My New Favorite Recipe

Remember eight weeks ago, how I wrote a post bitching about my stinky running gear?

I didn't think so. Well, if you want a refresher - here's a link. This post is a follow-on to that, since I finally found some time to write it out.

Since that time, I've done some research and experimentation on the whole "My clean running clothes smell like that Tupperware full of Thanksgiving turkey that I found in the fridge on Christmas" thing. Everyone seems to have a different way of getting their stuff smelling nice again. There's tons of advice to be had. But different things work or don't work for different people. Why would that be? Shouldn't there just be that one true way that rules them all?

I dug through the bowels of the internet long enough to educate myself on why this stuff smells so bad to begin with, and I also stumbled upon a way that actually removes the stink! Well, one that works for me anyhow. I have theories on why different things work for different people. But not in this post.

"Wait... I want to hear more on what you learned about foul odors in technical fabrics!" scream the voices in my head. To which I respond with some paragraphs full of science-y semi-facts:

First off, my sweat doesn't stink (and, I suppose I have to admit that yours doesn't either). Apparently, we have bacteria to thank for that lovely runner's bouquet. The watery part of the sweat provides the bacteria with hydration and the fatty-proteiny parts give them something to eat. And when bacteria eat and hydrate well, they get all gassy. Horny too. You can probably guess what happens after that. That's right... binary fission, baby!

Nextly, the fabric used in most of the super-cheap (i.e. free - constituting at least 80% of my running wardrobe) running shirts is constructed of tiny polyester bacteria couches. It's an ideal place for them to just sit and eat and make bacteria babies. But they are kind of crappy couches where there are some springs missing in the middle and once the bacteria sit down, their butt is pretty much stuck there until some other partygoer comes by and helps them up. Except all their friends are also stuck on their own couches and all the couches are stuck together, so really, nobody is going anywhere.

Side note - Cotton is not made of bacteria couches. It also attracts a less pungent variety of bacteria. That was one of the most interesting things I learned in this process. The ones who get stuck in the polyester wicking material don't really care much for cotton, and vice-versa. The cotton-lovers go for that "international traveler on the last leg of a 36 hour itinerary" scent. The polyester freaks tend to produce the smell of something that would probably give a buzzard indigestion.

Back to the main narrative - Lots of other kinds of bacteria would get the message and leave (or die) if you stopped feeding them and giving them free drinks. But these particular freeloaders just pass out until another keg shows up. They'll lie there snoring forever if you don't find a way to kick them out. And if you water and feed them, they wake up and start farting again.

It may not seem like it, but this explains a lot. Buried in my feeble attempts at humor are the real reasons why you can wash a running shirt 50 times and still have it stink three minutes into a warm-weather run. Knowing this (which by the way, is half the battle), you must find a way to either flush those little guys out, or kill them.

Enter vinegar.

I'm not sure whether it dislodges them or kills them. And to be honest, I don't really care. But vinegar, used the right way, seems to do the trick. Here's a recipe that worked for me. Your results may vary.

1. Find a bucket or something that's large enough to hold all the gear you want to wash.

2. Put everything in the bucket, then fill the bucket with water.

3. Get some white vinegar, and add it to the mix.

4. Keep pouring until you think "I've put in way too much!"

5. Now, pour some more in, until the other person in your house who has to live with the stinky running gear stops saying "More! That's not nearly enough!"

6. Let it all soak for at least 30 minutes.

7. Pour the mixture into the washing machine (perhaps consider modifying this step if you have a front-loader).

8. Wash with cold water, minimal detergent, and zero fabric softener.

9. Hang to dry.


So, yeah. I've been pickling my running stuff. Contrary to what I expected, it all comes out of the wash smelling like nothing (though if you want your stuff to smell like pickles, you can use vinegar as a fabric softener). And it remains stink-free for several miles in the heat, too.

Oooo-eeew That Smell!

We've officially reached that time of year again. I'm considering alternatives to laundering my running clothes. Burial. Culinary torch. Rock + rope + deep water.  Just to name a few.

