November 11, 2007

NYC Marathon 2007: Ouuuuuch

Disclaimer

Before we even get started here, I'll just get this out of the way: No, I did not see Katie Holmes on the course. Yes, I know we ran about the same time, but from the pictures I saw, she was starting in the elite women's corral whereas I was in the back of the green corral. What does that mean? It means that due to the wave start that the green corral had, she started the race a good 35 minutes before I did, so I never would have seen her. Although, knowing me, I could have been standing next to her in the start corral and would have found myself thinking, "Huh, that girl looks sort of like Katie Holmes. Go figure." I'm just on top of things like that.

Getting There

My training for this race, was, shall we say, somewhat inconsistent. Through circumstances that were either entirely under my control or entirely of my own creation, I wound up either skipping or cutting short a lot of my long runs. This meant that by the time the race rolled around, I'd done a bunch of 12-14 mile runs and a 20-mile run. Absolutely nothing in the 16-18 mile range. I had a bad feeling about this, and seriously considered deferring the race until next year when I could go into it better trained. But I was going to be out there anyway, travel and hotel were all set, and my hotel for Saturday and Sunday night had been prepaid so it's not like it would have saved me anything to fly home early. I told myself it would be OK. I kept my fingers crossed that my good looks and charming personality would, combined with my somewhat half-assed training, be enough to at least get me through the race. (And on an easier course, it probably would have been.) As I entered the expo, I took one more serious look at the "cancel" checkbox on my registration confirmation and wondered if I should just bag it. Then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and traded it in for my number. For better or for worse, I was in.

Race Morning: Getting To The Start

In the weeks before the race, my inbox was filled with messages of increasing urgency from the marathon organization. Construction on the Verazano-Narrows Bridge! Green start corrals will be strictly enforced! Wave start for green runners! Buses may or may not get you there in time! Don't take buses from Midtown! Take the Staten Island ferry! Other buses? Take the ferry! Considering I was spending these weeks counting down to what was going to be a 5-day break from work, I had absolutely no mental capacity to deal with any of this. It all got filed under "things to worry about later," and my official plan for race morning was to wing it. Dealing with the corrals? Once I got to the start area, I'd just go where they told me to go, when they told me to go there. Easy enough. As for getting to the start? Well, I'd think about that later. Like on Saturday night. I knew what I'd have to do if I took the ferry in, and I knew what I'd have to do if I took the bus in. It was all going to be A-OK.

Ultimately, we opted for the buses. Our hotel was running a shuttle across to the Meadowlands, where the buses were picking up from, so we decided that if we got on one of the early shuttles, we'd be good to go. And we were. However, it meant that we were up at 5:30 for a 10:10 race start. Ugh. We were in the "athletes village" on Staten Island by 7 or so, which gave us plenty of time to walk around, pick up a bagel and a PowerBar, eat, relax, use the facilities.... all of the normal pre-race stuff. I spent a lot of time sitting around and relaxing, and I'd really wished that I'd brought a book because I had all sorts of time. Instead, I played with the internets on my new cell phone. Shortly before 9, I stripped off my extra layers that were going to gear-check, made one last visit to the port-o-lets, and then found a spot in my corral. And waited.

The Start

Promptly at 10:10, I heard a cannon go off signaling the start of the race. A few minutes later I heard cheering, and looking up to my left, could see runners on both levels of the bridge. They waved to us and we waved back. And still we waited. Our corral wasn't going anywhere, at least not anytime soon. Finally, around 10:30, we started moving forward.

The good news is that once we started moving, we moved at a pretty steady pace to the start line. Shortly before getting to the start, I took off the long-sleeved cotton tee I'd been wearing (I had both a short-sleeved and long-sleeved tech shirt layered under it) and tossed it aside. Of course, when I tossed it, I was in the middle of the crowd, so I attempted to throw it over everyone's heads into a clear spot. I slightly underestimated how hard I'd have to throw the shirt and it landed squarely on some dude's head. Oops. Sorry! I blended back into the crowd and crossed the chip mat shortly after 10:45.

The good news is that the wait was worth it - the reason they'd done the green runners in the wave start was because construction had half of the lower level of the bridge closed off, and they didn't want us to be too crowded. They certainly succeeded there - the bridge was wide open, all the way across. I settled into a nice easy pace, prepared to take my time to get over the bridge since it looked like a total monster on the elevation chart. (It was only a 150-foot high monster, but it was still the biggest hill on the course by far.) Crossing over the bridge, we had a great view of Manhattan to our left. I thought about stopping for a picture, but I knew there was no way it would turn out on my camera phone. The one thought I kept having was how far away it looked, and how by the end of the day I was going to run all the way over there. The thought I tried to keep myself from having was that we were going to take the long way around.

I crossed the first mile marker shortly after the bridge crested and looked at my watch: 11:30. 11:30? What? I knew I was going to have to bring that way down in the coming miles if I wanted to make it through the day in one piece - that was way, way too fast for a mile that was all uphill. I promised myself I'd slow down, take it even easier than I had been.... as soon as I got to the bottom of the bridge. Hey, it was all downhill, and I am not opposed to picking up a little free speed where I can get it.

Brooklyn

As soon as we came off the bridge, the overpasses were full of people waving, screaming, and holding signs saying "Welcome to Brooklyn!" They were pumped. They were psyched. Having us run through their neighborhood was clearly the highlight of their day, and it was awesome. As we came up off the freeway, the streets were absolutely lined with people cheering, screaming, waving, welcoming us into their little chunk of the city. As I passed the mile 3 marker, I noticed I was still clocking 11:30s. I did a quick check - I felt good, the pace felt really easy, although I was wary of the extra energy that the cheering crowds were giving me. I made another mental note to try and slow it down a bit, at least to something closer to 12:00s than 11:00s, and then we turned onto 4th Avenue.

Words simply cannot describe 4th Avenue. If I thought the crowd support on the streets leading up to that was good, then this can only be described as amazing. Miles and miles of crowds lining both sides of the street. People screaming, kids standing on the side of the course holding their hands out for high-fives, grown-ups clapping and high-fiving the runners. I've never seen anything like it, and the miles just flew by, both figuratively and literally. I was still clocking 11:25-11:30 per mile, and around mile 8, I just gave up. The pace still felt easy enough to be sustainable, even though it was a good 30 seconds per mile faster than I expected. I went with it, promised to not to roll with it if my pace slowed down in the later miles, and figured I was either about to have a really good day, or I was really going to be hating life by mile 20.

As we continued to wind through Brooklyn, I was amazed at how varied and diverse the neighborhoods were. Once we passed through Park Slope and Prospect Heights, we made a few turns and suddenly we were running through parts of town with street signs in just about every language except English. It was also around here that I realized just how far behind the orange and blue runners we were. I hadn't seen any on the course up to this point, but now I was starting to pass some of the slower walkers from the orange group. This bummed me out, since I knew now that I had absolutely no chance of catching up to Mike unless he had one hell of a bad day. Likewise, that explained why I hadn't seen Barb on the course at mile 6, and I knew then that it'd be unlikely for me to catch her at 16.5 She'd probably hang out for a while, assume she missed me and then move on. (Which is exactly what happened.) Oh well. Looks like I was on my own for this one, but I was OK with that.

Just before the bridge into Queens and the halfway point, I took a quick inventory as I stopped for a bathroom break. I felt pretty good, although my legs were starting to get a little hurty. I'd run a good solid first half in 2:37, and I was feeling good about the rest of the race. I stretched as I waited for my turn, then took a deep breath as I headed up the bridge and out of Brooklyn.

