An Open Letter to the Atlanta Track Club

Dear Atlanta Track Club

First, let me congratulate you on another successful Peachtree 10k Road Race.  The magnitude of planning and executing the operation was again first-rate.  I can not even begin to imagine the challenge of putting this all together, yet every year you make the operation move as smoothly as silk.  Well done.

I am sure you are anticipating a "but" or some complaint about what I experienced.  This is not the case.  Yes, I missed my goal time by three minutes, but that's not your fault.  Yes, I lost my Stryd foot pod somewhere in Piedmont Park.  Again, that's on me.  A small piece of Velcro from the Dollar Store could have saved the day, but I wasn't thinking.  Yes, my Garmin went a little off at about the five-mile mark, but my final time was still accurate, and the map it produced was amusing to look at.  No complaints.  But one suggestion.  Let's go back to the expo.

I am sitting with my bag of freebies, listening to a group of runners speaking about how slower runners can be better integrated into the running community.  One comment caught my attention: the presenter stated that she is somewhat reserved, which adds to the stigma of being a slow runner.  I found it interesting that this topic arose during the talk, and I wondered if being introverted could be an issue in the general running community.

Fast forward about sixteen hours.  I have arrived at the Brookhaven MARTA station, and the number of people waiting for the next train is staggering.  The platform is four to five people deep, and, yes, you guessed it, most everyone is decked out in their finest running gear heading to the starting line just like me.  Some random thoughts and actions shoot through my head, such as what starting group others are in (this is displayed on the bib), what kind of apparel everyone is wearing, and if anyone would notice my brand new snappy Brooks Ghost Max 2 shoes that I was sure would bring me at least one Strava segment PR.  Then it hit me.  Bluntly and quickly.  I was all alone.

The other runners on the platform were essentially in groups, some as few as two, some as large as a dozen or so.  With the platform as crowded as it is, I get to listen in on some conversations.  A group directly in front of me is discussing their upcoming plans for their fall college semester.  A couple nearby talks about the logistics of meeting some family members at the end of the race.  Another group of friends anguish over their seemingly substandard food choices the previous night.  I say nothing.  

The train arrives, and the feeling of aloneness is amplified.  Here I am, shoehorned into the subway car like cattle, and I know no one.  Conversations still happen all around me, mostly friendly banter about the crowded conditions.  Atlanta's party of the summer was starting to make me feel like the wallflower of the party.

I find my way to the start area and see much of the same.  Granted, starting a conversation while in the port-a-john line can get pretty creepy pretty fast, but everywhere else, all I am seeing is family and/or friends warming up in anticipation of the run.  I am involved in exactly three conversations: an older gentleman who I requested to take my picture, a man in his forties who was telling me about the intricacies of his warm-up routine, and a young lady whose colorful hippie shoes I complimented.

Where am I going with this?  I get the feeling that there are more than a few runners at the race who are in the exact same position (I was going to use the word "predicament," but I am not sure if this rises to that level) that I was in.  So I am going to make a bold suggestion.  

Make a new starting group.  One determined not by a race time or a fitness level, but determined by comfort with social engagement or a quantifiable lack of running partners.  One that an individual can qualify for simply by having the letter "I" start their Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator.  The new starting group could, since one currently does not exist, take the letter Q.  Q for quiet.

Now that you have had a second to catch your breath, pick yourself up off the floor, and recover from your extended laughter, allow me to anticipate the difficulties you are seeing with my plan and address them.  Let's start at the very first step: exactly how would a runner choose to be part of group Q? Very simple: ask them.  When one registers for the Peachtree, one has to answer quite a few questions: age, gender, disability status, membership status, and so on.  One more question wouldn't hurt; tick the box for inclusion in group Q.  I understand that slower runners or those who did not submit a race time could potentially move up to an earlier start time by telling an "extroverted lie." Still, I am also willing to bet that there is plenty of movement within the starting groups already.

Next, the obvious logistical challenges with adding another starting group.  I get this one.  I was in starting group S this year, and I felt proud that I held a position at the front for the entire walk to the starting line.  Imagine my surprise when a race official started yelling, "Go with this group, S goes with R.  We're running behind."  It is indisputable that I am on the outside looking in when it comes to police details, street closings, setup and breakdown, and everything else that goes into putting on this event.  Could you kick things off five or ten minutes earlier to accommodate this request?  I don't know.  Could you eliminate a starting group on the back side of the race, assuming a new group would redistribute the numbers of each starting group?  Could you try to squeeze in another starting group and see how it goes?  Yes, I know, a lot of work.

How about the possibility that the spread of anticipated finish times would be way too great, and this would cause undue congestion on the race course?  I get that runners are grouped by anticipated finish for several reasons.  I am also aware that the course is crowded, even with the generous amount of space given to the runners on Peachtree Road, which is kind of my point.  As much effort as I am sure you put into it, when you have a race with upwards of 40,000 people, things are going to get a little cramped.  I am okay with the tradeoff.

Lastly, the inevitable question.  What if?  What if you go ahead, create this "introverted running utopia," and it bombs?  What if only a dozen or so people request group Q?  How can you justify adding another starting group if you don't see significant interest or participation?  Okay, this is a fair point.  My suggestion: give it a test run and mull over the results.  A few years ago, I ran the Eastside Beltway 10k, a race that had five starting groups that I believe were 100% determined by anticipated finish time.  Since the participants were on their honor to submit an honest assessment of said finish time, why not trust that the runners would give the same consideration to being in a new group where they could feel comfortable discussing the course, the quality of their running equipment...........................and of course, which other Atlanta Track Club events to enter!!!

