Running/Life

Chica-GO!

2009-11-09T17:17:00.000-08:00

An early start as usual. Got up and tried not to wake Sarah, who inevitably woke up anyway. I went down to the lobby and grabbed a few items for breakfast, checking out my competition at the same time.

After getting everything together, safety pinning, eating, and all of those other pre-race musts, we went out to the street. It wasn’t too cold, but enough that I was glad to have some extra layers before the start. The hotel was wonderfully close to the starting line, but we had to walk a few blocks south to get to the meeting spot for the rest of the group. We managed to assemble a handful of the club and snapped a quick photo or two before we all got too nervous and headed for the starting lines. I gave Sarah my pants and she wished me luck.

The corrals were a pain to get into, with a bottle neck at the entry and people demanding to see our bibs. I flashed the volunteers and made my way towards Corral B. I had to climb over a few bushes, and wade through a few crowds, but eventually made it into the corral and actually found the 3:20 pace group. I stretched a bit and tried to get a sense of where I was and what I should be doing. I decided to stay in front of/with the 3:20 pace group for a while and see how things felt. If it was working, I’d try and hang on. If not, I could slow it up and hopefully wouldn’t have gone out too hard.

The gun went off and we started moving really quickly. I don’t recall having to weave at all, and was running at a decent pace almost immediately. So glad I turned out a decent time at Philadelphia. The pace group was behind me, I was moving along, and things were looking good. 26.1 miles to go.

I tried to find Sarah, but couldn’t. I also still had on my long sleeve t-shirt. I debated dumping it, but I was a little chilly and thought I’d keep it till I warmed up or until I saw Sarah. The first mile took us under a bridge and through a canyon of buildings. I hit my first mile on pace, somewhere around 7: 40. So far, so good.

After another mile, I was ready to ditch my long shirt. I thought I could just toss it to the side of the road, but I knew that if I did, I’d see Sarah a few minutes later. There were so many fans in some places, I couldn’t scan them all, but held out hope that I’d see her and be able to throw her my moth eaten, sweaty, faded shirt. I took it off and wrapped it around my hand.

The road split and I wasn’t sure if one side was better than the other. I picked a lane and stuck with it. Then I panicked and (without any rational basis) figured that Sarah would be on the other side. Next chance I got, I drifted over and ran on the opposite side of the road. Around this same time, I decided to check on the pace group. Not behind me. Not in front of me. Hmmm.

Then, decisions started to get made for me. My arm seized up and I decided I had to lose the shirt. I waited for the next water stop and tossed it between some volunteers. Maybe they’ll collect it for charity, or maybe some homeless person will find it and decide he wasn’t that cold after all. Six miles in and I was feeling really good. I knew that I’d move better now that I’d los the shirt and I was still cranking out miles in the 7:35 range.

The miles kind of blended together, mostly tall buildings and fans cheering people on. The water stations were good but long. I only had trouble once, when at 7, I failed to realize I was about to hit it and took my first GU without water. Oops. By then, the lanes had merged and I noticed a pace group about 100 meters ahead of me. I couldn’t read the signs but figured they had to be either the 3:20 group, meaning I was too slow, or the 3:10 group, meaning I was about to die. Only one way to find out: reel them in slowly over the next few miles and see.

One mile later, I was relieved to discover they were in fact, the 3:20 group and now I could slow down to their pace. Somehow, it didn’t help. It was harder keeping pace than it had been trying to catch them. Plus, it had gotten really crowded. I spent a mile or two just trying to mix in. Then, I noticed something alarming. I was passing them. Easily. Okay, so you’ll be in front of them. They’re the back end of the group, no problem.

But I didn’t stop. I put some distance on them and a few miles later, was ahead of the whole group. We were nearing the halfway mark and I’d be finding out soon enough if I was running too hard. Just as I was crossing the bridge I thought I heard my name. Too soon for hallucinations, so I looked back and spotted the group. Or so I thought. I glanced back again and recognized Joe’s maroon club shirt and Andy and Erin. I didn’t notice Sarah with them. I was glad for the support and felt my stride get a little easier.

A small incline met us just after the half (I hit in 1:38:24). I told myself the feeling in my legs was not that they were halfway drained, but much less, and I was still strong. I was starting to count down the miles and wondering if I’d really pull this off. No, don’t think about that, you’ll jinx it.

When the race turned back towards downtown, we met a wonderful view, the Sears (yeah, that’s right, Sears) Tower in the distance. I gazed at that a while and floated back towards the city. Some of the best neighborhoods were in the later miles. Running through Chinatown, there were huge crowds and lots to look at. We also ran through a more residential area, where row houses, canopies of trees, and hipsters playing Death Cab for Cutie on their stereos pumped me up.

20 miles came and I looked at my watch for a change. 2:29:00. I had run a 2:28 for my last 20 miler, and according to Svetko, didn’t look so good. I felt great. Just 10-k to go and 51 minutes to do it in. I could slow down if I had to. But I still felt really good and was actually picking up the pace here and there. I was also passing some stunt runners, which was better than Gatorade. Okay, maybe not that good, but after just losing to the tutu guy, passing the guy in the prison jumpsuit and the dude with white cutoff shorts and no shirt, felt great. I also met a nice guy from Italy. He passed me up but I kept him in my sights for a while.

I was feeling a little bit sick of Gatorade, so I opted for extra water at one point and was back on track. 3:20 was going to happen, I was almost certain. I was still pushing the pace, passing a lot of people, including that Italian guy. Just a few miles to go and I knew the club was counting on me for the team competition. Okay, I didn’t know that. Sure, we were signed up and I was part, but was anyone actually counting on me? I didn’t stop to consider that. I just told myself that no matter what, I had to stay strong so as to not let the team down. Two miles left. I could gut that out no matter what.

One mile to go and I was still strong as I’d been all day. I thought, “I’d better not sprint the end. I feel so good now, that if in the next race I’m hurting, I might regret shaving a few seconds here, when I already have a PR.” Okay, so I was strong physically but mentally not so much. But then, up ahead! Disaster! There was a man in a banana suit! I must not lose to any sort of costume-clad runner!

Pushing the pace to ridiculous levels (I think I probably was about 2 seconds faster a mile) I caught and passed that plantain plodder, that fruity footracer, that...guy. Even though he had the crowd support (Go Bananaman? Really, that’s the best you can come up with?) I pushed on, leaving him in my GU powered dust.

Just before the park, I engaged in a little bit of cheerleading with another runner who was hoping to inspire his mates. The two of us took off as we ascended the hill before the finish. What a cruel incline that was. But, it let me coast towards the end, sprinting like a madman.

I crossed the line in 3:15:03. A new PR by almost 8 minutes!

After loading my mylar blanket with bagels and fruit, I wandered off to find the rest of the group and Sarah. Eventually we all made it to the reunion area, ready to recap our day, including 5 other PRs, a great marathon debut, and a great experience.

Gimme One Good Reason

2009-05-24T05:18:00.000-07:00

There were a number of valid reasons for me not to the Pet Promise Rescue Run yesterday, and no valid reasons to actually toe the line.

First, I haven't been running as much as I would like to before a race because I've been injured.

Second, I have been injured, so running my hardest seems ill-advised.

Third, I was up too late watching the Lebron do more in one second than Bobby Sura did in his entire career.

Fourth, I couldn't sleep after the game was over and would have to get up early to run.

Fifth, it was going to be way to hot for me to race.

Sixth, the plan was to run 9.5 miles to the start of the race, then race.

Seventh, the race allowed pet owners to run with their pets, which made me more than a little nervous.

Eighth, I was out of bananas.

Somehow, I still couldn't convince myself not to run.

