Catching up, Part II: Blessing of the Fleet

This is Part II in the "Catching Up" series, a belated set of posts about races that took place earlier in 2015. Keeping with the old adage, "Thou must etch in the scrolls a race write-up before thou doth loses the toenail killed in the race," I will eke out this post just in time. Four months after destroying it during the Blessing of the Fleet, the toenail on the second toe of my left foot now has mere days left. So, let's roll up the scrolls and get on to the post...

July 24 - Blessing of the Fleet 10M

I loved the Blessing in 2014 and was looking forward to the 2015 version. I had really hoped to crank out a great time this time, but, as usual, an injury kept me from doing the kind of training I needed to. (This time it was hip bursitis.) I really hope to one day write about a race without including the second part of that sentence, as this seems to happen far too often. Still, I had lofty goals, and I wanted to break 57, which would be roughly a minute faster than I ran last year.

I met up with Jonny and Woolley before the race and then bumped into the Walkers, Mike B, young Eckel, and Jackman, and we took a casual group warm up, during which I grabbed a GU off the tire of Katie's car, where she'd lovingly stashed it for me. On my way back to my car, I ran past a face I hadn't seen in many years, that of a guy who used to dominate high school track in New York State's Section 9 in the late '90s. I think we recognized each other, but neither of us wanted to be the one to make the first move, so we just passed each other by. It was the first of many times I'd be passed on the day.

Cruising in the first mile. U-S-A!!

Back at the start, I lined up next to Jonny and Woolley, amidst a throng of high schoolers and a bunch of speedy grown-ups. I took off conservatively, but not as cautiously as I usually would. I wanted to maintain 5:40 effort as long as I could, and I was OK with the first mile being a little faster, since it was net downhill. As we headed toward the bottom of the opening hill, I noticed how far ahead the lead pack was. I was 30 seconds behind and essentially leading the chasers. (We weren't actually chasing the front pack, of course, but what else could I call us?)

On Ocean Road, I was caught by a pack of high schoolers and wanted to hang with them for as long as I could. They were a focused group with one notable exception. That one guy was writing the book on youthful arrogance, and I found myself wishing he'd trip and fall on his smug little face. Did I mention I've become a crotchety old man?

A man among children. Literally.

I was even more annoyed when those kids dropped me at the start of the fourth mile. I was still running my intended splits and felt great, but I couldn't match their pace. Up the hill at mile 5, I watched that pack pull farther ahead and realized they weren't coming back. Each time I got caught by another runner, I hung with them for as long as I could before letting go. I was like an eel someone was trying to hold with soapy gloves; I kept getting dropped. (In other news, I just got nominated for worst metaphor of 2015.)

Going up the long hill on 108, I saw the most threatening sky I'd ever seen in a race. Dark clouds were heading our way. I was a little worried but figured the chances that lightning would strike me instead of the thousands of other people hanging around the race course was pretty slim. The skies opened, and the deluge began. I was drenched within a few minutes, which was probably more of a benefit than a hindrance, as I needed to cool off. 

On the bright side, I didn't have to shower that night.

Probably a good thing I didn't go with the white shorts...

By this point, I was doing everything I could to keep the pace in the high 5:40s, but it was a struggle. Heading into the final mile, my toenail was killing me, and the dreaded calf cramps began. It was so frustrating not to be able to respond as I got passed by two guys in the last 800 meters. Katie was standing right around this spot, and after the race all she could say was, "Oof, honey." So much for thinking I at least looked good.

I can't be sure, but I think that lady just passed me.

Delirium has set in.

I finished in 57:24, still a PR, but I was terribly disappointed in the race. I know I was in better shape than that, based on my previous races. Things just didn't come together in this one. Maybe it was racing Beavers the week before, or maybe it was that I went out too fast. Either way, I was feeling unfulfilled by the experience. That is until Jonny, Woolley, and I got to have a drink with a former Super Bowl champ in his house. All thoughts of the race vanished after this brush with greatness. The night ended with a group dinner at Phil's in Wakefield. It was a great end to a mediocre day.

This says it all. A fast start and a not-so-fast finish. I had good intentions.