Load to Failure.

How do engineers know that a bridge will withstand a certain capacity? What methodology do they use to assure the safety of these structures? The answer lies within several tests that are conducted on the structure itself. A large model is built and weights are stacked on individual sections of the architecture until it fails. If the structure can withstand the load then the design is deemed acceptable. Should the structure give way to the heavy burden and collapse, a new design is created. They load the structure to failure.

How do we know that relationships will work out for the long run? We slowly load the other person with who we are. We meet and exchange pleasantries and day by day we add a little more of our personality to the relationship. Sometimes we add too much too fast and it fails quickly. In other relationships the structure has been developed over years and years and regardless of what is thrown on top, the structure holds and the relationship lasts.

And what about the intricate structure of our body? Our body is unique, at least for a few years, in that it will fail under large enough loads and rebuild to a stronger structure. If we are able to learn from the failure and rebuild and strengthen the weak “link” then what immerges is stronger and more able to respond successfully too imposed demands. We may fail but we grow smarter and stronger. The pain may hang around for an infinitesimal amount of time, but the strength and knowledge gained will last. We fall and learn to pick ourselves up.

These thoughts would follow me throughout the weekend.

Unfortunately, I searched my travel options rather last minute. This added stress was just one more strain applied to my structure. But, I was feeling ambitious and had inquired about being put on a wait list for the Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey Marathon in Nashville. The course was scripted to be very difficult including monstrous hills. If the hills didn’t crush your spirits then rumors of a mythical aerial primate circling the heavily wooded course would make most runners proceed with a huge sense of trepidation. Mentally and physically I was ready to test the architecture. I had done several long runs and some different types of plyometrics to add some reinforcement to my bridge. I had visited the Percy Warner Park, site of the Flying Monkey Marathon, but only briefly back in 1998 or 1999. I had run the Belle Meade Boulevard Bolt and knew from entering the park that I was glad that the Bolt did not traverse the hills that rose in front of me. I was very uncertain as to how a slower paced marathon through these unforgiving hills would knead my legs.

The other option was to run a race in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I was loaded down with memories of the Tulsa race from 2005. I had gone out a little easy from the start to try to stay conservative in the wind and cold air. There was a little princess who would be handing me gel and Endurox at the turns and that would add to my general warm feeling on the cold blustery day. My lethargic pace from the gun allowed one runner to slip off the front of the pack. I simply hadn’t noticed the tall lanky body of Russell Sears streaking away from our cozy group of marathoners and half marathoners. I was slightly more focused on the passing of gloves, obtaining some sustenance and hoping that this angel who was aiding me was warm too. Someone standing in the wind and bone chilling air for almost three hours to take my gloves and hand out gel is the type of relationship that usually takes years to build and would not be easily torn apart. Even with this much help I would finish a disappointing 2^nd in 2005 by well over 8 minutes.

As it happened this year, the two races were on separate days and I was interested in attempting another double. I had done one true double earlier this year with the Indianapolis and Chicago double, but Chicago was a 3 hour paced race for the New Balance Pace Team.. I had also attempted another double with Morganton and the Spinx run in South Carolina. The downhill course in Morganton aggravated my shin injury and caused me to bail on the Spinx run the night before the race started.

I chose to enter the Oklahoma marathon. I had good rapport with Bob Lehew and his phenomenal crew of volunteers. These are the people who stand out in the freezing cold and pass out gel and water and they do it for the love of running. This is a relationship that cannot be over appreciated. My relationship with the race was strong even though the thought of having the race only became publicly known about 5 months earlier. I was very happy to return to the course more focused and with a renewed spirit for competition and to visit with a great race director and a beautiful flat course. The gun sounded and my legs mashed into the pavement. My watch told me that I was bounding around the opening mile at nearly 6:20 per mile pace. I kept my eyes on the lead group of two. One was a half-marathoner as noted on the back of the jersey. The other runner would not be given any chance to escape from sight. After the first mile he had about 20 seconds on me and I was unsure if a more aggressive pace this year would rattle my foundations. But, I knew I didn’t like the results from last year. I continued to do my best to load my legs through the head wind and climb my way back toward the leader. By mile four, I was stride for stride with the speedy starter. Based on the success of other races, I opted to surge as I approached him and created a gap between us. By the first turn the gap had opened to just over one minute. My structure seemed to be holding up to the stress and I continued to load more weight by dropping the pace closer to 6’s per mile. We ran with the flow of the Arkansas River toward the second turn. I had clipped the halfway mark at just over 1:21 and headed back into the howling headwind for another loop. With ample aid stations and a friendly cyclist clearing the Centennial Parade traffic from my path, I was able to scurry down the trail to my fastest marathon in months and the victory. My legs were a little unstable but the 15 minute jog back to the hotel seemed to loosen things.

I had little doubt about running the second race of the weekend as long as I could catch the plane to Nashville and meet my newly found Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey friends. Another relationship I had created the day before with the hotel ensured that I had a timely shuttle ride to the airport. I arrived in Nashville airport into the welcome arms of Jeff and Linda Venable and Sam Green. While I had missed the larger pre-race pasta party my new found friends elated me with alternative dinner plans. We found ourselves at Antonio’s for a chance to begin construction on some new bridges. A gathering of such an eclectic group from around the nation was a warm and welcoming invitation to some very entertaining conversation. We exchanged some thoughts on racing, running and a few raunchy, but very humorous, jokes. This was clearly the start of great friendships and over 5 hours of running and hobbling around would only solidify our foundation.

