Flashback Friday: Bring on the Jamoosh

Upon our first meeting, we were on his turf, where they like to put blacklight murals on motel walls. This time, the confrontation will be on my grounds.

Tomorrow at dawn, Jamoosh and I will face-off on the Buckeye Trail, where we have actual hills, not just a single incline where "everybody does their hill work," as was pointed to me when we ran together in Houston.

Jamoosh is on a back-off week from his base marathon training and July triathlon training schedules. I'm coming off three successive back-off weeks (with six, four and 11 miles) after my first 20-mile week of the year. Our training seems to be on equal footing, I'd say.

We have agreed on an eight-mile route, and I have two directions from which to choose. One is a lollipop route with a couple of water crossings and lots of hills. The other is loop route with lots of hills and a couple of water crossings. Both could involve a horse encounter, but I've never heard of people riding off into the sunrise.

The time is set. My legs are ready. And my attempts at sabotage may be the subplot to our duel, as I've given my adversary a number of recommendations for brewpubs to visit tonight when he arrives in Cleveland. Muwahaha!

Back Talk
Wherein some people don't recognize the Godfather of Soul

Carolina John must have been distracted by all the wild life in Tuesday's post when he picked out this line: "I don't know karate but I know crazy..... You know you're not a newlywed anymore when..."

Answer: When you start listening to James Brown?

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates! Have a finely brewed Memorial Day weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Back Among the Regulars

Amid the strong smell of mustard at the big turn before the final straightaway, it occurred to me that I haven't run on such crowded terrain since last year's Akron Marathon. And seriously, why did it smell like mustard?

Sand Run park has been one of my regular running haunts since I first started running. The crushed limestone multipurpose path provides a convenient venue for training, with its smooth crushed limestone surface, well-marked half-miles (although recently discovered to be mismeasured ... stupid GPS), and challenging but not killer rolling hills.

However, lately I've been using the park's rough hiking trails for my runs. I can't remember the last time I ran on the more populated path, as I did yesterday.

There were some familiar faces, such as the overdressed guy with the awful posture and the guy who resembles a pre-steroids era Mark McGwire.

Looking back, I realize I exercised some poor running etiquette. I forgot to announce the times I passed people from behind (an old pet peeve) and I passed two fellow runners just before I hit my turnaround point (I could have waited). It seems I've misplaced my manners.

But then again, I was also reminded of how snooty these people are. They looked at me as if I were the Unibomber anytime I waved or nodded or said "hello." On the trails, my greetings are never so thoroughly rebuffed. Don't you people know we're part of a community?

Back on that final stretch, I could feel my quads burning as I chugged up the final slow-rising hill. Looking at my watch phone at the end, I noted a new fastest pace of the year, but also the errant mile markers. My final pace was 9:13 per mile, but my supposed three-miler turned out to be 2.93 miles after looping around the parking lot in the attempt to make up for the missing distance. Oh, for the days when ignorance was bliss ...

Happy Leap Day, teammates.

Flashback Friday: I Have No Legs Lungs

I suddenly feel woefully out of shape. Last night's run sucked the wind right out of me and I haven't been able to catch my breath since.

My schedule called for nine miles at tempo pace, but I was feeling like a hilly trail run. I set out to attack the uphills and put in a tempo-like effort. Within the first 30 minutes, my lungs dissolved and my chest tightened in their absence.

Even on the flat sections, my wind didn't return. For an hour and 20 minutes, I slogged along in the hot, humid evening, wishing for the end to arrive. Over the steep, rolling hills of the trails surrounding Sand Run, looping around the Buckeye Trail, across to the Towpath to connect to the Valley Link back to Sand Run -- all this time running without oxygen. Even this morning.

I have no solution.

There Is Another

During this morning's slower-than-it-should-have-been, lungless and barefoot run, I saw another. She was older and trotting around the block with a quick cadence. I was too far behind to catch up and talk to her before she stopped to talk to some people in a minivan. When I passed, I tried to slow down and acknowledge our sameness. I wanted to ask, "Hey, where are your shoes?"

