The (Not So) Raging Bull plus the INKnBURN Winner

And the winner is...

I picked a random comment from the 35 that were submitted on the INKnBURN Giveaway post and the winner of the arm sleeves is lucky number 7 (I'll spare you the screen capture from Random.org). So, Matt, please email me and I'll put you in touch with the nice people at INKnBURN.

The running is going great. It's starting to get harder with more volume and some tough tempo work, but that can be fun, too. Part of the fun has been mixing it up, altering the workouts a bit, and letting others share in the pain. I ran an interval session Wednesday morning with the San Elijo group, and as the "anyone running?" email got tossed around the night before, I mentioned I needed to do some speed work and they could join in if they wanted. We set out at 6 AM and after a 15 minute warm-up, which I took really easy, trailing the others because I knew the workout and they didn't, we set out on 15 sets of 1 minute at 6:45 to 7:00 pace followed by 2 minutes at 7:30 pace. Not slow enough to recover fully, so by the end I was suffering a little. In the past, I would have saved this run for a flat, coastal stretch and tried to dial in the paces to the exact second. Instead, we stuck to one of our normal trail routes and I went by feel instead of pace. I didn't have a Garmin on, but I did keep track of the time, and judging by the usual time it takes us to do this loop, I'm pretty sure we hit the paces, probably a little slower on the uphills, but making up for it on the flats and downhills. It was a tough session, but the terrain made it much more fun that a flat stretch of road, and the shared suffering always helps.

I was also supposed to do a core workout after the run, so instead of the usual planks/push-ups/pull-ups/weights, I wrapped my hands and went to the garage to hit the heavy bag. There really is no other feeling like hitting something hard, and it had been a while since I had hit the bag. It felt great. I set my timer for one minute, and would alternate between hitting the bag for a minute and doing other exercises for a minute (planks, one-legged jumprope, pull-ups, pistol squats and Romanian deadlifts). The whole workout lasted about ten minutes, but it was a really good one, and it was a lot of fun. I was messing around with my camera and shot some video of the bag work (my form is terrible and my garage is a mess, so save the comments. I'm a wimpy runner, not a MMArtist). I call it the "(Not So) Raging Bull Core Workout."

I just finished reading the first chapter of Killian's book translated into English and his Skyrunner Manifesto is so good (I'm not sure if he wrote it, or someone else did, so I'm not sure who to credit). If you have a few minutes, it's a great read. This was my favorite part...

The secret is not in the legs. It is to find enough courage to go out and run when it's raining, windy, when it's snowing. When flashes of lightning hit the trees. When snowballs or ice rain hit your legs, your body and make you cry. To continue, you have to dry the tears from your face to be able to see the stones, the obstacles, the sky. Forget some hours of party, face tens of reproaches, say no to a girl, to the warmth of the blanket covering your face...send everything to hell and go out in the rain until your legs bleed after having fallen down and risen again to keep running up...until your legs shout: ENOUGH! And leave you alone in the middle of a storm in unknown mountains...until death.

Yeah, my wife is probably not going to like that last part.

What's great about running is that everyone has access to this feeling. I can't dunk a basketball, hit a home run, or throw a 70 yard pass for a touchdown, but I can push myself as hard as I can for as long as I can, and experience the same thrill of running down a steep, rocky trail, and the same rush from running up mountains that Killian describes, albeit at a much slower pace. All runners can feel that, and it has nothing to do with pace, it has to do with pushing your own limits, finding a new trail, getting lost, and occasionally breaking down and crying from the pain, the torture, and the beauty that comes when you reach that limit.

Thanks for reading.

INKnBURN Review and Giveaway

The first time I saw an INKnBURN shirt, it was on the back of the super fast Jon Clark flying up the Harding Truck Trail on his way to a first to the top cash prize at the Harding Hustle 30k. The skull and flames design fit the shaved head and tattooed arms and shoulders, and it was a look that I didn't think I could pull off. Most of the people I see at races sporting INKnBURN gear are pretty fast, so I always wondered if their clothing had some super magical cool powers that bestowed an extra boost of speed to the wearer.

I tend to wear the same shade of black shirts and black shorts over and over again, much to the dismay of those surrounding me and of the lady that stood in line behind me at the coffee shop. If I'm feeling extra crazy I'll don a light shade of grey shorts, but still dark enough to camouflage any bladder mishaps, and if I really want to mix it up I'll break out the darkish green wool party shirt.

