Author: Josh

I just threw away all of my Tae Kwon Do belts and the first place medal that I’d earned in the last tournament in which I fought in 2004.

When I was 11-years-old, we moved from Houston to Cat Spring. And I was absolutely lost. I went from the suburbs to 35 acres in the country. I had no friends. I’d never moved in my formative years, and these were important years. I went from a class of over 500 kids to a class of 80. We’re talking rural, “Friday night lights” kind of town where everyone knows everyone, outsiders were slow to be welcomed, and, I was a city kid trying to figure out life.

I’m an only child of my parents. My dad had two daughters from a previous marriage. My mom had two sons from a previous marriage. Dad was done having kids. Mom wanted a daughter. Dad relented. He got a son. Mom didn’t get a daughter. But my parents loved me unconditionally.

We moved away from Houston because my dad was a country boy. He’d made it big as a sales representative for a food brokerage company in Big Houston. He’d done that job for years and became a vice president. He bought weekend land in Cat Spring and eventually we’d move out there because Dad wanted to slow down and he was sick of our suburb homeowner’s association.

I started the 6th grade at Bellville Junior High. Again, I was a big city kid and I was thrust into the “boonies.” To say I was nervous would be an understatement. But I adapted quickly and latched on to anyone that would be my friend. School and social life were very sports-oriented. Since Dad had a son now, I found it as my obligation to play football since he nudged me, and he really liked watching the Oilers. So, I jumped into the local pastime and played football (poorly) in middle school. I think I might’ve also ran track and played basketball.

I sucked at sports. I didn’t like not being good at ball sports. I didn’t like that all of my peers talked about nothing other than sports. And I didn’t like being told what to do.

But I kept being active in sports when I got into high school. Football in high school was different. It was harder. We started two-a-days in Summer when I’d rather be hanging out with friends, or just enjoying not being at school. Shortly into summer football practice I busted my ass. Literally. We were doing some kind of ground drills that required us to spin laterally while on the ground, and I landed in such a way, directly onto my ass that caused a hairline fracture in my tailbone. The X-rays proved as much. I was out for my freshman football season. Not that I was going to get to play anyway because I was 5′ 9″ and probably weighed 120-pounds.

Around that time, Gus moved to Bellville and opened a Tae Kwon Do studio. When I was a Houston Kid, I loved watching movies. I loved Sho Kosugi, Bruce Lee, the Karate Kid, and anything ninja-related. Martial arts was the coolest thing in the world for me. I’d taken a Karate when I was six or seven because my mom was good about getting me involved in things, but this suburb class required sit-ups and a 6-year-old can do a sit-up about as well as he or she can explain the Pythagorean Theorem. So I didn’t do well at Karate.

When Gus moved into town, I knew, immediately, that I wanted to try Tae Kwon Do. It just made sense. I didn’t really know what Tae Kwon Do was, but I knew it was a martial art, and when you’re in a town of 2,000 people, you take what you can get.

So Mom and I went and met Gus one weekend morning. He hadn’t even opened for business yet. He was rebuilding the old 500-square-foot pier and beam church that he’d bought to turn into a studio. I’m pretty sure I was his first student. He asked me if I wanted to help him. I immediately thought of him as my Mr. Miyagi and quickly agreed. This guy was going to give me life lessons by means of manual labor that would turn me into a ninja that will need to have my hands and legs registered as lethal weapons.

He had me spackling walls because he needed help finishing his Tae Kwon Do studio. I’m bad ball sports. I’m equally bad at spackling.

Gus taught me Tae Kwon Do. He taught many Tae Kwon Do. I went to class every Tuesday and Thursday night. After 6 months or so, I earned two yellow stripes on my white belt. I had to learn some basic kicking, punching and blocking techniques to earn those stripes. However, after earning those yellow stripes, we were now allowed to spar. Sparring is controlled fighting, employing the aforementioned techniques. When I strapped on those pads, I had an ear-to-ear grin. I will never forget that moment.

