USATF Club XC Nationals

I've not had the motivation to write up this race for a variety of reasons -  a poor performance, an ensuing injury keeping me from running (and wanting to write about running), and being generally busy. But the race is now starting to fade from memory, and even the bad ones need to be documented (perhaps more than the good ones do), as there is always something for future-me to learn from.

Up through the Li'l Rhody Runaround in November, I'd had a nearly unprecedented stretch of good health and good fortune. That all came to a screeching halt almost as soon as that race was over. Here's how the next four weeks unfolded:

• Week of 11/15: Bad cold starting on Tuesday
• Week of 11/22: IT band pain out of nowhere on Mon; didn't run for 3 days and skipped Thanksgiving race. Cold turned to sinus infection.
• Week of 11/29: IT band improved; plantar fasciitis arose on Wed. Sinus infection lasted all week.
• Week of 12/6: That weird sharp knee pain that kept me out most of 2020 popped up on an easy run on Tues. Plantar fasciitis still there.

In most cases, this sort of lead-up to a race almost certainly would have caused me to skip it out of an abundance of caution. But this wasn't any race - this was the Club XC Nationals in Tallahassee, Florida. I'd already bought plane tickets, booked a hotel, and registered for the race. Not to mention, I'd committed to my HFC teammates that I'd be there, and, with only six guys registered, I didn't want to leave the team with an even thinner roster.

All of this intro is to say that I wasn't exactly going into the race with much confidence. In fact, my knee was so painful that I wasn't even sure I could run. I flew down the day before and tried not to catch Covid from the many gross humans packed in around me on the plane. I hadn't flown in quite some time and was astonished at the sheer volume of people in the airport, all with masks of course, though many with them only covering the mouth, especially in Atlanta, not that I'm judging...

The next morning, following breakfast with a few teammates, I caught a ride to the course and tried to calm my mind about the possibility of not being able to run. I figured I'd test the knee on an easy warmup. If that went well, I'd do some faster accelerations. If it was still tolerable, I'd start the race and then see how it went from there. I promised myself I'd drop out if it acted up during the race so as not to set myself even further back.

The race was held at the beautiful Apalachee Regional Park, a venue designed specifically for XC. 

With that, I went through those steps, checking each one off until I found myself on the starting line, ready to roll. Runners were grabbing water bottles (conveniently supplied by race organizers and stashed near the start) and mostly dumping them over their heads due to the high heat and humidity. Conditions were rough, especially relative to the cool, dry weather many in the race had grown accustomed to in the early part of December. I mean, the dew point was in the 70s, which would have felt stifling at any time of year. I reminded myself that I generally do well in these conditions and would try to use it to my advantage.

Off the line, the course heads out on a nicely manicured lawn, initially flat, then gradually descending. It's easy to go out fast, and that's exactly what most of us did. I checked my watch at one point, saw 4:50 pace, and forced myself to ease back and let the lead pack go. I ended up somewhere in the 40-50th place range as we entered the trails (also nicely manicured, first on grass, then on crushed shells). 

The plan was to run a steady 5:20-5:25 pace, which I knew meant letting many of my primary competitors go early and then hope to reel them back in. The letting go part was easier than expected, even with a 5:14 first mile, as I was already starting to feel drained from the the weather. The reeling in part was looking daunting. 

Not long after the start, the race had already strung out. I'm somewhere toward the back of the group in this photo.

The first loop is the longest and culminates in the course's one hill (which we'd run up four times). I was surprised by how much energy it took to mount its modest summit and made a mental note to take it a bit easier the next couple of times up.

I hit mile 2 in 10:43, right on target pace. It was also just before this point where I caught up to a big pack that included many of the main contenders in the 5K XC race back in September. Here, this was the chase pack, probably occupying the 20-30th place range, which tells you a bit about the tougher competition here than at that Franklin Park race. I remember feeling like I'd hit my stride a bit, now back on the gradually descending grass section again. I ran with this group for a bit as the pack eventually broke up, and I was with its leaders. I'd assumed this meant I was running pretty well, but mile three was a surprisingly slow 5:29, and that included the long downhill. This was worrying. I was keeping pace with those around me, but we were all evidently suffering in similar ways. The 5K was 16:52, and I was in ~20th place.

Chase pack descending at the start of the 2nd lap.

Somewhere in the fourth mile, I caught up to John Poray from Indiana Elite, who'd led much of the 5K XC race in Boston. He said something to the effect of "Deja vu," but I reassured him that I didn't think this one would play out in quite the same way. I wasn't being pessimistic, just trying to set expectations appropriately. We ran near each other for much of the rest of the race, picking off some guys but generally slowing down together. The next two miles were rough in 5:39 and 5:37. The fact that no one was catching us was incredible to me but reinforced how hard the conditions were on everyone. 

The sixth mile was something different altogether, though. My legs had gone numb, and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I wasn't breathing particularly hard, but I'd started to lose my will to compete, which is something that never happens to me. Poray had pulled away, as had another guy (who turned out to be Jacques Sallberg - a past champion of this event). Up the mountain one last time (it felt like it was, this time), I got that cold feeling in my head that I've only ever felt when I'm about to pass out. I tried running with my head tilted down to get some blood back up there. I slowed almost to a walk, and another guy or two went past. 

