My girl friend Cassandra had her secrets and I learned them only slowly. She was never on time for anything, sometimes showing up more than an hour late for our dates. She couldn't hold a job, perhaps because of secret #1, and always felt mistreated and in need of money. She asked for loans and never paid them back. And she didn't mention that she was married.
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On the positive side, she really admired my running. And, as I'd only just begun to get into it, she gave me a book...The Official Book of RUNNING by Bill Emmerton to help me along. AND she wrote a very nice note in it:
"I look forward to saying I know that guy when you are handed your medal for winning
the Boston Marathon in well under 2 hours."
It's a good thing that Cassandra gave me a book at that point in my running career because, having not yet run more than 3 miles, I didn't know much about competitive running. Sure I knew that a marathon was longer than 3 miles but I didn't no how much longer. I also didn't know that a marathon time of "well under 2 hours" was not humanly possible as it would demand a pace of "well under 4 minutes per mile" for the 26.2 mile course.
But I didn't know that so I just felt good that I had a goal. And, in reading Emmerton's book, I saw that I also needed some medium range goals before the one of winning the Boston Marathon. I thought, perhaps, a 5 mile race might be a good stepping stone, so I signed up for my very first, scheduled for Brooklyn's Prospect Park on January 3, 1982. I also figured that an even more intermediate goal would be to actually run that distance at least once beforehand.
So I did that, the week before, on the indoor track at the McBurney YMCA on W 23rd Street. The McBurney Track circled the gym 1 floor below it...20 times around for 1 mile. So I ran around it a glorious 100 times...5 miles! I then dragged a wooden stool into the men's shower and sat on for my shower. I didn't have the strength to stand...but I was ready for the race!
On race morning I got to Prospect Park early...and was shocked to learn that there was a great big hill on the course! What was that doing there? The only races I'd ever run were short dashes and there were no hills on the track! Why I remember field day in junior high school when I won the 60 yard dash. The course was flat as anything. Yes there was controversy...Alan Ng complained afterwards that I'd cut him off at the start. One, Alan Ng is a big baby and a complainer and I hope he's since grown out of it. Two, I could outrun him anytime whether I cut him off or not which I DIDN'T!! And three, I'm sorry that I cut you off, Alan. My bad. But the point is...the course was FLAT, no hills!
But the Prospect Park course wasn't. It contained a simply awful hill on mile 2 that went up and twisted around forever. And that intimidated me as we lined up for the start. But I ran it well. At least I assume I did. Frankly I don't remember it at all. What I do remember, however, is running downhill on mile 4 and simply FLYING by lots of people who probably were worn out by the big hill. In any case I got to the finish line in 37 minutes flat, a 7:24 pace. Not bad for my first 5 mile race ever!
When I learned later that a marathon was more than 5 times longer than the race I'd run...and that, even if I maintained my pace (which, of course, I wouldn't) I'd miss my "well under 2 hours" goal by about 90 minutes or so, that goal seemed seriously in jeopardy. In addition, as my goal was also to win the Boston Marathon there was also the matter of the 872 runners who'd beaten me in Prospect Park. They could be a problem in Boston as well.
So Cassandra, it seemed, hadn't suggested very realistic goals. But it did get me into my first 5 miler and that was fun...just as all the ones I've run since, including this morning's effort, have been!
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Saturday, June 15, 2013
BACK IN THE RUNNING
I had one thought as I walked to the beginning of the 5K race at Roosevelt Island this morning...don't get too close to the start. ALL the runners up there will be WAY too fast for me.
It was my first race in 9 months. A physical issue had played havoc with my life since September, depressing, difficult, uncomfortable...and really screwed up my running! Now I'd only been back at it for 6 weeks...no speed work, nothing long, nothing too hard. Was I ready to race? Not really. But it was exciting to be there to try!
So I searched for the right spot to line up, knowing that I intended to run (if I was up to it) at an 8:30 per mile pace. I walked beyond the front row right at the starting mark, and a bunch more rows beyond that. Finally I came to a group of racers all wearing head phones and heavy looking t shirts. A few others were wearing costumes. "I'm not going behind these people," I thought. "I'm out of training but at least I look like a runner!" I settled in in front of them. And waited.
