The Call of the Beep

I’ll admit it: I’m a runner who lives by the watch. Ever since I got my Garmin five years ago, I’ve been using it for pretty much every run. I’m addicted to the data. I’ve gotta know how far and how fast, and during a run, I’ve gotta have continual feedback. Pretty sure I’m conditioned to salivate or feel a rush or whatever when I hear each kilometre beep.

Last season, though, I began to notice that I was glued to my Garmin during races. Not only was I checking my k splits, but I was also looking at my average pace between splits to make sure I was running the right pace. But there was a problem: if I was too slow, I would get frustrated and surge, wasting emotional energy and zapping my legs with unnecessary lactic acid. If I was too fast, I wouldn’t adjust my pace – I’d just rationalize: maybe I’m ready to run 10s per kilometre faster (I never was). In the end, all this Garmin watching was sucking the fun out of racing – and it was making me race worse.

So during a 5k race two years ago, I tried not looking at my Garmin. I still wore it, but I resisted the urge to look at each k marker – resisted the call of the beep. And you know what? I ran a PB. I thought, great – this is the key – the watch is slowing me down. I also filled my head with thoughts of how it was way cooler to “run by feel,” to detach from the technology, to run pure and naked.

But now I’m not so sure.

During the National 10k Road Race, I decided to go naked – no watch at all. I was peaked and ready to roll, and I didn’t want anything coming between me and my body during the run – I was going to kill my PB by feel alone. Like a Jedi (or something). And the thing is that it felt great – it was an awesome race. But when I rounded the last turn, I was shocked to see that my time was slow – a minute slower than where I thought I’d be, in fact.

So now I’m wondering if I blew my time in that race because I wasn’t checking my splits. Come to think of it, I wonder if I plateaued in races this season because I was running without a watch. Would I have pushed a bit harder if I knew my splits were slipping? Would a watch have kept me from falling back in the middle of races? The problem with running only by feel is that it’s easier to slip towards comfortable than to push into a manageable discomfort. Maybe having objective feedback from a watch could help me keep the hammer down.

For next season, I’m moving more to a middle ground between watch and no-watch. Other runners I know wear the watch but limit how many times they look. They’ll check the first mile to see what the pace is like, and then from there, everybody has their own plan. I did a half marathon once where I only checked every 5k, and that worked great. I find checking every k in a 5k or 10k is too much, so I’m going to experiment with how much feedback works best. I also have to work on not panicking if the pace is slow and actually easing up if the pace is way too fast. If I don’t use the feedback effectively, then there’s no point in having it.

So I’m going to try giving up the purity of the watchless race, but I’m not going to return to my data hog days. It’s all about finding the middle way, the golden mean, the bowl of porridge that’s just right. I’ll just have to watch and see.

Nationals: Running with the Animals

The morning was sunny and cool. The trees lining the Rouge Valley had felt the frost; the green was drained from their leaves. The colours revealed reflected bright against the new sky. The mood in the van was quiet – only short bursts of conversation. The thing about a big race – a season ender – is that you know you’re going to hurt. You know that when the pain creeps in around the 7k mark, you’re going to say yes to it – takes some focus to prepare for that, though.

Warm up. Loud music. Festive atmosphere. Stay focused. Run through the routine: team jog, bathroom, drills, bathroom, strides – at the last possible moment, strip down to shorts and singlet, find warmth in the starting pack, say your good lucks and then dive deep inside. We’re in the elite starting corral – front of the line – the start will be quick – don’t get caught up in it – stay inside and feel for the pace. Gun goes and all the engines start. You can blow the race in the first 500m if you flood your system with lactic acid. Stay relaxed. Easy. Don’t let your breath speed up. Monitor your body. All those who shot by too quickly will come back sooner or later – they always come back.

Nick and I stuck together, played it smart. We established a good pace as we left the Zoo parking lot and went onto the roads. Despite a 180 turn within the first k, it was nice to be on straight roads to find the rhythm. Things were great for the first 3.5k or so. On pace. Then the course re-enters the Zoo and it starts to twist and turn and rise and fall. Running through the Zoo was beautiful, but for a rhythm runner like me – a guy who finds the pace, locks it in, and hangs on – this course was murder. Each sharp turn ate not only time but also pace and pace awareness. Even so, Nick and I stuck together and worked together. We drafted off of some folks for the first few ks, and then when we passed them, we took turns with the lead. At 7.5k, though, Nick found a little gas when he saw a group of runners ahead. I tried to match it, but slowly, slowly, he pulled away. I watched him pass a couple of guys in between 8 and 9. By 9, I’d caught them too. I didn’t give in – I was still pushing hard – I thought I had a great run on the go.

The finish line is tucked away after a turn – you can’t see it from more than 50m away. When I turned that last corner and saw the clock, I was disappointed. I was sure the pace was good, but the time was not what I’d hoped for. I crossed in 35:30 – that’s a PB, which is great, but it’s only 12 seconds faster than the PB I’d set way back in May. That’s over 4 months of hard training for 12 seconds. But here’s the thing about road racing – no two courses are really comparable, so having a PB is only a rough kind of thing. In the end, I was actually really happy with my run. My real goal was not to surrender to the pain – and I didn’t. I accepted the pain and carried it with me for the last 2k. And I was still reeling people in at the end, which means I ran a smart race. So I’m proud of making the team, proud of running hard, and proud to represent Nova Scotia road racing with a PB on a difficult and technical course. Not a bad way to end the season.

And the Toronto trip was great – good people and fun things to do. I got to do a cool down run through the Zoo and see lots of amazing animals – I’d never been to a real Zoo before! I was like a little kid at Christmas: holy cow! a giraffe! oh my god! look, it’s a lion, it’s a zebra, it’s a polar bear! Awesome. We spent lots of time in the hotel hot tub and shooting down the hotel water slide. We drank some beers had some good food, went downtown for the night, and I even had a chance to see the Terra Cotta Warrior exhibit at the ROM! That was spectacular – I mean, the whole thing is madness, but spectacular to see actual artefacts from the find.

So, well, in the end, Nick took the final T-shirt race, but he deserved it – he ran really well. It’s funny, though – he added up all our times from our Timex duels, and it turns out that only 2 seconds separated us in total over the entire season. 2 seconds! That’s crazy. Two Kingston boys from the same high school (8 years apart, though) training in Halifax and running for Nova Scotia separated by 2 seconds for the season – weird.

The season is finished – but I’m already thinking about what to do next year. My early thought: focus on running a fast half marathon. We’ll see. The nice thing is this season has left me energized, not drained. I’ve been loving just running relaxed and easy through the fall. This running stuff is such a joy for me. I’m going to enjoy it for as long as I possibly can.

A Week to Go

My Timex race training climaxed on Wed. All us Antiques who are running nationals gathered at the SMU track and laid down a big effort: 20x400m with 30s rests. It was awesome. We all took our time dicking around before the workout – one more drill, one more strider, one more useless stretch – in an effort to delay the pain. But once we crossed the start line for the first time, it was all about the mission. I was running with three other dudes, and we switched the lead each time and worked as a unit, encouraging each other and getting through it as a team. We hit all 20 reps between 78s-81s and then finished fast – 73s for me. After the workout, I was glowing. It restored a bit of self-confidence that had drained away after a disappointing performance in the Rum Runners Relay. Now all the hard stuff is in the bank – all I have to do is run easy for a week and then collect the dividends on race day.

So Sexy Hot Swiss Miss (your girl’s a doctor now!!!!), where indeed has my ambivalence led me? Well, I didn’t get off the pot. My mileage over the past four weeks has been pretty good: 80k, 96k, 82k, 62k (step-back week), and this week will be over 80k. That’s far from superhero mileage, but it’s okay for a 10k. My workouts have been going well for the most part, although I’m worried by the fact that I haven’t done well at my longer threshold runs – I hope it’s just tired legs. I’ve also dropped a few pounds to get down to a better racing weight. So I’d say that I’ve committed to running a PB at the Zoo. I’m not fit enough for a sub-34, but the sub-35 is a real possibility. I still haven’t totally conquered my ambivalence, but I’ve made some peace with it – and I’m already looking forward to a great season next year.

I’m realizing more and more, though, that a big part of my running these days is about the people I’m running with and not just the pursuit of times. I’m astonished at how great a group of people I’ve found gathered around Cliff. After those gruelling 400s, we all went for burgers and beer, and it was such a joy just hanging out with these folks. Part of it was to celebrate a special accomplishment: one of the Antiques (and my closest running bud) not only published his first book of short stories in Sept but also got shortlisted for the Giller Prize. You can guess who it was – he’s the only guy of the five who has a story about running! But mainly we got together because we’re all bound by some inner harmonic that has led us to Cliff and each other. Maybe that’s overdramatizing it a bit, but it seems to me that there is a kind of life rhythm that we all share, and we’re driven to move in similar ways – around and around the track.

Anyway...

So in a week, I will fly to Toronto with the rest of Team Nova Scotia, propelled by all the dollar donations people made to the Timex Team through the Timex raffle and other fundraising efforts. I’m mindful of and grateful to all the volunteers who helped collect the cash, so I want to represent them well by running my best. I’ve put time and sweat and discomfort into this; I’m ready to roll – and chase a few gazelles while I’m at it. I’m also ready for the post-race festivities and to uphold Nova Scotia’s reputation as the best friggin party province in the country. I’ll drink not for myself, but for all bluenosers!