Queens

I'll admit, when I came down off the bridge, I was amazed that we were just getting into Queens. I'd looked at the course map, but had somehow failed to notice that the entire first half of the race was in Brooklyn. Here it became obvious that we were pretty far behind the bulk of the pack, since crowd support, while still amazing, had thinned out considerably since those first few ridiculous miles.

We were only in Queens for a few miles, but it was in those few miles that I felt the race turn on me. My legs started to feel sore and crampy, and I was slowing down from the 11:30 pace I'd started out at. That was OK, though. My plan was just to keep trucking along and I'd get to the finish eventually. Everything was fine and dandy until I hit the Queensboro bridge at mile 15. Getting up the bridge was fine. It was slow, my legs were starting to feel tired, and it seemed to take forever, but it was fine. Once I reached the high point of the bridge and started heading down? All of the muscles in my calves and thighs that had been trying to cramp up for the past few miles and were no longer working to pull my ass up the bridge turned to solid, cramping, rock in unison. I couldn't believe how much it hurt, and running it out just wasn't helping since I wasn't engaging those muscles nor was I moving in a way to stretch them out. They should have been nice and relaxed, but they weren't. They hurt. Like a bitch. And the downhill of that bridge was just as long yet infinitely more painful than the uphill. I've never run through pain like that before, and I had tears in my eyes as we wound our way off the bridge and into Manhattan. Shortly before exiting the bridge, we passed a series of signs that made me smile and laugh despite the pain:

"If easier is less than 10 miles to go...."
"...then welcome to easier."

Heh. Easier. Less than 10 miles to go. I could start counting down on my fingers if I had to. I could do this. Less than 10 miles. Easier. Totally doable.

Manhattan

The one good thing about coming off the Queensboro bridge was that it deposited us in a wall of sound. As we wound our way around to 1st Avenue, the streets were once again lined with tons of screaming and clapping people, happy to see us in their neck of the woods. I kept an eye out for Barb even though I wasn't realistically expecting to see her. Unfortunately, the cramping in my legs hadn't really calmed down any after getting off the bridge and back onto flat ground. Once I got through the aid station, I stopped to really stretch my legs out while I sucked down some Gu. I felt a little better and then set out again. My pace had slowed down quite a bit from where it started, but I was still running, and while I was starting to hurt I still felt strong and like I had a ton of energy left.

However, as we made our way north towards the Bronx, the cramping in my legs got to me. I was starting to feel tired. I was hurting. I was wondering what the hell I was doing out there. I was starting to think, did I really need to finish this thing? Couldn't I just go home and take a nap? At mile 18, I stopped at the port-o-lets and was faced with.... well, with a seat I didn't want to sit on. So I hovered. And it was as I was hovering over the Seat That Shall Not Be Discussed, with no problems or pain or shaking, that I realized if my legs had enough strength to keep myself suspended in the port-o-let while I did my thing, then they most certainly had enough strength to run another measly 8 miles. I told myself to stop whining, man up, and just finish this thing. At the next aid station, I stopped at the medical tent to see if they had salt packets because I had to do something about the cramping in my legs, and to my joy and happiness, they did. I grabbed a few plus some extra, washed them down with some water, and kept on running while I waited for it to kick in. A mile after that? Bridge time again.

After the Queensboro bridge I was at the point where I was just done with the damn bridges. It wasn't a particularly big one, but I was tired and cranky so I told myself I was just going to walk up this one. Screw that shit. I wasn't playing their stupid "run over every stinking bridge in town" game anymore. Of course, after walking up it and realizing how small it was, I felt a little ridiculous, but it didn't matter. I'd had my little moment of rebellion and it helped.

The Bronx

As I came down the bridge into the Bronx, all I could think about were pretzels. I'd been searching for pretzels for miles, but no one had any. I'd been living on Gu and Shot Bloks and Gatorade for the past 4 hours, and I was craving something solid that wasn't sweet as I was feeling totally sugared out. I came around the corner and saw a dude with a bag of pretzels on the side of the course. As I made a beeline for him, I realized that the shirt and hat he was wearing looked familiar. By the time I got to him, my brain had put it all together and I yelled out, "Hey, Dr. F!" He let me know he'd seen another member of the running board pass by earlier and that he'd looked good. And then he offered me a beer. I stood there for a few minutes, eating pretzels and drinking beer while he continued to supply pretzels to the other runners passing by. It was just the mental break I needed, and I set off for the last 10K feeling refreshed. The salt packets from mile 19 had kicked in so I no longer had the urge to chop my legs off, and I only had 6.2 miles left to go. 6 miles! This was totally doable. Before I knew it, I was halfway up the last bridge. Since it was a little one and I didn't even realize I was on it until halfway up, I just went ahead and ran over the damn thing. I was pretty sure it was the last bridge since we were heading back into Manhattan, and as far as I knew? There weren't any more major waterways we had to get across. The bridges were finally done. Amen.

Manhattan, Again

The thing about running for hours and hours on end is that you can go from "Woohoo! I feel awesome! Bring it on!" to "Oh dear God please shoot me now" in a matter of seconds. It starts slowly - a twinge here, an ache there - but four steps later everything has locked up again and you are hating life, the universe, and everything. That's what happened to me in Harlem. Coming off the bridge, I was fine. By the time the mile 22 aid station was in sight, I was once again ready to curl up in a little ball on the side of the road. I stopped to stretch my legs out again, and as I was stretching out my hamstrings (always, always stretch your hamstrings before your quads) (also, someone bent over to stretch out their hamstrings apparently looks a lot like someone bent over and ready to lose their lunch, so a lot of people will stop and ask you if you're OK), a woman walking down the street stopped and asked if I was OK. I told her I was, and she asked where we were running to. I told her Central Park. Then she asked where we'd started running from. I told her Staten Island and I could just about see her brain curl up into a little tiny ball as she tried to fit what I'd just said into anything that even remotely resembled here definition of reality. She sort of shook her head and said, "Good luck" as she walked away.

I salted up as I made my way through the next aid station and tried to run, but we were heading up the steady incline of Madison Avenue next to Central Park and I was too tired to keep pushing that hard. So I walked. I walked with purpose, and I moved my butt along like I meant it, but I was walking. I was tired. Everything hurt. I'd been going for close to 5 hours and I was so, so ready to be done. I told myself I'd start running again when I got to mile 23, but when 23 came and went, we were still heading uphill and I was still hurting. So I kept walking. I hated that I was walking, I really, really did, but I knew that as long as I kept moving forward I'd get there eventually. Except eventually wasn't good enough - I'd been hoping for a much better time than I was going to end up with, and here I was, exhausted and sore and walking. What. Ever.

As we turned into Central Park just before mile 24, I told myself I was going to start running. Except I didn't. I jogged a few steps and then decided it hurt too much, and I wasn't ready to be running again yet. Then, as the mile 24 marker came into view, I realized something. I could walk it in to mile 26 and then run in the final .2 miles. I could. Except if I did that, I was looking at another 30-40 minutes of time on my feet. Or, I could take off like a bat out of hell when I hit the mile 24 marker, run the last 2.2 in as fast as I possibly could, and be done a lot faster. Yeah, it was going to hurt like hell, but so would walking, and if I ran I'd be hurting for less time. Clearly, running was the way to go.

