The first of these was the Bottone Mile, which, after 20+ years on the track, was recast as a road mile this year. The reason for the change was about numbers (the new venue seemed to do the trick), but I was personally glad for the change because a road mile has less anxiety attached to it. When you step on the track, you become a slave to the watch. Splits are calculated in advance, and you measure yourself against them every 200 meters, allowing you to know the exact moment you fail to meet your expectations. There's also some inherent pressure that I associate with the track, probably due to the nerves I felt across hundreds of track races between 7th grade and the end of college. The novelty of a road mile meant minimal expectations and, importantly, no old version of myself to be compared to.
Still, a mile is a mile, and I had some butterflies as I drove down from work. (The mile was really my second race of the day, as I got out of a meeting late at work and had to drive a little faster than the police would prefer to get to Westerly.) I arrived in time for a short warm-up with some faster accelerations thrown in, met up with Tommy, and got over to the line.
One nice feature of this race was the seeding process, which allowed runners to line up according to our estimated finishing time. I'd somewhat arbitrarily picked 4:50, which placed me 2nd next to Matthew. Jeff smartly inserted another runner (whom Matthew pointed out is a current collegiate athlete and 1:52 high school 800 runner) between, despite his not registering early enough to receive an appropriately low-numbered bib.
Matthew informed me beforehand that he'd be doing this as a workout, targeting 4:40. That was still faster than I expected to go but knew I'd at least be able to get pulled along at that pace. With the sound of the gun (or was it siren? I can't recall), I attempted to find what felt like mile pace, soon realizing that I didn't remember exactly how that should feel. One drawback of not running on the track is that I didn't have a reliable way to check my pace and would have to trust my completely untrustworthy watch. The pace felt fairly easy on the first stretch of road, as I tucked in behind Nick (college guy) and Matthew, but I knew I was still floating on adrenaline.
After making the two quick left-hand turns, I allowed myself a peek at the watch, which revealed the cumulative pace to be 4:37 roughly a quarter-mile into the race. That seemed fast but I was ok, so I decided to do nothing about it and keep on the leaders' tails. At some point along the lengthy Crandall stretch, Nick got some easy separation. I wasn't going to risk a move and instead stuck with Matthew. I glanced at my watch several more times along Crandall and again after we'd turned on Shirley, and each time the pace was 4:37. I started wondering if my watch was broken, as it didn't expect to keep that pace for as long as we had.
It started dawning on me that we were within a quarter-mile of the finish, and I should probably think about some kind of a kick. (Again, not having the simple layout of a track, where completing the penultimate lap of a mile meant an automatic start of a kick, led to some confusion in my tactics.) I passed Matthew, knowing he'd never let that happen in an actual race, and tried in vain to close the gap on Nick. I took the last left turn and came upon what essentially was a wide dirt trail, littered with pot holes and rocks. It isn't a long stretch but took some serious concentration to run through at that pace. I knew I'd lost a little speed and tried to make up for it when I got back to the paved portion of the course. There wasn't much wood left in the furnace, but I fanned the flames and mustered a tiny kick, finishing in...you guessed it: 4:37.
I was thrilled with that time and glad to know I still have some mile-speed left, despite not doing anything remotely close to training for that pace. The race has motivated me to start incorporating some speed work into my regular routine and maybe even jump into a couple track races this winter.
Wahaneeta 5K
I ended the week with a 5K in the woods of Wahaneeta Preserve. It was another sticky summer day, and the course was wet and muddy from rain. I'd only been on these trails once before and really didn't know my way around, so I used the warm-up to explore a couple parts that might have been the beginning, middle, or end (or all three!). Whatever they were, they gave me a sense of the terrain (rolling), footing (rocky and rooty in parts), and obstacles (slippery bridges, stream crossings, and mud). The ol' ankle braces would be a must-wear on this course.
With Matthew in attendance, I knew I'd be racing for second. (It surprised me to see from his blog that he still considers me a threat. I wish that were the case.) I didn't see anyone else who might be near the front, so it looked like this would turn into a solo time trial.
I lined up at the right side of the field, only to discover that the starting line was sharply angled away from the trail we'd be heading toward, making my route quite a bit farther than that of those on the other side. Matthew seemed to notice the same thing and re-positioned himself on the other side. I didn't bother, which gave me an excuse to let Matthew go immediately after the gun sounded. He appeared to go out very fast. So fast, indeed, that my slower pace still felt way too hard after a quarter mile. I made my way up into second place right around then (passing a barefoot dude!), and, as predicted, stayed there for the rest of the race.
As you might imagine, the race was fairly uneventful. I lost sight of Matthew very early (he was 15 seconds ahead after just half a mile, according to the Strava fly-by) but continued to press just in case an opportunity to get back in the race presented itself. I knew one wouldn't, but these are the tricks you play on yourself to keep the feet moving forward. After the first lap, I caught sight of him, already ascending the hill in front of the cabin while I was trodding in the opposite direction, still fifty yards from the 180-degree turn he'd long ago taken. (I had given up only another five seconds in the 1.25 miles since that initial surge Matthew had put in, but it was enough to create an insurmountable gap.)
The second lap was more of the same, with the gap gradually growing to more than 30 seconds. I made my final trip through the main field (nearly heading directly to the finish instead of taking the right turn required to stay on the course), and then set out on the lollipop loop. One part of the lollipop (the stick?) was particularly mucky, and I thought about what I would do if my shoe got sucked off in it. (The answer: stop and put my shoe back on!) I eventually came face to face with Matthew on his way back from the turnaround. Given that I hadn't even reached the pop part of the sucker when we passed each other, I realized I was farther behind than I'd thought. As I trudged back up toward the finish, I reached the muck again and discovered...a shoe! It was Matthew's XC spike, and it had been snatched from his foot just as I'd envisioned might happen to mine. I couldn't just leave it there, so I bent down as I ran by and picked it up like a ball boy to a tennis ball at the US Open, running the rest of the way to the finish with an extra shoe in hand. This got a few laughs from those who saw Matthew already finish minus one shoe and restored balance to the finish area shoe count.
I have to admit, I was pretty disappointed with my race. I didn't have much fight in me and struggled to stay motivated out there. And like Matthew, I also would have liked to see more of the top local runners come to this race. Maybe next year...
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| Pre-race picture 1 from Westerly Sun |
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| Pre-race picture 2. They thought I was a different guy. |
