The Commish, Final.

At the annual ACLI 3-Mile Capital Challenge race in May, I suddenly found myself on the starting line, unexpectedly so.  A team member had gotten delayed and was not present for the race.

I consulted one last time with the team captain, Commissioner McSweeny, whom I had been coaching for the race and who was a novice racer but a powerful runner.  "There's a lot of sideways running at the beginning of these crowded races," I said, "so stick close behind me, follow me wherever I go and we'll   get through slower clumps of runners as best we can by shooting through holes that momentarily open up between runners to try to get to open roadway."  She looked dubious but said she was glad I was running with her, at least for the first mile.

That was the hurried plan conceited in the last two minutes when it became clear that I would be subbing for a missing, much faster runner.  I would take her out at a proper pace for her, a sub-8-minute mile first mile and she would power it in in the last two miles from there.  I don't have many sub-8-minute miles left in me, and certainly not three consecutive ones or even two in a row.

The gun went off and we started out.  The three fast runners on our team were gone already, far ahead. It quickly became apparently to me that by lining up at our proper station, with the 8-minute mile group, that we were too far back and too jammed in.

After a few hundred yards of darting and dodging, going from side to side of the two-lane roadway to find clear spots, some space opened up that we could operate better in.  The commissioner was still there, just off my hip.  I glanced back every twenty seconds or so to make sure as I set a fast but manageable pace of what I judged to be mid-sevens (7:30-minute miles).

I'm experienced enough a runner to be able to do so by feel.  I've run several hundred races, all but a half dozen in the last decade though.  Things seemed to be going well now, now that we had some open space, although runners were still all around us.  I settled into a good, fast pace, with my head on a swivel as I looked back for the commissioner.

She was gone.  She was definitely not there any more.  Was it possible that she passed me, I wondered?

Nothing up ahead, and I certainly hadn't seen her go by.  I slowed perceptibly, and runners started flowing around me like moving water rushing around the edges of a large stone sticking above the surface in a fast-moving stream.  Where was she?

Five seconds passed, ten seconds, fifteen.  Then suddenly, "Here I am!"  She had caught up to me from behind.  I had dropped her off the back by going a little too fast but now she was caught up again and I adjusted my pace.

So now we started slogging up the out-and-back course.  The minutes passed and the burn came on in my lungs and legs.  Up ahead was the first milepost.

We passed it at 7:50 according to the race clock set up there.  My stop watch, which I set as we actually passed the starting gate, said 7:31, which was within a second of what I wanted for the first mile.  It had taken us 19 seconds after the race started to cross over the starting mat because of the congestion of runners at the beginning.

I told the commissioner to go ahead, that I could no longer match her speed as her youth and strength were now coming into play.  She always finished strong and ran negative splits, at least in the three-mile runs Greg and I had run with her.  Off she went and she soon disappeared into the crowd up ahead.

Now I was struggling.  I know I slowed, although I willed myself on.  The spirit is strong but the flesh is weak.  That's why you train long and hard for your races, like the commissioner had but I hadn't.

My pace fell out of the sevens in the second mile and I was wallowing around, I was sure, at around an 8:30 mile pace.  I was hot and sweating profusely.  I passed around the midway cone and started back, looking for the second mile marker.

I passed it at 16:05 by the race clock, a notable diminution from the first mile.  I think I got even slower in the third mile, although I picked it up with a quarter mile to go and passed everyone who was slightly ahead of me on the roadway during that stretch, five or six runners, and didn't allow anyone behind me to pass me.  The race clock said 24:20 when I finished.  Ugh.  That was a personal worst by a minute and a half.

It got worse.  Somehow my official finishing time was listed as 24:29 (an 8:10 pace).  What are you going to do?  Whine to the scorers about it?  I was DFL on my team.

The commissioner time, officially, was 23:32.  I know she ran faster than that but what are you going to do, whine to the scorers about it?  She ran a great race, sub-eights the whole way.  In addition to our official times being mysteriously many seconds slower than we each thought, our delay in getting over the starting gate wasn't taken into account (chip-time versus gun-time) despite it being a chip-timed race.

