Taking it easy

My race was three weeks ago.

And my legs are still tired.

I had no energy for the first part of the week. I just lay on the floor with my legs stretched out and read (maybe I’d done too much the previous Saturday?).

I’m tired of being tired. I want to be running the way I was four weeks ago.

But I know I’m tired, and need to do less than I’d like.

So I did not intend to do Fox Fall. And then I thought I’d do a four mile tempo with Michelle and Kary, and then use the race as a cool-down while they raced it. And then Michelle was injured, and Kary was told not to do a tempo. Luckily Matt joined me. And then Kary wanted someone to race with her, so I told her I’d run the first mile of the race at pace with her.

I said 6:40 pace for the tempo. But 6:23s were what popped out. I was pleased with that. It might not have been good for Matt, but it told me I was in better shape than I had feared.

Got to the start just in time to register and line up. And we were off.

Fox Fall begins downhill. And we went. Quickly.

After a quarter mile or so, my watch said we were running at a 5:30 pace. I suggested to Kary that this was too fast. She said it might be right for a mile (I hope she meant a mile race, not for the first mile of a XC race). Anyway we slowed a bit.

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;

Midsummer Night’s Dream II.1

It’s a twisty course with lots of sharp turns; hard to go fast. And my legs really are tired. Maybe I should have eshued the tempo and just done the race. I keep looking at my watch to see when my mile is over (and that’s not a good thing to do on a twisty course — I end up halfway up a little hill I didn’t need to climb because I missed a turn).

Finally the watch beeps for 1 mile. 6:18. Not a bad pace, but not one I can maintain today. I bid Kary good-bye and slow. Luckily this is a wide place where people can pass. And many do.

Matt asks if I’m OK as he zips passed.

I drop down to about 8 min/mile. And then I get my breath back, and pick it up a bit, I run about 7 min/mile for the rest of the race.

Someone on the course asks me if I’m taking it easy. And I think I am. It’s only a 7 min pace, after all. But I look at my HR, and it climbs steadily over the last 3 miles of the race, finishing at 93%. That’s not taking it easy. I really am tired…

Damn it.

And Juliet?

It is called “Romeo’s Run & Relay”; which begs the question “What happened to Juliet?” It is a relay for couples, she should be involved. I was muttering about this to Fran after the race, and she thinks Romeo was chosen for its alliterative effect. “Romeo’s Run & Juliet’s Jog” would be even worse than leaving her out entirely. “Juliet’s Jump?” well, OK, there are the puddles down by the lagoon… you could jump them, but I expect most people went around.

Does it have to be Romeo and Juliet? They both come to such a sad end. Couldn’t we choose a more cheerful pair to represent romantic love? Perhaps Valentine and Sylvia from Two Gents? Not as well known, perchance, but a happy couple, and, of course, Valentine ties in nicely with Valentine’s day (when the race used to be run.) Hmm. “Valentine’s Vamoosh and Silvia’s Splash”? Not really an improvement. My mind seems fixated on the puddles. “Valentine’s Vitesse and Silvia’s Streak”? Sigh. No. Streaking has the wrong connotation (or it did when I was in college).

“Juliet’s Jamboree?”

I hadn’t intended to do this race, until Rusty announced it was the workout for this week. Then I thought I’d run it as a tempo run, until Rusty told me he’d use it to see how fit I was. Well, then I had to race. (See, it isn’t my fault that I raced. Honest.)

I hadn’t intended to run this race, so I did a 20 mile run on Tuesday and 15 on Thursday. Then Rusty told me he wanted to test my fitness. Mmp. Would have done a little less had I known.

OK, I might have done a little less if I’d known.

My legs felt very heavy on Friday, and I got a cramp in my left psoas that evening. I’m not good at stretching my psoas. I tried though. Perhaps a night’s sleep? A little better in the morning.

And off to the race to pick up my bib. Rusty told us to do a 4 mile warmup before, and another 4 miles after, so I brought a camera — the UCSB lagoon, around which we run, has such good views of water fowl.

A beautiful sunrise a bit after I set out, but I barely glance at it — I’m headed in the other direction, west to UCSB.

