It’s the time of year for summer reading lists… but, this year (in just two weeks!!) it's also time for the Olympics, so I've combined the two into an Olympics edition of the typical summer reading list. As an Olympics super fan, I’ve read many
books about the Olympics over the years and have compiled some of my favorites
below. Take your pick to read now to get excited, in between events, or
afterward when you’re depressed over the long wait until Tokyo.
This is my ultimate favorite Olympics book. It follows a remarkable cast of characters (Wilma Rudolph, barefoot Abede Bikila, young
Cassius Clay before he was Muhammed Ali) as amateurism began to die and drama from drug scandals, politics, and equal right issues exploded, all while the world followed along on TV for the first time.When I read this, I wished
there was a book like this for each Olympiad. But other similar books haven't measured up, proving 1960 was truly special.
This book tells the story of the 1908 Olympic Marathon—the
first time the marathon (back then just roughly 25 miles) was the absurdly
arbitrary 26.2-mile distance we know today. It follows the three favorites and
a stunning, controversial finish that made the marathon the must watch sport of
the time.
For the Biography
Lover: Triumph, by Jeremy Schaap
While the book is about Jesse Owen’s life, the main focus is
of course on the 1936 Games in Nazi Germany. You may know the rough story, but
I enjoyed the extra details of Owens’s early life and particularly the in-depth story
behind the ’36 Games. I watched the movie
Race recently, but was left thinking (as always), “The book was better.”
This book is about the original Olympics in ancient Greece,
not the modern Games as we know them today. I always assumed our Games were
nothing like the ancient version, but when reading this I was surprised at the
many similarities: political fighting, professional athletes, cheating. (Although
the latter was by performing magic, not taking drugs.) Of course there were
also huge differences, with very few events (one of which was an extreme
version of Ultimate Fighting), naked competitors, and an unreal amount of olive
oil.
From the Non-Running
World:
I love the Olympics not just for the track and field, but
also for all the niche sports that get their quadrennial moment to shine. Here are my two favorite Olympics books that have nothing to do with running:
Another book about the 1936 Games, this time focusing on a
rowing team out of the University of Washington struggling through the
Depression. I knew nothing about rowing when I started the book, but the
underdog story was captivating.
This book starts in 1937 and tells the fascinating story of
impoverished Japanese-American kids in Maui trying to make it to the 1940
Games. (Minor spoiler alert if you think that through…) Against all odds and a
particularly tumultuous time for Japanese Hawaiians, they become world-renowned
swimmers. While some parts seemed a little long-winded, the story is truly
special.
Have another favorite? Let me know in the comments below!
When I signed up for my first marathon, I didn’t think of it
as my first. It was simply the marathon to check off the bucket
list, my once in a lifetime 26.2 mile race.
But eventually, I can’t remember exactly when or where, I
realized I wanted to do another, to try to qualify for Boston.
When I signed up for Boston in 2009, I didn’t think of it as
my first Boston. It was simply
running Boston. A once in a lifetime chance to race on the most storied course
in the country.
But somewhere along the way, I can’t remember exactly when
or where, I realized I wanted to keep going, to run Chicago and NYC, to keep
dropping that PR, to race Boston again.
When I started this blog and signed on to this goal of
qualifying for the Olympic Trials, I didn’t think of them as my first Trials. They were the big, once in a lifetime goal to hope I
could maybe, just maybe meet. (See where this is going yet?)
But at some point, I can’t remember exactly when or where, I
realized I didn’t want them to be once in a lifetime. So… (drumroll please) I’m
going for twice in a lifetime. I’m hoping to be able to call that race my first Trials.
Why? Because I’m not happy with my place or my time. (I still think I did the best I could on that day, but
that doesn’t mean I’m satisfied.) Because making one goal just paves the path
to another one. Because dream big... and then dream bigger.
I think most runners can relate to having a goal, achieving it, and then aching for more. That’s one of the things I love about running:
the goals are limitless. Reach one, celebrate, and suddenly another appears,
looking awfully appetizing. Hey, let’s do
that again, only faster/farther/better.
I still think I have a sub-2:40 in me, so I’m out to prove
it. I could pursue that time in any marathon—and trust me I will—but why
not do it en route to my second Trials in 2020? And, while we’re at it, why not
dream a little bigger? I’m also aiming to get the A standard (and a free trip).
If I get to a second Olympic Trials, I hope to improve my place.
Sorry to all the people I thanked last week who
thought that was it. They went above and beyond, so I’ll let them off the hook:
Thank you for your duty, you can retire with honors. (Although Husband has
already signed on and promises 2020’s t-shirts will be even more epic…) Sorry, but I'm not ready to retire. Not yet.
There will be more Trials and, with that, more miles to run to get there.
Will I make it? I don’t know. Will there be new challenges
and curveballs along the way? Absolutely. But that's what keeps it exciting. I hope
you’ll continue to follow along.
A lot can happen in four years. From left to right:
2008: Watching from the sidelines.
Last race before 2012 Trials. (Watched them from the couch.)
2016: Taking part.
This is a doozy of a post. But if you've been following this blog, you've been waiting a while for this one. I promise it's worth it. BEFORE - The Warm Up
After Raleigh, I was on the phone with my sister, explaining—as usual—why I actually was not completely satisfied with my new half marathon PR (1:19:28). The truth was I wanted a 1:18 because I had read that translated to a sub-2:43 marathon, the time I needed to qualify for the Trials. I explained to my (understandably frustrated) sister that I was disappointed because I wanted to go for sub-2:43 this season, and now I lacked the half marathon result to back me up. But even while complaining, I started talking around it.
“Ahh, I’m still going to go for it, probably. If I go for 2:43 and blow up and run 2:48 or 2:50, I’ll be bummed, obviously. But if I play it safe and run 2:46, I’ll still be bummed. I don’t want a 2:46. I want a 2:43. Might as well give myself a shot.”
