After running the Run 4 Kerri last year, I knew I'd be back for more in 2014. It has quite a bit going for it -- it's local (less than 10 miles from my house), extremely well run, for a good cause, on very scenic roads, and draws some pretty high level competition. On this last point, race director Scott Bessette sent out an email a few days before the race with the bios of at least a dozen competitors who'd be toeing the line. My chances of repeating last year's 15th-place finish were looking slim at the outset.
[Note: In this next paragraph, I will write about a bunch of things that could be viewed as EXCUSES. They are not. They are simply some factors that contributed to a less-than-ideal race day for me. Wait, that's pretty much the definition of an excuse. Hmm, I guess there's no weaseling my way around this. Without further ado, here are a few excuses...]
While I was looking for a strong race, I knew I wouldn't be in top form for a couple of reasons. First, my legs were absolutely trashed after last week's Blessing of the Fleet. I've always felt that you can only tell how fit you are for a race a day or two after it's over, based on how sore your legs are. Well, my legs were a mess, and they didn't feel normal again until Friday. Second, I had the house to myself for the week leading up to the race, which meant I had some extra time for running/cycling, so there would be no tapering for this one. Finally, I had to drive to and from Woburn, MA, for work on both Thursday and Friday, which left me feeling pretty drained by the time the weekend rolled around. So, while I was going into this race with somewhat tempered expectations, a race is still a race, and I wanted to beat my 4-mile PR (21:53) set a month ago, so there would be no holding back.
I woke up on race day feeling woozy for some reason. This was soon joined by some significant intestinal discomfort. My digestive tract is usually rock solid, so this was unnerving. The race was happening no matter what; it was just a matter of whether this would cause problems for me out in the middle of course. I threw some TP in my shorts just in case and said a little prayer to the PM.
I arrived early and after picking up my number and shirt (side note: the R4K has the nicest volunteers I've ever encountered at a race) bumped into some of the large Turtle contingent that would be in attendance. They far outnumbered the WTAC crew, despite this race taking place in our home territory. After a warmup, I found a spot next to Turtle figurehead Bob Jackman a few rows back from the start. Crutch soon wandered over to wish us luck before departing to join "his people." (His words, not mine.)
My goal was to average 5:25 pace and, while not worrying about my position in the race, still be competitive. Unsurprisingly, the race took off quickly, with the speedy guys stringing out the field in a matter of seconds. Despite starting a few too many rows behind the starting line, I immediately found a lane and made my way up into maybe 30th place by the half-mile mark. Before I knew it, I was running neck-and-neck with the leader...of the women's race. I followed Stephanie Reilly through the mile in 5:22 and then pulled even with her as we made the turn onto Moonstone Beach Rd. It's a fun - and humbling - experience to run beside an Olympian. I almost felt embarrassed when I passed her before we turned onto Card's Pond. I wanted to say, "You don't deserve to lose to a schmuck like me," but I thought that might just make it worse. She must have stayed pretty close for awhile, as I had the pleasure of running directly behind the lead women's vehicle through the 2-mile mark, which I passed in 10:50, right on 5:25 pace.
There weren't many guys in sight in front of me at this point, so I focused on the few that I could see and tried to close the gap. I caught two guys by the time we turned into the neighborhood and one more shortly after, and that was it for the rest of race. In fact, I really didn't see anyone else until the long straight into the finish. The third mile ends in the middle of a short, steep hill in the neighborhood. When I rode my bike on the course the day before, a bunch of neighborhoods kids were assembled on this hill and cheered me on like I was in the Tour de France. When I reached the top, they shouted, "TOUCHDOWN!" (It must have been an American version of the Tour de France.) I was hoping to see them again during the race, but I was instead given quiet mumbles of encouragement from the much less exuberant adults standing on the side of the road. This mile was a slow 5:36. I was going to need a big final mile to get back on target.
The steep hill really killed my momentum, and it's hard to get it back, as the course continues slightly up for another hundred yards or so. I eventually got back into a rhythm and tried to let gravity do the work down the hill past the starting line. The downhill propelled me into the long finish straightaway. I managed a decent kick despite having no one to chase and no one to hold off and crossed the finish in 21:40, exactly 5:25 pace, which meant the final mile was 5:14. Surprisingly, this put in 15th place; exactly where I'd finished last year. (And just making the cut for NE Runner Magazine's results page -- I'm gonna be famous!)
I watched Bob and a few other Turtles (including Scott Mason, making a triumphant return to racing)cross the finish and cheered Crutch as he finished off a strong effort. Afterward, Bob invited me on a cooldown with Principe Sr. and Jr., and before I knew it, we were running the course again. This was a bit longer than I'm used to cooling down, but it was well worth it, and I really enjoyed the conversation.
In summary, I'm satisfied with the race. However, it does make me wonder if I should start setting more aggressive goals, or if I my goal pace just happens to be exactly as fast as I can run. We'll see next week, as I tackle a 5-mile trail race in my hometown.
(See the Level Renner write-ups of the race are here and here.)
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Blessing of the Fleet
I've been excited about this race ever since I first heard about it last year. A weeknight summertime race with a festival atmosphere? Yes, please. It was also cool to know a bunch of people -- both in and out of WTAC -- who would be doing it, too. This being my first road 10-miler, I didn't have a historical time I could easily use as a gauge of what I thought I could do, so I took to the ever-useful McMillan running calculator. I put in my only post-ankle sprain road race time (Bridgton 4 on the Fourth - 21:53 for 4 miles), and the calculator spat out a time of 58:27. OK, that's a useful starting point, but I thought I might be able to go faster, since the 4-miler was a relatively hilly course and I had three additional weeks of training under my belt. I arbitrarily decided that my goal time would be 58:00, and this is what I submitted with my application.
Race day arrived, and I discovered that the biggest challenge I might face would be getting to Narragansett, as a ton of people would be funneling into the town at around the same time on just a few roads. I was warned about traffic on Route 1 and consequently navigated through back roads and alleys to get to the high school. I parked in a field (my poor little Fit scarcely had the oomph to climb a grassy knoll to reach the parking spot), and picked up my "seeded" number in the middle school. When the woman gave me the number, she said what sounded like, "Chris Garcia." I politely repeated back my actual name, and she gave me a friendly but confused smile. Hmm.
I took a 10-minute solo warm-up and saw Jeff and Mike B. on both the front and back ends. I jogged over to the start with a few minutes to spare and wound up sharing personal space with both Seth and Jonny a couple of rows back from the line. A little to my left I saw what I assumed was an apparition of some sort. I went to wave my hand through it, only to discover it was real flesh and blood. Before me stood the Mike Galoob, New England Runner magazine's athlete of the month and secret agent of some kind. He said he'd be doing this as a workout, which meant I'd lose to him by a little less than usual.
The siren sounded, we took off down a hill, and I tried to settle in to the right pace as soon as I could. This meant dialing back on the downhill, and letting a whole bunch of people go by, including Jonny, who had already run something like 74 miles on the day. I caught back up to him around the mile mark, and he asked if my wife (who was positioned around the turn onto Ocean Rd.) would be mad that he was beating me at 0.8 miles. I said no, but I wasn't actually sure.
Despite the race still being in its early stages, I somehow found myself running alone on the Ocean Rd. stretch, into a slight headwind, of course. Where was Jonny now? Jeez. I had decided before the race that I'd try to run the first five miles at 5:50 and then try to negative split from there. I was slightly ahead of pace when we turned off Ocean Rd., but that soon changed. I hit a hill and got enveloped by a swarm of young men and the lead women. What just happened? This woke me up, and I latched on to the fastest boys in the group. (Apparently, anyone under the age of 30 has become a "boy" in my mind. When did I get to be old?) One of them I recognized as Colin Tierney, the top RI high school runner (who apparently was banditing the race, as his name doesn't appear in the results despite a big showdown with Mike Galoob in the final meters). I was eventually dropped by the fastest four or five guys in the group, but they had succeeded in dragging me along for a mile on the brutal 108 section of the course.
I hit the halfway point in 29:07, just three seconds under 5:50 pace. I was worried about my ability to negative split, but at least I'd accomplished the first part of my goal. Soon after, I grabbed the GU that I'd stashed in my hat and squeezed half the contents into my mouth just before a water stop, thereby avoiding the cement-mouthed situation I'd found myself in at Run with the Beavers. Live and learn.
Like many other runners, I was grateful to finally enter the shaded side road off 108. I also had some work to do, as my mile-six split was slow (5:55), thanks to the long hill on 108. I picked off a few guys along this wooded stretch and kept my sights on the others I could see ahead. I'd passed around 10 people since the first mile and thought I might be able to catch two or three more before the end of the race if I could keep pushing. I moved by two more guys just before we turned back onto South Pier Rd. and then tried to keep the pedal down as we went back past the start line. I was only vaguely aware of my pace at this point, but it didn't much matter; I just really didn't want to get passed back by anyone I'd overtaken. There's nothing worse than the pass-back, is there?
