... than what feels aerobic and relaxed (or at least a restrained version of swift running). ...

This sounds similar to Joe's suggestions in the past, too, which is probably good.

But I'm not sure I'm confident about about "what feels aerobic".

Yeah, this is probably not as complicated as I was imagining it at first. Probably I just needed to be less concerned with Josh pulling away, and more focused on running comfortably enough to feel I could keep it up for quite a good number of miles. It sounds so sensible now -- dunno if that is because I'm not tired and sore now, or just because I wasn't thinking clearly enough then.

I just scanned through all 9 overall results lists for the LPRM, and I'm fairly confident in declaring that I hold the CBRC course record (John Piggott has never been an actual club member, right?). The next best time seems to be the 2:51:03 that Karsten Brown ran in 2012.

By the way, does anyone know who this guy in the middle was (between Chuck Engle and Dan Swain)?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/chesapeake_bay_running_club/13046974464/in/set-72157642118987933/

He was ahead of me for 18.75 miles (I passed him just before the U-turn at the top of Rt. 249), but then he didn't even finish the race (there's no one with a bib #5 in the results).

For me the 2014 Lower Potomac River Marathon was akin to a five act play, and thus I shall structure my race report in similar fashion.

Prologue (In the Dank Dark)
It's always quite dim out right before the 6:15 a.m.-pretending-to-be-7:15 a.m. start of the LPRM, but all the more so when it's heavily overcast. Now, the race time forecast had given me much to fret about, as the temperature was slated to be in the 30s, the breeze was supposed to be intense, and there were even threats of rain showers. Yet as I drove down to Piney Point on the "earliest morning of the year", I was surprised to see my car thermometer reading 46 degrees. I was actually on the verge of leaving my gloves and headband behind in my car --- until, just mere minutes before it was time to head over to the start, I finally achieved internet connection on my mobile device and saw that the temperature would promptly be dropping. Gloves and headband went on, indeed, and I even donned the trash bag poncho that I'd devised due to the rainy threat (though I would end up casting it off at the very first aid station on the course).

As far as motivation went, the three highest stakes were namely 1) that my previous marathon, five years past (LPRM 2009), was such a humbling experience (3:54:20, 56th overall, 6th in the M20-29 age group); 2) watching so many running friends and acquaintances post marathon times vastly superior to my 3:40:17 PR (Joe's 2:51:58 result at the 2011 Boston Marathon taunting me the most of all); and 3) the devastation of having to bow out last year due to an ankle injury ... after dedicating myself to the biggest training month of my life (so many bitterly early weekday runs out in the icy dark and numerous Saturday mornings in which I spent hours out in the frigid rain ... all for naught). Thus the pressure to make amends/settle scores/avenge my dignity/finally establish a name for myself in the marathon was beyond measurement.

Ah, yes, and the grand goal was of course to break 2:50:00/average sub-6:30/mi over 26.2 miles.

Act I (A Cautious Commencement)
I forthwith forgot about any hopes of placing on the podium, for between me and the start line was a wall of fiercely fast fiends who shot forth at the sound of the gong. A year ago I might've attempted to blaze out with them, but I'm wiser now, so I let them rush ahead into the morning twilight. Instead I went out at a relaxing rate alongside Perry ... who did not appear to have a race bib on his person, prompting me to wonder if he was what Liza would call a "Saling-pusa". But by the St. George's Island bridge I'd pulled a few steps ahead of Perry (even though my lap pace for the opening mile was still only minorly sub-7:00/mi), which led me to pulling up alongside one Karsten Brown. I briefly considered pacing off of him --- but then I quickly concluded that this was a race, and that there were faster guys up ahead I should be chasing.

Approaching the island hotel and Ruddy Duck, I noted myself to be in 7th place, as I could see a pair of three-man packs up ahead --- one almost a minute ahead of me and one (featuring Jesse Stump) about 30 seconds ahead. Thus I had quite a surprise when I approached island's end: I was truly in 8th place ... because Tommy Rudowsky was so far ahead of everyone else! I became aware of this when he passed me face to face when I still had a ways to go to the "U-can turn here" sign. He was humbling the 6 guys who were humbling me.

