And so it begins… (part 2)

As you recall from my previous post in January, my friend sent an email to me suggesting I sign-up for the Quivering Quads Half Marathon Trail Run.  “Dude, I did it last year, it’s great!” he said.  Not one to walk away from a challenge (sometimes a mistake), I signed up for the race. 

The morning of Sunday, March 11^th arrived early, especially after “Springing Forward” the night before.  I awoke at 5:30, put on my running clothes and had a light breakfast.  The sun was just starting to come over the horizon when I pulled out of the driveway.  On the drive to the race I had about 90 minutes to get psyched up.  I thought about the training I had done and felt confident.  I knew the distance would not be a problem, but wondered what the trail would be like and how it would affect my running.  The weather was overcast with temperatures in the mid 40’s.  For me that was perfect running weather. 

I arrived at the race, joining hundreds of other runners awaiting the start.  To keep the trail from becoming congested they started us in groups of 25 runners.  They grouped us based on our estimated completion time which we had each provided when we registered for the race.  Having never run a trail run before, I took my half marathon time and added 30 minutes.  My estimated time of 2 hours and 40 minutes placed me is the second to last group.

The trail was a narrow path.  Some called it a “trail” others called it a “single-track”.  I called it a cow-path.  It was a narrow path about 8-12 inches wide that meandered through the rocky and hilly terrain of northeast Missouri.  At times, the path was nice and smooth, leading me through the woods and valleys.  At other times there were fallen logs across the trail to leap over, tree roots to trip over, rocks to stumble over, dried creek beds to cross, and there were plenty of hills. 

I’m not claiming these were mountains, but they were definitely hills.  Up and down, hill after hill we would go.  Many runners walked up the hills, especially the steep hills.  But not me, oh no, I used it as an opportunity to keep a steady pace as pass people.  By the 4 mile mark I was going strong, even passing people that had started two groups ahead of me.  I felt great, like I could run this trail forever.

I felt great until mile 6 when I felt a slight sting in my right knee.  Hmmm, maybe running hard on those hills wasn’t so smart.  That slight sting seemed to occur whenever I was running up or down a hill.  Running on flats felt fine.  By mile 8 the slight sting became more and more painful.  I stopped at a water station and when I started to run again, holly cow, my knee had tightened up and the pain shot through my leg as I took those first few strides.  Good grief did it hurt.  I could barely walk. 

I had to force myself to keep moving.  Alone on the trail, I was actually yelling out load at myself to keep moving, keeping me motivated to run through what I knew was only temporary pain.  By mile 9 I was thinking what the heck am I going to do?  I’m 9 miles into the run, 4.1 more miles to go, my right leg feels like someone shot a bullet through my knee, and all those people I passed just a few miles back are gaining on me. 

I took baby strides until my knee loosened back up and the pain went down.  That is until the next hill.  As soon as I started either up or down a hill, the knee pain shot back with a vengeance.  I was forced to walk up and down the hills and run only the flat sections.  Soon I was being passed by the same people I had confidently passed just a few miles earlier.  I could read their minds as they passed me “that dork ran the hills and screwed up his knee”.

By mile 10 the run the flats and walk the hills routine became the only way I could make progress.  The pain transitioning from the walk to the run was huge.  By mile 12 I was a mess.  My knee throbbed, my calves were starting to cramp, and of all things, it started to rain.  I hit the last mile which thankfully was a flat section along a gravel road.  I ran that last mile at a snail’s pace until I neared the finish line.  Race officials and volunteers cheered the runners to the finish.  I picked-up my pace and tried to give a strong finish.

The finishing times were posted on the race website that evening.  I studied the results.  There I was, of the 34 male runners in the 40-44 age category, I finished dead last with a time of 3 hours 5 minutes.  I wasn’t even close to the guy in my age group who finished ahead of me (15 minutes ahead of me).  I continued looking through the race results.  Surely there was some younger guy that I had beaten… looking… looking…  Nope, not a single guy my age or younger was slower than me.  In fact, I had to look to an age group 10 years older before finally finding a guy that I beat.   Overall, I finished 321 of the 371 runners. 

So how did I feel about the race?  It was one of the best organized races in which I have participated.  The aid stations and volunteers were great.  The trail and scenery were beautiful.  Sure it hurt like hell at times, sure my time sucked (which I knew it would) but I finished, earned a finishing medal, and have a story to tell about the race.  I definitely plan to run it again next year.

As for my friend who invited me to run this race?  He crashed on his mountain bike the weekend before the race, screwed up his shoulder, and said it would be too painful to run.  Too painful?  (Dude, HTFU).

And so it begins…

 

“Dude,

I’m already signed up.  You in?”

The email is followed by a link to some crazy run, cycling event, or combination of the two.

This year the email came with a link to the Quivering Quads Trail Half Marathon. 

Why is it people send these emails?  I think it’s because they’ve signed-up for a race and suddenly realize they want to make sure someone else finishes dead last. 

