Exceeds... or, the St. Malachi Race

My previous post was about far exceeding expectations. This one is about slightly exceeding them.

The St. Malachi 5-Mile race is held around St. Patrick's Day every year. I've done it a cou ple times in the past, but it had been a while. My training over this winter from hell has been awful, and now I'd learned that so was my weight. So I didn't expect much.

But the weather was great - 40 degrees with a little wind. So of course I went out too fast. My first mile was just under seven minutes, and I was still at 21 minutes flat at 3 miles. Too bad the race didn't end there. I not only had to tired miles to go, but they were mostly uphill and into the wind. It was a struggle.

The final downhill quarter-mile was nice, and it felt good to finish that part strong. My time was 36:28, good for third in my ancient age group. I really don't know what my expectation was, but I am certainly okay with this. Of course it's two full minutes slower than my 5-Mile race times of last summer. I'd better start working harder. And expecting more.

Far Exceeds

Consider this rating scale:

It's from an article about rating rating scales, and it's a typical assessment mechanism. At a place I worked at a while back, we used such a scale to gauge our customer satisfaction. Customers, in this case, were the people we were doing work for, be they external to the company or fellow workers whom we supported.

If the customer liked the person requesting to be rated, they would naturally give them a higher grade. It would go something like this: "I like Dan a lot, and he's doing good work for me. I'll give him the highest score (a 2 on the scale above, or possibly a 5 if the scale contained scores ranging from 1 to 5)."

I unsuccessfully argued against the use of such a scale. Sure, it's good to have your customers like you, and it's very important to meet their expectations. But is it even a good thing to exceed expectations? They might be happy if the person they're rating does do more than expected, but doesn't that imply that we rateees/suppliers may be giving something (in our case, services) away for free? I can see that this too would be good occasionally, but if you give away the store one too many times, the store may eventually go under.

And what does it mean to Greatly Exceed Expectations? Isn't that really giving away the store? In what universe is that a good thing for the store?

All this went through my head when I stepped on the scale (the kind that measures weight) the other day. I hadn't been checking my weight for quite some time, but I still had my expectations. And, you guessed it, they were Greatly Exceeded! Unfortunately, not in a good way. I'm working on this little problem. I still do the fasting thing, but it's the feast days that need to be scaled back. Check with me in a month or so.

We Slow

First there was the Chevy Nova. Urban legend has it that General Motors experienced poor sales of the vehicle in Mexico and other Spanish speaking countries because the name translates to “doesn't go” in Spanish. Incidentally, I was surprised to learn just now that the story actually isn't true. According to Snopes.com, “This is another one of those tales that makes its point so well — just like the apocryphal one about George Washington and the cherry tree — that nobody wants to ruin it with a bunch of facts.” But then they went on to do just that. 

Today's Dick's Sporting Goods ad for other
inexpensive running shoes: the
Nike Downshifter and the ASICS Unifire

And then there was the Nike Attempt II. My daughter Veronica and I noticed this in a Kohl’s ad a while back. I explained that the major running shoe manufacturers sell their high-end models to running specialty stores, but make less expensive ones to sell at lower prices at retailers such as Kohl’s, JCP and Dick’s Sporting Goods. But the name, Attempt just sounds kind of funny for a running shoe. According to the definition, it implies "an act of trying to achieve something". Seems like a running shoe ought to be associated something just a little bit more than only an attempt. And since this one had a Roman Numeral 2 for a suffix, it wouldn't even be the first time one has tried it. I have just noticed that I wrote about this in an earlier blog post. Sorry for the duplication, but I couldn't resist. 

Ad in today's Walmart flyer for a We Slow Treadmill

Today I saw a Walmart ad for a Weslo Treadmill. Yes, I’m aware that Weslo is the name of the manufacturer and not the model. And yes, I’m also aware that it’s one word and not two. But if it were two, it would sound an awful lot like, We Slow. Now who would buy a treadmill that implies that we, the buyers/users are slow?

Not me. And it's not that I am not slow, especially these days. It’s just that I would never admit it.

There be Dragons

4:30 am – I’m doing my morning pushups in front of the TV, and Holly Strano tells me that the temperature is in the forties. This, after that huge snowstorm yesterday. I finish my exercises, petting Rosy, who’s curled up almost underneath me, in between sets.

5:00 am – Still waking up (those pushups and crunches had been in my sleep) I am now putting on my outside running clothes. It would’ve been faster to put on the inside running clothes that I’d had ready, but dang it, it’s in the forties!

5:15 am – Pulling out of the driveway, I realize I’ve gotten a later start than I wanted. My goal is always to get going by 4:45 so that I can arrive just as the fitness center opens at 5:30. This has yet to happen, however. The most common exit time is 5:00 straight up. Today is a little on the late side of that.

