The Hog's Back Half Marathon

The Lead Up

OK, Here we go again. Another race another frustrating finish. I have heard for years how the Hog's Back Half Marathon was the hidden jewel of half's right in our own back yard. Well I gotta tell ya, I don't need a whole lotta arm twisting to get down with a half marathon. After last weekends horror show that was, the collapse on Route 20, I needed to rebound big time. Not some Carny Atmo. 5K, or another bug infested life threatening trail run. No, It was going to be on pavement, at a minimum of 10 miles. So as Wednesday rolls on in, I scan the running circuit for what's out there, and my freeking god, the Hog's Back, (which from this point forward will be known as the Pig Run) was this Saturday. So it's Wednesday, the Pig Run is Saturday and I gotta see if this thing passes the stink test. With literally thousands of runs commencing everyday, only a fraction of these will get past the first cut, and move on along down the stink protocol.
So what is the stink checklist? This will be the deal killer 90% of the time.

1. Does the race have race day reg? Check
2. Will I have to wake prior to 4:00AM to be there for the gun? No
3. Is there a family conflict with enough significance to derail this? No again
4. The "Fish Tank" cleaning, although at Sunday night at 9PM is still not done, shouldn't be a problem
   

So the Pig Run is a go. Now the minor details must be ironed out. Weather forecast, injury report, social schedule. The forecast was for Hurricane Kyle to creep up the Eastern seaboard sending feeder bands of tropical moisture and rainfall rates of 2 to 4 inches, high winds and perhaps the only silver lining, warm temperatures. Clearly a forecast that sucks with a capital S!

The grass in my yard approaching ass level, a Beer Festival on Saturday afternoon, and a Friday night at full throttle were just mere details that would have no bearing on derailing the Pig Run. Here's the real beauty of this plan that is coming together very nicely. A Saturday start at 10AM, and less than a 45 minute drive. Perfectamundo!!

The Night Before

I have never let a race get in the way of a full fledged bender the night before, and I wasn't about to start on September 26th, 2008. As far as the taper goes, it didn't. I woke Friday morning to the rain drumming on the the roof top and a nice stinger from closing the Mission Bar and Tappa the night prior. A laborious 8 miler in a drenching rain storm was followed by an evening 7 miler with the lovely Ms. Sweet Peeps. I was dragging ass so bad, that I barely could execute 9 minute miles, and after about 6, I was reduced to having to pull the plug and walk it in. My body was busted up, under nourished and on the brink of another shut down. At nearly 47, this would frighten most from attempting, let alone engaging in a half marathon. This will be yet another attempt at mind over matter. I have said it before and will say it again, when the body is telling you something, Ignore It!! It is almost a certainty that I my existance on this planet will come to a close in a complete and proper manner during a race in wich my body will fail to live up to the other end of the bargain that my brain has set forth.
The thought process for this pre-race evening was simple, and not any different than any other. Hit it hard Friday night, mix in some water between beers, throw down a banana, and an 800mg Motrin by midnight and shoot for a 1:25 for the race. Somewhere along the way the freight train jumped the rails and the only part of that plan that went down was the beering it up hard and the 1:25. A bar placement that was resting on grade. This would be a sub 1:25 or a complete and utter un raveling culminating in the E.R or a euthanization right on the course.

The Ride In

For reasons even a seasoned road warrior such as myself can not discern, I thought it imperative that I be on the road by 7AM. A one hour plus ride in, a coffee stop and a margin of error of 30 minutes. That means 9AM for a 10AM start. The usuall restless and fitfull nights sleep on the couch led to a 5:30AM wake up and a 6:20 departure. After an epic 32 mile excursion to the venue sporting a blinding headache and a BAC that still would have netted a day in jail and likely a year of license revocation, I arrived at the race 2 and one half hours early. It was 7:30 and the registration table guy wasn't even there yet. This little glitch in the event time line afforded me a most excellent opportunity to cash in on a power nap. Knowing full well that without a fool proof wake up strategy in place, the potential to sleep for half the day was more than a good bet. Ah, the cell phone alarm! When I awoke to the blaring distortion radiating from the cell phone at 9AM, the lot had transformed from a vacant desolate area to a bustling bee hive of pre race activity.

