Narragansett, RI
Friday, July 26, 2019
Was originally going to meld this into my weekly log, as I knew it would be a slow race for me and this has certainly been a down summer for me for sure. However, I'm trying to keep the glass half full and there were enough interesting facets of my race to merit its own post.
I signed up for this race with about as much enthusiasm as bantered about by some of my WTAC peers in group e-mails:
Race day morning, friend Mike B and past Blessing runner reached out to me to offer good luck and some advice to take it easy and just have fun. I was limping and having some trouble with stairs as he reached out to me, but was optimistic the daily low dose of Prednisone would kick in and limber me up for the afternoon and early evening as it has.
Indeed, by the time we left about 4:45pm (race start 6pm), the body was feeling looser. Still, with my setbacks and inconsistencies running recently, when Jana asked in what time did I think I would cross the line, I said if I'm doing really really well out there, maybe 1:10, but otherwise more likely between 1:10 and 1:30. (For reference, my median time over the past 5 years was 1:02:33.)
Race start: After last year's slow time due to nerve injury, this was the first year in many that I was not awarded one of the coveted low-number two-digit bibs that allows you to enter the fast runner starting corral up front. Accordingly, it took me twelve minutes after race start to get to the starting line.
The moron: While it is true that I didn't cross the start line until 12 minutes after race start, and it's also true that I lost my low-number bib, that doesn't really explain why it took me a full 12 minutes (11:40 to be exact) to reach the start. In fact, based on the chart below, there is a reasonable assumption that the starting line queue dissipated within the first three minutes:
So what happened? Well, the moron got all the way to SK (25 minutes from home, 5 minutes more to drive to race start) before realizing that his bib was still at home. Six days earlier, I had put it on top of my bureau so I would remember to bring it. Yeah, that worked out well. Fortunately, Jana (my driver on the day and fervent supporter) took it all in good stride to turn around and drive back to Westerly, and then back again. So Jana got as close as she could to the starting line, and when she got stuck in traffic at 6:10pm, I got out and ran to the start. So much for a warm-up. I got to the starting line, and the starting mats were already picked up as the road was now open to traffic. However, the mats were on the side of the road and a timing official told me to make sure to run over the last mat and that would pick up my time. Done! He yelled me to confirm he got my start time.
The chase: So for the next 1.5 miles I ran in the breakdown lane alongside backed up traffic spewing emissions. A fair penalty. I even waved to Jana as I re-passed her sitting in traffic. Each time I came up on and passed another runner, I was thinking this person is the back of the pack. Nope; just another late starting moron like me.
Easier running: Finally, 1.5 miles in, on Ocean Road, I caught the trailing police cruiser, with his lights flashing. THIS was finally the back of the pack, and once I passed the cruiser, it was a lot easier sailing, as ahead of him the road was closed and I was no longer punished for my stupidity by having to run in the breakdown lane while sucking down exhaust.
Unique experience: Once I was past the cruiser, the running became fun again. I was passing people left and right and I saw a few people that I knew running and made it a point to wave and say hi to them. It's not like it really mattered what my finishing time would be, but rather only that I finished. A few asked, "What are you doing way back here?", as did a state cop directing traffic at the intersection turning onto Route 108.
Proud uncle: At about Mile 5, I spied my brother Kurt and his 9-year old daughter Lucy running. (There was one other 9-year old running in the race, no 10-year olds.) I asked Lucy to conserve her energy and not to talk to me while I talked to Kurt for a while. Lucy was looking good, and after a 1/4 mile or so, I continued on and stopped bugging them. Since my pace was about 7:30 or so, even in my lack of running and diseased condition, this still felt relatively easy for me and kind of "fun" instead of the usual hating running on Route 108.
