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. 

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