Something something about the heat being on -- Vermont City Marathon, 2016

Knowing that the weather was going to be hot, no two ways about it, there was always the option of choosing not to run, and given my experience at Boston in 2012, that would probably be the most sensible option, but I had already paid: for the race, for the hotel, for the trip, never mind the price in miles over the last five months. Even if I would have to run slower than I’d hoped, the work I’d done in training, along with smarter execution, should allow me to finish reasonably (and certainly much, much better than the infernal 2012 Boston). This summer weather disappointed me even before the race began, but I couldn’t just pull the plug. I was going to do this race. Saturday night, I laid out my uniform: pale green singlet instead of the bright hot reddish-pink one (so as to not draw as little attention from the sun as possible), the dark blue Nike Epic Lux shorts that have three pockets (to carry my gels). Usually the nerves get started while I do this, but this time I felt only misgivings. I really should not run, I thought. I’m not going to run well and I will probably only end up doing damage.

But we came all this way, and I still hoped I might be able to leverage some intelligence into a half-decent time, if nowhere near the PR I’d hoped to take a shot at. And I could still hope it might be cloudy, right? 80s and overcast is not as bad as 80s and sunny. I tried to drink water every time I thought about it all day Saturday, all evening, and whenever I woke in the night, so that I could start from a full tank, hydration-wise. It made for an interrupted overnight, but I’d rather wake up several times to pee being well-hydrated than sleep soundly and wake up in the hole on that front. I never sleep soundly on race eve anyway, so might as well be getting something out of it.

Morning came muggy and sunny. No wishes had been granted. The sun would be out for the worst of it all.

I ate my oatmeal, wondering if it might be better next time to practice eating a cold breakfast instead of a hot one, just in case race day comes up steaming. I showered, I dressed, I looked out the window at runners leaving for Battery Park well before 7 a.m. Why would you do that? Why make yourself stand out in the heat any longer than absolutely necessary? It was in the 70s already at 7 a.m.! We did not leave the hotel until around 7:30, which was the latest possible. We had two blocks to walk to Battery Street, then up that bear of a hill about four blocks to the park at the top, where the start waited. In 2014, I wore a light jacket when B and I walked over, from a closer hotel, and while I didn’t wear it for long, at least it had been cool enough to have on for those first few minutes outside. This year, I was sorry to have even put on the singlet, and thought briefly about abandoning it and pinning my bib to the front of my sports bra. I decided it would be better to have my torso’s skin covered if it was going to be super sunny, so I left the shirt on. After a little tarrying and photography in the crowded Battery Park (half a thought to use a portapotty though I did not at all feel it was necessary, just wanting to out of habit, the lines deterring me from even that), I said good-bye to B and his parents with plans on seeing them by the hotel, which was between miles 9 and 10, if not before.

I walked up the street in front of the starting line toward the preferred corral, thanks to my 2014 Caesar Rodney time, and slipped in between a few rows of scantily clad men (and a few women) to position myself for the start. I thought about this year’s Caesar Rodney, how cold and horrid it had been, but that little trick of psychology didn’t help. The sun was on us, and already-hot bodies were all around me. Another woman slipped in to stand next to me; I could see from her bib that her name was also Courtney. She turned to me and wished me good-luck; I said the same, and told her that is my name too (though my bib indicated me as CRUSHER). I don’t know why people always enjoy finding others who share a name, but it added a little pleasantness to a moment I was otherwise only feeling sorry for myself. This was going to be awful. It was at least 75 when they finally started the race a little after 8:00 a.m., and not a dry 75 – at least Boston 2012 had not been humid. We were not going to get even that small fortune this day.

For the first four miles, I could not control my legs. I tried, honestly. I know how stupid that sounds; obviously I am in control of my body, so how could I not just slow them down if I wanted to? I tried. I looked at my watch and knew I was going too fast when it read anything less than 7:45 (even 7:45 would probably have been too fast); I would hit the brakes and back off, but then I’d look down and see I was cruising at 7:30 or even 7:2X again.

1 7:38.6
2 7:24.5
3 7:43.4
4 7:34.9

You’re going too fast, you idiot! Get a grip! But this portion had some downhill, and I was streaming along with a large host of others with cheering fans lining the way, so I got carried away in spite of my repeated attempts to rein my legs in. I repeatedly failed. My legs were just going to run whatever the hell they wanted to run, I guess.

Between miles 4 and 8, the route heads out on a divided highway (VT127, past the Ethan Allen homestead) that is shut down on race day. There is essentially no cover on this stretch – though I do recall toward its farther reach that it dipped close enough to trees along the side to afford some shade, however brief and relatively ineffectual. I finally got a grip on pace during this out and back, partly due to willpower but mainly due to physiological responses. There had been a water stop between miles 2 and 3, but not another until a little past mile 4 – by the time I came upon that one, it felt too late. I had been praying to see it come into view well before it finally did; I was thirsty. Not desperately so, but too thirsty for comfort. There was another one about a mile on down, and I was thirsty again when I hit that one. These conditions were ugly.

Where I had been running foolishly well under 8:00/mile for the first four, I finally got down to 8:00 and change during this out-and-back. I took a gel around the water stop between 6-7; ugh. The sticky Gu was unpleasant. Coming back into town from the highway, the course ran up a short but difficult hill; as the route leveled out again thereafter, I considered my condition. I did not feel terrible, but I certainly felt a long way from where you’d hope to feel as you complete the first third of the distance. As we headed back through downtown, I told myself it was only going to get exponentially worse – I knew it would, I had experience with that – and advised myself that it would be OK to drop out and spare myself a terrible time and the accompanying misery. No one would judge me negatively for doing something that, honestly, was eminently sensible. But quitting really is a last resort, and I did not feel that I gotten to last resort territory yet.

I suggested to myself that I would reassess closer to the hotel in a mile or two; if I were going to drop out, it would be easier to do it where I could easily find B and his parents, and quickly escape into a cool hotel room. And by the time we raced through downtown again, and turned the corner to head down Main Street toward Pine (the intersection at which the hotel lies), I felt somewhat improved, and so passed by my personal supporters with a wave and as much of a smile as I could put on my face.

Mile 10 came and went (7:42, thanks to some downhill). I had been running for just shy of 80 minutes, which was not all that shabby; but I could not feel very good about it, because I could feel the weather taking its toll one sweat bead at a time, and the stretch between 10 and 11 was a lot in the sun again. Finally we curved through a residential neighborhood with some tree cover, and it was here that the 3:30 pace group caught up to me. They did not overtake me with gusto, instead easing up and only getting ahead inch by inch, in part because I could not prevent myself from reacting to the spurt of adrenaline that said “Crusher, you do not want to finish over 3:30, maybe you can stay with these guys.” But around mile 12, they had crept farther and farther away, and I finally had to admit that while I could probably let my legs go and stay with them a while longer, it would only be a matter of time before they dropped me again and dropped me hard, leaving me to pay an even steeper price in the end for having tried. It was exceedingly disappointing to accept this and to let that bobbing 3:30 sign go.

