The King is Dead. Long Live the King.

When your shoe company discontinues your favorite shoe, what do you do? Accept change, move on and try out the replacement, or cling to the past and stock-pile the old model? (I think Elaine once had a quandary similar to this on Seinfeld.)

It’s not a decision I’ve faced before. Nike is apparently famous for it. They develop a shoe, offer updates with gradual improvements, get it to where everyone (or lots of people) think it’s just right and then – boom – they scrap the thing, never to be seen again.

I don’t wear Nikes, though. I wear New Balance, and until now, I’ve never faced the loss of my favorite shoe model. But this past Fall, New Balance discontinued production of the 790. It was a trail running shoe that also got a lot of cross promotion as a casual fashion shoe. It was nothing fancy, but the minimal, fly-weight construction isn’t very common in a trail-running shoe. It was kind of like an off-road racing flat. And it was kind of perfect. In fact, I already own three pairs.

New Balance now sells, instead, a completely redesigned light-weight, trail running flat which they’ve dubbed the 100. (All New Balance shoes are named with numbers if you didn’t know.) Same general idea as the 790 – but a totally different shoe.

I hesitated. New isn’t bad. The 100s could be awesome. I already had a set of the 790s. I could just wear those out and, in time, make the switch to the new shoe. Then I started reading the reviews. The consensus? Good but not better. Improvements, but also setbacks. Worst of all for me, the 100s are built on a narrower foot bed than the 790s and I have wide feet.

So, over Christmas, I panicked.

It took a lot of searching online (it’s amazing how many links within links you have to chase to buy certain retail items online nowadays), but I finally turned up a source (maybe the only one) that still had those glorious old 790s in stock in my size. They were at a Nordstrom in Skokie, of all places, so I guess it was the casual shoe market that saved me. I bought two pairs, bringing the total in my possession to five. I nearly bought a third pair, but managed to restrain myself. They were on final clearance sale, too, which was a bitter-sweet silver lining.

Yes, at some point, in spite of my efforts, the end will still come. But I might be able to get three of four years out of the shoes I’ve stashed, maybe longer. Perhaps by then there will be an update (or two) of those 100s and I’ll be happy to try them out for real. Who knows?

In the meantime, I’ll be asking myself one question frequently: is this run 790 worthy?

Cold Weather Coward

I glanced back up my training chart yesterday and realized that I've run outside just twice since Thanksgiving. One of those outside runs was a race and the other was a day when the air temp was nearly 60 degrees.

It's official: I'm a cold weather wimp.

I said as much to Laura yesterday and she laughed her dissent. It's true, I have done some decidedly un-wimpy things out in the weather and the cold (and she's seen many of them), but lately, the thought of heading outside in the cold, dark, late afternoon just scares me right back inside again.

In past winters, I've had little choice. This year, I've got a cold weather coward's golden ticket: a monthly pass at the YMCA. I've been getting my fill of 4 and 6 milers on the indoor treadmill at the Y. I once scoffed and giggled and pointed a jesting finger at the gym rats and their hamster wheels, and now I'm officially one of them. There are perks, though, to working in the gym: a fancy heart-rate monitor built into the treadmill, a room full of weight machines, and best of all, a pool in the basement. (In which I now swim a full mile several times a week.)

I'm in the process of rebuilding my base mileage this month before hopping full bore into marathon training for the spring, so at some point I'm going to have to Man Up again and head outside for some weekend long runs. But now that we've cleared Christmas, the days are getting longer again, and the temperature ought to soar north of 45 again by, oh, say, April. When that happens, I'll be the first one outside again in my shorts and long sleeves.

Until then, a Coward I shall remain.

Race Report: Turkey Trot 8K

Cold, wet, windy, puddly, muddly.

It’s a big race. The website proudly brags that over 5,000 runners are expected to sign up. It is the 32nd year for the race in Lincoln Park. All those years, all those paid entry fees, and they still have the most mundane race name ever. “Turkey Trot 8K.” (4.97 Miles) The christener of the race clearly never anticipated the perils of search engines and the world wide web. Or the need for a little character.

