The Bag

About two years ago, I wrote an article for the Pensacola Runners Association's newsletter, The Rundown, about clothing needs for road racers, especially during the Gulf Coast's winter months. The article was much a piece of advice as it was a tongue-in-cheek observation of the runners and attire I witnessed during PRA's first race each calendar year, a 5K/10K/half-marathon on Pensacola Beach.

Naturally, the well-worn joke holds true, especially along the Gulf Coast: If you are happy with the weather conditions, chances are good it will worsen. If you are not happy with the weather conditions, chances are good it will worsen.

During the years I've participated in the run, and in the photographic evidence from other years, most participants are dressed for standing on the side of the road and watching a race rather than for running. They didn't consider a human body exerting energy was going to put off a certain amount of heat through either perspiration or water vapor. Those sweatshirts, sweatpants and parkas over the course of 30-to-60 minutes appear very uncomfortable, especially at the last minutes when they weigh more than when they started. Chalk it up to inexperience, I guess.

It also amazed me, especially while watching female runners, how many of them seemed self-conscious about the view from behind. So, I mentioned a few pithy words of counsel in the article, namely: Arm warmers, running skirts, and the concept of "less is more."

As I've "grown up" in running I've begun to think more about what happens after the run as much as during the event. Freeze your behind off in low-20-degree temperatures after a race like 2010's Jackson Day 9K and you'll learn quickly. Comfort and the ability to enjoy the social aspects of running have become as important as performance and comfort on the run.

Our Wednesday evening run group on Pensacola Beach is as much about the socializing after as the run is before. Naturally, after four-to-eight miles in 90-plus-degree weather during the summer can make even the most "cool" runner a little moist on the edges. On the other hand, thermal tights which seem perfect for that chilly winter run in the dark shows a little more curvature than some folks are comfortable with "revealing" during the following social hour (Personally, I'm not all that concerned. If you're worried it's because you're focusing too closely on me.). So, a few seasoned runners, by their example, taught me the benefits of clean, dry clothing and travel-sized personal care items.

Late last autumn, my wife and I began to run and socialize with a group of runners who enjoy running along trails - the term "trail" was expanded to its limits and usually included water of varying quality and depth, and brush of a thickness rarely seen outside of a Humphrey Bogart movie - and drinking beer every couple of weekends. Even the most tame run provides my dog, Rubin, a smorgasbord of scent he never experienced after our long training runs.

At that point, it was high time for me to develop "the bag."

I'm not the first one to think of it, by any means. My coach used to carry a plastic milk crate with a couple of extra towels, a dry pair of shorts and a t-shirt in the back of his SUV, in case we decided to do breakfast after a track workout. My wife often recommended we do something like that in ours, but it always seemed like too much trouble to refresh the "emergency storage." Now, my bag sits in the kitchen near the washer/dryer; the grungy items go from there to the wash, the cleaned, dry items return to the bag from whence they came. I also keep my whistle and a plastic mug in there; I'm never without a way to get a drink after a run. The folks who run trails with me know the whistle's significance.

The late, great running philosopher Dr. George Sheehan alluded to the necessary items for a ditty bag in his seminal work "Running and Being." I like Sheehan's definitive words for "the bag:" Perennial and universal. Since we live in an area of the country where the weather changes on little-to-no notice, it's always good to err on the side of sartorial caution. Besides, you never know when a wardrobe malfunction might require you to have a little "more" coverage than you initially preferred.

Sheehan recommended shoelaces, tape, Vaseline, a handkerchief, clothespins, nail clipper, folding money, nasal spray, antacid tablets, aspirin, a ballpoint pen and paper, ski mask, gloves, turtleneck sweater, extra sugar cubes and a can of soda. I'm in agreement with Sheehan on most of these, but I'd adapt a little here and there...

My bag also includes at least one running hat, visor or baseball cap, (cheap!) sunglasses, a short-sleeved or long-sleeved t-shirt, a pair of shorts or wind pants, two pairs of socks, and a pair of shoes for kicking around or running in, just in case I leave the house without the ones in which I planned to race.

