Flying High

Confession time: I haven't been doing a lot of running this summer.  But I'm sure you guessed that considering how little I've written.  I've only raced twice all summer, and not in over a month.  I'm horribly out of shape.  If I were to race a 5k tomorrow, I doubt I could break twenty minutes (the twenty minute mark in the 5k and my occasional passing to the slower side of it is my usual barometer of changing fitness).

But the good news is Stevie and I finally took a trip down the shore for the first time all year on Monday, and ended up doing an impromptu photo shoot with a professional photographer we'd just met on the beach.

Photographer: Want to do a few shots of dad throwing Neale in the air?
Me: Sure, why not.

The Great Nealini flying high above the sands of Ocean City, NJ without a safety net!

Photographer: I've seriously never seen a father throw his kid that high.

This is now my favorite picture of Neale ever.

2016 Wildwood Half Marathon Race Recap

Wildwood, NJ

This was a race that has been on my radar for a few years, and I finally got the chance to run it yesterday morning.

I had planned to sleep in my car Saturday night, but when Tom from my running group heard I was racing as well, he let me know he had an extra room in his beach house and invited me to stay with him.  His entire family was coming down for the weekend, and several more runner friends came over Saturday night for beer, wine and pasta.

We were up on race morning at 5:30, and I made the short drive over to the starting area at 6:30 for a 7:30 start.  The sun had just come up, and it was a beautiful morning for a race.

Starting line at 7am

Parking cost me $5, but I was able to park about twenty feet from the start/finish, which is an amazing feat for a mid-sized race.  It also meant that I didn't have to worry about a bag check.

Also notable was the fact that a half hour before the race, there were still no lines for the porta potties:

If ever there was a case for doing smaller races, that's it right there.

The race had pacers starting at 7 minutes per mile and going all the way up to 11 or 12, and I placed myself next to the 8 minute pacer.  I hadn't really trained much for this, hadn't gone above 7 miles since last November, so I really had no idea how I would fare.  As is usually the case with non-goal races, my only goal was to enjoy the scenery and atmosphere and get in a decent run.  I thought 1:45 might be a reasonable guess as to my fitness level, so I went with that.

We started promptly at 7:30, and quickly ran onto the boardwalk for the first mile or so of the race.  The rest of the course went along the ocean and then out into the bay area, crossing a few bridges in the process.  The wind was fierce, the most intense I've ever experienced in a race, even worse than Philly last fall.  I usually count on at least a little wind when running down the shore, and as I said I wasn't going for a PR, so the wind didn't bother me too much.

At about mile 2; can you spot me in this picture?

I ran the first half of the race conservatively, not wanting to go out too hard in the beginning and completely bomb in the end.  I was feeling remarkably good in the second half of the race, so I started picking up the pace a bit, ultimately cartwheeling across the finish line in 1:33:18, which I thought might make a fun finisher's photo, but backfired as it resulted in a pretty epic crotch shot:

The after party was pretty sweet; there was plenty of food for participants, as well as free beer from the Cape May Brewing Company and several food trucks and a live band.

Tom and his wife Becky, my hosts for the night in Wildwood.

After hanging out for awhile, I took a picture of the medal, got a slice of boardwalk pizza to cap off the morning, then made the drive back to the other side of Jersey.

So, would I recommend this race to any other runners in the New Jersey/Philadelphia area? It turns out that's a loaded question.

Yes, I had a great time hanging out with friends, eating, drinking and of course running, and the race itself was fun and well-organized, but it also turns out the course may have been short by as much as a half mile.  I'll address this in my next post, but I can say now I'm afraid this error might be enough to keep me away from any future editions of this race.

Update: Here's the follow-up post on the fall out from the mis-measured course:

Why I won't be running the Wild Half again next year

Keeping things in perspective

Counting marathoning as a hobby is a bit of a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, it keeps me healthy, gives me a great sense of accomplishment, helps me meet new people, and takes my mind off of the stresses of life.  It accomplishes what every hobby should.

But.

It takes a lot to run marathons.  Sacrifice.  Patience.  Time.  It's one thing to dream big and set big goals, but it's difficult to not feel like the world is crashing down when those goals aren't met.  It starts to feel like more than a hobby when it just shouldn't.  Hobbies shouldn't consume an entire life at the expense of other areas, nor should so much self-worth be based on an arbitrary time goal.

Keeping perspective during a marathon training cycle is difficult but something I need to consistently work on.

Yesterday Stevie, Neale and I went to Wildwood, NJ.  We spent some time on the beach and then spent the night with a friend before heading out this morning.  I had saved my 8 mile run to do on the beach, reasoning that the change of scenery and running on the beach would be preferable to running my same old boring running routes at home.

Well.

