USATF NE XC Championships

The first weekend of November brought me back to Franklin Park for another big XC race, this time the USATF New England championship. After going 20 years between Franklin Park appearances prior to the national meet in October, I'd only had to wait three weeks for this return trip. This meant I'd been able to visualize (and agonize over) every inch of the course in my mind during the weeks leading up to the race. I had a couple of concerns heading in: (1) How would I fare in the 8K after doing so well in the 5K, given my typical performance decline in the longer races?; and (2) Now that all sorts of expectations had been set, would I be able to avoid a massive disappointment this time around? 

However, I had a few things going for me this time, too. First, as mentioned, I was intimately familiar with the course now and could plan a much more specific race strategy this time. Second, I now had a bunch of teammates I'd met the last time who would bring some comfort in their familiarity. And third, on the topic of familiarity, my buddy Dusty would be in the race -- our first time racing together (outside of the Williams alumni races) since I was in college. This last point was more than a minor bit of trivia; there was something so comforting knowing I'd have him around. As a leader on our team, he had played a huge part in helping me adjust to college 20+ years ago, always looking out for me and serving as one of the most important role models I've had. I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to run together in the race itself, but having him around for the warmup and pre-race chatter would almost certainly calm my nerves and fire me up for a big race.

The starts of these old guy XC races have shown me that, no matter the age, we humans just can't help ourselves; when a gun goes off, we run like we've never done this before. And, at Franklin Park, it's not like there's some small trail we're trying to gain position heading into; we have literally miles of trail ahead wide enough for a truck to drive on. I'm guilty of it too, but despite my overaggressive opening pace, I was still behind a dozen or so people when we rounded the first turn to make our opening loop of the big field. There were plenty of the same characters around me I'd raced against in the national meet, and this was playing out in much the same way, albeit with a slight delay to each move, due to the longer distance of this race.

Off the line - you can see my red hat somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

I felt very relaxed through mile 1 (5:13), though it was still faster than I had planned. Speaking of plans, here's what I was thinking: Go out in 5:20, then run roughly 10 seconds slower per mile than I had in the 5K (5:26 and 5:19 for miles 2 and 3), and then gradually ratchet up the pace for the final two miles, if possible. Now that I was a bit ahead of pace, I kept reminding myself to be patient. As Tom Petty said in his great song about his days as a cross country runner, "The waiting is the hardest part." But wait I did. I held back going up Bear Cage hill, and only passed people when they came back to me, rather than purposefully trying to catch them. Mile 2 was right on target at 5:26. 

I caught my teammate TJ around this point and reminded him that we had a long way to go. This was also a bit of reminder to myself not to do anything stupid. Up ahead, there was a BAA guy with an impressive pedigree (recent 2:17 marathoner and 2:22 in this year's Boston Marathon) who was absent from the national meet but had jumped out to big lead early in this one. He was followed closely by his teammate, a guy I'd beaten at the previous meet but appeared to be feeling strong today, making a giant move in the second mile to bridge the gap. A bit behind them was a mystery guy in a white jersey, and then the group that I was part of. Just behind me was Dusty, whom I'd heard our friends cheering for shortly after they'd finished doing the same for me. I tried to wave him up to me, and he later told me he was tempted to make a move so we could run together but thought better of it. This is the kind of discipline that made me look up to the guy as an 18-year-old!

The start of the third mile coincides with the long, gradual ascent of the Wilderness loop. It was here that I'd done my damage at the last meet, but it was still too early to attempt the same thing this time. I focused on fast turnover and a steady effort, which allowed me to pass the white jersey guy and eventually the second BAA guy who was paying a bit of a price for his big move. Now in second place, still well behind the leader, I wanted to put to rest any thoughts my competitors might have of reeling me back in and pushed onward. Mile 3 was also 5:26, a bit slower than planned. While this was disappointing, I still felt almost too good. I was tempted to go faster but was afraid I didn't have the endurance to make it last, so I stayed put for another mile. I crossed the 5K somewhere in the 16:50s, right around 30 seconds slower than last time, which was just where I'd hoped to be. 

I think this was taken with about a mile to go. Starting to wonder if there's maybe, just maybe, a small chance of catching the leader.

After the 5K mark, we repeat the Wilderness, and this time I tried to put in a bit more effort, if not a bit more speed. I took peeks behind me whenever the course gave me a chance, and there wasn't anyone nearby. Meanwhile, up ahead, the leader wasn't gaining any more ground on me, and might have even come back a little. Given his credentials, he was likely doing just enough to win the race, but I still wanted to make him work. I hit the 4-mile mark (5:22) and passed a runner we were lapping who shouted to the leader that he had a 10 second lead. Hey! He doesn't need any more help! I increased the pace as we closed in on Bear Cage Hill again, this time pushing up and over, but still not gaining on the guy. The downhill on the other side was a controlled fall and not a chance to make a move, but as soon as I hit the flats, I was in a near sprint. It was pointless, though, as his lead was too big, and he was still far too strong. I was tempted to cruise it in, but a huge contingent of Conn College runners, giddy at the chance to see old guys attempt to kick (it's possible they were hoping to induce a devastating hamstring injury) shouted so much encouragement for me to sprint that I couldn't resist. I turned the pace knob up to 11, with nothing at all to gain from it, other than a smaller margin of defeat. This, however, gave me quite the runner's high, and it gave me a ton of confidence that I still have some speed left at the end of these races. My final mile was at 5:09 pace, even with Bear Cage Hill, so I probably left a bit too much in the tank. 