6:15 am – I am finally running (hooray), heading north from the fitness center. The road is clear, but snow is piled up three to four feet high on the sides, and right over the berm, so if any cars come, I’ve got nowhere to go to get out of the way. Luckily, traffic is light at this hour. I reflect that this is my first outside run in a week and a half; it’s been all mill. Of course the reason is fear of (more) wounded knee. Strange that I seem to be able to run at any pace or distance on the mill without encountering problems, but when I push the pace out in the cold, there it goes. A new theory presents itself to the inner workings of my brain: maybe it’s not the pace or the cold by itself, maybe it’s the shuffling through the slippery snow and ice I do on other runs, followed by the days of pace and cold. Then again, maybe not.

6:45 am – There aren’t all that many miles of roads in the park, and I don’t want to shuffle on the snow covered all-purpose trail, so I’m doing a little back and forth, out and back type stuff. It occurs to me that I could make this a worthwhile training run by running down and up Ox Lane a few times. As I’m almost about to turn down that road, I encounter a couple runners coming up. After a brief greeting, we pass each other, but one of them yells back, “Are you headed down the hill? There’s a pack of coyotes down there!”

6:46 am – Did I mention that it’s still dark? And that I’m afraid of large carnivorous wild animals? I decide to not tempt fate and simply go back and forth on the north-south road, Buttermilk Falls Parkway. The hills can wait.

((fill in the blank)) of life is just showing up

I've had some very good excuses, but I still felt a little bit bad about not making it to so many of my own scheduled Sunday morning runs at Hinckley. The excuses ranged from biblical snowstorms to being out of town. But since I had arranged the darn things, I still felt that I was a bit lagging in fulfilling my obligations. To me, you see, just showing up is pretty important stuff.

Today's excuses would've been no less valid. My wrecked knee from the previous day's run, and more biblical snow could've/would've/should've kept me at home once again. But they didn't. I did show up, although I didn't run the usual 5:30 am nine-mile loop with the gang. Nope, I bid my friends adieu, and then proceeded to shuffle around in the snow for a few miles.

The old knee was okay today. Shuffling agrees with it.

9:34, 8:22, 8:10, 8:05, 7:58, 7:50, 7:40, 8:13, 9:05, 9:00, 12:00, 13:42

Yes, those were my splits from yesterday's run. I was with friends Dave Gajewski, Chris and Larry Orwin, Kevin Jones and Chris' friend Colin (I don't know his last name). They tell a bit of a story. The crash and burn occurred suddenly, as usual, just as we made the turn onto the parkway with a couple miles to go. Larry very graciously stayed with me as we walked and jogged our way in.

I've mentioned this knee thing before. Now, unfortunately, I am afraid I have to mention it again. Sorry about this.

It was near 0F, and I was working pretty hard to keep up with the fast kids. We were lucky that there was no wind, and only a small amount of snow and ice on the roads. As we drove up the hill on Barr Road, the 'ole knee began to talk to me. Ease up, or else, it said.

I did listen. Larry and I went from eight minute miles to nine minute ones. But as we made that turn, I learned quite suddenly how inadequate my slowdown had been.

Dad-gum it. It had been a couple weeks since I'd had any pain at all. Except for my perpetual PF, I was beginning to think that I was going to be okay,

Okay, bear with me a while longer. Here are for my sudden knee blowout common denominators.

1) It's always cold. Often extremely so, like yesterday.
2) I'm always pushing the pace, at least somewhat faster than I would be otherwise.
3) It's always at the far end of a long run, or a long couple of runs.
3) It's almost always when I least expect it.

Okay, I'm done. For now.

Effort Miles

My friend and running partner Dave Gajewski does not own a GPS running watch. He prefers not to measure his running as precisely as some other runners. When running slower than usual (and therefore not as far) due to challenging weather conditions, he tells me he ran so many effort miles.

As someone who shuffled and slid through extremely deep snow for an hour today, and will call it five miles because he didn't wear his GPS because he didn't really want to measure anything accurately today and who has been known to do this shuffling and poor measurement in the past, even more so during this 'winter from hell' although it's not quite appropriate to call it that because it is kind of an insult to hell, but then hell is associated with heat and not cold, so it's not quite appropriate for that reason either... like the Dude, I can abide.

Doing Effie Twice. At My Age.

Effie on an earlier winter run                       photo by Dan DeRosha

Yes, people my age are usually happy to be able to Effie once, for Pete's sake. But there I was, trudging up the old hag for the second time. And folks are passing me like I was standing still. But I didn't mind. You see, it had been a real long time since I'd done the hilly Hinckley nine-mile loop twice, and after a rough month, I was happy just to be able to make the distance. Effie, by the way, is the name of the big hill on Ledge Road, about half-way through the loop.

These Sunday morning runs at Hinckley are being reinstituted, mostly by me. And we had a great turnout of MCRR runners. I ran the first loop with Renee Harden and Rick Roman. Even for that first time up Effie, they had to wait for me at the top. But I didn't mind; overall, it was a relatively fast one considering the inch or so of snow on the roads. Not so for my second loop - that one was, I think, a PW.

But as I said, I didn't mind.


PostScript: I should add that in my younger days I was able to do Effie three times. Maybe I'll get back to that level one of these decades. On the other hand, I've heard warnings that if you're doing Effie for more than four hours, you should seek immediate medical attention.

