McDonnell challenges Sheehan's sprint

Photo courtesy of John Dye


EVESHAM - Instead of taking a lifeguard test in Wildwood last spring, Camden Catholic senior Kevin McDonnell competed in the 3200 of the Parochial A state championship, finishing fourth and eight seconds behind then-junior Mike Sheehan of Holy Cross.
All the lifeguard stands in Wildwood were full when McDonnell tried applying again, but he was undeterred, earning a whistle at Wildwood Crest this summer.
That’s not the inspirational part of this story.
While basking in the sun, McDonnell logged mileage on both land and water, developing muscle in his upper body and a mentality as dark as a tan.
“Every time I go out in a race I just want to hurt really badly,” McDonnell said. “That’s what I like to do.”
McDonnell did just that Saturday in the 3,200-long Cherokee Challenge against, among others seniors, Sheehan.
McDonnell got out fast but was dogged throughout by Sheehan and the specter of his killer kick.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” McDonnell said. “I had to turn my head every five seconds to see where he was.”
With Sheehan 10 meters in his wake for the last 800, McDonnell kept his form and his lead, winning by five seconds in 9:45.
Camden Catholic coach Dennis Quinn said his lifeguard experience saved him from being overtaken
“I think that really helped him out as far as finishing out a race because he never [finished as] good as he did today,” Quinn said.
The time was the fastest for the course being altered in 2004.
Meet director Chris Callinan said the new course slows a runner about six seconds with the addition a hill, a change Haddonfield sophomore Boo Vitez doesn’t mind.
“I love hills,” Vitez said. “All 107lbs of me gets up all those hills pretty easy.”
It was the rest Vitez had to adjust to.
An admitted “distance guy” with a limited kick, Vitez said he avoided a footrace with speedsters teammate Colin Baker and Shawnee’s David Forward in the sophomore race by going out unusually fast early.
“If it goes out slow and we’re all together I know they can all outkick me,” said Vitez, who ran a personal-best 4:36 in the 1600 last spring.
Vitez shot out from the pack with the sound of the gun, rounding the first 800 meters in 2:19.
But he was not alone.
Baker, a childhood friend, was on his heels and Forward lurked near but Vitez did not relent, dropping Baker on the looming hill and keeping Forward at leg’s reach en route to victory and history.
“Getting out hard took a lot out of their legs I guess,” said Vitez, who ran a 9:56, the best time ever ran by a sophomore in the race’s 12-year history with or without the hill.”
Moments before nabbing a new record, Vitez lost one to Triton’s Robert Rawls.
Rawls, a lanky freshman who placed fifth in the meet’s middle school race last year, took a summer’s worth of training – and the words of coach Kevin Pumphrey – with him to the starting line of the freshman race.
“My coach told me to stay calm and if someone goes out like a nut don’t chase him,” Rawls, 14, said.
Rawls kept close enough to the nutty frontrunner to surge past him before the one-mile mark. Then he passed Vitez’s freshman record of 10:17, finishing in 10:09.
“I was a little disappointed but it’s alright,” Vitez said, laughing.
Ocean City junior Brett Johnson didn’t break any records but, more importantly, he also didn’t break anything else.
Recovering from a season-ending stress fracture last spring and, most recently, a golf ball-sized lump on his right leg incurred from slipping on the slick boardwalk at a quad-meet Tuesday, Johnson won the junior race comfortably in 9:53, seven seconds ahead of runner-up Haddon Heights’ Josh Black.
Johnson’s win, along with a fourth-place finish by teammate Ryan Birchmeier – another member of the running wounded – in the senior race, propelled the Red Raiders to their second straight team championship.
Although mostly known to gauge the individual than the team, the Challenge showed Red Raiders as real state contenders, Johnson said.
“Everybody is going to be skeptical of us,” he said. “They know Ryan is coming back from an injury and he’s running well. Everybody knows that I’m coming back from a stress fracture and they’re going to test that. I definitely think we have something to prove.”

