I abandoned my IPOD and scientifically-selected playlist at about mile 5 of the Door County 1/2 Marathon on Saturday. Although I was on PR pace, I found myself working a bit harder than planned, so I chose the sound of spectators, breathing and the pounding of Asics over an angry - yet soothing - blend of Rap, Norwegian, and Folk music.
This race adjustment seemed to work, as I felt my heart-rate come down to 13.1 levels and remained focused on holding a pace that would enable me to cross the finish line faster than my 1:28:36 PR the year before on the same beautiful course through Peninsula State Park. The crowds were awesome, contributing to miles just ticking off on the Garmin.
My dreams were shattered at about mile 7.5. I blame a combination of my mother's sundried-tomato-feta creation from the night before and the actions of one Joel Patenaude (Bib 1042) who subsequently finished in 17th place (a good minute ahead of me.)
2 hours earlier
I arrived at Peninsula State Park race-ready and hydrated. Rocking my Team Pedal Moraine Jersey, Craft Clothing and Age Group Medal from 2011 (3rd place AG 35-39 - Respect), I sought out potential competitors to intimidate.
I spotted Dominick Meyer (winner from 2011), but his sideburns and Prefontaine mustache simply made him unapproachable. I attempted to greet him and exchange pre-race pleasantries, but his stache simply freaked me out. I'm desperately hoping that he has subsequently taken a razor to his facial hair, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm still fighting recurring nightmares three days later.
Instead, I focused on Brian Finnel. I recognized this young man from a 5K Shanty Day's race in Algoma last summer. I had planned to win this race (with a scorching 5K time of about 18.15), but Finnel and his buddies decided to poach this race and show off their youth. I hung with Finnel and his crew for about 300 meters that fateful morning, but was forced to acquiesce after my heart-rate monitor (and nearly my cardiovascular system) exploded shortly into the race.
Me: "Finnel!! Remember me, boy?"
Finnel: "Yes Sir. Great to see you again. Glad to see you recovered from Algoma."
Me: "Sir?"
Finnel: "Well, yeah, you're pretty old...and slow..."
With that, a clearly intimidated Finnel disappeared at 5:15 pace for a quick warm-up lap.
Starting line
I lined up towards the front of the group, but not too close to the leaders. This is always a complicated strategy. It's imperative to avoid a situation where you are stuck behind slower runners who have convinced themselves that their pace is a good 30 seconds/mile faster than reality. On the other hand, you do not want to be considered "that dude" who has convinced himself that he can run 30 seconds/mile faster than reality.
Just a few hundred meters into this race, I was in good position: settled in a 6:30-ish pace, good separation from the pack, and feeling pretty "lettbent." (Google it. Happens to be a fantastic Norwegian word. I have now also satisfied my daily requirement to make all Scandinavian immigrants have a dårlig samvittighet for neglecting to carry on tradition.)
The Climbs
I was labouring somewhat as I approached the climbs and had to allow a few fellow runners to pass me without a fight. I managed to keep myself focused on PR pace and tried to accept that anyone passing me at this point was either going to hammer out a sub 1:25 or perhaps blow up later on.
Keeping focused and searching for wildlife to dull the pain in the quadriceps, I emerged from the hills with a solid overall pace and ready to enjoy some descents into the sea of spectators. I can never remember exactly where this location is, but I seem to recall it at about the 10K mark. Personally, it's the most motivating part of the race, as the memory of the most severe climbs are history and I'm able to just enjoy the crowd as my heart-rate descends on the descents. This short stretch always seems to provide a nice boost of motivation for the balance of the trying course.
The Patenaude Situation
I spotted Joel about 200 meters back at about mile 7. He was rocking what appeared to be a tight red baselayer under a gray racing top as he closed on me. Although his gait looked fast and efficient, I recall being annoyed and angered by his red sleeves. Like a bull at Pamplona, I became singularly-focused on the agitating flurry of crimson behind me. I realized that it would be disastrous if I allowed him to pass me, essentially forcing myself into a position where I would be stuck behind his questionable race attire.
(Note: I freely admit that if I'm going to use prose to attack one's race attire, there is no doubt that I should be going after the kid who ran in the banana suit and the "Haiti" T-shirt. I was incredibly confused, not knowing if this was some vague reference to the Banana wars of 1934-35 or if this kid simply throws down harder wearing fruit.)
My efforts to hold him back were in vain. Joel pulled alongside of me, gave me the "Yeah, that's right - I'm dropping you" obligatory head-nod and pulled in front of me. He tossed an empty Gel packet into my open jersey and laughed as he increased to 6:30 pace. This was the beginning of the end for me. My PR dreams shattered as I forced myself to drop down to 6:52 pace only to allow a sufficient gap between me and my new nemesis. I did not see the red arm sleeves again.
Final Stretch
I was still focused. Although this was officially a "training run" in preparation for a pre-triathlon season marathon in Svalbard, Norway of all places, I was still committed to a sub-90 minute performance. By the time I hit mile 10, I began the calculations in my head.
Me (Left brain): "Let's see. I have 21 minutes and 30 seconds to play with. With 3.1 miles to go, that means I need to run at..."
Me (Right brain): "Screw it. You suck at math. You're a linguist, bro. Just run.
Me (Left brain): "No, I got it. a2 + b2 = c2. Damn, need to increase pace to 6 minute miles."
I proceeded to flat-out spring from mile 10.25 to 10.5 before I realized that my math was off. I backed down to more of a perceived-effort pace, occasionally checking the Garmin to make sure that I wasn't screwing up the plan too badly.
Feeling good at my 12, I spotted a rabbit and increased pace to 6:40 to at least recapture one of the several spots that I had relinquished earlier in the race.
Although a PR (and my revenge on Bib 1042) will have to wait until the 2013 Door County 1/2 Marathon, I crossed the finish line in 18th place, under 90 minutes and fast enough to grab 2nd in my age-group.
It's a good 360+ days and numerous other races between now and next year's race, but I'm already amped to wear my TWO age-group medals around my neck next year when I retry my intimidation techniques on my competitors. It's gotta work one of these years.
-McG
- Thanks to all the competitors, volunteers and race organizers for a fantastic event. For a link to other demented postings, race reports and prose, please find me on facebook or twitter mcg_christopher.
-McG
- Thanks to all the competitors, volunteers and race organizers for a fantastic event. For a link to other demented postings, race reports and prose, please find me on facebook or twitter mcg_christopher.
