Another way to spend your hard-earned dollars

An iPod for your running shoes! What will they think of next?

Here's an excerpt from the Apple/Nike press release of the new Nike+ Air Zoom Moire and the Nike + iPod Sport Kit, which was unveiled in a big hoo-hah event on Tuesday in New York City with world marathoner Paula Radcliffe and Tour de France cyclist Lance Armstrong, along with the CEOs of Apple and Nike:

The new Nike+ Air Zoom Moire is the first footwear designed to talk to iPod. Nike plans to make many of its leading footwear styles Nike+ ready ... With the Nike+ footwear connected to iPod nano through the Nike+iPod Sport Kit, information on time, distance, calories burned and pace is stored on iPod and displayed on the screen; real-time audible feedback also is provided through headphones. The kit includes an in-shoe sensor and a receiver that attaches to iPod. A new Nike Sport Music section on the iTunes® Music Store and a new nikeplus.com personal service site help maximize the Nike+iPod experience.

Available in stores later this summer ....

Run 'til it hurts. Then run some more.

I ran the Capitol Hill Classic 3K yesterday. It wasn't pretty. I threw a party on Saturday, and I was tired (and a teensy bit hung-over) from planning and preparing it. And then there was all the champagne punch I drank and the chorizo sausages and cream-cheese brownies I ate. Plus, the last guest didn't leave until after midnight.

So I took the race lightly. I didn't really expect that I was going to finish in my goal time (according to McMillan's running calculator) of 13:28 (7:14/mile pace). So why not carouse until the wee hours?

But I'm not the kind of person to do things half-ass (well, at least not usually). So after the race ... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Here's the race report: The 3K race began at 9:45 am, after the race's signature 10K at 8:30 am. It was in the mid-70's by 9:30 am, and I found my team mates (I ran on a 5-person team) just before we started. The front of the start line was packed with elementary and middle-school kids (the race benefited a local school). The race director saw the kids jostling for position and the dozens of bemused and slightly frustrated adults standing behind them.

Shaking his head, he got on a megaphone and told the kids to move back. Which they did. Slightly. The fast adults and I took our places at the front (well, I can dream, can't I?!). My teammate, P., told me the race route, which I promptly forgot.

Then the gun sounded. A lot of the kids surged ahead, but fell back in the first quarter-mile. P. ran ahead, but I kept him in sight. Teammate A., who is a blonde 6'2" Viking of a woman, was struggling behind me, as she had just finished the 10K portion of the race (48:08).

I felt okay but not 100 percent. My throat was raspy and I didn't know what pace I was running. There were less than 300 of us in the race, so it felt almost as if I was running by myself, on wide empty streets. There were some spectators, but not many. They cheered on the kids.

Three lanky 12-13 year-old boys (one of whom was bigger than me) who shot out in front kept looking behind them. At me and A. Then one of them fell back in the first mile. As I passed him, I heard him labor for breath. Then A. dug deep and picked up the pace, passing me.

After about a mile and a half, I overtook A. "Come on," I said to her. "Let's run this in." She shook her head and said, "Go ahead, go for it."

I overtook the second kid by just running a steady pace. With about a quarter-mile to go, I should have kicked it in as hard as I could. Especially when I saw the second kid pass me. But I didn't.

Oh, I ran faster. Believe me, my lungs were tight and my throat felt like hell. But I didn't go absolutely all out as I should have.

Finish: I crossed the finishing mats in 13:41, or a 7:21/mile pace. The two kids in front of me finished 10 seconds faster. Damn tweenies. A. finished 4 seconds behind me, and the third kid, who was behind all of us, caught up and kicked like hell at the end, tying with A. Teammate P. finished 25 seconds in front of me, at 13:21 (7:10/mile pace).

Afterwards, I knew that because I didn't take the race seriously, I ran 5-10 seconds slower than I could've. Not that I'm competitive or anything.

Burying the lede: But perhaps the lady doth protest too much. Because despite my iffy race tactics, I placed 3rd overall among women, and 1st in my age group. There were 274 people in the race, and I placed 24th amongst both men and women.

More good news: Also, P. got 1st in his age group, as did A. and another team member, M., placed 2nd in his age group. I'm not sure how our team placed overall, but I think it was towards the top ....

Semper Fi, Baby!

Let the madness begin. I'm officially registered for the Marine Corps Marathon. (Help me, God.) I almost didn't sign up, though.

I almost registered for the Richmond Marathon instead: far fewer people (6,500 compared to the MCM's 30,000), cheaper ($65 vs. $94), and the race is held on my old stomping grounds, where I worked as a metro reporter for the Richmond Times-Dispatch for three years.

