Final 3: Avondale, Mews, Newport

The downside of remaining relatively healthy and race-ready is that I've fallen terribly far behind on these race reports. I can't stand the thought of a 2019 race showing up in the 2020 section of the blog, so in an attempt to squeeze the final three write-ups in before the end of the year, this will be an abbreviated post containing all of them.

First up, all the way back in early November, was the Avondale "Setting the Pace for Conservation" 5K. This was another in my series of new-to-me races in 2019, and I was excited at the prospect of a very flat 5K to shoot for a fast time. Specifically, I wanted to take a crack at sub-16, and thought the easy course could be just what I needed to make it happen. However, I wasn't anticipating the strong winds that we'd face head-on during the opening mile and again in the final quarter-mile before the finish. Still, I figured I'd take a shot, and verbally committed to it when I told Matthew that I would try to hit 5:10 pace for as long as I could before attempting a kick.

Speaking of Matthew, he was a wildcard in the race. He was coming off a long injury that put a serious dent in his training volume. But...he was still Matthew. His no-running speed was pretty close to what I'm able to muster on what passes for full training these days. Tommy, who has been rounding back into form and was a multi-time champ of this race, was also there and would be a threat, too.

The last smiling I'd be doing for a while. (All pics from Jana.)

Still early and feeling good.

At the start, I grabbed the lead right away and was surprised to be able to hold something close to 5:10 pace through the wind. I must have spaced out for a bit after that, as I was taken aback by the 5:15 mile split. I failed in my attempt to get back on track in the second mile and slowed slightly to 5:17. On the out-and-back portion of the mile 2, I was also reminded of how close Matthew was at this point in the race. I was surely in his crosshairs, and if I couldn't hit a strong final mile, I'd be in trouble. Fortunately, I was able to get the legs turning over, and the final mile was 5:07, including the tough wind section. I hadn't been doing the math in my head, so I was shocked to see the clock only in the high 15:50s as I approached the finish. It wouldn't be sub-16, but it was a lot closer than I'd expected. The final time of 16:06 was my second fastest road 5K ever, just 7 seconds off the Love Run (blog post) from three years again in California.

Finally through the wind and into the finish.

One final note on this race: the prize basket was the most unique and among the the most generous I'd ever received. I'll certainly be back at this one again and will hope for less wind!

Two weeks later, I toed the line for the first time at the Mews Gear 'n' Beer 6.9K just a few miles down the road from my home. To describe the weather that day as "wet" would be similar to saying the surface of the sun is "warm." It was an absolute deluge. Before the race had even started, I was as wet as I've ever been in my life. But hey, everyone else had to deal with it, too, right?

The race started up a river that is sometimes known as Wright Avenue. My legs felt heavy right away, and I quickly fell behind about a dozen people. I sloshed past a few on Willard and soon was in fourth as we entered the Allen Farm neighborhood on the other side of Allen Ave. My legs were no longer heavy, but I couldn't feel my feet. Really! It was the strangest sensation and made turning them over awfully tricky. The leader at this point - Bronson Venable - was so far ahead that I couldn't see him or the police escort. Second place was also quite far up, and third was maybe 10 seconds ahead. I was intent on catching third and was making good progress when I had an odd feeling of light-headedness that I'd never experienced in a race before. I slowed until it passed but was somewhat reluctant to increase the pace again. Eventually, competitiveness won out, and I continued my quest as we turned on to South Rd.

I did catch the guy shortly after, and he gave some words of encouragement to go for the next guy, who did seem to be slowing slightly. I got within shouting distance of second as we got close to the turn back on to Highland. How do I know I was this close? Because I actually shouted at him! He had nearly run past Highland when I yelled to turn right at this unmarked and unmanned junction. He got back on track, but I gained a second or two on him due to his uncertainty. I had also picked up the pace considerably (5:08 fourth mile vs. 5:32 third mile) but was running out of room.

For the final part of the race, I was pretty sure we'd be turning back down Wright (the river from earlier), but there was surprisingly no one there either, despite there being a volunteer one road prior, where there was no turn required. The second place guy missed this one and didn't hear my shout to turn. Now I had a conundrum. Do I go the way I'm supposed to and get 2nd place unfairly, or do I follow him off course where we'd both likely sacrifice our places? I chose the latter, partly because I felt I'd become his guide and was afraid he wouldn't know where to go on this new course we were creating, and partly because I didn't have time to think the whole thing through.

We continued down to the base of Highland where a confused police officer, not expecting to see runners, was directing traffic that had been diverted off Main St. I shouted to turn right and then right again on Main. Here, we had the once-in-a-lifetime experience of crossing the finish line in the opposite direction, which was a surprise to everyone there. Most interesting was that the next fifteen or so runners all followed us, too! So, we didn't sacrifice our positions; instead we got 0.2 miles more race for our money. Most surprising to me, however, was the fact that the 2nd place guy turned out to be the famed Matty P, now mortal as he eases into running retirement.

I was so cold afterward that I could hardly hold a spoon to eat my post-race meal and had to get to the car to change before coming back for the awards. And it was a good thing, too, as I got another generous prize for coming in third, and our team of me, Tommy, Shara, and Mikey won the "Community" category and got a nice gift certificate.

The final race in this installment was the Christmas 10K (or "Almost 10K", depending on your preference) in Newport. I'd last run this in 2013 (captured in my first ever blog post!) in 34:04. My 10K road PR, set on a training run back in 2002, was 33:43, and that would serve as my goal this year.

There were lots of running friends and acquaintances in attendance, including Jonny, Jeff, Brightman, Jackman, and more. Bronson once again came out of nowhere to show up at the start with seconds to spare, just as he'd done at the Mews race. It was now a race for second.

The good-looking, if follicly-challenged, WTAC crew before the race. (All pics from Jana, yet again.)

I got out in second place behind Bronson but had plenty of company. I was passed by a guy in baggy shorts over tights -- usually a telltale sign of front-of-pack impostor -- but he was looking pretty good, so I stayed patient and sat on him. I got ahead of him around the mile mark (5:13 - a bit fast, though it has a good amount of downhill). I was reminded around this point of my back pain, which had been almost debilitating earlier in the week. Just four days before, I'd been nearly unable to walk, but it had healed nicely since then, and, aside from a few tweaks during the race, I didn't feel it at all.

