Friday, April 21, 2017

Ventura County Corporate Games

For the second consecutive year, the Ventura Country Corporate Games would be my first race after a six-month hiatus. Last year, a balky Achilles was the culprit; this year it was my hip. Fortunately, the hip had improved enough to start doing one easy workout per week in late January. Week after week, I gradually increased the volume and intensity, but I was still unsure of my fitness. My entire right leg, from hip to toe, is a permanent mess, so I always feel uncoordinated and sloppy when running, and this makes it tough to feel fast no matter the shape I'm in. Sometimes, you just need to race to figure out where you stand.

While my mileage has been even lower than usual, I'd progressed further down the workout list than last year, so I figured I'd have a good shot at topping my time (and hopefully my place -- I was second) from last year's edition of this race.

The course consists of two clockwise circuits of a set of open fields. Most of it is paved, with a few short dirt sections interspersed. There's also a narrow dirt path just to the inside of the paved path that has formed organically from millions of footsteps of concrete-averse runners and walkers. I made note of this after recalling the mayhem I encountered on the second lap last year when I almost literally hit the back of the pack of walkers who were casually making their way around the course for the first time. Perhaps sacrificing the smooth, fast footing of the paved path for the open but uneven dirt would pay off this year.

There's also a team element to this race, as it is one part of the larger Corporate Games, at which Amgen competes for bragging rights with other companies in the county. I was unknown to most of my teammates last year, but now I had a reputation to uphold ("Oh, you're THE Chris Garvin," someone said before the race. Did they want my autograph?). I didn't want to let my team down, which added some pressure to what should have been a low-key race.

After warming up, I did my usual pre-race scouting of the competition, noting that last year's champ wasn't in attendance this time. (OK, I already knew he wouldn't be here, thanks to twelve months of Strava-stalking him.) I did see one young guy doing some seriously intense strides. He was going far too fast, as if he had a 100-meter dash coming up, so I was tempted to dismiss him, but he still looked pretty darn good.

I lined up at the front this year and quickly went to the lead as the race started. There was a strong wind during the first half-mile of the race, and I had really hoped there would be someone to tuck in behind for this stretch, but I was all alone. At least I wasn't the one being used as a shield...or was I? Out of nowhere, someone fell into step behind me, doing to me exactly what I wanted to do to someone else. Karma!

We stayed in formation for a few minutes. Once we escaped the wind, he pulled up beside me and asked which division I was competing in. I told him I was in the 'A' division (for large companies). It turned out he was in 'D'. He said something about this taking some pressure off our battle. Could he be looking for an excuse to slow down? I decided to test his competitiveness and accelerated. We were slower than I'd hoped for at the mile (5:26), and I really surged after this, using the wind at my back and a slight downhill to get a step on him. I glanced at my watch after another half-mile and saw that we'd been running 5:03 pace.

As I approached the end of the first lap, a spectator told me I had 10 meters on the guy. I crossed the line for the first time in 8:28 and realized that I was feeling pretty fatigued. I got a bit of a jolt when one of the volunteers shouted, "Amgen! I picked you!" Well, shoot, I can't let that guy down!

It was mentally challenging to enter the wind tunnel again, but I figured I could also use it to my advantage, since he was no longer sitting on me through it. Just as I made it around a corner and out of the wind, I hit the back of the back. For as far as I could see, the path was filled with walkers and runners. (For some perspective on just how thick this pack was, I passed roughly 300 people over the final 1.3 miles of the race.) 

As planned, I jumped onto the parallel dirt path and used this to bypass the labyrinth of humans next to me. Every hundred meters or so there would be someone occupying the dirt path, and I'd have to dodge back into traffic momentarily before resuming running unimpeded.

I passed the second mile in 5:17 but really felt like I was slowing. I glanced at my watch a quarter-mile into the third mile and saw I'd been running over 5:40 pace. I accelerated again, allowing myself to be distracted by the game of Frogger I was acting out. Mile three eventually passed in 5:21, and was feeling well enough to run 5:08 pace over the final 0.2. (Despite being called a 5K, the race flyers list the course as 3.2 miles. I guess it's more important to have two equal-length laps than to measure an actual 5K.)

My final time was 16:51 (8:22 second lap; results here), which was 15 seconds faster than last year's time. The second place guy was nearly 30 seconds back, and third was another two minutes behind him. It's not exactly a top-heavy race, but I'll gladly take the win.

Splits are randomly selected points along the loop for the past two years.
I was a little disappointed that I'd felt so fatigued so early in the second half of the race, but glad for the improvement, glad for the negative split, glad for the win, and most importantly glad to be mostly injury-free.

Up next are a couple of road mile races for something a little different, and then it's back east for good!


