Day 33

The hardest part about starting this running streak in the winter has not been the weather. Snow. Freezing rain. A blizzard. More freezing rain. Ice-covered roads and sidewalks. Slush.

I can deal with all of that. You can always put on more layers and hope the hail doesn't strike you in the eyes -- the only thing exposed when you went for a four-mile run during the Snowpocalypse.

No, the hardest part is when your 17-month-old son walks up to you, grabs your leg and looks up while you're putting on all your winter running gear. Then, he says, "Dohn-go, dada," and your heart is subsquently melted. How do you explain your crazy streak to him?

Even harder than that one fantastic moment, however, was Day 33.

I had developed a pretty nice routine of running in the afternoon or evening, either during Hayden's nap or shortly before dinner time. On Wednesday, though, the Bastian Family routine was thrown entirely out of whack. Hayden tried turning his toy wagon into a surfboard and the end result was his first trip to the ER.

After he put one foot inside, the wagon rolled, Hayden flew forward and landed face-first into a plastic block. It cut deep into his foreheard -- right between the eyes -- and made for a bloody scene in my office. My wife and I had only looked away for a couple seconds. Ain't that always the way.

Sure enough, Hayden needed four stitches. He might have a scar, but over time it will probably be nothing more than a small mark. It was a draining day to say the least -- we had to drive to the ER through this week's massive snow storm -- and neither my wife nor I felt like doing much of anything when we finally got home.

The thing is...

... the streak.

This was the first time throughout the first 30-plus days that I really weighed how much this little streak of mine is worth. Nothing really, when you think about it. Take a day off. No one would care but me. In fact, I'm sure my wife would love if I took a day off. But I set a goal. And, barring some unforeseen circumstance that derails everything, I plan on getting out there for a few miles every single day in 2011.

So, after Hayden went to bed and darkness fell our neighborhood, I put on my winter mask, slid into my gear and hit the roads. I was only going to do a slow mile or two so I could check off another day. I wound up feeling pretty good and ended up doing an aggressive 5K through our the snow-covered roads.

Soon enough, I'll be in Arizona for baseball's Spring Training, the cold winter in my rear-view mirror. And in May, I'll be lining up for the Cleveland Marathon.

Gotta run...

Streak: 35 days
Miles: 164 miles
Average: 4.7 miles
January: 146 miles
February: 18 miles and counting

--JB

Day 1

Nothing is ever easy.

Standing in our upstairs bathroom, downing a bottle of water as I tried to will away the cold that overtook my body in the night, a steady rain pounded the skylight above me. This morning, there wasn’t much light. It was all gray and gloom.

This was the day I was supposed to start?

There are times when you feel like you’re the only person on the planet and your plans are the only ones being ruined. This was one of those moments. God was showing off his cruel sense of humor. My plans were now His punch line.

A few weeks before, I decided I’d attempt a new challenge. I’d run five marathons, logged thousands of miles over the previous few years and, honestly, was getting bored. I could get faster. Or, I could make things interesting. I’m not going to be lining up with Ryan Hall anytime soon, so interesting seemed like the way to go.

Beginning with Jan. 1, 2011, I was going to run every day. No excuses. Weather, injuries, delayed flights. None of that could serve as a way out. Somehow, some way, I would strap on my running shoes and hit the pavement every day.

The goal of running 365 consecutive days is challenging enough standing alone. Working as a baseball reporters adds another element. My schedule is erratic. I often work late nights. On the days I have off, I’m often sitting in an airport. It is practically impossible – with the unpredictabile life of a journalist – to have a set time to run each day.

The offseason would seemingly make things easier. That used to be true. Now, though, there’s this 16-month-old wild boy taking over my house. Fortunately, Highspeed Hayden typically powers down for a couple hours in the early afternoon. His naptime becomes my Go Time. On Day 1, this would be my plan of attack.

After Hayden decided to exchange Mickey Mouse’s Clubhouse for his crib, I went for my gear. It had warmed up enough to melt the piles of snow that had blanketed our town. The only problem was that rain. That freezing cold rain that was showing the streets that I needed to cover.

I headed out the door and made my way through the mist. I could deal with mist. It actually felt a bit refreshing at first. I was quickly warming up in my long sleeves. The rain cooled me off some as I pushed a hard pace at the start. One mile in, I was feeling good, feeling confident. I had planned to do four miles, but maybe I’d do six or seven. Shoot, the way I was feeling I might consider eight or 10 miles.

Two miles in, that all changed.

Now I felt like death. The confidence was gone. All I could see were all the Christmas cookies I’d downed at the in-laws’ house. After running the Philadelphia Marathon in November – with the exception of a Thanksgiving Day 5K run in Illinois – I had taken more than a month off. I deserved it. That’s what I said anyway. Truth is, I lost interest.

