Geist

I want redemption. I want revenge.

(Another) Mini-Marathon Race Report

It’s been just over a week since I ran THE Mini for the second time. In the weeks leading up to the race, I had put quite a bit of pressure on myself.  The mini was the first big race I ran in 2008. I had run a few 5-10k’s here and there. But the mini was my first goal race.

After I had moved to Connecticut in May of 2007, it took me only a few months to realize happy hours were too expensive and too destructive and I needed a new hobby. Feeling homesick for Indy in the summer I took up running, with the goal of making myself fit enough to run the 13.1 mile race the following May, and not embarass myself while seeing friends.  A few solid 5k’s and a 10k put myself in the mindset of a 1:40 time as a possibility. Unfortunately I overshot the goal, went out too hard and died with a close to 28 minute final 5 k, leaving myself just under 1:45.  In 2009, with 2 other half marathons under my belt, and a PR of 1:41:29, I knew I had to go sub 1:40 this time. In the day before the race I told Minister of Misinformation that if all goes right I could go sub 1:38, which would be a large jump for a PR.

After a whirlwind few days of seeing friends, race morning came up quick. After being lectured that I wasn’t eating enough pre-race the M.O.M. and I worked our way past the lines of porta-potties, the runners in slower queues and towards the front. I wound up due to previous finishing times starting in queue C which was crowded with several runners who looked much slower than me and several more that looked faster.

From experience I knew the first few miles were gonna be so congested that I just didn’t want to over-exert myself weaving in and out of packs of runners. Just be patient the first 1/2 mile and the race will open up. But then the horn came.

It took me roughly 1 minute to get to the start line,  and even though I told myself to be patient the first mile I found myself losing patience immediately. Joggers standing 3-4 abrest were holding conversations while several of us were actually wanting to race this with a purpose and a goal. After about a half mile I followed the lead of another runner, cut to the inside and found myself running on the sidewalk, periodically dodging spectators.

I don’t know if it was initial frustration or nerves, but at 2 miles I was not feeling good. I knew I would finish, obviously, but doubts started to ceep in about my pace. Should I have gone out harder? What is wrong with my turnover? Does it look silly that someone with such a great mustache isn’t at full sprint?

But soon thereafter the miles started falling rather quickly, and I begun to feel stronger as the race went on.  I chose not to wear a watch this race, as clocks were at each mile, and I didn’t want to continually be looking down at my watch concerned if I was holding a pace. But I noticed as we went by the 6 mile marker that I was keeping a pace slightly below 7:20 per mile. Suddenly the doubts of 15-20 minutes ago gave way to confidence. I knew the worst part of the race was coming up, and my first objective was to get through that steel feeling strong.

The main selling point of THE mini to several area and even national runners is to run around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Having been there for an Indy 500, and two Formula One races, I have fond memories of the place. But now having RUN the track twice, let’s just say those memories aren’t as good.

While the entire course for the mini lacks scenery, at least you have fans and neighborhoods out to cheer you on as you go in, but as you come into the track you are there for your halfway point and what seems like an interminable time afterwards. Instead of crowds you see thousands of empty seats. There is a bit of a weird embankment as well. And as you come to each “turn” in the track you hope it’s the last but you realize you still have over a mile left inside the track.

What’s worse is I found myself suddenly next to a man who decided he’d be “the talker” for the race. “Hey, Boston, I ran Boston this year, Alright!” Hey! I see a Palm Beach shirt up there! I’m from Tampa, what’s up!” After briefly considering tripping him to shut him up, I figured a brief surge would take less energy and be slightly more sportsmanlike.

And finally, thankfully we were outside the track. And I was feeling strong. But I knew that this is where it all went wrong fort me in 2008. We were working our way down towards 10th street and I had a new goal in my head. I needed to get to mile 10, by 1:16 leaving myself 24 minutes for that final 5k. I didn’t hope, want, or expect to need all 24 minutes, but I knew how I blew up last year and wanted badly to be sub 1:40.

But at mile 10 came an unexpected and invigorating suprise. I was sub 1:15.  Suddenly, I remembered what I told Spitz before the race, that if everything went well sub 1:38 was possible. As we went down 10th street I continued to feel strong. I knew that I had put in the work in training to not fall apart on this stretch like before and found myself in the position of passing runners instead of being passed as in previous races. Confidence and determination was high.

I came towards to Mile 12 and tried not to look at the clock. I didn’t want to allow any room for self doubt, but as I rounded the corner onto New York Street I was starting to lock up. For the first time all race I found myself concious of my form which I knew was suddenly lacking. I had run a pace well above what I had for previous half’s and my body was letting me know. Each 1/4 mile in the final mile was marked off. In my head I just told myself to treat it like separate 400’s on the track. My legs were telling me that these 400’s were much longer.

With just over 1/4 mile left I made a final surge. Through sweat dripping into my eyes I saw what I thought was the finish straight ahead, but it was just another sign, “1/10th to go!”