So, when I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to, even if I was going to run, I decided on the race. I could still back out, right? I hadn't paid my money, so if my legs weren't up to it, I could always just call it a day then. But let's face it, that probably wasn't going to happen.

The warm-up was a great run. When we started, the weather was ideal, sunny but cool. There were 5 of us and we ran at a nice clip for the first few miles through residential neighborhoods. My watch was still off, so it was giving me more than the benefit of the doubt on the distance. Most of the run took place on the Olentangy Path. I guess I'd run almost the entire thing at one time or another, but had never gone that far south on one run.

My legs felt fine. Aside from a small blister on my foot, I was ready to race. Not sure how hard I could/would push the pace, but I thought I could at least try for a respectable time. There was no way I was going to back out now. I didn't even give it a second thought when we walked over to registration.

The registration area was pretty crowded with dogs and people everywhere. The preregistration line was actually way longer than the race day registration, so we got signed up pretty quickly, but the rest of the racers were a bit behind, so there was a slight delay. Not a problem, unless you're just off a 9.4 mile run and your legs are trying to tighten up.

Actually, I felt good, leg-wise. My stomach on the other hand was not. My apple and pretzel were long gone, the bottles of gatorade and water since sweated out, and a lone Gu in my stomach. I was a little dizzy and wondered just how much damage I'd do to my body by running this thing.

We inched our way forward for the start. The gun/guy's voice went off and we started out up a hill. That used to be my specialty, but since moving to flatland, and since being injured, I haven't run up anything with any sort of incline. Still, I tried to settle into a pace I thought I could sustain.

Problem was, I had no idea how fast I was going or how fast a pace I could sustain. Fortunately, Dave and Liz passed me and I gave chase. Maybe, since they just ran 9 miles, I'd be able to keep up. Of course, I was just as fatigued, but my oxygen-deprived brain didn't think of that. I managed to stay pretty close over the first mile. Kate cursed me about a quarter mile in, for having run already and still being ahead of her. I didn't mention to her that I have a long history of overly-eager starts followed by overly-humbling fades.

The course was pretty wide open, with only a few dogs in sight. The race wound through the arena district, not the most interesting place to run, but during a 5-k, especially one where you are trying to stave off total body shutdown, you don't exactly watch the scenery. I was starting to get a bit thirsty, and the bowls of water dotting the course for the canine entrants were looking tempting. But I didn't want to stop. I had hit the first mile and was only a few steps behind Liz and Dave, got to keep up. I heard them remarking about the pace, a little too fast, maybe? That works in my favor because I'm going slower, right?

The second mile was starting to wear on me. I was fatiguing and trying to keep the pace. But I was hot, tired, and left turns aggravated the blister on my foot. The water stop left me slightly less thirsty. I remember seeing the sign for mile 2, so I had a good sense of how far I was. But when we looped around for the second time, we hit a wall of people and pets. The people walking their dogs at the back were everywhere. There was a little room to the left, but mostly we started weaving in between dogs, people, and the traffic cones.

By the time I hit the second mile marker, I was pretty much just gutting it out. I had lost touch with Dave and Liz. I was just trying to maintain my pace. The course was mostly downhill over the last half mile and I was using every bit of those skills Keller taught us years ago.

The final turn is the same as in the marathon, but Liz didn't turn right away and I panicked. I was under the impression that I only had to go down the hill and into the chute. If there was more, I just didn't have the legs-- oh, she's turning, nevermind.

I passed through the chute and glanced at the clock, 20:45. I'll take it. I was not even going to try to pull off my tag. I let the volunteer fumble for it. But then someone handed me a plaque. A nice surprise, I guess it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The rest of the gang finished, including Thor and Griffin, Mark's canine contribution. Liz won (but got a plaque that said Top 20 Female Finisher). Fortunately, we didn't have to run back to the house. We changed and celebrated with Mexican food for breakfast.

Getting my Phil-adelphia

2008-12-13T10:52:00.000-08:00

4:00 AM:

I’m up, I might as well get going, there’s not much benefit to sleeping 30 minutes more. Dark outside, I’ll just step out and see how cold it is. Hmmm, not too bad. The TV say’s it’s gonna be cold, but shouldn’t be a problem.

I start getting ready and at some point, Mom sticks her head out to tell me it’s going to be 22 degrees at the start. Great, that can’t help my confidence. Time to head down, I’m still undecided about everything. At or below freezing, isn’t that the time I usually wear something on my legs? Dad woke up and we discussed it a bit. I gambled and went for the shorts. We went down to the lobby and there was quite a crowd. People were standing around, stretching, and in all manner of dress: full sleeves and pants and some in shorts. Looks like I’ll be okay.

I walked to the start with all of the other runners and it actually felt a little cold. I found my spot in the corrals and was struck by how far back it was. Oh well, must be right. I wandered off to the gear check and deposited my sweats. I put on my garbage bag “second skin” and wandered back to the start.

After the usual incoherent announcements, I realized what was going on. Up ahead was a sign for the 5:30 pace group. Instead of lining us up based on likely finishing times, they lined us up based on when we registered. Of course, they asked us our hopeful finishing time when we signed up, so I guess it’s my fault for thinking that they’d use those numbers for some actual reason. So, my parents, who were looking for me near the 3:30 pace group, were probably frustrated.

I did my best to weave to the front, but the best I managed was getting near the beginning of the 3rd starting group, some 10-15 minutes after the initial start and a few miles behind the 3:30 pace group. So much for that.

Finally, we were underway. The theme from “Rocky” blaring (for the 3rd time) as we headed towards historic Philadelphia. A bit of weaving, dodging, and other slalom-like activities and I managed to get pretty close to my target pace in the first few miles. The first water stop was a shock. We rounded a corner and there were a dozen frantic volunteers and a river of empty, crushed paper cups. No water here, keep moving. At least it’s cold out; on a hot day, there’d be riots. The second stop was similar, but I managed to not only get a cup of Gatorade, but I didn’t spill any of it on my hands and thus avoided having wet gloves for another 22 miles.

Shockingly, a long hill broke up the urban landscape and afforded us the chance to run upwards through an urban landscape. I heard some grumbling about the hill and joked with the other runners. The guy paid me a compliment about my apparent toughness and I repaid him by accidentally squirting a GU packet in his face. But that’s it for the hills, right?

When we turned back into the city, it got immediately colder. But the crowds picked up too. We headed back towards the city center and good sized throngs lined the streets. I slapped a few hands, kissed some babies, and kept hitting my splits. I managed to miss a mile marker and was still feeling good enough that I could keep my pace before hitting the next one and it came as a nice treat. I was around 50 minutes for 10-k and was feeling really good.

The next section was marked by a long climb up a winding hill, with views of the river (and an impossibly long snake of runners) below. A sign near the crest of the hill announced “Last Hill.” I got to the top without major trauma and I think I kept the pace pretty well on target. But that’s it for the hills, right?

A guy at the 15-k mark made me laugh and then reminded me to “keep smiling, you paid to do this.” I was thinking of pointing out I was actually here as part of a court-ordered plea deal, but I was too far away before I could answer. But now came the fun part, we’d be going back down the hill, and it would take us along the river. The river stretch wasn’t one of the most exciting of the race. The river was on one side, but a cement wall was on the other. Plus, the water stops had started to warn the runners that the liquids on the ground had frozen, so we had to tread lightly when we went though. I wasn’t entirely broken up about slowing a bit in through those areas.

We neared the half-way mark and climbed a small hill. Mom and Dad were waiting for me there and gave me a cheer. I’d been looking for them the whole race, but they hadn’t spotted me, probably due to my late start. Or maybe they’d decided to go down a few at the hotel bar and figured they’d catch me at the end. Both seemed plausible.