Back Talk

Wherein the cheapskates shall inherit the earth.

Nitmos responded to my rebuttal to his comment: "Well, now that was a good rebuttal. I can get behind that reasoning -- all except for Salazar's comment. With the human form being what it is in so many different shapes/sizes/centers of gravity, etc., there can't possibly be 'one best way of running' for everyone. No way. Maybe if we were all similar clone-like machines like the droids in I, Robot we could identify the efficiency but ... we're not. However, there must be One Best Way of Running for YOU."

Answer: Fucking asshole.

Eric from Can You See the Sunset from the Southside? (CYSTSFTS) has seen the truth, but not the light, as he is on the verge of dropping way too many dollars on shoes: "I made myself some huaraches from some cheap old flip-flops and I love running in them. I'm thinking about getting a pair from Invisible Shoe since the soles are thinner and (thus) better."

Answer: I used Steve Sashen's site to make my huaraches, but mine cost half as much as his kit. You can get industrial rubber sheeting however thick or thin you want for about $6 online.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates! Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Show Off

The allegation came from behind as I charged up the last rolling hill of Sand Run, passing a group of women runners. My legs churned through sludgy oatmeal on a humid afternoon, but then I heard one of the women say, "We're being passed."

"I noticed," said the one with the "beware of the turtle" shirt. Then to me, "Show off!"

I barked a single-syllable laugh, as that was the only thing I could do after pushing through seven miles at tempo pace. A few more strides and I found a bit more pep in my step. The oatmeal was gone, and my legs flowed freely toward my finish. Maybe I am a show off.

Less Shoe, More Blister

For some bizarre reason, I decided to remove the sole inserts to my Brooks T6 Racers. My reasoning was that it would be less cushioning and give me more feel for the ground.

That, it did.

It also gave me more feel for the stitching that binds the upper to the sole. Stitching starts to feel abrasive after an hour of running. I'm putting the inserts back in.

Cleveland: Where You Might Win

The Cleveland Marathon was Sunday, and people you've never heard of won. Some bloggers whom you might have read also ran.

The race directors have continued to improve the race over the past few years. The marathon and half marathon races sold out for the first time in 33 years. However, despite the increased popularity, the race doesn't draw the big names. That said, Cleveland could be the place where you win.

Women, if you can run a marathon in less than three hours, you have a real chance of winning in Cleveland. For the men, if you can get under 2:30, you're in the hunt. Likewise, the half marathon winners finished in 1:12 for the men and 1:20 for the women. The 10-K is the event you have to watch out for, as that race draws the Kenyans and Ethiopians -- but still nobody you've heard of before.

It seems that the Cleveland Marathon is the only sporting event in the city where the local athletes win.

Ohioans took five podium spots in the marathon and half marathon, winning the men's and women's marathons and women's half marathon, and placing second in the women's marathon and men's half marathon.

Yet, for some reason, I seem to be advocating for outside competitors to come make life miserable for the homegrown runners. I guess I'm just used to watching the home team lose.

How Did He Do That?

When I'm not rescuing relationships and restoring romance, I like to buy food for the hungry. While returning from the grocer with my lunch supplies, I saw a man running. Or ambling. Or dying. Or however you might characterize his grotesque movements. He was moving toward me (southbound) as I was about to make a right turn.

My first thought was, This man is going to croak in the crosswalk, and I'm not going to be able to make my turn. This was 8:08 a.m., and I was already running late for work.

The black-haired, rictus-grinned, bare-chested-but-heart-monitored man managed to avoid rigor mortis and made it across the intersection, and I made the turn. I had to hurry to make lunch and ate breakfast on the go.

