Kevin Balance

This Week in Running: 1.23 to 1.29.12

2012-01-29T12:16:00.001-05:00

Monday - 12.5
8 x 3 min hard w/ 2 min recovery
Did this workout w/ Ben. Hamstring was feeling a little tight, so ran hard but nothing crazy. Good workout.
Tuesday - 3
Biked for 37 mins prior to the run. This is a cutback week; reduced today's miles.
Wednesday - 10 in 72:28
Psyched to get this whole run in on trails. One, b/c there's no snow on the trails. Two, b/c it was light enough outside to squeeze the whole thing in before outer dark arrived.
Thursday - 8
Easy. Another sign of a cutback week.
Friday - lifting
Dr. Mika visit for a "tuneup." All is well.
Saturday - 8.5
Had to work today but snuck on the treadmill before doing so. My legs were amped. Ready to run this morning--even if it was 0500.
Sunday - 16 in 1:50.26
By mile 3 I was down to 7:07. Last 3 were 6:11, 6:18, 6:15. I was hoping to see splits between 6:20-30. I would call this pace comfortably hard.

For the Week
58 miles
5 core workouts
37 mins on the bike
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: This week marked the end of the first mesocycle of the year. I end each meso (4-5 week period) with a recovery/cutback week. My intent here is to give the body a chance to adapt to the overload it incurred over the previous weeks. This next meso should feature two races. This will likely alter the number of miles I hit in those weeks, but we got to remember it's not about chasing miles--it's about racing as fast as we possibly can.

This Week in Running: 1.15 to 1.22.11

2012-01-22T14:16:00.000-05:00

Monday - 9.25
Slowed w/ the headcold.
Tuesday - 9
Headcold about to break but still went easy.
Wednesday - 12.75
Goal: 3 x 2 mile @5:50 pace w/ 2 min rec
Results: 10:37 (2:02 rec), 10:25 (2:01 rec), 10:17
Well, I guess that's what three easy runs in a row gets you: AN AWESOME WORKOUT. Days later I am still pumped about this. This is probably the fastest I've ever done 3x2 mile. I was in the zone and ready to go from the gun. Kept the reins on for the first half of the workout and despite that was still well below goal pace. Got out on the edge on the last one, running 5:00 pace for the last half mile. This was one of those runs where you feel on top of the world and that you could run with anybody. You need days like these. They help keep you going.
Thursday - 11
Truly a medium paced run. Cruising 6:40s. Got more daylight than I anticipated.
Friday - lifting at gym
Saturday - 21.75
12.5 on the cold snow. 9.25 on the t'mill. Ran 5:51 pace for last 9. This is faster than my marathon PR pace. Encouraging. Note: I did the first 12 in the worst possible conditions. Did the last 9 in the best possible conditions: water, gel, and a little bit of music.
Sunday - 9.75
Maybe 10? On snowy trails w/ Kevin Gray and the dogs. Nice easy run.

For the Week
73 1/2 miles
4 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Another good 70+ week. Now, it's time for a cutback. I will take an extra day off and not chase miles at all this upcoming week. Got in some great runs this week. Building confidence through the runs on Wed and Sat. The maintenance runs are coming along as well. Looking to enter February feeling fit and healthy.

This Week in Running: 1.9 to 1.15.12

2012-01-15T14:46:00.000-05:00

Monday - 13.5
Doubles: am - 3 pm - 10.5
PM tempo run. ~5:39 pace for 5 miles.
Tuesday - 6.5
easy recovery day
Wednesday - 12
Hill workout. 8 x Nichols St Hill. 2:48.+ avg.
Thursday - 10
medium paced run
Friday - 2
easy am shakeout w/ lifting in pm
Saturday - 20
Not nearly as good as last week. 2:25.10. Dead post run.
Sunday - 7.25
First cold run. 10 degrees. Slow pace.

For the Week
71 3/4 miles
5 core workouts
foam rolling/stick message 6 days
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Feeling strong on the hard days. Developed a headcold on Friday night and it is exhausting me. I hope that I don't lose any fitness or have to sacrifice training.

2012-01-12T20:36:00.001-05:00

Level Renner

By Kevin Balance in Level Renner

28 pages, published 13 JAN 2012

Level Renner: a journal of (new england) running for the olde school literary athlete. Run on the ground. Read the Underground. Keep it on The Level. This mag is for runners by runners. This issues features exclusives on an array of topics as well as feature profiles on some of the region's elite athletes.

2011 Year in Review

2012-01-10T19:17:00.001-05:00

2011 can't hold a candle to 2010, which was one of my best years in my running life. I missed nearly four months of running due to 2 separate injuries: left foot plantar fascia tear and lower back strain. But, the good news is that I'm over those injuries now and looking forward to a fast 2012.

I only raced a handful of times last year. No PR's. I did get 3 wins (sandbagger) in my 6 races. The wins: Larry Olsen 10K, Edaville Rail Run, GNRC Ho Ho Ho 5K. The other races: Foxboro Old Fashioned 10 Miler, Carver Cranberry Classic, Rome Blvd 5 Miler.

2011 miles for the year = 1983 3/4

Last 4 years
2010 - 2858.10
2009 - 2358.10
2008 - 2523.85
2007 - 651.55

This Week in Running: 1.2. to 1.8.12

2012-01-08T14:00:00.000-05:00

Monday - 12.75 in 81:24
40 min of threshold pace on trail; then cruised in w/ a 6.14
Tuesday - 6.5
easy, recovery run
Wednesday - 12.75
intended workout: 6 x 1/2 mile
actual workout: 8 x 1/2 mile
started at 2:41 for first three, 2:40 for next three, 2:36 for final two
then I wanted to do 1.5 miles at tempo on tired legs (8:48)
This was a great workout and I felt super. I think I ran the repeats a little too slow, but this was my first workout in a couple of months, so I tredded lightly. A good day.
Thursday - 10
Steady paced run on tired legs
Friday - lifting sequence
For January, gym wasn't that crowded
Saturday - 20.5 in 2:15.33
Phenomenal day. Last 11: 6.27, 6.37, 6.21, 6.00, 5.56, 5.53, 5.49, 5.47, 5.43, 5.40, 5.36. In the zone.
Sunday - 8
easy, recovery run

For the Week
70 1/2 miles
4 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: I'm getting fit.

This Week in Running: 12.26 to 1.1.12

2012-01-01T20:10:00.001-05:00

Monday - 12.75
threshold pace work: 24 min, 3 min break (technical trail connector), 12 min
Tuesday - 10 total (7.25 am; 2.75 pm)
easy, recovery day
Wednesday - 14.75
good run w/ tempo starting midway through: 6.08, 5.47, 5.43, 6.00, 6.04, 5.37, 5.50
Thursday - 10
cold and windy; did not dress appropriately, which led to frozen ears, hands, and loins
Friday - 6
easy run w/ stride session; felt great
Saturday - 13.75 in 96:26
Tried to keep this at tempo pace but didn't achieve that goal. Still an honest pace.
Sunday - 11.5 w/ Kevin Gray
Good run w/ the dogs @ Hale Reservation.

For the Week
79 3/4 miles
5 core workouts
Analysis: I think this is my highest weekly mileage total for the year. Good way to end 2011. If it's not my highest, it's within the top 3. I'll tabulate my mileage total for the year later in the week. It will be down from 2010. Back to this week: awesome run on Forbidden Drive on Wednesday. That's what I'm talking about. Plan to use that as a springboard into 2012.

This Week in Running 12.19 to 12.25.11

2011-12-26T11:37:00.000-05:00

Monday - 12.75 w/ Ben

5 x 5 min pickups w/ 1-2 minutes recovery; each pickup got harder and faster

Tuesday - 6

easy recovery day

Wednesday - 13.25

tempo run; raining at end

Thursday - 11

great run; fast
Friday - sick
24 hour bug wiped me out
Saturday - 4
stomach still iffy
Sunday - 5.5
I love the early, early Christmas morning run

For the Week
52 1/2 miles
4 core workouts
Analysis: The bug on Friday foiled my week. Between Friday and Saturday I was probably about -17 (I was planning on about 4-6 recovery miles on Fri and 16-17 on Sat). I was feeling better on Sat but the stomach was still iffy and my body wasn't quite right. Did I wimp out? Maybe. But, I'm better now and hope to have a strong week. The first half of this week was really good; it just ended on a down note. I'm looking forward to a great training week between Christmas and New Year's Day.

This Week in Running: 12.12.11 to 12.18.11

2011-12-18T13:37:00.000-05:00

Monday - 10.25
2 x 10 min pickups w/ 3 min recovery
Tuesday - 5.25
easy recovery run
Wednesday - 11.5
run of the week; averaged 5:43 pace for 7 miles; this was a good hard tempo progression run
Thursday - 8.5
7 hill repeats; the hill was a shade of 60 seconds; a "baby" hill workout at 3/4 speed
Friday - lifting
chiro visit in am
Saturday - 16.75
excellent med-long run w/ Kevin Gray
Sunday - 7
slow and cold

For the Week
59 1/4 miles in 6 runs
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Very happy w/ Wednesday's progression run. Good confidence builder that I can hold a respectable pace in practice. By the end of the progression, I was sub 5:20 and I'll take that for mid-December. Saturday was another excellent run. At no point did I struggle. Just clicking off the miles. This was a cutback week, so I wasn't worried about volume but I did want to maintain or increase my current intensity. I feel I did that. Plus, a good bill of health for Mika. Only area of concern: quads a touch tight.

This Week in Running: 12.5 to 12.11.11

2011-12-11T18:35:00.000-05:00

Monday - 10

w/ Ben

Tuesday - 7

faster than normal for an easy day

Wednesday - 12

tried to make this a tempo; ran as fast as I could in the cold rain storm

Thursday - 9

dead legs

Friday - nothing more than some corework

Saturday - 20

major bonk but still did 20

Sunday - 9

best run of the week

For the Week

67 miles

5 core workouts

Analysis: For the first time in a long time, I had back to back horrendous runs (Thurs and Sat). Quasi-interesting note: if I bonk during a run, I usually recover from it pretty quickly. By 1500 I was ready to go for another run (of course I didn't). When I have a great run, I'm usually beat for the rest of the day. That's keepin it on the level I suppose.

I'm trying to hit 70 miles per week. 3 short this week. The plan is to do 40 during the week and 30 on the weekend. That won't happen next week, though, b/c it's a planned cutback for the current mesocycle. Mesocycle? You can read about macro, meso, and micro cycles in the next issue of Level Renner.

This Week in Running: 11.28 to 12.4.11 w/ GNRC Ho Ho Ho Race Report

2011-12-04T13:46:00.000-05:00

Monday - 10
5 x 2 min pickups; 1 hard hill; 1 5:55 mile
Tuesday - 6 easy
Wednesday - 11 tempo
working hard in the dark for 6:20 pace, I was wearing shorts though
Thursday - 10.5
gutted this one out; running 6:00 pace by the end just to finish it
Friday - lifting
Saturday - 16.25
5k race: 1st in 16:24
did a little over 5k for a w-up then ran the rest of miles as part of an extended cooldown. Race report below.
Sunday: 12.5 miles
slow mode
For the Week
66 1/4 miles
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence

GNRC Ho Ho Ho 5K Race Report
The Skinny
5k time - 16:24* (didn't click my watch @ finish and official results seemed inaccurate; I don't think I ran a 46 sec downhill last .1)
place - 1
pace - 5:20-ish
splits: 1 - 5:26, 2 - 5:16, 3 - 5:13
The Report
I jogged the out-and-back course as a warm-up and felt ready to race. The temp seemed to be getting warmer so the CMS singlet and shorts became a no-brainer. No extra gear needed. After a few snappy strides, it was time to get on the line.

A few guys started like they were shot out of a cannon when the "Go" was signaled. I was in about 5th in the first tenth. By about a half mile, I was in third and watching Keith Neal and David Woodruff running together. They turned in a 5:15 first mile; I was 11 seconds in arrears but feeling good. I was keeping my eye on these guys and started to push my pace ever so slightly. At the rotary turnabout, I felt myself getting a little closer.

Now on the way back to the finish, I was headed into the traffic of the runners still on the way out. I liked the jumble this caused and kept the heat on. With all the congestion, I don't think Neal or Woodruff knew I was closing. By 2 miles, Neal had stretched out on Woodruff, and I came through that split at 10:40 with Woodruff two seconds up. At this point, I started thinking about the win.

Still feeling strong, I started to close the gap on the leader. I was pushing up an incline and with about .3 or .4 to go, I made the pass. Neal didn't die easy. He kept fighting. I, fortunately, found another gear and started to turn it over. I kept the pedal down all the way to the tape. I was pretty happy with my kick.

The awards ceremony was short and sweet. For the win, I got a medal and a certificate for a pair of new balance sneakers. To say the least, I was psyched w/ my award. Mike Gilio and the Greater Norwood Running Club did a good job putting on this race. Later in the day, I trekked to Brockton for the Jingle Bell Run. So it was a Ho Ho Ho am and a Jingle Bell pm. I guess the holiday season is upon us.

This Week in Running: 11.21 to 11.27.11

2011-11-27T14:07:00.000-05:00

Monday - 10.75 w/ Ben
12 x 1 min hard pickups; felt good to get the legs moving. First time in a while.
Tuesday - 6 easy ones
Wednesday - 12.5
tempo trail run in the rain; the puddling slowed down the pace
Thursday - 10
finally got moving at the end
Friday - 4 easy
jogged to and from the gym
Saturday - 20
good run throughout with the last 5 the fastest
Sunday - 8 easy

For the Week
71 1/4 running miles
3 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: 3 high quality days: Monday, Wednesday, Saturday (some speed, a tempo run, a long run). The rest of the days were less difficult/taxing. Glad to hit my winter weekly mileage goal of 70. Having a few days off from work helped me reach that goal. It won't be as easy next week, but this is a good week from which to build.

Jingle Bell Run

2011-11-26T13:41:00.000-05:00

This Week in Running: 11.14 to 11.20.11

2011-11-20T13:29:00.000-05:00

Monday - 10. Got dark quick; stuck running on roads
Tuesday - 7 min bike. Mika visit in am
Wednesday - 10.75. Ran 5-10 faster than I raced last Saturday. I knew I was in better shape than that. Good progression run.
Thursday - 9.5. Ran w/ Martin on a raw dog day.
Friday - lifting sequence
Saturday - 15. 1st 10 sucked; last 5 better
Sunday - 8. Dead legs.

For the Week
53 1/2 miles
70 min bike
4 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: This was a planned cutback week after 3 building weeks. Wed and Thurs were the best and fastest runs, and then I was dead over the weekend. Broke in a new pair of sneakers on Sunday (new balance 1080); too bad the run wasn't better. Take away for the week: by the end of Wed's progression I was down around 5:20 pace.

Level Renner Issue #4 Is Now Available....For Free

2011-11-13T20:43:00.000-05:00

Level Renner: Nov/Dec 2011

Level Renner: the premier underground magazine of New England Club Running. Profiles on local elite athletes, articles on performance and nutrition, commentary on all things running. Keep it on The Level and don't ever underestimate the power of the palindrome.

This Week in Running: 11.7 to 11.13.11

2011-11-13T13:07:00.001-05:00

Monday: 9.75 hammered it; sub 5:30 by the end
Tuesday: 10.25 gliding @ 6:20 pace; got dark quickly
Wednesday: 9.5 easy run w/ ins-and-outs on the track for 1.5 miles
Thursday: gym for lifting
Friday: 12 easy
Saturday: 12 w/ 5 mile race (Edaville Rail Run 29:06 for 1st OA; report to follow)
Sunday: 14.5 easy on technical trails

For the Week
68 miles
4 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: This was a much better week than last week. Where last week was a slog-o-rama of runs, the runs this week were easier and faster. I'm accomplishing my goal of getting a good base down while slowing increasing the pace. I'll try to write a race report of the Edaville trail run later in the day.

This Week in Running: 10.31 to 11.6.11

2011-11-06T11:51:00.000-05:00

Monday: 10.5 not as fast as I wanted it to be
Tuesday: 5 easy day
Wednesday: 12 not as fast as I wanted it to be
Thursday: 10 not as fast as I wanted it to be
Friday: off/lifting
Saturday: 18 it was cold this morning
Sunday: 8 felt good

For the Week
63 1/2 miles
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: I'm not running as fast as I would like to right now. I'm not doing any speed work and perhaps that's why. I am just looking to lay down a solid base at this point in the training. That's the goal for October and November. I'm looking to get in some good miles with limited risk of injury. No jinx there I hope. I have a goal to run 70 miles per week without it being much of a big deal. Once I can do that, I hope the speed with come (through workouts of course). I want to get to the point where I do 30 miles on the weekend (20/10) and 40 miles during the week. Wish me luck.

