The Annual Run for the Cookies
I swear this is not turning into a running blog. I swear. Cross my heart.
But...
Saturday was the annual Freihofer's Run for Women. It's a huge race, sponsored by a company known for their chocolate chip cookies -- a box of which are included in every race packet -- with about 5,000 participants ranging from elite, world-class runners to first-timers who take more than an hour to work their way around the 3.1 mile course. I love it. It's absolutely one of my favorite races.
First of all, it starts uphill. Once I learned how to run uphill, I learned to love the uphills, except when the race ends on an uphill. That just takes the kick right out of a finish. Fortuitously, since this race starts on an uphill and is a loop, it means that it ends...downhill. It's the best race for a finish kick I know of. Hit the traffic light at the top of the hill and fly. No matter how tired you are, you can kick.
You can watch the anatomy of an aging, injured runner in my times there. Twelve years ago, a year into my battle with plantar fasciitis, I ran it in a then disappointingly slow 24:58. Yesterday I was thrilled with 37:11. That's the difference between being 41 and coming off several years of being able to toss off consecutive seven minute miles without a hitch and being 53 and coming off of spending my 40s decade -- which should have been a great decade for my running -- barely able to walk, let alone run.
Last fall I ran a race about a minute faster. I would be hyper-focused on not having been able to beat that time on Saturday, but, here's the thing about the Freihofer's run. Unless you're one of the elite runners toeing the start line, you are not going to set a PR. The course starts out for one long block on a four lane road. And then funnels into a street hemmed in by centuries' old brownstones. Can we say narrow? It's like running through a maze. Dodge this woman that way; run around this group running four across (!) that way. Last year I didn't have to do a lot of that. I was in the last of the back of the pack and it was not my day to have a good race.
This year, I thought it would be the same. This spring has not been good to me in terms of running training. I spent the month of March having my period every other week due to hormone replacement therapy that I've since ditched. Guys would have a tough time knowing how one would feel after having one's period every other week for a month, but ladies -- I think you all get it. I could barely drag myself across a room, let alone go out and run three miles.
I got over that only to come down with a painful case of neuralgia that we're attributing to shingles, even though I never got the rash. I got on the anti-virals almost immediately, so that warded of any rash, but not the pain. The young ones won't know what shingles pain is like, but anyone old like me who's had a run-in will certainly understand. This pain radiates from my hip up to my waist, from my front center right around to my mid-back. It's a combination burning, can't stand the feel of clothes, don't touch me there, aching, throbbing pain. Running seemed to aggravate it, so I mostly stopped for a month.
Just as the shingles pain seemed to begin to abate, I developed sciatica pain. I have a hunch that the shingles affected that nerve. On one training run where I was trying to focus on improving my turnover, I realized that the pain was preventing me from fully extending my right leg. Without leg extension, you don't get speed. The thing that makes old people slow runners is a shorter leg extension. My left leg was fine; my right leg was saying, "not a chance, baby."
I did a long run on the Sunday before the race. "Long" as in three miles with a walking break. Not the best workout for someone with a goal of not only beating last year's Freihofer's time, but also breaking 40 minutes. It's been years since I've been under 40 minutes there. When I signed up, I even had visions of breaking 36. After spending the entire Memorial Day weekend beating myself up in the garden, I decided that I'd be happy just beating last year's time. And coming to terms with the idea that that might not even happen. My sciatica was very painful. There was no way I could get in one more short training run without possibly taking myself out with an injury.
As I played the race out in my head driving east, I kept telling myself "Gardening made me strong." I hadn't been running, but I'd been getting in a lot of strength training moving four cubic yards of dirt from the driveway to the various gardens. Raking, planting, mulching, pushing dirt-filled carts."Gardening made me strong."
Gun time came at the race and off up the hill we went. "Gardening made me strong." I willed myself up that first hill. And then began the dodging left and right to get around enough people to get to a place where I could run. I'm not sure that ever happened until the final downhill. It's just such a huge crowd for such a narrow race course. But it was fun.
