After yesterday's exciting 14-miler in a downpour, and Saturday's dramatic fall in the National Half Marathon, I was looking forward to today's planned recovery run: 5 miles or so at a relaxed pace in good weather.
To further improve my odds, I waited until after sunup to begin. I also wore two rabbit's feet, had a Tarot reading, and avoided all ladders and black cats. I donned a football helmet, flak jacket, and full riot gear. I mounted an air raid siren on my back to warn nearby cars of my imminent approach, and carried about a half-gallon of mace to ward off any approaching dogs or grizzly bears. [note: the preceding 329 characters may have employed just a touch of hyperbole]
Then, slowly, gingerly, I stepped out of the door and outside. It was a lovely gray morning, birds were chirping, and I had a fascinating podcast to accompany me along my run (Note to self: Do not, under any circumstances, get arrested for a drug offense in southern Georgia).
I ran 5.6 miles, saying "hi" to several runners along the way and thoroughly enjoying myself. The end.
Details of today's run, as usual, are below.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Wet
If you just looked at the Garmin record of today's run, you wouldn't see anything special. I covered 14 miles in a 9:18 pace. On a lot of days, I would have been very disappointed in a performance like that. But today was different. I was a little startled earlier in the week when I looked at my schedule and saw that I had a 14-miler planned for today. But my workout plan calls for a lot of mileage, and what's really startling is how few miles I've put in over the past couple weeks. Last week, I only ran 44.8 miles, and the week before, 46. What happened to the 65- and 67-mile weeks I had been logging in February?
Last week I cut my mileage short on a couple days because of the half-marathon, the week before, it was skiing, and yesterday I decided not to run intervals because I was worried about my IT band.
By this morning, I was tired of making excuses. I was going to run my 14 miles no matter what, so I lept out of bed when my alarm went off at 5:30. The plan was to run 1.3 miles into town and join the DART group for 6.3, then run the remaining 6.4 miles on my own. I knew it might be rainy, but it wasn't particularly cold -- about 50 degrees, so I put on a long-sleeved compression shirt, my National Half Marathon T-shirt, and shorts. Then I went downstairs, ate a banana, got my fuel belt ready, and headed outside. It was an absolute downpour. As I started running, I decided my wet hands might get cold (I normally don't need gloves when the temperature is above 40), so I returned to the garage to get my gloves. That turned out to be an excellent decision.
At 5:45 a.m. in late March, it's still pitch black outside. I wore a headlamp, but that mostly served to illuminate the raindrops before they spattered on my face. Within a few minutes, I was soaked to the bone. At least it wasn't too cold. I spotted a die-hard runner on Concord Road. I don't think there's been a day when I haven't seen her running alone in the darkness. We exchanged familiar waves.
I didn't expect anyone from the DART group to be at the CVS when I arrived at 6. I stopped for 30 seconds or so just to make sure, then resumed running. I couldn't decide whether it was better to run in the street, where cars might not see me in the darkness, or on the sidewalk, where large puddles loomed and low-hanging branches threatened to smack me in the face. I ended up doing some of both. Even though I had a fuel belt and could run wherever I wanted, I decided to run the regular DART loop, which would keep me near houses most of the time, away from roads without sidewalks, and close enough to home that I could bail out if things got really bad.
I ran through the greenway to Avinger Road, and was surprised to see another runner, an older woman in a raincoat who I'd also seen before. This would be the last runner I'd see all morning.
I wasn't paying attention to my splits; I just wanted to get through this. Although there were occasional, very brief let-ups in the rain, for the most part it was a solid downpour. When I arrived at the next section of greenway, the volume of rain actually increased. It was like running through a waterfall. To enhance the effect, the greenway in this section was very poorly drained, so it was pretty much a solid 2-inch deep puddle. It felt rather more like surfing than running.
I realized I should probably stop and eat some energy gels and drink some water. To do this, I had to remove my sopping-wet gloves, which at this point had more in common with sponges than articles of clothing. I also realized I needed to urinate, which I did on the side of the trail. I was quite sure there wouldn't be any nearby dog-walkers or bikers to offend.
As I looped by my house around Mile 7.6, I thought about dropping off my gloves, but I had found that my hands would alternate hot and cold, so I decided it would be better to keep them, even though my fingertips were starting to wrinkle from contact with the sopping-wet, spongelike gloves. For the rest of the run I'd alternate between wearing and carrying the gloves depending on whether I felt hot or cold.
Amazingly, my new iPod shuffle kept playing throughout the run. Even though it is tiny, the other day I had managed to operate it with gloves on. However, soaking-wet gloves proved too much for it. Despite this, I highly recommend its voice-navigation feature for easy operation on dark mornings.
I repeated the same loop again, with no letup in the rain. Other than a lone dog-walker, I saw no other runners or pedestrians. As I approached home, I knew I'd need an extra two miles, so I ran an extra leg into River Run, trying to time my turnaround so I'd arrive home at exactly Mile 14. I also tried to pick up the pace a bit for the last two miles. Looking at my GPS record, I did speed up a little: My splits for miles 12, 13, and 14 were 9:42, 9:24, 9:03.
Arriving home, I took off my shoes and walked into the kitchen in sopping-wet socks, leaving little puddles everywhere I stepped. I was soaked from head to toe. I got Greta to take a picture of me, but I don't think it does justice to how thoroughly drenched I was:
The details of today's run are below:
Last week I cut my mileage short on a couple days because of the half-marathon, the week before, it was skiing, and yesterday I decided not to run intervals because I was worried about my IT band.
