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:

Wrapping up the NYCM

We’re still not done with the NYCM! I never got to post my playlist prior to the race and immediately afterward I was too consumed with my five-part race report to write up the ol’ list of play. [Side note: FIVE part? Geez, I wouldn’t think that was necessary unless I wrote it. Screw self-editing, right?]

I slapped together my playlist at the last minute—literally. In the last hour before I went to sleep on Saturday night I took out all my race day stuff and added two hours worth of music to my last Half-Marathon playlist (i.e., Grete’s Great Gallop). I’m not proud of it, but it was the only time I had.

Funny thing is that the music worked out really well during the race. I only listed to about two-thirds of the thing (accounting for pauses to check my pace), but I was really happy every time a song started. Perhaps I have been over-hinking my music selection—Marcy haunts me from beyond the blog-grave!!

• Proud Mary; Tina Turner
• Brandy Alexander; Feist
• Bennie and the Jets; Elton John
• Ulysses; Franz Ferdinand
• Boston; Augustana
• Chocolate; Snow Patrol
• Under Control; Parachute
• Lucid Dreams; Franz Ferdinand
• Bulletproof; La Roux
• Tears Dry On Their Own; Amy Winehouse
• Heavy Cross; Gossip
• Losing Touch; The Killers
• PYT; Michael Jackson
• Spaceman; The Killers
• Always Where I Need to Be; The Kooks
• Lisztomania; Phoenix
• No You Girls; Franz Ferdinand
• Tick of Time; The Kooks
• Dog Problems; The Format
• Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground); The Jacksons
• Heads Will Roll; Yeah Yeah Yeahs
• Jump In The Pool; Friendly Fires
• Resistance; Muse
• Can You Feel It; Michael Jackson
• HAPPY Radio; Edwin Starr
• Paris; Friendly Fires
• Blinded By the Light; Manfred Mann's Earth Band
• Barracuda; Heart
• Canned Heat; Jamiroquai
• I Saw It on Your Keyboard; Hellogoodbye
• Human; The Killers
• My Moon My Man; Feist
• Read Between the Lines; KSM
• Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough; Michael Jackson
• Uprising; Muse
• The Love You Save; Jackson 5
• I’m Bad; The Last Vegas
• Zero; Yeah Yeah Yeahs
• I Kissed a Girl; Katy Perry
• Beat It; Fall Out Boy
• American Boy; Estelle
• I Don't Feel Like Dancin'; Scissor Sisters
• I Want You Back; Jackson 5
• This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race; Fall Out Boy
• Reptilia; The Strokes
• Times Like These; Foo Fighters
• Shockwave; Black Tide
• Let's Dance to Joy Division; The Wombats
• The Pretender; Foo Fighters

Onto lessons I learned from the NYCM, now that I’ve had time to decipher them:

1. I really did try to have faith in all the training I had done—and while it might not have produced a 3:40 finish time, I still finished very strong and repeated my PR. So the strategy worked! I will be keeping this in mind for future races.
2. My hamstrings were mysteriously NOT fatigued. I thought it was just a post-race fluke, but then the week of recovery they were never sore. I’m not sure why this happened. I need to investigate this. I’m wondering if I didn’t use them enough during the race.
3. I really liked my training schedule. It worked well with my work/life schedule yet managed to incorporate an extra day of running. The only thing is that I stepped up the mileage without setting my alarm clock earlier—so toward the end I had to cut runs short since I was running late.
4. I used to like Tempo runs, but now that I’ve gone through a training cycle having to do Tempo runs outside I no longer like them. In addition to having to run these outside, I lowered the pace for Tempo runs A LOT. I may have been too ambitious this time around, but should be OK using these paces for the next training cycle.
5. I knew my stomach was sensitive in the morning, but I never realized just how sensitive it was until I moved out of the gym, far away from any bathroom. I may have to start drinking coffee first thing in the morning just to get the constitutional out of the way before I start running.
6. The NYCM forces you to get to the starting line early. Ridiculously early. I’m normally a “just in time” type of runner, getting to the starting corral within minutes of the gun. So sitting in Ft. Wadsworth for over an hour was very different. But all that time let me prepare correctly, both mentally and physically.
7. Focus! I doubt there is any runner who can’t stand to focus a bit more, but I felt I had an incredibly hard time on the course focusing on my race. I suspect this was mostly due to the huge crowds. However, I think I could stand to devise some kind of mental process to stay focused during a race.
8. I can’t forget to stretch. My IT bands got really tight toward the end of the training cycle—and that is purely because I wasn’t taking enough care of them. Now that I’ve had time to rest I’ve been able to stretch more before and after runs and use heating pads to help loosen the muscles—I need to carry this through to the next training cycle.
9. It was strange, but I was very sore after this race. After Newport and the Pig I just kinda sprang back to life the next day, but I was tapped out by the NYCM. I didn’t get back to 100% until the following Thursday. Not sure what lesson to take out of this, but it’s worth keeping in mind.

