Miles 15-18: We're now in the heart of commercial Prince George's County. And the good people of PG do not like the fact that we runners are taking up their roads. They stare at us balefully from their cars. Police hold up literally miles of traffic and the cars idle, sending carbon monoxide into the air, which we runners breathe it in in large gulps.
Pedestrians are few and far between, as in the rest of the course. As I and a few other runners pass one irate-looking man standing on a street corner, he shouts at us: "You've holding up traffic for an hour!"
We ignore him and keep running. We run into residential neighborhoods again, then past open fields. This marathon is endless. I still feel pretty good, although I don't know how fast or slow I'm going.
We're all spread out, and there are only about 4-5 other marathoners within 250 feet of me. A male runner in his late 40's or early 50's is a few feet ahead, and he keeps looking back at me. "Dude," I think. "We're not in the home stretch yet. Don't worry about me blasting by you."
He whips his head around every 15 seconds or so to check where I am. His breathing is becoming ragged. I position myself directly behind him, so he can't see me out of the corner of his eye. This goes on for five minutes.
He starts to groan intermittently. He's starting to fade but keeps his pace. "This is ridiculous," I thought. I pick up a little speed and cruise by him. I hear him spit, then groan again, and quicken his pace.
I pick up a little more speed, and his groans and heavy breathing fade away.
Miles 18-20: I break open another Gu and take a few sips of Gatorade. I drop the Gu packet on the ground, think better of it, and bend down to pick it up. My thighs and legs rebel, and lock up. I can't reach the ground. Okay, leave the packet there. Sorry, PG County. I don't mean to be a litterbug.
We're back on heavily-trafficked roads, and the long gradual hills undulate before me. I am starting to feel fatigued. A couple of motorists, tired of waiting in miles of backed-up traffic, make a U-turn about 20 feet in front of me and blast up the marathon course, then turn onto a side street before police can stop them.
I just keep chugging along. One woman keeps running quickly by me, then slowing to a walk, then running past me again. We're so spread out at this point that I only see one other runner ahead of me. He's walking, head down.
I pause next to him and ask, "You okay?" He looks up. "Oh yeah," he said. "Just tired." I run by and exclaim, "I hear ya!" And we both laugh.
Mile 20: I see my friend, P. waiting for me soon after the mile clock. I am doing the classic marathon shuffle at this point, around 10:15/mile. "Looking good," he says. I smile, but don't say anything. Too tired. We run another mile, and he ducks into a nearby McDonald's to use the bathroom quickly. I keep shuffling along.
Mile 21-23, or the fifth circle of hell: The day is heating up. It's only about 50 degrees now, but to me the weather is sweltering. The long lines of traffic are a constant presence. The sun and car pollution make the hills ahead shimmer. I feel lightheaded, and twice I close my eyes for about 5 seconds and run that way, just feeling the hot tarmac beneath my feet. I wipe my forehead and feel the salt that's crusted the sides of my face.
At the crest of yet another hill, I have to turn left across four lanes of impatiently idling traffic. As soon as I cross, the police will let a few cars through. I quicken my pace and groan with the effort. Everything hurts. And especially my knee. I'm starting to limp again.
A policeman looks at me and says, "Don't worry about them [the motorists]. You're doing the hard work!"
I thank him. And keep running. Up ahead, I see Mile 23, a water/Gatorade station, and E. pointing a videocamera at me ....
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
A Qualified Success ...
says the media on the National Marathon. I have to file a story this morning, folks, so the rest of my marathon debriefing will come tonight. In the meantime, here is race coverage by the Washington Post (slightly shortened for brevity) from Sunday:
National Marathon is Up and Running: Debut of Two Races Draws Over 1,600, Gets Good Reviews
By Jim Hage
Washington Post Staff WriterBy Jim Hage
Just before 7 a.m. yesterday outside RFK Stadium, 1,656 runners started in the inaugural National Marathon and half marathon. And when the last runner returned to the stadium and crossed the finish line hours later, after touring the District and western portions of Prince George's County, race organizers breathed a sigh of relief and declared their efforts if not perfect, then a success.
"We've got the first one behind us," said Bob Sweeney, president of the Greater Washington Sports Alliance, the race sponsor. "We'll just get better from here."
Nearly all of the runners echoed those sentiments, choosing to ignore last-minute controversies over who would pay costs for traffic control that far outstripped figures allocated in the $750,000 budget. Instead, they focused on the cool and dry weather, good for long-distance running, and a course that ran past attractions including the Capitol, the White House and then visited lesser known neighborhoods along the waterfront, Anacostia and District Heights and Capitol Heights in Maryland.
Prerace favorite Michael Wardian, 31, from Arlington, won handily in 2 hours 30 minutes 55 seconds, and earned $1,000. The prolific marathoner ran 2:28:23 to win in Virginia Beach six days earlier.
"This is a challenging course, a good course," said Wardian, who took the lead in the opening miles and ran alone once the half marathoners turned toward their finish at Mile 11.
"I'm really pleased to win the first race here, because I think this is going to be a great event."
Susan Graham-Gray, 37, from Greencastle, Pa., won the women's marathon in 2:58:05. Graham-Gray, who is legally blind and was accompanied by a bicycle guide, finished nearly 12 minutes ahead of runner-up Beth Moras, 47, from Ridgewood, N.J.
"I started conservatively," Graham-Gray said, "and that was fortunate because it got really hilly the second half. I wasn't expecting it to be that tough." [emphasis mine]
Gurmessa Kumsa, 27, moved to Oxon Hill one month ago and easily won the half marathon in 1:08:29, despite a wrong turn that he said cost him about a minute. Kumsa, who is training in the United States on a visa obtained with the help of the Ethiopian athletics federation, quickly dropped his competition and ran ahead of all the runners unopposed.
Milligan Grinstead, 26, from Charlottesville, won the women's race in 1:26:08.
But the half marathoners had it relatively easy, running long, flat stretches along the mall and in Southeast. The going got tougher during the second half of the race on the east side of the Anacostia River, when fatigue set in and many competitors familiar with downtown events entered uncharted running environs.
" 'Where are we?' I said to Ben [Cooke]," marathon runner-up Mike Smith said while navigating the hills in Prince George's County with his training partner. Smith, 25, ran track at Georgetown but was competing in his first marathon. "All the logistics were well done, with gels and drinks every few miles," Smith said. "But I'd never been out there before."
Cooke, 28, a former all-American cross-country runner at James Madison, ran with Smith for 21 miles before fading and then struggling to finish in seventh place. Smith ... entered the race because he had been closed out of the popular Marine Corps Marathon, a common occurrence that race organizers hoped would swell their ranks.
But the relatively modest turnout -- approximately 600 marathoners finished -- and sparse crowds throughout did little to dampen enthusiasm. Mayor Anthony A. Williams (D), who made disparaging remarks last week about race costs and organization, enthusiastically sent the runners on their way at the start.
Even Cooke, who finished his first marathon with a trip to the medical tent to salve blistered toes, cramping calves and a battered ego, said, "I really think this race is going to be a big one someday soon."
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Nat'l Marathon: Mile 8-15
I neglected to mention in my previous post that in the early miles, we ran smack dab right next to the Capitol and the House of Representatives buildings, down a small hill, and saw much of downtown laid out in front of us like a birthday present.
Carol, the woman from Pa. that I ran the early miles with, said one big reason for her to run this marathon was because of the scenery. "You probably take it for granted," she said. "But for me, running by the monuments and the Capitol and the White House is just incredible."
Point well taken. All right, moving on:
Mile 8: I've just lost Carol at this point. While I stuck by her at first when she said to run ahead, I knew that she was struggling, didn't want to talk to anybody, and just wanted to listen to her iPod (which was banned in this race, but people brought them anyway).