I’m pushed out of the car at the bottom of the exit ramp off Lake Shore Drive. No point in Laura trying to fight the traffic to get me closer. The staging area is in sight around the corner and I can walk faster than the car can sit in traffic. It’s 20 minutes to race time. I jog laps on Cannon Drive to keep warm and to warm up. And to kill time.

A books-on-tape version of the National Anthem. Embellished. Drawn out. Long, deep, silent breaths before the big notes. Extravagant. Wasteful. I once had a band conductor who firmly believed the star spangled banner should be played briskly and with verve. I missed him this Thanksgiving morning.

Younger runner guys move past me in the corral, grinning to each other and playing I Spy towards the pretty young runner girls stretching in their spandex running suits. They nearly break their own necks whipping their heads around with glee.

A few people are in costumes. Turkey costumes, mostly. And mostly women I see in those turkeys. I don’t notice any pilgrims. Perhaps, in some year to come, I will run dressed as Squanto. Full head dress. Brown leather pants with the fringe on the seams. Maybe a tomahawk. Etc.

Crowded start, but thankfulness that the slower folks really did hang toward the back before the non-existant, metaphorical gun went off.

Lots of broad U-turns on the course. North for a while, south for a while, north for a while, south again. The directional indecision keeps our faces from the wind for too long. A blessing. And Stockton drive in Lincoln Park may be the only road in all the city with an infestation of rolling hills. A rare Chi-Town pleasure.

I think mostly about how I’m breathing. I don’t want easy, but I don’t want my heart throbbing too hard either. I want to breathe comfortably, but feel the satisfaction of effort. This gifts me a 7:26 after mile one, then a 7:05 after mile two. Now the legs, they are awake.

Laura waits on a curb past the 2 mile point, grinning and camera pointing. I side out of the pack to the right side of the road to say “Hi” as I pass. I am pleased that the words emerge easily and unhampered by my body’s need to take air in.

At the southern-most point on the course, we uncouple our feet from pavement and our shoes become colorful pontoon boats on the muddy marsh of a crushed gravel foot path. Little tan, wet droplets begin to fly from the feet around me, and I know the backs of my black tights are growing a Pollock pattern, abstract and damp.

Soft mud sucks at my toe tops. I focus quick feet, quick feet, short steps, short steps.

Some puddles I jump, some I trod. Hard pavement under ¼” of water seems faster to me than 1” of thick mud. My compadres often seem to feel differently. One man nearly pushes me over my left side as he swerves around a larger puddle on our right. Puddle fear creates an unhindered lane thru the middle of the puddle path. I begin to peddle directly towards the puddles to take advantage when I can.

Mile four begins to suck the wind from me. I feel myself lagging, losing power, but I bide my time. The final u-turn will come just after the 4-mile marker. Then I will employ the power I have reserved for the final leg to the finish. My strategy costs me a 7:38 split for mile four, but I immediately shift up a gear and focus the feet once again. There may be discomfort until the end, but I know I can ignore it for one final mile. I focus quick feet, quick feet, short steps, short steps, straight back, straight back, quick feet.

Laura is at mile 4, too. Unexpected but nice. She was able to move the car quickly and find a parking spot at the north end of the course. I make sure to grin for a picture this time, but I do not allow it to interrupt the motions of my legs.

With half a mile to go, I feel my weary lungs. A stray thought tinkers through my head. (Slow down, ease up.) I ignore it and push harder instead.

Now for a final half mile, a new hobby: stopwatch glancing. What shall I push for? An answer comes from my math-dizzy brain that 36 and a half is in reach. Well then, off we go.

We leave the crushed gravel a final time and return to Cannon Drive. I see erected aluminum constructs and know the finish line is in reach. I do not care that several ego-runners around me have chosen to wait until this final 100-yard dash to use their kicks to sprint past me to the line. I notched up to a mile-long finish kick long ago and doled it out wisely. My final split is 6:59, a tick under 7 minutes for a tick under a mile. My total time stops at 36:33, a PR, though I rarely run the 8K distance. I’ve tested it only twice now in three years since I became a marathoner.

