2010 Flower City Half Marathon
Pre Race
Saturday zipped by in the peculiar mix of restlessness and un-motivation particular only to weekends. The productivity meter barely registered anything at all. I had plans to write some fiction, work on some computer programs, and study in preparation for grad school, but alas, my new xbox game, Borderlands, arrived in the mail on Friday. What could I do? I played and when my internet connection spazzed out I read science fiction (Starfire by Charles Sheffield - I recommend it, but anyone who doesn’t like the genre will be put off by the science).
Pre-race dinner was pizza at Eric Peskor and Jamie Fragnito’s joint birthday party. I wasn’t worried about the content of my meal. Lots of calories was what I needed. I ate late, 8 to 9 pm. Race start was 7:30 am the next morning. I didn’t plan on waking up early enough to eat breakfast, which is not typical for the morning of a 13.1 mile race, but I figured that a late high-calorie dinner was sufficient and in the end I think it was. Maybe this was a mistake.
Race Day
I wake up naturally at 6 am to use the bathroom, which is typical for me and highly unwelcome most mornings. Today I’m grateful and I take the opportunity to silence my infernal cell phone alarm before it can sing and chirp and whatever the hell else it does.
I arrive at the race feeling great, perhaps due to the fact that I did not have to search for parking. Also, the weather is perfect: cool, breezy, a misting drizzle that lets up as the race begins. I warm up for less than two miles, running easy in heavy clothes to stay warm. I feel confident about this half marathon, I mean, I can already shave 50 seconds off my previous time just by getting to the starting line early.
On the line I meet two out-of-towners from the Willow Street Athletic Club: Andrew Allstadt and Scott Mindel. One of them recognizes me, addresses me by name, and asks me what my race plan is. I simply cannot remember people I have only met a few times. Part of the issue is that I don’t follow running like a fan, but part of it is just me.
I answer his question honestly: my plan is to run under 1:09 (69 min), but to start off slow, like a 5:20 (5 min 20 sec) mile slow. He responds: "Wow, really?" But I don’t know if he is surprised by sub 1:09 or 5:20.
They ask who the other top runners are and I simply wave my arm at everyone on my left: Mark Andrews (Fleet Feet), Dave Bradshaw (GVH), Ryan Pauling (GVH), and Derick Jones.
After the national anthem, the race starts with a verbal "ready, set, go." A bit unprofessional, but at least there isn’t any verbal dallying. DJ and Andy take the lead off the line. The rest of us stay right on them. During the first mile I’m thinking that our pace feels a wee bit fast. I should trust my instincts. We come through in 5:05, ten seconds faster than the first mile of the last 15K I ran.
I back off immediately, cycle myself to the back of the pack. Eventually, the rest of the leaders, except for Andy and DJ, slow down. I’m grateful. There’s already a gap behind us and I don’t want to run alone, partly because there is a light wind, which (of course) seems to blow in our faces no matter how many 90 degree right turns we make, but it’s 13 miles. I should be more relaxed this early. There’s a lot of real estate remaining. A lot of ground can be made up.
Second mile pace is about 5:17. Fine by me. Andy and DJ drop another 5:05 and a big gap opens up. Pauling isn’t with us anymore, so it’s Mark, Dave, me and Scott in the chase pack.
Third mile is 5:15. Relief. We’re back on pace. I’m feeling chatty so I turn to Dave and say "good pace".
Soon DJ drops off Andy’s pace. He can’t hang with our chase pack long either and falls behind. It’s down to the four of us chasing one Willow Street guy with a collossal lead. He must have 100 to 150 meters on us at least.
In miles 4 to 7 little changes. After the race I heard Scott saying that it was nice running together. That’s how it felt, together rather than against each other. But he also said we all seemed to share the lead without getting wrapped up in tactical nonsense. I felt the camaradarie, but cringed when he said that last bit. Yes, the lead was partly shared, but I’m pretty sure I carried most of it.
That was my choice. The wind didn’t feel too bad and I felt the need to keep the pace at or under 5:15, but I didn’t feel like I was getting a lot of help. Maybe I’m just sour because of how things turned out.
To be sure, I was worrying in miles 4 to 7. I did not feel as good as I should have felt staring down the 6 mile barrel. I like to run a half marathon as a 6 mile warm up and a 7 mile race. It’s way easier, but running 5:15 pace did not feel easy the way I wanted it to.
Mile 6 or 7: we hit the first of a number of substantial hills. I ease off the pace, but maintain effort. At this point, I certainly do not lead, nor do I feel very strong, but I maintain. I drop my arm swing lower, quicken while shortening my stride.
Our pace drops to 5:30 and our 4-man band gets shaken up. Dave fades. Some downhills take one mile split down to nearly 5 minutes flat, but the rest are slow around 5:15. Mark, Scott, and I roll up Highland and enter Mt. Hope Cemetery. The cobblestones on a brief steep up hill are murder on our feet.
