My master plan for the fall was to end my racing season at the Holiday Half on December 16th, where I would run the 5k if I hadn't gotten back under 18 yet, and run the half "just for fun" if I had.
But something started to happen in my brain as November turned to December: my attention started to wander. My body felt fine, I was kicking ass and taking names in my workouts, but in some weird way I started to feel just a bit tired.
Being the overly self-aware analytical type that I am, I tried to figure it out. I wasn't hurt, I wasn't sick, not over-trained, not anemic.... what was it?
On November 30th, I did a 16 miler with a really solid 7 mile progression run. Pretty much killed it. That night I was out late at a show, and when I woke up the next morning I just didn't feel like running. At all. I didn't even feel like going out for an easy run. On a weekend morning. That's kind of like me not feeling like eating cupcakes. It just doesn't happen.
The mystery was solved when I got into work that Monday morning and realized that it was time to change the calendar page. Then it dawned on me: it's December. I don't race in December! What was I thinking planning a season ending race in the middle of December? December is rest and re-set time, not peak race time! It's just break time, smarty-pants! (yes, that's how my brain talks to itself.)
I looked at my training log. My last full break was in May. The slow injury comeback over the spring and summer had pushed my return to real workouts to fall, but I'd basically been at 50-65 miles a week for 6 months. My legs felt ok because my fall workout load had turned out AWESOME, but my head was screaming for a break.
So, for once in my life, I listened. No running, full stop, until I wanted to run again.
That turned out to be 6 days, and I freely admit, that as each day passed, I got a little more concerned. I was going to want to run again, right?
Yes, I was.
But in the meantime, I threw myself into planning my spring training. There's nothing I love more than sitting down with my big ol' 11x17 home-made blank training schedules and planning. Planning and scheming my way to a big spring marathon performance. This time I even made color-coded excel spreadsheets on my lunch break at work. I am ridiculously excited about my color-coded spreadsheets. Different types of workouts have different colored cells so that I can see at a glance the basic proportions of each type of workout. I have stopped short of carrying these around on my person at all times, but a paper copy does reside in my backpack for easy reference.
I'm now finishing up the second week of my return to running. Next I have 3 weeks of transition mileage and transition workouts, and then the real fun begins. I can't wait. I think my body is finally ready for real marathon training again, and I'm ready to kick its ass.
In other news, I'm happy to report that I am joining Team Oiselle for 2013.
Over the past couple of years I've become enamored of Oiselle's clothing, which is highly unusual for someone who voluntarily limits their clothing shopping to twice yearly excursions to the upstate NY outlet mall with Mom. No one will ever mistake me for a clothes horse.
But I know good stuff when I wear it, so when the opportunity arose to run for the company responsible for the best running shorts I have ever pulled up over my legs, I jumped at it. (Roga shorts, ladies. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating, and you know how tricky it can be to find good running shorts.)
Oiselle is a Seattle-based company that makes running clothes for women exclusively (sorry, guys).
Check them out for yourself: www.oiselle.com
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
Turkeython Race Report
Prior to yesterday, I had never run a turkey trot. Never ever... which seems a little odd, given that I've been a runner since 1986. Maybe it's because turkey trots seems to go out of their way to be un-serious races, or maybe the timing was just never right, or maybe I'm just too lazy to run a race on a holiday. This year, however, my training schedule demanded a race this week. Enter the turkey trot.
The turkey trot in question was the Beaverton Turkeython. Given my snobbish disdain for such a foolish race name, it was only fitting that I was repeatedly asked (and thus forced to repeat out loud) the name of the race by people out and about in the neighborhood. Each time I enunciated as clearly as possible, to the delight of the karma gods somewhere, I'm sure.
Racing on a Thursday is weird. I knew it would be weird, so I tried to treat it like a normal Sunday race by treating the previous Friday like Monday of a race week. It didn't really work, and I found myself having to remind myself Wednesday night that I had a race the next day. I was not excited. Training had gone well in the 5 weeks since my last race, and this was supposed to be my chance to knock it out of the park, but I was just not feeling it. It'll be better when I get there, I told myself.
Thursday morning I was feeling just as bland about racing, in fact, now I wasn't just un-excited, but I actively wanted to get it over with so I could start enjoying my 4-day holiday weekend. This turkey trot business was a bad idea, I thought.
The Beaverton Turkeython had its start/finish area in a strip mall. A strip mall. Perfect. Now, I know people who talk smack about typical downtown Portland races, but I LOVE them. Love love love. Downtown in a good-sized city is where all road races should be.
But I digress.
I ran the course as my warmup so that I'd know what to expect. The course was flat, the turns were well-marked, and there were mile markers. Thumbs up.
The start was a bit of a cluster. I'm not sure why, but the organizers deemed it a good idea to start the 10k, then the 5k walkers, followed immediately by the 5k runners. The walkers, then the runners. Yes, that makes perfect sense. I took a breath and let it roll off my shoulders. Whatever. It was a small race, it wouldn't be that hard to get by the walkers.
We finally got going, and it was surprisingly easy to get by the walkers. As we made the first few quick turns and then settled in to a bit of a straight, I looked up in front of me to see only one woman and quite a few school kids going out too fast. The woman came back to me quickly, and I slid into the lead. Weird to be leading this early, I thought, I hope I'm not going out too fast.
I settled in and started picking people off. My legs did not feel great, but it could have been worse. Relax, I told myself, there's nothing you can do about your legs now, so just relax and run.