I have not asked my legs to churn so fast in months. The muscles quiver with relief. The quads shake with confusion. But the race is run, the line is crossed and the rest is earned. It is not a major landmark for me, but I am always thankful to know I am still capable.

After the race, I talk to my sister in Pittsburgh. She tells me the race director of her small, hometown race – an RD whose name I don’t even know – asked after me the day before to know if I’d be running their little town turkey trot again. I ran there and placed in my age group 2 of the last 3 years. He asked about me, specifically. He knows my sister’s in-laws well. When he finds I’m not coming this year, he gives my sister one of this year’s race t-shirts anyway. He gives it for free. “Please send it to your brother,” he tells her.

I realize I missed the small town trots I’ve run the last few years. I missed the small field of runners. I missed all the residents who walk the distance with family, just because. I missed sitting in the school gymnasium for an hour afterwards to hear the results and find out if I placed. I missed the baked goods feast food raffles. I missed the small-town-sized entry fees. I missed the charm. I missed the character.

I think next year I’ll be sure I don’t miss it all again.

Hot To Trot

It’s lookin’ like I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving Day in Chi-Town Proper for the first time since 2005. But I’m not worried about where I’m going to get my turkey from – I’m worried about where I’m going to go to run my Turkey Trot.

I've run so few of the shorter distance races in the last couple of years. When race entry fees are $25 or $30 dollars, and the events are crowded and/or disorganized, it takes a lot of the fun out. Between the expense and the hassle, I lost a lot of my enthusiasm for the frequent 5 and 10Ks around the city. Small town Trots on Thanksgiving have been a different story, though. They're always raising money for something, and the atomosphere is friendly and charming even if they aren't slick and polished events.

I had a lot of fun in ’06 and ’08 running the Burgettestown Turkey Trot 5k at my sister’s place just west of Pittsburgh – not least because I finished 2nd and then 3rd in my age group and got myself a medal for it both times. I’ve only ever “placed” at one other event. I also ran really strong races both times and set a PR at the ’08 event (which I’ve since bettered).

In ’07 I was in Quincy, IL (west side of the state, not far from St. Louis) visiting a friend of Laura’s for the holiday. I did a 10K that year. My time wasn’t quite as stellar, but I did finish 3rd in my division. (Though I was disappointed to learn, at the awards ceremony, that they only gave medals for 1st and 2nd places.)

Well, I’ve never run a Turkey Trot in Chicago, so I gotta find one! I’ve done a little research and found that there are 14 – 14! – Trots being hosts on Thanksgiving Day around Chicagoland. There are three that are within the city limits proper, and two on the north side of town – that being my general area of residence. Either one might be relatively convenient. The first is an 8K that starts in Lincoln Park. It’s a big race, with 6,000+ runners expected, so it’ll be a little crowded. They’ll even have chip timing.

The other one seems to be a bit more informal. It’s up in the Edison Park neighborhood. Not sure how big the race will be; I can’t find any past results online. There’s no chip timing, no gear check, nothing overly formal – but that could be a good thing. It might be cool if I could find a hint of small-town charm inside Chicago.

I’ll also have to decide if I want to go after the 5K or the 8K distance. The only 8Ks I’ve ever done were multiple Shamrock Shuffles in April the last 6 years, but all those finish times are slower than what I should be able to do right now. Or I could try to blast out a 5K and see if I can drop my time any closer to 21 minutes.

I still might be crazy and drive out to one of the nearby ‘burbs to run one of their trots, also. I’ll look into a couple of those before I decide for sure – especially if one of them is raising funds for an interesting charity. Either way, I’m determined that the Trot Tradition must continue!

A Change of Routine

Being a creature of habit – as so many of us are – I don’t take change quickly. I must, instead, subject my patterns to a gradual erosion, shaving a corner here and an angle there, until finally my landscape emerges from the long wash unrecognizable from its previous incarnation.

