Running in circles, Part II

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

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Splits:
Mile 1: 9:04

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

Mile 4: 8:56

Mile 5: 8:31

Mile 6: 8:38

Mile 7: 9:05

Mile 8: 8:38

Mile 9: 8:25

Mile 10: 8:26

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

Mile 13: 9:13

Story:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running in circles, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally: a Marathon PR

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

Music for Wilmington

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

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

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

Two weeks to go to Wilmington

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

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

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

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

Playing catch up

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

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

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

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

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

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

More pictures in my heads

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

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

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

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

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

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

The race that almost wasn't, Part III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The race that almost wasn't, Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The race that almost wasn't, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two terrible taxis

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

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

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

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

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

Death to the tempo run

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Got a new face

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

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

Well.  Maybe not exactly like that, but close.

It's that goddam Loch Ness monster

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


TREE FITTY!

JsE | MySpace Video


Genius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A taste of spring

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visions of races past

Yesterday was the hardest long run I've done in a while. I had 16 miles on the training plan, but this is my first full week getting back on regular training, so it felt like I was on week one and starting out with a 16 mile training run. Thanks to the 72 hour snow storm we had this week there was snow and slush and ice everywhere and basically the only clear stretch of running space was Central Park. I'm cool with running 16 miles on 6 mile loop...when I'm listening to music. And what did I forget to do yesterday before leaving the apartment? Yup, I forgot to upload a playlist onto Fenny.

So I had a silent 16-turned-into-15 miles, running circles around Central Park, in cold and snow that just wouldn't go way. On top of that it was warming up yesterday and the thick snow was melting off the trees. So throughout the run clumps of snow were falling down on me. Most were tiny clumps. But every now and then I'd get a hefty baseball sized one on the shoulder or arm. One clump landed square on eyebrow getting snow all up in my face. I guess the feeling is mutual: cold weather doesn't like me either.

Instead of continuing to be a Debbie Downer on the weather, I had to distract myself during the 2.5 hours spent battling the elements. As normally happens during a silent run my mind started wandering off to past races, which are always a source of pride and "if I did it then I can do it now" mentality. It helped that yesterday I was actually rerunning parts of the NYCM course.

I found it interesting yesterday that there are particular scenes from certain races that I constantly turn back to. They were mostly:

• Miles 17-25 of The Flying Pig, when my race strategy had collapsed and it felt like the finish line would never come within sight or within reach
• The last 1.5 miles of The Breakers Marathon where I chopped 20 minutes off my PR
• The sprint to the finish at the Great Bay Half-Marathon
• The hills section of the Boston Half-Marathon, where I learned what distance running meant
• Every mile of the NYCM after Queens

It's funny that I completely blank on Baltimore (or as some will remember: MY FIRST MARATHON EVER) and the slew of Half-Marathons I have under my belt. It's also funny that the parts I pick to play over and over are usually the most challenging parts of the races. It's like I know I'm doing something hard now so I think of another time I did something similar and prevailed. I guess that's a healthy strategy to have, even if I did end up cutting the run short by one mile.

Here's hoping that next time I 1) can muster it up for the last mile and 2) remember to bring music with me. (I guess there is an unmentioned #3: stop running in the cold, but alas, that is not an option for now.)

Getting back in the groove

I'm starting get back in the swing of things with running: I've pretty much stuck to my schedule for the past week, and now that we are getting rain for the next four days all the snow and ice are melting away. On top of that, the sun is starting to rise earlier, so much that Monday morning the sun has almost mad it over the horizon by the time I finished my run.

If this training cycle has taught me anything it is that I really do not like running in the cold. It's cumbersome to deal with all the clothing. It's uncomfortable to breathe and move when it is sub-freezing. It's dangerous to run when there is snow and ice on the ground.

I feel like I can't run as fast because I don't want to get any colder. And I really hate being sweaty in the cold. Even thinking about all this makes me unhappy--it's like the hardest form of mental cross training you can imagine.

It was nice last year when my only outdoor run was on the weekend, because then I only had to deal with this once a week and I got to at least run during daylight hours. I think I have learned my lesson and will definitely be joining a gym for next winter. The trade off there will be having to do my weekday runs on a dreadmill. Yikes.

All your internet are belong to us

We finally have internet service at home! For some reason Time Warner (the occasional bane of my existence) cancelled our appointment last Saturday with no notice whatsoever. We ended up going a week without cable or internet service. Fortunately, Wifey was smart enough to check if there was some kind of signal on the existing wire, and sure enough we were able to pick up the broadcast networks through the cable line--so we have been able to keep up with the Olympics.

