A few months ago, I thought I might train specifically for this race to see if I could lay down a speedy time. That plan went out the window almost immediately after it crossed my mind, thanks to previously documented mishaps, ailments, and joys. So, as has become the norm for me, I went into the race with no expectations and little idea of what I was capable of. I came up with two arbitrary goals just to have something to shoot for:
- Run as fast as last year (47:54)
- Defend my fourth place finish of the past two years
The first seemed totally impossible, given that I was in much better shape at this time last year. But looking back at my splits from a year ago, I realized that I had gone out far too fast and remembered suffering miserably over the final 3+ miles. I thought I might just have a chance if I ran more intelligently.
The second goal obviously depended on who showed up on race day. Greg Hammett and Mike Galoob would be untouchable, as usual, so that left just one more spot for someone else. Jonny? Muddy? Brightman? Jackman? Some interloper? This would be tough.
Because I'm delinquent in this post, you've probably read several other accounts of the race from a very similar perspective to my own. So, let's try something a little different. WWF different. When I race, I sometimes like to compare myself to a competitor in the Royal Rumble (you might want to familiarize yourself with the concept before reading on), tossing my opponents one at a time over the metaphorical top rope until I am the last one standing. I also like to prance around in a unitard, but that's another story for another day. So, let's look at the 2014 Li'l Rhody Runaround from this perspective, shall we?
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| Let's get ready to ruuuummmmmbbbbllleeee! |
One of the highlights of my childhood was the 1989 Royal Rumble, and I remember being blown away by the improbability of the first two competitors called to the ring being tag teammates Ax and Slash. Would they fight each other? Would they wait for the third guy and then team up against him? Could they survive the whole thing together?
The Ax to my Slash at this year's race would be Muddy. He and I lined up next to each other, and I thought to myself that we could very well stick together for most of this thing. He briefly told me of his totally inadequate goals (top-12 and sub-49). I laughed in his face and more or less told him to step up his expectations. I also wanted to say, "Let's tackle this together, teammate!" but I never know how to approach these race partnership proposals. I think it's the fear of rejection. In the end, it didn't matter, as we took off side-by-side when the race started. The Royal Rumble had begun, and it seemed we would fight together, for now...
The Ax to my Slash at this year's race would be Muddy. He and I lined up next to each other, and I thought to myself that we could very well stick together for most of this thing. He briefly told me of his totally inadequate goals (top-12 and sub-49). I laughed in his face and more or less told him to step up his expectations. I also wanted to say, "Let's tackle this together, teammate!" but I never know how to approach these race partnership proposals. I think it's the fear of rejection. In the end, it didn't matter, as we took off side-by-side when the race started. The Royal Rumble had begun, and it seemed we would fight together, for now...
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| Me and Muddy in our race gear. |
As we spilled out onto the dirt road, I glanced down at my watch. 5:22 pace? That was way too fast. My goal for the first mile was to be over 5:40, so I backed off. Around this time, The Gazelle (from parts unknown) entered the ring to thunderous applause from the raucous crowd. Another teammate, this would have been like Mr. Fuji (Ax and Smash's manager) drawing the third spot in the Royal Rumble. Given his race director duties, I asked him if this was both the race and his warmup. Indeed it was, he answered. Nothing like warming up with a mid-5 minute mile. My watch was quickly settling into the 5:40s, so I made sure to maintain my pace, gradually pulling away from Jeff. It was a gentle elimination; there was no pleasure in it, but it had to be done.
Entrant #4: Robin Idle
I entered the trail in the campground with Muddy still hot on my tail and a string of eight or so guys in front of me. There was a large gap between me and the 8th place runner - a guy I didn't recognize. He was clearly out of his class in this front pack, and we were quickly closing on him. My friends and I had a name for wrestlers like this: "Nobody Guys." These were the guys the WWF would throw in the ring against the stars to fill a program. They always had to go by their real names and never, ever won. Despite the anonymity of these guys, there was one - Robin Idle - whose name we always remembered after he got absolutely crushed in about 10 seconds against Ravishing Rick Rude, sort of epitomizing the fleeting existence of the Nobody Guy. (Thanks to the magic of the internet, I can now see that the infamous match occurred on 12/7/88. I was a captivated 7-year-old.) Well, the Robin Idle of the Li'l Rhody Runaround got knocked around by me, Muddy, and probably several others on his way out of the ring. Goodbye, Nobody Guy.