Some familiar faces span the road just after the start.

I settled too much at the start of the second mile and was again shadowed by the baggy shorts guy. I surged and then tried to hold that pace as best I could the rest of the way. I succeeded beyond my wildest expectations, running splits of 5:27, 5:27, 5:27, 5:27, 5:26 for the next five miles. I almost wish I'd slowed down one second in that sixth mile. Aside from this statistical oddity, not much happened the rest of the way. I ran completely alone, a minute-plus behind Bronson and nearly a minute ahead of the next guy. After the Mews directional debacle, I tried my best to watch Bronson's turns, which really tested my eyesight. Fortunately, I saw him at most of the key points and knew the others well enough to figure them out for myself. The final time was 33:29 -- well ahead of my previous time on this course and a 10K road PR, if you're willing to consider this a 10K. If you're not, then you can keep track of my alternative PRs yourself.

Into the finish.

The WTAC team placed a distant 2nd to the Turtles but still made out with way too much Budweiser. I did really enjoy racing with the old crowd again. With the demise of the Galoob winter racing series, I see these guys pretty infrequently, so it's always nice to catch up. On a humorous note, I discovered, after the race, that I'd been wearing my racing tight shorts inside-out all day. Maybe having the liner on the outside should have been a hint. Here I was, judging baggy shorts guy; meanwhile, he was probably thinking, "What's with this weirdo?" This stuff doesn't happen to other people, does it?

That's it for 2019, just before the deadline. Here's to more racing and more timely write-ups in 2020!

Pell Bridge Run

The Pell Bridge Run had been on my radar for a long time but had never reached must-do status. Earlier this summer, while chatting with Tommy about races on his calendar, this one came up, and the seed was planted. Fast-forward to October, when Tommy alerted me to an opportunity to run the race as part of a team supporting Clean Ocean Access, a local non-profit that aims to improve ocean health to allow people to enjoy activities in the water and on shorelines. I typically shy away from asking for donations, so the fact that there was no minimum fundraising requirement (aka, I could just ask close family to donate) was the final push I needed to join. I felt bad when I saw how little my efforts contributed to the cause, so I promised myself I’d find other ways to promote the organization if the opportunity presented itself.

The race itself is unique in that it crosses the Pell Bridge – normally closed to foot traffic – from Jamestown to Newport. With this unusual format comes some logistical complexity. Most runners park at the finish and take a shuttle over to the start beginning before 5 AM; no reverse option (e.g., parking at the start and taking a shuttle back from the finish) is available. Tommy and I were both slated for the 5:30 shuttle, which would have us at the start as much as 90 minutes before the gun. That was too much stand-around time for our liking, so we concocted our own shuttle system. We’d meet in Newport, where Tommy would park, and drive back in my car to an undisclosed location in Jamestown. There, we’d lounge in the relative luxury of my Honda Fit (OK, at least it would be warm) until a short time before the race, then jog the 10-15 minutes to the start as our warm-up.

It all went neatly according to plan – other than the fact that parking was already so limited in Newport that it took far longer to meet up than we'd expected. Still, we had plenty of time to spare once we arrived in Jamestown and enjoyed a beautiful run to the start along the water, with views out toward the bridge we’d ultimately be running over. The fact that the bridge seemed to be miles above us foretold the big climb that makes this race unique, but we’ll get to that later.

We lined up near the front of the field, which contained a few other speedy-looking guys and gals, though no one I knew was there. Looking at past results, this race doesn’t draw the cream of the crop. Aside from the one guy who’d won the race the past seven years, this race was of little interest to the region’s elite crowd. The upshot of this is that it meant I’d be in the running for a podium finish in a pretty large race, which was an intriguing perk.

At the gun, a small pack formed at the front, with a couple different guys sharing the lead. I was content to sit back and let them do the work for a while. After a short on-ramp loop and passing through the EZ Pass toll lane, the race climbs 200 feet as it ascends the bridge. It’s funny how you never notice the steep pitch of a bridge like this until you are forced to propel yourself up it with your own two legs. I’d planned to keep my breathing and pace under control until I neared the top, as more than half the race remains once you’ve hit the peak.

I did feel the leader’s pace lagging maybe halfway up, so I moved by him into first place and put in a very subtle surge to see if anyone would come along. One guy, donning a BAA jersey, did. He wasn’t content to just go with the move either, quickly getting a stride on me as we proceeded nearly side-by-side toward the summit. You can see a video of this part of the race here, and some pictures below.

I did my best to take in the stunning views, though the sun was directly in our eyes (placed perfectly, smack-dab in the middle of the bridge’s horizon), making anything beyond a squint, even in sunglasses, challenging. 

Upon reaching the apex, I worried that my usual troubles on downhills would cost me the race. I did my best to open my stride, be light on my feet, and lean into the hill. While it felt as awkward as ever, I unexpectedly grabbed the lead and then began to extend it. I could hear my pursuer still close behind when we finally reached the Aquidneck terminus of the bridge, but the fact that I hadn’t lost the race on the descent was miraculous.

Finally back on solid ground. Photo by Clean Ocean Access Exec Dir. 

With renewed vigor, and a more typical road angle, I tried to accelerate into a fast final mile. I wanted to make anyone who caught me really earn it. There were far more people lining the streets in Newport at this early hour than I ever would have expected, and their cheers helped distract from the growing fatigue. I was still feeling fairly strong in the long straight to the finish and put together a tiny kick in case the lead was smaller than it seemed. 

All smiles at the finish. Note: I am NOT raising my arms in victory; just trying to get them above the tape!

I broke the tape (literally) in 21:13. Second place was 21:40, but you’d have thought it a sprint to the finish if you read the local write-ups of the race (see links below). Tommy was not far behind with a sold race for seventh, despite his abbreviated training regimen this year. Our Clean Ocean Access team also dominated the team results, which was a cool surprise. 

