The Tale of the Pied Piper

Frank Shorter won a marathon in Munich and led us all astray... This article appeared in the September/October 2012 issue of Marathon & Beyond. I am unable to find the entire text online, and Marathon & Beyond has ceased publication, although back issues are still available. Now it has been even more than 40 years, but I still like the article. Here it is again.

A sudden thought occurred to me during a recent sleepless night: it has been 40 years since Frank Shorter’s Olympic marathon win at the 1972 Olympic Games. I reflected on the moment. Those Games were as memorable as any. They included Mark Spitz, Lasse Viren, Steve Prefontaine, Olga Korbut, Dave Wottle, the USA men’s basketball team’s loss to the Soviet Union, and also the Munich massacre—the killing of the Israeli athletes. But for many road runners old enough to have seen it, our most vivid, most enduring memory was that of Shorter’s win.

It wasn’t just the fact that no American had won the event since 1908. Here before our eyes, on live television, this seemingly average American man was able to train hard enough to win against the world’s best. For me, the image of Shorter entering the Olympic Stadium ahead of everyone else (except an impostor) will forever be etched in my memory.

Of course, I understand that Shorter is anything but average, but that was the thought at the time. And that’s a large part of the reason that his win marked the start of the running movement. It certainly got me going.

A watershed moment if there ever was one, Shorter’s gold medal sparked running as we know it today. Before the 1972 Olympics, only a few odd, skinny people ran. There were only a handful of marathons and other road races available around the country. After the 1972 Olympics, truly average people began to believe that if they just went out and trained, great things could happen.

Great things did happen. With all the new runners hitting the roads, several big cities inaugurated marathons and other road races to accommodate them. The growth of road racing began to accelerate further; with more road racing in the spotlight, even more people began to run.

And the trend continues to this day, although not without some setbacks and lulls. But now the growth is accelerating to levels unfathomable in 1972.

It started with an American guy entering the Olympic Stadium and crossing the finish line 40 years ago.

Before Munich

Yes, there was running before the 1972 Munich Olympics. Track and field enjoyed perhaps a little more notoriety than it does today. US sprinters led the world, as they do now. Among distance runners, Marty Liquori, Jim Ryun, Billy Mills, and most recently Steve Prefontaine had all become well known in the previous decade.

US high schools and colleges fielded track and cross-country teams, as they do now. Football and basketball programs grabbed more attention, as they still do today, but some young athletes dedicated themselves to running.

Two factors limited the future for runners after their college days were completed. First, it was virtually impossible to make a living by running. With amateurism as the rule for the Olympics as well as for most other events, sponsorship opportunities were almost unknown. Professional runners were nearly nonexistent.

The second limiting factor was that there were only a handful of opportunities to compete in road races. The Boston Marathon had a proud tradition, and there were some other marathons and road races of other distances. But these events were so few, and so small, that most runners didn’t bother with them. In fact, most people weren’t aware of road races at all. Most didn’t know what a marathon was. Road running, for most practical purposes, did not exist yet.

Five years before the 1972 Olympic Games, Kathrine Switzer had her famous encounter with Jock Semple at the Boston Marathon. At the time, the Boston Athletic Association had articulated no policy regarding women runners. Switzer entered the race as “K. V. Switzer.” Partway through the run, B.A.A. race organizer Semple attempted to physically force her out of the race. A boyfriend intervened, and Switzer famously completed the marathon. Photos of the incident demonstrated a truth not generally believed before: women can run long distances. Who knew?

Katherine Switzer’s original Boston Marathon run in 1967 directly resulted in women being (finally) allowed to officially enter the race in 1972. This simple activity would never be the same, especially for women. It’s notable that the 1972 Olympic Games featured only limited opportunities for female distance runners to compete. The longest event for them that year was 1,500 meters. A couple of more Olympic Games would go by before women would be allowed to compete in longer events.

The 1972 Olympic Games

The Games of the XX Olympiad were much anticipated. They were held in Munich, Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany), from August 26 to September 11, 1972. The only other time the Olympic Games were held in Germany was in 1936 in Berlin. Those had come just prior to World War II, and the war was still fresh in the memories of many in 1972. The government of West Germany was intent on showing the country in a positive light.

Cold War tension was nearly at a peak. An undercurrent of the Games would be the competition between East and West. Athletes from the Soviet Union and East Germany were often the ones to beat, from the American perspective.

In the United States, television coverage would be greatly enhanced from that of previous Olympics. The expanded coverage had Americans interested and engaged as never before.

On September 5, with six days remaining, an event occurred that would shock the world and change the Games forever. A group of Palestinian terrorists known as Black September broke into the Olympic Village and proceeded to hold 11 Israeli athletes, officials, and coaches hostage. Two of the Israelis were killed early in the ordeal when they tried to overpower their captors. Later, as the terrorists and their hostages were being transferred to an airport, West German authorities attempted a rescue mission. The result was that all of the hostages and several of the terrorists were killed.

The Munich massacre, as it is now called, understandably left the Games in disarray. Olympic events were initially suspended, and then, after 24 hours and a memorial ceremony at Olympic Stadium, they were allowed to continue.

Even after the resumption of the Olympic events, American athletes, as well as many of the others, still wondered whether they ought to compete. Besides the obvious security concerns, the massacre gave them reason to think about whether it would be respectful to participate. But Olympic officials and American coaches determined that the Games must go on. The athletes ultimately agreed, and the Games did continue.

Before and after the massacre, there were many outstanding and memorable athletic events and achievements. Olga Korbut, a young, diminutive, and gifted Soviet gymnast, captured the hearts of everyone watching from around the world. American swimmer Mark Spitz won an unprecedented seven gold medals. The US men’s basketball team lost to the Soviet Union in a controversial game for the gold medal.

Track and field events were just beginning when the massacre occurred. They resumed with even more memorable feats. Popular American runner Steve Prefontaine famously took the lead in the 5,000-meter final before being passed near the finish and coming in fourth. The winner, Lasse Viren of Finland, also won gold at the 10,000, in spite of falling early in that race. In one of the most thrilling 800-meter races ever, American Dave Wottle, who had been running dead last, passed the entire field, including the last runner, a Russian, in the final 200 meters.

In the sprints, American and Soviet runners continued the close competition, with the Soviets winning more than their usual share. East German women appeared to be winning an awful lot as well.

The 1972 Olympic Marathon

Frank Shorter was born in Munich in 1947. His father, a US Army officer, had been stationed there. He grew up in Middletown, New York, graduated from Yale University, and was then busy as a law student at the University of Florida. Running the Olympic Marathon in the city of his birth was a dream come true.

Shorter had been successful on the track, winning NCAA and national 10,000-meter titles. He had only recently tried the marathon. But he had already achieved success there as well, winning the event at the Pan American Games in 1971 and tying with Kenny Moore at the US Olympic Marathon trials. What was he thinking leading up to the race? Shorter later recalled, “You can’t be afraid of anything; you can’t let the pressure get to you. After the Israeli massacre at the 1972 Olympics, if the terrorists were going to strike again, the logical event was the marathon. I had to choose to just shut that out of my mind.” And in an NPR commentary, he also stated, “We felt the Israeli athletes would have wanted this. I had a vague feeling that if as a team, we did not try to win our remaining events, the terrorists would somehow win instead . . . I ran the 1972 Olympics Marathon and never once, once, thought about terrorism. I did it that way because I simply had to. We arrived in Munich as innocent athletes and left as the first Olympic athletes to realize competing carries a risk of harm.”

It was the last day of the Games of the XX Olympiad. The marathon start was inside Olympic Stadium, and soon the runners were out on the streets of Munich. Television coverage of the event was better than for past Olympic marathons; there were cameras in the stadium to capture the start and finish, some mobile cameras, and others mounted at various locations to provide a view of the runners as they went by.

Shorter moved into the lead by about the 15-kilometer mark. He was now clearly the best runner in the field, and the cameras displayed his efficient, erect running style as he ran alone through the city of his birth. Continuing on, he maintained his lead and was not challenged for the remainder of the race.

