Panic leads to a personal best

Next year, I’m going to double-check what time the Susan G. Koman Race for the Cure starts.

I’ve been preparing for the 5K race for about year, curious if my daily running and dropping the 60 pounds could help me smash my previous best of 26.58. That came in a small church race last year.

I’ve been running between six and eight miles a day for most of the last year, and I’ve been hitting 25:30 in practice runs, so I was hoping to at least hit that mark.

I thought the race started at 9 am, so I rolled up to the Rivertown Crossing mall around 8:20 thinking I'd have plenty of time to stretch and get ready. But I pulled up and saw that they were already herding racers to the starting line. It started at 8:30!!! My heart sank. Then I started to panic.

I found a parking spot at the Meijer store next to the mall, and sprinted all the way over to the far parking, where the race starts. I got there just as they where they were starting the National Anthem. Stuck way in the back, I was behind the walkers, people pushing strollers, people walking their dogs and much older folks.

I tried weaving and moving up, but it was slow going, even as the race started and people started moving. Luckily, the race was based on chip time. A chip is attached to the sneaker and records only the time between when you cross the starting line and then the finish line, as opposed to the actual start of the race, which is called gun time.

But there was still a ton of congestion as I approached the official start, and breaking out of the pack seemed tougher than an obstacle course.

OK, I might have jumped over someone's dog. I apologize for that. But really, why are you bringing your dog to a race? Is that the best place for Fluffy? If he needs a walk that badly, take him around the block where he's not gonna get jumped over. But I digress.

Most of the first mile was a divided four-lane street with a grassy median, so I tried to find a clear route by going on the side, popping up the curb and on the median to pass people, especially people pushing strollers, which are too large to jump over. After clearing the dog, the thought did pop in my mind.

Turning the first corner onto a two-lane street, I tried again to stick to the far side. Sometimes the sides offer some room to air it out, and sometimes people head over there and just stop dead. I was weaving around people like a running back looking for a hole in the line.

The RunKeeper app interrupts the music at every mile so a voice can tell me the distance and the pace. At the end of the first mile, I was running a 7:13, which I have not done since college.

With the racers spreading out, there was a little more room to run in the second mile, and tried to keep the pace and even make up some time. I did notice I was passing a lot of people, and there were not a lot of people passing me, which is unusual. I credited that to starting in the back and just moving past the slowest people. But the end of the mile, the app announced I was at a 7:09 pace.

Having run this race five or six times in the past, I have a good idea where the mile markers are and how much is left. I started to feel like I was running out of steam.

Usually I'm totally into the music, and I put a lot of thought into the race playlist, with fast-paced, inspirational God rock. But this time it I was so angry at myself and focused on trying to get around strollers, dogs and walkers that I wasn't really listening. But as I was losing energy, the Newsboys song "Stay Strong" came through the headset. It's kind of been my personal anthem this past year through some difficulties and the weight loss effort, and the message came just when I needed it.

I decided I was going to try to keep the pace best I could, even if it meant dropping at the finish line and crawling over to the people handing out bananas and Panera Bread bagels. And I could see the finish line off in the distance. At the three-mile mark, the app said the pace was 7:14, and I was thinking that there were three seven-minute miles in there and I might be doing pretty good.

Usually there is big clock at the finish line, but not this time, at least that I could see. Crossing the line and looking at the iPhone, the app read 22:49. No way. The race of my life.

Seeing this, I bounced -- not crawled -- over to the bagels and bananas, and even had some yogurt and other samples, then waited for preliminary results to get posted.
I saw the "Males - 46-50 category," and started at the bottom, because I'm usually somewhere in the lower third. I couldn't find my name and wondered if the chip malfunctioned, since I crossed the finish line on my way into the race when I was running to make the start and heard a beep. Good thing I had the app to know the time.

But I kept moving up the column, and there I was, near the top! I was No. 8 out of 55 in the age category. They had me listed at 23:00.47 for the chip time, and 26:33 for the gun time.

