Riding the Runway

After several passes on my certified downtown calibration course, I loaded up Hope and drove north on a gorgeous afternoon. This was last Wednesday. I met Barb from the Evansville YMCA and Nate from the Dress Regional Airport at Tri-State Aero in order to accurately measure the 5K on the Runway course. 

First, though, came a discussion about where the start/finish area would be staged. While great care should always be taken when considering the start and finish lines of a race, there were extra considerations for this event because the airport was not going to shut down. Planes would need to be staged at Tri-State Aero on race morning. Planes would be landing just before and after the run. And there was always the chance that an emergency landing might occur during the event. The discussion resulted in a need to measure two separate courses having two different start/finish lines. The final course choice would be decided during a meeting already scheduled for the following morning.

We were trying to make a common start and finish line. That meant that I had to pick a random spot, ride the loop, and then see where the finish would be in relation to the start. From there I had to split the difference to create another "line" before riding again to test the adjustment. A third pass would then take place in order to test for repeatability and set mile markers. It is USATF protocol that the longest of the two measurements be used as the race day course.

With Barb in shotgun, Nate, a fellow Purdue alumnus, talked to someone on a radio before he led the way for me in white Crown Victoria. I'm not sure what would have happened to me if Nate had not made the call or if that cliche of a car had not been there with its spinning blue lights. I wondered, as I pedaled along, if there were men with guns ready to take out threats. I wondered if a guy in spandex on a bike would even qualify as a threat. I doubted both, but I was glad Nate was there.

Graffiti artist on a getaway rocket.

I was also glad that Nate was not thinking about tangents while he drove. By making wide turns, he allowed me to see the markers that I needed to in order to properly ride the shortest route by connecting one tangent after another on that winding course. This was especially important as I made the kilometer-long crossing of the main runway. 

That was a looooong tangent!

Earlier in the day I had consulted googlemaps.com to study the airport using the course map that Barb had given me. I realized immediately that I would need a visual marker on the far end of the runway in oder to cut that long tangent. I chose the last of the broad white lines marking the end of the runway. On Wednesday afternoon, when I first turned onto the runway I was pleasantly pleased that Nate was off to my right and that I could very clearly make out that white line.

It was, at times, difficult to muster up the fortitude to stay on the shortest path. Take, for example, the time I was on the long arc at the north end of the course and an airport service truck played chicken with me. Or the time I rode straight at the backhoe that seemed to want my line - I finally and firmly pointed him out of my way seconds before our would-be collision. Or the time that a 747 attempted to land on my line . . . yes, I know, a bird that big in Eville is too unrealistic to even consider (sorry Nate).

Admittedly, riding on the runway created an adrenaline rush that caused me to ride hard up the slight incline into the wind. On the first two passes I registered speeds in excess of 28 mph. My not quite fit legs still pushed hard on the pedals on the last three loops, but the speeds were not as high. I was high, though, as I experienced some Ricky Bobby time on an airport runway.

We covered both courses multiple times, but Nate felt certain that the original route would be used for the race, so I only rode the other course twice. The precision of the USATF measuring method has never been more surprising than what it was on that course.

That precision came even on the fourth pass when I encountered several hundred meters of some slimy mud near the finish. Movement of heavy construction equipment on the perimeter road had left lots of dirt on the roadway. Just before I arrived there on the fourth pass a truck sprayed water on that dirt, creating the slimy mud. Hope and I were, within seconds, covered in the cold and foul tasting grime. And I struggled to control the bike. It was FUN!!!

That last line was a boldfaced lie . . .

Since there is no printable data from the measuring device, I decided to include in this post some of the data from my final pass of the route that was used for the actual race. Curiosity and a need to record my riding caused me to wear my Polar RC3 GPS for each loop. I was a bit surprised at how accurate and precise it was despite the way gps units always cut corners. The final measurements for both courses were 3.12 miles, which is not too far from the 3.1069 miles for a 5000-meter course.

All GPS units measure point-to-point between signal recordings - in straight lines. This is clearly not as accurate as the calibrated counter on a bicycle wheel. Note: I did NOT ride through the grass . . .

I've measured many courses for Barb. She has always asked me, as a competitor, what I thought of the courses. I told her that I liked this one, but I smiled when I told her that people would complain that it was too long. I've seen enough races to know that most people simply don't run good tangents, so they run too far. And nowadays, with gps units strapped to so many wrists, people are always complaining about courses being wrong. Even the courses measured to USATF certification standards like this one. I guessed that a typical runner might register 3.25 to 3.30 miles for the 5K on the Runway I had just measured to about 15 feet accuracy.

