City to the Sea Half Marathon

My half marathon PR had been eating at me almost since the day I ran it in 2012. That day, a combination of terrible conditions (gale-force winds) and inadequate training teamed up to hold me to a 1:22 clocking. Four years (and zero half marathons) later, that PR remained, reminding me of its existence every chance it got. (I even noted it in my very first blog post, when I created the "Optimal Race Curve" to show just how relatively poorly I've done at longer race distances.) Finally, a few months ago, I decided it was time to do something about it. There are a plethora of half marathon options out here, with one scheduled seemingly every weekend. From those myriad options, I chose one that sounded scenic if not fast -- City to the Sea -- starting in San Luis Obispo and terminating at nearby Pismo beach. My training went quite well, and I began to dare to think not only of PRs, but also of breaking 1:15.

Well, just about the only certainty in my running world is that injuries will crop up at the most inopportune times. Sure enough, a month or so out from the race, I was visited by ghosts of injuries past. One was the achilles pain that knocked me out late last year and has been showing up from time to time since then. I felt confident I could deal with that one. The other was a knee pain that I self-diagnosed six years ago as fat pad impingement. It prevented me from running for almost an entire year back then, and so I was pretty worried when it unexpectedly made an appearance and wouldn't go away. I stopped all workouts and took a couple extra days off for the last few weeks to try to keep it under control. At that point, I decided my primary goal would simply be to make it to the starting line. I'd worry about the other goals once I accomplished that.

To complicate matters, I got word in September that I'd be traveling to Europe for a whirlwind tour of the company's three European locations (in Ireland, the Netherlands, and Germany) during the week leading up to the race. There was nothing I could do about this little inconvenience, so I embraced the experience and did my best to adjust to the time changes and ignore the lack of sleep. (I also twisted my bad ankle on a cobblestone while running in the Netherlands, but that was a mere footnote on my growing list of excuses). Returning back to the US on Friday, I slept like a log Friday night, then hopped in the car with the family on Saturday, and before I knew it I was jogging down to the starting line early Sunday morning. A little foggy-headed and creaky-legged, but no worse for the wear.

The race photographer didn't get any pics of me running, but she did nab this nice one. I probably wasn't the focal point.

Race start; I'm in the bright green singlet

The Race

Miles 1-3: I'd had in mind that I'd run 5:45 pace for as long as I could. I figured there would be a few others who would be running this pace or faster, so I wasn't shocked when three guys took off ahead of me at a substantially faster pace. Two of them looked legit, while one I knew would be faltering before too long (and he did just that after two miles). Sometimes you can just tell. By the mile mark, I was already 20 seconds behind the leaders and running all alone. The first three miles were straight and slightly downhill, and I was feeling very good all around. Mile splits: 5:43, 5:41, 5:46.

Miles 4-6: I heard a group coming up behind me and guessed it was about four people based on their foot steps. My guess was right, and I was soon swallowed up by the pack. I found their pace to be comfortable, so I latched on, and soon it was just me and two of the original foursome, as the other two had been dropped. I selfishly decided to let these guys do the work for a while, and I'd enjoy the ride for as long as I could. We stayed together long enough to pick off one of the early leaders, who then did as I had done and latched right on to the group. Imperceptibly, the two pack leaders cranked up the pace, and I knew I'd be in trouble later if I tried to hang on. I reluctantly let them go just as we started up a long incline, hoping I'd see one or more of them later. Mile splits: 5:45, 5:39, 5:48

Miles 7-9: The seventh mile has the first of two big hills in the race. This one rises about 100 feet, which is quite a shock to the system after running flat or downhill for the first six miles. I started gaining again on the early leader who'd tried to run with the mini-pack I was once part of. I figured I'd catch him by the top of the hill, but it actually happened much sooner, as he stopped to tie his shoe right smack in the middle of the hill. I tried to keep pushing over the top of the hill and back down the other side. Coming down the hill, I could see far into the distance, but not far enough to see the race leader. The two guys ahead of me were probably already 15-20 seconds up the road and didn't seem to be slowing. Still, there was a lot of race to go. Mile splits: 6:09 (uphill), 5:08 (downhill, plus likely GPS error), 5:49