After the race, I did a short interview where I made sure to drop a note about Clean Ocean Access in my ongoing attempt to make up for my poor fundraising efforts. Whatever goodwill I still owe them will surely be made up for by this high-circulation blog post.

In summary, this was an extremely well-organized race with a surprising amount of attention and praise heaped on the victor. I almost certainly will do it again, and I encourage others to do the same. And don’t forget to support Clean Ocean Access!!

Some articles on the race:

• https://www.newportri.com/news/20191023/pell-bridge-run-breaks-attendance-and-charitable-donation-records
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• https://www.jamestownpress.com/articles/pell-bridge-run/
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• https://www.portsmouthpress.com/2019/10/26/citizens-bank-pell-bridge-run-breaks-its-own-attendance-and-charitable-donation-records/
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• https://whatsupnewp.com/2019/10/record-year-for-citizens-bank-pell-bridge-run-event-breaks-its-own-attendance-and-charitable-donation-records/

Run for the Pumpkins

Without really meaning to, I seem to have made 2019 a "checklist" year. By this, I mean I've been ticking off a bunch of races I either hadn't done before or hadn't done in many years. Run for the Pumpkins fits neatly into both of those categories. I last ran it in 2013 when it was a totally different race. It has since moved from road to trail, and increased in distance from 5K to 8K. It had been so long partly because of the California hiatus, but also because in past years it has conflicted with the Williams Alumni race, so I was thrilled when this year's schedule came out and I was free.

Heading into race day, I was pretty excited for a few reasons: the race is on a fun and challenging course; most of the WTAC team would be there (this is becoming increasingly rare); and the race’s theme (pumpkins!) would mean fall/Halloween décor around the course for a unique experience. Adding to the intrigue, I heard from Jonny that a fast Rhode Islander new to trails would be there to make his off-road debut. (Jonny is sort of like the Ken Rosenthal of local running, without the bow tie.)

I got in a short warm-up with Jonny and Tommy. This gave me a chance to check on the trail conditions, which were surprisingly firm and dry, despite rain leading up to the race. Based on this assessment, and the fact that the trails aren’t terribly technical, I opted for a pair of light road trainers rather than my heavy-ish trail shoes. This would be the rare shoe choice that didn’t come back to haunt me.

The race starts around the grass playing fields, where we’d pre-wet our footwear just to get that out of the way. For the first part of the race, the short and long race courses would share a trail, so there would be a period of uncertainty as to whom the competition was. At the gun, Aaron was off the line fast, but I knew he’d be in the 5K, and Tommy (also in the 5K) was just behind me. I was starting to wonder where our fast visitor was when he shot past on the climb in the first part of the woods, leaving me slack-jawed and puffing behind. One other guy, unknown to me, was a few steps in front of me when we reached the 5K/8K split. I fully expected him to take the 5K left when he instead blasted to the right, continuing on the 8K course and leaving me in third place. That makes two mysterious fast runners to worry about!

Around the field we go. Eventual winner in the BAA jersey behind me. Eventual third-placer on the far right. Pics from Jana.

After the first mile, the leader was already 10-15 seconds ahead, and his lead was seemingly growing by the stride. [You can check out the Strava Fly-by race overview here.] I hate to admit it, but I was already telling myself that second place wouldn’t be so bad. Still, there was a long way to go, and even second place was far from guaranteed. And of course there was always the chance of getting swallowed up by the speedy group behind me, too.

On the long downhill that makes up the end of the first loop, I made another unfortunate discovery – the young guy in second place was an exceptionally good downhill runner. He effortlessly put 5 seconds on me. I knew there would be another lengthy descent near the end of the race, and I made a tactical note to try to gap him long before that if the opportunity presented itself.

The second loop starts on the most difficult part of the course – a twisting, rocky uphill with endless switchbacks and a maze-like feel. I managed to catch up to the second-place guy halfway up, but he was moving well enough that a pass wasn’t in the cards. The winding nature of this section also had the effect of putting many runners in close proximity to one another, even if we weren't so close in race distance. I was able to see the leader, still cruising along, as well as many of the chasers, who seemed to be bearing down on me. I was hoping this illusion would have the same worrying effect on those ahead of me as it was having on me.

I reached the top still on the second-placer’s heels when he abruptly stepped aside and told me to go by. Apparently, he’d been putting in a surge on the hill to maintain his position and could no longer hold the pace. He also kindly encouraged me to go after the leader, to which I sort of laughed. Sensing my lack of enthusiasm, he made the observation that “he is coming back to us.” I figured this was a bit of motivational hyperbole, but as I looked ahead, I realized he was quite right. What had been maybe a 20-second gap was now only ~10 seconds. Remembering that this guy was a trail novice, it made sense that I’d closed so much on the most technical section of the course. I wondered if there would be more trail like that to give me a shot to get closer.

As luck would have it, we eventually got to another twisty, fun section (the famed ‘Hansel & Gretel’?) that, while not anywhere near as challenging as the earlier one, required some well-honed footwork to get through quickly. Now it was apparent that I was gaining rapidly and it would be a matter of minutes before I’d caught up. I knew this type of trail wouldn’t last forever, so I needed to make the most of it.

After a final surge, I caught up and settled into his pace for a short time while I plotted my next move and got my feet under me. I hadn’t been plotting for long when we reached the “optional” rock climb. Here, as Jeff announced at the start, we’d choose our own destiny. We could go up and over and risk whatever tragedies accompany such terrain, or we could go around the longer way and only risk our time. The sign indicating this junction appeared so unexpectedly, the leader didn’t have a chance to think and simply continued on the “go around” route. If there was a time to take a risk, this was it, so up and over I went. The rock wasn’t so bad and reminded me of many similar ones in Big River, so I was somewhat accustomed to navigating its crevices and crags. And, sure enough, it was quicker, as I descended now in the lead by a few seconds. I put in as big a surge as I was comfortable with, doing what I could to get something of a gap before the downhill and long finish on the grass, where I was sure he’d hold an advantage.

Unfortunately, the downhill was a bit too long, and he a bit too fast, to make the lead last. He went by without much fanfare and increased the lead substantially before we exited the trail back onto the grass. I put in a decent kick to close the final difference to two seconds, but it was all for show; there was no way I was catching him.

