The Death of Speed

While in southern Texas over Fourth of July weekend, just missing a hurricane and eating more BBQ than I thought possible, I had an epiphany: speed is not my thing.

We were visiting a close friend in McAllen, TX July 1-6. I had full intentions of keeping up my Summer of Speed training while on vacation, but one night in central AC and I couldn't wake myself up before 9am.  It was great and horrible at the same time.  For all the luxuries that New York City has for some reason central AC still hasn't caught on--even in my current apartment building which is only three years old.  If you have been to southern Texas, you know that you need to get out there at dawn if you're going to do any kind of physical activity, so 9am was not an option.

For a couple nights we stayed on South Padre Island and being across the street from the beach was too much to ignore.  Our first morning there I fought off the siren song of central AC and forced myself out the door by 7:30...barefoot.  That's right.  Not only was I going to run on the beach--which I've never done--I was also going to do it barefoot.  I figured when else would I have a chance to do this?

I stashed my flip-flops under the boardwalk in hopes that no one would find them.  The sun was bright and pretty high already, but the strong breeze and reduced temps left over from the hurricane made it downright tolerable.  I set off going south for three miles and then returning, for a total of six miles.  I didn't set any speed requirement since I've never run barefoot or on sand before.

The sand was fine, compact, and mostly free of shells/debris; ideal for running.  I noticed immediately that my heels had to go further down during each stride and that my calves were stretching out.  But after the first half-mile I was totally down with the form and stride adjustments.

By the turnaround I could feel something on the bottom of my feet, but I figured that I hadn't stepped on anything.  At mile four I stopped and finally checked my feet.  Sure enough I hadn't stepped on anything, but I had managed to form three blisters on my feet.  I took a bit of a walking break and then managed to run for the last 1.25 miles.

After that run I felt great, better than any of my runs in the past month.  It was a long, sweaty, sustained effort.  While I didn't do any sexy speediness, I felt like I got a real workout.

That night I mentioned to Wifey that I wasn't really feeling the whole Summer of Speed thing.  I wasn't digging the workouts.  I couldn't find races.  I missed the long runs.  And I had a nagging fear that I wouldn't be ready for an October Marathon if I was running 5Ks all summer.  Now, don't get me wrong.  During Marathon training I love speed workouts.  Track repeats, tempo runs, hill repeats--I love doing them all when they offer a break from the long slow runs that are also baked into Marathon training.  Doing them exclusively turns out to not be so much fun.

In talking to Wifey I realized that I should just drop the Summer of Speed and focus instead on a Fall Marathon.  It would getting me doing the runs I want to do and get me back on the 50 State track.  It sounded like a plan (once again, I don't see the most obvious answer).

Now, you might remember/recall that I was planning on running the Virginia Beach RnR Half on Labor Day and then the Mount Desert Island Marathon in October.  Well, over the past couple of months both of those have fallen through.  We were going to go to Virginia Beach with the family for a weeklong vacation, but scheduling and costs prevented that from happening.  So I was going to save this race for another year.  But then I realized that Virginia and Maine were basically the only remaining states within driving distance.  All other states are pretty much fly only.  So I planted the bug in my mind (and Wifey's) to do a "destination" Marathon.

A couple cities came to mind--someone even suggested Denver--but once Wifey said Portland, Oregon, my ears perked up.  I looked up the race and started getting excited.  We've wanted to go to Portland for a while now and a Marathon near our Anniversary would be a perfect excuse to go.  On reading further it looked like a great race that wasn't too big plus there is a big wine region next door, the ocean an hour away, Mt. St. Helen across the state line, and a slew of quirky hotels--I was sold.

So my next race will be the Portland Marathon on Oct, 10 (that's 10/10/10) after which we're going to enjoy a week's worth of vacation involving lots of drinking and an active volcano.  Hurray!

An awkward relationship

I have to be honest: I'm in a running funk.  I thought it was a short term thing during the cold winter months.  But here we are in the throes of summer and I just don't feel like the runner I used to be.  I'm not excited about this Summer Of Speed because I can't find races.  I haven't read a blog post or running related article in about a month (never mind the last time I actually left a comment on someone's blog).  Even writing this entry is like pulling teeth.

I suspect the crappy winter/spring training has a lot to do with it.  It just messed me up psychologically--especially since I ran my best Marathon time at the end of probably my worst training cycle.  I'm still having nightmarish thoughts from the winter when I'd go out there in 15 degree weather before dawn and crank out six miles afraid that my eyes would freeze closed.

And then with the new job I find that I hardly ever have time to write an entry or keep up with other bloggers, which gets me out of touch with the running community.  I really have no idea what anyone on my blogroll is doing (sorry guys!!).  Heck, I barely have time to look up races to run.

I'm thinking I just have to get through this summer and start training for a Marathon to get me focused again on what I love to do.  And I'm hoping that as my main project at work winds down in September, I'll be able to get into a better groove with my life.

Legs of steel

Over the past month since the Delaware Marathon and in getting off on the SOS I've noticed two things going on with my legs.

First are the Marathon Cuts.  I noticed my first Marathon Cut just after the NYCM.  I was standing up from a squatting position (read: I was in the bathroom) and noticed that I had developed enough muscle definition in my quads to see a "cut" about two-three inches long.  As a recovering fat kid, having a cut of any kind is super cool--I must have spent a five minutes checking it out...in the bathroom stall.  Then after the Delaware Marathon I found that the Marathon Cut I got from the NYCM had elongated into a full-length cut from the outside of my hip to about five inches above my knee where the muscle ends.  This is totally awesome!  It's like discovering a new part of my legs!

Another side effect of training is the size of my calves.  It's not exactly a problem, until I put on pants--which is everyday.  In particular, navigating jeans over my calves has become pretty hard to do without tearing out some leg hairs along the way.  I guess I now have a high calf-to-waist ratio (bigger calves, smaller waist) meaning that I might have to start buying those carpenter jeans that were popular when I was 12.

SOS kicks off with a fizzle

Hindsight is always 20/20, isn't it? I realize now that I probably shouldn't have picked the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge as the kick off to my Summer Of Speed. For starters the race is an irregular distance: 3.5 miles. A few less tenths of a mile and it would have been a 5K (one would wonder why it they didn't do that). Then, there were the 14,000 runners. For such a short race that is a friggin nightmare. But none the less, I counted it as the official kick-off to my SOS (borrowed generously from Nitmos).

The event is a corporate charity run (and walk as I found out) benefiting the Central Park Conservancy. My office organized a team and paid for the entry fees, so when I saw the email I was one of the first to sign up. The race was also exactly one month after the Delaware Marathon, so I figured I had plenty of time to switch out my Marathon legs for 5K legs.

Lesson #1 from the JPMCCC: I have never had 5K legs. By training and by racing I am a long distance runner. For six years I have only run Half-Marathons and Marathons (except for one 5K and one 10K). So training for this race was exceptionally awkward. The biggest problem was that I would wake up to go running and then I would think "it's only a three mile run, it won't hurt if I miss it" and then went back to sleep. And then when I did run my legs were super sore. I'm not used to being sore after every single run--at least that hasn't happened in a very long time. Hopefully this means this SOS will break out some long dormant muscles.

On race day (Wednesday) me and a couple of coworkers gathered up to head uptown together. We were all dressed up in running shorts and the team t-shirt when the head of our East Coast operations (my boss's boss's boss) passes by and starts chatting us up. Since I'm the "professional" runner he singles me out and says that if I don't finish in the top five I can consider myself fired. Actually, he grabs a sharpie from a desk and writes that ultimatum on my t-shirt. Great. No pressure.