Miles 10-13: The tenth mile contains the second big hill - another 100-foot rise pointing directly into the sun. This one was soul crushing. I really struggled heading up and then had nothing left in the tank to attack the ensuing downhill into Pismo Beach. I was trying to avoid tying up, but that was inevitable. To get the mileage needed for the race, the course takes a turn straight down to the water, then back up a small but poorly timed hill, then back down to the beach again, and finally to the finish line. I'd realized about halfway through the race that my watch was knocking maybe 25 yards off each mile. That added up, and so it wasn't surprising (but was still disappointing) to have so much left in the race when my watch reached 13.1 miles. Another minute of running, and I was finally to the line, crossing in a new PR, but somewhat underwhelming, 1:16:47.

Splits: 6:16, 5:43, 5:49, 5:50, 5:31 (pace for last 0.3)

Final time: 1:16:47 (5:51 pace) (full results here)

Some shots of the race from Katie's Instagram feed. 

Post-Race: I got some nourishment after the race in the form of a breakfast burrito, which tasted oh so good. We hung around for a bit, thinking we'd spend some time at the beach before heading home, only to discover that the "beach" was several hundred feet below a cliff. So much for those plans. I decided to run the two miles back to the car while the rest of the family took the shuttle. Turns out, my legs were in really rough shape after the race, especially my right knee and hip. Interestingly, the knee pain was identical to an injury I got my senior year of college after falling during an XC race. I hadn't felt that in a long time. Ah, the memories...

I love this one -- a candid of me and the kiddos after the race.

In the days following the race, my legs (especially my quads) were SO sore. As you've heard me say before, the amount of soreness you feel after a race tells you how well prepared you were for it. So now I know -- not prepared enough! My right knee was also very painful for a few days, but the pain had mostly disappeared by the weekend. I decided to take a run six days after the race and fared quite well for 5 or so miles until I started to descend on a road back to the start of the run. My knee flared up, and I also noticed that the hip pain was back.

Another week off followed, which seemed to relieve the knee pain, but the hip was even worse, especially on ups and downs, which is pretty much all there is where I live. In the weeks since then, I've been trying to manage the pain while still getting in a run every two or three days. I have no other races on the horizon, so it's just a matter of patience at this point. I have a feeling my next entry in this blog will be the end-of-year summary, so stay tuned for that. More racing in 2017, I hope!

Heroes in Recovery 6K

With a pretty good stretch of recent training (and with an eye toward a half marathon in October), I decided to take advantage of the fitness and jump into a local race. I'd been thinking about running one of several road 10Ks in the area but instead opted for a 6K trail race at Paramount Ranch. (Paramount Ranch is a neat little spot in the Santa Monica Mountains with great trails and an old western main street that's been used as the setting for hundreds of movies and television shows.)

Paramount Ranch - site of the Heroes in Recovery 6K.

I hoped there wouldn't be a gun fight on the trails that day.

The race - Heroes in Recovery 6K - raises money for a good cause, is a novel distance, covers challenging but fun terrain, and even has some prize money for the top four finishers. Those were reasons enough for me to give this one a shot. Now onto the race...

Mile 1:

On the starting line was a group of a dozen or so kids from the race's charity organization, New Directions for Youth. They were pretty adorable and had been training for the race for the past eight weeks. Rather than asking the kids to move to a more suitable starting spot, the race director asked the rest of us to carefully run around them after the race went off, noting that we'd have lots of time to make up for the slow start. I thought that was a nice touch and gave those kids a chance to lead us out onto the course.

The little guys lead the way. I'm looking for a way through.

I lined up in the first group behind the kids and plotted out what I thought would be the path of least resistance around the inside of the first curve. Well, those kids are smart and had the same path in mind, which put me in a tough spot as I attempted to pass them 50 yards or so into the race. I dodged my way through, even elbowing one or two of them in the head (they were the perfect height). I said I was sorry and prayed that the race photographer was far enough away not to catch that moment of abuse.

