The Brick of Death
Or "How I Discovered that Michael Parente Really is an Agent of Satan."
Originally Posted: March
22, 1999
Ahhh, March.
The
month of Springtime! Flowers!
That smell in the air that says warm training days are just around the
corner. After lifting weight after
weight...running mile after mile on the dreadmill, and even resorting to playing
along with 'Jeopardy!' while spinning madly on a Lifecycle when everyone else
has left to go home...that first warm day just reaches through the winter blahs
and gives you just the pickup you need this time of year.
Soon you can be outside! In
shorts! 60 mile rides! 15 mile trail runs! In
shorts! Soon, the laundry won't be
65% tights, jackets, booties, neck warmers and hats (every week).
You start dreaming...you start scheming.
Of
course, if you add testosterone to this natural booster shot...and those plans
can get pretty darn lofty pretty darn quick.
So when Eric Weiss, Mark Markley and myself got together and planned a 45
mile hill ride on Saturday followed by the Caesar Rodney Half-Marathon on
Sunday, it seemed like a good idea. Mind
you in the proper context, Ford thought the Edsel was a decent car, the Titanic
was unsinkable, and new Coke was a sure-fire hit.
Sure, there was this tingling thought in the back of my
mind..."Hmmm, might soon to be training like this..." but that's what
makes it a challenge, right?
Enter
Michael Parente. I still had the mud-stains on my gloves and bottle-holder from
the 10-mile Wissahickon Ramble he had led with elf-like leaps and soaring climbs
last week (where I spent more time on my butt sliding down slopes than running),
but when I found out that he was leading a ride called "To Hill and
Back" for the Philadelphia Bicycle Club, I had to be there. You may
remember last year Eric Weiss referred to this ride as "Lucifer's
Alley" for the steepness of some of the climbs...but did this ever enter
our thought process? Heck no.
We're men. We train like
men. (Translation: We train without thinking. Causes less worry.) 45 miles?
3,000 vertical feet of climbing? Manayunk
is at the end? Sure!
What a great way to warm those legs up before a nice run on Sunday.
12
riders met up at the Italian Fountain on a sunny Saturday morning.
Mark had an unexpected attack of common sense (and a fever, but I never
saw a note from his doctor), and was home healing. Eric was also suffering through a bout with intelligence (AND
had a note from his doctor), and was skipping the ride...but thought he might
try Caesar Rodney anyway on Sunday. So
there I was...the only willing participant in this early season semi-epic.
Matt Beaugard managed to make the ride...and as we rolled out of the Art
Museum, I knew with his road racing at Penn State this year he was the guy I
wanted to watch. Michael was
warning us about going out too hard...something about a water
crossing...something else about cobblestones...but I was sure it would be fine.
Hah.
3
hours and 36 minutes later (at a rollicking 13.6mph average) the only three left
alive to finish the ride were the Deads. Michael,
Matt and myself had lived...and everyone else had mysteriously dropped, had to
go to work, or just wanted to go home. If Michael Parente ever mentions 'wanting
to do some hills', the best course of action is to just fake a seizure and run.
You want insanity? The last
7 miles of the ride don't leave Manayunk. You
merely do EVERY side street on the North bank of the Schuykill (including a
trapse up the Wall, but the side
streets are fully as evil, trust me). Matt
had been climbing like a rabbit, and when I could, I had stuck to his wheel.
Near the end, this wasn't happening...and I was reduced to pedaling in massive,
raging, graceless squares. It was a great ride, though. I had spent the better
part of 2 hours over 160bpm on the old Polar.
Being the rapidly learning roadie, Matt even attacked at 27+ MPH on Kelly
Drive to make sure I was officially shattered. I chased, I hung on...and was
toasty enough to be buttered when I got back to the car.
Even
so, Matt joined me for a 2 mile jog afterwards to shake out the legs...but I had
nothing left. I went home, ate the
mother of all quesadillas, and fell asleep on my living room floor at 6:30pm. I
woke up at 8:30 completely unsure of what day it was. I called Eric to see if he
was still up for running on Sunday, and we made plans to head to Delaware. It
was a short chat..the phone seemed pretty heavy for some reason...but I was sure
I'd be fine on Sunday. Sure.
