Rock & Roll LA: Ending on a Good Note

Heading down to LA for my last half marathon of the year, I was sort of up in the air about how I wanted it to go.  I wanted to run really well, especially after getting sort of robbed in San Jose.  I wanted to run fast, but I also wanted to feel good about it.  However, after two weeks of struggling through speedwork and feeling like crap, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to run fast.  I had time goals I wanted to hit, but felt like running to those goals was just going to end in pain.  Instead, I decided to take the very reasonable approach of going out and what felt like an appropriate pace (I’ve run enough halfs this year that I felt pretty confident in being able to figure that out) and then just keep it consistent through the whole thing.  Whatever time I ended up with would be fine, and with any luck it would be faster than the last one.

Once we got down to LA and started making our plan for race day, one thing became very clear: the logistics for spectators for this race just sucked.  There was absolutely no way for him to come see the start – the closest parking was a mile away and spectators weren’t allowed on the shuttles that were running to the start area for the participants.  (Which is totally fair, in my book.  Plus, it’s not like he would have had any way to get to the finish from the start after that.)  Since he wouldn’t be missing much by not being at the start, we decided that I would just shuttle up there in the morning.  No problem.  However, the more we looked at the map, the more we realized that the point-to-point course just didn’t give him any good places to come and see me along the way.  He’d have to settle for catching me at the finish line.  (I’m sure if we were more familiar with the area we could have figured something out, but for two people from out of town?  It wasn’t going to happen.)  Once we realized this we sort of kicked ourselves – I mean, we could have saved ourselves a couple hundred bucks on airfare and saved Irwin from getting up and dark o’ clock to drop me off downtown and then just…. hang out.  For several hours.  (He did it, though, and didn’t even complain.  Happily, he had some food trucks and geocaching with which to pass the time, so I felt a little better.)

I spent a good chunk of time in line for the shuttles, but they got me to the start line with just enough time to find my corral and make a quick pre-race pit stop.  I took my place in the corral with about 5 minutes to go until the start and then we were off!  I was amazed, though, by the number of people that were in the start area but not in the corrals yet when the race started.  There were a ton of people in line for the port-o-potties or just floating around.  While it’s not a huge deal since the race was chip-timed, a few more announcements by the MCs at the start letting everyone know how much time was left would have been helpful.  I don’t think I heard them once mention how much time was left until the start of the race until there was just 5 minutes left.

The race started at the top of a hill in Griffith Park, which meant our opening miles were slightly downhill.  Starting the race in the park was a great way to go and I made it through the first mile in 9:34.  It was, in all honesty, on the slower end of what I was hoping for, pace-wise, but it didn’t feel like I was going to go any faster without seriously hating life later.  I just knew that 9:30s were all I was going to get out of my legs that morning, so I decided I was just going to stick with it.  I knew that would still get me to the finish around 2:05 which was perfectly acceptable in my book.

While I stayed on pace through the first few miles, I had a few moments when I wondered if I was perhaps going out a bit too fast.  However, I just stuck with it and figured I’d deal with it later if it was too much.  The course took us out of the park and through a few urban neighborhoods before moving into some residential areas about halfway through.  We ran along the Silver Lake Reservoir and then, a few miles later, passed by a nice little pond/lake in the Echo Park neighborhood.  We went through Echo Park around the 10 mile mark and that was when I started feeling a little off.  I got chilly and just felt gross overall.  I’d picked up a salt packet at the start line and decided to take that down with some water.  I also started grabbing Cytomax at the aid stations instead of water for the remainder of the race.

I don’t know if it helped or not – I was absolutely freezing for those last 3 miles, but I kept my legs moving at the same pace.  At each split, I could see that as long as I held the same pace I could come in under 2:05.  I picked up the pace a bit too much at the 12-mile mark and, as a result, that last mile felt absolutely endless despite being the fastest of the race.  When I rounded the last corner, though, I knew I had it in the bag.  I just had to keep my legs moving and gave that last tenth of a mile everything I had.

I crossed the finish line feeling absolutely horrible and just about stumbled through the chute.  I’d made it, though, with a final time of 2:04:24.  Under 2:05.  My fastest half of the year.  A new PR.  Absolutely nothing to complain about.  I grabbed food and water and Cytomax and found the family reunion area where I sat down to wait for Irwin.  (This was the first race where I didn’t spot him as I was coming through the finish.  Happily, the reunion area was just about empty, so I wasn’t too worried about him finding me.)  Once I sat down and got some liquid and calories in me, I felt 400 times better.

As excited as I am about running a good, solid, super-fast race, I’m even more excited by the fact that I did it with splits that were just about dead even.  There were some hills on the course, but I found my pace and stuck to it like glue.  Behold my cookie-cutter splits:

9:34
9:30
10:31 (1.1 miles – taken @ 5k mark)
8:25 (0.9 miles)
9:23
9:26
9:44 (Gu break)
9:39
9:35
9:30
9:33
9:28
9:07
0:53 (0.1 miles)

Like I said: absolutely nothing to complain about.  Plus, having such a great race has me somewhat re-energized about running the full next month.  It’s looking like my original goal of going sub-5:00 is, well, it’s a little conservative.  (Or, to put it another way: I am a giant, dirty sandbagger.)  It looks like I’ll be re-evaluating things after my next couple long runs.  On the plus side, I’m pretty much guaranteed to destroy my current marathon PR of 5:21, which is awesome.

Bring it on, yo.

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They Can’t All Be Good Ones

So far, this year could very easily be described as the Year of Racing.  I’ve been so excited about getting back into regular running that I’ve done just about every race that has come down the pike.  Somehow, most of them have gone really well and I’ve set a whole new set of PRs.  I’ve seen my times come down to a point that I, quite honestly, was faster than I ever had a shot at running.  It has, in short, been a super awesome year.  Which means that I had a less-than-stellar experience coming to me, a fact that I had been successfully ignoring up until last weekend.