And I loved to fight. We still had to do those “techniques” (we called them patterns) to prove that we were learning Tae Kwon do in order to move up in belt colors. I begrudgingly learned them, but all I wanted to do was fight. If I didn’t win first in a tournament, I would be angry. I was a fighter.

And that’s when I learned something about myself. I wasn’t a team sports person. I could play as best and as hard as I could, but someone else on the team could be having a bad day, or make an honest mistake. And our team would lose. When I fought, it was just me. It was all of my training and all of my heart. I never wanted to lose, and that was all on me. There were countless times that I was intimidated beyond my imagination, but I had no one to fall back on. So, I gave it absolutely everything that I had, and invariably that would pay off. I fought my ass off and I absolutely loved it.

I earned a lot of gaudy trophies from fighting in Tae Kwon Do tournaments. I decided to throw those away when Mom finally moved from the 35 acres.

After I’d moved to Austin and taken a hiatus from Tae Kwon Do for many years, I decided to get back into it. I found a studio in Lakeway and earned my second-degree blackbelt. And I felt good enough to compete again. So I went back to the homeland and fought, as an old(er) guy, in my 30’s, in the adult division, which is males 18+. And I won 1st place.

And that’s when I retired.

Since then, I’ve held onto all of my belts, medals and trophies from when I was 13-years-old.

Tonight I threw them away. That was me from a long time ago. And those experiences very much played a part in figuring out who I was back then. And those experiences and memories remind me of who I am today. I’m an individual sport and self-reliant kind of guy. I’m not discounting team sports. It’s just not my thing. I like to fight and push hard and drive myself to the results that I want and need.

Throwing those belts away tonight was really, really hard. But they served their purpose. They’re just things. They represent the past. And they’re very much a part of who I am today, but I don’t need to hold onto them. I’ll keep them in my heart. Since the tangible are gone, now they occupy a larger part in my heart, and that’s where they need to be.

Today we let go of the jog stroller. It’s been tough getting rid of the kids’ things as it’s like we’re having to let go of their childhoods. Many miles were put on this stroller. Elise made many trips to the grocery store. This stroller had lots of storage for groceries. Years ago I’d put in quite a few miles pushing this stroller with Mara in it. Pushing a stroller and kid weighing a combined 100 lbs. at a 7-something pace is a surefire way to get strong and fast. I kind of feel like we let go of a competitive advantage as well as a piece of our children’s past.

Today we let go of the TV armoire from our bedroom. After Elise and I bought our house, we bought new bedroom furniture because our old stuff was hodgepodge and rattled around in our new, big master bedroom. We found this armoire on Craigslist, it matched our new furniture, and the people who sold it to us wound up being Corey, the guy that hosted me at St. Edward’s for a weekend before I attended college there.

Today we let go of Mara’s little bike. It was too small for her. It was really sad to get rid of it because I distinctly remember Santa Claus assembling and bringing this bike to Mara a few years ago for Christmas is Des Moines.

I haven’t had any “A” races or big running goals in the past couple of years. My friend Scott and I jumped into a local 10k in November of 2018 and I got first in my age group, in the Masters division, and came in 3rd overall. I ran the Run for the Water 10-miler this past November and PR’d. I ran my best times in each leg of the 10th annual Capital to Coast Relay. I also ran my poorest 3M half marathon in January of last year. I just hadn’t been really training hard or with much ambition toward any race or any kind of goal. I’d run the Boston Marathon in 2018 and kind of rested on that achievement for a year.

