Here’s what happens when a non-crossfitter does Murph

I have a basic approach when it comes to fitness. Do some running. Hike. Get on your bike. Lift heavy things. Lift, run, bike, hike for short.

But I like taking on different challenges, even if they’re out of my wheelhouse.

On Memorial Day, a lot of people like to do a Crossfit workout called “Murph.” I’m not a crossfitter, and I’ve got no plans to be. But they do some things right in the Crossfit world (they’re getting more people into barbell training than anything else right now), and some of these workouts are definitely worth trying.

So on Monday, I decided I join the legions doing Murph. For all you curious non-crossfitters, this one’s for you.

FIRST OF ALL…

Lt. Michael Murphy, aka “Murph.” (U.S. Navy photo)

Let’s get this straight, because it’s important: What is “Murph?”

The more accurate question is not what, but who.

“Murph” is Lt. Michael Murphy, a U.S. Navy SEAL who was killed in action while serving in Afghanistan in 2005. If you’ve read the book “Lone Survivor” or saw the movie of the same title, then you know his story and that of his team. If you don’t know it, look it up. A small group of SEALS fought like hell against huge numerical odds, even while gravely wounded.

Murphy invented this workout, which he called “body armor.” Following his death, the workout was named in his honor.

So what’s the workout? Glad you asked.

THE WORKOUT

It’s simple: Run one mile, do 100 pull-ups, do 200 push-ups, do 300 body-weight squats, then run another mile.

Simple, right?

Well, there’s also this: In its strictest form, you also do this with a weighted 20-pound vest.

The goal is to do it in less than an hour. Really fit people can do it in 45 minutes.

Here’s what I figured: I run plenty. I lift several times a week. And I’m getting decent at pull-ups. Why not give it a shot?

SOME CAVEATS

I’m also a realist. I don’t own a weighted vest and didn’t have access to one. Being the first time I tried this, I decided to skip the weighted part.

Crossfitters will kip their pull-ups. I refuse. I’ll do them as strict as I can as long as I can.

I doubt there are many people who can do 100 pull-ups in a row, even if they’re kipping. Same is probably true of the other exercises. I’d be breaking these up into manageable chunks, hoping to make good time.

WHERE I DID IT

I went to a high school track/football field. The track offered me an easy way to measure out a mile and stay close to some water I brought.

The track was a good idea, but this plan had its problems. For starters, it was 91 degrees and mostly sunny, with a heat index of 95. That sort of heat will elevate your heart rate far above what it would normally be indoors or, say, any other time of year. Since I’d be doing the non-running exercises on the field, it would feel even hotter.

Also, there was a lack of decent places to do pull-ups. I settled for a soccer goal crossbar. The steel tubing didn’t offer much grip; it was fat enough that I was more “palming” the bar than gripping it. So that was working against me.

But hey, who cares? If you’re going to do Murph, don’t bitch about your problems. The workout will be hard enough as it is.

HOW IT WENT

The first mile run was a breeze, mostly because I didn’t push too hard. Maybe a 9:30 pace, trying to conserve energy for the work to come.

Once that was done, it was time for the pull-ups. I started doing sets of 6 to 8 reps, taking short breaks. But soon, the sheer volume was killing me. So I scaled it by switching from overhand grip pull-ups to underhand grip chin-ups. I know, lame. But I needed to get reps to move on.

By the time I got to 52 reps, I realized I’d be out there forever unless I found ways to knock out reps in the other exercises. So at the point, I supersetted chins with pull-ups and squats. That helped.

But dang, if this isn’t a whole other kind of fitness. I do all sorts of conditioning drills when I run, but this is just different. The steady flow of work and the heat radiating off the artificial turf surface I was on spiked my heart rate something good. By the time I was done with all that mess, it was time for that second mile-long run.

A zombie shuffle ensued. Maybe one of the slowest miles I’ve ever “run.”

When I was finished, I missed that 60-minute goal. By a lot. I definitely was not physically up to the task of making that goal. I shuffled off the field and into my car a sweaty, beat-down mess. Lesson learned. Murph is legit.