I was a little apprehensive when Keira Henninger emailed and asked me to try out some INKnBURN gear. For one, I'm not cool enough to pull off an outfit, and for two, I'm not fast enough to wear skulls/flames. But I really couldn't say no to Keira. I ran with her for a short time at my first 50K a few years ago, and while she probably doesn't remember it, I thought she was pretty nice. If you read her blog, you know she is relentlessly positive. Seriously, if you are ever in a bad mood, go check out her blog (and then ask her to sell you some of her happy pills). I also wanted to see if the INKnBURN juju would rub off on me, so I told her sure, I'd love to try out some INKnBURN gear.

I picked out a relatively subtle black and white koi sexy asian woman pattern called "Lust" and when it arrived I was really impressed with the design. I tried it on and I immediately felt different, my beard and hair started to grow, my muscles and veins started to tighten and dare I say...bulge. I looked in the mirror and...

When Alexander Bell invented the telephone he had 3 missed calls from Chuck Norris (joke courtesy 2005)

I then went for a run, and while I wasn't faster, a funny thing happened, the Earth's rotation slowed.

Not really, but the shorts are super comfortable and light. They have that crepe paper feel and I imagine they will be awesome for hot summer runs. They run a little small...I usually wear a large, but the INKnBURN XL fits me perfectly.

The true test was when I walked downstairs before my morning run and my ten year old daughter said "nice shorts" (instead of the slight left eye twitch she usually gets when she sees me wearing my old running clothes). My five year old also got in on the action:

"I like the fish on your shorts."

"Thanks Kaya."

"Where did you get them?"

"The mail."

"Who sent them to you?"

"A company that makes running clothes."

"What company?"

"INKnBURN."

And thus began a ten minute circular question and answer session that ended, inevitably, with "because that's what God commanded."

Bottom line is the shorts are stylish, super comfortable, light, and the design looks cool and appeals to the kids. The shirt is great as well. It's a lightweight running shirt and the design is sublimated (which means it's part of the fabric and doesn't feel like a thick layer of plastic that will melt into your skin on a hot day) and I like the design. It's nice to mix it up once in awhile, and while everyone says not to try anything new on race day, I like to break that rule once in awhile because sometimes a new shirt or new shorts can make you feel good and when you feel good you run faster. So yes, it's a scientific fact that INKnBURN gear can make you run faster.

Now for the free stuff. Check out their cool arm sleeves, 4Arms. Want some? This is what you need to do:

1. Go to their Facebook page and press "Like." And if your significant other walks in on you checking out pictures of their models, just tell them you're doing "research" for a "blog post."
2. Leave a comment below and let me know that you did number one (and like I tell my kids, if you did number two, I don't really want to hear about it).

I'll pick a winner next week.

Thanks for reading.

Training Run on the PCT from Penny Pines to Boulder Oaks

I wanted to share a few pictures from Sunday's run on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail), starting with a short out and back past Garnet Peak, then running from Penny Pines to Boulder Oaks campground, which is basically the second half of the PCT 50. These hills are less than an hour east of downtown San Diego. There was a group of seven of us, and we hit a great weather window, picking a weekend between two storms. We ran close to 27 miles of the PCT in a little over 4 1/2 hours. We kept a steady pace and took a few short breaks. I took most of the pictures as I was running because if I stopped for too long I would lose sight of the group. It was good training for next month's Joshua Tree traverse.

Transplant

I have written about my sister Sharlie in the past (here and here), and she received a double lung and heart transplant over the weekend. To read more about her, and to follow her progress, visit Sharlie's Angels on Facebook. She has been an inspiration to me and so many others. There was a lot of down time this past weekend as we waited in the hospital while Sharlie underwent her surgeries and I had a chance to write some of my thoughts down, and while personal, I wanted to share them here in hopes that her story continues to inspire others. Thank you for reading.

I don't like hospitals. They are big, industrial, generic places, unfeeling, too clean, too many fluorescent lights, too much sickness, tired nurses, and bad memories. I dreaded going, but when I arrived at Sharlie's room, it was like a church, quiet, light and calm. I have spent many hours in hospital rooms with Sharlie, but none as important as Thursday. After a late night call and a frantic ride through the night from San Diego to Palo Alto, past swerving big rigs and methed up drivers drifting too close, pushing me to the shoulder, and too tired to correct as I listened to the hum of my wheels on the graded road.