By this morning, I was tired of making excuses. I was going to run my 14 miles no matter what, so I lept out of bed when my alarm went off at 5:30. The plan was to run 1.3 miles into town and join the DART group for 6.3, then run the remaining 6.4 miles on my own. I knew it might be rainy, but it wasn't particularly cold -- about 50 degrees, so I put on a long-sleeved compression shirt, my National Half Marathon T-shirt, and shorts. Then I went downstairs, ate a banana, got my fuel belt ready, and headed outside. It was an absolute downpour. As I started running, I decided my wet hands might get cold (I normally don't need gloves when the temperature is above 40), so I returned to the garage to get my gloves. That turned out to be an excellent decision.
At 5:45 a.m. in late March, it's still pitch black outside. I wore a headlamp, but that mostly served to illuminate the raindrops before they spattered on my face. Within a few minutes, I was soaked to the bone. At least it wasn't too cold. I spotted a die-hard runner on Concord Road. I don't think there's been a day when I haven't seen her running alone in the darkness. We exchanged familiar waves.
I didn't expect anyone from the DART group to be at the CVS when I arrived at 6. I stopped for 30 seconds or so just to make sure, then resumed running. I couldn't decide whether it was better to run in the street, where cars might not see me in the darkness, or on the sidewalk, where large puddles loomed and low-hanging branches threatened to smack me in the face. I ended up doing some of both. Even though I had a fuel belt and could run wherever I wanted, I decided to run the regular DART loop, which would keep me near houses most of the time, away from roads without sidewalks, and close enough to home that I could bail out if things got really bad.
I ran through the greenway to Avinger Road, and was surprised to see another runner, an older woman in a raincoat who I'd also seen before. This would be the last runner I'd see all morning.
I wasn't paying attention to my splits; I just wanted to get through this. Although there were occasional, very brief let-ups in the rain, for the most part it was a solid downpour. When I arrived at the next section of greenway, the volume of rain actually increased. It was like running through a waterfall. To enhance the effect, the greenway in this section was very poorly drained, so it was pretty much a solid 2-inch deep puddle. It felt rather more like surfing than running.
I realized I should probably stop and eat some energy gels and drink some water. To do this, I had to remove my sopping-wet gloves, which at this point had more in common with sponges than articles of clothing. I also realized I needed to urinate, which I did on the side of the trail. I was quite sure there wouldn't be any nearby dog-walkers or bikers to offend.
As I looped by my house around Mile 7.6, I thought about dropping off my gloves, but I had found that my hands would alternate hot and cold, so I decided it would be better to keep them, even though my fingertips were starting to wrinkle from contact with the sopping-wet, spongelike gloves. For the rest of the run I'd alternate between wearing and carrying the gloves depending on whether I felt hot or cold.
Amazingly, my new iPod shuffle kept playing throughout the run. Even though it is tiny, the other day I had managed to operate it with gloves on. However, soaking-wet gloves proved too much for it. Despite this, I highly recommend its voice-navigation feature for easy operation on dark mornings.
I repeated the same loop again, with no letup in the rain. Other than a lone dog-walker, I saw no other runners or pedestrians. As I approached home, I knew I'd need an extra two miles, so I ran an extra leg into River Run, trying to time my turnaround so I'd arrive home at exactly Mile 14. I also tried to pick up the pace a bit for the last two miles. Looking at my GPS record, I did speed up a little: My splits for miles 12, 13, and 14 were 9:42, 9:24, 9:03.
Arriving home, I took off my shoes and walked into the kitchen in sopping-wet socks, leaving little puddles everywhere I stepped. I was soaked from head to toe. I got Greta to take a picture of me, but I don't think it does justice to how thoroughly drenched I was:
The details of today's run are below:
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The National Half Marathon: Pace Analysis
Yesterday's half marathon was disastrous in terms of my overall finishing time. My unofficial net time was 1:50:34 for an 8:27 pace. I've done nearly that pace in 20-mile training runs. But of course, there were extenuating circumstances. I fell hard just after I finished mile 1, dislocating my right shoulder. I was fortunate to be able to walk to a medical tent and have it popped into place, but I lost valuable time in the process, completing Mile 2 in 15:18 when I was shooting for a 7:30 pace.
So let's do some calculations and see what might have happened if I hadn't fallen.
My overall time was 1:50:34 over 13.1 miles. So if we ignore Mile 2, that's a time of 1:35:16 over 12.1 miles. A quick visit to the Cool Running Pace Calculator reveals that to be a 7:52 pace. Not what I was shooting for, but definitely better than an 8:27 pace! If I had run that pace for the entire race, my overall time would have been 1:43:06, or just off my PR of 1:42:55.
Would I have PRed if I hadn't fallen? That's hard to say. Maybe I would have pushed myself too hard at the start of the race and had nothing left for the finish. But I do think if I had been running on an empty course after my fall, I could have made up more time than I did. Thousands of runners passed me while my shoulder was getting treated, and when I rejoined the race, the runners around me were running a much slower pace. I passed hundreds of runners over the final 12 miles of the race. How many?
Given that I was running at an extrapolated pace of 1:43:06, I can look at the results and see how many runners finished between that time and my official time. I finished in the 2,311th spot. If I'd actually run a 1:43:06 I would have finished in 1,222nd. There are some problems with the assumptions made here, but it suggests I probably passed over a thousand half-marathoners -- and that doesn't even count relay runners and marathoners.