I passed the woman wearing a t-shirt that said, "Run like a Grandma." I patted her on the back and gave her a thumbs up as I went by. A woman wearing a shirt that said, "I'm slow. I know it. Get over it." passed me. Passed me. I thought, "I need to wear that shirt when I run with T." He hates how slow I run.
Last year I was pleased to have passed the intersection in the park where the returning runners encounter the slowest outbound runners while the return road was still empty, although I could see the lead runners through the trees. This year I heard the shout go up long past the point where I could crane my head around to see if I could see them. That made me happy.
The three hills that took a toll on me last year were just little blips this year. "The hills in my neighborhood are bigger than this," I told myself, refusing to slow down and walk like many around me. There were only two walks in my plan: enough to swallow some water at both water stops. I've never mastered the art of drinking while running. I can't stop breathing long enough to not choke on the water. In the old days, water stops were for the purpose of pouring water over my head as I zipped by. Now they're a brief respite and a place for me to pep talk myself into the next mile.
At the three kilometer mark, the clock showed 24 minutes even. Doing the math, that meant I was going to have to pick up the pace if I was going to break 40 minutes. I had my chip time on my watch, and we'd crossed the start line about 45 seconds after the gun actually went off. This is a race that gives you both your gun time and your chip time, so I maybe had some room to spare, but only if I didn't slow down.
Just a bit down the road was the second water stop, and then the turn to head back into the park. I took three sips of water, then tossed my cup. The volunteers were already breaking down tables. Even though I was still duking it out for a place on the road with the other women around me, I was apparently still back of the pack enough for the volunteers to be preparing for their shift to be over. I walked a few steps, breathed in a good couple of breaths, then told myself, "If you're going to break 40 minutes, you don't have time to rest." Back to the race.
As we re-entered the park, where 15 minutes prior we'd heard the roar for the lead runners, someone who was running along watching an app on her smart phone instead of looking at the race course announced to her friend that we had point-eight-three miles to go. That was actually good news to hear. Less than a mile. "Just keep up this pace until you hit the hill," I kept telling myself. "Gardening made me strong."
About a quarter mile later we ran past the four kilometer clock. The time was now at 31 minutes and change. I knew I'd picked up the pace. "Just keep it up, just keep it up."
Turning left out of the park, there is a half mile to go. It's mostly flat for a while, and then begins to dip ever so slightly downhill. In an earlier year, I would have started my kick there. Last year I actually had to stop to walk due to dehydration and feeling dizzy. This year I just held my pace, waiting for the traffic light at the top of the final descent.
And then we were there. A child next to me was sobbing that she was tired. "We're almost there," her mother chided. "But we're not done yet!" protested the child. The mother grabbed the child's hand and began dragging her down the hill. I don't even know if they eventually ended up beating me. What I do know is there is one child who now hates running.
I took off down the hill. I could see that the time on the clock past the bridge started with a '3.' That was good. As I came to the bottom of the hill with about 50 meters of flat left to the finish, I looked up and saw that it had just changed to 38 minutes. Wow. Wow. Wow.
I crossed the finish mat and stopped my watch at 37:10 and some tenths. Which rounds up to 37:11. And indeed, my final chip time is listed at 37:11.
For a day when I didn't think I was going to break 41:27, let alone 40 minutes, I'd done OK. And as a bonus, my overall pace was below 12 minutes per mile.
I'm slow. I know it. But I'm a year older and four minutes faster than last year.
It was a good run.
And the best part? I ran in the same race as Mamitu Daska, Ashu Kasim, and Alemitu Abera, all from Ethiopia, and who took places one, two, and three. Go Ethiopia! I showed T the photos we got of them and told him they beat me. "Of course they beat you," he said, with Ethiopian pride. "Because I'm slow?" I asked.
"No, you're not slow all the time," he said. Good answer, kid, good answer.
You can watch for me HERE in the video marked 35:00 - 50:00 minutes. I'm in the neon green shirt and a white hat at about the 38:26 mark, just after a finisher blocks the camera.
