Genesee Valley Harriers cross country invitational
November 18, 2007
Today I drove down to Canandaigua, the scenic "finger lakes" region of New York for the final race of the upstate NY Cross Country Series. (I haven't run in any of the previous races in the series.) The finger lakes are a series of long thin lakes that resemble fingers, or fingers that long ago reached down out of the sky and gouged the earth. Naturally, they were formed by glaciers, but it's fun to anthropomorphize glaciers.
This was my first race since moving to Rochester and I didn't expect to know any of my competitors. I did know that the race would be primarily composed of club teams, so I expected excellent competition. To my great surprise I did know some of the runners, and many of them knew me. Basically the whole SUNY Geneseo cross country team that I raced against in college was in attendance starting with the runner I knew best, Ted Turner (not that Ted Turner, that one).
Now it might seem fairly obvious that former SUNY Geneseo runners would be found in upstate New York, but no. Ted Turner runs for the Indiana Invaders, a central Indiana club. I raced him last year when I was at Culver, also in Indiana, and now I find him at my first race in New York. Club cross country doesn't seem big enough for the both of us. I also saw Julia Rudd whose name I forgot until I managed to visualize her facebook page. For a brief moment it was like having wireless internet in my head.
Knowing that Ted Turner was running simplified my race strategy greatly. He gave me someone to key off of, someone whose speed and ability was familiar to me. I jogged and walked around the course under a beautiful bright sun to further flesh out my race plan.
The course narrows rapidly after the start and turns left in to an up-hill path carved between tall grass. Concerned about being boxed in I decided to sprint off the starting line and then relax into an easier pace on the up-hill. The course winds around to the left of the starting line into a big loop that cycles between a path through grass fields and windy, rolling, shaded, dirt/rock trails. This is the whole first mile. Then the course shoots straight past the starting line again but hangs a right instead of a left to descend a long steep hill. We are talking about a monstrous, out-of-control, get out your ski's, steep hill. I like all kinds of hills, down as well as up. I plan to relax and stay patient in the first mile and get it into gear beginning with the down-hill.
At the bottom of the hill this spectator-shy course dives back into the woods where it jumps, twists, and bucks like a bronco. I know it is going to be a hard place to hold a steady pace, but I plan to use this portion of the course to move up behind the lead pack. I don't see any other way around it, because after about a mile and a half back in the trails the course climbs back up the Everest that we descended earlier. Hopefully, I will already be near the front and I can just enjoy wrangling the terrain.
Up the hill I plan to relax as much as possible and save my strength for the top. At the top there will be just over a mile remaining, plenty of time to make up ground on any one that over exerts on the way up. My plan ends up working beautifully. I am thankful to the course. This is the kind of cross country I love: variable and tricky, plenty of danger and opportunity.
After looking over the course I take my time strapping my spikes on. It feels so good to race again. The women's race is wrapping up as I head to the starting line. Julia finishes first with many of her fellow Invaders close behind.
The temperature is warm enough for shorts and a tank top. The starter lines us up and wastes no time after calling, "runners to your marks," to fire the gun. I sprint hard to the front and move into the field path with plenty of elbow room, though not in the lead. Ted Turner takes off like a bullet and is already pulling away from everyone. The runners were not as numerous as I had feared. Few people, if anyone, felt cramped.
Up the first hill, a mild one by this course's standards, I relax and purposefully slow. One by one, runners pass me as regularly as clock work. I'm feeling cocky and confident, thinking, "yeah, push it now. Tell me how you feel in four miles." As the hill crests I move up into drafting position. I estimate that I'm in tenth place. I also estimate that there are no less than six Indiana Invaders ahead of me! Yowza! I wonder if they can hold it. I draft for a while then leapfrog up into fifth before we enter the first narrow wooded trail.
I'm not in drafting position on the fourth place runner yet and I don't want to be. Instead I enjoy having my space on the trail. My feet dig into the ground on the sharp turns. I shift and lean around curves like a motorcycle racer. I feel wrapped up by nature, its life and physics. Out of the woods I move into a draft again. This is one of the few places on the course that the spectators can see us from. I hear some cheers from Jeff Beck, a Genesee Valley Harrier, whom I had heard of, but only just met.