The kids in arrears, I followed the course along what would be a stream in other parts of the world but here in California is a bone dry ravine. This was, as far as I could tell, the only long stretch of straight, flat trail, and I used it to catch the early leader and accelerate into a steep up/down section. I thought I might be clear of the rest of the field on the other end of the technical descent, but I soon realized there was one guy I hadn't shaken. Not only was he hanging tight, but he was moving up to my shoulder as we came to the end of the first mile. Split - 5:46

Mile 2: 

The second mile starts part way up the biggest hill of the race. I had planned to ease my way up this hill, which I did, but the guy behind me took the opportunity to ease right by me. And ease he did; I've never seen someone look so smooth while accelerating up a steep hill. By the top of the hill, he had gapped me by 5 seconds and wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. It was already clearly a two-person race, as I couldn't see anyone within 100 yards behind me, so I stayed focused on the leader hoping his big move would take its toll later in the race. From the top of hill, the course drops down pretty quickly and then goes through a series of short ups and downs, making it difficult to settle into a steady pace. I kept waiting for his lead to stop growing, but if it was going to happen it wouldn't be during this mile. Split - 5:46

Mile 3:

More ups and downs in mile 3, and I started losing sight of the leader. I loved the challenge of the course, though it was strange to never feel like I could get into a rhythm. Every time I would have a straight stretch of trail to stride across, I'd encounter a dip, step, or sharp turn that would throw things off. To add to the fun, the second half of the course used some of the same trails as the first half, except in the opposite direction, which meant dodging a slew of runners at peace in their own world coming up the single track in front of me. It was a welcome distraction/series of obstacles, and before I knew it I was heading back down the steep hill where I'd been passed by the leader back when this was still a two-man race. Split - 5:49

Mile 4: 

I caught the occasional glimpse of the leader when the trail afforded a scenic vista here and there in the final mile. He was quite far ahead, and I was running for what little pride I had left. My legs were finally starting to feel a little peppier, and I was able to increase the pace to something respectable as I inched toward the finish. I made the final turn with about 200 meters to go and heard the announcer greet the winner as he crossed the line. All I could think about is how the spectators (all 15 of them) must be wondering where the second place finisher is. After an eternity, they wondered no more. I was done. Split - 4:30 (5:24 pace).

Total time: 21:50 (results here)

Crossing the line in 2nd.

Post-race: 

I congratulated the winner (a nice, modest, young guy), and we chatted about the challenging course and surprising temperature increase. We were soon asked by a few kids from the New Directions for Youth to pose for pictures and meet with them. Actually, they asked the winner to do that, but they reluctantly pulled me in on account of my hurt feelings. They treated us like celebrities, which was pretty cool.

Speaking of feelings, I was feeling pretty bummed about getting destroyed by the winner. Then, I heard his name called at the award ceremony. It was very familiar, but why? I turned to my trusty phone, typed it in, and found this. This dude had just finished 3rd in the NCAA DI XC championships less than a year ago. Hmm, maybe I should recalibrate my performance. Turns out, he either took it easy on me or has been taking it easy on himself since graduating. Either way, there was no way I was going to touch him in any race of any distance, so 2nd place suddenly seemed rather fitting.

4th, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place finishers. The identity of the guy on my right is just dawning on me.

Other observations:

• The temperature was 49 degrees when I arrived at 7:30, which is just about as cold as it's been since I moved out here last year. By the time I finished my long cool down, it was 102! Now that's a temperature swing.
• My quads felt heavy throughout the race, likely from the previous day's bike ride. It's a good reminder to stay away from that dreaded two-wheeled beast as more important races approach.
• I need to start defaulting to fist bumping others after races out here. There are few things as awkward as sticking out my hand for a shake only to be greeted by an unrelenting fist on the other end. Everyone here does the fist thing but me. It's time to adapt.
• The top female in the race was 9 years old! Apparently, she's been at this for a while.
• This girl sang the national anthem. So Hollywood.
• There's nothing that bothers me more than someone crossing the finish line and immediately making excuses for their performance. At this race, I congratulated one guy on his finish, and he launched into something about bringing the wrong shoes to the race. Did it add 10 minutes to your time, buddy? Another guy, without any prompting, announced that this race was too short, as he just ran a 50K a few weeks ago. Good for you, but it's not like the length of this race was a surprise. For the five of you who read this blog, please hold your tongue if you're thinking of self-handicapping before or after a race. Do as I do: save your excuses for your blog!

