 I’d normally do as precious energy I’d need to actually finish. Managed to run relatively not terrible despite literally EVERYTHING, plus ran into old IWU alum Mandy! 
TL;DR: 2^nd overall in 17:16 around various enclosed fauna. Maybe I’ll sleep/recover/not be an idiot next time?

Apple Cider Century (9/27/15): Teaming up with vO2 max extraordinaire Chelsea, she towed me along for your casual 100-mile bike ride through hilly Three Oaks, MI. You’d think having raced that Ironman the weeks prior would’ve have me somewhat prepared, but this sufferfest was only ameliorated by the unlimited access to cookies at each aid station (and biking behind a pretty girl).
TL;DR: 100 miles in 8ish hours (?), getting emasculated by Chelsea (who did the whole thing in a fixie).

Run & Roll Duathlon (10/4/15): Racing with roommate Erik “Squanchy” Bergstrom, I was able to figuratively and literally race some uncharted territory. 2-mile run followed by 20K on the bike, and finishing with a 2-mile run, I managed to make it through the first transition in 1^st place, only to get lost on the bike, only to find my way back onto the course, but substantially further back. Split the fastest run legs of the day, which confirmed that I’m not a biker and should probably practice that some more.
TL;DR: Ran 10:40 first 2-mile, 37:XX bike leg (for who knows how long), and another 10:40 2-mile for 1^st in age group, 3^rd overall.

Chicago Marathon (10/11/15): Working the expo and standing on concrete floors for consecutive 12-hour days leading up to racing a marathon is definitely not ideal. Nor is solely living off Clif Bars for breakfast/lunch/dinner and sleeping a solid 3-4 hours each night. Despite that, had the race of my life, netting a much-needed PR and stoking the desire to legitimately train for one of these things.
TL;DR: Ran 2:48:01 (I know – couldn’t have gone 2 seconds faster?), with a BIG negative split (1:28:XX, 1:19:XX) and lots of stoke for the next ‘thon.

Lincolnwood Turkey Trot 5K (11/22/15): Teaming up with Chelsea again, we braved the near sub-zero temps on near sub-zero sleep. Despite the cold and snow, we both somehow medaled in our age groups, neither of us at our prime.
TL;DR: 3^rd overall in 17:20, feeling like death and hungry for a new PR.

Arnold Turkey Trot 5K (11/26/15): Looking to redeem myself after the previous Trot’s lackluster performance, I actually slept the night before this race, and apparently that makes a difference. Took the lead immediately, and rolled off 5:15s on a somewhat hilly course (at least compared to Chicago standards) for the dub.
TL;DR: 1^st overall in 15:57, though my Garmin tells me this course must’ve been a tad short…

~

So there you have it! A crap ton of racing, and some big plans for the future! In fact, my next race will be this upcoming Sunday at the Rudolph Ramble 8K, as I seek to hone in on my college 8K PR (and thus totally shitting on my 4 years of collegiate training). Stay tuned!

Ironman Madison

Photographer basically told me I HAD to pose like this.

I’ve been lazy writing this race report, mainly because I’ve repressed much of this (literal) day’s worth of suffering and embarrassment. But, the masses have spoken (actually, just Aaron), so without further ado, the improbable and idiotic recap of my first (and oh please god, only) Ironman Triathlon.

~

As my blog’s followers have probably noticed, I haven’t really been in the throes of triathlon training. In fact, my most recent triathlon was a half Ironman back in 2011 (I’ve also done a short sprint tri back in 2009). That half Ironman was a pretty clear indication that I generally suck at swimming and biking, and while completing an Ironman is written down in my bucket list, I assumed I’d complete it with the rest of the semi-obese balding 50-year olds in the midst of their midlife crises, a few years down the line.

But a perk for being employed with HOKA ONE ONE has me working the expos for some big local races. I had the chance to work the Chicago Rock’n’Roll Half expo, will be working the Chicago Marathon expo (more on that later), and had me in Wisconsin for Ironman Madison’s expo. It was on the drive up the Wednesday before Sunday’s race, that I was informed that I could use our 1 complimentary entry.

Probably not my smartest idea...

Now, there is absolutely no reason why I should accept such an offer. I’ve been keeping fit, but mainly training for a 5K road race. I literally hadn’t swam in open water since living in Martinique 2 years ago (not to mention NEVER having swam in a wetsuit), and my bike training consisted of sporadic hour rides when I felt too beat up to run. I’d be on my feet, working the expo the Thursday, Friday, and Saturday before Sunday’s race, and my bike was sitting in my Dad’s garage, 2 hours away. Only an idiot would attempt an Ironman under these conditions.

But I’m a glutton for punishment. And a comped $750 entry is too much to pass up for someone as frugal as myself. And it would sound pretty BA. So, I said yes. Then, 12 hours later, found myself in the emergency room.

This doesn’t necessarily pertain to the Ironman race, but it’s probably worth mentioning. Not too long after accepting the race entry and picking up my race materials, I picked up some grocery store sushi for dinner, then went to bed. At around midnight, I woke to some intense stomach pains, so debilitating that I couldn’t walk. Then, the vomiting started. This explosive disaster lasted about 30 minutes before I realized it wasn’t going to stop (and I’d be paying some hefty cleaning fees), so I hit the emergency button on my hotel room’s phone, and soon found myself on a stretcher heading to the hospital. I was still in some pretty incredible pain, so I was administered some morphine, and the pain all but subsided at around 2am. The nurses did blood work, performed an ultrasound of my stomach, and discovered that I had had an acute bout of pancreatitis. They believed it was caused by gallstones, released by my gallbladder from the fatty fish in the sushi; when the doctors found my blood work totally normal the next afternoon, I was free to go.