I took another gel around the half, where the race course nears the lake. There was a bit of a breeze in this area, which only took the slightest edge off the sweltering heat. I thought to myself that I had less than two hours of running left to do, which wasn’t that bad, was it? Or would it be most rational of me to drop out, cede the fight in submission to the heat, and retreat? Again, I decided I would make that call when I came across B and his parents again; I expected to see them somewhere along Battery, either on the approach to the long hill or somewhere on it, so not too far into the future. The gel helped, and when I passed them at the bottom of the hill, I was feeling decent enough to forge onward.

The hill was tough. It was always going to be tough – it was in 2014 when it wasn’t quite as hot, it would have been even had it been cooler, simply because of its steepness and its length and its location in the race. I was doing OK though pace-wise – still in the 8:00s, that hill’s mile coming through at 8:37. I would get another decent two miles in (if we’re only considering pace, and not the fact that I did not feel decent) before the wheels started wobbling. After the hill on Battery, the course runs along what is probably a very busy road on normal days, with little cover again. It is long and straight, with undulations; you can see the string of runners along the curb for what seems like miles and miles ahead of you. I knew the course turned off this road into a side neighborhood at some point, but it started to feel like I was never going to get there. Somehow, this road kept lengthening itself between me and that turnoff. I grabbed ice for the first time along this road; I rubbed it all over my shoulders, my face, my neck, my head, and put the last small piece in my mouth. That was quite nice.

Before I begin to detail the excruciating crumble that I began to undergo starting between miles 18 and 19, I want to write a little bit about the spectators and fans. Except for that out-and-back along the highway, spectator support is nearly constant, and very regular on the course. Downtown it’s solid, of course, but in the neighborhoods, most houses had people out watching and cheering. (One lady made a dash across the runner-strewn road, precariously carrying a large and extremely fragrant pie. Many neighbors seemed to make race-spectating a party situation.) This year, many of those spectators had their own water stops, or offered ice, fruit, and other items to soothe the hot runners passing by. The race had official sprinklers and misters out after mile 10, but too many spectators to count had their own sprinklers and hoses out, as well. I ducked under countless sprays, which would give a brief but welcome blast of coolness; I’d wipe the droplets on my arms to spread them out for a quick shot of cooling evaporation before it just turned to warm sweatiness again. Fortunately my shoes never got over-wet, but my sunglasses did get spotty, which was moderately annoying to look through mile after mile. (I made the mistake, after one particularly sprinkly sprinkler, of trying to wipe them on the edge of my singlet. That only succeeded in smearing the lenses, and I spent the last 7 or so miles seeing through half a haze. At least, I think I can blame the haze on the sunglasses and not my deteriorating state.) I did not take but maybe one spectator’s water cups, as in the last half of the race, official aid stations were numerous enough, but I did scoop ice on several occasions and once, a moment of utter bliss: a man handed me a sponge that had been soaking in ice water, and I squashed it hard on the top of my head. I had expected coolness, of course; but I was not prepared for the bracing shock of that ice water streaming over the top of my head, down my face and neck, across my shoulders. It was momentary ecstasy. I wish I could go back and thank that man personally. It was only seconds before the sweaty heat overcame the ice water again, but my spirits were lifted for a little while thereafter.

And aside from the sustenance, the crowd were vocally supportive all along the course. I approve of the trend of putting names on bibs as well as numbers; having CRUSHER on mine made it feel like I had hundreds of friends along the roadside watching and cheering for me. Strangers yelling “LET’S GO CRUSHER, YOU CAN CRUSH IT!” and similar is very uplifting as well, even when I know I don’t actually know those people yelling it. And I appreciated it even in the later stages, when I could no longer believe them when they shouted “LOOKING GREAT, CRUSHER!” No, I certainly did not (I have seen the photographic proof), but thank you all for your positivity regardless.

Out of that neighborhood loop, back onto the long busy road for a short while. I knew we’d turn off again at some point, and didn’t it have to be soon? Weren’t we going to head to the bike path and start toward the end, soon? How could we not even be to mile 20 yet? The heat’s claws were working their wickedness; I dropped to slower than 9:00 for mile 20 and hope of anything faster became a foggy, forgotten dream. My right leg started to fall apart – my hamstring began to tighten, a sensation that wrapped itself around my upper leg and into my glute, down to my knee. Is this cramping? I wondered. Can I run through it for the next six miles? Then the thing happened where I was desperate to guzzle every cup of water at the aid stations (coming at least every mile now), but I could only take a couple sips because when it hit my stomach, it hurt. Gatorade was worse.

It was the same feeling that eventually forced me out of Boston in 2014. (In 2012, I had cratered well before this point; I felt sick, among several other disastrous developments, but have no memory of whether drinking water made it worse or not.) I couldn’t allow myself to pass by the water, however, because I was thirsty. It seemed like I could feel all those sips sitting in my stomach, not being absorbed, and after mile 21, I began to experience waves of nausea. They rolled in and out, and while the leg issue seemed to dull after a couple miles, I reached a point where I finally succumbed to the nausea and had to walk. By “succumb” I do not mean to say I threw up, though sometimes I thought I might just feel better if I did – get rid of that unabsorbed water and Gatorade hurting my stomach – but I was desperate not to be that person pulling off to the side of the path to hurl, so I gave up and walked until it eased. Over the last 4 or so miles, I mixed walking and running. I would run for a couple minutes until the nausea swelled again, at which time I’d step off the path to walk for a couple more minutes. After going through mile 22 in 9:29, the final four tick off a litany of awful, humiliating splits:

23 11:04
24 10:21
25 10:40
26 11:36

Yes. I walked in the final mile. I did not want to -- it was too disgraceful -- but I did not have a choice. I tried to run it, but the shame I felt by not being able to even jog the whole last mile was superseded by my desire not to be overcome by the nausea, not this close, so I ran/walked until it eased. I was able to jog the final stretch, though. I recognized the line of rail cars as I approached the very loud finish area, and knew I was almost through this.

In moments, I was running between a chute of the crowd and I thought I heard B as I plodded on, desperate for that finish line; I could not even turn my head back to quickly check if it had been him. I had been running for miles with my chin down, struggling on, and I couldn't spare the energy to try to look. He forgave me. "You weren't looking like you were doing too good there." No, I really was not.

And then, at last; at long, long last; the turn off the pavement onto the grassy area and the final tens of meters to the finish. As I approached the finish line, my name boomed out over the loudspeakers. Yes, that’s me – I’m done, in more ways than the obvious. I felt awful – stomach sick, legs dying. I collected my medal on the other side of the finish, and all I wanted was to lie down and throw up, but I held both desires in check as I slowly moved my way through a hot, defeated crowd, trying to find my way out of the finish pen. I held a cold and wet bottle of water in one hand that I could barely twist open, and was lassoed by a photographer to fake a giant smile holding my medal in front of a VCM backdrop. YES! the photo says, I FINISHED AND I’M HAPPY ABOUT IT!

