Jamming a fork in your eye, and other stupid things

Well, today is Sunday morning. Usually a day filled with anticipation because our club meets today to train. However, today is filled with pain, and embarassment. You see, I work for the fire department and this year, like every year, one of our guys asks if anyone is interested in doing a 100KM run in the fall. (it's a relay race) I sign up again, as I do every year, assuming that this year, like the years before, we would never get our shit together in time, not enter a team and life would march on. I used to run all the time. Nothing crazy, but I was logging about 50-70KM's per week as I was training up for a half marathon. But typically how life gets I just don't have the time these days it seems to get out there and run as much as I'd like.
So basically, in point form I'll lay out my training schedule for the entire year of 2005:

Mid February - 20 min. on treadmill in gym at firehall

May(ish) - 15 min. or so on the road at about an 8 min. mile pace

July - used the stairs, not the elevator at a fire alarm on the 11th floor of a building.

End of Aug - Ran 6 laps of a track while on duty at work. Had to cut run short because we had a call.


Well, that's about her... As you can see, I had a very dedicated year of training, and although my gains weren't what I'd hope them to be, it goes without saying that I followed a fairly intense schedule in order to be ready for the race I ran yesterday.

A brief description of the race. It's called the Haney To Harrison which is basically a 100 KM race (62 miles) with a team of 8 participants and the route is broken up into segments a couple of pieces around 8 KMs (5 miles) that are mostly flat (pretty much the DREAM legs) and then the rest are all around 13 - 15 Kms (9 miles or so)

So anyway, I sign up a few months ago to do this race with the guys. As you can see, I got very serious about my training and felt I would be "ready to go" as I only really had leg 8 to do which is a walk in the park. It's totally flat, it's short, and it's the glory leg. You get to cross the clock with your whole team, they say your name and shit on the loudspeaker... I mean c'mon, who wouldn't do that??? Well, then things took a turn for the worst. We lost a guy from our team. After a couple of pleading moments the Capt. of our running team decided it wouldn't be that good of an idea for the 6 guys to split 92 Km's, and I maintain running my leg of 8 at the end. (his math skills were further advanced that I'd thought) So after much discussion we split it up and I ended up with a somewhat flat (by comparison) 20 Km run. (12.5 miles)

Now for those reading this, I don't know how much running you do personally, but despite how grueling my training schedule looks... It's not enough if you intend to run 20 Kms. (you may have to squeeze in at least one more treadmill workout : P)

After I'd finished crying, I agreed to do whatever we needed to get the race done. Unfortunately, once I sign up for something, I simply can't back down, or back out.

Saturday morning arrives. I depart my home at 5:15 am to head to the hall to meet the guys. Much to my joy? There are 7! That's right 7 !! guys in the parking lot. We had found a runner at the last minute. Awesome news!!! So now I'm absolutely tickled, and looking forward to my high speed 8Km finish that would occur in about 8.5 hours. Well, here's the rub of our last minute entry. He's just come off a marathon about 4 weeks ago, but he hasn't done ANY training since then. Therefore, he clearly can't run any leg but the last one, because it's the easy one and lacks hills.

Hello leg #2.

A guy from my team who's run this race before assures me #2 isn't that bad and I should enjoy it. (his snickering should have sent up red flags here, but it was early...) It's about 13.5 Kms (8.5 miles) with a couple of minor little baby hills. So I cautiously agree, I mean what the hell, when I had woken up, I was running 20 km's and now only 13.5 so that's good right? (not really, when I was booked in for basically 2 legs worth of distance, a man can take a few walking breaks/rests without his pride being bludgeoned into the earth. But now that I was simply just doing leg #2, well I'd have to haul ass again)

Well, here comes our runner from Leg #1, he's put us about midpack. Here I go.

I strap on the wristband with the micro chip in it, essentially the "baton" and stumble off in the desired direction. After what seemed like 3 hours I pass the "One-Mile" marker. (please don't confuse this with the "One-Mile-To-Go" marker, it's not as pretty as that one) After a brief period of weeping and running I get my senses back and things for the most part are going quite well. My breathing is great, and my legs, while feeling kinda clunky because I haven't been running much at all, are fairly decent. Well, let me tell you a little bit about this gently rolling leg #2. CONSTANT FRICKIN HILL AFTER HILL, AFTER HILL IS NOT AN EASY LEG! I swear to god, the mountians that I had to climb as I broke through the snow line on every one were the furthest thing from "baby" I could imagine. Kidding about the snowline but damn, these hills were relentless, steep, and long. There wasn't a "flat" section on the entire leg, you were either climbing or decending. So about 11 km's into my leg, and I hit the mother of all hills. About now a van full of attractive girls has taken up residence on the other shoulder to cheer their team-mate on who was also approaching Mt. Everest. So much for walking up the hill as I had planned to do when I saw it. Male pride... what a pain in the ass. The only good thing that happened on that hill, was that my full body convulsions distracted from the fact that I had a steady stream of urine running down my leg as I somehow continued up the hill trying desperately to stay ahead of the girl behind me. After cresting that hill, and meeting Jesus, I was overcome with joy as I looked to the horizon and saw nothing but a road, winding gently down towards the hydro dam, where I knew the end of my leg lay. I staggered the remaining 2.5 km's, and I must have looked like a person suffering a stroke. Drool was constantly flowing from the corner of my mouth, I'm certain my face was sagging, and my gait could only be described as "injured".
I slipped the wristband off as I approached the transfer station. Stumbled through the gate, placed the sweaty wristband in the next guys hand, whispered "good luck, you poor son of a bitch". And I was done.
They had a dance/dinner thingy following the race last night. Let me tell you how happy I was after talking to a number of diffent people from different teams. The conversation would go something like this:

Them: Wow, dude, you ok? You're not walking too well.
Me: Yeah, I'll live. Little tender from the run, didn't really train for the race.
Them: At all?
Me: Nope.
Them: What leg did you run, 8?
Me: Nope, #2.
Them: #2?
Me: Yup
Them: Why would you run the toughest leg if you didn't train? Everyone knows #2 is the hardest, there isn't a level section on the whole course!
Me: uhhhhhh, my team hates me?
Them: Guess so.
Me: See you later.

I won't go into the amount of suffering I did muscle wise following the race, but I will mention that it would seem barefoot will have to be the flavour of the day for me, because today, you could tape a 100 dollar bill to the top of my foot, and come back a few hours later, and it would still be there. My whole body feels like I just finished decoying for a dude who was training for his brevet, with a full grown elephant. (interesting concept really.... hmmm)
Anyway, training starts in 7 hours, so I'd better start my trek upstairs and attempt to get some pants on. Don't want to be late...

Grant