I passed the mile marker. I hit up the aid station for one last swig of water and Gatorade. And then I ran. It hurt like hell, but I kept on running. I wanted to lay down and cry, but I kept on running. I cursed the rolling hills of Central Park, but I. kept. running. Nothing was going to stop me. I was weaving in and out of the walkers on the course, cursing them in my head (and probably out loud, too, although I doubt anyone would have understood me) for getting in my way because didn't they realize I was trying to get somewhere? Of course, in their defense, you don't normally have someone barreling along at a sub-10:00/pace 6 hours into a marathon, you know? But I went. I found holes and pockets and wound my way through the crowd, up and down the hills until I found myself making the turn at the southern end of the park.

As I made that turn, my sense of smell was assaulted by one thing and one thing only: horse shit. I was not happy about that. Here I was, running my ass off, trying to catch a breath and keep myself moving forward as fast as I can and all I can smell is horse shit. You have got to be kidding me. Between the smell and the sudden narrowing of the course I was craaaaankyyyy. All I wanted was to be done running and there was horse crap in the air and people in my damn way. AARRRRGH. Then we got to the next turn where there was a big monitor, and people were slowing down and pausing to see themselves on the screen. I didn't want to see it - I knew I looked like ass. I just wanted to keep running so I could be done with this damn thing already. I found my way through the corner and back onto the park path. As I passed the 26 mile marker, I saw a downhill and then, right before the finish, a gentle uphill slope.

An uphill? Right before the damn finish? What the hell? (Except that's the incredibly cleaned up version of what I thought. I was not happy about that uphill.) It was small, but it was there and who were they kidding with that? Were they trying to kill us? Did the universe really hate me that much? I thought all of this as I swore and dragged my ass up that hill, happy to see that it was all downhill from there. I hit the finish mat at a full sprint, not looking at the cameras, not caring what my finish photo looked like, just simply happy to finally be done.

The Finish Chute

As soon as I crossed the finish line and stopped moving, the full realization of how much everything hurt hit me. Every piece of muscle and connective tissue in my legs locked up and the tears I'd been holding back for the past couple of miles burst free. I got my medal and my mylar blanket and just tried to keep moving. Every volunteer I passed asked if I was OK, and I assured them I was. Someone gave me a bottle of water and a bag of food, but all I could think about was getting to my gear check truck, getting my stuff, and getting back to the hotel. I knew I was in baggage truck #72, so I plodded along. After I walked for what felt like forever, I looked up and saw I was next to truck #4. This was going to be a long, ugly trip. I stopped to stretch out my legs, and as I was getting my hamstrings, another runner came up and asked me if I was OK, then told me to stand up straight and keep moving. Apparently bending over to stretch out your legs looks a lot like bending over to lose your lunch. I tried to explain that I felt fine, my stomach was fine, and that I just really needed to stretch, but he was insistent on keeping me moving. So move along I did. He stuck with me for a while, and I found out that he'd flown in from just outside of London for the race and hadn't really been a fan of it, either.

As I kept walking, a sudden and horrible realization came over me: the baggage trucks had been done alphabetically, which meant my stuff was going to be in one of the very last ones. I sat down to stretch while I absorbed this information and mentally renewed my commitment to someday marry up in the alphabet (which, really, wouldn't take much). I called the people I was supposed to meet and let them know I was on my way out, then I continued trudging on. When I got to truck #72 it was, indeed, the very last truck. Of course. Considering I'd been ready to sit down and take a nap as soon as I crossed the finish line, having to walk the extra distance (which had to have been at least a half mile, if not more) was something that could only be described as an unpleasant surprise. But I'd made it, and once I got out of the park (thankfully, the next park exit was just after my truck) I easily met up with everyone.

Getting Back to Jersey

For a number of reasons, I'd elected to stay in Jersey near the Meadowlands complex (where the buses to the start left from) instead of in the city. While it was far cheaper than getting a hotel in Manhattan, it also made the trip home a bit more involved. We hopped on the subway at 86th street, where the MTA attendant at the station was letting marathoners on the train for free. (Thank you, MTA dude!) We then rode the A train all the way down to Wall Street where we transferred to the PATH train at the WTC station. Somewhere during that ride, I realized that I was incredibly well hydrated and needed to get rid of some of that extra water. I figured there'd be a bathroom in the PATH station and I'd just stop in there before hopping the train to Jersey.

Yeah, no such luck. By the time we got off the train in Jersey, we were approaching something of a desperate situation. I thought maybe the station in Jersey would have some sort of facilities, but, again, no such luck. We stopped in the cab dispatchers office to request a cab back to our hotel and, again, no luck. We were looking at a 15-minute wait for a cab and then a 20-minute ride back to the hotel. That was so not going to work. I looked up and down the dark street, hoping to find something that might have some sort of restroom and I spied a gas station down the road. It looked close-ish, and I was pretty sure I could make it there and back within 15 minutes. As I started walking, I realized that while my legs were still sore, they felt a lot better than they had an hour ago. So I made a run for it. I can't even imagine what I must have looked like, sprinting down a dark street in Harrison, NJ with my mylar blanket billowing out behind me like a cape, although I'm guessing it was something along the lines of "crazy person." Of course when I got to the gas station, I realized that gas stations in Jersey? Don't necessarily have a "station" to them. Which meant no bathroom. I cursed the Garden State and then spied a Wendy's across the street, so I made a run for it.

The good thing about jaywalking in the dark while wearing a mylar blanket? Everyone can see you. And they're going to stop for you, because they probably think you're highly unstable and going to run in front of them anyway. It certainly made things easier. I stopped in the Wendy's, took care of things (ahhhh), and then ran back to the station. By the time I got there, the cab was ready to go. Sweeeet.

By the time we got back to the hotel I was feeling a little creaky again, and I'm guessing my 800-yard bathroom dash probably didn't help anything. After cleaning up we headed out to a local diner for dinner (where my medium-rare burger was actually done to medium rare and not at all overcooked - I was impressed) and it was after dinner that I discovered what happened if I sat still for too long: my legs stopped working. It took a lot of upper-body strength to get myself back on my feet, and when we got out to the car? I couldn't lift my foot high enough to step into the car normally, instead needing to sit down first and then get my feet in the car. The car in question? A Civic. Yeah, I was in pretty sad shape.

The Post-Game Analysis

Initially, I was really disappointed in this race. I knew that my training could have been better, and I knew by the 15-mile mark that I'd started out way too fast, but I just wasn't it expecting to hurt as much as it did. I haven't had a race hurt that much since I ran my first marathon two years ago. You'd think I would have made some progress in there. I couldn't even take comfort in the fact that at least I ran this one faster than I ran that one, since I posted pretty much the exact same time for both races (NYC was one second slower than that first one in Detroit).

However, looking back? I'm actually pretty happy with it. Yeah, it hurt. A lot. But I still kept on running through the pain, really only walking 2-3 miles of it towards the end. That first one? I was pretty much walking it in off and on from mile 17. Plus here I was able to grit my teeth and run through the pain for a better finish. That's something that I most definitely couldn't have done two years ago. I think if I'd tried to run this course two years ago it would have chewed me up and spit me out alive. It wouldn't have been pretty, that's for sure. The New York course is tough - it's not especially hilly, but the bridges are killer and there's all sort of long, slow, slight inclines that become total ass-kickers over 26.2 miles. Especially to someone who trains in an area as flat as Chicago is.

The point is, despite the nagging feeling that I could have done better under different circumstances, I feel pretty good about the fact that I ran the best race I could have on that day. Sure, I could have gone out a bit slower, but I had no idea how badly it would come back to bite me by starting out just a wee bit too fast. What it boils down to is this: I'll take the race I ran last weekend, but this is one that I definitely need to go back and do again. I refuse to take that sort of abuse lying down, and someday I'll make it back there and show that course who's boss.

