Johnny’s Running of the Green 2010

March 13th, is the date of the Gate River Run in Jacksonville, Florida. The race doubles as the USATF 15K Championships. I’m trying to save a dime by booking a flight to Jacksonville that leaves late Friday (the 12th) and doesn’t get in until midnight, which is far from ideal for a race that starts at 8 am the next morning. Plus the money savings becomes a moot point for me personally when I learn that GVH will compensate me for travel expenses and I’m not even saving anything because when I arrive I’ll have to shell out money for a cab out of pocket because the athlete shuttles stop going to the airport at 6 pm.

This all leaves me feeling a bit stupid, but things don’t look too bad until the flight delays start rolling in. Apparently there are forty mile per hour winds in New York City and everything is getting backed up as the hub gets congested.

Sitting in the airport reading the 2008 Science Fiction Best of the Year anthology edited by Rich Horton, I’m content. So I’ll get in to Florida a little late. No big deal. I’ll rest on the plane.

But the flight time keeps getting pushed back and the queue for the airline rep’s desk is getting longer and longer as people try to reschedule their flights and figure out how to make their connections. I finally decide to take action and after over an hour standing in line I get answers to all my questions in less than three minutes.

Can I get to Jacksonville Florida by 8 am tomorrow?
No.

Really? There’s no possibility.
No. (Plus an explanation.)

(I put on my stern face) Alright then, I want a refund.
(Politely, even perkily) Of course, Sir!

(Taken aback) Really? It’s that easy?
Yes.

Great.

So I go home and eat the foot-long tuna sub I bought at the airport Subway when I was concerned I wouldn’t have time to get dinner between my connecting flights. I call up the USATF Niagara president and Coach Reif, and tell them both that I’ll run Johnny’s Running of the Green instead.

I show up for Johnny’s on Saturday morning and there’s already a bib number set aside for me. It’s bib number one. How is that even possible? Probably because Jeff Eggleston (last year’s winner) dropped out of this year’s race due to illness.

Jeff Gallo, C. Fred Joslyn, and Mark Andrews are all still in the race and eager for the win so this is not going to be a cakewalk no matter what my bib number proclaims. Also the sky is hissing and spitting, and seeming to threaten that if we forget the Olde Gods on this unofficial St. Patty’s Day it will unleash thunder, lightning, and a bitter cold downpour.

The race starts in a new location this year sort-of. The entire course is backed up a few hundred meters and hooked around a corner, but otherwise identical to previous years. This change, however, gives us a nice downhill start to kick things off. I get off the line smoothly and am surprised to find myself more or less out front, though all the frontrunners are side by side.

I keep the pace reasonable, we turn the corner onto last year’s course, and the gradual uphill begins. The pace slows a bit. Joslyn moves up and I perch just off his shoulder. The penalty for drafting closely is that I have to eat the muddy rain water he’s kicking up. Mile one rolls by in 4:56. Not too shabby, but easily sustainable for most of us. I expected at least one maniac to blaze the asphalt in something forty-ish.

Our little front group crosses the bridge at Ford street. There are four of us: Me, Gallo, Joslyn, and Andrews. Four is an awkward number. Somebody here is going home without any cash prizes.

The course is almost a straight-shot out and back, the wind beginning at our backs. I want to thin the pack before we face the wind and have to deal with the tactics of drafting so I accelerate to sub-4:50 for mile two.

Last year the turn around point was ambiguous and deserted. This year there is a semi-circle of cones next to a sign that says "turn-around" and more cops than a stolen donut truck pursuit. We turn and it’s into the wind for the duration.

This is where we are supposed to find out who has the most confidence in their finishing kick and who would rather rely on their endurance to push to the 24:30 two-hundred dollar time bonus despite the wind, but that’s not what happens. Instead we each lead some and draft some. The pace slows, but no one is willing to suck it up and hold the lead, letting everyone else draft. Neither is anyone willing to let the pace slow too much, so we all rotate back and forth like the chambers of a revolver in Russian Roulette, each of us hoping the other guy’s legs will get shot.

We put on a good show for the the joggers and slower runners on the opposite side of the street. They cheer like mad at the sight of a tight, four-man race outfront. Each of us is eager to turn this into a boring one-man race.

Gallo makes a major move, driving the pace down and putting a few desperate strides between himself and the rest of us. He doesn’t last and fades hard. Joslyn puts in his own surge just before we re-cross the bridge. He is three strides ahead of us by the suddenness alone. I accelerate and narrow the gap. The two of us separate from Andrews with Gallo trailing behind him.

Joslyn and I cross the bridge and swing on to Exchange Boulevard. We are really cutting our teeth on the wind now. I try to draft, but I’m not getting much of a buffer from Joslyn. I mark the buildings ahead in my mind: that’s where I’ll surge into the lead. I move up and push the pace, but the buildings aren’t helping at all. The wind billows in my face. I lean against it, but the fatigue and mental games begin. I tell myself to speed up, hear silly things in my mind like "This is mile five. It should hurt more." The wind resists, but I just have to get close enough to the finish to out-sprint Joslyn.

Finally the final turn is in sight. I plan on sprinting as soon as I round the corner. It’s the obvious landmark to start a kick, but if I delay and Joslyn starts his sprint, I’ll lose the one-stride lead that I’ve got on him. There’s no option in my mind. If he can do no more than match my pace I’ll have him.

I round the turn, angle towards the finish chute (still a good 300 meters away), and launch into my top gear. The finish is uphill, but I’m not slowing. I’m confident I’ve got the win in the bag. With forty meters to go Joslyn rockets by me with an incredible kick. I’ve got no other gear. He wins by two seconds.

I’m totally surprised by the speed, intensity, and frankly, the lateness of the kick. If I’d had one more gear, his monster kick might have been too little too late.

Afterward we congratulate each other on an awesome race. I’m not upset at all. As I told him, I made no tactical mistakes, showed no weakness, and executed my plan. We are both exhilarated by the close head-to-head race. How many people in the world are so evenly matched? It’s thrilling without any animosity, like the fight between Rocky and Apollo Creed suggested at the very end of Rocky III.

Post-race interviews:

DNC Write up