I was so relaxed about the race that I slept through the alarm. Twice.
On the third round my brain finally registered an annoyance: It's Sunday. Why is my alarm going off?
.... ..... ....
Oh. I have a race today.
It was that kind of a thing.
I hadn't been on the track in months, and only had 3 solid weeks of 60+ miles under my belt. I'd been doing some transition workouts, though, and I definitely felt like I was on the upswing, even if not very fit yet.
Plus, this was a half marathon. Those are so far out of my wheelhouse I can't really get nervous for them. There's just so much time in that race distance. It's not like a 5k, where you're full out from the gun, and if you have even the slightest mental lapse you can kiss your PR goodbye. In the half, relaxation and patience are what pay off.
And then there was the course. Described as "moderately challenging" by the race directors (a euphemism for slooow), and containing a 3.5 mile stretch on trails, the Lacamas Lake half marathon was not destined to go down in the books as a speedy course. Given my (lack of) fitness, the course, and my intention to run conservatively and use the second half as a good workout, I was feeling like I'd be pleased to run 87-88 minutes. Just getting a decent workout in.
But I still did my usual stuff. Singlet, race shoes, warmup.... usual routine.
In the start area, I ran into Ben, one of my longtime Hood to Coast teammates. It's always nice to see a familiar face before a race. I knew Ben would be sandbagging, and he was, but I told him I would not be falling for his act, I would not be trying to run anywhere near him. (Although I did tell him that I would be sure to tap him on the shoulder if I passed him later on when he was dying.)
As the race went off, my lavender race shoes caught the corner of my eye, and the thought popped into my head that this was my first race since Boston. In general, I haven't really associated the Boston bombings with running to the degree that a lot of people have, so the sentiment caught me off guard. To me the bombings had nothing to do with actual running, the marathon was just an easy target. But whether for running reasons or emotional reasons, I took a second to appreciate how awesome it was to be racing again.
After about 2 blocks, the course turned and ran smack into a steep hill. It was 2 or 3 blocks long, and its presence thinned the field pretty abruptly. I'm not a good climber, but I was probably in about 10th place overall by the top of that hill. A couple guys I'd passed on the way up came back by me in the next minute or two as we all started to settle in, including Ben. I laughed and told him I'd see him around mile 11 and watched him drift off into the distance, reeling people in one by one.
First mile split was 7:15, which I thought was perfect given the hill. I started easing down below 7 minute pace, but made sure to keep very relaxed. Plenty of time. I didn't feel like I was chomping at the bit, but I was fine.
Through mile 4 or 5 was pretty uneventful. The course was more rolling that I expected. There was a stretch or two where you could see pretty far out in front of you. I picked off a couple of guys that were hovering near me but definitely not at a happy effort level for them, and when I looked up I could see Ben way off in the distance and 3 or 4 guys between me and him, spread out pretty evenly.
I gauged them. The first two in front of me would come back, I decided. The third guy? Probably. Ben? I didn't think so.
I seemed to be running around 6:45-6:50 pace in general, but I wasn't paying a lot of attention. Still didn't feel awesome, and thought to myself that I probably would not be killing the second half of the race. Whatever, just getting a good workout in.
Just when the rolling hills were starting to annoy me, we hit a nice long downhill stretch. And we're talking good downhill, the kind you can really use. I held back a bit at first, but it just kept going and it felt so nice, I couldn't resist letting myself run it. I hit a mile marker (6?) and my watch said 6:25. Ok, easy there, Andi, it's a little early, just keep it smooth.
But then I wanted to run. The troublemaker voices in my head had rousted themselves out of their slumber and they wanted more. Running fast feels so much better, they said. Just keep going, it'll be fine.
I tried not to think about it too much. I just relaxed and ran.
But then little things kept happening that would get me excited. Like when a woman in her car, pulled off on the shoulder, yelled out her window at me: Hey! You're the first woman I've seen! Nice job!
(I knew I was the first woman, it was a small race after all, not too hard to keep tabs on people, but still, it's kind of nice when someone else is excited about it.)
And then a water station approached with a bunch of young ladies volunteering, and they were very happy to see the first woman come by. Lots of cheering, and one yelled out: Hey! Are you Andi? I'm Becky! (And that's how I met my Oiselle teammate Becky Leung.)