When I got to the top of the hill, I got the legs moving again, and then, mercifully, I could see the finish, down the long grass slope ahead. I knew at this point that I'd make it, and I was even able to turn things over enough to pass back those guys who'd gone by me on the hill. The sixth mile was a 5:54(!), with the last 0.2 at 4:54 pace, for a final time of 34:38 and 14th place overall.

I didn't dramatically collapse at the finish, but I did slowly sit and then sprawl on the cool grass. I sat there with my teammates for 20 minutes, not wanting to move, drinking as much fluid as I could get my hands on. When I did stand, I couldn't believe how sore my calves were, likely from running 6.2 miles in the XC spikes I hadn't worn in six weeks. The calves would remain sore for a week, but the knee pain completely disappeared, and has not returned since. Weird. 

Unfortunately, the plantar fasciitis that had been mostly an annoyance in the weeks leading up the race was pretty bad afterward. It hurt to put weight on it when I woke up the next morning, and now as I write this, three months later, it's still sore. It has completely knocked out my indoor track season and is threatening to do the same to the spring race calendar. The last time I had this injury (in this exact spot on my foot, incidentally) was 2017, and I missed nearly seven months that time. I hope I've learned something from that experience and can be a better patient this time around

As for our team, we placed 8th of 20 teams, which was probably as good a result as we could have hoped for, given our lack of depth and the fact we didn't have our usual top 5 runners. Even if we'd been at full strength, we likely would have gained just once spot in the standings, as there was quite a gap to the top 6 teams. Full results can be found here, and the usual comprehensive write-up from the running prof is here.

Our illustrious Masters team, plus the superstar senior runner Bob McCormack (2nd from left).

Li'l Rhody Runaround

Li’l Rhody has had a hold on me right from the very start. It was, in 2012, the first race I ran after moving to Rhode Island, and it’s still the one I most look forward to. I can’t put my finger on the reason for this attachment. I think it’s partly the race’s history (this would be its 30^th year); you don’t hear of many trail races with that kind of staying power. It’s also the novelty of the course, with its unique mix of dirt road, single-track, plank bridges, technical rocky sections, and a fast road finish. And of course it has something to do with its local venue and roots – it serves as the premier race put on by the WTAC. Whatever the reason, and despite a heavy recent race schedule, I’d long ago circled the date of Li’l Rhody on the calendar to make sure I would be able to make it to the event for the first time since 2018.

Given that I’d been running relatively well lately, my main goal was to PR, which would mean beating my 47:01 from the famously fast 2014 edition of the race. Trail conditions would have a lot to do with my ability to meet this goal, and with some recent rain, I knew the course would run at least a little slower than it had that year. The other goal was to win, though that would depend entirely on the field; you race who shows up, as they say. Still, I wanted that ‘W’.

The weather was great on race day – cool and sunny – and I was feeling good for the first time all week after getting a booster vaccine the Monday prior. Up until the day before, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to race, but miraculously everything cleared up by the time the race rolled around. This would mark the end of an unprecedented stretch of good health, though I didn’t yet know my luck was about to run out. More on the in future posts…but let’s stay focused.

I got in a nice warmup with a few of the WTAC crew and learned that Jason Reilly would be running. Jason and I had a great battle atthe Pumpkins race a couple of years ago, and I expected today would be similar. He’s a much better runner than I am, but the trails seem to balance the scales. With this in mind, given the relatively smoothness of the first half of the course, I anticipated needing to make up some ground in the second half if I wanted a shot at the victory.

Shortly after the start, surrounded by some of the usual suspects. (Pic by Jana)

The race got underway, and the beginning played out roughly as I’d expected. Jason was quickly out to the lead (temporarily behind a 4-mile racer), and I was next, as we left Sanctuary Rd for the campground. I was focused less on him than I was on the pace. I’d wanted to run roughly 5:40 during the opening mile and came awfully close to that (5:43). He was 10-15 seconds ahead when we departed the campground roads for the first trail section, which is a fast, flat, smooth single-track. He maintained his lead and might have even put a few more seconds on me here.

I wasn’t able to make up any ground on the bog bridges, which were slippery and include several sharp turns that require careful navigation. (I’ll spare you the Mario Kart analogy, which I’ve made too many times before, but that’s still what I think of over this section.)

The final part of the first half is my favorite part of the course. The trail starts getting more challenging, with several short hills, tight corners, and some rocks and roots. I could see Jason ahead in several places, and, with all of the cutting and thrashing, it almost felt like we were in a movie’s chase scene.

But just as you get into a rhythm on this part of the trail, it dumps you out onto the short Buckeye Brook road section. The mayhem of the trail becomes a jarring peacefulness. It reminds me of that scene in Blades of Glory where Will Arnett is trying to catch Will Ferrell on ice skates when they suddenly end up on an escalator, ice skates stuck in the treads, and have to quietly wait to reach the top to resume their mad dash. Here, our escalator ended at next trail entrance, where the chase was on again.

I hadn’t narrowed that gap at all yet, but the challenging section was just about to begin. I was still feeling strong, however Jason looked as smooth as ever up ahead. After losing sight of him a couple of times, I found myself unexpectedly close to him after rounding a blind turn. I later learned he’d taken a spill, which allowed me to chop into his lead just by staying on my feet.