Last Sunday was the inaugural You Go Girl half marathon in Tacoma.  The pace groups were organized by the Marathon Maniacs/Half Fanatics which is how I found out about it.  Betsy, a local maniac, was leading the 2:10 group and told me I should come and run with her.  This was shortly after I ran New Orleans, and at that point 2:10 sounded like a challenging yet doable goal for the fall, so I signed up.  Then I ran that incredibly fast 10K right before the wedding and started getting ideas.  The week before the race, I decided I was going to shoot for 2:00 even, despite the fact that I hadn’t really been running all that consistently since the wedding.

Race day dawned wet and chilly, and as we drove down to the start I began to seriously question my commitment to running it.  Not helping things was the fact that shortly after hitting the highway, I realized that I’d forgotten my watch.  We were too far along to turn back for it, so I became immediately grateful for the pace leaders on the course.  I wouldn’t be able to keep track of how I was running, but at least I could tag along with someone that would be running at a nice, even pace.  Crisis averted.

Then a number of things happened: the two-hour goal was a bit too aggressive for me that day and the pace leaders went out just a wee bit on the fast side.  With the hillier-than-expected course, I quickly started feeling the speed.  The one good thing is that it didn’t take me long to realize that I wasn’t going to be able to hang with them for the entire race, so shortly before the mile 2 marker I let them go and found my own pace.  I recovered a little bit, but then the monstrous hill from mile 3 to 4 just about finished me off.  I was now firmly in damage control territory, just trying to finish the race with absolutely no expectation on how long it would take me.  I gave some very serious thought to ditching early when I passed the turnoff for the 10K finish line, but convinced myself to run the whole thing for the miles.  If nothing else, I could get a decent long run in as part of my marathon training.

As I wound my way through the course, I had absolutely no idea how fast I was going.  The 2:10 group was still behind me, but I had no idea by how much.  All I knew was that the 2:00 group was well out of sight and I was just chugging along the best I could, putting one foot in front of the other and feeling like absolute hell while I was doing it.  The giant overpass we had to climb before hitting the finish just added insult to injury, but I still managed to come in for a strong finish.

My final time?  2:06:15.  A new PR and a full 7 minutes faster than I ran in Alaska.  It may have felt horrible and been slower than I wanted it to be, but it was still a great race.  Go figure.  I moved past it pretty quickly, since I’d have another chance the next weekend to run a super-fast time.

That second chance was the Rock & Roll half in San Jose this past Sunday.  That course was definitely going to be super-flat and super-fast and I was going to remember my watch and not rely on a pace group, so I saw no reason that things wouldn’t go well for me.  What could possibly go wrong?  Sure, I’d felt a little iffy for the past few days and, as a result, hadn’t really been eating as much or as well as I might have liked, but that was fine.  I felt fine on Sunday when I woke up, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about.  Even the weather was cooperating with an overcast 60-degree morning: perfect running weather.

I got through the first 5K just fine – a little on the slow side due to the crowds on the course, but I felt like I had some room to speed up once things cleared out.  Then somewhere between miles 3 and 4, I just ran out of gas.  I reached for a Gu and, while that helped a bit, it didn’t really do a whole lot.  By the time I hit the 5 mile marker, I just wanted to be done and back home in bed.  This time, there was no 10K finish to ditch out early at, so I was stuck finishing it out whether I liked it or not.

Once again, I found myself easing up on the pace and letting go of any ideas I had of running a PR.  Unfortunately, this time I just couldn’t seem to recover.  No matter how much I slowed down, I still just felt like I was running through molasses.  It was horrible and awful and I felt incredibly gross for the pace I was running.  I finally just stopped and took a nice, long walk for a quarter-mile or so just before mile 11 and then regrouped.  I just had two miles left, and I could totally handle that as long as I ran them nice and easy.  Super easy.  Super slow.  Two miles.  Totally doable.

I made it to the end and even managed to pick it up a bit for the finish, but I didn’t feel any better for it.  My total time was 2:13:11 – slower than last weekend, but since I’d been sort of sick, I let it go.  It was annoying and frustrating – especially on the heels of last weekend’s race – but at least there was an explanation for it.  Hopefully I’ve gotten the icky races out of my system for a while, and I can make a much better showing at the half in Los Angeles at the end of the month.

However, as horrible as those races were, I can’t lose sight of two very important details:

• I finished both races.  Despite feeling like absolute crap, I still managed to run 13.1 miles.
• Both races were faster than the half I ran in June, which, at the time, was a PR.

So, yeah, they weren’t as fast or as fun as I would have liked, but they weren’t even close to being failures.  Like I said – I’ve had so many really good races this year, that I had something like this coming for me.  At least I got it out of my system before the full marathon next month.

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Mayor’s Half Marathon

The main reason for this weekend trip to Anchorage was to run the Mayor’s half marathon. My original plan was to run the full, but when I spent most of March not running and then most of April taking it easy instead of building mileage (thanks to the bursitis), I decided that running the full just wasn’t worth pushing things. I’d still go and spend the weekend hanging out with Rachel, but I’d run the half instead. Since I hadn’t pushed it as hard as I had hoped in Nashville, I decided to make this race my “fast half” race.

Since Rachel lived here, she hooked us up with a fabulous pasta dinner at a friend’s house last night. We had a great time hanging out with a few of her other friends that were also running today, and it was nice for me to spend some time talking about running, as most of my friends in Seattle aren’t runners. Once we got home, I got everything I’d need for the race together so I wouldn’t forget anything this morning.

Clothes, number, Gu, watch and, most importantly: Body Glide

My biggest concern was how I’d sleep. I didn’t sleep well at all Thursday night, despite being completely exhausted. While we were out and about downtown yesterday, I picked up a sleep mask. I didn’t know if it was going to help, but I was confident it wouldn’t hurt and for five dollars? I was willing to try.

I am pleased to report that those five dollars may have been the best spent money of the entire trip. Seriously. I still woke up about an hour earlier than I needed to, but I felt refreshed when I did. Besides, the race didn’t start until 9, so even with getting up at 6 I felt like I’d gotten to sleep in. Most of the races I’ve run lately have started at 7, which made this one feel luxuriously late. I fueled up with my traditional pre-race breakfast of a bagel with peanut butter:

Carbs? Check. Protein? Check. Hydration? Check.