But then something odd happened. I heard some breathing just off my right shoulder. I had just a few moments earlier settled in to a kind of a zone, so it actually startled me a bit. I don't get passed very often in races. Lest you think me egotistical, I should explain that I'm a conservative starter, so most people that beat me do so from the front. And to make things even more surprising, this person coming up on my shoulder was a woman, and not the one I had just passed!
I'm pretty sure I did an actual double take. Had I gone out too fast or was someone actually beating me at my own game? This was not good news. On a day where my body and mind were decidedly dis-interested in racing, I was not going to have the option to coast, not even a bit. The day was going from bad to worse.
She pulled slightly ahead of me. She looked good. She looked like she was perfectly in control. I was pretty sure she was not all in her head and feeling sorry for herself like I was at that instant. We were about 3/4 of a mile in to the race, and I was already breathing hard. I was practically giving her the race at that point.
But sometimes, sometimes your instincts kick in without you even noticing. Because like it or not, intentional or not, I was going with her. I didn't want to go with her, I wanted to slow down and stop and walk back to my car, go home and lie on my couch reading a book. But there I was, going with her. Autopilot had kicked in. I had let her get 5-10 meters in front of me and then sped up to match her pace.
My 1 mile split was 5:45. That was the speed I had wanted to run for this 5k. Unfortunately, it didn't feel very good, and I was doubtful I'd be maintaining that pace. I didn't have much time to think about that, though, because I was busy being dragged through the race by this woman I didn't even particularly care about beating.
We hit the turnaround on the out and back course, and then my little hide and seek game was over, because she could see that I was still with her. Who cares, I thought disinterestedly, maybe she'll put on a big surge and lose me and then I can slow down for real.
Instead, she pretty much maintained the same pace, and I pretty much maintained my little gap. In fact, at about 1.75 miles, I actually caught up to her, pulled up next to her, and without even thinking about it, started to pass her. What am I doing? Is she just going to let me pass her? I wondered.
No. No she wasn't. Maybe she was spacing out a little, maybe she was feeling a bit lazy herself, but she seemed to wake up a little and began to speed up. As we hit the 2 mile mark, she pulled in front of me again, and the little gap opened up again.
I was remarkably unfazed by all of this until some nice, well-meaning guy who was running next to me, leaned over and said, Let's go get her, come on, I'll help you!
While I understood that this was intended to be motivational, it was absolutely the wrong thing to say to me right then. I had managed to keep myself in the race to that point by not caring, not thinking, and running on autopilot. Some days you need to associate, and some days you need to disassociate. This was one of the latter, and I was actually doing a pretty damn good job of it, all things considered.
So when this guy made his pronouncement, I wanted to punch him in the face. As if the only reason she was ahead of me was because I didn't have help! Genius! All of a sudden the task at hand seemed Herculean. I practically stopped running right there. I'm absolutely certain that I slowed down. The next 10-20 seconds were the worst I felt the entire race. But as I dodged to my right around some 10k runners (I guess I forgot to mention that we were running up the back of the 10k the whole time.... no comment needed), I got a little space between myself and the well-meaning guy, and I got myself back into my disassociative mental space.
And then I dropped him.
And while I'm sure it sounds just plain mean, I took a few inches of precious mental space to enjoy the sensation of him falling back behind me. What can I say? A good race brain morphs into whatever it needs to be on that day, and right then it apparently needed some meanness.
I got back into my autopilot zone as much as I could, trying to keep the gap close. My second mile had been slower, but was still a 5:52, so I knew I wasn't running an awful time. I just had to hang in there for a few more minutes and then kick. The last mile of a 5k always sucks. The sneaky parts of your brain will try every trick in the book to get you to slow down. Any doubt that is floating around in there will get magnified.
With about a half mile to go, I could feel myself starting to flail. Time to associate. Carefully. This is important. Associate your brain enough to think about keeping your form from totally falling apart, while staying disassociated from the fact that you're not done yet. The gap to the woman in front was starting to widen, but I kept at it doggedly. Just a little further... now the brain was all in. Nothing but actively fighting gets you through the last 600 meters or so.
The course turns with about 200 meters to go. I'd say she had about 40 meters on me by then. She was close enough that I got to watch her look over her shoulder for me. I knew I wasn't going to catch her, but I gathered myself and started kicking it in as best as I could. She was waiting for me at the line with a friendly "nice job". When people asked me afterwards how I did, I became fond of saying that the race winner had been toying with me, because it seemed apparent to me that she had been running to win only, and could have run much faster had she so desired, but the truth is that I wasn't bitter about that at all. In fact, I was grateful, because chasing her was the only reason I was able to give a good solid effort on a sub-par day. If she had taken off and blown me out of the water, I'm sure I would have run slower.
When I crossed the finish line, my watch read 18:16. What?! I was pissed. I didn't feel like it was a sub 18 effort, but I felt like it ought to be a very low 18.
I checked again for the distance: 3.14. Pi. A 5k is not PI!!!! A 5k is 3.106, not 3.14. And before you start rolling your eyes and wondering what the hell difference a few hundredths or a tenth makes, I'd like to point out that a tenth of a mile at my 5k pace is approximately 35 seconds. It matters.
Now here's where the math comes in. Despite my love of numbers, I hate this about road 5ks. They're never accurate. You're constantly having to adjust your times up and down, too short, too long, second-guessing everything. You ask around for other Garmin readings, you measure on gmap, all in the name of getting reliable information. And even a certified course is no guarantee. I've run certified courses that were set improperly on race day. Plus, a certified course, by definition, practically guarantees that the distance you actually run will be longer than the race distance.