But 8th would not be my position for long. The guy in Jesse's pace group who was not wearing the same uniform as he and his buddy Adam Driscoll had fallen back, and it was shortly after the first U-turn of the course that I decisively passed him. And that's when the race really began for me.

Act II (The Merry Miles)
After running my opening 2 miles in the 6:40s and my 3rd in the 6:30s, I dared to get down to the 6:20s starting with the 4th mile and ... was delighted at how comfortable that felt (my initial strategy had been to stay in the 6:40s for all of the island, get into the 6:30s on the way to the light house, and then start daring to go sub-6:30/mi when hauling north on Rt. 249 ... so I was way ahead of schedule with the pacing). I'd been so anxious over this race and yet here I was, cruising along and enjoying the serene, silvery scenery (I witnessed a bald eagle just casually hanging out on an osprey stand). Anyway, by the time I realized that I was really on a roll with the sub-6:30 splits, I knew that reeling in Stump and Driscoll ought to be my clear objective. And to help runners escape the island was some special inspiration: what should I have heard booming from a car (with the Staats sister sitting out the back) parked by the bridge but "Gonna Fly Now" from Rocky! That's just what I needed to hear before ascending the bridge again.

On Lighthouse Rd another shift occurred: I was now running splits in the 6:teens with the greatest of (br)ease (and after the light house U-turn I soon noted with surprise that Perry had dropped Karsten). My confidence was indeed starting to surge (the only reason I slipped back over 6:20 for mile 12 was because of my fumbling in vain to get my ziplock baggie stuffed with GU Chomps and Sports Beans back into the tiny pocket of my shorts ... eventually I gave up and just tucked the bag down the front of my shorts, as gross as that may seem). There was, however, one issue that had begun emerging even before I'd returned to the county mainland. Despite all my efforts to protect the skin of my feet (and I was wearing sturdy DryMax socks), the underside of my left foot (just below the big toe) was getting hot. It was inevitable that it would turn into a huge blister before the marathon was over.

Act III (Wind and Weariness)
Things had to start getting gritty eventually, though that had little to no effect on my pacing. I passed by the half-marathon clock right around 1:25:20, which meant I was relatively on track with my goal --- assuming I could pull off at least narrowly negative splits (at that point it sure seemed like it would be no trouble!). Then it really wasn't until the elevation began to inch upward as I neared Valley Lee that I felt the first tinges of weariness in the race (not bad considering I was over 15 miles in ... though I luckily had nabbed a Stinger gel packet at the special Cedar Cove aid station). It was before then, though, that I found myself perturbed by a display of disregard for RD Liza's guidelines. We were firmly instructed to at all times remain on the left shoulder of Rt. 249, running against traffic --- yet when passing through Tall Timbers, what should I see up head but Stump and Driscoll cutting across both lanes to take up running on the right shoulder (running with traffic!). This put me in a frustrating pickle, because while I wasn't going to disrespect the rules and leave the left side, I had to helplessly watch as the two guys I'd been trying to catch up to for miles were gaining a major tangential advantage over me (Rt. 249 north makes a huge curve to the right as it passes along Tall Timbers ... it's basically as though they were running in track lane 1 while I tried to keep up in track lane 8). They of course cut back over to the left side of the road before the Cedar Cove station.

Joe was on the way ... in his car, and what are the odds that he would pass by me right when I was in the middle of ascending the largest hill of the course (that set me back over 6:20 for mile 17). I was indeed immersed in the hilly gauntlet, but the impact of the inclines paled in comparison to that of the heinous, harsh, hard-hitting headwind. And it was a cold wind! Though my gloves were made of synthetic material, after bumbling my way through so many water stations my hand protectors were nonetheless soaked through and through, making my fingers numb to the bone (yet all the same, by then I had my shirt sleeves rolled up and my headband around my neck). Mental fortitude was fastly fraying.

