It could be that this was almost an official first anniversary that kept me awake. Or it could be that I still just have not learned how to sleep the night before a race. Before the Indy Half Marathon, I woke up in cold sweats numerous times in a friends spare bedroom and felt as though I owed them new sheets afterward. Before the Philly Distance Run, in the bed I slept in growing up, I barely slept three hours. And before the 31st Annual Pequot Runners 5 mile Turkey Trot, 3 hours was the max I slept as well.
This was the first "repeat" race that I have done in the 14 months that I've actually been running races. And I knew I would beat last years time. Last year, the 5 miles took me 39:43 to finish, as I succumbed to a nasty side stitch in the final quarter mile and walked 100 meters. This year, as if to prove to myself that wouldn't happen again I ran a 4 mile tempo run the afternoon before with a recurring side stitch in under 28. Fantastic. There was no doubt, barring a travesty that I would beat last years time. Still, I was aiming higher as I wanted sub 35.
I got to the race a good 75 minutes before hand. I knew from last year that this was a race that was very congested in the first mile to mile and a half. 3000 Runners down a narrow Southport CT street would do that to ya. As I got to the start line a 1/2 hour before hand I looked around and noticed at the start there would still be at least 200 runners to weave through and around the first mile. This was before the bagpipes came through the crowd. A Pequot Turkey trot tradition. The pipers part the crowd like the red sea, and the opening allows more people to elbow there way forward closer to the start. No matter, this was all expected.
As the gun went off the crowd moved even slower than expected though. It took me close to 20 seconds to get the 10-15 yards to the start line. And after that we were at a walking pace. Suddenly I found myself irritated. I found myself elbowing my way into and through conversating runners, clipping on heels, and running up onto sidewalks and through perfectly manicured yards just to get around a few people. My lateral movement in and around crowds may have added a tenth of a mile. I looked like Frogger, maybe a drunk frogger.
Coming up on one mile I knew I was slower than I wanted to be, but I wasn't sure how slow. I had a watch on, but I couldn't remember if I hit start before the start, or at the start, so I didn't even bother looking. When the lady shouted out 7:4x as I passed I thought, "Shit, that leaves some work to do."
I also thought I could still go sub 35, it would just really hurt the whole way. I thought about my 4 mile tempo run on Wed, and attempted to convince myself I had it in me. At one mile was the largest hill of the course, and I wasn't affected at all. I found this encouraging. What I wasn't encouraged. by was another side stitch. Screw it, I was prepared for this to hurt anyway.
Between miles 1-3 I found myself tracking behind, and periodically ahead of some ridiculously fit early college cross country running girl. There would be times I would surge around a group and then glance to my side and she wasn't there. 10 seconds later, I'd see her back in front of me. I was guessing we were both running sub 7 splits and was sure that I didn't want to let her beat me. Any time I saw a slight surge from her to pass me, I would attempt to surge back not wanting to let her get ahead. This cat and mouse game had me pass a water stop without seeking a cup, but I figured I would choke on it anyway or it would bring a side stich so no big loss.
Somewhere between miles 3-4 I lost my cross country sweetheart and was now back along long island sound just before heading into the final mile of the race. In the back of my mind briefly was last year when I stopped to walk off a side stitch. But only briefly. As we passed by mile marker 4 I heard the person shout out 28:2x. Not knowing exactly how long it took me to get to the start, I still thought sub 35 was in my reach. I definitely was tiring as I had run three straight sub 7's to get to that position, but was telling myself, "just 2 more intervals and you are done..." trying to break down this last mile.
Again I found myself side by side with some one about 10 years younger than me with some XC singlet on. Again I found myself trading surges on and off with this person. As we passed by the start line, about 1/4 mile from the finish, he laid down a surge I couldn't match. Within seconds he was 15-20 meters clear. Fuckin a.