But even that number may be low. At the end of Mile 2 my average overall pace was 12:37. Someone running a 12:37 pace would have finished at 9,303rd position in the race. That would suggest I passed nearly 7,000 half-marathoners, because I advanced from a 12:37 pace to an 8:27 pace by the end. That number is probably high, though, because people running slower paces were placed in corrals farther back. Many did not even cross the start line until more than 10 minutes after the gun.
DARTer Josh Schieffer, for example, had a faster net time than I did, 1:49:12 (congrats, Josh!), but he probably hadn't even reached me by the time I left the medical tent -- his net time was more than 12 minutes faster than his gun time, and I only lost about 8 minutes or so getting treated.
So I probably passed somewhat fewer runners than that -- perhaps 3 or 4 thousand half-marathoners. I can't do the same calculation for marathoners, though, because the results page for marathons currently shows the half-marathon results (!). Given that there were about half as many marathoners as half-marathoners, I'm guessing I passed about 5,000 people over 12 miles. That's 417 per mile, or 54 per minute. I may have passed nearly one runner per second. Amazing as that sounds, it actually matches my experience quite well. Remember, I was running on three- and four-lane roads, filled side-to-side with runners. It was like a 12-mile obstacle course. How much did those obstacles slow me down? It's hard to say, but I guarantee you, it's something I'd prefer to experience only once.
So let's do some calculations and see what might have happened if I hadn't fallen.
My overall time was 1:50:34 over 13.1 miles. So if we ignore Mile 2, that's a time of 1:35:16 over 12.1 miles. A quick visit to the Cool Running Pace Calculator reveals that to be a 7:52 pace. Not what I was shooting for, but definitely better than an 8:27 pace! If I had run that pace for the entire race, my overall time would have been 1:43:06, or just off my PR of 1:42:55.
Would I have PRed if I hadn't fallen? That's hard to say. Maybe I would have pushed myself too hard at the start of the race and had nothing left for the finish. But I do think if I had been running on an empty course after my fall, I could have made up more time than I did. Thousands of runners passed me while my shoulder was getting treated, and when I rejoined the race, the runners around me were running a much slower pace. I passed hundreds of runners over the final 12 miles of the race. How many?
Given that I was running at an extrapolated pace of 1:43:06, I can look at the results and see how many runners finished between that time and my official time. I finished in the 2,311th spot. If I'd actually run a 1:43:06 I would have finished in 1,222nd. There are some problems with the assumptions made here, but it suggests I probably passed over a thousand half-marathoners -- and that doesn't even count relay runners and marathoners.
But even that number may be low. At the end of Mile 2 my average overall pace was 12:37. Someone running a 12:37 pace would have finished at 9,303rd position in the race. That would suggest I passed nearly 7,000 half-marathoners, because I advanced from a 12:37 pace to an 8:27 pace by the end. That number is probably high, though, because people running slower paces were placed in corrals farther back. Many did not even cross the start line until more than 10 minutes after the gun.
DARTer Josh Schieffer, for example, had a faster net time than I did, 1:49:12 (congrats, Josh!), but he probably hadn't even reached me by the time I left the medical tent -- his net time was more than 12 minutes faster than his gun time, and I only lost about 8 minutes or so getting treated.
So I probably passed somewhat fewer runners than that -- perhaps 3 or 4 thousand half-marathoners. I can't do the same calculation for marathoners, though, because the results page for marathons currently shows the half-marathon results (!). Given that there were about half as many marathoners as half-marathoners, I'm guessing I passed about 5,000 people over 12 miles. That's 417 per mile, or 54 per minute. I may have passed nearly one runner per second. Amazing as that sounds, it actually matches my experience quite well. Remember, I was running on three- and four-lane roads, filled side-to-side with runners. It was like a 12-mile obstacle course. How much did those obstacles slow me down? It's hard to say, but I guarantee you, it's something I'd prefer to experience only once.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Race Recap: The National Half Marathon
6:15 a.m.: I've never seen so much traffic this early on a Saturday morning. It's wall to wall cars, crawling through narrow Washington streets. Originally the Metro was supposed to open early enough for runners to use public transit to get to the race, but perhaps due to recent budget shortfalls, that's not an option, so we're all driving in. Very, very slowly. We're supposed to get to RFK stadium at least 45 minutes early so we have plenty of time to find our corrals and get ready for the start. But 45 minutes from the starting gun, the stadium isn't anywhere in sight. I've got ambitious goals for this race. I'd like to run a 7:30 pace, finishing in a 1:38 PR. It's a relatively flat course, so I think it's doable.
6:30 a.m.: Finally, I see the D.C. Armory, across the street from the starting line. Now if only I can find a place to park....
8:57 a.m.: I'm crossing the finish line. I look up at the clock and see a disappointing 1:52. That's an average pace of 8:17, worse than I've done on training runs of this distance. My chip time will be a little bit faster, naturally, but still, I wonder what I could have done if things had worked out a little differently.
8:55 a.m.: I finish Mile 13 in 7:32. I'm still passing people right and left. It's been like this for nearly the whole race, just trying to make my way through the crowds.
8:47 a.m.: Mile 12's split is 7:56. I think I just let myself slip in to a bit of a funk for that mile. I know I can do better than that.
8:39 a.m.: Mile 11, 7:26. That's what I'm talking about! I knew I could do this.
8:32 a.m.: Miles 9 and 10 are solid, 7:38 and 7:39. Still not what I'm capable of, but it's difficult weaving through people on these narrow streets. There are potholes everywhere. I've got to watch out for those potholes.
