Bling

Bling

I turned 50 in June this year, and apparently, “50 being the new 30” is true. My running has improved greatly this summer, I’ve been racing like a maniac AND as an extra added bonus, collecting my share of Age Group awards in the local competitions as well. Depending, of course on the race, the day, the conditions and those days that thankfully the fast guys are somewhere else. Out of the 14 races I’ve run since turning 50, I’ve placed in at least 7 of them, and collected finishers medals in three others, so the percentage of award races is over 70% and rising.

While fun, this does in fact add an extra layer of “stuff” to my life. The recent haul consists of (as mentioned) several finisher and age group medals, a red ribbon, and not one but two trophies, one of which is actually in the shape of a golden Rooster (see my previous blog for THAT story. All of this presents an interesting conundrum. It’s fun to be fast enough to place in these races and collect a medal, trophy, plaque, or even a ribbon, however what do you ultimately do with these things? After admiring them for a day or so (sometimes I leave the trophies in the bathroom so anyone performing ablutions has to marvel at my running prowess) they get relegated to a shelf in my spare bedroom or a box shoved onto a bookshelf out of sight. Years can go by before I look at them again, and then it’s only to glance at them briefly before putting them back into the box and shoving the box out of sight, and therefore out of mind.

My erstwhile running colleague Gregg Herman is a prime example of a running swag hound. He’s been racing for years, is quite accomplished in his age group and as a result has amassed an impressive amount of running awards,

Occupying a large corner office in the Chase Bank building in downtown Milwaukee, all of the horizontal and vertical surfaces of his work space are crammed with the Bling of his running accomplishments. Trophies, medals, ribbons, plaques – you name it. It not only boggles the mind, it numbs the senses as it quickly flows together into a homogenous mass of shiny trinkets

Indeed on one of my last trips to the hallowed space, I was perusing the “Trophy Corner” as it were and while examining one of the larger units, found myself exclaiming “Gregg! Your trophy has BREASTS!” Indeed, he had actually received a women’s award - and hadn’t paid attention - and my theory is that, bling being bling, it had gone unnoticed in the sheer delight in adding to the collection.

(I still chortle merrily when I recount this story to anyone who will listen. It’s one of many great Gregg Herman stories – the trophy with Boobies.)

Later that same day, we completed the UNCF 5K race in downtown Milwaukee, both placing in the same age group (I was second, and he was third, I’m the younger and now faster runner..) Thus, we collected a pair of 16 inch high gold and black trophies heralding our accomplishment. Of course we checked them closely for cleavage before accepting them. After the race, we walked the mile from Veterans Park over downtown Milwaukee surface streets back to Gregg’s office in the Chase building carrying our treasures. This did not go unnoticed by the local inhabitants as the bright sun winked off the shiny gold. Cars honked, passerby’s cheered, entire busloads of people waved and after a few instances of this, we held the trophies overhead and pranced like Rocky Balboa as people applauded us during our “Walk of Fame”. Gregg was enjoying this so much, we even walked an extra block past his office to collect more Love.

As we were doing this, a thought struck me. “You know,” I commented to Gregg as we continued to lug our new bling through downtown Milwaukee. “After we die, one of the first things that will be heard is the grinding, clanking, crash of one of our relatives emptying boxes of our race awards into the nearest dumpster!”

He guffawed loudly and proceed to recount the story of his former law partner, who had seemingly thousands of plaques, Lucite cubes, and other form of bling from his several years of community service. And, indeed when he passed on to the great courtroom in the sky, most of his commemorative items did in fact find their way into a landfill somewhere.

This all got me to thinking about the whole Carbon Footprint of not only the Bling factor, but the whole running/racing experience. Seemingly, running should be one of the most green sports on the planet, consisting of several people putting one foot in front of the other, on god’s green earth and traversing some distance as fast or as diligently as possible, consuming oxygen, exhaling tree and plant nurturing carbon dioxide and not burning fossil fuel in internal combustion engines. Also, this being a healthy pursuit, the activity can have the benefit of extending one’s life expectancy as well as enhancing mental skills and productivity. What could be greener, or more beneficial than that?

Sadly, upon further introspection, this is not necessarily the case. And, the bling factor, much of which will ultimately find it’s way to some landfill (after said clanking, grinding dumpster crash) at some future date is only part of it. There is a lot of “stuff” that is generated by races that we may not be considering.

Anyone who has ever done a major – or even not so major - running event has gotten the obligatory “goodie bag” These bags are generally large handled plastic bags crammed full of paper, sample products, plastic items and lots of flotsam and jetsam. Coupons for local eateries, massage therapists, health clubs and chiropractors abound. The problem with most of these is that they are in fact local, and unless you are close to the community, the chances of actually using them are slim. And, I rarely if ever eat out, or pay for things like Chiropractic or Massage, preferring instead to cook at home, barter, or do without. Therefore, all of this paper finds itself instantly in the recycling bin – a shame as the ink, tree and energy it took to produce it goes largely wasted and then needs to be recycled again. At least I do that.

Further, the sample items are usually Bio-gel or some Moo Udder ointment in either encased in PVC or some non-environmentally friendly aluminum foil condiment container. Again, a waste as I don’t use these and ultimately dispose of them somewhere.

Then there are the plastic trinkets – key chains, flashlights, Tchotchke of many descriptions…..how much of this does one person need? Since most of my cars have remote entry fobs, I never use key chains any more. And, the flashlights generally don’t work when needed, which usually causes me to hurl them angrily into the nearest trash receptacle, thereby adding to the landfill once again. Too much junk!

Oh, and the refrigerator magnets Why would I plaster a four by six inch refrigerator magnet for some non-local Real Estate Agent or Chirorpactor on my kitchen Amana? Into the trash it goes… And, how many years does it take to break down a vinyl magnet??

Then, if you think about it, there is the whole T-shirt thing too. The latest trend is to provide Technical T-shirts to all participants, which, unlike Cotton shirts, you may actually wear to another event or workout with in the future. These shirts wick, and are lightweight and are therefore nice, however there are two personal issues. One, they are usually made out of some polyester derivative, meaning they are oil-based and two, having done upwards of 35 races last year, I amass SOOO many cool technical shirts, I generally wind up folding them neatly, and cramming them into a Rubbermaid storage tote (also made out of Oil-based plastic!) for later consideration. They then wind up on the same rotation schedule as the Medals, which mean I may look at them again once a year…….Although, or a regular basis I do in fact order them in medium to send to my ex-wife Jean as part of our alimony arrangement. I also bequeath at least a half dozen XL’s a year to my ex-father in law who continues to be thrilled wear T-shirts from such exotic locales as Hilbert, Wisconsin from races he hasn’t run. And, I’ve gotta say they do look better on him than they do on me, and I do appreciate the irony of providing that experience to him. Anyway, it’s still more stuff and more of the Racing Carbon Footprint that may not be considered.

The races themselves provide truckloads of litter, from the used cups that are trampled underfoot to the pouches of Gatorade that are slit and dumped into great big (plastic!!) containers, to the wrappers from snacks, plastic water bottles, soda cans, beer cups…..the list goes on and on and it’s quite a lot, with a large amount of petroleum based products, paper, and energy consumed to launch even a small event. And, don’t forget that mostly we DRIVE to and from Races – it would be terrible to actually get some exercise on our way to exert ourselves!!!

Then there is the whole Portopottie thing (okay, I'm not EVEN going to get started on that....)

So, having gone on this multi-page rant, what to do? (and, how do I conclude this blog – mainly I wanted to brag about my AG placements since turning 50, and now look what happened)

I wonder how we as runners can get more green? And, where to start. It seems the collective mindset and high expectations we’ve all formed around running events which cause us to expect, no, demand – proper libations, a cool tech shirt and more and more bling is causing us to be part of the problem and not the solution.

I know I’m guilty of all that. Look at my blogs where I natter on (or chortle) about the libations, t-shirt, bling et al. What else would I complain about?

Any thoughts gang? Talk amongst yourselves………

Note to my executor……please find a good way to donate my race bling - some local kids charity or something. I’ll be ashes once I’ve trotted off to the great beyond, so let’s not add any more to the landfill than we have too!

Tucson 10K (or "Why yes, I'm from OakAhNoeMoeWock!")

Ran an (almost!) 10K in Tucson This Morning.

Ya know, I think that the Half Marathon has been the New 10K for a few years now. (kinda like 50 is the new 30??) Back in my early days of running (from about 1988 - 1994) 10K's were as plentiful as fleas on a dog, you could run one, or even two! almost every weekend. Now, they seem scarcer than Hens Teeth, replaced, seemingly, by Half Marathons, which as you know you can actually cram four into fourteen days in some months in Southeastern Wisconsin. Those who are real runners can do it anyway.