By my reckoning I did a 24:01 and the commish did something under 23:13, perhaps a 22:54.  The other runners all had times in the 18 minute or 19 minute range.  My participation perhaps made the commissioner half a minute faster but the fifth team member, me, turned in a time about six minutes slower than the missing team member.  What are you going to do, cry about it?  

I was barely in the top half of runners.  Our team was 17th overall out of 104 teams, ninth in our competitive division out of 34 teams.  We missed eighth place by one point; if only I'd started my finishing kick earlier and picked off one more runner!  The commissioner had the same exact time as three other runners yet they placed her fourth among that group of four.  Places matter in the scoring.  She later said she didn't remember that any runners finishing in a dead heat with her, much less three others.

Greg, who was credited with a 19:40, and I ran back to the office from the race site to begin our work day, a run of 4 more miles.  It was a delightful start to the morning.

The Commish, Part Six.

I have run two races this year, and this would be one of them, quite unexpectedly so.  Where was our last team member?

To avert disqualification, because all five runners must run in order for the team to be scored, two minutes before race time I went to the scorer's table, picked up the last bib and pinned it on.  "Just call me Andy," I said to Greg.  (I was a volunteer at the race in 2010, and I met Meb for the 2d time.)

Greg was delighted.  "Do you think you can pace the commissioner to a 7:30 first mile?"

"Sure," I said, "but that's as good as it gets with me these days and it will use me up for the rest of the race, Greg."  I really hadn't trained or prepared myself for a fast three miles but I was going to try to get the team captain off to a good start while the three burners on the team jack-rabbited off.  (The 2010 team was captained by Commissioner Brill, white-framed sunglasses.)

The Commish, Part Four.

The ACLI Capital Challenge 3-Mile Race in Anacostia was scheduled for Wednesday morning, May 20, 2015.  I had assembled our team with four fast male runners, all of whom could throw down an 18 or 19 minute 3-miler, including one who had actually won the race a few years earlier, and Commissioner Terrell McSweeny, who was new to the team and an unknown factor since she doesn't race much and was very humble about her athletic ability and competitive fire.

I used to run the race myself for the team, but my time was always around 22 minutes and I had deferred to younger, faster runners after my chronic ankle injury set in at the turn of the decade, and limited myself to forming the team each year and doing coaching as necessary.  In the past, two of our commissioners had won awards and the team had come in second one year in its division, which is super competitive since it includes all of the military service teams.

Leading up to the race, once it became apparent that the commissioner, who was a novice to training for a race but did run for conditioning, was faster than me for short runs I turned her over to a faster team member, Greg, for her tempo runs while I ran with her once a week for her LSD of around 5 miles.  I really enjoyed those runs because she is an interesting person with whom I otherwise would have a very limited opportunity to speak with and I always enjoy introducing newer runners to hills, as we did Capital Hill and then the Washington Monument Hill whenever we could.

Greg and I were thinking this might be a very good year because although sworn to secrecy by the commissioner about her progress, we could see that she was a strong runner and a good finisher who could probably run the race several minutes faster than any other commissioner had done in the past.  Greg wistfully said to me, "If only you could run the first mile with her and pace her to a fast but not overly so start, Peter, she would have a super run I am sure."  (The course is controlled because there are many politicians who run this race, so there is security along its length and no bandits are allowed!)

The Commish, Part Two.

Having found a commissioner to captain my agency's entry into the Capital Challenge 3-Miler team race, I went out on an initial 3-mile run with her and discovered that this unschooled runner was virtually as fast as me.  She was capable of throwing down a series of sub-9-minute miles.

A week later we tried the three mile loop I had created on the Mall again.  Now it became clear that she was indeed faster than me.

At the midway point, as I was straining now to keep up with her, I told her to finish ahead of me and she did, finishing her run at in 24:24, almost a two-minute improvement over the week before while I huffed and puffed to come in a full minute behind her.

Hmm.  It was time to turn her training over to one of our agency's fastest runners, a team member who had always come in fastest at our team's prior races.

The Commish

I head the running program for my agency as a wellness committee board member, and I'm responsible for assembling the annual 3-mile Capital Challenge racing team.  As always, our entry had to captained by a commissioner.

It was suggested to me to ask the youngest commissioner, who comes from an athletic background.  She's a former ballerina dancer who, although she hadn't run any races, runs two or three times a week to keep fit, and I took her out on a 3-mile run on the mall to see what she had.

