“Running is, uh, hard” — Lance Armstrong, Nov. 7, 2009, via Twitter.

I watched NE Ohio regional cross country meet and came away inspired. It was wet and muddy. It was hard. Everyone suffered. In short, it was epic.

Just the kind of thing I wanted to try … oh … the very next morning.

Someone told me about the Autumn Leaves race at Lake Farmpark. I read the description and comments: “bring your mud shoes”. Sounded perfectly dreadful.

So I line up with about 180 other runners to take on a bit of pavement, dirt roads, lots of soggy fields, and even a section of corn maze.

I still haven’t figured out this running-race stuff. Waiting for at the line for the start, I feel like an impostor. Like I don’t belong here. Yet the competitive side of me wants to line up next to the “fast guys” at the front. When we start, and they take off, my racer’s instinct tries to make me go with them. But my brain at least says, no, that would be suicide.

Starting on the pavement, runners pull away from me. But once we hit the wet, heavy fields to my surprise I’m passing people like mad. We hit the dirt roads, and some catch back up. Back in the muck, I pull away again. Beneath the pain, I’m thinking, “what the heck”?

I think that on the pavement, I just am not comfortable “opening up” and going fast. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like I will pull or strain some muscle at any moment. But I’m able to keep my same (slowish) speed through the muck as on the pavement. Weird.

All of a sudden I don’t mind the soaked shoes and try to take advantage of every stretch through the wet stuff.

But there’s still lots of fast guys (and one very fast woman) in front of me … by a lot. No hardware this day. But a respectable (for a bike racer) 22nd place overall.

So I’m wondering … what would it take to get really fast?

120 runners are lined up across the starting line at the girls regional cross country meet. At the starter’s signal they crouch and ready themselves for the start. The gun fires and the long line quickly forms into a pack, with runners jostling for position. Elbows are thrown and runners are pushed.

Standing at the slight rise about 200m from the start, the mass of runners moves toward us. You can hear the pounding of 240 feet, even on grass. Family, fellow students, and fans line the course and ring cowbells. I’ve watched my daughter play a lot of sports over the years but none of them has a scene that compares to this.

Of those 120 girls on the start line, only those on the top 4 teams or top 16 individuals will run again the next week at the state finals. Stakes are high.

The course and conditions on this day are a true test. I run back and forth to different spots on the course to take pictures, but mostly want to watch the drama and not be distracted by the camera. I hear a number of parents talk about girls being sick all week but still insisting on racing (count my daughter among them).

The best spot on the course is a short-but-steep, muddy grade. Some runners slip and fall. The smart ones find the firmest ground just over the edge of the course lines. They have no regard for the fans crowding the course; we are forced to step back.

Those who can power through the mud begin to separate themselves. The rest try to find the strength to not give up; they are faced with a cold, wet slog to the finish. The fans cheer for all of them, down to the last runner.

In the end, there are more tears than smiles. Several girls lose shoes and finish the race in muddy socks that will never again be clean. One is carried to the medical tent by her teammates. One faints after the finish. Another is bent over, vomiting. One sports a large clump of mud in the middle of her forehead — apparently the result of a face-plant.

No one can doubt that the most deserving are going on to race again next week.

Ingredients for a funk:
- no more races on the calendar
- less daylight
- cold, rainy weather
- having to wear leg warmers, arm warmers, gloves, and booties
- looking at the calendar and seeing the really dismal months on the horizon

A good antidote: endorphins and a little competition.

After doing the Ohio Outside Trail Race I was surprised at how my overall mood improved from just a 35 minute competition. I think this is a good argument for doing cyclocross also. But unlike ‘cross, I had no bike to clean, I wasn’t covered in mud, and I didn’t have a collection of bumps and bruises (though I suppose you can argue that THAT is part of the fun too).

The problem? Needing more of it. Let’s face it: we’re addicted.

Wake up early on a Saturday morning. Drink coffee. Pack bag with race clothes and stuff for after the race. Eat. Drink more coffee. Head out to the Munroe Falls Metro Park.

Arrive to 35 degrees and rain. It feels just like a spring bike race. Only it’s the OhioOutside.com Trail Series. Yes, running. I do just enough to be able to say “I do some running in the off-season.” Just enough to convince myself to attempt a race.

But even though my running would fall into the “casual” category, showing up at a race flips the competitive switch. I’m looking around, sizing up the competition even though I have no hope of being a top finisher.

