You gotta read Not Born To Run's latest post, although you won't find it on her blog. It's called Starting Over, that's what it's about, and you'll find it here. She's a brilliant writer so she describes it much better than I can. But here's what I think about starting over in running as synonymous with life.
Jeanne speaks words of wisdom. I wish her a rapid return to running.
When I started running seven years ago, I was brought to a screeching halt twice by, of all things, tendonitis in a single toe. The layoffs were a year apart. The only remedy each time was six weeks rest. Nothing else helped. (Thank you Dr. Lee.)
I chafed at the inactivity. Since I didn't practice yoga at the time, I did nothing. But when the six weeks was up, I had a hard time getting back to running.
I dreaded going out to start a run. I had gotten away from carving time for a run out of my busy day. I'd lost all my prior fitness. I had to go through that unpleasant feeling of oxygen-deprivation during my first few runs back. I didn't like it anymore. I had to start over.
But you know what those enticements to lethargy were? Excuses. A lack of will and a diminution of self-esteem. I felt like giving up because it was too hard. So what if I returned to being overweight and just sinking down on the couch, shut up in my house alone, to watch TV. Hey, it's March Madness time. A game is on somewhere.
But I got through my doubts and lassitude. I found discipline and exerted patience. I didn't ruin running for myself by being stupid about starting over. I refrained from running impulsively or compulsively at the beginning and re-injuring myself.
I ran once in week seven. I ran twice in week eight. I ran three times in my third week back. By the end of the month I was back to running regularly five times a week and feeling good about myself. I honored my body with a little fitness.
I did this twice, coming back from a forced lay-off. But I only had to come back from a little pain in a solitary toe. Jeanne has to come back from surgery. I know Jeanne and she'll be back better than ever.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
I'm Back
After running in the 2006 New York City Marathon in early November, I took two months off from racing due to burn-out. (Above: Crossing the finish line in Central Park at New York. I'm to the left under the clock in the yellow shirt with blue sleeves.)
I only raced two 3Ks (13:16 & 13:09) for the rest of 2006. I have been struggling to get back into racing shape this year. I am considering doing a marathon in two weeks but feel woefully out of shape. In a marathon relay I did last month, I ran a 9.2 mile leg and struggled to do an 8:26 pace. I finished the race not being able to hold off any late challengers.
Today I did this Marathon Relay in lower MD with Bex to test my readiness. I did the first leg, 14.6 miles, the flat, scenic part down by the Potomac River where it flows into the Chesapeake past St. George Island. Bex did the hills, 11.6 miles of rolling highway peaks and valleys. After doing the Inaugural National Marathon last year, she laughs at hills.
I'm a low-tech guy but I have a new toy. A Timex Ironman watch that records 100 laps. After watching Bex run the MCM last year I was intrigued with her steady pacing. Like clockwork, she recorded the miles on her Ironman watch and made sure they were between 8:40 and 8:50 miles. Result--she broke through the 4-hour barrier in only her second marathon, something which took me twelve tries.
So after six years of racing, I ditched my trusty Armitron, which only told stopwatch time. This morning I was hitting my new Timex watch each mile. Here are the splits--7:40, 7:38, 7:44, 7:51, 7:51, 7:46, 7:56, 7:57, 8:13, 8:02, 8:07, 8:19, 8:13, 8:15, and 5:02 for the last 6/10ths of a mile. I passed the half-marathon point in 1:44:09, which would be a nine second PR for me. I exchanged the baton at 1:56:41. My average pace for the distance was 7:59.5 per mile. It was a good run for me, but boy, was I glad to hand off. Bex motored off down the highway, ran relay people down whose counterparts had run away from me and hid during my leg, and... Aww, I'll let her tell you how we did.
I ran the inaugural running of this race as a marathon in 2005 in 4:19:24. At the time, it was my second best marathon time. In the first photo below, I am running by the water in 2005 in the scenic first part of the race. The views were just as gorgeous today. If you blow the photo up, you can see the Runner's ID tag, about which I spoke a couple of posts ago, hanging off the shoelace of my right shoe. The second photo shows me in 2005 sprinting to the finish line, having only 18 seconds to spare in order to be able to eclipse my then-second best marathon time.
Today I did this Marathon Relay in lower MD with Bex to test my readiness. I did the first leg, 14.6 miles, the flat, scenic part down by the Potomac River where it flows into the Chesapeake past St. George Island. Bex did the hills, 11.6 miles of rolling highway peaks and valleys. After doing the Inaugural National Marathon last year, she laughs at hills.