Monday, January 2, 2017

2016 - It also happened

We runners have great short-term memories. Run a PR a week ago, and we're flying high. But this what-have-you-done-for-me-lately attitude toward our bodies creates a near-depressive state when we're in the throes of an injury. This is the story of my 2016. I know that some good things happened at some point, but that's ancient history as far as I'm concerned. The life I now know consists of everything but running -- some swimming, a little lifting, the occasional hike, some painful yoga, and many failed attempts to resume running. Even cycling isn't an option. I know I will eventually be able to run again, but the "when" and its accompanying uncertainty are crushing my spirit on a daily basis. 

But you can't have downs without ups, and since this year-end post is not meant to dwell in the present, but to visit the past, let's look at the year in its entirety. 

Takeaways

A few bullets to summarize the year, with a positive spin...

  • Ran my fewest miles in three years, BUT it was only slightly lower than the last two years despite missing a bunch of time with various injuries. 
  • Only ran five races, BUT three were road PRs (5K, 4-mi, and Half Marathon). Placed in top-4 in all five races.
  • Nearly eclipsed 100,000 feet elevation gain without specifically targeting hilly/mountainous runs. The benefits of living where I live...
  • Experimented with some new training plans that seemed to work well without overstressing my fragile body.
  • Ran in four different countries (in a single week, no less) - US, Ireland, the Netherlands, and Germany. The latter two were places I'd never visited before.

A graphical summary of the year

2016 mileage was in line with the previous two years' mileage. A plateau is forming...
Weekly workout time by activity (top), daily weight (which I tracked for the first time ever this year), and sickness and injury timelines. The darker colors in the injury timeline indicate when an injury became too severe to run/bike.
Holiday-themed summary of last year's injuries.
I had the data, so I threw this together just to see how things shook out. No surprise here that the weekend dominates, as opportunity and motivation tend to align. The Tuesday bump was unexpected, though. (Note: this only includes the activities in the chart above, so no lifting, hiking, or yoga.)


Goals

Now for a not-so-positive review of the year. Here are my goals with their associated outcomes:
  1. Run more miles than in 2015 FAIL
    • 1088 vs. 1136. Was on pace for my best post-college annual mileage, and then the hip happened. Maybe next year...
  2. Get and stay injury-free FAIL
    • Did a nice job recovering from and holding off the knee and Achilles injuries earlier in the year, but the ankle sprain in July and hip injury that struck in October made sure there was no doubt I'd miss this goal.
  3. Sub-1:16 half-marathon FAIL
    • Ran 1:16:47. Close but no cigar.
  4. Sub-16 5K PASS
    • Just eked out a 15:59 in May. I'll take it.
  5. Jump and touch a 10-ft rim (this was inspired by Greg's blog. Who knows what's after this. Maybe a two-handed dunk in 2017??) FAIL
    • I didn't even remember this goal until pulling these together from last year's post. I think this may have to wait until my next life.
  6. 20 consecutive pull-ups FAIL
    • Hadn't counted on not having a convenient place to do pull ups to train for this. Let's try again in 2017.
  7. More data analysis! PASS
    • Lots of this in 2016. I'll have to post some of the results here for proof at some point in the next few weeks.

Miscellaneous Stats

  • Highest mileage week (Mon-Sun) = 35 miles (7/25 - 7/31)
  • Highest mileage 7-day period = 53 miles (6/24 - 6/30)
  • Lowest mileage week = 0 miles (4 times) - Knee pain (Feb), Hip pain (Dec)
  • Most hours run/bike in week = 9:00 (7/25 - 7/31) - Rest of family on vacation, so I played
  • Longest run = 15 miles (9/18) - Trail race, plus long cool down
  • Most climbing on a run = 3018 ft (7/5) - Kearsarge North in Maine (ironic, given that there's so much elevation to gain in California). Also, coincidentally, this was the same exact day as my highest elevation gain run in 2015.
  • Longest ride = 32.8 miles (8/6) - not the best year for biking, thanks to the hamstring issue
  • Most climbing on a ride = 2135 ft (7/30)
  • Number of races = 5 (1st place -1 time, 2nd place - 2 times, 4th place - 2 times)
  • Number of states run in: 8 - CA, WA, OR, NY, ME, MA, NH, RI
  • Number of countries run in: 4 - USA, Ireland, the Netherlands, Germany
  • Total running elevation gain: ~97,000 ft. Just missed 100,000, which would have been cool. Doubtless I've ever get this much again after moving back east next year.

My favorite photos from runs in 2016

Seattle and Mt. Rainier in the distance (February)

Descending San Bruno Mt outside San Francisco with college friend Ben (June)
View of Sky Top and Mohonk Mountain House from Eagle Cliff in New Paltz (June)
View of the Trapps from Laurel Ledge in New Paltz (June)
Descending the Bonticou rock scramble in New Paltz (June)
View from the top of Kearsarge North (July)
Aftermath of ankle sprain (July)
View back toward our house from the flanks of Boney Moutain (Aug)
How my legs and feet often look after running on these dusty trails (Aug)
Silhouette of Mike with ocean in the distance, short walk from our house (Sep)
My occasional partners in crime (September)
View of Dos Vientos from hills near home (September)
Unexpected view toward Santa Rosa valley near Amgen (September)
Munich Olympic Stadium (October)
Downtown Breda, Netherlands (October)
Sunrise in Ireland (October)

Goals for 2017

  1. Get and stay injury-free
  2. PR in at least one distance
  3. Set personal best in two of my favorite RI races: Blessing and Li'l Rhody
  4. Do 20 consecutive pull ups
  5. Swim consistently 
  6. Do drills and strides at least once a week (when injury-free)
  7. Maintain consistent training after the new baby (March) and move back to RI (June)
Happy New Year, everyone!

