I interrupt this blog full of nonsense about running to make an announcement: I’ve made some updates. Our little weblog’s version of Wordpress has been upgraded to 2.2, and I also updated Akismet (the oh-so-lovely spam comments filter) to version 2.0. Also, after a quick glance around the Internet, it seems that the gallery software we’ve been using is not (yet) compatible with this new version of Wordpress, so the “random image” has been removed from the sidebar for the time being.

Speaking of image-related things, I made one more change. Now images can be viewed right on the page !

Oh, and a note on using sIFR with Lightbox 2.0, for any poor sucker who stumbles across this post while looking for information: if your sIFR text is sitting on top of the lightbox-displayed image, you need to set sWmode (or wmode, if you’re using sIFR 3) to “transparent”.

Like so:

sIFR.replaceElement(named({sSelector:"#blah",sFlashSrc:"http://url.com/swf/font.swf",sColor:"#000",sLinkColor:"#111",
sBgColor:"#222",sHoverColor:"#333",sFlashVars:"textalign=center",sWmode:"transparent"}));

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The weekly report hasn’t got much to, well, report. I ran 7 miles on Monday in 59:11, which averaged out to 8:27. A few weeks ago, I would have considered this a perfectly good run, but I had to work to convince myself that this was supposed to be an “easy” run anyway. I had a half marathon coming up, and this seven-miler felt like I was slogging through wet concrete. Funny what a taste of speed can do to you.

I took Wednesday off. I was supposed to do another seven miles, but my legs felt like crap. I hoped the additional rest would pay off for Saturday. Friday night we went out with some friends to see the new Harry Potter, and as I got up from the theatre seat, my knees ached more than any time since the marathon. Maybe I’d get lucky and it would just be “withdrawal.” Sometimes the body gets used to the pounding of running and creates phantom pains and injuries when you get off schedule. I didn’t get to bed until just after 2, and then I was back up at 6 to prep for the race.

Okay, so against me, we’ve got only 4 hours of sleep, achy legs, I’ve just come off a high mileage week, and the weather forecast is for thunderstorms. FANTASTIC. Actually, I was kind of looking forward to the possibility of racing in the rain. I like running in rain - and if nothing else, I could blame a poor performance on the weather!

The course was four back-and-forth loops, or eight lengths of 1.63 miles. Since there was no realistic way to get the miles marked, I decided to base my pace on the lengths. I wanted to be as close to flat eight-minute-miles as possible, so I calculated that I needed to hit 13 minutes per length. That would bring me in at an hour and 44 minutes. Once again, a very aggressive goal.

We got to the starting corral just a few minutes before the duathlon kicked off. You see, the Lake Michigan Triathlon series has two triathlons (of different distances), a duathlon (run-bike-run), a 5k, 10k, and half marathon. They all happen together, so you’ve got swimmers, runners, and cyclists all racing at once. It certainly makes up for the “boringness” of the looping course.

When it was time for the foot races to start, I took my position right at the head of the group (look at those calves! Except for the kid up front with the red and white stripes, we were all half marathoners). Now, these races are conducted in a very laid-back style. The starting “gun” was a cowbell. Literally, “Ready, set, *CLANG CLANG CLANG*” And we were off! (The guy behind me took off like a bullet - and won the half marathon in 1:20)

As I ran the first leg, I led a pack of about six runners. We chatted back and forth about the course, other races, the weather (which was overcast, but holding out). After we made the first turn, I caught up to a skinny girl who suddenly decided to match pace with me. At first I was annoyed, but then we started to talk. She was a 21-year-old student from Madison running her first half marathon; her only other race experience was a 5k last year. Marissa was hoping to hit a nine-minute pace. When I told her that I was shooting for just under eight, she decided to stay with me as long as she could.

We eventually pulled away from the group. When we reached the start of loop 2, I looked at my watch and swore. Marissa asked how we were doing, and I said, “we’re almost two minutes ahead of schedule!”

“Really?” she said. “Maybe we can keep this up! I feel great!” So did I, so we did.

