Category Archives: Running

Race Report: Bear Paw 5k

July 16, 2012 By in Racing Tags: , , , 1 Comment

When I wake, the first thought on my mind is the weather. It finally started clearing a bit yesterday, although I still managed to find some patches of rain to run through during my afternoon commute. I peek outside – ain’t sunny, but it ain’t raining either. I’ll take it. For breakfast, I change things up. This time it’s two hard boiled eggs, some cereal with whole milk, and half a banana. Plus coffee, of course. After breakfast, I do a little light mobility work on the rumble roller, just to get things moving. The race starts at 10:30, which is great for me. The later, the better, if you ask me. At around 8:50, we load up and head out to Eagle River. At one point during the drive, Jen asks if I’d like to talk about the race. I tell her no, which some people might take as rude, but it Jen know the deal. I’m in my head now, gaming the angles and contingencies. My plan? Go out strong through the first mile, somewhere around 5:15-20. Work whoever is around me and let them pull me along through the second mile, hopefully hitting 2 miles around10:40. From there, maintain or step it up, and I should be in the 16:30s.

16:30s? What makes you think you can run that fast?

My best this year is 17:33, and my road PR is a modest 16:50something, back when I was 27. It would be a huge SB (season best) and a big PR. But then I think of my last track session, where I floated 5:20 pace intervals like it was nothing. Or how chill my tempo runs have felt at 5:45 pace.

Why not?

Warming up confirms what I’ve been told about the course. It is flat and fast by just about any standard. There are a few inclines, but some good long gradual downhills as well. I run into Jake Moe, one of the guys from my track club, and jog a bit with him. He’s run under 15 for 5k, so I don’t expect to see him until the finish. He points out where he thinks the mile markers are, and I try to correlate them to what I’ve been playing in my head over the past week. Every run for the past couple of days, I’ve tried to run the race in my head. Not so much visualizing the course, but my mental dialogue and perception of feeling. I have a big problem with pre-loading negative thoughts of failure and disappointment, so I’ve been focusing on breaking the race up by each mile, and gaming how I might feel, what I need to do, and develop positive mental strategies. Sometimes it helps to have a positive phrase like “Come and Get It.” Sometimes it’s an image, and the past couple of days I’ve thought of an imaginary “+” symbol floating lightly in front of me through my race, pulling me through rough spots. It might sound silly, but elites hire coaches whose sole focus is the mental game, and these are just some of the techniques employed by those coaches.

I warmup over the entire course – no surprises. I feel loose and limber, not hurried or rushed. I’ve literally missed the start of races before, so it’s nice to be here with plenty of time to spare. I swap into my Asics Piranhas (which will be retired after today), kiss Jen, and scratch Rider. It’s time to line up.

The start is a little crowded with kids, which always annoys me. But luckily, I’m not afraid to move some people out of the way by backing my shorty shorts up on some folks. They make room. I line up next to a girl who can’t be more than 12, and spends every moment before the start of the race shaking her head and talking to herself, saying things like, “Oh no,” and “Uh, oh…” and “I can’t believe this…” Pretty funny stuff. Here, I’m about 20 years her senior, have hundreds of races under my belt, and I feel the exact same way.

I do some drills and strides off the line, and then wait for the start. It’s a moment I dread and relish at the same time. Half of me wishes for a stay of execution: “Just kidding folks, no race today!” But the other half is a slingshot ready to do this. The starter gives us a countdown.

“Three!”

I lean over, ready to release.

“Two!”

I am still.

“One!”

Get it.

“Go!”

And like that, we’re off. We make the first turn into a gradual downhill, and the lead pack is making steady progress away from me. I’m surrounded by other runners, which is exactly what I want – to be pulled along. But I’m also trying to do the math, and if the lead pack is going to run around 15:00, I’ve got no business being in their neck of the woods come Mile 1. So I try to just keep it even and somewhat under control. But I know I’m going fast, just based on my legs. I actually feel the pace in my hamstrings, which isn’t what I’d expect if I’m running 5:15. I’m half tempted to check my GPS but damn that thing. Just race.

