Before our cross country league championship my freshman year of high school, one of my best friends and teammates wrote the passages below and handed it out to the team. He was a precocious 15-year-old junior, and I've held onto his words ever since because they continue to be meaningful, all these years later. Not every part may be relevant to your situation, but as a runner you can surely connect with some of it. Without further ado...
For eight weeks now you've labored, toiled, and sweated.
Every day. Under a sweltering sun and beneath wind-swept
rain. You've laughed and cried, felt the sting of defeat and
experienced the lauds of triumph.
But you were never alone. Teammates fast became friends,
and these friendships extended far beyond the carriage
roads and orchard paths. They wove themselves into our
lives, into our hearts; for a true friend is a friend you've
suffered with, and every cross-country runner knows
intimately the true meaning of suffering.
Throughout all of this, we've been led by two men. Two
men who gave endlessly, of their time, of their money, of
themselves. Two men who shared in our achievements, and
who provided us with shoulders to lean on - and to cry on -
when we needed it the most.
Today is the day. This is what we've trained for.
For some of us this is the culmination of four years' work.
For all of us this is the standard by which our labors are
measured.
The mantra: Run fast, run strong, run hard - for your
teammates, your coaches, yourself.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Belleville Pond 10K
In a sport in which the difference between one's perception of success and failure can be a few seconds per mile, it is liberating to run a race without any concern for the clock. Nothing provides this freedom like a snow-covered trail race, and Ryan ("Jonny") Park has become just the place to find such a race.
With the huge snow event of two weeks ago and the ensuing cold snap, we were guaranteed another snowy Belleville Pond 10K. Those of us who ran (and enjoyed) last year's powdery race were excited for the prospect of another memorable experience. Anyone who hadn't been through this before was about to learn the hard way just how incredibly challenging it can be. One benefit of having run this race in similar conditions was an awareness of the footwear that would be required. I lucked out last year by throwing on a pair of 12-year-old XC spikes with 1" daggers that worked wonderfully in the snow. The trusty spikes were summoned again from their basement dwelling for their annual usage. I also tossed a pair of Kahtoolas into my car just in case the spikes weren't doing the trick. This turned out to be an unintentionally savvy move, as I gave them to Muddy to wear after his failed attempts to make some DIY spikes at home. Teamwork!
Jonny and I did a loop on the course beforehand to test out our footwear and get a sense of the conditions. Jonny had famously run the course sixteen times or something in the previous week, breaking trail and packing down the crusty snow. I shutter to think what the course would have looked like without his heroic efforts. The section we ran was in fairly good shape, but the warm-up underscored the importance of focusing on every single foot plant. One misstep into a boot hole or off the side of the trail would result in a slip or stumble and the loss of valuable ground.
I was enthused about this race for a number of reasons. One was that I wanted to defend my title from last year. More importantly, I wanted WTAC to reclaim the top spot on the podium after losing to Rhode Runner at the last race. However, I was most excited just to see how the race would shake out over the first few miles. In a road race, everyone finds their appropriate places after a few minutes, and the rest of the race is spent battling the same guys you always battle. In a snowy trail race, everything changes. For instance, at last year's race, a train of about 10 guys of various abilities ran together for the first half of the race. And even when it finally broke up, the runners sorted themselves out in far different positions than if it had been a road race. This year. with Eric Lonergan, Anthony Gonsalves, Steve Brightman, and a few other speedy guys in the mix who hadn't been in attendance a year ago, I was curious to see if things would shake out differently. Would someone hammer from the gun? Would the inexperienced snow/trail runners struggle? Would Jackman rip his shirt off in the woods again?
All was about to become known as Mike Galoob lined us up on what is normally a basketball court. He had the nerve to suggest we move back to the other end of the court to start, but no one budged. We weren't running a single extra step in this race. After the customary humorous announcements, Mike sent us off, and we were immediately faced with a decision to run through an icy parking lot or through deep snow. I chose the parking lot and was happy with my choice...for a few seconds. I suddenly realized I didn't know how to exit the parking lot and decided to shoot laterally between two cars into the deep snow rather than take my chances with the unknown at the end of the lot. I felt like a running back cutting sideways through a hole in the line and then bursting through to the end zone. Touchdown! Oh wait, I still have six miles to go, settle down, you fool, settle down.
Jackman was the lucky one to reach the trail first, followed by Muddy, Gonsalves, and then me in fourth. The pace was quick, and no one seemed eager to take over from Jackman. How long until someone made a move? We struggled as a unit through the offshoot from the main trail in the first mile, and I noticed that Gonsalves was slipping all over the place in his road flats. I wondered what was going through his head at this point. Was he getting frustrated, or would he be able to battle through the poor footing? I took a peek back when we spilled back out onto the main trail and noticed that six of us (the four already mentioned, plus Rhode Runners Lonergan and Brightman) had opened an unexpectedly large gap on the rest of the field, led by Jonny. Our pack continued on to the rail bed, no one even making an attempt to pass anyone else until midway along the rail when Jackman got a few strides on Muddy, and Gonsalves surged into second. I immediately followed, not wanting to take any chances of missing the inevitable break. It sounded like others behind me had done the same, but I didn't have a chance to look back and see.
Jackman continued to lead the group toward the power lines. Gonsalves really struggled to get his footing up the steep rise. I twice fought the urge to put my hand on his back and push him up. Eventually, someone behind me (Brightman, I think) vocalized his desire for me to go ahead. I'm a sucker for peer pressure and immediately sprinted by Gonsalves and settled in right behind Jackman as we headed for the dreaded Route 4 section. This stretch was just as difficult as advertised. My quads were burning like we were running up a mountain; the few short downhills didn't even come close to providing the relief they should have. As the two of us suffered together, I got the sense we'd broken away but I didn't dare look back yet. At long last, we exited the woods, and I had a chance to assess the damage behind us. Brightman was maybe 10-15 seconds back, and I didn't see anyone else with him. That section had torn the race apart, and we were somehow the beneficiaries. I hoped our hard effort wouldn't come back to haunt us later on, as we were only halfway through this darn race.
At this point, I was feeling thankful to have company, though I wasn't sure if Jackman felt the same way, especially since I was letting him do all the work. I kept tabs on the race behind us every couple of minutes, wanting to make sure we buried these guys for good before we got back to the easier sections. I even told Jackman to "keep your foot on the pedal." We were working together; I hope this didn't violate the terms of my WTAC membership.
During this part of the race, I started to plot out a potential move. I was feeling quite good but wasn't totally confident that I had the fitness to sustain a push from two miles out. I also had no idea how Bob was feeling. I decided I would wait until just before we turned off the rail bed in mile 5 unless a pursuer necessitated an earlier break. When we got back to the rail bed and the footing improved, Bob picked up the pace, as expected. I was still biding my time but getting antsy. Then, on a casual glance back, I was startled to see Brightman only five seconds or so back. It was time. I abruptly sped by Jackman and told him to come with me. I said that to be nice and because I truly wanted him to do well after all the effort he'd put into the race, but I realized after I said it that it might have seemed self-serving, since Jackman beating Brightman could be the deciding factor in the WTAC vs. Rhode Runner battle. I perseverated on my lack of tact for a bit but then quickly focused back on the situation at hand.
When I turned off the rail bed, I noticed I had put a few seconds on Jackman. I really didn't want this to come down to a sprint through the brutal snowy field, so I knew I had to pound this final trail section and put the race away as soon as possible. I took a peek around every curve and saw the lead was growing. When I turned onto the "trail" around the baseball field, I was feeling confident that I had things locked up. That was until I tried to mount a kick through the deep powdery snow. It was agonizing trying to make headway here. When I looked back, Jackman and Brightman seemed as if they were suddenly right behind me. No! This couldn't be happening. I tried to step in Jonny's snowshoe tracks, but they were so darn close together. I felt like I was doing one of those military tire run exercises. I stumbled down the slight hill toward the finish, trying to ignore the few spectators laughing at my awkward sprint, and finally crossing the line in 43:53. The final field section sprint had been at 9:05 pace, no doubt my slowest kick ever.