So click on the link and check out the website.  It’s a half marathon trail run on March 11th.  My mind starts processing the possibilities.  Since it’s just the middle of January, I figure I have a good 7 weeks  to train right?  Wait, what about that vacation I’m taking in a couple of weeks?  That’s going to screw up my training.  The half marathon distance doesn’t bother me too much, but a “trail run”?  What will that be like?  Didn’t I just read in Runners World that trail running is a great way to jump-start your training because it’s more difficult than running on a paved surface?  I’ve never done a trail run before.  I hate doing something for the first time during a race.  If I do this, I need to run the trail sometime before the actual race.  But not too soon before the race as I want my legs to be in good shape by March 11th.  I could do the practice run the last weekend of February, but wait, that’s only 6 weeks away, 5 if you give me time off for my vacation.  Don’t even get me started about training while on vacation, I’ve tried it but it never works. 

So, 5 weeks of training until I do the practice trail run.  That means upping my weekly running mileage a bit and laying off the cycling. 

I return to the website and see a list of runners already signed-up.  I know some of them and they’re good – like really good.  Me?  I suck.  I mean, I can do the run, but I’ll have a crappy finishing time.  I look at the results for last year’s run and compare myself to other finishers in my age group.  I look at the slowest time and weigh my odds.  I decide to sign-up for the race, then send an email to a friend.

“Dude,

I’m already signed-up.  You in?”

 

TT

I’ve apparently come to a point in my middle-age life when I’m driven to repeatedly convince myself I’m younger and stronger than I truly am.  This compulsion recently manifested itself into racing my first Time Trial – “TT” for short. 

For those unfamiliar with a TT, it’s basically a 9 mile bicycle race (out and back 4.5 miles) and they time you to see how fast you went. 

I arrived at the race event early and talked with some of the regular racers.  They were very encouraging and welcoming.  Like every other bike race I’ve been in, the discussion ultimately gets down to tire pressure.  Before long, and with my tires finely tuned at 110 psi, I was warming up with some others on the course. 

Being my first time at a TT, I was unfamiliar with how to properly warm up for a 9 mile TT.  My experience, being a runner, is that when I warm-up for a 5K run, I don’t actually run a 5K as a warm-up.  However, riding the full 9 mile course (at least once) is a standard warm-up for a 9 mile TT?

Following my warm up, a young man (actually a boy about age 12) rode up alongside me.  “This your first time?” he asked.  I silently pondered what prompted that question, my unshaven cycling legs or my obvious exhaustion from my 9 mile warm up.  “It’s my first.  How about you?” I replied.  He explained that he had raced this course several times, as well as having raced other TTs in the St. Louis area.  Having just upgraded his bike, he explained that he wanted to shave a least 1 minute off his previous time of 26:30.  (I made a mental note, must beat 26:30).  I complimented him on his new bike, specifically made for TT racing.  He looked over at my bike several times, and after a long pause, and with a troubled look on his face, simply commented “It’s cooler tonight than last week.” 

Some categories in a TT are based on your bike and equipment.  Like the kid, some racers have super-fast, state of the art TT bikes.  I on the other hand, I have a traditional bike and race in what is called the Eddy Merckx “Retro” division.  

We began the race by lining up single file along a lonesome road.  4.5 miles ahead was a turn-around.  Every 60 seconds a new racer started.  Soon I was at the front of the line.  A man, the holder, held my bike upright from the rear as I clipped into my pedals and steadied myself for the start.  Another man with a clipboard and stopwatch counted down 5-4-3-2-1.  The racers lined up behind me cheered me on as I started my first TT.  They had probably all taken bets on how soon they would pass me. 

I don’t know what my strategy should have been for this race, but for the most part, I had only one thought, beat 26:30.  To do so, I would need to average a little over 20 mph for the entire 9 miles.  I checked my speed and I was doing 23.  I settled in at around 22 mph and tried to cheat the wind by keeping my body position low.  At about the 3 mile mark I was passed by the racer who had started 60 seconds behind me. 

I felt relief at the turn-around.  I always feel better when I’m halfway through something and all I have to do is head back to the finish.  I tried to keep my speed up, but with my legs and lungs burning, I saw my speed slowly drifting down to 21 mph, then to 20 mph and occasionally 19 mph.

Other than my burning legs and scorched lungs, I felt great.  I was riding faster and harder than I had ever ridden.  I had visions of my finishing time compared to the other racers.  I imagined their reaction to me, the new guy, once they saw my finishing time.  I pedaled even harder.

Soon another rider passed me with ease.  He looked comfortable, almost relaxed, in contrast to my panting and sweating.  Knowing the finish was only two miles, soon only one mile ahead, I kept pushing.  Making a slight turn in the road brought the start/finish area into view.  Others racers lining up for their start watched as the riders raced past them to the finish.  Not wanting to look like a tired middle-aged guy who had never done a TT before, I pumped harder past the line of racers, no doubt leaving them impressed as I crossed the finish line at a blistering 26 mph speed.

I felt great… well, great relief.  The 9 miles were over and could finally stop pedaling.  I didn’t know my official time, but was confident I had beaten 26:30.  I did a short cool down ride with some other racers, excitedly telling them what a great race I had.  They nodded, politely smiled and congratulated me for coming out and racing that evening. 

It’s a great feeling driving home with the windows down, still sweaty from a hard-fought race, with my bike proudly sitting up in the back of my truck.  Arriving home I told my wife about the evening’s bike race.  She was already in bed reading a book.  As always, she tried to show the same excitement in hearing about the race as I had in describing it.  Before I stepped into the shower, she called out to me, “Be sure to use extra soap on your right calf to get all that grease off.” 

