2018 Year in Review

I ran a lot. The end.

~~~

Okay, since you asked, I will say a teensy bit more about 2018. It was half-way to pretty decent. Some further thoughts:

1) I won three races. Having not won a race since the 2008 Green Jewel 100K, this was something. Please don't ask how many runners had each of these races, because I'd have to tell you: 3 finishers, 1 finisher, and 7 finishers. But hey, a win's a win.

2) I did indeed run a lot of miles, Part 1: 3076.94 to be exact. That's the most since 2012. My 10.5 minutes per mile average pace was only slightly better than that of 2017 however.

3) I did indeed run a lot of miles, Part 2: In November, I made it to 100,000 lifetime miles. I am now working on that second hundred. They say the second one is easier.

4) I ran some lousy short stuff, some almost awful half-marathons, some okay marathons, and one pretty decent marathon: the Veterans Marathon in PA.

5) I did okay by winning my age group in one category and finishing second in another for the Ohio Challenge Series. Not that those races were all that good. It's just getting more sparce in my age group.

I could probably say more about myself. But don't worry; I'll stop. Except to say, here's a chart!

Weekly mileage for 2018

Old Bulls and Young Bulls by Dan Horvath

This was published in a 1997 Michigan USATF Newsletter. The events described actually occurred many years prior. But that don't matter; I think it's timeless.

My friends Geoff Chase, Garry Watson, and Brian Peacock are mentioned.

~

I knew that I shouldn't have started it. After all, I was a relatively mature, experienced runner who ought to know better than to begin a quarter mile Sprint To The Finish after a long run around a lake. Especially against Geoff. I hadn't known him (or run with him) for very long before this day, but it wouldn't have taken an expert to see that Geoff was taller, leaner and most of all younger than I was. Of course all of that would add up to his being faster, too.

After the surprise wore off, he quickly erased my early lead. Then I saw it. A grassy area around which the road curved for the final turn before the parking lot. I managed to cut across before he could see me (since I was trailing by this time) and barely beat him to the cars. I was proud to have given Geoff this introduction to cheating, at least in terms of running. Old age and cunning are still champion, but those of us in that category must be eternally vigilant.

Speaking of old age and cunning, on a later run I observed our friend Brian, who in turn surpasses me in both characteristics, employ a slightly more direct technique: that of pushing Geoff toward some bushes before beginning The Sprint To The Finish.

It was while reflecting on these types of experiences that Brian first told me the story of the old bulls and the young bulls. Perhaps you've heard it before; it goes something like this:

There were two pastures divided by a fence with a gate. The higher one contained an old bull and a young bull; the other one had several very desirable and good-looking (to the bulls) cows. One day after the farmer left the gate between the pastures open, the young bull said, "Hey Old Bull, the gate to the cows is open! Let's run down there and smooch a few of them!" (Author's note: verbs other than smooch could possibly be substituted here, but since this is a family-oriented publication ... ) The old bull then said, "Nope. Let's saunter on down there slowly and smooch the whole lot of them!"

I'm not sure exactly what this has to do with shoving Geoff in the bushes, but Brian can always come up with some kind of explanation.

Also on the subject of cheating, Garry, another running friend who is slightly in the "older bull" category, has this theory about it: it's okay to cheat as long as you know that you're cheating. I guess we become somewhat the philosophers as we become older bulls. Anyway, according to this theory, the only true cheaters are those who cheat and then fool themselves into thinking that they aren't.
Garry seems to be constantly aware of any cheating he may do or try, so he does practice what he preaches. He once mentioned that he was considering a new rounding method for his training log. This was intended to make up for the lower mileage that seems to come with old age. The technique was this: he would always round up. But not just to the nearest mile (as I may have done once or twice), but to the nearest five miles! If he runs six miles, he would log ten, and if he runs eleven miles he would log fifteen. In fact, he could just take a step out the door and give himself credit for five miles!

Brian had this comment about Garry's proposed rounding technique: many years from now, archeologists will find Garry's running log, containing somewhat longer distances than expected for the routes that were run, and exclaim, "The world is getting smaller!"

This all leads me to the following reflection:

The old bulls' brains slowly become rattled, worthless meat
Brought on by the constant pounding of their feet.
Rounding helps, they think
But it makes the world shrink
And the only way to beat the young bulls is to cheat!

By the way, if you ever have a Sprint To The Finish against Geoff, you'll have to come up with something new. Now wise to all of our tricks, he beats Brian and me every time. Maybe he's just becoming a more mature bull.

Who Cooks for You?

As we've done many times in the past, we arranged for Debbie to meet me at Hinckley so that we could walk around the lake immediately following my run there. The run was nice, with several friends participating.

The weather was unusually warm, so both the run and the walk were enjoyable. But the really cool thing is that Debbie and I saw two large owls near the lake as we were completing out walk. We stopped to watch them for quite a while as they spent time on the ground and in the nearby trees. It was a thrill.

Some owls seem to be saying, "Who Cooks for You?" At least that's the way it sounds to me. Debbie's dad (and also Debbie) used to say that the summer song of the chickadee sounds like, "Who Did It?" I've disagreed, saying there were only two, not three notes in the song.

Clearly, whoever did it also cooks for you.

Ohio Challenge Series

Greg Everal OCS Director and me        Greg Everal Photo

Huge, ambitious plans were afoot. It was the beginning of 2018, and I needed a challenge. The test? To run shorter races and get faster. I would train for 5K, 5-Mile, and 10K races, and participate in them fairly often, thereby training and racing myself into better shape. To encourage myself to do more of these races, I registered for the Ohio Challenge Series or OCS. There are dozens of races, mostly shorter ones, and competition is by age-group within several broad distance categories.

OCS has been around for something like twenty years. I participated in OCS for many of the early years, but not for the past nine or ten. I was too busy doing marathons and ultramarathons. Now I’d use the challenge to challenge myself to get better. Oh, I would not retire completely from marathoning. I’d just concentrate more on the shorter, faster stuff. Such a strategy may even have a positive effect on said marathons themselves.

Readers of this blog will be aware that this didn’t happen. I didn’t race myself into shape, and I didn’t get faster. I did manage to get more injured. My Achilles Tendonitis seemed to hurt more when I just thought about 5Ks and 10Ks.

However, the competition gets thin near my ancient age-group, and there are those multiple categories. I did not do the required number of 5Ks, but I did run the necessary three 5-Mile/10K races and even exceeded the required two half-marathons in order to compete in those categories. What’s more, I thought I was leading. (Now you have an idea where this is heading.)

