“ What are you doing here? ” The Carlsbad 5000….by John Harmon

For the past several years, I have had to endure incessant and sometimes interminable stories of the famed Carlsbad 5000 by several fellow Empire club members – Bryon Porter, Brad Zanetti, Val Sel. Even the champions of few words, Larry Meredith and Dale Peterson, had something to say about it. Zen gardens, beer, beautiful weather, the Ocean, beer, the Elite runners. Did I mention beer?


I had registered for it last year at their behest, but was unable to go. ER sent its largest contingent in 2014. Stories abound. I feared I had missed something epic, much like the Boston experience when Larry turned 50 and dragged half the county to the shores of the East Coast before it was too late. It was with this in mind that I registered again in December, still not knowing if I would again be thwarted by something else more requisite of my presence. But this year is different, as I have since retired from full time work and have a bit more command of my waking hours – although one would be hard-pressed to observe such. At first, it appeared we might have an equally large contingent. But slowly the proverbial wheels came off. Val came down with injury so debilitating she could not run if she hoped to recover. This took her and her happy band of Dave and McKenna out. Dale passed this year for reasons I now forget. He had run the 25K version of Carlsbad – doing the 5K all day (5X) is a survivor’s trophy. But now he was out. Finally Doug Murdoch dropped for a work conflict (I think) – something I am sympathetic to but no longer threatened by.

Jill and I flew down on the preceding Friday – with Brad, Bev (Zanetti) and Larry. Bryan was already there. Jill and I took in the zoo, then dinner at a little place we found years ago while the others trundled off to Carlsbad to seek out hop-infested lair. Saturday was a low-key day. I got up early and drove to the course start to run a preview. I was glad I did – despite what little good it did. While flat, there are a couple of upgrades which take your legs out – as proved Sunday. We picked up my numbers, visited an aunt and joined all the rest for dinner. After dinner, I dragged (with little resistance) Larry, Brad and Bev to a gelato place. While standing in line, a young gal struck up a conversation with us. She was in town from Boulder for the race. Larry probed further. Come to find out she was quite a talent – wanted to break 17:00 and has trained with Collen De Reuck. We asked her to join us. More on her later.


The next day, I found myself standing at the starting line….in front. To my left was none other than Bernard Lagat. Bernard and I go way back. Bernard went to WSU. I went to WSU. Bernard runs. I run. Similarities fade at this point. We did meet at the Olympic Trials in 2012. Celebrating Kim Conley’s amazing 5000m qualification at a Eugene restaurant, a herd of us from Santa Rosa sat at our table digesting dinner and recounting for the umpteenth time Kim’s call to glory. In walks said Mr. Lagat with his wife and two kids in tow. We all stood to applaud. Several of us went up to him to congratulate him, snap a few gratuitous photos, etc. I mentioned I went to Wazzu. We did a secret handshake, he promised me he’d give me his gold medal and then he ushered himself and family to his table. It was a groupie moment.


So here at Carlsbad you can imagine my surprise at seeing him standing there…with me. “What are you doing here?” he asked me. “Well I’m racing, of course. Why?” I replied. “Well, you’re in the wrong race. This is the Elite race.” This is where I awoke in a drenching sweat. It was 1 am. I could only take this as a bad omen.

On the real Race Day morning at 6 am, Larry, Bryan and I piled in with Brad and headed to a secret parking spot. Jill and Bev took a more leisurely approach and left 15 minutes later. It was cool with little or no wind – perfect weather. I had been training with hopes of pushing 20 minutes. A race two weeks earlier had sobered me, but my training had gone well. Nevertheless, I was resolved not to go out too fast. My warmup went well. Caleb and Daniel Skandera spotted me and wished me well. Daniel was there to run his age group (he ran an amazing 19:25, as is told in a related story). At the starting line, I wished Bryan, Larry and Brad “Good Luck” and found what I thought was a good place. It was 7 am.


This is truly a wonderful experience, wonderful course, beautiful scenery – with the ocean and great weather. Besides what happened, it was awesome.