Running the Plateau

It’s happened again. I was sure it wasn’t going to happen this season. I mean, I’ve got a coach now – this shouldn’t happen when you have a coach. But it has.

I’ve plateaued.

The idea in a race season is that, as the season progresses, your race times get faster. That’s the way coach C has been training us, but that’s not the way it’s worked out for me. I look at my race paces for the season, and all I can see in every direction is flat ground – flat sandy ground and tumbleweeds, actually.

Here’s my 5k race pace “progression” – 3:26, 3:24, 3:24
Here are my 10k/6 miler paces; they’re even worse – 3:34, 3:35, 3:35

Now don’t get me wrong: I’ve had a great season so far. I set PBs at every distance I raced; I made the provincial Timex team; I even won a race and a pair of shoes. It’s been a good season. But like every other season, I didn’t get faster as the season went on.

It’s a little bit troubling. At the beginning of the season, coach C told me that if I focus on the short stuff, given what paces I was training comfortably at and based on his instinct after decades of training hundreds of runners, I should be capable of squeaking under 34 for 10k this season. But I haven’t even run under 35:30. I haven’t lived up to my potential.

I look at guys running 33min or below for 10k, and I ask myself why I’m not running as fast as they are. They don’t look a whole lot different. In track workouts, I seem to be making the same kind of effort as they are; it’s just that I’m going slower. Is it talent? Are they just born better? Maybe, but I think a 33min 10k doesn’t take all that rare a talent. So why am I not even close? What does it take to push a guy from a 35 to a 33?

Honestly, as far as I can see, there’s only one big difference between me and the faster guys, and it’s not talent. Those guys running 33 and below – well, they run a lot. They’re regularly putting in 100k+ weeks; I’m lucky to get 70 or 80k. On their own, all the Wed-Sat speed work sessions won’t make me a 33 runner. If I wanna run faster, then I haffta run more. Simple. Sure, there’s a point of diminishing returns with mileage, but it’s well beyond the 100k mark. I’m hitting a ceiling in my racing because I’m hitting a ceiling in my mileage.

But this raises what I think is the really vexed question for achievement-oriented recreational runners, or maybe it’s just a question that vexes me: how much time and energy can I invest in running before it’s just stupid?

I suppose if I had a good answer to that question, I wouldn’t bother raising it – it wouldn’t haunt me. But the mere fact that it does haunt me means that I haven’t committed to the 33, which is why the 33 is so far away. Those guys and gals I train with who keep improving never ask this question. The question they ask is how do I get faster? Whatever coach C says, they’ll do it without flinching. They don’t bellyache; they don’t reflect; they get their asses out the door and they run.

I tell myself that I don’t commit like this because my situation is different. These folks aren’t carrying the guilt of not making a living wage in pursuit of an artistic dream. They earn their living and then they run. But that assessment is a bit too simple. Take D, for example, one of my t-shirt nemeses. She’s a single mom of 3 – she sacrifices way more to log her miles. The result? She’s a world-class marathoner. But she didn’t start world class – and there was no way to predict that was where she’d end up. She just got her ass out the door and ran and ran. She made sacrifices, but never questioned the value of what she was doing – or not openly, at least, and not in a way that slowed her down.

But me? Well, I can’t even replace my shoes when I should because I can’t stand spending the money. There’s an ambivalence that I haven’t conquered – and that ambivalence is slowing me down. Part of me says, train like a champion and see what your real potential is because there’s more value in pursuing something you love fully than half-assed. The other part of me says, you’re a fool for spending so much time on running when you don’t have the talent to be any better than a middle-of-the-pack varsity runner – you’re wasting time and money and being incredibly selfish.

There’s no easy answer here, but one thing I know for sure is that ambivalence feels like crap. Piss or get off the pot, they say – don’t just sit there.

But still, I hem and haw as the National Timex Championships looms. I’ve got until October – plenty of time to break out of this 35-high rut – but it will take work, time, and commitment. If I stay ambivalent, then I’ll run a 35-low at best. If I commit, then I’ve got a shot at 34-low or better. Really, it’s up to me.

Digby Scallop Days 5k

I look anxiously at the clock. 30 minutes. Good. There’s still lots of time. But as the seconds tick away, I can’t help but worry. J-A said she wasn’t feeling great, and she missed a lot of training, and living two full-time lives as student and employee has reduced her sleep over the past couple of weeks to an average of about 4 hours per night. There's no way she should cross the line in PB time, no way she should break 35 minutes.

31 minutes. Despite everything, I'm still hoping she'll have a good race.

My family and I are gathered at the finish line – my mom and dad and my brother, sister-in-law, and their three boys. They're on vacation and have decided to come with us to Digby to watch us run. Now we're all waiting, cheering for those crossing the line but saving our lungs for when J-A appears down the stretch.

32 minutes – when will she appear?

The Scallop Queen and her entourage of princesses in glowing white gowns line the finish chute to congratulate those completing the race. It’s a nice touch – it adds something special to the race to have them take part each year. This year, in fact, some of them even walked part of the course to lend support to the goals of the event – to promote healthy living and fun.

33 minutes. I wonder where she is. People keep crossing – the seconds keep ticking.

And then I see her. The clock shows 33:30 and she’s coming down the stretch, maybe 200-250m out. I run about 75m from the finish line and start yelling. Behind me, our whole cheering section goes wild. Even people who don’t know J-A join in – there’s a mountain of noise. The princesses are clapping. J-A puts in a surge and crosses the line in 34:37, well under her goal and a huge PB. It was awesome.

There have been some incredibly fun and memorable races this season, but I think the Digby Scallop Days 5k takes the prize for most fun. Admittedly, winning at the Cabot Trail Relay was pretty special, but the level of intensity of that event removes it from comparison. Among the rest, Digby stands out.

My own race wasn’t particularly dramatic, but it was fun. The only plot development happened in the first k. As usual, a bunch of young guys surged out of the start line, and, as usual, most of them died up the first hill. Part way up the first hill, though, three guys remained in front of me. I simply kept my pace and watched them come back. The last guy in front heard me coming and took a quick glance back. I’d moved to pass him on the right, but he drifted out into my path. I wondered if he was letting me through on the inside, but as I moved inside, he looked behind and drifted back inside. The dude was trying to keep me from passing. It was crazy – we’re not even at 1k, and I’m comfortably running faster, and he wants to race. Well, give him credit for being aggressive, but in the end, I moved past on the right and ran the rest of the race alone.

I’ve gotten into the habit of racing without a watch, so I was a bit lost out there on my own. The course is two loops, but the loops aren’t equal, so when I passed the finish line clock the first time, it was before half way, so I had no idea if I was running fast or slow. Instead, I found the edge of discomfort and kept moving. If there had been someone there to race, I might have pushed into the pain a bit more, but with the race sewn up, it was hard to push too far. In the end, I crossed the line in 16:59 – one second off my PB. Funny. I had more in the tank, but I didn’t have the discipline to push. No big deal, though – I was sub 17, two-time winner, and got a trophy and a pair of shoes from a Scallop Princess. All in all, an awesome time. And the race director gave well-deserved props to the family cheering section.

I’ve been to Digby four times, and each time I’ve loved the race – it’s got a nice laid-back, festive feel. This year was extra special with J-A’s huge performance and a loyal and loud cheering section. You can bet that J-A and I will make every effort to go back next year!

Proud of My Nephews!

A few months ago, when C (my bro) and M-R (my sis in-law) confirmed when they and their fam were going to be in Nova Scotia, J-A had this brainwave: our nephews P (5) and D (3) should run the Bridge Mile! In previous years, we’d watched all the little dudes and dudettes givin’er over the Bridge, and we wanted to be a part of it. Fortunately, C and M-R thought it was a good idea too!

I was a little bit nervous about how the two kids would react to the whole thing on race morning, but as we walked the bridge from Dartmouth to Halifax for the start, they seemed in really good spirits. We arrived on the other side in time to watch the Open Female race start, which meant we had loads of time to sit around and wait for the Youth Boys start. Once the women had gone, the boys got to see the girls line up.

Soon, though, our moment arrived, and we all moved into the start area. It was decided that C and I would run with P and that M-R and J-A would run with D. In the line-up, P looked a little overwhelmed, and we had to explain to him that it was okay if he didn’t win the race – apparently, he wanted to be like his uncle who he’d seen win the half at Valley the year before. But we somehow managed to explain to him that there were lots of big kids running at the same time, so it was okay if he didn’t beat them.

As the start time drew closer, the director of Run Nova Scotia’s youth running series led the kids through some fun warm up exercises and stretches to help pass the time. P and D did their exercises seriously – this was a big race, after all.

At the start of the girls’ race, we’d noticed that they were using a starter’s pistol to start the races, so M-R and C made sure to explain to P (who was a bit wary of guns) that it wasn’t a real gun and that the loud bang was not something that was going to be harmful. I never would have seen the pistol as a problem – shows how good an uncle I am!

