My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon, and What I Learned From It

Marathon & Beyond Magazine had a regular feature called, My Most Unforgettable Marathon or Ultramarathon (And What I Learned from It)  Most people would write an inspiring piece about the achievement of some great goal or something like that. But that’s most people. Here is what I wrote in 2011. Believe it or not, it is a shortened version of the original article.


June 16, 2001

The 5 AM start came early. There was light rain and fog as we began running through the campground and onto the dark gravel and dirt roads. After only a few miles, about 6 of us realized that we were already off course. Coming to our senses, we nearly sprinted the half-mile back to catch back up with the rest of the bunch. The course was actually well marked, but the rain erased part of a chalk mark, making it appear that we were supposed to turn.  The occasion was the Mohican Trail 100 Mile Run. And the fun was just beginning.

Those road miles were at an easy pace. The folks I was with walked up the hills and ran the rest. These hills were substantial, but we hadn’t seen anything yet. After 9 or 10 miles we started on the trails. The rain had stopped, but now we would have to deal with its after effect: the mud and muck of Mohican. It didn’t take long at all for me to take a tumble. The combination of mud, slippery rocks, extreme downward steepness and my dumb story-telling to those around was all it took. I broke my fall with my hands, arm and leg, all of which wound up with cuts, scratches and gashes mixed with mud and blood.

It didn’t help that my wife, Debbie was there to see me at the next aid station. She had agreed to be my crew throughout the day, until it was time to meet my pacing companion at mile 69. And she had gone into the event quite worried about me. And the problem is that I often worry about her worrying. A nervous wreck the night before, she made me promise to never again attempt such a stupid thing as running 100 miles. In a moment of weakness, I agreed. I want to state for the record that Debbie is as supportive of my running as any spouse can be. She was just very worried in this instance.

Expectations were not extremely high. Although I’d been running for 25 years, I was fairly light on ultra experience. My resume included a poor showing at a 24-hour run, a 50k and two 6-hour runs. I had decided to do this foolish thing only three weeks before. After talking with some running friends about it at a Memorial Day race, I determined that if I could do a 40-mile training run the very next day, I’d register. I could and I did. Given all this, I went into the race hoping only to finish.

Experienced ultrarunners had told me to get plenty of food and liquids (“Eat like a horse, drink like a fish, run like a turtle”), yet to not linger at aid stations longer than necessary (“Beware of the chair”). I did eat and drink a lot, but I also did spend a lot of time at the aid stations. The folks there were fantastic. They provided the usual ultra foods, such as bananas, soup, PB&J sandwiches and pizza. But several went out of their way to provide something unique, like those cherry cheese French toast sandwiches. The volunteers helped me clean my wounds, and even helped change my wet, muddy shoes and socks at about half way through. I was terrified to look at my feet and couldn’t imagine how anyone else would be able to. The nice lady simply said, “Don’t look at them yourself, and don’t worry about me. I’ve seen them all”. Of course the clean shoes and socks didn’t stay that way for long.

The middle 60-70 mile trail portion of the course consisted of several loops designated by color code. They formed a cloverleaf, with the Mohican Covered Bridge in the center. Each section had its own personality, and all were quite beautiful. I didn’t know Ohio could get this hilly, or this pretty. At one point we encountered a wall of rocks and tree roots that we had to climb up, hand over hand. But the reward was a view of a nice little waterfall. Later we had to climb down a similar wall of rocks, and then got to run behind another waterfall. There were some really great runs along rivers, several stream crossings, and one actual river crossing. I was already beat when I hit the 50-mile mark in 11 hours.
For some unfathomable reason, I got a second wind at about mile 55. It may have been that there were actually a few level miles, or seeing a wild turkey in the woods, or the beautiful scenery along the river, or knowing that I would have someone to run with very soon.

My friend Dave Kanners met me at mile 69 in order to run with me to mile 88. I sure needed that! Knowing that he would be there kept me going to that point, and then actually having company for most of the rest of the way helped even more. We mostly walked, but there was a bit of jogging and shuffling mixed in. Dave politely put up with my bad jokes and bathroom stops. It was a moonless night and the stars were fantastic.

The final miles were toughest. It was getting light and I could appreciate the scenery once again. But I was in pain. All of my muscles were screaming at me to STOP! It was surprising that my feet had held out this long, but now the blisters were making themselves known. Dry socks helped. At the final aid station, 3.2 miles from the finish, I tried to get some bandages on the blisters, but they kept sliding off as I put my socks back on.

It took me an hour and 12 minutes to complete that final section. That’s only 2.6 miles per hour! Three people passed me - one of them at a full sprint ¼ mile from the finish. As I turned into the campground, there were a few enthusiastic folks to give applause. I said out loud, “I guess I ought to try to run, to earn your applause”, so I did actually shuffle in. My time was 26 hours, 31 minutes, 26 seconds. That was about 30th place, and not quite last of the Mohicans. I was trying to figure out how in the world to clean myself and call Debbie, when she showed up – only a couple minutes after my glorious finish.

And my solemn promise? I recovered surprisingly well and Debbie needn’t have worried; but I had absolutely no desire to ever try anything like this again. The run will forever rank as one of the highlights of my running career. But it wasn’t quite my most unforgettable ultramarathon.


Spring, 2011

Although I had done a few more ultras since 2001, I hadn’t really gotten into them a whole lot; for me, it was mostly marathons. That changed with a successful 100k at Mad City. It was in the aftermath of this successful effort that the thought of trying another 100-miler began to creep back into my head. Heck, it’s only 38 more miles! I had friends who were registered for one or both of the two local 100-mile races, Burning River and Mohican. Naturally they read my thoughts and cranked up the peer pressure to do either or both. Gobs of training miles and a solid 50k run sealed the deal for me. Evidently I could run trails (although Mohican’s and Burning River’s were relatively tough). I could run in heat. And I could run for long distances. What else is there?

Debbie agreed to let me out of my no-more-hundred-miler promise, although I’m not sure exactly why. She did mumble something about making sure the life insurance was paid up. Now the only question was: Mohican, or Burning River?

Burning River’s trails would be, contrary to the remarks of some of my trail dog friends, more doable (read: less difficult) for me. It is also very well-organized. I know this, because I’ve volunteered there in past years. Mohican, scheduled in June, may be less hot than Burning River, which takes place at the end of July.

At the point of my decision, Mohican was also only a couple weeks away. I didn’t think recovery from my recent 50k would be a problem. In fact, that close-by event date was actually the clincher. I’d have the thing over with. It would be out of my system. I would be able to move on to other, (hopefully) faster things. One could only hope.


June 17, 2011

After three hours of running, Ladd Clifford announced that we’d gone 13 miles according to his GPS. Surely we’d come farther than that! I wondered, not for the first time, about the accuracy of those things. But it actually made sense in comparison to where I thought we were on the course. And this was truly the perfect speed for us to run a hundred-miler; we were right on pace. I had only one very small problem at this point: everything hurt.

It was now ten years and one day since my first attempt at this foolish distance. The race was now called the North Face Mohican 100 Trail Run. The course incorporated some of the same trails, along with other new ones. To run 100 miles, runners would do two 27-mile loops followed by two 23-milers. The start/finish was at a (different) campground that was adjacent to the rest of the park. Most importantly, the road sections were almost entirely eliminated; it was virtually all trail now. The trails were as tough as ever, but there would be more of them. This was considered by my trail dog friends to be a good thing. I can only shake my head and wonder about these folks.

When I say everything hurt, I do mean everything: every bone, muscle, tendon, and brain cell. Every stride, every footfall, was painful. I'd felt general pain during runs before, but never with 87 miles yet to go. And that's the part that was hurting those brain cells. One of my painful body parts was my left heel. I had had Plantar Fasciitis off and on for the past six months, but I’d been fortunate in that it had never become bad enough to slow me down very much. At the time, I didn’t believe that it was so much a problem here either; it was just one pain amongst many.

Everything about this run became a love-hate thing for me. I loved driving down to Mohican the night before with Ladd, Frank Dwyer, and other friends. We three guys had planned to stay together as much as possible for the first half of the race. I loved seeing old and new friends at the check in, dinner and meeting Friday night. I've said it before and I'll say it again: ultrarunners are some of the best people I know. I hated not being able to sleep more than two hours in our tiny cabin due to the campfire smoke that was like being two feet away from a chain-smoker. Less humid air and a small breeze would have helped.