Debbie and I attended the OCS awards banquet at Breitenbach Winery yesterday. I expected two category firsts. But a funny thing happened. After winning the 10K category award ($40 and a hat), I learned that I was second in the half-marathon category. A fellow named Joe Tarantino had won. I guess I’ll have to settle for only $30 and a hat for that one.

I did get to meet the new organizers of the series. Nice folks. Will I participate next year? Race myself into shape on the second try? Who knows? Okay: probably.

Ninth Annual Buckeye Woods 50K

I finished my tenth BW50K at the ninth annual run today. This is possible because one of my ten was the eighth and a halfth run which was held off-season this past summer.

Back in 2010, our club, the Medina County Road Runners decided to hold a free (for club members) run at Buckeye Woods County Park. It would be six 5-mile loops through the wetlands and woods, returning to the shelter after each circuit. It would be after Thanksgiving when the weather tends to add to the challenge. Oh, and guess who became Race Director?

About 30 of us just before the start                      Michelle Wolff photo

The race has been ably managed by Michelle Wolff and Harold Dravonstott the past couple of years. But this year I helped as well, so there were actually three RDs. The best of all worlds.

After all the cold, rain and snow the past few weeks, today turned out to be a great running day; temperatures were in the forties, the wind was light, and the sun even came out in the afternoon. This is not to say that all of the running conditions were perfect, however. There was mud in the wooded areas, and a lot of it. Where there was no mud, there was often standing water a few inches deep. By the way: some of us learned that it's best to run right through the water, rather than slipping and sliding in the mud alongside.

There were about thirty starters. It was gratifying to see so many folks out enjoying their Sunday-After-Turkey-Day-Fatass Run. A lot of them were only out there to enjoy a few miles or a couple 5-mile loops. Those who did at least three loops were credited with recognition of a 25K finish. Renee Harden, Debbie Scheel, and Ladd Clifford were among the top 25K runners.

With an additional 25K to go, I didn't try to contend with those fast folk. Not that I could have, anyway. Even so, I was running well enough by half-way that I thought there might be a chance for a five-hour 50K today.

Lap four started a little slower, and I never got moving quite so fast again. Oh, I was running all right, just a little slower. And now that the 25K-ers were finishing up, things were getting much more lonely out there. There were a couple fast guys ahead of me, and speedy Debbie Horn and superb running partner Theresa Wright were close behind.

After lap five or so, the two fast guys, who turned out to be twins, dropped out. I was now in the lead, but I had two very fast women chasing me. And before we start with the jokes, let me say that now I was possibly subject to being chicked.  For the uninformed, if you're a man and a woman beats you, this is fine - we can certainly handle such things. It's the new Millenium and all that. But if you're the first man and a woman beats you, then you're chicked. You might say I was 'scared chickless.'

Lap six was about like laps four and five: slow, but still moving forward. My lap splits for these three were remarkably similar. Even so, I did look behind occasionally to make sure no one was sneaking up.

I finished in 5:25, a little ahead of Debbie and Theresa. I think there were seven 50K finishers in all. I'm very happy with the win, but I believe that my recent races have taken a lot out of me. Now I'm really burned up. Time for some rest.

Theresa Wright and me              Sydney Chinchana photo

Three Things

I recently ran a marathon during which I surpassed 100,000 lifetime miles. I was asked to write something about it for the Medina County Road Runners Newsletter. If you've been following my blog, you've seen some other posts about this mileage milestone. This is more of the same.

Three things I know are true:

1) There are a lot of accomplished runners out there. Some are ultrarunners. Some, I'm proud to say, are my friends. Some of these folks have also run gobs of miles, possibly even as many as I. But...

2) A lot of runners don't track their mileage as I do. I know. I'm a little goofy like this. It's in my genes. Maybe my jeans as well. Counting, tracking, measuring: it's what I do. I do it for a living, and also for fun. Most folks don't suffer from this measurement disease. I simply have my very own anal-retentive trait, that's all. Even so...

3) 100,000 is still a lot of miles.

The logging began in 1978, the year of my first marathon. I ran in some years that I cannot account for, but my total includes only miles for which I have log entries. Every one of the 100,000 is documented in some way: miles that I've tracked in logbooks, in spreadsheets, using online applications, and most recently with my GPS device.

Some fun with that number:

• The circumference of the earth is 24,901 miles, so I've gone around over four times.
• The distance from the earth to the moon is 238,900 miles, so I've gone 41.8 percent of the way there.
• The distance from the earth to the sun is 93,000,000 miles, so I've only gone 0.108 percent of the way there.
• 100,000 miles over 41 years is an average of 2,439 miles per year.
• 100,000 miles in 41 years is an average of 6.68 per day.

During a recent group run, I was asked which of my many runs are the most memorable. We discussed a few:

Completing my one and only 100-mile race at Mohican (I might have added that my DNF at that location ten years hence was also memorable).

The Green Jewell 100K where I got lost, then found, then won the race, then had to get in the car and go directly to the airport in order to fly to Europe. Thank goodness for baby wipes.

The time I was running in pitch-dark blackness with only a reflective vest (these don’t work so well when there is no light to reflect), and was hit head-on by something moving very fast down a hill. It was a biker who wound up sprawled away from his now crooked bike. I never saw him coming.

I could have also mentioned my first marathon, my first sub-three-hour marathon that took 11 years to achieve, and my last sub-three that occurred on the most beautiful day the Towpath can offer.

But my most important and most memorable run will be my next one. My next one with friends that is. I like the solitude of running alone, but running with friends is all that much better. I enjoy, remember and cherish group runs more than any. My next one of those will surely be my most memorable.

Until the one after that.

Whiteout

Using the term, 'whiteout' to describe today's run may be a bit of a stretch. On the other hand, that is indeed what I was confronted with when I turned on my headlamp. Here's the (brief) story.

...

I pass through the tunnel and emerge into the park. It's dark, so I switch on my headlamp. That's when the whiteoutness hits me. I'm nearly blind!

As I drove in only a few minutes ago, it wasn't that cold, and it wasn't snowing all that much. But now, it's a different story. I do the only thing that makes sense: I switch my headlamp back to off. Relief is immediate.

And now I'm running in a winter wonderland. Even though it's snowing hard, it's not accumulating much. The park is deserted, and quiet as can be. I can see fairly well, as the snow lights things up some when it's not reflecting the whiteness back into my eyes. The beauty matches the serenity.

Made in America Half-Marathon

I should be giving myself more time to recover after last Sunday's Veteran's Marathon, thought I. I should also give myself some time to breathe after traveling 100,000 Miles, thought I. But rest and relaxation were not in the cards today.

Made in America, at about $40 is pretty cheap, it's mostly on a nice crushed limestone surface, and it's in the Ohio Challenge Series, where I wanted to solidify my lead in this category. Furthermore, several of my Medina area friends were carpooling to the event. I haven't done that in a while and forgot how much fun it could be.