So I bounded ahead, and ran up the only real hill in the early miles of the course. I dropped my pink hat, which I'd stuffed behind the strap of my waist pack, and a kind male half-marathoner picked it up and handed it to me. We turned a corner, and saw several kids and their dad - the only spectators for at least a couple of miles. "Thank you for coming out," I said, and smiled. They cheered.
A little further on, a man on the balcony of a nearby building, saw us and shouted, "HOOAH! HOOOAH! Go runners!"
A Marine, obviously. "Go blue!" he said when he saw me. I waved my hat cheerfully.
Miles 9-11: Where are we? Somewhere in SE Washington. Two kind souls held out plastic bowls of candy. One was full of jelly beans. I only meant to get several, but in my haste I grabbed a handful, shouted, "Thank you!" and tried to stuff a few in my mouth. A number of them fell on the ground, but I managed to eat 4-5 of them. Mmmm. Strawberry and watermelon.
We ran over the Anacostia Bridge (I think), through residential neighborhoods with maybe a handful of spectators, and soon volunteers with signs were shouting that half-marathoners would go left and marathoners would go right.
Mile 11-13: I headed right, and immediately the chatter ceased and the crowd thinned. The marathoners weren't talking. I grabbed a cup of water - my first - at the aid station for marathoners, and ran into Fort Dupont Park, a lovely green enclave, but with lots and lots of hills.
After a few minutes, I came upon my first long (quarter-mile) hill. It seemed as if the race organizers who mapped the course said, "Okay, marathoners, here's your reward for running the full distance. Go nuts."
There were no spectators here. Zero. Zilch. Bupkiss. Just me and a bunch of sweaty, panting red-faced folks in lycra and waist-packs. We ran up the hill. It leveled out for a couple hundred feet. Then we ran up another, steeper hill. I'm slowing down, but I don't walk.
I told myself, "Even effort, even effort," to hold myself back from charging up the hills. I knew that if I did, I would bonk and not finish.
I slowed to a jog, drank some Gatorade from the bottle I'd carried with me, and ate another Gu. I ran by a thin man in his 50's.
"Looking strong," I said.
"You too," he replied. "But when do these hills stop?"
Good question.
More hills: We turned left, and ran down a steep downhill. I know downhills can be dangerous for runners, but it felt so good to give my legs a break, relax, and just fly. We made a sharp turn to the right, next to a volunteer holding a sign with an arrow pointing us to run up the damn hill we just flew down.
I started ascending the hill, and I saw that when we turned right to run downhill just moments before, we had caught the hill near the bottom. Because when I looked up, that hill seemed endless.
We put our heads down and chugged steadily upward. I concentrated on using my glutes and hamstrings, not my calves, which tend to cramp up. My right knee throbbed with pain. After another 5-6 minutes, we crested the hill and turned left. We were finally out of the park.
And saw another, steeper hill. The kind that you fall down backwards if you stop. The kind that makes grown men and women weep. I know I almost did. A few folks started walking, their chests heaving.
My heart was hammering in my ears, and I could feel the blood rushing in my head. I paused, and took a deep breath. Then ran up that damn hill. Not fast, but steadily, my arms pumping rhythmically, my knee pulsing with pain in counterpoint to my heartbeat. I passed some folks.
Oh, Sainted Volunteers!: At the top of the hill stood plenty of volunteers with water, Gatorade, and Gu. One great thing about the race were all the Gu stations. "Strawberry!" they said, holding out the calorie packets. "Vanilla!"
I waved off the Gu but gratefully drank a cup of Gatorade and a cup of water in quick succession. I drank so fast some of the liquid ran down my neck and dripped on my shirt. But I didn't care.
Invigorated, I began running again, up a small hill. I turned a corner and a few spectators cheered us and one man said, "Doing great! Almost there!"
"The hell we are," I said after thanking and passing him. Another marathoner grunted in acknowledgement.
Mile Marker 13 lay just ahead with a clock. I ran by it and I heard a metallic bell sound as my chip (wrapped around my ankle) recorded my time: Just shy of 2:02.
Miles 13-15: Soon, we found ourselves running on a highway. A long empty stretch that glimmered in the mid-morning sun. To the right were long lines of cars at a standstill. We had half of the highway (two lanes) to ourselves, and the motorists did not look happy.
I waved. They did not wave back. I could see about a dozen marathoners in front of me. I'm sure the motorists were thinking, "They closed down the roads for just a few runners?! #$%&2*!!"
The road undulated in front of us, and we started running uphill again. It was only 40-45 degres at this point, but I was burning up. At mile marker 15, a volunteer looked at our red, sweaty faces. "Water stations up ahead," he said.
We crossed an intersection manned by policemen holding up traffic. "Thank you," I said to them. They nodded.
I looked around for water. No water. I saw another volunteer shouting, "Gu up ahead!"
"Water?" I croaked, forgetting momentarily that I had a half-bottle of Gatorade stashed in my waistpack.
She peered at me, smiled, and said, "Just around the corner."
We ran down a small hill and there they were: the friendly faces of more volunteers and agua fresca.
Yess! I picked up speed and stretched out my right hand. A long line of volunteers stretched out theirs with cups of water and Gatorade. Lovely, lovely people.
Again, I drank two cups in quick sucession, then wiped my mouth, and fixed my eyes on the intersection ahead, full of irate motorists, sanguine cops, and a man on a bike, shouting, "Yeah, baby!" at the women marathoners ....
Carol, the woman from Pa. that I ran the early miles with, said one big reason for her to run this marathon was because of the scenery. "You probably take it for granted," she said. "But for me, running by the monuments and the Capitol and the White House is just incredible."
Point well taken. All right, moving on:
Mile 8: I've just lost Carol at this point. While I stuck by her at first when she said to run ahead, I knew that she was struggling, didn't want to talk to anybody, and just wanted to listen to her iPod (which was banned in this race, but people brought them anyway).
So I bounded ahead, and ran up the only real hill in the early miles of the course. I dropped my pink hat, which I'd stuffed behind the strap of my waist pack, and a kind male half-marathoner picked it up and handed it to me. We turned a corner, and saw several kids and their dad - the only spectators for at least a couple of miles. "Thank you for coming out," I said, and smiled. They cheered.
A little further on, a man on the balcony of a nearby building, saw us and shouted, "HOOAH! HOOOAH! Go runners!"
A Marine, obviously. "Go blue!" he said when he saw me. I waved my hat cheerfully.
Miles 9-11: Where are we? Somewhere in SE Washington. Two kind souls held out plastic bowls of candy. One was full of jelly beans. I only meant to get several, but in my haste I grabbed a handful, shouted, "Thank you!" and tried to stuff a few in my mouth. A number of them fell on the ground, but I managed to eat 4-5 of them. Mmmm. Strawberry and watermelon.
We ran over the Anacostia Bridge (I think), through residential neighborhoods with maybe a handful of spectators, and soon volunteers with signs were shouting that half-marathoners would go left and marathoners would go right.
Mile 11-13: I headed right, and immediately the chatter ceased and the crowd thinned. The marathoners weren't talking. I grabbed a cup of water - my first - at the aid station for marathoners, and ran into Fort Dupont Park, a lovely green enclave, but with lots and lots of hills.
After a few minutes, I came upon my first long (quarter-mile) hill. It seemed as if the race organizers who mapped the course said, "Okay, marathoners, here's your reward for running the full distance. Go nuts."