The race started at a nearby high school, and my only complaint was that there was no organization to the starting line. It’s a smaller race, so I wasn’t expecting corrals, but some sort of signage indicating a general pace would have been nice. Rachel and I found a spot about 1/3 of the way back from the starting line, but I still spent the first half mile or so dodging walkers left and right. Grrrrrrr. Happily, by the time we hit the first mile marker, the crowd had spread out a bit. I had room to navigate around people when I needed it, and I was running around people that were more or less running my pace.

Rachel and I before the race.

Cheesy camera face!

The first half of the race? Was tough. We ran around behind the airport, and it was a little hilly. There weren’t any giant hills, but it was a constant up and down with no flat spots in between. I’d been hoping to go out and a 10:00/mile pace, and I was fighting to hang on to a pace around 10:10-10:20/mile. I was worried that even that was too fast, that I just wasn’t well rested enough or recovered enough from last week’s cold, and I had pretty much convinced myself this just wasn’t going to be my day. I really wanted to get under 2:15 for this race, and I was secretly hoping to run closer to 2:10, but as I was dragging my butt up a killer hill just before the 5 mile marker, I kissed all those thoughts goodbye. This race was going to suck, and I was just going to do my best to avoid barfing my lungs up until after I crossed the finish line.

Then a miraculous thing happened. We turned away from the airport just after mile 6 and the ground flattened out. I went from struggling to run 10:10 miles to cranking out 9:45 miles. I had a Gu and some water and regained my will to live. The back half of the race was on a running trail that runs along Cook Inlet, and with the exception of a pretty good hill right around the 8 mile point, it was pretty flat. Some gradual ups and downs, but nothing like the first half of the race. When I hit the 10 mile mark around 1:41, I started to think that a 2:10 might be possible after all! If nothing else, I knew that I’d break 2:15, for sure. I can’t even tell you what a welcome relief that was.

Shortly after mile 10: regained my will to live and happy to see Irwin

I hit the 12 mile mark at 2:00 and change, and I knew that I’d have to haul some serious ass to get a 2:10, but I only had a mile left! I asked myself what I had left and proceeded to let it all rip. I was moving along pretty well until we came off the trail and back onto the residential streets by the high school. Rachel had warned me about the huge hill here, and she wasn’t lying. She’d warned me not to stop at the aid station there and just barrel on up, but I felt like I needed something. I grabbed a cup of water, sucked it down, then mentally steeled myself and sprinted up the hill like it was the last thing I was ever going to do.

I paid for it – there was a half-mile of race left, and I suffered through every bit of it, never really catching my breath. However, I just kept pushing along since I knew I was almost done. The hill had cost me a couple of minutes, and I was not about to let that 2:15 get away from me. The race course actually makes you run past the starting line and around the school parking lot so you finish on the track, and that felt incredibly mean at that point. I kept looking for where we could turn, and then I kept looking for where we could enter the track. Rachel and a friend of hers were standing at the end of the parking lot, and hearing them yell my name perked me up enough to make it to the track itself. Then I gave those last 100 yards everything I had.

Ah, yes, the "I hope I cross the finish line before I fall over and/or barf" shot. Always flattering.

Final time? 2:13:28. A new PR by about three and a half minutes. This was the race I’ve known that I had in me all spring, and it was so nice to finally get it out.

The crew after the race

Irwin did a great job as support crew and photographer (all race photos in this post were taken by him). He even thought to have the long-sleeved shirts Rachel and I had been wearing pre-race with him, so we could put them back on right away at the finish. That was awesome – I’d been running in a tank top, which was fine for the race, but as soon as I stopped moving? I was sweaty and it was chilly and I was so very glad to have something else to put on. For being a non-runner (and for having absolutely no desire to be a runner), he does a great job of supporting me in my races.

I don’t have anything big planned until the fall, when I’ve got a few half marathons planned for September and October. I’m going to spend the summer working on my speed with weekly track workouts and building my mileage in preparation for the Seattle marathon in November. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to knock down that 2:10 by the end of the year, because that would be incredibly awesome. (I do have the secret weapon of knowing the pacer leading the 2:10 group at the half I’m running in September, so I’m thinking it’s pretty much in the bag there unless something goes terribly wrong.)

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Two Races: One Good, One Bad

Two weeks ago, I was supposed to run the Kirkland half marathon.  Part of the course runs along roads that I run on all the time and the start/finish line is just a few miles from the house, so why wouldn’t I run it?  Initially it was supposed to be part of my training plan for the Mayor’s Marathon in June, but since the logistics of it were so easy, I left it in the schedule even after I decided to drop down to the half marathon at Mayor’s.  However, that morning I discovered something that I’ll need to remember for next year: that race is cursed.

At least it is for me.  When I was supposed to run it two years ago, I woke up that morning with lady cramps bad enough that the idea of running for a couple of hours was enough to send me back to bed.  Last year, I didn’t register for it because I was still rehabbing The Foot and I just wasn’t in shape to run it.  This year, I was healthy, I was in shape, and I was convinced I was going to have an awesome day.

Which I did, for the first three miles.  Then something happened and my digestive system staged a rebellion, for reasons that are still unclear to me.  I walked a bit to let things settle down and feel better.  Then I realized I needed a bathroom.  I’d passed one about a mile back and, thinking the next one was much closer than it was, I decided to just keep walking to the next aid station and go there, rather than backtrack.  I wound up walking another 2 miles before coming up on the nearest facilities and at that point?  I was done.  The pit stop didn’t make me feel any better and I had no desire to stick the race out because… why?  I know I can run a half marathon.  I know I can run it well.  And I know that if a ride home is waiting for me a half mile up the road, I’m going to take it rather than spend 2 hours dragging my sorry behind over another 7 miles.  So that’s what I did.  I was just grateful The Boy was still there waiting for me instead of assuming he’d missed me and moving on to the finish line.  (Happily, we were close enough to home that, had that been the case, I would have just gone straight to the house.  I was that done.).

As tempting as it’s going to be to run that race next year, I might just accept the fact that the universe is trying to tell me something and pass on it.

