So sorry!

Earlier this week I sent this message to my running buddy Bex, who decamped for California a few years back. For three straight years I have run in the DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay on her team each June while staying at her and her husband's house at the lake, Tahoebliss, working my way around the 72-mile lake leg by leg.

Hi Bex,

Since I was injured in October (Posterior Tibial Tendonitis or Posterior tibial tendon dysfunction) at the ATM, I have basically been unable to run. The good news is that as I try to come back, today I was able to run three miles at a 10:20 pace with custom orthotic inserts while wearing a boot-type high-lace ankle brace, which I wear every waking moment now. The bad news is that the run just about defeated me, constant low-level ankle pain aside, as without the frequent stops caused by busy traffic at intersections on the Mall while thousands of tourists on Spring Break streamed by enjoying the Cherry Blossom Festival, I doubt if I could have finished the “run” without stopping to walk. I am so out of condition that I could barely talk to my companion as we ran along.

This was my litmus test for the grueling relay run in a little more than two months. Unfortunately, because of my debilitating injury, woeful shape, lack of ability to train even minimally in the time left and given my current condition, I cannot participate in the relay this year. I never before thought I would be so brought down by an injury.

I am so sorry! I did after all lay claim to Leg Seven for this year. I hope to be a valued member of the team in coming years, but only if I can compete without foreseeable embarrassment to my self or having a predictable disastrous effect upon the team (I realize that blow-ups during runs do occur sometimes, especially given the strenuous circumstances attending this high-altitude race).

(Right: The 2009 team. Bex is seond from the left. On the far right is my former running buddy Ashley, who also cannot participate this year. To the left of her is John, our teammate who passed on a few months ago. The team's 2010 run will be in his memory.) I hope this gives you time to replace me, Bex, and that the Band of Outsiders participates in the race this year and does as well as it is capable of doing. The last three DeCelle Lake Tahoe Relays have a cherished place in my memory, and I hope to be back in the future to tackle the four legs that I haven’t run.

Peter

Farewell John

On Earth are men's dry bones, all heartless, soulless!

Youth, lend me wings--I shall be soaring

High above this dead world, and enter

The realm of heavenly fantasy

Where holy zeal works wonders

And showers upon us fresh, unheard of blossoms

Clothing in hope its golden pictures.

. . .

O youth, above that low horizon

Fly, and with sunlike vision

Pierce through and through those masses

Of human creatures thronging!

(Ode to Youth by Adam Mickiewicz)

Farewell, warrior of the Band of Outsiders. Well run, and I was honored to run with you last year. The team will run for you this year, missing you!

The Hill

Last month for the third straight year I ran in the DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay on a team that Bex put together. She throws her home at the lake open to the team each year and we spend the second Saturday in June crawling around the 72-mile lake in a support vehicle while one teammate is out on the front lines. We always finish about eleven and a half hours after we start.

I have previously written about this year's run as a team effort. I wanted to write about my leg this year, because it was the toughest run I ever did.

I did Leg One the first year, but that turned out to be the next-to-easiest leg and everyone got mad at me because I was one of the veteran, experienced runners on the team. So last year I did what I thought was the hardest leg, the sixth leg (of seven) because it finishes up on a monster hill the last mile and a half that rises 525 feet. It was tough alright.

Leg Six is 10.5 miles. Leg Two, the other very tough leg, is "only" 8.2 miles. But the last four miles rise 700 feet on a steady uphill slog up a mountain pass. I can now tell you from exhausting research that Leg Two is the toughest leg.

Besides the final hill, another problem with Leg Two, which I hadn't considered beforehand, is that the "flat" portion of Leg Two is really two hills which rise 200 feet each with a corresponding decline. These "rolling hills" deliver you to the bottom of the ultimate hill climb. (Right: Leg Two. That's a hill.)

When I took the baton, the first mile immediately rose the aforementioned 200 feet. I arrived at the top of that minor protuberance huffing and puffing in the rarefied air of 6350 feet. Eighteen hours earlier I'd been living happily at sea level.

The second "protuberance" wasn't any better. But the scenery was beautiful, even breathtaking. (Left: The scenery off to my left was awesome. The view off to my right wasn't bad either.)

Then I powered down the last decline and hit the final long uphill. Only four miles to go.

There was no seeing the "top." Always above me, on the far hillside, was a series of ever higher roadways with cars traveling on them.

My teammates were very supportive, driving on ahead and then stopping to offer me water as I toiled ever upwards. My pace of course slowed considerably, especially after about two miles of climbing, and the doubt started creeping into my mind. My goal was to complete this leg without walking. There wasn't much passing going, everyone was in their own private sphere on the hill.

I tried to reason with myself not to break into a walk, even for a moment. My legs were getting extremely leaden and there were still about two miles to go, all uphill.

I had nothing to bargain with my mind with, really. I finally settled upon the phrase, For the rest of your life. For the rest of my life, I would never be six miles into a very challenging climb with a mere two miles to go to salvation. What I did in the next twenty minutes, I would carry with me as long as I live. If I could endure twenty minutes of pain, I would get release. If not, if I walked even a tiny bit, in twenty-one minutes I would find release at the finish line as well, but for the rest of my life I would have a mental shrug of feigned indifference whenever I thought of the hill and how impossibly tough it was. This is what I was thinking about.

A snippet of a song by Mick Jagger, Sympathy for the Devil, made its way into my head and swirled around and around. It wouldn't go away. His moment of doubt and pain. I looked up at the far hillside, at the tiny cars up there crawling along way above my head, knowing that there lay my path, too. His moment of doubt and pain. Twenty minutes, now eighteen. His moment of doubt and pain. Now fourteen, now twelve.

In a fog of fatigue, I finally felt the roadway level out at the top of the climb. In the last 200 meters before the exchange point, several younger runners sprinted past me but I didn't care. I hadn't given in. I had run the whole way. I handed off the baton after seventy-eight minutes and one second of extremely difficult running, a 9:31 m/m pace.