My sister (bless her heart, we share the same reach-for-the-stars genes) encouraged it. So did my husband, despite knowing he would bear the brunt of Disappointed Teal if this plan backfired.
Still, I needed at least one piece of evidence that it wasn’t bat-$#*! crazy. My remaining marathon pace workout was the last chance to do something 2:43 worthy. The previous two had gone well, exactly on target: 10 miles at 6:21 in early October, 13 miles at 6:18 in late October. Knowing my race day confidence hung on the last one, I nailed it, running an average of 6:12 pace for 16 miles, exactly my goal pace for a sub-2:43. (6:13 pace will squeak you under at 2:42:53 but eek, that is too close for comfort. 2:43:01 does not get you to the Trials.) And so, with that workout, I was all in for sub-2:43. I was going for it.
And I damn well better fight with everything I’ve got, because CIM was easily the best opportunity I had at sub-2:43. I had a (nearly) flawless season, and who knows if I could put together another season as good as this one, without injury, sickness, etc. Also, CIM was encouraging people to get the standard, providing pace teams and financial incentives. The weather looked pretty close to ideal, and ended up being even more perfect than predicted. The course is net downhill, one of the fastest around. Although it isn’t really “around” me, as I—and my husband and parents—was traveling across the freaking country for this race. I damn well better make it worth it.
As I tried to force my brain to soak up every bit of motivation and positivity I could, fear tried to elbow its way in. Not every workout was encouraging; many of the last few were done in cold, driving rain. The times were slower and the paces felt harder, a discouraging combination. Was I falling apart in the end? My disappointing performance in Boston hung over me like an ominous cloud. If this one also went poorly, I honestly wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull myself up and try again. I didn’t want to deal with another post-marathon depression, or put my husband through that. I had to break 2:43.
We’ve had a bottle of champagne gathering dust for a while, no big reason to pop it. At one point I thought, “We’ll pop that when I break 2:43.” I wanted to write <2:43 on it, saving it for that occasion and that occasion only, but then I thought I better not. If I didn’t get it, it would just serve as one more reminder of disappointment. But then I thought if I didn’t believe in myself enough to do that, what the hell was I doing? You can’t go into a race not believing. I took out a Sharpie and scribbled on the bottle. Before we left for Sacramento, my husband put it in the fridge. It would be chilled and waiting.
Our flight to the West Coast got cancelled, rebooked, and delayed. We arrived in Sacramento at 3 am East Coast time on Friday night, which was not helping my pre-race stress levels. I struggle to get enough sleep as it is, and there went a few more hours.
Saturday morning, after my shakeout run, I was feeling better. As I gently stretched and listened to pump up music, I felt awesome. I’m ready! This is it! And then—suddenly, like a lobotomy to the part of the brain confidence comes from—I completely fell apart. What the hell am I thinking? How could I expect to run twenty-six miles at 6:12 pace?? That is completely insane! I was putting so much damn pressure on myself, it was surely going to end in disappointment.
My husband took me in a big bear hug to silence my hysterical, dry-heaving sobs. I don’t remember what he said, something along the lines of “shut the hell up, you’re going to do great,” but in a more loving way. It worked, and I just tried not to think about the reality of the situation too much for the rest of the day; through the expo, carbohydrate feasts, and failed attempts at naps, I tried to just think positively and focus on my cache of motivation. Not about the reality of 6:12 pace for 26 miles.
One small and simple piece of motivation that has worked for me all season is from Kara Goucher. In one of her Driven episodes on Flotrack she talks about her race in the 2007 World Championships 10,000m. Alberto Salazar encourages her to go for it. (“If you play it safe and kick into tenth, what’s the difference if you go for it and blow up and finish tenth? But which strategy actually gives you a shot of doing something big?” Sound familiar?) He tells her to “stay on their butts.” With a lap to go, Kara is in 5th and pleased, no one expected her to do that well. But then she has an epiphany, that she could do better than 5th, that she isn’t really giving her everything just yet. She tells herself, “Kara, just try.” She musters up her remaining energy to pass two people and nabs the bronze medal.
It’s simple, but that stuck with me. Are you really trying?Just try. That mentality got me big PRs at ten miles and the half-marathon. I planned to rely on it again at CIM.
On Sunday morning, after another restless night, I got out of bed shaking, either from exhaustion, or nerves, or both. Just try not to think: put on your race kit, eat your bagel, get to the start. Don’t think about the reality.
In an attempt to calm my nerves, I made my final decision of the training season: I’d stick with the pacer. He had relayed his plan before the race: a slight negative split, with 6:15-6:17 miles for the first ten and then cut down in the second half. That scared me a bit, I was planning to run as close to evenly as possible (6:12s the whole way). I wasn’t sure what seeing splits over pace would do to my confidence. And I wasn’t sure I could run 6:10s or faster in the latter stage of a marathon. I planned to run the first mile with the pacer, to prevent going out too fast. Then I’d see how I felt from there. But in the final moments of freaking out, I decided I would stick with the pacer no matter what. I was handing this stranger my dream and trusting him with it. But the effect was calming.
Kara’s words popped up in my head. But they weren’t “Just try” like I had expected. Instead, it was “Stay on their butts.” Get with that pacer, and glue yourself to him.