Last, but not least, my time. I still don't have a resolution on that. I've sent pictures to the NYRR and long emails explaining what I think happened, but they're still trying to figure out what to do. There will be a final update on that, one day.

LSD

Long Slow Distance: that weekend battle ax ritual where you kiss your wife goodbye at an ungodly hour and run for hours on end at a pace akin to a turtle sprinting. This is the cornerstone upon which many, if not all, distance running training plans are built on. And yesterday, I realized I had never ever done one.

I went out with the Super Runner's Shop group yesterday (still trying to get the free shoes). After last weekend's crappy 20-miler I wanted to be really smart about this run and not outpace myself five miles into a 14 mile run. I was going to head out with the faster pack (8:30 pace) that was only doing six miles, but ended up starting the run with the slower pack (9:30 pace) who were all doing 10+ miles.

I told myself I'd stick with this pack for the first Central Park loop and then I'd push the pace of the group. Then I realized that this wasn't a pack that would respond to someone pushing the pace, so after the first loop I just said to myself "get over Harlem Hill and then you can break off." Well, that didn't happen either because I got so wrapped up in the conversation (I miss running in a group!).

Midway through the second loop of the park I mentioned to everyone that I usually don't run my long runs this slow. Then I realized, I have always run my long run--my supposed long slow distance runs--at or near race pace. I always start off the run planning to go slow and easy, I always tell myself during the run to slow down, but I either end up finishing near race pace or bonking like I did last weekend.

So I stuck with the group for the next couple of miles and then broke off at mile 13 to finish my 14. Sure enough, the second I left the group my pace plunged from 9:40 to 8:30--but I let myself have that fun because I only had one mile left to go.

The end result was that I finally got to see how a long run is supposed to be run. My knees didn't hurt much afterward (CP is so hilly!) and I wasn't all that tired afterward (I stayed out until 2:00 am last night with no nap!). This is definitely a lesson I needed to learn.

slow and easy. It felt great afterward to just

I did it anyways

The rain held out for the first 13 miles of yesterday's run, but then there was a sudden and intense string of showers. I ducked into the nearest subway just as the rain died down. Turns out the whole day would be on and off storms. I ended my run at 13 miles, but felt really good--I completed all the hills by this point and had a pace just under my goal of 9:00.

What I'm really happy about is that I'm not beating myself up about the short run. Normally I'd be upset the whole day for not finishing a long run, but I'm trying to be a better runner and understand that you don't have to complete a trianing plan to the letter to be prepared for a race. I was extremely tired on Saturday, so the fact that I even went out was a big accomplishment.

Off to enjoy the big new sofa. It's soooo comfy. I've fallen asleep on it every night since we got it.

A few more thoughts that haven't yet fallen onto the page

Just some final thoughts on Fairfield and then it'll be stored away:

1. I PR'd! Yes, it was by one second, but as a few people have pointed out, my previous Half-Marathon PR was on a super flat course--actually the flattest course I've ever run. So the fact that this course was monstrously hilly and I still managed to come at just under my best time means that I have improved significantly.


2. No bowel issues! My body has this weird way of knowing that it's race day and puts the whole system on lock down. However, not so during training. There have been plenty of near misses on training runs, and even a few hits...but there has only been two races (Disney and Queens) where I've had to stop to visit the little runner's room. If only there was a way to harness that race day lock down.


3. No medal! I found out on race day that there would be no medal. That means yet another state that I have no medal for. Sigh. It seems a lot of the smaller races just don't believe in medals. Which I don't understand. How much are medals? $10 a person? Can't you just tack that on to the race fee and give everyone a memento of the race? Or use the money that you're using to pay for t-shirts to pay for medals instead--race t-shirts tend to be crappy anyway. But back to the point: I had originally stated that I would count a state as complete if I got a medal in that state. Well, from here on out I'm waiving that criterion: as long as I have a bib and finish the race, the state is counted. Although the NYC Marathon and Boston will stay on my list of long-term races because I feel I have to run them, some day.


