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FLRC Newsletter - May 2005 |
| Runner's World Half Marathon and 5K | |
Summary: If you want an alternative to the Skunk Cabbage Half-Marathon, consider this race; while not without its flaws, it is a labor of love for the Runner's World magazine staff, and has a lot to offer: a challenging yet fair course in park and park-like settings, with numerous aid stations, bands, and surprising number of spectators. A bonus: a 12-week training program emailed by Bart Yasso himself (at least this year).
After my Philadelphia Marathon experience, I knew I needed some more large race experiences, so when Karen Grover mentioned this race, I was intrigued. At the least, it held the promise of better weather than the Skunk Cabbage, being three weeks later, and some 150 miles south (Allentown, PA). It was also put on by Runner's World Magazine—runners putting on a race. In addition, the IUTC folks were going, to run the 5K race held the same day, so there was a whole contingent of Ithacans going already. We signed up in early February, and, much to our surprise, began receiving a weekly training schedule via an email message from none other than race dude Bart Yasso himself. Karen and I structured much of our training—including our Saturday morning runs—around this training schedule.
So, last Saturday, Karen and I drove down to Allentown—it is an easy drive, and there are plenty of hotels in the area (we were at the Comfort Suites across from Dorney Park along with the IUTC folks; the park is closed this time of year, so that wasn't an issue). We checked in, and then went down to the expo to pick up our packets. The packet pick-up was smooth enough; the expo was a little disappointing, with not many vendors, though Karen and I both picked up some supplies. The race shirt was nice enough: long sleeve, and of coolmax/drifit material. We also stayed for a brief seminar on the race, despite the heat in the room, from "race dude" Bart Yasso; Karen got a chance to thank him for his emails. Though we didn't win any of the drawings (no iPod shuffle for our run!), we did time our arrival and departure perfectly with respect to the intermittent rain showers that were pestering the area. We drove the first part of the course, noting the steep downhill start, then went back to the hotel just in time to meet most of the IUTC folks (Andri & Andris, the Larssons, and a number of others) as they headed for dinner. After some misadventures, we ended up having a raucous meal at the hotel restaurant, then retiring to our respective rooms. The weather outside was frightful: lots of thunderstorms and rain and wind. The forecasters claimed it would blow over by morning, but even after lights out the rain fell. Parts of the course had already been flooded three times since September, so this was not a good omen.
The next morning dawned cold, windy, and gray, with the threat of rain—so much for escaping Skunk Cabbage weather. At least it was in the upper 40s rather than the upper 30s. There was a shuttle from the hotel to the race site, but Karen and I opted to drive down. We waited long enough to grab a light breakfast at the hotel (which opened its breakfast area a few minutes early for all the runners gathered in the lobby) before heading down. It was only a five-minute drive, and there was ample parking at the Fairgrounds a block or so from the high school gym at the start, so we got there in plenty of time to (a) check in our bags w/post-race clothing; (b) use the indoor plumbing (rather than the portapotties), and (c) secure a good spot on the floor to people-watch as we waited for the race to start. Neither Karen nor I are good race day people, so we tried to calm each other down. Our nerves weren't helped by the sudden rain that fell just as we were going to run our warm-up; fortunately, it was a very brief shower, and the only rain that fell during the morning. We jogged a block or so, then turned down to the start.
At this point, the race began to feel like a bizarro Skunk Cabbage (for those Seinfeld fans). The race started on a narrow hilly street near a big gym (think Campus Ave and Barton Hall), but the gym was on the right, and the start was down the hill. There were also some 2500 runners. Karen and I took up a place between the 1:30 and 1:45 pace groups, still very near the front. At least this time, we not only chatted each other up, but also a number of the runners around us, which made the time go past. All too soon, we were singing the National Anthem, and then we were off.
The downhill didn't last long, and it took about that long for us to actually start running. As a result, our first mile was rather slow, around 8:00 minutes, despite the flat terrain. The pack of runners did block the wind, which was beginning to howl out of the west. It wasn't long before we turned south, and then east, back through the park, past the first of the bands (at the time playing a Beatles tune), and the puddles, which were numerous, even on the paved surface. We exited the park onto a neighborhood street, and then after a couple of small rollers we began descending. The descent wasn't steep, just as the first few miles of the Skunk course aren't steep, but it was a descent. I was running easy, particularly as we were running on concrete and not asphalt, and yet clocking 7:20 and then 7:10 for the miles. I should note here that I had decided to capture mile splits for the heck of it; I was letting my body dictate the pace, a la Becky Harman (among others). It felt like we were running on the edge of a park; there weren't many buildings along the road, and there was a lot of green. We passed several more bands (playing Van Morrison or Green Day or the blues), and the occasional group of spectators, which helped the time go by. Past the 4-mile mark, we saw the race leaders going the other way—already 2 miles ahead of us! Karen counted the women going by the other way for awhile; I stayed on a more direct course around the frequent bends. We kept descending, past another aid station, and then turned around and started climbing back up. The one nice thing about being in the valley was that the wind wasn't a factor here. We climbed steadily, and passed through the 10K split in around 47:00—about on target. There was some confusion in the pack, for a spectator was hollering "You're halfway"—if only!