I was thrilled to have defended my title at the Belleville race, and even happier to solidify my apparent affinity for snow racing. Who knew? I turned around to watch Jackman out "sprint" Brightman, who was followed a bit later by Lonergan. Rhode Runner had two of their three scorers in already, and I was beginning to get nervous about the team competition. Just then, the WTAC train appeared -- Muddy, Jonny, and Jeff placed 5, 6, 7 to wrap up first place for the team. Our depth was on full display, as Seth wasn't far behind Rhode Runner's 3rd guy. Interestingly, I finished almost exactly the same amount of time ahead of Jackman as last year (27 vs. 33 seconds), despite taking two very different approaches to get there.
 |
| After last year's success, there was no doubt the daggers would be making a return appearance at Belleville. |
Jonny and I did a loop on the course beforehand to test out our footwear and get a sense of the conditions. Jonny had famously run the course sixteen times or something in the previous week, breaking trail and packing down the crusty snow. I shutter to think what the course would have looked like without his heroic efforts. The section we ran was in fairly good shape, but the warm-up underscored the importance of focusing on every single foot plant. One misstep into a boot hole or off the side of the trail would result in a slip or stumble and the loss of valuable ground.
I was enthused about this race for a number of reasons. One was that I wanted to defend my title from last year. More importantly, I wanted WTAC to reclaim the top spot on the podium after losing to Rhode Runner at the last race. However, I was most excited just to see how the race would shake out over the first few miles. In a road race, everyone finds their appropriate places after a few minutes, and the rest of the race is spent battling the same guys you always battle. In a snowy trail race, everything changes. For instance, at last year's race, a train of about 10 guys of various abilities ran together for the first half of the race. And even when it finally broke up, the runners sorted themselves out in far different positions than if it had been a road race. This year. with Eric Lonergan, Anthony Gonsalves, Steve Brightman, and a few other speedy guys in the mix who hadn't been in attendance a year ago, I was curious to see if things would shake out differently. Would someone hammer from the gun? Would the inexperienced snow/trail runners struggle? Would Jackman rip his shirt off in the woods again?
All was about to become known as Mike Galoob lined us up on what is normally a basketball court. He had the nerve to suggest we move back to the other end of the court to start, but no one budged. We weren't running a single extra step in this race. After the customary humorous announcements, Mike sent us off, and we were immediately faced with a decision to run through an icy parking lot or through deep snow. I chose the parking lot and was happy with my choice...for a few seconds. I suddenly realized I didn't know how to exit the parking lot and decided to shoot laterally between two cars into the deep snow rather than take my chances with the unknown at the end of the lot. I felt like a running back cutting sideways through a hole in the line and then bursting through to the end zone. Touchdown! Oh wait, I still have six miles to go, settle down, you fool, settle down.
 |
| I strategically positioned myself directly within the single set of tracks. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
 |
| It seems I am pushing Brightman in the back. No recollection of that happening, but I'd definitely do it again if given the chance. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
 |
| Running(?) on the icy parking lot. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
Jackman continued to lead the group toward the power lines. Gonsalves really struggled to get his footing up the steep rise. I twice fought the urge to put my hand on his back and push him up. Eventually, someone behind me (Brightman, I think) vocalized his desire for me to go ahead. I'm a sucker for peer pressure and immediately sprinted by Gonsalves and settled in right behind Jackman as we headed for the dreaded Route 4 section. This stretch was just as difficult as advertised. My quads were burning like we were running up a mountain; the few short downhills didn't even come close to providing the relief they should have. As the two of us suffered together, I got the sense we'd broken away but I didn't dare look back yet. At long last, we exited the woods, and I had a chance to assess the damage behind us. Brightman was maybe 10-15 seconds back, and I didn't see anyone else with him. That section had torn the race apart, and we were somehow the beneficiaries. I hoped our hard effort wouldn't come back to haunt us later on, as we were only halfway through this darn race.
At this point, I was feeling thankful to have company, though I wasn't sure if Jackman felt the same way, especially since I was letting him do all the work. I kept tabs on the race behind us every couple of minutes, wanting to make sure we buried these guys for good before we got back to the easier sections. I even told Jackman to "keep your foot on the pedal." We were working together; I hope this didn't violate the terms of my WTAC membership.
During this part of the race, I started to plot out a potential move. I was feeling quite good but wasn't totally confident that I had the fitness to sustain a push from two miles out. I also had no idea how Bob was feeling. I decided I would wait until just before we turned off the rail bed in mile 5 unless a pursuer necessitated an earlier break. When we got back to the rail bed and the footing improved, Bob picked up the pace, as expected. I was still biding my time but getting antsy. Then, on a casual glance back, I was startled to see Brightman only five seconds or so back. It was time. I abruptly sped by Jackman and told him to come with me. I said that to be nice and because I truly wanted him to do well after all the effort he'd put into the race, but I realized after I said it that it might have seemed self-serving, since Jackman beating Brightman could be the deciding factor in the WTAC vs. Rhode Runner battle. I perseverated on my lack of tact for a bit but then quickly focused back on the situation at hand.
When I turned off the rail bed, I noticed I had put a few seconds on Jackman. I really didn't want this to come down to a sprint through the brutal snowy field, so I knew I had to pound this final trail section and put the race away as soon as possible. I took a peek around every curve and saw the lead was growing. When I turned onto the "trail" around the baseball field, I was feeling confident that I had things locked up. That was until I tried to mount a kick through the deep powdery snow. It was agonizing trying to make headway here. When I looked back, Jackman and Brightman seemed as if they were suddenly right behind me. No! This couldn't be happening. I tried to step in Jonny's snowshoe tracks, but they were so darn close together. I felt like I was doing one of those military tire run exercises. I stumbled down the slight hill toward the finish, trying to ignore the few spectators laughing at my awkward sprint, and finally crossing the line in 43:53. The final field section sprint had been at 9:05 pace, no doubt my slowest kick ever.
 |
| Mounting a lethal kick through the snow. (Trying to get under 10:00 pace.) (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
 |
| Falling toward the finish line. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
I was thrilled to have defended my title at the Belleville race, and even happier to solidify my apparent affinity for snow racing. Who knew? I turned around to watch Jackman out "sprint" Brightman, who was followed a bit later by Lonergan. Rhode Runner had two of their three scorers in already, and I was beginning to get nervous about the team competition. Just then, the WTAC train appeared -- Muddy, Jonny, and Jeff placed 5, 6, 7 to wrap up first place for the team. Our depth was on full display, as Seth wasn't far behind Rhode Runner's 3rd guy. Interestingly, I finished almost exactly the same amount of time ahead of Jackman as last year (27 vs. 33 seconds), despite taking two very different approaches to get there.
I was extremely impressed that so many people showed up for a race in the snow -- nearly 100 finishers in some truly adverse conditions. We're part of a great community of runners. Kudos as usual to the Galoobs for braving the raw conditions for hours on end and putting on a great race. I should also mention that the course was VERY well marked -- something I've come to appreciate since my disaster in December -- no small feat given the conditions and length of the course.
Finally, a quick analysis of the mile splits last year vs. this year, showing that the conditions, even in the tough Route 4 section, were consistently faster this year.
 |
| Nearly every mile was ~30 seconds faster than in 2014. Mile 2 was an anomaly due to last year's wait-and-see race tactics. |
Monday, January 26, 2015
From the archives - Episode I: 12 years a goal
I wouldn't call myself a hoarder, but I do tend to hang on to things for a while. This occasionally results in great joy when I come across a nugget of the past that had completely vanished from my memory. When this happens, it also reaffirms my faulty rationale for saving the stuff in the first place. "That was fun," I'll say. "Now I'm going to save every note I take for the next year so I can have fun again some day." One recent example: I came across a 'To-Do' list from the summer before I started high school. The list went as follows:
Thanks for joining me for this trip down memory lane. I will periodically post some more of these types of updates that are of no general interest. But what's the point of a blog if not to self-indulge?