I left for work at 8:25 a.m., most assuredly bound to be late. I turned onto a street parallel to the one where I saw the aforementioned runner and headed north. About a mile up the road, I saw the very same fit-for-a-mortician runner -- with the very same rictus grin -- dying toward me (southbound). Did he teleport?

I'm still trying to figure out his route. And also, are zombies real?

Love on the Run

I know many of my readers are single. But maybe you don't have to be. The Viper is here to help. And if you're in the Ann Arbor, Mich., area (hint hint), perhaps you've already run into your love of a lifetime. And guess what? He runs!

From Craigslist personals:

"I was streaking through the Diag Friday night at 2:15 am. Coming around the corner of State and Liberty, fast as a naked blur, I bumped into you and we both fell to the ground. I was a little upset with you at first, cuz I scratched my right butt cheek pretty bad, but I knew it was my fault. You said, "Nice New Balances," And all I could say was, "Thanks," with the adrenaline still rushing. In less awkward circumstances, I would have liked to talk to you. I had never run into a girl that fast or naked before... I didn't know how to respond so I helped you up quickly and kept running. Since my friends paid me $100 for making it to Kerrytown with just my socks, shoes, and a big smile, I'd like to take you on a date. You looked pretty fit so maybe you'd like to go for a run sometime. Hit me up! Bye! [sic]

The clear benefit here if you are this person's missed connection is that you got an eyeful [I'M BLIND!!1!] of the goods -- or perhaps not-so-goods. Hopefully, the butt cheek has healed. Happy hunting. Love will find a way.

[Drunkard's note: Thanks to Gin for head's up.]

En Garde!

This week I was challenged to a duel. And I accepted.

After reading my Monday post, Mike at Running Is Funny suggested we face off during our respective Memorial Day 5-Ks. The winner gets well nothing at all really except bragging rights.

Mike's 5-K PR is exactly one minute faster than mine, which -- contrary to his blog title -- isn't funny at all. And his most recent 5-K was 20 seconds faster than my PR. Still not funny.

Despite his record of being faster, I've got youth on my side, as I'm about 20 years younger. And I'm not coming off an injury. And all my scientific research tells me I'm on the upswing of my running life, while I'm just going to propagate the potential lie that Mike is on the downswing, as his old brittle bones are letting the back of the pack catch up to him.

I've run two consecutive 20-mile weeks with another on the way, and Mike has run 12 miles (allegedly) in the last six weeks. I ran six repeats of 800-meter intervals at an average 7:35 mile pace last week, while Mike ran a 1.75-mile loop at 8:10 pace yesterday.

My biggest advantage, however, is you, my dimwitted readers.

Many of you have already played into my hand by rooting against me at Mike's site. I would expect nothing less. Keep it up. I love nothing more than playing the villain. Even if you start rooting for me, I'll know you are lying. Your negativity feeds my fire. I can feel your anger. Yes! Yes!

[Drunkard's note: Insert diabolical laugh.]

In Other Marathon News: Pickin' and Runnin'

No, I'm not talking about pickin' your nose. You should know if you read me that the best method of expelling boogers from your nostrils is by snot rocket.

No, I mean pickin' something else. I mean pickin' a banjo.

There is a phrase among banjo players that when you are in the act of playing the banjo you are pickin' and grinnin' -- because playing the banjo is so joyfully stimulating.

Well, some guy from Knoxville decided that he'd go ahead pick his banjo on the run. And not just any run, but John Longmire, 46, will pick his banjo during the 2009 Country Music Marathon in Nashville this Saturday.

"Though he has played banjo for 33 years, Longmire has only been running for five. He estimates the instrument will add an hour to his time of 4:20:39 last year."

Just to give you an idea of what this means, a performance quality banjo of the type used for bluegrass style music can weigh up to 20 pounds. My banjo weighs about 10 pounds. A banjo similar the one Gibson supplied Longmire probably weighs about five pounds.

