Anatomy of a 12K Race

Today was the club's Hospice 12K race, which started at Bluemont Park in Arlington. The 7.456 mile course burns up a couple of miles on the flat W&OD Trail and then heads up the hilly Custis Trail for a five mile out-and-back. It's a nasty five miles. Then it's head for the barn on the W&OD again. Did I tell you the Custis Trail is hilly? It's like they sing about in the Army marching song, Over Hill, Over Dale...

A goal of mine is to run a 12K in under an hour. I should be able to do it because an 8:02 pace will get you there. I have run sub-8s in race distances all the way up to a half-marathon, but it didn't happen in either of my two prior 12Ks, a 1:02:54 (8:26) in 2003 on a muddy course around Burke Lake in Fairfax and a 1:01:40 (8:16) at the same Hospice 12K last February. (At the 12K last year, I missed my goal of breaking an hour.)

Last year's race was a milestone of sorts because it marked the first time that a runner I had formerly coached in a training program beat me. Sasha, a former student of mine and currently a valued coach in the Half-Marathon Training Program I direct, ran thirty-eight seconds faster than me at last year's race when she finished with a time of 1:01:02 (8:11) Thus was the torch passed. (Sasha, on the right, before last year's race with another Program runner, S.)

No Program trainees were there this morning that I saw. Full-Marathon Program coach Ben was there and we nodded hello.

I was concerned about ice on the trail (see my last post) but the race director had done good work in getting his volunteers out to scatter rock salt on some bad spots and had changed the start and finish of the course a little to avoid a long shaded rutted stretch of trail. The morning was crisp, 39 degrees. but warming up quickly. I wisely set my fleece outerwear aside and raced in technical shirt, compression shorts (for my always-tender hammies) and running pants, gloves and hat.

What I unwisely didn't do, however, was hydrate properly before the race. I should have carried a water bottle along, as I often do in races, but all the water bottles in my car were frozen solid.

Getting underway in the big field where the start/finish line was caused everyone to get spattered with mud. It was a slow undertaking to emerge onto the trail from there but once on the W&OD, there was room to operate. The usual early race jockeying went on and I saw many familiar faces from countless other local races. The same people tend to always be around you in races.

There were a few small icy patches on the trail where we all had to slow down and proceed with caution for a few steps but it was the same footing for everyone. The path was surprisingly clear.
I saw a marking taped onto the path that indicated one mile. My stopwatch said 6:40, which was way too fast. I said to no one in particular, "That's no mile!" The runner next to me looked at his Garmin and said in confirmation, ".87." A minute later I heard a chime which I recognized to be his Garmin signalling a mile. I clicked my lap counter at 7:38, right where I wanted to be. But that was only the first mile and that was on the flats.

Ben, who is faster than me, soon passed me but then I passed him back as he slowed down to a walk. He was evidently experimenting with a run/walk routine. Soon he flew by me again and I never saw him after that. He took Program honors today by finishing way ahead of me.

I was following a good-looking woman, which always is a pleasant distraction, but she was slightly faster than me and was very slowly pulling away. As I chased her trying to keep up, I came upon a groaner and a grunter who was about my speed.

Noisy runners are not a pleasant distraction, but I couldn't get away from her. I passed her four or five times in those early miles but she always passed me back. She finally settled in about 30 yards ahead, far enough away that her sighs and groans were diminished.

We passed a big "2" taped on the trail and I looked at my watch, which indicated 6:50. Too fast for the second mile. The mile markers were way off and I disregarded them thereafter.

We hit the cutoff for the Custis Trail and went up it. And I mean up. And down. And up. And down. Two and a half miles of wicked little, and big, rollers outbound to the turnaround point. We traversed the same rollers the opposite way on the way back. My speed was definitely dropping and runners started passing me.

The race leaders came sprinting by. First going by in the opposite direction was local legend Michael Wardian, the country's current 50K, 50-Mile and 100K champion. I imagine he won as he had a minute lead at that point. I noted the first woman to go by, a club runner, and saw two other locally renowned women chasing her. I wonder if the club runner held on to win.