Yup. Totally recovered and
fine.
Sunday
Morning:
I
picked up Eric at 7:30am, and we noodled on down to Wilmington.
We planned strategy: He was sick, I was tired. Thus, we had all the bases covered. We would aim to break 2
hours at best...maybe faster if we felt OK.
I knew Eric was being conservative...this is a guy who ran a 3:27
Pittsburgh Marathon...the same guy who reduced a 13 minute lead to 41 seconds on
the run at Tupper Lake...the guy can motor.
He'll be in Hopkinton one of these Monday's...in time. For him to hang
back and run 9:00's was all I could hope for.
At
the start, it was grey, cool...a bit windy.
We settled into a nice, smooth tempo, and I started watching the Heart
Rate. It was coming up very, very
slowly. Hmmm...must be a bit flat
from yesterday. By mile 2, I
suddenly didn't feel all that strong. Eric
calmed me...and told me the next few miles ("few miles?") we're
uphill...but we'd get it all back at the end.
I tried to get comfortable...but it wasn't happening. I felt like Oatmeal was slowly filling my legs...and it was
on it's way to concrete.
By
mile 5, I knew it was not going to be an easy day, ever.
Each stride was an effort...and it was only a matter of time before I
would need to slow down. Eric was
doing his best to pull me along...pointing out landmarks, reading the terrain,
reminding me to keep my shoulders relaxed when they got up to my ears...and
generally doing all of the talking. I
was silent. If you know me, you
know this is the sign to watch for. When I get quiet, a complete breakdown is
usually imminent.
We
passed the time between miles 6-7 by doing hill repeats.
It was brutal, but I was too wasted to argue with my coach on the road
when he said "Now we're going to run these hard, and pass lots of
people." I said "Okay,
coach..." and hung on for dear life. My heart rate hit 154...the max for
the day. For my breathing and the
effort...I should have seen 170+. After
this surge, I would never recover...and just like the course profile...it was
all downhill from there.
I
trudged on, and tried singing out loud to pass the time..."I've got a blue
and red Adidas bag and a humongous binder...I'm trying hard not to look like a
niner-niner....I went out for the football team to prove that I'm a man...I
guess I shouldn't tell them that I like Duran Duran..."
(Bare Naked Ladies, 'Grade 9'). Eric
just kept pulling me along, but I only got weirder.
I went Star Wars. I started to dissociate at mile 9...mumbling something about
my pain being Darth Vader...and I was Luke...and I had to fight it off...I had
to use the force...and through all of it, Eric kept moving us along...keeping me
as focused as he could. Only
problem was, I was well beyond being saved by a smart partner.
At
mile 10, the clock read 1:31:30, and the dark side won.
My hip flexors cramped, by hamstrings felt too long for my legs, and my
feet wouldn't get off the ground. I
stumbled, tripped...and with a groan of agony and defeat started walking.
I was done. Eric tried to
get me to run some more...but there was nothing left to give.
We half walked, half ran the rest of the way for a finish time of
2:06:05, the last 3 being 11:43 miles.
I
had never run a half marathon that slowly, but I was okay with that. Sure the
run was a disaster, but as I wolfed down 2 slices of pizza in 4 bites (maybe I
needed to eat something on the course?), I just wasn't upset. Eric later shared with me that he knew from the start I would
blow up somewhere...but he had hoped to get me within a mile of the finish when
it happened. We almost made it!
As
we drove home, we talked about the fact that I had probably asked my body to do
too much, too soon...but how could I complain, when just coming up with the
challenge and missing the mark had been so much fun?
Lesson Learned? It's March...not the time to worry about things like this
yet. Anyway...spring is in
the air! The sun is shining!
I've got another great hill route on Saturday I want to show you
guys...and I hear Bea wants to run 15 on Sunday...
Anyone
want to play?