Whitefish Point Marathon Race Report

The Route from Paradise to Whitefish Point and back

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

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

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

Dan in Paradise

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

Tahquamenon Falls

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

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

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

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

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

Early on. Still have spring in my step.

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

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

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

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

The Finish

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

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

Swag

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

Whitefish Point

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

Sunrise over Gitche Gumee

The Bad and the Ugly

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't pretty. But you knew that.

Medina Half Marathon

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

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

Early in the race, on the bike path

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

Medina Lake, the prettiest part of the course

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

On the bricks, approaching the Square for the finish

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

I may go to Michigan after all.

Cleveland Marathon, 2018 Edition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother of all Races 10K

I don’t know how to dress. The weather forecast is saying that it may be very cold, very warm, or somewhere in between. Furthermore, there may be rain, sleet, snow or bright sunshine. I opt for middle-of-the-road-ish attire: a black tech t-shirt, black shorts, black socks, and my union-jack Brooks Launch kicks. It works out rather well: I feel pretty comfortable during the protracted warmup, and early on in the race. It’s only in the later miles that I begin to feel warm. But by then I’ve got bigger issues.

Those bigger issues include Achilles pain and the fact that I am the world’s slowest runner, age be damned.

The start and finish are at Northwest High School. The first half of the race is on roads. We run through and beyond the quaint village of Canal Fulton. I maintain a slightly slower than eight-minute pace. I would have to do better to get to the finish in under fifty minutes. That has, for some reason, become a goal. (In a small voice, I remember when the goal was to get under thirty-eight.)

Much of the second half of the race is on the towpath. It’s pretty down this way, although of course, it is in my neck of the woods as well. I think that now is the time to pick that pace up. Fifty is still within reach, isn’t it?

It’s not. I slow down on the last hill, a mile from the finish. Not that I would have made it anyway. My time is 51 and change. That’s pretty darn stinky. And it doesn't bode well for next week's Cleveland Marathon.

Tuff Ten Trio

For several weeks now, my training has consisted of a ten and a twenty on consecutive weekend days, and three consecutive mid-week ten-milers. This allows me to take Monday and Friday off. Just to add the proper qualification, I should add '-ish' to everything. But in general, I've been reasonably consistent about it. And 'sixty-something miles a week' has a nice ring to it; certainly better than fifty-something.


But here's the thing: even at roughly the same pace, those three tens are tougher than the ten and the twenty. Much tougher. Why is that?

Something Stupid

Something Stupid is the title of a song by Frank and Nancy Sinatra. It's also something I'm really good at doing. It usually gets started in some corner of my brain, with thinking that goes something like this:


I am running relatively well these days. I had a pretty good long run over the weekend, and a decent Yasso speedwork session today. Therefore, it's time. Time for something stupid.


One might argue that registering for the Paradise, MI Whitefish Point Marathon, which takes place June 9 was pretty stupid. But wait: there's more. Now I'm thinking about the Cleveland Marathon, which is about eleven days away. And this is not to mention that I might also consider a shorter race this weekend as well.


Stupid enough for you? Bet you can't wait to ask, "How did that work out for you?"

4 x 6

It used to be de rigueur for my training; four six-mile out and back loops on the Lester Rail Trail. It's been a good year since I've done it, and given my current situation, it would be a challenge. Incidentally, de rigueur is defined as, 'Necessary according to etiquette, protocol or fashion.'

2018 had been going okay: some decent racing, including a pretty-good half a couple weeks back. But then I had a recent setback: more - much more - than usual Achilles pain during last week's long run. Maybe the racing and speedwork hadn't been such a great idea after all. So now I didn't know whether 24 was doable.

The weather didn't help. Cold rain is not my favorite meteorological situation. I thought I could beat some of the predicted rain by starting early, so I got going just before 4:00 AM. Thought I could have six dry miles in by the time Debbie Scheel arrived at 5:00 AM.

It didn't happen. I did get six in, but they most certainly were not dry. It was raining from the start, and although it eased up at times, it never quit completely. And it never got any warmer, either.

Debbie ran eight with me before she had to leave. At that point, it was beginning to rain harder again, so I almost quit at 14. Then at 16 and 18. But despite the cold and the wet, and the fact that my Achilles was now talking (loudly) to me,  I managed to keep going again and again.

But then by 21 and change, I was done done. (I like that term, 'done done' - I've heard it several times lately.)

21 is not 24. I know this because I minored in math. But I'll take it. What other choice is there?

County Line Trail 10K

There was a time when I used to eat 10Ks for breakfast. Sub-39 minute 10Ks at that. Today's goal was to run a steady 8-minute pace. If I could do that, I'd be happy.

The County Line Trail is a rails-to-trails all-purpose asphalt path in Creston, which is close to Seville. That's Seville, Ohio, not to be confused with Sevilla, Spain. It's a friendly little race, with lots of MCRR participation. And we finally had a fairly warmish day to run.

Everyone got out ahead of me, but that was okay. A lot of them were doing the 5K, anyway. I kept my splits just under eight minutes each. Until, that is, the 5K turnaround. Then a funny thing happened: I slowed down. Good thing I had Ladd Clifford to run with for those late miles. He kept me from slowing even further.

I finished in 50:30 for about an 8:07 pace. I was 2nd in my age group.

And now I'm gonna pay. The old Achilles is talking to me already.

Like There's no Tomorrow

Run Like There's no Tomorrow. That's the not-so-secret secret to a great race performance, isn't it?

Except there is. There always is. You get home, rest up, and then tomorrow you begin training for your next race.

Last week I ran that half-marathon like there was no tomorrow. Today, I am preparing for this morning's County Line Trail 10k, going through the usual pre-race preparation that I make up as I go along. For the first time ever, I try Bio-Freeze. It's like the old smelly Ben Gay stuff that we were all familiar with in my younger days. I almost never used the stuff myself; I just smelled it on other people. Similarly, Bio-Freeze smells bad, and I never used it. Until now.

