My "Silva"-like PerformanceRace Report for the NYC 13.1 (Part II)

Mile 7-8: (Mile 7 - 6:31; Mile 8 - 6:24)

Crossing the mile 6 marker at the top of the overpass leading over to Meadow Lake, I stared at the half dozen or so characters who used my mishap in the previous mile to sneak past me in the race. Back again was Mr. Tri-athlete who was now accompanied by a coach running directly next to him. In front of him was the Mr. Lacrosse Jersey and Mr. Heel Striker whose unorthodox running form made it not only annoying but painful to watch. Way in the distance, I could also see Mr. Baldie leading the pack, about 50 yards in front of everyone else. I wasn't sure how much time I had lost at this point since I didn't bother to check my mile split but judging roughly from the pace of the other racers, I thought 45 seconds was a conservative estimate. As I started on my journey around Meadow Lake with all the others, fueled with a passionate mixture of fury, indignation, annoyance and embarrassment, I couldn't help but think of German Silva and the brief wrong turn he made in the final mile of the New York City Marathon before ultimately claiming victory in 1994.

Although it was quite demoralizing to see the long string of runners who I passed a few miles back now suddenly running in front, I also knew that I had the capacity to pass them right back if I can just maintain my race pace for a little while longer. I used all of mile 7 and half of mile 8 to regain my rightful place in the moving carousel around the park until I found myself once gain behind the leader of my immediate pack. Although I hadn't seen him before then, I could tell he was a serious runner by the matching tank and shorts that adorned his slender body. I allowed him to lead me through Meadow Lake, which was made treacherous by residual water puddles left over from the rainstorm in the weekend prior. As I watched him jump from road to grass and back again to avoid the bigger puddles, I followed suit until towards the end of mile 8 when I was forced to the edge of the grass just as he was about to climb back over the overpass. Coincidentally. that would be the last I would see of him out in the course that day.

Mile 9-10: (Mile 9 - 6:31; Mile 10 - 6:19)

By Mile 9, as we were led back over the bridge for a second loop around the perimeter of the park, I began to fatigue and tire just a little bit. Since the last mile, when I had company to tackle the wet and narrow paths of Meadow Lake, I hadn't encountered anyone else attacking this course in front of me. Although I knew I wouldn't get lost on this second journey around the park, it was extremely difficult to maintain race pace when there are no visible runners in front of me. All I saw were more and more neighbors using the roads as their personal playground and obstructing my view of the race course and its participants. I passed by a water station and everyone clapped and cheered me as I ran across. Since no other racer was within earshot of them, I was sure the applause was a personal gesture for me. I picked up the pace slightly and took a GU at 10. We were now just a 5K away.

Mile 11-12: (Mile 11 - 6:32; Mile 12 - 6:26)

Passing back through the starting line and climbing the same semi-circular incline I did in mile 1, I was now holding onto my effort and pace for dear life. I was tired and with no to chase in front and no one to push me in back, I almost convinced myself not to push as hard. But then I remembered that there were many family and friends who were running and looking for me (albeit figuratively) to do well and represent. What if they saw that I was moseying it in and not giving the absolutely best that I've got? Would that really be the right message for me to send, as the ambassador of the sport I claim to be? Besides...we've now got less than a 5K to go anyway. I force myself to pick up the speed in an effort to give top 10 one more shot. A race official nearby signals that I'm in 11th place but could not tell me how far behind I was.

The park was getting crowded now and it was all I could do to separate the recreational joggers from the possible race participants and volunteers. By the time we completed the loop around the Queens Zoo and back over the overpass nearing the end of mile 12, I had given up trying to find the next racer. The end was now just 2 miles away and I just wanted to get there as soon as I can. Unfortunately, at this point, there wasn't much fuel left in the tank. I poured it on as best as I could.

Mile 13, the last 0.1, and the Finish: (Mile 13 - 6:20; Last 0.1M - 0:38)

Upon reaching the final stretch which started at the entrance to the Queens Museum of Art and ends at the central rotunda, I knew it was time to go. I convinced myself that this is just a one mile interval (or tried to anyway) and sprinted as I could. Spectators were lining up by the dozens to cheer me on. I could see the finish line a half mile away. I sprinted faster once I realize we were just 800m from being done. The cruelest joke was when the course forced us to run a short circular loop around the man made Center Lake when we got close to the finish. I had been sprinting for quite a while and was exhaustedly tired. I held it together the best I could for the final push over the finish line. It was only after I was done did I see my time and realize that my detour at 6M cost me more than 45 seconds. I lost 70 seconds, a PR chance and an age group award all at the same time!