As Shorter was approaching the finish, an impostor ran into the stadium ahead of him. Television announcers Jim McKay and Erich Segal anxiously began screaming and shouting. Segal famously yelled to Shorter (who couldn’t have heard), “It’s a fraud, Frank!”

Initially confused, and with the original roaring ovation that should have been his stolen, Shorter soon understood that he was the true winner. He crossed the line in an outstanding time of 2 hours, 12 minutes, 19 seconds. His American teammates and friends Kenny Moore and Jack Bacheler finished fourth and ninth, respectively. It was the best Olympic Marathon placing by American runners ever.
Shorter appeared to barely grasp what he had accomplished. The Olympic gold medal would be his.

But he couldn’t have been aware that a running boom would burgeon following his achievement.
I was 19 at the time. Although I had only dabbled a little in track during high school, I had been watching these Olympic Games with great interest. The marathon itself, and especially Shorter’s triumph, was already a great inspiration. I distinctly remember my brother-in-law saying to me (paraphrasing), “Here is this guy, an average American, who simply worked hard and was able to outrun the best runners in the world.” It seemed like anyone could do (nearly) the same, or at least accomplish great things, just by working at it. And running appeared to be the way for many of us.

The first running boom

You might say that baby boomers like me were ripe for something. We had just been through the 1960s, and for some of us, that came along with the related sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. The Cold War was still raging, but the Vietnam War was finally winding down. Many of us were living just before, during, or right after our college years. At some point, we would have to (gulp) get a real job and make a living. Would there be more to life than work and family? And what was up with this physical fitness stuff, anyway?

I can’t remember whether I went out for a jog within the next few days after the Olympics. But within a year or two, I was definitely running, and I was doing it fairly regularly. A few of my friends were starting as well. It just seemed like the thing to do. The running boom had begun.

The New York City Marathon had been inaugurated in 1970, but the early editions consisted of loops around Central Park. In 1976, Fred Lebow redrew the course so as to run through all five boroughs, similar to the way it is today. Boston notwithstanding, the modern urban marathon was born. Road races, including marathons, so few in number before 1972, were now popping up all over the place. Within a couple of years, nearly every big city had to have its own marathon. New road races of various lengths also began to appear on the calendar. Some of the road runners even began making money.

The Complete Book of Running was published in 1977. Written by James Fixx, the work clearly described the benefits and the personal fulfillment that came from running. It became a bestseller. The book further inspired many to get out and run. And for those of us who had already started, it was further reason to keep going.

Nike, Inc. began making running shoes for the masses. A few other companies did the same. The availability of quality kicks for the rest of us was certainly an enabler to the running boom that was beginning to take place.

Like New York, the Cleveland area had seen some marathons in previous years, but the first one to catch on was the Revco Cleveland Marathon, inaugurated in 1978. A few hundred of my closest friends and I were there. I had trained hard and ran a pretty decent first marathon time, despite almost crawling near the finish. I remember saying to my wife afterward, “Never again!” But I didn’t stick to that promise.

We did not lack for inspiration. Naturally, Frank Shorter’s Olympic win was tops for single events, but Shorter himself continued to motivate, and so did several others. Shorter won other marathons and then went on to win the silver medal at the 1976 Olympic Games in Montreal, Canada. The man who beat him, Waldemar Cierpinski of East Germany, has since been linked to his country’s illegal drug program. This is ironic because by about the time this link was being verified, Shorter had become the first chairman of the new United States Anti-Doping Agency.

Bill Rodgers began to excel at road races and achieved instant fame when he won the Boston Marathon in 1975. Although Americans had won the race in the past, Boston Billy’s easy style and grace, contrasted with Shorter’s seemingly more disciplined style, made him another veritable hero to many. Rodgers went on to win Boston three more times, and he also notched a notable four victories at New York.

Steve Prefontaine evidently learned something from his experience at Munich. Although experiencing some ups and downs, he was becoming a better, more complete runner. And he was becoming more of a folk hero than before. Prefontaine had begun training seriously for the Montreal Games when he was tragically killed in an automobile accident. His friend Frank Shorter was the last to see him alive.

Where has it taken us?

In 1984, during the Games of the XXIII Olympiad in Los Angeles, Joan Benoit became the first woman to win an Olympic gold medal in the marathon. Every bit as compelling as Shorter’s win, this event further inspired many.

After Kathrine Switzer’s Boston Marathon incident and Shorter’s victory, women also began to participate in running and racing, but not in great numbers. Now, with Benoit, they had something the men had: a champion. Yet for some reason, there was a bit of a lull in the running boom during the late 1980s. People were still running, but the growth leveled off.

Things appeared to accelerate once again in the middle to late 1990s. It seemed that the boom took off even more around about 2005. This time the growth was largely due to women. They were finally now coming out to run in large numbers. Some people call these time frames (the 1990s and 2000s) the second and third running booms, respectively. Others may refer to them collectively as the second running boom. Whatever you call them, the numbers continue to grow, and the sport continues to flourish and thrive as well as evolve.

Although I have friends who have been running as long as I have, most of those I run with are relatively new to the sport. This is a great and wonderful thing. May it never end.

And it all began that fateful day in Munich.

Resources

Blount, Roy Jr. 1969. “Tallest, Fastest, and Buggiest,” Sports Illustrated, June 16. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1082518/index.htm
Brant, John. 2011. “Frank’s Story,” Runner’s World, August 31. http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-239-567--14056-0,00.html
Burfoot, Amby. 2007. “Frank Shorter Talks About His Marathon Trials, and This Year’s Too,” Runners World, October 24. http://www.runnersworld.com/cda/microsite/article/0,8029,s6-239-569--12219-2-1-2,00.html
Fixx, James. 1977. The Complete Book of Running. New York: Random House.
Wikipedia. 2011. Frank Shorter http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1972_Summer_Olympics
“Frank Shorter,” Wikipedia, last modified May 19, 2012, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Shorter
Frei, Terry. 2008. “Shorter Deserves Applause,” Denver Post, April 3. http://www.denverpost.com/sports/ci_8789432
Shorter, Frank. 2005. Frank Shorter’s Running for Peak Performance. New York: DK Publishing.
Shorter, Frank, and Steve Inskeep. 2006. “Attack on 1972 Games Shadows Olympics,” National Public Radio, February 21. http://www.npr.org/programs/morning/transcripts/2006/feb/060221.shorter.html

Emerald City Half-Marathon Race Report

When does this get easy?

The short answer: not yet.

Our family spent the weekend in a cabin in the Hocking Hills area of Ohio. We had a wonderful time hiking the hills and enjoying the tranquility. I had the brilliant idea of stopping in Dublin to run the Emerald City Half-Marathon on the way home Sunday morning. It wasn't too far out of the way, and I needed another race or two to get ready for the Erie Presque Isle Marathon.

I left the cabin at 4:30 AM in order to arrive in time to check in and loosen up for the 7:00 AM start. I was on my own; Debbie would return with the Dancer family. Although I had no trouble finding Dublin, the starting area was confusing, and I was disoriented. Parking was at a large shopping area adjacent to a hospital. I wasn't sure where to park or where to check in. I managed to get everything done in time for a little warmup run. Good thing, too: it was cool (pleasantly so), and I was tight from the trip. Not to mention yesterday's hiking.

I started with the 1:45 pace group. Since it was such a huge race, there were several pace groups, but this one suited me. 8 minute per mile pace could be a stretch, but I did manage an 8:10 pace at last week's race. That one had been about a tenth the size of this race, and much hillier. Regardless of the hills, I decided that I definitely like small races better. Much better.

The first few miles weren't bad, but then I discovered that I was working pretty darn hard to keep up with this group. By about mile 4, I was beginning to fall behind. A little before half-way We reached Glacier Ridge metro park, where we'd spend most of the rest of the miles. Note that there is neither a glacier, nor a ridge there. This is C-bus, you know, where it's as flat as can be. But I enjoyed this part of the run, nonetheless. Half-way went by in around 53 minutes. Now if I can only manage negative splits like I did last week, I'll make it to 1:45.