My breathing entirely out of whack, my whole body tired. But I saw the finish and knew I was getting in sub 1:38. Thrilled with my performance, I tried to throw up horns as I crossed the finish, but somehow even my fingers were tired and that took me longer than expected.

But there it was, 1:37:50. A PR by 3:40. THIS was the breakthrough race I was hoping for in Carlsbad in January, and this felt fuckin good.

With the healthy mix of exhaustion and satisfaction I met Spitz and Michelle in the family (Team) reunion area. A succesful day with two PR’s for TKWRT was confirmed when we went to the results tent to get our official results.

Soon after my trip back to CT I signed up for a summer race series and remembered a conversation with a friend. He asked if I thought I could keep up at this level. I told him I hope not.  I already know I can run at this level. The point now is to keep improving. After taking 3:40 off a PR suddenly 1:35 doesn’t seem to unreasonable in the not so distant future.

- El Capitan Supremo

Finish 1:37:50 (PR)

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Mini photos

Check the flickr link for more

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mini Marathon Race Recap

Since watching this race from the sidelines last year, I knew I absolutely had to run what around my city is known as THE mini. With 35,000 registered runners, it is the largest 1/2 marathon in all the United States and although the field isn’t deep with national competitors, it does stir up the local best of the best…with a few out of state Kenyans to take the prize money and mix it up for good measure.

Leading up to the race I had developed a decent amount of experience with the 1/2 marathon distance and refined my training specifically for this race, so when the day rolled around I had only the most miniscule of doubts. The one thing I didn’t have going into this race was a 1/2 marathon break through. I had, since running my first 1/2 just under a year ago, PR’d every single 1/2 I ran, but they were relatively incremental jumps. Going into the Mini I was at 1:11:28 for my PR, but I knew I had a 1:10’s in me somewhere. I just needed a few things to fall into place.

My running team cohort El Capitan Supremo and I Woke up at 4:45 race morning to get ready for the 7:30 am start time. We went through our pre-race prep rituals and made it to the start line about an hour before the gun was to go off. The downtown area was still surprisingly empty considering in just about an hour 35,000 runners and their families would be swarming the area…and before we knew it the streets were a slow moving mass of humanity. 

After his normal bout of excessive paranoia El Capitan made his way to the C start corral and I went off for a warm up jog, running over to the elite’s area to check out the scene. I saw a couple of my running buddies as I jogged the area, priming my legs for the effort that was to come. And before I knew it, we were only 20 minutes from the start and the corrals were to be closed in 5. I made my way into the A start corral, just behind the wheelchairs, and hovered around the front to get a starting line position. With nothing else to do I nervously fidgeted around, trying to keep my body temperature up in the 50 degree weather. Soon enough, the corral was filled and I spotted the local competitors I knew were coming out to race…which is to say almost all of them. There was Rhyner, Poray, Davis, Moody, Atmani, Trisler, Harding, etc. We were all here mixed in with out of town elites and the Kenyans who were marched out in front of us. Everyone pleasantly made small chatter with each other, but the tension was noticeable through the forced smiles and nervous laughter. Then, with the obligatory nationalist, christian prostelytizing out of the way, we stepped to the start line for the countdown, our bodies rigid with anticipation and adrenaline.

The countdown started at 10, 5..4..3..2..1! The airhorn sounded and the front line of 35,000 runners clumsily moved itself forward into the long stretch of pavement ahead of us. 

Instantly, with my adrenaline taking precedence over all else, I moved out and to the side to stay away from the surging runners and quickly found myself out front with only one other runner ahead of me. It was awkward being out there knowing that I was only hoping to make it in the top 20 of this race. I didn’t belong out front and although I tried to ease up, the field stayed behind me. Fortunately, within the next 800 meters the front pack of Kenyans came trotting by, followed by another smaller pack of local elites, and finally a third pack with some faster local runners that I kept pace with and decided to hold on to like a lifeline thrown out to sea, dragging me in their wake.

This course, although a certified 13.1 miles, is flat as a pancake which means the only consideration one has to make is toeing the line of their own ability, taking calculated risks to stay in the race without completely blowing up. There are no hills to prepare for, no ascents to approach or downhills to conserve on. It’s just running, flat and fast.

The third group of runners passed me and I found myself hanging right off the back of 2 or 3 runners, one of which was Jesse Davis, a runner who is certainly faster than me, but at this moment I found myself able to keep pace and decided to see how long I could stay with this pack. Ultimately, I assumed they would start to pull away a handful of miles into the course, but until then the pacing would only help knock seconds and maybe minutes off my time come the finish line.  So that became my strategy…hang on to Davis for as long as possible. Coming into the 1 mile mark, we passed it at 5:23, which I thought was relatively slow, but knew that meant little this early into the race.