Let me get back to reality.  I know that I have a better chance of actually winning the race than seeing a new starting group formed based on my race day observations.  But I am thinking that you are constantly striving to make both the race and the experience better.  I am also thinking that you like to receive feedback, no matter how positive, negative, or far-fetched.  So I humbly and quietly submit this observation, with no expectations.  

See you at the starting line.

Peachtree 10K 2025. What Went Right, and What Went Wrong

 July 4th.  Fireworks, cookouts, hot days at the beach.  For me, it's a new tradition: running the Peachtree 10K in Atlanta, Georgia.  This year marked my 5th running of the actual, non-COVID-affected race.  I had only one goal: to finish the race strong and without emergency medical assistance.  Last year, I blew out a knee a couple of miles in and had to limp to the finish.  I just wanted to go the distance.  However, I made some adjustments to my race-day routine that I felt would make the experience run more smoothly.  Some worked.  Some did not.  Here we go.

The first change was getting to the race.  For the past three years, I have been walking to a Route 30 bus stop, then catching a bus to the Lindburgh subway station.  Shuttle buses (one after the other, like clockwork) then transport the runners to a point near the starting area.  I did not have much of a reason to change things up the first couple of times.  Waiting at the bus stop early in the morning on a holiday was strangely serene; the bus was on time to the minute, there was no wait on the shuttles, and perhaps most importantly, there were port-a-potties at the subway station.

Last year, everything was running smoothly until the shuttle ride.  The bus became stuck in heavy traffic and remained stationary for extended periods.  Some runners who had early start waves exited the bus early and ran through traffic to get to the start line.  While the delay did not significantly impact my pre-race routine, I felt that an alternative would be a good idea to explore.

My plan was simple: take the Route 8 bus to the Brookhaven subway station, then take the subway one whole stop to the Lenox station, which is very close to the starting area.  My reasoning with the subway was that Brookhaven was the second stop on the line.  With an early start, I doubted that many runners would be on this line. I figured about 10 people would be on the platform.  Who knows, maybe I could strike up a conversation with someone and receive some key racing insights.

The bus was on time, and there were about half a dozen other passengers on the bus, but no other runners.  As we turned onto the road leading to the subway station, one of the other riders suddenly screamed, "Look at all the people!!"  Yes, the platform was full of runners, but at this point, it did not look too bad, and I knew that MARTA was running extra trains.  So I exit the bus, get to the platform, and see that it is wall-to-wall runners, four to five people deep.  The first train was full, but I managed to squeeze onto the second train with no real time concerns.  Glad I took that pre-race shower to get the blood pumping.

We arrived at Lenox just as a southbound train was unloading.  This caused a cattle at the stockyard effect, to the point where the escalator had to be monitored for weight limits.  However, things got better as soon as I exited the station.  The signage to the wave areas was fairly well marked, and there were port-a-potties en route, which I took full advantage of.

At the start area, my usual practice is predictable.  Water, another visit to the port-a-potty, more water, a warmup run in some secluded area (thank you Wieuca Road Baptist Church for the use of your empty parking lot), a photo to post to Facebook, and then join my start wave.  I try out another change here, listening to music.  I am concerned that it will drain my phone's battery and not provide much of a boost, but I will note and evaluate.  I am planning to go with a run/walk strategy; 30/30 for the first half of the race, 20/30 for the second.  While I use the Galloway method all the time in training, I have rarely changed intervals mid-race.  Again, we will soon find out.

The race starts, and some things quickly become apparent.  The music is useless; even with headphones, the noise drowns out the radio.  The 30/30 is working well; the first half of the race is slightly downhill, and the even pace allows me to bank some time.  I am also avoiding unofficial water stops, for now anyway.

At 3 miles, I switch to 20/30 intervals, and the change on my app is seamless.  The heat is starting to take a toll, and the back half of the course is much steeper.  Walking breaks are longer and more frequent, but I am still hoping to finish under 80 minutes.  I am finding that my calibration of finish time is not very good, and at this point, I am just hoping for a healthy run.

I take the turn onto 10th Street with hopes of still making my goal time, but that fades with the narrowing of the road and the sea of humanity I will have to pass to achieve it.  I finish at 1:23, not terrible considering the conditions.  I got the bottle of water.  I got the finisher's peach.  And most importantly, the Peachtree finishers' t-shirt.  Time well spent.

My wife and daughter did not come to see me run this year, so for the first time, I had to navigate MARTA back home.  I had two options: walk about a mile to catch shuttle buses to Lindbergh Station, or walk a mile and four blocks to the Midtown Station.  Either way, I would have to go to Brookhaven and catch the bus home.  I went with the shuttle buses; there was a lot of waiting for both an empty bus and a northbound train at the station.  I hope that next year, my family members will attend, both for a ride and obligatory photos with the grandkids.

I already signed up for next year.  I am already evaluating all these things.  Isn't it wonderful?

Disaster at the Peachtree!!

 "Wow, that was a really good idea.  I should do that."  A blog entry with an introduction like that would lead one to believe that the contents of said blog entry would be positive, uplifting, or, at the very least, not disastrous.  Well. not this time.  Let me travel back about a month, to the last day of May, to set all of this up.