I was getting hot and thirsty by this point. I really wished I had some water. We passed the course's sole water table about a mile up the Custis, but they were handing out water in little 2-ounce dixie cups. I grabbed one on the fly but most of the precious liquid spilled on the exchange and I only got one tiny swallow.

The groaner had stopped momentarily to drink her water so I caught up with her. Thus started anew the slow process of having her once again get far enough ahead to where her groans and sighs didn't distract me.

Soon I saw runners going by with whom I had been running amongst back on the flats so I knew the turnaround was near. As I went around the cone, the marshal there said, "Halfway done!"

Not! My watch said 35 minutes and I hoped I wasn't on course for a seventy minute run. I was shooting for sixty minutes and I thought I might make it, or at least beat last year's time of sixty-one forty. The turnaround cone was further than halfway because the marshal hadn't factored in the out-and-back part on the W&OD Trail.

The hills were daunting on the way back. I just took them one at a time. I run the Custis Trail often so I knew when the two most ferocious rollers were behind me but that still left a seemingly unending progression of smaller hills stretching out ahead of me.

Since I was ignoring the misplaced mile markers, I ran by feel, just like in the olden days before I got my Ironman watch with its 100 lap counter. Although I couldn't tell my pace each mile, I was sure that I had fallen way off of anything approaching sub-8s.

I passed the sole water table again and grabbed an extended tiny cup a little more delicately as I went by this time so I spilled less of it. I quaffed two ounces of delicious water and wanted some more. Up ahead was one more volunteer holding out a water cup. I extended my arm in signal as I approached her, but she moved her hand and I missed grabbing the cup. Instead I merely knocked it from her hand. Calling out "I'm sorry!" over my shoulder, I ran on, wishing I had gotten that water. But coming back I was running into the wind so I no longer felt so overheated.

A steady stream of runners passed me, a dozen or so. I only passed one runner myself after the midway point, and he passed me back anyway. The two of us got into a little duel as we exited the Custis Trail and got back onto the W&OD for the last leg home.

Coming through the tunnel which passes under the Interstate Highway (the Custis runs alongside it, but they didn't bother to grade the trail like they graded the nice, flat Interstate), he came up to pass me but I cut him off by taking the turn back onto the trail sharply. He patiently waited his turn, then on the sharp left turn onto the W&OD, he came sharply inside of me and forced me wide and behind him at the turn. Then he proceeded to put me away the last half mile.

By this time I had come up to within 10 yards of the groaner. I thought she was tiring and I figured I might take her. But once she came off the hills, she also took off and pulled away from me.

Soon I could see the turnoff into the field we had started from. I glanced at my watch and it was over an hour so I knew I had missed my goal. A fellow about my age had caught up and was running alongside of me. He was the only runner I held off all race. When I saw the finish I ramped it up somewhat and entered the field ahead of him. I was careful not to slip on the muddy field and passed the finish line in about 1:00:40 (8:08). It was a minute faster than last year, a PR, but still short of my goal.

The groaner was by the finish line, doing some post-race stretching. I congratulated her on her excellent finish. She said her time was a few seconds under one hour. I thought wistfully, If only in that last half mile, when I was a mere ten yards behind her, I had matched her strong move towards the finish...

But I was happy with my race. Yesterday I ran a tough 11.2 miles on the Mall with my training group in the cold and wind, including traversing once up the imposing Capitol Hill and twice up the smaller hill leading to the Washington Monument, so maybe if I'm rested for my next 12K...

Anatomy of a Ten-Mile Race

The Al Lewis 10 Miler in Kensington, MD, is a club 10-mile race in early January that tests a runner’s early season, or cold season, endurance. It’s free for club members, or $5 otherwise. The course is on an asphalt bike trail that runs alongside Beach Drive, which is closed to traffic on weekends. The bicyclists hold sway on the road while runners labor on the trail as it tracks alongside a small creek and wanders up and down lots of little roller hills.

