Dean's Blog
Dean Karnazes, mega-endurance athlete and bestselling author, blogs about ultra running, life, and the human spirit. Not necessarily in that order.
“The problem with the younger generation is that I’m no longer part of it,” Mark Twain once waxed famously. Man, can I relate.
Just when I thought I was catching up, they go out and invent an entirely new language. My kids speak it fluently, so do all their friends. Some of my techie buddies are quite proficient, but I’m conversational at best.
Here’s how it works: All dialog must be limited to 140 characters—the maximum length of a “Tweet”—and shorter is universally better. Any phrase that can be abbreviated, should be.
It’s quite demanding, so who can blame me for occasional mispronunciations? IAE. My kids remind me that it’s supposed be to IAT (I am tired), but I am exhausted. 4COL (For crying out loud), CMSS (Cut me some slack). ^5 to that, right? (High five).
This whole thing got me thinking about some abbreviations we runners might find handy. Here are some of my favorites:
BMP (Bring me pizza)
BMP STAT (Bring my pizza, immediately)
BBT (Bonking big time)
D@M25 (Died at mile 25)
NBG (Need Body Glide)
NBG STAT (okay, you got this one)
And one of my cheeriest, YCDI! (You can do it!).
I ran these new shorthand abbreviations by my kids—the true acid test if anything’s going to fly these days—and I got back a big UG2BK (You got to be kidding) from my son, and a “Dad, DEGT” from my daughter (Don’t even go there).
So I need your help developing some stronger ones. Working together, collectively I’m sure we can come up with a new dialect unique to us runners. Share with us your top 3 running shorthand vernaculars. Post your 3 best in the comments field below for all of us to see and use. Please, GC (Get creative). If I know all of you, I’m sure we’ll get lots of ROFL responses (Rolling on floor laughing).
As for me, I’ll leave you with a final abbreviation I always post on my office door when this 140-character world starts to get overwhelming: OFAR… (Out for a run…)
Every so often a book comes out that is so luminous, so transformational, so impossibly irreverent, it makes you want to break out in unrestrained laughter. The Runner's Rule Book, by Mark Remy, is one such work.
Chock-full of haughty truism, with such notable chapter headings as: “Before a Race or Long Run, Strong Coffee is Your Best Friend” and “Having a Million Things To Do is an Excuse For Running, Not an Argument Against It,” the book also freely dispenses invaluable counsel: “Look Before You Expel” and “Once a Week, Run Naked.” Though probably my favorite (just slightly ahead of the running naked suggestion), “Be Careful Where and Whom You Ask For Lube.” Hallelujah to the author for that pearl of wisdom!
The Runner’s Rule Book also provides instruction on becoming a true, authentic to the core, runner. Noteworthy lessons include: “Training Plans Must Go on the Fridge,” “Before You Remove New Running Shoes from the Box, You Must First Smell Them,” along with, “Do Whatever it Takes to Finish Ahead of a Costumed Runner.” I would expand this latter chapter to also include anyone kicking a ball or anyone juggling anything.
What I love about this book is that it doesn’t stop at the necessary steps to follow in training and preparation if you want to be known as a bona fide runner, it further dispenses vital insights into racing and competing at your best. For instance: “If You See a Porta Potty With No Line, Use It. Even if You Don’t Need To.”
Then there are also some broader axioms that apply to both running and to life in general: “A Route is a Route When it Becomes a Route,” which kinda reminds me of my college roommate’s breakthrough revelation one night, “Wherever you go, there you are.” (Shows you what bad Tequila can do to the brain.)
I could continue expounding on the virtues of this important manuscript, but I think the opening chapter, RULE 1.1, best sums up the spirit of this illustrious work. RULE 1.1 describes, in painstaking detail, how best to transform yourself into a lifelong runner; it boldly reads: “Have Fun.”
Now those are two words every dedicated runner should live by.
The Runner’s Rule Book is available at finer bookstores, and scruffy backstreet running stores, across the county. Pick up your copy today!
I’ve heard it said that a buck doesn’t buy you much these days, but I beg to differ. On the contrary, I’ve found a single dollar can be priceless. Allow me to explain.
Let me first preface this by openly admitting that I’m getting weirder as I get older. (Who isn’t?) The things that meant the most to me a decade ago are no longer held in such prominence today. At the risk of coming off as a complete loon, let me explain a practice I’ve recently adapted.
Maybe it’s the dreadful economy, or maybe it’s my changing life priorities, but whatever the impetus, I’ve decided that one of the most cherished gifts I can offer the world is to try to bring a smile to someone’s face every day.
