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