JW Run Blog 5: Barely

Barely

My running stories wouldn’t be complete without a detour into a type of race that I love--team relays. In particular, there is a team relay on Cape Cod in the spring and one in New Hampshire (Reach the Beach) in the fall. I ran my first relay with GNRCers in May 2010. I liked it so much, I did another 12 of them. What do I like about them? Pretty much everything. For the uninitiated, here’s a quick summary of how the relay works: 

• There are 12 runners on a team. They are divided into two vans, each with 6 runners.
• Total distance is about 200 miles, divided into 36 segments of varying lengths (typically from 3-10 miles).
• Each person on the team runs 3 legs. So if I were runner #1, I would run leg 1, then my teammates would run legs 2-12, and I would pick up again at leg 13. Between runs, there’s a break of about 5-6 hours. 
• The race starts on a Friday afternoon and the team runs constantly until the finish sometime Saturday afternoon. 
• At any given point, one of the two vans has active runners. The people in that van support the active runner and drive to the next handoff location. The people in the non-active van take the opportunity to eat or get some sleep. 

From a running standpoint, the relay is a challenge because you basically run three short races with a brief recovery time between. The last leg is always the biggest challenge--a hard run on tired legs. I’ve always been a fan of the middle-of-the-night leg--the stars are out, it’s a little cold, I’m running on strange roads. (Oops, did I miss a sign for a turn?) There may be another relay runner off in the distance, or I may not see anyone. It’s a rush. 

For the 24 hours or so of the relay, I am in the world of the relay. Nothing else is happening. I run, I yell encouragement to runners, I drive, I sing along with whatever music is playing, I sleep on a gym floor, I grab a bite to eat, I am punch-drunk. The “van vibe” has varied from relay to relay. A few times I’ve jumped in with a team where I knew nobody. Not surprisingly, I’ve gotten to know people quickly, as we have a common purpose, lots of time together, and a lack of normal inhibitions. As I sit here and write, my mind is filled with hundreds of snapshots of interactions, unique scenes, and smiles. Below is a picture from the start of one of several “ass themed” teams (note the van decorations, always a part of the fun). 

Team "Hullin' Ass to P-Town"

 

Another noteworthy 2010 occurrence, before I return to the marathon . . . in February I was in New Orleans on business and met there with author Bill Briggs (who wrote a calculus book for my company). Bill is an ultra-marathoner and he and I always went for a run when we got together. On our run along the river that February morning, we talked running (of course), and he said to me, “The only thing left for you to work on is diet.” Bill is a vegetarian, and he explained to me the advantages of a no-meat diet for a runner. It so happened that the next day was Ash Wednesday. I decided to give up meat for Lent as I sat in an Ash Wednesday Mass in a big New Orleans church. And I’ve been a vegetarian ever since. That’s not to say I haven’t eaten meat since then: I decided that I would not hold myself to the diet 100% so that there was a better chance that I’d actually stick with it 99% of the time. What does being a vegetarian do for my running? Here’s what I’ve noticed: It helps with recovery. I can do a tough workout, then bounce back to do another tough workout more quickly. (So I became a vegetarian in order to beat up my body more often. I’ll leave it to you to figure out what that says about me.) 

Mohawk Hudson Marathon 2010

Returning to the marathon . . . For the club’s fall destination race in 2010, we chose Mohawk Hudson, a point-to-point marathon that runs along two rivers from Schenectady to Albany. As it turned out, this was to become my favorite marathon course. Miles 6-18 and 22-26 are on paved trails that are either flat or slightly downhill. It’s truly a runner’s course. 

At this point in my running, I felt like I was getting a solid feel for the marathon--or should I say “my marathon.” I had learned that everyone’s body responds differently to the stress of the event. You ask two runners, “What was going through your mind in that marathon?” and the answers will likely be different. What had I learned about my marathons? Here are some lessons:

• If it’s warm--even slightly warm--take action early. Dump water on your head. Slow your pace. 
• Fuel every 30-40 minutes during the race--even at the end of the race when your stomach says “no.”
• Drink more than you think you’ll need. Even a little bit will help. 
• The first 10-12 miles of the race is filled with over-analysis. “Was that a tweak in my calf?” “I’m not quite right today.” Shut up!
• Miles 13-20 are my sweet spot (unless the wheels have already fallen off the cart). My brain stops analyzing and I just get in a groove. 
• The last 6 miles is where the race is determined. It’s always been dramatic for me. And eventually I learned how to dig down and push through. 

For Mohawk Hudson, I thought I’d be clever (and cheap) and use the training plan that Lowell had developed for me for the Bay State Marathon. So I hauled out the plan and tried to replicate it. And I did . . . sort of. Corners were cut here and there, mostly because I didn’t have Lowell to answer to. 

I have a great memory of this race. From miles 12-18, friends Dave, Mo, and I fell in step with some guys from the Utica Running Club. We ran as a unit for those miles. I swear it felt like we were one living being, just pounding out the miles. Every once and awhile, someone would make some remark, but for the most part it was just the sound of footfalls. 

Cutting corners on Lowell’s training plan showed up in the results. My pace started dipping below my goal pace starting at mile 21, with a miserable 9:17 pace for mile 25. I knew I needed to pick it up to get a qualifying time, so I dug deeper and ran 8:32 for mile 26. My finishing time was 3:29:52--just 8 seconds under the qualifying time. Talk about close! I needed to run the race in 12,600 seconds, and I did it in 12,592 seconds. It still blows my mind how close that was.

But you know what, that qualifying time didn’t get me into another Boston. I submitted my time for Boston 2012, but that was the first year that the BAA started using a “cut-off time” to narrow the field. So even though my qualifying time was 3:30:00, the cut-off time of 1:14 meant that I needed to have run 3:28:46 in order to get in. But as it turns out, I was happy to be on the sidelines for Boston 2012, as it was a scorcher of a day. I watched my friends suffer from a water stop in Framingham.