I stood around in distress while my teammates crowded around congratulating me. Suddenly I kneeled and wretched loudly, two long dry heaves. That was a first for me. My teammates looked away politely, laughing quietly. I loved them all at that moment. For the rest of my life. (Right: Where was the Porcelain God when I needed it?)

The 2009 DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay

Last month I ran in the DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay for the third straight year, on Bex’s team. The team members joked this year that we’re going to change our name from the Band of Outsiders to the 6:30 Club because every year the team counters some really good performances with some really challenging ones and the result is pretty much always the same, about eleven and a half hours for the 73.2 mile relay around the lake in seven legs. Given the 7 a.m. start, this puts our anchor leg always pulling into the finish at South Lake Tahoe at around 6:30 p.m. every year, Miller Time.

This year was no different as we finished at 6:39 p.m., slightly slower than last year’s 6:30 p.m. finish, which was slightly faster than the prior year’s 6:32 p.m. finish. Running through two states and past some incredible scenery, this race is a must-do. We’re always far off the winner’s time, which was under seven hours this year, but we have fun.

Eric ran the first leg in 1:20:18 (8:22), 9.6 miles of rolling hills in the cool of the morning past the casinos at State Line where the race leaves California and enters Nevada. He came within a minute of the team’s PR on this relatively easy leg. Remember, this is a race with hills at altitude (starting at 6200 feet), so even this “easy” leg is a difficult run for us flatlanders.

Eric handed off to me and I ran the shortest leg, 8.2 miles, in 1:18:01 (9:31). It was practically a mystical experience for me because this is the highest, hardest and hilliest leg, a killer. It literally made me sick. Maybe I'll tell you more about it in a future post.

Next up was K, who had a tough run. Her scenic 10.3 miles was mostly downhill, which aggravated a hip condition she had. She handed off to Bex after being out for 2:02:20 (11:53). (K on the left is done, Ashley still has a five and a half hour wait before her leg starts.)

Bex motored off on the longest leg, 12.3 miles which included a big uphill part. After re-entering California, she brought the baton home to J, an avid mountain biker, in 1:58:00 (9:36).

J was picking runners off right and left on his 10.6 mile run until about halfway through, where he discovered that being in condition for hard biking doesn’t necessarily correlate to running long and he was hobbled by knee problems. He gave back all of his passed runners and more before handing off to Ke in 1:54:57 (10:51).

Ke was new to the team, a runner we picked up the day before. A high school track coach, he had come to vacation in Lake Tahoe and could think of no more relaxing start to his time off than to run a very hard relay leg up in the mountains. We gave him the other hardest leg, comparable to my leg, a 10.5 mile run over large rolling hills that culminates in a steep, relentless mile and a half climb up a mountain pass. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ke. I did this tough leg in 1:37:44 (9:18) last year and injured myself doing it (my hamstring seized up into a clenched, fiery ball 200 meters from the end). Ke was handling it very well until the last hill knocked down his time, but he still finished in a very nice time of 1:35:54 (9:03), setting the team's PR for the leg.

Ashley took it from there. Coming back from injuries, she returned to racing after a year of recovery with a time of 1:28:12 (8:24) on her 10.5 mile run back to the starting point, also setting a new team PR. Her scenic leg included a narrow shelf road portion with no shoulder where the roadway fell away steeply on both sides, and I was going to assist her along here by running with her as a spotter, but I couldn’t keep up with her quick pace and abandoned the effort. She picked off nine runners enroute to the finish so we finished 94th overall out of 150 teams.

Bwap!

Leg Two at the DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay knocked the stuffing out of me. Literally. I ran it two weeks ago and it destroyed my running until today, when I finally ran a decent 9 miles on the Mall in about 1:20. I was exhausted at the end but I made it and I feel good about it.

I have been exhausted ever since the Relay, and mostly not running. On Wednesday, June 17th, I did the monthly noontime Tidal Basin 3K Run I always do, in 14:13 (7:38). The last time I was over 14 minutes for this short, fast and furious race was over three years ago. ‘Nuff said. (After finishing Leg Two at the Relay, I was not feeling well . . .)

On Saturday, June 20th, I ran a club 4-miler race on the flat C&O Canal Towpath, in 33:47 (8:27). My only other two 4-milers were both run in under 30 minutes. This race was mental agony for me as my legs felt like mush the last three miles. (. . . and when I bent over and noisily barfed . . .)

I asked an Ironman I know if he thought eight miles at altitude, with the last four miles being up one big hill, could take so much out of me that I needed a long time to recover, like after a marathon. Oh yeah, he said.

But now, two weeks later, I feel more normal. It took a long time. (. . . my teammates all did their best to politely ignore me. L-r: Ashley who killed Leg Seven, Bex who did a good job on Leg Four, the longest one, and John, an excellent bicyclist who discovered that those skills don't necessarily transfer straight over to running during a rough Leg Five.)

I’ll tell you about my hardest run ever, perhaps in my next post. Consider this image in the meantime, running hard for 38 minutes to a stadium and then immediately running up its stairs for forty more minutes without ever stopping or getting to the top.

Delight, Detroit, and DeCelle

I have been traveling. I went to Universal’s Islands of Adventure in Orlando late last month. It was a lot of fun. The Spiderman ride was super, with stunning visual images and very modern 3-D images that come right into your cart. Spidey perches right beside you at one point, and they even sprinkle a little water on you, waft some odors past your nose, and blast air past you at opportunistic and appropriate moments. ( Right: I'm guessing that Wolverine is a Universal franchise.)

Then I went to Detroit, where I took a leisurely early morning run along the waterfront by the Joe Louis Arena. I was saddened to see numerous sleeping homeless persons along the outside corridors under the structure. The Decider’s economic blight has staggered Michigan. The people I met in Detroit were super though.

Since the partial stands behind home plate at old abandoned Tiger Stadium, the only part of the venerable structure still standing, were due to be fully demolished within the week, I took a taxi there from my hotel to see it.

