Flashback Friday: Where's This Year's Model?

Last night's track session was eerily similar to last year's track session. Unfortunately, that means my 800-meter intervals were 16 seconds slower than my last batch of 800s. Can you say ...

Even though I got to the track later than usual to avoid that pesky youth track team, the heat was still brutal. My warm-up mile had me sweating like an August sow. My feet felt especially hot (and heavy). I knew right away that it was going to be long evening.

My delayed start also meant I'd get hungry, so I ate some peanut butter and honey toast as soon as I got home from work. After my third interval, I felt like I was going to shart. The whole time I felt like I was stuck in gear, unable to find my kick.

And now the statistical rundown:

• Intervals: 6 x 800 meters
  
• Goal pace: 3:25 or less per interval (6:52 per mile)
  
• Lap 1: 3:19.98 (6:40 per mile)
• Lap 2: 3:31.28 (7:04 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 3: 3:31.08 (7:04 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 4: 3:46.39 (7:35 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 5: 3:43.45 (7:29 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 6: 3:46.88 (7:35 per mile) FAIL
• Average pace: 3:36.67 (7:15 per mile)
• BOTTOM LINE FAIL
• Total distance: 6.2 miles

[Drunkard's note: Total distance includes one mile warm up, 400-meter recovery laps and one mile cool down.]

Brutal. However, I usually have at least one terrible run the week before my step-back week. Usually, it's the long run (i.e., my awful 12-miler a few weeks back). I hope the bad run just came early, or this weekend's nine-miler and/or 18-miler will suck.

Back Talk
Wherein I comment on my readers' comments.

Idiot Nitmos finds exception to my Five-Second Rule and the caveat of always passing on the left (and Jess agrees with him): "Sorry, if you have to pass on the right, the person sitting on the left is the dick doing the dick move. If you are slow, GET RIGHT, then you won't HAVE to be passed on the right."

Answer: Only if you followed the rule of notifying the slowpoke that you're passing. If you say, "On your left," and the person stays left, then by all means pass the dick on the right. Otherwise -- and regardless -- you remain an idiot. (So what does that make someone who agrees with an idiot?)

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend and good luck to all you racers. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Don't Make Me Pee My Pants When You Pass

A common theme surfaced among the comments I received about yesterday's post on notifying others when you're passing from behind. It seems many bikers and runners worry about startling others when they shout "on your left" or some such warning.

I say, stop worrying. I'd rather be a little startled than a little run over.

I am all too aware of the jumpiness among the passed, because oftentimes I get startled in these situations. It happens when I get into my zone, just cruising along in my happy place when some spandex-encased biker -- or a rare feather-footed runner -- invades my nirvana with a nasally, "Passing!"

The key to avoiding this is in the timing. If I hear someone call out their approach and then pass me the next second, my shit will get freaked out. My natural reaction when I hear "on your left" is to look left before I do anything else. If I look left and see the passer already at my shoulder, that's not a very good warning.

On the other foot, if I have few moments notice -- say five seconds or more -- I am less flinchy. Just by the sound of the voice, I can tell that the person is not in my hip pocket. We all need to be aware of our approaching speed and the time it takes for someone to hear our warning, process it and react accordingly. Hopefully, that means getting the fuck out of the way.

However, you might get a different reaction. Another worry came from Some guy named John: "I find that when I say 'on your left' when I'm about to pass someone on my bike or trusty Asics training flats, they more often than not give me a dirty scowl of a look. I've even had several people tell me to go to hell when I warn them of an impending pass. So, it's a dilemma for me: Rather than doing unto others as I'd have them do unto me, I do unto others as they seem to want for me to do unto them."

I'd place this reaction into the category of "you can't please all the people all the time." Some people are just assholes. Forget them.

I try to say thank you when I receive a good passing notice. I will also call out those fuckwads who don't give me a good warning. It's important that we all do our part to maintain proper etiquette on our shared pathways, trails and roads.

I hereby enact, the Five-Second Rule of passing etiquette.