I'm a low-tech guy but I have a new toy. A Timex Ironman watch that records 100 laps. After watching Bex run the MCM last year I was intrigued with her steady pacing. Like clockwork, she recorded the miles on her Ironman watch and made sure they were between 8:40 and 8:50 miles. Result--she broke through the 4-hour barrier in only her second marathon, something which took me twelve tries.
So after six years of racing, I ditched my trusty Armitron, which only told stopwatch time. This morning I was hitting my new Timex watch each mile. Here are the splits--7:40, 7:38, 7:44, 7:51, 7:51, 7:46, 7:56, 7:57, 8:13, 8:02, 8:07, 8:19, 8:13, 8:15, and 5:02 for the last 6/10ths of a mile. I passed the half-marathon point in 1:44:09, which would be a nine second PR for me. I exchanged the baton at 1:56:41. My average pace for the distance was 7:59.5 per mile. It was a good run for me, but boy, was I glad to hand off. Bex motored off down the highway, ran relay people down whose counterparts had run away from me and hid during my leg, and... Aww, I'll let her tell you how we did.
I ran the inaugural running of this race as a marathon in 2005 in 4:19:24. At the time, it was my second best marathon time. In the first photo below, I am running by the water in 2005 in the scenic first part of the race. The views were just as gorgeous today. If you blow the photo up, you can see the Runner's ID tag, about which I spoke a couple of posts ago, hanging off the shoelace of my right shoe. The second photo shows me in 2005 sprinting to the finish line, having only 18 seconds to spare in order to be able to eclipse my then-second best marathon time.
Friday, March 9, 2007
A History of the End of the World
A week ago Wednesday I left on a six-mile run at noon from in front of the Georgetown Law School. (I work in a building nearby.) I ran to the Lincoln Memorial and back again, running up Capitol Hill on the return trip to get in some hillwork. I was gone about 52 minutes, an 8:40 pace, not too bad.
As I ran down Constitution Avenue past the E. Barrett Prettyman U.S. District Courthouse, I saw a large press contingent lounging around out front in the cold, gripped in the throes of ennui. This told me without resort to a radio or the Internet that there still was no verdict in the trial of I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, former chief of staff for the Vice President. Scooter was on trial for lying and obstructing the investigation into who illegally outed CIA operative Valerie Plame in 2003.
Plame was exposed in the press and her career destroyed shortly after her husband, former diplomat Joseph Wilson, had poked the bear by stating publicly that "some of the intelligence related to Iraq's nuclear weapons programs was twisted to exaggerate the Iraqi threat." Wilson had dared to criticize the phony WMD bugaboo propounded by the White House that led us to ensnare the cream of our military in the bottomless morass of Iraq, so the crew that "won" the White House "twice" meted out some of their special brand of ham-handed retribution. They retaliated against his wife by outing her, using the press corps as their dupes.
Scooter’s jury had been out for a few days by then. Courthouse convention says that if a jury comes back too fast, or takes too long, it’s bad for the prosecution. At the time of my noontime run, the abbreviated period was over and deliberations weren't stretching out yet, so it still looked like a conviction was possible.
But then last week stretched past the weekend. The jury was out too long. First Florida, then Ohio. Was the administration going to get away with Plamegate too?
And then this week, the denouement. After long and careful deliberation, the jurors’ unanimous judgment of Scooter was guilty, guilty, not guilty, guilty and guilty. Sounds pretty guilty to me. Maybe the system works after all, eventually.
Some jurors wondered why Karl and that great bird hunter, the Vice President, weren’t in the dock alongside the liar, obstructionist and perjurer already there.
How in the world did these people come to Washington?
I have a distant relative who was barely of voting age in 2000. He lived in Florida then. He told me he voted for Dubya but later regretted it because, he said, he had been "misled."
He is now a party animal living in an east coast city. Whenever I see him, I look at him in wonderment because you could say that he is one of only 537 people in the whole world who, by their vote for Dubya in 2000 in closely contested Florida, immeasurably altered American history, probably for the worse. These 537 persons, out of billions in the world, undoubtedly changed world history, maybe catastrophically so. It's possible their votes will lead to the destruction of the personal liberties enjoyed in our great country for the last two and a quarter centuries. They gave us Dubya and his minions, like the Great Bird Hunter, Karl, Scooter and "Quaint" Alberto.