The taxi driver acted as a tour guide for me. A tool-and-die operator in the automotive industry for twenty years with six kids, he was laid off this year. He groaned when I climbed into his cab outside my hotel after asking how far away the stadium was. It was only a short ways down Michigan Avenue from there.

"A four dollar fare, man. I was at the head of the taxi line for the next guest going to the airport for $45."

It was rotten luck for him. He had six kids to support. I started to climb out.

"No, no," he insisted, all traces of his bitterness instantly dispelled. "You’re a guest to Detroit. We treat you right!" He meant it too.

He slowly drove me around the ball park on the encircling streets while I craned my neck and watched spectral images flit across the open field and heard roaring crowds from decades past. We looked for a place in the anchor fence surrounding the field where I could slip inside to wander the confines where the ghost of Mickey Cochrane and the athletic Al Kaline and Kirk Gibson restlessly roam.

Regrettably, there was no break in the fence. My thoughts of climbing the eight foot tall barrier were stymied by a security guard’s car idling inside. (Left: My taxi driver points to where Alan Trammel went to work every day on his way to a Hall of Fame career. This taxi driver is a hero, an ambassador for his town while doing what he has to do to provide for his family. I love these great everyday Americans.)

He drove me around the old abandoned train station with its thousand broken windows. It stood tall, hulking and deserted, another symbol signifying that Detroit’s industrial dominance had passed. (Right: Once this structure held sway worldwide. Chevys were shipped from here.)

I gave him $20 for the twenty-minute tour and hoped it was enough for him losing his place in the hotel taxi line. He just smiled inscrutably and warmly wished me well.

Meanwhile, I was trying to get ready for leg two of the DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay in Nevada. Have you ever run a seriously hilly four-mile race at high altitude that leads you directly into a monster four-mile hill climb? I never had either, until Saturday.

Bye, Lake Tahoe

The shock was unbelievable. The instant I hit the surface, I thought I was going to die.

I was still sinking into the frigid water. I kicked my legs and waved my arms and arrested my progress towards the bottom of Lake Tahoe. I started to come up. The water was incredibly blue, and incredibly cold. "Only one degree above freezing," Brian had said just before he jumped in, twice. "A day ago it was probably snow in the high country." (Above: The perfect tonic for a long run. Photo credit Brian.)

I had never experienced total immersion in water this cold before. My head popped above the surface. Brian and the rest of the Band of Outsiders were laughing and waving at me from the pier I had jumped from.

No time for chit-chat. The ladder to the dock was 12 feet away. Like a triathlete crawling over everybody impeding his progress in the water, I flailed my way to it. I couldn't climb up it fast enough. (Right: Do I look cold? Photo credit Brian.)

"Aren't you going to go in again?" Brian asked. "I jumped in twice."

I looked at this young man, figuring that since he was about half my age, he was far better suited to repeated shocks to the system than me. "No," I said, standing there dripping on the dock, the 60 degree air feeling positively tropical after being submerged in the freezing water. (Below: Mission Accomplished. L-R, the 2008 BOO and the legs we ran in the Relay, B (7), Bex (3), E (5), Brian (1) and yours truly (6). Missing, Tami (2) and J (4).)

But it had been fun. Fun like going up the last hill on Leg 6 of the Lake Tahoe Relay had been fun. Sort of like, a highlight of my trip to Lake Tahoe, you know?

Two years at the Lake Tahoe Relay

The DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay:
Ratings 1 easiest to 7 hardest.

Leg 1–9.6 miles. 3 hills in last half. Long downhill at end.
Rating: 2. Should be given to novices.
Leg 2–8.2 miles. The last half is an unrelenting uphill.
Rating: 6. A weak runner will kill you here.
Leg 3–10.3 miles. 7 miles of downhill onto flatlands.
Rating: 1, although going downhill is hard.
Should be given to an injured or weak runner.
Leg 4–12.3 miles. Longest, with a monster hill in it.
Rating: 4. You need a runner with a good base.
Leg 5–10.6 miles. Starts off with a tough hill.
Rating: 3. Give to a weak runner, go slow the first mile!
Leg 6–10.5 miles. 9 miles of sharp hills leads to a killer hill.
Rating: 7. Give to a strong runner, or expect runner to walk.
Leg 7–10.5 miles. Tough, long hill, dizzying, dangerous run.
Rating: 5. Give to a strong runner or you’ll lose places here.

Band of Outsiders, Team Captain Bex.
2007-------------------- 2008
1:19:37 (8:18) 43/97--1:30:41 (9:27) 91/113
1:32:27 (11:16) 77-----1:08:56 (8:24) 70
1:30:30 (8:47) 68------1:27:29 (8:29) 59
1:56:02 (9:26) 65------2:14:00 (10:54) 88
1:44:59 (9:54) 71------1:37:23 (9:11) 79
1:53:45 (10:50) 84----1:37:44 (9:18) 77
1:34:45 (9:01) 76/97--1:54:30 (10:54) 83/113

72 miles
11:32:00 (9:36)-------11:30:43 (9:35)
76/97 78%-------------83/113 73%

Thanks Tahoe Bliss!

The Denouement

As I hit the final hill on Leg 6 of the 2008 DeCelle Lake Tahoe Relay, I had a Net-Plus Two going, having passed three runners and been passed once. The last hill is a mile and a half straight up, ‘nuff said.

To run this hill in a race after nine miles is to go see the elephant, to engage in running combat. On this last raw hill, one and a half miles of nakedness as you continue up to the top without respite, you either pass, maintain your position or get passed. There is no other alternative, besides quitting. You can see who is ahead, and who is approaching.

Round and round the S curves I went, knees hurting, muscles aching, breath whistling sharply in and out. I heard some huffing and chuffing behind me and a runner smoothly went by doing sub-eights. He had come from a long way off and there was no keeping up with him. I returned to grinding up the hill. There was a runner ahead that I was approaching, however, and I went by her halfway up. I was back to Net-Plus Two. (Left: Early in my Leg 6 run.)