After the Finish

Once I finished, collected my breath and got my things, I went back to the finish line to cheer on the other runners as they came in. While I was watching, I was approached by a local paper who wanted to interviewed me as it seemed that I was the first overall local to finish the rest. He asked me why and how I became a runner. As we talked, I realized that it wasn't so important that I came in 11th overall, or 4th in my age group, or the 1st in Flushing. The best part of the story was that I made a mistake mid-race and yet found some inner fortitude to keep running, to keep fighting, and to savage a good performance out of what easily could have been a DNF! No, the final result wasn't indicative of the effort I put forth today, but I got to run, I got to race, and inspire at least those who will read my story that sometimes awesomeness isn't defined by a time on a clock.

Final Statistics
Official Time - 1:24:59
Average Pace - 6:29 min/mile
Overall Place - 11/2103
Age Group Place - 4/177
Age Grade - 70%

My "Silva"-like PerformanceRace Report for the NYC 13.1 (Part I)

Introduction

After running 20 half marathons, I would have figured that I've encountered pretty much very scenario that could come up in a 13.1 mile race. Whether it's pacing issues, fueling problems, Garmin mishaps, or dealing with annoying guy who wouldn't get off your tail no matter whether you sped up or slowed down, you name it, I've dealt with it. So maybe it was destined that in a race where the element of surprise was supposed to be minimal for me, I would find myself in a completely foreign situation that would have a significant impact on the outcome of this race.

Before The Start

I arrived at the starting line of the inaugural NYC 13.1 (Half) Marathon with supreme confidence that I was going to have a good race. My training has been stellar in terms of endurance, stamina, and speed, I had minimal to no injury concerns and the weather was absolutely perfect for race morning. But even aside from all of those factors, I predicted I was going to turn in a stellar performance today because the race was being held, for the first time, in Flushing Meadows Park, which just happens to be my home park! Since I train here almost on a daily basis, I knew the exact location of all the puddles, all the cracks, all the curves, and all the troublesome areas to avoid on this inaugural course. As I waited for the Star Spangled Banner and final announcements to be made, I was determined to let my "home field advantage" guide me to a new half marathon PR.

Miles 1-2: (Mile 1 - 6:12; Mile 2 - 6:15)

The starting horn sounded at exactly 9:15AM and I see the first pack of runners take off after the pace car and cyclists leading the charge. Because the start and the first quarter mile of the course were situated in the back roads of Arthur Ashe Stadium, hidden from view of anyone not directly associated with the race, the whole spectacle looked more like a scene from an illegal drag race in a back alley in Long Island City than the start of a 13.1 mile run through a park in Flushing Queens! Soon it was my turn and I take off at a fast and steady pace while trying to avoid the packs of newbie runners wearing the green 13.1 race t-shirt on either side. The temperature was in the upper fifties and there was a cool breeze greeting all the runners as we exited the shadows and unleashed ourselves onto the course. After about a quarter mile of weaving and dodging runners who had no business running in front, I found myself running comfortably in the clear, albeit single file with the other speedsters around the perimeter of the park. Once I was out of danger, I concentrated on running with good form and established a steady rhythm with my breathing and footstriking. While I was doing that, a guy in a lacrosse jersey and backwards hat was falling behind and leapfrogging me a few times within the first mile. I gave him room to practice his praying mantis antics, knowing full well that no one with a backwards hat can keep up with me for very long. Sure enough, after we crossed the first mile marker, he faded behind and was never heard from again.

I checked my split for the first mile and was surprised that I had taken it out so fast, considering all the congestion I faced at the start. I was still feeling strong though so I didn't panic when several frontrunners began slowing down, allowing me to surge ahead. We pass by the first water station and cheer zone as we made our way through the perimeter of the park on the second mile. The sun had risen a bit higher now and was starting to exert its influence on this race. I took a cup of water from a cheerful volunteer, drank, and sped up a little to maintain contact with the runner in front. Although I was making sure to run my own race at my own pace, I was excited that I was already picking people off this early in the race. As I scaled the bridge that went over a scenic stream and pass by the mile 2 marker, I saw a race director point toward me and yell "11th overall."