The Half-Marathon Training Program I coach for was in its ninth week when we ran the race. The instructions were to run it as a supported training run, "non-competitively." It was our furthest distance up to that date.

I ran it under the same circumstances last year, except that no one else from the HM Program showed up. I was disappointed then with my 1:22:44 (8:16) finishing time, a bottom-half showing. Club races are tough.

This year was bitterly cold, just like last year. Many Program runners were there and I started the race with a couple of fast women from the Program, J and K. We passed the first mile in 8:21, which consisted of a several little downhills that were going to become uphills in the last mile.

I could tell that I was holding J back so I told her that I couldn’t keep up and to go ahead. I never saw her again and she turned in an excellent 1:18, second in her age group. (J, Matt, and another Program runner, Jo, on a recent training run. All three finished many minutes ahead of me.)

I settled in with K. She is very competitive and she hung right with me and didn’t slow me down at all. I was glad to run with her.

Club races have a predictable rhythm to them because you run against the same folks all the time. And guess what. The order of finish rarely changes.

During the second mile I went by a fellow near my age and speed that I always overtake at about this stage of a race. He dislikes me because once, when he was wearing Texas running shorts (the ones with the white star on a field of blue with red legs), I muttered "Texas sucks," as I went by him. The devil made me do it. He heard me and now he works hard at not letting me pass, so I had to go by him very quietly. He didn’t look up from his reverie when I passed so as another famous Texan once said, Mission Accomplished.

That was my fastest mile at 8:03. I logged the third and fourth miles at 8:23 and 8:17. I was following K’s lead by half a body length.

Running right on our heels was another fellow about my age and speed that I dislike because he acts so stuck up. The few times I have made an attempt to talk with him he has stared at me, responded pithily to my particular comment if it was in the form of a question, and then looked away. In races I actively try to beat him. He’s a Republican because he wears shirts with conservative slogans. I'll bet that he listens to Rush Limbaugh.

He passed me but didn’t open up any distance between us with his pass. A mile later I passed him back and powered on a short ways but couldn’t shake him. He was quickly back on my heels once more and soon passed me again. I settled in behind him six feet back.

I pointed out to K the spires of the Mormon Temple in the distance, peeking over the treetops, the course’s Kodak moment. We hit the bottom of the big hill where the course veers up a residential street to its turnaround point. As I clung to the Republican on the hill, I lost K who couldn’t take the hill in as forceful a manner. I was sorry to leave her behind but this was personal.

Laboring up the hill behind the Republican, I counted familiar faces coming back down it. Kevin, who would finish second, chasing the leader and ultimate winner. Last year’s winner, who would finish third this go around. Program coach Matt, who would finish fifth in 1:02. Program participant G, who ran a 1:31 in last year’s Half-Marathon and who would finish this 10-miler in 1:15.

Two club runners I knew ran by and said "Hi" to the Republican. I ran up alongside the Republican and smartly asked him if he thought those two club members were boycotting me by not shouting out a greeting to me also. The Republican didn’t even look at me as he ignored me. I went on by him for the last time.

A half mile up the steep hill was the blessed turnaround. I did the fifth mile in 8:23.

Coming down the hill, I checked out the competition. K was pushing up the hill gamely, not too far back. S, a very competitive Program runner, was back a quarter mile, working hard on the hill. Coach Lauren was back of her, running up the hill with two of his trainees. Another trainee, normally a strong runner, was walking up the hill with her head down.

I re-entered the trail at the bottom of the hill and tried unsuccessfully to pick up my pace. The sixth mile passed in 8:23 and the seventh mile in 8:28. Three or four male runners picked me off and went by. I told one passing runner, trying to be humorous, that there was a wise guy in every bunch, and he retorted that I looked like I was in his age group and I wouldn’t be catching him. He was right on both counts.

