To Finish and Not Finish Last

You know the protocol.  It’s Friday at the office.  “Any plans for the weekend?” you are asked.  Appropriate responses include:

            Yard work

            Play some: golf, tennis, badminton

            My kid has a:  soccer, basketball, quiddich game

            Going to:  Vail, Vegas, Bali, Endor

           

Here is what I say:  “I’m going on a 20 mile run on Saturday; probably run another 10 to 15 miles on Sunday.”  How is a normie supposed to respond to that? 

Sometimes I mix it up a little.  For instance, this Friday I said “I have a 20 mile race on Saturday (the RMRR Marathon Training Series Spring Finale); probably run another 10 to 15 miles on Sunday.”  It is a subtle difference, I recognize, but real runners appreciate it.  Mostly, I get a “huh” and a blank stare.  I might as well be speaking Klingon.  Sometimes people give me a polite “that’s nice”. 

I have been asked how long it takes me to run 20 miles.  In this case 2:16:39.  Some people put the time into perspective.  “That’s how long it takes me to drive to Cheyenne.”  People who have run a few races ask what my pace is.  In this case about 6:49 / mile.  The usual response is “I can’t run one mile that fast!” 

For a good laugh check out - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbiuns5_WXM&feature=related.

This Friday I was asked an interesting question; interesting because I had never pondered the thought.  The question was “How hard is it to run 20 miles?”  The short answer is “As hard as you want it to be.”  Philosophically, I believe we control our own destiny and, therefore, can dictate the effort we put into running.  We can walk (if no one is looking).  The rewards you reap are directly proportional to the level of effort you invest. 

My questioner wanted something more, though.  I am fond of saying “There is no easy running.”  The difficulty of running is a function of how fast you run.  As endurance runners we train up to the marathon distance.  Physically it is difficult, but we develop our mental focus as well.  The difference in effort between running at 6:51 / mile and 6:53 / mile for the marathon is negligible.  But it is the difference between running a marathon in 2:59:28 and 3:00:20.  Those two seconds each mile are result of physical training and concentration.  So, yes, it is hard to run 20 miles.  But it feels so good when you are done.

In Saturday’s race I felt I ran quite well.  It was a blustery day at Twin Lakes Park with a fairly stiff wind out of the west.  I ran most of the race at a comfortable 6:40 / mile pace.  I was running fine until about three miles to go when I encountered some GI issues.  I stopped to go to the bathroom and had a side stitch over the last three miles. 

Saturday’s race was not well attended; the field thinned by the next day’s Cherry Creek Sneak.  I ran alone for the last 17 miles and managed to finish first, receiving a very nice $25 gift card to the Runners Roost.  Running in no man’s land gave me a lot of time to ponder the meaning of it all.

Races are a little like life.  We start out about the same.  We make our way at our own pace.  We finish at the same place.  It’s just that some end up with more medals.  In a perfect world we’d all run four minute miles, but this is reality which is why God made age groups. 

Are These the Streets Bill Rodgers Trod?

Hopkinton - This is where it all began.  Here, where each year the accommodating locals allow thousands of runners, and attendant media, to intrude on their lives.

Eastward runs the course, through Ashland, Coburnville, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Beaconsville, Brookline and finally Boston, where it all ends.  There, where the Charles River washes into the Back Bay. 

The race is epic.  Mention the words Boston Marathon to any runner and watch the reaction.  Five score and 15 years ago 18 men toed the line near Metcalf’s Mill for the first Boston Marathon.  John McDermott won in 2:55:10.  This year’s edition was a scorcher.  The temperature was in the high 80s.  The road temperature reached 102.  There would be no personal bests. 

Our gang was well represented and here are a few stories.

Tim – “Not much of an experience except bad for me this year.  Came down with a stomach flu Saturday morning so thought I'd test a marathon basically without having any nutrition or fluids for two days prior....bad idea!  I went 9 miles before deciding there was no point in torturing myself for another 17 miles for a 3:30 marathon effort and dropped.  Extremely disappointing.”

Tom – “Running Boston this year was more a matter of surviving vs. running, let alone racing.  Since the start temperature was 80, I told myself I'd back off a few seconds per mile and then slow down as necessary.  I hit the half at 1:30:00, but unfortunately, by the time I realized I was suffering from the heat, it was too late.  Miles 16-26 became a survival run and I was just glad to finish.”

