Mud, Mud, and More Mud screamed the headline in the local Iowa City paper. Of course, he could have been writing about the thousands of farm acres left bare that I drove by on my way here from St. Louis. He was referring instead to Day Two of Jingle Cross Rock.
The reporter got it right; even the concrete was muddy. And a lot of it could have been rideable except that there were may off-cambor sections designed to be technical in dry conditions, and if you did attempt to ride the cake batter mud, your bike was rendered unrideable.
So I did a running race yesterday in full kit, cycling shoes, and carrying my bike. Frozen to the bone despite embrocation, not warmed up because of a broken pin on my trainer, wet from the rain, and genuinely jumpy to start the race, I lined up behind eventual race leader Teal-stetson Lee. Thanks to my erroneous eight points earned in a UCI C1 race earlier in the season contested under identical conditions, I got a call up!
The start was typically fast and elbowy. Ladies went down in the first turn, in the second straight away, on the second turn, into the tape. It was as if the mud was just reaching up and pulling you down. I managed to stay up right and somewhat "in the race" for the almost the full first lap until a surprise corner on gravel sent me super-manning. It had to be the gravel, right? My chain off, knees bleeding, I jumped right back on Lynsky and fought for my current position until the end. Mud, Mud, and More Mud.... Round and round three times only because of how slow the course was running. I was once again thankful for something during Thanksgiving weekend.
Vital Statistics: 12th place, 3:36 behind the winner. In the points and the $$
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Race Report: Memphis in May
April Showers bring May....showers, at least in Tunica, MS. Memphis in May, made-over with a new location, new race venue, and new course had every bit the hydra-themed excitement it could muster. A region inundated by floods, so much so that the casino "island" where the race was being held had only recently reopened its doors to patrons after the major flood threats had passed. The race course, swim lake included, was a pristine as it could get. Clean water. Flat, fast, mostly pothole clear roads. In fact, no debris to speak of on the roads except for the minuscule road grit that is inevitable. It promised to be a very fast race.
My start position was #1064 in the time trial start...every 3 seconds a swimmer jumps into the water. Which meant that I was standing around watching the thunder clouds roll in for about 50 minutes. 30 minutes into my wait, the rain started. Followed quickly by the thunder and lightening so close, that they were nearly crashing together. And still the swimmers dove into the water every 3 seconds. I looked around at the hundreds of wetsuit-clad swimmers awaiting their turn, looking non-plussed. Despite the lightening, I experienced a true lemming moment (Splish... I sense a new swimsuit design out of this one. "Faster than lightening" or something like that). Swim start.
In the shallow (at its deepest, probably 6 ft), choppy lake, it took me 500 yds at least to settle in to pace. I found a good set of feet to draft off for the longest straight-away of the race, before they pulled off to the right following some invisible sight line that I could not fathom. I sprinted out of the water into a steamy downpour and ran through the mud of the transition to my bike. My first thought as I tore at my wetsuit - "I need to practice my transitions more". Besides that, it was quick work getting on to the road.
Once on the road, I settled down into a pace that kept me in site of my nearest competitor in the Open Amateur Female division. She had an aero helmet and a disc wheel and when I finally pulled around her, she commented that the weather was "scary". Agreed, but I didn't want to dwell on it. The roads were treacherous enough... by themselves, the pavement was smooth and impeccably maintained for the race. The rain and wet, however, increased the chances of a flat tire, especially on over-inflated time-trial tires. Along the race course, there were at least 1-2 people per mile dealing with a puncture.
The bike course was FLAT and fast, and I generally did the passing, except for a few elite amateur males and, to my dismay a couple of elite amateur females. Disc wheel passed me back just before the finish of the bike, and I did my best to stick on her tail (that would be in a non-drafting tail). Still raining, though back to a light drizzle, I did my best interpretation of a bike-to-run transition.
Here's a shocker, the run was flat and fast. I was thankful for the overcast skies, slightly miffed at the head wind the last two miles, and confused as to which of the women I was passing where actually in my category (we did not have any special designation on our calves for the open wave). As the miles ticked by, my legs eventually found a rhythm. And I passed, one, then two, then two at once of the competitors in front of me. And there was still one up there.... At the turn around, I cursed my ability to math in my head. The lead woman had a whopping two minutes on me with two miles to go! It didn't quite take the wind out of my sails, but my legs were slightly less springy as the wind picked up, the humidity rose, and the specter of the casino towers crawled into view.