The moment finally arrived. The gun went off and P and C took off. I got caught behind some slow kids and parents, but I soon found some space and raced after them. The crowd spread out up the hill, but P was givin’ it – he never even slowed up the hill. He paced it perfectly, and when he got to the top of the bridge and started down the long downhill towards the finish, he appeared to have plenty left. I was sure he would walk a few times, but he never even slowed. And he even put a few surges in there when C suggested he speed up. It was awesome. I was so proud of him.

When we got to the finish chute, we explained to P that he had to cross the finish line alone. So we sent him on his way to be greeted by the race announcer and I took off around the chute in order to meet P at the finish line and encourage him in. He needed little encouragement, though, as he pumped his legs and crossed the line strong. I hoisted him into the air in celebration and then we walked hand-in-hand to get his medal. With his medal on, he informed me that this was his fourth medal. He’s only five and he’s already won four medals!

We made our way over to daddy and then took up a position along the finishing chute. We looked for D and J-A and M-R, but we couldn’t see them. I ran back to the start of the chute to get a better view, but I couldn’t see them at all. I told C that they were nowhere to be seen, and he decided to go back up the bridge to look for them to see if everything was okay.

Finally, we saw them all walking down the hill. Apparently, D had gotten a bit freaked out at the start and had refused to run a single step. He’d also been feverish and feeling bad the past couple of days, so that could’ve contributed to his unhappiness with the whole thing too. Nevertheless, the whole lot of them made their way down the hill towards the finish as the last group to arrive. I told the announcer D’s name and he gave him a big welcome as D walked down the finishing chute to the finish line. Hearing his name over the loudspeakers, of course, totally freaked him out, but somehow he managed to get over the line in order to claim his medal. It was awesome!

The Bridge Mile is an amazing event, and I’m so proud of my two nephews for doing it. I was also proud when P said the next day as he watched the kids finishing the Natal Day 2 Miler that he’d like to do that next year. Yay – another runner in the family!

Dartmouth Natal Day 6 Miler

Before I get into my usual self-absorbed race report, I want to congratulate my brother on a brave and excellent Natal Day performance. He set out to run the course in under 45 minutes, and that’s exactly what he did – he crossed the line in 44:48. He also brought a solid cheering section with him, including three amazing boys, aged 5, 3, and 1. They were super awesome on race day. Big props to the entire clan who showed up to watch me and my brother struggle through another Natal Day!

So. Here’s the report. This was the last t-shirt race until October. Ah, the coveted shirt. I had it, but then I lost it. And I deserved to lose it. I ran a lacklustre, uninspired Natal Day – as usual.

The Dartmouth Natal Day 6 miler has been my bane for years. It’s a great race, though. It’s something like the 3rd oldest road race in North America, and it’s one of the most competitive races on the Nova Scotia circuit. These days, runners complete a two-mile loop around downtown Dartmouth three times, which is both good and bad. It’s good because spectators get to see the runners three times, which makes it less boring for them and gives runners a bit of a boost each time they go around. But it’s bad because you have to run the same damn long inclines three times – and it’s difficult to mentally prepare for the same stupid hills three freakin’ times!

And the thing is that I should be good at this race – the start/finish is on my street, only a block from my place. This is my home court. But every year I get nervous about the hurt the hills are going to put on me, so every year I run way too conservatively.

This year, I screwed the race up right from the start. When I got to the starting line, I seeded myself behind the first row of runners. But as the start time drew nearer, a bunch of people crowded in front, and I ended up three or four deep behind slower runners. My two shirt nemeses, N and D, played it smart and got themselves into the front row. When the gun went, I had to start slow and weave around people to find some open space. Stupid. 500m in, N and D were running together, and they already had a 10s gap on me. Stupid.

I thought about surging in order to catch up with them, but I knew I had to save something for the hills, so I decided simply to hang back and bridge the gap slowly. I think that was a smart decision, but I didn’t pace myself aggressively enough to do much damage on their lead. Through one lap, the gap was pretty much the same as the start – we were running the same pace; the difference was the start. Stupid.

Through a lap and a half (half the race), I was working with H. I was a little surprised that H was running with me given that, this season, he’s normally finished 10-30s behind. But he’d decided to run aggressively and courageously, and I didn’t mind the company. During the fourth mile, D started losing ground on N. H and I saw our opportunity, and we started to reel D in. On the stretch down Alderney road, we caught her and passed her. It felt good. One T-shirt competitor down – one to go.

On the brutal hill up Ochterloney, though, H turned to me and said he was done – he’d spent his legs and there was still one two-mile loop to go. I tried to encourage him to keep his legs moving and to relax and to follow me up the hill, but to no avail. He dropped back and D ate him up. I was alone, so I set my sights on N.

N meanwhile had set his sights on two guys in front of him. He caught one beside Sullivan’s Pond, and I soon caught the same guy too. It’s a great feeling to run down a guy so late in the race. I was still feeling okay, but I convinced myself not to step it up to try to catch N. Stupid. I should’ve just accepted the hurt and gone for broke, but I played it safe. N, though, had a guy to chase, and up the final stretch on Ochterloney, he ran the guy down to finish sixth. I just kept steady up the hill and finished 8th in 34:39.

So I lost the shirt and I may have lost my second-place standing in the Timex series. With this last result for N and me, we are now tied for points. Considering we’ve beaten each other 3 times this season (over 6 races), it seems fitting to end in a tie. Our final showdown will be at the Zoo run in October at the National Timex Championships.

Although I practically mailed in my 6 miler, I still crushed my Natal Day PB by almost 2 minutes – that’s pretty good. And it was the first time I’ve finished in the top 10 of this race. That’s not a bad result all in all. But I need to find a way to be more aggressive and to trust my body more. I should’ve been able to run a 34 flat. Oh well, there’s always next year. I’ll also do better at the Zoo run. I’ve got plenty of time to train, and I’ll be representing my province, so I’d better step it up!

Sheila Poole 10k

I’ve only ever met two people who have admitted to being from Yarmouth – neither of them had many positive things to say about the place. I guess that’s to be expected from folks who prefer a larger urban experience and assume that I do as well. But Yarmouth seemed pretty cool to me for the 16 or so hours we were there. The evening before the race, the streets seemed quite lively – perhaps that was just the fact that there was a festival going on this weekend. Even so, there are some beautiful old homes in town and the main drag is populated mostly with independent businesses, so it’s got a nice feel.

We stayed at a hotel right across from the now-closed CAT Ferry terminal. Until last season, the ferry ran from Bar Harbor to Yarmouth. It was sad to see everything all fenced in and gated and abandoned – losing that ferry hurt the town deeply. And the fact that everything was shrouded in fog made the scene somewhat melancholy.

One neat thing, though – about 10k outside of town on the drive in, we saw a black bear lumber across the highway and disappear into the bush. It was the first bear I’ve ever seen outside of captivity! Pretty cool. It’s strange I’ve never seen one in the wild – I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the woods (for a city guy, that is).

I’d been warned before this year’s Sheila Poole 10k that the course is a challenging one. There’s one very steep but fairly short hill after the 4k mark and a bunch of rolling hills from there. However, there’s a long, straight, flat finish along the waterfront. I was happy for the warning – it’s nice to know what’s coming – but this kind of course is exactly what I love. I do all my easy and long runs on a rolling course, so I find that my legs are most at home with the continuous up and down. I also find that other runners tend not to do as well on rolling courses – and this race was no exception.

My game plan for this one was to go out comfortably and to stay comfortable for at least 5k. The reason I was looking to be less aggressive was because my training has not gone well over the past three weeks, and it’s shot my confidence to hell. I’ve been working hard, but I just haven’t been hitting the paces I should be. I’m wondering if I’ve let myself over train a bit. In any case, when the gun went off, I let N (my frenemy) do his thing. Instead of matching him, I just hung back and ran with D.

D and I worked together for the first 4k, alternating the lead from time to time to give the other a mental break – it’s much easier to follow than to set the pace. We stayed easy and relaxed, but we didn’t let N and another guy (DH) get too far ahead. In fact, it looked like they were battling with each other a little bit.

At some point after 4k we hit the first (and the steepest) hill. I stayed relaxed, but I found myself pulling away from D. On the downhill, I thought about slowing down to let D catch up so we could work together, but I noticed that I’d gained some real estate on N and DH ahead, so I decided that I would set my sights on them instead. If D wanted back in, she’d have to do the work to catch up. I could hear her not too far back, but it was the last time I saw her in the race.

At 5k, I was still feeling good. I was comfortable and felt like I had a gear or two left. I locked in my pace, focused on keeping my form, and set my sights on the backs of DH and N. Slowly but surely, I was gaining on them. At some point after 6k, DH started pulling away from N and N didn’t respond. That was enough for me to take a chance. A bit before 7k, I caught and passed N. I hate to say it, but it felt great.