It was in the low 20s at the start, but I warmed up quickly during the early road miles. From mile four on, the race was on the towpath. Since this was in Massillon, I don't think I've run on this section before, but it was like other parts.

As much as I like the soft surface, the serenity, and the beauty of the towpath (it was a whole lot like last week), I slowed down. The first four were at about 8:15 pace, whereas the remainder of the race was at 8:27 pace. I had begun to slow down even further during the final miles when some of the runners around me began to encourage one another. This helped a great deal.

Even though we were now moving faster again, a sub-1:50 would be a challenge. Would I (we) make it?

Not quite this time. I came in at 1:50:16.

I'm okay with this. I am sure I could have done much better had I not raced last week, and I believe I did, in fact, ice my series lead. Best of all, I enjoyed it, especially the camaraderie with my friends.

Celebration

It was 22 degrees, but that wasn't the problem. There was a half-inch of snow, but that wasn't the problem either. There was some ice (actually, quite a bit) on the roads going down to Buckeye Woods County Park; that was the problem.

After some slipping and sliding, I managed to get behind first one, then another snowplow as they were beginning to treat the roads.

This first bout of nasty weather in a while kept some of the massive crowds away from my Buckeye Woods 50K Training Run and 100,000-Mile Celebration Run. As it turned out, only a handful of hard-core runners, such as Rick Roman, Kelly Parker, Harold Dravenstott, Theresa Wright, Larry Orwin, and Dennis Amstutz made the scene. They were more than enough.

We ran the BW50K 5-Mile loop. It was cold, but fun. And it was enough for me this day.

Now that I’m officially on the north side of that 100,000-Mile milestone, it’s incredibly gratifying to have such great friends. I am honored and overwhelmed.

Most of the hardy revelers     Photo by Larry Orwin

Me and my fancy pants         Photo by Larry Orwin

My 100K Cookie - thanks to Larry Orwin!

InFirst Bank Veteran's Marathon

Debbie and I arrive Saturday, the day before the race. We take a stroll around Keystone State Park, before pasta loading at Olive Garden, and then retiring at Springhill Suites, Latrobe, PA. Latrobe is about 30 minutes away from Saylor Park in Black Lick, PA, the site of the start and finish of the InFirst Bank Veteran's Marathon.

It's in the thirties as we arrive to check in. But the sun is coming out, and the temperatures are supposed to rise above fifty today. I kiss Debbie goodbye, just before the BOOM! cannon goes off.

The race is in honor of veterans, so they receive a t-shirt with their race entries, and others have the option to buy them. There are a half-marathon and a relay to accompany the marathon, but it occurs to me that there really aren't that many runners around. Maybe a couple hundred, all in all, tops.

I should say that I prefer it this way. I prefer the small numbers, the cool temperatures, the low-hassleness of the race organization, the scenic peace and quiet, and the soft, crushed limestone surface. And, on top of all that, I'm feeling half-way decent. In fact, I have to say that this is about as good as it gets.

But would I be able to run well? That's always the bottom line, isn't it?

I can't help but admire the beauty. The rails-to-trails Ghost Town Trail is absolutely gorgeous, The fall foliage is spectacular, and I enjoy every minute. Each time I hit a rough patch, I look around and oggle those wonderful colors. And each time it works; I become more relaxed and get back on track.

I ran that best-in-a-long-time 3:43 in 2017, but I haven't been able to get anywhere close afterward. I don't think I can today, either. But maybe I can come close.

I am tracking every five-mile split, and they're pretty even-steven. I hit the half-way turnaround in about 1:54. If I can keep this pace up, I'll at least break 3:50. That would be a good thing.

It's getting warmer, but I'm still comfortable. My splits are still encouraging. Will I finish strong?

My hundred-thousandth mile will occur, by my reconning, at mile 26 of today's race. If I can make that a good, strong mile, I might even beat 3:47 today. I want it to be a strong mile, I really do! And it is! It's a bit under 8:30, perhaps my fastest of the day. (I later learn that my math was off, and I'd reached 100K at mile 16 instead of 26.)

I finish in 3:46. About as good as I could hope for today - a day when marathoning is as good as it gets.

My One Hundred Thousandth Mile

My one hundred thousandth mile occurred, fittingly, during a marathon. The race was the Veterans Marathon in Pennsylvania. I thought I'd planned it out such that mile 100,000 would occur during the final mile of this, my 109th marathon, and my 145th race of marathon length or longer. I didn't realize until I got home that this wasn't the case; I'd reached 100K at about mile 16. The rest was gravy.

Today's 16th and 26th miles were probably not so much different from my first documented mile in 1978. Back then, I was training for my first marathon. But I suppose that my training miles were at around eight-minute-per-mile (or perhaps a bit slower) pace, whereas today's all-out marathon pace, including miles 16 and 26, was at about 8:39 pace. Okay, maybe mile 26 was just a hair faster.

Being the numbers guy that I am, I've counted all the miles I've run since 1978. I ran some before that, and I also ran during the 'lost year' of 1980. But since I don't have documentation on those, I am not counting them. Here's the list of my year-by-year mileage:

I should mention that I've had the honor of knowing and running with some amazing people who have accomplished nearly unbelievable things. Many are great ultrarunners, and many of them have surely run at least as much as I have over their lifetimes. But a lot of them are not quite crazy enough to want to keep track of things like this. Maybe they have better things to do.

Anyway, here are some fun facts with these numbers:

• The circumference of the earth is 24,901 miles, so I've gone around over four times.
• The distance from the earth to the moon is 238,900 miles, so I've gone 41,8 percent of the way there.
• The distance from the earth to the sun is 93,000,000 miles, so I've only gone 0.108 percent of the way there.
• 100,000 miles over 41 years is an average of 2,439 miles per year.
• 100,000 miles in 41 years is an average of 6.68 per day (I'd get better averages if it weren't for some of those 'slacker' years.)
• The average pace has slowed a little. Actually, it's slowed a lot over the last few years. Interesting that the mileage hasn't dropped, however.

Okay, that's enough now. Maybe it's time to quit. You know, hang up the old Hokas.

Naaah. I'm still gonna try for the moon. Is there another way to become the Greatest Runner Who Ever Lived?

About to Roll it Over

Remember when automobile odometers only had five digits? Probably not, but I do. It was fairly rare to have a car make it to 100,000 miles; most broke down or rusted out well before that. When you did get your car to that 100K mark, it was a Big Deal. We called this, 'rolling it over.'