This is an even bigger drag when it comes to PRs, but for my purposes, I'm just looking for a progression, for feedback on my fitness, and how near or far I am from being "back in shape".
I went home, sat down with my Garmin, and did some quick calculating. Sure, Garmins are not 100% accurate, but they are pretty consistent, and that's the data I had. So, for my purposes, I decided to assume that the Garmin readings for my last two races were exactly right, and adjust my race times accordingly. I did this mostly because I knew without a doubt that I had run faster at my turkey trot than at Run Like Hell. All of my mile splits were faster, after all.
The end result, according to Garmin, was that my RLH time slowed to 18:19, and my Turkeython time improved to 18:02. Is that exactly right? Probably not, but it's a lot more believable.
And you know what? I'm getting there.
The turkey trot in question was the Beaverton Turkeython. Given my snobbish disdain for such a foolish race name, it was only fitting that I was repeatedly asked (and thus forced to repeat out loud) the name of the race by people out and about in the neighborhood. Each time I enunciated as clearly as possible, to the delight of the karma gods somewhere, I'm sure.
Racing on a Thursday is weird. I knew it would be weird, so I tried to treat it like a normal Sunday race by treating the previous Friday like Monday of a race week. It didn't really work, and I found myself having to remind myself Wednesday night that I had a race the next day. I was not excited. Training had gone well in the 5 weeks since my last race, and this was supposed to be my chance to knock it out of the park, but I was just not feeling it. It'll be better when I get there, I told myself.
Thursday morning I was feeling just as bland about racing, in fact, now I wasn't just un-excited, but I actively wanted to get it over with so I could start enjoying my 4-day holiday weekend. This turkey trot business was a bad idea, I thought.
The Beaverton Turkeython had its start/finish area in a strip mall. A strip mall. Perfect. Now, I know people who talk smack about typical downtown Portland races, but I LOVE them. Love love love. Downtown in a good-sized city is where all road races should be.
But I digress.
I ran the course as my warmup so that I'd know what to expect. The course was flat, the turns were well-marked, and there were mile markers. Thumbs up.
The start was a bit of a cluster. I'm not sure why, but the organizers deemed it a good idea to start the 10k, then the 5k walkers, followed immediately by the 5k runners. The walkers, then the runners. Yes, that makes perfect sense. I took a breath and let it roll off my shoulders. Whatever. It was a small race, it wouldn't be that hard to get by the walkers.
We finally got going, and it was surprisingly easy to get by the walkers. As we made the first few quick turns and then settled in to a bit of a straight, I looked up in front of me to see only one woman and quite a few school kids going out too fast. The woman came back to me quickly, and I slid into the lead. Weird to be leading this early, I thought, I hope I'm not going out too fast.
I settled in and started picking people off. My legs did not feel great, but it could have been worse. Relax, I told myself, there's nothing you can do about your legs now, so just relax and run.
But then something odd happened. I heard some breathing just off my right shoulder. I had just a few moments earlier settled in to a kind of a zone, so it actually startled me a bit. I don't get passed very often in races. Lest you think me egotistical, I should explain that I'm a conservative starter, so most people that beat me do so from the front. And to make things even more surprising, this person coming up on my shoulder was a woman, and not the one I had just passed!
I'm pretty sure I did an actual double take. Had I gone out too fast or was someone actually beating me at my own game? This was not good news. On a day where my body and mind were decidedly dis-interested in racing, I was not going to have the option to coast, not even a bit. The day was going from bad to worse.
She pulled slightly ahead of me. She looked good. She looked like she was perfectly in control. I was pretty sure she was not all in her head and feeling sorry for herself like I was at that instant. We were about 3/4 of a mile in to the race, and I was already breathing hard. I was practically giving her the race at that point.
But sometimes, sometimes your instincts kick in without you even noticing. Because like it or not, intentional or not, I was going with her. I didn't want to go with her, I wanted to slow down and stop and walk back to my car, go home and lie on my couch reading a book. But there I was, going with her. Autopilot had kicked in. I had let her get 5-10 meters in front of me and then sped up to match her pace.
My 1 mile split was 5:45. That was the speed I had wanted to run for this 5k. Unfortunately, it didn't feel very good, and I was doubtful I'd be maintaining that pace. I didn't have much time to think about that, though, because I was busy being dragged through the race by this woman I didn't even particularly care about beating.
We hit the turnaround on the out and back course, and then my little hide and seek game was over, because she could see that I was still with her. Who cares, I thought disinterestedly, maybe she'll put on a big surge and lose me and then I can slow down for real.
Instead, she pretty much maintained the same pace, and I pretty much maintained my little gap. In fact, at about 1.75 miles, I actually caught up to her, pulled up next to her, and without even thinking about it, started to pass her. What am I doing? Is she just going to let me pass her? I wondered.
No. No she wasn't. Maybe she was spacing out a little, maybe she was feeling a bit lazy herself, but she seemed to wake up a little and began to speed up. As we hit the 2 mile mark, she pulled in front of me again, and the little gap opened up again.
I was remarkably unfazed by all of this until some nice, well-meaning guy who was running next to me, leaned over and said, Let's go get her, come on, I'll help you!
While I understood that this was intended to be motivational, it was absolutely the wrong thing to say to me right then. I had managed to keep myself in the race to that point by not caring, not thinking, and running on autopilot. Some days you need to associate, and some days you need to disassociate. This was one of the latter, and I was actually doing a pretty damn good job of it, all things considered.