Happily, the 5K I ran this past Sunday has a much happier story.  Based on my time from the 10K I ran in March, McMillan told me I could run a 5K in 27 minutes.  That sounded totally reasonable to me, so I made that my goal.  Sort of.  A 27 minute 5K would mean a pace of 8:40 per mile, but I decided to shoot for 8:30s… just because.  I have absolutely no logic for this outside of, “It sounded like a good idea.”

Naturally, after a week of sunny 65+ degree weather, race morning was windy, overcast, drizzly and… 45 degrees.  A bit brisk, especially since we were all wearing kilts and standing on the lakefront while waiting for the start.  Happily, once people started to congregate around the start, I was able to position myself in the middle of the crowd so I was protected from the wind a little bit.  I’m not sure if it actually helped, but I told myself it did.  I positioned myself about halfway back in the pack and impatiently waited for the gun to go off.

When the race started, I immediately realized that I should have stuck myself way, way closer to the start line.  I was passing people left and right, which made me wonder if I was going out way too fast.  I don’t wear my Forerunner for races, instead relying on a plain old watch and mile markers to tell me how fast I’m going.  It’s a system that’s worked well for years, but in short races like this where I want to go out aggressively, I don’t get any sort of feedback on my pace until the end of that first mile, and this was one of those races where that mile lasted forever.  I checked my effort level with myself a few times and, yes, I was going pretty hard but, yes, it still felt OK for a 5K effort.  I convinced myself I was right where I needed to be and didn’t need to change anything until my time at the mile marker told me otherwise.  When it came along, my watch read 8:35.  Exactly where I needed to be.

The surprising thing is… I was still passing people.  Even more surprisingly, the crowd I was running with was mostly guys.  And I was passing them.  Sure, they’d probably spent some quality time warming up in the beer garden before the race, but I was still passing by them and, stranger yet, the women on course were few and far between.  I kept chugging along and hit the second mile marker with a split of 8:28.  Perfect.  One more like that and a bit more and I was home free.

The third mile took us back to the starting area which meant running directly into a headwind in a few places.  That was less than enjoyable and it slowed me down, but just a wee bit.  The Boy had joked pre-race that I needed to run this one fast so he wouldn’t have to stand in the chilly weather all that long, and when I passed by him around the 2.5 mile point I asked him if it was fast enough for him.  To which he replied, “Run faster!”  Smart ass.

I hit the mile 3 marker with a split of 8:37 and dumped everything I had left in the tank into that last tenth of a mile.  I’d been hanging on the back of a guy for the last quarter-mile or so and I tried desperately to pass by him, but couldn’t quite get there.  I was OK with that, though, since as I crossed the line the time on the clock had a “26″ in front of it.

Final time: 26:31.  A new PR by over a minute and, get this: good enough for 5th in my age group.  Yes, it was a small race and no, there weren’t a lot of fast women (the first woman crossed the line in 21:05), but that’s all beside the point.  I was in spitting distance of placing in my age group for the first time ever, and it felt pretty darn good.

Additionally, this race was also a wee baby step towards my big pie-in-the-sky goal of someday qualifying for Boston.  To do that, I need to run a marathon in 3 hours and 4o minutes.  Now, since my fastest marathon to date was around 5 hours and 20 minutes, this clearly isn’t going to happen anytime soon.  However, the pace that I ran this short little 3 mile race at?  Is the same pace I need to run a marathon at in order to go to Boston.  Yes, I’m still a very, very long way away from being able to do that, but this race puts me one little baby step closer and makes me feel like running Boston may eventually be possible.

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Country Music Half Marathon

This was not supposed to be a fast race. From the moment I decided to run it and registered, this was always just a throwaway race. A Rock & Roll joint designed to get me one event closer to my Grand Slam Heavy Medal that I decided I needed to get this year. I’d run it as a wildly expensive supported training run. A dress rehearsal for the Kirkland Half Marathon two weeks later that I was intending to run fast.

That was all before the bursitis happened and I took the first half of April off. Two weeks before the race, I was maxing out at 5 miles before things started to hurt and I realized two things: One, I needed to get my ass out of spin class and on to the elliptical so I could get something that at least resembled miles under my belt and two, there was a very good chance that this was going to be a long, slow, painful slog to the finish line. I was even considering getting back on the Advil wagon for a few days before and after the race to keep things from getting too irritated and ouchy. I was trying to stay optimistic, but I was mentally preparing for the worst. I was secretly glad that I didn’t have any big expectations for this race, because now there was just no way it was going to be a fast race. I was prepared to feel lucky if there was a race at all.

Then things started turning around. A week before the race I headed out with the idea to run 10 miles but not really expecting to. Then, lo and behold, I made it the entire way. No pain, no twinges, no tightness or anything in the hip. I was filled with hope and optimism. There was still no way I was going to run fast, since that 10-miler was the furthest I’d run in almost two months (since New Orleans), but I’d at least be able to get from start to finish without any trouble. Or drugs. It was all going to be OK. I flew out Thursday night with just one goal for the race: run a good, consistent, even effort. Stay within yourself. No second-half heroics like in New Orleans. I was going to find a good pace and stick with it until the end.

Which is exactly what I did. Actually, what I did is I went out and run the race I should have run in New Orleans, and exactly how I should have run it in New Orleans. My first mile ticked by in 10:30, and while it was a bit speedier than I was expecting, it felt just fine. I was a little worried that I was going out too fast, but I didn’t worry too much. I just told myself that if it start to feel hard, I’d slow down. Which I did. In a few places on the course, a significant headwind kicked up. Rather than fight it to stay on a certain pace, I just backed off a bit and let the wind slow me down until we turned a corner or the gust was over.

I ran easy. I took in the sights of downtown Nashville and Music Row. I enjoyed the people camped out on their front lawns cheering us on as the course wound through residential neighborhoods. I picked up water at every aid station and took my Gu just past the 7 mile mark. I enjoyed the fact that we had some cloud cover to keep things cool (it had been 85 and sunny the day before the race) and thanked my lucky stars that there was, so far, absolutely no sign of the major storms that were predicted to roll through the area and the miles just flew by. Before I knew it, I was crossing the 10-mile mark and only had 5k to go.

