Slowest Marathon Ever

My marathon last December was one of my slowest, though not as slow as the one I suffered through in 2007 (which taught me never to run another marathon in warm temperatures).  I look at every marathon as a victory if I merely cross the finish line, and plenty of younger, healthier men and women, some of them celebrities praised for having run a marathon, have run slower than 5:17:08.  There is even some stubborn pride in having run so slowly.

But today I came upon the story of the world's slowest marathon time, held by a Japanese runner named Shizo Kanakuri.  Kanakuri was actually an excellent runner who has been celebrated in Japan as the "father of the marathon,"  He set a world record in 1911 of 2:32:45 and was invited to attend the 1912 Olympics in Stockholm.  However, according to Wikipedia, he is best known for his disappearance during the Olympic Marathon.  Like me (and that is probably our only similarity other than having run the same distance) he encountered warm conditions - 104 degrees F at the start - and like over half the runners in the event he suffered from hypothermia.  He lost consciousness (which I nearly did in 2007 under less trying circumstances) and dropped out of the race, returning to Japan.  But he returned to his native country without notifying Swedish authorities, who considered him missing for 50 years.  In the meantime, he had competed in other marathons, married,, and raised a family.  In 1966, he was offered the chance to complete his long-unfinished marathon in Stockholm, and he did so, clocking a time of 54 years, 8 months, 6 days, 5 hours, and 32 minutes and 20.379 seconds.  He is quoted as having said after the race, "It was a long trip. Along the way, I got married, had six children and 10 grandchildren."  Kanakuri died in 1983 at the age of 92. 

It was indeed a long trip, as is every race..  But he was a finisher, and therefore a victor.

"Old Guy on Your Left!"

That's not really what I said during the Frostbite 5-K, but it's what I felt like saying as I passed literally scores of younger runners on that first massive hill.  It was a gorgeous day, temperatures up in the 50s, and cloudless skies.  And the course is equally gorgeous, climbing almost immediately from the Lelia Patterson Center in Fletcher up one hill after another.  Frisky horses galloped alongside us on that first hill, snorting and stamping in excitement.  I did feel especially good today! - no longer bothered by the lingering effects of the marathon two months ago, or cramped by that circle of tight muscles in my lower right leg.  So perhaps the visits to the gym, the continual stretching, and (the remedy every runner dreads) rest have done some good.

I love to run races, short or long, and it was in the back of my mind that this race was 23.1 miles shorter than my last one so I could afford to push the pace a little more despite the hills.  My senses seemed heightened as I wander through the crowd of gathering runners, hearing snatches of conversation, watching runners warm up.  We line up and listen to the national anthem, and it reminds me of so many races that I have run before.  The excitement is the same whether it is a marathon of a 5-K.

I am usually not very competitive, but this time I noted how many arrogant young teenaged boys were joking about getting "chicked" (passed by a "girl"), a supposed indignity which I no longer pay much attention to.  The first two finishers passed us on the way downhill (it was an out-and-back course, circling around a traffic cone), and the third finisher was not far behind, a lovely young woman with long, flying blond hair.  So I figure every man and boy in that race, except No. 1 and No. 2, got deservedly "chicked."  And it was entirely satisfying for an almost-65-year-old runner like me to pass so many younger runners on that hill, the teenagers and youngsters in their 20s and 30s.  Of course, I have been training on Big Bearpen!  My secret weapon.  I would come up behind one of these young studs, holding back for just a second to gather a burst of speed, and then absolutely blow past them as they glanced over to their left and saw this old guy with thinning hair putting them away!  I shouldn't take so much delight in such little things.

Not bad for an old guy, though - second place in my age group (out of four), and only 59th place out of  280 runners.  All the really fast old guys must have been running the 10-K.

Frostbite Race

It is with some trepidation that I have decided to miss the Saturday group run this morning in order to rest one day for a race tomorrow - my first race since the marathon I ran on December 14, the Frostbite 5-K in Fletcher.  This race is aptly named because it always takes place in early February, and on at least one occasion in the past it has been memorably windy and cold.

According to my race log, I first ran the Frostbite in 2005 with Martha.  I remember it well because that was the year I gave away my favorite running hat.  Moments before the race began the light rain that had been misting the air ceased completely, and as I was warming up I circled through the parking lot and concealed my hat up under the cover of my spare tire (the car being locked).  When I went to retrieve it after the race, I realized that I had unknowingly donated my hat to the owner of an identical red Honda CRV, which might have come as a surprise had it been discovered when changing a flat tire at some point.  I don't know why runners become so attached to hats, and socks, and other articles of "lucky" clothing.  But I was so disappointed in losing that fine hat that in succeeding years I checked out the spare tires of every other red Honda CRV in the parking lot at this race, hoping to find it still in that spare tire cover, as runners eyed me suspiciously.

