114th Boston Marathon Race Report

When I crossed the finish line of my first marathon in March 2007, I began to dream of someday qualifying for Boston. Nearly three years and many obstacles later, I arrived in Boston as a qualified marathoner for the 114th running of the Boston Marathon.

I endured three days of miserable, dreary, windy, cold rain. I thought it would never end. My hotel room did not have a window, and the last sight I had the night before Marathon Monday was more rain. I couldn't imagine Boston had any other weather, and expected it to be gloomy and raining again in the morning.

But I woke exactly one minute before my alarm, arousing from a dream that I was looking at the downtown Boston skyline with the bluest of skies. I checked the weather online; my prescient dream had come true: it would be bright and sunny at the start. I slathered on sunscreen well before 6 AM. Odd that I have to be up so early for a 10:30 AM race start.

Packing a few snacks and hand warmers tucked in my gloves, I arrived in Boston Common, to begin the trek to the starting line. Conveniently, Patriots' Day is a school holiday in Boston, availing the B.A.A. the use of 500 school busses for this important shuttling of all of the athletes to the start in Hopkinton. Shortly after 6:30 AM, I'd boarded a bus and became part of a magnificent, slow caravan of buses filled with marathon stories of past and present. I looked down at cars, and they looked up at us. They knew why we were there. My anticipation began to build.

I stepped off the bus in Athletes Village at precisely 8:30 AM. I found my way to a large tent providing some cover from the bitter cold. It was evident this was a race favoring the wisdom of past Boston participants. The experienced (or at least well-advised) runners were sitting comfortably on plastic blankets, sleeping bags and blow up pool rafts. I huddled up on the cold wet ground, snacked on a bagel and chips and shivered bitterly.

It was announced there would be an F-15 flyover at 9:50 AM, 10 minutes before the Wave 1 start scheduled for 10 AM. I was in the second corral.. err.. I was supposed to be in the second corral for Wave 2 at 10:30, but we'll get to that in a minute :-). We heard them first, and sure enough, two F-15s zoomed over and it was worth bracing myself outside the tent for even more intense shivering for the few minutes to see them roar by. They crossed the finish line in Boston in four minutes.

I delayed my departure from Athletes Village as long as I thought practical, as I was miserably cold. I didn't want to stand unprotected in the starting corral. So, at 10:05 AM, with a 0.7 mile walk, I joined the traffic flow and headed for the starting line. I consumed my first vanilla Hammergel along the way. Although we were not moving quickly, at first I was not too concerned until I started hearing the countdown to the starting gun. The four last corrals were to the left and mine was to be the second from the front… many corrals down and to the right. Before I'd barely turned the corner I heard 30 seconds to go. I would never make it, I wasn't even close. I quickly darted into the corral on my immediate left, missing the corral seeding that I had earned. I'd had this pre-race nightmare before, my second actual dream to come true for the day. But as I'd rationalized in my dreams past, this was chip timing, so the worst that would happen is I'd have to work my way through the slower runners.

We had run for what seemed like awhile before we finally crossed the start line, and immediately I was struck by how warm it was and I was thirsty. I tossed my gloves and peeled off my arm-warmers. It was well-published that there would be water and Gatorade at every mile and at the finish. I was on the far left of the queue, having weaved through many, many slower runners and waited for the first mile mark, eager for a cool sip. I was simply parched. The first mile came and went, a steep downhill for most of it, and then our first hill. No water. The second mile came and went, again, no water. I began to panic. Then, at last up and beyond, there was water! But, of course, it was on the far right. I began to work my way over, but unlike Chicago where the tables went on forever, these tables were short and by the time I'd gotten to the right, I was past the water station. Uh-oh. I was really, really thirsty. I didn't know what to do, but I figured I was an expert on running dry, so I'd tough it out and hang in there for another two miles. Then, up ahead, there was another table. Oh, if only I'd known somehow it was going to be on both sides! I weaved to the left again, and this time got a huge cup of Gatorade.

