Getting Crushed in Lake Placid

I thought I had conquered this part already.  No, really… I did.  Just a little over a month ago I PR’d a half-marathon in Cheshire, CT.  Though I finished that race in pain, the fact that I had set my personal record made me feel as though I was in the best shape of my life.

A horrible training month of May followed – I was often side-tracked, sidelined by phantom gout and otherwise made a lot of excuses.  But how much fitness can one lose in a month of poor-training?  And mind you, it wasn’t no-training.  Just a helluva lot less than I’d been used to doing.

I tossed my daughter in the car and made the drive up to Lake Placid to stay with my friend Dave and his family.  Having a 6-year old in the car is nerve-wracking enough, mixing her constant need for entertainment with the omnipresent fear of her proclaiming she needs to use the bathroom (most likely just after we pass a rest stop.)  But we endured some traffic and made it there safely in about 4 hours or so with no bathroom breaks. 

The next morning we walked around town a bit and Samantha ran the Kids Race with Dave's kids Reagan and Cora.  The cuteness level was at all-time highs.

There is a lot of sports history in Lake Placid and since my friend Dave runs The Lake Placid Hockey Depot, he’s up on just about all of it - especially the hockey part.  Apparently there was some famous game played there years ago or something.  You wouldn't know just walking around town - at least not if you didn't have a guide as knowledgeable as Dave.

We went and picked up our race numbers and tech shirts (either I'm getting fatter or my Large shirt was made a bit on the smaller side).  That was followed by a couple of beers at lunch, which is the law when you're catching up with an old college football buddy, but we chased it with a lot of water and a pasta dinner before an early bedtime. 

And before I knew it, it was… Race Day.

Dave and I got to the starting line early and took in the scene.  It was a perfect morning for a race – not too hot, not too cold and a lot of smiling, anxious faces.  When I signed up for the Lake Placid half, I didn’t even realize that there was a full marathon option, too.  Most of us wore the light blue bib, signifying that we were running the half.  But there were a few red bibs sprinkled among the crowd.  It reminded me a lot of my experience at the Ft Lauderdale A1A Marathon and Half Marathon, when I was one of the few adorning the full marathon bib.  I do have to say, though I didn’t necessarily feel like a wimp for only wearing the blue bib, I was certainly impressed at those lining up to run the full marathon.  “The red bib is a real badge of honor,”  I said to Dave.  And I meant it.  “Maybe I’ll run the full one next year.”

Cockiness.  Run two marathons and PR in the half and all of a sudden you think you can do anything.  Little did I know that in the next few hours, I was about to be humbled like never before.

“The course is really hilly,” Dave had warned me a few months ago.  I had laughed it off for the most part.  I have run hills before – the St. Patrick’s Day Road Race in Holyoke is really hilly, and I have done a lot of training on hills in the past.  I was even beginning to think that hills might be one of my running strengths.  I have very strong legs that help me power up the hills.  And being still on the heavy side for a runner, I tend to glide down them with little effort just by letting gravity take over.

Unfortunately, the town of Lake Placid is not located in the Adirondack Hills; it is located in the Adirondack Mountains!

I largely envisioned this as a training run.  I had no sight on a PR and felt as though I was entering my marathon training season and would be content practicing my pacing - slow and steady.  The hills should help in that regard as I always seem to have difficulty finding a balance in how much effort I should exert.  And though Dave had been training and had finished this race a few years back, recently his longest run was about 6 miles and we both knew he would struggle.  I think that was another reason for my complacency that morning - I knew that I was about to run a hilly half-marathon and would be in pain... but Dave would be in much more pain and in a horrible way that made me feel better about the whole thing.

Though I had told Dave I would run with him for a while, we both share another common running pet peeve - neither one of us likes to talk to anyone while we run.  The headphones go on, the music plays, and we run... please just leave me alone until I'm done.  With that in mind and with the crowded start finding runners all over the road, there was just no way we were staying together.  I think it would have been a distraction to him if I had tried.

The course goes through the town of Lake Placid - a beautiful local tourism-focused town.  You know that you're in a touristy-place when there are more than two stores that sell fudge.  Running through the town was pleasant enough, even though it was largely uphill.  It reminded me of the Verrazano Bridge in the NYC Marathon.  You start the race and go up... but you're so fresh that you run it at a good pace, not really comprehending the damage you are likely doing to your body for the back-end of the race.

The course then takes you around Mirror Lake, which is the site of the Iron Man swim.  Another thing about Lake Placid - there are people training for the Iron Man all over the place.  Runners, bikers, people in wet suits going in the lake even though it's only 60 degrees out - they are everywhere.  For most of the way around the lake the trees blocked the view of the water, which was sort of a shame.  But you do see a bit of the lake over near the Lake Plaicid Brewery, which was probably where I should have gone at that point if I was expecting to enjoy the rest of my day.

One thing I really need to learn is that steep downhills can really take a toll on your legs just as much as uphills.  The pounding may not seem like much at the time, but your legs are taking on a tremendous amount of weight with each step and the cumuative effect will make you pay in the long run.  The run around the lake ends with a steep downhill, then flattens out a little before another long, steep downhill out on Route 73 has you headed out of town for the next 9 miles or so.

The beginning of that part of the race was so peaceful.  The morning air was still relatively cool and there were plenty of rest stops with wonderful volunteers.  The girls were there to cheer us on as we left town and I got to stop and talk to my daughter for about 30 seconds when, after a sweaty hug she implored me to continue running or else I might lose the race.  (She always thinks I have a chance to win - I love this kid).  