But...
Sister S and me post-race. She took six minutes off her time from last year.
Saturday was the annual Freihofer's Run for Women. It's a huge race, sponsored by a company known for their chocolate chip cookies -- a box of which are included in every race packet -- with about 5,000 participants ranging from elite, world-class runners to first-timers who take more than an hour to work their way around the 3.1 mile course. I love it. It's absolutely one of my favorite races.
First of all, it starts uphill. Once I learned how to run uphill, I learned to love the uphills, except when the race ends on an uphill. That just takes the kick right out of a finish. Fortuitously, since this race starts on an uphill and is a loop, it means that it ends...downhill. It's the best race for a finish kick I know of. Hit the traffic light at the top of the hill and fly. No matter how tired you are, you can kick.
You can watch the anatomy of an aging, injured runner in my times there. Twelve years ago, a year into my battle with plantar fasciitis, I ran it in a then disappointingly slow 24:58. Yesterday I was thrilled with 37:11. That's the difference between being 41 and coming off several years of being able to toss off consecutive seven minute miles without a hitch and being 53 and coming off of spending my 40s decade -- which should have been a great decade for my running -- barely able to walk, let alone run.
Last fall I ran a race about a minute faster. I would be hyper-focused on not having been able to beat that time on Saturday, but, here's the thing about the Freihofer's run. Unless you're one of the elite runners toeing the start line, you are not going to set a PR. The course starts out for one long block on a four lane road. And then funnels into a street hemmed in by centuries' old brownstones. Can we say narrow? It's like running through a maze. Dodge this woman that way; run around this group running four across (!) that way. Last year I didn't have to do a lot of that. I was in the last of the back of the pack and it was not my day to have a good race.
This year, I thought it would be the same. This spring has not been good to me in terms of running training. I spent the month of March having my period every other week due to hormone replacement therapy that I've since ditched. Guys would have a tough time knowing how one would feel after having one's period every other week for a month, but ladies -- I think you all get it. I could barely drag myself across a room, let alone go out and run three miles.
I got over that only to come down with a painful case of neuralgia that we're attributing to shingles, even though I never got the rash. I got on the anti-virals almost immediately, so that warded of any rash, but not the pain. The young ones won't know what shingles pain is like, but anyone old like me who's had a run-in will certainly understand. This pain radiates from my hip up to my waist, from my front center right around to my mid-back. It's a combination burning, can't stand the feel of clothes, don't touch me there, aching, throbbing pain. Running seemed to aggravate it, so I mostly stopped for a month.
Just as the shingles pain seemed to begin to abate, I developed sciatica pain. I have a hunch that the shingles affected that nerve. On one training run where I was trying to focus on improving my turnover, I realized that the pain was preventing me from fully extending my right leg. Without leg extension, you don't get speed. The thing that makes old people slow runners is a shorter leg extension. My left leg was fine; my right leg was saying, "not a chance, baby."
I did a long run on the Sunday before the race. "Long" as in three miles with a walking break. Not the best workout for someone with a goal of not only beating last year's Freihofer's time, but also breaking 40 minutes. It's been years since I've been under 40 minutes there. When I signed up, I even had visions of breaking 36. After spending the entire Memorial Day weekend beating myself up in the garden, I decided that I'd be happy just beating last year's time. And coming to terms with the idea that that might not even happen. My sciatica was very painful. There was no way I could get in one more short training run without possibly taking myself out with an injury.
As I played the race out in my head driving east, I kept telling myself "Gardening made me strong." I hadn't been running, but I'd been getting in a lot of strength training moving four cubic yards of dirt from the driveway to the various gardens. Raking, planting, mulching, pushing dirt-filled carts."Gardening made me strong."
Gun time came at the race and off up the hill we went. "Gardening made me strong." I willed myself up that first hill. And then began the dodging left and right to get around enough people to get to a place where I could run. I'm not sure that ever happened until the final downhill. It's just such a huge crowd for such a narrow race course. But it was fun.