I crossed the first 5K, and saw that my Garmin was already way ahead of the mile markers in elapsed distance. I was paying the price in distance for so much weaving. This was my own fault; for missing the start and not knowing in advance about the placement of the water stations. I'll know better next time.

The miles were clicking by easily, and I felt very good. I'd missed most of my splits, and still don't know what they were, but I'd seen a few around the low 8s, which seemed comfy and fine. Since I didn't have a pace band or any particular goal in mind (except, seemingly, break 4 hours and maybe break 3:58 if things went really, really well), I didn't really know what the elapsed time and the mile marks meant. So, I pressed on happily. I planned to do only one thing today: My Best. Whatever that was. I knew I'd "feel" what that was, even if i couldn't define it. I would carefully spend everything I had, and I wouldn't quit.

I took the second gel around the 10K mark in Framingham. That would be my last gel. (I carried three more with me, but they were never to be touched.) I was feeling fantastic. Really, ridiculously good. It was freeing to not worry about my pace and just run what felt right.

At mile 12, I could hear the beginning of the girls of Wellesley College. They delivered as promised! I kept to the left, but soaked in the energy. Majors in kissing were boasted, shrieks abounded in good fun. I saw no evidence of actual marathon-runner kissing, but this section indeed was a highlight of the course.

My half way point time was 1:48:15 I have been told, and I was still feeling really, really good--excited that the first half was behind me, and getting concerned, knowing that in a little over three miles, Newton waited.

Just before mile 15 I felt my stomach churn and cramp. The lower not-so-good kind. I looked urgently for porta-potty, saw two and took a detour. I stopped, but there were already a couple of people standing there and the toilets were occupied. Why, I do not know, but I turned back to running and hoped to find some other porta-potty. Which didn't turn up very quickly, much to my disappointment. This was going to have to be addressed. Soon.

We then began the steep descent into Newton Falls, and for the first time my quads started to hurt and really feel the downhill. As I reach the very bottom, there were four porta-potties to the left and I had no choice. I stopped. And waited. It wasn't too long, they were in a hurry to get back to running, but this whole thing definitely cost me at least two to three minutes.

The door slammed behind me and I took off running the first hill of Newton. Actual bathroom emergency or convenient excuse to rest before the Newton Hills, you decide ;-). The hill begins on a bridge, and it was here the wind really picked up. I could hear it whistling over the river and over the bridge. The gust was so strong, I felt buffeted by it, and even though I'd taken care of business, I was never quite right from here on. I was slightly nauseated, my stomach cramped off and on and I was feeling my quads. I was concerned that the wind would be with us for the rest of the race. More or less it was, but not as bad as it was on that bridge.

The next stretch was hard for me as I kept expecting to see the Fire Station and make the sharp right turn and start up the second hill. It was a longer stretch with a few teaser inclines and I was fooled more than once about the start of the second hill. As a result, with two more major hills to go, this hill was mentally the hardest for me. I took it lightly up the hill, maintaining my foot turnover, but keeping my stride light and easy. I reminded myself not to charge the hills. Many people were walking or going too slow. I passed and was passed on the hills, but my pace was steady and the effort as even as I could make it.

When I had eight miles to go I told myself I could briskly walk it in and make it to the finish in roughly two hours. This was a tempting prospect. I considered it here, and then again at four miles to go.

The third and penultimate hill in Newton was unremarkable. I was waiting for the crown jewel. I hoped my stomach wasn't going to blow. It seemed to be hanging on ok, not great. I saw a few runners off to the side throwing up or stretching out a cramp. I was happy not to be among them and hoped to keep it that way. A real case of "There but for the grace of God go I..."

Mile 20 was demoralizing. My watch read 20.3 at this point and I knew I still had 10K and Heartbreak Hill to go. I wanted to stop. Really. But I knew that wouldn't be "My Best."

And then, there it was. I crossed over Read Street and Heartbreak Hill was waiting for me. A female news reporter about a 100 yards up the hill made a move towards me with her microphone and expectantly asked, "How's it feeling out there today?" What could I say? I lied, feigning more energy than I had, flashed a smile, "It's Awesome!" What would you have said? Somehow, that actually gave me a bit of energy. It was what I needed.