She had no trouble keeping up with me.  We ran the three miles in 26:14, an 8:44 pace.

 The good news was she was indeed a runner and the bad news was I didn't know if I could keep up with her.  It looked like our run was pretty effortless to her, although she did appear to need a little coaching on pacing, especially at the beginning of the run because her finish was strong.

Surprise!

Every year Congress challenges the Executive Branch, the Judicial Branch and the Press to a 3-mile race in the District along the banks of the Anacostia River. Last year my Agency's team won the Second Place Team Plaque for the Executive Division, a big deal because our division has all the service teams (Army, Navy, the Coast Guard etc.).

Our Captain took the First Place Medal for Sub-Cabinet Head, Female. We kicked butt, in other words. (Left: The team in April.)

The winning team, Army, placed two runners in the top five, finishing in second and fifth in the division. Our two top runners got between these two stars and finished third and fourth in the division. (Right: Half a year later. Our rock star Greg, second from the right, was third in the race, next to him is Andy who was fourth.)

What a battle royal that must have been. I was too far back to observe it but it must have been exciting as it played out.

A bonus from last year's race was that American marathoner Meb Keflezighi ran in the race, only three days after he PRed with a sub-2:10 at London. Meeting him after the 3-mile race last year was cool.

Six months later Meb ran away from a world-class field and won New York. (Left: Our Team Captain holds our Runnerup Plaque.)

Meb has been a hero of mine ever since he silvered in the marathon at the Athens Olympics. Now he is the first American male to win a major in decades. (Right: Adrian Fenty on the left, the world's fastest mayor, poses at the 3-mile race with America's current world-beater marathoner.)

Three years earlier our team had done well and finished seventh, when our Team Captain took the Third Place Medal in his age category. We asked the bemedaled Captain from that earlier team to present the current Team Captain with the hardware we we received from the race administrators. (Left: Our former Team Captain on the right, who medaled in the 2006 race, stands with our current Team Captain.)

In a little surprise ceremony today, he presented the Captain with her individual medal and the team plaque. Although surprised, she was very collected and appreciative that we all came by to bestow the swag. It was very cool. (Right: Can't touch this. The first place medal earned last year by our Team Captain.)

The Club Picnic and Cross Country Race

Earlier this month my club held its annual picnic and three-mile cross country race on the beautiful campus of the Landon Preparatory School in Bethesda, MD. We interface with a Landon math teacher and track coach at the school to set this idyllic afternoon up. The day before, he and the Race Director laid out a 3-mile course across the school grounds and marked it with spray paint on the grass and dirt. This was a good thing because the course twisted through a confusing maze of pine tree stands, across lawns and over athletic fields.

It was a hot afternoon, perfect for a picnic although maybe not perfect for a fast 3-mile run. This race was interesting to me because three former presidents of the club were running in it. A little executive competition as it were, a race within a race.

We lined up and were off. At one moment early in the race, after the runners had separated just a little bit, the four presidents were running in a line, one behind the other. Ed, the president I succeeded, was in front, followed by Bob, the only former president older than me, Susan, the executive who Ed took over for and who was elected into the club hall of fame this year, and myself. Ed and Susan are faster than me, and Bob occasionally beats me. The competitive fire was lit.

Ed soon pulled away, put distance on the little group and we never saw him again. I ran along behind Susan, who recently had twins, biding my time. I really was after Bob, whom I should beat although it's always close.

In an open field I moved up on Susan and ran past her. She fell in behind me. This wasn't necessarily good because it's hard to keep track of runners who are behind you. As we entered a long row of pine trees on the perimeter of the school property I darted by Bob on a little downhill part. Now they were both behind me, so unless I was strong and steadily pulled away, they would stalk me and perhaps strike at the end with a strong finish.

Down service roads we ran, up and down a steep slope behind school service buildings, and by some classrooms. On little out and backs I could see them both behind me, with Susan now ahead of Bob. Finally the last mile was rolling by. I dislike this cross country race because of the giant protruding roots of the trees we ran by. With one wrong step a season of running can be lost. It's tiring to so continuously and carefully watch your footfalls.

