Race report: Marine Corp Historic Half

I’ll be honest: I’ve delayed this post a couple weeks because I am not proud of my performance at this race.  Folks, I did bad.  Especially for having just run a PR by seven minutes at my previous Half-Marathon, I did real bad.

Splits:

Mile 1: 8:16

Mile 2: 7:36

Mile 3: 8:00

Mile 4: 7:44

Mile 5: 8:21

Mile 6: 8:31

Mile 7: 8:24

Mile 8: 8:26

Mile 9: 8:33

Mile 10: 8:29

Mile 11: 11:07

Mile 12: 9:02

Mile 13.1: 9:16 (8:13 pace)

Final Stats:

Distance: 13.1

Net Time: 1:53:35

Watch Time: 1:51:45 (no potty break)

Pace: 8:40

Overall Place: 963/5697 (top 17%)

Gender Place: 774/2942 (top 26%)

Age Place: 110/335 (top 33%)

The Story:

The days leading up to this race I noticed that I just wasn’t feeling it.  I wasn’t excited for the race.  I couldn’t meet the paces on the training plan.  I wasn’t in any kind of groove.  I couldn’t really explain it.  I would wake up in the morning and just wanted to go back to sleep and I could barely fight back and pull myself out of bed.

My suspicions are threefold:

1.       I planned on running at a pace that was faster than my abilities.  So I was always tired and just couldn’t keep up with the training paces.  I’ve considered that I might have been overtraining, but I feel like I didn’t train enough to be overtrained.  I’ve run more in preparation for other races and have done just fine.

2.       This wasn’t the race I wanted to run in Virginia.  At some point I had told myself that I was going to run the Richmond Marathon as my Virginia race and got excited about that prospect, but then Fredericksburg came up and I did that.  I guess there is something significant to be said about the anxiousness that leads up to a race and your performance on race day.

3.       There were some major hurdles during training.  I had lots of travel (including a trip to Hong Kong) and lots of work—making it difficult to pay attention to my running.

So Wifey and I showed up in Fredericksburg and I was feeling iffy about the race.  I had already resigned that I was not going to make the 7:15 pace I had wanted—I could barely hold that for three miles on the treadmill, much less for 13 miles outside. 

The other bomb thrown my way was the day before the race we signed up for a walking tour of Fredericksburg.  Turns out it was over three hours and six miles.  Exactly what you should not do the day before a race, right?  However, I thought I was good to go come race eve after a hardy pasta dinner.

Race morning went off without a hitch: ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches washed down by Gatorade.  The drive to the starting area was less than 10 minutes.  And, for the first time ever, there were enough port-o-potties for the amount of people.  I’m still in a bit of shock about this one, but I realized that this event was staged like an event several times larger than it actually was—probably since these are the same people that put on the Marine Corps DC Marathon and they pour in the same amount of resources (although this only highlighted the disparity between my low level of excitement and the high level being pumped into the atmosphere).

I went for a warm up jog and ate half an apple before going into the starting corrals.  Well, what I thought was the starting corral—the staging area was really large for an event this size.  Eventually I wiggled my way into the correct area, but it was jammed with people, so I was stuck where I was (a good 25 meters behind the marker for the 1:40-1:35 finish group).

The starting musket was fired (I’m pretty sure it was a musket, they got all historical during the pre-race announcements) and the crowd surged forward.

Before the first mile marker I had already looked at my watch with the thought “ok, how long until this is over?”  That was a bad sign.  And despite getting down to goal pace in mile two, that was all the result of a long downhill stretch—when the course turned flat I was struggling to get under 8:00 minute miles.  And somewhere around Mile 5 I just gave up on pushing myself to any specific time goal—it just wasn’t in me that day.

This was all a horrible shame because this was such a well put together race and the town came out in full force to support the runners.  But worst of all, instead of hiring police officers to marshal the race, they used Marines, meaning that on every corner, at each intersection there was an active Marine in fatigues watching over us.  Let me just say I’ve never felt worse walking during a race as when I had to walk in front of Marines.

I finally gave into the demons in my head during Mile 8.  I saw a port-o-potty and just ducked in.  I had the need to go, but it wasn’t that bad of a need, nothing I haven’t convinced myself to run through in the past.  After about 90 seconds I bolted out, faintly hoping that the pit stop was what I need to fix the funk I was in. 

Then there was the set of hills in the back of the race.  If I wasn’t doing bad before, the 200ft climb that was all of Mile 10 wreaked me.  Apparently in town it’s known as hospital hill (because of the hospital on this hill) and it is a beast.  As the splits above show, that stretch leading up to marker 11 involved a lot of walking.

The good news was that after that crest I ran the rest of the course without stopping, charging up a second uphill second and picking up speed as the finish line approached.  I had enough fuel and emotional drive to charge the last 800m—although I may have been pushing a little too hard because I was going to faint before I finally crossed the finish line.

In looking at my stats, this was not a good race for me.  I did better when I ran the National Half-Marathon and I was a wreak for that race, having gotten into a car accident the day before and only getting four hours of sleep before the race.  But then I looked at my finishing percentages (i.e., I finished in the top X% of finishers) and this is actually my second best Half-Marathon—I’ve only done better at my PR race in Austin back in January.  And—mind-boggling as it is—it was the best I’ve ever placed in my age group for a long distance race (Half or Full Marathon).  WTF?  I’ll have to guess that everyone else found the course as bad as I did.

Updates of a sorted variety

I am currently suffering from too many thoughts for posts and not enough time to post them.  So I will resort to the bulleted list:

• I've been thinking about switching over to tumblr.com.  I've known about them for years but didn't really see any advantage until Wifey started using it.  Of course that would require time and dedicated effort (neither of which I really have right now).
• I have a Twitter handle: what _runnery.  But don't get excited, I've had it for about a month and just posted my first tweet today, a tweet that has nothing to do with running.
• Might adopt a dog today--there are a couple adoption events in the city today and we're visiting two of them.
• I donated blood on Wednesday.  Unexpected side effect to giving blood: running becomes really hard!  It's bad enough that I'm pushing myself hard for this training cycle, but now I'm fatiguing like no one's business.
• Summer is so freaking close...meaning that it's almost BBQ season!  I can't wait!  Not only will the sRod household BBQ be firing up weekly(ish) but we've already purchased VIP passes to the Big Apple BBQ Block Party.
• I'm eyeing up the Mount Desert Island Marathon in Maine for October.  Registration is filling up fast so I might be registering in the week or so.
• The Historic Half is 2.5 weeks away and I'm...not prepared.  I've been trying to run faster, but I think I found my ceiling.  It doesn't help that I've been traveling like crazy during training (Miami, Philadelphia, and Hong Kong, just in the past six weeks).  It's also allergy season now, so my sinuses are about as useful as a cement-filled drain pipe.  The blood donation above doesn't help the situation.  This race will be interesting indeed.