No matter what I do, I cannot seem to get them clean. They still smell, even before a run. Why? Looking for the answer to this question on the interweb is kind of futile. It's like asking why Applebee's is still in business. There's a lot of speculation, but we may never know the truth.

I don't think this is really a summer thing - I am sure that my running clothing is no field of daisies in the winter months either. But in the summer, the instant I step outside in the hot and/or humid air all the stink molecules seem to come out on deck for a party. They must hibernate in the winter.

Last summer I tried several of the commercial products out there. Sadly, none of them actually seem to work. Not Penguin, not Win. Not even 2Toms Stink Free Sports Detergent - and I had super high hopes for that one. I am under the impression that they maybe, sort of, kinda work.. a little bit. Its really hard to tell though.

The one thing that I have had some limited success with is my shoes - washing them outside with the garden hose and dishwashing liquid, then filling them with pages of the Austin Chronicle and leaving them out in the sun to dry. After they are dry, I put sneaker balls in them. That's right - balls for sneakers. For whatever reason, this little ritual helps a lot.

I need to replicate this success with the rest of my running gear, though. I am tired of getting blasted with the funk of forty thousand miles every time I head outside for a run. I really don't care what I end up smelling like after the run. I just want to start it off kind of fresh, you know?

So this year I will pull out all the stops. I'm compiling a list of internet home brew remedies and things that other people have suggested, and random thoughts that I think might help - things I haven't tried yet. And then, I am going to try them. When I show up to run club in late July all covered in baking soda or something, just kind of understand that this is all in the name of science.

If anything produces a miracle or goes horribly awry I'll be sure to let you all know about it. No news (a likely outcome) simply means my experiments were uneventful. That, or I got lazy and gave up on it.

Oh, and by all means, if there are things which work for you, or you have some outlandish suggestion for the list, please let me know!

Goin' Metric

The fall Marathon is set for Toronto, as in Ontario, as in Canada! My first international race!

Well, sort of. Canada is perhaps as domestic as you can get, internationally-speaking. At least if you are from the U.S. And I am. Of course, I spent the first 18 years of my life only a couple hours' drive from The Great White North, and legend has it that I was conceived somewhere between 10 and 15 miles south of the 49th parallel. So Canada used to kind of be like my backyard. Only bigger. And further away.

So, ok, maybe it is kind of half-international. After all, you can drive into Canada without a passport. They won't let you back into the U.S. without one, but that's a different story.

Despite my childhood memories of carefree frolicking back and forth across the border with my imaginary dog Gretzky, the more I look into it I think this place really is a different country. First of all, dates are written day/month/year there. Secondly, when you are in Canada, poutine isn't a foreign food. Need I say more?

I will anyhow.

Probably the most international thing about the place is that they use the "metric system" by default. It's like this whole other way of measuring things! Instead of 26 miles and 385 yards, the race will be 42.195 kilometers! I worked through the math, and that's almost 42,195 meters!

There's a problem though. The last time I encountered meters in a Marathon, it didn't turn out so well. It was on the x-axis of an elevation chart, which I naively assumed was listed in feet. My bad.

However... I will not make that mistake again. I will be prepared. If I'm doing this thing, I'm all in! By the time mid-October rolls around, I will know what it feels like to run in kilometers instead of miles. How? I changed my watch over to kilometers this weekend. You heard me. Yeah.

Honestly, this could go either way, but I'm optimistic that at least thinking in kilometers for the next six months will help me appreciate Canadian customs and traditions while I'm there. Plus, it gives me something to obsess about when the race approaches. I already know I don't have to worry about the weather. I did a little research. It turns out that the hottest temperature on record (ever) for the city of Toronto is only 40.6 degrees!

Boston 2015

Marathon #10 is in the books. All done. "Finis", as someone speaking a different language might say. It has been for a couple weeks now. The soreness has faded. People are starting to ask whether I'm writing a race report... Yeah, I am probably reaching some kind of statute of limitations on this one.

So without any further ado, here's ten things I learned (or re-learned (or reinforced (or just kinda thought about after the fact))) at the 2015 Boston Marathon.