I was feeling strong as I turned onto Kingstown Rd. for the final mile. No matter how exhausted I am in a race, the middle-distance runner in me almost always shows up for the last mile. There were two more guys I thought I might have a chance at with a big finish, so I began to accelerate as I came up behind a guy in a URI singlet. Just as I went to pass, my darn calves cramped up again. Fortunately(?), this was a somewhat familiar feeling, and I was better able to manage the cramps this time around. I knew that any sudden change of pace or direction would lock them up, so I very carefully tried to up the tempo and pass this guy. He stubbornly put up a fight and even threw in a surge as some URI supporters showered him with affection. Where's the love for WTAC? I finally moved past him in what felt like slow motion and tried my best to run fast the rest of the way without a calf malfunction. Every few seconds, I'd feel a twinge and back off before tentatively increasing the pace again. I hated knowing that I wouldn't be able to mount a respectable kick, but at this point I was happy to still be on two legs.
Just as I began to realize I had no shot at catching the next guy, he took a sudden left turn. I wasn't familiar with the course, but it sure looked like the course continued straight. (This was just a hunch based on the hundreds of people who were lining the street directly ahead of me.) I got to the street where he turned and prepared to make a hard left when I saw that it was blocked by barricades, the runner trotting off anonymously into the distance. Yet another bandit!
Just like that, I was alone, hobbling into the finish in 57:57, three seconds ahead of my arbitrary prediction, and with a second-half split 17 seconds faster than the first. I was satisfied with the execution of my plan but again very disappointed by my body's betrayal over the last mile. I was well hydrated (and didn't wear long socks this time), so all signs point to muscle fatigue as the culprit. That might have something to do with the fact that these 10-mile races have been my longest runs since the winter. As my ankle continues to heal, I'll make it a point to log some longer runs to better prepare for the fall racing season.
It was great to catch up with the guys afterward and hear about the many PRs and gutsy performances. I was particularly impressed (and not totally surprised) that Jonny managed to run just over an hour after all of the mileage he'd already put in on the day. The most mind-blowing performance of the day, however, goes to Mike B., who devoured a massive cheeseburger in about 3.6 seconds during the post-race dinner. He is an inspiration to us all.
Post Script: Sure enough, the 16th place finisher in the race was listed as "Chris Garcia" of Charlestown. I wrote a polite email to the folks at Spitler but figured it would probably never even be opened. Much to my surprise, the results were updated with the non-Spanish version of my name later that day. Well done, Spitler!
Race day arrived, and I discovered that the biggest challenge I might face would be getting to Narragansett, as a ton of people would be funneling into the town at around the same time on just a few roads. I was warned about traffic on Route 1 and consequently navigated through back roads and alleys to get to the high school. I parked in a field (my poor little Fit scarcely had the oomph to climb a grassy knoll to reach the parking spot), and picked up my "seeded" number in the middle school. When the woman gave me the number, she said what sounded like, "Chris Garcia." I politely repeated back my actual name, and she gave me a friendly but confused smile. Hmm.
I took a 10-minute solo warm-up and saw Jeff and Mike B. on both the front and back ends. I jogged over to the start with a few minutes to spare and wound up sharing personal space with both Seth and Jonny a couple of rows back from the line. A little to my left I saw what I assumed was an apparition of some sort. I went to wave my hand through it, only to discover it was real flesh and blood. Before me stood the Mike Galoob, New England Runner magazine's athlete of the month and secret agent of some kind. He said he'd be doing this as a workout, which meant I'd lose to him by a little less than usual.
The siren sounded, we took off down a hill, and I tried to settle in to the right pace as soon as I could. This meant dialing back on the downhill, and letting a whole bunch of people go by, including Jonny, who had already run something like 74 miles on the day. I caught back up to him around the mile mark, and he asked if my wife (who was positioned around the turn onto Ocean Rd.) would be mad that he was beating me at 0.8 miles. I said no, but I wasn't actually sure.
Despite the race still being in its early stages, I somehow found myself running alone on the Ocean Rd. stretch, into a slight headwind, of course. Where was Jonny now? Jeez. I had decided before the race that I'd try to run the first five miles at 5:50 and then try to negative split from there. I was slightly ahead of pace when we turned off Ocean Rd., but that soon changed. I hit a hill and got enveloped by a swarm of young men and the lead women. What just happened? This woke me up, and I latched on to the fastest boys in the group. (Apparently, anyone under the age of 30 has become a "boy" in my mind. When did I get to be old?) One of them I recognized as Colin Tierney, the top RI high school runner (who apparently was banditing the race, as his name doesn't appear in the results despite a big showdown with Mike Galoob in the final meters). I was eventually dropped by the fastest four or five guys in the group, but they had succeeded in dragging me along for a mile on the brutal 108 section of the course.
I hit the halfway point in 29:07, just three seconds under 5:50 pace. I was worried about my ability to negative split, but at least I'd accomplished the first part of my goal. Soon after, I grabbed the GU that I'd stashed in my hat and squeezed half the contents into my mouth just before a water stop, thereby avoiding the cement-mouthed situation I'd found myself in at Run with the Beavers. Live and learn.
Like many other runners, I was grateful to finally enter the shaded side road off 108. I also had some work to do, as my mile-six split was slow (5:55), thanks to the long hill on 108. I picked off a few guys along this wooded stretch and kept my sights on the others I could see ahead. I'd passed around 10 people since the first mile and thought I might be able to catch two or three more before the end of the race if I could keep pushing. I moved by two more guys just before we turned back onto South Pier Rd. and then tried to keep the pedal down as we went back past the start line. I was only vaguely aware of my pace at this point, but it didn't much matter; I just really didn't want to get passed back by anyone I'd overtaken. There's nothing worse than the pass-back, is there?
 |
| A sweaty mess. (Photo by Scott Mason. Is this a copyright violation?) |
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| My best 'Gazelle' pose (both feet off the ground) as I approach the finish. (Photo by Jana Walker.) |
Just as I began to realize I had no shot at catching the next guy, he took a sudden left turn. I wasn't familiar with the course, but it sure looked like the course continued straight. (This was just a hunch based on the hundreds of people who were lining the street directly ahead of me.) I got to the street where he turned and prepared to make a hard left when I saw that it was blocked by barricades, the runner trotting off anonymously into the distance. Yet another bandit!
 |
| The suspect was unusually gawky, with a long and narrow head, and a nicely coordinated outfit. (Security camera-like photo by Spitler Race Systems.) |
It was great to catch up with the guys afterward and hear about the many PRs and gutsy performances. I was particularly impressed (and not totally surprised) that Jonny managed to run just over an hour after all of the mileage he'd already put in on the day. The most mind-blowing performance of the day, however, goes to Mike B., who devoured a massive cheeseburger in about 3.6 seconds during the post-race dinner. He is an inspiration to us all.
Post Script: Sure enough, the 16th place finisher in the race was listed as "Chris Garcia" of Charlestown. I wrote a polite email to the folks at Spitler but figured it would probably never even be opened. Much to my surprise, the results were updated with the non-Spanish version of my name later that day. Well done, Spitler!
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Run with the Beavers
This past weekend was the Run with the Beavers 10-mile trail race put on by rival/good guy Bob Jackman. The race was going to be a major test of both my endurance and ankle, so I set the mood dial to cautious optimism. I had two goals for the race: (1) Run even splits on the two-lap course, and (2) Place second (behind Greg Hammett, who would be untouchable, as usual). The first goal would require some patience on the first lap, but I thought I could pull it off. The second goal would be tougher, with both Muddy and Jonny in great shape and others no doubt gunning for strong races here as well. I was also looking forward to what I expected would be a close team competition. Jonny drops his allegiance to WTAC for this race every year, joining his brother and Boj to create the formidable and creatively named "Hammboj." WTAC would thus be running shorthanded but still with a strong, trail-hardy squad. To build camaraderie, Seth and Muddy crammed into my clown car for the ride up. We sang along to mix tapes, did each other's hair, and talked about all of the cute girls in school. We emerged an hour later full of team spirit and ready to go.
Note: By now, you have probably read several other race reports, so I'll get right to the action as I saw it.
