The 5th grade at the Lafayette School showed me a great time this morning, and we made lightning together while discussing lightning safety!
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March 2011
March 28, 2011
Advice: Why Running the Marathon Was My Secret, For Awhile
I am running the 2011 Boston Marathon to raise money for the American Liver Foundation's Run for Research, and will post frequently about my training here, in these final weeks leading up to the race.
You've read in my previous marathon blog posts that I've never been good at running, so it should be no surprise that a decision to run 26.2 miles was not one I took lightly.
Often, when we make large decisions, it's second-nature to receive advice from others, particularly when we value their perspective and insight. The decision whether to run the Boston Marathon was one instance when I believed insight from most people I knew would not be helpful – if I was driven to run, it would be a decision I'd make for myself, and one I would take full ownership of. Sometimes, there are motives working deep within and all of the advice for or against it won't deter us: this was one such instance.
Admittedly, it's possible I'd have been met with a chorus of support if, back in October, I decided to let many friends, family and others know of my decision to pound the pavement on April 18.
Truthfully, I considered the advice I would give myself, were I to ask for it: a brand new father with several weekday and weekend public appearances, a job that requires excessive hours, especially during often harsh New England winter months, and who already struggles to find time for himself, is considering training from a baseline of zero in October to be conditioned for a marathon in April. My advice would be simple: “It's a great vision, and a great goal, but this just isn't the time.”
Advice and insight from those who care about us often comes from a position of love and caring, which is a terrific foundation, but also poses an inherent problem – lack of risk. Most of the time, those who love us hate, more than anything, to see us in pain, and pain can come from failure to reach a meaningful but difficult and risky goal. Therefore, the advice we give and receive often is geared toward limiting pain for our loved ones, not necessarily toward the greatest potential for difficult gain. The dichotomy is that most of us know our greatest gains often come only when we're willing to take risks, and challenge pain. In these moments, to achieve our end-goal, we must follow our own lead, aware but undaunted by perceived risk. I never thought in my career I'd find occasion to quote Joan Rivers, of all people, but also never thought I'd end up writing blog posts like these, and the quote I found from her on advice rings true to this topic: “Don't follow any advice, no matter how good, until you feel as deeply in your spirit as you think in your mind that the counsel is wise.” I knew, without doubt, that the most logical advice would be not to run, but I simply couldn't reconcile that advice in my spirit, which was determined to see it through and make a difference for liver patients.
Naturally, I was aware that training would be time consuming, difficult and could result in injury. I was obviously well aware that I would not win the Boston Marathon, nor would I even finish with a time a hobby runner could look at without laughing. I still know, on a logical level, there is a possibility I won't be able to finish, though I also know my determination and my training runs serve me well and minimize that possibility. So, I made the decision to run and, as I mentioned in my first marathon post, shared that thought with two of my best friends and colleagues:
Dan Skeldon, my friend from Cornell Meteorology and meteorologist at WMGM-TV in Atlantic City, NJ, and my NECN teammate Danielle Niles.
Choosing to tell these two was an easy choice - both are fellow passionate, visionary people, and both responded with a spirit of optimism and encouragement. “That's awesome – I'll be waiting at the finish line,” Dan offered, while Danielle said, “It'll be a lot of time, but I know if anyone can do it, you can – you'll do great, and I'll be there to cheer you on.”
Slowly, over months, I let more people know of my plan to run the marathon. In the first few months, I'd hear an occasional vote of confidence, but most responses included: “You don't have time for that!” “Yeah, right.” “You shouldn't be doing that with a new baby.” “Do you know how hard that is?” “I hope you're a good runner,” “What's the point in running if you aren't going to do well?” and even “There's no way you can do it.” Looking at those statements from the most positive perspective possible, one can assume such hesitancy stemmed from a concern for my well-being. Nevertheless, I was glad I had a 10 mile run under my belt before I let the cat out of the bag – by that point I'd seen enough progression to know this wasn't an unrealistic goal, and dismiss any expressed doubt from my mind.
