But… Where’s the Orchard?

Orchard to Ocean, 2008

I set out on the bike at 5:30. It was dark. And cold. It’s ~16 miles to Carpenteria Main School and I wanted to be there at 7 to register and warm up. And I wanted to travel easily on the bike and not burn up all my glycogen.

There was a full moon setting in the west. Ah, of course, the day before easter, the day after the vernal equinox, the moon must be well nigh full.

The moon is at my back though, I rarely see it. The cold gets into my fingers and toes. They go numb by the time I’ve gone 5 miles. Summerland, at 10 miles is warmer, and the extremities start to thaw, but after a mile or two the road drops down to the Polo field and it gets cold again. Well, it will probably warm up with the sun, and even if it does not, once I start running I’ll be fine.

Many orchid and other flower farms, but I pass no orchard.

It’s lighter now. There seems to be an awful lot of traffic leaving Carp, on the frontage road (not the freeway) at 6:40am. Where on earth are they all going this early on a Saturday morning, and why aren’t they on the freeway?

When I get to the school it is definitely light.

They have maps inside showing the course route. Hmm. It’s rather different from when I last did it — good heavens — five years ago. I had intended to run the 5K loop as a warm up, and here’s even more reason to do so — I don’t want to get lost. Not that I’ll be in front.

And there’s Shiggy, well no chance of being first in my division either :-).

The map says go out Palm to 4th street and turn left. Unfortunately 4th St. does not really exist here; there is an unnamed road inside the State Beach, perhaps that’s it? There is no chalk arrow to mark the turn though, and it means running the wrong way over some tire-shredders, so I decide I must be lost already, and I go back, and try to recreate the start from 5 years ago.

I forget the route after the first few turns and spend a pleasant time wandering the dead ends of suburban Carp. When I come out on Carp Ave, I see Aaron who assures me of the turn into the park, even without chalk, even going the wrong way over tire-rippers.

We get back to the school (which is not an orchard in any way shape or form), and I have to decide how many layers to wear. It’s much warmer than it was, but still feels a bit nippy. Hmm. I’ll bet I’ll only need a singlet once we get going. But I’ll take gloves to keep my hands warm. But when I reach the start line I think even the gloves may be too much — some friends are complaining about cold hands, and I try to palm the gloves off on them — with no luck.

I do my strides.
We line up.
No, says Paul (who starts us), the line is here. We all move forward a yard.
“Two minutes.”
“One minute.”
“Ready” (we all crouch down with our fingers on our watches)
“Go”

And we’re off. About 10 people are ahead of me. I see Monica’s back and figure I can run with her (much later, at the finish line, I realize that it wasn’t Monica’s back after all, it was Andrea whom I do not know, and who is faster than Monica). Fred passes me. Oh, well, with him here no chance of second place in the division either.

N’importe.

No one’s foot is punctured by the tire-destroyers, and there are now volunteers there to show us the route (but no chalk, I wonder why not?). We run through the State Beach. The Carp Slough has formed a lagoon which does not open into the ocean. A calm spot where birds float as we thunder past over the bridge.

I’m impressed at how fast Monica is running. I thought I was faster at the moment. I guess not.

At the end of the parking lot we’re on a trail. Finally some chalk. Little white dots showing us where to go. We come to a road and turn up onto it. Such a pity, 5 years ago we ran out on the bluffs here, but I’m told that the city only lets us to cross the RR tracks on roads, and I guess I can see why they’d insist on that.

Crossing RR tracks is always dicey in a race course — the freight trains seem to have no schedule, and the passenger trains only a nominal one. You never know, there might be a train just when you need to cross. You can lose a lot of time to a long, slow-moving freight. And trains cannot stop for runners as cars will.

Today: No train.

At the 1 mile mark I look down. 5:50. Oh dear. That’s too fast for me. Certainly today. I’d said I was going to treat this as a tempo run and go out at a sedate 6:24 pace. Somehow that didn’t happen. But even if I’m racing I’ll need to slow down. I’ll have to drop back from Monica. And then Martin passes me.