So when this guy made his pronouncement, I wanted to punch him in the face. As if the only reason she was ahead of me was because I didn't have help! Genius! All of a sudden the task at hand seemed Herculean. I practically stopped running right there. I'm absolutely certain that I slowed down. The next 10-20 seconds were the worst I felt the entire race. But as I dodged to my right around some 10k runners (I guess I forgot to mention that we were running up the back of the 10k the whole time.... no comment needed), I got a little space between myself and the well-meaning guy, and I got myself back into my disassociative mental space.
And then I dropped him.
And while I'm sure it sounds just plain mean, I took a few inches of precious mental space to enjoy the sensation of him falling back behind me. What can I say? A good race brain morphs into whatever it needs to be on that day, and right then it apparently needed some meanness.
I got back into my autopilot zone as much as I could, trying to keep the gap close. My second mile had been slower, but was still a 5:52, so I knew I wasn't running an awful time. I just had to hang in there for a few more minutes and then kick. The last mile of a 5k always sucks. The sneaky parts of your brain will try every trick in the book to get you to slow down. Any doubt that is floating around in there will get magnified.
With about a half mile to go, I could feel myself starting to flail. Time to associate. Carefully. This is important. Associate your brain enough to think about keeping your form from totally falling apart, while staying disassociated from the fact that you're not done yet. The gap to the woman in front was starting to widen, but I kept at it doggedly. Just a little further... now the brain was all in. Nothing but actively fighting gets you through the last 600 meters or so.
The course turns with about 200 meters to go. I'd say she had about 40 meters on me by then. She was close enough that I got to watch her look over her shoulder for me. I knew I wasn't going to catch her, but I gathered myself and started kicking it in as best as I could. She was waiting for me at the line with a friendly "nice job". When people asked me afterwards how I did, I became fond of saying that the race winner had been toying with me, because it seemed apparent to me that she had been running to win only, and could have run much faster had she so desired, but the truth is that I wasn't bitter about that at all. In fact, I was grateful, because chasing her was the only reason I was able to give a good solid effort on a sub-par day. If she had taken off and blown me out of the water, I'm sure I would have run slower.
When I crossed the finish line, my watch read 18:16. What?! I was pissed. I didn't feel like it was a sub 18 effort, but I felt like it ought to be a very low 18.
I checked again for the distance: 3.14. Pi. A 5k is not PI!!!! A 5k is 3.106, not 3.14. And before you start rolling your eyes and wondering what the hell difference a few hundredths or a tenth makes, I'd like to point out that a tenth of a mile at my 5k pace is approximately 35 seconds. It matters.
Now here's where the math comes in. Despite my love of numbers, I hate this about road 5ks. They're never accurate. You're constantly having to adjust your times up and down, too short, too long, second-guessing everything. You ask around for other Garmin readings, you measure on gmap, all in the name of getting reliable information. And even a certified course is no guarantee. I've run certified courses that were set improperly on race day. Plus, a certified course, by definition, practically guarantees that the distance you actually run will be longer than the race distance.
This is an even bigger drag when it comes to PRs, but for my purposes, I'm just looking for a progression, for feedback on my fitness, and how near or far I am from being "back in shape".
I went home, sat down with my Garmin, and did some quick calculating. Sure, Garmins are not 100% accurate, but they are pretty consistent, and that's the data I had. So, for my purposes, I decided to assume that the Garmin readings for my last two races were exactly right, and adjust my race times accordingly. I did this mostly because I knew without a doubt that I had run faster at my turkey trot than at Run Like Hell. All of my mile splits were faster, after all.
The end result, according to Garmin, was that my RLH time slowed to 18:19, and my Turkeython time improved to 18:02. Is that exactly right? Probably not, but it's a lot more believable.
And you know what? I'm getting there.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Run Like Hell 5k race recap
Here's the thing: 5ks are HARD. They HURT.
I know this because I've done approximately one million of them in my life. Give or take.
So when I line up for a 5k, I do so with a healthy amount of trepidation. I know that suffering is imminent. And if I'm running it correctly, the suffering will be intense, the voices in my head will be loud and insistent, and the second and third miles will seem like an eternity.
And that's why this morning was a bit of an aberration.
The race flew by. The worst I felt was in the first 5 or 6 blocks, when my legs were just plain wooden. But as we turned on to Naito, they magically loosened up and I settled in. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I had just glided smoothly past Alyssa, who I knew would be my only competition in the race. The truth is, I didn't want to race anyone today. I was hoping that I was in 18:30 shape, and all I wanted to do was see how fast I could run. So when I pulled into the (womens) lead early on, a little weight lifted from my shoulders. Now it was just me doing my thing. Would she come back on me? Possibly, but it didn't matter. My head was in the right place now.
It always amazes me how little I need splits for a 5k. Despite my doubts and low expectations coming into this race, once I settled in, I knew I was fine. (Note: by "fine" I mean that I would still have to fight like crazy against slowing down for approximately 2/3 of the race, but that I was running the right effort in the meantime.) I didn't see any mile markers anywhere on the course, but my watch did split a 5:52 first mile for me. I didn't know how accurate that was, but it felt about right.
A sense of calm washed over me as I realized with some certainty that I had underestimated my fitness. This was a good pace... hell, this is my distance, I know how to run this damn race!
As I crossed the Steel Bridge train tracks, I heard the train whistle and saw the train getting ready to go. Ha ha, you lousy train!!, I thought, you will not be stopping me today! I was practically giddy at having beat the train, and that's when I noticed something strange. Where were the voices? Where was the dread? Sure, I started heavy breathing about 5 minutes into the race and my legs were starting to put up a fuss, but I really didn't care that much. I was busting my ass and it felt good.