This four-miler on New Years Day was my way of getting interested again. It was going to be the same as countless runs before, but so much different. It was the first in a long line of runs. No. 1 of 365 and beyond.

And it hurt.

Almost three miles in, the blue question marks spray-painted on the sidewalk at my feet mocked me. “Why are you doing this?” they asked. “What were you thinking?” they taunted. “You didn’t actually think you could do this, did you?” they continued.

I picked up the pace, and a cold wind at my back pushed me forward. Finally, the elements were extending a helping hand. Finally, God’s cruel joke ran dry and he was giving me a little assistance down the stretch.

Nope.

Turns out that breeze was the calm before the real storm.

I was suddenly in a complete downpour. I couldn’t tell if the drops streaming down my face were from sweat or from the rain. It was probably both. I wanted to stop, but running outside presents a classic dilemma. If I stopped, I would be no closer to being home. I had to run harder if I wanted to escape the storm.

Or, maybe I could stop and build an ark.

I bolted down Redwood and finally reached my street. Completely drenched, I walked to the porch at my home, stopped, and looked up at the sky, hands on my hips. I was done.

And I was only at the beginning.

Proud to be a Turkey

In my immediate family, I have always been "the athlete." I played baseball, ran cross country and eventually went into marathon running.

Yeah, I had my little hiccup in college and had to shed 50+ pounds to get into the marathon shape I'm in today, but for the most part sports and I have always been tied together.

I've got to say, it's nice to be able to say that I've finally got company.

My big sister, Melissa, is a great source of inspiration for me, and I know many others would say the same. She is currently on a journey of turning herself into a completely new person, dropping around 100 pounds so far in her quest to one day complete an Ironman.

She always kids that someday she's going to buy a shirt that says, "Oh, you run marathons? She reminds me often that she's going to beat me fair and square in a race one day, and no one is rooting her on more than I am. Come and get me, sis. How cute." They are jokes now, but I really can't wait until it becomes reality.

On Thanksgiving morning, finally feeling better after Sunday's marathon, and FINALLY rid of my swollen feet, I decided to join Melissa for a Turkey Trot. The 5K race was in Long Grove, Ill., with a gorgeous little course. The weather was cold, but the rain stayed away, allowing for a pretty impressive race.

Nearly 1,000 people lined up for the 5K. I had a couple reasons for wanting to take part. First of all, this was my sister's first event since finding out she has Crohn's disease. It's just one more thing for her to compete against and I wanted to be there to see her back out there running. Second, I was still kicking myself over how my marathon went, so I wanted a race to help me put it swiftly behind me.

I was happy to take care of both wishes.

It was a blast to get ready for the race with Melissa, chat in the car while we were freezing our butts off, making fun of other runners stretching routines... just having a good time together. And it was a thrill to see her cross that finish line. When she turned the corner at one point, I barely recognized my sister. It's like she's this brandnew person, and it's been amazing to watch that process over the past couple of years.

My sis blogs at http://www.mommymeepa.blogspot.com/ and tweets under the handle @306to140.

Beyond that, it was great personally to get back on the roads and perform the way I know I can. With a pair of sore legs and a couple of beat up feet, I ran a 7:13 average (6:55 for my first mile) and placed 48th out of 977 runners. I was fifth in my age division, just two freakin' spots away from earning a medal! Boooo.

I came away from Philadelphia upset and disappointed. This run helped me shake that experience off and walk away with a smile.

And, it helped me feel better about shoving my face at Thanksgiving dinner!

~JB

Yo Adrian! I did it!

Well, I did it. I ran my fifth career marathon. That, right there, is just about all there was about the race that brought any sense of satisfaction for me. I've had a hard time feeling happy with this one.

I knew going in that this was going to be one of the harder marathons I took on. I had a handful of obstacles to overcome and I knew that realistically I probably wasn't ready to tackle a full 26.2 miles at a consistent pace.

Whether it was the old self-fulfilling prophecy or not, the race went just about exactly as I expected. I held strong for 9 miles, was still good through 13, was hanging in there through 16 miles... and then I fell apart. Utterly and completely fell apart. My body was done, and I still had 10 miles to go.

The course was beautiful and reminded me a lot of the Chicago course. There were a few sections that were more hilly than I anticipated, but that was hardly my worst problem in this race. The marathon and half marathon ran at the same time and at Mile 12 I was seriously considering dropping out at 13.1 miles, and trying to persuade them to give me a medal for the half and calling it a day.

Instead of turning right and calling it quits, though, I turned left and sucked it up. I ran the first half in roughly 1:49, and I remained on pace for about a 3:40-45 finish through the first 16 miles. After that, my body just couldn't keep up the pace. It felt like I was running hard and my watch showed I was averaging over 10 minutes per mile.

