Race Report: Great River Road Run (10M)
November 25, 2006, Alton, Illinois
Since JPD has been taking a well-deserved break from racing — and thus from writing his always compelling race reports for Activeness! — I thought I'd try to fill the void by contributing one from the Great River Road Run last Saturday.
Unlike JPD and Anonymous Racer X, I gave up my dreams of chasing age-group hardware years ago. Hey, I collected a third-place age-group trophy at a half marathon in Belleville in the mid-90s. My trophy case is full. So here's my report from the middle of the pack.
This 10-mile race starts in downtown Alton and covers a flat out-and-back course on the Great River Road along the Mississippi River. I've run it many times over the years and, except for failing to clear out a lane for the fastest runners coming back against the masses, the organizers do a nice job. I like the 10-mile distance (right when it starts hurting the race is over), the unique river scenery, and the late 10 A.M. start.
I don't race much anymore, but what I do still love about races is being surrounded by so many healthy, fit, upbeat people who have voluntarily come together at an inconvenient time and location to break out of their comfort zones and push themselves to their absolute physical limits. It's an addictive vibe that you just can't replicate at the mall, in the office, in the dome watching a Rams game, at church — anywhere.
My race report for Alton starts 25 years ago. Rewind to a ragtag group of high school kids and an oddly muscular Catholic priest in his mid-30s playing tackle football on a cool Thanksgiving morning. A quarter of a century later, we've dropped the priest, who was known for his cheap shots and bone-crunching tackles — man, you didn't want to get in that guy's sights — but the annual Turkey Day game remains one of the few traditions in my life. About a dozen of us still get together every Thanksgiving morning for a game of touch football. No phone calls or emails, no time checks, no planning: whoever's in town just shows up at the designated spot. Martin brings the donuts. Two hours later we head home, way too sore and exhausted to stress about family get-togethers.
For the past several years, my main goal in this game has been to not get hurt. I stretch a little, run 6-8 miles beforehand, and hope that another year of weightlifting will protect me. None of that ever works. This year, as with every other, I limped away vowing to never play again, this time nursing a badly strained hip flexor and an aching back from various ill-advised collisions with other old men. And what happened to my speed? I believe my fasttwitch muscles began vanishing about the time Ronald Reagan left office. Today, that cupboard is bare. "Two years ago, John catches up to that ball and makes the catch," said Brother of Activeness! (BOA) Brian after one failed deep pattern. Ouch.
For the rest of Thanksgiving day I had serious trouble with the most basic movements. "You want me to get out of this chair? OK, give me a few minutes." I took a bath for the first time in 30 years (I'm not big on soaking in my own waste.).
On Friday I shuffled into the hot tub at the Y and squeezed in alongside some giggling 16-year-old kids and an annoyed 80-year-old woman. Sweet! Later that afternoon, a hotly contested one-on-one backyard soccer game with my five-year-old, who couldn't understand why Dad wouldn't run and instead kept clutching and grabbing, pretty much undid all my progress. But by Saturday morning I felt a little better, so I made the 45-minute trek to Alton to find out what would happen.
Standing at the start line talking to friends, somebody said the race had begun and 1,000 people walked toward the line. I had no idea if my legs would allow me to run 7-, 8-, or 9-minute miles — or if I'd be trudging back to the auditorium to eat donuts. The adrenaline of competing in a race must have kicked in, because my legs slowly awoke. I eased through the first mile in a little less than eight minutes. Better than expected.
There's not much to report about the race, which might explain why I never write race reports. It was warm: 60s and sunny. There goes Chris…Hey Pete…How in the world did Bob get so fast?...Good job, Liz…Keep it up, Sean...Wonder what's wrong with Nicole? There's Mr. SwimBikeRun StLouis on his bike, skillfully snapping pics of the runners while riding hands-free. Not a big deal for a guy who just conquered a 500-mile race.
As my legs and back loosened up, each mile split time was progressively faster. That's a first. By mile 10, I was able to get it down to a 6:57 — exactly the same mile 10 split as last year, which I remember because I was so elated with going sub-seven that I saved it on my watch for two months. Overall, I finished about 20 seconds faster than in 2005. I'll take it.
I ran most of the race alone, as there weren't any packs forming around me. The last five miles after the turnaround were straight into a mild headwind, which offered some relief from the heat. I never thought I would have needed sunscreen in late-November. A guy who looked to be in my increasingly graying age group began drafting off me in the last few miles, and we leapfrogged back and forth a few times. He kept drafting but, to get into his head, I'd run next to instead of behind him after he passed. You may need me but I don't need you. And I don't like your perfect tan and haircut!
At about mile 9, Chris, who I had trailed by two minutes at the mile 5 turnaround, came into sight. I dug deep and tried to reel in the rabbit, dropping well-groomed Drafting Guy for good. Chris had his own strong kick and runner's intuition that someone was coming, though, and I couldn't make the catch.
As I silently congratulated myself for such a powerful sprint to the line, a 20-something waif of a woman cruised past me and glided into the chute.
"Way to go," I said.
"You too."
See you in Alton next year. This time I'll be ready because I swear I'm skipping that stupid football game.