I slept great that night.  Excited about my speed and endurance and looking forward to seeing my finishing time.  How would I compare to the other racers, I wondered?  Sure, I got passed by some racers, but those guys were riding special TT bikes, while I was in a totally different class (some would say in more ways than one). 

By the next morning the results were posted online.  I excitedly scanned the list of names in finishing order.  After scrolling down the page… and further down the page, there I was “John McCracken” with a finishing time of 25:43 averaging 20.54 mph.  Out of all the other racers in my class, I was…..dead last.  I looked at the fastest finish time in my class, almost 4 minutes and 30 seconds faster than me.  I was in disbelief how anyone could ride that fast.

I finished my coffee and went to work.  Everyone at the office asked how I did at my race.  They listened silently as I explained the details of the 9 mile course, how hard I kept pedaling despite burning legs and physical exhaustion, finishing in 25:43 and averaging 20.54 mph.  They all congratulated me, in disbelief that anyone could ride that fast.

Shaved Legs and Fast Times

Time again for the Highland Biathlon.  One of my favorite events of the year consisting of a 5 mile run followed by a 15 mile bike, followed by free beer at the finish.  This was my fourth time competing in this race.

The weeks leading up the race were full of trash talk from my friends planning to compete against me.  Ha – I laugh at them now.  One friend, a great cyclist, was going to team up with a super fast runner and compete as a team.  Do I recall hearing talk about finishing under 60 minutes?  But in the days leading to the race, the rumor was that her runner had backed-out and she might not do the event. 

Then there was some girl who is a fast cyclist (although we all know she is a runner at heart).  She figured I would beat her in the run, but that she would beat me on the bike.  I think her exact words were “Dude, I’m going to smoke you on the bike!”  But sadly, in the days leading up to the race, talk of her suffering an injury had us all wondering if she would be able to compete. 

Now don’t think a minor setback like losing a teammate or suffering an injury would stop me from this race.  Heck No.  In fact, the morning of the race, I too suffered a setback when a sharp piece of paper sliced open my index finger resulting in blood loss.  This injury was preceded the day before with a blister on my thumb caused from strenuous yard work.  Making no excuses and despite these injuries, I showed up to race. 

I arrived at the race looking the part.  My black spandex tri-shorts contrasting nicely against my freshly shaved legs.  With one hand on the bike saddle, I walked my bike to the transition area, sunglasses on, checking out other bikes, but mostly looking to make sure I wasn’t the only guy walking around with shaved legs.  I concluded the guys with shaved legs looked like they were really serious and really fast.  Of course I added a little swagger in my step to live up to this new expectation. 

Where was my competition?  With my hands held out, palms facing me, I studied the blister on my thumb and the band aid covering my paper cut.  Again I asked myself, where was my competition?  This is a great country built on people doing the impossible, achieving great things despite dire circumstances, who when the going gets tough….  I suddenly remembered I forgot sunscreen and hoped I wouldn’t  get a painful sunburn. 

The race began with the sharp crack of a starting pistol.  Or it could have been a guy on a megaphone saying “set…Go!”  (you decide).  I started my Garmin and was off running.

It only took a quarter of a mile before I started the constant checking of my Garmin for critical information about my run: actual pace, average pace, distance, and time.  I figured all the other fast looking guys were doing the same, only by now, they were probably at the half mile mark. 

The first mile went great.  I was on pace and feeling good.  By mile two, I was hot and thirsty, the sun was up and it was humid.   As is tradition, at the 3 mile mark I asked myself what the Hell was I doing this for?  I grabbed a cup of water as I ran through a water stop and dumped the cold water on my head.  Before me was a long up-hill run, shade at the top being my only reward.  Reaching the top of the hill I was near the 4 mile mark, among shade trees and, checking my Garmin, I was slightly off my goal pace. 

Approaching the 5 mile mark I was neck and neck with another guy.  I knew if he started sprinting that I would have to chase him down; I secretly prayed he wouldn’t.  When he started to fall behind, I uped my pace and pulled away, leaving him to suffer the mental defeat of being passed at the finish by a guy 10 years his junior, with shaved legs. 

I finished the run in just over 46 minutes and transitioned onto my bike.  Taking in a power gel followed by sports drink, I changed into my cycling shoes, strapped on my helmet, and (with great speed) headed off on my bike. 

The thrill of a high speed start was cut short thanks to a strong headwind.  I tried to tuck down and cheat the wind.  After some rolling hills I was enjoying speeds in the low 20’s. 

After riding 6 miles my calves started cramping, first the left then the right.  I tried to stretch them as I pedaled, but they would soon cramp up again.  I looked at my right leg and saw my calf muscle making grotesque involuntary movements, like it was trying to throw-up and rid itself of this bike ride.  I thought about my blistered thumb and paper cut finger, and drew strength reflecting on all I had persevered through in the last two days to get to this moment.  I felt pity for my friends, sitting at home drinking their mimosas, missing this experience. 

Miles wore on, and I claimed the left lane of the desolate road.  The sun bore down hot, and I passed rider after rider.  My calves conceded that they were in this race to the end.  No longer cramped, out of the saddle, we pushed up the final hill coming into town.  With just under 2 miles to go I checked my Garmin to confirm my time.  Only 6 minutes left to finish under my goal time.

In the few minutes remaining, I chose my victims, one after the other, gaining on them and passing, gaining on another and passing.  I crossed the finish line at a blistering 22 miles per hour and slowly coasted to a stop, remembering to unclip before putting down my foot.

