What's in a Name, Or: Where are the Flags for My Car?

Of course when Bill Shakespeare put those lines, "What's in a name," into Romeo's mouth, he was making some existential statement about sworn enemies and love, right? As for me, I've been reflecting on the names I've been known as over the last year:

• Dad
• Boardman man
• Former Oberlin High School teacher
• Captain
• Servant
• Local runner

And now, I get to be an Ambassador. More specifically, I will serve as an ambassador to the inaugural Youngstown Marathon, to be held Sunday, June 4, 2017. Now I hate to stress this too much, but the role of ambassador is awfully serious. At the very least, the folks at Merriam-Webster considered me a representative, and whatever it is I'm representing, I hope I do it well.

So let this initial blog post serve as an announcement, dear reader, that I intend to represent Youngstown and its running community well. Over the next few months I'll agonizingly share my training experiences as I prepare for both the Nashville and Youngstown Marathons, all the while serving as a proper #runtheyo ambassador and helping a few friends train for their first marathons (at Youngstown). But what I really want to know is when do I get ambassador flags for my car? And where is the embassy?

And if you're a regular Running with RB reader, eagerly checking back often to see what I've been doing since May 2016, rest assured that I'll write more detailed updates over the course of the coming weeks.

This is soon after I completed the 2016 Richmond Marathon where I ran a PR. (That's my daughter's arm, attempting some bunny ears on me.)

And...Exhale

Bob Dylan once referred to the writing of "Like a Rolling Stone" as "this long piece of vomit, 20 pages long." Something was building, and it was time for it come out. That's where I am and possibly how this will read.

Going to bed the night before the race, I told my wife, "I've done all the things I don't care for--newspaper and television interviews, speaking to groups of people, public attention. Now that's over. Tomorrow I get to do the thing I really love to do." And so I triple-checked that my alarm was set, a little before 5:AM, knowing full well I'd wake up before it could go off.

A short walk to the train station in order to get to Copley Square where I need to check in around 6:30. And the waiting begins. Of course I'm fidgety, just ready to run this race, but my wave doesn't start until 11:15, and with my corral I probably won't cross the starting line until close to 11:30. But this is the Boston Marathon, so whatever gripes I may have don't linger. In the fundraiser tent on Copley, I eat some breakfast and alternate among coffee, water, and a little Gatorade. Then some volunteers tell us it's time to load the buses and head to the starting line in Hopkinton. The bus ride is close to an hour in length, and I just wish the gentlemen behind me would stop talking. Please stop talking! Let a guy be quiet with his thoughts and maybe take a nap. Oh well.

We arrive around 8:15. Three hours until the start. That's agonizing, but I have no choice. A little more food and hydration, but at least I find a bench in a hallway inside part of Hopkinton High School away from most of the chatterboxes. So I wait, take a few trips to the port-o-johns, mostly stay off my feet. My friend texts that he and his brother of arrived at the Athletes' Village and I decided to try to find them. Now, I've never been to a refugee camp, and I don't mean to be too careless in discussing this, but after displaying my bib number for security and wading through a multitudes, smelling the football field-sized line-up of temporary toilets facilities, I come upon this. And this. And this. And this. And rather than wait in line for the toilet, there are some runners opting for the fence line. And I'm not talking just for #1, friends. Sorry, fellas. Run well, and I'll see you later. I head back to my secluded bench.

After hours of more waiting and a brief conversation with a John Hancock employee about to run his first marathon (hope you liked it, Jimmy!), they call my wave, and I begin the 20-minute walk to the starting line. Finally! It's shoulder-to-shoulder the entire way, and people along either side of the road are offering shots of sunscreen because the sun is already high. One last port-o-john stop, and I find my corral, filing in with thousands of other runners. This is when I get very quiet and simply pray, "Let this run glorify you, Lord. Thank you."

Now a general fly-over about the race. Because you're likely to become bored if I detail each mile.

A quarter-mile in, I see a few dozen men duck into the woods, regretting not hitting those port-o-johns near the start. Despite the number of participants (27,000+ finishers that day), I'm able to hit my stride early and settle into a decent pace. Around mile 3 my body says it has to make a pit stop (just #1), and I tell it, "If you still have to go at mile 10, I'll stop." Seems a reasonable arrangement.

I've adopted a practice from a friend of mine who prays and crosses himself at each mile marker. We're both Protestants, but it makes enormous sense to me. In fact, I see running as an offering, as another way to show my love for God. So at each mile I cross myself and say, "Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Thank you for that last mile. Give me strength in my legs and breath in my lungs to honor you with this next one."

Mile 6, Framingham, is very cool. Families are out in full force, cheering on the runners. The smell of barbecue and the sound of music fills the air. That party seems fun, but I have several miles to go.