I had just completed a run of 6 kilometers at my usual spot on the local reservoir.  When I completed the run, I noticed a pain in the back of my knee; it was not knockout stabbing painful, but it was definitely more than slight, and it was entirely new and coming out of nowhere.  Still, I chalked it up to running too far on an Uneven surface and figured it would be okay to take a typical lengthed run soon.  That being said, I took about two weeks off.

My next run came about 17 days later, a routine four-miler at my favorite spot by the reservoir. There was a twinge of pain in my left knee, but again, nothing set off alarm bells, and I figured my extended rest period did the trick. Aren't I the optimist?

I was now more concerned with my lack of fitness than my potential orthopedic issues, so I drove down to my favorite running spot on the Cape Cod Canal two days later.  I felt fine during my warmup run, but felt a slight knee pain doing some side strides, which I foolishly ignored.  After about 3 minutes (yes, that's right, only three minutes), I felt a gripping pain in the back of my knee that brought me to an immediate stop.  What's worse, I had to limp back ½ mile to my car.  I could barely walk when I returned to my car and drove home.  A visit to urgent care later that afternoon brought about a diagnosis of nothing serious but RICE (Rest, ice, compression, elevation), ibuprofen, and no running for the foreseeable future.

The doctor's orders were followed, and again, my knee improved quickly. I was able to ZWIFT frequently, which helped with my fitness, and I did "test". my knee with a few walks with no major problems. I awoke at 5:00 in the morning and got ready to run the Peachtree 10K road race in Atlanta, thinking more about the coveted t-shirt than any injury problems.

Now, we can successfully circle back to the beginning of the post.  I arrived at the Lindbergh MARTA station at around 7:00 and spotted several port-a-johns close to the subway entrance.  If you know what I mean, I decided to take FULL ADVANTAGE of this stroke of good fortune.  When I blissfully exited and made my way to the shuttle bus, a young woman used the quote in the first sentence.  I am unsure if she was speaking directly to me or simply thinking out loud, but suddenly, I felt this would be a good omen.  It was the last one of the day.

The shuttle bus left on its usual route and got stuck in the regular traffic.  What was unusual was the amount of time it languished in this traffic.  The drop-off point was still a fair distance from the starting area, and you could feel the tension rising among the riders, especially those in an earlier starting wave.  When we finally got to exit (no where near the original drop off point) the stress was now more audible.  Some participants even ran to the starting line.  Bad omen.

I still had what I thought was a decent amount of time before I started when I arrived at the first bank of port-a-johns.  The lines were long, and they did not seem to be moving.  After about a half dozen runners exited various loos screaming, "There's no toilet paper!!  Is there any toilet paper??" the reason became quite clear.  It was also here that I realized that I had left my gel packs at home.  Bad omen.

I did manage a warmup, and my knee still felt okay.  However, I lost my bearings in the start area.  There is usually an intersection with drinks, port-a-johns, and areas to warm up and socialize, but I seemed to have missed it and got herded directly into my starting wave.  I felt thirsty, but I could only see half-empty water bottles.  Bad omen.

The start of the Peachtree is absolutely exhilarating.  The vast crowd, the DJ blasting loud thumping music, the gigantic American flag flying above the starting line, and the announcer counting down the time until your starting time and working the crowd at the same time.  Adrenaline was flowing through my veins, and at that point, I really thought I could pull this off.  Yes, my time would probably be poor, but no DNFs.  I would score that T-shirt.  I can't put BANG because the starting gun is actually an air horn, but I was off, albeit walking at the start because of the crowd.

My Jeffing tactics were simple, and I thought they would give me the best chance of finishing. 45/30 (45 seconds of running followed by 30 seconds of walking) for the first 3 miles, then a switch to 30/30 at any point where I felt like I was running out of gas.  This worked well for the first mile; I had a sub-12-minute mile, which I did not expect.  

The first sign of trouble occurred slightly after one mile.  I was already feeling the effects of the heat and humidity; I knew hydration would be significant.  I saw a hydration station passing out bottles of an electrolyte substance, but I missed the smooth pickup.  I stopped and doubled back for a bottle and felt a slight soreness in the back of my knee.  Just enough to put me on alert.  Ironically, this is where I started to also feel the need to empty my 63-year-old bladder.  I slowed the pace down but was still in the game.

Another mile passes at a slightly slower pace.  I can feel soreness around my knee mounting, but I also find passing 3K encouraging, knowing that I have pushed through one-third of the race.  And I also spy a group of port-a-johns with a very small line.  A quick pit stop, and back up a small hill and unto the main course.  Going up the incline cancels the very wonderful feeling of a freshly emptied bladder; I feel that soreness growing until a tight, stabbing constriction grabs the rear of my leg.  I limp over to a MARTA bus bench, in pain and not really knowing what to do.  I'm sitting on this bench in a great deal of pain, and my biggest concern is not finishing.  I guess I am a runner.

I don't know how long I spent on the bench. A kind man from the hydration station brought me some water and what I believed to be some encouragement in Spanish. A police officer started to ask me some questions about how I felt, but once she radioed in my age, gender, and condition, I decided to try to tough it out and limped (literally) back into the race.