Bridgton Four on the 4th

July 4^th marked my fifth consecutive year participating in the Four on the Fourth in Bridgton, Maine. I’d gotten a little faster every previous year and hoped to continue the trend in this installment. The nice thing about running the same course year after year is that it serves as a fitness yardstick. I’d been feeling good about my running after an apparent 5K PR a few weeks ago, but that was on a course I’d never before run, so this would be the first true test.

As has become something of a tradition, I’d done an anti-taper in the week before the race. This year, while staying at my parents’ house in New York, I’d gotten overly enthusiastic about the wonderful trails there and had run 6 out of 7 days for the first time since college, totaling 53 miles in that stretch, also a post-collegiate high. It was worth it – I had a wonderful time – but my legs were tired heading into our trip to Maine. I took three easy days prior to the race and was ready to go on race morning.

Race day got off to a less-than-ideal start. The novelty of sharing a room with us meant that our kids woke us up a dozen times in the night and finally for good at 5 AM – far earlier than I would have preferred. But all was forgotten by the time we hit the road to Bridgton with our friends.

Upon arrival, my buddy Mike and I did our usual warm-up out and back on the first ~3/4 mile of the course. We commented on how it wasn’t as humid as in the past but was still warmer than we’d expected. We made the joint decision to go shirtless*, and I felt invigorated as soon as mine was off.

*Note: I had made a point to pack my 1996 Team USA Olympic jersey for this race, but I stupidly forgot to bring my suitcase when we loaded out stuff in the shuttle van in California. I was thus without my jersey (and all of my other clothes) during this three-week sojourn east, making the decision to bare my chest that much easier. 

I saw a few fast familiar faces on the starting line and hoped there weren’t too many unknown others to bump me out of a podium position. I’d just squeaked in the past two years, placing fifth of the five-deep race prize awardees, and I knew that a single random new guy could displace me this time.

My strategy was pretty simple – I wanted to run a little faster than last year in miles 1, 2, and 4, and really blast mile 3, which includes the last stretch of the long uphill followed by a solid descent. My analysis of my previous years’ results showed that I tended to give away too much time in mile 3, and I knew the cause was probably mostly psychological.

Mile 1

The first mile starts on a gradual downhill and then remains mostly flat the rest of the way. Halfway through, I was in 9^th place, running with a few other stragglers five or ten seconds behind a large lead pack. My breathing was ragged and took longer than usual to settle into a regular rhythm. I drew even with the 8^th place guy (a youngster) right as we hit the mile mark in 5:17. This was slower than I’d hoped for but not too far off. Still, I knew I’d have to keep the pace snappy heading into the challenging second mile.

Mile 2

I moved into seventh on the first hill of the second mile (which rises 100 feet over half a mile) and then was quickly passed back by the young guy I’d been with at the mile mark. The hills in this mile are relentless, and I made sure never to let up, especially where the others did as we crested each one. I recalled reading that Chris Solinsky or Matt Tegenkamp or some such fast guy of my generation would force himself to take 20 quick steps after reaching the top of a hill in a cross country race to ensure he didn’t let up. I was inspired by this memory to do the same, and it really made a difference. I was able to drop those guys and eventually get myself into 6^th place by the end of the mile, which I reached in 5:37.

Mile 3

I was feeling strong heading into the final hill and could see the top five guys (Moninda Marube, Jim Johnson, Silas Eastman, Nate Richards, and someone else) spread out in the 100-150 meters in front of me. I also knew Kevin Tilton was somewhere behind me, and I worried about him on the hills. Watching the stride and pace of those ahead of me, I was fairly certain I would catch at least one more, but it would take some work. I continued to push the final hill and then really put some effort into descending quickly. I caught one guy and then set my sights on the next one – a college kid who’d beaten me in 2015. This was the make-or-break mile for me, and I wanted to make sure I stuck with my game plan. I caught the college kid, moving into fourth place right around the mile marker, running a 5:19 third mile, 15 seconds faster than I’d run it last year.