We kept right on running and talking, noting that we were hitting between 12:00 and 12:30 for each length, putting us further and further ahead of our goal. It was an amazing feeling. I actually felt like the old, veteran coach, putting this scrawny, freckled girl through the paces and showing her she can do more than she thought. Of course, that might have just been dehydration talking. But Marissa and I hung shoulder to shoulder for the entire second and third loop.

As we neared the end of loop three, I noticed that she was picking up her pace. I laughed and asked her if she was doing it on purpose. She said, “yeah! I read that you should start picking up three miles before the finish!”

I shook my head. “I’ll try to keep up, but I usually don’t pick up until the last mile, mile and a half.”

“Come on, Ed, you can do it!”

And then we started loop four. Marissa took off like a bloody gazelle, calling over her shoulder for me to keep up. No way, girlie. “Go for it,” I yelled, “I’ll see you at the finish!” I didn’t want her to see that I was listing to one side a bit from a side stitch. I was thinking, not now! I’m so close, I’ve been doing so well! I pushed on, making faces, until it finally subsided about a mile later. Now, with only two miles left, I suddenly felt light and dangerous.

I picked it up.

I saw Marissa just before I got to the turnaround and gave her thumbs up. There was no breath left for talking now. I was gaining ground on those leading me, and I chewed up three people over the next mile. I was pushing it hard - but saving just a little bit for the show I was going to put on at the end.

As I came over the last hill, I let gravity pull me into my kick. I was weightless. I was flying. I was a one man machine of running destruction. I was too fast for the camera (that’s my foot on the lower right). I was lucky no one was in front of me, because I totally would have run them down with a violence. As I bolted into the final few meters, I showed that actually touching the ground was for suckers and mortals.

And then I was done. A little kid handed me a bottle of water, a woman handed me a medal, and someone else asked for my timing chip. I stood there, chest heaving, thinking to myself, wait - what the hell just happened? Was that all? There’s no more? I looked at my watch; I’d managed to hit the STOP button as I crossed the finish.

1:39:52

I’d beaten my goal by five minutes. I beat last year’s time on this course by *sixteen* minutes. I beat my half time from the full marathon by over *ten* minutes. I was shocked. Later I would find that my “official” time was only 1 second different, 1:39:53.

Overall, I was ninth out of 27. I was the sixth male (of seventeen), and first in my age group (of… one). [Full results]

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It’s been forever since I actually got around to writing anything, and I’m not going to give you any reasons why. I’ve been running all the same; I took only one week off after the marathon, and on the 4th of June (my 28th birthday!), I was back on the streets, prepping for the next marathon.

I took those first two weeks easy, not going any farther than 6 miles. Then my real training schedule kicked in, and zoom! Up those distances went. That first Saturday long run, just over two weeks ago, was 10 miles. Last week was 12, and this past Saturday was 14. I’m pushing myself harder this time around, enjoying how it feels to dip below 8 minutes per mile a few times during a long run. It’s as if a switch was thrown after the marathon. Where I was stuck in the 8:30-plus range before, I’m now consistently hitting in the 8-8:15. I like it.

We were up at my dad’s place this weekend, so my Wednesday and Saturday runs were both while we were up there. I’ve never run in northern Wisconsin, especially in the summer. Wednesday was just a five-miler, 2.5 out and back. I left the house around 5 or so, and immediately discovered what a really really bad idea it was. Nevermind the heat. Nevermind the soft gravel roads that were just a step above running on a sandy beach.

It’s fly season.

And I don’t mean little houseflies buzzing around you. No, these are big ass deer flies that BITE. It’s not uncommon for their bites to actually bleed, because they’ll take a chunk out of you if they can. I ran, but I ran while constantly swatting at the bastards and waving my arms around my head trying to keep them off. I was barely successful.

On the other hand, I did get to see three snakes (two were roadkill), a flock of grouse, and a bunch of wild turkeys. That was pretty cool. And even with all the difficulties, I still managed to finish in 41 minutes.

