It’s Official.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve begun my training for my next BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal). Look for me at the starting line of the San Francisco Marathon on July 31, 2011.

Why San Francisco? Well, for lots of reasons not the least of which is a chance to combine a great adventure and a visit with my brother, John, who has lived in the Bay Area for many years.

I also fell in love with the city when I did business there back in the 1980’s. Oh, and of course there is the incredible attraction of running across the Golden Gate Bridge (twice). It’s a demanding/hilly course, but I think I’m up for that or at least I will be three months from now.

Note: The cool weather in San Francisco makes it one of the few spots in the United States where you can run a “big city” marathon comfortably in mid-summer.

Typically, I tie my endurance challenges to raising money for Multiple Sclerosis research. But this time I decided to give all of my wonderful and constant supporters a break from that annual request. Maybe later this year—or even next year—I will find another way to do that. But, for now, peace on that front. And, of course, thank you again and again to all of those who have sponsored me over the years.

This doesn’t mean I will be running without purpose. Far from it. The good will of my family and friends who have supported me in my fundraising efforts over the last 18 years will again be a sustaining force. Making the most of this gift called life, in my father’s memory, a second driver. And, ultimately, I run because I know that others who suffer from illnesses like MS cannot. I do it for them.

I’ll post regularly here, among other topics, but you can follow my marathon preparation daily on Twitter, too, @chasruns2stopms.

It’s There. You Just Can’t See It.

I love soccer, but I coach for the relationships. The spring season brings longer days, warm weather (eventually), and more chances to bring the team together. That typically means 3-4 times per week for “fun and friendship” on the pitch. I think this is what heaven will be like for me.

But the springtime changes when your team enters high school. Most of the girls get a chance to play for their schools and they dive into that with everything they have. And that means their priorities have to shift, rightfully. They get to practice five days a week—which is awesome—but other things in their life have to get moved out to make room for that intensity.

So what role does their Avalanche team have for them? Well, it’s simply their home. Some will have good experiences on their new teams and some will have less than good experiences. But all know that they have a place they can go to that will be consistent and free and safe. Avalanche soccer is good, yes, but the bonds they share are even better.

The other day, I watched Heritage (Jenny and Hailey) play against Stone Bridge (Allyson). Allyson scored the only and winning goal in a 1-0 match. Both of the Heritage girls said, though, that if they had to lose they were glad it was to their Avalanche teammate. After the match they all hugged each other with no thoughts of winning or losing, just one of friendship. Ashley, who did not make her high school team, was there, too, and she was equally happy for her teammates and friends.

I believe that the thirteen other girls in light blue would have acted exactly the same way because the Avalanche has an important place in their hearts and will, forever. You can’t see it; you can’t touch it. But you know it’s there.

The First Few Weeks

I coach a girls travel soccer team. They are high school freshmen, and many of them now play for their school teams (yay!). Unfortunately, a few that tried out did not make it.

After their initial disappointment we collaborated and came up with a plan to get them more ready for next year’s opportunity. The plan includes running for fitness five times per week (among other soccer-specific activities).

Fifteen-year old people, typically, do not do that. In fact, when I first suggested the idea to Ash, Dana, and Jenny the concept was met without much excitement or any belief that it was a good idea. But, to their credit, they are mostly sticking with the plan, and they are finding out what I already knew.

1. The first few weeks are the toughest.

Whether you’re training for your first 10k or marathon or just trying to get more fit, the first first two weeks of your running program kind of, well, suck. You don’t feel the gains, but you feel the pain. The miles seem long and tedious—even when you only have one or two to do. You feel like you’ve accomplished something when you finish each run, but when you start the next one you still dread it. You have to trust that they payoff will be there, but you aren’t quite sure.

2. But it will pay off (I promise).

Unprompted, all three girls have come to me recently and said they are starting to feel a real difference now. Their stamina is increasing; their confidence is growing. Their bodies have adjusted to the new demands, and are beginning to thrive.

