Flying Pig Marathon 2016 – Running4Liz (A Guest Blog Post)

Today I received a race report from a good friend about her experience with the Flying Pig Marathon.  Ginger, and the amazing women who ran with her, dedicated their run to Liz Lothrop; a young Cincinnati area woman who recently lost her fight with glioblastoma, a form of very aggressive cancer that begins in the brain (you can see media coverage of Liz's story here).  I asked Ginger's permission to reproduce her race report on this blog, to share with a wider community.  Congratulations to Ginger and all who ran with her.

Flying Pig Marathon 2016 – Running4Liz

Running for Elizabeth Grace Lothrop

by Ginger

By October 2015 I had decided that I wanted to do the Flying Pig Half Marathon with my friends.  Then by mid-November on a somewhat impulsive thought I decided I think I’ll run the full marathon.  So I quickly registered (Nov. 13) before I changed my mind.  During the registration process there was a field to complete to customize your bib.  Oh cool!  I started to enter ‘Ging’ and then backed it out and replaced it with ‘Running4Liz’.  It was then when I knew that I was running this marathon for Liz.  I hit submit to complete the registration and felt that slight moment of panic… Oh my gosh I just signed up for a marathon!

On a few early solo training runs I processed… what does it mean to me to be Running4Liz?  I decided that I would attempt to share Liz’s story with my friends and through social media to generate support for Liz and her family.  I knew my outreach wasn’t that big but I hoped that support even on a small scale would be something.  So my plan was set in place.  I decided to periodically post on Facebook Liz’s GoFundMe page during the course of training from January 2016 through May 2016.

Training

I started my training early since I had not run in over 4 months due to recovering from planter’s fasciitis.  I had a slight concern as to what the mileage would do to my heel but knew I’d give it my best attempt.  I also started early because I knew that the holiday’s make it tough to get training in as well as winter weather.  What I didn’t anticipate was getting sick that took over 5 weeks to get better.  As well as my beloved Bella being diagnosed with an aggressive form of lymphoma and requiring major surgery and chemo treatments.  I had high hopes that we could extend Bella’s life only to making a very hard decision on February 14th.  Rest in peace sweet Bella.   Despite what seemed like a struggle to train, in the end I was comfortable with the training I was able to complete and even managed two 20 milers.  I was able to approach the event knowing I would finish.

A family Affair

The week leading into the event my sister tells me… Brittany and I are registered for the half marathon!  Woohoo!  I was so excited knowing that I got to be part of their first half marathon experience and excited to share something with them that I enjoy doing.  My niece was determined to run 13.1 miles for Liz.  Knowing they had not trained I provided interval strategies and race motivation.  I was determined to help give them the best race experience.

The Flying Pig

Early morning wake-up call by 4AM.  Quick shower, bagel & peanut butter and coffee drink.  We were all nervous about the weather because of the previous day’s cool temperatures and rain.  The original forecast had suggested rain for the race so I think we all anticipated to be running in the rain & cooler temps.  Selena and I made an early morning decision to go with tank tops (thankfully).  And we all remembered to put on sunscreen just in case (thankfully).

We met up with my Cindy and Brittany in the lobby.  As always the lobby is a buzz of runners that morning.  It’s a boost of adrenaline just being around all the runners anxiously waiting to go to the start line area.  We took a moment to take a group photo.  Diane surprised us with Running for Liz signs! I wanted to make sure we captured a photo of us wearing the signs.

We made the quick walk down to the corrals.  It was a light drizzle that turned into sprinkles.  The temps were not that cold so no throw away was needed.  We all decided to start in Corral G (coincidently stands for Grace) even though a few of us had different corral placements.  The National Anthem was sung and very nicely done I might add.  And the race begins!  It felt like it took a while for corral G to begin but once it started moving we quickly reached the start line and we all begin running.

Nice easy pace out of the gate!  I’m thankful.  It felt warm and humid (learned later it was 100% humidity).  I see Cindy and Britt hanging together.  Diane, Selena and I are hanging together.  And Bernie is on her quest to finish back to back half marathons.  We got this!

Courtesy of an unknown runner

Selena, Diane and I initiate our strategy of running to each mile marker followed by a one minute walk break and repeat.  The first mile happened at the base of the first bridge over to the Kentucky side.  It’s perfect timing to walk a small hill.  I’ll take it because I know there are many more hills to come.  When we were on the Kentucky side for some reason I decided to look up (I’m the runner that watches the pavement).  I see a rainbow across the sky.  So cool!  I mentioned it to Selena and Diane.  Not sure if they heard me but seeing the rainbow made me smile.  By the time we’re approaching the bridge to go back to Ohio I acknowledged a few facts:

• I’m drenched from the humidity by mile 3
• My heel is bothering me a little
• My right knee is bothering me a little

This is way too early to be worrying about any pain.  I focused on my form to make sure my stride and landings were good.  By mile 5 I no longer noticed any issues other than it was getting warm (notice I just say ‘warm’).  Glad I’m not feeling any issues with my heel or knee because I know we’re quickly approaching the never ending long stretch of hill climbing and more hills.  Around mile 6.5 just as you start to ascend (yes it’s like mountain climbing) into the hills, there’s a guy in pink camouflage pants very enthusiastically cheering on the runners.  What a really cool way to pump up the crowd before the hills!

Amazingly, the hill climb didn’t seem all that bad this time.  Maybe it’s because we’re pacing ourselves nicely to go the distance.  Maybe it’s because I’m with friends.  Maybe 3rd time’s a charm for running these hills!  However, it was also around this time I started to feel hotspots on my feet.  Not just one foot but both.  We all know what this means.  I decided to keep this little secret to myself for now.  It’s like if I don’t verbally state it then I really don’t have blisters, right?  Silly runner’s logic!  Finally by around mile 9 we complete our hill climb and quickly approach the split off from the half marathoners.  Go half marathoners!  This split is a really neat part of the course for me.  There’s a view of a church and in the years past of doing the half the church is like hearing the choir sing in my head of celebration.  This time I shared that memory with Selena and Diane.

