Nationals Club Cross Country 2007
my problem with names; familiarity; consanguinity
I had hardly stepped foot into the hotel when someone called out my name. Startled, I peered into the face of the guy addressing me. He certainly appeared distinctive in a "grizzly adams" sort of way, but despite his features I failed to dredge his name from my memory banks. Instead, I sputtered between the automatic doors of the lobby. As he passed with a small swarm of people, none of whom I recognized, I heard him say, "He doesn't recognize me! And he's my teammate!"
Not the best way to kick things off and not the last time either; this sort of interaction characterized much of my weekend. However, there were at least as many moments of surprise and clear recognition as I found familiar and unexpected faces. There were even a handful of unknown faces that increased in familiarity because we were all bound together by the intimate experience of running long and hard despite the calculating way our eyes might have raked each other, sizing each other up, searching for the invisible traits that make a runner fast.
My mystery teammate became a friend and more. For mile upon cold muddy mile I tracked him as a guide and a goal. He was not surprised when I passed, having heard cheers for me mingled with cheers for himself. And I knew from the sound of footfalls that I had not left him behind as we continued our methodical conquest of runners in our path.
voice of america park; inclement weather; smart spikes
Voice of America Park. If you follow DIII running this park is synonymous with slippery, sloppy and "full of knee high water," as it was in 2006 when Cross Country Nationals was hosted here. I was present to watch that race and hear first hand accounts of the frustrating conditions: cries of, "I couldn't accelerate. I couldn't pass people," and the sole piece of mitigating advice, "Get off the starting line fast and become the person that everybody else can't accelerate enough to pass." So that's my plan, I told another teammate, Keith Solverson, as we surveyed the course.
Rain and melted snow had soaked the ground and four races preceded ours: a thousand spikes churning up the soft ground. Thus I found myself screwing all-business half-inch spikes into my shoes and thoroughly enjoying the ritual.
Some day the running world will debate the use of telescoping "smart" spikes that can detect the difference between gripping firmament and sliding through a semi-liquid. They will work the same as anti-lock brakes, but opposite; used to accelerate rather than decelerate the body. Until shoe technology reaches the point of real-time split-second drilling for traction there will be races like Club Nationals Cross Country at Voice of America Park, December 8th, 2007.
race; technical analysis; definition of sport
The puff of smoke from the starter pistol and the fractional lunge of four hundred bodies clearly preceded the crack of the explosion. I sprinted across the line and for the first race in a long time found myself stationary relative to the bodies around me. Sweet adrenaline we were moving fast! Fast despite the undulating field, far too short (as always), before funneling into a narrow speedway.
Screaming and cheering like a rock concert mixed with the slapstick sound of shoes clapping mud. The pie-in-the-face sound was spot-on, but the resemblance to a mosh pit trumped it easily. These are my favorite moments of racing: when the "primitive" brain becomes so busy that it commands the "higher" mind, "sit down, shut up, and keep your hands away from the dials, and might I remind you that I am, and always have been the captain and pilot of this vessel, furthermore the fasten-your-seatbelt sign has been turned on."
Life got simpler. He slipped there, put your foot over there instead. We're descending a mogul; shut your mouth and eyes for a fraction of a second while the mud splatters your face. Whoa! This guy stepped in front of you, move out, I can't see a damn thing. A gap! Move up into it. Shit, there's no traction, push out to the edges' and so on.
In retrospect it looks almost tractable, like a math problem or a decision tree. I can pass or wait. "Pass" branches into pass-left or pass-right. "Wait" branches into hold position or try a new "lane", though no such thing is formally delimited.
Variables impacting the decision tree include current traction, potential traction based on visual assessment, current speed, speed of opponents, current effort level, projected possible effort level, perceived opponent effort level, estimated placing, distance remaining, topography of the course (hills and flats), and course layout (turns and straights).
Random elements muddy the equation. These include but are not limited to: flying mud, unexpected slipping, sudden obstacles, how well breakfast has digested, and primal response to cheering. Listing these makes me realize that these are mostly overlooked variables and suggest further higher-order decisions including: headwind (should I draft or pass?), sight (should I draft or move out into the open?), maximum acceleration (in other words, predicted future traction). And now I see the non-linear interaction of these variables, which I can only scrape the surface of in writing: traction influences acceleration, which determines ability to change position. Drafting conflicts with sight since I want to see the ground not the back of a jersey, but my opponents (who I assume have the same decision tree I have) ought to be seeking the same optimal footing as I so I have to balance investment in the pretty-good traction in their footsteps with risky, but potentially profitable peeks around them in search of better footing. In short order, the analysis is revealed to be theoretically sound, but totally intractable and this is the essence of sport:
Training and experience directed towards the development of ability (manifest in physiological adaptations) and intuition (so potent it will give the first self-aware robot an inferiority complex the size of a jumbo jet) tested in a singular head-to-head competition against like-striving opponents.
reunion; memory aids; complicating factors
Reunion. Not all names escaped me this weekend. Perhaps unfairly, it helps to be fast. National championships are a recognition of speed and imbue a semi-legendary status, in my mind, on recipients especially for individuals who consumed so much of my attention when I sought this accolade myself. Thus, I was delighted to see legends of DIII running present: Josh Moen and Macharia Yuot.