We follow the unfortunately named “Dump Road” to Carp Ave, and turn onto that (Damn it, why are there cars parked in our lane? Oh. It’s City Hall, doubtless they don’t care about runners) to the Bluffs’ park, and then we turn back to the ocean. A lovely view of the Islands, well mostly of Santa Cruz Island, though later I do catch a peak of Anacapa.

And here’s the two mile mark. 6:26. Erp. That’s too slow. I’ve given up on the tempo idea, I was hoping to do better. I notice with amusement that though I have dropped back from Monica’s back, and Martin’s, I haven’t dropped back by much. They’ve slowed too. That’s some consolation.

“Correopsis has set in!” The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

And we make a sharp turn (through fine white sand that shifts under our feet, not what I want for a turn) to run along the bluffs. I can’t really see the ocean now, the purple sage, in full bloom, and some mounding yellow daisy are blocking my views

But then, from behind one large shrub, a view opens up, and there are the cliffs dropping down into the sea, with the morning mist hazing the distant ones. When I first ran this course, this view just stunned me, it’s the main reason I love this race.

But all too soon we turn away from the ocean (years before we went along the edge for much further and then scrambled up an wonderful, steep hill on which I passed two people. But no hill today, nor do I pass anyone). Back to the main road, and then we dive once more into the shrubbery (Nee!), and here’s the 3 mile mark. 6:34? Ug. I had intended to speed up, not slow down. At this rate I might not even break 40 minutes. I’m in worse shape than I thought.

Still Monica’s back isn’t that far in front, so she’s slowed too. And Martin and Ricky and Shana. Onward.

On into the brush. Hmm. Why haven’t I seen anyone returning? I’d have thought Aaron would have turned back by now. But then it isn’t Aaron, it’s someone I don’t recognize. And then Aaron, with Fred number 4. And then I’m turning. And there’s someone behind me, and Jeff passes me. Sigh. And when mile 4 comes up I see 6:27. Well, no wonder. That’s quite discouraging. And now Monica’s back pulls further away. I seem to have lost heart.

At mile 5 I see 6:12. Well, that’s a surprise. I guess it’s downhill. But even though I’ve actually sped up, the people ahead of me have sped up more.

And the ones behind too; someone else passes me. And then Joe Hilton does. We’re on the road now. Dull. At mile 6, 6:13. And then round the corner, and there’s the finish. A final burst, and I see the time ticking down 38:56, 38:57… I’m sure I’ll end up with 39:02 or something, but no, for once the second drops on my side and I sneak past at 38:59.

And then I see “Monica”’s face, and she isn’t Monica at all. How could I have confused her with Monica? She doesn’t look a bit like her. I guess I’m not very good at recognizing backs. I discover she’s Andrea.

I head for the food. But it’s all wrapped up, and they aren’t ready for people yet, and they don’t want me to pick things up with my hands. It’s not worth fighting, I’ve got my own food at the bike. Ah, the bagels aren’t protected. I grab one (they tell me I shouldn’t have). It’s stale. Well water is the most important thing. Where’s the water? Big jugs of something. Coffee??!! What stupid idiot puts a diuretic out for people who need to rehydrate? Another large jug with McDonald’s stamped on the side. I’m not trusting that. Oh. Here. A tiny 6oz individually packaged thing of bottled water in a tub of ice. I don’t really want cold water either, it’s harder to absorb cold than warm. I’ll find a water fountain.

Grumble. What’s gotten into people? Why this recent set of over-the-top sanitary rules? They just make this whole race recovery process so uninviting that I’m repelled.

Food at the bike, and water too. Change out of light trainers for normal running shoes. Get rid of the gloves.

I’ve got a 6mile cool down to run. I might as well run the course again, but this time I’ll spend more on the bluffs and cross the tracks on a trail.

When I get back to the start/finish line there is the real Monica. How could I have confused her with Andrea?