Without any tape to break through this time, I was free to stop my watch. 

The overall time of 26:36 [results] was, somehow, my second-fastest of the four times I've run the Franklin Park 8K, just ten seconds or so behind my sophomore year time. This was both satisfying and depressing at the same time, as it reminded me of how unfulfilling my collegiate XC career was. More exciting was seeing TJ take third and then Dusty nab 5th with an awesome race of his own. (I'm relishing this brief period of time when I am capable of beating him -- something I never would have dreamed of in college -- as I'm sure it will be short-lived.) He and I cooled down and then spent time with some of our college friends who'd come to watch the race. It was a wonderful day, as much for connecting with old friends as it was for the racing. 

HFC Masters team. We placed second, yet again, to the BAA.

Williams Alumni XC and Grills Trail Race

With my legs feeling relatively good, and lots of fall racing options available, I found myself booked for five consecutive weekends of racing, starting with the Masters XC championships on October 17 and finishing with Li'l Rhody on November 14. The 2nd and 3rd of those races were low-key affairs, giving me a chance to relax a bit and use them to work on some race prep and strategy. 

The Williams XC Alumni race is typically an annual tradition, though with Covid forcing last year's edition to be canceled and us missing it the previous year, this would be our first trip since 2018. Always a fun time, the event brings back dozens of XC alums (there were nearly 100 this year) from the men's and women's teams for racing and camaraderie. I'm getting so old that only one alum from my era (the assistant coach, my good friend Dusty) was in attendance, with the majority of attendees from recently graduating classes. 

The race itself is a 5K, and in the past few versions of this race, we've followed a variety of different courses due to the ongoing construction at Mt. Greylock HS where the race is held. This year, we'd go up the "big hill" twice in the first woods loop, coming from the direction opposite our usual ascent, and then finish with the other woods loop, a rolling affair with nicely maintained trails. The course is always a bit challenging, but this would be the toughest I've seen it in years. 

After the traditional Bear Toss, we took some pictures and then were off. I latched onto the back of a pack of six and followed them up the hill for the first time. During this section, an enterprising young man pulled up alongside and started to recruit me for the Tracksmith masters team. I politely declined and tried to get away. I admired his boldness, but I'm not much of a conversationalist at rest, so doing it at race pace was out of the question.

After the first woods loop, we come back into the field where the race starts and repeat the loop a second time. I moved into fifth place here, waved to my kids on the side, and pushed onward. I caught another guy on our second time tackling the hill, then another, but once we got to the top he accelerated past me and a mini-battle was on. He got a bit of a gap on the long descent but I chipped away over the next half-mile, finally catching and passing him back. 

The last mile is tough, with lots of small rises and turns in the woods, and I just wanted to increase my lead here. We eventually get dumped out on the top of a grassy slope which turns right into a short finishing straight. I saw 2nd place up ahead, but he was too far in front to catch. My final time was 16:36, which, unfortunately, has no meaning to me, since this course was different and evidently a little short of 5K. Still, 3rd place is perhaps my best finish in the alumni race, and I was happy with my effort on a tough course.

The next week, it was back to the friendly confines of southern Rhode Island, and a new local trail race at Grills Preserve. With my legs getting hammered from these weekly races, and a big one coming up the following weekend, I opted for the 10K over the 10-mile, even though that choice would rob me of the chance to take on the top runners. This was confirmed after checking the registration lists and seeing that all of the main contenders had indeed registered for the longer race. On the bright side, this gave me an opportunity to use the event as a glorified workout to avoid overdoing it with another all-out effort. I came up with a plan to run the first mile at race pace (so as not to appear to be playing games to the rest of the runners), then, after the 10K and 10M courses diverged, I'd settle into a tempo effort from miles 2-5, finally ratcheting up the effort for a race-pace finish. 

After a fun warmup frolic on the latter part of the course with Jonny, we made our way to the start. The first mile is mostly on double-track, which allowed me some space to put in the hard effort. I felt great, and it probably helped my mental state knowing that I'd soon be able to relax and enjoy myself out there. I reached the mile mark in 5:33 and then promptly settled into my tempo effort just as I was hitting the beginning of the single-track. I don't recall many specifics of the next four miles, other than the interesting 'race track' section and the climb to and subsequent treacherous descent from the course's high point, as I was all alone following the incredibly well-marked course. (Having taken wrong turns in less well marked races in the past, I have come to appreciate the work of the volunteers whose job it is to place hundreds of flags -- especially those "confidence flags" that let you know you're still on the right track -- over miles and miles of trail.)  

Anyone with a GPS watch knows its limitations on twisty trails, so it's hard to know exactly how far you have gone and how much remains when running a race like this one. I estimated my watch would lose 1/10 of a mile for every mile run, meaning that I could be as much as 0.5 short by the time I hit the start of the final mile. To account for this and appropriately time my harder last mile, I started to surge a bit earlier than my watch suggested. Well, either my watch had its first ever accurate trail measurement, or that course is a bit longer than a 10K, as I finally hit the finish line, after a surprisingly long last "mile," at exactly 6.2 miles. But who really cares? It's a trail race and the times are meaningless, so let's drop it!