I was happy to be finished, but I wasn’t happy about the finish. My net time was 3:49. This is nearly thirty minutes slower than I wanted to run this spring; twenty minutes slower than what I would have considered the very upper limit of acceptable. The only thing I could tell myself that was positive was 1) it was still under 4 hours, because there had been a point when I had doubted I would even crack that disappointing mark, and 2) it was still a long, long way from being a personal worst.¹

The crowded finish area amplified how awful I felt. I eventually broke free from the mob, and was walking gingerly through a parking lot when I realized that the place I needed to be to meet B and his parents was back on the grassy space I had left; I felt beaten down by that realization. I really had only so very little much left in my legs and system, and I was going to need it all just to make it back to the hotel; here I had expended more than you might have guessed going the wrong way. I honestly did wonder if I would be able to get back to the hotel on my own accord. Nevertheless, I had to find B before making that call; they would never find me over here if I collapsed. I crept back to that madhouse of a grassy area, almost dazedly heading toward the flags with initials on them, the family meeting area; suddenly B was there, his parents were there, and I could safely lie in the grass and not worry that my people were worrying about where I was.

In 2012, I should absolutely, hands-down, have gone to a medical tent at the conclusion of the race. I did not feel quite as shredded this year as I did then, because while I had not run exactly smart this day, I did not run as abjectly stupidly as I had in Boston – and was not so clearly and obviously destroyed, so I did not feel I needed to go to a medical tent. Should I be so foolish as to run another marathon when it’s above 80F, I will simply disregard any thought that I have no need to a medical tent; I probably do. With clarity of hindsight, I realize I should certainly have done so; it might not have been the worst, but I was in bad, bad shape, and an IV would likely have made a world of difference. Instead, I laid on the grass, letting that vague nausea wash up and over and away again, before heaving myself to my feet to creep the six blocks back to the hotel, expecting I’d be OK once I just got back, took a shower, and was able to cool off for a while. (Though I tried to keep up drinking water at regular intervals throughout the following days after this race, I fought the effects of dehydration for at least a week.)

It had gotten to the upper 80s, very nearly 90, and it was humid. In a cruel twist, the sky had begun to cloud over – during the time I had been on the bike path, under tree cover. By then, I don’t think it mattered much – the temperature was already too high and combined with the mugginess was probably stronger than any benefit of cloud cover. In fact, shortly after I had finished my race, the directors, using the Wet Bulb Globe Temperature that takes all these weather conditions into account, decided the conditions were too extreme to continue and canceled the rest of it.

There was controversy about this, of course, though I only read about it online later. Anyone who came across the finish line up to a time of 4:30 was given an official result (due to their probable location on the bike path at the time of cancellation, inability to access them with shuttle buses, etc.) but anyone else was meant to stop and hitch a ride back. Some people ignored the orders, and were upset that they didn’t get a finish time, but the race directors stood by their decisions, which they explained in detail. At times later in the race, I wasn’t sure if I would break 4 hours, but I knew I was well ahead of 4:30 barring an absolute disaster – in which case, I would have bailed, on my own, anyway – I'm glad I didn’t have to deal with obeying orders and sucking up that disappointment on top of everything else.

I had to pause several times on the way back to the hotel. Half a block from the hotel, seated on the front stoop of an office building, I looked up at B, who stood at my side (as he has for every marathon I’ve run while he’s been my boyfriend, except the one in Des Moines) and said “I am not running another marathon this year. Don’t let me try to change that decision.” Normally, I do not consider decisions made during a race or its immediate aftermath to be binding, but I think this time, it is appropriate. As disappointed as I am by the way this race turned out, after this arduous spring when I ran more miles than I ever had before in an equal time period, I cannot immediately turn around to give it another shot – the way I did in 2014 after I quit the Boston race and made up for it in Vermont. It’s too late in the season for a make-up marathon and besides, I went the whole distance this year; wouldn’t be good (AT ALL) for my legs to try to run another any time soon. I am just going to have to accept that sometimes, things just don’t go the way you’d planned them to, and that’s just how it’s going to have to be. I have a very nice qualifying time for Boston 2017 in my pocket – 3:24 is 20 minutes better than the qualifying time for what will be my new age group – so I do not need to worry about reaching that mark (because I certainly did not on Sunday May 29th). I will spend the rest of this year recovering, recharging, and getting ready to get ready for my master’s marathon debut in April 2017.

Also, the next time I face a marathon with temperatures in the 80s, I think I am now more likely to say thanks but no thanks. I’m not sure collecting a medal and being able to say I finished in such torturous conditions is really worth the physical (and psychological) cost.

To conclude this long race report, I want to thank the Vermont City Marathon team and volunteers for putting on such a well-organized race, and heartfelt thanks as well to the citizens of Burlington for making an inevitably miserable day slightly less so. (Special gratitude to the ice-water sponge man.) I don’t know if I will run this race again – I don’t know how many more marathons I have left in me, and I’m thinking I might avoid the late May risk of heat from now on – but I will always fervently recommend this race to anyone that asks; and B and I are already making plans to return to Burlington for non-running pursuits, because the town is so cool. (Even when it is so hot.)

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¹When your personal worst is 4:18, it’s not a difficult feat to run poorly and still be well under that.

Race! Half-marathon at the Delaware Marathon Running Festival

All I really wanted from this race was to not feel like crud and to do better than I had done at the Caesar Rodney a month earlier. With legs that had not really trained through, and good weather, I got what I wanted.

It was in the 50s at race start, which was just about right. It was a 7:00 a.m. gun though, which I did not particularly like -- you know that getting out of bed in the morning at the crack of dawn is not my favorite thing. Portapotty lines were long, so I took a chance on the next-door Amtrak station and discovered that the indoor facilities (particularly the upstairs option) had not been widely discovered. Yay! Even so, I did not get to the starting area until about 5 minutes to the gun, and it was tightly packed so that I could not make my way very far up and was stuck toward the back with people who were definitely not going to be running under 1:40. Well, there wasn't any risk of actually winning this race so it would have to do. The throng around me ensured I didn't take off like a shot, which was a benefit of being crammed so far back -- I did mile #1 in 7:28. I settled in.

There was no wind to speak of, and the temperature was comfortable. I was comfortable. I aimed to keep my miles at least 7:20, as long as it didn't start to feel like a stretch, and it did not. I let my legs do what they wanted as long as they did not push to a point where it felt like I was reaching. Even on the uphill mile (~7), I felt pretty strong. In fact, up until around mile 8 or 9, I was feeling better and better as I went on. After 9 or so, my legs started to feel kind of robotic/wooden, but they still responded to my pace orders -- it was a race, I told them, so race. Miles 10, 11, 12, and 13 were all 7:10 or better, with mile 13 being the best: 6:56. In those last three, I made use of that long downhill and then the downhill in the last half mile or so, and told myself again that this is a race; if your legs can do it, make them do it. And so they did.