Of course, with the marathon now exactly three weeks away, I have no choice but to spread the word that I'm running – and quickly! If I am to achieve my overarching goal of raising a substantial sum of money for the American Liver Foundation, I must make certain as many people know as possible. Over the last few weeks, responses from those I mention my intended run to have changed dramatically, now nearly entirely positive and nearly unanimous that, given my training runs, I should have no problem completing the marathon on Patriots Day. I hope that's true, and have every intention of making it happen.
My goal in today's post is genuine and pure – to share the lesson I've learned about advice and when to follow it, or not. When we reflect on life, many of us would agree it is from moments of risk and determination from deep within that we have gained – and lost – the most. Those moments are our defining milestones and landmarks, and those decisions are the ones that compose the fabric of who we are. To realize dreams is perhaps the most intoxicating and uplifting feeling. If things don't go as we hoped – if I fail to finish the Marathon – there will be some who will remind us we should have listened. Sometimes, though, our vision becomes reality – we complete the long training runs once, twice or three times per week, ever-closer to our goal, until those who advised against the long road watch with widening eyes, learn something new about us, and realize we just may cross that finish line, after all, having risked a great deal, but gained so much more. I can say, without reservation, that even if I should collapse in the first mile of the marathon, this journey has been worth every moment – learning to lead from within, appreciate the guidance of others but charge forward with a dream, and make that dream a reality by raising funds to help those in desperate need of it.
A very real part of my goal is to make a sizable difference for children and patients bravely battling liver disease. Please...show that you believe in them and in this mission to help them, and click here to donate to the American Liver Foundation Run for Research.
Previous Marathon Posts from Matt:
March 22, 2011
A Hill Doesn't Have to Mean Heartbreak
I am running the 2011 Boston Marathon to raise money for the American Liver Foundation's Run for Research, and will post frequently about my training here, in these final weeks leading up to the race.
It turns out, “Heartbreak Hill” isn't as mean as its reputation (and name) suggests, when you look at it by the numbers. The fourth and final of the Newton hills on the Boston Marathon course rises only 88 vertical feet, and does so over about 4/10 of a mile. Its placement on the course adds tremendously to its difficulty, not only the fourth hill in a row, but also a bit of a shock to runners as these hills – beginning at mile 16 and ending with Heartbreak between mile 20 and 21 - mark a noticeable change in course structure, ascending after an otherwise gradual descent out of Hopkinton, and come at a point in the race where sugar is low in the runner's body. The name “Heartbreak Hill” was coined many years ago, when the now-famous Johnny Kelley, running the race in 1936 (the same year he would represent the US in the Olympics), passed Tarzan Brown on the hill, patting him on the back as he pulled into the lead position. After that gesture, Brown surged and passed Kelley, “breaking Kelley's heart,” as described by Boston Globe reporter Jerry Nason.
A hill, however, doesn't have to mean heartbreak. Coming off of a long, snowy winter of ice-covered roadways that forced my training indoors and onto the treadmill, re-adjusting to road running hasn't been as bad as some had warned me it would be. Frankly, I don't notice much difference with one huge exception – the hills. There simply is no way – even with incline – to simulate a real hill on a treadmill...both the climb up, and the descent. In my first few runs outside since the weather broke, my struggles have come when I face hills. There is only one way to beat this.
In the off-season, on the rowing team at Phillips Academy Andover, we couldn't row on the Merrimack, too solid with ice in the winter, then raging with early spring snowmelt flooding. Therefore, our winter and early spring training was conducted on the rowing machine, and in other creative methods, including running hills. So, I had previous experience tackling the hills, but it was many years ago, with a much younger body, and I questioned my physical competence to “take the hill” again. Nonetheless, there was no doubt – to beat the hills, I would have to face them straight-on, without reservation.
So, this Sunday I ran to a hill about a mile and a half from my house, that matched closely to Heartbreak's statistics – a climb of .44 miles and a similar vertical rise. My goal when I reached the hill was simple – run up and down as many times as possible, without stopping or resting, until I simply couldn't take it anymore. I hoped that would be about 10 times.
