My Running Coach Thought I Was Going To Die

Last fall, my inner “Chicken Voice” did something really stupid.

During the training for my first-ever running race, the Eastside 10km in September, my wife Debbie and I signed up for the First Half, a half marathon in FEBRUARY in Vancouver.

This was dumb. But signing up for the race is not the stupid thing.

After completing the Eastside 10km, I stopped running for many weeks and secretly planned to bail on the First Half. I was gassed after doing 10 km and there was no way I could imagine doing over double that just a few months later.

In November, however, my friend Greg reaches out with this text:

“Are you still keen on running the First Half 1/2 marathon? Was going to prep you a program this week so you can start training! Race is 13 weeks away…”

THIS is the stupid thing: I reply to Greg,

“It is still in play! I’m behind on my training but still thinking I’m going to try and do it. This is a great reminder about how close it is - gah! 😊”

Why do I say yes to doing this??? I am too much of a chicken to tell Greg that I want to bail on the half marathon, especially when he is offering to create a customized training plan for me. Then, before I can back out, Greg offers, “I’m volunteering to coach you through this one!”

In the spirit of everything I’ve been doing with the Midlife Field Guide, when a very generous offer shows up to do something out of the ordinary, I double down and commit to doing a half marathon.

I talk with Debbie and we decide to do it as a couples adventure. We can train together, we’ll get lots of time doing a shared activity, and we’ll have a shared milestone at the end. This boosts my motivation a lot.

That is, until Debbie pulls a hamstring muscle very early into our training. It is bad enough that she has to stop running for many weeks, which ruins all the training timelines for her. She is not going to be ready in time. Debbie pulls the plug on running the First Half.

Suddenly, I am committed to doing something I don’t really want to do… without my running partner. (Also, I am kind of jealous that Debbie has a very good excuse to not do the race…)

Greg recommends that I get a Morpheus heart rate monitor to train so that I know which heart rate zone I am in at various phases of my runs. He kindly offers to look at my running data from the Morpheus and give me feedback as my training progresses.

This generates quite a bit of drama.

When I get Greg’s plan via a very detailed Excel spreadsheet, I get more excited about the prospect of seeing if I can do it. I have never put in the work over several months to prepare for any sort of physical challenge like this. I picture myself like Rocky Balboa, in an extended montage of training sequences while ‘Eye of the Tiger’ blares inspirationally (although the montage just features me running in slow motion, not punching meat carcasses.)

Greg is a long-time racer and is in the best shape of pretty much anyone I know at our age. His plan includes four runs a week: a couple of slower pace, lower heart rate runs, one run with some increased pace, and one long run.

Greg is very encouraging, and despite the tight training timeline, he continually assures me. “You can be ready in 12 weeks easy,” Greg texts early on. Then a few days later: “Follow the plan and you will cruise in sub 2 hours, no problem. A half is totally doable for you.”

Greg will soon be forced to adjust his expectations!

For my first run, I am supposed to run at an easy pace for six minutes, then walk for one minute, and repeat that pattern four times. I do the run and it goes well. I wear my new Morpheus monitor and share the heart rate data with Greg.

I am quite alarmed at his response:

“ I’m surprised how quickly your heart rate jumps to +140bpm… There is no way your heart rate should go to +140 in the first five minutes of a slow jog.”

I figure it is an anomaly and do not fret about it. However, after my second run, Greg texts me and says “I’m quite worried about your high heart rate.”

As a result, I also become quite worried about my heart rate. I have to slow to a snail’s pace to keep my heart rate down in the right range. It feels like I am trudging, not jogging. And certainly not running!

My heart rate becomes a recurring theme. I do a run, send Greg my heart rate data, and he shares his concerns that I am going to die during my next run.

I tell Greg that I am getting a full cardiology evaluation done as part of my Ultimate Midlife Medical Test experiment and he replies, “Show them your run heart rate profile. Something doesn’t seem right to me…”

After my medical, I share the good news with Greg:

“The cardiologist yesterday said no problem with the heart rate as long as I don’t stay in overload for extended periods of time. Got full echocardiogram, ECG, and stress test, and everything is totally normal. It just might be that I’m not in running shape yet…”

I keep up with the training plan, running very slowly. Greg continues to encourage me, but obviously knows from my run times that I am not going to break any speed records. He texts, “keep adding volume, but also try and sneak up the pace of the time you are running.” I am not able to sneak up the pace without skyrocketing my heart rate.

