Lost Runner

"Deja Vu all over again", as Yogi Berra would have said. Some races can be totally different in subsequent years. This one, for me, a carbon copy of 2006. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it takes most of the excitement out of it.

Initially, I had no designs on running the 2nd Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon in San Jose, instead planning on recovering (and catching my breath) after completing the Lake Tahoe Marathon. But by Wednesday of the week after Tahoe, I felt 100% recovered, since my legs hadn't been taxed nearly as much at altitude as would have been the case at sea level. So on Thursday I registered, thinking to take advantage of the fast, well organized race and go for a PR. It doesn't hurt that I can get to the start in 20 minutes by car.

Then, the following Friday morning I went running and somehow strained/tweaked/pulled my left Achilles. Stupid Murphy's Law. I took it as easy as I could the last 9 days before the race, because I am too cheap to not run in an event I've paid for. Injury be damned, I was going to go for it. Now that it's over (and I am OK) I can shake my head but it still seems risky to hammer out a hard run on a bad Achilles. If that tendon goes... not good.

I don't really have much to say about the race itself because it was identical to last year. Really. Even the bands were the same, and I figure if I keep coming to this race, in 5 years I might finally have heard at least one of their songs completely. As it is, it's just little snatches of music, unless the wind is right and you can hear them for longer.

My Garmin managed to keep track of me the entire race, so I promptly converted the output to GPX and plugged it into Google Earth for the below picture. As one can see, the course looks like a hyperactive ant crawled over a map of San Jose, but that's the course, for better or worse. I actually heard someone complain that the race had "too many turns". It's still the fastest course I've ever been on.

My heel held up fine until about the half-way point, at which point I started feeling some discomfort. I didn't let it slow me down, though. Racing can really change my priorities, and I just kept motoring on. By the time the 10 mile marker showed up, I figured I had a PR locked in, but made sure to push the pace as much as I could. Everyone around me had the same idea, but with the exception of one or two runners who had obviously really saved their strength, I kept up with the field around me.

Around this time, a man I think of as long-haired-surfer-dude showed up, as always easily recognizable by his locks flowing half-way down his tanned, shirtless torso. "You again!", I exclaimed (having seen him at a) 2006 SJ RnR, b) 2006 CIM, c) 2007 Morgan Hill 10K and d) 2007 SF Marathon). He joked that everyone always recognizes him, but he doesn't recognize them in turn!

With the finish nearing, I made myself stay mentally tough, having been overtaken in the home stretch the last two races. "Don't let anyone get ahead of you!", I thought, which is easier said than done as everyone started to accelerate. Rounding the final corner, me and a tall guy (= long legs) were outpacing the rest of the pack. He steadily sped up, and I opened the throttle in turn, until we were "flying" (relatively, that is... say a little under 5:00 min/mile pace) down the finishing lane. I had lost all semblance of control, legs gyrating widely, doing all I could to stave off that damn lanky guy, and finally, thank God, I dropped him about 10 yards out.

I did set a new PR (1:25:23), but I am much happier about having finished strongly, and relieved as hell that I didn't blow out my Achilles. I finished up the morning with breakfast with my parents, and was home before 12:00, a luxury for me on race days.

Will I be back next year? Hard to say... hopefully something changes by then, even if they just switch out some of the bands!

Posted by Michael at 8:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Three years ago, I was a fitness runner. I ran five miles, three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, I'd throw on any old T-Shirt and a pair of gym shorts, white cotton socks and the (one) pair of running shoes I had. Those shoes, incidentally, would last me through a full year.

Fast forward to tonight as I am laying out my "gear" for tomorrow's run:

• "Dry-Release" running shorts
  
• "Dry-Release" running top
  
• Running socks
  
• Bandanna that I wear as a headband
  
• Athletic tape to protect the parts of me that potentially chafe
  
• ID bracelet (so if I get hit by a car, the medics know who I am)
  
• Heart rate measuring chest strap
  
• Garmin GPS watch
  
• The right pair of shoes -- I now rotate two pairs
  
• Achilles heel support
  

I used to tell everyone who would listen how great running was -- you just put on a pair of shoes and go. Now, not so much.

I can't imagine how complicated life must be for triathletes!

Posted by Michael at 8:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

I had to keep thinking about that nugget of wisdom from Rob de Castella, who said of the marathon: "If you feel bad at 10 miles, you're in trouble. If you feel bad at 20 miles, you're normal. If you don't feel bad at 26 miles, you're abnormal." OK, but what if you feel really bad at mile 4? Any pearls of wisdom there, Mister Smartypants?

I'm running south on Highway 89. I've lost all feeling in my hands and my face. And that's the good news. The bad news: My left hip socket feels like it has been filled with shards of glass. The pain there merges into the beginnings of a side stitch in my midsection. Off and on, I slip on the ice on the road, which stresses my hip and slows me down. But worst of all, someone's turned down the O₂ supply, and my 2-2, 2-1 breathing rhythm is barely sustaining my progress. I am four miles into a 26.2 mile race, and I can't help but think: "will this be my first DNF?"

