2010 Cornell Kane Invitational

Viewed as the challenge of rounding a 200 meter oval as fast as possible, indoor (and outdoor) track is quite boring, but this is such a narrow view. When all the other competitors are incorporated into the setting each race becomes unique as different moves are made, different paces and strategies attempted, and different outcomes resulting.

Last Saturday (Feb 13th) Chad and Trisha Byler, and I carpooled down to Cornell for an indoor track meet, a beast I've not wrangled in a long time.

We all ran the 5K, a dizzying 25 loops around the tight corners of the 200 meter track.

My race plan was to get out fast on the first lap to avoid the crush of bodies, then settle. I would take the lead only if forced by a slowing pace or nearness of the finish line.

The military says that plans never survive first contact with the enemy, but usually a race plan lasts a little longer than that. Not so on this day.

I blink, the gun goes off, elbows on both sides push me back and it seems like everyone fills into the space in front of me. Angrily I get up on the heels of the nearest runner and attempt to make up for the start with a bit of delayed aggression. I push back on guys closing towards the rail from the outer lane, but it's like trying to hold up a house made of marbles. So I settle on the first lap and come through in 37 seconds. My goal pace is 35.5 seconds per lap, no more. 36 seconds per lap adds 12.5 seconds to my overall time and that would certainly drop my finishing rank.

After the first lap everybody settles down and the pack stretches into a train no more than double wide. There is no question in my mind of relaxing. If the leaders make a move there's no way I'll be able to cover it from so far back in the pack. So I surge, doing precisely the opposite of the original fast-then-slow strategy I had intended.

I have no problem capturing one or two spots per lap even if that means moving into lane three, but the race is young. The pace feels fast, but I've got to move up. Noise from the crowd drowns out my splits on the first few laps. Later I'll find out that they are not too fast and mostly right on pace. Nonetheless, it feels effortful to be passing so many so early.

I keep moving up. At one point a guy surges up and passes me on the outside. I look at him and know exactly what he's going to do. Don't you dare, but he moves in front of me and slows down. I pass him a half lap later and seriously consider giving him a piece of my mind as I blow by. I keep it to myself, but I hope he saw me leaving him in the dust.

Just before the first mile elapses I move up into fourth place, just behind the three runners who seem to be not only holding on, but doing so with confidence. The leader is still the rabbit, a runner who holds a designated pace for part of the race before dropping out. The rabbit is running a steady 35.5 seconds per lap pace after a fast initial start.

Finally in the position I had hoped to be in after one lap, I expect the rabbit to step off the track and test the mettle of the two Cornell guys ahead of me, but he stays in and looks comfortable. I wonder if maybe he's not really a rabbit at all, but a racer playing head games with the rest of us.

At this point the race could go any way. I begin to tire. The track pounds up through the soles of my feet. Potential blisters burn in my shoes.

I wonder if I can hold this pace. You might think the doubts die after fourteen years of racing, but I'm not sure they ever do. I still think how nice it would feel to slow down.

The three leaders show no signs of weakness. As a group they pull away from me just a little and I speed up to close the gap. A few steps later I nearly run up on their heels and have to hit the brakes. The next time they pull away I do nothing to stop them. It's a bit nerve wracking, even with over a mile to go, and I'm only talking about giving them an arm's length more, but I've got no background on these guys. I have no idea what they are capable of. All I know is that their seed times are in the 14:40 to 14:50 range, and since there is no oversight to the seed times (I entered 14:50 for myself but could have written anything I wanted) this information is virtually meaningless.

The gap widens a little then holds steady. They didn't get far and I get the benefit of a more stable pace, none of this braking and accelerating like a yo-yo. An overeager pursuer could have marked me as weak and tried to pass. This would have been annoying at worst. I would have closed the gap. No vacancy. I think that our lead group had pulled away by this point. No one ended up joining us.

The middle mile drags on, but the spectators quiet and I hear splits again. Everything is dead on. 35.4 seconds. 35.7 seconds. You run enough, you get that accurate. Human metronomes.

The second Cornell guy fades a little. I give him 100 meters before passing into position right behind the leader and rabbit. This is the first sign of weakness he's given and it's also the last. He doesn't come back.

At the close of mile two the rabbit veers out into the outer lanes and we are on our own. It occurs to me that if sitting and kicking is my strategy, I ought to start thinking about kicking. Unfortunately, I don't want to make the effort. Just let this guy take me through one more lap, please. I follow for a lap, but he is slowing. The pace hiccups to 37 seconds. I pass him and with just under a mile remaining confident that this race is over. He just lets me go by without a fight. I drop a lap in 35 seconds then settle back to my prior pace around 36 seconds flat.

It's possible the Cornell guy is drafting and waiting to outkick me. (I can't hear breathing or footfalls in this noisy arena.) If so, I tip my hat to you sir, but I don't think so. I just don't feel that presence; no scuffs on my heels, no shadow, no one literally breathing down my neck.

On a 200 meter track four laps is eight hundred meters. Mid-race it's hard to remember that. Four seems like such a big number, but a half mile is not much real estate. It's time to accelerate again, but I'm feeling impertinent. I don't wanna.

Compromise: One more lap and then you have to eat your vegetables, or, you know, drop another second off per lap. Except I've reached the point where increased effort is merely a check on decreased speed. The Red Queen paradox, only worse, you have to go faster than before, just to stay where you are.

But in the end, I'm still feeling quite strong. I accelerate more at four hundred remaining, and even more on the bell lap. I win by a comfy five seconds.

My lap splits are:
37 - Boxed in
35 - Moving up
34
36
35
35
35
36 - Finally settling into position
End of mile one
35
36
36
34
36
35
35
35
End of mile 2
37
35 - Taking the lead
36
36
35
37 - Compromise
34 - Accelerating
35
End of mile 3
34 - Accelerating again just to hold pace

Splits courtesy of Andy Crawford.

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