In the end, I'd run 39:16 for a NEW COURSE RECORD! (So much for the meaningless times...) Sure, sure, it was the first year of this race's existence, but no one can ever take that away from me, until they beat the time, which they surely will someday soon. But until that day comes, I will enjoy the record, the win, and another jar of Kevin Murphy's delicious honey.

USATF XC Nationals

Let me start by saying this: I might never again have a race go as unexpectedly well as this one did. I don't know if it was the weather, my training, the strategy, the course, the way the others ran, what I ate for breakfast, or some combination of those, but things fell into place perfectly as the race evolved, and, somehow, by the time I reached the finish line, I had won the darn thing. I'll briefly walk through my thoughts leading up to the race and then use the many pictures taken to tell the story of the race.

I typically enter a race with a fairly concrete time or place goal in mind. Not this time. Given that this was a cross country race on a course I hadn't competed on in 20 years (20 years and 9 days, to be precise), I had very little idea what pace would be appropriate. And my ability to compete with a mostly unknown-to-me field of runners was, well, unknown to me. The only thing I set my sights on was running a smart first mile (not getting caught up in the usual overenthusiastic XC starting sprint that I assumed would happen) and then trying to maintain that same effort and competing the rest of the way.

[NOTE: There's a great blog - RunningProf.com - that covers these big national masters events. Prior to this one, and unbeknownst to me, he posted a thorough preview of the race and its main contenders. I'm glad I hadn't seen this, or I almost certainly would have been less ambitious in my pacing and moves.]

One other twist was that I'd be running my first race for the HFC Striders, a club based in SE Massachusetts that I'd joined after the Bobby Doyle 5M in August. I'd had mixed feelings about signing up for a different club (which required being "released" by the WTAC, like I'm some kind of discontented baseball player no longer wanting to play for the team who'd signed me). But I was assured that I could remain a member of WTAC and simply compete for HFC is the USATF races, where my official membership would matter. Once that was clarified, I was excited to a join a team I'd been reading about for years in New England Runner. There was something scrappy about HFC that I'd always liked. Maybe it is the quirky name (HFC stands for "Hurtin' for Certain") or the David vs. Goliath nature of their Masters division rivalry with the BAA, but this was definitely the right kind of team for me. I also loved that they are very much a community-based organization with close ties to their local area. It might not be my community, but it's that spirit that I love. In any case, HFC has a strong Masters team, and my main goal would be contributing in some positive way to that team's outcome at the race.

Getting to the course quite early, I brought up the race website on my phone to confirm the check-in time and location. Scrolling down the page, my stomach nearly dropped out of my body. Proof of vaccination is required to race! While I'm happily vaccinated, my paper card (which I still can't believe is the way we show evidence of vaccination in this country) was sitting on my desk at home, nearly two hours from here. I was mentally preparing to drive back home and call it a day when I looked again at the website and saw that a picture of the card would suffice. No one was at my house, so I couldn't ask Katie to take a picture, but I remembered I'd had to take a picture of the card to submit to my employer a few months ago. Had I saved that photo on my phone or deleted it? Rapidly scanning the thumbnails, I spotted it! Crammed between pictures of the dog and a Jenga tower (don't ask) was the card. Fortunately, this would be the most stressful part of the day. 

I found my new team, introduced myself, and hopped into their warmup jog. It reminded me of college XC, with little packs of people wearing similar colors jogging around different parts of the course. I made a quick connection with one of my new teammates when we discovered that my high school teammate and friend was his college teammate and friend. The New England running world is small.

Before long, we were on the line, ready to roll.

The race starts across a big open field that has for decades tempted runners to run too hard too soon. I started off conservatively and quickly found myself swarmed by other runners as we made the hard right turn at the end of the field. I tried counting the people in front of me but there was too much movement to get an "official" count (I was somewhere in the 15-20th range). While we descended gradually on the first part of our initial circuit, I focused on keeping myself in check and not worrying about anything else.

My only goal for the first mile was to feel comfortable and in control. I methodically picked off some of the faster starters during the second half mile. Here, as we approach the mile marker, you can see my red hat toward the back of this chase pack. The GPS mile split was 5:04 (race clock was 5:09 or so). 

Just before the mile mark, I passed a bunch of guys (including a solid BAA pack) and eventually found myself at the head of the chase pack in the picture above, with three other guys ahead. I opened my stride a bit on the downhill before we hit the infamous Bear Cage Hill, passing a guy I recalled being an outstanding high school runner in New York in the late '90s, and started the hill the 3rd place.

On the hill, I pulled in behind teammate and Masters stud TJ Unger. I kept things smooth over the hill, not wanting to overextend myself. The leader (John Poray from Indiana Elite) was not even in my thoughts at this point -- he looked extremely smooth and fast the last time I'd seen him. At the top of the hill, I pulled even with TJ and urged him to come with me to for the lead. Despite saying this, I didn't harbor any thought of potentially winning. I was very much zoned in on simply running a smart race.

After the short and steep downhill, I suddenly found myself closing on the leader. The gap got smaller as we came around past the finish area with a mile-plus still to go. Taking the lead so far from the finish would put a big ol' target on my back for an awfully long time, and I'm much more comfortable playing the role of the hunter late in races. But a pass was inevitable, and it came much sooner than I'd hoped. Now it was time to turn the screw and see how everyone - myself included - would respond. Mile 2 split was 5:16.