After the last four months, I knew the time for change had come. I had a couple of triumphs in the spring, but over the summer I just started to feel a little broken down. I wasn’t seeing the results I was used to, training became more a chore than a pleasure, my mileage started dropping off, and I was even putting on some weight. It was time to make some adjustments to the routine, but because of the way I am, I can’t just junk the whole thing and start over, I’ve got to rearrange the pieces one at a time.

Well, I’m happy to report: the first piece is placed. I’ve become a swimmer again. I say “again” because when I was a kid, “swimmer” was one of the first things I ever called myself. Every summer for three or four years, I was a Shenandoah Stingray. Though I was never especially gifted, I did make it to the state tournament every year in my age group in at least one event. Even after my Stingray summers, I still swam a lot, and even earned a badge four years in a row at Boy Scout camp for completing the Mile Swim. (My original foray into Endurance Athletics!)

But all that was twenty years ago. (!) My body has forgotten an awful lot about swimming in the interim. Two weeks ago when I went down to the “Y” to do some laps for the first time in an age, I was a little nervous. I had modest goals. I didn’t care how fast I swam, or how many laps. I was just going to start the timer on my watch and try to get 20 minutes of easy swimming in (the minimum time for a basic aerobic workout). I was able to do TEN – and I had to stop and stand in the shallow end three or four times to gasp for breath. Then, my triceps screamed at me for days afterward. All I did was swim for ten minutes!

Two days later, though, I went back and again aimed for 20 minutes of laps. I made it to 15 minutes, and only had to take one long break in the shallow end at the half-way point. After two more days, I finally made it all the way to 20 with just one quick break to adjust my cap and goggles. Plus, I picked out a pattern I liked: 2 laps of Breaststroke, then 1 lap of the Crawl (commonly known to the world as “freestyle”). More than that, my triceps had stopped screaming and I was starting to have a little fun.

This past week, I even started to figure out how far I’ve been swimming. Turns out, I can cover a ½ mile (880 yards) in about 20 minutes (with that 2 laps/1 lap pattern).

Soon, I may have to start putting a little more thought into my new swimming habit, but for now I’m completely content to do between 20 and 30 minutes of laps 3 or 4 times a week, and to use most of those swim days as “rest” days from running. I think throwing some full-body, no impact cardio at my weary self is an awfully useful trick.

Who knows? Maybe I can learn myself to extend that ½ mile to, oh, say 1.2 miles, or even, yep, precisely 2.4…

MEB!!!

I don't normally write here just to post links, but If you like running and you know anything at all about the plight of American distance running (and the 2007 U.S. Men's Olympic Marathon Trials), do yourself a favor and check out this recount of Meb's morning in New York today as written by David Epstein for Sports Illustrated.

My eyes got wet this morning watching the spectacle on TV, and once again reading Epstein's column. I think Ryan Hall was disappointed (only for himself, though), but otherwise it was an excellent day in the Big Apple.

Race Report: Chicago Marathon 2009

I’m somewhere in Chicago, in process of running my 20th marathon (or ultra). I’ve got a fresh feeling. The temperature is cool (if not cold). There’s a bit of sun in the sky and a bit of spring in my legs. I decide I might as well take advantage while I can. I tick off three brisk miles with an 8:55, an 8:50 and an 8:54.

That 3-mile stretch would turn out to be the fastest 3-mile section I would run all day. But this is not bad news, this is really good news, because that was miles 20, 21 and 22.

Wall? What wall? Nobody showed me any walls.

I did run miles 3, 4 and 5 in almost exactly the same 3-mile split, 26:39. So, 20-22 was only tied for my fastest of the day. The legs did, finally, get heavier in the last 4 miles of the day (Mile 25 split at 9:30; 26 split at 9:37), but none of that detracts from the glory I felt in those late miles when nearly everyone around me was hitting that wall and slowing down.