I heard a female runner approach and she pulled alongside. I thought it would be K but I was surprised that it was S, in the throes of a monster negative split. She had come from a long way back.

I pointed out a guy in a grey shirt 30 yards ahead who was flagging and told her that she could catch him. Pointing to my grey shirt, she said, "I already caught the guy in grey that I wanted to catch." Aww.

But S did press on, leaving me to contemplate being beaten by a runner I actively coach. It would be a first (J is coached by Matt). I passed the eighth mile in 8:34.

Then Lauren pulled up alongside. He had really made up some ground, doing 7:20s since the turnaround, he said. Whew.

Lauren ran ahead and caught up with S. I chased those two the penultimate mile, which passed by in 8:33. Lauren ran on but I started gaining on S and passed her a half mile out. In her inexperience, she had run a 9.5 mile race rather than a 10 mile race, and was finishing the last half mile on pure grit.

I ran hard up the short rollers of the last mile as best I could, doing it in 8:33. I saw the finish clock in the distance reading 1:23:50. I sprinted and thought I ran by it at 1:23:59. When my time was later listed officially as 1:24:00 (8:24), I became disproportionally disappointed. But the difference between 1:23 or 1:24 doesn’t much matter as much as that I was 76 seconds slower than the year before.

It was an interesting race, with plenty of little dramatic moments. Lauren finished almost a minute ahead of me while S finished about half a minute back and K came in a minute later. (S, Lauren, K, moi.)

Anatomy of a group training run

This morning my Reebok SunTrust National Half-Marathon Training Group met up at Gotta Run as usual and ran the same hilly 7.5 mile route we reconnoitered two weeks earlier. Only this time, to throw in the element of surprise, we ran it backwards.

Because it was the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, we had a low turnout. The Full Marathon training group wasn't meeting at Georgetown Running Company, so we picked up a runner from it plus another runner who had importuned the Program Director to get into the sold-out Program, and been told to come join our group.

Coaches Jeannie and Ellen mounted up four troops and went to the north on a 6.5 mile run past Memorial Bridge and Roosevelt Bridge to Key Bridge before returning. The area up there was secure and they got back intact.

Eleven of us, with Coach Lauren leading the way with the main group, went west on Army-Navy Drive towards the barrier of the elevated highways penning in Pentagon Row and then south up Ridge Road. Coach John, who had been late in saddling up, joined us on this climb up the ridge line. Coach Matt and J, both dressed lightly in shorts and technical shirts on this chilly morn, the better to move fast, split off on a secondary route on the ridge line and vanished.

The main group pushed on, huffing and puffing from the exertion of running up a tall ridge so early in the run. We were moving swiftly at the onset, to preserve the element of speed and surprise.

Atop the crest, the air was still and afforded a clear view deep into the city of Washington. No unusual activity was noted there on this holiday weekend early morning.

Pressing on, we attained the high point where, two weeks earlier, we had continued straight and came down off ridge to the creek far below it. This time we took a sharp left turn and ran down Restaurant Row, which we had previously come back up on upon the return two weeks ago. This foray into a populated commercial center was uneventful as the businesses were shuttered due to the early hour and nobody was about.

I took advantage of the quiet to find out about the two new members of the squad. The marathon trainee was an experienced runner and was loping along easily. She had glowing things to say about how the Full Marathon program was being run. They had been on several successful runs in the Georgetown area with no mishaps.

I asked her about Coach Katie, whom I had sent over there when the Director had asked me to send some experienced reinforcements over to that location. They loved her over there! The one good thing about losing such a valuable veteran was that I now occasionally pick up some valuable intel from her about how things are going across the river. You learn to pick up information however you can get it.

The other newbie was a raw rookie, new to running and brimming with hope. He was running well but I worried about how he would hold up when we encountered the ridge for a second time after being out for an hour.

Joi, a reliable member of the squad, was listening to headphones, as were several other members. I had run with Joi in other Programs. I sidled up to her and asked her if she was being antisocial today.