Sure enough, I crest a small hill where Jake surmised Mile 1 to be, and I see 4:56 on my watch. Ouch! What’s weird is that it feels fast, but I’m not in oxygen debt. Sure, I’m working, but I’m still spending my money wisely. I want to hit that line and trade in my last penny, and it feels like I’m doing it right. Still, to be safe, I dial it back just a hair. At this point, I’m in 9th or 10th place, the leaders are streaking ahead, and a second chase group is in front of me about 20m. Moving along, I marvel at just how far 20m feels when you’re racing. Then, I am surprised by the sound of someone catching up to me, then passing me. I recognize the moment with a sense of deja vu. Sit back, or go? I go for it, attaching an imaginary line from his waist to mine. Yep, I feel it, but it works. I hang on. And, I’m closing on the second chase pack. Come and get it…

I spend the next mile+ closing the gap, passing a guy who is running shirtless. I know we’re well past two miles at this point. And then something awful happens. I get a little bit of drainage in the back of my throat, and it triggers a slight heave. Then another. Then, it’s too much. I’m gonna puke. I try to stumble a few more steps, then bend over the bushes, salivating and heaving. Shirtless Guy passes me and asks if I’m ok. Yes, I’m fine. I’m busy dry heaving away my PR, if you don’t mind.

I gather myself and I calculate I’ve lost 10-15s, and I’ve got less than a half mile to go. Somehow, I just know it’s still possible.

So I stand up, wipe my mouth, and commence to hammering. Somehow the nausea fades, and when I hit the last turn, I can see the finish. Ahead, the leaders are seconds from breaking the tape. My watch says 15:00. I’ve got less than 2:00 to cover the next 600m. I tell myself I can do this, but I have to throw down.

I muster everything I’ve got and pull together the semblance of a sprint. I can feel the nausea rising again as I drive my knees and arms. In my head, I’m Usain Bolt. In real life, I’m sure I’m a slow motion train wreck.

With a hundred meters to go, I’m closing on Shirtless Runner, but I don’t think I’m going to catch him. Who cares. Gotta slow that clock down.

I look up just before I cross the line and see 16:4-. I give a little fist pump, then collapse and dry heave on my knees. It’s been a long time coming.

Come And Get It.

July 13, 2012 By in Racing Tags: , , 2 Comments

Tomorrow is the Bear Paw 5k, and I’m crazy nervous. It’s my last race for the summer, and everything I’ve done over the past six months culminates tomorrow on 3.1 miles of pavement.

Earlier this week I emailed my mentor and friend Matthew Whitis for advice. See, I’m feeling good. My last couple track workouts have left me feeling like a caged animal, hungry for more. My threshold work has been solid, almost dare I say, “easy?” I’ve finally shed some of the extra muscle mass I was carrying around from the winter, and I feel lean and strong.

This is a strange place to be, this feeling of confidence. In two years of trying to break 17, I haven’t felt as prepared as I do right now.

But despite all this, there is a constant battle of internal wills. The weak me is full of doubt, second guesses, and negative examples. The strong me knows I’m ready, have been, and tells me I can do it.

Matthew’s email was great and closed like this: “Know you’re ready, execute the plan, and finish strong. Concentrate! Be present and don’t give in.”

Don’t give in.

Don’t give in to doubt, fear, or pain. In a small way, it echoes the message R4V pushes to Chief, Stacy Pearsall, and Nate Beard, folks who face a daily struggle on the road to rehabilitation. Don’t give in to the easy way out. You are strong and capable.

So in the name of our collective ideal realities, whether we’re racing for a PR, healing, or simply trying to get out the door for Sweet Mother of Mercy, another run; I say to our doubts and fears, “Come and get it.”

What we seek is already within us, and nothing can take that away.

Race Report: Mayor’s Marathon 5 Miler

June 26, 2012 By in Racing Tags: , , , 1 Comment

Number 4617, you are disqualified for your outfit. And that ridiculous moustache.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, the latest in a string of incredible Alaska summer days. Jen beat me to the breakfast punch, and cooked us some sustenance to get us through our individual races, which was a good thing, as we knew that it wouldn’t be until around 11:00 that we’d actually have a chance to eat. Normally, I eat something fairly light the morning of a race, like toast and peanut butter. But in this case, we had some eggs, smoked turkey, fruit, toast, and coffee. Granted, we didn’t eat that much, but it was “heavier” than the norm.

I started warming up about 45 mins before the race start. The cool thing about the Mayor’s Half and 5 Miler was that they both started about a mile from where we live, so there was none of the typical morning hassle of trying to park a car, find a place to stash gear, wait in line for portapotties, etc. So, I was able to get a nice long warmup in without worrying about anything but making it to the line on time. Warming up, I felt good. Better than Friday’s afternoon run home, anyway. I could tell it was going to be a fairly warm day, which wouldn’t affect me so much as half and full runners. Being a bundle of nerves, it was hard to appreciate the insane beauty of the day. Calm winds, blue skies, Cook Inlet, and the Chugach; none of these were able to distract me from the internal chatter that bounced around my noggin with each stride.