There were no spectators here. Zero. Zilch. Bupkiss. Just me and a bunch of sweaty, panting red-faced folks in lycra and waist-packs. We ran up the hill. It leveled out for a couple hundred feet. Then we ran up another, steeper hill. I'm slowing down, but I don't walk.
I told myself, "Even effort, even effort," to hold myself back from charging up the hills. I knew that if I did, I would bonk and not finish.
I slowed to a jog, drank some Gatorade from the bottle I'd carried with me, and ate another Gu. I ran by a thin man in his 50's.
"Looking strong," I said.
"You too," he replied. "But when do these hills stop?"
Good question.
More hills: We turned left, and ran down a steep downhill. I know downhills can be dangerous for runners, but it felt so good to give my legs a break, relax, and just fly. We made a sharp turn to the right, next to a volunteer holding a sign with an arrow pointing us to run up the damn hill we just flew down.
I started ascending the hill, and I saw that when we turned right to run downhill just moments before, we had caught the hill near the bottom. Because when I looked up, that hill seemed endless.
We put our heads down and chugged steadily upward. I concentrated on using my glutes and hamstrings, not my calves, which tend to cramp up. My right knee throbbed with pain. After another 5-6 minutes, we crested the hill and turned left. We were finally out of the park.
And saw another, steeper hill. The kind that you fall down backwards if you stop. The kind that makes grown men and women weep. I know I almost did. A few folks started walking, their chests heaving.
My heart was hammering in my ears, and I could feel the blood rushing in my head. I paused, and took a deep breath. Then ran up that damn hill. Not fast, but steadily, my arms pumping rhythmically, my knee pulsing with pain in counterpoint to my heartbeat. I passed some folks.
Oh, Sainted Volunteers!: At the top of the hill stood plenty of volunteers with water, Gatorade, and Gu. One great thing about the race were all the Gu stations. "Strawberry!" they said, holding out the calorie packets. "Vanilla!"
I waved off the Gu but gratefully drank a cup of Gatorade and a cup of water in quick succession. I drank so fast some of the liquid ran down my neck and dripped on my shirt. But I didn't care.
Invigorated, I began running again, up a small hill. I turned a corner and a few spectators cheered us and one man said, "Doing great! Almost there!"
"The hell we are," I said after thanking and passing him. Another marathoner grunted in acknowledgement.
Mile Marker 13 lay just ahead with a clock. I ran by it and I heard a metallic bell sound as my chip (wrapped around my ankle) recorded my time: Just shy of 2:02.
Miles 13-15: Soon, we found ourselves running on a highway. A long empty stretch that glimmered in the mid-morning sun. To the right were long lines of cars at a standstill. We had half of the highway (two lanes) to ourselves, and the motorists did not look happy.
I waved. They did not wave back. I could see about a dozen marathoners in front of me. I'm sure the motorists were thinking, "They closed down the roads for just a few runners?! #$%&2*!!"
The road undulated in front of us, and we started running uphill again. It was only 40-45 degres at this point, but I was burning up. At mile marker 15, a volunteer looked at our red, sweaty faces. "Water stations up ahead," he said.
We crossed an intersection manned by policemen holding up traffic. "Thank you," I said to them. They nodded.
I looked around for water. No water. I saw another volunteer shouting, "Gu up ahead!"
"Water?" I croaked, forgetting momentarily that I had a half-bottle of Gatorade stashed in my waistpack.
She peered at me, smiled, and said, "Just around the corner."
We ran down a small hill and there they were: the friendly faces of more volunteers and agua fresca.
Yess! I picked up speed and stretched out my right hand. A long line of volunteers stretched out theirs with cups of water and Gatorade. Lovely, lovely people.
Again, I drank two cups in quick sucession, then wiped my mouth, and fixed my eyes on the intersection ahead, full of irate motorists, sanguine cops, and a man on a bike, shouting, "Yeah, baby!" at the women marathoners ....
Monday, March 27, 2006
Miles 1-8: National Marathon
I meant to post this race report yesterday, but I had Internet connectivity problems. Then I spent half the afternoon copying and editing portions of the digital video E. shot of the end of my race.
I tried to post the finish line clip here, but alas, YouTube has failed me. The personal video publishing Web site failed to capture my clip. So that will have to wait for another day. I'm going to have to give this race report in chunks, folks, lest this post be waay too long:
Pre-race: I woke up at 4:45 a.m. with a mixture of anticipation and dread. While eating a breakfast of chocolate-chip waffles, a sunny-side up egg, and a half-cup of coffee, E. joined me at the dining room table, pointing a videcamera at my face.
"What's your goal for this marathon?" he asked me, channeling Edward R. Murrow.
"To finish in one piece," I replied.
I left an hour later, a banana and a bag of post-race clothes in one hand, the car keys, a bottle of Gatorade, and a map to RFK Stadium in another. E., who had a bad chest cold, would join me later at mile 23.
I arrived at RFK Stadium in Southeast D.C., at 6:15 a.m., on a cool gray morning of 37 degrees. Cars streamed into the parking lot, and after pinning my bib to my top and strapping a water bottle holder/pouch filled with Gu over my mid-section, I hoofed it the 1/4 mile or so to the stadium.
The lines were, as always, long at the port-a-johns, and after waiting 35 minutes, I was no closer to the front.
One frustrated woman in line said, "I don't know why there are so many men in line for these port-a-potties."
The guy behind me replied, "I don't think you want me to crap in the bushes in front of hundreds of people."
Eeeww. I turned to him and joked, "Well, I'm glad I'm ahead of you."
After waiting another minute, I followed a bunch of other women to some trees and bushes and peed behind them. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.
With five minutes to go until race start (6:58 a.m.), I lined up in the middle of the pack, near the 9:09/mile pacer. I had a friend running the half-marathon, but I couldn't find her in the sea of lycra and knit caps. We sang the national anthem off-key, and D.C. Mayor Tony Williams shouted, "Runners, on your marks!"
We're off!: Then he sounded the horn sounded and all 1,656 of us (731 marathoners and the rest half-marathoners) surged forward. The first mile was a crowded shuffle around RFK Stadium. And in the first half-mile, I fell hard on my right knee while trying to hop a curb (see earlier post for photo of bloody knee). I skinned the palms of my hands through my gloves trying to break my fall, but my patella took the brunt of it.
Runners around me gasped and a couple jumped over me so they wouldn't trample me. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and I jumped up immediately and started running again, albeit with a bad limp for the next half-mile. The knee throbbed painfully, and was to bother me to for the rest of the race, sometimes only a little. Other times, a whole hell of a lot.
Besides the knee, though, I felt pretty good, and chatted with a blonde woman from Pennsylvania, who was trying to run this marathon in 4:00 or less, just like me. "We should stick together," I said.
The woman, Carol, nodded and replied that she had run five other marathons, but was never able to run any of them in under 4:15 despite 6-8 months of training. "We can do it today," I said. (Notice the optimism!) "We'll see," Carol replied, rather grimly.
We ran through empty Capitol Hill streets. Spectators were few and far between - almost non-existent. However, at mile 2, black-clad priests of a Catholic church stood outside and clapped heartily for us. "Thank you!" we yelled to them. Several runners crossed themselves.
Because of the slow start, she and I quickly lost the 9:09/mile pacer. We caught up to him, though, by mile 3.
Mile 4: We were heading down the wide streets of downtown D.C., now, and the monuments and the Smithsonian musuems were to our left. Enthusiastic volunteers handed out water to runners, though I opted not to take any this early in the race.
My running buddy, P., jumped in and ran with us a half-mile, even though he was going to join me later at mile 20. He was down there to see some friends at another race, a local 5K. Washington is a running-friendly town. Besides that 5K, several miles away was another 5K near the waterfront, in Old Town Alexandria.
