USATF Club XC Nationals

I've not had the motivation to write up this race for a variety of reasons -  a poor performance, an ensuing injury keeping me from running (and wanting to write about running), and being generally busy. But the race is now starting to fade from memory, and even the bad ones need to be documented (perhaps more than the good ones do), as there is always something for future-me to learn from.

Up through the Li'l Rhody Runaround in November, I'd had a nearly unprecedented stretch of good health and good fortune. That all came to a screeching halt almost as soon as that race was over. Here's how the next four weeks unfolded:

• Week of 11/15: Bad cold starting on Tuesday
• Week of 11/22: IT band pain out of nowhere on Mon; didn't run for 3 days and skipped Thanksgiving race. Cold turned to sinus infection.
• Week of 11/29: IT band improved; plantar fasciitis arose on Wed. Sinus infection lasted all week.
• Week of 12/6: That weird sharp knee pain that kept me out most of 2020 popped up on an easy run on Tues. Plantar fasciitis still there.

In most cases, this sort of lead-up to a race almost certainly would have caused me to skip it out of an abundance of caution. But this wasn't any race - this was the Club XC Nationals in Tallahassee, Florida. I'd already bought plane tickets, booked a hotel, and registered for the race. Not to mention, I'd committed to my HFC teammates that I'd be there, and, with only six guys registered, I didn't want to leave the team with an even thinner roster.

All of this intro is to say that I wasn't exactly going into the race with much confidence. In fact, my knee was so painful that I wasn't even sure I could run. I flew down the day before and tried not to catch Covid from the many gross humans packed in around me on the plane. I hadn't flown in quite some time and was astonished at the sheer volume of people in the airport, all with masks of course, though many with them only covering the mouth, especially in Atlanta, not that I'm judging...

The next morning, following breakfast with a few teammates, I caught a ride to the course and tried to calm my mind about the possibility of not being able to run. I figured I'd test the knee on an easy warmup. If that went well, I'd do some faster accelerations. If it was still tolerable, I'd start the race and then see how it went from there. I promised myself I'd drop out if it acted up during the race so as not to set myself even further back.

The race was held at the beautiful Apalachee Regional Park, a venue designed specifically for XC. 

With that, I went through those steps, checking each one off until I found myself on the starting line, ready to roll. Runners were grabbing water bottles (conveniently supplied by race organizers and stashed near the start) and mostly dumping them over their heads due to the high heat and humidity. Conditions were rough, especially relative to the cool, dry weather many in the race had grown accustomed to in the early part of December. I mean, the dew point was in the 70s, which would have felt stifling at any time of year. I reminded myself that I generally do well in these conditions and would try to use it to my advantage.

Off the line, the course heads out on a nicely manicured lawn, initially flat, then gradually descending. It's easy to go out fast, and that's exactly what most of us did. I checked my watch at one point, saw 4:50 pace, and forced myself to ease back and let the lead pack go. I ended up somewhere in the 40-50th place range as we entered the trails (also nicely manicured, first on grass, then on crushed shells). 

The plan was to run a steady 5:20-5:25 pace, which I knew meant letting many of my primary competitors go early and then hope to reel them back in. The letting go part was easier than expected, even with a 5:14 first mile, as I was already starting to feel drained from the the weather. The reeling in part was looking daunting. 

Not long after the start, the race had already strung out. I'm somewhere toward the back of the group in this photo.

The first loop is the longest and culminates in the course's one hill (which we'd run up four times). I was surprised by how much energy it took to mount its modest summit and made a mental note to take it a bit easier the next couple of times up.

I hit mile 2 in 10:43, right on target pace. It was also just before this point where I caught up to a big pack that included many of the main contenders in the 5K XC race back in September. Here, this was the chase pack, probably occupying the 20-30th place range, which tells you a bit about the tougher competition here than at that Franklin Park race. I remember feeling like I'd hit my stride a bit, now back on the gradually descending grass section again. I ran with this group for a bit as the pack eventually broke up, and I was with its leaders. I'd assumed this meant I was running pretty well, but mile three was a surprisingly slow 5:29, and that included the long downhill. This was worrying. I was keeping pace with those around me, but we were all evidently suffering in similar ways. The 5K was 16:52, and I was in ~20th place.