After we split it’s a nice long downhill.  Generally I’d love this but I’m also really starting to feel the hot spots on my feet.  I finally admit that I’m running with blisters.  Oh well.  Push it out of my mind now that I’ve stated it.  I also received a phone call during this time.  I let it go to voicemail but my anxiety started to kick in.  My mom had hip replacement surgery on Thursday but I felt like she was ok but then what if?  And Steve’s mom had not been feeling well so I started to worry about that.  I decided I’d listen to the voicemail during the next walk break because the What Ifs were taking over my brain.  Fortunately it was a butt dial from my other sister.  I felt relieved.  But it wasn’t long after that I felt potential GI issues.  Uh oh.  Ok maybe it’ll go away.  Again, if I don’t admit it… it’s not an issue, right?  If it were only that simple.  We passed one set of porta potty’s around mile 10 or so and I opted to see if I’d feel better.  That was a mistake.  I had to wait what felt like forever until I saw the little blue buildings again.  Told Selena and Diane… I MUST STOP!... there was a line but it didn’t matter.  I told the girls to continue on if they wanted to.  But they waited.  I love these girls!  And I felt so much better… until… The Heat!  It was roughly around mile 15 when I acknowledge that I must start dumping water on myself at each water stop.  The heat was getting to me but I know how to manage this.  So I did.  It was also around mile 15 that Selena and I lost Diane as she was a little bit ahead of us.  Bummers but Go Diane!  At this point we’re still running to each mile marker and each water stop.  Our pace was still holding steady until about mile 17 and I then started to slow down.  By mile 19, it was just horrible.  It was hot and I was no longer mentally in the game.  Several times Selena asked how I was doing and just about all I could say was… It’s HOT!  By mile 20 I was just done.  Fried bacon!  I’m hoping the sunscreen is working because my skin feels hot.
Had I not still have Selena with me; I probably would have just walked it in.  She proposed for us to drop to interval of 4/1s.  So we did.  This new strategy kind of helps.  Sort of.  I’m still struggling.  Mentally not wanting to do this anymore.  At some point I look up ahead of me and I see Liz’s sign on Selena’s back.  I instantly tear up for a moment… Liz you’re such an inspiration, this 26.2 is for you!...  and checked my head back into the game.  By mile 23, I’m mentally back to finishing this.  It’s still hot!  It’s still tough.  We drop to 3/1s and that helps.  Finally around mile 24 we get ICE!  OMG ICE!  ICE ICE ICE!  YES PLEASE!  The mileage is still tough (when is it not at mile 24?) but we’re still sticking with 3/1s and we carry this strategy all the way to the finish line.  As we approach the FINISH SWINE I feel elated!  I’ve been happy to finish races before but this was different.  It was a feeling of joy!  Arms up in the air!  WOOHOO!  OINK OINK!  I hear my name!  Yes the announcers called our names out but I also hear someone yelling my name!  I’m looking around but I don’t see anyone.  I hear ‘Look up’… and I do… but I don’t see anyone.  But I know… they were there!  Cindy and Britt must have stayed for the finish.

Running a marathon is more than just about crossing the finish line.  It’s all the training runs that you share with friends.  It’s the chance to run a race with my sister, niece and friends.  Pre-race dinners and sharing laughs.  Random memories from the race that will stick with you beyond the race itself.  Post-race sweaty hugs.  And despite the challenges I personally had, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  Training and running a marathon is a journey to take in, cherish and to enjoy!

Another side note – The Flying Pig Half Marathon winner, Amy Robillard, dedicated this race to Liz!

  

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

And so 2016 is upon us.  As I sit here writing this post it is mere minutes from the end of the first day of the New Year.  As I reflect back over 2015 I am astounded at just how horrible the year truly was.  And while I know that this position is purely subjective, it seems that almost everyone that I have spoken to shares a similar view to a lesser or greater extent.

2015 was the year of "butt hurt".  Excessive political correctness, rampant liberalism, terror attacks (both at home and abroad), divisiveness, discord, and discontent.  We saw the rise of extremists; again, both at home and abroad (think ISIS and Black Lives Matter).  The pervasiveness of false reporting, as-well-as the willingness of those to cling to and spread those same lies. Breaches in the trust between communities and the guardians sworn to protect them.  And a distinct and frightening lack of leadership on all levels.  Globally, 2015 seemed filled with overcast skies through which rays of sunlight came all too infrequently.

On a personal level, the year was filled with its own share of trials and tribulations.  Many were of my own making, as is often the case, and others were a by-product of the pure evil and selfishness that exists in the hearts of others.  Sparing the otherwise gory details, to say that 2015 was a decidedly dark time in my life would be an understatement.  And so, like many, I have looked forward to the new year with hope for something brighter - something altogether better.  And, also like many, I am under no illusions that the change that I am hopeful for rests with anyone else other than myself.

My grandmother was fond of saying that whatever you did on the first day of the new year was what you would do for the rest of the year.  I think there is some truth associated with that.  For too many recent years I have spent New Year's Day not engaged in the things that I felt that I should have; disappointed with how I have spent the day and always with my grandmother's maxim ringing in the back of my head.  So with the beginning of this new year I was determined to do things differently, to be more positive, and to try to recapture the pieces of myself that were torn away by the tempestuous winds that have ripped through the fabric of my life in the last few years.  My opportunity for one such change came in the form of an invite from a friend to run 10 miles on New Years Day.

I received the invite on Tuesday.  I haven't been putting in many miles at all; very infrequent and sporadic runs of 2.5 to 5 miles at any one time.  And yet I felt compelled to commit to what I felt could be a very positive start to 2016.  Until the next day when I became ill with whatever bug has been making its way though everyone at work.  Sinus congestion, fever, aches, chills, etc.  I struggled through Wednesday on DayQuil and slept that night with double doses of NyQuil.  New Year's Eve I spent medicated and laying on my couch; venturing out only for more meds and some food.  I literally spent New Year's Eve alone, tuned in to the NYC ball drop at the 50 second count-down, then dosed myself with NyQuil - which is, incidentally, magic in a bottle - and promptly went to bed.

So when New Year's Day came with a buzz of my alarm, I hit snooze repeatedly and spent time laying comfortably in my bed manufacturing all manner of excuses and justifications for why I should just stay firmly where I was.  Then that was when my shame set in.  Was I ill?  Yes.  Was I lacking conditioning?  Yes.  But what other reason did I have to remain where I was?  None.  There was nothing that I had not faced before that could serve as an acceptable factor for my remaining safely in my bed.  And so with time quickly ticking away I got out of bed, showered, fixed a breakfast of oatmeal, put on my running gear, and headed out the door to meet the group at the base of the Big Four bridge where we would begin our 10 mile run.

Heading back across the Big Four bridge.

I will not regale you with the details of the run, but I will say that everyone was supportive and that I was squarely in the midst of good company.  The interval run and the conversation kept my mind off of the fact I hadn't covered this much ground in quite some time.  Our out-and-back run took us from the Louisville side of the Big Four bridge to Indiana, along the river, and to areas that I have never been.  Beyond some hip flexor pain, I held up better than I thought that I would.  I had actually shown up with the anticipation of being left behind by the group or having to end my run early.  Fortunately, however, I was able to keep up and finish out the 10 miler along with an amazing crew.  Afterward we took in lunch at a local eatery and once again it was nice to spend the morning with positive, energetic people.

