Ragnar Trail Relay and Four on the Fourth

Yes, yes, I know, I'm a bit behind. With three races coming up the next three weeks, I need to start clearing out my backlog. Let's start with the most recent two races first - the Ragnar New England trail relay and Bridgton Four on the Fourth, run on consecutive weekends over my week off from work in late June / early July.

Ragnar New England

I had the great pleasure of participating as part of Team Foolproof Brewing Co. at the Ragnar trail relay in Northfield, MA. You can find the details and logistics of the race here, and read about a couple of my teammates' experiences here and here.

My day started at work, since our team didn't need to race until 5 PM, but I was able to take off at noon and make my way up to Northfield with plenty of time to spare. I arrived around the same time as Jeff, and the two of us joined the rest of the team at our nice campsite, which was perfectly located close to the race course and restrooms (but fortunately not too close to the restrooms, given the state of affairs later that day).

We passed the time perusing Bob's exquisite spreadsheet that included running order and predicted times. I'd be the team's fourth runner, running the shortest leg first, longest second, and medium distance third. This was fine by me, as I really had no preference, though, in retrospect, I think this was really the ideal order.

Seth led us off, and I eagerly awaited his return. He and I would be running the loops in the same sequence, so I was very much looking forward to his scouting reports. His advice, upon finishing the green loop, was to hold back on the hill, as it was longer and steeper than he'd expected. I made a mental note to heed his suggestion.

Leg 1: Green Loop - 3.5 miles

Working on the belt. (Photo by Jeff)

After a short warmup with Woolley, I headed over to the transition tent and waited for Boj to finish his loop. The sun was still out but fortunately the temperature had cooled a bit; conditions seemed ideal. Boj came into view, and I got into position to receive the bib. It took me a few tries to snap the bib around my waist, but once I did, I settled right down and got to work up the hill. After Seth's warning about the unexpected steepness of the hill on this "easy" loop, I wanted to conserve as much energy as possible in the early going. The trail ascended single- and double-track trails for nearly a mile before leveling off. I hadn't looked at the elevation profile in advance, and for some reason I thought I still had another half-mile of hill to go, so I didn't fully let loose until it was clear I was on my way down. The downhills were fun and relentless. It seemed like they were more plentiful than the ups, which I suppose is a good sign, but I was worried about my joints and quads and didn't want to do too much damage on the first leg of the night. Eventually, the green trail merged with the other two onto a fun single-track section that spilled out into grassy fields to the finish. There were so many people on this section that I spent the majority of the time shouting "on your left" to many a startled runner. I closed strong but in control and handed the bib off to Woolley.

Mile paces: 8:30, 5:20, 5:31, 5:26

Based on Jackman's calculations, I knew I'd have only about 4 hours between legs. I chose to grab my dinner right away so I'd have time to digest before leg 2. All Ragnar participants were treated to Boloco Bowls for dinner. The food was actually pretty good, though I did question the logic of serving Mexican food at a race. Sure enough, most of us suffered from "Boloco Bowels" later in the night. Besides fueling up, I also spent some time on the foam roller (getting some funny looks from onlookers when rolling the front of my quads) and then put my legs up on a chair to let gravity do its job on whatever junk was in there after the first run.

Leg 2: Red Loop - 6.5 miles

Before I knew it, I was up for the Red loop - the longest and most difficult leg on the course, with two hills to summit before a screaming descent on some technical trails. By this time, the sun was long gone, and the darkness added another dimension to contend with. I was fortunate to have use of Galoob's incredible headlamp, which provided more than enough light on the trail. Going up the first hill, I felt that I was moving well, occasionally encountering a slower runner to break up the loneliness of night. It took just over 30 minutes to finally reach the second peak, and then I began the long drop back to the transition area. My memory of this section is mostly gone. The one thought that kept going through my head was, "How am I going to run another one of these?" When I reached the shared single-track at the end of the loop, I merged behind another runner going pretty fast. (Side note: men were much less willing than women to move over and let me pass during the race, further proving that all guys are jerks.) I worked hard to get around him (nearly running headlong into a tree while trying to pass) and immediately found myself behind another runner. As I got ready to pass him, he sped up and kept up a very solid pace. Turns out his headlamp had died and he was just waiting for someone else to come along so he could see where he was going. I figured I'd be nice and run behind him for a bit, but I found myself barely able to hang on. When the trail opened up onto the field, he pulled away. In the process of trying to hang with this guy, I'd been pulled along to a quick final mile, but my legs were toast.