Our small pack made a turn onto a long stretch of a street that would pull us all the way through 5 miles without so much as veering one direction or another. Our small pack sat tightly as we ticked through 2 miles, then 3, myself still tucked right in with them. I kept my focus on Davis and noticed the turnover of my legs, exerting on the force it needed to keep pace, and consistently turning over quickly. I repeated the mantra in my mind, “Keep pushing, keep turning over, just like this.” I was matched with the group and although concerned about blowing up later in the course, felt good enough to keep pace through the next couple of miles. Then periodically Davis and a couple others would gain a few strides on me and start to pull away before I’d snap myself back into it. Knowing full well that if they got away, my pacing was shot, I aimed to mimic my fartlek training and slowly increased my pace to get right back with them before recovering on their heels. Into mile 4 we kept pushing on, the group pulling ahead slightly here and there and myself countering with increased speed and recovery. I couldn’t believe how well my fartlek training prepared me for this scenario as I was able to stay with the pack again.

Soon enough though, we heard footsteps behind us. Another group of runners had moved up on our small pack and their numbers made us a pack to be reckoned with. We continued right into 5 miles and made the turn onto a small stretch of street lined with old style stores and pedestrians ringing cowbells and blowing whistles. 

Then potential disaster struck.

Tucked right into the front of this sizeable pack of runners I suddenly felt a peculiar feeling on my left foot. It was as if my shoe had loosened up significantly and before I could gather another thought, I felt the demoralizing slap of a shoelace on the back of my right leg. I let out an exasperated “Fuck!”

My shoe had become untied.

I have NEVER had this happen in all my years of racing my entire life. Not only did I knot the lace, but i pulled it through my timing tag and tied it again…but none of that was enough. My shoe came untied none the less. I weighed my options in my head. “Keep running. Stop and tie the shoe as fast as possible, then sprint back up to the pack, potentially losing pace, place and overexerting yourself in the process.” Then, to solidify my decision, we took a turn onto the street that would take us to the point of that race that most participants signed up for..we were about to enter the race track of the Indianapolis 500. A 2 1/2 mile oval Indy race car track that comprises “the biggest spectacle in racing”. Normally shut off to everything but race cars, we were about to race around the massive empty stands. And just before we entered the track a spectator yelled out,

“Allright guys! Stick together, roll around the track as a pack!” and another yelled out placing,

“15! 16! 17! 18! 19! TWENTY!”, and the counting stopped.

Now, I had a couple arbitrary goals coming into this race…one of which was to make top 2o, so as soon as I heard that the end of our pack was 20, I made up my mind about the shoelace.

I was going to keep running. I figured, hell, unless the shoe is in danger of completely flying off, It’ll still stay on, and until that happens I’ll just keep running. So that’s what I did. There was no way in hell I was going to stop in the pack that made 20 of 35,000 and tie my shoe, potentially losing the precious distance that would keep me in that placing group. So on I ran.

We entered the large oval race track, which I was warned would be the most boring part of the course, and started making the incredibly long turns. Our pack had begun to break up as we passed the halfway point, but there were enough runners around, including Davis, that I managed to continue keeping pace. At one point I noticed another great runner, Aaron Moody had started to pass me in the pack as it broke up around the turns. I turned to him and with an attempt at humor said, “My fuckin shoelace came untied!”, but he took it as desperation and made an attempt to calm me down, “Just relax, it’ll be ok.” as he moved around  me and began to pull ahead. I kept an eye on his back and tried to match pace…shoelace still flapping in the wind.

Just then I realized something peculiar, Davis was falling off. I was just a few paces behind him, but suddenly came up on his side and started to move around. I saw him pinching at his side and assumed he was cramping. I felt bad knowing he was a significantly better runner, but could only move past and try to stay with Moody. I was a little stunned that Davis was falling out of the race, but I also won’t lie and say I wasn’t slightly relieved. 

Now I moved with Moody as we finished the last excruciatingly boring turns out of the race track and entered the streets again. We snaked through a portion of back streets and came up on the 15k mark. I thought to myself, “Ok, this is where all my trail races end. My body has been used to this pacing up until now, but from here on out we are moving on some other force.” From here on out I was depending on the strength of my training and the wells of resolve that build up over racing distances like this in the past. Either way, it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk. And admittedly, as soon as I passed that 15k mark, I knew something was different. I knew fatigue was setting in, I just didn’t know how bad.

At this point no runners were challenging me from behind and Moody was gaining too much ground for me to pace off of, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t muster up the speed to get back up to him. I feared these last 3 3/4 miles were going to be run alone…on my own forced abilities.

We took another turn on a stretch of road that pulled us through neighborhood streets lined with curious onlookers and fans alike, doing their best to cheer us on with music, cowbells, and various shouts of encouragement. But this was a looooong stretch of road, taking us from  9 1/2 miles all the way to 11 3/4 miles. No turns. It was an all out straight away that sucked the will out of my body with every step.

Early into the straight away I knew the honeymoon was over. My body was wearing down. I repeated the mantra to myself “Keep turning over. Keep pushing.”, but something was noticeably different. I held my turnover, but there was no strength left. No matter how hard I willed my legs to push further, they simply wouldn’t respond. They were seemingly filled with sand, or lactic acid from the efforts earlier to be exact. All I could hope for was a break through of some sort…outlasting the forced slowdown only to recover and surge again. I hit 10 miles and told myself, “Only a 5k to go.” but honestly, it wasn’t much of a consolation. This fatigue was a whole nother level, a level of defeat I haven’t experienced in a loooong time, and I wasn’t exactly sure how to get through it. All I could do was keep running. 

