Greylock Snowshoe

Well, my longest hiatus from racing is now over. For those of you who know me, I tend to race early and often. After taking a break from racing since Thanksgiving, I had a rude awakening at the Greylock 3.5m snowshoe race on Saturday. Since the USATF 50k champs in Georgia my training had been inconsistent due to an aggressive work schedule. I had been doing up to 80% of my running in the dark on the trails with the short days. While I tend to run pretty hard all the time, I was a bit nervous about my conditioning going into my first snowshoe race. For me snowshoe racing is the most strenuous type of racing; I like to compare to drowning for a half hour or so.
I got to Adams with plenty of time to get ready for the race, but ended up wasting a lot of time catching up with people I hadn't seen in a while due to my hibernation. The thin, firm snow cover indicated a fast race, but none of us knew what the new course had in store for us. I managed to strap on my shoes and get a decent warmup in just in time for the start.
I was pleased when my instinctual fast start got me into the lead. I wanted to get things strung out and settle into my own pace. About 400 meters into the race, Paul and Rich went by and put some distance on me. As we started to wind uphill, the gaps between us seemed to solidify. I could hear Elijah behind me from time to time, but not enough to cause concern. I tried to focus on keeping Rich in sight.
For some reason, I had thought the race was a 5k, so when we kept climbing after about 10 minutes of tough uphill, I was slightly confused. It got steeper, and I could barely keep running. As I looked upward, I started to realize that Paul had left us. Rich wasted no time in taking off when the course crested and we began our long descent. My hips felt tight, and my legs were dead from the uphill, but I tried to stay in contact with Rich. I began to worry about Eliah's leg speed, as his mile time is about 20 seconds faster than mine. The course was a little thin in parts, and it was odd to break through to mud and see a dirt-covered snowshoe. My lack of racing crept up on me at this point, and I unintentionally slowed down. A few steps from Elijah cured this problem, and I got back on the accelerator.
I ran hard through the finish as Paul was already running back to cheer on Kelli. Everyone else seemed pretty wasted at finish, and when Elijah asking if anyone tasted blood, I replied in the affirmative. While this taste can occur in other running situations, the combination of intense respiratory rate and cold, dry air is very likely to make you feel like your mouth is bleeding after a hard race. It's a good indicator of an honest effort for me. I was impressed when I learned that Paul had beated Rich and I by at least a minute and half. Then again, he was outkicked by Elijah last year (I was stunned as I watched from third), and I am pretty sure that Paul is not a big fan of second place. Either Rich and I are a bit rusty, or it's going to be long snowshoe season of chasing Paul. I guess we could just let him go and pretend he's not even in the race!
On an after-race note, I had some unexpected excitment on the drive home. I went to pass a semi on the right, and he turned into my lane a moment after I started to pass. No sweat, I tapped the brakes, swung left and passed him on the left. It was a quick move, but there were no cars close in back, and I never cut anyone off. Some RAM TOUGH redneck in a huge Dodge Ram truck was perturbed by my driving and flashed his lights at me. I thought nothing of it until he seemed to be trying to ride my bumper. Considering I can probably stop in half the distance compared to his 3 ton truck, I started to work my way through traffic to put some cars between us. He obviously thought his truck was RAM FAST, as he had two useless hood scoops (as oppossed to my functional scoop)and was weaving through traffic like he was driving a Miata. I'd let him get close, and then easily leave him behind with light pressure on the skinny pedal. While I would move into a gap with just enough room for me to enter safely, he would try to fly up and try to squeeze in by cutting people off. The traffic opened up, and I blased away from him for a bit, and then settled down to cruising speed to avoid a ticket. He came flying out of traffic at triple digit speeds and started motioning for me to pull over. He tried to force me off onto the left-hand shoulder, and I laughed as I tapped my brakes and he went flying by. I stomped on the gas and blew by him on the right. His next idea was to force me to the right shoulder. As he tried to get ahead to cut me off, I simply stayed about a half car-length ahead of his rumbling hemi. He was not happy. The best part was that he actually need to get to an exit! He had to slam on his brakes and almost rolled that hemi pig trying to make his exit. So if see a big red Dodge truck with twin hood snouts, stay away, that dude is crazy!

It's a mall world, after all

Having lived since August in a place that far too many souls call home and almost as many target (inexplicably) as a vacation spot, the sweetie and I -- seeking refuge from the cultural barrenness, overcrowding, boring scenery, and commercial depravity of South Florida -- invigorated ourselves by making a trip to the bucolic, tranquil town of Orlando. It was an all-expenses paid marathon weekend courtesy of the super folks at Florida Running & Triathlon, so being in half-ass shape and the predicted high humidity were not the scowl-evoking factors they ordinarily would have been in such a scenario.