New Year's Day in excellent company!

My illness aside, I have moved into 2016 with some very strong momentum.  And it was all simply a matter of making a choice and acting on it.  So many times it is very easy for us to remain where we are and to conjure all manner of creative justifications that prevent us from truly moving forward.  We find a comfort zone and even when that comfort zone becomes a stagnant, perhaps even toxic, environment for us, we remain there.  Entrenched.  Frightened of what waits if we move beyond the limits of our own self-imposed boundaries.  It is only by moving outside of that comfort zone - sometimes by choice, sometimes by force -  that we begin to change and grow.  I have traveled out of my own comfort zone, both by choice and by force, in the last several months.  And each time, no matter how painful, I have ultimately benefited by having done so.

Rocking my superhero tights under my shorts.

If you are reading this and you are looking for motivation to do something more, to get up and get moving, to move outside of your own comfort zone - whether related to your health, your job, or any other aspect of your life - I will leave you with this thought:  Every single time you push yourself to get up and go for that run, to take that walk, to move yourself physically.  Every time you sit to write, to explore your own thoughts, to create or to share.  Every time you make an effort to help those who are in need or who might not otherwise be able to help themselves.  Every time that you push yourself to do something - anything - outside of your own comfort; whether because it isn't physically pleasant, or it is inconvenient, or in doing so we might temporarily have to postpone some personal indulgence.  Every single time that you put forth effort to do more for yourself and for others, when so many other people would find it easier to just sit idly by.  Every single time, you are doing so much more than those who have caused you pain, or grief, or suffering.  Every time, you are sending a message to those same individuals and to the universe at large that says, "I am stronger than you know, more powerful than you can imagine, and more resilient than anything that I must face."  With each step you take, both figurative and literal, you will come to understand the depth of your own strength and endurance.  You become your own superhero.  And superheroes aren't superheroes because of what they are capable of doing, they are superheroes because they make a choice to do it.

So get up, get moving.  Start now.  You don't have to wait for some specific day of the week, or sign from the heavens, or some silly holiday to begin.  Today - right now! - is the first day of the rest of your life!

Don't judge a Book by it's Cover! (A Guest Blog Post)

I have encouraged my children to explore their own writing, and since the guest blog post by my oldest daughter appeared here in April of last year, my 9 year old daughter has endeavored to have her own writing published as well.  What follows is the writing of my youngest and, as the previous post, the words and opinions are entirely her own and have not been edited.

Don't judge a Book by it's Cover!

by Madia J.

I have noticed at school that a lot of people are being judged by their looks and not by who they are.  For me, this is a very serious problem I have noticed most people like to ignore.  And so you know those movies like "Mean Girl's" and "Clueless" and "The Breakfast club" and other movies like that are making groups like cool kids and nerds and hipsters and punks and jocks and outcasts.

First lets start with the cool kids so I know that most people say you be cool you half to be mean or a trouble maker or prank people or be something your not but if you want to be cool be your be your self and be nice and involve other people.  And nerds should not be judged they can be cool in their own way cause being smart will pay off because then you will get a awesome scholarship to a awesome college and a awesome job to a awesome life.  And just because you where glasses or braces does not mean you are a nerd and nerd is not a nice word to call someone the correct word to say is clever people not nerds.  And last but not least are outcasts, outcasts are people that are not herd and are people that are seen but not herd and are left out and can be taken for granted and who ever says you are a outcast they are not your real B.F.F.

So when you see or hear someone being judged on how they look and not how they act then tell that person or group "Hey stop judging people by what they look like you don't even know that person so just stop okay okay."  So that is all I half to say about that and remember we are all a community and we stand together!

Right not Wrong (A Guest Blog Post)

In an effort to encourage my children to further explore their writing, I suggested to my eleven year old daughter that she pick any topic she liked and write about it, and which I would post on my blog.  Inspired by a recent article in her middle-school newspaper, and subsequent online research that she did herself, what follows is her first blog post.  The words, images, and opinions are her own and have not been edited.

Right not Wrong

by Isabella J.

Hi!  This is my first time I've written on a blog so I am pretty excited.  Today for my first topic I would like to talk about Transgender.  When I first heard about it I was, well, stumped.  I didn't know what to think.  But then I thought about it a little more and thought it was right.  But A year later I heard about Leelah Alcorn.  Then I thought what could I do to help her rest in peace, and That is what I am going to write about in this blog today.

Leelah Alcorn

What is transgender?  Transgender is the transition of one sex to another.  Everyone has a gender identity.  This is when you think of yourself as a male or female.  Most gender identities match their born anatomy.  But transgenders have a different gender perspective than what they appear.  But society tells us certain rules that follow our anatomy.  They expect boys to act like boys and girls to act like girls.  They have expectations for us like hairstyles, jobs, clothing, etc.  But they don't give us a verbal binding for these rules.  That's because they are everywhere.  This is what society expects from us, to give in to what they see as the right way of life.  Transgenders break these expectations and prove to our society that being different isn't wrong.

Being transgendered is not the same as being gay.  Being gay is about the gender your attracted to, transgender is the gender you identify yourself with.  Gay and lesbian people do not want to be a different gender.  They are just attracted to the same sex.

Leelah Alcorn was a transgendered girl who took her life on December 28th, 2014 when she walked infront of a semi-truck in the middle of traffic.  She had set her suicide note to post at 5:30 pm on tumblur.  In her note she describes when she told her mother she wanted to be a girl.  She states that her mother told her it was a phase, that god doesn't make mistakes.  Her parents didn't accept her identity and didn't allow her to transition.  This was one of the struggles she talked about in her note.  Later she describes when her parents cut her off from social media, took her to therapists, and transferred her to a different school.  The therapist had told her that she should look to god for help and she was being selfish and trying to get attention.

A copy of Leelah's suicide note.

At the end of Leelah's note she sends out a call to everyone, "The only way I will rest in peace is if one day transgender people arent treated the way I was, they're treated like humans, with valid feelings & human rights.  Gender neeeds to be taught about in schools, the earlier the better."

After reading this members of the LGBTQ+( read her letter they started petitions for "Leelah's Law" all across the internet.  This law will banish transgender conversation therapy.  If you would like to pay respect to all transgenders like Leelah, Transgender Rememberance day is Nov. 20th.