Congratulations to my CMS teammates for winning the open team title in this year's USATF-NE Grand Prix.

The next issue of Level Renner should be out in another week or so.

This Week in Running: 10.24 to 10.30.11

2011-10-30T12:00:00.000-04:00

Monday - 11 (progression; sub 6:00 @ end)
Tuesday - 3 w/ 40 min bike
Wednesday - 11.75
Thursday - 10 (steady tempo)
Friday - lifting @ gym
Saturday - 17
Sunday - 7.5

For the Week
60 1/4 miles
4 core workouts
40 min on bike
Analysis: Tried running some trail on Sunday morning. Wow, was it bad. The snow itself wasn't the problem. The weight of the snow was the problem. So many downed trees and limbs. It'll be a while before the trails are clear...Saturday's long run was good. I'm hovering around 7:00 pace. Two good runs on Monday and Thursday. I was going sub 6:30 on Thursday and it was feeling easy.

This Week in Running: 10.17 to 10.23.11

2011-10-23T18:10:00.001-04:00

Monday - 10.25 w/ Ben Nephew
Tuesday - 9.25 tempo
Wednesday - off (core only)
Thursday - 5.75
Friday - off
Saturday - 16 @ Cape Cod Marathon Course
Sunday - 7

For the Week
48 1/4 miles
4 core workouts
Analysis: Two evening obligations at work turned this into a cutback week. First run w/ Ben in a long while and it was good to talk some shop w/ him.
On Saturday my friends were getting married on the Cape, so I got up early on Saturday morning to check out the CCM course. I ran miles 26-15 backwards. My take: oh crap. The course is tough. Sure, 24-26.2 is pancake flat but about 18 to 23.5 is a bear. A big rolling, non-stop up and down grizzly. This is not the type of course on which you PR or run for time. This is the type of course that you race your competition, not the clock. To all your GPS studs who are racing next weekend: I wish you the best.

This Week in Running: 10.10 to 10.16.11

2011-10-16T12:47:00.000-04:00

Monday: 9
Tuesday: 3.25 w/ 40 min bike
Wednesday: 10 (tempo)
Thursday: 8 (slow/no energy)
Friday: 7 (see Thurs)
Saturday: off (work obligation)
Sunday: 15.25 good ones

For the Week:
52 1/2 running miles
40 mins on the bike
4 core workouts
Analysis: Two good runs. Two bad runs. I'm getting in shape. I paid my dues for two straight runs after the 10 mile tempo on Wed. I don't care; it was worth it. I need to get used to running faster again and if that means back to back skunks then so be it. Today's 15 was encouraging. Hitting sub 7:00s and felt strong at the end.

This Week in Running: 10.3 to 10.9.11

2011-10-09T10:41:00.001-04:00

Monday - 7.5

Tuesday - bike 70 mins

Wednesday - 8.25

Thursday - 9

Friday - lift

Saturday - 14.5

Sunday - 8.25

For the Week

47 1/2 miles

4 core workouts

1 lift

70 mins on the bike

Analysis: Feel like I'm starting to turn the corner with the back injury. Happy bout that. The pace is slowing working itself down. That's good too. Tried a little experiment this week straight out of Joe Donnelly's training log. I woke up at 0300 on Wed and Thurs to get the runs in before work. It felt awesome to have the run down before 0500 but I don't think it's sustainable b/c I wasn't really able to help get the girls ready for school. Trying to make it all work.

Rome Blvd Road Race

2011-10-03T19:54:00.004-04:00

The Skinny
5 mile time--29:39
place--5th (division 2nd)
pace--5:56
1--6:05
2--6:07
3--6:06
4--5:41
5--5:38

The Report
I started off conservatively because I didn't know how my back would react. I've been running all slow miles lately and haven't been feeling that great. Pleasantly, the back felt fantastic. I still played in cautiously over the first mile but passed a bunch of people that went out too hard.

I told myself to just keep it in control for the first 3. At around 2.5, I noticed a couple of guys starting to come back to me. I passed one at 3 and the other at a little before 3.5. This actually made me feel better and I kept going. I turned the corner at 4 and heard the timer yell "24." So I made up the 18 seconds or so that was putting me over 6.00 pace. My buddy and sometime trainer partner, Martin, was up ahead and I caught up to him too. Like me, he is coming off an injury and really wasn't racing.

I tried to take it easy the last mile, full knowing this wasn't the race too be a hero, but the 5th mile was my fastest. I'll take that. The best news of all is that I ended this race feeling pretty good. I have been running so slow in training lately; it just felt good to open it up a bit. And the back seemed fine during the race. The real test will be tomorrow. I hope it's not back to square one. Cross those fingers.

Post-race was good. My friend Dan was there and he was making his debut as a road racer. He put up a respectable performance. No doubt he'll be doing a few more in the future. For 2nd place in my division, I won a foot massage roller. Add it to the collection!

This Week in Running: 9.26 to 10.3.10

2011-10-02T13:53:00.000-04:00

Monday - 7.25
Tuesday - bike 70 mins
Wednesday - 6.75
Thursday - 6.75
Friday - lifting
Saturday - 11
Sunday - 8.25 w/ race

For the Week
40 running miles
bike 90+ mins
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Slow miles for most of the week and my back was sorer than I thought it would be and that stunk. I was getting pretty depressed by my lack of progress and my runs had been pretty boring as a result. You can only go on so many slow runs, especially when they are accompanied by discomfort.
The highlight of the week was definitely the Rome Blvd Road Race. I felt much better than I thought. I had very little back discomfort. I took the race out slow, but at 3 miles was able to pick it up and pass three guys. Now, I wasn't racing this race--I was treating it more like a tempo--but I felt good, and that's all I care about right now. Maybe CCM is still a possibility?

October Issue of Level Renner Available Now!

2011-09-27T20:02:00.001-04:00

Level Renner: Level Renner Issue 3

The 3rd issue of Level Renner is hot with commentary on all things running: water stops, double-dipping, marathon peaking, and so much more. Three great New England athletes are featured: Joe Donnelly, Brett Ely, and Jim Pawlicki. You want to find out what tough runners do and how they think? The…

This Week in Running: 9.19 to 9.25.11

2011-09-25T18:02:00.000-04:00

Monday - bike 70 mins
Tuesday - 7 miles
Wednesday - 3.5 miles
Thursday - 5 miles
Friday - lifting
Saturday - 10 miles
Sunday - 5 miles

Some easy biking accompanied each run just to up the total cardiovascular time. I also got in 5 days of core work. I'm trying to emphasize the lower back and hips as this needs to be a point of emphasis after the current injury. The lower back is still sore when I run but it is manageable and sometimes the discomfort is more in my right hip than my lower back. I have been killing myself with a trigger point roller 2x a day and I think that is helping. Jen gave me a a deep tissue massage on Thursday and that helped too.

I was somewhat surprised to get 30 miles this week. I had absolutely no mileage goals. I did not worry about speed b/c I just wanted to feel "healthy." Still holding out hope for CCM. Good news: my legs feel like they are in shape. I had some bounce in my step despite the sore back.

For the Week
30 1/2 miles
probably about 2 hours of biking
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence

Weekly Update 9.12 to 9.18.11

2011-09-18T14:45:00.000-04:00

Turns out I impinged/inflamed the sacroiliac joint. That's what's been causing the pain. Apparently, when excess stress is placed on the joint, the surrounding muscles tense up and spasm as a protective measure to prevent further damage to the distressed area.

I have been able to start running some easy miles. I probably did fifteen or so miles over 4 runs this week. The back can handle the bike without much discomfort. In another week or so, I intend to be "back" to somewhat normal miles with the hopes of salvaging a respectable fall racing season.

Rehab measures include lots of foam rolling on the lower back and hip, stretching both areas (IT-bands), icing, and heating.

Lower Back Pain

2011-09-11T18:30:00.000-04:00

It's been two weeks and the right side of my lower back at the hip and top of the butt is still sore and tight. I've been rolling (but probably need to do more), icing, and heating. I've also been on a steady stream of ibuprofen, which I am now abandoning. Don't like putting too much of that stuff in my body. I feel like not much recovery has been made in these last two weeks. I'm going to Mika, the chiro, on Tuesday. Hopefully, he can straighten me out.

This Week in Running: 8.29 to 9.4.11 (Injury)

2011-09-04T13:25:00.000-04:00

I ran once this week. Monday 5 miles. After seeing a chiropractor on Wednesday, it turns out that I strained a muscle in my lower back on the right side. It's been sore for the entire week. For treatment, I have been doing the usual RICE routine plus some massaging with the stick and foam roller. I incurred a similar injury to this almost three years ago to the day. The only difference being that in 2008 the injury affected my left side. It's a bit sore to walk right now but I seem to be able to bike without much discomfort on flat roads. Too bad I don't enjoy biking as much as I do running. I pretty bummed about this. Looking back from the 2008 running log, I was sidelined about a month all in all. I don't think this injury is as severe as in 08 so I'm hoping for a quicker recovery. I'd still like to do CCM, but I need to get in some quality work.

Why do I think the injury happened? I think it was a combination of two things: 1) I had been lifting a lot of heavy objects leading up to the injury (helped my sister move, moving yard stuff around before Hurricane Irene, constantly picking up the kids who aren't getting any lighter), 2) my mileage and intensity was at his highest for the year. That amalgam stirred up together left my lower back susceptible and here I am now. Back on the shelf.

Chapter 44: Treadmill

2011-08-31T13:29:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about running. This chapter chronicles one boy's run on a treadmill. I think it is one of the best in the whole novel. What do you think?

When a priest gives a sermon, he can proselytize for fifteen minutes but a member of the congregation may only take with him one sentiment, one phrase, one word. Sometimes that aphorism is taken in context; sometimes it is not.

Ryan Jenkins heard that he wasn't running because the uneven terrain of a cross country course would jeopardize the healing of the ankle. Only a slight twist could put the susceptible ankle back into ice baths. He got to thinking that if today's race was on a mondo track that he'd be racing. He didn't hear the other things the priest had to say and in his defense Hartman could have been more forthcoming with the full platform of reasons as to why the star pupil was being withheld.

So he broke into the Dank Tank. Avoiding the school police was the breeze he knew it would be and he didn't have to worry about tripping any alarms. The tank had nary a motion detector nor security camera. The only thing he had to concern himself with was the actual entrance. Doors were locked but the bunker style windows were open. Del-like, he got in. It took him six minutes and he nearly reinjured his ankle due to his awkward landing but in another dozen he was on the treadmill.

He thought like his coach. He had one objective: make it hurt. Over a week had elapsed from his last good running sweat and to him that was unacceptable. Yes he did the bike and swam the pool workouts but like the boss said, There's no substitute for running—another maxim taken slightly out of context.

He wanted eight hard miles. He told himself to make it a progression run that started at 8.5 mph and ended at the mill's top speed. He didn't know what that speed was but he wanted that belt smoking by the end of it. He visualized himself as David Sommers from American Flyers, a movie he'd seen a hundred times, and told himself it was his time to work like that, to push it to the brink. Edge city man, edge city.

Three old machines stood in front of a wall of glass. The mirror had several small spider cracks and a longer diagonal one that distorted the reflecting image. On the left side a wooden shelf lay even with the bunker sills and supported an old boombox. On this boombox Smitty played his music at six in the morning. Jenkins decided not to turn it on. He didn't turn any lights on either. Didn't want any pigs sniffing around his workout. He wouldn't realize it until years later but that extra adrenaline rush of doing something that he wasn't suppose to do aided his workout tremendously and enabled him to kick the treadmill's ass.

He took the first mile easy. He had to test the ankle and make sure it could handle the load. He let the sweat form and roll off slowly. He often ran with a hat but today sans headcover he could feel the beads of sweat sprout on his crown and weave down through his hair. Two times he told himself to wait until he hit mile one to increase the speed but it was of no use. The ankle barely bothered him at all. Once or twice he even had to remind himself which ankle he sprained. He could have run today. He was repaired.

The odometer recorded a mile and he hit the up arrow until the mph number reached 9.0. 6:40 pace and still feeling as slow as molasses. He could feel himself entering the zone—easing into it like one does a hot bath—the only thing preventing complete immersion was his keeping an ear out for the school security cops.

That didn't last long. By four miles, he was running at ten miles per hour and inserted his earbuds. The music made him feel invincible. The speed was hard yet easy and the ankle held up fine. His reflection looked back at him in triplicate and he studied it from all three angles. A side mirror offered him a profile of his arm and leg swing. He tried to lift his knees higher and swing his arms more efficiently. The beat of the music helped him attain a steady rhythm of opposite arm-leg propulsion. So tuned in was he that he landed one step on the port sideboard of the treadmill. He totally forgot he was on the thing. He nearly fell off and broke the other ankle. Enough of that, he thought, and looked at himself dead on. He corrected himself as to stop his forearms from carrying across his body. He was sweating heavily at 4.5 and tactfully pulled off his “per aspera ad astra.” First he removed his left arm from its sleeve then the right. He had to reconfigure the headphone cord draping from his ear and tucked it into his wristband, which he was now wearing between elbow and shoulder. In this movement he thought of how he naturally slowed down on the road if he ever had to make an adjustment. Not on a treadmill. The machine was oblivious to any such human whim or fancy. It kept its speed. It did not falter. Jenkins admired this infallibility and became determined first to match it then to beat it. Both arms now desleeved, he tucked his head out of the neckhole and threw the shirt on a nearby nautilus apparatus. It landed right on a handbar; it did not touch the floor. He now looked at his pale svelte torso and it motivated him. His hairless pectorals were cut. A hundred fifty pushups a day will do that to a boy. Nobody knew how defined he was except him and a few x-c guys. His abs were equally chiseled No remnants of babyfat on this runner's stomach. With each step his ab skin zigzagged. Slant to the left. Slant to the right. Eight square blocks pressing up from under his skin. Runnels of sweat streamed down across his front and ephemerally pooled into the divot at his navel. Then the beads encroached into his coolmax waistband and dissipated into hot vapor. The headbob. Watch the headbob. A silent acknowledgment that would stay with him. Keep that head on a line. Didn't see it on SpringVale but he could see it now. Tamp it. Keep it in check. When he pressed the button to 11.5 he felt a twinge which he promptly ignored. It disintegrated as quickly as it was born. Fuck the pain, and he was referring to multiple discomforts now. The music made him say it. “Rearview Mirror” came through the wires and that last line made him increase the tempo yet again. This time as he pressed down he caught a shadowy image of himself of the treadmill's console. Just the shoulder and the top of his chest. He stared at it. His eyes moved from digital numbers to the shoulder and he made it just so he could see both simultaneously. He couldn't take his eyes of this image. What was wrong with him? In the solitary privacy of the dank he let himself become one with this narcissistic inclination. He thought what he was doing was badass. He thought this workout was badass. Something out of a Prefontaine movie. Nobody in the state was working as hard as him right now and he was going to relish that. Nobody can run with me. Nobody works as hard as me. He pumped his elbows and knees and kept his head perfectly still. Oh yeah, he cried, and flexed out his hands as though he were slapping those of spectators on Boylston Street.

At 7.1 miles Smitty's song came on the mp3 player. “It's a long way to the top,” Bon Scott sang. Damn right, Jenks said and hit the speed button once again. But it didn't go. He tried again but the number stayed at 12.0. He looked at the elapsed time but instead a message scrolled: “MAX SPEED ATTAINED.” What the fuck, he thought as he tried to run faster. He ran up into the frontbar of the machine. He wanted more but the machine could give no more. He raced passed the eight mile mark and kept pounding to the music. If I can't run faster, I'll run longer. Actually drove his legs harder into the treadmill's belt. Drove harder and harder and worked on perfect form and economy. I'm the machine, he told it.

Two songs later and Jenkins was still punishing it. Well over nine miles now and he was bumping into the frontbar again. He looked at the triplicate images. He was giving himself still more power. He ran on the front plastic casing at the top end of the belt. He looked at the orange numbers. His legs did something funny. For a second time a message scrolled on the console, a new message: CANNOT MAINTAIN REQUESTED SPEED...CANNOT MAINTAIN REQUESTED SPEED…

Ryan Jenkins' Treadmill Playlist

Rearview Mirror by Pearl Jam

Idioteque by Radiohead

Only by Nine Inch Nails

Double Vision by The Ponys

Underdog by The Dirtbombs

Black Jack Davey by The White Stripes

California Rolling by Kings of Leon

Clamp Down by The Clash

I’m Shipping up to Boston by Dropkick Murphys

Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin

And Begin by The Mooney Suzuki

Nine Milli Bros. by Ghostfaced Killa

Over and Over by Hot Chip

Elevation by U2

Level Renner Issue #2 Now Available!