But I digress. Anyway, 5K's are one thing, 10K's however I really don't have a "Pace" for as who does them very much?

And even though there is always seemingly a 5K option, who would run short when they could run long?

(oh yeah, Greg Hermann would. Again, I digress. Must be the altitude here, can't stay on topic for long)

This was the second year I've done this race and it's a strange 'un. It's put on by a local Bicycling Emporium (Perimeter Bicycling) and it's the El Tour Race - the El Tour de Tucson is a National Bike Race held in Tucson in November where thousands of world famous stretch-pant-bright-jersey-fancy-space-age-helmet-wearing intense monsters come to pedal their asses off. So, why is there a running race? Dunno...however there are not-so-subtle clues that tell you these people aren't necessarily runners. And, they may not be Bike-Race savvy either, based upon some of the logistics or lack thereof.

Still, I never ever turn down a race versus just doing a training run - in spite of the fact that I've got three 26.2 Mile Dragon-Slaying events breathing fire down my neck - literally. First one - Milwaukee - is two weeks from tomorrow and the MOUNT LEMMON uphill race is a mere month away. So, these lesser races are intended to make up for my usual lack of actual marathon training, hoping that if I continue to simulate combat conditions, at least piecemeal, I'll continue to make it across the finish lines of these "longer" efforts.

Again, digressing!

So, I picked up my packet Friday, they gave us a black reusable shopping bag - always good for the car trunk! lots of papers crammed into it and one cool thing was that the T-shirt was optional - you could pay extra and get one or just pay less and not. I went for Not and as it turned out it was a nice yellow shirt, cotton, however I've got so many damn race shirts the short pang of lust I felt for it disseminated quickly when I went home and opened my drawer and saw the Tucson collection - mostly unloved and unworn.

5K people had yellow bibs, 10K people had blue - my number? 12. And, I signed up not long ago, so I'm thinking...small race!

It wasn't though. It was as most Tucson races an early start - 6:30 am, so I was out the door at 5:35 sharp. This year it was held at St.Gregory's prep school instead of up in Marana as in years past. Last year it was almost an hour drive from the Tucson abode, this morning it was a mere 11 minutes - 22nd street to Craycroft, left, four miles and left into the parking lot. And, good thing I left kinda early, by the time I inched my way into the parking area it was quite crowded.

A mixed crowd - and since it wasn't a SAR-sponsored event, I didn't see many of the local running illuminati. However there were a few fast looking people there that I recognized, one, a local Jack Hoffman-type was there (whose name I don't know) and I was glad, meaning my chances of having to lead the pack had just diminished. Later they said there were 289 runners and walkers with a LOT of race day sign ups.

There was the same woman Emcee from last year, a pony-tailed cheerleader-type of indeterminate age who was in constant peppy voice over a monster PA system for the entire event. "We've got people here from all over Arizona" she was warbling as I walked up. "We even have people from Iowa, and look! Two people from Wisconsin (didn't hear name) from ManahTOEWHACK, and Peter Klein from Oak-Ah-Noe-Moe-Wock, Wisconsin. Welcome all you people!!" (She would go on, throughout the morning to continue to butcher my current home town, repeating this cant 3-4 times, once again before the race, once when I crossed the finish line and then later as she seemingly couldn't help herself) Guess I'm famous in Tucson from being from OakAhNoeMoeWock! And, seems Wisconsin people are smarter - THEY can pronounce "Tucson"

The same peppy voice started chivvying us to start lining up at about 6:10 am. Even while thinking (WTF??) I took my place close to the front seeing a plethora of strollers, small children, leashed dogs, and really slow looking people. Sometimes as you know, in these non-running savvy races, the walkers all cluster up front, the better to act as boulders in the stream blocking the movers like me, so I was intent on avoiding having to run everyone over (like Gregg Herman does) This had the unfortunate result of placing me smack in the front of the monster PA colums, thus treating me to a full blast treatment of the ensuing babble. Anyway, there was non-stop patter from the hostess, then some other old guy took the mike and gassed on and on about how much money they'd raised (the race is, in fact a benefit for "Bens Bells" (www.bensbells.org ) a GREAT local organization promoting "Kindness") He then put some other old codger on who after some other non-memorable yammering announced that since he ran this race last year, he'd had his prostate and a half a kidney removed so he wasn't sure he'd set a PR - or even finish the race - that day. (The crowd actually applauded for this - not sure if they were happy for his loss of major organs, or the fact that the competition was diminished?), and in the meantime, the sun was rising murderously in the east - and right in our faces. This is, in fact, the desert, so the heat was on the way, and I could feel and share the collective crowd impatience thinking "Get on with the race already!!" After an acapella Star Spangled Banner rendition from one of the actual runners, who handed the mike back and took her place in the crowd, we did a count down and promptly at 6:30 am we were off.

The first quarter mile was a loop around the St. Gregory sports field, a soaking wet (the sprinklers had maybe just been on?), and incredibly spongy surface. It was, literally, like running on a squishy saturated O-Cello sponge. "Boing! Boing!" I thought to myself as I bounded up and down feeling my shoes fill with water. There were some pre-ten year old boys who had bolted out with the lead crowd and then slammed to a complete stop in front of me, necessitating a spectactular hurdle on my part to avoid adding them to some unhappy youth statistic. In spite of all that, we soon emptied out onto the Rillito (pronounced ReYee toe) river pathway and headed west.

This was a big circular loop course out on the south side of the Rillito river bike trail (the Rillito River is actually a completely dry wash filed with sand, scrub, and abandoned shopping carts) a crossover on the Dodge Avenue road bridge and then back up the north side of the bike trail, with a loop around on the Craycroft road bridge then back to the finish. It was promised during the non-stop blather at the start line that there were plenty of aid stations and portopotties on the course, plus mile makers in both Miles and Kilometers.

Not so much on any of this as it turned out.

The first half of the course rolled up and down, and I did in fact see the first three Kilometer markers. Never did, in fact see many past that and never saw ANY mile markers. We were heading west, away from the rising sun and at the start I felt okay. GPS would later show I kept an absolutely consistent 7:32 pace for the first three miles. Again, what's a 10K Pace? Faster than a Half Marathon, not as fast as a 5K? It's hard to gauge, so I just kept it as steady as I could.

I did see the first "aid station" It was a picnic bench, complete with a single, smirking 10-year old boy sitting firmly on his ass presiding over the cups of water - about 30 feet off the bike path. Coupled with the start line, the spongy field crossing, and the lack of mile markers, already I'm aware that these people aren't really thinking of real runners - what real runner would divert WAY off the trail (and it wasn't an easy on and off, you'd have to back track the same said 30 feet once you grabbed your own cup due to a pedestrian railing). I blasted on through thinking...well, I can usually last six miles without a drink.

After the first mile and a half, the serious 5K runners peeled off and I'm all alone, mostly - one woman runner up in front (whom I reeled in by mile 2.5) and then a guy in a green shirt about 300 yards in front of me that I never did reel in. The path wound and jogged, and there were several pedestrian entry points with non-race walkers plodding in, so it was somewhat confusing. Minimal course marshalling and as mentioned - never saw any mile markers.

Was hoping not to Digress.

I passed the second aid station before Mile 3, right before the bridge crossing. It was apparently a self-serve one, "rustic" if you will - crates of gallon bottles of water stacked beside another picnic table (this one about 20 feet off the trail) and no cups, no staff, no nothing. Again, I blasted on through, thinking "Great!"

A quick left and a quick right and a tight hairpin turn and I'm on the Dodge Avenue bridge, over the top and down the other side where some course marshals direct me across a stretch of sandy ditch and back onto the bike trail. Now I'm running directly into the very intense rising sun, GPS reads mile 3.4 and I actually feel my energy start to drain away through the soles of my (now dry) Adidas Responses. The sun and lack of water was like a literal weight. Still, I persevere, and later GPS will show that I clocked a pair of 7.50's, and then a 7.41 so it wasn't too terribly bad. Still, the intense sun, the path, and now it's slightly uphill slowed me down.

Plus, soon I started catching up to the 5K walkers and "joggers" firmly clogging the river path like arterial placque. I weaved in and out of them, strollers, dogs, kids, oncoming bicycles and all following the guy in the green shirt who was doing the same thing.

There was actually a volunteer passing out cups of water around mile 4.5, so I could unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and then continue the slog. It helped.

A monster switchback uphill to the Craycroft bridge, then a long narrow pedestrian walkway passing over the Rillito non-river, with waist high concrete on each side, another hairpin turn straight down, through a small gap in a high chain link fence, and back to the river path and now I can hear the finish line PA system clearly. A hairpin turn into St. Gregory's and then another bound across the spongy grass and suddenly there is the finish line and "Here's number 12, Peter Klein from OakAhNoeMoeWock, Wisconsin!!! Great job Peter!!! Thanks for coming all this way!!!" Finish clock says 46:29, so does my GPS and the course distance.....6.06 miles, of course. This means it was probably and actually a 6 mile 10K as my GPS usually measures "long" so............can't really say I ran a 10K today.

