Wild Rover Series, 3 of 3

Hynes Tavern 5-miler, 3/14, Lowell, MA

Net Time: 49:05, mile avg: 9:50

Woke up at 8:45am, unsure if the faint smell of beer was coming from me or from the massive amount of empties left from the Epic St. Patty's Day Party.  While I wasn't hungover (thanks, Mom and Dad, for the excellent purification system), I was SUPER tired.  I must be getting too old for 4:30am bedtimes.  Still, I eventually roused myself and headed downstairs and tiptoed amongst the overnight guests to get ready.

There was new fallen snow/slush on the ground in Hillsboro.  I knew Lowell wouldn't have snow, but it would be cold, rainy, and likely windy.  I borrowed some nifty techie thermal undies from My Runner (thanks babe!), toasted a bagel, downed a cuppa, and headed out.

I'm glad I bundled up as much as I did.  I arrived with plenty of time to nap a bit in my car before heading to the starting line.  The turnout was smaller than the race directors had anticipated, but still pretty impressive.  I was struck by how nonchalant the start was.  The last two races had national anthems, this one had nothing but a guy yelling "Go!" on a bull horn.  Another runner commented about the inability to purchase a gun in Lowell, and I realized that gunshots in Lowell are probably NOT the safest way to start a race.

I was apprehensive about this race.  It's the longest in the series and I had the worst training week.  I ran one... maybe two days since the prior race, plus hockey.  Not really a good way to prepare for my longest race to date.  I had even briefly considered not going, but halted that thought process pretty quickly.  My Runner rightly pointed out that the finishers medal would look super lame with just two of the three pieces, and that thought got me out there.  Now, to keep me going forward.

The first mile was pretty easy.  Wearing my new waterproof EMS jacket and a hat, I stayed relatively dry.  My hands were raw, but it was warm enough with my hood up that they would warm up soon.  But I was going too fast.  I could feel myself pushing, wanting to get out of the weather, not enjoying the run.  I needed a pacer.  So I found one.  A woman, a little shorter than me, with a long thick brown ponytail, wearing the Frozen Shamrock race shirt and a vest.  She was running with an easy stride, passing a few folks but mostly just running.  Something about her speed and the way she was running spoke to me.  So, like the creepy stalker that I am, I ran behind her.

I don't know why I didn't run up and talk to her.  I wasn't feeling very communicative that day (having turned down the generous offer from Face to accompany me to the race- I didn't want anyone to have to stand in the rain for an hour just to see me run by).  Sometimes I followed her closely, sometimes I let her get a bit ahead. Just after the 3 mile mark we went down a hill where she was just more willing to pound than I was.  I was getting tired and needed to throttle back to make it another mile and change.  She never had more than about a 20 second lead on me, which on a city course meant I could still see her most of the time.  After the race I found her, went up to her, and thanked her, letting her know that she pulled me and challenged me at the same time.  She seemed surprised, but totally happy.

While there were hills on this course, the most challenging aspect was the weather.  Rain, yeah, chilly, yeah, WIND oh yeah.  Running through a cemetery we were all blasted by a headwind that made the rain fall sideways.  Getting to the finish line felt like sprinting even though I was running at the same pace.

This is the one race I did not get my free beer.  Figuring I'd had enough beers the previous night, and my pants and shoes combined weighed an extra 10 lbs with the water, I was ready for home.  I was tired, but it felt damn good to have my finisher's medal.

Wild Rover Series, 2 of 3

Claddagh Pub 4-miler, 3/7, Lawrence, MA

Net time: 39:10, mile avg: 9:48

My Runner called me at 8:25am to let me know he was almost at my house.  Wow, I thought to myself, he's running early.  Must be perky this morning.  Come to find out he thought we were leaving an hour earlier... whoops.  Not sure if that was my bad or his, but I felt kinda guilty about it...

I was feeling good, despite having returned from my sojourn to my alma matter with Pocket after midnight the previous night.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and in the high 50's.  We were meeting my Dad in Lawrence for the race- the first time My Runner and Dad would meet.  Dad was there around the time we were taking off from ManchVegas, giving him plenty of time to warm up his creaky old joints (ok, he's only 59, but he said it first.)

We found (dubious) parking and headed down to the Claddagh parking lot to meet up with Dad and get my number (My Runner was "bandit" running- he didn't pay the entrance fee and had no number).  We killed a little time with introductions and catching up, then headed over to the starting line where My Runner and I lead Dad to the back of the pack.  "How far back we goin'?" Dad quips.  I just wanted to be in the sun.  Plus it's more fun to pass people than to be passed.

Sidebar- most races play the national anthem before the start, like a traditional sporting event.  Often it's a recording, or it's some kid who sings in the local church choir/community theatre/karaoke contest who belts it out and sharps that high note.  Generally, it's awful and doesn't make me feel patriotic in the least.  The group that the Claddagh race director hired sang *beautifully.*  A trio of women (or girls, I couldn't actually see them) singing in a capella harmony, hitting every note in clear, strong, and blended voices.  I'm not a super patriotic person, but I was moved.

The race was an easy start, bringing us through downtown Lawrence before moving out into neighborhoods.  As I started the run I noticed I was leading, with Dad and My Runner a bit behind.  My Runner had just run a snowshoe marathon the day before, so I knew he wasn't at full strength.  But I was a little surprised my Dad was having trouble keeping up.  I checked to make sure I wasn't pushing it *because* of my Dad... and I wasn't.  Hmm... Still not sure if he was faking it, but in any case it made me feel pretty good about my very very average 9:30 mile.  Dad asked My Runner to snap some photos of us:

Lawrence is an ugly city.  I'm sorry.  I wish it wasn't, but even downtown had no redeeming qualities.  It's a good thing they put this race on, or I'm not sure why ANYONE would ever choose to visit.

