was born June 24, 1969 in the small town of Middelharnis on an island in the southwest of the Netherlands, which explains why the sounds, smells and feel of the sea always have a calming effect on me. I love running barefoot on the beach, which I always try to do whenever I'm near a beach. My parents still live in my hometown where we moved when I was 6, called Nijmegen, right near the German border. It's the rare part of Holland that's somewhat hilly. Very green and nice. My three sisters (two older and one younger) and I all moved away, but I'm the only one who escaped to the United States. By the way, "DJ" is the nickname I aquired when I started running in New York (to shorten the entry form for the NYRR) and it stands for Diederik Johanes, my first and middle names.
As a child, I was extremely active, loved running and playing sports and watching sports. My maternal grandfather inspired me to run in the woods; my book is in part a tribute to him. He was a running champ himself. I loved running with Grandpa and we often did when I was 5 to 7 years old. There is a wonderful picture of him winning a race in the 1930s in Haarlem, part of the Netherlands. That name, by the way, was given by the Dutch when they governed New York to "Harlem", now part of New York City, and to an area in upstate New York State. The race must have been 800 meters or longer. For shorter distances you would not expect such a lead. I love that picture. My grandfather passed away a few years ago.
But I was not at all encouraged in my own home. Team sports were just not part of our life, it didn't fit in the leftist-intellectual (even radical) climate in which I grew up.
So running and the physical life and taking care of yourself and all that stuff seemed to have skipped a generation in my family — although I will say my mother is a great hiker and my parents both love nature.
ith no brothers and no encouragement, I had nowhere to go with my energy and competitive spirit. So I started smoking at age 14, getting addicted soon and wasting away my good years as an athlete. There were ashtrays everywhere and smoking was completely normal and accepted in my house. I did play some soccer and basketball, later tennis and squash. I skied and windsurfed on occasion, but never with focus. I didn't have the lung capacity and oxygen, either, of course.
During my teenage years I did some theater and played blues guitar. But just as with sports, I lacked direction and guidance. I was a lost, wandering and confused kid.
When I had just turned 17, a benign tumor grew in a remote sinus behind my right eye. It pressed the eye out, and pressed against the brain on the inside and caused much pain. I lost a school year during a series of lengthy hospitalizations and risky surgeries.
I write in my book that this difficult time in the fog of pain had two long-term effects: I was convinced that I was inherently weak, and I have a chronic sinus problem. You can imagine how it felt for a 17 year old boy just going through adolescence, trying to find a place in the world, trying to figure out what you want to do. I didn't go out with my friends and I was weak. Moreover, it left a psychological affect even after the surgery healed.
hen I turned 20, I went to Israel where I worked on a kibbutz for 7 months picking bananas and enjoying the simple, physical life. On the surface, I was looking to get away — I always felt that Holland was a small and crowded country and our family was pretty intense — there were a lot of strong personalities. Mine was a big family with 3 sisters, lots of their friends and my parents and their friends. So I needed to break away from all of that and Israel was an easy place to travel to in 1989. It was the first time I really got into shape, even though I was still smoking a pack a day. Then I got out of shape again, as soon I started college back in Holland.
Majoring in journalism, my college years were all about partying, working as a bartender and drinking a lot. I was definitely not running much, except an occasional run with friends here and there. Interestingly, to my own amazement, I ran a 1:30 half-marathon in 1993. It was a freak accident — but that race would stand as my PR at this distance for many years.
I went abroad and studied at SUNY New Paltz in 1992. It was just one semester, but it was great. It was the first time I was living in America and experiencing it and loving it. And I did some great running there with a Norwegian roommate who is still a close friend — and an excellent runner as well.
I then studied political science in San Francisco (1995 - 1996) and got a degree from the Columbia School of Journalism (1997 - 1998). Despite fond memories of runs in all these places, I could not shake the demons of my nicotine addiction, so serious, real running was an alluring but impossible idea.
I secretly dreamed of doing the marathon one day. It was like a little kid wanting to visit Santa Claus: you want to go, but it's scary and intimidating. Or like a stunningly beautiful woman you want to talk to and make an impression, but you're too flustered and lack the courage.
fter Columbia I worked in Amsterdam at a magazine for 3 years. It was not a happy time since I wanted to be in America, not Holland. I wanted to travel and write, not edit in a depressing office. But I reconnected with my cousin Eric, and we have been best friends ever since; he's like the brother I never had. He's a medical doctor in Holland, and a good runner too.