We pass by the start, travel to the end of the field and hang a right. The ground drops away in front of us. Everyone's arms puff out like ineffective parachutes. I boost my turnover to use the hill's energy. I'm still braking to be safe. Even so, I'm moving faster down the hill than anyone around me. Pebbles bounce up like popcorn. I gain on the fourth place runner. I have to slow a little so as not to run him over. With a burst of extra speed I pass him and the two runners with him on the outside as we cross the road at the bottom of the hill. We enter the woods and I wonder if I've made the right decision by moving into second place. Ted Turner is no where in sight, the runners move right up behind me, and there is an inconceivable headwind. (I'm surrounded by trees, where is it frickin comin from!)
The lead does give me an unimpeded view of the footing. Mentally, I do two things right at this point. First, I don't settle for second place. Second, I relax and focus on the immediate. The immediately necessary is the trail: cutting tangents, using hills, securing footing. Despite my proper focus I step in a divot and I don't know how my leg doesn't shatter instantly. It bends in a way that makes my ankle feel like liquid. The irony is that somebody made a big orange spray paint warning around a divot about two feet from the one I stepped in.
I begin to edge away from my pursuers. Simultaneously, I catch a few glimpses of Ted Turner powering up hills ahead of me. He can't maintain that kind of exertion, can he? A few times the trail dips down a hill terminating in an immediate sharp turn. I can't gain speed and make the turn at the same time so I try to find the happy medium. I turn the corner at the far side of the woods loop. I'm headed back towards the up hill climb and I can see Ted ahead of me. He doesn't look too smooth and I'm gaining a little on him.
A little mud slick saps my momentum right before the big climb. My pursuers have dropped back, but Ted still has a good lead when I begin the climb. Short steps, high turnover, and good god don't look up, gets me up the hill. I push a little harder than I would have early in the race, but I'm still climbing conservatively. About half way up the hill I suddenly feel as if I've got freezer burn in my lungs. The race had felt great up to this point, the expected burning in my quads aside. The chest pain isn't off the charts, in fact I half wonder why I hadn't felt it sooner. I keep chugging up the hill.
The grade of the hill decreases gradually so I can't really tell where the crest is. With each minute flattening of the climb I let my stride out a little longer. Near the top, as we enter the back loop, which also began the race, I'm closing on Ted. He is about ten meters in front of me. The gradual ascent ends and the gently rolling straight backside of the loop begins. This is the four mile mark. I lay down the hammer. Ted is overtaken in short order.
We have a good friendly relationship, Ted and I, but I pass him while self-consciously trying to exude as much morale-crushing confidence as I can muster. Ted fades and I keep my pace into the dirt trail. Some Indiana Invaders came to the backside of the course to cheer. I never look back, but I always try to guage how far back an opponent is based on the volume, projection, and tone of his cheering squad. I've got a comfortable lead, but Ted is fighting.
I emerge from the woods and the silence of the race is broken by the fans. A straight-away, a hairpin turn, and another straight-away into the finish is all that remains. It is perhaps 300 meters. My turnover is cooking and the race is all but over. Around the hairpin I pick up the pace again. Ted fights to within ten seconds of me. I was surprised he held on so well. He took the race out at a hell of a pace. I won in 26:05, normally this would be a dissappointing 8K time, but on this course I think it's a great accomplishment.
The day was all I could have wanted it to be. I saw some old friends with the Indiana Invaders, I connected with the Genesee Valley Harriers (GVH) coach and demonstrated my continued committment to the sport (just in case he wasn't eager to have me join their team, which I intend to do after I have fulfilled my duties to the Columbus Running Company). I also met a lot of the GVH runners. I joined them on their cooldown (which lasted longer than the race itself) and had a good time talking running, grad school, life.
One of them told me I was flying down the hill. "I couldn't keep up," he said. I was dumbfounded by the compliment. He should have seen the true masters of downhill running that I trained with at Williams, the legendary names: Martinez, Ellis-Ferrara, Ference.
After cooling down there was an all you can eat buffet at a nearby restaurant and a short awards ceremony. I got a sweatshirt. I was hoping for more, but at least it wasn't a t-shirt, and anyway, you can't put a price tag on networking.
Next stop: XC Club Nationals in West Chester, Ohio.
I'm still hopeful for pictures. Let me know if you find any.