Mile 4

The ol’ legs were starting to feel the effort, but I really didn’t want to lose any places I'd gained. I also discovered that I was closing on the third place runner, another college kid, who’d won this race a few years ago. We were moving well down Main Street, which was lined with fans shouting for the guy in front of me (he was a local kid) to hold off the old man chasing him. I came within maybe two seconds of him as we rounded the final turn onto the long straightaway. I was glad when he turned on the afterburners and started to pull away, because I wasn’t relishing the thought of dueling it out with the guy all the way to the finish. This was a weak thought, and I’m not proud of it, but it’s what my tired brain was thinking. I crossed the line in a big PR of 21:12, with a final mile of 4:58.

Half-mile to go, trying to catch third-place. (Pic from mcclellandmiscellanea.com)

I'm apparently scanning the sidelines for sneak attacks. None came. (Pic from mcclellandmiscellanea.com)

Forcing a smile as I finish up the race. (Pic by Katie)

Third place vanishes into the distance. (Pic by Katie)

I was thrilled with my time and place, as it verified my fitness. For my efforts, I took home a Food City gift card to give to my in-laws and a New Balance gift card to give to myself. Mike also had a PR, coming through in 23:45, despite running little more than 3 miles at a time in slow circles on the track during his training.

During the award ceremony, the top 5 men and women, as well as past race winners, had the unusual opportunity to blow out a candle on a cake honoring the 40^th anniversary of the race. That was pretty cool!

See separate write up here. Results here.

The past three years have had similar split patterns, with 2016 just dipping below the others throughout the race.

My goal of putting a charge into mile 3 is evident when viewing the splits this way.

The two patriots post-race. (Pic by Katie)

Love Run 5K

It has become an annual ritual to add to my yearly running goals the following: Break 16:00 in a road 5K. It's something I'd like to do before I get too old to have a realistic shot at it. While it's a nice idea, I haven't really come close to accomplishing it. Last year I hit 16:17 at the Battle of Stonington, and the two years prior I ran 16:21 (CVS 5K in 2013 and Schonning 5K in 2014). Still, a guy can dream, can't he?

Heading into the Love Run 5K in Westlake Village, I had no illusions of breaking 16, but I did think a road 5K PR (under 16:17) was possible. Several things were working in my favor at this event: flat course (~70 feet total climb), great weather (in the 60s, no wind), and fairly good fitness. I also spontaneously snagged a pair of new flats during packet pickup at Roadrunner Sports the day before. They were "lightly used" Nike Flyknit Racers, selling for roughly 1/3 of their original lofty price. I typically do hours of research before buying a pair of shoes, but I was very nervous about racing in my other flats, which caused me to lose a toenail after the Blessing last year, so I jumped on the opportunity to nab a replacement pair. These fit like a glove and felt great, so I took a chance.

Race day arrived and, as in my last race, I lined up next to a friend, a few rows back, despite knowing full well that I'd have to weave my way up to an appropriate position after the race started. As I was standing there, stuck behind some high school girls, I realized that there were some perks to starting in the pack. No, standing behind high school girls wasn't one of them. This vantage point allowed me to scope out the competition while remaining somewhat anonymous myself, so scope I did. There's an art to this, by the way. I've learned there are several tricks runners can play to make themselves look fast when they might not really be: tight-fitting clothing (bonus points for neon colors), 4 oz flats, a nice tan, being handsome, general youthfulness, toned muscles. So how do I know if someone is actually fast? I don't, but I usually figure it out after a couple miles of racing (har, har). There were a couple of fast-lookers on the line, so I made sure to take note and look for them out on the course. 

As we started, I was able to get through the crowd with surprising ease and was already in the lead after 15 or 20 seconds. There were audible footsteps behind me for about a half mile, but they vanished, leaving me and my soon-to-be best friend "Rick," the lead cyclist. So much for the fast-lookers. Rick and I passed the mile marker in 5:16 (I was targeting 5:15) and continued on our way. I wondered why the race organizers bothered to have a lead cyclist for this well-marked course with just a few turns. I wondered no more when we turned onto Hampshire Rd. and merged with the 10K runners. This is when Rick and I really bonded. He dinged his bell and announced my presence like I was a visitor to Downton Abbey for each 10K runner we approached. ("The Earl of Charlestown, Chris Garvin...," or something like that.) This had varying effects on these runners. People with headphones were oblivious of course, and nearly everyone else acted like Rick's announcements were serious affronts to their solitude and in return slung all manner of expletives back at him. I don't know why this was. In some cases, I think they thought he was a random biker trying to mow them down, and only when I came by a few seconds later did they realize what he was shouting about. In other cases, there was a "why is this 5K leader so special? I paid for this race, too," kind of vibe. Regardless, it gave me constant amusement along with a clear path to run. 