I was trying to catch the runner ahead of me but he was too far ahead. However, my effort helped ensure that no one came sprinting by me at the finish, like Susan or Bob. I finished in 25.55 (8:37), 29/58, although the course was closer to 5K than 3 miles. Susan finished in back of me by less than half a minute, with Bob directly behind her. Ed had finished 3 minutes earlier.

Ed and Susan won AG awards, and the RD actually won his own race. This impressed me because I had no idea he was so fast. I could imagine the incredible pressure he must have felt all year as his own race approached and he contemplated trying to win it. Club politics are such that I heard some people sniff that he shouldn't have run in the race he directed, that he should have been standing by for any exigency.

I don't know about that, what do you think? In four months on the job as club president, I have learned that countless judgmental and contemptuous attitudes swirl and flow beneath the outer surface of running clubs. Me, I go along to get along, but perhaps I'm not ambitious enough or enough of a "silent slayer." Maybe that's because I'm not fast enough to ever have contemplated actually winning something when I run.

The picnic of charcoal cooked burgers, veggie burgers, franks, beans and corn on the cob was delicious. Thanks, Landon School, we'll see you next year!

The Capital Challenge 3-Miler Revisited

I already told you that last month my agency fielded a team at the ACLI Capital Challenge. The legislative branch challenges teams from the executive and judicial branches and the news media to a 3-Mile race. It's a free for all.

There are some drawbacks to this race. Each team has to be comprised of staff members or employees (no "friends" or guest runners), have a female and be captained by the head of the department or office. In other words, the Senator or Representative or judge or admiral . . . you get the idea. This is likely to be an older person who probably sits around a lot, except for the service teams. The admirals and generals are rarely old and never sedentary. As a matter of fact, the service teams usually kick as*, and they are in my agency's pool, the Executive Division.

No matter. We won an award for being the runner up Executive Branch team. Our agency rock star, G, kicks as*. And this year I uncovered a 20-something paralegal, A, who also kicks as*. G finished 3rd in the Executive Division (11th overall), and A finished right behind him (12th overall). It's as if we cloned G. (Right: The 2009 Federal Tread Commission team: yours truly, A, G, M, and our team captain.)

The winning Army team fielded its usual duo of ringers and they were gonna finish 2nd and 3rd, except that G and A got between 'em and caused the second Army guy to finish 5th instead. I didn't see this because I was back about a mile at the time, but it was apparently very exciting.

Our secret weapon, though, wasn't our clone, it was our Commissioner. She satisfied two requirements, captain and female. And she placed first in her category of Sub Cabinet Head, Female. Can't touch that! (Left: Our team captain, Commissioner Pamela Jones Harbour, won her division.)

Can you identify the race's two honorary runners in the photo to the right?

A Challenging 3-Mile Run

My agency fielded a team at the ACLI Capital Challenge 3-Mile Race this morning for the fourth straight year. It’s a racing challenge issued by the legislative branch to the judicial and executive branches and to the media, to field teams of five runners (one has to be a woman) who are employees of that particular agency, department or branch. Each team has to be captained by the head of the office (in our case, a Commissioner).

The service teams are in the Executive Division and they usually dominate because they can always find a fit admiral or general to run and then each service sends four ringers from their competitive athletic corps. So it’s usually the Navy, Coast Guard or Army jockeying for first place with the rest of us content to be also-rans. It’s a lot of fun.

We had a pretty good team this year. Our agency’s rock-star G led the team for the fourth straight year with an 18:15, a few seconds slower than his time from last year (hey, he just ran a 3:09 at Boston nine days earlier). G was shocked to see a new addition to our team this year, a paralegal about half his age, on his shoulder at MP 2. Perhaps a moment of doubt about his continued supremacy flitted through his mind, but when G made a strong move with a quarter mile to go, the paralegal couldn’t match it and finished two seconds back. Both men were a few seconds ahead of the very fit DC mayor, Adrian Fenty, the baddest running mayor in the US, a point of pride to them both afterwards.

Despite a sore foot, M was right at about 20 minutes and came in next for our team. I was next at 22:51. I have not trained for anything recently and I was worried that my time for this race might push past 23 minutes for the first time. However, I ran steadily (7:15, 7:41, 7:55) and, given my current lack of conditioning, well for me.