Once a PR was out of the question, I opted to listen to my body and ease to the finish line. I finished in 4:13:35. Depending on how you want to look at it, it was either my fourth-best marathon, or my second-worst. Off the top of my head, though, I think that might have been my fastest first half of any I have run so far. So, there's that.

Actually, thanks to archived results on the ol' internet, I just found all my first-half splits for my marathons. Here is how they rank, with final time in parentheses.

1:44:49 -- Tampa 2010 (3:43:43)
1:49:16 -- Philadelphia 2010 (4:13:35)
1:50:36 -- Chicago 2008 (4:22:22)
1:51:06 -- Chicago 2009 (4:09:04)
1:53:22 -- Disney 2009 (4:04:05)

So I had a fantastic first half and then a terrible second half this time around.

My unofficial splits, according to my watch, looked something like this: 8:17, 8:04, 7:50, 8:09, 8:10, 7:44, 7:51, 8:15, 7:50 (here comes the first wall), 8:48, 8:43, 8:27, 8:40 (here comes the second wall), 9:35, 8:59, 9:10 (And here comes the collapse), 9:57, 10:45, 10:17, 10:49, 11:23, 11:27, 11:46, 12:54, 12:10, 11:29, 3:26 for final .2 miles.

The end result brought on two thoughts: 1. Maybe I am built for, and should stick to, half marathons; 2. I need to run another full soon to put this one behind me. I might revert back to No. 1 later in life, but I'm not done with the marathons. I'm already giving serious thought to the Cleveland full in May, and I might plan on a fall marathon as well (Chicago again? NYC if I make it through the lottery?).

The best part about this marathon was meeting up with a few friends in Philly. I met up with a friend I've known through Twitter and we ran together for the first 8 miles before she bolted off and qualified for Boston with a 3:28. Another friend who I've talked running with on Facebook completed her first full marathon as well. Great accomplishments for both of them.

And, as bummed as I might be about certain aspects of this marathon, I'm proud to add a fifth medal to my display in my office. I'm also proud that I went through with this one even though I knew it was going to be tough sledding. I'm also happy that I turned left and kept on with the full when my body and mind both wanted to quit at the halfway mark.

On that note, I'm going to leave you with this, a photo of my swollen right foot from Monday morning!

... I warned ya.

~JB

Gonna Fly Now

Just got back from dinner with some friends here in Philadelphia. I'm carbo-loaded and ready to go. My fifth full marathon is roughly 10 hours away.

I'm not satisfied with how my training went this time around. But, I guess who ever really is when going for a marathon? There's always more you could've done, ways you could've been better, areas you could've improved.

In the past 18 weeks, I've logged 303 miles, which is, oh, about 200+ miles short of where I wanted to be over that same time period. But, I got the key long runs in, did squeeze in speedwork and certainly have experience on my side.

Last night, I had an odd dream. First off, I was late to the start of the marathon. I bolted to the line and had to sort through my goodie bag (the one you pick up at the expo) to find my bib number and timing chip. Then I darted off to run the race, long after it had started.

The next thing I remember... was not being able to remember if I ever finished. It was like I woke up from a dream, in my dream (or from a blackout in my dream?) and I had no memory of my finish. I remembered starting, but not crossing the finish line. I'm sure some psychiatrist would analyze the heck out of that.

What does it mean to me?

Well, it means the obvious: that this is the most unsure I've been about a race. I'm still fighting some heel pain in my left foot, my training was not as good as it should've been and I'm a little over my race weight. That said, the "injury" only hurts when walking, not when running, I trained decent enough and have tons of experience, and I've completed one marathon at a heavier weight.

So I fully expect to cross the finish line tomorrow. I just am not sure about setting a new PR, which I've done in each marathon I've run. I'll go out at a solid pace -- one that puts me on target for a 3:30-45 finish -- and see where that gets me. If I finish under 4 hours, I can walk away happy with how I performed. If I beat the 3:43 I put up in Tampa, fantastic. If not? Well, hey, I ran another marathon and that should be enough to bring me satisfaction.

The problem is, if I ever was satisfied, I wouldn't keep running marathons.

I keep coming back because I am hooked on the feeling you get when you complete one, and I'm also hooked on trying to get better each time. Whether or not I do set a new personal best, at least I'll be better for following through with this one. That's one thing I do take pride in, that I am going ahead with this daunting task when it'd be easy to throw in the towel.

Now that I've got that all out of my system, it's time to get some sleep. I've got a marathon in the morning.

~JB

Still Here, Still Running

Man, I really did not plan on going so long between posts. One day I'm a shirtless wild man running through Arizona mountains and then I disappear off the face of the Earth. Well, I'm still here. And, as the title of this entry says, I'm still running.