I tried to stay within myself, very slowly chipping away until I was a step or two behind. Time was of the essence; if I waited too long to make a move, I’d have very little trail left to make it stick and would have to go head-to-head on his turf – the roads. With this in mind, I immediately went by him, gave some encouragement to stay with me, and pushed the pace as much as I was comfortable doing so far from the finish (still 2.5 miles to go).

He stuck right on me, and I summoned every bit motivation I could, imagining I was Greg Hammett, Mike Galoob, or other Li’l Rhody legends who had run so impressively, so fearlessly, on these trails in years past. Jason’s footsteps started to fade ever so gradually, but it wasn’t enough. I pushed on, trying to break away enough that he’d start worrying more about who was behind him than who was in front. When I finally reach the road, ¾ mile from the finish, I attempted to go into another gear but discovered I’d already maxed out. It was a scary feeling and one I haven’t had in a very long time, as my conservative racing usually leaves me enough in the tank at this point to mount a big kick. I was grateful that the road was mostly downhill, and tried to let gravity do its thing. I didn’t look back, though I really wanted to. It was a great feeling to get to the park entrance, greeted as always by Mike B, and know I’d had just enough left to maintain the lead. At long last, I’d won Li’l Rhody. It might never happen again, and that’s ok. I’ll always have 2021. Making it extra special was having my sister and brother-in-law in attendance, on a rare trip to Rhode Island for the two Texans.

Mustering a smile at the finish. (Pic by Jin Nguyen)

Posing with my sis immediately afterwards. (Pic by Jin)

Post script: With a time of 46:31 (full results here), I was 30 seconds clear of my previous best on the course. Jason was a mere 18 seconds back, which sounds like more than it was. He ran a great race, and we’re now 1-and-1 in our epic trail battles. He’s also just a little over a year out from joining the masters ranks, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.

Finally, thanks to Jeff and all of the WTAC volunteers for making this race live up to the big expectations we all have for it!

USATF NE XC Championships

The first weekend of November brought me back to Franklin Park for another big XC race, this time the USATF New England championship. After going 20 years between Franklin Park appearances prior to the national meet in October, I'd only had to wait three weeks for this return trip. This meant I'd been able to visualize (and agonize over) every inch of the course in my mind during the weeks leading up to the race. I had a couple of concerns heading in: (1) How would I fare in the 8K after doing so well in the 5K, given my typical performance decline in the longer races?; and (2) Now that all sorts of expectations had been set, would I be able to avoid a massive disappointment this time around? 

However, I had a few things going for me this time, too. First, as mentioned, I was intimately familiar with the course now and could plan a much more specific race strategy this time. Second, I now had a bunch of teammates I'd met the last time who would bring some comfort in their familiarity. And third, on the topic of familiarity, my buddy Dusty would be in the race -- our first time racing together (outside of the Williams alumni races) since I was in college. This last point was more than a minor bit of trivia; there was something so comforting knowing I'd have him around. As a leader on our team, he had played a huge part in helping me adjust to college 20+ years ago, always looking out for me and serving as one of the most important role models I've had. I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to run together in the race itself, but having him around for the warmup and pre-race chatter would almost certainly calm my nerves and fire me up for a big race.

The starts of these old guy XC races have shown me that, no matter the age, we humans just can't help ourselves; when a gun goes off, we run like we've never done this before. And, at Franklin Park, it's not like there's some small trail we're trying to gain position heading into; we have literally miles of trail ahead wide enough for a truck to drive on. I'm guilty of it too, but despite my overaggressive opening pace, I was still behind a dozen or so people when we rounded the first turn to make our opening loop of the big field. There were plenty of the same characters around me I'd raced against in the national meet, and this was playing out in much the same way, albeit with a slight delay to each move, due to the longer distance of this race.

Off the line - you can see my red hat somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

I felt very relaxed through mile 1 (5:13), though it was still faster than I had planned. Speaking of plans, here's what I was thinking: Go out in 5:20, then run roughly 10 seconds slower per mile than I had in the 5K (5:26 and 5:19 for miles 2 and 3), and then gradually ratchet up the pace for the final two miles, if possible. Now that I was a bit ahead of pace, I kept reminding myself to be patient. As Tom Petty said in his great song about his days as a cross country runner, "The waiting is the hardest part." But wait I did. I held back going up Bear Cage hill, and only passed people when they came back to me, rather than purposefully trying to catch them. Mile 2 was right on target at 5:26. 

I caught my teammate TJ around this point and reminded him that we had a long way to go. This was also a bit of reminder to myself not to do anything stupid. Up ahead, there was a BAA guy with an impressive pedigree (recent 2:17 marathoner and 2:22 in this year's Boston Marathon) who was absent from the national meet but had jumped out to big lead early in this one. He was followed closely by his teammate, a guy I'd beaten at the previous meet but appeared to be feeling strong today, making a giant move in the second mile to bridge the gap. A bit behind them was a mystery guy in a white jersey, and then the group that I was part of. Just behind me was Dusty, whom I'd heard our friends cheering for shortly after they'd finished doing the same for me. I tried to wave him up to me, and he later told me he was tempted to make a move so we could run together but thought better of it. This is the kind of discipline that made me look up to the guy as an 18-year-old!