Since we're running late when we get off the train at Columbus Circle me and my coworkers decided to "warm up" with a run from Columbus Circle to Tavern on the Green.

Lesson #2 from the JPMCC: running with a backpack is difficult. Worse than running at a sprint is running at a sprint with a back pack full of work clothes. It actually wore me out pretty bad--and that was before I got to the bag drop off for my company.

We put our bags down and stretched before walking over to the massive mess that was the starting line. I didn't realize how far back we were because the starting chute wrapped around a curve. But once the crowd started moving I saw that we were waaaay far back in the non-competitive section (excuse me: non-competitive? That's a joke, right?). After we passed the non-competitive banner then came the markers for 12 minute pace, 11 minute pace, 10 minute pace, and so on. We were essentially with the walkers and knew that we would be weaving through the crowd the entire way.

Lesson #3 from the JPMCC: weaving through a entire race is like cross training in the middle of a tempo run. Weaving through the crowd the entire race felt like I was alternating between a tempo run and calisthenics. There was no way to get to my goal race pace of 7:15 and I was constantly shuffling, hopping, skipping, passing, and dodging. It was an entirely different workout than I'm used when I run.

I immediately lost my coworkers in the crowd. I was so focused on making my way through the crowd that I didn't see the first mile marker. For someone used to running long distances where there are usually sections of the race when you're all alone, this literally was a nightmare.

Lesson #4 from the JPMCC: team t-shirts should be recognizable from a distance. I work in an ad agency, and while it's not the type of ad agency that produces advertisements we nonetheless have professional designers on staff to make presentations and such look good. Apparently, no one in my office thought of tapping one of those designers for a t-shirt. Our team t-shirts were plain white t-shirts with the company logo on the front and some uninspired words on the back. Finding one of my coworkers was impossible in that crowd.

Even though our t-shirts were hard to find, I did eventually find a coworker in the distance near mile 1.5. I tried to lock-in on him but I couldn't close in because of the crowd and the weaving that had tired me out prematurely. But at least I had that goal to pass him (remember, I had to finish in the top five if I wanted to keep my job) and that kept me going through the race.

On the final downhill (cat hill) I made up a significant amount of space between me and my other coworker and finally passed him just after the boathouse. Then was the unforgiving 90 degree turn just before the finish line and the even less forgiving uphill to the finish line.

Lesson #5 from the JPMCC: that was the worst finishing chute experience ever. One of my co-workers pointed out that between my finish and his finish about 800 people crossed the finish line.  Want to guess the amount of time that passed between our finishes?  Thirty seconds.  With that many people crushing at the finish line it was like running into a wall at the end.  Actually, I did run into two people who slowed do faster than me.

I finished the race in 28:11, a pace of 8:03.  However, according to Fenny I managed to run an extra .1 miles, bringing my adjusted pace to 7:53.  While this was about 45 seconds slower than I intended on finishing, it sets an incredibly low bar for the SOS.  I can only go up from here.  Hooray for optimism!

Running in circles, Part III

Splits:
Mile 14: 7:36

Mile 15: 8:31

Mile 16: 8:13

Mile 17: 8:22

Mile 18: 8:16

Mile 19: 8:32

Mile 20: 8:34

Mile 21: 8:50

Mile 22: 8:40

Mile 23: 8:47

Mile 24: 8:39

Mile 25: 8:39

Mile 26: 8:38

Mile 26.2: 1:26

Story:

The first loop of the second lap was an out and back along the waterfront—a bit different from the first pass at this loop when the course snaked around office parks and shopping centers.  This route was narrower, but more scenic.  Taking a look at my time I knew I was doing well but didn’t want to let that go to my head and sudden burn out.  I always feel weakest at those high-teen miles (17-19), and if I’m burnt out by then I know it will be a bad race (see The Pig).

However, at the turn around on this loop I could see that the blonde girl, who I thought I had finally shaken, was just a couple meters behind me.  I knew I couldn’t take it easy on this loop if I was going to stay ahead.

As I got back to the nexus of the course I saw Wifey again with camera in hand.  I learned later that she had been standing in the same exact place during the first lap, but I totally missed her.  I maneuvered my way through the narrow course and sharp turn through the relay exchange, hoping to not bump into a barricade (this area was extremely tight!).

Entering the second (and final!) loop of the second lap I started to pay some serious attention to my stomach.  Essentially since Mile Three it was telling me it had to go to the bathroom.  At first I thought it was just a one off wave, but it kept coming back every 15-20 minutes.  For about 12 miles I was trying to decide between taking a preemptive bathroom visit now, take the time hit, and then proceed knowing it was over, or press chance and plow thorough the last 11 miles and run the risk of a major issue down the line.  My head was saying to press on, but knowing that there was another pass at that big hill coming up I knew I had to listen to my body more.

At the same time I could feel the eyes of the blonde girl burning into the back of my head.  I would hear her get close and then I would pull away.  And then she’d get close again, and I’d pull away again.  And while that was fine for the flat part of the race, the hills were going to start and I was already pressing my pace into the 8:13 area.  I didn’t need someone forcing me to go too fast when I was holding down stomach issues.

Finally, around Mile 16 I gave up and decided that I wasn’t going to pull away from the blonde girl this time.  If she takes me over on these hills, well, then she would just be the better runner.  My 20-something-year-old-who’s-out-to-prove-himself ego would just have to be shelved for now.  But then something weird happened.  She parked herself on my right and did not pass me.  Through downtown we ran step in step.  We never got further in front of each other than a foot or two.

After about 20 minutes of this, I turned to her and said “hi.”  She turned to me and in a too loud voice said hi back and said that I’m really good at pacing myself and that she had been behind me the whole race (Ha!  As if I didn’t know).   She asked if we were going to make it under four hours and I told her at the pace we’re going we’ll make it under 3:50.  I didn’t even get to tell her that I was trying to make 3:40 because she quickly said that she was listening to really loud music and “let’s just run.”  While I appreciate the purist approach to running, I wasn’t exactly looking for someone to share my life story with.  I was just opening up the dialogue between us new-found running partners.  So I left it at that.

By this point we were crossing the Swinging Bridge again, where I had noticed her the first time.  I knew that there was now less than a mile before the big climb and that I should really find a port-o-potty, especially since my stomach was flaring up again.  I knew there was a port-o-potty halfway up the hill, but I would have to cross oncoming runners to get to it and would have a blind approach (and therefore I wouldn't be able to tell if there was a line).

But magically an empty port-o-potty appeared half-way along the course to the climb.  There was no line and the color on the handle was green—it was empty!  Knowing that the blonde girl was listening to loud music and that my decision to stop was made in about .68 seconds I gave her no warning.  I saw her head flick back around when I peeled off and headed into the bathroom.

Ninety seconds later I was back the course—perhaps the quickest time that the Browns have ever made it to the Super Bowl.  On the approach to the switchback where the climb started I saw the blonde pass me and marked the time.  I saw that I was about 1.5 minutes behind her.  In my head the intention was to catch up to her, and 1.5 minutes shouldn’t be too hard to make up, but I knew that would be a big task with the mile of climbing in front of me. 

I slowed down ridiculously on that hill, but this late in the race if I didn't slow down I was never going to make it.  Even though it was the same exact hill I had passed just two hours earlier it felt like it had tripled in difficulty.  The last 200m I could feel the energy pouring out with every step, and the scary thing was that the energy was not being replaced by more energy, it was getting replaced by tiredness--it was the closest I came to stopping during the whole race.  I was never so happy to see a Mile Marker as when I saw 20 at the crest of that hill.