But Jeanne signed up today. So did David. Anyone else care to join us?! Plus, it's in my beautiful town, with all the monuments. And let's not forget all of those hunky Marines.

Hooah, indeed.

Dollar $igns: While I'm looking forward to the race, I winced when I paid the $88 registration fee, plus $6+ for online processing. But at least I didn't buy the $29.90 MCM basic training DVD, the $38 MCM ChampionChip, the $32 Brooks "In Training" T-shirt, or the $24 cap.

Mom's Day Race Wrap-up: I finally saw the results of last Sunday's Mother's Day 10K, in which a bunch of my novice runners ran (and I helped to keep score). One of my students not only won first in her age group (50-59), she ran it in 56:29! That's a 9:05/mile average pace.

By the way, the top five finishers were all Ethiopian. You know it's going to be a fast race when a gaggle of matchstick-thin, intense and dusky men line up front.

The first-place finisher ran a smokin' 30:15 (4:52/avg mile), and the second and third-place finishers were right behind him, at 30:28 and 30:33, respectively.

And now that I've actually scored finishing times, here are a few tips for runners in other non-chip timed races:

1) Wear your bib on the front of your shirt. Not the back. And not on the leg of your shorts, like some elites do. That's pretentious. Race scorers must punch in your bib number in the race timer as you come towards the finish line, then hit "enter" as you cross the line. And if they can't see your bib number, it's less likely you'll be counted or get an accurate finishing time.

2) Don't be a bandit. If you didn't register for the race, don't run it. A race time scorer could accidentally punch in your time, which screws up the finishing places of all the other runners behind you. Several bandits ran the race, and we had to hustle to delete their times before other runners came in.

3) Take the race seriously. Almost two hours after the start of the 10K, me and another time keeper were still standing in front of the race clock, waiting for the last stragglers to come in. It was just us and a few very bored cops.

We missed the awards ceremony, mingling and visiting with the runners, and even the auction and raffle at the end. While the police manning the race were all paid, all of us race officials were volunteers.

Finally, the last of the walkers came in, averaging almost 20 minutes a mile. The race director mused that we could have timed them by sun dial. And then one of the walkers didn't want us to time her because she said she was going too slow and got mad when we said we had to.

If you're going as fast as you can and you're logging 20 minutes a mile, that's fine. I respect the hard effort. I'll clap and cheer you on.

But if you're just strolling and chatting and even stopping to talk to people on the sidewalk and pet their dogs - as these people were doing - then that's when I get frustrated. If you want to take a nice, little Sunday stroll, do everyone a favor and don't sign up for a 10K.

/rant

Proud Coach

A handful of my novice runners in the training program for the D.C. Road Runners/Arlington YMCA Mother's Day 10K (that's a mouthful) ran the race last Sunday. And most of them surprised themselves.

Faster Than They Thought: The results haven't been posted online yet, but I know that one of my students placed first in her age group, one ran in 58 minutes and change, and two ran in under 63 minutes.

Not bad for a group who's moniker is "Team 10:30." As in, they'd be happy to average 10:30 a mile. And Jeanne, also one of my runners, broke her previous 10K PR by a minute, averaging 10:48/mile.

E. (not one of my runners), also ran well: about 50 minutes. This after running 5 miles, stair repeats, and doing150 squats the previous day.

What's the Time?: I was going to stand 100 yards from the finish line to cheer on my runners, but I got nabbed by the race director to be one of the official time keepers. So instead, I stood at the race clock with an automated timekeeper the size of a small cash register.

I had to punch in the racers' bib numbers, then hit "enter" just as they crossed the finish line. Quite stressful, especially when the runners came in groups of four and five. The race director was the other time keeper, and we yelled the bib numbers to each other to make sure we were on the same page. There were also a few bandits, another logistical challenge.

Pick it Up!: I haven't been running as many miles the past two weeks because I've been so busy at work, but I've been raising the intensity level. I ran 4 miles yesterday, the first three at a 7:44/mile pace, then slowed down to an 8:28/mile pace when I realized how fast I was going.

This afternoon, I ran 4.4 miles, the first 1.5 miles very slowly with a colleague, then ran the remaining miles quicker. It took me 36 minutes and 32 seconds to finish.

I've got to get faster: I'm running this 3K on Sunday.

Running Skirt Redux

As I was running at 10K tempo pace on a trail towards the sunset yesterday, the bottom almost dropped out. My stomach, which had been been rumbling and roiling, lurched ominously.