The race course starts up a hill on a dirt road before jumping into the first single-track section. It's cruel to start a race on a hill, but that's the kind of person Bob Jackman is. As we took off, I found a spot next to Muddy, and we cruised up the hill side by side, entering the woods behind six other guys. I noticed that Greg already had a sizable lead and that no one had gone with him. The rest of us would be competing for second. The single track section is rocky in places and difficult to navigate when running close behind others. The guy directly in front of me had a couple of near ankle sprains. I found myself judging his trail running skills, but that seemed bad for my karma, so I scooted by after a mile and caught up with the next guy in line. Apparently, my judginess was too offensive to the trail gods, and as punishment they made me step awkwardly on a rock and twist my bad ankle (despite the industrial strength brace I was wearing). I involuntarily let out a primeval scream of pain and frustration. Without the brace, this would have been the end of my race, and probably the end of all running for the rest of the summer. With the brace, it hurt a ton, but it wasn't a knock-out blow. I limped along, letting Muddy go by on a treacherous downhill while I waited for my foot to numb itself into submission. It finally started to feel better after another mile, but just as I allowed myself to relax, I did it again! Can I please get a new foot? This one is defective. I made a promise to myself that if I had another ankle roll, I would call it quits and preserve myself. I couldn't risk ruining the rest of the year just for this one race. I was only a quarter of the way through and so much had already happened. What misadventures still awaited me?
After the 2.5-mile water stop, things started to shake up. Muddy and I moved by a guy or two, eventually landing on Jonny's shoulder. Jonny had been leading our group for the entire race to this point, but Steve Brightman edged ahead of him up the dirt road before entering the next single track section. In order meet my "even split" goal, my race plan had been to stay behind Muddy and Jonny for the entire first half, no matter how strong I was feeling or what other moves had been made. This meant letting Brightman go and hoping he'd eventually come back. I muttered to Jonny something about being patient and that there was a lot of racing left, but the advice was as much for myself as it was for him. Jonny, Muddy, and I ran together through the next single track and up the steep hill. This was great, as Jonny acted as our personal tour guide, warning about each section of the hill as it approached, while Muddy kept an eye out for loose beavers. As we neared the end of the first lap, I gobbled up the GU that Muddy had so generously given me before the race. This was the first time I'd ever taken one during a race, and it was actually pretty difficult to do. Apparently, GU + dry mouth = Gorilla Glue. Good to know in case I ever break a piece of pottery while on a run. As a mouth breather, however, I was fighting a losing battle trying to get air through the product of the complex chemical reaction described above. The water stop at the halfway point couldn't have come soon enough. I took a swig of water that broke up most of the GU glob in my mouth. I'd have to wait until 7.5 miles to get the rest.
We started the second half as a group, and while I was feeling content to hang where I was, I also didn't want to wait too long to make a move since I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold off Jonny and Muddy on the technical section before the end of the race. I decided to ease ahead before we entered the single track and then put in a small surge to catch up to Brightman. Again, I had to make a decision whether to sit behind him and risk letting the other guys catch up or to blow by and hope he could act as a buffer. I waited a few minutes but took the first opportunity to go once the trail opened up. It was really enjoyable to have the woods to myself for awhile. I focused on keeping my feet light on the trail and putting as much distance as possible between me and Brightman.
At the 7.5-mile mark, I grabbed another water and got some encouragement(?) from the volunteers. "Nice job. You're in second place...but really far behind the other guy." Thanks.
I tried to open up my stride on the dirt road to get some more breathing room on whoever was behind me. I figured it was still Brightman, but I then I heard voices. That sounds creepy in retrospect. What I'm saying is that people were behind me, and they were talking, which likely meant it was Jonny and Muddy. Shoot, they were moving up.
I got a little surge of adrenaline and took to the next single track section with a renewed vigor. My legs were tired but I wanted to put this race away now rather than letting it come down to a kick. All was going according to plan until just before the big hill when pop, pop went my calves. Calf cramps! Calf cramps? Calf cramps! I have never in my life had a calf cramp while running, let alone two of them, and I had no idea what to do. I thought I remembered seeing someone once stretch their calves out after getting a cramp, so I quickly pulled over to a big tree and stretched them against the trunk. It felt better, so I gingerly accelerated up the hill...when it happened again! This time, I used the incline of the hill to stretch them out as I tried to run up it. But every time I pushed off my toes, they'd cramp again. I tried running crow-footed, then pigeon-toed, then every other kind of bird gait I could think of. Nothing worked. I started to panic. A disastrous scenario played out in my mind in which I was forced to walk the entire final mile while the whole field passed me. How embarrassing that would be. I shook the thought from my head. I looked back but didn't see anyone yet. OK, this thing's not over yet, but I had to find a way to run without my calves cramping. Since the toe-off seemed to be source of the problem, I just had to avoid doing that. I started to run by pushing off the balls of my feet and keeping my toes out of the anatomical equation. This seemed to work. I got over the steepest section of the hill and found I was able to run normally again. But as soon as I hit the next rise, the cramps returned. I stretched once more against a tree, while two runners on their first lap looked on in confusion. I asked one of them if he'd carry me the rest of the way. He laughed. I was serious. I went back to the ball-of-foot method, and this got me through the remainder of the hills. The downhills weren't a problem, and I recklessly tried to get back some of the time I'd lost, ankle sprains be damned. The trail finally spat me out at the entrance to the finishing field, which has a deceptive little rise to it. With that rise came the darn cramps again. I awkwardly circled the field, a big grimace on my face, and stumbled through the finish line, never so glad to be done with a race. I turned around to see Muddy and Jonny very close behind. Another hill, and I might have been toast.
Thus ended one of the most eventful races of my life. I have no idea what caused the cramps. I was well hydrated and electrolyted, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to the cause. One obvious reason could be that the fitness just wasn't quite there, and my body was rejecting what I was putting it through. A more interesting but less likely theory is that the long socks I wore in the race (which had an upper edge that wrapped mid-way up my calf) put an unusual pressure on the area, which somehow triggered the cramps. Or was it something else entirely? Trail demons, perhaps?
Well, aside from the cramps and ankle sprains, I felt quite good out there, running very close to even splits (33:50, 34:15), but I still left the race very disappointed with the final mile. On the flip side, it was awesome to see Seth come in with a strong finish and then count off the minutes before Boj finished to see if WTAC would pull out the victory. We did and were rewarded handsomely.
All in all, it was a fun experience, and I look forward to a less dramatic version of this race next year. Many thanks to Bob Jackman and crew for putting on a fabulous event.
Note: By now, you have probably read several other race reports, so I'll get right to the action as I saw it.
The race course starts up a hill on a dirt road before jumping into the first single-track section. It's cruel to start a race on a hill, but that's the kind of person Bob Jackman is. As we took off, I found a spot next to Muddy, and we cruised up the hill side by side, entering the woods behind six other guys. I noticed that Greg already had a sizable lead and that no one had gone with him. The rest of us would be competing for second. The single track section is rocky in places and difficult to navigate when running close behind others. The guy directly in front of me had a couple of near ankle sprains. I found myself judging his trail running skills, but that seemed bad for my karma, so I scooted by after a mile and caught up with the next guy in line. Apparently, my judginess was too offensive to the trail gods, and as punishment they made me step awkwardly on a rock and twist my bad ankle (despite the industrial strength brace I was wearing). I involuntarily let out a primeval scream of pain and frustration. Without the brace, this would have been the end of my race, and probably the end of all running for the rest of the summer. With the brace, it hurt a ton, but it wasn't a knock-out blow. I limped along, letting Muddy go by on a treacherous downhill while I waited for my foot to numb itself into submission. It finally started to feel better after another mile, but just as I allowed myself to relax, I did it again! Can I please get a new foot? This one is defective. I made a promise to myself that if I had another ankle roll, I would call it quits and preserve myself. I couldn't risk ruining the rest of the year just for this one race. I was only a quarter of the way through and so much had already happened. What misadventures still awaited me?
After the 2.5-mile water stop, things started to shake up. Muddy and I moved by a guy or two, eventually landing on Jonny's shoulder. Jonny had been leading our group for the entire race to this point, but Steve Brightman edged ahead of him up the dirt road before entering the next single track section. In order meet my "even split" goal, my race plan had been to stay behind Muddy and Jonny for the entire first half, no matter how strong I was feeling or what other moves had been made. This meant letting Brightman go and hoping he'd eventually come back. I muttered to Jonny something about being patient and that there was a lot of racing left, but the advice was as much for myself as it was for him. Jonny, Muddy, and I ran together through the next single track and up the steep hill. This was great, as Jonny acted as our personal tour guide, warning about each section of the hill as it approached, while Muddy kept an eye out for loose beavers. As we neared the end of the first lap, I gobbled up the GU that Muddy had so generously given me before the race. This was the first time I'd ever taken one during a race, and it was actually pretty difficult to do. Apparently, GU + dry mouth = Gorilla Glue. Good to know in case I ever break a piece of pottery while on a run. As a mouth breather, however, I was fighting a losing battle trying to get air through the product of the complex chemical reaction described above. The water stop at the halfway point couldn't have come soon enough. I took a swig of water that broke up most of the GU glob in my mouth. I'd have to wait until 7.5 miles to get the rest.
 |
| That is not a smile. It the face of someone trying to flex every single muscle fiber in his body. I think I held that footstrike for 20 seconds just to make sure Scott got one with the quad engaged (a.k.a. a "Jackman"). (Photo: Scott Mason) |
At the 7.5-mile mark, I grabbed another water and got some encouragement(?) from the volunteers. "Nice job. You're in second place...but really far behind the other guy." Thanks.