I spent the next ninety minutes walking, sulking, and taking in all of the festivities that I just could not get behind.  It was discouraging looking ahead and watching the great throngs of humanity running the course while I limped along, trying to stay out of the way.  The only good news was that the pain in my knee did seem to subside slightly as the race went on, and I was able to pick up some speed.  But as I crossed the finish line in front of Piedmont Park, it seemed like a hollow victory.

I did get my finisher's peach (unlike last year) and the coveted Peachtree 10K t-shirt, even though I had to navigate an unorganized, extra-large waiting line. I found my tribe and pretty much packed it in; my son-in-law found a parking spot near the finish line, so after a few finisher photos, it was time to go.

No pictures this year.

But plenty of motivation for next year.  See you soon.

The Horseneck Half Marathon 2024

 Motivation is an odd thing.

It was seven years ago that my life changed, at least temporarily.  On July 20, 2017, I was hit by a drunk driver.  I was at work, driving a UPS truck on my relatively new route in Westport, MA.  At about 3 o'clock, I was preparing to back into a driveway on East Beach Road when a car going about 50 miles per hour came barrelling around the corner in the wrong lane.  He hit the front part of my truck, the driver's side.  I was out of work for about a year.  Eventually, I was back on my feet.  My running career slowed, but I was able to resume this sport that I have grown to love.

COVID stopped all races as I started running again, which gave me plenty of time to look over races that may or may not be back after the pandemic. One race that immediately caught my eye was the Horseneck Half Marathon in Westport, MA. The course runs right over the spot where the accident occurred. My fitness at the time was nowhere near the level that it needed to be to run thirteen miles, so I filed this under the long-term goal file and moved on.

Fast-forward to the spring of 2024. I had just completed the New Bedford Half Marathon and felt confident enough in my fitness and training to register for the Horseneck. Okay, here we go.

Sunday, May 19, 2024, starts early with the usual pre-half morning routine.  I leave the house very early, with a slight mist falling.  Typically, a slight mist and cool temperatures signal great running weather. However, I am obsessing with my lack of water protection for my phone.  Eventually, these thoughts simmer down, and my thoughts turn to how far away the starter area is from the Route 88 exit on I-195.  It also occurred to me that in almost forty years of living in the area, I had never been to Horseneck Beach, one of the most popular beaches in the area.  

My arrival time seems comfortable.  I hit the port-a-john, and then I experience something of a racing anomaly.  I always race alone and rarely run into anyone I know, so I was surprised when I was warmly greeted by one of my former co-workers, Joe.  He seemed surprised that I was doing the half (there was also a 3½ mile race that started simultaneously), but by looking at me, who wouldn't be surprised.  We wished each other luck and moved on.

I saw the finish line arch and thought it would be a brilliant place to warm up.  Oh, big mistake.  After a few minutes, I realized that no one was gathering at the arch.  I finish my warmup, and panic sets in.  Here is some advice for fellow runners; always know where the starting line is.  I had a mini panic attack and an extra warmup, but I managed to find the start just as the National Anthem was playing.  Catch your breath for about ninety seconds, and the horn goes.

I am employing the Galloway run/walk/run method like I have in previous races. However, today, I go with a forty-five-second run segment.  This proves tricky for the first mile; we are running on state route 88, a busy extension that leads to the beach.  The runners are confined to a tiny part of the road that is cordoned off and the sidewalk.  Trying my best to both carve-out space and stay out of the way of my fellow runners.  This goes on for about 1½ miles; I happily make the first turn onto Drift Road at a respectable 19:30.

Drift Road continues for about a little over 3 miles.  It is a mixture of very minimal rolling hills and flat track, although there is no prolonged straightaway at any point.  Nothing looked overly familiar from my UPS route. However, I could grasp the basic "lay of the land."  There were several homes on this street, but most of the residences were tucked away on many private streets that intersected the main drag.  This being the case, I was somewhat surprised to see a fair amount of spectators lining the route.  Some were cheering on specific runners, but most were just taking in the run in a subdued manner.  I noticed two particular supporters; a woman who looked to be in her late twenties and her daughter who looked about six.  The child had a sign that said, "Keep going, you can do it," while the mom kept clapping for us.  Four and three-quarter miles under an hour (58:05) and still feeling pretty good.

The right onto Hixbridge Road features the most technical part of the course, the East River Bridge hill.  At its worst, it is a 5% grade, but it tricks you into thinking you have fully ascended, only to present you with more (albeit less steep) incline.  There is a sharp decline as soon as you make the turn, which I took full advantage of with a quick pace.  I banked some time and cheated walking up the hill more than I was supposed to, but it seemed to work out pretty well.  5.8 miles at 1:12 was as good as I could have hoped for.  I feel a little fatigued, but taking another right gives me a little mental boost.

Horseneck Road will continue for about five miles.  It is extremely flat and differs from Drift Road in the fact that several businesses line the street.  I remember a brewery, a farm, a boat repair facility, a nursery, a restaurant, and a bed and breakfast.  My memory is only acute enough to use these landmarks in terms of ambiguous pace and distance, but I'll take anything in terms of a "yeah, you passed that" moment.  First up is the brewery, where no fans are waving free beer signs.  Heck, no fans.