When we take off at the start I forget that I should not try to stay with the front runners. It’s not a bike race. It’s hard to slow down and just let the fast guys go away. I very much want to try to stay with them, but they are out of sight on the trail pretty quickly.

When you don’t (run) race, how do you know what kind of pace you can hold? The best experience I can draw on is what it feels like to do a time trial on the bike. Which means: suffering that you can maintain without totally blowing up. So I imagine that I’m doing a TT. While at the same time trying not to fall over the roots, ruts, and down a slippery set of stairs (which almost happens).

I pass some people, then get passed by the top female runner at the start of the second loop. I manage to stay with her for a while, which lets me pass a few more people. But she powers away toward the end. Drafting just doesn’t work the same way when running.

I’m happy though. I somehow manage the fastest time for my age group and go home with 2 beer glasses and some packets of Gu. And legs that will surely be sore the next day.

Here’s a measure of progress in the last 20 years: when Greg LeMond won the 1989 World Championship (in an amazing finish), we had to grovel for token TV coverage and scraps of news buried on page 10 of the sports section. 20 years later, on a rainy Sunday morning, I sat and drank coffee and watched the race LIVE via the Internet (http://www.universalsports.com).

Also in 1989 — the year LeMond won his 2nd Tour de France — I remember going out at lunch to pick up the New York Times to get Samuel Abt’s reports on the race. That was as good as it got back then. I never imagined we would ever be able to actually WATCH it, other than on condensed, tape-delay summary shows.

Pretty amazing when you sit back and consider the explosion in information availability and connectivity. We’re getting close to the point where we take it for granted. What, no Worlds streamed live on the Internet? We’d be PO’d. We just expect that now.

And that Worlds race in 1989? Yeah, you can find and watch the finish: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJSgzHTRg38. It’s an awesome finish, too. As good as the 2009 race was, this was better. No one really thought LeMond would win, and he came out of nowhere on the final climb, covered the attacks on the run to the finish, then won the sprint against no less than Sean Kelly. I don’t recall seeing a more exciting finish.

Here’s the situation: you make what looks to be the winning breakaway. But quickly you realize that if you keep working at the same pace you’re likely to be dropped from the break.

What do you do? Sit on and be a wheel-sucker, or continue to work and most likely get dropped?

This was the dilemma at the “G20 Summit Criterium” over in Pittsburgh. Early in the race, after chasing a couple of attacks I found myself in a 3-man break that included a guy (Clayton Barrows) who had good results at last week’s UCI-level Univest Grand Prix. That’s no Tuesday night training race. The other guy was Ruggery of Freddie Fu, another strong rider.

I knew I was in trouble from the beginning. I could feel that I hadn’t recovered enough from chasing the first couple attacks. I sat on at first and tried to recover. Then started to help. But after a few more laps I was having trouble following wheels on the uphill part of the course.

There are some who would say you should keep working. If you get dropped, well that just meant the other guys were stronger. But bike racing isn’t just about who is stronger. As I see it, getting dropped from the breakaway is a cardinal mistake. Especially when you have teammates back in the field working for you. The last thing they want to see is one of their jerseys going backwards.

So I stopped working. I don’t like doing that, and I know I’ve given other guys a hard time for it (yeah, that is part of racing too). The other 2 tried to get me to work, but I just said, “sorry, I can’t”. I was determined not to get dropped, if it was humanly possible.

And for a while, I wasn’t sure whether it was humanely possible. My hope was that the pace would ease up the closer we got to the end. Which it did, enough so that I started to help out again. After which Barrows attacked us and rode away solo to the finish. I didn’t contest the sprint for 2nd (though I don’t think it would have mattered even if I did).

Was it a satisfying result? Yes and no. No, because I don’t like not working in a break. But yes, because I avoided the worst case of getting dropped, and managed to get our team a spot on the podium. But I feel like I want to qualify the result by saying, “yeah, I was 3rd but I almost was dropped about 5 times … “

While out trail running at the West Woods, I came to a fork in the trail, happened to look down, and saw a fork laying in the middle of the trail. A few moments later I wondered whether someone did this as a joke.

It reminded me of the Yogiism: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Now I know what that means, literally. I should have picked up the fork and taken it. But then that would spoil the fun for the next person who sees it.

If it wasn’t for trail running, I’m not sure I would find the motivation to run at all in the off-season. Running on the road every day would make my joints hurt, not to mention it’s boring. Running on the treadmill is bearable only with the weather is horrible.