Then, to calm my racing heart and gasping, labored breath, I walked 50 yards when I saw my support team, imbibing some needed fluids. I broke back into a painful trot again. A runner had been gaining on me and he ran past. Revived by my walking spell, I passed him back immediately. I elevated my pace slightly and up the hillside the two of us silently toiled, sweat dripping off our noses and chins. Up ahead was a woman, whom we both passed. The warrior behind me clung desperately to me, six feet back. At one point he dropped to twelve feet back but then by a force of will, he closed the range again.

My leg muscles were screaming from the unaccustomed task of a solid mile and a half climb. I had trained for this race by running up hills, but nowhere in DC could I find a steep hill of such length that started out at a mile high already. Life became elemental, listlessly watching the roadway eight feet ahead of me, listening through pounding ears to the breathing and footfalls of the runner behind me.

We were approaching another runner. We got to within 30 yards of her when I saw the Bliss State Park sign heralding the top of the pass just ahead. A quarter mile to go! Close quarter combat was about to commence on top of the mountain between the three of us.

The runner behind me was steady as he matched my pace and trod on my heels. The woman ahead had attained the summit but she had not increased her speed despite having only 200 meters of flat terrain to go. I reached the level ground and saw my teammates at the exchange point, cheering me on. (Right: To get this beautiful medal, you're just gonna have to run the Lake Tahoe Relay yourself. If you want to have quiet satisfaction forever, run Leg 6 for your team.)

The top gained, I was now at Net-Plus Three and I hoped to pick off the runner ahead and hold off any charge from the runner behind. There wasn’t much space to operate in anymore. I pushed off on the level ground to begin a two football-field sprint to the exchange point.

My left hamstring muscle immediately clenched into a painful balled fist and brought me up short instantly. I hopped to a stop and started murmuring "OMG! OMG! OMG!" as I grabbed the back of my leg and tried to massage the fiery ball away. It was rock solid and incredibly painful. I was down, and out of the battle. The runner ahead went off towards the finish. She never increased her pace. The warrior behind, who had doggedly hung with me on the hillside while I was trying to drop him, swept by me. I didn't begrudge him benefiting from my sudden injury.

(Left: Late in my Leg 6 run. E has water for me.) I couldn’t even walk until I got my hamstring to relax a little. I stretched my leg and kneaded it for perhaps a minute. The grains of sand run out fast when you’re under pressure. Having just lost a place in the last 200 yards, and failed to gain another place, I started to worry about who was coming up the hillside next. I trotted down to the exchange chute as best I could and slapped B, the anchor leg.

We were in 77/113 place after my 10.5 mile leg. My 1:37:44 (9:18) run had gained two places. It wasn’t perfect, nor did its modest outcome seem very compelling, but I had just finished the hardest competitive run of my life and I hadn't let anybody down that day, including myself.

The Approach

Last year I ran Leg 1 at the Lake Tahoe Relay and got my part in the race over with early. It was 4.6 miles of gently climbing grade followed by three formidable hills in the next five miles. Or at least, the hills would have been formidable at any race back in DC. On this mountainous 72-mile course, these hills were practically laughable.

I finished Leg 1 last year in 1:19:37 (8:18), leaving BOO in 43/97 place. After tough Leg 2 we were in 77th place however, and in 84th place after hellish Leg 6. But Team Captain Bex muscled past eight runners in the anchor leg and we finished in 76th place a year ago. (Right: Leg 1 has a nice downhill at the end.)

This year Bex decided to place our strongest runners on the hardest legs to minimize our damage there. I drew Leg 6. Thanks, I think.

(Left: Leg 6 ascends seemingly into the heavens.) I admired Brian for running Leg 6 last year. Anyone could see from looking at the topographical map that it is pure runner's hell. Brian ran at altitude with attitude, because although he is an athlete, he is a non-runner who came up to 6200 feet from sea level to vanquish it. He faced down the 600 foot climb in the last mile and a half when his legs were rubbery from already running nine miles of sharply pitched hills to get there. Last year each BOO member did his or her own leg with its unique difficulties, but only Brian conquered The Hill and earned a swagger akin to, in another much more serious context, a Screaming Eagle at Bastogne or a Leatherneck at Tarawa.

(Left: Brian soldiers on last year on Leg 6.) So on Saturday as I waited in Homewood for for the tag, The Hill was nine tough miles away waiting for me. After running his 10.6 mile leg in 1:37:23 (9:11) which began with a monster hill the very first mile, E came sprinting into the chute at 3 pm in 79th place with four other runners closely chasing him. One was a mere eight seconds back. E had picked off nine runners. He slapped me and off I went.

I set off at an unhurried pace so I could get my breathing adjusted to the altitude, well aware that thirty-six hours earlier I had been residing happily at sea level. Within a quarter mile I was run down by a strong runner whom I didn't even try to go with as he was clearly running seven-minute miles to my nines. I had my sights on a runner up ahead. By the time I caught her that first mile, the other runner had disappeared from sight. I was back at Net-Zero. After overhauling another runner in the second mile, there was nobody else in sight anywhere. In eight hours, 113 runners can get incredibly strung out. (Right: Leg 6 starts at 6200 feet at lake level but climbs to over 6800 feet the last mile.)

I ran at Net-Plus One for the longest time, over hill and over dale. I alternated running on the uneven canted surface of the sandy shoulder and the roadway, depending upon whether traffic was approaching. The first little hill I came to disheartened me because climbing it took my breath away, but then I settled in and ran easy on the flats, purposefully on the uphills and hard on the downhills.

My support team was excellent, watering me every two miles. About every seventeen minutes I would start to look for them. They later said that I was all business, using one word guttural commands to indicate my preference for either Gatorade or water as I ran up.

I knew the course intimately, having studied it on the map and driven it several times. I put away the three teaser hills leading up to the The Hill one after another while running down one more runner. Finally I rounded a bend and came to the bottom of The Hill with its 1.5 miles of sharply ascending S turns stretching ever upwards. After well over an hour of running I was at Net-Plus Two as I started up.

The long approach done, a battle for position was about to commence on the hillside, with major combat awaiting on the hilltop. (Right: Last year's BOO. Three team members wouldn't be back.)

