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.

Three Runs in PCB

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



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

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



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



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



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

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

Doin' my Motor Good

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

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

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

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

~Maybelline, by Chuck Berry


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

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


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

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

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

Get Ready to Run

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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