Today I had a hectic day riding around Texas with Lee on some work errands. It was actually pretty enjoyable if you don't count the part where we had to get up at 4:30 in the morning. 4:30 in the morning is not generally a time of day I enjoy, as you might imagine, but I'm a trooper so I got through it ok. All that is to say, even though it's late I haven't forgotten about you, and if you're good boys and girls I might even have some pictures of Texas to show you later.
But that's not what we're here to talk about! Instead I want to tell you about my Fourth of July. My main goal for this year's Fourth was to make it as much fun as last year's, which featured a 4 mile race in the morning and a picnic and fireworks in the evening. The first half of that equation was definitely a success. H, the friend I ran with last year, decided not to run it with me this year, so I was a little worried beforehand that I wouldn't have anyone to stand around and talk to before and after the race. Getting up and dressed at 6:45 that morning was kind of lonely, but once I got to the actual race I ran into a girl from work, and some other people I knew from the training program I was doing before I hurt my foot. I really shouldn't have been surprised - it's not like I live in a huge city, so of course I would know at least some of the other runners at a popular local race. But like I always say, if you can't assume the worst, you're not trying hard enough.
The actual running part of the race was fun, although I forgot that the last mile is mostly uphill. The weather was really nice, in the 70s. Since I usually sleep as late as possible and do my running in the evenings, I forget how nice and cool it is in the mornings. Every time I run an early morning race I think I should start running first thing in the morning, but then later I remember how much that sucks, so I don't. I ran a little faster this year, cutting 2 minutes off my total time. My only goal for the race was "run it faster than last time", so I was pleased. That being said, I did the math and I'm pretty sure I still would have had to cut 16 minutes off my time in order to place third in my age group. I totally could have taken the 60-65 age group, though. If I keep running and getting faster and the playing field keeps leveling as I age, I figure I should hit a sweet spot when I'm about 50. So check in 25-ish years from now, when I'll be a real contender. Even though I didn't technically win anything, all the runners got sweet pint glasses with the Four on the Fourth logo on them. (I took a picture of mine, but then my laptop stopped cooperating, and I didn't bring my camera cord with me to Lee's.)
After the race I desperately wanted a nap, but instead I had to run a bunch of errands. Last year's picnic-and-fireworks deal was mostly orchestrated by my friend H, who did all the planning and cooking and driving and et cetera. This year, I was the one who really wanted to go, so I felt like it was my responsibility to make sure we had everything we needed. My friend E and I had figured out ahead of time what we were going to make, and split up the duties. I was to make a pasta salad and buy more juice-box wine, and E was going to get us some delicious North Carolina barbecue and make cookies. So, instead of a nap I went grocery shopping and made up a pasta salad recipe on the fly.
(Here is where I would insert the beautiful pictures I took of the food, if it were possible for me to download them. Sad trombone.)
The pasta salad turned out to be pretty delicious, if I do say so myself, and I should really post the recipe on here sometime. After my success in the kitchen, though, things started to kind of go downhill. First, one of my friends changed her mind and said she wasn't going to be able to come along to the fireworks after all. Oh, and also that she couldn't give me the ride to the airport she had promised me. So I drove, discouraged but not defeated, to pick up my friend E from her place. Unfortunately, when I got there she told me she hadn't put the cookies in the oven yet, so we'd have to wait at least 20 minutes, but probably more because her boyfriend was going to join us and he was driving from a neighboring city. While I sat waiting, worrying about how I was going to get to the airport the next day, and how we were going to find parking at the fireworks, I heard the first thunderclap. Ten minutes later, there was a full-on downpour happening outside.
I was pretty bummed to see my dreams of a lovely explosive-lit outdoor meal slipping away, but I guess at that point I already begun to see the writing on the wall. Besides, trying to recreate the magic of last year's festivities had been a fool's game anyway. E's boyfriend arrived about the time I made my peace with the death of my fantasy Fourth, and at that point we came up with plan B: eat our picnic on the living room floor, drink a lot of wine, and play cards. It wasn't what I'd planned, but of course it turned out to be delightful.
Even though it rained and I didn't get to see anything blow up, the Fourth of July has been pretty good to me for 2 years running now. I've never thought of it as a top-10 event, but depending on how next year goes, it just might become my third-favorite holiday (after Christmas and Halloween, obviously).
Showing posts with label race report. Show all posts
Showing posts with label race report. Show all posts
Friday, July 8, 2011
Monday, September 13, 2010
And Four Months Ago, I Thought It Was Impossible
Considering it's been a week since I ran the half marathon (and 17 years since I last posted), I reckon it's about time I debriefed the troops.
(Which is you guys. You're my troops, didn't I tell you?)