The start of the third mile coincides with the long, gradual ascent of the Wilderness loop. It was here that I'd done my damage at the last meet, but it was still too early to attempt the same thing this time. I focused on fast turnover and a steady effort, which allowed me to pass the white jersey guy and eventually the second BAA guy who was paying a bit of a price for his big move. Now in second place, still well behind the leader, I wanted to put to rest any thoughts my competitors might have of reeling me back in and pushed onward. Mile 3 was also 5:26, a bit slower than planned. While this was disappointing, I still felt almost too good. I was tempted to go faster but was afraid I didn't have the endurance to make it last, so I stayed put for another mile. I crossed the 5K somewhere in the 16:50s, right around 30 seconds slower than last time, which was just where I'd hoped to be. 

I think this was taken with about a mile to go. Starting to wonder if there's maybe, just maybe, a small chance of catching the leader.

After the 5K mark, we repeat the Wilderness, and this time I tried to put in a bit more effort, if not a bit more speed. I took peeks behind me whenever the course gave me a chance, and there wasn't anyone nearby. Meanwhile, up ahead, the leader wasn't gaining any more ground on me, and might have even come back a little. Given his credentials, he was likely doing just enough to win the race, but I still wanted to make him work. I hit the 4-mile mark (5:22) and passed a runner we were lapping who shouted to the leader that he had a 10 second lead. Hey! He doesn't need any more help! I increased the pace as we closed in on Bear Cage Hill again, this time pushing up and over, but still not gaining on the guy. The downhill on the other side was a controlled fall and not a chance to make a move, but as soon as I hit the flats, I was in a near sprint. It was pointless, though, as his lead was too big, and he was still far too strong. I was tempted to cruise it in, but a huge contingent of Conn College runners, giddy at the chance to see old guys attempt to kick (it's possible they were hoping to induce a devastating hamstring injury) shouted so much encouragement for me to sprint that I couldn't resist. I turned the pace knob up to 11, with nothing at all to gain from it, other than a smaller margin of defeat. This, however, gave me quite the runner's high, and it gave me a ton of confidence that I still have some speed left at the end of these races. My final mile was at 5:09 pace, even with Bear Cage Hill, so I probably left a bit too much in the tank. 

Without any tape to break through this time, I was free to stop my watch. 

The overall time of 26:36 [results] was, somehow, my second-fastest of the four times I've run the Franklin Park 8K, just ten seconds or so behind my sophomore year time. This was both satisfying and depressing at the same time, as it reminded me of how unfulfilling my collegiate XC career was. More exciting was seeing TJ take third and then Dusty nab 5th with an awesome race of his own. (I'm relishing this brief period of time when I am capable of beating him -- something I never would have dreamed of in college -- as I'm sure it will be short-lived.) He and I cooled down and then spent time with some of our college friends who'd come to watch the race. It was a wonderful day, as much for connecting with old friends as it was for the racing. 

HFC Masters team. We placed second, yet again, to the BAA.

Williams Alumni XC and Grills Trail Race

With my legs feeling relatively good, and lots of fall racing options available, I found myself booked for five consecutive weekends of racing, starting with the Masters XC championships on October 17 and finishing with Li'l Rhody on November 14. The 2nd and 3rd of those races were low-key affairs, giving me a chance to relax a bit and use them to work on some race prep and strategy. 

The Williams XC Alumni race is typically an annual tradition, though with Covid forcing last year's edition to be canceled and us missing it the previous year, this would be our first trip since 2018. Always a fun time, the event brings back dozens of XC alums (there were nearly 100 this year) from the men's and women's teams for racing and camaraderie. I'm getting so old that only one alum from my era (the assistant coach, my good friend Dusty) was in attendance, with the majority of attendees from recently graduating classes. 

The race itself is a 5K, and in the past few versions of this race, we've followed a variety of different courses due to the ongoing construction at Mt. Greylock HS where the race is held. This year, we'd go up the "big hill" twice in the first woods loop, coming from the direction opposite our usual ascent, and then finish with the other woods loop, a rolling affair with nicely maintained trails. The course is always a bit challenging, but this would be the toughest I've seen it in years. 

After the traditional Bear Toss, we took some pictures and then were off. I latched onto the back of a pack of six and followed them up the hill for the first time. During this section, an enterprising young man pulled up alongside and started to recruit me for the Tracksmith masters team. I politely declined and tried to get away. I admired his boldness, but I'm not much of a conversationalist at rest, so doing it at race pace was out of the question.

After the first woods loop, we come back into the field where the race starts and repeat the loop a second time. I moved into fifth place here, waved to my kids on the side, and pushed onward. I caught another guy on our second time tackling the hill, then another, but once we got to the top he accelerated past me and a mini-battle was on. He got a bit of a gap on the long descent but I chipped away over the next half-mile, finally catching and passing him back. 

The last mile is tough, with lots of small rises and turns in the woods, and I just wanted to increase my lead here. We eventually get dumped out on the top of a grassy slope which turns right into a short finishing straight. I saw 2nd place up ahead, but he was too far in front to catch. My final time was 16:36, which, unfortunately, has no meaning to me, since this course was different and evidently a little short of 5K. Still, 3rd place is perhaps my best finish in the alumni race, and I was happy with my effort on a tough course.