Despite the loss, it was an incredibly fun race and maybe the most interesting course I’ve raced on, with a little bit of everything. Many thanks to Jeff and others in the club for creating and sustaining this event. The winner – Jason Reilly – turned out to be a great guy who handled his first trail race without much trouble. A little more experience under his belt, and I’ll be lucky to be two minutes behind him. 

A few happy WTACers post-race. 

Stavros and Deerfoot

Two (somewhat) recent races happened on back-to-back days, so a back-to-back post seems appropriate. Here we go!

Stavros

First up was the Charlie Stavros Memorial On the Beach Run, with its long but meaningful title. I left myself just enough time to drive from work, grab my bib, and get in a very short jog on the beach. On that jog, I headed out three minutes and then watched the other runners assemble at the start as I returned. It was a little nerve-wracking seeing that scene unfold while the clock ticked. I got back, threw off my long-sleeve shirt, and the race started an instant later. I don't think I'd ever completed a warm-up with so little time to spare. 

Now a quick pause for the standard part of these blog posts that describes whatever happens to be ailing me at the moment. On this day, it was my right patellar tendon (which is actually a ligament, but that minor detail doesn't seem to bother anyone, including medical professionals, so let's go with it). It had been extremely sore at the start of the week, to the point that I wasn’t able to run for four days leading up to the race. While resting, I ordered one of those straps that wraps around the tendon to relieve some of the strain it takes on when running. I tested it out on the warmup, and other than some awkwardness associated with the strap, I deemed the knee ready to roll, though I'd monitor it throughout and back off as the knee dictated.

Back to the race! I was a bit shocked to grab the lead spot right off the line, as the high schoolers were unusually reserved in their start. The rest of the first half was spent timing the rise and fall of the waves on the beach in order to minimize abrupt directional changes. Given that I was wearing shoes (sorry, Jeff), I wanted to get as close to the water as possible without touching it, while maintaining as straight a path as I could. By the mile mark (5:21), I'd gotten pretty good at projecting a wave's size and trajectory and could plan my path well in advance. It also occurred to me that my knee wasn't bothering me in the slightest, and I was on pace to finish in the low 16s. Given this situation, I threw caution to the wind and decided to go for it. 

I reached the turnaround -- manned by Muddy -- in 8:05, still on pace to beat the course record of 16:20 (shared by Matthew and Galoob), barring a big positive split (foreshadowing...). Unfortunately, the return proved to be challenging for so many reasons. There was the sun, the oncoming foot traffic, a very slight headwind, and, most of all, the fatigue. I might have been able to deal with the first three if not for the fourth, but the combination of all was enough to thwart a CR attempt. My second mile was 5:30, so I was still technically on pace, but I was trending in the wrong direction. 

While I did my best to quicken the pace in the third mile, my watch kept reminding me that I was failing. As I closed in on the finish, I stayed along the shore line as long as I could, which greatly disturbed the finish line volunteers, who seemed to think I hadn't seen the giant clock, flags, rope, etc. They frantically waved at me until I turned up into the deep sand to the finishing flags (a bit earlier than I would have preferred, but I can only rebel for so long). As I did, my fans (Seb and Maisie) ran down to get a high five, which I gladly gave them. Upon reaching the flags, I gratefully stopped and began to tear off the bottom of my bib, only to receive more frantic waving from the volunteers. What now? Still too close to the water? Apparently, the flags marked the beginning of finishing chute, not the end. I ran the final few steps until everyone was satisfied that I'd truly crossed the line. The final time was 16:26, just six seconds off the CR and four ahead of my time from 2013, the only time I'd done this race previously. I suppose I lost a few seconds to my finish line screw-up, but the CR wouldn't have happened regardless.

My kids watch some slightly older kids sprint toward the finish line. Photo by Jana.

What a happy family (or at least they are pretty good a posing as one for the camera). Photo by Jana.

Deerfoot

I signed up for the Deerfoot 5K the night before, one I’d confirmed my knee hadn’t blown up during the Stavros race. It was pricey ($30) for a 5K, but the ROI was potentially huge, as the winner would be awarded a stay at a Block Island hotel. The race isn’t terribly well publicized, and after signing up, I struggled to find a reliable source for the starting time. After consulting several sites, I settled on 6 PM, which would allow me to get there from work with plenty of time to warm up – a nice change after the just-in-time Stavros arrival the day before. Or so I thought…

The next day, I pulled in to the parking area at 5:24 and went over to the registration table to pick up my bib. I wasn’t terribly surprised when I learned that they didn’t have my name on their list, since I’d just signed up the night before, and suspected it might not have made it into the starting roster in time. Now here's where some insanely prescient preparation really paid off. You see, because I anticipated this exact scenario, I decided to bring some digital proof of my registration. Under normal circumstances, I would have grabbed my phone and shown the email confirmation. But these weren't normal times. My phone had slipped out of my hand on the stairs the night before, and the screen was smashed into a million pieces. So, I had instead brought my computer. But since this was my work computer, I have to access my personal email through a "safe" portal, which times out after a few minutes. Knowing this, I took a screenshot of the email while still at work, and had this image up and ready to go on the computer to show as proof. It seemed over the top while I was doing it, but now I was feeling rather brilliant.

I told the girl at registration the short version of that story and asked if I could bring over my laptop. Strangely, she replied that I might miss the race if I did that. Miss the race? My car was 100 feet away, and I was pretty sure I’d be able to get there and back in 30 minutes. I confirmed that I still had until 6, and she corrected me that the race would start at any moment. The time was moved up 30 minutes due to the ongoing EEE threat. Yikes! I ran to my car and tossed on my flats, grabbed my computer and gave it to her for safekeeping, and sprinted to the start while pinning my bib. I got there just in time for Jonny to tell how disappointed he was to see me, and then the gun went off.

At the start, and still sporting the knee band. Notice the look of disgust on Jonny's face. 

