Month: November 2017

Initially planned to do this final race of the season with Rivertown elites Kevin Carlsten and Jisk Hoogma, but they wanted to leave later than I did, so to preserve my calm, I went alone. But arrived at the same time, and parked almost next to each other. (They even drive faster than I do!)

A bit of an ominous start: as I check my bag, the security guard (clearly an off duty or retired cop) tells me that my bib number, 1013, is the code police use on the radio when they need backup… Cold start – 36 degrees. Felt very local, hanging out in the loose corrals, supposedly grouped by expected finish times. Another cop (” NYPD Marathon” shirt) notes that my number is the one a cop never wants to use… Stripped off the sweat pants and sweat shirt, but still in tights. (A guy in his later 60s is wearing track shorts and tank top, shivering at the starting line. My money is on HIM, and sure enough he passes me early on. But that’s OK, I’m running MY race.)

Horn blows, I’m near the front of the pack, we’re off around a park and little pond, then off through residential neighborhoods, almost no spectators, a good pace, feeling solid. My goal is to break 1:36 (which I’ve done, although that was 3 years ago), maybe even 1:35, and Coach Debi has told me to run 7:40 the first mile, 7:20s until mile 10 to avoid “blowing up”, then surge for the last 3 miles. Feels like a lot of gentle downhills at the start, but I’m not rushing it. Strangely difficult to measure my pace – the Garmin swings wildly from 6:53 to 7:40 within moments, and credits me for completing miles long before reaching the course markers – must be from the city geography.

So my first mile is spot on; at 5k I’m averaging 7:25s; at 10k, 7:21s (good!); but I’m not feeling the love, and despite reasonable nutrition (EAAs at 25 minutes and 59 minutes, and a gel at 1:07 – reminded by the digital monitors to eat), dropping to 7:40 at 15k (8 miles) and more and more people are passing me.

At mile 9 1/2, my left calf starts to cramp. I am stumbling, and yelling “whoa!” with each potential face-plant, and worried that my bib number is going to be needed (“I need backup!”). In an almost flat course, there’s an uphill, a ramp to cross a bridge, and the lead runners are running along the other side towards me, which means I’ll have to do it twice. At 20k, I’ve dropped to 8:09 min/miles. Kind of cool seeing the World’s Fair globe so close up, but I’m just this side of miserable and I’m not into sightseeing…

(A spectator, clearly another cop, shouts out, “Hey, love your number!”, then turns to explain to his friends. Shut up…). The temptation to quit and walk is rearing its ugly head, because the digital monitors indicate there’s no way I’m breaking 1:36, unless I can speed up to 7 minute miles, but when I try to accelerate the calf cramp gets more frequent (“whoa!”) so faster is not an option. So I slog the last mile or two, not walking, this may not be my PR but I don’t have to walk it. And push a little harder, nothing to lose now! Finish. Thank you. Done.

And I see Kevin and Jisk just after I cross the finish line.

Bottom line: 1:40:14. Not my fastest; indeed, my slowest; but none of the wheels fell off. Plus, among my peers (aging and slowing, alas!) I do pretty well: 5/63 AG, 264/3156 OA, 226/1575 males. And there may be a silver lining – Coach Debi thinks the cramping indicates something is wrong with my form. So, during the off season, I can work on changing my mechanics. And maybe I can still get faster…

Meanwhile, the off season has arrived. Done, done, done.

Three goals for this race in our little village: do a PR; if not, at least do better than last year; and beat my nemesis and inspiration James Condon. (He took first place last year; I took it the year before; I took second and he took third two years ago…). We only see each other at this race, which is full of small children and more casual runners, mostly doing the 5k.

We’re off, heading around the high school, and my target passes me in the first half mile, light blue sweatshirt and long, long legs (“Mr. Condon!” I shout, he laughs), and he quickly gets at least two blocks ahead. My buddy Dietmar, recovered from a great Chicago Marathon, generously runs with me for the first mile, then takes off, never to be seen again.

The second 5k loop on this hilly course is always a challenge, given the temptation to quit and just walk home, but once again Jim Nolan is at the first turn shouting encouragement, shaming me into finishing the race. I’m close to maximum effort, and that light blue sweatshirt is still far ahead, but nothing is impossible and I have that bunny to chase, and I realize that he’s slowing on the downhills, he’s tired like the rest of us and thinks he can ease up when it’s easier, but doesn’t know I’m still there, and I push off harder and let gravity do its thing, and by the end of the second descent I’m close, and as we make the turns through all those short backstreets I pass him a half mile from the end, my neighbors Anthony and Amy are cheering, and an older guy who I always see walkin/ jogging around town is finishing the 5k and says, “9”, must be counting the guys who are in the lead, and I am sprinting to get a safety margin against Condon making a surge, and the Finish Line is mine.

Cross the finish line: 41:49 (to be honest, for a 5.9 miles/9.5 km course). Faster than last year, slower than my best, but I am 1/9 AG (50-59), 8/44 OA. And it’s nice to be the Fastest Old Guy.