Chica-GO!

An early start as usual. Got up and tried not to wake Sarah, who inevitably woke up anyway. I went down to the lobby and grabbed a few items for breakfast, checking out my competition at the same time.

After getting everything together, safety pinning, eating, and all of those other pre-race musts, we went out to the street. It wasn’t too cold, but enough that I was glad to have some extra layers before the start. The hotel was wonderfully close to the starting line, but we had to walk a few blocks south to get to the meeting spot for the rest of the group. We managed to assemble a handful of the club and snapped a quick photo or two before we all got too nervous and headed for the starting lines. I gave Sarah my pants and she wished me luck.

The corrals were a pain to get into, with a bottle neck at the entry and people demanding to see our bibs. I flashed the volunteers and made my way towards Corral B. I had to climb over a few bushes, and wade through a few crowds, but eventually made it into the corral and actually found the 3:20 pace group. I stretched a bit and tried to get a sense of where I was and what I should be doing. I decided to stay in front of/with the 3:20 pace group for a while and see how things felt. If it was working, I’d try and hang on. If not, I could slow it up and hopefully wouldn’t have gone out too hard.

The gun went off and we started moving really quickly. I don’t recall having to weave at all, and was running at a decent pace almost immediately. So glad I turned out a decent time at Philadelphia. The pace group was behind me, I was moving along, and things were looking good. 26.1 miles to go.

I tried to find Sarah, but couldn’t. I also still had on my long sleeve t-shirt. I debated dumping it, but I was a little chilly and thought I’d keep it till I warmed up or until I saw Sarah. The first mile took us under a bridge and through a canyon of buildings. I hit my first mile on pace, somewhere around 7: 40. So far, so good.

After another mile, I was ready to ditch my long shirt. I thought I could just toss it to the side of the road, but I knew that if I did, I’d see Sarah a few minutes later. There were so many fans in some places, I couldn’t scan them all, but held out hope that I’d see her and be able to throw her my moth eaten, sweaty, faded shirt. I took it off and wrapped it around my hand.

The road split and I wasn’t sure if one side was better than the other. I picked a lane and stuck with it. Then I panicked and (without any rational basis) figured that Sarah would be on the other side. Next chance I got, I drifted over and ran on the opposite side of the road. Around this same time, I decided to check on the pace group. Not behind me. Not in front of me. Hmmm.

Then, decisions started to get made for me. My arm seized up and I decided I had to lose the shirt. I waited for the next water stop and tossed it between some volunteers. Maybe they’ll collect it for charity, or maybe some homeless person will find it and decide he wasn’t that cold after all. Six miles in and I was feeling really good. I knew that I’d move better now that I’d los the shirt and I was still cranking out miles in the 7:35 range.

The miles kind of blended together, mostly tall buildings and fans cheering people on. The water stations were good but long. I only had trouble once, when at 7, I failed to realize I was about to hit it and took my first GU without water. Oops. By then, the lanes had merged and I noticed a pace group about 100 meters ahead of me. I couldn’t read the signs but figured they had to be either the 3:20 group, meaning I was too slow, or the 3:10 group, meaning I was about to die. Only one way to find out: reel them in slowly over the next few miles and see.

One mile later, I was relieved to discover they were in fact, the 3:20 group and now I could slow down to their pace. Somehow, it didn’t help. It was harder keeping pace than it had been trying to catch them. Plus, it had gotten really crowded. I spent a mile or two just trying to mix in. Then, I noticed something alarming. I was passing them. Easily. Okay, so you’ll be in front of them. They’re the back end of the group, no problem.

But I didn’t stop. I put some distance on them and a few miles later, was ahead of the whole group. We were nearing the halfway mark and I’d be finding out soon enough if I was running too hard. Just as I was crossing the bridge I thought I heard my name. Too soon for hallucinations, so I looked back and spotted the group. Or so I thought. I glanced back again and recognized Joe’s maroon club shirt and Andy and Erin. I didn’t notice Sarah with them. I was glad for the support and felt my stride get a little easier.

A small incline met us just after the half (I hit in 1:38:24). I told myself the feeling in my legs was not that they were halfway drained, but much less, and I was still strong. I was starting to count down the miles and wondering if I’d really pull this off. No, don’t think about that, you’ll jinx it.

When the race turned back towards downtown, we met a wonderful view, the Sears (yeah, that’s right, Sears) Tower in the distance. I gazed at that a while and floated back towards the city. Some of the best neighborhoods were in the later miles. Running through Chinatown, there were huge crowds and lots to look at. We also ran through a more residential area, where row houses, canopies of trees, and hipsters playing Death Cab for Cutie on their stereos pumped me up.