There is only one way to climb Heartbreak Hill… one light running step at a time. I used a little assist from the arms. Altogether, it's really not that bad of a hill. Its location is what makes it unfortunate. I've run steeper hills. I've run longer hills. This hill is cruelly located, seemingly crafted to make it appear and feel three times its actual size. At last, this was behind me and I had not walked one step. The descent into Boston College began and I was overjoyed. I slipped in behind a male runner with a black T-Shirt declaring, "Life Is Simple." I thought, yes, at this moment, life has boiled down to its simplest. Keep going. Don't give up. Do. Your. Best.

By now, though, my quads were done. I never thought I'd actually say this… but I begged for mercy: no more downhills--I pleaded in earnest. Flat was most preferable but up actually hurt less than down at this point. Before the race was over, I'd be granted plenty of all three.

I waited and waited to see the Citgo sign. It had to be coming up soon. Every little rise and fall, I thought it would peek out somewhere. Eventually, it did and I knew it really wasn't that much farther to go.

Somewhere around this point I heard my name shouted, "Alex, Alex!" And I turned and looked. I thought, "Are they calling for me? Or some other Alex?" At last I recognized my co-worker from the Boston Office, Mike, his wife and possibly one other person. I was slightly delirious so forgive me if I don't the third person nailed! What a treat that was!

There is a little hill around the 25 mile point. I was pleased to have it behind me. From the "Mile to go" sign, I began counting backwards from 100 and was sure to spend every penny I had left in my body. I was surprised how much I really had and I poured it out. I looked down at my watch for the first time since the half way point, and it read 3:40. I was shocked. I seriously had no idea this was the kind of pace I was on. I had kissed any hope of a decent time away back in Newton Falls.

The final half mile of the marathon came after a right and left turn, and I could see the finish line and the bleachers up ahead. I remember this finishing charge more than any marathon (or race) I've ever done. My emotions overwhelmed me, as many years of cumulative training and many obstacles overcome came down to this one moment. "You've [expletive deleted] done it. You've earned it, and you've done it." I surged to the finish line, and crossed both mats before I stopped and punched my watch. My chest swelled and I fought back tears. I've heard my final official finishing time was 3:46:34. I haven't looked online yet, but I will soon! I will also post pictures as soon as they are available.

Thanks so much to everyone who has encouraged me through this journey. And if you are reading this, and thinking about trying to qualify for Boston and run it--let me tell you two things: 1) Do it. 2) It's worth it!

Final Thoughts Before Boston

At last, after the adventures of campylobacter, which kept me from peaking; my eight-year-old daughter needing emergency surgery this past weekend, which kept me from topping off my last few runs and required 40+ hours of no sleep and a few pots of coffee; my mind turns to actually preparing for my trip to Boston (rather than crisis management). I enjoyed a perfect racing season for Chicago 2009, but this time, it's been anything but. In fact, I've quipped, "Anything else goes wrong, I won't actually BE at the starting line," in all seriousness.

But that being said, I'm ready to worry about trivial things, like, how do I get to the bus station and what will the weather be? Weather.com promises warmish sunshine, and accuweather.com promises strong winds throughout the race. I'm merely hoping they'll be out of the west!

The course makes me a bit nervous, with plenty of hills, up AND down:


Unlike other marathons, where I watched my mile splits on a Garmin like a hawk, this time around, I might not even wear it. With the hills and no idea what I'm capable of anymore, it will be impossible for me to do any meaningful pacing. Much like my training of the last month, I will simply run this race by feel. I was pretty sure I hit my marathon pace during my 10-miler yesterday. It felt good; steady; sure; right. I just have no idea what that pace was, but I remember how it felt and will seek it.

What does a Boston success look like for me? Well, surely a finisher's medal so that I can proudly wear (and earn) my Official 114th B.A.A. jacket.