The 44th Lake Tahoe Relay

Update: I am back from my trip west to run on Bex's team in the Lake Tahoe Relay. I consider my handling of its most difficult leg a success, although I am slightly injured from it. It was the hardest competitive run of my life, a truly transforming experience. My team did great, shaving over a minute off last year's time with an 11:30:43 (9:36), finishing in 83/113 place (73%).

The Setting: The 2008 DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay. 113 teams of seven runners each race counterclockwise the 72 miles around the lake, with each team member taking a leg ranging from 8.2 to 12.3 miles.

The Battlegrounds: Leg 1: In the coolness of the early morning, a 9.6 mile run from South Lake Tahoe, California, to Zephyr Cove in Nevada, passing through the shadows of the tall casinos at Stateline enroute. Three substantial hills at the end make this second easiest leg a challenging run. Leg 2: Starting at Zephyr Cove at lake level at 6200 feet, this 8.2 mile leg tops out past Castlerock at the course's highest point of over 7,000 feet. The last half of this next to hardest leg is just an unbroken uphill slog. Leg 3: A 10.3 mile return to lake level down a seven mile shelf road followed by 5K of flats at the end. The "easiest" leg. Leg 4: The longest run in the heat of the day, a 12.3 mile run from Incline Village up a significant hill, past the old casinos where the rat pack would sometimes croon and clown, and back into California. Of moderate difficulty. Leg 5: 10.6 miles of flat running after climbing a 250 foot hill in the very first mile, from Tahoe City to Homewood. Of moderate difficulty. Leg 6: This hardest leg is comprised of 10.5 miles of difficult terrain, ending in a hill climb that seems to go straight up after a nine mile warmup of long and steep rollers. Leg 7: Downhill past Emerald Bay then uphill on a killer shelf road, past a series of switchbacks with steep dropoffs on both sides, then miles of running through pine forests to the start/stop line in South Lake Tahoe 10.5 miles after the handoff. The hardest leg after Legs 6 and 2. (Right: Last year K tackled tough Leg 2, where we tumbled from 43rd to 77th place, in 1:32:22 (11:16). Here K emerges from the tunnel running through Castlerock.)

The Team: The Band of Outsiders (BOO), flatlanders all, sea level dwellers, assembled by Bex before she abandoned the east coast a year ago to return to her roots in the Golden West. Last year we finished in 11:32:00 (9:37) in 76/97 place (78%).

My Mission: To tackle tough Leg 6 where we lost 13 places last year, and either minimize the damage on this impossible ten and a half mile stretch or actually pick up places. The time to improve upon was the 1:53:45 (10:50) turned in by Brian, a non-runner who had a a transforming experience during his leg, running the whole way and arriving at the end exhilarated, having encountered both what running takes from you and what it gives to you. He had seen the elephant on his leg like none of the rest of the Band had. He became a warrior. (Left: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner. Brian going to see the elephant last year.)

Next: My skirmishes on the "flats" leading to the battle for position on the hillside and close quarter combat on top of the hill.

Another Wednesday, Another Run

Today was the third Wednesday of the month. Time for the monthly noontime Tidal Basin 3K run, which dates back to 1974.

I consider this fast and furious 1.86 mile race to be my speed work. I usually run a low 7-minute pace for the near two mile distance. This is after a 2.6 mile warmup run getting there from my office. After the race I have a 2.6 mile cooldown run back to work. Lately I have been throwing a third-of-a-mile charge up Capitol Hill into the cooldown run so I can get a little hillwork in. This is because I am getting ready for the hilly Lake Tahoe Relay Race in three and a half weeks, where I'm going to run on Bex's team. I have been assigned a leg that goes over a mountain pass, topping out at 6800 feet after climbing 500 feet in two miles. (Left: The "hill" on the course, running on the sidewalk up past the Tulip Library.)

This staple on my race calendar (I have done 83 of these hummers in the last 92 months) is my great strategical laboratory. I have a shadow in this race named Peter who is always nearby and usually beats me. He beat me by nine seconds in the 3K race on Sunday, after we had both run a race during the previous hour.

Peter is only three years younger and near my speed, although he has a different style than me. He utilizes a powerful finish whereas I prefer to go out strong and hold on.

I view him in my binary view of the world as faster than me. However, because I am capable of beating him, I can’t shrug his usual success away to the work of the gods.

Today was a nice day for running although there was a slight breeze. When the race started, Peter took off as usual. Today I decided to match his early charge. Usually I let him go and catch him mid-race, hoping I can put enough distance on him from there that I won’t succumb to his signature final furious finish. (Right: Here's another view of the "hill," looking back at the where the runners come from as they run up the sidewalk on the left. Notice the Tidal Basin off to the left beyond the trees.)

I pressed at the start and passed him at the quarter mile mark. He fell away behind me as I uncharacteristically hung with the back-of-the-front-packers for awhile. Soon I was really laboring though and I fell away from that group.

I passed the mile marker at 6:59. Although I felt like I was definitely slowing down, Peter was still behind me, too far back for me glimpse when I glanced back.

In the final leg, two men ran by me and I could hear two more closing in. This last stretch is interminably long, a slog down a flat straightway that just goes on forever for a runner like me who typically doesn’t do negative splits. I feel like a fly in amber on it, running numbly while getting caught by fast finishers.

I started swivelling to locate Peter. I spotted him back there but thought I was too far ahead for him to catch me. I had some payback in mind for last Sunday.

The finish clock was reading in the 12:50s as I approached. I like to break 13 minutes but I was too far away for that. I finished in 13:01 (6:59), two seconds faster than the time I had on Sunday. Peter finished fourteen seconds later. I was 29th out of 66 runners.

I had evolved a strategy in this race of starting fast in order to beat Peter, but I didn’t break 13:00 which always used to be my goal. My fast start robbed me of the endurance I needed for a stronger push during the last half of the race and a surge at the end.