The first half-mile includes a little upgrade. I felt pushed as we approached the Mile mark – 6:37. Gad! I was already blowing it. As we approach a turn around, I could see Bryan about 20 seconds ahead. I never did see Brad (he was just slightly ahead of Bryan). Larry was a little behind me – still recovering from being out with injury. I leaned into the slight upgrade of the second mile before its slight downhill. I thought I was doing better, but timepieces don’t lie – I was not. A hearty yell from Bev and Jill spurred me on, but to no avail. With less than a mile to go, I faced what Brad had called “this nasty little uphill.” It took my legs out. My goals never made their way out of my mind. The final 300m is slightly downhill. I managed to hold my place, but couldn’t push ahead of anyone in front of me. I finished in 20:53 – well off my goal, but slightly better than my race the two week earlier – wait till next year. Brad finished in 20:28 with Bryan just 2 seconds back. Larry came in behind me.


We went back to the hotel to get cleaned up and have breakfast. Larry and Bryan stayed to save a place at the beer pen (finishers get a finishing medal and two free beers). When we came back for the beers and to see the elite race, whom did we see but the gal we met the night before at the gelato shop. Kristen Johansen had just won the Women’s Open race (not the Elite one). Her time was 17:08. We congratulated her and took some photos. What a treat to have met her the night before and here she was the winner.


When we made our way over to the beer pen, Larry was there as promised. We finagled our way through the lines and finally celebrated our race in style – with an IPA. As we enjoyed the live band and the sun and the beer, who comes by, but Kristen again. OK, she must have been stalking us. But now Larry could talk to her about her race too. We spent the rest of our time waiting for the Elite races near noon by drinking more beer and watching Larry dance to rock’n’roll. I feel a book – There Will Be Beer.


It was time to get serious and find a key spot to watch the Elite Women’s and Men’s races. The others were the experts. Jill and I just tried to keep up. The course we ran is goes out from one street to the ocean-loop once along the ocean promenade-then finishes on another street. The Elite race starts and finishes on the same spot and loops shorter but twice so everyone gets to see the runners-up to 4 times. It very close watching – a lot like what you see in the Tour de France on the hill climbs. They do a great job of course management. Everyone is cheerful, helpful and makes it fun and safe. I’ve not seen a lot of elite racing up so close. It’s worth that experience alone. You watch the trailing men and women in these races stumble and sputter far behind the leaders only realizing their running at phenomenal speeds.

The women’s race was a three women contest, but quickly turned into the Genzebe Dibaba show. Her pursuit of a WR fell short by 2 seconds – 14:48. Deena Kastor, now 40, missed the Master’s WR by 17 seconds, finishing in 16:08.


The Men’s race was just as exciting. Lawi Lelang managed 1st in 13:32 – slow by Elite standards. Bernard Lagat missed his goal of a Master’s WR coming through in 13:41 (3rd). The WR is 13:24. But his time was nearly a minute off the course master’s record. If he had let me stay in my dream a little longer, perhaps I could have paced him to the WR.

This was a blast to run, to see, and mostly to enjoy with this group. Maybe we can assemble a larger group for next year. I highly recommend it. It’s not too early to mark your calendars – Sunday, April 3, 2016.

THE BOSTON MARATHON: 1980 AND 2015, by Mike McGuire


Nineteen-eighty, a time in running when scratching a line on the road would draw a hundred people just to see why the line was there. Then the race would begin. In the mid-70’s, a local event might be $8.00 and include a t-shirt, many of which adorn t-shirt quilts today. Empire Runner water stops often were card tables with cups and a jug of water or two of water, sometimes self-serve. Qualifying for Boston was 2:50 for men under 40, 3:00 for 40 and over and for all women.

In 1980, there were 5,417 entrants (’95 – 9,416, ’14 – 35,755). For this year, the event was capped at 30,000 including 6,000 non-qualified runners. Nineteen-Eighty was perfect for Spring Break but not for running a long way down the road. Since the run traditionally started at noon, with the boom of a cannon in Hopkinson, the sun was already high in the cloudless sky and held no promise of a cooperating temperature. One aid station was a single National Guard soldier, a couple of tables and a ‘water buffalo’ truck with its three inch spigot for filling cups. Offers of water and orange slices may have been festive for the spectators to offer but were life savers to the runners.