Then started the twisty-turny section of the loop with sixteen turns in three miles.  While I should have been happy that this part was flat I felt like I didn't have anything left.  I guess I'm used to running on bridges and rollers here in NYC, so every uphill is followed immediately by a downhill.  Climbing for 10 minutes and then just going flat is not something I'm used to doing.  This section was going to be hard and it didn't help that the sun had just come out at full strength, bringing the temperature up at least 10 degrees from the starting time.  I did everything I could to distract myself until the downhill stretch where I would have some relief.

After all sixteen turns I came on the long downhill through a shady park.  I hoped to regain my speediness on the downhill, but I simply couldn't.  I was zapped, the special sauce--the gravvy--was gone, the hill had sucked it all out.  I kept on trying to push myself faster but according to Fenny my body was not responding.  I saw the miles creep higher and higher--23, 24, 25--but nothing, I could get nothing additional out of my legs, confirmed by the approaching hill I had to now pass to get through downtown.

On that last hill I looked at Fenny.  My top goal of 3:40 was out of reach, but a PR was completely doable.  Barring any disaster in the last mile I could "easily" make a sub-3:50.  So I didn't give up looking for gravvy, even though I knew I had none left. 

That last mile there was a guy close to my age who was running the last mile in fits and spats (run for a minute or two and then walk, and so on).  I was keeping a steady pace so we passed each several times in the course of the mile.  At Mile Marker 26 I passed him while he was walking and I shouted "Come on buddy, you're not walking now!"  He picked up the speed and came up next to me and said that's what he needed to finish.  He told me his name, where he was from, that his PR was 4:00 (or around there?), and that he was trying to break it.  I little shocked that he was bounding with this much energy at the end of the Marathon and that he had no clue what his finish time was going to be.  I told him he was going to break that PR for sure and probably shave off more than ten minutes.  He sounded really happy about that and sped off around the corner to the finish line.

I tried to use my grappling hook on him, but that was busted too.  And thanks to the two left turns to get to the finish line he was out of my site in seconds.  So I poured it on as much as I could--and it was definitely all I had left because my calves cramped up during those strides to the end.  In a tip of my hat to my great run at the Breakers Marathon I hopped on the timing mat to make sure it read my chip.

Final Numbers:

Net Time: 3:47:01

Watch Time: 3:45:33 (no potty break)

Overall place: 133/555 (top 24% of finishers)

Men: 105/345 (top 30%)

M25-29: 13/28 (top 46%)

While I didn't feel like this was my best race while running it, numberwise it was one of my best runs, second only to the 5K I ran in 2008.  And now that I'm squarely in the top 25 percent of finishers I somewhat feel like I can say that I've moved on from the middle of the pack.  Hooray!

Running in circles, Part II

Sorry, life has gotten in the way of blogging yet again.  But here is Part II of the Delaware Marathon, with Part III to come shortly: scout's honor!

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Splits:
Mile 1: 9:04

Miles 2 and 3: 17:52 (8:56 pace)

Mile 4: 8:56

Mile 5: 8:31

Mile 6: 8:38

Mile 7: 9:05

Mile 8: 8:38

Mile 9: 8:25

Mile 10: 8:26

Miles 11 and 12: 16:50 (8:25 pace)

Mile 13: 9:13

Story:

I was trying to stick to a plan: run 8:30-8:40 for the first 10 miles, 8:20-8:30 for the next 10, and then whatever I've got for the last six--but still run the race I had trained for (i.e., not push myself too hard  too early).  When I saw the first split I wasn't ecstatic, but I was happy it wasn't in the 9:30 range that it normally is: the small race size negated the bob-and-weave that usually happens during the first couple miles.  The pack was so thin that by the time I hit the turnaround, just after Mile Marker 1, I could already see groups separating.  I knew I would have no complaints about over crowding here.

What I was having complaints about was Liam.  The playlist started off with the right song, but the next song sounded a bit out of order, and then the third song was most definitely wrong.  I checked the shuffle switch and it was in "off" position.  I restarted the playlist and no luck.  The songs were out of order.  As I found out at home that night, all the right songs were there, so I had dragged in the correct playlist, but somehow when I placed the playlist on Liam the order of songs got all jumbled up.  Weird.  So much for the curated playlist I was looking forward to.

Getting back to the staging area (just after Mile Marker 2) I heard the announcer on the PA system.  I assumed he was just rallying the crowd for the runners passing through.  But as I cleared the boardwalk I found all 1,000 Half-Marathoners lined up, hands on watches, ready to go--given the course design I was in a passing corral going onto the rest of the course, but facing the starting line head on less than 100 yards in front of me.  In a fraction of a second I pieced together what was happening and understood why the announcer was counting down "Five. Four. Three. Two. One."  BOOM.  The cannon fired again.  Totally taken by surprise I threw my arms up to cover my head and then slipped into the chute to keep going on the course.

The next mile or so of the course was an industrial warehouse area, but a nice flat section that I knew I would appreciate on the second loop. The next mile passed through downtown Wilmington on a soft incline and nice decline after that.

I didn't notice how easy I was taking it until I saw the Mile 4 split and realized that I needed to pick it up.  Just after Mile Marker 5 the course went over the Swinging Bridge.  The bridge didn't exactly swing as much as it bounced, providing a trampoline effect.  It was on this bridge that I passed by a svelte blonde girl about my age.  I noticed that we had passed each other a couple of times up to this point and, frankly, that was getting annoying. So I took the trampoline power to pass her.  I kept the lead on the other side of the river and through the next mile until I hit the hill.

The race director warned that there was one big, mile-long hill on the course, and that Marathoners would be running it twice.  I took the warning with all seriousness and slowed down to not waste too much on the first pass at this hill.  As promised it was a grueling climb, akin to the Queensboro Bridge.  The only forgiveness was that half way up the hill there was a bit of a flat stretch that let you catch your breathe before the rest of the climb.  During this hill the blonde girl passed me again, but this time I kept her in sight, thinking that when the course flattened out I would catch up.

At the top of the hill I saw the most horrible thing: Mile Marker 20.  First, it reminded me that there was a hell of a lot of running left to go.  Second, it indicated that the race director has a cruel sense of humor putting a mile-long climb leading up to Mile 20.  Third, it reminded me of Heartbreak Hill (also placed at Mile 20) and all the fateful stories associated with that hill.  I tried to stay optimistic, thinking that I've done late hills in my long runs, but something in the back of my head knew that the second pass at the hill would be rough.

The next three miles were very flat, but twisted an turned through a ritzy part of town and the Little Italy neighborhood.  There were a total of 16 turns in this three mile stretch--and while on the course map it doesn't look that bad, in person it made me disoriented and frustrated (as in: you couldn't find a longer straight course to avoid all of these turns?).

During the first of these turns the blonde girl who I had been keeping my eyes--purely for pacing reasons!...mostly--took off her fleece top and tossed into the grass.  She started shouting to a race volunteer to pick it up, I think in order for him to put it in the donation pile.  But with that distraction I was able to pass her and get a comfortable distance ahead, or so I thought.  A few minutes later I noticed her trying to pass me and knew I wasn't going to allow that this far into the race.  So I pressed forward a little bit harder and took advantage of a steep downhill to get a good distance ahead of her and lost her for good.  You can see in my splits for these miles I was going a bit faster than planned, but I was feeling great and increasingly confident in my running.

On the return part of this loop I got back the long uphill climb in the form of long downhill stretch that ended on the northern side of downtown, meaning there was only a mile left in the first lap of the race and the end of the race for the faster Half-Marathoners that had started to creep up around me.