When I go by Peter late, as I usually do, he hangs onto me then, and kills me with his finishing charge. This time I got away from him and he couldn't run me down. I wonder if I am focusing on the wrong thing in this race. What do you think?

A Cruise on Lake Tahoe.

And so the Lake Tahoe Relay race was run, if not won. We were all elated that we had completed it. We were 76th out of 97 teams. It was a great way to see the lake up close and personal, crawling around it in a support vehicle all day and even running alongside it for 10 fast, or at least difficult, miles. We went home and had pizza that night. (Below right: That's the hill I ran over. Photo credit Bex.)

The next morning B left to return to work. I drove A to the Reno airport. A few minutes after I dropped her off, she called to say she was standing in line with the recently crowned Miss Nevada, who was ostentatiously wearing her winner's sash. I told A to put on her Lake Tahoe Relay Medal and show Miss Nevada up. (Below left: K's last hill was 3 miles long.)

From Reno I drove into the hills to Virginia City, a rip-roaring silver-boom town in the late nineteenth century. It's perched on a hillside atop a mountain and at one time it had a population of 45,000. Now it is a sleepy tourist trap with wooden sidewalks on both sides of its mile-long main street. The town overlooks several open mining pits where silver barons took the ore out of fabulously wealthy silver lodes. (Below right: H points out her section.)

Coming back, I passed through Carson City, the state capital. I stopped in a casino for a $1.99 full breakfast, then returned to Lake Tahoe. I drove down K's route in the race, leg 2, and it just wound downward out of the hills forever. Remember, K was on foot and running up it. I also drove over my route of the previous day, leg 1, and tried to convince myself that the two major hills late in that section were pretty bad too. It's all relative. They would have been bad in any race in DC. They weren't so bad in that race. (Below left: E points out that his leg went from there to there.)

Bex had arranged for the remaining five of the seven Band of Outsiders to take a Happy Hour sailboat cruise on Lake Tahoe from Zephyr Cove in Nevada, the ending point of my leg the day before. The sailing was fabulous. We spent the ninety minutes pointing out "our" sections of the distant shoreline to each other and studying the contours of the rugged hills. The sinking sun shone brilliantly off the deep blue lake. (Below right: Bex had some varied terrain to run over.)

After we disembarked, we drove entirely around the lake, studying the race course for next year and stopped at a casino in Incline Village where we each had a $7.99 dinner of prime rib. Afterwards we were too tired to lay any wagers at the tables so we just went home and crashed. I left the next morning.

Lake Tahoe Relay

The Race: The 43rd Annual DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay was held on June 9, 2007, a 72.3 mile race around the lake by 97 teams of seven runners each. Each team provided its own support. No traffic was stopped on the mostly two-lane mountainous road with narrow or non-existent shoulders. Running this unique, incredibly challenging race was an intensely emotional experience for all runners involved.

The Route: The race had seven legs of greatly varying difficulty. Legs one and three were the easiest, legs two and six were very difficult, and leg seven was the hardest of the remaining legs.

Leg One: 9.6 miles long starting at 6,250 feet in South Lake Tahoe, California at 7 o'clock in the morning. Flat for the first 5 miles, just inside Nevada at Stateline it encountered two significant hills, each one rising one hundred feet before its downhill finish at Zephyr Cove. Running past strip malls and tall casinos, it had few glimpses of the lake and was the least interesting leg by far. (Above: My first glimpse of the lake didn't come until the third mile on the first leg. My next view wouldn't be until the sixth mile.)

Leg Two: The shortest leg at 8.2 miles, it was essentially five miles of rolling hills followed by an unrelenting three-mile climb rising 700 feet which topped out at 7,000 feet. The stunning backdrop scenery that lasted most of the rest of the race started here.

Leg Three: 10.3 miles long beginning with seven miles of straight downhill, followed by three miles of flatlands. Picturesque panoramas. (Above: Typical scenery during much of the downhill third leg.)

Leg Four: The longest leg, 12.3 miles of mostly level running through villages back into California. It contained a nasty 220 foot tall hill in the third mile that afforded a towering view of the lake.

Leg Five: 10.6 miles of mostly flat running, it started out with an immediate mile-long uphill climb of 250 feet. The lake was often close at hand just to the left.

Leg Six: A nearly impossible 10.5 miles. Nine miles of sharply rolling hills which led to a monster hill rearing up 520 feet in the last mile and a half. Some hair-raising views.

Leg Seven: Drop-dead gorgeous, but dangerous too. 10.5 miles long, it ran downhill for two miles, then climbed 225 feet in the third mile to a narrow shelf road at 6,800 feet with no guard rails and a sheer drop off on both sides. A series of downhill switchbacks then led to a three mile flat run into town to the start and finish line.

The Runners: All from sea level, six hailed from DC and one was from LA. It was a team built upon loyalty, not speed. In the order of their legs:(1) Me, the team's "fast" guy, a mid-pack runner in my mid-fifties. (2) K, the team's indomitable will, a thirty-something runner who trained for the longest leg but was handed the shorter, brutally hilly second leg upon her arrival. She never complained. (3) H, the team's steady performer, a thirty-something runner ready to face the challenge of a seven-mile long steep downhill section. She got no respect because of the perception that her leg was the "easiest." (4) E, the team's athlete, a former major college varsity player now in his early forties who was doing the longest section of over twelve miles even though he had never run any distance greater than ten miles before. His longest training runs for the race were a couple of seven-milers. (5) A, the team's free spirit, a thirty-something photo journalist who kept the team loose and who neatly solved the logistical conundrum by suggesting using two chase cars instead of one. (6) B, the team's soul, a twenty-something California surfer dude who had prepared for the most grueling leg of the race by "visualizing" himself running with perfect form once a day. (7) Bex, the team's captain and organizer, its heart, a bustling dynamo in her mid-thirties who never backed down from any challenge and who impatiently waited all day to be let loose so she could start running down the runners who had gotten ahead of us.

The Running: I turned in a workman-like performance on the first leg, running a 1:19:37 (8:18). My early 7:40 pace gave way to something far slower on the late hills and I lost three places here, but then I was able to sprint the last half mile downhill to hold onto 43rd place for the team.