Since my Boston experience was less than what I’d hoped for (35 degrees, pouring rain and a 30 mph headwind), I decided that I wanted to run another Boston-qualifying marathon, so I signed up for the Mt. Hood Marathon. My goal was to run another 3:05 or better marathon, qualify for Boston, and the family and I would make another trip to Boston in April of 2020. As part of my training block, I invited myself to run the Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim with my friends Patrick and Michael. While that was probably the most epic running adventure I’ve ever been on, I also severely sprained my left ankle when we were but a few miles into descending the South Kaibab trail. I’d sprained it so badly that it warranted a trip to the emergency room in Flagstaff the next day, and a diagnosis that I was going to have to lay off the running for at least 8 weeks. That diagnosis was on May 19th. The Mt. Hood Marathon was on June 27th. I had to drop out of the marathon.

Shortly after I’d signed up for the Mt. Hood Marathon, I also signed up for the Houston Marathon. The goal for Mt. Hood was to get into Boston. The goal for Houston was to run a sub-3-hour marathon. Mt. Hood is a downhill and extremely fast marathon, which would pretty much guarantee a qualifying time for Boston. Houston is a very flat marathon which is, as they’d say, a level playing field. Running a sub-3 in Houston would be a true test of training & endurance. I owe it to my friend Iram for putting it into my head to try to break 3.

My current marathon personal record is 3:05:42. I trained hard for that marathon, and that’s the race that qualified me for Boston in 2018. I ran a lot of miles in my training, and many of those miles were fast. I coached myself for that race and I’m still happy with the results of the race and training leading up to it.

I’ve coached myself for Houston as well. Before this training block started, I seriously considered seeking out a coach. I guess I stubbornly told myself that I could coach myself just fine, and I think I’ve done a good job. I’ve incorporated a lot of mileage, back-to-back weekend long runs and, this time, I incorporated two workouts per week. My workouts have consisted of hills, intervals and tempo runs. Workouts were usually on Tuesdays. I ran many hill repeats on Allerton, which is a good 1/3-mile 100 ft. climb behind our house. I ran more of my hill repeats up and down Wilke Dr. in Barton Hills, which is 1/5 of a mile that gets to a grade of 22%. Friends would ask if they could tag along for my Tuesday runs.

“I’m going to go run Wilke.”

“Uuuugggghhh.”

I quickly established a love/hate relationship with the track. After a Sunday long run, I’d look at the following week’s workouts and the interval on Tuesday would always jump out at me. Part dread, part excitement. I’d run a couple miles to warm up before my intervals, and I would just think of the run I was in at that moment. Then I’d start in on 800-meter repeats. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t count and do math and anxiously await until those repeats were over, but I knew I was running hard around a track for a reason, and I’d put myself to work. And while it wasn’t really a goal I’d set for myself, I’d usually run each interval faster than the previous. Loud music usually helped a bit. I’ve listened to Tool’s “Fear Inoculum” quite a bit on the track.

I also made myself work really hard on tempo runs. I think I naturally gravitate toward tempo runs. Or maybe I’ve convinced myself that tempo runs are synonymous with progression runs, where I’d run negative splits. During this training block, I made my tempo runs into hard workouts. I’d go out fast, and then ~2/3 into the run, I’d run at threshold and hang on for dear life, and then ease back right before my legs gave out on me. This has hopefully improved my VO2 max.

I ran all of the longer Saturday pace runs faster than my prescribed pace, but I don’t feel that it’s to my detriment. My prescribed pace for the marathon is 6 minutes and 50 seconds per mile. I’d usually hang between 6:20 – 6:30 for my Saturday pace runs. On peak weeks, my Sunday 20-milers felt great. I’d never look at my watch. I’d run how I felt that day, and I’d average a pace in the low 8’s and feel great after being on my feet for a little less than 3 hours, which is exactly how those long runs are designed.

I feel really, really good about this training block and the excitement far outweighs any anxiety for Houston on Sunday. I’ve done everything that I can leading up to this point as I start my last week of training, which is a tapering week. I have a couple 3-mile runs this week and a little 4 x 400 track workout on Tuesday. Other than that, my goals for this last week are to stay happy, healthy, fed and well-rested. I’ll really dial in my nutrition this week and get lots of rest and sleep. I’m looking forward to a lot of reading with my feet up!