I'm using it because my Achilles Tendonitis is acting up again. Yes, it's the same AT that I've been dealing with for four or five years now. The pain never goes away completely, but it does subside, to some extent, when I don't push things too far.

The trouble is, I have been pushing things too far. I wanted to get some of my speed back, and the way to do that (to run faster) is to run faster. I have indeed been doing a lot more racing, and also some speedwork. And the trouble with that is, it's taking its toll. Especially when I race like there's no tomorrow.

Union Hospital Run for Home Half-Marathon

1:50. It had a nice ring to it. I did better than that at a couple halfs last year. But that was last year. I had no idea whether it was in the cards this year or not.

After seeing several running friends - some unexpectedly - we got going. I started with the 1:50 pace group, figuring that would keep me on an even keel. It did. Together with me were Doug Hradek and Ray Miller. I learned that Doug has graduated from our age group, so I thought I would only need to beat Ray.

The group held together until about half-way. At that point, the leader stopped to use a portable toilet, and Doug and I kept going. Ray had fallen back. Doug and I were back and forth. He would get ahead on the uphills, and I would catch up on the downsides. At one point, I yelled from behind, "What do you get when you kiss a canary?" He didn't know, so I answered myself: "Chirpies." Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Chirpies is a canarial disease."

I think it worked. Not right away though. We ran together a while longer, but I pulled ahead in the final mile. My time was 1:49, good for an 8:16 pace, and third in my ancient age group (I thought I'd be first). As usual, I'll take it. I have a way to go before I get back to where I was at last year. At least the pace was steady.


L to R before the start: Tim Pepe, Ladd Clifford and me

Run to the Beach 5K

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

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

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

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

Every Day

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

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

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

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

St. Malachi Run

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice-Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Runs in PCB

St. Andrews State Park: would I be able to get in without paying the entrance fee? It's 06:00 AM; maybe there won't be anyone attending the gate. Would I be able to get around the park circle road? Find a bathroom? These and many other questions went through my head as I emerge from my hotel in Panama City Beach, run four miles down Thomas Road, and approach the park itself. Of course, the answers are: yes, yes (there wasn't), yes and yes.



It's just beginning to get light as I enter the park and run around for a few miles. I appear to be the only person in the entire park, but that's not entirely true; there's a camping area down one of the park roads. Still, it's pretty eerie. I run down one of the boardwalks to get a peek at the ocean. It's eerie too. But even despite the gloom, I can make out the pure white sand dunes surrounding the entire area.

Now, there's just one remaining question: can I pick up the pace for the trip home? The answer is, once again, yes. But traffic is picking up as well. I keep to the sidewalks as I complete the round trip on Thomas.



I'm back. That was fairly exhausting. And yet it took me all of two hours and ten minutes. That's a long time for twelve miles. I do a couple more miles for penance.



Now it's day two. Same loop. In fact, everything is about the same. This time it gets done in two hours, five minutes. Okay, that's a little better. I still do a couple more miles as penance.



Day three. Same loop. In fact, everything is about the same, except for one thing. This time, we will be leaving; I only have two hours and no more. Can I do that? I guess that's yet another question. And yes, I can, and I do. Each four-mile split is a little better. The result? One hour, fifty-eight minutes.

No penance is necessary; I don't run any further.

Doin' my Motor Good

Maybellene, why can't you be true?
Oh Maybellene, why can't you be true?
You done started doin' the things you used to do

As I was motorvatin' over the hill
I saw Maybellene in a Coupe de Ville
A Cadillac a-rollin' on the open road
Nothin' will outrun my V8 Ford
The Cadillac doin' about ninety-five
She's bumper to bumper, rollin' side by side

Maybellene, why can't you be true?
Oh Maybellene, why can't you be true?
You done started back doin' the things you used to do

The Cadillac pulled up to a hundred and four
The Ford got hot and wouldn't do no more
It then got cloudy and started to rain
I tooted my horn for the passin' lane
The rainwater blowin' all under my hood
I know that I was doin' my motor good

~Maybelline, by Chuck Berry


Them be some of my favorite lyrics, and I don't even know why; I just like them. But why, you ask, do they appear in your running blog, Mr. Dan? The reasons are many:

1) The pace of the song is good for running cadence. In fact, it was going through this head of mine during a run a couple days ago.
2) Several of the lines (think: motorvatin' over the hill) can be repurposed into some kind of running context.
3) I like to think that maybe by struggling through the snow and ice during these wintery runs, I really may be doin' my motor good.


Oh Maybellene, why can't you be true?
Oh Maybellene, why can't you be true?
You done started back doin' the things you used to do

The motor cooled down, the heat went down
And that's when I heard that highway sound
The Cadillac a-sittin' like a ton of lead
A hundred and ten half a mile ahead
The Cadillac lookin' like it's sittin' still
And I caught Mabellene at the top of the hill

Maybellene, why can't you be true?
Oh Maybellene, why can't you be true?
You done started back doin' the things you used to do

Get Ready to Run

First, you wake up. It’s pretty tough to run if you haven’t done this, although it’s not entirely impossible. You like to get out of bed between 3:30 and 4:00 AM.

After about eight or nine stumbling steps from the bedroom into the kitchen, you turn on the coffee machine. You hope to heaven that you prepared it all the night before. You are aware that you could save the four minutes it takes to brew two large cups if you would set the timer on the machine to have it already brewed when you wake up. But said timer never seems to work correctly for you, and you’ve given up on it. It’s probably a user error.

While you are waiting for the brewing to occur, you check the weather in one, two, or all three of three ways: you check the weather app on the computer, you turn on the TV to watch the morning weather guy, even though you probably need to wait until 4:00 AM for this, or you look outside.