Just because you have a great race, it doesn't mean the race report is going to come easy.

I did have great race. The best one so far - and not really because of my finish time. Every race now seems to be promising "Your best run ever!" or something along those lines. But this time it actually delivered.

I had my best run...  wait for it  ...Ever!

I thought nothing could top the experience I had at the 2010 Austin Marathon. And then this one came along and took me completely by surprise. But the race report... well, it has been kind of a booger. I wrote a first draft a few days after the race and... it was bo-ring. Exciting to me, but only because I was there. So I had a beer. Then I looked at it again a couple days later, and it was still boring.

"Does the race report have to be interesting?"

Well yeah, kind of. I don't really write these things for myself any longer. I used to, but I get enough friends telling me how much they like reading my ramblings that I kinda want to do a good job, you know?

So, I re-wrote a couple times. The problem is that I was trying to just describe everything. All of it. From the dream I had the night before the race, to a long conversation I had in the middle of the race with some other guy from Texas, to the gigantic Clif-brand marinara sauce packet that came in the race goodie bag, to the ongoing waiting game to see if I sacrificed a toenail for my (spoiler alert!) new PR. I tried to just condense it, but then it lost the excitement, even for me.

So finally, I settled on ten thoughts, more or less interesting, and more or less related to the race. Not that this is really any shorter. I just get to expand on some of the stuff that was interesting or entertaining (or so I thought) and ignore most of the stuff that wasn't. I hope this first one is the least interesting of the bunch, but no guarantees.


Pooping on a moving bus is not the same as pooping on an airplane.

(And here you thought I was joking about describing everything.)

I probably chose the worst possible moment to go take care of business on the bus ride to Hopkinton. It was after we were off the pike, and waiting to turn left onto a typical Massachusetts springtime road. For anyone unfamiliar with typical Massachusetts springtime roads, they've got more nooks & crannies^TM than an English muffin. There are usually some healthy bumps and potholes you can blame on the previous winter. And they're also quite curvy pretty much all year round, which you can blame on them starting as wagon wheel ruts back when a four horsepower engine was a big deal.

I got into the bathroom just as we turned left onto said road, and soon realized just how bumpy and windy it was. The window at knee level wasn't making me any less nervous about the whole thing. At first I wasn't even sure I wanted to make the attempt. Then, I reasoned that if I just walked back out, the whole thing was a wasted trip. So I did what I had to do. On the bright side, this was the first time I've ever grabbed onto the "oh shit!" handle in a moving vehicle and been able to follow through.

This is a completely different and unrelated bathroom.
I regret not taking more pictures.

Don't get too worked up about the W-word.

The weather is usually one of the big things on my mind in the week or so leading up to a race. Is it going to be too hot? Too cold? Will there be rain? Wind? Snow? Volcanic activity (its happened)? I tried desperately to ignore any mentions of Boston weather until I actually got there on Friday. Because really, there's nothing anyone can do about the weather. Everyone is getting the same roll of the dice, and you just have to make the best of it.

Coach Amy's take on this is great. She's told us several times "Even in crappy weather, there is always someone who has a great day. It might as well be you."

It isn't a trivial task to just ignore it though. Especially when a bunch of people you know are running the same race you are, and obsessing about the same weather report you are trying to ignore. The next best thing, I think, is accepting it and embracing it. At least if it is accept-and-embraceable. If it was going to be unseasonably warm for example, it might be a case to stand in defiance (until it crushes you) or resort to outright denial (until it crushes you).

But it wasn't one of those days. It was a bit rainy. And a little windy. Kinda chilly - the temperature probably would have been perfect actually, if it hadn't been for the wind and rain. But neither one really bothered me much during the race. There were enough runners around to buffer the worst of the wind, except on some of the stretches where it was coming straight into our faces instead of from the side. When the wind was bad and I didn't have a buffer, I just leaned into it. I decided it was an opportunity to run with better form than I actually possess. Embrace.