I was taking it a bit easy because this pass through downtown was on a harder grade than the first pass.  But on the downhill part, with Half-Marathoners zooming by to their finish, I noticed the blonde girl had caught up to me again.  WTF?  I used the downhill to open up some distance between me and her and hopefully get her off my tail for good.

At Mile Marker 13 I must have been too distracted to mark the mile on my watch: I was trying to outrun this blonde girl that I couldn't shake and then I saw Wifey at the base of the hill, camera at the ready.  It was the first time I saw her on the course (but not the first time she saw me), I lit up but avoided skipping and jumping as I did during the NYCM--Delaware was a classier operation.

The course separated from the Half-Marathoners as they turned for the final 50m of their race.  Checking out the finishing chute I wasn't too thrilled: in the last 200m of the the race you make two 90 degree turns, killing any kick you might have at the end.  I plowed forward--and almost plowed over some guy who wasn't paying attention--to the halfway mark and the start of the first loop of the second lap.

Running in circles, Part I

For the first time in a while I had managed to successfully and appropriately taper in preparation for a race.  DC was a giant clusterf, NYCM I got carried away with family in town, Grete's Great Gallop I didn't even prepare for, and the Pig I overate at the pasta party and had gurgling toilet issues (remember that?).  But at 5:45am on Sunday, May 16, I was driving down I-95 from Philadelphia to Wilmington thinking that everything had gone smoothly the weeks leading up to this race, that I hydrated and ate appropriately for the proceeding 48 hours, and that I had gotten a rather solid six hours of sleep.  The only thing that worried me was that I hadn't exactly gone to the bathroom as much as I normally would before a race, but I scratched that up to having a body that is used to getting prepped for races and some efficient movement the day prior (I spare no details).

Although race organizers had warned that parking would fill up fast and to use the parking lots that were up to a half-mile away, I tried my luck at the parking garage closest to the starting line.  Sure enough: plenty of parking.  A good sign already.

There were about 30 minutes to go before the start and judging by the line at the port-o-potties that's about how much time I would spend in line.  As I was waiting in line I saw a bird poop on the fleece that the guy in front of me was wearing--an omen?  Perhaps.  A sign of good luck?  We'll get to that later.

I got to the starting line with a couple minutes to spare.  There were only about 550 people running the Marathon, the smallest Marathon I've ever run.  There were about 2,000 Half-Marathoners and Relay runners, but they would each have separate starts after the Marathon--the first start was just for the Marathoners.  

The staggered start was absolutely necessary given the lay out of the course: two laps of a figure eight course with the start, finish, and all relay exchanges happening at the nexus of the eight.  If the pack wasn't thinned out at the beginning, the first pass at the staging area would be an absolute mess.  This was also an element I wasn't looking forward to.  The only other lapped race I've run was the Queens Half-Marathon.  The halfway point of that race was such a psychological trick that I have avoided lapped races ever since.  The Delaware Marathon, however, had three passes by the finish line before the actual finish.  I was going to have to rely heavily on my maturity as a runner to not let those passes trick me.

I kissed Wifey goodbye as they were singing the national anthem, which I could barely make out.  I made my way into the crowd, getting ahead of the 10:00 pace group.  I was posing for a picture for Wifey and barely paying attention when a cannon--a very nearby and loud cannon--fired to start the race.

Note: I'm heading out of town for the long weekend.  So parts(s) II (potentially III) may take a while, based on computer access in the mountains of North Carolina.

Finally: a Marathon PR

It was the race I was underprepared for and the race that I wasn't psyched about--but I'll now remember it as the race that got me into the 3:40s.  Race report (in less than five installments, I promise) to follow.

Music for Wilmington

Even though I put less and less importance on music these days, I still went through the hours long process of creating a custom playlist for the Marathon this weekend (exciting!).  Although I tend to turn off my iPod for large chucks of the race I've learn that I really appreciate a well crafted playlist.  I can just tell when the songs have been ordered to play well together vs. dumping a bunch of random songs on Lenny and switching to shuffle.

Below is the playlist in all its glory.  I went through my now usual process, as described here.

• Proud Mary; Tina Turner (I can't throw this tradition--every race starts with this song)
• You're The First, The Last, My Everything; Barry White (before you say "WTF?" give the song a listen, it's a great slow start)
• Katherine Kiss Me; Franz Ferdinand
• Dance, Dance, Dance; Lykke Li (an odd choice I'll admit, but I'm testing it out anyway)
• I'll Be There; Jackson 5 (another "WTF?" moment, but this choice is more about what the song means to me than the song tempo)
• If Work Permits; The Format
• Stuttering; Ben's Brother
• Be the One; The Ting Tings
• Ulysses; Franz Ferdinand
• Everybody's changing; Keane (Keane is one of my favorite bands, but I have trouble running to their music.  I'm giving them another shot this Sunday.)
• Bulletproof; La Roux
• Two Doors Down; Mystery Jets (one of the best hooks ever--so friggin catchy)
• Party All the Time; Black Eyed Peas (I have to admit, having BEP on my playlist makes me feel a little bit like a tool, but you can resist the ear candy)
• Breaking It Up; Lykke Li
• Young Love; Mystery Jets
• California Bound; Carolina Liar
• Fruit Machine; The Ting Tings
• My Heart Is Breaking Down; Caesars
• Spaceman; The Killers
• The Dynamo of Volition; Jason Mraz
• Uprising; Muse
• Photobooth; Friendly Fires
• That's Not My Name; The Ting Tings (I hated this song the first time I heard it, but ever since it has grown on me uncontrollably)
• Lisztomania; Phoenix (I will have you know that I owned this album before this band was big, I feel that gives me some kind of musical creds)
• Meet Me Halfway; Black Eyed Peas (once again, not proud, but can't help it)
• Blinded By the Light; Menfred Mann's Earth Band
• Homewrecker; Hellogoodbye
• Home; Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros (my current musical obsession; love this song)
• Wait Til You See My Smile; Alicia Keys (this song makes me really happy)
• I'm Not Over; Carolina Liar (amazing power song)
• Resistance; Muse
• Make It Mine; Jason Mraz
• Grace Kelly; Mika
• Evacuate; The Boxer Rebellion
• Kids; MGMT (I'm super late on buying this song--it's been on my wish list for months--but for some reason couldn't give into social pressure to buy it until last week)
• The Middle; Jimmy Wat World
• Spotlight (Twilight Remix); Mute Math (yes, it's from the Twilight soundtrack, don't judge--it was Wifey's purchase)
• Amame; Juanes
• Barracuda; Heart
• Santo Santo; Gloria Estefan
• Viva la Vida; Coldplay
• A Little Less Conversation (JXL Radio Edit Remix); Elvis Presley (the king's first appearance in my music collection and a running playlist...might not be the last)
• Read Between the Lines; KSM
• Show Me What I'm Looking for; Carolina Liar
• All Time Lows; Hellogoodbye
• Always Where I Need to Be; The Kooks
• Beat It; Fall Out Boy (I have the MJ version, but this one is so much better)
• Are You Gonna Be My Girl; Jet
• Any Way You Want It; Journey (yes it's Journey and it's not the last Journey song on here)
• Animal; Neon Trees
• Stronger; Kayne West
• Reptilla; The Strokes
• I Gotta Feeling; Black Eyed Peas (Jesus, the grammar in the title isn't even right, but I can't resist)
• 25 Miles; Edwin Starr
• Don't Stop Believin'; Journey (guilty pleasure at the end)
• Time Like These; Foo Fighters
• Move Along; The All-American Rejects

Two weeks to go to Wilmington

In two weeks I'll be about 1.5 miles into the Delaware Marathon.  Logging onto the Marathon's web site this morning I see that they have successfully sold out the event--which is great because the cap on participants is 2,200, so the race will be nice and small.  For comparison, there were roughly 5,000 in my color's starting wave of the NYCM, and there were three colors and three waves.  Since I tend to do better in smaller races I'm really happy about this.

