Not so solitary

I enjoy the moments before my long runs. It was a ritual I'd save for those weekend mornings. Where I live, there are a number of routes I could take to add up to the miles that would let me go long. In the winter, I'd usually head out west. I could be guaranteed miles upon miles of solid running paths with no red lights.

On other mornings, I literally test out the wind, gauge the sun, and decide at a moment which way to go: East? North? West?

One thing about fall and winter running I've always loved, and to this day cherish, was my zone-out time. I could count the number of other people on bikes or on foot on one hand while out on an eight miler. I've even gone a full five miles on my 10 out and back without encountering another soul, just the whizzing lights of hundreds of cars heading out into the suburbs.

I do crave city running sometimes, like today, when I was running my 5 miler home, something about whizzing past pedestrians, striding alongside cyclists or catching my breath at a stop light that feels so good.

But on those long runs, lately I've been heading east. Out there, even in the middle of 'running' season, I'll encounter far fewer runners. The industrial lands a few kilometres out that way seem to act as a barrier, that only if you were going long, it'd make sense you'd get out there. Development, it's coming, as the city starts to tear down old warehouses and put up waterside walkways and new office towers.

I'm not sure when I write something like this that there's something of a difference between me and a lot of other runners. I'm not going to call it fairweather running, but in the coldest days of winter and the humid boilers of a July late-morning bake, I stick to the roads by myself. I enjoy that time. Time to listen to tunes, time to put my eyes on the sky and enjoy the outside, time to nod or wave to that other solitary runner. Something more gritty about tackling a long stretch of road where it's just you and a handful of cyclists and vehicles.

I do love asking myself which way I'll go. It's lovely, setting out on those first steps that will end a few hours later. The path is often lonely, but I know it's well travelled.

The better half

Like all of you, just finished my first half of the year, entering into the training season for fall marathoning. It's a good time to give a check into the year so far.



For the half-year mark, I logged 946 miles, which puts me on target for about 1800 to 1900 miles for the year. I had a really slow bounce back after my last marathon in May, taking a pause to focus on work and to recover from calf issues.

The good news, I suppose, is I'm getting the groove back on in June, 150 miles compared with 100 the month before. This ain't no high mileage, but the miles will definitely jump in July.

I'm enjoying the summer so far, not minding that much that work is a commute away. It's made running home after work a perfect way to wind down while getting my runs in.

I can't help but think this is another year with no real theme to my running life. In the last few years, I've focused on number of marathons rather than the speed. In a way, it's not as hard as those harder running days, but I think I've found a pretty good balance. There will be a time again to run for time, but I'm content that training with vigor through the summer to let me do three marathons in October will be a great achievement. I'm excited to get my 18th marathon in this fall, and even more so to find an appropriate place to run my 20th.

Looking forward, I know I'll pile the miles on. Need new shoes soon, maybe a new Garmin by my birthday, and look forward to trudging my way, happily, to close off another running year, relatively unscathed.

Without a schedule

Any second now, I think I'll break down. I'll pull out one of the training books I've relied on over the last five years and plot out my training program. I'm not sure what's stopping me from going real hyper frantic put-ever-run-in-the-calendar mode.

There was a time when I'd commmute home from my job, I remember poring over the week by week, looking at the whole of the schedule and thinking about the daunting tempo and pace runs. I'd run my hands over the columns, adding up the mileage and try to figure out how I'd fit in that 10 to 13 miles on a weekday.

Not lately, I've been so busy that I've had barely enough time to look 16 weeks down the calendar, let alone plot out the schedule. What I can rely on is the feel of a training program: do distance, go long on weekends, try to build endurance.

But something is missing. When you don't have that looming race, purpose tends to slip. I'm not worried in the long-term sense, I feel the need to run, and I don't necessarily need a schedule to keep me from committing to getting the proper miles in (I put in 42 miles last week).

I got an email from a buddy of mine who I did my first marathon with back in 2006. She was telling me about getting her mileage up this weekend. I wondered what kind of long mileage I should be at. I headed out for a 16 miler, not sure if that was quite what the program called for, but it felt like the right distance.

Right. Think I need to add some purpose. I'll schedule it in...

The run-mute and the real meeting of Metropass (hint: pass)

I hate commuting. Detest it. Something about cramming into a subway/sub/streetcar after work, at which point, I will join the masses of other exhausted people on our way home. I've loved being within walking distance of work. Love it. Lets me avoid the commute.

So when I took my new job, $121 went into a Metropass, a cost I am quickly finding very much not worth it. I'll note at this point that the $121 would easily go toward buying a new pair of shoes if I bought it south of the border.

The possibility of being that guy who runs with a backpack after work was closer to being real. I looked the map and that 30-40 minutes to work by streetcar/subway looked really really short. Four miles? Whatever, that's a recovery run.

So I decided to run home from work at least two days a week.



Of course, being the rookie, I've been a bad planner. One day, I forgot my shorts. Then on a day I at least packed my shoes, shorts and T-shirt, I forgot my running socks, so I ran with my black socks (yes, I rolled them down). Now, I'm at the point where I'm planning to run at least three days a week (Fridays I'll bring my stuff back home).

And as it turns out, from door to door, it's taking me 30 to 32 minutes (not including watch pauses), pretty much the same time I'd spend in a crammed vehicle wishing I was running.

So it' s no backpack for me. All I need is my running gear, my headphones, a water bottle and a little pouch to carry that expensive pass. If I'm going to pay $121 for a transit, might as well carry it in style, all while I run-mute.

Keeping track

Sometimes I wonder why I really need to wear a Garmin. That thought hit my mind this morning as I was doing my long run -- 14 miles made up of an out and back to the Beaches. It's a route I really love to run, not really used by distance runners for some odd reason. So here I was, trying out different routes that hugged the water's edge. As I hit the four mile mark, I pictured the route up ahead, thought about when I'd hit mile 5.

"The bridge," I thought. I'd hit 8 kilometres at the bridge.

Quickly lost the thought as I enjoyed the wind, sun and coolish June weather. As I took a few curves, I spotted the bridge ahead, looked down at my watch. Yep, on track. A hundred or so strides later, as I was about to hit the foot of the bridge, I saw the distance creep up: 7.99K. And as my foot hit the bridge, it turned to 8. Smile.

Whenever I give directions to a friend, my mind's eye takes the distance, and applies miles and kilometres. Where's work? 900 metres away. The grocery store from my condo? 1.05K. I'd got half this city mapped out from my front door that it's uncanny.

Distance has an odd symmetry. This past week, I started running from the front door of my workplace to home. It was a half hour run, but I found an odd pleasure that in actual fact, it was exactly 6.4K from door to door, a number that means nothing to anyone but a runner. My mind does the calculations, 14.5K is 9 miles, 8 miles is 13K and 6.4K is 4 miles on the nose.

Not that my obsession with tracking numbers and converting is an odd hobby, my new job gave us pedometers that we can use to track our walks. Of course, since I'm so used to it, I put it on and racked up thousands of steps in a few days. Just what I need, yet another place to synch up.

Running is my way to unplug, absolutely, but I do find it odd that every run goes into Sportstracks, Daily Mile and Garmin Connect. Not that I need it day to day, but looking back gives you perspective. Like the other day when I showed my Garmin to a fellow runner at work. I first used it in September, 2008. It read 8400 kilometres (more than 5000 miles). Eye popping? Yes, but only if you can track it.





Training update: More than 40 miles on the week, I guess you can say I'm back in training, now I have to plot out the schedule.