Thankfully, because literally zero training had gone into this Ironman, I had no expectations going into this race (except to actually finish). I had to borrow a wetsuit from the local Fleet Feet (we guessed on my measurements, as I couldn’t go into the store because of the expo), I drove back to Chicago to pick up my bike at 2am, and was able to buy a pair of goggles for cheap. The night before the race, I googled “First Ironman,” read a few articles on race day nutrition, and shaved my legs (instant regret). For whatever reason, I was ignorantly optimistic, ready for some good ol’ fashioned cardio the next day.

~

For the uninitiated (or for those who didn’t google it the night before the race), an Ironman consists of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike, and a 26.2-mile run. You’ve got two transitions, between the swim/bike, then bike/run. Once the starting gun goes off, there’s no stopping it, so it’s all about forward movement, however small that may become. The time cut-off is 17 hours, with 2:20 allowed for the swim, 8:10 for the bike, and 6:30 for the run. And honestly, I thought there was a strong chance I wouldn’t make it through the swim in time for this cutoff.

See, I’m not a swimmer. When I raced that half Ironman 4 years ago, I was DFL in my age group, finishing the 1.2-mile swim in ~55 minutes. This time, I’d be going twice the distance, with literally zero recent swim training. But I did have a wetsuit this time, which I’d heard makes things much easier (more buoyant/ hydrodynamic). And stepping into the water at 6:30am along with the 3,100 other participants, I noticed it right away. I could stand vertically and float perfectly in the water; plus, it provided some nice insulation to make up for the pathetic fat reserves I have on my body.

With a mass start, every single participant starts at the same time, making for a very frantic and chaotic start. Without any shred of competitive urges, I started a good 200 yards back from the start line, behind almost literally every other triathlete. And when the starting cannon boomed at 7am sharp, I laughed (at myself, for actually doing this), and eased into a nice easy freestyle. Within minutes, though, I found myself in the frenzy of kicking feet and swinging fists – it really was impossible to swim more than a couple strokes without getting swam on top of/getting kicked in the face. I swallowed more than enough water, and despite the inefficiency, found myself swimming with my head out of the water for the entirety of this first stretch, ~0.5 miles.

Once I hit our first 90-degree turn, I shifted wide, outside the wake of the other swimmers, and just started swimming. It was a weird sensation, something that’s only happened while running, but I found myself in a sort of flow state, effortlessly gliding through the water. I soon made my next 90-degree turn, which meant I was getting close to the mile marker. Because my wetsuit covered my watch, I had zero idea how fast/slow I was moving, which really allowed me to get in the zone (again, a very foreign concept for me when it comes to swimming).

I probably made it 1.5 miles like this before I started feeling fatigued, especially in my huge, muscled arms/biceps (sarcasm). With still a ways to go, I decided to switch it up and do some modified backstroke (think butterfly, but on your back?), and immediately noticed I was passing everybody. Literally moved up 50 people in the span of 5 minutes, all while doing *THIS ONE WEIRD TRICK* which was also infinitely easier than freestyle. I kept this up, continuing to fly by other racers, and honestly thought I was cheating, thinking this was some illegal stroke or something. Passing the 2-mile marker, I went to switch to freestyle, but immediately found myself falling back in line with the other swimmers, so decided to resume passing everybody with the easier/more fun backstroke-y thing. I literally did this, periodically checking over my shoulder to avoid bumping into anyone, until I reached shore.

There was a large clocked ticking up, and going into the race, I was hopeful for a sub-2 hour finish (even this seemed farfetched). So when I saw 1:14, I was equally bewildered and ecstatic, but frantically ran onto land to get my wetsuit taken off, then made the sprint up to the transition area. The crowds along here were going nuts, so it was all I could do to not actually sprint, but I made it up to and out of transition in probably 5 minutes, changing into a biking shirt, shoes, helmet, and the ubiquitous stunna’ shades.

Hopping onto my bike, I was a bit apprehensive, only because the adrenaline of the crowds was wearing out and I started feeling the effects of the longest swim of my life. Plus, having had a handful of dry Kix cereal for breakfast, I was hungry. Of course I didn’t have any nutrition on me, meaning I’d have to wait until the first aid station (mile 15) to load up on GUs/Gatorade. But thankfully, the bike started out slow, most racers content to coast through the winding downtown streets until we reached the 50-mile cornfield loop we’d be completing, twice. I don’t have any sort of odometer or GPS device on my bike, so I had zero concept of pace, but tried to remain relaxed through these opening miles, and soon made it to the first aid station.

Stunnah shades though.

I’d read somewhere online that it’s pointless to drink water during an Ironman, because your body needs as many calories as possible, so Gatorade would make up 90% of my liquids (my own pathetic tears would supply the remaining 10%). I picked up a Clif bar, a GU, and some Chomps, as well as a 20-oz Gatorade, and told myself I had to finish it all before the next aid station (roughly every 15 miles). This was actually not difficult at all, and I found myself craving more during a couple long, lonely stretches.

This was a long bike ride, so I won’t bore you with too many details. The views were gorgeous, weather pErFeCt, and several port-o-potties stops were made. I got the song “Girl” by Jukebox the Ghost randomly stuck in my head, which I proceeded to sing out loud for 4+ hours. The random crowds were amazingly motivating, and those I talked to weren’t lying when they said the hills of Ironman Madison make it one of the hardest Ironmans in the country.

