Suicide Hill Trail 10k Race Report

Executive Summary:
1st overall by a bit over 3 minutes in 34:33. Driving across the country, we took a quick detour off Route 70 near Salina to travel to Little River, Kansas for the race. After 1.5 days of driving, we were greeted by an exit ramp billboard asking, "If you die TODAY, where will you spend ETERNITY?" Well, existentially-inclined sign, if I don't get baptized in the meantime, I imagine the answer to that question is Salina, Kansas.

AND he knows Kung Fu.

Pre-Race:
Road-tripping across the country with Dad for a summer in Boulder, he suggested we race along the way, in...Kansas. The joke was believable until that point, so I playfully slapped him on the shoulder for joshing with me. He insisted and said it was called Suicide Hill Trail, named after the steepness of the trail, along with the 1800's postmaster who went for style points in the 360 degree hickey contest at the race's highpoint. At this point, I punched dad in the mouth for pulling my chain. Everyone knows that the only things in Kansas are meth labs, Dairy Queens where you can get food, and dairy queens who win down-home beauty pageants with the talent of playing offensive line.

But he was serious, so we took the quick detour and were shown the light by a billboard. 99 cent Denny's Grand Slam?! Praise various deities!
I felt great after a recovery day, and loosened up while admiring the beautiful scenery. Two of my favorite people in the world (who happen to be top-level runners) grew up in Kansas, and lining up at the start, talking to spectators, it was clear that the locals shared many of the great traits. Kansas, you're pretty awesome. At the very least, you're not West Virginia, where Match.com and Ancestry.com use the same database. Or New York, where there are investment bankers. (/shudders)


This cat found an apartment on the Upper West Side! And a litter box in Harlem.



Stripping down at the start-line, it was so exciting, and so motivating, to see Dad on the line as well. I owe him everything. Though the sight also brought the stark realization that, when I am 58, with slightly unclear sinuses on a gusty Kansas morning, my nose hair will double as a wind chime. Unless I develop uncanny dexterity with a weed-whacker.

Race instructions, 4-wheeler lead vehicle revs the engines, AND THEY'RE OFF.

Artist's depiction of me and Dad driving.

Race:
The first mile was on gravel, so I decided to attempt catching the 4-wheeler. A father and son were driving, and the sight of a compression shorted beast worthy of a Stephen King novel wheezing down their necks had to be a good bonding experience, like narrowly avoiding tornadoes on I-70 in western Maryland, or listening to 30 minutes of Rush Limbaugh while driving through Missouri. (/blacks out from post traumatic stress) After a gradual descent into the crosswind, It went through the mile in 4:41. It then faced the cold-reality of prairie-winds after a left turn, and It barely kept It's footing. Which is good, because It is afraid that yellow-bricks are bad for the ankles.

Turning onto beaten down grass 2 miles in, the toughness of Kansas trail-running had beaten the third-person right out of me, and the first ascent began after a quick clomp through a prairie stream. With the four-wheeler pulling off, the seemingly ceaseless climb instilled a simultaneous feeling of humility and inspiration, with every stray thought blowing away in the wind. Coming to the top of the rise and turning with the wind, a crowd of cows looked on with a disinterested stare. Suddenly, one began moving, then two, and within seconds the entire herd thundered along the ridge. Spooked, I jumped off the trail, only to have 2 cowboys on horseback clear the path. With their whips cracking at my back, the pace went from plodding to pushing, and each step became a race to see what was over the next hill.

Chasing ghosts of races past, the terrain flew by until Suicide Hill at mile 5. My weakness on hills became evident as I limped up the rutted path. But the climb ended soon enough, and knowing Colorado climbs were in the future, I thought that this hill had a slightly overdramatic name. To describe the steepness, maybe a more appropriate moniker would be "Self-Consciousness Knoll" or "I Shouldn't Have Eaten that Extra Piece of Cheesecake Rise." With a lactose-filled pastry seemingly sitting in my stomach after the effort of the climb, the trail once again merged with a gravel road. Plunging back into town, enthusiastically leading with the tongue, the teeth of the wind rebuked my advances with a quick bite. The clock stopped at 34:33, a time bested by 2 great runners in the early-90s.

I call it The Telltale Fart.

After crossing, I ran back to see Dad. He was amazing (just under 50 minutes on a tough course), and I am so proud of him. After receiving the overall trophy of a piece of cow poop mounted onto a plaque (my favorite award ever), we continued on to Colorado. Chasing the setting sun into the mountains, a new chapter in the journey began as the snow-capped peaks loomed in the distance. I have to admit....I'm a bit scared. This will be the first time I have worked in my field, trying to make a difference in the future of the natural world, and the excitement is shrouded by a bit of apprehension. The path is easy. The path lets you take step after step without fearing failure. But the destination is hard. The destination replaces the security blanket of warm routine with the chill of cold judgment. Toeing the start line, there is excitement, sure. But there are also nerves. There is the fear of failure tickling the pit of your stomach. And just as the race is about the begin, just as the gun is about to fire.....the butterflies flap their wings.

