May 20, 2010

Raw STS-132 Launch Audio

During the #NASATweetup and launch of Space Shuttle Atlantis for STS-132, I left my netbook recording audio in the twent (about 3 miles from Pad 39A). Here's the raw, unedited audio from the launch including the hum of the big A/C units and the PA audio commentating on the launch proceedings. Zero time is right around 17:25 File type is .ogg. File size is 22.3 MB: right-click to save file: Launch.ogg.

Enjoy. MUCH more to come.

ClearedTheTower

Posted by Oblivion at 04:43 PM

May 06, 2010

2010 Illinois Marathon

Note, if you'd like to comment, and you're a member, you can comment over at Daily Mile.

The 2010 Illinois Marathon from My Perspective in Excruciating Detail


The Nitty Gritty:

(These numbers have been fluctuating - results are not official at time of writing.)

General:

Number registered: ~2420
Number started: I thought I read ~2200 somewhere, but can't find the source of that now.
Number of Finishers: 1,813
Number of Females: 635
Number of Males: 1,173
Average Time: 4:31:35

My Stats:

(Pretty sure these placements, though not the times, all represent Personal Bests)

Overall place: 538 out of 1813 29.62%
Division place: 73 out of 171 42.69%
Gender place: 430 out of 1176 36.56%
Chip Time: 4:06:07
Average Pace: 9:24
Official Splits:
10K: 56:23:00
13.1M: 2:00:06
20M: 3:05:58
Last 10K: 1:00:10 (I've never seen this broken out before)
 
Average HR 171 (92% of measured max)
Maximum HR 180 (97% of measured max)
 

The Good:

My highest placement percentile.
Course PR.
Fastest in our group.
No injury.
Didn't DNF.
 

The Bad:

Stomach never settled.
Right leg pain early and heat fatigue early.
Knew early that PR was out (or did I talk myself out of it?).
Couldn't sub-4 despite overwhelming training and confidence.
 

The Ugly:

Humidity was over 92% for the first 90-120 minutes. Temperatures were in the mid 60s and climbed quickly to the mid 70s.
22 ER trips during the event (luckily no one from our group).
Slow WINNERS' times - M 2:30, W 3:00 with 10-15 minute spreads between 1st and 5th.
Low (in my opinion) completion percentage.

 

Pre-race:

I did my "furnace stoke" pre-race run Friday morning, did some work, packed the car, and we headed out for ChamBana a little after noon.  Traffic blew a bit, but we made it down with one stop for gas, water, and sammiches (Want to try a low-carb wrap? Uh, no thanks! And give me the saltiest potato chips you've got!). We rolled into town and hit the expo a little after 4:00, meeting up with Tim, but missing a few others. The expo was small and didn't have anything we were looking for (4 hour and 4:45 pace tats and a gift for our daughter), but it was nice enough.
 
After the expo we headed out to drive a part of the course I remembered kicking my ass last year - The County Club Hill. In my memories, it wasn't that steep, but it was LONG and harshly cambered. I also know that it was earlier in the course last year (maybe Mile 20) as opposed to being 2 miles from the end this year. Finally, I remember that I had my nasty calf cramp while running up it last year. So I NEEDED to conquer this hill. I needed to stare down this hill. I had even asked Tim what HE thought of the hill, in case my memory was biased, and he said it's fairly nasty. I know it's central Illinois and "there are no hills," but anyone who ever says that has never RUN around Champaign/Urbana. There are subtle little hills, and the course designer has found them all. Well, we drove the part of the course which has the hill, and guess what? It's long, it's steep for central Illinois, and it's near the end of the race, but it ain't NOTHING compared to what we run up just to get from/to our house on just about every run. I know people often recommend not previewing the course,  but this was one case where it gave me great confidence as opposed to scaring me stiff.
 
After the brief course drive-through, we hunted down some bagels for the morning, checked into our hotel, freshened up, whatever that means, and headed to Tim's house for pre-race planning, a beer, and a runner/spectator meetup.  The meetup was great and Tim and I formulated our race plan for the morning. We'd start out on a 9:00/mi pace and see where that took us late-race. The pace would be ambitious, but given my training, I figured it was doable. Ideally, we'd even-pace it to a 3:55 and change finish, PRs for both, and good corral starts for Chicago. More realistically, if we had to back off a bit, we could still PR. WORST case, we figured, we'd coast to a 3:59:59 finish. That was the plan, anyway.  Unfortunately, this plan was made in an optimistic bubble of an air conditioned living room with a beer in hand.
 
The meetup was great, but unfortunately it lead to a late dinner for us. We found some pasta, scarfed, and got to bed about an hour later than I wanted once all of our clothes were laid out. As it turns out, the 10:30 bedtime didn't matter, as I woke up around 12:30 anyway, and stayed up until around 4:00 a.m. Between the late spaghetti and a questionable 'everything' bagel choice, my stomach was a mess and sleep was elusive. The thunderstorms rolling through had me concerned as well. I eventually nodded of, woke up with the alarm at 5:00, got ready, and we were out the door a little after 6:00.
 
Stepping out of the hotel, we were whacked with the wet sponge that was the air after a thunderstorm. The temperature was in the 60s and the humidity was just under 100%. There would be no need for 'extra clothes,' it was going to be a shorts and T day. On the ride to the Assembly Hall parking lot and the start line, one of the local radio stations was kicking some great marathon coverage including personalities from a few of the competitor stations. It really marked what a community event the locals had made of their race. Good stuff. Despite my care to be an encouraging coach to my wife in the months leading up to this race, I unfortunately made one serious mistake en route. I let my own veteran nerves get the best of me, and I blurted out a giggling, exasperated, "Why?" As soon as I let it out, I knew I'd messed up. I glanced over at my wife, trying to psych herself up for her first marathon - the longest run of her life - and she was frozen staring at me like, "WTF did you just say/do???"  I had to quickly recover and change the subject. Truth be told, my confidence in the run was high, and I really don't know where that outburst came from. All I do know is that I felt bad for letting it out.
 
We got to the parking lot ahead of schedule and had a low-stress walk to our pre-determined posse-meeting spot, despite having to double back at one point because I'd missed the gear check truck. When we got to the spot, we saw Josh and Sarah were already there. We settled in to some final hydration, porta-pottying, first round of Shot Bloks, and personal lubrication as the rest of the runners gradually showed up. I don't think anyone mentioned the weather once. It was damp and, while just standing around, fairly comfortable. A few people ditched warm-up shirts and I almost suggested my wife lose hers, but I decided to let her make her own call on that. As 7:30 rolled around, we all did last minute 'good lucks,' I kissed my wife one more time and reminded her she WAS going to kick this races ass. She and two of the other runners set off to self-seed further back in the starting pack while the rest of us shuffled towards the 4:00 area. The street was FULL, so we waited on the parkway next to the road. We heard the National Anthem and we were ready to go. And we waited. And waited. 7:30 rolled by, 7:35, and finally 7:40. Somewhere in there was a false-start surge and we moved up to the curb, but still had to wait.
 

Mile By Mile:

(For a given mile, the text and pace describes the events leading up to that number mile marker. It gets confusing in my head around the middle of the race, so I might be off one way or the other, but I think I've got it sorted.  Also note that paces were tweaked in a few cases were I was late to press the Lap button at a mile marker so numbers might not strictly add up.)

Mile 0  

A bit after 7:40 a.m., the front of the pack was finally, visibly moving and the race was on. Tim and I pretty quickly lost the rest of our group (not faster or slower, just lost in the crowd), but we set up a fair pace and picked our way through the masses. And we both remembered to start our watches as we crossed the starting mats. Minor victories.
 

Mile 1 - 9:01/0:09:01

A hundred yards or so past the start, someone, a ROTC cadet I imagine, was ringing a loud bell about once a second. I giggled to myself and loudly proclaimed, *gong* "Bring out your dead! *gong* Bring out your dead!" There was laughter all around. *gong* "I'm not dead yet!" More laughter, and then I let the joke go. I NEVER let a joke go. Maybe I'm growing as a person. If I knew then what I know now, I probably wouldn't have made the joke at all. Somewhere in that first mile, I overheard one runner knowingly say to another, "It's never easy. Even if you've done them before, a marathon is never easy." Truer words . . ..  Other first mile conversations revolved around how muggy it was and how sweaty people were already. I observed that it felt like I was running in a warm, wet blanket.  With one mile done, the pace was just about dead-on and felt good.
 

