The Willow Grove Naval Air Station 10K
Pain and Suffering, and the PR antidote to make you forget.
Originally Posted: April 18, 1999
Ahhh, Spring in the Northeast! Flowers blooming, grass getting greener...tights and gloves finally yielding to the warm rays of the sun you've waited for all winter. Soon the time will come for sunblock! Short sleeves! Outdoor swims!
Then of course, there's
Philadelphia...where all the plants that were naive enough to bloom in March are
usually frozen stiff during the continuous freeze that is April, and people who
run in shorts suddenly seem to lose feeling of their knees for hours afterwards.
This was the case on Saturday, as I picked up Mark Markley and we headed
towards The Willow Grove Naval Air Station for the Armed Forces 10K. The early
morning temp was a balmy 39 degrees, with a Northerly wind of 25-30mph...so the
wind chill was a toasty 29 degrees. Thankfully,
Mark had extra coffee made...and was willing enough to share as we made the trip
to the base. Truth be told...I
think he was recognizing the signs of early morning caffeine withdrawal being
compounded by the cold...and just didn't want to see me have a complete
motivational, nervous, and physical breakdown on the way there.
We parked and dashed to
the registration tent, signed up, grabbed T-Shirts and hustled back to the
warmth of the car. Through sheer
flexibility we changed into race clothing, pinned numbers, and stretched without
leaving the the front seats of my Mazda. When
it came time to head for the start Tom Downs spotted us and dropped by to say
hello. Despite being sick with a cold, he was going to run anyway...a feat I
still can't comprehend. We trotted
to the start, and made ready for the freeze.
My 10K PR strangely
enough was set at the Columbia Triathlon in 1997, a 48:20.
My best standalone was run in 1990(!), a 50:25.
I was hoping on this day to break that PR, and if everything was
right...maybe 45:00. "At least
overheating and hydration won't be a problem today!" I lied to myself as
Mark, Tom and I stood in the breeze getting more and more frozen waiting for the
horn...
**HOOOORN!!!** We're off. I've got the alarm on my HRM set to 160, a pace I think I can hold for the 6.2 miles. Tom motors down the road, and that's the last Mark and I will see of him until the finish. There's no talking today between us as we try to set a tempo and just get WARM. The wind is mean, and right in our faces this first mile. After 4 minutes, the alarm finally sounds on my HRM, and I know I've hit my tempo. It hurts, and I don't think I can keep this up for another minute, but my breathing is stable.
Perfect 10K pace.
After 8 minutes, Mark
looks over his shoulder and says "I guess there's no mile markers...or else
we suck." True enough...this
wind sucks. I suck.
Running sucks. The Northeast sucks. Willow
Grove sucks. Why do they call this
place Willow Grove? There isn't a
#^&!(#* tree anywhere...if there was I'd be sheltered from this #(&^@
wind. Oh yeah...this is a Naval Air
Base. No trees.
Makes a plane hard to re-use if you land in trees.
Hey...is that a mile marker? Mile
2...c'mon, c'mon, get here... *beep* 13:59.
13:59?
I ran a 13:59 2 mile split? That's
2...2...2 6:59's! YOWZA!!! HR...163...cool. I don't think I can keep this up another minute.
Must be right on pace. Down
this road...hey is that a landing light? Must
be at the end of a runway...only 4 miles to go.
Keep that HRM beeping...you're supposed to feel this bad, remember?
Hey, a turn...now we've got the wind behind us.
Whew! This feels better...boy that sun is bright.
Wow. It's warm.
No, correction...this is hot. Okay...it's
just the tailwind making you hot...oh, and look!
A false-flat that goes dead straight and uphill as far as I can see.
Must be the maintenance road for the 6,000 foot runway...joy! Beepbeepbeepbeep...166...ouch. Man is this hot.
A minute ago I was freezing, now I'm frying.
I hate April...I hate Air Force Bases...