I couldn't. Almost, but not quite. Whereas last week, with the downhills in the second half, I could pick the pace up quite nicely, this week things only became more difficult.

Well, I did pick the pace up, but only ever so slightly. My finish time was just over 1:45. I suppose that's okay. It's two minutes faster than last week. Alright, maybe just a little better than okay. But just a little. I'm still waiting for it to get easy.

Buehler's Heart and Sole Community Walk and Run Half-Marathon Race Report

I'm tired just from typing that subject line.

I'm also tired from running this Hilly Half in Wildly Wonderful Wooster. I had no time goal, or other expectation going in. A steady effort, which on this course should translate into negative splits, would be nice, however.

Why negative splits, you ask? The course begins and ends in downtown Wooster. Almost immediately after the start, runners are going up. And up. And up some more. After half-way, it's back down towards the start on the mostly out and back course. I've done it before; I knew what to expect.

It was warm and humid during the early miles. I'd thought it would be cooler. I was doing 8:30 miles, but they were tough. The steeper the uphill section, the slower I ran. Funny how that works. I saw a bunch of friends before and during the race. Unfortunately, one of them was Doug Hradek, who is a good runner and who also happens to be in my age group.

I hit the half-way point (6.55 miles) in 55 minutes flat. Breaking 1:50 now sounded pretty good, and I picked it up a little. The downhills got better over the final five miles, so at that point, I picked it up a little more.

That's when the thunderstorm hit. It hit hard. I had been watching the clouds from about mile 7 on, and they looked scary. There were layers upon layers of dark, foreboding clouds, and I could see the rain coming down in the distance. By mile 8, huge drops were splashing down, and there was thunder all around.

Mile 9 had some steep uphills, so I slowed back down for a while. But the storm soon ended, about as fast as it started; the downpour only lasted about fifteen minutes. A light rain persisted afterwards. Mile 10 was a psychological boon this day. I hit it in 1:23:30 (that's about my half-marathon PR by the way), and began trying to run my fastest miles of the day. Would I be able to?

The short answer is yes. I ran the final 3 in 23 and a half minutes, for a time of 1:47 flat. I was second in my age group, two minutes behind Doug. First would have been nice, but I'll take it.

Coming Up Short

I needed 24. Isn't it funny how we need mileage like this? Anyway, I only got 22. I will choose to blame this one on today's running partner, Larry Orwin. We were running on the towpath, and he was generally leaving the decisions up to me. When to turn back towards home, how much to add on, etc. Well, let me tell you. Larry let me decide to settle for 22 instead of going on for another two. It's therefore all his fault that I came up short today. Never mind that I was tired. That had absolutely nothing to do with it.

While we are at it, I may as well blame last week's running partners, Frank Dwyer, Michelle Wolff, Harold Dravenstott, and others, on coming up short that time. We were at Buckeye Woods, and I got 4 or 5 in early, before our 12+ mile loop, causing me to only come up with only 17 for the day, 1 mile short of what I call a long run. Never mind that I was tired that time, too. And never mind that they mostly kept going, and I could, if not so tired, have gone further with them. No, that stuff had nothing to do with it.

Also never mind that I'm probably still recovering from Burning River. I do, however, have a marathon to get ready for. The Presque Isle Marathon in Erie is only four weeks away, and I had better stop coming up short then. To do so at that race itself would be a bad thing.

Orion Rise 2017

It happens every year, and each time it's a very pleasant surprise. I am running in the early morning darkness, and quite unexpectedly, for the first time this season, spot Orion rising above the eastern horizon. The rise of the Orion constellation portends the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. It means cooler weather and shorter days. It heralds the start of the harvest season and good eating. I am in my element. It's Dan Season.


It had only been a couple weeks since I'd first seen the Pleiades. Of course that was exciting, but nothing compared with this! This is extra special.


The occasion was a pace run at Mugrage park with Frank Dwyer and Harold Dravenstott. I was alone at the moment, but I looked up, beyond the pond, there he was (Orion is a man, you know). What a glorious sight!


The rest of the run was solid, but fairly uneventful. The pace was about nine minutes per mile, and it was pretty steady. Things are good. It's Dan Season.

Details about my Chafing

I left this out of my BR50 report, mostly because it was too painful to relate. But I'll relate it now... but it will also be painful to read. Okay, you've been warned.

I am a little past the mile 45 aid station, the last before my finish. A few minutes ago, I'd climbed up the impossible "piano key" stairs that lead away from Snowville Road. At the aid station I had rubbed half a handful of petroleum jelly on the inside of my upper thighs. It isn't humid, but I always seem to be on the verge of chafing in that sensitive spot, so I've been spreading an ungodly amount of the goop at nearly every aid station.

Never mind that there's better stuff than old-fashioned Vaseline these days. Never mind that it could ruin my clothes. Never mind that it may not work quite as well as some of the newer type stuff. I figured that if I just put enough of the stuff on often enough, things would be okay down there.

I step off the side of the trail to pee for the first time in several hours. Earlier in the race, I'd have tried a little harder to find a tree or bush or something to hide behind. But at this point, any thoughts of modesty and discretion are distant memories.

A woman runs by and announces her presence. I have my back turned, but I think she merely doesn't want me to turn around, in which case neither of us would be happy.

After she passes by, I resume trying to pull my shorts aside. That's when I realize there's a new and unexpected problem: my skin is sticking to the shorts' lining. When I tug harder, it rips. Not the shorts, my skin! On the most sensitive spot a man can have!! It hurts so much that I let out a short, audible wimper. Luckily, my lady friend is out of earshot by now.

Yes, I'm a bleeder. Just like in There's Something About Mary.

I had been aware that chafing can and will occur anywhere that skin rubs against material or other skin. And I'm aware that this happens in the places you least want it to. As it has now.

I suppose this too will pass.

Burning River 50-Mile Front Race Report

Short Version: Things went swimmingly. Until they didn't. Then it got hard. Really hard. But I finished, and that was the main goal.

Long Version: Read on.

Up at 2:05.
Out the door at 2:45.
Arrive at Boston Mills, and onto the bus at 3:15.
Arrive at Squires Castle at 4:30 (after some minor snags).
Off and running at 5:00.

Yes, it's Burning River Time. I like early starts. I like finding, and running with friends, new and old. I like this weather; it's cool for July, and it will stay that way throughout the day. It was a huge factor in why I signed up last minute. I am going to enjoy this.

The first half: Squires Castle in Willoughby Hills to Egbert Road area of Bedford Reservation

One of said friends is Ladd Clifford. He and I stay together, talking and telling stories for the entire road section: 11.5 miles. We go up, way up, and through North Chagrin Reservation, and then south on mildly hilly Chagrin River Road, through the MCRR fluids-only aid station, all the way to the South Chagrin Reservation Polo Grounds. We run at nine-minute pace, which is probably much too fast for me, but I feel great.

Each aid station is like a bustling oasis, where you're a rock star. I want to linger at the one by the Polo Grounds, but I know I must move on. Ladd soon moves ahead of me as we start on the trails. This is not at all unexpected, and I'm sure he will have a truly great day.

My own day is still going quite well too. The trails haven't slowed me as much as anticipated, the scenery is wonderful, and I'm still enjoying myself immensely. I do walk the steep uphill sections, and there seem to be many of them.

I am on the Hawthorne Parkway in Solon. The Shadow Lake is pretty. The course takes me in and out of the woods several times. Around mile 19, the trails become what they call technical. Suddenly, very suddenly, I am not enjoying myself anymore. I've gone from easy running to tremendously tough trekking. I try hard to not become discouraged. Just get through this, I tell myself. It will get better.

It does, a little. The aid stations are between four and eight miles apart. The one at Egbert Road in Bedford Reservation is significant, because at 26 miles (27 on my Garmin), it's just past half-way. Again, I want to linger and savor the buffet. Again, I eventually push on and move out.