At around mile 75, going down a steep downhill into a sharp right turn, and feeling explicably tired, I realized I wasn’t going to make the turn, slamming my breaks and somersaulting over my handlebars. I landed on my hand, with my wrist/hip taking the brunt of the damage. Dazed, I managed to stand up (relatively) painfree, then found my chain totally off my gears, so spent a couple minutes rigging it back up, soon back in the saddle with a huge surge of adrenaline. My hand was bleeding pretty bad, making it almost impossible to rest of right hand on the handlebars, and by mile 90, my swollen wrist prevented my from shifting any gears. Understandably, this made those last 22 miles quite unbearable, but making it back to the bike/run transition was all I could’ve asked for. My tentative goal going in was under 7-hours, so finishing in 6:20 was definitely another little ego boost.

The run portion of the Ironman was what I was actually genuinely excited for; I’m definitely not a swimmer, am competent enough on a bicycle (except apparently when going downhill), but definitely consider running my “forte.” I had lofty goals of utterly destroying this marathon, maybe even netting a new 26.2 PR? I figured I could run 8-minute miles in my sleep, so if I were feeling good, I’d run a low 3-hour marathon; if not, I could at least manage a 4-hour ‘thon. Oh how wrong I would be.

That there's some derpy-ass form.

Flying out of the transition area, again spurred on by the booming crowds of spectators, I had zero concept of pace again, passing runners left and right. I heard a couple people in the crowds remark how fast I was going, and it didn’t hit me until I came through mile #1 in a bit over 6-flat pace. Uh-oh. I consciously eased up a bit, grabbing a GU and some pretzels at the 1.5-mile aid station, and came through mile 2 at around 7-flat pace. It was honestly around here that I started feeling pretty dead: 2 miles into a marathon. Mile 3 was 8 minutes, mile 4 was 9, and from then on, I don’t think I made it through another mile without some walking.

Hat did not last much longer. Fan I threw it to was not amused.

The port-o-potties couldn’t come soon enough, and my face hole couldn’t stuff enough food down: cookies, potato chips, Red Bull. I’d come through every aid station devouring everything in sight, then finding it harder and harder to resume running again. Obviously I was physically tired, but more so mentally, as having nearly everyone pass me was quite demoralizing. This was supposed to be my event, and I couldn’t even maintain a 9-minute mile pace. The run course consisted of two 13.1-mile loops, so coming back into town/the finish line/crowds let me throw in another surge, dropping a couple 8-minute miles (which seemed blazing at the time), but immediately leaving downtown, I was resigned to walking again.

Blasting out some 11-minute miles.

It’s surreal thinking back to this: at the time, you could’ve put a gun to my head and I still wouldn’t have run. I started doing mental math, calculating my estimated finish time if I were to continue walking these 16-minute miles. Then, I started calculating whether or not I’d finish within the allotted 6:30 timeframe. Miles 14-17 were pretty low for me, and there was definitely a 15-minute bathroom stop where I nearly fell asleep. But then something clicked, and I realized 10-minute miles were better than 16-minute miles, and my slow, embarrassing yog would let me stop sooner. So I stumbled and trudged through miles 18, then 19, then 20. I clicked off consistent 10-minute miles until 22, then walked another mile before getting close to downtown and resuming running.

It was starting to become dark, and there were huge floodlights lining the last two miles of the course with thousands of spectators screaming and cheering. I was definitely in a daze, but fueled by the frenzy of the crowd, started to pick up the pace (one might even consider it running again), throwing down a sub-9 mile (wooooo!) going into the last mile of the race.

Nasty. But yes, I beat him.

It must’ve been a half mile to go (I was pretty delirious at this point) when I overheard someone say there were 8 minutes until 8pm. Somehow, I was able to do some mental math and determine that if I were to finish before 8, I’d run a sub-13 hour Ironman, a respectable enough result. So I flipped the switch, and out of nowhere let out a furious kick. At this point in an Ironman, nearly everyone is walking, so when I started sprinting, the crowd went nuts, so I kept sprinting harder. I flew down the final straightaway, tongue out and form to shit, finishing into the arms of the nearby officials. My final, official time is 12:55:24, splitting an embarrassing 5-hour marathon.

Woof.

But, I finished, and for that, I was happy. I ate some pizza, got my wrist checked out (it was the size of a softball by this point), then made the interminable 30-minute drive back to my hotel room where I proceeded to PTFO. While I don’t have any desire to do another Ironman anytime soon, I am curious as to how I’d do with some actual, legitimate training. Until next time!

Run For Walk 4.1

Despite the egregious lies of my last post (re: “racing soon”), I finally got off my lazy tush and hopped into Northwestern’s Run For Walk 4.1-mile race. While I haven’t totally transformed into a sloth just yet, these past 2 months of not racing became exceedingly evident exceedingly early into Sunday’s race. Just how much did this suckfest hurt? Did Sam race a new 4.1-mile PR? And most importantly, how did his hair look? Read on to find out…

~

After the Essence of Freedom Memorial Day 5K back in the end of May, I was planning on racing aysap to further lower that infantile 5K PR. However, those plans went out the window when I found myself driving to accounts all over the Midwest, spending hermit-like hours listening to podcasts in the HOKAmobile. While my job as Field Service Rep for HOKA ONE ONE provides me with ample time to listen to all of David Sedaris’ books on tape, my weekends are especially busy, leaving very little time to get in any racing.

But, I’ve been keeping up the running, and as of now (knock on wood) have yet to miss a day in 2015. Running on the Lakefront Path is actually pretty fun – while the path itself is monotonous, there’s always plenty of characters to people-watch and secretly race against. Plus, I’ve even jumped into workouts with the local Fleet Feet Racing Team, having suffered through the fastest mile-repeat workout I’ve ever done (thanks Kyle).