2011-08-29T07:14:00.000-04:00

September 2011

By Kevin Balance in Level Renner

24 pages, published 29 AUG 2011

Level Renner is a journal of (new england) running for the olde school literary athlete. New England races are featured as well as literature related to running. The September issue also includes articles on performance and general running commentary and insight.

This Week in Running: 8.22 to 8.28.11

2011-08-26T12:43:00.001-04:00

Monday - 11.5 recovery run; core
Started easy and felt best by the end of the run. Low 7:00s.

Tuesday - 6 easy; core
Stride session after the run.

Wednesday - 12 in 87:xx; legcore
I wanted this to be a hard progression run but the legs just weren't cooperating. Aerobically I was fine but my legs were cranky, esp the quads. I think that steep downhill 3rd mile in Saturday's rest is still causing havoc on my quads.

Thursday - 12.5 in 92:25; core
Workout: 3 x 12 min w/ 2 min recovery
This was tough. I was nowhere near recovered between each rep. I was not on a track so ran on perceived effort. Really hoping each repeat covered at least two miles. The effort was there. Classic cooldown bonk. Spacey.

Friday - 4 easy; lifting w/ legcore
Easy day.

Saturday - 19.5 in a very slow time
I bonked. If this was 10, I would've been fine, but it was 20. Well, almost 20. I was really dead on the second half of this run. Not good.

Sunday - easy 7
Early morning pre "Hurricane" Irene run. Body is feeling bad right now. I need a cutback week to regroup.

For the Week
72 1/2 running miles
4 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Suddenly I'm feeling worn down and dead. Need to take stock of things and get energized. Maybe eat better too.

Chapter 39: Starkfield State Invitational

2011-08-25T21:17:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about running. This chapter tells of the boys' first big invitational.

In his mind's eye, he circled this date on the team calendar. Every since he typed it up on his old Smith Corona, he marked the day as the first true test on the schedule. His veteran status made him sententious enough to know that the odds were pretty good that at least one of his men would be down or that something unexpected would happen: teacher strike, family tragedy, no bus pickup. He just didn't think that Jenkins would be his foible. He placed his chips on the Coetaine card and early on it looked like he was in the money but as he full well knew things could change on a dime, especially with a group of teenage boys. Coaches couldn't control freak injuries (contrary to popular belief he felt they could at least partially control other types of injuries, overuse injuries, for example) but they could control the training. Hartman brought them into this meet ready to dance. He even eliminated a late week track workout so the boys would have something they hadn't had all year: fresh legs. They were by no means peaking for this race, that wouldn't come until Championship season, but the coach intended to use this performance as an assessment of the team current fitness level and as an instrument to inform him for the planning and adjusting for the team's next mesocycle.

In August he had told his boys to pay attention and that their legs would remember the course. It was the last run of camp, a controlled progression in which they got to see and feel and smell the course two times over. Now he'd see if his instructions were followed.

He debated but broke his team in two. The upperclassmen would run the D1 Varsity Race and his bluebirds the Freshmen Race. Paws might be ready to run varsity but Hartman thought it might do him and the others some good if they didn't get their butts handed to them, for once, by guys three or four years older than them. Might also be good for the older boys to see their guys hold their own against competitors in the same weight class. From warmup to cooldown Pereira was in charge of the pfb's; as always Hartman held the reins of the varsity squad.

09:20:00 AM Frosh Boys	09:40:00 AM Frosh Girls
10:00:00 AM D1 JV Boys	10:20:00 AM D1 JV Girls
10:40:00 AM D1 Varsity Boys	11:00:00 AM D1 Varsity Girls
11:20:00 AM D2 JV Boys	11:40:00 AM D2 JV Girls
12:00:00 PM D2 Varsity Boys	12:20:00 PM D2 Varsity Girls

-Your other job, Hartman told Pereira, is to keep him away from him...and Paul...the best you can.

But it was too late. Impossible to keep Mr. Hammond from barreling on up to him with extended bear claw.

-Good to see you Mitch.

-How are you Paul?

-I hope my boy runs fast enough for you today.

-He'll do fine.

Pereira saved Hartman by introducing himself. The latter caught Pereira's eye, gave him a wink and a pat on the back, and removed himself from the tercet. He had to go reiterate to Jenkins for the twentieth time that he wasn't racing today.

-But Coach I could win this meet. The team could win this meet. The team needs me.

-Would you rather win a meet now or in November? The ankle's getting better. Let's not jeopardize it on this uneven terrain. What you will do is act like a leader. You'll warmup with the varsity, set an A.B. tone, and make sure they're ready to go. Once they're racing, you'll be out on the course offering encouragement.

-Oh great. I'm a cheerleader.

-Or you can wait in the van.

Hartman told him how to do. Opened a window into how he thinks. Frosh race starts at 9:20. Watch that race and yell at your teammates. Start your stretching as soon as they finish. Make sure the bluebirds do a cooldown. Tell them they did a good job but only if they did. Take them with you as you warmup the varsity. Ask them questions about the course. Make sure the varsity listens to the answers. They could learn something. Now remember it's a fifteen-twenty minute jog that starts slow and finishes with a light sweat. After the warmup it should be no later than 10:25-10:30. Keep an eye on your watch. At this point dynamic stretches only. Leave them alone just before the race. Make sure they put on their spikes and unis and go to the bathroom. On the line at final call for a couple hard striders.

The frosh race was short. Only 2.2 miles. One big loop that crossed a wooden bridge. Not exactly spectator friendly. In the 5K race a coach could camp out at .4, sprint across the footbridge to see his harriers at 1.8, then hoof it back to the final straightaway. Hartman would only see his freshmen at the start and finish. They ran well. Paws led the charge, elbowing three guys out of his line in the first quarter mile. Gales witnessed it and bragged to those around him that he taught him that. In the end Paws took fourth, Sellberg seventeenth, Lee thirty-ninth, and Buck forty-fourth.

On his way to the line, Mr. Hammond took his son by the ulna.

-Remember what we talked about.

-Yessir, eyes averted.

-Good. Now go get 'em. Show 'em who's boss.

Paul sprinted away to catch up with his teammates. He had to break into their already formed huddle. Though he wasn't ready, Jenkins was speaking with vigor.

-...We know this course. We ran it at camp. We kicked its ass after a tough week. Twice. Remember that? Your legs will.

-Let's go. Let's go.

-We're a team. You don't need my legs to win this meet. No excuses. Run hard. Run tough. Never die easy. Jackets on three. One. Two. Three.

-Jackets!

Hartman heard the primordial “Jackets” from one hundred ten yards away. Jenkins, he thought, had done his job. Two minutes later, a swarm of athletes set out straight for the dirtroad. He galloped out and over a small berm as he wanted to be as far down the opening straightaway as possible. The first Yellowjacket he saw was Spider, who positioned himself in the top ten. He was always a fast starter. Right behind him were Smith and to his chagrin Coetaine. Torres streaked by three seconds later then came Hamz, Kimihara, and later Wallan. Hartman said nothing as his harriers passed. Experience told him that trying to yell instructions into a crowded mass in the first half-mile of a race was an exercise in futility. Fifty meters down the road, however, he head Paul Sr. screaming at his only son.

-Get up there Paul! Get up there!

This advice ran contrary to what Hartman and Hamz had discussed in their prerace planning. The coach shook his head, spat, and made his way to his next viewpoint.

At 1.8 he saw what he was hoping not to see. Hammond had made a wild move and positioned himself way in front of Spidestrom and right at the back of the small lead pack of five. Hartman wondered how much energy he wasted in this uncouth move and hoped he had enough stamina and endurance to hang on. The plan was for Paul to sit for the first two then drop the hammer in the last mile. He always ran his best when he started conservatively and worked his way through the field. It's the only time he ran with any type of confidence. Now all that had gone to shit. The kid ran scared, looking back, hoping no one would come along and eat him up, hoping his dad would see him while he was still up front. Hartman could see the terror in the boy's face.

-Alright now Paul. Be cool. Stick like glue. Like glue.

When Hartman saw him next the adhesive had lost its stick. He'd be giving his best effort but still doing the skeleton dance. Etched into his mind an audio imprint of Hammond's father screaming mercilessly at his son. Go! Go! Go! What's wrong with you? Go! Go! Go! Don't you dare quit on me! Move it. Move it. Before it's too late. The imprint returned to him at odd times for the rest of the long weekend. It led him to an old story he read years and years ago. He found a copy in one of the filing cabinets in the basement and intended to give Paul a copy come Monday.

Despite Hamz's blowup, the team raced well and with the exception of Hamz they raced smart. Each man has his own style and each ran well in his style. Hartman let them be individuals through October and early November but once championship season started they were expected to adopt a singular team strategy. And the troops knew that if the general didn't trust you, you weren't running in the big ones. So for this meet Spider could start as fast as he wanted and Kimihara could be an even Steven. They were young and Hartman wanted them to learn about their bodies in ways inherent and intrinsic to them. Hammond learned in a slightly different way today.

Starkfield State Invitational Team Results: Top 5

1. Springfield

2. Woodbury

3. Norman

4. Norwood

5. Drexel Hill

Individual Results for Springfield

1. Franklin Torres 16:07

2. Adam Spidestrom 16:28

3. Reggie Smith 16:41

4. Hideo Kimihara 17:10

5. Malcolm Galiozzi 17:35

6. Paul Hammond 17:37

7. Sam Coetaine 18:01

8. Peter Wallan 18:29

Larry Olsen 10K

2011-08-22T16:24:00.001-04:00

mile 1; photo by Ted Tyler

The Skinny

Place: 1^st

Time:35:32

Pace: 5:43

Splits

1-5.36

2-5.19

3-5.33

4-6.13

5-6.13

6-5.31

.2-63

The Report

When I walked out my door, I noticed two things: 1)everything was wet, 2) it was humid. Those two things stayed constant throughout the early morning and throughout the race.

After the normal prerace routine and a pleasant chat with Ted Tyler, who graciously gave me permission to use all his photography in Level Renner, I was off to the starting line. There, a couple guys were making idle, nervous chat about how they were dreading the upcoming race. Hearing that palaver, I immediately crossed them off the list of contenders.

I wanted to go in a controlled first mile. I did with a 5:36. At this point, I was running with Glenn Miller of TVFR and in second place about 10-20 meters behind the leader. The second mile is all uphill and the leader, Keith Neal, started to slow a bit on the incline. I felt strong and worked the hill taking the lead. Now, this is where I started to think that the markers were off b/c I ran a 5:19 second mile and the thing was just about straight up. The third mile, straight down, registered a 5:33 and I knew something was amok. That combined with the fact that all of the mile markers were “conveniently” placed at landmarks (a corner, a trailhead, the exact midpoint of a bridge) made me believe that the miles were a little off.

I was running solo as I headed into the trails. I felt like I was alone but did not look back. I wanted to try to continue to push the pace and thought I did so, but for those two trail miles I slowed considerably. I’m hoping it wasn’t just me. I’m hoping the trails contributed to the flagging pace along with those miles being a little long. They felt it.

mile 5; photo by Ted Tyler

The last mile is all road and I came off those back to back 6:13’s with a 5:31. This gave me some confidence postrace b/c I was hoping to average low 5:30s. I crossed the finish line and the clock read a disappointing 35:32 (hoping for 34:low), but I once again felt good to lace ‘em up and race. That give me a jolt in itself.

Surprisingly, I felt peppy on the cooldown and did a solid 4.5 on the trails. Unfortunately, some woman fell in the trails and broke her arm and maybe nose (it was all bloody). I was pretty out there but had to doubleback and let a race official know (there were no race attendants in the 2 mile trail section of the race). After a call to 911, I was back on the cooldown.

At the awards ceremony I picked up a medal and t-shirt (pretty cool Larry Olsen memorial). I wanted a cup of water but they ran out…which leads to this story. Immediately following my finish I went to the 5 gallon drum to get some water. Once there, I found no cups. I asked a woman with a back tattoo and she said they were “working on it.” I was pretty hot and parched, so improvised. I pulled the water bucket over to the table’s edge and tried to bend down low in an effort to quench my thirst. Either the table was too low or I was too stiff but I couldn’t bend down low enough to imbibe the water. Instead, I let some run over my neck and head. The woman seemed concerned that I was doing this but didn’t say anything to me directly. Then, post awards ceremony I was walking back to my car and heard the tattoo woman telling a story…about ME. This is what she was saying: “That asshole who finished first dumped half the water on his head. What an asshole!” I heard her and jogged up to her. “Hey,” I said. “That was me.” She immediately started to back off. I said, “I wasn’t being an asshole (using her language back at her for effect). I was just thirsty and you had no cups.” “Oh, I just wanted to get some cups,” she said. I said, “And I didn’t pour half the bucket over my head. I was thirsty. I just ran a race. I’m not an asshole.” She sidled up to me and kept saying she just wanted the cups to arrive. But I bet if I wasn’t there she would’ve kept on calling me an names all the way home. I’m glad I got to straighten her out in front of her friends. But, damn tattoo woman, if you are in charge of the water, put some freakin cups out! It ain’t hard. Oh and here’s another thing: have enough water left so some people can have some after a cooldown. Me and this poor old man could’ve used a second cup.

This Week in Running: 8.15 to 8.21.11

2011-08-21T13:18:00.001-04:00

Monday - 12.25 in 87:44; core
Steady run w/ 10 x 1 min w/ 1 min recovery thrown into the mix. Point of the pickups was to stimulate some neuromuscular systems that have been dormant for a little too long now. Try to get some speed back in a relatively "safe" way. It was raining but the weather was nice. Real runners know what I'm talking about.

Tuesday - 3.5 easy miles; core
Dr. Mika visit in the morning. Just a tune-up. Nothing brewing.

Wednesday - 11.75; legcore
9 x "800" (Muddy Puddin specialty)
I did not do the repeats on the track. I did them on a loop at a park which is composed of dirt and grass paths. I have no idea the exact distance of the loop; I just start on a mulched path and end at a trimmed bush. All reps were between 2:55 (first) and 2:46 (last). I worked hard today and could feel my body start to get in shape. Good run.

Thursday - 11 in 75:37; core
A good medium run that progressed down to 6:15 for the last mile and it felt pretty easy.

Friday - 4 mile jog; legcore; lifting sequence at the gym

Saturday - 12.75 w/ race
Larry Olsen 10K. 1st OA. 35:32 (two miles of trail; moderately challenging). Race report to follow.

midway through mile 1; Photo by Ted Tyler

Sunday - 14.5 recovery run
The pace was slow but I didn't feel bad. The trails today were pretty technical,which I think slowed me down a bit. Still the body felt relatively good after yesterday's race. I didn't bonk today (that sometimes happens the day after a race for me).

For the Week
69 3/4 miles
4 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
some easy biking w/ KJ
Analysis: A good week of training. The miles are up around 70 per week now and the intensity is getting there. I am still getting in shape. Hope to see some improvement in race times soon.

Chapter 38: Team Dinner

2011-08-15T19:53:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about a cross country team. Today's chapter recounts a festive team dinner held on the eve of a big meet.

Despite the blazing hot run and ruckus of yesterday afternoon, Hamz still showed up at Galiozzi’s house at dawn. He didn’t beep. He let the car idle in front of the house. As he reached for the phone to text Gales, the junior came running out the door with a bagel in his mouth, another in his hand, and a backpack slung over his shoulders.

-Want one, he showed his bageled hand.

-Sure.

-I didn’t think you’d show up this morning.

-I only showed up because I know how much you hate the Dank. Especially on a Friday morning.

-No shit.

He punched at a few of Hammond’s presets and threw a chunk of his bagel out the window at an equally spastic squirrel.

-You’re a piece of work. Know that? Give me half.

He handed him the bagel.

-You’re a real bastard yourself.

He held out his fist. It hung there for a long second before Hammond recognized it. When he saw it, he bumped his knuckles on it. All was right in their world again.

Thirteen hours after thirty minutes of core work in the Dank Tank, the Devonshires, Hideo Kimihara’s sponsor family, hosted both teams—boys and girls—to a pasta dinner. However, the weather being so warm it morphed into more of a pasta barbeque. A pastaque as Deo called it.

