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.