20 miles came and I looked at my watch for a change. 2:29:00. I had run a 2:28 for my last 20 miler, and according to Svetko, didn’t look so good. I felt great. Just 10-k to go and 51 minutes to do it in. I could slow down if I had to. But I still felt really good and was actually picking up the pace here and there. I was also passing some stunt runners, which was better than Gatorade. Okay, maybe not that good, but after just losing to the tutu guy, passing the guy in the prison jumpsuit and the dude with white cutoff shorts and no shirt, felt great. I also met a nice guy from Italy. He passed me up but I kept him in my sights for a while.

I was feeling a little bit sick of Gatorade, so I opted for extra water at one point and was back on track. 3:20 was going to happen, I was almost certain. I was still pushing the pace, passing a lot of people, including that Italian guy. Just a few miles to go and I knew the club was counting on me for the team competition. Okay, I didn’t know that. Sure, we were signed up and I was part, but was anyone actually counting on me? I didn’t stop to consider that. I just told myself that no matter what, I had to stay strong so as to not let the team down. Two miles left. I could gut that out no matter what.

One mile to go and I was still strong as I’d been all day. I thought, “I’d better not sprint the end. I feel so good now, that if in the next race I’m hurting, I might regret shaving a few seconds here, when I already have a PR.” Okay, so I was strong physically but mentally not so much. But then, up ahead! Disaster! There was a man in a banana suit! I must not lose to any sort of costume-clad runner!

Pushing the pace to ridiculous levels (I think I probably was about 2 seconds faster a mile) I caught and passed that plantain plodder, that fruity footracer, that...guy. Even though he had the crowd support (Go Bananaman? Really, that’s the best you can come up with?) I pushed on, leaving him in my GU powered dust.

Just before the park, I engaged in a little bit of cheerleading with another runner who was hoping to inspire his mates. The two of us took off as we ascended the hill before the finish. What a cruel incline that was. But, it let me coast towards the end, sprinting like a madman.

I crossed the line in 3:15:03. A new PR by almost 8 minutes!

After loading my mylar blanket with bagels and fruit, I wandered off to find the rest of the group and Sarah. Eventually we all made it to the reunion area, ready to recap our day, including 5 other PRs, a great marathon debut, and a great experience.

Gimme One Good Reason

There were a number of valid reasons for me not to the Pet Promise Rescue Run yesterday, and no valid reasons to actually toe the line.

First, I haven't been running as much as I would like to before a race because I've been injured.

Second, I have been injured, so running my hardest seems ill-advised.

Third, I was up too late watching the Lebron do more in one second than Bobby Sura did in his entire career.

Fourth, I couldn't sleep after the game was over and would have to get up early to run.

Fifth, it was going to be way to hot for me to race.

Sixth, the plan was to run 9.5 miles to the start of the race, then race.

Seventh, the race allowed pet owners to run with their pets, which made me more than a little nervous.

Eighth, I was out of bananas.

Somehow, I still couldn't convince myself not to run.

So, when I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to, even if I was going to run, I decided on the race. I could still back out, right? I hadn't paid my money, so if my legs weren't up to it, I could always just call it a day then. But let's face it, that probably wasn't going to happen.

The warm-up was a great run. When we started, the weather was ideal, sunny but cool. There were 5 of us and we ran at a nice clip for the first few miles through residential neighborhoods. My watch was still off, so it was giving me more than the benefit of the doubt on the distance. Most of the run took place on the Olentangy Path. I guess I'd run almost the entire thing at one time or another, but had never gone that far south on one run.

My legs felt fine. Aside from a small blister on my foot, I was ready to race. Not sure how hard I could/would push the pace, but I thought I could at least try for a respectable time. There was no way I was going to back out now. I didn't even give it a second thought when we walked over to registration.

The registration area was pretty crowded with dogs and people everywhere. The preregistration line was actually way longer than the race day registration, so we got signed up pretty quickly, but the rest of the racers were a bit behind, so there was a slight delay. Not a problem, unless you're just off a 9.4 mile run and your legs are trying to tighten up.

Actually, I felt good, leg-wise. My stomach on the other hand was not. My apple and pretzel were long gone, the bottles of gatorade and water since sweated out, and a lone Gu in my stomach. I was a little dizzy and wondered just how much damage I'd do to my body by running this thing.

We inched our way forward for the start. The gun/guy's voice went off and we started out up a hill. That used to be my specialty, but since moving to flatland, and since being injured, I haven't run up anything with any sort of incline. Still, I tried to settle into a pace I thought I could sustain.

