Three Things

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

Three things I know are true:

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

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

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

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

Some fun with that number:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until the one after that.

Whiteout

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

...

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

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

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

Made in America Half-Marathon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Celebration

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the hardy revelers     Photo by Larry Orwin

Me and my fancy pants         Photo by Larry Orwin

My 100K Cookie - thanks to Larry Orwin!

InFirst Bank Veteran's Marathon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My One Hundred Thousandth Mile

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

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

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

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

Anyway, here are some fun facts with these numbers:

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

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

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

About to Roll it Over

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

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

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

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

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

2:58!!

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

How did I manage such a thing, you ask?

With great patience and perseverance, I answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooster Brick Run - Unrace Report

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

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

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

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

Why You Should Always do a Tapir

Ah, The Importance of the Tapir.

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

Northern Ohio Marathon Race Report

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running with a Champion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday Track Tedium, and Nearly a Stinker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let's Get Sirius

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

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

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

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

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

What race are you Not Training for?

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

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

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

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

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

What are YOU training for?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tale of Two Runs

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

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

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

2 out of 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Sweat, Therefore I

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

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

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

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

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

Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.

Man (to Waitress): Morning!

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

Man: Well, what've you got?

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

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

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

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

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

Wife: Have you got anything without spam?

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

Wife: I don't want ANY spam!

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

Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!

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

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

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

Waitress: Urgghh!

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

Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up!

Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

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

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

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

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

Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.

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

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

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

~

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

Reminds me of how all our children are above average.

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

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

The Perseid

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

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

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

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

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

There were no more meteors, and no more wakefulness.

Orion Rise, 2018

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

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

Sights and Sounds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Double the Fun

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

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

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

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

Heavenly Hills in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hinckley is Back

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


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


Just like old times!!

Battle of Wounded Knee (as an innocent bystander)

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


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


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


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


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


Hope you're okay, Larry!

North Canton YMCA 4th of July 5-mile

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buckeye Woods 50K Race Report

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

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

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

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

Louisville YMCA 10K

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


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


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


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


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


And the ugly? I keep getting slower!

Whitefish Point Marathon Race Report

The Route from Paradise to Whitefish Point and back

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

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

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

Dan in Paradise

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

Tahquamenon Falls

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

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

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

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

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

Early on. Still have spring in my step.

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

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

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

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

The Finish

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

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

Swag

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

Whitefish Point

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

Sunrise over Gitche Gumee

The Bad and the Ugly

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't pretty. But you knew that.

Medina Half Marathon

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

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

Early in the race, on the bike path

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

Medina Lake, the prettiest part of the course

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

On the bricks, approaching the Square for the finish

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

I may go to Michigan after all.

Cleveland Marathon, 2018 Edition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.