Book Review: Run to Overcome

I've had this autobiography of Meb Keflezighi for a while, having won it as part of a giveaway from Erin at See Mom Run Far last fall. Though I'd dipped into it here and there, I hadn't really sat down to read it. But when I found out exactly why my back has been hurting and what it meant for my running, I knew it was time to pick it up and read it through.

"Overcoming" is something I think every runner has to acquaint him/herself with at some point. There are the usual difficulties of training. There are life circumstances. There are injuries and illnesses. There are your own demons, and, if you're really good, like Meb, there are outside detractors, too, people who think because you are older or injured that you are slowing down, that you've peaked.

Most runners out there who follow the professional side of the sport know the outlines of Meb's story: how his family arrived in the U.S. from Eritrea after his father made a harrowing trek to Northern Africa and Italy; how Meb and his brothers and sister excelled in school despite having no English when they arrived; how close-knit his family is and how important both his home and his adopted countries are to him. They also know the story of how, wanting a good grade in P.E., seventh grader Meb laid down a 5:20 in the mile run.

I was lucky to hear Meb speak just after he won the Olympic Trials Marathon in January, chalking up a new personal record in the process, and he comes across in this book much the same way he does in person: modest; religious; friendly and inspired. I loved the details, like how he hates ice baths, how he longed for his true love before meeting his wife, Yordanos, at last, how he told his four-year-old daughter that she'd have to earn her first trophy and how during one of his worst injuries he got to know the seniors doing pool aquatics while he was doing pool running nearby.

But another quality that, in person, is made manifest in his running more than his manner emerges in the book as well: this is a person who is intensely driven, eager to prove his critics wrong, someone who takes the worst circumstances (including some nasty injuries) as new inspiration for doing better than he ever has before. He writes:

Winning in life doesn't happen when you overcome just one thing--do or die. It's persevering, knowing that difficulties are bumps in the road, not the end of the world. It's continuing to do the right things, knowing your time will come. After all, you have to conduct yourself like a champion before you can ever win a championship....Whatever you do, then, give it your best. Persevere in overcoming obstacles. When you do, you'll be running to win.

Nobody's path to his or her dreams unwinds without stumbling blocks--even when you are as gifted and driven as Meb. But the unwritten postscript to this book is his triumph in January, his return trip to this summer's Olympics.

These are the words I took away from this book: Patience. Perseverance.

My Last Run and My First Spin Classes

Well, I hope it's not my last run in an absolute sense!

Before I get to the meat of this post, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who sent me advice, condolences and empathy. I can't believe how many of you have experienced the same back problem. I've got another post queued up where I'll share some of the advice I got and some helpful links. For now, I'll just say....take care of your low back, especially those of you who are, have been or will be pregnant!

The last run I went on, on Monday before Tuesday's interdiction on running, was great. Normally I do hard stuff on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but the PT appointment on Tuesday was at 7 a.m. and I knew it would be hard to do a long hard speed workout, shower, eat a decent breakfast and still make that on time. On the surface front of my mind, I planned to run after the appointment. But a nagging little voice deeper down was already whispering that it might not happen that way.

So my fartlek workout--7 two-minute intervals at 10K pace with one minute rest in between--was accomplished on Monday. After a two-mile warm-up followed by some stupid fumbling with the Garmin and my new iPod Touch, I finally got in a groove. My paces for the seven intervals were: 8:23, 8:23, 8:16, 8:22, 8:16, 8:08 and 8:05. The total distance was six miles. None of that will set any records, of course, but after the nasty cold and the UTI it felt good to do something hard and still feel strong.

You already know about Tuesday's news and the sad 40 minutes on the bike at the gym.

Yesterday and today, I woke up to my new routine. All spin class/bike, all the time. The spin class I attend is at 6 a.m. on Monday/Wednesday/Friday and 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday/Thursday. Yesterday's class was fun: the instructor, Sheila, had us in a circle and made us all say our names. During the class, if your name was called, you had to sprint by yourself for 15 seconds while the rest of the class watched. I got called on three times despite my weird name! And today's class, taught by Terri, was also great--lots of "hill" work, sprints, good music. I'm not allowed to stand up or jump, but when everyone else did those things I ratcheted up the "road" to a good leg-burning equivalent.

