Ten-Day Forecast

We are 10 days away from the Akron Marathon. My only 20-miler is in the books. My strategy is more or less set. My shoes have been chosen. And my short taper has begun.

The weather forecast, which likely will be completely different on race day, calls for high-60s to mid-70s and rain on Sept. 24. Until then, I will run every other day in a stepped mileage pattern. Thus, I will run four miles today, eight miles Friday, three miles Saturday, six miles Tuesday, and two miles the following Thursday, before running the big 26.2 miles on the Saturday after next.

Now that the main running is out of the way, my mind can start focusing on potential finish times. So let's crunch the numbers!

My last Parrott-derived time was 4:50:53. McMillan gives me a 4:38:11, based on my Buckeye Half Marathon results. And today, I arrived at yet another possible predictor: my average pace differential from each year's half marathon and marathon results.

Here's what I did: Going back to 2007, I took the average pace from my marathon performance and subtracted the most recent half marathon average pace of that same year to arrive at a pace differential. Because I ran two marathons in 2008, I arrived at five pace differentials.

I removed the highest and lowest differentials, because the highest was a clear bonk at the 2008 Akron Marathon, considering I set a PR two weeks later at the Towpath Marathon, and the lowest was when I decided to purposefully run slow at the 2009 Buckeye Half Marathon to test a pacing strategy for that year's Akron Marathon.

With the resulting three pace differentials, I have averaged an increase of 1:23 in average pace from my half marathon to marathon performances each year. Therefore, if I averaged 10:04 per mile at this year's Buckeye Half Marathon, this new predictor would indicate an 11:27 mile pace at the Akron Marathon, a finish of 4:59:59. Good thing I don't advocate a five-hour cutoff time for marathons!

All along, I have said 4:30 would be an "A goal" for this year's race, considering my limited training. Now I'm backing off that pipe dream as well. Nothing in my training suggests I could approach anything close to a 10:18 pace for a marathon.

Dating back to June, my monthly average pace has been no faster than 10:53 per mile for long runs, which might predict a 4:45:09 marathon finish. However, last month's average mile pace was 11:22, for a possible 4:57:48 marathon time.

The reality is that there is no steadfast predictor of your potential marathon performance. So much can happen over the course of 26.2 miles that it's impossible to determine how your race will unfold on any given day.

I just have to relax and accept chaos as truth. Anything can happen, and that's the mystique and allure of running marathons.

Playing the Part Well

The temperature was decidedly un-springlike, dipping into the 30s this morning, yet still I persevered and ran (he wrote, over-dramatically). Though my mileage is more couch to 5K than marathon, consistent movement has started to firm up the winter flabs.

When the double alarms went off at 6 a.m., I hit snooze once for each and then rolled out of bed almost like a real morning person. Though I may have zoned out in grogginess for a minute or two while I was getting dressed for my three-miler, my mood is much less hostile toward the prospect of hitting the pavement at such an inhumane hour.

You might mistake me for a regular early-riser, but I would caution you not to try chatting me up until I've had at least one cup of joe. Otherwise you might confuse my wry wit with rancor. And I wouldn't want to hurt your delicate sensibilities, now, would I?

Akron Marathon Countdown: Race Week

Five days, people, we have five days until the Akron Marathon and my bid to break four hours. My weekend plans were a success, and I'm now on the dreaded wagon until after the race.

Last week produced another sad tale of lackluster running. Let's hope I haven't done too little in the last couple weeks. I'm hoping to get in one last hard workout today and regain my mojo before the big day. This self-inflicted drama will make for some much needed suspense around these parts.

Until I succumbed to my own variety of taper madness -- which has exhibited itself as plain old procrastination -- my training has been rather uneventful. The runs were scratched off one by one, resulting in my highest training mileage to date and a new personal best in the half marathon, as planned.

Can I regather my motivation and capture a little lightning in a bottle this Saturday? Stay tuned!

Race Report: Playing Ketchup

Remember my strategy for the Buckeye Half Marathon? Disregard.

My watch had been acting a bit screwy for the past month. It was dead on race day. Do you know what time it is? Time to get a new battery.

I lined up behind the 1:50 pacer as planned with Martini and a guy I met a few weeks ago on a trail run. When the race started, I followed Martini through the pack until I came upon another friend who was running easily at my pace (this guy has BQ'd). We chatted for the first mile or so until he darted ahead to run with his friend, the 1:45 pacer. I moved up a few places to run slightly ahead of the 1:50 pacer. My legs felt great.

The temperature was supposed to reach the mid-80s, but the morning started off nice and cool with clear skies. I couldn't have asked for better race conditions.

The stage was set.

The 1:45 group pulled away while I maintained a steady and comfortable pace. I split away from the 1:50 group a bit earlier than I planned -- like by the second mile.

Without my watch, my only indicator of pace was my placing between the 1:45 and 1:50 groups. My focus was instead on my running form and reeling in the runners ahead of me. Nobody presented a challenge to my passing and therefore I had not yet targeted my mark for the race.

This whole year I have noticed that the running club that hosts this race has been a bit disorganized. The website hasn't been as well maintained. They've had trouble getting volunteers. Parking was a mess for the race. They were still putting up mile markers during the first couple miles. Things have just been off.

My first indicator that these problems might affect my performance was when they didn't have a water stop along Akron-Peninsula Road as in year's past. I took in water at the second, fifth and seventh miles. After that, they ran out of cups.

The aid station workers were offering to pour water into our hands and on our heads. I just skipped it altogether. I drank a bunch of water before the race and hoped what little I'd taken in so far was enough to finish well.

If nothing else, those who did stop for water ahead of me would have to slow down so much that I could blow past them while they licked their fingers dry.