DURING – The Race
The first mile was too fast, even with the pacer. Another girl in the pack (of maybe thirty people) made a snorting noise. Um, hello, that was a 6:00. Too fast. What are we doing? But the next few miles we settled down. People were chatting, the pacer was breaking the ice, making jokes. The first of the elite water stops (which had stressed me out before the race, as they meant twenty-plus women converging on one table to grab their individual water bottle, all while running 6:12 pace) passed without much incident. People who missed their bottles were offered sips from those who had theirs. We were a team, a swarm heading for a mutual goal. One woman laughed and said, “This is the funniest race I’ve ever been in,” referring to the pacer and his jokes. It was true; the pressure of the biggest race of my life was dimmed by the lighthearted atmosphere. I relaxed a bit, so much so that I missed mile markers 2 and 3. I didn’t care. My fellow dreamers were nodding or cheering approvingly as we came through them on target. At four miles I decided I should probably start paying attention to the splits, but I did not plan on leaving this group anytime soon, or ever.
Stay on their butts.
Water bottles designed for high visibility and easy grab-ability.
Besides Kara’s words, I had other mantras planned. I had listened to Eminem on repeat; along with “Lose Yourself” (my ultimate favorite), this season “‘Til I Collapse” had been particularly powerful. But during the race, as I thought about the enormity of this marathon and this goal, instead of my tried-and-true rap songs, I found myself singing something else.
Despite being of the boy band generation—and thus knowing every single word to that song—just that line repeated. You’re all I ever wanted…. It was annoying, an endless loop. But it had the intended effect. In the moment, it did seem like this was all I ever wanted.
Through the 10k, through ten miles, I stayed glued to the pack. There was some jostling at turns and water stops—not something I’m used to experiencing, as I don’t race on the track and jostling pretty much ends at mile 1 in a marathon—but no major incidents. I was just trying to turn off my brain as much as possible and focus on what the pacer was saying, or the next time I’d see my family or have to cut over for a water bottle. Don’t think about how there’s 18, 17, 16 miles left to go. One of my teammates was just ahead of me. He had run a 2:42 at CIM last year, and here we were, poised to do exactly that today. His presence was calming and the cheers from his family an added boost.
Also, in addition to Chris Mocko, our official pacer, the other pacer—who would take us through 20 miles—was Kim Conley, the 2012 Olympian in the 5000. It’s not everyday (any day?) you get to run alongside an Olympian for 20 miles, and I reminded myself to be keenly aware of the awesomeness of the situation.
Stay on their butts.
In the pack at mile 8. The man with the visor is our amazing pacer.
One thing that was stressing me out was the targets Mocko had said for the two halves. When one woman asked, I swear he responded with something like 1:21:41 for the first, and 1:21:21 for the second, but that didn’t add up. I spent a few miles (seriously) debating this. Did I hear him wrong? Can I not do math? Crap. But still, I would not give up running with this group. First because I didn’t have a single morsel of belief that I could go faster, and second because it was so unbelievably amazing to have someone try to distract you for 26 miles.
You’re all I ever wanted…
We came through the half in 1:21:16, and the swarm breathed a collective sigh of relief (some cheered) that we were right on pace. I was relieved because—proving that I cannot do math mid-marathon—I mistakenly thought we were ahead of my planned 6:12 pace (we were actually a few seconds slow). Either way, we had not gone out as slowly as I worried, and we didn’t have the daunting task of trying to speed up in the second half. My coach later pointed out that 1:21:16 would have been a half-marathon PR a little over a month ago.Fortunately, I did not think about that. I was actively trying to not think about anything. Not think about how we were only halfway. Not think about how that was the easy half, and it was going to get much harder. But with every mile, it was getting more and more difficult to not think. I tried to get as close to Mocko as possible so I could focus on what he was saying, not on any doubts trying to squeeze their way in.
He asked us to dig deep for the next few miles, and I remember thinking, “And then what? We’ll be digging deep from here on out.” He was right though; miles 13-19 are always the toughest. It’s where I’ve fallen apart too many times, and I stationed my husband and parents in these miles so I would get a boost when I needed it most. I reminded myself I had done 16 in practice, and had added 3 miles with each workout. If this was just a workout day, I could at least get to 19 miles, so let's just take it mile by mile until 19. Surprisingly, I didn’t need any other mental pep talks just yet. I wasn't falling apart. I was still in this, despite the pace and the distance we had already covered. I saved my stores of motivation (mantras, people to think about, encouraging tidbits) for later.Try to get through one more mile without having to fight too hard. Each mile ticked by and I was still doing okay. I just tried to blur everything out but what Mocko said about television shows, non-alcoholic beer, or that guy in the tutu. And I sang silently in my head.
You’re all I ever wanted…
Still with the pack at 19. (Kim Conley is half off screen on the right.)
We hit mile twenty at 2:04:15, 15 seconds slower than 6:12 pace but still under 2:43. Barely. Was it enough? (I didn’t/couldn’t calculate it then, but we were just 5 measly seconds under 2:43 pace. I am incredibly grateful that I didn’t realize this at the time.) I was still feeling relatively okay, considering. I could do this. Kim Conley left us with some words about how awesome we were doing. Um please, you’re an Olympian. This is unreal.
I had been trying to stay in the front of the pack, as close to the pacer as I could, so that I could hear him well. After twenty miles, I looked around and realized there weren’t many of us left. Some had picked it up; I could see them forging on just ahead. But others had fallen back. Mocko asked the remaining three of us where we wanted him to be, just ahead or alongside. It was time to get serious. The gauntlet had been thrown down, only instead of competing against each other, it was us vs. 2:43. This is it. The final few dreamers in the final few miles.
The final few dreamers.
A feeling of desperation seemed to hang in the fog as we got closer and closer to downtown. I started tapping those mental reserves that I had saved. I hadn’t fallen apart at halfway or at 15 or 19. I was here, on the other side of the wall, in the part of the marathon I tell myself that I always shine. Mocko reminded us to think about the people that got us here, that always support us, which is exactly what I had been telling myself. I thought of my husband, my family, my teammates. But mostly I thought about Lauren.