The cut-off time is 4:45 PM. So, I have just a hair over six hours to complete the race. I'm in the second corral, wave 2 (starting at 10:30 AM), so a few minutes will pass before I cross over the starting line. If things are going reasonably well, I'd be very happy to break four hours. For reasons of my own, I'd really like to break 3:58, although based on the travails of the last month, that seems a bit stretchy. The stretchiest goal I could possibly imagine at this point is re-qualifying for Boston AT Boston, which requires for me a 3:50:59 (I ran a 3:38:22 in Chicago last year). Though, that seems unlikely.

Mostly, it's a reflection of what really matters. I've already qualified. This is about the ability to let go and enjoy. Although I am a highly driven and disciplined person; I cannot hold myself to a specific standard.

"Success is not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds."
~Orison Swett Marden

Call of Nature Wreaks Havoc on Boston Plans

Today, I'm going to tell you the story of what I've been doing on my unplanned running hiatus and what that's going to mean to me for Boston. May I suggest this entry is not for the feint of heart. If you are disturbed by bodily fluids or the description of them, you might want to go check out someone else's cool running blog, like my two new favorites runwestchester or Law of Inertia where your time will be better spent. Tune in next week when I plan to begin my crawl back to running.

Saturday, 7 AM, I noted some abdominal pain before my run. But, I didn't worry about it too much, and I cranked out my 14 mile workout anyway. I suffered through more pain than I'd like to admit for the last two miles, but it was tolerable in a way that I wasn't going to quit. When I finished I got caught in the cold rain (38F) and wind, became unusually chilled and started shivering. I had to rush my son to the dentist, so didn't get a chance to do anything other than throw on dry clothes for a couple of hours.

When I got home and showered, I began to feel achy; my skin hurt to touch, and my temperature rang in at 102F. I spent the next 30 hours shivering, practicing 10m sprints to the bathroom to sit or kneel, depending on the prioritized urgency, and back down to the floor by the fire (the bed was at a dizzying height). My abdomen wrung itself painfully, and I decided an alien had somehow burrowed inside. I considered naming it. I did not sleep.

By Sunday evening, I was unceremoniously expelled from the house and driven to the ER. Within five minutes, I was a great patient, having puked, given an impromptu stool sample, checked in with a 102 fever and already given up more traditional urine and blood samples. Before too long, they gave me something in the i.v. to sedate the alien living within me, and as if hit with a tranquilizer dart--he stopped writhing before the injection was even finished. He slept for the next eight hours. Eventually, I was told I had the stomach virus that was going around, go home, drink fluids, sign here____, here____ and here____; there's the door.

I didn't sleep much, and within a couple of hours Mr. Alien woke up. As did the fever and all of the other fun involuntary expulsions of fluid. All night long. It was just a virus. I would eventually stop this and get better. But the pain increased its tremor. At last, I did what any strong willed runner and Jack Bauer fan would do. I curled up into a fetal position and screamed in agony. For five hours. My kids came up and shut my door.

Five hours came and went; I ran to the bathroom no less than thirty times. So much for "you'll feel better soon." And then things were about to change dramatically. This time, I went, and eased myself up after emptying my bowels yet AGAIN, and the bowl was filled with blood. Finally! A symptom commensurate with my pain! Unfamiliar with such a shocking symptom (it definitely wasn't on the "get better soon" list), I thought I'm probably going to die.

I tried to call my doctor, but it was 11:45 AM. They were out to lunch and wouldn't return until 1 PM. I laid down and cried. Summoned by the alien daemon in my bowels, I got up again. And more blood. Finally got through to the doctor on call who suggested I either come in "maybe it's hemorrhoids from all that activity down there," or go to the ER again. I'm like, seriously!? Maybe he wasn't listening. This was nothing BUT blood. And a lot of it. I went to the ER.

Most of what happened next I really don't remember, but the next memory I do have is a 4th year medical student (whom I'd met), a doctor (whom I had not met), and two nurses came in. They all looked at me, "Well, the good news is, your results are in from the samples we took last night. You have campylobacter, and it's turned to dysentery." And then the ER doc listens carefully to my gut, chuckles and exclaims, "Wow, listen to those guys banging around in there." So, it wasn't an alien. It was alienS.