Speed, however, is not always enough to jar my memory as in the case of (14th place finisher) Leo Kormanik who I met seven years ago as a co-representative from Ohio in the World Sports Exchange. (We traveled to Barcelona, Spain together.) I had seen him once or twice since, but alas he slipped out of my slippery mind.
Repetition also aids memory, especially in the case of runners who are also fast. I will not forget the name or face of Ted Turner (at least not again) who must by now suspect that I plan my races solely around passing him near the finish line. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Ted, I'm not that cruel.
Lastly, my accuracy at name/face recognition is far superior with the fairer sex. I think guys will understand if I'm devoting a few less brain cells to them. Nonetheless, ladies should take no offence if I forget their names. One would think that foul Colby Bear-nappers would be etched in my brain as with a hot iron, but this was not the case. Furthermore, I am easily befuddled if you unexpectedly let your hair down, to give one example.
In that vein, despite the embarrassment you caused me by calling me out on my forgetfulness, if you were to shave and cut your hair, Aaron Rowe, I would be hard pressed to remember you again. However, if my teammate was wearing his Columbus Running Company jersey, as he was when he passed me in the race, I'd stand a much better chance of recognizing him.
teamwork; shunning conservatism; choosing the route
I don't remember when Rowe passed me. Long after my socks were soaked. Sometime after I collided with a knee-high plastic cone. Possibly after I leapt the first of many hay bale barriers. Definitely between my first and last slips. He passed me and simultaneously I recognized that the crowds had thinned. They hadn't thinned much, but enough to relax in an extremely relative use of that word.
Rowe became goal and guide. He sparked a bit more fight in me a bit earlier than I might have fought. I'm embarrassed to admit I was running conservatively.
A frantically counting spectator yelled out, "eighty", reemphasizing the need to start eating people up. In most races this is a straight forward (though, of course, effortful) matter of accelerating. Today it was a bit more complicated. Each step was a calculated exertion, one pump of a one-armed bandit that charged exertion and paid out speed if you were lucky. I criss-crossed the course seeking out stretches of green and, when I was lucky, my spikes dug in and gave me dramatic advantage on my competitors. I defenestrated the usual "shortest-distance" paradigm and never looked back.
I kept one eye on Rowe at all times. He sloshed through the mud to reach solid ground up ahead of me and I used his foresight to move earlier, sometimes avoiding the worst of the mud, but still reaching the good stuff. One by one we passed competitors; a double dose of demoralization for opposing teams to see two identical jerseys edging forward. We were patient. There was no other way to be. When you hit slick mud you can fight it and lose or wait it out. So I kept leaping hay bales and swinging turns wide and using every opportunity as it came, but no sooner. Sometimes I made bad decisions (either Rowe made a mistake or I mistakenly disagreed with his assessment of the terrain and found myself pursuing in a sub-optimal lane). When this happened it felt like the whole world was moving forward without me. I waited it out and made up for it when I hit solid ground again.
Much sooner than I expected the race entered its final throes.
course layout; bane of a familiar competitor; the finish
The course consists of two and a half enormous loops before the path curves into the center of the circle and hooks into the finish. It looks like the letter Q written on an etch-a-sketch by a drunk calligrapher. When I reached the upper right corner of the Q I decided it was go time.
More than merely speeding up when I felt the pull of secure ground, I laid down the hammer as if the finish line was imminent. The constant acceleration and forced deceleration in the mud was extremely fatiguing, but I didn't know how many more opportunities I would get.
Skidding around one turn and taking the next so wide that I stepped over the one-mile placard, I caught Rowe. We were on the right side of the Q where the calligrapher had made some particularly egregious errors. I edged along side Rowe and grunted something that I hope he interpreted as, "thanks. Good job. Let's go." He responded, but I don't remember how. I think we both got the message.
I fell back behind him as I hit some mud, but I passed him for good around the next turn and started to sprint along a straight-away (bottom right-side of the Q). We ran down a few more people. One of them, Ted Turner had been in my cross-hairs for some time in his bright red jersey. As I passed Ted I kicked the pace up another notch and knew there would be no slowing down if I wanted to stay ahead of him.