It has taken me around four hours and forty minutes to make it this far. If I can only stay at this pace, I'll have a really fast time today. But deep down, I know that that is not likely. The toughest trails are yet to come. The final twelve will be the biggest challenge of all.

The trails in Bedford Reservation are not as difficult as I thought they would be. I am not moving as fast as before, but yet I'm passing a lot of people. Most of them are hundred-milers who started an hour earlier than we did.

I grew up fairly close by, and spent a lot of time in my early years here in Bedford Reservation. Although even as an adult I've run here before, it's been a while. It's interesting to see all this wonderful scenery from a runner's perspective.

The Alexander Road aid station has the most enthusiastic volunteers. And that's saying something, because they're all great. I move onto the Bike and Hike all-purpose trail, and think that I'll finally get back to some flat, easy running for a while.

It doesn't last long. Not at all. Soon I'm climbing down a steep ravine to get on some more technical trails. Oh well.

In Cuyahoga Valley National Park, I emerge out of the woods near Frazee House on Canal Road, and then start onto the towpath. I had been looking forward to this. Most of the trail dogs hate the towpath, but I love it. Yes, it's getting warm, and the mid-day sun is beating down on us. But this is one of my familiar running haunts, and it's flat and it's fast. I run these three miles at better than ten-minute pace; much faster than I'd been going.

If only it could have lasted. For a couple reasons, not the least of which is that I could have stayed on this trail for only about four more easy miles to arrive at the final destination. But no; I have around fifteen to go, not four. And I know they won't be at all easy.

These Brecksville Reservation trails are also familiar. Too bad there are so darn many of them. I say that because they are technical and steep and tough. And at this point, I'm beginning to tucker out a bit. And my Achilles Tendon is talking to me. I don't like what it's saying.

When I arrive at the Meadows aid station, I believe I am at mile 41, but I learn that it's only 38. I must look like something the cat dragged in, because Joe Jurczyk asks what's bothering me. I could spout out a novel of grievances, but I only say that I'm 'just tired'. Great, he says, and then reminds me that the next twelve, many of which are part of the Buckeye Trail race course, will be the toughest of all. I knew that. But thanks for reminding me, Joe.

I am walking now. There are almost no sections here that I would consider runnable, at least not by me. But others, mostly relay runners, are indeed managing to run, and they're all passing me. I have a tough time finding room to move aside for them on these single-track trails. There seems to be no end to these passers-by. I am not enjoying this. Not at all.

The final sections are back in CVNP. By the time I get back onto some wider trails, most of those who wanted to pass are long gone. It's been shady and cool for nearly the entire day. The trails are stunningly beautiful. But I hate them.

It's like they went out of their way to make this course tough. I know, I know. It's a trail run, and I'm not used to trails such as these. Every time I think I can't go any slower, I manage to slow down some more. The steep sections, of which there are many, are almost too difficult to walk up. Or even down. Did I mention that I'm not enjoying this?

Along the way, I talk with some other fifty and hundred milers. I'm in awe of them all, but especially these folks who will be only half-way done when I collapse after crossing the line at Boston Mills. I try to be careful to not gloat too much about how I just can't wait to get there and stop running.

I do eventually, after what seemed like the longest and hardest eleven hours and ten minutes of my life, arrive at Boston Mills. The fifty miles appear to me to be more like around fifty-four on my watch, but I won't quibble about any free miles. I'm just happy to be done. Really happy. Ecstatic, in fact.

Michelle Wolff had run the first relay leg, and is there to greet me. I don't know what possessed me, I say. Fifty-plus miles of impossible trails: just not my thing, I say. Never again, I say.

Since my drive home would be sort of like driving drunk, she follows me to make sure I am safe. I make it, and learn later on that I was first in my ancient age group. You mean I get an award for that miserable performance?

The second half: Bedford Reservation to Boston Mills

Just the (fill in the blank)

"Oh, you're doing Burning River? Which Race?"

A bit sheepishly, "Just the Fifty."

"Front Half or Back Half?"

"Front......... Trails+Darkness=DANGER!"

The conversation repeated itself several times as Danny Boy signed up for the Burning River Front Fifty at the last minute yesterday.

He's not all that used to the conversation, since he used to generally always sign up for the longest race available at the given event. He wouldn't have to say, "Just the 5K" or "Just the Half", as so many other have.

But now he's old. And "Just the Fifty" is challenge enough.

Plenty, in fact.

Sweet Misery

Some track truths:


1) I love the track. the symmetry, the precise measurements, never being too far away from anything. Mostly I just love the looks and challenge of it. It's  the same type of venue that runners, including some of the best on the planet, run on every day. Gives me goosebumps.
2) I love running fast. I know. Fast is relative. In fact, I now know this more than ever before in my life.  But I still love the feeling.
3) I hate the misery of track workouts. I hate the fact that someone put the word, 'work' into that word, 'workout'. This stuff is pure drudgery. But it's sweet drudgery.
4) You may have heard this from me before: running slow doesn't make you slow. Not running fast makes you slow. The track is a partial cure for slow disease.
5) Intervals should indeed be fast. I know: technically, the 'intervals' are the time between the fast repeats. But most of us (and I will here) use the term to mean the fast repeats themselves. But I digress. The intervals, or repeats, should indeed be fast for their distance, but it's far more important that they're sustainable. This means that your tenth 800 should be roughly the same as your first.
6) The length of the repeat distance should vary. For most training, it's good to alternate weekly workouts between relatively short distances and fairly long ones. For example, a marathon runner may do mile intervals one week, and Yasso 800s the next. A half-marathoner may want to alternate 800s and 400s. An additional option is to mix the repeat length in a single workout, like 2 or 3 by 1600, 800, 400).
7) I have found that mile intervals have, at least for me, the closest correlation with marathon performance. In other words, if I can do something like eight one-mile repeats at about 10-mile to half-marathon pace, I will stand a good chance of completing my marathon in the expected time.
8) Naturally, the speed of each repeat will depend on it's length. The mixed interval distance, with different speeds applied based on distance, gives us an excellent sense of pace.
9) The beginning of each repeat contains a sweet spot, where I can run pretty fast before the fatigue hits home. I wrote a blog post about this a long time ago; it's called Before the Devil Knows You're Dead. Check it out.
10) Always give 90 percent; not 100. I've heard that this is the advice top coaches give their charges, especially for the Olympic team. Only at the finish of the final repeat should you give it all you've got. Otherwise, it'll be gone when you need it. This philosophy ought to go into your race plans as well.
11) When your track workout is complete, you should be tired, but not completely destroyed. You should feel as though you could have done more. But don't. Save it for the races.
12) I love the track. Oh, I said that already.

Maybe it'll Blow Over

3:55 am: Out the door before four. This nearly always results in a good run. Good in the sense that the possibility exists that extra miles may be possible due to the extra time. The better news is that the anticipated storms appear to be holding off. In fact, the moon is shining, indicating that the dark skies are at least partially clear.

3:56 am: The moon is gone.

3:57 am: Our runner is feeling the stifling heat and extreme humidity, just two minutes into his run. The air is so thick, he can cut it with a knife. Maybe even a noodle.

3:58 am: Our runner notices flashes of lightning for the first time. Maybe it’ll blow over, he thinks.

4:12 am: The goal had been 10 miles today. Having plenty of time to do such a thing is a plus. But now our runner is beginning to wish he had been able to get out earlier still. The lighting flashes are getting brighter and more numerous, and he’s beginning to hear thunder as well. Maybe it’ll still blow over, he thinks.

4:18 am: The lighting and thunder appears to be more to the south than anywhere else. Earlier, it had been to the southwest, and now it seems to be to the southeast. Maybe it really and truly will blow over, our runner thinks, a bit more hopefully.

4:22 am: It’s pouring, and the lightning and thunder are all around.

4:47 am: The rain has mostly subsided. Our runner is drowned-rat soaking wet, but he’s still going. Maybe the storm is gone for good, or perhaps the rest of it will blow over, he thinks.

5:10 am: It’s pouring, and the lightning and thunder are all around.