Alright! So. This is going to be a long one, better settle in. The half I ran was the Rock 'n' Roll Virginia Beach half marathon, which took place on September 5th. I, my co-runner H, and our Official Spectator E all made a weekend of it, going down on Friday afternoon and returning on Monday. When we got there Friday night we took a trip down to the beachfront (our hotel was actually about 20 min inland) to get dinner and drinks and check out the sights. Virgina Beach has an awesome boardwalk that I greatly enjoyed, and which makes up the last mile of the race. Friday night there was a concert near the boardwalk and some booths nearby where people were selling things. We had a delightful conversation with some young men who were selling hot dogs and pickles "that will change your life." Unfortunately (?), no part of that last sentence was a euphemism. We also found a tent where some people were selling air-brushed tattoos. My friend E wanted one, so I took the opportunity to get something intimidating air-brushed on me for good luck.
The hirsute arm to the left is mine, and my tat is (naturally) a hot pink T-Rex. I'm not sure if you can tell, but there's also glitter on it. One of the girls gave it a name, but I can't remember what it was, so let's just assume it was Clancy. Clancy graciously stuck around through Sunday, and I did indeed look to him for inspiration at some point late in the race.
Saturday morning we got up and went to the Health & Fitness Expo. Apparently, most big races have Expos beforehand where the runners can go pick up their bibs, timing chips, and free t-shirts. There's also, of course, a bunch of booths set up selling running paraphernalia. I didn't end up buying anything, but that's really only because I wanted one of EVERYTHING and I couldn't decide what to spend my money on. (This is how most shopping trips go for me, actually.) Walking into the Expo, I had to fight back tears, and I still can't really explain why. Maybe it's because of the cheerleaders they had lined up to cheer for everyone as they walked in (!!), or because it was the first time the whole thing felt really real to me, or maybe it's just because I was walking around with this gigantic, diverse group of people and they were all Runners and I was a Runner too, as far as they were all concerned. Whatever the reason, I got a little emotional, like I do. But once the tears dried, I could more clearly see all the sweet perks. Free granola bars! A card for 10% off at P.F. Chang's, good for a year! Temporary tattoos from Dodge, for some reason! (They were a race sponsor, not that that really explains the tattoos.) My favorite piece of (not free) merchandise at the Expo was a car magnet that said, "In my dreams, I am a Kenyan." That pretty much sums it up, right there.
Sometime Saturday night was when I started panicking about the race. I wasn't ready, I didn't have my stuff together, I couldn't remember how to run. We were going to get lost on our way there, or be late, and miss the start. It all seemed very serious. I picked a fight with my race partner and everyone went to bed in an uneasy mood.
When race day dawned, however, we were all so excited (and punch-drunk from lack of sleep) that we forgot our anxiety in favor of stumbling around in the dark and laughing at things that weren't particularly funny. We got up at about 4:45 and suited up, and then there were bananas and bagels to eat and coffee to drink and who knows what else. Because our hotel was so far away from the beachfront, we had to drive to the amphitheater to park and catch shuttles to the start line. The shuttle ride itself was 20 minutes, and we were (I was) worried about getting to the start line by the time the gun went off at 7. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until we got within a mile of the amphitheater, at which point it became apparent that everyone in Virgina Beach was there, as well as some people from neighboring counties who came out JUST TO GET IN MY WAY. Even once we had finally parked, there was a long line for the shuttles, where we had to wait for about 15 minutes while I vibrated with anxiety.
When we finally arrived at the start line, we still had to use the porta-potties, which of course had lines of their own. The first waves of people were already taking off as H and I sprinted to get in line to pee. Luckily, however, there were about 20,000 people running the race that day and they were arranged in corrals in order of their projected finish time. Which is to say that even though the race "started" at 7am, H's and my corral didn't cross the start line til more like 7:30. Here's some of those 20,000 people:
And here's the start line!!:
When we first started, I honestly wondered if I'd be able to remember how to run. I hadn't run since Thursday (3 days before), and I was so anxiously hyper-aware of my body that everything felt weird. Did my ankle always bend in that way? Did my foot always hit the ground at that funny angle? And what is it I'm supposed to do with my hands, again? After about a mile, though, everything sort of evened out. The Rock 'n' Roll races have bands and cheer squads set up every few miles, and right before the first turn there was a band playing Flight of the Conchords' "Business Time," except they had changed it to "Running Time." It was definitely one of the highlights of the race, and it was stuck in my head for days.
Going into the race, my friend H and I had tried to figure out a strategy that would balance my misguided NEED FOR SPEED with her bum hip which had been bothering her for the past month. We decided that we'd try to confine our walk breaks to the water stations (which were set up about every 1.5 miles). In training, I had usually only walked a minute a two for each mile, so I thought it was do-able. For the first few miles we were zooming along at a pace a little faster than our goal pace, but we had to run up a hill early on that apparently made H's hips flare up, and after that things got rough for awhile. We had a goal of finishing in less than 3 hours, but H started stopping for walk breaks more and more often, and sometime during the 6th mile I realized that there was no way we were going to make our goal at the rate we were going. I explained the situation to H and she tried to rally, but it wasn't going to happen. She kept telling me to go on without her, but I didn't want to because I was afraid she was going to give up. Finally, I made her promise to at least run some if she could, and then we hugged and high-fived and I took off to try to make up some time.
