« December 2006 | Main | February 2007 »
January 23, 2007
Why I Don't Wear Headphones When I Run
Most of the routes that I run - especially my early-morning runs - take me along main roads. Running through side streets might be more scenic, but in my neighborhood a lot of the side streets dead end after a few blocks, which means I have to keep turning and finding a new way to get my distance in. Main roads, on the other hand, run for miles and miles and I can just zone out and run. With the pre-dawn early-morning running I've been doing lately, staying on the main roads has another benefit: there are far more streetlights on the main roads, so many that they create something of an artificial daylight, which I am a huge fan of.Anyhow, since I run on the main roads, I normally have the right of way at the intersections with side streets, since the traffic along those side streets has to stop at the stop sign before crossing or turning on to the main road. At 6 a.m., those streets don't normally see a lot of traffic, so I've gotten into the habit of looking for cars as I'm crossing the street. I'm mentally and physically prepared to come to a quick stop in case there's a car trying to roll beyond the crosswalk and into the street. Sometimes I have to stop, but 9 times out of 10 I'm clear to cross the street.
I also don't wear headphones or an iPod when I run (unless I'm inside on the treadmill, in which case the iPod is probably all that's keeping me from bursting into tears). I read an article once, long ago and in a land far far away (I think it was in an issue of Seventeen, if that tells you anything), about a girl that had been attacked because someone had grabbed her while she was out running, and if she hadn't been wearing her headphones she would have heard him approaching from behind and Things Might Have Turned Out Differently. Considering I'm usually out running by myself and I don't mind running in silence? I skip the iPod. It keeps me more focused on myself and my surroundings, and even though I've never had a problem or witnessed any suspicious sketchy dudes while I've been out running, it just seems like the intelligent thing to do. (Plus, most races technically don't allow headphones, so I figure it's sort of silly to train with them.)
Anyhow, this morning I was out running, coming up on an intersection with a side street, when I heard what sounded like something taking off coming from the left. I looked down the street, and there was a car zooming down it at far more than the posted speed limit. I stopped before even stepping off the curb, and let him come to a complete stop before making sure he saw me and crossing the street.
At that moment in time, I was so glad I didn't have music on me while I was running. While I definitely would have seen him coming up even if I hadn't heard him first, with as fast as he was going I'm not sure if he would have seen me or stopped in time. Maybe he would have hit me, maybe he wouldn't, but it would have been a much closer call than I'm really comfortable with. I sometimes feeling like I'm being a little extra paranoid with my Refusal To Run With Music, but today? Today I felt totally justified.
(A quick side note: I'm just saying that, for me, running sans music seems like the best choice. You run with music? Knock yourself out. I'm not going to judge you for it, nor am I going to pretend to know what's best for you. To each their own, yo.)
Posted by Dawn at 09:24 AM | Comments (4)
January 16, 2007
Viva Las Vegas!
Question: How long does it take to write up a race report of an unexpectedly good half-marathon that you weren't even sure you wanted to run?Answer: A little over a month.
Question: Even if someone gave you a head start? And you had two weeks off work?
Answer: Yes. Do not underestimate the power of vacation-induced laziness. Inertia is a powerful thing. Especially when couches are involved.
At any rate, I have absolutely no excuse for why this report took so damn long to write. I was going to just skip it after I managed to get through two weeks off work with absolutely no progress on this front, but then I was publicly shamed about the lack of report this weekend. (OK, maybe "publicly shamed" is a little strong. More like, "gently reminded that my local running blogging friends hadn't yet seen a report.") So, without further ado, here it is: The Vegas Experience, by Dawnie.
My path to the Vegas half marathon was anything but direct. Early in the year, I decided I was going to run it because it'd be fun to meet up with whichever parts of the RBF contingent showed up. Plus, it would be a weekend in Vegas. In December. When the weather would be pretty much guaranteed to be crappy here in Chicago. Really, there was no downside. My only concern was whether or not I'd be up to running another marathon just 6 weeks after kicking ass and taking names in the Grand Rapids marathon. When I found out there was a half, I knew I was in. I booked travel and hotel, decided I'd just wait until after GR to register, and if I didn't think I was going to be ready for the full 26.2, I could just run the half. As late as the beginning of September, though, I was all for going for the whole enchilada. I was running like a maniac. I was training hardcore. I was a lean, mean running machine and two marathons in 6 weeks would be totally doable, because I was just that awesome.
