I'd planned on running the Platte River Half Marathon ever since I ran the relay last year as part of the team "Sausage Racers" (a tongue-in-cheek/ ironic name as my family has a background in the sausage production business, and I'm a vegetarian). Last year it irritated me that people were able to run a race farther than me. Not this year!
I've been running 30- 40 miles per week as part of my Hal Higdon-based training plan to prepare me for my first (successful) marathon next month, so I knew that a half-marathon would not be a problem-- this would be my fourth. The weather was supposed to be lousy, with temperatures in the forties and rain/sleet/snow. Like most people, I was very surprised to see the sun this morning! Sure, there was two inches of snow on my car, and the temperature was 38 degrees when I woke up, but SUN! Sun, I can do! It only improved by the time I parked my car at Arapahoe Community College, as the temp there was 45 degrees! I knew I wouldn't even need a jacket, as there was a bag drop at the starting line, so I could pack my warm-ups in there. Off to the races!
GO! I hit the path through the streets of downtown Littleton, trying to keep a reasonable pace and not get caught-up in the excitement, as I was in the first wave with runners that were much faster than me. I got passed... A LOT! That's okay; I'll see you smarmy bastards in a few miles when I kick for the finish! I could hear the angry RunKeeper woman yelling at me from my iPhone giving me splits. The first few never mean much, as the GPS always gets a bit confused in traffic. But, by my 2-mile split, she was telling me that I was running a 7:58/ mile average. I knew that had to be wrong, because that's down in my 5K speed zone. No way... By mile 4 I had dropped it to 7:55, and it was holding! I still knew this was wrong, and as I checked my reported mileage compared to the marked race mileage, sure, it was a bit high, but damn... I was flying!
I carry an Amphipod hand bottle, because I require more fluid than the average athlete (if you saw me running, you'd know why). I really don't know why more people don't do this-- I probably passed 50 runners because of the fact that I only had to stop at one aid station to fill-up. Plus, when I stop, it's VERY difficult for me to start back up... ouch! Around mile seven or eight, racers were starting to drop off their pace and I'm passing more of them, and I feel GOOD. RunKeeper still claims that I was running sub-8, so my pace was very steady, regardless of what it really was. I was planning on kicking down into the low-sevens at mile twelve, until THEY passed me...
At about mile ten or so, two women passed me; not a big deal, but they were the first people to do so in quite a while. What made this exceptional was that the younger one cut me off SHARPLY! In fact, we even had a bit of contact, but no "I'm sorry" from her... no, she just kept running. I guess what happened next would best be called "run-rage". A shot of angry adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I decided she was not going to get away with it. I uttered an audible "OH, HELL NO!" and took off in pursuit. Now, they were both running very quickly, probably around a 7:30 average or so, but that didn't matter-- they were NOT GOING TO BEAT ME. I knew I wouldn't be able to pass them on a flat area, but I had a plan. Around mile twelve, there is a big hill as the course follows 8th Avenue and goes over Interstate 25. I knew from reading posts that this is where everybody dies. Not me. Almost every training run I've ever done includes hills; I live on the west end of Lakewood-- don't mess with me!
I'm hanging right behind them at the base of the hill, but the path is very narrow. I saw an opening, and jumped in front of the runner that cut me off-- TAKE THAT! The other gal was quicker, and I had to do some maneuvering reminiscent of the 1980s video game "Pole Position" to get around her, but BAM, I was gone! After the hill, the course hangs a sharp left for the half-mile straightaway to the finish. I was still cruising pretty good, when here comes gal #2 up next to me! She says something to me, which I couldn't make out-- probably a compliment for how fast I went up the hill, but my response was not cordial. I let out another "OH, HELL NO!", and took off at a speed I haven't hit since high school! Looking at my GPS it was around six-minute mile average, which is astonishing to me.
Now, my best half-marathon time to date was a 1:56 in February, and I was realistically expecting something around a 1:53 today. I really wanted to break 1:50, but I knew that was crazy. So when I got to the point where I could see the finish line and the clock, I was very pleased to see the time click over 1:49:00-- yea, I'm going to do it! However, I'm still in Steve Austin, Six-Million Dollar Man mode, so I didn't read it correctly. My nerdy eye glasses were bouncing so much that I didn't see it was ACTUALLY 1:47! Holy hell, how did I run that fast?
My apologies to both women. I'm not sure what snapped in me! I'm sure they think I'm unstable (they might be right) based on my reaction on the final stretch. But endorphins-plus-adrenaline is a powerful combination! And, don't cut somebody off during a run! Bad runners! Bad runners!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Monday, December 12, 2011
Rock N Roll Las Vegas Marathon
Enough time has passed, that I believe I can be honest (with myself, especially) about my first attempt at running a marathon. The past week I've been kind of pretending that the race didn't happen-- failure was not an option, but it happened anyway!
