Private Equity Race Enthusiasts

Suzanne and I are not “typical” destination race enthusiasts. 

We have traveled to Augusta GA, Jacksonville FL, Nashville TN, New Orleans, and Panama City FL, for the sole purpose to run a road race or do a triathlon, but we are, for lack of a more-eloquent term, “private equity” racers.

If you’re not familiar with how private equity works, a private equity firm generally uses shareholder money to purchase firms.  They pay back the shareholder either by the purchased firm’s profit or the liquidation of its assets.  Suzanne and I aren’t quite so mercenary; we look for race events which coincide with business travel and adjust our schedule so as to be able to participate in the race, then take care of the project or attend the conference.  She has raced the ING Half-Marathon in Miami twice, done a couple of 10-kilometer runs in Orlando, FL, as well as a few other small races.

My day job entails doing work for a large government organization.  I spent my first year as part of a civilian education and training internship (living out of a suitcase) in exotic locations; Great Lakes, Illinois.  Arlington, Virginia.  Orlando.  It took me three years to learn my way around Pensacola, much to the chagrin of my wife.  My running habit was not lost on my fellow interns.  Once, when we were slated to attend a conference sponsored by the American Society of Training Development, my friend Terri Kelly said, “Mikey, there’s a run that weekend, too.”  Both Terri and her husband Tom spent some time In San Diego, and Tom ran his share of races, including the Bay Bridge 4-Miler.

Having run the Bushwacker 5K, a race where you run over a bridge in 90-degree heat and 90-percent humidity, I figured this couldn’t be “much” worse.  I was correct.

I have a mug with the San Diego skyline from a coffee purveyor whose name sounds much like “Four Bucks.”  Just inside the rim is printed a phrase: ’78 Degrees and Sunny.”  If you’re going to run, it might as well be in San Diego.  The weather can be very warm as you move more inland, but the city as a whole is a meteorologist’s – and a runner’s – dream.

The Bay Bridge run starts near the Convention Center and Gaslamp Square District, goes down Harbor Drive, then turns after a mile to go onto the Coronado Bay Bridge.  Gaslamp Square on a Sunday morning is like Bourbon on a Sunday morning, only more quiet.  I was fortunate to be fairly close to the front when I raced; the race announcers were making a big deal over a nine-year-old girl who was some age-group ace.  Her father was also running so as to keep her from being trampled.  When the gun went off we were all hell-bent for election, hauling down Harbor.  Darned if the little girl and her father didn’t leave me in the dust.  Just after one mile we approached Cesar Chavez Parkway and the on-ramp to the bridge.  Take that right hand turn and…holy cats…that IS a bridge.

The Coronado Bay Bridge is steep.  Not terribly steep, but it seems to keep going and going.  All you can do is what most smart folks do when racing on a hill; shorten the stride and increase the turnover.  And, most importantly of all, keep moving.  I caught the waif and her father about half a mile up the bridge and gave a brief word of encouragement.  Perhaps, though, I should have kept it for myself.  The two-mile mark is at the top of the bridge, just enough time to look out straight ahead toward the Hotel Del Coronado (glorious!), North Island and the Silver Strand (site of future post-marathon recovery jaunts).  Also at the top is a suicide hotline phone number.  I remember telling a fellow runner, “I’m not in the mood to jump and I don’t have a cell phone, so I guess we’ll just have to run the rest of the way down.”

Downhill on the bridge is a comfort and joy, it seems much less painful than hammering down the hills on our training loop around Bayou Texar.  Next thing I know we are not only back on terra firma (the more firmer, the less terror…) on Coronado Island but still have a little less than a mile to go.  The race finishes in Tidelands Park, traveling down a footpath and into a grass chute.  I felt bad for all the guys who finished only a few minutes behind me, as the race announcer made a point to inform them and the spectators…they had been beaten by a nine-year-old girl.

As the race was sponsored by the Navy Morale, Welfare and Recreation group, I don’t recall whether there was beer during the post-race – besides, we were stuck going to some mindless educational seminar – but the post-race celebration and awards were top-notch.  A fleet (pun not necessarily intended) of shuttle buses carried runners back over to Gaslamp Square and the Convention Center.  All in all, the Bay Bridge 4-Miler stands as one of the more demanding, yet scenic races I’ve ever run.

And well worth traveling to on someone else's money.

Don't.

The ache in the knees should have been a warning sign.

One look at the training logs told me the terrain of the previous weekend could have been the root cause of discomfort.  Sure, others outside the Gulf Coast can scoff at the 50-to-100-foot variations in total elevation, but most physical therapists would probably not recommend my county-fair-style wanna-be roller coaster courses from Sunday morning or Sunday afternoon.

Not the best training surface for a pair of recovering achilles tendons.

Since the achilles were not aching, the next suspect would have been the shoes.  Nope.  I ran in shoes which had 300 and 180 miles, respectively.  Old shoes cause aches first in the ankles, then the knees, closely followed by the hips and low back.

I've waited until the "back pain" stage to buy the next pair.  It's amazing how quickly the ache goes away.

As I lay, stewing in my own 101.3-degree juices, it suddenly came to me.

Eric.  And 13,000 of my closest (some as stone cold sober as me!) friends.

I had a sneaking suspicion something was not going to go well when he asked me: 'Mike, do you have any recommendations on how to run when you cannot breathe?'

My one-word answer: 'Don't.'

Most experienced runners know the "chin rule" when it comes to running while sick.  If the congestion or discomfort of an allergy or cold is limited to the head and sinuses, runs at a decreased intensity are acceptable.  If the congestion is below the level of the chin (the small accessory muscles of the ribcage is a good sign - if the ribs are tender the accessory muscles have probably been used too much), rest, rest and some more rest is a great idea.