During miles 7 and 8, I was running at a pace much faster than I had planned, trying to get back on track. I felt OK though, so I didn't let up until I had 8 miles behind me and I was sure that I could finish on time. After that, I took a break to walk and eat the free packet of Gu some volunteers had handed me about half a mile back. During the race I carried a little bottle of water to drink from between water stations, so at each station I would drink a small cup or two of water and then take another cup or two to refill my bottle. Apparently at some point during my snack break, juggling the water bottle and the Gu packet and keeping my feet moving became too much for me, because about 10 min later I looked down and there was sticky blackberry-flavored gel dripped all across the front of my running shorts. Sexy! Something about running by myself, covered in Gu, while my friend struggled along somewhere behind me struck me as both hilarious and sad, all at once.
Of course the bright side is that when you're running for hours on end, the scenery is always changing, so I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on my berry-scented shorts. Overall, the route was really pleasant, as were the bands and the cheering crowds. The only part that dragged a little was the few miles in the middle that went through the naval base. At that point, there weren't a lot of trees for shade, and there weren't a lot of spectators either, so you were sort of on your own for motivation. As the race went on and I started to get tired, though, everything sort of faded into the background. After 10 miles, every step I took was officially The Farthest I Had Ever Run. From mile 10 to mile 11.5 or so, all I could think about was making it to the water station that was supposedly set up around mile 11.3. I say supposedly because it was definitely about a quarter-mile farther down the road than that, and at that point in the race a quarter mile was about 2 miles too far. I finally gave up and started walking early, only to see it in the distance about 30 seconds later. I ran again to mile 12, where I walked for a minute or two and gave myself a pep talk. It went something along the lines of, "You have to run now, and you have to run for a mile, and you can't stop until you're on the other side of the finish line. Don't be a loser, OK ready set go!" And then I ran.
The last mile is along the boardwalk, which you turn onto just past the 12-mile marker. As soon as I was by the beach there was a nice strong breeze in my face, which I think really helped sustain me through the end. My feet were so beaten up at that point that they were just kind of numb, and it felt like they were coated with concrete. I had that all-over tingly feeling that I get when I've pushed myself to the limits of my endurance, and even though my stomach wasn't exactly growling I had the distinct impression that food would be necessary soon. I was running as hard as I thought I could (and still maintain it for another mile), but I felt so worn out I was sure I must be going incredibly slowly. And yet... I looked at my watch and I was going a full minute per mile faster than my goal pace! All of the myths about race day adrenaline were true! After I got done being excited about how quickly I was going, I realized I was going to have to maintain that pace until the end and I became a little alarmed. Although it felt like the loooooongest mile of my life, I persevered, mostly because I started mentally listing people I was running "for." When I ran out of people to dedicate the last mile to, I moved on to abstract concepts, like social justice and H's hips. THEN I started listing things I wouldn't stop running for, as a way to convince myself that I was more dedicated to finishing the race than I was to money and happiness. Things that wouldn't have made me stop running included: a free PhD, a billion dollars, a brand-new dream home, a bear covered in razor wire, a threat on my family's life, and who knows what else. Finally, 8 years later, I crossed the finish line, arms over my head, a determined look welded to my face.
Time: 2:52:30ish. Under my goal by 8 minutes. And I'm confident I would have been faster if it weren't for the rocky start.
After that, it's all kind of a blur. There was free beer on the beach, and cooling our feet in the ocean, and naps and showers and dinner at P.F. Chang's (10% off!). And of course, celebratory booze. And then the next morning, we got up and returned to the scene of our recent glory for bike riding along boardwalk and a little lounging by the ocean. It was the best Labor Day weekend ever.
Postscript about my running buddy: She finished about 15 min after me, sprinting across the finish line like a champ, and then we dragged her to the medical tent to ice her hip. She went to the doctor today and they told her she might have a stress fracture, so now she has to be on crutches until they can take a picture of her bones. Basically, if you haven't run 13 miles on a broken hip lately, you can't touch my girl H. ;)
(Which is you guys. You're my troops, didn't I tell you?)
Alright! So. This is going to be a long one, better settle in. The half I ran was the Rock 'n' Roll Virginia Beach half marathon, which took place on September 5th. I, my co-runner H, and our Official Spectator E all made a weekend of it, going down on Friday afternoon and returning on Monday. When we got there Friday night we took a trip down to the beachfront (our hotel was actually about 20 min inland) to get dinner and drinks and check out the sights. Virgina Beach has an awesome boardwalk that I greatly enjoyed, and which makes up the last mile of the race. Friday night there was a concert near the boardwalk and some booths nearby where people were selling things. We had a delightful conversation with some young men who were selling hot dogs and pickles "that will change your life." Unfortunately (?), no part of that last sentence was a euphemism. We also found a tent where some people were selling air-brushed tattoos. My friend E wanted one, so I took the opportunity to get something intimidating air-brushed on me for good luck.