Of course, that isn’t always as easy as it sounds, especially when you spend hours upon hours training and conditioning by yourself. But now I’ve found a unique way to combine the two. Here’s the lowdown.
I’ve been stuffing a handful of single dollar bills in my hydration pack when I run. If I see a parked car that looks lonely, I place one of those greenbacks under the windshield wiper. There’s nothing scientific about it; I just choose a random car and stick a buck under the front blade. I like to think that whoever enters the car and finds that dollar bill neatly tucked against the windshield will be filled with a moment of joy.
The scenario I play in my mind is some young child whose parents have been hit hard by the recession discovering the dollar bill and saying, “Look, Mommy, even though the Tooth Fairy couldn’t leave any money under my pillow, she’s left it on our car instead,” and then the child smiles to reveal a missing tooth.
Of course, I also have visions of being Tasered by some overly suspicious meter maid, so I keep my newfound habit under wraps. Still, I think the rewards outweigh the risks, so I’m going to continue the practice of adorning cars with green until I’m hit with 50,000 volts and brought to my senses.
Alright, so I’ve had the courage to blatantly admit just how strange I am. I guess there are many worse vices I could have adopted, like plucking recyclable products from the trash can and putting them in the recyclable receptacle. (OK, I’m guilty of that one as well.)
But, please, humor me by admitting that you’ve got some bizarre idiosyncrasies of your own. If any of you have the nerve to fess up, let’s hear about your irrational acts of benevolence as you’re running through life. Maybe you’re not currently practicing such insane acts, but perhaps this column has got ya thinking. Let us hear what you’ve dreamed up!
When it comes to spreading kindness and cheer, nothing is ever too small. Just look at what a buck can buy you these days.
One of our fellow readers politely suggested that it was time for me to update this blog. I’m sure many of you have been thinking the same thing (I know I sure have!). No excuses. I’ve been doing a bit of traveling lately and have let things slip.
The suggestion prompted me to think about where I’ve been and what I’ve experienced during the past month or so. Also, it got me thinking about any insights I might have gleaned over this period. At the risk of this posting being somewhat one-sided, I thought I’d share the past few weeks with you.
Let’s start with the Canadian Death Race in Alberta, Canada. Great place, great people, killer run (as the name suggests). Best described as 125 kilometers of relentless beauty. The Canadian runners are a hardy set, however. They somehow maintain a fun-loving spirit in the face of any challenge. As one runner said to me along the course, “I’ve got one speed left, and it’s just a moose-hair beyond stationary.”
Next it was off to the Trans Rockies Run in the Colorado Rockies where the climbs and descents were similar to the Canadian Rockies, just higher in the sky (read, limited oxygen). The runners at the Trans Rockies Run shared a camaraderie and grit that eloquently struck a balance between competitive fervor and solidarity. When you race head-to-head with someone for six-days, you realize that pain, suffering and struggle can untie people in a beautiful way, regardless of your athletic abilities or desire to win.
Setbacks can equally bring people together, as I’ve learned. I took a tumble along a steep section of trail and ended up cracking three ribs. I’ve always been able to say to people that I’ve never suffered an injury, running related or otherwise. Time to swallow my pride, gulp, and eat those words. What I learned from an informal polling graciously compiled by our marathoning mama, Vickie, is that roughly twenty percent of you have also broken ribs. Your willingness to share information and recommendations has been absolutely tremendous.
Next it was off to Hawaii for the inaugural Kauai Marathon. Whether I could run the marathon or not was yet to be determined. The frustrating thing about broken ribs is that your legs feel fresh, but every time you breathe you are quickly reminded that things are not as they seem. The Kauai Marathon brought out the “aloha spirit” in every runner, young and old, elite and recreational. I had the pleasure of meeting many of the athletes at the event, including the Kauai Marathon Group who had made a special logo for the marathon. I think the only ones who loved it more than me were my kids!
With the mindset of, “first off, do no harm” I started the Kauai Marathon slowly. My intention was to see how things went. If the rib pain was too much, or if I felt like I was doing additional damage, I would stop, meander over to the roadside, grab a pineapple, and kick-back in the sun until someone found me. I ended up running one of the slowest, but most enjoyable, marathons ever. Running at that relaxed pace allowed me to enjoy the company of many other runners and see the excitement and inspiration in the people lining the roadsides and manning the aid stations. Running really does change lives, whether you’re the runner or the observer.
At the other end of the spectrum was my friend and new Executive Director of my foundation, Karno Kids, JT Service. JT won the marathon handily, setting a blazing pace on a very difficult and hilly course. He maintained a solid lead throughout the race and didn’t let up even though he had no one on his heels. Afterward he told me that he ran so fast because he wanted to get to the finish line before anyone else. Not for the prize, but because he knew they were serving Hawaiian beer and he didn’t want to wait in line. Aloha to that!