Saturday, November 5, 2016

City to the Sea Half Marathon

My half marathon PR had been eating at me almost since the day I ran it in 2012. That day, a combination of terrible conditions (gale-force winds) and inadequate training teamed up to hold me to a 1:22 clocking. Four years (and zero half marathons) later, that PR remained, reminding me of its existence every chance it got. (I even noted it in my very first blog post, when I created the "Optimal Race Curve" to show just how relatively poorly I've done at longer race distances.) Finally, a few months ago, I decided it was time to do something about it. There are a plethora of half marathon options out here, with one scheduled seemingly every weekend. From those myriad options, I chose one that sounded scenic if not fast -- City to the Sea -- starting in San Luis Obispo and terminating at nearby Pismo beach. My training went quite well, and I began to dare to think not only of PRs, but also of breaking 1:15.

Well, just about the only certainty in my running world is that injuries will crop up at the most inopportune times. Sure enough, a month or so out from the race, I was visited by ghosts of injuries past. One was the achilles pain that knocked me out late last year and has been showing up from time to time since then. I felt confident I could deal with that one. The other was a knee pain that I self-diagnosed six years ago as fat pad impingement. It prevented me from running for almost an entire year back then, and so I was pretty worried when it unexpectedly made an appearance and wouldn't go away. I stopped all workouts and took a couple extra days off for the last few weeks to try to keep it under control. At that point, I decided my primary goal would simply be to make it to the starting line. I'd worry about the other goals once I accomplished that.

To complicate matters, I got word in September that I'd be traveling to Europe for a whirlwind tour of the company's three European locations (in Ireland, the Netherlands, and Germany) during the week leading up to the race. There was nothing I could do about this little inconvenience, so I embraced the experience and did my best to adjust to the time changes and ignore the lack of sleep. (I also twisted my bad ankle on a cobblestone while running in the Netherlands, but that was a mere footnote on my growing list of excuses). Returning back to the US on Friday, I slept like a log Friday night, then hopped in the car with the family on Saturday, and before I knew it I was jogging down to the starting line early Sunday morning. A little foggy-headed and creaky-legged, but no worse for the wear.
The race photographer didn't get any pics of me running, but she did nab this nice one. I probably wasn't the focal point.
Race start; I'm in the bright green singlet
The Race

Miles 1-3: I'd had in mind that I'd run 5:45 pace for as long as I could. I figured there would be a few others who would be running this pace or faster, so I wasn't shocked when three guys took off ahead of me at a substantially faster pace. Two of them looked legit, while one I knew would be faltering before too long (and he did just that after two miles). Sometimes you can just tell. By the mile mark, I was already 20 seconds behind the leaders and running all alone. The first three miles were straight and slightly downhill, and I was feeling very good all around. Mile splits: 5:43, 5:41, 5:46.

Miles 4-6: I heard a group coming up behind me and guessed it was about four people based on their foot steps. My guess was right, and I was soon swallowed up by the pack. I found their pace to be comfortable, so I latched on, and soon it was just me and two of the original foursome, as the other two had been dropped. I selfishly decided to let these guys do the work for a while, and I'd enjoy the ride for as long as I could. We stayed together long enough to pick off one of the early leaders, who then did as I had done and latched right on to the group. Imperceptibly, the two pack leaders cranked up the pace, and I knew I'd be in trouble later if I tried to hang on. I reluctantly let them go just as we started up a long incline, hoping I'd see one or more of them later. Mile splits: 5:45, 5:39, 5:48

Miles 7-9: The seventh mile has the first of two big hills in the race. This one rises about 100 feet, which is quite a shock to the system after running flat or downhill for the first six miles. I started gaining again on the early leader who'd tried to run with the mini-pack I was once part of. I figured I'd catch him by the top of the hill, but it actually happened much sooner, as he stopped to tie his shoe right smack in the middle of the hill. I tried to keep pushing over the top of the hill and back down the other side. Coming down the hill, I could see far into the distance, but not far enough to see the race leader. The two guys ahead of me were probably already 15-20 seconds up the road and didn't seem to be slowing. Still, there was a lot of race to go. Mile splits: 6:09 (uphill), 5:08 (downhill, plus likely GPS error), 5:49

Miles 10-13: The tenth mile contains the second big hill - another 100-foot rise pointing directly into the sun. This one was soul crushing. I really struggled heading up and then had nothing left in the tank to attack the ensuing downhill into Pismo Beach. I was trying to avoid tying up, but that was inevitable. To get the mileage needed for the race, the course takes a turn straight down to the water, then back up a small but poorly timed hill, then back down to the beach again, and finally to the finish line. I'd realized about halfway through the race that my watch was knocking maybe 25 yards off each mile. That added up, and so it wasn't surprising (but was still disappointing) to have so much left in the race when my watch reached 13.1 miles. Another minute of running, and I was finally to the line, crossing in a new PR, but somewhat underwhelming, 1:16:47.