But wait, something was different up ahead: the duo I'd been pursuing for many miles has turned into a trio! An unidentified runner from the original trio with Chuck Engle and Dan Swain was now running abreast with Stump and Driscoll ... temporarily. They dropped him, leaving him as defenseless prey between me and my true query. The time was ripe to move up in the ranks of runners (it had dawned on me that a 7th place finisher could be shut out of age group contention if finishers 4-6 are all in his division ... and that seemed like a possibility). I easily knocked him out of the way just before the final U-turn of the course (however, reports indicate that he'd taken a bad step somewhere along the way and soon had to drop out of the race ... and after I'd U-turned at the top of Rt. 249, it eventually became apparent that Perry had suffered a similar fate, for I never passed him face to face on the way back).

Act IV (Fleeting Flight)
The moment I U-turned, it was as though all that wind had abruptly ceased --- though in truth it was now at my back, leading me to run my 3 fastest mile splits of the race without even hardly trying to accelerate. I caught up to and blew past a diminishing Driscoll shortly after the U-turn, but alas Stump had already left him behind. My "white whale" of the race remained elusive! But meanwhile I gained great reassurance at mile 20. I'd determined that, per the goal of a sub-2:50:00 marathon, the very most crucial check point would be clearing mile 20 sub-2:10:00 so as to ensure that I'd have at least 40 minutes with which to handle the concluding 10k. So, by actually hitting mile 20 sub-2:08:00, I dared to believe that breaking 2:50:00 would now be easy peasey lemon squeezie (so much of my race strategy depended on a big fast finish, yet now it was looking like that'd be hardly necessary).

The high point of my confidence during the marathon was when I was trundling down the long slope before the last uphill leading back to Valley Lee. Stump was in my sights, my pace was on the verge of dipping sub-6:00/mi, I was feeling grand, and I was about to take up the flat final 5 miles to the finish. I was simply going to be able to coast my way home to terrific triumph!

Act V (The Toughest Test)
That last little hill before the Valley Lee post office packed a mild punch, certainly, but it wasn't until I was passing by the fire house that everything began to change (even though I'd recently gobbled another GU Chomp ... which was no simple task considering my numb, near useless fingers). At first it was just my legs getting wobbly underneath me, as though the muscles were turning into jelly. Yet by the time I returned to Tall Timbers, there was no denying that I was hitting The Wall ... and hard. I would've expected the frank fatigue to set in gradually, but everything was catching up to me in very abrupt fashion. Mental tricks weren't helping (e.g., at mile 23.5 I envisioned that I'd just hit the end of the Three Notch Trail South, and now it would only be one simple 2.5-mile trail segment back to Laurel Grove Park ... those last couple miles of the LPRM course feel far more desolate and lonesome than the TNT ever does), and neither did downing another GU Chomp (and then I totally fumbled the cup at the last aid station of the race). Oh, and though Stump had been nearly within striking range at mile 21, by mile 24 I couldn't even see him up ahead anymore (and somehow I never gave much thought to Driscoll catching back up to me ... he never came close, so I was destined for 5OA).

Without hesitation I'll insist that those last couple miles of the 2014 LPRM constituted the most grueling running (or anything from any kind of experience) I've ever forced myself to endure. And I'll confess that at about 3 points I --- regardless of the obvious nearness of the finish --- just barely, BARELY prevented myself from pausing to walk. I was checking my watch constantly, which led to internal bargaining like "just walk for 30 seconds and then sub-2:50:00 will still be a sure thing ... probably." It was indeed an epic battle of wills between the old marathon DR --- he who put no emphasis on weekly mileage, did long runs at slow paces while intentionally taking breaks, and who did over a mile of walking during both the 2008 and 2009 LPRMs --- and the new, majorly more ambitious marathon DR. I never forgot that the course would measure upwards of 26.4 miles as far as the Forerunner was concerned, and therefore it was later than it seemed. I absolutely had to maintain my forward momentum or <2:50:00 would narrowly slip away.

