There are many legit reasons for a dude to grow a mustache: Win a bet. Highway Patrol job application process. Family reunion. Thursday. Styx concert. You think you might run into Tom Selleck at dinner, and want to be prepared for a potential ‘stache-off. Mosquito bite on upper lip. Winter. Boredom. Third date. You find a mustache comb and think, “what the heck”. If you'd like more, feel free to email me.
(Brothers?)
For me, it takes just one: pretending to be Steve Prefontaine. This year, in a completely contrived form of motivation, I grew out the locks, grew out the lip-whiskers and once again donned the yellow Oregon singlet. And unlike my last attempt at me-Fontaining myself, this year I chose an appropriate venue: The Kansas City Marathon. Well, the KC half marathon, to be specific. A much more fitting arena to strut around as one of track and field’s most revered and celebrated athletes of all time. My first attempt, a densely-packed Halloween party a few years back, resulted in approximately three people rewarding me for my efforts, ceremoniously chanting my adopted moniker, “PRE!”. They were all dudes.
It was no surprise then, when I showed up at the starting line minutes before 7am, I had already been mistaken for recognized as Pre more times than on that first unsatisfying Halloween. It was, I must admit, freaking awesome. So I started the race, mustache dry with anticipation, alone but searching for my crew. Fellow Garminites Justin and Rebecca had planned to meet me at a pace marker, but at the moment the marker in question had escaped my mind entirely. And I showed up late, so I had a lot of butting in line and curb-skipping to manage before I found them.
Then gun went off and we waited. The music was turned up and we waited some more. Finally, a slow walk. Then a trot. Data chips on hundreds of shoes chirped a sweet melody as we slowly jogged across the starting line, onto the open yet crowded downtown street (the name of which I do not remember). It was going to be a fine morning; you might say it was a perfect mustache Saturday.
Mentally, this race was going to be a challenge. In narrow-mindly focusing my training on Bike MS, I had eschewed my usual summer runs. An entertaining 15k race at Sporting KC's Livestrong Park was as far as my new New Balances had taken me up to this point. I've done this distance before, and even beyond in the preparation for my full marathon experience, however I had trained for those events. With only a few five milers and one 15k under my belt this running season, I was understandably tepid the first couple of miles, not wanting to risk injury or the extreme embarrassment of having to not only walk, but limp portions of the race.
My saving grace was when I ran into Justin and Rebecca, the two of them tucked nicely behind the pacer we had originally intended to run with. The trident was complete, so we set off together. The plan was to stick with the pace group that was due to finish with a time of 1 hour 40 minutes, and adjust accordingly based on how our bodies felt. This seemed to be pushing it a bit because apparently I wasn't the only one who took a breather after Bike MS. Both Rebecca and Justin completed the full 110 mile route that soggy day, while my slow-ass had to settle for the 78er, since I didn't reach the checkpoint in time. Despite our varied athletic backgrounds – Me (high school track), Justin (collegiate track/KC Corporate Challenge success), Rebecca (multiple marathons/half's/overall awesomeness) - we train well together, enjoying the occasional lunch run and after-work bike ride. I'm not quite ready to butt in on Rebecca's 10 mile morning runs - mainly because I'm not a morning person. Only because I'm not a morning person.
I've never run a 10 mile+ race with company, out of fear that they'll want me to actively participate in conversation throughout the race (yes…I know how ironic it is that I'm complaining about wanting to keep my mouth shut). We strategized about this throughout the week, and we seemed to come to the agreement that periodic conversation could be a great motivator and make the miles fly by, however any chatty Kathy's would be passively-aggressively shunned out of the group. Assuming we could alter our pace accordingly.
This worked for us, though. Our pace was anything but steady, at times changing drastically, proportionally to the hills. In spite of the elevation, there were many rewarding moments. Top of the list was turning east onto the Plaza just as the brilliant orange sun was shyly peeking, then soon after exploding into our view. By the time we ran past the four-horseman fountain (unofficial name) the sun's power and beauty were awe-inspiring. I wanted to write a haiku about it.