I usually build out an 18-week training plan for a marathon. I’d already been putting in some mileage leading up to Mt. Hood and the Grand Canyon, so my build-up for this training block was a smooth transition. So this training block was actually 21-weeks, beginning on August 26, 2019.

Since August 26th, I will have run 876 miles and have spent 116 hours and 18 minutes on my feet. All of those miles, time and pushing hard so I can run 26.2 miles on January 19th at 7 a.m. in less than 3 hours.

My Houston Marathon goals are:

• Goal A: 2:56 – Because why the hell not?
• Goal B: 2:59:59 – Sub-3-hour marathon
• Goal C: 3:04 – This would be a personal record
• Goal D: 3:15 – This would get me into the 2021 Boston Marathon

Today I got rid of these honkin’ barstools that we’ve had for 15 years.

Today I let go of my 1st and 2nd degree black belt certificates.

I’m not a resolutions kind of guy, but I kind of decided to turn a new leaf at the turn of the new year. Our house has really become cluttered since we’ve lived in it for the past 15 years. Unfortunately, there’s not a whole lot I can do about that, because 99.9% of that stuff is “managed” by someone else. So, all I can do is take care of my stuff. And amid the general clutter, I’ve realized that I’ve become cluttered myself. It’s just stuff that has stuck around because it has a place. But it’s stuff that I don’t use, need or want any longer. Whatever it is, it has served its purpose. So, until I’m done, I’m going to try to let go of something every day.

Today I got rid of a Garmin heart rate monitor, an Under Amour quarter zip and a pair of dress shoes that I bought for a funeral.

It’s been a little over two years now that I’ve noticed I see many a raptor when I’m out running solo. In late 2017 I started hitting the trails a lot in preparation for the Bandera 50k. I put in a lot of miles in the Circle C trails and recall a few times when I’d scare up a hawk who was eating or hunting mice or snakes. I remember, very vividly, when I circumnavigated Lake Georgetown on a cold and wet November morning. I was probably two-thirds the way around the 26-mile trail and I found myself in a flat clearing. I was going through a rough patch so I reached into my bag to get something to eat. As I kept slogging along, eating whatever sugar-laden sport food I’d pulled out, I heard that distinct hawk scream that one would ordinarily expect to hear reverberating off of a canyon wall somewhere in the desolate southwest. I was next to a lake in Central Texas where there aren’t any buttes or canyons, but that hawk scream had that same echoing and startling effect. It jolted me back to life.

I think I had some kind of epiphany that morning. The raptor is my running spirit animal. And I’ve seen them many times ever since. Enough that I can’t recount exact encounters anymore. The majority of which have been hawks. I think what makes this interesting, to me at least, is that I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many hawks in all my life. It’s a reminder that you have to get out there in nature to experience these things. It’s also a reminder that the hawks are out there for a reason. When you’re on the trails alone, you’re not running or hiking among other people on foot or on bikes or in cars. You’re in nature amongst other creatures. I’d venture to assume that many of them are unassuming and relatively harmless to a human, but then there are also venomous snakes out there with you as well. I’ve run up on a huge rattlesnake crossing a single track in the neighborhood trails once last Spring. Thankfully I saw it (granted it was hard to miss because it took up the entire trail as it crossed) and was able to stop in time to admire it, and then long enough to let the endorphins kick in and have instincts remind me that that thing could make for a very harrowing life experience in nature.

I love knowing that there’s a possibility that I could experience a raptor while I’m out on a run. It’s a reminder to look up frequently. Running trails is a lot different from running on the roads in that you have to be very aware of your immediate future in space. Every footfall matters and you’re constantly having to plan your next ten footfalls by constantly surveying the ground. In those fleeting moments when terra firma is smooth, I remind myself to look up. There might be a raptor.