Lauren was our teammate who was killed walking across the street at the 2012 Club Cross Country Championships. Monday would be the two-year anniversary of her death, and as I ran in Sacramento, my teammates back home were jogging a memorial run in her honor. On a team full of NCAA superstars, Lauren had a similar story to me; she didn’t run in college, but started running on her own, shaping herself into a GRC-worthy athlete. Lauren also shared my goal to run in the Trials, and there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would have made it. She had the crucial combination of an enormous work ethic and incredible grit. I had dedicated this race to her, and here I was in the final and hardest miles. Lauren wouldn’t have given up even a second here, and dammit, neither will I.
With 5K left, Mocko doubled his efforts to keep us going. “Twenty minutes and only a 5K left. You can run a 20 minute 5K, c’mon!” That’s true, stranger, I can run a 20 minute 5K, but you have no idea how shockingly close that is to my PR (Reminder: I am terrible at 5Ks.) And, hello! I have just run 23 miles at 6:12 pace. Holy crap, am I going to screw this up? I can’t. I have to make it.
One step at a time.
Keep pushing.
Stay on their butts.
You’re all I ever wanted…
For Lauren. Do it for Lauren.
I started worrying. Was this pace really fast enough? We only had a few seconds to spare at 20 miles, what if we lost that? Was this 20-minute-5K-pace? I was freaking out we weren’t going fast enough, but also fully aware that I could go no faster. At mile 24, Mocko told us we had 14 minutes left. 14 minutes? Is that enough? I can’t do math anymore. If I run 6-flat, that gives me 2 minutes to run 0.2. Is that enough? (Spoiler alert if you do the—actually very easy—math.) I wasn’t sure. I also wasn’t running 6-flat. Shit. I gotta move. This is it. THIS. IS. IT.
So I pulled slightly ahead of Mocko and the other girls. Mocko had told us not to look at our watches (what’s the point? Just freaking run AS FAST AS YOU CAN) but I was looking at mine every other block. I had to be sure I was still going fast enough. (What would I have done if I wasn’t??) My Garmin seemed to be hovering around 6 flat and I just tried to keep going at that pace. I knew the final turn was onto 8th Street, but I made the mistake of looking at a street sign and seeing 29th Street. Oh God, so far to go.
As we neared the park and the turn onto 8th, pretty much everything was a blur. I heard my mom screaming, but the fact that she was there (I hadn’t expected that) didn’t register as surprising. Everything seemed to be in some universe outside of where I was; I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I glanced at my watch one final time as I neared the mile 26 marker. I had two minutes left, and only 0.2 to go. My math ability came back to me. I could run 8-minute pace and still make it.
Holy shit, I’m going to make it.
I had imagined this moment hundreds (thousands?) of times, on training runs, pre-race sleepless nights, hard workouts. For years, it was a non-descript finish, but more recently it morphed into CIM’s finish. The clock would say 2:42 something, I would sprint towards it, throw my hands up and thank God, touch my LWR patch in remembrance of Lauren, and then break down crying.
It was almost exactly as I pictured it, except I started crying as soon as I made the turn. It was overwhelming and unbelievable. Even though it played out exactly as it had in my dreams, I couldn’t process it. In the final 200 meters I was completely overwhelmed by emotion. Somehow my legs continued surging forward despite my breakdown from the neck up.
I did it. 2:42:13 (chip time).
2:42. Olympic Trials, here we come.
AFTER – The Cool Down
The rest continued like the dream: I threw my hands up and thanked God. I know everyone has their own religious beliefs, but the way this season has gone, the way that race went—so completely perfectly—cannot be rationalized (by me, at least) to be anything less than the work of God. Running that fast, achieving this dream, was a religious experience. So I thanked Him for it. I couldn’t have done it otherwise.
Next I had my moment for Lauren. I couldn’t have done it without her either. And when I run in the Olympic Trials in LA, I know she’ll be there with me too.
And then I continued my emotional breakdown. Basically I just spun around in circles, crying, hugging my husband, crying, hugging my mom, more crying. I couldn’t (still can’t) freaking believe it. I found Mocko—my savior—and gave him a big hug and more tears. I cannot thank him enough for pulling me through the entirety of that race. I could not have done it without him and my last minute decision to put my faith completely in his hands seemed like another work of God.
Sharing disbelief and tears with Mom.
I found my dad, my other teammates, called my siblings. More tears. We went out to lunch and celebrated, and have basically been celebrating since. I still cannot believe it. Sometimes I remember that it has really happened and want to jump up and down or dance around (possibly to *NSYNC?). I don’t think I’ve frowned since 9:42 Sunday morning. I can’t begin to express what a huge deal this was for me (um hello, it finally validated the name of this blog), or my immense gratitude to everyone who helped along the way. The outpouring of congratulations has only proven that my tear ducts are, in fact, bottomless.
It still feels like a dream, like my final 200 meters are just the imaginary finish I’ve been picturing for the last five years. Did that really happen? Can I really say (like I did a few paragraphs ago) ‘when I run the Olympic Trials’? It seems like a dream.
Because it was. Like I said, dream big. It’s the only way it will come true.
It’s official. USATF set the time standard for the 2016
Olympic Marathon Trials. The time I’ve openly declared I would beat so that I
can run in those trials. The time I’ve been wondering about since realizing I
wouldn’t make it to the last Trials. The time I promised I’d get, without
knowing what it was.
There are two types of standards, the A and B. The A standard is faster
and gets you an all expenses paid trip to the Trials. You are invited to run if
you meet the B standard, but to get to the Olympics, you have to run the A at
some point. (Likely in the Trials, because you’ll also have to come in the top
3 against the A qualifiers.) In 2008, the B standard for women was a 2:47 (the A was 2:39.) For 2012, that dropped to a 2:46 (with the A still a 2:39). Okay,
that seems fair. More and more people are qualifying, let’s raise the bar
slightly. However, on the men’s side, they abolished the B standard entirely,
and in 2012, they only invited men with a faster, A standard time.