The half runners dropped off and now it was just us full crazies. But what’s this, we’re going down a hill? Oh, I’m not gonna want to climb that at the end. But that’s it for the hills, right? We bottomed out at the river, this time on the other side. A mile or two in, the road split and the leaders were coming the other way. I dreaded how far ahead they were and prayed for a turnaround to come immediately. The river was nice and there were trees and nature on the other side. Score one for this side of the river! It also seemed like we were going up and down a lot of small, short inclines. But that’s it for the hills, right?

I’m still feeling really good, even as we get through 15, 16, 17, 18 miles. I’m liking this, but I’m a bit worried that at any moment, the wheels will come off and I’ll be shuffling. I got a little boxed in and didn’t have the same energy I did at the start to get out of it. So, I spent about a half a minute at a slower pace before finding a seam to slip through. The road diverged and I was sure it was so we could make the turn and head back. Up a little hill we went. But that’s it for the hills, right? On the other side, we joined back up with the runners going the other direction. Chalk signs on the ground announced we were nearing the beer station. Yum.

The neighborhood we entered was cute. Lots of fans were lining the sides, screaming, handing out brownies, I think. (It was a pile of brown cake-like stuff on a giant piece of cardboard, that was the best I could think of.) I found myself nearing the 20 mile mark and going up a pretty decent hill. But that’s it for the hills, right? I rounded 20 miles as I turned back for home. I was around a little over 2:40, not bad, still feeling good. I enjoyed the long downhill and tried to let it carry me home.

I was still feeling okay, but my willingness to run was at a low ebb. I was sure I could run 5 more miles, but didn’t know if I wanted to. All of a sudden, a guy on the side of the road yells out my name. It sounded a bit like Jon, a friend of mine from college, and from what I glimpsed of the bit of his face I could see without my glasses, running the other direction, and bundled in cold-weather gear, I thought it might be him. Maybe it’s someone who will email me or send me a message. Otherwise, I’ll never know.

People started offering assessments as to how far away we were (1/2 mile, 1 mile, etc.) So, probably only 2 or so miles to go. We got back to the hill and I kind of shut off my brain. I slugged up it, trying to make 3:30. It was theoretically possible, I think, but fatigue, the crowd, and the hill were in the way. But that’s it for the hills, right?

I tried to race in hard. Mom and Dad were a bit before the end and their yelling encouraged me. I crossed the line quietly (unlike NY) and made my way through the chutes. 3:31:39.

I found M&D and as we headed back to the hotel, there was Jon and his wife, wrapped in mylar, walking towards us. I guess it is a small world, after all. Into the hotel room, shower, lunch, airport, plane. No more hills, unless the jetway's broken. Then I cry.

Tri-not?

2008-09-18T14:42:00.000-07:00

So, after a summer of running, and a tiny bit of swimming and biking, I was all set for my first triathlon. As any good athlete will tell you, planning and selection of the proper event is a must. I, on the other hand, signed up for the only one within 50 miles and paid no attention to whether or not it would be a good fit.

Early in the morning, my alarm went off and I was starting up. Usually, I have the prerace rituals down pat, but for some reason, I felt that with two other sports added in, I needed to be extra anxious and have no idea how to prepare. So, after a night of packing and a call to Pat for some advice, I decided to call it even in the morning and do what I normally do, minus the eating, stretching, and rereading of ‘The Little Engine That Could.’

We loaded up the car and made the long drive south to Deer Creek. We got there early and managed to get a good parking space. I wandered over to the registration area and once I found it, I was in line. Before I knew it, I had a number on my arm, something on my legs that I couldn’t see (probably an ethnic slur or dirty cartoon), and a timing chip. I went over to my trusty bike, Ulla and put on the number.

I followed the other athletes and began to set up my transition area. I put my bike on the rack and set out my towel, sunglasses, and my stilts. Now all I had to do was wait. And eat. And stretch.

Once those were out of the way, I made my way down to the water for the start. They kept explaining where we were to swim, but I didn’t understand, I’d be confident that I could just follow people, but there is always a chance that I’ll be DFL, and won’t have anyone in sight. Oh well, a risk I’ll have to take.

Fortunately, I was in the first wave, so there was less a chance I’d end up last, but more of a chance I’d get caught, kicked, and possibly drowned. Yippee. We lined up and I made my way to the back of the pack. The gun sounded and we charged? into the water. I cautiously made my way in and began to splash around. I gave a few horsey rides to some of the spectators until Sarah yelled at me and told me to get going. So, I began swimming towards the buoy. I looked up after a few strokes and I was already a few lengths behind everyone. But, soon I was moving more quickly and I actually began to get some speed going, and caught the last few swimmers in the pack. Once I got to the buoy though, I lost my rhythm. I was half side-stroking, half-drowning almost until the halfway point. It seemed to me like I was using my legs way too much and was going to regret that. I tried using less leg and more arm and promptly sank.

Somehow, I started to get into my groove and was getting more confident. By then, everyone was passing me and I was trying not to kick anyone and not get dunked on someone’s downstroke. Then the waves hit. I was swimming directly into giant swells of at least 3 inches! Suddenly, my confidence and rhythm were gone. I managed to get around the last corner and start heading for the end. I was back in the groove when my leg cramped up. So, for the rest of the swim, I kicked, massaged, kicked, massaged, and repeated until the end. When I turned to the shore I stood up as soon as I could and ran out of the water. I was just under 30 minutes. Considering I had done a 25 minute tune-up swim, I was right on pace, especially having slowed so much and been in OPEN WATER!

Up the hill I ran to the transition area. Over the beach, the rocks, and over the chip mat. The chip on my ankle fell down to my foot as soon as I hit the water and had been nagging me the whole swim. I sat down and took my time getting ready, no sense in rushing too much. Soon enough, I was on my bike.

The early miles of the bike were good. I was moving at a good clip, passing lots of people with fancier, shinier, lighter bikes. Sure, there were people passing us all without even trying, but I wouldn’t have caught them with a better bike anyway. I figured I was about a third of the way done and decided to get some water. So, I reached down and got my bottle. I took a swig or two and prepared to put it back, always a delicate move. Apparently, I wasn’t delicate enough. As I leaned over, I let the handlebars turn and drifted across the street. I felt a bike bump me and down I went. I remember sliding on my chest and looking up and seeing my would-be crash victim riding away. She looked back, asked if I was okay, and kept going. I told her I was fine (a lie) and laid back down on the pavement, sweet, sweet pavement. A few people offered to stop or get help, but I wasn’t having it (maybe I DID hit my head). I was kind of stunned and couldn’t figure out how to get up, my hands were cut and my legs were shot. Somehow, I righted myself, the bike, put my bottle back (no, I didn’t even get it in the cage before the fall) and started up.

Now, in addition to fatigue, I had a trivial amount of blood loss, and a sore knee. I wasn’t sure if the knee was just bad from riding and running so much, or the fall. Somehow, I caught a few of the folks who’d passed me when I was on the ground. The first part of the ride was mostly a gentle climb. So, I had some downhills to look forward to. They all came at once. A steep grade down felt nice. What wasn’t nice, was the sharp climb back up. I didn’t have the leg strength, speed, or available gears to make it. I hopped off the bike and ran it up the hill. My legs were not happy. Uh-oh. I coasted in, managing to put in a little speed up the last hill. I was still hoping for a rebound on the run.

In and out of transition, I was ready. 3.1 miles, easy. My legs weren’t cooperating though. Plus, it was hot. I didn’t mind on the bike, but running, it wasn’t fun. Still, I was passing people, albeit slowly. We wandered along the ridge of a hill and had a nice view of the lake. The course took us across a dam, which was kind of fun. I spied a guy in a yellow jersey up ahead. I figured he’d be easy to see at the turnaround, and so I’d know where it was. No luck, I caught him 3 meters before the turnaround. Back we went towards the end. There was a breeze, but it was hot and right in my face. Eventually, I was back at the start, crossed the line and swore of triathlons forever.