Often, a friend from outside of the area will recommend lunch or another beer, or both, at a dining establishment after the post-race festivities are concluded. So, travel-sized personal care items, such as underarm deodorant, a small towel and liquid soap or shampoo can be carried. If you prefer to go more simple than that, a small container of baby wipes will do the trick.

I guess the operating strategy for "the bag" is K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple, Stupid. If the items get to be too much, or too hard to refresh after a race, then it might need a little simplification. Figure out what works best for you; your environment, and your own sense of style. Because sometimes it's not what happens during the run which is memorable, but around the run.

Hey, Buddy, I'm Tired Of Begging

"...I am uncomfortable lying to a child; it feels like building a trap for something wild..." - David Crosby (2000)

I was on my way out of the office this afternoon to teach my study skills and test-taking seminar when a friend began to ask about the running clubs I associate with downtown. Oh, oh. This can't be good.

So, I took the time to hear his issue, and it was one that seems more amazing and frustrating than anything I've ever heard as an athlete, coach, or "overly officious representative of a national running organization," as some have described me.

I'll borrow from the e-mail my friend sent to Ray Palmer, president of the Pensacola Sports Association, as part of his cry for assistance:

"Six Pensacola youth track athletes, part of AAU-Salvation Army Golden Soldiers Track Club qualified for the AAU National Championship meet to be held in Detroit, MI on 25 July-02 August. The excitement of their accomplishment was quickly demoted (sic) when their Sponsor, local Salvation Army, disclosed that they would not be able to support these athletes for the finals thus leaving them on their own for any continued participation."

"The children were told in the beginning of the season that they would be "flown" to the finals if they made it. According to the (track coaching staff), the Salvation Army's response was that they did not expect the athletes to win."

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - I had a conversation with the local Salvation Army's Athletic Director on this particular topic, after asking whether there was any truth to the above. Sounds like there was a case of "Chinese telephony" at best, "CYA" somewhere in the middle, and hyperbole or outright disinformation at the worst. SA's response was more in line with, "we did not expect them to do so well." There also seems to be a conflict between the SA and the coaching staff, the result of a dressing-down of the coach by SA after administrative shortcomings on the coach's part. MB, Jul 25 2008)

Where do I explode or go off on a Postal Service-esque rampage? The first target, as can be expected, should be the local Salvation Army. Why would you even make the faintest promise to someone, without hope of fulfillment? I would prefer to not go into the theological realm and speak about faith, or the lack thereof, on the part of this sponsor.

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - After receiving clarity from the SA athletic director, they are off the targeting list. The track coach, on the other hand... For me, this may be an expensive lesson learned. MB, Jul 25 2008)

Secondly, why my friend expected assistance of the PSA, a for-profit organization that puts on one running event a year, is beyond me. I'm going to try to not throw stones at one single running group within the Pensacola area, of which there are (at least) five. Why didn't the friend of Pensacola youth sports, as my friend identified himself in his letter to the PSA, know to speak to two or three of the larger clubs, or any of the local running impressari?

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - SA Athletic Director has not been in contact with PSA, nor the "friend of Pensacola youth sports." MB, Jul 25 2008)

I guess it's fortunate he knew my role as a coach, athlete and sometimes officious running bureaucrat. However, outside of a token amount of support from some of the local running community and a down-home version of an economic stimulus package, the six youth are getting squat from the local running community. I could get very cranky and play a few cards, but I'm going to hold them close to my vest for future use.

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - The "friend of Pensacola youth sports" did not know of any other source within the local running community, ergo he went to PSA. MB, Jul 25 2008)

No athlete should have to go hat in hand to the general public in order to participate in the sport they love and in which they excel.

I've gone hat in hand to the local club leaders in order to support RRCA's "Kids Run The Nation." I've mentioned the matching support of the RRCA Vice President David Cotter. I am not certain how many clubs have donated, or whether the word has been passed along to their general membership.

Imagine if each RRCA member, 175,000 strong, were to donate $5 apiece. That's over $850,000 that could be funneled into youth running programs. How many youth, of all ages, of all socioeconomic categories, could be served by a Kids Run The Nation grant?

Running is too much fun to be left on the sidelines, hat in hand.