5:38 am: Our runner is done. Now he’s more than drowned-rat soaking wet, but he’s happy to have gotten this one done. Now he’ll have to clean up (is a shower really necessary?) and get to work. He dreads going on that long drive into the rainstorm, but who knows? Maybe it’ll blow over.

My MCRR

Since my years of being a Medina County Road Runners Club Officer have now come to an end, I thought it may be appropriate to say a few words about the club. Unfortunately, Angie Kovacs stole my thunder with her farewell note in last month’s newsletter. I had been planning to say many of the same things. Really. But now that It’s a new month and new newsletter, I will say them anyway.

I thought I was a pretty accomplished and competitive runner when I joined the club in 2008. MCRR was only a year old, and even though I knew a few other runners in the area, I knew none of the MCRR members at the time. My running and especially my friendships were in for some big changes. The changes have all been for the better.

Joe and Lisa Herbert, along with just a few other runners had started the club. I learned about it from Connie Gardner in Second Sole. I'd had a not so wonderful experience with a different running club. Although folks in that other club were not unfriendly, they also weren't overly outgoing, warm or welcoming to newcomers such as myself, either. I just figured that run clubs simply weren't my thing. From the start, however, MCRR proved that such was not the case at all.

Right away, I met Joe and Lisa, and also Ladd Clifford, Chuck Dammon and a few others. I learned that I wasn’t quite as great a runner as I’d thought – at least when compared with others in the club, and in Medina County. I think Roy Heger and John McCarroll were already members. Connie, Ron Ross, and several other greats had yet to join, although several of them did so soon thereafter. Everyone was outgoing, and I formed several immediate friendships.

Most importantly, I had folks to run with. Yes, I’d had running partners before, but now I had so many! And there were meet-ups at races and other events. The possibilities seemed limitless. I was having a blast. As the years went by, more and more of my newfound friends joined up. I still run with many of them on a regular basis. What could be better than that?

I became the second President of the club, stayed on for a few years, and then continued to serve as a club Officer, including the all-important Vice President position ;). Serving on the Board has been a privilege and an honor. Now with Angie also stepping down, it’s time for Bob Pokorny, our new President, along with some new and some ongoing Officers to take over. I have utmost confidence in them, and in everyone in the club.

As MCRR begins its second decade, I couldn’t be happier with our direction. Our best days are yet to come.

Twin Sizzler Race Report

The Medina Twin Sizzler has been around for over 40 years. That's quite a legacy. I've done quite a few, and I've nearly always done both the 5K and the 10K. I typically exceed my expectations during the 5K, and deceed them for the 10K. I know. You're wondering about the word, deceed.  I got this from the wonderful world wide web:  'There is no established opposite to the word exceed, and it's quite often suggested that there's a gap in the language that needs to be filled! Some people have come up with deceed as a possible candidate, but there is as yet no real evidence of its use.' I saw subceed suggested as well.


This day, I had no expectations at all, so it wouldn't have been possible to exceed, deceed or subceed them. It wasn't too terribly hot, but my olde legs were still mighty tired from MP6.I ran the 5K in an 8:30 pace, and I ran the first half of the 10K at a 9:30 pace. About half-way, I decided to try to pick it back up. I did (!) and ran the second 5K of the 10K in about the same time as the 5K itself. That felt good. 


Too bad the rest of it didn't. Oh, I suppose it's okay. I made it. Live to run another day. If you can call it that.








 

MP6 Race Report

The Third Annual Poorly Organized Mugrage Park 6-Hour Run lived up to it's name once again. I humbly submit that it's highly doubtful that anyone could have not organized an event better than this.

I arrived a couple minutes early and began using my poor organizational skills right off the bat: by picking up trash left from the night before. Soon the other 6am starters began to arrive, so I quickly signed in, and got my numero uno bib. Yes, they started with bib number 1, and I got it. What would this portend for the race itself? 

Frank Dwyer took off after a lap or so, and never looked back. He mostly stayed a couple laps ahead of me for the entire six hours. As the day wore on, the heat and the miles began to take their toll. We all began to slow down, but I never caught up with Frankie. 

It was great fun seeing my MCRR peeps out there. There were 30 of us altogether. And then there were the wonderful volunteers. Thanks to all!

I am extremely thankful that:

a) I got past 50K. I didn't last year, but that was a hotter day.
b) We (Frankie and me) did not get chicked!
c) It's over!!

In the final results, Frank Dwyer was the overall winner with 37 laps, which equates to 35.15 miles. What some runners won't do for a $50 gift certificate! Suzanne Sharpe had the highest mileage for the women at 26.6 miles. I was the second overall with 35 laps and 33.25 miles.

A (Nearly) Midsummer Night's Run

It's a couple days past Midsummer, and our runner is generally recovered from his Midsummer Night's Run. It is, however, most definitely a night's run; he had gotten out of his car and began this journey at 3:59 AM.

"Egads," he thinks, nearly out loud, except that wasn't the word he used. "I forgot to start my watch!" It's 4:05 AM, and a lot of thoughts run through his not-so-clear-thinking head. Can he count these 6 minutes and approximately 0.6 miles at all? Should he go back and begin again? Forget the whole darn run, and just head back to the car and go home?? "Don't panic," he calms himself down. "The time and distance can be added on later. Whew, that was a close one."

The run continues. It's been a long time since he's even attempted this 24-mile jog on the Lester Rail Trail. The route is only three miles each way, so our runner does it with four six-mile out and back loops. After an hour, our runner returns to his car for a pit stop. His earlier panic attack is a thing of the past; he's feeling pretty good right now. And due to the early morning twilight, it's nice to be able to remove the headlamp.

Our runner ruminates about how, eleven hours earlier, he had been still undecided about whether to try to run 100 kilometers at the Eagle Up Ultra in Canal Fulton. He had ultimately decided - wisely, according to his wife - that although his Achilles Tendonitis pain has subsided some, he's just not ready to go that far. At least not without a great deal of pain and suffering. Not to mention time.

The second loop is a minute or so faster than the first. Will this trend continue?

Now it's getting much lighter. The morning is pretty, and it even feels a little cooler and less humid than earlier. It's strange doing a run this long all alone. He used to run alone nearly all the time, but running with friends, especially for long runs, is usually preferable. Today, though, being alone isn't so bad. Our runner finds himself enjoying this run, and more so with each step.

That's not to say that it's easy. It takes some concentration and effort to keep this pace going. Our runner is now trying to do each loop a bit faster than the last, and of course the final lap is the toughest.

He makes it. 24 miles done. Midsummer night running, but not necessarily night running, is over. Until next year.

~ A Midsummer Night's Run ~

Lord, what fools these mortals be!
~ Puck, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere.

~ A fairy's answer to Puck's question, "whither wander you?", A Midsummer Night's Dream

There are lights in the woods!
~ Danny Boy, A Midsummer Night's Run

The Summer Solstice is also known as Midsummer, which is this day. Danny Boy finds himself frolicking at Mugrage Park, alone in the deep, dark woods. He spots lights between the trees in the deepest parts, and he gets spooked a bit. They're probably fireflies. Or something reflecting the light from his bright headlamp. It's possibly even cars from Route 18, which, although beyond the immediate area, really isn't all that far. One thing Danny Boy is sure of, is that they aren't wood nymphs, elves, fairies or gods of some sort. No, those things aren't real.

A huge crowd of at least three or four had been expected for this "Mugrage Park Course Familiarization Run" event. But it turns out that Danny Boy is all alone. They must have good excuses, he thinks. He's okay with that. But who in the world could not want to run around in circles through the woods at 4:20 in the morning?

After about five miles, a nymph named Frank Dwyer shows up. By now it's getting light, and Danny Boy removes his headlamp before joining said nymph for another five miles. Danny Boy is okay with that.

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this,--and all is mended,--

That you have but slumber'd here

While these visions did appear

~ Puck, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Green Jewel 50K: Danny Boy Strikes Again

If only spring could have lasted one more day. Even though the calendar indicates that we have another ten days, it sure felt like summer all at once, after the cool weather for the past week.