Fast boat to China

I got back from my Hong Kong work trip on Saturday night.  What a wild week that was.  It's 16-hours straight from JFK to Hong Kong plus a 12 hour time difference.  Coming from New York, it's a pretty awesome city: a lot like San Francisco, except there is an Hermes or Cartier store on every corner (seriously, Hong Kong has Hermes stores like New York has J. Crews, it's insane).  We ate a lot of Chinese food--Beijing, Shanghai, Canton cusines--but I was very impressed by the diversity of international cuisine, there was even a Cuban place: my people have made it to Hong Kong!  The meetings were very intense, but productive.

Despite being way off my time and sleep cycle, I did all my runs last week.  Since the machine only displayed kilometers, I had to take a little cheat sheet with conversions for distance and pace.  Now if I completed the runs or did them as fast as I was supposed to is a different story--but I got on the treadmill four of the five mornings I was there.

When I arrived back on Saturday night I passed out.  I slept for 10.5 hours straight.  For those who know me that is close to impossible.  I think the last time I slept that much was one time I was sick in middle school.  And this is the first time ever that Wifey has woken up before me--first time, ever.  It was great--except that it completely blew my plans to run 12 miles that morning.

Finally, an apology to Laura: I'm sorry, but I didn't get pictures of the gym.  Every time I remembered to take a picture of the gym for you there were people in the gym.  And I didn't want to be the creepy guy taking pictures of sweaty people at the gym.  If it's any consolation, the view from the treadmills was kinda like this (notice the cargo ships in the background, they are always coming in or out):

And the clusterF rolls on

Damn.  I had a good streak going with pretty consistent posts.  And for once I didn't have a lack of things to write about.  I have genuinely not had time for any blog writing since March 15.  Life has been a complete clusterF the last half of March.  Wifey was out of town for a week and a half for business, then we visited my family in South Florida--where we met our new little niece, Giada (no pictures because we left our camera at home, boo!)!  On top of that both of my clients at work have been extremely busy while my team has been snatched away to work on trying to get a new piece of business.

And the best part?  It's not over yet.  Wifey is in the middle of flying back and forth to meetings across the country.  And I--not to be out traveled--am getting ready to go to Hong Kong tomorrow.  That's right: Hong mother-effing Kong.  I'll be sitting on a air plane for 16 hours (deep vein thrombosis anyone?) and going to the other side of the world for a series of client meetings.  And while I'm excited, I really could have done without the super late nights I've put in to get our presentation together (10p here, 1a there).  And our poor apartment: it is so unloved and such a mess.  We haven't cooked in days, the laundry pile is sky high, and thanks to Wifey's doubled efforts to get a decent tomato crop this year, we have lined every free square inch of the apartment with tomato seedlings--it's a greenhouse in here!

And while I am usually able to stick to my training schedule during the toughest of times, the past few weeks have just wiped their ass with my training plans.  The past eight days are just a series of missed and incomplete runs.  It looks pathetic on the training plan, but there is no way I can wake up at 530a after having stayed up until 1a working on a presentation.

But the good news is that the worst appears to be behind me--and the hotel in Hong Kong has an excellent gym from what I can tell online.  Maybe I'll even be able to do my first ever post from abroad next week!

Kick off for Fredericksburg Historic Half

It's official: I've signed up for my next race!  I'll be running the Marine Corps Historic Half on May 15 and I am already two days into training.

Now, this isn't exactly my first choice for Virginia.  I was looking forward to maybe the original rock n roll half at Virginia Beach.  Or maybe that darling of the Runner's World editorial staff: the Richmond Marathon.  So why this race?  My friend who went to grad school in Little Rock (home to the biggest medal in road racing) now lives there.  I had promised her while she lived in Little Rock that we would go down there and visit--and run the Little Rock Marathon while I was there.  But two Marches came and went and no trip to Little Rock.  Now she's back on this side of the Mississippi and I'm not going to go back on my word twice.

Since I set out hard goals for Austin and was able to pretty much meet them, I've set even higher goals for the Historic Half in hopes of pretty much meeting them too.  But even knowing that I can run a 1:41 race, I'm still freaked out a little when I look at my training plan and see 1:35 as the goal finish time and a goal race pace of 7:15.  Eek.  Not too long ago 7:15 was a good mile repeat for me, now I'm going to try holding that pace for 13.1 miles.  And any finish time in the 1:30s sounds completely foreign to me.  So let's see how this goes.

.  that also means I've had to increase all my again, and again put together an equally stepped up plan

If everyone else did it...

...then yes I would jump off a bridge.


Thia ABCs of Me meme is making it's round around the blogosphere.  So I'm throwing in my 26 cents:


Age: 27--although I that really seems a lot older than I feel.

Bed size: Queen

Chore you hate: loading the dishwasher.  I'm awesome at everything else (laundry, cooking, cleaning) but I can't seem to bring myself to load the dishwasher or empty it.

Dogs: I love dogs and really, really want one.  However, we're trying to do the good thing and adopt one which is really hard when you're constantly traveling and live in a small apartment (and therefore need a small dog).  And the paperwork for some of these rescues!  It's like applying for a mortgage.

Essential start your day item: a bowl of frosted mini-wheats with a banana

Favorite color: blue, any and all shades

Gold or silver: er, white gold? 

Height: as an adult I thought I was 5'11", but my co-workers didn't believe me and measured me at 5'9"--which I don't believe

Instruments: I dabbled in piano for probably six months as a kid...man was that piano teacher crazy.  Always wanted to play a string instrument like the violin, but I quickly realized that I don't really have any musical talent

Job title: Strategy Supervisor

Kids: not yet

Live: New York City, specifically in Astoria

Mom's name: Aurea

Nicknames: eh, I've never been a big person for nicknames, but sRod is the only one that has really had traction after childhood

Overnight hospital stay: never, but as a kid I did want to stay a hospital so that I could eat the food.  I know that's weird.  there was just something about the neat organized tray that I wanted to experience.

Pet peeve: lately it has been bad subway etiquette, but there are plenty of others

Quote from a movie: lately I've been quoting "you don't eat no meat?" a lot

Right or left handed: correct handed

Siblings: one older sister

Time you wake up: if I'm running it's 530, if I'm not then 650, Sat/Sun usually 715

Underwear: often

Vegetable you dislike: cucumbers (yes, I know they are a fruit, but  really hate them and they are often served with veggies)

What makes you late: my wife-- :) love you!!!

X-rays you've had done: once when I thought I busted my knee by running too much (turned out my IT band was too tight from never having been stretched)

Yummy food you make: banana cake and basically any form of omelette

Zoo animal favorite: tiger

Say whaaaaaa?