It didn't quite go according to plan.  It was much hotter than I anticipated in the afternoon, and when you run at the beach you pretty much run in direct sunlight the entire time.  The humidity soaked through my shoes within 3 miles so that they squelched with every step thereafter.  I barreled into a headwind for much of the run.  It was slow and monotonous and not at all the kind of run I had envisioned.

But afterwards we all went to the beach where Neale went into the water for the first time of his life (he'd been to the beach before, but only ever stood at the water's edge).  We took turns holding his hands while the waves approached him, and the look of sheer joy on his face is one I hope I never forget.  The shrieks, the laughter, the giant grin, the splashing and the pulling of his mother's arms as he struggled to go farther... It made my heart swell to see him take to the ocean the way he did.

Greater men than I have tried and failed to put words to their feelings of love, so I will leave it at this: Good runs or bad, I will always love my son more.

The Raven Run of Miami

Have you ever wondered about your running bucket list?

What kind of running experiences do you want out of life before you ascend to the great trail in the sky?  Ever since a reader brought it to my attention a few years ago, I've wanted to do the "Raven Run" down in Miami, Florida.

In short, Robert "Raven" Kraft is a man who has lived in Miami almost his entire life, and has been running 8 miles on the sands of South Beach every single day since January 1, 1975. Let me repeat that.  8 miles, on the same beach, every single day.  For the mathematically challenged, that's over 40 years and 100,000 miles.  He is currently #9 on the USRSA's active running streak list, but he is the only known person in the world to streak the distance he does.

8 miles.  On the beach.  Every.  Single.  Day.

Robert "Raven" Kraft
From Spirit Magazine

A man like this naturally acquires an aura about him, with terms like "legend" and "rockstar" bandied about casually.  Much like Forrest Gump, Raven has inspired a cult following of runners that join him on his early evening runs (I was the 2,403rd runner to do so).  At the end of each run, Raven bestows nicknames upon the newbie runners.  Runners going by names such as "Taxman," "Dizzy," and "Chapter 11" head up the list of those who have logged the most runs with him.

A few more links to articles about Raven:

"Raven's Way" from Trail Runner
"The Long Run" from Spirit Magazine
"Miami Beach Man Celebrates 40 Years of Daily Run" from The Miami Herald
Documentary trailer on YouTube.

Every time Stevie and I visit her family in South Florida, I think about the Raven Run, and I finally got my chance to join last night.  Stevie agreed to take care of Neale's bedtime routine, and her grandmother agreed to let me borrow her car and drive the hour south, all so I could run with a man I'd never met before.

Getting there was no small task.  The highways approaching Miami are challenging in their complexities at the best of times  ("I only go to Miami at gunpoint" as my father-in-law tells me), but last night I also had torrential downpours and horrible traffic to contend with.  By the time I pulled up to South Beach just before 5pm, my knuckles were whiter than snow and my nerves were just about shot.  I hustled over to the 5th Street lifeguard stand with minutes to spare, expecting to see a shirtless gentleman in black shorts holding court with a knot of runners.

I found nothing.

The beach was full of frolickers enjoying the sun, but no runners.  I paced up and down the sand, scanning for any sign of a slowly moving running herd, assuming I must have missed the group, but still nothing.  Finally at 5:15, feeling a little dejected, I decided to run a mile to take care of my own running streak.  I didn't have it in me to run 8 miles alone.  When I got back to the lifeguard stand, I thought I would take a picture before packing it in and heading back to the car.

Seconds after taking the picture, the man, the myth, the legend shuffled over to the lifeguard stand.  As it turns out, while the website gives the starting time as 5pm, the actual time is 5:30.

Normally 10 or so runners join Raven's run, but I was the only person to start with him last night (we were later joined by a few other runners here and there throughout the run).

"You saved my streak," he tells me while locking up his things at the lifeguard stand.  Raven hasn't run alone since 2005.  As we begin, Raven bellows in his deep, Johnny Cash-like voice: "Roll call!  We've got Scott from Collingswood, NJ joining us tonight!"  Raven's is a life deep seated in traditions of his own making, one of which is to announce each runner, new and old, as the run begins.  Even if we're the only two running.

The sun is alone in the sky and beats down steadily.  Despite the pace being slower than I'm used to, the sweating begins immediately.  On an average day, 8 miles will take me just over an hour.  If I'm pushing myself I can dip a few minutes below that.  But tonight, as with most nights, Raven takes almost two and a half hours to complete his run.  He's in a lot of pain, you see.  Pain that he might be able to mitigate with surgery, but he's afraid the recovery required will break his streak.  Right now running is the only thing that makes the pain feel better, even if it is slow and he often needs to stop to stretch.

Two and a half hours of running is a long time to get to know someone.  We talk about how he used to run in the soft sand in the middle of the beach, but abandoned this for the harder packed sand at the back of the beach sometime in the 90's as the aches increased.