On the running front, I'm finally started to get back into training. A week of no running was horrible--as yesterday's 12 mile run proved. It is not going to be pleasant getting back up to speed. However, I did register for the National Half-marathon this morning, so that is set for March 20. Now to figure out accommodations.

Life in chaos

These past two weeks since the eye injury have been rough. If it wasn't being short staffed at work, then it was painting or "snowpocalyse." To top it all off we are on the last day of our move weekend. We got everything moved over in one day (thanks to two very dear and now tired friends) but after spending all day yesterday unpacking we stil have piles of stuff to go through.

And running? Well, between a big ass now storm on Wednesday and having no idea where my running clothes are, I have been not running for almost a week now. The good news is that DC is still over a month away so I should still be in good shape for that...I hope.

Off to keep unpacking.

Something new on the training plan

Now that I'm a couple weeks into training for DC/Wilmington I thought I'd share my fancy-shmansy training plan (click for the full size):

For those of you keeping detailed tabs, this is a lot like my NYCM training plan, except for a few small tweaks:

1. For each week I added a second "mileage" row. This helps standardize my actual runs and makes it easy to find that week's actual tally.

2. I kept my altered schedule from NYCM where I swapped Monday's rest day with Wednesday's easy run. (Originally had it the other way around.)

3. I increased the long run distances (per Higdon's Intermediate II), but kept all other mileages the same as NYCM.

One other thing, and it probably stands out the most: the bright red boxes that say "EYE INJURY." Yeah, that is a first not only for my training but also a first eye injury for me--does that mean I automatically get an eye injury recovery PR?

What happened? Well, we got our new apartment with the killer terrace. The landlord was nice enough to give us the keys now, even though we're not moving in until February 13 and we're not paying rent until February 15. With all this time between when we signed our lease and our move in date, we decided to paint the bedroom and living room before moving in because 1) it's easier without furtniture etc. in the way and 2) it's a fun weekend activity.

Last Saturday we rented a Zipcar in the morning and headed over to The Home Depot in our neighborhood to get paint and supplies. When we walk into THD we spot a stack of cardboard boxes ideal for moving. We grab a couple and try to fit them in the cart. No luck. So we decided to leave the boxes and grab them on the way out, but when Wifey took out the boxes from the cart she jammed one of the corners of the box under my glasses and right into my left eye.

OH MY GOD: the pain! The absolute pain!!

I hurried over to the bathroom to wash out the eye, because it was stinging like hell. In the bathroom I finally got a look at my eye. No bleeding, but man did it hurt. It hurt to open it and it hurt to close it, and it to move it in any direction. I hurried out and told Wifey that we had to leave and get to the hospital.

But when we get to the car and we sit down we realize a HUGE problem: Wifey doesn't know how to drive. We could call a cab or ask very nicely if someone could drive us, but then we had the problem of the Zipcar which had to be returned by 1:30PM. We couldn't just leave it in THD's parking lot because someone was scheduled for the car right after us.

I attempted to drive and got about a quarter mile away from THD before having Wifey call one of our friends to meet us. I just couldn't drive with the pain in my eye. However, none of our friends were dressed or any where near us. In the time it took to get people on the phone, explain the situation, describe the random street corner we were on, I had started to feel better. I felt good enough to open both eyes and look at Wifey and look at the street. I convinced myself I was good enough to drive to the hospital and our friends could meet us there.

Ten seconds into driving I regreted my decision. I had to drive with my right hand on the wheel while my left one covered my bad eye. I also could only look straight, moving my eyes left or right was tremendously painful. I closed my eyes at red lights and Wifey had to tell me when they turned green. I stuck to side streets and by some miracle made it to the hospital without getting into an accident.

The ER process was quick and rather painless. The PA told me I had a "fairly large" corneal abrasion--but he was trying to put it nicely, when he showed Wifey my stained eye she reacted with an "ooooooooh myyyyyy Goooood!" Essentially, I had gotten a paper cut in my eye. Fortunately it didn't seem that deep because the PA didn't see a need to patch my eye. He gave me antibotic drops and had me set up an appointment with an eye doctor.

I spent the rest of the weekend bed ridden, unable to do anything: I didn't realize how much I used my eyes. After the hospital we went to lunch with our friends who returned the car for us. I could barely eat because I couldn't open my eyes to see the food. Needless to say, we did nothing in the new apartment. Also needless to say, I did no running until I got the OK from the eye doctor on Monday afternoon.