USATF-NE Masters Championships

This past weekend was the USATF regional Masters meet, one of the few places where I might be considered to have a full and lustrous head of hair.  There's something about track races that gets my nerves all aflutter, and this one was no exception.  I rode up to the meet with Jonny and Mike, and I found that the company helped keep the adrenaline at bay.  It also gave me a chance to hear Mike recount, word-by-word, the new Jack Daniels book.  Impressive reading comprehension, I must say.

Upon walking into the facility, I almost laughed out loud when I realized just how low-key this meet would be.  Imagine a big room full of grandparents running and jumping and throwing.  That is literally what this was.  I was fully at ease from that point on and was able to enjoy the day. [One particularly old-timey sighting was of a guy high jumping using the scissor-kick technique, which was largely abandoned after the Fosbury Flop came along...in 1965.]

The Mile 
First up was the mile, in which Mike, Jonny, and Greg would be throwing it down against a menagerie of other runners.  You can read Mike's and Jonny's take on the race and then watch the two videos below for the (almost) full action.  [I got a call from a telemarketer mid-way through the race, which apparently stops the phone from recording video.  So much for the Do-Not-Call list.]  Mike dominated the second half of the race en route to a 4:28, while Greg had a rare off day yet still ran a 4:46.  Jonny nearly came through with his first sub-5 but left himself a little too much time to make up on his furious sprint over the final 200.  It will come, Jonny.  It will.

 Men's Mile - Part I

Men's Mile - Part II

The 800

Pre-race

The last time I wore these spikes - New England meet at UCONN, 2000.

There was a convenient break in the meet that allowed me to run my warm-up indoors rather than braving the cold temperatures and graffitied streets outside (hey, I live a very sheltered life).  This was especially welcome given that my hamstring has been bothering me for a couple of weeks, and I'm sure all of the cold weather running hasn't helped.  My legs were feeling great until I did my standard active stretching routine of leg swings and lunges.  During my very last lunge, I tweaked something in my groin.  Not bad at all, but enough to worry me.  I was able to do a bunch of strides without pain, so I put it out of my mind.  I threw on my 14-year-old spikes and stripped down to my shorts and jersey, and it was go-time.  

[Note 1: I just realized that my spikes would be in high school if they were a person.  Fortunately, they are not.]

[Note 2: I had a nearly embarrassing moment when I pulled off my warm-up pants.  Both the pants and my shorts are made of a some extremely thin, light-weight material, and when I took the pants off, it really felt like I had also taken my shorts off by accident.  I spastically pulled the pants back up, only to realize that I hadn't gaffed in the first place.  I gave a casual look around, as if I'd meant to do it, and then proceeded to get ready.  Smooth, as always.]

The Race

I lined up in position 11(!), just to the right of Mike and Greg.  I joked to the guy on my right that his spot was in the bleachers.  He didn't even give me a courtesy laugh.  

My race strategy was fairly simple - don't lead early, try to run 30-31 for the first two laps, don't lose touch with anyone, and then see what's left in the tank for the final 400.  The race went out at a decent clip, and I tried to fall in behind Mike and Greg, but there were a few interlopers in the mix, as well.  I wasn't expecting so much traffic and ended up running in lane 2 around the first turn.  I'm typically very conscious of not getting boxed in during the 800, as nothing is capable of ruining a race faster, so I thought about staying in lane 2 for the remainder of the lap.  I realized, however, that no one behind me was seeded anywhere near me, so it would be unlikely for them to come up on my shoulder.  I took a chance and went to the inside rail, where I patiently waited for things to sort themselves out ahead of me.  I hit the 200 in 31.5, a little slow, but close to target

In the second lap, things started to string out a bit.  I made a move to go by one fading front-runner and tried to maintain contact with Greg.  Mike took the lead, and I was tempted to pull myself up to him, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to hang on, so I decided to stay where I was for the rest of the lap.  Coming around turn 2 of the second lap, I was hit with this wave of nostalgia.  It had been 11 years since I last ran an indoor race, but it suddenly felt so familiar.  The smell, the dry heat, the burning lungs and legs.  It was like I had been transported back in time.  What a strange and wonderful feeling.

Mike had started to open up a gap going into the third lap, and I couldn't let him get away.  I moved around Greg and the early leader on the first turn and tried to run Mike down on the back stretch.  I finally pulled up behind him with about 250 to go.  Now, it was decision time.  

The 800 is a great distance for so many reasons, but one of the best is that every little tactical move can have a huge impact on the outcome of the race.  Here, I was faced with a critical one.  Do I sit on him for another 200 and then try to eke out a win in the last 50?  Do I wait until the back straightaway to make a move?  Or, do I make a move now and see what happens?  I chose option 3, and I tried to do it decisively and just before the first curve to catch him off-guard, hoping he would have to wait until at least the backstretch to respond.  I did everything I could put him away (or "snap the elastic," as he so eloquently put it in his write-up).  But, to his credit, Mike kept in contact.  I was running out of steam around the final turn, and his footsteps kept getting closer and closer.  It's so much worse to be the prey than to be the predator.  As I hit the final 50, there he was, primed to blow by me.  He went by surprisingly quickly, and I responded a little too late.  We ran together down the final straightaway, but I couldn't pull back even with him, no matter how hard I tried.  I gave the best lean I could at the line, but he leaned too.  Mike finished 0.08 seconds ahead, but it might as well have been 10 seconds; he was the clear winner.  

Men's 800 (turn the volume down unless you want to hear my son cry every time I run by)

The Aftermath

I had no idea what to expect coming into the meet and had guessed a seed time of 2:03.  I ended up running 2:02.66, which I was pleased with...at first.  Then I realized that I had just lost to a guy who was sick with a cold, had already run a fast mile, and until this year hadn't run an 800 since his senior year of high school (when I was just in fifth grade).  Still, it was one of the most fun races I'd ever been part of, and there's almost no one I'd rather lose to.  Besides, I'm getting used to it by now.

Anyway, I hope this puts me in a strong position to get under 2:00 later in the season, but there's still plenty of work to do.

I am quite sore right now, one day after the race.  (I hate you, DOMS.)  The worst spot, by far, is my groin, which had nothing to do with the race.  It will subside, I'm sure, but I'm screwed for Tuesday night bowling (Kingston Bowl - oh yeah!).  My breathing also suffered.  Immediately after the race, I was coughing like I had smoked 5 packs a day for 40 years.  Mike gave me one of his cough drops out of pity (creamsicle flavored?? what was that thing?), which helped immensely.  Now, I have this mechanical wheezing sound in my lungs whenever I take a breath.  I'm sure that's normal, right?

Next up, back to longer distances at the Super 5K.  I'll have to remember not to go out with a 30-second 200 this week...

The little fan saying hello.