 

The final mile takes you into the "Wilderness" loop -- a dirt bridle path with a long, gradual uphill to start and then a twisty return back to the fields. I tried not to let up on the hill and then accelerated after each turn so that there would be more space between me and the other guys each time they regained a line of sight. There are a couple of 90+ degree turns that give a chance to check behind you without looking back, and I miraculously wasn't able to see anyone at these spots. A few friendly fans told me the lead was up to 40 meters with about a half mile to go. 

The last part of the race involves a brutally long loop around the big field where the race starts and ends. You can see the finish line from so far away, you find yourself simultaneously wanting to start your kick too early and throw your arms up in exasperation. It was right around where this picture was taken that someone shouted, "In two minutes, you'll be a national champion." I was so focused on executing my race, it hadn't even occurred to me that I was about to win, let alone the significance of it.

One more turn until the finish. I was sure at this point that I wouldn't be caught and was able to relax and enjoy the moment (though the look on my face might make you think otherwise). Mile 3 split was 5:09.

Nearly there, I'm eyeing the clock. Final time was 16:22, with the last 0.2(! the course was a tad long on GPS) at 4:33 pace.

This picture found its way to all sorts of websites and newsletters. The only thing I'm thinking at this point is that I shouldn't lift my arms to take the tape so as not to appear to be raising them in triumph.  

So, instead, I ended up looking like I'd been caught by a very large lasso. 

There was a brief awards ceremony afterward. I took the opportunity to get to know some of my new teammates. 

3/5 of HFC's scoring members. We placed 2nd in the 40+ division, just 4 points behind the BAA. Mike Daniels was just a week removed from a marathon and still ran well to score for the team.

Taken before the race, here's the full 40+ squad.

This was an incredibly fun and completely unexpected experience. Reflecting on the race, it unfolded exactly how it needed to for my approach to work. If others had gone out slower, the outcome might have been different. Also, my legs have possibly never felt so good. When it came time to reel in the other guys, it seemed much easier than it should have. I don't expect to ever have such an effortlessly strong race again but will cherish the memory of this one forever.

The Running Prof also has a thorough recap of both the individual race and the team race. For additional info, see the Results, USATF write-up, and Finish line video

Bobby Doyle, Bottone Mile, and Wahaneeta 5K

It's time to start catching up again, as a full slate of fall races threaten to get me even further behind on these posts. Let's jump right in.

First up, back in early August, was the Bobby Doyle Summer Classic - a big, local 5-miler with great competition, thanks to its role as the USATF-NE 5M road championship. After bumping into an old colleague from my Cambridge days (it took him a solid minute to subtract 10 years and a gray beard from my face to recognize me), I headed to the start where I was able to give Shara a quick hello before the race started. 

I set myself up many rows back from the starting line, which was appropriate, given the large quantities of fast-looking guys ahead of me. And I do mean guys -- the women lined up on the other side of the road, which I thought was a nice touch, though it did give me a bit less room to navigate the crowded start. I settled in quickly and reminded myself of my newfound strategy: 2/3 pace, 1/3 race. In this case, I'd planned to stay comfortable for 3 miles and then push the final two. I also wanted to try to track down as many Masters runners as I could in those final miles, as I knew there would be many ahead of me based on how many older looking dudes I saw in the front part of the corral. 

The course is essentially half of the Blessing course, mercifully omitting the worst parts (sunny open stretches on Ocean Road and 108). The first three miles, which include a gradual uphill alongside the golf course, were uneventful. I remember passing Matt P and several of the elite women but not much else of note happened. The mile splits were 5:28, 5:36, 5:41. I wasn't thrilled that I'd dropped so far off 5:30 pace, even with the hill in the third mile, but I knew I still had a bunch in the tank for the finish. 

I moved into race mode on Kinney Ave. (in a similar spot to the Blessing, actually) and spotted Mike D and other Masters guys ahead. I was catching people with some regularity along this part of the course and split 5:16 for the 4th mile. The final mile was more of the same, though my legs were really feeling it at that point. I caught a few more people near the end (never getting passed by anyone during the entire race, which probably means I was a bit too conservative in my pacing), hitting 5:15 for the final mile, and 27:21 for the race (results here). I ended up as the 4th masters runner, not terribly far behind the others, but far enough that I didn't know they were there. I was pleased with this race, glad to have had a strong final two miles, and feeling more and more confident in my improving fitness. [You can watch the full race video here, if you're so inclined.]

Rounding a turn late in the race. (Pic by Tommy)

The finish line shot (from Racewire)

No smiling for this camera (another from Racewire).

Next, just a few days later, was the Bottone road mile in Westerly. I've only done this race twice before (and only once on its current course) but I've consistently found it to be among the most fun races I've done. There's just something liberating about running nearly all-out on the roads, without the stress of watching splits as I might every 200 meters on the track. (This isn't exactly an original thought, even for me. It turns out I wrote something similar the last time I'd done this race in 2018.) I saw a bunch of other familiar faces and the usual gaggle of fast youngsters as I warmed up and knew there would be plenty of people to both push and pull me to a good time. 

Pre-race. Not exactly the most flattering picture of me, but I can't just cherry-pick the good ones to put here. (Pic from Jana.)