My current training plan called for a 10-mile run this morning. The alarm jolted me out of bed a bit before 4:30 a.m. and I was on the road by 5. I ran an out-and-back on Escarpment. Almost at mile 7 I stopped to turn around. I saw a little animal lying in the road. As I got closer I noticed it was a little screech owl. Its eyes were still open, but it didn’t react to me. It was so beautiful, but it was also so dead. I remember its yellow eyes looking like those of the glass variety that they use for children’s stuff animals. It looked just like a little cute stuffed animal that Mara would carry around with her.

I started my watch again and jumped back into my pace for the rest of the run home. A mile and a half later I stopped again when I came upon another little dead screech owl in the road.

I don’t know what it means to happen upon two dead owls within minutes of each other. I’m erring on the side of rare coincidence.

“After nearly four years of battling multiple myeloma, Bob has been admitted into home hospice care to live out his final journey in life.”

That was the first thing I read on my Facebook feed this morning as I was getting ready to head out on a run.

I met Bob on May 5, 2017. He was one of the 4 people that showed up for an event I called the Escarpment 5.5. Escarpment Blvd. spans a few beautiful neighborhoods in southwest Austin and measures in at exactly 5.5 miles. I thought it would be a cool idea to host a 5.5-mile run on 5/5 at 5:55 p.m. I thought it would be such a cool idea that I put the idea out there to my neighborhood run club Facebook group of 300+ people.

Forty people signed up for the Escarpment 5.5. Five showed up, myself included. Bob was one of them. After the 5 of us exchanged introductions and took somewhat-awkward photos, like the one above, we all set out on the 5.5-mile southbound run to the terminus of Escarpment.

As I type this, I’m rubbing my temple while trying to remember when exactly Bob told me that he had multiple myeloma. I don’t remember if it was when we were running together during the first mile, or when it was when we all met back up at the end as we’d all separated somewhere during the trip due to varying paces.

There are two things that immediately stuck out to me about Bob:

1. He’s a genuinely good and nice person. I’m pretty far over on the introverted scale, so I don’t like to talk about myself, especially to a person that I’ve just met. But Bob asked me questions and he genuinely listened as he learned about me. We talked about family, work, interests, hobbies. Running was a hobby of Bob’s, and he wanted to get back to running more often. And I’m pretty sure that’s when and why he told me that he had cancer.
2. Bob has cancer. And he showed up to run 5+ miles during the hottest part of day in May in Austin. To hell with the 35 other people who said they’d come out. I was running with a bona fide badass.

I think it took about an hour for the whole crew to regroup at the southernmost point of Escarpment. Elise and Mara were waiting for us at the end of the run with brisket, tortillas, watermelon, water, Gatorade and beer. My family and the runners hung out for another hour or so and talked. Eventually everyone had to peel off to go wherever they were off to next in their lives.

Bob stayed back. He needed a way to get back to his car at the corner of Wm Cannon and Escarpment 5.5 miles away. Elise and I were more than happy to give him a lift.

Now, if you know my wife, you probably know that she can talk the bark off of a tree. So I literally took a backseat to Bob’s and Elise’s conversation as we drove Bob back to his car. And I’ll be the first to admit my ignorance about multiple myeloma, so I didn’t inquire much about it when he and I were running together. Elise asked as many questions of Bob as she could in the 10 minute car ride.

I listened as he talked about the countless doctor visits, weeks at MD Anderson, low blood counts, fatigue, being sick more often than not, weight loss, the loss of his independence. But through that all, I heard the faith, courage, strength and hope in every word that came out his mouth.

Bob expressed, in many instances, that he wanted to run more. He’d ran and was a fan of the Statesman’s Capital 10k. I’d taken a bit of interest in trail running that year, so we agreed that we should get together for some runs. On the roads or on the trails. Wherever our feet would take us.

We never went for those runs. Part of me is sad because we didn’t go on those runs. But part of me also finds a bit of comfort and knows that maybe those weren’t supposed to happen. Given the occasional updates that Bob has posted on Facebook, he’s been busy fighting like hell and living his life to its fullest with his wife, daughters, family and friends.