I'm no stranger to spin class. It's been the Monday morning workout in all three of the plans Greg McMillan has written for me, and before that it was my cross-training of choice under the Run Less Run Faster plan. But I admit I haven't always poured myself into it with the same passion I put into running. That's changed now. I wore the Garmin and kept an eye on my heart rate, making sure it was at or higher than the recommended 120 beats-per-minute threshold for as much of the class as possible. I ignored most of the "recovery" segments. My plan is to lose as little as possible of the hard-earned running fitness that showed itself in Monday's fartlek workout.

Between the climbs and the sprints, I had much less trouble keeping the heart rate up in spin class than I'd had alone on the bike on Tuesday. The one worry I have is that these 45-minute spin classes are too short. At next Tuesday's PT appointment I'm going to see if there's any way I can supplement with something weight-bearing, like hill walking for 30 minutes on my break at work.

Last night I started reading a book I won last fall from Erin of See Mom Run Far, Meb Keflezighi's Run to Overcome. Meb, who I saw win the Olympic Trials Marathon in Houston two months ago, really did overcome a lot to get there. I skipped ahead to the chapter about the pelvic stress fracture that forced him onto a bike and into a pool for several weeks after a disappointing performance in the 2008 Olympic Trials. His coach, Bob Larsen, wrote:

There were a lot of blows for Meb when you add it all up. Here's someone who was running as well as ever till he got sick 10 days or so before the [2008] trials marathon....The second blow is he comes back, tries to get in shape, realizes something is wrong, that it's pretty serious and it's going to take quite a bit of time and effort to overcome.
If you're guaranteed a gold medal, sure, you'd go through all of that. But there's no guarantee with this thing. You're doing it all on blind faith that you're going to come out okay. You've got to have a lot of faith in yourself....

Meb's a great example for me right now. I can still see him sitting up there, the winner of his race, having been through far worse than what I'm dealing with. I want to win my race too. I want to wear my own private laurel wreath. Sitting there on that bike, I see that Boston Marathon unicorn with every sprint, with every tick of the heart rate monitor.

The Olympic Marathon Trials

Kathy and I woke early on Olympic Marathon Trials morning. She was slated to work as a Medic for the race and had to report for her shift at 6:30 a.m., and I wanted to get out early to scope out the action. I was hoping my press pass would get me into the finish area, but in the end Kathy got a much better front-row seat than I did (read about it on her blog! incredible close-up shots from the finish line!).

I got to meet some bloggers--two of whom I already followed (Amanda and Laura) and three of whom were new to me (Corey, Kellie and Holly). All of us were running either the full marathon or the half-marathon the next day and were excited for this rare chance at professional-runner inspiration.

Laura, Kellie, me, Holly, Corey and Amanda

It was chilly out there--perfect running weather, but definitely coat and sweater conditions for spectating. We all stood near the 26-mile mark. Since the course consisted of several loops we actually got to see the contenders go by four times. And since the men and the women were running the Trials on the same course at the same time, we got EIGHT sightings of Olympic-quality running.The men's race started at 8 a.m. and the women's 15 minutes later.

That's Desi Davila, who went on to finish second, in front of the women's race on the first loop.

The women's pack--even the slowest was FAST!

After the runners made their third pass, I left the group to try to get into the finish area, but by the time I arrived security had closed it off to everyone but medical and race officials. I stood by the gate area for a while, thinking they'd open it up. But soon I heard the roar of the crowd as Meb Keflezighi, Ryan Hall and Abdi Abdirahman came in to claim spots on the Olympic team. I watched the podium photo op through the fence.

It was during that time that I witnessed the most poignant moment (for me) of the Trials. A woman with a stroller carrying a little girl and a toddler boy pushed past. The security officials stopped her just as they had stopped me.

"No one but race offiicals, ma'am," one of them said.

"But my husband's in there," she said.

"Sorry," he said.

She stood back next to me on the curb, pushing the stroller back and forth. The men who had finished behind the winners were trailing out, meeting family who led them into the convention center to get warm. Most of the runners were elated, just happy to have been out there with such a group. But when this woman's husband came out and I realized who he was, I understood why she was so frustrated at being unable to get to him.

It was Dathan Ritzenhein, who had finished fourth--the most difficult finishing place for an athlete with a shot at the Olympics (remember, Dathan was the top American finisher in Beijing four years ago). He gave his wife a hug--it was obvious from his face that he had been crying. And then (and this is what clenched my heart) he swept his little girl out of her stroller seat and walked toward the convention center benches just holding her, just the two of them alone despite the swell of people all over the place. And she, as if knowing that her daddy just needed a hug, twined her little arms around his neck. As he walked with her toward the convention center, I saw her sober little face, chin resting on his shoulder, eyes looking around, just glad to see her dad again.