The BAA just upped the qualifying times for the Marathon and instituted a rolling admissions process giving the advantage to faster runners?  Well, I'm f'd.  There goes me qualifying for Boston on my own.

Recorded music for the live music capitol of the world

One of Austin's claims to fame is that it is "The Live Music Capital of the World."  I have no idea how they validate that or who even came up with it.  I can say that it felt like every bar and restaurant we went to while in Austin was promoting some band/musician/performer that was going to be playing their place in the upcoming week.

However, during the Half-Marathon I would not be able to enjoy this live music, so, per usual, I prepared a playlist of recorded music.

While the process was pretty much the same (spent more time making the playlist than running the race), I did break one long-standing tradition: for the first time in my 6+ years of running I did not start a long-distance race (Marathon or Half) by listening to Tina Turner's "Proud Mary."  It was part of the overriding theme to my training for Austin: I had gotten into a running funk so I needed to change up everything.  For my first Half-Marathon I like this song because it started off slow and then half-way through turns into a super-funk high energy.  It was a nice mix between pacing myself and racing.  It was good for then, and it was nice to have the tradition, but it was time to change.  (Of course, I changed it to a song that has a very similar structure.)

One last thing before going onto the actual music: while I have never run out of music during a race I have the fear that I will.  Despite knowing that I will pause the music several times in order to check my breathing I still pad the playlist by about six minutes.  The end result is that I usually only listen to two-thirds of any given playlist during a race.

• Jacqueline; Franz Ferdinand  (it even looks weird starting the playlist with a song that isn't "Proud Mary," it feels like I skipped the first song)
• Garbage Day; Brendan Benson
• It’s Not the Fall That Hurts (US Mix); Caesars
• Let’s Go Dancing; The Fashion
• Supermassive Black Hole; Muse
• I’m Not Over; Carolina Liar (odd song to put at the beginning, but it worked to kick up the pace)
• Don’t Stop Believin’; Journey (don't judge, I'm a sucker for catchiness)
• All of My Loving; Valley Lodge (piece of sRod trivia: this is the only band or artist in my music collection that I actually know in person--the drummer is one of my vendors)
• Soulchaser (US Mix); Caesars
• Long Road to Ruin; Foo Fighters
• Renegade; Styx
• That Girl; Plain White T’s
• Kids; MGMT
• Sins of My Youth; Neon Trees
• Sea Lion Woman; Feist
• A Little Less Conversation (JXL Radio Edit Remix); Elvis Presley
• Love Today; Mika
• That’s Not My Name; The Ting Tings
• Not New In N.Y.; The Fashion
• 1983; Neon Trees
• Feel Like Taking You Home; Brendan Benson
• Wake Up; Arcade Fire (Or as everyone called them after the Grammys: “Arcade Who?”)
• Home; Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
• Shout; The Isley Brothers (yeah, it’s cliché and I try to avoid clichés [please ignore "Don't Stop Believin'" above], but I put it on here anyway—oddly enough, I never ended up hearing it during the race)
• Poised and Ready; Brendan Benson
• Percussion Gun; White Rabbits (awesome song for late in the race)
• The Pretender; Foo Fighters
• Let’s Dance to Joy Division; The Wombats
• Move Along; The All-American Rejects (although I changed my starting song, the finishing set of songs didn’t really change that much)

The two people that live inside me

Sometimes I like to get all philosophical and deep about running.  How I use it as a metaphor for life, how I deal with it psychologically.  I've probably tried to write this post 50 times over the past couple years, but something clicked this morning after reading this post over The Laminator's blog and it all just came together.
________________________________________

As a runner, there are two people that live inside of me: the fat kid and the fast runner.

The fat kid is a hydra: a multi-headed beast that is some ancient relic of my childhood.  Every time I think I've defeated him he reemerges, stronger for the defeat.  I hate the fat kid for two exact reasons: 1) his omnipresence and 2) his power to belittle.  Even acknowledging him here feels awkward, almost shameful.  Like I don't have the right to recognize having been fat as a kid and teenager.  The memory hurts.  And the repercussions that I have seen unfold from an obese childhood reinforce the hurt.

The fat kid is the one who says at the start of a run: "this is all a bad idea, let's wait until tomorrow to do it."

The fast runner wakes me up at 525a, five minutes before the alarm for the gym is supposed to go off even on days that I'm not going running.  The fast runner wants to qualify for Boston, run a sub-1:30 Half-Marathon, run seven days a week, crank the treadmill up to 12.0 just to make people at the gym stare.  The fast runner is the one who gets off on passing slower runners.  The fast runner loves to be active and sweating and prove himself.

The fast runner is the one who says after a run: "I just did that and I think next time I can do it even better."

The fat kid, I know, I will never outrun.  He weighs me down.  He points out flaws in the mirror.  He is self-aware and insecure.  He wants nothing good for me.  He is content being a sloth and watching life from a non-participatory vantage.  My relationship with him is marked by shortcomings.

The fast runner, I know, I will never outrun.  He is always pacing a bit faster than I am.  He never slouches.  His confidence is unshakable.  He likes to buy things that make me look good.  He loves the spotlight and at the same time he is my biggest cheerleader and will never, ever, lose faith in my ability to conquer anything.

Every run these two people check each other.  One wants to take it easy.  The other wants to go balls out.  It is a careful negotiation between the two, who gives, who takes.

During races they become caricatures.  The fat kid gets desperate, screams for an end, wants to find the finish line, be coddled, just to make it all stop and be safe.  Conversely, the fast runner is in his element, sticks out his chest, soars in with an infallible confidence; all things are under his control.

I would ultimately, one day, like to swash the fat kid.  Eradicate him from existence.  But I know he is a part of me forever.  I can't just forget where I have progressed from.  You cannot realize all the great mountains you have climbed if you forget the valley you started in.  It is necessary to have the fat kid villain to victory over, just like it is necessary to have the fast runner to be the hero.  You need a hero to push you, to build goals toward.  Accomplishing those goals feeds ambitions and the creation of higher goals.  Knowing that, it would be impossible to fulfill everyone of my running, and life, desires.  But that said, I would still ultimately, one day, like to be the fast runner.

Gym Carnie-vale

I heart my new gym.  I really do.

It's a ten minute walk from home, it has lots of space (a big deal in NY!), there always a treadmill open that isn't adjacent to someone already on a treadmill, it has a great range of machines, there is a huge stretching area, and it's about $30 less then I was paying at my old gym (and that's including the couple discount we had).  But the one thing I love most is that it is full with gym carnies.

I've been going to this gym now for less than three month, but geez, I had no idea--if I had, I would have signed up sooner.  A morning doesn't go by that I don't laugh to myself at the cast of characters that parade through the place.  I can't wait to share them all.