You think about what you will wear for your run while you are preparing your coffee. It’s black on fast days; it’s light with honey on non-fast days. You need it badly, so you drink it fast. When it’s light, it tastes pretty good. When it’s black, not so much. Doesn’t matter though; you’re not doing this for the taste.

While you’re drinking your coffee, you spend some more time on the computer or watching the early morning news. YOU SHOULD NEVER DO THESE THINGS! YOU SHOULD SIMPLY BEGIN GETTING READY TO GO OUT. You may also do some push-ups in front of the TV. Okay, this is a good thing.

Now, after the coffee has had its exact desired effect, it’s time to dress. You start with the undies. You know: the kind with the extra padding in the front. This is for safety reasons; any manly bulging is a side-effect. Depending on the temperature and wind chill, you may add extra pairs of these undies.

On to shorts or tights. 30 degrees Fahrenheit is about the dividing line, although the wind and precipitation are also factors. Much below 30, and it’s tights. At or above 30, and it’s shorts.

The jacket/shirt divide somewhere around 45 to 50 degrees. Once again, the wind and precipitation also factor in. If it is indeed jacket weather, a shirt will always go on underneath. If it’s really cold, make that two shirts. Some of your jackets are reflective, and at least two are bright neon/yellow. You have lots of jackets and shirts.

The weather also determines any hats and gloves you choose. You have lots, but none of the gloves seem all that great when it’s really cold out.

Now it’s time to light things up. The first thing to go on is the Noxgear vest/apparatus. It’s a complicated thingie that flashes in all sorts of colors. It fits all around your chest and back. You have to reach in back to turn it on and off and to make it flash or change color. The whole thing is a little ridiculous, and you still have mixed feelings about it. Attached to the front of the apparatus is a little reflective light that flashes red. You figure it adds just a wee bit more light to the thing. Then you put on the headlamp. It goes over the hat if you have one. It’s pretty bright, but only when the batteries are fresh, which they usually aren’t. Your final light is this blue flashing heel wrap-around thing that a friend got at Marc’s for ninety-nine cents. It’s supposed to fit around the back of the heel of the shoe, but you’ve lost it (and then went back to find it again) twice when it’s fallen off. You now wear it around your ankle above the top of the shoe, but still over the sock. That makes it too tight. Later during the run, You’ll often switch it to your wrist. But then that will hurt too.

You are almost ready. It’s time for the shoes. You’ve already selected a pair from the four or five active ones you have got going. But before you begin getting them on (and after the socks are in place), you put on your Road ID. It has your name and contact information, in case you are found in a ditch on the side of the road, and they want to know who you were when you were alive. The loving wife makes you do this. The problem is that the darn thing is nearly unusable. The clasp is too difficult to work with, so you often try to stretch it over your foot. This is difficult because it doesn’t stretch enough and sometimes breaks away at the clasp. You’ve also tried putting it over your hand and wearing it on your wrist, but you once nearly lost it by doing this. Note that the Road ID people were sympathetic and refunded your money when you complained. They didn’t want it back, so you still try to use it.

You are now 100% ready. You go out the garage man-door and start your GPS watch. You wait for it to find its satellites (only a few seconds) and begin to run.

How does that go, you ask? Not bad, but that’s a different story.

Big Difference

Last year, I went several weeks early on without registering for any races whatsoever. Then, at the Medina County Road Runners Banquet, I won an entry to the Medina Half Marathon. Then, I went ahead and also registered for the Cleveland Marathon and the Green Jewel 50K. And, as faithful readers know, I went on to run several other half-marathons, marathons and ultras throughout the year.


This year, there's a Big Difference. I went several weeks early on without registering for any races whatsoever. Then, at the Medina County Road Runners Banquet, I won an entry to the Medina Half Marathon. Then, ...


The question is, what comes after the then. Each and every year, I say my goal is to run faster. I am well aware that the best way to do this is decidedly not to run ultras, or even marathons. The best way to run faster 10Ks and half-marathons is to work on my speed, not worry so much about mileage, and finally to actually run more 10Ks and half-marathons.


Will I?

You'll Freeze Your Lungs

You might. But not before other parts of your anatomy.

After a couple days where I spent too much time milling around, I just had to get outside for today's run. Too bad it was about five degrees shy of the plus-one degree temperature that I experienced New Year's Day. Yes, it was one below when I started; four below when I finished. The wind chill was also correspondingly lower, at minus twenty today.

The shuffle, hardly what you'd call running at any point, became slower and slower as the cold became colder and colder. It was time to quit. At least while most of my anatomy was still intact.

The part that I lost? My mind, of course.

8th Annual Landis Loonies Marathon Race Report

Just before the very cold start                                                Dave Foisy photo

First Loop

I’ve just climbed to the top of Mount New London for the ninth time, and I’m very much winded from the effort. Speaking of wind, it’s cold, and it’s hitting me hard in the face now that I’m heading down the backside. I’m running on what the locals call the Bypass, but the real name for the road is Biglow Parkway. Mount New London is my term for this not-so-huge hill, the only one on the course. I’ve run the Landis Loonies Marathon two times in the past, meaning I’ve climbed the hill eight times before today.

When people ask me where New London, Ohio is, I invariably answer, “Do you know where Norwalk, Ohio is?” They usually say yes, but regardless of the answer, I quickly follow up with, “Well, it’s nowhere near that.” It is, however, a nice little town in North-Central Ohio farm country. Kevin and Keith Landis put this race on each New Years Day, and they do a fine job of it. (Fun fact: they’re not really brothers, even though they’re fairly close in age. I believe Kevin is Keith’s uncle. I think they’re both teachers, with Keith’s base being New London High School.)

Kevin’s course instructions for the 6.5-mile cloverleaf-like loop were very clear: “When you’re heading away from town, and you feel you’re getting a bit too far away, turn. Then, after you curve around and begin coming back a little too close to town, turn. Keep doing this until you return back here to the gas station.”

