A Different "Army-Navy" Game

Since 2005, I've worked the technical side of running events, laying out and measuring road courses and doing grunt work for triathlon events.  I used to tout them in a 'matter-of-fact' fashion, but nowadays my signature block says, "extensive list of worthless certifications available upon request."  Most of the "worthless certifications" were the result of participating in enough running events to think, after the second beer, then say out loud "I could put on one of these."  

One of my favorite Clint Eastwood lines did not come during the most recent election cycle, but during his 1973 movie, "Magnum Force," where he says..."a man's got to know his limitations."  After one-too-many afternoons picking up aid station coolers and driving the sag vehicle while the event director was drinking beer with the athletes I went back to the technical support side of the running world.  Back to maps, paperwork, phone calls and e-mail from first-year event directors, and looking at the good, the bad, and the ugly of road races.

In the last month I participated in the behind-the-scenes details of two events; a 5K put on by the Chief Petty Officers Association, and a 5K/10K put on by the Special Forces Association.  So, this comparison of good, bad and ugly is a different version of last weekend's Army-Navy game.

Army-Navy has always been special for my family.  In the football-(sub?)conscious Deep South, team loyalty often has little to do with the school they matriculated (I went to a Division-II school.).  The Bowens and their extensions up and down the family tree have almost all been Navy people; my Uncle Billy (Renn) and I the only ones to serve outside of the Sea Service.  (My friend Chuck, a retired Navy Chief, reminds me I've served longer as a Navy civilian than Air Force enlisted.)  

We've all got a short list of what makes a running event stand out from its contemporaries.  My coach, Dale Fox, used to tell stories of runners who would drive to several race locations each Saturday and Sunday morning in the hope of picking up overall hardware...and a hundred bucks.  They knew the pecking order, and would look for the vehicles of athletes they could beat, and those they couldn't.  When I ask experienced racers the things they use to choose one road race over another, most will mention the course, the pre-and-post-race experience, the awards, and the shirt.

Course - Some runners like a scenic course.  Most racers want an accurate distance.  All want to be safe.  ARMY: The 10K was measured for certification after a course change.  However, the race director moved the start point 100 yards.  5K distance not measured for certification after course change.  Both courses had entire lanes of roadway and crossed twice over a bridge.  No intermediate split markers or split timers.  NAVY: Certified 5K course, which had cones laid down the center of two-lane secondary roads and a single lane of a major road.  Split markers and a split timer at the first mile.

Play-by-play:  Army wins toss, elects to receive.  Penalties stymie initial Army drive; settle for field goal.  Navy takes long grinding drive and scores.

SCORE - ARMY 3 - NAVY 7

Post-race - Entertainment, food and beverages; doesn't have to be a full spread, but you got to keep the runners happy until the results are ready.  ARMY:  There was some issue with the keg which never was resolved, but there was cold canned beer, as well as water, fruit, barbecue, live music, and free massages for race participants.  NAVY:  Old bagels, water and fruit.  And an iPod with tunes from back when I was in high school.  I like Journey, Foreigner and Fleetwood Mac, but I'm certain the younger participants would have preferred newer stuff.

Play-by-play:  Army quick-strikes for touchdown, point-after attempt hits right goalpost.  Scores a safety on ensuing kickoff.  

SCORE: ARMY 11 - NAVY 7

Awards - Age-group and overall awards should be both meaningful and of good-quality.  Something you'd post on your "I love me" wall.  ARMY:  Carved wood SFA7 logos all over the place.  Five-year age groups, overall, masters, grandmasters, etc.  Someone inhaled a lot of sawdust.  NAVY:  Ten-year age group (I finish as first runner over age 50 -- heck, age 40 -- and receive first in 50-59 age group) medals; overall male/female, oldest/youngest runners receive painted oars.

Play-by-play:  Good field position leads to Army ball control drive, scores touchdown but leaves Navy time for one more short drive.  Navy scores field goal to close out first half.

SCORE: ARMY 18 - NAVY 10

Shirt - great race shirts are advertising for future events.  Lousy race shirts are car wash fodder.  ARMY:  Black, short-sleeved cotton-technical blend shirt with SFA7 logo and original (contest-designed) artwork on front, sponsors on back.  NAVY:  White long-sleeved cotton shirt with small dog-tag logo on front, sponsors on back, several names misspelled.

Play-by-play:  Navy receives second-half kickoff.  Three-and-outs lead to poor field position for Navy; punt blocked out of end-zone.

SCORE:  ARMY 27 - NAVY 10 

Cause - Runners will support a race for a cause they can support.  ARMY:  Scholarships for children of soldiers killed in action.  Marketing in social media, on-line registration sites, local running clubs.  NAVY:  Rewards leading to prosecution of person/persons who shot and killed an active-duty sailor.  Marketing nearly nonexistent outside of on-line registration; single flyer seen at base bowling alley day before event.  

Play-by-play:  Good field position following Navy kick; return to ball control drive and Army touchdown.