Speeding in Austin

In an uncharacteristic move I’m going to do the big reveal up front: I finished in 1:41:47!!  That’s a 7:44 pace and happens to be a new Half-Marathon PR by almost seven minutes!  Other milestones for this race:

·         First long distance race (i.e., Half for full Marathon) that I’ve run at sub-8:00 pace

·         First time I’ve ever sustained this pace for more than six miles

·         First net downhill race (there were still hills mind you)

·         First race that I showed up early for

·         First race I ran with heart burn

While I missed my goal time by 48 seconds, I will gladly take it.  Having run this race so well, having shaven off seven minutes from my PR, and proving that I have a faster runner inside of me—that makes all the effort worth it.  To keep things moving, let start with the splits:

Splits

Mile 1: 7:34

Mile 2: 6:43*

Mile 3: 9:20 (registered as 1.21 miles, pace: 7:43)

Mile 4: 7:42

Mile 5: 7:14

Mile 6: 8:10

Mile 7: 8:00

Mile 8: 7:52

Mile 9: 7:48

Mile 10: 7:56

Mile 11: 7:54

Mile 12: 7:28

Mile 13.1: 8:00 (7:14 pace)

Final Stats:

Distance: 13.1

Net Time: 1:41:47

Pace: 7:44

Overall Place: 544/4515 (top 12%)

Gender Place: 408/1915 (top 21%)

Age Place: 60/170 (top 35%)

*It was dark and I’ve kinda gotten out of the habit of wearing Fenny (my Garmin), so I accidentally stopped Fenny at Mile 2 instead of lapping.  This number is the difference between Fenny’s time and my chip time and reflects .82 miles that I had my watch turned off.

Story

It’s getting harder and harder to remember what happens out there on the course.  I’ll scratch part of it up to not being as excited for Half-Marathons as I used to be, so I’m less attentive on the course.  Then this course wasn't scenic or particularly memorable—the real hallmark is the 300 meter net drop.  On top of that I was running with a much, much faster group this time around.  The 1:40 group is very different from the 1:50 crowd I’m used to.  There is little frivolity here: it’s a more hard-core-I’ve-got-pavement-to-kick-I-will-run-you-over atmosphere.  As the first time experiencing this it’s a bit frightening.

I ended up getting to the starting line way earlier than usual.  This wasn’t the best race in terms of pushing information out to runners—we ended up arriving for a 6:15a start, when the race really started at 6:45a.  But it all worked to my advantage.  First off, all the stress of getting there were off because there was no traffic and plenty of parking.  Second, there were no lines at the port-o-potties: I had my pick of clean, unused plastic out houses.

Over the next 45 minutes, runners arrived by the truckload.  Soon enough I was eating an apple (final food/sugar intake) and heading over to the starting corral with Wifey and our friend C.  I kissed Wifey goodbye and gave a hug/thanks-for-driving-this-early to C and then wiggled my way halfway between the 1:40 and 1:45 pace groups.  While standing there I felt the first few drops of rain—I was in complete denial because rain was not in the forecast and we were in central Texas (it just doesn’t rain here during the winter).  I had a flashback to the Portland Marathon that was all rain and then quickly shut that down—no negative thoughts before a race.

The gun fired and the corral swept me away—there was no false start or casual walk to the start line, these Texans go immediately from zero to run.

The first couple of miles were a negotiation.  I didn’t want to go out too fast, but I couldn’t go out too slow.  Heart burn appeared pretty early in the race and subsided for a brief time if I managed to burp—odd, no?  It wasn’t until the 1:45 pacer appeared over my left shoulder somewhere between Mile markers 3 and 4 that I told myself to stop dicking around and kick up the pace—if the 1:45 group was getting ready to pass me I was definitely slacking.

After a mile or so I got the 1:45 group behind me and out of ear shot, thanks to some long downhill stretches.

By the halfway point I saw that I was tracking pretty well on my time.   Probably because of that I eased up a bit and that’s why there are those random 8:00 splits at Mile 6 and 7.  But after Mile 7 I locked onto one guy wearing a San Antonio RnR Marathon shirt who seemed to be running at my goal pace.  I tacked onto him and let him do the driving.  (Look at me borrowing strategies from the elites!)

By Mile 9 I was in a full groove—I wasn’t necessarily hitting my goal pace, but I was cranking out as hard as I could.  I hit a series of songs on Liam (my iPod) that I could sing along to and I was that annoying guy singing loudly to music only he could hear.  My apologies to the more disciplined runners.

The last three miles went by incredibly fast.  There were no turns and it was all downhill.  I knew the PR was waiting for me, but because I had turned off Fenny for Mile 2 I had no idea what I was actually going to finish at, so I started throwing it all out there.   At the Mile 12 marker I went into free for all mode and must have passed at least a dozen runners.  After spurring off onto Trinity St there was a clear downhill view of the finish line five blocks away.  I didn’t get the tremendous kick that I normally get at the end of races (probably because I spent everything on the course) but I got a nice kick regardless and I was over the finish line faster than I thought possible.

I scoured for milk immediately after crossing the finish line—the heartburn was still killing me.  But no luck.  Wifey and C’s mom found me within a couple minutes of crossing the finish line.  After eating a banana and getting a few stretches in, I fought my way to the results board and scanned for a while to find my name.  I passed the 1:43s and the 1:42s.  I found my name finally—holy crap, those numbers are mine?  That blew me away.  I trained for a harder pace and I actually (more or less) did it, and in the process brought my PR down by seven minutes.  Insane.  A goofy smile spread across my face that I couldn’t wipe off.

We celebrated with a huge breakfast at Kerbey Lane Café where I was finally able to down about a quart of milk, followed by fried eggs over sweet potato hash, home fries, sausage, and Texas toast.  We napped until 3p as a delicious post-race food coma set in.

Why hello there

I didn’t intend to take two months off from blogging.  It kinda just happened.  One day I was wrapping up the last of my race report for Portland Marathon and saying that I had kicked off training for the 3M Austin Marathon (for a second time).  The next thing I know I’m crossing the finish line in Austin.

As always, life got in the way.  A busy October and November lead to an even busier December with Christmas shopping, personal travel, business travel, and houseguests being driven to the emergency room.

But now, a month into 2011, I can say that everything is going well and starting to look normal.  And I am very happy to say that my running has only seemed to improve lately.

First off, I bit the bullet and joined a gym.  After running outside straight through winter 2009-2010 I can say I have the wherewithal—and flat out balls—to train and run outside through a New York winter.  However, now that I’ve proven that I don’t feel compelled to prove it again and have signed up for the other gym in my neighborhood (i.e., not my old gym, which thinks I moved back in with my parents in Florida two years ago).

I have to say, I really like the new gym.  From the initial tour I really liked how spacious it was, how it didn’t feel pretentious, and the assortment of machines.  It falls weak in classes (apparently only housewives take classes at this gym) and is a good 10-15 minute walk from my apartment, but those are really the only drawbacks. 