Then September happened. I missed two weeks of running when I got the cold that wouldn't die. I had some annoying personal crap go down, and between the general funk I'd found myself in and the complete and total loss of speed that my hiatus caused, I was totally unmotivated. I scrapped Grand Rapids, figuring I'd ramp back up in time to run the full in Vegas, but I just couldn't do it. I'd lost my running mojo, and dragging my sorry butt out for anything longer than 5 or 6 miles damn near took an act of Congress. (Of course, said butt was also expanding, since I hadn't cut my eating back as much as I'd cut the running back. This did nothing to help the funk or the motivation.) I'd already booked travel, I was looking forward to the trip, and I couldn't quite bring myself to drop out entirely, so I took the easy way out: I registered for the half. A half would be totally doable. Training for a half wouldn't require 15-mile long runs. Training for a half would be fun instead of punishing. The half was totally the way to go.
Aaaaand then I spent the next 6 weeks sitting on my ever-expanding butt drinking beer. On a good week I got in 15 miles... maybe. And none of those runs were longer than 6 miles. The week before the trip, I just about forgot that I was heading to Vegas to run 13 miles. I was all, "Woo! Mini-vacation to Vegas! Yee-haw!" I avoided thinking about the race at all costs, because I was convinced it was going to be a horrible, awful, 3+ hour death march, much like my first half-marathon was. I figured if I was lucky, I'd get through the first 10 miles before I crashed. If I was really lucky? I'd finish in 2:45 or so. When people asked me about my goals? I just said, "I'll be happy if I can finish in under 3 hours," and I wasn't quite sure how realistic that was. I was fat. I was out-of-shape. I was slooow. I was going to suck the big one, but, hey! Vegas! Woo!
As it turns out? I am a big ol' sandbagger.
I woke up the morning of the race bright and early, and decided that the leftover pasta from the previous night's dinner would make a fantastic breakfast. If nothing else, it sure beat the pants off trying to go downstairs and locating a bagel or similar. It's not that I didn't think there wouldn't be anything open - I was in Vegas, after all - but I wasn't quite mentally ready to be awake, and there was absolutely no way I was mentally ready to be awake, dressed, and walking through a smoky casino littered with what, at that hour (4 a.m.), could only be the incredibly sketchy or incredibly drunk. I ate my leftovers, got dressed, and eventually made my way down to get a cab to the start. I wound up sharing a cab with another runner, and as we explained to the cab driver what was going on that morning, he was clearly not pleased. Not only did he not get why we were running the half-marathon ("Are you going to win? No?"), but he totally didn't get why they needed to close down the strip for a couple of hours so we could. ("What do you mean they're closing the strip? Everything's on the strip! How am I supposed to pick people up and take them places?") Add in the confusion that resulted from neither of us having small change to split the fare and it was an interesting start to the day. One that sort of reinforced my general hate for cabs. (On one hand, they're beautifully convenient. On the other? I always seem to get drivers that are just Not That Happy, which always makes me uncomfortable and AAACK. If I'm alone? I'd rather take the bus, unless it's too late for that to be an intelligent option. Or I've been drinking, and want to get home ASAP without having to navigate the CTA.)
Cab-related issues aside, I made it to the start just as jeff was calling to see if I needed a ride. (I'm just going to tell you this now: jeff? Is just as awesomely amazing as you think he is. Not only did he organize dinner for us all and provide terrific on-course support, but he offered Ali and I rides to the start if we couldn't get cabs in the morning. I'm thinking that having jeff in the crowd is as good of a reason to run a particular race as anything else.) I'd talked a bit with Reece about running together during the race, since we were expecting similar finish times, but had totally failed to make any sort of plan to meet up with him at the start. Somehow, though, he found me while I was waiting for Ye Olde Port-O-Lets, which was good... except I was not in a remotely social mood. This happens before every big race I do - I just get sort of withdrawn and quiet. It's not like I'm really even focusing on anything, but I just don't feel like talking to people, preferring instead to lose myself in the crowd. Which is totally fine if I'm running by myself. If I run into someone I know, though? Then I just end up feeling like I should apologize for appearing to totally blow them off, lest they think they did something to offend me.