Finishing: The next few miles were really a blur. Occasionally I would hear my name, but never really could tell who it was that was calling. At about Mile 8, on South Pier Road, I heard some very motivating music from one of the runners I was passing, but I couldn't tell which one, so I just yelled out, "Keep the AC/DC coming!". The retort back to me was, "You want some Dirty Deeds?!". Oh, yeah! I had fun along the way pointing at young children with super-soaker squirt guns and hoses and asking them to douse me. They seemed to enjoy that as well. As I turned the corner onto Kingstown Road at the Mile 9 marker, I picked it up and finished the final mile in sub-7.
Final results: 1:14:32 (chip time), 1:26:12 (gun time), pace 7:27. Full results here.
Apres-race: I passed literally more than thousand runners (since I started behind the back-of-the-packers, and finished 251st out of 2,148. That was fun and motivating. Only one person passed me the whole time; a 20-something that all of a sudden sprinted at the end. I felt really good! Until I stopped. And then everything stiffened up quickly. We waited (not long) for Kurt and Lucy to finish, and then went to Lucy's grandparents (Kurt's in-laws) for an ice-cream celebration. Leaving their house, I tried not to make a scene, as today was about Lucy, not me, but unfortunately, I was hobbling in pain.
Unfortunately, I did not catch up with any of my WTAC brethren, as they were all home, showered, had dinner, and were in bed fast asleep by the time I crossed the finish line. Oh well. This was my longest run since mid-May, before my PMR symptoms started. How much was due to the PMR and how due to lack of running and training? I guess I'll never know. But the glass is half-full, and I'm proud to have finished my 17th consecutive Blessing of the Fleet 10-Mile Road Race. My Mom and her friend Bob were at the finish line, and Bob asked me if I would try to keep running the race to make it 20 years in a row. In fact, I hope to go for as long as I can, but given my current unknown recovery and treatment, yes, I'll say 20 years is a good goal for now.
Friday, July 26, 2019
Was originally going to meld this into my weekly log, as I knew it would be a slow race for me and this has certainly been a down summer for me for sure. However, I'm trying to keep the glass half full and there were enough interesting facets of my race to merit its own post.
I signed up for this race with about as much enthusiasm as bantered about by some of my WTAC peers in group e-mails:
- “being a fat pig, I am not running”
- “I might even do something stupid like run it”
- “If this elderly broken down guy can finish it...”
- “It will be an ugly, shambling effort”
- “I will hate myself for doing it on Rte 108.
Death march to the finish. Disappointing finishing time.”
Race day morning, friend Mike B and past Blessing runner reached out to me to offer good luck and some advice to take it easy and just have fun. I was limping and having some trouble with stairs as he reached out to me, but was optimistic the daily low dose of Prednisone would kick in and limber me up for the afternoon and early evening as it has.
Indeed, by the time we left about 4:45pm (race start 6pm), the body was feeling looser. Still, with my setbacks and inconsistencies running recently, when Jana asked in what time did I think I would cross the line, I said if I'm doing really really well out there, maybe 1:10, but otherwise more likely between 1:10 and 1:30. (For reference, my median time over the past 5 years was 1:02:33.)
Race start: After last year's slow time due to nerve injury, this was the first year in many that I was not awarded one of the coveted low-number two-digit bibs that allows you to enter the fast runner starting corral up front. Accordingly, it took me twelve minutes after race start to get to the starting line.
The moron: While it is true that I didn't cross the start line until 12 minutes after race start, and it's also true that I lost my low-number bib, that doesn't really explain why it took me a full 12 minutes (11:40 to be exact) to reach the start. In fact, based on the chart below, there is a reasonable assumption that the starting line queue dissipated within the first three minutes:
 |
| Given my somewhat scientific assumption that the queue fully dissipated within three minutes after the starting gun, it appears that I was in good company of a total of 24 morons that arrived late to the race. Not that I should take solace in that. |
So what happened? Well, the moron got all the way to SK (25 minutes from home, 5 minutes more to drive to race start) before realizing that his bib was still at home. Six days earlier, I had put it on top of my bureau so I would remember to bring it. Yeah, that worked out well. Fortunately, Jana (my driver on the day and fervent supporter) took it all in good stride to turn around and drive back to Westerly, and then back again. So Jana got as close as she could to the starting line, and when she got stuck in traffic at 6:10pm, I got out and ran to the start. So much for a warm-up. I got to the starting line, and the starting mats were already picked up as the road was now open to traffic. However, the mats were on the side of the road and a timing official told me to make sure to run over the last mat and that would pick up my time. Done! He yelled me to confirm he got my start time.