I kept an eye on who was ahead of me, and if I saw a woman wearing a "HALF" tag on her back (to distinguish us from the 26.2 runners, they made us wear bibs on our backs), I made a point of reeling her in. There was a woman in the last mile that I wasn't sure I was going to get, but going up the hill on King Street on the way toward the finish, I caught her after all, which was satisfying. I aimed at the next woman ahead of me, but I ran out of real estate before I could get her.¹ I glanced up at the race clock over the finish line as I crossed -- it was 1:36:XX.

I thought, "Well, good enough" though a teeeny bit disappointed it wasn't a liiiiittle bit faster -- and then, after stopping, I stopped my Garmin and looked down at it.

It said 1:35:05. What? OH RIGHT -- being so far back at the start, I hit the start mat a minute after the gun. So, OK, I was a liiiittle bit faster. I was pretty excited about that, even exulting "YES!" out loud.

My official time for the race is 1:35:04. It is about 30 seconds slower than my PR. It was good for 4th in my age group; I was 12th female; and 45th out of 891 half-marathon finishers. Frankly, after that 10-miler in Lewes, I needed this shot of confidence.

The only disappointing thing about the day was the fat-free chocolate milk they had at the post-race tent. Come on! Who wants that after finishing a race?! Give me at least 1%!!!



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¹After looking at the results, it seems not to matter: she does not seem to appear in the half-marathon results, as the person that is right before me (4 seconds faster) is a 42 year old man and his race photos indicate that he is not the person who I saw just ahead of me! The next faster woman than me had a gun time almost a whole minute faster than mine, so that wasn't her either. I don't recall now that she had a HALF tag on her back -- maybe she was a full marathoner who bailed, but I thought the website said if that happened they'd just convert the result. So I don't know what's up with whoever she was.

No Red Shoe race for Crusher

After last night's tempo workout (which went well overall), I've decided that I don't want to race a half-marathon this coming Monday in Iowa City, not when I have another already scheduled and paid for on the 8th. I am not backing anything off this week in anticipation of running a race, so I would be even less fresh than I was for the 10-miler last week (where I called the race the week's quality tempo workout, and if you tally up the race, the 20 miles the following day, and the miles and hard workout I've been getting in this week, my legs will have done a lot of work in the last seven days). If I felt anything like I felt in the 10-miler, even if I paced the half a little better I probably still wouldn't run better than 1:40, and that wouldn't make me very happy. I don't feel like paying for a 13-mile tempo workout. I'll get my scheduled 20-mile mix of miles and tempo intervals done on my own and cool it a bit during the following week so I can go into the already-paid-for half-marathon in Wilmington on legs that have taken a little easier.

Another reason I'm backing off on doing this race is that I think I'm starting to feel the accumulating miles. These weeks are the biggest and toughest of the training schedule, and during them I'm asking a lot out of my body, which I have already asked a lot out of. Since I started running marathons, I have never run this much in a four-month stretch (on pace for a theoretical ~2400 miles this year, a lot more than I've ever done) and I feel like I'm running on the edge of doing too much, but haven't gone over that line yet. Maybe that's normal when you bump up weekly mileage long-term for the first time, but I'm the type to worry every day that tomorrow's long miles or interval workout will be what pushes me over the edge and I'm hurt and won't be able to do Vermont City. I'm pretty thrilled that so far I've made it without anything that's hindering me from running, but any little twinge anywhere and I'm chewing my fingernails hoping it doesn't last or turn into worse. I think I'm going to need a long recovery after the VCM. Just have a month left of hard work, and then I can take a vacation from a tough schedule.

Tommy Ten-Miler wrap-up

I did not run on Friday, having to get up earlier than usual to go to work and traveling to Lewes / Rehoboth Beach in the afternoon. I would have liked to get a few miles in, just to tally up a few more miles on the week, but it wouldn't hurt my legs to take another rest day this week and sometimes life just twists a little bit and it happens. The weather wasn't very nice in (s)lower Delaware Friday afternoon; rain, off and on heavy. Forecast implied it might be the same Saturday morning, which was not appealing, but I'd deal with it.

Had some difficulty finding somewhere suitable to eat. I would have been happy at any old Italian place just to have a plate of spaghetti, but wanted B to have better options too. We ended up at a restaurant on the boardwalk in Rehoboth Beach, one I will leave nameless because I don't want to give it a bad name just because my experience wasn't exceptional -- it wasn't really their fault, if I hadn't been looking for a specific type of fare it would have been just fine. I wanted the chicken parm with its pile of noodles, but it turned out (after we had settled in at the bar and ordered) that they were out of that and it was off the menu for the night. There was only one other noodle-based dish -- a mac and cheese that was all seafoody, so it wasn't really an option. I ended up with a grilled chicken sandwich and my only carb-loading for the night consisted of the bun and fries (do they really even count?). I tried to tell myself if didn't matter if my calorie store really came from noodles or something else, I wouldn't be depleting my stores over only ten miles anyway, right? I wasn't getting ready for a marathon. It's just tradition; I pretty much never have anything but pasta the night before the race.

I am not sure it was enough calories, whatever their source. I had a granola bar in the hotel while watching the Flyers, just to try to top off the tank, but in the morning I felt very hungry. I was also very tired. I had extreme difficulty getting to sleep, for a variety of reasons, top among them being a jazzed-up excitement because the Flyers had won game 5 when they had absolutely zero business winning that game by all statistics and reasonable expectations; add to that the usual pre-race brain activity (where I pretty unwillingly fantasize the race outcome to both extremes, I'm either dominating in super-PR time or I am crashing and burning all to hell) and some snoring by B, it was a couple hours before my brain cooled it enough to drop off. I tried to hydrate before going to bed (but not so much that I would spend all night dreaming about having to pee, and then waking numerous times to actually pee), but the few times that I did wake, I always felt very thirsty. I got up at 6:30, feeling a little sandy-headed, hungry, and thirsty.

Breakfast in the hotel: a bowl of oatmeal and a piece of wheat toast and peanut butter. Nothing so different from what I eat at home pre-long run, just different oatmeal. Still felt a little hungry but was afraid of eating too much and it sitting in my stomach when the race started in about an hour and a half. Tried to drink more, but not so much that I would think I needed to pee every five minutes once we got to the starting area in Lewes. Pretty sure I was overthinking everything, it was just ten miles, after all, not a marathon.

It was not raining when we left for the start, around 7:45. It was heavily overcast, warmish and very humid after a night of rain. The radar suggested it might rain during the race, and I debated wearing a cap because I hate to have rain in my face -- but it was so warm I hesitated, as a hat would only amplify the warmth. Once again, probably overthinking it; it was only ten miles, so I decided against the hat and would just take the rain in my face if it happened. It wouldn't be for three hours like it was in Boston, so it would be ok enough. (It ended up not raining, but I thought during the race that a little rain might feel good.)