Problem was, I had no idea how fast I was going or how fast a pace I could sustain. Fortunately, Dave and Liz passed me and I gave chase. Maybe, since they just ran 9 miles, I'd be able to keep up. Of course, I was just as fatigued, but my oxygen-deprived brain didn't think of that. I managed to stay pretty close over the first mile. Kate cursed me about a quarter mile in, for having run already and still being ahead of her. I didn't mention to her that I have a long history of overly-eager starts followed by overly-humbling fades.

The course was pretty wide open, with only a few dogs in sight. The race wound through the arena district, not the most interesting place to run, but during a 5-k, especially one where you are trying to stave off total body shutdown, you don't exactly watch the scenery. I was starting to get a bit thirsty, and the bowls of water dotting the course for the canine entrants were looking tempting. But I didn't want to stop. I had hit the first mile and was only a few steps behind Liz and Dave, got to keep up. I heard them remarking about the pace, a little too fast, maybe? That works in my favor because I'm going slower, right?

The second mile was starting to wear on me. I was fatiguing and trying to keep the pace. But I was hot, tired, and left turns aggravated the blister on my foot. The water stop left me slightly less thirsty. I remember seeing the sign for mile 2, so I had a good sense of how far I was. But when we looped around for the second time, we hit a wall of people and pets. The people walking their dogs at the back were everywhere. There was a little room to the left, but mostly we started weaving in between dogs, people, and the traffic cones.

By the time I hit the second mile marker, I was pretty much just gutting it out. I had lost touch with Dave and Liz. I was just trying to maintain my pace. The course was mostly downhill over the last half mile and I was using every bit of those skills Keller taught us years ago.

The final turn is the same as in the marathon, but Liz didn't turn right away and I panicked. I was under the impression that I only had to go down the hill and into the chute. If there was more, I just didn't have the legs-- oh, she's turning, nevermind.

I passed through the chute and glanced at the clock, 20:45. I'll take it. I was not even going to try to pull off my tag. I let the volunteer fumble for it. But then someone handed me a plaque. A nice surprise, I guess it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The rest of the gang finished, including Thor and Griffin, Mark's canine contribution. Liz won (but got a plaque that said Top 20 Female Finisher). Fortunately, we didn't have to run back to the house. We changed and celebrated with Mexican food for breakfast.

Getting my Phil-adelphia

4:00 AM:

I’m up, I might as well get going, there’s not much benefit to sleeping 30 minutes more. Dark outside, I’ll just step out and see how cold it is. Hmmm, not too bad. The TV say’s it’s gonna be cold, but shouldn’t be a problem.

I start getting ready and at some point, Mom sticks her head out to tell me it’s going to be 22 degrees at the start. Great, that can’t help my confidence. Time to head down, I’m still undecided about everything. At or below freezing, isn’t that the time I usually wear something on my legs? Dad woke up and we discussed it a bit. I gambled and went for the shorts. We went down to the lobby and there was quite a crowd. People were standing around, stretching, and in all manner of dress: full sleeves and pants and some in shorts. Looks like I’ll be okay.


I walked to the start with all of the other runners and it actually felt a little cold. I found my spot in the corrals and was struck by how far back it was. Oh well, must be right. I wandered off to the gear check and deposited my sweats. I put on my garbage bag “second skin” and wandered back to the start.

After the usual incoherent announcements, I realized what was going on. Up ahead was a sign for the 5:30 pace group. Instead of lining us up based on likely finishing times, they lined us up based on when we registered. Of course, they asked us our hopeful finishing time when we signed up, so I guess it’s my fault for thinking that they’d use those numbers for some actual reason. So, my parents, who were looking for me near the 3:30 pace group, were probably frustrated.


I did my best to weave to the front, but the best I managed was getting near the beginning of the 3rd starting group, some 10-15 minutes after the initial start and a few miles behind the 3:30 pace group. So much for that.

Finally, we were underway. The theme from “Rocky” blaring (for the 3rd time) as we headed towards historic Philadelphia. A bit of weaving, dodging, and other slalom-like activities and I managed to get pretty close to my target pace in the first few miles. The first water stop was a shock. We rounded a corner and there were a dozen frantic volunteers and a river of empty, crushed paper cups. No water here, keep moving. At least it’s cold out; on a hot day, there’d be riots. The second stop was similar, but I managed to not only get a cup of Gatorade, but I didn’t spill any of it on my hands and thus avoided having wet gloves for another 22 miles.

Shockingly, a long hill broke up the urban landscape and afforded us the chance to run upwards through an urban landscape. I heard some grumbling about the hill and joked with the other runners. The guy paid me a compliment about my apparent toughness and I repaid him by accidentally squirting a GU packet in his face. But that’s it for the hills, right?