Remember I left on my mid-day run that started this entry from in front of Georgetown Law School? I see its law students walking around practically every weekday. They all pretty much look like they'll make typical lawyers. You know, full of ideals until corrupted by money. Alberto went to Harvard Law and he is different. He gave us torture memos, rendering and indefinite incarceration without access to courts. What in the world do they teach those law students at Harvard?
As I ran down Constitution Avenue past the E. Barrett Prettyman U.S. District Courthouse, I saw a large press contingent lounging around out front in the cold, gripped in the throes of ennui. This told me without resort to a radio or the Internet that there still was no verdict in the trial of I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, former chief of staff for the Vice President. Scooter was on trial for lying and obstructing the investigation into who illegally outed CIA operative Valerie Plame in 2003.
Plame was exposed in the press and her career destroyed shortly after her husband, former diplomat Joseph Wilson, had poked the bear by stating publicly that "some of the intelligence related to Iraq's nuclear weapons programs was twisted to exaggerate the Iraqi threat." Wilson had dared to criticize the phony WMD bugaboo propounded by the White House that led us to ensnare the cream of our military in the bottomless morass of Iraq, so the crew that "won" the White House "twice" meted out some of their special brand of ham-handed retribution. They retaliated against his wife by outing her, using the press corps as their dupes.
Scooter’s jury had been out for a few days by then. Courthouse convention says that if a jury comes back too fast, or takes too long, it’s bad for the prosecution. At the time of my noontime run, the abbreviated period was over and deliberations weren't stretching out yet, so it still looked like a conviction was possible.
But then last week stretched past the weekend. The jury was out too long. First Florida, then Ohio. Was the administration going to get away with Plamegate too?
And then this week, the denouement. After long and careful deliberation, the jurors’ unanimous judgment of Scooter was guilty, guilty, not guilty, guilty and guilty. Sounds pretty guilty to me. Maybe the system works after all, eventually.
Some jurors wondered why Karl and that great bird hunter, the Vice President, weren’t in the dock alongside the liar, obstructionist and perjurer already there.
How in the world did these people come to Washington?
I have a distant relative who was barely of voting age in 2000. He lived in Florida then. He told me he voted for Dubya but later regretted it because, he said, he had been "misled."
He is now a party animal living in an east coast city. Whenever I see him, I look at him in wonderment because you could say that he is one of only 537 people in the whole world who, by their vote for Dubya in 2000 in closely contested Florida, immeasurably altered American history, probably for the worse. These 537 persons, out of billions in the world, undoubtedly changed world history, maybe catastrophically so. It's possible their votes will lead to the destruction of the personal liberties enjoyed in our great country for the last two and a quarter centuries. They gave us Dubya and his minions, like the Great Bird Hunter, Karl, Scooter and "Quaint" Alberto.
Remember I left on my mid-day run that started this entry from in front of Georgetown Law School? I see its law students walking around practically every weekday. They all pretty much look like they'll make typical lawyers. You know, full of ideals until corrupted by money. Alberto went to Harvard Law and he is different. He gave us torture memos, rendering and indefinite incarceration without access to courts. What in the world do they teach those law students at Harvard?
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
I'm Nobody
I received a distressing email today from a running friend who left me far behind when he fell into the clutches of ultra runners. He puts in 60 to 70 miles per week now to my 20 to 25 miles per week. Now he does marathons as training runs. One Saturday he ran from Iwo Jima to Mount Vernon and back, over 30 miles, just because he felt like it. He didn't take the next day off, either. Next up for him is a hundred miler, no doubt.
I used to be a better runner than him, but now when I encounter him in a race, I just try to hang on within sighting distance of him for the first half. I did beat him by a few seconds last year in a 5K when I ran a 22:45, but then my friend had already run several miles to get there (part of his training routine) and he was running home afterwards. That's the way he trains now. The severe snow storm we had last month, when the government closed, he went to work anyway. He ran there. But he does battle injury issues now, moreso than I do.
Here is part of his email: "...my tendonitis is to the point the Dr says I'm flirting with a rupture. I'll be taking it one week at a time... . Yesterday a friend of mine collapsed and died in front of the Arlington courthouse at about 10AM but because he had no ID at the time it was last night before his family found out. I need to pick up one of your road ID's."
This is a tragedy that strikes the DC area once or twice every year. Carry an ID when you run! I have an ID tag fastened onto every pair of running shoes I own. Below is the testimonial I wrote last year for the company whose tag I use. I meant every word of it. I like their product but I benefit nothing from promoting it. There are lots of companies selling runners' IDs on the Internet. Google "runners id" or some like phrase and buy an identification system for when you run. You can also go to petsmart and use their store vending machine to create a dogtag to run through your shoelaces. That clinks, though.