Still I found myself thinking just get through the next 200 meters, then a slight left turn into a downhill finish the final 150-200 meters. And as I was approaching that turn, the girl I was trading surges with in miles 1-3 passed me. No way was I gonna let that happen. Between the anger about that and the want to be sub 35, I was letting anything I had left out in that final 200. As I moved towards the finish, I didn't even glance at the clock, not wanting to break momentum. Once over the timing pad and into the chute, I stopped my watch and looked down. 35:18. I knew my time was quicker, I just didn't know how much.
When I finally saw the official results, 35:06 I was honestly a bit disappointed. Disappointed, because I know I had sub 35 in me. Possible sub 34:30 on that day. But as the disappointment faded I have become a little happier with the race. I didn't allow myself to be discouraged or frustrated by the first mile. I found myself more attacking the course rather than I was reacting to the pace of those around me. And the small sort of comical thought of being over 4 minutes quicker than last year.
More though I found myself oddly encouraged by my disappointment. That though I set a PR for myself in 5 mile race, I know I can do better and wasn't only satisfied with that PR. Regardless, I am looking forward to racing it again next thanksgiving, perhaps even taking another 4 minutes off my time!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Running and the greatest fan season of all time.
This fall has been ridiculous for me. For all of my life I have been a Phillies fan and I had the chance, not only to see them win the World Series, but to actually be there for the clinching game. It's miraculous, and something I never would have expected. All of this season I would attempt to leave work around 5ish, get in stretching, run my sixer or whatever distance for that day and then get back in time to make up some dinner and see first pitch. It was great and I enjoyed virtually every minute. Baseball is like that for me. The pace of the game, and the makeup up this years Phillies squad made it such that I never felt like the Phils were out of a game or that I needed to panic. Except against the Mets, I admit I got angry those games.
Fast forward to this week. The Columbus Crew has made a MLS Cup final. This is absurd to me. It's something I can't quite wrap my head around. From 2002-2007, I missed maybe 10 Crew games. I was a season ticket holder for three of those seasons. I saw a whole lot of bad soccer. This season, I saw maybe 10 games. I missed the vast majority of the best season the Crew has ever played. The one game I made it to was in New York, where the Crew lost 3-1, and the opposing goalkeeper actually scored a goal on us. Pathetic. Of course by that point the Crew was sleepwalking and had already accomplished the best record in the league and were well on there way.
I bring this up because of the unpredictability of both of those seasons, and training. I'll be honest, most of the 2005 through 2007 seasons, watching the Columbus Crew was a chore. It was awful and for the most part joyless. This was a team that even when they had the ball in the attacking third never looked as if they would be threatening to score. Still there would be moments, where an unexpected goal vs DC or Chicago would send me screaming with such joy that I would disturb my neighbors, and they would run upstairs to check if I was okay.
This past Thursday night against the Fire when the Crew played a lackluster first half it seemed to be similar to those teams I watched the past few years. The second half Columbus looked like a completely different team. Night and day. They dominated to a point where the entire 45 minutes was more or less stress free and enjoyable. It's not something that was expected at all.
In my training 2-3 weeks ago, I felt like I was on the verge of a breakthrough. My mileage was up and my speed was improving by dramatic leaps in nearly every workout. This week it was a totally different story. After my track session Sunday my long run was passable, but not exactly quick. My subsequent runs in the week were pretty miserable actually. I looked back at my supposed breakthrough week and wondered what happened? What had I been doing differently this week.
Last night, stuff wasn't looking much better. By 3:30 om it was raining. By 430 it was raining and looking like midnight outside. A friend from work invited me to happy hour. I looked outside thinking how drinking a Johnny Walker sounded much nicer than dodging Jetta's on my run. I looked back and said, "Sorry, I can't I gotta get in a run tonight. I gotta put in a sixer to end the week" She looked outside and then at me, obviously puzzled, and mocked my use of the word sixer.