That's about to happen to me. As of today, October 29, 2018, I have run 99,963.2 miles. Although we human beings don't have mechanical or even electronic odometers, some of us are numbers people. Most, however, are probably less interested in such things as I am. But I still think it's sort of a Big Deal for any human to make it to 100K without rusting out or breaking down.

Each mile is documented. When I began running, I wrote my mileage, and sometimes my time, in red (it had to be red for some reason) on the appropriate day of a pocket calendar. I still have them. Except, that is for 1980; I don't know where that went, so I don't count it. In the mid-nineties, I began tracking my mileage electronically. Later still, I began using a GPS tracker.

I thought I'd perhaps make a big fuss and have a group run to celebrate my achievement as it occurs. It doesn't look like that will work out, however. My plans are to run about ten miles tomorrow (Tuesday) and then ten again on Thursday. I'll do just a couple to loosen up on Saturday, and then Sunday is the race: the Veterans Marathon in Indiana Pennsylvania. If my math is correct, and if I follow said plan (which shouldn't be difficult), it (the rollover) should occur during that race.

Rolling it over during a marathon. Maybe that's appropriate.

2:58!!

Sub-three at my ancient age? Who'd've thunk it?

How did I manage such a thing, you ask?

With great patience and perseverance, I answer.

It's true. I started early, and I ran very easy for the first several miles. Then I arrived at the track, wriggled under the fence, and began the more intensive part of the run. Track running sure is tedious, but I still love it for its simplicity and consistency.

When I was done there, I ran the three miles home. These were slower again, but not as slow as the early running.

So that's how I ran eighteen miles in under three hours!

Now for some slightly more serious matters. For one thing, I really am happy with today's run. Yes, 10 minutes per mile is pretty slow, but I'll take it this time around. I ran long today (Friday) because tomorrow is supposed to be a washout. And although I'll run a bit tomorrow and then more on Sunday, I need to begin to think about a tapir.

Why tapir? After the Inland Trail Marathon was cancelled (I am still bummed about that), I began looking for alternatives. I somehow came up with the Veterans Marathon in Indiana, Pennsylvania. It's out and back on a rail trail. Sounds similar, eh?

It's next week, and I'm looking forward to it. But the weather doesn't look promising.

Wooster Brick Run - Unrace Report

The 25K Wooster Brick Run isn't much of a race. You start whenever you want, anytime between 7 and 9 A.M. And with everyone so spread out, it would be easy to cheat, if one is so inclined. As you may suspect, there wasn't a whole lot of support along the way - I only saw people at the four or five aid stations. Of course I saw other runners as well; at least four or five of them as well.

Coming a week after Northern Ohio, I didn't expect to set the world on fire. And lo and behold, there was indeed no world fire to be had. I ran comfortably and very slowly. Except for the last four miles, which are downhill back into downtown Wooster. I was finally able to pick up my pace a little bit there.

The important take-away here is that it was fun. A lot of fun. I ran alone on those scenic country roads on that cool, autumn morning and enjoyed every minute. After I finished, I talked with friends and enjoyed that as well.

So no, it wasn't much of a race. It was better.

Why You Should Always do a Tapir

Ah, The Importance of the Tapir.

One should always do a tapir before a race. I didn't tapir this time around, and it came back to bite me. I was so lucky that the pace guy came by to scoop me up just as was beginning to drag my proboscis in those waning miles of the Northern Ohio Marathon. That was the only way I was able to ungulate through it all.

Northern Ohio Marathon Race Report

The Northern Ohio Marathon was going to be a 'B' race for me. Inland Trail, coming up in early November, was going to be my 'A' race. Two challenges would be: a) the weather (warm and very humid), and b) my own personal fitness (old, fat, bald, slow, and ugly).

But then, there was also a somewhat conflicting goal today. I'd run a 3:55 at my last marathon (Whitefish Point). I thought I could run at least that well today. Why try to beat this time? Heck if I know.

The light rain at the start ended quickly, but the mist, fog, and high humidity never left. This was actually about as good as we runners could have hoped because although said humidity made the running difficult, it would have been far more so had the sun come out to further heat things up. As it happened, the temperature along the lake never made it out of the upper 60s.

Headlands State Park is an awesome location. It's too bad that only the start and finish occurred there. Much of the middle part of the marathon is along the side of busy, concrete roads. I didn't care for those parts. The final miles, where runners return from the west, are the most scenic.

For $26.20, the Northern Ohio Marathon is a real bargain. It's what attracted me (I hear you snickering there). The race organization is excellent, and the volunteers - mostly cross country kids - are fantastic. I ran the race a few years ago, and I believe my sentiments haven't changed.

How did the race go, you ask? Okay, I suppose. The good: I finished. I maintained a fairly steady pace. And I beat that goal time by a whole minute or so. The bad: It was difficult - more than I'd have liked for a 'B' race. I had to struggle to maintain that pace in the final few miles - luckily the 3:55 pace person provided encouragement, without which I probably would have faltered.

Cool Finisher's Medal and M&M's for 1st in AG

Running with a Champion

Larry Orwin informed me the other day that Phil McCarthy would be running through northern Ohio as part of his run across the Continental United States. Larry planned to try to meet up with Phil and run a bit with him.

I knew Phil from his exploits running of the NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run. He won the race outright two times, and he placed well other years. I was vaguely aware that this former National Champion was doing a cross-country run, but I'd lost track of where he was and how he was doing.

Then Larry posted that he did indeed meet up with Phil in Clyde, OH. I still didn't think a whole lot about it, until my Tuesday Track run. There, for once, it hit me. I should see where he's at and see if I could meet up with him myself. (I would need to leave work to work from home, minus a short running break.)

Facebook is really handy for stuff like this. I was able to learn that Phil had started in Norwalk, OH, and was currently on Ohio Route 303 in Lagrange, OH. He would be coming right by my street! Further, I could message him to let him know I was coming. And finally, using his tracking mechanism, Debbie was able to drive right over to where Phil and his support car were having a quick break in Valley City.

Running through the remainder of Valley City, Brunswick (by my street) and into Hinckley, we had a grand time discussing old and new times, and old and new friends, and old and new adventures.

Speaking of adventures, running across the country certainly is one. Phil has recently been doing 60 to 70 miles per day. At the time of this writing, he's in central Pennsylvania and will be back in New York in no time. It's amazing.

Debbie is dropping me off for my run through northern Medina County with Phil

Tuesday Track Tedium, and Nearly a Stinker

Track workouts have to be on Tuesdays. I don't know why, but I will try to guess: let me see. Mondays are too close to the preceding weekend, and Wednesdays and Thursdays are too close to the succeeding weekend. Weekends are special because they contain long runs. There. Now you have it.

