They say the difference between a dream and a goal is a plan. The appropriate edit should be “the difference between a dream and a goal is an executable plan.” Twelve months ago, the goal was set. The plan was in place. The next step was to execute the plan. Along the way, I learned a lot about running, a lot about myself, and I finished the Chicago marathon before they started sweeping the streets.

Since sixth grade the goal was to run a marathon. Being naïve and invincible, it wasn’t a matter of if but when.  Plans were put into place, but there wasn’t a sense of urgency and sixth graders are easily distracted. So are seventh graders. And forty-year olds. It was more of a dream.

I was in southern New Hampshire in sixth grade which happened in the early 80s. The very early ‘80s. Almost the 70s. Southern New Hampshire is a Boston suburb, and everything Boston-related was magnetic to sixth grade boys. The Red Sox. The Bruins. Larry Bird and the Celtics. Hating the Lakers. Hating the Yankees. And Bill Rogers and the Boston Marathon. Nike, New Balance and the running craze were taking hold. I knew I wanted to run the Boston Marathon and conquer Heartbreak Hill. So I started running. I worked up to 6 miles, then made a jump to 9 miles. That 3 mile jump, combined with walking around school in super heavy, steel-toed hiking boots gave me incredibly painful shin splints. I quit running.  I played sports that required running to train, and I was always among the fastest on my team in distance runs, but I didn’t stick with running for the sake of running.

The dream of running a marathon remained buried somewhere in my mind. Jealousy struck in college when I heard of a rugby teammate who ran a marathon. The dude was in worse shape than I was, evidence by his large beer gut (but countered by his very large, tree-trunk shaped legs which also made him deceptively fast on the field). Later in law school the same thing happened when I learned of other friends training for and completing marathons. Truth was, those friends WERE in better shape. I worked hard. At work. Physically, I was soft.

Finally after law school I dusted off my dream, put a plan around it, and trained for a marathon. Four times. Four times the plan was devised. Four times something jumped in front of the plan. Three times it was an injury, the result of competing with a younger version of the older runner. What would make it different this time?

The difference was a strong commitment to finish. To finally do this. 2013 presented significant professional and financial challenges and a minor physical challenge with an annoying calf and Achilles problem. But the goal of running the marathon remained.

You know what they say . . . the fifth time’s the charm!

At forty-six years old on October 13, 2013, I completed my first marathon in Chicago with my brother and in honor of my wife, a breast cancer survivor and MS fighter (raising over $1,500 for Susan G. Komen along the way). My youngest son and my parents joined me in Chicago to cheer us on. My daughter was sick, so she and my wife cheered via text message and phone calls.

It was an incredible experience on a beautiful sunny day in Chicago. My brother Chris is ten years younger and has been running triathlons for the last few years. He had a far stronger foundation heading into race day, and the ability to run FAR faster. He wanted to hurry up and be done with it. I made sure he took his time and enjoyed the scenery on his first tour though the city of Chicago.

As recently as the week before the race I had problems with my calf and Achilles, so I should’ve been happy to have finished. And I was. I was also disappointed and somewhat embarrassed by my time. Those leg issues kept me off the road for much of the month of August (when my posts on this site ceased), so the fact I finished was definitely an accomplishment. While people said they were impressed, I wasn’t impressed with the results.

So here we are at the end of the year. I’ve spent my time since the marathon working on my next “before” photo, eating unhealthy foods combined with almost no physical activity. And now it’s time to look ahead at 2014.

Yes, I ran a marathon. Yes, I am proud I accomplished that feat. But that really wasn’t the dream back in 6th grade. Maybe that’s why I feel unfulfilled. The dream was to run the Boston Marathon. Hmm . . . To run Boston means I need to qualify. To qualify as an old man in his forty-sixth year, that means I need to run 26.2 miles in less than 3 hours and 25 minutes. That’s less than 7 minutes 49 seconds a mile.

Bring it!

Hank and I went for an hour long walk last night. It was warm, and he enjoyed it more than I did. Our lives are similar lately. His is all about the walk. Mine seems to be all about the run. When you ask him if he wants to go for a walk, he wags his tail, his heart races, he gets short of breath, and bounces up and down with wide eyes as if to say, "Dude . . . I cannot . . . control this . . . You said . . .  WALK . . . and . . . THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS!!!" Lately I feel the same way about running. Florida summers are too hot and I run too far to take him on runs, but walks are perfect.
 