I hit the seven-mile mark with some soreness and fatigue kicking in, but at 1:28, I was looking at about a 2:40 finish, which was at the wrong end of my goal time.  I see the same mother and child cheerleading duo, still enthusiastically lending their support, bringing a much-needed smile to my face.  I am also going to try something completely new in my racing career; a gel.  I did try consuming gummy bears at the New Bedford Half (on the County Street Hill, no less), but I found them difficult to swallow, and it disrupted any sense of rhythm that I had at that point in the race.  I did not know if it would help, how it would taste, how my body would react, and what to do with the empty wrapper.  The answers are in order: It did seem to give me a slight boost rather quickly.  The gel tasted like vanilla cake frosting, so much so that I squeezed out every drop.  I felt a slight twinge of digestive discomfort, but it was nothing that a double hit at the next water station could not cure.  Finally, I put the empty package in my pocket, only to have the non-consumed sticky goo leak all over my snappy new green shorts.  Three out of four ain't bad.

At the ten-mile mark, the nursery comes into view, and I am checking in at 2:06.  My hope of beating 2:40 is rapidly fading; however, the prospects of finishing under my self-proclaimed "that's pathetic even for a senior citizen like you" demarcation (3 hours) seem almost in the bag.  I have one walking during the running break, and while my pace has definitely slowed, I feel like I still have something in the tank.  I choose not to break open my second gel and get that rush of confidence as I pass the rest of the businesses on Horseneck Road.  10.8 miles at 2:15.

The right turn onto East Beach Road is peculiar.  I have somewhat lost my bearings since I am unsure how far the final turn is.  The road is in great disrepair, and in some spots, there are piles of rocks that must be avoided.  It seems like there is more traffic.  The runners that I have been hanging with are pulling away.  And I keep a very close eye on the house numbers, waiting for the spot where I got hit.

202 East Beach Road is where the accident occurred.  I am looking for a small paper street that comes before the impact point, but I can't find it.  I searched for the road markings that the accident reconstruction team drew (and there were many of them), but there were none.  Finally, I took a long look at the house, double-checked the number, and found it.  202.  No triggering.  No upsetting impacts.  No bad flashbacks.  I am taking that as a great sign!  I snap a photo of the house, double-check for road markings, and continue the race.  1.4 miles to go.

I take the final right onto West Beach Road at 2:30, with 1¼ miles to go.  My rhythm is about gone; I am running less and walking more with no actual cadence.  I have never been to this part of the beach before; the small dead-end road turns into a parking area for campers.  I had no idea this existed.  I think the fact that the geography was so new to me helped me get over the line; my mind was focusing on all this new scenery, and my legs were starting to feel like iron.  The camper area turned into a narrow pathway with a few hardy beachgoers hanging around.  Getting close.

There was a sharp right turn, which I was not expecting, but to hear someone shout, "C'mon, the finish is around the bend," perked me beyond words.  She was correct; a sharp left, and the finish arc, which I had mistaken for the starting line about three hours ago, was in plain view.  There were still a few cheering spectators, among them the mother and daughter duo that had stopped at various points on the route.  They got a thumbs-up for sure.  A clenched fist crossing at 2:46 meant that this was not my worst time at a half marathon, but it was the first one where I passed the medal handouts with a blank stare.  (Yes, I went back and got one.). It was satisfying.

I skipped the complementary post-race adult beverage.  I went to church.  It was a good day. 

Opportunity Missed

 April saw my wife and I take our second long-distance road trip to visit our daughter, son-in-law, and grandson in Atlanta via a stop in central Pennsylvania to see a Sight and Sound production. It was an exciting adventure and a glorious opportunity to "check the boxes and scratch the map."  Let me try to explain.

My daughter and son-in-law presented me with a unique Christmas gift, a photo frame with a running twist.  The bottom half consisted of a fairly standard photo frame; however, the top half had a map of the United States.  The map had a covering similar to that of a scratch-off ticket for a lottery game; the idea is that once you have completed a run in a particular state, you "commemorate" said run by scratching off the state.  I have always been interested in the mapping element of my runs, but other than heat maps on websites, I have never had any opportunity to visually indicate this information.  New motivation?  It's looking that way.

Target state number one is West Virginia.  Our route takes us through West Virginia for a short period on Interstate 81, a thoroughfare we have traveled previously.  I do precious little research looking for a park or trail close to our route, figuring I could run at the West Virginia welcome center.  We stopped here last year, and the design looked to be a sort of circle that could be run with little interference.  Yes, I would look like a doofus, but these fine rest area patrons would never see me again, so who cares.

My memory of the rest area's details could have been better. The walkways had a circular pattern, but they did not connect. I also did not take into account the heavy pedestrian traffic. I ended up doing a lap of the facility via both paved sidewalks and grassy knolls and ended the mile run going back and forth on a closed-off path that led to an experimental garden area. My pace was that of a swift walk, but the deed was done, and West Virginia was conquered.

We spent the night at a hotel on the Virginia/North Carolina border.  Virginia was another state in play.  I planned to run on a trail that began at the next town over, but I was unsure where to park.  When I inquired at the hotel's front desk, I was told there was a trail in the city that started at the local community center and that parking would be no problem.  Sounds like a plan.

After a warmup run, which featured a whopping 143 feet in elevation and left me gasping for breath, I found myself in a parking lot behind a courthouse.  The trail seemed to end here, so I figured I would just navigate back down the hill and lap the community center's flat parking lot.  This worked out great for one mile.  Then, I spotted a fellow runner coming out of a wooded area directly behind the building.  I wanted to put another mile and a half in, so I blindly headed up the path, which turned into a trail that the woman at the hotel seemed to be discussing.  The trail was either crushed stone or dirt and featured areas of inclines, declines, and stretches of flat terrain.  I went out about three-quarters of a mile, running adjacent to backyards, a gun range for local law enforcement, and old-fashioned brooks and streams.  Four kilometers and 250 feet of incline later, Virginia can be checked off.