Splits: 6:16, 5:43, 5:49, 5:50, 5:31 (pace for last 0.3)

Final time: 1:16:47 (5:51 pace) (full results here)

Some shots of the race from Katie's Instagram feed. 

Post-Race: I got some nourishment after the race in the form of a breakfast burrito, which tasted oh so good. We hung around for a bit, thinking we'd spend some time at the beach before heading home, only to discover that the "beach" was several hundred feet below a cliff. So much for those plans. I decided to run the two miles back to the car while the rest of the family took the shuttle. Turns out, my legs were in really rough shape after the race, especially my right knee and hip. Interestingly, the knee pain was identical to an injury I got my senior year of college after falling during an XC race. I hadn't felt that in a long time. Ah, the memories...
I love this one -- a candid of me and the kiddos after the race.
In the days following the race, my legs (especially my quads) were SO sore. As you've heard me say before, the amount of soreness you feel after a race tells you how well prepared you were for it. So now I know -- not prepared enough! My right knee was also very painful for a few days, but the pain had mostly disappeared by the weekend. I decided to take a run six days after the race and fared quite well for 5 or so miles until I started to descend on a road back to the start of the run. My knee flared up, and I also noticed that the hip pain was back.

Another week off followed, which seemed to relieve the knee pain, but the hip was even worse, especially on ups and downs, which is pretty much all there is where I live. In the weeks since then, I've been trying to manage the pain while still getting in a run every two or three days. I have no other races on the horizon, so it's just a matter of patience at this point. I have a feeling my next entry in this blog will be the end-of-year summary, so stay tuned for that. More racing in 2017, I hope!

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Heroes in Recovery 6K

With a pretty good stretch of recent training (and with an eye toward a half marathon in October), I decided to take advantage of the fitness and jump into a local race. I'd been thinking about running one of several road 10Ks in the area but instead opted for a 6K trail race at Paramount Ranch. (Paramount Ranch is a neat little spot in the Santa Monica Mountains with great trails and an old western main street that's been used as the setting for hundreds of movies and television shows.)
Paramount Ranch - site of the Heroes in Recovery 6K.
I hoped there wouldn't be a gun fight on the trails that day.
The race - Heroes in Recovery 6K - raises money for a good cause, is a novel distance, covers challenging but fun terrain, and even has some prize money for the top four finishers. Those were reasons enough for me to give this one a shot. Now onto the race...

Mile 1:

On the starting line was a group of a dozen or so kids from the race's charity organization, New Directions for Youth. They were pretty adorable and had been training for the race for the past eight weeks. Rather than asking the kids to move to a more suitable starting spot, the race director asked the rest of us to carefully run around them after the race went off, noting that we'd have lots of time to make up for the slow start. I thought that was a nice touch and gave those kids a chance to lead us out onto the course.

The little guys lead the way. I'm looking for a way through.
I lined up in the first group behind the kids and plotted out what I thought would be the path of least resistance around the inside of the first curve. Well, those kids are smart and had the same path in mind, which put me in a tough spot as I attempted to pass them 50 yards or so into the race. I dodged my way through, even elbowing one or two of them in the head (they were the perfect height). I said I was sorry and prayed that the race photographer was far enough away not to catch that moment of abuse.

The kids in arrears, I followed the course along what would be a stream in other parts of the world but here in California is a bone dry ravine. This was, as far as I could tell, the only long stretch of straight, flat trail, and I used it to catch the early leader and accelerate into a steep up/down section. I thought I might be clear of the rest of the field on the other end of the technical descent, but I soon realized there was one guy I hadn't shaken. Not only was he hanging tight, but he was moving up to my shoulder as we came to the end of the first mile. Split - 5:46

Mile 2: 

The second mile starts part way up the biggest hill of the race. I had planned to ease my way up this hill, which I did, but the guy behind me took the opportunity to ease right by me. And ease he did; I've never seen someone look so smooth while accelerating up a steep hill. By the top of the hill, he had gapped me by 5 seconds and wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. It was already clearly a two-person race, as I couldn't see anyone within 100 yards behind me, so I stayed focused on the leader hoping his big move would take its toll later in the race. From the top of hill, the course drops down pretty quickly and then goes through a series of short ups and downs, making it difficult to settle into a steady pace. I kept waiting for his lead to stop growing, but if it was going to happen it wouldn't be during this mile. Split - 5:46