(much heat-related,
runway-length ranting omitted)
Hey, mile 3...halfway
home *beep* 21:07. 7:08 mile 3.
Must've been the uphill. Water
station....hmmm, no. Stomach is
closed until I can see straight. HR
is 164...I can't keep this up...I can't keep this up...breathe...breathe...if
you can breathe, you can hang on. Speaking
of hanging...is that Mark way up there? Must
be about 30 seconds now...he sure can motor.
Hey, where's Eric? I know
he's not doing this race...but it's his fault I have to run this hard...I'll
just blame him when I see him tomorrow.
I'm dying.
This hurts. Where's that 4
mile marker? We're running back
into the wind now, and I think my teeth are chattering but I can't really tell
since my lips and mouth are numb. I
want to stop, but I can't...I'm on pace for a PR for sure...just hang
on...waffles! I'll make myself waffles if I get a PR!
Hey...that's almost worth this...mile 4! Hello!
Yes! *beep* 7:17. Positive splitting...a sign that I'm on the rivet for
sure...HR 166...gotta' hang on for those waffles!
Is Mark that dot up there? You
go, man!
(I had an in-body-but-not-really-there experience during the next mile, and don't remember much...other than it was windy, uphill, and not the finish yet).
Mile 5...only 1.2 to
go. I can fake it from here *beep*
7:19. Man...I'm fading fast...that
finish can't come quickly enough. Now
I remember why I hate running so much...waffles or not...this is pain.
Eric and Michael would be so proud...this non-runner, suffering like a
blithering, blabbering idiot...hey, if I can keep this up for 21 more miles, I'd
still be too slow for Boston by 10 minutes.
Man, how depressing....WAFFLES!! Gotta' run for waffles...another false
flat...this is another one of those M.C. Escher run courses...uphill to the
finish from the start. And the wind
is still right in my face...but I might get both goals!
HR 169 now...got to hang on...it can't be that far...it can't be that
far...you know, no-one has passed me today!
No-one. I don't think that's
ever happened in a running race with me in it before...*woosh*
Hey, who the hell are you passing me now?
Just as I think a happy thought you no-good
(#%)@#)@&$)@)@$*&)(*&$)@*(&!!
Grrrr....Mile 6 *beep* 7:22. HR,
174...I've got to catch this guy...haaa! Fading!
Here he comes back to me! Sprinted too soon!
Wind caught ya! Little
more...little more...Gotcha! Okay...he's
dying...full sprint now...make the move! I
can see the clock...44:something! Yaaaaaaaaaaah! Yes! Yes! YES!
"Go get 'em Bobbo!!!"
Was that Tom?
He's probably had a shower by now...there's the line...go...3 seconds
more...aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhh...
*BEEP*
My stomach is in
knots...I can't see straight. HR
177 at the line...and I didn't get passed.
Check the watch...44:31.
44:31?
I ran a 44:31? Strangely, now nothing hurts.
It's sunny! I love Spring!
The cool breeze! The bright sun! What
a beautiful day! Nobody passed me!
I could get used to this feeling...man, running is a drug...and it's
Eric's fault I'm an addict. I'm
gonna' kick his butt tomorrow on the bike...if I can move my legs that is...
EPILOGUE:
Mark and I ran an easy 4 to cool down, but since it only took me 400
yards to be cold again I bailed after 3 miles and walked back to the car.
My stomach didn't settle down until nearly 3pm that day...so I still owe
myself some waffles. Mark also set
a PR of 43:38, so it was a very good day for the Deads.
Tom beat 2 Deads 5 and 7 years younger than he, and was feeling spry
enough to take his family to a Phillies game.
I hear he ran the stadium steps carrying his kids just for fun.
Mark and I rode 44 easy yesterday...and at 4:30pm, the effort caught up
to me. I crashed and had a 2 hour
nap that had me wondering where I was and what day it was when I woke up.
THAT'S a sign of a good race, eh?
PR or not..it's still
all Eric's fault.