tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86273963240802304372024-03-07T21:38:41.252-08:00Tying the LacesKevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-4355398861612833422011-12-30T09:54:00.000-08:002011-12-31T12:53:03.171-08:00Running Past Phoenix: Three Insights from My (1st) Marathon Year<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>“The pain of training is nothing compared to the pain</i></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>of not reaching your po</i><i>tential.”</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:130%;">~Josh Cox</span></div><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ewzv7OtZQbA/Tv4IbC82u3I/AAAAAAAAAWs/lcRB3aStedc/s320/PHX2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691996239784491890" /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>"When did you run the marathon in Phoenix?"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>"January."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>"Wow, look what you've accomplished in a year!"</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>"Pfft."</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>"No, seriously. Think about it."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;"></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>This conversation took place as Julia and I crossed a parking lot to our favorite Chinese restaurant. Since it is the time of year when we tend to reflect on the last twelve months, I’ve been following orders and thinking about it—not so much what I’ve accomplished, but what I’ve learned. In January, I was a guy who ran a few times a week and thought completing a marathon would be cool. (And because I ran that first 26.2 in Phoenix, I can say, “Oh yeah, I’ve ru</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">n with Josh Cox!”) Now, I’m a <i>runner</i>, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">pursuing my hobby with as much passion as I do my profession. I’m aware of this shift, this result of at least three insights collected on the journey.</span></span><br /><ul><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;"> <li><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><b>Running is an exercise in self-discipline.</b> Sure, this includes getting up and getting out there, but it reaches beyond donning technical fabric and task-specific shoes.Honestly, just about anyone can muster that much self-discipline. Stretching to achieve goals, however, requires sustained attention. Training gives every run a purpose, and how I run needs to match the run’s intent. I’m learning that I need to attend to more than distance. Pace matters. Form matters. Nutrition matters. Even what I do on my non-running days matters. Thankfully, running also strengthens my self-discipline. <a href="http://blog.clerestorylearning.com/smart-moves"><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px color:#2500aa;">Research suggests this is more than an insight</span></a>. Fitness contributes several cognitive benefits, including greater self-regulation ability. When I’m forced to miss runs due to injury or a travel schedule, I can tell. My emotions lie closer to the border of irritation than contentment, and my concentration abilities suffer. I runas much for my mental health as my physical health (which really is a false dichotomy since we have embodied brains).</span></li></span></ul><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "> <ul> <li><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><b>No substitutes exist for a good “fan” and a good guide.</b> A card that sits on my desk reads, “Your art and my art go hand in hand.” Behind the words lie a series of photographs. Close-ups, from various angles, of my running shoes. My “fan,” is a photographer, one whose support makes the occasional craziness of running possible. When I need three hours (or more) on a Saturday morning for a long run, my wife encourages me and asks, “How was your run?” when I return home. When I suggest running a race that requires travel, Julia investigates potential, photo-worthy subjects in the area. And she’s always there, at the finish line, camera in hand, chronicling and cheering my efforts. A good fan can be the infrastructure of goal achievement.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ufhiIPj1Jq0/Tv4KKsFpNHI/AAAAAAAAAW4/XqxIK3xBb9M/s400/shoecollage72dpi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691998157792687218" />A good guide takes you places you weren’t sure you could go, never doubting your potential to get there. I know many runners who find the go-it-alone approach works for them, but I’ve experienced the benefit of having an expert focus on my goals and training. Though I began working with a coach out of frustration, I now find this collaboration contributes to the joy of running. Many think the main benefit is accountability. Sure, it’s good to have someone watching over your shoulder, but this is a rather negative perspective of a positive partnership. A good coach invests in a runner—invests time, energy, expertise, and ongoing strategizing. Training is more about continual adjustment and refinement than rigid plans, and an effective coach helps a runner make the necessary tweeks. I know, without an iota of doubt, that I am a better, stronger, and more passionate runner because of the investment my coach has made.<br /><br />One of the most re-tweeted posts I’ve contributed to the Twitterverse reads, “There may be nothing more powerful that you can give another than your belief in his potential.” A “fan” and a guide—<a href="http://tyingthelaces.blogspot.com/2011/07/why-run-262-miles.html"><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px color:#2500aa;">believers you need on your side</span></a>.</span></li></ul> <ul> <li><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><b>Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the feeling of achieving a goal.</b> I wrote previously about my ping-ponging emotions as I crossed the finish line of my second 26.2, <a href="http://tyingthelaces.blogspot.com/2011/10/hartford-race-results-and-reflections.html"><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px color:#2500aa;">the ING Hartford Marathon</span></a>. Crossing the finish line is not the sole source of these emotions. It’s more the recognition and appreciation of the work it took to get to that finish line, the work that took place <i>before</i> race day. I’ll never forget my wife finding me in the finish area and asking, “Was it worth it, all those early mornings?” No hesitation. “Yes!” Working for something and seeing it happen changes you. Even though my major running achievement puts me squarely in the average bracket of marathon runners (3:55), it still required a price, and it still paid rewards. One reason I’m still running and chasing goals is to experience it all again. I frequently say, “I’m fine if such-and-such running goal is beyond my reach, but I don’t want the regret of having not tried.” I’m still learning, still growing, still striving to discover my potential. And this process is exhilarating.