Mile 2 - 9:01/0:18:02

At the first water stop, and it WAS a stop because unfortunately there was an entire table of empty cups when we rolled up, I was going to fill my first bottle. I'd filled them with Gatorade Endurance powder, but rather than carry 40 ounces of extra fluid around with me, I'd kept them dry and would fill up on the go. This worked well last year in Chicago. Since the cups were mostly empty and I saw a guy with a pitcher of water, I asked him to fill my bottle. I don't know if this was a verboten request, if he was still stoned from the night before, or if he just plain didn't hear me, but he turned away without a look and filed some cups. So I grabbed a cup, dumped it into my bottle, grabbed another to top it off and dumped the rest on my hat to try to cool my rapidly warming head. Not even 8:00 a.m., and I was already dumping water on my hat. Not good. For the record, I do NOT tolerate heat well. I make no bones about this and while many others complained about the near-freezing start at the Chicago Marathon, I LOVED it.  Towards the end of this mile, Tim, who LOVES running in the summer/heat actually complained about the temperature. HA! I wanted to punch him in the throat. "You LOVE this stuff!" I'm the one always wishing it's 30 degrees cooler and he complained to ME about the heat? In fairness, this is somewhat akin to me complaining about my quads being "a little sore" the next day after he was ravaged by cramps during the race - runners sometimes say dumb things to each other. ;)  Another mile down pretty much right on pace.
 

Mile 3 - 9:02/0:27:11

In this stretch, I became aware of something 'not right' with my right lower leg. It's a brand new pain - not ITB, not shin splints, nothing I can put a finger on. Only in retrospect can assume it's from standing on the parkway hill before the start. While standing there, I did note that I needed to turn around and face away from the start for a bit to 'even my legs out.' I wasn't sure how long this was going to stick with me. Also, balls of feet were already burning/sore from pounding the concrete.  Things were stacking up against me quickly. We just about hit our pace. Close enough. We gave a cheery thumbs up to a race photog on the side of the course.
 

Mile 4 - 9:03/0:36:15

Right before the Mile 4 marker, Tim asked me, "How are you?" I answered "Not good." He said that out of his peripheral vision, I did not look my normal, strong self. This was oddly NOT demoralizing. It affirmed what had been going through my head that whole mile as I struggled to keep pace with him - today might NOT the day for a PR.
 

Mile 5 - 9:05/0:45:21

On this stretch, Tim observed that the double-digit winds that we had feared (giving no thought to the humidity we actually faced) had not materialized. I opined that I kind of wish they had - they would have at least cooled us off and maybe cleared out some of the steam.In my head, I revised my expectations and declared "This is going to be tough." The heat and humidity was sapping me and I feared running out of gas before the end of the race. I knew I needed to slow down a bit. This was not at all the plan.  To make matters worse, my Mile 5 Shot Bloks didn't settle well and, as it turned out, my stomach remained on edge for the remainder of the race.  Like my previous leg pain, which seemed to have settled out of my consciousness, this stomach thing was new to me - a problem I'd never faced before. It wasn't gas. It wasn't a need for a porta-potty. It was about like someone was jabbing a screwdriver into my gut, though my navel. Maybe it was the late-night spaghetti. Maybe it was that damned everything bagel. As a minor distraction, Tim pointed out our buddies, Josh and Sarah and we gradually caught up to them. It was nice to see them and they were both looking much stronger than I felt. To pile more misery on the crap cake I was feasting on, we soon hit one of the 'there are no hills in Urbana' sections of the course. Again, the climb along Stone Creek Boulevard was not steep, nor high, but it was QUITE prolonged.  As I'll say later, "I eat hills for breakfast," but on that morning, I had indigestion. That incline was TOUGH on me. My heart rate was creeping up towards 170 BPM when I wanted to keep it in the 160's for at least the first half of the race. Luckily the 'hill' eventually ended. Not surprisingly, my pace slipped on this mile, dropping behind Tim, Josh, and Sarah - all gunning for sub-4 finishes.
 

Mile 6 - 9:10/0:54:31

At this point, it was quite clear that I needed to conserve more of my effort for the end for the race if I had any hopes of not crashing and burning. Tim was leading by a fair amount at this point, so I caught up and told him to go ahead, that I'd catch up if/when able, but that I had to cruise for a while. Every plan we'd made in the previous months was out the window. Only ONCE had it been brought up, a few weeks ago, that however unlikely, I might fade in the race. To distract myself from the suck in this section, I made myself focus my annoyance on a bee that had been buzzing around me. Not a real bee, but a guy running in a bee costume. Jesus, HE had to be sweatin' balls, but he was right around my pace and I constantly heard "Go bee!" "Look, a bee!" "Haha, a bee!" from the spectators.  It was nothing personal, bee, I needed a scapegoat, and mentally, I abused you.  This pace was not planned, but it was still near sub-4 territory, especially given the several seconds we'd built up to this point. Besides, I ALWAYS negative split runs, so I had no REAL worries about breaking 4 hours at least.
 

Mile 7 - 9:30/1:04:02

I think it was just before the Mile 7 marker that we spotted Tim's wife Krista and her Rally Monkey balloon. It's always great to see people you know cheering for you. That's why the Rally Monkey balloons Tim's cheer posse has are so brilliant. They really stick out from the crowd and they are a GREAT inspiration any time during the race. After I passed her, I noticed a tall guy in a red shirt with #9 ask his buddy, "I wonder what's up with the inflatable monkey." "Funny you should ask . . .." I explained to him that it was our cheer group's unique identifier. He dug it.  We plodded on. I think I had a serious walk through the water station on this stretch or otherwise just really let the pace slip.
  

Mile 8  - 9:00/1:13:02

I filled up second bottle of Gatorade on this mile as the first was nearly drained. I caught back up to Tim just before the mile was up. Suddenly, I was back on pace and feeling a little better. My stomach was still jacked up, but my leg and feet had settled and I was regularly dumping water on my head and shirt for cooling.
 

Mile 9 - 9:02/1:22:04

Mile 9 brought us through a large part of Meadowbrook Park. This park was a real bugaboo last year, as it was earlier in the race when it was more crowded and there was NO opportunity to set your own pace and pass if needed. This year, it was a few miles later in the course so the pack was thinned out a bit and at the very least was moving around the same pace. It wasn't perfect, but was much improved, in my opinion.  I took advantage of some downhill sections and kept the pace brisk on this stretch. A bit of a buzz-kill was sighting the first (of many) downed runner needing an ambulance assist. Medics in gators were patrolling pretty regularly by this point and quite a few people were already walking off to the sides to nurse cramps.
 

Mile 10 - 9:34/1:31:38

Finishing up the Meadowbrook Park experience, we were greeted with two bits of enjoyment. One was an awesome shirt a young woman was wearing, "Our sport is your sport's punishment." Good stuff. I heard a few people talking about it and complimenting her on it. Right after we saw that, we passed one of very few promised musical acts who actually showed up. Pre-race planning said there would be music just about every mile. Maybe the overnight thunderstorms scared them away, but they were very few and far between. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. THIS band, though - these cats were GOOD. When we rounded the corner and could hear them, I initially thought someone was just playing a CD/MP3 of Lit's "My Own Worst Enemy," but this four (or so) piece band was jamming it out and bouncing around to boot. They were into their shit and in turn WE were into their shit, many of us singing along on the way by. "Please tell me why . . .  my car is in the front yard . . . I came in through the window . . . last night. And you're gone!"  It was a good boost and made me wonder if, despite not running with music anymore, I might later pop in the headphones I happened to have with me (for my pre-run rev-up).  After they faded out behind us, Tim treated us (we were running with Josh and Sarah again) to some local lore and we climbed up out of the park and back to the streets. Unfortunately, the twists and turns and minor hill climb, and perhaps the ambulance distraction, slowed me down considerably for this mile.  The bitch of it was that it didn't FEEL slow.  That's frustrating.
 