At about 10 1/2 I had a short respite from the fatigue and felt myself moving a little more effortlessly before I realized I was on a very minor descent that was to end rather quickly as the road flattened out again. Like a mirage it came and went as my legs turned to wet sand. I moved on, still alone, and hit mile 11 when yet another unwanted scenario developed….I heard cheering as I ran by the spectators, and then soon after heard cheering again. This could only mean one thing, another runner had gained on me. Feeling like utter crap despite nearing the last mile of the race I only hoped this runner was feeling worse than I was. I finally made the turn off the long straight away and moved closer and close to the last mile, through long stretches of water stops. With 1/4 of a mile to mile 12 I double backed on part of the course and ran by hundreds of runners who did their best to cheer me on and I can’t deny I think my pace picked up with their encouragement, but I didnt’ exactly feel out of the trouble just yet. 

At this point I had accepted my fate that the runner behind me was going to pass me in the last mile, for when we passed the spectators now, I only heard “Come on guys! You can do it!” He was now close enough that we were one opportunity to cheer instead of two. 

I hit mile 12 and although a point like this is usually consolation…this time it wasn’t. The fatigue was so great I just wasn’t sure how I was continuing on at this pace and not exactly sure how I was going to make it the next 1.1 miles. We rolled over a bridge, him just a few paces behind me, and were aided by a downhill that pulled us into the final stretch. My legs were heavy, my breathing labored, my mind fuzzy…but something started to click…an angry determination. That’s the only way I can describe it. And wouldn’t you know it, right at this point a spectator yells, “Great job! You’re happy! You’re happy!” 

And I got pissed.

All I could think in my head was, “Fuck you. I’m NOT happy…happy doesn’t make me run faster. I’m angry and determined!” And maybe that was what did it, but I started pushing, not exactly flying down the stretch, but pushing none the less. My pace had increased and I was moving towards the beautiful finish banner.

Then looking ahead I was stunned to see a runner…walking..then jogging…then walking. Either they were injured or had COMPLETELY blown up. I kept my eyes on him and aimed to pick him off before the finish, even if he attempted a late sprint. I pushed on and reeled him in closer and closer, then took him over, and all of a sudden the 1/4 mile point was just ahead. I kept moving on knowing the other runner was still right on my heels. I was pushing and pushing, still completely worried that I was going to blow up and falter, my legs wobbling and falling out from underneath me. I dug deep and found another gear when I looked up to see the 13 mile point and it was here that I layed it on. 100 meters to the finish and I hear the announcer, “Looks like we have a race here folks!”

I couldn’t believe it and I dare not look back, but the other runner must have been right with me. I don’t know if I had another gear or not, but just willed myself to run all out, my face wincing in pain and bearing my teeth, desperately reaching my legs for the precious swaths of pavement that would bring me to the finish line. 30 feet. 20 feet. 10 feet. 5. And there it was, the line.

I desperately ran my body over the line, catching a glimpse of my finishing time (1:10:29) without seeing the other runner come out of my peripheral…I had held him off. Too tired to concentrate on anything but staying upright and catching my breath, I reached over and grabbed my knees, resisting falling to the ground. After a few moments, when the life surged back into my limbs, I turned to congratulate the other runner, only to see Jacob Rhyner standing at my back. Jacob and I have traded places the last handful of races and in a way I was thrilled to see he was the one who came up on me and he was the one I held off to the finish. A great runner, we weakly walked through the finish area congratulating each other, collecting our medals, fruit and praises from the volunteers. It was done. The ultimate race for local elites had ended, at least for us, and in the process had taken some down and lifted others up…I was euphoric to be in the latter.

13.1 Miles
1:10:29 (PR by 1 minute)
17th place overall
7th Indiana runner overall

Creme de la Creme

Somewhere else in the country this weekend means nothing. This weekend is just another weekend. For a competitive distance runner somewhere else, they will merely wake up and go about their routine, not psyching themselves up, not prepping for a big race, not worrying weeks in advance. But that’s somewhere else.

Here, in Indianapolis, it’s not just another weekend, not simply another race. This weekend is THE weekend. This weekend is the 500 Festival Mini Marathon, or as it is called around here THE mini. And really, it is THE mini, as it is the biggest 1/2 marathon in the entire nation (this is correct yes?) with over 45,000 registered runners. 

This is THE race for a lot of people in Indianapolis. For months now the trails and streets have been crowded with those training to finish the full 13.1 miles. THE mini is a benchmark for a lot of people in this town. It is a cultural event. It is the measure of ones courage and dedication…even if it is simply a matter of finishing.