K ran the rolling hills in the first half of her leg but had to walk up part of the gargantuan, never-ending final hill. She kept exchanging places with another runner on the last hill who kept bragging to her that he had trained for his leg by running three miles, once. Every time he would utter this inanity, K would smile sweetly while telling him under her breath to go to perdition. She finished in 1:32:22 (11:16) with the team in 77th place. (Above: K is glad her leg is done while Bex has to wait all day for hers.)

H ignored the spectacular scenery of her leg as she steadily picked off nine runners on the long downhill portion, once having to duck under the protruding mirror of an oversize camper as it passed by her. The narrow or non-existent shoulders afforded no room to get away from passing cars. She finished in 1:30:30 (8:47) in 68th place. (Above: B and E form an arch for H to run through.)

E took the baton in Incline Village and ran steadily on his long leg, handling the long hill on his section without stopping. Running back into California near Tahoe City, he energized the team by a wild escapade. Hearing that Bex was in a nearby Subway Shop ordering her lunch, he mischievously deviated off course, burst into the restaurant and shouted out a greeting to her. Startled, she shouted back, "You can't stop for food now! Get back out there!" E made amends for his momentary wildness by picking off three runners in the last quarter mile and finishing in 65th place in 1:56:02 (9:26). (Above: Oh. My. God. What are you doing here!)

A immediately ran into trouble on her section, charging the uphill portion that her leg started out with while she was still full of adrenaline. Halfway up the mile-long hill she was breathing in ragged gasps and had to take short walking breaks. She later said she seriously wondered what, exactly, she had gotten herself into as her heart pounded in her ears. By the top of the hill her equilibrium was back and she ran steadily to her handoff point in 1:44:59 (9:54) in 71st place. (Below: A keeps Big Blue always to her left.)

There B was waiting. The rest of the team was nervous for this non-runner with the worst leg. "It's cool," he said. "I've got it covered. Hey, I'll do Bex's leg too." He ran the sharp hills of the first nine miles of his section at a steady pace, knowing what lay ahead at the end. Halfway up the terrific last hill, at a place where he could look half a mile above him and see even more of the steep roadway winding ever upward, he stopped, out of gas. While his very nervous teammates clustered around him, B coolly sucked down a Gatorade and a Gel. "Piece of cake," he said as he set off running again, to the top.

Bex was waiting at the top. She had nervously gone into the porta-potty for the third time when B came into sight far down the hill and someone yelled, "Here he comes!" A nano-second later the porta-potty door exploded open with a tremendous bang and Bex burst forth, flying across the dirt turnout and hurdling the rope into the starting gate. There she came to rest crouched in a sprinter's stance, hand extended to receive a tag. Puzzled because she was alone in the starter's chute, she looked around in ever wider circles until she finally spotted B still 100 yards off.

B tagged Bex at 1:53:45 (10:50) with the team in 84th place. As he limped across the turnout rubbing his sore hamstrings, he righteously said that he felt he had accomplished something incredible by overcoming the grotesque difficulty of his otherworldly leg. On a runner's high, he declared that it was a life-altering moment for him. The experience was so intense, B said, that he felt like crying. (Above: B tags Bex and off she goes to reel in some runners.)

Bex took off on a dead run and immediately started running people down. She was next seen on the wicked uphill portion of her course, crying dry tears of rage at her enforced slowness caused by the arduous climb while far below her the deep blue waters of Emerald Bay glittered in the late afternoon sun. Upon surmounting the hill, she ran furiously the rest of the way into town to finish in 1:34:45 (8:56). She had picked off eight runners to enable the team to finish 76th out of 97 teams. Afterwards what Bex remembered most about her run was seeing an open palm stuck out the window of a van travelling towards her at 30 MPH. As it went by she impulsively high-fived the extended hand. Oww! Although her own hand stung for the rest of the race, she insisted that it was a good sting.

The Result: The Band of Outsiders, flatlanders all, finished this hilly race at altitude in 11:32:00 (9:34) in 26th place out of 39 teams in the Mixed Open Division. The Lumberjack Warriors came in first with a time of 7:03:18 (5:51). Try keeping up with those guys. Another team was comprised of one man who ran all seven legs.

It was an intense emotional experience for all involved. For twelve hours we traveled around the lake together, ran our portion of the race to the best of our abilities, and helped each other out in a hundred different ways. Everybody gave their all to the effort. The intensity of the experience was best personified by the following post-race exchange between Race Director April Carter and B.

April came by and observed Fox, B's dog, busily licking the sweat off of B's arms as he sat there at the finish line. Indicating the white streaks of dried salty brine on B's face, April said to him, "You ought to have your dog lick your face clean next." (Below: B and Fox. View some more pictures of the Band of Outsiders here and here.)

"No," B said, "those lines are my sweat tears. I earned them in this race. I'm going to leave them there forever."

Lake Tahoe Relay Preamble.

A week ago last Thursday, June 7th, after I drove overnight from LA to Sacramento, I picked up A and K at the airport there. We drove the scenic back route to Lake Tahoe where we were going to run a 72.3 mile relay race that Saturday as part of a team put together by Bex. We would be staying at her rented house in Homewood on the west side.

Our first view of the deeply blue alpine lake was an alluring one as we topped a mountain pass. We had to get out and take a picture, tourists that we were. Lake Tahoe is the second deepest lake in North America, twelfth deepest in the world. Interestingly, although many creeks and rivers drain into it only one flows out of it, the Truckee River, which does not flow to the sea but rather, empties into Pyramid Lake in Nevada.

(Left: Big Blue.) Achieving the lake, we drove to Bex's house, passing a quarter of Saturday's course as we did so. It put our hearts in our mouths. The two-lane blacktop with narrow shoulders around this part of the lake was comprised of, among other interesting vistas, a twenty-four foot wide shelf road with sheer drop-offs on either side and no guard rails, huge winding uphill climbs and dizzying descents. Driving over these monstrous hills, passes really, we each became apprehensive about our own ten-mile section of the course, especially given the 6,200 foot base altitude and the fact that we were all coming from sea-level.