N was tough as nails, though. He hung on to me. And as we approached the 8k mark, I made a huge error. Normally in road races, you’re supposed to run on the left side of the road, facing traffic. And this race was no different. For the first 8k, we were running on the left. At about 8k, though, all of a sudden there was a water stop on the right side of the road. Very strange. Not only that, the water stop was on the inside curve of a pretty big turn. DH ran over to get some water, but I didn’t want water, so I stayed left, on the outside of the curve. Meanwhile, N behind me also went over – those two guys were running the inside of the rail and I was left hanging on the outside, running further. When I finally realized that the race had inconceivably switched sides, there were cars coming, which prevented me from getting over and making use of the inside of the curve. As a result, N was in front of me by the time I got to the other side of the road.

I was pretty pissed, but I didn’t let the emotion lead to something stupid like a spurt to regain my lead. Instead, I stayed relaxed and focused and in a few hundred metres, I’d passed N again down the long final stretch. DH, however, had gained too much on me.

Coming down the stretch, I could hear N right behind me. He was labouring a bit, but he was hanging on strong and trying to make moves on me. I held him off and held him off. We’d passed the 9k mark, but I couldn’t tell where the finish was – it was too foggy. Ah, running in Nova Scotia. At some point, though, I could hear the announcer through the mist. It gave me enough heart to step up the pace right into that crazy race finishing pain that makes you want to scream. All I could say over and over in my head was – “give up N, just give up!” – but I could hear him right behind me. At the same time, I could see that I was making up time on DH, but I didn’t know if there was enough real estate left to catch him.

With 200m to go, I gave it everything. Incredibly, I no longer heard N behind me. I ran and ran, trying to reel in DH, but in the end, he crossed the line 4 seconds ahead. It turned out that with about 200m to go, N had tried to match my kick and cramped up so badly that he doubled over with the pain. He was able to hobble in ahead of D, but he wasn’t able to get me this time.

My finishing time (35:54) wasn’t great, and my finishing place (4th) was a bit heartbreaking, but I picked up lots of Timex points, so it looks like I’ve secured my spot on the team going to the national Timex race in T.O. at the end of September. Yay!

The other great thing is that I won the cheesy shirt back! I’ll post a pic soon.

No matter what people say of poor old Yarmouth, my first time there was great.

Liverpool 5 Miler: Boo(ish)

We pulled into Liverpool about 8:00 am, an hour before the start of the 5 miler (8k). It was already too hot. All the Timex hopefuls were there – we’re a bit like a traveling circus, showing up to small towns to do our thing but never staying long enough to get a real sense of any of these places. It’s a shame, really: none of us knows how these races started and what they represent to the towns hosting them. We just look at the schedule, show up, and run. It’s the same whether the race is in Liverpool or Timbuktu.

This year’s edition of the Liverpool 5 miler was supposed to be somewhat unusual: a bunch of British sailors were scheduled to run. Right now in Halifax there are something like 17 war ships from around the world in port to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Canadian Navy. Even the Queen is stopping in for a visit (and screwing up traffic all over the place!). Anyway, someone from the British navy thought this race would be a good thing for a bunch of sailors to do on a Sunday morning – perhaps a little optimistic?

9:00am rolls around and by now things are really hot. The sun has pushed away all the clouds and is beating down on the asphalt. All the runners are huddled under any shade they can find, waiting until the last possible minute to line up. The call to line up goes out, but there are no sailors in sight. As a result, the race director decides to delay the start. We all groan and scatter for the shade again. We just want to get this thing over with, and delaying the start will only make things hotter. As it turns out, the sailors never showed – hardly surprising for a bunch of young guys turned loose on the streets of Halifax for a Saturday night. I’m sure running was the last thing any of them wanted to do the morning after.

We line up for a second time and wait for the gun to go off. For this race, they’ve got three guys in 18th-century British military garb with muskets as the starters – pretty awesome. The muskets go off and we plunge forward into the heat. After the first k, I realize this race is going to be a bit of shit show – I’m feeling terrible, and there are 7k left. For the first 3k, I run shoulder-to-shoulder with N, my training buddy. There are three guys ahead of us, two of whom should be – but the third is a guy we know goes out too quick every race and tries to hang on – he’s somebody to chase. At the same time, I can hear a couple of runners sticking with us: D, the top female, and T, one of the top two 50+ year old runners.

Between 3k and 4k, everything changes. I can hear the folks behind dropping back further and further until I can’t hear them anymore – they’ve gone out too quick and can’t hold the pace. At some point, though, N puts on a little surge and opens up a gap of a few metres on me. I feel like I’m running at capacity, so I don’t respond. However, after the surge, the gap doesn’t widen over the next 3k. All the while, we are cutting the space between us and the guy in third, who’s obviously hurting but holding on. I’m hurting too.

With a k to go, N makes his move. He steps up the pace and starts making up ground on the other guy – and the gap between us gets wider and wider. I want to go with him, but I let him go. In fact, I don’t even go for the other guy – with my mind and body screaming about how much this hurts, I convince myself that it doesn’t matter. I convince myself that my position is good enough, that my Timex points will be good enough, that there’s no reason to hurt more. So I don’t even try to pick up the pace – I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and cross the line in 5th.

It only takes 3 minutes before I start beating myself up for not running courageously. I don’t mind losing to a runner who’s had a better race (like N), but I’m certain I could’ve caught the other guy before the line if I’d just been willing to hurt more – but I wasn’t. Oh well. No big deal. I’m still learning how to race – and being aggressive doesn't come naturally to me. It’s something to work on for the next race in Yarmouth 3 weeks from now.

All in all, it wasn’t a terrible race – I did snag a PB by about 10 seconds on a very hot day on a course that many said was longer than the advertised 5 miles. I’ll take it. And my chances for making the Timex team still look pretty good. But I would’ve liked to poke around Liverpool more – when am I going to make the time to come out this way again? In fact, it’s only now that I’m remembering that the river we were running along (the Mersey) was part of a very old canoe route that cuts right across the province from the Annapolis Royal area in the north to Liverpool in the south. This river that I hardly noticed as I was running along it (I notice very little when I’m in pain) has witnessed thousands of years of human life from First Nations like the Mi’kmaw through Acadians and all the rest. All I saw was the asphalt and the back of the singlet of the guy in front. Sad.

Oh yeah, and I lost the special shirt.

Lunenburg 5k: Ya Hoo!

I’m so proud of J-A! We both ran the Lunenburg 5k race on Sunday (13th), and we both had great races. Admittedly, she’s a little bit disappointed with her time: she wanted to run under 35 minutes but got a 35:10 – however, according to her Garmin, the course was a bit long and she crossed the actual 5k mark at about 34:40. So, really, she not only crushed her previous PB by close to 2 minutes but she also achieved a very ambitious goal. Now, a Garmin record is not as satisfying as an official time, and I get that – but what makes me happy is that the whole thing has made her hungry for the 5k in Digby in August. And the funny thing is that she still says she doesn’t like running. I don’t really believe her anymore, though.

I felt great about my race. We lined up under sunny skies. There was some heat – close to 20, I think – but it wasn’t enough to seriously affect the race. The start was neat this year because they had a local girl sing the national anthem. Normally, I never get a chance to really focus while in the starting pack. Usually, I’m listening to the race directions or chatting with the folks around me. But during the anthem, I was able to go inside and focus on what I needed to do in the race – plus, it’s a neat feeling to listen to the anthem before the event – like the pros.

Anyway, when the horn went off, the front line of folks (me among them) rushed out to get a good position. Unfortunately, this meant a bunch of us went out a little too quickly, but that was my game plan – to be aggressive. I’ve learned this year that I haven’t yet developed the ability to surge or to switch gears in a race – or, at least, I haven’t learned to switch to a higher gear mid-race – I’m quite skilled at going slower! Once I’ve established a peak pace, my body doesn’t like to go beyond it – so I figured I’d establish a good pace early and then hang on for dear life.

I also made another tactical change this race to improve on my mistakes from the last one: I left my Garmin watch at home. In fact, I wore no watch at all – so I had to run without knowing what my splits were. It turned out that this was great – it meant I focussed entirely on what my body was telling me and on what was going on around me. I was racing – not just doing a timed workout. It sounds small, but that was a huge change for me.

So through 1k I had seeded myself in 4th or 5th place. I had passed N, who had burst out of the gate a little quick and was trying to rein it in, and I was ahead of my other training buddy A, which surprised me a little because he is definitely faster than I am (actually, N and A are both former varsity runners – N is a former AUS champion on the track and A is a former CIS champion – at their best, they are both a world faster than I am). I was running stride for stride with a young guy – and I was amused to see that someone had gone out with R, the eventually winner of the race.

Around the mile mark, the course starts climbing up a fairly nasty and long hill. This is where the race is decided every year: guys either go way too quick on the hill and spill their guts before reaching the top or folks fear the hill and climb too conservatively. This year, I went at the hill aggressively, and everyone behind me took it too easy. As I climbed, the young guy I was with fell back and A (who loves to climb) finally passed me. By the top of the hill, I was in 5th, and I couldn’t hear anyone right behind me.

Flying down the hill, I was tired, but I knew I hadn’t spent it all – I had run well – a rare thing for me. After the downhill, there’s a long flat stretch, and I tried to relax and open up my stride. I watched as the 3rd and 4th place guys chewed up the distance between them and the guy who’d gone out with R. I think that guy learned a little too late that you’d better be prepared if you go out with R – and now he was struggling. It was great having him there, though – it gave me something to focus on as my mind was screaming at me (as it always does) that I was going too fast and that I should stop. Instead, I kept wheeling and felt the distance between me and that guy close.