Soon the horn sounded and we were off, running south along the Queens side of the island. I found a comfortable pace that felt sustainable and stuck with it even as hordes (it seemed) of people passed me, including some with the heavy looking t shirts. None of the costumed characters did, though, so I didn't feel embarrassed into speeding up. About a third of a mile in to the 3.1 mile race and we turned right, then, quickly, right again. Now we were running uptown along the Manhattan edge.
Only a few racers were passing me by and they all looked young and athletic and must have arrived late and started near the back of the pack. I wasn't bothered by them. I felt fairly comfortable and was looking for the 1 mile marker. Soon it was there and I looked at my watch...7:56! A minute faster than ANYTHING I'd run in training and way faster than my intended pace. Too fast. Unsustainable. I came upon a sharply descending ramp and flew down it. Wow! Speedy. "Maybe I could keep this up," I thought. "Maybe I could run this pace for just 2 more miles...." Fortunately reality intruded. NO WAY. If I tried I'd throw myself into oxygen deprivation and have a miserable time before the end. Would probably hurt so much I'd end up walking, an absolute disgrace in the shortest of all middle distance races. How would that sound on facebook?
I slowed down. Good thing I did. As I passed the water station just beyond the race's half way point I felt myself involuntarily slow further. I was pooped! Suddenly I began thinking that maybe this was all too much for me, that I'd never be able to sustain even this reduced pace and that I'd squander my first, fast mile. "Where is that damn second mile marker," I thought, even as I knew the answer as I'd run this course before. It's at the spot where we cross back to the Queens side of Roosevelt Island and head south to the finish. I came to it and fearfully looked at my watch. With all the slowing I'd done the time could be bad. It wasn't...8:36.
Two miles down and still ahead of my goal pace. But slowing by 40 seconds from mile 1 to mile 2 was not good. If that happened on mile 3 it would ruin everything. I needed to at least maintain the speed I was running at. But now I was exhausted and uncomfortable and the wind, which I'd never felt at my back, was now in my face. I thought of walking. REALLY terrible to do that so close to the finish. So instead I played a game. Run to the next landmark and then we'll see. Then go on to the next landmark. And so I kept pace to the next bench, to the next tree, to the place where the sun stopped and the shade began, to where, the shade ended and the sun resumed. I was lost in my game, barely noticing that no one was passing me, till, suddenly, I felt someone on my left.
I knew I couldn't hold him off so I just hoped that he wasn't in my age group. And, as he passed, I knew that he wasn't. Because he wasn't a he. He was a she A young she. And even my addled, oxygen deprived brain knew that a young she won't be in the men's 60 to 64 grouping.
No one else passed me, but I did slow down a bit to stop hurting so much and then, feeling a bit better, picked up the pace again. Where was that damn 3 mile marker? Finally, it appeared and, passing it, I looked at my watch. For the first time in the race I actually hit my intended pace...8:30 on the button! Actually faster than mile 2! Just a tenth of a mile to go. My goal pace would've brought me in at 26:21. The clock wasn't even at 26. I tried picking it up and finishing before the minute hand had a chance to tick up. I couldn't. 26:02.
Later I found that I'd won my age group as, sure enough, the young lady who'd beaten me at the end had not changed sexes or grown older. Doesn't matter. My age group, at least in this race, was pokey. More telling, I finished exactly in the middle of the 124 men and 80 of the 253 finishers. That wasn't bad.
In fact this was by far the slowest 5k I've ever run. I've never run any race below a half marathon distance at a slower pace. And yet my last mile and a half here was SO hard fought, so in the competitive, athletic spirit, that I feel really good about it.
And I guaranty, with consistent training, that young lady will not be going by me on mile 3!
It was my first race in 9 months. A physical issue had played havoc with my life since September, depressing, difficult, uncomfortable...and really screwed up my running! Now I'd only been back at it for 6 weeks...no speed work, nothing long, nothing too hard. Was I ready to race? Not really. But it was exciting to be there to try!