Thanks so much for reading! At times like this, at a crossroads, it is easy to look back. When I look back, I see how fortunate I am, and so much of that is owed purely to the people in my life. So thanks for that :) Hope things are amazing!

Greensboro Road Mile Race Report

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 4:22 over Adam Currie, who finished 4th in the 800 meters in the 2008 Canadian Olympic Trials. Knowing he was in the race, it became tactical in the warm weather, with splits of 2:21 and 2:01. The weather provided good heat acclimation for the future, which was especially important if Saturday actually turned out to be Judgment Day. There isn't much good to say about being left behind in the Rapture, but at the very least, the souls left to roam the barren hellscape are more fun at cocktail parties.

While a despicable human being, there is a chance he lets you borrow from his porn stash. Though I wouldn't touch that hand.

Pre-Race:
First year of law school is over! The last 8 months remind me so much of reading Odysseus' journey while in undergrad. Primarily because I didn't do the reading for either. Just kidding, law school was really great. I accomplished my goal of avoiding the Siren song of corporate law, and will be working for Environmental Defense this summer. But the main reason the last year was amazing is that I met the perfect girl. Megan is beautiful, brilliant, and my best friend. Also, with sentences like the last one, she has the added benefit of coming with a complimentary full-body cleanse, accomplished purely through mouth vomit. With how much blog readers have come to associate bile with love, the stomach flu would probably lead to a Pavlovian response where they fall head-over-heels for the attending ER physician. Or food poisoning would lead them to, at the very least, vigorously hump the bedpan.

After a week with my awesome family at the farm in MD, I hopped in the car, gassed it up, and traveled down I-95 for a weekend trip for the amazing Karen and Ronnie's wedding party. With the traffic, I had time to think about the cars with Ivy League college stickers on the back. Seriously, dudes (or dudettes), you shouldn't just be able to pick and choose what personal attributes you display to the world. Just once, to make it fair, I'd like to see "YALE University" then, as a subtitle, "ONCE FUCKED A TEDDY-BEAR."

Teenagers get lonely in the Northeast.

Anyway, with the mile race in the evening, I stopped 3 times to put my feet up and walk around. This also gave me time to see the defining characteristic of each locale. In my hometown, it was the gas station that sold single cigarettes; in rural VA it was pork rinds out the wazoo (also describes the scene at every NASCAR porta-potty). And in NC, it was the Confederate flag keychain. Purchasing that would be a great indicator of viability for sterilization. While good for society, the real winner in that scenario would be the sheep.

After 7 hours in the car, I arrived in Durham, picked up Megan, and drove another hour to Greensboro. The gun was set to fire at 7:40 PM, which is very close to the time that I am usually counting sheep (If that last sentence gave you an erection, you probably own a Confederate Flag keychain). During the warm-up, I eyed Adam, who looked very serious. As we toed the line, he made the cross on his chest. Crap! I thought. He called dibs.

Runners set, LET THERE BE LIGHT.

I have no idea.

Race:
I was expecting Adam to take off around 4 minute pace, so I was really bewildered at the slow start. To be honest, I think I ran scared for the first 800, thinking that he was better than me, and I think that thought is extremely negative. In case you are wondering, I think that thought on that thought is very positive. Meanwhile, I think that thought on that thought on that thought.... (/blacks out)

The plan going in was to sit for the first 1200 meters, then kick on the slight uphill to the finish. By 600 meters, however, it became clear something was amiss. The balled-up pack all seemed to be racing with the same tactics, deferring to the racer announced at the start and hyped-up in pre-race newspaper articles. Usual emotions of race-day--joy at being alive, humility from being so fortunate--became replaced with a derisive frustration. With the anomalous anger gathering in clenched fists, the final straw was announced in the 1/2 mile split. 2:20...2:21...shit. Screw the tactics. Screw the cash prize. Time to go.

Happy thoughts.

I jumped away on the outside, with a spectator at the 1 km mark saying there was a 15 meter gap. I don't like to talk about training, because it so often becomes an internet groin-measuring contest where all the rulers seem to start at 10 inches, but the last couple months have been so much fun. After six weeks of 8 x 400m, the average times had dropped just below 60, so I came in shooting for ~4:08. The start line insecurity vanished after the acceleration began, replaced with comfortable familiarity. High-knees, controlled breathing, fast running. Summary: 11.5 inches. ACROSS.

Hearing the cheers on the backstretch, I felt so fortunate. Running towards the finish line, towards the perfect girl....well, it felt effortless. Breaking the tape with a 7-second win, the time and result became irrelevant. I guess I started the race scared. A neutered fear. Anger confronted that fear, and that is what I will remember about Friday evening. So at some point I'd like to try to get around 4 minutes. At some point I'd like to push my limits. But Friday evening had more significant implications than money or time. From now on, when I line up beside the best...I won't be scared.

Thanks so much for reading! After the race, a group of children came up nervously to ask questions, and their enthusiasm really put into perspective how lucky I am. A huge part of that amazing good fortune is you guys, and your support. You really are awesome, and I owe you so much. Thanks for everything :)