Chase pack descending at the start of the 2nd lap.

Somewhere in the fourth mile, I caught up to John Poray from Indiana Elite, who'd led much of the 5K XC race in Boston. He said something to the effect of "Deja vu," but I reassured him that I didn't think this one would play out in quite the same way. I wasn't being pessimistic, just trying to set expectations appropriately. We ran near each other for much of the rest of the race, picking off some guys but generally slowing down together. The next two miles were rough in 5:39 and 5:37. The fact that no one was catching us was incredible to me but reinforced how hard the conditions were on everyone. 

The sixth mile was something different altogether, though. My legs had gone numb, and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I wasn't breathing particularly hard, but I'd started to lose my will to compete, which is something that never happens to me. Poray had pulled away, as had another guy (who turned out to be Jacques Sallberg - a past champion of this event). Up the mountain one last time (it felt like it was, this time), I got that cold feeling in my head that I've only ever felt when I'm about to pass out. I tried running with my head tilted down to get some blood back up there. I slowed almost to a walk, and another guy or two went past. 

When I got to the top of the hill, I got the legs moving again, and then, mercifully, I could see the finish, down the long grass slope ahead. I knew at this point that I'd make it, and I was even able to turn things over enough to pass back those guys who'd gone by me on the hill. The sixth mile was a 5:54(!), with the last 0.2 at 4:54 pace, for a final time of 34:38 and 14th place overall.

I didn't dramatically collapse at the finish, but I did slowly sit and then sprawl on the cool grass. I sat there with my teammates for 20 minutes, not wanting to move, drinking as much fluid as I could get my hands on. When I did stand, I couldn't believe how sore my calves were, likely from running 6.2 miles in the XC spikes I hadn't worn in six weeks. The calves would remain sore for a week, but the knee pain completely disappeared, and has not returned since. Weird. 

Unfortunately, the plantar fasciitis that had been mostly an annoyance in the weeks leading up the race was pretty bad afterward. It hurt to put weight on it when I woke up the next morning, and now as I write this, three months later, it's still sore. It has completely knocked out my indoor track season and is threatening to do the same to the spring race calendar. The last time I had this injury (in this exact spot on my foot, incidentally) was 2017, and I missed nearly seven months that time. I hope I've learned something from that experience and can be a better patient this time around

As for our team, we placed 8th of 20 teams, which was probably as good a result as we could have hoped for, given our lack of depth and the fact we didn't have our usual top 5 runners. Even if we'd been at full strength, we likely would have gained just once spot in the standings, as there was quite a gap to the top 6 teams. Full results can be found here, and the usual comprehensive write-up from the running prof is here.

Our illustrious Masters team, plus the superstar senior runner Bob McCormack (2nd from left).

Li'l Rhody Runaround

Li’l Rhody has had a hold on me right from the very start. It was, in 2012, the first race I ran after moving to Rhode Island, and it’s still the one I most look forward to. I can’t put my finger on the reason for this attachment. I think it’s partly the race’s history (this would be its 30^th year); you don’t hear of many trail races with that kind of staying power. It’s also the novelty of the course, with its unique mix of dirt road, single-track, plank bridges, technical rocky sections, and a fast road finish. And of course it has something to do with its local venue and roots – it serves as the premier race put on by the WTAC. Whatever the reason, and despite a heavy recent race schedule, I’d long ago circled the date of Li’l Rhody on the calendar to make sure I would be able to make it to the event for the first time since 2018.

Given that I’d been running relatively well lately, my main goal was to PR, which would mean beating my 47:01 from the famously fast 2014 edition of the race. Trail conditions would have a lot to do with my ability to meet this goal, and with some recent rain, I knew the course would run at least a little slower than it had that year. The other goal was to win, though that would depend entirely on the field; you race who shows up, as they say. Still, I wanted that ‘W’.

The weather was great on race day – cool and sunny – and I was feeling good for the first time all week after getting a booster vaccine the Monday prior. Up until the day before, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to race, but miraculously everything cleared up by the time the race rolled around. This would mark the end of an unprecedented stretch of good health, though I didn’t yet know my luck was about to run out. More on the in future posts…but let’s stay focused.