The hirsute arm to the left is mine, and my tat is (naturally) a hot pink T-Rex. I'm not sure if you can tell, but there's also glitter on it. One of the girls gave it a name, but I can't remember what it was, so let's just assume it was Clancy. Clancy graciously stuck around through Sunday, and I did indeed look to him for inspiration at some point late in the race.
Saturday morning we got up and went to the Health & Fitness Expo. Apparently, most big races have Expos beforehand where the runners can go pick up their bibs, timing chips, and free t-shirts. There's also, of course, a bunch of booths set up selling running paraphernalia. I didn't end up buying anything, but that's really only because I wanted one of EVERYTHING and I couldn't decide what to spend my money on. (This is how most shopping trips go for me, actually.) Walking into the Expo, I had to fight back tears, and I still can't really explain why. Maybe it's because of the cheerleaders they had lined up to cheer for everyone as they walked in (!!), or because it was the first time the whole thing felt really real to me, or maybe it's just because I was walking around with this gigantic, diverse group of people and they were all Runners and I was a Runner too, as far as they were all concerned. Whatever the reason, I got a little emotional, like I do. But once the tears dried, I could more clearly see all the sweet perks. Free granola bars! A card for 10% off at P.F. Chang's, good for a year! Temporary tattoos from Dodge, for some reason! (They were a race sponsor, not that that really explains the tattoos.) My favorite piece of (not free) merchandise at the Expo was a car magnet that said, "In my dreams, I am a Kenyan." That pretty much sums it up, right there.
Sometime Saturday night was when I started panicking about the race. I wasn't ready, I didn't have my stuff together, I couldn't remember how to run. We were going to get lost on our way there, or be late, and miss the start. It all seemed very serious. I picked a fight with my race partner and everyone went to bed in an uneasy mood.
When race day dawned, however, we were all so excited (and punch-drunk from lack of sleep) that we forgot our anxiety in favor of stumbling around in the dark and laughing at things that weren't particularly funny. We got up at about 4:45 and suited up, and then there were bananas and bagels to eat and coffee to drink and who knows what else. Because our hotel was so far away from the beachfront, we had to drive to the amphitheater to park and catch shuttles to the start line. The shuttle ride itself was 20 minutes, and we were (I was) worried about getting to the start line by the time the gun went off at 7. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until we got within a mile of the amphitheater, at which point it became apparent that everyone in Virgina Beach was there, as well as some people from neighboring counties who came out JUST TO GET IN MY WAY. Even once we had finally parked, there was a long line for the shuttles, where we had to wait for about 15 minutes while I vibrated with anxiety.
When we finally arrived at the start line, we still had to use the porta-potties, which of course had lines of their own. The first waves of people were already taking off as H and I sprinted to get in line to pee. Luckily, however, there were about 20,000 people running the race that day and they were arranged in corrals in order of their projected finish time. Which is to say that even though the race "started" at 7am, H's and my corral didn't cross the start line til more like 7:30. Here's some of those 20,000 people:
And here's the start line!!:
When we first started, I honestly wondered if I'd be able to remember how to run. I hadn't run since Thursday (3 days before), and I was so anxiously hyper-aware of my body that everything felt weird. Did my ankle always bend in that way? Did my foot always hit the ground at that funny angle? And what is it I'm supposed to do with my hands, again? After about a mile, though, everything sort of evened out. The Rock 'n' Roll races have bands and cheer squads set up every few miles, and right before the first turn there was a band playing Flight of the Conchords' "Business Time," except they had changed it to "Running Time." It was definitely one of the highlights of the race, and it was stuck in my head for days.Going into the race, my friend H and I had tried to figure out a strategy that would balance my misguided NEED FOR SPEED with her bum hip which had been bothering her for the past month. We decided that we'd try to confine our walk breaks to the water stations (which were set up about every 1.5 miles). In training, I had usually only walked a minute a two for each mile, so I thought it was do-able. For the first few miles we were zooming along at a pace a little faster than our goal pace, but we had to run up a hill early on that apparently made H's hips flare up, and after that things got rough for awhile. We had a goal of finishing in less than 3 hours, but H started stopping for walk breaks more and more often, and sometime during the 6th mile I realized that there was no way we were going to make our goal at the rate we were going. I explained the situation to H and she tried to rally, but it wasn't going to happen. She kept telling me to go on without her, but I didn't want to because I was afraid she was going to give up. Finally, I made her promise to at least run some if she could, and then we hugged and high-fived and I took off to try to make up some time.