Now, on my first time around for the 2018 race, I recall that it’s not so difficult to find my way. What is difficult is the three-degree temperature, the negative double-digit wind chill, and the snow and ice on the many of the roads. That said, I’m not feeling too awful, even on this, the windiest part of the course. I’ve dressed properly, so things are okay. So far.

Mount New London occurs about five miles into the loop. I can just barely see the six or so runners ahead of me. There’s a bunch behind as well. Why is it that I always find myself alone in the middle of these things?


Second Loop

I am turning into the road that takes us by the high school. It’s about half-way through the loop. It was difficult, but I’ve managed to catch a couple women. We run together, talking and telling stories for the remainder of the loop. Sure is nice to have some company.

This loop is just a little faster than the first one. Keeping them all under an hour would seem like a reasonable goal, and I’m managing so far. But I have a long way to go, and the conditions, they are challenging.


Third Loop

New London Recreational Park is pretty. It’s about two miles into the loop. Besides the snow everywhere, the trees are covered with a heavy frost, and they look positively magical. The falling snow is beautiful as well.

All of the runners ahead of me have dropped out. I am alone again, naturally. I guess that also means I’m in the lead. (Egads!) But I’ve slowed down some, and I’ve still got over ten miles to go. It’s a little difficult to tell much about my speed; I’m actually trying to avoid looking at my watch. Just go with it and enjoy, I tell myself.

As much as I am truly enjoying this run, and as much as I would relish actually winning a marathon, I am nonetheless tempted to cut the course. There are plenty of opportunities, and surely no one would know. Except me. I grudgingly stay on the straight and narrow.


Fourth Loop

Mount New London and the Bypass were more challenging than ever. The temperature has crept up a few degrees, but the wind has also increased. I am just barely running as I make the turn onto Main Street.

Between the third and fourth loops, I’d asked Kevin how many were still out there. His answer, 121, didn’t quite make sense to me. That is until it occurred to me that the conversation I’d walked into had been about farming, with Keith discussing the dairy cows on the family farm. After some clarification, we laughed, and then Kevin told me that Michael Kazar, Angela Demchuk and I were the only ones left. Those other two are accomplished ultrarunners, so I got moving again the best I could.

But my best was now pretty darn slow. The cold and not-so-great footing had taken its toll. I had stopped at the top of Mount New London to look back for Michael or Angela. No sign of them. It thus appears that even though I’m only slogging along, I may actually truly win this thing.

You know the way adoring fans line the roads as the winner comes to the finish of big-city marathons like Boston? Well, there was nothing of the sort in New London. I went inside the gas station to get congratulated by Kevin and Felicia Fago.

What was my time, you ask? Do I have to tell you? Okay, okay. I think it’s a personal worst, at least for roads: 4:25.

But it’s nice to win one. I suppose that if you hang around long enough, and run enough smallish races, and if your nemesis, Frank Dwyer doesn’t show up, good things may occasionally happen. It’s a good way to begin 2018.

In the gas station after finishing     Felicia Fago Photo

2017 By the Numbers

Weekly Running Totals

Yes, there were some numbers in 2017. Not all of them were completely bad. Some, on the other had, were pretty darn shameful. But like them or not, they did occur, and that's just the way it is.

I am, and I always have been, a numbers guy. I analyze, count, measure and estimate stuff for a living, and I consider myself lucky to be doing these things that I enjoy. It's not too much of a stretch to understand how I might apply my enumeration habit to my running habit.

What are those numbers, you ask? I'm happy you inquired.

Totals for the year, from my Garmin data

2906.82: Arguably the most important number; it's the mileage total for the year, and the most since 2012.
5.7 (or 10.53): My average speed in miles per hour, or, for the 10.53, my average pace per mile. This is in the not so good category. Just when I thought I couldn't get any slower since last year's numbers, this happens.
4,658,226: The number of running steps I took for the year. I don't know whether this is good or bad, but I like big numbers, so there it is.
2: The number of marathons I ran in 2017. I wasn't too unhappy with the times, especially Erie at 3:43.
4: The number of ultramarathons I ran in 2017. These were so-so. The two 50Ks were 5:14 and 5:11, and Mugrage Park was 33.71 miles, and I ran the Burning River 50-mile race in 11 hours, 10 minutes. Also, I finished second overall at two of them.
1: Age Group Win. I actually thought I'd get more, considering some decent performances at a couple half-marathons, as well as the marathons mentioned above. This win was at Burning River, where I was happy to just finish alive.
97,345.4: My life-to-date mileage total. Hoping for that sixth digit. Think I'll make it?

Life to date miles, year by year

Sweet Misery. Except it wasn't so sweet.

You've heard this here before. Some of my most joyous runs occur when the weather is at its worst. The converse/implication (that running in lousy weather always leads to enjoyable jogs), isn't necessarily true, however. Today's running was... well, you'll see.

It was a case in point. When I saw the cold rain, I ditched my running friends in order to stay closer to home. I thought I'd get it done with quicker and easier this way. Not so fast, said the weather and running gods. The cold rain (you know how I hate cold rain) soaked me to the bone. That's when I began to freeze up; cold and wet is just no good in my book.

The thing was that I had to get a long run in. Why did I "have" to, you ask? That's easy. It's because the Landis Loonies Marathon is only a week away, on New Years Day. But even with this "need", I still couldn't handle the cold and wetness anymore.

What to do? Wimp out and finish the run on the mill, of course. After about 10 months without so much as stepping on a treadmill, I've now succumbed to the temptation a few times. The weather is my only excuse. I only hope this mill running doesn't lead to a relapse of my painful Achilles Tendonitis, which has been under control, but which I also believe may have been exacerbated by mill running. But so far, so good.

I did complete a long run - 6 outside and 16 inside. But the whole thing was sweet misery. With no sweetness.