Leaving work, I had memories of my last few poor runs, and really hoped that I'd put in the full six and put in my mind that was a necessity and that I couldn't turn around at 2 and put in four. Lo and behold, the run was my best of the week. Tempo, turnover, lungs, mental, everything was working better than at any point in the week. It was pretty ridiculous, and more rewarding than a happy hour,
The thing is, it wasn't unlike watching a favorite team as they go through tough seasons. Okay, it's a bit different putting down miles than sitting on the couch with a beer. But, if I have the base down, it's not a matter of thinking, "I can't finish this run." Cause I know I can. There may be days that where my knees hurt. My lungs aren't working, my quads are tight, mentally I am not ready. But then there are the days of unexpected breakthroughs. I have no idea how the body works. How one day can be the worst run ever, followed by one that leaves you on a high for days. Likewise I can guess how a soccer team that was under .500 last season returns basically the same team this year and dominates the entire league.
In the end, it's the joy in those unexpected surprises that keeps me watching my sometimes crap teams and getting back out there after a crap run. Just like I don't want to miss the shocking upset game, or the game where the team finally gelled, I don't want to miss that run either.
Fast forward to this week. The Columbus Crew has made a MLS Cup final. This is absurd to me. It's something I can't quite wrap my head around. From 2002-2007, I missed maybe 10 Crew games. I was a season ticket holder for three of those seasons. I saw a whole lot of bad soccer. This season, I saw maybe 10 games. I missed the vast majority of the best season the Crew has ever played. The one game I made it to was in New York, where the Crew lost 3-1, and the opposing goalkeeper actually scored a goal on us. Pathetic. Of course by that point the Crew was sleepwalking and had already accomplished the best record in the league and were well on there way.
I bring this up because of the unpredictability of both of those seasons, and training. I'll be honest, most of the 2005 through 2007 seasons, watching the Columbus Crew was a chore. It was awful and for the most part joyless. This was a team that even when they had the ball in the attacking third never looked as if they would be threatening to score. Still there would be moments, where an unexpected goal vs DC or Chicago would send me screaming with such joy that I would disturb my neighbors, and they would run upstairs to check if I was okay.
This past Thursday night against the Fire when the Crew played a lackluster first half it seemed to be similar to those teams I watched the past few years. The second half Columbus looked like a completely different team. Night and day. They dominated to a point where the entire 45 minutes was more or less stress free and enjoyable. It's not something that was expected at all.
In my training 2-3 weeks ago, I felt like I was on the verge of a breakthrough. My mileage was up and my speed was improving by dramatic leaps in nearly every workout. This week it was a totally different story. After my track session Sunday my long run was passable, but not exactly quick. My subsequent runs in the week were pretty miserable actually. I looked back at my supposed breakthrough week and wondered what happened? What had I been doing differently this week.
Last night, stuff wasn't looking much better. By 3:30 om it was raining. By 430 it was raining and looking like midnight outside. A friend from work invited me to happy hour. I looked outside thinking how drinking a Johnny Walker sounded much nicer than dodging Jetta's on my run. I looked back and said, "Sorry, I can't I gotta get in a run tonight. I gotta put in a sixer to end the week" She looked outside and then at me, obviously puzzled, and mocked my use of the word sixer.
Leaving work, I had memories of my last few poor runs, and really hoped that I'd put in the full six and put in my mind that was a necessity and that I couldn't turn around at 2 and put in four. Lo and behold, the run was my best of the week. Tempo, turnover, lungs, mental, everything was working better than at any point in the week. It was pretty ridiculous, and more rewarding than a happy hour,
The thing is, it wasn't unlike watching a favorite team as they go through tough seasons. Okay, it's a bit different putting down miles than sitting on the couch with a beer. But, if I have the base down, it's not a matter of thinking, "I can't finish this run." Cause I know I can. There may be days that where my knees hurt. My lungs aren't working, my quads are tight, mentally I am not ready. But then there are the days of unexpected breakthroughs. I have no idea how the body works. How one day can be the worst run ever, followed by one that leaves you on a high for days. Likewise I can guess how a soccer team that was under .500 last season returns basically the same team this year and dominates the entire league.
In the end, it's the joy in those unexpected surprises that keeps me watching my sometimes crap teams and getting back out there after a crap run. Just like I don't want to miss the shocking upset game, or the game where the team finally gelled, I don't want to miss that run either.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Intervals are in fashion!