We went again this morning for an hour. It's supposed to be a "day off" on the program, but I'm determined to work out this Achilles thing. The alarm sang at 4am, and I hit snooze. My eyes opened at 4:30, realizing the alarm wouldn't be reminding me again that it's time to awaken. I kissed my wife, forced my feet onto the floor and hobbled down the stairs. My first several steps in the morning are with stiff ankles, since both Achilles are incredibly tight out of bed. I again wondered if I'll run this thing in October pain free, accepting I probably won't.

I did a pre-run yoga routine (thanks to YouTube) and pulled things together before walking upstairs to get Hank. Laying peacefully on the bed, I whispered in his ear, "Want to go for a walk?" and BAM! he went from zero to four legs in half a millisecond. Hank's excitement elicited a giggle from my semi-sleeping wife. I kissed her again on the forehead, then Hank and I were out the door.

It was an uneventful walk. I sped to a jog a few times to test the legs (although I'm not sure using a form of the word "speed" is appropriate to describe what I did this morning). They were tight - as expected. The left shin and the right Achilles were stressed and sore. When I extended my stride the pain in the right Achilles sharpened so I kept strides short. While walking I lengthened my stride to stretch the calves. It provided small relief, but tightness remained. Near the end, I tried something new. A half mile from home, I started lifting my knees up high. Stretching between runs has focused on calves, hips, hamstrings, and groin - but very little on the quads. Amazingly, loosening my hips and quads with the high knees somehow caused the pain and tightness in my right calf / Achilles to disappear. It was a fragile peace, but it was peace. I tried skipping with a high knee, but the extension of the "launch" leg caused sharp pain to return - so I stuck with just raising knees high.

On Saturday when I returned from my 13.1 mile experience on the West Orange Trail, my wife tried to cheer me up by telling me how far I've come, and how much I'm learning about my body. She's amazing. Aside from all she's fought and won, and her incredible looks, she's also incredibly sweet and very smart. That's not sucking up to one of my only readers. These are things I tell her every day. In this case, she's right about how much I've learned about how my body responds. Brett Klika first showed me how the muscles of the lower body are all intertwined with the tennis ball trigger point pressure on the bottom of the foot, calves and butt. But I never thought of a connection between the quadriceps / hips and the calves. Checking the Internet, I'm not finding anything linking the quads and the calves, but I know what I experienced this morning. The lesson this morning is the ENTIRE lower body needs to be kept loose because it's all linked together.

This week will continue with an aggressively conservative approach. That means something new every day throughout the day, but keeping off the road until this Achilles / calf issue is solved. I draw strength from a memory of my mom's friend in Alaska who ran the New York City Marathon after training exclusively on a Stairmaster in the early '90's. I remember meeting her at the gym while visiting my mom and stepfather in Anchorage soon after Christmas just after finishing college. The next time I saw her was from a distance the following November as she ran by the spot where my roommate and I were stationed on First Avenue watching the marathon a half block from our apartment on the Upper East Side. This week, I'll adjust the time spent on my Stairmaster routine to assume 10 minutes per mile for the distance I should be running instead of relying on the Stairmaster to determine the distance. That means rather than run three miles tomorrow on the Stairmaster, I'll run thirty minutes. Stretching will be a constant presence in the day, along with some strength training at the gym and while I'm in my office.

I'll continue getting comfortable being uncomfortable. And the pain I feel over the next couple months will NOT be from quitting. It'll be from fighting through this to get to the end.

Today was a long run, longer than I've ever run. Twelve miles. The West Orange Trail has been the path of choice over the past few weeks for the longer runs. It begins on the border of Orange County and Lake County, and runs east into Orange. It's nice and Florida flat with old time Florida towns, and water fountains along the way. I arrived at 7am, and went the opposite way for a little variety. HOLY HILLS!! Who the hell imported those things? Florida is the largest sandbar in the United States, and is supposed to be FFFFFLLLLLLAAAAAATTTTTT! 