And that is exactly what happened on race morning :)

The field of 442 runners and walkers corralled and ready to run.

2013 Indy Mini Replay

This spring has mirrored last spring in very few ways for me. Last spring I was fit, but not as fast or as strong as I am now. Last spring the days were often warm and sometimes hot and muggy while winter has lingered long enough to cause me to greet the sun in long sleeves and tights at the closing of April. Both of those situations are, of course desirable.

The major difference for me this year has been minimal cycling. Because of the fact that I had no early season duathlon races on the calendar, I did not feel a need to be out there hammering on the bike. And the desire to ride was greatly minimized by my inability to get comfortable on the bike. That said, the Ricky Bobby bug hit me in early April and I have been out there consistently riding in 35-50 degree weather, multiple thunderstorms, and constantly brisk winds for a month. But I was never comfortable and tinkered with my position and a constantly swiveling seat all month.

One week out from the Indy Mini I cruised through a relatively quick hour-plus run and quickly jumped onto the bike for a fast hour long ride. After the ride I noticed that the seat had swiveled down again for the first time in two weeks. A lot!  Within two hours my left hip, left gluteal muscles, and left lower back were extremely tight and aching. The next morning I abandoned the idea of running due to the tightness. I also tabled the option of not running the Mini - my goal spring race.

By Thursday morning I knew I would run around the Speedway. The hip and arse had loosened up nicely. I found myself holding back during my last run.

A meandering journey up the new, speedy, and isolated I-69 was fun since it included not only a buffalo burger and pre-race brew at Bloomington's Upland Brewery, but also a visit to the beautiful Oliver Winery. No tastings for me, just a resupply and gander at the well kept green space of winery property.

Not all rooms in the Marriott Courtyard look over the start line.

When the race started I ran a relaxed first mile in 5:52 and, sensing that all was well, I then picked it up to run low 5:40s. My goal was to average under 5:50 per mile. That was what I had trained for.

Just after the four mile mark, though, I heard and felt an audible pop while making a hard left turn. There was immediate discomfort, but it wasn't awfully painful. My left foot was pointing out almost 45 degrees. Several muscles were soon sending out distress signals and began tightening up. In an effort to "make it right again" I began making inside/outside fanning motions with the left knee, one of which created another audible pop. Things were better, but not normal.

These guys may now be the new norm at these big events. (See the race winner?)

This popping and leg swinging occurred several more times. Unfortunately, the tight muscles instantly shortened my stride and slowed me to 6:05-6:18 pace. That was certainly frustrating. I pondered quitting several times, but a leg swing would make it feel a little better and I would continue down the road. I decided that a single sharp pain would be enough to stop. That never occurred.

My finishing time of 1:19:32 was about three minutes slower than I intended to run. Those who know we well know that I always predict my time (and those of people I coach) within seconds. A glance at the Polar HR data reveals that I only "raced" for about three miles. The average HR of 166 and max HR of 171 were both well under my normal 174ish ave and 181ish max for a half marathon.

As I write this report several days later I know things are not back to normal. I felt the hip a little while I rode my bike on the local airport tarmac last night. It took more than a mile for my hip and arse to loosen up during a 5K training run (20 min) this morning.  There is an upcoming appointment with a respected and accomplished pair of hands that are controlled by a great mind. Hopefully, he can help me get that region under control.

Almost there and not intending to be passed again.

Meanwhile, I am bummed about not being able to run hard, but I am not distraught. There is SO much more to life than running. Just as I have more than a thousand times before, I will just focus on the other aspects of life while I patiently wait for normalcy to return.

And there is much to do as I plan and prepare (rest up!) for another action packed summer in the western high country.     Shane

2013 Oak Barrel Half Marathon Recap

Sleep was annoyingly restless in the old Ramada Inn of Murfreesboro, but the aged hotel was all I could find after several weeks of hotel hunting. The faint putrid odor of stale cigarette smoke was barely recognizable in the chemical fog used to hide it, but it had an immediate and negative effect on my sinuses. So, I was anxious to get rolling south on US-231 well before the sun came up.