While checking my name on the confirmed runners list I noticed that this race is crazy popular with Fifty State runners.  I assume that's because Delaware was famously without a Marathon until 2004.  But there are some real running nuts here.  Scrolling down the list you see people running their 116th, 227th, and 449th Marathons.  There is even one die hard running his 619th Marathon.  I can't think of anything I plan on doing 619 times in the course of my life--much less anything as challenging as a Marathon.  Also, I would assume my legs would just fall off after Marathon number 500.  Kudos to them for being so dedicated to this sport...and for making my 50 state goal look so puny.

While all this is great, I spent my entire long run yesterday thinking that I couldn't believe I had a Marathon two weeks away.  This training cycle got off to such a bad start with our move, all the snow this winter, and that freaking eye injury, that I didn't begin training in earnest until March.  I'll be glad when this race is over and I can reset my training/running in more favorable conditions.

Speaking of post-Marathon, I've been playing around with borrowing the Summer of Speed idea from Nitmos.  I've only done one 5K and one 10K in my entire running career and it's starting to sound increasingly fun to have a series of smaller races from Memorial Day to Labor Day and then increase the mileage come September for an Oct/Nov race.  It's completely different from what I normally do and that sounds fantastic right about now.

Playing catch up

I'm taking this morning to be a good blogger: I'm going to get through at least 50 posts on my reader (prepare for an onslaught of comments) and am current writing a post (this one).

Once again life has intervened and blogging has taken a back seat.  I launched a massive project at work this past Monday and was supposed to be in Memphis for a week's worth of meetings--but that was canceled since some of my clients are European based and couldn't get on an airplane due to volcanic ash (when am I ever going to get to say that again?).  On top of that it's been the three hardest weeks on the training plan all with mileage in the 40s range.

Training in general has been on a huge upswing.  The warmer weather and the sun coming up earlier have really helped with my morale.  And I have successfully completed two (!) 20 miles runs this training cycle, which have been gigantic confidence boosters.  However, I still don't feel like I'm back in top form.  Looking back at my times from this point in training for the NYCM I'm not as fast as I was then and I don't remember being as tired: whereas I remember constantly waking up before my alarm, now I hit snooze before I can convince myself out of bed.  I guess this is what happens when you start training in the dead of winter and move apartments one-month into the training cycle.  This makes me really looks forward to summer training and thoroughly convinces me that I need to join a gym next winter.

Speaking of completing two 20 miles runs this training cycle, I noticed something last night while discussing them with Wifey.  The 20 miler I did on April 10 was very hilly: rollers up the west side to the GWB, the big descent and then climb in Palisades Park, and then rollers all the way back to 59th Street (via Central Park).  Yesterday's 20-miler was very flat--actually the only hilly portion was the first couple of miles in Central Park, otherwise it was basically flat running along the Hudson down to Battery Park (and doubling back at some points to get to 20 miles).

You would think the former would have been slower and the latter would have been faster.  But no, it turned out to be the opposite: the hilly run I finished at an 8:54 pace and the flat one I finished at 9:01.  Granted, there isn't that much difference between the two (it translates into about a two minute difference for total time), but you also have to consider that I felt more beat up after the flat run than the hilly run.  My theory is that the hilly run I alternated using different parts of my legs while with the flat run I was using the same parts over and over.  Just a thought.  It's such a small difference over 20 miles that it also could be nothing.

Now that peak week is over I can start focusing on the race in Delaware--I can already feel Marathon Fever begin to set in.

More pictures in my heads

Before getting into the "grappling hook" I'd like to thank everyone for their kind comments from the DC race report. That was one hard race to run--it's great to know there's a whole group of strangers (all three of you since I've been half-assing the blog scene lately) cheering me on. Thanks guys and gals.
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Yes indeed, that is a grappling gun. (You know I'll make this relevant to running, just hold on for the ride.) This device is usually reserved for the ranks of James Bond, Jason Bourne, and ninja assassins. They typically use it when they need to scale an enemy building, climb over the wall of a fortress, or boost the cool gadget factor of a movie (I refer you to the scene in the original Batman movie where Batman asks Vicki how much she weighs).

While I don't own a grappling hook--although that would have it's conveniences--I have found myself using one while running.

Mostly, I find myself using the grappling hook on the track. Now that the weather has warmed up and the sun is rising earlier I all of a sudden have company on the track at Astoria Park. It's awesome to finally be running in sunlight again and even better to have other people at the track. The latter not necessarily for the company, but more for use in grappling hook target practice.

It didn't start off as something intentional, but I've realized that when I lock on someone while running I'll start pacing myself to overtake them. Even in a largeish pack I can pick out someone that's going my pace or slightly slower, peg them, and eventually overtake them. Once again, it's not something I did on purpose, it kinda just happened. After while I started to realize when I did this and noticed that the sensation felt like I had hooked onto the person in front of me and was pulling them closer (via an invisible rope). Eventually I started to throw the term "grappling hook" around my head, as in I would lock in on a target, launch a grappling hook that would grab on to them, and then slowly--although sometimes quickly--overtake them.

For many reasons I use the grappling hook most often on the track. First, I do speed work on the track, so I'm usually going my very fastest. Second, there are a lot of people clustered together at the track, therefore, many targets. Third, most other people on the track are not doing speed work; they're either walking or simply running slower than me at the time. Fourth, it's a big circle; there are no places for the people in front of you to turn off the course or change routes (ala Central Park), so it's easy to chase people down.

During my Yasso repeats on Thursday I actually got to the point where I made a gun shape with my hand and would "launch" the grappling hook onto the people I was going to overtake. I tried to keep it subtle. However, during yesterday's long run (20 miles) I was much less subtle. Now, understand I was in the last two miles of the run and I was kicking ass (8:54 pace--unheard of for me at the 20 mile training range). Since I only had two miles left I wasn't worried about running out of steam, so I starting whipping out the grappling hook--which would otherwise backfire on a long run. By the end of the run I was audibly saying "boom" every time I "launched" the grappling hook--which was pretty often because I was in Central Park and it was the middle of a beautiful day. Anyone with a keen eye would noticed me running, full-tilt, shooting an imagery gun and whispering "boom" through a park crowded with runners. In retrospect I'm surprised I wasn't arrested.

The race that almost wasn't, Part III

On race morning Wifey and I call a cab to take us to the starting line.  Given the troubles we've been having we figure a cab is best way to ensure we get to the starting line in one piece and on time.  Of course, there was one thing we didn't count on.  When we get in the cab we tell the driver we're going to RFK Stadium.  His response?  "Where is that?  Is that in DC?"

I thought it was a joke at first.  But no, we apparently got the only cab driver in northern Virginia who doesn't know where RFK Stadium is.  At least the guy had a Garmin.  Wifey quickly looked up the address and we were on our way.

At the staging area we headed straight for the Armory where it was nice and toasty inside.  The temps outside had fallen sharply overnight into the 40s, which I wasn't expecting.  After a trip to the bathroom and stretching we headed out to the starting line in front of the stadium.

