Old is good (II)

There are times when a run brings me back to 1980, when I was sprinting across the soccer pitches of my Dutch hometown, Nijmegen. That light and joyful feeling is ingrained in my brain and muscle memory. Other times, I feel like a 45-year-old struggling to breathe and move. Sunday was such a time.

The day was perfect in San Diego. Sunny, breezy, with stunning views from the start of this half marathon in Point Loma. The course was even, fast and wide open.

After 5 quick miles at or below a 7-minute pace, my form and pace collapsed. The heat got to me, my breakfast seemed immovable inside of me, and a familiar sensation came over me: my vision narrowed to the 10 feet in front of me, banishing the views, the joy of running and racing, the other runners, and the future beyond this immediate misery. Perhaps it is self-preservation, but all I could do was put one foot in front of the other. Barely. And when I stopped about 10 miles I wondered: how about all of those, hilly, technical, brutal 15 to 19 milers I have been doing north of LA with the Trail Runners on Sunday mornings?

Yes, I felt my age. But I did not despair. I recently wrote “Old is Good”, about Meb wining Boston: mind over matter, training and experience over youth. Now the British track star Jo Pavey has done it again. At age 40, this mother of two won the 10,000 meters in Zurich. “Jo Pavey has finally come of age at 40, can you say that?” the BBC commentator said.

You can.

Here are the final laps of this inspiring victory.

Nanoo-nanoo

One of the things I did not know about Robin Williams: he was an excellent runner. Runner’s World has the story. He also explained – quite well – how marathon running gives you a better, cheaper high than cocaine.

Nanoo-nanoo, Mork.

Battle on the trail

Matt Leading the way in the wilderness

Ah, Sycamore Canyon. A year ago I got to know the trails in this wild land north of Malibu. The area had just burned down then. Now we’re back with the Trailrunners Club. In the year that’s passed I remember nothing more than a couple of weak rain showers. The drought is brutal. And so it is that the canyon, the trails, the hillsides and fields still look brown and grey, barren and barely alive.

Still, this 12-mile loop is a great run. My new running friend Matt and I take off to lead the group — after the elusive (i.e. fast) Mike, of course. The early, steep climbs take a lot out of me. “Not my day”, I think, and then mumble out loud. Matt doesn’t say anything. What is there to say, really? He does kindly take the lead to set our pace. Up, and up, and up we go.

A tired Sunday morning warrior

I love trails.

That said, sometimes it’s a battle. Of course we cannot control nature, but the loose sand, sharp rocks, crazy twists, hidden roots, unexpected dips, low branches and endless climbing are a formidable opponent. I ask myself: how can I ever win? I put my head down and focus. Do what I know how to do: lift my feet with a light step, move my arms, control the pace and my breathing. On the downhill I let gravity do 90% of the labor.

Suddenly we hit the fire road between the hills, back west toward the ocean. Steadily we cruise along for more than three miles, at a sweet 8-minute pace. Matt and I don’t talk much anymore. We’ve chatted about our travels, jobs, relationships. Now we just quietly run.

The battle has subsided; it turns out it was never a fight. Just a challenge, which we managed quite well on this gorgeous Sunday morning.

Post-run, feet in the Pacific

Friendship on the trails

Well above the clouds in the west

A new city can be tough. Where to live? How to meet people? Where to run?

When I came to LA in the beginning of 2013 I was lucky to have some good friends here. I knew the way, mostly, and quickly began to explore the vast city on my motorcycle.

But the best way to feel your way in a new place is to run. And the best way to run in a new place is find the fast locals. So I did then as I had done in New York in 2008. I joined a local running club.

The Trailrunners Club is, in some ways, the opposite of the Flyers. The latter are the biggest of New York. The former have, I’d guess, three dozen members. But the similarities are more important. The runners are fit and welcoming. They show you where to go. They provide new friendships, as well as structure and rhythm to the week – in this case, rising Sundays at 5:30 a.m. to begin the group run at 7 a.m.

Sycamore Canyon after the Spring Fires of 2013

There’s comfort in a group like that. During my frustrating time of injuries and forced rest I would often think of the long runs with Ernie, Tommy, Andy and the others, and I’d know that I could and would re-join them as soon as I was better.

The trails north of Los Angeles are, to me, a magical world. Quiet and wild, they provide an escape from the fast and furious auto culture. Hilly and sandy, they make for the best training possible. The views, the clean air, the friendly fellow runners and hikers – the canyon trails probably are my favorite place in, or near, the city.

The local Palisadian Post profiled the club recently. It’s a fun read. And it shows some of us running!

Palisadian Post

 

RIP, Louis Zamperini

 

The California church was packed. Families and war veterans, runners and kids, readers en fans, we all filled the benches, excited and upbeat. Everyone was there to see Louis Zamperini, or ‘Louie’, as he liked to be called. The man was small and frail, unstable on his feet, funny and full of stories.

It was a little more than a year ago; probably one of Louis’ last public appearances. We were honored and humbled, I think, to hear and see him – to know he was still there after everything he had been through.

Now he’s gone, at age 97, after a remarkable life. Runners World has the story. It affirms why I responded strongly to his tale, and to Laura Hillenbrand’s magnificent book about him: he exemplified the strength, power and grace of the United States. Zamperini’s story was an American story.

Here’s my Dutch piece about him from a year ago.

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Nice cops

A run-in with the police is never fun. Yesterday I was stopped on the way to the airport. I had crossed – in my car – the double yellow line to get into the HOV lane. A police cruiser pulled me over; we had to cross through four lanes of heavy traffic. We stopped, the cop came to the passenger window where my friend Andy kept quiet. I nervously handed over my license and papers.