AFTERMATH

The next day, I was sore in some expected places, mostly in my shoulders and upper back. But not in my legs (you’d think 300 squats would have done something, but nope). But I was surprisingly sore in my abs. I wasn’t expecting that. Perhaps I should do more core, eh? Anyway, it was a built-in excuse to not lift the following day. I ran three miles and called it good.

THE TAKEAWAY

What I’ve learned about fitness is that when you do something different, expect to suck at it. I’ve learned this many times over.

I used to play a lot of basketball, maybe three or four times a week. And not that half-court BS, either. We ran the court, fast breaks and all. I got to where I could handle that. But run more than a couple of miles? I might as well have been trying to climb Mount Everest. Two different types of fitness.

Another example: Back when I was doing jujitsu, we had a new guy come in. He told us he’d be fine in terms of conditioning: The dude ran six miles a day. When the workout was over, he was outside puking in the parking lot. Once again, a different kind of fitness.

The same is true here. I know Murph is not indicative of everything Crossfit, but it is a good example of the type of training crossfitters do. Murph is not a strength test; It’s a conditioning test with some elements of strength involved. So while I lift frequently and hard and do my fair share of conditioning drills (400-meter intervals and negative split workouts come to mind), what I do is not going to go that far with something like Murph.

Crossfit bills itself as preparing its trainees to be fit enough to do anything at any time – they pride themselves as fitness “generalists” and through their Crossfit Games, aim to crown the winners as “the fittest people on earth.” There’s some truth to that, although Crossfit programming seems to create a lot of people who need shoulder surgeries.

But there is value in trying new things, and finding your weaknesses. On Monday, on that steaming hot high school track, Murph helped me find a few of mine. I might have to try it again.

Bob Doucette

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Sharing the love of trail running

Just one scene on my local trails.

Summer heat doesn’t excite me. But those daylight hours sure do.

Sunsets that start pushing the nine o’clock hour mean I have that much more time to do things outside. I had my eye on spring and summer when I asked my weekly run group if they’d be interested in doing some trail running.

In case you don’t know, I started leading a Friday evening run group through my local gym. Early on, we kept it close to home, running the streets near downtown Tulsa where the paths were more predictable and there was at least a semblance of street lights. All that is absent on the trails, and I wasn’t about to take people who were new to trail running for a night run. Even with headlamps, that’s a lot to ask of a trail running newbie. So I waited for the days to get longer.

For our first outing, we did a simple 3.5-mile loop. It’s one I’ve done dozens of times before, with a sweet cruise down a wooded ridgeline, then a roller-coaster, technical uphill climb back to the trailhead. My road runners weren’t quite used to the sustained uphill that comes with trails, or the steepness those inclines present. And don’t forget the tripping hazards. I guess I should confess that the only one who bit it that night was me.

Last week, it was the mostly the same crew, but with a few new faces. Most were, again, road runners who hadn’t been on these trails much, if at all.

I took them down that same ridge but chose a different path for our return to the trailhead. It’s one of my favorites, one that meanders down a ravine and across a now-dry creek bed before beginning a steady, switchbacking uphill ascent that doesn’t let up much. It’s technical and difficult, and one small slice of it is too steep to run. That part of the route is everything I love about trail running, cloaked it woodlands and scented with the sweet smells of springtime in the forest.

We’re all in decent shape. Some of the gang is clocking in at 23 minutes or less on their 5Ks (not me, of course). But everyone comes back from these trail runs a little humbled by the challenge. Twice I’ve asked if any of them wanted a little more, and both times they’ve all said they were cool with calling it a night. They enjoyed it but knew when it was time to head for the house.

In the past, I’ve run with groups who’d chill out at the trailhead, drink beer or maybe go for tacos. We’d talk about running, but also everything else about the outdoors: hiking, backpacking, mountain biking, you name it. I’ve found some kindred spirits in those groups and more than once, we’ve hit the road to hike distant trails and climb mountains big and small. Trail running is a gateway drug to all things outdoors that I cherish.

But the basics of it are what’s best. After that first run, one of the fellas talked about how much he enjoyed just being in the woods. No cars, no machines, none of that. Only the sounds of the forest and his footfalls. Being out there calmed his mind, he said.