Like Leelah's mom says, "god doesn't make mistakes," she was only partly right in that sentence.  I dont believe god makes mistakes.  I believe that he sent us transgenders to change society, and teach us all that being different is ok and change is a good thing.

Just strip away all the skin, gender identities, and labels.  Are any of us different?  No.  We are all the same with feelings and emotions.  We all deserve rights and opinions because we are all people.  All the labels are just our masks ans people like Leelah, who take off their masks, show us reality.  They show us what really happens that society tries to hide.  They show us the things society call, wrong, imperfect, something that does not belong.

We need to change this.  We need to learn to accept these differences.  To accept these people for who they are.  One thing that can help us is to remember change is inevitable.  Whether you like it or not, change will happen.

If you want to help change this world, then sign Leelah's Law.  Help start the beginning of all freedom, no matter who you are.

Return of the Mack

The One Man Returns to Running and Racing...Like An Idiot.

Over a year ago I last posted some foolishness about returning to both blogging and running.  As the line from my new favorite song by the Black Keys goes, " You know me, I had plans but they just disappeared to the back of my mind."  So where have I been this past year, you may ask?  Submerged and adrift in truly dark and shadowy places.  Little Black Submarines indeed.

Still great tech shirts, even if I wasn't crazy about the theme.

As the year progressed we grew ever closer to the re-branded LSC Urban Bourbon Half Marathon.  And true to my obvious predilection for making very, very poor choices in my life, I paid the fee and signed up to run the 13.1 mile race with virtually no training what-so-ever.  Hampered by injuries (non-sports related) and blinded by a cloud of depression (also non-sports related), I found the desire to actually lace up my shoes and run simply did not exist.  Oh, I did make a few half-hearted attempts to run, even pitting myself against a monstrous hill with a terrifying elevation profile when I did so, but I just could not summon the drive, the spirit, or the desire.

As the time for the Urban Bourbon grew near I decided that regardless of what might happen I was going to go through with the run.  I have spent my life pushing myself to extremes and what was one more go at a distance that I have covered countless times in my short running career?  The fact that I'm not getting any younger isn't lost on me, and I had more than one person graciously remind me of that fact, as the date approached and the level of my unpreparedness was painfully obvious; not only to myself but those around me.  And yet damn the torpedoes...

Banded at packet pick up.  Race or Rave?

So on a Friday morning I took myself to packet pick up at Louisville Slugger Field and can say with some certainty that I was underwhelmed by the event that the LSC described as a VIP packet pick up experience.  Outside of the boubon vendor and local running store set-up, there was little else outside of a normal packet pick up: bib and shirt.  Even the obligatory pre-race "goodie bag" had been virtualized; an e-mail link to advertisements and a few mostly uninteresting online discounts from local retailers.

The one glaring difference, however, was the bright orange wrist bands that the packet pick up volunteers required you to put on when claiming your bib.  After verifying your age via picture ID (and no, you can't pick up someone else's packet for them), the volunteer then snapped on an orange band that would allow you access to the post-race event area where there would be (gasp!) alcohol.  What better way to keep out the kiddies than bright orange wrist bands emblazoned with the event's title, a la an all inclusive stay at a cheap Cancun resort.  I found it mildly irritating that I spent the rest of the day running errands, with every person that I came into contact with looking at my wrist and most likely trying to decide if I had just left the hospital or the club.

All that can be said about the weeks and days leading up to the race is that they went from bad to worse; culminating in everything that could have possibly gone wrong, going wrong the day before the race and the morning of.

On a prior early morning run of only 5 miles, I returned home to find myself urinating blood; the result of my perpetual state of dehydration.  So my most excellent plan to super-hydrate myself in the week leading up to race day became three days leading up to race day, then the day before race day, and finally just ending up with me at the starting line hoping that I wasn't going to die from some sort of serious kidney failure.  Not to mention that the entire day and the night before the race I had barely eaten and my planned trip to the store to buy Roctane Gu never materialized.

So I awoke on race day with no real training, dehydrated, and running on empty.  And my morning hadn't started off on a high note.  I apparently turned off my alarm in my sleep and woke up an hour later than my planned 5 A.M. alarm, which resulted in a mad dash to pull myself together, gather my gear, and get out the door.  I stuffed a couple of pieces of toast with peanut butter in my mouth, washed down with ice water (like that small contribution was going to solve my hydration woes) and had to fight back the urge to vomit it right back up.  The only thing that I had done right the night before was charge my Garmin watch and my BlueBuds X wireless headphones.

I made a quick trip to Kroger for fuel for the car and fuel for myself; stopping in to buy some Gatorade G2 for my hydration belt and some Clif Shot Bloks.  By this time I was seriously running behind.  I made a trip by a Starbucks for my pre-race espresso which put me even further behind schedule.  By the time I arrived downtown, found parking, and began putting myself together (filling the hydration belt, pinning on my bib, digging through my backpack and praying that I hadn't forgotten my BodyGlide), I had 20 minutes before the race was to begin.

The over 21 crowd.

As I made my way toward the starting line, I began to feel a little more at ease.  I had made it to the beginning of the race with time to finish my espresso and let myself relax a little before the start.  I began to look for people that I knew from the running community, but I found none.

This race had started to take on the feeling of the very first half that I had ever ran, and I was struck by just how much I felt like I had regressed.  At one point in the not so distant past a half marathon was nothing intimidating.  I was running 15 - 20 miles on a treadmill at work or out on park roads at zero-dark-thirty.  And I had reached a point where I was doing so without the aid of chews, gels, or hydration belts.  But here I was, hydration belt snugly on and...my chews, forgotten in the car in my haste!  And not only that, but I suddenly realized that the foam cushion on one of my earbuds, which keeps them firmly in place, was missing.  So with the clock ticking I began quickly retracing my steps back to the car to find my missing ear cushion.  And with no luck, began rushing back to the starting line - once again forgetting the damn chews in the car.

I hit the crowd at the rear of the starting line just as the national anthem began.  Somehow finding myself nestled squarely between the 2:45 and 3:00 hour pace groups I briefly had a moment to consider how long it would be before the 3:00 hour pace group would pass me.  Then with a side-long glance in the direction of the port-a-potties and a deep sigh it was time to start running.

The run itself was anything but remarkable.  Although I did see my friend Josh in the first mile, who slowed long enough for some quick conversation and then promptly disappeared into the crowd ahead (you can check out Josh's website here).  I cruised along the first 3 miles at an incredibly slow pace, making it to roughly mile 5 1/2 before things started to go wrong.

My "rabbit".  Yes, cancer does suck.