I got in a nice warmup with a few of the WTAC crew and learned that Jason Reilly would be running. Jason and I had a great battle atthe Pumpkins race a couple of years ago, and I expected today would be similar. He’s a much better runner than I am, but the trails seem to balance the scales. With this in mind, given the relatively smoothness of the first half of the course, I anticipated needing to make up some ground in the second half if I wanted a shot at the victory.

Shortly after the start, surrounded by some of the usual suspects. (Pic by Jana)

The race got underway, and the beginning played out roughly as I’d expected. Jason was quickly out to the lead (temporarily behind a 4-mile racer), and I was next, as we left Sanctuary Rd for the campground. I was focused less on him than I was on the pace. I’d wanted to run roughly 5:40 during the opening mile and came awfully close to that (5:43). He was 10-15 seconds ahead when we departed the campground roads for the first trail section, which is a fast, flat, smooth single-track. He maintained his lead and might have even put a few more seconds on me here.

I wasn’t able to make up any ground on the bog bridges, which were slippery and include several sharp turns that require careful navigation. (I’ll spare you the Mario Kart analogy, which I’ve made too many times before, but that’s still what I think of over this section.)

The final part of the first half is my favorite part of the course. The trail starts getting more challenging, with several short hills, tight corners, and some rocks and roots. I could see Jason ahead in several places, and, with all of the cutting and thrashing, it almost felt like we were in a movie’s chase scene.

But just as you get into a rhythm on this part of the trail, it dumps you out onto the short Buckeye Brook road section. The mayhem of the trail becomes a jarring peacefulness. It reminds me of that scene in Blades of Glory where Will Arnett is trying to catch Will Ferrell on ice skates when they suddenly end up on an escalator, ice skates stuck in the treads, and have to quietly wait to reach the top to resume their mad dash. Here, our escalator ended at next trail entrance, where the chase was on again.

I hadn’t narrowed that gap at all yet, but the challenging section was just about to begin. I was still feeling strong, however Jason looked as smooth as ever up ahead. After losing sight of him a couple of times, I found myself unexpectedly close to him after rounding a blind turn. I later learned he’d taken a spill, which allowed me to chop into his lead just by staying on my feet.

I tried to stay within myself, very slowly chipping away until I was a step or two behind. Time was of the essence; if I waited too long to make a move, I’d have very little trail left to make it stick and would have to go head-to-head on his turf – the roads. With this in mind, I immediately went by him, gave some encouragement to stay with me, and pushed the pace as much as I was comfortable doing so far from the finish (still 2.5 miles to go).

He stuck right on me, and I summoned every bit motivation I could, imagining I was Greg Hammett, Mike Galoob, or other Li’l Rhody legends who had run so impressively, so fearlessly, on these trails in years past. Jason’s footsteps started to fade ever so gradually, but it wasn’t enough. I pushed on, trying to break away enough that he’d start worrying more about who was behind him than who was in front. When I finally reach the road, ¾ mile from the finish, I attempted to go into another gear but discovered I’d already maxed out. It was a scary feeling and one I haven’t had in a very long time, as my conservative racing usually leaves me enough in the tank at this point to mount a big kick. I was grateful that the road was mostly downhill, and tried to let gravity do its thing. I didn’t look back, though I really wanted to. It was a great feeling to get to the park entrance, greeted as always by Mike B, and know I’d had just enough left to maintain the lead. At long last, I’d won Li’l Rhody. It might never happen again, and that’s ok. I’ll always have 2021. Making it extra special was having my sister and brother-in-law in attendance, on a rare trip to Rhode Island for the two Texans.

Mustering a smile at the finish. (Pic by Jin Nguyen)

Posing with my sis immediately afterwards. (Pic by Jin)

Post script: With a time of 46:31 (full results here), I was 30 seconds clear of my previous best on the course. Jason was a mere 18 seconds back, which sounds like more than it was. He ran a great race, and we’re now 1-and-1 in our epic trail battles. He’s also just a little over a year out from joining the masters ranks, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.

Finally, thanks to Jeff and all of the WTAC volunteers for making this race live up to the big expectations we all have for it!