Surreal. That’s the only way to describe the finish of the Blueberry Stomp 15K in Plymouth, Indiana. Run on Labor Day morning, the race (and its companion 5K) is part of the town’s annual Blueberry Festival. It’s the quintessential community run, with a course running through the heart of downtown before heading out to country roads punctuated with plenty of rolling hills. But it’s when you circle back to the finish that things get interesting. You see, during the time you’re slogging through the Midwestern prairie, the Blueberry Festival Parade is starting back in town. So when you run back down the main drag, the parade is running the opposite way on the same street. It’s safe – they still have a runner’s lane marked off with cones – but it’s also supremely odd. The sidewalks have people stacked two to three deep, you’re running right in front of them, but they’re not really watching you. Meanwhile, you’re getting an intimate view of the mayor, the local marching band, and more than a few Shriners. At any minute, you’re expecting to see Rod Serling handing you a Gatorade at the next water stop. I don’t know that I’d run it again. But I’m very glad I did it once.
Race report #5: 2008 Chicago Marathon
This was our first marathon here at Lactic and – considering the heat and an unexpected injury during our last long run – it probably couldn’t have gone any better. A questionable shin and record temperatures forced a very conservative start with an easy pace and plenty of hydration. Never hit the wall (or if that was the wall, it was relatively soft), just gradually slowed over the last 10 miles and cruised in at 4:54:24. Performance aside, we thought the race was very well-organized with plenty of support and, of course, an amazing group of spectators estimated at 1.2 million. Still sore, but would do another in a heartbeat as we figure we faced about as adverse conditions as could be expected and came out okay on the other side.
The Long Road Ahead for Olympic Marathoners
In the early miles of a recent half-marathon, I was sure something was wrong with my heart monitor. That or I was picking up the signal of a runner near me. How else to explain 180 BPM, a level I rarely reach even in the latter stages of speed workouts? Sure, the course had a few hills in its first half, but none steep enough to explain these readings. And the temperature was only in the upper-60s. I felt fine and wasn’t struggling at all in spite of the puzzling numbers. Then, halfway through the race, the course exited a park setting and took to the streets. And instantly, my heart rate came down. In hindsight, there could be only one cause: humidity. A pre-race rainstorm combined with the heavily wooded park created very high humidity. And if you’ve been reading any previews of the upcoming Olympic marathons, you know competitors will be facing even worse conditions. And we’re not talking about something remedied with a little extra hydration. Performance will suffer, period. Elite runners who’ve faced similar conditions as Beijing seem to have a universal refrain: I simply couldn’t run as fast as usual. Some think this may even the field. Some think it will only increase the East African advantage. But one thing is sure for Ryan Hall and Deena Kastor and everyone else toeing the start line. Running at this level is about managing pain. And this one promises a whole new level of hurt.
Race report #4: Chicago Distance Classic
How is it possible to enter this 13.1 mile race online just a few days before the event? There are plenty of similar half-marathons – with vastly inferior ambiance and scenery – that fill up instantly. Maybe it’s another Chicago half-marathon coming up next month. Or the Chicago marathon the month after that. Whatever the reason, it’s hard to fathom why anyone would miss this. Starting in Grant Park and running south along Lakeshore Boulevard before circling back along the lakefront path, the 2008 edition saw cool (for August) temps and very little humidity. The course can get slightly cramped at times, but organizers did their best to ease the congestion by breaking the start into staggered “waves”. And, if nothing else, this race is worth it for the stunning view of the Chicago skyline just after the turnaround.
The Art of the Ugly Race T-shirt
It must be part of the race director’s code: For shelling out their hard-earned cash to run your event, participants must be rewarded with a t-shirt from the pit of Hell. How else to explain the drawers full of 100% cotton monstrosities we all seem to possess? How else to explain why someone deemed incapable of manning a water stop suddenly acquires a degree in graphic design? Here at Lactic, the biggest race of the year is the Indianapolis 500 Festival Mini-Marathon in early May. And it’s become tradition to see how unspeakably hideous the commemorative t-shirt will be. Plus, it’s always long sleeve, the perfect option for the hot summer ahead. And just how long will it be before the glut of sponsor logos grows so large they’ll have to start silkscreening the armpits? But there is one positive development. A lot more races are now providing technical t-shirts as their giveaway. Proving that we runners will put aside our fine art sensibilities and wear paint-by-number masterpieces or one of John Wayne Gacy’s clowns as long as you offer the solemn promise not to chafe our nipples.