I tried to open up my stride on the dirt road to get some more breathing room on whoever was behind me. I figured it was still Brightman, but I then I heard voices. That sounds creepy in retrospect. What I'm saying is that people were behind me, and they were talking, which likely meant it was Jonny and Muddy. Shoot, they were moving up.
I got a little surge of adrenaline and took to the next single track section with a renewed vigor. My legs were tired but I wanted to put this race away now rather than letting it come down to a kick. All was going according to plan until just before the big hill when pop, pop went my calves. Calf cramps! Calf cramps? Calf cramps! I have never in my life had a calf cramp while running, let alone two of them, and I had no idea what to do. I thought I remembered seeing someone once stretch their calves out after getting a cramp, so I quickly pulled over to a big tree and stretched them against the trunk. It felt better, so I gingerly accelerated up the hill...when it happened again! This time, I used the incline of the hill to stretch them out as I tried to run up it. But every time I pushed off my toes, they'd cramp again. I tried running crow-footed, then pigeon-toed, then every other kind of bird gait I could think of. Nothing worked. I started to panic. A disastrous scenario played out in my mind in which I was forced to walk the entire final mile while the whole field passed me. How embarrassing that would be. I shook the thought from my head. I looked back but didn't see anyone yet. OK, this thing's not over yet, but I had to find a way to run without my calves cramping. Since the toe-off seemed to be source of the problem, I just had to avoid doing that. I started to run by pushing off the balls of my feet and keeping my toes out of the anatomical equation. This seemed to work. I got over the steepest section of the hill and found I was able to run normally again. But as soon as I hit the next rise, the cramps returned. I stretched once more against a tree, while two runners on their first lap looked on in confusion. I asked one of them if he'd carry me the rest of the way. He laughed. I was serious. I went back to the ball-of-foot method, and this got me through the remainder of the hills. The downhills weren't a problem, and I recklessly tried to get back some of the time I'd lost, ankle sprains be damned. The trail finally spat me out at the entrance to the finishing field, which has a deceptive little rise to it. With that rise came the darn cramps again. I awkwardly circled the field, a big grimace on my face, and stumbled through the finish line, never so glad to be done with a race. I turned around to see Muddy and Jonny very close behind. Another hill, and I might have been toast.
Thus ended one of the most eventful races of my life. I have no idea what caused the cramps. I was well hydrated and electrolyted, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to the cause. One obvious reason could be that the fitness just wasn't quite there, and my body was rejecting what I was putting it through. A more interesting but less likely theory is that the long socks I wore in the race (which had an upper edge that wrapped mid-way up my calf) put an unusual pressure on the area, which somehow triggered the cramps. Or was it something else entirely? Trail demons, perhaps?
Well, aside from the cramps and ankle sprains, I felt quite good out there, running very close to even splits (33:50, 34:15), but I still left the race very disappointed with the final mile. On the flip side, it was awesome to see Seth come in with a strong finish and then count off the minutes before Boj finished to see if WTAC would pull out the victory. We did and were rewarded handsomely.
All in all, it was a fun experience, and I look forward to a less dramatic version of this race next year. Many thanks to Bob Jackman and crew for putting on a fabulous event.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Return to racing - Bridgton 4 on the Fourth
It seems so long since we walked in the moonlight
My goodness, it's nice to run a race again. It's only been two-and-a-half months, but it feels like an eternity, thanks to the injury time warp phenomenon. The dreaded sprained ankle struck again in early May and turned minutes into hours and days into weeks. Time sure drags on when you can't run. I'm lucky that the weather was getting warmer, as it allowed me to put in a decent amount of cycling and avoid losing too much fitness. The ankle is still bothersome, but I love running in the summer too much to miss out on some good training and classic summertime races.
Mile 4
I ran the final mile alone, just hoping the group of three would break up and someone would come back to me. They looked too strong, though, so I focused on maintaining a good pace down the rest of the hill and onto Main Street, where a sizable crowd had already assembled in anticipation of the parade later in the day. I had a secret goal of breaking 22:00 that I wasn't allowing myself to feel too strongly about because I figured it would be unrealistic on this course. But it was now dawning on me that with a good finish I might have a chance. I galloped (a reference to my horse teeth?) down the street, managing a few waves to the supporters, and saw the finish line clock read 21:4X with less than 100 meters to go. It felt silly to sprint by myself, so I ran as hard a sub-sprint as I could, finally crossing in 21:53, with a final mile split of 5:11. It was a 4-mile PR, just nipping my 21:56 from last year's Run4Kerri.
Much to my surprise, I discovered afterward that the top-5 finishers all get prizes. I made Mike wait around in the rain for an hour, but it was well worth it (for me, that is), as I came away for two $25 gift cards, one to New Balance and one to Fleet Feet. Not a bad haul for fifth place!
Also, there is a great little write-up on the race by a spectator, if you're so inclined.
Most importantly, Mike had stomach issues thanks to ingesting roughly 150 of my mother-in-law's chocolate chip cookies over the previous few days, so I was able to win our personal race despite the large handicap. The following day, however, Mike put together an incredible set of performances in croquet and bocce to pull even with me at the end of the competition. Now, it should be known, we come from a town (New Paltz, NY) that was far ahead of the pack in creating the "everybody wins" culture, and we grew up getting participant medals for everything we did, even if we sucked. All this has done is fueled our competitive engines as adults. What I'm trying to say is that there would be no tie in the Maine-athlon. After some deliberation, we agreed that the victor would be determined by whoever caught the most footballs thrown (by my father-in-law) off the dock into the lake. We each had ten tries on offense, while the other person defended. Well, I fell one catch short of Mike, and therefore lost the competition for the first time in its three years of existence. Now where's my second-place ribbon?
My goodness, it's nice to run a race again. It's only been two-and-a-half months, but it feels like an eternity, thanks to the injury time warp phenomenon. The dreaded sprained ankle struck again in early May and turned minutes into hours and days into weeks. Time sure drags on when you can't run. I'm lucky that the weather was getting warmer, as it allowed me to put in a decent amount of cycling and avoid losing too much fitness. The ankle is still bothersome, but I love running in the summer too much to miss out on some good training and classic summertime races.
This past week, our family made the annual trek to my in-laws' lake cabin in Fryeburg, Maine. A couple of years ago, I learned about a big race in Bridgton, the next town over, on July 4th. Racing and July 4th have always seemed like a perfect fit, so I was excited to venture over and see what the race was all about. Despite the small-town setting, the race draws ~2000 runners thanks in large part to the influx of campers from local summer camps and vacationers such as myself.
When I first ran this race (in 2012), it was my first race in eight months and only the second in two years, and it showed. I struggled to a 23:48, needing a big kick to keep my pace under 6:00/mile. Last year, it was my first race in seven months, and I fared a bit better, dropping about half a minute from my time (23:13). So, my 2.5-month layoff this year seemed like nothing compared to the previous years. I was also coming off some good fitness prior to the ankle sprain, so I was hoping some of that would carry over.
My goal this year was to break 23:00. It's a pretty tough course, with a long hill from mile one to two-and-a-half, so this seemed like an attainable but challenging objective. One mitigating factor, however, was the big training week I'd been putting in. Vacation for me (and, I suspect, most of you) is not a time to rest, but a time to take advantage of freedom from work by banging out some big rides and runs, which meant I wasn't exactly tapered for the race. I was more like the opposite of tapered. Straight legged, maybe? Or boot cut?
Bad jean jokes aside, I rode over to the race with my buddy Mike, whose family joins ours in Maine for the week. I should mention that this race is 1/13th of the "Maine-athlon," a multisport challenge that we engage in annually. Each event is handicapped based on previous years' results, so I was going to have to beat Mike by 2:30 in order to claim first place in the event. This was my true goal for the race. Everything else was secondary.
