Run to the Beach 5K

It was a beautiful morning in Portage Lakes State Park. Although it was in the twenties when I arrived, the rising sun seemed to be warming things up nicely. This is a cute little race that is entirely inside the park on roads and trails. The finish line is directly on the beach.

How did I do, you ask? First of all, thank you for inquiring. I don't get too many interested parties wondering about my race performances anymore. Secondly, I am happy to report that I won my ancient age group. My prize was a large glass contraption that holds a fake candle in the middle. I gather this is for hanging outside and lighting the way for various outdoor get-togethers. With that and $1.50, I can buy a Coke. Thirdly, regardless of the nice day and dearth of faster old runners, my personal performance was pretty darn awful.

I didn't even achieve eight-ness. That's okay for a half-marathon, but definitely not for a 5K. The first mile was on the road, and it wasn't bad: seven-fifty-something. The second mile started well, but I slowed way down then we started on the trails for a 8:15 or so. The third was mostly trails and slow as well, but maybe a little better, at something like 8:06. My overall time was 25:17. That 8:05 pace is about as bad as it gets. At least up till now.

Next week I do have a half-marathon. Maybe it can get worse?

Every Day

Every single darn day (that I’ve gotten out to run) over the past four weeks or so, seems the same: temperature in the twenties, relatively little wind or precipitation, but that bone-chilling cold. So cold that my hands won’t work when I get home, despite the use of gloves. Except for yesterday. And today.

Yesterday there was a cold rain. I hate cold rain. I stayed on the mill. It wound up as a half-way decent interval run. But today, I was ready to go. Got up early. Heeded the forecasts and current weather (forties, no rain) according to weather.com. Had coffee in the belly and burst out the door.

Into a cold, misty, windy, wet rain. I almost turned right back inside. But no, let’s give it some time, said I. Maybe not go for the 11-mile route, or the intervals at the track route; just the 10-miles at North Park route.

It wasn’t pretty. Besides the dark, cold mist, I ran lousy anyway. One of these days, I need to get into shape. Maybe tomorrow.

St. Malachi Run

I've done this five-miler several times. This year it's a little special, as the church was able to wrestle its own name away from Hermes Cleveland, the company that was "managing" the race for them. "Managing" is in quotes because the church received a relatively tiny amount of donation from the event. When they fired Hermes, Hermes tried to sue the church, alleging that the company, not the church, owned the name, St. Malachi Run. There was a predictably massive backlash against Hermes, and they dropped the lawsuit. But would a lot of runners show up for today's run? Would they support the church?

You bet. There was a huge number of runners out there on this cold but clear morning. It was heartwarming.

It was also good to see so many of my friends out there. It seemed like there were very few who actually were not running today. I warmed up with a few of them.

Eight-minute pace is pretty good, isn't it? I know. This used to be my training, not my racing pace. I remember when a six-minute pace was the goal for this sort of thing. But even though I do some speedwork at eight, I didn't know whether I could maintain it for the whole five miles.

Turns out that I could. Barely. I finished in something like 39:26. I think I was slowing a little towards the end. I was fourth in my ancient, soon to be ancienter age-group.

Last year I did some 5Ks at an eight-minute pace. But then I also ran a half-marathon at that pace as well. I still have a ways to go before they can declare me the greatest runner who ever lived.

Ice-Nine

The oncoming flashing salt truck startles me. It's 4:45 AM, and I'm driving to Medina in order to meet Debbie Scheel. The reason for my surprise has nothing to do with the early hour and my state of stuporness. Okay, maybe a little. Mostly, however, I hadn't expected ice today. It's plenty clear, but the snow and cold had combined to cause roadways and sidewalks to re-freeze over.

In fact, ice there is in abundance once we begin running. And black ice on black pavement in the dark is a little tough to see, even with a headlamp.

We return to the square at 5:30 to pick up Theresa Wright, and the Wolff family of runners (that's Michelle and Andy for the uninformed). Since the ice seems to be everywhere, I tell them that it appears as though ice-nine has been released, and has taken over the planet. And then, of course, I have to explain the reference.

Ice-nine is a fictional material that appears in Kurt Vonnegut's novel Cat's Cradle. In the story, it is invented by Dr. Felix Hoenikker and developed by the Manhattan Project in order for foot soldiers to no longer need to deal with mud. The project is abandoned when it becomes clear that any quantity of it would have the power to destroy all life on earth. A global catastrophe involving freezing the world's oceans with ice-nine is what we seem to have this morning.

We come and go from the square eight or nine times, or so it seems, but the fast and slow running between icy spots appears to me like interval or fartlek work. Notice that I am avoiding any fartlek jokes today.

There's been a lot of icy runs this winter. But I suppose it could be worse. Maybe we're only experiencing ice-eight.