I reached mile 2 in a surprising 5:10, my two-mile time equaling my high school 3200 PR, which was a little depressing in retrospect. After a few seconds of regret over my high school career, I realized I'd settled a little too much at the start of the third mile, my watch showing "5:20" pace after a tenth of a mile or so. I consciously picked up the pace, though my legs were starting to feel fatigued, and was able to bring the pace down enough to log a 5:12 for the mile-3 split. I never saw this, since I was focused on getting myself to the finish in one piece. The mostly-flat course had a slight rise just before reaching the third mile, and this little slope change took a lot out of me. I recovered enough on the ensuing downhill to make one final push as I made the last turn and headed up an SBS (short-but-steep) hill to the finish line. (Despite Strava giving me credit for not a single foot of elevation gain during the race, there were actually some bumps on the course!)

Mile 2.5. The droopier the lower lip, the more tired I am. This is ~90% droop. Note the WTAC representation in California!

I crossed the line and glanced at my watch and saw 16:01. 16:01?! If I'd only paid attention over the last quarter mile, I surely could have mustered up the energy to break 16. I also noticed that the distance on my watch was 3.09 miles, which is technically just short of a 5K (3.107). I gripe when a race course is longer than advertised, so it's only fair to mention that this may have been something less than a 5K. This door swings both ways.

Still, slightly short or not, this was a road 5K PR. And maybe it's better that I didn't just sneak under 16, since it might not have been legit. 

But wait! Despite the time shown on the results board just after the race being 16:00, the online results have me listed as 15:59. It must have been the difference between the chip vs. gun time, since I'd started ten feet behind the starting line. Forget everything I'd just said - it was a sub-16 5K on a totally accurate 5K course! Etch it in stone! (One final note - this was a new course this year. The previous out-and-back version was USATF certified. I can only hope this was, too, but that the certification hasn't yet been posted. This is serious stuff, folks. My legacy is on the line.) All kidding aside, now I have incentive to find another flat course and put any uncertainty about the sub-16 to rest.

Putting the "cool" in cool down. (I wish I looked this relaxed during the race.)

Next race: A return east for the annual Four on the Fourth in Bridgton, Maine.

Ventura County Corporate Games

The best thing about not racing for six months has been not falling behind on these blog race reports.

Since my last race, back in October, my running has looked like this:

10 weeks: Achilles injury
7 weeks: Working way back into shape
4 weeks: Knee injury
4 weeks: Working way back into shape

I'm now one of those guys who runs with a band around his knee, and my Achilles still isn't quite right, but I'm running, and that's all that matters.

I typically wouldn't have allowed myself to race so soon after restarting my training, but I had committed to represent my company at the Ventura County Corporate games (kind of like the Olympics for the county, if the Olympics were a bunch of regular people who trained for their event a couple of times a month).


A month before the race, I'd started doing one modest workout a week, plus some strides, in preparation. I'd been surprised how well my legs responded to this load after the injury, but I was constantly battling soreness in my knee, and two days before the race I still wasn't sure if it was worth risking further injury by competing.

The day of the race finally arrived, and too many people at work knew about the race for me to back out, so I sucked it up and made the trip to Ventura with a colleague for the big event. I checked out a map when I arrived and discovered the course was officially listed 5.17K, despite the race website and advertising calling it a 5K. 5.17K?? My training had been all wrong! In reality, this had no impact on how I planned to approach the race. Another 170 meters would be nothing, right? It made me wonder at what point would added distance cause me to change my pacing/approach? 400 meters? More? Something for you guys to ponder on your next long run.

The course makes two loops around a park, starting and ending in the same spot. I got a sense of the level of seriousness of the other competitors when I realized that maybe 20 or 30 of the 350 racers were doing warm-ups, while the rest socialized. This was reinforced when I returned from my warm-up to a bunch of open-mouthed stares from my teammates who were in awe that I'd run a whole lap of the course prior to the race. This would be interesting...