SCORE:  ARMY 34 - NAVY 10

Intangibles - These are the little things which could fall under the overall race experience, but someone is going to point them out to you the week after as you're busy patting yourself on the back.  ARMY:  When I go into the Starbucks around the corner (as an event non-participant) and the racers are there in a line for the bathroom.  

Barista: "Can I do anything else for you, sir?" 

Me: "Get rid of the line in front of the bathroom?"  

Public bathrooms could only handle two men/ladies at a time...1,500 people might have been a little too much.  NAVY:  Porta-johns, about a dozen, for 200 people.  I'm certain they were hoping for closer to 600, but that goes back to the marketing thing.  ARMY:  Race director/staff are/were Special Forces officers and enlisted.  These guys know how to plan, adapt, improvise and overcome obstacles.  NAVY:  Chief Petty Officers, most of whom were/are members of the "three-mile-a-year" club, sans racing experience.

Play-by-play:  And the hits keep on coming.  Army grinds out one more long drive for a touchdown, but leaves enough time on the clock for Navy to kick a desultory field goal and warm up their lungs to sing "Navy Blue and Gold" first...for the first time in about 11 years.

If you're a race director, or you aspire to be one, perhaps some of these observations will save you a couple of wrongly-spent dollars and a couple of nightmares.

If you call me, however, I won't be available.  At least until race day.

Swedish Speed Work By Any Other Name

In order to delay inevitable shagginess, as well as the revelation of way too many gray hairs, it was definitely high time to put myself back in the barber's chair. There was a time when I looked at a visit to the barber shop with much the same dread as a visit to the dentist. However, I'm losing my teeth (only a little) faster than my hair.

I did have once upon a time what could be best described as an educated mullet, simply because I was an educated person. I didn't have the Joe Dirt thing going, not quite that serious a mullet. In fact, I never considered it to be a mullet. To me it was simply long hair. It was my thumb in the eye of society to have enough hair to pull it back into a (small) pony tail, put on my white oxford dress shirt and tie, and step into the classroom. There are a couple of photos floating around of me that way.

However, my wife cannot bear the thought of the man of her life having long hair. She considers it unnatural. I've threatened to grow it down to my butt in order to spite everyone...but I do like the regular income. Everyone says there's no such thing as a dress code with the federal government, but just try to get a promotion without being able to wear business attire. I don't care how smart you are, no one will listen to your smart ideas if you're wearing a loud-a$$ Hawaiian shirt and ratty jeans. As of last week I'm ten years out from my pension; after that, however, all bets are off on the hair limit. Of course, I might not be able to grow it that long by then. I wouldn't call the last two workouts fartlek by any stretch of the imagination. If you were or are a music enthusiast, it was probably closer to 30 minutes of rock and roll, followed by 30 minutes of a funeral dirge/death metal mash-up. Not pretty, huh?
It always helps on those days when you are running alone to be mindful of the effort...yes, listen to your body (and not the music in your Oakley Thumps). The music initially was there for entertainment purposes, keeping ennui at bay. I won't use them when I'm running with someone else, because it's unkind to not carry on a conversation with them. Yes, I know we're usually not carrying on a conversation during the latter half of the run, but it's nice to know we could always back off and have one if we really wished. And there have been days we have done so.
Effort is a relative thing, especially when you're five minutes behind the rest of the group at the outset of the run...I knew that second potty break this morning was going to come back to haunt me. However, I consider it better to have been five minutes back and hurrying like mad to try and catch up than to go out with the group and have one eye constantly on the horizon looking (desperately!) for the porta-potty.

And believe me, I don't think the Swedes were thinking about porta-potties when the term fartlek was coined.