Mile 6: I stopped for a few seconds and ate my first pack of Gu, then kept running. Carol and I were just ahead of the 9:09/mile pacer, running about 9:05/mile. Soon we ran by the D.C. waterfront, and saw the revitalization and construction going on there. A few runners used the port-a-johns there meant for construction workers.
There were so many half-marathoners - they wore yellow bibs on both their front and back (marathoners only had white front bibs). I felt like I was in a sea of yellow bibs and looked around for my fellow masochists, er, marathoners.
Unlike the half-marathoners, they were usually alone, not chatting with other runners, and had an air of quiet determination. Or desperation. Take your pick.
By Mile 8, Carol had faded, and told me she was going to have to run slower. She waved me on ahead, and I ran on alone. I was still feeling pretty good, and my right knee had settled into a dull roar of bearable discomfort.
But I knew that hills lay ahead ....
I tried to post the finish line clip here, but alas, YouTube has failed me. The personal video publishing Web site failed to capture my clip. So that will have to wait for another day. I'm going to have to give this race report in chunks, folks, lest this post be waay too long:
Pre-race: I woke up at 4:45 a.m. with a mixture of anticipation and dread. While eating a breakfast of chocolate-chip waffles, a sunny-side up egg, and a half-cup of coffee, E. joined me at the dining room table, pointing a videcamera at my face.
"What's your goal for this marathon?" he asked me, channeling Edward R. Murrow.
"To finish in one piece," I replied.
I left an hour later, a banana and a bag of post-race clothes in one hand, the car keys, a bottle of Gatorade, and a map to RFK Stadium in another. E., who had a bad chest cold, would join me later at mile 23.
I arrived at RFK Stadium in Southeast D.C., at 6:15 a.m., on a cool gray morning of 37 degrees. Cars streamed into the parking lot, and after pinning my bib to my top and strapping a water bottle holder/pouch filled with Gu over my mid-section, I hoofed it the 1/4 mile or so to the stadium.
The lines were, as always, long at the port-a-johns, and after waiting 35 minutes, I was no closer to the front.
One frustrated woman in line said, "I don't know why there are so many men in line for these port-a-potties."
The guy behind me replied, "I don't think you want me to crap in the bushes in front of hundreds of people."
Eeeww. I turned to him and joked, "Well, I'm glad I'm ahead of you."
After waiting another minute, I followed a bunch of other women to some trees and bushes and peed behind them. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.
With five minutes to go until race start (6:58 a.m.), I lined up in the middle of the pack, near the 9:09/mile pacer. I had a friend running the half-marathon, but I couldn't find her in the sea of lycra and knit caps. We sang the national anthem off-key, and D.C. Mayor Tony Williams shouted, "Runners, on your marks!"
We're off!: Then he sounded the horn sounded and all 1,656 of us (731 marathoners and the rest half-marathoners) surged forward. The first mile was a crowded shuffle around RFK Stadium. And in the first half-mile, I fell hard on my right knee while trying to hop a curb (see earlier post for photo of bloody knee). I skinned the palms of my hands through my gloves trying to break my fall, but my patella took the brunt of it.
Runners around me gasped and a couple jumped over me so they wouldn't trample me. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and I jumped up immediately and started running again, albeit with a bad limp for the next half-mile. The knee throbbed painfully, and was to bother me to for the rest of the race, sometimes only a little. Other times, a whole hell of a lot.
Besides the knee, though, I felt pretty good, and chatted with a blonde woman from Pennsylvania, who was trying to run this marathon in 4:00 or less, just like me. "We should stick together," I said.
The woman, Carol, nodded and replied that she had run five other marathons, but was never able to run any of them in under 4:15 despite 6-8 months of training. "We can do it today," I said. (Notice the optimism!) "We'll see," Carol replied, rather grimly.
We ran through empty Capitol Hill streets. Spectators were few and far between - almost non-existent. However, at mile 2, black-clad priests of a Catholic church stood outside and clapped heartily for us. "Thank you!" we yelled to them. Several runners crossed themselves.
Because of the slow start, she and I quickly lost the 9:09/mile pacer. We caught up to him, though, by mile 3.
Mile 4: We were heading down the wide streets of downtown D.C., now, and the monuments and the Smithsonian musuems were to our left. Enthusiastic volunteers handed out water to runners, though I opted not to take any this early in the race.
My running buddy, P., jumped in and ran with us a half-mile, even though he was going to join me later at mile 20. He was down there to see some friends at another race, a local 5K. Washington is a running-friendly town. Besides that 5K, several miles away was another 5K near the waterfront, in Old Town Alexandria.
Mile 6: I stopped for a few seconds and ate my first pack of Gu, then kept running. Carol and I were just ahead of the 9:09/mile pacer, running about 9:05/mile. Soon we ran by the D.C. waterfront, and saw the revitalization and construction going on there. A few runners used the port-a-johns there meant for construction workers.
There were so many half-marathoners - they wore yellow bibs on both their front and back (marathoners only had white front bibs). I felt like I was in a sea of yellow bibs and looked around for my fellow masochists, er, marathoners.
Unlike the half-marathoners, they were usually alone, not chatting with other runners, and had an air of quiet determination. Or desperation. Take your pick.
By Mile 8, Carol had faded, and told me she was going to have to run slower. She waved me on ahead, and I ran on alone. I was still feeling pretty good, and my right knee had settled into a dull roar of bearable discomfort.
But I knew that hills lay ahead ....
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Race Recap: Nano version
I survived my first marathon. Notice I said "first" and not last? That's a good sign. I think.
Just the facts: I finished in 4:15:48, or about a 9:44/mile average pace. I was doing so well in the first half (a familiar story for runners), averaging 9:09/mile, right on track for a 4:00 or under marathon.
Then the course veered to the left for the half-marathoners and the right for the masochists. And the hills began. One after the other, unrelenting, long, steep and soul-sucking. For at least 7 miles. The remaining 6.2 miles were long, undulating uphills and downhills.
Oh, and the photo above? As I was jumping up on a curb in the first half-mile, while we were rounding RFK Stadium, I fell hard, landing with all my weight on my right patella. Ouch. I jumped up and kept running, although I limped badly for the next half-mile before my knee settled into a dull throb that alternately waned then roared to life for the next 25.2 miles.
Besides bruising it, I didn't realize I had badly scraped it up (despite my tights) until I went to ice it at the end of the race.
I'm going to collapse on the couch. The real race report comes tomorrow. Stay tuned.
Friday, March 24, 2006
T Minus 12 Hrs and 32 Minutes ...
Until I start running the National Marathon tomorrow morning. Oy. I'm nervous and don't feel great. E. has a bad chest cold and I'm scared I'm catching it (cross fingers).
Snow flurries or freezing rain are possible during the race.
I know how to pick 'em.
There's been some controversy over the marathon. And the number of folks running the half-marathon or full marathon - about 2,000 - fell far short of the 5,000 organizers planned for. Of those 2,000, only 800 of them are racing the full marathon.
Because of the race requirements - you must have run a previous marathon in 4:30, a half in 2:10 or a 10-miler in 1:40 - some think that many slower runners who would have participated through a charity - were shut out.
So the roads won't be too crowded, and it won't be hard to spot me. I'll be the one dragging my bloody carcass over the finish line, foaming at the mouth. My intent was to run this first-ever marathon in under 4 hours. I'm a bit under-trained for that. Now, I just want to finish in one piece.
Wish me luck.
Snow flurries or freezing rain are possible during the race.
I know how to pick 'em.
There's been some controversy over the marathon. And the number of folks running the half-marathon or full marathon - about 2,000 - fell far short of the 5,000 organizers planned for. Of those 2,000, only 800 of them are racing the full marathon.