Average time worked out to a dismal-for-the-distance 7:39 minute miles, oh well. I think I actually did better in Cudahy for 10 and I was almost as fast at the Lake Country Half averaging a 7:45 for 13.1. Better water stops on both though, and Gatorade too......

I collected the "finishers medal" a leather thong with a ceramic ornament tied to it plus a sweet sounding brass bell. Already a few of the runners were wearing theirs and you could hear a chorus of "ting ting ting" for the rest of the morning. This was the Bens Bells Piece and it's an interesting piece of swag - makes a great outdoor windchime actually! Picture attached....

Again, in the theme of "Not a Runners Race" there were no age group awards. The top 3 Male and Females (for the 10K and 5K) got these funky-ass artistic made-out-of-metal-wire-stapled-to-a-wooden-plank stylized bicycle trophies. Quite the dust catcher! However, the only other awards were for "Most Funds Raised", "Last across the finish line", youngest and oldest runner. Since I qualified for none of this, I didn't get any further bling - just as well, what would I do with something like that?

I was, however 13th across the finish line in the 10K (there were 112 10K people), and, initially FIRST in my age group which showed me as age 98 in the M80-98 age group. Not bad for an old guy, huh? Again....not good information, not paying attention to the runners info. As it turns out, (after I got this corrected) I would have been third in the 50-54 - the 10K race was actually won by that previously mentioned Jack Hoffman-like guy who is age 52 and nailed it in 40:15 or so. So, I would have had yet another "show" regardless of my dismal pace. However today that didn't matter.

Not many finish line libations, cups of water, sliced oranges, melon, quarter bagels and little cups of peanut butter. NO BEER, dammit!!! I hung around for the awards ceremony anyay, thinking, pehaps that they'd have a special award for the most difficult to pronounce town (OakAhNoeMoeWock) however no joy. So, back to the Tucson abode, all before 9:00 am. Still waiting for the beer....

Miss you Wisconsin people! No mile markers, no water, no finish line beer, can't pronounce Oconomowoc, no AG awards, what's wrong with these Tucson Biker people??

See you all in a few weeks!

Run with the Roosters 5 Miler, Tucson AZ (or, your name must be STEVE!)

Note to reader – consider this version of the Bob Newhart Drinking Game – except this time, every time the name “Steve” comes up, you have to take a drink….

Here goes -

The alarm went off at 3:06 am today, and after reluctantly getting up 10 minutes later, stumbling around, collecting running apparel, GPS and water bottle, I'm in the car and gone at 3:40 am headed for Old Tucson Studios. Destination of the "Run with the Roosters 5-miler" put on by my new Tucson Colleague Steve Landau's "Everyone Runs" running event company

After meandering north on surface streets for a few miles, I hang a sharp left onto Speedway avenue and arrow west through the downtown area for several miles. Surprisingly, there is a lot of traffic for this time of the morning. My car thermometer reads 87 degrees - at 3:55 am - but it's a "dry" heat, so I have the windows open, and am scanning the radio for something interesting to listen to. Not much on at this time of the morning and I'm too sleepy to rummage for a CD.

I exit Speedway at Gates Pass road (an angle left) and blast up into the Tucson Mountains. Gates Pass is a winding, rolling two-lane mountain road that does, literally, provide a pass over the Tucson Mountains, and it's much like a Desert Alpen Highway. A Nissan Altima zooms past me, and I crank up the Toyota to stay in his wake. At this time of the day, there is only one destination he could be headed for so I'm guessing if I follow him, we'll arrive at the same objective. It's pitch black as we swoop up to the top of the pass, then drop almost straight down to the other side. I'm regularly on and off with the high beam switch as the road curves and I lose sight of my driving buddy. At times I imagine I'm James Bond and the evil Goldfinger's minions will be trying to overtake me and push my Toyota over the cliff into the void below so I keep a sharp eye on my rear view mirrors for approaching headlights that may spell trouble.

Arriving safely at the end of Gates Pass, we hang a left on Kinney Road and a short block later see a swinging flashlight directing us into a dark parking area.

"Aha!" I chortle to myself as I see the Nissan obediently make a left hand turn as directed by the dark figure with the flashlight. I follow suit and am soon parked in the Employee's Parking lot at Old Tucson. Time: 4:10 am. Race Start - 5:00 am. Still pitch black.

Withing seconds a wave of cars are streaming in off Kinney and the flash lights are describing a constant arc directing the flow, which is now also backed up all the way to Gates Pass. "Hah, once again, my timing is superb!" I think to myself. "Take That, Gregg Herman!"

Old Tucson, for those of you who don't know it, is a Western Movie Set turned Theme Park that provided the backdrop for many movies over the years starring John Wayne, and other cowboy heros. The Old Tucson part doesn't play much into this race as we just used the parking lot for the race start/finish and post-race festivities, so that's a story for another time. I will, however mention that Cayelin's middle son Ian did an extended time here as a Stunt Man before his current gig in China and he had a lot of fun getting shot, falling off buildings and doing many other cowboy skits.

Anyway, I now have to find packet pickup so I meander down a long side road from the parking lot towards some bright lights and noise, and soon find Packet pickup. A recent running acqaintence named Steve Huges is manning the table, so we have a brief discussion, He's apparently injured today - ankle - so is not running, however he's been training in earnest for the Mount Lemmon Marathon and may, in fact, be running UP Mount Lemmon next week. I'm instantly glum......these Tucson runners are dedicated to their craft and will no doubt conquer the mountain this fall in fine fettle, while I'll be piddling around in the Midwest in single digit altitude for the rest of the summer and early fall.

Shaking off these gloomy thoughts, I don my Bib (number 114) and head back to the car to drop off my keys. Having a few minutes, I flip open my cellphone and, mentally doing the calculation of Midwest time change, fire off a text to Rhonda "At the race. Dark and 88 Degrees at 4:20 am" I wait a few minutes, but no response, and getting bored, I disembark, lock up the Toyota, tie the key around my shoelace, and, after checking the obligatory three times to make sure I've done that, lock the remote in the trunk and turn to my left, where I immediately encounter another local Race Director Colleague, Steve Taggart - he of the Tagg Runs race events company. Steve's a great and enthusiastic guy, so we kibitz for a while and then head back to the start area. Promising I'll be back to do his fall races, I head out to warm up a little, but soon lose interest and circle back to the starting area. It's starting to get light, the DJ is cranking Prince's "Raspberry Beret" which, by the way, was in the top 10 in 1985 - 25 years ago this week!! and anyway, I figure "it's only a Five Miler".

It's also overcast so still dim as we draw closer to the 5:00 am start time, Steve Landau gets on the microphone and informs us that he'd like it to be a little lighter, so we'll start "Oh, about 5:08 or so" Okay, fine, no biggie. Soon, we're all lining up – 200 plus runners and walkers - and next to me I spy Polly Campbell, whom I had an intense team workout with in May at the Reid Park workout group weekly meeting before I left Tucson. She's the woman's winner of the Tucson Mararthon last year and a top ranked athlete. She spies me and lights up "Hey! You were on my Team!!!" she exclaims. I'm delighted to be remembered and greet her back, then it's time for an introduction to the Rooster who is standing close to the entrance to the parking lot where we are going to run out of (a job I wouldn’t want – a furry costume in Tucson Heat?) Then, a trumpet version of the star spangled banner (which was slightly off key and had some clinkers) and then Steve announces "I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!" (Arizona Humor!) and after a 10 count, Bang! and we're off.

Since I wasn't running with Gregg Herman, I'm way up front with the Speedy People. Polly and her compadres are soon tail lights of course, however I did hold my own for the first mile or so. Since I don't run many 5 milers, I don't have a "5 mile pace" so I blast off at what I think is just under my 5K pace.

It’s rolling downhill for the first mile and a half or so then, we hang a right into a State Park Road and up and over several speed bumps, all of which I managed to hit right on the top. I’m passed at about the 1.5 mile marker by a blue shirt/blue short clad dude with long, black, flowing, Moses-like hair and full monster beard. I had spied him before and figured we were long-haired running brothers in arms, but had dismissed him as he hadn’t looked like he was too fast. I was wrong, this dude had set of wheels on him for sure. Instantly doing an assessment, I figured he was too young to be in my age group because at 50 plus (my new age group), there was no way that hair color would not be streaked with Grey. Anyway, I’m figuring my shot at the gold this morning is slim – it’s Tucson after all and I had spied at least a few of the local oldsters blazing away from me at the start.