Playing the banjo alone for five hours would be tiresome--and I don't just mean for your ears. I don't even want to know about the chaffing situation with a shoulder strap and the back of the banjo rubbing against his body. Not to mention the damage to his poor fingers.

Then there is the little matter of adding an hour to your best marathon time.

In short, this man is an idiot, but for a good cause.

That Thing You Do

You know you're guilty. You're a runner and you brag about it. Whether it's verbal or more symbolic, you like to make sure everyone knows about your running. You know you do. And it totally annoys the piss out of everyone you know.

Luckily for you, Dr. Viper is here to point out your folly. Below is a list of those annoying things you do as a runner that aggravate those around you. Remember, knowing is half the battle.

On Clothing

• You wear running shoes when you're not running
• You display your finishing medals in prominent places
• Your latest race shirt is in a weekly rotation
• You show off your latest running apparel or gadget
• Right now you are wearing something running related

On Speaking

• "I was just reading in Runners' World ..."
• "During my last long run ..." or "When I ran the [blank] marathon ..."
• When you talk about how far you ran, it was "just" however many miles
  
• You talk openly about bodily functions, fluids and flatulations
• You name-drop your running injuries into every possible conversation

On Eating and Drinking

• You're always carb-loading
• You're always hydrating

On Behavior

• Fiscal responsibility does not include race entries or new gear, gadgets and equipment
• You think snot rockets are OK in public
  
• Your smelly clothes are hanging to dry in your bathroom
• As soon as someone you know starts running, you start coaching

On Coworkers

• Quick, how many things in your work area are related to running?
• How many coworkers know you run?
• Have you ever compared running to work or vice versa?
• The answers to these questions? Annoying

There are many ways that you annoy everyone around you. These are just some of the reasons why.

Race Report: Double Negative

The Band-Aid Edition of the Towpath Marathon Race Report: I didn't break four hours, but I set a new PR, and I'm happy with that.

And now, the short story made long.

I Need a Medic!
The parking for the Towpath Marathon and the starting line were much farther apart than anticipated, about a quarter-mile. And of course, I was running late and therefore running there. However, I could have avoided this predicament.

Martini and I were walking toward the start at about 7:55 a.m., and the man in the golf cart was driving back and forth between the start and the parking area, yelling through a bull horn that the race was about to begin. Just then I realized I had forgotten to tape the nips.

For a moment I considered running without protection, but Martini brought me to my senses, which is a good thing because it wasn't pretty the last time I raced without taped nipples.

So, with only a few minutes to spare before race time, I jogged back to the parking area, where the ambulances were, to ask a paramedic for tape. Usually, I prefer to warm up during the first few miles of a marathon, but instead I warmed up running back to the start.

Some other runners asked me as I passed them, "How far away is the start?" I told them I had no idea.

Positive Split
I had somehow managed to convince Martini that the negative split was a good plan, so we planned to run together for as long as possible, keeping each other in check for the early, slow miles.

Oddly, my right ankle felt wonky for the first three miles, but I ran it out. Overall, I was in good spirits and feeling strong. We linked up with a young woman who had goals similar to mine ("I'd like to come in under four hours, but I'll be happy with 4:15," she said), and when we told her we were attempting a negative split race, she said, "That's what I do."

The three of us ran together for the next 10 miles, forming our own little pace group when two others latched onto us. We hit the halfway mark at 2:02, feeling good about our 9:20 per mile pace.

Doubly Positive
Our five-runner group started to break up at the next aid station. The experienced negative splitter dropped us when Martini and I walked to drink our water, and we in turn dropped the other two runners when we started up again.

Our negative split plan was predicated on the two-thirds rule. That is, we'd run comfortably for the first two-thirds of the race and then pick up the pace for the final third, at the 17th mile marker.

However, I started to fade before then. Part of the reason, I think, is because we started to pick up the pace a little too soon. While we ran the first half at a 9:20 pace, we started clocking consistent sub-9:10s immediately afterward. One of my fastest miles (at 9:00) was mile 15, which concluded at the site of the finish line, where the biggest crowd was. My cheering section, apparently, amped me up.