I finished in 1:38:58.  My goal was to finish under 1:40:00.  Even though most other racers had already finished, I dismounted and with renewed swagger, expertly guided my bike through the transition area with only one hand on the saddle.  

I replaced my cycling shoes with my running shoes, stretched my calves, and for a moment fought the urge to throw-up.  Slowly feeling better, I headed over for a satisfying and refreshing cold Bud Light.  (intentional product mention in hopes my friends at AB will be reading this). 

As for my competition?  Who knows what excuses they’ll come up with next year?  Let them drink their morning mimosas as they nurse their injuries.  For me, I compete against myself, enjoying the thrill of going faster than the year before.  And in the words of Robert Earl Keen, “The road goes on forever… and the party never ends.”

Big Competition at the Mini-Tri

This was the 3^rd Annual Mini-Tri at the Y, hosted by the Edwardsville YMCA.  Although this is marketed as a non-competitive, family friendly event (which it is), there are some of us who just don’t understand the word “non-competitive”.  I wasn’t the only one who showed up wearing my game face.  Even with the short distances (150 yard swim, 7 mile bike, and 1.5 mile run) I was in good company with the other serious athletes who showed up to compete. 

My daughter Kathleen did the tri with her friend while my other daughter Colleen had to sit this year out because of a foot injury.  My wife Stacey honed here photography skills taking hundreds of pictures. 

The hardest part of this tri is that because the distances are so short, and if you’re competing for a fast time, you basically have to sprint the entire race.  There is no time to go easy or recover. 

 

Although I swam the 150 yards in 2:42, my daughter Kathleen was done and out of the pool before I even started my final lap. 

 

I caught up with her in the transition area.  She asked me why I was breathing so hard “It was only a 150, Dad.” 

Despite being out of breath, I wasn’t about to let her beat me.  I smoked her transitioning onto my bike, as she struggled with her helmet and shoes.  While other parents shouted support and encouragement to their children, I whispered to Kathleen “slow poke” as I mounted my bike and headed out. 

Because of the short distance of the bike ride, I chose to replace my spd pedals with normal platform pedals.  My thought was that the additional speed gained by clipping-in would be lost in the additional transition time changing from cycling to running shoes.  The bike ride was basically flat with a few steady inclines.  I averaged about 20 mph on the way out, but dropped to 18 on the way back.  Several times I wished I could clip-in and really crank the pedals.  Oh well.

I was tucked down on my bike, cheating the wind and shaving seconds off my time.  With my legs pumping hard, I passed several riders (they were no doubt envious of my excellent cycling form and resulting speed).  While other racers enjoyed the ride on this beautiful day, few shared my competitive commitment and focus.  The ride was 3.5 miles out and back.  I was about 5 miles into the ride when I passed my daughter and her friend coming towards me.  They lacked all evidence of competition and cheerily waved hello at me as I streaked by them.  After completing the ride, I racked my bike and removed my helmet. 

I was now ready to finish the race with a fast 1.5 mile run.  With my wife and daughter Colleen cheering, I took those first few strides and headed off… but not so fast.  My legs wouldn’t move.  Having ridden the bike hard, my legs were revolting against having to use different muscles and start running.  I was literally running in slow motion.  I wanted to finish this race and gloat to my daughters about my fast time but it took tremendous effort just to get my legs to move.  After about 30 yards, my stride got better and I slowly worked-up to my running speed. 

The 1.5 mile run should have been easy and I was blown away by how weak and useless my legs felt.  Several times I tried to push harder, but there was nothing, my legs just wouldn’t move much faster.  The out and back run finished back the Y’s parking lot, under the big finish line banner.  40 minutes and 14 seconds was my final time.  Not what I expected but I know I lost time in the run.  I had hoped to run an 8 minute pace but probably ran it somewhere around a 10 minute pace. 

I waited and watched my daughter and her friend cross the finish line.  Like best friends, they joined hands and crossed the finish line together; neither taking the competitive advantage nor sprinting to beat the other (what was the point of that?).

Following the race, we headed into the Y’s gym and enjoyed a great pancake and sausage breakfast before they announced the winners. 

On my way to get pancakes

 

The pancake breakfast is one of the best parts of this event.  An impromptu pancake eating contest among two of the Y staff began, but I had already eaten my pancakes and I chose to only watch this competition. 

I didn’t finish as fast as I wanted but now have a time to beat for next year.  This is an event for all ages and abilities, and all levels of competition.  This is a great event for teenagers wanting to try the sport and for adults who have a fitness goal and want to challenge themselves.  Most importantly, it is a great event for dads who want to show their kids who is fastest.

St. Louis Marathon

St. Louis Marathon

A cold January Saturday morning, my neighbor called and asked if I wanted to go for a run.  He suggested maybe 6 miles.  “How about 10 miles?” I said.  I consider myself a runner and have run several half marathon distances.  10 miles would be a fun run.  His longest recent run was 6 miles.  (only 6 miles?  Ha!)  However, my neighbor is a tremendous athlete who did run a half marathon distance during a half-ironman last summer. 

While on our run, he explained he was thinking about running the St. Louis Marathon in April.  I took his committing to a full marathon as a challenge to my claim of being a real runner.  Silently, during that January run, I accepted the challenge. 