But for the local competitive runners, it is THE mini for reasons entirely different. For those of us that run and race all year, this is the creme de la creme of all the races we run. Not because it is especially difficult, not because we all plan to hit big prize money, not because it is the stepping stone to fame, fortune and sponsorship. No, it means something to us for a more pure motivation…for this is the test of our racing abilities on this particular day against ALL our competitors. This is the measure of all the miles we put in, the hill training, the fartleks, the track workouts, the long miles, and everything in between…and this time it’s not against a formidable competitor here and there….this time it’s against ALL OF THEM. 

Any competitive distance runner will tell you they scour race results to compare their times to everyone else’s and see where they match up. Over time we ultimately develop “nemesis’s”, “Rivals” if you will. We measure our PR’s against other’s PR’s and think to ourselves “I could have won that race”, or “Man, I would have been right with the leader.” Then as we tick off more races, we ultimately start racing those names we only read on a results list. Sometimes we beat those names…and sometimes those names beat us. Soon enough we are greeting each other at the start line and secretly sizing up our chances at placing to those around us. The tension builds again and again.

But the thing is, when there are so many races in a season, we really only meet up with our competitors here and there. At each race we may run against only one or two other competitors at our level…and sometimes we even run alone. 

But then comes the mini…sorry, THE mini…and the reason why for so many competitive runners this is THE race. It is because every serious competitor in the local area (and a number from out of town) signs up for this race (or gets put in for free). And it’s damn exciting. This means that on this particular day, we will be matched against all the other runners we only estimated our success against. This time it’s for real. This time it’s not just a couple competitors or even a handful, but ALL of them. It’s impossible not to get psyched for a race like this. 

So come this Saturday, somewhere else it will be just any old weekend, but here in Indianapolis, for a sizeable number of us lined up in Corral A, jostling for some place up front, this is not just any old weekend. This is THE weekend. This is THE mini.

Bring the thunder!

TKWRT is go!

-Minister of Misinformation

Race For The Cure – April 18th

The Race For The Cure is one of the largest breast cancer fundraisers I am aware of. Indianapolis had something like 44,000 people run/walk this race alone. It’s not a highly competitive race, with a deep field anyways, but it does offer a competitive class regardless. The day before the race I stopped in at the packet pick up and ran down the list of registered names to see if the competitor’s that run at my level (or faster) were going to show up. After skimming the list I was slightly relieved to see that not a single one had pre-registered. See, my sister is battling breast cancer that mestatized to her brain and spine and this was my way of offering her support. Ultimately, I went into this race wanting to win it for her sake. So, although a win based on competitor’s NOT showing up isn’t necessarily an honorable way to do it, I would make an exception just this one time. That is the thing though, in open community racing you never know WHO is going to show up. Races aren’t always won on who you have to race, but rather who you DON’T have to race. Fast forward to race day.

I was prepared for the race. The banner for my sister I would be running with was made. I put in some good speed workouts the couple weeks prior that went very well. And overall I was feeling confident. Then as I neared the starting line a flash of red hair went jogging by. Crap…Jacob Ryhner. He’s good. He beat me in a 5 miler and I beat him in a 1/2 marathon, but we are pretty well matched. I knew at the very least I’d be competing for my win, but I hadn’t ruled it out completely. Then a tall familiar stride went by. Double crap…Chris Swisher. Swisher is a multi-time all-american who has run, I think 13+ 5k’s. Or 14+ 5k’s at the most. Dude was going to own this race and THEN I totally negated the possibility of winning the race. Then during pre-race warmups a handful of serious racers went jogging by. Well triple crap….now I feared just getting buried amongst a bunch of fast 5k’ers. 5k’s are NOT my strong point. I prefer endurance over speed. 

So anyways, I chatted up Jacob before the race and told him about Swisher running, but he said he heard Chris had been out of training and is now running 16+ 5k’s. Later on I ran into Swisher and he confirmed that he hasn’t run for 6 months and is very out of shape. I assured him he would be allright and trotted off to the start line. Then as we got within 5 minutes someone ran to the start line who had olympic rings tattooed on his bicep. I turned to Jacob and laughed, “I am so not thrilled to run with someone who tattooed olympic rings on his arm.” Jacob agreed with my sentiment. Oh well….the race will be run none the less.

We readied ourselves at the start line, eyeing the road that shot out 200 meters or so before rising up a bridge that crossed the White River. The starters traded the microphone back and forth,

“Runners ready!”
“On your marks!”
“Get set!”
“Go!”

And we jumped from the line, heading down the street. Instantly Jacob and myself were out front pulling the pack of runners behind us. I felt smooth and pushed a little further to edge out front, very slowly thinning the line of runners out behind us. Going down the street was myself, Jacob, Aaron (olympic rings), Swisher, and a handful of runners whose identities I didn’t know, but their proximity worried me none the less. We took the turn and pushed on at approximately a 5:00 minute flat pace. I was surprised how smooth and strong I felt, not exerting myself too much, but staying at the front of the pack.