Since JPD has been taking a well-deserved break from racing — and thus from writing his always compelling race reports for Activeness! — I thought I'd try to fill the void by contributing one from the Great River Road Run last Saturday.
Unlike JPD and Anonymous Racer X, I gave up my dreams of chasing age-group hardware years ago. Hey, I collected a third-place age-group trophy at a half marathon in Belleville in the mid-90s. My trophy case is full. So here's my report from the middle of the pack.
This 10-mile race starts in downtown Alton and covers a flat out-and-back course on the Great River Road along the Mississippi River. I've run it many times over the years and, except for failing to clear out a lane for the fastest runners coming back against the masses, the organizers do a nice job. I like the 10-mile distance (right when it starts hurting the race is over), the unique river scenery, and the late 10 A.M. start.
I don't race much anymore, but what I do still love about races is being surrounded by so many healthy, fit, upbeat people who have voluntarily come together at an inconvenient time and location to break out of their comfort zones and push themselves to their absolute physical limits. It's an addictive vibe that you just can't replicate at the mall, in the office, in the dome watching a Rams game, at church — anywhere.
My race report for Alton starts 25 years ago. Rewind to a ragtag group of high school kids and an oddly muscular Catholic priest in his mid-30s playing tackle football on a cool Thanksgiving morning. A quarter of a century later, we've dropped the priest, who was known for his cheap shots and bone-crunching tackles — man, you didn't want to get in that guy's sights — but the annual Turkey Day game remains one of the few traditions in my life. About a dozen of us still get together every Thanksgiving morning for a game of touch football. No phone calls or emails, no time checks, no planning: whoever's in town just shows up at the designated spot. Martin brings the donuts. Two hours later we head home, way too sore and exhausted to stress about family get-togethers.
For the past several years, my main goal in this game has been to not get hurt. I stretch a little, run 6-8 miles beforehand, and hope that another year of weightlifting will protect me. None of that ever works. This year, as with every other, I limped away vowing to never play again, this time nursing a badly strained hip flexor and an aching back from various ill-advised collisions with other old men. And what happened to my speed? I believe my fasttwitch muscles began vanishing about the time Ronald Reagan left office. Today, that cupboard is bare. "Two years ago, John catches up to that ball and makes the catch," said Brother of Activeness! (BOA) Brian after one failed deep pattern. Ouch.
For the rest of Thanksgiving day I had serious trouble with the most basic movements. "You want me to get out of this chair? OK, give me a few minutes." I took a bath for the first time in 30 years (I'm not big on soaking in my own waste.).
On Friday I shuffled into the hot tub at the Y and squeezed in alongside some giggling 16-year-old kids and an annoyed 80-year-old woman. Sweet! Later that afternoon, a hotly contested one-on-one backyard soccer game with my five-year-old, who couldn't understand why Dad wouldn't run and instead kept clutching and grabbing, pretty much undid all my progress. But by Saturday morning I felt a little better, so I made the 45-minute trek to Alton to find out what would happen.
Standing at the start line talking to friends, somebody said the race had begun and 1,000 people walked toward the line. I had no idea if my legs would allow me to run 7-, 8-, or 9-minute miles — or if I'd be trudging back to the auditorium to eat donuts. The adrenaline of competing in a race must have kicked in, because my legs slowly awoke. I eased through the first mile in a little less than eight minutes. Better than expected.
There's not much to report about the race, which might explain why I never write race reports. It was warm: 60s and sunny. There goes Chris…Hey Pete…How in the world did Bob get so fast?...Good job, Liz…Keep it up, Sean...Wonder what's wrong with Nicole? There's Mr. SwimBikeRun StLouis on his bike, skillfully snapping pics of the runners while riding hands-free. Not a big deal for a guy who just conquered a 500-mile race.
As my legs and back loosened up, each mile split time was progressively faster. That's a first. By mile 10, I was able to get it down to a 6:57 — exactly the same mile 10 split as last year, which I remember because I was so elated with going sub-seven that I saved it on my watch for two months. Overall, I finished about 20 seconds faster than in 2005. I'll take it.
I ran most of the race alone, as there weren't any packs forming around me. The last five miles after the turnaround were straight into a mild headwind, which offered some relief from the heat. I never thought I would have needed sunscreen in late-November. A guy who looked to be in my increasingly graying age group began drafting off me in the last few miles, and we leapfrogged back and forth a few times. He kept drafting but, to get into his head, I'd run next to instead of behind him after he passed. You may need me but I don't need you. And I don't like your perfect tan and haircut!
At about mile 9, Chris, who I had trailed by two minutes at the mile 5 turnaround, came into sight. I dug deep and tried to reel in the rabbit, dropping well-groomed Drafting Guy for good. Chris had his own strong kick and runner's intuition that someone was coming, though, and I couldn't make the catch.
As I silently congratulated myself for such a powerful sprint to the line, a 20-something waif of a woman cruised past me and glided into the chute.
"Way to go," I said.
"You too."
See you in Alton next year. This time I'll be ready because I swear I'm skipping that stupid football game.
posted by John at Wednesday, November 29, 2006
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