H was already there. Bex and E, the perfect hosts all weekend, took us to a restaurant on the waterfront for dinner. E grew up spending summers on the lake in Incline Village. At the restaurant, we stumbled upon a beer-tasting event which we crashed. It was a gay time. (Above: A has found something she likes. K is still sampling.) We returned home and watched Chariots of Fire for inspiration. (Below: Does that shoreline on the other side look far away to you? Do those hills look big?)

The next morning I walked around nearby Tahoe City for awhile, enjoying the early morning serenity of the still lake. Then I ran three miles with Bex and H to get acclimated to the altitude. We went on a beautiful hike to Eagle Lake in a high meadow above spectacular Emerald Bay. B joined us, having driven there the night before from Santa Barbara so he could run the sixth and most difficult leg on the morrow. The only team member under thirty, he was an equestrian, not a runner (although he had done a 10K or two). We all wondered about his training for this race, as he was given to pronouncements about him "visualizing" his completion with perfect form of demanding physical tasks like running ten difficult miles, as if that was the actuality of doing it. More darkly, we wondered if he would even show up at all. If I ever wondered that, clearly I didn't know the man yet. When I saw him strip to his bathing suit at the frigid mountain lake and plunge in, I could tell that this was a Californian who was up for any task. (Left: H (2d fastest time) and Bex (3d fastest time) were ready.)

That night we cooked a big spaghetti dinner and watched the movie Breaking Away to find strength in the Cutter method of overcoming adversity, and then went to bed. The big race started early the next morning and I was up first.

Club 10K Group Training Program

Last month saw the finish of my club's 10K Training Group Program (TKG) after twelve weeks of meeting on Saturdays for increasingly longer runs. I can't recommend participation in such group training programs highly enough, particularly if you are a newer runner.

Undoubtedly your local club has such group training programs. Check it out. Even if you're a more veteran runner, it might re-vitalize your running such as it did mine two years ago.

I want to thank the coaches of the TKG--Arnetta, Ashley, Bex, Bob, Gary, Kristin, and Not Born to Run.

Thirty-nine "paying customers" signed up on a frigid day in February on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. It was so cold the ink in the pens froze and sign-up applications were merely a bunch of scratch marks on paper. As a result, for the rest of the program I had no idea who was who. It was my impression that fewer and fewer people were running and the program was a failure. (TKG circling RFK Stadium getting ready for the goal race.)

I was shocked to discover that nineteen participants ran the goal 10K race. Another participant ran a 10K race the prior week (in under an hour). Still another participant was on travel who otherwise would have run the goal race. Two more participants ran the 3K version of the goal race instead (Ashley, who finished fifth (second woman), and Bex, who finished seventeenth (fourth woman)).

Four participants ran the 10K race in under an hour, and three more finished in the sixtieth minute. That's impressive and I'm proud of 'em all. Now it's on to the 10-Mile Group Training Program (TMG) in a few weeks. (TKG in week eleven, Stanton Square in DC near Union Station.)

Running update: Last Wednesday, a travel day that started at 5 am, I ran a neighborhood mile at 4 am in 8:25, inauspiciously slow. Friday I ran an exploratory 3 miles at altitude with Bex at an 11:00 pace at Lake Tahoe.

Saturday I ran the first leg (of seven legs) of the 72.3 mile relay around the lake, 9.6 miles at an 8:18 pace. Our team came in 76th out of 97 teams that finished, 26th out of 39 teams in our division. We were in the Mixed Open, and our mix was three men and four women, whereas most MO teams had four men and three women. That's not too bad for a bunch of flatlanders, a Band of Outsiders. More on the relay later. (Grabbing water on the run from H on the support team outside Harrah's Casino at Stateline at the Lake Tahoe Relay on Saturday. H was up third and picked up nine places for us. Photo credit A.)

Where they're out there having fun

Well I'm going out west where I belong. Tomorrow I'm off to California to join Bex and five other athletes she assembled to run a relay race around Lake Tahoe on Saturday. The last three times I ran on a team with Bex, we won the competition. This time I think we're going to run into some real pros. It should be fun. I have the first leg of 9.6 miles, running through the town with casinos, with Big Blue always to my left.

Where the days are short and the nights are long. The elevation for my leg of the 72-mile relay is over 6,000 feet, with two hills in the latter part. That has me a little concerned as my training has fallen off recently due to an injury. My conditioning has seeped out of my body. I was sucking wind at the end of my 10-miler on Sunday and there was no altitude to contend with.

Out on the coast. Bex is already out west training at altitude. She ran a race in Taos on Sunday at over 7,000 feet and was sixth.

Wherever you go. This morning I ran over my hill here in Falls Church and back, two miles, in 18:40. My hill is the best hill in the DC area and it's only one half mile from my front door.

And I'll fly. Yesterday I ran two and a half miles on the Mall in 21 minutes, finishing off with a charge up Capitol Hill. The last time I went up that hill, at the end of a 10K race last month, was just awful. It felt like I was running underwater. Yesterday I was able to go up it steadily.

And I'll shimmy. I want to thank my anonymous benefactor who pledged two dollars per mile for my charity when I run Chicago in the fall. Until yesterday, the charitable total stood at pledges for A of over $700, the entire rest of the charity team zero. Now it's not quite so embarassing. Thanks, H.

Well, the girls are frisky. Jeanne is back to running. She went three miles yesterday. Go give her a hug. She commented on my last post about the best Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich and said, "Tofu." Huh. There is no tofu on the Geno's or Pat's menu links I provided. However, if you want to play tourist and go to Jimmy's on South Street in Philadelphia, there is a vegetarian offering on their menu link.

In old 'Frisco. I saw how they prepared that offering when I was at Jimmy's two years ago. They moved the mound of meat they were cooking on the grill over a couple of inches and plopped the tofu down right next to it. The tofu didn't stay vegetarian very long, simmering away right next to the running meat pile.