A late dinner and early alarm made for one groggy morning. I connected with my dinner cohorts and we absconded to the race starting line. As we arrived there was a gaggle of other runners standing in the overcast and 38 degree weather. With a few photos and a monkey warning, Trent Rosenbloom sent us into the flying monkey haunted forest. Aside from the challenging course and phenomenal scenery, this race hosts a chat room which I stumbled onto merely weeks prior to the race. It was this accidental encounter with 20 or 30 other monkey runners, and monkey runner wannabe’s that created the base of more and hopefully long lasting bridges to be built. Most every runner in the race had posted comments. I felt so connected with so many runners on the course. I wanted to add some strength to the friendship foundation that was built. Finishing the challenging race with so many like minded individuals would allow us to further share experiences about this particular course. However, with much disappointment, at mile 10, my legs had sustained enough damage over the two days that my physical structure was failing. Plus I was thwarted by at least one monkey that seemed to continuously kick me in the shin. I opted to pull off the course and cheer on the rest of my monkey combatants. My day of racing was done but the bridge building was only beginning. I watched as most every runner continued to demand more from their own structures by free climbing more steep hills than K-2. I was encouraged to see many runners swat the annoying gnat-like monkeys and test their own limits. For 45 times this year I had felt similar pain and pushed my body and demanded that it give me more. For the first time I was able to watch as that ache developed in another’s physique. I watched several runners and monitored their faces from mile 11 forward. I too, had felt the grimace encroach on my face toward the end of a race and remembered my race the previous day how I fought to stave off the anguish ridden look of torment on my mile-battered veneer. I frequented several water stops and saw a variety of masks that covered once fresh and chipper looking faces. Each of these human bridges began to be dismantled by hills, monkeys and the sheer strain of distance. I was energized by the discovery of being able to finally see how I might have felt. With such an array of gaits and postures I was sure that I would have resembled at least one of them. When things start to fall apart we all search for any answers to patch and repair the crippling structure. My bridge collapsed after only 11 miles of work. Others, more convinced of the gratification at the finish line, pressed on toward the goal. Perhaps I was desensitized from the joy of the previous day. I think I was more aware that my structure had failed and that I had enough races ahead of me that I didn’t want to completely dismantle this bridge down to the ground. As I sit here and type this…I am having second thoughts. I have no regrets about it though as I it was a learning point. The closeness of the runners and the family like atmosphere by all the finishers who shared in the total pain of the Flying Monkey Marathon left me feeling ostracized and this alone will cause me to walk to the finish line next time even if I have to drag one or both of my legs. I had not experienced the whole course and much like Oklahoma in 2005…I let this one get away. One by one I witnessed the finishers as they left the secluded woods and entered the pampas finish stretch. The grizzled faces I had seen earlier were now colorful and smiles abound. I was flooded with joy watching several of my new found friends finish with elation. Although it had only been 24 hours since my last finish I was left feeling hungry for that feeling.

I have been to so many races this year and, along with Whidbey Island and New York City, I felt like I was at home. The closeness and friendliness of the staff, volunteers and the relationships that had been constructed online made for more of a reunion like atmosphere than an introduction. So many runners with similar ideas about a real race had ascended to one location. It was a reunion of epic proportion. I was so honored to have been in the company of Monkey finishers who, perhaps for the first time, or the 200^th time had pushed their limits, loaded their bridges and built new relationships. In particular, I want to thank John B for showing me that although some bridges may be unstable; it only takes a monkey reunion and common ground to rebuild a friendship. It was running camaraderie at its best and you showed me grace and forgiveness and for that I thank you.

I would be remiss if, during this Thanksgiving holiday, I did not also say thanks to those who made this weekend the wonderful treat that it was. John Elliot, Bob Lehew, Trent Rosenbloom, Sam Green, Jeff and Linda Venable and Craig Swanson were such valuable architects in my construction efforts this weekend. I met so many other wonderful people this weekend who took the time to get off the couch and construct at least one bridge. And I bumped into an old friend who took the time to extend a wrench and help shore up a weakening bridge. It was great to have experienced so many people who have a zest for relationships, marathon running and bridge building (or repairing).

The body will repair after it fails and for me success is in this failure. Again, I like to learn and grow and for me I must load to failure. I feel the alternative is simply status quo. Most bridges will not fail if the construction methods are proven and tested for the limits they hope to withstand. I will always work to build a better bridge, whether it is a marathon race or a relationship. Perhaps reading a book or asking a coach will help you build your bridge. I will always try to overload the bridge so as to build a stronger one. Most relationships will go through all kinds of tests and may appear to fail from time to time, but can be rebuilt if the two sides are willing to salvage the existing frame work, or even start from scratch, and work hard to meet in the middle. And regarding marathons, their will always be other races to test your new limits.

What ever it is you are building LOAD TO FAILURE!

See you at the RACES!

MJ