And there is Fred taking off for his cooldown, so I run with him for a bit, but he turns back and I continue.

I don’t go up Dump Road, I continue on the bluffs. Tide looks quite high, crashing against the base of the cliffs, I look for harbor seals but see none here. Then on, past the Venco oil dock, and there, on the other side is the seal sanctuary. It’s the birthing season just now, and I pause at an outlook.

There’s a couple here already, looking down at the seals. They point out two new pups. There’s still a bit of beach below, one of the pups has clambered up it and found a comfy spot, but each time a wave passes over him, he gets washed away and has to clamber up again. It’s a struggle for him, he’s very small.

A larger seal flops up onto the beach, and those already there are disturbed and there’s some flapping of flippers. The couple comment they’ve not seen seals fighting before. I hadn’t realized it was a fight, but I’ll take their word for it.

The couple ask me if the race is over. They have a big hand-held stop sign so I assume they must be race volunteers, and thank them for helping out. It turned out they were seal volunteers, and the stop sign is to keep noisy intruders and dogs away from the seals and the cliff edge.

I see a Western Grebe in the ocean. A pelican, floating calmly on the waves some distance out looks like a great boat in comparison. A cormorant zips past.

A greater wave splooshes onto the beach and all the seals arc their backs, noses up, foot flippers up, they seem to form a perfect circular arch. I wish I could do as well when I try that pose in yoga.

But I can’t stay here all day, or shouldn’t anyway. I’ve got miles to go before I sleep.

So I head away from the bluffs, and cross the tracks (at the old location) and run on the path under the Eucalyptus allée. Hunh. I’d be willing to risk crossing the train tracks here, it’s a much nicer route.

But now I can’t find a path that would lead out to the hill I recall. Sigh. I gather there is no longer a trail in that direction.

Ah well, I’m back on the new course, and just follow that again. Out, and then back.

Shortly after the 5K turn-around (well on my way back) I start passing my some 5K walkers (the 5K race started about when I began my cooldown). And at the final turn before the finish line the corner volunteer cheers me on. I find I’m, well, insulted, that he thinks I could take over an hour to run a 5K, can’t he tell from my pace that I’m going faster (much faster, even on my cooldown) than that?

But I have my bib on, and no one else seems to have run the course twice, so I guess it’s the obvious assumption.

Silly me.

I get back to the school, and I hear them announcing the results, so I wander over. I see my friends in a clump on the grass and go sit with them. I find I didn’t even get third in my division, I was fourth. Oh well.

Back to the bike, and then the farmers’ market.

(The ocean was lovely, but I never even saw the orchard).

---

I spoke to Dan Cornet, who has always helped organize Orchard to Ocean. He tells me that when the race was first run it started up in the foothills amid orchards, but they moved the start. So like Roses to La Playa the name no longer reflects the current race. Maggie suggested “Pedrogosa to La Playa” for that, which alliterates, so perhaps “School to Sea” would work here?

Dan also tells me that there is no race director for next year, and some doubt as to whether the race will continue. Saying “I hope someone turns up.” seems a bit superficial, as it begs the question of why I’m not that someone.

Hmm.

Resolution Day 2008

For some peculiar reason I like to watch the sun-rise and sun-set on New Year’s Day. A little ritual of mine I’ve been doing for several years now. Sometimes it gets modified — last year I watched the sun-set on New Year’s Eve. Sometimes it rains. But I try.

Generally I watch the sun-rise on the way to the race. Of course for the last few years the race hasn’t been on New Year’s day, so last year I had the freedom to hike up Cathedral Peak.

This year I reached the harbor just as the sun rose.

I had no particular expectations about this race. Haven’t done any significant training since the marathon, and am still basically resting up from it. I knew I wouldn’t equal last year’s performance. I thought I might try to do the 5K at a 6 minute pace, and treat the 10K as a tempo run. I didn’t really care, I just wanted the thrill of running hard even if not very fast.