Great action shot at the start. Looks like some people anticipated the 'go' command better than others. (Pic from Jana.)

Having done no speedwork in a couple of years, I wasn't quite sure what to expect of myself, and arbitrarily aimed for 4:45, with a secret hope of getting under 4:40. The race went out fast, and I went with it, which was an error in judgment. After 30 seconds or so, I realized my mistake and tapped the breaks, allowing a big gap to open between the first four guys and me. I mostly maintained the gap and then gradually closed in on the fourth runner but knew the top three were well out of reach as we made the final turn with one long straightaway to the finish. I started to kick and discovered that I had another gear that I probably should have found earlier. It was too little, too late, as I crossed the line in 4:40. (I have to admit I got a little confused about the actual location of the finish line, as the chute made a quick, hard right turn immediately after the finish line, which I thought was an additional section of the course. I pretty much sprinted directly in the back of the runner in front of me before the situation dawned on me.) I ended up 4th overall, just missing my secret goal but still happy with the race and on a high from the joy of racing a mile on the road. (Fun note: The oldest of the three guys ahead of me - Matthew - was born when I was in college. That note would be more fun if I were able to run as fast as they can, but I'll take the ego boosts where I can.) Full results here.

The surest sign of a too-big gap to the next runner: spectators crossing in front of you. (Pic from Jana.)

Now let's fast-forward to October. In the weeks in between, I tweaked my Achilles, had my usual sore knee flare-up, and even had a heart-related scare that turned out not to be very scary, thankfully. I definitely lost some fitness in there but had been feeling much better heading into the Wahaneeta trail 5K in Westerly. This would be my first time doing this race at its new time of year (it was previously run in the humidity and bugs of August). It's a fun, challenging course with a few technical sections and the requisite Jeff Walker-designed stream crossings. 

The opening field (Pic from Jana).

From previous years, I knew that starting too conservatively could mean getting stuck behind faster starters on the single track. Despite this, I just couldn't bring myself to match the super aggressive starts of two other WTAC clubmates. I went into the narrow trails in third and immediately regretted it. I tried to be patient and looked for opportunities to pass without having to ask the runner ahead to move aside. Every time I thought I found a spot to do it, I'd encounter some unexpected obstacle. Once, I almost ran directly into a large tree trunk, and another time I nearly fell flat on my face. I heard footsteps of another runner coming from behind, and a quick glance revealed it to be none other than Jeff, gazelling down the trail toward me. I tried to pass a few more times, and, finally, the runner in second (Dave) had enough of my shenanigans and let me go by. 

It took only a minute or so to catch up to the first runner (Nick). After the experience I'd just had with Dave, I changed my tact and went with a polite request ("Could I squeeze by on the left?") that was accepted without argument. I was feeling really good at this point and surged as much as I could to try to make up for lost time. Even with this surge, my 'loop 1' clocking was much slower than the other two times I'd done this race (11:41 this year vs. 11:26 and 11:33 in 2018 and 2019, respectively). 

End of loop 1, passing by a single empty chair. (Pic from Shara.)

With nothing but clear trail ahead, I pushed on into the second (shorter) loop. Here I made up time on my 2018 self but was still a couple of seconds back from 2019 me (6:44 vs. 6:49/6:42). In the final even shorter out-and-back section, I finally "PR'd" with a 1:23 (compared to 1:24/1:31 in the prior years). My finishing time was within 9 seconds of the other two years, which is remarkable considering the completely different strategies taken in each of the years. Full results here.

Smiling all the way up the hill, about to head into the last section of the course. (Pic from Shara.)

It was great catching up with WTAC teammates, including warming up/cooling down with Tommy in his return to racing. My ankles were sore afterward, thanks to two near-sprains saved by my braces, but the injuries fared better than expected. I even took home Kevin Murphy's homemade honey as a special prize. Now onto more fall racing!

Evidence that Tommy was indeed seen running on the trails, at least during the cooldown. (Pic from Shara.)

The honey prize was my kids' favorite of all the things I've brought home from races over the years. (Pic from Shara.)

Blessing of the Fleet

Among the many wonderful things about being a runner is the fact that getting older comes with some perks. Earlier this year, I joined the ranks of the Masters division, which instantaneously catapulted me from a mediocre open runner to a decent Masters runner. I've found myself looking around in the starting corral, trying to gauge the age of other runners. It's something of a race within the race, and at big ones like the Blessing, it's easy to lose sight of the other old guys among the throngs of younger racers after the gun sounds. It feels a little like those chase scenes on the sidewalks of New York, where the good guy is trying to track down the bad guy and has to contend with all of the other interlopers. Anyway, it's been really fun, and the Blessing (which is what this post is all about, in case that wasn't clear) was my first time vying for a placing in the Masters division of a big race.

As has been the case in most years I've done the Blessing, I had no idea how fast I could expect to run, so I gave myself a target of 5:45 pace (57:30 total time) based loosely on how I'd done previously at this race and where I estimated my fitness to be. This time, however, I promised myself to go no faster than that pace until at least the start of Mile 7. My mantra was 2/3 pacing, 1/3 racing. I would stay patient until Mile 7, watching the pace and keeping it around 5:45, and then I'd forget the watch and start to race.

