Facing Down a Tornado

There’s a scene in my novel (now available, by the way!), in which the main character runs into a tornado while running a 100-mile race.

IIlustration from an early version of the novel

That’s Quinn, the main character, running along the shore of Hither Lake. Hailstones were crashing down around him, “like rocks in a blender.”

I included this extreme weather in the story because I once experienced a tornado while hanging out at my family cottage in Ontario. Nobody got hurt, but our nerves sure got frayed. Trees broke in two. We lost power for weeks.

This past summer, we had another tornado warning. My brother, The Photographer, caught the threatening skies on film. Here’s what the lake actually looked like.

3 More Sleeps

Pray for good weather. Three days out from a 100-mile race, that’s all you can do. At this stage, there’s no point doing any more training. Your body isn’t going to get any fitter over the next 72 hours. You might as well relax, eat well, sleep as much as you can, run to stay loose, but not so hard you deplete yourself. And above all, pray for clear skies.

100 mile races are challenging enough when the sun is shining. Wet, muddy trails can make things hellish. Under those conditions, your goals have to change. You’re not just trying to cross the finish line in one piece anymore. You’re trying to keep your feet dry for as long as possible. Wet feet are susceptible to blisters, and blisters can end your race fast. Which is why runners usually bring 2 or three pair of runners and a half dozen pair of socks to each race. We store them in “drop bags” along the course.

The worst possible scenario? Cold, pounding rain. Last year I ran a 100-mile race in something close to a hurricane. All 50 runners were soaking wet from the very first mile. Blisters were the least of our problems. There was chafing and hypothermia to deal with too. Late at night, when the temperature dropped, I couldn’t stay warm enough. Shivering uncontrollably, I dropped out at 3 am, after having run 92 miles.

There’s my list. You’ll notice Advil at the top. A couple of years ago, after some exceedingly painful ultra marathons, I discovered the joy of ibuprufen.

I don’t take many. I’ll gobble a couple of those sweet little pills at mile 75, and another couple four hours later.

It’s not recommended, of course. Too much Ibuprufen could potentially damage your kidneys, which are already under serious strain, trying to keep your urine flowing despite a lack of available body fluids.

Still, they do such a good job of dulling the pain, especially when running downhill late in a race. You’d think that running uphill would be the hardest thing, but it’s not. Running downhill feels like your legs are being pressed through a cheese grater.

So hello Advil, old friend! I don’t care if you’re not recommended. Running 100 miles through a forest isn’t generally recommended either.

The Next 100 Miler!

Next weekend I’m running the 100-Mile Haliburton Forest Trail Race. Yes, to answer your question, I’m excited. Also, pretty freaking scared.

My brother, The Photographer, will be there as usual. Here are some pictures he’s taken in past years.

That’s the starting line. The race begins at 6 am. Many runners wear headlamps, and most of us will see the sun rise twice before we stop running.

Think of me when you get up on Saturday morning. By the time you eat breakfast, I’ll hopefully have run 15 miles.

Think of me again at lunch, by which time, I’ll be somewhere around mile 32.

By dinnertime, I’ll be closing in on 60 miles.

By the time you go to bed, I might be at mile 72.

When you get up early Sunday morning to take a pee, I’ll hopefully be close to the finish line.

Or maybe not. You never know. Running through a forest for 24 hours straight is kinda like running through a Grimm’s fairy tale. It’s incredibly beautiful, but there’s danger too. And there’s no guarantee of a happy ending.

Photo hat tip: andyscamera

Looking for a good book about running?

My first review. From a friend, but still.

Colleague & friend @writerunrepeat just published YA novel about running an ultra marathon, ULTRA. Just read it. May have cried a bit.

— Erin Balser (@booksin140) August 25, 2013

This is What a Dream Comes True Looks Like:

Yesssss!

My first novel. In my hands. For realsies.

It was the hardest thing I ever did. Writing the thing was only half the battle. Getting it published was even harder.

But this feeling, this moment, makes it all worthwhile.

To those of you who are struggling to get your writing into print, please, don’t give up! It can be done. Hard work pays off.

And I must give a huge shout-out to my nieces and nephews – who inspired this story, lent their names to some of the characters, helped me with the jokes and dialogue, and even shared early versions of the book with their classmates. You all deserve a finisher’s medal:

Aaron, Alex, Ali, Ben, Benjamin, Brody, Caelan, Caitlin, Caleb, Christopher, Daniel, Darcie, Grace S., Grace W., Jackson, Julia, Julian, Kara, Kelsey, Kiernan, Leonardo, Lucy-Claire, Luke, Monty, Madelaine, Maggie, Mateos, Nate, Oliver, Olivia, Parisinia, Quinn, Ray, Riley, River, Rowan, Rylee, Sacha, Skyler, Sofia, Sydney, Tahnee, Tobias, Zoe.