We reached the leg of the Q and cut in towards the center. The last .2 of this 6.2 mile race poses a jaunt over a hill, an immediate hairpin turn, and then an uphill finish. I crested the first hill with the sound of footfalls in my ears. A spectator cheered for a "Ted" eliminating any hopeful doubt of who was hounding me. I wrapped around the hairpin with minimal Scooby Doo-style foot peddling and maxed out my turnover as I hit the final hill. With the slight drainage afforded by the incline I got a good grip and honed in on the tangents. The next runner ahead of me had a good lead and we were so close to the finish, and yet, it looked like it would be a near thing. I thought, "Can I get him?" and then, "just run, just run." I found a faster gear hidden behind the complacency and advanced indomitably on the runners striving for the finish.
I passed two more under the shadow of the finish banner, crossed the finish line, and stopped dead with my hands on my knees. My legs felt primed to explode.
Rowe was there in an instant. He said something congratulatory. Race officials were yelling for people to keep moving and herding us forward.
Once my timing chip was extracted I ambled over to the water. I took a few swigs and left the little water remaining to avoid swallowing the dirt that had fallen off my face. My acuity sharpened quickly at this point. I saw mom and dad, spoke to them, and then gathered with my teammates. I wasted no time encouraging them to cool down as my body temperature plummeted.
The cool down was wonderful. Warm blood gushed through me. I jogged along at a fine and sustainable pace. My teammates and I recounted singular experiences of the race. I was satiated by a race well run.
statistics; links; people; endings; beginnings
I finished 35th with a time of 32:59.2. It was an exciting finish with 33rd through 40th places spanning only six seconds. I beat multiple-time National Champion Josh Moen for the first time in my life (and crossed him off my list).
Links
The CRC men placed 9th out of 50 teams with a team score of 261 points. The CRC women placed 27th.
| 1 | 1 | Ryan Warrenburg, 23, Blowing Rock, NC | 31:46.9 | Zap Fitness |
| 2 | Patrick Gildea, 27, Knoxville, TN | 31:57.3 | *New York A C | |
| 3 | 2 | Jonathan Pierce, 24, Blowing Rock, NC | 32:00.1 | Zap Fitness |
| 4 | 3 | Forest Braden, 24, Bloomington, IN | 32:00.1 | Team Indiana Elite |
| 5 | 4 | Bret Schoolmeester, 23, Cornelius, OR | 32:05.5 | Bowerman A C |
| 6 | 5 | Chris Swisher, 24, Fishers, IN | 32:09.8 | Team Indiana Elite |
| 7 | Brett Gotcher, 23, Flagstaff, AZ | 32:11.3 | McMillan Elite | |
| 8 | 6 | Joe Driscoll, 28, Blowing Rock, NC | 32:13.9 | Zap Fitness |
| 9 | 7 | Giliat Ghebray, 23, Union City, CA | 32:15.8 | Transports Adidas R T |
| 10 | 8 | Macharia Yuot, 25, Chester, PA | 32:17.2 | Bryn Mawr R C |
| 11 | 9 | Phillip Reid, 22, San Luis Obispo, CA | 32:21.1 | Asics Aggie R C |
| 12 | 10 | Timothy Keller, 26, Milwaukee, WI | 32:22.5 | Wisconsin Runner R T |
| 13 | 11 | Sergio Reyes, 26, Los Osos, CA | 32:23.4 | Asics Aggie R C |
| 14 | 12 | Grant Robison, 29, East Lansing, MI | 32:24.6 | Playmakers Racing A |
| 15 | 13 | Leo Kormanik, 25, Smyrna, GA | 32:24.6 | Atlanta T C A |
| 16 | Michael Hanlon, 22, Flagstaff, AZ | 32:29.0 | McMillan Elite | |
| 17 | 14 | Thomas Morgan, 26, Blowing Rock, NC | 32:29.0 | Zap Fitness |
| 18 | 15 | Matthew Folk, 31, Canfield, OH | 32:30.9 | Team Good River A |
| 19 | Mike Farrell, 35, Marshall, IL | 32:31.0 | *Asics/Boulder Run Co | |
| 20 | 16 | Ben Rosario, 27, St. Louis, MO | 32:31.8 | Big River Run Co A |
| 21 | 17 | Thomas Kloos, 30, San Francisco, CA | 32:31.9 | Transports Adidas R T |
| 22 | Jeffrey Gaudette, 25, Charlotte, NC | 32:36.9 | ||
| 23 | 18 | Jeffrey Powers, 24, Franklin, IN | 32:38.2 | Team Indiana Elite |
| 24 | 19 | Jared Scott, 25, Flagstaff, AZ | 32:38.8 | Run Flagstaff Mizuno |
| 25 | 20 | Anthony Gallo, 28, Flagstaff, AZ | 32:39.1 | Run Flagstaff Mizuno |