Yesterday was Tuesday, and I was at the Mayfield track. I managed to stagger through a Yasso workout of 10 800 meter efforts. And they were efforts indeed. That workout took a whole heck of a lot out of me.

Today, Wednesday, I arrive at the track for the second consecutive day. Two in a row, you ask? Yes, two in a row, I answer. Today it would be 6 by 1600.

It's 5:00 A.M., pitch dark, and I'm alone, of course. I am on my first lap in a middle lane when I notice movement in the outside lane. I look closer and see that it's a small furry creature running in the opposite direction along the inside of the inside fence. It is a skunk, of course. I hope that it will manage to find its way underneath the fence, but it doesn't seem to be having any luck.

I come around again. The skunk had managed to get outside the inside fence and is now trying to escape underneath the outside one. As I go by, it manages to do that. It scurries away into the nearby woods.

The rest of the workout is uneventful. Exhausting, but uneventful.

I've had some runs that I've called stinkers. This one came close, and not in a good way.

Let's Get Sirius

Orion has been around during my morning runs for a month or so now. Can Sirius be far behind?

No, it can't. I have been witnessing it's rising for a couple weeks now as well. The three stars of Orion's belt point directly down towards Sirius at this time of the year, and being the brightest star in the sky**, it's hard to miss. Once it rises, that is.

**This is often a trick question. What's the brightest star in the sky? The answer is the Sun, of course. But Sirius is the next brightest. It's also not as bright as the Moon, Venus, and Jupiter. But it's still brighter than all the other stars.

Sirius reminds us of two things. One is that Fall is coming. In fact, it'll be here in a matter of days. You wouldn't know it with the hot humid summer-like weather that is still afflicting us runners. The other thing is that it's time to get serious about running.

Yes, with Fall come some of my favorite running events. And to do well at these, it behooves one to train. And in case you've forgotten, nothing runs like a trane.

What race are you Not Training for?

"How far are you going today?" asks training partner extraordinaire, whom I've probably run more miles with than anyone, Michelle Wolff.

"Twenty-four." It's more than I've done since Buckeye Woods, but we're here on the Lester Rail Trail where I've done other 24-milers, it's early, I've been dancing around the twenty mark during other recent runs, and I think I can.

"What race are you not training for?" asks Michelle. This is interesting since I recently posted about this. Michelle knows me well.

Now the pressure was on. I had to actually semi-commit to something. Okay, I thought. I'll come clean. "Out of all the upcoming races, I suppose the one I've ruled out the least is Inland Trail," I answered. Inland Trail is a good one; I've done it several times in the past. And it's true, I've been thinking about it a little. I haven't registered yet, mind you; I've only been thinking. Maybe I'll think about it some more before committing for sure.

Did I get my 24 in, you ask? Why yes, I did. Thank you for asking. Michelle and other-training partner Debbie Scheel joined me for various parts of the run. It wasn't an easy day, with warmth and a great deal of humidity. But as I say, I made it. And with a good deal of humility as well.

What are YOU training for?

When a runner meets another runner, or even one not seen for a while, the most common question is, "What are you training for?" The implication is that there must be something looming to keep you out on the roads and trails. Depending on one's level, it might well be a half or full marathon, or possibly an ultramarathon. It's pretty rare to hear something like, "Oh, nothing. I just like to run."

But that's exactly what I've been saying for months now. After doing more racing than usual during the first half of the year, I've switched to running for fun only. Here is the result:

I'm feeling pretty darn good! Still not 100%, as the Achilles Tendonitis *still* does act up after a long or hard run, but I've had it way worse. I do miss the competition, but that's a small price to pay for being able to run mostly pain-free.

And I am running. I'm still doing around sixty miles a week, although said miles continue to get slower all the time. My longer runs on the weekends are especially enjoyable.

Today and yesterday I ran in the rain. I know what you're thinking: that Dan doesn't like rain. But actually, he does. He just doesn't like running in cold rain. Even though a jacket was necessary today, these 18 and 10-mile runs don't qualify for cold rain designation. Therefore, I did enjoy them.

This is not to say that there won't be a race in the fall. But it's not on the calendar just yet.

Tale of Two Runs

It would have been three runs, but for the runs. Said runs were Thursday, just before my colonoscopy. If you are interested in all the details of the events leading to this procedure, as well as the procedure itself, please talk to me privately. I will share this, however. I had planned to run my usual Thursday ten-miler with running partner Michelle Wolff, even though I'd been going through the pre-procedure prep. Late Wednesday, realizing that I'd be "running" all night, I called off. What was I thinking?

Friday's run had been going just fine. Until the fall, that is. It had been a while, but these things happen when we least expect them. In this case, I was at dark North Park, and I was lucky that Michelle was there to scrape me off the asphalt. I was also lucky to have access to running water where I could clean out the road rash.

Today was the day for a long run. I ran with Michelle once again, but also several others who came and went. Although we started and finished on the Lester Rail Trail, we did most of the running in Medina. I (slowly) made it to 20, and the best part is that the final four miles were my best ones.

2 out of 3

Great weather. Feeling good despite some usual aches and pains. Running well.

You can see where this is going: two out of three ain't bad.

It's five to five, 59 degrees, and Orion is rising, as I emerge from the car. That cool air feels fabulous. I start slowly, as I always do, but I don't feel too bad. Yes, the aches are there, but the Achilles and other pains aren't debilitating. And as I head over and into the park, I feel as though I'm actually picking up some speed.

It's pitch dark in the woods, of course. I don't know how I ever did this without a headlamp. As I head down the hill towards Foster's Run, I speed up even more. I'm really moving now.

Two miles in, I glance at my watch. Reality sets in. I'm not running seven or eight minutes a mile, even though it feels as though I am. I'm doing eleven minutes a mile, even on this downhill stretch. My bubble is busted.

It's getting light as I finish up. Of course it is; it took such a very long time to run so far. About like it does every other day. Even so, I still enjoy today's run, because those two good things are very good.

I Sweat, Therefore I

am soaked, am disgusting, will continue to sweat even after my shower and even after I've arrived at work, am a bunch of other things, none of which are good.

The vast, and I do mean vast, majority of days this summer have been oppressively humid. One could probably count on one hand the days that were not. And there's no end in sight.

But I don't like humidity, I say. Perhaps this is a little like not liking spam.

Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. A man and his wife enter.

Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.

Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.

Man (to Waitress): Morning!

Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!

Man: Well, what've you got?

Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;

Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...

Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam...

Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!

Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor au Crevette with a Mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam.

Wife: Have you got anything without spam?

Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it.

Wife: I don't want ANY spam!

Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?

Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!

Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?

Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)

Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?