And then there was a short steep hill and a turn and another bunch of cheering spectators, and that was when I realized we were on the short little out and back segment of the course.
(If you've never raced, this might be counterintuitive, but people racing cheer for each other on the out and back segments. Yes, it gives you the rare chance to see how far ahead or behind your competitors are, but it's also energizing to cheer and be cheered for.)
My point is, I wasn't slowing back down. I didn't want to.
I saw the lead guy coming back at me, then the next guy, then Ben (go Ben!), another guy, then the 3 guys I was still gunning for. I was in 8th place.
As we hit the 180 degree turnaround, I started stepping on it a little. I was having fun. I had energy. When people were cheering for me, I was smiling and saying thank you. I was having a ball. It was time to see what I had.
The next two guys in front of me were not having as much fun, I don't think. One was a young kid, and when I sidled up next to him, he said: Where'd you come from? I paused just long enough to smile and say, I'm trying to negative split, we'll see how it goes. And I took off.
My next mile (mile 8?) was just under 6 minutes. Oops. Maybe a little early to be running that fast. As we hit the trail section, I dialed it back a notch and just started cruising along. I was happy to be in the trail section, oddly enough, because it was the only part of the course I had run on before that day. The trail was a little bit rolling, but very run-able in general. Flat for a trail, in other words.
At the entrance to the trails, the next guy was in my sights. I used him to help me in my efforts to dial it back. I stayed about 10 feet behind him for a minute or two, just feeling myself out, but next thing I knew I was pulling up next to him. I'm not sure if he sped up or if I slowed down, but we ran pretty close to each other for a few minutes. I was being very careful not to press too hard just to get rid of him, and in fact I thought maybe we'd end up racing together for quite a while, but by mile 9 he started to fall back.
And then I was alone.
The next couple of miles were just me and the trail. It was great, though. I was just flying along by myself, the only sound was my own breathing. I wondered at one point if anyone else would come back to me, but I didn't really care. I didn't feel like I needed someone to chase at that point. At 10 miles I did see a race official, who said: about 5k to go, as I approached. I responded: well, that seems kind of far. He laughed and said I looked great.
I really had no idea how fast I was running anymore. My Garmin was beeping mile splits at weird places, so I'd just glance down at the pace reading once in a while. It usually said 6:20-something, and I figured that was probably in the ball park.
Just past 11 miles, the course pops back out onto the road, where..... you guessed it, the half marathon joins up with the second half of the 5k course. And the 5k is still in progress. Of course.
And there was a downhill. So now I was running what turned out to be sub 6 pace, and overtaking runners who were running 25-30 minute 5k pace. And this is all taking place on one lane of road. As you might expect, I scared the bejesus out of some of those runners. I tried to stay wide as much as possible, but there's only so much you can do.
With the downhill and the adrenaline from bobbing and weaving through the crowds, mile 12 came in under 6 minutes. Mile 12 to 12.25 saw the adrenaline abruptly disappear and for the first time in the race, I was actually tired. I envisioned a one mile death march to the finish, but then, unexpectedly, my energy evened back out. My internal ship had been righted, and with another downhill at the finish, my last mile was around 5:50.
As I came flying around the corner to the short 2 block finish straightaway, I felt pretty damn good. I was stoked, to be honest. But when I saw the finish clock, I was just confused. It said 1:24:something. Crossing the line and slowing to a stop, I squinted down at my watch.
My watch agreed with the clock! What the....? Did I really just run 84 minutes for a half?
I stood there in the finish area, and while my brain tried to process this, I realized that no one at the finish understood that I had run the half marathon and not the 5k. The finish ladies were standing there with the half marathon medals, but they were just looking at me. And when I had crossed the line, they hadn't announced that I was the first woman.
I was still pondering how I'd managed to run 84 minutes when I'd only been on 89 minute pace at halfway, when finally one of them said to me: did you run the half or the 5k?
Half, I replied, and she turned to relay that information to the other guys at the finish. Maybe they thought I was still standing there because I was dying to have a medal, but really I was just so giddy at my 84 minute "training run" half marathon that I didn't know what to do with myself.
It kind of made me think, hey, maybe I really can run a decent half marathon sometime. If I was ready. And if it was a fast course.
You know, sometime. As in, some other time. For now, just get me to Hood to Coast, baby.
Bring it, slug hunters.