"I can hear fine," she said. "I have the volume turned down low."

I whispered, "How was your Thanksgiving?"

She ignored me. I whispered it again, a little louder.

"It's Beyonce, and I don't know the name of the song."

The squad burst out laughing. It's good to keep things loose on a difficult run.

We ducked through the pedestrian tunnel off Crystal Drive and ran over to the underpass under the GW Parkway. The trail looped around a hillock and up to the Mount Vernon Trail but I ran straight up the hillside so I could see how the runners were progressing. The roar of jets waiting for takeoff at nearby National Airport was deafening.

Matt and J were gone, off far ahead scouting somewhere. Matt is my most experienced coach and he had specially picked J to run with him. I was sure they were alright. Lauren was leading the main group, switching the point person at regular intervals, which is good form. The back pack was starting to straggle, however. John was with the far-back runner, subtly exhorting her on to a faster pace. The rookie was between the packs, slowing down a bit. In the secondary pack were three runners, one of whom was starting to struggle.

I dropped back with her and John and his charge swept on by. S was experienced, but she was developing blisters. She had new orthotics and they weren't right. I gently suggested to her that she turn back before her condition became disabling. She knew the terrain we were in, having been with us there several times before. She was a veteran. The route from here would only take her further from our base before we finally turned for home. I was afraid she might become a liability to the run.

She asked for the most direct route back. I outlined it for her, and she understood. The tricky part was going through the pedestrian tunnel, a little-known contrivance, but we had just passed through it. Salvation for her, at Gotta Run, lay a mere three-quarters of a mile away by the most direct route back. "I'll come find you if you're not back by the time we return," I told her. "Walk if you need to."

She turned back. Her being experienced, I trusted her to get back okay.

I caught up with the rest and ran on to the front group, informing the other two coaches of S's departure. Then I fell in with the secondary pack and we settled in for the long haul. Although they were getting ahead of us now, we could still easily see Lauren's group.

Turning inland away from the Potomac, we ran up the trail along Four Mile Run. We ran by the sewage plant, an olefactory landmark that everyone recognizes. Soon we came to the bottom of Ridge Road again, at the base of its steep, long side. Two weeks ago we ran down this part. Now, after six miles, we were running up it.

Everyone did well. I shuttled between the main group and the secondary group, which was starting to really spread out. I was gratified to see that the rookie had started pushing the pace again, and determined that he could join the squad at this late date since he obviously had conditioning and motivation. At the top I doubled back and ran downhill past half the secondary group, who were running well enough up the hill. This was good training, I told them, since our target half marathon in March has its big hill at the seventh mile, although they didn't seem gratified at the moment for this good news. But John and the marathon trainee were AWOL on the big hill.

I found them down around a further corner, toiling slowly upwards. The marathon trainee was injured. She was wearing short shoetop socks and had somehow banged the unprotected inner knobby bones of her ankles together. They were bleeding slightly.

The three of us made it to the top and took a breather. She seemed okay so we proceeded back at a trot to Gotta Run by the most direct route, saving a half-mile by cutting off a serpentine series of cutbacks coming down off Ridge Road. Recovered, the marathon trainee engaged John and I in a footrace down the hill during the last quarter mile. Hmm, she won. We arrived back ahead of everyone else except for Matt and J, who had already returned, and S, who was inside the store getting fitted by Andre for new shoes.

Moments later, Lauren's group returned, wondering how we got past them. The secondary group also arrived back, and then shortly afterwards, Jeannie's group came back from their foray up north past the bridges.

A successful sixty-eight minute outing for the Program.

Anatomy of a 3K race

I've written about G before. He's my agency's rock star runner. He won the Capitol Hill Classic 3K last year. He did this after finishing the 10K race a few minutes earlier.

Wednesday he was mad at me, I could tell. We were heading to the monthly noontime club 3K race around the Tidal Basin and I was late in meeting up with him. We had only twenty minutes in which to run the 2.6 miles there.