I used to be a better runner than him, but now when I encounter him in a race, I just try to hang on within sighting distance of him for the first half. I did beat him by a few seconds last year in a 5K when I ran a 22:45, but then my friend had already run several miles to get there (part of his training routine) and he was running home afterwards. That's the way he trains now. The severe snow storm we had last month, when the government closed, he went to work anyway. He ran there. But he does battle injury issues now, moreso than I do.
Here is part of his email: "...my tendonitis is to the point the Dr says I'm flirting with a rupture. I'll be taking it one week at a time... . Yesterday a friend of mine collapsed and died in front of the Arlington courthouse at about 10AM but because he had no ID at the time it was last night before his family found out. I need to pick up one of your road ID's."
This is a tragedy that strikes the DC area once or twice every year. Carry an ID when you run! I have an ID tag fastened onto every pair of running shoes I own. Below is the testimonial I wrote last year for the company whose tag I use. I meant every word of it. I like their product but I benefit nothing from promoting it. There are lots of companies selling runners' IDs on the Internet. Google "runners id" or some like phrase and buy an identification system for when you run. You can also go to petsmart and use their store vending machine to create a dogtag to run through your shoelaces. That clinks, though.
Many of us carry no identification when we run. We grab our shoes and head out the door. Free of encumbrances, we run carefree. But we are not responsibility free. Our loved ones need to be informed about our circumstances as soon and as properly as possible if tragedy strikes.
Here in DC, where it’s hot and humid, it seems like practically every summer a tragedy strikes. A solitary runner collapses on a trail during a weekend run and cannot be revived. Who is the runner? Perhaps, like me, the runner lives alone with no family in the area. Often identification of the stricken runner has to wait until the following week when co-workers notice his or her absence.
I have a dozen pairs of running shoes. I have a dozen Runner’s ID tags, one for each pair. They are unobtrusive, virtually weightless and practically noiseless. I don’t know the tag is there. I have never lost one. Each Runner’s ID tag is individualized but they all contain necessary basic information about me, my name and an emergency contact. Beyond that, there is lots of space for creativity with the Runner’s ID tag’s six lines for entry of information.
Each pair of my running shoes has run a marathon. Each Runner’s ID tag, in addition to my basic information, records that race in a different way, with the date, maybe my time, and perhaps the conditions of the race or whether it was an inaugural running or a PR.
I give Runner’s ID tags to running family members and friends as gifts of love, memorialized in a way unique to each person. "Please put it on your running shoe," I say, "for me. Because I care about you and would want to know if anything ever happened to you."
Runner’s ID. With it, I’m somebody. Without it, I’m nobody.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Almost Heaven, West Virginia
I went to Charles Town, West Virginia this past weekend. I did the usual things. Toured a vinyard on the way there. Walked a little ways down the Appalachian Trail. Stayed in a Bed & Breakfast. Visited the Courthouse where John Brown was tried. Trekked out to South Charles Street to view the side yard where he was hanged. (It was a field in 1859. John Brown rode to his execution on a wagon seated atop his coffin.) Lost money on the slots. Won money on the horses.
Whoa, you say. Won money on the horses? Well, yeah. Sort of.
First off, sitting in the Charles Town Slots Casino and feeding an occasional twenty into the poker slot machine for two hours really stunk. Literally. Forget the money I dropped, around half a century note. (That's entertainment, right?) My clothes wound up stinking from all the smoke in the dimly lit gambling warehouse. It seemed like over half of the bleary-eyed people perched on stools in front of blinking, chiming and blinging machines were smoking.
After I developed a headache from the incessant noise in the huge gaming hall, I went into the horse racing parlor. It was filled with acrid smoke too. The bettors in there looked pretty much the same except they were blearily poring over racing programs instead of watching spinning bars and cherries flash by in front of their eyes. But at least you could go outside to the racing track.
I picked up a betting handout and studied it. I shortly realized that I didn't have a clue what it was talking about. Exacta, the Box, the Exacta Box, the Wheel, the Exacta Wheel, the Partial Wheel, the Trifecta, the Superfecta, the Daily Double and more. Variations on permutations. How about an Exacta Partial Wheel with six horses? My headache worsened.
Thankfully I run so I know about win, place or show. I placed a bet for horse number five, whom I'd observed briefly in the lineup area outside, to win, place or show. The ticket cost me six dollars. The cashier said horse number five (I never knew his name) was a favorite in the race.