So I searched for the right spot to line up, knowing that I intended to run (if I was up to it) at an 8:30 per mile pace. I walked beyond the front row right at the starting mark, and a bunch more rows beyond that. Finally I came to a group of racers all wearing head phones and heavy looking t shirts. A few others were wearing costumes. "I'm not going behind these people," I thought. "I'm out of training but at least I look like a runner!" I settled in in front of them. And waited.
Soon the horn sounded and we were off, running south along the Queens side of the island. I found a comfortable pace that felt sustainable and stuck with it even as hordes (it seemed) of people passed me, including some with the heavy looking t shirts. None of the costumed characters did, though, so I didn't feel embarrassed into speeding up. About a third of a mile in to the 3.1 mile race and we turned right, then, quickly, right again. Now we were running uptown along the Manhattan edge.
Only a few racers were passing me by and they all looked young and athletic and must have arrived late and started near the back of the pack. I wasn't bothered by them. I felt fairly comfortable and was looking for the 1 mile marker. Soon it was there and I looked at my watch...7:56! A minute faster than ANYTHING I'd run in training and way faster than my intended pace. Too fast. Unsustainable. I came upon a sharply descending ramp and flew down it. Wow! Speedy. "Maybe I could keep this up," I thought. "Maybe I could run this pace for just 2 more miles...." Fortunately reality intruded. NO WAY. If I tried I'd throw myself into oxygen deprivation and have a miserable time before the end. Would probably hurt so much I'd end up walking, an absolute disgrace in the shortest of all middle distance races. How would that sound on facebook?
I slowed down. Good thing I did. As I passed the water station just beyond the race's half way point I felt myself involuntarily slow further. I was pooped! Suddenly I began thinking that maybe this was all too much for me, that I'd never be able to sustain even this reduced pace and that I'd squander my first, fast mile. "Where is that damn second mile marker," I thought, even as I knew the answer as I'd run this course before. It's at the spot where we cross back to the Queens side of Roosevelt Island and head south to the finish. I came to it and fearfully looked at my watch. With all the slowing I'd done the time could be bad. It wasn't...8:36.
Two miles down and still ahead of my goal pace. But slowing by 40 seconds from mile 1 to mile 2 was not good. If that happened on mile 3 it would ruin everything. I needed to at least maintain the speed I was running at. But now I was exhausted and uncomfortable and the wind, which I'd never felt at my back, was now in my face. I thought of walking. REALLY terrible to do that so close to the finish. So instead I played a game. Run to the next landmark and then we'll see. Then go on to the next landmark. And so I kept pace to the next bench, to the next tree, to the place where the sun stopped and the shade began, to where, the shade ended and the sun resumed. I was lost in my game, barely noticing that no one was passing me, till, suddenly, I felt someone on my left.
I knew I couldn't hold him off so I just hoped that he wasn't in my age group. And, as he passed, I knew that he wasn't. Because he wasn't a he. He was a she A young she. And even my addled, oxygen deprived brain knew that a young she won't be in the men's 60 to 64 grouping.
No one else passed me, but I did slow down a bit to stop hurting so much and then, feeling a bit better, picked up the pace again. Where was that damn 3 mile marker? Finally, it appeared and, passing it, I looked at my watch. For the first time in the race I actually hit my intended pace...8:30 on the button! Actually faster than mile 2! Just a tenth of a mile to go. My goal pace would've brought me in at 26:21. The clock wasn't even at 26. I tried picking it up and finishing before the minute hand had a chance to tick up. I couldn't. 26:02.
Later I found that I'd won my age group as, sure enough, the young lady who'd beaten me at the end had not changed sexes or grown older. Doesn't matter. My age group, at least in this race, was pokey. More telling, I finished exactly in the middle of the 124 men and 80 of the 253 finishers. That wasn't bad.
In fact this was by far the slowest 5k I've ever run. I've never run any race below a half marathon distance at a slower pace. And yet my last mile and a half here was SO hard fought, so in the competitive, athletic spirit, that I feel really good about it.
And I guaranty, with consistent training, that young lady will not be going by me on mile 3!
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