North Jersey Haunted Half Marathon

I had been training extremely hard throughout October with the intention of running the Trenton Half Marathon on Nov. 7, but other plans got in the way. Not content with scrapping my half-marathon plans altogether, I came across the North Jersey Haunted Half on Oct. 24 - two weeks before my previously planned race date. 

Since returning from my injury, I have been what feels like amazing shape despite some continued aches in my back ranging from mild to moderate. But coming within seconds of my 10K PR was a clear sign that I was moving forward.  Pushing to the next distance level seemed like the right thing to do.

But could I cut two weeks off a training program from which I had already cut the first few weeks (when I was training for the United Way 10K)?  I was going to darn well try.  And at least this race, in Pompton Plains, was close to home.

Arriving at Greenview Park was a cinch and parking was no problem.  It was a bit chilly (38F) at 7:30 a.m., so I stayed bundled up during stretching and a light jog. When the race started at 9:30, I blasted off to an early lead and my swift pace warmed me up nicely.

A warning to anyone planning on running this race: There is no sideline support (fine with me) and very few markers and volunteers indicating where to go (not so fine, considering my past experiences).  

The first half of the race was lonely out in front and I was constantly filled with the dread of making a wrong turn or not making a required turn.  The only thing I could do was run straight until directed otherwise. 

This turned out to be a pretty good tactic on the long straightaway of the first two miles along West Parkway.  With the second and third place runners well behind me all I could do was focus on my stride and hitting my marks - a 6:30 pace would be great; a 6:27 would put me in PR territory.  

I hit the first mile in 6:07.  Damn.  Too fast.  That will surely come back and bite me later.

Yet on this pancake-flat course in my new Saucony Hurricane ISO shoes, I seemed unable (if not unwilling) to slow down.  The next few miles along the Boulevard were all between 6:10 and 6:20, as I was almost hypnotized by the fast and steady whap-whap-whap-whap of my feet on the pavement.

Then came the turns.  Lots and lots of turns.  Another warning: the entire second half of this race is filled with turns - more than there should be with so few volunteers - mostly along the same streets.  It was dizzying.  Thankfully there were some signs pointing to the turns, but almost no signs or volunteers indicating not to turn. Every intersection presents an option, and runners shouldn't have to even think about it. There were several moments when I truly wondered if I was still on the course.

Managing to slow down a bit into the 6:20s through the ninth mile I found myself back on West Parkway where I began, hoping that I was going the right way.  After Mile 10, there were no more mile markers, freaking me out even more.  All I could think about was that I was heading toward a huge PR and one bad turn could ruin it.  Again.

My worst fears seemed to come true - again - at the intersection of Boulevard and Ackerson Avenue where I had turned during the sixth mile.  There were three volunteers standing at the corner talking to each other and none of them were looking at me quickly coming their way.

"WHICH WAY???" I screamed, startling them as I closed in.  One of them pointed into the turn onto Ackerson.  I did not know that he was dead wrong until I came around the bend and saw the 5.75-mile checkpoint I had passed earlier.

I was off course - AGAIN - and really, really, really pissed off.

The race director came running out with a megaphone (this spot was geographically close to the finish), telling me to make another turn which would put me back in the right spot.  With my adrenaline pumping from my PR pace and the frustration that this had now happened for the third time in my last four races, plus not knowing how far this detour had sent me way off, I started cursing up a storm for all of Pompton Plains to hear.

It turns out that the block down which I turned was parallel to the proper block (Mandeville Avenue), so the difference in distance was negligible.  But when I passed the finish line (in the opposite direction) I wondered again if I was in the right spot (I was) and had to startle another couple of volunteers into pointing the way to go.  I had no idea where I was anymore, and I was looping around some of the same streets for the third time.

I was confused. I was angry.  I was fuming.  And I was sprinting.

When I finally came back around to finish for real, the clock said 1:22:06.  That came out to a 6:16 pace.  Though I was not wearing my Garmin, that was consistent with my pace at the 10-mile mark, so I trust that my detour neither added nor subtracted too much time.

That means I nailed my first half-marathon PR in four years and I won my third race in as many months.

Strangely, the runner behind me, Anthony Parga, must have missed a turn somewhere and cut off part of the course, because he crossed the finish line before I did. So the results page shows his name on top, but even he admitted afterward that he knew I had actually won. He got it backward, though, thinking that I ran too long instead of him running too short.  There is no way that he was running in the 6:20s in the first half and then sub-6 in the second half.

Plus, the directors awarded me with the winner's trophy, so they knew, too.

So I will accept the 1:22:06 as a proper time and, yes, I will damn well accept my win.

Again.