I kept going, but as soon as I finished my 5:00 interval, I stopped. It was track workout night, but we ran on the trails yesterday, so we were all spread out. Nobody around me. Very peaceful and quiet, a good thing if you're about to lose your lunch. Or worse.

Note to self: Don't drink coffee, eat chocolate-covered pretzels and, oh yes, a seafood-salad sandwich a half-hour before a speed workout again.
Skirt news: I ordered a runningskirts.com skirt last week with some trepidation. Not sure if I would look good in a skirt that seems to require you to be long and leggy. Which I am not. And I already love my New Balance skirt.

But wanted to see what the fuss was all about with the skirt that Susan and Mark ran in. I got it in the mail last night and just tried it on. I ordered a size small, since I normally wear a 2 in pants and skirts.

Hmmm. Very cute. But it is SHORT, people. Micro-mini short. And I'm not sure if it fits correctly. While not tight, it is extremely form-fitting. Or am I just being overly modest and old-fashioned?

I was going to post photos of me running in this skirt, but now I'm not sure. The fashion police may collar me and haul me down to the station. I'm going to show Jeanne and ask what she thinks ...

Skirt story: I'm writing a story on running skirts and the controvery surrounding them for the Washington Running Report, a local magazine on running in metro D.C. I'm scheduled to interview the folks at New Balance and Brooks in the next few days.

And I want to hear from you out there in the blogosphere about what you think. On the record. So you'll find out who I really am, and I, you.
Interested?

"She Wasn't Soft"

She ran 45 miles a week, biked 250, and slashed through 1,500 yards of the crawl in the Banos del Mar pool ... She wasn't tender, she wasn't soft, she wasn't sweetly yielding or coquettish, and she was nobody's little woman and never would be.

She stood there at the bar in her shorts and Lycra halter top, sucking an Evian through a straw while the sports fans furtively admired her pecs and lats and the hard hammered musculature of her legs, for all the world a babe. She didn't mind. In fact, it made her feel luminous and alive, not to mention vastly superior to all those pale lumps of flesh sprouting out of the corners like toadstools and the sagging abrasive girlfriends who hung on their arms and tried to feign interest in whawtever sport happened to be on the tube.

Those are excerpts from T.C. Boyle's excellent, wickedly funny story, "She Wasn't Soft," about an almost-elite female tri-athlete, her slacker, surfer boyfriend, and her arch-rival. The story is from his 2001 book, After the Plague, and one of the few good short stories I've found at least partly on running.

It strikes me as grossly unfair that there's a dearth of good contemporary writing on our sport. There are truckloads of novels and non-fiction books on baseball, golf, and football.

But running? Maybe enough to fill one of those cheap, canvas bookbags from your local public radio station as a thank-you for donating $50.

I know, I know, there's the much-vaunted novel, Once a Runner. But seriously? It's maudlin, self-conscious, and not very well-written.

Much better is Younger Than Springtime, by Greg Williams. Published in 1997, it's about a middle-aged man who cheats on his wife with a much-younger woman - and becomes a really fast runner as a result. Good satire. Here's the take from Kirkus Reviews:

A cautionary tale for aging boomers that mixes (with a heavy hand) myth, satire, and morality as it details a self-absorbed New York lawyer's brush with immortality. John Ashe is 50 years old, successful, and rich--but not happy. A partner in a prestigious law firm, he's all too aware of time's winged chariot as partners drop dead jogging, wife Elizabeth nixes martinis, and bran cereal becomes his breakfast of necessity ... and the running that gave him some pleasure is becoming increasingly painful as his tendons [flare] up. And John knows it's only going to get worse.

But then potential paralegal-hire Elena comes by for an interview--and his life changes as magically as any poor slob's in a fairy tale. Though she's only 22, John is infatuated ... The two are soon lovers, and John finds himself amazingly rejuvenated: He can eat, fornicate, and run like a young man. Furthermore, his hair darkens, his muscles tighten, and his cholesterol drops. The doctors think he may be suffering from "youthing," the result of an older man's sexual relationship with a younger woman.

John actually ends up winning the New York Marathon. Not bad for a guy old enough to have voted for Nixon, eh?! But then things go downhill from there ....

Allergy Rant

My eyes are burning. I've been rubbing them for weeks as my allergies have been wreaking havoc. Not only are my eyes puffy and bloodshot, I may have a wee infection in my right one.

Not that this has anything to do with running, though I am sneezing more when pounding the trails. Over-the-counter meds make me drowsy, though I take them after particularly bad sneezing fits. I was supposed to go to the doctor last week, but had to cancel because I couldn't get away from work.