4. I will experiment with my playlist for the next race. I don't think I have the right progression of speed worked into my playlist methodology. For the next race day playlist I'm going to try starting off with a few upbeat songs to keep me excited through the first mile or two, then move onto slow songs gradually working faster until the 5-star songs.


5. Despite the hilliness of the Fairfield course I still enjoy hills, if they are spread out and not in immediate succession. Hills give me a short-term goal to work toward: I have to run hard, push, and concentrate to make it to the top. And then you get a reward with the downhill. It's like a purge followed by a binge...but not detrimental to your health.


6. For the many reasons I listed in my previous post, I will avoid driving to a race on race day morning. That should be pretty easy to accomplish since I've done every state within a three-hour drive radius.

In other news, wifey and I will be heading down to Miami for Independence Day weekend for a much needed trip to soak up the sun and see family. Might also get to run my first 5K and meet a RBF while I'm there. So if I'm MIA for the weekend it's because I'm in MIA. Oh God, did I really type that?

Speaking of family, two of mine have recently joining the endurance sports blogging world. About a month ago I got an IM out of the blue from my aunt that she and my sister had signed up for a century ride in October. While my aunt has always had the athletic bug, my sister, well, hasn't. So I didn't believe my aunt until she said that she witnessed my sister fill out the forms and turn them in herself.

Then, a few weeks ago, they started a blog. (Imagine that.) Within a few hours of posting a comment on their blog I was outed. Not that I was hiding my blog, but it just never came up. And really, how do you inject that into a conversation? "Merry Christmas mom and dad, I started a blog about running back in April." Ah no.

So now I've added the Cycling Divas (sister Sami and aunt Tia) to the blogroll--and no coincidence that the current post is about me. Give them a visit and if you have a few dollars lying around, donate in their name to Team In Training.