Given everything that had happened the past few days I was a bit surprised to actually be at this starting line.  I was finally starting to get excited about running this race.  I gave Wifey a big hug and kiss and told her I love her roughly 200 times--as rough as the past two days were for me they were just as hard for her, but she didn't let it get to her at all.  She was my rock when I really needed it.  (Love you Wifey!!!)

I wormed my way into the corrals, did some last minute IT band stretches--can never stretch those enough--and waited for the gun to start.  I just happened to be standing next to a guy that I swear it was his first time running a race.  He was bouncing and hooting.  He let out a mighty howl when they announced there was just  one minute to go (I kid you not).  I just smiled to myself.  This is old hat to me by now.  The mix of tranquility and roaring excitement is no longer a new emotion.  It has evolved into a unique feeling of comfort that assures me that for those fleeting minutes everything in my world is right and good.

I stood there and waited for the gun to go off, not knowing what the next 13.1 miles held or if how I would get them done.

The Splits, reported as time per mile/pace per mile:

Mile 1: 9:19 / 9:16
Mile 2: 8:48 / 8:41
Mile 3: 8:20 / 8:17
Mile 4, 5, & 6: 25:05 / 8:19
Mile 7: 9:01 / 8:57
Mile 8: 8:18 / 8:16
Mile 9: 8:14 / 8:08
Mile 10: 7:56 / 7:55
Mile 11 & 12: 16:39 / 7:57
Mile 13.1: 8:46 / 7:46

Distance: 13.11 (Fenny: 13.29)
Time: 1:50:30
Pace: 8:19
Overall Place: 1587/6250
Age Place: 284/600

There were lots of goods things about this race.  The course was the most scenic of all the urban races I've run.  The starting area was spacious, well organized, and had lots of bathrooms.  The finishing area was well stocked (free McDonald's frappecinos!) and spacious.  I would give this race a five-star rating, except that the first couple of water stations were very understaffed--so I'll give it a four and a half star rating.

But that's all the good I have to say about this race.

From the outside I probably looked fine, but inside I was a hot mess.  I couldn't settle into a groove because I had no idea what my pace was supposed to be: I knew I wasn't going to PR, but I didn't want to crawl through the race, but I didn't want to bonk late in course either.  And then my stomach was just horrible: it was a tangled mess that felt it could sour at any moment.  This is the first race where I honestly day that I wanted to throw up at one point.

Up through Mile 4.5 I forced myself to run the race and it worked.  Also, I found that I wasn't the only one having a bad day: there was a guy who fell in front of me not once, but twice--within the same half-mile.  Knowing that I was falling all over the place made me feel better about being out there.

At Mile 4.5 the hills and tunnels started.  The crest near the Mile 6 marker was killer.  That was the first time I seriously considered walking--and I wasn't even half way through the race.  I started to get a stitch around this point (ah, my old friend, how could I race without you?).  But this was different.  I felt it coming on early--so early that I felt I could really cut it off before it got full blown.  So I tried a different tactic: I forgot about it.  Instead of thinking about breathing and my pace and putting one foot in front of the other, I thought of how to drive to my parents' house (in Miami) from Orlando.  And then I started recounting the house numbers of the addresses I've lived at and if they were multiples of each other.  And guess what?  It worked!  The stitch faded away and was never heard from again.  Another weapon for the battle against stitches.

The zig-zag back to RFK stadium was absolutely killer.  Those last few miles always are unless you're on a kick.  With less than a mile to go I was really hoping for the adrenaline to kick in, but it wasn't happening.  Seeing the Marathoners pass by as they were going back into the city made me both excited and exhausted.

Finally, I turned the corner and RFK stadium appeared.  The Marathoners broke off from the course and I was left with Half-Marathoners giving their final push to the finish.  The adrenaline I had been looking for finally kicked in and for basically the first time all day I felt like I wanted to run.  I punched the air and I rounded the final bend and coasted across the finish line.

1:50:30 wasn't too bad.  I actually felt a sense of accomplishment for running the whole way and pulling a time in line with my average HM.  But the best part came as I was getting my medal.  There was a woman I passed for the first time (that I noticed) around Mile 10 and we stayed neck and neck for the rest of the race.  As I was getting the medal placed over my head that woman tapped me on the shoulder and let me know that she was behind me at the end of the race and that I ran really well.  At that moment I couldn't get the words out to explain to her how much those words meant to me, but they made the whole debacle of getting to DC and running this race worth it.  Knowing that I ran well made it all worth it.

The race that almost wasn't, Part II

Fate wasn't entirely against me on this trip.  Right after the crash I realized that getting to DC in time would likely become impossible seeing the traffic and assuming it would be quite a while before a tow truck could get to us.  I looked for a phone number or email to reach the race directors, but there was nothing on the materials I printed or the website.  Another person could pick up my race number for me, but they would need a copy of my ID--not exactly something I had handy to give someone in DC.  However, it just so happened that one of my friends had let me know they were going to be a volunteer at the expo--a gigantic coincidence given that this was an out of town race and that I have so few running friends.

I texted my friend and let them know that I had been in an accident and that I was in jeopardy of missing the expo cut off of 8pm.  Then I let my friend know that Wifey and I were fine and unharmed--I had my priorities in order.  In an strange bit of good luck my friend let me know that not only were they manning the registration tables, but they were handling the box with my number in it.  My friend pulled out the number and would hold onto it until I got to DC that night.

While I was a ball of stress and nerves by this time, knowing I'd be able to get my race number helped calm me tremendously.  I knew that I would be able to run the race I was striving to get to and run it legitimately.

The tow truck with the replacement rental showed up on schedule at 6:57pm.  We hightailed it out of there since we still had a long drive ahead.  I had switched to glasses, because there was no way I going to drive with contacts again--at least not until I got better adjusted to them.  But the problems kept coming.

First, since we didn't get to charge Wifey's phone the night before it was dead.  It would have been fine to be just with my phone, but because we spent about an hour on the phone with Budget my battery was dying fast. And we needed the charge to last all the way to DC to meet up with my friend and then get to update our friends who we were staying with in Virginia.  Second, both outlets in the replacement car were dead, so our Garmin had to operate on battery only--a battery life which I knew would not last the three hours to DC.  Normally this wouldn't be a problem because we have our phones as back up, but then I refer you back to the phone situation.  Third, the replacement car only had half a tank of gas, which might last all the way to DC--I didn't want to do a time-sucking gas stop unless it was absolutely necessary.

Well, we were on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway when the "low fuel" light came on.  If you know about about this Parkway (and Parkways in general) you know that there are gigantic gaps between exits.  I was afraid that we'd hit a traffic jam and I'd be stranded on the shoulder of this highway.  Seeing the bad luck I was having behind the wheel it could only be expected.  Fortunately, we missed the traffic jam by 500 feet (it was a mess of red lights) and pulled off on the next exit to gas up.

At 10:15pm we made it to my friend's hotel and picked up the race bib.  I gave them a run down of the previous 12 hours and the mess of a day I was having.  Then we quickly parted ways because Wifey and I still had to go crosstown to Arlington where we were staying with other friends.

We finally made it to our friends' apartment at 10:45pm with the last bit of charge left in the Garmin. (We had turned off the Garmin on the long stretches of expressway between Philly and Baltimore.)  I hadn't had dinner but didn't really feel like I could hold down any food: my stomach was a cement brick, even water went down bad.  As we turned in for the night I tried to get my head around the idea that I was running a race in the morning.  I took out my clothes and gear, I slapped some music together and called it a playlist (it's not even worth posting the music here), and made a game plan for the morning with Wifey.  By 11:30 we were out--only five and a half hours before we'd have to be awake again.