We gained access to the Coronado Springs arm of the Branch Disneyan compound at 4:30 Friday afternoon. I picked up my VIP packet (yes, I agree, that term is used lightly more often than not) in a room at the Coronado that had been turned into a coffeehouse-cum-snack bar; here, in a brush with relative fame, the sweetie literally collided with invited speaker Dan Browne, who was rushing out of the suite and was seemingly very busy every time we laid eyes on him over the weekend.

After collecting the packet, which included several free meal and theme-park tickets, we absorbed ourselves in various German, Spanish, and Japanese television programs, then hopped on the VIP (I know, funny, isn't it?) bus and were borne to the VIP (kind of a joke, really) reception at Epcot. We ate some really good buffet food and watched the large extended Jim Ryun family gradually make off with every spare chair at our table. Congressman Ryun must be the most unassuming former elite runner on Earth. Jeff Galloway, on the other hand, shielding his increasingly shiny pate with a ballcap and thus incognito for a spell to the likes of me, enthusiastically held forth about marathon training for the benefit of everyone who pulled him aside. Meb Keflezighi was also there, matching me decaf-for-decaf as best I could tell. Most of the VIP's (trust me, we weren't) were media types; physical differences aside, you can always easily distinguish these VIP's from the athletes because they're very forward about wearing their VIP badges around and will go to any length to abscond with as much of the available free stuff as humanly possible. I believe this applies to all sports.

Our dinner companions were Darin and Dierdre Shearer. Darin and I were once part of the extended Central Mass Striders family, while Dierdre (formerly bearing the surname Milligan) was an undergrad star for the Big Green during my Dartmouth grad-school days. After injuries knocked him out of the competitive scene during the early part of the decade, Darin came all the way back to reach the finals of the steeplechase at the 2004 Olympic Trials, placing eighth with an 8:26. He'd also run 14:21 for 5K on the roads and a 1:06 half within the past thirteen months, but arrived at the Branch Disneyan compound having logged no more than four miles at a pop over the past four weeks thanks to new injuries, training supplemented by mounds of swimming (he's dabbled seriously in traithlons and is now aiming to make those his main focus). A fireworks display was our post-prandial send-off back to the Coronado.

Sleep was at a premium Friday evening, as we'd have to get up absurdly early Sunday morning for the bus to the 6 a.m. start. We headed to the expo to grab my number at about 9:30 Saturday morning. En route, we saw a figure plowing along the side of the highway at a solid clip; Dan again. We saw him later outside the hotal lobby, where I had a chance to thank him for his back-cover words regarding Run Strong; amazingly, rather than blindly serving up a few canned positive words, he'd read the entire manuscript and wanted to discuss it in detail. Forget Dan's performances over the years -- he's one of those guys who is truly all about doing good things for running and on that basis alone it's a shame he's been giddily ripped apart on Letsrun.com by a panoply of nameless, rat-eaten hemorrhoids who have never met him and never will.

After a half-hour jog near the Coronado, the sweetie and I chose to expend our Saturday park passes at the Animal Kingdom. It wasn't particularly crowded, with many parkgoers looking suspciously marathonic with their ectomorphic frames and road-race garb. Nevertheless I was struck by how digital cameras have changed the complexion of the theme-park experience. If one were to wander one of these parks and behave in deference to both strollers and picture-takers at every opportunity, he would never get anywhere, because he would quite literally have to freeze in place to avoid perpetually being in the path of either a battering ram on wheels or someone's digital capturing of the moment. I used acknowledging this reality as carte blache to pay absolutely no mind to what others were doing except when my ankles and feet were at stake, which was often.

After duly filling my face with solids and liquids all evening, I crawled into bed and channel-surfed until just after midnight. Then I closed my eyes for a short nap, anticipating the squall of the phone at 3:40 a.m. My preparation for this race during the final days and hours had thus mimicked that of the preceding eight weeks: jauntily half-hearted but hopeful.

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During my nap I dreamed that I was playing basketball in a shockingly inept fashion with a courtload of elderly people! I kept dribbling the ball out of bounds off my feet and the fogies kicked my butt! I did not see this as any sort of omen!

Anyway, I was up and at 'em at 3:40! I downed a bunch of coffee and skedaddled over to the VIP (HA!) bus at the required time -- 4 a.m.! It was only a ten-minute ride to the start, but impending road closures dictated that we arrive at the start over an hour and a half before the race got underway and sit on the bus -- kind of a kick in the crotch if you ask me! Oh well, it's all good! With a warm morning on tap I decided I'd hit the line with a throwaway tee and no singlet, so that's what I did! First I jogged for 10 minutes and that went well! Then I asked Darin what he was going to do! He said he'd ease into 5:45's if he could, and hey, that's what I wanted to do! So I decided we could stick together!