Overall, I was No. 127 out of 2,276 timed runners -- there were 5,600 participants overall when the walkers and dog people are included – No. 99 out of more than 600 males. That time is about four minutes better than the personal best, and two minutes better than my goal.

I don't know if my panicking added adrenaline, or weaving around people actually conserved energy that I used later, or if I would have done even better had I not screwed up the start time. Maybe it was the inspiration from wearing my Faith and Fear in Flushing shirt for the race, calling on the powers of Tom, Gil, Casey and Jackie, whose retired numbers were printed above the 3353 on my pinned-on bib.
Whatever the cause or inspiration, I'll take it!

Now, all that said, run in a Komen race if you ever get the chance. It's a great cause, and very emotional as you see all the breast cancer survivors in their pink shirts, and all the people running with names of loved ones who are fighting the disease, or who they have lost. Lots of tears, but a lot of nice tears. There are people in that race who are celebrating a lot more than beating their personal best, and it keeps things in perspective.

Pink rainbows and extra innings: Mother's Day with the Whitecaps

Figuring that a day of peace and quiet is a good gift in addition to the one that came wrapped, I take the kids to see the West Michigan Whitecaps on Mother’s Day each year.

There’s another benefit, too. The ‘Caps declare the game to be Breast Cancer Awareness Day. The team auctions off its pink jerseys and a portion of the ticket proceeds are donated to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, which supports research to find a cure.


The Whitecaps are so well-run that virtually any day at the park is a good one. But this year’s event was particularly eventful.

The pink jerseys are different every year, but this time the team wore a design resembling the glorious Houston Astros’ rainbows that people either love or loathe. I’m in the love camp.

The first 1,000 guests get pink t-shirts, and moms get a carnation. Plus, before the game, kids get to go on the field to either get autographs or play catch in the outfield.
The Whitecaps got attention from around the world with the 5,000-calorie Fifth Third Burger. If you eat it all by yourself, you get a free t-shirt and your photo on the wall. I'll pass.

But things looked ugly once the game against the Clinton LumberKings got underway. The team was down 8-0 after four innings, which sent me scrambling for the best meal in the ballpark, the pulled-pork sandwich. And my daughter used the time to call both Grandmas to wish them a happy Mother’s Day.

The Whitecaps made things interesting by getting two runs in the fourth and two more in the fifth, and tacked on another in the sixth.

Jordan Lennerton of the Whitecaps and Mario Martinez of the LumberKings.

It wasn’t looking good in the bottom of the ninth, and kids were already lining up for the post-game running around the bases when Jordon Lennerton and Gustavo Nunez got on base.

I’m not sure if the reason is the park or the players, but it’s rare to see a home run at Fifth Third Park. So pardon everyone for being a little surprised when outfielder Ben Guez hit his first of the year, bringing the game to an 8-8 tie.

The Caps had two men on base in the bottom of the tenth and twelfth, but couldn’t push one over. And the LumberKings threatened atop the thirteenth.

Tyler Stohr above, and the ever-present Crash the River Rascal and Frankie the Swimming Pig below.

The teams had played into the fifteenth inning the night before, so they might have thought it was Groundhog Day instead of Mother’s Day.

Finally, a sac fly from Brandon Douglas brought home Angel Flores in the bottom of the inning. The team had never before come from so far behind to win a game.

The Whitecaps are a Tigers' affiliate, and these seats behind home plate came from Tiger Stadium.

Unlike the Mets, I finished strong

I’m not a swift runner. In fact, the best compliment I’ve heard is “You’re not as slow as you look,” and that was after an inside-the-park home run in co-ed softball.

But as you know, I hit the treadmill each night and participate in the occasional 5K race.
My goal time of 30 minutes has been out of reach for years. I realize that this is not a fast time, coming in at around 10 miles an hour. But it’s a target.

I’ve found some Web sites that post results, and I’ve found a high of 38.43 minutes in 2005, and I hit a best time of 31.21 minutes this past May.