Perhaps it was nostalgia for the treadmill after taking a two year break, but while training for Austin I really enjoyed being back on the treadmill—far more than I expected to and perhaps more than any runner probably should.  I missed the creature comforts of having a towel handy and bathrooms within reach at any time.  I also liked catching the news and sports reports in closed caption.  I found myself enjoying my runs so much more than when I was running outside.

Also for Austin I took an aggressive stance on my training for several reasons.  First, I believed that a faster runner lived inside of me, but that I had become too comfortable with my paces and training plans and that he was never going to come out unless I pushed him forward.  Second, I was tired of seeing tiny improvements in my race times although I swore that I was increasing the work in my training.  Third, I really, really wanted to get to another running milestone—in this case, a 1:40 Half-Marathon.

Instead of tweaking around with past plans and Frankenstein-ing my own training plan, I went back to the Ultimate Half-Marathon training plan and followed the advanced plan to a T.  I didn’t switch around days like I normally do, I didn’t add workouts I liked or take out ones that I didn’t—I just stuck to the plan.  And from the get go I based everything off a 7:40 race pace, which would translate into a 1:40 finish.  This part was the most freighting when I was putting the plan together (and harkens back to how comfortable I had become): my current HM race pace range was in the 8:12-8:20 range and I was planning on pushing that down by over 30 seconds.  However, I forced myself to go through with it—despite those mornings when I had a hard time maintaining that pace for even three miles. 

Actually, what forced me to keep up the pace during training what an short, unexpected conversation while Wifey and I were in Florida for thanksgiving.  The weekend before Thanksgiving my aunt had a “for the hell of it” party with friends and family.  One of my aunt’s friends whom I hadn’t seen in years but she has known me most of my life was there.  She’s one of my friends on Facebook so she knew I was a runner and asked what race I had coming up next.  I told her about Austin and my 1:40 goal and how I was scared of trying to get that time.  She simply responded “you just have to push yourself.”  There was something about the simple truth of those words—and the realization that I had forgotten to push myself during training.  And most days when I was looking at a particularly hard run at 6am after trudging through the snow I remembered these words and the sudden wave of energy that possessed me carried me through that run.

The race report will come shortly, but I will say that all the training paid off.

Rocking out in Portland

Geez.  Over three weeks since the last time I posted, huh?  It hasn't been for lack of topics--more for lack of time.  Work has been busy leading up to the end of the year.  And then traveling for the holidays and a wedding.  Three weeks just kinda appeared eventually.

Anywho, so I'm clearing out my backlog of post topics with my very delayed music post for the Portland Marathon.  Below is my playlist from the race.  You can go here for a basic outline of the process.

It took me about four hours to compile this playlist--longer than it took me to run the race!  But I have to say, I really like this mix.  I listed to the majority of it, all the way down to Don't Stop Believein' with a minimal amount of skips.  Usually I end up listening to only half of the songs because I pause the music so much to establish my own cadence.  I've enjoyed this mix so much that I haven't switched it out for another in the months since the Marathon--granted I've done very light running until this week (official first week fo training for Austin!).

• Proud Mary; Tina Turner
• Empire State of Mind (Part II) Broken Down; Alicia Keys
• Crown of Love; Arcade Fire
• Wouldn't It Be Nice; The Beach Boys
• Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'; Michael Jackson
• Every Little Thing; Valley Lodge
• A Whole Lot Better; Brendan Benson
• You Make My Dreams; Daryl Hall & John Oates
• Time to Pretend; MGMT
• American Slang; The Gaslight Anthem
• Roxanne; The Police
• Pick Up the Phone; Dragonette
• This Bed; Alicia Keys
• Garbage Day; Brendan Benson
• 1901; Phoenix
• Haiti; Arcade Fire
• In The Hospital; Friendly Fires
• Human; The Killers
• Home; Edward Sharpe & The Magnificent Zeros
• Renegade; Styx
• Natural Disaster; Plain White T's
• All of My Loving; Valley Lodge
• Rebellion (Lies); Arcade Fire
• For Reasons Unknown; The Killers
• Feel Like Taking You Home; Brendan Benson
• Always Where I Need to Be; The Kooks
• Sins of My Youth; Neon Trees
• Two Doors Down; Mystery Jets
• That Girl; Plain White T's
• Hanging On; Valley Lodge
• That's Not My Name; The Ting Tings
• Lasso; Phoenix
• Take Me Out; Franz Ferdinand
• Uprising; Muse
• Neighborhood #3 (Power Out); Arcade Fire
• Mr. Brightside; The Killers
• I'm Actual; The Format
• I Really Want You; Plain White T's
• I Can't Win; The Strokes
• Lisztomania; Phoenix
• Long Road to Ruin; Foo Fighters
• Percussion Gun; White Rabbits
• Wake Up; Arcade Fire
• Animal; Neon Trees
• I Don't Wanna Dance; Hey Monday
• Show Me What I'm Looking for; Carolina Liar
• Come on Eileen; Dexy's Midnight Runners
• Heartbreak Stroll; The Raveonettes
• Love Today; Mika
• Zero; Yeah Yeah Yeahs
• Don't Stop Believin'; Journey
• 1983; Neon Trees
• Spotlight; Mute Math
• I'm Not Over; Carolina Liar
• Juicebox; The Strokes
• I Gotta Feeling; Black Eyed Peas
• Beat It; Fall Out Boy
• The Pretender; Foo Fighters
• Let's Dance to Joy Division; The Wombats
• Move Along; The All-American Rejects

The happiest faces you'll ever see

Other potential, yet wordier title: The only time I've had a legit running related reason to include a link to a beauty pageant website

If you are a runner in New York you are doing one of three things on the first Sunday of November: running the NYCM, spectating at the NYCM, or volunteering at the NYCM.  Since I ran Portland less than a month ago and I feel more useful as a volunteer than a spectator, we did the third of these things this past weekend.

Since we live in a part of the city untouched by the Marathon course we didn't really experience the race until we showed up on Central Park West and 72 Street.  It was a brisk and beautiful autumn day--pretty nice for a race actually (although I'm sure the runners would have appreciated some kind of cloud coverage)--and Central Park West was shutdown.  In place of parked cars there were barricades and swarms of volunteers.

We checked in and I stuffed an apple and a sandwich in one of my jacket pockets.  At the sign for Medal Distribution we stripped off our layers to put on the volunteer t-shirt--it was below 40 out there and we didn't have a bag to put the t-shirts in, so we did this lightening fast.  Then we packed on the layers again, finishing off the uniform with the iconic orange and white volunteer ponchos.  A second later one of the group leaders picked up the little group that had formed and we descended into Central Park.

