Category: Uncategorized

CLIFTON, Virginia, April 13 2013

Fallback goal – Survive
Ambitious goal – Finish officially (under 13:00:00)
Dream goal – Finish ahead of the last official finisher

Friday evening I went to pick up my race packet at Hemlock. I hung around to wait for Steve, who would be staying with us Friday night. I figured I might as well check out the course condition while waiting – there had been pretty heavy rain earlier in the day.

I set off at an easy lope down to the river, where I turned right and headed along the last couple miles of the course. There was quite a bit of standing water, but nothing too boggy. And most of this water was gone by the time the actual race started.

As I was coming up the final hill to Hemlock I checked the time. It was about 7:24 PM, and I realized that this reconnaissance could very likely serve as a kind of “pre-enactment” of the actual race the next day. I knew that if I could finish at all it would be a mad, hobbling scramble to get in before the official time cutoff at 7:30. I had a vision of myself, 24 hours thence, in exactly the same place, except depleted and staggering and sore, trying to keep my failing legs moving another few tenths of a mile.

But on this day I had only run a couple miles. I power-hiked the rest of the hill and took off at a pretty good clip for the place where the finish line would soon be erected. I managed to cross that spot at 7:29 and some seconds. I’d need a much bigger cushion tomorrow to have any hope of an official finish.

Steve arrived and picked up his packet. We drove over to my house, watched The King of Masks on DVD, and headed to bed early.

First thing in the morning I went and got my checklist for the race. I’d never made a checklist before, and it made me feel powerful somehow – like a real runner instead of just a dilettante. I loaded up my hydration vest and drop bag with the things on my list, and I felt freakin’ invincible as The Boss drove us to the start line.

Waiting for the race to start I felt like just being a part of it was a dream accomplished. After my first ultramarathon, a 50K in Missouri last year, I briefly vowed I’d never run a race over marathon distance again. But even at the time I knew it was a lie. Ever since I learned of the BRR50‘s existence I knew I had to enter it.

We started. Steve and I ran together for four or five miles, then I turned to him and said “I’m going to see if I can move up a few places.” I was able to follow through on this, and I spent the next few minutes working my way out of the large pack we’d been running with and out into the open trail.

The next few hours were pure joy. The weather was perfect. I encountered several runners I’d never met, but whose names I’d come to know through my study of the local trail running scene. I met some pirates at the Wolf Run Shoals aid station. I was ahead of schedule coming into Fountainhead, and The Boss had not yet arrived. I left without waiting for her. The aid station at the entrance to the Do Loop had popsicles, and I left there feeling good. At this point I had run the first 30 miles of the course, as far as I’d ever run before.

I can identify the moment I knew I would finish this race. I was midway through the Do Loop, running strong and approaching the infamous Nash Rambler. Some wag had adorned it with balloons, a giant inflatable Hello Kitty, and a boombox that was shamelessly blaring a certain Springsteen tune on an infinite loop. It was clichéd and cheesy, but when I passed the scene in full stride just as The (other) Boss was growling “baby we were born to ruuuuuuun!” I couldn’t help but laugh with the pure joy of it. I knew then that I wouldn’t get to tell any epic tales of battling the time cutoffs; I was going to finish comfortably under the 13 hour limit.

After the infamous Loop it was back to the aid station where I liberated another popsicle. I saw The Boss at Fountainhead, and she was a welcome sight. I begged some sunblock from the pirates at the Wolf Run Shoals aid station, and slathered it all over my head. When I handed it back to Alex P., he doubled over laughing and insisted on having me take a picture with the crew. How could I say no?

I reached the aid station at The Marina about nine and a half hours into the race. Five miles to the finish, and three and a half hours to complete it. A finish at my first 50 miler was basically a done deal. The Boss was there, encouraging me. I could visualize every step of the way back to Hemlock. I was content not to push too hard; I was almost two hours ahead of schedule. My legs were finally feeling the strain, and I couldn’t run more than a couple hundred steps at a time, but I couldn’t keep a huge, goofy grin from spreading across my face.