During miles 7 and 8, I was running at a pace much faster than I had planned, trying to get back on track. I felt OK though, so I didn't let up until I had 8 miles behind me and I was sure that I could finish on time. After that, I took a break to walk and eat the free packet of Gu some volunteers had handed me about half a mile back. During the race I carried a little bottle of water to drink from between water stations, so at each station I would drink a small cup or two of water and then take another cup or two to refill my bottle. Apparently at some point during my snack break, juggling the water bottle and the Gu packet and keeping my feet moving became too much for me, because about 10 min later I looked down and there was sticky blackberry-flavored gel dripped all across the front of my running shorts. Sexy! Something about running by myself, covered in Gu, while my friend struggled along somewhere behind me struck me as both hilarious and sad, all at once.
Of course the bright side is that when you're running for hours on end, the scenery is always changing, so I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on my berry-scented shorts. Overall, the route was really pleasant, as were the bands and the cheering crowds. The only part that dragged a little was the few miles in the middle that went through the naval base. At that point, there weren't a lot of trees for shade, and there weren't a lot of spectators either, so you were sort of on your own for motivation. As the race went on and I started to get tired, though, everything sort of faded into the background. After 10 miles, every step I took was officially The Farthest I Had Ever Run. From mile 10 to mile 11.5 or so, all I could think about was making it to the water station that was supposedly set up around mile 11.3. I say supposedly because it was definitely about a quarter-mile farther down the road than that, and at that point in the race a quarter mile was about 2 miles too far. I finally gave up and started walking early, only to see it in the distance about 30 seconds later. I ran again to mile 12, where I walked for a minute or two and gave myself a pep talk. It went something along the lines of, "You have to run now, and you have to run for a mile, and you can't stop until you're on the other side of the finish line. Don't be a loser, OK ready set go!" And then I ran.
The last mile is along the boardwalk, which you turn onto just past the 12-mile marker. As soon as I was by the beach there was a nice strong breeze in my face, which I think really helped sustain me through the end. My feet were so beaten up at that point that they were just kind of numb, and it felt like they were coated with concrete. I had that all-over tingly feeling that I get when I've pushed myself to the limits of my endurance, and even though my stomach wasn't exactly growling I had the distinct impression that food would be necessary soon. I was running as hard as I thought I could (and still maintain it for another mile), but I felt so worn out I was sure I must be going incredibly slowly. And yet... I looked at my watch and I was going a full minute per mile faster than my goal pace! All of the myths about race day adrenaline were true! After I got done being excited about how quickly I was going, I realized I was going to have to maintain that pace until the end and I became a little alarmed. Although it felt like the loooooongest mile of my life, I persevered, mostly because I started mentally listing people I was running "for." When I ran out of people to dedicate the last mile to, I moved on to abstract concepts, like social justice and H's hips. THEN I started listing things I wouldn't stop running for, as a way to convince myself that I was more dedicated to finishing the race than I was to money and happiness. Things that wouldn't have made me stop running included: a free PhD, a billion dollars, a brand-new dream home, a bear covered in razor wire, a threat on my family's life, and who knows what else. Finally, 8 years later, I crossed the finish line, arms over my head, a determined look welded to my face.
Time: 2:52:30ish. Under my goal by 8 minutes. And I'm confident I would have been faster if it weren't for the rocky start.
After that, it's all kind of a blur. There was free beer on the beach, and cooling our feet in the ocean, and naps and showers and dinner at P.F. Chang's (10% off!). And of course, celebratory booze. And then the next morning, we got up and returned to the scene of our recent glory for bike riding along boardwalk and a little lounging by the ocean. It was the best Labor Day weekend ever.
Postscript about my running buddy: She finished about 15 min after me, sprinting across the finish line like a champ, and then we dragged her to the medical tent to ice her hip. She went to the doctor today and they told her she might have a stress fracture, so now she has to be on crutches until they can take a picture of her bones. Basically, if you haven't run 13 miles on a broken hip lately, you can't touch my girl H. ;)
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Four on the Fourth Race Report
So, that whole "posting the whole month of June" thing kinda fell apart at the end there, huh? I hope you can forgive me. I got wrapped up in traveling and visiting people and then June was just over. If it's any comfort, I have a race to tell you about now!
I've been reading a lot of The Athena Diaries, which is a blog written by an Athena runner and triathlete. 'Athena,' I've come to learn, is a competition category for women who weigh more than 150 lbs. They don't have it in every race, though, and in fact I've yet to find a race in my area that does have it. Anyway Misty, the author of the blog, usually writes 'race reports' after she does a race, and it seems to be, like, a thing that runners do. And since I have recently declared myself a runner, I too shall write a race report.
There's a series of three summer-to-fall races put on by a running club out here, and the first one is a 4-mile race on the 4th of July. It is the aptly named 'Four on the Fourth.' Because my running buddy H and I long ago hit the 4-mile mark in our training, and because we're trying to gain experience at running races in general, we signed up for this one. (Also, I hear if you do all three races - including a 10k in October and an 8k in November - you get a jacket!)