Waitress: Urgghh!

Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!

Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up!

Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam.

Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!

Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam!

Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.

Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?

Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words)

Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!

~

But back to the humility. It's bad. Really bad. And to go along with that is the heat. I am aware that things could be even worse, as most days are in the eighties. The days in the nineties came earlier in the summer. Nowadays, nearly every day is just a little above the average for this time of year.

Reminds me of how all our children are above average.

All this makes for not so good running. I'm getting out there, mind you. Just not well. Maybe tomorrow, being Hinckley Day, will be better. We can only hope.

"Welcome to Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."

The Perseid

We speak about the Perseids as the meteors seen in the skies this time each year. Note the plurality. There was none of that today, but one is still better than none.

For the first time in decades, I did manage to get out the door before four. Perhaps it was related, but this wound but being an adventure in sleep-running.

To see meteors, one has to look up. Looking up is not conducive to good, or even half-way decent running. So that, combined with the extreme un-wakefulness were both working against me. But dad-gum it, I wanted to see those Perseids.

Shuffling along on Substation Road - the darkest area I could get to - I wasn't having any luck, so I started trying to spot Orion. This was also problematic because by 4:30 AM, it was only beginning to consider rising. That's when the sky lit up (well, a little) with a meteor. They always appear when you're not looking for them. It was pretty cool.

After further shuffling, I did finally see Orion. And then I saw, coming toward me, an extremely bright truck of some sort. There were green, red and yellow lights flashing in all sorts of ways. I suppose it was an ambulance, but it may have been another type of emergency vehicle or an alien land cruising car (the aliens would have emerged from the meteorite, I'm sure). It was hard to tell.

There were no more meteors, and no more wakefulness.

Orion Rise, 2018

I saw my very first of the season rise of the constellation Orion today. It signals that summer is on its way out, and that autumn is fast approaching. This is all good news for someone of my temperament.

This was my second run in Hocking Hills, and it was a cool one. That's appropriate, since fall is now officially (at least in my book) on its way. Cool, crisp and clear: that's the way I like it. Can't wait for more of it. Bring it on.

Sights and Sounds

I am getting a later than planned start. It's 5:20, and although I've been up for quite a while, this is the best I could do to get myself out the cabin door and into the gloomy morning air.

Said cabin is located in Sugar Grove, Ohio. It's in the Hocking Hills region, and we're staying for the weekend with the Dancer family. These digs are pretty nifty.

Gloomy it is - more so than anticipated. I had planned the route: 3 or more 3.7-mile loops on Sponagle, Swartz Mill, Mirgon and Sugar Grove Roads to make twelve or so miles total. I had figured there would be hills, humidity, humility, and darkness, but not quite so much. And I also hadn't anticipated the fog and drizzle. And did I mention the darkness? Oh, yes, perhaps I did.

First, I have to get up the driveway. I do mean up; it's mighty steep. Now on the road, things do level out. A little. I am bumping into plenty of hills. They pretty much won't stop. Eventually, I find myself running mostly down - way down - to get to Swartz Mill Road a mile into the run.

Good thing I have the headlamp because I can't see a darn thing otherwise. The woods are deep and dark, and the fog and mist reflect my headlamp light right back at me. I do notice the occasional light emanating from a smattering of houses that are back in the woods.

At first, it's so very quiet that even that unnerves me. I do get used to it, but soon the morning crickets begin to chirp. Now it's downright noisy. But in a pleasant sort of way.

All of a sudden, something fairly large flies right across my path, directly in front of my headlamp. It startles me, and I stop. It was completely quiet as it flew by. Then another one follows it within a second or two. I look around for others but don't see any. That don't mean anything; I can't see anything anyway. As my faculties return, I begin to wonder whether they were rather small owls or large bats. I am not able to figure it out, but I'm leaning towards the bat theory.

A couple of the houses come with a barking dog. I am not threatened directly, but I do pick up a stick for self-defense, just in case.

The roads and turns are where I expect them to be. The hills are not, since I hadn't known where they would be. Suffice it to say that they're big. Big enough to put Effie to shame. Effie, by the way, is still the standard by which all hills are measured. I manage to complete one loop. I am 3.7 miles into the run, just as anticipated. I try not to look at the related time.

The second loop is better. It's getting light, and I can now begin to see where I went that first time around. The fog is becoming more patchy. And I'm moving a little faster as well. But only a little.

The third loop is faster still. Still agonizingly slow by any normal standards, but faster than the other two loops.

About two and a half miles into that final circuit, it hits me. I love this! I truly do. It's why I run.

Minor runner's high subsiding, I am back in time to start the day with the kids and grandkids. Time to hike.

Double the Fun

June 4. 2017. That, as far as I can tell, was the last time I did two back-to-back hilly Hinckley nine-mile loops. I've done the loop a few times in the past, and I know a thing or two about it. And despite the hiatus, I do know how to do two loops, and even three loops. That said, I have, in fact, been trying to revive the Sunday Hinckley tradition.

It wasn't pretty today. The heat, hills, humidity, and especially the humility all came into play. But it wasn't really like play; it was more like work.

Dennis Amstutz, Theresa Wright, Frank Dwyer and Rick Roman were my companions. It was warm and humid when we started at six am, and downright oppressive during that sweaty second loop.

We somehow made it. But it wasn't pretty. Oh, yeah. I said that already.

Heavenly Hills in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia

West Virginia is a very vertical place. I have run in the state before, but it's been a while. After yesterday's downhill hike from the top to the bottom of Bald Knob (we'd taken the ski-lift up), my quads and knees were feeling fairly shredded. But I run everywhere I go, and I would here as well, according to my wont.

Extensive pre-run research indicated that there was a horizontal trail along the Monongahela River here in Morgantown. All I need to do is get to it.

Getting to it involves running down. Way down. After a mile of yet more bone-jarring downhill running, I do reach the river, find the trail, and get going.

The sun is beginning to rise, but it's still dark down by the river. As I proceed north, the asphalt changes to crushed limestone and everything becomes heavily wooded and very quiet. I bask in the solitude. I don't see another human being until after I've turned back - about six miles into my run.

As I get back into the Morgantown area, the sun is shining on the nearby hills. It's light, and I can see fairly well. I realize that I'm finally, after eight slow miles, moving at a half-way decent pace. But now I've got to get back up the hills to my home away from home.

I do somehow make it back up (way up) to the Fairfield. Just in time for more hiking.

For more on said hiking, see my travel blog post.

Hinckley is Back

Okay, okay. Hinckley never really left. But a lot of us did; we hadn't been meeting there for our Sunday morning runs for quite some time. This was for various reasons, but now that's all changed.