Mile 3:

More ups and downs in mile 3, and I started losing sight of the leader. I loved the challenge of the course, though it was strange to never feel like I could get into a rhythm. Every time I would have a straight stretch of trail to stride across, I'd encounter a dip, step, or sharp turn that would throw things off. To add to the fun, the second half of the course used some of the same trails as the first half, except in the opposite direction, which meant dodging a slew of runners at peace in their own world coming up the single track in front of me. It was a welcome distraction/series of obstacles, and before I knew it I was heading back down the steep hill where I'd been passed by the leader back when this was still a two-man race. Split - 5:49

Mile 4: 

I caught the occasional glimpse of the leader when the trail afforded a scenic vista here and there in the final mile. He was quite far ahead, and I was running for what little pride I had left. My legs were finally starting to feel a little peppier, and I was able to increase the pace to something respectable as I inched toward the finish. I made the final turn with about 200 meters to go and heard the announcer greet the winner as he crossed the line. All I could think about is how the spectators (all 15 of them) must be wondering where the second place finisher is. After an eternity, they wondered no more. I was done. Split - 4:30 (5:24 pace).

Total time: 21:50 (results here)

Crossing the line in 2nd.

Post-race: 

I congratulated the winner (a nice, modest, young guy), and we chatted about the challenging course and surprising temperature increase. We were soon asked by a few kids from the New Directions for Youth to pose for pictures and meet with them. Actually, they asked the winner to do that, but they reluctantly pulled me in on account of my hurt feelings. They treated us like celebrities, which was pretty cool.

Speaking of feelings, I was feeling pretty bummed about getting destroyed by the winner. Then, I heard his name called at the award ceremony. It was very familiar, but why? I turned to my trusty phone, typed it in, and found this. This dude had just finished 3rd in the NCAA DI XC championships less than a year ago. Hmm, maybe I should recalibrate my performance. Turns out, he either took it easy on me or has been taking it easy on himself since graduating. Either way, there was no way I was going to touch him in any race of any distance, so 2nd place suddenly seemed rather fitting.
4th, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place finishers. The identity of the guy on my right is just dawning on me.

Other observations:

  • The temperature was 49 degrees when I arrived at 7:30, which is just about as cold as it's been since I moved out here last year. By the time I finished my long cool down, it was 102! Now that's a temperature swing.
  • My quads felt heavy throughout the race, likely from the previous day's bike ride. It's a good reminder to stay away from that dreaded two-wheeled beast as more important races approach.
  • I need to start defaulting to fist bumping others after races out here. There are few things as awkward as sticking out my hand for a shake only to be greeted by an unrelenting fist on the other end. Everyone here does the fist thing but me. It's time to adapt.
  • The top female in the race was 9 years old! Apparently, she's been at this for a while.
  • This girl sang the national anthem. So Hollywood.
  • There's nothing that bothers me more than someone crossing the finish line and immediately making excuses for their performance. At this race, I congratulated one guy on his finish, and he launched into something about bringing the wrong shoes to the race. Did it add 10 minutes to your time, buddy? Another guy, without any prompting, announced that this race was too short, as he just ran a 50K a few weeks ago. Good for you, but it's not like the length of this race was a surprise. For the five of you who read this blog, please hold your tongue if you're thinking of self-handicapping before or after a race. Do as I do: save your excuses for your blog!

Friday, July 22, 2016

Bridgton Four on the 4th

July 4th marked my fifth consecutive year participating in the Four on the Fourth in Bridgton, Maine. I’d gotten a little faster every previous year and hoped to continue the trend in this installment. The nice thing about running the same course year after year is that it serves as a fitness yardstick. I’d been feeling good about my running after an apparent 5K PR a few weeks ago, but that was on a course I’d never before run, so this would be the first true test.

As has become something of a tradition, I’d done an anti-taper in the week before the race. This year, while staying at my parents’ house in New York, I’d gotten overly enthusiastic about the wonderful trails there and had run 6 out of 7 days for the first time since college, totaling 53 miles in that stretch, also a post-collegiate high. It was worth it – I had a wonderful time – but my legs were tired heading into our trip to Maine. I took three easy days prior to the race and was ready to go on race morning.

Race day got off to a less-than-ideal start. The novelty of sharing a room with us meant that our kids woke us up a dozen times in the night and finally for good at 5 AM – far earlier than I would have preferred. But all was forgotten by the time we hit the road to Bridgton with our friends.

Upon arrival, my buddy Mike and I did our usual warm-up out and back on the first ~3/4 mile of the course. We commented on how it wasn’t as humid as in the past but was still warmer than we’d expected. We made the joint decision to go shirtless*, and I felt invigorated as soon as mine was off.

*Note: I had made a point to pack my 1996 Team USA Olympic jersey for this race, but I stupidly forgot to bring my suitcase when we loaded out stuff in the shuttle van in California. I was thus without my jersey (and all of my other clothes) during this three-week sojourn east, making the decision to bare my chest that much easier. 