Alone in the Deep, Dark Woods

I suppose I've now done about five outside runs from my new office area, into Cleveland Metroparks’ North Chagrin Reservation. They've all been in the disorienting darkness, and until today, they've all been under the expert tutelage of Dave Gajewski.

Yesterday’s run with Dave and his running buddy Kevin didn't go so well for me. Having just gotten over this sinus infection and the previous day’s excellent Medina Half Marathon group course run, I wasn't up to the task of running that hilly nine-mile course with those guys. I kept falling behind, which frustrated me. They would occasionally run back to me, which frustrated me more. And then I had an even further tough time keeping up, which frustrated me still more. But what frustrated me the most was when, near the end of the run, my left knee decided to give out again. As usual, I screamed out like a girl with the sudden pain.

On top of everything else, I haven’t been completely sure where exactly I've been during these early morning runs in the darkness. So today, running all by my lonesome self for the first time, I decided to explore. It was about time I learned my way around on my own.

And I did. Now, today’s run wasn't exactly stellar either. It wound up as about six sluggish miles. I started slow and ended slower, even feeling a little dizzy as I was finishing up. But I did it. I learned my way around the park. At least a good part of it.

Playing in the Snow

Most adults don't get to go out to play in the snow. Those with kids do sometimes. And runners do.

Yes, we runners get to go out and play in the snow. I did it today, which also happens to be New Year's Day, 2014. And it was fun.

2013 wasn't too bad. I ran my 100th, and final marathon. I barely achieved my goal of getting faster at shorter stuff - mostly by doing better than I did in 2012, but not necessarily earlier years. Picked up some AG awards along the way. And I capped off the year with an excellent (for me) 50K at Buckeye Woods.

The last couple weeks haven't been quite so stellar, however. For some reason I ran really slow for my runs in Connecticut. And then, in a not necessarily unrelated event, I caught a bad cold from the grand-kids. With these sniffles, I ran indoors the last two days, and was almost going to do so once again today.

But then I looked outside. There were only a few inches of new snow, and the temperature, at 19F, wasn't all that bad. So out I went.

It's not really possible to run fast in snow that's more than a couple inches deep. And I sure didn't today. It was 11:30 miles at best; it took over an hour forty to get nine miles in.

But those slow miles were fun slow miles. I'll pick it up again next time I'm on the mill.

Seemed Like Farther

This is yet another variation on my recurring it seemed like faster theme.

After a few easy miles I arrive at Joel Barlow High School and immediately begin doing loops around the school grounds. I've done these things before when visiting the kids here in Redding, CT. Somehow, according to my failing memory, I thought these loops were something like one and a quarter miles. It's too bad that I'm wearing my Soleus GPS this time. That's because that contraption tells me that the loop is only 0.85 miles.

It sure seemed like farther. With hopes of picking up the pace I do another loop. It's faster, but not by much. I do another, still slow. At some point I start to think this measurement stuff is for the birds. I'm averaging ten to eleven minute miles, and had I not been wearing the Soleus, I'd have said they were nine-minute ones. I guess it doesn't matter whether I say felt like farther or felt like faster. It's all the same space-time continuum.

I like the school area because there's not so much traffic in the area. Of course it helps that school's out. It's Boxing Day. Yesterday's Christmas Day run hadn't been much to speak of, but I didn't have much time since we were about to jump in the car for the long drive over here. I do a couple out-and back runs to add mileage, and then, now that it's getting light, start on the dirt trail through the woods.

The dirt trail is actually mostly crushed stone, and the woods are quite nice; I like this route. I remember it to be a mile long, and - for once -my GPS confirms this. I do three loops, each a bit faster.

And now it's time to head back home. No sense picking up the speed now. Saunter is as saunter does.

Twist and Shout

Two Weeks Ago...
"EEEEOOOOW!" I was on my sixth and last five-mile loop of the Buckeye Woods 50K, running with Patti Tomasello and Shari Geiger, when I experienced a sudden, excruciating pain in my left knee. I stopped running, and Shari and Patti did as well out of concern. I must have twisted it, and/or landed funny, but the pain was huge. My fleeting thoughts turned to wondering whether I'd have to walk the final two and a half miles of the race.

I didn't mention this incident in my race report, because just as suddenly as the pain appeared, it went away. In less than a minute, I was once again back to running the same pace with my friends. My knee didn't bother me a bit for the remainder of the run.

Today at about eight-thirty...
"EEEEOOOOW!" It had, until this point, been a good day and even a good week of running. For the week, I'd done all my runs at my new company's fitness center treadmills as well as outside in the adjacent park with long-time running partner Dave Gajewski. After an easy recovery week following BW50K, these runs had gone pretty well. Today's running had been going even better. I'd done the Hinckley nine-mile big loop at a faster than usual pace with Will Bertemes, Brian Becker and Renee Harden. I'd done a three-mile lake loop with a larger group who showed up at eight o'clock. I'd just started on my second lake loop, when I felt that sudden pain once again.