"But I've never run in snow," he tells me, which leads to an involuntary chuckle from me and a brief recounting of the madness that was Boston Marathon training last winter.

We talk about streaking, and I tell him about my own streak, paltry in its newness compared to his, but he encourages me to sign up with USRSA since my streak is longer than a year.  We talk about the days when it seems impossible to get that run in.  Just last week he suffered food poisoning, but still kept the streak alive.

We talk about running, how he's never been into races, how 8 miles is the perfect distance. He tells me about the six runners who have been banned from the Raven Run over the years. He lists his accolades, such as the mayor of Miami awarding him the key to the city, the various articles and films about him, including a recent documentary that he was sad didn't truly capture the pain he is in.  I must stress that none of this comes off as bragging, but instead simple facts in a casual conversation between two runners.  He really is that nice and genuine of a man.

As other runners that Raven knows join us for a mile or two - one of the lifeguards, an insanely fit 53-year-old man from the Dominican Republic, two men in the restaurant business - Raven introduces me and keeps me in the conversation.  If another runner passes us, he repeats a line he often uses: "She may look great, but she ain't doing 8."

My life as a German teacher in a public high school comes up, which somehow leads to me sharing my favorite word in the German language with him.  The word for "sex" in German is just der Sex, but the word for "intercourse" is der Geschlechtsverkehr.  When literally translated, this actually means "gender traffic."  Raven gets a kick out of this and decides this will be my nickname.

"But only if you're ok with it."

It might be the most absurd nickname I've ever been given, by none other than the running legend of South Beach.  Yes, I am totally ok with it.  Gender Traffic it is.

On and on we trot, up and down the beach, making three trips to the pier at the south end. He touches the southern most point every time before turning around, and on our third trip out there, I run ahead and touch it first.

"He's looking like a veteran runner already!" Raven calls out.  I, like most runners, like Raven, like accuracy.  If Raven says that's the southern most point, then that's what I want to touch to know I went as far as I could.

At around 7:30, we finish the run just as we started: just the two of us.  By now the sun is close to setting and obscured by thick layers of clouds, the crowds on the beach thinned but still a presence.

Raven used to complete a 1/3 mile swim in the ocean after each run, but the motion hurts too much now.  He encourages me to complete the swim, but I decide that I need to head back to the Mrs.  I leave all of my running clothes on and take a dunk in the warm ocean while Raven watches my things, and just before I leave he gives me a copy of Spirit Magazine, the one in which he is featured.  We shake hands, he gamely obliges my request for a selfie, and I tell him I hope to run with him again someday, perhaps when I return this December for Christmas.

I walk back to the car and change out of my clothes and drive an hour north, this time along empty highways under the gleaming stars.

I loved running with Raven.  I loved that he was one of the nicest men I've ever met, so open with his story even though I'm a complete stranger and he's told it a thousand times before.  I loved feeling the camaraderie not just with Raven, but with the South Beach running community.

I could never imagine such an unwavering routine, running the same 8 miles on the same stretch of beach every day, crippling myself in the process while paradoxically saving myself from the pain at the same time.  It might seem odd that I find in Raven a kindred spirit, but it's precisely the temptation of calling him crazy, the disbelief at how he chooses to live his life, that cements the feeling.

I think the true badge of honor in being a runner is to be called crazy.  How many times have I laced up on a particularly heinous winter day and received side eye from friends and family? How many times have I described my running streak or the final miles of a marathon and the listener looks like he wants to shake me out of my senses?

While there are certain aspects of Raven's lifestyle I wouldn't want to emulate, I have nothing but respect for this man who found something that works for him, something he is passionate about, and did it.  One man's "crazy" is another man's "dedicated," and Raven is the most dedicated man I have ever met.

Raven lives in a condo he bought in 1988 just two blocks from the 5th Street lifeguard stand. One of the runners tonight joked that Raven will have to sell him his condo someday, but Raven told him he plans to have it turned into a museum about his life and runstreak after he dies.  This is the legacy he has chosen to live and wants to leave behind.

My experience with Raven begs the question: what will my legacy be?

Running in Ocean City, NJ

Ocean City Boardwalk

I pity those that don't live near the ocean.  Then again, there are those who might pity me for living in New Jersey, so we'll just call it even.

But seriously, I love running on the boardwalk and along the ocean and look forward to it every summer in spite of the accompanying heat and humidity.

My family has been coming to Ocean City in particular since the forties when my great grandfather owned a place by 13th and Wesley.  The house and lot were eventually divided up upon his death in the seventies, and the lot was sold off before I was born, but the family tradition of going to Ocean City continued.  I'm now passing that tradition onto my own son this summer.