As we turned the corner back towards town just before the 4k mark, I finally passed the guy who was struggling. It felt great. I was a bit panicked, though, because I felt that some guys were close behind me – but I didn’t want to look. Some racers benefit from knowing how close behind them people are – but I’m not there yet. I tense up if I feel I’m being chased – and the only way to keep speed is to stay relaxed. So I just focussed on my own stride and climbed the really crappy hill in the last k. From there, I coasted downhill towards the finish.

The finish in Lunenburg is around a corner, so you don’t get to see the clock until less than 100m to go. When I rounded that corner, though, I saw that I was right on the bubble for getting in under 17 minutes. As the seconds ticked away, I gave everything I had to put on a final burst. I went to face and was grunting like a pig trying my utmost to cross the finishing mat before the clock turned – and I did it – with only two seconds to spare! I was 4th and I was sub-17 – I was elated.

This result was also good because I got a bunch of Timex points – and with 3 out of the 7 races on the series done, it’s looking really positive for me to make the team that will represent Nova Scotia at the national Timex race in Toronto. The series is far from over and anything can happen – but my point average currently puts me in third spot overall – and second in the open category (the top guy is in his 40s so will go as the top Master runner, which leaves 3 spots in the open category).

On top of this, I won the honour of wearing “the shirt” during cool down – an honour bestowed on the runner who wins among a few of us who train together. The shirt is one of those cocky novelty shirts: on the front is a reproduction of one of those “Hello my name is” stickers, but it says “Hello, Nice to Beat You.” And on the back it says, “We should do this again sometime. Call me!” But not only is the shirt obnoxious, it is also was originally D’s (who is a world-class female marathoner), so it is a ladies small slim fit shirt – I’m not a ladies small slim fit guy – so the shirt looks absurd on me. Regardless, I wore it with pride! Really, it looks best on D, but she’s going to have to beat me to get it back!

Anyway, I was able to recover from my run in time to watch a bunch of friends have PB finishes and to watch J-A come across the line in her big PB time. It was a great run – a really great run. And the homemade muffins afterward were great too – they somehow managed to make 8500 muffins for close to 600 runners!! All in all, a great day in a great town at a great race.

Enfield 5k

Cabot Trail was amazing – for sure – and although it lifted my spirit light as a feather, it put lead in my legs. 4 days of hard living and some long downhill running left me in less than peak form for the second Timex race – the Enfield 5k.

I thought I’d be okay – race morning was beautiful – and the course is as close to flat as you’re gonna get on the Nova Scotia road racing scene. I figured, even with tired body and legs, I should be able to rip off a PB. So I was optimistic going to the line – I even lined up in the first row of runners. When the gun went, I tucked in behind my training partner N. I figured he would set a good pace over the first k, and I could follow him and see where my fitness was that morning. I got a little impatient, though, and about 300-400m in, I pulled in front to set the pace. We passed the first k slower than I would have liked – 3:26 (when I was looking for 3:20s) – so I surged a bit after looking at my watch. But I could feel that I was already running at capacity, and my body settled back into a 3:26/27 pace.

The two guys with me were content to let me lead for the second k (a 3:27), but after that, they pulled ahead. Their move was good for me, though – it meant I could tuck in and let them set the pace, and it meant that I wouldn’t feel obligated to lead during the second half of the out-and-back course, which was into the wind. All I had to do was hang on. At the 2.5k turn around, though, N put on a bit of a surge, and while the other guy matched it, I didn’t. Even so, I was able to catch them up after a couple hundred metres, but the effort left me without much extra left. By 3k, they were pulling away and I had to let them go and fight my own battle.

Despite struggling, I maintained my 3:27 pace for the 4th k, but the two guys in front were putting real estate between me and them – in fact, they were making time on the second-place guy. I was in fifth, but I couldn’t hear anyone creeping up behind me, so I focused on staying relaxed and keeping my turn over going as I climbed the hill in the last 500m of the race.

I was a little disappointed when I finally saw the clock on the home stretch – I knew I wasn’t going to be close to a sub-17. But I crossed in 17:13 – good enough for my second-fastest 5k. With tired legs, I couldn’t be too beat up about it – but I still want that sub-17. Unfortunately, my (potentially) last chance at it this season is this Sunday! I can’t imagine my legs are going to come back to me in just a week, but I can hope. I’m going to go into Lunenburg looking for that elusive sub-17.

A Record Cabot Trail Relay

You know those lucky kids who win some contest or something and get to meet professional athletes – like baseball players or football players – and in the dressing room the athletes give the kids jerseys that are 12 sizes too big and then they bring the kids onto the field and let them throw a pitch or catch a touchdown pass? You’ve seen this on TSN or on the news – the kids wear these big proud grins the size of their whole head and everyone feels great for them because for a moment, they too are part of the team. Well, that’s exactly how I felt at the Cabot Trail Relay – except my singlet actually fit.

Somehow the universe conspired to give me a gift: I got to be a part of the team that not only won the Cabot Trail Relay but also destroyed the previous course record by 38 minutes. It was an absolutely amazing and inspiring experience. And I stayed up to watch and cheer every leg of the race except for the first – from 8:30am on Saturday until noon on Sunday. I watched 15 amazing performances and got to participate in one race myself. Sure, mine was the shortest leg and one of the easier ones (although that mile-long climb at the beginning was hell enough for me!), but I did my job – I ran a solid pace despite some painful ankle tendinitis and was 4.5 minutes faster than the guy who ran the leg for the team last year – that’s a decent contribution to the goal of beating the team’s previous result. I didn’t win my leg – in fact, I gave up two minutes to a dude from the Maine-iacs (our closest rivals), but I was 5 minutes ahead of the third-place guy. I did fine. And I get to keep my jersey!

There are too many stories to tell – and not all of them are appropriate to tell, at least the ones involving nudity and the police – but I can say that it was without doubt the best running experience I’ve ever had. And I got to run at sunset and enjoy the fading light streaming over the highland hills. And I got to witness gutsy performances up and down mountains and share in the excitement of watching the team pull away from all competitors and following the numbers as we pulled further and further ahead of the record. And the thing about the record is that it was set by a team that had corporate sponsorship: they had a Winnebago, they had a massage therapist, they had 4 former Olympians for pete’s sake! And we were just a bunch of guys with a couple of beer-filled vans and the crazy idea of being the fastest team yet. Okay, I’m over-dramatizing here because we had a bunch of studs – former CIS champions, etc. – and the team that set the record was a bit older than us – but it was all very magical anyway!

I’m grateful for the experience – and the best part was meeting so many great guys – solid individuals, for sure – and sharing in a kind of close team camaraderie that is so rare in running. We laughed and we drank and we ran hard and had a hell of a man-cation! In the future, I might tell a few specific stories from the weekend, but for now these general impressions will have to serve. So much happened that it will take awhile for me to process it all and gain a kind of narrative perspective.

Until then, I work on overcoming my tendinitis and take another shot this weekend at a sub-17 5k. My chances are slim after all that sleep deprivation and boozing – and all the missed training runs – but I’m going to go gut it out on Saturday anyway – what the hell. After all, the whole point of putting those huge jerseys on kids is to inspire them to do their best, even if they’ll never be pros. But for a weekend, I got to be a pro!

Coyotes

Here's a news story to check out:

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/nova-scotia/story/2010/05/27/ns-coyote-fears-cabot-race.html

Nothing like a little danger to get runners moving!

Alumni Magazine Tasting

I’ve come to realize that the experience of flipping through the pages of an alumni magazine is something akin to the experience of wine tasting – there’s a complexity to the experience that you can savour – you can even become a connoisseur. In wine, there are layers of flavours that you can spend years distinguishing. Likewise, there are layers and depths of demoralization that I’ve just started to appreciate in my experience of alumni magazines.

The feelings blend so well – a fruity defensive disdain for lists of awards and achievements paired with a subtle but bold feeling of inadequacy. A nutty scoff at the smug smiles and rock-star poses of professors who’ve won scads of research cash or international acclaim paired with the vinegary taste of memory upon memory of disappointment. There’s that especially poignant juxtaposition between youthful feelings of potential and largess – one of the university’s best-loved products –and the cranky cynical feelings of disillusionment. The combinations are endless. And they all lead to a beautifully mellow feeling of vague, self-absorbed despair that can be achieved in no other way. I love to luxuriate in this drunken state, to magnify it as much as I can. Ah, alumni magazine, thank you for sounding out this hollowness and giving it such a wonderful texture – your glossy dreams are my glossy dreams.

On a happier note – I went out for a run today to test out my ankle. I did 8km in 30:15, maxing out with a 3:26 kilometre. There was plenty of pain, but it was manageable – and it didn’t get worse. It was also better than Tuesday night, so things seem to be progressing. As a result, I’ve given a final “yes” to the team, so one way or another I have to drag my butt across the 13k of leg 7. I had leg 8, but another guy is hurt worse than I am, so I got leg 7. There’s 8km of up and 5km of down – should be interesting.