I saw a few fast familiar faces on the starting line and hoped there weren’t too many unknown others to bump me out of a podium position. I’d just squeaked in the past two years, placing fifth of the five-deep race prize awardees, and I knew that a single random new guy could displace me this time.
My strategy was pretty simple – I wanted to run a little faster than last year in miles 1, 2, and 4, and really blast mile 3, which includes the last stretch of the long uphill followed by a solid descent. My analysis of my previous years’ results showed that I tended to give away too much time in mile 3, and I knew the cause was probably mostly psychological.

Mile 1
The first mile starts on a gradual downhill and then remains mostly flat the rest of the way. Halfway through, I was in 9th place, running with a few other stragglers five or ten seconds behind a large lead pack. My breathing was ragged and took longer than usual to settle into a regular rhythm. I drew even with the 8th place guy (a youngster) right as we hit the mile mark in 5:17. This was slower than I’d hoped for but not too far off. Still, I knew I’d have to keep the pace snappy heading into the challenging second mile.

Mile 2
I moved into seventh on the first hill of the second mile (which rises 100 feet over half a mile) and then was quickly passed back by the young guy I’d been with at the mile mark. The hills in this mile are relentless, and I made sure never to let up, especially where the others did as we crested each one. I recalled reading that Chris Solinsky or Matt Tegenkamp or some such fast guy of my generation would force himself to take 20 quick steps after reaching the top of a hill in a cross country race to ensure he didn’t let up. I was inspired by this memory to do the same, and it really made a difference. I was able to drop those guys and eventually get myself into 6th place by the end of the mile, which I reached in 5:37.

Mile 3
I was feeling strong heading into the final hill and could see the top five guys (Moninda Marube, Jim Johnson, Silas Eastman, Nate Richards, and someone else) spread out in the 100-150 meters in front of me. I also knew Kevin Tilton was somewhere behind me, and I worried about him on the hills. Watching the stride and pace of those ahead of me, I was fairly certain I would catch at least one more, but it would take some work. I continued to push the final hill and then really put some effort into descending quickly. I caught one guy and then set my sights on the next one – a college kid who’d beaten me in 2015. This was the make-or-break mile for me, and I wanted to make sure I stuck with my game plan. I caught the college kid, moving into fourth place right around the mile marker, running a 5:19 third mile, 15 seconds faster than I’d run it last year.

Mile 4
The ol’ legs were starting to feel the effort, but I really didn’t want to lose any places I'd gained. I also discovered that I was closing on the third place runner, another college kid, who’d won this race a few years ago. We were moving well down Main Street, which was lined with fans shouting for the guy in front of me (he was a local kid) to hold off the old man chasing him. I came within maybe two seconds of him as we rounded the final turn onto the long straightaway. I was glad when he turned on the afterburners and started to pull away, because I wasn’t relishing the thought of dueling it out with the guy all the way to the finish. This was a weak thought, and I’m not proud of it, but it’s what my tired brain was thinking. I crossed the line in a big PR of 21:12, with a final mile of 4:58.
Half-mile to go, trying to catch third-place. (Pic from mcclellandmiscellanea.com)

I'm apparently scanning the sidelines for sneak attacks. None came. (Pic from mcclellandmiscellanea.com)

Forcing a smile as I finish up the race. (Pic by Katie)

Third place vanishes into the distance. (Pic by Katie)
I was thrilled with my time and place, as it verified my fitness. For my efforts, I took home a Food City gift card to give to my in-laws and a New Balance gift card to give to myself. Mike also had a PR, coming through in 23:45, despite running little more than 3 miles at a time in slow circles on the track during his training.

During the award ceremony, the top 5 men and women, as well as past race winners, had the unusual opportunity to blow out a candle on a cake honoring the 40th anniversary of the race. That was pretty cool!

See separate write up here. Results here.
The past three years have had similar split patterns, with 2016 just dipping below the others throughout the race.

My goal of putting a charge into mile 3 is evident when viewing the splits this way.


The two patriots post-race. (Pic by Katie)



Saturday, June 11, 2016

Love Run 5K

It has become an annual ritual to add to my yearly running goals the following: Break 16:00 in a road 5K. It's something I'd like to do before I get too old to have a realistic shot at it. While it's a nice idea, I haven't really come close to accomplishing it. Last year I hit 16:17 at the Battle of Stonington, and the two years prior I ran 16:21 (CVS 5K in 2013 and Schonning 5K in 2014). Still, a guy can dream, can't he?

