It really started very innocently. After the usual Tuesday track workout, Jon Wyner mentions that he's doing the Hyannis half-marathon this weekend. My still oxygen-deprived mind somehow decides that it would be a wonderful idea for my body to race 13.1 miles this weekend. I have been getting a little closer to Jon in the track workouts over the past few weeks. Maybe I can hang with him long enough in the race to set a new PR. Yeah, it's only February, but I've been training well, and my half-marathon PR is my oldest road-race PR in the books (Willamette Valley half-marathon, September 7th, 1996, 1:20:24 -- isn't it scary that I know this and I don't even keep a log?), it's time to wipe it clean.

Fast forward to Sunday morning. Sunny skies, a cool breeze and temperatures in the 30's greet us in Hyannis. Outstanding! The legs feel great even during the warmup. The stomach seems content with the peanut butter & jelly sandwich and chocolate ice cream pre-race meal I sent through it last evening. All I'll have to do is just tie myself with an invisible rope to Jon, and he'll drag me to a PR. Yes, I think, I can hold back -- a half-marathon isn't so much a race as an endurance run, right?

Wrong. Jon and I start together and run in tandem a little beyond the first mile. We turn into the teeth of a moderate wind in mile 2, and I start playing the tactician, running in the slipstream of a runner just ahead until someone faster passes by, then playing the game over again. By the mile 2 marker, I settle in with a pack of 3 other runners, a good windscreen I figure. I now realize that I've dropped Jon behind me, and the pre-race plans are out the window.

Over the next couple of miles, the intermittent conversation in the pack makes me doubt very much the wisdom of what I have done. The others are talking about marathon PR's in the 2:30's. I've never played anywhere close to that league before. 4 miles down, still more than 9 to go...most of my long runs don't even go that far, but the legs just keep churning. The mile 5 split comes and goes and it's about as fast as I was racing 8k last fall. I start wondering which exact stride it will be that will break me and send my pace irrecoverably spiraling upward. There's a 10k being run simultaneously, if I work hard the next 2k, I could set a 10k PR instead of having to wallow through an additional 7 miles. But no, I don't take the coward's way out, and I remorsefully pass the turnoff and continue along the half-marathon course. I'm absolute positive I'll crash and burn and become Jon's road kill. Next thing I notice is the 7 mile mark and I've run off the front end of the pack. Whoa Nellie, time to reign it in here. I rejoin the pack, but for not much longer.

My long awaited collapse appears to happen near mile 8 as we tackle a hill, moderate, but enough to leave a more severe stinger in me than for any of the other runners nearby. My right contact lens jiggles out of focus, somehow this seems in harmony with how my legs feel at this moment. Blurry figures slowly recede into the distance over the next 2 miles as I stumble to 6:15 pace. Some guy passes by like I'm standing still at mile 10. This snaps me out of my coma, I try to hang on, back down to 6:02, but another fast cat zooms by at mile 11. I sneak a peek back around a left turn, no Wyner. The motivating factor for the last 2 miles is no longer to PR, it seems like I've got that in the bag now, it's whether I'll beat Jon or not. Whether I meant to or not, I'd thrown down the gauntlet with my moves back at mile 2, and it would only lead to humiliation if he were to pass me back now. If it were an individual from another team, you just say, "nice race" in the finish chute, and that's that. When it's someone from your own team, bragging rights until the next race are at stake.

Mile 12 clicks by and the territory looks familiar -- we warmed up backwards from the finish. The legs feel like they take another blow, but I amble towards the finish line like a lame horse. Some onlooker tells me I have only 0.3 miles to the finish. Why do I believe him? They're never right. 0.4 miles later I cross the finish line in 1:18:08, big time PR. Not one step into the chute, I hear the announcer call Jon's name. 6 seconds later, he's run up my back in the chute.

Ladies & gentlemen, New Bedford is going to be one hell of a race!

(and now for something completely different - the description of the same race,)

Hyannis Chronicles

It's funny how the best races are the ones we care least about beforehand. Such was last Sunday's Hyannis 1/2 marathon for me. While in the midst of a serious bout of February/training-for-Boston doldrums I figured, what better way to beat myself up than to run a race! So after a week including the usual speedwork and a grueling 10 mile tempo I decide to run the Hyannis half. Well it turned out to be a splendid day. As with the rest of our 'winter that isn't', the weather was near perfect, and except for a bit of wind, the light traffic on the way and easy parking near the number pick up made the pre race easy.

The Hyannis race offers three distances, 10k, 1/2 marathon and marathon. The marathon course is a two-loop course. I found it a bit disconcerting to not know who was running what along the way. You never know when a 10k runner that has been working with you will suddenly vanish!

The course is fairly neutral. There are some light rolls and one prolonged mildly graded uphill at mile nine. The course is a figure 8 so the wind factor was neutralized...what helped us in one direction hurt in the other.

During the days preceding the race I gave myself a pep talk in order to put the race in perspective. My purpose in running this race was to shake off the winter cobwebs, avoid doing another long run alone, and begin the process of tuning up for Boston. Running with supportive spectators AND people giving me water and gatorade didn't hurt either! I arrived at the start with a bit of fatigue in my legs, but I kept telling myself this race was just practice....no pressure, don't hammer. As we stood and waited the RD picked up his horn and suddenly..."go". He was as casual as I about this race.

From the start my plan seemed to be working. The first mile split read 6:15. I felt as if I was going faster but, whatever.... Second mile split. 5:10! Um.....that cinched it. Lacking reliable splits made it that much easier to relax during the race. I ran for the first two miles with Tom D from the club. He seemed a bit more ambitious than I about going fast and hooked up with a few runners that were pulling ahead. I felt content to just do my work. I kept my mind off the distance and tried to concentrate on my form, focusing on each stride as I went along.

Mile splits 3-5 were right around 6:00 which seemed right. There were a few kids by the course cheering and the run was pleasant enough. At mile 6 we hit the coast and had some lovely scenery along Craigville beach. At mile 8 we hit the longest climb of the race. This is about the point in most races that I start to feel good, and the effort of the gradual uphill was strangely pleasurable....my quads were loosening up.

At mile nine we looped around to come back to the finish. I began to see Tom and his pack closer. The one truly tricky spot in the course is the point at about 10 miles where the half course doubles back on itself and you have to negotiate crossing a stream of marathon runners and two way traffic. The rest of the way was fairly smooth sailing.

I nearly bagged Tom at the end but kept my focus through the end. This race had a purpose, leading up to other races that were more meaningful to me. I thnk this was the first time I have managed to run a race and maintained my control, focus and purpose in running the race instead of getting caught up in the race-mania, and I must say that Hyannis was a lovely place to do it.