Race report #3: New York City Half Marathon
Lactic hit the lottery a few months back and won entry to the NYC Half Marathon on Sunday, July 27. The course starts with a six-mile loop through Central Park before routing runners out of the south end of the park onto 7th Avenue for a jog right through the heart of Times Square, then west on 42nd Street before turning south on the highway adjacent to the Hudson all the way to the finish at Battery Park on the south tip of Manhattan (near a convenient subway station to zip you back uptown). A pre-race rain shower created almost sauna-like conditions in Central Park, but the streets brought a slight breeze, making for a much more comfortable second half. Needless to say, the entire course has its share of spectacular scenery, but it’s hard to top the surreal feeling of running through a shut-down Times Square. The race is very well organized, with the start corrals (and the start itself) easily the most comfortable we’ve ever experienced. Except for a cancelled Sunday night flight and a resulting 14-hour drive home on Monday, it was the perfect trip.
Glycogen costs more than $4 a gallon.
We could learn a thing or two from the fuel-sippers in the slow lane. While we suspect they never speed up, they’re running the race –– at least the first half –– in the fashion we all should try. Because, with apologies to Steve Prefontaine, the negative split is best. Starting out at a prudent pace and flooring it later in the race will result in better times. It’s just damned hard to do when everyone around you, be they Ferrari or Hyundai, is squealing off the line like quarter-milers (drag racers or runners, take your pick). But your body’s fuel is expensive. And lactic acid? Steeper still. So set the cruise control, enjoy the ride, and listen for the sputtering of the empty tanks in front of you. Then, finally, you can show off that extra gear.
Runnin’ with Sputnik
We recently took the plunge and purchased the new Garmin Forerunner 405. While we’ve never spent much time in this space plugging products, this is one that – although we’ve had it only a short time – we can wholeheartedly endorse. Granted, this is our first GPS-enabled gadget, so we were somewhat destined to be wowed. But everything about it (save the price, perhaps) seems right. Easy to program, ingeniously designed, and delivering everything promised when on the road, the 405 feels almost perfect. We wish it were Mac compatible (supposedly that’s coming in autumn), but we have no other complaints. There’s functional. There’s cool. And this thing sits right in the middle of that intersection.
Don’t
Don’t. I know your big race is only a few days away and you want to be your best. So new shoes should do the trick, right? Don’t. A better kick might get you to a PR, so maybe you should squeeze in one last interval session? Don’t. A new pillow, a new pre-race meal, possibly use this race to try those gel packs for the very first time? Don’t and don’t and oh-my-goodness don’t. Remember, consistency got you this far. It’s been faithful and true. It’s consistency, that’s what it does. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to excel. But the finish line is reached by staying the course. Even in training. So push down all those doubts. Stick to the plan. And don’t.
Race report #2: Indiana University Mini-Marathon
Maybe it was somewhere along sorority row. Perhaps in the fountain outside the Student Union. Most probably it was at the finish in the shadows of Memorial Stadium and Assembly Hall. But somewhere in the midst of this relatively new half-marathon on the campus of Indiana University in Bloomington, I donated my quadriceps to medical science. And I haven’t seen them since. That’s because the elevation chart for this course looks like an EKG to make any cardiologist frown. “Hilly” is too nice of a word. And “torture” not descriptive enough. I figure there is only about 2.5 miles of flat surface for the whole race, and very little of it lasting more than a quarter of a mile. The upside, if there is one, is the I.U. campus, which retains its beauty even when viewed through a lactic acid haze. It’s a small race, well organized, and appropriate for runners and walkers, just as long as you realize you may transition from the former to latter midway through that enormous hill in the 8th mile.