When we turned back into the city, it got immediately colder. But the crowds picked up too. We headed back towards the city center and good sized throngs lined the streets. I slapped a few hands, kissed some babies, and kept hitting my splits. I managed to miss a mile marker and was still feeling good enough that I could keep my pace before hitting the next one and it came as a nice treat. I was around 50 minutes for 10-k and was feeling really good.

The next section was marked by a long climb up a winding hill, with views of the river (and an impossibly long snake of runners) below. A sign near the crest of the hill announced “Last Hill.” I got to the top without major trauma and I think I kept the pace pretty well on target. But that’s it for the hills, right?

A guy at the 15-k mark made me laugh and then reminded me to “keep smiling, you paid to do this.” I was thinking of pointing out I was actually here as part of a court-ordered plea deal, but I was too far away before I could answer. But now came the fun part, we’d be going back down the hill, and it would take us along the river. The river stretch wasn’t one of the most exciting of the race. The river was on one side, but a cement wall was on the other. Plus, the water stops had started to warn the runners that the liquids on the ground had frozen, so we had to tread lightly when we went though. I wasn’t entirely broken up about slowing a bit in through those areas.

We neared the half-way mark and climbed a small hill. Mom and Dad were waiting for me there and gave me a cheer. I’d been looking for them the whole race, but they hadn’t spotted me, probably due to my late start. Or maybe they’d decided to go down a few at the hotel bar and figured they’d catch me at the end. Both seemed plausible.

The half runners dropped off and now it was just us full crazies. But what’s this, we’re going down a hill? Oh, I’m not gonna want to climb that at the end. But that’s it for the hills, right? We bottomed out at the river, this time on the other side. A mile or two in, the road split and the leaders were coming the other way. I dreaded how far ahead they were and prayed for a turnaround to come immediately. The river was nice and there were trees and nature on the other side. Score one for this side of the river! It also seemed like we were going up and down a lot of small, short inclines. But that’s it for the hills, right?

I’m still feeling really good, even as we get through 15, 16, 17, 18 miles. I’m liking this, but I’m a bit worried that at any moment, the wheels will come off and I’ll be shuffling. I got a little boxed in and didn’t have the same energy I did at the start to get out of it. So, I spent about a half a minute at a slower pace before finding a seam to slip through. The road diverged and I was sure it was so we could make the turn and head back. Up a little hill we went. But that’s it for the hills, right? On the other side, we joined back up with the runners going the other direction. Chalk signs on the ground announced we were nearing the beer station. Yum.

The neighborhood we entered was cute. Lots of fans were lining the sides, screaming, handing out brownies, I think. (It was a pile of brown cake-like stuff on a giant piece of cardboard, that was the best I could think of.) I found myself nearing the 20 mile mark and going up a pretty decent hill. But that’s it for the hills, right? I rounded 20 miles as I turned back for home. I was around a little over 2:40, not bad, still feeling good. I enjoyed the long downhill and tried to let it carry me home.

I was still feeling okay, but my willingness to run was at a low ebb. I was sure I could run 5 more miles, but didn’t know if I wanted to. All of a sudden, a guy on the side of the road yells out my name. It sounded a bit like Jon, a friend of mine from college, and from what I glimpsed of the bit of his face I could see without my glasses, running the other direction, and bundled in cold-weather gear, I thought it might be him. Maybe it’s someone who will email me or send me a message. Otherwise, I’ll never know.

People started offering assessments as to how far away we were (1/2 mile, 1 mile, etc.) So, probably only 2 or so miles to go. We got back to the hill and I kind of shut off my brain. I slugged up it, trying to make 3:30. It was theoretically possible, I think, but fatigue, the crowd, and the hill were in the way. But that’s it for the hills, right?

I tried to race in hard. Mom and Dad were a bit before the end and their yelling encouraged me. I crossed the line quietly (unlike NY) and made my way through the chutes. 3:31:39.

I found M&D and as we headed back to the hotel, there was Jon and his wife, wrapped in mylar, walking towards us. I guess it is a small world, after all. Into the hotel room, shower, lunch, airport, plane. No more hills, unless the jetway's broken. Then I cry.

Tri-not?

So, after a summer of running, and a tiny bit of swimming and biking, I was all set for my first triathlon. As any good athlete will tell you, planning and selection of the proper event is a must. I, on the other hand, signed up for the only one within 50 miles and paid no attention to whether or not it would be a good fit.

Early in the morning, my alarm went off and I was starting up. Usually, I have the prerace rituals down pat, but for some reason, I felt that with two other sports added in, I needed to be extra anxious and have no idea how to prepare. So, after a night of packing and a call to Pat for some advice, I decided to call it even in the morning and do what I normally do, minus the eating, stretching, and rereading of ‘The Little Engine That Could.’