The rain wasn't constant - it came in waves. I think we were just getting hit by a series of storms passing by. I remember thinking when it first started coming down, that it wasn't so bad... just a sprinkle. Then it turned into a deluge during mile 8, and was on and off like that for the rest of the race. After the initial soak cycle it really didn't matter anymore. Wet is wet. Accept.


Never underestimate random coincidence and superstition.

I often mention this kind of stuff when I am racing because it probably has more to do with race day performance than any other single factor.

Yes, that's right. I had an awesome bib number! 2070!

Back of bib two hours post-race. Moisture still intact.

Applying McCrank's Law of Bib Numerology yields a result of "very auspicious". If you are not familiar with The Law, it states that "A bib number with 3's, 6's or 9's in it is lucky, and will ensure a good race." Having to do a little math is acceptable - even preferred. It is always good if you have to work a little for your luck.

The math on this one is simple. 2 + 0 + 7 + 0 = 9, which is the biggest and most powerful of the lucky numbers. You can divide nine by one of the other lucky numbers (three) to get three (one of the other lucky numbers). And if you take half of nine, you get 4.5 which is only half of three less than six, coincidentally the last of the lucky numbers. That's really all that needs to be said about it.

Except that also... this was my third time running this race... and the first time I ran it was my third Marathon... and 2070 means that I was in the 3rd corral...  and 3 + 3 + 3 is 9. I know, right?

And what's more... 20 + 70 = 90, and just three days before the race, my grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday! Coincidence? Absolutely. But if you believe that all that stuff actually helps, then... yeah. There's some power there. I'll stop now. This might have to be the last time I mention the bib number thing. Even I think it is getting old.


Patience, Grasshopper.

Start easy, finish strong. It's probably the first piece of race advice my coach ever gave me. This one is really difficult, but I think I got it right this time. Sort of. Well, maybe it could still use some work.

"What? Start easy? Why is that difficult?"

Exactly!

The challenge is mostly mental. It's hard because the last part of a Marathon invariably sucks (according to the part of the brain responsible for receiving and/or doling out pain). In the last N miles of a Marathon your brain wants nothing more than to stop running, or at least slow down a bit. The number N is extremely variable, between 4 and 17 in my experience, and it correlates well with how stupid I was in the early part of the race. And by "slow down a bit" I mean that your brain wants you to slow down enough that you are no longer moving (a.k.a. "stopped"), and in some cases, no longer even standing (a.k.a. "sitting" or "assuming the fetal position"). It's probably some kind of evolutionary self-preservation thing to... Blah, blah, blah, whatever.

The important thing is that to finish the race, you must ignore all these so-called "survival instincts", and keep moving forward.

So now I am going to go into this long explanation of how I interpret the "start easy" part these days, for no good reason other than the fantastic dubbel ale that was coursing through my liver as I wrote this section.

There's the "goal pace", which is the time you hope to finish the race, divided by distance in whatever units you prefer. Ideally, you aren't really sure you can run that fast for that long (which is what makes it exciting!) And then there's the "efficiency line", which is a term that I am just totally pulling out of my own butt. If you are a runner who is interested in the science-y part of running, you have heard of the "aerobic threshold". This is exactly the same thing, but with more syllables in the first word, and fewer in the second.

To get all technical, the efficiency threshold-line-thingy or whatever it is called, is the effort level at which you transition from feeling like you are floating along all light, relaxed, smooth and free, to where you begin to question all the life decisions that brought you to this moment.

It's a fine line, and crossing it is a very subtle transition. No amount of GPS or heart rate monitor technology can tell you where the line is at any given moment. You just have to bring on the Lebowski, and feel it, man. The fun part is that it moves all over the place while you're running, and at some point in the Marathon, you will realize that you have gone over, and you can never return to the other side.

Anyway, when I have a time goal and I stay on the efficient side of the line for 16, 17... 20 miles, what it really means is that I have some catching up to do at the end. Because I was going slower than goal pace, on average. It means I have to speed up.