I had to switch from panic mode to race mode, and it was an odd feeling of sudden relaxation at the start of a race. One guy took off fast in front of me, but I passed him not long after and didn’t have company for the remainder of the race. The only drama left was whether I’d get lost, since I didn’t know the course, and whether I’d manage to run a decent time without a warm-up and coming off a race the day before. Fortunately, I had no problem with the first item on the list of anxieties. The course was well-marked and quite easy to follow. (It was also really fun running the twists and turns of the Ninigret bike path.) On the second item, I feared I’d really blown up when looking at my watch and seeing a cumulative pace of 6:40 after the first half mile. It turned out that my watch still hadn’t found a steady GPS signal, since I didn’t give it the time to do so at the frantic rush to the start. Once I passed the mile marker on the course, I manually hit the lap button, and all was well after that.

Somewhere between the start and end of the race.

I finished in 16:28, which I guess I’m ok with. That would be a good course to get a fast time in ideal conditions, which is something I’ll have to shoot for at some point in the future. After the race, I flagged down my parents as they arrived to see the 6 PM version of the race and broke the news to them and then called Katie to do the same. Jonny and I had a nice cooldown together and then received our respective prizes at a small but spirited awards ceremony. I also managed to convince the registration girl with my screenshot that I had actually signed up for the race, so all was right with the world once again.

Wahaneeta 5K

Let me start this with a short aside. As anyone who has read this blog in the past knows, I have a love-hate relationship with my ankle braces. They’re a near necessity on the trails at this point but are so bulky that I can’t help but get frustrated at how slow I feel in them, especially in races. Well, I now have access to a small scale, so I can start to quantify the source of my frustration. Each brace, it turns out, weighs roughly 4.5 ounces. That doesn’t sound like much, but think of it this way: My Nike Wildhorse shoes (which I’d be wearing in this race) are 10 ounces. By wearing the braces, I’m adding 45% to my footwear weight, turning 10 oz. shoes into 14.5 oz. clunkers. I would never knowingly wear 14.5 oz. shoes for anything other than working on a construction site, yet I’m intentionally doing it to run a trail race?!

After this discovery, I considered cutting off some of the many straps on the brace, as it seems that just one of them is needed for my particular ankle issue, but I worried about trying this out on race day for the first time. I think there’s a market for a light-weight, durable, effective ankle brace.

NOTE: After writing that, I recalled seeing a study that calculated the effect of shoe weight on running performance. I believe the one I’m remembering is by researchers at the University of Colorado (summarized here). In short, their conclusion was that increasing a shoe’s weight by 100 grams (3.5 oz) reduces speed in a race by roughly 1%. Assuming this is a linear relationship, then my extra 4.5 oz equates to ~1.3% drop in speed. So, for a race that lasts ~20 minutes, this represents a 15-second slowdown. That’s not nothing, but it's also not terribly significant. Probably the most important thing I can take away is that there is essentially no value in cutting off those straps (which combined can’t weigh more than an ounce) and risk an ankle sprain for a gain of a couple seconds max.

With that out of the way, let’s move on to the race. I got to the course a little early to help mark it. I was not surprised when Jeff assigned me the field that we would pass through four times during the race and that I’d provided constructive(?) feedback on after last year’s race. Now the pressure was on. Jeff equipped me well with flags, stakes, string, and a hammer. The very first stake I hit with the hammer immediately broke into two pieces. Great start! The rest went smoothly, and after scratching arrows in the dirt with a stick, I was feeling good about my small contribution to the race.

After my community service was complete, I still had enough time to run the first loop of the course, and I discovered two things while doing that. The first is that the course out in the woods was extremely well marked by Jeff and Justin. I’d been worried about taking a wrong turn out there, but that just wasn’t a possibility. The second was how interesting and varied the course terrain was. I didn’t really remember feeling one way or another about the course last year but for some reason was really appreciating it this time.

Five of us stand with rapt attention while Jeff describes the course. And check out those flags. What a nice job some volunteer did hanging those. (Photo from WTAC Facebook page.)

After a quick stretch and drink by my car, I headed over toward the start, where the SNERRO bus was blasting its version pump-up music: Peter, Paul, and Mary’s “Blowing in the Wind.” OK, so not exactly a song that will get the adrenaline flowing, but the SNERRO crew is so endearing, I couldn’t possibly find fault in their song choices.

Last year, I was blown away (in the wind?) by Matthew, but with him unfortunately out of the mix this year, I knew there was a chance to win the race. Muddy was there, as were some younger guys I didn’t know, so anything was still possible.

An intimidating lineup.  Meanwhile I'm looking for inspiration in the grass. (Photo from WTAC Facebook page.)

Off the line, I was in fourth place almost right away, totally unable to match the sprint by three of the younger crew. The course takes you up a pretty long but gradual hill just after the start, so I knew I’d soon figure out who the contenders are. I tried taking my time moving up on the group of three, not wanting to waste too much energy too early. But after noticing the pace had dropped sharply, I abruptly went by on a straight stretch of trail just before the technical downhill. It was a rare smart strategic move, and I ran pretty quickly down the trail trying to get some separation. I noticed at roughly a mile into the race that I was breathing hard. I was trying to remember if I’d normally be breathing like this just a mile into a road 5K, and the answer was probably not. I tried to relax for a few minutes before pushing again toward the end of the first loop (where I very carefully ran past my dirt arrows without obliterating them). I looked down toward the field as I ascended the hill past the ‘registration house’ for the second time. The next group was just entering the field as I passed the house.

Wondering what to do about the youngsters ahead of me, with WTAC brethren right behind. (Photo from WTAC Facebook page.)

I was feeling confident that I’d win at this point; the question was now whether I’d run close to my time from last year. I was in much better shape, I thought, at this time last year, and was certainly more race-ready. Still, it was something to shoot for in order to keep the motivation high. I was getting rubber-legged, though, and was noticeably slower down the technical hill than the first time through. At one point, I was fighting my brain, which for some reason had gotten the music from the NES game Dr. Mario stuck inside. I never minded the little ditty, but it was too aggravating at this point in the race, when my body was feeling like the equivalent of a nearly full pill bottle on level 20. And then it came to me: “Blowing in the Wind”! It was actually the perfect antidote to a brain that was racing faster than my body. I felt a peaceful wave wash over me. Really, I’m not making this up. It actually relaxed me. I felt my stride get smoother and my breathing come under control. Those SNERRO guys sure know what they’re doing!