It's Show Time

I stumbled from my jeep, wiped the drool from my face, and ambled over to the registration table, scratched a check and began to get my game on. Within seconds, the boarding shorts were on, sneakers laced, and the #89 bib pinned down. I grabbed my good luck poker chip, stroked it with my thumb and fore finger and placed it in my back pocket. A quick stretch to the edgy sound of Seether and I was already feelin it. It was time to case the field. This is perhaps one of the most intriguing pre race rituals that I take very seriously. The logic behind this is two fold, how accurate will my assessment of the top 10 or so athletes be, finding a source of potential pacers, and an ancillary role on unfamiliar tracks such as this, a resource for the course profile. The search for suitable pacers proved to be an integral component in determining my number on the clock at the finish line. Before the process could completely unfold, I was approached by Matt, who had recognized me from the Greylock Half 3 weeks prior. Although I didn't recognize him myself, we quickly engaged in thorough personal race resumes and projections for the event at hand. Matt at 28 was more of a trail guy, and at 23, based on a synopsis of his running history, seemed like a potential pacer. A brief study of his build and running mechanics as we did a quick warm up, were reason to believe his aspirations of a 1:25 or better projection was a bit lofty. I had already floated out my 1:25 which was a worst case scenario, and began to look for more realistic pacers as we were nearing 10 minutes until the gun. As we assembled at the start jockeying for position, Matt's friends, Bill, Henry, Mike and Bob at ages 23, 18, 27 and 36 respectively, began throwing out projections and other assorted idle chatter. These guys were all very tight friends and a sweet group of 6 was ready to roll.

The Gun Sounds

The race began with a fast down hill mile at a nice 6:02 pace. Mile two went right to plan as well as we continued to cruise down hill nearly open throttle, rolling on through at 12:08. My goal of a 1:25 required a pace of sub 6:30's. My more realistic aspiration of a sub 1:23 demanded a sub 6:20 pace. By the midway point in mile 3, we were going to clearly be battling it out for third as the two leaders were well below sixes and pulling away. The eventual winner and runner up had projected sub 1:20's and they appeared well on their way to executing these lofty aspirations. Now Matt, I had a pretty good fix on, but the other four needed further assessment in determining how this thing was gonna unfold. The 18 year old looked like a track guy more than capable of a sub sixteen 5K, and perhaps a 36 10K, but my take was that sixes for 13 miles were way out of reach. He ended up nailing down a very respectable 1:26 while keeping his gums from bumping the entire time. Now Bill was bumping his gums the entire run, as he was more concerned with place than pace, a philosophy I disdain. The few times that I looked into his eyes as the race pressed on, I sensed more confidence than arrogance. This was creating a dichotomy of emotions, I can't let this arrogant little shit half my age beat me, but I can't get sucked into a race recking ego trip keeping pace with a better athlete either. The group began to break apart at mile 8, when Bob, perhaps the most annoying athlete I have ever run with completely unraveled and dropped back. As we hit mile 10, Mike began to come unglued and fell off the pace as well. Mile 11 began with a race pace of just under 6:15's, right where I and the remaining two wanted to be. Matt was hanging tough, and keeping his chatter at bay, while Henry was starting to burn up. Bill was looking as strong as ever, although his constant comments of the competition thinning as our group unraveled, was wearing thin. By mile 12, Matt and Bill were pulling away from me, as Henry finally gave in and fell back.
Mile twelve proved to be the decisive leg of this final press toward the finish. I was in a zone, my rhythm and cadence were working and I could feel a good kick down the stretch. Not knowing the course, I was blindsided by a steady climb that would foil any ambitions of a sub 1:23, which I was right on pace to shatter. The crippling climb through mile 12 destroyed Matt as he was hanging on for dear life. I was beginning to reel in Bill, but time was running out, and his nearly 90 minutes of a 3rd place finish rants were about to come to fruition. Bill was feeling the heat of dangerous dan bearing down turning back several times to assess the gap as it collapsed.

The Final Push!

The strobing lights atop the county cruisers at the final turn across the dam to the finish were in full view. I was not catching Bill down the stretch. I went wide open 15 seconds behind him as the clock at the finish line came into focus. 1:24 was now clearly in jeopardy as I read the display roll past 1:23:45, 46, 47... I crossed at 1:23:58, 15 seconds behind Bill after a smoothe 6:55 minute pace for mile 13.
The Pig Run results are what they are.