Archive for ‘half-marathon’

A Tale of Two Races

Two weeks, two completely different types of races and NO race report!  I am just the worst kind of blogger!  Regardless of my ineptitude at getting things posted Operation PFR12 is in full swing!!  Over the last several months I’ve been fighting to regain my mojo for running and racing, which, for whatever reason, I lost all excitement and taste for.  It was really disconcerting.  Then somewhere over these last couple of weeks it has come back with a vengeance and manifest itself in my brain as OpPFR12, the ultimate goal of which is to shatter every single PR I have on record no matter the distance.  I’m sure that when I hit that last one it will kick-start the apocalypse and I will just fall to the ground in a heap of Brooks Running gear and fur, like the cat from “Christmas Vacation”.  So, with this new focus locked and loaded the game was afoot and the NYC Half and Red Hook Crit 5k were in my sites.

The NYC Half was first up on my list, that lovely novelty race where you get to run through Time Square for about 3-minutes and then onto the dreaded West Side Highway (WSH) where more than a fair share of runner-bike collisions have occurred.  After falling short of my sub-1:20 goal at the RAK Half earlier this year, it was time to put my foot on the throat of this one and squeeze the life out of it.  In a bizarre twist of fate it was that squeezing feeling that nearly made the day a complete disaster!! Don’t worry I’ll get to that in a minute.

Race day morning went off without a hitch, all systems were nominal, or so I thought.  I met up with the Team JDRF crew as well as Team Sasquatch members Eissa and Robin, and the svelt looking Joe “Cardiac Crusher” Herman to loosen up and get ready to rumble.  Everyone was excited and with the conditions as prime as they were – overcast with a very comfortable cool temperature – why wouldn’t they be!  It was only moments after we all headed to our corrals that things started getting iffy.

Just as I headed to the Blue corral I started to feel like I was going to have to pee, which 99 out of 100 times is no big deal … I’m a guy and external plumbing has its advantages, especially in such situations, … but on this occasion no such luck.  When I got to my corral there were only four Porta-Johns, maybe five, but the lines were so thick and long that there was no way that I would ever get in one before the gun went off.  This situation got even worse because NYRR was extremely strict about their corral policy this go around and if you stepped out after the 30-min-before-the-start deadline you were sent to the open corral all the way at the back of the pack, which was not going to be optimal for hitting my goal time.  I looked for a bottle … no dice.  I thought about taking a knee and using the old on-the-pitch soccer trick, but there was absolutely no space to move around and I would have felt supremely guilty if I splashed on anyone.  Hahahahahaa … sorry, it’s funny to 1) think it, and 2) write it.  Can you imagine being the person that got splashed on?  What do you do?  What do you say?  Hahaha … not to mention, gross!  OK, enough of this tangent!

The gun fires, the race is on and a game time decision has to be made!  The plan is: if I see a Porta-John within the first mile or so, that lovely impossible, trafficky first mile, then I will hit the head and look to make up the time on the WSH.  So yah, that didn’t happen.  I started out solid on pace and was cranking by mile 3 and the knot was being tied as effectively as humanly possible.  Seriously, this was like running with an overfilled water balloon and someone is slowly sitting down on it just to see at what moment the walls give and I become 2 years old again and need some Huggies pull ups!  Mental note: test-drive a pair of Depends, ya know, for science.  Anyway, at mile 5 all fluids, besides sweat and spit, were being kept internally.  As we left Central Park I was feeling good about my prospects, but once we made the right hand turn on 42nd Street I started feeling my hips burning out from keeping my enemy at bay.  My options came down to two choices: 1) Suck it up and just keep going like this, clenching for dear life and running my butt off, or 2) Open the flood gates, hope it isn’t captured on camera and that it doesn’t soak my shoes or anyone within the splatter zone.

I chose option one and just fought it off for as long as I possibly could, all the while my hips fried and getting my legs and feet to behave was becoming more and more of an issue.  To complicate things a little further I hadn’t nor would I take any water or nutrition on the course out of fear that anything else added to tank would be the tipping point and force my hand to stop or just simply explode.  I passed Team Sasquatch teammates Matt and Steph at Chelsea Piers, complained about the situation, cause that is all I wanted to do at all, and just kept trucking. By the time I reached the last mile, which included going through a tunnel and an unwanted climb back up to street level, I had just enough left to try and kick it up and not get passed by the footfalls that I had been listening come up on me.  I pushed through the finish line PISSED, literally, at the fact that I didn’t deal with this stupid issue better, but that hostility didn’t last too long as I caught my time on my watch and the sub-1:20 PFR time was secured … 1:19:33 (6:04/mile).  Completely happy with the success of the moment, I went and found the nearest bathroom and competed for the Jimmy Dugan award for bathroom excellence!!

