KINGSTON CLASSIC 2009

"Bring the heat!" is a cheer that should be saved for baseball. It should never, ever, be applied to running. Ironically, I can't recall either of the two baseball movies (The Rookie *Yawn* and The Bad News Bears pretty damn funny, not kid appropriate) we watched in the hotel using the phrase.

"We" consisted of myself, Fontana Fluke, Andy Crawford, Chris Byler, Jen Malik, Katie Derusso, Jess Snyder, and Trisha Byler. For Fontana and Katie, mid-distance specialist in college, this would be their debut 10K. We drove down to Kingston, NY in two cars on Saturday for the Sunday race. The drive went smoothly, though I was forced to wake up the snoozing ladies in the back seat by veering into those ridges lining the highway that make a loud noise to wake up sleeping drivers. I can confirm that they work just as well at startling passengers awake.

We did a lot of waiting in Kingston. On Saturday night, after eating delicious pizza at a local pizzeria with a rude (suffering from drug withdrawal?) waitress, we watched The Rookie and learned that I'm a prodigy at the card game Dog Match. Unfortunately I'm some kind of an idiot savant because I went 2-0 in Dog Match immediately followed by going 0-2 in Old Maid.

Sunday morning we enjoyed The Bad News Bears and Napoleon Dynamite while we waited for the 1 pm start. Why was the race scheduled so late in the day? My theory is that the race director postponed it in deference to visiting Venusians more accustomed to temperatures in the 800 degrees Fahrenheit range.

Eight runners plus my mom (she swung by to watch the race) dawdled in the one hotel room that the front desk attendant let us keep past the normal checkout time. We tested the heat during a brief trek to pick up packets and bring them back to the hotel. Yep, we confirmed. It's hot. I ran into Ted Turner, former Geneseo runner and all american, during this excursion. He's been busy racing recently, but says he's still getting back into training. Here's a free tip Ted, reverse that, try again.

Back in the hotel we drew out all the little activities (stretching, pinning on numbers, attaching timing chips) to fill the time. A few people went for a warm up and returned to the hotel. I opted to wait until even closer to race time, then jogged straight over to the line in flats and a singlet, ready to go. My 5-10 minute warm up felt sufficient, but I didn't feel particularly light or fast. I don't know why.

The heat (85 degrees F) was not oppressive when standing around, but the sun beamed unimpeded. On the start line a shadow covered us. It was instantly cooling and a murmur of pleasure rippled through the crowd. I looked up. The cloud was tiny, an eye patch neatly and briefly shielding us from the sun. It did not last.

The race began on an upward incline. Waiting for the "gun" I was literally standing on slanted ground. When the starting air horn sounded I slid off the line and kept my head down and my body leaning forward until the road flattened. There were three Africans (I think they were Kenyans) in our lead troop, Ted Turner was on my left, Fontana was off my right shoulder, one other runner with the same build as Turner (tallish, skinny, brown hair, this is an awful description) stuck with us, and the rest of the GVH men, and then women moved off the line just behind.

I had intended to start conservatively and even in the first mile I felt loyal to this plan. The pace felt smooth and sustainable. The Africans led and I fell neatly into the protected space of a "flying V".

A little boy with a hose stood by the side of the road obliviously raining down water solely upon himself as we ran by. My mouth was dry, as was my skin and hair which I had wet just prior to the race.

We approached our first water stop of the many liberally (essentially) sprinkled throughout the course. I knew that I needed to extend my arm, then pull it back towards my body to reduce the relative velocity between my hand and the stationary water bottle held out by a volunteer, but theory and practice don't always match up. I slapped a water bottle, failed to close my hand around it, and sent it whirling and glugging to the pavement. I wasn't the only one with a mishap so I felt like less of a dunce charging through mile one dry with the clock reading 4:56.