Because of the race requirements - you must have run a previous marathon in 4:30, a half in 2:10 or a 10-miler in 1:40 - some think that many slower runners who would have participated through a charity - were shut out.
So the roads won't be too crowded, and it won't be hard to spot me. I'll be the one dragging my bloody carcass over the finish line, foaming at the mouth. My intent was to run this first-ever marathon in under 4 hours. I'm a bit under-trained for that. Now, I just want to finish in one piece.
Wish me luck.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
More on LA Marathon fatalities
Excerpts from today's Los Angeles Times. The complete story. This doesn't make me feel any better about running my first marathon on Saturday ....
Marathoners' Deaths Stun Friends
By Lisa Richardson and Michelle Keller
Friends and co-workers said Monday they were stunned by the deaths of two Los Angeles Marathon runners, the first fatalities in 16 years in the annual race that draws more than 20,000 participants and whose only qualification is a desire to participate.
Retired Sheriff's Deputy James Leone, 60, who may have suffered from cardiovascular disease, collapsed three miles into Sunday's 26-mile race, and Los Angeles Police Det. Raul Reyna, 53, whom friends described as being in good physical condition, had a heart attack two miles from the finish line, officials said. The exact cause of death for both men is still pending.
"For everybody here, [Leone's] death comes as a shock," said Sheriff's Lt. Tim Murakami, who worked at the department's city of Industry station with the former deputy. "When a guy does his time and retires — he paid his dues in the line of fire — you wish him a long life. It's sad when that's kind of cut short."
Capt. Jim Voge, Reyna's commanding officer, said he rushed to Good Samaritan Hospital after receiving a call about his colleague but arrived too late.
Voge said Reyna, who investigated officer-involved shootings, had recently lost a few pounds and talked about how he was preparing for the marathon.
"He was always in good shape and I wanted to know what his secret was," Voge said. "This was not something he undertook haphazardly."
The only other known death during the Los Angeles Marathon came in 1990, when a 59-year-old Altadena man under a doctor's care for hypertension suffered a heart attack.
Unlike the elite Boston Marathon, where entrants must qualify by time in a previous marathon, Los Angeles, like New York, has no requirements to prove readiness. Entrants can register to participate up to the day before the race, and typically 4,000 to 5,000 jump in at the last moment.
Experts said the deaths of the two officers are a reminder of the basic precautions one should take, particularly those over 35, before engaging in long-distance running or other strenuous workouts. For example, participants should be aware of their family's health history, especially if there is evidence of heart disease, and should have seen a doctor recently, they said.
"When you look at the age of the victim, if they're over 35, the underlying heart disease is almost always hardening of the arteries," said Dr. Steven Van Camp, the head of UCI Medical Center's sports cardiology program. "We know that's the culprit in 90-plus-percent of the victims who died when they're running."
Studies have found that the risk of dying while running is low — an estimated one sudden death per 1.5 million episodes of physical activity. [emphasis mine]
And only one in 20 heart attacks is associated with exertion, according to a 2003 article published by Dr. Benjamin Ebert, a physician and scientist at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.
The risk of a heart attack or cardiac arrest while exercising is highest in people with an existing heart condition.
The most famous case of "sudden death during exercise," as the phenomenon is known, is that of running guru Jim Fixx, who died during his regular 10-mile trek at age 52, in 1984. An autopsy showed he had severe coronary artery disease. He also had hereditary predisposition; his father died at an early age of heart disease.
Other primary known risk factors for cardiovascular disease include older age, high blood pressure, diabetes, elevated cholesterol levels and a history of smoking.
Running itself, Van Camp said, is not necessarily to blame. [emphasis mine]
"In general, exercise is beneficial for people, and it has been shown to decrease heart disease risks," he said. "But during vigorous exercise there is an increase in risk…."
Dr. Rudra Sabaratnam, medical commissioner for the Los Angeles Marathon, said deaths of any runners during a marathon were "a fairly rare occurrence."
Marathoners' Deaths Stun Friends
By Lisa Richardson and Michelle Keller
Friends and co-workers said Monday they were stunned by the deaths of two Los Angeles Marathon runners, the first fatalities in 16 years in the annual race that draws more than 20,000 participants and whose only qualification is a desire to participate.
Retired Sheriff's Deputy James Leone, 60, who may have suffered from cardiovascular disease, collapsed three miles into Sunday's 26-mile race, and Los Angeles Police Det. Raul Reyna, 53, whom friends described as being in good physical condition, had a heart attack two miles from the finish line, officials said. The exact cause of death for both men is still pending.
"For everybody here, [Leone's] death comes as a shock," said Sheriff's Lt. Tim Murakami, who worked at the department's city of Industry station with the former deputy. "When a guy does his time and retires — he paid his dues in the line of fire — you wish him a long life. It's sad when that's kind of cut short."
Capt. Jim Voge, Reyna's commanding officer, said he rushed to Good Samaritan Hospital after receiving a call about his colleague but arrived too late.
Voge said Reyna, who investigated officer-involved shootings, had recently lost a few pounds and talked about how he was preparing for the marathon.
"He was always in good shape and I wanted to know what his secret was," Voge said. "This was not something he undertook haphazardly."
The only other known death during the Los Angeles Marathon came in 1990, when a 59-year-old Altadena man under a doctor's care for hypertension suffered a heart attack.
Unlike the elite Boston Marathon, where entrants must qualify by time in a previous marathon, Los Angeles, like New York, has no requirements to prove readiness. Entrants can register to participate up to the day before the race, and typically 4,000 to 5,000 jump in at the last moment.
Experts said the deaths of the two officers are a reminder of the basic precautions one should take, particularly those over 35, before engaging in long-distance running or other strenuous workouts. For example, participants should be aware of their family's health history, especially if there is evidence of heart disease, and should have seen a doctor recently, they said.
"When you look at the age of the victim, if they're over 35, the underlying heart disease is almost always hardening of the arteries," said Dr. Steven Van Camp, the head of UCI Medical Center's sports cardiology program. "We know that's the culprit in 90-plus-percent of the victims who died when they're running."
Studies have found that the risk of dying while running is low — an estimated one sudden death per 1.5 million episodes of physical activity. [emphasis mine]
And only one in 20 heart attacks is associated with exertion, according to a 2003 article published by Dr. Benjamin Ebert, a physician and scientist at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.
The risk of a heart attack or cardiac arrest while exercising is highest in people with an existing heart condition.
The most famous case of "sudden death during exercise," as the phenomenon is known, is that of running guru Jim Fixx, who died during his regular 10-mile trek at age 52, in 1984. An autopsy showed he had severe coronary artery disease. He also had hereditary predisposition; his father died at an early age of heart disease.
Other primary known risk factors for cardiovascular disease include older age, high blood pressure, diabetes, elevated cholesterol levels and a history of smoking.
Running itself, Van Camp said, is not necessarily to blame. [emphasis mine]
"In general, exercise is beneficial for people, and it has been shown to decrease heart disease risks," he said. "But during vigorous exercise there is an increase in risk…."
Dr. Rudra Sabaratnam, medical commissioner for the Los Angeles Marathon, said deaths of any runners during a marathon were "a fairly rare occurrence."
Monday, March 20, 2006
Marathoning: A Deadly Sport
Check your tickers: Yesterday's Los Angeles marathon ended tragically for two runners.
Marathon Superman!
Maybe we should have a running superhero. Like this guy:Mar. 16, 2006 at 6:04PM
A 37-year-old marathon runner who had just put in 10
kilometers in a London park chased down a 17-year-old
mugging suspect. The teenager collapsed after two miles
while Glyn Roberts was still going strong, The Mirror
reported.