A couple of hours earlier, I had woken from a broken sleep, opened the door of my motel room and found about an inch of snow on the ground. Surprise! I quickly packed a long-sleeve shirt (living in NorCal, this is the extent of my winter gear) and warmed myself up by scraping the ice off of my car's windshield. A short drive to the Horizon casino, and an hour-long bus ride around the east side of Lake Tahoe took me to the starting line in Tahoe City.

A thermometer announced the temperature as 35 degrees. All the runners huddled in a small area right next to the lake, stomping their feet in an effort to warm up. After hitting the porta-pottie (let me tell you, dropping your pants in near-freezing weather will wake you right up), I found the start-time approaching fast. I lined up near the front of the pack, and at 8:30am we were sent on our way by a shotgun blast. Lake Tahoe is a small marathon, and maybe 400-500 runners set off on their journey towards South Lake Tahoe.

Very heavy mist is wafting up off of the lake, almost as if a hungry mountain god is preparing breakfast and has turned on the burner under Tahoe, maybe to boil an egg. Apparently this phenomenon occurs when the lake is warmer than the surrounding air, as is the case this morning. It looks very strange, but soon trees separate us runners from the view.

The course follows Highway 89 south, and we alternate running on the northbound (lakeside) lane and the bike path. Early on, the bike path is quite icy, and it clearly slows everyone down. Luckily, the sun is shining strongly and an hour into the race, the ice is all gone. In the meantime, everyone does the best they can. Although there is less ice on the highway itself, there is another obstacle to contend with: cars. Even though the lane we're on is officially closed, vehicles keep showing up. As one of the race directors said at the start: "Don't play chicken with the cars. Because you'll be the chicken." Compared to the cell-phone-yakking, coffee-slurping, makeup-applying maniacs I see in San Jose, everyone is driving slowly and carefully, and the traffic turns out to be no problem at all.

We are surrounded by pine trees, and although the scenery is pretty, it doesn't change for the first 17 miles of the race. Maybe it's for the best, as I have to concentrate on breathing the thin mountain air. My hip loosens as I finally warm up, but there's nothing I can do about the oxygen. On the first downhill section of the course, I try to let myself roll down the hill but quickly have to stop myself as I start panting like a dog in 120-degree heat. There's nothing for it but to control the pace, and concentrate on breathing.

Nobody runs a marathon without expecting some sort of discomfort, but this is not what I had in mind. I can deal with burning muscles, with bad knees and hips, with heat or cold. But not getting the air I need is a particularly icky feeling, one I could do without. It feels a little like claustrophobia, or like someone has put a plastic bag over your head.

I am humbled by some of the other athletes out this morning. For one, my marathon is the last leg of the Tahoe Triple. As hard as it is for me, for others this is the third marathon in three days. Then, I pass two ultra-runners. These animals started their odyssey at midnight, traveling through hail and snow, a low of 24 degrees, and are completing the last 26 miles of their 76 mile journey over the same course I am complaining bitterly about to myself. I pass the second of the two, staring at him slack-jawed, and he actually encourages me, saying something like "good job". Wow.

Around mile 15, the course starts to change. The discomfort I've been enduring hasn't gotten better or worse so far... but that's about to change as a little sign warns us of the "Hill from Hell", and shows the elevation as 6,300'. (some pictures on Scott Dunlap's blog.) I've studied the course map, and what's coming is only a 400ft climb over two miles. This should be a blip on the radar. But once again, the high altitude strikes and attacking the little incline is really tough. My breathing turns into some sort of ragged, 1-1, just-sucking-for-wind thing but it keeps me running.

Little signs along the way inform us of our progress. The first one says "What... you were expecting a 'Get out of hell free' card?'". Soon, we've reached "Purgatory" and finally, "Heaven" at 6,700'. An aid station greets us at the top, but I feel curiously like I am either going to burst into tears, or hurl the contents of my stomach. The feeling follows me all the way to the finish, but I thankfully do neither.

The next section of the course takes us around Emerald Bay, and the view is quite spectacular. The sky is clear, visibility is unlimited and out in the distance we can spot the beach in South Lake Tahoe which is our ultimate goal. First, we descend again into the far recess of the Bay, which lets us take in the little island and Vikingsholm. The descent is followed by another climb, but it's the last one for the day. Around mile 20, we leave Emerald Bay and start a steep descent into more populated areas.

As we follow the switchbacks down, I feel like I am moving (relatively) fast, but am passed by another runner who I never see again. I have no idea of my speed because my Garmin watch called it quits just before mile 20. Still, I feel about as good as I am going to feel during this race. My legs aren't tired at all, which just goes to show that the bottleneck for me in this marathon was oxygen, not glycogen depletion.

With about three miles left, the course veers onto a section of walking paths near the lake. The course isn't marked well, and at least once I see a runner slow down and curse because he doesn't know where to go. All the trail racing I've done this summer has prepared me well, though, and I keep me eyes peeled for the painted arrows. Another runner passes me, but only manages to stay 10 yards ahead of me, and by the time we hit the 26 mile marker, I've caught up to him again.

There's a crowd of spectators, and my rabbit surges ahead again. I try to keep up, but at this point I don't have much left, either physically or mentally. I let the other guy go, content to just jog in, but he slows in turn, and we end up crossing the finish together, stride for stride, as the clock shows a time of 3:21.

Posted by Michael at 3:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)