This month, I ran a marathon and saw my little girl turn 2. How’s your October been?

I told Mrs. Blocletters recently that I still can’t believe I can run 26.2 miles. I find it surreal. Four years ago this fall, I hadn’t run longer than a half mile. Now, I’m a marathoner three times over and counting. Not trying to brag, but I have trouble believing it myself.

Also in the disbelief department, our girl is 2. How does time travel so fast?

Girlie, on the warming table minutes after she joined the family.

Girlie, a few days ago, dressed up as an ice cream cone for a Halloween event. She won a little trophy for funniest costume.

At 2, she:

• Responds to most directions with “No!”
• Still isn’t fully potty trained, but whatever.
• Loves to sing and generally make noise.
• Likes swings. A lot. And slides.
• Could probably watch YouTube videos for hours.
• Has only broken 1 iPad.
• Has a bigger vocabulary and more sass than I would have thought.

My wife and I are truly blessed to have such a bright young lady in our lives.

Back to running, I have no idea yet about a next goal. I know I want to keep running marathons, and expect to do at least two in 2012.

The biggest goal for next year: run without injury. I got over that pesky stress fracture in time to race Detroit, but a week later have an unexplained pain running through the top back of my left leg. No idea. I don’t think it’s running related. I just woke up a week after the race with an odd pain. It didn’t bother me to run with it Sunday (5 miles, 8-minute pace), but it does hurt like hell to bend at the waist.

Meh, walk it off.

Aside from marathons, I’m intrigued by ultramarathons and triathlons. Running marathons has left me wondering what else is possible with this body of mine, and amazed at potential I didn’t know was there until I looked.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying what life holds, from family to fatherhood to running to whatever. Thanks for reading.

After this race, I feel both great and grateful. The recovery three days on matches my higher fitness level now versus the first road marathon in 2009. The first half hour or so after the race was rough for my legs. Later Sunday, I was moving around fine. The soreness lessened Monday, moved a bit into the calves on Tuesday, and is almost gone today — thanks in part to a 30-minute trip through the YMCA sauna.

I’m thankful I got to the starting line, let alone the finish line. The foot I injured held up well and I actually ran the whole race (save for a 100 foot or so break on Belle Isle).

So, on to the race report. (Here’s the map, if you want to follow along.) It was slow to begin: The crowd didn’t thin out until after the Ambassador Bridge, about mile 4. I will remember running over the Ambassador for a long time. It may live on as my only exception to hating running in wind.

(Tangent: The day’s most ridilous sight — a relay runner on the bridge wearing a Camelbak for a 5ish mile run.)

Windsor was drizzly, but crowds made up for it. I also saw my favorite sign there:

Ice cold beer,

reasonable prices,

21 miles  —>

I liken the Windsor Tunnel experience, miles 7 to 8, to running through a stinky sauna. And on the way out, the cool air offered an unpleasant contrast. Not my favorite part of the race. There was, however, good crowd support on the way out.

The route wound past Cobo Center, down Lafayette and west into Mexicantown. Here I found two highlights of the race — a mariachi band and a block were I could smell nothing but cooking pork. I think it was from Honeybee Market. After 11 miles or so, it smelled like heaven.

We wound through Corktown (seeing another favorite sign: “Run faster, we’re cold”), dipped over to Campus Martius to wrap up the first 13. At this point, my energy was still good, but I had the first inklings of GI issues. Nothing major (yet) just a busy stomach.

About mile 15, I saw a neighbor on the sidelines. He was a welcome sight, and seeing a familiar face boosted my energy a bit. By this point, I was starting to dread my Sports Beans. I knew I should probably keep taking them, but I stomach roiled when I did.

In Indian Village, I had the best Pabst ever. About mile 17, a couple people handed out tiny Dixie cups of beer with polka music blaring. I think a little bubble actually helped my angry belly.