"He kept turning around and had this stunned look on his
face," Roberts said. "He couldn't believe I was still
chasing him. Eventually, he slowed down and fell to his
knees. He was knackered. He begged me to let him go, but
that wasn't going to happen, not after I had run so far."
The chase began on Hampstead Heath, where Roberts said
a boy told him the 17-year-old had assaulted him. The teen
was released on bail after being charged with robbery and
suspicion of actual bodily harm.
Here's the full story.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Race Recap. For Real.
Excellent tacos and other Tex-Mex food at this South Austin mainstay, Guero's. March 2006.
The retro Austin motel on South Congress, whose sign (quite penile-looking) reads: No additives, No preservatives, Corporate Free since 1938.Holy cow. E. and I are flying to Miami today for a wedding, and I got up an hour earlier than I planned: 3:45 a.m. instead of 4:45 a.m.. No wonder I am so exhausted. My eyes feel like sandpaper.
However, the silver lining is that I actually have the time to tell you how my 10K last Saturday went.
On to the race: With 15 minutes before the race start, I jogged a 3-block loop twice, stopping to stretch. It was a neighborhood of overgrown lots, small, dark houses, and rusty cars.
Boy, was it hot. The temperature crept up, and soon it was 82 degrees. It was the first time I'd worn shorts in months. I was grateful for the hot weather, but wondered if it was too much of a good thing. Going from chilly and windy in Washington to hot and sultry in Tejas suddenly can make one feel off-kilter.
As I jogged one last loop, the kids, all in orange t-shirts for the 5K, were cheering. They were in a school fitness program that encouraged them to walk and run more. All were Latino, who have a higher rate of obesity than other Americans.
With five minutes to go, E. and I lined up at the back of the pack. A horn blasted, and we were off. I crossed the mats after 42 seconds, and I was caught in the midst of a big pack of folks who seemed to be jogging and chatting. Aargh! This is a race, people! (Unfortunately, I brought my big-city ways to this laid-back town).
The hills: I skirted the perimeter and sped past them, up a first small hill. Two more hills materialized in the first two miles of the course, and these two were big, the kind you had to lean into and pump your arms, lest you fall backwards. I passed a lot of people on the hills, and I overheard one woman say, "Oh my God, I'm exhausted."
I was feeling pretty good, but I knew I was going too fast (foreshadowing!). I averaged about 7:48/mile those first three miles. I flew down the hills, and I almost fell once. I was just so impatient. So I tried to slow a bit, down to 7:55/mile in miles 3-5.
Spectators were scarce. I saw one man in his front yard, but he was busy watering the lawn, and didn't look at us. Huh.
Here's where it becomes a cautionary tale, folks. I wasn't following my race strategy, which was even pacing at 7:55, and I had the ominous feeling that I was going to pay for it.
I was still passing people, but I was starting to tire quickly, even though the course was now mostly flat. The heat was also making me wilt, and though I slowed once to grab a cup of water at one of the aid stations, I poured it over my head instead of drinking it. Dumb move.
I was also starting to pass a lot of the orange-shirted 5K kids, many of whom were walking. Walking! When I reached the mile 5 sign, I realized that I had slowed down way too much, to an 8:12/mile average pace. @$%!*&!!
The back stretch: One i-Pod-wearing dude that I had passed earlier cruised by me, and he looked back twice to see if I was gaining on him. I dearly wanted to pass his lycra-clad ass. But by this time, I was exhausted. Going out too fast cost me. My legs and arms felt leaden, and my breathing was labored.
With a tremendous effort, I picked up my pace again. As I rounded the second to last corner, a kind soul who had already finished looked at me and said, "Way to go! The finish line is 60 yards ahead!" I tried to quicken my sadly-shortened stride, and crossed the finishing mats at 50:33, with an overall avg pace of 8:08/mile. Definitely not a PR.
I heard the announcer call my name, but I couldn't even raise my head, I was so tired. And disgusted with myself. E. came in soon after me, with an overall avg pace of 8:23/mile.
We milled around the race area afterwards, eating excellent breakfast soft tacos gratis of the race organizers, and listened to a mariachi band serenade us and the other racers. Then we headed to a more substantial breakfast at Magnolia's Cafe, which you must dine at if you're ever in Austin.
There, I consoled myself with really good gingerbread pancakes. Now, I've got to catch a plane. More from Miami .....
Monday, March 13, 2006
The Wind-Up
Below is chapter 1 of my race debriefing of the Go For The Gold 10K here in Austin this past Saturday. But first, a word on the SXSW interactive and film festivals, the reason I'm here in Tejas.
Demographic: The folks here are a mixture of techno uber-geeks and film producers, directors and their hangers-on. Almost all are in the 20-35 year old range. Black t-shirts and jeans are de rigeur, as are strategically-placed tattoos.
Overheard:
"Certain jokes don't fly in some countries. But farts are international."
- Chris Gore, Film Threat, giving advice in a panel on how studios in foreign countries bid on American films.
"Never until recently did I have more than $100 in my bank account. I always had under $100 to negative $500." - Eric Byler, director of new feaure film, Americanese and Charlotte Sometimes, on bankrolling his movies until a movie studio purchased them.
Seen:
"I'm really a Cylon." - Sticker on a "man-purse," held by a balding hipster at the SXSW interactive opening party, 3/12/06
Pre-race: After a week of little sleep and a day of flying halfway across the country, I slept fitfully on Friday night, waking every hour from 2 a.m. until my alarm buzzed at 5:45 a.m. I felt as if a truck had run over me.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to wake up. The caffeine did perk me up, but there was only the thinnest veneer of wakefulness over a thick layer of exhaustion.
But dang it, I was going to run this race. It's just an issue of mind over matter. Right?! Because I am strong! I am an Amazon! (Well, in the figurative sense. In the 5' 2" sense.) Because I am not a quitter! (Just a very weary competitor.)
E. came with me on the trip, and I roused him at 6:30 a.m., 15 minutes before we had to head downtown, to the race start. The course actually wound through Austin's east end, south of downtown, in the city's lower-middle class Hispanic neighborhoods.
At 7 a.m. it was already close to 80 degrees, and humid. Sweat trickled down my neck. Dark clouds threatening rain cast a pall over the event, but folks seemed enthusiastic. There were about 325 runners, and about 100 kids who were running the race's 5K.
Ach, gotta run to an interview. More later this afternoon or tonight ...
Demographic: The folks here are a mixture of techno uber-geeks and film producers, directors and their hangers-on. Almost all are in the 20-35 year old range. Black t-shirts and jeans are de rigeur, as are strategically-placed tattoos.
Overheard:
"Certain jokes don't fly in some countries. But farts are international."
- Chris Gore, Film Threat, giving advice in a panel on how studios in foreign countries bid on American films.
"Never until recently did I have more than $100 in my bank account. I always had under $100 to negative $500." - Eric Byler, director of new feaure film, Americanese and Charlotte Sometimes, on bankrolling his movies until a movie studio purchased them.
Seen:
"I'm really a Cylon." - Sticker on a "man-purse," held by a balding hipster at the SXSW interactive opening party, 3/12/06
Pre-race: After a week of little sleep and a day of flying halfway across the country, I slept fitfully on Friday night, waking every hour from 2 a.m. until my alarm buzzed at 5:45 a.m. I felt as if a truck had run over me.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to wake up. The caffeine did perk me up, but there was only the thinnest veneer of wakefulness over a thick layer of exhaustion.
But dang it, I was going to run this race. It's just an issue of mind over matter. Right?! Because I am strong! I am an Amazon! (Well, in the figurative sense. In the 5' 2" sense.) Because I am not a quitter! (Just a very weary competitor.)