And, in our first game of the spring season, all three had excellent showings. One of their goals was to keep up with their teammates who are playing and practicing five days per week at school, and in some ways the three were even better than I had envisioned.

3. Once you get through this part, you want to keep going.

Yesterday was one of the first beautiful/warm evenings of the season. I texted the girls and said, “what a great night to get out for a run.” Since they have many competing priorities, the girls can easily be distracted from the plan so a little motivation/reminder from me doesn’t hurt. Within seconds of my text, here’s what I got back from Ash:

“Dana and I are already done.”

We have transitioned from the coach saying this is a good idea to the girls knowing that it is.

The first few weeks are over.

The Best of Times

When I’m considering the next big event to run (read marathon) I look for “race reports” written by previous participants to help me make my decision. These first-hand accounts give excellent insight into the course, the hills, the weather, and all other things related.

Honest retellings are, frankly, much more reliable than the promotional materials you find on the event web sites, although that stuff also has good value.

Yesterday, as I was reading a blog of the San Francisco marathon, it struck me that most race reports have a decidedly negative feeling to them. The most memorable, and most reported, aspects of the races are the moments of suffering or bad weather or tough hills. Having run two marathons myself, I remember those moments quite clearly, and they do tend to resonate. But that doesn’t discount the times of joy and beauty or the elation that came from crossing the finish line on my own two feet.

When I mentioned this thinking to Sally, my wife, she rightly pointed out that most people, when they relate stories about their lives, have a tendency to focus on the most difficult parts of their journey. Perhaps our minds and hearts lean toward the “80-20” rule where 80% of what we remember is kind of bad and 20% is kind of good.

I’d argue, though, that our lives aren’t really that way. I think that 80% (or more) of what we experience is good and even great. Perhaps the other 20% is marked with overwhelming pain and sadness on occasion, and maybe that’s why it takes a bigger portion of our consciousness. And I don’t disagree that the challenges we face are often interesting and stirring, but it’s what we do to overcome the challenges that truly inspires.

Maybe the simple realization that life just comes with joy and sorrow can help us keep a more balanced perspective. “Accept the bad with the good” seems trite, yes. On the other hand, accentuating the negative seems counterproductive to a life of abundance well-lived. We can choose to hurt every day or we can choose to celebrate each day while coping with the hurt. I choose the latter.

And so, after I finish my next marathon, I’m going to write a race report that never mentions how hard it was. No, wait, I’m going to use the “20-80” rule where 20% of the story focuses on the hard parts and the other 80% tells you what a thrill it was to run across the Golden Gate Bridge twice. I may not have run my best time, but the run will be among my best of times.

A Small and Needed Breakthrough

For the past few weeks running has been a chore. After almost two full years of jumping out of bed early each day, the bed started winning. The pull of those warm covers became just too great to resist, and I gave in.

On some days I was still able to get a workout done by going in late to work or running afterwards. But, on other days, well, I just didn't go at all. This failure worked on my conscience every day. As I've said before, my life always goes better with exercise. The reverse also seems to be true.

I was starting to think that I was just getting too old for this, but when I went to bed last night I made a resolution for this morning. Run 6 miles. No matter what.

When the time to go came around, of course, it was cold and foggy. Perfect. Not. The same covers were tugging at me, the same stiff joints were calling out. The Today Show looked interesting.

I had to be somewhere at 9:30. The time I had to get it done was ticking away. It was now or maybe later or maybe not.

Tights. Two layers of warmth up top. Shoes tied. iPod on. Gloves on. Garage door up. Garage door down. No turning back. Watch starts. I'm off.

For the first three miles I felt old and tired and slow, but then things started to change. I started to feel loose and fast. Okay, maybe not fast, but certainly loose. Not young, but not terribly old either. I got lost in the fresh air and the cool mist and some favorite music. And the next three miles went by in no time at all.

I made it. One step at a time. It has been a good day since then, too.

This afternoon I let the sheets pull me back in for some nap time together. We're on good terms again. This may be a nice compromise.