Man, I can relate. I nodded in agreement, thinking about how a few years ago, in the months after I lost my job due to a layoff and weeks later, lost my oldest brother to cancer, it was running on these very same trails that proved to be the best medicine. I was hurting bad. But the earthen paths through the trees got me through. Years later, the trails opened a whole new chapter in my life.

I know that’s true for a lot of people. My story isn’t unique. But a lot of people could benefit from coming here, even if it’s just for a stroll. Being in wild places is a healthy thing.

And I guess that’s why these runs are special to me. I get to share these paths, these woods, and everything they hold. I get to take people to all my favorite places, “secret” routes that I discovered a long time ago. Maybe they’ll get what I got. Perhaps they’ll gain something different, but equally good.

We’ll keep running our downtown streets. I’m sure as the weeks plow into the summer, those will be some really hot, uncomfortable outings. But the long, sweltering days of summer will also give us enough daylight to take special trips to the trails. One thing is for certain: It’ll be worth the sweat.

The run group after a fun few miles on the trails. It’ll be a new route for them each time we go.

Bob Doucette

Omens abound: A cold snap, an earthquake, and the worst 5K finish ever

I’m not sure earthquakes, snow flurries and running mix all that well.

Call it the convergence of the weird. Maybe an omen. I don’t know. But it ended painfully.

I’ve been on this 5K kick lately, and it continued last weekend in the Tulsa suburb of Jenks. Jenks is home to, of all things, a sizable aquarium, and the venue uses an annual half marathon, 10K and 5K event to raise money and awareness.

That’s all good, you know, but I was attracted to the flat-as-a-board course it offers. Surely a good day here would get another PR.

I woke up and did my usual pre-race ritual: Eat a small breakfast, hydrate a little, foam roll, dress for the race and head out.

But this would be no ordinary day.

For starters, it was cold. As in record-setting cold. April in Oklahoma will more often see high temperatures in the 90s before it sees lows in the mid-20s. But that’s what greeted us, along with a dusting a snow and strong north winds that pushed the wind chill down to 16 degrees. April is supposed to be known more for tornado warnings rather than freeze warnings. But here we were, feeling like it was mid-January.

I can shake that off OK. You can dress for cold, race hard and never overheat. I’m good with that.

But as I munched on breakfast, Weirdo Thing No. 2 occurred: an earthquake.

Sitting on my couch, I heard the window rattle and felt the wave-like shakes that are now familiar to me. Years of wastewater injection drilling associated with oil and natural gas production has made Oklahoma one of the most seismically active states in the country. It wasn’t too long ago we had a quake hit a magnitude of 5.8. Saturday’s quake was a mere 4.5 – big news and a novel experience pre-2011, but in 2018, it registered little more than a shrug. I’ll be more interested when we hit a 6.0 or bigger.

I mentioned the term “omen” earlier. I don’t put much stock in such things, especially when it comes to how weird things can get in the Sooner State. We coined the phrase “quakenado” (that happened on a day when we had tornadoes and a quake), and even the “tigerquakenado” (when we had a tiger escape from an exotic animal shelter the same day there was an earthquake and a tornado). We’ve got a two-week-long teacher strike still going on because, blast them, they don’t like having to work side gigs and take welfare just to get by, and they prefer to have functioning classrooms open more than four days a week with textbooks that don’t predate the second Bush administration. I’m sure I could go on with more oddities of my home state, but you get the drift – unusual things here don’t faze us. We’re used to weird, sad or ominous things. So off I went to my race.

It went well for the first 2K, but I think I went out too fast. I dialed it back a little, hoping for a kick toward the end.

When I passed the last water stop, a gal was holding signs pointing which way for the 5K and 10K runners to go. She told us “just go under the bridge and you’re done!” Sounded good to me, and as soon as I passed that bridge, I sped up. A PR was in sight.

And then about 200 yards from the finish, stinging pain seized my right foot. Not a sprain, not an Achilles tear. Just sharp pain from my heel through my arch. I slowed again, hoping to let it chill out so I could speed back up, but no dice. I was run-hopping the rest of the way, bad wheel and all, just hoping I wouldn’t have to stop dead in my tracks.

The end result was a time 25 seconds off my PR. I ran-limped for 200 yards, and had this blowout happened any earlier in the race – say halfway – I probably wouldn’t have finished at all.