We warmed up through the drizzle. While the temperatures were cool (mid-60s), the humidity was still quite high, and we arrived at the line in full lather. I settled into the first row and recognized a few faces from previous years. A couple of spots over from me was Silas Eastman, a 19-year-old who was a Maine state XC and Nordic Skiing champ in high school and the 2012 race winner. Behind me, apparently modest, was last year's race winner, Moninda Marube, a Kenyan now living in Maine. He's a 2:22 marathoner and really in a class of his own at a race like this, so I relished my time ahead of him as we waited for the gun.
Mile 1
The first mile is slightly downhill and can be pretty speedy if you're not careful. After about 400 yards, I found myself in second place, already 10 seconds behind Marube. I checked my watch, as I wanted to try to run around 5:30 pace or a little under, in order to keep things in control early. I saw I was at ~5:25, so I settled in there and let a few guys catch up as we hit the mile in 5:26.
Mile 2
I ran with a pack of four other guys, including Eastman, far behind the leader, as we began the long climb that would take us past the race's halfway point. I felt strong on the hills, surging to the lead of the pack in the steepest sections, and then falling back in behind them on the flatter sections. I'd really struggled in this mile in previous years, so I made a conscious effort to hang with the pack, even as things got uncomfortable. We made a road crossing, then a sharp left turn, as mile 2 clicked off in 5:42.
Mile 3
I was on the verge of losing contact as we continued up the long hill but did everything I could to stay in the group. By this point, we'd dropped one guy, but the others were looking strong. The pack of four consisted of myself, Eastman, another young looking guy (who turned out to be a rising sophomore runner at Syracuse) and a mustachioed guy in a Dirigo jersey. My hope was to stick with them over the hill, as I figured the downhill would be fast for all of us, and I'd be able to recover enough to mount a strong kick to the finish. Well, I succeeded in the first part, as we finally crested the hill still together. Just as I started to relax on the descent, the other three guys took off. It was as if they were waiting for some secret sign that I didn't know about. Over the next half mile, they put 10 seconds on me, and there was nothing I could do about it. My legs just couldn't turn over like theirs on the downhill. Oh to be fast. The third mile was 5:33.
When I first ran this race (in 2012), it was my first race in eight months and only the second in two years, and it showed. I struggled to a 23:48, needing a big kick to keep my pace under 6:00/mile. Last year, it was my first race in seven months, and I fared a bit better, dropping about half a minute from my time (23:13). So, my 2.5-month layoff this year seemed like nothing compared to the previous years. I was also coming off some good fitness prior to the ankle sprain, so I was hoping some of that would carry over.
My goal this year was to break 23:00. It's a pretty tough course, with a long hill from mile one to two-and-a-half, so this seemed like an attainable but challenging objective. One mitigating factor, however, was the big training week I'd been putting in. Vacation for me (and, I suspect, most of you) is not a time to rest, but a time to take advantage of freedom from work by banging out some big rides and runs, which meant I wasn't exactly tapered for the race. I was more like the opposite of tapered. Straight legged, maybe? Or boot cut?
Bad jean jokes aside, I rode over to the race with my buddy Mike, whose family joins ours in Maine for the week. I should mention that this race is 1/13th of the "Maine-athlon," a multisport challenge that we engage in annually. Each event is handicapped based on previous years' results, so I was going to have to beat Mike by 2:30 in order to claim first place in the event. This was my true goal for the race. Everything else was secondary.
We warmed up through the drizzle. While the temperatures were cool (mid-60s), the humidity was still quite high, and we arrived at the line in full lather. I settled into the first row and recognized a few faces from previous years. A couple of spots over from me was Silas Eastman, a 19-year-old who was a Maine state XC and Nordic Skiing champ in high school and the 2012 race winner. Behind me, apparently modest, was last year's race winner, Moninda Marube, a Kenyan now living in Maine. He's a 2:22 marathoner and really in a class of his own at a race like this, so I relished my time ahead of him as we waited for the gun.
Mile 1
The first mile is slightly downhill and can be pretty speedy if you're not careful. After about 400 yards, I found myself in second place, already 10 seconds behind Marube. I checked my watch, as I wanted to try to run around 5:30 pace or a little under, in order to keep things in control early. I saw I was at ~5:25, so I settled in there and let a few guys catch up as we hit the mile in 5:26.
Mile 2
I ran with a pack of four other guys, including Eastman, far behind the leader, as we began the long climb that would take us past the race's halfway point. I felt strong on the hills, surging to the lead of the pack in the steepest sections, and then falling back in behind them on the flatter sections. I'd really struggled in this mile in previous years, so I made a conscious effort to hang with the pack, even as things got uncomfortable. We made a road crossing, then a sharp left turn, as mile 2 clicked off in 5:42.
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| Course elevation profile. You just have to make it through 2.5 miles, the rest is a breeze...or so I thought. |
I was on the verge of losing contact as we continued up the long hill but did everything I could to stay in the group. By this point, we'd dropped one guy, but the others were looking strong. The pack of four consisted of myself, Eastman, another young looking guy (who turned out to be a rising sophomore runner at Syracuse) and a mustachioed guy in a Dirigo jersey. My hope was to stick with them over the hill, as I figured the downhill would be fast for all of us, and I'd be able to recover enough to mount a strong kick to the finish. Well, I succeeded in the first part, as we finally crested the hill still together. Just as I started to relax on the descent, the other three guys took off. It was as if they were waiting for some secret sign that I didn't know about. Over the next half mile, they put 10 seconds on me, and there was nothing I could do about it. My legs just couldn't turn over like theirs on the downhill. Oh to be fast. The third mile was 5:33.
Mile 4
I ran the final mile alone, just hoping the group of three would break up and someone would come back to me. They looked too strong, though, so I focused on maintaining a good pace down the rest of the hill and onto Main Street, where a sizable crowd had already assembled in anticipation of the parade later in the day. I had a secret goal of breaking 22:00 that I wasn't allowing myself to feel too strongly about because I figured it would be unrealistic on this course. But it was now dawning on me that with a good finish I might have a chance. I galloped (a reference to my horse teeth?) down the street, managing a few waves to the supporters, and saw the finish line clock read 21:4X with less than 100 meters to go. It felt silly to sprint by myself, so I ran as hard a sub-sprint as I could, finally crossing in 21:53, with a final mile split of 5:11. It was a 4-mile PR, just nipping my 21:56 from last year's Run4Kerri.
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| Charging down Main Street toward the finish. (Photo credit: mcclellandmiscellanea.wordpress.com) |
Also, there is a great little write-up on the race by a spectator, if you're so inclined.
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| This year's splits were far better than in years past. |
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| The very picture of failure. |
Sunday, April 27, 2014
RISP Foot Pursuit 5K
I had heard some great things about this race from Crutchley and others, and I was intrigued...by the post-race BBQ. The flattish 5K on a beautiful course held some appeal, too, but a burger at 10:30 AM? Sign me up! I registered not just with the charbroiled meat in mind, I also had aspirations of taking down my 5K road PR of 16:21 set at the CVS race in Providence last year. It would be a long shot, as I'm in the midst of a heavy training block, but it could't hurt to give it a go.
I woke up on race day with some general body soreness after spending a good chunk of the previous day moving rocks around the yard. I felt like a little oil in the joints would have done me wonders, but WD-40 is apparently not intended for human use, so I instead settled for the runner's cure-all: the foam roller.
Superfluous Anecdote: Any foam rolling in the house inevitably gets noticed by Seb. He has a nose for it, like a dog for bacon, and he thinks that it must be some kind of game we invented just for him. As soon as I start to roll, he runs in and sits on the roller. Now I have to stop and balance on one spot so he doesn't fly off and hit his head. Do you know what it's like to have all of your weight on one-square-inch of your IT band? It hurts. A lot. I start to cry out in pain, and he gets all giggly and then falls and hits his head anyway, which turns into a meltdown that I have to comfort. Foam rolling session complete.
In any case, after rolling/playing/crying with Seb for a bit, I drove over to Narragansett for the race. The day was cool and breezy, so, after chatting briefly with Mike B. and Seth about the conditions, I took a longer-than-usual warm-up to give my body a chance to work up a sweat and to wake up my creaky legs. I felt ready to go as the start approached, and I found a spot up front near Tommy and Seth, and directly behind Derek Jakoboski, whom we've recently discovered is in shape and also does actually do workouts. It was strange to be starting in the second row of a local race. We were surrounded by children, high school girls, old men, and a few guys wearing headphones. I'd love to know what these people are thinking, but I can't find a nice way to ask them. "Umm, what in the world do you think you're doing?" might come across the wrong way. My best passive-aggressive idea so far is to step on the back of one of their shoes as the race starts and then say, "Oh, your shoe fell off already? Maybe you should have started farther back."