And that, all by itself, neatly sums up this marathon for me. It was a strong, steady effort from start to finish. I held a remarkably even pace throughout, and performed rather well given the fatigue and training interruptions I’d faced in the previous months. My 3:58:17 is a personal Chicago course record...

…and a year ago, I would have been ecstatic with that result. Not that I’m not happy with it. I am – very much in fact. But my good feelings are tempered with the knowledge that I can do a great deal better. Sure, 3:58 is my second best marathon ever, but it’s nowhere near the 3:44 I clocked in Kenosha back in May. 14 minutes may not seem like so much, but the average pace is 32 seconds faster per mile. A 3:44 finisher is nearly 2 miles ahead of a 3:58 finisher. More than 4,000 runners crossed the finish line between 3:44 and 3:58 at Chicago this year. (I was 10689th, overall.)

And my 3:44 in May wasn’t a fluke. That was the real marathon me, finally exposed, hindered neither by a too-busy racing schedule, nor by oppressive weather conditions. I can run a lot more marathons like that, and better.

It was nice to break 4 hours. It was nice to get my 2nd best ever. It was nice to finally run Chicago again without summer-like conditions. It was nice to not be sure what condition my legs were in, and still turn in what felt like a (mostly) effortless race. But nevertheless, that wasn’t the real me out there on October 11th.

I still learned a lot. Every marathon is a lesson learned on some front.

My expectations were so modest for the race that I felt NO pressure. I had NO nerves. NO anxiety of any kind. It was great to be so mentally unburdened. For the first time at a road marathon, I was really just out for a good, fun time. I’ve brought that approach to some of my ultras, but at the road marathons, I always pressure myself to hit certain goals. Ironic, then, to have none this time and to do so well by comparison.

That even pace, start to finish, was a new thing for me in a marathon. The closest I’d come to it before – unsurprisingly – was during my 3:44 PR, but even there, I pushed a little too hard in the middle and suffered a little too much at the end. These were my 5K splits for Chicago: 27:36, 28:30, 27:58, 28:04, 28:17, 28:23, 27:39 & 28:54. I crossed the halfway mark in 1:58:17, and covered the second half in exactly 2 hours. Of course, because I had no speed goals, I only aimed for comfortable pace and thus ran a notch below my ability. That certainly helped me run evenly, but perhaps I can recreate that feeling in the early miles and actually run a negative split somewhere in the future.

My burst of energy in the 19th mile was a pleasant surprise. My legs felt strong and it was a real rush to suddenly realize I had enough left to shift up a gear. But mostly importantly, I was just in a really good mood at that point in the race. The positive vibes gave me a charge, and I channeled it into my form. Straight back, high chin, quick steps, and I powered my way through Chinatown, all the way to Sox Park.

Oh, and for the first time at a road marathon, I had to stop and pee during the race. This might seem like a frivolous thing to mention, but it was really unusual for me. Stranger, still, that even though I waited in line for a port-a-potty 20 minutes before the race – which I never do – I had to go again just 2.5 miles into the race. I’ve decided the cold weather somehow had something to do with it. I resisted the temptation to slip between spectators on the sidewalk to water the bushes, and waited instead to pass a bank of toilets on the course. I finally found a village of them at the 5 Mile Marker. I lost 1:08 to my pit stop at the start of Mile 6 (Yes, I timed it.)

It was ironic, that after two consecutive years of out of the ordinary (and oppressive) heat, this year we got out of the ordinary (and frigid) cold. Overnight temperatures before the race dropped into the 20s. At start time it was barely 32 degrees. Most of the other runners in my corral had stripped off their extraneous layers by the time the National Anthem was sung (millions of goose bumps never looked so sexy), but I was too big a coward to even drop my sweatpants until just before the start gun. Even then, I was still freezing. I wound up running the first full mile of the race while still wearing the sweatshirt I bought at Goodwill. I finally pulled it off and tossed it to the sidewalk after a mile and a half. (Though, I really wanted to spy a spectator who looked under-dressed and offer it to them. Alas, I found no one who fit that description.)