With the race starting on a gradual downhill, it's always a challenge to hold back. To counterbalance this, I started farther back in the pack than usual. This put me in quite a bit of traffic for most of the first mile, perfectly doing its job of keeping my competitive juices at bay. However, it also meant that I had completely lost track of the few 40+ guys I knew were in the field. Rather that worry about it, I put my head down, kept a steady pace, and waited to see what the race brought me. 

I'm somewhere in that sea of people. (Photo from RI Independent.)

Over the first three miles (5:43, 5:45, 5:40), I passed gads of people, old and young alike, and entering mile 4, I pulled up behind Mike Daniels -- a fellow Master -- and his TNT teammate. I thought about going right by but decided to hang out for a bit and keep the big move in my pocket for later. The pace slowed (5:50 for the 4th mile) but staying put proved to be a very wise decision, as those guys had a different race plan that apparently involved a bigger move of their own up the hill just after turning off Ocean Road. I couldn't safely match it without burning myself, so I hoped I'd find a way to regain contact up the dreaded 108 section. This didn't happen either, as I lost even more ground and slowed a bit more than I would have liked. Miles 5 and 6 were 5:47 and 5:55. 

The start of mile 7, where I'd planned to start "racing" coincides nicely with our departure from 108 onto shaded, quiet roads. I let myself open the stride up a bit, stopped looking at my watch, and tried to attach the proverbial tether to the TNT duo. I must have hooked only one of them, as I was able to catch the younger guy but couldn't gain any ground on Mike. I recalled from Strava that he does exceptionally high mileage (his weekly totals are just lower than my typical monthly totals), which, in my estimation, would make him an unlikely candidate for a blow-up in the final miles of a race like this. I couldn't quite say the same for myself. Regardless, mile 7 was a 5:34, and, for now, I was feeling great. 

Then, suddenly, I wasn't feeling quite as great. My legs tired significantly on the tiny climbs over the next two miles. I managed to run 5:45 and 5:44 for 8 and 9 but with increasing effort throughout. I still held out hope that I could close with a big final mile. Unfortunately, just as has happened at every Blessing I've run, I was beset by leg cramps. This time, it was my hamstrings. I had to settle for maintaining pace, trying to keep a short and efficient stride, and avoiding a major issue. This got me through to the final half-mile, where the streets are lined with people, and the mad dash for the finish begins. I decided I had nothing to lose and tried to pick off as many people as I could. The steady pace turned into a furious sprint. I passed five people in the last 100 meters, only to have one young guy nip me back at the line. The final mile was 5:28, with the last 0.1 at <4:40. 

Moments from getting passed back by that young man. (Photo from RI Independent website)

The overall time was 57:33, just a hair off my arbitrary goal. (Note: the official results seem to have missed my chip time, so I'm listed as finishing in 57:39. This is obviously not a big deal, though it meant placing 47th instead of 44th. The horror!) Speaking of age group results, I placed 3rd in the Masters group, 10 seconds behind Mike and another guy who I didn't even know was up there. Congrats to those guys on a great race; I clearly have some work to do. I wish I could have had an uninhibited last mile, but the cramps come with the territory for me, so it's time for some shorter races!

Afterward, I caught up with several racers, took a dip in the ocean with Jonny, and got further drenched in a downpour jogging back to my car. In subsequent days, my legs were insanely sore, as usual, after this race, once again proving the old maxim that leg soreness is inversely proportional to race fitness. 

Results                Independent Article

Bridgton 4 on the Fourth

Among annual traditions, the Bridgton Four on the 4th ranks as perhaps the top non-holiday on my calendar. Coinciding with our yearly trip to Maine, it's a fun, high-energy race with strong competition, and I've done it every year I've been able since 2012. This would be my 7th time -- more than any other race I've ever done.

Part of the tradition of this race is suffering through brutal heat and/or humidity, which are almost givens in Maine in July. Not this year, though. An unusual cold snap had hit the Northeast, and the weather on race morning was rainy with temperatures in the 50s. How odd it was to be bundled up in sweats and a jacket as I drove over to the race that morning!

I'm typically full of nervous excitement on the morning of any race, but this time I was just plain tired and wishing I could take a nap. It wasn't just the dreary day that had sapped my energy; I was 36 hours removed from our trip to Colorado and not yet adjusted to the time zone change. My body was also still recovering from a big hike three days prior I'd done with my friend at high elevation (nearly 14,000 ft) that had me coping with some mild altitude sickness in the ensuing days. I decided to take a ten-minute nap in the car before starting my warmup as a compromise. The most impressive thing I did that day was actually falling asleep in those ten minutes -- a napping feat I've accomplished only a handful of times in my life. 

Post-nap, I took a brief jog over to a not-so-secret potty (the lady coming out before I went in told me, "It's absolutely disgusting in there," and she was underselling it), and got back to the car with just enough time for a quick change of shoes. 

The rain was abating, but still coming down, as the final few minutes ticked away before the race. My legs were still feeling sleepy after my usual 30-second race-pace acceleration, but I assumed they'd feel themselves once the real racing started. 

Speaking of racing, I hadn't done it in quite a long time. It had been just short of 18 months since my last race, thanks to a combination of COVID cancellations and a spate of knee injuries. I've had long layoffs before, so I reminded myself that it would all come back to me (just like Celene promised!). 

A minute or so before the start. I'm in the orange hat on the left of the photo.

