Noon Group Sweeps 5K Awards

It was a perfect 50 degree lunch-time at the UO Student Rec. Center Faculty/Staff 5K Fun Run. It was also a perfect placing for the famous Noon group runners as they took 1st, 2nd and 3rd at the event. Travis came in with a time of 18:49 on the hilly course, followed by Charlie with a solid 22:04 and then J finished the trifecta with a strong kick to 23:04. The traffic was light luckily so pauses at intersections were short. The hill at University was actually a lot shorter than I remember, coming back from an 18 mile Saturday morning run. The awards consisted of a drink tumbler, a granola bar and a pack of gum. We hope to increase the winning next year by capturing the first 10 places.

Marathon Diary - Dirty Genes

The following is a diary entry from Dirty Genes about the 2008 Eugene Marathon.

Warmup: Discussed race strategy with John P. in the Huestis bathroom.

Twice.

Got my poop together and headed off to the playing fields to meet Travis for a pre-race stretch. No sign of him. I head to the start and joined to crush of people inside the livestock fencing. All that’s missing are the cattle prods.

And Travis.

Mile 1: Early success—a 7:45 mile and I wasn’t trampled to death.

Mile 3: Bob G. is at Dairy Mart, along with Kim and my neighbors. Bob yells “Where’s Travis?”

Dunno.

Mile 4: I choke down a Mango gel pack that came in my race packet. I can see why they gave them away. I’m running 7:30 pace now and trying to settle in for the long haul.

Mile 6: Bob yells “Where’s Travis?”

“I don’t know, do I look like his mother?” Don’t answer that.

Kim hands me my first half-liter of Cytomax. 20 meters later I yell back to her “where’s the lid?”

“It’s in my pocket!”

I keep going and mutter something that sounds like a swear word but I’m sure it wasn’t. Doing my best to hold the bottle even while running, the guy next to me says I should get a job as waiter. I tell him I already have a job as a waiter, they just don’t pay me for it. I finish the Cytomax in about half a mile and feel like I’m going to roll over like a harpooned whale.

I’m dead on 7:30 miles (really !) and happy for it.

Mile 7: Awesome aid station run by the South Eugene track kids. They are handing out drinks and yelling like crazy and the music is fun and loud. How can you not run for that?

Mile 9: Where’s Travis? I’ve given him up for dead, probably a spaghetti overdose at his carbo party last night. I wanted to brag to him about how easy I ran up 19th Street. Got a high five at the top from Linda Graebner, just back from the Boston Marathon, then downhill though campus, crossing mile 9 and still running 7:30 pace.

Mile 10: There’s Travis. He sneaks up from behind and has a sad story about being stuck in traffic on the shuttle from Autzen. Seems the crush of people at the start kept him to an 8:40 first mile, chip timed, no less. Then he panicked a little and ran Mile 2 in 6:38. We BS a bit, and I tell him if he’s going to run 3:10 he’d better get his ass out of here. That’s that last I saw of him and his ass.

Still dead on 7:30 pace (for real, T-mob!).

Mile 11: Another half liter of Cytomax from Bob. My right leg is tight, probably because it’s been worrying too much about my left leg.

Mile 12: Time for a Double Espresso gel pack, aka Rocket Fuel. Two swallows, 100 mg of caffeine, and my world just got a little brighter.

Mile 13: 138:26 chip time at the half marathon. I’d be beside myself with pride because of my self control except that my left knee is starting to hurt like hell and I put my vivid imagination to work wondering how bad it’s going to feel at mile 20. The real possibility of a DNF crosses my mind. They have a Clif Shot stand and I grab another Double Espresso for the road.

Mile 14: Bob is here. “Vitamin I!” I yell. He starts beating his pockets like someone is demanding money form him at gunpoint, and I go by.

“I’ll get ahead of you on the bike and hand it off then!”

The guy I’m running with tells me I’m looking pretty good for someone who’s hurt. I mutter “oh my god,” thinking it was under my breath.

The guy says “Hate to tell you this, but God isn’t going to bail you out of this one.--you chose to be here.”

The philosophical implications of this free choice statement are more than I can bear and I start laughing and wasting valuable calories.

Mile 15: Bob finally gets ahead of me, but he can’t get the ibuprofen out by the time I go by. Awesome. I go for the Double Espresso gel in my hand. The damned adult proof packaging gets the best of me and the gel squirts out in this big, gooey string that wraps around my face, down my jersey, onto my shorts, then trails away across my right shoe.

Greg is waiting for me as promised in Alton Baker. He’s already run most of the race. He’s hyped up on endorphins and Motley Crue coming through his ear buds and says no blonde, gum-chewing bimbos are going to pass us this year, then says that’s because they’re already ahead.

Gotta love a smartass after fifteen miles. We’re cruising at 7:20 pace and my knee is feeling better. It may be those endorphins that kick in just before you die a horrible death, but I’m having fun and don’t care. Greg can’t hear anything I say, so I focus on running easy and keeping him from going too fast.

Mile 17: Bob finally finds the ibuprofen. I tell him it’s too late. He sees the brown goop all over my face and yells “You’re bleeding!” and I say “No wonder I’m so tired!”

Mile 19: Still cruising at 7:20 pace. We pass some retirees before Owosso Bridge and they’re high-fiving me and one guy yells “Alright, another white hair!” and I feel as though I’ve finally arrived.

Mile 20: We cross Owosso and Greg takes Galen’s advice and walks the bridge. I don’t take advice very well and keep running.

Mile 21: Bob hooks up with me on his bike and rides along for the ride and I’m running 7:16 pace and wondering when the wheels are going to come off and my stomach is upset and I can only get about three swallows of Cytomax down before I feel like I’m going to hurl and I tell Bob I need to focus and believe it or not he stops talking. A

3:15 is still in my gun sights.

Mile 23: Here it comes. I’ve slowed to 7:30 pace and not because I chose to do that (maybe God’ll help me now). I’m just pouring water over myself at the aid stations because I wanna barf. I know there’s no way I can hang on for a 3:15 but can still take out 3:20, so just try to stay relaxed and keep to form. I’m frickin’ tired.

Mile 24: Les joins us. He asks how it’s going and I tell him I just need to relax and get under 3:20.

He says “Don’t relax too much.”

“Les, I’ve just run 23 hard miles, got over two to go, and I’ll relax as much as I damn well please.”

He takes my tantrum pretty well. Everyone knows I run better angry.

Mile 25: I have one last good stretch on the downhill under Ferry Street and the flat in front of EWEB, just before 25 miles. But the little uphill on the other side finally takes me down, and I have to walk a bit. Only a bit, though, then back to a jog, then something that resembles running. The 25 mile mark seems to take forever to arrive.

Mile 26: I get here with two more cycles of short walk/jog/ run and have still managed to keep an 8:40 pace since mile 24. Rounding the corner of Autzen Stadium I can see the finish clock ticking toward 3:20 and manage something that at least feels like a kick. It might have been just slightly faster than walking, but I’m going as hard as I can. The clock reads 3:20-something when I go across and I’m exhausted and momentarily depressed, then I look at my own watch and see 3:19:48. Thank god for chip timing.

Marathon Complete

The weather cooperated but the body was less acquiescent. The 2008 Eugene Marathon was another successful event in the lives of this running troupe. Congrats to all the finishers, you all overcame pain and doubt.