More IV drugs, some good ones this time.. and I faded in and out. Everyone left me alone with the lights out. Somehow they knew I wouldn't be needing company. My aliens were quieted. Angels fluttered, harps strummed. I was pain free for hours. Then, it was time to go home.

The good news was, I really wasn't in pain anymore (this was controlled by antispasmodic drugs). The bad news was, I was losing a lot of blood. I actually fell asleep for the longest period in this ordeal, about three hours, and woke up with the distinct sensation of feeling wet. I looked down. Oh, yeah, you betcha. I was soaked in blood. I had fallen asleep on my back, and it just dripped out for three hours. Nothing like a little internal bleeding to keep things interesting.

At that point, having already passed blood well over a dozen times (and who knows how many millions of aliens) in the previous six hours, I thought dying was a real possibility. I got up, put my sheets in the washer and began to tidy the bedroom. If i was going to die, my bedroom would not be embarrassingly messy. When you call 9-1-1 around here, the entire local city government comes by land and by boat and they all cram into your bedroom, no matter how tiny (yes, i know this from personal experience, though not for myself, fortunately).

I continued to "pass blood," which was my new pseudo medical term that had replaced "bowel movement" and "diarrhea." Nothing solid had made it past my stomach in four days. I was actually giving up hope. I didn't want to go back to the ER, I wanted to talk about blood and aliens in my belly and nothing else. I wanted someone tell me this was going to end. At 4 AM I talk to the Dr, and I am to get an early morning appointment (really? have you tried calling to get an appointment at 9 AM when the phones open?).

My doctor listens to the whole story. And proceeds to say, "Well, after some more blood work, we're going to give you a rectal to see if there's any blood in there." Ummmm WTH?! Are you KIDDING me? Did you just listen to ANYTHING I said? He got a fax of all my records from the hospital and proceeded to tell me everything I already knew and told him. Oh brother. Apparently you only needed to read and not listen to graduate from medical school where he went.

And then suddenly, twelve hours later, without warning… the bleeding stopped. I realized I was, in fact, going to live. The aliens had officially lost. And I began to think about what was next. That next is getting ready for Boston. Whatever that meant now.

Originally, I'd hoped that Boston would be a near PR race (after all, I was fitter than I was for Chicago, but of course, the hills make it much tougher). But now with only four weeks to go--and having missed a week already--I know that's no longer on the menu. I will not be capable of any even moderate workouts before the race.

It's one of the more intriguing things about the marathon. To do spectacularly well for yourself, everything must come together. The weather, the course, the travel, your health, your training, your job, your family. And all over time. It is an investment, as this was for me. I'd given up a lot to do my very best in Boston this year. And simply qualifying for Boston was two serious years in the making; more than that of dreaming.

But, while the high ace may have slipped from my hands, I still have other cards I can choose. One of them is to run Boston with significantly curtailed goals. I need to recover and be 100 percent healthy most importantly. But, I can still go out and cruise to a comfy four plus hours.. or whatever I am capable of doing that day. And it's not that I am not taking the marathon seriously. It will be simply the best I can do under the last minute circumstances I am given.

Boston is my celebration race. I will ensure I go and relish the moment for all its worth. I do deserve to be there; I will finish proudly. I qualified handily. I did put in my time for this race. But, as it happens, this year did not come together for me through no fault of my own. Winning does not happen in just one event, but it's in being a winner, and doing what a winner does even when thrown a curve ball. There's always next year, and there's also Chicago in the fall. Boston this year will simply be enjoyed. And I will feel good about it.

20 Miles in The Mud

You have to read yesterday's Buckeyeoutdoors entry entry to fully appreciate what it was like to turn my alarm off at 5:45 AM, roll over to the side of the bed and stand up. I was so out of it, my alarm had actually reached the second stage of urgent beeping. I'd have rolled over and gone back to sleep, but I promised to meet Travis, so somehow, I found the direction of up--which was notably against the pull of gravity and my beckoning pillow.