The Five-Second Rule: Give those slower occupiers of your exercise space five seconds notice with a loud, clear voice to warn them that you are passing. Call out, "on your left" or "passing" or something else equally understood, and make sure to pass on their left side as you would should do in a motor vehicle. (Passing on the right is a dick move.) Whether you are on a bike or running, the distance before you give warning will vary with speed.

On Your Left

Is it that hard to say?

After reading Vanilla's recent post on cyclists, I decided I'd pile on the anti-cyclist rhetoric. It's not like I haven't done it before.

My main issue with cyclists is when they don't warn you that they are approaching from behind. Granted, cyclists are not the only guilty culprits of this anti-notification trend. I've had runners spook me on the path when they suddenly appeared in my peripheral to pass -- not very often, mind you, but it's happened. However, it seems cyclists are a large percentage of the pass-but-don't-tell population. I'm guessing it's because they don't get passed as often and don't realize just how quiet they are.

Even if you're not a lead-footed runner like me, it's hard to hear anything coming from behind you. And that's true whether you are walking, running, biking or hula-hooping.

Have you ever noticed how the human ear is oriented to hear things in front of and to the side of the body and not so much to the rear? The pinna, for most people, is angled away from our backs. Furthermore, if an object is approaching at a high rate of speed, the Doppler Effect reduces our ability to hear it and react in a timely manner.

Physically and physics-ally, we runners can't hear you ass-hat cyclists (or you jerkface faster runners) zipping up on our backs. We'd get out of your way if we could hear you. Just remember that when you have to swerve off the path and end up flying over your handlebars because I didn't move when you didn't say "on your left." Stop being such a douche bucket and let me know when you're passing. And do it before I can see you out of the corner of my eye.

Flashback Monday?

Team BHI apologizes for the unannounced outage on Flashback Friday, a day you so anxiously await. However, my services were needed elsewhere.

Coincidentally, my Thursday track session provided perfect fodder for a flashback, and so you will get it today. Rest easy, fans of failure. There are some lowlights ahead just for you.

I have returned to using a track I ran at for most of last year, and that return has meant seeing some old friends. The past two Thursdays, I have had to share the lanes with a youth track team, a rather varied team that ranges from I'd guess 7 to 13 years old. And it's the same coaches who specialize in cluttering the open lanes and inspiring vituperate rants from this runner.

Thursday's schedule called for eight repeats of 400 meters at sub-1:40 (6:42 per mile). The track team was running short repeats on the first curve in lanes 1-5, and some other kids who seemed to just be watching milled about the other lanes. There were also a lot of walkers using the track. The crowded lanes and hot sun made for a particularly draining workout.

My first five intervals probably looked more like sine waves than laps around a track. As I started my intervals in Lane 5, I had to swing wide around the team and then swing back in to avoid the other people using the outer lanes. I torched the first 400 and managed to hit my pace on the first three repeats.

But then, I started to falter. I grew tired and hot. My recovery laps became slower and slower, and my water breaks lasted longer. The team's practice seemed to draw to an end, as the kids ran cool-down drills in the infield. Two of the of my last three intervals were on pace, for an overall average of 1:38.5 per 400 meters (6:34 per mile). Considering the crowd and heat, I'll take it.

And now the statistical rundown:

• Intervals: 8 x 400 meters
  
• Goal pace: Sub-1:40 per interval (6:42 per mile)
  
• Lap 1: 1:28.81 (5:54 per mile)
  
• Lap 2: 1:38.25 (6:34 per mile)
• Lap 3: 1:36.06 (6:26 per mile)
• Lap 4: 1:43.31 (6:54 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 5: 1:43.06 (6:54 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 6: 1:39.05 (6:38 per mile)
• Lap 7: 1:41.78 (6:46 per mile) FAIL
• Lap 8: 1:37.72 (6:30 per mile)
• Average pace: 1:38.5 (6:34 per mile)
  
• Total distance: 5.7 miles

[Drunkard's note: Total distance includes one mile warm up, 400-meter recovery laps and one mile cool down.]