Jeff – “Well, it was a little hot.  I seem to have the ability to pick the “Hot” Boston Marathons to run. The last time I ran was the hot 2004 version (86 degrees), and now I have run the 2012 version (87 degrees).  Both races were torturous marches through stretches of unrelenting heat and then glorious showers from fire hydrants and hoses that were all too brief.  In both races, one had to forget any thoughts of a goal time and just try to “enjoy” the experience.  I did more high fiving, crowd acknowledgement (Wellesley College) and taking water from the little children lining the course than how I would typically do during a race.  So in that respect it was a fun experience.  Running a hot marathon though is such a challenge to stay properly hydrated, but still run fast enough to limit the amount of time on the course and not too fast so as to “die” out there.  In the end, there is great satisfaction to completing the marathon knowing that you have not only surmounted the obstacle of running for 26.2 miles but also overcome the huge challenge of running through the barriers of unrelenting heat.

To be sure, there is only one Boston Marathon.  It is definitely the grand daddy of marathons.  I will probably do it again someday… hopefully, a cool day.”

Here were our gang’s times:

Scott K. 3:12:55

Mike Q. 3:14:40

David R. 3:18:16

Jeff O. 3:23:38

Tom Norris 3:32:36

And that is how it all happened. 

I’m Here To Race

Northward ran the course, along the Platte River, the race’s namesake, past the felled tan ranks of last year’s reeds.  All along the 13.1 mile route curious folk gathered; massing at odd intersections with names like Bowles, Prince, Belleview, Union, Oxford, Hampden and Dartmouth.

The runner, feet hardened and calloused, picked his way through the mass of athletes.  Milling about before the start he was asked about his expectations.  The response, “I’m here to race”, a non sequitur crafted to intimidate.  The race announcer droned on until finally “Get ready, Go!”

The runner made mistakes.  He averaged 6:04 for the first three miles; far too fast for that 47 year old runner.  He paced off another runner until mile five where that runner peeled off, having completed the first leg of the relay.  It was hubris.  He then tried to hold the shoulder of every runner who passed him, and there were a few.  The last few miles the runner became a moving human speed bump as runner after runner passed him.  It was hard to tell who was running the relay and who was running the full 1/2 marathon.

The course wound through downtown Littleton, then along the bike path as it passed through Littleton, a sliver of Englewood and, finally, ended in Denver.  The wind negated any benefit of the elevation loss from start to finish.  There was no escaping it.   There were mean spirited voices in that wind.

The hill over the 8^th Avenue viaduct just after mile 12 looked and felt like a 45º incline.  The last quarter mile was run into the teeth of a stiff north wind. 

The post race food was amazing.  There were burgers, brats, rice & beans, chili, breakfast burritos, humus, garlic knots, cookies and tea.  While it was delicious, it was not the best thing for the runner to eat and it made him sick.

The running gods blessed this year’s Platte River Half Marathon with a window of almost perfect weather.  The temperature at the start was about 40º.  The snow storm that rolled through the area the night before gave way to few hours of clear skies.  But then the winds picked up.  Many of the exhibitor tents blew away.  Then the rain and snow returned. 

The runner checked his results:

1:24:42 – 6:27 / mile pace

First place in his age group

Second place in the masters division

22^nd overall

That done, he headed for the warmth of home. 

The Wait

There is one week to go before my first big race of 2012 – the Platte River ½ Marathon.  The race day instructions arrived, unbidden, in my in box.  When I signed up for the race, it was the middle of the winter.  Now the race is so close and I wonder if I am prepared.

I am in full-on taper mode.  I have scaled back on my weekly mileage.  I will not be attending Tuesday’s track workout.  There is nothing to gain and everything to lose. 

I have reviewed my training log.  I have done enough training and I have trained hard.  There have been some amazing training races, some great training runs and some awful runs.  I did a lot of speed work on the treadmill this winter.  The Platte River course is mostly downhill.  I’ve done downhill tempo runs.  There is a one, half mile long hill about a mile from the finish.  I’ve certainly done enough hill work.  I feel ready.

The question, as always, is what pace should I shoot for? 

Next Monday Tim, Ken, David, Scott K, Tom and Jeff will shuffle into the corals in Hopkinton.  I certainly am jealous of them.  I’d love to run the Boston Marathon again.  Maybe in 2016. 

And what to do with all the extra time I have due to the taper?  There is always yard work to do.  I play the trumpet a little more.  I sand down my calluses.  I read a little more.  I am finishing “1861; The Civil War Awakening” by Adam Goodheart. 

One of my other interests is the Civil War Era.  A lot is made of the fact that President Abraham Lincoln was shot on Good Friday; martyred for his beliefs as Jesus was for his. 

Today is Easter Sunday.  I love today’s reading (John 20: 1-9) because it is about a foot race. 

“So Peter and the other disciple went out and came to the tomb.  They both ran, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and arrived at the tomb first;”

Yeah, that’s nice, but what were there chip times?