My legs are ready to give up rather than climb an ant hill. Each uphill feels like I’ve already been pounding a stair-climber for hours, but the downhills are a completely different story. I let my legs out and rush down them.
My race plan had been to relax up until the hills and then hit my competitors with a surge just as the difficulty of the course reached its pinnacle. Instead I’d lacked confidence going into the hills and felt physically deadened by each ascent, but the downhills gave me a second wind. I come flying down and just keep on going at the same gravity-enhanced pace. It feels great. I can do this all day.
Miles 8-10 are all cemetery. By the time we’re through Scott has fallen behind Mark and I, and the two of us have gained significantly on Andy. This, along with my second wind, thrill me. I feel chatty again, turn to Mark, "He’s coming back." I grin.
We exit the cemetery and turn at the river past the University of Rochester. Our pace drops to near 5 minutes flat. We gain steadily on Andy. I lead and it seems to me that Mark is having trouble matching my pace. He drops off a bit then surges back. I tell myself over and over that this is a sign that he’s hurting more than I am. Oh yeah, the hurt is back. Fatigue squeezes my legs and doubts clamber for attention, but I must focus now. My body will not coast at this speed without constant, full attention.
We reach mile 11. Andy is within spitting distance, then we stop gaining on him. I think he has known for a long time that we were catching him. Now when he is a mere 2 or 3 seconds ahead of us, he puts in a surge to match our pace. I put in another surge. I want to be right next to him going into that last mile, but he’s got eyes in the back of his head and changes his pace to match.
Nothing changes. This is horribly frustrating. We came so far and now that he’s close enough to poke with a pool cleaner we aren’t gaining on him. No problem, I think. We’ll cross the Ford street bridge and then it’s downhill. I’ve felt phenomenal on the downhills. I’ll go all out there and get both of them.
We reach the final mile marker and Mark surges ahead so precisely that I have no doubt he’s been waiting for this landmark to make his move. So much for him hurting more than I am. A steep little corkscrew sends us up to the bridge and I lose some ground. My legs feel like crap on these uphills. The distance between us isn’t irrecoverable though.
I get over the bridge and put in the surge just as I’d promised myself. I start gaining on Mark and Andy, but not much. I tell myself, it’s okay, you’ve still got a mile. Then I stop gaining on them. Not okay.
I surge, but can’t hold it, so I surge again. The slightest fazing of my concentration and I slow. My legs are heavy. Half a mile to go and I’m not running so much as lunging from foot to foot. I’ve got no endurance left, my competitors are so damn close, and the race is almost over, so I sprint. The speed doesn’t last.
It’s over and I know it. My form deteriorates. I hold it together as well as I can. My head wobbles. Stop it! The soles of my battered feet lag against the pavement... sweet, restful pavement. Stop it!
My arms keep swinging strong, saying to my legs, "come on, keep going, swing like us, we won’t let you down," but my legs reply, "you bastards, how dare you suggest your suffering is anything like ours."
The crowds of spectators grow thicker along the roadside. They help me keep my head up. They help me resist looking back.
I cross the line in third with abundant relief. My suffering was never headachy, dizziness, stomach cramps, or breathing related. It was all in my legs and they could finally rest.
Post Race
I congratulate Mark and Andy immediately. I have breath enough to repeat, "What a race! What a race! You don’t see many half marathons that close." I’m still high off the thought that I almost had a huge come back for the win. Somehow the memory of that last half mile failure is already suppressed. Whatever. I hightail it to the food.
I scoop a glob of peanut butter out of a tub and plop it onto a banana. Normally I prefer chunky peanut butter, but sometimes you just don’t want to bother with chewing.
Scarfing down sweet and salty bliss I wonder if part of my problem had been a lack of food. I didn’t consume anything but water before the race and nothing at all during it. Admitting to this feels like opening myself to getting lambasted for a rookie mistake, but at the time I thought nothing of my choice.
I only had a bit of water during my last half marathon (but I had eaten some breakfast that morning). I guess I’ll try eating more next time.
Somehow I doubt that a bit of food in my stomach would have kept me from losing an abysmal 20 seconds in the last mile.
Interviews:
Women’s winner: Jen Adams
Runner up: Mark Andrews
3rd and 5th: Neal Holtschulte and Dave Bradshaw
Top 5 results: 1. Andrew Allstadt (1:07:59) 2. Mark Andrews (1:08:04) 3. Neal Noltschulte (1:08:24) 4. Scott Mindel (1:09:16) 5. Dave Bradshaw (1:09:30)
(I hope Morgan and Showtime are happy.)
I improved my previous best of 1:09:15 by 46 seconds so I’m not disappointed. If someone had told me beforehand the time I was going to run I would have thought that I was destined to win the race. I’ve got no complaints.
Complaining in general is not worth the time and energy. Life is too short.
Pete Glavin’s battle with brain cancer ended two days before the race on April 23rd. Pete was an integral part of the Rochester community, especially GVH and many local races. My thoughts are with Pete and his family.