I think I'll try arriving at the track later, to avoid the bulk of the track team's practice. Since I'm seeing my old track friends, perhaps this week I'll run into a certain crimson crusader.

Weekend Restart
The remainder of my weekend consisted of an eight-miler at marathon race pace on Saturday and a 16-miler on Sunday. I pretended to be smart and carried my water bottle on both runs and mowed down more Jolly Ranchers during my long run. I ran at 9:06 per mile on Saturday and 9:32 per mile on Sunday -- pretty solid for me. I have felt good these past two weekends, as my mileage has continued to climb. Today will be a welcome recovery run.

I hope you all ran well and drank well this weekend. Cheers!

Good Hydrations: Pickle Martini

A confession: I love dill pickles. And no, that's not a euphemism. I'm the sort of person who will drink the pickle brine. I'm particularly fond of Claussen pickles.

My adoring sister has the same affliction. When we were young, my parents couldn't keep pickles in the house for more than a couple days. And the brine would sometimes disappear before the pickles.

So once upon a time my sister and I were chatting by the liquor cabinet, mixing up a batch of dirty martinis when we started to talk about just how freakin' awesome the martinis would be if we substituted a pickle spear for the olive. Of course, she was out of pickles so it never materialized.

Not until last week.

I had purchased a jar of pickles for the new pad, and by some cosmic happenstance I also had all the fixings for a martini. I went straight to work.

Sadly, my sister was not around to partake in my concoction, but I captured the above photo with my phone and sent it to her.

A pickle martini is a fine post-run beverage, as the alcohol reduces pain and improves confidence. If you would like to have one, try my recipe.

Ingredients:

• Gin (I used Beefeater)
• Dry Vermouth (Martini Rossi)
• Dill Pickles (Claussen)
• The "I" in R.I.C.E.

Procedure:

1. Load up a martini glass with ice to chill
2. Add ice to a shaker (or mixing glass)
3. Pour 1 Tbsp. of dry vermouth into shaker
4. Mix well to coat the ice and strain
5. Remove ice from serving glass
6. Add 1 jigger of gin, 1 Tbsp. of pickle brine to shaker
   
7. Mix well and pour
8. Add half a pickle spear for garnish and serve

I also recommend giving the pickle a squeeze, as it will provide more flavor to the martini, and it will soak up more of the gin for a nice finish. This is one serving, and all amounts are recommendations. Some will like theirs dirtier, or prefer more vermouth.

Cheers!

I'm Your Candy Man

Sunday was a packed day, full of family-get-together plans, and my training schedule called for a 14-miler, which meant getting out the door early-ish, say 8:30 a.m.

I may have mentioned in the past that I'm not a morning person, so waking up was already a chore. And if I wanted to eat something before my run, I had to get up even earlier. I tried, honest I did. Instead of awaking at 7:30 as planned, I pulled myself from the warm confines of bed a little after 8:00.

If I ate something like a bagel as I had planned, I'd probably find the Puke Threshold in the first couple miles. Or at the very least, I'd be suppressing an angry food baby the whole way. I opted to skip breakfast, but I figured I'd need some sort of caloric intake for the nearly two and a half hours I'd be running.

That's when I remembered the Jolly Ranchers in the candy bowl.

I loaded up the tiny pouch on my handheld water bottle with seven pieces of sugary goodness (one for every two miles), and I hit the Towpath. I unzipped the pouch and pulled out my first candy at the second mile marker I passed, and it lasted a good while longer than I expected. All told, I consumed only four pieces.

I am unashamedly a cheapskate. I have purchased various electrolyte products like gels and sports drinks in the past, but I find them pricier than they are helpful. Why do I have to pay so much for a serving of carbohydrates, potassium and sodium? And then I have to suck one down every hour? I don't think so.

The candy provided me with a long-lasting trickle of moisture and carbs, and I felt strong the entire run. I don't have a cost-benefit analysis prepared yet, but I assure you that you'll get more for your dollar's rapidly declining value with a bag of Jolly Ranchers than you will with a box of Gu. However, I cannot guarantee that your face won't break out with zits.