- Rotate wheels on roller blades
- Fantasy football draft list
- Legos (set up fort)
- Take a look at Wild Card race
- Make changes to Hardball (a video game, in case you were wondering)
- Organize mini football helmets
Those were pretty exciting times. This past week, I went through all of my old running papers in an effort to trim out the excess and create a binder of training plans and articles. While doing this, I found a piece of paper on which I'd scribbled responses to my college coach's questionnaire on our goals for that season and beyond. I want to share those here for a couple of reasons: (1) It's amusing to look at my 22-year-old self from my 34-year-old perspective, and (2) some of these are still relevant today.
To set the stage, this was January of my senior year of college (2003), and the indoor track season was in its early days. I'd just come off a cross country season in which I'd hurt my knee in a fall during the first race of the year and spent the next three months cross-training in an effort to get back for the post-season races. I'd managed to squeeze into the NCAA XC meet but was still injured starting the indoor season and quite uncertain about how my college track career would end. With that in mind, here's what I wrote:
Running Goals
Season:
(1) To run in a race by the end of the year
(2) If able to run, then score points at the New England meet
Year: By spring, run an 800-meter PR
Life: Continue to run in order to stay in shape and be competitive until I am an old man
How I am working toward these goals: Trying to overcome injury through PT and cross training; staying focused and motivated
What I can do better: If I didn't care about the other parts of my life, I would totally devote myself to running
What about past training has helped: I'm not sure. Has anything helped me, or has it just caused me to become injured?
What new training have you added: Plyometrics and box jumps; more speed for mid-distance training
Why I run: Because I enjoy feeling good about my fitness level, and I would die without the competitionI am happy to report to the 22-year-old me that I am still trying to be competitive and still feel like I would die without the competition. (I also ended up having the best running season of my life, clearly because of these provocative goals.) It was actually eye-opening to realize that I had the same competitive fire then that I have now. I hadn't really remembered feeling so intensely motivated by competition. And I continue to wish that I could "totally devote myself to running," but that darn pesky life always gets in the way.
Thanks for joining me for this trip down memory lane. I will periodically post some more of these types of updates that are of no general interest. But what's the point of a blog if not to self-indulge?
Thursday, January 22, 2015
2014 Year in Review
This post is as far behind as my mileage is for the year, and the two are not totally unrelated. But this is a topic for the 2015 year in review; let's instead focus on the year of honor: 2014.
2014 was a good year. I thought it could go from good to great if I went out with a bang. My idea was to run each of the last eight days of the year. To most of you, running eight straight days is something you do every eight days or so, but I hadn't done it since 2002. So how did it go? Not well. I was struck by a cold on Day 2, but I soldiered on. By Day 4, I felt awful, but it couldn't get much worse, could it? Day 5 was a 12-mile trail run, and I spent the rest of the day curled up under blankets on my son's beanbag chair. I called it at five days -- the longest running streak I've had in 11 years, but still a failure. I didn't run on any of the remaining days of the year, as the cold became bronchitis, and that is how I ended 2014 and started 2015. (In fact, the bronchitis lingered and turned into some kind of tertiary infection last week. 2015 is off to a terrible start, but let's get back to last year...)
While I wasn't injury-free in 2014 (two ankle sprains and a knee injury), it was my highest mileage year since 2002. That says as much about the ordeals of the interceding years as it does about the consistency of training this year. There are two reasons for this year's relatively high mileage. (Please note that I said, "relatively." I am well aware that my mileage is pathetic and pales in comparison to the mileage of many of this blog's seven or eight readers.) One is that I minimized time off to recover from the injuries. Having previously had identical ankle sprains and knee injuries to the ones I had this year, I knew what worked before and what didn't. In the past, I'd probably been too conservative in returning from those injuries. This year, I went to the other extreme. I took off just 3 weeks for the ankle sprain instead of 3 months, and 2 weeks for the knee injury instead of 8 months. So, while my knee and ankle still hurt, I am running (and hoping this isn't a short-term win at the expense of my long-term health).
Now, let's talk goals. I was feeling pretty positive about the year until I looked back at the goals I'd set out to accomplish. Here's what failure looks like:
Goal #4: Sub-16 5K: FAIL
I matched my best 5K time from 2013 (16:21) but never got any closer to breaking 16.
Goal #5: 10K PR: FAIL
I never ran a 10K in 2014.
Goal #6: Sub-47 Li'l Rhody; FAIL
47:01 - So close but still a failure.
Goal #7: Get in triathlon shape: FAIL
I probably got into decent duathlon shape, but I didn't swim a single time all year and have no intention to do so in 2015.
Goal #8: Get strong: FAIL
I got stronger, but not strong, during the first quarter of the year. I was routinely lifting weights and dragging rocks around the yard, but that all stopped with the ankle sprain, and I never picked it back up.
So, what do I want to fail to accomplish in 2015? Here's the list, with some repeats and some newcomers:
Finally, some other stats:
2014 was a good year. I thought it could go from good to great if I went out with a bang. My idea was to run each of the last eight days of the year. To most of you, running eight straight days is something you do every eight days or so, but I hadn't done it since 2002. So how did it go? Not well. I was struck by a cold on Day 2, but I soldiered on. By Day 4, I felt awful, but it couldn't get much worse, could it? Day 5 was a 12-mile trail run, and I spent the rest of the day curled up under blankets on my son's beanbag chair. I called it at five days -- the longest running streak I've had in 11 years, but still a failure. I didn't run on any of the remaining days of the year, as the cold became bronchitis, and that is how I ended 2014 and started 2015. (In fact, the bronchitis lingered and turned into some kind of tertiary infection last week. 2015 is off to a terrible start, but let's get back to last year...)
While I wasn't injury-free in 2014 (two ankle sprains and a knee injury), it was my highest mileage year since 2002. That says as much about the ordeals of the interceding years as it does about the consistency of training this year. There are two reasons for this year's relatively high mileage. (Please note that I said, "relatively." I am well aware that my mileage is pathetic and pales in comparison to the mileage of many of this blog's seven or eight readers.) One is that I minimized time off to recover from the injuries. Having previously had identical ankle sprains and knee injuries to the ones I had this year, I knew what worked before and what didn't. In the past, I'd probably been too conservative in returning from those injuries. This year, I went to the other extreme. I took off just 3 weeks for the ankle sprain instead of 3 months, and 2 weeks for the knee injury instead of 8 months. So, while my knee and ankle still hurt, I am running (and hoping this isn't a short-term win at the expense of my long-term health).
 |
| Annual mileage since 1998. 2013 and '14 mileage taken from Strava; all other years from running logs. |
Goal #1: Stay injury-free: FAIL
As mentioned, I suffered two bad ankle sprains and a recurrence of an old knee injury. These were all preventable. My ankle brace is 100% effective; I just need to wear it consistently. The knee injury was a direct result of racing 7 times in 7 weeks and going on a long run well beyond my capabilities. I need to be smarter this year.
Goal #2: Sub-2:00 800: PASS
I just got under 2:00 (1:59.90) at the USATF Masters Championship in March.
Goal #3: Sub-4:30 mile: FAIL
I was training for the mile when the first ankle sprain occurred, and I ended up never running one in 2014.
As mentioned, I suffered two bad ankle sprains and a recurrence of an old knee injury. These were all preventable. My ankle brace is 100% effective; I just need to wear it consistently. The knee injury was a direct result of racing 7 times in 7 weeks and going on a long run well beyond my capabilities. I need to be smarter this year.