Fast forward a week and it was time to race again, this time a distance that I haven’t run in almost four years, a 5K.  Now, I’ve run the distance before, done tempo and threshold work for that distance, but a race?  Not so much.  Heading into the Red Hook Crit I was just having issues comprehending running basically balls to the wall for the full distance.  I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.  I’ve been running longer distances for so long that the idea of red lining for three miles was just beyond me and by the time I was a mile into the race it showed.

I have to admit, I loved this race.  It was well organized, fun, well supported, had a decent course (4 x .77-mile loop), a small field (170 runners) and it was at 8:00 pm.  Oh yah, there was also prizes for the fastest lap (also the worst part as that was unisex and not one for each gender), the top three teams and the top three finishers (male and female).  Even cooler, the first place prize money was given to the winner in a messenger bag full of $1 bills … MAKE IT RAIN!!!! Sadly, the winner, who I believe was Moroccan, had no idea what we were talking about and the awesomeness waned into the wailings of a sad trombone.

Getting back to the race, before the gun fired I took my place about two-thirds of the way back in the pack, something that I probably should not have.  The course was snug, I wanted to get out fast and there was no way the dudes in front of me were going to open it up at the gun.  Oh well.  The gun fired and I struggled to open things up with the wall of guys that just went about the course shoulder to shoulder.  About half way through the first lap the head wind slapped us a bit, but wasn’t enough to really slow anyone down.  The crowd along the course was fantastic, cheering for the duration of the race, which was awesome.

As I turned for the last quarter of the course I already saw the runners that went for the first lap award walking it off as they were totally gassed, a feeling that I was kind of starting to feel already, because how the hell do you pace this thing off?!  For the second lap I toned things down a little bit, cause I had to survive three more laps and I wasn’t sure if I could hold the pace.  When I hit the third lap I was finally in a good rhythm and picking off a few runners here and there.  The last lap I picked it up hard at the half way and was passing a few more, one of them I called out just trying to force myself to kick by goading them into a foot race.  I hit the timing mat and it was over!!!  My warm-up took longer than the whole race took to run!! That is just nuts and I finished no wiser than I started it.  Completely befuddled at how to approach that distance of a race, but appreciating that it is over before my brain has a chance to catch up.  Final time: 17:28 (5:37/mile).  Hit my PR, but this yet another one where I felt like I could do better on a course with fewer tight turns and a better grasp of my own pacing.  Oh well, there will be others.

Thus far in 2012 I’ve knocked off half-marathon and 5K PRs.  Next up, Cherry Blossom 10-miler in Washington DC.

 

March 30, 2012   Category: 1/2 Marathon, Blog, half-marathon, manhattan, new york, running, sasquatch   No Comments comments

Theirs not to reason why, Sasquatch but to Run Dubai

Half-way around the globe in a land bursting with materialistic insanity and sand – seriously, just malls, hotels and sand – I recently had the opportunity to race the world’s richest half marathon, the Ras al-Khaimah (RAK) Half-Marathon in the United Arab Emirates.  Had I ever thought about going to the Middle East to go and race on the Persian Gulf? Yah, like most of us just tossing the idea around our heads it had rattled around once or twice before, but never really stuck … or maybe people really do think about it and I’ve just reconfirmed the space oddity that I truly am.  Regardless, a Sasquatch ventured forth into the desert, raced, survived and is now here telling the tale whilst still picking the sand from his fur.

Prior to the race I flew into Dubai where I stayed with Team Sasquatch member and all around badass @Runs2NY, who will be running the grueling Marathon de Sables, a self-sustained 6-day race across the scorching Moroccan Sahara desert, a race routinely described as “The Toughest Race in the World.”  That race is just nuts and I am honored to have Kirsten as a runner, not to mention that I am in complete awe of her strength and determination.

Anyway, after the LONG flight over I had the privilege of experiencing the disgustingly drawn out customs process not only as part of my layover at Charles de Gaul in Paris, but also again once I hit Dubai.  God I love to queue!  Somehow I managed to choose the one line that never seemed to move, or did, but at a pace equivalent to a de-shelled snail sprinting for safety on a frozen metal sheet.  My attempt to enter the UAE reminded me of Lancelot running to the “rescue” in Quest for the Holy Grail, repetitiously traversing corridor after corridor, each as long, non-descript and mind-numbing as the one before it, featuring countless doorways that never lead to anything resembling the outdoors, and never getting anywhere.  But, as fate would have it, I did finally reach door number 27, which just so happened to magically slide open and instantly slap me in the face with a beautiful 70-degree, dry breeze.  After recovering from the initial shock that I would not be requiring additional layers to continue my journey I saw a handmade sign that read, “Speedy” and there was much rejoicing …  cue Sir Robin’s minstrels!!