In fact, I've logged 376 miles and moved into a new pair of Saucony shoes since I last wrote. My training has been sporadic -- to put it mildly -- but a lot has happened. Life events that constantly threw wrinkles in my schedule and tested my endurance, on the roads and otherwise.

Let's see...

I moved into a new house in a new country (back in the USA!) and my family said goodbye to Grandma Bastian. As it turns out, I've learned that I do not use running as a form of stress relief. While back home during the time my grandma was ailing in the hospital, I had absolutely no interest in logging miles. That hurt me right in the heart of my marathon training plan.

I've managed, though. Since I last wrote, I took part in the Garden of the Gods 10-miler in Colorado Springs (holy hills!), and logged runs in Philadelphia, along Lake Erie in Cleveland, through NYC's Central Park, along the Charles River and around the Cherry Hill Reservoir in Boston, all over Toronto, here and there in Baltimore, through the wall of heat in Kansas City and over the bridges of Minneapolis and St. Paul.

Along the way, I've fought back soreness, calf tightness, some stomach isues, sharp heel pain and, oh yeah, I stabbed myself in the bottom of my left foot with a knife while installing a baby gate.

And now? Now, I've got the Philadelphia Marathon in less than two weeks.

I'm in good enough shape to finish, there's no doubt about that. Two Sundays ago I logged 20 miles in roughly three hours, so I'm more than ready and able. As for breaking the 3:43 I posted in Tampa in February, well, we'll see. I'm gunning for under four hours and am hoping to crack 3:45 again.

When I get to Mile 16 or so on Nov. 21, I think I'll know how realistic that finishing goal is for this fall. One way or another at least, I'll have another medal and a fifth marathon on my resume. I'm already looking ahead to No. 6, too. Cleveland has a marathon in May that just might work for me, and I think I'll be better prepared.

I also hope to begin blogging more again...

~JB

Phoenix Running

Sitting in the back seat of the cab, I peered out the window to my left. Rising over Phoenix was a series of peaks. Not high enough to intimidate -- only enough to intrigue.

I'd been reading "Born to Run," which includes tales of ultra-running through trails, deserts and mountains. This was no Everest I was looking at out my window, but it was certainly a challenge. One I wanted to take on.

After settling into my hotel, I grabbed an area map and plotted my next run. South of the city's downtown was a green shaded section labeled "South Mountain Park." That was what I had spotted and was now officially my target. I had never really run trails, or on any kind of steep grade, but that was going to change in a hurry.

I hopped online and found a map of the park's trails, picking out one called the "National trail" for my run the next day. I wanted to run at least 10 miles and that route seemed to be a good place to accomplish that goal. I discussed things over with the concierge, phoned up a rental car agency, purchased some water and gatorade and was set.

At 9 a.m. the next morning, I pulled into a small parking lot at the edge of a dirt trail. Peering down the path, I saw it disappear into the foothills of a much larger hill, covered in large boulders, plenty of cacti and I could only assume a large assortment of snakes, scorpions and mountain lions.

I'm from the city, how would I know?

With my water bottle full, my shoes laced tight and my sunglasses on, I set off into the unknown. For the past two years, I had been running on paved paths and roads, lined with roller-bladers, bikers and runners. Finding my way down dirt trails, over boulder-covered hills, and up and down steep switchbacks was completely foreign.

Man, I had a blast.

Two miles in, I had ascended high enough to have a gorgeous view of downtown Phoenix in the valley below, and I still had higher to go. When the path was flat, I ran. When it went downhill, I ran. That was the pact I made with myself. Only when the path was overrun with rocks and required the use of my hands for climbing did I walk.

Midway through the 10-mile adventure, I felt like I was on another planet. There was not another soul in sight. Just me, shirt off and tucked in my shorts, water bottle running dry, sun beating down with no cloud cover, making my way along the rocky terrain. Suddenly, I didn't care about splits or pace. I never once turned on my iPod.

In fact, I lost it somewhere on the mountain, and did not realize it until later that day.

The second half proved to be mostly a descent, and I took advantage. I flew down the hills and switchbacks and top speed, concentrating on making careful landings as I blew down the mountain. My ankles buckled but held strong. My arms pumped but did not fatigue. I bounced off boulders and zig-zagged on the steepest sections, keeping a steady pace to the end.

Before I knew it, I was on a dirt trail, running toward the small parking lot. It was over. I had completed the 10-mile journey and still wanted more. If I did not have work in a couple hours, I might have been tempted to refill my water, turn around and go again. It was easy to see why trail running is so addicting for some.

It also proved to be a great workout leading up to a race on my calendar next month. On June 13, I'll be running in the Garden of the Gods 10-miler. It is a hilly course held in the thin air of Colorado and will present another challenge. If running through South Mountain Park was any indication, I will probably have a blast.

~JB