The 5 AM start had come early. It was warm and extremely humid due to the rains the night before and earlier in the morning. After a half-mile, we reached the single-track trail. I'd anticipated that there may be a slow-down as we 300 runners (about half were 50-milers; the rest of us were centurions) entered the trail. What occurred, however, was a total traffic jam. Who wants to totally stop running, when there are 99.5 miles to go? Eventually, we started walking, single file, up the switchbacks. It was still dark, and the long line of headlamps traversing the winding trails was surreal.

After some walking, we began shuffling on some of the straightaways. There were some extremely muddy areas, and without trail shoes, I did some slipping and sliding. As unique an experience that this single-file trekking in the dark was, I hated it. I had absolutely no control over whether I could run or walk; I had to do what the group was doing. Even when I could run, it was hard to do so - it was that tough out there already.

Even several miles into the run, I was still with groups of runners going single file. The larger group had broken into smaller ones, but it was still impossible to get around them. And I was still at their mercy in regards to walking or running. Naturally the steep sections were for the walking, but there seemed to be way too few flatter areas. I even asked Ladd at one point: "Do you think there will be anyplace where we can run for more than just a few steps?"

Ladd, Frank and I were never far from each other. After a couple hours, we could stay together, and better avoid the groups. It was probably about 7am when I started to notice the scenery. The forest was truly beautiful, and now away from the crowds, I thought about how much I loved this. I thought about why I run at all; to see sights and experience nature in ways that are impossible any other way.

The epiphany didn’t last long. Things were beginning to hurt. Now at 13 miles, we were only half-way through the first loop. I tried to adjust my thoughts: just make it to the next aid station, then the next, then to the finish of the first loop.

I forgot about the pain for a while as we crossed a stream several times and then climbed up and over a small, muddy cliff. This half-mile or so section probably took a half-hour or more. It was fun, but also frustrating. The rest of the terrain was also terrible, but this part was the worst. And I’d been here before, ten years ago.

Eventually I found that I couldn't stay with Ladd any more. He was moving at a slow, steady pace, but I couldn’t even hold that. My overall pain was still increasing, and the humidity made it difficult to breath. In addition, I was tired. I’m not sure I understood the fatigue; perhaps it was only from fighting the overall pain. In fact, I was actually winded for much of the time. I made a couple remarks about all this to Frank, but he didn’t answer. I think he was having difficulty as well.

By the time we got to the final aid station of the first loop (mile 22 or so), I was totally spent. Ladd and Frank were still there, and I said that I didn't know if I'd be able to complete the circuit, much less start the next one. I don't think Ladd believed me. I hardly believed it myself. In all my years of running and racing, I’d had only one DNF, in a marathon where I very well could have gone on. Until this moment, the thought of a DNF here hadn’t crossed my mind at all. In fact, I'd had no contingency plan whatsoever; I was going to finish no matter what. I was aware that this race had a very low (often well under 50%) finish rate, but DNF’s were for other people. If I had difficulty, I’d just run through it; it was simply a matter of perseverance.

I’ve been running long enough to know that bad patches can come and go. One has a great deal of time to get over something during an ultramarathon (in this case, cutoff was 32 hours). But it only got worse. More runners began passing me. I knew several of them, and they tried to encourage me. It didn't work. Once when I did try to run I tripped and fell. This was on top of a few other minor falls earlier in the race. By now I hated every minute.

Eventually I saw it: a short-cut! This would eliminate the extremely vertical final two-mile section of the course. Since I was going to be dropping, I had no qualms about taking this route back in.

The 25 or so miles had taken me over six torturous hours. It felt so wonderful to get off my feet, not to mention those terrible trails. For all I know, I may have been the first to drop, but I didn't care one bit. I could think of only one word, and I said it over and over: relief! Debbie was there at the campground to take me home. I later learned that Frank dropped at around 50 miles, and Ladd made it to the finish. For me, even though I had badly wanted to finish, everything had changed. I was now just happy to be off my feet.

R to L Dan, Frank, Ladd at Mohican in 2011

And What I Learned from It

    1) I’m not infallible. Based on recent results I felt I had reason to be somewhat confident going in, but nothing is pre-ordained. Sometimes it appears that success breeds success, but success doesn’t last forever. Neither does failure.
    2) A lot can happen in a day’s worth of running. Much of it is bad. Some of it (like injuries) can be so bad that it’s impossible to go on. This applies to nearly everyone and anyone. I now believe that it was the Plantar Fasciitis and road shoes that got me. I must have been favoring my left foot, and this led the other pain and fatigue.
    3) A runner should recognize his or her strengths and weaknesses. This doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try different things or get out of our comfort zone, but we should at least know our limitations. I’ve had limited success on trail runs and typically do better on roads. This trail run was simply not my cup of tea.
    4) Besides preparation and good luck, finishing an event like this does require a great deal of perseverance. I greatly admire those who can manage to complete such a thing. Mohican (and several others) are not just 100 miles. They’re 100 miles over rough terrain. Yet, Ladd and several others made it. I'm in awe.
    5) My friends had tried to help, and they were disappointed for me (for, not in) when I dropped. I should also mention that my friend Patrick Fisher had been ready to pace me for the final 23 miles. I'd been thinking that there would be none better. Ultrarunners are the best people, period. There, I did say it again.
    6) I should have stuck with my pledge. On the other hand, maybe I needed to be brought down to earth. It was great to see Debbie there when I quit; I was sorry to disappoint her most of all, but of course she was proud of me no matter what.

My Aldi Shoes

I needed running shoes, and there I was at Aldi, minding my own business when these babies popped off the shelf and into my cart. Running shoes (okay, "trainers") for $12.99! I figure that that's ~10% of what other running shoes cost, so all I need to do is get ~10% of my usual mileage (say, 30 or so) on them. Like my "Dan Logic?" I'll let you all know how this little experiment works out.

This, at least, is what I had posted in Facebook a month and a half ago. I received a lot of fun comments. Some said I should buy them out and corner the market. But most warned me to not get injured. A week or so later, I posted this comment: 

Okay, that was dumb. After 6 mill miles, my AT was acting up, so I quit. I may try them again sometime with some decent orthotic insoles. They're probably no worse for me than any other minimalist shoes. You know the kind... the kind I shouldn't wear. Ever.

But then a funny thing happened. I did insert my Superfeet insoles, and this made a whale of a difference! Now the shoes felt good, before, during, and after my runs. In fact, I love them! I now have over 60 miles on them, so I've doubled their expected lifespan.

They are, unfortunately, wearing out. The midsole rubber is wearing down in the heel area of both shoes. So They won't go much longer. But it's been a really good ride.

Your Dog Attacked

As I went by, I heard the barking behind me. I ignored the attack and kept running. The medium-sized white dog managed to get underneath my feet and knocked me down. I landed on my hands, so other than a small scrape under my glove, I wasn't hurt. But I sure was angry.

This occurred in my neighborhood, within a half-mile of home. Some people were in their front yard, and they had two dogs on leashes. I went to the opposite side, giving plenty of room. I was a couple of houses past them when the attack occurred. After I fell, the dog that attacked ran back towards the two people and their leashed dogs. I yelled, "What's with you people? Leash your dog!"

Okay, maybe that first sentence wasn't the best response, but it just came out of my angry mouth. I was thinking of how irresponsible they had been. The people hardly reacted to my yelling at all. It then occurred to me that the dog may not have belonged to them. It may have belonged to a different neighbor that had not kept it under control. I could have asked. But, typical runner that I am, I just wanted to get going on my run. And so I did.

Somone was irresponsible, whether it was the people that I saw, or someone else.

I'll have to get some pepper spray.

Running's Woodstock - A Look Back at the 100th Boston Marathon

This article appeared in the March/April 2006 issue of Marathon & Beyond. It was ten years after the 100th Boston Marathon, which took place in 1996. I hope you enjoy this oldie but goodie.

...

Were you there? Did you attend the greatest rock-and-roll gathering of all time? Woodstock was a one-of-a-kind event attended by thousands. It was a watershed; popular music can be considered in terms of everything that came before it, and then everything that happened and continues to happen afterward. Woodstock still exerts an enormous influence on rock-and-roll music.

Were you there? Did you attend the greatest running gathering of all time? The 100th running of the Boston Marathon was also a one-of-a-kind event, attended by thousands. Boston 100 was also a watershed. Everything that came before—the previous 99 Boston Marathons, all of the New York, Chicago, London, and other big marathons—led up to the 100th Boston Marathon. Everything that came after Boston 100—number 101 on up, as well as the subsequent running of other big marathons—has been influenced to some degree by events on that day. Although it seems like only yesterday, that day, April 15, 1996, is now 10 years in our past.