So, we continued through a water stop (where I again saw Steve Hughes and he handed me a cup of water) to the end of the road, where we turned around and headed back passing the stream of runners and walkers heading out. Mile two blazed by, and I’m averaging about a 7:20 pace, however I’m realizing that we’d been slightly downhill and that now we were going back – uphill.

I huffed up the slight rise to the water stop again, got another cup of water from Steve Hughes and headed out onto Kinney again. I’m feeling the uphill drag and suddenly I’m out of energy, and the race isn’t half over yet. Low Blood sugar…. I’ve passed Long Hair Blue Shirt guy, however I feel a lethargy creeping over me as we head south on Kinney in what feels like an endless succession of rolling uphill curves.

I managed to keep on pace, well, some pace anyway as we keep going, through the three mile mark to a turnaround. Today, it seems like my GPS isn’t working, each time I look at it, it seems as if I’m only advancing micro distances at a time. Still, it’s firing dead on each mile marker, and knowing that Steve Landau runs a quality race in all ways, I’m confident that the course will be as accurate as possible.

I slog up to the top of a hill where there appears to be a turn around, at about mile 3.25 I think and there is a water stop. I hear the volunteers calling out “Water” and then I hear the blessed words “Xood” (pronounced “Excude”) Sports Drink! “Xood!” I gasp and am handed a cup of the viscous pink stuff, which, formally, I’ve disdained in other races. This morning, however, it’s Jet fuel, and I walk a few steps to imbibe it properly, getting passed once again by my new silent colleague “Bearded Man” Mentally shrugging, I toss my cup and, feeling the lift from the carbs charge after him.

It’s a duel to the death for the rest of the race as we stride along, side by side, trading the pole position, fighting the hills, and rolling pavement. Again, I’m thinking “Man! This is a long-ass 5 miles” however the views were spectacular of the mountains, it was a great road surface and a good morning. The overcast made it feel like a Midwest day, with a little humidity in the air, and, take away the sand and cactus, and it could have been a Wisconsin Summer road race, weather wise.

There was a medium rise back to the parking lot at Old Tucson and, with my GPS registering 4.68 miles, I find I can light a few jets and as we traverse the hill, I dig in and put Bearded Man firmly behind me, hang a right into the parking lot (past the Rooster, who is directing us in), sprint around a long, cone-lined curve and blast into the finish line. The announcer is in fine voice, except he’s like “Okay here’s number…….One……Seventy-Four!” apparently not being able to read my bib. Well, who cares, as long as the scoring is correct, I think. Besides, I’m still thinking awards aren’t mine today.

Clock time reads 37:32, GPS has me at 7:29 per mile, 5.02 miles and 37:34 so okay. I peel my tag, and collect a bottle of Canadian Water and a crop sleeved technical Shirt. Another classy piece about Steve Landau’s Everyone Runs events – you get your shirt, in your size, right at the finish line of the race, and the shirts are so bom-diggity good that they soon become training favorites.

Still breathing heavily, I walk back to the Toyota, dump my shirt and then head back to the finish line. Spotting the Sport Massage tent and realizing that the line can’t be long yet, I sign up for a free Sports Massage, and then get my Robek’s Smoothie and Mexican Breakfast – again, two other cool things about Steve Landau’s events – the libations are insanely good and it’s great to reload immediately after running with scrambled eggs, refried beans, fresh tortillas and salsa and chase it with frozen fruit smoothies. All you can eat also!

There was also a huge "Slip and Slide" that Steve had set up, however, I decided to forgo taking a plunge. Still, cool finish line, huh??

Pretty much right after I inhale the amazing food, it’s time for my massage, and, even though I’m still dripping sweat, they don’t care. An energetic therapist named, of all things, “Steve” pummels my quads, hamstrings and knees doing some amazing stretches and working the muscles like whoah….I’m pretty blissed out while he’s doing painful things, it was a great added bonus, and he works me for about 15 minutes before letting me up and giving me an exercise to do to “Open up my Thoracic Cavity” which he said would help my breathing and improve my running. Good advice!

So, replete with Food, Beverage, Post-Race Massage, Stretch, and Advice – and, by the way, it’s barely 6:30 am at this point - I amble over in a blissful haze to check the results, which, it had been announced, were posted on the pillar by the entrance to old Tucson. There, I quickly ascertain that my bib, name, finish time and contact info is correct, (I’m 31^st overall) however, there are no age group rankings. As there were only 30 people in front of me, I start counting the people in the 50’s before me and soon arrive at 5. Oh, well, out of the running, I think, and turn away. I went to get another smoothie where I bump into my Bearded, Blue oufit-clad Race Buddy. “Hey!” He exclaims “Hey! I say back, adding, “I was chasing you the whole way!” “hey, I was chasing YOU!” he exclaims, and we kibbitz about the race, Everyone Runs, blah blah blah. Turns out his name is Bob (in concert with the B's - bearded and blue!) and he’s a cool guy, so we vow to see each other at another race sometime, and head off in opposite directions to do our thing.

I’m stirring my second smoothie when a thought struck me. One of those ages I saw on the results was 57, and in 5 year age groups, that means I’m at least 4^th. Damn, that’s even worse! However, thinking perhaps I missed something else, I go back and now a little less loopy from the massage, laboriously count the names again. Still fourth, however, I suddenly spot that one 52-year old in front of me is named “Susan” Oops!! So, I’m actually Third in my Age group! Whoo-hoo!!!! Then, I also spot on the list, the second runner past me is named “Bob” .......age 52….so, in fact, it was a complete Duel in the Sun for Third Place that was happening that morning unbeknownst to me – and had I acquiesced and were it not for the Xood, I would have conceded my third to a new Age Group Nemisis!! Sweet!!!!!

Realizing that I had not tipped Steve the massage therapist (not required but good Karma) I amble back to the Toyota for some singles and get back in time to hear the start of the awards. Steve Landau starts with the Women, and in reverse age – Oldest to Youngest, so I clap for all the speedy women, and then he does the same for the men. Seconds behind me was a 73-year old guy who was top in his age group, and there were several others that were 60, 70 and 80 plus (!) that had some insane finish times.

Steve Landau announces 1^st, and 2^nd in my age group and then “and this is a guy who helps me out and runs a lot – Peter Klein!” Applause as I head up for my trophy and the photographer snaps our picture. “Thanks Steve” I say urbanely. “This guy came from Wisconsin to do this race, is that insane or what?” he outs me to the crowd, who guffaws at my seeming idiocy. “Can’t miss an Everyone Run’s Event!" I explain to no one in particular as I go back to my space in the crowd.

The trophies are all the same, marked for 1^st, 2^nd or Third as in my case – and here goes….. A golden rooster, set into a while Lucite base. Hah!! Gregg Herman, bet you don’t have one of those!!

I hung around till the end of the awards, to clap for the other speedsters, then, collecting a few more bottles of Canadian water, I trudged once again up the road to the Toyota. On the way, I once again encounter Steve Taggart who I waved my trophy at. He enthused – “You know! Can’t tell that’s a running trophy, people will ask you if you won that at the State Fair for Poultry!” Hah, good one Steve….and humorously true!!! (see picture at the top)

So, I fire up the Toyota, rolling down all windows and sunroof, and out onto Kinney, back up and over Gates Pass, dropping down into Tucson and veering south to the Tucson abode. Arrived promptly at 8:03 am, five hours and five miles after the alarm went off and my first thought was………is it too early for a beer????

In case you didn't count, there were at least four "Steve's" that I encountered today in Tucson. Trippy, huh?

Thanks to Steve Landau (and the other three Steve's) for a great Race! Heading back to Wisconsin this week to tackle the summer races there, looking forward to seeing you all in a race soon!

Uphill and into the Wind (or don’t believe anything you read on the internet) The 2009 Tucson Marathon Report

From the Tucson Marathon Website:

Enjoy beautiful Tucson winter weather with temperatures at the start averaging in the high 30s and reaching 65-70 degrees Fahrenheit by 11 a.m. This is primarily a downhill marathon. with some hills around mile 2 and mile 10. Come run your FIRST MARATHON or your FASTEST MARATHON. You'll drop almost 2,200 feet in elevation as you run on the mostly downhill, point-to-point course along the beautiful Santa Catalina mountain range. (There are some rolling hills and inclines between miles 2-9 and at mile 25).

The Old West historical town of Oracle marks the starting line. The course winds through the desert on paved roads and finishes at the Coronado Middle School, just off of E. Wilds Road. Our runners continue to tell us it's one of the prettiest courses in the country and one of the easiest to run a personal best. Be sure to train your quadriceps as you'll be running downhill!