Well, I didn't do any of that and, as the rifle sounded, found myself trying to navigate through the menagerie I described in the previous paragraph. I ran neck-and-neck with a high school girl for a bit, drafted off fast start hall-of-famer "Gray Shirt Man" for a few strides, darted laterally to pass a few 6-year-olds, and finally fell into step behind Derek. All of this action happened in the first few hundred meters. After that, I neither passed nor was passed by anyone for the rest of the race. The end.
I stuck right on Derek's heels for maybe half a mile, but the pace was sub-5:00, and that was too hot for me, so I eased off the accelerator to something more comfortable. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the Goldilocks gear ("just right"), and I slowed down too much, hitting the mile in 5:19. I also suddenly had company in the form of the talented Keven O'Neil. I tried to push the second mile to create some separation, but he wouldn't give in for the longest time. I was working so hard, I started hallucinating images of Jeff Walker on the sidewalk. But wait, this was no mirage, Jeff was really there, having been forced to take some downtime following surgery but still having the energy to get out and cheer us on. I think he passed on some of his vitality, as I picked up the pace after going by him. Thanks, Jeff! As I approached the third mile, I finally couldn't hear Keven's breathing, and when I looked back, it wasn't Keven but Tommy who appeared behind me. I was momentarily psyched until I realized that meant he was gaining on me. Stay back, Tommy!!
The second mile was 5:23, and any hope of a PR was quickly slipping away. Derek had put a ton of time on me between miles 0.5 and 1.5, and while he wasn't pulling any farther away, his lead was "too big to fail." In addition, two things were working against a fast finish. One was a surprisingly stiff headwind along Ocean Rd. The other was a tight right shin muscle that has been hampering my track workouts over the past few weeks. This same issue plagued me often in college, and I have come to realize I am powerless against it's evil forces. It renders my foot useless, and as I slap away at the ground, each foot strike ratchets up the tightness more and more. It's my nemesis, and I have yet to find a way to beat it.
I pushed through the wind as hard as I could manage and mustered a little kick, but I lost all motivation as I watched Derek cross the line right around the time I'd hoped to run. I crossed in 16:33 and looked back to see Tommy hold off a fast charging Keven O'Neil. Seth arrived a minute later in 7th with yet another PR. Mike B. ran well for 17th, Mike C. ran an awesome time (four 2s - 22:22 - can't get much cooler than that), and Steve Schonning crossed a short time after, already having biked to the race from Westerly. We locked up the team win for both men and women (kudos to Shara, Beth, and others for superb races on their end).
One final note: This race is known to have a very generous awards stash, and while I honestly don't care whether or not I get more than a handshake after a race, going into the awards ceremony, I was feeling like a kid on Christmas about to open his stocking. Well, it turned out my stocking (actually, a boot-shaped pint glass, which was pretty cool) was empty. Wah wah. Interestingly, the age group award winners all received gift certificates, so if' I'd run a bit slower, I could have made off with a better prize. This wasn't as bad as being given a gift and then having it snatched out of your hands (or off the roof of your car), as happened at Run for the Pumpkins (yes, I'm going to keep bringing that up; it was traumatizing), but it is a close second.
Nevertheless, this was a well run race, the post-race cookout was fabulous, and the prizes were quite generous...if you got one.
Next up: The Quahog Mile - 5/11
I woke up on race day with some general body soreness after spending a good chunk of the previous day moving rocks around the yard. I felt like a little oil in the joints would have done me wonders, but WD-40 is apparently not intended for human use, so I instead settled for the runner's cure-all: the foam roller.
Superfluous Anecdote: Any foam rolling in the house inevitably gets noticed by Seb. He has a nose for it, like a dog for bacon, and he thinks that it must be some kind of game we invented just for him. As soon as I start to roll, he runs in and sits on the roller. Now I have to stop and balance on one spot so he doesn't fly off and hit his head. Do you know what it's like to have all of your weight on one-square-inch of your IT band? It hurts. A lot. I start to cry out in pain, and he gets all giggly and then falls and hits his head anyway, which turns into a meltdown that I have to comfort. Foam rolling session complete.
In any case, after rolling/playing/crying with Seb for a bit, I drove over to Narragansett for the race. The day was cool and breezy, so, after chatting briefly with Mike B. and Seth about the conditions, I took a longer-than-usual warm-up to give my body a chance to work up a sweat and to wake up my creaky legs. I felt ready to go as the start approached, and I found a spot up front near Tommy and Seth, and directly behind Derek Jakoboski, whom we've recently discovered is in shape and also does actually do workouts. It was strange to be starting in the second row of a local race. We were surrounded by children, high school girls, old men, and a few guys wearing headphones. I'd love to know what these people are thinking, but I can't find a nice way to ask them. "Umm, what in the world do you think you're doing?" might come across the wrong way. My best passive-aggressive idea so far is to step on the back of one of their shoes as the race starts and then say, "Oh, your shoe fell off already? Maybe you should have started farther back."
Well, I didn't do any of that and, as the rifle sounded, found myself trying to navigate through the menagerie I described in the previous paragraph. I ran neck-and-neck with a high school girl for a bit, drafted off fast start hall-of-famer "Gray Shirt Man" for a few strides, darted laterally to pass a few 6-year-olds, and finally fell into step behind Derek. All of this action happened in the first few hundred meters. After that, I neither passed nor was passed by anyone for the rest of the race. The end.
I stuck right on Derek's heels for maybe half a mile, but the pace was sub-5:00, and that was too hot for me, so I eased off the accelerator to something more comfortable. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the Goldilocks gear ("just right"), and I slowed down too much, hitting the mile in 5:19. I also suddenly had company in the form of the talented Keven O'Neil. I tried to push the second mile to create some separation, but he wouldn't give in for the longest time. I was working so hard, I started hallucinating images of Jeff Walker on the sidewalk. But wait, this was no mirage, Jeff was really there, having been forced to take some downtime following surgery but still having the energy to get out and cheer us on. I think he passed on some of his vitality, as I picked up the pace after going by him. Thanks, Jeff! As I approached the third mile, I finally couldn't hear Keven's breathing, and when I looked back, it wasn't Keven but Tommy who appeared behind me. I was momentarily psyched until I realized that meant he was gaining on me. Stay back, Tommy!!
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| Mile 1.4. Trying to hold off O'Neil. [Photo and Precise Mileage Credit: Jeff "The Mirage" Walker] |
I pushed through the wind as hard as I could manage and mustered a little kick, but I lost all motivation as I watched Derek cross the line right around the time I'd hoped to run. I crossed in 16:33 and looked back to see Tommy hold off a fast charging Keven O'Neil. Seth arrived a minute later in 7th with yet another PR. Mike B. ran well for 17th, Mike C. ran an awesome time (four 2s - 22:22 - can't get much cooler than that), and Steve Schonning crossed a short time after, already having biked to the race from Westerly. We locked up the team win for both men and women (kudos to Shara, Beth, and others for superb races on their end).
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| The Victors! [Credit: The lovely Katie Garvin] |
Nevertheless, this was a well run race, the post-race cookout was fabulous, and the prizes were quite generous...if you got one.
Next up: The Quahog Mile - 5/11
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Clamdigger 5-miler
I ventured over to Westerly this past weekend for a race as old as I am - the Clamdigger 5-miler. (Thanks to Jeff Walker for pointing that out through his megaphone during his pre-race announcements.) Five miles (8K, to be more precise) was the standard cross country race distance in college, so I've had a ton of experience racing it, but it had been awhile.
My primary goal was to run 5:30 pace. I came up with this somewhat randomly, but after using the McMillan calculator, I discovered that it was right in line with my 5K and 10K times from late last year. I also had a stretch goal (i.e., the goal you don't say out loud to anyone until after the race) of sub-27:00. It was not likely, I knew, but a boy can dream, can't he? My tertiary goal was to set a PR. My XC 8K PR is 26:02, which was obviously out of the question, but my road PR is somewhere in the low 27s, so I thought that might be reasonable, depending on how low in the 27s it was. I forgot to look it up before the race, so it would be a crap shoot as to whether I'd get it.
I had a nice warm up with Galoob, and our conversation covered everything from stone masonry to GPS watches. It was quite a bit chillier than I'd anticipated (the weather, not the conversation), and I warmed up in a full sweatsuit. I even considered donning gloves in the race but thought better of it by the time I got back to my car. I stripped down to my singlet and shorts and headed over to the start. But wait! I forgot to change into my flats. Idiot! I sprinted back to the car and grabbed my shoes, which I'd left tied in triple knots after the last race I'd done in them. Idiot! I fumbled with the impossible knot, wishing I was a magician or Edward Scissorhands. Finally, I opened up enough of the lace to squeeze a fingernail into it and slowly pried it apart. At long last, I got the shoes on and made it to the start, only to discover that the race would be delayed a few minutes due to a bottleneck at the toilets. I guess I didn't have to rush after all. Idiot!