I'm wearing my custom-made OHIO singlet, knowing full well this will elicit some specific cheers from the crowd (which "they" estimated around 750,000 that day, I think). "Go Ohio!" "Yeah Ohio!" "Hey, Ohio is a swing state!" I couldn't help myself when I heard a guy around mile 8 yell that, and I responded, "Your mom is a swing state." Yeah. I really said it.

Mile 10 comes and goes, and my body reminds me of my promise. As soon as I stop running, I start counting, to note how many seconds this lasts. When I hit 15 seconds, I've starting again. I'll double-check my splits after the race. And this is so wild because it feels like the miles are flying by.

Mile 14 is the infamous Wellesley Scream Tunnel. A thousand or more Wellesley College students screaming for and kissing (if accepted) the marathoners. It was deafening...and maybe a little annoying.

The Newton Hills (which culminate with Heartbreak Hill in mile 21) start around mile 16, and this is where my wife and our friends had planned to be on the course. I don't see them and continue to look for them at each subsequent mile. Having prepared to run hills, especially late in the race, I determine to make sure I'm actually running up them, even if it only feels like running. It's psychologically important for me to knock down some roadkill (a classy term for runners you pass during a race) on these hills.

Around mile 19, I let myself think about my friends and neighbors at the Rescue Mission because it is seven miles from my house, and I have just seven miles to the finish line.

By the time I near mile 20, I figure I'll just meet up with my crew at the finish line, that transportation was difficult, so I likely won't see anyone on the course. As I check my watch to see my overall pace and determine what the final 10k might look like, I hear someone shout, "Rick Blair!!!" And it's Cakes. And there's my wife holding up a sign that reads, "I love Rick!" And there's my friend Dave, shouting. Shouting? Dave? I've known Dave for more than 20 years, and I've never heard him shout. (He later tells me that he's been saving it up for that moment.) What a boost!

There is no sign indicating Heartbreak Hill, but when I'm halfway up what I believe is the legendary s.o.b., I think, "God, please let this be it. Because this just sucks." At the top I see a homemade sign: "You've reached the top of Heartbreak Hill." Hallelujah. I'm tired.

My prayer around mile 23 changes ever so slightly. "Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Thank you for that last mile. Give me strength in my legs and breath in my lungs to honor you with this next one. And oh s#%*, God, this is hard."

The famous Citgo sign is near Fenway Park and is the place where runners know they have just one more mile to run. The problem is that you can see it for a mile and a half before you actually reach it. Torture, but I keep pressing on. This landmark is also where it all sinks in, that I'm running the Boston Bleepin' Marathon. That I'm going to finish the Boston Bleepin' Marathon!

As I turn onto Boylston Street, I remember what Doug told me on Friday: "You're no long running; you're flying." And it's true.

Several people have asked me since then how I felt after finishing. The only honest answer is "Grateful."

Pre-race Inhale

Here we go:

Thursday before race day, and I was feeling antsy ("eager" may be a better word) on account of the end-of-training taper. As I'm packing for the fourth time to leave, the reality of running the Boston Marathon sweeps over me, and I need to sit down. Add to this the truth that this will be the most public marathon I have yet to run, with enormous interest from my community (due to the incredible coverage for the Mission Possible fundraiser), and the weight of it all stuns me. As I express this to my wife (who has learned and continues to learn how to deal with me leading up to a marathon) says, "Don't feel this as pressure. Feel it as people lifting you up, encouraging you." Duh! While this doesn't entirely alleviate the situation, I can at least function a bit better.

Friday morning, I go for a short run with my friend, a young fella who ran Boston in 2015. He gives me a couple pointers, namely, "Be patient at the beginning because it's crowded, but don't get stuck in the crowd." Afterward we talk briefly about the excitement and he hands me $26 for the Rescue Mission, saying, "A dollar per mile. I'm not giving you twenty cents because when you turn onto Boylston, you stop running. Now you're flying to the finish."

For lunch that day I've been invited by the Rescue Mission's director to the Kiwanis meeting. After eating, it's sprung on me that I'm one of the guest speakers. It's Jackie Robinson Day, and Jackie once said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives." That's my opening line. I then tell the story of gratitude, of my entry into (which loosely parallels to the grace offered through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus) and preparation for the Boston Marathon, of how Robinson's words speak to the importance of the work at the Rescue Mission. When I sit back down, one of my tablemates says, "Too bad you weren't prepared to speak," and I remember (again) God's promise to Moses in Exodus: "I will be with your mouth."