Hocking a Tshaynik about Hocking Hills

2008-06-01T14:34:00.000-07:00

The good: I didn't lose any toenails....yet.

The bad: I wasn't in the amazing shape my last long run had me believing.

The ugly: We've already covered the foot thing.

So, we (10 strong from Columbus Running Club) took a little roadtrip to Hocking Hills.

The day started very early, as all good trail runs should. Twisting, turning, an hour of driving, and some car-sickness later, we pulled into the parking lot and prepared to run.

The trail starts off following the road, mostly through the park and the outlying areas. Then it starts will the hills, always with the hills this one. Oy. I couldn't handle the pace on the steepest of the downhills, what you want that I should fall? So, I gently eased down the hill with reckless abandon and quad-busting speed. How bad could these hills be?

I soon found out as we turned back onto trails and immediately went straight up. And up. And up, and after my sherpa quit, I was just about half way there. Suddenly, I felt that all of the kvetching about the hill was justified. It was a certified killer. I'm glad I wasn't racing it, or going to have to run another, oh 10 miles.

The trail alternated for the next several miles between rolling, gently rolling, moderately rolling, rocking and rolling, and the seldom seen: rolling on the river. The scenery was nice, at least as far as I could tell while shvitzing profusely, panting desperately, and trying to remain vertical.

We took a few breaks to "regroup." Eventually, we came to the lake. (Pictures coming, oh when I finish the roll of film in about 3 years, you should be so lucky.) At that point, we began to separate. By the time we emerged from the woods by the campgrounds, our band of 10 was down to 5. Oh well, at least one of our group had driven, right?

On we went. Over rocks, streams, poison ivy. At long last we made it back to the road, only a bunch more to go! Up and up we went, ever slower as the road wound on. With my spirits fading and my energy nearly gone, I saw the cars and stumbled to the end.

Of course, nobody was there. Even the people I finished with were nowhere to be seen. This is not good. Fortunately, it was only a matter of time before even the last of the band made it in and we shared our triumphs and successes. Of the klutzes among us, only one fall (Greg, as promised) nobody was permanently lost (the buddy system, works every time!)

A few wise souls washed off the schmutz before we loaded up the cars again and returned to Columbus, weary but well earned.

Big Sur-prize

2008-04-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

I decided to stay on Columbus time. It seemed to me that if I did, I would be able to go to bed early and then waking up for a 3:45 bus wouldn’t be so bad. So, at the late hour of 8:00 PM, I bedded down for the night. 1:53: I wake up. My heart starts racing. Uh-oh.

A few attempts to distract myself later, I gave up. One more half hour of sleep isn’t going to make much of a difference. I split my time between getting ready and watching an interesting documentary on Italian Americans in film. Anyway, it’s time to go.

Valerie is waiting in the car and we drive to the bus stop. A handful of bleary-eyed runners are already waiting. Eventually, the buses pull up and we snag some prime seats on the right side. (I’m told that’s the better side because you can see the ocean and everything as you drive down). The bus winds interminably down the road. It’s still dark, so sitting on this side has no benefits. Actually, I can just make out the edge of the mountains in the moonlight. It’s enough to scare the living heck out of me, but still dark enough that I can’t appreciate the beauty.

Fortunately, the bus turns around and heads back slightly. Now I can discount the whole ride and don’t have to think about how long it took us to get down there. The bus lets us off at the start and we descend into the starting area.

The announcements are less frequent and far less annoying than in NY. Jeff Galloway, who will be running the race, chimes in with some advice. I’m kind of peeved. You want my advice? Don’t alter your race strategy on the morning of the race, especially at 5 AM. His advice isn’t that bad, he suggest going out a bit easy, because of hills and heat, then have something left for the second half. Sure, it’s just that easy. He suggests banking energy. It doesn’t work. If you go out too easy, you can’t pick it up enough in the second half to make it. At best, you run your target second half pace and get a lousy time because you slacked off the first 13 miles.

Soon they are calling us to the start and I find some people who look like they’re about my speed. They deny it. Some birds are circling overhead. The announcer claims they’re hawks. Hawks don’t travel in packs. I suggest they are buzzards. They’ll duke it out with the doves they release just before the start. Runners are not good eating there buddies.

We’re off!

The first mile starts on a downhill, so my time, despite walking most of the mile, is dead on. Okay. I’m actually a little fast, so I ease up slightly and when I hit the second mile mark, I’m slow. Oh well, long way to go. The course is taking us through the park. Beautiful trees line either side. There is a sign for the Big Sur River, I can just see it to my left, nobody else seems interested. The hills keep rolling, so I do my 3^rd mile in 7:30. I ask if the course seems short and someone reminds me I just ran downhill the whole mile. Thanks for insulting my ability to run an even pace.

There are some small businesses and a few spectators who turn out to cheer us on, but mostly it’s us and nature.

About 5 miles in, we start climbing up and out of the woods. To the left, we see grasslands and to the right, the hills towering over us. There’s a sign for the official Race Cow, Tchaikowsky. I don’t see him. Nobody around me does either. At least I’m not imagining things yet. I do learn 2 things: there are going to be lots of puns and the race organizers/sign makers are filthy liars.

6 miles, the wind picks up, but the sun is starting to beat down, so I like it. That gets old real fast. I can see something in the distance, a large rock with something clearly atop. Once I get closer, it is the historic Point Sur Lighthouse. (I read about it in the inflight magazine on my way to Monterey) Finally, we swing around the bend and it reveals the ocean. There are beautiful wildflowers and large rocks at the bottom of the slope. It is already the most scenic marathon I have ever run and the best is yet to come. I’m feeling great, almost not running hard enough. We start going downward on a long hill, nice. Some race officials in cars pass by and offer some encouragement. They tell us to enjoy the hill as we prepare for the climb to Hurricane Point.

It looks like I’m on pace for a 3:30-3:45 marathon, not too bad. We start getting views of the whole coast and it is incredible. I can see waves breaking on the rocks and steep cliffs. Looking up the road there are green mountains and blue skies. There is no doubt we are on the edge of the world. If you look left, there’s nothing but the sea and ahead, the road shrinks to nothing as the coastline snakes around and out of view. I know the hill starts at about 10 and I’ve passed 9 with no trouble, except for the blister that is forming on my arch.

I can see the hill now, but not where it starts. The road winds around so far, that I can’t see the runners turning around. We keep descending and turn almost all the way back before reaching the bottom of the hill. As I get closer, I can hear the Taiko drummers, pounding out a rhythm as we begin out march up the hill. It doesn’t seem too steep, but heeding good advice and good sense for a change, I ease up a bit and give a bit of a snarl to get some more adrenaline going.

It isn’t too bad going up the hill. It’s not as steep as I feared, just a long, grinding, winding grade. Along the way, there are signs marking our progress. They read things like: Sur-vivor Point, Pain in the Ascent, etc. I take a few opportunities to take some photos.

Hurricane point comes without too much trouble. I look back at where we began our climb and it is quite a view. Unfortunately, my time suffered. I had taken 10 minutes to get up one mile, so despite the warnings everyone gave me about going too hard down the hill, I put the hammer down and try to make up some time. As we began the descent, we could finally make out the Bixby Bridge.