I stood testily. Everything hurt. Things I didn't even know I'd hurt yesterday complained. I had scratches and deep bruises on my arm I'd never noticed yesterday. My back, neck and shoulders groaned in rhythm. I felt like I'd been in a car wreck. And oh yes, my poor right glute (point of most severe impact) was very, very unhappy. I even had a bruise on my left side. No matter. I would run today. Tempted to take some Ibuprofen or Tylenol to ease my aches, I instead decided it was best to take the run undiluted. Those things could wait.

We planned this in four-mile legs, leaving my car in one spot and driving Travis' car to another location four miles away. He would run four of the segments, finishing at his car, and I would run five. Lucky for me, Travis had a 50K in his legs from six days ago, so that slowed him down.

Temps at the start were 39F, and we took off. The first mile was slow, 9-ish and my glute complained rather loudly. I wondered how I would do nineteen more of these. I did not feel great for the first leg, and was happy to take a Gatorade break and went ahead and took a gel. Sixteen more miles to go. Thank goodness our pace naturally quickened, although not where I wanted it to be. The trail was notably muddy, and was at times difficult to run due to deep bike tire grooves and extremely sloppy segments. (The picture isn't of LBTT, but a reasonable facsimile of the muddiness and the trail.)

The second leg was my best leg, and the only time I can claim that I felt really good on this run. My glute had quieted down a bit; and my other glute was aching a little in harmony... so it was a nice balance. We noticed some wind coming up this way, nothing terrible, but enough to recall a particular run some months back on the same trail when it was very windy. Right before we finished the eighth mile, a man was walking his smallish dog on the trail without a leash, and it ran after me and jumped on me, putting muddy pawprints all the way up to my chest. Glad it wasn't barking or biting, but seriously. Ever heard of a leash?

The third leg was the worst for me. I was in the middle of my run, and knew I still had two more legs to go. Oddly, the wind shifted, and we both noted outloud, "Weren't we running into the wind going the opposite direction last time?"

At last the final leg for Travis, and the penultimate one for me as we turned around. At least the wind stayed shifted, and this was an easier leg. I felt the mileage, knew this wasn't going to be my best 20-miler ever, but still it was going to be solid enough. There were no real issues, and I would finish just fine. Interestingly, the trail seemed to get sloppier and muddier with each pass. Maybe because of the additional melting that was going on, or maybe because of the heavy foot and bike traffic. Travis kicked it in with a 7:20 for the sixteenth mile, and I ran an 8:11. Thanks, Travis--my run sucked less because I had company for most of it.

My final leg, now solo, was about running back into the wind, which seemed to be picking up, slogging through more mud and feeling excessively warm as the sun came out from behind a curtain of clouds for the first time all morning. I imagined myself as a plant initiating photosynthesis, deriving energy from mere sunlight. I plugged in my iPod, and really didn't care about pace, I just wanted to finish. Nothing hurt, but everything hurt in the way only a runner on a long run can understand. I'd planned well, I had no rubs or concerns. My energy wasn't a problem, other than feeling somewhat blah for the whole run--but it was adequate. The effort seemed a bit harder than it should have, and the mud piled up on my shoes and the back of my legs. There were a few people ahead of me from other groups on this last section, and I spent my time in this leg planning to pass each of them and enjoying picking them off one by one. It was the only amusement I had. My legs felt strong. Eventually, it was over. As I got in my car, the temperature read 61 F, which is a very quick warm up for three hours--no wonder I was feeling hot! The best news of all, is Spring is nearly here.

Have Athletes Reached Their Limits?

On page A12 of today's Kansas City Star (sourced from the Los Angeles Times), I read with interest the article entitled, "How many more records can athletes break?" subtitled, "Not many, say scientists who believe humans have reached the peak of athletic achievement." (I am unable to find the article online, or I would link it here.)