And finally, when I had a weekend where work kept me local, I made a quick google search to find Sunday’s Run For Walk race. After forcibly coercing my housemate/old IWU XC teammate Erik “Squanchy” Bergstrom to race with me, we signed up a couple days before the race, not totally prepared for how much it would suck.

~

Race morning had us out the door by 6 am, and after picking up our packets and endlessly debating about where to pin our bibs (we went with shorts, to allow for as much shirtless naked running as possible), we yogged for 10 minutes before lining up at the start. Kyle and the rest of the Fleet Feet Racing Team were already at the front of the starting line, and I made Erik promise me to not let me go out with them. The tentative plan was to negative split, a strategy that always works for me but I never actually follow through with. 4.1 miles is a curious distance, so I came in with the B-goal of going sub-5:45 pace, and an A-goal of sub-5:35; I knew this was all contingent on not starting like an idiot. I knew this, told Erik about it, but when that starting gun went off, there I was running 5-flat pace. Woof.

Erik and yours truly at the start

I should mention that this race had more than 750 runners – by far the biggest race I’ve run in recent memory. So unfortunately, there were plenty of people to pace too fast off of, and despite telling myself I was running relaxed, made it through mile 1 in roughly 5:25, and tired. Uh oh. By now Kyle and the Fleet Feet team had taken off, and I found myself running with 3-4 others, clipping off 5:30 pace (according to my Garmin).

Making it through mile 2 right at 11-minutes, though, I hit a mental impasse. See, in a 5K, this is where I’d start going balls-to-the-wall, urging myself on with those cursed memories of a maintenance mile. But with still two miles to go, I told myself to rest this mile and save enough for the last. So I slowed – big time. Strava tells me I was trotting 6-flat pace here, and looking back, it makes sense. Once you start giving in and making concessions in races, it’s harder and harder to really push and keep it together. The little blips on my pacing line below show those times when I’d look down at my watch: each time I was amazed to find myself running so slow, throw in a surge, then slowly ease back to a pedestrian pace.

Almost too embarrassed to put this up...

The last mile found me running ~5 seconds behind a Dick Pond Athletics runner, and for the life of me, I could not catch him. We flew through the 4-mile marker, though I missed the time, and made it down the final stretch across the Welsh-Ryan Arena. Totally spent, I crossed the line in 23:14, good enough for 14^th place and a 5:41 average. Here’s race footage of that final stretch (the good part [AKA me] starts at 2:10): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkVreUwCeqw&feature=youtu.be

Good thing I still have my pretty looks, because that form is atrocious.

Erik finished not too long after, and in chatting with other runners, everyone felt like butt. I cooled down with Katelyn Draths, another old IWU XC teammate, then made the drive home with Erik. We both decided that we needed to race more, so we spent the rest of the day finding local Sunday races (work keeps me from racing on Saturdays). And, lo and behold, below you’ll find my upcoming races for the majority of 2015!

Sunday, September 20^th: ZooRunRun 5K

Sunday, September 27^th: Chicago 5K

Sunday, October 26^th: Evanston Trick or Treat Trot 6K

Sunday, November 8^th: Naperville Half Marathon

Thursday, November 26^th: Evanston Flying Turkey 5K

Yes, I also was soundly beaten by a girl :(

Essence of Freedom – Memorial Day 5K (Deerfield, IL) - 5/25/15

Well, my loving followers/blog worshipers, I have finally made my long-awaited return to racing! Despite a cross country move, 10 days in California, and the start of my new job with HOKA ONE ONE, I was still able to pull off the dub and a shiny new sub-17 5K PR. How does Sam do it, and stay so good looking? Only one way to find out...

~

My last day in Colorado was oh-so bitter sweet, leaving the beautiful Rockies for the interminable cornfields of the Midwest. Thankfully though, the transition was made easier with ten days of sunbathing running job training in Berkeley, California. As your new Illinois (and parts of Wisconsin, Iowa, Missouri, and Kansas) Field Service Representative (FSR) for HOKA ONE ONE (all caps), I had the opportunity to meet and train with the 15 other FSRs working to spread the great message that is HOKA ONE ONE (parentheses).

Don't tell anyone, but I'd do this for free!

Not only am I beyond grateful to be working with such an innovating and prolific company, but my coworkers really are the best of the best, and it’s an infectious environment to be around. The highlight of this trip, though, was most definitely witnessing HOO sponsored athlete Mike Wardian race the 50K World Record on a treadmill…in the middle of our annual sales meeting. And not only that, but I was able to run alongside him for a couple miles, something that probably would’ve been my dream for the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Thankfully, you can’t see the stains on my running shorts here.

It was during that run on the treadmill, though, that I realized I was in pretty good shape. See, I was able to set the pace to whatever I wanted, and managed to average roughly 5:20 pace for those 2ish miles (kinda felt like a dickwad  next to Wardian, but I DID have a workout scheduled for the day…). There's also a really cool video documenting Wardian's record-setting run, found here: http://www.runnerspace.com/video.php?video_id=144492. I'm the squealing 5-year old at 1:17.

 

After returning home, moving into the oh-so accommodating basement of my Dad’s house as I search for a place of dwelling, I decided to also look for a local race, quickly finding a 5K later that week up in Deerfield. With the day an official holiday and no work obligations, I decided to pay the exorbitant race registration and soon found myself standing on the starting line of the Essence of Freedom Memorial Day 5K!

~

Despite some solid training the days and weeks preceding this race, race-day conditions were far from ideal. With 20mph gusts and close to 80-degrees of muggy, humid Midwest moistness, I remember being distinctly slimy and dehydrated on the starting line.

