2010 Mountain Goat Run
Pre race
Rochester weather has been flirting with warmth for a few weeks now and the burst of snow (yes, snow) last Tuesday was probably the last death rattle of winter. The early-morning drive to the race, a mere five days later, was uncomfortable in a car without air conditioning. Eventually the ambient temperature reached 80 degrees with oppressive humidity. The forecast had called for rain. It would have been a welcome relief.
After Johnny’s Running of the Green, C Fred Joslyn suggested that GVH get a team together for the Mountain Goat 10 miler in Syracuse on May 2nd. With little effort I put together a team composed of myself, Andy Crawford, Jim Derick, Jen Malik, and Jess Snyder (teams had to be 5 people with at least 2 women).
Jess and Jim drove up separate from the rest of us. They had planned on running this race regardless. Jen, Andy, and I drove together. We got the last parking spot in a relatively convenient lot. At least I think it was a parking spot. Other cars might have avoided it because it was actually a small lake. Andy was forced to muck up his pristine new racing flats. We all carefully heel-walked out of the water to keep our socks dry. Silly us. Our socks would be soaked with sweat by the end of the race. Our skin would be caked with dried sweat. I would wet my hair at each water station and it would dry between them resulting in tightly wound curls with the consistency of old, dried up spaghetti noodles.
Unlike last week, I ate breakfast; a delicious peanut butter and banana sandwich. This was a no-brainer since the race didn’t begin until 10:15.
Race
The race went off with a bang. I stepped off the line smoothly. Other runners charged ahead, but I held back. People generally seemed to keep the lid on their enthusiasm except for one jokester with dreadlocks, compression shorts, and calf-high socks who sprinted ahead to wave for the cameras, shouted at spectators, and generally seemed to not take the race very seriously. None of us paid him much attention. Every race has some fool like that. Except that the guy turned out to be a good runner and placed top 20, much to the annoyance of everyone after him.
With a name like "mountain goat" you might expect steep rural terrain and you’d be half right. The course was steep. Before mile one my feet were pounding up urban inclines.
Also, there were supposedly goats at mile two, but no one I know saw them.
Mile one went down in 5:19. Then the hills got worse and the mile splits became meaningless. It’s not that the hills were excessively tall or long, but they were frequent and scattered throughout the race course. I quickened my turnover, shortened my stride, and relaxed my shoulders. The basic mechanics saved me. I slowed, but I wasn’t beaten.
The downhills were the worst part. They weren’t smooth or gradual. They afforded no efficient payout of the potential energy invested with the ascent. Instead the road fell away like a rollercoaster and the energy came out in one big wasteful explosion. My feet pounded the pavement, braking with every impact. My arms clawed at the air, seeking stability, trying to spontaneously evolve into wings. Despite my effort to slow on these mad descents, I gained on the runners ahead of me.
Early in the race, I was unsure that I would gain on any one. By the first mile mark, I was alone. Seven guys had surged ahead of me. One lead by a sizable margin, the rest chased in a tight pack. I chased them, and behind me, everyone else followed. The runner behind me was not physically far away at first, but I couldn’t hear him and the mental distance was infinite except for a few instances of doubt when my own pace sagged during the race.
I didn’t expect the strong contingent ahead of me to come back. I’d have been quite happy with 8th place. Even when the first guy drifted back from the nucleus of the chase pack, I didn’t think much of it. He still had a hundred meter lead on me, but 10 miles is a long race. Just consider last weekend. Oh yeah, I raced a half marathon and still had not fully recovered. My left heel felt bruised from stomping down hills in Mt. Hope Cemetery and the downhills here were ten times worse.
The other reasons I didn’t have the predator mind set were that I did not feel fast and I was getting heat-chills by mile two.
I didn’t feel fast early in the race or on the downhills. Running felt effortful and tedious. When I say I gained on other racers, I mean that they slowed and I maintained. Mile one was 5:19. My final overall pace was 5:24. My effort level remained fairly constant. My pace danced to the tune of the hills.
The other factor was the heat. The air was soupy with humidity. Bottles of this air could keep a man alive in the Sahara. I shivered with false-cold before reaching the second mile. In the half marathon last Sunday I didn’t pause for a single cup of water while I ran. At the mountain goat, there was no question that I would utilize all five water stations and the numerous sprinklers and hoses spraying cooling mist across the race course.
My fear of a lonesome 10 mile race was premature. My first victim strayed from the pack ahead of me and drifted back ever so slowly. Over the course of a mile and a half I gradually gained. Suppose my estimate is correct and he was 100 m ahead of me. Suppose also it took me 7 minutes to finally pass him. That means I closed the distance of one meter (about 3 feet) every 4 seconds. Yes, I’m estimating all this willy nilly, but that gives a good idea of the molasses slow change. Less than one foot per second.
Yet, this slow gain was a blessing to me. It kept me occupied, goal-oriented, and positive. One runner came back into reach and was passed along behind me. That would have been enough, but the nuclei ahead of me was unstable and another competitor began the long journey backwards.
All along the course spectators cheered and shook noise makers at us as we ran by. Running mostly alone made this feel extra special. I do enjoy the spotlight. People sat on lawn chairs and blared music out of the backs of their minivans. I can’t recall the song, but somebody with a mic and keyboard was singing about lost love. The thought, "well this is a downer," flitted through my head.