I have a few other random observations, most coming from the perspective of a runner who’s now run the same course four years in a row:

-The new placement of the Seeded Corral Gear Check was a nice change. This year it was set right next to the entrance of the Seeded Corrals, instead of on the south side of Grant Park. The convenience of having the gear check right at the Finish Line was gone, but it was a relief that I didn’t have to fight my way through the pre-race crowds to the side south of the park to check my gear, and fight my way back to the north end to get to my corral. So much less stress this way.

-Boystown is always the coolest neighborhood to run through on race day. Broadway is narrow and packed with people. It’s like a long cheer tunnel. And whether it’s true or not, it feels like all 3 miles are downhill. Plus, the Boys of Boystown always turn out with the most interesting sidewalk entertainment.

-Toughest section of the course? I think it’s a tie between the desolate, West-side hairpin on Adams & Jackson, and the long march up Michigan Avenue for the last 3 miles of the race. Even when the weather isn’t cooking us like morning bacon in a frying pan, it’s still a long damn way from the bottom of Michigan back to Grant Park. (Though the mile markers did pass a little more quickly this time around.)

-For my second marathon in a row, I ran without carrying my own water bottle. I gave it up in Kenosha in the interest of trimming my running weight. Whether it’s real or psychological, it does make a difference. There are plenty of water and Gatorade stations at Chicago. I took advantage of those, stashed 3 or 4 gel packs in my shorts pockets, and I never missed my bottle. I’ve decided that, unless the neat is bad (or I’m on a trail ultra), I don’t ever need to carry my own bottle again.


-And one last note: Laura came out to follow me around the city once again, but this year she did it without a bike, depending instead on the CTA to get her around. She said she missed the mobility of the bike. The CTA was useful, but not nearly as versatile or speedy as getting herself around on the bike had been the year before. Good to know, I think, if you have cheerleader friends who have the wheels and are game.

So, Chicago was a nice bookend to my running year. My 2nd sub-4 marathon of ’09, and a happy conclusion to an unexpectedly long stretch of unsatisfying training. I have yet to decide what my 2010 racing calendar is going to look like. I still have a lot of decisions to make. But before any of that, I’m going to rebuild my training plan. It’s time to diversify. And maybe – just maybe – a whole different kind of race on the calendar…

Chicago Results & Lessons Applied

Well, this week has dissolved into a particular kind of chaos, so there won't be much time for race report writing. To be certain, when it does come, it won't be a terribly long one anyway. I've now run 4 Chicago marathons, 8 road marathons in total, 2 trail marathons, and 10 ultras. That's 20 marathons and ultras in all. Point being: The sheen has worn off a bit. Especially for a course I've now run 4 years in a row. I still have some things to share, and some interesting details about my race, but I can give you the short of it now: I finished with a 3:58 and change. That's a course record for me. It's only the 3rd time I've broken 4 hours, and it's the 2nd fastest marathon I've run - though it's still far off that great 3:44 I ran back in May.

So, I'll be back with more, but for now I've got to muddle my way through the MASSIVE task I've been handed at work. It's not just a pile of stuff, there's genuine fear involved. The good news is that I've been able to apply my gained wisdom as a newly minted 20-time marathoner to the problem - and I'm not just being quaint, this is a mind-set that really is saving my sanity. I'm reminding myself every day to just take it one step and one mile at a time, not getting ahead of myself, or thinking about the end too soon. I just need an even pace, a calm head, patience and determination, and I WILL get to the finish line. (Wish me luck...)

This Might Hurt a Little...

I’m slightly astonished to acknowledge that Chicago Marathon time has rolled around once again. It’s been a very busy summer, filled, for me, with many things that had little to do with running. I’m a little surprised at how humdrum it feels to be marathoning through Chicago again.

This is a small landmark for me, of sorts: My 20th Marathon or Ultra, all since my first in Chicago, 3 years ago.

On the flip side, I think, as much as anything else, all that racing and the training that leads up to it has resulted in a level of burnout that I’ve been feeling lately. (Indeed, I plan a significant change in my running routine beginning in the weeks after Chicago.) I still want to run marathons and ultras – very much, in fact – but I’m admitting that I need a little marathon hibernation to get the spring back in my legs – and my passion – again.