We headed down the street which gradually descended into the 1 mile marker. Judging by the sound of footfalls all around me, I’d say we were a pack of about 7 or 8 guys pounding down the street, which was both frightening and exciting all at once. I’m not used to running with a full on pack like this, but I was glad to at least be at the front of it all. It was here that Aaron stepped forward and pushed the pace a little, but most of us were able to counter and stay right with him, however I think a few dropped off the back.

That is the thing with 5k’s. It’s about pounding out the street and enduring the red-lined pace. It comes down to who can tolerate the lactic acid buildup in their leg muscles and who can tolerate the heart trying to jump out of their chest the longest. The longer you can tolerate these sensations, the longer you get to stay out front. We continued to pound down the road until we took a quick turn that sent us down a curving descent under a bridge and then pushed us back the other side. This is when the pack completely exploded. The first casualties were sustained by those who couldn’t take the increase in heart rate as gravity ripped us down the hill and the others couldn’t tolerate the heaviness in their legs as we shot up the other side.

We crested the hill and I was surprised to find that I was able to push up to the top with the most minimal of effort. I congratulated myself for adding consistent hill work into my training. We took a quick turn at the top of the hill and in my peripheral I realized we had dropped the entire pack, including Swisher. I guess he wasn’t kidding about falling out of training. It was now Jacob, Aaron and myself still pushing through the halfway point at close to 5:00 minutes per mile.

We took another turn that pulled us slightly downhill and Jacob very slowly started to pull out front. It was subtle but sustained and soon enough he was 5 or 6 paces in front of Aaron and myself. We ran through a couple lines of cheer squads that screamed us on and lended some much needed adrenaline. Aaron capitalized on this and pushed down the descent trying to gain on Jacob, but he didn’t get very far. I unfortunately had fallen a few paces back from Aaron now, but made sure to keep him close. Just as we passed the line of cheer squads I heard someone yell out,

“Just 1 mile to go!”

I couldn’t help but think this person was way off. No way this race was only a mile and change from being over. It was like we had just started! I obviously run longer distances more than short and wasn’t used to this quick start and finish. Regardless, we made one of the last turns down a long stretch of pavement that gradually rose upwards towards the finish. The last mile was going to be primarily uphill or flat. Jacob continued to pull away until he was about 7 or 8 seconds ahead and Aaron stayed just a couple seconds in front of me.

We pushed up the road and I started debating when to make my move for second place. I stayed in close contact and when I thought about making my move, I had a moment of hesitation and thought to myself,

“Wait, what if the race really isn’t the close to being over. What if we still have further than I think and expend my last surge to early?”

I decided to wait until we made the final turn that put us about 100 meters to the finish. Unfortunately, I was wrong about the distance and we actually WERE that close to the finish. I saw the pace car make the final turn with Jacob right behind and started to unroll my banner for the finish. I wasn’t really wanting to hold my banner while locked in a final sprint, but that really wasn’t up to me. We pulled up on the final turn and Aaron made it two paces in front of me. I made the last turn and started my kick, hoping to blast pass him in the final stretch. I held my banner out and continued pushing, quite surprised at how quickly I was making ground on Aaron. Then just when I thought second place was mine, he looked to the side and caught me coming up on him. He threw in a desperate surge and we both pushed the final 10 yards at the same pace, crossing the line at the exact same time.

I really wasn’t sure if I had got him or not, but our timed chips put me at exactly 1/10th of a second behind him (and 5 seconds behind first place). It’s relatively pointless, but I find it amusing that Aaron’s right foot hit the timing pad first, which was the foot that had his timing chip on it, and my left foot hit the pad first…but my chip was on my right foot. Doh!

Ultimately, I was extremely pleased with my performance considering Aaron has beat me many times in the past and that we outlasted all the runners behind us. However, I can’t deny my disappointment in not bringing home a win for my sister. That is just my personal story though….there was victory in raising over 1000 dollars in the lead up to this race as well. I hope everyone’s financial contributions and my efforts brought some solace to my sister, even if only for a few moments.

Thanks to everyone who offered words of encouragement to both my sister and myself. You are deeply appreciated.

Rock and Roll through and through

As David Brent from the British series has stated, “They know I’m rock and roll through and through.” 

And yes, TKWRT is rock and roll…through and through, but that doesn’t mean we are bad guys/gals. I think you’d see we are pretty swell individuals if you met us in person, and some of you have. 

To prove it, I will be running in the Susan G Komen Race For The Cure 5k race this Saturday. I’ll be running in honor of my sister who is currently battling triple negative breast cancer that mestatized to her brain and spine. It’s a pretty horrific disease that I could do without ever knowing more about. You simply don’t know how terrible cancer is until you’ve heard and seen what it does to an individual. It’s not pretty. Personally, I don’t really know what to do about it. We are all relatively helpless to fight disease and the best we can usually come up with is throwing money at it. For me, I don’t even have the money to throw at it, all I have is my running talent…so this race has extra meaning for me as it is one of the only ways I can show support for my sister. Yes, I’ve managed to raise over 1,000 dollars in the process, but what is most important to me is extending the support to my sister, letting her know I’m thinking about her and doing what I can within my means. 