We were running over the backs of the other two (longer) races of the day, which had started before us, so there were people everywhere. And maybe that was part of it. I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself because my mind was busy plotting a way through the packs of people.
When we turned off of Naito to zigzag back through Northwest to Broadway, the amount of road clogging intensified, as did the mental planning. People in the last mile of a half marathon are generally not expecting the leaders of a 5k to come barreling up behind them, looking for the quickest way past. I have never been more acutely aware of how loudly I breathe in a 5k, as people turned towards me with frightened looks on their faces as I ran by.
And just like that, I could see the finish line. Surprisingly, I had something left in the tank. Unfortunately, there were just too many people to make full use of this reserve. I cranked it up as best as I could in the space that I had and crossed the line in 18:05.
It's hard to describe how satisfying this race was. Sure, it's still 40 seconds off my pr, but it's also about 30 seconds faster than I thought I would run. And more than the time, it was how the race felt. It felt good. It felt damn good. Finally, after two years of frustrating training, of injuries and setbacks, of never quite getting back to race shape... finally, I could believe that I will finish my comeback this time.
So yes, I'll be calling this a comeback. And let's just hope it continues.
I know this because I've done approximately one million of them in my life. Give or take.
So when I line up for a 5k, I do so with a healthy amount of trepidation. I know that suffering is imminent. And if I'm running it correctly, the suffering will be intense, the voices in my head will be loud and insistent, and the second and third miles will seem like an eternity.
And that's why this morning was a bit of an aberration.
The race flew by. The worst I felt was in the first 5 or 6 blocks, when my legs were just plain wooden. But as we turned on to Naito, they magically loosened up and I settled in. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I had just glided smoothly past Alyssa, who I knew would be my only competition in the race. The truth is, I didn't want to race anyone today. I was hoping that I was in 18:30 shape, and all I wanted to do was see how fast I could run. So when I pulled into the (womens) lead early on, a little weight lifted from my shoulders. Now it was just me doing my thing. Would she come back on me? Possibly, but it didn't matter. My head was in the right place now.
It always amazes me how little I need splits for a 5k. Despite my doubts and low expectations coming into this race, once I settled in, I knew I was fine. (Note: by "fine" I mean that I would still have to fight like crazy against slowing down for approximately 2/3 of the race, but that I was running the right effort in the meantime.) I didn't see any mile markers anywhere on the course, but my watch did split a 5:52 first mile for me. I didn't know how accurate that was, but it felt about right.
A sense of calm washed over me as I realized with some certainty that I had underestimated my fitness. This was a good pace... hell, this is my distance, I know how to run this damn race!
As I crossed the Steel Bridge train tracks, I heard the train whistle and saw the train getting ready to go. Ha ha, you lousy train!!, I thought, you will not be stopping me today! I was practically giddy at having beat the train, and that's when I noticed something strange. Where were the voices? Where was the dread? Sure, I started heavy breathing about 5 minutes into the race and my legs were starting to put up a fuss, but I really didn't care that much. I was busting my ass and it felt good.
We were running over the backs of the other two (longer) races of the day, which had started before us, so there were people everywhere. And maybe that was part of it. I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself because my mind was busy plotting a way through the packs of people.
When we turned off of Naito to zigzag back through Northwest to Broadway, the amount of road clogging intensified, as did the mental planning. People in the last mile of a half marathon are generally not expecting the leaders of a 5k to come barreling up behind them, looking for the quickest way past. I have never been more acutely aware of how loudly I breathe in a 5k, as people turned towards me with frightened looks on their faces as I ran by.
And just like that, I could see the finish line. Surprisingly, I had something left in the tank. Unfortunately, there were just too many people to make full use of this reserve. I cranked it up as best as I could in the space that I had and crossed the line in 18:05.
It's hard to describe how satisfying this race was. Sure, it's still 40 seconds off my pr, but it's also about 30 seconds faster than I thought I would run. And more than the time, it was how the race felt. It felt good. It felt damn good. Finally, after two years of frustrating training, of injuries and setbacks, of never quite getting back to race shape... finally, I could believe that I will finish my comeback this time.
So yes, I'll be calling this a comeback. And let's just hope it continues.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Two Bear Half Marathon Race Report
It went kind of like this:
Susan mentioned in an email that she had signed up for a half marathon that was taking place in Whitefish, Montana, the weekend we were going to be there for our trip to Glacier.
I thought, well that sounds awful. Maybe they have a companion road mile? Or 5k?
But no, it was a marathon/half-marathon combo race. And the course was described as "challenging", which is a synonym for "not Andi-friendly".
I hemmed and I hawed. I missed the normal price registration deadline. I hemmed and hawed some more. Finally I gave in and signed up. I reasoned that it would take care of my long run for the weekend. Really, it was just an expensive training run, right? It's like I told Susan up at the start, "hey, I may be wearing a singlet (point to chest), but, (point to feet) it's nothing but trainers down there at the feet level."
The course was point to point. The altitude was about 3600 feet. (I classify that altitude as just high enough to make you wonder why you're running so slowly.) There was a net downhill, but there was also over 1000' of elevation gain.
I had a plan. It was pretty simple because it was just a training run. I would start conservatively, run a couple of 7:30s, ease down into the low 7s for a while, and then, around mile 8, when the nasty uphills would all be in the rearview mirror, if I was feeling good, I'd drop down and run some 6:50s, maybe 6:45s if things were going really well. I figured realistically I'd be happy to run under 95 minutes, if things go really well, I might run in the 93s.