Every big-city marathon has something special to offer. All have excitement, crowds of cheering fans, great and average runners, and some measure of history and tradition. That said, the Boston Marathon still manages to stand out. No other marathon (with the possible exception of the Olympic Marathon) can come close to matching this history and tradition. No other marathon can match the camaraderie, this gathering of kindred souls. No other community provides this much support for a race and its runners. When was the last time you were treated like a king or queen for a weekend, just for being a runner? When was the last time you were able to commune with so many other kings and queens who all have this much in common: for the most part, they all had to qualify to get there, and they will all struggle together. When was the last time you ran in the footsteps of so many great runners throughout history? If you’ve done Boston, you know the answers. More than any other race, the Boston Marathon has always been a pilgrimage for runners. The 100th Boston Marathon was the pilgrimage to end all pilgrimages. Let’s take a look back to one of the most extraordinary days in the history of running.


THE B.A.A.: WHAT WAS IT THINKING?

The Boston Athletic Association (B.A.A.) has presided over the Boston Marathon since its inception in 1897. The organizers decided several years in advance that the 100th running of their race should be a special celebration. They wanted a running-related party that would be remembered as another major milestone in the history of the Boston Marathon. Would they be successful? Would the event live up to its hype?

With Guy Morse as the race director and Dave McGillivray as technical director, the B.A.A. had a great team in place. The event that they were to organize, however, was unprecedented in scope. Having a celebration this big and this elaborate simply hadn’t been done before.

It appears that they were thinking that this event could, and should, be done big. What better way to acknowledge this milestone than to enshrine it for posterity?


THE QUALIFICATIONS WERE REMOVED

One of the most important decisions for an organizer of any celebration to make is whom to invite. The B.A.A. decided to be as inclusive as possible, even though it wasn’t sure where this would lead. The most striking difference between Boston 100 and other Bostons would be the numbers.

The conventional wisdom prior to the event was that Massachusetts’s narrow streets, especially around the start of the race, preclude large numbers of participants. Although the B.A.A. did some experimentation with the numbers in the years leading up to the race, the total number of entrants had not exceeded 10,000. Most experts believed that any further increase would push the limits of what the course and the entire city could accommodate.

The B.A.A. had been controlling the number of runners primarily by restricting the qualifying times. For the 1996 race, organizers decided to still allow qualified runners a guaranteed entry, while others could try to register and be accepted as space permitted— in other words, until the B.A.A. decided it had enough. But how many was enough? They weren’t saying.


THE NUMBERS SKYROCKETED

Registration didn’t close until much later than originally planned. The B.A.A. surprised itself by not limiting the number of entrants as much as it had anticipated. Some still had to be turned away, however. There would be nearly 39,000 runners lined up in Hopkinton on April 15.

Hopkinton is a quaint, small town in semirural Massachusetts. The population of permanent residents is currently about 13,000. Every year on Patriots’ Day, that number doubles or even triples for the start of the marathon. How would it be able to handle not only the throng of runners, but also the countless volunteers, spectators, police, and bandits this time around?

Prior to 1996, runners were bused to the high school and encouraged to stay there (in the gymnasium or outside) until called for the start of the race about three-quarters of a mile down the hill, into the town. Many did so, but others wandered and explored the town, sometimes using bushes or small stands of trees for bathroom needs. The residents must have been horrified at the thought of four or more times the usual number of runners doing those sorts of things.

The answer was an Athlete’s Village. Runners would be strongly encouraged to stay on the high school grounds. The school itself would be closed, but the grounds would have tents with entertainment as well as informational and motivational speakers, including the ever-popular Johnny A. Kelley. There would also be plenty of porta-potties, both in the village and throughout the town.


THE CHIPS WERE DOWN

It wasn’t so long ago that there was no such thing as a ChampionChip. It had been used only in Europe and for the Los Angeles Marathon before the 1996 Boston race. The B.A.A. correctly determined that the risk of using this new technology outweighed the logistical problems of not using it for 39,000 runners. Since then, it’s hard to imagine any large running event without the Chip. Today, some runners have no experience at all in races that don’t use them.

It all started here in Hopkinton - Some friends who made the pilgrimage (L to R): Dan Horvath, Brian Peacock, Rick Jayroe, Garry Watson, Mike Light

MARATHON WEEK

Boston had endured an extreme amount of snowfall just days before the race. Crews had been busy clearing the roads for days. Would the unseasonable winter weather continue into race day? Would the roads even be clear? The forecasts were shaky. Race officials were duly nervous.

Early in the week, a Boston Marathon Centennial Monument was unveiled. On it, the historic course route was mapped out, set in stone.

The expo had to be expanded to become, you guessed it, the largest running expo ever. It was still held at the Hynes Convention Center, and it was very crowded, but not much more than usual. Special commemorative race T-shirts and hats were given to the runners.

Marathon champions from past years were in attendance at the expo as well as several other events. John A. Kelley, John J. Kelley, Rob de Castella, Amby Burfoot, Bill Rodgers, Katherine Switzer, Ingrid Kristiansen, Joan Benoit Samuelson, and notably Johnny Miles were among the honored invitees. No fewer than 50 past champions would run the race, wearing numbers corresponding to the year of their victories.

A Friendship Run allowed international runners to participate in a jog in order to commune with other visitors and locals alike.

The pastaloading dinner—yes, like everything else that weekend, the largest ever—was a grand affair, with more than the usual amount of hoopla and running-related entertainment. This expanded version required an expanded venue, so a shipping warehouse on the harbor was used. A navy captain decided he wanted to run the race, so he pulled his ship up next to the area where the pasta dinner took place and offered runners a tour.

The snow mercifully stopped as race day approached. Hope sprang eternal.

The entire town of Boston buzzed with excitement for the entire week. Excitement and anticipation were everywhere.

The Author with the New Chip

THE START

April 15, 1996: the day had arrived. Would the B.A.A. manage to bus 39,000 runners from downtown Boston to the start in Hopkinton in time? Eight hundred buses were required for this logistical challenge. The lines and waits for the buses were long, and the traffic getting into Hopkinton was bad. Somehow, however, everyone managed; no bus-riding runners were even close to being late for the start.

The weather held. In fact, it was fantastic: crystal clear and bright, with temperatures in the 40s and 50s. Yes, there were still piles of snow on the sides of the road, but the roads themselves were fine.

The Athlete’s Village concept worked extremely well. The area was able to accommodate the throng, and the entertainment kept them occupied. Porta-potties were plentiful, both in the village and throughout the town. Some had long lines, but others had no lines at all. Some runners still managed to avoid the Village and walk around town prior to the start, but this caused no major problems.

11:00 A.M.: It was time to line up for the start. This many had never lined up for a marathon before. That narrow road never looked so narrow. How long would everyone have to wait to begin? Boston places runners in corrals based on their qualifying times. For the 100th running, a lot more corrals were needed and more side streets to place them on.

Noon: All but the elite runners who have done large races know the drill. The gun goes off, the clock starts ticking, and you and the runners around you are still standing there. This, when you should be running--the clock has started, dang it! Of course this happened in spades on April 15, 1996, but not nearly as bad as even the most optimistic had thought. It took those who had qualified with a 3-hour time just a couple of minutes to reach the start. The 4-hour crowd reached the start at roughly 20 minutes after the noon start. All of the official entrants had crossed the starting Chip pads within 28 minutes of the gun. No one at the B.A.A., even in their wildest dreams, had thought it would go so smoothly. Many of those in the back of the pack had assumed that the elite runners would be crossing the finish line before they had even reached the start!


THE RACE

Although the weather was cool, the typical Boston headwinds would take their toll on many runners, including some of the elites.

As usual, the race attracted some of the best marathoners from around the world. Included were Uta Pippig, who had won the previous two Boston Marathons, one of them in course-record time. Also included was Cosmas Ndeti, winner of three previous Bostons and also a course record holder.
Uncharacteristically for a great Kenyan runner, Ndeti had been brash about his chances to win for the fourth consecutive year. Uncharacteristically for himself, he began the race in the lead, at world-record pace through 10 miles. He had started conservatively and run strong second halves for his previous victories. Kenya was using this race as qualification for the Olympics, so there was a larger than usual group of great Kenyan men along with a few other East Africans in the lead pack. The pack stayed together until mile 22, when former track star and 1995 runner-up Moses Tanui opened up a lead that would carry him to the finish in 2:09:15. Ndeti was third.