The last 5k were a bit tricky, but I did it to myself. At that point in a half, I start to get impatient to be done and so I pick up the pace a wee bit, even if I’m not trying. I was still chugging along at a nice even pace, though, so I kept at it. The course wound down along the railroad tracks for a bit, which wasn’t the most inspiring scenery, and then we headed straight uphill into downtown. Going through downtown there were a lot of twists and turns, and they were of the sort that I cannot stand at the end of a race: the kind of turns that feel like someone said, “We’re a quarter mile short – let’s just take ‘em around this block to fix that!”

When I crossed the 12-mile mark, my watch said 2:05 and change. I thought if I really hauled some serious ass I could get in under 2:15. I tried, but there was still a couple hills left and my legs were tired. I crossed the finish line in 2:16:37. Twenty seconds faster than in New Orleans, which meant a totally unexpected PR.

While there were a lot of annoying things about the race, like the insanely crowded expo and course (seriously, I never stopped weaving through people), it’s hard to be upset after such a surprisingly good performance. I have no idea if this means I’m going to have another stellar day in Kirkland next weekend or if I’ve totally blown my legs out for a few weeks, but I suppose we’ll see. If nothing else, it just adds to my confidence that I’ll definitely be under 2:10 by the end of the year. Which is pretty awesome, if you ask me.

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Rocking and Rolling, New Orleans Style

When I first registered for this race, I wasn't quite sure what to expect.  What I wanted was to get back into a regular running schedule and to experience the fun of running a huge race again.  I wanted to get back in the habit of training for something and have a race that would inspire me to keep going.  I wanted to get back into something resembling decent running shape without pissing off my foot, and, most of all, I wanted to enjoy it.  When we all started this whole thing, I wasn't entirely sure if all of those goals would be possible.

I mean, I knew that I'd most likely get to the race and finish it, unless I did something incredibly stupid.  To keep the foot happy I used a training plan that started from zero and used a very, very conservative mileage build.  My other main concern was simply finding the time to get back into running 3 or 4 days a week, since between working full time and taking classes part time and, you know, sleeping, I don't always have a lot of hours left in the day.  However, the super-conservative mileage build also helped me carve out the time for running a little at a time.  I was super slow and I felt out of shape as I was huffing and puffing through my runs, but I was doing it.  I wasn't just running, I was training.  Pain-free.  And, most importantly, I was loving every second of it.

Then a couple of things happened that I didn't expect.  The first thing was that I forgot all about my cranky foot.  I was out for a run one day, pondering just how awesome it was that I was running again when it hit me: not only could I not remember the last time my foot was bothering me or keeping me from running, I couldn't even remember the last time I thought about it.  Shortly after that, something else strange happened: I was getting faster.  My training pace was dropping and, better than that, I was feeling awesome.  I felt strong.  I felt fast.  I felt like I wasn't just going to finish this race, but I was going to rock it.  As I was putting together my goals for the race, I knew I could run it in under 2:30.  That wasn't even a question.  I thought I might be able to come in around my old PR of 2:18 and change.  And I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could get under 2:15 if I had a really perfectly awesome day.  The strange thing was, while I was pondering finish times (mostly so The Boy would have an idea of when I'd be at certain points on the course), I wasn't all that concerned about it.  The night before the race, I was calm, cool, and just looking forward to running the next day.  I was completely unworried about the race and, as a result, slept like a baby.  (Although the red-eye flight on Friday night might have also had quite a bit to do with that.)

 

When my alarm went off at 5 a.m., I got right out of bed.  I had plenty of time to have breakfast, get dressed and ready, and double-check that I had everything I'd need for the race.  The Boy and I headed down to the start area and, once I'd made a port-o-potty stop and dropped my bag at gear check, I headed into my corral.  It was about 5 minutes before the race start, so I figured we'd be off and moving soon.

 

That would be where I was horribly, horribly wrong.  Our corral was around the corner from the start line and far enough away that we couldn't hear what was going on.  As 7:00 rolled by and turned into 7:10 and then 7:15, I started to wonder what was going on.  People would move up a bit, so I'd get all excited and think we were moving, only to stop again for another 5 minutes 10 feet later.  It turned out they were using an actual wave start – sending corrals out one or two at a time with a few minutes in between – which explained all of the stopping and starting.  This became pretty apparent as we got close enough to hear the announcer at the starting line.  By the time my corral (17 out of 20) crossed the start line, it had been 34 minutes since the race started.  That's only three minutes less than it took me to reach the start line when I ran the New York Marathon, and New York had twice as many runners.  It's not a bad thing, necessarily, but it was certainly far, far longer than I expected it to take.

 

However, the advantage to their system was pretty apparent as soon as I got out on the course as I had a lot more room than expected.  I did a little bit of weaving around people, but not that much, which was nice.  As I started running it became immediately clear to me that it would be in my best interest to make one last bathroom stop, so when I saw a very short line at the port-o-potty just before the mile 1 marker, I took advantage of it.  I lost about 3 minutes total here, but I told myself it didn't matter.  I wasn't running this for time, just for fun, and I wasn't allowed to haul ass to make up the lost time.  That three minutes wasn't going to kill me, and once I got past the first mile marker, I didn't really think of it.  In fact, I was able to relax and take in the scenery.  We were heading from the convention center out towards Audubon Park through a residential neighborhood and it was just beautiful.  The houses were all in the stereotypical "big southern mansion" style and had clearly been there for a while.  There was even a good chunk of shade from all the trees, which I am always a fan of.  (I was especially a fan of it then, since I had completely neglected to pack sunblock.)  Shortly before the mile four marker we split off from the full marathon runners – they headed off to do a loop around Audubon Park and we took a shortcut over to St. Charles Ave.

 

However, before I get too much further along, two noteworthy sites from those first four miles.  The first was just after the mile 1 marker, where a guy was on the second-story balcony of a house along the race route arguing with a couple of cops down on the street.  My guess is he'd parked a car on the street and it had been towed, given the snippet of conversation I heard between them.  He insisted he'd parked his car there before the signs went up and the cop said, "What?  Three days ago?"  The best part, though, was when the guy responded with, "This is my house, man!"  Which, naturally, is a fantastic argument to use, especially when arguing with law enforcement.  One of the runners near me remarked to her running partner, "That guy's going to be in jail by the end of the day."  Given that I wasn't entirely sure the guy was sober, I had to agree with her.