We met the other day, and did our good old nine-mile loop. It was the same old gang, and the same old hilly "Effie" loop. Some of us did some extra lake loops as well.


Just like old times!!

Battle of Wounded Knee (as an innocent bystander)

I suppose I wasn't entirely bystanding; I was running. And I wasn't entirely innocent; I had invited my friend Larry Orwin to run with me, after all.


I was aware that this was less than a week after his Herculean effort to complete the Canal Corridor 100-mile race, but he said he was running again already, and I needed a partner.


So we met on the towpath for a fourteen-mile run from Station Road Bridge to Lock 29 and back.


Wouldn't you know it? At precisely seven miles out, just as we were about to turn into the Lock 29 area, his knee goes. He had to stop entirely. Innocent bystander that I was, I stopped to make sure he way okay. He said he was, but he wasn't. After some water, we tried to run back to Brecksville.


Didn't happen. Poor Larry could only walk. I ended up running back to get the car to pick him up. Strangely, I ran those six-plus miles really well. I suppose it was the adrenaline effort to get to the car and back in a decent amount of time.


Hope you're okay, Larry!

North Canton YMCA 4th of July 5-mile

Since I have participated in the Ohio Challenge Series many years, I've done this race many times, albeit many moons ago. It's a fun Fourth of July event; the whole city is alive and hopping for the race as it occurs just prior to the annual parade.

Fun though it is, I've never run particularly well here. But sometimes you just need to fulfill your racing obligation for the series. That was going to be the case today. I needed one more 5-mile to 10k distance race to compete in that category, and this would be it. I already have the 1/2 marathon distance category completed as well. Since I won't be bothering with any more 5k runs in the series, I won't compete in that category. And that, my friends, means I'm done!

Coming just a scant three days after BW50K, (And did I mention the relentless heat?) I knew that I wouldn't be at my best. I just wanted to run the distance.

It turned out that just getting the distance in, was a tremendous chore. I thought I was gonna die in that heat. I thought they would be scraping me off the pavement when the race was done.

Well, somehow I remained vertical. But done, I was. 46:50.

Now I'm done in another way too. I'm done doing ANY racing for a while. A long while.

Buckeye Woods 50K Race Report

I really did it this time. I disorganized a summer version of the Buckeye Woods 50K. Having started the whole thing with a Fall/Winter version eight and a half years ago, I thought, why not do it in the heat of the summer as well? This was also in lieu of the summer Mugrage Park 6-Hour run, which was not going to happen due to a scheduling snafu.

It sure was a toasty one. Temperatures were well up into the nineties. After a few of the five-mile loops, the two ladies ahead of me, Theresa Wright and Kelly Parker, began to walk. They, and the other over-achiever, Angela Demchuk eventually dropped after achieving mileage in the twenties. Not too shabby for this hot, humid, muggy and buggy day.

That left me all alone, but I still had to complete the miles. And even pick up my course markers (I used flags). So the last lap wasn't pretty. I made it, however. 6:19. Good for first (and last) overall.

That's 2 (count them, two) races that I've won this year. Just think what would happen if I was running well.

Louisville YMCA 10K

Just when you thought that running simply could not get any slower, there's this.


The Louisville (Pronounced, 'Lu-is-vil;' because, of course, it's in Ohio) YMCA 10K is in the Ohio Challenge Series, so I had to do it. I need three 5-Mile to 10K races to compete in that category, and this would be number two. My third will be the North Canton 5-Miler on July 4.


First the good: My Achilles pain continues to subside. It's not gone, mind you, but it isn't hampering me. Much. Except that when it was worse, it prevented me from getting myself into any decent shape.


But wait. There's more good news. I was sixth overall!!


Now the bad. Fifty-two something. HOW CAN I BE THIS SLOW?


And the ugly? I keep getting slower!

Whitefish Point Marathon Race Report

The Route from Paradise to Whitefish Point and back

If you want to get to Paradise, you have to go through Hell first. Or at least nearby. As we drove past the Pinkney expressway exit, I mentioned to Lady Adventurer Debbie that that’s where Hell is. But we didn’t stop there; it was Paradise or bust.

The sign informing us that “31% of Michigan traffic deaths are caused by not wearing seatbelts,” gave us pause. Lady Adventurer stated that it must be safer to not wear them. I had a rough time trying to explain what I thought the sign was really trying to tell us.

After a bit more than seven hours, we made it to Paradise. At the race check-in, I learned that over eighty runners were expected to toe the line in the morning; more than last year. I joked with the volunteers about how I didn’t like these huge, crowded expos.

Dan in Paradise

Dinner was at Camp 33 Brewery at Tahquamenon Falls State Park. Afterward, we had a nice walk on the trails to visit the falls that we’d seen thirty years earlier. I suggested the ‘Nature Trail’ for our return. Lady Adventurer expressed her concern about mosquitoes. “How bad could it be?” asked I. The answer came in one word: clouds. The rest of this story (it involves running and slapping at our heads) is left to the reader’s imagination.

Tahquamenon Falls

Now it’s race day morning. After pouring myself some Magnuson Grand hotel coffee, I notice that the sunrise over Lake Superior is stunningly beautiful. I go out into the cool morning air to take some pictures and learn that the mosquitoes, lots of them, are also awake. For the second time in ten hours, I’m donating blood here in the U.P.

After dousing with deet, I jog over to the start/finish area. It’s a mile from the hotel. I love these low-hassle races. The Whitefish Point Marathon course will take me from Paradise to Whitefish Point and back. Whitefish Point is near the location of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It’s now home of the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, where we had visited on an earlier trip. They play that song – you know the one – over and over and over. I used to like it. The plan is for Lady Adventurer to meet me there at mile 13+, and hand me some gels, then drive back to meet me at mile 20, and then the finish.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy...

We shall see about that part where the lake never gives up her dead.

My early miles are at about 8:45 pace. Based on my recent history, that’s too fast. But it’s cool and I’m feeling pretty good. My Achilles isn’t even talking to me yet.

Early on. Still have spring in my step.

I reach the half-way point at around 1:55. I see Debbie at Whitefish Point as planned. There are clouds of mosquitoes around her, the volunteers, and the rest of the spectators. I ask her for a second deet dousing. Despite the skeeters, Whitefish Point is pretty darn spectacular. Even though the course has taken us to the north along the shore, I haven’t been able to see a whole lot of the lake because of trees and some homes. It’s a pretty course, nonetheless. And the shade from the trees is cool.

It’s mile 20, and I’m still doing well, although the old Achilles is indeed now talking, and it’s not saying nice things. My time is 2:55 or so, but my pace has started to slow just a little.