Heading into the Love Run 5K in Westlake Village, I had no illusions of breaking 16, but I did think a road 5K PR (under 16:17) was possible. Several things were working in my favor at this event: flat course (~70 feet total climb), great weather (in the 60s, no wind), and fairly good fitness. I also spontaneously snagged a pair of new flats during packet pickup at Roadrunner Sports the day before. They were "lightly used" Nike Flyknit Racers, selling for roughly 1/3 of their original lofty price. I typically do hours of research before buying a pair of shoes, but I was very nervous about racing in my other flats, which caused me to lose a toenail after the Blessing last year, so I jumped on the opportunity to nab a replacement pair. These fit like a glove and felt great, so I took a chance.

Race day arrived and, as in my last race, I lined up next to a friend, a few rows back, despite knowing full well that I'd have to weave my way up to an appropriate position after the race started. As I was standing there, stuck behind some high school girls, I realized that there were some perks to starting in the pack. No, standing behind high school girls wasn't one of them. This vantage point allowed me to scope out the competition while remaining somewhat anonymous myself, so scope I did. There's an art to this, by the way. I've learned there are several tricks runners can play to make themselves look fast when they might not really be: tight-fitting clothing (bonus points for neon colors), 4 oz flats, a nice tan, being handsome, general youthfulness, toned muscles. So how do I know if someone is actually fast? I don't, but I usually figure it out after a couple miles of racing (har, har). There were a couple of fast-lookers on the line, so I made sure to take note and look for them out on the course. 

As we started, I was able to get through the crowd with surprising ease and was already in the lead after 15 or 20 seconds. There were audible footsteps behind me for about a half mile, but they vanished, leaving me and my soon-to-be best friend "Rick," the lead cyclist. So much for the fast-lookers. Rick and I passed the mile marker in 5:16 (I was targeting 5:15) and continued on our way. I wondered why the race organizers bothered to have a lead cyclist for this well-marked course with just a few turns. I wondered no more when we turned onto Hampshire Rd. and merged with the 10K runners. This is when Rick and I really bonded. He dinged his bell and announced my presence like I was a visitor to Downton Abbey for each 10K runner we approached. ("The Earl of Charlestown, Chris Garvin...," or something like that.) This had varying effects on these runners. People with headphones were oblivious of course, and nearly everyone else acted like Rick's announcements were serious affronts to their solitude and in return slung all manner of expletives back at him. I don't know why this was. In some cases, I think they thought he was a random biker trying to mow them down, and only when I came by a few seconds later did they realize what he was shouting about. In other cases, there was a "why is this 5K leader so special? I paid for this race, too," kind of vibe. Regardless, it gave me constant amusement along with a clear path to run. 

I reached mile 2 in a surprising 5:10, my two-mile time equaling my high school 3200 PR, which was a little depressing in retrospect. After a few seconds of regret over my high school career, I realized I'd settled a little too much at the start of the third mile, my watch showing "5:20" pace after a tenth of a mile or so. I consciously picked up the pace, though my legs were starting to feel fatigued, and was able to bring the pace down enough to log a 5:12 for the mile-3 split. I never saw this, since I was focused on getting myself to the finish in one piece. The mostly-flat course had a slight rise just before reaching the third mile, and this little slope change took a lot out of me. I recovered enough on the ensuing downhill to make one final push as I made the last turn and headed up an SBS (short-but-steep) hill to the finish line. (Despite Strava giving me credit for not a single foot of elevation gain during the race, there were actually some bumps on the course!)
Mile 2.5. The droopier the lower lip, the more tired I am. This is ~90% droop. Note the WTAC representation in California!
I crossed the line and glanced at my watch and saw 16:01. 16:01?! If I'd only paid attention over the last quarter mile, I surely could have mustered up the energy to break 16. I also noticed that the distance on my watch was 3.09 miles, which is technically just short of a 5K (3.107). I gripe when a race course is longer than advertised, so it's only fair to mention that this may have been something less than a 5K. This door swings both ways.

Still, slightly short or not, this was a road 5K PR. And maybe it's better that I didn't just sneak under 16, since it might not have been legit. 

But wait! Despite the time shown on the results board just after the race being 16:00, the online results have me listed as 15:59. It must have been the difference between the chip vs. gun time, since I'd started ten feet behind the starting line. Forget everything I'd just said - it was a sub-16 5K on a totally accurate 5K course! Etch it in stone! (One final note - this was a new course this year. The previous out-and-back version was USATF certified. I can only hope this was, too, but that the certification hasn't yet been posted. This is serious stuff, folks. My legacy is on the line.) All kidding aside, now I have incentive to find another flat course and put any uncertainty about the sub-16 to rest.
Putting the "cool" in cool down. (I wish I looked this relaxed during the race.)
Next race: A return east for the annual Four on the Fourth in Bridgton, Maine.

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Ventura County Corporate Games

The best thing about not racing for six months has been not falling behind on these blog race reports.

Since my last race, back in October, my running has looked like this:

10 weeks: Achilles injury
7 weeks: Working way back into shape
4 weeks: Knee injury
4 weeks: Working way back into shape

I'm now one of those guys who runs with a band around his knee, and my Achilles still isn't quite right, but I'm running, and that's all that matters.