Anyhow, I did look for him once I was ready to head back into the corrals, but there was just too many people. I kept an eye out for him as I headed into the corral, hoping that maybe he'd spot my obnoxiously pink hat. While I wasn't so much down with being social pre-race, it would be nice to have someone to run with, especially since I still wasn't sure how I was going to handle the 13.1 miles ahead of me. I was fearing a repeat of my very first half-marathon: I was hopelessly undertrained for it, and while the first 6-7 miles were fine, by mile 9 I'd crashed and burned. The last 4 miles of that was a death march in the suprisingly warm Florida sun, and when I saw my then-boyfriend on the course at mile 12? I sort of wanted him to just carry me back to the car because WHAT IN GOD'S NAME DID I THINK I WAS DOING and MY FEET HURT and I AM SO DAMN TIRED, CAN I PLEASE LIE DOWN AND DIE NOW? Crossing the finish line totally lifted my spirits and convinced me that with the right training I could do it again, but during the race? It was ugly. Really, really ugly. The vague option of not having to go through that alone? Was incredibly appealing.
Unfortunately, the start came and went and Reece didn't resurface. I figured I'd keep an eye out for him during the race - maybe once the crowd thinned out, he'd be easy to spot - but I also got into my solo running groove. I settled into a nice easy pace, kept the weaving to a minimum, tried not to think too many evil thoughts about the insane number of walkers that clearly started way too far up in the corral (I'd started right next to the 5:00 pace group, figuring that would be just about right), and enjoyed my run up the strip as the sun rose.
Running up the strip in the early morning? Was awesome. There were a fair number of spectators out, as well as enough drunk people stumbling out of the casinos with bemused looks on their faces to keep it interesting. There was also the group of Guys In Suits on the pedestrian overpass near MGM. I spent a good chunk of time during the race trying to figure out their story. Prior to the race, I'd spent a good chunk of time debating whether or not to wear a watch. On one hand, I wasn't running this for time: I wasn't going to set a PR, and I was afraid that the watch would shift me into Race Mode and I'd burn myself out unnecessarily. On the other, having a watch with me would keep me at a good, slow honest pace for the first few miles, not to mention give me some sort of reference point for how far along I was later in the race (I have absolutely no sense of time or distance if I'm running in an unfamiliar place). In the end, the pros outweighed the cons and I wore the watch. I figured if I wound up having a no-good horribly bad day, I could just shut it off.
The first couple of miles clicked by right around a 12:00 pace. It felt good, it felt easy, and while it was on the faster end of what I expected, I figured it would be OK. If I needed to slow down? I'd slow down. I was, however, Not Allowed to speed up before the 10 mile mark. The plan was to keep it slow and fun until I had 5K left, and then see how I felt. If I felt like ass? I'd drag my sorry butt through the last 5K. If I felt good? Well... we'd see what happened.
I got through the first half with no problems at all, feeling surprisingly good. I spotted jeff at miles 3 and 6, and was able to hand off my jacket to him for safekeeping. Shortly after mile 6, we left the strip and headed through downtown. When we turned onto Fremont street, I was amazed. I've been to Vegas a few times, but I've always stayed on the strip so this was unexplored territory for me. The first thing I noticed was that the street, which was lined with bars and restaurants, was covered with an awning and clearly closed to regular vehicle traffic. The next thing? Was the big huge Christmas tree right in the middle of the street. It was fantastic, and you had to be a little careful making your way through here as people slowed to a walk and/or stopped to take pictures. (I fully admit to being a part of this particular problem, thanks to my cameraphone.) I made a mental note to get to this part of town the next time I was in Vegas, and then moved on. I successfully navigated the full/half course split and then turned off Fremont back towards Mandalay Bay and the finish line.
While I still felt pretty good, here's where the wheels sort of came off the race, organizationally speaking. Up until now, there had been water stops every 2 miles or so. On the second half of the course? They were incredibly random. There was a spot where I must have run almost 3 miles between water stops, and then another spot where they were about 1/2 mile apart. I say "must have run" 3 miles because I honestly have no idea - the mile markers and course clocks became just as sporadically placed. The first sign of trouble was when I crossed a chip mat after the course split and the volunteers there told us we were "halfway!" A glance at my watch told me that it had been over 15 minutes since I passed the 6 mile marker, and while I had dawdled a bit taking pictures of Fremont street and wasn't exactly speeding along the course, I knew there was no way I'd only managed to cover a little over half a mile in the past 15 minutes. As I turned this over in my head, panic set in: what if they'd messed up the course? What if it was more like 14 miles instead of 13? What the hell was I going to do then?
