Great weather. Feeling good despite some usual aches and pains. Running well.
You can see where this is going: two out of three ain't bad.
It's five to five, 59 degrees, and Orion is rising, as I emerge from the car. That cool air feels fabulous. I start slowly, as I always do, but I don't feel too bad. Yes, the aches are there, but the Achilles and other pains aren't debilitating. And as I head over and into the park, I feel as though I'm actually picking up some speed.
It's pitch dark in the woods, of course. I don't know how I ever did this without a headlamp. As I head down the hill towards Foster's Run, I speed up even more. I'm really moving now.
Two miles in, I glance at my watch. Reality sets in. I'm not running seven or eight minutes a mile, even though it feels as though I am. I'm doing eleven minutes a mile, even on this downhill stretch. My bubble is busted.
It's getting light as I finish up. Of course it is; it took such a very long time to run so far. About like it does every other day. Even so, I still enjoy today's run, because those two good things are very good.
Thursday, August 23, 2018
Saturday, August 18, 2018
I Sweat, Therefore I
am soaked, am disgusting, will continue to sweat even after my shower and even after I've arrived at work, am a bunch of other things, none of which are good.
The vast, and I do mean vast, majority of days this summer have been oppressively humid. One could probably count on one hand the days that were not. And there's no end in sight.
But I don't like humidity, I say. Perhaps this is a little like not liking spam.
Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. A man and his wife enter.
Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!
Man: Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor au Crevette with a Mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam.
Wife: Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it.
Wife: I don't want ANY spam!
Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!
Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?
Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)
Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam.
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam!
Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!
~
But back to the humility. It's bad. Really bad. And to go along with that is the heat. I am aware that things could be even worse, as most days are in the eighties. The days in the nineties came earlier in the summer. Nowadays, nearly every day is just a little above the average for this time of year.
Reminds me of how all our children are above average.
All this makes for not so good running. I'm getting out there, mind you. Just not well. Maybe tomorrow, being Hinckley Day, will be better. We can only hope.
"Welcome to Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."
The vast, and I do mean vast, majority of days this summer have been oppressively humid. One could probably count on one hand the days that were not. And there's no end in sight.
But I don't like humidity, I say. Perhaps this is a little like not liking spam.
Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. A man and his wife enter.
Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!
Man: Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor au Crevette with a Mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam.
Wife: Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it.
Wife: I don't want ANY spam!
Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!
Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?
Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)
Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam.
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam!
Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!
~
But back to the humility. It's bad. Really bad. And to go along with that is the heat. I am aware that things could be even worse, as most days are in the eighties. The days in the nineties came earlier in the summer. Nowadays, nearly every day is just a little above the average for this time of year.
Reminds me of how all our children are above average.
All this makes for not so good running. I'm getting out there, mind you. Just not well. Maybe tomorrow, being Hinckley Day, will be better. We can only hope.
"Welcome to Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."
Monday, August 13, 2018
The Perseid
We speak about the Perseids as the meteors seen in the skies this time each year. Note the plurality. There was none of that today, but one is still better than none.
For the first time in decades, I did manage to get out the door before four. Perhaps it was related, but this wound but being an adventure in sleep-running.
To see meteors, one has to look up. Looking up is not conducive to good, or even half-way decent running. So that, combined with the extreme un-wakefulness were both working against me. But dad-gum it, I wanted to see those Perseids.
Shuffling along on Substation Road - the darkest area I could get to - I wasn't having any luck, so I started trying to spot Orion. This was also problematic because by 4:30 AM, it was only beginning to consider rising. That's when the sky lit up (well, a little) with a meteor. They always appear when you're not looking for them. It was pretty cool.
After further shuffling, I did finally see Orion. And then I saw, coming toward me, an extremely bright truck of some sort. There were green, red and yellow lights flashing in all sorts of ways. I suppose it was an ambulance, but it may have been another type of emergency vehicle or an alien land cruising car (the aliens would have emerged from the meteorite, I'm sure). It was hard to tell.
There were no more meteors, and no more wakefulness.
For the first time in decades, I did manage to get out the door before four. Perhaps it was related, but this wound but being an adventure in sleep-running.
To see meteors, one has to look up. Looking up is not conducive to good, or even half-way decent running. So that, combined with the extreme un-wakefulness were both working against me. But dad-gum it, I wanted to see those Perseids.
Shuffling along on Substation Road - the darkest area I could get to - I wasn't having any luck, so I started trying to spot Orion. This was also problematic because by 4:30 AM, it was only beginning to consider rising. That's when the sky lit up (well, a little) with a meteor. They always appear when you're not looking for them. It was pretty cool.