So I was looking forward to this year’s Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, a 5K fund-raiser for breast cancer research. I’ve been keeping up with my running and I’ve lost weight.

The downside is that this is an emotional race with many, many people who are not serious runners, or even quasi-semi-serious runners, like me. Let’s just say there are a lot of strollers and dogs.

Which is not a bad thing. Many of these people are running in memory of a person they’ve lost, or supporting someone battling the disease, which is the point of the event.

Lining up Saturday morning, I saw that organizers separated the community walkers from the 5K racers, which is a good thing, since it means fewer people clogging the streets.

Then I learned that the race results would be based on “gun time” instead of “chip time,” which is a bad thing. Gun time is the period between when the race starts and when the runner crosses the line.

But all racers had a little computer chip attached to their sneakers, and chip time is the period between when the individual runner crosses the start line and then crosses the finish line. This give you a better time if there is a big crowd at the start.

But I was pumped. When the gun fired, I hit the start button on the iPod and took off. Serious runners scoff, but the music is important to me. It helps me keep a pace and provides some distraction and inspiration. Here’s the new race playlist I made for the Komen:

1) “Pressing On,” Relient K
2) “Never Going Back to OK,” The Afters
3) “Time Has Come,” MercyMe
4) “God Will Life Up Your Head,” Jars of Clay
5) “Hold You High,” By the Tree
6) “Life is Good,” Stellar Kart
7) “Awakening,” Switchfoot
8) “Something Beautiful,” Newsboys
9) “Must Have Done Something Right” Relient K

Good stuff. So I hit the button and heard only crackling – an unexpected headphone malfunction. The cat is the main suspect right now. As I ran I tinkered with the wires, and was able to get some sound in some of the speakers some of the time. So I was already out of my comfort zone as I headed up the big hill at the start of the race.

This event places volunteers at each mile marker reading out times as you pass.
I was surprised to hear the person yell out “8:40” as I ran past. That’s way faster than my usual pace.

I hit the second mile, and heard “18:10” and thought that was my typical pace between miles and showed I was slowing down. And I was feeling it, too. My calves were barking, and other runners seemed to be passing me. And the music was crackling instead of providing inspiration.
Heading through Grandville High in the final mile, I decided 30 minutes was probably lost, but I’d give it my all.

With the finish line in the distance, “Something Beautiful” came crackling and I thought about its message. It was a beautiful day, and people all around were wearing the pink shirts signifying they are breast cancer survivors. The race goal was nice, but the true meaning of the day was to raise money in hopes of creating more people in pink shirts in the future.

Then I was close enough to the clock to make out the digits – and the first two were “28.” The goal was in sight! In the May race, I was able to sprint out the final several hundred feet, weaving through traffic like a running back.

I tried to do the same here, but there was very little in the tank. I was able to pick it up a little, but not much. I crossed the line at 29:10. That’s gun time, so I figure chip time would have shaved at least 10 seconds off – I was able to beat the elusive goal, and beat my previous best by more than 2 minutes.

That sure made the Panera Bread pink ribbon bagels at the end of the race all the more tasty.
I wore my low-profile Mets cap during the race, trying to bring some good karma to the team. Johan Santana threw his gem later in the day. Everything all was good in the world for at least one more day.

Racing, scoring and watching the Mets on a special day

Pedro: I'm worried about this season, John. Some of the other guys in the pen kind of suck.



OK, Sunday wasn’t a good day.

But Saturday, that was something special.

It started early, getting my son on the school bus for his water polo tournament at 6 a.m. But then I got ready for my one race of the year – the Komen Race for a Cure.

I’ve been doing this 5K for six years. I’m not what you call fast runner any more, but then, neither are the vast majority of the people in this race, a fund-raiser for breast cancer research.

The first year I ran, I told people in the office that I’d paste NASCAR-style on my race shirt the name of anybody who sponsored me. Several co-workers approached with money, and most had a story of someone they knew who was affected.