Pippig did start slowly and considered dropping out because of several physical problems, including menstrual cramps. The top runners took turns at the lead early on. The indomitable Tegla Loroupe eventually took a commanding lead.

Pippig had persevered, however, and moved into second place behind Loroupe. Surprisingly, Loroupe faded near the finish, and Pippig took the lead in the last mile, winning in 2:27:12.

The early miles were crowded, but the weather was great

The nonelite runners couldn’t help but notice that the narrow roads between Hopkinton and Boston were more crowded than usual. Few complained. Spectators were out in full force—even more than usual for the marathon. All the usual hot spots (Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Boston College, Commonwealth Avenue) and everywhere in between were brimming with wildly cheering crowds. The volunteers were at their usual best. Everyone sensed that something special was happening.


THE AFTERMATH

Even though this was the 26-mile-long party to end all 26-mile parties, most of the runners were still happy to see that finish line. Many were surprised to not find a chute with people to tear off the number tags. The Chip mats and timing had eliminated the need; all the runners needed to do was to cross over the mats and get their chips off their shoes to hand them in—easier said than done. For many, help was appreciated here as the simple task of bending over to untie a shoe becomes more complicated at the finish of a marathon. The Chips had worked exactly as planned and were soon to become a necessity for large races.

Remarkably, nearly 98 percent of the starters managed to cross the finish line. The final numbers were: 38,708 official entrants; 36,748 starters; 35,868 finishers.

Space blankets on the runners' backs shone like a sea of silver in the bright afternoon sun

Finishers were awarded special commemorative blue and gold medals. The space blankets on the runners’ backs shone like a sea of silver. One of the very few glitches occurred at this point. As runners made their way to the buses to pick up their gear, they were met by a huge crowd of others attempting to do the same thing. Many wound up pushing their way through the throng for over an hour. The buses had been parked too closely together, and perhaps there weren’t enough volunteers for this exercise.

This was but a minor problem, however. The race and the entire weekend had been an unqualified success. Almost without exception, runners praised the event as something they would remember for the rest of their lives. This marathon, of course, was still 26 miles and thus not necessarily any easier than any other. One tired runner, hearing others gush about how great an event it was, exclaimed, “And the best part is, it’s over.”

This one-time event will certainly be revered for all time among those who participated as well as those who watched or helped organize it. It will be remembered as running’s Woodstock, except without the sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. Well, mostly.

The Birds is Coming

Word has it that when Alfred Hitchcock's film The Birds was about to come out for the first time, he wanted it promoted as, The Birds is Coming, rather than, The Birds ARE Coming. When you think about it, it actually makes some kind of sense, even though that way of saying it may not have been the initial one. And it seems a little more creepy his way.

The birds is indeed coming, this being spring and all. Every morning, they're singing up a storm in my neighborhood as I begin my run. And I've had a few minor encounters of late.

Last week a wild turkey ran (it didn't fly) across the road in front of me. I stopped to watch where it was going and why (I know. To get to the other side), but it skittered off into the woods. Turkeys are more common these days, but it's still a little unusual to see one.

Then I encountered a goose. Canada (not necessarily Canadian) Geese are very common in these parts, and they can be pretty aggressive this time of the year. I could tell this one, probably guarding a nearby nest, was going to be trouble by its demeanor. I find that they will usually begrudgingly get out of the way as I approach if I don't show fear. I didn't, and Mrs. Goose did move out of my way, hissing as it waddled. But then I looked back to see the thing flying directly at me. It was downright frightening. What did I do, you ask? I yelled and waved my arms, of course. Mrs. Goose changed course and veered off. I couldn't help wonder what it would have done to me if I hadn't turned. It was only then that I looked around to make sure no other humans were watching and laughing.

Then came yesterday. I saw an owl fly over the road, just in front of me. It landed in a tall nearby tree, so I stopped to check it out. I like owls; I think they're cool. But then I remembered another owl attack that occurred a few years ago. I thought about this owl that was now looking down at me, wondering if I were a large rodent. I decided to move on, just in case.

Twenty at the Twack

Regular readers will be aware that as few as eighteen miles can be considered a long run. But then, twenty is a number that separates the men from the girls, isn't it?

Our running friend sets out at about 5:30. He is running over to the track for today's planned long run. Last week he ran twenty for the first time in a while, but alas. It was only done on the treadmill. Today's long run would be outside and, running gods willing, not an inch less than twenty miles. The track is a nice place to do these lonely long runs because it's not as hard as roads, and there's less traffic. Not to mention any concern about getting lost. The constant turning can be a concern, but it can be mitigated by changing direction and running at least some miles in outside lanes.

Our runner notices salt trucks pre-treating the roads. It's not snowing yet, but some decent amount of the stuff is expected. Strange for April, but not for this one. There have been gobs of snow and it doesn't appear that it will end anytime soon. But it's dry so far today.

When he arrives at the track, he crawls under the fence as usual. No big deal. He does this fairly often, and as usual, there's no one around.

No one, that is, except for the cops. Our runner had been just barely settling down into a decent pace when he notices a police car checking the back of the high school building across the parking lot. He figures they will probably come over to the track next.

And they do. First shining their light from one side of the grandstand, and then the other. Our runner feels like he will get busted for sure. What to do? Crawl back out when they're not looking? No, that seems risky. Prepare to climb the impossibly high fence at a different corner? No, that would be really tough. Prepare excuses for his presence here, and think of different ways to beg for mercy? Yes, probably. Stop running and hide on the opposite side of the grandstand from the cops? Of course, and this strategy ends up getting deployed.

Although our runner had been sure he was seen early on, the cop car moves on. So maybe he dodged a bullet, so to speak. And so, our runner continues his trek at the track, a little shaken at first. But then he settles down to his go-to pace, and the run continues uneventfully.

Soon (okay, maybe not so soon) it's time to head home. Under the fence and onto the roads for the final three miles. He slows a little, but then picks it back up again to finish strong.

Another twenty is in the books.

Ten Again, Unnaturally

No part of me hurts, but I am running so slowly, I'll probably never get to ten. Ten is often the goal, as it has been for years, Ten is the difference between a serious and a not-so-serious effort. Daily tens adds up to seventy for a week, or sixty with one day off. (Editor's note: things don't usually work out exacticaly that way, but even so 60-70 miles a week has been fairly doable.)

Back to the slow part. It's not like I don't have the time. I have nothing but. But I also manage to get more and more tired, to the point of possibly not finishing, when I go this slow. The other concern would be increasing traffic in normal times. But these are not normal times.

What to do? Even as my olde injuries have faded, the old age hasn't. One possible reason for the fatigue is the 58 miles I've run in the past 5 days. That's a bunch. And some of them have even been at not so bad paces. I do occasional speedwork and tempo runs. Now some of this has been on the mill, but I still think it's safe to say that I'm running fairly well. Just not today. I head home after only four miles.

It's been a stinker. But wait. Maybe I can get on the mill. I climb on the thing, turn on the tv, and party on. The party continues for - surprise - six more miles.

It's a bit unnatural, but I'll call it ten. Again.

Nah

Fatigue. Soreness. Dizziness. Difficulty breathing. And, did we mention fatigue? Could it be the dreaded coronavirus? The question lingers for a second or two.

The short answer is, nah. At least, probably not. It's just Dan on another of his not-so-hot daily runs. Dan, you see, has good days and bad days, or, more accurately, bad days and stinkers. Today is in the latter category.

He is half-way through his planned eleven-mile route when the first raindrop falls on his head. Hmmm, he thinks. Could the weatherman have been wrong? Nah, he thinks. But then comes a second and a third drop. He begins to think that the weatherman, who'd stated that the rain would hold off until 8:00 AM was indeed wrong after all, by an hour and a half.

Dan's run, which had started off even more slowly than usual, had only just begun to slightly improve. This rain may cause one of three things: further improvement, further lousy running at the same speed, or a complete Wicked-Witch-of-the-West type meltdown. Guess which one Dan experiences?

Further improvement or running at the same speed? Nah. Anyone who knows Dan and who hasn't been living under a rock for the past 66 years knows that Dan hates cold rain. This day, he hates it more than usual, and he slows down more and more.