I entered the trail in the campground with Muddy still hot on my tail and a string of eight or so guys in front of me. There was a large gap between me and the 8th place runner - a guy I didn't recognize. He was clearly out of his class in this front pack, and we were quickly closing on him. My friends and I had a name for wrestlers like this: "Nobody Guys." These were the guys the WWF would throw in the ring against the stars to fill a program. They always had to go by their real names and never, ever won. Despite the anonymity of these guys, there was one - Robin Idle - whose name we always remembered after he got absolutely crushed in about 10 seconds against Ravishing Rick Rude, sort of epitomizing the fleeting existence of the Nobody Guy. (Thanks to the magic of the internet, I can now see that the infamous match occurred on 12/7/88. I was a captivated 7-year-old.) Well, the Robin Idle of the Li'l Rhody Runaround got knocked around by me, Muddy, and probably several others on his way out of the ring. Goodbye, Nobody Guy.
Entrant #5: Brightman
At some point in the third mile, Steve Brightman entered the picture. He's like Hacksaw Jim Duggan when he's on his game: tough to beat and a real American patriot. This was not to be one of those days, as I was a little surprised to catch him so soon. It took me nearly six miles to overtake him at the Beavers race earlier this year, and, when I did, he held me off for some time before I finally made a move. I didn't want to deal with that this time, so I quickly scooted by as soon as I had the opportunity. Hacksaw and his 2x4 were thrown out of the ring.
Entrant #6: Nephew
Ben Nephew was a surprise entrant at this year's race. He must have been finishing up a FKT around the perimeter of Rhode Island when he decided to jog a few miles of the race course as a cool down. He was a bit of a wildcard, and I was a pretty surprised to catch him as soon as I did. This was like finding myself face-to-face with Hulk Hogan and bodyslamming him before I realized who it was. I followed him for a short time and was mesmerized by the lines he took and his efficiency on the trail. Nonetheless, I moved around him and awaited my next opponent.
Entrant #7: Jackman
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| Ben-a-mania! |
Shortly after passing Nephew, I found myself behind my friendly nemesis, Bob Jackman. Bob is like one of those bad guys you can't help but root for - Andre the Giant or maybe Yokozuna. I thought about surging by him right away, but I wisely waited. Wisely, because we soon hit a downhill, and Bob leaned right into it, as he always does, putting a few seconds on me before I even realized what happened. I picked away at his lead again until I was right behind him as we exited the woods onto the road. My plan was to throw down a surge on this road to kick off a strong second half. I gave Bob a pat on the back and took off toward the trail entrance down the road.
Entrant #8: Nephew again
I could see Jonny up ahead in fourth place, still looking strong. He was to be my last opponent of the day. But wait. What's this? Hulk Hogan is running back into the ring! The arena has erupted into pandemonium. Or something like that. Just as I started to set my sights on Jonny, I got passed by the trail king on the road. He kept his lead as we re-entered the woods. This next section of the course can make or break the race. I was death on two legs here last year; this year I wanted to crush it. Was the Hulkster thinking the same thing? Would we team up? It was not to be. As soon as we reached the trail, he slowed back down, and I eliminated him once and for all.
Entrant #9: Jonny
Jonny (let's call him the Million Dollar Man, for his well-groomed beard and habit of sticking hundred dollar bills in people's mouths) still had a 10-second lead going into the woods and was looking strong. I tried not to focus too much on him and instead thought about running as technically perfect a race as possible at this point. I wanted to destroy my second-half splits from last year and figured if I did that and Jonny still beat me, so be it. I finally found myself closing in behind him and settled into that position, as I knew Jonny would fight hard to hold his spot and I didn't want to overexert myself going by too soon. I ran a step behind him for a minute or two. He hadn't looked back yet, and I wasn't sure if he knew it was me. I nearly announced myself but didn't want to waste the breath. Once the opportunity presented myself, I surged around him and tried to keep the pressure on. Not only didn't he know it was me behind him, I'd apparently all but vanished from relevance. I believe his exact words were, "Oh, I forgot about you." Memories of high school came flashing through my head.