Location:Ashburn, VA

127 Hours

I’m always looking for a good, inspirational story, but I’m not sure I was ready for this one. After sampling the first couple of chapters—thank you Kindle for the nice feature of “sample ebooks before you buy”—of Aron Ralston’s, “Between a Rock and a Hard Place,” I took the plunge into an amazing tale of life and death and survival.

For those of you who don’t know, Ralston is a young man who became trapped in one of Utah’s “slot canyons,” and had to make the decision to amputate his own arm in order to save his life.

Slot canyons are other-worldly and beautiful places to hike and climb. They can also be very narrow, and that explains how Ralston became trapped by a huge boulder. Accidentally dislodged, the rock crashed onto Ralston’s arm, pinning it against the canyon wall, and isolating him in a place where no one knew he was or could be.

After five days of gradually starving and dehydrating—and exhausting all other possibilities to extricate his arm—Ralston freed himself using only his body weight, materials from his climbing gear and backpack, and a somewhat worn down utility knife (think LeatherMan).

To say Ralston exhausted all possibilities is a bit of an understatement because he has immense experience in both climbing and rescue climbing. The ingenuity he demonstrated to craft a pulley system to potentially move the boulder is not something most of us would be prepared to do in the same situation. For virtually the entire time he was trapped he pounded away at the boulder hoping to break enough off to allow him to pull himself free.

Yes, I was inspired, but not by the central story. Ralston is a man who sets lofty goals and then pursues them relentlessly—even after his accident. At the time he became trapped he was most of the way through his plan to climb all of the 53 Colorado mountain peaks that are over 14,000 feet in elevation. Yes, lots of people have done that. I’ve even climbed one of the easier ones (Pikes Peak). What made Ralston different? He went after all of them during the winter. Alone. He is the only one.

As Ralston videotaped (he always carries video and still cameras with him) his goodbyes to his friends and families there was sadness, but very few regrets. That’s because he has lived his life to the fullest extent possible. A life of abundant living, fully lived, fully experienced. That’s what I hope for.

The movie, “127 Hours,” is in theaters now.

How much is a championship worth?

Last night, while I was running on my treadmill during a snowstorm, I watched “Miracle” for the unknown-th time. It’s the story of the 1980 USA hockey team and their spectacular and unexpected Olympic gold medal. Their run to the podium included a, literally, miraculous victory over the then-unparalleled team from the Soviet Union.

I can’t help it. I cry every time I watch it. With all of the changes in the world since then I cannot help wondering if we will ever witness anything like that again. But then I remembered that I just did have a similar feeling.

On a much smaller scale, but also unexpectedly, my soccer girls won their first tournament championship.

Granted, the games were played in the middle of the night—when everyone should have been asleep. Granted, the competition was nowhere near the same level. Okay, sure, it’s not the really the same at all. In my heart, though, the joy was as good as it gets.

You see the girls had been close to winning before, but never quite made it over the hump. They have more “finalist” medals than they know what to do with, and they are proud of their second-place finishes. But it’s not the same—not nearly the same—as the feeling that champions get.

And, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t really even sure how much they cared. They are a pretty even-keeled bunch. They enjoy their sport, they are proud of their accomplishments, they don’t worry too much about losing, and they laugh a lot and have fun together. When the tournament began I told them that they were playing against older teams and that I would be happy as long as they never quit.

So, with no time remaining on the clock in the final—and after a last second penalty on one of our defenders—an opposing player lined up to take a penalty kick. That’s one-on-one with the goalkeeper for those of you who don’t know. If she makes it, we get second place. Again.

Our keeper, Kaitlyn, stood there nervous but ready and she blocked it. Championship! But, wait, the referee decided that something (I’m not sure what) had been done wrong—and a re-kick was awarded.

Kaitlyn blocked the second kick, too. And out of the team box raced her mates, jumping up and down, hugging each other, not letting go, screaming, laughing, celebrating.

Priceless.