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Cazenovia 4th of July Footraces 5k<br>
July 4, 2007<br>
Cazenovia, New York<br><br>
Goals<img alt="biggrin.gif" src="http://files.kickrunners.com/smilies/biggrin.gif">on’t overdo it (yeah right)<br><br>
Results: 21:30 6:56 m/m pace<br>
5k PR and course PR<br>
51/389 overall, 8/24 AG,<br><br>
The Fear and Loathing 5k aka The Cazenovia July 4th Foot Races 5k<br><br>
5k’s. I loathe them.<br><br>
I would rather listen to the high pitched sound of my dentist’s drill grinding out a cavity that has gone as far south as the root while I sit white knuckled, in a cold sweat, with the taste of those little sterile pads and pieces of decayed tooth intermingled in my mouth. Did I mention that there would be no Novocain? Okay, spit. But seeing how my dentist was off today and probably drinking (he reminded me the other day that dentists have one of the highest occurrences of alcoholism) running a 5k was my only option in this small town with limited options. Sometimes I wish I lived in a city, at least then I might have had another option, “Anyone have a bucket of electric eels that I could stick my head in”?<br><br>
The course was the scene of my first 5k death march two years ago. After that performance my wife, the brutally honest person that she is stated, “You didn’t look to good”. Thanks Honey. Last year I blew my wad on the uphill right after the start, “Look at me, look at me! I’m flying up this hill! What’s the matter with you people?”. “Look away…Look away…, pay no attention to the man who just dry-heaved his pancreas, nothing to see here. Move along”. Which everyone else but me did. I must have missed the memo stating that this was a 3.1 mile run.<br><br>
The course is also in my backyard. “Hi everyone! Thanks for coming out today. Nice to see you”. Pressure. Pressing down on me…<br><br>
I’m not fast, but I am old. That’s the one thing I excel at. Most days I qualify for the senior discount at Dennys. Even before the 50k last Saturday my left knee and calf had been working with the efficiency of a machine built by chimps using pixy sticks and poo.<br><br>
This was to be race number two of my Triple Crown (3 races in 8 days. 50k, 5k, 15k. WTF was I thinking?) and I was planning on running at a comfortable pace. After the 50k I had no idea what a comfortable pace would be and had no delusions of grandeur. Just stay ahead of the guy that smokes. While he’s running.<br><br>
The day dawned cool and overcast with the threat of rain in the forecast. Things were looking up. I warmed up with a 1-1/2 mile out and back run up “The Hill” at the start of the course and finished with some striders in the grassy common near the starting line. “Daddy why is that old man skipping through the grass like a fairy”. The knee was warmed up and feeling better as I dialed in a 7:00 m/m pace on my Forerunner. Hah, with absolutely no speed training (other than couch to fridge repeats) and the effects of the 50k 4 days prior I really didn’t think I could run that pace but thought what the hell what’s the worst thing that could happen. Okay let’s not think about the worst thing.<br><br>
The gun went off and the pack took off fast and I tried to take off, sort of fast. We rounded the first corner in less than 100 yards and started up The Hill. Remembering last year’s pain and suffering I found a comfortable pace and pushed up the long hill feeling okay. The Forerunner nagged at me, “30 feet behind, 50 feet behind, you suck, why don’t you ever take out the trash”? “Shut up you!, I’m saving myself for where the course flattens out for about a half mile and that steep quad thrashing descent in mile 2”. When I got to the end of mile one however; the split time was 6:58. Yeah, who’s falling behind bitch! After verbally abusing the electronic nag on my wrist my spirits lifted as I headed down the hill. My quads did not appreciate the downhill and I had to ease up on the pace and shorten my stride. This did give me a chance to catch my breath though. The Nag told me the second mile ended in 6:31.<br><br>
The final mile is flat with a nice gradual downhill to the finish area. The first half of mile 3 was okay but by about 2-1/2 miles the legs started to burn, the breathing was getting a little ragged, and the pace was slowing. I checked with the Nag and she said I had some time in the bank so I backed off on the pace a little more. I caught up to and ran about ¼ mile with a little guy (who I later learned was 11 years old!) who was doing great. The lad appeared to fade a little on a small uphill about a ¼ mile from the finish so I gave him props and pushed on. The legs were starting to protest and I was now gulping down air the best that I could as my world was reduced to pain. I saw my son and my Mom on the corner 100 yards from the finish. This gave me a boost and I was even able to mumble “Hi” and wave as I strode by to my son’s cheers and flag waving. I hit the grass 75 yards from the finish and slowed up just a bit as the surfacing changed. That’s when that little guy I had been running with hit the NOX and edged me by a nose at the finish! Where the heck did he come from? Oh, youth!<br><br>
I crossed the line in 21:30.<br><br>
These things hurt. Dizzy, gasping for breath while wobbling in the chute getting my chip removed, I’m always reminded of that tag line or commercial from some years ago, “Speed Kills”. Now, it’s time for some beer. And therapy.<br><br><img alt="" src="http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b125/dg13092/100_7419.jpg" style="border:0px solid;"><br><br><img alt="" src="http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b125/dg13092/DadandDude.jpg" style="border:0px solid;">