I only felt like I had to use the porta-potty once while we were there, and that was mainly because I figured I should before the start more than any actual pressing need. This was maybe a warning sign, and I sipped water while waiting around for the start.

It was a little chaotic around the starting line, and there was a delay with starting for one reason or another; there was a "kiddy K" that we had to wait for as well. I had already said goodbye to B and was standing in the midst of the crowd, and had no water with me, and the longer we had to wait around, the more I regretted that. I had taken a gel around 8:20, anticipating the 8:30 start, but it wasn't until almost 8:45 that we finally got going. Nothing was timed right for me, and when I started, I was thirsty and I don't know if the gel was doing any good by then.

I had to struggle to get around slower runners in the first 100-200m, stepping alongside the road into some muddy grass, and my legs immediately alarmed me; no spring in them, my quads a little stiff. I tried to set aside any worry about that, as it often takes me a mile or two to get into the rhythm and feel comfortable, but by 1-2 miles, I was not feeling much better. I ticked off a couple miles around 7:10, and knew then that it was too fast for how not-good I felt, but every time I tried to back off on the pace, I'd look down a little bit later and I'd be back around 7:15 or so. I just couldn't manage to keep myself under control, which was frustrating. So I decided to just go with it, if I blew up later it wouldn't be the worst thing. There would be some solid tempo miles out of it no matter what happened.

There wasn't water until mile 2, and the swallow I got from the cup wasn't enough. Not another stop until a little before mile 4 or so. Another swallow that wasn't quite enough. Just after mile 4, the flat, paved path we were running on ended and became a flat, packed-dirt path under trees. Instantly I felt slower without the spring-back of the harder pavement. There was no one around me. I had been running quite alone since before mile 2, when I passed two guys going up over the bridge across a narrow canal. I had been able to see a guy and a girl maybe 100-150m ahead of me for a while, and they were still on up ahead, but too far to even pretend to keep contact with and there was no one anywhere close behind me. Having to do all the mental work alone on an unfamiliar course while feeling less than good is tough. Between mile 4 and 5, I slowed way down. After averaging around 7:11 for the first 4 miles, my split for mile 5 was 7:27. This is partly due to the canopy of trees overhead, which confuses the Garmin a bit, but mostly due to my pace falling off. It was disappointing, but though I tried to surge a little and pick pace back up, I now had the opposite problem as I did earlier: instead of not being able to hold down I now could hold up.

A while after mile 4, the leaders started filtering back past me. They were very spread out. Two women were ahead of me; first place was waaay out in front of me, second place (the girl I could see) maybe 1, 1:30 ahead? After I went around the turnaround (no timing mat, which surprised me), I saw just how alone I was. The next runners were a couple/three minutes back. For a while though, I felt a little refreshed and faster (even though I was slowing) because I was passing a bunch of people going the other way. I was glad to leave the tree cover and leave the dirt path and get back to the asphalt, because I would feel better without the ground absorbing my footfalls and the Garmin would be more accurate. Unfortunately, even with these two factors, I was not much faster, in fact I stayed around 7:30 for the next 3 miles or so.

(I had doubts that a gel would do me much good, but I took one anyway, between mile 6 and 7 which was where this photo was taken.)

I started to think I was gaining ground on the second place woman, but she was still quite a good distance ahead of me. It just seemed the distance narrowed, but I was going to run out of real estate before I caught her. If it had been a half marathon, I might have (assuming I didn't crater even more during that further three miles). She ended up about 45 seconds ahead. I squeezed my pace a bit during the last mile, managing 7:20, but it wasn't good enough to catch her and it wasn't enough to really bring my time to anything I would say I was happy with. I am just glad that I could squeeze that little more out of myself. I was pretty well cooked, thirsty and hot and very swampy sweaty. The finish is a straightaway down a flat road, which I sailed down completely alone. B was near the finish, snapping pics. Two girls at the finish line stretched a banner across for me to run through. I was briefly confused, because I knew I was in third place -- was there someone finishing first for some other division somehow right behind me?? -- but no, they were stretching it for me. I thought that was a little odd and maybe even patronizing for third place, but I ran through it and felt a little fraudulent. I should only be breaking a banner for first place.

But I was first place in my division, I guess, so perhaps not such a fraud (but still, odd). They gave awards for first overall M and F, and everyone thereafter would be age-groupers. Frankly I'd rather be awarded third overall than 1st in F30-39, but I'll take the medal and enjoy seeing my name in the leaderboard in third place.

As you see, my chip time was 1:14:29. 3rd female overall, 1st F30-39, and 10th overall out of 120 finishers. Not my best, not my worst 10-mile. I wish I'd been able to pace it better (I don't know what my problem was, there) and I wish I'd felt better but I think things just didn't come together on a warm and humid day. Not too disappointed in the end. I didn't really back off for this race (unless you count taking Friday off) so wasn't exactly fresh for it, and if nothing else, I got in a pretty decent tempo workout. And I got to see the ocean at Cape Henlopen afterward.

I want to mention that the volunteers on the course were great. I want to thank them for spending their Saturday morning holding up traffic for me (and the rest of us) as I crossed intersections and for cheering me on -- their enthusiasm was almost all that stood between it feeling like a real race rather than a long tempo workout all on my own on a new path. Thanks for saying I looked great/strong/amazing, because I sure didn't feel great/strong/amazing! If I didn't intend on having terribly dead legs next April from running my best Boston ever, I'd come back to defend my third place finish.

More racing?

I try to get back to Iowa sometime every spring to visit my family, usually for a long weekend. I didn't last year, because the weather was bad in March and I took time off to run Boston, then this and that. This year, not running Boston has made it easier to fit my usual spring Iowa trip in again. I've made my travel arrangements, and I'm going to Iowa City at the end of the month. I looked at the Iowa race calendar at Fitness Sports to see if there might be any 5K or 10K or something to do while I am there, and discovered the Red Shoe Run in Iowa City which includes a half-marathon on what appears not to be a USATF-certified course that winds through the west side of town. I grew up on the east side, so I am not as familiar running-wise with that side of Iowa City, but perhaps it's better on the west side than on the east side because the east side can get a little hilly. This course appears to have an up-and-down blip in the middle and a bit of an uphill in the second half, but in general it looks pretty good.

I'm interested because I've been kind of wanting to run a race back home, but I'm a little on the fence about it because with my current race registration schedule, I'd be doing road races three weekends in a row:

April 23: 10-miler in Lewes
May 1: half-marathon in Iowa City
May 8: half-marathon in Wilmington

I'm not as worried about the impact of the 10-miler, as I can use that more or less as the week's long tempo workout and an easy long run the next day should be OK. The May 8 half is meant to be a final tune-up to gauge where I am before Vermont City and would also take the place of a long tempo workout. I think I can do the same with the Iowa City half; two long tempo efforts on the schedule for that week, making this race one of them should also be OK.