Fast forward two weeks, and we are staying at a hotel in Woodbridge, NJ, a state that needs to be checked off.  My wife and I patronize a local Thai restaurant and an ice cream shop.  All the while, I am sizing up the terrain; the streets are flat and thickly settled, and the architecture looks precisely like what you would expect for this part of the country.  With a wide range of house sizes, shapes, and ages, it seems like you could walk back in time just visualizing the neighborhoods.  A perfect running scenario.

The anticipation is short-lived. I woke early the following day feeling tired and congested. My wife has been battling a respiratory issue all week, and after putting up a robust defensive blockade, it looks like I have caught whatever she has been dealing with. It doesn't take much to roll over and get a little more sleep.

As we are leaving the hotel, we need to stop for gas.  The nearest gas station takes us on a back loop through the neighborhood where I had hoped to run.  In the light of day, it was very easily noticeable that the nature of the neighborhood was exactly what I had imagined.  You could easily envision people sitting on their front porch in the 1930s, listening to the radio broadcasts of Yankee games, intently hoping that Joe DiMaggio keeps his hitting streak alive.  The kids in the 1960s, working on their old cars in the multi bay garages, wondering if Vietnam was in their future.  The whole family gathering in the prominent dwelling at the end of the street for Sunday dinner.  I missed more than a run; I missed a trip through American sentimentality.

I am confident that I will take a run in New Jersey sometime in the future, barring any kind of permanent injury.  I also think that that run will take place somewhere that will not stir up any nostalgic emotion, the sort of run where I contemplate things like pace, distance, and fatigue.  It's said that a good run can clear your mind and fill your soul.  It can also take you to a place that can only be imagined.  "Perfect game!!!"

Thanksgiving 2023

 It has been quite a while since I have run a 5k.  Looking back over the years, it has also struck me that one of the busiest road racing days of the year is Thanksgiving, and my racing history on Thanksgiving Day is almost nill.  I did one race in Bourne many years ago, a 5K on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  It was, to date, the coldest race I have ever run, with a wind chill of about 25°.  The start had a very sharp downhill slope, and the first kilometer was downhill to a lesser extent.  I had a sub-5-minute kilometer, but that was about the extent of my glory.  The rest of the race was uphill, including that start hill.  I finished in a respectable 28 minutes, but I was dissatisfied considering the fine start.  Study the race map, and do not go out too fast. Lessons learned.

The other Thanksgiving race I did was in 2018, a 10K in the town of Seekonk, about a 45-minute drive.  The wind chill factor for this race made the first race seem downright balmy; the constant breeze made the feel like temperature a nifty 0°.  I chose this race to have a time for the Peachtree 10K I planned to do in July.  It would take about three miles into the race to realize what a colossal error this was.  The race was a duel 5K and 10K, with everyone starting simultaneously.  The blob was kind of interesting for the first couple of kilometers, with everyone jockeying for position on the narrow sidewalk; we even had a dad-type scream, "Have a good race, everybody," which I thought was, if nothing else, unique.  

The split came at around 2½ miles, with a rather loud gentleman screaming directions on which street to take.  This is where my headspace started to kick in like a Lionel Messi free kick.  First thought; if I had chosen the 5K, I would be back to the nice warm YMCA gym in about fifteen to twenty minutes.  Second thought, it would be most embarrassing if I was one of those runners who had to be picked up by the race director because of the freezing cold.  Third thought; I overdressed.  I was now feeling warm and uncomfortable, and I could not effectively regulate my body temperature.  The next 3½ miles were going to be a cold hell.

There was not much to report on for the rest of the race.  I alternated between walking and running with no real set strategy. When I reached the water station, I found that the water had frozen solid, so I had to move on.  The course ran through the rural section of town, which was scenic but challenging to calibrate as to how far I had to go to the next landmark.  More running and walking, again with no clear focus.

I finally made it back to Arcade Avenue, the street where the finish line was. I lumbered into the finish corral at around 1:12, not too bad, considering this was my first race after the accident and the weather conditions. I was second to last for the entire field, but I took the positives and headed to some turkey.

It would be five years before I entered another Thanksgiving Day race.  Having just completed my first half-marathon in six years, I was confident and curious about using the Galloway run/walk/run method in a 5K race.  I had run a couple of mock 5K's in training, usually coming somewhere between thirty-five and forty minutes, but that was on a relatively empty course with nothing to shoot for.  I had an idea about what to expect, but the variables were still something of a mystery.

Having secured my number the day before, complete with a Running of the Pilgrims 5K knit hat instead of a t-shirt, I was off nice and early for an eight o'clock start time.  The ride to downtown Plymouth takes about forty minutes, all back roads that should be nice and quiet considering the hour.  As I was traveling through our neighboring town of Rochester, something was gnawing at me, so I had to double-check the race's start time.  I pulled into the unoccupied Post Office and, to my complete horror, saw that the start time was 7:30!!