After nearly running up into the bed of the photographers' pickup truck while one camerman cursed the driver, two of the kenyans and Turner put a gap on the rest of us. Fontana realized he was out too fast and eased off. My immediate vicinity got lonely except for the one Ted-like non-African who stayed close behind. My two mile split was 9:36, which I am convinced was innaccurately low. Downhill or no, I don't think we sped up that much.

Turner came back and I encouraged him to come with me as I passed. I would have liked to have helped him out, but he decided that the pace he could sustain was slower. The other guy fell off me and I was left alone.

Behind me, many of the Genesee Valley Harriers and other top runners were having the same experience I was having. We formed a string of clay beads, widely spaced, baking in the kiln, we struggled to hold our paces all alone. Very few passes were made after the second mile. Maybe our brains were too fried to play mind games. Drafting was less desirable because wind was a source of cooling so we felt no need to close in. Loneliness seems colder than company.

With a few notable exceptions, the race became boring up front for spectators. The buffers between us widened. Each runner was concerned about the runner behind them. I certainly was. With everyone thinking backwards few passes were made. A few exceptions: Fontana dueled with people for much of the race and Chad, a self described never-all-american, passed D3 stud Ted Turner and crossed Turner off his list.

I split 5k in 15:30, on pace for my estimate and goal time, but I'd been feeling sluggish and heavy for a mile already. I slowed to something I thought I could maintain. Independently, most people behind me did the same. Nothing changed.

There were numerous blessed water stations and I didn't miss a single one after that first mishap. I slowed slightly and grabbed bottles with a 2-handed frisbee-clap. Unfortunately, my improved water acquisition skills didn't solve my drinking problem. I waterboarded myself at each station, moistening my lungs about as much as my stomach. I also weighed down my shirt and hair with water. Though that was on purpose and a lot harder to screw up.

The course is billed as flat and fast, but is noticeably rolling, or more accurately: continuously inclined. We seemed to shallowly ascend or descend the entire way. I slowed a lot on the ups and didn't get much benefit from the downs, but the guy behind me slowed more and my position remained safe.

Cutting tangents took me away from shade. A hairpin sapped me. A bagpipe player at the turn-around reminded me of the Boilermaker 15K, but when you hear the bagpipes in that race, less than a quarter mile remains. Much more than that stood before me.

On the way back I gave "thumbs ups" of encouragement to the other GVHers. Jen vocalized a cheer in response. I appreciated the effort, but kept my breath. The race needed to end soon.

The slog continued. Later I would find my feet pounded into fine shapes: blood blisters that needed lancing, squarish toes, painful wrinkles of skin on the sides of the balls of my feet as if the skin had fled there to escape the hammering. Jess and I had a lancing party.

The last mile was one of the few that seemed to go quickly. I stepped onto the track and looked up to see a banner with "FINISH" written across it in bold capitals. Its siren song called to me, then I had to veer awkwardly to avoid colliding with a barrier on the track that steered me in the other direction. 300 more meters then I could cross that finish line from the other direction.

A band of drummers on the infield brought us in. I finished just under 32 minutes.

A race volunteer did not ask permission, but did warn me before pouring most of a shockingly cold water bottle on my head. Fontana got the same treatment and said it made his chest clench up for a moment. I guess I was lucky to be bent over and most of the water drained off my head straight to the ground. Katie is shown here about to get the cold water treatment:

It was a stellar day for GVH with all seven runners plus our Brockport Distance Project hanger-on in the top 15. (Just kidding Trisha.)

Crawford said it right, "Nothing like acclimating to the heat by running a hard race on the first hot day, during the hottest part of the day." It's gotta get easier from here on in.

3.	Neal Holtschulte  31:53       $300.00
6.	Chad Byler        33:12       $220.00
10.	Fontana Fluke     34:37       $140.00
15.	Andy Crawford     36:39       $ 40.00

7.	Jess Snyder       41:29       $200.00
8.	Jen Malik         42:29       $180.00
11.	Katie Derusso     45:35       $120.00

Newspaper article

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