The last few miles went by in a blur. Actually, the "blur" was the young woman who pulled a brilliantly classic runner move to pass me in the final 200m to take second place from my clutches. She had started 9 seconds behind me in the time-trial start, so I immediately knew that I was relegated to third place. In that competitive field and considering my still rusty competitiveness, I was excited to be on the podium.
Appendix - During the run, I kept looking at my watch wondering why I was running so slow according to the mile markers, ~ 7:15/mile. Ah-hah! The course was actually 6.7 miles. The "as advertised" olympic distance was measured as 6.23 and ended up being a half-mile longer. I was robbed! Had the race ended when it was supposed to, I would have gotten my 2nd place! Kidding. My mantra, is run the race as it comes. That includes lightening, mismeasured distances, and blurs.
My start position was #1064 in the time trial start...every 3 seconds a swimmer jumps into the water. Which meant that I was standing around watching the thunder clouds roll in for about 50 minutes. 30 minutes into my wait, the rain started. Followed quickly by the thunder and lightening so close, that they were nearly crashing together. And still the swimmers dove into the water every 3 seconds. I looked around at the hundreds of wetsuit-clad swimmers awaiting their turn, looking non-plussed. Despite the lightening, I experienced a true lemming moment (Splish... I sense a new swimsuit design out of this one. "Faster than lightening" or something like that). Swim start.
In the shallow (at its deepest, probably 6 ft), choppy lake, it took me 500 yds at least to settle in to pace. I found a good set of feet to draft off for the longest straight-away of the race, before they pulled off to the right following some invisible sight line that I could not fathom. I sprinted out of the water into a steamy downpour and ran through the mud of the transition to my bike. My first thought as I tore at my wetsuit - "I need to practice my transitions more". Besides that, it was quick work getting on to the road.
Once on the road, I settled down into a pace that kept me in site of my nearest competitor in the Open Amateur Female division. She had an aero helmet and a disc wheel and when I finally pulled around her, she commented that the weather was "scary". Agreed, but I didn't want to dwell on it. The roads were treacherous enough... by themselves, the pavement was smooth and impeccably maintained for the race. The rain and wet, however, increased the chances of a flat tire, especially on over-inflated time-trial tires. Along the race course, there were at least 1-2 people per mile dealing with a puncture.
The bike course was FLAT and fast, and I generally did the passing, except for a few elite amateur males and, to my dismay a couple of elite amateur females. Disc wheel passed me back just before the finish of the bike, and I did my best to stick on her tail (that would be in a non-drafting tail). Still raining, though back to a light drizzle, I did my best interpretation of a bike-to-run transition.
Here's a shocker, the run was flat and fast. I was thankful for the overcast skies, slightly miffed at the head wind the last two miles, and confused as to which of the women I was passing where actually in my category (we did not have any special designation on our calves for the open wave). As the miles ticked by, my legs eventually found a rhythm. And I passed, one, then two, then two at once of the competitors in front of me. And there was still one up there.... At the turn around, I cursed my ability to math in my head. The lead woman had a whopping two minutes on me with two miles to go! It didn't quite take the wind out of my sails, but my legs were slightly less springy as the wind picked up, the humidity rose, and the specter of the casino towers crawled into view.
The last few miles went by in a blur. Actually, the "blur" was the young woman who pulled a brilliantly classic runner move to pass me in the final 200m to take second place from my clutches. She had started 9 seconds behind me in the time-trial start, so I immediately knew that I was relegated to third place. In that competitive field and considering my still rusty competitiveness, I was excited to be on the podium.
Appendix - During the run, I kept looking at my watch wondering why I was running so slow according to the mile markers, ~ 7:15/mile. Ah-hah! The course was actually 6.7 miles. The "as advertised" olympic distance was measured as 6.23 and ended up being a half-mile longer. I was robbed! Had the race ended when it was supposed to, I would have gotten my 2nd place! Kidding. My mantra, is run the race as it comes. That includes lightening, mismeasured distances, and blurs.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Race Report: Cherry Blossom 10-mile
It ain't called the "Rite of Spring" for nothing. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Washington D.C. looked like a shining jewel. And hail stones the size of peas fell with all the force of gravity and then some from the sky. Say what? Luckily that was Saturday.
