08 Indoor Track At RIT

Alternative title: Eleven Hours Early and One Hour Late

Sometimes I am a doofus who makes a huge kludge out of things. A number of times I have screwed up going to or coming from races. This is one such story. It begins at 6:15 am (7:15 am with the time change). I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, throw on my running clothes, and zip out the door. I run along the mostly empty roads feeling terribly pleased with myself for saving gas by running to the track meet. I'm saving time too since I won't need to do a warm up. When I arrive, people are filtering into the building. I over hear them talking about Basketball. When I ask the guy selling tickets where to get tickets for the track meet, he replies "What track meet?" A nice RIT girl informs me that the track meet is definitely in the evening. I failed to read or see or comprehend the p.m. that is written no less than seven times on the website.

So I ran home and had one of those dreadful days where there is plenty to do and no motivation to do any of it, but there is just enough energy to feel uneasy about not doing any of it. I survived, and as I was putting on my running clothes to go run to the meet again my dad calls. I tell him that I need to get going because of the track meet. He says, "Oh yeah! The track meet. Neal, it's 7:30!" I calmly inform him that it is currently 6:30 and I have plenty of time. He says, "No, it's 7:30. There was a time change." I forgot about the damn time change.

I hang up, leap into my car (global warming be damned), and rush over to RIT. The guys at the registration desk inform me that the event on the track is the two mile, the longest event of the day. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Only three events remain: the 55 m dash, the 800 m, and the 4 x 200 relay. I sigh, say that the 800 really isn't my event (I wish I hadn't said that), and head for the exit. Before I reach the door I realize how silly this is. I turn back around and plop my ten dollars down and say, "What the hell. Let's make the most of this." I wish I hadn't been so theatrical about the whole affair.

My typical warm up philosophy is, the shorter the race, the more you warm up. Also, for races I consider very short, such as the 800, stretch your calves so they don't explode like cherry bombs. I did my best to stay true to both philosophies in the limited time I had.

An older guy, who was clearly running in the race, asked me what I was hoping to run. I told him honestly I had no idea. He said he was hoping to run 2:12. I said that I would be faster than that, but other than that I couldn't really say. I told him honestly that I had not raced an 800 in six years. (I'm not counting the odd college spring break relay.)

Everyone, men and women, high school kids through parents of high school kids, was put in the same heat. The starter tried to organize us by speed, but about ten of thirteen people said they planned to run between 2:05 and 2:10. I just tried to start with the fast guys. My race plan: run real fast. Try to run faster at the end. It's only an 800. How much can go wrong?

Well, nothing went wrong. I got off the line fine. We did a water fall start. Unimpeded, I cut in after the first turn. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't cutting anyone off and slid into lane one. The lead runner pulled away from me, but I held second comfortably. Third place and all the rest charged around the track behind me, but I didn't get the sense they were champing at the bit to pass.

We slid through the first lap in thirty seconds. Hot! I felt momentary worry that it was too fast. Seconds later I worried that I wasn't going fast enough. Seconds after that I settled. Second lap: sixty seconds. Double-Hot! The third lap was a familiar affair: one minute thirty-one seconds.

I kicked into high gear, which I had known throughout the race that I still had. I hate estimating distances, but I'd say I closed a five meter gap on the lead guy in one-hundred meters. I caught him on the last curve and didn't wait to pass him. He accelerated and we rounded the turn side by side, but I knew I had him. I sprinted in the outside lane and he merely kept up. We hit the final straight-away and I pulled away from him for the win.

After all my moping and drama, I end up winning the damn race. What an odd day.

Sadly, the results have me nowhere near breaking the two minute barrier. Either the split-giver or the final time is wrong. Unfortunately, the final time gets the benefit of the doubt. Still, 2:04.35 is undoubtedly my new 800 PR. That's worth something.

A random group of local guys, in need of a third runner, recruited me into their 4 x 200 squad. The extra 200 felt very uncomfortable. I didn't have time to get into a groove. Also, I have no idea what I ran for it. Afterwards I cooled down with Jeremy Cook, a freshman at RIT. We jabbered about running. To be honest, I think I uncharacteristically jabbered and he mostly listened. I felt pretty pepped up after my day in the life of a sprinter.

Next weekend: A St Patrick's day race with big money on the line!