Speed up when it starts really hurting? Just thinking about that hurts. That's why patience is so difficult. But it can pay off! Here's some data to illustrate:

Table 2.2. Splits According to Garmin
1 6:52    10 6:38    19 6:31
2 6:39    11 6:34    20 6:43
3 6:34    12 6:31    21 6:57
4 6:27    13 6:39    22 6:19
5 6:37    14 6:40    23 6:33
6 6:27    15 6:47    24 6:23
7 6:35    16 6:28    25 6:19
8 6:37    17 6:43    26 6:23
9 6:35    18 6:41    26.39 2:19

Which may or may not add up to the official time of 2:53:22. A new PR by 1:34, and my fastest Boston by 11+ minutes!

Time for a break.

- = { Intermission } = -


The people.

"The people?  You learned 'The people?'"

Yessss. Important, they are.

"Whatever you say, Master Yoda. Did you switch over to white russians after invoking The Dude's name?"

Tasty, Kahlua is. Hmmmmm.

It isn't like this is a new concept. I've gotten all sappy in the past. But it is really true, and I felt it more in this race than ever before. The people... many of them you people, were with me out there.

I'm not really talking about the thousands of other runners all moving with the same purpose, or the amazing crowds who came out in the miserable spectation weather to scream their lungs out. They helped, yes. But...

It was also the friends I got to visit and run with in Boston before the race. The teamily on the bus, providing a pre-race therapy session with familiar faces and conversation. The coachly advice showing up in my brain when I needed it. Santa Claus. Yes, really!. The knowledge that at every timing mat, the friends and family playing the home game were getting another data point... etc.

Most of that stuff just showed up on its own. The only thing I really went out of my way to control was a little talisman I brought with me. A wrist band that I wore to remind me that my family was with me out there, too. I could glance at my wrist and conjure them up whenever I wanted, and it was comforting.

People really do make the difference. Just me, running by myself - it wouldn't have happened.


Nobody runs 26.2 miles at Boston.

Tangents don't exist in a race like Boston. At least not for us mortals. There are so many runners that you can't even usually see the next corner, let alone run straight to it. Someone is always in the way.

Q: "But wait! It looks like a pretty straight course on the map! I heard there were only like 5 turns on the whole thing!?!"

A: Please refer to Section #2: "Pooping on a moving bus is not the same as pooping on an airplane" (subsection "nooks & crannies") for more information about the roads in Massachusetts.

Clocking in at 26.39 miles, this was the longest race my Garmin has ever recorded. Granted, my watch is possessed, and the little demons living in it consistently overestimate or underestimate the distance I've actually run - but that's a separate topic which won't be covered here.

I was just one in a river of runners flowing from start to finish. I chose to run down the middle or the left side of the road for most of it. It seemed a little less crowded there, and trying to fight my way across the river to hug the corners would have blown the whole efficiency thing. Somehow, I was usually on the right side when the water showed up though. Go figure.


Wear something everyone can identify with.

I am of course talking about Cookie Monster Santa pants. If you wear Cookie Monster Santa pants, everyone will take notice. Hotel clerks, friends, half the people on your bus will comment. A National Guardswoman at her post might even ask about them. And for a short time they may even start trending on social media, and you'll learn new phrases like "on fleek".

Pre-race picture party. © 2015, Breen Enterprises.

It is a shame that there is no bag check at the start any longer, or Cookie would certainly have survived to see another race. Perhaps I should have just worn them right through the race as well. As far as I could tell, exactly zero people shouted anything with the words "Red" or "Rogue" upon seeing my Red Rogue shirt. Then again, for the first part of the race it was shoulder-to-shoulder runners, and for the latter part of the race it was all just incoherent noise from the massive crowds. If anyone was calling me out, I wouldn't have noticed.

But besides characters from preschool TV shows, what else do people identify with? The answer: state names.

Around mile 10 or 11 there were a lot of people yelling "Go Texas!" I knew that it was unlikely they were shouting this at me (it was the guy I mentioned back at the start of this - he was from Dallas, and had the word "Texas" on his shirt, if you can believe that). It was a weird deja vu kind of thing since it happened the last time I was in Boston, too. It wasn't just Texas though, there were a lot of state names being yelled at us. And coincidentally, a lot of runners around with state names emblazoned on their clothing. Something to think about for next time.