</span></li></ul></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>Yesterday, UPS delivered a new pair of running shoes. My usual shoes lay beneath the orange lid. Nothing new. Same brand, same model, same size. I ordered the same color I had a pair ago, so I already knew exactly what the shoes looked like. Still, I opened the box, thinking, “We’re a long way from Phoenix. Hope you’re ready for what’s next.” I’m not sure it was the shoes that I was talking to.</span>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-67816747074666327202011-10-25T07:34:00.000-07:002011-10-25T07:48:07.279-07:00Hartford: The Race, the Results, and the Reflections<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7S1V6QUduOA/TqbL77vDfDI/AAAAAAAAAV4/OzsPd36lyck/s1600/photo.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7S1V6QUduOA/TqbL77vDfDI/AAAAAAAAAV4/OzsPd36lyck/s200/photo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667441411600120882" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">It’s been almost two weeks, and I’m still struggling to articulate what happened in Hartford. Perhaps I have more difficulty articulating positive emotions (which surely says something about me!), because what happened in Hartford was truly unforgettable.</p><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hlExQ1oCtks/TqbLUaPmviI/AAAAAAAAAVs/62-3rjRJTk0/s200/INGHartPrePonder.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667440732594945570" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 148px; " /><div> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Let me start with a summary. I registered for the ING Hartford Marathon because I </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">wanted to run a fall race, my previous trips to the Hartford area left me intrigued, and the race rightfully enjoys a good reputation among runners. Frustrated with my own limits, both in performance and understanding, I began working with a certified running coach. Based on my past races and my response to early workouts, he established a time goal for my marathon finish. I never verbalized it—at least I don’t think I did—but I doubted my ability to achieve the goal. Why? Who knows. Perhaps it’s related to my ability to better articulate t</span>he negative than the positive. You can see the questioning in my face while I stand at the start line.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The race itself was glorious, and I mean that without any exaggeration. The weather was as close to perfect as possible; the course took advantage of Hartford’s natural, architectural, and rural beauty; and the city did an exemplary job of hosting the event. I can’t say enough about the outstanding organization of this marathon. I feel like I have been spoiled for other races, as most will likely pale in comparison to how Hartford ran its race.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I ran unevenly at first, trying to control my pace but often slowing down or speeding up in the last quarter of each mile to hit the target. Somewhere after the fifth mile, I heard one runner say to another, “You can’t be running more than a 9-minute-pace at this point! Stick with me.” He wasn’t talking to me, but I followed orders anyway. Somewhere near a 9-minute pace was my target, too. And if he could keep it consistently, I’d benefit by “drafting” him and the runner he was pacing.</span></p><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2RrJXLVAEV8/TqbKBeL_GzI/AAAAAAAAAVI/NHEm5QTxAEc/s320/INGHartArch.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667439307724364594" /> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">After about two miles of my staying just off his shoulder, he turned and spoke to me. Turns out, he is a running coach, and the runner he was pacing was one of his proteges. She was attempting a goal similar to mine, which was a sub-4-hour finish. If there is one thing I know about my own coach, it’s that he has “cruise control”; the man can find a pace and hold it steady for miles. I assumed this coach, dressed in a NY Giants jersey (who runs in that in New England?!?), had a similar ability. He did. Every significant mile marker my coach had suggested I attend to revealed that I was on pace to achieve the goal.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">To keep it short, I’ll mention that the 24.77 mile mark on my watch was the first time I looked to see how much farther it was rather than how I was doing on time. An inclined ramp onto a bridge enters the course about the point, and the headwinds had picked up throughout </span>the morning. But crossing the bridge and seeing crowds of people gathered around the old State House in central Hartford fueled my desire to finish strong. A couple of turns, and the inspiring finish area came into view. This race has one of the most spectacular finishes anywhere, as runners run under a memorial arch in the city’s largest park. When I crossed, I was flooded with emotion. I was laughing and then nearly crying in short, 5-10-second bursts. I could not believe I had done it. I was so happy. Pleased for me, and pleased for my coach.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Unfortunately, I lost the Giants’ jersey and his runner just before the finish. I think they probably finished 30 seconds (or so) ahead of me. However, the runner found me in the finish area. She congratulated me, and I her, and I begged her to thank her coach. They were a major part of making the day a success. (One reason I love running is because on the race course, the sense of community is incredible!)</span></p> <img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_IXrC-tTlJQ/TqbKPxji0yI/AAAAAAAAAVU/kObtIdCuttw/s200/INGHartGuzzle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667439553441616674" /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">So, what’s going on in my head now? Yesterday I ran with my coach for the first time since the race. It was good to get back to something that felt normal, and yet, it was not the same, either. I’m different. Not because I achieved the goal, which realistically puts me solidly in the “average” category of runners. It’s more about yearning for what is next. I know now that in running, I can work for and achieve a goal. It won’t happen with every attempt, but it’s <i>possible</i>.</span></p><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I’m sure some would call this “confidence.” I don’t feel that. What I feel is more a positive perspective of what the future <i>can</i> hold. I still have work to do, effort to put forth, improvement to make. And I recognize that I may never achieve all of my running goals. For some reason, that all matters less than it did before because I have experienced the possible.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">At the finish area, while I guzzled water from an orange, ING-colored water bottle and held the sheet of foil around my shoulders, my wonderful wife asked, “Was it worth it, all those early mornings?”</span></p> <img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FNV2QLq8PXY/TqbKgV2a6kI/AAAAAAAAAVg/uWuFgD_1ijU/s320/INGHartJulia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667439838062373442" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 320px; " /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">No hesitation on my part. “Yes, yes. It was so worth it.” I didn’t add “because I am different,” but I think she sensed it.