Martha has another reason for remembering the Frostbite, because my notes indicate it was her first race ever.  Yes, I remember it now!  I was so proud of her as she won 2nd place in her age group (I took 3rd in mine, thus giving her a slightly larger ceramic pot at the awards ceremony than mine). "PB&Js and cookies at the finish line," my little log reminds me.  "And Mexican food in Brevard on the way home."  What wonderful memories we all have of going to races, good or bad - the crowds of other runners, the excitement of lining up at the start, the things that we see and that happen to us all along the journey, the little losses and wins that make running so worthwhile - so much like life itself, except life lived more intensely for just a little while.

My race log tells me that I ran this race again in 2009 - has it been five years? - the day before my 60th birthday.  Martha ran, too, and I noted that it was cold and windy.  The next day I was genuinely surprised at the Sapphire Mountain Brewing Company by a couple of dozen friends at a birthday celebration planned and organized by Martha.  Wonderful memories!  And I hope to add to them tomorrow.

Valentine's Day

Our road has now been scraped by the D. O. T. at least three times - once late yesterday afternoon, and twice this morning.  The sun is shining and the snow is diminishing.  Is it possible that I will actually be able to get out and go running this afternoon?  I have not run since Tuesday, and if necessary I am willing to simply run up and down our driveway, or any other dry stretch of pavement, for as many times as it takes to get some distance covered and to dispel this dark lethargy that overcomes me when I cannot run.

But the sun is shining today and I am a happy man.  Not just because I will be able to go outdoors and run, but because it is February 14, Valentine's Day.  And the 37th Valentine's Day that I will be spending with my loving wife Martha!  It does not seem that long!  But at the same time, it seems like forever that I have held her in my arms and in my heart, my true love.  And it is another snowy February, just like those good old days on Arrowood  Road, isn't it?

I love you, Martha!  

Happy Valentines Day!

Diary of a Snow Shoveler

For many years at the Highlands-Cashiers Players Christmas Reading, local actor Stuart Armor has read a hilarious piece called "Diary of a Snow Shoveler."  I suppose I must sound like that naive, hapless snow-shoveler at the beginning of a long season of relentless snow, but I really do love clearing walks and driveways with that little aluminum blade, exposing sidewalk and driveway with clean, geometric precision.

Snow-shoveling reminds me of growing up in Connecticut, where we sometimes had epic snows.  Here's a photo my Dad took sometime in the mid-1960s on the 35mm camera he had just gotten for Christmas - our little Cape Cod house on Anthony Road:

My brother and I, entrepreneurs that we were, would head out the morning after a heavy snow (but only AFTER we had shoveled our own driveway!) with nothing but snow shovels in our hands, and would go door-to-door down the block.  "Want your driveway shoveled?"  we would ask.  There was little competition from home snow-blowers at the time (which were new-fangled in the 60s) and we could name our price - anywhere between $2.00 and $5.00 depending on the length of the driveway, which seemed like an enormous sum to us at the time.

So today I remembered shoveling snow with my older brother, who is long gone except in my memory.  He would have appreciated the sleet we had here last night, which turned 3 or 4 inches of snow into an inch of condensed, heavy ice.

Now I'm waiting for the D.O.T.'s snowplow driver to erect that long, high ridge of ice at the foot of the driveway.  Where was he?  When I was a boy he used to show up at the precise moment we went inside the house and took off our wet gloves.

More Snow

More snow today - about 3 more inches.  And no running.  We spent the day indoors, catching up on indoors activities, and then ventured out in the afternoon to take some photos and turn the heater on in the well and pump houses.  So far our power, which flickered once or twice last night, has been rock-steady today.  Martha got on the treadmill and I did some light exercises, but the footing was just too treacherous to venture out today.

Yesterday:

Today:

Running in a Hasui Print

It began snowing here pretty heavily this morning, then tapered off by mid-day.  What a beautiful snow it was, too!  Clinging to every branch and leaf like it does sometimes when there is absolutely no wind and the temperature hovers just below freezing.  I felt like I was in a Japanese woodblock print by Hasui:

The roads were still unfrozen so I decided to run from my house, down Sassafras Gap Road, in the haunting beauty and utter silence of a February snowstorm.

All the little birdhouses in our yard were magically transformed as well.  Astonishing beauty!

More snow, truly deep snow, is forecast for tomorrow.  We will look forward to exploring with camera and wide open eyes, and hope that the power stays on.