That's when the fatigue, dizziness, etc., occur. Somehow, Dan soldiers on, even as the miles get slower and slower. He manages to complete the eleven miles, but he's cold and wet and decidedly unpretty.

And those symptoms: are they better? Nah.

Was it by yourself, or with others?

There I was, in the booth, confessing to the sin of having impure thoughts and actions. The priest would hit me with the follow-up question, "Was it by yourself, or with others?" My answer was, most unfortunately, always "by myself."

But of course, here I'm talking about running, which is in no way impure. And as I discuss the subject (running, not impure thoughts and actions) with my friends, it appears that some of them can't seem to run alone at all.

This used to strike me as a little bit strange. I used to run alone nearly all the time. It was mostly just Saturday mornings that were for running with friends. But then in recent years, it seemed as though I too had been running more and more with others - at least whenever possible. As a result, my group runs are invariably completed at a significantly better pace than my solo ones.

That is of course until the Coronavirus happened. Then social distancing became a thing. At first, my friends and I called it Social Distance Running and we continued to participate in group runs. It seemed harmless.

Too bad that Social Distance Running phase didn't last long. On March 23, Ohio became subject to a Stay at Home order from the governor. Now we could probably still run together as long as we stayed six feet apart, since outdoor exercise is allowed and even encouraged. Yet even this kind of running with a few friends seems to me to be contrary to the spirit, if not the letter of the new ruling.

So it's back to running alone. And again having to confess, "by myself."

Social Distance Running

Social distancing is the phrase du jour for just about every day now. And of course, COVID-19 is still the topic of conversation no matter where you go, running or not, these days. On this day, a day that I had been considering doing a 50K race that wound up canceled like the rest of them...

I wake up before the 3:30 AM alarm. My new Garmin 45 device tells me that 5 hours and 1 minute was not enough sleep. I knew that, thank you.

Good thing the coffee is ready. I need every ounce of those three large mugs. Today for a change I add some pumpkin and cinnamon. The 'Cutie' brand mandarins will also provide some energy for the ordeal to come.

By 4:40 AM, I'm packed, bundled up, and ready to run. Into the car, I go for the ride down to the Medina Square. There probably won't be much traffic.

There wasn't. It's 5:00 AM as Andy and Michelle Wolff and I begin our run from the Square. The Square, by the way, is pretty quiet as well. It usually is at this early hour. But more so these days. The same goes for the traffic along the run itself.

The temperature is in the mid-twenties, about forty degrees cooler than this time yesterday. The wind is bracing. And I didn't expect the snow. There isn't much, but there's definitely some.

I run with these folks all the time and we know each other well. Even so, I wonder if we ought to be keeping our distance from each other during the run itself. I decide to just stuff that thought into the back of my mind.

After about nine miles and an hour and a half, we're back at the Square. Andy and Michelle are done, but I would like to do more. A few more were supposed to join us at 6:30, but there's no one around.  I finally see Audrie Roush and Rouger, her dog, but no one else. So now with a new running partner, I take off from the Square once more.

This time we run the Medina Half Marathon course, or at least most of it, forward. Andy, Michelle and I had done it backward. One would think that after running this course a couple dozen times, doing it forward and backward, and even doing it as part of the race itself, that I'd know it by now. One would be wrong. Okay, I do know parts of it. But other parts still manage to baffle me. Not that that takes much these days.

The Garmin 45 tells me that I am running at about 9:45 pace. This is good for a long run these days. Especially after last week's debacle. The best part is that it's been pretty steady.

Audrie, Rouger, and I finish with another nine, and I'm happy to be able to call it a solid long run. Glad to have it done.

To complete 50K, I'd have had to do another 13. Oops. Should have quit thinking about the run whilst I was ahead.

The Topic of Conversation

Wherever you go, whatever you do, the coronavirus is the topic of conversation. It doesn't matter whether you know the person you're talking with, you certainly have at least some coronavirus-related closing in common. Take runners, for example.

We runners, when we get together, are no different. (See, we're people too.) We invariably talk about races, past, present, and most commonly, future. What are you registered for? What are you training for? You know the drill. These days, virtually every race, large, small, road, trail, silly, serious is getting canceled or postponed. At least the ones within a couple months.

Here's how coronavirus closings are affecting ME.

1) I was set to volunteer at the Buzzard runs yesterday. It was canceled just the day prior. I was off the hook.
2) I was just about to pull the trigger to register for the 50/50 (50K / 50 Mile) Brimstone race next Saturday. I now will not.
3) I have to hear about everyone else's changes of plans due to such cancelations and postponements.

Some additional information. A couple weeks ago, I was running fairly well and also a fair amount in terms of volume. I thought 50K, at least, was doable. Now that I've had some not-so-great long runs during recent tries, I'm not so confident. I don't know why I've slowed, but that good, solid month of Florida running seems to be going to the wayside. Maybe it's the Ohio climate.

And I really don't mind hearing other runners' stories (about their race cancelation woes).

I know they still put up with mine.

30A

When it comes to long runs, planning and preparation are paramount ~ Dan Horvath

Ain't it the truth? Like the other day when I returned to Conservation Park a second time and did not one, but two 9.5 mile loops all the way around. I'd planned that one out to the smallest detail, and it actually worked out. Today would be an exception, however.

A long run today, even though I just did one four days ago? Maybe. 2 more loops around Conservation Park? Maybe. Okay, no. Three of the six-mile course loops from the hotel? Maybe. Okay, probably. Except when I started out west, I failed to take Southfields Road North to do that course. I kept going to the end of Front Beach Road and turned left onto Route 98. Why run on the side of a four-lane 65-mph highway at 5:00 AM? I have no idea.

But when I got past Camp Helen State Park, I discovered, of all things, a sidewalk! I could keep going and even stay relatively safe! A minute later I learned that I had entered Walton County, where, it seems, they care a little more about pedestrians.

After a mile or so, I came to Route 30A. Having driven this way (it runs parallel with 98, but closer to the shore), I knew the sidewalk / all-purpose trail would continue. The question was, should I continue?

Proper planning and preparation would have had me returning to the Beachside Resort for water at least every hour or so. There is also the safety consideration of never being too far away should something go very wrong. To run nine miles away before returning amounts to taking a bit of a chance. Especially considering that I had been running so much lately (another planning and preparation thing). As you may have guessed by now, I did indeed turn left to keep going.

30A is a thing. We learned that by driving the length of it by accident once. It's a big, very expensive thing. The wealth and newness of everything is astounding. Town after town seems brand new or just being built. And homes and condos are priced from $300,000 to $10,000,000 and up.

Would I be able to run as far as Grayton Beach, where we had visited a couple weeks back? I had no idea how far it was. But I knew I was getting closer.

Still running slow, but okay, I made it as far as Deer Lake State Park and turned back. Now, how would that go? It went surprisingly okay. This would (probably) be my slowest long run of the several I've done in PCB, but it was a memorable one.

Mardi Gras 5K

After driving pretty far for the Tallahassee Marathon, and kind-of far for the Destin Valentine's Day 8K, I finally found a race closer to home: the Mardi Gras 5K right here in Panama City Beach. Only two problems: 1) it was darn cold, at least for here (mid-30s - there was even some frost on the car), and 2) it was a 5K.

I don't like 5K's, and I never seem to do well at them. Of course, the smart Dan Horvath would retort, 'Then you should do more of them! You should always do more of the things you don't like or aren't good at.' Good thing we don't usually listen.

But we did today.

My goal was to beat the 8:09 per mile pace that I ran at the Destin 8K. I had no idea whether that would be possible. Also, another age group win would be nice as well.

I started at an 8-minute pace, and that was tough. A couple older-looking guys passed me up in the first mile like I was standing still. Maybe they're younger, I thought. Don't worry, you're doing fine, I thought.

But I also thought that there are a lot of old Floridians. Not to mention a lot of old Snowbirds like myself. Competition ought to be fierce.

I slowed a bit in the second mile. Maybe it was the slightly negative thoughts. But then I managed to pick it back up again for mile 3. I came in at 24: 51, which comes out to 7:59 per mile. Considering my other races as well as my training, I think that's probably about right. I was also gratified to learn that I won my ancient age group. I guess those other old guys were indeed younger. I got a cool mardi gras award with beads and a pink bird.

Here I am by the race mascot. The local run club is "Draggin Tail Runners'

PCB Conservation Park

Get thee to Conservation Park, they said. It's a good place to run, they said. Okay, I'm here. Now what?