After further shuffling, I did finally see Orion. And then I saw, coming toward me, an extremely bright truck of some sort. There were green, red and yellow lights flashing in all sorts of ways. I suppose it was an ambulance, but it may have been another type of emergency vehicle or an alien land cruising car (the aliens would have emerged from the meteorite, I'm sure). It was hard to tell.
There were no more meteors, and no more wakefulness.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Orion Rise, 2018
I saw my very first of the season rise of the constellation Orion today. It signals that summer is on its way out, and that autumn is fast approaching. This is all good news for someone of my temperament.
This was my second run in Hocking Hills, and it was a cool one. That's appropriate, since fall is now officially (at least in my book) on its way. Cool, crisp and clear: that's the way I like it. Can't wait for more of it. Bring it on.
This was my second run in Hocking Hills, and it was a cool one. That's appropriate, since fall is now officially (at least in my book) on its way. Cool, crisp and clear: that's the way I like it. Can't wait for more of it. Bring it on.
Sights and Sounds
I am getting a later than planned start. It's 5:20, and although I've been up for quite a while, this is the best I could do to get myself out the cabin door and into the gloomy morning air.
Said cabin is located in Sugar Grove, Ohio. It's in the Hocking Hills region, and we're staying for the weekend with the Dancer family. These digs are pretty nifty.
Gloomy it is - more so than anticipated. I had planned the route: 3 or more 3.7-mile loops on Sponagle, Swartz Mill, Mirgon and Sugar Grove Roads to make twelve or so miles total. I had figured there would be hills, humidity, humility, and darkness, but not quite so much. And I also hadn't anticipated the fog and drizzle. And did I mention the darkness? Oh, yes, perhaps I did.
First, I have to get up the driveway. I do mean up; it's mighty steep. Now on the road, things do level out. A little. I am bumping into plenty of hills. They pretty much won't stop. Eventually, I find myself running mostly down - way down - to get to Swartz Mill Road a mile into the run.
Good thing I have the headlamp because I can't see a darn thing otherwise. The woods are deep and dark, and the fog and mist reflect my headlamp light right back at me. I do notice the occasional light emanating from a smattering of houses that are back in the woods.
At first, it's so very quiet that even that unnerves me. I do get used to it, but soon the morning crickets begin to chirp. Now it's downright noisy. But in a pleasant sort of way.
All of a sudden, something fairly large flies right across my path, directly in front of my headlamp. It startles me, and I stop. It was completely quiet as it flew by. Then another one follows it within a second or two. I look around for others but don't see any. That don't mean anything; I can't see anything anyway. As my faculties return, I begin to wonder whether they were rather small owls or large bats. I am not able to figure it out, but I'm leaning towards the bat theory.
A couple of the houses come with a barking dog. I am not threatened directly, but I do pick up a stick for self-defense, just in case.
The roads and turns are where I expect them to be. The hills are not, since I hadn't known where they would be. Suffice it to say that they're big. Big enough to put Effie to shame. Effie, by the way, is still the standard by which all hills are measured. I manage to complete one loop. I am 3.7 miles into the run, just as anticipated. I try not to look at the related time.
The second loop is better. It's getting light, and I can now begin to see where I went that first time around. The fog is becoming more patchy. And I'm moving a little faster as well. But only a little.
The third loop is faster still. Still agonizingly slow by any normal standards, but faster than the other two loops.
About two and a half miles into that final circuit, it hits me. I love this! I truly do. It's why I run.
Minor runner's high subsiding, I am back in time to start the day with the kids and grandkids. Time to hike.
Said cabin is located in Sugar Grove, Ohio. It's in the Hocking Hills region, and we're staying for the weekend with the Dancer family. These digs are pretty nifty.
Gloomy it is - more so than anticipated. I had planned the route: 3 or more 3.7-mile loops on Sponagle, Swartz Mill, Mirgon and Sugar Grove Roads to make twelve or so miles total. I had figured there would be hills, humidity, humility, and darkness, but not quite so much. And I also hadn't anticipated the fog and drizzle. And did I mention the darkness? Oh, yes, perhaps I did.
First, I have to get up the driveway. I do mean up; it's mighty steep. Now on the road, things do level out. A little. I am bumping into plenty of hills. They pretty much won't stop. Eventually, I find myself running mostly down - way down - to get to Swartz Mill Road a mile into the run.
Good thing I have the headlamp because I can't see a darn thing otherwise. The woods are deep and dark, and the fog and mist reflect my headlamp light right back at me. I do notice the occasional light emanating from a smattering of houses that are back in the woods.