The near-hour drive proved scenic as the sun rose to reveal the rolling hills that dominate the landscape of Moore county. Moore county, world famous for being the dry county that houses the Jack Daniels Distillery, has its county seat in Lynchburg, TN. That was where I was going for the third year in a row. There I planned absorb both the southern hospitality of the locals and the brutal climb of Whiskey Hill as I took part in the 4th Annual Oak Barrel Half Marathon.

Regarding the race, I knew what I was in for. The challenging course was not a personal record producer. It rolled over several hills, including 1.6-mile parabolic climb up Whiskey Hill. That hill ascended nearly 400 ft (of 800 total ft of climbing) as the course wound through budding forests and pastures onto the higher ground of Moore county. A glance at my mile splits from my beloved Polar RC3 GPS will allow you to easily locate Whiskey Hill. Thankfully, the last four miles of the loop gradually descended back into the valley, allowing fatigued legs to regain the intended pace.

In short, I loved this race. It was well organized, it was carried out by a large crew of smiling volunteers, the course was rustically scenic, and the venue was a national treasure. All of this caused it to fill the available 1200 slots as it has each year.

I went into this year's race feeling slightly more fit than last year when I ran a 1:19:28 and finished in third place a mile behind a pair of studs. In 2011 I finished 6th in 1:20:54. Given the near perfect weather, I hoped to run another 1:19 half on a course that I believe corresponds to a 1:17 on a flat course.

What I did not expect was to move into the lead 1:40 into the race. I checked my heart rate several times the first mile because I could not even hear footsteps behind me. I covered the first mile in 5:48, which was similar to previous years, but my HR was low! So I sped up and covered the second mile in 5:40 despite the fact that I knew the climbing began in the third mile.

Honestly, following the lead vehicle was nerve racking. I'd been in that position before, but not in the OB Half. I was caught and passed by a runner after Whiskey Hill during each of my prior races. That led me to surmise that a well paced young guy was cruising along while smiling at this foolish old carrot.

So, I watched my HR as I climbed the Hill. As expected, my pulse climbed into and then to the top my tempo zone. On the final and steepest pitch of the climb I could hear Highway to Hell blaring through the loudspeakers above while my legs took on enormous quantities of weight and my arms began to tingle and quiver. I think I even got several glances of my oxygen deprived brain as my eyes rolled back in my head. Damned Hill!

Because of a switchback at the top of Whiskey Hill, I could see several hundred meters back down the road. The next runner was George DeWitt from Alabama, who has run marathons in the 2:30's since turning 50. He was about thirty seconds behind as I approached the 5-mile aid station beyond the top of the hill. There was no one within 200 meters of George.

As I sipped on water near the five mile mark it occurred to me that I might actually win the race if I ran smart. Of course, at that moment I was borderline comatose having just climbed the Hill. Still, I picked the pace back up (5:48) in an attempt to further separate myself from George. That, naturally, kept me in a mental fog as I lifted heavy legs. When I hit the base of a steep hill in mile seven I decided to slow down and regroup rather than risk blowing up. Up until that point I was well ahead of my 2012 pace and would likely have gone mid-1:18 had I not blown up. I wanted to win, so I ate a VFuel and slowed to run a 6:22 mile.

After that mile, and after I had turned a corner and realized I had at least a 600 meter lead, I lowered the pace to about six minutes per mile. If someone was going to catch me, they would have to close with 5:30s and fend off my quickly recovering legs.

That meant that most of the final six miles of the race were quite relaxed for me. Along one long straight stretch of road I approached a farmer standing with his hands in his jeans pockets. I asked him if he could see anyone behind me and he laughed and said, "There's no one in the same zip code."

After turning onto Lynchburg Highway I could see the 12-mile marker ahead. From there I knew I had about 1.25 miles to go based on last year's gps measurements. A quick calculation revealed that I had to be well under six minute pace to break 1:20. Hmmm. When I reached 12.50 miles I knew I had to run the last uphill 1200 meters in 4:12 to break 1:20.

And that is precisely what I did, finishing in 1:19:59. Winning this exceptional race was a big thrill for me. I was proud to be wearing the Polar gear (LOVE the RC3 GPS with the all important HR!) and kit. And I was happy to be in great health and in the company of such wonderful people on a sunny spring day. Never mind my embarrassment over the fact that my time was the slowest winning time in the event's history. It was a win! And that meant that I received the whole barrel lid this year! After the ceremony I picked up another little something from the nearby distillery. . .

Now THAT is a trophy!

. . . before driving to downtown Nashville for a celebratory feast at the Old Spaghetti Factory and a pint at Fat Bottom Brewing Co.