The chase: So for the next 1.5 miles I ran in the breakdown lane alongside backed up traffic spewing emissions. A fair penalty. I even waved to Jana as I re-passed her sitting in traffic. Each time I came up on and passed another runner, I was thinking this person is the back of the pack. Nope; just another late starting moron like me.
Easier running: Finally, 1.5 miles in, on Ocean Road, I caught the trailing police cruiser, with his lights flashing. THIS was finally the back of the pack, and once I passed the cruiser, it was a lot easier sailing, as ahead of him the road was closed and I was no longer punished for my stupidity by having to run in the breakdown lane while sucking down exhaust.
Unique experience: Once I was past the cruiser, the running became fun again. I was passing people left and right and I saw a few people that I knew running and made it a point to wave and say hi to them. It's not like it really mattered what my finishing time would be, but rather only that I finished. A few asked, "What are you doing way back here?", as did a state cop directing traffic at the intersection turning onto Route 108.
Proud uncle: At about Mile 5, I spied my brother Kurt and his 9-year old daughter Lucy running. (There was one other 9-year old running in the race, no 10-year olds.) I asked Lucy to conserve her energy and not to talk to me while I talked to Kurt for a while. Lucy was looking good, and after a 1/4 mile or so, I continued on and stopped bugging them. Since my pace was about 7:30 or so, even in my lack of running and diseased condition, this still felt relatively easy for me and kind of "fun" instead of the usual hating running on Route 108.
Finishing: The next few miles were really a blur. Occasionally I would hear my name, but never really could tell who it was that was calling. At about Mile 8, on South Pier Road, I heard some very motivating music from one of the runners I was passing, but I couldn't tell which one, so I just yelled out, "Keep the AC/DC coming!". The retort back to me was, "You want some Dirty Deeds?!". Oh, yeah! I had fun along the way pointing at young children with super-soaker squirt guns and hoses and asking them to douse me. They seemed to enjoy that as well. As I turned the corner onto Kingstown Road at the Mile 9 marker, I picked it up and finished the final mile in sub-7.
 |
| Finishing up. |
Final results: 1:14:32 (chip time), 1:26:12 (gun time), pace 7:27. Full results here.
Apres-race: I passed literally more than thousand runners (since I started behind the back-of-the-packers, and finished 251st out of 2,148. That was fun and motivating. Only one person passed me the whole time; a 20-something that all of a sudden sprinted at the end. I felt really good! Until I stopped. And then everything stiffened up quickly. We waited (not long) for Kurt and Lucy to finish, and then went to Lucy's grandparents (Kurt's in-laws) for an ice-cream celebration. Leaving their house, I tried not to make a scene, as today was about Lucy, not me, but unfortunately, I was hobbling in pain.
 |
| I'm not sure what's with the goofy face, but I'm happy I'm done |
 |
| And here's my hero: my 9-year old niece Lucy, having finished 10 miles |
 |
| Celebrating Lucy's victory (I'm behind my Mom and between Lucy's parents) |
Unfortunately, I did not catch up with any of my WTAC brethren, as they were all home, showered, had dinner, and were in bed fast asleep by the time I crossed the finish line. Oh well. This was my longest run since mid-May, before my PMR symptoms started. How much was due to the PMR and how due to lack of running and training? I guess I'll never know. But the glass is half-full, and I'm proud to have finished my 17th consecutive Blessing of the Fleet 10-Mile Road Race. My Mom and her friend Bob were at the finish line, and Bob asked me if I would try to keep running the race to make it 20 years in a row. In fact, I hope to go for as long as I can, but given my current unknown recovery and treatment, yes, I'll say 20 years is a good goal for now.
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