The rest of the week leading up to the race was filled sites adorned with a vast assortment of superlatives.  To be completely honest, it became so tiresome that after this report I think I will retire from the use of the suffix –est.  The list is long, so here are the greatest hits (I swear, not going to use it ever again after this post):  Tallest building: Burj Kalifa.  World’s only 7-star hotel: Burj Al-Arab.  Largest mall:  Dubai Mall, with a ginormous aquarium, SEGA Zone, hockey rink, gold souk and pretty much every brand name you could ever possibly think of.  Mall with an indoor ski slope: Mall of the Emirates.   Seriously, I could go on and on about all of the weird ridiculous stuff that’s in Dubai, but you should really just go and see it for yourself even if only once, it is a pretty amazing place.

Personally, I found my other activities to be far more interesting than the materialistic commercial ones.  I ran the shores of the Persian Gulf just as the sun came up.  I rode an abra along Dubai creek with my now trusted travel companion “Rusty”.  I wandered the traditional and contemporary versions of a souk, or Arabic market.  Oh yah, and there is that whole richest half marathon in the world thing that I was working my way towards all week.  I will say this though, I’m thankful that I went during their winter, because being there when it is 120-degrees outside just sounds sooooo pleasant … my fur would instantaneously burst into flames and the smell of scorched wildebeest is not a cologne worth testing out, but then again Sexxx Panther is pretty amazing … 60-percent of the time it works EVERY time.

Getting back on task with the race itself, the wake-up call that morning was at approximately 04:00, and yes I’m using the international standard notation, because the “0” definitely stood for “OH MY F-ing GOD IT’S EARLY”.  Furthermore, my alarm clock had apparently been replaced with the loudest, annoyingest (just to throw another –est in there) sound ever!! It was soooo much worse than Lloyd Christmas’ meager attempt in Dumb and Dumber.  This remarkable auditory phenomenon of an “alarm” was the family dog and a stray feral cat having a beef outside my open bedroom window, which sounded more like a good watchdog barking at a leprous feline in heat being put through a petrol-less, stalling wood chipper.  Needless to say, when their bout erupted into the otherwise peaceful morning air I was up.  Aside from that, the morning was S.O.P. and then we jumped in the car for the hour-long ride out to Ras al-Khaimah

When we arrived at the start, the sky was adorned with a soft haze burned through with the shadowy imposition of the distant mountains silhouetted off in the distance.  We reached the start/finish area, the parking lot to yet another mall, and I hastily made a beeline for the loos, which were fantastic!!! No nasty Porta-Johns like we see here in the US, but rather nice, clean portable bathroom blocks with stalls and sinks!  They were glorious and made me wish that we had such fine facilities back home.  Anyway, when I came back out I realized that the 2-3 mph wind that the news had projected was a total farce and that the haze that I was seeing was actually particles of sand being blown around by the 15-20 mph winds with gusts around 25 mph or so.  Oh joy!  But honestly, this was par for the course for me lately.  Every long run and tempo/threshold workout I have done in 2012 has been just like this, the only difference here is the airborne desert making it that much more interesting.  I really wished I had the buff I got in my 2011 NYC Marathon schwag bag before I attempted my Tom Cruise Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol impersonation.

I went through my usual 15-minute warm-up routine along the first/last half-mile of the course before getting into the corrals and then it was go time. As the gun went off, I got myself in race mode and repeated the White She-Devil’s race plan in my head a few times and went to work.  For the first time ever I wore my Garmin 610 in a race, something which I am NOT a fan of, but since the course was marked at every 1km, instead of miles, I was going to have issues executing the plan and was thereby forced into wearing it.  The headwind seemed to have lightened up and my brain started looking forward to the back half of the race and having some nice wind assist to the finish line, which would be awesome.  Notice I said “would”, not “was”.

Mile 1 – 6:20

Mile 2 – 6:19

Mile 3 – 6:10

Mile 4 – 6:15

Mile 5 – 6:13

Mile 6 – 6:14

Mile 7 – 6:14

Mile 8 – …

Yah, so remember that head wind?  At mile 8 it slapped the ever loving sh*t out of me and everyone else on the course.  Everyone that I passed from that point on was cursing the weather gods and working so hard and getting so little reward.  The gusts were unruly, the sand was starting to fly with greater influence and the “fast” race RAK is known for was fading fast.

Mile 8 – 6:21

Mile 9 – 6:21

Mile 10 – 6:14

Mile 11 – 6:22

Mile 12 – 6:19

Mile 13 – …

The last mile and change the sand put me in my place.  I had enough of it in my mouth drop kicking my uvula that I felt like I was gargling a sand-cake a 2 year old makes at the park.  The conditions were officially testing the sensitivity of my gag reflex and seeing the finish line in the not too far off distance I decided to ease it back and NOT puke.  Mile 13 – 6:28.

I finished the RAK Half-Marathon in 1:23:20 (6:17 pace), 55th overall, 42nd male.   It was AWESOME that I could get my race certificate AT the race village, but sadly the medal stunk.  All in all, it was an experience and race that will live long in my memory and an opportunity that I will forever be grateful that I undertook.

 

February 26, 2012   Tags: , , ,
Category: 1/2 Marathon, Blog, half-marathon, running, sasquatch   1 Comment comments

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