I walked to the start with a teammate who said she'd start with me and see how long she'd be able to hang in there. I didn't have the heart to tell her how things would go down, so I agreed, and we walked toward the front of the starting corral together. I had a dilemma - should I go straight to the first row and put her in position to get stampeded by the faster runners behind her, or do I sacrifice my own start and keep her out of harm's way? Being the gentleman that I am, I chose the latter. We were in maybe the seventh row, which, on the bright side, gave me a chance to size up the group in front of me. I saw a few fit-looking guys, including one in a Navy singlet that I picked to be the top in the field. Sure enough, as the race started, he took off like a bolt, while I weaved my way through the couple dozen runners who started in front of me. Oh, and my colleague? I didn't even look back to see what happened to her. I can't even be sure I didn't elbow her out of the way myself when the siren sounded. So much for being a gentleman.

After a quarter-mile, I was in eighth place or so, already 5 seconds behind the leader, whose margin was growing with every step. I glanced at my watch and saw we were running sub-5 pace. Oops. I backed off to something I could maintain, even though I knew I'd be sacrificing any chance to challenge for the lead in the near future. After another 100 meters, I was in second place, the spicy opening a bit too hot for most of the crowd. I felt a presence on my shoulder and knew I had a barnacle. I was happy to oblige, as long as he didn't want more than a comfortable place to hang out.

I glanced back at some point and discovered that we were in a two-man battle for second; no one else was close in front of or behind us. We hit mile one in 5:22, and I felt smooth. My thought coming in to the race was that I'd be happy with 5:30 miles. Now, I was hoping that a 5:22 wouldn't cause the wheels to come off at the end. Time would tell.

Running with the pack as I finish my second lap.

We came through the end of the first lap in the same position we'd been since 500m into the race. The guy was still hanging strong. Meanwhile, the leader's gap had grown to more than 30 seconds. There would be no chance to catch him. We continued to run in tandem until we reached the second mile marker (5:19). He suddenly and unceremoniously detached, thanking me for the lift (really) and wishing me luck the rest of the way. So that was it? I was able to enjoy the solitude for another 100 meters before coming upon a throng of walkers and joggers taking up most of the path ahead for as far as I could see. It was the fabled back-of-the-packers, working their way around the course on their first lap. I thought about warning them of my approach, but that would've required shouting, "On your left!" in perpetuity. Instead, I dashed and darted every which way, like Barry Sanders (that is, Barry Sanders now, retired and a heavy-footed, not when he still played football) finding holes in a defense with 200 players on a very, very long field. Yes, I'm over-dramatizing things, but not by much. On the bright side, all of the weaving was a great distraction from my increasing fatigue. Before I knew it, my watch beeped for the third mile (5:17), and I figured I'd better start picking it up. I ran hard but still comfortably through the finish (final 0.2 at 4:43 pace) in 17:06.

The medal ceremony. See, just like the Olympics.

The Navy guy had beaten me by 15 seconds, but I took some solace in the fact that I'd cut his lead in half over the second lap. I was also pleased that I was able to negative split after being concerned that I'd started too quickly, and despite the traffic on lap 2. (Splits: Lap 1 - 8:38; Lap 2 - 8:28). Best of all, my knee, which tends to be sore for days if I so much as step too aggressively out of my car, felt after the race like nothing had ever been wrong. These injuries are mysterious.

Final Results: 2nd place overall, 17:06 for 5.17 K (5:18 pace; roughly equivalent to a 16:30 5K). The team also finished 2nd, scoring some key points for the county championship!

Now let's hope it's not too long before I have to write another one of these things.

2015 - It happened

I'm desperate to leave behind 2015 and move on, but there's one final piece of business to take care of: the dreaded review. Let's start high-level and then drill down.

My mileage will never be impressive, but I can always strive for more. I was actually on track to beat last year's total by a couple hundred until October, November, and December happened. I wound up a mere 4 miles short of last year's total (1136 vs. 1140), based on Strava and Garmin's flawless accounting system (right, Jonny?). It's not much, but it's still better than any other year since 2002.