Aren’t We All Running 100 Mile Races?

“One heals suffering only by experiencing it to the full.”

-Marcel Proust.

I’ve got a 100-mile race coming up in two weeks. I’m excited about running it, but I’m psyching myself up for the pain I’ll suffer over 24+ hours. It’s gonna hurt.

People tell me I’m crazy for running these races; for inviting such discomfort into my life. But like the Proust quote above, I really do believe that pain teaches us things we can’t learn anywhere else. Important things, like, how it feels to go hypothermic, and to have the blisters on your feet sliced open with a razor blade and then sealed glued back together with Krazy Glue.

I know that sounds unpleasant, but for some reason, I can’t wait! I’m a glutton for punishment. But aren’t we all? Aren’t we all running our own 100 mile races?

If you’re a parent, you know what I mean. Parenthood is endless worry and diaper-changing and housecleaning and chauffeuring and heartbreak and sleep deprivation, but whoa! – those moments of beauty… And the stuff you learn!

Kids are running 100 mile races too. School, for instance, starts in a week. That’s a 100 mile race. And whether you’re passionate about gymnastics, or want to play for the NHL, or want to become a rock star, or write novels, or climb mountains, or write computer code, all those things take a huge amount of work and commitment. All those things are like 100 mile races.

Life is a hundred mile race! It can be painful but…it’s full of learning and beauty and people who love us and who are hopefully standing by with a cup of hot chocolate and a tube of Krazy Glue.

Re-writing is your Friend

People often ask me how many times I re-wrote my first novel, Ultra. Trust me when I say, YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW.

I wrote the first version waaaaaay back, in the summer of 2008. It was 20,000 words long, and it swallowed two months of my life. Back then, it was titled “Quinn and the 100 Mile Race.”

I finished the second draft a month later. By Christmas I’d rewritten it a third time, and then I sent it out.

I sent it to an agent and also a publisher. The publisher said some nice things about it. She said the narration was lovely and warm; perhaps too lovely and warm. She explained that the warm tone made it hard to believe that the central character was living on top of a calamity. Which was why she was going to take a pass.

The agent didn’t reply.

I wasn’t too upset about it. I’ve written lots of stuff over the years that never got published. That’s the writer’s life. I stuffed the manuscript in a drawer and forgot about it.

Two years later, I picked it up again. I re-wrote it for…let’s see…the fourth time.

After 5 months of work, I pitched it 50 agents. 49 of them said, “Thanks but no thanks.”

The fiftieth agent (the brilliant Scott Waxman who represents some of the finest sports writers, including the legendary John L. Parker) called me on the phone. When I saw the 212 area code on the display, I knew something was up. Scott told me that he liked my story. He said, however, that he wasn’t quite ready to offer representation just yet. There were a few things I ought to think about – if, that is, I was “willing to re-write the manuscript.”

I thought about the improvements that Scott suggested. I thought about them for all of ten seconds.

Once again, I started re-writing. When I finished that re-write I did another.

And then another.

After six months of re-writing, Scott Waxman accepted my novel. I received an “Offer to Represent” in the mail.

Cue the champagne corks! Cue the s’mores!

A couple of months later, the novel sold to Scholastic Canada.

MORE champagne! MORE s’mores!

In the year or so since I signed with Scholastic, I’ve done three more rewrites. The first took 3 months, the second took one month, the third took a week.

That makes eleven re-writes in all.

I know that sounds like a lot of work, but listen: with every single re-write the book got better!

Lesson learned:

Writing a book, and running 100 miles, are similar in two distinct ways.

(1) Both involve a TON of pain.

and (2) The finish line is incredibly sweet.

Real Life Superheroes, Part 2

Take a look at the runners in these pictures. Can you tell what makes them all special?

First, there’s America’s Dick Beardsley (on the left):

Up next, Spain’s Fernandez Anaya (in green):

And finally, Ohio track star Meghan Vogel (blonde hair, on the right):

Any guesses? Yes, they’re all runners, and yes, they’re crazy fit. They probably run 100+ miles a week and eat nothing but salads and nuts. But these incredibly healthy human specimens have something much more interesting – and much more valuable – in common.

You’ve got fifteen seconds to figure it out. Tick tick tick tick tick…TIME’S UP!

ANSWER: All of these runners are real-life superheroes. They’re not only fast. They’re also super kind.

Take Meghan Vogel. She was competing in her third race of the day. Ahead of her, a runner crumpled to the ground in the heat. But instead of dashing past her, she lifted her up, helped her to the finish line, and literally pushed her across the finish line.