I lined up in the second row behind the starting line, along with the other special runners whose bibs gave them the privilege of being in the spacious fast-person area rather than being crammed in behind the rope with the common folk. The race took off right on time, with a group so eight or so flying out to the lead ahead of me. The competition can vary year-to-year at this race, but there are always some fast runners whom I have no chance of staying with, and I am content letting them go right from the start. 

Just after the start, with the eventual winner (right) already seizing a gap. Me and my orange hat are tucked in behind the next set of runners.

My goal in the race was to run sub-22, which seemed doable based my other results at this race and a vague sense of the kind of shape I was in. I'd also hoped to keep alive my streak of four consecutive top-5 finishes. There is some significance to this, as the top five finishers receive awards at the race, and I'm a sucker for extrinsic motivators. 

The course design makes it difficult to pick a pace and stick with it, as only the first mile is relatively flat, but even that one is net downhill and often a bit fast. I hit the mile mark in 5:18 and had just moved into 6th place, a step or two behind another guy. The top four were already almost out of sight, so I put my top-5 goal out of mind for the time being. 

The second mile includes a long, two-part hill that spans the entirety of the mile. It's not terribly steep (100-ft gain over the course of the mile), but it is relentless. I stayed neck-and-neck with the 5th-place guy, and at the top we were joined by another runner who'd evidently paced himself better over the first mile. The second mile split was 5:47, and I was feeling less confident with each passing stride that I'd hit either of my goals.

In the third mile, after a brief flat section, there's a final, steep, gut-punch of a hill. Even knowing that it's the last hill of the race doesn't make it any easier to get to the top. The three of us continued to trade the lead on the hill, and then both went right by me as we started the long descent that would consume most of the remainder of the race. This was especially frustrating because I'd promised myself to be aggressive on the downs. No matter how hard I tried to convince my torso to lean into the hill, it just wouldn't abide. I eventually got into a better rhythm and held the gap they'd established, even gaining a bit on a steep part. The third mile split was 5:29. I was about 5 seconds over 22-minute pace and not sure I had enough left in the tank to get it.

Well, my gas gauge was clearly out of practice, too. I was able to pick up the pace just enough at the start of that last mile to drop one of the guys and pull ahead of the other guy and into fifth place. Once I did that, the competitive fire came roaring back, and I decided I could absolutely not let him pass me back. The pace got uncomfortable, and his footsteps stayed close for a while, but I kept ratcheting up the pace. I ended up running a 4:59 final mile, with the last half-mile at 4:40 pace. I definitely didn't think I still had that kind of finishing speed. (Granted, the last mile is all down a slight gradient, but this was still faster than I'd finished in any of my previous attempts at the race.) I nabbed that coveted 5th-place result and easily beat my goal time with a 21:41. This turned out to be my third-fastest time in seven tries. (One sort of cool note is that I was at least 11 years older than everyone else in the top 10, and my USA jersey was older than four of them.)

150 meters from the finish, mercifully with a small edge

The patriotic finish line shot

Practically flopping across the line

I think this one captures the way I was feeling better than the others. However, despite the look on my face, there was no post-race yacking. 

I was pretty happy with how this went, especially because the PFPS in my left knee, which had been bothersome over the previous three weeks, mysteriously disappeared after the race. This is not the first time an injury has vanished post-race. I'm not sure I've found the new cure-all, but it does warrant some investigation. 

And, since I'm sure you were wondering, I did get my nice long nap once I got home from the race. It was blissful. 

Results             Race Video             Race Writeup

2020 Recap: Part IV: The usual year-end stuff

This is the fourth part of the riveting saga known as my 2020 Recap. I've previously covered injuries, trails, and an old race; this time I will stick to the "usual" year-end recap format. (I say "usual" because I do these irregularly. I'm currently on an every-other-year cadence, but that is purely accidental.)

The year in a few sentences

2020 got off to a solid start, running-wise. Half way through the year, I was on pace for more than 1500 miles, which would have easily been my most since college. I was also biking and roller skiing a fair amount to supplement my running. Despite having few extrinsic motivators, I managed to get in a harder effort many of those weeks, as well. This training block was bookended by two decent 5Ks - the first, in January, was a 15:50 at the Charlestown Chili race (on an arguably short course), while the second, in May, was a virtual 5K on the track. From that point on, there was no racing and relatively little running for the remainder of the year. 

I won't go into more detail than that, since I've already covered the injury story in my recent post. You can see the interplay between the injuries and mileage for yourself in the graphic below.

This "overlay" of mileage against injuries is always a fun trip down memory lane. It also shows just how consistently I'm dealing with pain of some kind. The most persistent pain this year was in my lower back, which really picked up after getting the dog, just as it has in the past each time we had a baby. I'm hoping this subsides as the dog gets older. This is one of the few injuries that hurts more on the bike than while running. 

In the end, my mileage was a shade over 1000. It's nice to have crossed the completely arbitrary 4-digit threshold, but of course disappointing to decline for the second straight year, as you can see in the chart below. (You could argue I've been declining for much longer than that, but let's stick to the mileage-based arguments for now.)

A strong first half allowed me to just crack 1000 miles for the third consecutive year. Maybe 2021 will be the year I finally return to 1500.

On the bright side, between working from home and few business or family trips to speak of, 2020 afforded me more opportunities (both in terms of days and time in the day) to work out. You can see this play out in the two charts below.