I get there fairly early, not many people around (except for Ricky and his cup of coffee. I wonder… If I drank coffee before a race, could I go that fast?). Pick up my bib, and away I go for a warmup jog. Circumnavigating the lagoon is almost exactly 2 miles (which is handy) so a 4 mile warmup means twice around.

I’m cold. And my legs feel heavy, and, sigh, yes, the psoas is still annoyed with me. Small wading birds, maybe Willets, are spearing the water just before the first hill. Ohhhh I feel so slow going up this hill. Maybe I’m not in as good shape as I hoped. Loop around onto the road, and then back to the lagoon as I pass the marine labs building. To the ocean too, running out onto the dam which separates the lagoon from the sea. It is high tide, and full moon (which means it’s a very high tide) and the waves seem to want to join me on the trail, splashing up and wetting the dam for me.

Just beyond is a very steep, very muddy section. The wide trail splits into several single tracks, and, bless their little hearts they are taking us up the steepest and muddiest of those trails.

The sun seems to be playing hide and seek behind the clouds. The early morning sunlight has been replaced by gloomy overcast. Up the hill, across it, and down to the next cove, which, again, separates the ocean from the lagoon. And up another hill (not so steep or muddy this time), and now I run along the edge of the lagoon, on a bluff, perhaps 30 feet up.

Looking out I can see a fallen tree, half in the water, and completely colonized with cormorants. Oh, and the UCSB bell tower with the race start/finish line beneath it.

Single track again. There are holes in the trail. Gopher holes perhaps? Someone has very kindly marked them with chalk so they’ll be even harder to miss.

Then down a nice steep hill (paved this time), back to the lagoon/ocean boundary for the final time, and then running on a wide sandy path right at the level of the lagoon with lots of puddles to avoid (or jump).

The ducks, who were feeding close to shore, seem disgusted by my presence and turn their backs on me as they head out into the lagoon. Then I come to a sign saying that the last 400m (roughly ¼ mile) will be timed and the winner of this final sprint will get a prize — this will not be I (boy that sounds stilted). I can’t sprint the way the young guys can. Ricky is my guess for the best sprinter.

Oh neat, a blue heron standing by some reeds. Unlike the ducks he doesn’t seem to mind me, and stands right there as I run around him. I take several photos, but I think the last is the best. A little further on I peek through some more reeds, and there is a white egret, head cocked, as it waits for a fish.

And now I’ve circumnavigated the lagoon. Back at the start. But I have to do one more loop to finish the warmup. I realize my legs don’t feel so dead as they used, and the psoas seems to have gone into remission for now (it never fails to surprise me when a warm up works). Anyway, back around I go.

At the start again, I do some strides, and I wait, stretching, beside the lagoon.

Paul (the timer) goes off to activate the sprint mat. We won’t start till he gets back.

Other people come to join me and we all line up. Getting excited.

Some physical trainer person wants to warm us up. Idiot. I’ve spent the last half hour or so warming up. I don’t need her help. Oh, dear. She wants us to do some exercises designed to injure the hamstrings. None of the real runners is doing them, and we mutter to ourselves. This isn’t warming us up, it’s wrong, and standing around waiting is cooling us down.

Finally we are off.

My breath is very loud. No one else is breathing so loudly. Of course no one ever does, but sometimes it worries me: “Am I going too fast? Should I slow?” But as we head up the first hill I pass a number of people who really have started too fast, and I feel better about things.

At the turn before the marine labs, I get to see who is ahead of me. The race is led by some guy with black hair which floats behind him as he runs. Ricky is up there somewhere (I guess he’s over whatever was bothering him last fortnight), Eric’s a bit behind, and Tim further back. Fair number of people I don’t recognize, UCSB types I guess.

Oh. And right in front of me is Jamie.

Maybe I am going too fast. I know Jamie will beat me by a lot more than this.

Oh drat. I forgot to start my watch (I start it now, but it will give me no help on the first lap).

Should I slow down? I don’t think I need to. Anyway I don’t. Out onto the dam and up the muddy slope. And now Jamie begins to pull away. Have I slowed? Hmm. Jamie usually starts slow and speeds up (from the few races I’ve noticed him run, while I usually start fast and slow down).

Footsteps behind me. Don’t dare slow now.