And they're off! Outside, the horses took a lesiurely lap around the track so the bettors could see them once more and get excited all over again. Then handlers stuffed the horses into the starting gate apparatus, and following a riveting pause, the gates flew open and the racehorses charged out. It was majesty in motion as the thoroughbreds swept around the near turn and thundered down the track. Hooves flashing, they ran by amidst a rising crescendo of sound, like a wave breaking overhead. The noise receded as the horses raced around the far turn and went into the final straightaway. Down the stretch they flew, neck and neck. Horse number five came in third. He showed!
Excitedly, I hurried to the cashier and turned in my ticket. She smiled at my success and took my money out of the drawer. She pushed it across the counter at me. $6.20. My winnings.
Remember I said I'd spent $6.00 on this winning ticket? I stared at the five and one and two thin dimes in my palm.
I'd risked six dollars to win twenty cents. Those two coins represented my earnings for more than half an hour of my time. I carefully pocketed the coins, felt them in my pocket, jingled them. I left the track a winner! Is horse betting fun or what?
Whoa, you say. Won money on the horses? Well, yeah. Sort of.
First off, sitting in the Charles Town Slots Casino and feeding an occasional twenty into the poker slot machine for two hours really stunk. Literally. Forget the money I dropped, around half a century note. (That's entertainment, right?) My clothes wound up stinking from all the smoke in the dimly lit gambling warehouse. It seemed like over half of the bleary-eyed people perched on stools in front of blinking, chiming and blinging machines were smoking.
After I developed a headache from the incessant noise in the huge gaming hall, I went into the horse racing parlor. It was filled with acrid smoke too. The bettors in there looked pretty much the same except they were blearily poring over racing programs instead of watching spinning bars and cherries flash by in front of their eyes. But at least you could go outside to the racing track.
I picked up a betting handout and studied it. I shortly realized that I didn't have a clue what it was talking about. Exacta, the Box, the Exacta Box, the Wheel, the Exacta Wheel, the Partial Wheel, the Trifecta, the Superfecta, the Daily Double and more. Variations on permutations. How about an Exacta Partial Wheel with six horses? My headache worsened.
Thankfully I run so I know about win, place or show. I placed a bet for horse number five, whom I'd observed briefly in the lineup area outside, to win, place or show. The ticket cost me six dollars. The cashier said horse number five (I never knew his name) was a favorite in the race.
And they're off! Outside, the horses took a lesiurely lap around the track so the bettors could see them once more and get excited all over again. Then handlers stuffed the horses into the starting gate apparatus, and following a riveting pause, the gates flew open and the racehorses charged out. It was majesty in motion as the thoroughbreds swept around the near turn and thundered down the track. Hooves flashing, they ran by amidst a rising crescendo of sound, like a wave breaking overhead. The noise receded as the horses raced around the far turn and went into the final straightaway. Down the stretch they flew, neck and neck. Horse number five came in third. He showed!
Excitedly, I hurried to the cashier and turned in my ticket. She smiled at my success and took my money out of the drawer. She pushed it across the counter at me. $6.20. My winnings.
Remember I said I'd spent $6.00 on this winning ticket? I stared at the five and one and two thin dimes in my palm.
I'd risked six dollars to win twenty cents. Those two coins represented my earnings for more than half an hour of my time. I carefully pocketed the coins, felt them in my pocket, jingled them. I left the track a winner! Is horse betting fun or what?
Friday, March 2, 2007
But Does It Count?
I finally got my 20 mile run in today. Supposedly I'm doing a marathon later this month. I haven't signed up for it yet, I think I'm secretly hoping it fills up before I register. But I figured it was about time to do my long run.
It's been a tough winter in DC because we had a long cold snap. So it's been hard to throw down a 20-miler. Plus I've been busy. I recently switched divisions at work. I volunteered to direct a weekly running program put on by my club, with the able assistance of Jeanne (she's 2d in command--actually, who am I kidding?), Bex (coach of the gazelles) and others. I organized a small informal running group, TIG (for The Informal Group), that went out on Saturday runs around the DC area.
I had good intentions of doing my long run with TIG. Its participants were training for a Half, so they didn't want to do more than 13 miles or so. I ran to one meeting place beforehand, and got in an 18-miler that way, but that and a 14-mile run were all I had really done since I ran the NYCM in November. Heck, I haven't even run 26 miles total in a week since November.