It certainly wasn't the time for a photo or a quote, but I was glad I got to witness that very human moment of love shining out from disappointment.

Dathan and his family went inside, and I turned my attention back to the action. Another person wearing a press pass introduced herself to me as Amanda McCracken, also from Boulder. She told me Mike Sandrock had said she should look out for me. She was doing a piece for Running Times and had also been shut out of the finish area. We found our way to a spot near the bleachers and had a great view of the finish of the women's race. Shalane Flanagan rounded the corner first, a periodic grin coming over her face. Then came Desiree Davila and then Kara Goucher. The fourth place finisher in this race, Amy Hastings, also had tears on her face. So hard to finish fourth.

Though I was off the hook for the local paper since no one from Colorado came in among the winners (though Kara Goucher did go to the University of Colorado), I was feeling lame for not taking better advantage of my press pass and felt I needed to redeem that. So I went up into the convention center and secured myself a second row seat for the press conference with the winners. The place soon filled up with TV cameras and reporters. (I was also starving, so I had loaded up a plate in the press lounge--I had to remind myself that I had a race the next day myself and shouldn't get too hungry! Fortunately I wasn't the only person in there eating.)

Soon the men filed in: Meb, then Ryan, then Abdi! Limping, just like we do! Easing themselves into their chairs!

The Trials press officials had microphones and called on the reporters with questions. In the crowd was Amby Burfoot from Runners' World (he was right in front of me!), as well as folks from the New York Times, ESPN, the Washington Post and NBC.

The mood was ebullient. There had been a mention of the fact that on average this is the oldest Olympic men's team for the marathon we've ever sent (average age 33; Meb is 36!). To which Ryan pointed out to the other two, "I watched you guys make the Olympic team in the 10k when I was in high school." (Ryan has a really laid-back California dude way of talking.)

It was during this men's conference that I got to ask a question (they seemed to be allowing each person in the audience one question), so I asked Meb what he does differently to train now that he's on the older side for an Olympic qualifier. I told him he's a big inspiration to all runners who think they are on the wrong side of the age factor. And I also asked him (because this was what my husband Dan wanted to know): Does he still take ice baths in mountain streams? (Does anyone else remember the picture of Meb recovering in a cold mountain stream that was in Runners' World a few years back?)

Meb answered the second question first: No, he doesn't really do that any more because the tap water where he lives is already so cold that when his wife fills an ice bath for him he actually has to ask her to mix some hot water into it because it's TOO cold. Everyone laughed.

On the first question, about running as you age, here's what he said:

"I want to thank Skechers for taking me on. I had no shoe contract until last August until they came to me.....For older runners and all runners, I would say that age is number that you put in your head. If you work hard and believe in what you want to accomplish, beating a five-hour marathon or a four-hour marathon, go out there and put the work in and you will achieve it.

"When the cameras not watching...we work very hard at what we do. There are so many obstacles as a distance runner that we face. Who would have thought I'd be sitting here after having a pelvis fracture?"

I love that guy.

The women filed in soon after the guys left. Kara and Shalane are both tall. Desi and Amy Hastings (who also came; how hard would that have been?) are tiny.

Shalane described the finish stretch as "a cross between savoring the moment and just being grateful I was almost done." Desi said the finish for her was "this internal conflict where I really wanted to make a big push, but my calves were just cramping up and tight." Kara said, "The last mile I was just trying to get to the finish line. The last mile I was really just hanging in there basically." Amy said, "I just didn't have quite enough left. It was an emotional last mile."

It made me realize how different it must be to compete against others rather than yourself and the clock alone as most of us do.

At one point, a question came up about Kara's come-back and how she felt going into this race. I love how human she is. She said, "Honestly, I've been a wreck. I was not confident. I can't remember the last time I've been this nervous, but I also can't remember the last time I've wanted something this badly."

And then she said it again: "I was not confident. I've been a wreck. I'm going to sleep really well tonight."

I found this very comforting. It's OK to not be confident all the time. You can still succeed.

I returned to the hotel tired, a little worried about having been on my feet so much, but feeling very inspired. That afternoon, our feet propped up on pillows on our respective beds, Kathy and I watched the races again on TV.

And the reality of our own looming race started to set in......