Return to racing - Bridgton 4 on the Fourth

It seems so long since we walked in the moonlight

My goodness, it's nice to run a race again. It's only been two-and-a-half months, but it feels like an eternity, thanks to the injury time warp phenomenon. The dreaded sprained ankle struck again in early May and turned minutes into hours and days into weeks. Time sure drags on when you can't run. I'm lucky that the weather was getting warmer, as it allowed me to put in a decent amount of cycling and avoid losing too much fitness. The ankle is still bothersome, but I love running in the summer too much to miss out on some good training and classic summertime races.

This past week, our family made the annual trek to my in-laws' lake cabin in Fryeburg, Maine. A couple of years ago, I learned about a big race in Bridgton, the next town over, on July 4th. Racing and July 4th have always seemed like a perfect fit, so I was excited to venture over and see what the race was all about. Despite the small-town setting, the race draws ~2000 runners thanks in large part to the influx of campers from local summer camps and vacationers such as myself.

When I first ran this race (in 2012), it was my first race in eight months and only the second in two years, and it showed. I struggled to a 23:48, needing a big kick to keep my pace under 6:00/mile. Last year, it was my first race in seven months, and I fared a bit better, dropping about half a minute from my time (23:13). So, my 2.5-month layoff this year seemed like nothing compared to the previous years. I was also coming off some good fitness prior to the ankle sprain, so I was hoping some of that would carry over.

My goal this year was to break 23:00. It's a pretty tough course, with a long hill from mile one to two-and-a-half, so this seemed like an attainable but challenging objective. One mitigating factor, however, was the big training week I'd been putting in. Vacation for me (and, I suspect, most of you) is not a time to rest, but a time to take advantage of freedom from work by banging out some big rides and runs, which meant I wasn't exactly tapered for the race. I was more like the opposite of tapered. Straight legged, maybe? Or boot cut?

Bad jean jokes aside, I rode over to the race with my buddy Mike, whose family joins ours in Maine for the week. I should mention that this race is 1/13th of the "Maine-athlon," a multisport challenge that we engage in annually. Each event is handicapped based on previous years' results, so I was going to have to beat Mike by 2:30 in order to claim first place in the event. This was my true goal for the race. Everything else was secondary.

We warmed up through the drizzle. While the temperatures were cool (mid-60s), the humidity was still quite high, and we arrived at the line in full lather. I settled into the first row and recognized a few faces from previous years. A couple of spots over from me was Silas Eastman, a 19-year-old who was a Maine state XC and Nordic Skiing champ in high school and the 2012 race winner. Behind me, apparently modest, was last year's race winner, Moninda Marube, a Kenyan now living in Maine. He's a 2:22 marathoner and really in a class of his own at a race like this, so I relished my time ahead of him as we waited for the gun.

Mile 1
The first mile is slightly downhill and can be pretty speedy if you're not careful. After about 400 yards, I found myself in second place, already 10 seconds behind Marube. I checked my watch, as I wanted to try to run around 5:30 pace or a little under, in order to keep things in control early. I saw I was at ~5:25, so I settled in there and let a few guys catch up as we hit the mile in 5:26.

Mile 2
I ran with a pack of four other guys, including Eastman, far behind the leader, as we began the long climb that would take us past the race's halfway point. I felt strong on the hills, surging to the lead of the pack in the steepest sections, and then falling back in behind them on the flatter sections. I'd really struggled in this mile in previous years, so I made a conscious effort to hang with the pack, even as things got uncomfortable. We made a road crossing, then a sharp left turn, as mile 2 clicked off in 5:42.

Course elevation profile. You just have to make it through 2.5 miles, the rest is a breeze...or so I thought.

Mile 3
I was on the verge of losing contact as we continued up the long hill but did everything I could to stay in the group. By this point, we'd dropped one guy, but the others were looking strong. The pack of four consisted of myself, Eastman, another young looking guy (who turned out to be a rising sophomore runner at Syracuse) and a mustachioed guy in a Dirigo jersey. My hope was to stick with them over the hill, as I figured the downhill would be fast for all of us, and I'd be able to recover enough to mount a strong kick to the finish. Well, I succeeded in the first part, as we finally crested the hill still together. Just as I started to relax on the descent, the other three guys took off. It was as if they were waiting for some secret sign that I didn't know about. Over the next half mile, they put 10 seconds on me, and there was nothing I could do about it. My legs just couldn't turn over like theirs on the downhill. Oh to be fast. The third mile was 5:33.

Mile 4
I ran the final mile alone, just hoping the group of three would break up and someone would come back to me. They looked too strong, though, so I focused on maintaining a good pace down the rest of the hill and onto Main Street, where a sizable crowd had already assembled in anticipation of the parade later in the day. I had a secret goal of breaking 22:00 that I wasn't allowing myself to feel too strongly about because I figured it would be unrealistic on this course. But it was now dawning on me that with a good finish I might have a chance. I galloped (a reference to my horse teeth?) down the street, managing a few waves to the supporters, and saw the finish line clock read 21:4X with less than 100 meters to go. It felt silly to sprint by myself, so I ran as hard a sub-sprint as I could, finally crossing in 21:53, with a final mile split of 5:11. It was a 4-mile PR, just nipping my 21:56 from last year's Run4Kerri.

Charging down Main Street toward the finish.
(Photo credit: mcclellandmiscellanea.wordpress.com)

Much to my surprise, I discovered afterward that the top-5 finishers all get prizes. I made Mike wait around in the rain for an hour, but it was well worth it (for me, that is), as I came away for two $25 gift cards, one to New Balance and one to Fleet Feet. Not a bad haul for fifth place!

Also, there is a great little write-up on the race by a spectator, if you're so inclined.

This year's splits were far better than in years past. 

Most importantly, Mike had stomach issues thanks to ingesting roughly 150 of my mother-in-law's chocolate chip cookies over the previous few days, so I was able to win our personal race despite the large handicap. The following day, however, Mike put together an incredible set of performances in croquet and bocce to pull even with me at the end of the competition. Now, it should be known, we come from a town (New Paltz, NY) that was far ahead of the pack in creating the "everybody wins" culture, and we grew up getting participant medals for everything we did, even if we sucked. All this has done is fueled our competitive engines as adults. What I'm trying to say is that there would be no tie in the Maine-athlon. After some deliberation, we agreed that the victor would be determined by whoever caught the most footballs thrown (by my father-in-law) off the dock into the lake. We each had ten tries on offense, while the other person defended. Well, I fell one catch short of Mike, and therefore lost the competition for the first time in its three years of existence. Now where's my second-place ribbon?

The very picture of failure.