My Endieseling is Coming Along Nicely

"What did you do yesterday, Old Coot?" I kicked ass and took names.

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How's My Dust Taste?

Last night was the final Live on the Lake at Burbank Park, and the final running of the Live on the Lake Race Series (AKA Dave's Races). For me, it was opening night because I haven't been able to make it to any of them. As expected I showed up too close to the start for a proper warm up, and since I haven't been doing much running this summer I figured that would handicap me. I did have to run a little to get there on time, and I figured that was good for something.

As I scanned the field, I made note of the racer demographics. There was me (M20-29), a few dozen high school girls (F14-19), and a dozen other people who were not in my age group (M30-39, M40-49, M50-59, F30-39, F50-59, you get the point). My goal, besides not tearing a hamstring, was to not get beat by a little girl. You may say "Old Coot, what little girl would beat you?" to which I say "A whole mess of them." One in particular kicked my ass at the 4th of July race, but she's a superstar around these parts so I didn't let it get to me.

After we lined up and the race director (Dave) said a few words thanking everyone for showing up, thanking the sponsors and the volunteers, we were off. The fast guy (who shall be called The Fast Guy for the purpose of this post) immediately pulled out ahead, with me in 2nd place. Like an idiot, I looked at him and thought "The Fast Guy is going to beat you, but he's not pulling away too quickly. If you can limit how fast he pulls away you might be able to maintain your spot in 2nd place. Let him pace you and you'll do great."

Well, half a mile into it I hit the main road and the hot sun. Shortly after that, I dropped to 3rd place. After the first mile marker, another guy pulled up behind me, shot some shit, exchanged pleasantries, and left me in his dust. I decided to keep him in my sights while keeping the group behind me in their place, behind me.

The whole time I'm watching my heart rate monitor and thinking "There's no way I'll keep up this pace. My heart rate is up in the 95% of Max range, I'll never make it." Thank God the devil on my shoulder told me to "Shut up, quit whining and run faster. It's only 3.7 miles, why are you such a baby?" I just kept pushing, keeping my heart rate high with no signs of slowing.

Wouldn't you know that with half a mile to go I heard the footsteps of 5th place closing in on me (ironically, Dave). He passed me with a few hundred yards to go, much to my chagrin. As soon as the finish line appeared on the horizon I decided there was no way I was letting this guy beat me in the last minute and I put the pedal to the metal.

The people at the finish line were yelling "Go Dave, you got him" , alternating with "Yeah 'Old Coot' (they actually used my real name), don't let him beat you". From the depths of my soul I pulled out enough energy to pass him and reclaim 4th place. Post race analysis showed that we hit over 16 mph in that last sprint!

Then I almost threw up.

Once the results were posted I saw that I finished in 25:34, 34 seconds behind my personal record but about 26 seconds better than my goal. Average pace: 6:55/mile. After a summer of hamstring trouble, no speed work, limited running and only one race I'm almost where I was this time last year.

Ninja Status - check!

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Oops, I Scuffed the Floor

After the race, I hung out at Live on the Lake to eat pizza and hear Sirsy play. I think they're a perennial favorite, and they put on a really good show. Afterwards I headed home full of Dominos pizza and water and set up the bike on the rollers to crank out a few miles, under the guise of working on my balance.

It was immediately evident that my balance and technique had improved from my initial voyage on the rollers. I was able to maintain a fairly straight "line", didn't have to lean on the doorway, and was pretty aware of my position within the width of the rollers. That's when the sweat started dripping.

I had a box fan blowing on me to help keep me cool, but eventually I started getting sweaty and as the first drops burned my eyes I decided I was going to have to let go for a second to wipe my brow. I slowly moved my hand from the handlebars to my forehead, wiped the left side and while reaching for the right eyebrow the bike started to shift around a little. I gave it a quick wipe and started reaching for the handlebars. The sudden movement upset my delicate equilibrium and sent me swerving. As I oscillated out of control my left elbow slammed into the doorway en-numbening my left hand, and I quickly sped off the other side of the rollers.

As expected, the tires spun out on the floor and I did not accelerate across the hallway. I waited for the feeling to come back to my hand, wiped my forehead real good, got back on and continued riding. Afterwards, I noticed a nice scuff on the floor from the tire. I was going to clean it up, but I'll leave it there as a war wound for now.

In case you were wondering, my elbow has a mark on it, but the bruising is minimal. I'll live.

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Autumn Approaches

As the nights get longer and the days get shorter, a young man's thoughts turn to "How much longer can we run trails on Thursday Night?" I love the trail we take, and even though it's the same route week after week I never tire of it. When we have to move back onto the roads it's like summer camp ending. It's also like giving up and letting fall beat you. I know that no amount of willpower will keep the seasons from changing, but it still feels like quitting.

Of course, it also means we get to run the horrible, horrible route around Pontoosuc Lake for the winter. It's full of hills, cold lake wind, snow, traffic and suffering - but it hurts so good.

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Over and Out,
Old Coot