8:20 a.m.: I pass the 1:50 pace team. Yes! This is the designated group of runners who agreed in advance to pace half-marathoners to a 1:50 finish. Now if only I can catch the 1:45 pace team. That would be a pretty decent bit of redemption, all things considered. Some streets are wide enough that I can easily weave through the slower runners, but on others it's quite a challenge. People tend to run in little clusters, and sometimes you get caught behind a group and can't figure out a way to get by.
8:17 a.m.: Miles 7 and 8 are okay: 7:44 and 7:38. Mile 7 was nearly entirely uphill, and I passed a ton of people there; the street was just wide enough to give me room. Although Mile 8 was flatter, the roads were also narrower, so there were fewer opportunities to slip by.
8:01 a.m.: I complete Mile 6 in 7:40.
7:58 a.m.: I pass the 3:45 full marathon pace team -- that's a 1:52.5-minute pace for the half. A few years ago I would have been thrilled to finish a half at this pace. Now I'm thinking I might still have a shot at 1:45, but I'll have to really turn it on.
7:56 a.m.: Heading under DuPont circle, I'm looking for Greta, Pat, and Suzanne, who said they'd be here to cheer me on. Slightly behind me I hear Pat's voice: "Is that Dave?" I turn around to see my wife and friends. I try to give them a big smile and a wave; I don't want them to think anything has gone wrong.
7:53 a.m.: I complete Mile 5 in 7:49. The street ahead of me is just one vast sea of people, all of them running at what seems to be a sub-9-minute pace.
7:46 a.m.: I pass by the White House. I wonder if the Obamas are going to come out and greet the runners. I've just run through the most famous part of the Capital, with all the museums and monuments, and I barely noticed them. Too many runners to avoid.
7:45 a.m.: Miles 3 and 4 weren't good enough: 7:50 and 7:44. I've got to do better if I want to make up for all the time I lost...
6:45 a.m.: I finally find a parking spot. Thank goodness! Do I have time to go to the bathroom? I don't think so. There are people everywhere, and long lines at all the porta-potties. Some guys are just taking leaks against trees. I'm not that desperate. Off to the starting line. I've got plenty of time... I walk briskly and confidently towards the starting area... until I look down at my wrist and notice I left my Garmin in the car! Do I have time to go back and get it? I'm in the third corral, so they might not even start me until 7:10 or so. I decide to risk it. Fortunately it doesn't take long, and I arrive at my starting corral at 6:55. Plenty of time to spare! I decide to snap a picture of the crowd. It's just an immense mob of people (I later learn there were over 16,000 runners). This is by far the largest race I've ever been in:
It's a brisk morning, perhaps a couple degrees above freezing. For me, this is ideal running conditions. The wind is very light. I'm wearing my DART shirt, a long-sleeved compression shirt, the free gloves provided in our bag of goodies from the race registration, and compression tights. I'm also attempting to track my run with MapMyRun's iPhone app, but I'll save that discussion for a different post.
7:04 a.m.: The race starts, just a bit late. I'm amazed at how quickly we start moving, even back in Corral 3 out of 10.
7:06 a.m.: I cross the starting line and start my Garmin. I have my sights set on the 1:40 half-marathon pace team, just a bit ahead of me. I need to finish a couple minutes faster than them in order to make my goal of a 1:38 half-marathon, which would be a huge PR for me (my previous best is 1:42:56).
7:14 a.m.: I've caught the pace team and complete my first mile in 7:57. I need to pick up the pace a bit, but it's crowded and hard to negotiate my way through the crowd. Hopefully things will start to open up within the next mile or so.
7:15 a.m.: I notice a slight depression in the road just about the same time I step in it with my right foot. It's probably only about 12 inches wide and two inches deep, but it's enough to cause me to stumble. I try to regain my balance, but it's too late; I can't get my left foot under me in time, and I go crashing to the ground. I land on my left knee and elbow, but as I wave my right arm in a last-gasp effort to regain my balance, I feel my right arm pop out of the shoulder socket. I know this feeling; it's happened to me several times before: A dislocated shoulder.
Amazingly, several runners come to my aid and help me to the side of the road before others can trip over me. I tell one guy what happened and he offers to help me pop it back in. He seems to know what he's doing, so I let him try. We try a couple times, but my shoulder muscle is too tight. I tell him he should get going and I'll find a medical tent. Fortunately there's a water station just 50 meters away. I ask if they know where the medical tent is. They don't. I keep walking, and finally I see it, just past the end of the water station (which, to the first guy I asked's credit, extends over nearly an entire block).
"Can you help me out?" I ask the woman who's minding the station.
"Sure. What's wrong?"
"I've dislocated my shoulder. Do you think you could help me pop it back in?"
"Seriously?"
"Yep."
"I don't think we're equipped to do that." Their medical supplies don't seem much more extensive than a cot and a couple of clipboards.
Then the other guy manning the station says "Hey, we could ask the doctor."
I'm wondering why they didn't think of that right off the bat. The doctor turns out to be some guy who was standing next to the course taking pictures. Or maybe he really was manning the station, and just didn't expect to very busy only 1 mile into the course. In any case, he's happy to help. I tell him I've had this happen before but my shoulder is a lot tighter than usual and I think we should be able to pop it back in.
He seems a little perplexed, and asks me what happened. I tell him about the pothole and the fall, and he looks relieved. "Oh, you fell. I thought you meant you were just running along and it popped out." Then he shows that he really does know what he's doing, carefully positioning my arm so it pops back into place. They take down my name and phone number, but fortunately it looks like they're going to let me keep running. A minute or two later, I'm back on the course.
7:29 a.m.: Oh. My. God. My split for Mile 2 is 15:18. How am I ever going to do this? Is it even possible to make up this much time? Is it worth it?