Find the gunk packets that speak to you, and go with them.

It's easy for me to to screw the nutrition thing up. Even with the best-laid plans the race does funny things to my brain. Breakfast is difficult to stomach on race day, when you're already full of butterflies. Ingesting a packet of gunk every 5 miles or so is not usually a pleasant experience either, and I don't always follow through with my plan.

I wanted to try and change that for this race. The past six months I experimented with some new-to-me flavors and brands.

This stuff did not speak to me.

I thought if I had something more appetizing, I would look forward to them, like little runner treats in the middle of the race. I eventually found two types that don't taste like shampoo, and made certain that they'd agree with me on a few of our harder training runs.

First - Honey Stingers. These are pretty tasty. They taste like honey. Probably because the main ingredient is... honey (truth in advertising!) They can be a little sticky and are maybe a bit too sweet as well. Because, you know... honey.

Gu brand Roctane Lemonade was the other item on the menu. I really like these too. Anyone familiar with Gu shouldn't find it surprising that these don't really taste at all like lemonade. They don't even taste like fresh-squeezed Roctane berries. What they do taste like is Betty Crocker Lemon Squares. So of course, I'm bringing those along to every race now. At least until they start making margarita Gu that really tastes like key lime pie.

Even though I find these new choices more appetizing than normal, I still had trouble bringing myself to eat the last one at mile 19. But then coach Amy's words from the previous week were echoing in the back of my head... "You will eat your little packets of tar when you are supposed to, and you'll like it! You don't want to crash and burn like you did at the end of Boston 2011, do you? DO YOU?!?"

Ok, so I'm paraphrasing a little bit. She doesn't talk like that. It's not even how she sounded in my head. But it's more entertaining this way.


Take your wet gloves off, dummy!

So this "lesson" is kind of weak, but I am just going to shoehorn this little story in at the end because I thought it was kind of cool.

When I finished, I stopped my watch and walked a little bit so I wasn't immediately in the way of the other runners. I turned around to look back up Boylston street, and take a mental picture. Soaking in the moment, if you will. Speaking of which, I was completely soaked at that moment, and began to shiver now that I was no longer generating much heat on my own. I joined the waddle in search of tinfoil blankets and sustenance.

No, that's not a typo - let's look it up:

wad·dle /wädl/
noun
    A flock of post-Marathon runners.

A huge crowd of incredibly efficient volunteers worked us through the assembly line in the finish area. First the water, then the medals, the food, the more food, and the more food after that. Eventually I found myself, carrying an armload of food I wasn't immediately interested in eating, in a sea of other runners who were getting wrapped in the post-race weather protection. It was more of a hoodie-vest/poncho thing with velcro closure than the normal tinfoil-blanket-and-sticker combo. A volunteer materialized in front of me and held up one of the strange garments for me to stuff an arm through. Then another, and there was a hood on my head and wham! It's on. I thanked her profusely and tried not to drop all my stuff.

I continued to waddle over towards the meeting area, but I was a popsicle. The wind and rain were really getting to me. There was no shelter, my silvery-warmup thingy had no arms, and the Arlington T station beckoned. I answered the call. Once inside I stopped and fumbled around for my train ticket. I was shaking so bad that I had trouble opening the little zippered pocket I had put it in. I had to take off my gloves and immediately realized that I should have probably done that a long time ago. My fingers were all crinkly like you get after spending too much time in the pool, but I started to feel a little warmer.

I finally got the ticket out and headed towards the gate. A police officer motioned me over, saying "Don't worry about that, we've got you", and ushered me through. Then I was on the platform, and there was already a train sitting there. The doors were open, but it was packed full, so I just stood there to wait for the next one.

Then another officer said to me "You want on this train? I think we can get you on here." He motioned to the people in the car and said "You got room for one more?"  The answers from several voices came back - "Of course!", and a hole opened up. I thanked the officer and stepped on. Another runner, shaking just as bad as I was, wrapped his arm around me to keep me from falling backwards out of the train (or perhaps he was just trying to get warm). In either case, I didn't fall out. The door closed, and we were off.