By Mile 10, I could no longer see the 1:45 pace group. However, I saw a runner far ahead of me with a bright yellow tanktop whom I marked for defeat. I continued to pull in the runners strung out ahead of me one by one.

I cruised through the final, cupless water station and moved up a few more places. Yellow Tanktop had just rounded the corner from Bolanz to Riverview. He was cruising along. He'd pass a group of runners, then I'd pass the same group a few moments later. I was slow to gain on him, until I saw something ahead that primed my accelerator.

Suddenly, I was at Yellow Tanktop's left shoulder. I was set to pass him, but I thought I needed him to push me along. "Let's catch those 1:45-ers," I said to the red herring, urging him to help me chase down the green balloon that the 1:45 pacer was carrying.

"You can do it," the man in the yellow tanktop said, as he relented and fell behind me.

The only real hill on the race course loomed ahead. I pushed hard to gain as much ground as I could while it was flat. This was a perfect place to close the gap because after the hill is a sharp right turn at a railroad crossing, followed by a gravel road with a hairpin left turn, before the final straightaway on a grassy field to the finish line.

Many runners tend to slow down as they traverse this technical section. Those runners are dead in the water if I'm close behind.

The 1:45 pacer was about 35 feet ahead of me when he reached the turn at the railroad crossing. My friend who was still running with the pacer peeled off the course there (bandit!) and I shouted at him.

"There you go, [Viper]!" he yelled back. His cheer pushed me past the pacer. Two runners were ahead. I weaved between them on the gravel road. I cut the left turn tight. Finally, I could hear the crowd at the finish.

I saw the Enthusiast and Dobson with his new haircut. Their cheers gave me the final push, and I let it all out. My stomach gave a slight heave with the effort. The clock ticked up. A PR was a certainty. I heard Martini's cheer as I cruised across the line.

I saw 1:44:27 when I crossed, but the race (dis-) organizers spotted me a few seconds in the official results.

I tore off my bib tab as I stumbled through the chute. I handed my number to the race official and slipped under the rope to avoid vomiting on the woman ahead of me. I bent double and my stomach heaved. Nothing. I took a few more steps toward the food and water tent. My stomach heaved again. This time, hurk, jackpot!

Oh, and there were no cups at the finish either. Runners were using pasta bowls to drink water.

And again the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad delayed runners at around the two-hour mark. The guy Martini and I lined up with at the start ended up running extra because there was no one at the railroad crossing to tell him he was supposed to turn right to get to the finish.

From what I've heard, the number of entrants doubled for this year's Buckeye Half Marathon. This is still among my top two favorite races, but those runners won't be back next year if the race organizers don't fix these problems.

Solutions:

• Have more cups
• Make signs to direct runners on course
• Start earlier to avoid train delays

Here's this year's hoodie.

Race Report: 'That's All I Got'

We zipped past the ninth mile marker shoulder to shoulder. I had been drafting the man in the sleeveless windbreaker for the past mile after he made a weak move to pass me on Steels Corners Road. He never got more than 20 strides ahead of me, and with three-tenths of a mile to go I wouldn't let him win.

I arrived at the Shamrock 15-K with no expectations. I didn't feel trained, and I'd never raced the course or the distance. And on this day, a hard rain fell and never let up. It was the kind of miserable weather that makes you really appreciate your cheering section.

The race starts at Woodridge High School, descends into the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, and then loops back. From the fourth mile to the sixth, you are running a steep uphill.

Click on the map to view the elevation.
As you can see, I didn't get the exact distance.

Before the race started, I realized I didn't strap on my watch. It was sitting in the car, but I decided to run without it. I know all you techno nerds are probably pooping your tech shorts, but unlike you I can run on feel.

I was worried that I'd look at my early splits and disregard the need to save energy for the climb up from the valley. Instead I kept an even pace with Martini until after the third mile before I let him go to regroup. I attacked the two-mile uphill stretch methodically, following the rhythm of my breath to power me upward: in-in-in, out-out.

A man and woman yo-yo'd me for about a mile, speeding past me and then slowing to a walk. Finally I got past them for good before the turn onto Steels Corners where the course flattened. Then I began to pick up the pace for the final stretch.

I heard the man's footsteps behind me when the eighth mile marker was in view. He crept upon me and stayed just off my right shoulder for about a quarter mile and then he slowly surged to my side and then finally ahead of me.

The man in the sleeveless windbreaker continued to ebb farther ahead of me for the next quarter mile and I almost decided to let him go, but then he slowed and I knew I had him beat. I would not make his mistake.

We turned off Steels Corners and I reeled him in. I settled in behind him. He seemed to falter at times and I got shoulder to shoulder with him, but then he'd recover and I'd get behind him again.

Before the final turn onto Quick Road the man made a move that I perceived was meant to break me. He surged ahead, but I did not follow and before long his pace slackened. I took the final turn with a tight arc and was back at his shoulder and we passed the ninth mile dead even.

The finish was just beyond a bend in the road. I crashed ahead. I wasn't sure I had a finishing kick worth three-tenths of a mile. I could feel myself slipping. The finish was in view. Then I heard the footsteps just off my right shoulder.

I could see the sleeveless windbreaker in my peripheral. I needed to approach the puke threshold. Go legs, go, I begged to myself. I ebbed ahead and kept the footsteps behind me. Then he spoke.

"That's all I got. It's yours," the man panted.

I let out a barking laugh and finished him off.

In the finishing chute the people ahead of me as usual were taking too long. I handed over my bib tag and slipped under the ropes so as to bend over double in case of projectile. There was none. I turned around and saw the man in the sleeveless windbreaker.

"Nice finish," I said. Not as nice as mine, I thought. We shook hands and parted. He beat me inside the school for shelter.