From Hawaii, it was off to Brazil. The North Face had planned a big event and the Brazilian edition of my second books was launching. The idea of the race was a 24-hour circuit run around São Paulo, something that had never been done before. Other runners could join me for as short or as long as they so desired. The North Face had obtained permits for up to 100 runners. More than 500 applied. It was nuts (Brazilian nuts, to be precise). The event was a huge success and everyone had a fantastic time running around the largest city in South America for 24-hours.
The Brazilians have it right. Not only is their pizza incredible (they have a banana-cinnamon-chocolate pizza that is other-worldly!), they have an indomitable spirit for life that gets in your blood the moment you step off the plane.
My Portuguese is horrible, unfortunately, but one language I’ve seen shared across the globe is ‘Run.’ The Canadians speak Run, as do the Hawaiians, and so do the Brazilians. They say a smile is the universal language. Well, I say a smile and a run is an even deeper level of communication. Running is able to cut through language barriers, variances in culture and skin color, socioeconomic and age differences, and, most importantly, preferences in pizza toppings.
Whether you’re in Italy, Japan (yes, they have sushi pizza!), New York or Rio de Janeiro, what I’ve learned is that if you speak Run, you can get along smashingly with just about anybody.
After a whirlwind global travel expedition, that’s the message I wanted to share with you. No matter where you go or what you do, you will always be accepted if you speak Run.
Okay, it’s off to Washington, D.C. for the Endurance Challenge. Ribs still hurt, but the warmth in my heart will more than compensate for any discomfort I might experience on the long flight back to the US.
Sleeping ain’t too comfortable, either. My Gore-Tex TransRockies Run experience came to an abrupt end before the final stage. One moment I was motoring down the trail just fine, the next I was lying flat in the dirt with a rock protruding into my side.
Ouch, sure. But no worries, right? All of us runners have taken a topple before. You just get up, shake if off, and keep putting one foot in front of the other until the pain goes away.
The blow was sustained midway through a 23-mile run on Tuesday. Sleep that night was impossible. It seemed that every slight movement caused excruciating pain. But, hey, what’s a little sleep deprivation and pain? We’re ultra runners; we live for this stuff.
The 14-mile run the next day was problematic. Every deep breath was followed by a sharp bolt of pain; and when you’re running up the side of a mountain at 11,500 feet above sea level, deep breaths are somewhat essential. With the help of my teammate, Helen Cospolich (AKA: Sherpa Helen), we dragged my sorry ass to the summit using short, hyperventilated breaths.
The run down the backside of the summit was painful, yeah, but the legs still had plenty of spring, so we powered the downhill and managed to finish in a respectable time. Bad move. Sleep that night was non-existent. Nothing I could do eased the discomfort.
Thursday’s run was disastrous. Even the tight, hyperventilated breaths radiated piercing bouts of pain. It was so frustrating to not be able to breathe in deeply, but laughing about it hurt even worse. Now, the downhill sections stung just as badly, in a different sort of way. After 15 miles of climbing 4,500 feet to the 11,600-foot summit, we decided that a trip to the hospital was a more likely conclusion to this adventure than a trip to the finish.
Three cracked ribs later, I still can’t take a deep breath. I’ve worked through pain before, as all of us runners have, but two-and-a-half days of trying to run through the sting of a few cracked ribs left me defeated. The medics told me to stop the day it happened. But we all think that we’re tougher than that and can push through. In this case, they were right.
Lessons to be learned?
Now that I’ve suffered this unfortunate injury, I’ve learned that quite a few other runners have gone through the same thing. All of my mountain-biking buddies have cracked ribs before, but I didn’t think the incident was all that high amongst runners. Now I’m starting to question that assumption. Even in those who run primarily on roads, I’m hearing more and more stories about cracked ribs sustained during falls while running.
So I thought it would be a useful learning exercise to pose the question to all of you. How many of you have ever fallen and cracked a rib while running? Let us know the number of years you’ve been running, and how many (if any) ribs you have cracked during this period.
Example: “Been running 12 years, never cracked a rib,” or, “Been running 8 years, have cracked my ribs twice.”
As with the informal study we recently conducted on knee-related running injuries, I’ll compile the data we collect on rib injuries and publish the results in my subsequent posting.
The findings might be piercing.
Sleepless and staggering,
Dean
P.S. If any of you fellow rib-crackers have advice on how to sleep at night, short of prescription narcotics, please do share. I can’t keep stumbling around all day in a semi-conscious stupor. I’m going to injure myself. (Ha ha!)
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