With over 2,900 acres and 24 miles of trails, Conservation Park is a gem for the city of Panama City Beach. I hadn't been unfamiliar with it; Debbie and I had walked there several times.

And on each occasion, we'd managed to get ourselves somewhat lost. Since we always found our way back, these were not big deals. But to manage such a thing when all the trails are wide, flat, and marked is quite a feat.

The markings were the problem each time. Color-coded trail marking should have helped, but it seemed inconsistent, and the names were very confusing. My plan today is to not get lost at all. I'll do this by staying mostly on the orange trail that circumnavigates the park.

Despite the huge area, there doesn't seem to be much variety, or even much wildlife within the park. Besides some cyprus wetland areas in the interior, there are mostly tall but sparse pine trees with a lot of scrub vegetation in-between.

It's foggy when I begin. I even encounter a little rain. Even though the trail is wide and flat, I encounter a few muddy areas. I'm not a big fan of mud, but today it's not too bad a problem.

I start slow, but by the time I'm about half-way around the 9.5-mile loop, I'm picking up the pace. It helps that the fog has now burned off, the sun has risen, and I can see my way through.

Not that there's that much to see. Just more scrub, pine trees, and straight-ish, flat trail. Just when I'm thinking that there couldn't be any less wildlife than this, a humongous gray bird flies closely over my head. It's going the same direction as me, but it just keeps going until it's out of sight. I think it's an osprey.

There are no other major surprises as I complete the circuit and stop for a drink. It felt good to gradually increase my speed (such as it is) throughout the run. Now I was ready for more. But how much more?

I could just jog a bit more to make it a double-digit mileage run. Or I could run a lot more (like eight-plus more) to make it a long run. Or I could take the goldilocks approach and run just a few more - not too much, not too little.

I have the time to do more than the minimum, but not quite the maximum. But most importantly, even though I feel alright at the moment, after some decent mileage and even speedwork over the past few days, I may regret trying to do too much. Goldilocks it would be.

And it's a good thing. Taking care to not get lost, I venture onto the interior trails, some of which are nice, soft wood-chips, for about three more. Now I'm really done. (Or, done done, as we used to say at work.)

The advice was accurate; it's a good place to run. I'll be back.

Halfo Yasso and Tale of Two Tremendous Tempo Trots

The fog is thick as I park near the Arnold High School track. Since it's my first time here, I don't know whether it'll be locked up like Brunswick Stadium. I'm in luck. The gate is wide open, and there is no one else around at 5:30 AM. This is gonna be great. I love the track.

But then I notice that the surface seems extremely hard for a track. Is it just a very hard rubber here? I reach down to touch it, only to learn that it's asphalt. That's not so wonderful. I like the softer surface of rubberized tracks, and I think it's generally a good thing. This, in spite of the constant turning. I try to mitigate that by reversing direction when no one else is around, and by running in the outside lanes occasionally.

Oh well. A hard surface it will be. After a slow warmup, I'm ready to do something of substance. What's that, you ask? More or less on the spur of the moment, I decide on half a Yasso workout, figuring that five 800's is enough the day after my long run. Besides, 800's has always been my go-to workout. Don't ask me why.

Even though the foggy air is so thick you can cut it with a knife, there is quite a breeze. The temperature - upper 60s - is fine, however. I do the first one in the 3:50s, and it just about kills me. Can I complete four more?

The second is even faster - under 3:50. And so is the third and fourth. Around about this time, I start to think that perhaps I ought to do six instead of five. But I make a deal with myself: if I can do the fifth one under 3:40, I'll call it a day.

And I do manage that sub 3:40. I'm done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's weather is a carbon-copy of yesterday's - 60's and heavy fog. Why in the world am I going back to the track once again? Because I had been thinking of doing some sort of tempo run later in the week, but later in the week may involve some heavy rain. So today, the day after yesterday, is the day.

There's another reason as well. Yesterday I had found a pretty blue Marlins hat just away from the track near a baseball field. It was so cool, and I wanted to take it and clean it up for myself. But I decided that no, I'll employ the methodology I usually do when I find something I want at a school track: I leave it for a day or two to enable the original owner - probably a kid - a chance to get it themselves. After some period of time, if it's still there, it most likely will not be claimed, so it's mine.
Well for some reason, I truly wanted this hat. It was just sooo neat! (I later learn that it's not a Florida Marlins Hat; it's an Arnold HS Marlins hat.)

The first place I head this morning is over toward the baseball field to retrieve that hat. Alas. It's gone. Either the original owner got it, or someone else did. I'll just have to remain hatless. Except for the ones I have anyway. I'll live. Oh yes. The run.

After a warmup, I start my tempo run. This means at least three consecutive eight-minute miles - quite the challenge for me these days. I (barely) manage to do it. I should say that my Garmin watch measures long for the track, so I am really running slower than that. But for tempo runs, I figure it's close enough.

Can I do another one? I'm pretty tuckered out, but I decide to try. I start this one really slow, but I somehow manage to run faster and faster and just barely make my goal.

So it's Two Tremendous Tempo Trots. And now I'm really done.

That Ends Well

You've heard it here before: all's well that ends well. Such was the case with the last two races: the Tallahassee Marathon and the Valentine's 8K. And such was the case with several of my recent mid-week runs, including the one to Camp Helen; in several cases I started really, really slowly, but managed to pull it together for the second half of the run.

But not always, I've had some stinkers as well. Yesterday I was going to try to do a long run, but I started super slow and only got slower. I only wound up with around eight lousy miles. This, in roughly the time it should have taken to do twice that far.

Today I would try again, Retirement is nice; I have the time to try, try again (to run long) even during the middle of the week.

It would be three six-mile loops. I started slowly once again. GI issues caused me to run at only 12-minute pace for that first lap. The second was only slightly better at 11-minutes per mile. Finally, the third was a charm at sub-60 minutes.

So this run did indeed end well. It's good when that happens.

Valentine's 8K Run/Walk Race Report

A race a week after a marathon? In Destin, Florida? Eight kilometers? Meaning I'd have to run fast?

Yes, yes, yes, and haha.

The race was the Valentine's 8K Run/Walk put on by the Northwest Florida Track Club. Debbie said she would make the trip with me, and so did our friends Patti and Mike Busser.

Temps were nice - 60-ish with bright sun and some wind. The race started and ended at an amusement park called the Track. We runners took off and my three companions went to breakfast. It was a nice little race out and back on the Destin residential streets.

I didn't go in with high expectations. Okay, maybe a teensy bit faster than last week's marathon pace would be nice. That would only be around 45 minutes. Surely I could do that, or maybe even faster??

Even with said marathon only six days in my past, I did okay. All my miles were in the low eight-minute range, except the last; it was slightly better than eight. My final time was 40:30. And I won my ancient age group.

Not too shabby.

Afterward, we had a nice walk around Grayton Beach.

Camp Helen or Bust

After two and a half miles of running on Front Beach Road (nice and quiet) and Back Beach Road, aka US98 (not nice and not quiet - it's a four-lane with lots of high-speed traffic), I turn into Camp Helen State Park. I'm feeling pretty good, considering Sunday's Tallahassee Marathon, but I'm nevertheless running slower than I'd have liked.

And now that I am running on sandy park trails, my slow pace becomes much slower. But the sunrise is spectacular, and I'm enjoying the return to peace and solitude. The trails are soft, which is nice, but some of the sandy areas make things difficult. After a few miles of these nature trails and the beach inspection, I return to the parking area in order to head back.

Now that it's lighter, I can read the signs. One tells me that I should be 'bear aware.' Egads, think I. Another tells me that I should have paid $2 for pedestrian access into the park. Had I been aware of this, I wouldn't have been able to pay anyway, since I don't carry cash. Finally, I see the sign that tells me the park opens at 8:00 AM. So maybe I didn't need to pay anyway?

On the way back, I head into Carrillon Beach, a newer community with shopping along with mixed housing. I promptly get lost. I unintentionally run around a nice little lake there to find my way back out.

And back home.

Tallahassee Marathon - 02-02-2020

He spots the finish line, and the clock above says 3:59:40. He begins his final sprint to the finish, but the problem is that he is already sprinting; it feels like he has been for the past six miles. Will he make it?

Let's back this up a few hours. He's out of bed at 2:40 and on the road by 3:29. Good thing he noticed - at the last minute - that there's a time-zone change between Panama City Beach and Tallahassee. A bit over two hours later, the GPS states, "You have reached your destination." Except that he hasn't. There's no one around. After circling around some, he finally figures out that it's 301 South Madison, not 301 North Madison. There's still time to park and check in.