I had Friday off and it seemed perfect for finally doing a long run. Except my boss at work asked me late Thursday to attend a meeting on a time-sensitive work project on Friday morning with his boss. Even though I like my boss and his boss, I was reluctant to accommodate him because I prefer to do my long runs early in the morning. But I saw an opportunity here.
Okay, I said, I can be here at 10 tomorrow morning, even though it's my day off. Great, said my boss, see you then.
Work is eleven and a half miles away. How fun, and ecological, I thought, to run to work and back. I'll get my run in. I'll attend the meeting. I'll save energy. Everyone will be delighted. So that's what I did.
At 8 this morning I headed out the door. I started running towards DC on the W&OD Trail, a 40-mile long bike path made from a paved-over railroad bed that passes by right behind my house. (For those of you who know the W&OD Trail, my house is the second one west of the bike bridge.)
It was a temperate morning. A few bicycle commuters passed me, and one or two even gave me an audible warning that they were approaching at speed. The miles rolled by. Runners usually use the Memorial Bridge from Arlington National Cemetery to get into the District, but I ran over the Roosevelt Bridge instead, something I'd never tried before. The experiment worked because I didn't get lost or have to cross a roadway full of harried rush-hour commuters. Finally I attained the Mall and ran its length. It was lovely. I charged up Capitol Hill to approximate the hill late in the marathon I'm planning to run and then cut over to my office building near Union Station.
11.8 miles in 1:56:25, counting a comfort break by Roosevelt Island. 9:52 pace, kinda slow so far.
I bought coffee and a banana, changed my running shirt and attended the meeting. It was a good meeting, I thought. One attendee was getting over lingering cold, another had an infection that might be contagious and I was smack dab in the middle of a 20-mile run. We all placed our chairs far apart from one another.
Then I went to my office to measure on gmap how far I'd already run and calculated the pace. I went to the work nurse to ask for some petroleum jelly. She didn't have any so I substituted four bandaids instead. After 90 minutes I was off again to run home. This part of the run was a little tougher. A lot tougher, actually. Running home from work is "uphill" as the Custis Trail in Virginia, which feeds into the W&OD, is hilly, especially going west.
Running down the Mall wasn't quite so nice as it had been earlier. The wind had picked up considerably and was right in my face the whole way. It was sweeping down the east-west lying Mall so strongly that the flags around the Washington Monument were fully unfurled, pointing towards the Capitol like stiff boards. Running by each of the half dozen Metro stops I passed offered strong inducement to call it a 15-mile run and jump aboard public transit.
Passing over the Potomac by the Memorial Bridge, I entered Virginia within thirty minutes. The trail along the river was full of gigantic puddles. I got my shoes wet. I was hungry because the coffee and the banana, plus a Gu, were all that I had eaten. I drank the last of my water and I was thirsty. I tried to decide whether having given blood two days earlier was what was making me excessively tired, or if it was just because I was woefully out of shape.
I hit the sharp hills on the Custis Trail. I started clocking 10 minute miles, then 10:30 miles. Finally I turned onto the W&OD, which thankfully is flatter. Only 5K to go. Revived a little bit, I overtook and passed a bicyclist. (He was only four, with training wheels on his bike, so I guess it doesn't count.)
As I slowly counted off the last three miles to my house, I wondered if I'd even break two hours on the return trip. I abandoned my plan to run up the long steep hill near my house to cap my run. I debated endlessly whether I'd run over the bike bridge or take the flat path underneath it and cross King Street by running across the highway. But since the milepost is posted on the bridge, I ran over it. I checked my pace for the last mile and winced. Over 11:00.
I got to my driveway and stopped. It felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. 1:58:24 for 11.5 miles, 10:18 pace. Yikes. But the 20-miler was done (actually 23.3 miles). I had experienced the fun of running to work and back. How many people can say that?
But does it count as a long run? I had that 90 minute break in there...
It's been a tough winter in DC because we had a long cold snap. So it's been hard to throw down a 20-miler. Plus I've been busy. I recently switched divisions at work. I volunteered to direct a weekly running program put on by my club, with the able assistance of Jeanne (she's 2d in command--actually, who am I kidding?), Bex (coach of the gazelles) and others. I organized a small informal running group, TIG (for The Informal Group), that went out on Saturday runs around the DC area.
I had good intentions of doing my long run with TIG. Its participants were training for a Half, so they didn't want to do more than 13 miles or so. I ran to one meeting place beforehand, and got in an 18-miler that way, but that and a 14-mile run were all I had really done since I ran the NYCM in November. Heck, I haven't even run 26 miles total in a week since November.