When my wife gets home from work, I'm packing for the fifth and final time. She tells me of a woman, Vera, with whom she works, that Vera called and said she wanted to donate to Mission Possible. My bride tells Vera to put it in an envelope and place that on her desk, that she'd retrieve it the following Wednesday. On our way out of town, we stop to get a coffee. Vera is inside the coffeeshop, a coffeeshop that is not in her neighborhood. She hands my wife some cash for the fundraiser. Details are important.

Fast-forward to Sunday when we ride the world famous Swan Boats, have lunch with some friends, and head to the race expo. As a Pittsburgh Pirates fan it was fun when, as soon as I received my bib number and race packet, I received notification that Andrew McCutchen had hit a home run. Later, my traveling companions and I walked down to the finish line, and I was honored to have them pray for me, the race as a whole, and the Rescue Mission. A true highlight.

Sunday's pre-race dinner: We had reservations at Ristorante Fiore in the North End of town and planned to meet our crew in the hotel lobby in order to make our way there. As my wife and I reached the lobby, I was surprised to see our very great friends (who live near Philadelphia)  who had made the trip to cheer me on the next day. All I could do was laugh...to tear, indeed.

In order to appreciate what happened during our meal, you have to understand that my wife has myriad anaphylactic food allergies. If she ingests certain foods, her airways will swell and she'll be unable to breathe. That said, when we go to restaurants with friends, she almost never (like 98% of the time) orders, opting instead to eat ahead of time or bring her own food. The potential danger isn't worth the risk.

And so, as our server took our orders, the only thing he wrote on his notepad was the foods to which my wife is allergic. In fact, when she told him her allergies would prevent her from ordering, he responded by asking, "How do I know whether or not we can help if we don't know the allergies?" He spoke directly with the chef and assured us that there was no possibility of cross-contamination with her meal. And so she ordered, confidently. And with great peace in her heart, she ate what she ordered. Details. God smiles on us, even in details.

Pre-race prayer at the Finish Line

The Words of Others

It's been quite a week around here. As noted in last week's post, I completed another decade on earth. Additionally, I started to taper (as you'll see in the training section today). I'm currently one week away from running the 120th Boston Marathon. And most importantly, the Mission Possible fundraiser hit (and then surpassed) the goal of $26,200 for the Rescue Mission of the Mahoning Valley. (As a fun side note, the day the fundraiser reached the goal, KISS announced a concert in my hometown.)

As a guy with a bachelor's degree in English, it should be no surprise that I turn to words for inspiration. And so I close this out with some of my recent favorites:

"If you don't have answers to your problems after a four-hour run, you ain't getting them." (Christopher McDougall)

"The reason we race isn't so much to beat each other,...but to be with each other." (Christopher McDougall)

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." (Haruki Murakami)

"I'm the type of person who doesn't  find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone,...to be neither difficult nor boring...[But] I learned the importance of being with others and the obvious point that we can't survive on our own." (Haruki Murakami)

"Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do." (C.S. Lewis)

"Running is not, as it so often seems, only about what you did in your last race or about how many miles you ran last week. It is, in a much more important way, about community, about appreciating all the miles run by others, too." (Richard O'Brien)

Monday: 2000-yard swim
Tuesday: 6.14 miles
Wednesday: 8.05 miles
Thursday: HIIT at BTF
Friday: 4.26 miles
Saturday: 10.16 miles
Total: 28.61 miles

Each year for my birthday, at my request, a friend of mine paints a bowling pin for me. Here's is this year's edition.

Obsession? You say that like it's a bad thing.

I've chronicled my early running days a couple times, how I was pretty sure I was going to die, that my legs were going to detach from the rest of my body, that I was probably asthmatic. In fact, I was sure that anyone who spoke of the "runner's high" was likely high themselves. The truth is that it took me nearly six excruciating months of consistent running (mostly on a treadmill because, well....vanity kept me indoors) before I would even come close to admitting liking it. As I've pointed out before, I couldn't string together two consecutive miles during my first run without dry heaving in my basement.

And here we are, over six years later. I'm training for my ninth marathon (THE marathon, at that), having, to date, raised over $25,000 for the Rescue Mission of the Mahoning Valley during the process, and it's funny the kinds of things people tell me. "You're an inspiration." "I admire your discipline." "Related comments." Truth be told, and I usually say it, I'm no inspiration, I'm just stubborn...and slightly obsessed. Rather than discipline, I'd say compulsion. Honestly, my mind would probably be a wreck if I didn't run. This doesn't mean I run every day, but I am always eager to run, plan a route, push the pace. And while I may not reach euphoria during every run, on a weekly basis I feel much better...about everything (yes, even the upcoming American presidential election...but maybe I'm being naive).