Then one of the guys came by, put some money down and said, “I’m a fan.” Of what, races? “No, breasts.”

Joking aside – and there are indeed some light moments and messages in the race -- it’s very emotional. Survivors wear special pink shirts and other people pinning to their shirts the names of friends and relatives who either were lost to the disease or are were fighting it .

There are others running in groups, sometimes holding signs with photos of relatives. I get choked up reading them.

This year, I was humming along pretty well, with Relient K on the iPod helping to keep the pace. My shin splints started barking around the 2-mile mark and I tried some fast walking for a while. But it seemed like they hurt more walking than running, so I picked it up a little.

Typically there are a lot of people waiting near the finish line, and I started hearing cheers and applause as I got near the end.

This was pretty cool. I was feeling pretty good about myself. And I could see that my time was about 6 minutes better than what I usually do on the treadmill for 3 miles, and this actually 3.15 miles.

Then I looked over my shoulder and saw a woman in a pink shirt – a survivor – finishing just behind me. Naturally, they were cheering for her. Very humbling, in multiple ways.

Panera Bread had special cranberry and vanilla bagels waiting just past the finish line. The results were online on Sunday. Apparently I finished 928th out about 5,000. More importantly I raised $28 to help find a cure.

So after some post-race snack and crusing the vendor tents, I headed out to the high school to catch up with my son for his water polo tournament.

My boy is a sophomore on the junior varsity team. He doesn’t get a ton of playing time, but he really loves being part of the team. And the other players are very supportive.

But one thing has been hanging over his head – he’s never scored a goal in a game that counts. This year he’s been able to increase his assists, but goals have remained elusive. His shots are better, and he’s had a couple hard ones clang off the goalposts. But still, none have slipped into the net.

The second game on Saturday was against a team that included a bunch of juniors, and they were pretty rough. Water polo, I have learned, is very physical. I’ve learned a lot of things, actually. We’ve had a butt crack scandal, but you don’t want to know the details.

Water polo action from last season.

I’m also pretty quiet in the stands. I don’t know much about the sport, and the coach does, seeing that the varsity team has won the last four state championships. So the last thing he needs is some guy in the stands shouting things to the players. And yes, I’ve seen plenty of that from parents from other schools. Makes me cringe.

So late in the game my son was in there, and again, took a shot without scoring. I remember saying to the dad next to me, “My boy is going to feel so much better when he finally gets one in.”

And a minute later, Andrew was on the left side of the goal, accepted a pass – and promptly pumped it right in the corner of the net beyond the reach of the goalie.

I remember jumping to my feet and pumping both arms in the air with a “YES, YES!!” My son made eye contact with me as he swam back toward the other end. He was beaming, my eyes were welling up.

The other parents turned and smiled. They, too, knew it was his first one. And Andrew continued beaming through the remaining minute of the game and through the post-match handshakes with the other team.

We had about a four-hour wait before the next game, and this particular school has a huge flat-screen television mounted to the wall of the pool lobby. ESPN was playing, but being a fall Saturday, college football was getting all the airtime. I did catch that the Mets were up 2-0.

We ran some errands and came back a couple hours later. This school also has wi-fi, so I fired up the laptop and caught up with the game on MLB.com. I did this with some fear, because, well, you know what the week had been like. It could easily have been 6-2 in favor of the Fish.

Then I saw the score – and the line score, particularly the 0 where the Marlins’ hits should have been. No. Way.

I slid the laptop across to my son, but first explained the rules about jinxes. “I’m going to show you the score. Do not say anything about it. It’s a rule.”

I spent the rest of the time flipping back and forth between MLB.com’s Gameday and the Crane Pool Forum.

Being a Mets fan in Michigan can be pretty lonely, and it was fun to be able to cyber-converse with the Crane Poolers throughout the game. It was like watching it surrounded by friends.

And even after the Marlins ended John Maine’s no-hit bid with that cheap-ass grounder, it was still a thrill – especially as we could see that the Phillies were losing and the season was still alive.

Well, at least for one more day.