The next week, it was back to the friendly confines of southern Rhode Island, and a new local trail race at Grills Preserve. With my legs getting hammered from these weekly races, and a big one coming up the following weekend, I opted for the 10K over the 10-mile, even though that choice would rob me of the chance to take on the top runners. This was confirmed after checking the registration lists and seeing that all of the main contenders had indeed registered for the longer race. On the bright side, this gave me an opportunity to use the event as a glorified workout to avoid overdoing it with another all-out effort. I came up with a plan to run the first mile at race pace (so as not to appear to be playing games to the rest of the runners), then, after the 10K and 10M courses diverged, I'd settle into a tempo effort from miles 2-5, finally ratcheting up the effort for a race-pace finish. 

After a fun warmup frolic on the latter part of the course with Jonny, we made our way to the start. The first mile is mostly on double-track, which allowed me some space to put in the hard effort. I felt great, and it probably helped my mental state knowing that I'd soon be able to relax and enjoy myself out there. I reached the mile mark in 5:33 and then promptly settled into my tempo effort just as I was hitting the beginning of the single-track. I don't recall many specifics of the next four miles, other than the interesting 'race track' section and the climb to and subsequent treacherous descent from the course's high point, as I was all alone following the incredibly well-marked course. (Having taken wrong turns in less well marked races in the past, I have come to appreciate the work of the volunteers whose job it is to place hundreds of flags -- especially those "confidence flags" that let you know you're still on the right track -- over miles and miles of trail.)  

Anyone with a GPS watch knows its limitations on twisty trails, so it's hard to know exactly how far you have gone and how much remains when running a race like this one. I estimated my watch would lose 1/10 of a mile for every mile run, meaning that I could be as much as 0.5 short by the time I hit the start of the final mile. To account for this and appropriately time my harder last mile, I started to surge a bit earlier than my watch suggested. Well, either my watch had its first ever accurate trail measurement, or that course is a bit longer than a 10K, as I finally hit the finish line, after a surprisingly long last "mile," at exactly 6.2 miles. But who really cares? It's a trail race and the times are meaningless, so let's drop it!

In the end, I'd run 39:16 for a NEW COURSE RECORD! (So much for the meaningless times...) Sure, sure, it was the first year of this race's existence, but no one can ever take that away from me, until they beat the time, which they surely will someday soon. But until that day comes, I will enjoy the record, the win, and another jar of Kevin Murphy's delicious honey.

USATF XC Nationals

Let me start by saying this: I might never again have a race go as unexpectedly well as this one did. I don't know if it was the weather, my training, the strategy, the course, the way the others ran, what I ate for breakfast, or some combination of those, but things fell into place perfectly as the race evolved, and, somehow, by the time I reached the finish line, I had won the darn thing. I'll briefly walk through my thoughts leading up to the race and then use the many pictures taken to tell the story of the race.

I typically enter a race with a fairly concrete time or place goal in mind. Not this time. Given that this was a cross country race on a course I hadn't competed on in 20 years (20 years and 9 days, to be precise), I had very little idea what pace would be appropriate. And my ability to compete with a mostly unknown-to-me field of runners was, well, unknown to me. The only thing I set my sights on was running a smart first mile (not getting caught up in the usual overenthusiastic XC starting sprint that I assumed would happen) and then trying to maintain that same effort and competing the rest of the way.

[NOTE: There's a great blog - RunningProf.com - that covers these big national masters events. Prior to this one, and unbeknownst to me, he posted a thorough preview of the race and its main contenders. I'm glad I hadn't seen this, or I almost certainly would have been less ambitious in my pacing and moves.]

One other twist was that I'd be running my first race for the HFC Striders, a club based in SE Massachusetts that I'd joined after the Bobby Doyle 5M in August. I'd had mixed feelings about signing up for a different club (which required being "released" by the WTAC, like I'm some kind of discontented baseball player no longer wanting to play for the team who'd signed me). But I was assured that I could remain a member of WTAC and simply compete for HFC is the USATF races, where my official membership would matter. Once that was clarified, I was excited to a join a team I'd been reading about for years in New England Runner. There was something scrappy about HFC that I'd always liked. Maybe it is the quirky name (HFC stands for "Hurtin' for Certain") or the David vs. Goliath nature of their Masters division rivalry with the BAA, but this was definitely the right kind of team for me. I also loved that they are very much a community-based organization with close ties to their local area. It might not be my community, but it's that spirit that I love. In any case, HFC has a strong Masters team, and my main goal would be contributing in some positive way to that team's outcome at the race.

Getting to the course quite early, I brought up the race website on my phone to confirm the check-in time and location. Scrolling down the page, my stomach nearly dropped out of my body. Proof of vaccination is required to race! While I'm happily vaccinated, my paper card (which I still can't believe is the way we show evidence of vaccination in this country) was sitting on my desk at home, nearly two hours from here. I was mentally preparing to drive back home and call it a day when I looked again at the website and saw that a picture of the card would suffice. No one was at my house, so I couldn't ask Katie to take a picture, but I remembered I'd had to take a picture of the card to submit to my employer a few months ago. Had I saved that photo on my phone or deleted it? Rapidly scanning the thumbnails, I spotted it! Crammed between pictures of the dog and a Jenga tower (don't ask) was the card. Fortunately, this would be the most stressful part of the day. 