I began serious training.  During the week I would do 5K speed runs on the treadmill at the YMCA.  During weekends, I would do between 15 and 20 mile runs.  The 20 mile runs were not fun.  They were long, boring, and hard.  I ran in snow, over ice, and in rain.  I had set a goal and by God, I was going to do it. 

One thing people will say about me is that when I commit to something important to me, I am extremely competitive and extremity driven. 

My training program included several 20 mile runs with the longest run, about 4 weeks before the actual marathon, being a 24 mile run.  Why 24 miles?  Why not run an additional 2.1 and complete the full marathon distance?  I felt great during the 24^th mile, but it was on a cold lonely bike trail with no one around to cheer me on or share my accomplishment.  I wanted to save that 26^th mile to be something special to remember. 

The following week after the 24 mile run, I ran an easy 10 miles in 1 hour and 34 minutes.  I felt good about my pace.  However, two days later, I couldn’t even walk up the stairs without extreme pain in my left knee.  I was injured.  I tried running on the treadmill and couldn’t even do a quarter mile – the pain was so bad.  I figured a couple days of rest would solve the problem and I would be back to normal.  After 1 week I could still not even run a mile on the treadmill without having to stop because of the pain. 

I was crushed.  I had worked so hard training.  I knew I could go the distance but now I would not be able to run the marathon because of an injury.  Experienced runners provided advice: “Stop – don’t run.  You’ll make it worse.”  I was a crab-ass for a couple days.  My wife had seen all the training I had done and knew how bad I wanted to run the marathon.  She felt so bad for me. 

With 15 days before the marathon, I began a series of physical therapy treatments.  They looked at my knee, worked on it and said “No promises, but we’ll do what we can to try to get you running the marathon.”  They did all kinds of treatments on my knee, heat, cold, electric stimulation, ultrasound, massage and stretching.  I was at physical therapy every other day for over a week.  The treatments worked and I was soon able to run 3 miles with only little pain, soon 5 miles.  One week before the marathon, I tested my knee and ran 10 miles with very little pain.  At the conclusion of that run, the knee felt fine and I knew I would be fine for the full marathon in one week.  I was so happy to be healthy and ready to complete my challenge. 

Sunday morning, my neighbor and I arrived at the St. Louis Marathon.  My designated starting corral was about 3 blocks from the actual starting line.  Thousands of people stood between me and the starting line, with thousands of people yet behind me.  The temperature was already warming up.  After the starting gun I remained standing several minutes in a crowd of 17,000 waiting for the mass of people to slowly start walking forward towards the starting line.  As we approached the starting line, we were at a very slow jog.  I crossed the starting line and started by Garmin to track my run. 

The mass of people set the pace.  I could not run faster or slower than the pace set by the mass.  I just went with the flow, which was about a minute per mile slower than I had wanted. 

The first water station was an interesting experience.  The street was completely wet and littered with thousands of crushed paper cups.  Tables were on each side of the road full of cups of water and Gatorade.  The unusually warm temperature that day required care in keeping hydrated.  I grabbed a Gatorade and continued my run. 

My strategy was to walk through the water stations, a strategy recommended to conserve energy for the full 26.2 miles.  I also ran a slightly slower pace than normal in an attempt to conserve additional energy which I knew I would need at the end. 

Running through the Soulard area was great, although the up-hill run to get there slowed my pace a bit.  Once at the top, we were welcomed by the Soulard Neighborhood Cheering Section – a group of inebriated individuals wearing bath robes and drinking Bloody Marys.  From Soulard we ran through the Anheuser-Busch Brewery, then back north towards downtown St. Louis. 

Mile 5 was back in downtown near the start.  The crowd was there and cheered everyone on.  My pace increased as we turned down Olive towards St. Louis University.  I passed the Law school near the 8 mile mark.  I was feeling good.  No knee pain and I was keeping hydrated and taking my energy gel. 

Somewhere around the 9 mile mark, the course continued down a 4-lane divided road, having a grass median in the middle.  At a point ahead, the full marathoners would split off, while the half-marathoners would turn back on the same road and head back in the other direction.  As we ran, I looked across the grass median and saw the thousands of half- marathoners heading towards the remaining few miles of their race.  As I neared the split-off point, a race official with a megaphone called out “Full marathoners to the right, half-marathoners to the left.”  I went into the right lane; orange construction cones now separating the full from the half-marathoners.  I could see the split-off point ahead. 

Suddenly, race officials were blocking the right lane yelling “all runners to the left” their hands waiving us into the half-marathon lane.  I and other runners moved back into the left lane.  As we approached the split-off point, there was a wall of race officials, police officers, and metal barricades blocking the route.  “All runners must turn left.  All runners must turn left” they shouted, their arms waiving and pointing to the left.  I thought maybe there was an accident and they were re-routing us around it.  I became concerned when we passed several side streets and we kept heading back into downtown towards the finish line.  I overheard other runners complaining that they had closed the full marathon because of the heat and that all marathoners had to do the half marathon.  After a ½ mile past the split-off, one runner told me I had actually missed the full marathon split-off.  I was sure they had blocked the route.  Had I not seen it?  Did I somehow misunderstand their instructions? 