A Bit Of Background
I've been a cyclist for five years or so; done several centuries, six-thousand footers, etc, and had a blast doing it! Last fall, I decided that I wanted to branch out into running. Frankly, I'd gotten tired of the one-upsmanship of cycling-- technology plays almost as big a part as fitness does. Also, the simplicity of running appealed to me-- throw on shoes, and out the door. I'd run a bit in the past (like, high school), so I thought it would be worth a try.
A couple of over-training and over-usage injuries later, and May 2011 was upon me. I had already registered for the Rock N Roll Half Marathon in Denver when I began receiving info on the "Strip At Night" event. Bear in mind, at this point the longest run I'd ever done was eight miles, but I registered anyway. All I had to do was increase my longest run something like 2 miles per month and I'd be ready! No problem-- I'm a stud, right?
The summer training went well, with the only real limiting factor being that my body needs more time than most to recover (age= 46). My weekly average was between 20- 40 miles. My long runs did not progress as planned, because almost every weekend I had a 5k, 10k, half marathon or trail race scheduled. Seemed I was always tapering so I wouldn't embarrass myself with a slow time! Breaking two hours at my first half marathon was definitely the highlight-- I was on my way!
Las Vegas!
In the wake of the excitement of registering for the race on the first day it was open, I also booked my flight in May. As in, before the race details were posted. So our (my 23 and 22 year old children were going with me) flight was to arrive late Saturday night; plenty of time to rest up for the afternoon race. At the time I didn't realize that the expo wasn't going to be open on Sunday. It still angers me that they couldn't have had it open from, say, 8 to noon. Grrr! At least the RnR folks offered the option of "start line packet pick-up" for, drum roll....... forty dollars! Fine. I despise picking-up packets at race time, because it's always such chaos. Not only the crowds, but the element of the time crunch, but fine-- at least I get to race. In the race that I'm, incidentally, not prepared for, but more on that later...
I head to lunch with my daughter, Kayla, with plenty of time to spare. Shoes correctly double-knotted with exactly the correct amount of pressure to not cause pain in my wonky left instep. Amphipod bottle filled with Hammer Perpetuem and water filled from the tap at the hotel (turns out-- wise move). Head bands, lucky Colorado Rockies baseball cap, four energy gels, band-aids for potential blister mitigation... I've got it all covered. We stayed at the Tuscany (a couple of blocks east of the strip on Flamingo), and I gave myself an hour to get there, which was PLENTY of time. I'm just starting to see the emergence of racers approaching Mandalay Bay, when I realize... I DON'T HAVE MY FRIGGIN' INJURY WAIVER! Oh, sssssshhhhhhiiiiiitttttttt!!!! It's at least a half-hour walk back to the hotel to pick it up, and I don't have a half-hour!!! The expletive filled air would have stopped traffic, if it wasn't already stopped. I probably looked like Dustin Hoffman in "The Graduate" as I'm hauling ass back down Las Vegas Boulevard!
I had no other choice, but to run most of the way to the hotel and back-- a casual saunter, or even a brisk walk would not have sufficed. When, at last, I got back to the traffic on the sidewalks in front of New York, New York, I still had to dodge walkers like a maniac, because I DIDN'T HAVE MY FRIGGIN' PACKET YET. I heard one person yell, "slow down, the race hasn't started yet!" as I jumped out into the street between cars (Oh, yes it has!). I finally got my packet, attached my bib and timing chip, and made my way to the start line. I said "no, thank you" to the "schwag-bag", as I knew I didn't have time to check it. I was in my corral with five minutes to spare! What was I so worried about?(!!!)
The Race
"I want you to want ME" by Cheap Trick completed, the race commenced without incident-- one of the calmest starts to a race that I've experienced, really. I throw my hoodie to the curb like a REAL racer (since, of course, I didn't check it. Besides, I live in the foothills of Colorado-- I KNOW what real cold is!), and off I go. When I registered in May, I truly believed I'd be a quick marathoner. But as the 4:00 pacer pulled up next to me, I knew I wasn't going to attempt that tom-foolery. I was just hoping to not be swept-up by the mythical "broom wagon" that was supposed to limit us to 4:30. A broom that I believe didn't exist...