Last year's top 5 times for women were:

1:34:44
1:36:06
1:37:48
1:38:22
1:40:34

Judging by that, even if I run another meh result like Caesar Rodney, I could place well (unless quicker ladies get wind of the race and sign up this year and make it more competitive, which happens). And I may not run better than meh because I don't always feel all that great running right after I get to Iowa. Something about a day of traveling, usually involving poor eating and hydration, taking some time to get some rest and adjust to the time zone and altitude (haha! But seriously, Iowa City is about 500 ft higher than here.). I will have to run and get a workout in that day anyway, might as well enjoy it on the west side of my home town. I'll think about it.

I wanted to race more this year, as I think it's a good way to get hard efforts in, get sharp, and keep tabs on where my training is getting me. Last year I only did three races (!) the whole year: Caesar Rodney before Boston, then Boston, and then Des Moines with no tune-up in the weeks before. For the later marathon, I didn't really like not having a race under my belt as a gauge. I could only use what I'd done at Boston six months earlier. Three races in three weekends might sound like a lot, but if I don't go to the well during them, it shouldn't be much different than the hard workouts that were already on the plan for those weeks. Maybe it will be a mistake, but either way it's something I will have to learn by doing.

Trail thoughts

1) One thing I love about running trails is the separation it gives me from everything else that is always around: mechanical noise, digital noise, cars, and so forth. I seldom hear other people; they are typically in ones or twos, rarely in large groups making all kinds of chatter. Occasionally mountainbikers will rattle by, singles or pairs or groups, but even on busy days, they are usually well-spaced. Running on paved paths in parks or at roadsides gets to be a drag, with the monotony of the same asphalt, the same scenery, the other users taking up the width of the path, the cars droning by. While I am enjoying the act of running in these places, I find myself often just wanting to get the run done so that I can get away from the other people, the cars, and get done with the tedium of those parks -- which leads me to want to run faster than I need to. The trails give me an escape from all that, and I can run actually easy and refresh my mind running through woods and hayfields that are familiar yet always changing. It's a quiet that's filled with glorious sounds of birds, small mammals scuffling through leaves and underbrush, wind in branches overhead, the millrace rushing over rocks and under footbridges. I can monitor my breathing and enjoy the sound of my feet thumping the earth. I am a small dust mote on its face, but I am here, it can feel me as I share its beauties in the middle of a busy patch of the east coast. Whenever I see people out there wearing headphones, I pity them. Why shut all that out? If you're just going to listen to music or whatever, you might as well be on the treadmill, because you're missing 90% of what makes being outside under the trees and sky so wonderful.

2) I was around mile 4.5 of my easy run on Wednesday when I came across a woman placing little blue flags at the side of the trail, and she told me about a trail race happening in Middle Run this weekend, a 5K and a 10K. I was interested, and was thinking about it about a mile later: if I did participate, would I run the 5K or the 10K? I have a pretty intense and long workout scheduled for Sunday, so maybe I should rule out the 10K, but whenever I am paying for a race that has a longer option, I usually like to get more miles for my money. $30 for a trail 5K seemed like a lot; $10 per mile? But a shorter race would be less stress on my legs. I waffled, and also wondered if I wanted to risk injury trying to run fast and hard on trails I have not run fast and hard on for a long time (trail running is my recovery running, now). I could easily see myself face-planting going breakneck down some hill or going too fast to land my feet right among roots.

And while I was considering the injury possibility, I tripped and fell. It took a couple stumbling strides for me to give up trying to recover from the trip, and I went down on the side of my lower left leg. It's exactly where I fell a few weeks ago, but this time I was not wearing long pants and mittens (yay 60F!), so instead of just bruising up, I was also quite scratched. It's been a couple days and my hands and leg still sting when hit with hot water.

I guess if I fall while I am not running hard at all, worrying about falling while running fast isn't going to be a good enough reason to not run this trail race this weekend. I'm guessing I'd actually probably be less likely to fall while racing because I would be concentrating on it, and when I'm running easy it's easier to get distracted while my brain is concentrating on thoughts instead of on making sure I pick up my feet.

In the end, I've decided not to run the trail race, either the 5K or the 10K, this weekend because I ran a tough tempo last night and I think it's better to take Saturday easy to recover ahead of the lengthy MP run I have on the docket for Sunday. I'm interested in trail racing sometime in the future, but it's just not fitting in to my schedule right now. I have the Triple Crown trail series on my maybe race card (April 30), but it turns out I'm not going to be in Delaware that weekend -- I'm going to be in Iowa City, where another (non-trail) possibility has cropped up.

Next up

I've signed up for the Tommy Ten-Miler in Lewes, Delaware on Saturday, April 23. The course is a "fast and flat" out-and-back, and USATF certified. This is the inaugural race, so there are no previous results to consult to judge where I might finish, and it's been a long time since I ran a 10-miler anyway so I'll just go out and have as good a time as one can have running 10 miles all race-pace like. Fingers crossed for reasonable (seasonable?) temperatures and maybe something less than gale-force winds?

Week #14 -- step down, race

Summary for week ending Sunday, April 3, 2016:

Number of workouts: 5
Total miles run: 38.24
Average miles per run: 7.65

Miles in March: 222.56
Miles in April: 19.09
Miles in 2016: 613.52

Kept the running easy and shorter so as not to 100% train through the half-marathon, mostly running on the trails. Legs were pretty fresh for the race, too bad the weather didn't cooperate a little better. The Caesar Rodney might have been a poor race, but it turned out to be a pretty solid workout -- 13+ miles averaging approximately 7:30/mi. A bit faster than expected MP while being slower than T, probably did my legs a good turn. They were a little achy the next day, but that might have been from the downhill more than anything. Won't expect it to be a problem the rest of the week.

Caesar Windy -- er, Rodney wrap-up

While trying to get past race-eve nerves and get to sleep, a thunderstorm rolled through with strong winds that threw rain and what sounded like tiny hail against the windows, and I knew that it had arrived. All night, the windows rattled and my insides churned with frustration knowing the temperature was dropping precipitously, too. The morning arrived all sunny and pleasant-appearing, and the news said it was in the 30s outside.

I tried on some shorts and went out to give it a test. In the sun, and in a sweet, brief moment of calm between gusts, it was almost OK. Then the wind exhaled with force again and, well, no. Back inside to put on tights, a long-sleeved shirt, and short-sleeves over it. The last time I had to cover up so much was for the Philly marathon in 2008. I hated it then, and I hated it Sunday morning. Any time that I have to wear tights or long pants, I automatically feel slower; but I was not going to be comfortable in shorts. I have toughness, but it has a limit. I might have been able to suffer shorts for a shorter race, but not for more than an hour and a half for a half-marathon.

As I hung around Rodney Square with B, waiting for it to be time to line up at the start, I wore a parka and another pair of pants over my tights, and the little Flyers stocking cap I use for running when it's cold enough to cover up my head.