Goal #2: Sub-2:00 800: PASS
I just got under 2:00 (1:59.90) at the USATF Masters Championship in March.
Goal #3: Sub-4:30 mile: FAIL
I was training for the mile when the first ankle sprain occurred, and I ended up never running one in 2014.
Goal #4: Sub-16 5K: FAIL
I matched my best 5K time from 2013 (16:21) but never got any closer to breaking 16.
Goal #5: 10K PR: FAIL
I never ran a 10K in 2014.
Goal #6: Sub-47 Li'l Rhody; FAIL
47:01 - So close but still a failure.
Goal #7: Get in triathlon shape: FAIL
I probably got into decent duathlon shape, but I didn't swim a single time all year and have no intention to do so in 2015.
Goal #8: Get strong: FAIL
I got stronger, but not strong, during the first quarter of the year. I was routinely lifting weights and dragging rocks around the yard, but that all stopped with the ankle sprain, and I never picked it back up.
So, what do I want to fail to accomplish in 2015? Here's the list, with some repeats and some newcomers:
- Break 4:30 for the mile
- Break 16:21 for the 5K, with a stretch goal of breaking 16
- Sub-47 at Li'l Rhody
- Sub-21:30 for 4 miles
- Win 4th Season trail series
- Run more miles than in 2014
- Complete a century ride with the gang
- Run at least one race in the Gunks (my hometown mountains)
- Do 20 consecutive pull ups (this is motivation to get my upper body into shape)
- Rekindling my relationship with the track. I didn't enjoy every moment of every track workout, but it was exhilarating to sprint around the oval again.
- Running in far off places -- Hawaii, California (wine country, San Francisco, and LA), and Florida
- Exploring new territory close to home -- Hillsdale, DuVal/Browning side trails and connectors, School Landwoods, Carolina, spots along the drive from RI to Boston
- So many great group runs and rides. I got dragged along for the second longest run and second longest ride of my life. The fact that they were on consecutive days probably wasn't too intelligent, but it was still a memorable experience. I continue to be grateful for the company and camaraderie of the WTAC.
- Killing deer flies. They're the worst.
- Running faster for all repeat races (see table)
Race
|
2013
|
2014
|
% improvement
|
4 on the Fourth
|
23:13
|
21:53
| 5.7% |
Run 4 Kerri
|
21:56
|
21:40
| 1.2% |
Bridge 2 Bridge
|
28:40
|
27:59
| 2.4% |
Li'l Rhody Runaround
| 47:54 |
47:01
| 1.8% |
Finally, some other stats:
- Highest mileage week = 38 miles (12/22 - 12/28)
- Lowest mileage week = 0 miles (3 times - 5/12, 5/19, 9/1)
- Most hours run/bike in week = 7:50 (8/11 - 8/17)
- Longest run = 17 miles (8/16)
- Longest ride = 50 miles (8/17)
- Number of races = 18 (1st place -5 times, 2nd place - 5 times, 3rd place - 3 times)
On to 2015!
Monday, January 12, 2015
Resolution Beach 5K
Going into this race, I'd run 13 miles total over the previous 10 days. It wasn't a confidence-inspiring training block, but I chose to look at this much the way Seth had before the OMF race -- it was just a really good taper. No point in dwelling on the negatives; my well-rested legs and gunk-filled lungs would be tackling the race without reservation.
I hadn't previously run this race, so I relied on last year's blog posts and a few conversations with teammates to prepare. Quite fortuitously, I bumped into race director Mike Galoob at the grocery store the night before, and he was just back from a visit to the course, so he was able to give me some fresh insight into the conditions. The course would likely be fast, he said, as the sand was hard packed thanks to the recent cold snap. There was some ice on the trails but nothing serious. This was good news; I hadn't been looking forward to slogging through deep sand or puddles.
Arriving at the race, temperatures were still quite cold (14F when I left my house). I surveyed the beach from the registration area, hoping to see someone who knew the course and could point out the tricky spots (not that I would ever take a wrong turn in a race). Just then, I bumped into Jonny and begged my way in to his warm-up. He and Muddy guided me through the trail section, which was snowy and icy in spots but otherwise in good shape. There was an especially rough section through the ruins that I'd have to be careful on during the race. (For a great picture of this section, plus other shots of the course, see Seth's blog,)
On the line, I set up on the ocean side with the intent to hug the shoreline on the way out to the cone. My race plan was to hang behind the leaders as long as I could and use a kick (if I had one) in the last 800 to try to break away. I couldn't risk going out as aggressively as last race with my recent lung troubles, so I hoped to keep my breathing under control this time. I was feeling good about this plan until Jonny alerted me to the fact that RI speedster Eric Lonergan would be in the race. I'd raced him twice (rather, we were in the same race twice) and lost big both times. He's at another level on the roads, but I held out some hope that the beach and trails would be an equalizer. This was probably wishful thinking, and I prepared myself to race for second.
Steve Brightman took the race out pretty hard, and I ran in his wind shadow on the way out to the cone, wishing he had broader shoulders. I knew Bob Jackman was right with us, and he made an incredible turn around the cone to pull even with Brightman. After 3/4 of a mile or so, Lonergan had gone to the front, while Brightman dropped back. I hung behind Bob and Lonergan through the mile (5:13) and then started losing some ground as we ran up through the deeper sand into the sand trail section.
Running behind these guys, it struck me what a contrast in styles they represented. Jackman is all power, with big, strong strides and the body to match. Lonergan is a model of efficiency, his small frame floating over the ground effortlessly. As we spilled out onto the road, I snapped out of my body-type analysis and worked to pull back within reach. Lonergan nearly took a wrong turn where the course veers off the road and back onto the trail, while Jackman took advantage and moved into the lead. The two of them continued to battle up front while I hung on for dear life. My legs felt like they were attached to cinder blocks, and I started to wonder how much longer I could be part of the battle.
The course peaks just before the two mile mark, and the ensuing downhill could not have come at a better time. The two-mile split was 5:42, and the three of us cruised down the trail as an ensemble. I thought to myself how much fun it was to be part of a three-way contest like this, with both individual and possibly team titles on the line. The team aspect of the race was actually pretty motivating and got me through a few sections where I might otherwise have let up a bit.
At some point in this area, I pulled ahead of Bob, and when we hit the steep downhill with its poor footing, I surged ahead of Lonergan. A jolt of adrenaline followed that gave my legs some of their life back. I pushed the pace into the old ruins. Lonergan, who had been a gentleman all race long, pointing out slippery spots as we approached, urged me to be careful here. I was, and we emerged unscathed, down the rocks and hurdling the stream back onto the beach.
Once we reached the beach, Eric pulled ahead. I didn't think I had the steam to run next to him the whole way back, so I fell in behind him and did my best to match him stride for stride. It was frustrating to hear the smack smack smacking of my feet on the sand while his made nary a peep. Still, I hung in there behind him and might have even pulled aside him at one point with about 200 meters to go. I could make out the figures of the Galoob family motioning for us to run up the beach to the finish line near the pavilion. Isn't there an imaginary finish line extending all the way to the ocean? We went into an all-out sprint in the final 50 meters. I tried to summon that mid-distance speed that has been sleeping somewhere inside my legs for the past 10 months, but it either wasn't awake yet, or Lonergan had more of it. He cruised through the line a few feet ahead, 16:52 to 16:53. The third mile was 5:18, and the final 0.1 was at 4:31 pace. We were about a minute under the course record, though conditions were much more favorable this year than in the past.