Having raced 17:08 two months ago at the St. Patrick’s Day 5K (which you can read about here: http://samwelchruns.blogspot.com/2015/03/st-patricks-day-5k.html), my goal was to slip under 17 for the first time ever. I knew that if I stayed relaxed and raced like a competent human being, averaging 5:25s wouldn’t be an issue, now that I was back at sea level.

When the gun went off, I immediately flew to the lead, with only one other runner sitting on my shoulder. We ran for about ¼ mile when I looked over, or more accurately, down, to find a kid no older than 10 years old. Thankfully, he dropped back soon after that, but it WAS a mighty blow to my ego. After dropping the pre-pubescent middle-schooler though, it was just me and the dozen motorcycles parading/pace setting right ahead of me. I’ve never been in this situation (LEADING a road race), and I quickly became aware that it kinda sucked, as I was inhaling nothing but diesel fumes.

The one plus was that they kept a consistent 5:15 pace, and I was able to zone out for the first mile, just following the noxious exhaust along the rolling course through a Deerfield neighborhood. I remember checking my GPS watch at 1.5 miles, having slowed to 5:20ish pace, and feeling pretty tired, but just stuck with the motorcycles and just kept trucking.

Going through mile 2 just a ½ mile ahead though, and I was really tightening up, having slowed considerably going up the slightest of hills. I trudged through that next ½ mile at 5:40ish pace, but with the end nearing, I was able to drop my pace back down to something resembling a kick. My upper body (forearms?) really tightened up on the last straightaway (1/4 mile), and of course I reverted back to that weird grunting thing with each exhale, but seeing the clock tick up, still in the mid-16s, was motivating, and I crossed the line totally spent, and official time of 16:40.

Some stiff competition, if you ask me...

Exhausted, it took a good minute or two to catch my breath, and having a sip of water was like drinking the nectar of the gods. Racing under 17 has been a goal since my collegiate days, and demolishing that barrier left me pretty stoked. Second place came through a couple minutes later, which made me wonder how I’d fare with some other runners to help pace me/compete against. 

Racing in my HOKA ONE ONE Huakas, I was able to talk up the Hoka brand with the first place female finisher Katie Haberman (who happens to be an old coworker at JCC Camp Apachi!), and later collected my first “1^st Overall” award from a road race, which sounds cooler than the reality: me beating some 6^th graders and their moms.

The legacy of 'that naked runner' lives on...

But if I can race 16:40 in sub-par conditions, it leaves me hungry to keep training and go for that ultimate goal of running a sub-16 5K (there, I said it). I’ve got no race planned next, but will make sure to find something soon, so until next time!

Hoka One One

WARNING: Sam gets all soul-searchy and weird in this reflective mushy post!

I’ve gone through much of my life with little direction or end goal. It’s weird, because while I consider myself a very motivated and driven person, there had never really been a destination. In a way, there are many pros to this way of life – you get to live in the moment, taking chances and opportunities when they come. But there’s never been that raison d’etre that so many of my friends had.

I was recently talking with a friend, and I confessed that, embarrassingly, up until a couple years ago, I thought there were only like, 10 jobs in the world. Throughout middle school and high school and college, you hear the same professions over and over: teacher, doctor, scientist, lawyer, astronaut, professional soccer player, and “businessman,” whatever that meant (wear a suit and carry a briefcase and just generally be boring, probably). Really though – school made it seem like there were a very finite number of categories to choose from, and my majors in college simply reflected which classes I found interesting, with zero forethought as towards a future career.

It became glaringly obvious my senior year of college when everyone and their mom (literally) was asking me what I was going to do after graduation, and I’d give them that deer-in-the-headlights look. With majors in Psychology and French (the former because I found it interesting, the latter an automatic from studying abroad), I think it was somewhat obvious that Sam had no idea what the eff he was doing. So what was I doing those four years, besides playing way too much Super Smash Bros. and StarCraft?

Running. A lot. Twice a day most days of the week. Core and plyometrics to help with proper running form and injury prevention. Swimming and biking to cross train. Spending an insane amount of time with teammates-turned-family, eating and sleeping and laughing and racing with them. Running was hardly even a hobby in high school, but in college, it became life, paramount to my very existence.

 Something happened Freshman year of college – maybe it’s because it was the first time I was “on my own,” and I was scared and in need of something to hold onto, but running became that support I could rely on. Teammates became closer than family, and despite running for a DIII school as a student-athlete, I felt very much like an athlete-student. Classes were merely a nice distraction between workouts, and even then, most of my notes had goal 400-splits scribbled in the margins.

What’s funny though, is that I’m not even that good. I’ve had decent success and some great races, but I’m nowhere near elite status. But there was passion there, enough for me, a classic type-A overachiever, to get burned out and over-trained on the regular. Despite going through multiple phases of forsaking running and pledging to become a ‘real person’ that doesn’t think about running 24/7, I haven’t been able to stay away for long. Any unbiased person could claim I’m addicted to running, and I wouldn’t disagree.

I thought I was done running when I moved out to Martinique, a tiny, hot and hilly Caribbean island, but only made it two months before I found myself logging 2-hour daily runs. Then, when I moved out to Colorado and started teaching high school French, stressed out of my mind, I only made it 1.5 months before picking up the habit again. While there’s no obligation to run, no set practice time or meets I need to train for, I can’t help but wake up every morning and lace up my shoes to hit the pavement.

Running is my passion, my raison d’etre. It’s the reason I wake up in the morning, it’s what I look forward to each night I go to bed. It influences everything from what I eat to who I hang out with to where I live.