We loaded up the car and made the long drive south to Deer Creek. We got there early and managed to get a good parking space. I wandered over to the registration area and once I found it, I was in line. Before I knew it, I had a number on my arm, something on my legs that I couldn’t see (probably an ethnic slur or dirty cartoon), and a timing chip. I went over to my trusty bike, Ulla and put on the number.

I followed the other athletes and began to set up my transition area. I put my bike on the rack and set out my towel, sunglasses, and my stilts. Now all I had to do was wait. And eat. And stretch.

Once those were out of the way, I made my way down to the water for the start. They kept explaining where we were to swim, but I didn’t understand, I’d be confident that I could just follow people, but there is always a chance that I’ll be DFL, and won’t have anyone in sight. Oh well, a risk I’ll have to take.

Fortunately, I was in the first wave, so there was less a chance I’d end up last, but more of a chance I’d get caught, kicked, and possibly drowned. Yippee. We lined up and I made my way to the back of the pack. The gun sounded and we charged? into the water. I cautiously made my way in and began to splash around. I gave a few horsey rides to some of the spectators until Sarah yelled at me and told me to get going. So, I began swimming towards the buoy. I looked up after a few strokes and I was already a few lengths behind everyone. But, soon I was moving more quickly and I actually began to get some speed going, and caught the last few swimmers in the pack. Once I got to the buoy though, I lost my rhythm. I was half side-stroking, half-drowning almost until the halfway point. It seemed to me like I was using my legs way too much and was going to regret that. I tried using less leg and more arm and promptly sank.

Somehow, I started to get into my groove and was getting more confident. By then, everyone was passing me and I was trying not to kick anyone and not get dunked on someone’s downstroke. Then the waves hit. I was swimming directly into giant swells of at least 3 inches! Suddenly, my confidence and rhythm were gone. I managed to get around the last corner and start heading for the end. I was back in the groove when my leg cramped up. So, for the rest of the swim, I kicked, massaged, kicked, massaged, and repeated until the end. When I turned to the shore I stood up as soon as I could and ran out of the water. I was just under 30 minutes. Considering I had done a 25 minute tune-up swim, I was right on pace, especially having slowed so much and been in OPEN WATER!

Up the hill I ran to the transition area. Over the beach, the rocks, and over the chip mat. The chip on my ankle fell down to my foot as soon as I hit the water and had been nagging me the whole swim. I sat down and took my time getting ready, no sense in rushing too much. Soon enough, I was on my bike.

The early miles of the bike were good. I was moving at a good clip, passing lots of people with fancier, shinier, lighter bikes. Sure, there were people passing us all without even trying, but I wouldn’t have caught them with a better bike anyway. I figured I was about a third of the way done and decided to get some water. So, I reached down and got my bottle. I took a swig or two and prepared to put it back, always a delicate move. Apparently, I wasn’t delicate enough. As I leaned over, I let the handlebars turn and drifted across the street. I felt a bike bump me and down I went. I remember sliding on my chest and looking up and seeing my would-be crash victim riding away. She looked back, asked if I was okay, and kept going. I told her I was fine (a lie) and laid back down on the pavement, sweet, sweet pavement. A few people offered to stop or get help, but I wasn’t having it (maybe I DID hit my head). I was kind of stunned and couldn’t figure out how to get up, my hands were cut and my legs were shot. Somehow, I righted myself, the bike, put my bottle back (no, I didn’t even get it in the cage before the fall) and started up.

Now, in addition to fatigue, I had a trivial amount of blood loss, and a sore knee. I wasn’t sure if the knee was just bad from riding and running so much, or the fall. Somehow, I caught a few of the folks who’d passed me when I was on the ground. The first part of the ride was mostly a gentle climb. So, I had some downhills to look forward to. They all came at once. A steep grade down felt nice. What wasn’t nice, was the sharp climb back up. I didn’t have the leg strength, speed, or available gears to make it. I hopped off the bike and ran it up the hill. My legs were not happy. Uh-oh. I coasted in, managing to put in a little speed up the last hill. I was still hoping for a rebound on the run.

In and out of transition, I was ready. 3.1 miles, easy. My legs weren’t cooperating though. Plus, it was hot. I didn’t mind on the bike, but running, it wasn’t fun. Still, I was passing people, albeit slowly. We wandered along the ridge of a hill and had a nice view of the lake. The course took us across a dam, which was kind of fun. I spied a guy in a yellow jersey up ahead. I figured he’d be easy to see at the turnaround, and so I’d know where it was. No luck, I caught him 3 meters before the turnaround. Back we went towards the end. There was a breeze, but it was hot and right in my face. Eventually, I was back at the start, crossed the line and swore of triathlons forever.

Hocking a Tshaynik about Hocking Hills

The good: I didn't lose any toenails....yet.