Bob finished third, followed by Brightman and Muddy. Uh oh, this was going to be a close team race between WTAC, TNT, and Rhode Runner, who benefited from Lonergan's attendance. I saw Jonny finish after Principe, but I swore there was another Rhode Runner guy in there as well. Jeff, Seth, and Matthew -- bloody knee and all -- weren't far behind. Did we have enough guys to displace the third scorers for TNT and RR? It turned out that we didn't. Rhode Runner nipped us by a few points. A couple of places here or there, and we would have pulled it out. I'm actually glad we lost, though. Losing is a great motivator, and I hope the victory also convinces RR to bring their team back again for the next few races. It would be great to have these types of team battles throughout the rest of the series.
Thanks, as always, to the Galoobs for putting on another stellar race and braving the cold for hours on end.
I hadn't previously run this race, so I relied on last year's blog posts and a few conversations with teammates to prepare. Quite fortuitously, I bumped into race director Mike Galoob at the grocery store the night before, and he was just back from a visit to the course, so he was able to give me some fresh insight into the conditions. The course would likely be fast, he said, as the sand was hard packed thanks to the recent cold snap. There was some ice on the trails but nothing serious. This was good news; I hadn't been looking forward to slogging through deep sand or puddles.
Arriving at the race, temperatures were still quite cold (14F when I left my house). I surveyed the beach from the registration area, hoping to see someone who knew the course and could point out the tricky spots (not that I would ever take a wrong turn in a race). Just then, I bumped into Jonny and begged my way in to his warm-up. He and Muddy guided me through the trail section, which was snowy and icy in spots but otherwise in good shape. There was an especially rough section through the ruins that I'd have to be careful on during the race. (For a great picture of this section, plus other shots of the course, see Seth's blog,)
On the line, I set up on the ocean side with the intent to hug the shoreline on the way out to the cone. My race plan was to hang behind the leaders as long as I could and use a kick (if I had one) in the last 800 to try to break away. I couldn't risk going out as aggressively as last race with my recent lung troubles, so I hoped to keep my breathing under control this time. I was feeling good about this plan until Jonny alerted me to the fact that RI speedster Eric Lonergan would be in the race. I'd raced him twice (rather, we were in the same race twice) and lost big both times. He's at another level on the roads, but I held out some hope that the beach and trails would be an equalizer. This was probably wishful thinking, and I prepared myself to race for second.
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| Examining the sand before the race. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
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| A great shot of the field after the start by Jana. I'm the one loping along on the far right. |
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| Most of the field approaches the cone, while the top 4 have made the turn, none more perfectly than Jackman. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
The course peaks just before the two mile mark, and the ensuing downhill could not have come at a better time. The two-mile split was 5:42, and the three of us cruised down the trail as an ensemble. I thought to myself how much fun it was to be part of a three-way contest like this, with both individual and possibly team titles on the line. The team aspect of the race was actually pretty motivating and got me through a few sections where I might otherwise have let up a bit.
At some point in this area, I pulled ahead of Bob, and when we hit the steep downhill with its poor footing, I surged ahead of Lonergan. A jolt of adrenaline followed that gave my legs some of their life back. I pushed the pace into the old ruins. Lonergan, who had been a gentleman all race long, pointing out slippery spots as we approached, urged me to be careful here. I was, and we emerged unscathed, down the rocks and hurdling the stream back onto the beach.
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| Picking our spots through the broken ice in the ruins. (Photo by Scott Mason.) |
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| Popping out the other side. And did I mention I lost my left arm during the race? (Photo by Scott Mason.) |
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| Clomping away, hanging on for dear life. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
Thanks, as always, to the Galoobs for putting on another stellar race and braving the cold for hours on end.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Old Mountain Field 5K
If you like stories with morals and lessons and teaching moments, then you'll enjoy this one. This is the tale of the Old Mountain Field 5K, the first race in the South County 4th Season series, and one of the most unusual and eventful racing experiences I've ever had. Let's get right into it.
The plan
My typical race plan, especially on trails, is to run patiently and trust that I'll be able to catch the fast starters before the race is through. This is a nice, safe strategy that has served me well. It's also terribly boring. How boring? Here's Jeff's description of this approach from his blog post:
Pre-race
My race preparations were thrown off by our baby's poor sleeping and eating the night before, as the morning was spent going through our near-daily routine of deliberating over whether the baby is sick with some rare disease or just being a normal finicky baby. Additionally, Katie was considering running in the race, so we had to make sure all was in order with the kids before leaving the house. By the time I got to the race, registered, and got changed, it was 15 minutes to the start. Nate and I jogged around the reservoir, which turned out to be helpful in locating some convenient places to pass on the single-track if the need arose during the early potion of the race. Since we were low on time, we didn't get to run the twisty section near the parking lot as I had hoped, since I didn't know very well, but the course was extremely well marked, so I wasn't too worried (foreshadowing...).
The race
I was surrounded by the usual suspects on the starting line but knew there would be at least one newcomer (Venable) who would likely challenge for the lead. As Mr. Galoob sounded the siren, the field took off absurdly quickly. I heard Jonny and Muddy joking about already being in 40th place after about 4 seconds of racing. As we rounded the corner of the baseball field, I was only in 6th place, despite my atypically aggressive start. Normally, I'd stick where I was and figure out how to pass these guys later on, but I needed to keep to my plan. I kept my foot on the gas and passed three guys before the bridge. I didn't recognize the two guys in front of me, but they looked young, and at least one was wearing XC spikes. Just as we got to the trail entrance, the leader missed it and shot off to the right, as if he'd spun out on an oil-slicked tight turn in R.C. Pro-Am (anyone remember that?). "Sucker," I thought to myself, with no regard whatsoever for karma's evil ways. Now in second, I couldn't let myself be complacent; I had to stay aggressive. I soon saw the plank bridge I'd noted as an ideal passing spot on my warm-up. If the leader took the bridge, I'd go through the muck to the left of the bridge and pop out ahead on the other side. Sure enough, he went for the bridge, and I went for the muck. Now with the lead, it was time to establish control and lose as many of the pursuers as possible. I ran recklessly over the bridges and rocks, never pausing to think about foot placement, just going for it. There were at least three guys who stayed very close behind for a bit. I finally got some separation over one of the technical rock bridges and made it my goal not to let anyone regain contact.
Around some of the tight turns after the mile marker, I had a chance to glance back and see how the race was unfolding behind me. There was a guy in black a few seconds back, then a gap to Bob Jackman and someone in white (a teammate? Brightman?). I didn't see anyone after that. I was starting to hurt from the early pace and noticed myself backing off as a result. I figured the others must be feeling the same way, and a Damian Lillard quote from Friday night's triple-overtime Blazers victory over the Spurs came into my head. "Step on them," Lillard had said to his teammates before the third overtime. When I read that quote, I thought to myself, that's a tad over the top and kind of violent. But here I was, using those same words to motivate myself to pick it back up.
I tried to surge when I hit the power lines so that I would disappear into the woods on the other side before my chasers saw me. I continued to push up the hill, the same place where Jackman stormed by me last year in the snow, and where I sprained my ankle two years ago. It was an uneventful ascent this year, thank god. I reached the big rock where my sister and a few other spectators were quietly providing encouragement and then began the twisting, turning drop back toward the parking lot.
Another look back at this point revealed a little more of a gap on the guy in black and no one else in sight. Who is this guy, and why does he look so darn good still? Whoever he was, I hadn't broken him, but I was beginning to feel confident that I'd be able to hold my lead through the finish. The trail is so twisty in this section that I figured it would be hard for him to gain much time on me, as long as nothing catastrophic occurred (foreshadowing #2).
At the point where the trail parallels the parking lot, I saw a couple of spectators up ahead. Their positioning was right near what seemed to be a left-hand turn on the trail, so I took it. I began to worry when I didn't see any flags marking the way (as I mentioned earlier, the course was extremely well marked throughout) and the trail began to peter out. Around this time, I heard my name shouted from the direction I'd just come. In a panic, realizing how things had unfolded, I turned around and scurried back to the turn I'd mistakenly taken. I said something like, "Was that the wrong way?" The spectators turned out to be my sister and her fiance, and they sheepishly pointed me in the right direction.