Once we started to get close to the bridge, the sounds of the piano filled the air, floating across the span. On the far side there he was, Michael Martinez, tuxedo clad and playing the Theme from Charlie Brown. A nice familiar tune to keep me going. It also marked the halfway point. I finish the first half in 1:54:30, my slowest first half ever. My GU addled brain told me I could keep pushing the pace. So, I kept it up, trying not to go too hard on the downhill, but certainly moving with some real speed. The coastline was still spectacular and the ocean blue.

The terrain kept rolling too and we eventually moved slightly inland.

There were other musicians along the way. Two women with guitars, drummers, some Irish guy, and more. Some are playing old favorites, some their own compositions. All are a welcome distraction. I get to 20 miles without any problems. No real signs of fatigue, just a bit of weariness at the thought of 6.2 more miles.

We passed through some cliffs, reminding me a bit of Bryce Canyon in their shape. Soon, I started to hurt. I was counting miles more than before and starting to shuffle. My times were back in the sub 3:50 range, I just needed to hold the pace. The beautiful views of the coast were gone and we were in a more residential area. There were more people out though, so we had some cheering and occasional treats. Up ahead, I see a guy with a bowl of strawberries. I usually don’t take anything other than water, GU and Gatorade, but they looked good. I swipe at the bowl with my hand and come up empty. All I did was mash my sweaty paw though the bowl. There’s another one, this time I get a few and eat them quickly, delicious. Of course, my hands were then covered in strawberry goo. I wiped them off somewhere. No matter. I chugged on.

Just a few miles to go. Someone said there were just 4 little hills left. Ok, whatever. Usually when people tell you how far you have to go, it’s not right. They build up your hopes with, “It’s just over the next hill” or “Only a quarter mile to go!” In reality, you have two miles and 3 hills. If they ever say you have more than you really do, it still beats you up mentally and you limp in anyway. But here was someone saying I had 4 hills, very specific and not particularly easy anyway. Maybe he was right.

I’d been liking the downhills for most of the race. Even when I started getting tired, I could let gravity pull me and it helped. Now, I was starting to hate everything, even downhills. At long last, I saw the signs that brought me back to life: Mile 25 and 1 mile to go!

I got a little pep back and picked up the pace. I heard someone say that they could see the finish line. I didn’t see anything (even the people running in the race are not immune from saying misleading things). All I could see was an unending snake of runners. I tried to distract myself, waiting to get to the finish.

Finally, I spied the arch for the finish in the distance. One last tiny incline and then the chutes. I could hear the announcer calling names and telling people not to let their kids run on the course with them. I put on a sprint and he barely said my name before I crossed the line. 3:51 and some change. It was my slowest time in years, and well below what I would usually hope for, but considering the course, the heat, and that I stopped to take pictures a few times, I'll take it.

A few dizzy minutes later my chip was removed and I had my medallion. I was pretty well knackered and more than one volunteer stopped me to see if I was okay. I managed to joke with them all. I stepped into the finishers’ area and alternated between water and Gatorade, pouring and drinking. I congratulated a few runners I recognized from the course. I wanted to sit, but knew I’d regret it. Plus, there wasn’t a lot of grass, so I kept walking. Once I recovered, I headed over to the food tent. They handed us paper trays to fill with treats. I grabbed bagels, fruit, drinks, and a picture. I found a nice spot on the “grass” and after a few attempts, managed to sit without cramping. I ate my snacks and watched the people for a while. After most of my food was gone, I noticed people with soup. I ventured out and got one of the last cups of minestrone. It was some of the best soup I’ve ever had. Not sure why they gave me a spoon, considering I lacked the dexterity to use one and drank it anyway.

I went in search of my gear, hoping to put on some dry clothes. I was getting some good sun, but was still a bit sweaty. Past the arch was a glorious sight: row upon row of bags! I lined up by mine and they handed me my stuff. So simple, so effective! Hear that NY? Now I had a new bag for carrying food too!

All I needed to do now was wait for Valerie to finish. Soon enough, they announced her name and I went over to congratulate her. I assured her that it was the hardest marathon I’d ever run (maybe the hardest race) and she more than earned her status as a marathon finisher. She grabbed some food and we sat and reflected on our adventures.

Road Trip! Woo!

2008-03-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went out to Monclova Ohio for a half marathon.

At least, that was the plan. We got there plenty early and registered. I didn't really have any expectations for this race, having not trained for a race since New York. So, I was just about having a good run and hopefully turning out a good time and using that confidence at Big Sur.

I really enjoyed the pre-race interval. Having less of an interest in setting a PR and being an old war horse who now only does warm ups when he feels like it, I was able to sit back a bit and watch everyone else. It's interesting to see people get ready for a race. Some are nervous, checking their watches, fidgeting, trying to keep loose. Others are stay loose by avoiding everything that the nervous set does.

I chose not to do an extended warm up run, assuming 13.1 would be enough. So, I put in about a mile and a half maybe 30 minutes before the race. Everything seemed in order. Fueled up, stretched, and ready to go, I toed the line with one goal: stay with the group and then destroy them in the last .1 miles.

The first 3 miles were fine. We started a tad fast (sub 7) but eased into our pace and all was well. Then, around 4, things got goofy. First, the mile markers were off. Unless I ran mile 4 in 3.5 minutes, it was short. Rather that acknowledge that the race was now a half mile short, I spent the rest of the race telling myself I had more to run than I actually did.

Over the next 5 or so miles, I started falling back. Not because I was slowing, but because everyone else was speeding up. So, I maintained. I actually passed a few people and was still running pretty well even at around 10.

Of course, there were no real hills, but each of the slow inclines I bounded up with glee and determination. It counts, right? Then, the wind picked up and we were headed right into it. Plus, the cramp I had in my side was really starting to get on my nerves. It didn't hurt like it could have, but as I was starting to fatigue, it wasn't helping.

At that point, the last member of our group passed me and I was in the back again. As usually happens, the wheels started coming off. Still thinking I had 2 miles, I began a long stretch on a bike path. This was an out and back section, so I got to see everyone from the group, which meant I realized how far back I was and had to slog through all of them to get to the turnaround. Plus, my feet were starting to hurt, stupid shoes! New Balance, I don't heart you anymore.

With just over .1 miles, one of the other group members was there to urge me on. I really appreciated the gesture, but it kind of stung that he was so sprightly after having run his first ever half marathon and absolutely crushing me. I figured if he was going to run the rest with me, he was going to have to keep up with my customary stupid kick.

I put on the speed and I think I managed to pass one more person as I finished. Conveniently, they asked me my age right there to determine if I won anything. I told them, and I did not get anything. I tried guessing a different age, no dice. What, I don't look 60?
The woman who finished right after me begged me to tell her that the course wasn't short. She was so cute I almost hated to tell her the truth.

Anyway, our little band bagged the top two spots for the females and a handful of age group awards. PRs all around, many of which would have still been PRs, even if we'd had that extra .5 miles to run.

Stop for Directions

2008-01-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

Today's workout was an untintended fartlek workout.

I'm really impressed with the system of metroparks around here. There are a handful of them and they have nice, paved trials. Sure, I'd prefer some dirt now and then, but this time of year any trail is deserted so, I'll take the peace and low traffic level.

I'm not impressed with the directions to said parks. There is a highway that rings the city, meaning some long roads cross it twice. So what is a newbie to do when the instructions mention two of those roads and offer no other directional advice?

Mapquest!

So, armed with a set of directions jotted down on the back of an envelope. What, you think I'm gonna print out the directions? Right.
No problem, until of course, I pull off at my exit.

There's a sign for the park. It tells me that I should go the opposite direction my map says. Now, I was suspicious of my new directions anyway. They didn't seem to bear any resemblance to the ones on the website for the park and the map didn't actually seem to show the address being in the park.