Then I see a tiny yellow flag, waving about 100 meters ahead. Is that the 1:55 pace team?
6:30 a.m.: Finally, I see the D.C. Armory, across the street from the starting line. Now if only I can find a place to park....
8:57 a.m.: I'm crossing the finish line. I look up at the clock and see a disappointing 1:52. That's an average pace of 8:17, worse than I've done on training runs of this distance. My chip time will be a little bit faster, naturally, but still, I wonder what I could have done if things had worked out a little differently.
8:55 a.m.: I finish Mile 13 in 7:32. I'm still passing people right and left. It's been like this for nearly the whole race, just trying to make my way through the crowds.
8:47 a.m.: Mile 12's split is 7:56. I think I just let myself slip in to a bit of a funk for that mile. I know I can do better than that.
8:39 a.m.: Mile 11, 7:26. That's what I'm talking about! I knew I could do this.
8:32 a.m.: Miles 9 and 10 are solid, 7:38 and 7:39. Still not what I'm capable of, but it's difficult weaving through people on these narrow streets. There are potholes everywhere. I've got to watch out for those potholes.
8:20 a.m.: I pass the 1:50 pace team. Yes! This is the designated group of runners who agreed in advance to pace half-marathoners to a 1:50 finish. Now if only I can catch the 1:45 pace team. That would be a pretty decent bit of redemption, all things considered. Some streets are wide enough that I can easily weave through the slower runners, but on others it's quite a challenge. People tend to run in little clusters, and sometimes you get caught behind a group and can't figure out a way to get by.
8:17 a.m.: Miles 7 and 8 are okay: 7:44 and 7:38. Mile 7 was nearly entirely uphill, and I passed a ton of people there; the street was just wide enough to give me room. Although Mile 8 was flatter, the roads were also narrower, so there were fewer opportunities to slip by.
8:01 a.m.: I complete Mile 6 in 7:40.
7:58 a.m.: I pass the 3:45 full marathon pace team -- that's a 1:52.5-minute pace for the half. A few years ago I would have been thrilled to finish a half at this pace. Now I'm thinking I might still have a shot at 1:45, but I'll have to really turn it on.
7:56 a.m.: Heading under DuPont circle, I'm looking for Greta, Pat, and Suzanne, who said they'd be here to cheer me on. Slightly behind me I hear Pat's voice: "Is that Dave?" I turn around to see my wife and friends. I try to give them a big smile and a wave; I don't want them to think anything has gone wrong.
7:53 a.m.: I complete Mile 5 in 7:49. The street ahead of me is just one vast sea of people, all of them running at what seems to be a sub-9-minute pace.
7:46 a.m.: I pass by the White House. I wonder if the Obamas are going to come out and greet the runners. I've just run through the most famous part of the Capital, with all the museums and monuments, and I barely noticed them. Too many runners to avoid.
7:45 a.m.: Miles 3 and 4 weren't good enough: 7:50 and 7:44. I've got to do better if I want to make up for all the time I lost...
6:45 a.m.: I finally find a parking spot. Thank goodness! Do I have time to go to the bathroom? I don't think so. There are people everywhere, and long lines at all the porta-potties. Some guys are just taking leaks against trees. I'm not that desperate. Off to the starting line. I've got plenty of time... I walk briskly and confidently towards the starting area... until I look down at my wrist and notice I left my Garmin in the car! Do I have time to go back and get it? I'm in the third corral, so they might not even start me until 7:10 or so. I decide to risk it. Fortunately it doesn't take long, and I arrive at my starting corral at 6:55. Plenty of time to spare! I decide to snap a picture of the crowd. It's just an immense mob of people (I later learn there were over 16,000 runners). This is by far the largest race I've ever been in:
It's a brisk morning, perhaps a couple degrees above freezing. For me, this is ideal running conditions. The wind is very light. I'm wearing my DART shirt, a long-sleeved compression shirt, the free gloves provided in our bag of goodies from the race registration, and compression tights. I'm also attempting to track my run with MapMyRun's iPhone app, but I'll save that discussion for a different post.
7:04 a.m.: The race starts, just a bit late. I'm amazed at how quickly we start moving, even back in Corral 3 out of 10.
7:06 a.m.: I cross the starting line and start my Garmin. I have my sights set on the 1:40 half-marathon pace team, just a bit ahead of me. I need to finish a couple minutes faster than them in order to make my goal of a 1:38 half-marathon, which would be a huge PR for me (my previous best is 1:42:56).
7:14 a.m.: I've caught the pace team and complete my first mile in 7:57. I need to pick up the pace a bit, but it's crowded and hard to negotiate my way through the crowd. Hopefully things will start to open up within the next mile or so.
7:15 a.m.: I notice a slight depression in the road just about the same time I step in it with my right foot. It's probably only about 12 inches wide and two inches deep, but it's enough to cause me to stumble. I try to regain my balance, but it's too late; I can't get my left foot under me in time, and I go crashing to the ground. I land on my left knee and elbow, but as I wave my right arm in a last-gasp effort to regain my balance, I feel my right arm pop out of the shoulder socket. I know this feeling; it's happened to me several times before: A dislocated shoulder.
Amazingly, several runners come to my aid and help me to the side of the road before others can trip over me. I tell one guy what happened and he offers to help me pop it back in. He seems to know what he's doing, so I let him try. We try a couple times, but my shoulder muscle is too tight. I tell him he should get going and I'll find a medical tent. Fortunately there's a water station just 50 meters away. I ask if they know where the medical tent is. They don't. I keep walking, and finally I see it, just past the end of the water station (which, to the first guy I asked's credit, extends over nearly an entire block).