Down into the next cove and up that hill. There’s a woman standing by the trail with a stop watch. She murmurs “6 minutes” as I go past.

Hmm. Is she at the one mile mark? She’s probably meant to be. 6 minutes is a little fast for me on this course with all the hills. On the other hand… I see no indication that this is the 1 mile mark. If she’s off by 40 yards, a 6 minute time would be reasonable. And so I ponder.

The footsteps behind me have not gotten any further away. They are starting to worry me. We’re now on single track and they can’t pass me easily. (Ha!) They get closer. Oh dear. The trail widens a bit, and I pull over a bit to let them pass. And pass they do. Oops. It is Mike Shalhoub. He belongs in front. I apologize for being ahead. He just says “6:05 pace” (so I guess it’s OK.)

Charging down the hill and then around the puddles. No one audible behind me now. Jamie and Mike already too far out in front and not pulling me along. Have I slowed?

Here’s the 400m sprint start. Only 2¼ miles to go.

And there’s the start/finish. Halfway done. The clock reads 12:11 as I come up, so I probably cross the mat at 12:15 or so. I have slowed. 6:00/6:15 is kind of sad. I try to pick up the pace a bit.

Back around. The ocean seems even higher now than before and the spray it makes is really drenching the dam. Hunh. I seem to be gaining on the people ahead. They were 200m off a mile ago, now I’m starting to think I might catch them. (Not Jamie and Mike, they are long gone).

Up the hill, and down, and then up again. And I do catch the guy who is ahead of me as we are going up the hill. I push a little to do this, I know that after the hill there is single track and passing won’t be as easy then. On top of the hill I wonder if that were a good idea. I feel drained now.

The woman with the stop watch tells me 18:35 as I pass her. That’s not agreeable news. 6:00/6:15/6:20. Ug.

At least the people in front have slowed even more.

I guess that’s a consolation.

And then I notice the guy ahead of the guy ahead of me has pulled over to let the guy behind him pass. Then a little later when I come up behind him, he does the same. “Thanks.” No breath for more. And now I’m coming up behind the guy ahead. And I pass him. But his footsteps do not fade away as the others did. This guy is hanging on to me. That’s trouble. He’s younger than I, he’ll be able to sprint fast at the end and I won’t. I’ve got to get far enough ahead in the next ½mile (or whatever) that he can’t catch me when he sprints.

No one ahead but Mike S. again, and he’s so far ahead he’s no help.

I don’t hear the footsteps any more.

I get my feet wet in the puddles.

I’m trying for a shorter route, and it leads through rather than around the puddles.

Here are some walkers. I’ve lapped them. I’m going more than twice as fast as they. I wonder if they feel ashamed? Why don’t they run?! They don’t look old, or infirm, they could run. It’s only 4 miles (excuse me, for them it’s only 2 miles so far). Not sure why this bothers me so. I wish they would try.

And here’s the 400m mark again.

And now I do hear footsteps.

And he passes me.

I try to catch him, foaming at the mouth, drooling at the nose, I cross the finish .3 seconds behind. Grrrrrrrrrrr.

Oh well, he’s 18 and I’m 50.

They announce a time of 24:45 for me. (but I thought I saw 24:35 as I went under the arch where did the time go?)

Someone offers me water but I’m too tired. After a bit I realize I’ve still got my chip on so I turn back and have them take it off. Then I go wash my face.

Neat. It has gotten all sunny.

Somehow that happened during the run, and I didn’t notice.

When I finally get the results I discover that the chips didn’t capture our start times, just the intermediate time and the finish time (disappointing). I officially finished in 24:43.0, just .3 seconds behind the guy ahead of me — close enough that I can hope that a true chip time might have made a difference (I know it took a while for me to get to the start mat). But it also means that my last mile was 6:07, and the sprint results say that my last 400 was 1:29.7. So I did speed up at the end…

I grab my camera and start a cooldown lap. As I come up to the dam there is a huge splosh which drenches it, so I stop and try to take pictures of the waves breaking. But, of course, the waves calm down and are all gentle once I take the camera out.

The little cove, so foggy and bleak earlier in the day, looks quite beautiful now the sun is out.