Left it is. I began to doubt myself immediately. Eventually though, I found an entrance. After I turned around (on account of missing the turn) I went down the driveway and there I was. Lost. This was not the place. It was however a nice spot to take a picture of the sunset that 5 minutes earlier had been spectacular.

Back on the road, following directions this time, I found the place. Of course, by then my friends had all left (what? no 14 minute rule?). I stretched, searched the map for the route (I thought) they'd take and off I went.

For some moronic reason, I thought I could catch them, at least a mile behind, tired, and alone. I did not catch them. What I did do was tire myself out 2 miles in so when they turned around and picked me up, I was a lifeless, shuffling mass of moist cotton and running shoes.

Fortunately, by this time the sun had begun to warm the air and it was a pleasant run back. After a short stop (where they left me again) I was once more in chase mode. This time I came within a few feet of catching them but decided to put in just a bit more before turning around. I settled into a more reasonable, conversational pace and made it an even eleven miles before calling it quits.

We stood around and relaxed after the run, the cool air refreshing us. Wrong turns aside, it was a good run and a great day. A new route I can run and a few more miles in the books.

Fast Friends

2007-12-24T15:46:00.001-08:00

I'm starting to wonder if I'm not out of my league a bit.

Casually, before a run a few weeks ago, one of the other runners was telling people how he'd raced the last few weekends. Actually, he mentioned winning a marathon. After the run he pondered running 100 miles a day for a while.

Then, magically, on my Saturday long run, I was left sucking air half way through. That night I met a guy who ran the Men's Olympic Marathon Trials this year.

I'm kind of intimidated by all of these people. I should point out that they've all been incredibly nice and if I had met them under different conditions, they might not have mentioned their accomplishments. Still, it's humbling to be around such quick people.

It isn't as though I'm used to being the stud of any group I'm in. Usually there are plenty of people faster than me and some slower too. This just feels different.

I'm hoping it helps me to be a better runner. I know that running with faster runners helps a lot. I'm not going to even try to keep up with the two mentioned earlier (although I did beat one of them when he was struggling through a mid-week run, he probably could have sped up and whupped me good, but I finished that run first, so it counts, hah!) but I do see myself running with some better runners regularly.

Maybe now that I'm in a new place and running with new people, this is the year I'll meet some of my more substantial running goals.

Even if I don't, I'm enjoying the company, the scenery, and life in general.

Here's to another 365 of great running.

I'm in love with a wonderful.....trail?

2007-11-10T12:49:00.001-08:00

I was hoping that I would find an apartment near some trails or at least sidewalks.

That was not to be.

Fortunately, there is a 15-mile bike path within 15 mintues of my place. Not only that, but there is a lake on the path, that offers pretty scenery and a bit softer ground for weary legs.

So, I'm sold. My first run there was an 18-miler in preparation for the marathon. I met up with some other runners and ran with them for a while. However, they were not looking to hit double digits, so for the majority of the run, I was on my own.

Well, I was running solo, but there were lots of other people out there. The path winds all the way into the city. I didn't take it quite that far, but I did get to the OSU campus. It was gameday, so I started passing people walking to the Horseshoe and getting to their tailgating.

The trail took me through wooded areas, parks, and along the river. I even managed to keep from getting completely lost.

So, I think I've found my new favorite. Maybe having to drive a bit from the apartment to run won't be so bad.

It's a Hill of a Town (NYC Marathon Race Report)

2007-11-09T20:34:00.001-08:00

My secret hope before going to bed, was that I would wake up on my own, about 10 minutes before my alarm was to go off.

I got 15. So, a bit tired and even more anxious, I started getting my things together and getting ready to head out. I put on everything I wanted and left the apartment. When I got to the elevator, I decided I should put on my long shirt. Ooops, it’s still in the apartment. No problem, I’ll just open the door ever so slow-crud, it’s locked. Oh well, at least I have garbage bags.

I expected there to be people out on the streets. Not so much. However, once I started getting close to the bus stop at the library, I found some. The closer we got, the bigger the crowd. They herded us onto the bus and quickly left for Staten Island.

Speeding though the darkened NY city streets gave me a little time to relax. It was warm on the bus and most of the people around me were trying to sleep a little. When the bus finally pulled up, there was already a stream of people heading for the starting area. The feeling was a little bit like camp, volunteers lined the street, welcoming us to the marathon as we hugged our bags and shuffled through the gates.

We were quickly divided based on the colors of our bibs, although I had no idea where I really was. There was a small parking lot with coffee and water. Music was playing and I was starting to get excited. I made my way through the dark to where we were supposed to start. There were signs for each starting group. I found a nice patch of grass near mine and plunked down. I was getting a bit cold, so I put one garbage bag over my torso and put my legs in the other. I spent the next hour or so trying to keep warm, read, and keep my legs from tightening up. I did each one with little or no success.

The whole time this was going on, they were playing, on a constant loop, a recording of a voice telling us to be in the blue corral, corresponding to the blue on our bibs. It was dark and 5 in the morning mind you.

The area was starting to fill up and it was starting to get light. After fiddling with the Sunday times crossword, I gave up and went in search of some warmth. Just my luck, there was a generator powering the infernal speakers. I sat behind it and it simultaneously blasted my legs with warm and air drowned out the speakers. Nirvana!

About 2 hours to go. Time for Froot Loops, bananas, and pretzels. I eagerly downed my breakfast of champions and did a little more reading, but really I was too nervous and excited to read or sit still. By this time, the recordings had changed to one informing us it was nearly time to go to the bridge.

Having opted for lots of stuff, I needed to deposit my gear bag. Making my way through the throng I was met with an immovable object: The vast majority of the 39,000 runners trying to do the same. After waiting not so patiently and not moving anywhere near my baggage car (70, I could see 42 in the distance, giving me some idea of how long it would take me to still never get there) I turned around and decided to part ways with my cheap pens, day old paper, and extra box of cereal. What to do though, with my body glide? It’s a new stick and seemed silly to get rid of it. Fortunately, I managed to fit it inside my pocket. I’ll simply carry it until I meet up with the family and then give it to them. Problem solved.

I made my way to the street and eventually we started walking to the bridge. They walked us between a row of busses and the toll booths. I was totally turned around. I had no idea where the bridge or even NYC was. Then the cannons fired. We were off. Sort of. Quickly we moved around the busses and towards the bridge.

Seeing the Verazzano Narrows bridge ahead of me took my breath away. It was impossibly tall, almost shimmering, surrounded by an early morning haze. The first mile was a tangled mass of bodies, discarded clothing and the view from the bridge. I had no idea how fast I was going, but I was loving every minute. The first mile passed in 8 minutes and some change. Not too bad. It was opening up and I was actually able to get some running room from time to time. The second mile was pretty much all downhill and it was much faster and felt great.

We poured off of the bridge into Brooklyn and the real fun began. The crowds were out, cheering on the runners. They called out names of people who had theirs displayed on their shirts, yelled for foreign countries and gave good encouragement to everyone else.

Brooklyn was a blur of ethnicities, neighborhoods and waterstops. I was feeling good and starting to make up the time I lost in the early miles.

I knew my parents would be somewhere around mile 7. So shortly after the 10-k mark, I stopped slapping hands with every little kid on the side of the road and began scanning the crowd. A few miles later, sure enough, there they were, standing and cheering me, no wait, they didn’t see me at all. I turned around, hugged mom and handed off my body glide. Before they could even react, I was back on the road and heading for Queens.

Queens passed much like Brooklyn did, and I was loving life. I hit the halfway mark at almost exactly 1:45, perfect for a 3:30 finish. I was still running strong, but a little road weary at the thought of another 13.1 miles. Undeterred, I pressed on, telling myself the moment I passed the half, that I had less than 13.1 to go.