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| Scouting out the competition. Hey is that "Gray Shirt Man" next to Galoob? (Credit: Jana Walker) |
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| Feeling good so far. (Credit: Jana Walker) |
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| Mike, me, and "Backwards Hat Guy" vying for the crucial early position. (Credit: Jana Walker) |
At the gun, I settled in behind Mike, as we trailed a spandexed guy who was in the middle of some kind of out-of-body experience where 4:30 pace seemed like a good idea. I soon felt a presence on my shoulder. It turned out to be the backwards hat guy. To my surprise, he started talking to me. He told me he recognized me from the Brrr-lingame race. I introduced myself, and he did the same. It turned out he was Nick, of negative-split fame, from my previous post. We ended up chatting for the entire first mile, which was an interesting experience. I was pleased to be able to converse at 5:20 pace but worried that it was going to tire me out. I didn't want to be rude or show any signs of weakness, so I made sure to talk as effortlessly as possible, punctuating the conversation with an occasional knee-slapping laugh or appropriately emoted facial expression, just in case he glanced over.
We hit the mile in 5:20, a little too fast for my planned 5:30s. Turns out, Nick also wanted to run 5:30s, and we had a tacit understanding that we'd run together for a while. We slowed to what I thought was the goal pace in the second mile, but my watch was running on the optimistic side, so my Garmin 5:28 for mile 2 was more like a 5:33-5:35. Now we were too slow. Nick suggested we pick it up going into mile 3, and I reluctantly agreed. We ran stride-for-stride through the Weekapaug neighborhood until he got some separation on the only hill of the race. Up to this point, we'd still been talking, though our silences were growing longer. According to my watch, we were cranking through the twists and turns, ups and downs, at sub-5:20 pace, and I was beginning to feel the effects. It was at this point that I committed the most egregious competitive faux pas a runner can make: I told Nick not to wait up for me. Talk about giving up. He said he might not be able to go any faster anyway but then proceeded to destroy me over the last two miles.
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| Tracking down the competition. Look out little guy, heads-up Gramps. (Credit: Jana Walker) |
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| The cover photo for Heel Planter magazine? (Credit: Jana Walker) |
I stopped my watch at 27:02, three short seconds away from breaking 27. The standard SNERRO adjustment added two more seconds to this, so I guess I'm glad I hadn't run only three seconds faster. (Cue the video from Galoob's blog post.)
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| Yes, I am this cool all the time. (Credit: Jana Walker) |
In summary, I am satisfied but not thrilled with my race. My primary goal - sub-27:30 - was accomplished, but the secondary goal was not. That left the matter of the road PR. I dug through the archives after I got home and discovered I'd run 27:07 at a 5M turkey trot in LaGrangeville, NY, in 2000. Just squeaked under that. (I recall that being a very difficult course, but a PR is a PR!) Also, it was thoroughly enjoyable to run with Nick for most of the race. He turned out to be a good guy and great competitor. A future WTAC member, perhaps? Let's get after him.
However, the best part of the day was running with Seb in his first ever "race" on the beach. He finished about a day after the kid in front of him, stopped a few inches in front of the finish line, and then completely blew off Matthew Walker, who was handing out the ribbons. But he didn't run into the ocean, get sand in his eyes, or scream in my face, so I'd say it was a resounding success.
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| Seb's finishing kick. (Credit: Jana Walker) |
When I got home (yes, I was allowed back), I sat down, took off my flats, and threw them into the pile of shoes the garage. They were still tied in triple knots. Another day's problem...
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| This would have been an awkward photo had I not finished third. (Credit: Westerly Sun) |
Monday, March 24, 2014
Brrr-lingame 10-mile Trail Race
I have found that a good gauge of my readiness for a race is the degree of muscle soreness I feel the day or two afterward. This is a retrospective indicator, of course, and does me no good other than to say, "Yeah, I was trained for that," or "Nope. Wasn't ready." A week ago, I was pleasantly surprised to find almost no soreness after my 800 race. I was apparently properly trained for that race. As for Saturday's 10-miler? Not so much. I walked around Sunday and Monday like I had two wooden legs -- sore hips, quads, and hamstrings(?!) making each step painful and awkward. But the worst soreness wasn't in my legs at all; it was on my head, of all places. A well-placed branch that was just lower than the top of my head nailed me on the second loop, dazing me for a second, and leaving me with a huge lump. It even drew blood, which I discovered after the race. Alas, another hazard of thinning hair...
This was my third race of the South County 4th Season trail race series (I missed the Resolution Beach race) and the first without snow. It is also my final race of the series, as I will be out of town for the Big River half marathon. I'd fared pretty well in the two earlier races but knew this one would be a test. My training has been focused on running a race 1/20th of this race's distance. In fact, my total weekly mileage two weeks ago was only 13 miles -- three miles longer than I'd have to go in this race. And 10 miles is pushing the limits of my endurance even when I'm trained for it. Add to that a few fresh faces (Greg Hammett, Derek Jakoboski, etc.) and a bunch of familiar faces with increasingly well-trained legs, and I knew I'd be in for quite a race.
One thing I had going for me was that I had zero expectations coming into the race. Really, my only goal was to beat Bob Jackman, because, well, I don't know. We've developed a little friendly rivalry, and I wanted to prove that the Belleville Pond result wasn't a fluke. Aside from that, I just wanted to have some fun.
The race took off across the grass field, and, as described in a few other posts, we funneled into a single track where we found ourselves mixed up with a bunch of the usual suspects and a gaggle of high schoolers. High schoolers are the worst, by the way. They go out too fast, they goof around too much, and they say things like, "We're just doing this as a workout," even though they're secretly racing it. So, imagine my frustration when I got stuck behind them on the first woods loop. I kept reminding myself not to worry, that the race is long, but I couldn't deal with them for more than two minutes. I sprinted through the woods around their pack and settled back in behind Greg Hammett. At this point, I was in fifth place, following a pack of Jonny, Bob, and Greg, and little behind Derek. Bob made a move to try to close the gap, while Greg clung to Jonny's shoulder a little longer. You might say he was following in his older brother's footsteps. Thank you, thank you. Eventually, he too got antsy and moved up to join Bob's chase. I settled behind Jonny until just after the mile mark, when I spotted a little shortcut over a couple of fallen logs on the inside of a turn. I sprinted through, hurdling the logs, and came out on the other side ahead of Jonny. I apologized for the obnoxious move and asked him not to report me.
After we crossed the park entrance road, I found myself in no-man's land. Bob and Greg were maybe 15 seconds ahead, while Jonny and Justin were 10-15 seconds behind. I wanted to keep contact with Bob but didn't want to expend too much energy doing so. It was tough trying to figure out the right effort level during these early miles. I wanted to keep my breathing in check but knew I also needed to keep the pace peppy. I was using the others around me to figure out whether or not I was running the right speed. (A little behind Greg? Check. A little ahead of Jonny and Justin? Check. Behind Bob? Uh oh!) It turns out (as I'll show later) we were probably all doing the same mental pacing checklist and forced each other into an unsustainably fast opening lap.
On the ridge (an esker, perhaps?), I noticed that I was gaining on Bob, while Greg had taken off in pursuit of Derek. I caught Bob on the downhill, and then we ran together on the open dirt road in the campground. It was nice to chat for a few minutes, actually. We made some predictions about whether or not Greg would catch Derek, laughed about wishing that we could catch him, and then I unceremoniously pulled ahead as we exited the dirt road. (In case Bob was nervous about losing points to me in the series standings, I thought about telling him that I wasn't going to be at Big River, so he need not worry. But that would have taken the fun out of it, wouldn't it? Instead, I let him sweat it out until afterward.)
I found myself narrowing Greg's gap as we neared the end of the first loop and closed to within a few seconds by the end of the lap. He stopped to grab a drink, leaving me to face the stiff headwind across the field without the luxury of following in his wake. He caught up to me on the single track, and we talked for a minute about how close Bob was and some strategies to put some distance on him. Then, unexpectedly, Greg urged me on to go after Derek alone. I thanked him and slowly pulled away, probably putting 10 seconds on him over the next mile.
After crossing the street, I noticed that I could see Derek way up ahead. I checked my watch and discovered I was about 30 seconds back. At the next opportunity, I checked again, and was now only 20 seconds back. Could he be rigging? Was I going to catch up? Just as these thoughts crossed my mind, I was stunned back into reality as my head smashed into the overhanging tree limb. I yelped out in pain and literally saw stars for a second (you mean that doesn't just happen in cartoons?), but I don't think I ever broke stride. I swore at myself for not paying closer attention and then was quickly able to forget that it had happened (memory loss, maybe?).
