Resolutions Stink!
"Resolutions Stink!" is the third stop on the Burque Brew Tour. This year, however, I chose not to drink any alcohol from November 28th, 2022 (the day after I turned sixty) until June 25th, the day I assume I'll finish Western States. So, I raced and socialized but didn't drink.
Pre-race I had a chance to chat with Gene Kersh, a runner I mostly know from seeing his name way before mine on various results pages. He's a few years older than I, so sometimes we're in the same age group, sometimes he's in a more advanced group. Although I've seen Gene's results "forever," I only recently started chatting with him pre and post race. Turns out he's a fellow deadhead. We are everywhere.
Similar to the Black Friday Turkey Trots
and the Grinch Lunch, Piggy Style
ran with me us initially, barely breaking a sweat while Gene and I
pushed fairly hard. Yup, Gene was tagging along, or so I thought.
Turns out he was innit to winnit. I did pull ahead of both of them
very briefly when running the downhills in the first half, but Gene
and Piggy Style more than made up for it on the corresponding uphills. After
the turnaround I never caught up with them again, but I had a nice
view.
Once again, I knew I was beat and so I ran fast enough to remain in third, but I didn't run painfully1 fast. Piggy Style pipped Gene at the end.
I had actually meant to bring my iPod touch and listen to my Speed 3 playlist. If I had, I suspect I'd have run a little faster, but I don't think I could have caught either. Gene took second overall in a local (ostensibly2) 5k earlier this year.
The weather was excellent, so people gathered together outside to relax and drink beer. I got to catch up a bit with several of the Albuquerque Road Runners, including meeting Doug, a runner who is older than I and younger than Gene. I also got to meet Gene's wife, Ellen.
My official time was 30:06.7.
Epilogue
I had a great time at Resolutions Stink!, but I'm not sure that racing four miles with a hot-spot that's probably Morton's neuroma the day before my hardest training run of the year was a good idea. OTOH, this cements my picture in the urban dictionary next to the phrase "boy ain't right."
the hot-spot I had on my right foot made itself known by the end of the run, but it wasn't even uncomfortable; it was just barely present. The day after this race, I had a 24 mile training run with a 40 pound pack. Even with ibuprofen and acetaminophen my hot-spot screamed.
The course was short, so he didn't actually run a 5:24 pace, but the dude's out-of-my league fast. I believe my fastest mile—and it was just a single mile—ever was just barely under six minutes and that was years ago when I was doing more speedwork. I am not worthy.