If we look week-by-week, there are lots of peaks and valleys. I was able to fill in some of the valleys with cycling and other activities (roller skiing!), but a few were filled with nothing but tears. Two such weeks were during the pre-move mayhem in August, when I was consumed with moving logistics and work. The others were at the end of the year, after sustaining running and cycling injuries in rapid succession.

Now, on to the 2015 goals.

Goal #1: Stay injury-free: FAIL
I probably would've given myself a pass until the Achilles injury happened in October after running too many hills, too hard, too soon. I blame California. 

Goal #2: Sub-4:30 mile: FAIL
I didn't train for the mile nor race one on the track. In fact, the only mile I ran hard was at the final WTAC fun run (4:43). I was happy with the time, but it's still a missed goal.

Goal #3: Sub-16:21 5K: PASS
Somehow, I ran just two road 5Ks in 2016. The first was an underwhelming performance at the Super 5K in February, but I turned in maybe my best race of the year in the second, running 16:17 at the Battle of Stonington for a road 5K PR.

Goal #4: Sub-47 Li'l Rhody: N/A

I'll go easy on myself and waive this goal, since I was no longer in RI for my favorite race.

Goal #5: Sub-21:30 4 miles: FAIL

I ran just one 4-miler, and it was on a tough course in Bridgton, ME. The 21:43 there wasn't quite fast enough.

Goal #6: Win 4th Season Trail Series; PASS

I achieved this, but with some caveats, of course. First, it was actually a tie with Eric Lonergan. Second, he missed one of the races (so did I, for that matter, so maybe it evens out). Third, Greg Hammett let me win one of the races after I took a wrong turn. If not for his gentlemanly gesture, there'd be no victory here..

Goal #7: Run more miles than in 2014: PUSH

I was four miles short per Strava, but that's within the margin of measurement error, so let's call this a push.

Goal #8: Complete a century ride: FAIL

Nope, never went for this. My longest ride was just short of a half-century.

Goal #9: At least one race in the Gunks: N/A

The two races I was targeting were post-CA move, so I missed my chance.

Goal #10: 20 consecutive pull-ups: FAIL
I made it up to 18 in a row by August, but the move wrecked this one, too. Without a bar in the house out here, I got lazy and weak. 

So, what do I want to fail to accomplish in 2016? Let's keep the list simple this year:

1. Run more miles than in 2015
2. Get and stay injury-free
3. Sub-1:16 half-marathon
4. Sub-16 5K
5. Jump and touch a 10-ft rim (this was inspired by Greg's blog. Who knows what's after this. Maybe a two-handed dunk in 2017??)
6. 20 consecutive pull-ups
7. More data analysis!

Despite all of the goal misses, I had a great time training in 2015. Some highlights include:

• Completing my first triathlon in 10 years - 2nd place at Block Island (thanks to Jeff and Tommy for the motivation)
• WTAC fun runs with and without strollers and friends to help push them (Tommy and Mike)
• Ragnar Relay domination with the awesome Foolproof team
• New deer fly murder PR: 40
• Exploring the amazing trails around my temporary home in California
• Epic training weekend with childhood friend Mike. Running/biking around Block Island, video games, and more. I'll never forget it and will never grow up.

Finally, some other stats:

• Highest mileage week = 41 miles (8/3 - 8/9)
• Lowest mileage week = 0 miles (11/16, 12/7) - Achilles pain
• Most hours run/bike in week = 8:56 (+30 min roller ski) (5/11 - 5/17) - Bike to Work Day, two lunch runs with Jonny, and a long ride with Jeff and Tom
• Longest run = 14 miles (7/24) - Blessing of the Fleet race + wu/cd
• Most climbing on a run = 2709 ft (7/5) - Baldface Mtn in Maine
• Longest ride = 47 miles (11/7)
• Most climbing on a ride = 4419 ft (11/7)
• Number of races = 14 (1st place -3 times, 2nd place - 3 times, 3rd place - 5 times, plus a team win at Ragnar)
• Number of states/commonwealths/territories run in: 11 - I don't love traveling, but it is fun to explore new places. Lots more to come in 2016...

Here's to a better year in 2016!