Mile 11 - 9:05/1:40:44

My Mile 10 tangerine gel w/ 50mg of caffeine seemed to help a bit along with shade from the trees on this mile.  My stomach was still upset, but I was feeling better trying to push 9:00 miles again. Ambulance sirens were pretty constant background noise at that point and I observed aloud that I'd never heard so many during a race. No, the deadly Chicago Marathon was before my time as a runner. Just before Mile 11 was up, we passed the corner by Tim's house and I High-5 the combined 1312 Rally Monkey/DnD Posse. I asked if anyone had seen my wife at earlier stations on the course, but no one in the group had. I wished I knew how she was doing, but had confidence she was pounding along as expected. I got a GREAT boost from seeing the cheering section and marched on invigorated. It was either the crowd, or the caffeine, or both, but it worked :). Tim, somehow, totally misses the DnD contingent. "Did you see them?" he asked.  Um, yeah, I slapped 5's.  I think he was too focused on seeing his wife. :) We were back on pace. Woot!
 

Mile 12 - 9:16/1:50:03

Though I got boosted by the crowd 'visit,' the high was short-lived. I started to feel 'something' in my chest. To put it into words, I told Tim, "I feel like I have a pound of pollen in my lungs and it has no intention of busting loose," It wasn't a shortness of breath or pain, it just felt like I needed a few good coughs, but they weren't coming.  After a dozen or more steps in silence, Tim made a noise. A quiet, perhaps frustrated noise. I looked over at him and thought or said, "What?!?" He said, "It just got hard for me." Oh shit. Not good. He had been solidly pacing, even pulling me along, and now a crack was showing in HIS armor. Always the smart-ass hoping to lighten a mood, I quickly said, "That's what she said!" A girl running off my right shoulder blurted out a good laugh and said, "Thanks, I needed that." We chatted a bit with her, and eventually she split off with the rest of the Half Marathon folks.  Tim zoned out into his headphones and suddenly I felt very alone. A guy just after half split was quietly cheering, "HERE is where the REAL runners are! YOU guys are the real deal! Go marathoners!"  I don't like to be elitist, but hell yeah, go us!  Other than him, this stretch of road was the first bit that felt desolate.  Sirens still echoed off buildings. The pace crept down again.  I continued to walk the water stops, and dump water on my head.  I was starting to drink Gatorade from the stops, too, for fear of running out of my own.
 

Mile 13 - 9:07/1:59:10

As we turned on to Green Street, I was smacked in the face by the smells coming from all of the local restaurants - my stomach was still on edge and the aromas made me want to puke. After I fought back that urge, I remembered seeing my wife and daughter cheering me on through this section last year. I looked down at the bracelet on my right wrist - a pink shoelace with lettered beads which said, "Go*Dad" with a flower bead between the words. I wish my daughter had actually made it for me - I asked her to - but in the end, my wife had to do it. Either way, it's the thought that counts, and it was good to look at and draw some strength from. This was also the first place where someone was awesome enough to have a garden hose pulled out to the street and would douse runners who wanted it. I think I saw 3 people doing this throughout the race, and those people were freaking angels.  THANK YOU, hosers! Pace continued to be all over the board, but decent.
 

Mile 13.1 - 9:02/2:00:06

The first true glimmer of hope for the day - despite erratic, sub-goal mile paces, we hit the half marathon point at exactly 2:00:06. If we could even-split it and kick the last 50 yards, we could sub-4 this race yet.  
 

Mile 14 - 9:21/2:08:32

But as hopeful as that Half Marathon split was, it was fleeting. In excitedly sharing the news that we had hit a 2 hour Half, I got barely a grunt of acknowledgment from Tim. He was plugged deep into the tunes in his headphones and was obviously feeling what I had been feeling 5 miles earlier. He did come up long enough to say that the song he had programmed for when we crossed under the railroad tracks, the folk classic, "City of New Orleans," came up exactly as expected, but he seemed more amused by this than inspired.  About a half mile on I made the slightly disturbing discovery that my nipple band aids were no longer in place. They had been washed loose by the water dumps and/or the buckets of sweat that were pouring out of me.  I had extra band aids in my fuel belt, but I figured it wasn't worth the hassle to get them out, unwrap them, and put  them on only to have them slide right off my sweaty chest. I decided I'd deal with the situation if it became a problem. For those who don't know, chaffed nipples bleed readily and hurt like a mother. Some runners consider them a red badge of courage. I think of bloody nipples as a curse to be avoided at all cost. 

I distracted myself from this grim potential by realizing, "Around here is where I High-5'ed Elvis last year. I wish he was here." Not only had I slapped skin with an Elvis at Illinois last year, but in the Chicago Marathon as well at the Fleet Feet water station. I NEEDED an Elvis 5 if I was going to get out of this race alive, right? Where was Elvis? Just as that thought cleared my head, I heard the tunes. I can't tell you which song was on, but it was Elvis, and it was ending, and there I saw The King, walking away from the course to go futz with his P.A./music player. I yelled across the wide street, "Elvis, come back!" but a High-5 from Elvis was not in my cards on that day. One of the course workers said, "Elvis has NOT left the building, he'll be back." I replied, dejected, "Yeah, but I won't."  As I crested the next slight rise which put that corner behind me, I could hear the next song starting up, but it was too late. Love me tender, indeed. My pace was slipping again.
 

Mile 15 - 9:17/2:17:49

With Elvis fading out behind me, I suddenly realized another king was fading out. Tim, who I call the Mayor of Cham-Bana because he sees someone he knows at least once a mile, was no longer off my elbow. I looked back, and he was about 20 yards behind me.  For the first time of the race not at a water stop, I pulled up to a walk and waited for him. I gave him a "What's up?" look, and he said, "I'm going to run a mile by heart rate and try to keep you in sight. I'll catch up if I can." I replied, "Are you sure?" Shit, this was NOT the plan. This wasn't even the REVISED plan - the one where I needed to catch up to him. He said, "Yeah, I'm sure. I've still got a PR." I said OK, offered up a fist bump, and got back to pounding the pavement. I glanced at my Garmin GPS watch. 14.4 miles. Shit was suddenly very "real." I'd run 2 previous races with Tim, and despite plans to the contrary both times, we parted ways late in the race.  The fact that it was happening around 14 was just NOT right. He was more trained up than this. We had PLANS! I never looked back to see how quickly I pulled away - he may have been right behind me for several miles, I don't know.  I was on my own.  It was another 'slow' mile.
 

Mile 16 - 9:24/2:27:14

I eventually caught up with #9, the tall dude in red from Mile 7. I never did get his name.  I'd been running around him and his buddy, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, for pretty much the whole race. I overheard him say a few times earlier on, "The marathon doesn't really start until Mile 15."   Here we were, just past 15, and it was starting. In his recap, our buddy Josh called it a tale of two races. He hit it right on the head. It wasn't quite even halves; race #2 was just getting started.  I started chatting with #9 and talking about what goals we each had and what shape we were in and how the weather sucked, but it seemed to be getting better (the humidity had dropped considerably by this point, despite the temps climbing). His goal was for this to be his first non-stop marathon. In his previous 3, he had apparently stopped, I presumed to walk, not to drop out.

In talking about the number of marathons we'd each run, I mentioned that my wife was also running, her first, hopefully just a few short miles behind us. Though I'd thought about her earlier, this was the first time it really sunk in what an awful first marathon experience this was for her. I wanted nothing more at the moment than to have some way to communicate to her that, no, this was NOT normal, and that her time goals for the race should be projected downward a bit, and NOT to beat herself up about slipping paces. I wanted so much to be able to run with her at that moment. I gave a half a thought to stopping and waiting for her, but I instantly knew that would do nothing but piss her off. She's a fiercely independent person. And she's smart, too. I realized she'd figure it out on her own, but I still wanted to be able to support her. 