This was a very strange place for me mentally speaking.  The last thing I wanted to do was run a race--I've been nervous, I've had sleepless nights, but I've never not wanted to run a race.  And actually, if this race was closer to home I might have thrown in the towel.  However, for this race I used one of my precious few vacation days, I drove four hours out of town, I had two near accidents and one full accident, I had asked a friend to pull a major favor that might have gotten them in trouble, among so many other hurdles.  In other words, I had made it through so many setbacks to get to the starting line that I couldn't not do the race.  My only option was to run.

The race that almost wasn't, Part I

If I knew how bad things were going to get I probably never would have left the house on Friday morning.

I wrote up the whole incident about the two taxis on my way to pick up the rental car on Friday. I completely thought that would be the end of the bad streak. I left Wifey at home packing and I proceeded to the airport to get the car. I was operating on five hours of sleep and was additionally tired from the short run I had that morning (this is important and will factor in later). We packed up the car and heading into midtown, all on schedule.

Disaster #1 wasn’t much of a disaster but had the potential to royally mess things up. As I pulled over on a midtown side street to get Wifey’s cell phone I accidentally bumped into the car in front of me. I was going super slow (less than 5 mph), but with me still getting sued to contacts and the car I wasn’t used to driving it just kinda just happened. Of course, the driver was in the car: she was a fancy-looking lady who sounded European. She was understandably shocked (as were Wifey and I) and came out of her car saying “Why did you hit me?” “ How did you hit me?”

I explained to her that it was a rental car I had just picked up and wasn’t used to the hood. Looking at her bumper she started saying “do you see the damage?” I looked at the bumper, indeed there were some scratches, but most of them could not have been caused by the car I was driving—they looked to be mostly wear and tear from driving in the city. After trying to explain to her there was no way my compact car could have made those scratches in her SUV she gave up and sat back in her car.

This shook me up a bit, but after getting the phone I was feeling fine. By the time we got the phone it was 11a, and by the time we got to Jersey it already noon. Not a huge set back, but timing was starting to get tight and I was starting to get a little stressed—I could feel the knot starting to form in my stomach.

Disaster #2 wasn’t a disaster at all, but it was a very close call. We made a pit stop in Jersey to pick up a piece for our espresso maker and drop off some bags of clothes at Goodwill. While I was pulling into the back of the Goodwill to drop off bags a box truck was driving out of the parking lot, taking up the entire width of the lane. I had to stop and get back into the lane I was turning from, but unfortunately there were several cars behind me that decided to try to get around me quickly while I was making the turn. Horns ensued, but metal did not meet metal.

After a pit stop for lunch we hit the road for the long segment of the drive. It was around 2:15 when we got on the NJ Turnpike at New Brunswick. I figured we would make it to DC between 5p and 6p. Which was comfortably before the 8p closing time for packet pick-up. However, I still couldn’t shake the ball of nerves in my stomach.

Disaster #3 was a full-fledged nightmare. A couple miles on the Turnpike (aka, the roadway to hell) we hit a traffic jam, a massive one, enough to get me worried about making it to DC on time. We were stop and go for 45 minutes. At this point the food coma had fully set in so I was in a bit of a haze—the constant stop and go didn’t help. On top of that it was bright and sunny and since I’m new to contacts I didn’t have sunglasses, so my eyes were bothering me left and right. I got distracted for just long enough that I didn’t hit the brakes in time and crashed right into the guy in front of me.

Wifey jumped up and screamed, the hood bent up in the middle, and a weird noise started sounding from the engine. We pulled over to the left and I just wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t have bad luck like this. I don’t screw up like this.

We were fine so I got out of the car to check on the other driver. He was fine and his car didn’t even get a ding, but he could see the worry on my face. He called the cops and they showed up after about 20 minutes. I got a citation, but fortunately no one was hurt. But then things started to get bad.

The NJ Turnpike is a restricted zone, so only towing companies contracted by the police are allowed to pick you up. This means that the rental company (Budget) couldn’t tow the car from where it was. This also meant I got stuck paying for the tow from the Turnpike to the tow yard because we were forced to use someone other than Budget’s person. When the tow truck showed up (around 4:15) he took his time winching the car and getting it on the flat bed. Once at the tow yard we could finally tell Budget when to get us and the car from. They dispatched a tow truck to pick up a car from the Philly airport and bring it up to us outside of Trenton—the ETA was 7p. Remember that packet pickup? Yeah, that was ending at 8p.

Two terrible taxis

Normally, the week and particularly the night before leaving for a race is very intense in the sRod household. There's packing, last minute "oh crap I forgot thats," playlist making, and various other things that create a controlled chaos. Not so last night.

Last night I left work at 10:30. Mostly I was there for work, but at 10:05 I get a frantic email from Wifey that she left her cell phone in a cab. I called her phone--no luck. I called 311, but Wifey didn't have the taxi I'd number, so that was fruitless.

When I left the office I hopped in a cab myself. But once we crossed over to Brooklyn the cab got a flat. WTF. Double cab troubles. And since this was a fairly remote part of Brooklyn there was no chance I could pick up another one, so I had to wait for the guy to change tires.

Fortunately, the guy was super quick with changing the tire. Then, right before getting home I trtied calling Wifey's phone one last time--and some one picked up! The person was super nice and agreed to meet us this morning before we head down to DC.

But by the time I got home, our thai food arrived, and I set up time to get the phone it was past midnight. We just passed out knowing this morning we'd be making a mad dash to pack, pick up the rental car, and get to midtown by 10:30.

Death to the tempo run

I've had my own private little running hell for the past nine-ish months.  Every Tuesday morning I wake up to do a tempo run.  And every time I have a tempo run longer than five miles on the plan I can basically guarantee you that halfway through I will have to stop to go to the bathroom.

This morning was no different.  I had eight miles on the plan and immediately knocked it down to seven because eight miles is kinda crazy before work.  I was feeling good leaving the house and hoped that it was a good sign for the rest of the run.  After a warm-up run to Astoria Park I hit the road by the river for the meat and potatoes of the run.  Sure enough, 3.6 miles in I had to stop and go back home.

(Note: there is a bathroom at Astoria Park, but it has three problems.  First, it doesn't open during the winter.  Second, duirng the time of year it does open, it doesn't open until 7am--at which time I'm done with any running.  Third, even though I have developed low standards for bathrooms, these bathrooms are pretty damn awful.)

So while I was standing there on Shore Boulevard trying to make sure I didn't ruin my pants I decided to swear off tempo runs--or at least how I have been doing tempo runs.

In the little pockets of free time at my desk I've been researching tempo runs and come away with a few key pointers.  First and foremost it seems that I do tempo runs for far too long.  Apparently tempo runs are supposed to last from 20 to 35 minutes (for the meat and potatoes of the workout).  The back half of my training plan has me running no less than 40 minutes of tempo on Tuesdays.  I've always been suspicious of the length of my tempo runs, but I've always shrugged it off as me being scared of a difficult workout.  Turns out there was some merit to my weariness.

I do seem to have the pace down right.  I run in the range of 8:00-7:40 per mile and I would describe that as "comfortably hard."  That pace is significantly faster and harder than other runs, but I'm comfortable enough to run for 60 minutes if I needed to.  However, it does seem that I have the paces matched up backwards: I do longer runs at the fast pace while I do shorter runs at the slower pace.

Also, I learned that it's acceptable to break a tempo run into two by taking a short recovery interval of 60 seconds (some articles went all the way up to seven minutes).  I always avoided breaking up my tempo runs.  If I stopped, I stopped for good.  If I kept running while I was losing steam I would just run myself into the ground.