I rode the metro into the heart of the city around midday, hoping to have skillfully avoided the swarms of competitors at pick-up by timing it to coincide with lunch. No dice, the line was wrapped around the National Building Museum, itself the size of a city block. I chatted the whole time with a guy I had met on the metro, whom I wish I could say I had singled out as a fellow racer using my powerful deduction skills, but the slightly worn Asics running shoes and the race printout gave him away immediately. We exited the metro and found our place at the back of the line, which as it turns out was more of a leisurely stroll in the rain as the packet pick-up was so efficient. Even so, it took 30 minutes to get my number and then I shot through the expo and back out onto the streets. I had sights to see.
First up, the FBI. I used the facebook feature "where are you" to indicate that I was at Federal Bureau of Investigations Building (even though I was only outside). Then, on to the National Mall and the White House. All the pictures I took with my hand out stretched in front of me, camera turned back at me, make it look as if I am standing in front of a blue screen. I swear, I wasn't. The best irony of this day, the protest occurring on the front lawn of #1 Pennsylvania Ave and looking out toward the Washington Monument... against "sexual mutilation" namely, circumcision. I have few opinions on this matter.
On to race day.
I again rode the metro in to downtown Washington, DC, along with my cheering squad... Ma and Pa Gilbert. I jumped off the metro one mile to early in order to get a warmup... should have checked the map, because my mile warm-up only took me three minutes. Either that, or I was ready to run REALLY fast.
Chilly, slightly breezy, but sunny and full or promise. That is if my runner-tummy would settle down. You know the one, the same condition that forces you to jog in place, stretch, and do drills while standing in line with 15,000 people at the Port-a-johns. I took care of business, checked my clothes, chugged an espresso Clif Shot, and pounced on the line. Thanks to my "seeded" number, I got to be positioned in the front coral, right behind the row of Ethiopians and Kenyans. Of course, I should have been a few more rows back, but I was going for 10-seconds of fame. And there is just something surreal to look ahead and see empty road and look behind to see the crush of thousands.
Gun went off and I got passed by 100 guys instantly. Then is it was a few ladies. Over the famous bridges and back, along the waterfront. Back around by the spectators. I was feeling okay. Still hadn't settled in to a pace, and I was still being passed by people who I should have started behind. Somewhat demoralizing to be passed so much. Whoops. I did however, stick on a group of women. I figured that I was somewhere around 15th in the amateur race. At this point, we swing by the start/finish line and sea of spectators. I spotted both Ma and Pa and I think I smiled convincingly enough for the cameras (though, not the race photographers... yikes they caught some bad ones!).
Mile 7, finally feeling in the groove. Finally! And just in time to hit a part of the course where the straightaway stretches to infinity, lined with cherry blossoms and the Potomac. Peace... and racing! I started to pass back a few of those people who had blown by me in the early miles. Either that or I had finally fallen in to my pace group. I didn't care, feeling much better, and charging up the last hill to the finish, I stretched to get in under 1:03. And I made it! The actual goal was 1:02:30. I ran 1:02:47. I call that a success.
On to race day.
I again rode the metro in to downtown Washington, DC, along with my cheering squad... Ma and Pa Gilbert. I jumped off the metro one mile to early in order to get a warmup... should have checked the map, because my mile warm-up only took me three minutes. Either that, or I was ready to run REALLY fast.
Chilly, slightly breezy, but sunny and full or promise. That is if my runner-tummy would settle down. You know the one, the same condition that forces you to jog in place, stretch, and do drills while standing in line with 15,000 people at the Port-a-johns. I took care of business, checked my clothes, chugged an espresso Clif Shot, and pounced on the line. Thanks to my "seeded" number, I got to be positioned in the front coral, right behind the row of Ethiopians and Kenyans. Of course, I should have been a few more rows back, but I was going for 10-seconds of fame. And there is just something surreal to look ahead and see empty road and look behind to see the crush of thousands.