| 26 | 21 | Clint Wells, 32, Superior, CO | 32:39.8 | Asics/Boulder Run Co |
| 27 | 22 | Brendan O'Keefe, 25, Blowing Rock, NC | 32:42.0 | Zap Fitness |
| 28 | 23 | Matthew Hooley, 25, Madison, WI | 32:43.3 | Wisconsin Runner R T |
| 29 | 24 | Jordan Fife, 24, Seymour, IN | 32:46.1 | Team Indiana Elite |
| 30 | Josh Eberly, 27, Gunnison, CO | 32:46.3 | *Brooks | |
| 31 | 25 | Jeffrey Caron, 24, Medford, MA | 32:47.2 | New Balance Boston |
| 32 | Christopher Reis, 26, Cincinnati, OH | 32:54.8 | RunSpotEarthDrummers | |
| 33 | 26 | Payton Batliner, 23, Boulder, CO | 32:57.4 | Boulder Run Co/adidas |
| 34 | 27 | Stephen Haas, 24, Bloomington, IN | 32:58.5 | Team Indiana Elite |
| 35 | 28 | Neal Holtschulte, 23, Dublin, OH | 32:59.2 | Columbus Run Co A |
| 36 | 29 | Ted Turner, 24, Indianapolis, IN | 33:00.0 | Indiana Invaders |
| 37 | Joshua Moen, 25, Readlyn, IA | 33:00.5 | The Flat Runners | |
| 38 | 30 | Roger Cahill, 24, Buckeye, AZ | 33:01.1 | Run Flagstaff Mizuno |
| 39 | Andrew Middleton, 23, Flagstaff, AZ | 33:03.3 | McMillan Elite | |
| 40 | 31 | Aaron Rowe, 26, Powell, OH | 33:03.9 | Columbus Run Co A |
The evening following the race I felt great, maybe it was my winning lunch of three Snickers Marathon bars, or my two dinners of one cheesburger, two turkey burgers, fries, and a salad. I missed the whole-body soreness that marked my end-of-season races as special. How was I supposed to take a break from running if I felt fine? Well, problem solved: the next day I felt like I'd been beaten from head to toe with particular abuse focused on my ankles.
At the after party the evening after the race I saw a lot of people, though I think I missed just as many. I saw Katie Gwyther who had been a counselor with me at New England Prep Cross Country Camp. I missed Gina Lucrezi who had also been a counselor at NEPXC, but during a different year. I surprised Karina Johnson, former Williams assistant coach, at the party, but I never saw former Williams assistant coach, Tara Crowley. I saw Shauneen Garrahan, a well known Amherst runner that recently graduated, but I never saw the famous Delilah; famous for both winning the women's race and because of the famous song devoted to her. And there were many others. I even saw Kent Lemme of Williamstown, MA who finished 12th in the men's masters race with a time of 35:50.6. I have included links to many pictures below. In retrospect I don't know why I took the time to post all these links since I still didn't include everybody. Sorry if I left you out.
Pictures
Men
An astoundingly large gallery. Literally over 1000 pics.
Rowe and I are on this page with Keith on the page after.
This pic is really cool. That's Rowe in the foreground.
Men's race pictures index
CRC men's pics
Start
The Gator
Hay bales
Ordway
Deleon
Hamner
rowe_finish2
Front to back: Moen, Turner, Rowe
My finish 1
My finish 2
My finish 3
Women
Women's race pictures index
CRC Women's pics
Christine
Christine and a hay bale
Rudd avoiding mud
Liz Trapp
Ashley
Matt cheering for Ashley
Christine's album
Video of the Open Men's 10K
My time with the Columbus Running Company now comes to an end since my permanent residence is no longer in Ohio. I had a great time running with the CRC team and I look forward to seeing all of you again even if I will be wearing a different colored jersey.
I want to thank Eric Fruth, Matt Deleon, and Jim Jurcevich, co-(tri?)-owners of the CRC. They continue to amaze me. Not only did they raise this shoe store from the ground up, but they hosted this meet, Club Nationals, and they have been immensely supportive to me in my transition from college running to what comes after. I will miss you guys, but we will undoubtedly cross paths again on the racing circuits.
After a short break from training I will start anew with a new club, the Genesee Valley Harriers. I am looking forwards to meeting more runners and elevating my training with this club.