The first half of the race was fairly uneventful; more than enough warehouse-rows for one race. There was one unusual event, however-- somebody struck-up a conversation with me... for about 18 miles! His name was Rob and he was a Las Vegas local, and we discussed "Born to Run", minimalist shoes, heal/toe drop, trail runs, etc, etc. The water tables were well-stocked, and I took advantage of them all. I get dehydrated very easily, so I've learned to drink as much as possible. And I forced down an energy gel every 40 minutes or so-- I was going to avoid "The Wall" at all costs! Frankly, the best part of the race was heading back towards the strip; the view was spectacular! I finished the first 13.1 miles in something like 2:04; I wasn't even tired. Bring on the strip!
I actually couldn't believe how many people were at the side of the road cheering us. I'm sure it was nothing compared to Chicago or New York, but considering many of these people appeared to be tourists... wow! Right around The Bellagio, the circumstances started to change. Anybody that ran the race knows what I'm talking about. But it was a very subtle change, and I had no idea what I was (literally) running into. The first indication of the change about to occur was when one of the "Competitor Cyclists" warned us to get into the left lane! Humorous, looking back now. Minutes later, the game of "Frogger" began in earnest. I remember being angry with the half-marathoners, but neither us, nor them knew at the time that there were JUST TOO DAMN MANY RUNNERS ON THE COURSE AT ONE TIME. Proportionally, the half-marathon lane should have been roughly eight times as wide as the marathoners', and I'm pretty certain it wasn't... I was attempting to run at at 9:40/ mile pace, which just wasn't going to happen in traffic.
Around mile 18, I temporarily lost my running buddy at one of the water stops. When I started running again, I spotted him a hundred feet or so ahead of me, making an attempt to catch-up to the 4:15 pacer. I gave chase, and caught him a bit later, but the increased pace coupled with the bobbing-and-weaving drained me. Around mile 20, I lost him, and myself, for good. I wasn't dehydrated or under-nourished, but I had hit... THE WALL. I remember seeing the "Pawn Stars" shop as I was heading towards downtown, but when the course doubled-back, I can honestly say that I didn't see it. I don't know how I missed it... shows how my state of consciousness had changed. And, holy hell, it took bloody FOREVER to get back to the Stratosphere!
By the time I got back to the abandoned Sahara Hotel, I was walking. It occurred to me that it would take forever to finish at that rate, so I lifted my legs to a vaguely running pace. I grabbed water, or something, at another table. Who knows what I was drinking at this point-- if somebody had shoved a martini in my face, I would have slammed it. I must say, that the table was nearly vacant. As reported by others, the volunteers were just sticking cups, hands, and whatever, into what appeared to be a garbage can filled with water. I didn't care-- I was running on vapors.
I once again slowed to a walking pace around mile 23 or so. And then a slower walking pace. I shifted over to the "half-marathoners" lane so people would stop running into my corpse. One last boost of energy, and I thought "I'm going to finish this if it kills me!", followed by "I think this is succeeding in killing me...!" People walking with what appeared to be their grandmother passed me. I heard "Are you okay, man?" from some guy running in "Chuck Taylors", as I wrapped my arms around a palm tree in the median. Alright, I might have imagined the guy, but the tree was real. I'd been dizzy for about a mile and a half, which couldn't have been good on my body. I was going to pop my emergency caffeine pill that I saved for this instance, but I decided that would probably end badly.
I'd made as far as Flamingo Boulevard when I decided that I'd had enough. I'd dressed appropriately for running, but not for walking, and hypothermia kicked in. I knew that even if I had enough in me to get to the finish line, I would not be able to walk back to the hotel, and I didn't want to put my kids through that hassle. So, I turned right, and headed back to the hotel. Bailed out. Failure. Crap.
This was the hardest part, as I was shaking really badly by now. Where's my damn hoodie? Oh, yeah-- donated. Nuts.
My shoe came untied, and as I bent over to tie it, a pack of drunk 20- somethings came around the corner, and I heard "Hey, that dude's taking a leak! Tuck it back in, dude!" I had a great comeback ready. "Azverfrazennazitz" was all I could get out.
I made it to the hotel! As I opened the door, I made a vague finish-line gesture, and thanked the god that I don't really believe in. Hot water. Bath tub. A soak that lasted through listening to my Frank Sinatra album... twice. "The best is yet to come..." Damn right it is....
If I'd managed a few more long runs.
If I hadn't scheduled a late Saturday flight.
If I hadn't left the damn waiver form in the hotel.
If I'd stayed at a hotel closer to the starting line.
So, I didn't get the official "Rock N Roll Las Vegas Marathon" medal, but...
I didn't end up in the hospital, and
I RAN OVER 27 MILES that fateful Sunday, so THERE!!!
