Timing and...timing

This past Saturday was the Central Illinois Open Water Swim, consisting of a 1.2- and 2.4-mile timed swim. Paula and I are learning timing for Planet Adventure, a local race organizer here in Indianapolis, and this event was our first time going solo. We really didn't know what to expect, but were planning on having some hiccups with the hardware and/or software, since that seems to be inevitable. We both wanted to arrive and get set up in plenty of time to deal with any potential glitches before swimmers went into the water.

After a much-too-early alarm of 3:15am and a sleepy-eyed 3-hour drive, we arrived at the race site in time to watch the sun come up over the water. Everything came together quite well with only one call to the Mother Ship for help, and we were ready to go. It was time to people-watch.

Swimmers began arriving and checking out the buoys, trying to get a mental picture of their upcoming swim. Some were visibly intimidated, others mildly anxious, others excited about the beautiful day and ready to go. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until...

An older (my age or so) swimmer came up and said, "My 93-year-old mother can't see so well. Can we ask the lifeguards to help make sure she finds the buoys?"

Yes, you read that correctly. 93 years old.

We directed him to the woman in charge of the lifeguards, who appeared to be as impressed as we were. She rounded up some of the people who were on paddleboards and kayaks, and let them know the situation.

The 2.4-mile group started first, and we got them off and on their way. It was time for the 1.2-mile swimmers to get into the water and ready to go. Number 162 walked by (the swimmers had their numbers written on their swim caps, arms, backs, and legs), and we decided that she had to be the man's mother. She was a tiny woman, trim, and her swimsuit was big enough on her that the rear end just kind of hung off her. Yet she didn't look frail, just old. The lifeguards and her son made sure she joined the rest of the group, and off she went. While she was in the water, we learned her name was Gladys, she was legally blind (she obviously could see something, but apparently not very much) and half deaf.

An hour and 43 minutes later, a kayaker and a lifeguard on a paddleboard herded Gladys into the finish chute, and she finished with a smile on her face. She was tired, but not exhausted. Her son brought her a chair and some water, and she sat for a while, resting and soaking up the compliments of everyone around her. I wish I had a photo of her smile.

In summary: The day started as simply another long-but-fun day. It ended with an inspiration. Gladys, I want to be like you. Ageless.

Ultra #2: A 30-mile trail run

The Planet Adventure Winona Lake Trail Ultra is a 10, 30, and 50 mile trail run. The course is a 10-mile loop that is repeated as desired. I signed up for the 30 mile, and knew that attempting a 50-miler was tempting certain injury since I really hadn't even trained for 30. Oh well, wouldn't be the first time I've winged a long race.

I worked at registration that morning, checking runners in. Working with me was a volunteer, Jayne. Jayne's weekend plans had fallen through, so she had called Planet Adventure to ask if she could volunteer. She was planning to do the 10 miler, but had it in the back of her mind that she'd really like to try for 30. She's only been running a couple of years, and her longest run to date was a half-marathon. She had already done a triathlon as well. I encouraged her to go ahead and try. If she hated it after two laps and wanted to quit, she could collect the 10-mile medal and still would have extended her maximum distance. If she felt good she could continue and more than double her longest effort. What could it hurt?

There were about 40 of us signed up for the 30, and we all gathered at the start line. The trail was single-track, so there was an initial slowdown as everyone entered the woods on the narrow trail. Jayne and I ended up bringing up the rear. I was taking my time, as usual, and Jayne asked me what my pace would be. Hmmm I really hadn't thought much about it, I just wanted to finish with minimum suckage. Finish in seven hours? Sound good? Eight if the hills are really bad and I'm suffering? That worked for her, too, so we decided to stick together. I told her first thing was to walk up the hills and save the legs. She was content to let me pace her, and I was content to do so.

We ended up running together the entire way, chatting the whole time.  Before either of us knew it, we were back at the start/finish, and ten miles were on the board. We both took about ten minutes to eat, rest, drink, and she changed her shoes before we took off again.

The second 10 miles were harder, and we were both very happy we only had one more loop, but both agreed it wasn't sucking. We got tired, both had some niggling aches and pains, but nothing that was seriously detracting from enjoying the view. The course was very hilly, with lots of smaller switchbacks. The downs were often just a little too steep for us lesser-experienced trail runners to easily trot down, and we both had to apply the brakes fairly often. The "straightaways" were not very long, not very straight, and not very level, but were a good chance to do an easy jog. We never went too fast to talk, and enjoyed admiring the faster runners that passed us on a regular basis. It didn't start to rain until we were at mile 15, and it was a nice steady cooling rain that didn't produce immediate mud-pits, so we were content.

We weren't quite as chipper as we crossed the finish line for the second time, but both were still smiling and feeling pretty good. We took another ten minutes to grab some chocolate milk, fig newtons, whatever; Jayne changed shoes again and I changed socks. We compared our time to the first loop, and we were pretty much on target, even if we included the ten minutes or so break-time. Great! Off we went for loop #3.