The Devonshires, a bit clueless about all things endurance but not so clueless not to know that pasta was a prerace staple, did their dinner to the nines. They started with appetizers: bowls of almonds, tortilla chips with homemade guacamole, popcorn, a platter of fresh cut vegetables. Strewn across the living room, dining room, kitchen, and deck, small groups of skinny runners hovered over the goodies. Buck and Lee along with Ola and Monique nearly stuffed themselves before they sat down for their meals. When they did finally sit down, they commenced with a garden salad with roughly six different dressings from which to choose, each bottle brand new. Mrs. Devonshire, playing the dual role of hostess/waitress, circled the tables, both indoor and out, asking each guest it they would like fresh ground pepper over their greens. Half of them had no idea what she was talking about. Mr. D would’ve been helping out too, but he manned the outdoor kitchen, splitting his time between rotisserie chicken and hamburgers.

Novices to teenagers, the Devonshires vastly underestimated how fast and how much high school athletes could eat. Spider and Smitty had long since polished off their salads and half loaf of Italian bread before poor Theresa finally got pepper on her salad.

-Slow down you animals, Casey admonished, this isn’t Cinders.

They looked at her and slowed their jaws in an exaggerated manner.

The Devonshires were at least sage enough to set the drinks up at the tables in a serve yourself buffet. The kids helped themselves and waited politely for the main course. Give them credit, they knew their manners when the circumstance called for it. Casey, known for her massive guttural utterances, didn’t belch once the entire meal. A record for her. She still, however, busted chops whenever the D’s were out of earshot.

Right as Mr. and Mrs. D were to finally place the platters of assorted meats and pastas on the table, Wallan, sitting alongside Lindsey and Sellberg, stood up. Perhaps one course too late, but he still gently tapped his glass with his fork.

-Hey guys: can I have your attention for a minute?

He waited for a hush to fall. Even Mr. Devonshire halted the flipping of beef. Wallan made eye contact with him and his wife.

-Thanks. Thank you for having us this evening and cooking this meal for us. And Lord thank you for providing us with this bountiful table. Amen.

-Amen.

-And may we run fast tomorrow.

-Amen, louder.

-And thank you again Kimiharas.

-Amen, louder then sprinkled guffaws.

-Their last name isn’t Kimihara, you idiot!

-Well, you know what I mean.

-Idiots, Casey said.

The Devonshires really did make a big deal of the evening. They sent Deo to school with invitations for everyone on both teams. The gesture gave the event an air of magnanimity. As such everyone responded either via call or text to Deo’s cell, the RSVP number. Even the guys who told him in person still sent a text. Each subsequent night since the release of the invites, Mrs. Devonshire would ask Hideo for an update. He complied and was observant enough to notice for his visits at Cinders to know that Maggie and Katherine were vegans. This information, of course, sent the carnivorous Devonshire couple into a bit of a frenzy that started with an internet search for vegan recipes and culminated with tofu, cannellini beans, veggie burgers, and rice pasta—all prepared in separate pots and pans—appearing on the table.

-Now where are Maggie and Katherine?

Fortunately, they both sat out on the deck at the circular table that abutted the rectangular one, the two joined together in the shape of a gigantic lollipop. Mrs. D approached them and asked what they’d like: veggie burgers or pasta primavera with rice noodles and tofu or both? The girls were touched.

-How did you know?

She proudly pointed at Deo and bent town between them to whisper “Cinders.” They smiled. When Katherine finally caught Deo’s eye ten minutes later, she gave him a smile and wink that left the sophomore with a tingle in his groin.

Dinner ended almost as soon as it had started. Pounds upon pounds of pasta, meatballs, chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers, and tofu vanished in the span of thirty minutes. All that was left was a mountain of dirty dishes.

-Do you guys want to watch a movie downstairs?

-I brought Hoosiers, Jenkins said.

-We should help with the dishes first, Lindsey said.

-Now don’t you even think about that, Mrs. Devonshire interjected.

-We have smores for dessert, Mr. D said, I could get the firepit going and we could toast some marshmallows.

-Cool.

-Awesome.

-Let’s do that.

And they were off. Off to the backyard looking for twigs and sticks. They ran all over the yard. Some broke into fencing matches with their branches. Laertes and Hamlet would be proud. Others searched endlessly for the perfect bough. Coetaine challenged Torres to a smores eating contest. Franklin accepted and won nine to eight. Coetaine vouchsafed victory by placing and waving a white napkin on his marshmallow branch. Amazingly, the Devonshires didn’t run out of chocolate, graham crackers or marshmallows. Maybe because Hammond and Paws only had one each. Or maybe because Jenkins didn’t have any. He still thought he might run tomorrow.

-Hey Deo. Get your guitar.

Deo scurried up the stairs to his room and brought down his acoustic.

-What can you play?

-Only a few. I’ve only been at it a little while.

-Play a song we all know.

Deo complied and after a minute or two the whole team joined the refrain of “American Pie.” That’s how they spent the rest of the night: circled around a fire singing songs they all knew.

This Week in Running: 8.8. to 8.14.11

2011-08-14T10:44:00.000-04:00

Monday - morning: 7.5 miles; afternoon: 3.5 miles
Felt horrible this morning but rebounded for a better, albeit shorter run this afternoon. I sneaky way to get 11 in for the day. It almost feels like cheating. Almost.
Tuesday - 6 miles
My watch band broke and I've been running w/out a watch. This feels weird. Started slow but got going pretty good for the last deuce.
Wednesday - 11.25 in 80:04
Ran w/ the infamous Muddy Puddin on this one. What a great run. Good convo the whole way made the miles fly by. Thanks for the run Muddy!
Thursday - 13 in 99:04
Track workout: 2 mile - 11.32, 1.5 mile - 8.50, 1 mile - 5.51, 800 - 2.48 all w/ 1/4 mile recovery
My goal was to step on the track and run sub 6:00 pace. Haven't been doing enough of that lately. I had to battle for lane 1 w/ a bunch of high school football players "coached" by a clueless "man." I just tucked my cap down low on my head and said "time to go to work." I wanted to run the first split in 11.30 and basically did that. I thought I could maintain that pace for the rest of the workout, but my speed isn't there yet. The game quickly turned to keep it sub 6:00. I was hurting but having fun in a weird way. I told myself I was going to complete this workout no matter what and it felt good to do so. I do have to say that the 3+ mile cooldown felt rather long.
Friday - 4 mile jog to/from gym; lifting sequence
Easy miles b/c right now the legs feel a little worse after a day off.
Saturday - 19.25 in ~2:26
I felt good today, starting to feel like a real runner again. Now, I need to work on pumping up the pace. Still too slow even though this felt more aggressive than my last long run.
Sunday - 8 recovery miles
Whole body felt sluggish, not horrible just sluggish in the rain.

For the Week
72 1/2 miles
2 legcore workouts 1 w/ calf emphasis
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: No real core work this weak b/c I was on vacation and decide to work out my ab muscles by eating copious amounts of unhealthy foods. It was fun. I had a good workout on Thursday to make up for all the ice cream. I now know where I stand in term of my fitness and need to continue to develop my "speed." The long runs are starting to come easier, and this is encouraging. This week I attained my highest weekly mileage # for the year. No complaints there.

This Week in Running 8.1 to 8.7.11

2011-08-03T20:19:00.003-04:00

Monday - 10 easy miles + 45 min bike; core
slow
Tuesday - 5 easy miles w/ stride session; core w/ calf emphasis
Ran the strides in an effort to get out some post-race soreness.
Wednesday - 10.5 in 75:53 + easy bike; core
Best run of the week so far, but it needs to be farther.
Thursday - 11 in 80:25; core
Most aggressive fartlek run of the season. 3 x 4 min, 3 min, 2 min. A good step.
Friday - lifting + easy biking; core w/ calf emphasis
Saturday - 18.5 in 2:20.36
Didn't feel bad just not as fast as I would've liked. I guess base comes first and speed comes second. Let's hope so....Felt a little like Bob Wiles b/c I was done before 0800.
Sunday - easy 8
My watch band broke yesterday, so the time of this run isn't exactly accurate, but I was going easy and wasn't worried about splits.

For the Week
62 3/4 running miles
~60 min + easy biking
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Happy to get in a 60 mile week as I take this as a sign of getting back into some serious running. Hope to continue with the progression of miles and intensity.

Carver Cranberry Classic

2011-08-01T17:24:00.000-04:00

The Skinny
5 mile time - 27:46
pace - 5:33
place - 44th
1 - 5.21
2 - 5.30
3 - 5.38
4 - 5.45
5 - 5.32

The Report
prerace
This being my first race since the February injury I was a little more jittery than normal. I really had no idea about my fitness level. I had done a couple of progressions that got down to low 6:00 pace, but that's it. No real speedwork and I haven't run a mile in under 6:00 since the Foxboro Old Fashioned 10 Miler.

I was psyched to see my CMS teammates. It had been too long. After a little chitchat, we headed out for a solid three mile warm-up. We could tell it was going to be hot. I found myself with plenty of time prerace and did all the requisite stretching and drills. Right before the start I gave the girls kisses and was off.

the race
I didn't have a firm grasp of pace. I was waiting for the first mile marker so I knew how fast I was going. I deduced it wasn't that fast because a bunch of guys with whom I am normally competitive were way ahead of me. Needless to say, I was surprised to hit mile 1 in 5:20. Throughout the first two miles, I moved up and passed people. At three, I settled in with a good group: teammates Matt Clark and Chris Mahoney, Joe Donnelly, Doug Martyn, and John Barbour. I have to tell you, these dudes are competitive. It was great. We battled back and forth, threw in surges, and nobody was willing to give an inch. In the last half mile, things really got hot and heavy. Terry McNatt, Jason Cakouros, and Jonathan May joined the fun. I knew I was nowhere near a PR but I still pushed hard and gave it a full-out kick. It felt so good to race and mix it up in a GPS race!

postrace
Some more chitchat and refueling with the CMS boys. People seemed really receptive to the new running magazine, Level Renner, and I hope people decide to pick it up. After a few more miles and some stretching it was time to go home. A good morning...

When I got home, I looked up my results from 1999, the last time I ran this race. I've done it a couple of times but was lazy and only looked up '99. Result: 26:20 for 5th. Obviously, not a GPS year.

Following some legends in club racing.
Photo courtesy Ted and Mary Tyler via Jim Rhoades.

Great and plentiful pictures by Jim Rhoades.com.

This Week in Running: 7.25 to 7.31.11

2011-07-31T17:01:00.001-04:00

Monday - 10.75 in 80:17 + 30 min bike; core
Easy run w/ Ben and his friend at Moose Hill. Felt good today. The pace felt slow and easy. A good sign.
Tuesday - 5 easy miles + easy bike; core w/ calf emphasis
I have been taking Tuesdays as a day off from running. Today, I introduced a sixth day into the 7 day cycle.
Wednesday - 13.25 in 95:02 + easy bike; core
Nice medium run that progressed to 6:10, 6:17, 6:18 according to Martin's GPS. This was a great run for Connor. We saw Tedy Bruschi out there jogging and completely ignored him until it was too late. He even waved. Sorry #54!
Thursday - 8 in 60:07; core
4 x 3 min hard w/ 2 min recovery. Felt nice to be done early in the morning.
Friday - lifting and core
Today is my off day/recovery day from running. Good deals at the new balance tent sale. Get there this weekend; it ends Sunday.
Saturday - 10 miles w/ 5 mile race (Carver Cranberry Classic)
27:46; 44th; 5:33 pace. Time not so fast but pleased with the effort and stoked to be racing again. Full report to follow.
Sunday - 10 easy
Not worrying about time today.

For the Week
57 miles
5 days of easy biking
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: This was supposed to be a cutback week but I only did 3/4 of a mile less than last week. Oh well. This week I introduced a 6th day of running into my 7 day cycle. That accounts for the mileage total being up a little bit. I am excited to see how the body will react once I get into the 60's. Also did my first race since the left foot injury. It's only been a day but things seem okay. No jinx.

Chapter 37: Hot Run

2011-07-28T19:39:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a book about running, high school xc running. This chapter is something we have all experienced: a hot, miserable run. Enjoy!

-This Indian Summer is killing me.

-Can you even say that anymore?

-What? It’s hot as hell out here. Look!

Smitty stopped in his tracks and bent down. From his squat position, he pressed his left thumb a quarter inch deep into the sun fried asphalt.

-I shouldn’t be able to do that in September.

-Late September.

-I’m sure they’ll be out here somewhere with water.

-Don’t be on it.

The thirteen of them carried on in misery, feeling more and more sorry for themselves with every passing step. Jenkins was in the pool doing a workout and the boys lamented his good fortune. He gets a day in the natatorium and is no doubt complaining that the water’s too cold. The nerve of him. Here they are out for seven and a half dogs, the sun beating them like an unwanted stepchild, the humidity vice-gripping their necks, and Jenkins wants to be in it with them. What a sadist. The temperature hovered near ninety which isn’t that bad but made to feel that bad due to the sixties and seventies they’d experienced over the last couple weeks. Running in ninety is always tough but over the length of a summer one’s body can acclimate. Get a hot day in autumn and a boy’s body is sent into a tailspin of dehydration and cinderblock feet.

Hartman wrote “Chestnut Lollipop” on the clipboard. He heard the weather forecast and felt a steady aerobic effort was best for his team. He’d put off the The Michigan for a day or two. So, today, the Chestnut Lollipop. The first and last mile and a half was the same, the stick of the candy. The middle four and a half consisted of rolling, bucolic roads that didn’t see much vehicular traffic. Bikers, walkers, and runners frequented Chestnut Street in larger numbers than cars. It was the type of road that on the right day and time became a no man’s land, a real ghost town.

An unspoken tradition on this run occurred at the top of the lollipop stick. The team split itself into two groups that would inevitably cross each other. In runs past, each group kept the other honest. They kept on pace or even pushed it for fear that their counterpart would hit the midpoint before them. Not this year.

They splintered unevenly. To the left: Gales, Smitty, Coetaine, Wallan, and Spider. To the right: Hamz, Torres, Deo, and Paws. Buck and Lee would run the length of the stick and back at Hartman’s orders. They would only hear about the pursuant drama secondhand, which led to both privately wishing they had run the entire distance. In the future, they’d petition their coach to do the full team workout.

Misery loves company. Two, maybe three kilometers, into the circumference of the lollipop, Gales launched a pejorative. Three to be exact: two adjectives and a noun.

-No shit, Spider seconded. He hated long runs in the first place.

-Look at my fuckin’ shirt, Smitty said. Drenched in sweat and frustration, he peeled the shirt from his skin and wrung it out with his hands. He then twirled it into a rat’s tail and snapped Sellberg’s ass with it.

-Asshole, the Berg was bold enough to say.

-Come here you little shit, Smitty used his last ounce of energy and the two of them broke into a short lived sprint down Chestnut. When he caught Sellberg, he rubbed his pungent armpit into his head and neck.

-I don’t think I can make it the whole way.

-Are there any shortcuts?

-We could try cutting through the woods.

-Fuck that. Let’s just walk.

The pace slowed but they kept jogging. Their run had transitioned from a tempo to a recovery to one of survival. They were just looking to get back to the Dank at this point. The road has become quiet and lifeless. Like a desert before a duel. Not even a wind. No witnesses either. They hung tight together and their legs colluded with every passing step. Just say the word.

As they rounded a sharp bend, the word came in the form of a ten percent grade hill. That hump manifested into the straw that broke Gales’ back.

-Fuck this shit.

With that eloquent decree, Gales started walking. To his left and one step behind, Coetaine followed suit. They fell like dominoes: Spider, Wallan, even Smitty. Sellberg kept a jog on but did not run in front of them. He thought this might be some kind of test.

-What are you doing?

He shrugged. Wallan, also unsure of what exactly was happening, started to jog again.

-You two. Start walking.

They looked at each other and reluctantly complied. The grade steepened and the walk came as a welcome relief.

-Just to the top of the hill, Smitty said.

-Maybe.

-This is wrong.

-Shut the fuck up. We just beat Dansville 15-50. Shutout. And Hartman has us running a Chestnut. He’s fucking crazy. It’s too much.

-Oh so you think you know more than Hartman?

-I know my fucking body. I’m in it. Not him.

-Listen. Dude’s right. Hartman’s old. We’re young. He forgets.

-We have a big meet this weekend. This isn’t helping me get ready for that.

-Oh. It’s state’s this weekend?

-Whatever.

-Whatever lets you sleep at night, how plucky of Wallan.

Four of them rationalized their walk to the point that they felt justified. Two felt guilty, yet succumbed to the pressure. They knew that the other group would be on the horizon soon enough and wondered what would happen next.