As Dad and My Runner talked about races, Ultras, and folks they both knew (or knew of) I was struck (again) by how similar they are.  Yes, perhaps I am a cliché.  One thing I admire about my Dad (and My Runner) is that he says what he thinks, other people's opinions be damned.  There are plenty of times in life where this is a good quality.  There are also some times when this is socially awkward, like when Dad basically (but maybe jokingly) called My Runner a pussy for running with his Pops even though he had a slower pace.  I can't remember if THIS is the comment my Dad made that prompted me to call him an ass, or if it was another....  Seriously, what did he think *I* was doing at this race?  Did he think I was a pussy runner?  Was he a pussy runner if he was slowing down for me?  Dad has some good qualities, but he definitely IS an ass when he doesn't think about how other people will react to what he says.

The course is shaped like a lollypop: go in one way, loop around, and go back the way you came.  The loop around was really the only challenging part of the course, as it went up a significantly steep and long-ish hill.  Training in Hillsboro paid off.  It was challenging, no doubt, but more than do-able.  As we descend the hill, Dad turns to me, "I'm thirsty!" for beer, is the inference.  Another runner, a man about my Dad's age, comes up behind us.  "Me too!  Got any beer in those water bottles?"  We joke around for a bit with him as we headed back down to the finish line.

I kept pulling ahead, motivated by the sunshine, warm weather, and full bladder, but pulling back again not wanting to leave the guys.  As we round (and round) the final blocks, the finish line comes into view with the big clock just seconds away from 40:00 minutes.  I really wanted a sub-40 minute time.  Well, ok, I really wanted to sprint and let it all out.  I spit out an "I'm going for it" to the guys and bolted.

The guys were content to come in at their own pace.  Probably a good thing since my stomach was maybe a little pukey feeling after the sprint.

We collected our medals and headed in for our free beers.  There seemed to be pasta too, but my tummy was happy with just beer (is that a problem? nahhh...).  Dad was very complimentary towards my running, and I was happy to be able to run by his side.  After our free beers we headed back to MachVegas for some food and more socializing.

Wild Rover Series, 1 of 3

J.P. McBrides 3-miler, "Frozen Shamrock," 2/28, Haverhill, MA
Net time: 27:45, mile avg: 9:20


The morning after the wildly successful Luau, I dragged myself out of my warm, comfy bed, scrambled up some eggs and toast, and checked the weather.  It was cloudy and chilly, but calm and dry- pretty much the conditions I'd been running in for the last month.  I gathered my usual running gear: Brooks, mittens and Lifesavers (for the last time this season), along with my newly found iPod (MiniMcL discovered it in the couch cushions during the Luau... what she was searching for in the couch cushions, I didn't ask...). I kissed My Runner goodbye and headed out to Haverhill.

I'm not gonna lie, I had butterflies in my stomach.  Not for running 3 miles, but because I hadn't raced since the Beaver Brook 5K in December.  I've said it before, but there's a certain feel about a race, an excitement that doesn't exist at a "run."  It's not just people, it's the ritual of the event, with it's "official" starting and finish line, electronic tracking devices, announcements, etc.  Did the pre-race dance of getting the number, the t-shirt, and the swag, then waited in line for the bathroom for 20 minutes.

The Wild Rover series, and I assume any beer/bar sponsored race, tends to be a social affair.  Folks were there in groups, chatting, many dressed in crazy Irish/St. Patty's Day outfits.  It was a fun scene, and not hard to make conversation with those around me.

I started closer to the front then I meant to, but held my own throughout the race.  My iPod was shuffling through my "workout" playlist; all the songs that were once tired and old felt new after a three month hiatus.  Shuffle was doing a masterful job of random-happenstance-coincidence as one great song after another played, perfectly matching my mood, my pace, and my surroundings.  It was hard not to sing along out loud, but I did let myself groove with it:

The batteries ran out pretty quickly (not having been charged).  I really didn't mind since I run without music most of the time anyways.  The folks near me weren't super chatty, so I filled my mind with thoughts of Haverhill as we moved into the Bradford area of town.  Parts of Haverhill were filled with Ye Olde New England Charm(TM), and parts were just plain run down or abandoned.  Zion Bible College has moved in to Bradford College's campus since the last time I was in Haverhill.  It was nice to see that area thriving again.  This was the most well-laid course of the three, I thought, as it took you over the Merrimack twice, over and under bridges, a few ups and downs and loops.

Post race was CHILLY, with volunteers handing out space-blankets.  Speaking of chilli, that's what they were serving at the finish line, along with chicken and split-pea soups.  Declined the tin foil cape space blanket, grabbed a chilli, and got into the beer line.  Rather than handing out tickets for free beer, JP McBrides had dedicated beer taps on the back porch.  There were 2 problems with this plan: 1)with only one tap, the beer line was LOOOOONG.  2)They had obviously set up the tap as the starting gun was fired, and the beer was really foamy.  I combated these issues by making pals with the two older gentlemen in front of me in line, chatting about this race and others, space blankets, and the merits of a totalitarian system of government.  Since the taps were so foamy, the bartenders were filling two cups for everyone, essentially providing me with a total of an entire pint of free beer.  It was Rolling Rock, so it's not like I won the lottery, but it was a nice gesture on their part.

Unfortunately, the nice gentlemen disappeared after retrieving beers, and I was left in the yard double fisting foamy brew with no companions.  I ambled around, looking for a situation or a conversation, but no go.  People were with their people, or looking for people, or not interested in new people.  It was the first time that day I was sad to be on my own at this race.  I shrugged and enjoyed my beer until I started shivering, then took that as a sign to head home, first of three finishers medals hanging proudly around my neck.