Note: My sister apparently caught all of this on video but subsequently deleted the file because the video also captured her swearing as she'd realized I'd taken a wrong turn, and that was apparently just too embarrassing to bear.
For a moment, I didn't think I'd lost much time, since I didn't see the guy in black ahead of me. But as I crested a hill, I spotted him maybe 10 seconds ahead. I was really frustrated with my stupidity, as I had clearly just cost myself the race by going off course. My only hope was that the man in black would hit a wall in the race's final half mile. I bore down and did my best to reel him in, but as we exited the trail onto the field, I knew it wasn't going to happen. I still kicked hard, more out of frustration than competitiveness. As I entered the final straight, I saw the guy ahead slow down and start to pull off to the side of the straightaway. It only took a moment to understand what he was intending to do, and I didn't want any of it. A few feet from the finish line, I pulled up next to him. He said, "Go ahead, you deserve to win," to which I replied, "No way. I took a wrong turn, you didn't. You deserve to win." We went back and forth for what seemed like a minute (and was probably only a couple of seconds) before Mike Galoob shouted something to the effect of, "Come on, you idiots. Cross the line already." I started to suggest we cross together when the guy shoved me across in front of him.
Historical anecdote: In high school, I was once disqualified from a XC race for holding my teammate's hand across the finish line, ostensibly for showing up the opponent. I wasn't worried about the same fate befalling me here, but the thought did cross my mind.
Lost in all the polite mayhem at the finish was the revelation that the mystery man in black was Greg Hammett(!). I didn't even register this until after the finish. Wait, Greg Hammett? He's the guy? Why didn't I see him before the race? Why was I ever ahead of him?
Looking back on the race, I wonder how differently I would have run if I'd known I was being chased by Greg. I almost certainly would have had more doubts about holding on to first, and I probably wouldn't have tried so hard to break him, since he's a man who is rarely broken in a trail race. All of the mental energy I would have expended might have slowed me down enough that I would have lost to him regardless of the wrong turn. This race was like some kind of blinded psychological experiment to show that running performance is impacted by one's perception of where he falls on the hierarchy of competitors. It was a useful lesson in focusing my energy and thoughts on what I can control and not on what's happening around me.
Another, more depressing, thought that crossed my mind after the finish was whether I'd have done the same as Greg if our roles had been reversed. I have never seen someone so graciously give up a sure victory because he didn't think he deserved it. In my opinion, I deserved it less than Greg, as I'm the dope who went the wrong way. I have a bad feeling that I would have continued to run hard through the line and regretted it afterward. In fact, if history is any indication, I might not have even felt that bad about it. In a high school XC race my sophomore year, a rival went off course with about a quarter mile to go, and, while I yelled to him to get him back on track, I didn't slow down for even a second. Maybe that was different (I was 15, there were other runners near us, the guy who took the wrong turn was a notorious jerk), but it's the only time I've been in a similar situation, so my past is not on my side. Of course, having now had this experience, I will absolutely do the same for whichever poor soul is in my shoes. You might say that Greg Hammett just made me a better person.
Somehow, despite the wrong turn and finish line debate, Greg and I just got under the course record. This isn't as impressive as it sounds, since the course is only three years old and last year was covered in six inches of snow. Still, I'm happy about it, though I wish I knew what my time would have been without my troubles. (Based on my sister's video, I was about 12 seconds up on Greg at the big rock. Assuming that didn't change, and my estimate of being ~10 seconds back after the wrong turn is accurate, the mistake cost me around 20 seconds, give or take a few ticks. I know it obviously doesn't matter, but I can't help myself when it comes to these things.)
There were some great confrontations behind me, as runners crossed the line in little packs. Bob fought off Brightman for third. Muddy and Jonny had another one of their battles, this time joined by the newcomer Venable. Jeff and Dave Principe fought it out, as well. It was also great to see Seth and his janky knee run extremely well, while Nate came out of hibernation to run an excellent rate despite not really training for most of 2014. Finally, I was really happy to see Katie make it through her first trail race since 2004, though I had to face her wrath afterwards thanks to my pre-race description of the course as "a little rooty and rocky in places" in an effort to convince her to sign up.
The team battle was much closer than it ever was last year, thanks to TNT's new recruit Venable. Still, WTAC came out on top in the men's race. Meanwhile, TNT women won by a few points over WTAC, but I fully expect Katie's and Shira's post-pregnancy fitness gains to help eat away at the deficit.
Thanks, as always, to Mike Galoob and family for putting on an awesome race. This series is a fixture on many runners' calendars because of the amazing job they do. Thanks also to my sister and her fiance for spending three hours standing around in the cold (really cold to them, as they live in Houston) only to see me screw up right in front of them. Finally, I am so appreciative of Greg Hammett's selflessness. I hate that he let me win, but he's just that nice of a guy.
The plan
My typical race plan, especially on trails, is to run patiently and trust that I'll be able to catch the fast starters before the race is through. This is a nice, safe strategy that has served me well. It's also terribly boring. How boring? Here's Jeff's description of this approach from his blog post:
"Normally, prudence dictates a conservative pace at the start to save some endurance for later in the race."That's right, it's so boring that words like "prudence," "dictates," and "conservative" are used to describe it. Oof, that's boring. I decided to use this year's OMF race as an experiment in aggression. My plan was to take it out hard and hammer the first mile and then see what happened after that. There would be no safety net; if I died, I'd get swallowed up by a long train of smarter runners, all too happy to let this over-enthusiastic fool pay the price for his poor pacing. But if it worked well, I'd be in control of the race and have another racing tool in my toolbox for use in future races.
Pre-race
My race preparations were thrown off by our baby's poor sleeping and eating the night before, as the morning was spent going through our near-daily routine of deliberating over whether the baby is sick with some rare disease or just being a normal finicky baby. Additionally, Katie was considering running in the race, so we had to make sure all was in order with the kids before leaving the house. By the time I got to the race, registered, and got changed, it was 15 minutes to the start. Nate and I jogged around the reservoir, which turned out to be helpful in locating some convenient places to pass on the single-track if the need arose during the early potion of the race. Since we were low on time, we didn't get to run the twisty section near the parking lot as I had hoped, since I didn't know very well, but the course was extremely well marked, so I wasn't too worried (foreshadowing...).
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| Chatting with Jonny on the line. Farther back, dark-haired girl is giving Katie the once-over. Photo by Jess Garvin. |
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| Off we go. The fabled "man in black" (read on to learn more) emerges from the shadows on the far right. Photo by Jess Garvin. |
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| The pack sprints like lunatics to get into position before the single-track begins. Photo by Jess Garvin. |
I was surrounded by the usual suspects on the starting line but knew there would be at least one newcomer (Venable) who would likely challenge for the lead. As Mr. Galoob sounded the siren, the field took off absurdly quickly. I heard Jonny and Muddy joking about already being in 40th place after about 4 seconds of racing. As we rounded the corner of the baseball field, I was only in 6th place, despite my atypically aggressive start. Normally, I'd stick where I was and figure out how to pass these guys later on, but I needed to keep to my plan. I kept my foot on the gas and passed three guys before the bridge. I didn't recognize the two guys in front of me, but they looked young, and at least one was wearing XC spikes. Just as we got to the trail entrance, the leader missed it and shot off to the right, as if he'd spun out on an oil-slicked tight turn in R.C. Pro-Am (anyone remember that?). "Sucker," I thought to myself, with no regard whatsoever for karma's evil ways. Now in second, I couldn't let myself be complacent; I had to stay aggressive. I soon saw the plank bridge I'd noted as an ideal passing spot on my warm-up. If the leader took the bridge, I'd go through the muck to the left of the bridge and pop out ahead on the other side. Sure enough, he went for the bridge, and I went for the muck. Now with the lead, it was time to establish control and lose as many of the pursuers as possible. I ran recklessly over the bridges and rocks, never pausing to think about foot placement, just going for it. There were at least three guys who stayed very close behind for a bit. I finally got some separation over one of the technical rock bridges and made it my goal not to let anyone regain contact.