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I usually make some connection to teaching and learning in these posts, and there is plenty here to consider, but I think I’ll let you, the reader, find the implications that are meaningful for you. In conclusion, it dawns on me that major achievements are rarely a solo endeavor. My coach deserves major recognition. As he says, I did the running. But, it was his head, his expertise, that got me to the start line and made the accomplishment <i>possible</i>. The coach and runner I drafted were an unexpected gift, and my thoughts of Hartford will always include “chasing” a NY Giants’ jersey. And, of course, my wife, who not only supports these crazy pursuits in every way, but even documents them with her excellent eye and camera.</span></p></div><div> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This is my best attempt at processing the experience. And as I told my coach yesterday, the whole thing still makes me smile.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Let’s chase whatever is next!</span></p></div></div>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-69650187781265589242011-09-26T13:10:00.000-07:002011-09-26T13:15:21.417-07:00Anticipation!<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I’m having difficulty concentrating this week. My head keeps drifting 75 miles south to the land of civil rights history, state government, and my “gateway drug” to distance running. In short, I am in a state of anticipation—that combination of knowing you have to wait and feeling like you can’t.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Three years ago, my favorite city in Alabama (No, I don’t know why) held its first half-marathon. Because I needed something to motivate me to run more than three miles at a time, and because the event was in my favorite Alabama city, I signed up. For this inaugural event, the route ended on Commerce Street, and I remember running past the city’s beautiful fountain (water died pink for the occasion!) and seeing the finish line. They called my name, someone put a medal around my neck, and the combination formed the lure that fostered my current love of running.</span></p> <img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ha2Eyu4DCA8/ToDc340ot9I/AAAAAAAAAUw/h9s7HiEaaIk/s320/Mntgmry2010start.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656763984681416658" /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">My head keeps driving down I-65 because that event, the Montgomery Half-marathon is this Saturday. This Saturday! And I </span>cannot wait. It will be the city’s third half, and my third time to run it.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Since that October morning three years ago, I’ve run other events. I even completed my first full marathon in January, and will run my second full two weeks after Montgomery. Yet, every time Montgomery comes around, I still anticipate the day, imagine the starting line, and tell everyone, “I get to run into the Biscuits’ stadium at the end!” (My friends up north just smile and wonder why a Hardee’s menu item would have a stadium.) This is my favorite race. Maybe because it was my first. Maybe because it launched my current obsession. Maybe because it is an interesting course. Maybe because college bands are often course distractions. (Last year, ABBA tunes with a xylophone playing the lead. What’s not to like?!?) Maybe it’s the combination of a favored place with a favored activity. Or maybe it is just because the event is well organized and run. It’s probably a combination of all that.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">What’s the point? <i>Anticipation is powerful</i>. When we have something to look forward to, it serves as a magnet, pulling on the steel of our interest, our effort, and our determination. Why do I run enough to make sure I’m in half-marathon shape come October? Because I anticipate, I am excited by, I prize the possibility of participating in this race.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">What do you anticipate? What pulls you forward, making you want to put forth the work required to be a part of something? What puts you in that I-know-it’s-not-tomorrow-but-I-wish-it-were state?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">If, like me, you are an educator, what do you give your students to anticipate? I’m not talking about connected-by-a-very-thin-and-questionable thread activities, like DVD Fridays. I’m talking about learning-related anticipation. Do your students know what they will be able to do by mastering the material you are teaching today? Research suggests that <span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px color:#2500aa;"><a href="http://blog.clerestorylearning.com/motivation-the-elusive-drive">helping students see their own progress actually fosters intrinsic motivation</a></span> for learning. To know progress, it’s helpful to anticipate something bigger at the end of it. What is pulling your students forward? What will encourage them in today’s efforts?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Elite runner Josh Cox recently wrote <span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px color:#2500aa;"><a href="http://apps.facebook.com/breakaway/article.cfm?type=kronicle&id=20&redir=0">a post about the importance of passion</a></span>. Perhaps that is my point—that we, as learning entities, need a passion and we need to pursue it. If so, Josh said it far better than I have. But the point remains, anticipation is a powerful pull.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">If you’re in Montgomery, I’ll see you Saturday. I’ll be the one so excited that he can’t stand still. Never mind—that is pretty much every runner at the start. Instead, look for the guy whose face displays a mixture of joy at what’s ahead and gratefulness for what has come before.</span></p>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-80399391749096828662011-08-01T10:25:00.000-07:002011-08-01T10:38:15.835-07:0010 (+ 3) Ways to Know You Married a Runner<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kRXurpszfOk/TjbkOCqxFeI/AAAAAAAAAUU/JoXgjA6EsMY/s1600/RunWed.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kRXurpszfOk/TjbkOCqxFeI/AAAAAAAAAUU/JoXgjA6EsMY/s320/RunWed.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635942913586304482" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I know this idea is not new. On this morning's run, I talked about how supportive my wife is of my running. That sent my mind wondering what life might be like from her perspective. So, with great gratitude to my source of unwavering support, here's my take on the classic list of ten:<br /></span><ol><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Water bottles!<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Your laundry room smells like it was invaded by an army of wet dogs wearing sweaty socks.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Vacation destinations double as race locations.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You know who Ryan, Paula, Meb, Kara, Haile, Deena, Josh (and a few others) are.