The night before the race H stayed at my place, since I live really close to the course. Unfortunately, we were both up pretty late because she had to babysit until around midnight and I had to wait up for her. Our 6:30 wake-up call came really early, which reminds me that I need to start practicing getting up and running in the early morning. The half marathon does start at 7am, after all. Temperatures in the week preceding the holiday weekend had been inching toward infernal, so imagine my delight when I checked weather.com and found out that it was a refreshing 65 degrees outside! It appears that there is a Santa Claus, and he's in the business of granting 4th-of-July wishes you didn't even realize you'd made.
I ate most of an English muffin and gave H the good news about the weather, and then we headed over to the race. When we got there, there were Runners, with a capital 'R,' doing freaking warm-up drills and shit. My mind was blown. To cope, I started trying to pick out normal-looking people that I thought I could take. They were mostly people over 40. I made the mistake of mentioning this to H and she made me feel guilty about it, but what was I supposed to do? There were 80-pound bird-people running sprints within my field of vision, and I needed to maintain a winner's outlook.
Unlike the Susan G. Komen race, this one was much smaller and a little more informal. The course was a mostly flat and shady loop around town that started and ended at a middle school and stayed in residential areas. The first tenth of a mile was on a major-ish road which apparently could only be blocked off for a short period of time, so all the runners had to wait until the last minute before lining up on the starting line. About 10 minutes before the start, we all herded from the school parking lot down to the starting line, and H and I dutifully took our places at the back of the pack. While she was setting up her ipod and I was nervously babbling about something-or-other, we suddenly heard the loud POP! of the starting gun. "Oh shit, was that it??" "I guess so, let's go!" We half-jogged across the start and for the first few yards while H got everything situated. (Someone later told me that they heard the guy yell "15 seconds!" before shooting off the gun, but I guess we were too far away back in Slowburg to hear him. He couldn't have rented a megaphone? I ask you.)
I'm still not used to racing, but I know enough to know that adrenaline can get the better of you and cause you to accidentally run way too fast at the beginning and wear yourself out, so I kept my eye on my fancypants watch to make sure we weren't going too quickly. I also wanted to help H pace herself because she was really disappointed with how she did at the Komen race and I hoped this would be a better experience for her. As a result, the first mile or so was a continuous loop of this conversation: "How fast are we going?" "Too fast, we've got to slow down." "Ok." It just felt so good outside and it was so pretty and there were so many people moving around us that it was hard not to get carried away.
As we tried to rein it in to a reasonable pace, I reassured H that all the people ahead of us were the fools that would have to stop and walk later, allowing us to pass them and be the ultimate champions. She looked over her shoulder and reported that there were only a handful of people behind us. We were passed by a man and his 6-year-old son. But no matter! We didn't come to beat anyone but ourselves.
H tends to take more walk breaks than I do, and also doesn't have a great time with hills, so when we got halfway up our second hill (at about mile 1.3), she stopped to walk and waved me on. And so I was off on my own. I maintained a pretty consistent pace (about 12:00, which was faster than I expected) throughout the race, trying to balance my desire to let loose and go flying down the course, and my fear that at any moment I would hit a wall and have to stop and walk. Ultimately, I felt good enough at the end that I think I probably could have done it a bit faster, but I figure it was better to be safe than sorry, and I'm glad I ended in good shape.
Although I don't consider myself to be particularly competitive, I found that I could not stop myself from passing people. It's just that there were a lot of people, going about the same pace as me, spread out every few feet in front of me. I'd be coming up on one and think, "oh, I can definitely pass her, and after that, I'll slow down a little." But as soon as I passed that person I'd be within range to pass another. It went on like that from the time I left H to about the 2.5 mile mark, at which point I had passed everyone that was easily passable. The next closest people were a pair of women about 50 feet ahead of me, and I was too afraid of wearing myself out to risk speeding up and going after them. When I realized I had passed everyone I could, I thought with some satisfaction, "This is it. I am officially the fastest of the slowest." My place as President and Benevolent Dictator of the Slow Motion Running Club has been validated. Stick with me, kids, and you too can be marginally faster than the slowest 10% of runners out there.
I'd like to pause here for a word about pace. If you are not a runner, you may not have much perspective on this, so I thought I'd fill you in. People who consider themselves to be Runners with a capital 'R' (the ones inexplicably doing the warm-up sprints before the race) would probably tell you that a 7:00 (that's minutes per mile) pace is respectable. At my fastest, I probably manage about a 10:00 pace, although I hope to get a bit faster in the future. For the half marathon, I'm thinking that the best-case scenario will be about a 13:00 pace, which is where I had set the bar for Four on the Fourth (and which is admittedly a pretty low bar, but that's how I like it). Thus, I was quite satisfied that I ran the race with a consistent 12:00 pace, but it's worth noting that in the Wide World of Sports this is really pretty slow. You'll see what I mean when I get to the part about the awards ceremony.