And now I’m hobbling around, wishing I had a set of crutches. As it turns out, this is a nasty case of plantar fasciitis, and it’s not going anywhere. I’ve had a few running nicks and dings through the years, but nothing like this. I doubt I’ll run at all this week. Maybe longer.

And maybe now I’ll give pause to the next pre-race convergence of the strange. Maybe omens are real. Maybe the next time unseasonal weather coincides with the trembling of the earth I’ll just skip the race and sleep in.

Bob Doucette

Five reasons why you should be running 5Ks

Long races are great, but you can really test yourself — and enjoy doing it — by racing 5Ks.

A lot of serious runners – those who take it up as a lifelong activity, or even reach competitive levels – start out as recreational runners. And those recreational runners often start at the bottom, where running a mile without stopping is a major feat.

But from there you grow. Maybe you’re tagging along with friends, or doing a Couch to 5K program. That first step toward achievement usually ends at the finish line of your first 5K.

From there, anything goes. A lot of people use the 5K as a gateway to 10Ks, 15Ks, half marathons and marathons. If you get a bad case of the running bug, you do ultras. When it comes to mileage, the more, the better, right? Those 5K races of yore seem rather quaint as you look for another long-distance race to sign up for.

But before you eschew the 5K into your athletic past, let me give you some reasons why you should still be running these things.

They’re cheaper. Your local 5Ks are going to go anywhere from $20 to $40. If you’re insistent that any race you run comes with a free shirt and a medal, you’ll likely get both. Compare that to half marathons and marathons, and you’re looking at plunking down anywhere from $80 to $200 or more, depending on the race and how close you sign up to race day. If you positively have to race, do your wallet a favor and sprinkle in a few of these rather than depleting your bank account with longer-race signup fees.

The training is simpler. Any experienced runner can run a 5K. But running it well is another matter. Even then, training to run a fast 5K isn’t nearly as complicated as it is for long-distance events. No hydration packs, no mid-run fueling, no multi-hour run workouts or any of that other mess. Instead, you’ll get short- to mid-distance daily runs and speed work. You’ll work hard, but logistically speaking, it’s a whole lot easier than gearing up for those ultras or marathons.

You’ll have a life. Those of you who have run marathons and ultras know that no matter how hard you try, parts of your life are going to suffer while training for these races. There’s only so much time in the day, and run workouts of 8 to 20 miles are going to put a hole in your schedule. For a 5K? Much more manageable.

They’re fun. Hey, we all love races. The big races are a blast. But so are the shorter ones. Just because the mileage isn’t high doesn’t mean the good times are lessened. Run a race with your buds, enjoy some suds at the end and go eat tacos. Also a bonus: You won’t be hobbling nearly as much when it’s over.

If you race right, you’ll be challenged. Hey, I get it. If you’re an experienced runner, pounding out 3.1 miles is basically a warmup. But that’s not what I’m talking about. When you’re toeing the line for a 5K, your goal at this point in your running career isn’t finishing. It’s racing. That means going out there for 3.1 miles and punishing yourself at speeds you’d never contemplate at longer distances. Run like that and you’ll test your conditioning and mental toughness. Some runners call this a “suicide pace,” and if you’ve ever seen what collegiate or Olympic 5,000-meter runners look like after they compete, you’ll get it. Race a 5K like that and you will be tested. Pass that test, and you’ll know what you can do when you’re trying to get a final kick for that longer race you’re eyeing.

So there it is. The longer races are great. But don’t sell the 5K short, even if the distance is.

Bob Doucette

What happens when you’re not feeling the long runs?

A scene from one of my long run routes. Frankly, I haven’t been feeling the long runs lately.

I was out hiking the other day when I noticed, in the distance, a familiar landmark along the river. It reminded me of my turnaround point while training for a half marathon last fall. I stood there, high on a wooded ridge, contemplating what went into training for that race.

One of the strongest thoughts that crossed my mind: I don’t miss those long runs.

That surprised me. I typically need a few weeks to let my mind settle and my body heal after a big race. But now it feels different. The thought of lacing ‘em up and heading out for a 12-mile, or 20-mile, training run makes me reflexively draw back, even though three months have passed.