I found my new team, introduced myself, and hopped into their warmup jog. It reminded me of college XC, with little packs of people wearing similar colors jogging around different parts of the course. I made a quick connection with one of my new teammates when we discovered that my high school teammate and friend was his college teammate and friend. The New England running world is small.

Before long, we were on the line, ready to roll.

The race starts across a big open field that has for decades tempted runners to run too hard too soon. I started off conservatively and quickly found myself swarmed by other runners as we made the hard right turn at the end of the field. I tried counting the people in front of me but there was too much movement to get an "official" count (I was somewhere in the 15-20th range). While we descended gradually on the first part of our initial circuit, I focused on keeping myself in check and not worrying about anything else.

My only goal for the first mile was to feel comfortable and in control. I methodically picked off some of the faster starters during the second half mile. Here, as we approach the mile marker, you can see my red hat toward the back of this chase pack. The GPS mile split was 5:04 (race clock was 5:09 or so). 

Just before the mile mark, I passed a bunch of guys (including a solid BAA pack) and eventually found myself at the head of the chase pack in the picture above, with three other guys ahead. I opened my stride a bit on the downhill before we hit the infamous Bear Cage Hill, passing a guy I recalled being an outstanding high school runner in New York in the late '90s, and started the hill the 3rd place.

On the hill, I pulled in behind teammate and Masters stud TJ Unger. I kept things smooth over the hill, not wanting to overextend myself. The leader (John Poray from Indiana Elite) was not even in my thoughts at this point -- he looked extremely smooth and fast the last time I'd seen him. At the top of the hill, I pulled even with TJ and urged him to come with me to for the lead. Despite saying this, I didn't harbor any thought of potentially winning. I was very much zoned in on simply running a smart race.

After the short and steep downhill, I suddenly found myself closing on the leader. The gap got smaller as we came around past the finish area with a mile-plus still to go. Taking the lead so far from the finish would put a big ol' target on my back for an awfully long time, and I'm much more comfortable playing the role of the hunter late in races. But a pass was inevitable, and it came much sooner than I'd hoped. Now it was time to turn the screw and see how everyone - myself included - would respond. Mile 2 split was 5:16.

 

The final mile takes you into the "Wilderness" loop -- a dirt bridle path with a long, gradual uphill to start and then a twisty return back to the fields. I tried not to let up on the hill and then accelerated after each turn so that there would be more space between me and the other guys each time they regained a line of sight. There are a couple of 90+ degree turns that give a chance to check behind you without looking back, and I miraculously wasn't able to see anyone at these spots. A few friendly fans told me the lead was up to 40 meters with about a half mile to go. 

The last part of the race involves a brutally long loop around the big field where the race starts and ends. You can see the finish line from so far away, you find yourself simultaneously wanting to start your kick too early and throw your arms up in exasperation. It was right around where this picture was taken that someone shouted, "In two minutes, you'll be a national champion." I was so focused on executing my race, it hadn't even occurred to me that I was about to win, let alone the significance of it.

One more turn until the finish. I was sure at this point that I wouldn't be caught and was able to relax and enjoy the moment (though the look on my face might make you think otherwise). Mile 3 split was 5:09.

Nearly there, I'm eyeing the clock. Final time was 16:22, with the last 0.2(! the course was a tad long on GPS) at 4:33 pace.

This picture found its way to all sorts of websites and newsletters. The only thing I'm thinking at this point is that I shouldn't lift my arms to take the tape so as not to appear to be raising them in triumph.  

So, instead, I ended up looking like I'd been caught by a very large lasso. 

There was a brief awards ceremony afterward. I took the opportunity to get to know some of my new teammates. 

3/5 of HFC's scoring members. We placed 2nd in the 40+ division, just 4 points behind the BAA. Mike Daniels was just a week removed from a marathon and still ran well to score for the team.

Taken before the race, here's the full 40+ squad.

This was an incredibly fun and completely unexpected experience. Reflecting on the race, it unfolded exactly how it needed to for my approach to work. If others had gone out slower, the outcome might have been different. Also, my legs have possibly never felt so good. When it came time to reel in the other guys, it seemed much easier than it should have. I don't expect to ever have such an effortlessly strong race again but will cherish the memory of this one forever.

The Running Prof also has a thorough recap of both the individual race and the team race. For additional info, see the Results, USATF write-up, and Finish line video

Bobby Doyle, Bottone Mile, and Wahaneeta 5K

It's time to start catching up again, as a full slate of fall races threaten to get me even further behind on these posts. Let's jump right in.

First up, back in early August, was the Bobby Doyle Summer Classic - a big, local 5-miler with great competition, thanks to its role as the USATF-NE 5M road championship. After bumping into an old colleague from my Cambridge days (it took him a solid minute to subtract 10 years and a gray beard from my face to recognize me), I headed to the start where I was able to give Shara a quick hello before the race started. 

I set myself up many rows back from the starting line, which was appropriate, given the large quantities of fast-looking guys ahead of me. And I do mean guys -- the women lined up on the other side of the road, which I thought was a nice touch, though it did give me a bit less room to navigate the crowded start. I settled in quickly and reminded myself of my newfound strategy: 2/3 pace, 1/3 race. In this case, I'd planned to stay comfortable for 3 miles and then push the final two. I also wanted to try to track down as many Masters runners as I could in those final miles, as I knew there would be many ahead of me based on how many older looking dudes I saw in the front part of the corral. 