Meanwhile, Greg is travelling a lot for work, and I see him doing all sorts of runs in exotic locations like Zurich and Sydney. His times and heart rates are ridiculous and I need to keep reminding myself that comparison is the thief of joy! It is also a reminder that Greg has been running and doing endurance events for a long time and this is the first time I’ve ever done it.

In early December, with winter setting in, darkness enveloping more and more of the days, heart rate concerns, no one to run with, and the holiday season looming, I begin to fall off the training plan.

Coach Greg notices and gives me a hard nudge.

“I think it’s important that you start building distance. Need to start making your weekend run a long one and add 2 km per week so you can build up to the 21 km in Feb. Run fitness requires 30 km/week volume.”

At this point, I am unsure if I’m going to be able to motivate myself to do this. I am getting close to pulling the plug.

That is, until I receive another exceptionally generous offer.

Just at the point when I am going to quit, Todd comes to the rescue.

Todd has been an amazing friend of mine for many years. Like Debbie, he is a longtime runner and does a few races annually. I have been telling Todd about my runs, the training plan, Greg’s concerns about my heart, and how Debbie had to bail on the race due to injury.

I am shocked and humbled when Todd offers to jump in and not just do the half marathon with me, but also to be my training and accountability partner. YES! And just like that, I’m back and committed.

We start running together and it works really well. We have under two months to go before the race, so the schedule is ramping up considerably.

Here are my journal entries heading into race day…

In pouring rain, Todd and I complete my longest run ever at this point, 10.55 km. (No laughing!) Greg is alarmed.

It is unclear to me whether:

1. I am a medical miracle/freak show

2. I am about to have a massive heart attack, or

3. Greg, the elite athlete, is not used to dealing with ‘normal’ humans who are not high-performance endurance racers

Around this time, my knee starts to hurt and hip flexors have become VERY tight, so I essentially assemble the A-Team of running to help me. There’s Lishan, who is not only an amazing trainer but also an elite athlete who has competed in the World Ironman Championship in Kona, Hawaii. There’s Renata, another high-performance athlete who is a physiotherapist. Between Greg, Lishan, and Renata, I get an updated training plan, a series of exercises and stretches, nutrition and hydration protocols, dry needling, and massage. Renata even accompanies me on a 7 km run to see if there is anything in my running form contributing to my knee and hip pain. Going to repeat that: my physio went running with me.

The advice from everyone is consistent. Take smaller, faster steps and avoid having my feet plant too far in front of my hips. I try this out and feel like both an old man and a penguin at the same time.

More important than worrying about looking ridiculous, though, I am mind-boggled and grateful for how many wonderful people—Greg, Todd, Lishan, Renata—have generously jumped in to help me in this journey.

Over the next many weeks, Todd and I run together. And run. And run. Every weekend, our longer run becomes longer than the last one. In what becomes a recurring joke, Todd and I celebrate at the point where each successive long run becomes my new longest run ever. We high five and announce, “New longest run ever!”

I feel like some sort of test pilot pushing new extremes on my crappy body: “We’re entering unexplored territory!”

As the distances increase, so does my pain. My right knee hurts. So does my right ankle. Then my left knee and hamstring. My hip flexors are incredibly tight.

12 km. 15 km. 17 km. We are like the postal service: we run in wind, sleet, rain, or snow (thankfully, just frost).

After an agonizing 17 km run on January 4th, I get an ominous message from Todd, who is a lifelong mega-fan of the Seattle Seahawks.

I am not worried. What are the odds that the Seahawks make it to the Super Bowl?

I am confident I will have my running partner with me on race day. (Cue ominous foreshadowing music…)

Next up… 19 km (!!!). Todd suggests a new location for our run. Mud Bay. Sounds less than appealing. “It’s a bit of a drive out there, but it’s a beauty run. Leave at 7:30 so we are there for sunrise…” texts Todd. There for SUNRISE???

I have been DREADING this run for the last two weeks. Despite all my stretching and a taper week last week, I can still barely go up the stairs.

This past week, I caught myself again starting to fantasize about pulling out of the half marathon entirely. Telling myself no one will care if I didn’t run. Telling myself that I am going to injure myself doing these long distances and it isn’t worth it. Convincing myself that I might be already injured and making it worse by continuing to train. That Todd is going to pull out because the Seahawks are going to make the Superbowl and that I won’t be able to do it without Todd.

I am trying to get myself to quit.