So yes, the race is this Saturday, and more than anything I want to win it. That is often not up to me past training though. Races are often won or lost based on who does or doesn’t show up. So if I can extend a plea to the faster runners in Indy right now…stay at home. It would mean a lot to me. On my end though, i’ve done the work. This week I did a couple track sessions, ending today’s with a strong confidence as I knocked out 2 5:10 miles in the middle of the workout, despite starting today fatigued and overworked from yesterday’s inadvertent tempo run. Tomorrow I will be riding my bike to the packet pick up just to stay loose, but will be mainly resting. 

Then comes Saturday, where I’ll be running with a banner that says “For my sister, Cari”. I really, really, really, for her sake, hope I cross the line first. I’d like a photo of this to send to her, if only to lift her spirits for a day. That’s about all I can really do right now. Here’s to hoping.

So yeah, we’re rock and roll through and through, but that doesn’t mean we are terrible people. Come out Saturday and you’ll see. 

Race report to follow.

Avon Park Race Photos

 For more race photos..check the flickr link

Race Report – The Bunny Boogie 3 Miler

Sometimes you just need to shake your head at the local race calendar. Wanting to get in a race this weekend, and knowing no races would be held on Easter, I looked through my local calendar. The closest race by that would allow me to get into work afterwards was a 3 Miler. The Bunny Boogie. My TKWRT teamates were running 1/2 Marathon’s out in Illinois, or trudging through trails in a race series named after gigantic animals of destruction. Meanwhile, I was saying “thanks, but no thanks” to a complimentary race t-shirt with a neon green and orange bunny.  Such is life.  Luckily, we at TKWRT don’t judge a race by it’s complimentary t-shirt. At least not entirely.

The morning of the race was damp at the start, and about twenty minutes before the race on a warmup a man at my side asked, looking up to the sky, “you think the rain will hold off?” I replied smiling, “If we run fast enough.” But, we had no chance, ten minutes before the race started the rain came down.

The course was a loop which sent us on a downhill twice and on one uphill. We made our way up the main hill of the course towards the start. In this race, all the women got a 2 1/2 minute head start. This left me knowing that there would be several people to pick off along the race but also some continual traffic after the initial traffic at the start.

From the start I knew I was in a bit of trouble. While just two weeks ago in my 8k race I was able to hang on the back of the lead pack through the first mile, here I was further back.  Seeing the leaders jet off and knowing I was around 20 back, I decided to just go with it and run my own race.  I knew we’d come up to the women soon and hoped that the opportunity to pick off most of the quicker women on the course would provide some consolation if I fell to far off the lead pack.Sure enough we came to the back of that pack quicker than I had imagined and with some running 4-5 abrest chatting it up there was a lot of zigging and zagging around. All this while rain was beading on my glasses making mu zigging and zagging closer to other runners shoulders than they probably would have preferred.

My goal coming into race day was a sub 20 minute race, which would put me below 6:40 splits through the first mile, I felt like I was on pace. But I did not feel nearly as strong as I did my last two races over the course of the past month. I told myself that this was only a three mile race and that I could run this at 7 minute pace in my sleep. It was time to just fight through whatever fatigue or doubts I had and to get on with it.

We came down along the main drag back towards the start and made our was towards the one hill of the course. Knowing we had passed halfway, I decided to try to make a move on some of the men in front of me on the hill. I did make up probably 5 meters or so on the man in front of me on the hill, but as we got to the top of the hill he ran ahead, and I desperately tried to hold on.

Now several months back I remember seeing an advertisement in a runners mag for a “skirt chaser” race, a race with a women’s head start, like this one. I remember talking with teamate M.O.M. about that either over email or on the phone about how ridiculous it is to market a race like that. But, this race day I was happy to be taking part in the race. As I found myself struggling to maintain contact with the man in the Villanova shirt ahead of me, I used the idea of picking off women in front as more motivation and short term goals propelling me forward.

After the final downhill we were onto the main straight, and I was unsure of where I was in regards to my sub 20 goal. I was trying to push with as much as I had left when I saw a familliar racer in front of me. Knowing her name from other races and somehow remembering her time from the previous year, I knew if I passed her, I should be sub 20.  Passing her was easier than I expected and I saw the finish line in site.

Coming around the corner I could see the clock counting up towards 21:30 and doing quick subtraction I knew I had to sprint in to be sub 20 after our 2:30 minute delayed start. I crossed the line just below my goal, though the official race results had me at 20 exactly. 31st outta 190. 9th outta 3o something in age group.

Overall, it was a disappointing race from a personal standpoint. having run 6;40 splits for a 4 mile race a few weeks earlier I felt I should be further along yesterday. Still, I gotta take positives. It wasn’t my best race, I didn’t feel all there at any point during the race and still was able to gut out a semi-respectable result. Furthermore, it put me a step closer towards one of my 2009 goals, a sub 20 5k, which I think is definitely within reach.