I was doing nothing more than continuously putting one foot in front of the other (and things were getting hazardous for me, as I was having difficulty keeping to the left of the white shoulder line whilst passing cars were making no effort to give me a wide berth), and I dreaded the fact that I would soon be in the audience of a great many people ... because I didn't feel positive that I'd be able to refrain from walking before the finish, even with all their eyes upon me. And even though I could now actually see the freaking fence for the seamanship school, it still seemed like I had such a long, long way to go. However, while I felt like I was plodding along in a glacial slow motion --- as though I might be slipping to 10:00/mi + --- in truth my pace remained well under 7:00/mi all the way. THAT, my friends, is where my insistence on doing so much of my marathon training mileage sub-7:00/mi truly paid off (running miles 24-26 all sub-6:40 despite descending into dire fatigue). Otherwise I would surely have slowed disastrously and maybe even suffered a 3:00:00 + fate (similar to what befell Brandon Demers last year).

Then there it was, the cones and the gate and all the folks (lo! Joe with an extraordinary cheer), and one last stretch to struggle through after the turn. Perry popped up to lend some final pacing assistance, and it couldn't have come at better time, for I was on my last legs. I saw the clock, saw that sub-2:50:00 was absolutely going to happen ... and I vaguely sensed that sub-2:49:00 could still happen. Yes, on just about any other run ever I could've easily made up the difference, but I'd run too far to deal with any nonsense like a fast finishing kick. I would cross the finish line just as soon as I got there. And finally, at 2:49:02, I did ... (wow, my splits were actually negative ... approximately 1:25:20/1:23:40 for the 13.1-mile halves).

Epilogue (Pooped yet Proud)
Collapsed on the grass behind the finish line snack table, a finisher's medal around my neck, I reflected (while Perry advised me to get up and move around, lest I be seized by colossal cramping) that, with the exception of maybe 2 annoying seconds, I had just cause to feel satisfied with how my morning had gone. Actually, forget satisfied; when I was changing into dry attire in the seamanship school bathroom, I couldn't stop uttering "Oh my goodness, oh my dayum!" (Though that was partially in reaction to the size of the blister under my left foot.) And then finally, though my previous post-marathon lunch buffet had been tainted by a sense of failure, this time I could dine just fine amongst my fellow LPRM finishers --- in whose mighty company I would not now feel ashamed.

A couple of Phil's friends had very strong performances, but I believe the most striking thing I heard was that at least three women came in under 2:30 -- one at 2:25, I think.

Were you aware of how close Perry was behind you? Perhaps it was like the end of the 2009 Hospice 10k, when after finishing I was shocked upon looking back and seeing you just a few seconds back.

From the blog This Is The Place:

3/16 - Shamrock Half Marathon (goal: fitness assessment...I think I may be in shape for 1:45, would be thrilled with 1:43)

From the race results:

After I bailed out of LPRM at mile 18 (just too tired), I started to regret it the next morning. One woman who DNF'd it said that she was running Tobacco Rd the next weekend. That was still open, but was way down in NC.

Then a new woman came to the Monday night pre-club run wearing a Shamrock shirt. Aha. I knew that was Phil's goal race. I checked, and the Full was still open. I emailed Phil, and he said sure, I could come down.

I was going to help with pi run and then drive down, but at the last minute talked Crystal into taking the timing stuff to pi run, so I could sleep in; I figured sleep would be the best investment for me.

The drive down rt 17 was nice, with no traffic.

We hit some traffic when we went down to the expo, but really not that much. Packet pick-up went quite smoothly; it was at the convention center.

I was curious if that building would be open in the morning, as it had lots and lots of parking, and indoor bathrooms. I spent some time asking different info booths, but noone knew; finally a security person said it would be open for an arts & crafts schedule for 0900. Surely it would open before the start of that, but probably not early enough for us. (My main interest in whether we would be able to go into the nice warm building in the morning and use their nice bathrooms.)