I watched other runners mill about, dressed in pretty much the whole range of apparel: even more covered up than me down to split shorts and singlets. The wind whipped and swirled downtown, snapping flags and signs stuck to tables, and I half-thought about keeping the second pants on for the race and did not want to take off my parka. When it came time to line up, I took off the stocking cap too, only to tug it back on as the wind bit at my ears. I might get too warm wearing it, but I'd rather take it off and hold it at some midpoint of the race than get started and wish I had it. Second layer of pants came off and the tights barely helped, standing in the shade of buildings while the wind rushed around. Fortunately, the pre-race chitchat was kept to as much of a minimum as can be expected -- the anthemist didn't even drag out the song -- and a horn sent us off. (They quit using a cannon a couple/three years ago.)

I ran a little conservatively in the first 5-10K but it wasn't without help. The wind was brutal. When it was in my face, I struggled against it. When it was at the side, it tried to knock my legs together to trip me. When it was behind, it pushed such that it threw off my stride's rhythm. It would swirl around, so that one second it was pushing my face, then shoving me along. It sliced through my layers when it was in front of me, but when it was behind me, the sun was strong enough to make me feel too hot. I questioned what I was wearing only until rounding a turn and being hit with the wind again. It was difficult to pace, but I tried to maintain an effort around or under 7:30 as best I could.

7:24.5, 7:22.7, 7:29.8, 7:27.4, 7:14.4, 7:28.7
It's pretty flat for much of the first 5 miles in the riverfront area, then heading back through the city and around up to Tower Hill we get the hill experience. The wind was in my face for the three mile uphill, and while a good portion of it was somewhat protected by trees around the road, it still was a formidable opponent. As I started up this section, I saw a man in a blue shirt up ahead with a familiar gait -- a former coworker, P, who runs the Caesar Rodney pretty much every year. In 2014 I passed him around mile 11 and was pretty happy to finish ahead of him (we usually finish around the same time, but he's usually a little ahead of me). He was 20 meters or so ahead of me, and I told myself not to let him get too far away. I very slowly, but very steadily gained on him along this uphill range, finally catching him at the top as we rounded Tower Hill. I left him behind as at that point, about 4 miles remain and most of it is flat or downhill. I usually decide at this point I can start to squeeze the pace, because there isn't much left to cover if I blow up in a mile or two. I squeezed, but the wind had other ideas during some portions of this remaining 4 miles, until the last two or so which is down the hill we had hiked up earlier. Going up that hill I ended up around 8 min/mi and I let myself fly (controllably) down the hill with the wind behind me to try to make up a few seconds; unfortunately, by here, the hay is mostly in the barn. I remember glancing back on the hill to see if a blue shirt was close behind, but I didn't see it. I hung on along the flat portion of the last half mile, noting a fire being fought in a house next to the course; there is a sharp turn to head up a long and steep hill to the finish.

I fought wind and wind-driven fatigue up this hill and P caught me with about 200m to go. I pushed, but was pushed at in return, and I could not catch him. This irritates me, and I vow that next year, I will do all I can to make sure I put him away if I pass him mid-race. But good on P to catch me and leave me behind on the windy finishing hill.



I finished just under 1:40-- 1:39:45, which is acceptable only considering how hard it was to run in those conditions. It was good enough for 4th in F35-39 age group, 14th female finisher, 80th overall. There was a five minute gap between 3rd and me in the age group results. I'm guessing a lot of people chose not to run this year. Last year, I ran 1:39:36 and was 6th in the same age group, 30th female finisher, and 142nd overall.

It's hard to judge where I am in terms of fitness based on the result of this race, but I will take it at face value and look at it as having some work to do. Later this month, I plan on running a 10-miler and in a month, another half-marathon. I am going to assume that by the end of April and in the first week of May, it won't be in the 30s anymore, and I will hope and dream of a day when the wind is not gusting 20, 30, 40 mph, and I should be better able to put my fitness into perspective based on the results of those races.

Caesar Rodney 2016: a job done.

Half-marathon eve

My first race of 2016 is in 12 hours. I picked up my bib today and was surprised that it was, again, such a low number (last year I was 22). In many of the races I've run, the lower the number the higher you're seeded (and faster you're expected to run) but I can't imagine that's the case here. Until I line up tomorrow morning, maybe I will let myself fantasize that I am elite and that's why I got #15. (How I am sure bib numbers aren't any reflection on how fast they expect you to be: Philadelphia meteorologist and excellent runner Cecily Tynan is registered and is bib #11 -- she will kick my butt! There is no way I'm only 4 bib numbers slower than she is!)

It's tough to judge where I am for this race tomorrow. I ran pretty easy all week to "taper" and recuperate after a couple weeks of feeling ugh, and on my Saturday hour today my legs felt fresh and good -- so at least I am not too worried about them from that front. Where have my quality workouts gotten me to this point? is the real question. I always aim to run under 1:40 in a half-marathon (that being the upper limit of acceptable for me, as far as I'm concerned) and I think I should be able to, but -- the weather is not supposed to be very good: chilly (will it even be 40 at race time?) and super windy. I am pretty annoyed at the forecast because the whole purpose of running this race is to test my present fitness. What if I end up running 1:43 -- how will I know if that's because I'm only in 1:43 shape or maybe I am in 1:37 shape but the atrocious wind pushed me back? I may not be able to make any sense out of my time. To be honest, however, this is probably only going to really bother me if I run over 1:40. If I run anything under 1:40, I'm probably going to be satisfied enough; I just want to be able to put my finish time into proper perspective without having to make excuses/account for anything out of my control, like ridiculous wind.

This race is a week later than it usually happens, but last week was Easter so I suppose that's why it was moved. I'm annoyed because last Sunday, the weather was fine. 50s and for once, not windy.

Ok, think positive. There are still 12 hours to go. Maybe this forecast

*WINDS... WEST TO NORTHWEST 25 TO 35 MPH WITH GUSTS UP TO 60 MPH.

* TIMING... HIGHEST GUSTS AND GREATEST POTENTIAL FOR DAMAGING WINDS WILL PROBABLY BE FROM ABOUT 4 AM AND 9 AM SUNDAY.
won't actually happen. (After all, the race isn't until 9:30 a.m. Ha ha!)

(GUSTS UP TO 60 MPH. IT REALLY SAYS THAT.)

2016's first race registration

After discussing with B, my decision to run the Vermont City Marathon over Memorial Day weekend was solidified and I registered today so as to secure the super early bird rate ($99).

While registering in 2014, I discovered they have a preferred start corral and if you've run under certain cutoff times for different events after a certain time frame, you're in. I took advantage of it then, having run under the 1:35 barrier for the half marathon (if only just) at the Caesar Rodney in March 2014. I haven't run that fast since, so I figured I was out of luck this time (I'd hoped that maybe I could update my registration later if I happened to run faster this spring). Fortunately, I found that their cutoff time frame for the preferred corral is January 1, 2014 -- so it looks like I can double-dip with my Caesar Rodney time. I'm pretty happy about that; it was nice to have a special, non-busy chute to walk through to the starting line, and be guaranteed not to have someone who didn't belong up toward the start clogging the front.