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You hear the word <i>fartlek</i> without flinching.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You have witnessed the debilitating effects of chaffing.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">A $20 pair of shorts or $100 pair of sneakers seem like bargains.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You enjoy (or endure) the free time that your spouse’s long runs provide.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Though you’d never put your cell phone number on a billboard, you make sure it is prominently displayed on your spouse’s Road ID. (And you know what a Road ID is.)<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You say “Have fun!” without any hint of sarcasm to someone about to run twenty miles.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You know which running stores offers a “trade-in” discount when you donate used running shoes to charity.<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You know how unappealing your spouse can look even when he/she is wearing as little as is legally allowed. (Even Adonis and Angelina would look frightening after a 10-miler in the summer heat!)<br /><br /></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You hug him or her anyway!</span></li></ol><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br />Got more to add? Please leave ideas in the comments!</span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';font-size:78%;">Image: '<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/49503154413@N01/492679583" style="text-decoration: none; ">Florida Wedding</a>' http://www.flickr.com/photos/49503154413@N01/492679583</span></div>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-55818897283192598822011-07-21T10:48:00.000-07:002011-07-21T10:56:19.928-07:00Why Run 26.2 Miles?Believe it or not, this is only the second most popular question I get asked. The most popular? “What do you think about when running that far?” That question is a modern inquiry, I think. Our world offers us so little sustained reflection time that we no longer know how valuable such time can be or what we would do with it. Runners cherish the time and know how beneficial it can be for dealing more effectively with every other area of life. Our forefathers who were runners probably only had to deal with the question at hand: why run a marathon?<br /><br />My first marathon was all about finishing. So many times I had begun training for the distance, and so many times I had quit before paying a race registration fee. I believed I wanted to meet the challenge, but my desire for ease overcame my discipline. Was I so mentally weak that I could not dig deep enough to find the discipline to finish what I started? Oh, I had excuses, and I offered them anytime anyone asked how my training was going. Work. Travel. Alabama weather. The justifications sounded valid, as if my only course of action was to quit. In January, when I finally stood at the starting line in Phoenix with thousands of others, I realized I had already finished the hardest part: the preparation.<br /><br />When I finally crossed the actual finish line, my wife was elated. “You did it!” she said excitedly, camera in hand ready to catch a victory smile. I shook my head. “I know I can do that faster,” I grumbled. I thought the camera was about to become an assault weapon. “What? Are you kidding me? You just ran 26 miles!” I relaxed. She was right. Finishing that day was my only goal, and I had done it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lmy2rIO7SIo/TihnUSZy1gI/AAAAAAAAAUM/vmcoBanir4w/s1600/HartfordCap.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lmy2rIO7SIo/TihnUSZy1gI/AAAAAAAAAUM/vmcoBanir4w/s320/HartfordCap.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631864932261877250" /></a><br /><br />So, why, after reaching goal, do I want to run the ING Hartford Marathon? Because it is no longer about finishing. I have proven that to myself. Now it is about potential. I want to achieve the possible and know that I have pushed myself to the point of being my best.<br /><br /><br /><br />Returning from Phoenix, I thought this would be easy. I knew how to train for the distance. How hard would it be to just run it quicker? My optimism dissipated as my running fluctuated wildly within the range of mediocrity. This brought me face-to-face with a humbling reality. I needed someone to help me. I could not, on my own, figure out how to reach my potential.<br /><br />Again, my wife spoke wisdom before my ears were ready to hear her words. “Why don’t you get a coach?” Am I that pathetic—that I need someone with a clipboard and whistle to scream verbal abuse while I run mind-numbing laps around a track? (You could accurately describe my views of coaches as archaic!) But then my mind replayed snippets from my first marathon. There were coaches along the course—coaches who stepped out and ran a few paces with their runners, offering encouragement and advice. I liked what they did so much that I wanted to be one! But at this point, I needed one.<br /><br />A bit of searching brought me to information on a local running coach. I contacted him, and he responded with an application. That’s right, an application—like what you might fill out for a potential employer. Wait a minute, I thought. This seems backwards. I completed the paperwork and sent it back to him. I was so frustrated that I expected bad news. I believed he would look at my responses and say something like, “I’m not the right coach for you.” (In ending relationships, this line is “It’s me, not you.”)<br /><br />His reply could not have been more different. “I’d love to work with you,” he said. “Let’s meet after this race next Saturday. You are running it, right?” Well, I was now. Meeting my coach apparently required a 15k run. “Great! Your finishing time will give me some more data to work with.” I groaned, imagining him standing at the finish, looking at his watch, and wondering, “Where is he?”<br /><br />We met. He had finished the race several minutes before I had, but he was gracious. “That’s a respectable time for this course,” he said. “Now, let’s talk about your running and where you want to go with it.”<br /><br />Working with a coach has been good for more than my running. Yes, I am improving and even getting faster. He thinks my potential is greater than I do, which is both encouraging and challenging. He gets on my case for getting down on myself and provides a more nuanced and balanced long view. In short, he helps me focus on the finish and not the potholes in the road. He educates, strategizes, and keeps me moving forward.<br /><br />So, back to the original question: why am I excited about running in Hartford?<br /><br />Yes, I am running for me. I do not want to regret never achieving what I could in this area of growing interest. And, in some small part, I am running for my coach. I want to perform as he believes I can—not to gain his approval, but to validate his excellent work. And I am running for my wife. She always supports my pursuits, and if I finish even a minute faster this time around, she will be initiating reason.