In my continuing conversation with #9, I suddenly made a foolish statement - much like the "WTF?!?" gasp I'd let out in the car on the way to the race. I glanced at my watch and I confidently said, "Yeah, it's been way tougher going than I expected, but luckily I'm at a heart rate that I can run pretty much all day." Talk about opening your mouth to insert your foot . . .. A minute later, if that, I suddenly became aware that the 'pound of pollen' feeling in my chest from earlier had joined with my upset stomach to form a new, very disconcerting pain in my torso region. I'm being VERY careful not to call it a "chest pain," but I was suddenly quite concerned about my overall condition and quickly weighing my options. In all honesty, had there been a medical tent or mobile medic RIGHT THERE, I may have pulled the plug and stopped running. I may have sat right down and DNF'd. In the previous 15 minutes, it seemed, things had just started falling apart again. I  regained my composure and remembered that if I was fearing heart problems, it might be wise to use the technology on my wrist and take a look at what my heart rate was doing right at that moment. I checked my Garmin, and it was still at the same or similar rate it had been a few minutes earlier - nothing notably high NOR low. So I decided to back my pace down and see if things cleared up. The "nuisance" in my chest subsided a bit. I sped up and slowed down a few times and it came and went with no real pattern. I don't know if it was heart burn, irritation in my lungs, or god knows what, but I was soon convinced I was not having a heart attack.  Not long after that, I got a much-needed distraction when I met Josh at a water station. Again, it was good to see a buddy. I completely forgot about the episode for the rest of the race, only recalling it afterward.  With all of that going on, I remembered my next Shot Bloks a little late. They, of course, did nothing to help my stomach settle.  
 

Mile 17 9:36/2:36:50

Realizing there was 'only' 10 miles to go, I truly faced reality regarding my pace for the first time. What had been 9:0-ish paces had slid to 9:2-ish paces and walk breaks were getting more common. Once you start walking, it's just too easy to fall back to. I tried to do some quick math in my head, but had to resort to doing it out loud. It went something like, "Ok, Mile 16. 16.2. Ten miles to go. 'Only' 10 miles to go. I'm at 2 and a half hours. Ten miles at ten minute miles is 100 minutes. Two and a half hours plus one hundred minutes is 2:40 plus and hour and a half which is 3:40 plus a half hour which is 4:10, 4-10, four-ten. If I can do at least 10 minute miles I've got 4:10. 4:10. I can do ten minute miles. Not problem. 4:10. FUCK."  That's not an exact quote, but that's the spirit of the conversation I had with  myself, out loud, as I plodded through residential Champaign. Cold, harsh reality rode in on some muddled math a 5th grader could have done in 2 seconds, but took me at least a minute to talk out. I was numb with the realization that I was facing my slowest marathon finish to date.

Now, I want to be clear on something. Finish times are highly personal and no matter who you are, YOUR slow is another runner's fast, and your fast is another runner's warm-up pace. By many standards, a 4:10 marathon is nothing to be ashamed of. But let's face it - I didn't train for 16 solid weeks, harder, more consistently, and at faster paces than ever so I could run slower. I had run in 9 degree weather. Not 9 degree wind chills, 9 degree raw temps. I didn't even bother to look at the wind chills that day because every bit of skin was covered, and I ran. I completed a 15-miler on an ankle I had twisted in the first mile as I ran in the dark so that I could get the run in before going to Easter Mass with my family, and I didn't miss a workout as I recovered from it. I had literally run in rain, sleet, and snow since January to get my miles in. I had done long runs the day before snowboarding for 6-8 hours straight. I had run and then shoveled, by hand, at least a hundred driveways at work. All tolled, I had missed a minute handful of miles on my 16 week plan and I can pretty well justify each of those missed runs with illness, cross-training, or in rare cases, just running out of time. Hell, I'd even run on the dreadmill once or twice, which I HATE. I had come to town to, at best, PR and bump up a corral for Chicago, at worst, pace a friend or two to a 3:59:59. Yet here I was facing the very likely possibility of a 4:10 finish for a 2 minute personal worst, or even a DNF. 

Even after doing the math, I wasn't ready to accept reality and I kept checking my time against my pace card. Just as I wrapped up a SLOW Mile 17, I dropped the card trying to put it back in my pocket. I stopped and doubled back a few steps to pick it up and apologized to two runners who had to avoid me. The girl said, "No problem. What was that, anyway?" I said, "My pace card." She said, "Oh, that's important." I said, "Yeah, I need it so I know exactly how fast I'm NOT going."  I said it as a joke, but there as definitely some bitterness to it.  I marched on. 9:36. In training, I had to FORCE myself to run this slow on long runs.
   
 

Mile 18 - 9:25/2:46:16

I pretty much have no memory of Mile 18. I just continued to plod along, I guess, thanking volunteers and spectators for being out there. No matter how miserable I am, I try to do that at least every few intersections at every race. You, literally, can not have races without the volunteers and you might not want to without the spectators. I think I considered putting in my headphones at this point. In retrospect, I wonder if it would have helped. I know I can derive a lot of power from music. Perhaps I sold myself short by not taking advantage of it.  Maybe it could have helped me power through some of my walk breaks, or at least distracted me from my negative thoughts. I'll never know. I ran/walked on, au naturel. I like to take in all of the atmosphere of a run, anyway. Since this seems to be the placeholder mile for things I remember but can't place, I'll add that I was, at some point, passed by a guy who, on the way by said, "You're looking good." It was a nice thing to hear, but in my misery I had to be sarcastic and replied, "Thanks, but I'm not feeling good." He turned, still running, and said over his shoulder, "Are you running the whole marathon?" "Yeah (sorta)." "Then you're looking GREAT."  I had to ponder this for a second, and then I noticed the velcro strap around his ankle. He was a relay runner. THAT'S why he was so fresh and spry. He'd only been running, at most, a few miles, only had, at most, a few to go, and he was recognizing that I was putting in at least 4 times the work he was putting in. It took a while to sink in, but that was pretty awesome.  The funny thing is that last year when I ran a leg of the Go! St. Louis Marathon Relay, I had done the same thing not fully appreciating how awesome it was. I gave props to the full marathon runners I passed, especially the ones who looked like they needed it. So what if that meant I looked like I really needed it. I was focusing on the positive and the positive was awesome. Finally, perhaps also on this mile, or the previous, or the next, I had to adjust my heart rate monitor strap because it was sliding down my sweaty chest. As I reached my arms behind my back to push the strap up into place, my whole middle back cramped up. I let out a gasp and had to do a few contortions/stretches to get it uncramped.  Surprisingly, I didn't even slow to a walk for this. I marched on through it. My pace was under 10:00/mile. At that point, that was all that mattered.
 

Mile 19 - 9:36/2:55:52

At the beginning of the 19th mile, I saw a welcomed sight - the glorious Rally Monkey!!! Tim's ex wife and sons were on the corner and I yelled "RALLY MONKEY!!!!" Just as I went to give 5's, a girl ahead of me turned around and said "Hey! What's up!?!" It took me a second to process who it was - an online running buddy, Emily, who I'd met through Tim at the Shamrock Shuffle in Chicago a few months earlier.  We marched on together for about a half mile commiserating about the heat and toughness of this particular race. It was nice to be running with someone again, and she was running strong, so I hoped she would pull me along. Unfortunately, I suddenly realized I had an issue I had avoided earlier, but had to deal with NOW. I had become acutely aware that my right nipple was KILLING me, and if I didn't do something about it soon, it just might start bleeding through my pretty white race shirt.  I still didn't think new band aids were going to stick, so I was going to have to lose the shirt. But I didn't want to simply toss the shirt. It was a new running shirt and it was a very thoughtful gift from a friend. On the front, it said "Ratula Running," and on the back, was a picture of a jackass and the phrase, "Too stubborn to quit. 26.2." That's not a shirt you just throw away. But damn it, my nipples were sore!  What I did next, I realize upon looking at my race photos, was a poor choice. I started by unpinning my bib from my shirt and attached it to my shorts. Then I lifted the front of the shirt, took my head out of the neck hole, and put the shirt down behind my head so I was just wearing the sleeves. This is a TERRIBLE look, though luckily was not that uncomfortable. Why the hell I didn't just take the shirt off and tuck it into my waist band or fuel belt, I have no freaking clue, but it's something I can laugh about forever. Through all of these shirt shenanigans, I'd lost Emily. She pulled ahead of me and I never saw her again. Apparently I did pass her at some point, but I missed her.  Again, I was faster than a 10 minute mile. 4:10, baby.
 