The bad: I wasn't in the amazing shape my last long run had me believing.

The ugly: We've already covered the foot thing.

So, we (10 strong from Columbus Running Club) took a little roadtrip to Hocking Hills.














The day started very early, as all good trail runs should. Twisting, turning, an hour of driving, and some car-sickness later, we pulled into the parking lot and prepared to run.

The trail starts off following the road, mostly through the park and the outlying areas. Then it starts will the hills, always with the hills this one. Oy. I couldn't handle the pace on the steepest of the downhills, what you want that I should fall? So, I gently eased down the hill with reckless abandon and quad-busting speed. How bad could these hills be?

I soon found out as we turned back onto trails and immediately went straight up. And up. And up, and after my sherpa quit, I was just about half way there. Suddenly, I felt that all of the kvetching about the hill was justified. It was a certified killer. I'm glad I wasn't racing it, or going to have to run another, oh 10 miles.

The trail alternated for the next several miles between rolling, gently rolling, moderately rolling, rocking and rolling, and the seldom seen: rolling on the river. The scenery was nice, at least as far as I could tell while shvitzing profusely, panting desperately, and trying to remain vertical.

We took a few breaks to "regroup." Eventually, we came to the lake. (Pictures coming, oh when I finish the roll of film in about 3 years, you should be so lucky.) At that point, we began to separate. By the time we emerged from the woods by the campgrounds, our band of 10 was down to 5. Oh well, at least one of our group had driven, right?

On we went. Over rocks, streams, poison ivy. At long last we made it back to the road, only a bunch more to go! Up and up we went, ever slower as the road wound on. With my spirits fading and my energy nearly gone, I saw the cars and stumbled to the end.

Of course, nobody was there. Even the people I finished with were nowhere to be seen. This is not good. Fortunately, it was only a matter of time before even the last of the band made it in and we shared our triumphs and successes. Of the klutzes among us, only one fall (Greg, as promised) nobody was permanently lost (the buddy system, works every time!)

A few wise souls washed off the schmutz before we loaded up the cars again and returned to Columbus, weary but well earned.

Big Sur-prize

I decided to stay on Columbus time. It seemed to me that if I did, I would be able to go to bed early and then waking up for a 3:45 bus wouldn’t be so bad. So, at the late hour of 8:00 PM, I bedded down for the night. 1:53: I wake up. My heart starts racing. Uh-oh.

A few attempts to distract myself later, I gave up. One more half hour of sleep isn’t going to make much of a difference. I split my time between getting ready and watching an interesting documentary on Italian Americans in film. Anyway, it’s time to go.

Valerie is waiting in the car and we drive to the bus stop. A handful of bleary-eyed runners are already waiting. Eventually, the buses pull up and we snag some prime seats on the right side. (I’m told that’s the better side because you can see the ocean and everything as you drive down). The bus winds interminably down the road. It’s still dark, so sitting on this side has no benefits. Actually, I can just make out the edge of the mountains in the moonlight. It’s enough to scare the living heck out of me, but still dark enough that I can’t appreciate the beauty.

Fortunately, the bus turns around and heads back slightly. Now I can discount the whole ride and don’t have to think about how long it took us to get down there. The bus lets us off at the start and we descend into the starting area.

The announcements are less frequent and far less annoying than in NY. Jeff Galloway, who will be running the race, chimes in with some advice. I’m kind of peeved. You want my advice? Don’t alter your race strategy on the morning of the race, especially at 5 AM. His advice isn’t that bad, he suggest going out a bit easy, because of hills and heat, then have something left for the second half. Sure, it’s just that easy. He suggests banking energy. It doesn’t work. If you go out too easy, you can’t pick it up enough in the second half to make it. At best, you run your target second half pace and get a lousy time because you slacked off the first 13 miles.

Soon they are calling us to the start and I find some people who look like they’re about my speed. They deny it. Some birds are circling overhead. The announcer claims they’re hawks. Hawks don’t travel in packs. I suggest they are buzzards. They’ll duke it out with the doves they release just before the start. Runners are not good eating there buddies.

We’re off!

The first mile starts on a downhill, so my time, despite walking most of the mile, is dead on. Okay. I’m actually a little fast, so I ease up slightly and when I hit the second mile mark, I’m slow. Oh well, long way to go. The course is taking us through the park. Beautiful trees line either side. There is a sign for the Big Sur River, I can just see it to my left, nobody else seems interested. The hills keep rolling, so I do my 3^rd mile in 7:30. I ask if the course seems short and someone reminds me I just ran downhill the whole mile. Thanks for insulting my ability to run an even pace.

There are some small businesses and a few spectators who turn out to cheer us on, but mostly it’s us and nature.