Above the place where the tree has fallen into the water (and been colonized by cormorants) there is another bare tree which has not (yet) fallen and is also full of cormorants. It and the bell tower and the blue sky and the lagoon all seduce me to stop. And then Jamie comes up behind me and we finish the loop together.

The couples’ relay had started, and we look behind us to make sure we don’t get in anyone’s way. We don’t, but just as we finish our loop the first runner on the first leg finishes too. The impressive thing is that it is 12 year old Peter Bermant. He’s got a huge lead on everyone else. And his mother, Melissa Marsted, is pretty fast too. They’ll probably win.

I head out on my second lap and meet some more of my group, but they are running backwards (against the direction of the relay) so I turn and join them. We pick our way through the puddles will trying to stay out of the way of the relay racers.

We live in a beautiful place.

Tim and Jamie ahead of me.

Slower than most nineteen year olds

But faster than a few…

According to the age-grade tables, at 50 I’m about 11% slower than I was at 19.

The pleasing thing is that I still am ahead of some.

Once a year I get a chance to see what this means. Once a year Westmont college invites SBAA to field teams for their cross-country met. Last year our men’s team failed to gel and we ended up with only 4 runners, but our woman’s team won their event. This year we had enough runners, but some of our best were unable to run (Fred Mellon twisted his ankle during the warmup and sat the race out with ice for company).

As I arrive I meet Drea pulling in. Together we go looking for a map.

And someone to explain it.

The course is twisty with lots of loops and subloops — no two the same but all alike enough to confuse. On a foggy morning. And the men run a different course from the women. And it’s different from last year because of the wildfire and reconstruction. We got there an hour and a half early to warmup on the course and learn its twists.

Then we went to get our bibs. Oh, your women picked up the SBAA packet. OK, where are the women? Out doing their warmup on a different set of twisty loops. Ah, but the packet is here amid the back packs. But it only contains the women’s bibs.

Now, it seems unlikely that the women would have removed the men’s bibs but not their own.

We go back to the organizer’s table to request a set of bibs. Time is ticking toward the start. One of our number realizes that he didn’t bring the right singlet (we’re supposed to be in uniform) and he brought an SB Run/Race singlet, not an SBAA one. Luckily, I brought a spare. So we trot over to my bike. When we return we have bibs! and it’s 2 minutes to race time, so we trot over to the start.

Well, we don’t quite start on time.

I line up at the back. The gun goes off, and we head out across the soccer fields. Most people go out way too fast. I find it kind of amusing. I am surprised when Kevin Young passes me, I’d have thought he would have known better. Once we’re off the soccer field and going up the hill I pass him back. And then I just keep passing people.

I realize that no one passed me after that first quarter mile.

A little after mile 1 people are cheering a guy whom I am overtaking. One observer yells out “Quick Henry!” and my mind turns back to “Quick Henry, the fleet” (ok, it should be “flit”, but fleet worked better here).

Now we start on the hills. Next two miles have steep climbs. It’s a good way to pass people. Many can’t climb hills fast, others will think they can and then have nothing left at the top.

Each time we head up the hill (which we do twice) the fog is lifting over the mountains and I get better and better views of the clouds rolling back and exposing the mountainside. But I’m running too hard to carry a camera today.

Each time I pass someone I worry a little that I’ll be out of sight of the next clump, but no, I there’s always someone I can follow (and overtake), until right at the end. But I’m not worried about the last two minutes of the course.

The final loop goes past the start/finish before making an excursion below the soccer fields, around them, across them and back to the finish. I pass the clock and see that I’m just under 30 minutes. Jamie yells to me that I’ve got 2 minutes to go. Nice. Down, around, up (I’m tired of up now), around, across and

finished.

31:43. Twenty seconds faster than last year, and on a much harder course.

They give me a card. I’m in 69th place. Out of 89. Still most of those 20 are college athletes, kind of gratifying to know that I can still pass a few…

Also amusing to note that I’m closer in time to the first place finisher than I am to the 89th (by a lot).