"Can you help me out?" I ask the woman who's minding the station.
"Sure. What's wrong?"
"I've dislocated my shoulder. Do you think you could help me pop it back in?"
"Seriously?"
"Yep."
"I don't think we're equipped to do that." Their medical supplies don't seem much more extensive than a cot and a couple of clipboards.
Then the other guy manning the station says "Hey, we could ask the doctor."
I'm wondering why they didn't think of that right off the bat. The doctor turns out to be some guy who was standing next to the course taking pictures. Or maybe he really was manning the station, and just didn't expect to very busy only 1 mile into the course. In any case, he's happy to help. I tell him I've had this happen before but my shoulder is a lot tighter than usual and I think we should be able to pop it back in.
He seems a little perplexed, and asks me what happened. I tell him about the pothole and the fall, and he looks relieved. "Oh, you fell. I thought you meant you were just running along and it popped out." Then he shows that he really does know what he's doing, carefully positioning my arm so it pops back into place. They take down my name and phone number, but fortunately it looks like they're going to let me keep running. A minute or two later, I'm back on the course.
7:29 a.m.: Oh. My. God. My split for Mile 2 is 15:18. How am I ever going to do this? Is it even possible to make up this much time? Is it worth it?
Then I see a tiny yellow flag, waving about 100 meters ahead. Is that the 1:55 pace team?
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Oof
I guess the idea of doing a long-ish run the day after a hard workout is that you learn how to run when you're already very tired. Today I was scheduled to run 15 miles, the day after a tough interval workout. I had already decided I would be cutting back on the mileage because I'm running a half-marathon on Saturday, but as it turned out, even my reduced-mileage plan ended up being quite a challenge.
The DART group was planning a 6-mile trail run starting at 6 a.m., and normally I'd just get up at 5:30, leave the house at 5:45 and run into town to meet them. But I decided it would make more sense to get up 30 minutes early and run 5 miles before meeting the group. That way I could take it easy at the start of the workout and then go faster with the group since they were only doing 6 miles.
The first problem with the plan is that I didn't give myself quite enough time to run the 5-mile route into town. I left home at 5:16, which gave me 44 minutes, so I'd have to run somewhat faster than a 9-minute pace, which isn't terribly hard under normal circumstances, but is a bit faster than I want to go when the group will be running closer to 8-minute miles for the second half of my run.
That said, I very much enjoyed the extremely early-morning run into town. I've never run this early before, and there's a remarkable difference: Much less traffic, and an amazing feeling of quiet and solitude. Even the birds weren't up yet, so there were long stretches when the only thing I could hear was the periodic thumping of my feet on the pavement. There was a beautiful moon in a cloudy sky, and a light breeze kept me cool on a 60-degree morning.
The second problem is that I probably didn't hydrate enough before the run. I was a bit rushed getting ready this morning because I needed to prepare a fuel belt and I wanted to eat something before I started. This meant I had only one glass of water before leaving instead of my usual two. I also probably didn't drink enough water last night. Combine that with the morning's warm temperatures, and I don't think the 16 ounces of water I was carrying along were really enough to keep me hydrated for a 12-miler.
After running 5 miles at an 8:45 pace, I met up with the group and we took off for the trails. Immediately I could see their pace was going to be a problem for me. After a half-mile I was about 20 meters behind the group. I finished Mile 6 in 8:45, but I was determined to catch up to the group, so I ran Miles 7 and 8 in 8:24 each, rejoining Chad, Rodney, and Jeremy for a mile or so. It didn't last. I could only muster an 8:52 for Mile 9, and I was falling farther and farther behind. About halfway through Mile 9, I saw that Jeremy was skipping the last mile of trails and heading back to town early. I was very tempted to join him, but I persevered and followed Chad and Rodney for one more loop on the trails. But I was losing ground quickly. Mile 10 was even slower: 9:05. At Mile 10.42, I emerged from the trails and Chad was there waiting for me. I was ready to run the half-mile back into town and call it a day, but he asked how many more I needed for 12, and we decided to run an extra mile around the Davidson campus. We ran Mile 11 in 9:35, and .76 miles of Mile 12 at the same pace, before mercifully arriving back at the CVS in town. I felt no compunction to run that last quarter mile to give myself an even 12.
Overall, my pace was 8:53 -- not terrible, but I was disappointed that I couldn't finish strong. My workout plan specifies that I should run my long- and medium-length runs in a 9:36 to 8:48 pace, so I'm well within that range. But given yesterday's tough workout, I should have started at closer to the 9:36 pace, and built up to a stronger finish. I'm scheduled to do 12 miles tomorrow as well, but that's because I had already revised the schedule to accommodate the half-marathon I'm doing on Saturday. Ideally I'd run a recovery run tomorrow, a longer run on Friday, and then do my long run on Sunday. So I think what I'm going to do is run a much shorter route tomorrow, perhaps just 6 or 7 miles, and take it very easy. I would like to be feeling good for Saturday's half-marathon and really see what I can do.
Details of today's workout are below.
The DART group was planning a 6-mile trail run starting at 6 a.m., and normally I'd just get up at 5:30, leave the house at 5:45 and run into town to meet them. But I decided it would make more sense to get up 30 minutes early and run 5 miles before meeting the group. That way I could take it easy at the start of the workout and then go faster with the group since they were only doing 6 miles.
The first problem with the plan is that I didn't give myself quite enough time to run the 5-mile route into town. I left home at 5:16, which gave me 44 minutes, so I'd have to run somewhat faster than a 9-minute pace, which isn't terribly hard under normal circumstances, but is a bit faster than I want to go when the group will be running closer to 8-minute miles for the second half of my run.