The only other time I've been through this finish chute I wanted to get out as fast as possible.  But now I could take in how well organized the area is--and exactly how massive it was. We had entered the park just before the area where the UPS trucks park and headed toward the finish line passing the food station (this year smartly putting the food into individual backpacks), water station, heat sheet station, and photo station.

When we got to the medal racks we were less than 100 meters from the finish line bleachers, so at first I thought the noise were people in the bleachers who had brought sleigh bells.  I quickly realized it was actually the clanking of medals and that we were some of the last people to show up because the racks were all loaded up already.

One of the other volunteers snapped a picture with my phone before the onslaught of runners:

We were briefed on our job, which boiled down to two things.  First, distribute medals to everyone with a bib number and be prepared for cheers, tears, hugs, kisses, vomit, sweat, Vaseline, etc..  Second, kindly turn down people who ask for a second medal and defend the medals from people trying to snatch an extra one.  The second aspect of the job blew my mind.  Who would want more than one medal?  It's not like you ran the race twice; or that the extra medal would make the accomplishment any more special.  In all my races it's something that has never ever crossed my mind.

The first runners to come in were the wheelchair runners.  Actually, they came in a little faster than expected because they were still briefing us when they started to roll in.  Negotiating the medal around their helmets was difficult, so I left the bulk of it to--I kid you not--the beauty queen.  Miss Galaxy International and Miss New York had both come out to volunteer at medal distribution and Miss Galaxy happened to be in our line.

After the elite men finished the masses started rolling in.  There were a few at first, but within a few minutes we had a steady stream of runners coming down the chute.  At one point I looked up to take in the guys coming in and it was a scene out of a zombie horror movie.  About two or three dozen guys staggering, mouths hanging open, staring blankly, and headed right for us in the medal racks.  

Within about half an hour the volunteer organizers instructed us to stop placing medals over the runners and to start handing them out.  While this might seem impersonal and a small slight to the runners, it was becoming apparent that if we placed a medal over each runner a backlog would form pretty soon.  And I think a back up at the finish line is far worse than having to put on your own medal.

And so the hours rolled on by.  We clapped and cheered and called out names and countries from shirts and singlets.  We rotated who was at the front of the line (taking the brunt of the runners) and who was in the back loading up on medals and catching people who skipped the front of the line.  If I was toward the back, I would place the medal on the runners and give them a shake.  There were people bubbling with energy, there were people hobbling on their last legs, there were people with tears, there were people who screamed, there were people who kneeled, there were people who hugged, there were people who were in a fog, there were people who could not find words, there were people who took pictures, there were people who kissed their medal, and there were people (way more than I thought) who kissed us.  Wifey was a particular favorite for the kissers, especially the European ones that kiss twice.

In all this there were three moments that stood out most.  First was spotting our friend S.  I heard Wifey shout out his name and I turned around.  He was in a bit of a fog and had trouble walking.  He didn't recognize Wifey because she had on her big sunglasses, but he recognized me and lurched in my direction.  We hugged each other and I helped him through the medal area, with the bulk of his weight resting on me.  I found out later that he finished with a pace of 7:10, blistering fast and 5 seconds faster than his previous best.

Second was spotting our friend J.  Wifey somehow spotted him in the middle of the masses and shouted out his name.  I got out of line and went to meet him.  J was all tears and sweat and could barely stand, but he was so happy to see us.  I noticed as he walked on that he finished way under 3:30.  Turns out he ran a 3:15 race and qualified for Boston (after trying to do so for many years).

Third had nothing to do with a friend, actually, it involved complete strangers from The Netherlands.  Sometime around 3pm Wifey had separated from me for a bit--as was often happening while we rotated places in line and restocked the racks.  When she reappeared at my side she total me that a couple from The Netherlands came up to her and the other medal volunteer standing next to her.  In some form of English they said: since you are giving us a present (the medals), we are giving you a present; then the Dutch couple each took out a key chain that had a pair of white Delft porcelain clogs dangling from it and gave them to Wifey and the other volunteer.  These runners had bought these key chains in The Netherlands, brought them to New York, and then stashed them on their bodies for 26.2 miles--all to give them away to perfect strangers.  

This third story is easily one of my favorite running stories of all time. It just speaks volumes about running and how it connects people.  And it's now something that I'd like to carry on with my future races (let's see if I remember!).  

At about 5pm we started to get the itch to leave, partly because it had already turned dark and partly because there were still about a dozen medal volunteers but just a tiny trickle of runners.  At 5:30pm we headed out as they closed down the full medal operation and moved medal distribution to a table closer to the finish line.  By 6:15pm we had found a restaurant to have dinner and recounted the great day we'd had--although in the excitement we had completely skipped lunch, so this was only our second meal of the day.

Twenty-Six Miles through a Lake, Part III

Race statistics are like porn to runners, and Portland had no shortage of runner’s porn.

Starting off with the basics here's how I did:

Looking at these stats, Portland is actually now the best race I've run (on paper).  While I didn't get a PR I did finish in the top 18% of overall finishers, the only time I've done better than that was the Warrior Dash a few weeks back--and that wasn't really a running contest.  For Gender place, it's a tie with the Delaware Marathon at top 30%, and for age group it's my best Marathon performance by 1%.  I'm interpreting these numbers to mean that even that I may have been having a crappy day, everyone else was having a crappier day--which makes me feel better about the whole race.  It lets me know I didn't completely squander this easy course. 

I should note there are discrepancies between some of the reporting (finish time, number of runners, etc.) depending on where you get them from.  I went with the numbers on the results website since those appear to be the most robust.

The race also recorded quite a few split times.  I find this funny because the race didn't have clocks at the mile markers, but they did have timing mats to record splits.  I would think that you would want to provide clocks before providing splits.  Anywho, here's how I was pacing during various parts of the race, looks like I was doing pretty well (but notice there is no split for the final 5 miles):

It's pretty cool that the race provided all these stats.  Especially since it didn't register when I marked the finish on Fenny--the Garmin download says I ran for 36.7 miles in 7:21:15.  Even though I got every split on the course, I didn't get the most important one--despite race pictures showing me hitting my watch while I crossed the finish line!

In addition to the splits above, there were some cool graphics that the results website provided.  This first screen shows my placing in the various groups in a graph form.  But the coolest thing on this page is the box on the bottom right where it reports how many I passed (223!!) in the last 10K and how many people passed me (just 26?).  That's a huge ego boost.

This second screen has interesting ways of presenting my averages during the race (average mile, average kilometer, average speed).  There is also a diagram of the finish area when I crossed the finish line.  I have no idea how they did this, but it shows everyone that was immediately before and after me in the race.  And when you hover over those dots on the site, the name and time difference pops up underneath the dot.  Pretty freakin' cool.