The last 10 miles were difficult. We were both finally feeling really tired, both of us had tender toes (hers more so than mine as she stubbed them a few times on tree roots), both were getting hungry enough to want a burger, and both were exceedingly glad this was the last pass of the trail. The rain quit at mile 25. We stopped to high-five at the 26-mile point, figuring that was close enough to marathon distance to celebrate her first marathon, then got slogging along again...which is what we were doing by this point, slogging. However, we both agreed that it still wasn't a full-on suck just yet.

As usual, I had forgotten the Garmin, and she deliberately hadn't worn hers, but she had a phone with the time on it. We both felt like we were holding our pace pretty well; she checked the time, and if we pushed a bit, we could come in just under seven hours. However, we would have to do the last three miles in a little over 30 minutes. I really didn't think I had it in me, but the bug was planted. I know Jayne was thinking the same thing. Neither of us said anything, but I started pushing harder, taking shorter walk breaks, trudging up more inclines, and farther up them, before taking a walk break. Jayne stayed right on my heels.

We made it a little past mile 28 before I finally said, "OK, this sucks now!" Jayne agreed. We were both hurting. Our knees, ankles, hip extensors, feet, and toes were very unhappy and screaming at us to stop. But neither of us dared suggest looking at the time or slowing down. We both took a deep breath and kept moving.

 

Finally, 6 hours 58 minutes and 43 seconds after starting, we crossed the finish line together. Jayne won her age group on her first ultra and collected her award. We were both very happy to be done, and thrilled not to be doing the 50-miler. Those people are CRAZY!

1st loop: 2:15
2nd loop: 2:19 (includes break time)
3rd loop: 2:24:42 (includes break time)

For every lousy race, there's several good ones

My previous post whined about a tough race and trying to find an explanation for it. It was quite discouraging to turn in such a poor performance, but I had to let it go and assume things would only improve.

And they did.

This past weekend was a redemption of sorts. Saturday began with a trail half-marathon on a very tough course (see elevation profile below). In addition to the many ups and downs, the first and last mile involved a lot of climbing/stepping over logs, making it tough to get a rhythm going. I'm relatively new to trail running, so I'm sure it was harder for me than for more experienced folks, but I heard a lot of comments about its difficulty as people came in and cooled down.

Unfortunately, I started the day by rolling my ankle before hitting mile 1. I have no idea what I stepped on (or didn't), but it wasn't a log, root, rock, or anything so obvious. It must have looked bad because the woman right behind me sounded concerned and asked if I was ok. Yes, I'm fine, I just need to get out of everyone's way for about 10 seconds, get pissed, shake it off, and start moving again. After about 30 seconds of fast walking, it felt ok to run again. Soon I forgot about it, other than making a mental note not to screw up and twist it again. Three weeks before Ironman is NOT the time to injure myself

The rest of the race was uneventful and quite nice, if challenging. It felt good to be out running in the woods, and it was easy to enjoy the hot, humid day. Didn't even mind the fact that my clothes were so full of condensation that they were sticking to my body. The trail was an out-and-back, so it was fun to people-watch the runners on their way back and hope that I looked that good. It was a 13.1 mile loop; I did one for the half, marathoners did it twice.

Finished with a decent (for me) time of 3:04, about 40 minutes slower than my typical road half, as expected. Washed off in the misting tent, changed back into my "official" Planet Adventure shirt, and took over the timing. Forgot about the ankle until around 3:00, when it started mildly complaining about not having been elevated yet. Oh well, it was fun to watch the marathoners come in, some looking more beat-up than others, and be grateful I had only done the half! Got home later and made sure to put the foot up and ice it, and passed out very early, sometime around 8:30pm.

Sunday's 5:00am alarm went off much too soon! Got up and headed downtown to TriIndy, a really fun event right in downtown Indianapolis. Back in the 1830's, before railroads had caught on, there was a plan to build a canal right down the middle of Indiana. Only a few miles were built before rail transport rendered the project moot. A three-mile stretch is downtown, and has been developed into a very nice park. Three or four years ago someone was finally able to put together a triathlon that used the canal. It's a really unique venue and it's a lot of fun to do a race right in the middle of town.

Both a tri and a du were offered; I chose to do a duathlon this time, consisting of a 2 mile run, 20K bike, and 5K run. It was actually kind of nice not to have to fool with the additional step of swimming! The day was incredibly humid, with fog hanging so low that most of the buildings downtown were hidden. Saw a lot of people I knew and had a good time chatting with some of them. Ankle felt a little tender walking from the car to the race, but figured what the heck. If it was a problem, I could always stop.

As it turned out, the ankle was a complete non-issue. Running on the stable concrete/asphalt surface felt great, and biking didn't seem to irritate it at all. Had a good race with possibly my best bike performance ever, and thoroughly enjoyed the morning. Finished in a respectable 1:35:14, good enough for third in my age group.

Finished the weekend with a nice brunch and better beer at Granite City, then spent the rest of the day with the foot up and an ice pack on it. Am thrilled to report that Monday morning, most of the swelling is gone and there is still no bruising, and I'm not really going to lose any training time. Hooray for small favors!

19 days to go.

*Eagle Creek Trail Half and Full Marathon by Planet Adventure Racing
*TriIndy by Tuxedo Brothers