Everyone has their passion, whether it’s drinking at the bars or playing the piano or following their favorite NBA team. Running is my rock, and God help whoever asks me about something related to running. I can be a shy person, but I will be that annoying kid WHO WILL NOT SHUT UP if I overhear someone talking about Sage Canaday’s recent OTQ attempt or Ryan Hall DNFing again. While I couldn’t name 5 professional MLB players, I can rattle off America’s top contenders in any distance, 100 meters to 100 miles. Though I couldn’t tell you who won the Super Bowl (or who played? Or what sport that is?), I can describe the subtle differences between a Hoka or a Brooks or a Newton or an Altra.

So when I was offered a Field Rep position with Hoka One One, I was happy. Ecstatic. Over-the-moon elated and more relieved than I’d ever been in my life, because I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. I confessed to the kind HR Manager I interviewed with that “if I had known such a job existed, I wouldn’t have been dicking around for so long” (exact words). But after two phone interviews, a 24-hour trip back to Chicago for an in-person interview, a Skype interview, and two interminable weeks of waiting, receiving that phone call letting me know that I got the job was life-affirming.

If I’m going to spend the majority of my waking life earning a living in exchange for food and shelter, you can be sure as hell that I’m gonna enjoy it. I tried working in a 9-5 suit-and-tie when I first graduated as a Marketing Assistant, and I swear I could feel my soul slowly withering away. Teaching has been rewarding, but my goodness am I not meant for it. Working at the local running stores in my hometown have been my most enjoyable and “fun” jobs, but making near-minimum wage 30 hours/week will hardly put ramen on the table (provided I could afford a table).

I remember going to a fancy-shmancy evening soiree with my uncle when I was like, 14. My uncle’s a big-time advertiser in New York, is the nicest dressing man I know, and is the quintessential definition of a gentleman (fun fact: he gifted me the book “How to Be a Gentleman” when I was 10, and is my most treasured possession). Plus, he’s crazy-successful. He has a swanky apartment in downtown New York City, plus a luxurious weekend home (with pool and horse stable) in the countryside.

So when he brings along my ragtag family to this evening dinner party at a veritable mansion on some ungodly number of acres, with servants offering the daintiest of cocktail weenies, my jaw hit the floor. My Dad had warned me we’d be among some rich folk (thus the reason why I wasn’t allowed to bring my Gameboy), but I had honestly never seen anything so lavish.

And I remember my uncle pulling me aside (probably to tell me to pick my jaw up off the floor, or to let me know that my fly was down). He could tell that I was in awe, and he pointed out a couple people, explaining that that so-and-so was a multi-millionaire, while that lady was the owner of blah-blah-blah. Then, my uncle looked me in the eye, and he said: “Do you know why they’re all so successful?”

I probably gave him a dumb look, because he elaborated for me. “The reason all these people are here? How they can afford parties like this? How they’re able to literally be the most successful people in their professions?” He paused for effect. “It’s because they love what they do. When you’re passionate about something, money and job-status become irrelevant. If you can find a job that you’d do regardless of money, that you love simply for being able to do it, then you’ll be successful.”

~

On May 1^st, I’ll be making the 16-hour drive back to Chicago. I’ve grown to really love Colorado, and I’ll genuinely miss (some of) the kids I’ve been able to teach, the people I’ve met, and of course the trails. But it’s a small sacrifice to be able to pursue this dream job with a dream company. I’ll post below the cover letter I sent Hoka when I first applied, as it succinctly describes my passion for the Hoka brand. I’ll be back in Chicago for a total of 24 hours before they fly me out to California for 10 days (!!) of training, then I’ll be able to start repping Hoka for Illinois.

As for racing? We’ll see – obviously, there won’t be a race for at least a couple weeks. But you can be sure I’ll be rocking a pair of Hokas :P

COVER LETTER:

My first experience with the ubiquitous Hoka One One shoe was on the French Caribbean island of Martinique, back in December 2013. I was teaching English there, but also figured it would be the perfect training ground: with unwavering 70-degree weather year round and a meager 10-hour work week (yes, that’s per week), I would be able to run as much as my body could handle. I’d return to the States as an insanely fit (and sunburnt) ultramarathoner, and dominate the mountain-ultra-trail scene.

However, as a transplant from Chicago, I was totally unaccustomed to gaining anything more than 10 feet over the course of a 2-hour long run. So when the steep and unrelenting island terrain quickly began trashing my quads, I knew my minimalist New Balance Minimus would no longer suffice.

Let me back up a bit. I’ve been running competitively since 8^th grade, converting from soccer to cross country and instantly falling in love. After high school, I attended Illinois Wesleyan University, and raced DIII Cross Country and Track all four years (minus a semester abroad in France). After graduating, I floundered a bit without a team (or, any idea at all about what I wanted to do with my life). The one thing I knew: I loved running, and worked at a local New Balance store until the day I left to go teach in Martinique.

So, it’s December, and noting a sale on irunfar.com, I bit the bullet, paid for the insanely-steep shipping costs (not your fault – Martinique is pretty unheard of), and (im)patiently awaited these new marshmallow shoes. Hokas were purported to absorb all the pounding my knees normally brunt, alieve the neuroma developing on my right foot, and drastically reduce the DOMS I’d experienced from workouts (and I wouldn’t be surprised if it cured cancer, too).

The Bondis I’d ordered seemed too good to be true, but when they finally arrived and I was able to bomb down that hill that previously had me wincing, I knew Hoka was on to something. I was able to completely beat myself up in training, but come back the next day totally refreshed and ready to tackle the hills again.