He kept asking me if I thought we'd make it. I kept asking him how fast we were going. My answer was always, Yeah sure, they always start late. His answer was always, Oh, seven something.

As in a sub-eight minute per mile pace, according to his Garmin. My tongue was hanging out. A two and a half mile warmup at a 7:40 pace, for a 1.8 mile race that I would probably run at a 7:20 pace. That's not warm, that's hot. As in not. Not wishing I was making this run with the rock star.

And I was wrong also. My good friend Jay Wind, the race director, started the race on time for the first time since whenever because it was cold. We ran up as all the racers ran off.

G immediately ran right after them, but I stopped to peel off my windshirt. It was already sodden with sweat from the warmup.

I crossed the start line having given a significant head start to the sprinkling of octogenarians who always run this race. These are the guys I gun for in this uber competitive club race.

I'm joshing a little here, but I was behind by a few seconds. G was already out of sight chasing the leaders. Meanwhile I was knocking off women and boys and the elderly (ahem) right and left as we passed by the FDR Memorial and the nearby site of the future MLK Memorial.

I ran by another runner from my agency. I clapped him on the shoulder as I passed him and he grunted in acknowledgement. He doesn't usually come to this race. He's older and slightly slower than me so I'm always glad to see him there.

Now I was up among familiar faces. We ran up the hill on the course and I passed Jay. He's faster than me but I beat him occasionally. I settled down to a long pursuit of a young man ahead of me and the third-place woman ahead of him. I always overtake this woman in the last mile.

We passed the mile mark and I went by both of them. I drew the fellow along with me past the woman. Ahead was a racing doppelganger of mine, a good friend named Peter. He's about my age and although he is slightly faster than me, I beat him sometimes.

Peter is my yardstick in any race we're in together. We have a routine, like an old couple. I always pass him early, and then he comes up and passes me late with a sprint which I can't match.

Peter goes postal in the last 200 meters in those instances. I think he guns for me. But sometimes he doesn't come and I beat him. He's always very gracious, win or lose. He's got a great young daughter who occasionally runs with him.

There Peter was, 30 meters in front of me as we ran by the backside of the Jefferson Memorial. The last half-mile straightaway section was coming up. This is the awful time of this race, a time of reflection when you mull over what you're made of.

There he is. Go get him. No I'm tired. I can't.

Jay went by me. I drafted off him and went by Peter. I heard a charge from behind. The young man I had passed a quarter mile back was going postal and he sprinted by me. I let him go. I kept watching Peter behind me. With 30 meters to go he charged. He's definitely faster than me in this familiar routine. But in this race I dug deep. So close to the end! I booked.

Jay 13:51
Young Fellow 13:52
Me 13:52 (7:26), 33/53 overall
Peter 13:53

G finished 13th, whereas he usually finishes in the top ten. I hope he's still speaking to me.

Even though I was solidly in the bottom half of the field, as usual, I felt good about this run. I beat my doppelganger this time. Someday I'll tell you about the first age-group medal I ever won, which involved holding off Peter by 4 seconds, way before I ever knew he was my "odd couple partner," in some obscure race 70 miles from DC in the third race I ever ran. I thought at the time as I collected my medal, Oh, this is easy. It was five years before I ever won a medal again.

Anatomy of a 5K race.

Run For the Schools 5K: Sunday, standing at the start line of a 5K race on a cold September morn, I started wishing I'd worn gloves. It was a welcome relief after the long hot summer.

This was a local 5K race supporting the schools in the town where I live. A check of the course map had revealed the route to be winding and hilly. Besides a series of torturous turns down little side blocks, the second mile of the route ran up and down the big hill a half mile from my house that I use for my hill workouts.

The gun sounded and we were off. The first hundred yards was uphill and at least forty runners surged past me, many of them school age children. With kid runners who jack-rabbit at the start, you can’t assume they’ll come back to you. They either flame and quickly burn out, or else they are relentless in their high energy level and you won’t be seeing them again. I don't worry about kids in a race.