Our captain, the Commissioner, came in at a few seconds over 30 minutes, a tremendous achievement for a non-runner (she did train for this, however) running in her first ever race. I don’t know where our team finished but it was a successful morning, topped off by the very cool fact that I was able to chat for a few moments with American elite runner Meb Keflezighi, the silver medalist at Athens who was a mere two days removed from being the first American at London this year. I beat him, so I gave him some secret running tips. Actually, though, I think he let me and many others in the field finish ahead of him, as he ran the entire race alongside the representative who he was a guest of.

Leaden Skies Allowed Me to Soar

You thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever

Last month I posted about spending twenty-five minutes in a full body MRI machine. I coped with the claustrophobic nature of it by imagining that I was on one of my most familiar runs, a two and a half mile out-and-back to the school yard a mile and a quarter up the way. If I'm on my game, it should take me twenty minutes, ten minutes out and ten minutes back, an 8:00 pace. It was a dreamy run, one which I unfolded in my head in real time as best as I could gauge it, as I lay within the confining chamber.

In my dream I passed the first mile in 8:10; and after making the turnaround in the school parking lot, I brought the virtual run home in 19:50 (7:55), utilizing the downhill nature of the return to make up those lost seconds. I encountered all the real-world things I expected to, running by the cemetery, over the creek at the bottom of the route, and up the big hill just before the mile marker.

In late December I actually ran the route again, a run during which I was thinking about a dream where I was running the run I was running. Leaden walls enclosed me then, leaden skies were my boundary now.

I started out from in front of my house on the grey day and rapidly rounded the corner at the end of the block. To keep under an 8:00 pace I have to get moving quickly. I ran by the road undulations the first half mile that lead past St. James Cemetery and down to the creek. At about two minutes into the run I was at my maximum discomfort in terms of oxygen deprivation as I struggled to acclimate myself to the fast pace, and I wished for a second that I was lying back in the metal tube in a dreamy state instead of outside laboring on a run for real. Then I glanced up at the limitless sky overhead, surveyed the wide open spaces around me, and thought, No way!

My breathing became more normal as I started up the big hill. Glancing at the sign on the bridge over the creek, I noticed that in my dream I had inserted an extraneous apostrophe in the creek's name, Tripps Run. Just up from the base of the hill, the yapping dog that has always accompanied me along his house's fence line again did not come out, just as in the dream, and I suspect that the littler feller is not alright.

I pushed up the hill in real life, knowing this was where I had fallen off my 8:00 pace in my dream. Past the steep first part, past the more gentle incline of the middle part, past the steepest grade of the last part, past the white-columned house near the top, over the crest and down into the little hollow below, where the mile marker is. I passed the first mile in 7:48, well ahead of my pace in my dream run. Around the further turn, I hit the turnaround at 9:30 for the first mile and a quarter. I knew my sub-8:00 pace (twenty minutes for the run) was assured now; because of the upcoming big downhill, the second half of the run is always faster on this run unless I dawdle.

I hit my driveway ending the two and a half mile run at 18:52 (7:33), a particulalrly fast run for me. I had pushed it throughout, delighted to be in the great outdoors on the run rather than inside a small metal coffin during it. I rarely go sub-19:30 on this fast run. Although I ran a negative split, it was only by eight seconds for the last mile and a quarter, which showed, given the benefit of the long downhill, that I was tiring near the end.

Running, be it in a dream or in actuality, is liberating.

My best 3-miler ever

I was unable to move, enveloped deep within the recesses of the narrow MRI chamber with a wall of curvy metal sweeping past my face. A loud buzzing noise came on.

I closed my eyes and drifted off. Periodical silences would intervene, punctuated by a series of loud clicks as the camera readjusted again. Occasionally a technician would ask me over the intercom how I was doing. Since I couldn’t give them a thumbs up, I would always say “Fine.”

They had said I would be in there for about twenty minutes. I know exactly how long twenty minutes is. It is how long it takes me to run to the schoolyard from my house and back again, a mile and a quarter each way. I have done it hundreds of times. Eight minute miles, ten minutes up, ten minutes back.