4:04. Danny Boy hits the split button on his watch to record the time that he achieved the marathon distance. That’s not too awful, he thinks. Now he only has five miles to go at the 2017 Green Jewel 50K. If Danny Boy can only manage ten, or even eleven-minute miles for this last little bit, two good things would happen: a) Danny Boy would finish in under five hours, and this is important for some reason that he cannot manage to articulate right now, and b) Danny Boy would be finished, off his feet and out of this blasted heat. The problem is that in his heart of hearts, Danny Boy knows that even this relatively pedestrian pace, and therefore the a sub-five finish, is not going to happen today.

Did we mention the heat? This year the Green Jewel reversed course to go from Brecksville to Rocky River, and also changed months, from March to June. Now, instead of rain or ice, we have brain-baking heat and humidity. And such warmth wouldn’t be so bad if Danny Boy had been used to it. But after a cool May and early June, he’s definitely not acclimated.

Did we also mention that Danny Boy absolutely loves the Cleveland Metroparks, through which this the Green Jewel traverses? So much so, that he has run several of them, including the very first one, and also last year’s edition.

Said Metroparks are as beautiful as ever today, but Danny Boy is having some amount of difficulty appreciating them as the race is progressing. It’s tough to look around and enjoy one’s surroundings as one is nearly facing the ground as part of one’s marathon shuffle. And these final five miles in Rocky River Reservation are arguably the most scenic of the bunch.

The morning had started well enough. Danny Boy had been well aware that the early hills would be tough, and they didn’t disappoint. Once they were done however, he had quickly recovered, and was rolling along, talking with friends, and enjoying himself. A 2:20 first half was not bad at all. But that was about the point when it began to get really hot.

An hour goes by. And then some. Danny Boy shuffles along, and manages to finish the race. The final five were a real struggle, however, and as he had suspected, extremely, even sufferingly slow. The clock says 5:15. It’s a relief to be out of the heat.

Danny Boy had a lot of time to think in those five plus hours. Therein, he resolved to no longer, at least for the near future, harbor any thoughts about running longer distances. Running, after all, is stupid.

Danny Boy Runs the Medina Half-Marathon

Short Version: Danny Boy ran the Medina Half-Marathon today. Now his toes are worse.

Long Version: Danny Boy ran the Medina Half-Marathon today. After volunteering the previous years, but running the course as a training run many times, this would be the first "official" one. He starts slow, running with the 2:20 pace group, and then eventually catching the 2:00 pace group. He talks with several folks along the way, including pacer Shari Geiger, who introduces Danny Boy as a "legend".

The moniker appears to stick for the remainder of the race, as other friends and acquaintances, new and old, keep referring to him as such. Some of this may also due to Danny Boy's blog post about the very first Cleveland Marathon. The thing is, he's not feeling very legendary. First, there are the toes. They're bad; really bad. They're so bad that Danny Boy has had trouble just getting socks and shoes on. Although he's got them wrapped up pretty good now, they are beginning to announce their presence.

And then there's that other result of last week's Cleveland Marathon: general soreness and fatigue. This is taking its toll: even though Danny Boy is speeding up just a little after those early easy miles, he's still not exactly setting the world on fire. He's doing about nine minutes a mile - almost exactly the same pace that he did at last week's thon.

As the runners approach the half-way point, they run along Medina Lake. Danny Boy likes this part. It certainly is scenic. There are puddles along the trail, and most runners skirt around them on the adjacent grassy sides. Danny Boy does this too, until he sees Angela Demchuk running right through the middle of the puddles, experienced trail runner that she is. Danny Boy follows suit, and this suits him well.

Danny Boy struggles on the uphill sections of the course. Although there are no huge hills, there are plenty of smaller ones. Appropriately named Foote Road is Danny Boy's biggest challenge.

At mile nine, Danny Boy gets some Gatorade from an aid station, takes a gulp, and nearly upchucks entirely. It was thick as pea soup, and sweeter and saltier than anything you could imagine. The volunteers had evidently not diluted the super-concentrated solution with water as instructed. Good thing Danny Boy is able to spit most of his big mouthful out without swallowing much. Disaster averted.

The later miles get tougher and tougher for Danny Boy. He's still maintaining the same pace, but now he's going anaerobic. Just before he begins to redline entirely, he hits the twelve-mile mark and starts on the final downhill mile. Downhill, that is, until the very last uphill climb to the Medina Square. People cheer as the legend comes in and crosses the line. Danny Boy loves it when the Square is alive with activity, as it is now. The volunteers are great!

Danny Boy's time is 1:57 and change. He's sixth in his ancient age group. His pace is only a second or three better than last week.

Now his toes are worse.

Yes, they're worse

2017 Cleveland Marathon Race Report

My friend Brian Peacock once wrote a piece call, The Long Walk. It's about the long, slow, painful walk back to the car after a marathon. Having parked in what I thought was the perfect getaway position, today's Long Walk was coming as a bit of a surprise. It's pouring rain, and this distance of about 3/4 mile seems to be taking forever. I can't fathom how only minutes earlier, I was running at full-tilt, whereas now I'm having trouble just walking in a straight line.

After this unexpectedly Long Walk, I finally stumble over to the car. What did that take me - thirty minutes? Seemed like hours. It takes a further inordinate amount of time to simply place towels on the front seat and change my shirt, all in preparation for the even longer ride home.

The arrival downtown had, it seemed, gone well. I didn't mind jogging a ways to the start, figuring that being so very close (or so I thought at the time) to the finish would more than make up for it. As I line up in Corral 'C', I strike up a conversation with Joe Jurczyk. It had been a while since we'd seen one another, so of course we talk, and talk, and talk some more, both here in the corral, and also for the first seven miles.

Talking takes energy, but it also helps take one's mind off the tedium of pounding the pavement. Now at mile 8, it's beginning to feel real. It's in the sixties, mostly cloudy, and a little humid. I would prefer cooler and drier weather, but things could be much worse.  I had been running at what felt about like nine-minute per mile pace, or perhaps a little slower. I pick the pace up, but just a little. I eventually catch the 8:58 pace group, and also run with George Themelis on and off for a while.

I am enjoying the course, and the race in general. There are enthusiastic crowds along the way - more than I can remember. But then, it's been a couple years since I've run CLE. And of course they change the course just about every year. I'm guaranteed a course PR for the day.

I pass half-way in 1:59. Can I hold this pace for another half-marathon? Having not run a marathon, or much of anything for that matter in a while, I have no idea. But it's safe to say that I don't have an over-abundance of confidence yet. I'm taking this one mile at a time.

What bothers me most (it's always something), is the mileage markers. They appear about a quarter-mile later than my Garmin indicates. I know, I know.: they measure courses slightly longer than the stated distance to make sure there are no questions about certification. But lookyahere: this may end up costing me, big time. The first digit of my time may wind up being a four, rather than a three, all because of this extra quarter-mile I am running.

After a while, I settle myself down. It is what it is. Going in, I truly tried to fight off any tendency towards expectations of any kind. A steady pace would be nice, but I wasn't even going to let that concern bother me. I was just out here to have fun. I only need to keep telling myself that.

We arrive in the western suburbs a little before the 17.5 mile turnaround. I see Ron Ross on and off. Just before the turnaround, I spot Ladd Clifford, Rob Lisy and John Pavlik. I look for Theresa Wright, but can't find her. Ron pulls ahead, and I lose sight of him as it begins to rain.

The rain is a light drizzle, and it feels wonderful. Around mile 20 (right around three hours), I am somehow able to pick up the pace a bit. We are running through the Edgewater neighborhood, and there are nice views of the lake, and downtown. Those views don't last a long time, however, because the rain begins to come down harder. It still feels great, though.

At about mile 21, I see Ron up ahead once again, and I make an effort to catch up to him. He's running a steady pace, just like he always does. This means I must be accelerating. Well, that may be too strong a word, but I am running a little faster once again. It takes me until about mile 24.5 to catch up to Ron completely. We exchange more pleasantries, and then I take off for the final assault on the Detroit-Superior Bridge.