The first time was grueling – all of my recent pain and struggle running hills was on exhibit, both running up, and coming back down. The second ascent was better. The third, surprisingly, even stronger. A lesson I've learned time and again was as clear as day once more – “it's all in your head.” I'll expand upon that in a future post, but suffice to say that in my training I've found the body is willing and able to do what the heart desires, but the head is the strongest opponent and obstacle. By my seventh rise, however, the pain had increased exponentially, and was excruciating. My right shin was burning, and has been tender on some runs. Aware of the potential for shin splints, I immediately thought, “you've done seven...that's great...you cannot risk injury...you cannot risk getting hurt...you need to stop.” So, as I came back down the hill, I'd determined I had to stop for the sake of my well-being – this was simply too painful. When I reached the bottom, however, something remarkable was at work: deep inside, I still felt a drive. I wasn't where I wanted to be, or where I envisioned I'd be. I couldn't stop. A brief debate raged inside, lasting only about 10 seconds, before I realized there was a compromise solution. My heart needed to drive forward, determined to master the hills and further my progress toward my goal of finishing the marathon and raising money for kids afflicted with liver disease. My head warned of injury, pain and hurt that could knock me out of the whole thing. Then, my mind kicked in. I don't know if there's any formal psychological study that can distinguish “head” from “mind,” but I believe there is a difference. Your head acts with reflex, often based in fear rooted in previous life experiences, and many of us know that fear can trap you, play tricks on you, and in my case, convince you that you have to turn back or face certain injury. Your mind, on the other hand, is smart – years of experience and education that are available to you, and with practice and fine-tuning, can be used to further your inner drive. “Why not keep going, but slow the pace?”, my mind inquired. How had I not thought of that on my entire descent down the hill? How had I not considered this basic solution when my shin was stinging and I worried of injury? Why was I prepared to stop after so much work, but short of my goal, rather than simply slow to a more comfortable pace? So, I turned, and headed up the hill for an eighth time. On this lap, folks who live on the street asked as I ran by “How many laps are you doing? Are you training for the marathon or something?” Yes, I am...and I'm doing ten. By the tenth climb, the natural burning through my legs and lungs that comes with physical duress was nearly unbearable, but my shin...was much better. Slowing the pace – though still running steadily toward my goal – had done the trick. Unbeknownst to me, the neighbors started keeping track on that nearly-non-existent eighth lap, and by my tenth, exclaimed, “Good luck in the marathon!”, aware that I was on my final pass.
In life, like in my training, there have been times the run has become excruciating. There have been times I've seen the warnings of injury, pain or hurt and stopped dead at the bottom of the proverbial hill, afraid to tackle it, worried of injury, unsure of what lay on the path to the top. Other times I've started to run those proverbial hills but stopped at 7 laps - short of my goals and vision - when the stinging was unbearable. In those instances, my head told me, “it's too dangerous...too much pain...you must stop.” And, sometimes, I did – sometimes I convinced myself those seven hills were good enough and quite an accomplishment, though deep inside, that inner drive knew I hadn't made it to complete fulfillment of my goal. Somehow, after 32 years of life and logging hundreds of miles, this Sunday on that Heartbreak Hill replica, I learned how to meld the driving heart and the reasoning mind...silence the fearful head...and ensure that even 10 consecutive hills with no rest don't have to mean Heartbreak.
Oh, and one more thing. Though it hurt for the rest of the day...by the next morning, my shin felt just fine, and I couldn't be more excited to take the hill again soon. And I will. At least 11 times.
To donate to my Boston Marathon run through the Run for Research, please click here.
Previous Marathon Posts from Matt:
No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, YES! Why I Finally Decided to Run
I am running the 2011 Boston Marathon to raise money for the American Liver Foundation's Run for Research, and will post frequently about my training here, in these final weeks leading up to the race.
At six feet, four inches and over 200 pounds, I'm not what one might describe as graceful. As a child, my body grew in spurts much faster than my mind could keep up with, leaving me with a complete lack of hand-eye coordination, and that clumsiness was on display every time I'd try to run, jump rope, or even coordinate my hands and feet for a layup in basketball, which was always my favorite sport as a child. For most of the things I was clumsy at, I could find a workaround – I won the defense award in middle school at Merrimack College's basketball camp, deciding to focus my energy on techniques I could master, rather than continuing to look like a tangled marionette on a drive to the hoop; thankfully, as a boy, the need for jumping rope quickly faded; in high school, I'd sit in a crew shell and row – something I could keep my legs, back and arms working in tandem fairly easily with, and would carry that into college. The one physical challenge I never could figure out was running. Putting one foot in front of the other in rapid succession was not merely a challenge, it was a repetitious exercise in futility and humility. I remember the elementary school “Presidential Fitness Test,” where the rest of the students were dots on the horizon by the end of the run. Years later, during my Senior year of high school, I would find a bit more success during an Academy Introductory Mission at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy, when I was considering enrolling there before deciding Meteorology at Cornell was my path (the USCG Academy didn't offer Meteorology), and that success was primarily found because I knew I'd be doing push-ups if I didn't keep up - I found that to be excellent and effective motivation. What I'd learn in those runs with the other prospective cadets was important – cadence, focus, diligence – and was enough to make running bearable but not enjoyable.