Channeling my Inner Beasties

Two weeks 'til,

(nuh nuh ...
nuh . nuhhhh ... nuhh nuhh

nuh nuh ...
nuh . nuhhhh) 

Boston! 

I'll be the first to admit that I've been having a little trouble getting excited about this race (see, I just did). Not that I am not excited... it's the Boston freakin' Marathon! For the third time! You know what they say about third times!

I am just... apprehensive? Anxious? Indecisive? I don't know. Less excited than I feel I ought to be.

So I've been giving myself pep talks on all my solo runs, and whenever else it comes to mind. Focusing on all the positive stuff, trying to make top-ten lists of reasons why this race is going to be awesome. That kind of stuff.

And today for whatever reason, the Beastie Boys showed up mid-run.

Two! (nuh) Weeks! (nuh) Til Boston! (nuhh nuhh nuhh)

I didn't tell them it was technically two weeks and a day. But whatever.

Austin Half Marathon 2015

There are all kinds of different paths a race might take (well... figuratively anyhow - usually for a road race, there's only the one literal path).

Some races go really, really well. Everything clicks - everything falls into place and goes even better than you imagined it would. You know the moment that things started going right, and it just gets better from there. Those are the ones you get to brag about for weeks, until even your running friends are tired of your stories of glory.

There are also the races that just don't go well at all. The ones when it just simply isn't your day, and nothing you do feels right but there's no real explanation for why. For whatever reason, you just suck. They exist to make you appreciate the times that you don't suck. Those are the ones you get to bitch about for weeks, until even your running friends are tired of your whining.

And then every so often there comes that extra special race. The one where you Just. Have. To. Poop. Nobody really wants to know about that race in the first place. Not even your running friends. But you tell them anyhow, because that's what you do.

And... surprise! Today's race was one of that third kind! I suppose I should have listed it second, to facilitate a number two joke... Then again I could go back and change the wording on that sentence to "one of the turd kind"...

Everything was going pretty well for the first 6 or 7 miles. I ran conservative up the hills in miles 1-3. I floated my way down the hills in miles 4-6. It felt pretty good. I even had my eyes open when Everett was yelling at the bottom of the hill.

I settled into a nice groove along Cesar Chavez, but then... something moved. It was not one of those code red bathroom emergencies, where you have only 30 seconds to decide which grove of trees will provide the most cover. This was more in the "mystery caller" category, where you're mostly certain that it's not gas, but you can't possibly take that chance. And there's the thought that it might just disappear on its own.

The next couple miles were the worst of it. I considered a pit stop in the bathrooms near the high school, but didn't. I kept thinking things would turn around soon. It got a bit better near mile 9, and then it was kind of on and off for the rest of the race - though it remained first and foremost in my mind. The race was no longer about conquering the course, but just literally about keeping my s**t together long enough to finish.

By the end, I still managed to run one of my faster half Marathons (1:25:31). I finished a miraculous 4th in my age group and 49th overall. It was a couple minutes off my goal for this race, but I can't really complain. And I learned an important lesson: Costco pizza is not an appropriate pre-race dinner option. Perhaps for some, but not for me.

The only other notable thing (maybe) is how completely beat up I feel today. My quads, my calves, my hips, and even my abs are complaining. I should be sore right now, but this is worse than my usual half-marathon soreness. It is either a testament to the hills on the Austin course, or a side effect of running the better part of an hour with clenched buttcheeks. Oddly, despite all the other aches and pains, those cheeks feel fine.

3M Half Marathon 2015

Well, crap. I came here to write a post celebrating the apparent demise of the stomach issues I have been having recently.

But then, I found this short list of cryptic notes about 3M, and realized I never wrote my race report. Some of the notes, I just don't understand. I can probably blame auto-correct for a couple of them. I do remember typing them up on my phone. That was almost two weeks ago. Between then and now, I got busy and, well you know.

So here's my lame attempt to decipher my own bottled messages:

"goal = ???"
Ok, this one is easy.