It's a tough climb, and I slow down considerably. But once at the top, I pick the pace up once again for the final 3/4 mile. It feels great to run fast at the end of a marathon. In fact, there's no feeling in the world like it.

It's a downpour as I cross the line. My time is 3:56:54. I am thrilled.

But now it's time for the Long Walk.

Revco-Cleveland Marathon Race Report - May 14, 1978

Here we are at the start. That's me on the left in my best white cotton attire; Paul Coleman on the right. I can't remember the name of the guy in the middle.

Sorry if this race report seems a bit late. Since this year will see the fortieth running of the Cleveland Marathon, I thought it appropriate to take a look back at the first one.

I had trained hard the previous winter and spring. A lot of the daily running was done at General Electric's Nela Park campus where I worked. On weekends, I did my long runs in the Cleveland Metroparks, usually Bedford, North Chagrin and South Chagrin Reservations.

My training partner was Paul Coleman, with whom I worked at GE. That made things convenient; we could easily walk over to meet up for those weekday runs. We also ran many of our weekend long runs together, and we met at a couple previous races as well.

The thing is, there wasn't a lot of previous races. There weren't a lot of races, period. The only ones I had done leading up to this race were several months earlier: the Inaugural Johnnycake Jog 5-miler and the Cleveland Heart-a-Thon Half-Marathon.

Cleveland Heart-a-Thon- L to R: Ken Bubnik, Paul Coleman, Dan Horvath, Dave Murphy

There wasn't a whole lot of information out there in those days, either. We knew about running a lot; we knew about interval training and long runs. We even knew about carb-loading. But I didn't really know how I was going to pace myself, or what a marathon would even feel like. And as you can see from the photos, I had my very best white cotton t-shirt and shorts to wear. In fact, it's safe to say that I didn't know what the heck I was doing at all.

I did know that cool weather was best for racing. I had therefore lucked out on this day. It had drizzled overnight, but had mostly stopped. The temperature was around 55F. That's absolutely perfect for a first, or any marathon, but not so wonderful for Mother's Day, which it was. It also wasn't the best for spectators, which included Debbie.

Revco was the first official Cleveland Marathon. There had been some others in past years, but this is the one that stuck. In later years, Revco was bought out by CVS, and sponsorship changed over to them. Rite-Aid now sponsors the race. Not a year has gone by when it hasn't been sponsored by a drug store chain.

The race started and finished at my Alma mater from only a few years prior, Cleveland State University. The course took us west through downtown, over the Detroit-Superior Bridge, and over to the western suburbs mostly along Lake Erie, before returning back mostly the same way. Some people thought a flat, out and back course was boring; I loved it.

Gathering at the start of a race was a new experience. It was great to meet up with Paul and a few other friends. Paul had unfortunately sustained a recent injury, and would be running at a slower than usual pace. I would be running on my own.

And even though I didn't know much, I thought I might be able to run a fairly fast race. I went out at a sub-seven minute per mile pace, and held it steady. I don't believe I even went over seven minutes until about mile 18.

Ah, yes. Mile 18. That's where the wall decided to rise up to meet me. I had been thoroughly enjoying this race, and I was thrilled at how well I was doing. But now it started to hurt. Every muscle, joint, bone - everything hurt. I was surprised at how sudden it had occurred. In fact, I don't know that I've had a wall experience that sudden or intense since.

Now each step was painful, and I still had miles to go. The Detroit-Superior Bridge was at miles 24-25, and going up was a real struggle. I remember passing a wheelchair contestant, who was having a tougher time than I was. But as I was running down the other side, Whoosh! He glided past me like I was standing still.

I somehow made it to the finish line, and then directly into the medical tent, where I called for Debbie as they fed me ice chips. Debbie found me, and she was very worried. They were about to give me an IV, but I began to recover, and so they just stuck with the ice chips.

My time was 3:04.

It was a couple days later, back at the office when some co-worker asked Paul and I, "You guys ran a marathon? How did you train for it?" Running a marathon was pretty darn rare back then. Paul, who at the moment didn't want to go through the trouble to explain all the intricacies of our training regimen to a non-runner, shrugged and said, "We ran a lot."

I'm coming into the finish on Euclid Avenue. I don't look so good, because I just ran a marathon. I wound up in the medical tent after I crossed the finish line.

The 1978 Revco-Cleveland Tshirt is now part of one of my running tshirt quilts. It hangs on the wall of my office.

Yah, so 800s are aretty good training

Part 1: Continents Don't Move


Debbie, in her early school years, observed that Africa and South America appeared to fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. When she remarked to her teacher that perhaps they were once attached, the teacher ridiculed her, famously saying something to the effect of, "Don't be silly; continents don't move!" She never forgot about this, and when continental drift theories came about - by this time Debbie was an adult - she wanted to go back to that teacher and say, "See, I was right, and you shouldn't have ridiculed me!"


Of course the teacher probably would have responded, "huh?" And of course Danny Boy now (very mildly) makes fun of Debbie, saying that she was probably the first person on Planet Earth to notice such a thing.


Danny Boy himself made a Great Discovery once. He noticed that running 800 meter repeats with times in minutes and seconds amounts to good, challenging training for a goal marathon time in corresponding hours and minutes. So, for example, if one wanted to train for - let's just take some wild goal here - say, a four-hour marathon, one would run one's 800 meter repeats in about four minutes.


Except that at the time Danny Boy made this observation, Danny Boy was running marathons in around three hours, give or take. He was therefore running his 800s in the 2:50s. But that was then.


Along came a guy named Bart Yasso. In an article in Runners World, he made this same observation, suggesting that one should do ten of those 800s with times in minutes and seconds corresponding to the hours and minutes of the goal marathon, He called these, "Yasso 800s".


Too bad Danny Boy was probably the first person on Planet Earth to notice such a thing.




Part 2: Today's Yassos


Danny Boy has been hitting the track about once a week. As noted in an earlier post, he's lost a minute a mile, and he still doesn't know where to find it. But he keeps trying nevertheless.


He arrives at the Mayfield track at 5:10 AM, and finds the lights on. This is unusual, but in a nice sort of way, since Danny Boy can see what the heck he's doing as he embarks on his Yasso Journey today.


Danny Boy actually manages to do his first few 800s under four minutes each. That's when the kids arrive. A couple dozen strapping young men run onto the football field, and begin doing all sorts of exercise drills. Danny Boy had been afraid that they'd be moving onto the track itself at some point. If that happened, Danny Boy wouldn't be able to complete his workout, and wouldn't that be a tragedy?


But it doesn't happen. Danny Boy is not able to claim any excuses, and therefore has to complete his workout. He does get all his Yassos in as planned.


What with this workout, and last Saturday's 23-miler, Danny Boy is now almost done training for this Sunday's Cleveland Marathon. Only five or six more workouts, and he will be trained. He'd better get moving.

Feeling no Pain

Danny Boy is smack dab in the middle of his very slow track workout when it occurs to him. Not much else has occurred to him yet this early morning, so any thought at all is, by definition, somewhat outstanding and profound... at least in relativistic terms. The thought is this: Danny Boy is feeling no pain.


Danny Boy's brother, Dave, seriously maintains a list of euphemisms for being drunk. Right there, along with three sheets to the wind, drunk as a skunk, annihilated, inebriated, dead drunk, looped, snockered, etc., is feeling no pain.


But Danny Boy isn't feeling no pain due to any influence from alcoholic beverages of any form. He is feeling no pain in the literal sense. In regards to this here feeling: it's been coming on for some time now, and it's noted now and then. But once in a while, Danny Boy actually expends a few neurons to consider it: he does so today, and it feels real good.


Not that the Achilles Tendonitis thing is gone for good. Oh no; it's still around. But the pain has largely/mostly subsided for the time being. And that's a good thing. This enables Danny Boy to run more. Not faster, mind you, just more.


That's still a good thing. He will take it.