Mile 20 - 10:10/3:06:03

Embarking on Mile 20, I discovered the best water stop EVER. They had full bottles. Now last year, this posed a problem because they had full bottles early in the race, when people were bunched up and in no way needed that much water. But at this mile on this hot day, the bottles were perfect, in my opinion. I took the golden opportunity to fill up my last two bottles of Gatorade and I grabbed a second bottle to put water in one of the other, now empty ones. I took a swig of the leftover water along with my second gel, and dumped the rest on myself.  As we hit the corner to turn south and tackle the turnaround back to the east, some well-meaning but mis-guided twit of an old lady said, "Just a few more steps!" To where, lady, the corner? That's even worse than "You're almost there." WTF? REALLY? You think, out here in the hinterlands of Champaign, that you're just 'a few steps' from Memorial Stadium? Wow. I want some of the medication you're on.  The rest of Mile 20 is a blur. A slow, oh crap, that was NOT a 10 minute mile, blur.
 

Mile 21 - 10:13/3:16:16

There were actually a few bright spots on this mile. The first was the fact that, though I may not have fully appreciated it at the time, I had gone as far west as I was going to go. I was, essentially, on my way back. Sure, there was another twist to the south, and it was by no means a direct route, but I was heading home. Secondly, there was a race marshal or medic or whatever on a bicycle who was nice and struck me as funny. I don't remember any specific thing he said, but he was a comforting presence, like a two-wheeled angel. Third, while running along the stopped traffic on Duncan south of Robeson Park, there was a cute young woman hanging out of the passenger window of an SUV. As I trudged by she said, "How about a High-5?" Ah, the kindness of strangers - especially cute ones. High-5s truly are magical. Finally, there were a few landmarks in this mile which represented hardship in my first marathon here last year, but they were hardships that I had conquered already. The stretch up Valleybrook demoralized me a bit last year - a little uphill, a little headwind, a bit of a calf cramp - and when it was behind me without much ado, it was a good thing. Despite all of that goodness, this mile was my slowest yet. Positive vibes can only do so much when you keep taking walk breaks.
 

Mile 22 - 9:47/3:26:04

This mile was a bit of a mindphuq, because I really thought I was at Mile 24 on this stretch. The neighborhood looked similar to what we'd driven the night before to case the Country Club Hill, so I was disappointed to find I was in fact two miles back from where I briefly thought I was. I think somewhere in here I ate half a Clif bar. It may have been earlier. I truly don't know. All I know is I ate half of one at some point in the second half of the race. In pondering how I was going to rationalize my sub-goal performance to myself, and others, but mostly myself, I came up with this nugget, "Some days you're the kicker, some days you're the ass. Today I happen to be the ass."  I was really frustrated with myself at this point.  I had been so confident in being PR ready and here it was all gone and I was defaulting to a "Just finish," mentality. Thinking about it, I think I got a little choked up, but I told myself I had to save that for the finish. Once I finished, I could break down and cry or yell or whatever, but for now, I had to bottle it up, conserve the energy, and use it to press on. Finally, I was on the good side of 10 minutes again.
 

Mile 23 - 10:09/3:36:13

Somewhere along the way here, I had more highs and lows. On the one hand, I saw another runner down, and down pretty hard. The ambulance sirens had subsided, or I was tuning them out, so I remember that actually seeing a girl laying on the grass with a medic by her was a bit shocking. Not two blocks past that, though, I got a High-5 from a guy in a Boston Marathon jacket. That was awesome. I had seen some Boston jackets earlier, but this one really gave me a good boost. It wasn't just a High-5, it was a "You've got this!" or "You're looking great!" or some other words of encouragement from a marathon veteran - a presumably FAST marathon veteran. It meant a lot.  Just beyond that, I saw Tim's boys again carrying their Rally Monkeys down the sidewalk and I gave them a hearty shout.  They seemed a little confused, like they recognized me but couldn't quite place me, but they yelled back and I was on my way.  Just around the corner, kiddie-corner from where I'd seen them before, was the boys' mom again. Familiar faces mean so much.  All that said, I was on the wrong side of a 10-minute mile again. What are you gonna do?
 

Mile 24 - 10:17/3:46:30

I missed the mile marker so my lap time was a bit off. For this stretch, I was pretty much head down and just grinding out the feet/yards/mile. I think another one of the hose guys was in this stretch. "Cold water if you want it!" His arm looked tired, but he cheerily soaked me as I ambled by. I got soaked every chance I had - there were some actual misting stations along the course and I hit every one. I also think along here another runner was down. Some residents had him sitting in their lawn chair and were fawning over him, giving him fluids, and I saw the gator medics roll up. I had a few realizations on this stretch. One was that EVERYONE was walking through the water stops. I had never seen that before. Most of the times at least some percentage runs though without taking water/Gatorade or they take it, but on the run. EVERYONE was walking through these. Another was that despite my walk breaks, which were more and more frequent, I seemed to be passing quite a few people.  I'd pass them on the run, then they'd pass back on the walk, but then I'd pass them again, finally, on the second run. What this said to me was that we were all hurtin', but a lot of people were hurtin' worse than me. This wasn't a good or bad thing. It just was.

Late this mile, I saw something I didn't think I'd see until the finish line - Sarah's light blue running top and red hair bobbing along ahead of me. She had been running so strong, it bummed me out to see I was gaining on her. I eventually caught up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. She paused her iPod, we both slowed to a walk and she asked something like "Is it just me or does this suck?" I told her it was brutal. Brutal was the word that had come into my head earlier and it was the word which most seemed to fit the conditions and the looks on peoples faces. I told her that everyone I saw was having a hard time. That good, strong runners, people with 3:30 goals pinned to their backs, were crashing and burning. This was oddly consoling to her (I found out later) and may have been the first time I, myself, fully appreciated that I wasn't in this alone as far as missing goals. I told her that this next stretch - the Country Club Hill - was my nemesis, and that I was going to beat it, if nothing else. Or maybe I just said that in my head and expected my nod to convey that. But we exchanged something of an 'alright, gotta go,' and I set to running again. I expected her to pick up and run with me since she had been running so strong all day (I had referred to her as a running machine a few times), but I don't know if she did. This was my slowest mile. The long dark teatime of the soul.
 
 

Mile 25 - 9:08/3:55:38

I turned the corner at the mile marker and set up the first, gradual part of 'The Hill.' I thought, "This is it, the home stretch. I've been banking energy to make sure I had it for this hill and then this finish. Let's do it."  As Country Lane curves around the Champaign Country Club, the hill gets steeper. I started repeating the mantra I'd adopted during the Shamrock Shuffle as I blasted up the 'hill' on Roosevelt Road on the south end of Grant Park: "I eat hills for breakfast." I don't know where I got it from, exactly. It predates the Shuffle, perhaps from one of my hill workouts or maybe from someone else's write-up about hill workouts. But I started using it and it's a fact. I trained on a LOT of hills - bigger, longer ones than this - so this one was NOT going to beat me. "I eat hills for breakfast. I eat hills for breakfast. I eat hills for breakfast. I eat hills for breakfast." Something I only realized near the top, when I noticed the runners I was passing looking over at me, was that I was actually repeating it out loud. Oops! :D Once that initial hill was crested, there was one more bit of rise before the end, but it was over before I knew it. 

At that point, I was finally starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel.  Part of it was that I saw that, after 10 miles of him being out of sight, I was catching up to good ol' #9. He seemed a good, strong, even runner and the fact that I was catching him encouraged me. I don't know if he made his goal of not stopping, but all the times I saw him, he was running steady, so I hope he did. The other part of it was that my foggy brain was able to work out some math and I figured out that if I could keep up what I was doing, IF I could kick a little at the end, then I could actually salvage a course PR out of the day. 4:10 was well in hand, finally, and matching or bettering last year's 4:08 was a distinct possibility.  3:59 was out the window, but at least this was something. From that point on, things started happening really fast. Soon after I made the turn from Armory to Prospect, I caught #9. As I pulled up next to him, I said, "How's it going?" or something like that. He said, "Hey!" as he recognized me and then as I sailed past followed up with an enthusiastic, "Go get it!" I was on my way. I don't think I did it any justice, but it was a great exchange between two brief but close friends.