So, when attending my first American Liver Foundation event and meeting a phenomenal group of warm, outgoing people, I politely but very quickly declined their invitation to run with the organization. That was in 2002. I would attend many more Liver Foundation events, and host the annual Liver Life Walk in Boston, which I continue to host yearly. Each year, I'd appreciate the invitation to run, but politely declined for eight years in a row. The idea of completing a marathon was certainly intriguing, and the opportunity to help a wonderful charity earn much needed funds was even more compelling, but engaging in my least favorite, and most humiliating, physical activity day after day in training, culminating in a 26.2 mile demonstration of inability, sounded horrific.
At the most recent Liver Life Walk in 2010, Jennifer Fluder, Development Director for the American Liver Foundation, fit the profile of the Liver Foundation representative – outgoing, warm, friendly and genuine. I knew, without a doubt, this would mean she'd also fit the final characteristic – she was going to ask me to run. This time, something was moving inside me – a slow dawning realization that I could, if I did this, blend several of my personal goals into one: I could bring money and attention to those who needed it, I could benefit a fantastic charitable group, I could find a way to thank the Liver Foundation for their support of me over the years, I could take an opportunity to get back into good physical condition, and I could accomplish a feat I never imagined I'd be able to. “So, will you run?” My answer was flimsy but honest: “I don't know. I'd really like to. I do hate running.” A week later, Jen asked again. Any previous year, I'd have politely declined that second offer. This time, I said yes.
And so it began – my first foray into the world of distance running. The question remains: WHY did I decide to run? Several things were shifting inside of me...not the least of which was the immense appreciation for the health of my new baby boy. Prior to his birth, so many would ask me if I preferred a boy or a girl, and my answer was completely genuine every time: I just pray for a healthy child. Thankfully, those prayers were answered, and he remains healthy an early 8 months into his life. But I also gained a tremendous appreciation for the fear, anger, stress, anxiety and a torrent of other emotions parents of children battling illness must face, all day, everyday. A very real part of me needed to give thanks for my blessing, and do what I could for parents and children not so fortunate – parents and children I'd met at the Liver Life Walks every year, and who had shared their stories and a part of their lives with me, like my “Marathon Liver Buddy,” Tom Williams (you'll meet Tom in a future post), or Jaelynn, pictured with me above. On a more shallow level, I was excited at the prospect of accomplishing something new and previously unimagined for me, and I missed the feeling of strong lungs and muscles that could do whatever I wanted them to do. In October, when I decided to run, I was approaching my 32nd birthday, and realized I was sliding steadily into a lifestyle I'd always wanted to avoid – the life of someone “too busy” to focus on his physical, emotional and mental well-being, focused on the needs and desires of others but trailing in the ability to focus on his own contentment, and thereby unable to achieve my full potential. 
Anyone who has fallen into this trap knows – though we don't realize it at the time – we become unable to truly give all of ourselves to anyone or anything if we don't have a full tank of our own. Even a slow leak of energy, though not an obvious drain, keeps us from that full tank, and prohibits us from reaching our full potential. This was my chance to take hold of my life, possibly improving it vastly while simultaneously improving the lives of others. If I did it right, this could be my opportunity to learn – perhaps for the first time and therefore the final time – how to truly fill the tank, in order to be a fulfilled, complete, balanced individual who could give more to myself and others than I'd ever imagined. I'd had glimpses of this at various events – the Liver Walk, the annual Christmas in the City event for homeless children and families, our annual American Red Cross/NECN Blood Drive – but had failed to incorporate such a feeling of warmth into my daily life. This had the potential to be the chance of a lifetime, but would require complete, not partial dedication. I opted in.