 

The second thing, which was not quite as entertaining, was a sign held up by a spectator just after the mile 2 mark.  It read, "How do those beers and raw oysters feel now?"  I laughed, but I was also very suddenly very glad that I'd only partaken of fully cooked seafood products the day before the race.

 

I'd been running a steady but conservative pace (around 10:30-11:00/mile), and was feeling pretty good with it.  The sun was coming out, it was warming up and I was enjoying life.  The crowds didn't thin out as much as I was hoping when the two races split, and I was finding myself weaving in and out of people on a regular basis despite not running all that fast.  Since I was feeling so good, I decided to try picking up the pace a bit.  I flew through mile 7 in 9:55 and decided that perhaps I didn't want to pick up the pace quite so much and so early.  The decision to slow down was aided by a water stop and a port-o-potty with no line.  I'd been scoping them out for a few miles (yes, I needed to stop again), but didn't want to stop if I was going to spend 5 or 10 minutes in line. However, right after the mile 7 water stop there was a whole bank of them with no line.  Reasoning I was going to stop and walk for a bit to take my gu an
yway, I figured I wouldn't lose a whole lot of time by jumping into the restroom, so I did.

When I came out to rejoin the race, I was shocked to see The Boy standing on the corner.  He'd been standing right near the mile 7 marker (he caught me, but I totally missed him) and saw me duck off course, so he figured he'd hang around and say hi.  I'd taken my gloves off a few miles back and tucked them under the shoulder strap of my tank top, and he offered to take them for me.  When he said it, it took me a second to figure out what he was talking about since I'd totally forgotten I'd put my gloves there.  I handed off the gloves, told him I'd see him at the finish and took off running.  All told, the stop only cost me an extra minute or so.  Totally worthwhile.

I took mile 8 a little easier, and when I hit the lap button on my watch I noticed that I was an hour and 28 minutes into the race.  My half-marathon PR was 2:18 and change.  I did some quick math and realized that if I ran the next 5 miles at a sub-10:00/mile pace, I could break that PR.  I wasn't sure about the idea – it sounded doable, but it would definitely be pushing it.  The fact that I did all that math right on the first try gave me confidence that I did indeed have the energy left to pull that of (y'all might be laughing, but let me tell you: basic math gets really, really hard in a long race like that).  I wavered back and forth for a couple of seconds, and finally decided I was going to go for it.  Yes, I might blow up and crash hard half a mile before the finish line, but I'd regret not trying more than I'd regret not making it.  At that point, I knew that if I did blow up, I'd a) be close enough to the finish line to not have a huge long slog to walk and b) still be able to finish well under 2:30.  I decided to go for it and picked up the pace.

From then on, it was counting the miles down.  When I hit the mile 9 marker nine minutes and 38 seconds later, I got a little boost of confidence.  The pace was a bit more aggressive, but I still felt good.  Only four miles left.  I could do this.  I flew through mile 10 in 9:45 and when I checked my watch, saw that I had 31 minutes to finish off the last 5K.  Three more miles just like the last two.  Piece of cake.  It was right around here that I noticed it had gotten pretty warm out and I finally stripped off my headband and arm warmers.  Ahhhh.

When I hit the mile 11 marker with a split of 9:24, I knew I had it.  It was starting to hurt, but I only had two miles to go.  I wasn't going to give up now.  However, here's where the course just started to get mean.  Shortly after the mile 11 marker, we came almost to the entrance of the park where the finish line was.  However, we turned right to do a quick out and back before going into the park. It was obvious that we ran down the road for a bit, then crossed over the river and came back to the park entrance.  However, it was hard to see how far down that turnaround was.  It didn't look very far at first, but it turns out that where I thought I saw people crossing over the river?  Was just a bend in the road.  The real crossing was much further down.  Then once we got there?  We turned right again for a quick out and back down a side street which, again, seemed to take forever.  It was sunny, it was kind of warm, and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I'd been sweating more than I thought and, subsequently, hadn't been drinking enough water.  Oops.

Lucky for me, there was a water station just past the mile 12 marker, and I grabbed cups of both water and Cytomax.  Now, I've never had Cytomax before, but I knew it was Gatorade-like and figured it had to taste about the same, right?

Wrong.  So, so very wrong.  I drank some water, then poured the rest into the Cytomax to cut the sweetness a bit and then took a big gulp.  Oh, it was gross.  So very gross.  I must have made a big face because one of the volunteers I was passing at that point said, "Yeah, it's pretty bad."  Ugh.  As bad as it tasted, I felt much much better after forcing the cup of it down.  One mile to go.  It was going to hurt, but I was going to keep hauling ass because, dude, one more mile.  I had it.

The little hill on the bridge going over the river was, seriously, the biggest incline on the entire course.  This was one of those flat race courses that really was that flat.  It was impressively flat, and at first that little incline felt sort of hard.  Then I told myself that, really, this was barely a speed bump compared to what I was used to running over.  I powered through it and continued passing people left and right.  I passed the 20k mark just before entering the park and did a little happy dance knowing that I only had about 3/4 of a mile left to go.

Sadly, turning into the park meant turning into the wind.  It wasn't horrible, but it was just enough to make you go, "Oh, seriously?  Really?" and call Mother Nature some nasty names.  I kept on hauling, though, and this was one of those times where I thought I was pushing the pace to avoid slowing down, but really I was just running my ass off.  I could hear the finish line as we came around the museum, but I couldn't see it yet.  I was looking for it and kept pushing and was thinking to myself, "just give me something I can see."  When I hit the mile 13 marker, I knew I was almost there but I still couldn't see it.  Grrrr.

Then we came around one last corner and, finally, I could see it.  The course got a bit narrower and I got stuck behind a couple of people, but as soon as I was clear I kicked it into the highest gear I had left and flew through the finish line.  I didn't see The Boy there, but heard him yell my name as I went past.  I didn't even think to wave at the finish line cameras because I was so focused on getting my butt across it as quickly as possible.  As soon as I did?  I looked at my watch.  2:16:55.  A new PR.  By two minutes.  I couldn't believe it.