9/11 was a turning point in my life. I was watching television that day. I was at the magazine in the news room watching TV and I remember running over to my editor and saying "It looks like a small plane hit the World Trade Center." I was keeping him abreast of the news. Of course later that day we knew what happened and put a whole new magazine together. It helped me decide finally to pick up my life and go. It was an eye opener — I ended an unhealthy relationship, quit my job, gave notice to my landlord, and moved back to New York.
Since then I have worked from home as the New York correspondent for two Dutch media companies: Elsevier, a weekly news magazine, similar to Time Magazine and for Volkskrant, a daily newspaper, similar to the New York Times. I travel the US, interviewing interesting people and report on the news. It's a great work situation. I have moved many times in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Now I am on West 92nd Street at West End Avenue, right between my two favorite parks: perfect for a runner.
I still love the blues. In fact, I picked up my guitar just before I came here tonight. In high school and college I was in a blues band. I pick up my guitar once in a while, maybe at a party. And I subscribe to satellite radio for the sole purpose of listening to Jazz Channels — when I hear a good blues song, I'll pause the radio, pick up my guitar, get it in tune with the radio and then play along. It’s just to relax. It's like running — it allows you to stop doing what you're doing and just be.
I enjoy going to B.B King's — I was there recently with Lloyd Hoo — it's on 42nd Street. It's a terrible area — to come out of a nice blues concert and be on 42nd Street. Brooklyn also has some places. I lived in Brooklyn Heights. I enjoyed living there very much except when I got more serious about running I just didn't find any great places to go. I could run over to Prospect Park or over the Brooklyn Bridge and the East River Park and sometimes over the bridges, but nothing was close. One reason I moved to Manhattan was to be close to Central Park
n 2006 I quit smoking and tried to reform my life. I finally got serious about running, I just didn't know how to take it to another level. Then about 2 years ago, I was talking with a friend who had run a 3 hour marathon, and he suggested I join the New York Flyers. That conversation opened my eyes: I thought why couldn’t I do it too? It was Thomas Zweifel, known to many of the Flyers. So I joined the Flyers and I'm really glad it was this club Thomas had belonged to. I've met some really great people and I don't hesitate to say that I give the Flyers credit for the improvements I have made. Especially the speed work with Toby, and being pushed by people like Eddie Ryeom, Gordon Roble, Chris Morgenroth and Vicky Tiase — being pushed to the extent that helped me to run the way I do. My times started dropping fast, culminating in two sub 1:30 half marathons and a good NYC marathon in 2009.
You’ll recall I ran a 1:30 half way back in 1993, but last year in Queens I ran a 1:29. But I wasn't too happy about that PR because it hurt badly and I slowed down at the end. Well, 3 weeks later I did a 1:27 in Staten Island and that was my true break-through, because I felt great. It just went well, a great run.
t started with an article I wrote for the newspaper weekend magazine — sort of like the New York Sunday Times Magazine. It's interesting — an editor pushed me to do a personal piece, a memoir type of story about my running because I kept talking to him about how excited I was. He said to do a health and activity piece. But since I was a straight reporter, I don't do that sort of thing, so this story was very difficult for me to write. But finally the article was done and when it came out I received a greater response than for any previous story or article. And that included a reaction from a publisher in Holland who said, "You should do a book in the same vein as the article." That was a huge thing for me.
I recall a professor at Columbia saying, “Don't go looking for your first book, you won't find it. Your first book will find you.”
The book is called De rennende Hollander (The Running Dutchman). Some of you will recognize that I picked the name for its similarity to De vliegende Hollander (The Flying Dutchman), which is about a mythical ghost ship that forever sails the seas. I’ve named my blog the same: The Running Dutchman. The book is about my personal journey from where I found myself when I was approaching age 40 to the happy state I now find myself in.