The quartet saw them before they saw the quartet. For Sellberg and Wallan it was akin to having a hand caught in the cookie jar, and they instinctively started to jog again. Spider and Gales looked at them and mumbled something indistinguishable but hard. Smitty thought they should’ve come up with some phantom injury to justify what they were doing to their teammates.

-What’s going on, Torres asked.

-What’s it look like?

-Why are you walking, he said it as if the thought of doing such a thing had never crossed his mind (and it hadn’t).

-Because we’re toast. Because it’s one hundred fucking degrees. Because Hartman’s a deranged sociopath.

-Or because you’re fucking pussies, the tone mimed.

-Lame, Hammond added.

-Lame? You know what’s lame Hammond? You. You running by when I’m on the ground with the guy who tried to trip you.

-I didn’t ask you to do that.

-You’re a coward.

-You’re a dumbass.

They got to within fist’s reach of one another. Torres and Deo jumped between them.

-A fucking freshman had to fight for you.

-How ‘bout I fight you right now?

They jostled the boys that held them back.

-Let’s go pussy.

Hammond freed himself from Torres’ grab and made it a step and a half before Torres regrabbed his right side and Deo his left. They kept gesturing toward one another but their teammates would not relinquish them. They breathed heavy and swore. Their taunts heightened once they knew the grip of their teammates would not relax. They were just like any other boy who posed to fight when he damn well knew his friends wouldn’t let him.

Witness, Paws stood incredulous. He couldn’t believe two teammates stood ready to draw down on each other. Couldn’t decide that half his team decided to quit in the middle of a run. What a confederacy of losers. How could they win anything with that willpower? Where the hell is Jenkins, that one man kangaroo court, to restore law and order with this team?

-Sellberg. What the hell are you doing, Paws said. He could only attack a fellow PFB.

Sellberg shrugged.

-Why you walking? I didn’t think you were a lame ass pussy.

-Shut the hell up Tinkerbell, from Coetaine.

-I think you’re all pussies.

-Who the hell do you think you are? You’re a freshman. You ain't shit. You ain’t even got hair on your balls.

-He’s got more balls than you.

-Listen we better start up again or Hartman’ll know something’s up.

-I’m not running no more.

-We’re not walking, Deo said.

-Fine. You’re all just goodie two shoes. Go ahead. Run away. We don’t give a shit.

They paused and sized each other up.

-Is that Hartman, Deo pointed far into the offing. He knew it wasn’t him but said it anyway.

-Oh shit, Coetaine said and started sprinting down the road.

They all followed suit. Only difference between them being that one group picked up an extra two runners.

Level Renner Issue #1 Now Available!

2011-07-24T12:05:00.000-04:00

Level Renner Issue 1: the debut

Level Renner is a journal of (new england) running for the old school literary athlete. It is for runners by runners. This issue features articles on performance, nutrition, and the Stowe Eight Miler, in addition to a commentary on runners v. dogs. Three elite athletes are profiled: Bob Wiles, Jo…

The Cover

2011-07-22T19:57:00.000-04:00

You are looking at the cover of the debut issue of Level Renner, a journal of (New England) running for the old school literary athlete. Issue #1 should be available in another week or so. More info to follow as we get closer to the release date. For now, you can learn more about Level Renner on facebook. Please "like" it if you do!

Chapter 36: Dansville

2011-07-21T17:17:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about a high school cross country's team quest for a championship. Here they take on a weaker opponent and cruise to victory.

Through a mile and a half Hammond led the race. He didn’t intend to, but somebody had to keep the pace honest. Through the first quarter the Jackets looked at each other incredulous that the Dansville team took it out at what seemed like a warmup trot. Surely they could run faster than that. Prerace, Hartman instructed them to run as a pack. Without Jenkins the objective morphed to a lowering of team time, the number of minutes and seconds—hopefully just seconds—that elapse between the team’s first man and fifth man. The top five score so the quicker a squad can jam them in, the better, just as long as that team isn’t too far behind everyone else. Having a small team time doesn’t much matter if the group is running twenty-four minutes for a 5K. The running community calls this condensed running strategy a pack attack. The motto every year finds itself on the back of a high schoolers’ t-shirts, but not on Springfield’s. Their coach liked keeping things esoteric; he used Latin, sometimes Greek, and abbreviations.

Hammond knew the pace was slow, but the people surrounding him were all teammates and not rivals. He flashbacked a week and panicked that Dansville was baiting them and outsmarting them just like Kelrock did.

-I think we should pick up the pace, he said.

-Let’s go, Torres seconded.

As one, they opened up their strides. Hammond, Torres, Spidestrom, Smith, and Kimihara ran together and produced a chasm between themselves and the rest of the participants. A second pack of Jackets (Coetaine, Wallan, Sellberg, Buck, Lee) sprinkled with a few Dansville runners also formed and hung about twenty, then thirty, then forty meters off the lead group. Undoubtedly, Gales and Paws would have changed the complexion of those packs but they were serving their suspensions. From the sidelines, they cheered their mates and relived the melee a couple times over. Jenkins, too, would’ve changed how the race was run but he somehow managed to get his bike on the bus and was out riding circuits of the course. The kid was determined not to lose conditioning and had it in his head that he’d be racing Starkfield on Saturday. In truth, the swelling in his ankle had contracted and the bruising started its magnificent kaleidoscope of hues. All he had to do now: convince the coach.

At two miles they started to thin and still no major threat from Dansville. Maybe they had a weak squad this year. Hammond’s mind sped faster than his legs. He worried about a Dansville onslaught in the last half-mile. Nobody did more worrying while running than this boy. He worried that his pace would be slower than his father’s liking; he worried that an inferior teammate might pass him. As the leader of the race, he started to realize how great things would be if he came home with a victory. His dad would be beyond ebullient. Then he started to worry if he won today would he be expected to win on Saturday? Snap to reality: with Spider nipping at his heels, Spider with his sub sixty quarter speed, those idealistic worries were quickly cast aside. Torres, too, could kick a man down with nothing more than gunsmoke.

Hammond did what he thought he needed to do. He one stepped Spidestrom and Torres and pushed the pace. He tried to gap them, make a move on them, but Torres sidled next to him and tapped his wristband to Hammond’s. Then Franklin twisted his torso back to Spider.

-Remember, remember, he said as he held Hartman’s word up to Hammond’s eyes and then Spider’s.

Hammond nodded. Spider said, right. The trio could fit into a basketball hoop they ran so closely. Spider this time twisted his torso to assess their status. No purple in sight. Only Springfield colors.

-We got this, he said, Get out the brooms.

He mimed a sweeping the floor motion then stopped suddenly. Like a sublimated ghost, Hartman appeared on the other side of the carriage road. He did not clap or yell or exhort. He spoke in a low voice, Keep it professional. Respect the opponent. The sport. No Dragons in sight Georgie boys.

-Let’s take it home, Hammond said.

-Nice and steady…Now Spider don’t get any heroic thoughts in your head about outsprinting us in the last fifty.

-What?

-We’re a team.

-I know.

Torres held up his forearm again. You respect your team and your elders, he said. Hamz will take the W, I’ll take second, and you’ll take third.

-That’s crap.

-Oh…so do you want your noogies now or after Hamz takes a shit on your head while Gales and Smitty tie you up and hold you down?

Torres grabbed at him and attempted mid-race noogies. Hammond was so relieved he could’ve kissed Franklin.

This Week in Running: 7.18 to 7.24.11

2011-07-20T13:58:00.002-04:00

Monday - 10.25 in 76:14; core
First run w/ Ben in months. Too bad I felt like crap.
Tuesday - 2+ hour bike w/ KJ (lots of stops); core
Wednesday - 12.5 in 84:40; core; easy biking
Awesome run. In a groove the whole way. First 3: 7:36, 6:58, 6:43. Final 3: 6:18, 6:43, 6:13. Saw a big red fox out there looking for his breakfast.
Thursday - 9.75 in 69:55; leg core; easy biking
6 x 3 min comfortably hard w/ 2 min recovery. I woke up early and finished before it was too hot out there. Body felt pretty good.
Friday - lifting sequence and core; easy biking
Saturday - 17 in 2:09.12; leg core
Legs felt good then ran into some stomach issues over the last hour. Unfortunately, that kept the pace slower than I intended. Still happy to get 17 in the bank. Not as hot as I anticipated.
Sunday - 8.25 + stride session
Easy run. First time I've done strides in a while.

For the Week
57 3/4 running miles
lots of biking
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: The steady progression of miles continues again this week. The last month looks like this: 44, 49, 54, 57. That's on five days of running per week. I think it's time to introduce a sixth day and monitor closely. The foot is feeling good but I am still icing and massaging constantly. Next will be a bit of a cutback week in anticipation of Carver, my first race since February.

Chapter 35: Sunday Long

2011-07-18T20:18:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about a hs cross country team. Today the boys venture out on a Sunday long run, a religious experience for at least one of them.

He brought them to different places each weekend. In the offseason, he’d scout trailheads with small dirt parking lots. Once he found one, he’d lace up and see where the path took him. Sometimes it turned out to be a dud. Other times, a gold mine, a hidden gem. When he struck three sevens on the slot machine of trails, he’d go home and research it. He liked working backwards. Cartography was a hobby of his. Maps and atlases cluttered his basement alongside the running books, so he’d pull out his volumes and go to work. He never used the internet for such things.

He put together a good loop for today. Its shape a large capital D, the route consisted of two trails: Warner and Skyline. Both made up parts of larger systems. Warner cut a line from Diamond Hill to Blue Hill, and Skyline travelled from the fells to the southern part of the state. Today the boys would run thirteen miles on mostly single track. All they had to do was follow the blue inverted pyramids that marked Warner and the then the oblong yellow rectangles that signaled Skyline. The switch came at about five and a half. He told them that twice.

Every single scamper of a squirrel made him jump just about a mile into the air. How could such a small thing create such obstreperosity? He’d look and expect a bear or wolverine or at least a deer but only see two half-pint squirrels chasing each other through dried out leaves. As he did on most Sunday runs, Hammond ran himself into a no man’s land, where he could be alone with the trail. Up ahead Torres, Smith, Spidestrom, Kimihara (and Jenkins if he wasn’t on the bike), then Hamz, then the rest of the team. He came to cherish the Sunday long. It became the place for him to think good thoughts. A place free of worry. A place where he could talk back and yell and scream at his father. A place where he could be a kid and not be scorned.

Over the last month, the Sunday long became something in which he could cherish. He loved the solitude. On them, he distanced himself from the prating of teenagers. On them, he managed the pressure from his father. On them, he envisioned defending himself, talking back, telling him to fuck off and giving him a shove in the chest. Then in almost the same moment he imagined running unbelievable races and not needing to do any of that. And that’s how it was for Hammond on Sunday mornings. He got out there, found himself alone, and started conjuring. And despite the domineering role his father played, he did not totally dominate him. Something in Paul’s psychology would not allow the old man to enshroud the whole boy. He carried a fire in him that nobody could expunge. Couldn’t explain the ember—just knew that it was there and would always be.

While Hammond housed those thoughts on his Sunday longs, others, like Kimihara and Pawgoski for example, could think of nothing more than the task at hand. The last three miles of the long run demanded their undivided attention. Thoughts secondary to the immediate task of finishing vaporized over the last twenty percent. They entered survival mode. Similar to a Springvale threshold but not exactly the same. At ten the fade started and Pawgoski lost sense of himself. Form. Focus on form, Hartman had told them. Use your arms. Not just your legs. He tried but it didn’t help all that much. Maybe it got him over a hill or through a narrow defile then he returned to his dead legs. For the last mile he told, no promised, himself not to look at his wrist. He held off as long as he could but gave way in a moment of unthinking. He played this game every week over a route in which he wasn’t familiar. Avoid, avoid, avoid for the first ten and then look, look, look obsessively over the last three. Once you start, you can’t stop. 75:07, 76:01, 79:30, 86:05, 86:58, 87:59, 89:16. He’d swear on his momma’s grave that at least ten minutes passed only to look down and discover that three had elapsed. Devastating. And it can’t be stopped. Once initialized the watch game doesn’t end until the run does. It becomes an exercise in psychological strength. What does one do when he thinks he’s one mile from the finish only to learn that it’s two and a half? Does he stop, slow, or quit? Does he maintain, surge, bear down? The answer to these questions defines the harrier. That’s what Hartman was doing with these Sunday longs. He was asking his team a question, a question that they must all answer for themselves. It was always the same question and if they allowed themselves to be asked again and again they would arrive at the correct answer, for it was antithetical to the human condition to accept defeat Sunday after Sunday.

At church he wished he was on trail. On trail he wished he was at church. Hartman’s installation of a Sunday practice caused the pious boy much ambivalence. He never experienced such feelings; he had always possessed surety and confidence in all things. In God. In family. In running. In coach. In favorite baseball team. His personal angst led to the development of the smallest possible rift with his parents. He wanted to please them. They wanted him to go to church. He wanted to run and go to church. This dilemma manifested itself into impossible conjurations: an unwalled church in the woods with a mobile congregation or a miniature church that he could hold in his hand while running the trails. In one moment he wished the whole team would convert and experience his conflict. They were so oblivious and teased what they did not understand. In another moment he denounced his religion and vowed to take a spiritual life devoid of bureaucratic dogma and mandates. He wanted God on Sundays not an antiquated editorial. And did Jesus really want him to wear a blazer in an eighty-five degree unairconditioned power? He never thought such thoughts, never thought of emerging from the larva, before the fall of his sophomore year.

Every Sunday morning Hartman picked them up in his van right in front of the Dank Tank. Departure time was 8:28. If he was in a good mood, he’d allow a two-minute grace period before leaving. If you missed the van, somebody was in the backseat dialing a number or texting the location of the run. He never told them where they were going until the morning of. Starting on Thursday, their off day, they played a guessing game and nobody had guessed right so far in three chances.

They were always done with the Sunday long before eleven am. Hartman made that an objective: Run thirteen miles. Finish by 11:00. LSD to marathon pace. He reiterated week after week that this run built aerobic capacity. Just finishing it was enough for most of them. Of course, he told his top five that this need not be so easy as he portended publicly. Upperclassmen could handle it. They didn’t mind because the faster they ran the sooner they could focus on the food. An unspoken tradition had developed over the last month: you show up and run, Hartman buys you breakfast. Probably illegal according to the state high school governing body of athletics but he did it anyway. He knew gathering a group of young men to break bread together did more for team than the run itself. Everyone appreciated breakfast on the old man who knew good, clean spirited camaraderie was hard to coach.

This Week in Running: 7.12 to 7.18.11

2011-07-17T11:39:00.000-04:00

Monday - 11 in 77:54 + core
Hot but good; starting to get in shape. Fastest at end.
Tuesday - 90+ min bike (70/20) + core w/ calf emphasis
planned off day from running
Wednesday - 12 in 88:38 + core
Padded the mileage due to slow start. Solid.
Thursday - 8.5 in 63:01 + core
5 x 3 min "comfortably hard" w/ 2 min rec; today was my first foray into "speed"work since the Feb. injury. You gotta start somewhere, right? Kept it very controlled. Gorgeous morning.
Friday - lifting w/ leg core + bike riding
Saturday - 16 in 2:02 + pm bike riding
Much better than last Saturday. I can feel my legs getting stronger. A good one.
Sunday - 7 in 52:49
I think I'm ready to make this recovery day a little longer. Felt fine.

For the Week
54 1/2 running miles
~120 mins on bike
5 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Wishing I was at the Stowe 8. Thinking about all the runners going all out there. Waiting for the results to post...This was another good building week. Mileage is up and pace is getting slightly faster without even trying. I want to keep progressing without getting too avaricious.

Chapter 34: Lewis Park

2011-07-10T19:59:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about running. This chapter chronicles the team's first invitational and actually brings the boys through the finish of a race.

It happened on the warmup. A sinkhole inlaid with grass surreptitiously, patiently waiting for its prey. All the culprit predator needed was somebody immersed in conversation or glancing to the left or looking beyond it. It placed itself so perfectly, so open, so obvious, a purloined letter of sorts. As lucid as the Fedex spoon and arrow. Stepping into it was like having one stair left when you think you’ve already reached the bottom. The knee undergoes and unnatural buckle and oscillation; the ankle can twist either in or out. Jenkins’ twisted in. His next stride did not happen. He was on the ground. He completed two full barrel roles and he wasn’t even going that fast. Blades of grass clung to the back of his neck and t-shirt. He came up grabbing at his ankle. He swore. Then in the very next moment he put himself back on his own two feet. He was doing what boys like him instinctively do. He tried to run again and made it six ginger steps. The ankle couldn’t take the weight. He went back down again. More cussing.