E. came with me on the trip, and I roused him at 6:30 a.m., 15 minutes before we had to head downtown, to the race start. The course actually wound through Austin's east end, south of downtown, in the city's lower-middle class Hispanic neighborhoods.
At 7 a.m. it was already close to 80 degrees, and humid. Sweat trickled down my neck. Dark clouds threatening rain cast a pall over the event, but folks seemed enthusiastic. There were about 325 runners, and about 100 kids who were running the race's 5K.
Ach, gotta run to an interview. More later this afternoon or tonight ...
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Yeee-Haw!
I'm in Austin, Tejas, y'all. For work and a little play. Arrived yesterday after being rudely bumped off my Northwest Airlines flight because of connection complications on the part of the airline, and transferred to another airline (thank you, Delta). But let's not dwell, on that, shall we?!
I'm here for the SXSW interactive and film festivals, an explosion of web design and other technology seminars, presentations by online movers and shakers (Dooce is here, as is Craig Newmark), parties (one hosted by Google), seminars on film, independent feature films, documentaries, and shorts.
Met with a source this afternoon and caught a showing of "Maxed Out," a documentary about America's crushing credit card debt and the billions of dollars banks and big business are making off our love with plastic. The crowd in the theatre loved it, hooting and cheering as the credits rolled.
I thought, "Ehh." I give it an A for effort and the overall concept, and a B minus at best for execution.
But let me back up. Let's talk about running. Or the pitiful representation thereof.
I've been dragging my bloody carcass around for the past week: nursing a stress-induced cold, sleeping only a fitful 4-5 hours a night, and working round the clock, for both my company as well as for publications I freelance for. I won't even go into the stress-induced stomach issues (ahem).
Boy, but I've been grouchy. All work and no play makes Bex a very pissed-off girl.
I did run this past week. But it was more work than pleasure. I ran 6 miles on a lung-squeezing incline on an elliptical machine on Tuesday, 4 miles with some fartlek on Wednesday, and 6 miles at marathon tempo pace on Thursday. I was supposed to log 8 miles on Thursday, but I was just too wiped out. In fact, after each of those three runs, I felt wrung out, not energized.
Friday I got up at 3:45 a.m. so I could finish packing and get on the road by 5 a.m. to get to the airport by 6 a.m. Then I spent a good chunk of the day flying, going through the surprisingly laborious process of registration at SXSW, and navigating Austin traffic (looots of Hummers here and not enough road). I was exhausted by 8 p.m.
Race Day!: So why did I think I was going to perform well at the Go For The Gold 10K here in Austin this morning? I signed up for the race a few weeks ago, when I found out I was going to be in town for SXSW (didn't mention the race before on this little 'ol blogeroo because was too busy working, natch).
"It'll be a good tune-up race," I thought to myself . "I bet I can PR with all of the marathon training I've been doing."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I just crack myself up, sometimes. I'll give you a long but hopefully interesting account of it. But not now. Sorry. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. This post is just way too long already. Plus, it's late and I have the overwhelming urge to lie down for several dozen hours.
I'm here for the SXSW interactive and film festivals, an explosion of web design and other technology seminars, presentations by online movers and shakers (Dooce is here, as is Craig Newmark), parties (one hosted by Google), seminars on film, independent feature films, documentaries, and shorts.
Met with a source this afternoon and caught a showing of "Maxed Out," a documentary about America's crushing credit card debt and the billions of dollars banks and big business are making off our love with plastic. The crowd in the theatre loved it, hooting and cheering as the credits rolled.
I thought, "Ehh." I give it an A for effort and the overall concept, and a B minus at best for execution.
But let me back up. Let's talk about running. Or the pitiful representation thereof.
I've been dragging my bloody carcass around for the past week: nursing a stress-induced cold, sleeping only a fitful 4-5 hours a night, and working round the clock, for both my company as well as for publications I freelance for. I won't even go into the stress-induced stomach issues (ahem).
Boy, but I've been grouchy. All work and no play makes Bex a very pissed-off girl.
I did run this past week. But it was more work than pleasure. I ran 6 miles on a lung-squeezing incline on an elliptical machine on Tuesday, 4 miles with some fartlek on Wednesday, and 6 miles at marathon tempo pace on Thursday. I was supposed to log 8 miles on Thursday, but I was just too wiped out. In fact, after each of those three runs, I felt wrung out, not energized.
Friday I got up at 3:45 a.m. so I could finish packing and get on the road by 5 a.m. to get to the airport by 6 a.m. Then I spent a good chunk of the day flying, going through the surprisingly laborious process of registration at SXSW, and navigating Austin traffic (looots of Hummers here and not enough road). I was exhausted by 8 p.m.
Race Day!: So why did I think I was going to perform well at the Go For The Gold 10K here in Austin this morning? I signed up for the race a few weeks ago, when I found out I was going to be in town for SXSW (didn't mention the race before on this little 'ol blogeroo because was too busy working, natch).
"It'll be a good tune-up race," I thought to myself . "I bet I can PR with all of the marathon training I've been doing."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I just crack myself up, sometimes. I'll give you a long but hopefully interesting account of it. But not now. Sorry. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. This post is just way too long already. Plus, it's late and I have the overwhelming urge to lie down for several dozen hours.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Nervous Jitters
I'm getting nervous about the National Marathon. My first (and last?) marathon. It's T minus 18 days, and I'm wondering if I'm ready for it. Especially since the field is going to be fast: To qualify, you had to have run a previous marathon in under 4:30, a half-marathon under 2:10, or a 10-miler under 1:40.
Here's a recent article about the marathon.
I ran 18 miles yesterday afternoon (in 2:57, avg 9:50/mile pace), 20.5 miles (avg 10:05/mile pace) last Sunday, and 18.3 (in 3:06) miles the Sunday before that. That's it for my long, slow runs. The other 2-3 long-ish runs have been in the 15-mile range, and according to Bob Glover's Competitive Runner's Handbook, ideally I should have at least 5-6 runs of 18-22 miles underneath my belt.
Whoops.
Also, by the time the marathon rolls around on March 25, I will have been training for 3 months. But Glover says I should train for four months, and should have begun my training with a solid 15-20 mile/week base.
Whoops again.
Hubris?: I may have been too optimistic to think I can finish the National in under 4 hours, even though McMillan's running calculator estimates I can do it in around 3:54. HA! Glover in his book also recommended this for first-time marathoners: Don't worry about time. You're going into unknown land. Just finish the damn thing.
Sage advice. I'm going to follow it.
Not alone: The coordinator of the 10K training program I volunteer-coach for is scheduled to run a marathon the week before mine. Not sure which one. But she ended up bowing out, she told me recently, because of hamstring problems. Also, because she "didn't want to have another bad marathon time" in her books. She finished a marathon in 2004 in 5:51 and change.
"Maybe," I thought, "I can postpone my marathon debut by a few weeks, so I can get more training in!"
The Charlottesville,Va., marathon is on April 16, three weeks after the National Marathon. Then I looked this morning at the hilly course - lots of steep uphills and downhills.
Then I thought, "Naah. Just do the National [which also has hills] and get it over with."
Here's a recent article about the marathon.
I ran 18 miles yesterday afternoon (in 2:57, avg 9:50/mile pace), 20.5 miles (avg 10:05/mile pace) last Sunday, and 18.3 (in 3:06) miles the Sunday before that. That's it for my long, slow runs. The other 2-3 long-ish runs have been in the 15-mile range, and according to Bob Glover's Competitive Runner's Handbook, ideally I should have at least 5-6 runs of 18-22 miles underneath my belt.