I don’t think there’s a picture of me approaching the finish, but I probably looked much like some of the other runners (except older, fatter, and balder). Running up that last stretch of road to cross the line and shake the RD’s hand was one of the most sublime experiences of my life.

Final time: 11:07:18, 194th out of 295 official finishers.

I lived every minute of this day.

Miles this race – 50
Miles raced in 2013 – 116.53

ONANCOCK, Virginia, April 7 2013

Ambitious goal – 1:40:00
Fallback goal – 1:45:00

If I lived closer I would do this race every year it’s held.

It was an intimate affair, only some hundred or so competitors spread over two races: a half marathon and a 10k. The race organization, however, was absolutely first rate. The course was very nice, starting and finishing in quaint Onancock, Virginia, with a scenic loop in the middle. There was no traffic control on the narrow, rural roads, which occasioned a little bit of a pucker factor when a blind curve was ahead or the sound of a motor behind. They did have cyclists patrolling the course, though, and they were very helpful with keeping motorists alert.

The course was flat, but it was windy. I’d been thinking I should be able to hold a 7:45 average pace on a course like this, but I was thwarted by a few factors:

–There was a lot of headwind.

–A moderately severe side stitch hobbled me for a couple minutes around the middle of the race. It was the first time I’ve ever had to walk during a road race shorter than a marathon.

–The roads were a little rough. On the one hand, this was part of the charm of the race, but running on the slight angle near the edges really exacerbated the knee pain that’s been plaguing me for the the past few months.

There were some 9 or 10 people ahead of me starting out, and when three of these turned around at the 5k point I knew they were in the shorter race. After that point I saw almost no other runners until the last couple miles. Near the five mile mark I looked back and saw a couple of guys in white shirts some fair distance behind me. When I had to stop and walk out the stitch I worried that they were gaining on me, but I didn’t look back until later.

Once you’ve walked once, the mental resistance to doing it again is considerably lowered. I kept thinking I’d walk for a while just up ahead, but I managed to squash that urge except for a few steps at each of the two remaining water stops. After the first of these around 6.5 miles in I looked back and saw that one of the white shirts had been dropped, but the other was startlingly close, spurring me back into a run.

This situation repeated itself at the water stop at 10 miles. After this there was a long, gradual downhill back into the village of Onancock. I’d almost reached the turn leading back to the wharf when I heard someone shout something unintelligible behind me. I looked back and it was a runner in a blue shirt – the white shirt guy had been dropped. Blue Shirt passed me a pretty good clip. My calves had been threatening mutiny for a couple miles, and when I briefly thought about trying to reverse the pass they went into full riot mode.

I had to back off the pace a little bit. The calves continued their tomfoolery, but I was able to keep them from seizing up completely. I passed a few 10k walkers with their dogs.

After the final turn I saw that the clock was at 1:43:xx. It would be close, but sub-1:45 was possible. The final hundred meters was a ridiculous limping, hobbling, flailing attempt at a sprint, but I sneaked in under the wire: 1:44:56. Eighth overall and 3rd (out of 4, but still) in my age group. Just barely made my fallback goal, but I did accomplish a long-time secondary goal – I finished ahead of the first female.

The post-race food was the best I’ve had at any race of any size, and the musical act was right fine. The weather was as near to perfect as I think it could be. I probably won’t want to travel that far every year, but I’d definitely like to go back some day.

Miles this race – 13.1
Miles raced in 2013 – 66.53

QUANTICO, Virginia, March 23 2013

Ambitious goal – 1:30:00
Fallback goal – Didn’t really have one

Not much to say about this race. It was the “golden ticket” race for this year’s Marine Corps Marathon – all finishers get guaranteed early entry. Given that the MCM sold out in under three hours last year, this was a pretty big perk. Of course, the 2,500 slots available in this race sold out in like 90 minutes, so it’s hard to say if this path to MCM registration was really any easier.

I was interested in the 17.75k for its own sake; I am not planning to run the MCM this year. I had a great time the previous time it was held, in the Fall of 2011. There were only some 600-odd entrants, and they had this diminutive female DI on the course just lighting us up: “You suck, you’re slow, move your butt!” We saw her near the beginning of the race and again at the end. I had almost given up on catching the string of three or four runners I’d been trying to reel in for the last mile or so, but then she was up in my face: “You suck, you can catch that guy, he’s slow, move, move, move!” I was like “…OK…”, and wound up dusting the entire string. The 2011 edition also featured an inspirational finish at the Museum of the Marine Corps.