I see Debbie at mile 21. I’m slowing more. This will be my final sub-nine minute mile. Now each mile gets a little bit tougher. Funny how that happens.

Finally, the finish line looms. I complete the journey in 3:55, good for an 8:59 overall pace. This isn’t too awful, especially compared with the debacle at the Cleveland Marathon a few weeks ago. But it would have felt better with even pacing.

The Finish

After cleaning up, Debbie and I return to the finish area for a pasty and the awards ceremony. The pasty, by the way, is not the thing strippers paste on their nipples, but a U.P. specialty consisting of ground meat, potato, and rutabaga, all baked in a pie crust and served with gravy. It had been about forty years since we’ve had one, and we will be okay if another forty go by before next time. Debbie says she understands why they haven’t caught on in other parts of the country.

The awards go on for over an hour. There are so many door prizes that nearly all the runners wound up with something. I got another t-shirt and an ice-pack. I also won a hand-painted rock for placing second in my ancient ten-year age-group. The 61-year old kid who won the AG was well ahead of me. On top of the rock and my stone necklace in lieu of a finisher medal, I received a BQ (Boston Qualifier) coffee mug.

Swag

Lady Adventurer and I return back to Whitefish Point one more time for an afternoon walk in the adjacent bird sanctuary. It sure is a scenic spot, and we had a nice walk. Until the skeeters chased us back out of the woods.

Whitefish Point

This morning, whilst I was running, a whitefish whom I'll call Willie swam in Lake Superior. This evening, Brown Fisheries Fish House in Paradise cooked and served him to us. Fish don’t get much fresher. Or tastier. Boy was that a good way to end the trip!

Sunrise over Gitche Gumee

The Bad and the Ugly

Keen observers will note that I left out the Good. I have nothing personal against 'good,' per se. It's just that there ain't much of it these days. On the other hand, things could also be worse. Maybe the subject of this post ought to be the Bad, the Ugly and the Could have been Worse. Yeah, that works, don't it?

Take today's long run. Please. It was bad, ugly, but yes, it could've been worse. With the next marathon a week and a day away, I needed to get one long run in, and it hadn't been possible last week with the half-marathon and all. It was today or never.

The trouble was that I've been running a lot. Not well, mind you, just a lot. Not a day off since a week ago Friday, and that includes the half and the quickie. Been tired on and off. On today.

Did I mention the humidity? It was oppressive yesterday; a wee bit less so today. But I was sweating a little, and when running partner Debbie Scheel was done, at 7 miles for her, 12.4 for me, I was done as well. The trouble is that I still had five and a half to go.

A drastic slowdown occurred, but I trudged on and managed to get up to my planned 18.

It wasn't pretty. But you knew that.

Medina Half Marathon

Things weren't boding all that well. There was that painful experience at last week's Cleveland Marathon. And then there was the lingering pain and de-training that went along with the step-ouch, step-ouch routine. In fact, I began to wonder whether I ought to run this race, and the next one, a marathon in Michigan, at all.

So expectations weren't extremely high. But the Medina Half Marathon is nearly a home-town race, put on by my home-town run club. I wanted to at least make an effort.

Early in the race, on the bike path

And I did. I went out with the 1:50 pace group. This seemed somewhat ambitious, given last week's debacle. But then, I'd done that 1:49 a month ago.

Medina Lake, the prettiest part of the course

I couldn't keep up with them. By about half-way, I was beginning to fall behind. Now, I wasn't overly concerned, but I didn't want to lose focus completely. I wanted to maintain a pace that was at least respectable. The good news was that I wasn't hurting. Much.

On the bricks, approaching the Square for the finish

I did manage to keep from dying completely. Even though I slowed some, I at least kept it fairly steady. I finished in 1:53. And the best news is that I was still mostly pain-free. Tired, sore, beat-up. But pain-free.

I may go to Michigan after all.

Cleveland Marathon, 2018 Edition

It's raining as I park the car. Since I'm here an hour and fifteen minutes before the start, I'm not concerned. I can just sit in the car a while, and let it subside.

I sit in the car a while. The rain doesn't subside. It's not coming down all that hard as I jog the mile over to the start.

When I arrive at Ontario Street by Quicken Loans Arena, I see the familiar (it was about the same last year) throng of people. I bump into Larry and Christine Orwin. CJ will be running, and they brought some friends. We chat whilst in the porta-potty line. My friends are running well these days, and I'm happy for them. I tell Larry how my Achilles is killing me, and I probably shouldn't even be here. In fact, I'm sure that I shouldn't be here. It was silly to sign up, but hope (that things would get better) springs eternal.

Soon thereafter, I am in my assigned corral, and the horn goes off. It hasn't stopped raining, but no one seems to mind. It's actually refreshing. It takes me a minute and a half to get to the starting line from so far back.

As much as I do enjoy the light rain, my Achilles begins to make itself well quite known by about mile five. By about mile ten, I still feel it, but despite that, I'm also running fairly well. I'm holding to a nine-minute pace. It would be nice - very nice - if I can only keep to this pace for the remaining sixteen miles.

The rain stopped for good after the first hour or so. I had been worried that it would get humid, but instead, it cools off a bit. This is about as good as it gets for a marathon in late May. I've lost count of the number of times I've done the Cleveland Marathon. It takes place in my Fair City; the place where I attended high school and college; the place where I've spent at least some time working; the place where my family likes to go for entertainment and sustenance. For some reason, some folks don't care for this race, but I think it's just fine. I think it's wonderful to see all the familiar sights and even a few new ones. And it's peachy to see so many running friends.

I see several such friends near the 17.3-mile turn-around. Some are spectating, and some are running. I stop for a porta-potty break on a couple occasions. Although quite necessary, this proves detrimental to my performance. I'd held the nine-minute pace through mile sixteen, but now things don't look so wonderful. Besides the lost time, the Achilles pain is now in the awful zone. I suppose a steady pace with no stops may have been better (had that been possible), but we will never know for sure, now will we?

Every step is painful in the waning miles. I catch up with Tom Bieniosek at about mile 25. This is surprising since I had been ahead at the turnaround. We surmise that he probably passed me whilst I was indisposed. I ask if he is trying for a Boston Qualifying time. He thinks our age group's standard is 4:10 or better; I had thought it was 4:15. (I later learn that it is indeed 4:10, and we have no chance; 4:15 or so is still doable, however.) Tom tells me to go on ahead, even though I'd try to cajole him into staying with me. (I later learn that he still finished ahead of me based on chip time. Oh well.)

My finish time is 4:13 and change. Even with the five minutes spent in stopped mode, this is still pretty lousy. But it's nowhere near as lousy as I feel.