At about the 7-mile mark, the course turned south over a bridge and, after a short steep climb, onto a cinder pathway. That short steep climb was a portent of the course to come—there weren't any Turkey Hill climbs, nor Ellis Hollow-like descents, but there were numerous short climbs and descents. The racecourse mostly followed the cinder path, which was a welcome relief from all the concrete. I was running okay still, but Karen was beginning to struggle and fall back. This had happened at other races, and she said she didn't mind, because she could still use me (I guess I do stand out a little in a crowd). Since I was by myself, I amused myself by enjoying the park scenery and watching the mile splits vary all over the place: 7:12 here, 7:42 there, even though I felt like I was running a fairly even pace. I also noticed that I was starting to pass people; up until this point, I had mostly been passed.
The racecourse occasionally meandered onto a road—perhaps to avoid "soft spots" in the cinder—and continued to roll over small hills.
If not for the stream next to the path, I wouldn't have realized I was climbing again. Eventually, the path lead to a covered wooden bridge—Karen and I had wondered how much give the bridge surface would have, but I was taken aback by the number of spectators gathered at the bridge, and at the site of the young string trio huddled (miserably no doubt) under the edge of the bridge, bravely trying to play (I can't imagine playing a violin with cold fingers...), and didn't notice the surface at all. There was more road than path on this next stretch of the race, again perhaps due to all the rain. I was now actually beginning to force the pace a little, knowing there were only a couple of miles to go.
At about 11 miles, the course came back onto the concrete road, and I began racing back to the finish (I should note here that the course is essentially a three-leaf clover, and the finish is at the high school stadium just down the street from the gym). Having run this way already, I knew it was uphill (back to bizarro Skunk Cabbage land), but kept working on trying to run a tempo pace. It was starting to get hard, but I was still going faster than the people around me, so I would pick out a runner and try to catch him/her. As I ran back over the small rollers at the edge of the park, I remembered the wind—hard not to, the way it was blowing—and was grateful that course had been so sheltered. It was bringing colder air with it, though—more incentive. I could hear the announcer at the stadium just across the park, though I still had a mile or more to go. That didn't help, but seeing 1:30:xx on the clock at the 12-mile mark did—I was doing alright. I splashed back through the park, this time too focused to hear what the band there was playing, and turned downwind for the final leg. It seemed to take forever, but just as I was starting to get discouraged I saw the runners up ahead turning off the road. And then there it was—the last short, steep climb into the stadium, and then the eternal 250 meters to the finish. I had hopes of sprinting, and actually did make some motions like that at the finish, but either everyone was doing it, or I was tired, because I pretty much held my place in the crowd. I would have loved to break 1:38, but had to settle for a 1:38:14 clock time. I got my chip removed, my medal, and my foil wrap, then turned around and waited for Karen. I hadn't seen her for awhile, and was getting a little anxious, but it was only a couple of minutes before she showed up, and crossed the finish line herself. (I'll leave it to her story for her to tell). After getting her chip off, and her medal and foil wrap, we headed up to the top of the stadium to get our bags. The drop in temperature and the wind were very noticeable now, and I wanted to find the promised shower quickly.
I made a quick pass through the food line, discovering that the vegetable broth in which pierogies were swimming was excellent, and then checked the results on the wall, assuming them to be the 5K results. Rather, it was the initial printout of half-marathon results, and I was amused to see that my results were already up, and I actually had run a 1:37:51 (chip time), I was secretly pleased at that;it meant I had almost certainly run a negative split, or at least even splits, despite the downhill/uphill nature of the course.
Our search for showers lead us back to the high school gym, where we discovered, along with all the other runners, that the showers were controlled from a central point (there was a wall of showerheads, no controls) and they were off. Oh well, at least we got into dry clothes. Karen and I headed back to the stadium to hit the food line again (soup still good, the veggie wraps awful, the muffin top cookies okay—at least there was plenty of everything) and watch the awards ceremony, just for a chance to go to the Honolulu Marathon. There were some amazing times recorded, particularly by age group winners. I'd have to get a lot faster over the next 5–10 years to win any hardware at this race! Once the Honolulu trip had been handed out (not to either of us, unfortunately), we headed back to Ithaca.
I didn't know how well the IUTC folks had done until I got home and saw the results for myself; Andris won his age group, and almost won the next higher up as well, getting nipped by 1 second. More amusing to me were the age group awards won by Andri and by Clayton Moore—guess the dads have to set a good example! Andri told me later that all the kids had good races, and to his knowledge, several PRs were set.
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