My fear for 2016 was that the B standard would be dropped, just like it had for the men. There was no telling what they would do, but all
I could do was wait and see. I had told everyone who would listen I’d go after
it, no matter what the standard was. How difficult that would be lay in the
hands of USATF.
I had no clue when they would decide. Completely
unexpectedly, my teammate B broke the news at practice last week that the
decision had been made. 2:43. I breathed a massive sigh of relief. It
could be worse! It could be so much worse. My teammates didn’t share my
enthusiasm. D did some quick math and figured out that was a 6:13 pace. Yea,
okay, that’s pretty freaking fast. Still, I was almost giddy. It could have been
only the A standard (now a 2:37, aka 5:59 pace.) And I’ll take any extra six
minutes I can get. (In other news, they gave the men back their B standard.)
Obviously, I realize cutting ten minutes off my time won’t
be a piece of cake. But qualifying for the Trials was never going to be a
cakewalk to begin with. Ten minutes to cut is easier than 16 (or whatever other
crazy standard they could have come up with.) Best of all, now I can stop
worrying about it. And just get after it.
But that’s months/years away. (Although the training for Boston
begins in a few short weeks (yippee!), the qualification window doesn’t open until
August.) First up for the GRC team (aka future Trials qualifiers) is the
National Club Cross Country Championship in Kentucky this weekend. My love affair with running started on the cross country course in high school, and I'm excited to run my first XC race in ten years. We’ve been
prepping all season and we’re ready to roll!
Clubs, clubs, clubs!
We're ready for the Club(s) in our sharp new clothes and sweet shoes.
Look out Kentucky.
I’m sorry I’ve been MIA for the past few weeks. During the
Olympics, I was living a double life: staying up late to watch the best
athletes in the world and waking up early to work on becoming my own
version of a better athlete. During the in-between hours, I ignored the
internet and any Olympics news until I could watch in prime time. I crawled
under a rock and stayed there, glued to every athlete’s move, under the complete power of Bob
Costas. My anti-internet campaign, combined with
every free moment filled with workouts or watching people enjoy the fruits of
their own workouts, made it difficult to blog. To make up for it, here’s a
summary of ups and downs of the Olympic days from both my spectating and running perspective.
Friday July 27:
Nothing like enjoying decadent dessert
while watching the fittest people on the planet.
Spectator Teal: Opening Ceremonies. I was dead set on
watching them, having fallen asleep during the famed Beijing Opening
Ceremonies, only to hear for weeks (and years!) afterwards how amazing they
were. I don’t make that mistake again. But as expected, the Opening Ceremonies are
pretty weird and not even in the British humor Monty Python kind of way. (That
comes in the Closing Ceremonies.) Worse yet, the NBC anchors can’t get over how
the Queen just parachuted into the stadium with James Bond, when that was clearly a (poor) job of camera editing. Still, I’m excited it’s the Olympics and
make festive brownies to kick them off.
Saturday July 28:
Runner Teal: I meet some of the GRC girls for a long run. We
chit-chat through a leisurely 12 miler. Nobody kicks my butt. Oh yea: long, slow running, this is
the part I’m good at.
Spectator Teal: In my excitement, I make a rookie mistake
and start too fast.I watch
fencing and archery and am glad to see Misty May and Kerri Walsh are back. It
won’t be the last I hear of them. (It will be the last I see of archery and
fencing.)
Monday July 30:
Spectator Teal: Missy Franklin, the sweetheart of the Games,
wins gold less than 15 minutes after swimming a semi. It’s unprecedented, sure,
but given how many events swimmers can compete in I start to wonder how that’s
possible. Why is the recovery so much faster than track?
Tuesday July 31:
Spectator Teal: In the afternoon, I overhear my coworker
screaming “He only lost by a stroke!!” Ingeniously, I put two and two together.
Later, I watch Michael Phelps lose by a hair. I decide I need to start wearing headphones during
key racing times. The women's gymnastics team wins gold, and my 8 year old self leaps for joy.
Wednesday August 1:
Runner Teal: My track workout is terrible. I’m exhausted and
can’t get in the rhythm. I’ve eaten all the brownies, the lure of archery and
fencing is gone, track has yet to begin. I hit a mid-race slump.
Friday August 3:
Spectator Teal: Track starts! I crawl deeper under my rock.
Runnersworld and basically every site I ever go to are now strictly forbidden.
Fortunately, the only other race that I hear about before watching is Bolt
winning the 100m. If anyone had told me the results of any longer races, I
think I would have slapped them. Fortunately, I have very kind and
understanding friends and family, who don’t like to be slapped.
Saturday August 4:
Runner Teal: I get in my long run on Saturday in
anticipation of the women’s marathon Sunday morning. I try to do some of the
final miles fast. I bomb. I’m only slightly comforted by the fact that I
do a variation of this workout every season and the first attempt is always
a disaster, but I’m still upset. I come home and bang out an entire strength
workout that I almost always skip.
Spectator Teal: Hours later, I’m tuned in to the (Live!)
men’s 10k with my aching legs propped up on the couch. Until the final laps,
when Mo and Galen put on such a thrilling race that I’m jumping up and down,
screaming, and (in my eyes) willing them to an amazing, unforgettable 1-2
finish. I celebrate with more screaming, jumping, clapping, tearing up. Somehow my
neighbors don’t call the cops. Best moment of the games, hands down.
Sunday August 5:
Spectator Teal: Apparently there are two reasons I get up
early on weekends: to run and to watch running. At 6 am, I’m glued to the TV
and the women’s marathon, the event I’m looking forward to the most. But
slowly, on the rainy and twisting streets of London, my hopes for Kara and
Shalane fade. Shalane hangs tough for a long time, but fades hard. They finish
10th and 11th, and in a touching moment Kara, the more
seasoned marathoner, picks Shalane up off the pavement and they walk arm and arm
away from the finish.