Anyway, back to the race! The best part about passing all of those people and assuming my rightful place as Queen of Slowburg was that there was one last decent-sized hill to climb as we closed in on the final mile, and eventually I was even able to pass the two women that had previously seemed untouchable. Take that, MediumPaceVille! Slowburg is out to annex you!
The end of the race was three-quarters of a lap around the school's track, which was just awesome. Almost as awesome as running into the school's parking lot and passing a volunteer who said, "Good job, you're almost there! Great stride!" He probably says that to all of the sweaty and disheveled novice runners, but he sounded like he really meant it when he said it to me. I was going to stop and hug him, but you know; I was running a race, and all. Once you get to the track, you have no choice but to continue running, because who stops and walks on the track?? No. You must come into the finish like you mean it, which I did. And then I gratefully stopped and guzzled some water.
My finish, however, was nothing compared to my pal H's. I was anxiously awaiting her arrival, concerned about whether her race had gone well this time, or if it had been as painful as the Komen race. A few minutes after I finished, though, I saw her come breezing onto the track. When she reached the straightaway leading up to the finish line, homegirl started SPRINTING. It was beautiful. I yelled her name as she streaked across the finish line, and then she collapsed onto the grass and didn't speak for awhile.
In the end, I finished in about 48:00, right on track with my steady pace. H finished around 53:00, I think. My enthusiasm over having beaten my goal faded a bit when the awards ceremony started and I realized that I would have to quite literally cut my time in half if I ever want to win anything. Well, that's not entirely true. I think the winner of the female 70+ age group finished in about 46:00. So it's either cut my time in half, or continue training for the next 50 years and bide my time until my competitors slow down enough that I can overtake them. I don't mind, I'm patient. In this decade, though, I placed 638 out of 686 overall (in your face, 50 people slower than me) (except you, H, sorry) and 40 out of 51 in females ages 25-29. And I'm pretty damn pleased about it.
In addition to the glory of being the fastest of the slow, we also got these commemorative race socks:
And then we (H and I and our biggest cheerleader E) went to see fireworks and eat a picnic dinner and drink juicebox wine.
I've been reading a lot of The Athena Diaries, which is a blog written by an Athena runner and triathlete. 'Athena,' I've come to learn, is a competition category for women who weigh more than 150 lbs. They don't have it in every race, though, and in fact I've yet to find a race in my area that does have it. Anyway Misty, the author of the blog, usually writes 'race reports' after she does a race, and it seems to be, like, a thing that runners do. And since I have recently declared myself a runner, I too shall write a race report.
There's a series of three summer-to-fall races put on by a running club out here, and the first one is a 4-mile race on the 4th of July. It is the aptly named 'Four on the Fourth.' Because my running buddy H and I long ago hit the 4-mile mark in our training, and because we're trying to gain experience at running races in general, we signed up for this one. (Also, I hear if you do all three races - including a 10k in October and an 8k in November - you get a jacket!)
The night before the race H stayed at my place, since I live really close to the course. Unfortunately, we were both up pretty late because she had to babysit until around midnight and I had to wait up for her. Our 6:30 wake-up call came really early, which reminds me that I need to start practicing getting up and running in the early morning. The half marathon does start at 7am, after all. Temperatures in the week preceding the holiday weekend had been inching toward infernal, so imagine my delight when I checked weather.com and found out that it was a refreshing 65 degrees outside! It appears that there is a Santa Claus, and he's in the business of granting 4th-of-July wishes you didn't even realize you'd made.
I ate most of an English muffin and gave H the good news about the weather, and then we headed over to the race. When we got there, there were Runners, with a capital 'R,' doing freaking warm-up drills and shit. My mind was blown. To cope, I started trying to pick out normal-looking people that I thought I could take. They were mostly people over 40. I made the mistake of mentioning this to H and she made me feel guilty about it, but what was I supposed to do? There were 80-pound bird-people running sprints within my field of vision, and I needed to maintain a winner's outlook.
Unlike the Susan G. Komen race, this one was much smaller and a little more informal. The course was a mostly flat and shady loop around town that started and ended at a middle school and stayed in residential areas. The first tenth of a mile was on a major-ish road which apparently could only be blocked off for a short period of time, so all the runners had to wait until the last minute before lining up on the starting line. About 10 minutes before the start, we all herded from the school parking lot down to the starting line, and H and I dutifully took our places at the back of the pack. While she was setting up her ipod and I was nervously babbling about something-or-other, we suddenly heard the loud POP! of the starting gun. "Oh shit, was that it??" "I guess so, let's go!" We half-jogged across the start and for the first few yards while H got everything situated. (Someone later told me that they heard the guy yell "15 seconds!" before shooting off the gun, but I guess we were too far away back in Slowburg to hear him. He couldn't have rented a megaphone? I ask you.)