The Lake County trail leads west to Claremont, which is farther than I'll need to run in training. That is if I ever run that direction again. The trail itself - both the Orange County and Lake County versions - is a former railroad. Lake County didn't have any of the amenities on the Orange side. No water fountains. No bathrooms. Just pavement, hills, and spiders the size of your hands lining the trail in their webs. And cattle. Did I mention the hills? I was very thankful I brought my water belt with four of the six bottles filled with water. It added about five pounds, but water in the Florida summer sun is not optional. Did I mention the hills?

Growing up, I spent summers in Iowa. My grandparents lived about a half hour west of Des Moines on 1,800 acres where my grandfather raised cattle (he was a lawyer during the day, and a cowboy at night and on the weekends). I have fond memories of sitting proudly next to my grandfather on the bench seat in his pickup, dust from the gravel road trailing us like a tornado on its side. Whenever someone approached us heading the opposite direction, my grandfather would lift two fingers off the steering wheel. The other driver always responded, lifting two fingers off the steering wheel. Cowboy code. In it together.

On the trail, I do the same. We're in it together. Figure it's best to acknowledge that. On the West Orange / Lake County Trails I've noticed runners acknowledge each other. Bikers, notsomuch.

Exchange Between Runners

Me: "Good morning!" lifting fingers of left hand in an acknowledging gesture.

Stranger Runner or Walker: "Mornin'," lifting fingers of left hand, returning the gesture.

Exchange Between Runner and Biker

Me: "Good morning!" lifting fingers of left hand in an acknowledging gesture.

Stranger Biker: " . . . . . . . . . " eyes focused on road ahead, whistling by.

Me: "I'm doing ok, thanks for asking."

Of course, this is a general observation. I have many friends and family who are bikers, and they're wonderful, friendly and inspiring people, with interesting and engaging personalities. But the bikers on the West Orange and Lake County Trails are not that. They ride along with their helmets, sunglasses, tight outfits and water bottles with their wheels, alternating pedaling with coasting, and completely self-absorbed. I assumed all of us out there on the trail together were in it together. Apparently not and that's fine. It is what it is. This ain't Iowa. 

Around the 11th mile, there was an exception to my general observation. I approached a biker sitting on a bench in the shade, eating a bar. Two bikers passed me from behind, and one turned around and said, "Man, you still runnin'? When you get to the ocean, you'll have to stop." I responded, "Either that, or take up swimming." The biker sitting down chimed in, "That'll get you in shape." We ARE in it together. Some just choose to acknowledge it while others choose to ignore it.

That's pretty much true in many areas of life, isn't it?

This is a big week in the program. The mid-week long run jumps to six miles and the weekend long run hits twelve miles. The calf experience has been humbling, and this week is spent at the gym instead of on the trail. The initial plan was to show up at the gym twice a day on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday – but work schedules interfere with that level of aggression.

The highlight of last night was yoga class. Following that experience, the calves were very, very loose, even though there wasn’t a focus on the calves. There were positions where calves were hit more than others, but nothing targeting that part of the leg. That says yoga is more important as the second element of this week than even more aerobic work. There was a yoga class this morning. Unfortunately, concrete found its way to my ass and made it so heavy I couldn’t get it out of the bed. Instead, there’s a class at 5:30pm tonight, which will be followed by six miles on the Stairmaster.

Commitment, discipline and sacrifice. All part of training for the marathon. This part of the program is where that all comes into play. I’ve been listening to Eric Thomas lately, using his videos in my Achieve Your Dream! goal setting program for disadvantaged kids in Orlando. In one video, ET says, “Sacrifice is being willing at any time to give up who you are for who you want to be.” That means setting priorities. The other night I did some mental gymnastics while lying in bed, unable to sleep. Training for the marathon takes time away from my family. My wife. My kids. And there’s nothing more important in life than family. It takes time to train. It takes time to recover. It takes time to plan. It takes time away from my family. What do THEY get out of it?

They get a husband and father who is in better shape and, as a result, able to bring more focused energy to the time he spends with them. They also get a husband and father who lives by example, setting goals and doing what it takes to achieve those goals. And they also get a husband and father who takes the run and uses it for a deeper purpose with the Susan G. Komen Foundation. Hopefully all that gives them some satisfaction, and can serve as an influence in their lives as they pursue their dreams.

Running before they awaken minimizes the time my training interferes with my time with them. And I hope they look at what I’m doing, knowing it gives me incredible satisfaction ONLY if this serves as a positive example to them about what commitment, discipline and sacrifice can get them.

Onward.