I have run hundreds of races in the past 15 years, but until yesterday had never had the pleasures of 1) being recognizable to millions the world over, yet at the same time running incognito; and 2) being accompanied by one of the fastest 18-month-olds in the state every step of the way.
The Concord, N.H. Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk for Arthritis attracts around 500 runners and walkers every year. Considering it's in December, the weather has been quite favorable for the past few years. The first and third miles are flat, while the second has a modest rise and decline, making it a few ticks shy of a "PR" course for most folks.
Although it attracts its fair share of good local runners - it's generally won in sub-16:00 for men and low 19's for women - it is as much a roving costume party as it is a competitive event. Each year, the field is laced with running Santas, elves, reindeer, and even Christmas trees. Best of all, contrary to what's found in most races these days, strollers, dogs, and every other form of mechanical and zoological detritus are allowed on the course.
Two weeks ago, I wasn't going to run this race; I'd be approaching the end of my third straight 110-mile week (which did in fact happen) and had a marathon-pace run planned for the next day (that happened, too). But a good six or seven of the kids I coached this fall in cross-country were entered, and I had wanted to get Komen, my one-and-a-half-year-old yellow Lab, into a race for quite a while. Those were two reasons I was
already hesitant to pass this one up. And when a co-worker mentioned early in the week that she owned a Grinch costume, the deal was sealed: the Grinch and Max would be putting in an appearance at the Jingle Bell.
This post assumes that everyone knows the story of the Grinch, and is therefore familiar with his unmistakable appearance: emaciated frame; bullet head; puke-green complexion; avaricious, jaundiced eyes; and - something that would become a performance factor in the race - a singularly malevolent, poo-eating grin.
A word on Komen, the aforementioned Labrador Retriever. (The story of his earliest days as a runner can be found here.) He has been a runner for about a year and a serious one for about six months. He's done up to 18-20
miles with me at a time on trails and is usually around for my track workouts, too. He prefers 200s and 400s to everything else, as his attention span tends to wane in longer intervals, but my experience with him has told me he's capable of around 5:00 pace for a 5K. He's been great for my own running because I virtually never run on asphalt roads anymore; even if this means mindless, repetitive circuits around a park - sometimes at night - at least he can come along and be free of his leash. He clearly loves it.
The Grinch/dog thing was great because it meant no racing pressure and no spur-of-the-moment ideas of busting a race effort. However, I wasn't in this to screw around completely. I at least wanted to run sub-6:00 pace, or better yet, beat all of the kids I coach.
I arrived early and warmed up with about five miles of easy running. It was relatively warm but raining intermittently. I rallied the Brady kids together, then, with about two minutes to go until the start, ducked off behind the nearby Salvation Army, where my girlfriend Charlotte was waiting with the mask, Santa Claus-style felt coat, the dog, and several Dunkin' Donuts Munchkins.
I donned my attire quickly. I hadn't run in the mask, but prior experimentation had told me a number of things. The biggest issue was very limited vision imposed by the mask. It tended to bounce around a little as I ran, and I had to tip my head back slightly in order to optimize my sight. Fortunately there were few turns and the field wasn't so huge that I would be in real trouble with this. Another issue was breathing. The rubber mask was obviously not suited to extreme feats of aerobic endurance. However, because of the Grinch's protuberant mandibular and maxillary regions -- owing to the aforementioned poo-eating grin -- I could breathe well enough to avoid passing out as long as I didn't push too hard. The rest of the costume, including the felt top and the standard red shorts I wore, didn't have much of an effect one way or the other. Finally there was Komen, who seemed eager to get going, though he clearly didn't understand what was about to happen. We selected a spot right on the starting line with the Brady kids, but off to one side -- almost on the sidewalk -- so as not to interfere with those behind us in the event we stalled at the gun.
Just before the gun went off I fed Komen one of the three Munchkins I held in my gloved left hand (his leash was in my right) to get him primed. These are his favorite snack, but reserved for special occasions. He devoured it, but this might have been a mistake, because he was then aware of the other two Munchkins and was now facing backward, sniffing around for the now-concealed treats. (I should also point out that for the first 4K of this race I did not see Komen - he was well outside my line of sight. But I could sense him and measure how he was doing by the degree of tautness on the leash.) By this time, many spectators were pointing and laughing and I was yukking it up too, but behind the mask no one could tell this.
Komen was still facing backward when the gun went off. Luckily, he got turned around and grasped the idea immediately. He began trotting forward, innocently following the mob, apparently sensing that this was the proper conduct. We stayed on the right-hand side of the road while everyone else formed an expanding column in the left lane, anticipating the first (left-hand) turn; both lanes were closed, and I wanted to stay out of everyone's way.