Buckeye Woods 50K, November 26, 2017

At the start

The Buckeye Woods 50K (BW50K) is known as a Fat Ass run. Fat Ass runs are usually held around the holidays in order to provide ultra runners a way to burn off some of the extra weight they've been putting on. They don't have to be 50K (there's a 25K option at Buckeye Woods), but they're often 50 of something. I know there are some 50-mile ones, and there could conceivably be others of 50 feet or 50 parsecs. But 50 kilometers is probably the most common.

A couple other things about Fat Ass runs: they are friendly and easy-going; lack of support is typical (runners usually have to support themselves), and most importantly, there is usually no fee. In fact, the motto for all Fat Ass runs is, 'No Fees, No Awards, No Aid, No Wimps'.

That said, BW50K now has awards (Alyssa Osborne makes beach-glass necklaces for finishers), and there is even some limited support, this year by our Great Race Directors Harold Dravenstott and Michelle Wolff.

And the lack of fees? BW50K is one of the truly great benefits of membership in the Medina County Road Runners club; you do have to be a member in order to run, but it's otherwise completely free. What a bargain. The friendliness and easy-going-ness are a huge part of the bargain as well.

I absolutely love this race. So much so, that I've done each one since its inception in 2010. Maybe I'll even get good at it one of these years. But probably not.

Perhaps it wasn't really all that bad this time around. Maybe I'm being a little tough on myself. Many runners would be happy with my time and my overall place today. Conceivably, I could be very happy with today's run... Nah.

What exactly was my time and place today, you ask? Although I ran alone most of the day (no one seemed to run my pace - most were either faster or slower), it was still good to see everyone coming and going. And to come 'home' at the end of each 5-mile loop was wonderful.

Going in, I'd thought that I ought to be able to run faster than six hours, perhaps even five and a half. A sub-five hour run would be hitting it out of the park for me this day. But for a while, sub-five actually seemed like a possibility. But then the miles began to take their terrible toll, and my lap times began to slow little by little.

My laps. the first one includes an extra mile

My overall time was 5:11:28. This was good for second place overall. If some fast guy (his name is Frank Dwyer) hadn't showed up, I may, just may, have placed better than second. I should mention that there were a lot of excellent runners out there today, but lots of them chose to call it quits at 25K.

Okay, it was great fun. Did I mention that I love this race?

Oh, just one more thing. Here's my BW50K history. The unlabeled column is my age. As I said, maybe I'll get good at it one of these years.

Hail yes, it hurt. ...or... Hail. Yes, it hurt.

The well-known Post Office creed goes, "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds".


The not so well-known Dan Horvath creed for this day goes, "Neither snow nor rain nor blustery wind nor sleet nor hail nor gloom of early morning stays this runner from the swift completion of his appointed round."


The hail hurt a bit, but luckily that part didn't last long. Oh, and the completion wasn't really all that swift either.

Time, Distance, Estimation and Honesty

For someone who measures and estimates for a living, the Garmin Forerunner 620 has been both a blessing and a curse. On the blessing side, it's just so cool to look at the data, including the map, after a run, or even much later. And it's also great to never have to measure or estimate time and distance again. Ever.


On the curse side, one never has to measure or estimate time and distance. That is, there's no opportunity to fudge, over-estimate or otherwise smooth out the data.


Not that this runner would do such a thing on purpose. Before the Garmin, he would do the best he could at measuring accurate distances, and to be precise with the timing. Even so, there may, just may, have been occasions where the estimation wasn't entirely accurate. And guess which way?


What happens, you ask, when such a guy stops using his Garmin? What happens when the battery dies after three years, and the thing has to be returned to Garmin International for a $99 battery replacement? For one thing, he goes a little crazy.


But only a little. He researches various training logs, since he absolutely hates the Garmin one anyway. (He's trying Running Ahead right now, instead.) And he buys a $9.99 Aldi's best "sportwatch", that includes - get this - a chronometer. This will, hopefully, get him by until the return of the Garmin.


Now he's back to estimating time and/or distance for the interim. And trying hard not to be dishonest.

It was dark in the park

It was dark in the park,

Goes the snark remark.

Today’s runner tried to be quick off the mark,

But with the dark so stark,

He’d been better off to disembark.

Running in Iberia

Madrid

It’s dark in the park. But only just parts of it. Time to move back to the lighter sections. This experience here in Retiro Park is not at all like the one I had in Casa de Campo park ten years ago. This park is smaller, but it’s still large enough to get some miles in; I do a few large loops of a couple miles for an overall total of eight. And this park, unlike that other one with prostitutes in the trees (you’ll have to reference my previous blog post), has almost no other people in these early morning hours.

Here’s another version of my usual answer to the question, “What do you think about when you run?” The usual answer is, I think about running. That’s partially the case today as well. But on this first run in Iberia, there are all sorts of random thoughts bouncing around between my ears. Thoughts such as, “where am I now?”, “was that a voice?”, and, “what are we doing later today?” Mostly though, I think about my running goals for these next three weeks here in Iberia.

Having completed most of my important races for the year (only Buckeye Woods remains), I won’t at all mind taking the running easy for this trip. Of course that’s what I’m doing now, but I also anticipate doing so for most all of my upcoming runs here. I do, however, decide to try to run at every location. That’s not to say every day, but nearly so. It will be tough, since we are on the move so much. Most locations are just for one night, although some are for two, and only the Lisbon hotel will be more.

Sevilla

I am concerned about getting lost in this jumble of medieval streets, so I mostly stick to the main roads, and reference my printed Google map often. I learn right away to avoid the bike lanes at all costs. I try to get into some of the city parks, thinking they may be as wonderfully runnable as Retiro was. They’re locked up tighter than drums. I could probably try to sneak in, like I do at the Brunswick Track... but I don’t.

Second choice is the river. I have often found several paths along rivers in Europe, and this one, the Guadalquiver, does not disappoint.