Fast forward 4 months, and I’m back in Illinois, racing my first 50k. Despite racing my first 5 miles faster than my half-marathon pace, I managed to finish 2^nd place overall. Two weeks later, I raced the Ice Age 50k up in Wisconsin, finishing in 3^rd place overall, less than a minute behind 2^nd place (and I was closing strong!). A couple weeks after that, I made the trip up to Michigan, where I competed in the Yankee Springs Trail 26.2, and won my first race, placing 1^st overall by more than 5 minutes.

That summer, I was working at a local running store, trying everything I could do to land a job as a Field Rep for a running company (I even chatted with XXXXXXXXXXXXXX, the Illinois Hoka Rep). However, living in my parent’s basement was far from ideal, and so when I found a job as a High School French Teacher in Colorado Springs, I had to jump on it. I had spent a summer in Boulder training with teammates in college, and had dreamed of making Colorado my home ever since. So I made the drive from 0 ft. to over 6,000 ft. above sea level, eager to train with (arguably) the best running community in the country.

But then school happened. I took on the duties of the middle school cross country coach, agreed to sponsor a couple clubs, and on top of the struggles of being a first-year high school teacher, free time to run fell by the wayside. While I love teaching and sharing my passion for French, the lifestyle itself didn’t meld with my love and aspirations for running. Visions of training with pros and joining a running club and becoming a regular at the local shop were replaced by grading and lesson planning.

So when XXXXXXXXXXX emailed me, letting me know that he had received my resume and had an open position as a Field Rep for Hoka (Hoka!), I was excited, to say the least. See, running is, and forever will be, an integral part of my life. Combined with my love for teaching, the duties of a Field Rep describe what I would honestly call my ‘dream job.’ So I was a tad heartbroken when XXXXXX later let me know that the position was filled. But it lit a fire in me, sparking a realization that this was what I wanted to do. To be able to share my passion for running with a community who may not know the incredible feel of the Stinson or how light the Clifton really are.

Hopefully, it’s apparent how much I want this job, and how perfect a fit I am. 

XTERRA Cheyenne Mountain 24K

It’s been quite some time since my last race – in fact, 4 weeks is the longest I’ve gone this year without racing! Despite that, I’ve had some pretty solid weeks of training, with Spring Break, Jordan and Willyum visiting me here, and a short trip back to Chicago for some fast miles at sea level.

But, I was still relatively nervous for this race, for two reasons. 1: It was being held at Cheyenne Mountain State Park, a mountainous and technical course that my worshippers followers will remember I raced back in October, and got my butt kicked, hard. Reason 2: this would be the furthest I’ll have raced, let alone run, since re-starting this whole running thing at the start of 2015.

For whatever reason, the whole ‘24K’ eluded me when I first signed up – probably ‘cuz I’m AN AMURRICAN!!!!!!1!1one!! (eagle screeches) But a couple days before the race I did some intense calculus and with help from the full moon, a math teacher at my school, and the Pythagorean Theorem, I managed to discern that 24K roughly equates to 15 miles.

Unfortunately, the race itself was on a Sunday, the worst possible day (for me) to race. This is because I have to essentially “waste” Saturday: no epic long run, no hiking all day, no Incline-athons. Just me, getting not-tan, playing videogames (I did manage to watch nearly the entire Frieza Saga, so the day wasn’t a total waste).

~

Waking up race morning, I downed some coffee, laced up my Hoka One One Cliftons (super cushioned shoe, and would be a godsend for bombing down these trails), and made the quick drive over to Cheyenne Mountain State Park. There would also be a 12K and 5K racing at the same time, and I soon learned that my race would consist of two 12K loops. So after an easy 10-minute warmup and some bouts of anxious self-doubt, I jogged up to the starting line, only to find a fellow Winter Series and recent 5K racer Colin Knaub. Colin had finished just behind me at the last 5K, and was in the middle of training for a May marathon – we both agreed to start nice and slow on the first loop, then pick it up the second.

However, that plan went totally out the window when the gun went off, as I quickly shot up front, finding myself in 2^nd place within the first 30 seconds of racing. First place (who’s name I later learned is Kory) looked fast, and I sort of let him go from the start, content with trying to ‘take it easy’ this first lap. By ½ mile in, Kory was out of sight, and I was leading a string of 4-5 runners, which soon became three, then two, then just me. By mile 2 I was all alone, half-worrying I took a wrong turn somewhere, then seeing another little blue flag to let me know I wasn’t totally lost.

Maybe we should rate this blog PG-13?

The course itself was interesting, as the entire first half of the loop was uphill (see below for the course profile), so after mile 3, I was able to really open up and start to push the pace a bit. Despite telling myself to chill the first 12K, I was feeling pretty good, and combined with the downhill and the pretty girls cheering for me, I threw down some faster miles to finish up the first 12K.

1,700 ft.+ of elevation >.<

As I finished up my first loop, and knowing what to expect this second time around, I decided to try and push this first half hard, considering those last 3-4 miles were primarily downhill. And despite that, I still managed to suck wind and slowdown bigtime that second loop. Uphill running is still not my forte, but it fortunately didn’t last too long, and getting to the downhill sections I was able to turn on the gas again, passing other 24K runners along the way.

At this point, I totally thought I was in first place – I’d assumed that Kory, running fast up front, had only completed the 12K race. Volunteers working the race all seemed surprised to see me (granted, could have likely been due to my lack of clothing), and so I told myself I was racing for the win. 

Coming into sight of the finish line, I threw down one last kick, crossing the line totally spent.

After some stumbling around and choking on my own saliva, I somehow managed to discover that Kory, in fact, was racing the 24K, and had soundly beaten me by nearly 5 minutes. Feeling like death, we waited a couple minutes for 3^rd place to come in (Colin!), and we soon received our medals.

