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I squint my eyes and hold my breath like a sounding whale as I dive through the dust cloud thrown up by a leaf-blower. The yard worker blasting grass clippings off the sidewalk pauses until I get past. A warm mid-afternoon lures me down Georgetown Pike to investigate the track at Langley High School. Gates in the stadium fence are chained shut, except for one which stands ajar. A young fellow is doing pushups on the side of the field. I have time for only one lap, a 1:53 brisker-than-sustainable pace, then trot back to the office.
^z - 2009-07-02
Comrade Caren Jew is preempted Saturday and we can't go trail running, so on Sunday morning I drive to Ken-Gar and park a bit before 6am. Ken Swab & CM Manlandro are scheduled to arrive at 7am but cars are already here—there's an MCRRC First Time Marathon (FTM) training run scheduled for 0630 or so. I greet a few folks, then jog comfortably downstream, skirting mud puddles. At the Cedar Lane water fountain I get a drink, then ramble back. It's lovely running on Rock Creek Trail alone, especially in the early hours when the woods are like the blank page between chapters of a book: a gap where one can pause before plunging back into the action.
"Runner up!" is the shout that repeatedly greets me as I return toward Ken-Gar. More than a hundred FTM participants are trotting along in mobile mobs of a few dozen. Newlywed Ken Trombatore thanks me en passant for a Fight Club quote I left on his Facebook page; he's accompanying his wife as she trains, I suspect. Back at my car the parking lot is now overflowing. I chug a can of root beer and answer the phone when Ken calls. He's in a space half a mile down the road. CM is heading that way to meet him. I jog there and as a trio we proceed to milepost 2, bantering and enjoying ourselves. By chance both Ken and I are wearing identical MCRRC shirts this morning.
I challenge CM and Ken to do hill repeats on Stoneybrook Dr by the Mormon Temple, but they decline. They also take the short cut across Connecticut Av rather than join me in traversing the tunnel below the road. The layer of mud there is thin but slippery, a chance for me to practice my mad ice-running skills. Ken and CM walk a bit to let me catch up with them both times. FTM runners meet and greet us in flocks.
Mist turns to drizzle turns to a shower turns to rain as we return. I spy a trail of blood on my shirt and re-grease a chafed nipple. Past Ken's and CM's cars we continue northward, scaring a tiny bunny rabbit that scampers into the brush. We turn at milepost 8 (Dewey Park) and accelerate our pace slightly. Back at Ken-Gar I give CM her car key, which I've been carrying for her, and peel off. Jim Rich and I chat—he's in the FTM, I assume as a teacher or pace group leader. But no, Jim tells me: he has never run a marathon, and now at age 70 is training for his first. I salute him, change my shirt, and on the way home drive by Goldberg's Bakery for bagels and bialys.
^z - 2009-06-30
"It gets easier after a while!" I reassure a suffering lady as I jog past her on the slope that, at this point of her training, seems like a mountainside. After a warm front plus showers the humidity is high. CM is stuck in the lab so at 7pm I venture out alone via Ireland Dr to the base of the Beach Dr & Stoneybrook Dr hill. Five up journeys average 5:22 for the half mile of ~6% grade to Kent St, and four down return trips average 4:38. A few other runners materialize in the later part of my repeats. I salute them as we meet. They've left a small cluster of forlorn water bottles at the base of the rise, and mostly turn around at/near the LDS Temple driveway rather than going all the way to Kent St. The trip home is via Leafy House, McKenney Hills Center, and the neighborhood pool. No bikini babes in evidence this evening.
^z - 2009-06-28
It's cloudy and humid this afternoon as I jog from the office down Georgetown Pike, circle the local high school, and return in 37 minutes. The asphalt sidewalk ripples in the warmth. Private side streets with threatening No Trespassing signs interrupt the flow. Perhaps there's a good track at the high school to do laps on some day? The fences behind the school appear to be chained shut, but I see tennis courts, a baseball diamond, and a probable football field which might have a quarter-mile or 400-meter loop around it.