My 5K splits are below - it's obvious that I started out far, far too fast, as my average pace steadily declines until the 35K-40K point where it takes a total nosedive. (You can also tell that I hauled it in over the last couple of miles, as my average pace actually decreases between the 40K mark and the finish. Hee.)

Location/Time/Pace per mile
5 Kilometers/0:34:20/11:03
10 Kilometers/1:09:52/11:14
15 Kilometers/1:48:30/11:38
20 Kilometers/2:26:02/11:45
Half-Marathon/2:37:16/11:59
25 Kilometers/3:07:50/12:05
30 Kilometers/3:51:22/12:24
35 Kilometers/4:34:35/12:37
40 Kilometers/5:23:32/13:01
Finish/5:37:17/12:52

Posted by Dawn at 10:22 AM

September 30, 2007

Bucktown 5K: Surprisingly Awesome

On my training schedule for today, I had a 30 minute "embarrassingly slow" recovery run. It made sense - I'd done a long run yesterday, so today should be an easy day. However, I'd registered for the Bucktown 5K - a local race that gives out runner premiums that are way better than your typical t-shirt. This year? A zip-up hoodie and technical hat. Not a bad deal for $30 and 3 miles of running. I figured I'd just ease my way through the course and treat it like a nice stroll through the park. The entire course was on tree-lined residential streets, so it'd be a perfectly enjoyable way to get my run in. Even if it was probably going to be my slowest 5K ever.

Since I wasn't "racing" this, per se, I didn't really do any sort of pre-race prep for it. I had pizza and pop for dinner last night. I stayed up later than I should have given the early wake-up call. And for breakfast this morning? Cold pizza. Not exactly the pre-race meal of champions.

But then I got to the race, and between the chip on my shoe, the number on my shirt, and the thousands of other people, I began to think, "Maybe we'll just go out and see how we feel. Run it easy for a 5K. Maybe." That soon turned into, "Well, I'll run a pretty good effort, but I won't kill myself, and if I get stuck in a slow spot of the crowd, I'll just go with it instead of weaving all over the street to get around it."

I seeded myself at the back of the start corral, and when I crossed the start line I took off at a respectable pace. Not slow and easy, but something i could hold for 3 miles without killing myself. I was passing people steadily, but I wasn't weaving all over the street to do it. When I hit the first mile marker in 9:58, wheels started turning. If I picked up the pace just a wee little bit, I could finish in under 30 minutes. Hmmmm. Considering how slow I've been feeling all summer (since I haven't been doing short races or speedwork), being able to get under the half-hour mark would be a huge confidence booster. My legs felt OK, so I decided to pick it up just a wee little smidge and go for it. I quickly found that if I stuck to the right side, I could get around most of the pack. I was still steadily passing people, and it felt great. When I hit the 2 mile mark in 19:28, I knew that as long as I held my current pace I'd come in under half an hour. So, naturally, I picked it up a bit. As I got ahead of more people, the open spots in the crowd got bigger. I was now weaving my way all over the place to get into free space, and I was running pretty hard. Not all out, but pretty hard. The pizza in my gut was starting to talk back a little bit, but I knew that with less than a mile to go, I'd be just fine. Keep pushing, keep building the speed, but stay relaxed. Just go. Gogogogo.

When I crossed the line, my watch read 29:15 and I couldn't believe it. The day after a long run, with no intention to run fast, and I was only a minute and a half off my PR? A PR that I set when I was doing tons of speed work and feeling super speedy and probably tapered for a few days before the race? I will totally take that.

Now, a lot of people I know don't like to run this race because it's so crowded. And.... it is. 3000 people over 3 miles on residential streets? Unless you're out in front, it's packed. However, I didn't think it was any worse than the Shamrock Shuffle, a race that I keep running despite the crowds, so that didn't bother me too much. I never got fully and completely stuck behind slower people - I could always find a way around, although it did involve some creative cutting and weaving.

That said, I don't think I'll come back to run this race, and here's why: When I get done running a race, be it a 5K or a marathon, the one thing I want right away is water. Most races I've run have had bottles of water either in the finishing chute or with the post-race refreshments. This one? Had one table with cups of water at the entrance to the park where the post-race festivities were. No bottles anywhere to be found. Nothing in the finishing chute. And the post-race refreshments, while plentiful and tasty, included absolutely nothing to drink. I couldn't believe it. I should not have to wait in line and fight a crowd after a race for a cup of water. If you're a big enough race to take in 3,000 runners, then you're a big enough race to get someone to donate a couple thousand cases of bottled water.

Except for that one little hiccup, the race was great. The course was fun- enough turns to keep it interesting, not so many as to really slow you down. Chip and packet pickup was a little weird (you picked up your number and goody bag before the race, but picked up your chip the morning of. Huh?), but it's a system that seems to work for them. Once they find a way to get some (more) water at the finish, they'll have a great fall race going.

Splits: 9:58, 9:30, 8:56, :51 (.1)
Unofficial total: 29:15

Posted by Dawn at 12:32 PM | Comments (1)

September 11, 2007

DWD 2007: The Highlights

Once again, the second weekend of September found me making the trek out to Hell, MI for another round with Dances With Dirt. This year, it would prove to be far more of an adventure than it was last time. Heck, just getting to the race was an adventure: the team I'd originally signed up with pulled out after losing (and being unable to replace) 2 or our 5 members, and the team I joined up with after that had all sorts of personnel problems. Just as we'd get a full team, someone would have to drop out. The Thursday morning before the race, we had a full roster. By Thursday night? Our 5th member lost his babysitter for the day and we were back down to 4. Of course. We held out hope against hope that a runner would magically fall from the sky to refill our team, but Saturday morning found us rearranging legs, trying to find an order that evened out the mileage as much as possible and gave everyone time to rest between legs. Instead of running just under 13 miles for the day, I'd be running a tad over 17. Bring. It. ON.

I was runner #2, so when our first runner came speeding in at the end of her leg I took off. The leg was called "Buttkicker" and is one of the hilliest legs on the course. They were not kidding. A complete lack of any sort of speedwork or hill training this year has left me completely out of shape for this sort of thing, and by the end of the 5.3 miles my butt was on strike, my quads were shot, and I was exhausted. I knew then that a) I might have gone out a little too aggressively and should have started walking the big hills earlier and b) it was going to be a long day.

My next leg, "This Sucks", involves a trip through a swamp and features a "Runner Wash" at the end. I needed it, because I was covered from the waist down in thick, black mud. For about a mile we trudged through mud that threatened to suck off your shoes (helpful hint: stay to the sides!) and crossed waist-deep creeks that required 2 or 3 people to pull you up on to the other bank. Luckily, everyone goes through this chunk of the leg at about the same pace, regardless of how fast they run, so I was in a crowd of about 6-8 people. After the shallow creek crossing each person helped the one behind them out of the mud, and at the end of the deeper crossing, two guys stationed themselves on the bank to yank people out, aided by a guy standing in the creek who was boosting people out. I don't even want to know how far down he sunk into the dirt once we all made our way out, because the ground he was standing on was anything but solid. It definitely takes a special kind of lunatic to enjoy this sort of thing, and I loved it. I mean, when do you get to have that much fun getting dirty and playing in the mud as a grownup?

By this point, I was realizing the challenge of running a race like this with only four people. It's not the extra mileage that gets you, it's the reduced recovery time. Even with 5 runners, by the end of the day you're getting that "I have to run again? Already?" feeling. With 4? I got done with my second leg, and it felt like I was heading out for legs 3 & 4 just five minutes later. I was beat, but, hey! I was almost done! I was running two legs back to back, but the second one was only 1.4 miles, so I was looking at it as a single 6-mile leg. It'd be my longest leg of the day, but I could do it. As I trudged off into the woods for the last time, I told myself, "6 miles to freedom!"