Martini started to separate from me just before our two-thirds mark. I saw him look back for me when he passed the marker, probably intending to say it was time to kick it up. He started to gain on the experienced negative splitter. Meanwhile, I started logging slower and slower miles.

Regrouping to Finish
My last sub-10:00 mile was the 18th at 9:38, but the next mile smashed me in the mouth. Mile 19 was my last sub-11:00 mile. I was starting to feel the wear and tear. Had I not decided to switch to Nitmos's War of Posts method, I probably would have been fine. But as it was, I saw my four-hour goal slip away.

However, I still had other goals and challenges to meet. And thankfully, I had my lucky PR charm at the race, and I knew that I'd set a new personal best if I just kept it together from point to point. Regardless, those last miles were a slog-fest.

From there, I did my best to stop focusing on the way my body felt. Instead, I started paying attention to the other runners.

Miles Per Character
The old man and the lean: I had passed him so long ago that I'm not sure what mile it was. But approaching the next mile marker, I heard a voice at my left ear. "Twenty miles and I finally passed someone," the old man said. He hobbled past me in the same leaning shuffle he'd been running with since I had passed him before. I wish I could tell you I regrouped to re-pass him, but chalk him up as another old-timer who's faster than I am.

Martini and the experienced negative splitter: After mile 21, I saw Martini again -- going the other direction -- and he had caught up to the young woman we were running with earlier. They looked strong and we exchanged motivational shouts. (Martini ended up finishing behind her but still under four hours.)

Delusional first-timer: On the final leg of the marathon, with about 3.5 miles to go, I passed a young man walking. I must have motivated him to run again because he crept up behind me, and I heard him chirp, "Don't worry, man. We got this." I think those words were more for him than for me, but I kept up the conversation. He was running his first marathon and was a student at my alma mater. He asked what my goal was, and I told him four hours, but I'd be happy with 4:25. "And I think we're on a good pace to beat that," I added. He agreed and said, "Yeah, I think we're doing about a 3:50." I didn't have the heart to tell him that we'd be lucky to hit 4:10, which I was still on pace for at that time. Soon aferward, he fell behind.

A slower old-timer for once: Around mile 24, I came upon a older man who kept alternating running and walking, running and walking. As I came alongside him, he looked at his watch and said, "I'm supposed to be finishing right now. I don't think I'm doing too good." I told him he was doing great and to stop worrying. Apparently, I was Mr. Motivational again. He started running to pass me, and then I passed him as he slowed down to a walk. He refused to stay passed, but after a few more attempts to stay ahead of me, he fell behind for good.

To the Beer Tent!
I managed to pass a few more people before the finish, which makes me feel like the negative split is possible. (Take note, Vanilla.) I just need to practice it more.

One nice thing about a small race is the announcer has time to look up your number and call out your name. I crossed the finish with 4:23-something on the clock, and didn't stop my watch until 4:24:16. I'm still awaiting official chip-time results. Either way, it's a new PR.

I walked around in a daze for a few minutes. I had managed to keep running for a lot more of this marathon than my previous two. I felt the slight tinge of disappointment for not hitting my ultimate goal, but then let it wash away as I considered the race and the goals and challenges I had set for myself.

Goals:

• Break four hours: Not this time. Result: FAIL!
• PR: I held it together. Result: Success
• Find a race strategy that works for me: I had more in the tank during those final few miles than I had in my previous Akron experiences. Martini's success and meeting someone else who was using the negative split approach and succeeded in her goals makes me feel like I too can pull it off with some more practice. Result: Success
• Enjoy another run in the park: The Towpath is usually very nice, but this weekend the leaves were in full color-change mode. Those trees were beautiful. Maybe too beautiful. In fact, they probably slowed me down! Bastards! But I guess it was a nice run. Result: Success