The weekend's exposure more than compensated for the wisdom and prudence I used through the end-of-year holidays.  Sometimes the runner can exercise caution - avoid crowds, eat properly, and train smartly - and still one (or two, or three, in my case) exposures can put them down for the count.  Illness can be punishing enough without adding to it, so don't.

Things A Real New Orleans Runner Will Never Tell You

As my wife Suzanne & I have "matured" in our running lives we've slowly, steadily progressed out of the comfort zone we see in many of our running friends. It's difficult to maintain the joy of the sport, or realize just how good you have it (or how much better you can have it) in your home town until you travel somewhere else and run or race. Runners who race only in their home town, or don't take their running gear with them when they travel, miss the boat. Representing the northern half of Florida has allowed me to see cities like Chicago, Cincinnati, San Francisco & New Orleans, to name a few burgs, at a pace & perspective most business or pleasure travelers never get.

We've tried to encourage some of our close friends to toddle along with us on occasion to Key West, Jacksonville, Nashville, San Diego, Honolulu, and even outside the country...especially if there were cool places to see/be or cool races to do/get through. It didn't hurt to have: a) coaches who told sea stories about their favorite running places and partners, trying (like a parent does to a stubborn three-year-old) to diversify our running taste buds, and b) jobs which have required varying degrees of travel at diffferent times of the year.

And it doesn't necessarily take a convention trip to get us out the door. The challenge in our district is what I like to call the "Jumpy Two Equation." A friend of mine (her e-mail address includes "jumpy two") told me once she will travel to events as long as the event duration is longer than the drive. My district, from end-to end, is a nearly-eight hour drive. Since I don't like to race events longer than the half-marathon distance (a distance I can truly race & still feel semi-all right the next day), that kind of limits me to a two-hour window of opportunity...unless we (read: my wife) have business travel which can be tied in to justify such a junket, er, journey.

For Suzanne & me, a jaunt to New Orleans has progressed from being "strictly tourism" (Vieux Carre' all the way) to "race-related tourism" (run 10K, then Vieux Carre'), to "business & pleasure" (plug & pray, run 10K, Vieux Carre') to "checking in with the extended family." (5:20, Snooie Bread, Community Cafe', Speedo jokes, etc.) The more we run in NOLA, and with NOLA people when they come to see us, the more we find out what a real NOLA runner will - and will not - say.

We'll wait until after sunrise. This goes without regard to the season or climate conditions. A real NOLA runner knows to start a long training run early. Starting a run after sunrise during the summer is considered by local emergency room doctors to be an act of near-suicidal proportions. During winter, however, starting the run at the scheduled time is a sign of real NOLA runner discipline. For example, if you're running with 5:20 & your run is going longer than ten, it's better that you start earlier than you not show up to breakfast at the appointed hour.

Watch out for ice on the road. Okay, after Jackson Day weekend that might not be so correct. And the odds of seeing ice on the roadway - away from the Quarter - is fairly slim. Of course, this last weekend, Slim did show for 5:20. In fact, I saw Slim in a couple of locations. There are other hazards to running on NOLA roads which I've chalked up as normal state of affairs (usually treated with very comfortable shoes & ibuprofen for the next few days) after nearly ten years, but ice is one of those one-off things. No real NOLA runner will think to warn you about ice on the road. It just isn't all that common.

We can run on the median. Silly me, the social studies/history major. Why didn't they teach me this tidbit of information at the University of Tampa? Like anything else in NOLA, there are things which are said/done a little differently in NOLA than we highlanders know. I heard (NOTC president Aaron, & RRCA LA rep Betsy) Boudreaux talk about neutral ground when talking courses in the past. Didn't put two-and-two together until jogging up Esplanade & we got on that nice, wide, tree/grass/bush strip I called a median. You'd have thought I'd hit a canine land mine up there and kicked it into the face of a local. I was quickly corrected on that faux pas. 'Dude,' I was icily informed, 'we call those neutral ground.' I swear it's all the fault of the French & Spanish. Not me.

This is a hilly course. Unless a real NOLA runner leaves NOLA they never race on a really hilly course. Thing is, even the slightest positive elevation change is a negative to a real NOLA runner. Real NOLA runners have the most sensitive internal inclinometers known to man. Forget about taking them on an easy, slightly hilly 8.2-mile loop run. The real NOLA runner will not be looking at the scenery or the houses, but looking for the flattest route to the finish...or asking how many more climbs there are. One of the courses I've measured, a point-to-point from downtown Pensacola to Pensacola Beach, goes over two spans of water. Oh, there is a viaduct probably the height of the bridge on Wisner, which some have taken to call a bridge. So, rather than call that event the Double Bridge Run, I will recommend to the race organization, on behalf of all real NOLA runners, it be renamed "Two and a Half Bridges." Fair enough?

I've got other things to catch up on. The run is not over until you've had breakfast, or lunch, or adult beverage of choice. Usually this is where side bets, wagers or dares are paid in full, & roll is taken to determine whether you were really there. Ask 5:20. Once you've checked in & been duly chastened because of the shirt or hat you were forced to wear because your team lost, or you got 'chicked,' then you know the love of the real NOLA runner.

In towns where the act of running can be hazardous to one's health, it's nice to know there are other like-minded lunatics evading homicidal hack handlers, defusing "canine land mines" & enduring (or returning) pithy one-liners at street-corner orthopedic practitioners. It's our reality, & we take comfort in the common bond. See you guys in about six weeks, unless we can justify coming sooner...our bosses are beginning to get suspicious.