-Oh fuck, oh fuck. The look on his face scared his teammates. To see that look of concern and fright—not pain, just concern and fright—overcome his countenance made everyone’s stomach turn. Some immediately thought “there goes the season; there goes our chances.” Others worried about the person, not the runner. Jenkins was their leader. He never wavered. His hand never shook. The freshmen defined him as invincible. They never even thought he got tired. How could something like this happen to their superman who was impervious to things like hills and exhaustion and soreness?

-Go get Hartman. Hurry. Go. Go! Sellberg and Wallan sprinted to their base camp.

Six minutes later Hartman and Pereira arrived on the scene. They made their way through the swarm to see their queen bee. By this time, the sneaker was off and Jenkins was rubbing at his ankle but not letting anyone else near it.

-Why’d you take the sneaker off?

-I don’t know…What? Smitty told me to.

Hartman shook his head. Never take the shoe off. You keep it on to prevent the thing from swelling. You take it off, it balloons.

Balloon it did. In those six minutes it enlarged from golf ball to racquet ball to tennis ball. Hartman bent down and took the foot into his hands. Wallan caught this first gesture in such as way that it reminded him of Holy Thursday. He turned the foot over and flexed it a myriad of ways and rubbed it with vigor. Jenkins only grimaced once or twice. The coach looked it over one more time, gave it a slap, and stood up. The guys couldn’t believe how rough Hartman was with his star pupil’s injured ankle.

-You guys have a warmup to complete. Get going.

They stared at him blankly awaiting a diagnosis.

-Get going I said.

They still waited.

-Look, I don’t want you here for the amputation. You know what they do to horses, right? I don’t want you to see that. You have a race to run. Get yourselves ready.

A few of them chuckled nervously.

-Hey. Come on guys. Let’s go, Pereira led them away from the scene.

Each one looked back at least once, and the whole team stared when they made a hairpin around the butt of the stonewall. What they saw was Ryan Jenkins, one arm around Hartman, limping his way toward their camp.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Galiozzi started in on Pereira.

-Coach, I gotta run now, right?

-I don’t think so. What’d you think the boss would say?

-Oh come on. The team needs me.

-We needed you at Kelrock but you decided to punch some guy’s lights out.

He smiled but he tried to hide it. He knew the prospect of convincing Hartman was slim, so when he tried and was denied, he didn’t complain all that much. He resigned himself to waterboy status.

Back at basecamp, the team lacked focus. Jenkins propped up his foot and leaned against a horse-chestnut. He complained about his ankle being frozen but refused to put a cloth between the skin and the ice. The event’s athletic trainer came over and administered a quick exam. You’ll be out two weeks, she said, nothing major. Jenkins muttered obscenities. All this occurring while the rest of the squad tried to prep for the race. In the moment Hartman was disappointed and irked at how his young men could not handle the slightest bit of adversity, yet ten hours removed from the incident he appreciated how much the team cared for one of their fallen brothers. His unspoken agenda had taken hold.

Everyone panicked when the man with the megaphone announced five minutes until the start of the boys’ varsity championship race. Hartman surveyed the circle and started barking.

-Adam, what are you doing static stretches for?

-Deo, where are your spikes? Get them on.

-Seniors get control of your team. This is a blippin joke. Get to the line and do your strides.

Their first strider consisted of sprinting over to the line. Shirttails flapping, they made it with a minute to spare (late start). They huddled at the chalk. Smitty was the most vocal. Watch the red of Paddington and the blue of Kelrock. So help me God if I see somebody from Kelrock pass you without a fight.

-Let’s run hard and show ‘em.

-Let’s do it for Jenks.

-Yeah. For Jenks. Jackets on three. One. Two. Three.

-Jackets!

Smitty’s succinct edict must’ve struck a chord with the team because they decimated Kelrock. A methodical crushing. Just like the duel meet against the Rockies but in reverse. This time the Jackets were able to showcase their strength in the second half of the race. Showcase the fruits of an accumulating base sprinkled with lots of hills. The Jackets picked up tens of points over the last mile. Torres passed five and moved all the way up to fourth overall. Hammond picked six, Spider two in the final sprint, Smitty, an absolute beast, passed nine, two of them Kelrockians. Even their last two runners, Coetaine and Wallan, combined to pass three more. Yes, they were harried and out of sorts but they pulled it together during the race and ran how Hartman told them to on Friday. If they could continue to run this way through the sharpening phase in November, they’d be the force Hartman knew they could be. They ran smart; they demolished Kelrock, but they did not win the meet. Jenkins’ absence was too much for them to surmount. Springfield took the show position while rival Paddington and out-of-staters Norwood took the top two spots.

Lewis Park Meet Team Results (Top 5)

1. Paddington 39

2. Norwood 62

3. Springfield 68

4. Buxton 90

5. Kelrock 126

Much good came out of the meet. Not one for moral victories, Hartman still synthesized and netted positives. Early in the season and points still leaden—moreso than most impatient teams—he thought the boys ran well. They finished strong and all indicators suggested a longer race equating to a lower overall score. The guys were picking them off like flower petals in the last kilometer. That’s strength and toughness: both physical and mental. Bearing down required a gritty composite. An intangible instilled upon men or never possessed by men or inherited from the fathers of men who once derived it from a war or lack of food. Part surrogate, perhaps Hartman was one of these men—a ghost walking the fertile earth—put here to keep a fire alive, to carry a torch in a world marginalized by time that barely kept its last embers glowing orange. A man placed here to turn boys into men, provide the lost with direction.

This Week in Running: 7.4 to 7.10.11

2011-07-10T11:19:00.000-04:00

Monday - 9 miles in 66:31 + core
Middle miles sub 6:40 so I might've gone longer than 9. Felt good.
Tuesday - 84 min bike + core
Planned off day from running.
Wednesday - 11 in 80:39 + core
some splits: 7:33, 7:03, 6:57, 7:03...7:07, 6:34, 6:29, 6:43
Thursday - 8.25 easy + core
easy, easy
Friday - lift and leg core w/ short bike ride
Saturday - 14.5 in 1:52
Did not go smoothly. Never in a groove. Always slow. Wanted 15 but what was I going to do jog around my neighborhood for another half mile to get a nice round number? Not today. Went for a short bike ride w/ KJ in tow this afternoon.
Sunday - 7 in 53:58
Easy start; felt much better than y'day.

For the Week
49.5 miles running
100 mins on bike
5 core workouts + 2 w/ calf emphasis
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Wouldn't hit 50 if I put in another click on Saturday, but I wasn't in the mood to chase (half) miles. All said, another good week in building and the pace of some of the runs is naturally coming down. Below is the most famous mural from Cy Twombly's 50 Days at Ilium.

Cy Twombly: Like a Fire that Consumes All before It

RIP Cy Twombly

2011-07-06T14:10:00.001-04:00

Cy Twombly: one of the best abstract artists we have ever seen. This one is the shield of Achilles (inspired by The Iliad.)

This Week in Running: 6.26 to 7.3.11

2011-07-04T23:58:00.000-04:00

A quick note for those of you reading Beads of Sweat. It's going on hiatus for a little bit. It is complete and it will be back. Now, onto the running.

Monday - 8 miles in 59:31 + core
Finished with a 7:19 and that felt about right.
Tuesday - 30 min bike
Off/recovery day
Wednesday - 8.25 miles in 60:31 + core
Felt good. Experienced in the hill in Pumpkin Hill Rd. Lover's Leap State Park is gorgeous and this was one of those runs where you feel so blessed to be alive and running.
Thursday - 8.75 in 64:54 + core
Swedish Cabin Run w/ some extra. Hesitant to call it 9 even though I'm feeling stronger and faster. The foot is responding well but I am babying it with massage and ice. Two good runs in a row. Wore the Scott eRide MR3 for the first time today. Not bad.
Friday - 50 min bike + core
Off/recovery day
Saturday - 12 in 91:02
Guessing the distance. Some splits: 7:48, 7:11, 6:58, 7:30, ..., 7:16, 6:46, 13:45 (for two--obviously). Longest run since the February injury. Progressing in baby steps.
Sunday - 7 slow ones
Trying to go easy on the easy days and not worry about time.

For the Week
44 running miles
80 mins on bike
4 core workouts
Analysis: A good building week.

Coming Soon

2011-07-02T15:29:00.004-04:00

Level Renner: a journal of New England running for the literary athlete. More details to come.

This Week in Running: 6.20 to 6.26.11

2011-06-26T10:53:00.000-04:00

Monday - bike 75 min
normal route; 5 mins faster than normal; pounding it
Tuesday - jog 7 miles
easy run; KT tape on left foot
Wednesday - jog 6 miles
woke up at 3:30 am to fit this one in
Thursday - jog 6 miles
keeping this easy so as to not incur a setback with the foot
Friday - lift
Saturday - jog 10 miles
felt good; itching to go faster
Sunday - jog 7 miles
felt good again

For the Week
36 miles of running
75 mins on the bike
4 core workouts + 2 w/ extra calf emphasis
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Starting to feel like a runner again, although the pace is easy and slow. That was the plan for June: to run easy miles, not reinjure the plantar fascia/surrounding tendon and build up some miles. For July, I would like to start running faster. Highlight of the week was running ten miles on Saturday. That was my first double digit run in quite some time and damn it felt good.

Chapter 33: One Hill

2011-06-20T19:55:00.001-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a book about high school running. This chapter follows the team in their first workout after their loss to Kelrock.

The guys started to lament their geography. Every time they laced up it seemed like Hartman found another hill for them to run. Mountain Road, Blue Hills, the undulations of Springvale, and now One Hill. They’d have the strongest quadriceps and hamstrings in the whole state if they kept this up. And when, inevitably, they started to whine and crave flatter ground, Hartman told them to move to Nebraska. Nebraska? Nebraska…Okay, fine. How about Iowa?

Today Hartman drove them out in the van to the One Hill Recreational Center. Five miles from campus, it was just a bit too far for a high school warmup. If they were in college, he’d have them do it, but a third of his team just couldn’t handle the miles—yet. They were pups, PFB’s.

In reality, One Hill wasn’t much of a hill. Its name was the most ominous thing about it. That and it had a bunnyslope with miniature ski lift along side it for the young kids learning to ski. No Jackets, however, were skiing down the hill; they were running up it. But just a couple of times at the end of the real workout. The majority of Hartman’s workout involved a 1K loop around the circumference of the park. They didn’t even have to run to the peak. Yes, the perimeter was composed of hills and dales but it was no straight up Blue Hills workout.

On the clipboard:

Objective

1) To acclimate body to LT pace

2) To strengthen upper leg muscles

Workout

1 x 3K

1 x 2K

1 x 1K

All at LT pace

2-4 x bunnyslope

3K warmup; 2K cooldown

-You’d think with all this hill work they’d get easier.

-I don’t know if it’s helping.

-If we need anything, it’s speed work not strength work.

Hartman picked up on these murmurs coming from the back of the van and decided to confront them head on after the warmup. So with the team brandishing a light sweat on its brow, he shared his philosophy.

-Listen men. I have a plan. You need to know that. It’s not short term. It’s long term. We will be running our best in November. That is and will always be the goal. We’re building power and endurance now. We’re not fine-tuning yet. Yeah, we lost to Kelrock and that pisses me off and it should piss you off too. That’s good. You have anger in you. You carry a fire in you. That’s good. You’ll need it. But you got to know when to use it. You can’t go pissing it away on some Wednesday afternoon when nobody is watching. Who gives a shit about some lousy dual meet? It’ll be in a box score some Thursday morning and then we’ll never see it again. Listen, I know we live in a please me now culture and that you want to see immediate results, but we have long term goals here. Everything leading up the class meet is a checkpoint. Kelrock was a checkpoint. Paddington will be a checkpoint. Today’s workout is a checkpoint. We’ll struggle through some hill loops and assess our progress and we’ll adjust it if we need to. Nothing’s set in stone. We are better than Kelrock and we will show them that Saturday. Unlike every other race up to his point, we are going to run full strength. We may not be completely fresh, but we’ll be full strength.

-Hoop, hoop, from Deo, then general grunts and whoops.

-Coach Pereira, anything to add?

-One thing: this man, a point, is one of the best coaches in the state. Be patient. You’ll get the results.

-Coach.

-Yeah.

-I got something to say.

-Okay then.

-Kelrock played us. I didn’t run the race so I got to see what happened. Straight up we got played. They outsmarted us. We screwed around on the warmup. Didn’t pay attention to the course and it came back to bite us. We were dumb. They coaxed us into a trap and we fell for it. The only thing we can do now is get revenge.

-Step one is this workout.

They ran in two groups: varsity and junior varsity. Once both groups began their first 3K loop, Hartman and Pereira discussed what to do about Gales. Post meet, the Kelrock coach and Hartman agreed to handle the situation in-house without the involvement of athletic directors. They had a long standing professional relationship and each trusted the other would discipline as appropriate. In three kilometers Hartman and Pereira concluded to suspend Galiozzi for two meets: Starkfield and the next dual. Pawgoski would just miss the dual. Nothing for Hammond. Breaking this news would not be fun. Hartman wished that he could just run them more. Run them to contrition. But he knew that wasn’t right either. He had a long standing internal conflict with whether or not it was appropriate to assign running as punishment. He wanted his boys to love running, not associate it with poor deportment. Yet the temptation remained. What better way to get a few more miles out of a guy than to make him run when he breaks rules. He often thought of the T-shirt that read “our sport is your sport’s punishment.” That’s true, but he still had to work out the psychology of the whole thing. Sometimes kids liked being punished. Other kids would abhor this sentence and in that moment a seed of contempt would germinate. The coach’s job was to figure out both the kid and the situation and be able to match things up just right. Forget physiology; this was sport was more psychology.

Jenkins came through the 3K first, his form smooth and without bounce. Looking at his watch, Hartman knew he was hammering at faster than LT pace and let him hear it.

-No, Jenks said, it felt fine.

-Bullshit, inaudible.

But if that was the case, Hartman had a state champion on his hands. He glanced over his shoulder at his incarnate Pre before redirecting himself to the crest that marked the endpoint of the loop. Gales ran like a monster, right at the back of Torres, Spidestrom, Hammond, ran like a man trying to impress his coach to abdication.

In fifty seconds, the whole varsity finished. In two minutes, the jv crossed the line.

-Huddle up guys, Hartman waved them over. I’m glad to see you’re all wearing your wristbands. Too bad, you got them all wrong. Take ‘em off and try again.

-We’re all sweaty.

-That’s right. We sweat as a team.

-I don’t want Galiozzi’s sweat near me. Dude’s got the clap!

-The clap!

-Hey, Gales said, one sweat, one blood, one disease.

They peeled off the bands and threw them at each other then into the centerpoint of their circle. They picked them up, made comments, and put them on once again. They repeated the ritual two more times before the practice ended.

Training Week: 6.13 to 6.19.11

2011-06-19T11:09:00.000-04:00

Monday - 5.5 miles in 46:12 + core
Tuesday - bike 70 min + chiro in am + calf emphasis
Wednesday - 6.5 miles in 50:55 + core
Thursday - 7 miles in 56:30 + legcore
Friday - left + calf emphasis
Saturday - 8 miles in 60:34
Sunday - 7 miles in 55:41

For the Week:
34 running miles
70 min bike
3 core workouts
1 lifting sequence
Analysis: Obviously, the pace is quite slow but at least I'm running. I consider this week a step in the right direction. Purposefully, keeping the pace gentle. Progressive build over last three weeks: 12.5, 21.5, 34.

Chapter 32: Kelrock Bottleneck

2011-06-16T19:36:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about a high school cross country team. In this chapter, the boys face off against league rival Kelrock.

Their junior runners took off like bats. The Yellowjackets, tiny api in comparison to the insect-devouring bats, struggled to keep the pace in the first two hundred meters. Coetaine, running in his first dual meet of the year, thought something had gone horribly wrong in the interim of his injury. Had racing completely changed in the last ten months? Were full-out sprints the new order of cross country?

Spidestrom caught Jenkins’ eye and gave him an incredulous look.

-What the fuck, blurted Jenkins. Two strides later he was going wide left in an effort to pass the mass of Kelrockians ahead of him. Spider jockeyed in behind and followed his captain. Hamz and Gales took a different track. Elbows out, they tried forcing their way through the middle of the throng.

-Watch it asshole!

-Fuck you, Gales said.

-Don’t fucking cut me off again.

-Eat a dick.