Runner Teal: After the race, I go for a short jog to shake
out yesterday’s run and spontaneous Mo-Galen-triggered plyometric workout. I
think about the American marathoners and my heart aches for them. Not only
because it’s the Olympics, which I certainly cannot relate to. But because of
all the hard work they put in, how they felt they were in the best shape of
their lives, and yet (while their performances are still impressive) they’re
unsatisfied. I can relate to that. And now all they can do is take time off,
recover, and then do it all over again.
Monday August 6:
Runner Teal: I do my full strength workout again. I’m not
sure whether I’m inspired by the Olympics or disappointed in my own progress.
Whatever it is, it’s working. I continue to do my strength workouts through the
Closing Ceremonies.
Wednesday August 8:
Runner Teal: We have a doozy of a track workout, which I’ve
been dreading since I got the email on Monday. It’s 6 x 1 mile with a shorter
recovery that usual. The paces start slow, but drop frighteningly close to my
mile PR. Also, I’m still exhausted. Somehow I make it through five of them
right with the pack. On the last, I manage to cling on until the last straightaway,
when I fall back but still hit the line in 5:41, 7 seconds faster than our
intended pace, and 4 seconds faster than my PR.
Friday August 10:
Runner Teal: I switch my workouts around and end up doing an
easy 12 miler in the morning. I haven’t gone that far before work in a while
and I enjoy it, in my weird-masochistic way. While reading about the
contenders in the women’s marathon a few days before, I saw a picture of one of them running NYC. Something about the fall colors in the background and
the famous course triggered a pang of missing the marathon. Today’s run reminds
me again.
Spectator Teal: Final lap of the women’s 1500 and Morgan
Uceny falls. Again. I can’t believe it; I am close to tears. She is filled with
very real tears, pouring them onto the track. People say she should have gotten
up and finished the lap, but I don’t think so. In her situation, I probably
would have done the exact same thing. It’s heartbreaking. When will she get her
redemption?
Saturday August 11:
Runner Teal: Tempo run. As you may recall, I’m not
great at tempo runs, but I manage this one all right. I average two seconds
slower than my goal pace, but it’s apparently one of the faster tempo runs I’ve
ever done (although it’s on the shorter side) and it was the day after a 12
miler.
Spectator Teal: In the 5k, soon-to-be Sir Mo Farah does it
again. I scream and clap but I don’t jump up and down as much. Even though it’s
an incredible double, it’s almost like it’s old news to me. Of course he would
win again. He’s freaking awesome.
Sunday August 12:
Spectator Teal: 6 am, it’s marathon time again. From the
start, it’s obvious Ryan Hall is off. He usually runs in the lead, and he’s
falling further and further back. He drops out. Not long after, Abdi is out too.
Meb is all we’ve got left. At halfway, he’s in 17th place.
Meanwhile, the three vying for medals are clear: Kirui and Kiprotich (aka
Kipsang) from Kenya and another Kiprotich from Uganda. The two Kenyans
are chatting back and forth and around mile 23 it seems they are finally
pulling away from the Ugandan Kiprotich. Ugandan Kiprotich does the sign of the
cross, and I think “oh man, he’s praying that he can hang on, at least get
bronze.” But the next thing you know, he’s caught the Kenyans and is blowing
past. He must have prayed for the strength to make his move, and his prayers
were answered. He amasses a lead that he won’t lose, and he gets Uganda gold
(its first marathon medal). Meb, somehow, claws his way through the field to
finish 4th. He’s a few minutes out of the medals, but it’s no
matter. Many people, myself included, may have counted Meb out of this one, but
once again he proves us wrong with his tough, fighting spirit. Before the race,
he was the American who seemed injured. Afterwards, he’s the only one left
standing.
Runner Teal: I take the day off. It’s been an exhausting 17 days.
The big stories from the track trials may be all about Galen
Rupp (won both the 5k and 10k, beating Bernard Lagat for the first
time) and Ashton Eaton (broke the world record in the decathlon), but there were
so many more inspiring stories, besides those of the superstars. Like the guys who
slowed down at the end of the 1500 so Eaton could have a clear path to the
finish and his world record glory. Or the guys that dove, sometimes
heartbreaking so (Bershawn Jackson), over the line to try and clinch a spot. Or Bryshon
Nellum, who was shot twice in the leg in 2009 and told he’d never be a world
class sprinter (he made the 400m team.) But not surprisingly, all my
favorite moments came from the distance events.
1. Dathan Ritzenhein and Amy Hastings
Both finished in the most heartbreaking spot in January’s
marathon trials—fourth. They moved past their devastation and headed to the
track, eager for redemption. Ritz came into the 10k trials without the A
standard (to make the Olympics you must have beaten a specific time, the A
standard; if more than 3 people have run the A, then the top 3 at the
trials go.) He got help from his training partner Rupp and set a quick pace to
make sure he not only got the top three spot, but the standard as well.
Hastings had the A standard, and, conveniently, so did only two
others (besides Shalane Flanagan, who would give up her spot to focus on the
marathon.) All those girls had to do was show up and finish the race; as long
as no one went out hard and got the standard, those three were the team. No one
went out hard, but Hastings didn’t just settle and accept her spot. She wanted
top three, saying later that she didn’t want to get on the team any other way.
She fended off a late surge from Natosha Rogers (see below) and won the race,
her first national championship.