Unfortunately, there was a problem in Queens, towards the end. I couldn’t get the theme song from the “hit” television show the King of Queens. Driven nearly to madness, I crossed onto the Queensboro bridge. The voices in my head and the voices from the road subsided and I made my way towards Manhattan. At the end of the bridge, there were some posters psyching us up and then there was the sound. That faint, distant rumble, the unmistakable clamor of thousands of cheering fans.

It grew louder as we descended onto the island. For the next several miles, as we headed north, the crowds were several people thick on both sides, screaming, cheering, and impelling us onward in our quest to conquer the 5 boroughs.

I knew that Marc and my folks were going to be somewhere along the road. I watched the crowds for a few dozen blocks but couldn’t find them. Only after passing where they were, did I realize they were trapped on the other side of the street.

At the end of the road, we stumbled up a bridge and were quickly welcomed to the Bronx. A woman with a bullhorn shouted at us and made us feel welcome. A large television screen was waiting at the end of the street and I watched as everyone mugged for the camera. I did my best as I passed by as well.

As we headed back towards Manhattan, I was starting to feel it. The streets were not coming any faster. When I hit Marcus Garvey Park, I knew I was nearing the end. I zipped around and set my sights on 5^th avenue, which would take me into Central Park.

Much to my surprise and delight, my parents spotted me on 5^th Avenue. I really needed a boost and they gave it to me. Finally, we were entering the park. By this time, I was in all but full shuffle mode. I was slowing down, sore, and there was a strange tingling in my feet and hands. Somehow, I kept going and eventually the end of the park came into sight. I tried to avoid jumping the curb and hurting myself. No matter, my leg cramped up and went into spasm. I walked a few steps and started limping/running again. I fought off cramps for the next few hundred meters, hoping to get to Columbus Circle without further incident.

By this time they were breaking down the remaining distances in hundreds of meters. Good time to rely on the track training. Each hundred meters seemed longer than the last. That was until, 100 meters to go. I put all of my fatigue and pain aside and made a mad dash for the end. I jumped in the air at the finish line and pumped my fist. Man, I’m a dork.

Heroes

2007-09-15T19:29:00.000-07:00

Wednesday night I went to hear one of my heroes, Dick Hoyt, speak in front of the Cerebral Palsy Association. If you aren't familiar with the Hoyts, you should visit their site.

The following is a race report from 7 years ago, when I was still in college.

It was almost 7:00 when my alarm clock woke me up. The voices on the radio were muttering something a bit too intellectual for that early on a Sunday morning. I stumbled out of bed and began my prerace rituals, not knowing what or who, was waiting at the starting line. I took a little too long in preparing and before I knew it, an angry runner was waiting impatiently outside of my window. “When you’re an old man like me, you’ll understand how much time I need in the morning” I muttered. I grabbed those vital supplies, my keys, headband, and of course, the entry fee, and headed out the door.

After a brief car ride, we found our way over to the hotel where the registration was taking place. Long lines and anxious runners filled the room. One line for numbers another for shirts, all essential to the runner. As I waited in line for my number (probably somewhere in the billions, the problem with raceday registration) I looked around to size up my competition. This was just to be a tune up run, to see what kind of shape I was in but still, I was ready to race.

It was then that I almost missed him, he seemed like just another guy in running shorts and running shoes. My memory told me different, this runner was someone special: Dick Hoyt. I looked around at the other runners, they seemed so focused on getting their numbers and shirts that they did not even notice him. I was hoping someone else would see them and match my enthusiasm.

I felt like I should say something, here was the man whose determination and love I had been awed over every time I heard his name. I searched quickly through my mind for a perfect phrase, “Congratulations” or “I really admire what you do” or even, “Good luck.” But none of these seemed appropriate. I found a greeting that seemed fitting at the moment, “Good morning!” He responded with a friendly enough good morning in return and that was that.

I shared my sighting with the other members of my group, who seemed attentive, yet lacked the lingering amazement that still filled my mind with wonder. Soon enough, it was time to hit the line, the stretching was done, and the watches were cleared. I ran with the sound of the gun, weaving at the start, jostling for position and finally settling in after about a half mile.

As we rounded the lake I was struck by the sound of the race. There were no cars, no TVs, no voices, only the sound of breathing and the steps of the runners. It was beautiful, a strange serenity amid our seven minute mile pace. About a half mile later, I encountered him again, this time Dick was with his usual partner, his son Rick. Together they pushed onward, already heading the opposite direction on the 5-k course.

I pushed for the next 5 miles, the usual aches and pains. I felt my body accelerating up the hills, leaving my midpack companions behind me until they caught me and my burning shins on the way back down.

As I neared the hotel and the finish line, I put on a worthy show for my cheering fans, passing up my nearest competitor and earning the accolades of the announcer at the finish. I was met by my group, each of us was satisfied with our finishes and we made or way to the post race refreshments. I sat there with my banana and my water, taking in the atmosphere that I know and enjoy so much. Basking in the sense of accomplishment, having pushed another 6.2 miles out of my body and it was not yet 10:00.

I thought about what I had done and certainly, what the Hoyts had done. It was while I was doing this that it finally all made sense. I had thought to myself, this is a great day, I have done something I love and seen up close, people that I admire greatly. It was his demeanor though that convinced me. Dick Hoyt did not seem to act as though this was a particularly amazing day. For him and Rick, that was the point. When they run together, Rick feels like he isn’t handicapped. What makes it so special is that it is the one time when Rick can feel like everyone else. For all of us, it was a day where we could enjoy something we love.

Start to Finish

2007-08-15T06:08:00.000-07:00

First, this includes a long overdo race report from the Twilight Trail.

The second annual Twilight Trail 8-k went off without a hitch. Well, there was the incident with the flour, but that was resolved. More on that later.

I started off and worked with Pat to mark the course. He devised an oversized shaker bottle which was filled with flour. We marked every possible turn on the course where someone could go astray. Right before we started though, it began to rain. We didn't get a hard rain in the park, and a lot of it is under the trees, but we were worried that the flour would wash away. Oddly, this is precisely why the park wanted us to use flour. So, after a few hours of shaking, and lining, the course was ready to go.

People were arriving (except a few from the west or downtown where it was apparently Noah-worthy flooding. So. the start was pushed back a bit, which would prove useful. I went for a warmup with a few other Striders and much to my surprise, there were no markings on the course all the way up to the big hill. @#$! So, I ran back, to the start to tell Kate. I reloaded the shaker and with the help of another volunteer, went along and relined everything. I managed to get back to the start with a little time before the first runners left.

By this time, everyone was there, so I found my teammate and readied for the start. However, I was by this time, completely soaked and in need of a new shirt, which I probably should have gotten. Oh well. The race started and as last year, each wave was launched with cheers and applause, a real treat for everyone (execept of course for the last group, which had the largest gap to make up and no crowd of runners. Oh well, the price of sort of youth.)

Some of the people ahead of me at the start surprised me, but I was about where I expected at the hill. Oh man, the hill. Former Orange X-C coach Keller would be proud. This is a long, steep, now muddy climb that doesn't really level out for another half mile or so after the crest. So, I plugged away at it, but it seemed to take more out of me than usual, maybe the earlier running/lining adventures were having their way with me. Still, I made it to the top and did my best to hold the pace.

One reward I enjoyed at the top was that I started to pass the slower runners who started before me. After I settled into my pace, I began passing more and more, and eventually other Striders, some of whom I managed to cheer for as I passed, others who managed to cheer for me as I passed.