<br /><br />So bring on the New England fall colors and let’s run! Let’s discover what we CAN do because we’re told too often what we can’t. And as we run, may thoughts of gratitude for those who helped us get to the starting line bring on that beautiful tension of looking back while pressing ahead that can only running allows.<br /><br />See you at the start line!Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-39221091753014951122011-03-28T18:01:00.000-07:002011-03-28T18:06:32.547-07:00What's My Problem?Something isn't right, and the most frustrating thing is that I do not know what.<br /><br />Until two weeks ago, I was training for my second marathon. I'd been on a great path with solid long runs and several workouts designed to increase my pace. I was feeling great and seeing real progress. My wife even suggested that the training was helping me lose a pound or two. That's never a bad thing!<br /><br />Enter a sinus infection. Since we moved to Alabama many years ago, sinus infections have become a regular nuisance. I take allergy meds daily, which decreased their frequency from six or more a year to two-three a year. When I do get them now, they're almost like having the flu in terms of what they do to me physically. And they seem to wait until the end of the week to strike so they get a couple days jump on phoning or seeing a doctor to get the usual treatment started.<br /><br />Anyway, this last one carried out the usual butt-kicking for about five days. Although frustrating, I didn't expect to lose that much of my recent running gains. I've missed that many days before and bounced back with minimal loss. But this time, something is different.<br /><br />Although I feel fine otherwise, when I set out to run, I'm getting fatigued far too soon. I've tinkered with my diet, both timing and food, with no change. It is a miserable time for allergies here, but the infection cleared, and I've been able to train through the spring in years past.<br /><br />I don't think it's mental. I'm going into my workouts with my usual determination and do not sense my mind abandoning me. If anything, I want to run more than I seem able to do right now.<br /><br />I'm smart about water and sodium levels, and have tinkered with both with no difference in results.<br /><br />I'm at the end of what I know to try to overcome this funk. Today I looked realistically at the state of training and decided to abandon the planned second marathon. It will have to wait until early summer or fall. In the meantime, I'll continue trying to determine why my progress has suddenly been stopped in its tracks.<br /><br />Ever faced such frustration with a student? I know I have. Sometimes it seems like no matter what you do as a teacher, you cannot enlighten a certain student's mind. I've noticed that when I face such a challenge, my other students are often my greatest help. I can't tell you how many times another student has turned to a struggling classmate and explained something in such a way that the classmate's face lights up with the dawn of understanding. Sometimes it's what the helpful student said. Sometimes it's how the helpful student said it. Sometimes it's just a matter of timing. Nonetheless, I've seen many a student step in and accomplish what the guy with the education degrees could not.<br /><br />So, my fellow runners, I'm struggling. Any insights, suggestions, armchair diagnoses, or wisdom will be appreciated!Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-21077663782478709762011-01-17T08:48:00.000-08:002011-01-21T06:12:09.506-08:00Purple and Pink: Marathon Reflections<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TTmTgxhcKOI/AAAAAAAAAQw/N7JWQqagGyU/s1600/ReadyToRock.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TTmTgxhcKOI/AAAAAAAAAQw/N7JWQqagGyU/s200/ReadyToRock.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564641005851650274" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I can check it off my list. Yesterday I ran my first full marathon, the Rock & Roll Marathon in Phoenix, AZ. It didn’t unfold exactly as I had imagined it, but it was still an incredible experience. The last sign I saw before the finish line read, “You are no longer just a runner. You are now a marathoner!” I’m not sure I feel like a marathoner, but it’s a cool thought.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Two some-what related incidents from the marathon made a lasting impression on me.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The first involved a number of participants running the race in purple tops. These runners participate in the The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s “Team in Training” program and use their training and marathon run to help raise money for continued research on these devastating diseases. That alone is impressive—the physical training they endure for a cause that benefits others.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">But it was the coaches in this program who really made an impression. They were an almost constant sight along the route, and they’d eagerly abandon the role of spectator each time one of their runners appeared. They’d run alongside their runners, inquiring about everything—how the runner was feeling, what the runner was thinking—and then offer an appropriate encouragement and word of advice for that point in the run. They were easily as excited by their runners’ accomplishments as the runners themselves. They worked to equip and empower individuals who ran to equip and empower others in much more significant struggles. These runners and coaches formed a community within the morning’s larger community of runners.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The second incident was both personal and fleeting. Somewhere around the 22-mile mark I hit a low point. I ran a strong first fifteen, and then I started to feel the presence of the proverbial wall—that point where a runner feels like he’s running the that day’s last steps. At seventeen, a pace group passed me. This was a bit defeating, but when a second pace group passed me at the 22-mile mark, I was really feeling defeated. (I know—it was my first marathon and finishing should have been my focus and source of contentment. It is, honestly!) I slowed to a walk and hung my head in frustration. About ten seconds into my self-pity party, a woman ran by me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said, “You can do this.” I thanked her as she ran by. I never saw her face. I only know she wore pink and spoke to me on her way by. (If angels run marathons, this on</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">e had her halo concealed.) I wanted her to be right, and that helped me find the motivation and strength to finish.</span></p><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TTmTtlDJseI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/J5-Z1lN5-bE/s200/AlmostFinished.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564641225841684962" /> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Distance running is largely an individual sport that generates an often-gracious running</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">community. I find the dichotomy intriguing. The goodwill and genuine hope for someone else’s success is unlike any sport-related experience I’ve had. It enables me to converse with people 180° different from myself and to feel immediately like I know something about my fellow runner—more of an understanding than I sense when I meet someone from my profession or organizational affiliations. I’ll leave it to the social scientists to assess the validity of this sense, but evidence of its existence was on full display at yesterday’s marathon.