If you're interested in yet another funny, mindless internet quiz, take Buzzfeed's "How Much of a Running Nerd Are You." Maybe we can compare. I got "You're way into running...you're a runner, but you do/like other stuff in life, too. Congrats on the healthy moderation and balance!" My wife might be surprised.

Monday: 1200-yard swim and HIIT at Cakes' House
Tuesday: 6.13 miles
Wednesday: 10.06 miles
Thursday: HIIT at BTF
Friday: 3.03 miles
Saturday: 22.02 miles (see photo & caption)
Total: 41.24 miles

In order to celebrate my birthday this weekend, my lovely bride invited many of our friends to surprise me at the end of my long run. Thanks to her, especially, and all the other crazies who made signs and helped me close out another decade on Earth. Cheers.

Running is Strange

With three weeks from race day, I'm sort of at a loss this week. But something struck me after Saturday's long run (see below). It was odd, but for some reason completing twelve miles was more noteworthy than the previous week's twenty-miler. It's not that I felt better, was more or less prepared for one over the other, but when I got back in my car I thought, "Who would've thought I'd ever run twelve miles?" Yet that hadn't occurred to me after finishing twenty. Why was twelve more noteworthy? (I use "noteworthy" rather than another word because "significant" seems too grandiose.) I don't have an answer.

As race day draws closer, so does the completion of March Matching Madness and the Mission Possible fundraiser.  Thank you to all who have donated to the Rescue Mission. And to everyone, please take time to learn more about the work at the Mission and share what you learn with others.

Monday: 2400-yard swim
Tuesday: 8.12 miles
Wednesday: 8.01 miles
Thursday: HIIT at BTF
Friday: 4.44 miles
Saturday: 12.31 miles
Sunday: Rest
Total: 32.88 miles

This is after my wife and I finished the 2014 Chicago Half Marathon. We celebrated with some strange dance moves.

Points of Interest (and Maybe Contention)

The running community (at least in my experience with it) is filled with various controversies and points of contention. Stretching (I should do it, but tend to neglect it), strength and cross-training (I should do it, but tend to neglect it...although I've been better lately), toe shoes (the clock is ticking on this fad, thankfully), Dean Karnazes (sure, he's a publicity guy, but his book convinced me I could run a marathon), shorts length (the shorter, the better), the words "jogger" versus "runner" (I feel like I work to hard to be called a "jogger," thankyouverymuch), the book Born to Run (read it, loved it, recommend it), even listening to music while running.

It's this last one that gets me. Folks are impassioned about one side or the other. "I need my tunes." "I want to distract myself from the pain." "It pumps me up." "I keep a better cadence with the music." I understand all of these, and when I first started running I went through more pairs of earbuds than running shoes in two years. But after finishing my first marathon, for which I crafted the perfect playlist, I revisited the issue of music while running and came to a couple conclusions.

In order to understand my first conclusion, you have to understand that I'm both a huge fan of music and an amateur musician. I took my first piano lesson when I was six, my first upright bass lesson at the age of ten, met my wife in junior high orchestra, and skipped enough class freshman year of college to teach myself how to play guitar. And I've dragged plenty of people to see and hear plenty of rock and roll shows over the last 25 years. But I realized that by listening to music while running I was giving this music a different connotation, one that may not have thrilled me. "Such and such a song was playing while I ran up that torturous hill." "This other song was playing while I frantically sought an unlocked bathroom during a long run through the park." (This is not a song to help stem that urge.)

More importantly, though, was the issue raised in the "distraction" comment above. I simply didn't want to distract myself any longer. In fact, I preferred to learn the pain, to embrace the struggle, to forge ahead despite these things. So I hung up my earbuds and started paying attention. It would be a better story if I suddenly got much faster and more fleet of foot, but it would also be untrue. I haven't dramatically decreased speed, but I do enjoy running more. I love my local park more and take time to appreciate seeing wild turkeys during an early-morning long run. And maybe that hints at a larger issue: paying attention. So let me encourage you to pay attention, look around you, truly try to see people. It takes work. (Leaving my iPod home the first time was difficult.) But maybe you'll appreciate life around you that much more.

Monday: 2200-yard swim
Tuesday: 7.08 miles, 4 repeats
Wednesday: 8.28 miles
Thursday: HIIT at BTF
Friday: 3.08 miles
Saturday: 20.04 miles
Sunday: Rest
Total: 38.48 miles

With four weeks until the 2016 Boston Marathon and the conclusion of the Mission Possible fundraiser, we currently stand at just under $13,000! And that doesn't yet include the matching donations that I'm sure will reach $10,000 that will kick in at the end of the month. I'm filled with gratitude.

My most recent marathon, the Marshall University Marathon, November 2015