The ski jump complex at Lake Placid is truly a tremendous sight.  When I first saw it, I took it as some kind of industrial complex.  Then when I realized what it was, my only thought was, "Holy shit - you mean people jump off of that on skis!?!?"  It's breathtaking just to imagine and I can't believe what it must be like to watch in person.

The course takes a left for a few miles down a long country road where it then turns around and comes back the same way.  It's always interesting to see the lead runners coming back while you're still trudging your way along, far behind them on the same path they had already run quite a while ago.

It was along that stretch where I really began to feel it.  Mile 7 or so... The sun came out and it got really hot all of a sudden, to the point where I was constantly looking for any bit of shade on the course I could find.  I believe it was in the low 70's, but it didn't feel that way and I have the sunburn to prove it.

My pace had already been slow, but it got even slower.  I made the turn and eventually passed Dave going in opposite directions.  I feigned delight as best I could, hiding all sense of discomfort though my smile was genuine.  Dave was still running and looked to be failrly strong.  I gave him a quality high-five as we passed each other, the kind that you can still feel lingering on your hand for a minute or two afterwards.

The next problem was that when you get back on Route 73 you realize that the hill you joyously sauntered down about an hour earlier is not so joyous on the way back up.  It's long and steep and at this point of the race it is extremely challenging.  But I wasn't going to quit.

I run.  That's what I do.  I don't care how slow I go, but I run.  That's what I told myself as I picked them up and put them down very slowly.  It took a while, but I successfully crested the apex and I had hoped it was smooth sailing from there.

But it wasn't.

At that point, with a little over two miles left, my legs were pretty much destroyed.   Perhaps the most annoying part for me came right at around mile 11 or so when I stopped at a water station.  I went through my normal routine - jogged up to the station, grabbed the first water I could and walked as I drank it.  Then I grabbed another and tried my best to get two cups down and then start running again.  Only this time I skipped the "start running again" part.

My legs felt horrible.  On top of the general fatigue, my left heel was throbbing, and my big toe was in pain as well - perhaps lingering effects from the phantom gout from a few weeks back.  So I enjoyed my water and walked for what was probably a good quarter mile.  I eventualy reached a small downhill and decided to give it a go again.  I moved, but it didn't feel good.  I was seeing a lot of marathoners headed back out of town for the second half of their 26.2 miles and thought about what I had so casually declared earlier that morning:  "Maybe next year I'll do the full."  I couldn't even finish the half!

I ran for a bit and reached a curve where I saw some familiar faces and heard a most wonderful voice call out, "Daddy!"  Sam was on the corner with her new friends and Dave's wife Lauren, and I felt glad that I had started running again.  Having her see me essentialy give up is just not an option.

And with just a half mile remaining, I had another thought in mind.  "Hey Sam," I said.  "Do you want to run the rest of the race with Dad?"

Her face beamed and she came along with me.  But as we turned down a side street, there was the most horrible sight.  It was the hill to end all hills.  About a quarter-mile long and straight up.   I think it had its own elevator.  At least now I had a good excuse not to run - there was no way a six year old was going to run it.  So, we held hands and walked... happily.

Some amazing spectators willed on the runners up the steep last slope as we made our way to the outdoor speed skating oval where Eric Heiden had won 5 gold medals in 1980 (told you Dave was a good guide).  "You ready to start running Sam?" I asked.  She was, and we did.

The look on her face is something I will never forget.  She jogged along and often times I caught her just staring at me.  We held hands and ran the entire loop around the oval before reaching the finish line.  The announcer called my name and Samantha was shocked to hear it broadcasted out loud for everyone to hear.  "Dad, they said your name!"

We crossed the finish line and got my medal, which immediately became her medal.  But it was worth it.  It was so worth it.

Then we sat in the grass and ate some pizza and Subway sandwiches - quite a decent spread.  Sam walked around petting everyone's dog - there were plenty of them all around the oval as a lot of spectators brought their dogs with them.  It took some time for my legs to recover, but they did just in time to see Dave make his way up the final hill and onto the oval himself.  He was in real pain.  There was the wincing of his face and the way he gingerly took step after step, but he made it.  The announcer was a local who recognized him from quite a ways away and gave him a great peptalk on his way in, and Dave crossed the finish to great fanfare, where he was embraced by his family.

My finishing time was atrocious.  It was the slowest I had ever run.  There are a lot of factors I call into question - some recent weight gain, lax training habits, and probably the most challenging course I had ever completed.  I wonder why I couldn't summon the courage to keep running at the moment I decided to walk and I question my desire to continue on with this sport if I'm going to let things like hills beat me.  But I made it, and finishing that last half mile with my daughter was one of the finer, most memorable moments of my entire 18-month running career - perhaps on par with, or even exceeding my reaching the tape at the NYC Marathon.

Moving forward, I officially start my marathon training season with two rather daunting challenges looming ahead - the Marine Corps Marathon and the NYC Marathon in back-to-back weeks.  And maybe that is what this  race has taught me - that running doesn't have to be all about me and my personal achievement.  It's bigger than that.  It's about having experiences with friends and family along the way.  It's about the people who get help through the funds that my supporters donate to the American Cancer Society.  It's about the journey through training and perserverence when times get tough.  But perhaps most of all, it's about looking my little girl in the eye at the end of the day and showing her what can be accomplished if you work hard and never, ever give up.

Doesn't this picture just make it all worth it?