I was really feeling it by halfway. I was in dire need of the second water stop and it was a help before the long downhill. The rain, winding road, and gravity made the descent treacherous as ever. I think there was another waterstop at the bottom of the hill, but I missed it. Just around Squire's Castle was the 4th mile mark, so the end was coming and not a moment too soon. I had pulled my shirt bethind my back to get some ventilation, but fully planned on returning it to the proper placement shortly before the finish. I probably should have done it earlier. I was caught on camera with it pulled back ala 1988. Oh well, at least I'm not drooling on myself this time....am I?

The finish couldn't come soon enough. After crossing the line and staggering around for a while, I regained my composure and balance and enjoyed the massive post-race spread and party.

I enjoyed food and drink and the company of other runners who had shared in the experience. Most people seemed pleased with their times, everyone was pleased with the race.

Two Twilight Trails done, two years with the running group in the books. Will it be another year the next time the race comes around or will it be a chance to return and see my friends again? Either way, sign me up.

I'm all in

2007-06-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

As a rule, I usually put off signing up for marathons until the last possible minute (or until just before the fee increases). However, sometimes that just won't work. For example, Chicago. It sells out quickly and you need to decide well before the race that you want to run, if you want a number.

Well, it is also the case for New York. They have a lottery each year. Some people get selected, some are forced to raise money if they want to find a way in legally. Unlike Boston, there is no qualifying, but getting in is not a given.

So, after a few months of waiting, I found out that this November, I'm headed to NYC!

Bay to Breakers

2007-05-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to do Bay to Breakers for years but never thought I'd get the chance on account of it taking place in San Fransisco.

All that changed last weekend as I made the trip out there for the race.

First, the expo.

It left a lot to be desired. It was basically a step up from what Cleveland's used to be. There were about 2 clothing vendors, a few shoe companies, and assorted foods and drinks, each with its own mystery ingredient. Now that I've been to countless expos I have some advice to all of you runners who are interested in maximizing your schwag.

First, there are usually bigger bags than they give you with your bib, somewhere at the expo. Find them and stuff away! Next, find something you like to eat or drink. This is key. Maybe you like gatorade, or a powerbar. Whatever. The reason for this is that every local health-food company is trying to cash in on the performance food market with their own special, performance-enhancing ingredient. I've sampled energy bars with everything in them: taurine, ginseng, haldol. And it isn't limited to drinks either. Power bars are filled with every recovery hastening, speed enhancing, nipple hardening substance known to man (and a few that to earth, presumably from outer space). Usually these are gourmet disasters. I actually went to one expo that had a booth touting sardines! So, after you've consumed a drink that tastes exactly like licking a carpet, go back to your old reliable, wash down the flavor, fight back what is threatening to climb back out and go try that spinach flavored energy gel!

So, after loading up on our free stuff (the orange sunglasses would prove key). All was set for the race.

One of my favorite things about a big, early race is seeing all of the runners on their way to the race in the morning. This was no exception. Aaron and I got out at the BART station and there was already a mass of people ready to get on the train. We sat down and they started streaming in. Usually you can spot runners in these situations: zero body fat, impromptu stretching, pierogi breath. Here, it was even easier. Everyone had on either a number, a costume, or both. We rode the train into the city with Nacho Libre, one of the incredibles, and a handful of other costumed folks. Man, this was gonna be fun!

I was actually surprised when we got out of the train at how few people there were. We started following a modest crowd towards the start (I assumed). Slowly, the numbers picked up and it was starting to feel like race day.

My primary concern was being able to get into the first starting corral. I had signed up too late to get into the first and was not looking forward to trying to push past everyone going half of my speed or less. We got to the entrance and people were directing us. I pulled my fuel belt up over my number and instructed Aaron to make like he was drafting off of me. In we went. No problem.

I pulled my belt down and separated slowly from Aaron. They immediately spotted us and told us to go to the other entrance. I nodded meekly and walked a few steps in that direction. By then, they had turned to other runners. I signaled to Aaron and we went on unmolested. Safe!

As we approached the starting area, I noticed a guy with tortillas. Oh well, whatever. Then, all of a sudden, I noticed tortillas flying overhead! Soon, the sky was filled with UFOs (unidentified flour objects). Aaron had a lot of fun picking up the wayward tortillas and tossing them into the air. We were surrounded by all manner of runners, costumes, and excitement. Now we were just waiting for the start.

As the mass lurched forward, they instructed runners left and walkers right. I wished Aaron luck and headed for the left edge. I shouldn't have bothered. There were so many people (60,000 or so) that it wasn't moving.

Ah, I thought, a little weaving and I'll be free!

Well, two miles later, I was still weaving. I managed a few short sprints, but mostly I was stuck in traffic, jogging at best. I was all over the place. Sometimes the sidewalk opened up and I had a little running room, but I was so far back that the runners who were up to speed were too slow for me. So, I continued to weave.

The highlight of the course is Hayes Hill. It goes up for at least a mile. This is where I was going to make my money. I finally had a little space on the hill and one other runner was pushing the pace. I stuck with him as best I could and gained a little momentum. Partway up the hill, they were handing out more of the orange glasses. I grabbed a pair and kept going. Along the hill there were all manner of revelers. Some people were hanging out of windows, others on top of buildings tossing mardi gras beads, encouragement, and even beer to the runners.

After the hill the course took a general downward trend. It wound through Golden Gate Park for the rest of the race. I hit the 3 mile mark in 29 minutes, about 9 minutes behind pace. So much for hitting 53 minutes. I pushed the pace, maybe I could still break an hour. The problem was, it was still jammed. It had opened up, but I was still weaving. Also, I had been doing what amounted to a fartlek workout for the last 3 miles. I was worried I was going too hard but was hitting 7 consistently on the clock for each mile.

At this point I had a little more time to admire the scenery. In the park there was a waterfall and some bands. I was also passing a lot more people, some of whom were not clothed. Let me tell you, when you are ducking between people and jockeying for position, it is important to steer clear of naked people. Advice for life, you'll thank me later.

I hit the 6 mile mark in 50 minutes. Great, all I needed to do was cover another 1.5 miles in 10 minutes or less and I'd break an hour. Sure.

The course wound down towards the ocean and turned to run along the shore for the finish. I kicked it into high gear and pushed for the end. Still navigating the crowds, I passed the line in just over an hour on my watch.

I wandered through the finish area and grabbed a water (the only refreshment they had there, booo!). There were guys spraying legs with something cool. I stood for a spritz, not sure what it was, but it felt good.

After a few minutes, I noticed my heartrate was still high and my breathing was quick. Uh-oh. I'd been fighting a cough and now I was concerned. I should have been able to catch my breath by then. Not sure that panicking helped my heartrate. After a few more minutes of admiring the spectacle, caught my breath and headed back up the course to find Aaron.

Aaron and I coordinated on the phone and I set out to meet him. Sure enough, about a mile from the end I found him. We walked in the last stretch of the course and then went off to celebrate together.

Let the Sunshine In

2007-04-22T08:18:00.000-07:00

Nothing too heavy today. I just want to revel in the beauty of the day.

As with all things, there is beauty to be found. Sometimes it is just too easy. On a day like today, all you have to do is open your eyes and you realize how extraordinary a day it is. The sun is pouring into every window, every crack, through every opening and between all of the trees. Even without stepping outside, it is undeniable that the seasons have changed and that all can be new again.

Even if I hadn't been nursing a sprained ankle, I would be enjoying the warmth of the sun as I made my way along paths and roads.

Even if I hadn't fought winds, snow, and the bitter cold all winter, I would be delighting in the cool breezes affording me both a gentle nudge from behind or a refreshing gust from the front.

Even if I hadn't cut my mileage down as life threatened to take away my time to run, I would be extoling the greatness of the spring run with the return of foliage, friends, and fun.

Ghost of Blogs Past

2007-04-15T14:21:00.000-07:00

I used to post here:

http://www.xanga.com/ninjamarathonman