That said, I very much enjoyed the extremely early-morning run into town. I've never run this early before, and there's a remarkable difference: Much less traffic, and an amazing feeling of quiet and solitude. Even the birds weren't up yet, so there were long stretches when the only thing I could hear was the periodic thumping of my feet on the pavement. There was a beautiful moon in a cloudy sky, and a light breeze kept me cool on a 60-degree morning.
The second problem is that I probably didn't hydrate enough before the run. I was a bit rushed getting ready this morning because I needed to prepare a fuel belt and I wanted to eat something before I started. This meant I had only one glass of water before leaving instead of my usual two. I also probably didn't drink enough water last night. Combine that with the morning's warm temperatures, and I don't think the 16 ounces of water I was carrying along were really enough to keep me hydrated for a 12-miler.
After running 5 miles at an 8:45 pace, I met up with the group and we took off for the trails. Immediately I could see their pace was going to be a problem for me. After a half-mile I was about 20 meters behind the group. I finished Mile 6 in 8:45, but I was determined to catch up to the group, so I ran Miles 7 and 8 in 8:24 each, rejoining Chad, Rodney, and Jeremy for a mile or so. It didn't last. I could only muster an 8:52 for Mile 9, and I was falling farther and farther behind. About halfway through Mile 9, I saw that Jeremy was skipping the last mile of trails and heading back to town early. I was very tempted to join him, but I persevered and followed Chad and Rodney for one more loop on the trails. But I was losing ground quickly. Mile 10 was even slower: 9:05. At Mile 10.42, I emerged from the trails and Chad was there waiting for me. I was ready to run the half-mile back into town and call it a day, but he asked how many more I needed for 12, and we decided to run an extra mile around the Davidson campus. We ran Mile 11 in 9:35, and .76 miles of Mile 12 at the same pace, before mercifully arriving back at the CVS in town. I felt no compunction to run that last quarter mile to give myself an even 12.
Overall, my pace was 8:53 -- not terrible, but I was disappointed that I couldn't finish strong. My workout plan specifies that I should run my long- and medium-length runs in a 9:36 to 8:48 pace, so I'm well within that range. But given yesterday's tough workout, I should have started at closer to the 9:36 pace, and built up to a stronger finish. I'm scheduled to do 12 miles tomorrow as well, but that's because I had already revised the schedule to accommodate the half-marathon I'm doing on Saturday. Ideally I'd run a recovery run tomorrow, a longer run on Friday, and then do my long run on Sunday. So I think what I'm going to do is run a much shorter route tomorrow, perhaps just 6 or 7 miles, and take it very easy. I would like to be feeling good for Saturday's half-marathon and really see what I can do.
Details of today's workout are below.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
More intervals, less music
I don't mind running intervals as long as I have a good soundtrack to accompany them. Unfortunately for me, my stone-age iPod died on Friday, so I wouldn't have any tunes at all to motivate me on today's planned run, 5 X 1000 meter intervals. My goal was to run them at 5K race pace, about 6:56 / mile, or 4:20 per interval.
I knew the DART group would be meeting in town at 6, so I decided to run in and start out with them, then take off after a mile or so. I didn't think anyone would be up for joining me on an interval workout, but at least I'd have someone to say "hi" to as we passed each other every few minutes. Chad, Todd, Chris, and Jeremy were there, and we took off together at roughly an 8-minute pace. After about .75 miles, I decided to take off on my first interval.
The Garmin Forerunner 305 has the ability to program interval workouts, so you don't need to run them on a marked track, you can do them anywhere and it will track your mileage and time for you. Unfortunately, it doesn't show you your pace as you run -- the screen just tells you which interval you're running and how much distance or time you have left. In my case, I was doing 1000 meter intervals, 0.62 miles, so the screen simply indicated how much distance was left in the interval. I hadn't used this function before, so I got a little confused after the distance was less than 0.1 miles. When you have more than a tenth of a mile left, it gives you two decimal places: .43, .42, etc. But after you get below a tenth, it gives you three decimal places: .098, .097, etc. It's difficult to see the decimal in the dark, so I just thought the thing had gone haywire -- it seemed like it had switched from mileage to some other measure. Meters? Seconds? Finally as you approach your target distance, it starts beeping, then plays a distinctive multi-toned beep at the end of the interval. Phew!
After the first interval, I walked for my planned rest-time of 2:15. The group passed me on the way up Avinger Lane, and I started up on my second interval, running up the hill towards Pine road. This was a tough, uphill leg and I began to worry that I wasn't going to be able to keep up the pace for five intervals. I passed the group again, then turned onto Pine and a gentle downslope. I haven't run intervals at this distance before, so it seemed to take forever before my GPS finally beeped to let me know I could stop. Exhausted, I started another 2:15 recovery walk. All this time, I neglected to glace down at the GPS to note my time for each interval. In fact, I was running them too fast. I did the first one in 4:03 -- a 6:31 pace, and the second one in 3:57 -- a 6:23 pace. This pattern continued for the next two intervals: 3:52 and 4:01.
For my final interval, I was on an upslope, and I was thoroughly worn out. I knew I wouldn't be able to run it as fast as the previous four, so I just ran as fast as I could manage. I ended up finishing it in 4:39, for a 7:31 pace. I'm sure if I had run the first four at my planned pace, I could have done a fifth at the same pace, but I wasn't paying close enough attention to how I was doing on the early legs. Despite this, I was happy with the workout. I had done four very strong intervals and one not-so-strong but still respectable one. I didn't have music to keep my mind off the sheer exhaustion of the workout, but for the most part I still managed to keep focused. That said, yesterday I ordered a new iPod, so hopefully I'll have it by the next time I need to run intervals.