It’s the Monday after and my legs are totally trashed, my quads screaming every time I get up out of my chair, or sit down anywhere. I’m hobbling up and down stairs, groaning at each step, and my outlook on life in general is bleak. I’ve managed to snap at several people today, gone into at least one tirade at Cayelin and as of now, I’m on my third beer and still not feeling my normal level of optimism.

What happened you may ask?. Well, the answer is another harsh Desert mistress that I have an ongoing love/hate relationship with – the Tucson Marathon.

Sunday marked the fourth time I’ve launched the battle (and climbed the hill) to slay the 26.2 mile dragon called Tucson Marathon and the 48th time I’ve toed the line to traverse the same distance. If you read my blog back in 2007 about this race, you can get a flavor for what had happened then, a lot of which had to do with my poor habits, planning and lack of training leading up to the event, plus the “course” which was not, as advertised, a place for your FASTEST MARATHON. (see above)

This time, I can’t fully blame my personal habits for what turned out to be an exceptionally grueling event, that, I’m sorry – is not any where near what is advertised and also does not track some of the hallucinogenic postings and ravings of the fans of this event. I’m not sure what race these people have run, in my experience, in spite of some excellent logistical touches, the Tucson Marathon is one tough hombre of a race,.

From the Tucson Marathon Website:

If you are looking for a fast, gradually-downhill marathon with no big crowd hemming you in, the Tucson Marathon is your race. I have run many races that are said to be fast and downhill; however, none compare to the Tucson Holoalua Marathon. The race starts in the town of Oracle and ends in the Tucson area.

Kamran T. Professor, University of Arizona

Well, Professor, some of that is true. Let me tell my side of the story

When I ran the Tucson Marathon in 2002 and 2003, it was indeed a rolling, fairly straightforward point to point downhill course. It started in Oracle and ended at the Hilton on Oracle Road, and the only memorable uphill was the last .15 (point one five) mile into the finish at the Hilton.

Apparently in subsequent years, the Hilton wouldn’t host the finish anymore (I don’t really know) so they changed the course and the logistics to make it so it ended at the Coronado Middle School. And by doing so had to “tack on” some intermediate miles as an out and back, or “Keyhole” portion. Thus do the challenges ensue! While some things have remained almost 100% consistent about the race (the expo, the T-shirt, the Bus Ride to the Start, the Finishers Medal) other aspects of the actual race are fluid and as such don’t allow it to live up to the “Fast and Downhill” billing

Anyway, as always, I went to the expo at the Hilton El Conquistador on the north end of Tucson, and, as in years past, nothing much has changed, It’s small, low-key, it’s the exact same cotton T-shirt that I’ve gotten on almost every other occasion that I’ve run the race, and the obligatory shoe booth, sports gear and sunglass vendors are present. I was in and out in less than 15 minutes and only because I purposely dawdled to talk to the El Paso Marathon coordinators who were setting up their booth about their race.

(Not much has changed between 2002 and 2009 - except for a "Holualoa", it's almost the same shirt!)

It was an early day Race Day Sunday morning, the alarm went off at 3:30 am and I was up and out by 4:15 heading across town over the dark Tucson streets to the Ventana Medical Center to catch the Bus up the mountain to the Start in Oracle. Got a primo parking space close to the bus line, and, as usual tied the Toyota key on my shoelace and headed to the line of buses that were on the road outside the parking lot.

This year, I did a completely decadent thing- at the front of the line were two school buses, however interspersed among the lined up behemoths were some plush-looking cruise buses, with high backed seats, and luxurious appointments, so I joined a line of three other runners who were tapping on the door of the third bus in line - a large white “BeeLine” coach. The door hissed open and the runner in front said “We like your bus better!” and was allowed to climb in by the elderly driver. I followed the other two runners closely smirking as I passed the driver, and went back and soon found a comfortable seat on this really nice cruise bus. No slippery vinyl school bus seat for me this time!

Soon we departed, and on the very dark ride up the mountain, I chatted with two first timers sitting in front of me, and next to me, Art, a local long-time Tucsonian and Tovah, a beautiful young Yoga Instructor who had just moved to Tucson from Boston for, as she put it, “The weather”. We had, as is usual with people who are about to partake of the 26.2 mile distance, great conversations ranging in many directions. And, it seems like everytime I do Tucson, I’m surrounded by First Timers who, are attracted by the propaganda of this being a “Great First Time Race” Hah, if they only knew…. I wonder how many of these “First Timers” become “Last Timers” after this.

Arriving in the dark in Oracle, I stayed on the bus for a while (always a nice touch for this race – you can stay on the bus and stay warm until the start) until it was time to make the obligatory portopottie stop. I excited the big white beast and hiked up the hill past a long line of other idling buses, filled with nervous runners, inhaling diesel fumes that were hanging in the air, until I arrived at the row of portopotties lined up like soldiers along the roadway. It was still dark, it was cold but not windy and there was a crescent moon hanging over the Catalina Mountains as well as the glow of pre-dawn in the east. A typical Tucson morning and I had high hopes for some good weather for the race.

I talked with a gentleman who turned out to be the Vail School Superintendent while we awaited our turn to relieve ourselves (we discussed the upcoming budget shortfalls for the educational system and the ramifications for the State of Arizona) and then I headed back to my luxury bus for awhile. Soon getting bored with the warmth and sitting around, I hiked up the road again, shucked my sweats, passed my plastic gear bag through a gear check bus window to the eager high school volunteers within, and, after a communal final pee in the desert with several of my compadres, I was lining up for the start of the Marathon.

I had met an exuberant young man named Tim at the Veterans Marathon in Columbia City, Indiana the month before – he was from East Peoria, Illinois, and had told me he was also doing Tucson. As I was sporting the same Marathon Maniacs singlet, dew rag and pony tail, he easily picked me out of the crowd and together with a fellow Marathon Maniac from Texas named Art, we rattled away about running, racing, our expected finish times, and running, running and more about running and the last few minutes to the start passed quickly. The sun rose, the gun went off and so did we, downhill through the traditional Balloon arch starting our trek down the mountain, 26.2 miles to go.

“Down” of course, being the hope of us all.

The first mile, after traversing an initial short rolling hill was straight down. “Zoom” I thought to myself as runners hurtled past me in a constant stream. The ground was soon littered with discarded shirts, sweats and gloves. I had retained an old sweatshirt, however I shucked it quickly as I was soon overheated as the temperature wasn’t bad and I was moving pretty well. At least at first.

I blasted off at a good pace, clocking the first downhill mile at 8:15 with high hopes of a good finish time. Then, we emptied out onto Mount Lemmon highway, and the fun began.

The next three miles were a grinding, rolling, uphill stretch. “Where is the downhill?” several runners around me, no doubt first timers, were wondering. “Elevation charts lie ya know” I mercilessly chortled to anyone who would listen. I’m doing several do-si-dos with runners who, daunted by the hills would surge, then falter. I kept a steady pace.

Up and down - but mostly up, we traversed the first four miles, passing through the first water stop and then heading into the town of Oracle. After climbing yet another “rolling hill” (with (as the website put it) some hills around mile 2 and mile 10) I’m soon pretty warm. Close to mile 5, we are directed left and down a steep hill to another water stop. After the water, we roll up and down another hill, and begin to ascend a steeply hairpin-curved uphill stretch. This was the new “out and back’ that had replaced the biosphere loop of previous years.

“Downhill my ass” I’m thinking.

From the Tucson Marathon Website

the Marathon route will no longer utilize the out and back on Biosphere Road. Instead, there will be an out and back section earlier in the race in the Town of Oracle. The elevation loss for each race will remain almost exactly the same.

“Almost exactly the same” Hah!!

This turned out to be a brutal monster of an out and back detour, far worse than the Biosphere loop. After ascending steeply for about a half mile, the course swooped downward for what seemed to be about two miles, in an ever-descending sweeping curve. I stretched out into the downhill, feeling my quads start to get hammered, and, as the downhill went on....and on.....and on I thought “This can’t be a good thing” And indeed it wasn’t. Soon, I started seeing the lead pack of runners coming the other way, and grimly acknowledged that of course that all of the downhill would have to be returned going the other way, undoubtedly with interest. To add insult to injury, we’re still way up the Catalina’s at an altitude of about 4,400 feet and I’m wheezing slightly with an extremely elevated heart rate from the lighter oxygen – even going downhill.

The stream of runners going the other way did have a few amusing and notable participants. The two that stuck out were “Superman” and “Nerd Runner”. There was literally one guy running in a full Superman costume, complete with cape and red shorts. He was followed by “Nerd Runner” a gangly dude with whiffle cut hair, a white shirt, black short pants (not running shorts), suspenders, narrow black tie and Buddy Holly nerd glasses. I was pretty positive I wasn’t hallucinating, still this was interesting. I wondered idly why Superman wasn’t flying, however, he was, in fact, in front of me, and so also was The Nerd….