I wasn’t going to miss out on my marathon run.  I jumped the grass median and sprinted back ½ mile to the split-off point.  This time, instead of sending us into the right lane, the official with the megaphone was saying “All runners to the left”.  I stopped and asked him what was going on.  He explained they closed the full marathon because of the extreme heat.  I continued ahead until the actual split-off point.  Again, the same volunteers repeating the same “All runners to the left’.  I stopped to ask why.  They said the full marathon race course was closed because of the heat and all runners must do the half marathon. 

“No Fucking Way” I shouted.  I stood there a minute just staring at the crowd of volunteers sending us all back.  I slowly turned and not knowing what else to do, began to run back into St. Louis.  I was so fucking pissed I couldn’t think.  How could this happen?  All that hard work and training?  Working through an injury?  How could this be?  How would I explain this to my family and all my friends who had supported and encouraged me?  I knew my wife was planning a small family victory party for me later in the day. 

I had paced myself for a 26.2 mile run, a little over an 11 minute mile pace.  I thought about trying to run hard and get a good time for a half marathon, but realized because I had gone back through the split-off again, I had just run an extra mile.  My “half marathon” would be 14.1 miles, not 13.1.  The crowd of half marathoners was mostly walking at this point.  It was a crowded street of walkers and I was forced to weave through people to make progress.  Frustrated and without hope for a good run, I said “fuck it” and started walking. 

Along those final 2 miles, there were ambulance sirens everywhere, and I admit it was getting hot.  I passed several runners stretched out on the grass being tended to by paramedics.  The exit ramp from Highway 40 near the race route had been closed by state troopers and was now full of ambulances working on downed runners.  These ambulances weren’t just from St. Louis. They were coming in from surrounding towns. 

I ran the last mile towards the finish line contemplating giving the photographer the finger as I crossed the finish line.  I decided best not to. 

I crossed the finish line and was handed a medal for my accomplishment – not a half-marathon medal, but ironically a full marathon medal.  WTF? 

My neighbor, who had been running a faster pace than I had actually made it through the split-off point before the marathon course was closed.  Having closed the full marathon course, I assumed he would be walking back.  However, I learned they didn’t actually close the full marathon course.  Instead, they let those already on it finish. 

I called my wife who was tracking me on the internet.  She saw I had finished the half marathon.  “What happened? Are you alright?”  I explained what happened and just sat there, unable to comprehend that I was only allowed to run the half marathon.  My wife looked up my neighbor and tracked him on the internet.  She explained he had recently passed the 20 mile mark and was still running.  I just sat there, speechless, unable to understand why I had been denied my marathon. 

It still makes no sense to me why they closed the marathon course to some but allowed others who had passed the split-off to continue running another 3.5 hours.  Were they somehow immune to the alleged “heat” that had caused the cancellation? 

I congratulate my neighbor who ran the 26.2 miles in 4 hours and 14 minutes. 

My marathon medal remains where I threw it, in the dirty corner of my garage.

The Great River Road Run

A bit colder than last year, I wasn’t sure if I should wear running tights or shorts.  Before the race it was just 40 degrees, but it was sunny with an expected high around 47.  I parked my truck along a side street in Alton, Illinois and walked to the check-in for the 2010 Great River Road 10 Mile Race. 

At the check-in I picked up my race number and saw a couple people I knew.  As I left, another friend stopped me to say hello.  His wife, along with some of her friends, were running today and he and I discussed the topic most others were discussing, what to wear.  I knew the wind could be strong along the river and didn’t want to be cold the whole run, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to be too hot and sweaty either.  Oh, the decisions we runners face.

 I wandered down to the starting line, along with over 1,000 of my closest friends, and stood among them in the sun, trying to keep warm.  The actual starting line area was shaded by several tall concrete silos.  The announcer came on the load speaker and we all formed a group before the starting line.  At 10:00 a.m. the starting gun fired and I waited for the group to get moving.  Slowly we began our run.  First tiny steps as the crowd worked its way across the start-finish line.  The start-finish line was electronic.  Embedded in each race number was a little computer chip that transmits a signal when you actually start the race and when you finish.  Although almost a minute had already passed by the time I reached the starting line, the “chip-timing” would record my actual time.

I pressed “Start” on my Garmin and began the race.  The group was still tightly packed and the pace of the group set my pace.  Slowly the group spread out and people found their stride.  My goal was to do the race at a steady 10 minute mile pace.  The sun was shining and felt good.  I had decided to wear the shorts instead of the running tights (there was plenty of other motivational eye candy for the ladies). 

The course is a total of 10 miles along the Great River Road starting in Alton, Illinois.  You head up river 5 miles, turn around and head back.  Few get lost on this route.  I knew the turn-around point was about even with a building and its smoke stacks across the river.  From the starting line, the smoke stacks looked only inches tall. 

The Great River Road is a 4 lane divided highway.  The entire southbound lanes are blocked for the race.  On one side are the bluffs rising up hundreds of feet, on the other side is the Mississippi River.  It is a beautiful run when the weather is nice.  I would hate to run it if it were snowing or sleeting.  Today however, the mid-40’s temps felt great.  I was warm enough to sweat just a little. 

Along the run every couple miles are water stations, manned by volunteers.  About the 3 mile mark a husband and his two small children stood along the side of the road with a sign “Good Luck Mom”.  I figured every mom running found some inspiration from that sign.