The course wound its way through a section of Cherokee Park that I had never ran before, and the elevation profile should have been a clue as to what was ahead.  By the time I hit the first major hill in Cherokee I was walking.  And that run/walk was going to become a regular theme from there on out.  I knew I was gassing and I needed to focus on someone that was keeping my pace.  I needed a "rabbit" - that person that you chase throughout a race to keep you motivated.  Mine came in the form of a wonderful young lady wearing a decidedly bright orange tee shirt with the words "Cancer Sucks!" inked across the back (be sure to visit cancerisstupid.org).  I would come dangerously close to losing her over the course of the next nearly 8 miles, but in the end I would cross the finish line quite literally at her heels.  So, thank you, mystery Cancer Sucks girl.  I'm not so sure that I could have made it in the time that I did without you.

Just past mile 8 I finally hit the wall.  I had been walking up the hills, running down them and the flats, and walking the water stations.  But I had expended all the juice in the tank and I was empty.  It felt like I had an anchor suddenly attached to me, and any attempt on my part to run felt as though I were moving through molasses.  And I hurt.  Like sharp blades stabbing into the front creases of my hips, each step was painful.  I realized then that the Advil that I had planned to take prior to the run had also been forgotten along with the chews in my car.  Another brilliant oversight on my part for the moment.  I had also been keeping tabs on my pace, and I realized that I was beginning to slow to an average pace that might cause me to not make it to the finish line before it closed.  The specter of my first ever DNF began to loom.  The 2:45 pace group had long since disappeared in the distance, but I was still ahead of the 3:00 group.  I preoccupied myself with constant time and pace calculations as I tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other as rapidly as possible; all the while trying to keep the orange Cancer Sucks tee in my sights.

Today's special: Pain with a side dish of humility.

The next 5K was a mix of pain and focus on moving forward.  I nearly lost Cancer Sucks girl at mile 11 and the 3:00 hour pace group had all passed me laughing and enjoying their run for which I secretly begrudged them, all the while chastising myself for not having given the attention to training that I should have.

At mile 12 I could see Cancer Sucks girl again and began driving forward to catch up with her.  I knew that I could most likely drive and overtake her before the finish line, but, as odd as it may sound, it seemed disrespectful somehow.  Considering that I had used her as a focal point for a significant portion of the race, she seemed entitled to finish ahead of me.  Which is precisely what happened.

It was in the last half mile that I decided to dig deep and at least cross the finish line running.  It took everything that I had to make that push, but I came in running (or some semblance thereof).  I even crossed the finish line right on the heels of Cancer Sucks girl, just as I had predicted.  You can see the orange sleeve of her shirt in the picture to the right, just as I'm crossing the finish line.  Final time: 03:11:42.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Pic shamelessly ripped from LSC's Facebook page.

Once I collected my silly bourbon bottle shaped medal (Worst. Medal. Ever.), I limped my way to the post-race refreshment area.  Powerade, bagels, and grapes.  A much lighter fare than previous years.  I suppose the LSC officials skimped on the good stuff like chocolate milk and bananas for a larger quantity of alcohol to be served at the limited, adults-only, post-race event.  Either that or I was so damn late getting in that all the good stuff was already gone; although I'm quite positive that was not the case.

Spicy vegetable beef soup.  AKA burgoo.

The post-race event was lack luster.  There was a table selling orange bracelets to allow you into the event for $10 US.  However, I saw no one checking bracelets and am very certain that they were only really necessary for the bourbon tasting in the Evan Williams tent (5 drink maximum by-the-way).  I also wondered what runners whose loved ones would meet them at the finish line would do, if some of those loved ones proved to be under the ripe old age of 21.  Would they have been banned from partaking in the pizza, burgoo, and post-race enthusiasm?

I opted for a slice of pizza and some burgoo.  I've never had burgoo and can only say that it is basically spicy vegetable beef soup.  The spice I could have done without and I can not see myself becoming a patron of burgoo chefs anytime in the foreseeable (or unforeseeable as the case may be) future.

And so with my limited post-race meal, I walked back to the car, which I had tactically parked in a garage directly below the post-race venue.  All the while looking for that one single earbud cushion that I know just had to have fallen off somewhere along the way to the starting line.

And so there you have it.  My 2014 Urban Bourbon Half experience.  Although I can say that I am disappointed in my performance, I am absolutely to blame for my own lack of motivation and interest in really training to cover the half-marathon distance with any reasonable (key word) amount of preparation and planning.  The only thing that clearly remains intact is my tacit stubbornness, without which I'm sure I would have simply given up and sat out for a DNF.  Good to know that at least the will can still drive the body.

So where does this leave me?  Will I return to more regular running?  Is another full marathon in my future?  Where has the One Man been and where will he be off to now?  Stay tuned for the (possible) answer to these and many more questions.  But until then, here is a nice music video from 1996 by the troubled Mark Morrison to herald my return.

END NOTES (Post race thoughts):

Initially ran in 2011, the Louisville Sports Commission Half Marathon was a fun, fast, relatively flat, and scenic race that began in downtown Louisville, wound through Cherokee Park, and made its way back to Main Street.  I have ran the LSC each of the years since its inception and have truly enjoyed each experience (even the 2012 race that left runners chilled and soaked).

But then the Louisville Sports Commission announced the "re-branding" of this relatively new annual half to the "Urban Bourbon Half  Marathon".  In a media advisory e-mailed to runners, the LSC stated that the re-branding was intended to deliver a unique experience for runners.  Karl Schmitt, LSC's executive director was quoted as saying, "People who run and walk in half marathons are looking for destination events that deliver high-level experiences with cool themes."  High level experiences with cool themes, huh?  Does the Sports Commission seriously think that linking the race to alcohol is going to provide that "high level" experience?  I can't help but think that a trip to a Derby Beer Garden for the LSC officials must be like a trip to Disney World.

Now don't get me wrong.  I'm not a neo-prohibitionist by any means as I certainly imbibe on a rare occasion.  However, I do think that the LSC has made two very terrible mistakes in this decision to give the LSC Half a new bourbon theme, aimed at an "adult" crowd.

The first mistake is obvious, and that is making the focus of the race about alcohol.  Most of the runners that I know are fitness conscious individuals who are more attentive than most of the population to their overall health and wellness.  Those who signed up for and ultimately ran this half marathon did not do so because the finish line was in front of the Evan Williams Bourbon Experience.  They were not drawn by the lure of free bourbon tasting or by the opportunity to mingle with the over 21 crowd; as though the post race area was suddenly some Saturday morning pseudo Fourth Street Live, albeit with a more fit and somewhat sweatier crowd.  They showed up and ran for the love of running, or to race, or to simply test themselves, or any combination thereof.