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And I, thankfully, benefitted from it.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Lady runner in pink, whoever and where ever you are, thank you! The power of a pat on the back and an encouraging word should never be underestimated. I think the runners in purple would agree.</span></p>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-4810706728483066762010-12-29T13:01:00.000-08:002010-12-29T13:06:16.091-08:00Hamster Wheels and Sustaining Excellence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TRuiRQkzE-I/AAAAAAAAAQA/QTRpbSKILoI/s1600/3171917389_c96c5970de_m.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 117px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TRuiRQkzE-I/AAAAAAAAAQA/QTRpbSKILoI/s200/3171917389_c96c5970de_m.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556212982682424290" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Training is different from running. Before I became enamored with the world of organized distance races, I ran as long as I wanted at a pace I wanted and skipped it all on days when something else promised more enjoyment.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">Some days I’m tempted to revert to that semi-lackadaisical approach. Specifically, on days when my training schedule says “Tempo Run, X miles.”</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">I hate tempo runs.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">If you’re not up on your running terminology, a tempo run is a run in which the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">basic</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> idea is to reach and sustain a quick pace. For example, last week I did a 7-mile run at a 6.8 mph pace. That’s quicker than my average long-run pace, but not so fast that I can’t sustain it for the required distance.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">To increase my misery, I do most of my tempo runs on that contraption based on the hamster wheel concept—a treadmill. It’s easier to maintain a steady pace (the treadmill doesn’t slow down on its own) and it’s proving to be a cold winter, even in Alabama. But for some reason, I have to concentrate more when running like a hamster than I do when I run outdoors.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">However, the treadmill does serve its purpose; it forces me to maintain a quick pace for the duration. So, while I view it as a loathsome taskmaster, its belt spins for my benefit. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">Lately, I noticed improvement in how my long runs feel. Don’t get me wrong; they’re still L…O…N…G. But at some point in every recent outdoor run I’ve noticed that I’m running quicker, stronger, and with greater ease than I have in the past. My tempo runs equip me to sustain excellence for longer periods of time, even when endurance is my focus.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">On yesterday’s lengthy run, I got thinking about this—about how enduring the long runs is easier than sustaining a quick pace. That led me to think about excellence and how sustaining excellence (keeping a good pace) is often more challenging than merely enduring to the end.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">In both my experience as a student and my career in education, I’ve known teachers who were enduring (“Just </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">have</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> to do this for three more years and then I can retire!”) but not pursuing excellence. The treadmill’s belt outpaced them somewhere in the past and tempo runs gave way to sliding by and biding time. And, yes, I’ve occasionally been such a teacher (“Only 6 more days until Christmas break!”). When we succumb to merely enduring, our classrooms often deteriorate to boring routines and frequent viewing of videos with tenuous connections to anything we actually teach. We need the occasional “tempo run” to ignite our own growth and effectiveness.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">As I counted down the final miles of yesterday’s run, I began to ponder what the “tempo runs” were in other areas of my life. What, for example, do I do to increase and sustain my effectiveness as a teacher? as a writer? as a husband?</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';">What are the “tempo runs” in your major areas of life?</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande';"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Image: '</span></span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27786290@N05/3171917389"><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">New Year's Resolution: 36/365</span></span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">' </span></span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/27786290@N05/3171917389"><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">http://www.flickr.com/photos/27786290@N05/3171917389</span></span></span></span></a></p>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-45188451558609397082010-10-04T07:33:00.000-07:002010-10-04T08:01:22.482-07:00Miles, a Mayor, and Even Banana Pudding<span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >“I’d love to come in at or under an hour, 45 minutes, but I don’t think I can,” I told my wife. She, being the ever-believing optimist, said, “You can do it!”</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >I think I snickered as I struggled with the laces of my running shoes. However, I had voiced the thought, and now it was camping out in that mental woodland we try to avoid. Every time it tried stepping out into the light of a cranial meadow, I shoved it back into the forest’s dark shade.</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> The time seemed out of reach based on my past half-marathons.</span> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnr7KnBiWI/AAAAAAAAAOc/5u5KwmDzKUk/s1600/CRW_1871_2.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnr7KnBiWI/AAAAAAAAAOc/5u5KwmDzKUk/s200/CRW_1871_2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524205819639466338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br />Ah, but I love Montgomery. I really do. I may complain about the</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" > heat and politics of</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" > </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >“sweet </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >home,” but I love Alabama’s capital city. Montgomery is truly a <span style="font-style: italic;">place</span>—a location that occupies more than its geographical boundaries. From the way it has embraced all aspects of its history to the Renaissance-like renewal of its downtown and Riverwalk regions, the city surprises you. It feels like a place that is successfully bridging its past, </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >present, and future. In fact, you can literally see this in how recent additions to the city, such as Riverwalk Stadium, actually emerge from historic and preserved buildings. In this city, restoration and progress are partners, not rivals.