I didn't have to worry, though. After the first 200 meters we were with people I recognized as belonging to the 6:00-6:30 crowd, but we started picking people off right away. I lobbed another Munchkin up the street, hoping to lure Komen into a more ambitious pace. It worked, but this strategy too backfired when the imperfectly formed bakery item caromed off to one side. Komen strained after it for a fraction of a second, but then it was gone. I felt guilty. And I now had just one Munchkin left.
Many of the runners we were passing glanced over (I assume; I really couldn't see them unless I cranked my whole head to one side) and laughed loudly, perhaps assuming a short-lived stunt by the absurd twosome we formed. But I was pleasantly surprised by Komen's compliance and was thinking I could at least hold marathon pace. My breathing wasn't difficult but it was damn loud inside that mask. Imagine Darth Vader, only breathing twice as fast and having an asthma attack through a megaphone. That's about right.
I passed my top runner this fall, Jeremy, about 1K into the race on a dirt road. He was looking for a sub-17:00 but tends to start quite conservatively (owing to his smart coach) and I was curious about the pace we were running. Jeremy couldn't help but giggle when I pulled alongside, and I felt bad about distracting him, but figured maybe he could key off me for a while without losing his squash altogether. Komen was running smoothly. We were still passing people and were in about 12th. We passed the mile in 5:27. That was hard to believe. I was psyched.
We rounded a turn and began to climb. Here was one spot where we were at an advantage. You see, Komen, for all of his ability, is unlike human athletes in that he can probably run 5:00 pace more easily by sprinting, waiting, sprinting, waiting than by holding a steady pace. Unfortunately the confines of the leash did not allow this "fartlek" approach, and I think that while 5:30 pace didn't precisely tire him out, it was somewhat inefficient for him -- somewhere between a gallop and canter, if you will. But uphills don't faze him a whit, and on this one we picked off about five more people in the next half-mile. By now we were far enough into the race and around serious enough competitors that we were getting looks and grunts of disbelief. I think I heard one guy mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "F%^in' Grinch!?!?!" I chuckled. After all, I was a Mean One.
We hit two miles in 11:02. We were left with a long, single straightaway all the way to the last turn 50 meters from the finish. We were now alongside the first woman (a former Dartmouth All-American) and some masters guy in a bright purple shirt. The three (four, counting the dog) of us were battling for fifth place. I could even see the leaders. Jeremy had fallen off the pace a bit. I started pushing. Komen was still rocking right along. I moved into the middle of the single lane allocated for the runners - actually, we were supposed to stay in the generous breakdown lane, but again I was worried about getting in the way of Purple Guy and Fast Chick. Cars gave us a wide berth and its passengers no doubt gazed in disbelief at the kermit-colored creature scampering along with an antler-less Max. With a half-mile to go I looked back and saw I'd gained about 40 yards on the twosome. I felt great, although my breathing still sounded like the inside of a Boeing hangar and the condensation was starting to get pretty thick. Probably because of the rain, my shorts had sort of hiked up under the hem of the felt coat, perhaps giving the appearance of a Santa Skirt. But most of all I was proud of Komen.
Our only problem occurred in the final 200 yards. We passed the three-mile mark in about 16:35. I'd sensed Komen slowing, and now, with the cheers growing louder, I think he got spooked. He also caught sight of Charlotte hanging around the three-mile marker. I knew we wouldn't have a kick to speak of, but I didn't anticipate failure so close to the tape! Komen threw one look back, evidently at my girlfriend (who, along with everyone nearby, was laughing her ass off) and sat down. Oh, the horror! Think of the unfortunate Shalene Flanagan at the Footlocker Northeast Regionals.
That's where that last Munchkin came in handy. I waved it in front of his face and he sucked it right down, then got up when I tugged on the leash. I threw one careful, swivel-headed look back. Purple Guy and Fast Girl went ripping by and I could see Jeremy and a few others closing in. I urged Komen on. We rounded the final trun to a chorus of spirited holiday cheers. The finish was just ahead now, and Komen seemed to sense this. Actually I think he was interested in chasing the first woman, because females of all species fascinate him. But we didn't quite catch her. Our time: 17:18. Not bad for the Lab's maiden voyage! Jeremy wound up 3 seconds behind.
I reconnoitered with my girlfriend, who fed Komen a few more much-deserved treats. I wanted to keep my mask on until I was out of sight to preserve anonymity, but it was too damn hot. I took it off. A few people I knew in the crowd wanted pictures, though, so I had to put it back on. By then it had the consistency of one of those extremely slippery and slimy logs one encounters on the bank of a river from time to time. It stunk. But it had been well worth it.
The best thing was listening to Charlotte's description of seeing a " moving, bright red thing with a huge green head" from a half mile away. Hopefully I will have pics to post somewhere soon.