Lessons learned while blogging

1. If you write about your running addiction long enough and you'll get to 100 posts
2. You'll then get a crazy idea to write a list of 100 things to celebrate it
3. I've learned that maintaining a blog is more involved than I originally thought
4. I've also learned that it's more of a social experience than I originally thought
5. I never thought there was a large running blog community
6. I never thought that through blogging I'd become involved in other people's lives
7. I never thought I would make friends just by blogging
8. I never thought I would run anything shorter than a Half-Marathon
9. The Laminator can convince even me to run a 10K two days before the race
10. It turns out I can actually run a 7:57 pace for a 10K on the hilliest course NYC can offer
11. I have also learned 10Ks are an entirely different kind of race than Half-Marathons or Marathon
12. The Laminator has a not-so-secret agenda to make me faster
13. The Laminator's plan seems to be working
14. I would have never met The Laminator if it wasn't for this blog...
15. ...and a free pair of shoes
16. I also wouldn't have met an entire world of runners
17. Including Jess, who can drink and write me under the table
18. And Jon, who can write an intriguing story, but doesn't seem to know how to end it
19. And Nitmos, who has been reading Don Quixote since Cervantes published it back in 1605
20. And Vanilla, who is as close to a running blog celebrity as we have
21. And Marcy, who is as close to a running blog groupie as we have
22. And J, who's house I am increasingly jealous of
23. And Moon, who has a genuinely amazing story
24. And Nancy, who is the world's first virtual race director
25. And Amanda, who had the most memorable wedding--ever
26. And Amy and Tom, who have done so much to build a community of runners
27. And Steve, who could run circles around me, even with a bum Achilles tendon
28. And Ted, who's borrowed my URL format
29. And Dean, who was a kid in a candy shop last month
30. And the dozens of others who have stopped by for a bit
31. Ta da!
32. Wait, I'm only at 32? Jesus Christ, 100 items, what was I thinking?
33. This is turning out to be one marathon of a post
34. Get it, marathon, because I run marathons? Get it??
35. I've learned that I'm much funnier in my head than I am on paper
36. Or in type
37. I derive entirely too much humor from this clip
38. But I can't help watching it again
39. "Look at the good I do." Priceless.
40. I've learn that I can run with glass in my foot for up to three months
41. Actually, I just realized that I never wrote about that: turns out that I stepped on a chard of glass back in November and that's what was causing my foot pain and swelling. Of course I didn't know about the chard of glass until three months after the fact when I pulled it out with a pair of tweezers. I can't believe I was running with a piece of glass lodged in my foot!
42. I've learned that I can run a marathon, even if I didn't run it the way I wanted to
43. I've accepted that it was MY FIRST MARATHON EVER and that I ran it like a Half-Marathon, which was a big mistake
44. I've learned that bees can sting you even when you're running a marathon
45. I've learned that scratching a bee sting will leave a scar
46. And that now that scar is officially referred to as my "marathon scar"
47. And who doesn't want a marathon scar? It just sounds sexy.
48. I've also learned that group runs are greatly beneficial (yeah, like I'm the first one to think that) not only in the social aspect, but also in improving speed
49. And getting free shoes
50. By the way, I'm half-way to getting a free pair of shoes
51. Just like you're half-way through this post
52. Group runs have also taught me that I can run without music
53. Although I still bring Liam along for races and non-group runs
54. And I bought some new music before yesterday's 10K so I was rocking out during the race
55. New Yorkers are stoic runners and are easily freaked out when someone passes them with arms pumping to some kick-ass song and digging deep for that final kick (apologies to the woman I spooked yesterday before the finish line)
56. I've also learned that I'm not your typical NYC runner in that I run in a diverse set of places and I'm not afraid to take the subway to start a run outside of my neighborhood
57. Taking this approach has really enabled me to explore the city, finding amazing places along the way that most runners miss
58. I have also learned that I'm the only person that uses the word "magical" to describe a run. It's not magical in the wizard way, it's magical in the "this feels a little surreal" kind of way.
59. I also appear to be the only person that says running makes them feel superhuman. Once again, it's not superhuman in the way that Superman is superhuman--it's superhuman in that .00001% of humans run for long distances.
60. You know what else makes me feel superhuman? This post. It's pretty long already and I've still got 40 more lines to write. Crikey.
61. I've learned that I can talk about people like Ryan Hall and Paula Radcliffe and people will understand me here
62. I've learned that the same does not hold true during conversations with non-runners
63. I've learned that I'm not a tech-savvy as I ought to be: I just set up Google Reader two months ago--geez I'm slow
64. You know what else is slow? Collecting all 50 states.
65. I've learned that I'm not crazy for wanting to run a Half-Marathon or Marathon in each state
66. And I have learned that there are crazies that have beat me to this goal eight times already
67. I've learned to plan ahead, way ahead (yes, I have my races planned out for the next 12 months) in order to maximize travel
68. But I've also learned that plans are just plans and do change, as with Fairfield and this weekend's 10K
69. I've also learned to stretch
70. Sweet God Almighty have I learned to stretch
71. Just as an update: I have been free of IT Band pain ever since PT, turns out that all I had was a tight muscle that needed some loving
72. I now make it a point to stretch out everything before and after a run
73. Not that I don't get the occasional funny feeling in my knee or shin or calf--but once I do get that funny feeling, I know to stretch out that area really well and not ignore it in hopes of it magically healing on it's own
74. I've also learned to not mix Johnny Walker and running
75. I've learned that most people already know this lesson and that I was a late bloomer in this respect
76. I've learned that my bowels are wimps on training runs
77. I've learned that my bowels are iron-clad on runs
78. I've learned that my experience at Disney was a classic example of how not to prepare for a Half-Marathon
79. I've learned with every subsequent race how to properly train and prepare
80. And I've PR'd at every race since Disney (Marathon and 10K are by default)
81. God is this almost over? Who's idea was this anyway?
82. I believe it was your idea
83. Stupid me for getting ideas
84. Although you're still reading at this point, so why the heck are you still reading?
85. Well, I assumed you were building toward some poetic conclusion that elegantly weaves life and running into a harmonious universal truth about man, you know, providing a unique insight into the human condition, how through running--in the metaphoric sense of an unwavering focus on a distant goal--you can triumph over any obstacle. THAT is what I'm expecting.
86. Well. Then. That's awfully grand of you.
87. Thanks, I like to think about the big picture
88. Well, you're just going to get more rambling for the remaining points
89. WHAT? No big pay out for reading all of these kernals of wisdom?
90. Well, you already did the whole universal truth bit, what's left for me to say? Plus that's just not my style
91. Well, then what is your style?
92. I guess that's another thing I've learned while blogging: I don't have seem to have a writing style
93. I've learned that I'm a fan of writing lists
94. But I've also grown to appreciate the long-format race recap
95. I've also learned that I really like picking off people
96. I've learned that people enjoy picking off me
97. Like that guy who got cut me off at the six mile mark at yesterday's 10K
98. And that old guy that passed me on a long run a few months back
99. I've learn that it's not cool to be chicked
100. Unless it's wifey, in which cases she can always chick me

Went on a run with my friend Johnnie

Somethings I will never understand:

• How to ask for directions
• Not to play with fire
• How the stock market works
• Where oats, green beans, and barley grow

Now you can add "Don't mix Johnnie Walker and running" to that list.