[Drunkard's note: Comparing the nutritional information for Jolly Ranchers and Gu, I consumed one and a third servings of Jolly Ranchers instead of four recommended servings of Gu. Though Jolly Ranchers contain far fewer calories, carbohydrates, potassium (none) and sodium than Gu, my run didn't suffer for it. And neither did my wallet.]

The Salvation of Recovery

My first run of the week is always the easiest. Every Monday, my schedule calls for a three-mile recovery run, somewhere around 10 minutes per mile. After my heavy weekend mileage, my legs feel like wet concrete. The pace is slow, but it's not a cake walk.

I almost feel silly. For the first few minutes, I'm like one of those bounding, ebullient runners you see and hate. You might even think I'm a jogger. You just want to scream at these people, "Wipe that stupid smirk off your face!"

But then I encounter a slight rise, a subtle hint of an incline that I wouldn't otherwise consider a hill if it weren't for the effort it takes for my legs to propel me upward. The dumb grin is gone and I'm up against it now. It's humbling.

I know you've read about this thing called "active recovery." You know how it's supposed to dispel the lactic acid from your muscles. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I have nothing more to add but the BHI-certified Slur of Approval.

However, there is still that feeling like I should be doing more miles, or at the very least I should be going faster. No matter how much I stumble through these slow miles, I get home feeling like I didn't do enough. That's when I bust out my big ball and mat.

After these recovery runs is when I cross train for the only time all week. I focus on simple core strength. Five minutes of as many sets of sit-ups and push-ups as I can. Last night, I did three sets of 10 each. All told, my exercise for the day equaled about 35 minutes, but I felt shaky and tired as if I just ran another long run. Only then did I feel the satisfaction of a good day's work.

Today I feel great.

My training plan for the Akron Marathon is the most intensive schedule I've ever run. The majority of my miles come Saturday and Sunday with one day of rest (usually) after my track session.

It seems counter intuitive that the answer to tired legs is more running. My advice is have a few adult beverages and you'll forget the meaning of "counter intuitive." Cheers.

Mission Accomplished: I Am Ahab

The holiday weekend contained too much to blog about, so I'll save you from an overindulgent race report of the Davey Tree 10-K and give you just the facts, ma'am.

If you really need a detailed report of the race, read this and this. Just know I did it.

Flashback to last week's flashforward, and here is how this weekend's events unfolded ...

Track Attack
Thursday evening, I visited the track -- a different track than I have been using of late. A better marked track too. This time, I could clearly understand the hitherto cryptic lines telling me where to start my 800-meter intervals when Lane 1 was occupied.

And now the statistical rundown:

• Intervals: 5 x 800 meters
  
• Goal pace: 3:25 or less per interval (6:52 per mile)
  
• Lap 1: 3:15.04 (6:32 per mile)
• Lap 2: 3:24.07 (6:50 per mile)
• Lap 3: 3:22.03 (6:46 per mile)
• Lap 4: 3:20.34 (6:42 per mile)
• Lap 5: 3:21.79 (6:44 per mile)
• Average pace: 3:20.65 (6:42 per mile)
  
• Total distance: 5.5 miles

[Drunkard's note: Total distance includes one mile warm up, 400-meter recovery laps and one mile cool down.]

Maybe I should have kept my goal at 3:20 after all.

Seeking the White Whale
Mission accomplished. I ran the Davey Tree 10-K in less than 50 minutes. Results were not posted as off press time. My watch said 49:01, and the timer called out 49 flat. Of course, I'm not satisfied. I could have done better.

Like an idiot, I ran too close to Martini for the first mile and started too fast (7:19). Luckily, I recovered during the second mile. I kicked hard to the finish and approached the Puke Threshold, but my fast recovery after the race tells me I left too much out on the road.

What really irks me is the guy I didn't pass. Nearing the halfway mark, I heard this guy counting all the runners passing in the other direction. The Counter comes from behind to pass me just before the turnaround cone. I hear him pant, "37." I'm on the inside and re-pass him going around the cone, and he says, "38."