Race report #1: 500 Festival Mini-Marathon
Over 30,000 people participate in the 500 Festival Mini-Marathon each May in Indianapolis. What they get is a race in three acts, with the third much like the first. Starting in downtown Indy, a carnival atmosphere prevails as a mass of runners and walkers and their entourages mix and mingle, with the participants eventually making their way to the starting corrals, where some will wait over half an hour after the gun fires before they ever reach the starting line. The first five miles routes you through some pretty sad Indy neighborhoods, punctuated only by a humorous mix of roadside musical acts ranging from speed metal to contemporary Christian. The second act – and, oh what a second act – is a complete lap around the 2.5 mile Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Even veteran race attendees are awed by the sheer size of the asphalt oval. Middle of the packers may even be treated, courtesy of one of the tracks enormous Jumbotron screens, to a view of the race winner crossing the finish line downtown. Then it’s out of the track and back through depressed neighborhoods for another five miles before an energizing pomp-and-noise finish. At over 30 years old and hosting the nation’s largest half marathon field, it’s a well organized race and suitable for walkers and runners of all ages. And if you can set aside the beginning and the end, the middle makes it all worthwhile.
Travel Run #1: San Elijo Lagoon
While on vacation recently in California, I stopped by Movin Shoes in Encinitas (the closest running store according to Google Maps) and casually asked about local trail runs. The young salesman gave me directions to the San Elijo Lagoon. Turns out I knew where it was, just didn’t know its name or that it had trails. It’s an interesting run. Although you aren’t that far from civilization, there are times you feel completely isolated. And the faint of heart must prepare themselves for the sounds of unseen wildlife scurrying around in the underbrush through which the trail is carved (and a steady supply of lizards darting across the path in front of you). In addition, you’ll find yourself moving from dry, loose, beach-quality sand to other moist-to-muddy sections forcing you to carefully pick your footfalls. It’s unlike anything I could possibly experience here in the Midwest and worth seeking out if you find yourself in the San Diego area and are looking for a six-mile-or-less trail run.
Split time
We are unfaithful. As we head out of the running store with new loves on our feet, our old paramours are already relegated to the box under our arm. We are sailors on shore leave, seduced by stability, mesmerized by motion control. And so we look down at our faithful friends – as comfortable as an old, well, you know – and promptly unlace our way into a trial separation. I just want to see other shoes, you say. It doesn’t mean we’re over. And we’re not. ‘Cause now we’ll wear you when we mow the lawn. Pull you out for the muddiest of trail runs. You were Picasso and we want you to paint the house. So you end up on a darkened shelf until one day the door opens and two faded yet familiar beauties are placed beside you. You’ll never believe what happened to us, they say. Yes we would, you answer. Yes we would.
Rosie and Barry and Frank
Frank Shorter, the 1972 Olympic marathon gold medalist, may never have met Rosie Ruiz and Barry Bonds. But, sadly, he knows the type. When Shorter won in Munich in ‘72, he was preceded into the stadium by an Ruiz-like impostor, a high school student who jumped onto the track and entered the stadium to a roar from the crowd. Shorter never saw the young man and had no concern about his own win, but was admittedly puzzled when the crowd was silent as the American ran onto the track for his final meters. Much more troublesome was the impostor who stole the roar from Shorter at the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. Waldemar Cierpinski, an East German, took the gold medal (Shorter won the silver) and followed up with another gold in the 1980 Olympics. But before there was a BALCO and a Barry Bonds, there was the East German athletics system now known to have supplied performance enhancing drugs to thousands of their best athletes. And evidence strongly suggests Cierpinski was one of them. So, once more, Shorter entered a stadium in silence. But, to his credit, he is philosophical about the twin experiences. He claims it helped him understand what he was running for: Not the attention or acclaim, but for something both deeper and higher. Something never attained by the two who preceded him – literally, but never figuratively – into the arena.