I finished up with a 2-mile cooldown, catching up with the group at the meeting point and joining Chad for coffee afterwards.
Details of the workout are below.
I knew the DART group would be meeting in town at 6, so I decided to run in and start out with them, then take off after a mile or so. I didn't think anyone would be up for joining me on an interval workout, but at least I'd have someone to say "hi" to as we passed each other every few minutes. Chad, Todd, Chris, and Jeremy were there, and we took off together at roughly an 8-minute pace. After about .75 miles, I decided to take off on my first interval.
The Garmin Forerunner 305 has the ability to program interval workouts, so you don't need to run them on a marked track, you can do them anywhere and it will track your mileage and time for you. Unfortunately, it doesn't show you your pace as you run -- the screen just tells you which interval you're running and how much distance or time you have left. In my case, I was doing 1000 meter intervals, 0.62 miles, so the screen simply indicated how much distance was left in the interval. I hadn't used this function before, so I got a little confused after the distance was less than 0.1 miles. When you have more than a tenth of a mile left, it gives you two decimal places: .43, .42, etc. But after you get below a tenth, it gives you three decimal places: .098, .097, etc. It's difficult to see the decimal in the dark, so I just thought the thing had gone haywire -- it seemed like it had switched from mileage to some other measure. Meters? Seconds? Finally as you approach your target distance, it starts beeping, then plays a distinctive multi-toned beep at the end of the interval. Phew!
After the first interval, I walked for my planned rest-time of 2:15. The group passed me on the way up Avinger Lane, and I started up on my second interval, running up the hill towards Pine road. This was a tough, uphill leg and I began to worry that I wasn't going to be able to keep up the pace for five intervals. I passed the group again, then turned onto Pine and a gentle downslope. I haven't run intervals at this distance before, so it seemed to take forever before my GPS finally beeped to let me know I could stop. Exhausted, I started another 2:15 recovery walk. All this time, I neglected to glace down at the GPS to note my time for each interval. In fact, I was running them too fast. I did the first one in 4:03 -- a 6:31 pace, and the second one in 3:57 -- a 6:23 pace. This pattern continued for the next two intervals: 3:52 and 4:01.
For my final interval, I was on an upslope, and I was thoroughly worn out. I knew I wouldn't be able to run it as fast as the previous four, so I just ran as fast as I could manage. I ended up finishing it in 4:39, for a 7:31 pace. I'm sure if I had run the first four at my planned pace, I could have done a fifth at the same pace, but I wasn't paying close enough attention to how I was doing on the early legs. Despite this, I was happy with the workout. I had done four very strong intervals and one not-so-strong but still respectable one. I didn't have music to keep my mind off the sheer exhaustion of the workout, but for the most part I still managed to keep focused. That said, yesterday I ordered a new iPod, so hopefully I'll have it by the next time I need to run intervals.
I finished up with a 2-mile cooldown, catching up with the group at the meeting point and joining Chad for coffee afterwards.
Details of the workout are below.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
A tale of two runs
It wasn't the best of runs; it wasn't the worst of runs. Mainly, it was a long run after a hard race the day before. All you need to know can be summed up with two numbers:
Miles 1-9: 8:23 pace
Miles 10-18: 9:08 pace
Chad and I had committed to an 18-miler today. This was after I had run a hard 10K race yesterday—a total of 9 miles if you count the warm-up and cool-down. I wasn't expecting I'd be fast. Indeed, I would have settled for a 9-minute pace for the whole run. But when 9 people show up for the Sunday long run, there's a strong incentive to run faster than you probably should. So we took off at an 8:10 pace on a very hilly Grey Road. I was pooped by the time we got up the first major hill, just 3 miles in. Chad and I managed to keep up the aggressive pace for another 6 miles, even though we were still falling behind the rest of the runners in the group. They were only doing 13, though, so they could afford to keep up the pace.
After a break at Mile 10, we put up a good fight for a while, running 8:40-ish splits, but after Mile 13 our splits got progressively slower: 9:22, 9:12, 9:05, 9:44. Finally on the last mile I did all I could to pick the pace up again, 9:13. I jogged in the last third of a mile to our meeting point, totally sapped, and looking forward to a day of rest tomorrow.
Details of the workout are below.
Miles 1-9: 8:23 pace
Miles 10-18: 9:08 pace
Chad and I had committed to an 18-miler today. This was after I had run a hard 10K race yesterday—a total of 9 miles if you count the warm-up and cool-down. I wasn't expecting I'd be fast. Indeed, I would have settled for a 9-minute pace for the whole run. But when 9 people show up for the Sunday long run, there's a strong incentive to run faster than you probably should. So we took off at an 8:10 pace on a very hilly Grey Road. I was pooped by the time we got up the first major hill, just 3 miles in. Chad and I managed to keep up the aggressive pace for another 6 miles, even though we were still falling behind the rest of the runners in the group. They were only doing 13, though, so they could afford to keep up the pace.
After a break at Mile 10, we put up a good fight for a while, running 8:40-ish splits, but after Mile 13 our splits got progressively slower: 9:22, 9:12, 9:05, 9:44. Finally on the last mile I did all I could to pick the pace up again, 9:13. I jogged in the last third of a mile to our meeting point, totally sapped, and looking forward to a day of rest tomorrow.
Details of the workout are below.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)