Halving

I'm trying, sorta, to get ready for SBIM.  By sorta I mean the brain is willing but the discipline is weak.   Actually, it's weak in one area: long runs on the road.  I hate 'em.  I can't do 'em.  And last time I did a marathon, I did not feel that 2-3 hour trail runs were sufficient substitutes.  To try to fill that gap, I decided to enter two halves in Boise, at 6 and 4 weeks out.  The idea is that I would run a couple miles before, and four or five after, and then I too could say things that I hear others say, like: "I did 20 today", or, "I did 22."

The first one was mostly flat, with the first five on dirt, then pavement.   I don't race much in Boise so have the pleasure of being largely unknown.  At the start I know the guy to beat, the ex-collegiate who has won the biggest race here, the 2500 runner party-half called the Race to Robie Creek.  I hear another guy loudly talking about going out in 5:30s and taking it from there.  So what I want to do is sneak up on these guys, since they don't know me.  How do you do that?  Like this.  The race had a concurrent 5k ad 10k.  The 5k turned off at 2 miles; the 10k at 4 miles.  So I go out hard..... and they think I'm running the 5k or 10k.  So at 4 miles, I'm later told, I was ahead by a minute.   After that I'm 'exposed' as running the half, but it's too late.  The Robie winner never got closer than 45 seconds, and the 5:30 guy was last seen vomiting in the bushes at mile 7 (never brag at the start line; running karma will get you?).


Two weeks later, a good half course for me: 1200 feet of climbing.   I continue a rather annoying recent habit of almost or actually missing the start (I've missed two this year, but made this one by 30 seconds).   I greet a friend Daryl who I think is my Master's (and maybe overall) competition, a 34 minute Master's 10k runner who loves the hills, in his season's last race before nordic season.  And we're off.  After a few seconds my friend Dave nods at the early leader:  "Newt."


"Newt?'


"Yep, that's him."


"Newt?!"


Yep."


"I thought he was hurt."


"He's back."


"Well shit."   To Daryl I quip, "well, that was quick.  Not only are we not racing for the win, we can't even race for the Master's win."


"Newt", you see, is apparently a semi-reclusive (but extremely nice) total mutant.  Just over a year ago, he was quietly building up towards a shot at the 45-49 American record in the 10,000 meters on the track (31:27). 

In preparation, he went down to Utah and raced a road 10K against the American 45-49 record holder for a road 10K:  Master's legend Dennis Simonaitis, who ran his record 30:08 at Paso Robles in 2007 (a race Fred, Terry and I were in, too).  He beat Simonaitis by a minute head to head in Simonaitis' backyard, running a 30:40.  

But before he got to take his shot at the record, he got hurt.  Then this year, he apparently crashed his bike, broke six ribs, punctured a lung, and broke his collarbone.

So, you know, he shouldn't be here!

Oh well.

After a mile he's 15 seconds in front of Daryl and me.

Miles two and three climb 600 feet.  I decide to aim for little victories:  can I match him on the hill?    Further, a little voice inside of me said "don't roll over just because he's a true mutant.  Maybe the hills will even things up.... or maybe he's not really recovered and trained yet."

I'm moderately pleased to outrun him by a few seconds on the climb, and more pleased that I'm still only 10-12 seconds down at mile four after a mile descent.  But then it flattens out and he starts to pull away:  Mile five, 22 seconds.  Mile six, 32 seconds.

Miles seven and eight, though, climb back up 500 feet.  Now, as someone who, when running or riding, looks for opportunities to make foolish 'panache' moves, I hatch a plan:  I'm gonna run him down on the climb.  He'll destroy me on the five miles to the finish, but I want my moment in the sun.

He starts coming back quickly.  I'm not going 100%, either.  The motorcycle pulls out of the gap, and before I know it I've made up all 32 seconds in one mile and pass him at a good clip.

Cool.  I'm winning!  I'm beating a guy who dusted Simonaitis last year!  Now, in the lead, I DO dig deep, running hard, trying to milk every second out of the climb.

I summit and then cruise the three mile dirt descent and feel fantastic.  How long can I hold him off?  Turning into the last two miles (and into a tough headwind), I get a look back over a good quarter mile.  Clear.

Ballgame.  He came in almost four minutes later.  Turns out he wasn't really ready to race yet.  He'd only been running 6-8 weeks.  I quip to him that I picked the right time to race him!

The strategy there?  "You never know."  Run hard and put yourself in a position to take advantage of the unexpected.

BTW, the winner of the women's race is 100x the athlete that 'Newt' is and 1000x me.  A certain Beijing gold medalist who retired after adding a second rainbow jersey to her wardrobe a few months back.  I never saw her though...