This time it wasn't on a dirt trail with snow and rocks and roots; I was on a smooth bike trail. I wish I knew what caused the twist of the knee this time, or that other time for that matter, but there it was. Rob Lisy and the others stopped with me out of concern. "I'll be fine, I said. The same thing happened two weeks ago." Sure enough, I did recover and continue my run once again.

Today at about eight-thirty-seven...
'EEEEOOOOW!' Okay, time to stop. I'd only gone another three-quarters of a mile, and it happened again. I slogged back to the car, done for the day.

Now I'm getting a little concerned.

Buckeye Woods 50K – One for the Ages (Well, Pretty Much, Anyway)

“How many people are ahead of you?” Connie Gardner had appeared at the BW50K start/finish/aid station to help a bit, and had decided to join me for my third five-mile loop. I had run the first two with Jeannine Nicholson and Beth Bugner, and I was glad to also have Connie’s company for this one. I hadn’t really thought about it till now. “Oh, a bunch,” I answered, “at least seven or eight.”

Jeannine Nicholson, Beth Bugner and Fancy Pants Horvath     photo by John McCarroll

But then I thought about it some more. “Wait a minute,” I said, “I think most of them are doing the 25K. There’s only one of them that I know of who’s doing the fifty: Pete Schwanke. But he’s good; he ran a fast time here last year.” Connie, never one to mince words, said, “Let’s get him!” Sure enough, I did pick up the pace for that lap. But then I was running with Connie; a faster pace probably would have happened anyway. I may have made a little progress in this new quest for first during that quick forty-one minutes, but I knew I would inevitably slow down in the second half. My only hope was that Pete would as well. Wouldn't that be neat, I briefly fantasized, to win my own race?

I did slow down;  Pete didn't. I could tell by where we’d pass by each other going opposite directions, that he was gaining, not losing ground on me. The best I’d be able to hope for this day would be second. And even that would be a challenge.

“Dan…” (pregnant pause)…  “Do NOT let her catch you!” Harold Dravenstott said this to me as we made the final turn towards home on my last lap. I had a mile and a half to go. “She” was Nicole Gareri, who was coming by at a high rate of speed in the opposite direction, only a quarter mile behind. Nicole was last year’s winner, and she was about to win and finish strong once again this year.

As if I needed another challenge. We’d been running on hard packed snow and some ice for the entire race. The air was cold, and the wind had picked up a bit. I had been happily running this last loop (my slowest at about ten minute per mile pace) with Patti Tomasello and Shari Geiger, thinking I’d be thrilled to simply finish in vertical fashion. Except now I had to try to respond to Harold’s call to action.

I did pick up the pace as best I could, and I barely stayed ahead of Nicole. She finished just behind me.

Just happy to finish    photo by John McCarroll

With over sixty runners, BW50K was bigger by far than ever before. Our new rule that you had to be a club member to run this free race paid off big-time: we had about 25 people join the club. And several, including Patti and Shari, completed their first ultra. I think everyone had fun. With the race growing as it is, however, I won’t be able to organize it next year. I hope I can find someone to take it on.

I’m pretty proud of my second place finish as well as my time of 4:45. I’ll go as far as to say that this is (just about) one for the ages. It’s a legitimate distance, trails, and although there are no hills, the conditions were tough. In spite of that, this was my second best trail 50K ever. Even the other three that I did here were slower by a minute or more. The only faster one was at Another Dam 50K in the heat a few years ago.

But that’s a different story.

Cleveland West Road Runners Club Fall Classic Half Marathon

Yes, that's a mouthful. And there's plenty to say about it as well. Luckily for you, dear reader, I am in a brief (vs boxer) sort of mood today.

I carpooled with John Pavlick and Amy Grentzer, The weather forecast had been for snow showers with 1-3 inches possible, along with a low of 19, a high of 26, and extremely cold winds. Sure enough, it was 19, and those extremely cold winds made it feel like it was in the low single digits. The snow didn't materialize, however. But standing around before the start was C. O. L. D! We saw some other friends and were able to commiserate a little. Once I started to warm up, things felt better. Except whenever I ran into the wind.

Before the start

And once the race actually started, I began to warm up some more. I went right out at my usual 7:30 pace, and actually felt okay. I'd averaged 7:30 at my last half - the Inland Trail Half - only a few weeks ago. I'd been thinking that I could do better this time, and maybe I could.

But then I turned around, and felt the wind in my face. This race, which I've done more times than I can count, is a double out and back on the Valley Parkway in Strongsville. It winds around a lot, but there are no hills. One of the neat things about it is seeing all your friends, regardless of your speed or their speed, so many times during the race. This year it was no different. Except that everyone was so bundled up, it was at times hard to recognize everyone.

Oh yes, the turn. As I headed back north and west the wind nearly stood me up. And it felt as cold as ever. I went by many of the 5K runners for my first circuit through the start/finish area. My time was something like 49 minutes and change. I'd slowed down a bit.

Somewhere in the middle

Now came the second half. Could I pick it up? I ran much of the way with Eileen Meisler. There was quite a bit of back and forth with her and a few others. As we turned back for the final 5K, that wind hit once again. But Eileen got ahead of me and picked it up some more. I tried to follow.