Things are fine except that several sections are covered by cobblestones. No doubt these were placed here by the ancient Romans, or possibly later peoples such as Visigoths or Moors. No matter, they’re not designed for Danny Boy and his Brooks Ghost Nines. This causes me to slow down even more than before, if that’s at all possible. This increased slowness, in turn, causes me to turn back. We wouldn’t want Debbie to worry.

Granada

This Is turning out to be a really nice run. Once again, I have navigated to, and run along a river. Once again, it’s proven a good choice, after all the fear and loathing I had been doing about getting lost. So much so, that I’m carrying two maps along with my room key. These particular cheap-o shorts, throw-aways that I will wind up trying to keep after all, have no pockets. I also have a headlamp that I need to be able to read the maps.

My fear had at least some basis: we’d walked the jumble of narrow, twisted streets of Granada yesterday, and it seemed impossible not to get lost.

The dirt paths along the river are lovely, even though it’s still dark. Along with my headlamp, there is some lighting to help with the footing and navigation. Thus regarding my quest to run at every location possible during this journey, all is good. But here is what I should have feared and loathed about: slow-disease. I am only barely moving faster than a brisk walk. In fact, this is working out to be my slowest, and therefore shortest runs yet. One of these days I’ll need to get serious about this running stuff. But today is not that day.

Valencia

This one is shaping up to be my best run so far, in just about every aspect. Valencia re-routed its river away from the city to eliminate the risk of flooding, and they re-purposed the riverbed area as a long city park. So once more, I’m running along a river, although this time it’s a river sans water.

The width of the park varies, but it’s probably never more than a half-mile wide. But it sure is long. And long is just what the doctor ordered. Getting started around 4:30, not having to worry about getting lost, traffic, bad footing, darkness (it’s well-lit), etc., all add up to a goal of at least ten miles for the day.

Having decided to run out on one side of the riverbed and back on the other, I had hit the turnaround, where I think the park finally ended, at a little over five miles. This was perfect. Now after going out on the eastern edge, I had been trying to return on the western side. But I get re-routed just a little and wind up on some of the middle paths. Here I find a dirt trail that suits me.

The lighting is a bit different - small up-lights vs the overheard ones that illuminate the other trails. I am starting to see other runners now that it’s nearing the 6:00 am hour. I notice a 2 km marking, and then others every 100 meters. It’s a trail marked specifically for runners, and I follow it all the way to the 5 km finish. This is extremely cool!

I’m not done yet, however. I have a couple more miles before I get back to my hotel. I finally pick up the pace a little, making this not only my farthest and most enjoyable, but also my fastest run. Ten miles. You can’t go farther than that.

Barcelona

The streets are filled with people. Not what you would expect at 6:00 am on a Saturday. But then, this is Spain. The problem of the day is not the people and the busy city streets. It’s that there’s no destination. For each of my other runs so far, I’ve managed to find a river or a park where I could run in peace. Such is not the case today.

But I knew that. I’d had low expectations going in, and I’m now reaping what I’d sewed. I go up to, and then out and back on Avinguda Diagonal, the main drag through town. I don’t feel threatened by all the young people, although a couple do remark on my presence (I think it was of a positive nature).

This winds up as just two easy miles today. It will also wrap up my running in Spain. On to Portugal!

Lisbon

1) I hate running here. Don’t get me wrong. I love Portugal in general, and Lisbon in particular, in lots of ways. But running isn’t one of them. It’s all cobblestones; they’re impossible to avoid. And now I’m hopelessly lost.

It shouldn’t have been that difficult; I only wanted to head over from the Marriott into the main downtown area. It’s a couple miles, and I have walked it in my previous visits to this place. But today is not a great running day. Besides being lost and afraid of tripping, I now have a cold as well. Probably caught it from a fellow traveler. Somehow I find my way back this first day.

2) I love running here. I had headed out the other direction – north instead of south - and the memories came back. This is where I used to run most of my miles whilst working here. There are universities and hospitals around here, and there’s a running trail through a university athletic area and park. It’s about ¾ mile – I do one circuit before heading back, but I will return!

3) I love running here. I know I said this yesterday, but I mean it even more-so this time. I am running in the same park, and I am re-discovering other routes around and through the place. There are more soft dirt trails, and plenty of variety. There is some lighting, but even so, it’s a good thing I have my headlamp. I figure that it’s about a 1.7 mile circuit at the most. After a few of those, I start around a smaller circular course more in the interior. A little under a half-mile in length, it goes around a stadium, and it’s on roads. It’s just beginning to get light out, and other runners are beginning to do this shorter route (they are starting to run the dirt trails as well). Some of these other runners are pretty darn fast. I pick it up here as well. It’s good to finish this ten-miler feeling strong.

4) I kinda like running here. Since I am now staying at a different Lisbon hotel, I’m in a different park: scenic, even in the dark, Parque Eduardo VII. It’s actually fine, except for the cobblestones. Did I mention that there are 17 billion cobblestones in Lisbon? And that I’ve stepped on nearly 28.3% of them? And that I haven’t tripped yet? And if that don’t jinx me, nothing will. The biggest problem with today’s run, however, isn’t the cobblestones. It’s me. I’m just too darn tired to run more than four miles. And of course I am, once again, out of time.

I had apparently missed the Madrid Marathon whilst we were there doing other things. Now in Lisbon, we actually witnessed a 10K run that was going on in the Belem area while were touring that area. I sure would have liked to participate in these events, mostly for the opportunity to experience something unique.

The Algarve

It occurs to me that if something would go very wrong during this run, I’d have a great deal of trouble describing where I am staying. I don’t even know the name of the town that I started in (I later finally get it into my head – it’s Armacao de Pera). The other bad thing that could happen, as I run down this dark, narrow road, is for some Brit who’s only half awake such that he’s driving on the left, to hit me from behind. This area is where a whole lot of Brits and Europeans go on beach holidays, and the beaches are quite lovely here.