I tried to wear a smile for the spectators, or at least hold off the frown, or the saggy face of fatigued despair, or the wide-eyed desperation of "how can this only be the 4th mile marker?"
Chalk writing littered the course, much of it highly unwelcome. I had no problem with "Go Tina,", but I grit my teeth even now just thinking about the sadist whose cruel chalking stated: "200 meters to the top of the hill." Ugh! It was like a blow to the stomach. I did not want to know that.
But that’s not all. Just as the hill rounded off and seemed to be cresting, my eyes were drawn to the pink chalk of evil: "just 100 meters more to the top of the hill!" Gah! Had they no pity.
Despite my discomfort, I passed another runner. As I said before, I moved up because I did not slow. Running is, after all, a war of attrition.
Past half-way the chase pack shattered. It turned out that runobtanium’s half-life was not much more than five miles. Still, I thought I had caught all who would allow me to catch them. It seemed to be more about them than me. I held on. That’s the best I could do. To my delight, they came back to me.
The first one came and went over the course of a mile. The second took longer and even pushed away from me briefly on some of the uphills before succumbing to my relentless march. I did not feel relentless, but I hammered the downhills because they were so very steep and it was a tragedy to waste such plentiful energy just crushing cartilage in my joints. I passed the 4th runner just before mile 8. Between miles 1 and 8 I had skimmed the shoulders of only those four.
Mile 8 concluded at the bottom of one of the longer hills. A water station lay just ahead. I veered towards the outermost outstretched hand presenting a paper cup atop their palm in the most easily snatchable manner. On most previous water stops, I had splashed the water once towards my mouth, more or less successfully, then I dowsed my head, then I sprinkled the last remnants more accurately into my mouth again. This late in the race I figured that consuming water wouldn’t do much good so I’d just go for the dowsing.
I nabbed the cup with a three-fingered, crane-like pinch and tossed the fluid across my face. A bit splashed into my mouth. When the sweetness touched my tongue I blurted out, quite loudly, "Powerade!?"
I suppose that room temperature powerade cools the body as much as room temperature water does. I licked my lips to make the most of the situation. Turns out there was one more water/powerade station. I specified my preference ahead of time and the Powerade pushers backed out of the way.
Over the last two miles my thoughts fell behind me for the first time. Each racer ahead of me had 20 seconds or more between himself and the guy behind him. The race was all but over if I could just hold off the guy I had just passed.
When you’re being followed, everything sounds like footsteps.
The ninth mile marker finally arrived. I’d been told that the hills were over and that was true. I nonetheless looked bitterly upon the flat ground. Come on. Was a bit more downhill so much to ask? Yes. Yes it was.
Mile ten was interminable. I willed the finish line to appear ten meters beyond both of the 90 degree turns, but my magic failed. Finally I could see the finish chute at the end of a long straightaway somewhere between 200 and infinity meters away.
A damnable chalking cheerily specified: "400 meters to go." Agony!
I made it through and was never challenged from behind.
In the finishing chute, the three who had beaten me were simply milling around congratulating everybody else, so I did the same. It was nice not to have well-meaning, but bossy volunteers leading us by the elbow and chirping "keep moving" repeatedly.
I got some water and felt, if not infinitely better, infinity over two better, but you know what is really the cat’s meow after a race? Orange slices. Best food I’ve ever tasted. What is not phenomenal is "Powerbar drink" or whatever they called it. Apparently Powerbar is trying to edge in on the saturated Gatorade/Powerade market (pun intended). It may very well replenish all your essentials, but it tastes like you might imagine the do-it-yourself powdered Gatorade would taste if you made it with sea water.
That was an unnecessary cheap shot at a company that makes very tasty solid protein bars. Sorry about that. Really I despise equally all sellers of overpriced water, sugar, sodium, and artificial color/flavoring mixtures.
Writing this the day after the race, I can report that I seem to have recovered fairly well. I iced my heel and will do so again. Also, after a conversation with Andy Crawford, I’ve decided to start taking iron supplements beginning today. I’ll let you know if I notice any improvements. I actually just had blood work done and got my results back since buying the ferrous sulfate. Turns out my hemoglobin count is fine, oh well. Even more is better, I suppose.
No more racing for me for a little while, until the Lilac 10K.
Top 5 Results:
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PLACES IN GUN GUN
PLACE NAME AGE AGEGROUP TIME PACE
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1 Max King 30 1/146 M30-34 51:44 5:11
2 Zach Hine 23 1/63 M19-24 53:07 5:19
3 C. Fred Joslyn 26 1/131 M25-29 53:25 5:21
4 Neal Holtschulte 26 2/131 M25-29 53:57 5:24
5 Dominic L. Luka 25 3/131 M25-29 54:17 5:26
As a team GVH had a very successful day. We had never heard of one of the teams: Stotan Racing, so we assumed they were some random group of nobody’s who had thrown together a team. In that we were sorely disappointed. They easily won the team competition, but GVH edged out the Syracuse Track Club by a mere 8 seconds (team rank was based on cumulative time).
Photos
News article
Another article (with pics)
All result categories
Overall results
team results
Mountain Goat Run home page