A week off from racing next weekend before deciding whether to race a 5k or 10k the final weekend before the Indy Mini. Either way, after this race I know I will be out for revenge and redemption in two weeks.

- El Capitan Supremo

DINO series race #3

I stood on the starting line looking for my expected only competition in this race…Logan Wealing…dun, dun, dun, dun!!!!….but I didn’t see him. I’ll admit, a large part of me was relieved, but another part, the part with more integrity, was disappointed that my win would be rather effortless and uncontested. As the race director raised his bullhorn and the rest of us lowered our torsos over the start line, Logan still didn’t show. The race director let a howl out of the bullhorn and I jumped ahead of the pack into an ever narrowing stretch of grass before the crush hit the first turn. Then all of a sudden a familiar flash of teal green leapt into my peripheral and stepped in front of me just before the turn….Logan was there all along. Well, at least the part of me that harbors my integrity was satisfied. So began the following 15 kilometers of trail racing.

This trail, unlike the last race, was tight and winding single track that offered no room to pass and hardly any room to even accelerate, which fortunately favored my place in the run compared to Logan’s as he can really pull away from me if given the space to run. I knew instantly that if I wanted any shot at first, I had to stay right on his heels and not give him more than two paces, and I decided right there that was going to be my only strategy.

From the go it was Logan and myself with no one even close behind us. We pounded our way through the course, making first lap mistakes as we took bad turns around trees, planted our feet in troublesome areas, found muddy pockets all too often and basically stumbled through a few areas we should have glided through. Such is trail running.

We came through the unobstructed first lap without getting lost and I remained right on Logan’s heels, not maxed by any means, but certainly feeling the burn in my lungs. He was surely hoping to lose me and I was determined not to let him get past two paces from me.

We started the second lap with a little more confidence than the first and it showed with the speed we kept throughout this lap. Unfortunately, this was the lap we would start hitting the rest of the 5k runners and 15k runners we would be lapping from here on out. We made it through the first section with no problem, but things got a little precarious as we held on the trail edge, making our way around the other runners. Unfortunately, despite calling out our presence, the other runners didn’t have much room to maneuver (if they even cared to) and we found ourselves bounding around the trail, picking bad lines, and making a nuisance of ourselves.

The course threw a couple log crossings, barely enough room for one person, in our path and as we moved up on one of them, a slower runner jumped in front of Logan and forced him to try and hurdle the entire crossing. He crashed into the stream bank on the other side and bounded up the other side as I pulled around the slower runner, losing my two pace minimum. Fearing getting dropped I forced the pace on myself and caught right back up to Logan before we pulled ourselves up the steepest hill on the course. 

Admittedly, the second loop began to wear on me and I worried that any gap between us might give him the confidence to surge and leave me behind, so no matter what I made sure to stay right behind him. As I mentioned before, the course was in my favor and he just couldn’t manage to pull away as the trail snaked back and forth, effectively stealing any momentum we both tried to generate, all the while throwing other runners in his path and allowing me to stay right with him. As we ended the second lap, I knew it was going to come down to another sprint finish. Then, just before we popped out of the woods on the second loop, I took a bad line on a slanted hill that was thoroughly muddied by all the other runners and slipped, catching myself with one hand as I desperately tried to gain traction. That wasn’t happening though and I comically slipped 2 or 3 times before finding ground to push myself forward. Logan had gotten away even further, so as soon as I made it out of the woods I poured it on to get right back on his heels before we entered again.

The third and final loop I expected to be crazy as Logan can really pour it on when he needs to. We went through the first half pretty quick, though the runners still left on the course weren’t all that problematic. We hit the only flat section towards the bottom, ran into a few complications but still made our way through pretty quick, neck and neck. We hit the steep hill and both pushed up into the snaking section, trying our hardest to make it through with speed. He pushed hard and although I faltered through the turns, I managed to make up enough ground as we entered the final short wooded section. I heard the race director call out,

“Ok folks, our 15k leaders are coming in shortly and it looks like they are 1 and 2, so this should be an exciting finish!”

But then we both hit a gaggle of runners trying to navigate a precarious switchback of uphill trails that left neither of us any room to pass. I only hoped I wouldn’t get stuck behind another runner if Logan picked the better line. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we BOTH hit runners that we had to half push out of our way, with an apology of course, as we blew by. We hit the final uphill stretch where I slipped previously, but stuck directly to his line and we both made it out unscathed. Now came the sprint.

The trail popped out onto a 4 person wide stretch of asphalt that gently curved towards the finish. Logan made it out of the woods first and started his sprint one leg before mine. I countered and started to gain before he really turned it on. I did the same and as we made the turn I was actually moving to pass, but then he turned it on again. I pushed one last time, completely maxing out my speed, and as we moved towards the finish banner, just when I thought he nicked me, I leaned forward right at the line as he pulled up to stop his watch. I think me might have misjudged the actual finish, but the race director called out Logan as the winner and that was that.

We both grabbed our knees, caught our breath and talked for awhile just past the finish line. Another awesome race in the books, despite my seemingly inherent second place finishings.

TKWRT is go!