Just after I passed him, I came upon a house blasting "Daylight," by Matt and Kim. I've always liked that song, but on that day, at that moment, it was a lightning bolt of adrenaline directly from the base of my brain down my spine into my nether regions.  As I ran by, I threw up rock horns, and bobbed my hand to the music. The college-age kids playing cornhole in the front yard started cheering for me and GAME WAS ON!

My time at this mile post (3:55) was pretty much when I'd dreamed of crossing the finish line. I came up exactly 1.2 miles short. But that wasn't on my mind at the time. At the time, my 'win' was beating 4:08. 9:08 pace? Where had you been?!?!?
 

Mile 26 - 8:45/4:04:24

At this point, the "Almost there" cheers were getting thick, as well as, "You're in the home stretch!" At least now they were in the right ballpark. Although right at the mile marker someone said, "Only a mile to go!" I couldn't help but correct her, "One point two!" It's amazing how important that little .2 is at the end of the day.

I was running pretty hard for the last full mile, but I still had some reserve to interact with the crowd and other runners. In the penultimate stretch, on Stadium Drive, I came across a 20-something guy who slowed into a walk just in front of me. I tried to encourage him on the way by, "Come on, you've GOT THIS!  You're SO CLOSE!"  He grunted and stepped back into a jog - I don't know for how long, but I'm glad if I motivated him a little.  On the ACTUAL home stretch, down 1st Street, I saw a woman who looked to be in her 50s, Linda, according to her pace tag, slow up to a walk as well. A guy who had been running with her tried to encourage her along. She told him to go on, she'd be right behind. I gave her a "Come on, Linda, you got it!" and she smiled back at me. Just beyond her, right at the Mile 26 stick with about a block and a half to the stadium entrance, I saw an older man go down on the parkway. When I got up to him, he was clutching a calf cramp, but otherwise seemed OK.  I waved to the marshal at the next corner and she mobilized some bicycle medics. As they rode past, I let them know he was cramping. Poor dude - so close. I hope he was able to get up and finish. An 8:45 mile - whoa. Didn't think I'd see one of those that day.
 

Mile 26.2 - 7:40/4:06:07

As I got to the turn to the stadium, I heard it again. The bell. *gong* "Bring out your dead!" The joke wasn't so funny after this race, with so much struggle and so many runners down.

Though not my strongest .2 miles ever, I made my way into the stadium and heard the cheering. I made the final dash down to the 50-yard finish line on the edge of my oxygen capacity, my whole back on the verge of completely knotting up, and my legs trying their hardest to out-kick the frat-boy relay team who had just mobbed past me. I couldn't quite do it, but I gave it everything at the end. 7:40 pace in the last .2 of a tough marathon? Respectable. Damned respectable. As I crossed the finish line I saw "4:09" on the clock. We had started 3 minutes behind the gun, so I knew I had around a 4:06 finish - 2 minutes better than last year. I was gasping like a fish out of water as a girl put a medal around my neck. I walked over to one of the scaffolds they had set up for the photographers, still gasping, and leaned against it to stretch my back out and keep a full-on cramp at bay.  As I was cooling down, I pieced together from the PA announcer a bit of what a lot of the cheering was about as I crossed the finish line. Not surprisingly, it wasn't for me. A guy had proposed to his girlfriend after they both finished the race. Perhaps I'm in some of their engagement photos, with my shirt half off like some Fame reject. ;)  I slowed my breathing down a bit and finally remembered to stop my watch.

I walked back across the finisher's chute, grabbed a bottle of water, then went to go stand and wait for my fellow runners at the finish line. Despite my thoughts while in the throes of the race, I did NOT have a breakdown at the end. I was NOT disappointed with my finish. As I would later say about it, it was ugly, but I was proud.
 
A few links:
Tim's write-up: http://lifeat1312.blogspot.com/2010/05/2010-illinois-marathon-recap.html
My wife's write-up: http://theroseroom.net/archives/000480.html
Sarah's write-up: http://www.dailymile.com/people/sbrittain/entries/1663464
Josh's write-up: http://www.dailymile.com/people/jdysart/entries/1663068
The Wedding Proposal: http://www.news-gazette.com/news/university-illinois/2010-05-02/finish-marathon-start-life-together.html
A video review: http://www.news-gazette.com/video/2010-05-02/video-illinois-marathon-2010-review.html
A summary of the "successful" race with starter and ambulance transport numbers: http://www.news-gazette.com/news/fitness/2010-05-01/organizers-officially-dub-years-marathon-success.html

Note, if you'd like to comment, and you're a member, you can comment over at Daily Mile.
Posted by Oblivion at 09:06 PM

March 17, 2010

Get yer Yassos off!

INTRO

As usual, I'm no expert, but I've done a few sets of these Yasso800s now, so here's what I've learned from experience and these links. If you don't know anything about Yasso800s or why you'd want to subject yourself to them, visit those links. This is not intended as a primer on Yasso800s. This is just one guy with a Garmin Forerunner GPS watch explaining to another guy with a Gamin Forerunner GPS watch how he goes about running these.

My take on a Garmin Forerunner/Training Center workout is here (right-click and save-as): Oblivs_Yasso800_workout.tcx
If you'd like to see what the splits of this workout look like, here is an example on RunSaturday.

PREMISE:

Your 800m target = your marathon goal as minutes. For a 4 hour marathon, you get 4 minutes to run 800m and 4 minutes to recover (more detail below, but in my experience about 400m). Build up until you can do 10 sets at a certain pace, and theoretically you can run a marathon in that time.

GOTCHA

Since the 800 is roughly a half mile, the PACE is going to be double that - or in this case 8:00/mi. I KNOW that's stupidly obvious, but it's easy to get confused going between race hours, interval minutes and pace per mile. The sanity check on the 800m PACE is that at our speeds, it's going to be around 1 minute per mile FASTER than marathon pace. MP ~ 9:00/mi., 800 Pace ~ 8:00/mi. NOT 4:00/mi. :D

MY TRAINING CENTER FILE:

The Warm-up and Recoveries are open-ended so you hit the Lap button to complete them. I did this so I'm sure I'm in a good spot on my road to kick off the next set since I don't do them on a track. You could optionally automate the starts.

Goals (WarmUp/CoolDown distance, target pace) are in the "Custom Name" for each leg. They are only guidelines, of course, and do not affect the execution of the workout.

Take a look at the "Targets" for the steps. Setting HR zones for the WU/CD/Recoveries sounds like a good idea to me, but in practice is pretty useless. For the actual 800s (well, half miles), I have a Speed Zone defined as "Yasso800." You can set this in your user profile, or you can remove the "Specific Target" for this step. All it really does is chirp at you if you're too fast or too slow - which neither of us can hear anyway. FYI, I have a 10 second cushion on both sides of my target, so that speed zone is 7:40-7:20 (for a 3:45 marathon goal).

THE WATCH:

I think my IDEAL screen setup would be:
      LAP AVG
lap dist | inst. pace
That said, my current is:
     LAP AVG
lap time | lap dist.
It's workable, but knowing my instant pace (to know if I was WAY too fast or flagging) would be better for me. You kind of get to know the pace, but fatigue makes all cloudy by the 5th or 6th one. The lap time IS useful on the recovery lap, so I may stick with this layout after all. I don't want to be switching screens per leg. Let me know what works for you.

If you use the 'workout screen' and you have set the pace target, that might be good enough, but 'In desired Zone' is too vague for me.

REMEMBER to press Lap when you kick off for your sets. Again, the 800 is auto-lapped, but the warm-up and recoveries are manually advanced.

THE 800 (or Half Mile):

Don't get lulled into a false sense of security. The first 2-3 won't seem so bad, in fact you may be tempted to push your recovery cycle a little short. You can do that if you're stupid. ;) It doesn't matter much, actually, because even with full recoveries, it won't take but a few sets to get into oxygen debt. THAT is where the workout really starts and you'll have to keep a close eye on your pace to make sure you hit it. I get into full-on huff and chuff mode to finish each 800 after the first couple. If you don't want to puke, you're doing it wrong and may need to adjust your marathon goal pace.