But Todd is committed and making the plans for the runs. I would not have kept going if not for Todd.

We drive out to Mud Bay and arrive just before 8am. It is 4 degrees Celsius. We start running and chatting. It turns out, you have some really great, meaty extended conversations while you’re on a run with someone. It’s a surprising bonus I did not expect from running at all. It also passes the time, distracts from the running, and quiets your thoughts about how much longer you have left or that your body is tired.

Most of the runs we are doing are out and back routes and Mud Bay is the same. 9.5 km in, we pass a bunch of bald eagles sitting on power line poles, turn around, and start heading back. There is a real lift in my spirits every time we hit the turnaround point. We are heading towards the finish line instead of farther away from it!

With about 5 km left, I randomly start getting sharp pains on the inside of my left knee. I try to run differently, pushing my knee to the outside on every step. I try pushing off more with my big toe. It settles down, but then with about 2 km to go, I get a bolt and my left leg almost buckles.

I keep going because we’re so close. I get a little bit of a final wind of energy and we finish the 19km. I can’t believe we did it.

Later that day, I treat myself to one of the greatest gifts imaginable: a foot massage. It is AMAZING. After all this running, it is something akin to a religious experience.

I’m sure that tomorrow I am going to start dreading the 21km we have to do next weekend. But right now, I kind of KNOW I can do 21km. I text Todd, “That was pretty epic today. Proud of us!” He replies, “BOOM!”

Todd is going to the Seahawks NFC Championship Game on Sunday. He suggests a pre-dawn run, after which he will drive down to Seattle for the NFC Championships with his son. We’re going to run the real route and full distance so we can mentally steel ourselves for the actual event.

It starts VERY early. I am humbled and impressed by Todd doing this, even though I’m not feeling that way when he picks me up at 6:45 am, in pitch black, with heavy frost covering the ground and a temperature below the freezing mark.

I’ve already been up for an hour preparing.

After past calf cramping and knee tightness, I’ve put compression socks on both my calves and patellar knee bands on both legs below my knees. And I’ve got my bright orange Earn It toque and winter running gloves. Just getting out the f***ing door is a full-time job.

Also… I look like an idiot.

We drive ten minutes to the downtown start of the course and hit the pavement.

There is no one out this early. (Duh!) We’re running beside the ocean, which is dead calm. We can still see the stars sparkling in the clear overhead night sky. I’ve never run in these conditions.

Never this cold. Never this dark. It’s eerie, but also fun.

As is now our usual routine, we run at a pace of about 6 minutes / km, which allows us to pace ourselves for over two hours of running and to be able to chat while we do it. At this pace and level of training, Greg has relaxed his concerns about my heart exploding mid-race.

We have our first gel break at the 5 km mark, and an older guy who was running behind us for a while stops with us to chat, informing us that he’s just returned from Maui, where he did a half-marathon. And he’s planning on running 32 km today as part of his training for the Boston Marathon.

In ONE minute, this guy’s massive humble-bragging has already made me feel like I’m not even doing a real run today… even though it is my first ever half marathon length and the longest run I’ve ever done. Hate him!

On a more positive note, the sun comes up over the ocean as we are running through Stanley Park. It’s spectacular.

It is so cold out, though, that even by the halfway point, I am still wearing my neon orange toque. As always, the turnaround point is magic. Immediately, I start counting down to how long I have left.

With about 4 km left, it’s finally time to remove the toque. As I pull it off, something is off. It weighs a ton. Oh… it’s SOPPING wet with sweat. I could have wrung it out and filled up a small water bottle. SO GROSS!

As we get closer and closer, I know we are going to make it. Suddenly, we hit the Plaza of Nations parking lot and we’ve run 21.1 kms.

A half marathon. Holy s***!

I could barely run 5 km 6 months ago. I got passed by strollers and corn in a 10 km race 4 months ago.

I might be more fit than I’ve ever been in my whole life right now.

Todd and I celebrate and recap the run on the drive back home. I never would have done this if it wasn’t for Todd showing up and pushing me to keep going and I’m so grateful to him as a friend who is going through this experience with me.

That is, until that evening, when the Seattle Seahawks win the NFC Championship game, sending them to the Super Bowl… along with Todd and his son.

I’m going to have to do the race on my own.

F*#&ing Seahawks!

In the next edition… my body attempts an insurrection to stop the damage being inflicted on it. Will I make it to the big race day?

Find out in the final instalment of The Midlife Field Guide, Half Marathon Edition!

Steve