That last hill is going to be hard, but can’t worry about it. Will there be mile markers? I haven’t trained at all for these paces, trained faster, trained slower – but nothing at pace is probably going to be a problem. I wonder if there will be any fast guys in the race with me? I hope I can keep it together. I hope I can race strong. I hope I don’t fall apart and have the worst race of my entire life.


I rejoined with Jen at the house, then we both jogged to the start. I talked Jen through her plan for the half – 9:30 pace for the first 6-7 miles, then step it up as much as she can through the finish. She hasn’t been training a ton, so this would be more of a hard training run. But for her first time at the distance, and the longest she’s run in two years, she knew it was going to be a hard one. I told her I would jog back out after my race was over so I could run the last three miles of her race with her, kissed her, and wished her luck, then we went our separate ways at the start. I headed for the front of the pack, a bit worried that I might have a hard time finding a spot at the start since starting area was already packed. But, I found I was able to jump in at the front of the pack with no problem, and with a few minutes to spare, did a couple of drills and strides.

Finally, it was time. I was completely still amidst the noise, if only for a few seconds. Then the gun released us and we were off.

As usual, the first quarter mile I found myself behind the kids and idiots who get a lark out of starting off way too fast and clogging up the starting area. All I wanted to do was settle in and find some cover behind other runners. Surprisingly, within the the first half mile, a lead pack consolidated, and I was in it. All things considered, I’d expected to see at least a couple of faster guys far ahead of me at that point. Instead, I found myself in a comfy pack, everyone else doing the work for me. Granted, the lead pack included, for the first bit anyway, some dude running in full sweats (whom I would later find walking the half course), but I also noticed some of the ladies from the UAA team, and some other guys who looked like contenders. With it being a combined 5.6/13.1 start, it was hard to know who was running the half vs. the five, which I think was why no one was willing to really take a risk that first mile; you could end up chasing someone down, only to find he wasn’t even in your race.

After the first mile, a guy broke away from the pack by a good bit and started gapping us. After a while, I checked my Garmin and made my first mistake of the day – racing by watch instead of by feel. My average pace was looking like mid-5:40s, and I wanted to be low or under, so I decided to make a break. To be honest, the pace to that point felt too easy, like I was getting sucked into a half-marathoner’s race as opposed to my own. So I don’t think the break was a bad idea. Basing it off what my watch said was the poor decision. I pulled clear of the pack and was closing on the leader when we reached the point at which the half and the fiver split courses. I made a hard right at Earthquake Park, while the half-marathoners kept on keeping on. There was an aid station, so I grabbed some water and evidently ran over a chip sensor somewhere in there. At this point, I was in the lead, with some kid on my tail.

We hit the Coastal Trail, and things started getting rough for me. First off, my stomach was unsettled but the water I managed to throw down. The kid passed me, and I just couldn’t seem to pull even, although it was clear to me I was slowing down and his move wasn’t that strong. I guess the only way I can put it, is that I struggled for the next couple of miles. My head can be a pretty dark place, and there wasn’t a lot of positivity happening. To top it off, sometimes I get some weird sinus drainage in races, which ends up triggering dry heaves while I’m running. Super fun, and it kicked in with like a mile and a half to go. The kid gapped me pretty good, and I couldn’t muster enough man to get going.

Then, somewhere after Mile 4, I pulled it together. I’m not sure if it was the familiar terrain, these particular stretches being practically in my back yard; common sense; or divine intervention. But something clicked, and I started getting after it again. I hit the hill at around Mile 5, and I can’t candy-coat it – it was pretty brutal. But after cresting it, I didn’t feel like it took me long to recover. I pushed it pretty hard to cross the finish in 31:55, but I know in my gut I had the additional 30s in me that I needed to grab 1st. They had video at the finish and results:

http://results.bazumedia.com/athlete/index/e/2136480

I was disappointed in my time until I realized that my Garmin lopped .15M off the distance and gave me a bad average pace. 31:55 works out to a 5:41.9 avg mile pace, and put me through 5M just under 28:30. Not bad considering that last
that last hill slowed me down a bit. Also telling was my split at 2+M, which had me averaging 5:29 up until that point.

All this tells me what I expected: my short fitness is better than my long. It also tells me I’m on the cusp of breaking 17 for 5k, which is the summer goal. So all in all, some good news and some areas to work on…

Finishing with Jen was the highlight of my day. After my race, I jogged back out 3M, and waited for Jen. Once she came by I ran the last three with her, and I couldn’t be more proud of how hard she worked the last few miles. To the point of dry heaving I the bushes, which was awesome. She finished in 2:02, a PR and it was just a great run on her part.