A Bit Of Background
I've been a cyclist for five years or so; done several centuries, six-thousand footers, etc, and had a blast doing it! Last fall, I decided that I wanted to branch out into running. Frankly, I'd gotten tired of the one-upsmanship of cycling-- technology plays almost as big a part as fitness does. Also, the simplicity of running appealed to me-- throw on shoes, and out the door. I'd run a bit in the past (like, high school), so I thought it would be worth a try.
A couple of over-training and over-usage injuries later, and May 2011 was upon me. I had already registered for the Rock N Roll Half Marathon in Denver when I began receiving info on the "Strip At Night" event. Bear in mind, at this point the longest run I'd ever done was eight miles, but I registered anyway. All I had to do was increase my longest run something like 2 miles per month and I'd be ready! No problem-- I'm a stud, right?
The summer training went well, with the only real limiting factor being that my body needs more time than most to recover (age= 46). My weekly average was between 20- 40 miles. My long runs did not progress as planned, because almost every weekend I had a 5k, 10k, half marathon or trail race scheduled. Seemed I was always tapering so I wouldn't embarrass myself with a slow time! Breaking two hours at my first half marathon was definitely the highlight-- I was on my way!
Las Vegas!
In the wake of the excitement of registering for the race on the first day it was open, I also booked my flight in May. As in, before the race details were posted. So our (my 23 and 22 year old children were going with me) flight was to arrive late Saturday night; plenty of time to rest up for the afternoon race. At the time I didn't realize that the expo wasn't going to be open on Sunday. It still angers me that they couldn't have had it open from, say, 8 to noon. Grrr! At least the RnR folks offered the option of "start line packet pick-up" for, drum roll....... forty dollars! Fine. I despise picking-up packets at race time, because it's always such chaos. Not only the crowds, but the element of the time crunch, but fine-- at least I get to race. In the race that I'm, incidentally, not prepared for, but more on that later...
I head to lunch with my daughter, Kayla, with plenty of time to spare. Shoes correctly double-knotted with exactly the correct amount of pressure to not cause pain in my wonky left instep. Amphipod bottle filled with Hammer Perpetuem and water filled from the tap at the hotel (turns out-- wise move). Head bands, lucky Colorado Rockies baseball cap, four energy gels, band-aids for potential blister mitigation... I've got it all covered. We stayed at the Tuscany (a couple of blocks east of the strip on Flamingo), and I gave myself an hour to get there, which was PLENTY of time. I'm just starting to see the emergence of racers approaching Mandalay Bay, when I realize... I DON'T HAVE MY FRIGGIN' INJURY WAIVER! Oh, sssssshhhhhhiiiiiitttttttt!!!! It's at least a half-hour walk back to the hotel to pick it up, and I don't have a half-hour!!! The expletive filled air would have stopped traffic, if it wasn't already stopped. I probably looked like Dustin Hoffman in "The Graduate" as I'm hauling ass back down Las Vegas Boulevard!
I had no other choice, but to run most of the way to the hotel and back-- a casual saunter, or even a brisk walk would not have sufficed. When, at last, I got back to the traffic on the sidewalks in front of New York, New York, I still had to dodge walkers like a maniac, because I DIDN'T HAVE MY FRIGGIN' PACKET YET. I heard one person yell, "slow down, the race hasn't started yet!" as I jumped out into the street between cars (Oh, yes it has!). I finally got my packet, attached my bib and timing chip, and made my way to the start line. I said "no, thank you" to the "schwag-bag", as I knew I didn't have time to check it. I was in my corral with five minutes to spare! What was I so worried about?(!!!)
The Race
"I want you to want ME" by Cheap Trick completed, the race commenced without incident-- one of the calmest starts to a race that I've experienced, really. I throw my hoodie to the curb like a REAL racer (since, of course, I didn't check it. Besides, I live in the foothills of Colorado-- I KNOW what real cold is!), and off I go. When I registered in May, I truly believed I'd be a quick marathoner. But as the 4:00 pacer pulled up next to me, I knew I wasn't going to attempt that tom-foolery. I was just hoping to not be swept-up by the mythical "broom wagon" that was supposed to limit us to 4:30. A broom that I believe didn't exist...
The first half of the race was fairly uneventful; more than enough warehouse-rows for one race. There was one unusual event, however-- somebody struck-up a conversation with me... for about 18 miles! His name was Rob and he was a Las Vegas local, and we discussed "Born to Run", minimalist shoes, heal/toe drop, trail runs, etc, etc. The water tables were well-stocked, and I took advantage of them all. I get dehydrated very easily, so I've learned to drink as much as possible. And I forced down an energy gel every 40 minutes or so-- I was going to avoid "The Wall" at all costs! Frankly, the best part of the race was heading back towards the strip; the view was spectacular! I finished the first 13.1 miles in something like 2:04; I wasn't even tired. Bring on the strip!