I did manage to pass her and a couple others in the final 1/2 mile, but one guy passed me. I think those last two miles were my fastest. My time was 1:39:19. That was tough!

Once again, it was fun, but C. O. L. D. to hang out at the finish, talking with everyone about that cold wind, and how cold we all felt. Naturally that only made us feel colder. I changed, but my hands were still freezing until John lent me his warm gloves.

I found out that I was second in my age group, but a matter of seven or so seconds. I hadn't seen the guy, but then remembered that the awards were based on chip time; he may have been behind me.

Maybe next year will be my year. Oh yes. I do have at least one more race for this year. Some little thing called BW50K.

Early was Late

In the PBS documentary, The Civil War, historian Shelby Foote describes an incident where Confederate General Robert E. Lee was awaiting the arrival of General Jubal Early and his troops in order to help at the battle of Gettysburg. Lee was upset because "Early was late," he said.

On Saturday I decided to run on the towpath with Dave Gajewski, Kevin Jones and Larry Orwin and wife Christine. They are a fast bunch, but I felt up tot the task. So much so, in fact, that I also decided to arrive early to do some extra miles. I'd had thoughts of stretching the 12-14 they'd planned on, up to 20 or so. But due to some early morning procrastination, I had the consternation of arriving only about ten minutes early, resulting in the frustration of only winding up with 13.5 for the day. The pace was a good one, however.

Had I run longer on Saturday, I wouldn't have felt the need to also run on Sunday, but now I did. In fact, I decided to arrive early for the Hinckley 9-mile loop organized by club members including Shari Geiger. If I could arrive an hour and a half early, in fact, I could get two loops in. But due to some early morning procrastination, I arrived a little bit later than that. This time I did get some decent miles in, however. I did two lake loops and almost enough other stuff to make nearly nine. So this time I wound up with a bit under 18 for the day.

31 for the weekend, and 71 for the week (the most since Cleveland) isn't bad. I guess that if you fail enough, all those failures added together can still be pretty good.

Every Hour, On the Hour

Instant Relief! That's what I felt as I started the fourth six-mile out and back loop on the Lester Rail Trail for the second time.

The first time hadn't gone so well; the PF pain had gradually gotten worse during the third loop, and it was excruciating at the first start of the fourth. As I returned to the car, I changed from my Montrail Mountain Massochist's to my Hoka OneOne Stinson Evo's. I'd also been thinking about quitting altogether; Nineteen miles wouldn't be all that bad after that half-marathon 48 hours ago. But dad-burn it, I'd never failed to complete a 24-miler here on the Lester, and I didn't want this to be the first time. Even so, it'd been a while. Quite a while.

The Hoka's, with the Powerstep insoles, provided the instant relief from the PF pain that I'd hoped for. This truly amazed me. It's too bad that the rest of me was in pain as well, and I had a long way to go.

The first three laps had gone quite well. I arrived at 4:00 AM, in order to get a loop in before Jack Reilly showed up at 5. Jack only did one loop with me, so I was back on my own for the third loop at 6. All this running had been at close to nine minutes per mile, and I was pleased as punch about it.

But then came those final six. Even without the PF pain, they weren't one bit pretty. Can you spell 'ten thirty miles?' Somehow I made it though.

This had been a test; a test to see if I could/would do the full 50K at Buckeye Woods in December. I guess I passed. This means that as of now, I may consider going for it. But I got a long way to go.

Inland Trail Half-Marathon

'It's so boring!' That's the number one complaint about the Inland Trail Marathon and Half-Marathon over the past few years. The marathon was out thirteen miles on the Inland Trail, a rails-to-trails bike path, and back. The half was point to point; they bused the runners out to the marathon turnaround point in Kipton, and they just ran back to Murray Ridge School in Elyria. I've run the marathon three times, and I've never experienced said boredom. But then I can't remember being bored on any run at any time. 'I've experienced many different problems during my various runs,' I like to respond, 'but boredom isn't one of them.' In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed each of my races there at/on Inland. It helps that I’ve also run them well.

After listening to all the other runners' complaints about the race, the organizers decided to change the course this year. We ran on country roads and through subdivisions for the first eight miles before finally getting onto the Inland Trail itself. Then we stayed on the trail for the final five miles of the half. The marathoners would continue on for a much longer out and back portion. Having been part of the silent majority who actually did like the old course, I didn't know what I'd make of the new one. But I figured it would still be small (it was), and fast (it was), so I thought I'd give it a shot. I drove in with Jack Reilly and Michelle Wolff.

The early November weather was, as usual, absolutely perfect: upper thirties to low forties, a few decorative clouds and a very light breeze. But speaking of breezes, I was pretty winded during the first half-mile, until I backed off just a bit. My time was 7:22. Boy, would it be great if I could maintain that pace.