Friday night was a going away party for one of the people in my office. Who picks a Friday for a work party? I have no clue. But when I give the bartender my credit card to open up my tab, she says there is a $25 minimum. No problem with meeting that minimum since, like any good NYC bar, a (half-empty) glass of Black Label here is $9. And there's no real problem with having three glasses of whiskey because we stopped for pizza before hitting the bar. The problem here is that I'm planning a six mile run the next morning.

So over the course of the next hour and change I throw back the three glasses of whiskey. Then, as I'm about to head out to meet my wife, my coworker pulls me over and says to have a shot with him since he has yet to meet his $25 minimum. So I down a kamikaze with him and get out of there before any more alcohol gets in my body.

The second I get home I pass out. No water, no food, just go straight to bed--well, couch, then the bed. Rock starness personified.

The next morning I wake up with a mild stomachache, but it comes and goes and is more annoying than painful. I drink my weight in water, take a shot of GU and then head out for what I keep telling myself is going to be a nice six miles.

One mile into the run I realize the whole thing was a bad idea and just want to crawl over to a bench, curl up, and take a nap. But even if I convinced myself to do that, I couldn't. It is 39 degrees and windy--and of course I am wearing shorts. So stupid. Who wakes up hung over, puts on shorts, goes running in freezing weather, and does a hilly six mile run? Well, I do. This reeks of the bee sting fiasco at the Baltimore Marathon, except this pain is self inflicted.

I take walking breaks after miles two, three, and four. Although by mile five I must have sweated out all the badness because I started hauling some serious ass at that point. I finished with an average pace of 8:40--not exactly the 8:00 I was hoping for. But I finished, which was enough of a battle to make up for those extra 240 seconds.

I'll consider this a lesson, although I can't say I've learned anything: I am simultaneously starting my training for the Austin Half-Mary and starting the holiday party season. Johnnie is one tough SOB when he teams up with his friend Tryptophan.

Super Month is Over!

Thank Jesus!

We made it to November 1--I didn't think my wife and I were going to make it. For the next three weeks we won't have a single anniversary, marathon, hotel reservation, 13-hour work days, surprise guest, rental car, birthday party, road trip, pumpkin carving party, delayed flight, or holiday to worry about.

So we will be recovering this weekend and doing absolutely nothing, which may even include not running. The NYC Marathon is this weekend and I won't have a damned place to run because of the Olympic Men's Marathon trials on Saturday and the race on Sunday. We'll, I'll just jump off that bridge when I get to it...tomorrow night...when I'm trying to decide what route to take the next morning.

Speaking of running, last weekend's run was AWESOME. Not only were there perfect conditions for a nice little six-mile run, but I held an 8:25 pace!! Ok, yes, that's only a little bit on the fast side for me--not exactly new territory--but the strange thing was that I wasn't running fast! I was slowing myself down most of the time! Every time I would feel myself going too fast I would slow myself down. I didn't force a single step until the sprint at the end. I've had runs where I'm pushing the hell out of myself throughout the entire run to get an 8:25 pace.

If that doesn't teach me the lesson of pacing, nothing will.

Also saw one of my running fears come to life in front of me: a head-on runner-on-runner collision. I was passing this one woman who appeared extremely concentrated on her running. As I was passing her on her right, I saw a couple running against traffic coming straight at this woman. Since this woman only had a foot or so of street between her left side and the curb I sped up so that she could slip in behind me and go around the couple coming at her. But said woman did not move; she kept going straight. The oncoming couple didn't separate or fall in line either, they too were in the mood to play chicken. Meanwhile, I'm just watching them get closer and closer until BAM!!

The woman I was passing and the woman from the couple slammed into each other. And I'm not talking just a brushing of the shoulder. This was a full-on, face-in-face, tangled arms crash. Assuming each was going at about 5 mph, that's a collision speed of 10 mph--ouch! But in true New York style they just kept on running, not checking if the other one was ok or pausing to see if they themselves were ok. It seemed as normal to them as wiping sweat from your face. Amazing.

That's about it for running...haven't been able to get on a set schedule because of the general craziness of things. But will pick things up this weekend and next week.

For those of you curious about that pumpkin carving party mentioned above, here is my finished product:

Ran yesterday

It was supposed to be 17 miles, it became 11.

I'll consider it a lesson learned.