Luckily, neither bad thing does indeed occur. I find an even more narrow road to run down, and end up making a loop around a camping area. I also run on the beach a little. Once again, I wind up enjoying this run a whole lot.

I would like to do more. Too bad I run out of time. Again.

Running on the beach in the Algarve

Evora

The cathedral again? How can I possibly be this completely lost in such a relatively small and compact walled city? Why o why can’t I find the main square, from which I would be able to easily navigate back to the hotel?

Yes, I must admit it. I’m as lost as lost can be. I had started, key, map and flashlight in hand, with honest intentions: the thought of getting outside the walled city and its complicated cobblestone roads, and back, as fast as possible. By now you know this hasn’t worked out so well. There were cobblestones outside the city walls as well as inside. Worse, it wasn’t entirely clear in my muddled brain what was inside versus outside said walls. In fact, I wasn’t sure at all whether I was inside or outside the walled city. I had wandered a lot, and eventually found myself back inside said walls.

That part was okay. By then, I’d gotten a couple miles in, and it was time to head back anyway. Too bad the fun was only just beginning. Now I keep finding myself back at this darned cathedral, from which I keep trying different roads to take me away. At one point, I travel all the way back outside the city, thinking once again that I can then navigate all the way around on the outside. No luck there either.

I had asked a couple people – it was now getting later in the morning, so they were beginning to wake up – for help, but as much as they tried, the communication barriers were too great. The map only made things worse.

What’s the danger, you ask? I check my watch. It’s 6:52. Debbie is by now becoming extremely anxious, sitting in the room awaiting my return. I’d said 6:30, and it will soon (at 7:00) be time to get our bags out and go to breakfast. The worst case scenario would be that of missing the 8:00am bus, and thus being stuck in Evora forever.

I run down for one more loop around and through and back. Back to the cathedral. Back with still no sign at all of the main square, with it’s way to Hotel Mar de Ar. I stop to ask an elderly couple for some directions. I hesitate, because none of the others had been able to help at all. There is more communication and miscommunication, but they wind up actually walking with me up and down the streets, to the main square.

Eventually we do arrive at the square. I can’t figure out how it was that I couldn’t find it before. I thank the couple profusely with multiple obigados, and then run the rest of the way down to the Mar de Ar. I get back around 7:15, and Debbie had indeed been worried, but she also had everything packed up and ready for us to go. I had been out since around 5:45, but only got around five miles in.

Extremely Lost in Evora

Viseu

You won’t believe this, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’m lost. Again. This time, I’m in the early morning darkness, running on cobblestones in a medieval, walled city with narrow, winding streets. I know. This sounds much like yesterday’s debacle. But it’s today’s as well.

I hadn’t planned on going very far today. Of course, I hadn’t planned on it yesterday, either. This time, things do work out a bit differently, however. I emerge from some narrow, winding, cobblestone street, only to find…….. my hotel!! Of all things. And right where I left it.

Porto

I am not lost. I may indeed have a problem getting back to the hotel, but I’m not lost. Not one bit. I know exactly where I am. Exactly.

And furthermore, I know where I started. So, let’s summarize. I know where I am now. I know where I started. I just don’t have the slightest idea how it transpired that I arrived from there to here, or how to get back. Here, by the way, is under the famous Eiffel bridge here in Porto. And this is precisely where I did want to run today, since it’s by the river (alert readers will note that I like rivers for their navigational assistance), and also has fewer cobblestones.

And then a miracle occurs. I manage to retrace my steps, and arrive back at the hotel without further mishap. It’s amazing. 

The bridge in Porto

Figueira da Foz


I am not lost, but I have no inkling what city I'm in. You can read it just above this sentence because I am able to look it up when I return. The reason I'm not lost is that we've finally gotten to a place that's easy to navigate. Keep the Atlantic Ocean on my right-hand side going out, and on my left when I return. I can handle this.


And yet, with the heavy fog (I could only see a couple feet in front of me), I do somehow manage to get away from the ocean.  I didn't think I turned, and the bike and walking paths had appeared to go straight.  I know I've gotten away because I'm suddenly running under a huge and high bridge that's perpendicular with my path. Assuming that it's not taking drivers all the way across the ocean, I must have trailed off. Will I find my way back this time?


I do. It's a pretty good run. And it's a good final one for the trip.


I did manage to run at every location. Each one was extremely slow, but at least memorable.


For more on this trip, see also my travel blog.

Today's Tale: Torturous Track Tempo Training Trot

People often ask what we runners think about as we're running all those miles. We think about blog post titles such as this one. And when they find out, they're sorry they asked. It would have been nice to be able to include the word, tremendous in there. Nice, but not quite appropriate. Torturous, unfortunately, is the more apt descriptive adjective.


It's been tough to keep motivated now that Erie is over. Other than late November's Buckeye Woods 50K, there's nothing else on the horizon at the moment. Without some Big Race on the calendar, and perhaps with some still ongoing post-race mental and physical damage, I just don't feel like running so much or so fast these days.


Today would be different. It would be a Something of Substance Tuesday Track Trot. I show up at 5:15, and run a few easy miles with co-worker Colleen DeVito, who's getting ready for her first half-marathon in a while. Then I pick it up to begin the speedwork.


What particular speedwork am I doing, you ask? Darned if I know; I make this stuff up as I go along. That's especially true when there's no race looming in the near future.


I am nearing a mile at this tremendous 7:30-ish pace when I consider whether to slow down at the completion of said mile. In other words, should I do mile intervals, or a tempo run. (I am already committed to something longer than 800s or 1200s, by the way.)


The mile goes by, and I keep going. This does indeed become a 3-mile tempo run, and by the time I hit overall mile six, I'm ready for a quick pit stop. Can I do a few more miles at this pace?


Besides something of substance, I'd wanted to get to a total of ten, or possibly eleven miles today. This usually isn't a problem for these mid-week speed sessions. It is today. After a couple additional fast, but not quite as fast miles, I ease up for a cooldown mile. The watch indicates nine miles. What? I thought it was ten for sure. Is there some mistake?