Gun went off and I got passed by 100 guys instantly. Then is it was a few ladies. Over the famous bridges and back, along the waterfront. Back around by the spectators. I was feeling okay. Still hadn't settled in to a pace, and I was still being passed by people who I should have started behind. Somewhat demoralizing to be passed so much. Whoops. I did however, stick on a group of women. I figured that I was somewhere around 15th in the amateur race. At this point, we swing by the start/finish line and sea of spectators. I spotted both Ma and Pa and I think I smiled convincingly enough for the cameras (though, not the race photographers... yikes they caught some bad ones!).
Mile 7, finally feeling in the groove. Finally! And just in time to hit a part of the course where the straightaway stretches to infinity, lined with cherry blossoms and the Potomac. Peace... and racing! I started to pass back a few of those people who had blown by me in the early miles. Either that or I had finally fallen in to my pace group. I didn't care, feeling much better, and charging up the last hill to the finish, I stretched to get in under 1:03. And I made it! The actual goal was 1:02:30. I ran 1:02:47. I call that a success.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I'm ba-ack!
I had to be. I signed up for a very high profile 10-miler. But, I'm getting ahead of the story. To quote one of my favorite movie characters "Dennis would have hated that."
I've been meaning to travel to Washington DC ever since they signed the Constitution and two good friends settled there post-college (one clearly precipitated the other). But, let's face it. Oregon is really far form DC... well, now that I am in St. Louis, no excuses! Plus, my performance/ pace at the St. Louis Half Marathon finally, finally qualified me for the Cherry Blossom 10-mile seeded runner entry. I had to prove that I could run 10 miles in 64 minutes. Ouch!
That race is April 3. Counting back, that means I should have started training two weeks ago. Ooops. No matter, that's why I train all year long to maintain a convincing level of fitness (remember the marathon in four days notice?). I thought that "convincing" was a relative term, until I motivated a 12-mile long run with a trail race this past weekend.
The Wildwood City Council put on a running race to highlight all the work (and moolah) they have put in to developing the trail system around the Meramac River Valley (Moochas-grass-ias). The first annual Wildwood Frozen Feet 12-miler was held on a rapidly warming (from 20 degrees C, so describing it as a "warming" might be a bit of a stretch) Saturday morning. The trails, though, were still covered in an ice/slush mix. I lined up on the front line, though only planning to run ~7min/mile. It was a tight start on the bike path and I did not want to get tripped up in the take-off. There was a lot of joking around about the pace I would put on and I suggested that I was planning on running backwards to work on my toe-heel strike (ha!)
First couple miles were on bike path and then we hit the rails-to-trails. The footing here was less "footing" and more pockmarked, ice-holes with the occasionally bare patch. I fell into a pack with four or so guys setting that sub-7 min/mile pace (it was a race after-all). We actually did hit a little bit of single-track down around the Stinging Nettle trail. I practiced my single-track pass and got my stocking hat ripped off by a branch. The hat flipped up towards the sky and the guy in third plucked it out of the air like professional baseball outfielder and tossed it to me without missing a beat. Within 20-steps, I was back in front.
And then there were three: me, Tony, and Andrew. Still holding that pace, we came upon the two-mile uphill. Tony expressed the opinion that he might not be able to hang on the uphill but we better watch out on the downhill. Up and up, steeper and steeper we climbed up on the Rock Hollow trail. Thankfully, most of the ice was gone and only a few patches remained. At the top, cones marked a turn around with a water table and a shout-out from a friend (thanks Andy!). Andrew and I went stride for stride down the hill, picking our way around the rough parts to step on the saltiest bits. Andrew commented that he wondered if Tony would catch us at the exact moment we heard his rapidly approaching footsteps. Forced to pick it up by Tony's pace, we hit the now quickly melting slush path turned slip n'slide for the final stretch. All three of us kept it tread-side down until we hit the concrete. By then, it was just me and Andrew, as Tony had made his gallant play for the win and faded a bit. With a half-mile to go, Andrew and I were going back and forth on whether or not we were going to sprint for the finish (Me -"Are you going to be that guy who out sprints the girl at the finish?" Him - "Well, I am a winner".). And then, in a split second, the last patch of ice before the finish line, reared its ugly blackness beneath my foot and I hit the ground patella first-followed by a hip, an elbow, a shoulder, and, finally, my back.