At that, Claude Hindley extended out his foot and tripped Hammond. He stumbled, stumbled, stumbled, touched his left hand to the ground but somehow managed to maintain his balance. Still vulnerable, another runner passed him by and lightly tapped his hip. It was enough to topple him to immediate abrasions on forearm, shin, and palms. Points passed in an instant. Gales turned and slowed but kept going. But he slowed too much; his concern allowed the herd to eat him up. He, too, was now in the back of the pack. Lee sidled up next to Hammond and asked him if he was okay.

-Get your ass moving, Hammond told him, we may need you.

With that Hammond got to his feet, gave himself a once over, and took off into full velocity with a bit of a hitch in his stride. If Hartman had seen that, he would’ve pulled his ass of the course, but he didn’t see that; he was two hundred yards away and heading for a lookout point. Neither coach witnessed any of it.

Gales moved up and shouted at the back of Hindley.

-Wait ‘til we get in the woods.

-Fa--

Gales was pissed.

-Let’s get ‘em, he said to Pawgoski, who passed him in the melee. Paws just nodded.

Meanwhile, Jenks and Spider were thirty meters ahead trying to move around some jv fatboys. Anytime either of them attempted a pass a Bat would speed up or nudge left to prevent it.

They now ran on a tree-lined single cart gravel path which made passing—either wide left or wide right—nearly impossible, especially if a competitor’s sole function was to prevent that pass. The two of them were double the distance of the straight-line runners, who increased their lead with every tick of the clock. Kelrock was dominating. They had three guys out in front and the barricade of fatboys before a single Jacket showed his face.

It dawned on Jenkins a little too late. What these guys were doing was intentional. They were trying to steal this meet in the first mile, the first six hundred yards. And the cart path didn’t widen after that. It narrowed. Narrowed into a bottleneck. We’re fucked, he thought to himself. Kelrock’s home course was only 2.4 miles to begin with. Their coach had done his homework. Box them early and hang on for dear life. They had one strong frontrunner and if he could drag two guys with him, they might just steal this thing. It would make their season. Couple these bold, aggressive tactics with the help Hartman gave them and it was a recipe for Yellowjacket disaster. Smitty was a healthy scratch and Buck sat out with a gimpy ankle from last Sunday. The sidelined senior had a bird’s eye view for the start of the race and was jumping out of his skin when he saw what was going down. He grabbed and pulled at Buck and asked him rhetorical questions. Buck tried to answer them but was confused and agape. Smitty started screaming at his teammates and slandered his rivals before grabbing at Buck again and stealing off through a deer path to the next vantage point, which was the fenced-out side of the bottleneck.

The two of them arrived at the bottleneck before the first runners. They breathed heavy and put their hands on their thighs. This narrow defile, which covered a piece of land some sixty meters, came after the mile mark but in front of the halfway point. It nestled itself between two short seven percent grade inclines. The bottleneck’s width measured out no wider than the broad shoulders of an average runner in football pads. Some of the bigger guys could barely manage their own bodies down the path without getting scratches on their right sides. To pass somebody here was all but impossible, even more so since the brush remained slovenly and unkempt after a summer’s worth of growth. A tall, rusting chainlink fence on the left side and overgrowth saplings and briers on the other created a sixty meter chasm of stagnation for anybody caught behind a slow body. Smitty’s heart sank when not one, not two, but three green Kelrock jerseys came into view. The first two were upfront and booking it. The third, linebacker like compared to his teammates, labored and moved at a slower pace. The kid blocked Jenkins’ path perfectly. Not only Jenks but Spidestrom too. Smitty got it now. He slowed his pace purposefully and intentionally, not more than a walk, closer to a waddle. Jenkins attempted passing by running right. The briers clawed at his skin and the slim boughs slapped at his face. The linebacker sped and moved every time Jenkins tried to pass him. If they were smarter, Jenkins would have moved one way and let Spider go the other so at least one of them could pass, but in the heat of the moment frustration won out over intelligence. All he had to show for his hassle was a rosed face and scratched legs.

Smitty yelled at the both of them, Move it. Move it. Let’s go. Pass. Pass. Pass. Jenkins with those mean, darting eyes shot him a glance of unrestrained futility. Spider didn’t even look his way. Just said a few cuss words. The Kelrock linebacker would be dusted in another twenty meters; that was a given. The remaining question: did he give his two frontrunners enough of a pad?

2011-06-16T07:37:00.002-04:00

Training Week: 6.6 to 6.12.11

2011-06-13T12:20:00.001-04:00

Monday - 4 mile jog + 45 min bike
Tuesday - bike 80 min
Wednesday - 5 mile jog + 15 min bike
Thursday - 50 min bike (flat tire + thunderstorm)
Friday - 5 1/2 mile jog
Saturday - fishing
Sunday - 7 mile jog + short bike w/ kids
For the Week
21 1/2 miles running
175 min bike
4 core workouts + 2 w/ calf emphasis
Analysis: Sunday was the first run since the injury that I did over a normal route. Felt good about that even though it was in the wet. Cautiously optimistic about the left arch/foot. Will continue to use KT tape intermittently and massage the hell out of it with a stick and spiked ball -- that sounds masochistic.

Gone Fishin

2011-06-12T12:08:00.001-04:00

My buddy Monz chartered a boat to do some striped bass fishing on Saturday, so I took the day off from working out to test the sea legs. Very happy to report that I didn't gaff. Not everyone can say that. The
Ave Maria allows for 2 fish per man. We caught up to our limit and then caught and released for the rest of the morning. The biggest we caught was a 45 pounder. All said, we took home over a 100 lbs of fillets. I guess overcast skies with a light rain makes for some good fishing weather.

Me and the boys w/ our catch

striped bass 30 - 35 lbs

What I learned: bananas are bad luck. The captain and first mate were adamant about not allowing bananas on the boat and then went on to tell numerous stories of how bananas have jinxed fishermen and sailors alike.

Chapter 31: Sam Coetaine

2011-06-07T14:30:00.001-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a book about running. Today's chapter profiles Springfield team member Sam Coetaine.

Sam Coetaine didn’t run cross country his freshman year. He did nothing that fall; maybe cause some trouble. Annoying and immature grade nine shenanigans that some boys just can’t keep from embracing. After about three months in his new school, he got bored with giving his teachers a hard time and at his dean’s exhorting decided to channel his pent up energy into track and field. Hartman welcomed him with open arms. He immediately saw in him what the dean had cautioned him about—an unwavering stream of energy. He bounced between reps; he never stopped moving; legs always jittering; hands always on someone else; jaw and mouth in perpetual motion; the kid had the attention span of a gnat. The coaches had to keep their eyes on him every second. He hardly ever focused on the task at hand—maybe one in ten times—but when he did, Hartman observed a raw talent. Coetaine was a piece of granite replete with jagged edges and acute perforations. Hartman went into his toolbox and pulled out a chisel and mallet.

He had seen enough of him to know that cosseting wouldn’t work. Tough love and an aphorism from Hamlet was the only way to go. Show you like him, show you care about him, and ride his ass until he’s broken.

It didn’t take long for the Springfield coaching staff to figure out that they didn’t know what to do with him. His diamond in the rough quality made finding an event which he could sparkle quite a challenge. They tried him in everything. They spent the first two weeks of the season rotating him from station to station to station. He neither floundered nor impressed in any event. In some of the more technique driven ones—long jump, hurdles, shot put—he lacked the proper mechanics to excel. He needed serious coaching and he wasn’t the best pupil. He’d be pinching a teammate or scratching his ass when a coach attempted a mini-lesson on exploding out of the blocks or landing posture in the pit. Ultimately, the coaches assigned a rare combination of events to Sam: distance and the high jump. Distance because it kept him occupied and required the least amount of technique and high jump because it was the field event to which he most gravitated. Primarily, the coaches speculated, because it allowed him to jump into big, cushy, oversized mattresses without getting into any trouble. So there he was at fifteen, the team’s only high jumper/miler.

Near the end of each practice he sprinted from the distance workout (often skipping out on the last one or two repeats) to the high jump area—almost getting downed by a shot put each time he darted the diagonal across the infield. The high jump coach was thankful for the distance work. Sam was almost too exhausted to fiddle and distract the four other jumpers. Oddly enough, his fatigue helped his concentration. He actually listened to the coach. Made mental notes. Took what he learned and applied it to his next jump.

He improved in halves of inches. 5’2,” 5’3,” 5’4 ½ ,” all the way up to 5’6” by the end of his freshman year. Every time he cleared a height he’d pause for a moment to make sure it was true before leaping up and sprinting off the mat with an energy only known to teenage boys and puppies. He’d go right to his coach looking for congratulations and somebody with whom he could share his pride. If he didn’t clear the bar, well, that was another story. A morose one. He’d put his head down, avoid eye contact, droop his shoulders, swear audibly, and sulk all the way back to the deck area. Despite the rough exterior—the profane language, the jagged facial features, the inaccessible gesticulations—he lived his life like a six-year-old boy. Not intentionally. That’s just the way he was. Emotionally, the kid was a Lenox Hummel and the coaches were the bubble wrap. Never mind a rock or a stone, if a pebble lay in this kid’s path, he’d look to quit and go the other way.

Much like a single student can consume hours and hours of a teacher’s time, Coetaine, unbeknownst to him, devoured that precious resource on a ratio usually only reserved for top athletes, state champions. For one thing, his technique, although improved, read very much like a rough draft as opposed to a polished manuscript. A second thing, his energy was boundless. One more, one more, he never got tired. Another thing, his head demanded constant attention. Ride him; build him up. Ride him; build him up. Ride him publically; build him up privately. Yell at him for tugging at a teammate’s shirt; convince him not to quit in the middle of a meet when he doesn’t clear his first two attempts.

Of course, his maturity and mental makeup precluded him from any type of long term planning. Carpe diem dominated. Asking him to look ahead or plan for the future was not something that he could developmentally handle. It even said so in his IEP. Cross-country requires long term planning. No long term planning. No cross-country success. Now in the last two years Coetaine had ameliorated himself in fifteen different ways—no more outbursts, much less touching—but he still couldn’t grasp the concepts of long term goal setting or delayed gratification. If you could keep his attention long enough to explain this concept to him, he’d smile and nod and understand it in the moment. Sounded good in theory but he just couldn’t do it. Well, maybe he’d do it for a day or two then he’d lose interest. No discipline. A thorn in a coach’s oblique. Hence, the summer training dilemma. When he thought about it, he wanted to do it. When he was in bed or at work or in any other activity besides running, he wanted to go out and train. But when he had the time to go out and do it, when he was staring at a four-hour block of emptiness, he’d somehow manage not to do it. Each night ended the same way: a twinge of compunction and a promise to wakeup first thing and go for a jog. The morning came and he really wasn’t a morning runner and he’d get in such a better workout if he waited until the afternoon and there he was in bed again after a long and listless day saying, “Tomorrow. I’ll go for a run tomorrow.”

The team took measures to get him going. They’d call and text him. One Hill @ 5:00. Coetaine would flake out. Sometimes sincerely forget. Other times blow it off. Didn’t want to be held accountable for what he didn’t do in July. Simply the potential of being called out kept him away.

A couple of times the guys ran to his house and knocked on his door. When nobody answered they picked up pebbles and threw them at his window. A crude impromptu carillon. They did just about everything except stand outside his sill with a boombox blearing. Their efforts paid off once or twice. They got him out there and he ran well. Other times he’d open up his window and conjure excuses.

-I already ran today.

-Bullshit.

-I did!

-How far?

-…Five miles.

-Oh come on.

-Do doubles then.

-I gotta go to work.

Or another time: I got a girl in my room. Tomorrow. Come by tomorrow.

Jenkins and Hammond were only willing to halt their run for so long. All too often they left sans Sam. In time they gave up trying.

To complicate and further contribute to his junior summer slack was the girlfriend situation. He went and got himself one. In his sophomore year he started dating girls on and off. His funny, daring personality appealed to an array of despondent and insecure girls from the reserved to the equally extroverted and spastic. He went to the movies with both Amy and Susie (at different times) from the girls’ team. Coetaine bragged to the team that he made it to second base in the theatre with Susie, and when Susie heard the news that was the end of that. His exploits were public record. He threw modesty out the window and replaced it with exaggeration and hyperbole. A handhold morphed into a grope fest. A peck on the cheek became a blowjob. He couldn’t help himself. He loved telling tales to the boys. Some freshmen even believed him.

But now he had a girl from another city that seemed to stick and his tall tales and exaggerations transmuted into nonfiction. He himself couldn’t believe his good fortunes. I can’t believe she’s letting me do this right now…seventh heaven. He became singular in focus and that focus was not running in hot, humid summer weather.

Training Week: 5.30 to 6.5.11

2011-06-05T10:16:00.000-04:00

400 min on bike
35 min on elliptical
12 1/2 miles running (3 easy jogs)
4 core workouts + 2 w/ extra calf work

Being cautious with the left foot. Tentative plan is to run every other day and listen to the body.

Core Workout Videos

2011-06-02T12:39:00.000-04:00

The June issue of Running Times featured an article by Jay Johnson on general strength maintaince. If you know me, you know I'm a fan of core work. Below is a link to five videos of a progressive routine designed to help runners improve their general strength.

http://www.runningtimes.com/Article.aspx?ArticleID=16625

I do believe that core work has kept me pretty healthy. Consider this: my foot injury occurred in the one area in which I do not perform general strength drills: the bottom of my foot. I have since learned to increase the frequency of calf and heel exercises (various types of toe/heel raises) to improve strength in this area. I am also discovering that single foot toe/heel raises are more effective than performing the exercise with both legs.

Training Week: 5.23 to 5.29.11

2011-06-01T15:28:00.002-04:00

Training Summary:
346 mins on the bike
120 mins on the elliptical
4 1/4 miles of easy jogging
4 core workouts + 2 with extra calf emphasis

Baby steps. Getting there. I have been wearing KT tape on the left foot. I don't know if it's helping but it isn't hurting. I continue to massage the foot with a spiked ball (thanks Kathy) and a rolling stick. Lots of cold treatment too.

Kinda funny anecdote: I was doing a very slow jog around the perimeter of a park on Sunday morning and a lady walking her pooch stopped me and said, "Wow! What a workout!" No lie, I probably wasn't breaking ten minute miles and was trying to do this "workout" incognito so nobody would see me going so slowly. Then, when I got on my bike to leave, she saw me again. "Wow! Triathalon man! You're unbelievable!" Very nice, garralous lady, but c'mon. If this is what the general public thinks about exercise and fitness, then we are in big trouble. I can only image what she would say if she saw Ben and I doing 6 x 5 min hard with a 1 min all out kicker all through the park.

Chapter 30: Senior Meeting

2011-05-30T19:52:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a book about a high school cross country team. This chapter is about the coach's meeting with his senior runners.

They knew it was coming. Every year it happened about this time. Nobody could predict the date for sure but when it happened, Hartman was finally recognizing them as members of the senior class. The leaders. At the senior meeting they set the agenda for the season. Hammond, as Hartman knew he would, arrived first.

-How are you, Paul?

-Good Coach.

-How’s the body holding up?

-Not bad…I mean pretty good.

-You and the other upperclassmen are doing more this year than you ever have before.

-I know. I checked my log from last year. We’re up eight, ten miles a week.

-You guys have done the work. Progressed up to it.

-I’m feeling pretty strong.

-The core work and the summer base will pay off.

-I hope so.

-I can tell you put a lot into it this summer.

-Tried to.

-Good. Good…how are things at home?

-Fine.

-How’s your dad?

-He’s good.

-I mean how are you and your dad?

-Good…okay…I guess…he’s coming to the Starkfield State meet.

-Is that going to make you run better or worse?

-Better I hope.

-Me too.

-He just wants me to do my best.

-We all do, but listen: I know you try your best. I know it, and I can see it in a way a father can’t always see it. Know what I mean?

-Yeah.

-If you ever need me to say—

-No thanks Coach.

-You have my email and phone number.

-I do.

-I will never put pressure on you. You get enough of that on the inside, he tapped his sternum. You are the epitome of a team runner. You’ve built three years of trust and have been integral to making this team what it is. Deo is nothing without you. Torres and Galiozzi wouldn’t even be on the time without you. You get them to practice. You make sure they’re at the Dank. You think I don’t know that? You’re the glue. I’m already worried about next year. You’ve helped the team enough already. Anything you do this year is gravy in my book. You’ll do great. You’ll run varsity, and I’ll be thinking it’s all gravy. Got it?

Hammond nodded.

-Good. Now where the hell are Smith and Jenkins?