The story was introduced by yet another track and field winner who was stripped of a previously earned gold medal after it was discovered she "admitted to using a performance enhancing drug." It was explained, "..to many sports scientists, the news was evidence of a broader trend. They believe that human athletic performance has peaked, and only cheating or technological advances will result in a rash of new world records."

"A French researcher who analyzed a century's worth of world records concluded in a recent paper that the peak of athletic achievement was reached in 1988. Eleven world records were broken that year in track and field. Seven of them still stand... [I]n the 1990s we started to see a decrease in performance. Now, there are a lot of events that don't show any progression at all." The article explains that the less mature winter sports will still see a rise, and the spike in swimming records around 2000 were due to the introduction of new high-tech swimsuits.

The concern here is that "the public thinks that athletes will get better and better. That's why they tune in to watch. I don't know if people realize that athletes can't keep improvement at the rates they have been," explained Conrad Earnest, director of exercise biology at Pennington Biomedical Research Center in Baton Rouge, LA.

Now, that's an interesting point for runners. Mostly, just for us to ponder, as we won't be anywhere near world record breaking, nor do we care. (But, hey, if you are world record contender, let me welcome you to my blog, thanks for stopping by!) I do wonder how much of today's superior running achievements are due to hard work and the gift of genetics, versus how much doping or other banned substances are used to shave a few milliseconds? And, do people really watch these events to behold a world record? Or do they watch for the drama of a good foot race? What if there are no "natural" (read: no illegal performance enhancing drugs or doping) marathons faster than Haile's 2:03:59 set in Berlin a little over a year ago? Does it matter? Tell me what you think.

Jogging in the Snow

Thanks, Rick, for pointing this tidbit out: "There's snow on the ground in all 50 states." I had 17 miles to run yesterday, and every option I clicked off sounded less desirable than the first. All the trail systems were snow covered, and I was tired of my hilly lake roads and I've had enough miles on the treadmill. So, I took a risk, and drove out to Longview Lake, planning on a central entrance at Shelter House 11, going for three segments, 6 miles south, 6 miles north and 5 miles whichever way I wanted to repeat.

My plans came to a screeching halt when all the gates were locked and barred. "Hmmph," I thought, "This place must be run by picnickers, not runners." I'd chosen Longview as it has the unique attribute of a decent trail system that is all paved (read: not mushy / muddy, as I knew every other option would be). I drove up to the north end, and found I could park and start at that entrance. Which meant I'd need to run the same segment three times out and back, ah well.

I hadn't gone far before I realized it wasn't going to be my day. Within a half mile, I had to tread over a long stretch of icy, slippery snow. Plus, my energy level didn't seem to be where I wanted it. By two and a half miles, I realized it was a bit breezier than I expected and had a few more inclines than I recalled, and the snow patches were becoming more and more frequent. I seriously considered turning around and attempting the run tomorrow. Somewhere else. Any other day. I wanted to give up.

As I reached the three mile mark, it was apparent by the snow tracks that fewer people had made it this far south (would require a total of six miles to return to their cars at the far north end), and I knew if I turned around at this point, I probably wasn't going to complete the run. So, I pressed on, and the snowy patches increased and the previous footsteps decreased and I was going farther and farther from my car. By the time I'd passed four and a half miles, I found I was actually feeling better; I seemed to have found fuel, but the slipping and sliding was an ongoing consideration. While I've complained about the poor condition of the cracked and broken asphalt trail here before, it's hard to whine about that when you can't even see it beneath the slushy, slippery white stuff. I was constantly sliding, losing my footing and trying not to fall.

As I crossed over mile five, I knew that at least if I turned around here, I'd only have seven to go when I returned to my car for refreshments. And that's what I should have done. But, six miles out and back sounded so much better, I'd only have five total left to do. By this point, no one had hit the trail, and with the additional tree covering, I was now completely running in undisturbed, crunchy snow about 3-4" deep. "Jogging in the snow," I pondered. Pleased to have had my gaiters on, as it largely prevented snow from working its way into my shoes. The good news was--I wasn't slipping anymore. The bad news--this was wearing me out. I almost turned around at five and a half miles (which would have left me six more to complete upon return to the car), but pressed on. I finished the six out and back.