Right around then, I noticed that Greg had crept back into the picture and was looking quite strong. Incredible. He caught me just before the ridge, and hung on my shoulder through this technical section. We chatted some more, and he finally made his move as we entered the open dirt road. I wished him luck in catching Derek, who still had a huge lead. If anyone could chase him down, it was Greg.
As for me, I was starting to realize that I was in survival mode. It was interesting, actually. I was not breathing hard. In fact, I was breathing more easily than on the first lap; I simply could not make my legs move any faster. By mile 8, they felt like dead weight. I looked back constantly but fortunately did not see Bob.
I was content to finish the race by myself and tried my best to keep up the effort through the finish, which I crossed in 1:03:21. I was amazed when Justin flashed across the line seemingly a moment after I finished. Where the heck did he come from? I had looked back a quarter mile ago and didn't see anyone, but there he was, finishing strong in fourth place. If that race had been a mile or two longer, I'd certainly have been caught. Maybe I should be thankful I'm not racing the half marathon in two weeks!
WTAC had a great race, as always. We're getting faster as a group, too, which is encouraging to see. I also want to acknowledge Greg for having the guts to come out and race on a tough course despite his recent injury and the few weeks of abbreviated training that resulted. It's not easy to put yourself in position to lose to people who should be nowhere near you (i.e., ME), but he did it and then still beat me.
Now, this wouldn't be one of my posts without some graphs. I was curious to see how well we paced ourselves on the two laps, and the incredible Mike Galoob did us the favor of recording our halfway splits to allow the analysis to happen. The chart below plots the 1st lap against the 2nd lap for the top 10 finishers. Perfectly even splits would fall along the green line, while positive splits are above and negative splits are below. Do you notice something about the race? We almost all went out too hard! Only Nicolas Migani -- the sixth place finisher -- is the clear outlier here, as he had a huge negative split. Could it be, as I surmised earlier, that we were all gauging off each other? Migani, the newcomer, wouldn't have known where he should place among us and was able to run his own race. It's a good lesson for next year.
It was interesting that those of us with positive splits all seem to be roughly the same amount above the green line in the chart above. To get a sense of exactly how much we slowed down, the chart below shows our % increase/decrease on the second lap. Most of us hovered in the 3-5% range. Migani is obviously the exception, but look at who else separated himself -- Mr. Bentley, who only slowed down 2% on the 2nd lap.
Justin's sudden proximity at the end of the race had me worried. I wanted to know how and where it happened, so I took to Strava to get some more granularity. I split the course into four segments -- the first woods section, the second woods section, the main part of the campground, and the final piece along the pond. Doing this twice gave eight segments for the race. Our times on each are in the table below.
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| Not exactly the "bloody sock," is it? |
One thing I had going for me was that I had zero expectations coming into the race. Really, my only goal was to beat Bob Jackman, because, well, I don't know. We've developed a little friendly rivalry, and I wanted to prove that the Belleville Pond result wasn't a fluke. Aside from that, I just wanted to have some fun.
The race took off across the grass field, and, as described in a few other posts, we funneled into a single track where we found ourselves mixed up with a bunch of the usual suspects and a gaggle of high schoolers. High schoolers are the worst, by the way. They go out too fast, they goof around too much, and they say things like, "We're just doing this as a workout," even though they're secretly racing it. So, imagine my frustration when I got stuck behind them on the first woods loop. I kept reminding myself not to worry, that the race is long, but I couldn't deal with them for more than two minutes. I sprinted through the woods around their pack and settled back in behind Greg Hammett. At this point, I was in fifth place, following a pack of Jonny, Bob, and Greg, and little behind Derek. Bob made a move to try to close the gap, while Greg clung to Jonny's shoulder a little longer. You might say he was following in his older brother's footsteps. Thank you, thank you. Eventually, he too got antsy and moved up to join Bob's chase. I settled behind Jonny until just after the mile mark, when I spotted a little shortcut over a couple of fallen logs on the inside of a turn. I sprinted through, hurdling the logs, and came out on the other side ahead of Jonny. I apologized for the obnoxious move and asked him not to report me.
After we crossed the park entrance road, I found myself in no-man's land. Bob and Greg were maybe 15 seconds ahead, while Jonny and Justin were 10-15 seconds behind. I wanted to keep contact with Bob but didn't want to expend too much energy doing so. It was tough trying to figure out the right effort level during these early miles. I wanted to keep my breathing in check but knew I also needed to keep the pace peppy. I was using the others around me to figure out whether or not I was running the right speed. (A little behind Greg? Check. A little ahead of Jonny and Justin? Check. Behind Bob? Uh oh!) It turns out (as I'll show later) we were probably all doing the same mental pacing checklist and forced each other into an unsustainably fast opening lap.
On the ridge (an esker, perhaps?), I noticed that I was gaining on Bob, while Greg had taken off in pursuit of Derek. I caught Bob on the downhill, and then we ran together on the open dirt road in the campground. It was nice to chat for a few minutes, actually. We made some predictions about whether or not Greg would catch Derek, laughed about wishing that we could catch him, and then I unceremoniously pulled ahead as we exited the dirt road. (In case Bob was nervous about losing points to me in the series standings, I thought about telling him that I wasn't going to be at Big River, so he need not worry. But that would have taken the fun out of it, wouldn't it? Instead, I let him sweat it out until afterward.)
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| Half way. Am I jogging? Photo from Jeff Walker (taken by ??). |
After crossing the street, I noticed that I could see Derek way up ahead. I checked my watch and discovered I was about 30 seconds back. At the next opportunity, I checked again, and was now only 20 seconds back. Could he be rigging? Was I going to catch up? Just as these thoughts crossed my mind, I was stunned back into reality as my head smashed into the overhanging tree limb. I yelped out in pain and literally saw stars for a second (you mean that doesn't just happen in cartoons?), but I don't think I ever broke stride. I swore at myself for not paying closer attention and then was quickly able to forget that it had happened (memory loss, maybe?).
Right around then, I noticed that Greg had crept back into the picture and was looking quite strong. Incredible. He caught me just before the ridge, and hung on my shoulder through this technical section. We chatted some more, and he finally made his move as we entered the open dirt road. I wished him luck in catching Derek, who still had a huge lead. If anyone could chase him down, it was Greg.
As for me, I was starting to realize that I was in survival mode. It was interesting, actually. I was not breathing hard. In fact, I was breathing more easily than on the first lap; I simply could not make my legs move any faster. By mile 8, they felt like dead weight. I looked back constantly but fortunately did not see Bob.
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My mom's comment upon seeing this: "Nice fancy dinner gloves."
Photo by Scott Mason.
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WTAC had a great race, as always. We're getting faster as a group, too, which is encouraging to see. I also want to acknowledge Greg for having the guts to come out and race on a tough course despite his recent injury and the few weeks of abbreviated training that resulted. It's not easy to put yourself in position to lose to people who should be nowhere near you (i.e., ME), but he did it and then still beat me.
Now, this wouldn't be one of my posts without some graphs. I was curious to see how well we paced ourselves on the two laps, and the incredible Mike Galoob did us the favor of recording our halfway splits to allow the analysis to happen. The chart below plots the 1st lap against the 2nd lap for the top 10 finishers. Perfectly even splits would fall along the green line, while positive splits are above and negative splits are below. Do you notice something about the race? We almost all went out too hard! Only Nicolas Migani -- the sixth place finisher -- is the clear outlier here, as he had a huge negative split. Could it be, as I surmised earlier, that we were all gauging off each other? Migani, the newcomer, wouldn't have known where he should place among us and was able to run his own race. It's a good lesson for next year.
It was interesting that those of us with positive splits all seem to be roughly the same amount above the green line in the chart above. To get a sense of exactly how much we slowed down, the chart below shows our % increase/decrease on the second lap. Most of us hovered in the 3-5% range. Migani is obviously the exception, but look at who else separated himself -- Mr. Bentley, who only slowed down 2% on the 2nd lap.
Justin's sudden proximity at the end of the race had me worried. I wanted to know how and where it happened, so I took to Strava to get some more granularity. I split the course into four segments -- the first woods section, the second woods section, the main part of the campground, and the final piece along the pond. Doing this twice gave eight segments for the race. Our times on each are in the table below.
It's clear that Justin was gaining on me, but how does it look graphically? The waterfall chart below attempts to show this. I put time on him over the first six segments, eventually establishing a 38-second gap. But he closed 11 seconds on the last two to get to our final difference. It's no wonder I didn't see him until the end -- he was chasing me down over the last two miles. These charts are your presents for the fine performance, buddy.
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