About ten miles into the race, I bonked. Passing too many aid stations, due to crowding and being too confident from the start, did me in, and I still had a way to go. Most of the journey was just a slog without any key memories other than seeing the Pru in the distance (with it seeming to stay in the distance) and then a couple of turns to the finish. My wife collected me at the finish and escorted (dragged) me to the hotel room of Ken and Shirley Howe where I spent many minutes hugging the toilet bowl feeling the effects of dehydration and exhaustion. Welcome to the finish line! Rosie Ruiz had finished almost an hour before me and was not even winded!

In 1980 I was 35. Thirty-five years later I am running the Boston Marathon for the second time. Same course but a whole different world and event. Qualifying times exist in five year groups from age 18 to ‘over 80’. Qualifying times run from 3:05 to 5:25 for the fastest male division to the oldest female division. There is a ‘rolling’ registration period in which faster qualifying times can ultimately bump slower times. A significant number of non-qualified registrations can be awarded to runners who do fund raising for specific charities. (In the New York Marathon, the charitable donation is $2,620!)

The BAA (Boston Athletic Associate) is in nearly constant contact with entrants with everything from training tips to travel plans and security requirements. (The bombing in 2013 certainly changed event planning!) Along with everyone else, I have received an event passport with maps, time tables and do’s and don’t’s. Also a 22 page official program booklet and an official merchandise catalog. Big events must be very expensive to produce because sponsorship logos adorn every page.

Online comments about this year’s event have been interesting to follow. Boston, along with New York and Chicago, seem to be the ‘big three’ of American marathons with lots of people wanting to collect all three. With run-walking becoming more and more popular, entry fields have swelled. “Getting in” has become a huge challenge. Lotteries, fund-raising, qualifying times and awareness of opening of registration have to be part of one’s master plan.

Is Boston still the premier marathon event with its history and qualifying standards? Or is it merely a marathon that is run in the Boston area? Opinions abound. The 1970 standard was 4:00 hours, men only. 1971, 3:30, men only and a faster qualifying time to keep the run at 1000 entrants – “A good size to keep the course from becoming too congested.” – per a race organizer. 1972, first time women could be official entrants, but everyone qualified with a 3:30 time. 1980, most stringent qualifying time but additional age groups were added for men and women. 1990 through 2012, 3:10 qualifying time but 18 age groups with increasing times. 2013 to present, 3:05 with 22 age groups.

It will still be an exciting event from the expo to visiting friends to trying new restaurants to getting to the starting line and, with dignity, to the finish. Once the run begins, I won’t know age groups from ox carts or qualifiers from non-qualifiers. We’ll run to do our best. With my now-established pattern of attendance, I need to plan for 2050, Boston Marathon #154. I’ll be 105 years old, but the qualifying time should be slower than it is this year.


I arrived in Boston about a week before Patriot’s Day. Those days are a story for another day.


On the day of the big event, we were up at 5:15 for a drive from Lee, NH to Hopkinton. The weather forecasts were increasingly grim. Rain, heavy at times, strong winds pretty much all day from Hopkinton to Boston. During the drive, we had heavy weather, lots of rain falling and lots of water being thrown up by the cars and trucks on the road.

The arrival in Hopkinton was easy with volunteers and police officers ready and able to give directions. I was dropped off about two hours before my wave was to move to the start line. (My wife, Sandi and good friend, Bill Bryon, then drove to a train station for their ride to Boston. We would take the train back to New Hampshire later in the day.) I got in line for a shuttle into town. With no bags to check, I was ushered to the front of the line and immediately got on a school bus for the 10 minute ride to the Athletes’ Village.

My outfit for the day, from the outside in, was a Goodwill purchase ‘Portsmouth LaCrosse’ team pull-over and a pair of jeans ($12), long sleeve pull-over, t-shirt, long sleeve pull-over, tights, shorts, hat, gloves, shoes and wool socks. My plan was to shed as the day proceeded. Except for the gloves, I kept my attire for the entire run. Well, actually not the Goodwill outfit. That was deposited in one of the many collection bags. Maybe I can find it again next year!

The Athletes’ Village was the enclosed area of the high school sports fields. Again, there was easy entry, passing smiling security guards and on to a big open field. A light and scattered rain was falling. One side of the gym was lined with runners sitting against the wall; others were walking around, but most were under three large open tents huddled against the wind and rain.