I came past Vuono a second time, where he directed me onto the final bit of trail before the field teaser. I was happy to see that the string I’d put up on this side of the field really was a good deterrent to anyone thinking they’d go straight to the finish. I turned onto the little lollipop loop, where Jeff had promised a double stream crossing. This was the one part of the course I hadn’t run before the race, and that was apparently a tactical error. As I got to the stream, I noticed flags off to the left, which I ran toward, only to second-guess myself after a few strides. Instead of going back to the actual crossing, I went through a totally overgrown, mucky part in the middle. I more or less waded across, like I was out for a stroll in the bayou. What a dope! Only after taking the turnaround at the end of the loop did I realize I was now coming to those other orange flags during my return stream crossing. Ah, now I see how it works. I hope I read this section again before next year’s race. If it had been a close battle for first, my poor wayfinding would certainly have cost me the race.

One bridge that Jeff wasn't able to move out of the way. (Photo from WTAC Facebook page.)

As it was, I came back out to the finishing field as the second guy was entering the lollipop. I crossed in 19:47, just seven seconds slower than last year. I have to admit, I was surprised by this, especially as I would’ve been awfully close to matching that time if not for my screw-up at the stream crossing. I was happy to see Muddy in 3^rd and Jeff in 4^th, both representing the club well. I know Muddy wasn’t thrilled with his race, so it was also appropriate that CCR’s “Bad Moon Rising” was playing as he finished, with the lyrics, “hope you are quite prepared to die" blasting the exact moment he ran past me.

I had to leave shortly after the race for a day full of birthday parties, but Jeff snagged a women’s running hat for me off the awards table, so I still made out pretty well. Overall, it was a really well organized race on awesome trails. I’ll be back and ready to run the course the correct way next time!

Blessing of the Fleet

I do almost nothing in life on a whim. So, I surprised even myself by signing up for the Blessing spontaneously one night, the week of the race, shortly after Katie asked me if I’d be running and telling her, “No!” I still don’t know what came over me. It wasn’t that I’d been training for a long race in, say, September, and thought the Blessing would fit in my calendar as a nice stepping stone along the way. On the contrary, I’ve continued to struggle with hip pain and have had to refrain from long runs and races for the past seven months. In retrospect, this might have been the exact reason I felt little fear in signing up. There’d be no expectations and therefore little room for disappointment, no matter the outcome. That’s a refreshing change for me, and I enjoyed the high-excitement/low-anxiety mentality in the two days between signing up and running.

I worked from home that Friday to reduce the likelihood of hitting traffic but was still getting passed by people walking to the race during the final stretch of road to the high school. [It felt something like this.] Fortunately, once I pulled into the high school driveway, the volunteers very efficiently directed cars into various makeshift lots. I was surprised that, despite showing up relatively late, I still got an excellent spot that was close to the course and school. I could write a whole post on the pre-race logistics, but I’ll spare you.

Given that 10 miles is just about as far as I’d run in the past half-year, I couldn’t waste any energy on a warmup, so a few short jogs - to get my race number, go back to the car, and then head to the start - were all I was willing to risk. I was privileged enough to receive one of the “special” low race numbers (#25), which are awarded to runners of high standing in the eyes of the organizers, as far as I can tell. When I got mine from the table, I saw the list of single- and double-digit numbers on a big poster board. Next to each number was the person’s name and a justification for their receiving that number. In my case, it said something about placing 16^th in 2014.  Yep, I’m pretty much a legend around these parts. Actually, I couldn’t believe they weren’t able to find 25 (or even 100) people more deserving. As I was leaving the table, multiple-time winner, Matt P, came to pick up his (much lower) number. Now, there’s a legend if ever there was one.

I spotted Jonny and Seth near the start and walked over with them. We got near the front, but not too near it, and were encircled by throngs of very fit-looking teens and twenty-somethings, which I think gave all three of us some insecurity. It took a few seconds to get over the line (5 seconds, actually, according to the results), but in short order things opened up enough to start maneuvering and finding my proper spot in the pecking order.

The first mile is so tough to run in a disciplined way. You’re running mostly downhill, surrounded by spectators, and among many other runners going out too fast. This time, I really thought that I was, for once, being smart, only to discover that I’d run a 5:40 first mile, which was way too fast!

This is probably a good time to talk about my race plan. I’d decided, somewhat arbitrarily, that I’d try to run 5:50s for as long as I could. This would put me in the low 58s. I thought if I could rip off a few fast late miles, perhaps I’d even sneak under 58. (My previous two attempts, in 2014 and 2015, were both in the 57s.)

Well, I’d already run too fast in the first mile, and every time I checked my watch in mile 2, I was doing the same. It felt so easy and relaxed, I just couldn’t believe I was supposed to run slower. I can’t even imagine the mental tricks you have to play to control your pace in a marathon; my psychological self-warfare clearly couldn’t cut it.

There was a slight headwind on Ocean Road, so I tucked directly behind someone running roughly the right pace. I don’t know that he appreciated this, but I was going to need that extra energy more than he would later. We caught a few stragglers along the way and subsequently became the stragglers caught by others, including a big group containing the immortal Dave Principe. His group was apparently running much more even splits and eventually left me behind. In fact, I was the only one not to go with them, suddenly without company (for the remaining 6.5 miles, in fact).

I was oddly happy to hit the hill up to 108, as it changed my stride and effort level just enough to break the monotonous rhythm I’d gotten into. I tried my best to push up the interminable 108 stretch without overdoing it. Every few minutes, I’d come upon a struggling runner who was paying the price for his early pace. In a shorter race, I can usually see how a race is playing out ahead of me and therefore have some semblance of whom I’m about to catch and why. Not so here. These people had been vanquished by someone else, and I was simply the vulture who’d take care of their anonymous remains. In video game terms, it’s like in Mario Kart, when a character ahead of you is hit by a turtle shell or slips on a banana peel. You didn’t see what happened, nor did you have anything to do with it, but you get to fly by them regardless. (I just realized this is my second Mario Kart reference in this blog. My video game experience is deep but narrow.)