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />All that, and a few personal favorites are found here, too: restaurant (Saza), theatre</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" > (Alabama Shakespeare Festival), hotel (Renaissance). Maybe my feelings about the city come out in my running; I seem to run well in this land of a Confederate White House, Rosa Parks, and a state constitution that is longer and more complex than an ultra-marathon.</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >I first ran in Montgomery’s series of parks found on its east side. The paths in Blount Cultural Park called my name until I answered, discovering other nearby parks in the process. Then, in 2009, I ran my first (and Montgomery’s first) half-marathon. I remember being so happy to have completed the distance that I allowed myself to eat anything I craved the rest of the day.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnrToM61cI/AAAAAAAAAOU/4Tx0Qt2OVEw/s1600/Mntgmry2010start.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnrToM61cI/AAAAAAAAAOU/4Tx0Qt2OVEw/s200/Mntgmry2010start.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524205140388271554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >T</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >his year, as I joined more than a thousand others at the starting line, that 1:45 idea stood at the edge of the forest, plainly in sight but knowing the light of day was off limits. After a moving introduction of true heroes—soldiers representing Hope for the Warriors—and comments from an enthusiastic mayor (he’ll return later), we were off.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />“Pace, Kevin, pace!” my mind shouted. I still get excited at the start of a race. Even </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >though I’m paranoid about starting out too fast and not finishing, I get caught up in the excitement. Running is often an individual and introspective sport. Racing, however, can be incredibly social. You immediately share something in common with everyone around you, and the interaction is often laden with laughter. I don’t talk much, but I listen. That, combined with the fact that everyone around you is running, can make you feel like a thoroughbred just released from the starting gate.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />I’ll spare you the mile-by-mile details, but Montgomery does a great job of hosting this event. Everything from jumprope troupes, college bands (loved the Abba tunes, Huntingdon!), and random residents handing out oranges and even cold beer make this course a blast. But the organizers here do something else that I love. Every mile marker has a running clock, making it easy to determine your pace at every stage. I’ve run in bigger events, but Montgomery is the only place I’ve seen this.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />As I approached the first mile marker and saw my pace, the thought I’d voiced stepped clearly out of my neuronal woodland and into the sunlight. “I wonder if I can run a 1:45 half.” Like the “Little Engine That Could,” my wondering became a mantra, and it grew louder at every mile marker.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /></span><a style="font-family: lucida grande;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnoQHB3YYI/AAAAAAAAAOE/j0xqpK_8h4U/s1600/Mntgmry2010+72.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 251px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnoQHB3YYI/AAAAAAAAAOE/j0xqpK_8h4U/s320/Mntgmry2010+72.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524201781409046914" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >At the nine-mile mark, my wondering stubbornly hung around, even though I’d need</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" > </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >to complete four miles in about 31 minutes. Unlikely, but not impossible. “I wonder…” my mind shouted. At the 12-mile mark, I knew the answer. No, not today. The final mile would need to be about a 6-minute event, a pace that I occasionally reach in my dreams. However, a personal record was possible.</span> <span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >My wife awaited my arrival in Riverwalk Stadium. She took pictures of other runners </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >while she kept an eye on the clock. When it ticked past 1:46, she groaned. But then, #109 showed up in her camera lens. I ran down the ramp into the outfield of the Montgomery Biscuits’ home field and crossed the line at 1:46:22.</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />If you don’t run, you may not appreciate this, but I had cut more than five minutes off my half-marathon time of <a href="http://tyingthelaces.blogspot.com/2010/09/13-miles-in-my-own-running-shoes.html">three weeks ago</a>. So, even though I was tired, I triumphantly high-fived the mayor, who greeted all the runners at the finish line. (Way to go, Mayor Strange!) As if to celebrate my accomplishment with me, Dreamland, a legendary Alabama barbecue restaurant, handed us heaping free samples of its banana pudding as we walked back to the hotel. On the elevator, another runner and I smiled, shook hands, and congratulated each other on the race, a perfect conclusion to the morning.</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: lucida grande;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnouD0-4MI/AAAAAAAAAOM/Tl616V-caLg/s1600/Mntgmry2010+smile72.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TKnouD0-4MI/AAAAAAAAAOM/Tl616V-caLg/s200/Mntgmry2010+smile72.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524202295945781442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" >I still wonder if I can run a 1:45 half-marathon, and I’ll keep wondering until it hopefully happens. And with how things seem to go, it may happen in Montgomery…unless those murmurings about a full marathon there next year grow into reality. Hmm, I wonder if I can run a sub-four-hour marathon…</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />In conclusion, to the city of Montgomery, AL, THANK YOU! For the second year in a row, you have put on a first class event. The organization is phenomenal, the volunteers and police officers are the best, and the community is one of the most supportive out there. To everyone who yelled encouragement, handed out water, beat a drum, suggested I “use my arms” to get up and over I-85, or provided commentary on runners’ fashion sense (or lack of it), you truly make this one of the most enjoyable events in the country.</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br />My vote: go for it! The “Montgomery Marathon” sure has a great ring to it!