Fernandez Anaya (the guy in the green shirt) was equally generous. He was running second in his race, a ways behind the race leader, Abel Mutai. As he entered the finishing straight, Fernandez noticed Mutai pull up about 10 metres before the finish line. Mutai thought he’d crossed the finish line, BUT HE HADN’T! He still had 30 feet left to go!

Instead of racing past Mutai for the win, Fernandez slowed down and gestured at him to keep running. He literally helped the OTHER guy win.

Which brings me to the black and white photo of Dick Beardsley at the top. Dick was running the very first London marathon in 1981. He and Norway’s Inge Simonsen spent the race battling for first place. In the finishing stretch, instead of trying to prove who was better than the other, the athletes clasped hands and crossed the finish line together.

How awesome is that? They acknowledged they were evenly matched, and split the first place prize two ways.

Someone should show these videos to Lance Armstrong.

Out-of-Body Experience

A friend says to me, “hey Dave, want to know the fast track to aging?”

“What’s that?” I say.

“Running!” he says.

Sadly, there’s some truth in the joke. For every mile you run, you burn 100 calories. Once you’ve trimmed the fat off the usual places, it starts coming off your face and upper body. Makes you look a little, er, grizzled.

I don’t care, I’m addicted. I’ve got a 100-miler coming up next month, so I’m cramming in as many long runs as possible. Twenty, thirty, forty miles at a time.

I love the long runs. After a couple of hours of plodding down a trail, I generally slip into a trance. The breath goes in, the breath goes out. My feet smack the pavement 180 times a minute. Running becomes a meditation. I do not smile or wave at the people I pass. Instead, I focus on keeping my body tilted slightly forward, and snapping my feet right back into the air the moment they hit the pavement. (That’s the trick to being fast, by the way – let your feet touch the ground for as short a time as possible.)

I’ve got pictures of me running, and it always astonishes me to look at them. Usually, both of my feet are in midair. Given that I’ve been running every day for the last 17 years, I have to wonder: how much of my life have I spent completely disconnected from the earth?

Once, during a marathon, I had an out-of-body experience. I was running up a nasty hill. I’d covered 22 miles, and I was getting tired. “Blinding wall of pain” is a little strong, but I was getting into that territory.

Suddenly, all pain vanished. I couldn’t feel my legs. It seemed to me that I was sitting inside my ribcage, peeking out between my bones at the scenery floating by. I wasn’t doing the running anymore. Someone else was. I was just sitting comfortably in that ribcage, like a kid in a grocery cart.

Then suddenly, I was looking down on myself from above. I saw a short-haired dude in Mizuno sneakers and Drifit shorts, struggling up a ten degree hill. I didn’t see this person as a runner though – I saw him as an extension of the earth. I thought to myself: what silly perseverance! What pointless ambition! And then I stared to laugh.

Of course, the moment I laughed, the vision disappeared. My normal consciousness – and the pain – returned.

I finished that marathon in 3:04:25. Did pretty well in my age category too. My age category, by the way, is 35-49. Of course, I don’t look a day over 60.

Thunder Running

Reasons not to run on the Bruce Trail during a thunderstorm:

A tree could fall on you and you could die.
You could get swallowed by the mud and die.
Lightning could strike you and you could die.
You could slip off the 500-foot scarp face and die.

Reasons to run on the Bruce Trail during a thunderstorm:

It’s super fun.

At a certain point, when you’re soaking wet and freezing cold and lathered in mud, and the forest is as dark as night, and the rain is lashing you like a blizzard of molars, and you’ve still got 15 kilometers left to go before you get back to the car, well, at a certain point, you’ve just got to throw up your hands and laugh, don’t you? After all, you checked the weather online. You saw the probability of precipitation (75%) and the expected accumulation (20 – 40 mm), and you saw those clouds amassing on the horizon like an army of unwashed hoodies. You knew what you were in for and you just laughed, didn’t you? Well, now it’s time to laugh again.

As for all that mud, well, that can’t be a surprise either. You do you know what happens to dirt trails when you add water to them, don’t you? You did play in a sandbox as a child, right? When water is added to dirt, that dirt turns into mud. You know this. If you add enough water, you get something worse than mud. You get a slippery, shoe-sucking, toffee-like substance called glop.

But it’s not all bad, is it? There’s nothing like hypothermia and mud inhalation and blood loss and the threat of plunging into a crevasse cave fathoms deep to fire up the old endorphins, is there? Especially when you arrive back at your car after three hours of slogging through rushing creek-beds, and stare at yourself in the rear-view mirror only to see a hollow-eyed, scabby-elbowed, tick-bitten runner; hair singed from stray lightning bolts, face besmirched with mosquito guts, and you swear you’ve never seen anything quite so idiotic!