Before the sun rises, Pizzo is on the run
Neither rain nor heat stops Pizzo from rising at 4 a.m. to venture into the hills
BY AMY ADAMS
At 7 a.m. on a recent Saturday a few early birds in Palo Alto were out walking their dogs, paper coffee cup in hand. At that time, when I joined up with Dean Philip Pizzo, MD, he was 16 miles into a run and more than two-and-a-half hours into the unabridged recording of D.H. Lawrence's Sons and Lovers.
That's book No. 9 on the modern library's 100 best novels, which Pizzo is methodically devouring on his daily runs. "I intend to go through the entire list," he said.
On weekdays Pizzo completes an eight-mile loop around campus before getting to work by about 6:30 a.m. But on Saturdays his normal run of 19-24 miles winds around campus and by roughly 7 a.m. brings him to the Gerona Gate entrance to the Stanford Dish. All of these runs begin with a 4 a.m. alarm and a door slamming shut at around 4:20.
Given the hour and the distance, combined with Pizzo's tireless reputation, running with the dean is an intimidating proposition. As a marathon runner I've logged a lot of miles, but never with someone who thinks it's both normal and desirable to do those miles in the dark.
Starting at the Gerona Gate a runner has two choices for how to reach the Dish. One involves a short, steep uphill followed by a long, hard-earned downhill stretch. The other direction begins on a long uphill climb and is followed by more rolling uphill along the ridge. Pizzo prefers the latter, for what he admits are mostly toughness reasons.
Reaching the top of the initial crest brought a view of rolling hills and the sun low in the sky over the valley and the bay. It's beautiful and, Pizzo pointed out, a great hill for marathon training. He's preparing for the Boston Marathon on April 17.
The handful of other runners out enjoying the view mumbled "morning" as they passed, but few, if any, knew they were greeting the dean of the medical school. That's the way Pizzo likes it. "It's the one place in my life that's anonymous," he said. "It's my own."
That's part of the appeal of the marathon itself. "You get there and are part of a big crowd," he said. "Nobody cares who you are." Even a dean of the one of the top ten medical schools in the country can listen to a book on tape throughout the race and meet his own personal goals without anybody being the wiser.
At first blush this lack of outward competitiveness—his lack of interest in standing out from the pack—seems to run against Pizzo's driven image, but he doesn't see it that way. "It is symbolic of the way I live my life. It's a mirror reflection that I'm not in it for the short run. I know I can make the distance. I can get around the roadblocks," he said. "If the goal is to finish a marathon it might take longer to achieve that goal than I'd like. The trick is to adapt to the conditions, to the day." Or put a different way, come wind, rain or injuries Pizzo will finish the marathon, and by the end of his term he'll see that the medical school will have a new central building for classrooms and its library.
Pizzo turns out to be a genial running companion. Despite a dogged reputation, he doesn't compete or drive the pace. That said, he also doesn't deviate from his routine. In keeping with his professional life, he is amiable and polite—apologizing for being out of breath or slowing down—while at the same time never for a moment losing sight of the run he intends to accomplish that day.
This is typical for a man who drives himself but doesn't necessarily have anything to prove. Running, for him, is about achieving personal goals rather than competing. "It's more of a personal issue how many miles I do or where I go," he said, which is in part why he runs alone. That and who else would join him at 4 a.m.?
Pizzo said that running also gives him a physical edge. "Being fit makes you a stronger leader," he said. "It increases your energy. You have a sense of self, knowing you can do the long distance."
Much of what Pizzo said about the benefits of distance running could apply broadly to other marathon runners on campus. Anybody who has completed a marathon or other challenging physical event gets a confidence boost. One notable difference between Pizzo and other distance runners is the type of challenges he sets for himself.
It's one thing to put in long miles once the sun is up, on a full night of sleep, possibly dreaming of a pancake breakfast at the end. It's quite another to wake up four or five hours after going to bed, in the dark, with meetings scheduled well into the evening and still head out the door. Hurdles that would be perfectly legitimate reasons for rethinking his goals don't give him pause.
Pizzo started running at close to 30 after having asthma in his youth. "I am goal directed, so it was, 'Could I do a mile?' Then it was, 'Can I do two or five or 10?'" he said. Now he runs 50-60 miles per week, rain or shine. (That mileage is on the high end, as 40-50 miles per week is more the norm for a devoted distance runner.) And he has completed more than 20 marathons, his first in 1982. The only two factors that interrupt a run are ice and lightning, neither of which have been a problem since moving to the West Coast.
All this driven running has sidelined Pizzo on several occasions. When he pulled a muscle last year, his wife bought a flotation device so he could run in the pool. He churned his way to recovery listening to Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment on a rigged-up speaker system. Asked if this gave him the outlet he needed, Pizzo replied no. There are no challenging hills in the pool, no outdoors, and no sun coming up over the Dish.
Returning to the Gerona Gate at the end of the run Pizzo apologized for any impact he had on my pace and gave directions to nearby water fountains. After 21 miles he had achieved his own goal for the morning. Even with a day full of meetings ahead of him, he took the time to ensure I also achieved my own satisfying run.