Mile paces: 9:28, 9:15, 8:27, 6:31, 7:22, 5:48, 5:38

My second leg ended a little after midnight, and the next four hours were not too enjoyable. I needed to rest, but I couldn't fall asleep. I don't know if it was the excitement of the night, not wanting to miss out on hanging with my teammates, or the 150% humidity, but I just couldn't seal the deal. I nonetheless closed my eyes for a couple of hours in the hopes that I would trick my body into thinking I'd gotten a full night's sleep. Sometime after 5 AM, I pulled on my cold, wet jersey and dragged myself back over to the transition tent for the yellow loop. My stomach was in knots from whatever that Boloco bowl had done.This would be tough.

Leg 3: Yellow Loop - 4.7 miles

Daylight was beginning appear, and this gave me some energy as I started up a hill one final time. This loop had another long, steep hill over the first 1.5 miles, before, like the others, descending back to the finish. I put everything I had into the hill, but my legs had no pop in them. I trudged up and over the top and then tried to let loose on the way down, but that didn't work so well either. On steep downhill miles, I was hardly able to run sub-7 pace. These felt like different legs than the ones that were running sub-5 down a hill on my first loop. My shins were absolutely killing me from the slapfest my feet were throwing on the descent. Somehow, I got a surge of energy once I got within a mile of the finish and managed to run my fastest final mile of the event, grateful to hand off the darn bib one last time.

Mile paces: 9:37, 7:56, 6:51, 6:37, 5:16

Aftermath: Thankfully, there was no other running to do, as I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other. My calves and quads were shot, and my gait elicited more than a little laughing out of our eldest team member, Jeff. I still enjoyed watching the rest of the team finish their loops, each looking as physically spent as the rest. We all crossed the line together with Bob, 15 hours, 20 minutes after starting. As exhausting as it was, I had an absolute blast. Many thanks to Bob for rounding up a crew and organizing all of the logistics. Oh, and we won, so that was nice, too!

Aftermath of the aftermath: I came awfully close to falling asleep at the wheel many times on my drive to Maine after the race. I'd never before stayed up all night, and my body was not happy about it. Having Jonny in the car for the majority of the ride may have saved my life, as his conversation and moose watching exploits kept me entertained. I couldn't do more than shuffle my feet for two days after the race, and a run on the third day was like getting stabbed in the calves on every single step. It was a full week before the calves were not debilitatingly sore. Which brings us to....

Bridgton Four on the Fourth

After making the annual trek up to Fryeburg, Maine, for family vacation, I headed over to Bridgton with Katie and our friends Mike and Winter for the big local race. The race draws thousands locals, vacationers, and kids from nearby summer camps and always has some solid talent up front. This would be my fourth consecutive year running it, and my only goal was to run faster than I'd run the year before (21:53).

Front and center on the race website are two guys who could use a few days in the sun.

The first mile is a gradual downhill, and between the gradient and the excitement, people go fast. As I did last year, I consciously kept my pace in check and let the crowd go by, knowing most would fade on the hills in the following miles. By the mile mark, I was in eleventh, despite going through in 5:19 - a bit faster than I wanted but still comfortable.

As expected, I began to pick off some of the overly enthusiastic starters as we climbed the interminable hill that lasts from mile 1 to mile 2.5, gaining 150 feet in that span. I kept my cadence high and tried to push the pace beyond my normal comfort level. From past years' experience, I knew that the final 1.5 miles are all downhill, giving my legs plenty of time to recover from a hard effort on the hills. By mile 2 (5:41), I'd passed all of the runners within reach and was now in 6th place. The top 5 were all VERY far ahead at this point, but I still held out hope that at least one more would fall prey to their spicy pace, allowing me to claim one of the coveted "podium" positions.

I crested the hill and realized I'd started reeling in the 5th place guy, but I'd have to use the downhills to make up the remaining 15-second gap on him. The pounding on the downhills brought back the tightness in my shins that still lingered from Ragnar. I moved onto the soft shoulder and decided that losing a couple of seconds by running on the gravel/crab grass would be better than losing minutes when my shins stopped functioning. Amazingly, the guy in front of me was doing the same thing. What luck! The up-and-down third mile split was 5:34, and I was only a few seconds behind the 5th place guy at this point.

An old man charging toward the finish.
Note the vintage 1996 Olympic jersey.

The last mile of the race is mostly downhill and finishes with a long run down Main St before turning down a side road to the line. I made my move by the guy I'd been pursuing for the last mile just after the mile-to-go mark and gave him my customary, "Keep it up." When he replied, "Go get that next guy," I knew I didn't have to worry about him passing me back. Unfortunately, I would've had to rip a sub-4 mile to catch the next guy, but I still wanted to finish strong, so I put in a solid effort down the crowd-lined road and through the line. I heard several spectators say "Wow!" as I ran by, which I assume was due to their amazement at this seemingly 60-year-old man with a gray beard running so fast despite arthritic knees and probably a recent colonoscopy. My final mile was 5:03 (remember, it was net downhill), for an overall time of 21:43, 10 seconds faster than last year and only 3 seconds off my 4-mile PR, despite the tough course.