Overall, I was absolutely thrilled with the race.  I set a new PR despite losing almost 5 minutes to bathroom stops and going out relatively slowly at the start.  Could I have run a faster race if it was more evenly paced?  Probably.  Would I rather take those 5 minutes of bathroom stops off my time?  Sure.  Am I bothered by either of those things?  Not at all.  During the race, I was just so happy to be running and feeling good about it that the record time was just a happy bonus.  This race really wasn't about the time at all – it was about the running.  I was thrilled because this race did everything I wanted it to.  It got me running again.  It showed me that I could make time for training in my insane schedule.  And it reminded me just how very much I love running and racing.

Plus, the fact that I ran that time despite the uneven pacing and the time lost to stops is actually very encouraging.  I used to think that a two-hour half was something I'd never see, but now I'm thinking that it's entirely possible.  Maybe even sooner rather than later.  And that sub-60-minute 10K I want to run?  Totally in the bag, since I was 83% there with the last 5 miles of this race.  I've got a whole slew of races planned for the year, and now I'm really looking forward to them.  I nailed this race – let's see what else I can do.

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Pleasantly Surprised: 2008 Mercer Island Half

For the past couple of years in Chicago, I’ve run a hilly half-marathon in early-to-mid March.  It was the first big race of the season, so it gave me a chance to see what kind of shape I was in.  Plus it was a chance to see and hang out with a bunch of my running people that, odds were, I hadn’t seen in 4-5 months while we all hibernated through the Chicago winter.  Good times all around, really.  Once I found out I wouldn’t be in Chicago in March, I started looking around for a similar race in Seattle.  Sure, it wouldn’t have the same colorful post-race brunch, but it would still give me a chance to see where I was starting my racing season at.  Luckily, Seattle has the Mercer Island Half Marathon – hilly, in the beginning of March, local to my new location.  Perfect!

My plan, at least as of January, was to spend the first few months of the year really working on building up a good base and a little bit of speed and then to run a really fast half.  And through January and February, it looked like that was a good plan.  I was running on hills all the time now, so I knew those wouldn’t be a surprise, and I was starting to work in a bit of faster running.  Then, two weeks before the race, my legs went on strike.  They’d decided they’d had enough of this “all hills, all the time” crap and I had the worst long run ever, which was followed by a reduced training schedule and a need to seek out flat ground to give my muscles a chance to really recover.  So much for my super-fast half.

Over the next two weeks, my legs started to feel a little more rested and a little better, but I still wasn’t quite at 100%.  I started to get worried about the race.  The longest run I’d done since November was 10 miles.  On flat ground.  13 miles on hills?  Oh dear.  This could be bad.  Really, really bad.  I told myself it would be OK.  I told myself that we just needed to think of this as less of a “race” and more of a “supported training run.”  I’d bring along one of the many MP3 players I have floating around the house and if it got bad?  I could throw some music on and take my time getting to the finish.  It would be fine.  Just fiiiine.

The morning of the race came along and while I wound up jumping out of the car and letting The Boy deal with fighting traffic and finding a parking space so I could get to the start on time (I’d forgotten that the reason I get to races an hour early is to avoid the worst of the traffic and parking congestion…. oops), I felt surprisingly unrushed.  After jogging from the freeway exit to the start area, I wound up having a few minutes to relax before the race started.  I had time to clear my head and get my goals set.  They were simple: get from start to finish without wanting to die, and if I could, average around a 12-minute per mile pace.

The race had a downhill start, and I focused less on the time on my watch and more on making sure I was running at a steady yet sustainable effort.  After the first few miles, I noticed I was right under my pace goal.  Awesome.  I also noticed that while there were lots of gently rolling hills, there wasn’t anything too nasty.  Also awesome.  The roads were twisty and turny and banked pretty steeply (which my hips are feeling today), so I tried to run on the relatively level shoulders when I could.  By the time I got to mile 5 and saw The Boy staked out with his camera, I was feeling pretty good.

The next few miles were… fine.  Not bad, but not great either as we wound our way up to the high elevation point of the race.  On the plus side, I knew that there would be a lot of uphill in this chunk of the race since I’d, for once, been smart enough to check out the elevation chart.  Score one for me.  Again, the best thing is that while the constant uphill got tiring, there weren’t really any steep climbs.  It was all gradual and rolling, just the rolls up were bigger than the rolls down.  My legs were starting to feel a little tired, but nowhere near as bad as I thought they’d be feeling.  In fact, they felt good enough that when I hit mile 9, I picked up the effort a little bit.  I knew that I was, overall, uphill from the finish, and I figured with 4 miles to go I could afford to kick it up a notch.

The best part about kicking it up a notch?  Is I started passing people.  The hills on this chunk of the island were a little bigger than in the first half of the course, and I had to stop and walk up them a few times in the interest of saving my legs, but I was still steadily moving forward, staying under my goal pace, and gradually passing people.  Then I passed by mile 11, rejoiced in that I totally had another 2 miles left in me and could pick up the pace even a little more, then turned the corner and was faced with a hill that made me say, “Oh, hell.  We’re not even going to try and run up that fucker.”

So I walked up it, and then once I got to the top I started running like I meant it.  I knew I only had another mile and a half or so to go, and my plan was once I hit mile 12 to give it everything I got.  I also planned to run up all of the hills in the last mile – at that point, I didn’t need to worry about saving my legs as much, and I wasn’t going to lose the extra couple of minutes to walking.  Oddly enough, this was the first time in the whole race that I looked at my watch and did the “how fast can I finish” math.  I knew that 2:30 wasn’t possible, but I never expected it to be.  I realized, though, that if I stepped on it, I could probably make 2:35.

So step on it I did, and was immediately faced with a big ol’ uphill.  Yargh.  I put my head down and chugged up it, while the volunteers at the top cheered us on.  From there it was mostly flat until the last hill at mile 13.  The only good thing I can say about that hill is that I knew it was coming – when I was jogging from the car to the start, I turned the corner and hit a hill big enough that, on fresh legs, made me go, “Damn, yo.  This is kind of a big one.”  Then I saw the mile 13 marker at the corner and went, “Oh HELL no.”  So, you know, I’d been warned.  That didn’t make it suck any less, although the knowledge that I was almost done helped a wee bit.

