http://runkeeper.com/user/PGHMarathon/route/251262
This is a fun little tool. It looks like the only major uphill is mile 11 to 12.5. Is this true, Ross, or did you feel the smaller ones, too? I'm also curious to hear about how the downhill at mile 22 to 23.5 feels.
That's all from me today. I'm having a hard time coping with the upcoming agony of this race, but I've got to get to work.
PS - No Ricky Lader for Pittsburgh. Too bad.
Showing posts with label course preview. Show all posts
Showing posts with label course preview. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Unfinished Biz
With six and a half weeks to go, I am realizing that there are a number of blog items that I need to catch up on, namely a few celebrity interviews and the remaining installments of the course preview series. (As for the latter, for the previous installments, please go here and here.)
We left off at the first relay exchange, with most of the marathon still in front of us. Once they finalize the course, I will attempt, with Ross's help, to examine things more carefully so as to avoid epic blowups. If you take a peek at the image below, you should get a pretty good taste of what will have transpired by the first relay exchange (essentially a walk in the park with brain functioning at 10%), but in case you're an idiot and can't read pictures, and you're too lazy to read the earlier posts, I've typed out a summary for you--in bullet points, no less.
I'll let that marinate for a while and, in the meantime, promise to recommit to getting a Rojo interview up along with some actual thoughts on the marathon course.
We left off at the first relay exchange, with most of the marathon still in front of us. Once they finalize the course, I will attempt, with Ross's help, to examine things more carefully so as to avoid epic blowups. If you take a peek at the image below, you should get a pretty good taste of what will have transpired by the first relay exchange (essentially a walk in the park with brain functioning at 10%), but in case you're an idiot and can't read pictures, and you're too lazy to read the earlier posts, I've typed out a summary for you--in bullet points, no less.
- Older man in glasses challenges Sam at starting line.
- After the gun goes off, le trois move their way into the lead pack, working through hordes of people who somehow thought it would be a good idea to run the first 400 meters of their four hour marathon at 5:30 pace.
- Ricky Lader (who has two heads and breathes fire) makes a go at Wilson Wanjiru Cheseret Kipketer Abugayo, who won last year's race by an hour and a half.
- Gordon realizes at the half mile mark that he's got some distance to go still. He asks his arthritic left knee to give it one more go and pushes onward.
- Ross stops for a Primanti Bros. submarine sandwich or "grinder" as they call it in Pittsburgh.
- Sam's kidneys begin failing him. Six minute pace may not be a valid option.
I'll let that marinate for a while and, in the meantime, promise to recommit to getting a Rojo interview up along with some actual thoughts on the marathon course.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Comic Strip
You're a good distance passed the 2-mile mark at this point. That was a piece of cake. You see a flash of red ahead of you, as Ricky Lader takes the left turn on 32nd Street. It looks like you'll have to run an Olympic qualifier to beat Slick Rick today. On the plus side, Kareem is in the dust and you've long passed all of the old women and fat people who realized today wasn't the day for a miracle. Their arrogance will take its toll in the form of screaming thighs and vomit.
At the end of the Liberty stretch, you make a left and take another quick left on Penn. As if running a fucking marathon isn't hard enough, the race directors somehow decided it was a good idea to make you run counter-parallel to the street you were just on. This is mind-numbingly boring. To break up the monotony, you recite Yeats in your head.
Thankfully, the infamous Strip District is upon you to mix things up. What was once a shipping and manufacturing hub filled with the city's blue collar residents (i.e. poor people) is now a haven for young drunks (i.e. Ross). Since Ben Roethlisberger won Pittsburgh its third Superbowl in recent years, it's been bye-bye laying low and hello Strip District. With his returned sense of entitlement, Ben has worked up the nerve to rape people right there on the street in broad daylight. This year, he's volunteered to do so at the 3-mile mark as a steel drum band plays "Informer." Sweet Baby Jesus. Only 23.2 miles to go.
Experiencing a sudden onset hunger pang, Ross can't help himself from making a one-block detour up to Primanti Bros. for a mid-race sub. "I'll catch up," yells Ross, as he fades from view. Sam and Gordon cross the first bridge, making it to the first relay exchange in a blistering 35 minutes.
Game on.
At the end of the Liberty stretch, you make a left and take another quick left on Penn. As if running a fucking marathon isn't hard enough, the race directors somehow decided it was a good idea to make you run counter-parallel to the street you were just on. This is mind-numbingly boring. To break up the monotony, you recite Yeats in your head.
Thankfully, the infamous Strip District is upon you to mix things up. What was once a shipping and manufacturing hub filled with the city's blue collar residents (i.e. poor people) is now a haven for young drunks (i.e. Ross). Since Ben Roethlisberger won Pittsburgh its third Superbowl in recent years, it's been bye-bye laying low and hello Strip District. With his returned sense of entitlement, Ben has worked up the nerve to rape people right there on the street in broad daylight. This year, he's volunteered to do so at the 3-mile mark as a steel drum band plays "Informer." Sweet Baby Jesus. Only 23.2 miles to go.