After exiting 108 into the blessed shade, I continued a streak that will probably last as many years as I do this race. I spend the entire 108 section telling myself that I’ll put in a surge as soon as I reach the shade, only to discover I’m too tired to even maintain the pace that had seemed so easy earlier. It always happens in this same spot, just as I’m about to build up to a majestic negative-split. I was suddenly in survival mode and had to sustain that for three more miles. The one pick-me-up along the way was spotting my family around the curve back onto South Pier and veering over to slap Maisie’s hand along the way. It was cool how excited she was (though I heard later that this caused a massive tantrum by Rosie, who’d been snubbed!).

Trying to find a rhythm in the second half.

I was still catching runners struggling more than I was and wasn’t passed by anyone until a smooth-looking guy went by with a mile to go. I couldn’t quite match his pace, but he served as a carrot and helped pull me along. Most importantly, I managed not to get a calf cramp in the final mile, breaking another tradition of mine at this race.

I crossed in 58:52, a far cry from my goal. I was naturally displeased with the result in the immediate aftermath, despite thinking I’d found a disappointment-free method of racing. I still became a tiny celebrity in our little community, getting my picture in the paper and lots of words of appreciation from our local friends who didn’t know me as a runner (to them, I’m probably “that odd guy married to Katie”).

Afterward, Jonny and I went in the ocean for a bit, which was amazing. I’d had designs on walking or running back to the school but could hardly make it across the street to the shuttle bus. It would be three days before I could walk down the stairs and a full week before I was free of soreness, but I’m quite happy that I took a chance and did this race, and now, a month later, mildly satisfied with how it went. I will try to make this an annual tradition, regardless of fitness, as the atmosphere is unparalleled among Rhode Island races.

Finishing up. (Photo from the South County Independent.) 

NOTE: After the race, upon hearing my time, Jonny talked a little trash about possibly running faster when he was 38. So I looked it up. Jonny ran 58:39 as a 39-year-old, and just 60:50 when he was 38. The way I see it, I have a whole year before I need to run that fast. 

Full Results

SC Independent newspaper article

2018 Year in Review

These annual reviews are typically written in the "let's count the ways I've failed" style, epitomized by Muddy's 2016 recap. Maybe it's because we have such high standards for ourselves, or that we're uncomfortable admitting that we're satisfied with insignificant achievements, or that we're just plain negative. Whatever the reason, it goes against my nature and better judgment to say this: I am maybe just a little bit happy with my running in 2018.

While I'll never have the gaudy mileage numbers of some of my fellow runners, I still have my own modest baseline to grade against, and this was easily the most consistent year of training I've had since freshman year of college, if not ever. This is all the more satisfying since 2017 was a tough, injury-filled year, and I was starting 2018 almost from scratch. (I'd only run more than 50 miles in a month once between May and December 2017.) Despite that cracked foundation, I kicked off 2018 with a steady month of January and built from there. I would ultimately run at least 100 miles in every month (which I'd NEVER done before in a year in my life), without a single '0' week all year. And my two lowest weeks (a 10 and 11 back-to-back in March) were due to bronchitis, not to an injury.  (The year is nicely recapped in the Strava video.)

The 1387 miles in 2018 were my highest since 2002, which spanned my junior and senior years of college.

Throughout the year, I'd been keeping an eye on the cumulative mileage chart provided by the Elevate app (which I highly recommend; you can download here). 2018 was neck-and-neck with 2016 and 2015 through early October, but avoiding the late-year injuries that befell me in both of those campaigns allowed some separation. Around mid-November, I realized that I would not only lock up my highest mileage in 15+ years, but I had a shot at the totally arbitrary 1400-mile barrier. It would require averaging 35 miles/week for the final six weeks. Now, I know 35 miles represents a down week for many of you, but for me it's a monumental achievement. It had taken me three years to rack up a total of six 35+ mile weeks prior to November, so it would be no small feat to do it for the six consecutive weeks at the end of the year.

This mini-mission went splendidly for the first five of those weeks (38, 35, 37, 33, 36), and I was already at 22 with four days and 13 miles remaining in the year. Naturally, I didn't get there. I came down with some nasty virus that relegated me to my bed for all four of those days. So, I ended with the uncomfortably unround 1387 for 2018. But I'm OK with it. It's something to build on, and those last 5.5 weeks convinced me that my uncooperative body might just be able to handle more in 2019 than it did this year. (That's not to say that I wasn't accumulating dozens of aches and pains during that time, but I was still going, and that's not too bad.)

2018 wins the race to the top, albeit ever so slightly short of 1400 miles. (Snapshot from Elevate.)

So, why was 2018 so much better than the many years that preceded it? There is certainly some amount of luck involved, but there were several intentional tactics that contributed as well. I'll list them here not because anyone should care, but so that future-Chris can refer back to this as a source of inspiration when I inevitably have to reinvent my running plan at some point in the future.

Reasons I was able to run with such consistency in 2018, roughly ordered by estimated importance:

1. I wore my ankle braces on almost every trail run. I despise the braces, especially in races, but I don't question their effectiveness. 2018 was my first ankle-sprain-free year in a very long time. 
2. I limited myself to one workout per week, and often skipped workouts on race weeks. It took me 15 years post-college to realize that I can no longer work out as much as I used to. I practiced some measure of restraint to hold back from adding workouts when I was feeling good, but it was necessary. In the end, I did a workout of some kind in over 50% of weeks.
3. My workouts were at a relatively low effort. I've reluctantly bought into the 'CV' workouts espoused by Tom 'Tinman' Schwartz (described in this Letsrun.com article and this amusing slide deck). I say "reluctantly" because the guy is a noted heretic and doesn't provide much to support his theories beyond anecdotal evidence. I don't know if I agree with everything he says, but you can't argue with the results he's produced in several athletes/teams. In any case, the workouts are done at easier-than-race-pace, which helps avoid injury while seemingly still building speed. I'll likely continue with these in 2019.
4. I completely stopped lifting my legs and doing plyometrics. This, too, was hard to give up, but I realized I've hurt my knees and/or Achilles every time I've done a leg lifting/plyo regimen in the past dozen years. I'll sacrifice the strength and explosiveness for continued health.
5. No hills. Why not completely eliminate leg strength while I'm at it? This was out of necessity. My two-year-old hip injury is exacerbated by hills, so I simply have to avoid them.
6. Days off. I've been on a 3-4 day/week running schedule for 15 years now, and that won't ever change substantially, given some chronic stuff that requires the days off from pounding. I did move up to 5 days during the final stretch and will continue to try that out in 2019.