Sea Isle City 10-miler = hard

The plan was drawn in the sand, marked in footprints left 25 years ago when Rocky Balboa capped the Rocky III montage by kicking sand in Apollo Creed’s face en route to winning the world’s most dramatic footrace on a beach ever.
I had hoped to reenact that scene during a scorcher Saturday at Sea Isle City, but instead of finishing a seashell-chuck away, I ran 10 unforgiving miles, all while not wearing knee-high striped tube socks.
Instead I stunk up the beach worse than a month-old horseshoe crab carcass.
To know just how bad I performed, you first need to meet my competition.
Some opted to forgo socks or sneakers, a smart decision if not for the 2.5 miles of boardwalk, the stretches of burning sand, the rigid shards of seashells and the surrounding stampede of feet.
It’s not unlike a beach setting to inspire men of all sizes to show off skin, but during a race dynamic, some things are better left tucked within ones’ XXXL shirt. There’s no excuse for people to get seasick while on the shore.
Some topless runners reminded me of moving coat racks and others seemed as if they just stepped off a Venice Beach leg press.
As for the women, they always remembered to say “Excuse me” when passing.
The race started 5:30 p.m. on the boardwalk at an ugly 94 degrees.
Unless positioned in the front or the back, you couldn’t spit anywhere near the start without getting slapped or punched. I don’t know how camels do it.
An estimated 1200 sweaty runners huddled within a narrow block of boardwalk and did their best not to touch each other while awaiting the starting horn. Some must’ve not heard it go off. These people were soon trampled.
Stuck near the back, I zigged and zagged my best past the crowd, fully prepared to get between any handholding couple.
The crowd disintegrated with each passing souvenir shop. Once off the first mile-stretch of boardwalk, runners fell victim to the small patches of soft sand – the antithesis of quicksand – including me.
I trudged through the dunes until reaching the shoreline, pocked with bucket-sized waterholes, some serving as moats to sandcastles, since stomped on by me.
We rounded the cone, allowing me to see everyone slower than me. I took little satisfaction in this fleeting fact, feeling fatigued and my legs.
At Mile 3, I clocked in at 22:35 and thought about ending it and writing about my 5K within a 10-miler.
But there was no escape, even mentally: my imagined “happy place” was the beach.
So I bit down on my lip, turned my baseball cap backward, grew some facial hair and tried to hide the fact of running like a little girl; that is until a couple girls passed me.
Now off the sand, I pulled over to the side and put the ‘walk’ in boardwalk and stretched out any hidden kinks while sucking more air than a Hoover.
The rest of the race involved more sand, more stops and my same goofy grimace. If knowing my time makes you feel better in a depraved, sadistic way, I finished in an unofficial 90:45.
Although a loser shouldn’t be giving any shout outs, I’d like to thank the dozens of volunteers who handed out water. It
I’ll hopefully find a race to rebound at this weekend. But until then, you can find me at the beach doing my best ostrich impression.

The First Step

The last time I had reason to run, not counting any rabid dogs or mistaken officers, was a little more than four years ago, when I starred on Washington Township's junior varsity track squad, lapping spectators at an alarmingly rate.

All eyes would be on me during the last 100 meters of the 3200 as I would "bring it all in" for the team, including the dust of my competition, allowing the freshmen to set up hurdles.

But I was also often the last person off the track in practice too, logging in an average 40 to 50 miles a week.

The hope of spiking, whether from a growth spurt or from some revolutionary time-shaving gear, kept me moving.

Now 22, I've torn down my height chart, forever at a generous 5'9, and boxed away all my consolatory medals - both of them.

The time away from running may not have done me well from the look of things, such as my extra affectionate love handles, but it has done worlds for my confidence.

In other words, I'm as convinced of being a faster, stronger runner as I am of being delusional. Forget about my foot speed, my endurance or what my watch says -- I'm just faster. Somehow, this is true.

Unfortunately, one can't win a race on confidence alone.

For the past month I've been training for Aug.4's Sea Isle City Island 10-miler, starting with a trial four-mile race on July 4 in Pitman.

With the temperature ideal and the course marked clearly, excuses were hard to find so I improvised and arrived late.

The first mile, the run in shame as I coined it, was aptly my slowest, setting the pace for a 30:16 finish, two seconds shy of my fastest uncle.

People estimated I was anywhere from two minutes to 15 minutes late, meaning I could've had the current course record if it weren't for that regrettable price-check on sunscreen during a Wawa pit stop.

The lotion should come in handy this weekend with the 10-mile course being one-quarter board walk, seven miles of sand and the rest beached jellyfish.

The starting time may be 5:30 p.m., but I'm not expecting to run in any five o'clock shadow.

Although it wouldn't be my first 10-mile race, it certainly looks to be more challenging than the cupcake course of Philadelphia's Broad Street Run, which I coasted in 68:28 in 2006.

I've examined the course more intently than a metal detector, crunched the numbers and devised a workout regimen meant to simulate the beach-running experience, thus giving me an edge over the expected field of about 1,200 runners.

While averaging about 20 miles a week of running, I worked in such exercises as the
"sand-castle hurdle", "the sand-box shuffle" and lastly, the "sand-castle stomp", all while spritzing saltwater in my eyes.

No excuses this time, so long as there is no chafing. Or sand in my shoes. Really, you could tie a kite on to me because I'll be flying Saturday.

Either that or I'll crash and burn. Still, nothing that a little sunscreen can't prevent.