Also, they will have personalized bibs: I requested that mine say CRUSHER. It's more interesting than just having my first name, no?

While we're talking about races, it's still forecast to be pretty rainy tomorrow morning, so the odds that I run the Mayor's Icicle 10-miler (not so icy?) look slim. I'll check the conditions early in the morning and make the call then.

----------------------

UPDATE, 1/10/16: Yeah, it's raining. If it were a race I'd been looking forward to and working toward for a couple months, I'd have gotten tough and gone. But I only learned about it last week, so I will allow myself to be not tough about it.

10-milers: possibilities and Broad Street musings

Got an email a couple days ago with links to upcoming local races. Among them was the Mayor's Icicle 10-miler taking place in Wilmington this coming Sunday. I'm a little wishy-washy about taking part, but most of my mind is on the go-for-it side. Right now I'm doing 10-milers on Sundays anyway so regardless of my time, I'd get the mileage in that I want to. I haven't done any pace or speedwork since before the Des Moines marathon, so I'd have no high expectations as to a finish time, but it will be illuminating to see where I am now at more or less baseline, and later contrast to where I will be in the spring. The course overlaps a great deal with other longer races that are held in Wilmington, so I'd be familiar with it (particularly with its long and arduous hill(s) in the middle). Unfortunately, while the temperature is forecast to be in the 50s on Sunday (though no doubt cooler at the 9 a.m. race start, pretty good for racing), it's also forecast to rain. I did the cold rain in Boston last year. It wasn't pleasant by any means, and obviously this is way below Boston in importance, so my mental softness about running in cold rain would keep me away in that case. I can get my miles in later if it stops raining, or do them on the treadmill.

Online registration closes tomorrow, but in-person registration is open race morning, so I have until essentially the last hour to decide. Right now it's the specter of cruddy weather that's holding back my 100% about it.

I haven't done a 10-mile race since I last did the Broad Street Run in 2008. It is not a particularly common race distance, but I actually kind of like it -- more challenging than a 10K, but not quite the challenge of a half-marathon. I've avoided doing the Broad Street race since then for a number of reasons, chief among them being that it falls on a weekend that's either too close before or after to some marathon I've done in the spring. Also, because it's ballooned in size/popularity, you have to decide many months in advance that you want to run it, and I was not always ready to make that decision when I had to. And then there is the size...

This phenomenon of skyrocketing race participation leaves me feeling cold. It's nice that road racing is more popular, but I very much dislike the idea that for some races I would like to run, I have to decide half a year (at least) in advance that I'm going to do it, because the moment registration opens it's going to sell out, and I won't have an opportunity to decide later. (I'm not talking about marathons, because obviously, given the training required, that decision must be made many months in advance regardless of registration times.) When I ran the BSR in 2004 for the first time, there were approximately 10,000 runners, which to me is a good size; big enough so the field is competitive and you are never alone, but you don't have the jam-packed feeling that a larger field can give. In 2006, when I ran it for the second time, it had swelled a few thousand, but that still felt manageable. I could still get on the subway in Center City to hitch a ride up to the start and was not crammed into the train car. By the time I ran it last in 2008, it had grown to almost 20,000 runners, and I had trouble getting onto the subway way down at its start at Broad and Pattison -- never mind making stops at City Hall, no one could get on. It was awful being squashed so tightly into those subway cars all the way up to Olney. It's a terrible way to get psyched for a race. Last year, there were nearly 40,000 participants; can't even imagine what it must have been like trying to get a ride on the train. Even though they've opened up the field to such a grossly large number, not only do you have to decide in the winter that you want to run this race in May, they have to hold a lottery -- so you even when you decide while it's still winter that you want to do it, you still might not get to.

I liked the Broad Street race. The course really couldn't be more conducive to good racing; it's straight (except for the brief bit going around City Hall) and no uphill to speak of. It's a rush to run a race through the heart of a big city, and you get a very good flavor of Philadelphia (good and bad). I had not lived near Philly for very long when I ran it the first time, so my memories of it are pleasantly linked to those feelings of excitement and awe of a big-time race in a big-time city. When I ran it in 2008, I was somewhat disillusioned; the horrid train ride, missing the start of the race because I was stuck in a porta-potty line*; it was only after a couple miles that I was able to relax and get back into the right frame of mind to just race. By the end I was feeling better about it (I was shy of my debut PR by only 8 seconds -- how do I always do that, miss a PR by 10 seconds or less?), and always intended to run it again -- some day -- better prepared to deal with what evidently I had not been prepared to deal with. I thought this year could be the year, because I'm not running Boston and my planned spring marathon is later in May. Leery about the field size, though; as years have gone on, I've found I want to deal with giant crowds less and less, so I felt that if I did not get in through the lottery, it wouldn't break my heart. Registration opens in February, so I didn't have to really make up my mind quite yet.

Then I got this email a couple days ago, which, in addition to the 10-miler this weekend, listed another 10-miler in Lewes, DE on April 23, a week before the Broad Street Run. It's an inaugural race, so there may be some hiccups, but the option of this race at about the same time of year has led to me toss the whole Broad Street idea. The Lewes race will be a good alternative to get the same race distance in at about the same time of year, and without the hassle of Broad Street and the 40,000 other runners. Just a guess, the course probably won't be very hilly (I haven't been to the Delaware shore all that often, but my experience on the east coast is that the coast doesn't have much up and down to it -- if I'm wrong about Lewes, please, let me know!). Also, being a week earlier, I could still do one of the Triple Crown trail runs on April 30, which I was actually looking forward to trying for the first time.

Sorry, Broad Street. Looks like the next time we maybe can hook up again will be 2018 (I'm planning on Boston next year).

*Porta-potty timing is crucial for any race (there could be a whole post about it on its own), but here it was especially critical. It had been quite a while since my last pit-stop. I'd driven up from Wilmington to Philly; the train ride from Pattison to Olney is not short, even when "express", and somewhere in the middle of it, while I huddled among the arms and legs and shoulders of thousands of others, I realized I needed to go, all the while knowing that these thousands of others were feeling the same way. I had thought the timing was OK, but I was using 2004/2006 as my standard, which was a mistake. Twice as many people, etc. I was still in the porta-potty line when the race started. I was infuriated, but there was no way I was going to be able to run ten miles without making this stop now. The reasonable side of my brain piped up and tried to console the irrational side, which was the one that was front and center just then: come on, Crusher, you were not in contention to win this race -- you were going to start miles behind the front anyway -- chip time is all that really matters here, so not being blocks back on Broad Street at the time of the gun isn't a big deal. (I had a 5:30 differential between gun and chip times -- not much worse than in 2006 when I was lined up properly (5 minutes); in 2004, it was only 3 minutes.)

It still felt like a big deal. As I said, it took me a couple miles to get over it.