Except I just could not get moving. I was exhausted. I was on nice trail, but it was a never-ending gradual uphill. Plus, I really had to pee. Finally, I got to a spot where I was alone and could duck into the trees to take care of that last detail, and I couldn't believe how much better I felt. It was like I had a second wind! I hit the trail as hard as I could, but within 5 minutes I'd hit the swamp. Again. So much for my second wind.

The name of this leg was "Where's The F'n Bridge," and when I got to the big open river crossing, I thought that was what they meant. I waded through the nice clean river, ignored the guy on the boat that told me to watch out for the snake (although based on the scream from the girl behind me, he may not have been kidding about that. Whatever. If I didn't see it? It didn't exist), then skipped through a little bit of swampy mud and said to myself, "Why, that wasn't bad! Heck, after This Sucks, that was a lovely walk in the park!"

The phrase you are looking for is "Famous Last Words." We got back into the woods, and it was all swamp muck, all the time. So much for making up time with my second wind. Then we got to a creek crossing that had ropes across it, tied to trees at either end of the bank. I vaguely remembered the race organizers mentioning something about ropes and to please be using them during the pre-race announcements, and as I was pondering that, I saw the guy ahead of me step into the creek and wind up in mud and muck up to his waist. Clearly, they weren't kidding about the ropes. I grabbed on to the rope and jumped in. It wasn't too bad - I could reach the bottom, but it was nice to have the rope there for balance and to aid the forward motion, and I used it to pull myself out on the other side. Right on. Ropes. Not messing around. Moving on.

Then I came to crossing #2, again with ropes. The guy ahead of me recommended staying to the left, so I grabbed on to the left rope, jumped in, and was suddenly very glad I was hanging on to the rope. My feet were sort of touching something that felt like the bottom, but if I'd tried to stand in it the water would have been over my head. This was not water that you wanted to have over your head, I'll tell you that much. It was certainly the most fragrant swamp of the day, as "ass" was all I could smell as I pulled myself across the rope and up the other side. Everything from my armpits down was coated in a thick layer of swamp goo. Awesome. By the time we got to the third creek crossing (which was thankfully shallow enough to not require ropes), all I could think was, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, another fucking crossing?"

I may have been a little tired, and perhaps a smidge overmucked. Thankfully, I eventually made it out of the swamp and, after a little over an hour in the woods, I could see freedom and the end of the leg. I knew I had another mile and a half to go, but I was really hoping someone else on my team could take it since the thought of doing any more running with a half-inch of swamp dirt in my shoes was less than appealing. At the exchange point, one of my teammates was there and asked me if I wanted her to take the leg. On one hand, I did. On the other, I didn't want to make her run any more than she had to, since we were all busting our respective asses to cover the course with only 4 runners. I told her that if I stopped running now, I was done for the day. If that meant I ran the next leg? So be it. However, she told me that she was fine and that I could stop there if I wanted. I sent her off and then went and sat in the lake. I have never been so happy to see (relatively) clean and clear water in my life. Nor has lake water ever looked so clean and clear.

After my dip in the lake, I headed up to the team truck to change into clean and dry clothes. As I stripped off my shorts, I realized that I had mud in places people should never have mud. Ewwwww. There would certainly be some quality shower time as soon as I got back to the hotel.

At the end of the day, we finished the 60+ mile course in 11:43:45 - not bad for a team of four women. Our adjusted time (taking age/gender handicaps into account) was 9:59:57 - good enough for 247th place (out of about 370 teams).

It was still a fun race this year, but we were all just beat at the end of it. After talking to some of the other people that ran the F'n Bridge leg, I realized that I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I wasn't so tired, and if I hadn't already taken one trip through the swamp. (Another reason not to run both F'n Bridge and This Sucks: if you have sensitive skin, your legs will be angry with you for taking them through the nasty swamp water two separate times, and will demonstrate their anger by feeling burny and itchy for days afterwards.) On the plus side, my state of total exhaustion meant that I headed to bed fairly early in the post-race party, which meant no hangover on Sunday. Bonus! (Alas, I did miss a lot of fun, but perhaps next year I'll hit the happy medium.)

I will say this, though: despite the fact that I was totally untrained for the terrain and ran myself into the ground, it was still an awesome time. Highly, highly recommended.

Posted by Dawn at 01:33 PM | Comments (4)

August 29, 2007

Accenture Chicago Triathlon

After sticking my toe into the deep and swirly waters of triathlon last summer with a super sprint event, I decided that I liked it enough to commit to an Olympic distance event this year. Choosing the event was a no brainer - I work for the title sponsor of the major tri here in town and as such was able to enjoy a significantly reduced entry fee. Why travel to an event I'd have to pay full price for when I could do the local race on the cheap? Sometimes, working for The Man has its benefits.

Shortly before running El Piggy (which, oops, I never wrote a report for. Bad Dawnie!), I started researching tri training plans online. I was assuming that they'd be about 18 weeks long, much like the standard marathon training plan, which meant I'd get a week off after the race before jumping into full time tri training. In my plan-ahead mind, this meant I needed to have a plan ready to go before I ran the Pig. In all of that digging, I wound up finding Max Multisport - a local company that offered full multisport coaching for a ridiculously reasonable amount. I signed up, met my coach and worked out a tentative plan in the weeks before the pig, and then once I was moved and recovered we hit the ground running. And biking. And swimming.

Throughout the summer, I kept waiting for the training to build into Big Huge Workouts, like it does with marathon training. Except it never did. Sure, I was doing 1.5-2 hour rides and/or runs every weekend, and I was working out 5 or 6 days out of the week (instead of 4-5 days), but I just never felt like the ass-kicking that I expected arrived. And while that certainly made maintaining a social life easier, it just felt... weird. Two weeks out from the race, I didn't feel like I was two weeks out from the race. I didn't feel like I'd put enough work in. I didn't feel like my training had really ramped up at all, even though it had (the increase was mostly in intensity rather than time). Couple that with your typical taper angst and I had a complete and total "OH MY GOD I AM SO NOT READY FOR THIS I AM GOING TO DIE" freakout.

As a result, I went into the race with fairly low expectations. I knew I could finish the run in an hour or so, and I was pretty sure I could get through the swim in slightly under an hour, but what about the bike? 26 miles? Ummm.... an hour and a half? Maybe? If everything goes really well? Maybe closer to 2 hours? So that would give me a finish time of under 4 hours? Eh, OK, I can deal with that.

Race day arrived and I woke up bright and early, even though there is nothing "bright" about 3:30 a.m. except for the blinding light from the bedroom lamp. I got the last few things together, got changed, packed my breakfast, and by 4:30 was heading out the door. When I got to the lakefront, I was only mildly surprised to see a whole slew of people riding on the path. Clearly, they were all going to the same place I was. I got to the transition area with plenty of time to find my bike rack, set everything up, and then scope out my best routes to and from the various entrances and exits. Once I felt comfortable with the geography of it all, I grabbed my "pre-race" bag, waved good-bye to my bike, and headed out.

As I walked down towards the swim start, I passed the swim finish, and I was surprised to see just how far apart the two were... and that was for the sprint swim! My swim would have an extra little loop south before heading north to the finish. I tried not to think about it. I met up with the rest of the sponsor employees and smiled in the group picture. Then I had about 3 and a half hours to kill before my wave would start, so I parked myself along the swim course and watched the sprinters swim on past. With 2 hours to go, I ate my breakfast. With 90 minutes to go, I hit the port-o-lets. With 45 minutes to go, I began the task of putting my wetsuit on, which I would stretch out until I zipped it up just before my wave hit the water.