I had Friday off and it seemed perfect for finally doing a long run. Except my boss at work asked me late Thursday to attend a meeting on a time-sensitive work project on Friday morning with his boss. Even though I like my boss and his boss, I was reluctant to accommodate him because I prefer to do my long runs early in the morning. But I saw an opportunity here.
Okay, I said, I can be here at 10 tomorrow morning, even though it's my day off. Great, said my boss, see you then.
Work is eleven and a half miles away. How fun, and ecological, I thought, to run to work and back. I'll get my run in. I'll attend the meeting. I'll save energy. Everyone will be delighted. So that's what I did.
At 8 this morning I headed out the door. I started running towards DC on the W&OD Trail, a 40-mile long bike path made from a paved-over railroad bed that passes by right behind my house. (For those of you who know the W&OD Trail, my house is the second one west of the bike bridge.)
It was a temperate morning. A few bicycle commuters passed me, and one or two even gave me an audible warning that they were approaching at speed. The miles rolled by. Runners usually use the Memorial Bridge from Arlington National Cemetery to get into the District, but I ran over the Roosevelt Bridge instead, something I'd never tried before. The experiment worked because I didn't get lost or have to cross a roadway full of harried rush-hour commuters. Finally I attained the Mall and ran its length. It was lovely. I charged up Capitol Hill to approximate the hill late in the marathon I'm planning to run and then cut over to my office building near Union Station.
11.8 miles in 1:56:25, counting a comfort break by Roosevelt Island. 9:52 pace, kinda slow so far.
I bought coffee and a banana, changed my running shirt and attended the meeting. It was a good meeting, I thought. One attendee was getting over lingering cold, another had an infection that might be contagious and I was smack dab in the middle of a 20-mile run. We all placed our chairs far apart from one another.
Then I went to my office to measure on gmap how far I'd already run and calculated the pace. I went to the work nurse to ask for some petroleum jelly. She didn't have any so I substituted four bandaids instead. After 90 minutes I was off again to run home. This part of the run was a little tougher. A lot tougher, actually. Running home from work is "uphill" as the Custis Trail in Virginia, which feeds into the W&OD, is hilly, especially going west.
Running down the Mall wasn't quite so nice as it had been earlier. The wind had picked up considerably and was right in my face the whole way. It was sweeping down the east-west lying Mall so strongly that the flags around the Washington Monument were fully unfurled, pointing towards the Capitol like stiff boards. Running by each of the half dozen Metro stops I passed offered strong inducement to call it a 15-mile run and jump aboard public transit.
Passing over the Potomac by the Memorial Bridge, I entered Virginia within thirty minutes. The trail along the river was full of gigantic puddles. I got my shoes wet. I was hungry because the coffee and the banana, plus a Gu, were all that I had eaten. I drank the last of my water and I was thirsty. I tried to decide whether having given blood two days earlier was what was making me excessively tired, or if it was just because I was woefully out of shape.
I hit the sharp hills on the Custis Trail. I started clocking 10 minute miles, then 10:30 miles. Finally I turned onto the W&OD, which thankfully is flatter. Only 5K to go. Revived a little bit, I overtook and passed a bicyclist. (He was only four, with training wheels on his bike, so I guess it doesn't count.)
As I slowly counted off the last three miles to my house, I wondered if I'd even break two hours on the return trip. I abandoned my plan to run up the long steep hill near my house to cap my run. I debated endlessly whether I'd run over the bike bridge or take the flat path underneath it and cross King Street by running across the highway. But since the milepost is posted on the bridge, I ran over it. I checked my pace for the last mile and winced. Over 11:00.
I got to my driveway and stopped. It felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. 1:58:24 for 11.5 miles, 10:18 pace. Yikes. But the 20-miler was done (actually 23.3 miles). I had experienced the fun of running to work and back. How many people can say that?
But does it count as a long run? I had that 90 minute break in there...
Thursday, March 1, 2007
My Virtual 20K Race
What is a virtual race?
That's what I call a "race" I run of a real event that I don't attend due to cost, distance or circumstances. It's a run that I do by myself in a local venue of equivalent distance as the actual event. My "race" starts on the same date and at the same time as the specified program. Later I look up the results and see where I would have placed.
Although it's more than a tempo run, I rarely go at actual "race pace" because when I'm running alone it's hard to force myself to go at that effort for the entire distance. That's why I'm always slower in a virtual race than I would be at the real race. Or at least that's what I tell myself.