A line erased
Chip timing has made race management a much easier task. And, in races with heavy participation, everyone appreciates their finishing time reflecting actual running time without the added minutes spent waiting to cross the starting line. But those chips didn’t just replace the old scoring tear-offs on the bottom of race number bibs. For the non-seeded runner, gone too is the truly competitive sprint to the finish line. You see, in the old days when you were neck and neck with someone as the two of you approached the finish line, it really was a race. First one to the line was truly beating the other and the proof would show up in the final results. Today, depending on the length of the race, there could be 10 to 15 minutes difference between two runners finishing side-by-side. Sure, you’ll still see people race each other to the line, but – whether they know it or not – it’s almost never for place. Of course, we always have been (and always will be) racing the clock. I just miss the days when we raced the stranger beside us, too.
Counting all 5,280
A couple of years ago, Joan Benoit Samuelson helped pace Lance Armstrong as he ran his first marathon. She commented afterward that Lance was (paraphrasing) “obsessed with the mile markers.” Well, at least I have something in common with Lance. But Joan further explained she wanted Lance to focus more on rhythm and pace and let the miles take care of themselves. Much easier said than done. The very races we run are measured in miles or kilometers. So naturally we want to track ourselves against those increments. But we’ve also all had the experience of forgetting our mile marker fixation –– and the happy surprise when it appears seemingly out of nowhere. I should probably try to take Joanie’s advice. Because the watched mile marker never arrives. But, to be honest, I just glanced down for about the 40th time while writing this to check my word count. So I don’t have high hopes.
Again with the knee thing.
Non-runners love to look at runners and claim they’re ruining their knees. And, granted, any high impact activity like running does put enormous stress on your joints. But while I’m certainly not a doctor, I do know this: My knees feel a lot better when I’m running than they do in the times I’ve lapsed into inactivity. My very unprofessional opinion is the sedentary life forces bone and tendons to do the work meant for strong, healthy muscles. My knees aren’t perfect. And they may get worse over time. But I’ll take the running life. Any day.
Ennui of the hamstring variety
It happens. No matter what your goal, at some time your training schedule will be far more ambitious than, well, your ambition. Maybe your race is a long way off, maybe you’re in a treadmill rut in the dead of winter, or maybe you’re just flat out bored. No shame in that. But no sense in letting it control you, either. So shake things up. Cross train. Hit the running section at the bookstore. Or watch an inspirational movie. Some swear by Rudy or Chariots of Fire. I prefer Alien. Because, come on, if you’d been on that spaceship you’d have set some sort of PR, no matter how short the distance.
Run. Away.
In the HBO miniseries “Band of Brothers”, there is a scene where the company of American soldiers is fighting in an urban setting when a mortar shell hits. Then another. One of the commanding officers, realizing the enemy has dialed them in, immediately orders a retreat. And, without hesitation, with no concern about bravery or honor, they turn and run. As fast as they can. Now, granted, our type of running is not warfare. But most of us enter each run with a plan of attack. It’s important to remember, though, that mortars will come. So if you were planning on going long, but fatigue or a sore hamstring has you dialed in, there’s no shame in calling retreat. Fall back. Finish up. Forget about it. It’s just one run. There will be others.
A wreck, ramblin’.
Late in some NASCAR races, it’s not uncommon to see a car – long assumed out of the event – roll out of the garage area and onto the track. Except it doesn’t really look like a car. Minus a fender or two, bumper gone, paint scraped, it will limp around the track for a few more laps (and points and dollars). As runners, haven’t we all been there? We roar off the starting line shiny and full of fuel. But somewhere out there, we begin trading paint with reality. Anti-freeze starts to leak. That faulty gas gauge lies to us. And by the time we reach the final miles, we’re barely recognizable as the speed machines of just a few hours ago. It may be small comfort, but some world class runners have looked like that. For the entire race. Joan Benoit Samuelson, ever graceful in life, has always been a bit of a plodder on the road, her form belying the numbers on the stopwatch. Alberto Salazar, pigeon-toed and pitched forward, could be painful to watch even as he obliterated his competition in the early 80s. So the next time the wheels come off late in your race, take heart. Somewhere along the way is a spectator with a love for running and a photographic memory. And when he spies you huffing along, overheating and spraying oil, he’ll pause for a second, overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu. “Man,” he’ll think to himself, “that guy must be really good.”