The course is essentially half of the Blessing course, mercifully omitting the worst parts (sunny open stretches on Ocean Road and 108). The first three miles, which include a gradual uphill alongside the golf course, were uneventful. I remember passing Matt P and several of the elite women but not much else of note happened. The mile splits were 5:28, 5:36, 5:41. I wasn't thrilled that I'd dropped so far off 5:30 pace, even with the hill in the third mile, but I knew I still had a bunch in the tank for the finish. 

I moved into race mode on Kinney Ave. (in a similar spot to the Blessing, actually) and spotted Mike D and other Masters guys ahead. I was catching people with some regularity along this part of the course and split 5:16 for the 4th mile. The final mile was more of the same, though my legs were really feeling it at that point. I caught a few more people near the end (never getting passed by anyone during the entire race, which probably means I was a bit too conservative in my pacing), hitting 5:15 for the final mile, and 27:21 for the race (results here). I ended up as the 4th masters runner, not terribly far behind the others, but far enough that I didn't know they were there. I was pleased with this race, glad to have had a strong final two miles, and feeling more and more confident in my improving fitness. [You can watch the full race video here, if you're so inclined.]

Rounding a turn late in the race. (Pic by Tommy)

The finish line shot (from Racewire)

No smiling for this camera (another from Racewire).

Next, just a few days later, was the Bottone road mile in Westerly. I've only done this race twice before (and only once on its current course) but I've consistently found it to be among the most fun races I've done. There's just something liberating about running nearly all-out on the roads, without the stress of watching splits as I might every 200 meters on the track. (This isn't exactly an original thought, even for me. It turns out I wrote something similar the last time I'd done this race in 2018.) I saw a bunch of other familiar faces and the usual gaggle of fast youngsters as I warmed up and knew there would be plenty of people to both push and pull me to a good time. 

Pre-race. Not exactly the most flattering picture of me, but I can't just cherry-pick the good ones to put here. (Pic from Jana.)

Great action shot at the start. Looks like some people anticipated the 'go' command better than others. (Pic from Jana.)

Having done no speedwork in a couple of years, I wasn't quite sure what to expect of myself, and arbitrarily aimed for 4:45, with a secret hope of getting under 4:40. The race went out fast, and I went with it, which was an error in judgment. After 30 seconds or so, I realized my mistake and tapped the breaks, allowing a big gap to open between the first four guys and me. I mostly maintained the gap and then gradually closed in on the fourth runner but knew the top three were well out of reach as we made the final turn with one long straightaway to the finish. I started to kick and discovered that I had another gear that I probably should have found earlier. It was too little, too late, as I crossed the line in 4:40. (I have to admit I got a little confused about the actual location of the finish line, as the chute made a quick, hard right turn immediately after the finish line, which I thought was an additional section of the course. I pretty much sprinted directly in the back of the runner in front of me before the situation dawned on me.) I ended up 4th overall, just missing my secret goal but still happy with the race and on a high from the joy of racing a mile on the road. (Fun note: The oldest of the three guys ahead of me - Matthew - was born when I was in college. That note would be more fun if I were able to run as fast as they can, but I'll take the ego boosts where I can.) Full results here.

The surest sign of a too-big gap to the next runner: spectators crossing in front of you. (Pic from Jana.)

Now let's fast-forward to October. In the weeks in between, I tweaked my Achilles, had my usual sore knee flare-up, and even had a heart-related scare that turned out not to be very scary, thankfully. I definitely lost some fitness in there but had been feeling much better heading into the Wahaneeta trail 5K in Westerly. This would be my first time doing this race at its new time of year (it was previously run in the humidity and bugs of August). It's a fun, challenging course with a few technical sections and the requisite Jeff Walker-designed stream crossings. 

The opening field (Pic from Jana).

From previous years, I knew that starting too conservatively could mean getting stuck behind faster starters on the single track. Despite this, I just couldn't bring myself to match the super aggressive starts of two other WTAC clubmates. I went into the narrow trails in third and immediately regretted it. I tried to be patient and looked for opportunities to pass without having to ask the runner ahead to move aside. Every time I thought I found a spot to do it, I'd encounter some unexpected obstacle. Once, I almost ran directly into a large tree trunk, and another time I nearly fell flat on my face. I heard footsteps of another runner coming from behind, and a quick glance revealed it to be none other than Jeff, gazelling down the trail toward me. I tried to pass a few more times, and, finally, the runner in second (Dave) had enough of my shenanigans and let me go by. 

It took only a minute or so to catch up to the first runner (Nick). After the experience I'd just had with Dave, I changed my tact and went with a polite request ("Could I squeeze by on the left?") that was accepted without argument. I was feeling really good at this point and surged as much as I could to try to make up for lost time. Even with this surge, my 'loop 1' clocking was much slower than the other two times I'd done this race (11:41 this year vs. 11:26 and 11:33 in 2018 and 2019, respectively). 

End of loop 1, passing by a single empty chair. (Pic from Shara.)

With nothing but clear trail ahead, I pushed on into the second (shorter) loop. Here I made up time on my 2018 self but was still a couple of seconds back from 2019 me (6:44 vs. 6:49/6:42). In the final even shorter out-and-back section, I finally "PR'd" with a 1:23 (compared to 1:24/1:31 in the prior years). My finishing time was within 9 seconds of the other two years, which is remarkable considering the completely different strategies taken in each of the years. Full results here.