For my fourteen-miler on Saturday, my plan was to leave early enough to beat the flies - and heat. The forecast called for highs in the low 90s. Ugh. My dad got me up early, and by 6:10, I was on the road. The air was nice and cool, some lingering fog was hanging out in the treetops, and the air was chock full off northwoodsy smells. Pine, earth, clean.

The route was a long, narrow loop. For reference, everything up there was gravel at best, sandy, overgrown path at worst. Most of the route is completely uninhabited, though you might find a hunting shack tucked in here or there. The surrounding landscape is generally swampy forest, with a lot of evergreen and tamarack. I was generally heading north-south for most of the way, so I was in nice cool shade most of the time. It was pretty nice.

For about 45 minutes.

I hadn’t even reached the halfway point when the first fly appeared. I groaned. I knew that I had more than an hour left, and it was only going to get worse. I passed some logging equipment and thought about checking to see if I could “borrow” some bug spray, but the only thing worse than running when being followed by biting flies is stopping to make it easier on them. I ran on.

The swarm grew. I had thought Wednesday was bad, but I’ll bet I never had more than a few flies at any one time. This time, however, I went pretty quickly from one fly to a good dozen or so. I tried sprinting now and then to lose them, but honestly, I can’t keep a fast enough pace long enough to be free. I just kept running. I was like Forrest Gump crossing the country, except instead of people following me, I had a cloud of giant flies. And they kept biting me!

At 7.5 miles I turned down the aforementioned “sandy overgrown path.” This connected me back to a “real” gravel road a couple miles south. Around the eighth or ninth mile, I heard dogs baying and barking; I’d heard them earlier, several miles back, and when I was on the other side of the loop. I was confused because I knew no one lived back here, so I was a little nervous thinking that maybe someone’s dogs had gotten loose and were going to cause me trouble.

Imagine my surprise when I came over a hill and found two trucks, several people, and a bunch of hunting dogs on the other side. No wait, imagine THEIR surprise upon seeing a sweaty, sunburned man come over the hill at 7:30 in the morning, middle of nowhere, literally miles from anything, carrying a bottle of water and a tree branch with which he is constantly swatting himself. One of the guys said to the rest, “Uh, there’s a *runner* coming.”

I slowed to a walk and tossed my branch aside as I got close. “Good morning! You wouldn’t happen to have any fly spray, would ya?” I called out. They laughed, and a woman I assumed to be the mother said, “We’ve got some OFF, will that work?”

“Anything’s better than that tree branch!” I replied.

As I sprayed myself down (instantly noting that the flies were gone!), I asked what they were hunting. “Bear!” said the guy who looked like the father. “In fact, one just ran through here a bit ago.” One of the older kids asked if I should be carrying a knife or something. “For what?” I asked.

“Well, there’s bear and wolves around here!” he said. “I’d at least want a blade in case I ran into one.”

I thought to myself, and what am I going to do with a pocket knife against a bear? Throw the knife at it’s head and hope to knock it out? So I just said, “Nah, I’m not worried. I figure I’ll just box ‘em if they get to close,” and I made an exaggerated fighting stance. They laughed again. Surely I wasn’t going to be the only one with an interesting story to tell after this.

I wished them safety and luck on their hunt and continued on my way. Finally, I could run again unencumbered by the flies. Well, mostly, anyway. They kept buzzing around, biding their time, waiting for me to sweat it off. And only 15 minutes later, enough repellent had sweated off that they were starting to get to me again. There was nothing I could do but keep going. I saw another snake, and that was cool.

The rest of the run was simply arduous. The flies took any enjoyment out of the run and fighting them off sapped my strength a lot more than I expected. I was also demotivated by the fact that I really had no idea where I was or how much was left, and wouldn’t have a clue until I was only a mile from the finish. But I plugged on. As I neared the end, I saw a young deer ahead in the road. I got close enough to see it blink before it trotted off into the woods.

And then, suddenly, I was done. My time sucked, I was covered in fly bites (though I think I got more miles than bites, so that’s good), and I was sore. And there you have it.

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