Yesterday, I did what actually was my first track workout. Before that I'd done all my running on the road and attempted to use some of my shorter runs as speed work. Time trials for 3 and 4 mile runs and the like. But, of course a track workout is a totally different animal.
So the plan was...
1 mile warmup
8x800 (with a 400 recovery between each)
1 mile cooldown
Basically this is a fartlek run, and I got the suggestion from a friend out in Indy. This of course was the plan, and sometimes the plan goes much better than the actual run. Truth told, I only got through 6 rather than 8 of the 800's.
Still, it was a good day. At the beginning there were only three or four other people on the track. I did my mile warmup at a leisurely 8-8:15 pace.
I took a swig of water, and it was time for my first 800. 2:59. I honestly had no idea what to expect in my interval times. But to be under 3 minutes fora half mile. I liked that. I was encouraged. I went about my 400 recovery at a much slower pace. And then my second 800, 3:10. As I looked down at my watch, I yelled, "Shit! Come on!" Half of this was frustration from already being tired. Half of it was from dropping 10 seconds already in just one interval. I quickly found out from the disapproving stares that shouting profanities of encouragement were not exactly smiled upon at this track. I made a mental note.
My next 4 intervals were 3:10, 3:11, 3:18, and 3:16. I found myslelf a mix of satisfied with those times and frustrated that I had nothing left for two more, and I went about my one mile cool down.
The most interesting moments came during my final few intervals. A man and woman showed up with a camera, the man in full fashionable ruunning gear. And he fake jogged up and down one straightaway as the woman took pictures. It was some sort of fashion shoot I guess. That's fine. We all want to look good, and we all appreciate running attire that doesn't make us look ugly. But in the future, keep your fashion shoots outta my damn lane.
Yeah, they were in lane 2. MY LANE! "Fuckers!" I said to myself (quietly, since curses of encourgement are frowned upon at this track) as I noticed this on the opposite straightaway. And as I came up behind the photographer, breathing prety heavy and with heavier footsteps, she didn't move. So, I ran around her, and then right back into my lane, getting in the way of her shot. This happened again on my 400 recovery. I was glared at by the runner model, but just went about my business.
In the end, I just hope they got some good action shots of me, hair flowing both feet off the ground. If lucky they may have even caught me shooting a snot rocket during recovery. That's centerfold material.
So the plan was...
1 mile warmup
8x800 (with a 400 recovery between each)
1 mile cooldown
Basically this is a fartlek run, and I got the suggestion from a friend out in Indy. This of course was the plan, and sometimes the plan goes much better than the actual run. Truth told, I only got through 6 rather than 8 of the 800's.
Still, it was a good day. At the beginning there were only three or four other people on the track. I did my mile warmup at a leisurely 8-8:15 pace.
I took a swig of water, and it was time for my first 800. 2:59. I honestly had no idea what to expect in my interval times. But to be under 3 minutes fora half mile. I liked that. I was encouraged. I went about my 400 recovery at a much slower pace. And then my second 800, 3:10. As I looked down at my watch, I yelled, "Shit! Come on!" Half of this was frustration from already being tired. Half of it was from dropping 10 seconds already in just one interval. I quickly found out from the disapproving stares that shouting profanities of encouragement were not exactly smiled upon at this track. I made a mental note.
My next 4 intervals were 3:10, 3:11, 3:18, and 3:16. I found myslelf a mix of satisfied with those times and frustrated that I had nothing left for two more, and I went about my one mile cool down.
The most interesting moments came during my final few intervals. A man and woman showed up with a camera, the man in full fashionable ruunning gear. And he fake jogged up and down one straightaway as the woman took pictures. It was some sort of fashion shoot I guess. That's fine. We all want to look good, and we all appreciate running attire that doesn't make us look ugly. But in the future, keep your fashion shoots outta my damn lane.
Yeah, they were in lane 2. MY LANE! "Fuckers!" I said to myself (quietly, since curses of encourgement are frowned upon at this track) as I noticed this on the opposite straightaway. And as I came up behind the photographer, breathing prety heavy and with heavier footsteps, she didn't move. So, I ran around her, and then right back into my lane, getting in the way of her shot. This happened again on my 400 recovery. I was glared at by the runner model, but just went about my business.