Also at the 3 mile mark, I saw the first runner on his return.  He had already made the turn around and was on his way to the finish.   The group of runners shifted to a single lane, making room for the returning runners.  I was amazed that in the time it took me to run 3 miles, these guys were at the 7 mile mark.  These college age athletes were nearly sprinting.  We all cheered them on as they approached and passed us. 

The 5 mile mark came sooner than I remember from last year; I guess I was just feeling good.  I was finally about even with the smoke stacks that had looked miniature about 45 minutes earlier.  I had been concerned about my foot being a little sore, but it didn’t seem to bother me.  I made the turn around and welcomed the new view.  It was fun seeing all the runners that were still behind me.  I know that’s not the nicest thing to say, but still, it was nice.  I figured hundreds of runners had already thought the same about me. 

I ran this race without music.  In the past I have had my iPod and music to keep me motivated.  Recently however, I’ve enjoyed running without music.  I seem to enjoy the run more.

At the 7 mile mark I was feeling strong.  With only 3 miles remaining I began to quicken my pace.  I downed some power gel and water and began selecting my targets.  Each person in front of me became a target.  I would focus on them until I passed them, claiming a small victory with each pass.  Each victory was followed by selecting a new target.  I wondered if I myself had a target on my back.  Was somebody thinking, “I’m gonna pass that guy… maybe right before the finish”?

After passing the 9 mile mark the road curved putting the finish line in sight.  I quickened my pace even more, picking off targets as I went.  Nearing the finish line, there wasn’t anyone directly behind me, but in front was a lady, my final target.  After nearly 10 miles I didn’t feel like sprinting, but I did quickened my pace even more, pulling up alongside her, and then slowly passing her.  It wasn’t a race to the finish, just a polite pass. 

I crossed the finish line and felt good about my accomplishment.  The first 50 male and first 50 female finishers all received medals.  No… I wasn’t even close.  I saw my friend, along with his wife and her friends, all whom I knew.  They were all females ranging in age from mid 40’s to early 60’s, and they all had medals around their necks.  We talked about the race.  They had finished only about 12 minutes before me, a pace I might have been able to handle.  They asked about my run and after telling them my time, gave me a “good job, that’s great.”  Seeing their medals, it felt more consoling than encouraging. 

Last year, after being in the doctor’s office for a chest cold 4 days before the race and being on antibiotics, I ended up running the 10 miles in 1 hour 47 minutes. 

This year, healthy and feeling OK, my time was 1 hour 36 minutes.

It was a great race.

Turkey Trot 5K

I’m kind of competitive. I’m not a great athlete, never was. I’m competitive when I choose to be. For example, when it comes to work – I’m competitive. The problem is when it comes to athletics I’m really not that good to be competitive. I pick and choose when I’m doing something competitively or when I’m just doing something. In some bicycle races, I know I’m going to get my butt kicked, so I race just to finish and say I did it. Another example, this one more sneaky, is when I get on a treadmill at the YMCA, if someone is already on the treadmill next to me, I won’t stop my workout until they quit theirs. I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they ran longer than I did. (I admit I have issues).  

Earlier this week the decision was made. I was going to run the Turkey Trot 5k and my daughter Colleen was going to run the 1 mile race. My wife Stacey was going to use this as an opportunity to try out her new camera. My other daughter, Kathleen, just came along and watched.

We all piled into the truck at 7:45 this morning and headed to a nearby park where the race was held. It was cold, cloudy, windy, and looked like it could rain any minute. Colleen and I registered for the race, then went back to the truck to get out of the cold. After a little while we decided to brave the cold and do a little warm-up run. Colleen wanted to know the route for her 1 mile run so we jogged/walked the course. There were a few people walking their dogs along the path and she made sure to say “hi” to every dog she passed. 

We convinced Stacey and Kathleen to get out of the truck and join us near the registration area. We saw some people we knew and Colleen saw a few classmates. Before long, they announced that all runners were to make their way to the starting area.  I took off my warm-up pants and jacket, leaving only shorts and a long sleeve running shirt. Kind of skimpy clothes on a windy 50 degree day, but the wind was calming down and I figured soon I would be warm from running. 

We lined-up along the start and headed off at the sound of the starting gun. Colleen’s 1 mile race started 5 minutes after my start.
As I ran I wondered how Colleen was doing on her run. What she was thinking, how she was feeling, and what would be her time? I looked at my watch. I was 1.5 miles into my run and figured Colleen would be finishing her run any moment.

I pushed myself the whole run. My goal for the race was to finish under 26 minutes. I had been passed by a guy about my age early on and he maintained about a 20 yard lead on me. At the 2 mile mark I was on pace and decided to run a few fast intervals. I picked a spot on the trail up ahead and would run hard until I reached that spot, then return to my normal pace. I did this again and again. Soon I had narrowed the gap with the runner ahead of me to only a few yards. 

One of the things I always practice when I workout on the treadmill is a fast finish. I probably look like a dork at the Y pumping up the speed at the end of my workout and really running hard – huffing and puffing, right before I finish my run. When doing this I think about the time I was running a 5k and was passed at the last second by two runners just before the finish line. Damn the competitiveness. 

Nearing the 3 mile mark, we made a turn back into the park towards the finish. I heard cheering and recognized a “Go Dad” from across the field. One final turn and a straight away across a field to the finish. I knew I was very close to making my goal time, but more important, there was the guy in front of me.