2. Natosha Rogers
In what was only her 4th 10k, the Texas A&M
junior fought her way through the whole race. She tripped and fell early on,
but came charging back to the front, in a move the announcers thought was suicide. (She should have saved energy by slowly working her way back to
the pack.) Regardless, she stayed in contention the entire race, and despite
not having the A standard and not having a chance of making the team, she went
for the win. She edged out Shalane Flanagan and battled with Amy Hastings,
ending up second. There’s a bright future for this girl.
3. Lauren Fleshman
Fleshman has been battling an IT band injury for months and
only able to run 11 (!!) miles a week. She’s been furiously cross training to
stay in shape, but she lined up for the 5k semi-finals without having run an
entire 5k in months. She fought through the pain and managed to get sixth,
edging her way into the final in what was an exciting and excruciating moment
to watch. She went on to run the final, again showing her fighting spirit,
despite no real chance of making the team.
4. Kim Conley
No one expected her to be a threat to make the team in the
5k. But just before she raced her coach gave her a note with this advice: “Rely
on your instincts tonight, and at the end of the race, do something heroic.” In
her post-race interview she admitted thinking at 3k that she wouldn’t make it,
the pace wasn’t fast enough for the A standard (which she needed.) But she kept
pushing, and in the final lap saw the other girls fading and went for it. She
got both 3rd place and the standard by a hair. It was heroic.
I feel like I can’t write a wrap-up of these trials without
including the Tarmoh/Felix 100 meter fiasco. I don’t find it inspiring, but
sad. Tarmoh was originally declared the third place finisher; she celebrated,
Felix left in tears. Later, they retracted the decision, saying it was too
close to call, even with photo-finish technology. The story brought track and
field to mainstream sports headlines—a great thing to happen, except it didn’t
put us in the best light. No one understood why there was no existing rule in
place for this type of thing, but obviously this is incredibly rare—it hasn’t
ever happened before! The fact that a coin flip was one option was plain
ridiculous. These are runners; they should earn their spot by running. In the end,
a run-off was chosen, but then avoided when Tarmoh pulled out and gave her spot
to Felix. That was the sad part. Tarmoh is on the brink of her life long dream and
the whole process was too overwhelming and emotionally draining for her to
seize it. (She will likely run the 4x100 in London, but it is not the same as
making it as an individual.) Some people ripped her apart, saying she was just
too scared to lose; others sympathized with her, saying USATF screwed her over.
I was selfishly disappointed; I enjoyed watching the trials so much, I was
excited when they got extended an extra day for the run-off. I can’t believe
that someone would give up something they have worked so hard for, which makes me
realize what an incredibly difficult situation Tarmoh must have been in.
I wondered what I would have done in her spikes. Granted, I
run marathons, which are slightly different than 100-meter sprints, but let’s
go with this unrealistic thought experiment anyway. If I ran the trials and finished in a tie for third, I would certainly
run again for a chance to make the team. It's the Olympics! Obviously, I am not even close to being an Olympic caliber athlete, so it’s easy for me to say I would run because I’ll never be in that situation. Tarmoh obviously is Olympic cailber, and hopefully she’ll have many more opportunities in her future. But just thinking through that silly
analogy made me appreciate how difficult it would be to run an extra race. In a
marathon, it’s obvious how painful and miserable that would be, so soon after
an all-out effort. But even in sprints, there are rounds (heats, semi-finals,
finals) for both the 100 and 200 meters (Tarmoh finished 5th in the
200.) Mentally, you set yourself up for those, and only those, races. You carefully ration out your energy, and in the final, you give
it your all, knowing you don’t need to have anything left when it is over. Unexpectedly
adding another race would be incredibly hard to wrap your head around. Particularly if you have had the emotional roller coaster of a week Tarmoh had. For now, we just have to understand that the decision she made is hers
and only hers. It’s just incredibly sad that it played out that way.
The trials were so full of inspiration, drama, and awesome
racing, I cannot wait for the Olympics! Only three weeks to go!
This past weekend’s London Marathon was supposed to solidify the top Kenyans in the eyes of the Kenyan Olympic selectors. But things are still murky.
Athletics Kenya (AK) created a short list of contenders a few months ago, naming six men and six women to provisional lists. (The men's situation is a bit more complicated/interesting; I won't discuss the women here.) Results from spring marathons would be considered to get that number down to three. At first they gave one spot to Abel Kirui for winning the World Championship Marathon in Daegu last summer (adding to his previous World Championship win in 2009.) They also gave a spot to Patrick Makau, after he set the world record last fall. But after some other Kenyans kept defying standards for fast marathons, it seemed they had spoken too soon to only have one spot left. So they retracted their previous statements and created their list of six. Those six and the stats that got them on the list:
1. Abel Kirui: won 2011 World Championship
2. Patrick Makau: world record 2:03:38 (Berlin), honorary member of Team Teal
3. Geoffrey Mutai: world’s best 2:03:02 (2011’s Boston, doesn’t count for WR), won NYC in course record
4. Emmanuel Mutai (no relation to Geoffrey): won London last spring in course record, 2nd in NYC (a minute and a half behind G. Mutai)
5. Moses Mosop: second in Boston with a 2:03:06, won Chicago in course record
6. Wilson Kipsang: came 4 seconds from breaking Makau’s record last fall
All six competed in spring marathons in attempt to solidify their spot on the team (and of course, because they are professional runners and marathons are their big paydays.) Since Sunday's win at London, the talk is that Kipsang has a lock on his place on the team. The selectors wanted to see these men at their best this spring, knowing the Olympics were on the line, and Kipsang stepped up to the plate. He’s the only one of the six.
Kirui also ran on Sunday, and while he was with Kipsang for much of the race, he faded badly, finishing sixth. Makau ran Sunday, tried to goad the pace makers to go faster in the early miles, but dropped out before halfway. E. Mutai also ran Sunday, finishing in an unspectacular 7th in 2:08:01. And with that, they became “also rans” behind Kipsang’s commanding win by over 2 minutes.