Andrew, in a chivalrous, and decidedly good guy move, helped me up and jogged with me 600 yds to the finish line, crossing in sync. In the end, our times are identical, but some how I got the top line on the results. But, what a great way to get a long run in! I'm hoping he might want to join me for a non-race long run in the future.
Here's to the start of my legit race training! My knee wound/bruise is healing nicely... but my brand new Brooks Running half tights have some new air conditioning in the knee (giant hole).
I've been meaning to travel to Washington DC ever since they signed the Constitution and two good friends settled there post-college (one clearly precipitated the other). But, let's face it. Oregon is really far form DC... well, now that I am in St. Louis, no excuses! Plus, my performance/ pace at the St. Louis Half Marathon finally, finally qualified me for the Cherry Blossom 10-mile seeded runner entry. I had to prove that I could run 10 miles in 64 minutes. Ouch!
That race is April 3. Counting back, that means I should have started training two weeks ago. Ooops. No matter, that's why I train all year long to maintain a convincing level of fitness (remember the marathon in four days notice?). I thought that "convincing" was a relative term, until I motivated a 12-mile long run with a trail race this past weekend.
The Wildwood City Council put on a running race to highlight all the work (and moolah) they have put in to developing the trail system around the Meramac River Valley (Moochas-grass-ias). The first annual Wildwood Frozen Feet 12-miler was held on a rapidly warming (from 20 degrees C, so describing it as a "warming" might be a bit of a stretch) Saturday morning. The trails, though, were still covered in an ice/slush mix. I lined up on the front line, though only planning to run ~7min/mile. It was a tight start on the bike path and I did not want to get tripped up in the take-off. There was a lot of joking around about the pace I would put on and I suggested that I was planning on running backwards to work on my toe-heel strike (ha!)
First couple miles were on bike path and then we hit the rails-to-trails. The footing here was less "footing" and more pockmarked, ice-holes with the occasionally bare patch. I fell into a pack with four or so guys setting that sub-7 min/mile pace (it was a race after-all). We actually did hit a little bit of single-track down around the Stinging Nettle trail. I practiced my single-track pass and got my stocking hat ripped off by a branch. The hat flipped up towards the sky and the guy in third plucked it out of the air like professional baseball outfielder and tossed it to me without missing a beat. Within 20-steps, I was back in front.
And then there were three: me, Tony, and Andrew. Still holding that pace, we came upon the two-mile uphill. Tony expressed the opinion that he might not be able to hang on the uphill but we better watch out on the downhill. Up and up, steeper and steeper we climbed up on the Rock Hollow trail. Thankfully, most of the ice was gone and only a few patches remained. At the top, cones marked a turn around with a water table and a shout-out from a friend (thanks Andy!). Andrew and I went stride for stride down the hill, picking our way around the rough parts to step on the saltiest bits. Andrew commented that he wondered if Tony would catch us at the exact moment we heard his rapidly approaching footsteps. Forced to pick it up by Tony's pace, we hit the now quickly melting slush path turned slip n'slide for the final stretch. All three of us kept it tread-side down until we hit the concrete. By then, it was just me and Andrew, as Tony had made his gallant play for the win and faded a bit. With a half-mile to go, Andrew and I were going back and forth on whether or not we were going to sprint for the finish (Me -"Are you going to be that guy who out sprints the girl at the finish?" Him - "Well, I am a winner".). And then, in a split second, the last patch of ice before the finish line, reared its ugly blackness beneath my foot and I hit the ground patella first-followed by a hip, an elbow, a shoulder, and, finally, my back.
Andrew, in a chivalrous, and decidedly good guy move, helped me up and jogged with me 600 yds to the finish line, crossing in sync. In the end, our times are identical, but some how I got the top line on the results. But, what a great way to get a long run in! I'm hoping he might want to join me for a non-race long run in the future.
Here's to the start of my legit race training! My knee wound/bruise is healing nicely... but my brand new Brooks Running half tights have some new air conditioning in the knee (giant hole).
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