This year was a let-down. No feisty female DIs; more paved roads and less trail; finish line just at some random place in Prince William Forest Park.

We arrived a little late and I got stuck in the back of the starting corral. The very first section of the course was in a shopping center parking lot and so was fairly wide. As soon as I crossed the starting mat I zigged left and started sprinting, trying to get around as many dawdlers as possible before the course narrowed after turning onto Dumfries road. I must have passed a few hundred people during that short sprint, and I didn’t have to do too much picking through slower runners. I was pretty much out in the open after half a mile or so.

I did have trouble recovering from that initial sprint, though. I was only 6 days removed from a PR effort at the Tobacco Road Marathon, and my legs were still a little tight. I had hoped to maybe stay a little under 8:00/mile, but most of the 11 mile splits were at least a little over that. The course was unremarkable – a few hills, mostly paved road, about a mile of gravel road, and the last half mile or so on double-track trail.

I wound up 200th out of 2,175 finishers, 1:29:42.

Miles this race – 11.03
Miles raced in 2013 – 53.43

There is only salt. Bitter, sweet, sour – these are only fairy tales told to children. Umami – to the extent that I ever knew what it was – is a distant and fading memory. I exist in a world of salt; there can be nothing else.

***

I am already composing the excuse section of my race report: “I was on track to break four hours until calf cramps started hobbling me at around mile 20. I really could have done it this time, dangit.” I am approaching the water stop at mile 24. I have 2.2 miles to go, 3:37 or so on the clock. This can be done; this is achievable. Except for these cramps. You can run through a blister, you can run through knee pain and shredded quads, but a knotted-up calf will sideline you for sure. Then I remember – I have one salt tablet left. Will it hold off the cramps long enough for me to gut out these last couple miles? No time to think about it, no time to wait for it to dissolve. A quick check of the distance to the aid station and I chew viciously through the outer capsule and feel the contents instantly coat my tongue…

***

The volunteers don’t seem to mind that I grab a second cup of water. The first one is practically brine by the time it washes the residue from the S Cap down. The second one is sweet relief. A few twinges echo up from my calves, but then they quiet down. From here I only need ten minute miles to get in comfortably under four. My left knee is a screaming knot of fire; my quads are shot; my feet have been blistering for the past twelve miles. It’s twenty minutes of hell to the finish line, but as the signs say, the achievement is forever.

***

I’m on the way back from the second turnaround at about mile 18.5. I know a long, gradual uphill is coming because I enjoyed it as a downhill on the way out. I’m still taking a short break to walk at each mile marker, no more than 0.05 miles. I see the 4:00:00 pace leader coming the other way maybe five minutes after turning around, and I wonder when he’ll catch me.

I pass mile 20 at about 2:54, leaving me 1:06 to run a 10k. Easy, nothing to it. I walk a twentieth of a mile as I take my last gel and swallow a salt tab. But soon after I break back into a run my calves start threatening to cramp. You know the feeling – the muscle goes right up to the edge of turning over, you do a little hop-jump-step, and it backs off a little. You run a little slower but continue on, you and the cramp eyeing each other warily. I know that ten minute miles will get me home, but I don’t think I can pull it off. At least I’ll beat my 4:16 PR.

I hit the expected uphill, and find myself running with unexpected strength. I know the turn back onto the road is coming at around mile 23.7. I skip the walk break at mile 22, chat briefly with a young runner regarding our chances of finishing under four, drop him, resolve to make it to the road without stopping, skip the walk break at mile 23, make it to the road, walk a short distance, check my watch, start to feel cautiously hopeful about my chances of beating my long-time goal, pull up limping as my traitorous calves start to fold in on themselves…

***

There is no more stopping. A mile and a half to go, and some seventeen minutes to do it in. The body has the strength, if the mind has the will. I reach the last water stop, at the mile 25 marker. The volunteer is shouting “Just one more mile to go!”, and I can’t keep myself from correcting her: “You mean one point two!” She gives me some water anyway, and I am grateful. Fourteen minutes to go.