This race had announced 5 year age group awards. This was my home town and I wanted to win the 55-59 age group.

I looked around me for other men with lined faces. There were some already ahead of me. Plus at least two women, one of whom was way ahead with the race leaders. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing her again.

After a quarter mile we were running downhill and no one else was passing me. No other runners would pass me for the rest of the race.

I passed some youngsters who were already flaming out, plus a few inexperienced adult runners who had gone out too fast. The lead group was settling into a long extended train of runners starting to get distance between each other.

I came upon a man about my age on the next long upgrade. We exchanged pleasantries as I passed him, talking about the hills on the course. There’s the big one yet to come, I assured him as I went by. I didn't want to see him again.

I tried to pick up the pace as I passed the first mile. I got into a duel with a runner about my age that I had spent a few blocks reeling in. He matched me stride for stride for a block, then fell in behind me right on my heels for another block. He was hard to put away but I finally got separation.

I came upon a block of four runners, two males about my age plus a younger one who were following what I thought was the second woman. (She turned out to be the fourth woman.) I wanted to take them all, to put these two contemporaries plus what I perceived to be the runner-up woman behind me. I had resigned myself to not catching the lead woman who was far out of sight.

The youngest male immediately ahead had an untied shoelace flopping around. I helpfully pointed this out to him as I drew even and he stopped to tie it. That one was easy, I thought.

We started up the big hill which topped out at milepost two. Its awful vista stretched out before us, 0.4 miles long and flaring steeply at the top where it bent out of sight around a sweeping turn. Fortunately I had run it dozens of times and knew it leveled off just past the curve.

I passed one of the older runners ahead who was slowing down at the sight of the visually intimidating hill. This was the only out and back portion of the route and I watched the race leader come flying by going downhill, followed closely a younger runner. A few runners later, the woman leader came by.

I stopped watching the front runners go by as I focused on passing the other man and the woman ahead of me. Hills are your friends in races if you use them to put runners behind you. I passed both runners. Then the man summoned a burst of energy and charged past me. I followed him around the curve into the cul-de-sac beyond, where he died. I passed him again and thanked him as I went by for letting me draft off him.

I circled around at the top and ran down the big hill. Many runners coming up were walking.

Gaining level ground at the bottom, I passed one last runner who had started walking. I didn’t think there were any men my age in front of me. I was about three quarters of a mile out and I didn’t want to lose any places now, especially to someone who looked to be in his fifties.

The runner ahead of me was stretching out his lead. I didn't foresee picking off any more runners.

Glancing back, I could see that the man and woman I had passed on the hill were gaining on me. Darned negative-splitters, I thought.

I ran on, seeking the finish line. I heard the man come up on me fast. He ran by me in a rush and I kicked it into overdrive to keep pace. I studied his face and he looked like he could be in my age group. Otherwise I would have let him go because he was really working.

We were half a mile out, which was too far out for me to run it in fast. We were both sprinting now. But hey, this was my home town and I thought I might garner an age group award if I could hold this runner off.

I didn’t know if I could keep it up. For two blocks we ran hard, side by side. Then he started talking to himself. "Do it, do it," he said. I knew I had him.

After a quarter mile of this hellish effort, he fell back, affording me the opportunity to slow down a little. Rounding the final turn, I could see the finish banner three blocks away. I looked back and saw that I could hold my place if I didn't falter. I brought it home in 24:16 (7:49), followed five seconds later by the man I had held off who finished second in the 40-45 age group. The woman behind me, a triathlete, finished fourth, one runner further back.

The race’s winner, age 50, finished in 19:24. The female winner, age 40, finished in 22:18 in 7th place.

I was 18th out of 131 finishers, the 15th male out of 64. I earned bragging rights in town for a year as I won my age group by 5:27.

I had run a good race on a challenging course. I felt great all day.

Thanks Rich, for your generous contribution to my commitment to run Chicago for a charity!