In the end, I just hope they got some good action shots of me, hair flowing both feet off the ground. If lucky they may have even caught me shooting a snot rocket during recovery. That's centerfold material.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Daylight Savings time is the witching hour.
I moaned to a friend earlier this week. Hell, just yesterday about a run. I got up Thursday morning for a quick sixer. It wasn't quick it wasn't good, it was more or less the shittiest run I've had in weeks.
Now this wouldn't have bothered me as much if I didn't feel like I was on a verge of a mini breakthrough just a few days previous. The weeks of the 12th and 19th of October were great for me. Back to back 30 mile weeks. I'd made a conscious decision to up mileage and to put an extra couple miles onto my long run. Both weeks I was pleased with my overall pace on my runs, my energy, and my confidence was going sky high.
Go to the final week of October and my mileage dropped off a bit. This sorta happens when you spend half the week drunk celebrating the Phils championship, going to both nights of game 5, and the parade. When I wasn't drunk, I was admittedly hungover, thus, long runs weren't happening. (Unless of course you count the several laps inbetween cars I did slapping high fives while drinking a free Natty Light and taking donations of champagne. While not quite ten miles, it was just as glorious.)Still I put in 18 miles and had my training PR's at 3 and 6 miles. Not bad for running hungover.
So I come off of all that to a week where I am dropping times, and I am thinking it may have to do with my increased mileage. But now suddenly it's getting darker 430 pm. What the hell is that? So I get in my long run on Monday on my day off. Another 10 miler and it goes great. Best 10 mile time I've had. Then a four miler. Not bad. I decide after looking at the weather to do my sixer on Thursday morning. And that was the shit run. Just awful.
This morning I woke up, and I wasn't feeling it. Memories of the bad run were too fresh and I put the run off until the evening. MUCH BETTER. Same sixer, same route, 2:40 quicker than just 1 morning earlier.
Thing is I just can not function before 8 am. If I am to be running consistently in DST through the winter, I will be running at night. In the dark, crossing through I-95 onramps 4 times total in the six mile loop from my apartment. It's just a matter of time till I get hit by a car. In the meantime I'll be gladly taking donations for reflective jackets.
Now this wouldn't have bothered me as much if I didn't feel like I was on a verge of a mini breakthrough just a few days previous. The weeks of the 12th and 19th of October were great for me. Back to back 30 mile weeks. I'd made a conscious decision to up mileage and to put an extra couple miles onto my long run. Both weeks I was pleased with my overall pace on my runs, my energy, and my confidence was going sky high.
Go to the final week of October and my mileage dropped off a bit. This sorta happens when you spend half the week drunk celebrating the Phils championship, going to both nights of game 5, and the parade. When I wasn't drunk, I was admittedly hungover, thus, long runs weren't happening. (Unless of course you count the several laps inbetween cars I did slapping high fives while drinking a free Natty Light and taking donations of champagne. While not quite ten miles, it was just as glorious.)Still I put in 18 miles and had my training PR's at 3 and 6 miles. Not bad for running hungover.
So I come off of all that to a week where I am dropping times, and I am thinking it may have to do with my increased mileage. But now suddenly it's getting darker 430 pm. What the hell is that? So I get in my long run on Monday on my day off. Another 10 miler and it goes great. Best 10 mile time I've had. Then a four miler. Not bad. I decide after looking at the weather to do my sixer on Thursday morning. And that was the shit run. Just awful.
This morning I woke up, and I wasn't feeling it. Memories of the bad run were too fresh and I put the run off until the evening. MUCH BETTER. Same sixer, same route, 2:40 quicker than just 1 morning earlier.
Thing is I just can not function before 8 am. If I am to be running consistently in DST through the winter, I will be running at night. In the dark, crossing through I-95 onramps 4 times total in the six mile loop from my apartment. It's just a matter of time till I get hit by a car. In the meantime I'll be gladly taking donations for reflective jackets.
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