'Hello? I'm running a race - what do you want?' I, along with a couple ladies in the vicinity had to laugh at overhearing (we couldn't help it) Shelby Buell's phone conversation early in the race. I tried to kid Shelby about it, but he didn't hear me. By mile five I was averaging about 7:30 per mile. Not bad, if I could only maintain that pace. Where have we heard that before?

A few miles and a couple gels later, I got onto the Inland Trail. The country roads and subdivision hadn't been bad - except some runners didn't like the half-mile of rough gravel road at mile seven - but now that we were finally on the trail for which the race was named, I realized how much I missed the old, 'boring' course. It was beautiful with the remaining fall leaves decorating the sides of the trail, and it was quiet to the point of being serene.

There was an aid station as I turned onto the trail, and I took a quick sip of water. Soon thereafter, my GPS notified me that I'd run eight miles in almost exactly sixty minutes; I was still doing 7:30's. A minute and a half later, at mile 8.16, I spotted the eight mile marker. Until that point, the course markings hadn't been very much different from my GPS. But surely this was a mistake; the next miles would be shorter, and everything would be in sync again.

A couple things happened at mile nine:

1) I spotted the first half-marathoner coming back at me on the trail. The turn-around was at mile ten, so he was about two ahead of me. I decided to begin counting everyone who was in front of me.

2) I spotted an aid station up ahead and took a gel, anticipating that I would be able to wash it down with a cup of water. But the table was not manned. Or even womaned. And although there were some water coolers, there weren't even any cups. The gel wasn't going down so well, but I guess I'd manage. Surely there would be more water ahead; they wouldn't make us run the final five miles of a half-marathon without water, would they?

3) Mile nine was off by the same amount as mile eight.

The turnaround was just after mile ten. *Their* mile ten. I'd counted eighteen runners ahead of me. One of them appeared to be about my age. But surely he'd be in some other age group. There was no more water. Surely they'd have someone manning the one at mile 9/11 by now.

It was still dry. I took another waterless gel. Picking it up a little, I passed Shelby and a few other runners. According to my watch, my final two miles were my fastest: 7:08 and 7:07. I figured there were only fourteen ahead of me as I made my final turn onto Murray Ridge Road. The volunteer said, 'only a half-mile to go!' I wanted to yell back, 'but I've got 12.9 *now*! How can there be a half-mile left?' But I didn't; he was only the messenger.

At mile 13.3, I finished in 1:38 and a half. Just about the seven-thirty pace that I wanted. And it was good to finish strong. Not strong enough, unfortunately, to win the age group; that other guy beat me by four minutes.

But I'm still pleased with my performance. I did what I was capable of. And I really shouldn't complain about all those minor trials and tribulations. Surely they really do go with the territory.

Success! Well, kinda

Obsessed with time as I am, I wait for the two-mile mark on my six-mile route and note that the GPS watch alerts me right where I think it should, and at that point I also start up my normal watch. Two watches? Well, I do have two wrists after all.

There actually is a reason, but I have a hard time explaining it. What happens next during today's run will help. I run this course fairly often, and I know where the mile splits are. Or at least where I have always thought they were. This is only the first or second time I've done this run whilst donning my GPS. Comparing the GPS miles with my own 'traditional' splits would be illustrative.

This was also yet another tempo attempt. Those haven't been going so swell lately - ever since that vacation. The funny thing is that the regular weekly speedwork does still seem to be going good. But tempos? Not so great. A case in point was Saturday's Pause for a Cause 5K in Medina. According to said trusty GPS, my mile splits were 7:18, 7:31 and 6:32, along with 1:40 for the final .1, which was more like .2. If I can't do 3 consecutive sub-seven minute miles in a race, how the heck can I do it in a training run?

My GPS tells me that mile three, the first of my three tempo miles, is also where I thought it
should be. The GPS therefore agrees with my watch for that first mile split time. And - yay - it's sub-seven.

I cross back over Pearl Road, turn right, then left for a nice downhill portion of the course. I cross over the traditional mile four and hit my watch again. Sub-seven again. Double-yay! But the GPS thinks I've got a way to go yet. It doesn't tell me that I've hit mile four for quite a while. When it does go off, the time is 7:18. Not so good.

A little chagrined, I continue south, cross over Center Road, and keep going. Now on the Dead Presidents streets, I come around and wind up heading north once again. I cross the traditional mile five point and hit my watch again to get the split. Great news - it is also sub-seven. I did it! Except the GPS is once again saying, literally and figuratively, not so fast. It once again waits until 7:17 or so to tell me that I've completed another mile.

I certainly do know what to do about all this: toss that dang contraption in the trash. Facts can be such pesky things.

9:30 Now and Eventually a Wannabe

Two days in a row I got myself caffeined up, and then shot out that door. I was gonna get a fast start, and continue on to a fast overall run - something of substance - if it killed me.

After some lackadaisical running after returning from vacation, I did manage a decent speedwork session at the track on Tuesday. The yassos went well, and they sure felt fast. But then looking back in my log to just a few weeks earlier, they were somewhat slower.

All this was okay, I told myself. As long as I can eventually bounce back, there's no shame in having a few slow weeks. But how long is eventually?