We’ll hit the trails together one day.

I neglected to post yesterday about training & eating. Actually, I didn’t neglect. I don’t think I really committed to writing every day. I think as time permits, and if there’s something noteworthy worth, um, noting.

Yesterday started early with a 5-miler. I went out too hard. I think it’s because I could sense the cooler, almost on the verge of Fall-like weather in the pre-dawn hours, and there’s a noticeable decrease in the humidity. Yesterday for breakfast I had a couple scrambled eggs with spinach and, if I recall, some of Shalane’s Can’t Beet Me smoothie. Lunch was a couscous and arugula salad from Trader Joe’s. Dinner was a Wild West Rice Salad, also from Shalane’s cookbook. I took a late morning break from work and went for my mile walk. I broke a 17-minute mile and for me, walking, that’s a pretty awesome milestone. I like to run fast and walk slow. Those who know me just can’t wrap their heads around how I can manage to walk so damn slow.

This morning was an early 3-miler. On Monday and Tuesday I kind of beat my legs up running faster than I should’ve, so today I decided to run, as much as I hate to call them such, “junk miles.”

I didn’t even like writing that, so that’ll probably be the first and last time I refer to miles as junk. I basically ran slow, controlled, easy miles. I like those kinds of miles. The sky was so bright and clear this morning, and the stars were like bright holes in black velvet. I just took in my surroundings in the neighborhood and thought about the local stuff and nothing at all. Every once in awhile I’d breath through my nose just to make sure I wasn’t exerting too much effort. I think that if I make sure to enjoy those kinds of miles as my volume builds over the weeks, it’ll make the longer Sunday runs less like work and more like fun.

Breakfast was Greek yogurt, frozen berries, and I killed the rest of the Can’t Beet Me smoothie. Lunch was a Mexicali salad from TJ’s. Had some unsalted cashews, Granny Smith apple and some wasabi seaweed for snacks today. Went for my 17-minute mile walk after lunch. Had a late dinner of some smoked pork loin and more Wild West Rice Salad.

I’ve intentionally entered a caloric deficit this week as I’ve some non-muscle weight I want to get out of the way. The vast majority of that non-muscle weight (let’s call a spade a spade: fat) has been from sugar. Aside from a really sweet dressing on the couscous & arugula salad I had yesterday, I’ve had no refined sugar. And I’ve had no processed or refined carbs. And what I really noticed is that even though I’m only at day 3, I can already tell a difference in my energy level, especially in the late afternoon and evening. Over the past year, my shitty trucker diet had me tired and worn out by the time I got home from work. I’d (usually) feel fine in the mornings, but that wouldn’t sustain me throughout the day. I don’t know. It could just be a short-term system shock, but I’m noticing a difference in my all-day energy.

I just realized I didn’t drink as much water today. I had a couple of cups in the morning but didn’t during the afternoon. That’s probably why I was getting antsy and wanting to raid the office break room at 3 p.m. I need to remember to work on 8 oz. of water throughout the day.

I slept in yesterday morning and decided to do my first day of training early in the evening. The first part of this training block is also taking into account the Capital to Coast Relay. There’ll be some running in the heat during that race, and at least one of my legs will be in the afternoon or evening (depending on how we’re collectively pacing).

I also started my new fueling regiment. I don’t want to call it a “diet.” Lots of lean proteins, vegetables and lots of water. I thought I was already drinking enough water. That was apparently not the case. I found myself going to the bathroom every hour. Oh well, that’ll give me another excuse to walk away from my desk for a bit.

I also went for a 1-mile walk. That wasn’t really part of the plan, but I had to go to the library yesterday morning, and after I was done getting a new library card, I decided to go for a walk since I was already out. That walk was calm and refreshing and, it was at that point, that I immediately decided that I’m going to bake in walks into this training plan. If anything, just for the mental health benefits.