Racing

I ran 15 races - my most since 2014 - winning three of them, placing second five times, and third thrice. In fact, I placed no worse than sixth all year. That says more about the type of race I tend to do (small, local) than about the kind of year I had. To wit, I did not set any PRs or have any particularly standout performances. Still there were a few things I'll fondly remember about 2018:

1. Returning to races I hadn't done in years. I participated in the South County Fourth Season trail series for the first time since 2015, Run4Kerri and Li'l Rhody for the first time since 2014, and the Pfalz Point Trail Challenge for the first time since 2009. These are all special races, and I was so glad to be able to do them again.
2. Finding success at 4 miles. It's an odd distance, but it's the one I ran best this year, placing second at the Four on the 4th (21:18) in Bridgton, ME, and 6th at Run4Kerri (21:13). Both races are pretty competitive and were run in brutal conditions this summer, so despite just missing a PR, I could not have been happier with both outcomes.
3. Discovering some lingering speed. Generally, the shorter the race, the better I do, but I also realize that my fast-twitch is in rapid decline. So, I was a bit surprised to run a 4:37 road mile on the Bottone course without any specific training. While this is a low-key event, I nonetheless walked away more satisfied than after any other race this year.

Injuries

As mentioned in the opening, this was a relatively injury-free year. That doesn't mean it was pain-free, though. (Check out the injury heat map in the chart section below for data!) While I was able to keep anything major from creeping up and affecting me for long periods, I was reminded of a few chronic areas that are becoming as much a part of my running life as my Garmin losing signal on trail runs. I'll stick with the numbered list here for consistency, even though just two items probably doesn't merit one:

1. Right hip. Originally injured during an October half marathon in San Luis Obispo, this injury is now over two years old. I feel it on quite literally every single run. The pain is rarely severe, but, as my old boss used to say, "Something's fish." (He's not a native English speaker.) I took many months off to heal this when it was first injured, did PT, saw doctors, and nothing worked. So, I'm going to continue running on it as long as it doesn't get worse. [I also have a torn labrum in this hip that generally doesn't hurt when I run but probably needs to be addressed at some point.]
2. Right foot. A misdiagnosed Lisfranc fracture in 2003 left me with a dislocated bone and arthritis in my foot that only seems to cause pain when my mileage creeps into the 30s per week. This is an injury that won't ever go away, and, if nothing else does first, will be the thing that eventually gets bad enough to end my running career. I hope that doesn't happen for many decades, so for now it's all about managing the pain and keeping my mileage permanently low.

Some random year-end charts

None of these have any particular significance, but between Strava and my personal spreadsheets, I have lots of data that can be visualized. I wish I had more time to perform more interesting analyses, but these will have to do until I'm retired in 80 years.

Injury/Illness Heat Map, Mileage, and Weight, by week

Darker colors in the heat map represent a more significant injury in terms of its impact on my running. Fortunately, most injuries were short-lived and relatively minor. There's much more activity on the right side of my body, which is fairly typical. Note: I keep track of my weight just because I like numbers.

Given that I don't have a set running schedule each week, I was curious to see how things broke down across the days of the week. Not surprisingly, weekends are the big days, with more time and flexibility in my schedule. I didn't expect Wednesday to be next on the list and don't really have a good explanation for that. Note that this counts the number of runs, which means that race days, with their extra warm-ups and cool-downs, will get some degree of bump. 

The data here reveals my tendency to just cross the Jeff Walker Strava Kudos Threshold of 5 miles on most runs. Most of the 0-4-mile activities are the WU/CD mentioned in the chart above. (Apologies for the unnecessary decimal places; I forgot to remove those.)

I have somehow accumulated running shoes to the point that I now rotate through 5-8 shoes at any given time. This makes my shoes last a long time (one pair I am currently using are older than two of my children) but also presents an interesting chart opportunity. You can see that I fell in love with my Hokas after getting them in March, while a couple other pairs were tolerated throughout the year but never rose to the top-dog level.

Strava Activity Pictures

I took hundreds of pictures on runs, rides, and other activities this year and tried to whittle that down to my favorite (or, in a couple cases, favorites) of each month. Most of these are from trips away from RI, for a variety of reasons.

January: Sunrise in the canyons south of Westlake Village, CA

February: Roadside mural in...well, you can figure that one out for yourself.

March: Rail trail bridge over the Wallkill in New Paltz.

April: Snack stop on family hike west of Denver, CO.

May: Grassland trail in Calabasas, CA. Sadly, everything you can see in this picture was completely burned in November's Woolsey Fire.

June: Scene from the aptly-named "Car Wreck Trail" in Aliso Canyon (CA).

July: Kayaking with Katie on Lower Kimball Pond in Fryeburg, ME.

August: Pastoral landscape of Appleton Farms in Topsfield, MA, an old favorite running spot from our Bay State days.

August: Unique trail design with Mohonk Mountain House in the background (New Paltz, NY).

September: The "Million Dollar View" of the Catskills from Spring Farm trail head (High Falls, NY).

October: Scotland autumn colors, outside of Dunkeld.

October: Dusk on River Tay in Dunkeld, Scotland.

October: Fife coastal trail (w/ Katie up ahead) between Crail and Cellardyke, Scotland.

November: Above the fog on Laurel Ledge trail, Mohonk Preserve, New Paltz, NY.

December: My kind of beach day, East Matunuck Beach, SK, RI.