A Race Report and a No-Race Report

I went to Philly anyway and almost raced anyway. But I didn't. After only making it a mile before wilting on a Friday attempt to run, I was afraid of the outcome if I tried to race. I may have a hard exterior, but inside, I'm all nougat. I just don't have the nerve. The excitement of the expo tempted me, but on the advice of a friend, I drank several strange cocktails and ate wild boar Saturday night so I wouldn't be able to run Sunday morning.

Instead I cheered for my dad, who thankfully is still talking to me after I roped him into running the half-marathon and then proceeded to sideline myself with bronchitis and fear. Here's the old man's race report:

Observations of a first-time old-timer

I say to myself, what did I do to be given a 23-degree day to run my first and very possibly last half marathon?
Running shirt, nylon shell, sweatshirt, gloves, mittens over the gloves, running hat, ear warmer…

Over the starting line and hit the stopwatch (forgot the charger for the nifty 405 so it stayed in the hotel room) – The plan of attack: hit mile five in 45 and mile 10 in 1:31. Not lightning speed but slow and steady should get me there upright and still running…and just maybe in less than two hours.

[Editor's note: It was so cold the starting gun wouldn't fire, so the official just shouted "3, 2, 1...Go!"]

Dumped the sweatshirt at mile one, the mittens came off at about mile three and cruising along with the crowd that’s supposed to be running at my planned pace.

Lots of guys pulling over to pee on the supports under the highway overpass and women behind parkway bushes at about mile three.

Two young women next to me arguing over personal issues and their relationship – developed into screaming battle, ending on the sidewalk and clearly the end of the day for one or both. I’m thinking, this marathon stuff is getting interesting.

Hit mile five in 39. Uh oh. That’s a little fast (8-minute miles versus the 9:10 I planned on.) but I figured now I have a nice cushion.

Fun trip through the city and onto a few mild rises in elevation on the other side. Thinking to myself, that hill they talked about wasn’t that bad after all.

Minutes later, the real hill reeling up ahead of me. Who ever thought a hill of that size at mile nine was a good idea?

Hit mile 10 at 1:32. Where the heck did I lose my six minute cushion and then some?

[Editor's note: I told you to go slow at first, Dad! It's like talking to a wall sometimes, people.]

Ice all over the street at the 11-mile water stop. Lots of slipping but no one taking a dive, that I could see.

A big boost in morale when the art museum comes into sight at mile 12.

[Editor's note: The museum boosts his morale, but apparently his screaming daughter at mile 12.5 goes unnoticed. The screaming daughter with bronchitis. Nice. Very nice.]

Final stretch - I hear the announcer report: one and a half minutes ‘til the clock hits two hours. Oh shit.

[Editor's note: You made your bed...]

I can’t believe I actually have a sprint left in me.

Cross the line, hit my unofficial stopwatch and… 2:01. Thinking: after two hours of this, missed goal by a minute? Are you kidding?

[Editor's note: Did anyone notice how he hasn't mentioned me once?]


Look at my dad smoke his little blue twin! Dad was 13/52 in his division.

My great experiment to turn an anti-runner into a runner met with moderate success. Dude does not want to run another half-mary, but his doctor and his wife were so thrilled with the results of the training that he says he'll keep running shorter distances.

The ironic outcome of my dad experiment is that while he became a runner, I somehow coughed out my brain and lobotomized my running cortex. Running 500 miles in four months just for the hell of it may have something to do with it. One minute I want to sell Henry to hop a plane to Florida to run a marathon next weekend. The next minute, I want to amputate my feet. As a result, my blog might be off-air for the rest of this week. No one wants to live in my mental circus.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.