Whoops.
Also, by the time the marathon rolls around on March 25, I will have been training for 3 months. But Glover says I should train for four months, and should have begun my training with a solid 15-20 mile/week base.
Whoops again.
Hubris?: I may have been too optimistic to think I can finish the National in under 4 hours, even though McMillan's running calculator estimates I can do it in around 3:54. HA! Glover in his book also recommended this for first-time marathoners: Don't worry about time. You're going into unknown land. Just finish the damn thing.
Sage advice. I'm going to follow it.
Not alone: The coordinator of the 10K training program I volunteer-coach for is scheduled to run a marathon the week before mine. Not sure which one. But she ended up bowing out, she told me recently, because of hamstring problems. Also, because she "didn't want to have another bad marathon time" in her books. She finished a marathon in 2004 in 5:51 and change.
"Maybe," I thought, "I can postpone my marathon debut by a few weeks, so I can get more training in!"
The Charlottesville,Va., marathon is on April 16, three weeks after the National Marathon. Then I looked this morning at the hilly course - lots of steep uphills and downhills.
Then I thought, "Naah. Just do the National [which also has hills] and get it over with."
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Photos from SoCal trip
Hey y'all. Better late than never, but here are a few photos from my trip to Southern California several weeks ago.
This one's of me in the elegant hall (love the velvet seats) of the Pasadena Public Library, where I've performed in many a piano recital, the first one at 6. My last solo piano recital -when I was a junior in college - was also here. I played on that Steinway in the background.
The photos are a little present to make up for not blogging recently.
Coming later tonight: My 20.5 miler this past Sunday. Chills, thrills, and a ruined sock ....
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
No, I'm Not Dead
Miss me?! That's what I thought.
Sorry I've been persona non grata for the past few weeks, but I have been up to my ears in deadlines and travel and training for the National Marathon next month, and oh, did I happen to mention that I'm volunteer-coaching a 15-member strong and growing (!) group of beginning-intermediate runners for a local 10K in May? It's for my local running club. We meet every Saturday at 8 am and I yell encouragement and veiled threats at them up as they struggle up and down hilly trails. Lots of fun.
Okay, I don't yell. I gently goose them now and again, though.
I ran 20.5 miles on Sunday. Jeanne wants me to update ya'll on that run, but that will have to wait as another deadline (actually two) looms. So herewith, is an account I emailed my running buddy, P., of my 15-miler in Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago:
I logged 15 miles instead of my planned 20 miles as I ran out of time (I started late, around 9:30 am), energy, and Gatorade. Plus, I ran too the first 9 miles too fast, at an 8:48/mile pace.
Sorry I've been persona non grata for the past few weeks, but I have been up to my ears in deadlines and travel and training for the National Marathon next month, and oh, did I happen to mention that I'm volunteer-coaching a 15-member strong and growing (!) group of beginning-intermediate runners for a local 10K in May? It's for my local running club. We meet every Saturday at 8 am and I yell encouragement and veiled threats at them up as they struggle up and down hilly trails. Lots of fun.
Okay, I don't yell. I gently goose them now and again, though.
I ran 20.5 miles on Sunday. Jeanne wants me to update ya'll on that run, but that will have to wait as another deadline (actually two) looms. So herewith, is an account I emailed my running buddy, P., of my 15-miler in Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago:
I logged 15 miles instead of my planned 20 miles as I ran out of time (I started late, around 9:30 am), energy, and Gatorade. Plus, I ran too the first 9 miles too fast, at an 8:48/mile pace.
With the sun high in the sky and the temperature a scorching 85 degrees, I started at the southern end of Venice Beach. Waves crashed on my left, and the wide expanse of sand glittered.
Lots of characters there. Bodybuilders, jugglers and street gymnasts with dreadlocks. The air stunk of patchouli from the many incense vendors crowding the boardwalk. Fortune tellers and folks selling bad beach art, t-shirts, and gauzy hippie clothes had also set up shop.
Heading past Venice, I ran through Santa Monica Beach and past the ferris wheel there, through Will Rogers State Beach and up to Malibu, almost to the new Getty Museum villas. I stopped at mile 6.2 to drink watered-down Gatorade and eat Gu. I felt pretty good for the first hour, though I was sweating buckets.
Then the boardwalk ended. I turned around and ran south. Back in Venice Beach, huge crowds (and dogs) blocked the path, and I had to weave through them, slowing me down and tiring me further.
By the basketball courts, a crowd desultorily looked at a man sprawled unconscious on the boardwalk, his mouth open and left cheek resting on the sandy asphalt. Small piles of vomit lay around him. It looked like pink Slushie. I ran past a policeman in shorts, who looked bemused at the situation. He casually sipped a 64-oz. Diet Coke.
Soon, I ran out of boardwalk. I turned inland and ran through alleyways until I hit the northern end of the Marina Del Ray causeway, and I finally had to stop. It was either that, or swim through the causeway, in between motor boats, until I got to the other side. I turned around again and ran back to Venice Beach and met E., who picked me up.
One last thing: At one point, a man walking ahead turned around, saw me, and started running. "Vamanos!" he said, to no one in particular. When I go to within a few feet of him, he sensed me and picked up the pace. I resisted speeding up. It was a training run, after all. And I knew I would catch him eventually. Lots of characters there. Bodybuilders, jugglers and street gymnasts with dreadlocks. The air stunk of patchouli from the many incense vendors crowding the boardwalk. Fortune tellers and folks selling bad beach art, t-shirts, and gauzy hippie clothes had also set up shop.
Heading past Venice, I ran through Santa Monica Beach and past the ferris wheel there, through Will Rogers State Beach and up to Malibu, almost to the new Getty Museum villas. I stopped at mile 6.2 to drink watered-down Gatorade and eat Gu. I felt pretty good for the first hour, though I was sweating buckets.
Then the boardwalk ended. I turned around and ran south. Back in Venice Beach, huge crowds (and dogs) blocked the path, and I had to weave through them, slowing me down and tiring me further.
By the basketball courts, a crowd desultorily looked at a man sprawled unconscious on the boardwalk, his mouth open and left cheek resting on the sandy asphalt. Small piles of vomit lay around him. It looked like pink Slushie. I ran past a policeman in shorts, who looked bemused at the situation. He casually sipped a 64-oz. Diet Coke.
I also ran past several people with videocams and skateboards. Looked like they were filming some sort of movie. A 20-something guy in a black t-shirt filmed several takes of a skateboarder running into a pig-tailed woman wearing retro '70's skates, a miniskirt, and a pink t-shirt with an ice-cream cone silk-screened on it. Everybody ignored them.
At mile 12, I was bleary-eyed with dehydration. Salt caked my face and shoulders. I stopped at one of the small pizza vendors on Venice Beach and asked for water, which was given to me very grudgingly by a line cook. After guzzling that down and running two more miles (slowly), I stopped by a Starbucks and drank a peach bottled seltzer/juice drink and poured ice down my back.
At mile 12, I was bleary-eyed with dehydration. Salt caked my face and shoulders. I stopped at one of the small pizza vendors on Venice Beach and asked for water, which was given to me very grudgingly by a line cook. After guzzling that down and running two more miles (slowly), I stopped by a Starbucks and drank a peach bottled seltzer/juice drink and poured ice down my back.
After less than half a mile, and constantly peeking over his shoulder at me, he stopped and walked, his chest heaving with effort. Well, that was easy. I glanced at him as I ran past. He wouldn't meet my eye. I wanted to say, "Stopping so soon?!" But I am trying to be a nicer person. I kept my mouth shut. E. said later that I should have said, "Vamanos!" back at him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)