At first, it's so very quiet that even that unnerves me. I do get used to it, but soon the morning crickets begin to chirp. Now it's downright noisy. But in a pleasant sort of way.
All of a sudden, something fairly large flies right across my path, directly in front of my headlamp. It startles me, and I stop. It was completely quiet as it flew by. Then another one follows it within a second or two. I look around for others but don't see any. That don't mean anything; I can't see anything anyway. As my faculties return, I begin to wonder whether they were rather small owls or large bats. I am not able to figure it out, but I'm leaning towards the bat theory.
A couple of the houses come with a barking dog. I am not threatened directly, but I do pick up a stick for self-defense, just in case.
The roads and turns are where I expect them to be. The hills are not, since I hadn't known where they would be. Suffice it to say that they're big. Big enough to put Effie to shame. Effie, by the way, is still the standard by which all hills are measured. I manage to complete one loop. I am 3.7 miles into the run, just as anticipated. I try not to look at the related time.
The second loop is better. It's getting light, and I can now begin to see where I went that first time around. The fog is becoming more patchy. And I'm moving a little faster as well. But only a little.
The third loop is faster still. Still agonizingly slow by any normal standards, but faster than the other two loops.
About two and a half miles into that final circuit, it hits me. I love this! I truly do. It's why I run.
Minor runner's high subsiding, I am back in time to start the day with the kids and grandkids. Time to hike.
Sunday, August 05, 2018
Double the Fun
June 4. 2017. That, as far as I can tell, was the last time I did two back-to-back hilly Hinckley nine-mile loops. I've done the loop a few times in the past, and I know a thing or two about it. And despite the hiatus, I do know how to do two loops, and even three loops. That said, I have, in fact, been trying to revive the Sunday Hinckley tradition.
It wasn't pretty today. The heat, hills, humidity, and especially the humility all came into play. But it wasn't really like play; it was more like work.
Dennis Amstutz, Theresa Wright, Frank Dwyer and Rick Roman were my companions. It was warm and humid when we started at six am, and downright oppressive during that sweaty second loop.
We somehow made it. But it wasn't pretty. Oh, yeah. I said that already.
It wasn't pretty today. The heat, hills, humidity, and especially the humility all came into play. But it wasn't really like play; it was more like work.
Dennis Amstutz, Theresa Wright, Frank Dwyer and Rick Roman were my companions. It was warm and humid when we started at six am, and downright oppressive during that sweaty second loop.
We somehow made it. But it wasn't pretty. Oh, yeah. I said that already.
Sunday, July 22, 2018
Heavenly Hills in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia
West Virginia is a very vertical place. I have run in the state before, but it's been a while. After yesterday's downhill hike from the top to the bottom of Bald Knob (we'd taken the ski-lift up), my quads and knees were feeling fairly shredded. But I run everywhere I go, and I would here as well, according to my wont.
Extensive pre-run research indicated that there was a horizontal trail along the Monongahela River here in Morgantown. All I need to do is get to it.
Getting to it involves running down. Way down. After a mile of yet more bone-jarring downhill running, I do reach the river, find the trail, and get going.
The sun is beginning to rise, but it's still dark down by the river. As I proceed north, the asphalt changes to crushed limestone and everything becomes heavily wooded and very quiet. I bask in the solitude. I don't see another human being until after I've turned back - about six miles into my run.
As I get back into the Morgantown area, the sun is shining on the nearby hills. It's light, and I can see fairly well. I realize that I'm finally, after eight slow miles, moving at a half-way decent pace. But now I've got to get back up the hills to my home away from home.
I do somehow make it back up (way up) to the Fairfield. Just in time for more hiking.
For more on said hiking, see my travel blog post.
Extensive pre-run research indicated that there was a horizontal trail along the Monongahela River here in Morgantown. All I need to do is get to it.
Getting to it involves running down. Way down. After a mile of yet more bone-jarring downhill running, I do reach the river, find the trail, and get going.
The sun is beginning to rise, but it's still dark down by the river. As I proceed north, the asphalt changes to crushed limestone and everything becomes heavily wooded and very quiet. I bask in the solitude. I don't see another human being until after I've turned back - about six miles into my run.
As I get back into the Morgantown area, the sun is shining on the nearby hills. It's light, and I can see fairly well. I realize that I'm finally, after eight slow miles, moving at a half-way decent pace. But now I've got to get back up the hills to my home away from home.
I do somehow make it back up (way up) to the Fairfield. Just in time for more hiking.
For more on said hiking, see my travel blog post.