This last screen is also interesting.  The map shows you 1) where you were when the overall winner finished, 2) where you were when the female winner finished, and 3) where the average runner was when you finished the race.  There's also that bar chart off to the right with average speed for each quarter of the race.  On the site if you hover over those numbers it provides the exact timing and distance for those splits.  Pretty cool.

Now that I've looked at the numbers I realize that things weren't that bad.  This was actually a good race.  The bitching and griping has to be done in order to come to the conclusion that the bitching and griping aren't all that necessary: I still conquered the Marathon (again!!) and I still ran my best.

Twenty-Six Miles through a Lake, Part II

The Splits:

Mile 1: 8:51 (recorded as 1.17 miles)

Mile 2: 9:28

Mile 3: 9:09

Mile 4: 8:32

Mile 5: 8:38

Mile 6: 8:25

Mile 7: 8:51

Mile 8: 8:33

Mile 9: 8:20

Mile 10: 8:25

Mile 11: 8:20

Mile 12: 8:55

Mile 13: 8:24

Mile 14: 9:03

Mile 15: 8:00

Mile 16: 8:32

Mile 17: 8:55

Mile 18: 8:18

Mile 19: 7:46 (recorded as .9 miles)

Mile 20: 9:41 (recorded as 1.12 miles)

Mile 21: 8:29

Mile 22: 8:24

Mile 23: 8:42

Mile 24: 8:38

Mile 25: 9:21

Mile 26: ???

Mile 26.2: ???

The Story:

To say I was happy with this race would be a lie.  Fortunately, with time all races develop a particular patina where I appreciate the things I gained while training and while on the course and overall the memory becomes a series of positive takeaways instead of a chain of challenges that systematically bore me down.   Unfortunately, this race hasn’t completely developed that patina yet.  It still feels like a non-accomplishment that I need to trick myself into believing was a great achievement.

What is holding me back from enjoying this race as yet another triumph over the Marathon is that I am tired of complaining.  Every time I run a race I have a series of excuses and bitchings as to why it wasn’t my perfect race. 

As a seasoned Marathoner I feel I don’t have the right to complain anymore.  I lost that right somewhere along the way because at this point I know what to expect, I know what I’ve signed up for, I know how to prepare for it, and I know what will happen afterward.  If this all caught me by surprise I’d be correct to complain about it.  But I know what’s coming and I do prepare for it.  So it still catches me off guard when after a race all I can list is the things that went wrong and the things I can improve for next time.

In order to set this right I need to embrace complaint as part of the process; have a bit of catharsis before the euphoria.  It’s only through a thorough hashing of 100 things that I perceive to have gone wrong that I can truly inventory and appreciate the 1,000 things that went right.  With this in mind I will proceed with the complaints.

While running this race I knew about four miles in that it would be a long race.  The miles weren’t passing by as quickly as they normally do during a race.  This isn’t a comment on my speed, it a comment on my mental state.  Usually I can get about halfway through a race just on excitement and the real racing doesn’t come until after the halfway mark.  But with this race I remember specifically looking at my watch before Mile Five and thinking “OK, when is this going to be over?”  That was bad.

Of course I blame the rain for this, but I also blame my reliance on my Garmin too.  At the start I knew the GPS signal wasn’t registering, so my splits would be a bit off.  But then my first split came back at 8:51: about appropriate for the first cluttered mile of a race if I’m shooting for an 8:24 pace.  However, I didn’t see until after I loaded the race into my computer that the GPS signal registered within the first block of the race and that the first split registered as 1.17 miles instead of one so that I had a pace of 7:35 for that first mile.  Now that probably explains why it felt so difficult to get into a proper pace during those first few miles, which probably explains the erratic pacing later in the race too.

A brutal truth about this race is that large chunks of it are just not pretty.  I can count at least nine miles (five through 11 and 13 through 16) that went through warehouse districts, large rail yards, or remote strips of highway lined by industrial businesses with large parking lots.  And it’s not the race directors’ fault.  The geography of Portland is essentially a valley: stray too far away from downtown/the river and you run into hills.  It is actually quite an accomplishment that there is only one significant hill on the entire course.  But those lonely miles do take a toll on you, especially the strip from Mile 13 to 16.

Speaking of the hill, it was a mighty climb and I loved every single second of it.  With everything else on the course virtually flat, it was a relief to climb up the 205 foot rise of the St. Johns Bridge.  My quads came alive with power, their stores of energy finally being tapped.  I passed people left and right, as if it were the easiest thing to do.  This was the part of the race I loved the most—and I felt a little sad once I reached the peak knowing that there were essentially no more hills for the rest of the race.

On the other side of the bridge the crowds were great and essentially did not stop until the next bridge some seven miles later.  Actually, I was really impressed with the crowd turnout at this race.  Portlanders were great at coming out in the non-stop rain and cheering on runners.  The kids were also never afraid to take a hi-five from a soaked runner.  The volunteer turnout was also incredible: each water station easily had 25 people handing out liquids and for a race of 12,000 that is a luxurious ratio (I never had to worry about getting water).

The only bad thing about this the race after the St. Johns Bridge was that to the right you basically had an uninterrupted view of downtown (the finish line) behind a whitewash fog.  Something about that made the finish line seem so far away.  It was also in these miles that I started to feel the absence of my water bottle.  I noticed halfway between water stations that I wanted water and that I couldn’t turn to my hand and get it.  While I had appreciated having both hands free during the race, I saw that I really needed a steady flow of liquids during these last six or so miles.

Besides the rain, missing water bottle, and choppy pacing I really thought I was doing well.  And up until Mile 24 I was still looking at a PR—not 3:40, but something like 3:45 or 3:46.  Then it just all got really hairy after that.  Since the halfway point I could feel my stomach aching for more food (despite a steady schedule of GU every 45 minutes).  I could also feel cramps going through my abdomen (a sure sign that I should have stayed in that port-o-potty a little longer before the race).  Knowing that the finish line was close only made those sensations worse.

Despite only having two miles to go I couldn’t muster up enough good thoughts to keep me plowing through.  Or maybe I had forgotten to focus on the good thoughts once I got to this point. 

On the other side of the Broadway Bridge I started to feel the weight of the previous miles upon me.  My knees were starting to worry me because for the preceding weeks they had been aching more than usual and feeling weird and for some reason I couldn’t find my heating pad to make them feel better.  Trying to envision the finish line was useless because of all the tall buildings and street names were unfamiliar—I had no idea where it was and could only tell you it was not close enough.

All of these things compounded into a weird heart burn/stomach cramp/gas bubble/stitch flare up concentrated in the area at the bottom of my chest sternum.  I felt myself start to hobble and then uncontrollably started walking.