*That's not actually Colin on the right there*

Overall, I was relatively happy with the day’s race. I would’ve like to have gone faster (and win, duh), but I definitely haven’t been training on mountain-y technical stuff – in fact, this just made me want to sign up for something fast even more. While I’m not quite sure what my next race will be, there’s a chance I’ll sneak one more in this April – there is definitely no shortage of racing in Colorado, so until next time!

St. Patrick's Day 5K

This past Saturday, I raced the Colorado Springs St. Patrick’s Day 5K, and ran the fastest 5K of my life to date. This race has it all: drama, suspense, hot chicks. But before I delve into this epic journey for my new 5K PR, I’d like to take the time to fill you in, my loving, doting fans, about the hellish week that preceded this race.

I guess it all starts with my drive back from the Winter Series #4, where the ‘Check Engine’ light on my car came on. STFU Sam this has nothing to do with running or your gorgeous bod. Bear with me here; see, when I first drove out to Colorado back in July, that same light came on. But because it was my second day of owning my car, and I’m a procrastinator, and I’m poor, I sort of just…ignored it. This was until my mom came to visit me and vowed to disown me if I didn’t have my car checked. So I did, and thankfully, the awesome mechanics at ToyTech fixed my car, good as new.

So when that light came on again, I decided to be a somewhat-competent adult and actually have it checked out right away. But this time, it wasn’t an easy fix – this time, that check engine light was flashing, which is your car’s subtle way of telling you it’s (actually) about to explode.

My colleagues actually think I'm Chris Traeger now

ToyTech said they’d need to work on my car for a couple days (spoiler alert: turned into 8 days). And during this time, I still had to get my daily run in, AND get to school every morning. So I did as any idiotic masochist did: I ran the 8ish miles to school. There’s no great route, which means I literally have to run on a highway for a portion, but for about a week, I ran the 8ish miles to school (of note: all money I saved on gas was instead spent on copious amounts of food).

My colleagues were gracious enough to provide me with rides home after school most days (shout outs to CG, Veronica, and Brandon!), and I actually really enjoyed it. The whole ‘illegally running on the shoulder of the highway’ thing kinda sucked, as did commuting a good 2 hours before sunrise, but it felt good knowing I was logging some decent mileage without really trying. I did in fact run home one day, which stifled any more desire for this run-commuting thing. This past Wednesday, I ran to school, then, thanks to the sun’s decision to exist again, decided to make the commute home after school. But: I was pulled over by a cop, got lost, and stumbled home in the dark for an 18-mile day. Good news: got my car back the next day!

~

So, needless to say, I felt like butthole this past Thursday, then Friday. Honestly, I was considering DNSing this race, on account of this feeling like butthole. But waking up Saturday morning, and realizing that I’ve already paid for this race, I might as well go pick up my tee-shirt. So I made a slow and painful jog over to the race course, still sore and tired and butthole-like. But once I picked up my tee-shirt and found some friends Phil and Brian (who even read this blog! So it’s not just my mom!), I figured I’d yog a nice and easy 5K, “for fun.”

But, as I stepped up to the starting line, it hit me: I don’t know how to not race. I don’t do “fun” – I run to slowly and painfully kill myself. Plus, soooooo many hot chicks to impress.

At the start, behind a million people.

When the gun went off, people started flying (video of the start is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWysUOYMoQY. I'm at around 30 seconds in). My GPS watch was telling me I was clipping off sub-5 minute pace for that first 400 meters, and I was probably in 25^th place, getting smoked by middle schoolers and geezers. Focusing on staying relaxed, I finally cooled down my pace to 5:30ish, intent on passing these little kids ahead of me (seriously, who do these 11 year olds think they are, making me look slow in front of all these ladies?) The course itself was relatively flat, but had a total of three 180-degree turns that basically required you to come to a stop, or swing waayyyy wide.

Mile splits and a general map of the course.

Finally getting into a rhythm, I went through my first mile split in 5:30ish. Quick for sure, but I felt relatively good, so decided to try and push this mile, as I’ve always got something left for the end. So I worked on passing the guy in front of me, then the next, then the next…the benefit of racing in a big race (more than 2,000 in this 5K) is that there’s always someone to run against, and so I was able to pick off people over that second mile.

After making two quick 180-degree turns, we were finally on the homestretch, about .8 miles to the finish. I’d stopped checking my watch at this point, focused solely on closing the large gap between me and the next runner. At this point in the race, the rest of the 5Kers were making their way out to the 180-degree turns, so flying by them with the occasional cheer was a big boost. With probably .5 miles to go, I started my signature grunting with each exhale (but really, when did that start?), and my form must’ve started to look real atrocious, because I definitely saw someone hurl.

But I was making up ground on that guy ahead of me! As we neared the finish line, I heard someone shout “Don’t let that kid pass you CJ!” Obviously I’m not CJ, so as “that kid,” I had to show this CJ who was boss, and threw down the nastiest kick (and not in a good way) to just narrowly fly by him in the finishing chute.

Suck it CJ.

Checking my watch, I couldn’t believe it. Just 6 weeks ago, I’d raced the Gameday 5K and finished in 17:49, a time I was very pleased with. My PR in college was a 17:17 (although it’s definitely possible I split a faster time in an 8K race), and without any (like, zero) speed training, I would’ve been happy with another sub-18. But my official finishing time was a 17:08, a 5:31/mile pace, good for 15^th overall (and at 6,000 ft. too!).

Going from feeling like butthole and almost not even racing to finishing 40+ seconds faster than last month, I was pretty stoked. But, there were still 14 people ahead of me (winner finished in 14:45!), so I’ve still got work to do. I’ve got a slight break from racing, my next being the XTERRA Trail 24K on April 12^th, so until next time!