Lost in Gaithersburg

Part 1

Danny Boy is hopelessly lost, but that's not his primary concern. His primary concern is that he's running so stupidly slow. How slow, you ask? So slow that he once again may not get enough miles in to call it a long run before the clock runs out.

He has run these roads before, and he's likely been lost here before; 18 years before. Last time, he was here for a consulting engagement that went on for months. He got to know the roads quite well then. This time, here for the People's Climate March (for which he has to be concerned about getting back), he's doing some measure of re-learning.

Learning can be a slow process, however, and such is most definitely the case for Danny Boy today. Another old adage comes to his mind: the faster you run, the more lost you can get. He slows down even more whilst pondering this bit of wisdom, and that only makes things worse. Good thing he's only half-way through his long run. He can always speed up for the second half, can't he?

Danny Boy manages to find his way back to the Marriott by mile ten. He still has eight to go before he can call this run long, and this is important. It's only important because he's tried and failed so much in recent weeks. But now that he's not lost, he had better get moving faster.

Somehow, he does. The gel, sport beans and water probably helps. It's warm and humid - unusual for April. But it's also ironic that the People's Climate March should occur on a record-setting day; the temperature, in the seventies now, would reach 91 later on.

Oh yes, the run. Danny Boy begins doing 1.5-mile loops around the pretty little lake and surrounding shopping area. Each one gets a little faster. Danny Boy successfully runs 18 miles. Hooray for Danny Boy!

Part 2

The good news is that Danny Boy is rich! He has found 2 dimes and 2 pennies. Together with the penny he found yesterday, that makes.... he's trying to add it up.... a lot of money! The not so good news is that he's lost again. The worst news is that he's running even slower than during his lost miles of the previous day.

This day is warm and oppressively humid. Danny Boy, still recovering from yesterday's long run and hot march, is having a difficult go. But he wants to get ten in, and by Jove, he's going to do it. He has now determined how he's been managing to get so lost, and how he managed to get even more lost during his runs of 18 years ago:

1) The roads to not go straight. Yes, there are hills to get around, but it appears that the roads mostly make dramatically strange angled turns, just because they can.
2) The road names change. And this too is for no reason at all; it's also probably just because they can.
3) Road names sometimes take the name of a perpendicular road, whilst the one going straight takes on a different name.
4) Road names at intersections are either not stated, or are just plain wrong.

Danny Boy makes it back in ten excruciatingly slow miles. But he does make it back.

Ouch II: Danny Boy Falls for Nothing

Danny Boy is awake at 3:30 AM, which is a little earlier than planned. Good, he thinks; he may be able to get an extra mile or so in. Eleven would be really nice, but he will still settle for ten as he'd planned.


Danny Boy is out the door and on the street at 4:39 AM, which is a little later than planned. He should never, never, never check Facebook before a run. Just a quick minute, he'd thought. Enough time for the coffee to kick in, he'd thought. It never works out as planned. Now he may have to settle for even less than ten miles. What will this do to his weekly total?


There is still a glimmer of hope, he thinks. If he can only run really fast, he might still be able to get his miles in, and still get back in time to get off to work.


Danny Boy is running as fast as he can go, and that isn't so fast. But it's still early in the run. Maybe he can still do it.


Early miles give way to middle miles, and Danny Boy is still not running very fast. It's not for lack of trying. Maybe he's still recovering from Sunday's almost longish run. The one where he had intended to run more, but ran out of time. Yeah, that one.


On one of the deep, dark side-streets near home, Danny Boy approaches a pile of branches and other debris that someone had thoughtfully placed in the road. He easily scoots around the pile, but as he returns to his running lane, he finds himself falling. The fall took several steps and at least one very bad word. He has time to break the fall with his hands and right leg. Once on the ground, he looks over and determines that he had tripped over one tiny stick that had escaped from the nearby pile.


Danny Boy often makes fun of his running partners who fall. But who is laughing now?


Danny Boy also looks around to make sure no one saw him. And also to make sure no one heard his expletive. Danny Boy is not known for using bad words. At least not very often. At least not by people other than his wife. At least not when he's not engaged in some wayward home improvement activity.


Danny Boy finishes his run with nine miles. He's not in any more pain than usual. Maybe he can over, rather than under-achieve tomorrow.

Tales of Danny Boy: Ouch

We here at Blog Central made a sincere promise a while back. We agreed to never again post stories of The Kid. We still plan to stick to our solemn oath; the Kid Chronicles are no more. However, in the spirit of Great Third-Person Literature, we now introduce the Tales of Danny Boy.

“Ouch!” Danny Boy says out loud. It’s 9.3 miles into his 10-mile run. He thinks he may have once again done something pretty darn stupid.

The thing is, running had been improving once again for Danny Boy. To review, a couple months ago, he was ramping up his mileage and his intensity in anticipation of running two and a half marathons this Spring. Then he had his SETBACK. In the ensuing weeks, besides dealing with the intensified Achilles pain, he lost gobs of fitness. Due to that lost fitness, Danny Boy decided to opt-out of Marathon Number One, the Canton Hall of Fame Marathon. But now, over the last couple weeks, he was beginning to feel better again, and was clawing his way back up to 50 miles per week.

Until today.

He hits the road at 4:25 AM, and immediately runs into Neighbor Runner Rita, who is running with her dog. Kind of weird talking with a neighbor at that early hour, but after a few nice words, they each run their separate ways. Danny Boy runs over to the track at his usual easy, slow, loping pace. Once under the fence, however, he lowers the hammer.

 

It turns out that that hammer is not of the sledge variety, but more like a 6-ounce ball pin type. Having run 10-minute miles to get here, he’s now doing four miles at 8:20 or so pace. He supposes that this fast-feeling is sort of like a tempo run, such as it is. This poor excuse for Something of Substance will have to do today. Danny Boy only wants to survive the run without re-injury. He had been thinking that the soft track surface would be good for him. The constant turning may be stressful, but at this extra-slow pace, there shouldn’t be much torque, he thinks.

 

Towards the end of the track run, Danny Boy’s Achilles begins talking to him. “I’m here,” it says. It talks more during the run home, until Danny Boy makes his “Ouch!” exclamation. Danny Boy feels stupid.

 

Maybe it’s not totally dumb. Maybe Danny Boy will easily recover.

More or Less

I've lost my base, and don't know where to find it.
...

More

It's Saturday, and it's the usual gang, more or less: Debbie Scheel, Theresa Wright, Harold Dravenstott, Michelle Wolff, and, somewhat surprisingly, myself. My Achilles injury got so bad a couple weeks ago, that I've done almost no running at all of late. Even though I was beginning to feel better, I had informed the group that although double digits would be nice, anything at all would be better than nothing.

Fast forward an hour and a half, more or less. The others want to do more, but I ~~wisely for once~~ decide to quit early. I got ten and change in, and I am feeling pretty darn good, relatively speaking. In fact, I could do more. I've just chosen not to. I feel so darn smart.

Less

It's Sunday, and it's the usual gang, more or less: actually the same as yesterday, minus Harold and Michelle, but plus Frank Dwyer. I got through the rest of yesterday without major mishap, and as we begin today, I am still feeling pretty okay.

But today is Sunday, and so this must be Hinckley. Hinckley, as in hills. Hills that we did not have yesterday. I fall behind right away on Bellus Hill. It gets worse. Even as I battle back, the others get far ahead of me again on other hills, but stop and wait for me at times. Sympathy for the old man, you know; he lost his base, more or less, and can't seem to find it.

Then comes Effie. I'm behind again, except more than ever now. It occurs to me that this day, I could have done less.

I do manage to complete this, and get another double digit run under my belt. The base will come back, won't it? In the last couple downhill miles, Debbie scoots up ahead, and I mention to Theresa that she (Debbie) was doing the right thing for her upcoming Boston run. Theresa, who is going to Beantown as well, sprints hard to catch and even pass Debbie. Never, ever challenge Theresa, or even kid her to say that someone else is doing some training that's 'good'.

But now I'm really tired. And my Achilles hurts more than yesterday. I feel so darn dumb.