^z - 2009-06-26
The signature scene of today's run appears near the end, as I'm cantering past the Jim Henson memorial statue in front of the University of Maryland student union. A tiny girl in a white Sunday dress is standing on the granite bench next to Kermit the Frog, holding Henson's hand and looking as sweet as a kitten. What a perfect photo op—and me with no camera!
Low humidity (~35%) and light breezes make up for moderate warmth (80+°F) as I dash down Paint Branch Trail, skirt the southern shore of Lake Artemesia and the eastern end of College Park Airport, take the Northeast Branch Trail downstream, and return via the Northwest Branch Trail and University Blvd. Its a circuit I've done several times before [1]. I'm surprised when the first few mile markers flow by at a sub-10 min/mi rate. After that happens, alas, I have to keep the speedy streak alive. I manage to do so, barely, with miles 9:48, 9:59 (close!), 9:32, 9:59 (close again!), 9:34, 9:36, and 9:46. In unmeasured segments I try to stay honest and maintain my pace. Big puddles sporadically block the paved path and force detours onto the grass nearby.
^z - 2009-06-24
"I don't like the looks of that," Kate Abbott says quietly to me, as we spy a line of half a dozen ominous silhouettes blocking the W&OD Trail ahead. It's like a scene out of a Western movie, but at 6am and near a suburban golf course. We're less than an hour into our run. Kate and I move onto the parallel gravel horse path to avoid the crowd. One or two of them shift likewise. "Now I like this even less. We could end up dead in the bushes by the side of the trail," Kate whispers.
"Hope not!" I joke, ever the optimist. "There's poison ivy there and I don't want to be all itchy in the afterlife. Let me take the lead now." Chivalrously or foolishly I jog ahead. Fortunately for us the crew turns out to be non-menacing: it's just some boys and a girl, roughly high school age, perhaps walking home after a late-night graduation party. I greet them and they respond in friendly fashion. Whew!
Kate and I are enjoying a long run this warm and humid Saturday morning. Along the way we see a red fox, a woodchuck, and a rabbit. We start at 5:15am from Reston Town Center and finish a bit over 4 hours later. A gibbous moon hangs close to Jupiter in the morning sky. Our initial miles flow by at a consistent 10.3-10.7 min/mi pace.
At milepost 24.5 we meet Kate's young friend Jorge. Earlier this year she led him through the National Marathon, his first. We chat, until suddenly I realize that we must have missed Mary Ewell half a mile back, where the trail arches over Rt 28 and milepost 24 was covered with brush. Oops!
I phone Mary and we all trot back so she can join us. Mary is training at a slightly slower pace right now and only has about four miles on her plan for the day, so after a mile we let Kate and Jorge sprint ahead. Mary and I trek on to milepost 26, then back to 24, at a roughly 12 min/mi rate. We chatter about family, training, and Mary's preparations for her wedding in a fortnight. I congratulate her, give her a butterscotch candy and a root beer barrel, shake her hand, and she heads for home.
Then it's westward ho! for me again: a couple of brisk miles at sub-10 pace with segments on the horse trail for variety. I peer through the brush hoping not to miss Kate. Just before marker 26.5 we spy one another converging and wave frenziedly. Together the return trip to our starting point goes smoothly at ~11 min/mi, including a water stop in downtown Herndon where a flea market is underway. Salty sweat drips into our eyes as the morning heat increases. At our cars we salute one another. Kate heads off to her yoga classes with 22+ miles under her belt. I've done about a mile less, and go home to nap.
^z - 2009-06-22
The little bird tries to scrape a dried worm off the sidewalk, then flitters away as I approach. It's hot enough that I can identify with that worm. Again today thunderstorms are portended but haven't yet arrived at 2:30pm. I undertake three laps around the parking lot perimeter at work—and this time, in spite of eating too much at the Indian restaurant's buffet for lunch, my times improve relative to 2009-06-09 - Heat Acclimation: ~1.5 mile circuits of 14:20 + 14:02 + 13:18. Perhaps the clouds help a bit.
^z - 2009-06-20
"And I thought I was crazy!" the friendly pedestrian says to me as I jog past. The temperature is in the mid-80's with high humidity and an early afternoon sun beaming down—perfect to begin getting used to upcoming summer heat. Three laps around the ~1.5 mile parking lot perimeter at the office take me about 14:30 + 14:15 + 13:45, to which add 1.5 minutes getting to/from the door. I'm soaked with sweat.
