Buddy System

"Are you ready for this monster?"

John Pettinechio's question hits me like a bucket of ice water in the face. Thirty minutes before the Lake Chabot Trail Challenge Half Marathon on June 1, John is not exagerating, but the shock lingers. "Do I really want to do this?," I ask myself. I'm not a trail runner. I have tried to register for Dipsea, but I've never won the lottery to enter, and the thought of running Double Dipsea or Dipsea Quad is so foreign I might as well swim the English Channel. You won't see me on at Badwater or Western States 100. Running long and relatively fast on the most accomodating courses is hard enough for me, and the running best suited to my training in Alameda. I am in the red top and black shorts on the left side of the group in the photo above. The tall guy I'm talking to is Alex Coate.

Lake Chabot is the hardest race I will run this year. Runner's World has listed it as one of its five races of the month at least twice in the last five years. I've run it every year since 2004, and along with the Tilden Tough Ten, I consider it one of my two can't miss races. Unlike Tilden, Chabot is almost all trails. Like Tilden, Lake Chabot is one of the East Bay Regional Parks, and another amazing place in the middle of the Bay Area. Great for hiking, fishing, boating, and picnicking, Lake Chabot Regional Park encompasses a huge amount of land beyond the lake and countless trails for wandering and getting lost in one's thoughts and surroundings. The first year I ran the race, I tried to prepare for it by following the course directions posted on the Golden Bay Runners web site. I did my longest trail run ever that day, getting lost and stumbling upon a Boy Scout Troop, retracing my steps a few times, draining my water bottle and luckily finding a kind woman on a horse who gave me some water and pointed me in the right direction.

My PR on this course is 1:34:56 in 2007, and I'm hoping to come within two mintues of that today. The race hits the hard section in the fourth mile, when it reaches the Loan Oak Trail. It's the only trail I can name on the course. One mile with a 600 foot incline, an 11% incline. I see a few runners ahead of me slowing down. That probably means they don't know what to expect. I pass them up and see Ralph Gowen on the top of a hill. "This is the top, Larry," he jokes. "It's just a bump," I reply. A runner next to me looks at me like I'm kidding, but I'm not.

I felt I had to focus on hill training after Tilden. I did four hill workouts in the prior two weeks: one run toward some mountains when I was on a business trip in Tucson; pushing Maylee in the jogging stroller on the eight paved miles of Tilden; and two "Challenging Hill Workouts", a treadmill routine on the Runner's World website. I keep running for what seems like forever, but my pace is barely faster than a walk. I decide to walk, then run, alternating as long as I don't lose any ground to anyone in front.

From behind I hear John. "Good strategy, Larry. You're saving yourself for later." It's not so much strategy as my lack of strength. John remains behind me and the thought enters my head. Should I aim to stay with John the rest of the race, or should I run on my own? Last year I chased John for 10 miles on the trail before passing him on the paved section and finishing one second ahead of him. Now we're going the same speed, with me running a few feet in front.

We work pretty well together. As the race progresses, we're ahead of last year's pace, which was a breakthrough performance for us. John is much more relaxed than I am, saying hello to hikers and cyclers on the path. I pass Robert Silva (M37) somewhere around 10 miles, and feel pretty good. A few hills and turns later, and I descend to the dam that forms the lake. It’s all paved until the finish, and I should be able to pick up some time from this point. Just as I try to run faster, one of my chronic problems on this course returns—side stitches. A combination of the heavy exertion and the steep downhill stretches that jostle my abdomen have always given me side stitches in this race. This time it’s worse than I can ever recall. Both sides hurt, and my whole gut is in pain. I slow down along the dam, and upon reaching the other side I slow down further as the course elevates.

When I hear John approach I say, “Go ahead, side stitches.” But John won’t leave me behind. “Come on, Larry, you got it.” I wave with my left arm for him to pass, but he won’t go. I know he won’t leave me behind, so I push myself. The next three miles I am the beneficiary of the buddy system. We pass mile 11. John claps his hands twice, “Just two more miles.” I can barely respond with more than a monosyllabic phrase. John keeps encouraging me as we pass the 5K turnoff. “Almost there.” I believe him, forgetting the wide turn to the right away from the lake. I groan inside as we take the turn that goes slightly uphill.

Then we hit another flat space and I can see the marina in the distance. The race finishes just past the marina. We have one more climb. “Last hill, Larry,” says John. We go up the hill and run side by side. As we pass the 13 mile mark, someone shouts, “We’ve got a race!” Actually, it’s an anti-race. Neither of us wants to go in front of the other. We speed up as we approach the end, and my breathing becomes labored, so I slow down. “Keep going, Larry. Don’t let anyone pass you.” I look behind us and see that someone passing us won't be a problem. The finish line is just in front and I am adamant that John finish ahead of me. I slow down, but John realizes what I’m doing and insists that I go first. I tell him to finish ahead of me, but he won’t, so I complete the race in 1:36:45, one second ahead of John for the second year in a row.

In 2007 we hugged at the end because we were so excited with our times. This year we hug again out of exhaustion. John thinks that without the side stitches we would have matched our times from last year. He may be right. The previous two weeks I experimented with my training, not doing any pushups or abdominal exercises because I was concerned about bulking up too much. I won’t try that again. The weakness in my abdomen may have made me more susceptible to side stitches. I finish third in my age group, 13th overall.

Post race I see John administering first aid to Kelly Tarkowski (F40), whose right knee is bleeding. A few minutes later I check in on her and see that both knees are pretty badly scraped. Then she shows me her two elbows and both hands, all of which are the result of a perfect six-point landing she executed on a downhill section of mile 10. In one of the great stories of the race, she managed to recover and place third in her age group. Here's Kelly, Chris Sullivan (M51), Deanna Stemm (3rd F45-49), John (1st M50-54) and Kenny Bright (M48). A lot of medals from that group.

One of my favorite scenes in the running is the award ceremony for this race. Usually awards are given in a parking lot while music is playing. Lake Chabot is much more serene. Everyone rests on a hillside, enjoying the sun and surroundings. Music would be a distraction.

I get my award when my name is called. The presenter says the nicest thing I’ve ever been told while picking up an award. “We’re honored you’re here,” They’re not paying me an appearance fee, but I guess they remember me from past years. The awards and shirts always feature wildlife at the lake. The previous four years the animal has been a bird of some sort. This year it’s a tortoise. I love the irony.