For both days, that lightning-fast first mile came in at 9:30. Of course this is another case of, it felt faster. Much faster. For both days, I did get a little faster for subsequent miles, but not where I was; especially not where I want to be.

Hmmm. Wannabe. Maybe I'll get there eventually.

Running in Alaska

This is a chronicle of my running adventures in Alaska during our September 2013 trip.

First Run in Anchorage

Bears! Bears? Here? Couldn't happen, could it? It hit me at 58 1/2 minutes into my planned two-hour run. Only a minute and a half before I would be turning back anyway. Why do these things always occur to me at precisely these times? 

Here's a grizzly Debbie and I spotted
from the car a couple days later

The run had begun innocently enough. I'd started off running north from our Anchorage hotel on A Street, towards downtown, until I hit the Chester Creek Trail. One of several all-purpose trails crisscrossing the city, this one's very nice. It's wooded, and alongside a nice creek. The path passes through tunnels and under bridges, so you hardly even know that you're in a city. There is even some lighting - which helps at 4:00 am.

The Chester Creek Trail took me west, past a large lake, and ended at the Coastal Trail. I turned left to go south. Now I was running along the shore, but things were just a little surreal.

There are wooded areas, but some homes and roads to my left, along with the water to my right. Except I never saw, heard or smelled any ocean. No ocean breeze. No crashing surf. I believe it's a very protected bay or inlet, and the tide was way out, such that the ocean was both close by and far away at the same time. It is quiet and mostly dark, although I could see fairly well with the lights of Anchorage behind me.

As I venture on, there are fewer and fewer houses and roads, and more and more woods to my left. At some point the trail veers away from the coast, and into the woods. Now, further away from the city lights, and in these deeper woods, the thought of bears popped into my head.

They wouldn't roam this close to Anchorage, would they? And they wouldn't be out in the dark, would they? Even if so, they surely wouldn't want to fool with some silly, solitary, skinny old runner traveling stupidly through these woods, would they?

This is how I manage to spook myself every time. Naturally I become more and more afraid, the more I think about it.

My fear isn't quite strong enough to override my plan to go 60 minutes before turning back. It occurs to me that these last ninety seconds of continuance in this outward direction, given that I'm already thinking about bears and other wind things in these woods, are the dumbest of all. But I'd planned to go an hour each way, and dad-gum it, I was gonna do it!

I come to a park - one of several along the way, and turn back. I pick up the pace; no doubt partially due to all this newfound adrenaline in my system. I find myself getting back so quickly that I even tack on a couple extra couple miles back on the Chester Creek Trail. It is still dark when I got back to the Springhill Suites, but the city has begun to wake up. For Debbie and me, it was time for breakfast.

I never did see any bears or even any wildlife of any kind during this run. Except in my mind.

I learn later on that Anchorage is one of the only cities in the world where human/grizzly encou ters have been documented.

Heavenly Healy Happenings

You might say I'm a little out of my element. I'm starting out for another run in the early morning darkness, this time from the Denali Lakeview Inn B&B in Healy. Yesterday's imaginary bear encounter had spooked me, but the Inn's posted notice about a grizzly sighting at the lake - which is all of about ten feet from or room's deck – has spooked me more.

Healy is ten miles north of the entrance to Denali National Park. Debbie and I had explored the park on our way up here yesterday, and we'd be doing more hiking there later today. It's a wonderful park, and it and the surrounding areas are burgeoning with bears. But we didn't see any. Perhaps they would reveal themselves to this goofy, lone runner.

Running in Healy with my
flashlight and bear spray

This time, I've got a flashlight, because it's so darn dark out here. I'm dressed fairly warm, since it's around 33 degrees. And did I mention that it’s snowing? Yes, snowing - on the 29th of September. But the real reason I'm out of my element is because of the bear spray. I cannot say that I've ever carried bear spray during a run before.

Since the can is about the size of an 8 ounce bottle of shampoo and sits in a holster-like pocket, I have to attach it to a belt in order to wear it, and the only belt I have is a leather one. It's all a bit awkward.

It's a mile and a quarter on deep, dark Otto Lake Road up to the highway. I run so slowly that it's almost like walking. It takes me fourteen minutes and change.

Now on the highway, I head south towards the park. I had thought that there would be lights, traffic, and other human activity here. There is nothing of the sort; it's nearly as dark and deserted as Otto Lake Road was. Eventually a few cars do go by at seventy miles an hour. The snow is still falling, but it's not sticking to the ground in these parts.

I know that I'm surrounded by the park's mountains. They're all around me - we saw them yesterday. But I can't see them at all due to the darkness and snow. It's actually pretty eerie.

I decide to go by the mile markers, so I do two of them and a bit more before turning back at three and a half miles and 37 1\2 minutes. Now I pick it up, finally doing sub-nine minute miles, based on the markers. I'm back to the B&B in only about 30 minutes, and it's already beginning to get a little light.

For the second straight run, there was no bear encounter.