After the race, I looped back around to watch the rest of my "team" finish, with Mike slipping under 24 minutes, Katie just missing a spot among the top-5 women, and Winter claiming an age group award (only she didn't, as Mike had accidentally registered her as a 29-year-old man instead of a 30-year-old women). I could hardly run a cool down, as my Ragnar-induced calf pain had returned with a vengeance, so I instead made everyone wait around for an hour so I could claim my 5th place prizes. These turned out to be quite generous - $25 to a local grocery store and $25 to New Balance.

Looking at the results afterward, I was pleased to be the top finisher not still in college. (1st place in the responsibilities division, as Mike likes to say.) See results here and race write-up here.

A great couple of weekends of racing. I'm hoping these set the stage for some good efforts at the remaining summer races. Expect a blog post on those by October...

Brrr-lingame 10-miler

I haven’t had a truly disappointing race in quite some time. Rather, I hadn’t had a truly disappointing race until the Brrr-lingame 10-mile trail race two weeks ago. My confidence was high going into the race, as my knee and hip were feeling good enough that I’d started to re-introduce some workouts into my routine a few weeks back. I’d also had several runs of at least 10 miles since December, which is a pretty big deal for me.

There was one X-factor, though: the trail conditions. The feet-deep snow cover of early March had not yet fully retreated. I did a short preview of parts of the course the day before the race and was surprised to see sections of dense snow interspersed throughout. Fortunately, most of the trail was snow-free; we’d all just have to trudge through the short frosty segments. But Mother Nature and Mike Galoob wouldn’t permit such conditions. When I awoke on race day, the ground was again shrouded in snow.

Now, you might think I’d be excited to see snow, as I have raced relatively well in it at Belleville the past two years, most likely due to my aggressive cross-country spikes / murder weapons. But this was a different situation. The combination of a longer race distance and light snow cover would not be ideal for the dagger spikes. I had some intense forefoot pain running just six miles in them at Belleville, and I didn’t want to risk something worse at Brrr-lingame. I was also worried that the inch-long spikes, while useful in the deep snow, would be a hindrance while running the rest of the course. I instead chose to try out the Kahtoolas during my warmup. Within minutes, I was running on platform shoes, or so it seemed. The new snow had clumped on to the microspikes and wasn’t coming off. I was going to have to go with the fallback for my fallback option – plain old trail shoes.

I ran the second half of the warmup with Jonny and Jeff and chatted about the conditions and our footwear choices. As we got to the starting line, it was evident that the field would be small but top-heavy. Nearly all of the front-runners (minus Muddy) would be in the mix. I hoped to win the race but knew it would be a tall order, with Lonergan and Brightman from Rhode Runner, Jackman from TNT, and WTAC comrade Jonny all vying for the top spot. Another goal for the race was to secure at least a tie for first place in the overall series standings. Coming in, I was 4 points ahead of Jackman and needed to beat him by at least two places to lock up the top spot. I wouldn’t be at the series' final race next weekend, so it was now-or-never to get those crucial points.

The race started, and I made a conscious effort to hold back. As expected, I landed in 5^th place heading into the woods, behind all four of the guys mentioned above. This was right where I wanted to be. Last year, I’d learned the hard way how painful a positive split on this course could be, and I was determined not to let history repeat itself. The five of us ran single-file for the first mile, when the top 3 (Lonergan, Brightman, and Jackman) gapped Jonny and me by a few seconds. This was OK by me, as my effort seemed right, and I was happy to have someone to run with. I was also becoming aware that my feet were slipping quite a bit more than I’d anticipated. It wasn’t terrible, just noticeable.

During the second mile, I realized that we’d been dropped, but I was still OK with the effort. Something told me that Lonergan wasn’t going to be coming back, but I was holding out hope that the other two would. I thought about going by Jonny before the ridge section but didn’t want to expend any extra energy on this technical segment and figured it would be beneficial to have a trail-running master as my guide here. Once we’d descended, Jonny told me to let him know when I’d like to pass, but I said I was fine where I was. This next section was awfully difficult, with deep snow and frozen footprints, and I struggled to stay with Jonny. When we reached the dirt(?) road and had a several-hundred meter view ahead, we could see just how far back we’d fallen. I counted 15 seconds to Jackman and nearly 30 seconds to Lonergan and Brightman. I finally told Jonny I’d like to pass and he gave me a helpful push in the back to get me going.