Around some of the tight turns after the mile marker, I had a chance to glance back and see how the race was unfolding behind me. There was a guy in black a few seconds back, then a gap to Bob Jackman and someone in white (a teammate? Brightman?). I didn't see anyone after that. I was starting to hurt from the early pace and noticed myself backing off as a result. I figured the others must be feeling the same way, and a Damian Lillard quote from Friday night's triple-overtime Blazers victory over the Spurs came into my head. "Step on them," Lillard had said to his teammates before the third overtime. When I read that quote, I thought to myself, that's a tad over the top and kind of violent. But here I was, using those same words to motivate myself to pick it back up.
I tried to surge when I hit the power lines so that I would disappear into the woods on the other side before my chasers saw me. I continued to push up the hill, the same place where Jackman stormed by me last year in the snow, and where I sprained my ankle two years ago. It was an uneventful ascent this year, thank god. I reached the big rock where my sister and a few other spectators were quietly providing encouragement and then began the twisting, turning drop back toward the parking lot.
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| Passing the big rock in the lead...for now. Photo by Jess Garvin. |
Video from the rock by Jin Nguyen.
Another look back at this point revealed a little more of a gap on the guy in black and no one else in sight. Who is this guy, and why does he look so darn good still? Whoever he was, I hadn't broken him, but I was beginning to feel confident that I'd be able to hold my lead through the finish. The trail is so twisty in this section that I figured it would be hard for him to gain much time on me, as long as nothing catastrophic occurred (foreshadowing #2).
At the point where the trail parallels the parking lot, I saw a couple of spectators up ahead. Their positioning was right near what seemed to be a left-hand turn on the trail, so I took it. I began to worry when I didn't see any flags marking the way (as I mentioned earlier, the course was extremely well marked throughout) and the trail began to peter out. Around this time, I heard my name shouted from the direction I'd just come. In a panic, realizing how things had unfolded, I turned around and scurried back to the turn I'd mistakenly taken. I said something like, "Was that the wrong way?" The spectators turned out to be my sister and her fiance, and they sheepishly pointed me in the right direction.
Note: My sister apparently caught all of this on video but subsequently deleted the file because the video also captured her swearing as she'd realized I'd taken a wrong turn, and that was apparently just too embarrassing to bear.
For a moment, I didn't think I'd lost much time, since I didn't see the guy in black ahead of me. But as I crested a hill, I spotted him maybe 10 seconds ahead. I was really frustrated with my stupidity, as I had clearly just cost myself the race by going off course. My only hope was that the man in black would hit a wall in the race's final half mile. I bore down and did my best to reel him in, but as we exited the trail onto the field, I knew it wasn't going to happen. I still kicked hard, more out of frustration than competitiveness. As I entered the final straight, I saw the guy ahead slow down and start to pull off to the side of the straightaway. It only took a moment to understand what he was intending to do, and I didn't want any of it. A few feet from the finish line, I pulled up next to him. He said, "Go ahead, you deserve to win," to which I replied, "No way. I took a wrong turn, you didn't. You deserve to win." We went back and forth for what seemed like a minute (and was probably only a couple of seconds) before Mike Galoob shouted something to the effect of, "Come on, you idiots. Cross the line already." I started to suggest we cross together when the guy shoved me across in front of him.
Historical anecdote: In high school, I was once disqualified from a XC race for holding my teammate's hand across the finish line, ostensibly for showing up the opponent. I wasn't worried about the same fate befalling me here, but the thought did cross my mind.
Lost in all the polite mayhem at the finish was the revelation that the mystery man in black was Greg Hammett(!). I didn't even register this until after the finish. Wait, Greg Hammett? He's the guy? Why didn't I see him before the race? Why was I ever ahead of him?
Looking back on the race, I wonder how differently I would have run if I'd known I was being chased by Greg. I almost certainly would have had more doubts about holding on to first, and I probably wouldn't have tried so hard to break him, since he's a man who is rarely broken in a trail race. All of the mental energy I would have expended might have slowed me down enough that I would have lost to him regardless of the wrong turn. This race was like some kind of blinded psychological experiment to show that running performance is impacted by one's perception of where he falls on the hierarchy of competitors. It was a useful lesson in focusing my energy and thoughts on what I can control and not on what's happening around me.
Another, more depressing, thought that crossed my mind after the finish was whether I'd have done the same as Greg if our roles had been reversed. I have never seen someone so graciously give up a sure victory because he didn't think he deserved it. In my opinion, I deserved it less than Greg, as I'm the dope who went the wrong way. I have a bad feeling that I would have continued to run hard through the line and regretted it afterward. In fact, if history is any indication, I might not have even felt that bad about it. In a high school XC race my sophomore year, a rival went off course with about a quarter mile to go, and, while I yelled to him to get him back on track, I didn't slow down for even a second. Maybe that was different (I was 15, there were other runners near us, the guy who took the wrong turn was a notorious jerk), but it's the only time I've been in a similar situation, so my past is not on my side. Of course, having now had this experience, I will absolutely do the same for whichever poor soul is in my shoes. You might say that Greg Hammett just made me a better person.
Somehow, despite the wrong turn and finish line debate, Greg and I just got under the course record. This isn't as impressive as it sounds, since the course is only three years old and last year was covered in six inches of snow. Still, I'm happy about it, though I wish I knew what my time would have been without my troubles. (Based on my sister's video, I was about 12 seconds up on Greg at the big rock. Assuming that didn't change, and my estimate of being ~10 seconds back after the wrong turn is accurate, the mistake cost me around 20 seconds, give or take a few ticks. I know it obviously doesn't matter, but I can't help myself when it comes to these things.)
There were some great confrontations behind me, as runners crossed the line in little packs. Bob fought off Brightman for third. Muddy and Jonny had another one of their battles, this time joined by the newcomer Venable. Jeff and Dave Principe fought it out, as well. It was also great to see Seth and his janky knee run extremely well, while Nate came out of hibernation to run an excellent rate despite not really training for most of 2014. Finally, I was really happy to see Katie make it through her first trail race since 2004, though I had to face her wrath afterwards thanks to my pre-race description of the course as "a little rooty and rocky in places" in an effort to convince her to sign up.
The team battle was much closer than it ever was last year, thanks to TNT's new recruit Venable. Still, WTAC came out on top in the men's race. Meanwhile, TNT women won by a few points over WTAC, but I fully expect Katie's and Shira's post-pregnancy fitness gains to help eat away at the deficit.
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| Shivering while waiting for the awards. Jonny and I even allowed our entire sides to be in contact for several seconds in an attempt to warm up, but self-consciousness eventually prevailed over comfort. Photo by Jin Nguyen. |
Saturday, December 6, 2014
New Paltz Turkey Trot
Our family has settled into a Thanksgiving routine of alternating trips to each of our hometowns to celebrate with whichever side of the family is lucky enough to receive us. This year, my parents were the chosen ones. We made the three-hour drive to New Paltz, NY, on Tuesday, which turned out to be well timed, as we arrived just ahead of an early snowstorm that turned the Hudson Valley into a glistening snowscape by Thanksgiving morning.
The New Paltz routine now includes a turkey trot, which was introduced 10 years ago and has quickly become a gathering place for runners and non-runners alike on Thanksgiving morning. The race is put on by Family of New Paltz as a fundraiser for a good cause. While it has drawn nearly 1000 runners in previous years, it's not your typical big race. There are no major prizes (more on this later), no timing company, and lots of people out to have a good time and catch up with old friends.