One of our guys has been emailing with one of the Maine-iacs – they are going with only 14 runners as well (3 doublers), so they are going to be tough to beat. It’s going to be very close – very exciting. And who knows if some new team might come out of nowhere and school everybody. Only one way to find out!

CTR Update

Oh boy.

It’s Wednesday, right? And the Cabot Trail Relay is, let’s see, 3 days away. When do you think would be the perfect time to get hurt? Right about now? Yes, indeed, right about now.

Training has been going great. Last Friday, Alex, Nick, and I did an 800m repeat session at the track, and they were all comfortably between 2:34 and 2:29. For me, that’s crazy fast – and it felt great. For the weekend, JA and I headed to Hubbards to enjoy the amazing Victoria Day weather and to open up the trailer for the season. I took Saturday off – then did a long run on the rail trail on Sunday – 21km, my own BlueNose Half Marathon. I ran comfortably – never pushing – although the pace was a bit quick. I covered the distance in 1:28, but felt good. I did notice my right ankle hurting a bit, but things hurt on long runs – no big deal. It was never a “stop right now, buddy!” pain. On Monday, JA and I went out to run together. My ankle hurt, but I figured it was just stiff from Sunday. So when JA turned back at her halfway point and I continued on my own, I opened it up a bit. That didn’t help – by the end of 10k, I was checking my stride, favouring my ankle.

What the hell?

Last night was supposed to be mile repeats at 10k pace. I did the warmup and no more – it felt like someone was stabbing one of my front ankle tendons with a knife. I have no idea what the issue is – and I don’t have any time (or benefits!) to find out. Maybe it’s tendinitis related to my shin – it seems to be a shin muscle tendon. But the sore spot is also suspiciously right at the level where the tongue of my somewhat new shoes sits. Could it simply be soreness caused by the tongue digging into my ankle? Could so much discomfort come from something so simple? Man, I sure hope so.

The plan is this – stay off my feet for the next few days, ice periodically, chomp on some ibuprofen, stretch, and get JA to take the rolling pin to shin and calf. Will it be enough? It better be – I’ve got 13 other guys counting on me. I may be the slowest guy on the team, but I still have a role to play – everyone does.

Oh boy.

The Cabot Trail Relay

Ah, the Cabot Trail Relay. It’s coming – and I’m gonna run it this year. Now, for those who’ve never heard of this crazy event, picture this: 280km, 24 hours, 17 legs (all between 12 and 21km long) through the Cape Breton Highlands, some of the most spectacular scenery in the world and certainly the hilliest terrain in the province. The event attracts 70 teams from all over the north east – NS, NB, PEI, NF, QE, ON, and even Maine. And around these parts, the race has achieved almost mythical status – each leg inevitably produces epic battles that get told and retold for years.

In fact, for the past six months, I’ve listened wide-eyed with wonder as my friend Alex (the son of a famous and very successful Cape Breton writer – and an emerging author himself), like some old-time Gaelic bard, has woven magical tales about the race. He ran it last year on a team named “Dennis Fairall’s Grey Hair” (the norm is to make up a silly name), a team consisting mainly of former varsity runners from the University of Windsor (Dennis Fairall was their coach, apparently). They won it. And no wonder – they were all national cross country champions back in the day. But the winning didn’t come easy – they had to wrest the title from the Maine-iacs, the team who’d won the Relay for the past 6 years. This year, the rivalry will be intense.

But from what I can tell from Alex’s stories – tales of grit, of competition, of strength, of daring, of humour – tales of runners suiting up and searching for the kind of suffering they were destined to endure – a sharp sort of suffering that cuts through the vague dullness of the everyday and makes life bleed thick and red again – at least for a weekend – anyway, from what I can tell, the point is less to win the thing than to go out there and take part in a strange and memorable event that has people running up and down mountains in the middle of the night and teams of runners huddling together in vans, laughing and cheering and letting it all hang out. So it was a hell of a lucky break when a space opened up on this year’s Grey Hairs team, and I was asked to join. I’m no former national champion – not by a long shot – but I know how to run hard and to have a good time, which is exactly what the event is all about (winning the thing and setting a course record are secondary goals!).

On the last weekend in May, then, I’m going to suit up and toe the line as a Grey Hair. And like the Grey Hairs of old, I’m gonna lay down whatever guts I have along some long lonely stretch of cold Cape Breton highway, chasing a kind of glory only a few obsessive people can comprehend. Because, hell, how many former smoking, drinking, pastry eating fatties like me get a shot at running immortality?

And when I cross the line at the end of my leg (leg 8 – the epic leg for slow guys), my chest heaving and my eyes rolled back in my head, I’m going to look back and smile at the legend I just took part in. And then I’m going to have a beer.

Several, actually.

The Low-Down on Greenwood

Here’s how Greenwood went down.

We all toed the line under wet grey skies. The temperature was just under 10, but there was little wind, so conditions were pretty good. When the gun went off, a bunch of guys surged forward, but I kept myself in check, trying to establish the pace with my first few strides. Normally I go out too fast and don’t realize it until a kilometre or more in – and by then it’s too late – I lose it all and more in the last couple of ks. But this time, I kept things comfortable. I fell in with Nick and Terry and counted the guys in front – 5.

The first k clicked by in 3:32. Perfect – exactly the range I was looking for (anything between 3:30 and 3:35). Much of the first k was uphill, but it felt easy, which restored my confidence after a week of bad workouts. The pace felt good. All I had to do was keep it.

We passed the guy reading out the mile splits in just under 5:40. Perfect. I chatted a bit with Nick as we were moving along. We took stock of the leaders. There were three guys out in front, but after their first mile (a too-fast 5:10), one of them fell back a bit. Between those three and our little group, there were two guys running together. Nick knew one of them from his Dal days, and he said I should think about reeling those guys in over the last 5 miles. He told me to have patience – he figured they would come back if I stuck to my race plan.

After the second k (3:34), I started to pull away a bit from Nick and Terry and occupied the lonely space between our group and the next two runners. Nick told me later that there was a guy who tried to go with me, but he fell back quickly, realizing it wasn’t there. I was still being cautious, but when the third k was a bit slow at 3:39, I injected some life back into the pace and picked it up on the fourth to 3:33. All the while, I was inching closer to the 4th and 5th guys. One and two were gone, and three looked pretty far, but I was reeling 4 and 5 in, which gave me something to focus on.

The fifth k is the hardest on the course: there’s a bit of a monster hill. But it was on this hill where I finally caught up to the 4th and 5th guys. Even so, my pace slackened because I was scared of red lining up the hill and flooding my system with lactic acid. I kept the effort the same, but could feel myself slowing – as a result, the 5th k was my slowest at 3:48. What was worse – my 5k time (according to my Garmin) was 18:07 – off pace for my goal of sub 36.

Normally that would have thrown me completely. I would have gotten frustrated and my mentals would have gone to hell. From there, I would have tensed up and run poorly. But it didn’t happen. I shrugged it off and kept wheeling. In fact, down the other side of the hill, I decided to up the ante and see if the other two would come with me. During a 3:31 6th k, I could hear their footsteps get quieter and quieter behind me. I was pleased.

At this point, I noticed that the 3rd guy was starting to come back to me. That first mile was eating away at his legs, and he had nobody near him to give him a push. Incredibly, I was still feeling good and kept an even pace over the rolling terrain with a 3:35 7th k. However, as I was gaining on the 3rd guy, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. One of the two guys had made a break and caught me up. Those damn teenagers – all legs and lungs. But the presence of this guy pushed me to a 3:31 8th k.

We ran together for awhile, but as we started in on the penultimate k, I remembered to relax – and found that I still had gas in the tank. I picked it up slightly and the guy faded again. Now I was going for the 3rd guy and could feel him coming back. My second last k was my fastest so far – 3:30.

With a k to go on a long flat stretch, I let loose, doing all I could to eat up the distance between me and the 3rd guy. But as I was giving it, I heard those damn footsteps from behind again. The kid had saved a bunch for the end – he had more than I did, and with 200m or so to go, he went by me, hungry for the 3rd guy. Turns out, though, that the 3rd guy had lots left and kept both of us off.

Coming down the last 50m or so, I finally saw the clock – and saw that I was going to go under 36. It was awesome. I cruised over that last k in 3:24 and crossed the line in 35:42, with a huge stupid grin on my face. Julie-Ann rushed over knowing exactly how happy I’d be. It was a great feeling. I congratulated the 4th guy on a great race. He ate me up at the end – probably had more in the tank than he thought. But I came away feeling that I also had more in the tank and that this wasn’t the limit of my 10k potential. Problem is there’s only one more 10k on the Timex schedule this year, so I’ve got to make it count in July!

In the end, I was 5th overall and 2nd in my age category (20-39), which netted me a silver medal – woo hoo. Three of the guys I lost to were 19 year-olds – but they don’t really count – a 34 year-old dude should lose to whippersnappers like that! What I was most happy about was that I ran a pretty big negative split, covering the second 5k in just under 17:40. Last year, that would have been a great 5k race time for me – this year, it’s the second half of my 10k!

Now it’s back to the training. There are no more Timex races until June, when there’s three – so the next month will be all about working on 5k and 5mile speed. I’ll be looking for that elusive sub-17 for 5 and maybe even a sub-28 for 5 miles. We’ll see.