G. Mutai ran last week’s Boston, but dropped out at 18 miles with stomach issues. The heat may have been his weakness.
Mosop talked about a WR attempt at Rotterdam, but finished third in 2:05:03 behind two Ethiopians (not something Kenyan selectors like to see.)
So what does this mean? AK is set to make their decision early next week. And while I'm glad I'm not making the decision, it's still fun to think about who I'd choose.
I think AK should pick a combination of people with speed and people with race tactics. Since the Olympics tend to be tactical, and not world record attempts, it makes sense to put someone like Kirui on the team. He’s won World Championship races. BUT, none of these other men were in last summer’s World Championship race. Many of them opted out because they wanted to race for more glory and a bigger paycheck in fall marathons. Is it fair to praise Kirui for winning a race that didn’t have some of the top guys? Makau, Mosop, and G. Mutai all won what some would consider more prestigious races last fall, and Kipsang crushed an amazing field on Sunday.
So what about speed? Obviously Makau has the WR, and Kipsang came incredibly close. G. Mutai and Mosop were faster on that fateful Boston day that doesn’t count for anything, and also broke course records in NYC and Chicago. (It bothers me that this article lists Mosop, but not G. Mutai, who beat Mosop at Boston, as one of the speedy guys.)
Makau in his Team Teal Tee.
Kipsang has the speed (his 2:03:42) and the tactics (his commanding London win when the stakes were high) to deserve a spot. I think G. Mutai does too. He may have faltered in Boston, but he destroyed records and incredibly talented fields in two major races last year; I don’t think you can leave him at home. I go back and forth on the last spot. E. Mutai is out. He hasn’t been spectacular since last year’s London 12 months ago. As I mentioned above, I think Kirui is overrated. That leaves Mosop and Makau. I can’t believe that AK would put two spring DNFs (G. Mutai and Makau) on their Olympic team (although the dropouts will be able recover faster and the Olympics are less than 100 days away.) Nevertheless, although I’m sure it won’t happen, I’m hoping for Kipsang, G. Mutai, and Makau. You can’t leave the WR holder and the man who’s run the fastest marathon ever at home. But if you’re Kenya, you're lucky to have to make that choice.
Olympic marathon selection in the US is based on a one day trial system. There are obvious problems with that style: if a top contender has a bad day, they are out. But it also removes bias and all the speculation that I've just discussed. (Additionally, people like me may get to achieve the dream of a lifetime just by being invited to the trials. If the US ever switches to the style of the rest of the world, this blog, and my hopes, will be crushed.) Other countries, such as Canada, set strict time standards and whoever beats the time can go. Three men managed to beat their standard (how convenient), but only one woman did. (Two others are appealing.) But what would the standard be for Kenya? Even sub-2:04 has too many qualifiers. England basically picks the three fastest, but this Boston business makes even that difficult.
The equivalent to a "one day trial" for Kenya may have been these spring races. If we only considered the races from this spring, that would mean a lot of these guys (G. Mutai, Makau, E. Mutai, and Kirui) would be out. Kipsang and Mosop might still be in the picture, but Martin Lel (second at London) and Wesley Korir would become contenders. In the above analysis, I’ve weighted some of last year’s performances over this spring’s. We'll have to wait and see if AK will instead treat these spring races as more of the trials, and choose based on that criteria.
Tomorrow are the 2012 Olympic Trials for the marathon. My
money’s on Desiree Davila, Shalane Flanagan, and Kara Goucher. I don’t know who
of Desiree or Shalane will win, I think the two of them will be fighting to the
finish. Desiree is better on paper at the marathon distance: a 2:22 qualifying
time (from Boston), a gut wrenchingly close loss in Boston by two seconds, and
steady progress that has finally solidified her at the top of American
marathoning. But Shalane is FIERCE. She will not go down easy; she likes to set
the pace and is tough. She’s only raced one marathon (second place at NYC in
2:28, a harder course than Boston) but she’s also got a bronze medal from the
Beijing Olympics (10k), a bronze from last year’s World Cross, and has set a
slew of American records.
So my money’s on those two, but my heart is with Kara. She
started running marathons about the same time I did (I remember watching her
get third and set an American debut record a few weeks after I qualified for my
first Boston) and for whatever reason, her story stuck with me. In interviews,
she’s honest and down to earth and determined to bring Americans back into the
marathoning spotlight. She sets her sights high and she’s not satisfied with
anything less than a win. I have watched her disappointing loss in 2009’s
Boston (by 9 seconds, for third place) multiple times, and each time I scream
at the TV hoping and wishing she’ll somehow go back in time and pull out a win.
She ran a new PR (2:24) for 5th in last year’s Boston (behind
Desiree, and the 2nd fastest qualifying time heading into the trials)
only a few short months after having a baby. She hasn’t had a huge breakthrough
in the marathon, but I certainly think she deserves one. She’s tough, and she’s
recently started training with Shalane, which will certainly keep her honest.
But in interviews leading up to Saturday’s race, she seems unsure of herself
(once again, her training has been slowed after returning from an injury.)
Everyone else’s answers to questions about preparedness and nervousness were
typical and of the vein “I’m confident because my training is better than ever;
I’m not nervous, I’m excited; I know I can make the team” but Kara seemed to
not have memorized her script. Her answers were honest and nervous, and
involved admitting she wasn’t sure she’d make the team.
I think Desiree and Shalane will be fighting for the win the
last few miles, while Kara will be fighting off the marathon trials veterans
(Deena Kastor, Magdelana Lewy Boulet) and the newbies (keep an eye on Amy
Hastings, a 2:27 runner). I really hope she can do it, and can keep her
confidence!! I’ll be watching it on TV hours later, but screaming my heart out
anyway.