The officer took his time checking my papers. Sweating, I imagined huge fines and all sorts of trouble.

He walked back to the car, leaned in, handed my paper back, smiled, and said, “Happy birthday.”

* * *

Last week I was stopped in Venice on my bicycle. Scary, too, but I got away with a warning then. And I wrote a Dutch story about it in NRC Handelsblad. Thanks for checking it out!

NRC_20140624_1_008_article2

The Running Dutchman is here

Summer is here and my first English book has come out. I have translated, updated and improved De rennende Hollander (2010). It is now The Running Dutchman. You can find it here on Amazon, available as an e-book. This weekend it will be free to download.

Thanks, and a happy summer to all!

How to run

As I’m still in the process –always, really– of adjusting my post-injury running form, I noticed this excellent video form Runner’s World. Some good advice here from Dr. Jordan Metzl. Worth your six minutes.

Also, a sweet (Dutch) article here on several Dutch athletes being serious contenders as the World Championship Skyrunning in Chamonix, France. Please to see my mom’s physical therapist, Thomas Dunckerbeck. among the ultra racing favorites. Good luck to all next weekend!

An international study

A lucky man, is what I am. Over the past six weeks I got to run on some amazing trails in four countries. The Santa Monica Mountains near Los Angeles. The Maritime Alps in Italy. The mountains around Bergen, Norway. And the N70 trail route in the Netherlands.

Let me compare and contrast here in some key categories.

TRAIL SURFACE

1) Holland wins. Soft and bouncy, these paths are a perfect surface with the right, gripping shoes.

2) California also has many sandy and forgiving trails.

3) Norway’s paths were hard and rocky.

4) In Italy I shredded my new too soft Nike Kigers to pieces on the sharp rocks and the tricky, uneven surface

TRAIL MAINTENANCE

Norway

1) Norway has impeccable paths, with clear markers. They are clean and tidy, like the country itself.

2) The Americans also keep the trails in the best condition imaginable. Hundred of miles of mountainous trails are clean and open, free of obstacles and well marked.

3) The Dutch trails are not bad, but the deep mud on a rainy day can make for tough running. With intense use like that, a little more maintenance would be good.

4) Does anyone walk or use the trails? Does anyone care? They are mostly an overgrown mess or rocks, branches and missing signs,  despite the good efforts of some local outdoors enthusiasts.

SHEER BEAUTY

Italy

1) This is where Italy shines. The mountains close to the Mediterranean are high and handsome, and the trails take you up there. The views are stunning and inspiring, even after 10 miles of gruesome trail work. Forza Italia!

2) This part of Norway was new to me, and I was in awe of the sights above Bergen.

3) The southern California mountains I know and love offer striking vistas of the wilderness so close to the big city.

4) Holland is flat, but the hilly area around Nijmegen has some nice views of the Ooij polder and the river below.

BEST WORKOUT

1) Here Italy wins. Steep hill sides testing your strength. Technical trails demanding full focus. Severe descends requiring light feet and a willingness to work with gravity. Felt exhausted and exhilarated after every trail.

2) The sheer length and gradient of the inclines up the trails from Bergen made this run challenging and wonderful.

California

3) North of LA you can simply keep going and going, up and down, as steep or flat as you like. Great working out.

4) The Dutch trails are good but not as steep, and not as long. Of course, I was still happily exhausted after 9 muddy miles.

BEST FELLOW RUNNERS FOR PEER INSPIRATION

1) Norway. So many hikers and runners, all friendly and good-looking.

2) Lots of active types in the Santa Monica mountains. Friendly, usually.

3) Holland. There were few.

4) Italy. There were none.

Who let the dogs out

In Italy I have started running with a few crucial supplies. When I go out for hours on the trails in the Maritime Alps I bring my ultra backpack with a mix of water and Tail Wind Nutrition. I also bring my phone, my new Garmin watch, my Road ID for emergencies, a small knife and band-aids.

Yep. On these trails I want to be prepared for the worst.

Happy run face (early on)

This is not something I know in California, New York or Holland: I go out alone and it feels like I’m entereing the wilderness. There’s a sense of risk, even danger. The trails are rocky and uneven. They are ill – or not at all – maintained and marked Overgrown and washed away in places. They are very steep, going up and down like nobody’s business. At times I’m walking, other times I’m on hands and knees. The sharp rocks have basically shredded my pretty new Nike Kigers in four weeks of intense running.

Then there are the animals. Now and then I hear boar snort and groan close to the trail. These are wild, not small animals, and they have their young with them this time of year. Hearing the rustling and snorting in a bush about a meter to your left can make a runner jump.

Necessities

Last week on a high mountain trail I was trapped between two packs of dogs. I had gently, quietly bypassed the first three dogs by going off the road and making a semi circle through the prickly bushes, keeping a safe distance. Barking dogs don’t bite, the Dutch saying goes – I do not believe it’s true, but it helped me stay calm. Then the second pack, en route to the tiny town of Olivetta, seemed so aggressive that I turned a sharp left. There was no trail there, but I knew there was a small river and a trail next to it, about a mile to the east. If only I could just get over this hill, through this valley, past these bushes and trees. Well, no. This is unforgiving country: rocks, dirt, cacti, and lots of plants protecting themselves with sharp needles. I got lost and stuck. After an adrenaline-fueled struggle our of the natural trap off the trail I returned to the trail with bruised and bloody legs and arms. Thankfully all dogs were now behind me. All I had to do was navigate the sharp rocks on the way home, just two more miles.

I love running here. These are real adventures. I like it in part, I think, because every time it feels lucky to actually come back alive and well. Thankfully I have not yet needed to use my knife or the Road ID.

Post long run face