Monday, July 16, 2018
Hinckley is Back
Okay, okay. Hinckley never really left. But a lot of us did; we hadn't been meeting there for our Sunday morning runs for quite some time. This was for various reasons, but now that's all changed.
We met the other day, and did our good old nine-mile loop. It was the same old gang, and the same old hilly "Effie" loop. Some of us did some extra lake loops as well.
Just like old times!!
We met the other day, and did our good old nine-mile loop. It was the same old gang, and the same old hilly "Effie" loop. Some of us did some extra lake loops as well.
Just like old times!!
Battle of Wounded Knee (as an innocent bystander)
I suppose I wasn't entirely bystanding; I was running. And I wasn't entirely innocent; I had invited my friend Larry Orwin to run with me, after all.
I was aware that this was less than a week after his Herculean effort to complete the Canal Corridor 100-mile race, but he said he was running again already, and I needed a partner.
So we met on the towpath for a fourteen-mile run from Station Road Bridge to Lock 29 and back.
Wouldn't you know it? At precisely seven miles out, just as we were about to turn into the Lock 29 area, his knee goes. He had to stop entirely. Innocent bystander that I was, I stopped to make sure he way okay. He said he was, but he wasn't. After some water, we tried to run back to Brecksville.
Didn't happen. Poor Larry could only walk. I ended up running back to get the car to pick him up. Strangely, I ran those six-plus miles really well. I suppose it was the adrenaline effort to get to the car and back in a decent amount of time.
Hope you're okay, Larry!
I was aware that this was less than a week after his Herculean effort to complete the Canal Corridor 100-mile race, but he said he was running again already, and I needed a partner.
So we met on the towpath for a fourteen-mile run from Station Road Bridge to Lock 29 and back.
Wouldn't you know it? At precisely seven miles out, just as we were about to turn into the Lock 29 area, his knee goes. He had to stop entirely. Innocent bystander that I was, I stopped to make sure he way okay. He said he was, but he wasn't. After some water, we tried to run back to Brecksville.
Didn't happen. Poor Larry could only walk. I ended up running back to get the car to pick him up. Strangely, I ran those six-plus miles really well. I suppose it was the adrenaline effort to get to the car and back in a decent amount of time.
Hope you're okay, Larry!
Wednesday, July 04, 2018
North Canton YMCA 4th of July 5-mile
Since I have participated in the Ohio Challenge Series many years, I've done this race many times, albeit many moons ago. It's a fun Fourth of July event; the whole city is alive and hopping for the race as it occurs just prior to the annual parade.
Fun though it is, I've never run particularly well here. But sometimes you just need to fulfill your racing obligation for the series. That was going to be the case today. I needed one more 5-mile to 10k distance race to compete in that category, and this would be it. I already have the 1/2 marathon distance category completed as well. Since I won't be bothering with any more 5k runs in the series, I won't compete in that category. And that, my friends, means I'm done!
Coming just a scant three days after BW50K, (And did I mention the relentless heat?) I knew that I wouldn't be at my best. I just wanted to run the distance.
It turned out that just getting the distance in, was a tremendous chore. I thought I was gonna die in that heat. I thought they would be scraping me off the pavement when the race was done.
Well, somehow I remained vertical. But done, I was. 46:50.
Now I'm done in another way too. I'm done doing ANY racing for a while. A long while.
Fun though it is, I've never run particularly well here. But sometimes you just need to fulfill your racing obligation for the series. That was going to be the case today. I needed one more 5-mile to 10k distance race to compete in that category, and this would be it. I already have the 1/2 marathon distance category completed as well. Since I won't be bothering with any more 5k runs in the series, I won't compete in that category. And that, my friends, means I'm done!
Coming just a scant three days after BW50K, (And did I mention the relentless heat?) I knew that I wouldn't be at my best. I just wanted to run the distance.
It turned out that just getting the distance in, was a tremendous chore. I thought I was gonna die in that heat. I thought they would be scraping me off the pavement when the race was done.
Well, somehow I remained vertical. But done, I was. 46:50.
Now I'm done in another way too. I'm done doing ANY racing for a while. A long while.
Sunday, July 01, 2018
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.
Friday, June 29, 2018
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!
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!
Sunday, June 10, 2018
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 |
 |
| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Whitefish Point |
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| Sunrise over Gitche Gumee |
Friday, June 01, 2018
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.
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.
Sunday, May 27, 2018
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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
Sunday, May 20, 2018
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.
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.
Saturday, May 12, 2018
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.
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2018
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?
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?
Tuesday, May 08, 2018
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?"
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?"
Saturday, April 28, 2018
4 x 6
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?
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