When I arrived at the registration area, it was noticeably emptier than usual, most likely due to the previous day's weather conditions. As I was checking in, I heard an announcement about a change to the race course; we'd be doing an out-and-back on the road, rather than completing the usual loop along the rail trail, which was buried in 6 inches of snow. That was fine by me, as I didn't have any idea what kind of footwear would have worked for both the road and the snow.
After a short warm-up, I got to the starting line, where I bumped into a few former high school XC teammates. One was wearing a pair of striped women's leggings under his running shorts, while another dropped to the wet ground and started breakdancing as the national anthem was being played. The quirkiness of XC runners was on full display.
This race is always a mixed bag in terms of competition, depending on who's visiting relatives in the area in any given year. There was one guy in particular I took note of before the race, as he was acting the part of fast runner -- singlet, arm warmers, doing drills on the line, etc. I've learned that appearances mean almost nothing when it comes to actual running ability, but I just had a feeling this guy was legit. Sure enough, as we took off, he shot out to the lead. Another young guy shadowed him, while I fell into the back of a pack of 5 or so others.
I didn't know any of the people I was running with, so I used my watch to gauge my position rather than basing my race off the other competitors. I intended to run around a 5:20 first mile and found myself drifting off the pace a bit; fortunately, when I tried to pick it up, my legs responded. By the time I hit the mile (in 5:24, slowed a bit by a couple of short hills), I was in third place, 15 seconds back from the top two, who were basically in a different race.
In the second mile, I saw up ahead that the fast-looking guy had dropped the not-as-fast-looking guy and was beginning to gap him. Any hope I had of winning the race was more or less dashed by this point, but second still seemed feasible. With the course modified to the out-and-back variety, I had a chance to see the top guys as they came the other way. Both looked pretty relaxed. I hit the turnaround in 8:35 and noticed that I was just over 1.6 miles on my watch. I had a suspicion that the revised course would run long, since the rail trail section that was eliminated was a straight shot back and the road took a more circuitous route. Going back the other way, I fed off the enthusiasm of the back-of-the-packers (though I was nearly knocked off my feet by a teammate's vigorous high-five). My 2nd mile split was 5:19, now only 5 seconds behind 2nd.
I finally caught the 2nd place guy with about half a mile to go. I think he heard me coming up behind him at the start of the third mile and put in a little surge, but I gradually tracked him back down and pulled up along side him. I tried to say something to the effect of, "Hang with me," but, as a strict mouth-breather, I suffer from frozen-face syndrome on cold days, so what I actually said was, "Haaamwimmee." I'm think he got the gist. He did hang in there for a few seconds before I started lengthening my stride back down the hill we'd gone up at the start of the race. First place was a bit closer at this point but still far out of reach, so I just focused on maintaining 2nd and finishing strong. Mile 3 was 5:11. I rounded the final bend of the race and felt good as I kicked in toward the finish.
My final time was 16:56 for the ~3.2-mile course. This roughly translates to somewhere in the mid-16:20s for a 5K, which I am very pleased with. I still got thrashed by the winner but was satisfied with the race.
What award did I get, you might be wondering. Well, none. You see, this race is technically a 'fun run,' and the organizers take that to heart. There are no longer official results, or even unofficial results. The male and female winners are handed an envelope at the finish, and that's that. No one even took down their names or times, so I have no idea whom I lost to or by how much. I actually prefer this approach to the one they took two years ago. Then, they gave out overall awards and age group awards. However, the awards only went one deep, the overall winners were not removed from the age group awards, and the age groups were under-18, 18-64, and over-64. Can you tell this race isn't put on by runners?
This was my 5th time running this race, and really only the second that I've run my hardest; my history is shown below. You'll see I ran with three different high school friends over the years. Yes, I had that many friends in high school. Not many more but at least there were three.
History at the NP Turkey Trot
2014 - 16:56 (3.2 mile course)
2012 - 17:45 (very sick)
2007 - 17:30 (ran w/ HS friend a)
2005 - 18:06 (ran w/ HS friend b)
2004 - 18:30 (ran w/ HS friend c)
 |
| View of my parents' front yard on race morning. Should I have packed my snowshoes? |
 |
| Driving to the race. FYI, DWP (driving while photographing) is not yet illegal in NY. |
After a short warm-up, I got to the starting line, where I bumped into a few former high school XC teammates. One was wearing a pair of striped women's leggings under his running shorts, while another dropped to the wet ground and started breakdancing as the national anthem was being played. The quirkiness of XC runners was on full display.
 |
| Milling about before the start of the race. I'm in the yellow. Eventual race winner is the one mid-air. |
 |
| Five seconds in and still laughing at my goofy HS teammates. |
I didn't know any of the people I was running with, so I used my watch to gauge my position rather than basing my race off the other competitors. I intended to run around a 5:20 first mile and found myself drifting off the pace a bit; fortunately, when I tried to pick it up, my legs responded. By the time I hit the mile (in 5:24, slowed a bit by a couple of short hills), I was in third place, 15 seconds back from the top two, who were basically in a different race.
In the second mile, I saw up ahead that the fast-looking guy had dropped the not-as-fast-looking guy and was beginning to gap him. Any hope I had of winning the race was more or less dashed by this point, but second still seemed feasible. With the course modified to the out-and-back variety, I had a chance to see the top guys as they came the other way. Both looked pretty relaxed. I hit the turnaround in 8:35 and noticed that I was just over 1.6 miles on my watch. I had a suspicion that the revised course would run long, since the rail trail section that was eliminated was a straight shot back and the road took a more circuitous route. Going back the other way, I fed off the enthusiasm of the back-of-the-packers (though I was nearly knocked off my feet by a teammate's vigorous high-five). My 2nd mile split was 5:19, now only 5 seconds behind 2nd.
I finally caught the 2nd place guy with about half a mile to go. I think he heard me coming up behind him at the start of the third mile and put in a little surge, but I gradually tracked him back down and pulled up along side him. I tried to say something to the effect of, "Hang with me," but, as a strict mouth-breather, I suffer from frozen-face syndrome on cold days, so what I actually said was, "Haaamwimmee." I'm think he got the gist. He did hang in there for a few seconds before I started lengthening my stride back down the hill we'd gone up at the start of the race. First place was a bit closer at this point but still far out of reach, so I just focused on maintaining 2nd and finishing strong. Mile 3 was 5:11. I rounded the final bend of the race and felt good as I kicked in toward the finish.
My final time was 16:56 for the ~3.2-mile course. This roughly translates to somewhere in the mid-16:20s for a 5K, which I am very pleased with. I still got thrashed by the winner but was satisfied with the race.
What award did I get, you might be wondering. Well, none. You see, this race is technically a 'fun run,' and the organizers take that to heart. There are no longer official results, or even unofficial results. The male and female winners are handed an envelope at the finish, and that's that. No one even took down their names or times, so I have no idea whom I lost to or by how much. I actually prefer this approach to the one they took two years ago. Then, they gave out overall awards and age group awards. However, the awards only went one deep, the overall winners were not removed from the age group awards, and the age groups were under-18, 18-64, and over-64. Can you tell this race isn't put on by runners?
This was my 5th time running this race, and really only the second that I've run my hardest; my history is shown below. You'll see I ran with three different high school friends over the years. Yes, I had that many friends in high school. Not many more but at least there were three.
History at the NP Turkey Trot
2014 - 16:56 (3.2 mile course)
2012 - 17:45 (very sick)
2007 - 17:30 (ran w/ HS friend a)
2005 - 18:06 (ran w/ HS friend b)
2004 - 18:30 (ran w/ HS friend c)
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