</span>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-30535793539788129432010-09-12T11:48:00.000-07:002010-09-12T11:55:36.872-07:0013 Miles in My Own Running Shoes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TI0hipGFMpI/AAAAAAAAAN0/vOvtsPf4o7k/s1600/3414064391_b18b99d7b5_m.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 130px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/TI0hipGFMpI/AAAAAAAAAN0/vOvtsPf4o7k/s320/3414064391_b18b99d7b5_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516101997629354642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was not the race I wanted. That event began fifteen minutes earlier, and I watched with a mix of envy and disappointment as its runners passed the starting line. Now, as the loud speaker blared, “Runners, on your mark,” I had the sinking feeling that even my second choice race may end in defeat.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Setbacks provide a painful reminder of our frailty. They discourage us because they prevent us from achieving our goals on our timetable. And surrendering, accepting the setback as fatal, can embitter us and even cause us to quit. These are the choices I have wrestled with lately.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />I signed up for my first full marathon back in the spring. I gave myself plenty of time to train, dedicated myself to a tested training program, and enjoyed the highs of new distance records. Then a confluence of events and their ramifications caused a setback in the last six weeks of training—too little time to regain what had been lost, but too much time to think about what might have been.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />So, this morning, I <span style="font-style: italic;">watched</span> the full marathon runners rather than <span style="font-style: italic;">being</span> one of them. While that was disappointing, I started my day and my half-marathon run anticipating defeat.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Note to self: salad bars may seem like a healthy eating option, but the perception only holds true if no food-borne illnesses lurk among the leafy greens and vibrant toppings. This note to self is brought to you by my lunch a day before the race. And it explains why I woke up sick to my stomach. This is not the way you hope to feel on the morning of a long run (or any morning, for that matter!). As I considered the hand I had been dealt, the temptation to fold grew.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The beginning of the race was awesome. The event was so well organized and the woman handling the PA system had the right mix of information, enthusiasm, and humor. (Thanks, Rochester, NY!) My first mile flew by, and that feeling of freedom and confidence remained until the third mile. At that point, the route began about a two-mile incline—not a hill, exactly, but a subtle incline. By the fourth mile, I was seriously considering stopping and asking the next police officer to call my wife.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />As I argued with myself, some commotion ahead fought for my attention. A man with a bullhorn was calling out the time and pace at the five-mile mark. I decided to see where I was at that point, expecting to be so far behind my normal pace that quitting would seem logical. But, to my amazement, I was slightly ahead of my normal pace. How then, I thought, could I quit? Yes, my stomach was empty, but my hunger turned its focus on the finish line.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Long story short, I finished the 13.1 miles. I did not have the energy to sprint to the finish line, and hearing my name over loud speakers never sounded so good. Still, I ran the race that the day (and the days preceding it) had set before me.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Setbacks suck (pardon my language!), but for us mere mortals who run, the challenges we overcome are often individual. Yes, we run in a competition surrounded by other runners and even an occasional well-wisher, but we overcome our own limitations of time, of fitness, and of emotional roadblocks.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />My first marathon is still out there. Yes, I’m disappointed that I did not meet it today, but I’m satisfied to have overcome the physical and emotional challenges that tried to sideline me. 26.2, your time is coming. Setbacks do not force forfeit; they merely change the arena of victory.<span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br />Image: 'Running Shoes' http://www.flickr.com/photos/36531501@N00/3414064391</span><br /></span>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8627396324080230437.post-4001149428528407602010-08-25T11:00:00.000-07:002010-08-25T11:06:20.212-07:00Shoelaces, Connections, and Running<span style="font-family:lucida grande;">First, the title.</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">I’m a runner. Running is supposedly an “easy” sport. You put on sneakers (aka. “running shoes”) and do what you’ve been doing ever since you mastered walking. Sure, you can make more of it—and when you truly train for something, you do—but at its essence, it supposed to stay simple.</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">However, the step between deciding to run and actually running, tying my laces, creates a challenge for me. If I don’t get the tension just right, running just feels wrong. Tied too tightly my laces restrict blood flow to and from my feet. Tied too loosely my laces allow my foot to flop like a single sock in a clothes dryer. Only when the connections are correct can my run feel anything close to comfortable.</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br />That idea, <span style="font-style: italic;">connections</span>, has always intrigued me. As a result, connections often consume my thinking when I’m logging miles. </span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/THVbO0tGu9I/AAAAAAAAANU/MVTgWLLLMAA/s1600/KW+Half+Marathon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aG0_RPH5wZ8/THVbO0tGu9I/AAAAAAAAANU/MVTgWLLLMAA/s320/KW+Half+Marathon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509410029381794770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">That’s what this blog will be about: running, thoughts I have while doing it, and anything else that seems connected, no matter how remotely, to it. Postings here will be mentally drafted during my runs, and, as time allows, crafted to communicate to any interested readers.</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br />Don’t expect deep insights (though I’ll try) or just another runner logging his mileage and weather conditions. Most posts will fall somewhere between the profound and mundane—at least that’s the goal. You can let me know via comments how close I come to either end of the spectrum.</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br />[And if you are a runner who wants to know my mileage and other mundane details, find me at dailymile.com (kdwashburn) or at nikeplus.com (kdwashburn). Those are the my sites of the mundane.]</span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br />Until next time, may your laces allow you to keep moving forward.</span>Kevin D. Washburn, Ed.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11598209275450969359noreply@blogger.com3