Back in Anchorage

There are supposed to be northern lights in these parts, but I'm not seeing them. After a snowstorm changed our travel plans, I'm back in Anchorage earlier and for more time than expected. That's fine in several ways, including running, since this is such a runnable city. Back to the aurora borealis. The sky is completely clear for a change, and the stars are out. The bike trails I am running on - some of the same ones as before - go through the city, so there are city lights, but they also take me through some parks where I can see the stars better. Unfortunately - really, this time, considering the possible bears from previous runs - no aurora.

Now for my next run in Anchorage, I decide to do a faster run. 'Faster' being a relative term. It's fun to do these great trails, but most of my running here has been painfully slow; I'm simply not pushing myself. To exacerbate the problem, all this dining out is helping me to pack on the pounds. The best I can do is about eight-minute pace for the route back. Feels like seven. But I may as well call it a small victory and be happy with it.

The Coastal Trail in Anchorage

On yet another Anchorage run, light rain is falling, and it's 42 degrees. I usually don't like these kinds of conditions, but I am not bothered by them for this run. It's a run of exploration and discovery. Heading south on A/C streets for the first time, I'm trying to boldly go where no Brunstuckian has gone before - mostly I'm trying to find a different bike trail that's supposed to cross by here. Alas. I am not able to locate it. This turns out to be a slow, soggy slog of un-discovery. But I'm not totally devastated, for I've survived to run yet another day.

Now it's my last run in Anchorage; we're moving on to Homer later this morning. I'm heading north on the coastal trail, and the clouds, like everything else in Alaska, are awesome. They're hanging low around the buildings, and are glowing in hues of bright blue and orange. I figure that the lighting is due to reflections of the city lights. I continue north on the trail. I'm moving at a solid eight minute pace today, and get to the five-mile mark in under forty minutes. It took me forty-five minutes the other day. It helps to have someone chasing you. What is it with these Alaska runners? The other day I was moving really well at well under eight-minute pace, and a guy actually passed me up! Now I am squarely on the north side of downtown, with nothing much north of here. And there's still that  blue glow to the north. Could it be northern lights?

I never actually find out. I do some more miles up in that neck of the woods before turning back. I maintain the eight minute pace for fourteen miles - this is one of my best runs here in AK. I never find out about the northern lights.

Heavenly Homer - and the 'Race'

The Homer Spit is a narrow peninsula jutting out from Homer into Kachemak Bay. As Debbie and I drive out to the end of it, I figure that this would just have to be the course for my run tomorrow. That had become my plan... until Debbie picks up a just printed copy of the Homer News, which informs us that there's a half-marathon here in Homer this Saturday, the day after tomorrow, the day we'd planned on driving to our next stop, Seward. This changes everything.

The Homestead Trail where we hiked
one day, and where I ran the next

I'm running alone on the race course, but not as part of the race itself. The plan had been for Debbie to drop me off at the high school for the start of the half and pick me up at the finish, since the run was point to point. But now we'd learned that the race starts at 10; not 8:30 as stated in the paper. Check in began at 8:30. 10 would have been too late for me to start; we had wanted to get a reasonably early start on the drive to Seward. The race check-in lady had told me that I could run on the course anyway, since the trails were already marked.

The Homestead Trail

The trails lead up. Way up. It would have been a very tough half-marathon. I told Debbie that I'd meet her at the hotel in an hour or a bit more (I’d be doing less than thirteen), and we'd be on our way after that. Luckily, I'm in fairly familiar territory, since we had hiked these trails the day before. Even though the course is tough, it's a perfect day for running (about 40F, sunny, and no wind), the leaves and general scenery are smashing, and I'm having a great time.

I do eventually decide to turn back towards town, cutting back down closer to the Best Western where we're staying. I encounter a middle-school track, where I manage to get a tempo run in. It wasn't easy, but it felt good when I stopped. What an enjoyable and memorable run.

Stupendous Seward, and a Marathon of a Different Kind

I'm running scared once again. But to call this shuffling 'running' may be pushing it a bit. Like a complete idiot, I'm without my flashlight and my bear spray.

I am on the Mount Marathon race course. The road went uphill until it ended, and now I'm doing this shuffling on a dark, rocky, uphill trail. The Mount Marathon race is held July 4th, and it takes runners up, and back down this 3,000+ foot mountain, all in just 3.25 miles. Course record is 43 minutes.

I look up. Although there are tall, steep mountains all around, I can still view enough of the dark sky to see the brightest stars I've seen in years. And I'm really not all that far from town. What self-respecting aurora borealis wouldn't show itself in a sky like this? Alas, there are no northern lights this day. But I do indeed enjoy those stars.

Oh yeah. I'm supposed to be running. I'd actually come to a complete stop for a time, not even walking. I head back down into town in order to do some real running. I turn south to the end of the road on that end, but that gets dark and a bit scary too. Debbie and I would hike here on the coastal trail later in the day.

I finish my run in and around town. This was probably my slowest run during the trip. But no less memorable.

In fact, they were all memorable, every dang single last one of them. Where will this running stuff take me next?

To read more about this Alaska trip, including some exciting hikes, please click here.

To see all our Alaska photos, click here.