***

The girl I’ve been leapfrogging all day passes me for the last time when I take a brief break to walk at mile 16. An Indian guy has also stopped to walk a bit, and I complain to him about the girl’s stubborn insistence on not staying dropped. I mention that I’m always strong in the first half and fade in the second, and he allows that he has the same problem. I don’t think I’ll make four. I have some chance at a PR, but I’m OK with just finishing. The Indian guy keeps walking as I start up running again, trying to catch that girl before the 17 mile marker.

***

The legs are tired, but I know they will see me through. The “one mile to go” lady also said it was all downhill from there, but that was a lie too. Almost immediately I’m heading uphill again, but at this point it doesn’t matter. I almost bailed on this race because my knee has been hosed for the past two months. I decided to unbail and sacrifice the knee, and now I can make it all worthwhile by gutting out this last mile. Twelve minutes to go.

***

Just before the end of the first out-and-back there is a road crossing with a sign: “drop area”. If you are unable to continue you can drop here and get a ride to the finish. When I was trying to decide whether to unbail on this race I knew that I could at least quit at the end of the first out-and-back section and walk the last 2.5 miles back along the road. I had even planned how I’d be careful to give up my bib before crossing the finish line, so as not to accidentally record a finish time instead of my rightful DNF (surely there are protocols in place to avoid that, but still, I planned it). I just smirk at this drop area, however, and continue on. I am hurting, but not yet licked.

***

I don’t look at my watch. Just don’t stop and you’ll get it. I don’t try to guess how many tenths are left. I reach the end of the uphill section and open my stride a little bit as the road slopes down…

***

At around mile eight, just short of the first turnaround, I look down the front of my shirt to check that my anti-chafing band-aids are in place. One of them looks to be riding a little low so I try to adjust it, and of course it falls half off. A girl I briefly spoke with earlier suddenly bolts down a side trail into the woods. Is she taking a pee break? I can see the port-a-potties up ahead at the turn-around. Whatever. She’ll catch me at the turnaround and then we’ll spend the next several miles leapfrogging each other. At the end of the out-and-back there is a simple cardboard box with an arrow painted around it. A volunteer is admonishing all runners to “go all the way around the box.” I do so, then stop short of the water table. I shake some grit out of my shoe, replace the band-aid over my left [redacted], finally grab the water a volunteer has been trying to hand me, and start back running. I had thought with the extended stop this mile would be the first one where I failed to stay under a 9:09 pace (the average pace needed to break four hours), but remarkably when my watch beeps at me it reads 09:05. I continue on, encouraged.

***

Half a mile to go. Don’t trip over your goofy clown shoes. Amazingly, I pass a few straggling half-marathoners. There is no pain any more. I hear the first faint cheers coming from the finish area.

***

According to plan, I stop to walk as I take my first gel at mile 5. A guy runs past me, also taking a gel. He holds up his packet and companionably calls to me, “Mile Five!” I tuck the empty packet into my waist pack and catch up to the guy. He has a classic North Carolina accent, and it makes me nostalgic. He throws his empty gel packet on the trail while berating himself for doing so, apparently sincerely. I struggle briefly with the urge to gang up with him – equally sincerely – on himself, then master it. We chat for a while. He asks me my time goal and I tell him that I’d like to do four, except for my knee, and I’m just trying to finish. “You’re under four pace now,” he says, and I agree. He goes on, but I catch him just before the turnaround, where he informs me that he is intent on catching the 3:45:00 pace leader, who is in sight just up ahead.

***

A short gentle uphill leading to the turn back into the park. The cheers are louder now. I catch up with an Asian man at the turn, and I encourage him to push and make it in under four. He looks at me with either incomprehension or disdain. I don’t care, goodbye, I’m going on. The road turns down. I pass mile 26, five minutes left on the clock. The course is twisty here; I can’t see the arch.