Boston and Greenwood

Nova Scotia had a huge day on Marathon Monday. Huge. Actually, to be more specific, Cliff’s training group (tentatively called Cliff’s Antiques) had a huge day at Boston. How’s this for huge:

Denise Robson (2:43:16) – 1st Masters (40+) woman, which carries a purse of $10,000; 24th woman overall; first Canadian woman; 8th Canadian overall.

Rami Bardeesy (2:27:22) – 3rd Masters men, which carries a purse of $2,500; 47th overall; 45th male overall; first Canadian overall.

Leah Jabbour (2:59:48) – 76th woman overall; 5th Canadian woman.

Rami and Leah ran PB times, while Denise ran her fastest Boston. It was amazing to witness their journeys all through the winter and spring. I can’t wait to hear all their stories.

But just as Boston ends, another RNS race gears up. This Sunday is the Greenwood 10k, the first Timex series race on the calendar. My own training has kind of stunk over the past few weeks. The long hours of editing, the poor eating, and the lack of full sleeps has taken some of the jump out of my legs. On Saturday, we were doing 5x1mile @ 5:30/mile (3:25/km), and I just couldn’t keep up. By the end of each interval, I was (as they say) “going to face” – you know, when you’re working so hard that your face gets all screwed up – that’s going to face, and it means you’re in trouble.

But I’m not going to worry too much about it. My goal for the race is “simply” to run under 36min, so I “only” need to average 3:35/km (about 5:45/mile). Not too long ago that was a solid 5k race pace for me, so we’ll see if I can actually pull it off. From what I hear, the course only has one real hill, but the conditions will have to be good if I’m going to knock 30s off my PB.

Happy trails – hope to have some stories to share soon that aren’t about me!

Lung Run Extravaganza

I finally have a chance to give you guys a race report from the Lung Run. I’ve been editing EMBA Major Research Projects non-stop for about three weeks now, but it looks like I have the night off (fingers crossed) – maybe I’ll even get a full-night’s sleep tonight. Yay!

Okay, so. If you scroll down this blog page a bit and look at the right-hand column, you’ll notice that my PB for the 5k has changed: it’s now 17:09. Ya hoo! Not only that – we raised $310 for the NS Lung Association! Not bad at all. I was actually really moved by how generous people were with donations. When I sent out those emails, I kind of figured they’d be ignored. Not so!

The race was a big success for the NSLA – they had over 500 people show up for the kid’s 1.5k and the general 5k. Those are huge numbers for a local race – it’s really established itself as the premier 5k event in the province. And there were some big guns running. The kid who won is from down the South Shore in Bridgewater, and not only was he a provincial high school champion, but he also represented Canada at the World Junior Cross-Country championships in Poland not too long ago. He won this race in around 15:30 – not bad for a day with 40-50km/h winds in pretty much every direction!

The top female crossed the line in 17:30 – another blistering time, given the conditions. She was ahead of me for the first 800m or so before I pulled ahead. I was thinking that she could tuck in behind me and draft during the first mile, which was straight into the big wind, but she fell off the pace after another half a k.

That first mile was brutal. First of all, I made my usual mistake of lining up behind slower people, which forced me to weave in and out of runners for the first 200m in order to establish my pace. I’m not sure why I do that at bigger races. Part of me thinks that lining up a bit back will prevent me from going out too quickly, but it doesn’t – it just makes me waste energy trying to pick my way through the crowd, and it keeps me from establishing an efficient rhythm right from the start. At the same time, it feels a bit cocky to toe the line with guys I know are going to leave me in the dust, although not everyone who lines up in front stays in front. It’s funny – there’s a strange etiquette in the starting pack, and where you seed yourself communicates exactly how you see your own running. And I don’t want to be that guy who lines up in front but always finishes mid-pack – there’s one guy in particular who always pulls that shit, and everyone knows it but him. Alas.

Anyway... like I was saying... that first mile was brutal – after getting out of the crowd and making the first big turn from south to north after about 200m, we hit a monstrous head wind along Terminal Road. Man, it sucked. But I just locked in my effort level and focussed on cycling my hips (like Cliff always says, although nobody’s really sure what the hell he’s on about). There was a clock at the one-mile mark, and I could see as I was approaching it that I was way off pace. Usually I’m too fast over the first mile, but this time I was too slow. I was looking for a 5:20 or better, but I crossed at 5:30. From that moment on, I knew I had to adjust my expectations.

I’d hoped turning back south after mile one would mean an awesome tail wind – but this is Halifax, and this is the North Atlantic – there’s no such thing as a tail wind: there are only heavy head winds and lighter head winds. So I sucked it up, stayed focused on what I had to do to stay strong and just gutted the last two miles. There was only one hill of any note, which makes this the flattest and fastest race on the RNS calendar. The lack of hills made it easier to maintain the effort – but down the stretch, I could see the clock ticking away, and although I gave it everything over those last 200m, I couldn’t dip under 17. Alas.

But it was a fun race, and it was still a big PB. At first, I was pretty disappointed at missing the sub-17, but I got over it fairly quickly, especially as I saw the folks from the Learn-to Run group cross the line. They were awesome – and later they gave both Nick and me thank you cards with generous gifts tucked inside. I may not have finished top 3 to win shoes (actually, I was well back in 13th), but I got a gift certificate that will take me much of the way to a new pair. Those guys were great.

Anyway – the Lung Run made me super optimistic for the upcoming season. Next stop is the Greenwood 10k in just over a week. I’m looking to dip under 36 minutes in that one. But first, I need to get at least a couple of full sleeps!

Lung Run Countdown

First off -- a huge thank you to everyone who has sponsored me for the CUA Lung Run. I've never run for charity before, but I really like the idea of running for a cause. Running is so darn self-focused, so it's nice when community stuff can wiggle its way in there -- even in small ways.


So here’s my scoop (didn't I say it is self-focused?). My first race of the 2010 season goes on the 10th. It’s the Lung Run down at Pier 21 – a flat 5k. I’m looking for a big PB. After a hard winter of training under Cliff’s watchful eye, I see no reason not to go out hard, looking for a sub-17 minute finish.

Ambitious for the first race? Yup. But why the heck not?

To run under 17:00, I’ll need to average better than 3:24/km. That’s pretty daunting for me – it’s more than 5 seconds per kilometre faster than my current PB pace. That may not sound like much, but it’s plenty. The faster you get, the more work it takes to cut seconds per kilometre.

But I’m trying to be confident. I’ve done some pretty fast stuff (relatively speaking, of course) on the track over the past few weeks. I’ve even done 8 x 1km @ 3:20/km and 6 x 1.2km @ 3:20/km. But even though the volume of those two workouts was over 5km, there were rests between the intervals – not long rests, but rests nonetheless. How will my body react to a sustained effort at that pace?

Last Saturday’s workout at Point Pleasant shook my confidence a bit. Cliff wanted me to pick up the pace slightly to 3:17 or 3:18, doing 4x4:00 and 1x5:00 – but I couldn’t do it. In fact, I couldn’t even hit 3:20 pace. I felt sluggish and fatigued and just couldn’t keep up with the other guys. Granted, it was freezing cold, there were tons of off-leash dogs getting in the way, and there were inclines, but there was no good reason why I shouldn’t have been able to hit 3:20 pace. It sucked.

I did 20k easy on Sunday, but I still felt tired. On Monday, I was exhausted and frustrated – so I dumped my run. But you know what – I think dumping runs when I feel beat is the right strategy for me. Today, I ran an easy 10k and ran 4:20s very comfortably. I felt like I had some pep back. So now I’m wondering if my body reacts best to extremes – hard work then full rest. Tomorrow’s hard workout will be a good test – we’ll see if I can handle whatever Cliff throws at me.

Lazy or Smart?

The latest issue of Canadian Running had a nice little article on local running legend Bill Roblee, who is the race director for one of my favourite local races – the Lunenburg 5k (known affectionately as the muffin run because the post-race spread features hundreds of homemade muffins... mmm). What the article was talking about was how, last November, Bill celebrated a 25-year running streak. Can you imagine that? 25 years of never missing a single day of running. It’s staggering – and his stats are practically cosmic in scale: 121,331km; 125 pairs of shoes; over 400 races; 102 marathons.

No matter what, Roblee gets ‘er done. It’s amazing.

Actually, reading the article made me feel a little guilty. I was reading it on Tuesday, right after I’d decided to dump my run. Here Bill was going out for a mile even when he had a fractured foot, and I couldn’t get my ass out the door because I was tired and unmotivated and because it was rainy and windy. One of Bill’s comments in the article cut like a knife: “I’ll run today because I might not be able to run tomorrow.” It reminded me of a little bio I saw on Alex Bilodeau during the Olympics, who said that when he’s feeling unmotivated and the weather sucks and he doesn’t want to train, he thinks of the challenges his brother faces daily and reminds himself what a privilege it is even to be able to train. And that gets his ass out the door.

It didn’t work for me.

But the whole thing raises a question: is taking a day off just lazy, or is it smart to let your body rest when it seems to ask for it?