So, I made it down the hill, made a hairpin turn (of course passing over the obligatory chip mat to make sure no one jumped the median) and started the slog back up the damn hill on the opposite side of the road. It was slow going, trudging back upwards, and more than once, I broke into a walk as my legs were screaming and my heart rate was maxing out from the incline and altitude. As we are still between mile 7 and 9 of the race, I’m also conscious that all of this early effort may cost me substantially later.

Finally I crested the hill, swooped down the initial incline and back around the corner, and now I’m out again on Mt. Lemmon Highway, I think, where we first made our detour. I pass mile 9, and now, blessedly, we’re heading downhill, heading off the mountain and the fun can begin.

And, the fun, certainly did. As we started leaving the communities that dotted the highway, there is a crosswind I’m starting to notice, then, at mile 10, we come to the junction on State Highway 77 with the infamous sign “Tucson Left”, Globe Right” and head left, down the hill towards Tucson

And, right into the teeth of a VERY Big Headwind that started out stiff and picked up as the miles go by and the morning progressed. I’m estimating that it was 15-25 MPH easily and we are headed right into the face of it for The. Whole. Way. To. Tucson. Almost 16 miles of running into the wind.

Oh, but don’t forget, we’re running downhill so…..it’s not hard, its REALLY hard.

I find that while running into the wind I have to really focus hard not to clench my entire body as I’m moving forward. It’s a subtle thing however as my mind wanders I can suddenly tune into the fact that my fists are clenched, my arms are tight to my chest, I’m bent over with my face scrunched up and my shoulders and neck are aching from the full upper body tension. Trying, obviously to present as little surface area to the gale as possible. Add to that, this Sunday I’m running downhill on some already pretty trashed quads, and you’ve got a recipe for a “Forecast of Pain” as I termed my last tilt at the Tucson Marathon (thank you Robert Cray!)

Anyway, the miles did roll by, albeit painfully. I had a few good ones, and also some desultory and brief conversations with a few runners that ambled by. One memorable one was a guy that materialized at my elbow and said “Hey Maniac! How many does this make for you, about two hundred and fifty?”” We chatted for a mile or so, I didn’t get his name but he was a gym teacher from New Mexico doing his 108th marathon, and thus had me beat by 60 or so. He was bundled up in tights, jacket, hat and full gear and I wondered how he didn’t sweat himself to death.

The wind kept blowing, and it did keep the temperature cool as well as dry the sweat and keep things interesting. One of the instructions on the runner handout in the goody bag was “Please crush your cups at the water stops before discarding them so they don’t blow all over the highway” and indeed this was good advice. Things were blowing about everywhere.

The water stops were meager in the first 10 miles and then fairly plentiful in the latter parts of the races. There was only one gel stop at mile 13.1 and I was glad I was packing my own. However, the “sports drink” choice had changed yet again, from “Comp One” to ”Xood” (pronounced “Exude”) which was a viscous, pink colored, puke-tasting concoction that I honestly can say didn’t have any sort of energetic lift properties to it. Still, I imbibed at each stop in the hopes of keeping the carbs and electrolytes up and staving off an ultimate crash in the latter stages of the race. I also violated my new rule (set in my last Marathon in Columbia City, Indiana) of No Pain Relief on the course. As my legs were wailing by mile 10, I started popping some fresh Ibuprofen in hopes of again, staving off a complete lock up before the end of the race.

So, let me tell you. There isn’t really much sexy about the Tucson Marathon course. At least 2/3rds of the course is run along State Road 77 which then empties into Oracle Road and basically, they cone off the shoulder of a divided four lane highway, which later becomes a joined four lane and traffic is screaming by your elbow almost the whole way. Diesel and car exhaust, plus second hand cigarette smoke from drivers with their windows open is constantly assailing your nostrils. There are nice vistas of mountains in the distance and desert scrubland, however, it’s really just a barren desert highway – (and in this case today a f*&king windy desert highway!!) and I’ve really run more scenic and pastoral courses. Spectators are minimal for the first 18 miles or so, with the exception of cars barreling by and leaning on their horns – which is more startling than encouraging, actually - and as you get towards civilization there are policeman directing traffic and allowing cars that have been waiting to dart in front of you at intersections, or out of the strip malls and gas stations. It’s not wonderful.

Among other experiences, I remember as always at some point the tide turned and I started passing stalled out runners. One memorable one was “Nerd Runner” whom I blew past at mile 16, he was completely stalled out and literally appeared to be walking his way to the finish with a long way to go. Guess he was indeed a Nerd and didn’t use his brain – obviously went out too quickly.

So, I slogged down the hills and into the wind until Mile 20 and then some more of the fun began. In spite of the gale, I’m on schedule, (consistency thy name in the marathon is Peter) and I’ve passed the halfway point at a Gregg Herman-like time of 1:54, hit the 20 mile point at about 2:56, and I’m figuring that unless I fall completely apart in the last 10K I’m good for another sub four hour finish – typical!

Then, the same thing happens to me that happened the last time in Tucson and also in Columbia City. I have a close and continuing encounter with “Galloway Method” runners – those runners who annoyingly sprint past you…..and then slam on the brakes and walk, allowing you to trudge by………then sprint past you again………..and then walk, allowing you to trudge by. It’s the last 10K do si do, and both in Columbia City, and here in Tucson I’m with a crew of two or three runners employing this infamous, but incredibly annoying methodology to get to the finish line. Today, I’m forced on several occasions to traverse around these two guys running side by side in concert as they slam to a halt in front of me on the narrow shoulder, and then, a short time later, hear the annoying dry Tyvek flapping of one of the guy’s race bib - which was only held down by two safety pins - in the wind as he comes cruising past again.

And, it’s very subtle, however from mile 20 on, I swear it’s a very very gradual uphill stretch from there until we leave Oracle Road. Neither the elevation map or my GPS support me on this, however comparing notes later at the finish line with other runners confirmed it – we all know uphill when we feel it!

So, on goes me, the Galloway Runners and the time. According to my GPS, my pace per mile has eroded now, I’m creeping very gradually into the 8:50’s now, my legs are hurting, the ibuprofen doesn’t seem to be touching anything, I’m feeling more and more pessimistic and making the very familiar mental deals with myself about “how bad would it be to bail?” and yet I keep chugging on. However, this race isn’t done throwing some fun at me yet. Not by a long stretch.

Two years ago when I ran Tucson there were some mild but nonetheless unwelcome “rises” from mile 24.5 to the finish. This year, it was different.

At a little past mile 24 we hang a left off Oracle Road, and for a few moments are blessedly out of the wind. “Yeah!” I shout to myself, and start to pick up the pace, wanting to be done. We traverse past a strip mall, through a water stop and then, ahead of us, the course continues……Straight uphill. A sheer uphill stretch, heading around a curve.

Once again, the air would have been filled with profanities, birds sitting on telephone wires miles away would have burst squawking into flight (thank you Scott Jerard) had I been able to give voice to the invective that raced through my brain when confronted by this late-in-the-course hill.

“Damn!” one of the Galloway Method runners opined, jogging up next to me, bib still flapping in the crosswind. “Screw it, I’m walking that hill, we’re still in under four hours” he added, breaking into yet another walk.

“Go for it”, I suggested to him, and leaned into the hill, deciding to go for broke. I didn’t see him again after that.

I managed to run up that hill, passing other stalled out runners, and, as the road curved to the right, was confronted with, yes…another hill. And guess what? Now, we’re heading back into the wind as well.

The last one point two miles was a nightmare of pain, hard surfaces and rolling hills. I managed to keep it together, knowing the end was near. The course undulated up and down through a posh neighborhood, over some rutted, then smoothly paved streets, and then over a drainage grate that someone had thoughtfully placed a sheet of plywood over. We then hung a right onto East Wilds Road, and I’m finally and thankfully passing the 26 mile marker.

However, like a nasty yapping little purse dog, who attacks you immediately upon entry, savages your ankle, sinks it’s teeth into your calf, then pees on your rug as it’s cooing owner hauls it away, the Tucson Marathon had one last trick to throw our way.

I blow past the 26 mile marker, increase the pace (later my GPS will show that I managed to clock a 7:56 pace for the last .point 3 miles anyway) and then I hang a right towards the finish line at the Coronado Middle School….and am forced to traverse about 80 yards of SAND!. The finish line appeared to be at the head of a beach-like expanse of sand pit, stretching for what seemed like a long way.

However with the end in sight, I’m enraged (who in HELL would make people run 26.18 miles and then run across SAND???), but undaunted. I slog through the final sandy insult of the Tucson Marathon, my feet sliding out from underneath me, taking care not to fall face first into the dune and manage to literally hop across the finish line, finally. The overhead clock says 3:54:33, my GPS clocks it as 3:53:48, however my chip later brings this to 3:53:45, or a minute faster than Columbia City last month. This is also, for me a PR for the course, though I’m not too proud of it. It wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure.