I was seriously lacking in the goal department for this particular half marathon. I know the target for my next "normal" half marathon, but 3M is just different. It's faster (or so they all say) because it is mostly flat or downhill, and you have gravity on your side. How much faster? That was the big unknown. And it still kind of is. I think the last time I ran this race was four years ago, and things have changed a little since then. But even though I didn't have time goal, at least I figured that I ought to be able to run faster than my target-half-marathon-goal-of-record (THMGOR, for short. Hmm sounds like some giant creature made of boulders or titanium or something. One that occasionally lifts a fist up in the air, says "Bad day for you!" and then brings it down onto some unsuspecting soul in running shoes. Anyway...)

"cc carpool"
That isn't my teeth chattering, though it was a bit of a chilly morning. A few of us from the southern Austin region (Marshall, Cam, and I) carpooled together to drop a car at the finish and one at the start. I could say more about that, but probably won't, even on my second-pass edit. (second pass - nope).

"Gabe corner cowbell n burnet"
Presumably, Gabe was on the corner of Burnet and Cowbell. Wherever that is.

"Jeff is everywhere."
Yes. Jeff. He is everywhere. Definitively. With a period at the end. Jeff was at least two or three everywheres along the course. Or maybe there are just a lot of people who look like Jeff and seem to know my name. At any rate, thanks for being everywhere Jeff(s)!

"winding face, don't draft drunk dude"
Well, there's an excellent example of alliteration. Beyond that, I have no clue what this is supposed to mean. I don't remember anyone being drunk out there. Reading through these notes, it would appear that someone may have been, though. Winding face?

"TRPM crew Shoal Creek"
There was a big cheering section from our evening Team Rogue group around mile 9. I can't remember who all was standing there to give them all credit, but they were there, they were loud, and it was awesome.

"Icarus of 45th st"
It sounds more cryptic than "winding face", but anyone who ran the race probably knows what this means. The part of the course on 45th street ran uphill and directly into the sun. For like a mile. It was the only part of the race I can say "kinda sucked".

"3m = triple mucus"
Well, yeah! Everyone knows that!

"content til Kirk"
So... I didn't really have a goal for the race, but I certainly had a plan; 1. Run fast. 2. Then, run faster. 3. Finish the race. 4. Stop running.

I got through part 1 of the plan just fine. Part 2 however... I could have done a little better. I started picking up the pace and passing more people during the Icarus mile (around mile 10). But I wasn't really pushing it as hard as I should have been. I knew I was already on my way to a big PR, and was just content to be passing people. Then, Kirk came flying by. That was when I kind of woke up and said to myself, "What in the world are you doing? You should be running your butt off right now!"

So, then I did. I tried to keep up with Kirk, but he was going a little too fast for me. Even still, I did finish the race out pretty strong. I just wish my mind hadn't taken that little 2-mile detour into "good enough land".

One last note in there:

"E and M blink?"
It took me a little bit, but I remember what this one was referring to. I am pretty sure Everett and Mandy were out there cheering, in the final stretch. They can probably confirm or deny it. Why am I only "pretty sure"? I think... though it sounds strange... that I was running with my eyes closed. Either that or I had an exceptionally long blink. I just remember a moment near the finish where I heard my name in a familiar voice, and I had to actively open my eyes to seek out the source. I caught a glimpse of some shapes that looked vaguely Everett-and-Mandyish off to the right, and then I was just looking at the finish line the rest of the way.

---
All-in all, it was a great day. I am happy - finished with a big PR: 1:22:17. 80th place overall (of 5,500), and 16th out of 354 in my division. All my teammates did great as well. It was smiles all around (except for the part where I led Marshall on a 15-minute goose chase looking for the parking garage - we'll ignore that for now).

Splits according to my friend Garmin (who lies a little):
6:20, 6:15, 6:23, 6:21, 6:15, 6:18, 6:25,
6:12, 6:14, 6:20, 6:04, 6:02, 5:55, 1:13 (0.21mi)

Next up is the Austin Half - one week, yikes! It's time to put THMGOR to the real test. Hopefully he doesn't decide to squish me. And maybe I should get started on that race report right now...