At the last possible moment, right after the national anthem, some heavyish young fellow who looked like a bumblebee (he wore a black and yellow cycling-style top, cycling shorts, and a lycra bandana, all perfectly coordinated) shoved himself between Darin and I so he could get a spot right on a line! I'm surprised he didn't bring starting blocks too, the silly chap!

Anyway, the race started with Minnie's giddy, squeaky countdown from ten, and as the pack broke away from the line some really stange things happened! WHEEEEEEEE! I quickly found myself behind at least fifteen people, including, no joshing, a guy who had to be close to 60, a guy with a mechanical leg, and several other fellows straight from the John Belushi mold! Still, Darin was right beside me, so I knew things were going to be okay! We had a slow first mile of 6:00 but that was okay because we were already passing some folks who were huffing and puffing, including our beefy bumblebee-boy! The two leaders, an African fellow and a crazy Brazilian showboat wearing what looked like garden-variety Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities in a ten-year-old's size, powered through the mile in close to 5:10, I'd wager! Oh, and it was dark, so I could barely see them! In fact, I couldn't see fark-all and didn't really care to! We were doing well, though, holding on to tenth place or so! Out of all those runners from all over the planet!

By three miles I'd moved past a lot of folks who had obviously disengaged their brains from their legs waaaaaaaaaay early, but Darin was still right there! We were like running buddies! But he fell back soon too, and once I got to six miles I was running alone, pretty high up in the grand scheme of things! That was how it was for the next 18 miles -- me, a road, a few bands, and some cheerful folks in bright green jackets handing out cups of stuff for me to dump in my tummy so I could keep on going and going like that wabbit in the battery commercials! A-THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP!

Right after halfway ("gonna make it," I remember telling myself), the course wound its way along a really foggy access road with no spectators or volunteers in sight! This is surreal, I was thinking; this is Walt Disney World and I have it all to myself! The sun had just appeared in the east, exactly when the weather experts had predicted it would, but fortunately would remain pretty low on the horizon until I finished! Anyway, I was getting lonely and, I'll admit, a little surly and a little tired, but I came around a turn and lo and behold, just up ahead, all by his own self too, was Donald Duck! He was waving and capering around like, well, a mentally challenged, hyperactive mallard! All for me! I waved and gave him a thumbs-up! Later, I saw his good friends Flick, Chip and Dale, Uncle Scrooge, Baloo Bear, and some other fake folks I didn't recognize 'cause I'm too old to be following such animated character business! From the looks of things, none of these beings even pretended to have an IQ over 50! Just danced and cavorted and shook their feathered and furry bottoms with alacrity! I felt right at home!

The stretch an the Animal Kingdom from 16 to 18 miles was tough! All those tight turns and little humps on walking paths are hard to negotiate when your legs are starting to go to heck because you haven't trained properly! Heck, I hadn't run more than 18 miles at once since doing 31 miles a couple of months earlier, but I was glad to get out of there and back on the sanctity of the wide-open Osceola Parkway! Divided highways make great late-race surfaces to run on in marathons because of the thick layer of concrete under the asphalt! You can really feel each and every step, which is a good reminder that you're still alive and truckin'! I was impressed as all criminy with the engineering! This was America at its finest!
I was startled when right at 24 miles, I came up on the African fellow, who'd been two minutes ahead of me as early as five miles into things, but seemed to have run into some problems since! He was barely moving in a straight line and looked like poop warmed over! In fact, I guess he quit right after I passed him! And hey, if I was passed by someone like me, I'd quit too! And he must have jinxed me, 'cause I had a sloooooooooooooooow 25th mile before rebounding nicely for a spirited finish! When I finally stopped running in the chute I saw the sweetie and then had a bite to eat after chatting with some newspaper folks who wanted to know all about what it was like to run 26 miles in a row, without stopping! With the sun out for part of it! Well, Goofy was right there and all (A-YUK-A-YUK-A-YUK!), so I did a George Bush impersonation and told them running was "work, really hard work!" That's not what they wrote in their little stories, though!

The temperature was just under 60 degrees Farenheit throughout the race, with a relative humidity ranging from 100% to 93% (which I guess explains all of that fog)! Still, I was not uncomfortably warm at any point, but probably would have been had I not been busy death-marching my way around the eastern edge of the Everglades for most of the past five months! UGH!

The bad news is that I went into the race about six weeks away from being able to run a good marathon; the good news is that I am only about six weeks away from being able to put together a fast marathon!

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