I flew into the finish right on the 2:35 mark, happy to be done but even happier that I’d felt as good as I did throughout the whole thing.  Mercer Island is absolutely beautiful, and I was able to enjoy the course as well as spectacular views of Mount Ranier and downtown Seattle while running.  The volunteers were great (although easily the oldest race volunteers I’ve ever seen, as they were all from the Rotary club), and the water stations were every 1.5 to 2 miles like clockwork, just as promised.  Heck, they were even giving out Clif shots on the course!  (A helpful hint from me to you: Don’t eat the offered Clif shot if it’s only 45 degrees out because it will be cold and really, really gross.  Put it in your pocket or down your pants or sports bra or whatever, give it some time to warm up, then eat it.)

Will I do this race next year?  You bet.  Especially since by then I should be totally adapted to the hilly terrain around here and fully able to kick ass and take names.

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I Did It!

I tell you, a girl takes a few days off the internet after running 13 miles to, you know, sleep and rest and whatnot, and she comes back to an inbox full of e-mails demanding to know how it went and why doesn’t she freakin’ update already?

Y’all, I was sleeeping. Well, Monday I was walking around Magic Kingdom and Tuesday I was on an airplane, but I was sleeping yesterday. Seriously. My alarm went off, I hit snooze for an hour and a half before realizing there was no way in hell I was going to get out of bed anytime soon, called in to work, then went back to sleep. Until noon. It was glorious. But y’all don’t care about that. Y’all want to know about the race, don’t you? All righty then. I’ll tell you about the race.

I had wanted to finish it in under 3 hours. When I was being good and training and running all the time like I was supposed to, this was a perfectly reasonable goal. However, since my training program was completely derailed by moving, Thanksgiving, starting the new job and then Christmas (in chronological order), the sub-3-hour time just didn’t happen. My final course time was 3:20:40. Not bad. Especially considering that I walked the last 4 miles (no, really, I did. It was a little pathetic.) I finished, was able to find the energy for a final sprint across the finish line, and have a shiny (and heavy!) Donald medal and “I DID IT!” t-shirt to prove it. (If it weren’t for things like office dress codes and, you know, hygiene, I’d totally wear the “I DID IT!” shirt around the clock and never take it off.)

Would I do it again? You betcha. In fact, I am doing it again next year, with The SAK. I’m even seriously thinking about hooking up with Team in Training to do a marathon this summer (the Chicago marathon is too late to run the Disney half again as well, and I definitely want to train and run with a group for my first attempt at the full 26.2 miles). (Note: If anyone out there has any experience with TNT? Can you let me know?)

Yes. I’ve become completely bitten by the Crazy Running Bug, because I am a lunatic. Endorphins, man. Endorphins. Anyhow, before I get completely off-track, I’ll summarize my thoughts from the experience in a nice little Dos and Don’ts list:

• Do run and train with someone else. I’m sure my training would have stayed more on track if I’d had someone locally to drag my ass out there and run, and I know I would have done a lot better on the last third of the race if I had someone running with me.
• Don’t make any plans for the day or two following the race. You will be tired. Very, very tired. If you take the day and a half immediately following the race to just sleep, you’ll feel a lot better a lot more quickly. (i.e., don’t spend the day after the race walking around Disney World, because it’ll take you an extra couple of days to feel well-rested again).
• Don’t spend the day before the race walking around Epcot… or any large amusement park, really. Relax. Stay off your feet. Otherwise, your feet will be sore when the race starts, and no good can come of that.
• Do bring food with you on the course, even if they say they’ll be providing food. Otherwise, you’ll get hungry at mile 7, and if the food table isn’t until mile 9? It’s a very, very long two miles.
• Don’t use the porta-potties on the course unless you have to, especially after mile 7. Why? Because most people using them, especially in a race of first-time-marathon-runners, are not having to pee.
• Do be prepared for the fact that the combination of nerves and running can work a number on your stomach.
• Don’t expect to get a lot of sleep the night before – you’ll be way too keyed up and excited. On the plus side, this makes getting up at 3 a.m. to get to the start on time seem much less cruel and unreasonable.
• Do spend the dough to stay in a Disney hotel the night before the race (well, for the Disney race). Most of the main roads around the start will be closed by the time you need to get there, and taking one of the Disney shuttles from the hotel to the start will be far, far easier than trying to drive and find parking and navigate around all of the closures.
• Do bring a funny hat to wear. Not only will it help your friends find you in the crowd of runners, but it gives total strangers a whole new reason to cheer for you. I wore Stitch ears to run in, and it was awesome to have the random spectator yell, “Go Stitch!”.
• Do bring funny hats for your friends to wear. Kate and I had bought The SAK a Nemo hat, so all I had to do to find them was look for the tall Asian man with an orange fish on his head. Oddly enough, he was the only spectator with a Nemo hat, so it worked out perfectly.
• Do eat before the race, even if you’re so nervous and keyed up you think you might barf. You’ll need the fuel, and if you eat it slowly and have time to digest, you’ll be OK.
• Do bring a camera with you on the course. Epcot was empty, but all lit up when we ran through it, and there were characters all over Magic Kingdom. When I turned the corner to head into Tomorrowland, I was so bummed I didn’t have a camera, because Stitch was standing there! How cool would it have been to get a picture of me in my Stitch ears with Stitch? Incredibly! Disposable cameras are light – glue a wrist strap on it, or stuff it in your pocket or fanny pack. You’ll be glad you did.
• Don’t underestimate yourself. You can totally do it. Really. You can.
• Don’t go for the fruit-flavored PowerGels, for they taste like ass. I hear vanilla and chocolate are good, though.
• Do run for the goodies. I was making jokes about the $80 “free” t-shirt I was getting for the race. When I got it? It actually was an $80 t-shirt – all Tech-y and sweat-wicking and everything. Totally worth it.

That pretty much sums it up. Also, did I mention I had a birthday yesterday? That’s right, folks. In the same week I ran my first half-marathon and turned 25. I am special. I am, in fact, The Most Special.

Bitches.

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