I did the first two miles a little below 6 minutes (5:55) and slowed markedly on the third (6:17). Oh, well, close enough.

The 10K surprised me. I had assumed I’d run somewhere around 6:30~6:40, but that was not too be. It was very hard to get started, and I was only running a 6:45, trying to chat with Travis, who was also taking it easy. But the third mile was above 7. Brrr. I was tired. Travis was appreciably ahead by now. I considered stopping once I reached the end of the first 5K lap. But I passed Ricky and figured if he could keep going so could I.

Ricky has very loud feet. Or perhaps his shoes are loose and slap. Or something. In any event I didn’t need to look back to tell when he started to gain on me again, and then he overtook me. We trotted on. On the slight rise by the bathhouse he faded again and I passed him for the final time (interesting that, I had the same experience when I passed Ricky in the Half).

I did not fade. I started to feel better. I think I just needed more of a rest after the 5K than I’d gotten — and somehow, 4 miles into this race I was starting to feel rested. Mile 5 was under 7 again. Then I started gaining on the two in front of me, by the time I reached Milpas I figured I could speed up a bit and take them. I presumed I’d slow down afterwards, but I didn’t seem to. Mile 6 was 6:31. Finally I was rested enough to run what I thought I should — but the race was almost over No matter.

First time I’ve put more emphasis on the 5K than the 10K in this race set. The ~26 minutes I get between races just isn’t enough for me to recover. Next year: back to the 10K!

My right gluts started to cramp up. I went for a cooldown with a couple of friends and they (the gluts) nagged at me.

I had invited people to meet me at Tunnel trailhead at 3pm to hike up and watch the sunset. When I went over to my bike to head up I realized I was in no condition to walk, much less hike. I figured I’d go up and apologize (I had no idea who would show so I couldn’t phone, I’d sent out a blanket invite).

Luckily no one else had wanted to hike so there was no need to disappoint anyone. After waiting a bit at the trailhead, I biked back down to find a sunset-watching-spot I could lurch to.

It was worth the lurch.

Chuck’s beach

16 July 2007

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand:
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand.
‘If this were only cleared away,’
They said, ‘it would be grand!’

‘If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,’ the Walrus said
That they could get it clear?’
‘I doubt it,’ said the Carpenter
And shed a bitter tear.

Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

They warned us about the beach before we started. Sad that we live in a country where it is thought necessary to warn people that beaches are potentially slippery and rocky.

The start was one of the funniest I’ve ever seen. No one wanted to be at the line. We all kept moving back — away from the start line.

I didn’t want to be in front because I planned to run easily, not even a tempo run, just a nice little trot. I stood six feet behind the line, and even so there were very few people in front of me and a great crowd about 20 feet back.

I didn’t want to run hard because I was starting a 12 week marathon training program the next day (well — really that just means that Rusty’s workouts become harder), and most of the other people in my group felt the same way. So there was a little clump of us 6 feet behind the line.

They said “Go!” and off we trotted, chatting happily amongst ourselves.

It is rather pleasant not to have a goal, pleasant to run slowly and easily with friends. We had a nice early start (7:30), the sun was peeking through some low lying clouds so it was cool and not sunny. A gentle breeze in our faces.

Once again I didn’t look at the scenery. I guess I was engrossed in the conversation.

As we turned the first headland, Maggie said she wanted to run harder — she’d gotten express permission to do so because she was ill for Semena Nautica. Dianna announced that “George will run with you.”

So I did. Not quite the easy run I’d planned. Still Maggie was only going her marathon pace, and that wasn’t too bad. I admire Maggie, even when she races a 10k at her marathon pace she still wins her age-group.

So then we started passing people. It’s kind of fun taking the first quarter mile easily (really easily) and then going harder. You get to pass people twice (well, the first time they pass you) and cheer them on.

The tide was quite low (new moon) and the beach was “messy” with patches of red algae, bits of kelp, a few morning walkers a few morning dogs, and someone had dropped rocks into the sand here and there. A bit of an obstacle course — but so a beach run should be.