I actually couldn't believe how many people were at the side of the road cheering us. I'm sure it was nothing compared to Chicago or New York, but considering many of these people appeared to be tourists... wow! Right around The Bellagio, the circumstances started to change. Anybody that ran the race knows what I'm talking about. But it was a very subtle change, and I had no idea what I was (literally) running into. The first indication of the change about to occur was when one of the "Competitor Cyclists" warned us to get into the left lane! Humorous, looking back now. Minutes later, the game of "Frogger" began in earnest. I remember being angry with the half-marathoners, but neither us, nor them knew at the time that there were JUST TOO DAMN MANY RUNNERS ON THE COURSE AT ONE TIME. Proportionally, the half-marathon lane should have been roughly eight times as wide as the marathoners', and I'm pretty certain it wasn't... I was attempting to run at at 9:40/ mile pace, which just wasn't going to happen in traffic.
Around mile 18, I temporarily lost my running buddy at one of the water stops. When I started running again, I spotted him a hundred feet or so ahead of me, making an attempt to catch-up to the 4:15 pacer. I gave chase, and caught him a bit later, but the increased pace coupled with the bobbing-and-weaving drained me. Around mile 20, I lost him, and myself, for good. I wasn't dehydrated or under-nourished, but I had hit... THE WALL. I remember seeing the "Pawn Stars" shop as I was heading towards downtown, but when the course doubled-back, I can honestly say that I didn't see it. I don't know how I missed it... shows how my state of consciousness had changed. And, holy hell, it took bloody FOREVER to get back to the Stratosphere!
By the time I got back to the abandoned Sahara Hotel, I was walking. It occurred to me that it would take forever to finish at that rate, so I lifted my legs to a vaguely running pace. I grabbed water, or something, at another table. Who knows what I was drinking at this point-- if somebody had shoved a martini in my face, I would have slammed it. I must say, that the table was nearly vacant. As reported by others, the volunteers were just sticking cups, hands, and whatever, into what appeared to be a garbage can filled with water. I didn't care-- I was running on vapors.
I once again slowed to a walking pace around mile 23 or so. And then a slower walking pace. I shifted over to the "half-marathoners" lane so people would stop running into my corpse. One last boost of energy, and I thought "I'm going to finish this if it kills me!", followed by "I think this is succeeding in killing me...!" People walking with what appeared to be their grandmother passed me. I heard "Are you okay, man?" from some guy running in "Chuck Taylors", as I wrapped my arms around a palm tree in the median. Alright, I might have imagined the guy, but the tree was real. I'd been dizzy for about a mile and a half, which couldn't have been good on my body. I was going to pop my emergency caffeine pill that I saved for this instance, but I decided that would probably end badly.
I'd made as far as Flamingo Boulevard when I decided that I'd had enough. I'd dressed appropriately for running, but not for walking, and hypothermia kicked in. I knew that even if I had enough in me to get to the finish line, I would not be able to walk back to the hotel, and I didn't want to put my kids through that hassle. So, I turned right, and headed back to the hotel. Bailed out. Failure. Crap.
This was the hardest part, as I was shaking really badly by now. Where's my damn hoodie? Oh, yeah-- donated. Nuts.
My shoe came untied, and as I bent over to tie it, a pack of drunk 20- somethings came around the corner, and I heard "Hey, that dude's taking a leak! Tuck it back in, dude!" I had a great comeback ready. "Azverfrazennazitz" was all I could get out.
I made it to the hotel! As I opened the door, I made a vague finish-line gesture, and thanked the god that I don't really believe in. Hot water. Bath tub. A soak that lasted through listening to my Frank Sinatra album... twice. "The best is yet to come..." Damn right it is....
If I'd managed a few more long runs.
If I hadn't scheduled a late Saturday flight.
If I hadn't left the damn waiver form in the hotel.
If I'd stayed at a hotel closer to the starting line.
So, I didn't get the official "Rock N Roll Las Vegas Marathon" medal, but...
I didn't end up in the hospital, and
I RAN OVER 27 MILES that fateful Sunday, so THERE!!!
Friday, December 9, 2011
Welcome!
Welcome guests to my blog! My primary purpose with this blog is to relay my experiences, trials and tribulations associated with my training for my first (successful) marathon. I suppose it will read much like a diary, since there won't be many people following me (yet, anyway.) I plan to compose an entry on the ill-fated Rock n Roll Las Vegas Marathon, since there is much to say there. But that will have to wait until tomorrow...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)