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FLRC Newsletter - Jul 2003 |
| Tortoise and Hare | |
I remember reading something a year or so ago about how running with certain types of illnesses doesn't slow recovery time, though it may reduce performance. I think I've found a different sort of sickness - running may slow recovery time but doesn't seem to affect performance.
I laid off most of last week after coming down with serious wooziness and shortness of breath on Tuesday night after the track meet. That turned into a dry, unproductive cough, but I was feeling well enough to run a bit of the Tortoise & Hare course on Thursday. Friday I rested as well, feeling utterly terrible and hoping I'd be better for Saturday. I wasn't entirely, but I felt well enough to make a go of it, and despite the rain, it was warm enough that I didn't feel as though I'd be tempting pneumonia.
Needless to say, there was mud. Lots of it. Gooey, icky, sloppy mud. And the first mud pit was just after we got onto the Larch Trail, before all yahoos who have gone out too fast have dropped off. I hate running trails in a pack when I can't see the ground, and I especially hate running through water because of it. But there was no alternative, and it wasn't until the end of the first mile that I'd struggled out to where I could see ahead of my feet, passing Derek Dean and Tom Meyer along the way. By that time my shoes were soaked and my legs were slathered with mud (admittedly, like everyone else). This was when I was starting to regret my decision to go with the solid trail shoes instead of lighter cross-country racing shoes.
Then came the hill. It's a mean, nasty, no-good, rotten hill, and taking a cue from Tim Ingall ahead of me, I even walked a small amount of it. I probably could have kept running, but it seemed as though the energy expenditure wasn't worth it. That proved to be true, for the most part, and one guy in a red Cortland jersey blew by me going up the hill, but came back a mile or two later. But as much as it's a steep hill, it's not that long, and we were up. Those hill workouts at noon paid off big time, and I want to do more before the Forest Frolic.
I'd lost sight of Tim by then, but there were a pair of guys ahead of me that I managed to reel in over the next mile or two. I like running the small rolling hills of the Bear Trail, and shortly before we made it to the roads at the top turnaround, I'd caught up with them. The trail was too narrow to pass though, so I tucked in behind, and used the time to rest up, mentally as much as physically. Then, after we broke from the woods and with the next trail entrance in sight, I threw in a short sprint to pass both of them.
That was when I suddenly caught a brief sight of Tim's yellow jersey about 100 meters ahead of me. By this time I was back on the trail meeting all the other runners coming up, and Carolyn Smith-Hanna (running easy, so as not to injure herself before a big track meet in Puerto Rico in a month) said Tim was within striking range. I kept getting glimpses here and there, and by the time we arrived at the bridge at the top of Buttermilk he was turning onto the trail on the far side just as I was turning off the trail behind him.
From then on it was a pursuit. I like running downhills, and after some rolling bits, it was all downhill. But as anyone can attest, Tim doesn't give up easily, and he was still 50 meters ahead when we came to the terrible, awful, no-good, rotten hill. I apologized for insulting it, put myself into Hylas mode, and bombed the hill at full speed. The decision to stick with the stable trail shoes had been the right one, and I didn't so much as skid once during the entire descent, and as we hit the asphalt, I caught and passed Tim. I shied away from cutting a grass-covered tangent right at the bottom, slowed enough to be sure I wasn't going to hurt myself sliding through the narrow gate, and sprinted to the finish in about 46:14 for 7th place (Alan Evans won in 43:00-something with Earl Steinbrecher spoiling the age group award for me in 2nd place, and a slew of 20-somethings filling up the intermediate places). Tim blasted through right after me for 8th. Tom held off Derek at the finish - I think they were 10th and 11th. From then on, folks streamed in, wet, muddy, and fairly universally happy.
I was ecstatic, and even thought for a while that I might have thrown off the sickness. But then the coughing started again, and given that I had to spend parts of Saturday afternoon and Sunday flat on my back napping and coughing, racing probably wasn't the smartest thing I could have done for getting better. But hey, there are only so many excuses to run a hill like a crazy man.
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