Pace will yo-yo a bit - again, especially if not on a track. Over such a short distance, it might not be so bad to go out a little quick and bank some time for when you start sucking wind. I've played these both ways, and I've got to say THAT way is a touch easier than trying to dig out of debt at the end. No negative splits here! That's how I missed #5 today - I started conservative, got behind and could not catch up.

THE RECOVERY:

Strictly speaking (The Word According to Yasso), you have as much time as the interval took. E.g. A 3:45 interval at 7:30/mi pace means you also get 3:45 for your recovery jog. Some have refined that to allow a max of 2-3 minutes recovery arguing that any longer is too much rest. _I_ think THOSE people are full of shit. :D Whichever school of masochism you choose to follow, take all of the recovery time it allows (see above re: sucking wind).

THE COOL DOWN:

The Runners World marathon plan I use calls for 2 miles each, warm-up and cool-down. I think this is the first time I've stuck to that (or very close), and though I had to walk a few times on the way home (I mostly jogged (10:00/mi +/- :15)) my legs are feeling GREAT now, so I believe there's real benefit in those miles. I don't know if they squeeze out the lactic acid or what, but I'm a believer.

ENJOY:

If I know you, you'll learn to love to hate these. Remember, they're not so much intended as a workout themselves, but more of a 'test' of where you are and what you're capable of. Given that, it's OK to 'fail.' Up until the last set of 10, anyway. :D

HTH. Ask questions: oblivion at ratula dot net.
Posted by Oblivion at 03:18 PM

March 12, 2010

Green Day

This has been circulating the internet seasonally for several years. It seems to be getting harder to find with each passing year (copyright take-downs?), so I captured it and shall reproduce it here until I can't. I don't know if it's actually from Denis Leary, but it's damned funny. Enjoy.

"Green Day" by Denis Leary:

First things first: There are many Irish-Americans in this country who celebrate St. Patrick's Day in a quiet and sober manner, perhaps heading off to work with a muted-olive tie or a small emerald pin as their nod to the day's events. There are also those who go to the 7 a.m. mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral and consider the day a prayerful tribute to the patron saint of all things green. There are still others who awaken the morning of March 17 and carry on as if it were just another 24 hours— no drinking, no fighting, no puking.

I don't know any of these people.

Therefore, this piece will be about the red-blooded, hard-boiled, hammerheaded souls who patrol the St. Patrick's Day arena as if it were life's last call.

If you consider the image of a working-class Mick named Fitzy caterwauling down Fifth Avenue wearing a kelly-green plastic derby, well oiled on whiskey and slurring his words, an offensive and demeaning stereotype, then call the Irish Anti-Defamation League (IDLE) right now. I think the number is 1-800-NO-FITZY.

I've spent several hundred official and unofficial St. Patrick's Day celebrations in New York City over the years, and the calm, bespectacled intellectual Irishman clutching his copy of
Finnegan's Wake
is a rare sight indeed. Unless he's passed out around 3:15 a.m. in the back booth at McQuigan's Pub.

No, March 17 is not for the squeamish. It's for the thirsty masses. Those young rebels willing to shout and scream about their Irish blood, the chosen few who will toss raw eggs into open cab windows, the banshees who only want (as House of Pain so eloquently put it) to "get off their feet and jump around." That's what St. Patrick's Day is all about. Doing incredibly stupid things while under the influence of alcohol and wearing neon-green clothing.

Herewith, a guide to spending the day in the Big Apple. This is what I'll probably be doing this year.

9:00 a.m.
Meet best friend Sully at Greek diner for traditional Irish-American breakfast of wet toast, runny eggs, cold home fries, bitter black coffee, three cigarettes, and the sports page. Curse the Knicks. Marvel at Pat Riley's hair.

9:30 a.m.
Corner of Ninth and 39th. Ring Fitzy's buzzer 23 times. On the twenty-fourth try, he buzzes us up. Find him naked on the living-room floor surrounded by empty Bud Tall Boys and an open can of paint. His entire body, including his hair, is green.

10:00 a.m.
Arrive at the corner of 51st and Fifth and take our places for the parade. Sully steals three cans of Molson out of some Italian guy's cooler. Fitzy tosses a half-eaten green hot dog into the middle of the Staten Island Marching Men's Choir.

10:14 a.m.
Fitzy gives Mayor Giuliani the finger. Mayor waves back. "****in' typical," Sully says. Fitzy steals three more beers from the Italian guy.

11:05 a.m.
The Francis Mulcahy School of Irish Step Dancing pauses right in front of us and runs through a rigamarole of jigs and reels. Fitzy bops out into the street and joins them by doing a variation on the twist. Two cops promptly escort him back to the curb. Ends up one of them (Blaney) is Sully's second cousin. All charges dropped. I steal a few more beers out of the cooler. We toast the NYPD.

12:02 p.m.
The Italian guy accuses us of raiding his stash. Waves his fists in the air. Sully punches him on the neck. Fitzy pulls out a lighter and starts to melt the cooler. Two more cops show up. So happens, one of them (O'Keefe) is Fitzy's dad's old neighbor from Brooklyn. Tells the Italian guy to "Move it along, pal, this ain't Columbus Day." Brawl breaks out between Irish and Italian bystanders. We throw several punches, grab the cooler, and split.

12:06 p.m.
Drop into St. Patrick's Cathedral for a quick gander at the Lord. Crack
open a couple of beers. Sully and I debate the merits of a short confession. Sully's argument -- "In a half hour, at the bar at Paddy Reilly's it's gonna be standin'-room only" -- wins out over mine, which involves Eternal Damnation. We opt for a fast Our Father, five bucks in the poor box, and a brief round of candle-lighting. Fitzy, meanwhile, steals a sip of Holy Water.

12:17 p.m.
In the cab downtown, our driver, one Adjid Sakeel, expresses his opinion that the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization should be allowed to march in the parade. Fitzy -- his large green mug plugged right into the pay slot -- begs to differ: "They awready got their own parade downtown inna Village. We don't go down there, so why should they come uptown ta ours?" Adjid says, "Because this is America."

"No it ain't," counters Fitzy. "This is New York City. It's a whole different ball game." The argument ends with Fitzy barking like a dog and Adjid veering all over Second Avenue. We get out at 29th Street. I give Adjid a $3 tip and the cooler.

12:22 p.m.
Stop in at Paddy Reilly's for a few pops. Several rounds of green beer and whiskey. Rogues March -- a local band made up of guys who used to know members of the Pogues -- bash through a loud, boisterous show. The lead singer -- Joe Hurley -- stretches his voice to the point of aneurysm. We toast the IRA. We toast the cease-fire. We toast the pope. Fitzy pukes.

4:27 p.m.
Stop in at Molly Malone's Pub for a few more pops. Eat several slices of green pizza made by Sweeney the bartender's wife. She's Italian. We drink green champagne and vodka. Sweeney calls JFK the greatest man who ever lived. Fitzy calls Mario Cuomo a fag. Mrs. Sweeney kicks Fitzy. Sully pukes.

About a Quarter Past Eight
Over at the Emerald Inn, we drink green Guinness and recite dialogue from The Quiet Man verbatim. The Stogues -- a local band made up of guys who used to know the mother of one of the guys in the Pogues -- play "Danny Boy," and Fitzy starts to cry, green tears streaming down his puffy green cheeks. As Sully and I pat Fitzy on the back, the lead singer passes out.

Sometime After Ten
Head over to a Blarney Stone, where we order a drink called the Shane
MacGowan -- three ounces of vodka, four ounces of gin, six ounces of Irish whiskey, a teaspoon of something that smells like turpentine, and half a beer. You gotta down it in two slugs. Makes you spout poetic musings with a tongue so thick only Shane could understand. The problem is -- he ain't here. Fitzy stuffs an entire green bagel in his mouth, swallows it almost whole, downs his MacGowan, and says, "Now this is the life!"