He must have heard me coming up behind him because as I pulled alongside him, he started to sprint. “Crap”, I thought, “this guy is not giving up, he’s racing me.” I pushed harder, as did he, as the finish line, now only 50 feet away, drew even closer. The finish line area channeled the runners into a narrow chute, making the runners finish in single file order. One of us was about to lose. The crowd cheered as they saw the close race that had suddenly developed between two 40 something guys, sprinting to the finish. I considered just shoving the guy and knocking him down; I wonder if he was thinking the same thing. I wonder what he was thinking when just seconds before the finish he saw me, with a burst of speed, pull ahead and cross the line just a few feet in front of him. 

My official time for the race was 26:02. It was a personal best for me, disappointing that I missed my goal by a lousy two seconds, but my competitive spirit was satisfied – at least for now.

Colleen enjoyed her run, and she and I plan to run a 5k together on Thanksgiving Day.
Wanna bet who wins?

S’up Dog?

(Actually, By Colleen McCracken – Age 9)

Last Saturday my dog Abi and I ran 1 mile in the Partners for Pets dog jog.  Abi rode next to me in the back seat of the truck.  She stuck her head out the window as we drove down the road. 

When we arrived at the Dog Jog, Abi was excited.  She jumped around and wanted to visit with every dog she saw.  We tied her leash to a bench and I calmed her down while my dad registered us for the jog.  I calmed her down by petting her and told her to sit.

There were all types of dogs, chiwawas beagles, basset hounds, golden retrievers, black labs, yellow labs, chocolate labs, and a blood hound, even more!

When they said “go” we started to run.  We had to cross over a bridge over a pond.  I don’t think Abi was scared.  I think she wanted to jump in and catch the ducks and swans. 

We walked a little bit.  We ran at the finish line and someone took our picture.  Here is the picture.

The best part was seeing a bunch of cute dogs.

Pedal the Cause

 

It was still dark at 5:30 a.m when I climbed out of bed, brushed my teeth and put on my cycling clothes.  Everyone else in the house was still sleeping as I quietly went down the stairs for a cup of coffee and a light breakfast.  Driving into St. Louis the sky in the east was starting to glow.  The sun broke the horizon about the time I crossed the bridge into St. Louis.

I parked my truck on a side street near the finish line and walked over to check in. A small crowd of other cyclists had already arrived and more cars with bicycles mounted to their trunks were pulling-in. The small crowd was growing fast.

By the time I got back to my truck to unload my bike, the sun was up and cyclists were arriving from every direction. I put on my Pedal the Cause cycling jersey and with my sunglasses and helmet, looked almost identical to most other riders.

I took advantage of the pre-ride food, ate a banana and had a cup of coffee. Following a few announcements, they had all the riders line up at the starting line. I walked my bike, along with the crowd, to the starting line and found my way towards the middle of the crowd. In front of me was the St. Louis Arch, lit up by the morning sun. Surrounding me were about 700 cyclists. The weather was perfect.

All was silent at the start. An air-horn blew to start the race, followed by the sound of 700 cyclists clipping their shoes onto their pedals. Slowly the pack of riders began to move forward, gaining speed. The streets were entirely blocked-off for us at the start of the ride. It was a great feeling riding down the middle of some otherwise busy St. Louis streets. We did a loop through the central business district, then headed south along Broadway.

At every intersection there was a race volunteer waiving us on as traffic was stopped for the riders. At busy intersections, police stopped traffic and waived us through. In the 12 mile ride to Jefferson Barracks, all along otherwise busy streets, I only had to stop twice. The road was filled with riders. At one point, there were riders as far as I could see on the road ahead of me.

At Jefferson Barracks, I stopped for my first “rest stop”. I really didn’t need to stop, but wanted to get a picture of the Mississippi River. I ate another banana, downed some water, and headed out. It was fun riding in such a large group of other cyclists. There were people of every age group and cycling ability. There were high school kids on mountain bikes, and older folks just out to raise money and enjoy the ride.

Riding back northwest, we again ruled the road, with volunteers at every intersection waiving us through. I kept telling myself what a great ride this is. I rode the entire route from Jefferson Barracks to Forest Park (another 12 miles) without having to stop for traffic. I exited Forest Park and stopped at the next rest stop just in front of Barnes Hospital.

There were volunteers throughout the ride, clapping, cheering and encouraging the riders. However, the best encouragement was seeing my friend Danielle at the rest stop, there to cheer me on. Danielle said that if I was going to do this ride for her, the least she could do was show-up and cheer me on. Danielle put up a strong front, but I could tell her long fight with cancer continued to take its toll. Her body looked tired, but when she took off her sunglasses, I saw the look in her eye confirming she still had plenty fight still in her. A quick photo and a hug, and I was off to finish the ride.

There were only a few miles left and I took a leisurely pace. I thought about Danielle and how important it must be for her to know she has supporters and people encouraging her. As I rounded the final turn towards the finish line, there was a large crowd of volunteers cheering and clapping as the riders came towards the finish. “Here comes John McCracken” the announcer shouted and people cheered as I crossed the finish line. The crowd was full of cancer survivors and those fighting for their survival.

I want to thank everyone who donated money to Pedal the Cause. If you are reading this, I hope you will consider supporting Pedal the Cause next year by either riding it yourself or donating money. If you want to ride, let me know and I’ll add you to my team – I promise, it will be one of the best rides of your life.