The second mistake was limiting participation in the race to those 21 years of age and older.  LSC stated that 95 percent of the participants in the previous years have been 21 or older.  But where does that leave the other 5 percent?  I have a firm belief that anyone who is driven enough to put in the training to cover distances such as a half or a full marathon, regardless of age, should have the opportunity to run.  Limit the access to the alcohol in a specific area (which had been done in the past) and allow whomever would like to run to do so.

2014 Urban Bourbon finisher selfie.

Price was also a detractor in this race.  At $75 US to run a half marathon, the return was simply not worth it.  I wonder what the profit margin was for this event and just where those proceeds go.  There are much more enjoyable half marathon races out there for far less cost.

The Louisville Sports Commission began a wonderful thing by listening to what those in the running community wanted, and providing a well organized, enjoyable half in the Fall.  But in their attempt to over-reach, the LSC has lost what made this event great.  Now it is simply an over-priced, less attractive shadow of its former self.  A Derby MiniMarathon wanna-be without the community enthusiasm or ability to ride the coat tales of festival events that surround a world-class sporting event.

I am uncertain if I will participate in this event again next year, which actually saddens me.  But I think that I could find more enjoyable, well established races to spend money on through out the year.

FIN

To Boldly Go...

A couple of notable events occurred this past week.  NASA announced that the Voyager 1 probe has left the solar system, entering interstellar space. The One Man also made the decision to resurface after a nine month hiatus from blogging.  While both of these events may indeed be unrelated, there is certainly a metaphoric similarity to be shared.  More on that later.

Artist rendering of Voyager 1 (from space.com)

Voyager 1 was launched in 1977 when I was six years old; the same year, incidentally, the original Star Wars movie was released.  Yes, I see you doing the math and yes, the leaves have started to change color.

As a child my love for space and science fiction was evident and I would read and watch anything that had to do with science, space, and space exploration.  Star Trek (in reruns), Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, Space: 1999 (who remembers Moonbase Alpha?), Buck Rogers... The list goes on and on.  My love of science and science fiction persisted well into my adult life.  It was one of the reasons that I originally entered college in the engineering field (Engineering Mathematics and Computer Science major) before the brash, impulsive nature of my youth sent my life spiraling in a quite different direction.  But my interest has remained and so far I am certain I'm one of the few policemen who enjoys debating the theory of absolute space.  So NASA's announcement that Voyager 1 had entered interstellar space made that kid inside me, with the Han Solo action figure and the homemade paper Star Trek phaser, look up at the night sky and smile.

After the holidays of 2012, things began moving in my life at a pace that I could barely manage to keep up with.  The ever changing dynamic of the career and difficulties in my personal life sucked away any time (as well as most of my desire) to spend any time seriously blogging.  The scale of managing life versus writing about it tipped completely, and necessarily, in favor of the former.  Then in February I received a promotion at work.  The promotion required that I begin working twelve hour rotations on a late night schedule.  Although the move was good for my career, it was the catalyst for the collapse of other things in my life.

"Whatever you are, be a good one." - Abraham Lincoln

For nearly two months I stubbornly clung to my fitness routine and my running; often putting in 13 mile runs on a treadmill in the gym at work.  The shift to night work and the increased responsibilities eventually began wearing on me on all levels: physically, mentally, and emotionally.  My marriage destabilized and in March I moved out of the home that I had shared with my wife and children for the last 10 years.  My focus became ever increasingly work-centric and eventually I turned my back on running and any other form of self-care.  Like some machine I went about a daily routine; doing what I needed to just to get from one day to the next.  I was outside my comfort zone and very distant from anything that was familiar to me.  Long before Voyager, I had traveled into my own personal version of interstellar space.

As the months rolled by, and the work day came to an end, I found myself sinking further and further into some very dark places; the distance from everything that was remotely good - family, friends, exercise - grew greater and greater.  Sitting alone in a very spartan apartment, with limited creature comforts and no television or internet connection for distraction, I faced demons that I'm quite confident would have crushed a weaker soul.  Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, "Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."  I am certain that I now have a much more intimate understanding of this aphorism than before.  And while those battles still continue I have yet to lose my humanity.  Instead I have had moments of deeper reflection and, although the timing may be slower than others would like, I have come to a better understanding of what is truly valuable.  This isn't to say that I've found my way - far from it.  But there are fewer clouds obscuring the night sky and here or there a star shines through.

Moving outside of our comfort zone and that which is familiar to us is often, in the least, disconcerting.  When it is forced upon us - whether by fate or choices that we have made because we feel there is no other recourse - then the stress and isolation that we feel can multiply exponentially.  The physical and psychological stress compounds in a way that is difficult to describe unless you have lived it.  Your sleep suffers.  Your concentration suffers.  Your overall health declines.  You physically take a beating from the inside out.  This is the state in which I have dwelled for the past seven months and it has taken its toll.  It is a condition that I can no longer allow to exist.  As I have advised others countless times: it is time to get my head out of my ass and make a plan.  Time to find some direction.  Time to return to the run.

Voyager 1 is now 11.6 billion miles (18.7 billion kilometers) from home.  Some days I feel just as far.  The difference is that while Voyager may never return home, I hope to.  I'm trying to find my way.  Trying to find my bearings and maybe a star or two in a clearer sky to navigate by.  Perhaps returning to this blog is one way for me to do so.

Wall Art or Doomsday Clock?

According to popular media today was suppose to be the much heralded "end of the world."  At least that was the speculation based upon a terminal date on some ancient Mayan calendar.  It was also the beginning of the One Man's long over-due and much needed vacation.  What better way to say to hell with work than bugging out on Doomsday?

The last couple of years have found the stress of the Christmas holidays wearing on my family.  After last year we decided that the best defense was simply not to be there.  So we decided to forgo the usual Summer vacation and spend Christmas with just myself, the wife, and the kids on a beach somewhere.  A Christmas in, what to us would be, a very non-traditional environment.

So last night, I came home from work, picked up the rental car, packed, took a quick 30 minute "combat nap" and then hit the road for a 13 hour marathon drive (I am suppose to be an "endurance" athlete after all).  All the while thinking how cool it was going to be to watch the end of the world from the beach.  Well around 07:15 or so sunrise came just as it normally does.  No exploding stars, killer asteroid strikes, or alien invasions.

Sunrise on the East Coast.  Looking pretty good to me while I'm driving.