The race goes off. Did I mention that the first 3.5 miles were down hill? I might have forgotten that part. The first 3.5 miles were downhill. They were also on a dusty, rutted, gravel road. But that was some nice downhill. Other than having to watch your footing, it was the perfect grade to run fast without effort. Still, I let the front part of the race go. About a mile in, there were 4 women in front of me. My first mile was 7:04. Whoops. Don't be an idiot, Andi, I told myself, just relax. So I relaxed. I relaxed so much that my next mile was 6:50-something. Now I was irritated. What the heck? No one was coming back to me, my pulse felt like it was about 80, I was completely relaxed. I found myself running next to this guy, and I thought, "I need to let this guy go, he's dragging me along too fast." So I let him get a couple of steps on me, and then without even turning his head, he waved his arm to tell me to come back up and run with him! My brow furrowed, I refused to give in. I was not going to get caught up in this fool's game of starting too fast! He finally moves enough ahead that the contact is broken. I run another 6:50-something. I hear footsteps and 2 more women come by me. What the.... am I already paying for starting too fast? But no, I'm still running the same pace, no women are coming back to me, and two more have just gone ahead. Now I'm in 7th. But that's ok. I'm not racing. So I shrug it off and just think about myself.
At about 3.5 miles, the gravel road ends and real road begins. This is where the half marathon course joins up with the marathon course. And also where the downhill ends and the uphill begins.
I feel fine. It's kind of like I just got the first 3.5 miles of the race for free as far as the effort is concerned, which is good, because almost all of the climbing in the course is between miles 4 and 7. All I have to do is get through the next few miles in one piece and then I can do whatever I want. Woman #6 stops off to pee in the woods, never to reappear in my sights. Woman #5 thinks I am her friend, woman #6, rejoining her when I pass her on an uphill a few minutes later, but I'm not. I just glide by. (I'm passing people uphills.... what am I doing?) Woman #4 grabs her water at the mile 4 aid station and walks to drink it, as I pass her. The waving guy from earlier appears, and as I roll up next to him, he says, "hey, you're back!" I smile, shrug, and say, "well, I already totally messed up my race plan, so...." I elaborate further by saying, "it's hard to start conservatively when you have 3 miles of downhill at the start." He laughs and says, "I think you have to just grab it, just go for it." I wonder if that's what I'm doing as I move past him and on to the next person.
Another mile split: 7:15. "That's more like it," I think. "See, I'm being smart! I know what I'm doing. Sure it was almost all uphill, but I feel ok. Everything's fine."
A few minutes later woman #3 goes by the wayside. I'm passing assorted men too, but it's easier to count the women, because there are fewer of them. Now I'm in 3rd place. "Probably where I belong," I think. I'd lost sight of the first two women very early on, and didn't think I'd be seeing them again anytime soon, if at all.
But now here's something entertaining... the guy who was the race starter is out on the course in his pickup truck. He drove by me down the dirt road in the beginning, gave me a bit of a curious look out the window (obviously not a local) and a "good job" and moved on. He comes back by in the other direction, just checking on things, and at some point I notice there are a couple of cars doing this. Again with the look hanging out the window. I start to wonder if I look like I'm super in control or something, and maybe he's wondering if I'm going to catch the local ladies in front of me. Then I think I'm probably making that up. But soon the road straightens out a bit and I start getting glimpses of the front two ladies. Which means I'm reeling them in on the hills. That thought gives me pause. That's either really bad news for them (if I can catch them on the ups, they must be hurting) or really bad news for me (I'm running too hard now and will die later). But whatever. I'm just running.
And reeling them in and reeling them in, bit by bit. Another 7:15 uphill mile. And now the guys in truck thing becomes obvious. Because now I can see them drive past me, pause, drive up to the women in front of me, see the brake lights as they say out the window that I'm hot on their tails. Great, I think. Now they're going to want to race me. And I really don't want to race. I'm not fit, I'm not ready for that. I don't want to do anything stupid and ruin the run. I just want to RUN. I wish they would just get out of my way without me having to pass them. The last thing I want is for them to try and fend me off, or start throwing in surges. I tell myself not to pass them until the 8 mile mark, because I know that's the end of the major uphills.
I can't help it, though. We start getting some downhill mixed in with the uphill, and now, relatively speaking, I'm flying. Next split I see is 6:40. Oh. Ok. Uh.... well, ok. "You know what?," I think, "No more thinking." And with that, I came up behind woman #1 and woman #2, obviously friends and working together. Woman #1 turns to look at me barreling down on them, and as I come up next to them (and they start to speed up a bit), it becomes apparent that they aren't going to say anything to me. So I tell them nice job, and they respond in kind. I mention that it's possible they'll be seeing me again in a mile or so when I blow up, but they don't laugh.
And with that, my friends, it is on. This is no longer a training run. I am racing and I am loving it. I passed those ladies at the bottom of a very long, gradual uphill, and as the road started to climb, I hit the gas. It was almost like I was running scared, or making some expert tactical move to put a serious gap on them quickly and destroy their confidence, but it wasn't that at all. Running fast felt good. It felt awesome, and all of a sudden I wanted to see what I could do. Yeah, I'm out of shape, nowhere near race weight and still way too far from the finish line to be starting a finishing kick, but I just didn't care. I didn't care if I died at the end, if I ended up in 10th place... whatever. I just wanted to run as fast as I could for as long as I could.