Phil had a lead for a local parking spot, which was a bit closer, so we filed away the convention center as a backup option.

We hit a an Italian restaurant for some traditional carbo-loading, and retired pretty early.

Having been very cold before and after the race last year, Phil planned to take a drop bag. I packed an extra shirt, jacket, and long pants into my drop bag. I actually took the long pants and jacket back out, and wore them around all morning until just before the race, when I tossed them back into the bag to check.

It was very cold and windy, and I was shivering a lot without the extra clothes. I was using arm warmers under a long-sleeved shirt (a new arrangement I was trying), and a belt with small water bottles.

(Last week at LPRM I'd tried a large bottle on a belt, and it bounced too much, and I had to drop it. In fact I lost time messing with it at the Island fork aid station every time we went through there--I dropped it there, then retrieved it later--and finally tossed it for good just after crossing the bridge off the Island.)

The belt with small bottles was definitely an improvement. I still took cups of water quite a number of times, and lost time relative to the people around me every time I did that. I should not take cups of water at all, in the future. I am too slow at drinking out of a cup whilst moving.

The first aid station was at about 1/3 mile, which was quite a surprise. I think Phil may have taken his second gu at that point; he'd started his before the race. He offered to give me one, and I took one from him several miles later.

I had two in a pocket, and took two being passed out on the course, but I only consumed two of those four. It's tedious ripping them open and squeezing them out, and carrying the empty container until a trash can, and I didn't feel like doing it.

I ran with Phil for perhaps 5-6 miles. Because I think that the mistakes I made at the last two LPRMs were paying too much attention to keeping up with others, and too little attention to my body, I'd resolved to drop off from Phil if I felt overworked.

I stayed within sight distance of Phil for many miles thereafter, and I'm pretty sure he could see me as well. I definitely saw him ahead of me on the boardwalk, but I think sometime after the half mark he vanished from view.

From the race timing mat records,

Before the half mark I joined a group of three other guys. Two were friendly, and one was entirely wired and couldn't hear anything, and just drafted others of us for many miles. I enjoyed the company of the friendly ones, and felt good through there, and the miles went by faster than I expected.

During that time, I decided I'd try to pick it up over the last ten miles, to see if I could work my way back up to Phil.

At the expo, we saw that the pace groups started at 3:05 and 3:15. At the race start, there was no 3:05 in evidence. Somewhere in the first third, at one of the turnarounds, we'd seen a 3:05 group ahead of us and a 3:15 group behind us. In fact, I think this was after Phil had pulled ahead of me.

I hadn't seen the 3:05 group again, but I had some hope that perhaps Phil had pulled up to them, as I'd lost sight of him.

I was having trouble picking it up whilst I was running with those other guys, because I was enjoying the company, but I moved into the lead, and led that group through most of Fort Story. That's where we hit the headwind, and my pick-up plan fell apart, and my energy just leaked away. I grabbed a cup of water, I think, and fell off that pack, and I think the pack dissolved after that, and I only passed some of them later.

When we left the fort, we had tailwind and a straight shot back, so it was a perfect opportunity to gain ground, but I couldn't push my pace back down.

At the end I made the final turn onto the boardwalk into more headwind. Coming down the boardwalk I heard footsteps closing behind me, so I made a final push to avoid getting passed; I could hear, "Go, Jennifer". I just looked her up, and she closed over the last 10K; her earlier splits are a good minute behind me.

After the finish, I was so sore I could barely hobble around. Phil said his legs hurt, but he looked untouched compared to my limping. We headed for the big tent, but Phil had to keep waiting, as I could barely descend the few stairs, and was extremely slow even on flat.

We sat on the sand inside the tent, using the towels they gave at the finish line, and soon felt a lot better.

Overall, I had a fun time visiting Phil, and accomplished my goal of racing successfully this week.