About 5 miles in, we start climbing up and out of the woods. To the left, we see grasslands and to the right, the hills towering over us. There’s a sign for the official Race Cow, Tchaikowsky. I don’t see him. Nobody around me does either. At least I’m not imagining things yet. I do learn 2 things: there are going to be lots of puns and the race organizers/sign makers are filthy liars.

6 miles, the wind picks up, but the sun is starting to beat down, so I like it. That gets old real fast. I can see something in the distance, a large rock with something clearly atop. Once I get closer, it is the historic Point Sur Lighthouse. (I read about it in the inflight magazine on my way to Monterey) Finally, we swing around the bend and it reveals the ocean. There are beautiful wildflowers and large rocks at the bottom of the slope. It is already the most scenic marathon I have ever run and the best is yet to come. I’m feeling great, almost not running hard enough. We start going downward on a long hill, nice. Some race officials in cars pass by and offer some encouragement. They tell us to enjoy the hill as we prepare for the climb to Hurricane Point.

It looks like I’m on pace for a 3:30-3:45 marathon, not too bad. We start getting views of the whole coast and it is incredible. I can see waves breaking on the rocks and steep cliffs. Looking up the road there are green mountains and blue skies. There is no doubt we are on the edge of the world. If you look left, there’s nothing but the sea and ahead, the road shrinks to nothing as the coastline snakes around and out of view. I know the hill starts at about 10 and I’ve passed 9 with no trouble, except for the blister that is forming on my arch.

I can see the hill now, but not where it starts. The road winds around so far, that I can’t see the runners turning around. We keep descending and turn almost all the way back before reaching the bottom of the hill. As I get closer, I can hear the Taiko drummers, pounding out a rhythm as we begin out march up the hill. It doesn’t seem too steep, but heeding good advice and good sense for a change, I ease up a bit and give a bit of a snarl to get some more adrenaline going.

It isn’t too bad going up the hill. It’s not as steep as I feared, just a long, grinding, winding grade. Along the way, there are signs marking our progress. They read things like: Sur-vivor Point, Pain in the Ascent, etc. I take a few opportunities to take some photos.

Hurricane point comes without too much trouble. I look back at where we began our climb and it is quite a view. Unfortunately, my time suffered. I had taken 10 minutes to get up one mile, so despite the warnings everyone gave me about going too hard down the hill, I put the hammer down and try to make up some time. As we began the descent, we could finally make out the Bixby Bridge.

Once we started to get close to the bridge, the sounds of the piano filled the air, floating across the span. On the far side there he was, Michael Martinez, tuxedo clad and playing the Theme from Charlie Brown. A nice familiar tune to keep me going. It also marked the halfway point. I finish the first half in 1:54:30, my slowest first half ever. My GU addled brain told me I could keep pushing the pace. So, I kept it up, trying not to go too hard on the downhill, but certainly moving with some real speed. The coastline was still spectacular and the ocean blue.

The terrain kept rolling too and we eventually moved slightly inland.

There were other musicians along the way. Two women with guitars, drummers, some Irish guy, and more. Some are playing old favorites, some their own compositions. All are a welcome distraction. I get to 20 miles without any problems. No real signs of fatigue, just a bit of weariness at the thought of 6.2 more miles.

We passed through some cliffs, reminding me a bit of Bryce Canyon in their shape. Soon, I started to hurt. I was counting miles more than before and starting to shuffle. My times were back in the sub 3:50 range, I just needed to hold the pace. The beautiful views of the coast were gone and we were in a more residential area. There were more people out though, so we had some cheering and occasional treats. Up ahead, I see a guy with a bowl of strawberries. I usually don’t take anything other than water, GU and Gatorade, but they looked good. I swipe at the bowl with my hand and come up empty. All I did was mash my sweaty paw though the bowl. There’s another one, this time I get a few and eat them quickly, delicious. Of course, my hands were then covered in strawberry goo. I wiped them off somewhere. No matter. I chugged on.

Just a few miles to go. Someone said there were just 4 little hills left. Ok, whatever. Usually when people tell you how far you have to go, it’s not right. They build up your hopes with, “It’s just over the next hill” or “Only a quarter mile to go!” In reality, you have two miles and 3 hills. If they ever say you have more than you really do, it still beats you up mentally and you limp in anyway. But here was someone saying I had 4 hills, very specific and not particularly easy anyway. Maybe he was right.

I’d been liking the downhills for most of the race. Even when I started getting tired, I could let gravity pull me and it helped. Now, I was starting to hate everything, even downhills. At long last, I saw the signs that brought me back to life: Mile 25 and 1 mile to go!

I got a little pep back and picked up the pace. I heard someone say that they could see the finish line. I didn’t see anything (even the people running in the race are not immune from saying misleading things). All I could see was an unending snake of runners. I tried to distract myself, waiting to get to the finish.