I finally have a doctor's appointment for Monday. But I may claw out my eyes and rip off my nose before then.

Race Report: On Your Mark, Get Set ...

So there I was, in Mile 4 of the Sallie Mae 10K yesterday morning, and all I could hear was the heavy breathing - wheezing, really - of the tall, skinny man I had passed moments ago, as he caught up to me.

Well, almost. He stayed a few feet behind, hanging by my left shoulder. I quickened my pace a little. He started hacking and spitting, and I reflexively ran even faster, out of striking distance.

If there's one thing men hate, it's being beaten by a woman.

It was a gorgeous spring day in Washington, and I ran the race almost on a lark. I hadn't really trained for it, so I used the race as a fitness gauge. My friends L., K., and H. also ran the race with me, though we lost each other after the starting gun fired.

Remembering Austin: I ran the race a tiny bit conservatively, as the memories of bonking at Austin, Texas's Go for the Gold 10K in March are still fresh.

And I almost gave up on actually racing the Sallie Mae in the early miles. I got stuck in the very back of the 1,322-person pack, and I had to weave my way through clusters of folks, running along the perimeter, jumping curbs, and wasting precious energy. I crossed the first mile marker a whopping 45 seconds off pace, at 8:35.

Whoa! I felt like I was running slowly, but not that slow. I got discouraged, my mind already tired from navigating through throngs of runners. My pace slowed even further.

After about two minutes, the crowds thinned, and I thought, "C'mon! Don't be a wimp!" I fixed my eyes on a woman about 20 yards ahead of me, and reeled her in, willing my legs to eat up more road. The second mile went by in 7:45, and the third in 7:50. Back on pace.

At the turnaround, I resolved to keep running strong, but I wasn't sure if I had it in me to run negative splits. I didn't want to run out of steam at the end, as I did in Austin.

Nobody talked. All you could hear was heavy breathing and the pounding of thousands of rubber-clad feet on asphalt. We ran on Haine's Point, an outcropping of land bordered by the Potomac, with clear views of the monuments, but we could've been running in a tunnel for all the attention we paid to our surroundings.

I slowly started picking off people. Every time I passed a man, he tried to catch up to me. Perhaps so did the women I passed, but I couldn't hear them breathing hard while doing so.

Blondie and Bex: Except for one. A muscular blond woman with sturdy legs and blue shorts. A little after Mile 4, I passed her. A few minutes later, she returned the favor. I passed her again. Thirty seconds later, I saw her rapid arm swing as she ran past me again.

Fine, I thought, letting her go. I wasn't going to turn on the few jets I had until midway through Mile 5. She stayed about 15 yards ahead.

Then she did something that made me almost do a double-take. She started walking! I almost yelled at her, "Keep going! You're almost there!" But I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to beat her, didn't I?!

Sayonara, baby, I thought as I flew by.

But I was starting to really tire. Even though I was running at the same intensity, I hit Mile 5 in 7:58, 8 seconds off pace. The volunteer manning the clock at Mile 5 looked at our red, straining faces as we passed and said, "C'mon folks, turn up the heat!!"

Well, all-righty then. Still a bit wary of bonking, I started to run faster. I passed some more people. Then someone caught up to me and hung on my shoulder. I couldn't shake him or her off.

I glanced over: Blondie!

She had me in her cross-hairs, and must've sprinted to catch up. Her ponytail bobbed jauntily, but her jaw was hard-set and her eyes grim. We crossed a final bridge, rounded a last corner, and hit Mile 6 together, stride for stride.

We were on a straightaway, with the Potomac on our left, the Lincoln and Washington monuments on our right, and the finish line dead ahead. I thought, Less than a lap to go, and hit it as hard as I could. I lengthened and quickened my stride. My lactic-acid-engulfed thighs screamed in protest and my stomach started to cramp dangerously. I had to ease up a little, lest I vomit (or worse) all over myself.

But apparently my pace was still strong, as I heard Blondie grunt and pound her feet faster on the pavement. I kept going, eyes a bit unfocused, and finally lost her for good. I ran the last .2 in 1:33.

The race clock said 49:33 as I crossed the finish line. I was happy. Then I became even more pleased when I saw that my real time was 48:48 (7:50/avg mile pace). It turns out that I didn't cross the starting mats until about 45 seconds after the starting gun fired. My friends also did well, finishing the race between 56 and 58 minutes.

So I PR'ed. I took almost 1 1/2 minutes off my last 10K PR, in November. I must be doing something right.