Revenge of The Fat Lazy B@st@rd

I talked myself into this race about six weeks ago as a tip of the hat to the local running club. Since one/more of their board of directors asked me the 'why don't you race local races any longer?' question, it seemed like a reasonable idea. I figured I was in better shape than I was after my horrible marathon experience in December, and had recovered enough from the half-iron distance triathlon. However, logic and reason began to scream in the back of my mind, 'why would you choose to run a race in the latter part of June, on Pensacola Beach, during the middle of the day!?'
Even my training runs weren't all that encouraging leading into the event. I kept feeling like ten pounds of used kitty litter in an eight-pound sack during my easy afternoon runs; and track work wasn't looking all that great, either. Mind you, most of the efforts were what I outwardly considered maintenance workouts; ideally at an aerobic (somewhere in the 70 percent maximum heart rate) pace. But, when I looked at my heart rate data afterward the efforts were lots closer to 80 percent, which could tell me one of two things:
1. The heat and humidity were worse than I feared, or
2. I was still a fat, lazy b@st@rd.
So, I didn't have too many expectations on this race. All I wanted to do was run as hard as I could for 3.1 miles and not embarrass myself too much.
Saturday's conditions were fairly conducive to racing; a bit of a breeze along the shoreline, partly to mostly cloudy, a little bit of rain (sprinkles) here and there. Since I hadn't raced a short race in a long time I made certain to be a little more ready, taking 30 minutes to walk along the bicycle path, then jogging easy for another 15 to 20 minutes. By the time I finished the warm-up I felt pretty good. Not confident, but good.
The first moments before the race are always hell on square wheels. While I wanted to line up as close to the front as possible I didn't know whether I was going to have the sustained power to keep from getting stomped on by some of the local greyhounds. However, I took my chances and stood one stride off the line. When the start was called it seemed like everyone and their mother went roaring past me; it probably was not so bad (high school runners and the really fast local dudes) as I feared. I tucked in behind five or six of the high school guys and cruised through the first 600 to 800 yards without too much strain. At about 800 yards it seemed like they were dawdling just a skosh (and I was concerned about a couple of my age group staying a little too close this early), so I gently knifed through the middle of their five-abreast formation and started to pick up my pace a little bit.
The time clock was set at about 1450 meters rather than a mile, so I couldn't take the time split or the call as gospel. In fact, when I looked down at my watch I knew the split was off; I haven't run a mile that fast in about four years. As always, the second mile would be the proof of how well I was doing. Got into the rhythm until it was time to turn back into the wind and run back toward the aid station. At that point the breeze seemed to pick up a skosh and reality began to set in. I managed to get past the second mile split before strange things began to happen (loose shoelaces, excessive heart rate, panic, and so on). I tried to stop for a second or two to at least tuck my shoelace into my training flats, to no avail. At that point I lost mental focus and all the bad things started to come into my mind...and when the mind goes the body is not long to follow.
My last mile and tenth was not particularly pretty; well, it was good for a half-marathoner or the run leg of a triathlon but not so good for a 5K road race. I ran a 19:16, which would time out to a respectable 10K or half marathon, and was good enough for a top-20 and age group first place. I groused for all of three minutes, then put it all in perspective as I watched some of my friends and athletes come in...it was warm, humid (not terrible) and not a goal race. And age group hardware is age group hardware no matter how you slice it.
What bothered me more was to see a guy in his early 50s, who uses me as a target for his training and racing, looking much like his life was over. He finished about 30 seconds behind me and looked absolutely despondent. I guess it's worth feeling that way if there's money or honor involved, but with a local race with little more than a beer glass (and perhaps local bragging rights) at stake...I'm not so certain.
I took the time to chat with him, ask a few questions about his training (he works strictly on speed training) and recommended he train with my friend George. I also told him what I felt it would take for him to beat me at a 5K. Dude, it doesn't mean that much to me...if it means that much to you, then here is what you'll have to do.
But, I did tell him the bottom line - you are only as good as your next race. Who knows when mine will be? Hard to tell.
Until then, it's back to training. Being a fat, lazy b@st@rd is no fun.