I took a deep breath, calmed myself down, and realized that if they'd messed up the course? There was nothing I could do about it now. I was moving along, I still felt really good, and as long as I took it easy the extra mile wouldn't kill me. Would it annoy me? Yes. But I'd make it, and I could always e-mail the race director and complain later. Fpr now? Well, all I could do was keep running.
It was during this second half of the race that I became incredibly thankful that I'd decided to wear the watch. My splits weren't telling me much, but I could look at the total time and, assuming a roughly 12:00 pace, get a fairly good idea of where on the course I was. I kept it easy, I kept it loose, and I remained constantly amazed by how good I felt. By about 1:45 in, the fear of crashing and burning before the finish finally evaporated, and I started wondering just how fast I could finish this sucker. I didn't really think that breaking 2:30 was a possibility, but I figured if I continued to run smart, I could probably come pretty close to it.
At 1:52 in (by my watch), I passed an aid station where they excitedly told us, "only 5K left to go!" I looked at my watch. I did some math. If I could run a 38 minute 5K, I could break 2:30. Which meant.... if I could just maintain my current pace, I could break 2:30. No. Way. That would rock. I started to speed up a little bit from all the excitement, but I made myself hold back. "I just have to maintain pace," I told myself. No use in speeding up and then burning out at mile 12 just because I got overexcited. I knew better than that.
5 minutes later, I passed another aid station where they yelled, "Mile 10, right here!" What? Huh? What??? At this point, I'd give up on seeing regular mile markers, but I was hoping that the ones that were out were at least correct. It was at that point I realized that the whole thing was just messed up. Mile markers weren't going to tell me anything between here and the finish, so all I could do was run by feel and use my watch to guess how far along I was (and, thusly, how far I had left to go). It was annoying, but I tried to take a deep breath and let it go. Getting all worked up wouldn't do me any good now - all I could do was finish the race and then send an e-mail to the race director letting him know exactly what I thought about all of this crap. (As it turns out... I never did. I thought about it, but I decided to give myself a few days to cool down and organize my thoughts. Just as I was getting ready to send it, the race director sent an e-mail to all of the participants saying, "We know we screwed up, we're sorry, please come back next year." I did reply to that with a few additional thoughts, and then let it go.)
The annoying thing was that had I been having a bad day, the misplaced mile markers would have been far less of an issue than they were. Since I was having a surprisingly good day, I wanted to kick it up a notch. Run a good race. See what I could do. But... given my fitness level at the time (read: not all that great), there was a big difference between "kicking it up for the last 2 miles" and "kicking it up for the last 3 miles." I'd had a great day so far, and I didn't want to ruin it by overdoing it at the end and dying a half-mile from the finish. I settled for kicking it up, but doing so conservatively. It was annoying, but I'd work with it. I knew I probably wasn't going to break 2:30, so I just focused on finishing strong.
And finish strong I did - during the last mile I was tired and ready to be done, but I kept plugging along. I turned the last corner and sprinted as fast as I could through the finish. I crossed the finish line feeling absolutely fantastic, pleasantly surprised that I hadn't died.
My final finish time? 2:34:05
Yes, 2:34:05 - a mere 15 minutes slower than my PR. This from the girl who was "hoping" to run a 2:45 but "wasn't sure if that was going to happen." For a race that I'd trained for primarily by drinking beer and thinking about running. Suddenly, getting back into marathon shape - a task that had seemed completely impossible 48 hours ago - seemed like a completely reasonable thing to do.
So, inspired by my success (or my incredible luck - you choose), that's what I'm doing. I'm starting small, building the miles, and shooting for 26.2 at the Flying Pig in early May. I'm not training for a PR, although if I'm in any sort of decent shape there's a good chance I'll get one. Instead, I'm just training to get my butt into shape for summer racing, a fast fall marathon, and to be in good enough shape to enjoy running the Pig, much like I enjoyed running Vegas.
For a race that I wasn't even sure I wanted to run? It all turned out pretty darn good.
Posted by Dawn at 05:42 PM