It's cold - 41F. That's actually perfect for running, but his concern is the wind and what it might do to a certain not-quite-so-protected area. Pinning the bib on the front of the shorts may help a little, but he also - for good measure - stuffs a rag from the car down the front of his shorts.

It appears that the half-marathon is pretty big, but the full seems pretty small. Most of the full bibs have pretty low numbers; our protagonist is number 19. Right off the bat, there are hills galore. They're not huge, but they're enough to slow a person down at times. But the sun has begun to shine, and the air temperature does indeed feel about perfect. Our protagonist's countermeasures appear to be working.

He's doing most of his miles in the nine to nine-fifteen minute range. This is actually right according to plan to bring him in just under four hours. By the way, here's fodder for a future post: how did sub-four hours become a goal? The problem is that the second bathroom break takes a while. He hits half-way in around two hours and three minutes, give or take.

Now he has to pick it up some to still get under four hours. The good news is, the course has flattened out, and is mostly now all-purpose trails through various parks. The better news is that he's feeling pretty good at this point. Maybe negative splits will be possible this day.

Funny that it feels the same as it did when three hours was the goal. Of course, it does. Hey, what's another hour anyway? He passes mile 20 in 3:04. He's been picking it up, but he needs to do so even more now.

Miles 20-25 are the fastest yet, but he knows that it's still going to be close. The final 1.23 miles are fastest of all, but then he sees that clock. This is now as fast as he can go; as fast as humanly possible. He looks at the clock as he crosses the line, and it says 3:59:59. He made it!

Except that he didn't. He sees the results a little while later, and they say 4:00:01. The good news is that it also says that he won his ancient age group. And it also says that his chip time is about thirty seconds faster.

It's rare that a plan comes together this close to what was anticipated. But it happens. It was a nice race; a keeper. Maybe he will do it again next year. Maybe the goal will be different. Or maybe not.

Thirty-Nine and Rain

We know what you're thinking: Thirty-Nine and Rain are two words that don't belong in the same sentence together. Or maybe you're thinking that it's not two words, it's three. No, four. But if you're like me, you're brain-dead, and not thinking much at all. Even if your brain is out of commission, however, you do still know, deep in your bones, that Thirty-Nine and Rain is an abomination.

Abomination or not, I find myself driving down to Medina in the driving, cold rain. The Medina Half-Marathon course run - something we do about once a month - is at 7:30, but needing a long run, I am planning to arrive at 6:00 for the extras. Except when I experience the Thirty-Nine and Rain. That's when, five minutes into my drive, I turn around and go home.

I run six lousy miles on the mill, turn on the tv weather to learn that the rain is moving out, extract myself from the mill and the house, and make the drive.

The rain has indeed stopped, as I run the course with Rachel Daw, Kelly Parker, Michelle Daum, Tim Pepe, and a few others. Thirty-Nine and no rain is exceedingly much better than Thirty-Nine and Rain. We manage to not get lost (a challenge for some of us), and complete the run.

It turns out to be a pretty good day, after all.

70

No, he's not quite there in years yet. But he has been putting in some 70-mile weeks.

A few came at the end of December in the weeks leading up to achieving 3,000 miles for the year, and also training for the Brunswick Marathon. Another came unexpectedly last week, when he only managed 17 miles during Saturday's towpath run, and then had to run 18 at Hinckley the very next day in order to be able to say he put in a long one. Tallahassee is still looming, you see.

Would it happen again this week? It started off fairly well, with a couple runs with Michelle Wolff. But as the weather finally turned January, he took the mill.

The mill is nice and warm and dry, he thinks. He can catch up on Game of Thrones, which he's watching for the second go-around now that he has time to spare. He won't have to plow his way through the elements whilst on the mill, he thinks. Maybe the runs can be of higher than average quality.

Things don't quite work out the way he'd hoped, however. After two completely awful mill runs, he's climbing the walls. Even though the weather's still bad, he tries to make the drive to Hinckley to join his friends. Alas. The driving, even on the main roads, is treacherous, so he returns home to get his run in there.

That run is as awful in its own way as the mill runs had been. Cold wind and poor footing does not a good run make. He wisely calls it quits and winds up with only 59 miles for the week.

What a slug he is.

I like the display, especially because it doesn't include speed ;)

Busted

"Is there something you're not telling me," asks wife and faithful running spouse Debbie? "Why, no," says innocent-looking Dan. But he's secretly wondering what he did wrong this time. "Were you trying to pull a fast one, and sign up for the Tallahassee Marathon?" "I was only looking at it," says Dan, Guiltily. He determines that he must have left the marathon website open in a browser window. Need to be more careful, he thinks.

But he can't help himself. When he will be away from home, it's completely natural to look for running events in that area, isn't it? And to consider another marathon so soon after that last debacle? Pure foolishness.

So did he sign up, you ask? No, because there is no longer any financial incentive to register early. Dan can wait until a few days prior. Will he sign up? That's another question.

He definitely has been running. Now retired, he has lost at least one of his many usual excuses: having enough time. In fact, he often sleeps in and begins his runs at 6:00 am, rather than 4:30. But yesterday he had to start early to run with longtime running partner Michelle Wolff.

We will see how this weekend's long run goes, he thinks.

The Brunswick Marathon, January 1, 2020

The gang at the start                                                                                  photo: Kelly Parker

Frank Dwyer is surging, and I go with him. Kelly Parker and Larry Orwin fall back a bit. It feels good to run fast (fast being a relative term); we'd been climbing for quite some time; now we're past the iconic Brunswick water towers and have nice, gradual downhill here on Minor Road. It's also nice that unlike other parts of the course, there's no ice or crunchy snow here. Even though I know I can stay with Frank, at least for a while, I also know that I would pay later.

Even though I'll probably pay no matter what, I wise up and ease up and rejoin Kelly and Larry. Maybe Frank will also come back to us. Yeah, except that it's Frank, and Frank doesn't do that.

Three 6.55 mile laps into the four-loop Brunswick Marathon course, it's getting warmer, and eastbound sections like this one are just fine. The ice and snow around Brunswick High School and through Hopkins Park have been treacherous. But as far as I can tell, all twenty-five or so of us have managed to remain vertical. This is important to me since it's my race, and I wouldn't want to lose anyone. Runners who wind up with broken bones or fractured skulls tend to not return to run the same events in the future.

Said ice and snow have taken a lot out of me, however. All that slipping, sliding, picking up of feet, short baby steps over time and distance have made it tough. And then there's the wind. It was in the twenties at the start, and now it's in the thirties. But the west wind is strong, and those westbound parts of the run have been pretty brutal. Okay, enough excuses.

Larry finishes that third lap strong, but I'm not too far behind. He surprises me by announcing that he has to leave; I'd thought that he was in for the whole shebang. Kelly, tapering for Disney, is done as well. Now I'm alone as I begin my fourth lap. Frank is up there somewhere but is nowhere to be seen. I do spot a few of the other folks. It's been fun to reverse direction every loop and see the other runners on the course.

Last year I finished in 4:18. That's a slow marathon time for me, even now that I'm in my elder years. This year, I've been on about that pace, but I know my fourth loop will be a struggle.

It is. I slow to a shuffle and cross the finish line in 4:37. Frank beat that course record and established the new one at 4:16. All in all, seven intrepid runners managed to complete the entire marathon. Besides Larry and Kelly, a bunch of others also participated.

Good way to start the year.

3,000

The sleet is coming down sideways, and I don't like it. I never enjoy cold rain or sleet. But at least I don't have far to go: three miles will put me over the top, and I think I can manage that.

It's December 31, and I needed these three miles to get to 3,000 for the year. In my previous post, I talk about being a numbers (read: anal-retentive) type. I guess I am. Now it's time to think about 2020: a new year and a new decade.

But one more thing about 2019. Those 3,000 miles were staggeringly slow. A full minute per mile slower than 2018. And THAT was slow as well.

So now I have my goal for 2020 and beyond: run faster!

Another Reason I'm Running So Much

Yes, the Brunswick Marathon is looming. But there's also this:

I've always been a numbers guy, and that makes me a little anal-retentive. If you've read other posts in this blog, none of this will surprise you.

Upon returning from our trip, I realized that to get up to 3,000 miles for the year, I'd need to average about ten a day for the final two weeks. Challenge accepted. I think.