I'm not sure that the Mayans had a specific time picked out, so I considered that perhaps the end of the word might come sometime later in the afternoon.  Which I was perfectly fine with because I really hadn't made it to the beach yet and I was hopeful that I could get some sun and surf in before the cataclysm.  Now, I could have taken into consideration that 12/21/2012 had come to other parts of the world several hours earlier, but logically I dismissed this assertion as the Mayans were clearly located in the Americas and weren't really concerned with international date lines.  So with some expectation of seeing an epic solar flare or witnessing the switching of Earth's magnetic poles, I took the family to a nice lunch at a restaurant on a pier that sat over the surf.  Then we took a nice stroll along the beach.  The only celestial observance to note was that the moon was visible in the afternoon sky, but I hardly considered that ominous or malevolent.

An afternoon moon and no global destruction to be had anywhere.

By late afternoon my expectations for catastrophic planetary failure were pretty much dashed.  As the sun began to set along the Western horizon I started to wonder if perhaps the Mayans had just ran out of room on the round tablet that they had carved their calendar on.  Then I wondered if some overly-bright archeologist with a fedora and a bullwhip had stumbled upon an ancient Mayan interior decorator's design shop and confused some wall art with an intricate and sophisticated device for documenting cycles and the passage of time.  I'm sure that happens all the time.
 

Wall art or the basis for Microsoft's Outlook calendar?

So the day is nearly over.  12/21/2012 has come and (mostly) gone.  I'm a little disappointed in the ancient Mayans, but then again can you really put stock in a civilization that collapsed around the 9th century?  Guess the hotshot who chiseled out their calendar failed to add that little tidbit to the day planner.

Late afternoon and not a single Borg ship to be seen.

One thing I am certain of however, and that is that I am fairly pleased that doomsday wasn't today.  My kids will have an opportunity to get their Christmas gifts, the family will be able to enjoy the stress-free environment of Christmas away from home, and I will be able to leave work behind for a while and get in some awesome workouts and runs in the sand and sun.

For those that are still concerned that the end is nigh, I have heard that Obama and Boehner have invited Harold Camping to Washington to consult them on the "fiscal cliff".

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

I have an admission to make.  I'm in a very dysfunctional relationship...with my bathroom scale.

My old digital scale finally fell apart a couple of months ago.  I think the strain of my constant need for attention finally took its toll.  So, when the old scale's display finally refused to answer me with anything other than a very firm "E" (which I interpreted as meaning "I'm done."), I decided to replace it with a sleeker, sexier machine with more options.  Sleeker and sexier doesn't always equate to better reliability or comfort.  I should have known that I was in over my head when it came with an instruction manual that included more directions than just, "Step on.  Read weight."

 

The numbers shown are obviously not mine.

The new scale is a Health o meter Body Fat Monitoring Scale that allegedly measures not only weight but body fat, hydration levels, and calculates BMI (Body Mass Index).  It does this all through the magic of bio-impedance.  According to the literature the scale "sends a mild electrical current through your body, measuring both the strength and speed of the return current. From these readings, the software calculates your body mass."  I'm hoping it won't become self-aware in the future and decide one day to up the amperage.  The new scale also has a bunch of other functions too, like turning into robot with laser cannons I think, but I never read that far into the instruction manual.

My relationship with the scale is a twisted love-hate obsession of constant weighing in.  Almost each and every morning I climb on the scale to see how the glowing blue display will greet me.  Sometimes she is kind.  Sometimes she is less so.  I have often doubted her objectivity.  But what is more concerning is that recently I have begun to doubt her honesty.

At my heaviest I weighed in at nearly 235 pounds.  I do not have a genetic predisposition to being overweight or obese.  This was simply a result of a few years of idle contentment and indulgence.  When I was introduced to running as an enjoyable endeavor almost three years ago, I dropped 30 pounds of that.  Since then my weight has fluctuated, with a low of about 197 pounds last year (an unhealthy drop facilitated by the use of the thermogenic OxyElite Pro) and topping back out around 212.  On average my weight consistently ranges between 204 and 206.

This morning when I climbed on the scale I was met with the following:

32.6 % body fat?! Lay off the lattés, fat boy.

As my wife has often reminded me I am not "built like a runner."  And, given the stereotypical runner's physique, she's right.  I am not tall and skinny with long slender limbs.  I have a heavier, more solid build.  I am not obese by any stretch of the imagination and I can see my abs (sort of...no, really!) although they are not quite as defined as I would like.  The scale's bio-impedance technology however tells me that my body fat percentage puts me in an obese category.  Very disheartening for someone who considers himself to be fit.

The next set of numbers were no more encouraging:

According to the BMI I am still considered obese.

I'm also dehydrated.

This has been a consistent report from my new scale since bringing it home.  Other than occasionally watching the numbers of my overall weight decrease, there just never seemed to be any positive feedback.  Then just last night I read this article entitled "Your Ideal Weight Isn't What You Think It Is."  In the article the author makes this assertion: 

 "The best advice you'll ever hear in regard to weight management is throw away your scale. The focus, or obsession, on weight is the very reason why most people fail. It's misguided and dangerous. The focus on weight began back in the 1950's when the definition of appropriate weight was simple. Your weight was compared against the ideal weight tables developed by the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company."

On the subject of BMI the author also says: 

"BMI provides an estimation of fat content in a person's body, and is probably accurate for most people. Results may vary, however, because BMI doesn't take into account the differences between lean weight and fat weight. For example, athletes may develop significantly higher muscle mass. Muscle contributes more to overall weight than fat. As a result their BMI may be higher than average despite a lower fat content."

So BMI for people with more muscle mass can also be misleading as well.  As I said earlier, I am far from obese, however according to the BMI charts I am considered just that.  The article goes on to say that Body Composition Testing (also known as Body Fat Analysis) "is the only proven method to accurately test whether or not you're at your ideal weight."

But wait!  Isn't that what my sleek and sexy new scale is suppose to do with it's super cool bio-impedance technology?  According to the bathroom scale I'm still cruising above 30% body fat.  I'm still fat!

So later today, lingering in a malaise of depression over my obesity, I spot this StayHealthy kiosk near the pharmacy in the grocery store.  It looked less high-speed than my scale, but promised a broader range of capabilities and technological sophistication.  Much like Optimus Prime while in truck mode.

Optimus Prime.

Unlike the old blood pressure kiosks that used to be found in most pharmacies, this one had the ability to measure blood pressure, BMI, body fat composition, and give a simple color blindness test.  So I gave it a try.  I had to input my weight manually to get the BMI, but the body fat composition was done with the same bio-impedance technique by placing your hands on the metal strips on each side of the screen.  Here are my results.