No one had their mops out.

Maggie mentioned that a runner had tried to sue the Chuck’s people because she slipped on the course one year. Sigh.

Somewhere after the fallen trees from the Wilcox Aaron zoomed passed us, all alone going the other way. Then a scattering of others as we approached the turn around and then we turned ourselves.

We had just passed Desa before the turn around, but Maggie wanted to stop for water, and after that all we saw was Desa’s back. Maggie was pretty good about not being competitive and keeping her HR down to marathon pace, I was bad and kept encouraging her to catch Desa.

The little breeze was at our backs now, and totally useless for cooling us down. Near the end the sun came out from behind its clouds and it started to get hot.

And then Liz Groom started to approach from behind. That did disturb Maggie. So she ran faster from the final headland to the finish line. Not fast enough to catch Desa, but fast enough to catch one other guy (And Liz did not pass her).

I tried to take the waters after the run. Brrrrr. Even in July. Dianna jumped in and swam — I inched in, wincing with every wave, and then scuttled out before I froze.

It wasn’t my race — but I did enjoy kabitzing (or however you spell it) on Maggie’s!

Gull with Crab

Short course

12 May 2007

I was in Montréal last week-end (for a font conference) and had noticed there was a 10k run there. I liked the idea of running a race in French, was intrigued by the thought of measuring my pace in km, and thought it would be fun to run somewhere that I was unknown — so I could screw up without shame. But Montréal is bigger than SB and the race was about 30 miles from my hotel at 8am Sunday morning. Public transport didn’t seem to work on Sunday mornings and while I could easily get a taxi from my hotel, I expected it would be hard to find one at some random park out in the suburbs at 8:40 or so. (And a taxi driver might not be pleased to have a sweaty smelly George in his backseat).

So I didn’t race.

Then on Tuesday Rusty asked in passing if I were running this week-end. I hadn’t even noticed we had a 10k:-). It would not be in French of course, but it was about time I raced again. So I thought “Why not?”

It was on the UCSB bike path which Jeff and I had measured and marked last fall, and as I biked to the start I saw that the turn-around was not at the 5k mark but was a little sooner. So should I run a true 10k and get a real time? Or run the abbreviated version and race? Race.

Of course.

We’d marked the course every km and every 1/4mile… but it was only marked in one direction. If I measured my splits every km everything would work when turning at the 5k(sort of) mark. And anyway I wanted to accustom myself to running km splits — in case I ever do run a race outside the US. I figured I wanted to run 3:40s. Give or take.

We set out. I quickly took third place, which seemed about right in this field — but the amazing thing was that the guy in second place was about 10, one Sachio Badham. I expected him to fade quickly, but he didn’t — he was still ahead of me at the 1/4 mile mark. I did pass him before the 1/2, but he did not really fade even then and ran a 42:16 race. Quite impressive.

I myself was much too fast at the first quarter, 83 seconds. I was shooting for about 88, 89. So I slowed, and let Bill catch me. Bill should be in front of me anyway. Third place again.

At the turnaround I had run 18:15 — which would be a 5k PR for me (by 5 seconds, but still a PR), except the distance wasn’t 5k.

Then I had to slow. Not hugely, but I needed a rest. At about 6k two guys passed me. I was still tired and they pulled away from me. At 7k I felt more nearly rested and picked up the pace again. I passed one of them, but couldn’t catch the other (Travis). The last half mile has some small hills and at the top of the second hill I almost caught him… but he ran away from me as it leveled off and finished 3 seconds ahead.

36:37 for me. 3:40/km. A significant PR. But it was a short course.

I was fourth place overall. When the results were posted I discovered I was also fourth in my age group. That seemed unfair. Oh, they used 10 year age groups. But still — the top four runners were all in their 40s? Travis isn’t in my 5year age group (none of the top three were). Would I have tried harder to catch him if I’d known he was in my 10yr age-group? Probably not, I was tired.