The finish line volunteers were holding medals out at arms length for us take as we passed through, clearly not interested in draping them over the heads of sweaty runners. I take mine, it’s a typical Tucson Marathon in the shape of a Saguaro Cactus, just like three other ones I have, so again, nothing has changed here. After I collect my medal and a bottle of water, I’m immediately seized by a shorter, dark skinned fellow Marathon Maniac who pumps my hand enthusiastically, then embraces me in a huge bear hug. He produces a digital camera from somewhere, insists on a picture and we find a volunteer, drape our arms around each other and grin beatifically for the camera. He then grabs a young lady who came in right behind me, who apparently was also a fellow Maniac, though out of uniform. We have another group hug while she squeals joyfully, and then enlist another volunteer for two more group pictures and then we disperse, after high fiveing and mouthing congratulations at each other as we exit the finish area.

I have no idea who these people were, no introductions were made or names given, however we were all Maniacs and somewhere there is a great finish line picture of me with my brethren!!

The Saguaro Cactus Medal, now I have Four!

I continued on to the post finish area, retrieved my drop bag almost instantly, and hobbled over to check out the finish line libations. A typical Tucson experience once again - while there was plentiful food, it was uninspiring – dry orange slices, sliced green bananas, stale Fig Newtons, cookies and pretzels and the ever-so-Tucson specialty of rolled up whole wheat tortillas, slathered with your choice of Peanut butter or “Nutello”. People seemed to be milling around, regarding the food balefully however it seemed like no one was really noshing. Neither did I.

I nibbled a few orange slices, however knowing that there was a Nico’s Chorizo and Egg Burrito in my very near future, I wasn’t too chagrined. I’ve had much better post-race fare, Pizza, Sandwiches, however, Tucson has not been known for inspiring post race treats.

I cruised past the merchandise table, same stuff, same prices, so I hobbled my way down the hill to the front of the school found a waiting bus and painfully clambered aboard. There I met Joel, who blurted “A real Marathon Maniac in the Flesh!” and also had similar opinions as me, and we complained companionably to each other about the downhills, the uphills (which we both agreed were overdone) the wind, and the overall Tucson experience.

We had to wait a little while for the bus to fill, and I saw “Superman”, still wearing his cape and costume, and looking extremely grim, mount the steps, blankly regard the seated runners, and trudge to the back of the bus. I snicker to myself, thinking “Well, at least I beat the Man of Steel to the bus!”

Soon, the bus ground up the hill and disgorged us back at the parking lot at Ventana Medical Center, I hobble the short distance to the Toyota, after bumping knuckles with Joel and am soon heading back down to Tucson proper. After going through the drive through at Nico’s I’m set with a monster burrito for reloading, and the rest of the pain-filled day is before me.

My legs are trashed, my quads continue to kill me, yet I’m happy that Marathon 48 is in the bag. Two more to go to reach 50!

So, I go onto the Tucson Marathon website later in the day to check results and I see this –

SPECIAL DISCOUNT OFFER FOR THE 2010 TUCSON MARATHON!
The first 150 individuals who register on-line via Active.com for the 2010 Holualoa Tucson Marathon using the coupon code (TMFIRST150) will receive $30 off the early registration fee. That makes the entry fee $55! Please click here to register now for 2010. (Offer good for marathon participants only.)
DATE: SUNDAY, DECEMEBER 12, 2010

And I’m thinking………yes, I’ll probably be back next year………………

Next stop is either Sedona Marathon on February 7th, and failing that, The Lost Dutchman the weekend after, and then, for number 50, provided the knees and all hold up, I’m set up, registered and have my plane trop to New Orleans for the Rock & Roll Mardi Gras Marathon on February 28th where I’ll be joined by step daughter Jenna, brother Mark Gershman from Phoenix, my older sister Ellen and Friend Tammi who’s daughter Sheila is doing her first 26.2. Quite the party for number 50!!!

Hope to see you all at a race soon!

Overall:
441 out of 1246
Men:
319 out of 726
M 45-49:
66 out of 144
Age/Grade:
59.13% Place: 484
Finish:
3:53:45 Pace: 8:55
Tag Time:
3:53:45
Gun Time:
3:54:33
Split Times
6.6 M:
57:07 Pace: 8:40
10.8:
1:34:12 Pace: 8:44
19.2:
2:50:50 Pace: 8:54

Going Nuts at the Pecan Classic

Having returned to Tucson from Wisconsin on Thanksgiving day, thus neatly avoiding any cooking responsibilities or overeating opportunities, it was time to gear up for the Tucson Winter Running Season. I did miss the annual Turkey Trot up the street in Reid Park, but oh well. I had closed down my Midwest running season with a Quad Series consisting of a back to back weekend of the Tyrenea Beer Run Half Marathon in Lake Mills, followed the next day by the Badgerland Striders 15K Turkey Trot predictor in Greenfield, where once again, I managed to avoid winning a turkey, or, for that matter being one. The next weekend with my constant Wisconsin Race companion’s Greg (Texas Greg) and Gregg (Attorney Gregg), joined by Carol and her husband John, we made a trek down to Columbia City, Indiana where we partook of the Inaugural Veterans Run. Greg and Gregg completed the half marathon in admirable shape, while Carol and I slogged out the full 26.2 on the sunny rural (and hilly and windy) Indiana roads. Or, as I chortled several times to anyone who would listen, it took two Gregs to run as far as one of me!

Veterans Run Finish Line - Photo thanks to John Kuhn

Maybe I’ll blog on that race later, however, the next weekend brought the same cast of characters as well as my running partner Rhonda, Mary Lynne and Mary Elizabeth to the “Run around the World 5K” at Wisconsin State Fair Park, where again, all performed admirably, and thankfully Gregg Herman won in his age group, adding a coffee mug to his already immense pile of Swag and Trinkets.

The Around the World Gang - Photo thanks to Scott Weiland

Having thus fortified myself with four excellent Midwest race experiences, I was ready to tackle the Tucson trails upon my return.

First one that came on the radar, was the “Pecan Classic 8-miler” an inaugural event to be held at the Green Valley Pecan Farm in Sahuarita, a community about a half hour south of the Tucson Command Center. The event is run by Tagg Racing events, I had met Steve Taggart the race director at two other events he had run and I enjoyed his setup, old school scoring and small unique fields.

I had procrastinated on deciding to do this race, so I mailed in my registration (there was a $3 coupon for mail-in registration) past the cutoff day for the guaranteed Technical T-shirt. I was somewhat less than chagrined about this at the time, thinking to myself that I have plenty of T-shirts – technical as well as others.

So, comes the day – Saturday, and I’m up late the night before talking with Step-son Jeremy. Alarm goes off a few hours later at 5:52 am, and I grudgingly roll out of bed, and eventually find my way out the door to head to the race. And, just as quickly head back inside, because it’s COLD outside!!! Thermometer reads 39 degrees – in Tucson – so I go back upstairs and add a long sleeve technical shirt, gloves and my sweats to the gym bag

And, a darn good thing I did, too…..

I roll the Toyota out onto Barrazza Aviation Parkway, exit on Kino, pick up I-10 and swoop out onto I-19 south, and in less than 30 minutes, I’m hanging a right off of Sahuarita road into a brightly paved reddish brown parking lot across the street from the Green Valley Pecan Farm. I park, and head over to the registration table to pick up my bib. A blast of cold wind howls around me as I trudge across the crunchy surface, and looking down, I suddenly realize, that I’m actually walking on crushed pecan shells. Nutty!

The volunteers are handing out cool looking technical shirts with the bibs, except when it comes to me, I’m handed a bib and no shirt. Checking my name and age to be sure it’s me, also printed in capital letters are NO SHIRT on the information tag. In spite of my earlier resolve, I’m instantly glum, it’s bad enough not getting a cool shirt, but also to have it emblazoned on my bib for all to see feels shameful.

I crunch my way back to the car and hop back in shivering. I had worn shorts and a short sleeve shirt, thinking “it’s Arizona!” and that it would warm up by the 8:00 am start time but now I’m rethinking my attire. As I'm now at a little more altitude than Tucson proper, the outside thermometer now reads 36 degrees, the sun had risen and then promptly sank into a bed of clouds and the wind is picking up, whipping the tree branches of the acres of pecan trees that we are parked on the edge of. It’s cold! And, one thing I’ve learned about Arizona cold is that what temperature-wise is not a bad day in Wisconsin, is frigid in AZ – because it’s a “dry” cold. Cuts like a knife!