Miles 3-4: (Mile 3 - 6:19; Mile 4 - 6:27)

We're returning back to the starting line in mile 3 although the scene looks completely different now that all the runners are gone. All we got are more spectators clapping and cheering and water stops serving more water and Gatorade. I tried to thank and acknowledge their applause but soon thought better of it when I realized that expending excess energy at Mile 3 of a half marathon would not be such a good idea. So I continued running and breathing at a metronomic rhythm, my attention transfixed on the two runner in front of me, flanking either side of the road. Although I was now beyond 5k, my mind was still deciphering what it heard a quarter mile back. Did I hear right? Am I really in 11th place? Maybe he meant in my age group? But he couldn't have known my age...hmmm. I had joked with my friend before the race that the professional and elites were all probably racing the 10K in Central Park today, leaving us wannabes to duke it out here, but to be 11th place overall in a race of a couple thousand sounded insane to me. So I blocked the thoughts from my head and focused on the task at hand.

Towards the end of Mile 3, we run up a big semicircle incline onto an overpass that led us toward the back section of the park. Although I was a bit apprehensive that running 10K PR pace in the first three miles of a half marathon could ultimately prove foolish, I couldn't resist the rush to use the windy hill to surge ahead. So as I use my hill training expertise to steadily climb up and over the overpass, I first pass the guy on my left who is obviously a heel striker and then the guy on my right who annoyed me with his triathlete uniform and knee high socks. Seriously, guys? That's why you had to be passed. Once I was clear, I checked my mile 3 time and was pleasantly surprised that it was still in the six-teens. Some quick math told me that I was a full thirty seconds below PR pace by this point. If I could somehow maintain the effort, victory (in terms of a PR) would be mine!

Mile 4 brings runners on the outskirts of the Queens Zoo then around a large oval that surrounds a couple of baseball fields before returning back to the northern section of the park via an overpass. Although I usually take time when I'm around here to sneak a peek inside the cages to say hi to animals, I couldn't afford to do so knowing that more than a couple of runners were hot on my tail. Because of the surge and the incline leading back to the overpass, I faded a bit on this mile back to my half marathon PR pace. I was suspecting that I was quickly losing ground tot he other competitors, the sight of the runner in front far off in the distance becoming closer at each quarter mile told me otherwise.

Miles 5-6: (Mile 5 - 6:20; Mile 6 - 7:39)

Exiting the overpass, the course makes a sharp left as it passes by the entrance to the Queens Museum of Art and the front gate of the USTA National Tennis Center before making its return to the northeastern sections of the park. I was familiar with this portion of the course because I run a significant portion of this road for 800 intervals. Mr. bald guy in blue shorts was fading fast toward me now and I invoked my speedwork legs to surge slightly faster to catch up to him. Before I did, a tall skinny high school athlete who I haven't yet seen, suddenly appears from behind me and overtakes the both of us. A few minutes later, I pass the fading baldie. In my mind though, this was only a draw since I exited mile 5 in the same overall place that I entered. One of the race director confirmed my suspicions when he yelled "9th Place - Good Job!" as I passed by.

Mile 6 was an unorthodox circular route that took us around the inside of the park toward an overpass that would eventually lead toward Meadow Lake. I started mile 6 for sure that 8th was pretty much out of reach. Tall skinny high school athlete was looking strong as he passed earlier in the previous mile and I wasn't sure I would be able to keep up. Because there were no visible runners in front of him, I was counting on this 8th place runner to lead the way. The course was marked with cones that were haphazardly placed on the grass with few volunteers around to direct us around all the twists and turns. Although he was doing great leading me through the unorthodox windy path, he was suddenly losing steam at around 5.5 miles. I debated about moving past him at this point. Part of me wanted to pass him and move on to my next target. A big part of me wanted to hang back, knowing I'd be up to my own resources to figure out where we were meant to go. Because I'd never before been asked to take the lead on a course with twists and turns that I wasn't familiar with, I didn't know what to do. Eventually though, after following his lead for another quarter mile, I took the lead from him and dared myself to find and catch the next runner out on the course.