Standing in the start corral, the familiar feeling of complete and absolute fear crept over me. It doesn't happen with every race, but with a new racing experience (such as My Biggest, Longest Triathlon Ever?) I can pretty much count on it. Sunday morning, I was focused on the fact that the swim had a deep water start, which meant I was going to have to jump in the water. With lots of other people watching. I had visions of needing to jump down from the concrete shore we were standing on, a good foot above the water level. I was nearly dizzy with fear as my stomach dropped to my feet. Swimming 1500 meters? No problem! Jumping down a foot into murky lake water with hundreds of witnesses? Hell no. Thankfully, when my wave got to the front corral I was able to see a set of steps that led down from the concrete to the water, so I just had a wee little jump off the last step. Whew. That? Was totally doable.

As the wave jumped in, a cloud of profanity arose from the group: the lake was cold. I'd missed the official water temperature announcement, but I'd heard that it was around the mid-60s. Um, no. I immediately felt sorry for the few people that weren't wearing wetsuits. Even in a full suit (which I was so very glad I had), my hands and feet were cold enough that I was feeling chilly. I moved to the back and side of the group, got my goggles on (very tricky when you're treading water, even with the extra floatiness of the wetsuit), and waited for the start.

The horn went off, and I had plenty of time to start my watch while the front of the wave took off. It took me a bit to get into a rhythm, but I took it nice and steady until I did. I discovered that back- and/or sidestroking in a wetsuit feels very strange if you're not used to it. Strange enough that I flat out didn't want to do it, and only did when I really needed to catch my breath. Before I knew it, I'd covered the 375 yards to the turnaround and was heading back north. This stretch seemed to last forever, but I realized something: for the first time in a tri swim, I felt calm and collected in the water. My heart wasn't racing, I wasn't gasping for air, and I felt pretty good. It was awesome. Sure, I was getting run over by the faster swimmers from the waves behind me, but I expected that. I stopped apologizing mentally for being in the way, and just worried about not hitting people in front of me. As I got closer to the end I could finally see the orange buoy by the water exit, and I picked it up a bit. I had absolutely no idea how long I'd been in the water, and I didn't really care. I was almost done, I felt good, and I wasn't going to be totally winded for the first part of the bike. Awesome.

At the swim exit, there were more stairs (we were swimming along shore in the harbor, not at one of the beaches). The stairs were full of volunteers helping us out of the water, and I was surprised by how much I needed their help. Getting my butt out of the water was tricky, and I was so dizzy that I needed help from the volunteers on the higher steps to keep from falling back in the water. This never ceases to amaze me - even if I don't feel dizzy in the water, I always feel dizzy when I stand up afterwards, but it only happens when I swim in the lake. Go figure. The jog to transition was super-long, which I'd been warned about. I'd placed a pair of old running shoes near the swim exit so I wouldn't have to do the 1/4 mile over asphalt in bare feet, but I couldn't find them when I jogged past the spot. Rather than spend time searching for them, I just said "screw it" and made a run for it. Not. Comfy. The asphalt was bumpy and broken up in places, and I was so, so glad when I got to the transition area and could jog on grass for a little bit.

Total swim time (including the long-ass jog): 46:06

When I got to my bike in the transition area, I got my wetsuit off as quickly as I could, threw on my shoes and socks, wolfed down some Clif Bloks and stuck the rest of the bag in the pocket of my jersey. Helmet and glasses went on, race number belt went on, I took a big swig of water while I surveyed myself and the transition area to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, and I was off. It was kind of a trek to the bike exit, but not too bad. I could have placed my bike closer to the other end of the rack, but that would only have saved me 30 seconds or so. My bike, while placed nicely for the swim in and run out areas, was not in a good spot for bike out/bike in. Woe.

T1: 5:03

I got out of transition, moved over to the side to get on my bike, and then headed up the ramp to Lake Shore Drive. I would have to bike up to the north end of it, turn around, and then do that loop one more time for a total of about 25 miles. As soon as I got going, I realized that my stomach was not feeling good: it was crampy and hurty and I was not a fan. Thankfully, since I was sitting down and bent forward, it didn't bother me too much. I figured I needed electrolytes and fuel, so I started by drinking down the Gatorade I had on my bike. When I got to the first turnaround, I sucked down a Gu. As I was heading back south, I thought that maybe, if I stopped at the bathroom, I might feel better. Luckily, there was a port-o-let at the turnaround at the south end of the bike course. Let me tell you: using a port-o-let in the middle of Lake Shore Drive? While there were cars on it? (The left 2 lanes were closed in each direction for the tri, but the outer two lanes were open to regular traffic.) Was something of a bizarre experience. On the plus side, after all of the Gatorade and water I'd chugged down, I really needed to pee. On the down side, my stomach didn't feel any better. I got on the bike, turned back north, and decided that even though I was hurting, I still needed something solid. I reached for the Blocks in my jersey pocket, since the idea of an energy bar was completely unappealing, but they were gone. Nooo! It had been a tight fit to begin with, so I wasn't entirely surprised. But I was saddened. This meant I'd have to choke down the Luna bar I had. Ugh.

On the plus side, I was absolutely flying through the course despite my discomfort. Every time I looked down, I was moving along at 19 or 20 mph, except for when I was going up some of the steeper inclines. I couldn't believe it. I was way ahead of where I'd expected to be and completely thrilled about it. Visions of a 3:30 finish were dancing in my head, although I tried not to think about it too much until I got through the rest of the bike.

One thing I learned? Lake Shore Drive is not flat. It's not mountainous terrain by any means (this is Chicago, after all), but it's got one overpass or another every mile or so, so it was just constant rollers. I was completely surprised by it, and I was also surprised by my surprise. I mean, I've driven or ridden a bus down LSD a million times over the past few years - how did I not notice the hills? Apparently my powers of observation leave a bit to be desired. The good thing was I was ready for it. My coach had me riding loops around one of the beach parking lots by me that had the same pattern of overpass after overpass. It was on a much smaller scale, of course, but I think it did me a lot of good. More so than if I'd spent all my bike time on the perfectly pancake-like lakefront path. Before I knew it, I was heading back over the river and down the exit ramp to transition. The bike was done, and I still had something like an hour and ten minutes to get to a 3:30 finish. I could totally run a 10K in that time. As I ran into transition, my legs felt good, I had tons of energy left, and I was ready to rock it. I found my spot with no trouble at all, changed my shoes and my hat, grabbed another Gu and some more water, and headed out for the run.

Bike: 1:26:18, Avg speed: 17.6 MPH
T2: 4:51

As soon as I started jogging out of transition, my stomach spoke up to let me know that it was not feeling any better. It was, in fact, still crampy and angry about something. Gah. I ran most of the first mile, stopping to jog/walk when I had to, but it just wasn't happening. It hurt. It was the kind of pain that, had I not been in the middle of a race, I would have lied down and curled up into a little ball until it went away. Standing up straight was painful enough, and running was just about out of the question. I got myself to the next set of port-o-lets, convinced that if I could just get something out of my system one way or another, I'd be fine. Except nothing wanted to leave.

I. Was. Pissed. My nearly perfect race was being thwarted, and I didn't even know how to fix it! More Gatorade was making me feel worse, so I laid off the fuel for a while. I walked down the course belching like a frat boy, but that didn't help, either. I couldn't believe it. However, as I felt myself getting upset, I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I told myself that getting upset now wasn't going to help me. If I wanted to be sad and angry, I could do that afterwards. For now? I had a job to do, and that job was to figure out how to feel better so I could get to the finish line as fast as possible.