The guy was counting his place. I stayed ahead of him for about a quarter-mile, but it was forcing me out of my strategy. So I let him go ahead, to which he replied, "37." He was within view for the rest of the race, but I let him stray too far ahead and couldn't catch him with my kick, which I believe I could have started sooner.

For now, I am happy to have speared my 50-minute 10-K White Whale, but the beast has escaped to the Akron Marathon, where I must run a four-hour race to catch him. Now, the real battle begins.

And then 14 Miles
Yes, and then I ran 14 miles the morning after my 10-K PR. A group of three women had the pleasure of my company after they passed me at a road crossing. They couldn't get more than 100 feet ahead of me, but they kept looking back at me as if I were some kind of park-lurking creeper. I didn't have the legs to pass them, but I kept up with them for about five miles before they stopped. Their backward looks seemed to indicate that I was bothering them by being on their tails. I say, if you pass me, it's your job to separate. I'm not slowing down. Thanks for the even pacing, ladies.

Stockpiling Yuengling
I still had about half a six-pack of Yuengling Porter left from my birthday, but I got another case of it this weekend to bolster supplies. I was on a road trip to Pittspuke to check out furniture and banjos, but I can't cross into Pennsylvania without making a stop for some good, cheap beer. As a side note, I was drinking Yuengling Porter when I decided to run a marathon.

Crawling to the Next Race
Speaking of beer and running, the AkRun 5-K & Pub Crawl has been announced for Aug. 29, and for the first time since it started (maybe just last year) I'll be able to run it. I have a 16-miler planned the day after, but I can't pass up the shirt -- or the beer.

Cheers!

No Flashback, but a Flashforward

Surely we cannot have a Flashback Friday without there being a Friday. And since tomorrow is when the U.S. business world will be celebrating Independence Day, there will be no Friday in blogland for Team BHI. And since I have no recent runs or significant boozings to report, I will provide you a Flashforward to the days ahead.

Track Attack
Tonight, before celebrating another 30th birthday, I will make a dash to the track for five 800-meter intervals. Instead of attempting to blow an O-ring by running too far, too fast but not too furious. (HEY-OH!) This time, I will shoot for sub-3:25 per interval (6:52 per mile), and I'll use my new found track knowledge to run the correct distance.

Seeking the White Whale
Saturday morning, I will make another attempt at my racing White Whale, the sub-50 10-K. Last year, I missed breaking 50 minutes by 49 seconds. The Davey Tree 10-K is the first race I ever entered, and this will be my fourth time running the event. Last year, I discovered the charming magnetism that is the Puke Threshold. Expect more gory glory this year.

And then 14 Miles
You didn't think I was going to run a 10-K and call it a weekend, did you? Sunday should be an interesting 14-miler, after a setting new PR and enjoying the holiday.

Sounds like a busy weekend. I'll need make sure I hydrate properly. Happy Hour comes early today. Happy Independence Day to all my U.S. readers. Have a finely brewed weekend, and good luck to all you fellow racers. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

A Welcome to New Sheets

Three miles capped the month. I see the light at the end of the tunnel of this hectic two weeks, as I cross items off my to-do list. Speaking of which, June is done. Here is the statistical rundown:

• Total Miles: 94 miles (18 runs)
• Highest Weekly: 28 miles
  
• Average Weekly: 22.75 miles
  
• Average Pace: 9:23 per mile
  
• Longest/Fastest Run: 10 miles, 9:02 pace
  
• The Monthly Dif: +13 miles (81 miles in June)

My total mileage should have been 98 miles, but I'll still call it a successful first month of marathon training. I feel like I have gotten faster, and my long runs are building nicely. The challenge for the next two months will be the brutal humidity that hits Ohio in the summer.

He's Back!
After three booze-addled seasons, Zane Lamprey's Three Sheets mysteriously vanished from the airwaves. Now, he's back with more misadventures on the Fine Living Network. As Martini said upon hearing the news, "And our lord returned!" If you still haven't seen the first three seasons, check them out on Hulu. Cheers!