But before all that, there’s the little matter of my 4th Tour De Chicago this Sunday morning. We are finally rid of the oppressive heat that has plagued the race the last two years, but alas, we’ve slipped back to the opposite extreme: start time temperatures are predicted in the high 30s, a frost warning has already been issued for the region, and even flurries are possible on Sunday night. Alack for a simple, dry, overcast, even-keel, 50 degree day.

I can handle the weather, but my expectations for my performance are still low. To be sure, there will be no magical 3:44s for me this Sunday morning. Truthfully, a sub-4-hour result will be a significant accomplishment.

I’ve copped to this already, but my training over the summer left much to be desired. I had interruptions in my schedule yes, but most of my struggles were tied to lethargic, unresponsive legs. Sometimes people call it “Dead Legs”. This has been especially true since my attempt at the Burning River 100 on August 2nd. I felt it before that race, but have been plagued by it since. Even a gentle, weekend 12-miler would devolve into a staggered, helpless walk after 3 miles. There were no other nagging aches or pains, no creaky knees or sore muscles howled at me, the legs just had no life when the time came to do the distance. My weekday runs never seemed to suffer. I even managed my tempo runs without too much undue stress, then the weekend would come and I’d crash and burn. It’s not a problem I’ve ever dealt with before.

In the end, I was forced to take 11 days completely off with NO running at all. I felt the only choice was to think of my weakness as an injury and take the time off to heal. Regretfully, my time on the Disabled List ended only 2 weeks ago. It came during a time that should have been the peak of my marathon training. This can’t have a great effect on my race, but whatever I lost, it must be preferable to the handicap I was fighting before.

The good news, is the extended rest seems to have made a difference. I’ve been far stronger on my runs this last 12 days. If only I still had 3 or 4 more weeks before the race, I think I’d be in great shape for the event. But I’m playing with the hand I’ve been dealt. It’s easy for me to imagine a strong, well-paced race for the first 13 miles, and then a horrible, horrible bonk in the last 6 or 8. We’ll see.

Back in May, my 3:44 was the sum total of 26 miles at 8:34 average pace. Sunday, I’ll be aiming squarely at 9 minute miles. Modest. Conservative. And yet, still, possibly a gross overestimation of my relatively poor condition.

I’ll try to enjoy myself, Sunday. And then the winter reconstruction shall begin.

Gnats! Oh Gno!

Over the weekend, I rediscovered one of the great perils of running on a summer evening: GNATS.

I got back into the city from work a little after 6:00 and realized that might be my only chance to get in my long run. I set out for 18 miles at 6:30. Less than 4 miles in, the sun began to set, and the swarms of gnats were out in force.

You've seen those, right? They're common everywhere I've ever lived. A huge flutter of gnats, 2 or 3 feet across swarming around in a gnat mating frenzy. (I learned those swarms are known as "ghosts".) I don't know why they like dusk more than any other time. It seems as though they also like to congregate in a shaft of setting sunlight, but they really aren't that picky.

They make running a misery.

Saturday night, they kept flying into my eyeballs. I could feel them bouncing off my forehead and face. I imagined them getting stuck in the sweat on my skin.

And then I swallowed one. I inhaled it just past Belmont Harbor, 5.5 miles in. I nearly choked. Not only because it's just gross, but also because it lodged briefly at the top of my wind pipe. I had to pull up to cough and breathe. They weren't done though. 50 yards later it happened again. I sucked in two within moments. Disgusting. There was a water fountain nearby and I walked down to take a long drink, hacking and spitting the whole way.

The fallout lingered. I had a bad, recurring cough for most of the next 5 miles. And it was an hour after sunset before the gnats disappeared. They were still dive-bombing my eyeballs all that time.

I makes me wish I could run with my mouth and eyes squeezed shut the whole way. If only I didn't need to see or breathe when I run...