The Eighty-Percent Solution

Of course, the only caption I could probably think of at this particular time is a rip-off of an old James Taylor tune, Hey, Buddy, That's Me On The Jukebox...or something like that. Once again I decided to join up with 17,500 of my closest friends in order to partake in what might be considered (lightly) the sacrament of sweat on the day before Easter.
After running one of my strongest 10K races last year, followed by probably what has been the most challenging training years I've ever had as a runner, I harbored no unrealistic expectations for the day. All I wanted to do was:
1) Run well enough (top 500 finishers) to earn my fifth Crescent City Classic poster in five tries.
2) Finish in under 40 minutes.
3) Not injure myself.
This years' trip had more of an Emerald Coast Racing Team focus to it, since seven of us stayed in the same hotel just blocks from the starting line. What it lacked in pure amenities it made up for in location, location, location. (Editorial comment: Probably not worth a repeat next year, but the price was reasonable enough to merit one.) I had to take care of some RRCA business earlier in the day - promised the LA state rep I would support her meeting and provide a brief presentation on measurement and certification - hope it was good enough. CCC always has that sort of work hard, play hard attitude around it; the volunteers from the New Orleans Track Club and other local sporting organizations really bust their chops to make our experience each year a memorable one.
We didn't push any particular itinerary, allowing the laissez faire, laissez passe mentality to go on. Suzanne and I knew what we wanted/needed to get accomplished; everything else was gravy. It kind of made for a smaller group dynamic, but we managed to hook up at least once through the weekend.
Enough about them. Back to me.
Great conditions for racing, especially when compared to last year's near freezing temperatures. We had temps in the high 50s at the start with a gentle breeze coming from the north, if I rightly recall. Since we were so close to the start I completely overlooked the need for a warm-up jog; usually the Pensacola contingent all meets at the Chateau Sonesta for a quick photo-op, then makes their way toward the starting corrals, about half a mile away. Being as close as we were, I had to walk no more than three blocks, maybe four, to the corral and porta-johns. (I worried more about the potty stop than the warm-up. Both are just as important; I could have jogged a couple of corrals back and hit a porta-john with a much smaller waiting line...achieving the desired or necessary results - empty bladder/bowel and loose limbs.)
As usual, the NOLA military contingent seems to find a new way to screw around with athlete access every year. This year there was no division of corrals, so we found more than our share of persons who were about two corrals out of their league, up with the elites, near-elites and pretty darn good runners.
No warm-up and lots of nervous tension doesn't do well when you're standing in a crowd of 17,500 waiting for a cannon to shoot you down Decatur Street. I looked at the readout on my HR monitor and found it registering somewhere in the high 190s. Probably a good thing I didn't take more than a swig of Suzanne's coffee to go along with my bottle of orange juice.
Mile 1 & 2 were run in 6:15 and 6:10 pace. Right from the start of the race I didn't feel like I was running with the option of an extra gear. (There's the consequence of undertraining and insufficient warm-up) I also noticed my left shoelace flopping about after the first mile split. I knew it would mean the difference between a bad day and a very bad day; stopping to retie would lead to a bad day, ignoring it in the presence of all these knuckleheads could cause a very bad day. Stopped for about 20 seconds just before the left turn onto Esplanade Avenue and did a quick double knot...something I should have done a couple of hours earlier.
Mile 3 & 4 felt closer to a typical day on this course. I hit the three-mile mark at about the time I normally would have run a 5K (if racing fit). While I wasn't too worried I didn't have the confidence of rolling through the rest of the race like I wanted to. Sure, I was still passing runners in ones and twos, but I couldn't tell whether these were good runners, knuckleheads who went out too hard and were starting to pay for their mistakes, or jumpers, folks who were not seeded and decided to jump in on the course after the starting line.
I used to have evil things to say about bandits, but I am learning to dislike jumpers more so. If you're not seeded in a race and you decide to jump onto the course after the starting line, wait until you begin to see a lot of people at your pace...not at the pace you wish you could run.
Okay, there's my cranky moment for the blog. I'm back now.
Mile 5 & 6 is always the worst part of this race. You're away from the packs of spectators on Esplanade and far off from the packs near the finish under the oak trees. This is the part of the course where if I'm not racing fit or haven't run smart I end up Gallowalking. This year was no exception. All I could hear during this particular stretch was my mind telling my body how badly it (my body!) sucked. Once I turned into the park, over by the tennis courts, and saw the time clock (32 minutes at 5 miles) I resigned myself to the fact I would have to have a super last mile and two tenths to make it in under 40 minutes...and that at this point it wasn't going to happen without a lot of hurt. When you get to the 5.2 mile point on the course, at this little bridge, there's a guy who stands and counts the runners coming through. He's usually pretty accurate, give or take ten runners - well, at least up to the first hundred or so. After the pack thickens up it's probably a SWAG (serious wild-@$$ guess). Counter-Guy has me at 190-195, which is the lowest I've been on the food chain in five years. At that point I make the decision to turn and burn the last mile and see how many people I can pick off, regardless of how badly I'm hurting (Note: Bev Fair's "what would Coach do?" comment again). I lost count of how many persons I passed once I got to the circle around the museum, but I suspect somewhere around 15-20.
At .2 to go is the boom where the Marathon Foto folks take some of the best photos during the race. It's usually my favorite part of the course because there's not that many persons near me when I get here. However, some knucklehead who is barely ahead of me decides he's going to have his moment of exultation, raising his arms skyward for the camera. Thanks, dude. Now it's going to take some serious Photoshop work for me to get a good photo of this race. I guess I'll pass you now.
I can hear a guy coming up on my left and working it hard. I have nothing left in the tank. Zero. He's going to pass me, so I might as well keep pushing and make him work a little longer.
Finished in 40:18, 136th overall. For the first 30 minutes after the race I'm disappointed with myself, especially for not having the guts to maintain the effort in the fourth and fifth miles. However, looking back, I did meet at least two of my three goals for the day. I knew I was under-trained; needed more long runs, and more quality speedwork. Forgoing a decent warm-up also prevented me from being more comfortable at the start (sometimes you need to release a little of the excess energy before you go to the starting line) and making necessary equipment adjustments (I normally use a lightweight trainer with elastic laces, but the last two races have been in either a lightweight trainer without elastics or a medium weight trainer without elastics).
We're not there, but we're doing fine getting there.
The rest of the group ran well - one was in the top-100, another two besides myself finished in the top-500, and my senior guy barely missed top-500 by less than a minute.