I started to struggle at around mile 6.5. I found myself tripping over seemingly every root and rock, constantly looking back to gauge just how much of a gap I had on Jonny. At one of these glances, I saw that Jonny had company in the form of Muddy. It looked like it would be the three of us battling for 4th, 5th, and 6th the rest of the way. My gap wasn't much, and it seemed to be closing. I reached the road and hoped to have some speed left for the long stretch to the finish. I could see 3rd place (Ryan Carrara) maybe 15-20 seconds ahead, but he might as well have been 15-20 minutes ahead. I wasn't catching him. Despite putting everything I had into each stride, I felt like I was running through caramel, maybe with some nougat involved. (Still eating Halloween candy here, can you tell?) Worst of all, I could hear the slapping of someone's shoes behind me. My entire race plan involved me doing the chasing; the tables weren't supposed to be turned on me. At last, I could see the entrance to the parking lot, and I knew I'd make it. I turned the corner, waved to the family, and charged toward the finish. But wait, do I go around the trees to the right or hug the turn to the left? Why didn't I remember this? I gave the ol' "which way" shoulder shrug to the spectators, and they pointed me to the right of the trees. The clock came into view and was ticking away through the 46:50s. One last sprint to crack 47, but I was too late; I saw the time switch over to 47:00 just as I crossed. (My watch was 46:59, but officially was 47:01.) Before I reached the end of the chute, Jonny and Muddy had both crossed the line. I suppose I won my own personal Royal Rumble (only passing, never getting passed, during the race), but it turned out we were the undercard on the day. The heavyweight championship between Mike Galoob and Greg Hammett had already happened, with Galoob taking the belt home this year in record-breaking fashion. I hope it's not the last time we see that pair go at it.
To say I was shocked by my time would be a massive understatement. I thought it might be possible to break 48, but nearly breaking 47 was just ridiculous. As others have mentioned, the trail conditions and weather were great, and the competition was fierce. For me, the biggest factor was pacing. I ran much smarter than last year, taking my time over the first two miles and trying to keep an even effort the rest of the way. The mile-by-mile comparison chart below shows that the time I sacrificed in those early miles was already made up by the end of mile 4 and the rest was just a bonus. Also, I finished 4th for the third straight year, despite improving almost 2.5 minutes in that time. Just another way of saying this was a fast year.
I started to struggle at around mile 6.5. I found myself tripping over seemingly every root and rock, constantly looking back to gauge just how much of a gap I had on Jonny. At one of these glances, I saw that Jonny had company in the form of Muddy. It looked like it would be the three of us battling for 4th, 5th, and 6th the rest of the way. My gap wasn't much, and it seemed to be closing. I reached the road and hoped to have some speed left for the long stretch to the finish. I could see 3rd place (Ryan Carrara) maybe 15-20 seconds ahead, but he might as well have been 15-20 minutes ahead. I wasn't catching him. Despite putting everything I had into each stride, I felt like I was running through caramel, maybe with some nougat involved. (Still eating Halloween candy here, can you tell?) Worst of all, I could hear the slapping of someone's shoes behind me. My entire race plan involved me doing the chasing; the tables weren't supposed to be turned on me. At last, I could see the entrance to the parking lot, and I knew I'd make it. I turned the corner, waved to the family, and charged toward the finish. But wait, do I go around the trees to the right or hug the turn to the left? Why didn't I remember this? I gave the ol' "which way" shoulder shrug to the spectators, and they pointed me to the right of the trees. The clock came into view and was ticking away through the 46:50s. One last sprint to crack 47, but I was too late; I saw the time switch over to 47:00 just as I crossed. (My watch was 46:59, but officially was 47:01.) Before I reached the end of the chute, Jonny and Muddy had both crossed the line. I suppose I won my own personal Royal Rumble (only passing, never getting passed, during the race), but it turned out we were the undercard on the day. The heavyweight championship between Mike Galoob and Greg Hammett had already happened, with Galoob taking the belt home this year in record-breaking fashion. I hope it's not the last time we see that pair go at it.
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| Rounding the corner (a bit too tightly) to the finish line. Photo by Jana Walker. |
All in all, a satisfying personal performance and just as satisfying to see so many others exceed their own expectations. Thanks to Jeff for directing the race and so many others for volunteering to make the event run smoothly. I'm already looking forward to next year's edition.