That Same Night
Stop in at Siné. Place holds only 75 people, 72 of whom look like they just stepped off the boat. People without green cards drinking green beer. We're in time to see another local band (really local, since they live in the cellar) take the stage. Call themselves the Fogues. Made up of guys who used to be friends with guys who once bought a round for the guys who used to roadie for the Stogues. During "Thousands Are Sailing," the guitar player leaps up into the air and stays there. For what seems like a long time. His head is stuck in the ceiling; he gets a standing ovation. The lead singer asks if there's a carpenter in the house. There is. Thirty-three of them, to be exact.

Later
The fact that we're in the Dublin House is news to all three of us. But it's printed right there on the matches. And the wall. And the back of the bouncer's T-shirt. As my old man used to say: "Wherever the hell you go, there you ****in' are."

Later Still
The thing about painting yourself green is this: It's a great symbolic way to show your support of the Old Country and your family tree, but it's a terrible way to go out drinking. Mostly because your friends can't tell when you're about to puke. The point is, we didn't see it coming when Fitzy leaned over an Englishman named Trevor -- who was explaining his support of the peace process in Ireland -- and let blow. The hot dog, the pizza, the bagel -- they made a comeback even Travolta woulda been proud of. And set off a brawl the likes of which we may never see again. Seventeen Englishmen, 27 Micks, and a side order of Hispanic, African-American, and Polish guys. When the cops show up (Carelli, Tiveiros, Jackson, etc.) none of them is related to Fitzy or Sully, so they just pack the whole melting pot in the back of a couple of paddy wagons (just for the sake of historical irony, I guess) and drop us off downtown. I share a cell with Fitzy and a Puerto Rican plumber named Bob
. He says the cell gives him "déjà-vu" because he had the same one after the Puerto Rican Day Parade last year.

The Next Morning
I wake up to the sound of Mickey Mantle repeatedly pounding a Louisville Slugger across the side of my face. I make a count of my few remaining brain cells -- eight and holding. Bob's droning on about pipe wrenches and putty knives when they come to take us to court. Ends up the judge (McSwiggin) is not only a fifth cousin of Fitzy's mom but also happened to be in Dublin House last night when the hot dog hit the fan. He thinks the Englishman, the queen, and the United Kingdom had it coming. All charges dropped. (That should be the motto above the entrance to the Irish Embassy.) We tell the judge about Sully, and fifteen minutes later, me, Sully, Fitzy, and Bob are sitting in P.J. Clarke's chugging Bloody Marys and discussing the merits of indoor plumbing -- copper pipe vs. plastic. Fitzy says he likes plastic: "It's more modern. And it don't look shiny." Sully and I make up our minds. Bob -- turning a light shade of burnt sienna -- pukes.

Posted by Oblivion at 02:48 PM

GPX to CRS - Setting a Course in your Forerunner

A plan was hatched to meet up with a fellow runner who needs to pound out 18 miles this weekend, like myself. The idea came up to preview the Wisconsin Marathon course in Kenosha, since he'll be running it as his first marathon in a few weeks (5/1 - go cheer! I'll be down in Champaign). It turned out that the marathon route was nicely posted on MapMyRun.com. It's a complicated route neither of us have run before. Since we both have Garmin Forerunner GPS running watches, we figured we'd let them be our guide, and rather than try to re-map it by hand whittled down to 18 miles, I decided to try futzing with the downloads available. They provide the option to download as a Garmin .crs file, but since I wanted to edit the route, I opted for the more universal .gpx file.

One note on Garmin Forerunner Courses, I have NOT used Courses a lot. About a year ago, I built a Course similarly for a 20-or-so-miler once, and the watch got VERY picky about hitting the points, going off-course, and not advancing properly through the points. I BELIEVE this was a flaw in my source Course - I'd made it too sloppily (not following slight bends in mostly straight roads, not putting in enough points around arcs, etc. Keep this in mind when editing/building a source track, and don't use it for life-or-death navigation until you test it out and see how it works FOR YOU.

Continuing on, I opened the .gpx in a handy old program I have called ExpertGPS from TopoGrafix. It's not the prettiest program out there, but if you look at my old flying tracklogs, it's a workhorse when it comes to GPS data. Other than address-based routing, I've always preferred it for to the Garmin-specific software for working with Waypoints and Tracks.

As I said, the marathon route itself is very complex. It turns back on itself several times, so cutting out that redundancy (with the zoom and scissor tools) got me down to about 20 miles. One thing ExpertGPS wonderfully is that it easily reverses tracks and joins two together. So I cut out the repeat areas, deleted as needed, and then re-joined the resultant fragments into one track. To lose the the extra two miles, I busted out the scissors again and just started snipping off bits of the northern out-and-back section until I was near 18 miles - re-joining the main parts again when done.

One final tweak I did was to adjust the start and finish location to be less ceremonial (on a loop out by Lake Michigan) and closer to a parking lot. The 'Draw Track" tool has a nice feature which lets you extend an existing track, so that was trivial.

Once all of the edits were done, I saved the file back to a new .gpx file.

Garmin's Training Center Software (used with Forerunner GPS watches and the like) lets you import Courses which can guide you through a workout, but amazingly, it doesn't import the nearly universal GPX format. So a translator is needed to get the .gpx file into a .crs file Garmin Training Center can use. There are a few options to do this.

One option is the handy website GPSies. The upload form will take a local file, data directly off a Garmin GPS, or the URL to a file anywhere on the public web. There are many options as far as what to convert the data to, but for the Forerunner you want to select, from the Track pull-down, "Garmin Course CRS." If you click "Show Options," you can reduce the number of points in the track (to make a smaller, less-detailed file), give the track a name (this will be handy when you import it to the Training Center and watch), speed (if you like dot-racing the dude on your watch), reversing the track, using a special algorithm for reducing the track further, or Add / replace elevation. I'm not totally up on that option, but it sounds good to me (to get an elevation profile on the watch as opposed to the Course just showing flat), but it's not critical. Once you click convert, the browser will churn a bit and eventually spit out a File dialog and likely ask you if you want to open or save the resultant file. Save it (make sure it gets a .crs extension).

Another other option is to use a stand-alone converter program. There are several out there and Google can guide you, but I found/used (right-click/ Save-As) gpx2crs.exe (a href="http://www.niniu.com/Garmin/release%20notes.txt">Release Notes) I don't know anything about the author, hosting site, or anything. I smelled it and it didn't smell rotten, but use it (as all software randomly downloaded from the internet) at your own peril. The interface is pretty simple. Stay on the first tab "Convert GPX to Course," browse to the source .gpx file, put a target pace and make sure "Simulate an average speed of" is selected (default), add extra points or reverse the track if that's your thing, and click convert. At that point, you'll get prompted for a filename/location. Again, ensure the .crs file extension is added. I noticed that when the conversion is done, the progress bar is still colorized like it might be doing something. It's likely not. The 18 mile track I was working with only took a second or two to process on an old laptop.

Once you have your .crs file, you can open the Garmin Training Center software. Click File, Import, Courses. Browse to your newly created .crs file. and you should see the new course listed when you press the "Courses" button at the top of the Training Center. You might have to expand one or more folders to find it. gpx2crs gives the course a non-unique name, so it's a good idea to right-click the new course, select Edit, and give it a good name - in this case, "Kenosha 18."

The next time you sync to your watch, the new Course(s) should go along for the ride. To use a Course on your run, cycle through the Modes on the watch, select Workouts, then Courses (this is from memory - might not be exact). When you select a Course, you can edit it (just the name), delete, or "Do Course." Once you select that, the watch will guide you to the start point, and you're off.

If you're interested, my edited .gpx file is here: (right-click / Save-as) Kenosha18.gpx
and the resultant .crs file is here: (right-click / Save-as) Kenosha18.crs


BTW, I'm NOT going to get to test this out this weekend, as timing didn't work out, but we might do similar with a 20-miler in a couple weeks. I'll try to remember to post back with results.

Yeah, I should have included some screenshots in this. Oh well.

Edits/comments/suggestions are welcome @ eblo @ ratula dot net.
YMMV.
Etc.

Happy running/navigating!

Posted by Oblivion at 01:53 PM