There was a lot of talk about heart rates in the articles--and of course I can't find any of them now.  However, I remember reading that more seasoned runners (moi?) usually do tempos runs at 85-90% of max heart rate.  It would help if I knew my max heart rate.  I really have to put my heart rate monitor to better use than providing an additional line on my Garmin output chart.

So tonight I'm going to look at my juggarnaut training plan for DC/Wilmington and play around with the tempo runs.  I'll be trimming back the distance and rearranging the speed.  During workouts I'll take a longer warm-up and include sprints.  For the longer runs (5+ miles) I'll take a recovery interval in the middle.  I'll also try to figure out my max rate during repeats this Thursday morning (really should have done this back when I first got my heart rate monitor).

Got a new face

As you can see, I tinkered around with some of the new template capabilities in Blogger in Draft.  It's been almost three years since I've done anything to the aesthetics of this site, so I figured I should give the thing a facelift especially with my blogoversary coming up next month.  I'm also hoping that this helps get me back in the writing mood since I've been sucking at that for past three months. 

It's kinda like I'm saying: "here you go honey: daddy bought you a new face to buy your love."

Well.  Maybe not exactly like that, but close.

It's that goddam Loch Ness monster

One of the best South Park skits/jokes I can remember is the one about the Loch Ness monster and him always asking for $3.50--pronounced tree fitty.  For reference:


TREE FITTY!

JsE | MySpace Video


Genius.

Last night--and I swear this would only happen in New York--I got a visit from the Loch Ness monster himself.  Let me explain.

Last night around 9pm I was on the couch watching TV in my PJs waiting for Wifey to come home from a long night at the office.  Suddenly, someone buzzed the intercom.  Wifey has her own keys, but sometimes when one of us is home we get lazy and buzz the bell instead of whipping out the keys.  Since I hadn't heard from Wifey in a while I assumed it might be her--although it would have been weird for her to leave the office and not tell me.

I answered the intercom and it is most definitely not Wifey.  It's some guy saying that he's Pete (or John or somebody) and that he lives next door.  There does happen to be one guy that lives on my floor that I don't remember his name and I figured it was him and he had locked himself out.  So I buzzed him in and thought that was the end of it.

Well, this dude comes into the building, comes up to my apartment and knocks on the door.  Figuring it's the dude from down the hall.  Turns out it most definitely is not the dude from down the hall.  And from this guy's appearance he doesn't even look like he lives in the building.

He introduces himself and says that he lives in the building next door.  He proceeds to tell me that his daughter has suffered an accident and has a collapsed lung and that he needs to buy her a nebulizer and some sort of prescription drug.  Even though he tried running his credit card to buy it the card was declined or didn't go through.  So he has to buy these things in cash and needs $38 to buy them.  He said he would repay me as soon as possible, but that he needed cash right now.

At this point, there already seem to be gaping holes in his story.  A collapsed lung sounds extremely serious--why wouldn't this girl be in a hospital?  And for $38 wouldn't you turn to a familiar neighbor or a friend or a relative or a co-worker?  I was obviously not convinced.  It didn't help that I had never seen the guy before.  I was expecting to see this guy to shake off his man costume and reveal himself as that goddam Loch Ness monster.  And this Nessie was marked up to match the market!

My next door neighbor pops his head after hearing the conversation through the walls.  Apparently this guy had buzzed every bell in the building in order to get in.  He puts on his suspicious face when he hears this guy's spiel--which only convinced me more to get out of this situation fast.

To prove who he is this guy shows me his driver's license.  It's for an address in the Bronx.  How are you proving that you're my neighbor--in Queens--if the license you show me is registered in the Bronx?  He says he drives for the city and that it's a commercial license (that is true, it's written across the top) and that for commercial licenses they are registered under where you work and that he works out of the Bronx.

I told him politely that I had no way of knowing that he was really my neighbor, really in need of the money, or really going to pay me back.  He "ok, that's fine, God Bless" with a tinge of guilt laced through his words.  Let me tell you, I'm Catholic enough to know when you mean "God Bless" and when you mean "fuck you."  This guy meant the latter.

As he turned around to the elevator I swear I saw his prehistoric tail poking out from the leg of his pants.

A taste of spring

For the first time in four months mother nature cooperated and produced a perfect set of running conditions. I had 17 miles on the plans and a new route to try out: I took my standard home-to-city hall route, streamlined the turns, and then turned it backwards (i.e., I ended running from city hall back to home).

The Brooklyn Bridge was a great starting point. I like starting runs on the massive east side bridges because it keeps me from starting out too hard. Then I crisscrossed across Park Slope--and for the first time found a way around the nasty warehouse district that broke down many a midsummer's run. At Prospect Park I made a loop around the park and honestly did not want to leave. I really like Prospect Park--it's like Central Park lite--but alas, I had 10 more miles to go and there was no way I was doing them on Prospect Park's hills.

Then I got to the iffy section of the run. I took a new route from Prospect Park to Williamsburg and ran through some sketchy parts of town. I would definitely not run through these streets at night. But I did get to McCarren Park pretty easily, with only one major turn. At McCarren Park I was feeling good but started to get waves of "I need to find a bathroom." The funny thing about those waves is that they never occur when you're near a bathroom. McCarren Park has a decent bathroom, but did I "have to go" when I passed by it? Nope.

Onward to Queens, essentially tracing the NYCM for a couple of miles. Right before crossing the Pulaski Bridge I couldn't hold it anymore and wound up making a pit stop at KFC to take care of some bio business.

I thought I was fine after that pit stop, but once I started going through the warehouses in Long Island City and the sun reached its full height and I was getting every red light imaginable I just had to stop and start walking. Only three miles to go and Wifey's made from scratch blueberry-white chocolate pancakes waiting for me at the finish line and I was fizzling out every quarter mile.

The final nail in the coffin was that somewhere right after 16.5 miles Fenny ran out of charge and died. That's it, I was done.

Turned out Fenny died at 16.79 miles. I'll call that 17 miles, especially because there where some walking sections where I back tracked to make sure I'd get enough mileage before home. I learned from this run that running back home might not be the best tactic for a long run: there are no major streets (i.e., no synced up traffic lights) meaning that the last stretch of the run will be in one- or two-block bursts, and great way to kill your momentum. However, I also saw myself get really excited about running for the first time in a long while. The weather definitely helped turn around my spirits once I got out there.

As fantasized about during the run, Wifey made a small mountain of blueberry-white chocolate pancakes for breakfast. (I know it's wrong to reward your workouts with food, but when I've burned through over 2200 calories it's hard for me to think otherwise.) After breakfast we stopped by the eye doctor to pick up my new glasses and a trial set of contact lenses.

Yes sir, I'm finally giving contacts another chance. I tried using contacts when I was 10, than again throughout my teen years, but failed every time. It has actually been running that has prompted me to try yet again because it is impossible for me to find running friendly sunglasses that can have prescription lenses put in them and still look good.

The biggest hurdle, when I was a teen, was that I couldn't get the damn things in my eyes. Yesterday, by the end of the tutorial, I was getting them in on the first or second try. However, I now have a new problem: the astigmatism in my left eye that has worsened over the years means that I'm at the ceiling of what's available to the mass market, any higher and you start talking about custom made lenses (which are much more expensive). So while I see perfectly out of my right eye with the lenses, my left eye is the slightest bit blurry and hard to focus. And if my astigmatism gets worse then I might have to drop contacts altogether. Boo on my bad eyes.

But in the meanwhile, I'm going to give these lenses a chance. And hopefully in the following weeks you'll see around town sporting these flashy bad boys (they're so bad ass that they float!):