Clamdigger 5-miler

I ventured over to Westerly this past weekend for a race as old as I am - the Clamdigger 5-miler. (Thanks to Jeff Walker for pointing that out through his megaphone during his pre-race announcements.) Five miles (8K, to be more precise) was the standard cross country race distance in college, so I've had a ton of experience racing it, but it had been awhile. 

My primary goal was to run 5:30 pace. I came up with this somewhat randomly, but after using the McMillan calculator, I discovered that it was right in line with my 5K and 10K times from late last year. I also had a stretch goal (i.e., the goal you don't say out loud to anyone until after the race) of sub-27:00. It was not likely, I knew, but a boy can dream, can't he? My tertiary goal was to set a PR. My XC 8K PR is 26:02, which was obviously out of the question, but my road PR is somewhere in the low 27s, so I thought that might be reasonable, depending on how low in the 27s it was. I forgot to look it up before the race, so it would be a crap shoot as to whether I'd get it.

I had a nice warm up with Galoob, and our conversation covered everything from stone masonry to GPS watches. It was quite a bit chillier than I'd anticipated (the weather, not the conversation), and I warmed up in a full sweatsuit. I even considered donning gloves in the race but thought better of it by the time I got back to my car. I stripped down to my singlet and shorts and headed over to the start. But wait! I forgot to change into my flats. Idiot! I sprinted back to the car and grabbed my shoes, which I'd left tied in triple knots after the last race I'd done in them. Idiot! I fumbled with the impossible knot, wishing I was a magician or Edward Scissorhands. Finally, I opened up enough of the lace to squeeze a fingernail into it and slowly pried it apart. At long last, I got the shoes on and made it to the start, only to discover that the race would be delayed a few minutes due to a bottleneck at the toilets. I guess I didn't have to rush after all. Idiot!

Scouting out the competition. Hey is that "Gray Shirt Man" next to Galoob?
(Credit: Jana Walker)

Prior to the race, my father-in-law, who is visiting, told me that I better finish in the top 3, or I might as well not come home. It sounded like a joke, but was it? The guy's seriously competitive. Surveying the runners around me, I gauged whether I'd be welcomed back home or not. To my left was Mike Galoob. OK, first place was out of the question. A few spots to my right was Justin. He'd been running well lately, so there was a chance he could take me down, too.  Was there anyone else who might be top-3 worthy? I spotted a fit-looking guy with a backwards hat doing strides. He looked awfully smooth, but years of experience have taught me that some of the fittest looking guys on the starting line are some of the slowest guys in the race. Enough of the worrying, I decided to let the race sort things out.

Feeling good so far. (Credit: Jana Walker)

Mike, me, and "Backwards Hat Guy" vying for the crucial early position. (Credit: Jana Walker)

At the gun, I settled in behind Mike, as we trailed a spandexed guy who was in the middle of some kind of out-of-body experience where 4:30 pace seemed like a good idea. I soon felt a presence on my shoulder. It turned out to be the backwards hat guy. To my surprise, he started talking to me. He told me he recognized me from the Brrr-lingame race. I introduced myself, and he did the same. It turned out he was Nick, of negative-split fame, from my previous post. We ended up chatting for the entire first mile, which was an interesting experience. I was pleased to be able to converse at 5:20 pace but worried that it was going to tire me out. I didn't want to be rude or show any signs of weakness, so I made sure to talk as effortlessly as possible, punctuating the conversation with an occasional knee-slapping laugh or appropriately emoted facial expression, just in case he glanced over. 

We hit the mile in 5:20, a little too fast for my planned 5:30s. Turns out, Nick also wanted to run 5:30s, and we had a tacit understanding that we'd run together for a while. We slowed to what I thought was the goal pace in the second mile, but my watch was running on the optimistic side, so my Garmin 5:28 for mile 2 was more like a 5:33-5:35. Now we were too slow. Nick suggested we pick it up going into mile 3, and I reluctantly agreed. We ran stride-for-stride through the Weekapaug neighborhood until he got some separation on the only hill of the race. Up to this point, we'd still been talking, though our silences were growing longer. According to my watch, we were cranking through the twists and turns, ups and downs, at sub-5:20 pace, and I was beginning to feel the effects. It was at this point that I committed the most egregious competitive faux pas a runner can make: I told Nick not to wait up for me. Talk about giving up. He said he might not be able to go any faster anyway but then proceeded to destroy me over the last two miles.

Tracking down the competition. Look out little guy, heads-up Gramps.
(Credit: Jana Walker)

If not for the maze of 5K runners on the final stretch to the finish, along with some words of encouragement from Jeff, it would have been a lonely final two miles. I did my best to maintain sub-5:20 pace on this stretch, ultimately running 5:19 and 5:15 to finish up the race. Nonetheless, there were two agonizingly painful moments in the waning moments of the race. One was realizing that my watch was officially wrong. 5.0 miles clicked by long before I hit the finish, meaning I wasn't running quite as quickly as I thought. I still thought I might have a chance to break 27 until I reached the final sandy, pot-holed stretch in the parking lot. The clocked ticked from 26 to 27 just as I spotted it. I'd saved my kick until far too late.

The cover photo for Heel Planter magazine? (Credit: Jana Walker)

I stopped my watch at 27:02, three short seconds away from breaking 27. The standard SNERRO adjustment added two more seconds to this, so I guess I'm glad I hadn't run only three seconds faster. (Cue the video from Galoob's blog post.)

Yes, I am this cool all the time. (Credit: Jana Walker)

In summary, I am satisfied but not thrilled with my race. My primary goal - sub-27:30 - was accomplished, but the secondary goal was not. That left the matter of the road PR. I dug through the archives after I got home and discovered I'd run 27:07 at a 5M turkey trot in LaGrangeville, NY, in 2000. Just squeaked under that. (I recall that being a very difficult course, but a PR is a PR!) Also, it was thoroughly enjoyable to run with Nick for most of the race. He turned out to be a good guy and great competitor. A future WTAC member, perhaps? Let's get after him.

However, the best part of the day was running with Seb in his first ever "race" on the beach. He finished about a day after the kid in front of him, stopped a few inches in front of the finish line, and then completely blew off Matthew Walker, who was handing out the ribbons. But he didn't run into the ocean, get sand in his eyes, or scream in my face, so I'd say it was a resounding success. 

Seb's finishing kick. (Credit: Jana Walker)

When I got home (yes, I was allowed back), I sat down, took off my flats, and threw them into the pile of shoes the garage. They were still tied in triple knots. Another day's problem...

This would have been an awkward photo had I not finished third. (Credit: Westerly Sun)