So I walked to the end of my driveway. Since I never stretch, I just punched my Timex and took off. I ran down the sidewalk past my neighbor’s house. He never picks up his free weekly newspaper, and there it was in his yard. I ran by my realtor’s house next, on the other side of the street. What was his wife's name? I can never remember. I passed by the parking lot of the strip mall, the one with the Bikram studio. The yoga people weren't out and about yet, mats tucked under their arms. The arterial road at the end of my street lay ahead, just past the stop sign a block further on .

I attained the secondary artery and turned right. It was a mile to the school yard from there, up the big hill a third of a mile away and around a couple of slight bends to the left.

Many of the houses I went by had a little bit of history for me. There was the house where I dropped off some misdelivered mail once while on a run, pictures from a wedding apparently, and the occupant was so grateful. I ran by the decrepit ramshackle house where my middle child used to play with his friend. This bittersweet memory was disturbing to me so I mentally shook it off and glided on. Slowly I topped the first rise on the run and ran down the slight decline beyond it.

The small colonial-era graveyard lay off to the right, St. James Cemetery. That was my father's name, and it is my oldest son's name. In the hollow below lay a creek, the low point of my run. I crossed over it and glanced at the name place sign, Tripp's Run. I thought of Linda Tripp, Monica Lewinski's supposed friend and confidante who conspired to use the young intern to try to bring down the Clinton presidency. Word associations frequently occupy me whenever I run.

I started up the big hill, three-tenths of a mile long. It takes awhile to run a block in real time, even if you don’t notice it when you’re actually running, and I was in no hurry now. Inside the buzzing chamber, I thought that about three minutes had passed. I was satisfied with the progress of my run so far. More importantly, I was not focusing on the loud rasping noise assailing me and I was at peace as I lay still within the narrow tube.

Going up the big hill, steep at first, gentle in the middle and then steep again at the top, I ran by the house where the little dog always runs up and down the fence whenever I go by, barking at me. I hadn’t seen him for awhile. He didn’t come out again, and I hoped he was alright.

The hill evened out for a bit, then got steep again. This meant that I was passing the white-columned houses on the left and the top of the hill loomed ahead. Here I sidled across the road on a long diagonal to my left, cutting off a bit of the crest. The road dipped to the left beyond the summit and I ran down past the intersection that lies one and half kilometres from my house, the turnaround point for my 3K runs whenever I train for my monthly Tidal Basin race. A block further on I hit the mile marker and I checked my watch. About 8:10, I imagined. Damn hill. Now I needed to make up eleven seconds in the next mile and a half.

Around a further curve to the left, the school yard opened up before me. I ran to the top of the parking lot, eschewing backpedaling in this open protected area. Sometimes I pretend to be an NFL cornerback here, running backwards while keeping pace with a swift receiver, but not today because I was slightly behind schedule. I turned around and went back around the curves, down the long hill, past the creek, up my block and got back to my driveway. 19:50, hot damn!

The loud noise was still filling the chamber. Rather than be there, I slowed down for a cooldown jog, something I never do. I ran to the end of my block, where I used to wait with my oldest son for his school bus. I turned left to circle the block and ran past the house where my youngest played on the trampoline in the backyard. I wondered if it was still there. Next I ran down the slight decline where my middle child wiped out once on his razor scooter. I passed by the antique pickup truck emblazoned with Jesus Saves signs. I circled back to my driveway and arrived back, relaxed and loose from the slower paced recovery run. The buzzing was still surrounding me.

I walked down my driveway past my pickup. My backyard was strewn with fallen leaves. I checked beneath my towering old oak tree to see if any more branches had come down during the night. The ground underneath was clear.

The buzzing in my ears stopped. A voice said, "The test is over. You're coming out now."

I felt movement, then stillness again. I opened my eyes. The room's ceiling lights were high overhead. Two technicians helped me sit up.

"You were wonderful in there. You lay so still."

"How long was I in there?"

"About twenty-five minutes."

I smiled, happy and relaxed. "I went for a run," I explained. "I ran three miles in twenty-five minutes."

They didn't know what I was talking about. It was as real a run as I have ever been on. I'm counting those three miles in my weekly total.