As I turned around, I realized how thirsty I was, and how this was going to be a long trek back to the car. My two miles of "jogging in the snow" were 9:30 and 9:33, respectively. Although slow, they were quite draining--and required more work than the faster miles. I didn't really care too much about my pace on the way back, but decided to kick it in as best I could for the last mile back to the car. It netted me something the 8:10s, I didn't quite grab the number and my laps failed at that point on the Garmin. Not bad, but I did lightly twist my ankle booking it over the ice at one point.

Twelve miles down, I drained an entire Gatorade bottle on the spot I was so thirsty. I really didn't feel like the remaining five. Maybe I should just get in the car and finish it on the treadmill. Then I realized how ridiculous that sounded. I pressed on, talking myself through various multiples of the distance I had remaining. Although my laps weren't working on the Garmin, the time I had remaining for the five miles indicated I'd managed about an 8:15 pace for these miles. I finished in exactly 2:30, start to finish, which was truly amazing for the conditions. It wasn't that fast, but definitely the kind of run that will build strength and stability for future runs to come.

This morning, I am feeling fine--nothing hurts. But last night, my ankles were pretty tired.

2010 Groundhog 5K

A brisk walk as my whole family traipsed out... and we nearly got arrested for crossing the rail road tracks at the wrong spot. I wasn't sure if I should hold my knuckles out to get rapped with a ruler or go put my nose in the corner for ten minutes after that scolding. Arriving very early, we sat around for some time before I started my warm up.

Positioned close to the finish line, we could see our breath and it was quite chilly. I had a hard time warming up quickly enough to strip down to my racing outfit. Finally, during my warm-up I jogged by the countdown clock and it read 3:21 to go to race start. I thought, "Crap! Every nightmare I have of the race starting without me has just come true!" I picked up the pace to get into the sea of runners, and had to fight hard to carve a path past hundreds of runners to get up to where I wanted. I was sure the gun was going to go off any second.

And then we stood there... and stood there.. and stood there. And finally, they started talking. Eventually, the national anthem was played, and I actually sung along for the first time during a pre-race ceremony. No gun, just a, "3-2-1-Go!" and we're off.

It was a chaotic start. There were probably 150 runners in front of me at the start, and it was evident that many belonged up there.. but others did not. So, my initial hope of finding the "right" runners to run with for the first mile didn't really come to fruition. It was such a mix of faster and slower runners and then runners who had gone out too fast slowing at about 2-3 minutes into it I had a hard time finding the "right pace," something I desperately needed without a Garmin.

As I crossed the first mile in 6:56, I realized that one of two things had happened. Either the course was slightly altered, or the mile spot had been moved to a different spot. I've run this course four times now (really, six times, as the two 10Ks were the same course twice), and I'm familiar with the first mile mark, which has been consistent every year. So, I'm not sure if the course was a little different in the first mile, or the marker was moved a bit. But, I'm confident of one of the two.

Deep into mile 2 I was confident of my pace (whatever it was, I had no idea of course), and was just biding my time. Really, the course is pretty boring--but that's the beauty of it. Completely predictable. Warm, dark, flat and many, many turns. Both hairpin turns we were able to see the cyclists leading the winners, and that was very exciting to see. Several times I was able to gain on runners, slip by and hold it.

As we entered into the final mile and the final hairpin turn, I saw Melissa Todd, the female winner, and really I heard her first, grunting loudly. Such a dainty little thing, it was good to know that she was suffering up there in the lead. You go girl!


I was relieved as we crossed mile 3, but had somehow missed mile two, so I really didn't know how I was doing until that point. I realized that sub 22:00 was out of the question... but if I hung in there, I would only miss it by a little. My final time was 22:15, which was enough to win my age group (1 / 108, 40-44F). Not quite my time goal, but, really, not bad for where I am now. I didn't train exclusively for this race for an extended period of time and had plenty working against me. I am satisfied, it was a good run. Definitely, one of my favorite races.