That’s not how it’s supposed to be. For the past seven years, I’ve run a number of 15Ks, half marathons, 25Ks, a marathon, and other odd-distance races going anywhere from five to 25 miles, road and trail. But this year, I’m skipping one of my favorite trail races and bailed on another for the fourth straight year.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still running. The weekly Friday run group is a major blessing to me (we had three new runners Friday!), and I do plenty of training runs throughout the week. I’m also getting a kick out of 5Ks again.

And yes, the thought of knocking down another 26.2, or snagging a PR in the half, or even bagging my first ultra has some appeal. But the work it takes to get there, to perform how I want to perform, elicits a big “eh,” and I move on.

One side of me thinks this is wrong, reinforced by the popular notion that you must run more, run farther, run faster, run wilder trails and get more extreme.

When you first started running and met more experienced runners, they probably encouraged you to try something harder. Ran a 5K, you say? Train for the 15K. Got that done? You’re a step away from a half marathon, so sign up! Got a half under your belt? May as well go for the full. You’re a marathoner? Try an ultra. That first 5K must lead you to a hundred-miler and a buckle or you’ve failed as a runner.

So you dive into all things running. Buy the gear. Be the dirtbag. Grow the beard. Do all the things, and be sure to photograph your black toenails, bulging blisters and trail scrapes. And then, of course, share those images on the Trail and Ultra Running Facebook page or on your Instagram, because you have to show everyone how extreme you are, how much you’ve bought in, how much you really belong. Shoot, maybe you can even become a brand ambassador and get free stickers, a trucker’s hat or a T-shirt.

I haven’t done the ultra thing yet (and I won’t rule it out), but I’ve felt the pull of collecting the merit badges that seem to come with identifying as a runner. And believe me, I think the running community is awesome. I’ve met some incredible people through running. And yeah, I’ve worked with a brand or two.

But after a time, chasing all these gold stars seems like just another thing to do. I shouldn’t feel compelled to run every time I’m on a trail. Hiking is sometimes more fun. I should feel OK if I jump on a bike or blow myself out in the weight room instead of tallying the expected weekly mileage count. If I want to hoist barbells instead of piling up more junk miles, that shouldn’t be a big deal. I shouldn’t feel guilty if I’m not “living the life” according to whomever.

And maybe that’s why those long run memories aren’t pulling me toward another race. You’ve got to want to do this stuff. Otherwise, it’s just work. You can do a million different things to stay in shape, after all.

There’s satisfaction in a race well-run. Or even challenging yourself on the trail when no one is around. But in the end, it needs to be profitable. Not just in terms or fitness or accomplishment, but for what it does for you outside the merit badges of running culture.

I’m gonna race a 5K this weekend. I’m also going to do a lot of other things many of my runner friends won’t do. And they’re going to do a lot of things I’m not going to do (or, frankly, can’t do because they’re awesome at this running thing). And that’s fine by me.

Maybe by this summer, I’ll feel the pull or the PR, create another training program, and have another go at a longer race. Shoot, maybe I’ll go all in on the ultra. But if I don’t, I’m not going to sweat it.

Bob Doucette

Black-and-white photo challenge: Slices of life, photographically told

Last fall, we saw a lot of people on Facebook and Instagram doing the “black-and-white photo challenge,” where you take one black-and-white photo each day for a week. The rules: No selfies, no people, no caption or explanation. I got challenged, did some pics, and had a little fun.

I’m not sure why, but I liked this. The “challenge” was cool, and I enjoyed seeing what other people posted.

Yes, it’s dorky. Yes, it’s another social media deal where everyone plays along like a bunch of sheep. But who cares? It was harmless fun, and for those who like taking photographs it was a great way to break up the usual stream of angry or selfie-ridden posts that dominate these platforms.

Anyway, I figured it would be fun to look back at those pics. And this time, I’ll be including captions. (I’m a rule-breaker) As you’ll see, my life isn’t just a constant stream of landscape photos and outdoorsy bliss.

Pretty much this, six days a week.

Every runner and hiker has a pile of shoes, right? So many miles sitting there.

What I look at during work hours.

This is where I park.

The neighborhood.

These things go with me everywhere.

I go here a lot. You didn’t think I’d do this without some woodsy scenery, did ya?