I do two or three "virtual races" a year of real races that I wish I were actually running. Although my times are unofficial, of course, and I don't count them for PRs, I do record them in my personal results because my running mindset during them is different from even a hard training run. I call each one the "Virtual [insert name of actual race here]".
Virtual races are fun. They enable me to participate in any race in the world. One rule I have is that I always try to approximate the actual terrain of the race.
For instance, last May 21st, I "went" to Wheeling, WV and "ran" in the Ogden Newspapers 20K Classic. Only I ran it on the last half of the first National Marathon course here in the DC area. This superseded course is devilishly hilly, as I imagine any race in West Virginia must be.
I remember it was already hot on that Sunday morning when I pushed off at 8 am from the "starting line" at the John Philip Sousa Bridge on Pennsylvania Avenue. I ran over the shimmering water of the Anacostia River and turned north at Minnesota Avenue. That was the end of any level running.
Running alone through the blighted streets of SE and on the soulless highways in PG County was depressing. I didn't see one other runner during the entire time and pedestrians seemed surprised to see me running by. Several cars honked and drivers gesticulated at me to get out of the way.
I wilted on the hellacious hills east of the Anacostia, especially the gargantuan one in Fort Dupont. I hit it in my third mile and could barely manage it. As I ground up it, I reflected on my friend Bex's first marathon on the same course two months earlier. I pictured her running up the same hill in the fourteenth mile, alone, hair flying, right knee severely gashed from a fall, with the seven hills of hell on Central Avenue still to come in the last six miles. I wondered if her first marathon had scarred her for life, then I remembered her tremendous resolve and decided, Naww.
An hour later I was on those same infamous hills, only I thankfully reached the "end" of my 20K race on the third hill. I barely shuffled over the imaginary finish line in 1:59:47, a gruesome 9:38 pace. If it hadn't been a "race" I would have quit the run long before that. I gratefully boarded Metro to ride back to my car in the District.
Oh, I placed 402/617 in the Virtual 2006 Ogden Newspapers 20K Classic. Not a good showing at all.
That's what I call a "race" I run of a real event that I don't attend due to cost, distance or circumstances. It's a run that I do by myself in a local venue of equivalent distance as the actual event. My "race" starts on the same date and at the same time as the specified program. Later I look up the results and see where I would have placed.
Although it's more than a tempo run, I rarely go at actual "race pace" because when I'm running alone it's hard to force myself to go at that effort for the entire distance. That's why I'm always slower in a virtual race than I would be at the real race. Or at least that's what I tell myself.
I do two or three "virtual races" a year of real races that I wish I were actually running. Although my times are unofficial, of course, and I don't count them for PRs, I do record them in my personal results because my running mindset during them is different from even a hard training run. I call each one the "Virtual [insert name of actual race here]".
Virtual races are fun. They enable me to participate in any race in the world. One rule I have is that I always try to approximate the actual terrain of the race.
For instance, last May 21st, I "went" to Wheeling, WV and "ran" in the Ogden Newspapers 20K Classic. Only I ran it on the last half of the first National Marathon course here in the DC area. This superseded course is devilishly hilly, as I imagine any race in West Virginia must be.
I remember it was already hot on that Sunday morning when I pushed off at 8 am from the "starting line" at the John Philip Sousa Bridge on Pennsylvania Avenue. I ran over the shimmering water of the Anacostia River and turned north at Minnesota Avenue. That was the end of any level running.
Running alone through the blighted streets of SE and on the soulless highways in PG County was depressing. I didn't see one other runner during the entire time and pedestrians seemed surprised to see me running by. Several cars honked and drivers gesticulated at me to get out of the way.
I wilted on the hellacious hills east of the Anacostia, especially the gargantuan one in Fort Dupont. I hit it in my third mile and could barely manage it. As I ground up it, I reflected on my friend Bex's first marathon on the same course two months earlier. I pictured her running up the same hill in the fourteenth mile, alone, hair flying, right knee severely gashed from a fall, with the seven hills of hell on Central Avenue still to come in the last six miles. I wondered if her first marathon had scarred her for life, then I remembered her tremendous resolve and decided, Naww.
An hour later I was on those same infamous hills, only I thankfully reached the "end" of my 20K race on the third hill. I barely shuffled over the imaginary finish line in 1:59:47, a gruesome 9:38 pace. If it hadn't been a "race" I would have quit the run long before that. I gratefully boarded Metro to ride back to my car in the District.
Oh, I placed 402/617 in the Virtual 2006 Ogden Newspapers 20K Classic. Not a good showing at all.
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