In 2020, I averaged just over six days a week of activity (317 total days). I was somewhat surprised to discover that this was the most I'd ever done. The fact that I worked from home and had no business or family travel to contend with made it significantly easier to get out nearly every day. And I can say with certainty that the only days I took off after Covid struck were planned in advance. I'm not sure I'll ever have this kind of opportunity again, but it has motivated me to keep it going as long as possible in 2021.

I hadn't really tracked this metric until I needed a pick-me-up this year. The only explanation I can think of for the uptick over the past three years is a renewed commitment to cycling on my days off from running, especially on the trainer during the winter months. And I can thank my old video games for making that part of the equation possible. Without them, I don't know that I could bear even 10 minutes on that thing.

My workouts were divided mostly between running, biking, and roller skiing. In the chart below, you can see that, when able to run, it is the dominant activity. The biking and skiing time didn't vary much until I wasn't able to run, when they naturally became a bigger factor. Lifting, meanwhile, was once again an afterthought. I would like to address this "weakness" (har, har, har) in 2021.

Aside from a couple of down weeks when I was especially sick or injured, I maintained a pretty consistent routine. As usual, the summer months, with their extended daylight and good weather, allowed for extra workout time

Thanks to the extra time available, and the dearth of running in the second half of the year, I was able to hit my highest cycling totals ever. It's the tiniest sliver of a silver lining. 

Lots of time in the saddle this year (relatively speaking). Looking back, the 2004-2005 peak coincided with my triathlon phase; 2008 was a big duathlon year; 2010 was an injury-plagued campaign. Meanwhile, the recent peak reflects doing more cycling on my off days.

You can thank Strava for helping me easily keep track of shoe mileage. It's interesting to see how the Hoka Cliftons really dominated the pre-injury half of the year. When I returned to running, I seem to have struck a nice balance across the eight(!) shoes in the rotation. I have to admit, even I didn't realize I had so many shoes in use right now. 

Looking ahead

I can no longer confidently set running-related goals, given the number of ways outside of my control those could be derailed. So, let's try a simple, whole-self approach to goal-writing for 2021:

1. Beat my 2020 total # workout days (317 days / just over 6 days a week)
2. Beat my 2020 total run + bike + ski time (300 hours / 5.8 hours per week)
3. Run my first race as a 'Masters' runner (I turned 40 at the start of the year, so I really hope this one is achievable) 

Photos

Here you'll find one photo, taken during a run, ride, or ski, from each month of the past two years. Why two years, you might ask? Well, I didn't manage to get a year-end post out last year, so I'm a bit overdue. A few observations while combing through Strava to find these:

• It's amazing how many of my favorite photos of the past few years have come from the mountains around New Paltz. It's equally sad knowing I'll seldom have the opportunity to experience that area in the future, now that my parents have moved.
• The variety of photo locations was, of course, greatly reduced in 2020. I'm glad Rhode Island still has some scenic spots to snap the occasional picture.
• It's interesting to see that the same things capture my attention year-over-year -- the snow and ice in January and December; the fall colors in September and October; views in Maine in July; and, strangely enough, sunsets in November.

January 2020: Mike runs ahead on the aptly named Undercliff trail at Mohonk (Gardiner, NY)

January 2019: Frozen face after low-single-digit temps in Burlingame (Charlestown, RI)

February 2020: Morning Boston skyline over the Charles (Cambridge, MA)

February 2019: The only picture I took during this month was of my victory in Tecmo Super Bowl (which, I should mention, came out in 1991) while riding on the trainer

March 2020: A wave splashes on Pier No. 5 (Narragansett, RI)

March 2019: New growth after the devastating fires at Cheesebro Canyon (Agoura Hills, CA)

April 2020: Daffodils abloom at Biscuit City (Kingston, RI)

April 2019: The lush Marquam Trail (Portland, OR)

May 2020: Low tide at the Town Beach (Narragansett, RI)

May 2019: Along the Leine (Gottingen, Germany)

June 2020: The newly reopened Mohonk Gatehouse entrance beckons (New Paltz, NY)

June 2019: Misty beauty along Lake Mohonk (New Paltz, NY)

July 2020: Our new pup enjoys his maiden voyage in the kayak (Fryeburg, ME)

July 2019: Speckled Mountain summit (Lovell, ME)

August 2020: Sure, there's a nice quote, but this photo of the URI library is the only photo I took in August, so it earns its spot here by default (Kingston, RI)

August 2019: Classic shot of the Trapps ridge at Mohonk Preserve (New Paltz, NY)

September 2020: Early fall colors along the Mountain Division Trail (Fryeburg, ME)

September 2019: 18th Century buildings at Valley Forge, PA. Fun fact - In 1777, during the Continental Army's encampment at Valley Forge, it temporarily became the 7th largest metropolis in the United States. 

October 2020: Fall tones on the South County bike path (South Kingstown, RI)

October 2019: Deciduous and Coniferous reflections on Tarbox Pond (West Greenwich, RI)

November 2020: The sun sets on Wordens Pond (South Kingstown, RI)

November 2019: Amazing glow of the setting sun (San Juan, PR)

December 2020: Snowy roads in Tefft Hill (Kingston, RI)

December 2019: Fresh snow on the Tri-Pond Trails (Peace Dale, RI)