That turned out to be until around mile 10. I knocked out 3 or 4 6:30ish miles before reality started to set in. The downhills were pretty much done, and all that was left was flat, slightly up, and many many turns. But on my side were the spectators. Obviously I was the first woman they'd seen come by, which gave them something specific to cheer at me, but also a number of people seemed to know that I was killing it. Maybe because I was starting to look like I might pass out right in front of their very eyes! Seriously, I started to look pretty damn awful. I was breathing like a freight train, everyone I passed could hear me coming 10 seconds before I got there, but there was nothing to be done about it anymore. Yes, I was slowing, and I was suffering mightily, but I was fighting it tooth and nail. Every time I came up behind someone I'd start to think, "just sit here with this guy for a second and get your ridiculous breathing under control! You sound like a crazy person!" But my desire to finish as soon as possible was at odds with this other mentality, and thus the battle raged on.
The last two miles of the course were just plain silly. We'd essentially been running in a straight line for 11 miles, and the finish line was right up the continuation of the aforementioned straight line. But first we had to take not one, but two detours off the straight line to make the course long enough. There were at least 8 turns from mile 11 to mile 12.5, along with 4 or 5 changes of turf. At one point, after struggling past a couple of guys around this weird S turn kind of thing, and then turning to run along a fence in someone's back yard, I said out loud, loudly, "where are we going??" and then I started laughing hysterically, but only for a second, because I had no air to spare. None of the guys laughed with me.
Finally we turned back on to the finish street. Now I was basically shuffling. There was one more guy in my reach, but really, who cares at that point, right? There were only a few hundred meters left.... oh wait, is that the actual finish line? Uh, yeah. I started running for that finish line like my pants were on fire and I blew by that guy about 10 meters from the line like he was standing still. It wasn't personal, I just wanted to finish. I was so happy to be finished, in fact, that I almost burst into tears. Stopping has never felt so good.
My time was 90:13, which was far faster than I expected, and made me pretty happy, but it wasn't until I used one of those converters and got a flat, sea-level equivalent of about 86 flat that I felt really good. I feel like I pulled that race out of thin air. I have no idea where it came from. And maybe they weren't trying that hard, but I put 3 and a half minutes on those ladies in the last 4-5 miles of that race. I don't know where that came from either. But it felt damn good to be racing.
Susan mentioned in an email that she had signed up for a half marathon that was taking place in Whitefish, Montana, the weekend we were going to be there for our trip to Glacier.
I thought, well that sounds awful. Maybe they have a companion road mile? Or 5k?
But no, it was a marathon/half-marathon combo race. And the course was described as "challenging", which is a synonym for "not Andi-friendly".
I hemmed and I hawed. I missed the normal price registration deadline. I hemmed and hawed some more. Finally I gave in and signed up. I reasoned that it would take care of my long run for the weekend. Really, it was just an expensive training run, right? It's like I told Susan up at the start, "hey, I may be wearing a singlet (point to chest), but, (point to feet) it's nothing but trainers down there at the feet level."
The course was point to point. The altitude was about 3600 feet. (I classify that altitude as just high enough to make you wonder why you're running so slowly.) There was a net downhill, but there was also over 1000' of elevation gain.
I had a plan. It was pretty simple because it was just a training run. I would start conservatively, run a couple of 7:30s, ease down into the low 7s for a while, and then, around mile 8, when the nasty uphills would all be in the rearview mirror, if I was feeling good, I'd drop down and run some 6:50s, maybe 6:45s if things were going really well. I figured realistically I'd be happy to run under 95 minutes, if things go really well, I might run in the 93s.
The race goes off. Did I mention that the first 3.5 miles were down hill? I might have forgotten that part. The first 3.5 miles were downhill. They were also on a dusty, rutted, gravel road. But that was some nice downhill. Other than having to watch your footing, it was the perfect grade to run fast without effort. Still, I let the front part of the race go. About a mile in, there were 4 women in front of me. My first mile was 7:04. Whoops. Don't be an idiot, Andi, I told myself, just relax. So I relaxed. I relaxed so much that my next mile was 6:50-something. Now I was irritated. What the heck? No one was coming back to me, my pulse felt like it was about 80, I was completely relaxed. I found myself running next to this guy, and I thought, "I need to let this guy go, he's dragging me along too fast." So I let him get a couple of steps on me, and then without even turning his head, he waved his arm to tell me to come back up and run with him! My brow furrowed, I refused to give in. I was not going to get caught up in this fool's game of starting too fast! He finally moves enough ahead that the contact is broken. I run another 6:50-something. I hear footsteps and 2 more women come by me. What the.... am I already paying for starting too fast? But no, I'm still running the same pace, no women are coming back to me, and two more have just gone ahead. Now I'm in 7th. But that's ok. I'm not racing. So I shrug it off and just think about myself.
At about 3.5 miles, the gravel road ends and real road begins. This is where the half marathon course joins up with the marathon course. And also where the downhill ends and the uphill begins.
I feel fine. It's kind of like I just got the first 3.5 miles of the race for free as far as the effort is concerned, which is good, because almost all of the climbing in the course is between miles 4 and 7. All I have to do is get through the next few miles in one piece and then I can do whatever I want. Woman #6 stops off to pee in the woods, never to reappear in my sights. Woman #5 thinks I am her friend, woman #6, rejoining her when I pass her on an uphill a few minutes later, but I'm not. I just glide by. (I'm passing people uphills.... what am I doing?) Woman #4 grabs her water at the mile 4 aid station and walks to drink it, as I pass her. The waving guy from earlier appears, and as I roll up next to him, he says, "hey, you're back!" I smile, shrug, and say, "well, I already totally messed up my race plan, so...." I elaborate further by saying, "it's hard to start conservatively when you have 3 miles of downhill at the start." He laughs and says, "I think you have to just grab it, just go for it." I wonder if that's what I'm doing as I move past him and on to the next person.