^z - 2009-06-18
In the post-finish-line chute the fellow in front of me ducks under the side rope, crosses the path to a small tree, and throws up. The rest of us watch, pant, and wait for him to return. We've just finished a 5k MCRRC race in a time almost a minute faster than I've ever done the distance before. I credit good training with wonderful friends plus a bit of weight loss and not-too-bad pacing during the event.
When I arrive at the starting line area Emaad and Saira Burki greet me and tell me that Caren Jew is already here. I jog down the Capital Crescent Trail a quarter mile seeking her and warming up, chat briefly with Betty Smith, and return as Emaad joins me. The kid's run starts and I spy Wayne Carson. We chat, then Caren materializes, dressed all in black and ready to race. Ken Swab is here too, and CM Manlandro. Mical and Paul Honigfort show off their cute baby Erik, and Mical and I discuss our hopes for the run. We're cagey; neither of us will commit to anything more specific than "23ish".
My pumpkin-orange "12:00+" pacer singlet gives merriment to many who notice it. At the gun CM and I start off together, chatting and weaving through the dense crowd on the narrow bikepath. I wave my arms about to maintain a little personal space. After a minute the crush thins. "Let's run!" I tell CM and dart ahead, not looking back, figuring she's on my heels. Soon I catch Wayne who tells me that we're doing about a 7 min/mi pace. "Too fast!" I warn, but keep pushing onward. The course is slightly downhill from here to the turnaround, which obviously implies a gently uphill finish.
Mile One is 6:56, an unsustainable pace. Two young ladies swerve daintily to avoid a shallow mud puddle at the base of the River Rd bridge. I fearlessly run across it thanks to Caren's careful coaching, push hard climbing the bridge's arch, and try not to slow on the way down. The leaders are now coming back from the turnaround ahead. I shout "Good run!" at them, and soon it's time for me to round the midcourse cone and begin the return trip. Wayne is a handful of seconds behind, followed by CM and the rest of the gang.
The Mile Two marker eludes my observation but I feel I'm slowing. My average pace for miles 2 and 3 together is 7:17 and I arrive at Mile Three at the 21:30 point. Then it's dash to the finish in 45 more seconds for a total time of 22:15, a PR for me by 59 seconds. Whew!
^z - 2009-06-16
In case young bikini-clad ladies are cavorting in the parking lot (cf. 2009-05-31 - Schaeffer Farms) I arrive at Drop Zone X-Ray shortly after 4am—alas, no such luck. Caren Jew is already there; maybe she sent them home? Regardless, Caren drives us out to her beloved Catoctin Trail where we reach the trailhead in Gambrill State Park before dawn. We pause until it's light enough that we can avoid tripping over rocks and roots, and at 0515 set off. Caren and I are training for the Catoctin 50k to be held 1 August this year. (cf. Catoctin 50k 2008 for details of last year's race) The morning is cool at first—Caren dons her zebra-striped sleeves for warmth—but we soon warm up.
We trot along the (relatively few) smooth segments, walk the hills, and wade through high-water streams. Conversation ranges over favorite comic strips, quirky-comic TV shows, crossword puzzles, etc. Caren identifies a birdcall, then loses confidence and retracts her judgment; I tell her never to admit a mistake and that she could easily have continued to fool me. A three-inch-long tangerine-orange newt stands sentry in the middle of the trail, definitely alive (we poke it gently) but slowed to a crawl by the chill. After 1:48 outbound we reach the pond a few minutes short of Hamburg Rd and turn back, since I have to get home early—comrades David & Diana have invited Paulette & me to their engagement luncheon at a Thai restaurant.
Our return trip brings encounters with hikers and other runners, some in big packs. We go off course twice, once when going too fast and debating whether the trail here is "quite runnable" vs. "highly runnable". The other time we're again blasting along and fail to pay enough attention while challenging each other to attack the hill ahead. In both cases our detour is soon recognized and only adds a quarter mile or less to the journey. In spite of extra distance we're back at Caren's car in 1:41, significantly faster than the outbound trip.
^z - 2009-06-14