So far, so decent. Here are the stats as of today.

24 on the 25th

The sky is pink and orange and blue. The beauty of it is fairly distracting, and distraction is what I need right about now. I'm starting my fourth six-mile out-n-back lap on the Lester Rail Trail, and my friends Michelle and Andy Wolff, having joined me for lap 3, are on their way home. I'm a little tired at the moment because:

1) I started running a bit before four, and it's now around seven-twenty
2) 24 miles is a fur piece - much longer than I've run for quite some time
3) I have been running a lot lately, and it's possible (nay, probable) that all the mileage (18 and 11 over the weekend, and 10 yesterday) is taking its terrible toll
4) I'm sure there are a bunch of other reasons, but my rattled brain can't think of them right now

With this morning light, I can now see where I'm going, Not that sight is so very important on a course where you just run back or forth. The trees are all decorated with heavy frost, and their white tint seems appropriate for this Christmas Day run. So do the patches of ice and crunchy snow along the way. Those did surprise me though; besides yesterday's frozen fog, we've had several other warm days. I decide not to think too hard about this.

Yes, it's Christmas. What better way to celebrate than to do this 24-miler? And hey, I've got the Brunswick Marathon coming up in a week, and I've got to be able to run that far.

But now I'm going slower and slower. With just a couple left to go, my shuffle turns into and ultra-slow shuffle. And then I slow down some more.

That's okay. I do manage to shuffle on back to the car, and then I'm done. Done done.

Merry Christmas!

Running in Israel and Jordan

Tel Aviv


Not much time. But in my quest to run at every location, I need to get out and do something. Anything. All I can manage is to run around the block, which is decent sized, for a grand total of one and three-quarters miles. It’s all tall buildings and expressway overpasses. This is all too bad, since there may have been some nice running along the seashore. The seashore that I couldn’t get to.



Haifa


This time I am indeed able to get to the seashore. It’s right outside the hotel you see, and there’s a nifty bike trail. For two different runs, I go north and south about as far as the trail will take me, which is 7-ish miles one day and 5-ish the next. I don’t know how the running will be the rest of the trip, but this here is pretty darn good.



Jerusalem


After an orientation run, I think I’ve learnt where to go. We’re here for four nights, and I plan to run each day if possible. This day I do get to a small park that’s near the hotel, but the paths are all curvey and not entirely runnable. Okay, now where to go? Back to the hotel, which seems surrounded by busy streets and freeways, and out the other end of the complex. I’m on a busy road that isn’t too very busy due to Shabbat and I turn into the Hebrew University area. The running here is great – long roads in park-like settings and no traffic. I get nearly two hours in this time, but my Garmin only registers 8 miles. I think there’s something wrong with it (not really). I get a couple other slow easy runs in, and manage to get out each of the four mornings.



Amman


We’re only spending one night here, and as usual, I don’t have much time. This will be yet another orientation/exploration run. I find a) a parklike boulevard that’s not as long as I’d hoped, b) another cultural center that’s okay to circumnavigate, c) every taxi (and that’s all there are on the roads at 5:00 AM) wants to pull over to give me a ride, and d) the call to prayer.



Petra


I can see for miles and miles. Villages are lit up like groupings of jewels in the vast dark desert. They’re interspersed with the mountains that are nearly invisible in the darkness. I hear the 5:00 AM call to prayer coming from several of them. After beginning my run at a high point, I travel down – way down – and eventually wind up in one of said villages. Of course it’s bigger than it looked from afar, and I don’t want to get lost, so I just turn back. Until this point, there had been only the one road.

Now the moon is setting in the west, the direction of the villages I’d been admiring. The sky is getting lighter, and now I can see the distant mountains and desert floor better.

The run, and the one the following day were not great, or even good. But they sure are memorable, nonetheless.



Dead Sea


I hadn’t made it to ten miles yet. Today, my last on this trip, would be the day. I turn North out of the Movenpick and run on the service road (for resorts and stuff) that parallels the four-lane that parallels the Dead Sea. The street lighting is good, and there’s almost no traffic on this road.

I encounter a pack of wild, or at least loose dogs. I keep my distance, but I do need to yell at them a bit. At times I stay in the playpen area of the sidewalk. Yes, it’s barricaded in, for reasons that I don’t quite understand. Other times I’m back on the road.

The full moon is setting over the Dead Sea. It’s surreal. I run about three miles and notice that the service drive ends. I figure it’s time to turn back. I later learn that this is exactly as far North as the Dead Sea itself goes. It’s beginning to get light as I pass the Movenpick and keep going South.

There’s a lot of construction here, because heaven knows you can’t have too many Dead Sea Resorts. I turn back and stop in the room to let Debbie know that I’ll be later than planned. But I simply have to get those ten miles in. She is not amused.

I finish up, successfully getting those miles in. Finally.

My week of ~Running~ if you can call it that

This will be in backward order in an attempt to make it feel better. Maybe we’ll even have a not-unhappy ending.

Sunday: It’s the Buckeye Woods 25K/50K, and I have to go for it. Due to travel constraints, going for it today means starting early, getting two five-mile loops done, then doing one more with the main group as they begin their own journey at 7:30 AM. For the math-challenged, that, along with the extra mile, only adds up to 25K. This is my first departure from the 50K distance at this race (I’ve done nine straight, plus a summer one), but starting the run at 3 instead of 5 just didn’t appeal. Another thing that didn’t appeal was the weather: 37F and rain; not my favorite conditions. But I make it (in poor fashion), and I believe the RDs will give me credit for that. It helps to know people.

Saturday: My friends Rita Cognion and George Ziga are in town, so Joe Salwan and I meet them in Peninsula for a nice little run on the towpath. It is good to catch up with them. And it’s always nice to run in our lovely national park.

Friday: It’s Black Friday, and I have to work. I usually do work on this day to save vacation days. I am able to work from home, so it’s not so bad. Harold Dravenstott and Michelle Wolff are heading to Wooster to join in a group run they (Vertical Runner Wooster) call a Two-Hour Tryptophan Run. I start work at 3:30 AM, get a few hours in, then drive down to join the fun. And it truly is fun, as I run with Michelle, Harold, Debbie Horn and Michelle Daum. It’s as many 2-mile loops you can do in two hours, and then there are prizes based on that. I don’t get any prizes, but I’m glad I took part.

Thursday: It’s Turkey Day, time for a Turkey Trot. It’s been years since I’ve done one. This time it’s the Turkey Burner 5K in Hinckley. I follow Michelle Daum for the loop around the lake, and Harold D. follows me. I’m not extremely fast these days, but it feels good to move this un-slowly for a bit. And hey, I get a t-shirt and even an age group award medal.

Wednesday: I can’t get myself going at all. No run today.

Tuesday: I hit the track, meeting my co-worker and friend Colleen DeVito. We often meet at the track before work, but this may be one of the last times. On other occasions, I’ll often do some speedwork after running some with Colleen. Today I do not. I’m still tired from Sunday’s race.

Monday: I get a few miles in, but it’s not pretty. I’m still tired from Sunday’s race.

2019 Fall Classic Half Marathon and 5K

Always go before you go.

I usually do, and I sorta did this time. Except that it wasn't quite late enough. I was thinking about all the water and coffee in my belly and bladder as I was lined up at the start and began to run. I decided to remedy the situation by using the porta-john at about mile four. Forty seconds later, I was back on the run again, feeling more comfortable.

The goal was to beat the 1:51 I ran at Made in America, and also break the 1:50 "barrier." Running a half in the one-forties shouldn't be hard, should it?

The Fall Classic, in its 44th year, truly is one. I've done it a dozen or so times, and it never gets old. It's a double out-and-back loop in Cleveland Metroparks' Mill Stream Run Reservation. Today it was cool and sublime, even serene. It's also fun to see the other runners coming and going.

Coming through half-way at about 54 minutes and change, I knew I was cutting it close. No worries though, I'll just pick up the pace during the final miles, thought I.

By the time there were only a couple miles to go, I was indeed picking up the pace... I thought. Upon examination of the Garmin data, it now appears that I was only maintaining the 8:20-ish pace that I'd been doing all along. It only felt faster.

My finish time was 1:50:17 (or, if you prefer - as I do - 1:49:77), good for third in my ancient age group. It's okay in that it's faster than my previous half, but it's not in the 1:40s. I'm still trying to figure out who the other two old guys are.

And those extra forty seconds I mentioned? Don't even go there. Instead, go before you go.