No time to waste.  My GPS said that I had an arrival time of 7:19, but the parking lot was about a five or six-minute walk to the arch.  I am now flying through back roads as fast as I can go, only slowing down for a well-marked speed decrease in the town of Carver and a pee stop at a secluded cranberry bog.  I entered the parking lot at 7:19 and was relieved to see a few runners making their way to the race.  My warmup run will be the wet, mossy, slippery path leading to the race area.  With adrenaline pumping, I reach the start group at 7:25, time for a few leg swings and a quick glance at some of the fantastic costumes that some participants were sporting.  

Traveling issues are over; it's time to start the race.  The course had changed from the original; it was an out-and-back with a loop that began at about 2K, going up to Main Street and then looping back to the Plymouth bike path, which dumps you back out to Water Street and the finish arch.  I was flying right along at a 7:00 per kilometer pace, trying to keep pace with some other runners despite the stop-and-go of run/walk/run.  I was feeling it, but it was a 5K, and you are supposed to red line.

At about 1½ kilometers, the left unto Nelson Street is taken at the ten-minute mark.  I am feeling surprisingly good; I am keeping up with a pack of runners who are keeping a steady pace, and I am surprised by the number of spectators watching the race.  This is the perfect time to experience the only hill of the day, warmed up and feeling good but not so far into the race that you feel gassed.  I would say that the worst part of the hill was at about a 6% grade, and even that was not too long.  Right on Court Street at about 1.8 kilometers, still feeling good but with a new challenge.  

The course was not closed to traffic on this street, meaning that all the runners had to use the sidewalk, creating a logjam with all kinds of problems.  My biggest fear at this point was abruptly going from a run to a walk with someone right on my ass.  I tried to limit my switch points, which seemed to work pretty well, and I extended my run segment slightly to get to the next street.  Not much traffic on this road, and it's downhill.  I used gravity to speed up a little and hit the halfway mark at a little over 18 minutes.

The next right was onto a bike path, which was flat and more expansive than the sidewalk we all had to squeeze into on Court Street.  There was also a noticeable stretch in the field, with some runners getting a boost from the downward slope on the previous street.  I am starting to feel a little tired but hit 3 kilometers at 21½ minutes, still on pace for around a 35-minute finish.  The end of the bike path turned into a small park that abutted the water, I have to admit I was tempted to cut a few corners, but I stayed pretty much on course, rejoining Water Street at 3½ kilometers.  One straight shot to the finish line.

I hit the 4-kilometer mark at about 29 minutes and the crazy roundabout at about 30.  I shook things up at this point with the run/walk intervals.  Nothing earth-shattering, maybe 75 seconds running to 30 seconds walking, but I felt like the tank was emptying and the finish line had to be coming up.  I cut the last walk segment when I caught sight of the finish arc at about 4.75 kilometers and hit the line unofficially at 35:25.  This was not the best-case scenario time, but I was thrilled nonetheless.

I hung around the finish line for about 20 minutes, scoffing free water and bananas and mulling who I could ask to take a post-race photo of me without sounding too creepy. Both the walk back to the car and the ride home were pretty chill, and the post-race extra large cup of tea at Marylou's Coffee was excellent. I am officially checking the successful Turkey Trot box. See you next year.

Going Backwards In Time

Thanks to my beautiful, industrious, and downright brilliant (she just received her Masters in Business Administration) niece, I now can transfer photos from my iPhone to this blog in four or five easy steps, depending on which route I choose to take.  This newly acquired skill will allow me to make blog entries from the creative recesses of my mind and transfer them to my laptop and then to you, the coveted reader.   It has been quite a while since my last post, mostly due to this lack of file transfer acumen.  I have done three races in the fand I think that reporting on all three would make for a solid jumpstart to my blogging career.  Let's start off with the earliest, longest, and by far the most challenging race I signed up for, the Cape Cod Half Marathon.

My summer and early fall training centered around this race and was, for the most part, fairly consistent.  However, this race presented several challenges.  The most obvious one was the distance.  It has been 6½ years since my last half marathon.  Not only have I not raced at this distance, I have not even trained at it.  The second challenge will be the course.  The race will be held in Falmouth, MA, and it will not be your basic out-and-back or loop run.  This beast will follow a twisty, maze-like pattern among the streets on the south side of the city, adjacent to the waterfront.  The third challenge will be a general lack of familiarity with the logistics of the race itself.  You can study the maps and the race information all you want, but until you actually experience a race, you can not get a feel for the little things that you need to think about, like traffic patterns, course guides, and the all-important port-a-john availability.  This will also be the first race I have ever run while listening to satellite radio, my beloved Tottenham Hotspur is kicking off at just about the time the race starts, so I am counting on this being a pleasant distraction to the anticipated pain.

I left the house early, anticipating heavy traffic on the Bourne Bridge due to construction.  Finding none, I arrive at the designated parking lot at around 6:30, 90 minutes before the start of the race.  I was surprised to find the parking lot about three-quarters full, and even more surprised to see many out-of-state license plates.  It would be foolish to start warming up this early, so I simply take to observing some of my fellow runners' pre-race preparations.  It is encouraging to see that my choice of Nike running shorts and a long-sleeved New Balance shirt seem to be more or less in line with what everyone else is wearing.  I even catch a couple of runners applying anti-chaffing lube.  No, I did not forget this important hack, thank goodness.  The porta-johns next to the parking lot were a nice touch, one which I took full advantage of.