Once at the hospital I found Sharlie's room, full of family and her high school friends. Suedy and Jessica, the same friends that have been there through the years, always bringing the party to Sharlie during her long hospital stays, making sure she never missed out on any of the junior high and high school fun. My mom was there along with my brother in law, Ryan, and everyone was smiling, calm, and waiting. Sharlie sat on the bed, soon to be wheeled down the hallway, to the operating room where her heart and lungs would be removed from her body and a stranger's organs put in their place. A family has made the decision to give this gift, the most generous gift of life to a complete stranger, and I hope they learn about Sharlie and her remarkable story and that it comforts them, because I know Sharlie will honor this gift as a living and breathing testament of gratitude.

I can still feel this hug.

Me, Sharlie, Mom, and Ryan. Pre-transplant.

Sharlie was the calmest person in the room.

The surgery went well. It was long, but there were no serious complications and after the final update from the surgeon, I had the urge to hug him, but I just clapped. It was all I could think to do for this artist.

The next morning we were told that there was internal bleeding and that Sharlie would have to undergo another surgery to stop the bleeding and remove the blood that had pooled beneath one of her lungs. It was another long procedure and as I sat in waiting room I noticed a mother and daughter, older, with matching red eyes and wrinkles being laid as they waited for a son or husband or brother. I would occasionally catch glances and we would look at each other, bonded by this waiting.

The doors to the various operating rooms would open loudly and doctors, nurses, orderlies, would walk through, all with the look of people going about their normal jobs as we wait with expectant eyes, searching for some sign, a smile, satisfaction, a worried look, anything to betray what is going on behind the heavy doors with signs and big red capital letters that screamed "no entry." These workers are used to the expectant waiting room looks and avoid eye contact, not wanting to give false hope, or hints of failure.

I walked the halls and looked at the art, most of it standard hospital art, landscapes, the sea, and flowers, but there was a series by a Russian artist, Ilya Kabakov called "The Flying Komarov" and this series was meaningful for me, or maybe I was just searching for some meaning. The series of drawings stretched down the hallway and the first few look like people jumping off buildings, but then as you continue down the long hallway, you see that the people are floating, flying, couples holding hands higher and higher, disappearing in the clouds.

That morning, they rolled Sharlie down the hall, machines, tubes, bandages everywhere, still under sedation, looking lifeless, bleeding near her lungs. The initial transplant went well and this was just one setback, and there will be more. This is going to be a long healing process, and Sharlie will need to fight, but she is strong. The previous evening the joy of the new organs and successful transplant rippled through the waiting room, but the reality is that there will be new issues, post transplant issues, and struggles as her body tries to make these foreign tissues, cells, muscles her own. I watched as my mom, my sister, and Sharlie's husband kissed her as they rolled her into another surgery. I don't like seeing her this way, sedated, unconscious. I need to see her soft smile, her calmness reassuring that everything is going to be good. Her faith, big enough for both of us.

Post-transplant.

It was beautiful out, sunny and cool, and I had to get away from sitting, from the lights of the hospital. I had to stretch my legs out, so I found some nice trails near Stanford in the Arastradero Preserve. I changed to running clothes in my truck, trying not to flash the van-load of senior citizens who had parked next to me. I followed a trail along a creek as it narrowed to shady single track and I ran as fast as I could, stretching my lungs out in some sort of glorious punishment.

Trail therapy

I left Saturday morning, but before the drive back to San Diego, I was able to spend a couple hours by Sharlie's side as she woke up from the cloud of anesthesia. Her eyes were brighter than the previous night, her skin was glowing and her breath was steady and deep. We talked that morning about the donor and how grateful and sad Sharlie was, and how in her mind and prayers she always used "she" when referring to her. We talked about the coming months, the healing and the strengthening and how for the first time in her life, she will be getting stronger. We talked about the challenges and bumps in the road that will require much strength and dedication, and I can't think of anyone who is better equipped to deal with and overcome the challenges. There were words said that morning that were so special to me, words that I will never have to write down; they are written in my heart.

Now, my heart is full with gratitude for so many people who have helped Sharlie on her journey. I am so grateful to the surgeons and the transplant team at Stanford, giving life, doing the work of gods. I am grateful that Sharlie will be staying in Los Altos for a while. It is a beautiful place with hundreds of miles of tree-covered trails and I can see her healing as she explores the area.

Before Sharlie went into surgery, my mom asked her what she wanted to do with her new lungs. She said, without hesitation, I want to run with Dax. And this piece hasn't been about running, but for me it has everything to do with running. When I picture Sharlie in my mind, I see her running, and as she was wheeled away for her transplant surgery and as I whispered be strong, I love you, you're amazing, you're my hero, and gave her a final hug, she whispered see you on the trails. And I do see her on the trails, smiling, stretching her lungs, laughing, racing her young son to the next tree, and dropping us all, her spirit dwarfing the giant redwoods.