Stevie's dad came up from Florida for the weekend, and we all spent Friday and Saturday night at a hotel a block from the beach.  Yesterday morning I ran eight miles on the beach and boardwalk.  Now, if you're able to get up and run at sunrise, I imagine the boardwalk to be a desolate and quiet place.  Calming, even.  But leave at 7:30, like I did, and you'll encounter nothing short of controlled chaos.  The boardwalk is divided in the morning amongst runners, ambling pedestrians, bikes and entire families packed into bell-ringing surreys, each with its own designated lane.  The dizzying movement in both directions makes running anything but boring, thankfully.

This morning I decided to tackle the 9th Street Bridge, the two mile bridge connecting Ocean City (technically a barrier island) to the mainland.  About 10 years ago they completely reconstructed the bridge to make room for passing boats underneath, resulting in the only "hill" available in the area.  This makes it popular with runners and cyclists alike trying to get in some hill training.  I only had time for five miles, but five miles in no shade next to the constant whoosh of traffic was more than enough.  Next time I'll stick with the beach and boardwalk.

And absolutely nothing beats jumping in the ocean after a long, hot run.

Down the shore

Half day down the shore today.  Started in the afternoon with Stevie's first visit to Lucy the Elephant.

Lucy the Elephant

Little known curiosity of the Jersey shore: just south of Atlantic City in Margate lies this six story wood and tin elephant.  It was first built in 1881 as a roadside attraction, and was designated a national historic landmark in 1976.  Today you can pay $8 for a guided tour through the interior and up onto the howdah.

Now you know what to do when you're in New Jersey and you know what that thing on top of elephants is called.  Don't say I never taught you anything.

We then headed to Ocean City where I ran three barefoot miles along the beach.

Hide yo kids.

Stevie: Oh, did you already go in the water?
Me: Nope, this is just sweat.

A dip in the water and then a lovely evening promenade along the boardwalk complete with a mummers band and divebombing seagulls.  Pizza, birchbeer and icecream for dinner.

Summer sure is nice when I'm not in the throes of an intense marathon training plan.

Running in Ocean City

Stevie and I drove to Ocean City today for a surfing competition at the 7th Street Beach. Neither of us are quite at the point of competition, so we just watched from the beach.  I had brought all of my running stuff with me and before long I headed out on an 8 miler.  Some notes:

• Weather was near perfect.  Cloudy and temperature around 70 degrees.  Very humid so I still got pretty sweaty.
• I like to run barefoot on the beach, but not for 8 miles.  So I brought my shoes and ran mostly on the boardwalk and sidewalks.
• At the start of my run I came upon a man in his sixties.  I tried to pass him, but when I sped up, he did too.  On my third or fourth attempt to pass him, he yelled, "your pace is killing me!"  Apparently he often tries to keep up with faster runners when out running because he's too lazy to keep up the pace on his own.  After about two miles together, we parted ways, and he thanked me for pacing him.
• After running I went to the boardwalk and got two slices of Manco and Manco pizza, a birch beer, and funnel cake.

Surfin' bird

Stevie and I went down the shore for the first time of the season today, and I finally managed to try surfing for the first time in my life.  Ocean City, NJ is not known for monster waves, so it's a nice place for beginners.

Took a lesson with 7th Street Surf Shop for an hour, then had the board for another half hour to myself.

When I was a ski instructor years ago, during my downtime I taught myself how to snowboard. I only ever got good enough to slowly make my way down blue trails.  Well... surfing was just as difficult.  Standing up and balancing were easy enough, but knowing how to read the waves and when to paddle and stand up were what made it so challenging.

There were brief moments when I could really see the appeal of surfing, when I felt so in tune with the water and my board, but it would probably take me an entire summer of practicing before I would start to enjoy it on a regular basis.

I'll probably try it again this summer, but for now, I'll just stick to running.

Date night in Ocean City

After work today I drove down to Ocean City to meet Stevie on the beach where she'd spent the day surfing. While she finished up I went on a 5 mile sunset run along the beach and boardwalk.

What a contrast to the shore that I'm so familiar with from just a few weeks ago.  The heat and crowds are gone, resulting in a more relaxed, less hectic atmosphere.  

We had dinner on the boardwalk, then played a few games at an arcade, then strolled the beach by moonlight.  As tired as I usually am on Friday nights, this was still an exceptional date night down the shore.

Summa time

For the week after Grandma's Marathon, I didn't do a lot of running.  Kathleen got me a two week trial membership to her gym, so I was able to use the pool a lot.  Working different muscle groups while putting less stress on my legs was a great way to spend the recovery period.

The recovery period is now over and I'm back in the phase of maintaining the base mileage until the next time I feel like torturing myself for a few months.  For now, I'm trying to enjoy the summer as best I can, and am just doing simple 4 mile runs, which means everyone who knows me always says "that's it?!" when I tell them how far I ran that day.

And when I'm not running or swimming, I'm doing backflips on the beach.  Anything to keep up with the fitness.