***

We start. The marathoners and the half-marathoners start together, and it’s crowded. As always, there are walkers and slower runners inconsiderately starting up near the front of the race, and I have to pick through them for the first mile or two. The two races will split after about two and a half miles, and then I will have more breathing room. I had told myself that I would take it slow, don’t do anything stupid like try to break four hours, just take it slow, preserve the knee, and finish. My legs had other plans, though, and I find myself running in the low-to-mid eights. We turn right onto the trail and it is beautiful.

***

I still can’t see the arch. It can’t be more than a tenth of a mile to go. I round a turn, and then another. I see the clock. Is that 3:59:xx or 3:58:xx? It doesn’t matter, I’m safe on the chip time. I start to sprint it in (for low enough values of sprint). It turns out to have been 3:58; the clock reads 3:59:06 as I cross. I remember to stop my watch, as I almost never do, and I see that I had plenty of cushion – 3:57:04. Pretty sure I was sub-nine for the last mile. I accept my finisher’s medal from a young volunteer. It’s massive. It has the image of a train on it.

I take a water bottle and go off in search of pizza. I liberate a slice of cheese and find a quiet place to sit and eat it. I am overcome.

***

“Hey Boss?”
“Yes?”
“You know that North Carolina marathon coming up? The one I said I was bailing on?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“I’m thinking I might unbail on it…”

Reston, Virginia, March 3 2013

Ambitious goal – 1:15:00
Fallback goal – Beat The Cat and/or set a PR

I’ve been hobbled by a knee injury the past couple months and haven’t really been training. Could be tendonitis, could be something else. It’s been improving very gradually, and I was planning to use this race as a benchmark to gauge whether the knee might hold up for the Tobacco Road Marathon in a couple weeks. It mostly felt pretty good during the race, only really bothering me around miles 3 to 4. But immediately after stopping it started screaming at me, and didn’t let up for more than 48 hours. It’s just now getting manageable. I’ve got an appointment with the orthopedist on Thursday.

On the plus side, I felt strong throughout the whole race. I think I kept my mile splits pretty consistent after adjusting for wind and elevation. I normally drag the last couple miles of a race of this distance, but they seemed to fly by this time.

Finish time: 1:18:43, a new PR.

Miles this race – 10
Miles raced in 2013 – 16.2

LEESBURG, Virginia, January 1 2013

Ambitious goal – 50:00
Fallback goal – Not to PW

The weather was tolerable. I only felt cold while waiting for The Boss and her friends to finish. The race does not publish a course map, but the course had been advertised to us by those who’d run it previously as “hilly”. It lived up to this billing.

Given the expected nature of the course and the fact that my training had been lax to non-existent over the past month, I decided that 50 minutes was a reasonable goal. As usual starting out, I lost seconds trying to get around lumbering morons who had situated themselves in the front of the pack before the gun and then proceeded to spread out across the course and slowly jog along. The first few hundred yards was downhill through a grassy, open field, so it didn’t take too long to clear around the jam and settle into a reasonable pace.

I felt pretty good for the first three miles. The hills didn’t seem that bad. According to my watch I was at about 23:50 at the halfway point – a cushion of about 1:10. Things changed rapidly after that, though. The real hills started making their appearance near the end of the fourth mile. They were not super-steep, but they were steep enough, and long. My pace dropped to the high eights, and even the high nines on one particularly tough rise. Each time I’d start wheezing up a hill I’d resolve to abandon the sub-50:00 goal. “Fifty and change is good enough; at least there’s no real danger of a PW [54:07+].” Then of course I’d get my wind back pounding the downslope and resolve to run it in hard.

With about half a mile to go I was at around 45:30. Just a 9:00 pace needed to break 50. I admit I eased up a little at this point – no possibility of a PR, almost certain to beat my stated goal, why kill yourself? I did try to sprint in the last hundred yards or so, though, and finished in 49:30.

It’s always a good race when you surpass your goals, even if the goals are a little unambitious. There were two additional bonuses this time around:

–The Boss beat her PR by some 20 seconds. Given that her PR was set on a dead flat course, this was a big achievement.

–Just after I finished and grabbed a water bottle I turned around to see who was coming in behind me. A young, tall, slender woman, all kitted out in running gear, crossed the line and wobbled over to the side of the finishing area. She started to double over and raise her hand to her mouth.