I dawdle in the warmth of the Toyota until the last possible minute, watching groups of runners clad in tights, sweats, and winter gear trudge back and forth. There are few, if any people in shorts, and those that are generally are wearing hoodies or other arctic-type gear including wool hats and gloves. Mentally shrugging, I do a quick costume change in the car, pull on my Carlsbad Marathon long-sleeve technical shirt and my nylon sweats, dig out the cotton gloves and join the stream of runners heading across the windy field (and, actually, a deep drainage ditch) to the start of the race. Even with the extra layers, I’m freezing.

I try to blend subtly into the crowd of about 200 runners, attempting to stay close to other runners to block the wind, still it’s a few minutes of hopping, shivering and looking miserable before Steve the race director fires up the bullhorn, chivvies us up, twirls the LED Clock around to face us and then finally, we’re off, and heading down the rutted dirt orchard roads on an 8 mile trek.

Or, at least, that’s what I thought………….

I blast off with the crowd, feeling challenged and stiff because of the cold, , altitude, and uneven surface, and follow the leaders for awhile. The first mile is a square loop, which actually takes us back to the start line before heading out on a longer trek and I complete it close to the front of the pack. I shout at Steve as I go by – he knew me also on sight from previous racers, he’s an exuberant man who has a lot of fun running his events. Then, I’m off into the distance, following the orchard roads through what seems like thousands of pecan trees that stretch out as far as the eye can see.

We head out for a long time, taking an occasional right or left and the roads go on and on. There is a stiff cold headwind and as I assess my legs and the grade, I’m instantly convinced that it is ever so subtly, but gradually, uphill (and into the wind) as we head out. Later my GPS printout will confirm this. Shortly (or so it seems) after I leave the start/finish area for the second time I pass what looks like a large chalk marked “Infinity Symbol” on the left hand side of the trail as I thunder outwards. It didn’t register at the time, however, later the ramifications of this sacred geometry symbol would become clear.

I continue outwards as the pack spreads out. I began to be passed by some faster runners, including some members of the Border Patrol (I can tell because they’re wearing jackets that say “Border Patrol”) and a pair of pony tailed young girls who thunder by me about mile three, chattering away. The smell of bubblegum hangs in the air behind them.

I’m as usual not feeling great, so I settle into about a 7:55 per mile groove. The cold, the altitude (touching 3,000 feet) the extra clothes, the gradual uphill, the stiff headwind all takes it’s toll – and an eight mile trail race? How do you gauge and pace that? It’s not a 5 or 10K, it’s not a half Marathon – I can’t find a pace for this, so I resolve to just gut it out as a tempo training run. I’m a slow bastard anyway, and anyway, not only is my running partner Rhonda 2,000 miles away, there is no Greg or Gregg to compete with.

There is a water stop around 3.5 miles and then a deeply scooped out boot camp- like drainage ditch to traverse. I grab some water (it may be cold, but it’s also dry!) and hurtle down into the ditch feeling the impact on my knees and quads, and clamber up the other side. The road continues to stretch outwards and uphill as I forge ahead.

Eventually, after endless rows of trees, I come to a fork in the road and see runners coming from the left, heading back, obviously the leaders of the pack coming in. I’m directed right and it’s another long square loop that takes us west, around the far end of the Pecan Ranch, then south, then east and then west again, back to the fork, where once I complete the big square, I’m now headed back to the start line.

After not feeling great most of the way, I’ve now got a tail wind and am getting back the uphill as a downhill. Up ahead of me are three male competitors who could in fact be in my age group, though being heavily clad against the elements it's too hard to tell, and they have eased past me in the first five miles and we’re now heading for mile 6. I again traverse the deep drainage ditch, pass the six mile marker and as if from a long way off, I feel my kick coming on. I start to accelerate, easing the pace up as the road stretches down towards where we had come from. I soon pick off my competitors, one, two…….three as I’m stretching out. I blow past the seven mile mark, (and a fading female track star as well) and actually have more gas in the tank than I thought, and thinking “last mile to go!” I start to pour it on.

The pace per mile on my GPS which had crept over 8 minutes per mile starts winding down, as my mileage starts to wind up. In spite of my pace, the last mile seems to take forever, I'm watching my GPS avidly - 7.3, 7.5, 7.7 – off in the distance I see some orange cones, and I sneak a peek back and see that I’ve vanquished my close competitors by a long stretch so I hold pace…..and turn a corner by the cones, which turn oug NOT to be the finish line – and, actually there is no finish line in sight either. “WTF?” I’m thinking. By now I’m all out and in the final stretch – I think.

Then, I pass the Eight Mile Marker.

Which, it instantly dawns on me was actually the “Infinity Symbol” I’d seen on the way out before……………..

Suffice it to say that the obscenities and Invective that coursed through my mind at that point would have turned the air blue, and probably caused a blight on the pecan trees for years to come had I had any breath to give voice to them. And now, since every part of the orchard looks the same and STILL no finish line in sight, I’m wondering “How far is this race anyway?”

(This is NUTS! Hah-hah!! I am too breathless to cackle out loud)

Not TOO Far as it turns out, but far enough that even though I keep pace and actually manage to eke out a little more leg, I’m starting a major fade as the finish line finally hove into sight a half mile later. I blast across the line, punch my GPS and glare at it. 8.50 miles on the nose – time of 67:56 or 7:59 per mile.

I've done better. Still, Eight-point-Five Miles???

As is the usual case with Tagg Running events, I’m handed a card upon finishing to attach a sticker from my bib on to. According to my card, I’m number 35 across the finish line, apparently, but I don’t know what this means as of yet. I turn in my card and sticker and walk around in circles for a bit, looking for someone to complain to, however Race Director Steve has wisely disappeared and the finish line volunteers are busy with the stream of runners that are slogging their way in from the Nut Grove.

I amble over to the parking lot and over at the registration area, there are crates of bananas, what seems like thousands of Clementine Oranges and an enthusiastic grandmother type passing out great big handfuls of of small bags of pecans. I stuff my pockets, peel a few clementines, suddenly realize that I’m freezing YET again (it hasn’t warmed up at all!) and jog over to the Toyota to add some layers to my damp gear.

I dump out the pecans (I’d wind up having several handfuls pressed on me in the next hour or so – later I counted about 40 bags that I got away with) and don a hoodie, a fleece, a dry pair of gloves plus a hat. It’s a long wait for the finish results, but now I gotta know, so I stand around, talk on my cell phone with running partner Rhonda back in Wisconsin, chat with some of the local runners including a few of my vanquished foes, and eat about 18 Clementines while I wait for the results. Steve doesn’t post results so there is no checking out in advance to see if you have to wait around

The Awards finally get underway. Steve sheepishly starts off by saying “okay, next time the race WILL be advertised as an eight and a half mile course!” We all guffaw appreciatively, by now having forgiven him even though the T-shirts (which I don’t have) the entry form, and the Awards all still say “Eight Miles”, and after watching the fast guys get their gift certificates and big-ass plaques, the age group awards begin. Being in the old guy age group (though not as old as Attorney Gregg) I have to wait for awhile, but as usual in a Tagg Event, I’m second in my Age group, and go up in front of the now drastically reduced crowd to accept a magnetic Lucite plaque with my finish place on it. Steve shouts as he always does “Tell them where you’re from!”
“Oconomowoc, Wisconsin!” I declare proudly. “I Love it!” he shouts, then mutters to me “Hey! Can you hang around for a minute afterwards?”

“Sure” I respond, wondering what that’s all about.

My "Fridge Award" Photo thanks to ME

After the final old people awards are given, the crowd disperses and I again approach Steve. Once again, I learn what a class act he is and how he takes care of his “customers” He looks left and right and says “Can you wear a large shirt? I saved you one in my car because I knew you didn’t get one” Instantly, I’m exhalted, I now get a shirt!!!!!! He accosts a volunteer who retrieves it for me and after thanking him a few more times, I trudge back to the Toyota, pockets stuffed with Nuts and Oranges, my new shirt in hand (which, by the way still says 8 Miles!), and my Lucite Plaque in an inside pocket. It’s still not warm, but it’s been a great day………….

So, I went nuts at the Pecan Classic - all 8.5 miles of it - did well in my Age Group, got the shirt anyway, and now it’s time to do the Tucson Marathon (which will be Marathon 48) this weekend. We’ll see how this crack at the 26.2 goes, early indicators are that they have changed the course – again – and it looks mucho downhill for sure. If it’s inspiring, I’ll pop a few paragraphs on the blog to bring you all up to date. Looks like I’m on track to complete 50 by the time I turn 50, next stop is the Lost Dutchman in February, followed closely by the Mardi Gras Marathon at the end of that month with Step-Daughter Jenna. Stay tuned

Hope to see you all at a race soon!