Experiencing a sudden onset hunger pang, Ross can't help himself from making a one-block detour up to Primanti Bros. for a mid-race sub. "I'll catch up," yells Ross, as he fades from view. Sam and Gordon cross the first bridge, making it to the first relay exchange in a blistering 35 minutes.
Game on.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Give Me Liberty or Give me Death
In the first installment of marathon course previews, I bring you the first 2.1 miles. Since only Ross has run Pittsburgh before, maybe this will help us get a bit more familiar with the intricacies set to unfold over our 26.2 mile journey. One can only hope.
But first, a bit of history.
The subject line quotation belongs to Patrick Henry, who delivered a riveting speech to arouse a bunch of guys wearing bathrobes and wigs. In doing so, he gave most of them big boners and convinced them to send a few thousand American troops into battle against the Redcoats. Historians credit Henry's speech with swinging the war -- and a bunch of married men -- to the other side. Notice the imminent cheek smooching and HJ's set to occur in the portrait below.
Liberty still rings true in Pittsburgh, as the marathon starts at Liberty and 6th. Imagine yourself standing there on the street, about to crap your pants out of fear for the pain you're about to endure over the better part of three hours. Look around you. There's a 5'11'' 55-year old bald guy wearing old-school style basketball glasses who can't weigh more than 150 pounds. He's wearing shorts that are too sizes to small for him, and when he catches you looking at him during his crotch stretch, he turns to you and quotes Sam's favorite movie line of all time: "C'mon Meat. Bring that weak-ass shit." He then proceeds to point a scaly finger right in your face, so you can be sure that he's indeed addressing you.
You don't know what to do. Already stunned by the sudden realization that you haven't run a tempo run or long run in over three years, you now feel your manhood threatened by the master's runner -- a spitting image of a shorter, whiter, nerdier Kareem Abdul-Jabbar -- next to you. You may be in for a long day.
Some girl credited with finally putting Ben Roethlisberger in jail sings the National Anthem. The marathon director talks about how he couldn't have asked for a better day weather-wise. Shit. No excuses there.
Before you know it, the gun goes off, and despite the fact that you're running 5:30 pace, middle-aged women are passing you from all directions. Your two amigos are at your side, both of them thankfully making it back to the starting line in time for the gun after a long wait for the Porta-potties. Everyone high-fives in lieu of the time-honored yet time-wasting tradition of crossing streams.
View Larger Map
The first 2.1 miles of the course follow Liberty Ave. This is a good opportunity to turn your brain off and assimilate to the pace of the pack. God knows you'll need your frontal lobes to be firing at full capacity later when you're willing your legs to move over the last four miles of the course.
The elevation change is imperceptible; this stretch is essentially a layup. So take a load off, cowboy. There are rougher patches of pasture ahead.
But first, a bit of history.
The subject line quotation belongs to Patrick Henry, who delivered a riveting speech to arouse a bunch of guys wearing bathrobes and wigs. In doing so, he gave most of them big boners and convinced them to send a few thousand American troops into battle against the Redcoats. Historians credit Henry's speech with swinging the war -- and a bunch of married men -- to the other side. Notice the imminent cheek smooching and HJ's set to occur in the portrait below.
Liberty still rings true in Pittsburgh, as the marathon starts at Liberty and 6th. Imagine yourself standing there on the street, about to crap your pants out of fear for the pain you're about to endure over the better part of three hours. Look around you. There's a 5'11'' 55-year old bald guy wearing old-school style basketball glasses who can't weigh more than 150 pounds. He's wearing shorts that are too sizes to small for him, and when he catches you looking at him during his crotch stretch, he turns to you and quotes Sam's favorite movie line of all time: "C'mon Meat. Bring that weak-ass shit." He then proceeds to point a scaly finger right in your face, so you can be sure that he's indeed addressing you.
You don't know what to do. Already stunned by the sudden realization that you haven't run a tempo run or long run in over three years, you now feel your manhood threatened by the master's runner -- a spitting image of a shorter, whiter, nerdier Kareem Abdul-Jabbar -- next to you. You may be in for a long day.
Some girl credited with finally putting Ben Roethlisberger in jail sings the National Anthem. The marathon director talks about how he couldn't have asked for a better day weather-wise. Shit. No excuses there.
Before you know it, the gun goes off, and despite the fact that you're running 5:30 pace, middle-aged women are passing you from all directions. Your two amigos are at your side, both of them thankfully making it back to the starting line in time for the gun after a long wait for the Porta-potties. Everyone high-fives in lieu of the time-honored yet time-wasting tradition of crossing streams.
View Larger Map
The first 2.1 miles of the course follow Liberty Ave. This is a good opportunity to turn your brain off and assimilate to the pace of the pack. God knows you'll need your frontal lobes to be firing at full capacity later when you're willing your legs to move over the last four miles of the course.
The elevation change is imperceptible; this stretch is essentially a layup. So take a load off, cowboy. There are rougher patches of pasture ahead.
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