It seemed like forever from mile 17 to 19. I kept expecting to emerge onto Jefferson within sight of Belle Isle, but my head was playing tricks with time at this point. I knew I was tired, and my calves ached. I tried my best to relax and remind myself to hold proper form as closely as possible. Midfoot, midfoot, midfoot. Light strike. Short strides.

Jefferson paved the way to mile 19, and then I turned onto MacArthur Bridge to Belle Isle. The bridge has a much softer grade than the Ambassador, so it wasn’t too much of a problem, even for tired legs. I remember feeling intense relief to see we bisected the island, doing only about 2.5 miles as opposed to the 5-mile loop around the coast. The math didn’t add up for the whole loop, but my head wasn’t making a lot of sense by then.

Halfway through mile 21 I took my only walk break. A cramp had threatened to tie up the back of my right leg on the way over to the island, but subsided. Now, it felt like it would make my whole leg seize up. I had to stop, and had to apologize when I realized I stopped with another runner right on my heels.
I spent about 50 paces walking and rubbing the back of my leg just below my butt. I must’ve looked like a complete idiot, but I’m sure other runners streaming around me at least understood.

It took real effort to get started again, and I knew I had to dig deep to reach the finish. I passed mile 22 on the way back to the bridge, the back of my leg still twinging uncomfortably.

On the way down to Jefferson, I dropped my water bottle — twice in the span of about 20 feet. The second time, I almost left it.

Coming off the bridge tired and dispirited, I passed my neighbor again. Strange how a familiar face can bring you back to center. I chugged on toward mile 23 and, to my surprise, passed the 4:10 pacer. I pushed harder thinking, there’s no way I’m letting this guy finish ahead of me.

We wound toward the Riverfront. Mile 24. We turned onto Atwater for a long straightaway. I kept the pacer in my rearview until we turned onto Rivard (the corner I volunteered at in 2010). Rivard slopes steeply up to Larned and mile 25. My gas tank sputtered. I had fumes left. As the pacer passed me, I asked if he was on target. “About a minute and a half ahead,” he said.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” I replied. At least if I can keep sight of him, I could finish under 4:10, I thought. I trudged on with whatever little energy I could muster.

I passed mile 26, turned the corner onto Fort and was greeted with shouts of “Go, Jeremy!” It was my aunt and uncle, and I knew the rest of the family/street team couldn’t be far behind. I lifted my arms over my head in a wan sign of accomplishment and pressed toward the finish.

The medal from the Free Press Marathon must weigh 8 oz. It’s two or three times the size of my other marathon medals, and my neck sagged as a volunteer placed it on me at the finish line. My final time was 4:02:54. Even better news: The 4:10 pacer was counting from the first heat’s gun, not my heat, and it had taken me 7 minutes to cross the starting line and activate my chip.

Video of me crossing the finish line, courtesy of my brother.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on too long, so I’ll digest the rest. Reunited with family. Shaky, crampy, unable to eat. Worked out GI issues (don’t ask). Zombie walk to the People Mover. Best. Chocolate milk. Ever. Trip home and (after appetite returned) the inhalation of a double Bagger Dave’s burger with an egg on top, a whole bag of fries and a well-deserved Two-Hearted Ale. Nap.

Marathon No. 3, in the bag. Thanks to my wife, family and friends for support.

I set out to do 3 or 4 miles today, and felt great out on the road. So great, in fact, that I pushed through for 6.5 miles at 8:45 pace. It’s the longest I’ve run in more than four weeks, and I’d grade it an A-. I still feel the healing fracture, but today’s run was better than even two days ago, when I ran 1.7 miles.

During Sunday’s run I had some gait issues. The sore spot on my foot forced me to heel strike with my left and slowed me down. But I could run (and fared better on grass), and because of that I rated that run a B-.

Today’s run went even better. If I dial back my gait and maintain a ruthlessly neutral strike, I can keep it up. Well, at least I can keep it up for a quarter of the distance I want to clear a week from Sunday at the Free Press Marathon.

So, based on today’s results, I’m going to try a long run this weekend (long being relative). I’ll see how far I can get, maybe 10 or 12 miles. That’ll be the decisive run.