I started the writing around last Christmas. I first tried to do it in addition to my writing for the magazine and newspaper but that was very difficult — I couldn’t quite find the rhythm that you need to write a book. So what I did was (and I hadn't done anything like this in 10 years): I stopped working for the month of June, took off to my parents' summer house in Italy and sat outside for entire days with my lap top and just wrote. In about 3 1/2 weeks I had a first draft.
he Boston Marathon plays a pivotal role in my story. Although I had started the book 4 months before I was to run Boston, in my mind Boston was going to be the final chapter, the happy ending, the climax of the story. It story begins with me feeling really low in 2006, when I was still smoking and drinking too much. Then I quit smoking , started running seriously, joined the Flyers, ran well in New York and eventually I would run a PR in Boston. That was the dream. But of course until I actually did Boston, I wasn't sure it was going to happen that way. An additional reason I wanted to run that particular marathon is because it's a legendary race known around the world. And this year on April 19, it was indeed a special race, great weather and a great day. Eddie had a breakthrough as did Chris Morgenroth. And I had the PR I had dreamed of (3:11). After the race, we exchanged some emotional hugs — we all did what we had wanted to do.
But mostly, Boston signified for me the end of self-doubt and the beginning of real confidence in my own running. There was no wall, running this PR felt good, and the recovery was quick. That's what Boston — and most importantly, the speedy people who ran with me, you know who you are — did for me.
I just finished the book and it will come out in October in Dutch, hopefully followed by an English version. The Flyers play a significant role in the book.
few weeks ago I ran my first ultra, the Maylon Mayhem 50K in New Jersey. I had done some writing about ultra running some years ago before I got serious, and one of the people I wrote about was Dean Karnazes who wrote Ultra marathon Man, He's a great writer and I loved his book; it actually helped me a lot, it's worth picking up. I met him and ran with him. I remember I ran holding a little microphone asking questions as we went along — we did an easy 20K or so in the summer heat – and at the end he wasn't even sweating. As we parted, he said he needed to do another 15K and then tomorrow, a marathon. He says, Why stop? I understand about the marathon and why it's meaningful, but that's no reason to necessarily stop at that distance.
So at the Maylon 50K, after an easy first loop, and after refilling the water bottle and eating someone’s excellent homemade cake, I decided to pick it up. I felt good, physically strong, confident, light on my feet. I was in my element — focused only on the trail and my steps. This is what running can bring: solitude in the company of others, adventure in new places, clean air, a test of strength and will, a gentle pushing of boundaries and limitations – usually self-imposed. To me it’s not that different from playing with the waves and kites and balls on the beach as a kid.
I approached a young lady who knew I was right behind her. I had said nothing but I was distracted. Then I lost my balance and crashed hard to the ground, which thankfully was soft and forgiving at this point. I vaguely recall jumping up right away and, without checking or knowing my physical state, calling out that I was fine, seriously, just great, to no one in particular. Maybe to myself. But after the finish, the throbbing in my hand started. As I ate a hamburger and chatted with other, true ultramarathoners, the adrenaline waned and the pain began to spread. Now I have a hard time turning a key in the door. I am learning to use my left hand as I ice the right one.
Runners feel pain, of course, but they do not always react to it in a sane, human manner. I know of people running with excruciating blisters, loose toe nails, bleeding nipples, shin splints, cramps, inflamed tendons, and worse. The pain we often run with is simply part of the experience – I am convinced that running naturally elevates the pain threshold. The Buddhists believe that life is pain. We just accept and embrace it. Case in point: yours truly. My right hand turned out to be broken in two places. Oops!
I can just hear some of my friends and relatives now: Let me get this right. You fell after 20K on the trails, you broke your hand, and then you ran another 30K at full capacity? I did. Are you nuts? Possibly. But I came in fifth! And I felt great. Well, aside from this annoying hand thing.
After ten days of pain, very limited use, and lots of Aleve, I finally went to see my doctor, who confirmed the breaks with an X-ray. I’ll
be seeing a specialist. But first, I’m off to speedwork with the New York Flyers. I mean, it’s just a hand. And life is pain.
nd one more thing — don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten about Thomas Zweifel’s 3 hour marathon. I have Amsterdam coming up in October.
| The material in this profile was compiled from information given by DJ, and from his blog The Running Dutchman. — The Editor |