Ben Franklin Bridge 10k
As I mentioned I would, I did jump into the Ben Franklin Bridge Run, a 10k race that goes out and back over the BFB and then winds about the Camden waterfront for another 3 miles before finishing in centerfield of Campbell's Field (also the pre/post race staging area). Reba has a photo on her blog of Campbell's field with the BFB in the background that captures the symbiosis of these two structures, which is now nicely encapsulated in this race.
There is something about a suspension bridge that reassures me that the world is indeed a concrete entity.
Last year I was the first masters runner in this race and got paid more than I ever have for 33 minutes worth of work. However, I had no illusions about the fact that I'd work a bit longer this year, and have to pay for the privilege.
Beautiful day and to keep my mind in the proper focus there were three things that were to provide a constant reminder to myself that I was running (not racing) this thing. First, I wore a long sleeve shirt though I really didn't need to, second, I left my watch at home, and third, I carried my cell phone with me as I ran, as the kids were home alone.
Reba thought it would be good for me to line up in the middle of the pack. The only benefit I can see from this is that it gives me extra incentive to get back into front of the pack shape. Lining up here feels claustrophobic, is frustrating when the horn goes off and you don't move until what seems like an eternity afterwards, and you have to spend the first mile doing your best Brian Westbrook imitation over, through and around hundreds of linebackers and defensive ends.
With all that, the clock at mile 1 read 8:30. Mile 2 read 15 flat. The rest of the race was at a more or less even 6:30 pace, and I just kept reeling people in. Camden may have poverty rates that exceed some third world countries, but their streets along the waterfront were smooth enough to keep me relaxed but vigilant about the prospect of another ankle implosion. I had my ankle brace on to further reduce this risk, which it was remarked gave me a look like I was being monitored by my probation officer. Maybe that is why people got out of the way. But the ankle felt sturdy and, perhaps more important, I felt more confident than I expected. I was a bit more winded than I expected holding the 6:30 pace, but I also didn't push it past that pace as I'd be pushing my luck as well. I was rewarded for this self-discipline by two persons blowing by me at the finish line.
Finished in 42 and a half minutes, about a 42 flat chip time.
I'm happy with that. Its the longest I've run in six weeks, and all of it was on the roads. A good time and good company, which ultimately is what this bloody hobby are all about. All that and one step closer to recovery.
One for the poetic justice category - it took me an hour this afternoon to drive about 5 miles from the Convention Center downtown to home. Turns out that there was a huge motorcycle rally/toy drive gumming up the traffic. But I was hardly one in a position to complain, having spent the morning running across a bridge that was wonderfully devoid of traffic.
There is something about a suspension bridge that reassures me that the world is indeed a concrete entity.
Last year I was the first masters runner in this race and got paid more than I ever have for 33 minutes worth of work. However, I had no illusions about the fact that I'd work a bit longer this year, and have to pay for the privilege.
Beautiful day and to keep my mind in the proper focus there were three things that were to provide a constant reminder to myself that I was running (not racing) this thing. First, I wore a long sleeve shirt though I really didn't need to, second, I left my watch at home, and third, I carried my cell phone with me as I ran, as the kids were home alone.
Reba thought it would be good for me to line up in the middle of the pack. The only benefit I can see from this is that it gives me extra incentive to get back into front of the pack shape. Lining up here feels claustrophobic, is frustrating when the horn goes off and you don't move until what seems like an eternity afterwards, and you have to spend the first mile doing your best Brian Westbrook imitation over, through and around hundreds of linebackers and defensive ends.
With all that, the clock at mile 1 read 8:30. Mile 2 read 15 flat. The rest of the race was at a more or less even 6:30 pace, and I just kept reeling people in. Camden may have poverty rates that exceed some third world countries, but their streets along the waterfront were smooth enough to keep me relaxed but vigilant about the prospect of another ankle implosion. I had my ankle brace on to further reduce this risk, which it was remarked gave me a look like I was being monitored by my probation officer. Maybe that is why people got out of the way. But the ankle felt sturdy and, perhaps more important, I felt more confident than I expected. I was a bit more winded than I expected holding the 6:30 pace, but I also didn't push it past that pace as I'd be pushing my luck as well. I was rewarded for this self-discipline by two persons blowing by me at the finish line.
Finished in 42 and a half minutes, about a 42 flat chip time.
I'm happy with that. Its the longest I've run in six weeks, and all of it was on the roads. A good time and good company, which ultimately is what this bloody hobby are all about. All that and one step closer to recovery.
One for the poetic justice category - it took me an hour this afternoon to drive about 5 miles from the Convention Center downtown to home. Turns out that there was a huge motorcycle rally/toy drive gumming up the traffic. But I was hardly one in a position to complain, having spent the morning running across a bridge that was wonderfully devoid of traffic.
posted by seebo | 6:04 PM
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