But running on a trail, the miles seem to go by just like *that*. I think it’s in part because you have to pay more attention to where you’re going, and in part because the terrain is usually varied, and in part because it’s just more pleasant to look at trees than cars, houses, sidewalks, etc.

I’m looking forward to about a month from now, when the leaves are changing and my legs are acclimated, and I can do a nice long run on a crisp autumn morning … while trying not to think of all the leaves piling up in the yard.

When you see someone on a bike talking on a cell phone, do you think, “what a wanker”? What about texting? What about someone laying in the road, one foot clipped into a pedal and one hand holding the cell phone?

Yeah, that would be me.

My defense is: the text was from my daughter; I was only a few houses from having left home; I did at least stop and unclip from one pedal.

It was one of those incidents where the front wheel turns the wrong way, and you go over on the side where you’re clipped in. Like you sometimes see on the start line before a race, when a guy isn’t paying attention. Then everyone laughs and says, “now we know who to avoid.”

Only I was laying in my own street, with a chainring gouge in one calf, and a road rash scar FROM JULY torn open again. For the third time. I think the scab is going to be with me until next July.

At least I don’t think any of the neighbors were watching.

Apparently some others have also decided this is not a good idea:
http://washcycle.typepad.com/home/2008/01/no-texting-whil.html

http://www.japanator.com/japan-thinks-texting-while-biking-is-a-bad-idea-new-biking-laws-in-consideration-7135.phtml

What did we do in the days before weather radar was a few mouse clicks away? We looked up at the sky, decided it was safe to ride … and then got wet a lot more often.

The forecast today was for ’scattered showers’. Scattered is OK, as long as the rain is scattered on someone other than you. Otherwise you just feel like Schleprock.

Radar was inconclusive. The sky however was clear. Heading out on the road, I could see a line of clouds to the east, but clear skies to the south and west. Radar showed a general movement north-northwest. So I went in the direction of the sunshine.

Good decision. It was sunny, dry, warm, and quite pleasant. A nice, easy ride after a long weekend. I was congratulating myself for my superior weather-pattern reading.

You just know where this is going, right?

Two miles from home, on the same stretch of road where the day before I helped push a broken-down SUV, in one instant the clouds closed in, the sky became dark, and the temperature dropped 10 degrees. I’d hit the edge of the front that was literally passing over my neighborhood.

The cloudburst soon followed. I pulled off the road, and with a nice cyclocross dismount ducked under a tree. Then I made the call home:

“Um, can you come get me? My bike is clean, and I really don’t feel washing it again.”

I’m coming to the conclusion that interesting encounters happen more often while you are out “just riding around”. That’s “just riding around”, as opposed to an intentional training ride — the dreaded 2×20 minute intervals, hill repeats, sprints, etc. For example …

Not long ago while just riding around I found myself helping an owner chase her dog that had gotten loose. The dog was faster than she was, but not faster than me (on the bike). I wasn’t able to actually catch him, but was at least able to keep up with him while she went to get her car and someone else to help.

The other day I found myself riding for a short while with a guy from France. I didn’t get the full story on how he ended up riding out in Geauga county, but apparently he lives out this way so I expect I’ll run into him again.

Today I was flagged down by a group of kids — who all looked to be under the age of 8 — selling tomatoes, gourds, corn, and peppers at the end of their driveway. This is why you should always carry money while riding. Kids not only love snagging a customer, but especially snagging one who’s on a bike (this applies to lemonade stands, too). One warning though: tomatoes don’t travel well in a jersey pocket.

Also today, just a few miles from home, I passed a young guy obviously out on his training run, straining to push an SUV up a slight grade. The driver had the door open and was also trying to push while steering. They were not going anywhere. I swung around to help. The guy said, “if we can get it over the hill I think I can coast the rest of the way”. (where that would be wasn’t entirely clear). So I left my bike in the grass, and while wearing my cycling shoes helped push the SUV the 500 meters to the crest of the grade. At which point it really took off and the driver scrambled to jump into the moving SUV. I went back to get my bike. The other guy took off on his training run. Definitely a first.

Probably not simply coincidence that these things happen while just riding around. If I’m not concerned with a specific training goal, I’m more willing to not only notice what’s going on … but also more willing to do something like help push a broken-down SUV. (BTW … I was SO tempted to tell the guy he wouldn’t have that problem if he were on a bike).