I typically wouldn't have allowed myself to race so soon after restarting my training, but I had committed to represent my company at the Ventura County Corporate games (kind of like the Olympics for the county, if the Olympics were a bunch of regular people who trained for their event a couple of times a month).


A month before the race, I'd started doing one modest workout a week, plus some strides, in preparation. I'd been surprised how well my legs responded to this load after the injury, but I was constantly battling soreness in my knee, and two days before the race I still wasn't sure if it was worth risking further injury by competing.

The day of the race finally arrived, and too many people at work knew about the race for me to back out, so I sucked it up and made the trip to Ventura with a colleague for the big event. I checked out a map when I arrived and discovered the course was officially listed 5.17K, despite the race website and advertising calling it a 5K. 5.17K?? My training had been all wrong! In reality, this had no impact on how I planned to approach the race. Another 170 meters would be nothing, right? It made me wonder at what point would added distance cause me to change my pacing/approach? 400 meters? More? Something for you guys to ponder on your next long run.

The course makes two loops around a park, starting and ending in the same spot. I got a sense of the level of seriousness of the other competitors when I realized that maybe 20 or 30 of the 350 racers were doing warm-ups, while the rest socialized. This was reinforced when I returned from my warm-up to a bunch of open-mouthed stares from my teammates who were in awe that I'd run a whole lap of the course prior to the race. This would be interesting...

I walked to the start with a teammate who said she'd start with me and see how long she'd be able to hang in there. I didn't have the heart to tell her how things would go down, so I agreed, and we walked toward the front of the starting corral together. I had a dilemma - should I go straight to the first row and put her in position to get stampeded by the faster runners behind her, or do I sacrifice my own start and keep her out of harm's way? Being the gentleman that I am, I chose the latter. We were in maybe the seventh row, which, on the bright side, gave me a chance to size up the group in front of me. I saw a few fit-looking guys, including one in a Navy singlet that I picked to be the top in the field. Sure enough, as the race started, he took off like a bolt, while I weaved my way through the couple dozen runners who started in front of me. Oh, and my colleague? I didn't even look back to see what happened to her. I can't even be sure I didn't elbow her out of the way myself when the siren sounded. So much for being a gentleman.

After a quarter-mile, I was in eighth place or so, already 5 seconds behind the leader, whose margin was growing with every step. I glanced at my watch and saw we were running sub-5 pace. Oops. I backed off to something I could maintain, even though I knew I'd be sacrificing any chance to challenge for the lead in the near future. After another 100 meters, I was in second place, the spicy opening a bit too hot for most of the crowd. I felt a presence on my shoulder and knew I had a barnacle. I was happy to oblige, as long as he didn't want more than a comfortable place to hang out.

I glanced back at some point and discovered that we were in a two-man battle for second; no one else was close in front of or behind us. We hit mile one in 5:22, and I felt smooth. My thought coming in to the race was that I'd be happy with 5:30 miles. Now, I was hoping that a 5:22 wouldn't cause the wheels to come off at the end. Time would tell.

Running with the pack as I finish my second lap.
We came through the end of the first lap in the same position we'd been since 500m into the race. The guy was still hanging strong. Meanwhile, the leader's gap had grown to more than 30 seconds. There would be no chance to catch him. We continued to run in tandem until we reached the second mile marker (5:19). He suddenly and unceremoniously detached, thanking me for the lift (really) and wishing me luck the rest of the way. So that was it? I was able to enjoy the solitude for another 100 meters before coming upon a throng of walkers and joggers taking up most of the path ahead for as far as I could see. It was the fabled back-of-the-packers, working their way around the course on their first lap. I thought about warning them of my approach, but that would've required shouting, "On your left!" in perpetuity. Instead, I dashed and darted every which way, like Barry Sanders (that is, Barry Sanders now, retired and a heavy-footed, not when he still played football) finding holes in a defense with 200 players on a very, very long field. Yes, I'm over-dramatizing things, but not by much. On the bright side, all of the weaving was a great distraction from my increasing fatigue. Before I knew it, my watch beeped for the third mile (5:17), and I figured I'd better start picking it up. I ran hard but still comfortably through the finish (final 0.2 at 4:43 pace) in 17:06.

The medal ceremony. See, just like the Olympics.
The Navy guy had beaten me by 15 seconds, but I took some solace in the fact that I'd cut his lead in half over the second lap. I was also pleased that I was able to negative split after being concerned that I'd started too quickly, and despite the traffic on lap 2. (Splits: Lap 1 - 8:38; Lap 2 - 8:28). Best of all, my knee, which tends to be sore for days if I so much as step too aggressively out of my car, felt after the race like nothing had ever been wrong. These injuries are mysterious.

Final Results: 2nd place overall, 17:06 for 5.17 K (5:18 pace; roughly equivalent to a 16:30 5K). The team also finished 2nd, scoring some key points for the county championship!

Now let's hope it's not too long before I have to write another one of these things.