After a hiatus of a good ten seconds, Hammond restarted their conversation. In another ten, they were immersed in best times, favorite courses, and stories from last season. Hammond was just saying how he wished he could’ve seen Mebkay cross the finish line with his own eyes and how pumped he got seeing that still on the jumbotron when in sauntered the two tardy boys.

-Better never than late.

-Are we late?

-Hamz is always early.

-Hey, my dad’s military. Five minutes early is on time. On time is late.

-You guys know why I called you hear?

-We’re seniors.

-That’s right. You’re my three seniors. Let’s get down to business. First things first: you know this team doesn’t have captains. No hierarchies. No egos. That said, as far as I’m concerned you’re all captains. When you fill out your college apps, and you will be filling out college applications, you say that you ran cross and track and that you captained your team.

They looked at one another. Jenkins, who would be the most perturbed at Hartman’s decree, looked around one time and said, Cool.

-Now that we have that covered, let’s talk about the team. I need you guys. You’re my eyes and ears. If something’s going down, you tell me. If somebody starts to stumble, and I’m not talking running, you let me know. If Galiozzi drinks one sip of beer, you tell me. If Spidestrom is flunking tests, you tell me. You owe me that. You owe your team that.

-That’s cool Coach. We get it.

-Good. Now, we’re a fast team, but we’re not deep. We can’t lose anybody. Including the three of you. Let’s not kid ourselves. You guys will have difficult choices to make this year. Parties, dances, girlfriends, the whole bit. This is your first and only warning. If you screw up, I will kick your ass off the team. No second chances. Underclassmen are young and stupid. They get second chances. Right Reggie? You don’t. I need you to lead by example. It’s part of being a senior.

-That’s kinda harsh isn’t it Coa—

-Don’t give me that bullshit. The team looks up to you three. Sellberg clings to your every word. Paws takes what you give him and comes back for more. Ryan, did you know Hideo has all your PRs memorized? He does. You need to show them the way. You guys have all taken minutes, not seconds, minutes off your freshmen times. They need to know that. They need to know that they can do that too.

The three of them weren’t quite expecting Hartman’s tone. They weren’t use to hearing him swear and he did so with such aplomb. No pauses for effect or stumbles. Nothing. Just said those words and kept on going.

Hartman knew his seniors would respond well to tough decrees. Anytime he gave them a choice workout – nine quarters or twelve three hundreds – it was an indecisive debacle. These three needed to be told what to do and how to do it. Once they knew what they were doing, they did it well.

-I expect this team to police itself. The little stuff, you guys can take care of that. I don’t need to know about it. The big stuff, you get me involved. If I find out something’s going down from someone other than you, it’s your ass.

He paused. They nodded. Then he went on to tell them that he abhorred this conversation. Loathed it. He said that this was the first and last time he hoped he’d have to discuss such things. A necessary evil, he called it. He let it sit for a few moments more then transitioned to the upcoming season. He asked Hammond what he thought.

The boy paused and mulled over his words to be careful not to say anything that would jinx the team.

-We have a chance to be real good, he said.

-Real good, Smitty said, we’re gonna be the best in the state. State champions.

-I think we can run with anybody.

-I do too.

-Me too.

-Well, we’re all in agreement about that.

-Paddington will be right there.

-So will Woodbury. Did you see their results from Saturday?

-Oh I know. That win will give them the number one ranking in the state.

-That’s okay. Remember: we peak in November, not September…Let me ask you this: what planet is Coetaine on?

-He thinks he’s a high jumper now.

-He got a girlfriend this summer.

-Yeah but, he’s been better lately.

-That’s true.

-He was one of our top seven last year. We need him.

-I think he’ll come around. Peer pressure will do that to a guy. Besides, he said his IT-band is better now.

-That’s good. We’re gonna need him.

-You have to admit, though, Deo and Spidestrom are looking strong.

-I think they’ll both be top seven.

-Add Torres to the two of them and us three and that’s our class team.

-I know you don’t like counting on freshmen, he looked at his coach, but Paws could be a help.

-Sort of like Spider last year.

-Maybe better than Spider.

-They’re two totally different types of runners. Adam’s a speedster. Justin’s a workaholic.

-Hey coach, how come speedsters are never workaholics?

-Don’t get me started.

Their conversation continued for almost another full hour. They talked about the class meet course, getting enough sleep, eating right, individual goals, Coetaine again, key workouts, the whole gamut. Hamz and Smitty talked about Jenkins’ chance at winning state. Ryan and Hartman smiled and listened. They already had that talk.

Chapter 29: Skyhawk Jamboree

2011-05-25T20:22:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about a high school cross country team. To access prior chapters, click on the fiction tab at the top of the page.

Saturday morning and high schoolers from across the state and beyond congregate to the campus of Stonehill College for the annual Skyhawk Jamboree. In the whole nation, this is the only cross-country specific event of its kind.

Still, Hartman debated its merits. His reservations lay in that attending it meant losing a quality day of training, but ultimately and with the cajoling of his athletic director and even some upperclassmen—Galiozzi in particular—he decided to take his runners to The Hill, as those familiar with the college nicknamed it. He rationalized that the outing provided an opportunity for his boys to hear about training from somebody other than him, and it also allowed some of them to visit a college campus and hopefully get the bug for collegiate life. If they didn’t get the bug at Starkfield State during camp week, well maybe this little liberal arts school would do the trick.

The two-hour morning session consisted of informational workshops and seminars all related to particular aspects of training and racing. The Stonehill coach was instrumental in setting up these stations and recruited other college coaches (mostly assistants) to help facilitate the workshops. Her team members aided those coaches with anything they needed.

The Yellowjackets split themselves according to their own interests. Hartman let them know their choices on Friday. You get to pick three he told them.

· How to Pick the Right Shoe for You

· Stretching: What to Do and When to Do It

· The Finishing Kick: Pick up Valuable Points in Your Final Sprint

· Learning to Ward off Mid-Race Apathy

· Cross-Training: Do the Right Stuff

· Your Core is Not a Bore: Get a 6-pack and Run Faster

· Film Study: Watch the Great Ones

After the seminars, all the teams gathered in plenary in the field house. The indoor track and tennis center was a marvel in itself and if Johnson set this whole day up for the sole intention of recruiting, taking them to the Jennings Memorial Field House was her coup de grace. A four lane banked track, stadium seating, a jumbotron and track meet specific scoreboard. Wow!

Over forty teams attended and when they all field in and took their seats, Heidi Johnson gave a brief speech. She spoke mostly in motivational clichés to the affect of work hard and you’ll do great. She told them that someday—if they worked hard enough—she might be knocking on their door and offering them a full scholarship to run for her. As proof, she then delved into an anecdote about Michael Nye and how he transformed from a fat, lazy frosh who joined the team on a lost bet to a svelte senior who took the last qualifying slot to become an All-American. The kids hooped and hollered when she finished her speech, mainly because they were enjoying the experience as opposed to the effects of Johnson’s single monologue. When the cheering waned, right on cue she brought the house lights down and directed everyone to the jumbotron. On it scrolled a slideshow of high school cross-country runners, a montage of last season. The kids screamed their cords off when a runner wearing their singlet appeared on the screen. The images were set to music but one couldn’t possibly hear it over the ululating surges of the crowd. The Jackets clapped and stamped their feet and shouted as loud as they could when a picture of Mebkay, hands in a V, crossed the jumbotron. The runners breathed life into Jennings; he was once again alive and electrified. One team’s enthusiasm fed on another’s and another’s. By the end of the fifteen minutes, everyone in the place, coaches included, was primed for a PR. Hartman smiled that twisted smile of his. A football crazed city, his Springfield boys often suffered a Napoleon complex. Here they got to see a place where cross was boss. He knew he made the correct decision. Even if Woodbury was off at the MacIntyre Classic and winning it hands down.

Straight from the bleachers Johnson led them out of the track and tennis center and into the bright sun for the day’s concluding activity: a run over the women’s 6k cross country course which just so happened to be the sight of this year’s NCAA Division II national championship meet. Johnson’s own team, both men and women, joined the secondary schoolers for their jaunt. For the only time this year Hartman joined his crew, and they did the whole 6k together as a unit. Keeping the reins on Smitty, Coetaine, and Pawgoski wasn’t easy especially given that Paddington ran a few groups ahead. Jenkins, though, still one-stepped his teammates.

-Take a good look at their backs now, Hammond said to no one in particular, because it’s the only time you’ll be seeing them this year.

-That’s right.

-Damn right.

-No doubt.

-We’ll toast them when it counts.

The coach enjoyed listening to the bravado but what he relished was arête. Quiet, humble runners who spoke with their legs, not their mouths, appealed more to him than the guys who ran their mouths and never showed up on race day. He’d talk to them about that later. At least for now he took solace in that their mouths only ran to each other.

After two kilometers or so the jumbotron hysteria simmered down and the pace regressed to recovery speed. The banter, however, kept up and Jenkins couldn’t say enough about the film study class.

-The videos were pretty badass.

-What’d they show?

-A whole bunch of shit.

-Like what?

-Ah, I dunno…

Paws jumped in, they showed Pre’s ’72 Olympic race.

-Oh yeah, that’s right. Pre’s Olympic 5000 in Munich.

-He won gold, right?

-No. What place did he come in Paws?

-Fourth.

-He did? He didn’t medal?

-Nope. But he ran his balls off.

-How?

-He knew he didn’t have the kick to match the Europeans so with like two laps to go he started his kick, an all out sprint. He ran his ass off but lost it in the last 200. You could tell his tank was empty and he kept pushing but there was nothing left.

-What’s so good about that?

-Are you kiddin me? The dude went for it. He threw caution to the wind. He took a huge risk. He could’ve easily won bronze but he went for the gold. It was all or nothing with that guy.

They jogged quietly for a few steps.

-The Goucher stuff was pretty badass, too, Paws said.

-Oh yeah, Jenkins confirmed and proceeded to tell the story of Adam Goucher’s national championship race. He crouched down on the starting line in this business-like I’m going to war way. He was giving off this vibe that said don’t F with me. One of the Stonehill guys even said that the necklace he wore was made of shrunken skulls that represented all of the opponents he would conquer. Nasty. Ultimate badass. He crushed it. He took no prisoners. He killed it.

The story telling was riling up the guys and they passed two teams.

-Let’s keep it in check. We have a long run tomorrow.

They didn’t slow. They maintained. Even Deo, the disciplined one, was having a hard time keeping it slow. He edged to the front of the pack.

-Hey Deo.

-What’s that?

-Are you wearing two t-shirts?

-Yes.

-Where’d you get that?

Deo wore a Stonehill XC Skyhawks jersey over his other one. A little big for him, the t-shirt hung over his shorts almost like a skirt.

-I won it this morning.

-How?

-Trivia questions, Coetaine said, the kid’s a genius.

Gales and Torres offered a few playful shoves before bribing him for his prize.

-It doesn’t even fit you, one of them said.

Last 5 Weeks of Cross Training

2011-05-22T12:35:00.000-04:00

April 18-24
415 min bike
40 min elliptical

April 25-May 1
390 min bike
70 min elliptical

May 2-8
407 min bike
120 min elliptical

May 9-15
336 min bike
135 min elliptical

May 16-22
329 min bike
181 min elliptical

I have been giving my left arch plenty of time to heel. It's still not perfect but I'm thinking that everyday of cross training is a day closer to running. I think I'm at the point where I'm about to try a light jog. My cardio should be okay due to all the elliptical and bike. It's the speed and running shape that concerns me. There is no real substitute for running.

Chapter 28: SpringVale

2011-05-19T20:36:00.000-04:00

Beads of Sweat is a novel about a cross country team. Today's chapter tracks an LT run.

The road cambered only slightly to the left and to the right. Due to its desolation, even in the midafternoon, the boys ran down the middle of it. Via shortcuts and backyard cutthroughs, they made it to Springvale in twelve minutes. Wallan, Torres, and a few others marveled and appreciated how they could commute from the heart of downtown suburbia to backwater in such a short space.

When they first turn onto it, the road is paved. That lasts for no more than a quarter of a mile. It changes to dirt. That’s where the houses start spreading farther and farther apart, and the forest gets thicker and more ominous. It was the type of road where runners hear broods of semidomesticated mastiffs howl and bark. Their ululations reverberate off rock and tree and naturally catalyze the lonely harrier to pick up his pace. The good thing—for there was one good thing about this road according to the boys—was that a guy could duck in anywhere and relieve himself. Just watch out for the unkempt dogs and poison oak. And the road goes on and on this way for mile after mile through more than one town. In short, it’s the type of road, that perilous type of road, where the runner often thinks that he is almost done with it but then sees that rock shaped like Snoopy and remembers his true location and realizes that he still has much more distance to cover than he thought. A real joy of a road.

A big sweater, Smitty struggled down the road at his LT pace, his shirt soaked and heavy on his chest. Don’t wear cotton next time, a voice in his head. The devil on his shoulder told him to slow down and relax. He almost complied with one of these very many requests. He hated Springvale because of what it meant: LT runs. Lactate threshold runs. Runs just at the brink. They were not his forte. He ran here and always found himself alone and always found himself struggling to resolve the mind v. mind v. body conflict. On this day he slowed down. The devil smiled and fell silent.

That same devil had exiled himself from Jenkins’ shoulder after four years of unsuccessful pleas. He killed this workout. He killed his devil. Today it was four on Springvale, later in the season it would be six, last year it was five; it didn’t matter. He pounded it and left a baker’s dozen of guys in his wake. Spider tried to hang for the first mile and so did Hamz and Torres and Smitty. Tried but dropped. Two miles out Hartman stood in the middle of the road legs splayed under bike. Wordless, Jenkins pinned around him and looked up to see where the others were. Hartman told him to keep it at LT pace. He surged to make the gap that much longer. After fifteen seconds Spider came into view followed by the pair of Hammond and Torres. All three of them shouted at Jenks. He offered nothing in return except the slightest of bobs. He was working it hard and couldn’t spare vociferations. He had rhythm that he didn’t want to break and this made him untouchable. Shouts of encouragement? When a runner entered a zone like this none of that external stuff mattered. He knew he was rocking it and knew he would keep rocking it until he reencountered the street sign. Sometimes a boy gets going and even though he’s in a pain tells himself that there is no way on earth that he could possibly slow down. The boy doesn’t want to go any slower. He wants the pain; that’s how he knows he’s alive; the more discomfort the better the living. Ironically, man as machine. Men as machine. I am a machine. Nothing can stop me. An internal monologue of ceaseless badass chants. Some not fit for print. Chants keep legs on cadence. He only broke form once or twice to look straight down at his feet and ground. The kid in the train peering straight down through a crack in the floorboards and marveling at the speed at which the railroad ties passed.

Not everyone enjoyed this workout as much as Ryan Jenkins. They were one team but they all had their specialties. Spidestrom has the NMT, Smith the LSD, Wallan devoured hills, and this just happened to be the work that validated Jenkins’ dreams of an individual state championship.

Before long the Springvale sign came into view. One could spy it from a long way off but the letters remained indistinguishable for quite some time. Step after step his vision became less myopic. First he could see the S and then the V. He never noticed it before but there was something strange and out of place with that V. As he got closer, he realized that it was capitalized. That’s odd, he thought, is that a compound word?

When everyone gathered up at the post for the cooldown back to the school, Jenkins pointed out his find to them.

-Did you guys notice that, he gestured to the sign.

-Notice what?

-The V in Springvale.

-So what?

-It’s capitalized.

-You’re just noticing that now? After four years?

-Stop being such a nerd. Who do you have Miele for English?

-No. I noticed it too.

-Coach, why is the V capitalized?

-I don’t know.

-Let’s say it’s for victory, Torres offered.

A few eyes rolled.

-Do you want a noogie, Adam? He made a quick move toward him then Sam.

-Okay, okay, Hartman said. We come to this road and we work hard. That’s our thing. The V stands for our victories.

After a few more cups of Gatorade courtesy of Pereira the team started their jog back to the high school. Unbeknownst to Hartman, they all cut it short by doing a little more backyard sideyard running than they should have. They cut a good half mile. Jenks and Smitty, as seniors, led the way. They felt justified after a killer LT. Paws didn’t know what was going on but he followed. All the way home they replayed the workout without a thought about their course. Torres told of how he and Hamz gobbled up Spider because he went out too hard. Coetaine said he felt strong but Hartman made him stop. The underclassmen didn’t say much of anything. Between the likes of Gales, Coetaine, and Smith getting a word in was just about as challenging as the workout. Hamz and Torres were in nasty shape right now and their excitement along with Jenkins’ outright domination allowed the team to think and talk championship. Little did they know Paddington and Woodbury were kicking just about as much ass as they were.