A small ray of light shone down around mile 3, though. I wasn't feeling any better, but I looked at my watch and realized that even if I kept walking, as long as I kept up a decent pace, I could still finish under 4 hours. That gave me enough motivation to try and run anytime the pain let up even a little bit. At first, I'd only make it a few steps before I had to stop. But little by little, the run intervals got longer and longer. Somewhere around mile 5, I realized that even though I was a little uncomfy and wanted to stop running, I didn't have to. I started out just making to the next light pole, or the next curve in the road, and before I knew I was going pretty good. I didn't feel great, but I was running. As I wound my way from the lakefront path to Columbus Ave, I was going strong. I was almost done, and I was going for the big finish. I crossed the line right at 3:54 by my watch.

Run: 1:32:04
Total: 3:54:24

Now that I was done with the race, I was allowed to be upset about the horrible awful run. However, I just wasn't that annoyed by it anymore. Yeah, I was annoyed. Yeah, I would have been much happier if I'd finished closer to 3:30 than 4:00, but I still came in under 4 hours. Which is what I'd been hoping for anyway. More importantly, I felt good at the finish. I didn't feel wiped out or beat up. Sure, the race didn't go exactly how I'd hoped, but I'd finished and lived to tell the tale. I can always get that 3:30 next time.

You heard that right - next time. I had so much fun with this race, that there will definitely be more in the future.

Posted by Dawn at 02:21 PM | Comments (3)

July 30, 2007

Fleet Feet Women's 10K

Here's the thing about this race: I want to love it. I really, really do. The course is great, winding around a beach and park and right along the lake for a bit. The crowd support is good (and where else are you going to find a race where ALL of the spectators are guys?), the volunteers are great, and it should be an all-around good time. Heck, I've even run other races on the same course that have been delightful and wonderful experiences. For some reason, though, this Women's 10K just has it out for me.

Last year I came into it ready to kick some serious butt. I was going under an hour, no problem. I was in shape for it, I was fast enough, and I was ready to rock. Except for the part where it was 90+ degrees out at the race start, which made it a slow, hot, miserable experience. I still set a PR, but it wasn't under an hour, and I spent most of the rest of the day trying to cool down and rehydrate. Not a good time.

This year, the weather was much more cooperative. Sure, it still got a little warm once the sun came out, but the temperature maxed out at 80.... not 100. HUGE difference. Additionally, I knew I probably wasn't in the shape to PR, so I had no plans to kill myself - I was just going to go out, run nice and steady, and enjoy it. Less pressure + better weather = awesome race, right?

Almost. It was all happy and awesome right until a spot just past the 4-mile mark. We were running along the lakefront, and there was a narrow gravel path (about 2 feet wide) sandwiched in between a low concrete wall and some grass. When I got there, the gravel path was crowded so I ran on the grass next to it. Running on grass isn't exactly my idea of a good time, so when a spot cleared on the gravel path I hopped right into it. Or, I tried to hop into it. Instead, my right toe caught a piece of wood that was separating the gravel path from the grass next to it. Down I went, landing mostly on my right hand and knee right in the gravel. It felt great.

The girl just ahead of me turned around when she heard me fall and said, "Oh my God, was that my fault? I'm so sorry!" I assured her it wasn't, and tried to keep myself composed while I insisted I was OK. (I was OK - despite the fact that I'd scraped the shit out of both knees and had gravel embedded in my palm, I wasn't seriously injured, but I was still on the verge of tears because a) hello, dumbass, tripping and falling in front of an audience! and b) dude, that HURT.) She offered me her water bottle to rinse the dirt off myself, and then walked and ran with me for a little bit until she was sure I was OK. When I started running again, she asked, "Are you sure you don't want to walk?" I was. Once the initial shock wore off, it didn't even hurt anymore, and I sure as heck wasn't going to bag it for the last 2 miles of a race over a scraped knee.

I wound up finishing strong in just over 63 minutes - only 2 and a half minutes off my PR, which was much better than I expected to run... especially when you consider I lost a little bit of time with the whole "falling down go boom" thing. Someday, I'll finish a 10K in less than an hour. It just won't be this one.

I hit the medical tent at the finish and got cleaned up and bandaged, although I felt sorry for the poor guy who was trying to patch me up. Once I stopped running and sat down in the shade of the tent, I started sweating buckets. Ew. Not to mention it made the whole "get the bandages to stick to me" thing a little tricky. Luckily, I just needed something to get me home. Today? I'm fine. My knees and hand are still a little sore, and my hand looks a little rough, but I'll live.

Posted by Dawn at 12:15 PM | Comments (5)

August 31, 2006

The Tri That Almost Wasn't

Back in October, I was sitting at work when an interesting e-mail came through: The company I work for is the title sponsor of the big tri here in town, and as an employee I was eligible for a discounted entry fee. The idea of a tri had been sort of hanging out in the back of my mind - I'd spent the summer reading race reports of everyone else's triathlon experiences, and it sounded interesting. It was at least worth seeing what the entry fees looked like with my fancy employee discount. Let's just say that I was surprised - these tri things are expensive. Even though my registration would be approximately half-off, I couldn't quite get my head around dropping that much cash on the sprint event. Wait a minute, though, what's this? A super sprint? With free entry? Well, hell. For the cost of a USAT event permit, I was in.

I then proceeded to pretty much forget about it for the next month or so. Then I joined a gym, and started thinking really hard about swimming once a week. Some weeks I'd get in, some weeks I wouldn't. However, once training really ramped up for Mad City, the swimming went out the window. I even took a couple of spinning classes here and there, but dropped those, too, as Mad City approached. At the end of May, I hadn't been in a pool or on a bike in well over a month. I was beginning to seriously consider just forgetting about the whole stupid thing. Not only was I not cross-training at all, but I had equipment issues. I had a mountain bike, but I hadn't been on it in years, and I wasn't even sure what kind of shape it was in. Clearly, worrying about this was going to be more trouble than it was worth. Screw it.

Then in mid-June, my neighbor offered to clean up and tune up the mountain bike for me. I started riding it around the city to run errands and such, and quickly discovered that I did not like riding it at all. It was heavy. I tired out way too quickly. Plus, it wasn't particularly comfy. Sure, it would work for the race, but I wasn't at all excited about it. Also, when was the last time I was in a pool? Ummm... I have no idea. February, maybe? No clue. I should probably work on that...

Finally in mid-July, I got my crap together. After a year of thinking about it, I caved and bought a road bike. I couldn't believe the difference! Riding this one wasn't something I had to deal with to get from A to B, it was actually a lot of fun. Which meant that my one excuse for skipping out of the tri - no bike - was gone, and I should really, really get my behind in the pool. This wound up not being much of a challenge at all as Chicago found itself in a horrible heat wave and the idea of spending an hour or so in the pool suddenly became much more appealing. On top of that, I'd started mentioning the tri to people, and so now I either had to go through with it or explain that I'd wimped out for no good reason. Looks like I was going through with it. I wasn't worried, though. I checked the event web site to find out exactly how far I'd have to swim, bike and run and just about laughed out loud. Turns out that "super sprint" isn't some sort of fancy wording for a regular sprint tri. No, it's even shorter than a sprint tri. This particular event consisted of a 375m swim, a 10k bike, and a 2.5k run. My jaw dropped and I said, "That's it? Heck, I could do that in my sleep. No problem." I figured I'd be done with the thing in an hour - on one hand, it was almost too short to justify hauling all my crap up to the way north end of town for the race, but on the other, if things started to go downhill? At least it would be over quickly.

