One of the HMRRC course marshals killed my race strategy. Let me tell you how it played out. It was at the HMRRC Anniversary Run on Sept 12. This was the 33rd annual running of the race and my own 15th appearance at it. I like this event because there are two distances to choose from, 2.8 or 5.6 miles. That is, one or two loops of the U. Albany campus perimeter road. I can plan on going but not decide which one until I get there and then see what I feel up to on the spur of the moment. I, like many men, prefer being non-committal at times.

Two thirds of the time I've opted for the shorter distance. This time I was still a bit sore from doing a long run the previous day and so I selected the one loop option. We were each given a nice commemorative beer mug at sign-in and as I received mine I saw Paul Rosenberg out of the corner of my eye. Paul was noted for once doing oddball events like the club Sextathalon where one race involved carrying a full cup of water through a 400 meter sprint and you couldn't lose any or you'd be penalized several seconds for spillage. So I had to ask, were we going to have to run this whole race with a full mug? No. It was just a souvenir. Good thing. It was so warm that day, I'd have dumped it over my head about half way around and taken my penalties.

Before the start I exchanged pleasantries with many long time club members, the same ones you see at every club event. And meanwhile, I'm sizing up the competition. Who's here today that I might be able to beat? That's a pretty rare breed since very few are known to run at my blistering pace. Ed Thomas is usually close but he's doing the two looper and won't be on short loop pace today. I kind of feel out Debbie Beach and Arlene Reyell about their plans. They're tapering down from marathon training. After three consecutive weeks of 20 milers they'll probably not be able to keep up. Old Charlie Matlock, I don't know how Charlie's been doing lately but I haven't beaten him in about 5 years. We'll just have to see how this plays out when the rubber hits the road, I figure.

It's difficult to see where you are in the early going since there are many people who tend to start slow and speed up to set their pace. Others start fast and slow down into their normal pace. I think I've seen BJ Sotile in over a hundred races and always, always, she's out ahead of me in the first quarter mile. So I know I'll be going by her soon enough. Several other times I've been almost a mile into a race to see people like Elaine Humphrey and Jim Gilmer pass me, as happened on this day too. I know enough not to try to keep up with them once they've gone by. Jim beat me in the Delmar dash last spring running with his dog on a leash even though he had to stop to pee on every mailbox post at every driveway along the route. The dog I mean.

So, we reach the mile point, which since the miles are never marked on the perimeter road is difficult to gage, first of all because I never wear a watch, but if you've run it that many times before then you can sort of guess where it ought to be. And right there, just ten or fifteen yards ahead of me is old Charlie. One mile down and I'm still with him. I started planning my strategy at that point. There are two others between us so he won't be able to sense my presence. You know, you can do that when you've competed with someone for 25 years. You don't have to turn and look, you don't have to hear them say anything. Something about them exudes a recognizable aura and you just know who it is without looking. That's what worries me about sneaking up on Charlie. My very footfalls could tip him off.

I stalked him like a pro, staying back just far enough that he couldn't sense me but just close enough that a good finishing kick would bring him back to me even though by mile two the other runners had put some distance on us. It was just him and me, Mano-a-Mano. The battle of the heavyweights. Godzilla vs King Kong.

Yeah, this was it. I was pumped up thinking, planning exactly when and where I would make my move, how I would dash his spirit, crush his will to respond with a blazing kick after we reached the tennis courts. But then came Tom Bulger. He was guarding some crossroad with a little over a half mile mile to go. I know he probably meant well, shouting out encouragement to Charlie, then to me. Problem was, it was within earshot of my primary target. It totally blew my strategy. Now he knew I was there. No more stealth measures would help. I had to either make my move then and there or give it up as the umpteenth loss to old Charlie.

It doesn't matter who prevailed. You can read the results farther back in this issue or on line at hmrrc.com. The point is, I was going to write a race report about this event and now I have nothing to say. Blame Bulger for spoiling it.