I passed the woman wearing a t-shirt that said, "Run like a Grandma." I patted her on the back and gave her a thumbs up as I went by. A woman wearing a shirt that said, "I'm slow. I know it. Get over it." passed me. Passed me. I thought, "I need to wear that shirt when I run with T." He hates how slow I run.
Last year I was pleased to have passed the intersection in the park where the returning runners encounter the slowest outbound runners while the return road was still empty, although I could see the lead runners through the trees. This year I heard the shout go up long past the point where I could crane my head around to see if I could see them. That made me happy.
The three hills that took a toll on me last year were just little blips this year. "The hills in my neighborhood are bigger than this," I told myself, refusing to slow down and walk like many around me. There were only two walks in my plan: enough to swallow some water at both water stops. I've never mastered the art of drinking while running. I can't stop breathing long enough to not choke on the water. In the old days, water stops were for the purpose of pouring water over my head as I zipped by. Now they're a brief respite and a place for me to pep talk myself into the next mile.
At the three kilometer mark, the clock showed 24 minutes even. Doing the math, that meant I was going to have to pick up the pace if I was going to break 40 minutes. I had my chip time on my watch, and we'd crossed the start line about 45 seconds after the gun actually went off. This is a race that gives you both your gun time and your chip time, so I maybe had some room to spare, but only if I didn't slow down.
Just a bit down the road was the second water stop, and then the turn to head back into the park. I took three sips of water, then tossed my cup. The volunteers were already breaking down tables. Even though I was still duking it out for a place on the road with the other women around me, I was apparently still back of the pack enough for the volunteers to be preparing for their shift to be over. I walked a few steps, breathed in a good couple of breaths, then told myself, "If you're going to break 40 minutes, you don't have time to rest." Back to the race.
As we re-entered the park, where 15 minutes prior we'd heard the roar for the lead runners, someone who was running along watching an app on her smart phone instead of looking at the race course announced to her friend that we had point-eight-three miles to go. That was actually good news to hear. Less than a mile. "Just keep up this pace until you hit the hill," I kept telling myself. "Gardening made me strong."
About a quarter mile later we ran past the four kilometer clock. The time was now at 31 minutes and change. I knew I'd picked up the pace. "Just keep it up, just keep it up."
Turning left out of the park, there is a half mile to go. It's mostly flat for a while, and then begins to dip ever so slightly downhill. In an earlier year, I would have started my kick there. Last year I actually had to stop to walk due to dehydration and feeling dizzy. This year I just held my pace, waiting for the traffic light at the top of the final descent.
And then we were there. A child next to me was sobbing that she was tired. "We're almost there," her mother chided. "But we're not done yet!" protested the child. The mother grabbed the child's hand and began dragging her down the hill. I don't even know if they eventually ended up beating me. What I do know is there is one child who now hates running.
I took off down the hill. I could see that the time on the clock past the bridge started with a '3.' That was good. As I came to the bottom of the hill with about 50 meters of flat left to the finish, I looked up and saw that it had just changed to 38 minutes. Wow. Wow. Wow.
I crossed the finish mat and stopped my watch at 37:10 and some tenths. Which rounds up to 37:11. And indeed, my final chip time is listed at 37:11.
For a day when I didn't think I was going to break 41:27, let alone 40 minutes, I'd done OK. And as a bonus, my overall pace was below 12 minutes per mile.
I'm slow. I know it. But I'm a year older and four minutes faster than last year.
It was a good run.
And the best part? I ran in the same race as Mamitu Daska, Ashu Kasim, and Alemitu Abera, all from Ethiopia, and who took places one, two, and three. Go Ethiopia! I showed T the photos we got of them and told him they beat me. "Of course they beat you," he said, with Ethiopian pride. "Because I'm slow?" I asked.
"No, you're not slow all the time," he said. Good answer, kid, good answer.
You can watch for me HERE in the video marked 35:00 - 50:00 minutes. I'm in the neon green shirt and a white hat at about the 38:26 mark, just after a finisher blocks the camera.
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