Still hot hot hot

The temperature reached 96 yesterday but the dew point pushed its effect way over a hundred for the third day in a row. At noon I led the running group at work out on its regular weekly run but since it was so hot the group only went two and a quarter miles, up Capitol Hill so I could practice on a hill one more time before Saturday's hilly Lake Tahoe Relay, where I will be a guest runner on Bex's team. The heat reduced participation in the group to one, that being me.

(Left: Bex passes by Emerald Bay as she anchors her team at last year's Lake Tahoe Relay.) A couple of years ago I organized a running team at work to participate in the 2006 Capitol Hill Classic 3K Team Competition. I invited Bex to be a guest runner and she came in third in leading our team to victory. As I picked up the team's medals later, the race director asked me if I wanted a gold medal for Bex because she took first in her age group, or a bronze medal because she was third in the race. Which would you choose?

I chose the bronze race medal over the gold age-group medal for Bex. I hope she agreed with my choice. For the first time in my life I am in a similar conundrum.

You remember that yesterday I described Sunday's 3-Mile Survivor Harbor Race around Baltimore's Inner Harbor? I finished the three miles in 23:17 (7:45) amidst a steady stream of dozens of runners. Finishing amongst the runners from the much larger 7-mile race, I couldn't tell which runners were from what race.

It turns out that I finished in third place in the 3-miler, seventh overall, the first Master. I beat the next Master by over a minute, and the next person over 50 by more than five minutes. So gold medal for the Master's win, or bronze medal for finishing third in the race?

If they send me an award, I hope it's a bronze and not a gold.

People seemed to enjoy the finish-line photo of the 2006 7-Mile Survivor Harbor race I posted yesterday. Here's another view of that finish. (Right: Ryun/Keino? No, just two mid-age mid-packers feeling the momentary return of old glories.)

I'll check back in with y'all when I get back from Tahoe.

More hot hot hot

It only got up to 94 degrees yesterday, but the dew point reading made it feel like way over one hundred. At 8:30 am I was on the lovely Baltimore Inner Harbor walkway, watching some sweat-soaked race leaders in the Survivor Harbor 7 Seven Mile Race go by. The two front-runners were neck and neck; both had their faces contorted with the strain even at mid-race.

I love this scenic race through historic Baltimore, but it is always hot. It runs from the harbor waterfront out to Fort McHenry, around that park along the water, back down to the harbor, past all the ships in the Inner Harbor along the brick-lined Promenade, and out to the Can Company, an abandoned manufacturing center that was converted into a vibrant hub of commercial and residential units.

I just had to do its inaugural running in 2004 because I had never done a 7-mile race before. You know, part of life's checklist, seven-mile race, got it. All of my 10K times except for the first one had been run at a sub-8 minute per mile pace, so I figured I'd easily extend that pace to a 7-miler. Not so fast.

The first year I ran 58:29 (8:21). It was hot. The second year it was even hotter and I was even slower, 58:34 (8:22). The third year the weather finally cooperated a little and I ran 54:17 (7:45). Mission Accomplished.

The race has a 3-Mile Race component, which joins the main race in progress at the Inner Harbor after the race leaders have gone by. I signed up for that this year. (Left: Running along the Inner Harbor in the 2006 race.)

Once again it was so hot that I wilted. I went out fast but didn't arrive at the first mile marker until 7:25. Then my time for the second mile slipped to a 7:45. My third mile time deteriorated to an 8:05 for a 23:15 (7:45) finish, a PW. Notice the steady 20-second per mile downward progression in my pace. My five other 3-milers had all been run in under 23 minutes.

After the race I was wringing wet. I went into a nearby Starbucks for coffee and the frosty air-conditioned interior hit me like a frigid arctic blast. I'm sure they appreciated me leaking water droplets all over their counter as I handed them damp bills from my pocket.

This wonderful race, requiring a 100 mile round-trip drive, has become an expensive luxury in our new times, unfortunately. I think that with gas going from 97c to $4.03 on W's watch, a new dawn has arrived in my racing life. No longer can outlying races be done casually. Good going, Decider and Just-Get-Over-It Tony. (Can you tell that I don't think January 20, 2009 can get here fast enough, otherwise known as BLD, Bush's Last Day?) (Right: Although the guy in blue blew me away at the finish in 2006, he still dragged me along to my seven-mile PR.)