Smiling all the way up the hill, about to head into the last section of the course. (Pic from Shara.)

It was great catching up with WTAC teammates, including warming up/cooling down with Tommy in his return to racing. My ankles were sore afterward, thanks to two near-sprains saved by my braces, but the injuries fared better than expected. I even took home Kevin Murphy's homemade honey as a special prize. Now onto more fall racing!

Evidence that Tommy was indeed seen running on the trails, at least during the cooldown. (Pic from Shara.)

The honey prize was my kids' favorite of all the things I've brought home from races over the years. (Pic from Shara.)

Blessing of the Fleet

Among the many wonderful things about being a runner is the fact that getting older comes with some perks. Earlier this year, I joined the ranks of the Masters division, which instantaneously catapulted me from a mediocre open runner to a decent Masters runner. I've found myself looking around in the starting corral, trying to gauge the age of other runners. It's something of a race within the race, and at big ones like the Blessing, it's easy to lose sight of the other old guys among the throngs of younger racers after the gun sounds. It feels a little like those chase scenes on the sidewalks of New York, where the good guy is trying to track down the bad guy and has to contend with all of the other interlopers. Anyway, it's been really fun, and the Blessing (which is what this post is all about, in case that wasn't clear) was my first time vying for a placing in the Masters division of a big race.

As has been the case in most years I've done the Blessing, I had no idea how fast I could expect to run, so I gave myself a target of 5:45 pace (57:30 total time) based loosely on how I'd done previously at this race and where I estimated my fitness to be. This time, however, I promised myself to go no faster than that pace until at least the start of Mile 7. My mantra was 2/3 pacing, 1/3 racing. I would stay patient until Mile 7, watching the pace and keeping it around 5:45, and then I'd forget the watch and start to race.

With the race starting on a gradual downhill, it's always a challenge to hold back. To counterbalance this, I started farther back in the pack than usual. This put me in quite a bit of traffic for most of the first mile, perfectly doing its job of keeping my competitive juices at bay. However, it also meant that I had completely lost track of the few 40+ guys I knew were in the field. Rather that worry about it, I put my head down, kept a steady pace, and waited to see what the race brought me. 

I'm somewhere in that sea of people. (Photo from RI Independent.)

Over the first three miles (5:43, 5:45, 5:40), I passed gads of people, old and young alike, and entering mile 4, I pulled up behind Mike Daniels -- a fellow Master -- and his TNT teammate. I thought about going right by but decided to hang out for a bit and keep the big move in my pocket for later. The pace slowed (5:50 for the 4th mile) but staying put proved to be a very wise decision, as those guys had a different race plan that apparently involved a bigger move of their own up the hill just after turning off Ocean Road. I couldn't safely match it without burning myself, so I hoped I'd find a way to regain contact up the dreaded 108 section. This didn't happen either, as I lost even more ground and slowed a bit more than I would have liked. Miles 5 and 6 were 5:47 and 5:55. 

The start of mile 7, where I'd planned to start "racing" coincides nicely with our departure from 108 onto shaded, quiet roads. I let myself open the stride up a bit, stopped looking at my watch, and tried to attach the proverbial tether to the TNT duo. I must have hooked only one of them, as I was able to catch the younger guy but couldn't gain any ground on Mike. I recalled from Strava that he does exceptionally high mileage (his weekly totals are just lower than my typical monthly totals), which, in my estimation, would make him an unlikely candidate for a blow-up in the final miles of a race like this. I couldn't quite say the same for myself. Regardless, mile 7 was a 5:34, and, for now, I was feeling great. 

Then, suddenly, I wasn't feeling quite as great. My legs tired significantly on the tiny climbs over the next two miles. I managed to run 5:45 and 5:44 for 8 and 9 but with increasing effort throughout. I still held out hope that I could close with a big final mile. Unfortunately, just as has happened at every Blessing I've run, I was beset by leg cramps. This time, it was my hamstrings. I had to settle for maintaining pace, trying to keep a short and efficient stride, and avoiding a major issue. This got me through to the final half-mile, where the streets are lined with people, and the mad dash for the finish begins. I decided I had nothing to lose and tried to pick off as many people as I could. The steady pace turned into a furious sprint. I passed five people in the last 100 meters, only to have one young guy nip me back at the line. The final mile was 5:28, with the last 0.1 at <4:40. 

Moments from getting passed back by that young man. (Photo from RI Independent website)

The overall time was 57:33, just a hair off my arbitrary goal. (Note: the official results seem to have missed my chip time, so I'm listed as finishing in 57:39. This is obviously not a big deal, though it meant placing 47th instead of 44th. The horror!) Speaking of age group results, I placed 3rd in the Masters group, 10 seconds behind Mike and another guy who I didn't even know was up there. Congrats to those guys on a great race; I clearly have some work to do. I wish I could have had an uninhibited last mile, but the cramps come with the territory for me, so it's time for some shorter races!

Afterward, I caught up with several racers, took a dip in the ocean with Jonny, and got further drenched in a downpour jogging back to my car. In subsequent days, my legs were insanely sore, as usual, after this race, once again proving the old maxim that leg soreness is inversely proportional to race fitness. 

Results                Independent Article