Holy crap! Do I even workout?

Wow.  So according to the kiosk my body fat percentage is only 19.1%.  That is 41% less than what my home scale is telling me.  Although there are some slight variations in body composition scales, according to this I'm "moderately lean" or considered in a "fitness" category.  That was certainly a much different (and refreshing) bit of news than what the glass, plastic, and silicone liar at home has been telling me!

Not to be outdone on the bad news front, the kiosk did tell me that my blood pressure is in the pre-hypertension category and my pulse rate is high (don't even get me started on this one).  My BMI is still in the obesity range of course.  Oh, and I'm also dehydrated (surprise).  On the flip side I was a pleased to find that I haven't yet gone color-blind.  After all these years, I'm starting to think Mom was wrong about that other thing making you go blind.

With all the charts and scales and variances in body mass who - or rather what - do you believe when it comes to achieving your ideal weight?  It can certainly be confusing, misleading, and above all frustrating.  It seems that the advice that a pro bodybuilder once gave me years ago in an old hole-in-the-wall gym where I used to workout is still sound advice today.  He told me to forget about the scale and focus on the mirror.  "It doesn't lie," he had said.  What you see is what you get and if you aren't happy with what you see then work to change it until you are.

So maybe the lesson here is that how I look and feel is more important that those glowing blue numbers.  And that, ultimately, will determine my ideal body weight.  But just like most dysfunctional relationships, I'll still continue to go back and step on the scale, secretly hoping that it will show me what it is that I want to see.

The Holidays Are Here...Run!

May the gods have mercy.  The holidays are officially, undeniably upon us.

Everyone seemingly looks forward to the holiday season, but I will confess to having developed an aversion to it all.  The rampant commercialization, the waning light of shortened days (rife with seasonal affective disorder), and the self-enhanced stress of meeting abstract holiday obligations related to family and friends.  While I can't deny that I enjoy the excitement and wonder that is still present in my children for the holidays, I personally would like nothing better than for them to pass quietly by while I give them nothing more than a nod of my head and a tip of my glass as acknowledgement.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day.  I knew that I was in for a stressful day and not particularly looking forward to dinner at the mother-in-law's house.  Not that the food wasn't going to be good (I was certain that it was) or that my children weren't excited (they were).  However, there would be volatile personalities present and a high potential for family drama that doesn't necessarily require a holiday gathering to be invoked but is much more certain with one.  Normally I would inoculate myself against the angst with a stiff drink or two before venturing out, but unfortunately I was on-call and therefore that removed that particular remedy from my list of options.

So on Wednesday night I decided to make the best of my Thanksgiving morning and run the Iroquois Hill Runners Thanksgiving Day Run.  The run is held each year on Thanksgiving morning and is a 5 mile run through the hills of Iroquois park, which is actually a pretty tough run with a hard climb the entire length of the first two miles or so.

IHR Thanksgiving Day Run Elevation Profile

At the urging of my co-worker, friend, and mentor Steve, I had ran this race last year under his entry as he wasn't able to participate.  Steve is the person who is singularly responsible for introducing the One Man to running for fun.  Running was something that I once loathed because of the inevitability of shin splints and severe discomfort that came from running.  Other than doing the absolute minimum that I had to do for PT tests (and struggling through the running portions of those), I wanted nothing to do with running.  Through intelligent suggestions and enthusiastic encouragement Steve guided me to pain free running and was the first person to encourage me to run in an organized road race, which he also ran with me.  That was almost almost three years ago.  Steve was running the Thanksgiving Day run this year and I could think of no better way to start my day than running it with the Jedi Master and being surrounded by the positive energy of the running community.

I was up and out the door just after 7:00 A.M. and on my way to late registration.  I stopped by Starbucks for my triple venti mocha and then made my way down highways and streets that were surprisingly empty for a holiday morning.  I did see a few runners who appeared to be making their way toward Iroquois Park.

The hills of Iroquois loom in the distance as I drive down Southern Parkway.

I arrived just before 8:00 A.M. and there were already tons of people present and parking was filling up.  I had printed out my registration form at home and brought it with me.

 

Late registration and packet pickup near the starting line.

A pleasant surprise at late registration was that I was still given a nice long-sleeve t-shirt with the IHR Thanksgiving day logo.  The temps were in the high 30s and climbing so I decided to return to the car and exchange the t-shirt and running jacket that I had been wearing for the IHR long-sleeve.

Run, Turkey!

I met up with Steve and his family near registration and enjoyed talking with them prior to the start.  With twenty-five minutes or so to go until the race was to begin I decided to head to the bathroom to relieve myself of some of the coffee that I had.  The line was not that long but apparently many of the people in line had not yet enjoyed their morning constitutional.  By the time the I was five people away from the door it was nine minutes until the start and it was painfully obvious I wasn't going to make a bathroom trip before the race began.  So shrugging off the trip to the bathroom I headed back to line up for the singing of My Old Kentucky Home and The Star Spangled Banner.

The One Man with the Jedi Master.

Without much delay the race was on.  Hundreds of runners started up the climb up the hills.  I took it very easy as I made the ascent.  I haven't been doing a lot of hill work lately (read "none") and wasn't sure what kind of toll the hills would take on me.  The funny thing about running hills for me however is that I tend to unconsciously push myself.  This day was no exception and I found myself slowly and steadily passing other runners as we climbed.

Beginning the ascent.

Near the top of the park I was struck by the early morning view with the sun still low in the early Thanksgiving Day sky.  I paused to take a couple of pictures as did several of the other runners.

View from the top.

The rest of the race was pretty uneventful.  My photography stop allowed Steve to gain a good thirty seconds on me, but I was able to keep him in sight during the rest of the race even if I couldn't catch up to him again.

I was able to open up on the descent and felt like I was flying coming back down out of the hills.  The final stretch I really pushed myself because I knew I had a good chance of breaking 50 minutes if I did.  I crossed the finish line with an unofficial time of 49:51.  Not bad for someone who doesn't do hill work.

The post-race snack was a pumpkin muffin with frosting and chocolate milk.  You can't beat that.  Way to go Iroquois Hill Runners.

Best post-race snack EVER.

I felt good about the 49:51 time all that day and even smiled to myself today thinking about it; even if my quads are a little more sore than usual.

And for the record, the Thanksgiving Day meal was delicious.  The evening did end on a sour note, not unexpectedly, when the aforementioned personalities clashed.  But making the best of what was left of the evening, I took the family to the movies.  You'd be surprised how many people were actually at the theater on Thanksgiving night.  Maybe I'm not quite so alone in my aversions.