I set out to catch Jackman and gained on him surprisingly quickly over the bog bridges and into the campground. He didn’t put up much of a fight when I went by, but I still tried to keep the pressure on to ensure he didn’t latch on. (I later learned that he’d won a race the previous day, which explains why his legs were less springy than usual. The guy’s a warrior.) At this point, I had to either catch Brightman or hope that Jonny would catch Jackman in order to get the point separation I needed for the overall standings. I only had control over one of those outcomes, so I remained focused on chasing the leaders.

Shortly before the end of the first lap, I took a GU, which sat like a lump of molasses in my throat until I was able to wash it down with some water at the start of the second lap. This was a good spot to check on the race in front of and behind me. Far ahead, I saw Lonergan enter the woods with Brightman a little farther behind than before but still 30 seconds or so ahead of me. I hadn’t gained at all during my surge over the fifth mile. Behind me, I saw Jackman and Jonny not too far back. Jonny was doing his part to help me in the series standings, but I still had to do mine.

The second loop was a lonely affair. The two in front of me only appeared once during the remainder of the race – they were up on the ridge above me while I was still making my way along its base in the opposite direction. On a few occasions later on, I thought I’d spotted Brightman’s orange jersey only to discover it had been a flag marking the trail. I ran the ridge hard hoping to make up some ground but was having trouble getting traction. Twice I nearly fell off the steep sides of the ridge, slipping into the deep snow off the trail. Coming off the ridge, I was surprised to see Jonny so close behind me. I shouted some encouragement his way and then got myself moving again. Teammate or not, I couldn’t let him reel me in.

I tried to pour it on over the final quarter of the race but became increasingly frustrated with my traction. I hadn’t remembered slipping so much on the first loop. I wondered if it was my tired legs, the changing temperature, the more well-trodden trail, or the fact that I just didn’t notice the first time through. Whatever it was, I hated it.

My hope of catching Brightman faded with every passing second. It wasn’t meant to be. When the finish line appeared, I saw Brightman and Lonergan casually chatting on the sideline, as if they’d finished hours ago. Crossing the line, Mike Galoob was nice enough to announce, “podium finish!” It lifted my spirits for a moment. Jonny was not far back in fourth, followed by Jackman, Chris Fox, and Jeff over the next five minutes. We’d gotten dominated by Rhode Runner. (I did come away with a box of Girl Scout cookies, though, so it wasn't all bad.)

A cooldown with Jonny, Jeff and Jackman followed, and we struggled to maintain single-digit pace. The race had taken a toll on us all. But any pain I felt afterward paled in comparison to what followed. My hamstrings were useless for three days. I can’t remember the last time they were so sore. It made sense, though; every time my feet slipped during the race, my hamstrings sprang into action. In retrospect, I’m not sure that trading out the spikes for the trail shoes saved me any pain. 

As for the series standings, I beat Jackman by exactly two places, which gave me 21 points to his 15. With a race victory worth 6 points, he could at best tie me with a win at the final event. Adding to the drama, both Brightman and Lonergan also had 15 points after this race. With all three of them racing the following week, there would be a three-way battle for a share of the series victory. [Post-race note: Lonergan would win the final race to earn a tie of the top spot.]

This concludes another 4^th Season Trail Series for me. As always, I’m grateful to the Galoobs for putting these on with such a small crew and in less than ideal conditions. I'm already looking forward to next year's edition.

From the archives, Part II: Some motivational words

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.

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.

After last year's success, there was no doubt the daggers
would be making a return appearance at Belleville.

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.

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 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.

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.

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:

1. Rotate wheels on roller blades
2. Fantasy football draft list
3. Legos (set up fort)
4. Take a look at Wild Card race
5. Make changes to Hardball (a video game, in case you were wondering)
6. 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 competition 

I 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?

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).

Annual mileage since 1998. 2013 and '14 mileage taken from Strava; all other years from running logs.

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 #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.

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:

1. Break 4:30 for the mile
2. Break 16:21 for the 5K, with a stretch goal of breaking 16
3. Sub-47 at Li'l Rhody
4. Sub-21:30 for 4 miles
5. Win 4th Season trail series
6. Run more miles than in 2014
7. Complete a century ride with the gang
8. Run at least one race in the Gunks (my hometown mountains)
9. Do 20 consecutive pull ups (this is motivation to get my upper body into shape)

Despite all of the goal misses, I had a great time training in 2014. Some highlights include:

• 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!

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.

Examining the sand before the race. (Photo by Jana Walker.)

A great shot of the field after the start by Jana. I'm the one loping along on the far right.

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.

Most of the field approaches the cone, while the top 4 have made the turn,
none more perfectly than Jackman. (Photo by Jana Walker.)

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.

Picking our spots through the broken ice in the ruins. (Photo by Scott Mason.)

Popping out the other side. And did I mention I lost my left arm during the race? (Photo by Scott Mason.)

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.

Clomping away, hanging on for dear life. (Photo by Jana Walker.)

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.