I'm still not used to racing, but I know enough to know that adrenaline can get the better of you and cause you to accidentally run way too fast at the beginning and wear yourself out, so I kept my eye on my fancypants watch to make sure we weren't going too quickly. I also wanted to help H pace herself because she was really disappointed with how she did at the Komen race and I hoped this would be a better experience for her. As a result, the first mile or so was a continuous loop of this conversation: "How fast are we going?" "Too fast, we've got to slow down." "Ok." It just felt so good outside and it was so pretty and there were so many people moving around us that it was hard not to get carried away.
As we tried to rein it in to a reasonable pace, I reassured H that all the people ahead of us were the fools that would have to stop and walk later, allowing us to pass them and be the ultimate champions. She looked over her shoulder and reported that there were only a handful of people behind us. We were passed by a man and his 6-year-old son. But no matter! We didn't come to beat anyone but ourselves.
H tends to take more walk breaks than I do, and also doesn't have a great time with hills, so when we got halfway up our second hill (at about mile 1.3), she stopped to walk and waved me on. And so I was off on my own. I maintained a pretty consistent pace (about 12:00, which was faster than I expected) throughout the race, trying to balance my desire to let loose and go flying down the course, and my fear that at any moment I would hit a wall and have to stop and walk. Ultimately, I felt good enough at the end that I think I probably could have done it a bit faster, but I figure it was better to be safe than sorry, and I'm glad I ended in good shape.
Although I don't consider myself to be particularly competitive, I found that I could not stop myself from passing people. It's just that there were a lot of people, going about the same pace as me, spread out every few feet in front of me. I'd be coming up on one and think, "oh, I can definitely pass her, and after that, I'll slow down a little." But as soon as I passed that person I'd be within range to pass another. It went on like that from the time I left H to about the 2.5 mile mark, at which point I had passed everyone that was easily passable. The next closest people were a pair of women about 50 feet ahead of me, and I was too afraid of wearing myself out to risk speeding up and going after them. When I realized I had passed everyone I could, I thought with some satisfaction, "This is it. I am officially the fastest of the slowest." My place as President and Benevolent Dictator of the Slow Motion Running Club has been validated. Stick with me, kids, and you too can be marginally faster than the slowest 10% of runners out there.
I'd like to pause here for a word about pace. If you are not a runner, you may not have much perspective on this, so I thought I'd fill you in. People who consider themselves to be Runners with a capital 'R' (the ones inexplicably doing the warm-up sprints before the race) would probably tell you that a 7:00 (that's minutes per mile) pace is respectable. At my fastest, I probably manage about a 10:00 pace, although I hope to get a bit faster in the future. For the half marathon, I'm thinking that the best-case scenario will be about a 13:00 pace, which is where I had set the bar for Four on the Fourth (and which is admittedly a pretty low bar, but that's how I like it). Thus, I was quite satisfied that I ran the race with a consistent 12:00 pace, but it's worth noting that in the Wide World of Sports this is really pretty slow. You'll see what I mean when I get to the part about the awards ceremony.
Anyway, back to the race! The best part about passing all of those people and assuming my rightful place as Queen of Slowburg was that there was one last decent-sized hill to climb as we closed in on the final mile, and eventually I was even able to pass the two women that had previously seemed untouchable. Take that, MediumPaceVille! Slowburg is out to annex you!
The end of the race was three-quarters of a lap around the school's track, which was just awesome. Almost as awesome as running into the school's parking lot and passing a volunteer who said, "Good job, you're almost there! Great stride!" He probably says that to all of the sweaty and disheveled novice runners, but he sounded like he really meant it when he said it to me. I was going to stop and hug him, but you know; I was running a race, and all. Once you get to the track, you have no choice but to continue running, because who stops and walks on the track?? No. You must come into the finish like you mean it, which I did. And then I gratefully stopped and guzzled some water.
My finish, however, was nothing compared to my pal H's. I was anxiously awaiting her arrival, concerned about whether her race had gone well this time, or if it had been as painful as the Komen race. A few minutes after I finished, though, I saw her come breezing onto the track. When she reached the straightaway leading up to the finish line, homegirl started SPRINTING. It was beautiful. I yelled her name as she streaked across the finish line, and then she collapsed onto the grass and didn't speak for awhile.
In the end, I finished in about 48:00, right on track with my steady pace. H finished around 53:00, I think. My enthusiasm over having beaten my goal faded a bit when the awards ceremony started and I realized that I would have to quite literally cut my time in half if I ever want to win anything. Well, that's not entirely true. I think the winner of the female 70+ age group finished in about 46:00. So it's either cut my time in half, or continue training for the next 50 years and bide my time until my competitors slow down enough that I can overtake them. I don't mind, I'm patient. In this decade, though, I placed 638 out of 686 overall (in your face, 50 people slower than me) (except you, H, sorry) and 40 out of 51 in females ages 25-29. And I'm pretty damn pleased about it.
In addition to the glory of being the fastest of the slow, we also got these commemorative race socks:
And then we (H and I and our biggest cheerleader E) went to see fireworks and eat a picnic dinner and drink juicebox wine.
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