Nope. Nine is correct; the only mistake is my brain. I struggle mightily, but manage another mile.


I am still (still!) waiting for this to become easy.

There once was this ancient runner

There once was this ancient runner from Brunswick
Who thought: to be the best that ever lived would be mighty slick
He runs as fast and as far as he possibly could
No doubt way more than he should
Guess that makes him pretty much a lunatic

Erie Marathon Race Report, by Danny Boy

Short Version: I ran well for a while. But then... (Sorry, there's a technical glitch here. Please refer to the Long Version.)

Long Version: Danny Boy wonders where the heck he's at when the 3:00 AM alarm goes off. He somehow manages to get up, out the door and on the road to Erie before four. It takes two hours, and he has to go pretty bad when he gets to the Waldameer Park parking area. Could it possibly have something to do with all the coffee, beet root juice and water he's been gulping during the drive?

Presque Isle is not an island, but a protrusion of land that thrusts into Lake Erie. Such penetration makes for a stunning recreational venue. Okay, okay. Danny Boy will stop. The location is indeed beautiful, but now it's back to the race report.

This race had been on Danny Boy's 'A' list. We don't know why. We don't even know why he does these marathon thingies, for that matter. But with a motto like, 'flat, fast and fun', coupled (there we go again) with absolutely perfect weather, there ought not be any excuses not to run, or not to try to run well. At the very least, he certainly should do better than the 3:56 he did this past spring in Cleveland. On top of everything else, our runner ran some half marathons to get ready, and even (yes, really) tapered and carbo-loaded.

He starts out much too fast. He can't understand why everyone else, some of whom don't appear to be fast runners, seems to be sprinting. Of course he foolishly tries to keep up. After about six miles, he finally settles down to a more manageable pace. As he comes close to completing the first of the two 13-mile loops around the peninsula, his pace falters a little as he slows a bit more.

The half-way point brings memories of his only marathon DNF (Did Not Finish). In 2003 or so, he'd made the trip up here with wife Debbie and some friends. On a horrifically hot and humid day, Debbie said as he ran by, "We're going to breakfast, why don't you come too?" Without thinking at all, Danny Boy stepped off the course and went to Bob Evans. He could have completed the second 13 that day, although he'd have suffered mightily.  Danny Boy ran Erie once before and once after that incident. Those other races were super hot ones as well.

Not today. It is 48F at the start, and of course things warm up as the sun rises, but it still never gets a whole lot north of 60. Furthermore, the air was dry and crisp, and there is only a slight breeze. It's as good as it gets.

Hitting half-way with a time of 1:50 is a little scary. That's only a couple minutes faster than his two recent half-marathons. If he could duplicate the time for the second half, he'd have an extremely respectable 3:40 marathon. But can he do it?

He takes some gels, and they seem to help. He runs the next several miles nearly as fast as he ran them the first time around. He's still feeling strong at Mile 20, and the time is around 2:49. 3:40 is still possible, no?

No. The pace begins to slip. Not a lot, but enough. Perhaps those fast early miles did indeed take their toll. Now that silly 3:40 goal is truly out of reach. It's funny how it had became a goal at all. Going in, he had only thought about beating his 3:56. Faster than 3:55 would be a Boston Qualifier. Now he easily had the BQ, but wanted more.

Finish time is 3:43. It's Danny Boy's best in four years, and second best in six years. But then, he retired from marathons a few years ago, didn't he?

The word is out on Erie. The race organization is second to none; it's all about the runners. And it's nice that it's only a marathon; there are no other events. Being so flat and with timing to allow for Boston Qualification, the race has grown a lot over the years. There were well over 1,500 participants from all over.

One more thing. The results show that Danny Boy was eighth in his ancient age group. That means that seven (yes, seven) old-timers actually ran faster. Surely the large field and the perfect day mattered. It sure did to D.B.

Because He Couldn't

Why did he make it so darn hard on himself, having to sprint so hard, from so far behind? Why didn't he just stay with the leaders from the start, and then simply outlast them?

The 1972 Olympic 800-Meter race is still considered by many to be one of the greatest come from behind victories of all time. An Ohio boy, Dave Wottle of Canton and Bowling Green State University, was in seemingly out of the realm of possible winners, trailing far behind in last place with 400 meters, and even 200 meters to go. Then Wottle began to pass his competitors, one by one. Even so, he still had an incredible amount of real estate to make up as he entered the final straightaway in a distant fourth place. His final kick over the last few meters is the stuff of legend. His last victim, the favored Soviet runner Evgeny Arzhanov, dove at the finish line, but Wottle stayed upright, and passed him for the gold-medal win. It's all here in this famous video.

Why didn't he just stay with the leaders from the start? Because he couldn't.

Dave Wottle considered himself a 1500 meter runner. He stated that he was only running the 800 to prepare for the 1500, and that he didn't have anywhere near the 400 meter speed of his competitors. He actually ran even splits in the Final, whereas all the others slowed during the second lap.

I think about this race often, especially when I see runners off to a fast start in a race of any distance. Many times, I am unable to stay with those whom I think I ought to be able to beat. Stay with it, I tell myself. Run your own race. They will either come back, or they won't; all you can do is run the best you can, with the knowledge that a steady, even pace most often yields the best results. Be like Dave Wottle, I say.

The Olympic Games were held in Munich, Germany in September, 1972. Forty-five years ago, I watched them, and this race, live. I was as stunned as everyone else. These 1972 Games were also famous for the Israeli Hostage situation, and for Frank Shorter's Marathon win. I recently re-published an article I wrote about the fortieth anniversary that race five years ago. For more information about Wottle, what he's up to now, and his famous painters cap, this article in the Toledo Blade, tells it well.

It's okay to start fast, if you're wired that way. But turtles, take heart. If you run slow and steady, sometimes it works.