Having taken the lead, it was up to me now to lead the way. Because I couldn't see anyone else in front and the course was not well marked except for a few volunteers who tried to deal with pedestrians while yelling directions to the runners at the same time, I was caught in no man's land as I tried to run fast while at the same time figure out what I could remember from the description of the course I had heard earlier at the start. At about 6.8 miles, we circle the Unisphere and come upon a road that gave the option of turning left onto a bigger park road or going straight onto the overpass toward Meadow Lake. I thought about going straight but remembered vaguely that mile 7 was not supposed to start until the overpass and felt it was a bit too soon. There was a biker standing off to the side who I thought was one of the earlier race pacers. I threw my hands up to ask if the course turned or went straight. He didn't respond, which for some reason I took to mean the first option was correct. So I turned and went about 0.1 mile before I saw two metal barricades blocking my way. I immediately stopped, cursed at the top of my lungs and turned to see four or five runners moving onward to the bridge from the road that I had just vacated. For a second, I panicked and just stood. I looked around for a race official, hoping against hope that maybe they saw what just transpired and could do something, anything. Finally, when I surrendered to the fact that no one saw except an 8 year old kid kicking a soccer bar with his dad, I squealed in frustration, turned around and ran back from where I came.

Addicted to Runners' Crack

As a runner who has always believed in quality over quantity, I used to ascribe very little significance to the number of miles I run in a given month. Like I do with my utility bill and bank statements every month, I would take no more than five seconds to find the number at the back of the last page, register its existence in my subconscious for a brief second before tossing it aside, never to be heard from again. I've always figured this to be the best way to handle this little predicament since my monthly miles often pale in comparison to those of more experienced and seasoned marathoners. Why would I subject myself to such embarrassment? Ignorance is bliss as far as I was concerned.

Yesterday however, after I logged my final miles for March and calculated my total for March, the number that inhabited the last cell kept me perplexed and dumbfounded. 230.6, the spreadsheet said. I stopped and took notice. It isn't simply that 230.6 is a rather big number. It's actually the 3rd largest in my personal history, surpassed only by a 245.3 in August'09 and a 241.0 in September '09. It isn't only that it was in March which is traditionally not a high mileage month for me. After all, I logged "only" 194 in March '09 at the height of my training for the Boston Marathon. The real reason why 230.6 for March is so astounding is that
we had two Nor'Easters separated by a rainstorm to end all rainstorms!

Hmmm...yeah, so how did I manage 230.6 despite all that horrific weather? I'm not quite sure. All I know is that I'm not entirely as happy with this extravagant mileage as you might think. On the one hand, I know I should be thrilled that I'm stepping up the mileage, building a strong aerobic base and more importantly, not getting hurt. But on the other, I hate the fact that 200+ monthly miles with 50-65 mile weeks is now the new norm for me. There's no going back to 30 or even 40 mile weeks without feelings of failure, self-doubt and unfulfillment. This is absolutely absurd to me! Where's the guy that PR'd and/or BQ'd the marathon for 4 years straight running less than 40 miles per week? Where's the guy that thought he could get by just running 3-4x per week? Honestly, I don't even recognize him anymore. Not only so, but this insidious transformation to higher volume training was more a matter of preference rather than choice. It's not that I feel like I have to train and/or run more. I just feel more comfortable with myself when I do, as strange as it may sound.

So where will this lead? Is there an end in sight? Or will I just be running more days and logging more mile until I literally break down or sustain a life-altering injury? I don't know and I'm not sure. For right now, my body is feeling healthy and I'm taking care to run purposefully, train intelligently and avoid running miles that serve no identifiable objective. That is all I can do and all I can hope for.

In the back of my mind, I am all too aware that one day I will no longer be able to do this, so today I must do all I can with what I have so I can live life with no regrets. That is the mantra of the modern athlete. That is how I define awesomeness!

On a lighter note, I am starting to see MILEAGE as runners' CRACK. After all, once you score or get a high, you really can't go back. Not to mention the tolerance, the addiction, the depression, the withdrawal...it's all right there, written in the shoes! Haha! Quick, is there a Runner's Anonymous agency or website set up yet? Maybe one of my blog readers should get on that and accept me as its first member...Just a thought.

Finally, it's race weekend for me. It's so exciting! But whether you're racing, running, or none of the above, go enjoy the sunshine and have yourselves a fantastic weekend!