Afterwards I went back and measured the distance from the turn around to the 5k mark. 192 shoe lengths. My shoes are ~11 inches. That works out very close to 178 feet or 1/30th of a mile. We missed that distance in both directions so 1/15th of a mile short. Ulp. At a 6minute pace that means I need to add 24 seconds to my total time. 37:01. A four second PR. I didn’t even break 37. Nor did I break my 5k PR. Rats.

Jim says others think it was shorter. I hope they are right. Maybe my shoes squish down when I press them end to end.

Two weeks later: I measured the course difference with my wheel and found it was even longer than I thought: at twice 188 feet. Which works out to being 26 seconds at a 6 minute pace. Still a PR, but only by a second or two

Resolution Racing Flats

30 December 2006

After the half marathon I started looking forward to the Lasse Viren 20k. A beautiful semi-trail run down near Pt. Mugu. Or it’s a beautiful run if it’s dry.
I woke the day before that race to find it was raining. The forecast called for more rain overnight and showers the next morning. It did not look promising for the race — so I decided, instead, to do my normal Saturday workout with Rusty.
Of course the rain Saturday morning was the only rain we saw, and Sunday dawned bright and sunny. But it was too late for me, I can’t race the day after one of Rusty’s workouts.
Instead, in the workout, we ran 6.3 miles, the first mile at 6:40 pace and the rest at 6:20. Or that was the plan. The first mile was at pace, but the rest were all a little fast — except for the final mile which we pushed and got down to 6:07. It turned out we had averaged 6:20 for the entire run. Now a 10k is slightly shorter than 6.3 miles (it’s 6.21miles)… and that worked out to a 39:21 for a 10k — which was about 20seconds faster than my best 10k.
I mentioned this to Rusty and he said “Next time you’re breaking 39.” That seemed feasible. The obvious “next time” was the Resolution Day 10k.
Actually I thought that if I could run 6:20s in a training run, I could probably do 6:10s in a race, which would be 38:20 or so.
Then the week before the race Rusty suggested I buy a pair of racing flats, and said he thought that I might break 38. That seemed far less likely. Thank goodness there were no more weeks and he wouldn’t be able to suggest I go even faster.
Er… well I saw Rusty the day before the race… and bless me if he didn’t mention 37:30 — but he added, only if I were to spend 6 weeks training for a 10k.
I’ve never worn racing flats before. A little scared of them given my record of leg problems. Nevertheless, I went down to SB Running to buy some. “You won’t be able to wear your orthotics,” says Joe, “but for a short race like a 5 or 10k that should be fine.” That’s even more scary. Yet when I check with Mike, he says the same.
The racing flats are light. I don’t feel them. It’s as though there were nothing on my feet. Two days before the race Rusty has me run easy and then do some strides in them… my legs seem to fly.
Rusty warns me not to go out too fast what with adrenaline and light shoes, “You don’t want to run the first mile at 5:40.” Right. Come on Rusty, I don’t run 5:40s. A few hours later I realize, “Oh, yeah. We did do about a 5:40 mile on Tuesday.” But Melissa set that pace, not I. But I kept up with it. Maybe I do have to worry about going out that fast.
I seem to think of a 6 minute mile as an insuperable barrier. Which is ridiculous. I know I ran an 18:22 5k this winter, and that’s 5:55min/mile. I should stop thinking of mile times, there’s nothing magical about breaking the 3:44min/km.
It’s just hard.