Another mile split: 7:15. "That's more like it," I think. "See, I'm being smart! I know what I'm doing. Sure it was almost all uphill, but I feel ok. Everything's fine."
A few minutes later woman #3 goes by the wayside. I'm passing assorted men too, but it's easier to count the women, because there are fewer of them. Now I'm in 3rd place. "Probably where I belong," I think. I'd lost sight of the first two women very early on, and didn't think I'd be seeing them again anytime soon, if at all.
But now here's something entertaining... the guy who was the race starter is out on the course in his pickup truck. He drove by me down the dirt road in the beginning, gave me a bit of a curious look out the window (obviously not a local) and a "good job" and moved on. He comes back by in the other direction, just checking on things, and at some point I notice there are a couple of cars doing this. Again with the look hanging out the window. I start to wonder if I look like I'm super in control or something, and maybe he's wondering if I'm going to catch the local ladies in front of me. Then I think I'm probably making that up. But soon the road straightens out a bit and I start getting glimpses of the front two ladies. Which means I'm reeling them in on the hills. That thought gives me pause. That's either really bad news for them (if I can catch them on the ups, they must be hurting) or really bad news for me (I'm running too hard now and will die later). But whatever. I'm just running.
And reeling them in and reeling them in, bit by bit. Another 7:15 uphill mile. And now the guys in truck thing becomes obvious. Because now I can see them drive past me, pause, drive up to the women in front of me, see the brake lights as they say out the window that I'm hot on their tails. Great, I think. Now they're going to want to race me. And I really don't want to race. I'm not fit, I'm not ready for that. I don't want to do anything stupid and ruin the run. I just want to RUN. I wish they would just get out of my way without me having to pass them. The last thing I want is for them to try and fend me off, or start throwing in surges. I tell myself not to pass them until the 8 mile mark, because I know that's the end of the major uphills.
I can't help it, though. We start getting some downhill mixed in with the uphill, and now, relatively speaking, I'm flying. Next split I see is 6:40. Oh. Ok. Uh.... well, ok. "You know what?," I think, "No more thinking." And with that, I came up behind woman #1 and woman #2, obviously friends and working together. Woman #1 turns to look at me barreling down on them, and as I come up next to them (and they start to speed up a bit), it becomes apparent that they aren't going to say anything to me. So I tell them nice job, and they respond in kind. I mention that it's possible they'll be seeing me again in a mile or so when I blow up, but they don't laugh.
And with that, my friends, it is on. This is no longer a training run. I am racing and I am loving it. I passed those ladies at the bottom of a very long, gradual uphill, and as the road started to climb, I hit the gas. It was almost like I was running scared, or making some expert tactical move to put a serious gap on them quickly and destroy their confidence, but it wasn't that at all. Running fast felt good. It felt awesome, and all of a sudden I wanted to see what I could do. Yeah, I'm out of shape, nowhere near race weight and still way too far from the finish line to be starting a finishing kick, but I just didn't care. I didn't care if I died at the end, if I ended up in 10th place... whatever. I just wanted to run as fast as I could for as long as I could.
That turned out to be until around mile 10. I knocked out 3 or 4 6:30ish miles before reality started to set in. The downhills were pretty much done, and all that was left was flat, slightly up, and many many turns. But on my side were the spectators. Obviously I was the first woman they'd seen come by, which gave them something specific to cheer at me, but also a number of people seemed to know that I was killing it. Maybe because I was starting to look like I might pass out right in front of their very eyes! Seriously, I started to look pretty damn awful. I was breathing like a freight train, everyone I passed could hear me coming 10 seconds before I got there, but there was nothing to be done about it anymore. Yes, I was slowing, and I was suffering mightily, but I was fighting it tooth and nail. Every time I came up behind someone I'd start to think, "just sit here with this guy for a second and get your ridiculous breathing under control! You sound like a crazy person!" But my desire to finish as soon as possible was at odds with this other mentality, and thus the battle raged on.
The last two miles of the course were just plain silly. We'd essentially been running in a straight line for 11 miles, and the finish line was right up the continuation of the aforementioned straight line. But first we had to take not one, but two detours off the straight line to make the course long enough. There were at least 8 turns from mile 11 to mile 12.5, along with 4 or 5 changes of turf. At one point, after struggling past a couple of guys around this weird S turn kind of thing, and then turning to run along a fence in someone's back yard, I said out loud, loudly, "where are we going??" and then I started laughing hysterically, but only for a second, because I had no air to spare. None of the guys laughed with me.
Finally we turned back on to the finish street. Now I was basically shuffling. There was one more guy in my reach, but really, who cares at that point, right? There were only a few hundred meters left.... oh wait, is that the actual finish line? Uh, yeah. I started running for that finish line like my pants were on fire and I blew by that guy about 10 meters from the line like he was standing still. It wasn't personal, I just wanted to finish. I was so happy to be finished, in fact, that I almost burst into tears. Stopping has never felt so good.
My time was 90:13, which was far faster than I expected, and made me pretty happy, but it wasn't until I used one of those converters and got a flat, sea-level equivalent of about 86 flat that I felt really good. I feel like I pulled that race out of thin air. I have no idea where it came from. And maybe they weren't trying that hard, but I put 3 and a half minutes on those ladies in the last 4-5 miles of that race. I don't know where that came from either. But it felt damn good to be racing.
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