“Fuck,” is all I could say.  Less than a mile to the finish line and I had to stop to walk.  I felt like I let myself down, but it was something I could recover from.  About 30 seconds later I picked it up again set on making it to the finish from there.  But a minute or two later I stopped again from the same pain.  The second walking break felt like failure.  That was where I realized that the PR would not happen and that I felt I let the race get the best of me.  That hurt in a way that was trivial (I was still going to finish a Marathon!) and soul shattering (I couldn’t perform despite my hardest effort).  And that is the same thing that prevents me from coming to good terms with Portland today. 

When I felt better and finally recognized where I was (only four blocks from the finish line) I started running determined to not stop until the finish line.  And I did.  I unzipped my wind breaker (never ended up taking it off due to the rain) to show my bib number, which had my name printed in all caps on it.  Sure enough people started yelling my name.  Though it was vain it was great.  Despite the shortcomings of the previous mile, I crossed the finish line as I always do: running hard and strong, blasting any doubt that I once again defeated the juggernaut.

Final Numbers:

Net Time: 3:49:00

Overall place: 1388/7835 (top 18% of finishers)

Men: 1025/3407 (top 30%)

M25-29: 160/437 (top 37%)

Twenty-Six Miles through a Lake, Part I

Marathons are run come hell or high water.  Well, I got the latter.

The forecast I posted ten days prior of partly cloudly and 62 never happened.  The very next day the forecast changed to 50% chance of showers and only went up from there.  Even the night before the race, when the local weather man forecasted the rain to start an hour after the race start—even that delay didn’t happen.

This was my first race in the northwest and fate had decided it was going to be a quintessential experience, climate and all.  When we got to the lobby and looked out the front doors my heart sank.  Sheets of rain were dancing across the street.  A curtain of water was pouring over the awning.  We huddled under our one umbrella and went out into the downpour. 

As we walked the ten blocks to staging area, more and more runners joined the trek.  Some were carrying umbrellas, others wearing ponchos—several pragmatic ones were wearing garbage bags.  I thought the garbage bag was a good idea: the jacket I was wearing was no match for the elements, one minute out from under the umbrella and I’d be soaked.

A block away from the starting area we ducked out of the crowd and into a covered area in front of a building.  It was still very dark, the rain and clouds prevented any light.  I went through my stretches while I was still mostly dry and had the space.  I started eating an apple, but knew that I probably didn’t have quite enough food inside of me.  For the previous 72 hours I had been a nervous wreck between staying up late to pack, squeezing a ten hour work day into seven, taking a transcontinental flight, all mixed with the anxiety that comes with a Marathon.  And when I get stressed, I don’t eat—my stomach just locks up, to the point that the day before I had to force myself to eat lunch and dinner because I just didn’t have an appetite.

Even while eating the apple, I could feel my body saying “I don’t want this.”  Getting down two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches earlier that morning was already a major effort.  But I forced myself to eat as much as possible of the apple as you can see here in the moments before I entered the starting corrals:





Note: when I said “human baggage” I actually meant the people accompanying the runners (like Wifey was accompanying me) not their actual personal effects.

It doesn’t come out so well in the video but I was mentally stuck between “I don’t want to run in the rain,” “I don’t want to be on camera,” “where is the nearest port-o-potty,” and “how much more of this apple can I take?”  The surroundings were equally discordant: runners trying to stay dry under ledges, a giant crowd of runners trying to get through one gate in the fence, marshals calling out directions, humming generators from the flood lights, the faint smell of port-o-potties.

I kissed my videographer goodbye and wiggled into the mob.

Once past the security fence I went immediately to the port-o-potty lines.  Geez, there are never enough of these.  Right before my turn to go in I decided to go for quick 30 second jog around an empty area of the start.  When I hopped back in line I was ready to, um, go.

After the pitch black port-o-potty there was about 10 minutes left before the start of the race.  I went over to my starting corral.  Not sure how, but somehow I was placed in the second corral just behind the elites/really fast people.  I found a dry spot off to the side under a tree and waited. 

At this point the rain had gone from downpour to drizzle to almost gone back to drizzle.  I just accepted the fact that I was going to have to run in the rain for this race and that I would be very wet.  I thought of the previous times that I had run in the rain and nothing bad happened then—I was just running wet.  And then I realized: I left my water bottle with Wifey.  I had meant to grab it when I grabbed the apple, but didn’t.  I scanned the crowd near the fence to spot her umbrella, but no luck.  And with only minutes before the start I couldn’t step out and find her.

I hadn’t run a race without a water bottle in years.  And I had run all my other Marathons with a water bottle.  Funny, it was going to be my wettest race ever, but my first without a water bottle.

As they sounded the wheelchair start I went over my basic game plan: get down to an 8:24 pace as quickly as possible and then hold it for as long as possible.  That pace would get me a 3:40 finish.  I also remembered to turn on my Garmin.

After the horn sounded for the runner start I figured that all the corrals would be released at once.  But when my corral (B) shifted to where corral A was they held us back.  Not only had they corralled runners according to pace, but they were spacing apart the corral releases by about a minute.  Something I think was very smart.

In the seconds before they released my corral I looked at my Garmin, it still hadn’t registered a GPS signal.  Uh oh.  It was taking longer than it should to get the signal, probably because of the weather and tall buildings surrounding the start.  So I assumed I would have some choppy splits for the first couple miles: one more atypical thing to juggle during this race. 

And then they counted down for our start:

A rough transition back

So I can't hide that I've had a hard time blogging over the past few months.  It's been hard with work to find the time like I used to, and when I do find time I'm not inspired to write.  It sucks.  It really and truly does.

Then, when I was inspired to write in the days before the Portland Marathon we were rushing to pack and tie up loose ends before we left.

After the race, well, I was on vacation.  And despite the best intentions of writing up my race report cozied up in a hotel bed, we never had a day where we got to be lazy around the room for a morning.

And now, we've stepped back into the shit-storm that is our normal life.  Sigh.

Race report is coming.  And I promise: it will be a wet one.

Ten days to go

Marathon Fever. It has snuck up on me this time. When I turned on the TV this morning and realized it was Oct 1 and that the Portland Marathon was only 10 days way I realized that I had been showing symptoms all week. I’ve visited the Marathon’s website at least twice a day this whole week. I carefully analyzed the starting and finishing area maps, scoping out ideal entry and exit points. Despite the fact that the Portland Marathon is just a piece of a much longer Portland vacation, I only have eyes for this race for next ten days.

It’s such a great feeling to have, especially since I didn’t get these kinds of butterflies with the Delaware Marathon.

The only problem? It has essentially rained every morning this week. And we’re not talking wimpy rain here—the cover from our grill has blown off and dowels from our tomato plants have been pulled out of the ground. But I must take it for what it is: Mother Nature is forcing me to taper. And since I suck at tapering as much as the next guy, this coaching by weather might just do the trick.

PS--Did I mention that the race day is now in the 10-day forecast?  It looks like it's going to be a perfect day: