Ken Long Association 2007 Polar Bear Run – downtown Indianapolis 02-24-07

Perhaps someone can explain sleep cycles to me. It’s a subject I would have liked to have learned before 6:11 am Saturday morning. That was when I woke up. 9 am in downtown Indianapolis is when and where my race started.

I find that once I wake up, it is unwise to try to go back to sleep for anything less than two hours. The first time I woke up this morning my watch read 4:30. I went right back to sleep and seemed to have timed my deep sleep portion of my cycle to coincide with my planned wake up time of 5:45. Thus I slept through my alarm and leisurely rolled over to check the time at 6:11.

What followed was the obligatory mad dash through the morning routine. I ingested breakfast en-route. I arrive in downtown Indy around 8:30. It takes ten minutes to find a parking space. Actually, it takes ten minutes of desperately searching for a lot since I have no coins for a parking meter before flagging down a bystander who tells me that you don’t have to pay the parking meters on Saturday. DoH!

I run to the registration table in untied warm up shoes, jeans, and a jacket. My heart rate is fast enough to make a humming bird drop dead. I get my bib and pull up three layers of clothing to pin it on. Then I run three blocks back to my car. My shoes are still untied.

At the car I strip off every layer but the bottom one, put my race flats on, drop my car key into my gloves, and head off. Luckily the starting line is only a block from my car. I arrive there at 8:55. With six city blocks and some heart rate threshold to warm me up I take the line.

Once on the line, I calm down and actually start to feel cold. Earlier in the week I had heard that the temperature was supposed to be in the 50’s, but in actuality it was in the 20’s, and the wind was unbelievable. I had felt it pummeling my car all down the free way. The gloves were a good call. I could have easily worn another layer. I should have worn another layer.

Before the race begins I see Jim Jurcevich who is also on the Columbus Running Company store team. I started next to him and felt pride in our matching jerseys. I miss having a team.

The race begins and Jim bolts into the lead. Others surge around me so I pick it up. It’s the start, I’m thinking. Everyone goes out too fast.

It doesn’t take long for around ten jerseys to present themselves as the core of the competition. The high school kid who was gabbing about the temperature has faded. The wind is brutal and coming straight down the boulevard. I duck in behind whomever I can. Everyone is gauging everyone else and themselves. Some are deciding to back off. Others are choosing to hang on. I’m careful to select hangers-on and ‘leap’ those backing off as I play my leap-frog-game of drafting.

Jim is still leading and his pace is relentless. Is he trying to drop the others early? The pack thins and six of us, including myself, remain. Three guys are chasing Jim and I’m at the tail-end trailing a guy who has given the leaders some space. Ok, I’ll keep your mad pace through the mile, but after that I’m going to reassess the situation. We show the one-mile marker who is boss with a 4:40.

My eyes pop when I hear that time called out. The moment of decision is at hand. I don’t look back (ever), but I can tell that there is a runner-less no-man’s land behind me. Before me are five runners and a headwind that could knock your teeth out. Aw hell, if I’m gonna be running this pace I might as well be using those tall freaks up ahead as wind shields.

I pick up the pace, passing the guy immediately in front of me (“red jersey” from now on) as I go. I quietly nestle myself into the pocket of the “flying-V” created by the three chasers. Red jersey has followed me on up. I’m in a sweet spot; not one of the three guys in the V blocking my wind is less than five inches taller than me.

The pace still feels scorching, but apparently we slowed a little (or the mile markers aren’t evenly spaced). “9:33,” announces the person at the two mile mark. At some point we catch Jim and he melds with our group. Not long after that the two guys in Brooks jerseys throw down a little. Two of the racers slip behind my peripheral vision and I have no idea whether or not they are keeping up. I strongly suspect that they are. Jim, one Brooks runner, and I become the new chase pack as the other Brooks runner subtly constructs and expands his lead.

My legs are feeling sub-optimal. I know I have a lot of strength and energy left, but my body is sending signals that it is working just about as hard as it can maintain. At the same time I’m feeling calm. There is no decision left to be made. I have to stay on pace and hang on to these guys. The alternative is falling back into a wasteland without competitors or a chance at a decent finishing place

“14:01”, shouts the person at the three mile marker. We round a turn immediately after the three mile mark and the nearer Brooks runner is gone. He drops behind me so fast that I don’t even think to respond. He must have moved back consciously, or I wasn’t paying close enough attention. It doesn’t matter, I’m in the zone. I see the Brooks runner that has been putting on the lead and suddenly I’m a greyhound with blinders hiding everything but the little mechanical rabbit. I know that it is my responsibility to run him down.

I take the lead and the wind isn’t as bad as before but it’s still there. The breathing and the footsteps right behind me are playing in my ears like a bad horror movie. I juice the pace just a little and then float into cruise control. Though it’s an illusion, it feels effortless and it’s made easier because I know it is exactly what I have to do. Very slowly the horror soundtrack fades. The wind is in my ears and occasionally I hear heavily gloved hands clapping. The race splits intersections with cops stopping traffic. Offhandedly I wonder how long those drivers are going to have to wait or what they think when they are freezing in their cars in a coat and pants and they see guys in tiny shorts and tank tops sprinting past.

I’m so grateful to see the fourth mile marker. No one calls out a time. It doesn’t matter anymore. The race is clearly between me and the Brooks jersey, not the clock. I’m gaining on him too and I’ve seen him look back. That bodes well for me. I close to within ten or twenty meters of him. If I can hold on I just might be able to out kick him. The problem is that I can’t sustain a faster pace for a mile and he is speeding up. It isn’t a dramatic change, but it’s enough to demoralize me.

I think about the racers behind me. I think about missing out on prize money. I don’t signal my negative and defeatist thoughts with a glance over my shoulder, but that merely saves face. The damage is done.

I recover with the comfort that only a mile remains. I try to squeeze a little bit more out of the engines. I project my ki forward. It helps a little. I cut through the wind with a bit more force.

Finally I turn and see the finish line. The wind buffets me head on. My skin turns red as the blood rushes to the cold surface. I tilt my whole body forward and dig in for a fight. The Brooks jersey is also fighting. He has got enough distance and willpower to win. I wage my own battle against the wind and take a solid second.

I see my time on the big clock as I finish, but my frame of mind is abnormal. The brain is not ready to process information. Instead I’m holding myself, trying to warm up the sensitive parts. I notice lots of photographers around the finish line. I wish they weren’t taking so many pictures.

Suddenly a tall stranger obstructs my field of vision. He is addressing me by name. I am unabashedly squinting at his bib. I believe my exact words were, “Who is this?”

It’s Ted Turner. (Williams teammates: yes, that Ted Turner. Everyone else: No, not that Ted Turner.) I’m so used to forgetting names or faces or both that I’m not even embarrassed. “Ted, good to see you.” I did remember who Ted Turner is, I just didn’t recall his face.

“I see you are keeping up your training.”

“Yeah,” I reply. We quickly agree to cool down together and I rush off to my car on a pair of calves that are ossifying (I’m studying for the GRE) rapidly. In my car I experience one of the more pleasurable dressings of my life. A dry-fit hat is my thinking cap. My brain sputters to life. DID YOU SEE YOUR TIME?!?!

“Yes,” I respond. “Is that possible?”

Not only is it possible, it just happened!

“Are you sure? Maybe there was a glitch. It could have been wrong by a minute, or two.”

Nooooo, my brain is getting frustrated at my skepticism. Think about your mile splits and do the math.

“Duh, it hurts. Math is your job.”

Ok, follow along: Mile 1: 4:40, mile 2: 9:33, mile 3: 14:01, mile 4: ?(but not slower, perhaps faster)?, mile 5: 23:30.

“HOLY CRAP! That crushes my previous personal best of 24:50 at Franklin Park by, by… brain?”

A minute and twenty seconds!

Even if the course is a whole minute short that is still a massive personal record in a windy race.

Now you’re getting it.

Have warm clothes, will travel. I joined up with Ted again and we cooled down with the rest of the Indiana Invaders, the team that he now runs for. We talked about the difficulties of training while working and about the experiences of post-collegiate professional running. Ted went to Geneseo College in New York and graduated one year ahead of me. I last saw him at the end of the Boilermaker race the summer before my Senior year (that memory might be off by a year, in which case I last saw him during track season of the same school year).

After my cool down I found my dad who had also run. We gathered some food and talked while waiting for the awards. Jim Jurcevich found me and I felt bad for not having cooled down with him. We talked about the race and I introduced him to my dad. Jim said the course might have been a little short, but certainly not enough to warrant even one minute off.

Jim dismissed his early pace with his typical excuse, “I’m a marathon runner.” He went on about not knowing what pace to run for these “short” races and feeling good at the start. I don’t think I buy it. It was pretty obvious to me that his pace was smoking, and can’t you just key off your competitors? That’s pretty much what I always do.

Finally the awards ceremony began. I appreciated that the announcer read off runners’ average mile paces so I didn’t have to calculate mine myself. I averaged 4:42 and happily accepted my 200 dollar prize money with a smart left-over-right-grab-envelope-while-shaking-race-director’s-hand-and-turning-to-smile-at-the-camera. Look for that picture soon. It’s a winner.

Unfortunately, I soon learned that the energy expenditure combined with the lack of proper clothing in the cold comes with a steep price. I fell asleep Saturday evening at 8:30 pm and lay in bed restlessly for around seven hours. Unbearable hot sweaty sensations alternated with chills and shivers to keep me awake long enough for screaming idiotic high school boys to keep me up the rest of the time. I don’t recall the time between 3 am and 7:30 am, so I guess I slept then. I stayed in bed all of the next day except for meals and one trip to the health center to find out I had a 102 degree fever.

The temperature came down in twenty-four hours, but the illness persisted. Hopefully I can knock it out shortly and get back to training for the Penn Relays 10K. If my time last Saturday is any indication breaking my 10K PR should be a piece of cake.

By the way, did you notice I have a new sponsor? Garbl’s online grammar guides is paying me per hyphen. I made a boatload on this write-up.

Official results:
EVENT: 5 Mile Run
NAME: Neal Holtschulte
OVERALL PLACE 2 out of 731
PLACE IN AGE DIVISION: 2 out of 20
FINISH TIME: 23:30.0
PACE PER MILE: 4:42

Links:
Polar Bear Run 07
Results

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