Challenges:

• Leggo my ego: As soon as I knew four hours was out of reach, I let it go and regrouped to acheive my next time goal. Result: Success
• Run the best race possible: I PR-ed didn't I? Result: Success
• Be satisfied with the result no matter the number: I admit I had some feelings of disappointment at the end, but I quickly got over it. I took comfort in the fact that I've now PR-ed at every distance I've raced this year. Result: Success

The only challenge remaining was to stumble over to the beer tent, which was serving a light but suitable ale from Rocky River Brewing Co., a local brewer. Any remaining complaints were soon soothed by the keg's cold elixer.

All in all, I'm happy I ran the Towpath Marathon. It was a nice race and well-organized. However, I'm not sure I'll do it again. (Certainly not if I run a marathon two weeks before.) The out-and-back course got really crowded near the the turnarounds and the finish area was a bit jumbled. But it's a very nice small race with a very scenic route. The volunteers were great and the spectators, though few in number, were mighty in spirit.

Thank you, everyone who dropped by to wish me luck for this weekend. Cheers!

Mr. Workpants: A Character Sketch

Looking for Davey Tree/United Way race results? The Viper is happy to help.

* * *

As runners and drinkers, we typically see the same people over and over again, whether along our usual route or sitting at the bar in our local pub. I wonder about these people and what their stories are. One man I always see is Mr. Workpants.

He usually runs on the weekdays, after work. Or at least I assume it's after work, because typically he wears workpants, which appear to be blue Dickies like I used to wear when I drove buses. Sometimes, though, he will wear sweatpants. Until about the middle of summer, he also wears a heavy sweatshirt, usually red. Last time I saw him, he had finally switched to a cotton T-shirt.

I assume many things about Mr. Workpants.

He must be a bigger cheapskate than I am. He still follows the old adage that you don't need anything to run. Just a good pair of shoes.

He runs with short, efficient strides, his back straight and head tilted slightly back. He always looks like he has run farther than I have.

He must weigh nothing. He has to be shedding pounds by sweaty bucketfuls. Those clothes must weigh 50 pounds by the time he's done.

I admire Mr. Workpants, in a way, but I also fear him.

He almost always passes me from the opposite direction. He appears to shuffle slowly along, but something tells me he would run me down if he were behind me. Even though he didn't the other day when I saw him plodding up the hill toward the turnaround. I of course picked up my speed and kept checking over my shoulder. Oh no, he's going to catch me.

Mr. Workpants never snubs me. He responds with a short "Hi" or head nod, depending on what the situation calls for. Is he mimicking me? He seems friendly in that he-was-always-such-a-quiet-man way.

His expression never changes. He looks like he's thinking, plotting. Sometimes I think I'm interrupting some lurid fantasy. Did he just grin?

Despite his proletarian get-up, I can only imagine Mr. Workpants working from home, in solitude. I see him in a basement apartment that is cramped, but fastidiously organized. He has a dry erase white-board with an equation written in hunter green marker, but the equation has no answer. The equal sign has a sinister quality to it, as if urgently demanding its sum.

He doesn't seem like a mathematician. Maybe it's a hobby. Mr. Workpants seems focused on the makeshift work bench, a piece of particle board laid across the double sink in the kitchen.

One of the two computers is always powered on as it sits on the large corner desk in his living room. The screen shows what appears to be an auto-cad program, with a complex blueprint with tight white lines of esoteric design.

When he grows frustrated with his project at home, Mr. Workpants simply walks out the door, wearing whatever clothes he had on and goes for a run in the park, where some quiet young man with the faint smell of booze always gives him the stink eye. He wonders who this guy is.

[Drunkard's note: Mr. Workpants, if you are reading this, I'm describing someone else entirely. I'm sure you are very kind. You probably rescue kittens from trees in your spare time. I'll admit to a certain level of paranoia. But I can't help shake the belief that you always see the worst in yourself in others.]