Cazenovia 4th of July Footraces 5k<br>
July 4, 2007<br>
Cazenovia, New York<br><br>
Goals<img alt="biggrin.gif" src="http://files.kickrunners.com/smilies/biggrin.gif">on’t overdo it (yeah right)<br><br>
Results: 21:30 6:56 m/m pace<br>
5k PR and course PR<br>
51/389 overall, 8/24 AG,<br><br>
The Fear and Loathing 5k aka The Cazenovia July 4th Foot Races 5k<br><br>
5k’s. I loathe them.<br><br>
I would rather listen to the high pitched sound of my dentist’s drill grinding out a cavity that has gone as far south as the root while I sit white knuckled, in a cold sweat, with the taste of those little sterile pads and pieces of decayed tooth intermingled in my mouth. Did I mention that there would be no Novocain? Okay, spit. But seeing how my dentist was off today and probably drinking (he reminded me the other day that dentists have one of the highest occurrences of alcoholism) running a 5k was my only option in this small town with limited options. Sometimes I wish I lived in a city, at least then I might have had another option, “Anyone have a bucket of electric eels that I could stick my head in”?<br><br>
The course was the scene of my first 5k death march two years ago. After that performance my wife, the brutally honest person that she is stated, “You didn’t look to good”. Thanks Honey. Last year I blew my wad on the uphill right after the start, “Look at me, look at me! I’m flying up this hill! What’s the matter with you people?”. “Look away…Look away…, pay no attention to the man who just dry-heaved his pancreas, nothing to see here. Move along”. Which everyone else but me did. I must have missed the memo stating that this was a 3.1 mile run.<br><br>
The course is also in my backyard. “Hi everyone! Thanks for coming out today. Nice to see you”. Pressure. Pressing down on me…<br><br>
I’m not fast, but I am old. That’s the one thing I excel at. Most days I qualify for the senior discount at Dennys. Even before the 50k last Saturday my left knee and calf had been working with the efficiency of a machine built by chimps using pixy sticks and poo.<br><br>
This was to be race number two of my Triple Crown (3 races in 8 days. 50k, 5k, 15k. WTF was I thinking?) and I was planning on running at a comfortable pace. After the 50k I had no idea what a comfortable pace would be and had no delusions of grandeur. Just stay ahead of the guy that smokes. While he’s running.<br><br>
The day dawned cool and overcast with the threat of rain in the forecast. Things were looking up. I warmed up with a 1-1/2 mile out and back run up “The Hill” at the start of the course and finished with some striders in the grassy common near the starting line. “Daddy why is that old man skipping through the grass like a fairy”. The knee was warmed up and feeling better as I dialed in a 7:00 m/m pace on my Forerunner. Hah, with absolutely no speed training (other than couch to fridge repeats) and the effects of the 50k 4 days prior I really didn’t think I could run that pace but thought what the hell what’s the worst thing that could happen. Okay let’s not think about the worst thing.<br><br>
The gun went off and the pack took off fast and I tried to take off, sort of fast. We rounded the first corner in less than 100 yards and started up The Hill. Remembering last year’s pain and suffering I found a comfortable pace and pushed up the long hill feeling okay. The Forerunner nagged at me, “30 feet behind, 50 feet behind, you suck, why don’t you ever take out the trash”? “Shut up you!, I’m saving myself for where the course flattens out for about a half mile and that steep quad thrashing descent in mile 2”. When I got to the end of mile one however; the split time was 6:58. Yeah, who’s falling behind bitch! After verbally abusing the electronic nag on my wrist my spirits lifted as I headed down the hill. My quads did not appreciate the downhill and I had to ease up on the pace and shorten my stride. This did give me a chance to catch my breath though. The Nag told me the second mile ended in 6:31.<br><br>
The final mile is flat with a nice gradual downhill to the finish area. The first half of mile 3 was okay but by about 2-1/2 miles the legs started to burn, the breathing was getting a little ragged, and the pace was slowing. I checked with the Nag and she said I had some time in the bank so I backed off on the pace a little more. I caught up to and ran about ¼ mile with a little guy (who I later learned was 11 years old!) who was doing great. The lad appeared to fade a little on a small uphill about a ¼ mile from the finish so I gave him props and pushed on. The legs were starting to protest and I was now gulping down air the best that I could as my world was reduced to pain. I saw my son and my Mom on the corner 100 yards from the finish. This gave me a boost and I was even able to mumble “Hi” and wave as I strode by to my son’s cheers and flag waving. I hit the grass 75 yards from the finish and slowed up just a bit as the surfacing changed. That’s when that little guy I had been running with hit the NOX and edged me by a nose at the finish! Where the heck did he come from? Oh, youth!<br><br>
I crossed the line in 21:30.<br><br>
These things hurt. Dizzy, gasping for breath while wobbling in the chute getting my chip removed, I’m always reminded of that tag line or commercial from some years ago, “Speed Kills”. Now, it’s time for some beer. And therapy.<br><br><img alt="" src="http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b125/dg13092/100_7419.jpg" style="border:0px solid;"><br><br><img alt="" src="http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b125/dg13092/DadandDude.jpg" style="border:0px solid;">