Kansas City Thon
Over the Plaza, the sun
Is like, so orange
Maybe I should put some more thought into it…
As my legs, my Prefontaine-stache, Rebecca and Justin wound through the city, we began to plot our ETA's. We all felt better than we assumed we would – though typically that's a feeling as common as it is fleeting in this type of race. Question was, how long would it last. Justin kept relaying overall pace information, and how fast we'd have to run the last couple of miles to achieve certain goals. It was nice to have that element with us, however I chose to take it one mile at a time, focusing on my mile pace as opposed to how I was doing overall. If I don't know I need to pick up the pace, I can't convince myself not to do it. On the other hand, I may just not do it. This is, as you have probably ascertained by now, not an effective strategy to use when trying to win a race. So I chose not to try to win the race.
(Justin, Rebecca and I running very fast, even though it appears like we're walking)
With two miles left, I channeled the powers of the pre-stache and (finally) decided on a goal – I'd try to break 1 hour 40 minutes. My main concern for this race, and in any 10+ mile race for that matter, is bonking. Starting out a race so fast that my legs, lungs or brain decide to throw in the towel and potentially my breakfast with it. Something about race-day adrenaline that propels guys like me to commit the cardinal sin of not listening to any of the aforementioned body parts. The line between running and passing out is a fine one; essentially you feel great until you don't. It is not gradual. And while I've had to stop and walk on some early-season, over-aggressive training runs, I've never been so unfortunate during a race. But the threat still looms.
I felt great this day though, and as I closed in on the finish line, I was beginning to realize that I literally couldn't run any faster. I really picked up the pace the last two miles, and with half a mile I was within my (newly established) goal. There are a few quick turns near the end before runners are funneled to the final 3/10th's of a mile straight-away. Fans and onlookers cheer the exasperated runners through this final stretch with signs like "Free Beer Soon" and "Free High Fives" as they dance to the blaring music. The names of finishers are being read aloud by the DJ, further motivating you to just finish the race. Usually this picks me up enough to kick it up and finish faster, or at least feel like I am doing so. This time, with the two previous miles run faster than expected, I had no room for a kick. I started to churn the legs quicker, which in-turn made my stomach churn ever so slightly, which made me think of my last 800 run in high school where I put in so much effort that I dry heaved while being interviewed by our local sports editor. Mercifully, he left that part out of the article. But the last thing I wanted to do was…that…while the nice volunteers were cutting off my timing chip or handing me the finishers medal.
(Why was I so happy? How can you not smile with a mustache?)
So I pulled back and finished just over 1:40:00, still feeling good with a new half-marathon PR, my early morning Clif Bar remaining in its proper state of digestion. Justin and Rebecca finished shortly after. Justin, even with a nagging IT band flare-up, crossed the line with a smile. Rebecca, with help from her two quiet pacers, finishing second in her age group out of all half-marathon finishers. Not bad for three individuals who earlier that week had no idea of what time they were going to shoot for. Imagine what we'd be capable of with some targeted training. Or any real training at all.
We re-fuelled and chatted a bit before heading back to the cars, as the food area began to populate, all three of us vividly entertaining thoughts of showers, ice, heat packs, Tiger Balm and massages. And food. Nothing is as satisfying as the post-race pig out. Since the race ran by my house, I had to park a mile away and walk back. Cool, because I was able to cheer on the marathoners as they passed the 17 mile marker and also because a cop working the race gave me crap for looking like Pre. Not cool, because my legs were already beginning to cramp and all I wanted to do was shower. I made it back eventually, and I'm sure the walk actually helped stretch my muscles out a bit. Another great KC thon experience, maybe next time I'll put some actual training into it and see if that makes a difference. I'll run it by my pacers, though. Wouldn't want to make any assumptions on behalf of the group. The only real question is whether or not the 'stache will return. Right now…I'm thinking there's no reason for it not to. I'll leave you with a Pre quote for inspiration:
"Somebody may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it"
To read Rebecca's (Peg) recap on the Garmin Blog, click here: http://garmin.blogs.com/my_weblog/2011/10/pegs-posts-race-recap-for-kc-half-marathon-.html
To view my race data, click here: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/122375410
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