Of Coots, and Cones
February 24, 2008 by Maggie Mason
Not old ones, it turns out, for the former, nor pine or ice-cream for the latter.
Today was the famously fast Roses to La Playa, a really fun race which needs a new name. “Pedregosa to La Playa?” Nah. Not nearly as romantic.
As my running buddy Kim points out, this is more like a one-mile race than a 5K, since the first two miles are straight down State Street—quick and painless. BUT that last mile has the previous two piggybacked on it, which is to say it’s like a mile race with a transfusion of concrete into your lower body if you did the foolhardy fun thang, and blasted out too fast.
I didn’t. My first two miles were right where I wanted to be, around 6:30, and so I was really surprised when the last mile-point-one ticked over at a 7:00 pace. I was pretty sure I had run faster, judging by my effort, but the clock doesn’t lie. I was still happy with my finishing time of 20:45, because my goal was just to squeak under 21:00, since I haven’t done much fast work lately.
I was discussing all this on the cooldown with George, Jana and Kim, when George asked me, “Did you kick any coots?” “Yessss,” I gleefully affirmed, “I outkicked Joe Howell by a second!”
“No, no,” George chuckled, “I mean real coots. The birds. They were flocked around the turn onto the bike path.” Oh, those coots.
Since we were nearing State Street, I wanted to have a look at the cute coots. (Not that Joe isn’t cute. He is. But he’s really not a coot yet.) I’ve always loved them, and was horrified several years ago when a local golf course started bagging them because they’re “messy.” I also wanted to have a look at the turn, because I had a nagging, guilty suspicion I’d cut the course by a cone. Just past mile two, I’d kept running on the mini-walk that joins the main sidewalk to the bike path, and the turn seemed to be a sharp angle between a bike rack and an old beaten-up cone. In my race-fuzzy mind, it wasn’t at all clear what I was supposed to do there, and I ended up running just to the inside of the cone (negotiating a turn between the cone and the bike rack seemed impossible without getting tangled with metal). As soon as I did it, I was ashamed. “I’m sorry!” I shouted to no one in particular, “I don’t know what I’m doing!”
What’s the etiquette for such a thing? Stand still for a few seconds to give back the advantage? No, that would risk collision. Slow down, to pay respects to the people I cheated? Race instinct nixes that. I hoped I wouldn’t cross the finish line one or two seconds ahead of anyone who properly went around the cone, and hunkered down for the long mile home.
But, as we now approached the scene of the crime, I noticed several shiny Caltrans-colored cones and a huge arrow directing runners across the grass. The old cone now seemed like a discarded reject, and I realized I hadn’t cut the course, I’d lengthened it! No wonder that last mile seemed slow.
Turns out Kim had done the same, so we performed a little test, and ran both at race pace. It took 17 seconds to run the mistaken angle, and 5 to cut across on the true course on the outside of the cones. After doing the math and smugly deducting 12 whole seconds from our finishing times, we ran straight into a flock of coots.
We didn’t kick any, though.
Do you think maybe the coots were covering the little orange cones, and that’s why we all ran past? I wonder how many others did what we did.
I called Rusty right away (because I was excited about my race) and left him a message telling him what we had done. He called me back and left me a message saying something to the effect of: Why on earth would you go the longer way just because you thought everyone else was cutting the course? I had to explain — oh, no, no, no — I only went the long way because I’m a blind idiot and a little lemming; I was simply following those in front of me. If it were the other way around, and I knew everyone was turning around too soon (like that 10K out at Goleta a while back), I most certainly would continue on with my lemming ways and follow the too-short course. (You, of course Miss Maggie, out at Goleta were like the kid in class who reminds the teacher she forgot to give us homework, shouting to everyone: “You’re turning too soon! The course is mismarked! It’s too short!” You’re just so good, wink, wink.)
Oh, and now that I know what a coot is, I find the exchange between you and Green Shorts No. 2 far more amusing.
Good race Maggie! As you know, I was so dizzy and mad after stopping to tie my shoe (I think I am over that now)… I too missed the chalk arrow telling us to go across the grass. But, I often miss such details in life. I must say that I was surprised that my last 1.1 mile was slower than I felt like I was going. Thanks to you, George, Kim, and some cute little coots I know that I was more up to speed.
Did anyone actually run the turn correctly? Were any little coots kicked? I guess we will never know.
OK, so I ran the Peadbody 10K today, most of it with Maggie, just like I ran most of Roses to La Playa with Maggie. Maggie did not have a good day. Talking after the race with Maggie and Kim, Maggie asked if I have read her blog recently. No I admit. Kim then says “Coots”, they chuckle, and Maggie tells I need to read it. I now have. (Kim notes that I also am required to write a comment; I am.) I am flattered to be named in the blog, as a Coot or otherwise.
I think as I segue from commenting above on Maggie’s entry to making my own, I may be moving into blog hog status; if so, sorry Maggie. Maggie did not have her best day today but hey, the Coot beat Miss Maggie and a W is a W, right? Actually, I told Maggie that last week, running Roses with her at the end, until she dropped me, was a real breakthrough for me. The last time I did Roses was 2004. I was training hard for Boston, feeling fatigued from the training but good overall and the 42 min or so 10K I ran, mostly with Maggie (and don’t know who “won”), was my last reasonably good races. A month later, I blew out my knee at Orchard to Ocean, then knee surgery (albeit pretty minor stuff), long layoff, repeated decisions to quit running and finally a return in late 2007 to running some of the local events.
Running last Sunday with Maggie, literally cheering her on as she dropped me and today, trailing then passing her at some point, were both milestones- reminders that I am sort of back, the Coot hanging with Miss Maggie.
[...] race was first run it started up in the foothills amid orchards, but they moved the start. So like Roses to La Playa the name no longer reflects the current race. Maggie suggested “Pedrogosa to La Playa”, [...]