At about 7:20, I started to warm up.  Warming up for a longer race can be unnerving, on one hand, you want your body to be properly fine-tuned so you have no issues, especially at the beginning of the race.  On the other hand, you full well know that this is a long distance, and you are going to need all of your reserves to avoid a DNF.  I decided a run behind the school at the starting line might work, so I put in a very slow half-mile.  There was a pond directly behind the small path, abutted by a wooded area so you could only catch small glimpses of the pond itself.  I was surprised and bewildered to find fellow runners jumping out of the woods and disrupting my warmup, it would only take about fifteen minutes to figure out why.

All warmed up with the nerves starting to hit, I hit the porta-john line in front of the school.  Long lines at the porta-johns before a race are common, however these lines were going slow.  As in barely moving at all.  Inspired by both the race DJ counting down the minutes to the opening gun, and pressure from my 62-year-old bladder, I chose to give the porta-johns near the parking lot a shot.  During the slow jog, the light bulb goes off in my head, and I suddenly realize that those runners jumping from the woods were seeking privacy to avoid the lines.  Smart idea, time to take the cue.  Seeing a small path and a female runner exiting from said path, the location is found and the deed is done.  I am also stoked to find that, upon leaving, I am close to the start line.

The starting pen stretches around the entire circular driveway, at which I am at the rear.  Nothing has been said about starting pens or splitting the start into several groups, but guess what?  While I can understand the logic behind lagging at the start, I am now somewhat concerned that I will not make the 11:00 cutoff.  Whether or not there is a hard cutoff, or if it is just when the police detail packs it in and reopens the course to vehicular traffic, or if there is no cutoff at all, I do not know.  Anyway, I am in the front of the line in the fourth wave, so I try not to look nervous for any race photos, and after a couple of minutes, BANG, and off we go.

The first four miles of the course is a basic loop around Salt Pond, with a solid mile being run on the Shining Sea Bikeway.  Things are going well, my pace is slightly above a twelve-minute mile, I have not caused any pile-ups with the run/walk/run method, I am in general feeling good both physically and mentally, and that pre-start "nature call" is paying off as I am flying by the porta-john lines.  I even had time to snap these photos of Nantucket Sound and Martha's Vineyard.                                                            

You are going to have to take my word that Martha's Vineyard is in these photos.  It was hazy and humid for an early October day, but at this point, weather was not a huge factor.  

Going around Inner Harbor at about the five-mile mark is when things start to go slightly south.  This is where some of the elite runners were heading in the opposite direction, heading for the finish line.  I get the whole "you are competing only against your sixty-two-year-old self" dynamic, but seeing not only these runners on the homestretch but the crowd reacting to them was a little deflating.  Still, I am about on pace to finish at my goal time and there are plenty of folks behind me, so head down and keep plugging.

Miles six through eight see the run enter the opposite side of Inner Harbor, along Falmouth Heights Beach, and finally the turn around at Vineyard Road.  This is where the scenery turns to an upscale beach community, complete with lodging, nice houses, and even a youth soccer field where I had previously coached.  It's here that the first significant hill is encountered, coming into sight after a sharp turn.  I am holding on to an under eight-minute kilometer pace up until about mile eight.  Both a rapidly increasing average heart rate and poor timing at a water station dropped to 8:30km at kilometer 15.  My legs are starting to feel heavy, and my discipline of sticking to the 60/30 run/walk/run is starting to wear thin.

At the 15-kilometer mark, the course took a sharp right and hooked around on what looked like a sort of boulevard with a divider splitting the two sides of the street.  This was the last stretch that I followed the run/walk/run with any consistency.  This part of the course is kind of odd; you had to run with traffic, there were several four-way intersections, the crossover involved cutting over the street divider (problematic after ten miles of running), and once you finished this segment, it felt like you had not made any progress.  Anyway, a quick right, a stop at the porta-john, a walk up the last hill, and it's in the rearview mirror.  

I am at 2:13 at the 17-kilometer mark, and things fall apart rather rapidly.  I know I am bonking, but I also know that I have about 2½  miles left, and even if I proceed at a fast walk for the rest of the race, I should be able to keep it under three hours.  I am excited to pass some of the landmarks around Inner Harbor that I saw on the way out, albeit that passing is now much slower.  I am also noticing that the bulk of the spectators has disappeared so that the extra energy of cheering crowds can no longer be tapped.  I have no plan b; I am either going as far as I can on 60/30, going 30/30, or sometimes just skipping the run portion altogether.  One mile to go at the end of Inner Harbor.

The right unto Clinton lifts my spirits, and my last two splits have been just over 8:00km pace, so with a little over a kilometer to go, I start to get back into the 60/30 rhythm.  This street is all residential, so no real landmarks, but I did appreciate the Eversourse worker at Allen Ave. encouraging me to keep going, The last right to the finish line was about one-half mile, I thought I could plow through but I did need a couple of walk breaks.  Upon seeing Main Street, I knew I made it, so a fake sprint (which must have looked like the slow-motion scene in Chariots of Fire) was in order.  Arms raised for the photo, I crossed in 2:48:37.  Police detail still intact, and my slow goal is made!

I spent more time than usual at the post-race party, downing copious amounts of water, soup, and bananas.  However, soreness sets in, so after some poor stretching, I head back to the car.  But not before a finish line photo, complete with one of those shiny blanket things.

It's Superman!

I'm planning on a couple of half-marathons in 2024.  I will try to shore up the mistakes in training.  Keep your fingers crossed.