Me: “Wait for it, wait for it. . .”
YTSWAKoiRG: “Blagrhghrghrh!”
Me: “Yes!”

I may be old, fat and bald but I finished ahead of you. And you puked.

Miles this race – 6.2
Miles raced in 2013 – 6.2

I thought I might not get chicked.

I’ve never avoided getting chicked in a race with official results. I’ve been close – twice I’ve come in ahead of the second place female, but behind the first. I was thinking I had a pretty good shot for most of the race today.

In the end, not only did I get chicked, I also got wienered. Sucks to be me.

The Boss and I did this race last year. The Survivor was there with us, but did not race. There were only 69 finishers in the 2011 version, so I got a good view of all of them as we lined up to start. Off to my right was a kid wearing a hot dog suit, and I took it in mind that I was not going to lose to a frankfurter. And in the end, I kept that promise (Hard to make out the seconds, but a close inspection of the clock shows that I finished first):

Me

The Wiener

Kids get faster, though, and all I’m getting is older, fatter and balder. He wound up cutting some five minutes off his time this time around, and finished comfortably ahead of me.

This time around we set out fast. My watch recorded a maximum pace of 5:11 per mile, but nobody held this too long. Within the first half mile I had settled in with a small group in the low to mid sevens. A couple of young ladies passed me early on, but I went back by them pretty quickly.

The race seemed shorter than it did last year. I’m pretty sure it was the same course, but I think I’m a little fitter this year, so the second half didn’t seem to stretch out so long. All along the course I could hear the girls I’d passed chatting with each other, and I tried to judge my lead by their volume. There are three big hills on the course, including one just before the finish line. On the first two of these my pace plummeted down to the mid eights, and I heard the girls creeping up on me as they nimbly flew up the slopes. I was able to wheeze back out to what sounded like a decent lead on the downs, though.

In the last couple miles I was passed by only one male runner, and I managed in turn to reel a few in. With about three quarters of a mile to go the volume of the voices behind me started creeping insidiously up and I got chicked at about the 4.5 mile mark. I’d already decided that if they passed me there was no point in trying to hang – I knew I’d just fall back on that final hill.

My goal had been to finish under 38 minutes, and as I came up to the finish line I saw that the clock had not yet ticked over to 37:00. A final dash under the arch and I finished in 36:52. A new 5 mile PR for me, but there was one final indignity – I finally managed to finish second in my age group, but the awards only went one deep.

Nothing for it but to get faster, I reckon

ApolloRay: Now, when you beat me, you beat me by one [half]… ONE [HALF]… second. Now do you know what something like that does to a man of my intelligence?

RockySteve: I thought you said you got over it.

ApolloRay: I lied.

March-Ray: Let’s just sign up for this…

Now-Ray: Umm, wait, what? I’m seriously not ready to run another marathon. I haven’t really been training, my right hip is still bothering me a little, and my foot is bruised.

March-Ray: Again with the excuses? Sack up, bro.

Now-Ray: But…

March-Ray: You’ve known since March you were going to have to run this race.

June-Ray: Ooooh, this looks awesome! Check out those views.

Now-Ray: Dude, no! That’s the day after the marathon!

June-Ray: It’s not even a race; it’ll totally be easy.

Now-Ray: You’re not the one who has to ride 100km one day after running 26.2 miles.

March-Ray: Sierra Tango Bravo Yankee, dude.

June-Ray: Ha ha.

Now-Ray: Jerks.

The race by numbers:

1000 – Exact number of finishers that I beat
663 – Total elevation gain in feet
507 – Number of men I beat
150 – Miles the starting line was from my house
51 – Number of times I got chicked
26 – Number of men 45 – 49 I beat
13.65 – Minutes shaved off my PR
7.77 – Miles I ran on the out-and-back course before I saw the sweep car coming the other way
5 – Hours I spent driving to/from the race site in excess of the hours I spent running
3.xx – Miles I ran on the out-and-back course before I saw the leaders coming the other way
2 – Cheese pizza slices eaten after the race
1.5 – Uphill miles leading up to the finish
1 – Number of kitted-out little kids who blew past me in the last mile