Finally, I spied the arch for the finish in the distance. One last tiny incline and then the chutes. I could hear the announcer calling names and telling people not to let their kids run on the course with them. I put on a sprint and he barely said my name before I crossed the line. 3:51 and some change. It was my slowest time in years, and well below what I would usually hope for, but considering the course, the heat, and that I stopped to take pictures a few times, I'll take it.

A few dizzy minutes later my chip was removed and I had my medallion. I was pretty well knackered and more than one volunteer stopped me to see if I was okay. I managed to joke with them all. I stepped into the finishers’ area and alternated between water and Gatorade, pouring and drinking. I congratulated a few runners I recognized from the course. I wanted to sit, but knew I’d regret it. Plus, there wasn’t a lot of grass, so I kept walking. Once I recovered, I headed over to the food tent. They handed us paper trays to fill with treats. I grabbed bagels, fruit, drinks, and a picture. I found a nice spot on the “grass” and after a few attempts, managed to sit without cramping. I ate my snacks and watched the people for a while. After most of my food was gone, I noticed people with soup. I ventured out and got one of the last cups of minestrone. It was some of the best soup I’ve ever had. Not sure why they gave me a spoon, considering I lacked the dexterity to use one and drank it anyway.

I went in search of my gear, hoping to put on some dry clothes. I was getting some good sun, but was still a bit sweaty. Past the arch was a glorious sight: row upon row of bags! I lined up by mine and they handed me my stuff. So simple, so effective! Hear that NY? Now I had a new bag for carrying food too!

All I needed to do now was wait for Valerie to finish. Soon enough, they announced her name and I went over to congratulate her. I assured her that it was the hardest marathon I’d ever run (maybe the hardest race) and she more than earned her status as a marathon finisher. She grabbed some food and we sat and reflected on our adventures.

Road Trip! Woo!

Last weekend I went out to Monclova Ohio for a half marathon.

At least, that was the plan. We got there plenty early and registered. I didn't really have any expectations for this race, having not trained for a race since New York. So, I was just about having a good run and hopefully turning out a good time and using that confidence at Big Sur.

I really enjoyed the pre-race interval. Having less of an interest in setting a PR and being an old war horse who now only does warm ups when he feels like it, I was able to sit back a bit and watch everyone else. It's interesting to see people get ready for a race. Some are nervous, checking their watches, fidgeting, trying to keep loose. Others are stay loose by avoiding everything that the nervous set does.

I chose not to do an extended warm up run, assuming 13.1 would be enough. So, I put in about a mile and a half maybe 30 minutes before the race. Everything seemed in order. Fueled up, stretched, and ready to go, I toed the line with one goal: stay with the group and then destroy them in the last .1 miles.

The first 3 miles were fine. We started a tad fast (sub 7) but eased into our pace and all was well. Then, around 4, things got goofy. First, the mile markers were off. Unless I ran mile 4 in 3.5 minutes, it was short. Rather that acknowledge that the race was now a half mile short, I spent the rest of the race telling myself I had more to run than I actually did.

Over the next 5 or so miles, I started falling back. Not because I was slowing, but because everyone else was speeding up. So, I maintained. I actually passed a few people and was still running pretty well even at around 10.

Of course, there were no real hills, but each of the slow inclines I bounded up with glee and determination. It counts, right? Then, the wind picked up and we were headed right into it. Plus, the cramp I had in my side was really starting to get on my nerves. It didn't hurt like it could have, but as I was starting to fatigue, it wasn't helping.

At that point, the last member of our group passed me and I was in the back again. As usually happens, the wheels started coming off. Still thinking I had 2 miles, I began a long stretch on a bike path. This was an out and back section, so I got to see everyone from the group, which meant I realized how far back I was and had to slog through all of them to get to the turnaround. Plus, my feet were starting to hurt, stupid shoes! New Balance, I don't heart you anymore.

With just over .1 miles, one of the other group members was there to urge me on. I really appreciated the gesture, but it kind of stung that he was so sprightly after having run his first ever half marathon and absolutely crushing me. I figured if he was going to run the rest with me, he was going to have to keep up with my customary stupid kick.

I put on the speed and I think I managed to pass one more person as I finished. Conveniently, they asked me my age right there to determine if I won anything. I told them, and I did not get anything. I tried guessing a different age, no dice. What, I don't look 60?
The woman who finished right after me begged me to tell her that the course wasn't short. She was so cute I almost hated to tell her the truth.

Anyway, our little band bagged the top two spots for the females and a handful of age group awards. PRs all around, many of which would have still been PRs, even if we'd had that extra .5 miles to run.