---

Race day came. And it was cold. Frost outside my house and all over my car. Biking to the start was bitterly cold. But the sun was coming up on clear skies. An orange light out by the Islands. Beautiful.
I didn’t race the 5k, but I ran it as a warm-up. Steve Miley was also not racing the first race, and we trotted along together going about 8 minute miles. Steve said it was 28° at his house this morning. But it’s hard not to try when everyone else is pushing around you, and we did our second mile at a 7 minute pace. After that we consciously slowed.
Then I changed into my new flats and did some strides. Had a gel pack and some water and it was time to line up for the 10k. At least it had warmed up a bit; I could run in shorts and singlet now.
I crowded up to the front of the line. Rusty had said he thought I might come in 5th. I thought he was joking. Still most people will have put their energy into the 5k because it’s the Gran Prix race. Anyway we’re off.
To my surprise I find I’m in 3rd place. Garrett and Aaron are not far in front and there’s no one else around. Am I going out too fast after all? It doesn’t feel like a killing pace, but … shouldn’t Aaron be further ahead than that? On the other hand they both did the 5k, maybe this is an easy pace for them. Er… should I be up with them then?
Unlikely.
Someone zooms past me. Todd Booth. Ok, he belongs in front of me too. He joins the other two and slows down.
At the half mile mark they still are only 30 feet or so in front of me. I look down to check my time. 0:00. Damn, I didn’t start the watch properly. I start it now. Am I going too fast?
At the mile mark I see 2:58. So I’m going a little faster than I expected, but not horribly so. And I feel good.
The 10k course just does the 5k course twice. As we reach the 2.5k turn-around Aaron has pulled ahead of the other two, and then, as I pass it, I get to see who is behind me. Kornell. Is a lot closer than I thought anyone could be and me not be aware of it. Oh well, if he passes me, he passes me.
Some idiot on inline skates is heading directly toward me as she looks over her shoulder at the people behind her. Get out of my way!
And she does.
At the 2 mile mark my split was 6:00. Wow. I probably won’t keep this pace up the whole race, but I don’t think I’ll fade by much.
At the 3 mile mark my split was 6:05. Ah. I’m starting to fade. Even so, as long as I don’t fade too badly I’ve knocked 25 seconds off the 38:20 time a 6:10 pace would give me… with luck I’ll break 38 minutes. Maybe Rusty was right after all.
At the start/finish we loop around again, and there are spectators who cheer me on. I’m still in 4th place, but Garrett and Todd aren’t really in sight any more. Again I can’t hear anyone behind me. It’s easier to push when there’s some competition.
At the 4 mile my split is 6:04. Well… maybe I’ll hold a 6:05 pace rather than a 6:10. That would be nice.
I approach the 7.5k turn-around with its water stand. Do I want water? My mouth is weird, the saliva has become semi-dehydrated mucus and sometimes interferes with my breathing. Every now and then I spit it out but it comes back. Sometimes I just drool down my chin (doubtless I look a mess). Do I want water? It would probably be a good idea… but I don’t know that I could swallow it, and I’d have to slow. It’s only a 40 minute race, I’ll be ok.
I’m feeling really tired as I round the turnaround, I think the sharp turn puts extra stress on my left gluteus (or one of those rotator muscles), but it calms down after another quarter mile or so.
At the 5 mile my split is 5:53. Well, no wonder I felt tired.
I’m on the bike path which is thronged with tourists walking, totally oblivious to the fact that they are in the middle of a race course. I have to weave through them.
At the 6 mile my split is 5:54. Why aren’t I done? How much longer do I have to keep this up? It’s less than a quarter of a mile, less than 1:30 at this pace, but oh it’s hard.
Here’s the final bend in the bike path, and I see the clock. I watch the seconds tick up: :55, 56, 57 … Damn it! I was sure I was going to break 38, I try sprinting, but it’s just too far, :01 … I ease up slightly in disappointment. Oh well. It’s still a significant PR even if it’s just over 38. I cross the line.
Garrett congratulates me on running a 37 minute 10k. Hunh? No, it was just over 38. Wait… I never looked at the minutes, could it have been 37? Could I have just missed breaking into 36?
Yes.
37:05. Fourth overall. First in my division. Two and a half minutes faster than my previous fastest race. First time I’ve broken 80% (80.82%)
And I broke the insuperable barrier with an average mile time of 5:59, and a kilometer time of 3:42.

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It must have been the shoes.