Organization of the Village was superb – many potties rimming the edge of the field, jumbo-tron screen with race information, loud and clear PA system with an announcer who kept us informed without over-using the mic. Food and drink galore – coffee, Gatorade, water, bagels, bananas, Clif Bars, Shot Blocks, and gels in never-ending quantities. The area was fairly litter-free, but it will always bother me that some people simply leave things behind rather than walk a few paces to one of the many obvious trash cans.

Easy conversation with fellow runners, especially under the tent where crowding encouraged chatting, always initially about the current weather and what might come. I talked with runners from Canada, Cincinnati, Ventura, New York and Finland. Some were first timers, others repeat offenders. There are fifteen or twenty ‘streakers’ – those who have run 25 or more consecutive Boston Marathons!

I lined up for a pre-race potty stop, perhaps 20 people in line, thinking I had plenty of time before the village exit. I measured my progress against two ladies who had started in the line next to mine. They arrived at their potty door two people ahead of me. Someone else’s line always moves more quickly! A rule of nature. I deposited my outer clothing for its trip back to Goodwill and followed my wave of 7000 down the hill to the start.

All along the .7 mile walk we were greeted by volunteers collecting discardable clothing. The local ‘clothes banks’ did very well by the Boston Marathon. Police in various uniforms were ever present. Neighbors on their porches waved and cheered us on. All this and we had not even run a step!

Once onto the main street (I guess it was the main street because with the crowd, I could not see above the shoulders of those around me!), we were ushered to our starting group by numbers held on long sticks. Everyone was calm and cheerful with no pushing or squirming forward to get an advantage. Gees, it’s a marathon, there’s no need get an extra foot or two! A light rain was falling.


My group was still a block or so from the actual start and we moved forward as those ahead of us were sent on their way. We managed a walking start as our starting gun sounded. At this point, about 14,000 runners were already on the road. Since the road slopes down and is fairly straight, all we could see were bobbing shuffling heads. And that was the view for many miles to come.

Many Hopkinton residents sent us on our way with hearty cheers and the knowledge that their day was just about over and they could return to the daily life of a small New England town. Probably within another half hour, the last runner would be on his way and the clean-up and tear-down could begin.

The course is really pretty easy and in the early Spring not yet very colorful. But the crowds and history of the event make up for any deficiencies. The weather may have reduced the number of spectators a bit but is still pretty exciting to be cheered on and on and on. For a bit I felt like a well-known local. Many people shouted encouragement to “Mike”. A tall man passed me a little later with his name, Mike, plastered on the front of his shirt. My rooting section quickly evaporated.

With my GPS watch coaching my pace, I settled into race mode and was very consistent for many miles. I walked through most aid stations and pleased with how my layering was keeping me comfortable. Oh, the litter of clothing – caps, gloves, shirts, pants! Hopefully no one discarded items too soon.

My training for the marathon was lacking in long runs. One 16 miler, several 12 to 14 and a lot of 7 to 10’s. Alternating hamstring and Achilles problems put me behind the typical schedule. My plan (hope) was to run a conservative race and finish in no more than four hours. The plan worked well for 21 miles and then my pace began to slow as I looked forward more and more to the next aid station where I could take a walking break. Toward the end I took out my camera to take some pics but really more to do some walking. But I crossed the finished line with what looked like a running step and only 2 minutes off my 4 hours.


The finish line was another example of fabulous organization with dozens of volunteers directing runners to food, drink, wheel chairs and meeting places. We were wrapped in hooded ‘heat retention cape’s, given wonderful finishers’ medals, treated to food and drink, and congratulated for our effort. I was content to know I had warm clothes and friends close at hand.


Sandi and Bill and my nephew, Cole, who goes to school in Boston, texted me as to where to go – a short walk to a lunch counter diner with a view of the finish line. After changing into clean dry clothes, I settled in to recount my exploits.

Later we walked a short distance to a commuter train station for the beginning of our trip back to New Hampshire. Next, a wait in an Amtrack station allowed me to fill up donut holes before the hour ride back to our car and the final leg of our trip home. Actually, we stopped at a terrific pizzeria for a couple of slices and pints. And then we went home.


Two days later our trip wound down as we were dropped off at Logan Airport. It was fun to see all the marathon shirts and jackets in the terminal. All runners greeted each other with congratulations and comments about the weather and the course. Everyone was in great spirits and convinced they would return next year.

Maybe a new set of ‘streakers’ has been formed.