Then the women start…

After their first loop Drea is so far ahead of everyone else it is unbelievable. And then the “everyone else” turns out to be Michelle, who herself has a considerable lead on those behind her. And they increase their leads as the race goes on…

Nichol points out that “69″ isn’t such a bad number to have. I must admit I hadn’t thought of that. One track mind, I don’t think enough about sex…

Westmont XC

It’s very odd running a race where almost everyone is 30 years younger than you — the only exceptions being your own teammates one of whom is 31, one 56 and one 73.

Needless to say we could not run together. All are good runners in our respective age-groups, but (aside from the 31 year old) not so good against college kids.

There were 8 signed up for our men’s team, only 4 showed at the race, so we did not, in fact, have a team. So what. We ran anyway.

The invitation from Westmont was addressed to the SBAA (the local running club) and to a number of local colleges — including CalTech, where I went to school ages ago. I noted with amusement that alumni were also invited (So I could run on the CalTech team! something I had neglected to do while at tech for real). I emailed a number of my classmates, and jokingly asked if any would be doing the race. One guy who had been on the tech XC team responded that Westmont always beat them — except once. The air is good in SB. In Pasadena there is a lot of LA smog, and CalTech trained in the smog. More in the 70s than now (and more in the 50s than the 70s). CalTech managed to defeat Westmont at a home meet during a stage 2 smog alert in 1979 — a time when no one in their right mind should be running.

I positioned myself near the back, and found to my amusement that the CalTech team had also positioned itself there, so I introduced myself as an old techer. And then we were off.

First a lap around the track (nice, old fashioned dirt track). Oof. Almost everyone is ahead of me, not used to that. I’m doing what feels right, and that turned out to be ~89 sec quarter, which is about the pace I’d expect to run a flat 5mile race at.

Then a short steep hill. I pass a few people. I feel a bit better.

In spite of living in SB for 16 years now, I’ve never been on the Westmont campus before. It’s quite lovely. Well up in the foothills, the campus appears to be oak woodlands with occasional buildings poking up. We run through this.

I don’t notice the 1mile mark, and am ~10feet beyond when I realize someone is calling splits: 6:04. Mostly downhill or flat so that seems reasonable. The next mile had significantly more uphill, 12:50 at the 2 mile mark. Every now and then I pass someone.

I realize, about this point, that 2 of the guys right ahead of me are wearing CalTech jerseys. I decide I will pretend I’m on the CalTech team since my own team is so scattered and the techers are right here.

The course is a bit complex, but then all XC courses seem to be. The men’s course (8k) is different from the women’s (5k). Sometimes we run a loop in one direction, sometimes in another. At one point, on a section of trail that we only ran once I see a teammate of mine running toward me — in the wrong direction. I think it’s the wrong direction anyway. Surely it is… Where should I be? Was that last turn correct? Must be right. John is known for getting lost and there’s only one person with him, while I’ve got quite a few stretching off into the distance ahead of me. It does provide added incentive not to lose track of the guys ahead though.

I keep passing people from time to time. One guy passes me, but he’s a techer so that’s ok:-)

Near the end now, I pass a techer, and cheer him on, then am right behind the next guy when we turn a corner and there’s the track with the finish line maybe 300meters away — and the guy I’m just about to pass suddenly sprints off into the distance. I have no kick. I run hard, I don’t slow, but I can’t speed up. Age:-) Then two other people (including the techer I just passed) zoom past me as the line approaches.

Done. 54th out of about 70. 32:04. About what I was expecting for a time. I discover that I was ahead of CalTech’s 5th man, so had I been on their team I would actually have been an advantage. And that pleased me immensely.

Then I went over and chatted with the techers, said again that I’d been to tech 30 years ago (and realize that that is true, so old I am). One of them asks me what I do… and a voice from somewhere behind me says “FontForge” — wow, someone at Tech, on their cross-country team recognizes my program and me. Now that really is neat!

The Techer men go for a cooldown run, and I join them. Then we place ourselves to watch the women race. SBAA may have failed to muster a men’s team, but the women’s team is a total contrast. The first 3 runners are ours as is number 5. And that holds true for the entire race. They won, obviously. The CalTech women aren’t as good, but I cheer them on too.

When I told my classmates that I was doing this race, and one had responded that his daughter was now on the Tech team and would be racing. I actually knew one person to cheer by name.

Drea finishes Westmont