To donate to my Boston Marathon run through the Run for Research, please click here.
March 21, 2011
The Journey Continues: Inside My Training for the 2011 Boston Marathon
With less than a month until the 115th running of the Boston Marathon on Monday, April 18, the final training push – and big fund raising push – is on. I've been so fortunate to enjoy tremendous support from NECN - the station has asked me to share some of my experiences leading up to the run, and I'm thrilled to do that. Those of you who read our blog, or my personal website, know I often stick to the weather, and don't enjoy having the spotlight on me unless it's to convey weather information, or is for a great cause. The next month focuses on the latter, and please understand I still don't like talking about myself...but am wholly dedicated to fighting liver disease in children, and I'm hoping these blog entries help to achieve that goal. If you'd like to contribute to my run to fight liver disease, you can click here.
Over the next four weeks, you'll see regular updates from me, outlining my training and much more. I've experienced so many changes...not only in my physical conditioning, but also in my outlook on life...and will share some of these over the weeks to follow. Some of you will enjoy the notes on training, discovering how a former Phillips Academy and Cornell University rower who had fallen out of shape, never enjoyed running, and frankly, was terrible at it, could go from being winded after a quarter mile, to preparing for a marathon run. Some of you may enjoy reading a bit deeper into each blog post, as I share the snippets on life outlook that miles of running...with attendant thinking and reflection...have helped me to formulate. Perhaps some of these reflections will resonate with you, saving you the miles of running it took me to get there. Others may wonder how it took 32 years for me to reach some of these basic milestones. Either way, you'll get to know your meteorologist much better in the coming four weeks. I hope all of you will consider making a donation to the American Liver Foundation's Run for Research, the charity and reason I'm running the Marathon – specifically with the goal to help children afflicted by liver disease.
As I enter the final month of training, there are a few people who have been huge contributors to this journey, and play a major role in the difference we will make for people with liver disease. I began a 26-week (6-month) training program for the marathon in October, only three months after the birth of my son. This program included between three and four workouts per week, of varying time and intensity, though most could be completed in one to two hours. Thankfully, this didn't take much time away from my son – my greatest joy in life – but as anyone with a child knows, the first thanks I owe is to my wife, as even a few extra hours each week can be exhausting, and she gave even more of her energy and herself to afford me that training time, and I simply could not have done this without that time to train. The seeds of inspiration were nurtured early, and cared for along the way, by my two of my very best friends and colleagues, Dan Skeldon at WMGM-TV in Atlantic City, NJ, and our very own Danielle Niles. I didn't tell many people I'd be running the marathon for months (the topic of a future blog post), but Dan and Danielle were the two who knew from the first day, and offered their unconditional support. “That's awesome – I'll be waiting at the finish line,” Dan offered, while Danielle said, “It'll be a lot of time, but I know if anyone can do it, you can – you'll do great, and I'll be there to cheer you on.” They have, in the months that followed, continued to be my loudest and most loyal cheerleaders.
As I near the end of this particular journey, my most important goal is at hand – take this experience, training, and support, and turn it into something tangible that can be used to make lives better. I hope my blog entries will do that for some of you. The most tangible difference we can make together, however, is to raise money for the American Liver Foundation and the Run for Research. So, if you can, join me in the fight to treat, cure and educate, especially for the children full of innocence, afflicted by an unforgiving disease. You can donate today at http://marathon.mattnoyes.net.
Thank you!
-Matt
March 17, 2011
March 14, 2011 - St. Agnes School, Arlington, MA
I always love visiting the St. Agnes School!
March 15, 2011 - Paton School, Shrewsbury, MA
The Paton School warmly welcomed me back!
March 7, 2011 - Pine Hill School, Sherborn, MA
I was thrilled to return to the Pine Hill School in Sherborn!
March 08, 2011
March 04, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011 - Whitman Middle School, Whitman, MA
After meeting with many of the 7th grade, I made sure to stop into the cafeteria for lunch to get the whole grade in my video to show on TV and post here on the web - check out their video here, and look for these students to be TV superstars on NECN Monday afternoon between 4 and 5 PM.