So there you have it. Little slices of life, photographically represented in black-and white. Did you do something like this? If you’re a blogger, it would be cool to see if you did this and stick it in a link. Paste it in the comments. Let’s see your life in black-and-white.

Bob Doucette

The best stuff I own: Five all-stars from my personal gear stash

Some of the best gear I’ve ever owned is in this photo. Keep on reading…

I don’t do many gear reviews, mostly because I don’t have access to a lot of new gear. What I buy, I make it last.

But what I can offer you is something different. Call it a shout-out to the products I’ve used that have become standouts for my outdoor endeavors.

I own a multitude of tents, sleeping bags, hiking boots, running shoes, backpacks and a whole bunch of other gear for hiking, backpacking, camping and climbing. Almost all of it has performed well.

But there are a few things in my gear cache that stand out. So what I’m offering you is a roster of my all-stars. Here goes:

MSR Pocket Rocket stove, attached to an Iso-Pro fuel canister.

MSR Pocket Rocket camp stove: When the Pocket Rocket debuted, it was dubbed the lightest camp stove on the market. At just 3.5 ounces, it held that title for a long time. I bought mine 13 years ago and have used it on every overnight outing in four different states, and in all sort of conditions. It’s simple, effective and durable. Unless MSR discontinues the style of fuel cans that the Pocket Rocket uses, I can’t see replacing mine anytime soon. It’s shown virtually no wear, does its job efficiently and well, and barely makes a dent in my pack weight. You can read my review of this stove here.

I’m sporting the Columbia Omni-Wick pullover on the slopes of Mount Sherman. Nice and toasty.

Columbia Omni-Wick pullover: Another one I’ve had for a while, along with other Columbia gear. The Omni-Wick pullover has been my go-to softshell for all seasons, and in several locales. It’s warm, durable, lightweight and versatile. It’s an essential piece of gear for mountain hikes and climbs as well as for any winter activities. It kept my toasty during a marathon that was 26 degrees and windy. Enough said.

Comfortable, versatile, durable: the Merrell Moab Ventilator.

Merrell Moab Ventilator hiking shoe: I’ve been a Merrell fan for years, and this particular hiking shoe has been one of the most reliable pieces of footwear I’ve ever owned. It’s rugged enough to handle more severe terrain (think Talus-hopping above treeline, or bushwhacking in various wilderness areas) but still comfortable, warm and breathable. I might trade it out for other footwear I own given the conditions of a particular adventure, but the Moab Ventilator is my default hiking shoe for good reason.

The Salomon Sense Pro trail running shoe. Best trail runners I’ve ever owned.

Salomon Sense Pro trail running shoe: Another durable, light and high-performing piece of footwear. Unlike the other pieces of gear mentioned here (all of which were purchased), I got a pair of these through a testing program the company had going up until a couple of years ago. You can read my reviews of the Sense Pro here and here. They’re comfortable on various types of terrain, let you feel the trail and protect your feet. They’re great as lightweight hikers and drain water well. And they stay comfortable, even at long distances (I’ve run mine as far as marathon length). Of all the trail running shoes I’ve owned, these have been the best, and it’s not even close.

Me sporting the Solaris 40 backpack by The North Face. Simply put, the best piece of outdoor gear I’ve ever owned, ten years and counting.

The North Face Solaris 40 backpack: One piece of gear to rule them all. I’ve got several backpacks from a number of high-quality brands. All of them are excellent. Some are expedition-size packs, others are day packs. The Solaris 40 is in that latter category, and it might not be fair to compare it to the others. But I have my reasons for giving it the crown. I’ve owned it for 10 years. It’s been all over the world with me. It has all the features you expect in a great day pack: hydration sleeve, an ice axe loop, a lower compartment for ultralight sleeping bags, backside ventilation, and multiple pockets designed in a streamlined fashion. It’s been a reliable summit pack, day hiking pack and is the right size for hauling electronics for more urban uses. It’s also my daily use bike commute backpack. I use it almost every day, and aside from a scuff here and there, the Solaris has shown no signs of wearing out. It was the best $80 I’ve ever spent on ANY piece of gear, and defines the term “versatile.”

So there you have it. My starting five, so to speak. What has been your best gear? Let’s hear it in the comments.

Bob Doucette