I’ve heard somewhere that a lazy runner is a smart runner – to a point. Your hard workouts won’t transform your body if you don’t have enough rest – and you risk injury if you push beyond fatigue, listening to the numbers and streaks instead of your body. Maybe I’m just fooling myself, but I feel like I’m able to tell the difference between when I’m simply being lazy and when my body is trying to communicate its need for rest.

So once in awhile, I’ll just dump a scheduled run. Sometimes I’ll even take two days off in a week. I like to think it’s because I’m working so hard in my Wednesday and Saturday speed/vo2 max/threshold workouts and on my Sunday long run that my body needs the rest more than the junk miles. But it’s not like streak runners like Bill Roblee don’t work as hard – I bet most work as hard or harder – I guess it’s just that they’re compelled to formulate different priorities.

I think, though, there is no shame in being a bit lazy. In fact, I’ve found that a little lazy helps me to perform better in races, which is more of a priority for me. Even so, I can’t help but feel a little wimpy in the face of Bill’s incredible streak.

It’s inspiring – but not inspiring enough to get me out the door every day.

Of Apes and Running

Okay. Now, I’m no creationist – I’m all for evolution – but sometimes evolution gets abused and ends up sounding about as facile an explanation for the way things are as saying “that’s just the way God made it.” I mean, really – how many more simplistic, when-we-were-apes-in-Africa explanations can we take before the whole theory gets branded as absurd?

Whoa. Let me back up a bit. What’s got me all ranty is an article in the latest Canadian Running magazine. It’s an article on the phenomenon known as runner’s high – and it’s a good article. It’s just that the research this article cites indulges in the worst kind of speculation about evolution. For example, at one point, it asks a complex question -- why do we produce endorphins and anandamide when we run? – and gives a stupid answer: well, according to some German neurologist (who is obviously better at generating data than explanations), when we were apes in Africa, we had to run to catch our meals – so, naturally, we developed chemical responses to the pain of long-distance running – and we became groovy running apes.

Sounds like bullshit to me.

It gets worse when it starts talking about vultures on the savannah and carcasses and hyenas and ungulates... oh my.

Oh, and why are we more apt to experience the self-transcending high when running in a group? Yup. You guessed it – when we were apes in Africa, we hunted in groups. That must be it. For some reason, the author loves these “primitive” explanations, calling them “attractive hypotheses.” Really? I’d prefer something new. I mean, heck – why not go back even further: when we were amoebas swarming in the primeval ocean, we got a real kick from swimming together. Those amoebas who shunned the group died – the rest felt groovy in a group. Boom – group activity was selected for.

Seems just as likely an explanation to me as the whole apes hunting in groups thing – and just as meaningless.

Oh well.

Good thing I don’t need to know all the antecedent conditions to runner’s high in order to enjoy its effects.

I think the article is strongest and most interesting when it leaves apes and scientists behind and talks about runners, especially when it explores the spiritual flavour of the running experience. In the end, though, it’s just something you have to go out and experience for yourself. There isn’t a single sequence of words that can convey the experience – words can only remind you of it... or entice you to try it.

And it’s an experience worth seeking -- that much I believe.

Believe It or Not

Oh, blogosphere – I’m sorry. I’ve fallen off the blogon, but I’m back. Forgive me. I have no other excuses than I’m lazy and I sometimes doubt the meaning of doing, well, anything. But here I am. It’s good to be back.

So I’m reading CBC online news yesterday, and I come across the craziest running story I think I’ve ever heard so far. Picture this. You’re a 38 year-old father of two little ones. You’re running on a beach in South Carolina. Beautiful day. The sand is making the run a bit difficult, and you’re pushing. No problem, though – you’ve got your iPod cranked, and you’ve got your set list planned perfectly. Awesome.

Meanwhile, up in the sky, a single-engine plane is running into trouble. Oil has just splattered all over the windshield at 4,000 feet, obscuring the view. The pilot decides to turn back to the nearest airport. At some point, though, the propeller – the only propeller – falls off. It’s a nightmare. The plane’s gliding – but there’s a beach below where the pilot can make an emergency landing. But he can’t really see much.

Can you see where this is going?

It’s hard to believe, but the plane actually hit the runner, killing him instantly. He never saw it coming – never heard it either. Or if he did hear anything, he didn’t bother to look behind him. And who would? Can you even imagine processing the thought: “oh, shit, is that an airplane crash landing behind me?”

But it was.

What was it that Mark Twain said about real life versus fiction – something about fiction being constrained by the fact that it has to be believable? Real life can do whatever the hell it wants.

But you know what’s worse? Okay, no, not really – the tragic death of a father is what’s worst (by a long shot), but you know what adds insult to the whole thing from my point of view hundreds of miles away (ah, how desensitized I am)? It’s the headline: Plane kills Carolina beach jogger.

Jogger?

Anyway, as tempted as I am to probe this story for possible philosophical and spiritual meanings or to draw unwarranted conclusions about iPods, I’m going to let this poor fellow runner rest in peace.

A New Decade

It’s customary to spend some time at the end of a year looking back and reflecting on the year that was. But I don’t really want to – I want to look forward. 2009 felt too much like a year of spinning wheels. Or maybe it was a year of planting seeds that will not sprout, flower, and fruit until later years. Whatever the case, I’m happy to put 2009 to rest and walk on.

I don’t really have any new year’s resolutions. I’ve made them in the past, but they’ve never worked out. I’d love to drop 10 pounds, but I’ve learned that the scale is not my friend, so I’d rather just go on running and eating healthy and let my weight settle where it wants to. I know a couple of running guys who look like they’ve starved themselves – it’s pretty weird. One of them is bald: I can see the lines where his skull plates are knit together. I don’t have that kind of drive or self-discipline. I figure I’ve got plenty of time to be a skeleton later – for now, I’ll keep a little meat on my bones.

While I may not have any resolutions, I’ve got some pretty big running goals for 2010. Normally, I don’t like stating my goals – it somehow makes them even more daunting when they’re public – but what the heck. I might as well lay ‘em out there and man up to them.

My strategy for the spring and summer is to race shorter and faster. This means nothing over 10k until the fall. My goal for 5k is to run under 17:00 and for the 10k to run under 35:00. Maybe I’m crazy thinking I can move my aging body this fast, but that’s what I’m shooting for. Heck, all I need to do is drop about half a minute from my 5k time and a minute and a half from my 10k. That may not sound very scary, but it is. Consider this: it took me three years to shave 34s off my first 5k time (from 17:59-17:25); it took me four years to shave 30s off my 10k PB; and now I’m asking myself to run 10k at about the same pace as my current 5k PB. Is this reasonable? Not at all. But what the hell, right?

What I’m banking on is that my 5k and 10k PBs do not reflect what I was fully capable of at the time. I’ve never focussed on the shorter distances – my shorter races have always been dropped into a marathon or half-marathon training program, so my times may be slower than they should be. I’m also banking on Cliff’s training program. I seem to be running stronger and faster than ever, but I won’t know for sure until April when the racing season begins. And I’m also going by Daniel’s running tables, which lay out racing equivalences given a specific race time. The tables indicate that someone who has run a 1:18 half marathon should be capable of running 17:02 for 5k and 35:20 for 10k. I’m using those times as a starting point and hoping that I’ve improved since last fall.

Beyond these time goals, I’ve also got a competition goal: to finish top 10 in the provincial Timex race series. In Nova Scotia, this series consists of something like 8 races between 5k and 10k (some are 5 or 6 milers). Runners are awarded points for each race based on their finishing places relative to other eligible runners (in this case, other Run Nova Scotia members). For a runner to place in the final standings, he or she must have run at least 4 Timex races – the final scores are a tally of each runner’s best 4 finishes.

Each province has its own Timex series, and in the fall, the top finishers from each province compete at the Timex National 10k Championships, which this year coincided with Athletics Canada’s National 10k Championship. For runners under 40, there are 3 spots up for grabs on the provincial team. I’d love to make the team, but it’s a little unlikely. This past year, the top 2 guys and the top Master’s runner (over 40) from Nova Scotia were all 31 and 32 minute 10k guys. The third under-40 guy was a 34 minute guy, which means that the final spot is possibly attainable. But that guy is capable of 33 minutes – and there are a couple of fast guys who compete some years and not others. It would take a bit of a miracle for me to sneak onto the team this year.

But I’m not discounting the possibility completely. The thing about the Timex series is that points are awarded based on where you finish in a given race – and some of the races are better attended than others. For example, there is a Timex race in Yarmouth, which is 3 or more hours from Halifax, which most of the fast Halifax runners ignore. If I can sneak in some good finishes at remote races, I could give myself a chance to make the team. It’s a long shot, but it’s a shot. In a flat-out race, I’d never make the team, but with some luck and strategy, I could finish ahead of faster runners.

2009 is gone and there's a whole new year of running ahead. If I can stay healthy, 2010 could be my fastest year ever.

Cheers and happy new year to the small group of readers who swing by my blog from time to time -- many thanks for taking the time to read a few words of mine. It's nice to know I'm not just talking to myself. I’d love it if you wrote your own 2010 goals in the Comments. If you don’t have a google account, you can simply leave a comment as “Anonymous” – although it would be nice if you included your name with the message.

Here’s to a new decade!!