So, after 10 months of waffling, I arrived at packet pickup on Friday afternoon excited and ready to go. As it turns out, working for the title sponsor of an event has its benefits - there was a separate chip/bib pickup for employees, which reduced the number of lines I had to wait in by one (I still had to wait in the general lines for chip check, body marking, swim cap pick-up and t-shirt/goody bag pick-up), and I got a ton of extra free stuff - sunscreen, a chip strap, and a race number belt. It was all corporate branded, of course, but, hey! Free race number belt and chip strap! Not a bad deal.

The morning of the event had me up and ready to go on time. I'd (over)packed my bag the night before and set out everything I needed to wear, so all I had to do was get up, eat, get dressed and get all my stuff up to the beach. I was there by 6:30, which gave me 45 minutes to get everything set up before transition closed. This was plenty of time. I found a spot for my bike. I set up all of my shoes and clothes and hats and whatnot. I took a stroll around the transition area and found all the entry and exit points (we were assigned rows by race number - I was nice and close to the swim in/bike out spots, but on the other end of the world from the bike in/run out spots). I walked down to the beach and back using the path I'd have to take from swim to transition. Finally, I got my swim stuff together and headed down to the lake.

While we were hanging around the beach, listening to the course talk and waiting for the race to start, I noticed quite a few corporate branded chip straps on ankles. Now, I work for a large company, so the odds of running into someone I actually knew were pretty slim, but it was starting to worry me. Having to make small talk with someone I work while wearing a swimsuit? Not my idea of a good time. Thankfully, I never actually saw anyone I know, and before I knew it my wave was off.

The swim was a lot harder than I expected. Partly because I hadn't actually been in the pool in a few week, and partly because I haven't done any actual open water swimming since I was 10 and at Girl Scout camp. I couldn't get into a groove, I could tell that my form was off and I was forgetting about everything I'd relearned over the past year. On top of that, I couldn't see where in the hell I was going. I tried lifting my head up and looking forward every few breaths, and while it helped navigationally speaking, I felt like it just wore me out and threw off the rhythm I was trying to get into. The few times I did manage to get into some sort of groove and start to catch my breath, I'd see feet right in front of my face which made me bring my head up out of the water lest I get kicked. I probably wasn't in any danger, so, again, something to work on - swimming while seeing someone's feet directly in front of me and not letting it throw me off. I wound up doing sidestroke for most of the swim - it let me catch my breath, I could see where I was going, and it moved me along at a respectable pace. However, it wasn't terribly efficient, energy-wise. By the time I got out of the lake (in just under 7 minutes, which would have suprised the pants off of me had I been wearing pants), my heart was racing and I felt tired and like a giant limp noodle. On the jog up to transition from the beach, I didn't even think about the fact that I had to go back out and bike and run, still.

I wasn't the last one from my wave (5) out of the water, but I was close. However, I knew going into it that the swim was my weak spot, and so I'd pretty much expected to get my ass kicked. I'd make up for it on the bike and run, I was sure. Once I got into transition, I pulled on my shorts, tank, and race number. I had set a second towel out to wipe the sand off my feet, but decided it just wasn't worth the time it would take. On went the socks, shoes, and helmet, and I was off.

The bike course was 3 laps up and down an access road. I started out taking it moderately easy, still trying to recover my heart rate a bit from the swim. However, "taking it easy" didn't last long, and before I knew it I was riding pretty much all-out. The first turn-around took my by surprise and found me on the inside of the turn as I'd been trying to pass this girl. I'd slowed down a bit, but not enough to make the sharp U-turn that was in front of me. For added fun, we had to ride over a chip mat just after the turn (to make sure everyone completed all three laps), which meant that the course was far narrower coming out of the turn than going into it. Somehow, I managed to get through the turn without crashing into the other girl or falling over. I probably cut her off, and she probably called me some nasty names, but we all got through it in one piece. To be honest, though, the thing that I was most proud of was not clipping out one of my feet through the whole thing - I wanted to, as I was sure I was going to go down, but I didn't and it was fine. For the rest of the turns, I made sure I was on the outside, even if it meant slowing down so I could get behind somebody.

During my 3 laps on the bike, I was passing people left and right. It was hard to tell if I was actually getting ahead of them, or if I was just passing them by, since I had no way of knowing what lap they were on. When I spent most of my final lap around the bike course passing people from the 4th wave, though, I felt pretty good, as I'd clearly made up some of the time I lost on the swim. The down side was that my legs were pretty much shot by that point - the gear I shifted up into after coming out of the turns got progressively lower with each lap, and I was really feeling the wee little hills (which, really, were more like "short up and down inclines") on the course. I probably could have slowed down a bit, but I had a hard time justifying it to myself. The run was only a mile and a half! If I can drag my ass through a five and a half hour marathon, I can run a mile and half on dead legs.

I hit transition again, changed my shoes and traded my helmet for a hat. Since I'd totally ignored the bottle of Gatorade on my bike during the actual bike, I figured now would be a good time to take a swig. Then out to the run!

Damn, yo, my legs were, indeed, fully and completely shot. They didn't have much left in them, and running was certainly not their idea of a good time. Their idea of a good time at that point would have been more like "sitting in the lake with a large fruity drink," but, whatever. It's a mile and a half - I can do that in my damn sleep. I told my legs to shut up, deal, and GO. My heart rate was sky high during the whole thing, but I kept on running, and I was passing people. Some of them were walking, but some of them were actually running, just more slowly than I was. Just a few minutes into the run, I came up behind a girl that had a "3" on the back of her leg, and I almost couldn't believe it. I spent the rest of the run passing by people from the 3rd and 4th waves, which was a pleasant surprise. It helped take my mind of the fact that this was easily the longest mile and a half I have ever run in my life - just before we hit the turnaround, I was starting to wonder if it was ever going to end. The second half went by faster than the first, and once I was in sight of the finish line, I gave it everything I had left. I didn't expect much of a finishing kick out of my legs, but they surprised me and I flew through the line. I was done, and damn was I tired.

Going into it, I figured the whole thing would take me about an hour. I checked my watch as I crossed the line, and was just about shocked to see a time of 49 minutes and change. Official times:

Swim/T1: 10:42 (258/526)
Bike: 21:59 (95/526)
T2/Run: 16:43 (234/526)
Overall: 49:24 (160/526, 15/98 in class [F20-29])

An amazingly good experience for the first time out - I can't even tell you how glad I am that I didn't wimp out of this in the end. There are definitely more tris in my future.

Posted by Dawn at 07:50 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

July 02, 2006

Race to Taste 5K

This morning was the Race to the Taste 5K - I'd been looking forward to this for a few weeks, as I was pretty confident that I'd do well. I was shooting for something right around 28 minutes, which would give me a new PR. It was going to be good.

Then last week happened. I spent the entire week overtired and overstressed. I got 2 out of 4 workouts in - and the two workouts I missed were my speed workouts. I haven't done any sort of real speedwork since the marathon, so I was excited about getting back to the track this week. Except work had other plans for me, keeping me late on Wednesday. I had a stride workout on the schedule for Friday, but by the time Friday rolled around, I was too fried to even think about running. Oh well. I gave some vague thought to trying to get in a semi-long run on Saturday, but after spending the morning running errands around town on the bike, I just wasn't up to it. I was tired and dehydrated, and it was just too damn hot. Whatever.

Then I didn't sleep well Saturday night. I don't know what the problem was, other than the fact that I never sleep well the night before a race, regardless of how big or small it is. So, instead, I read. I put away some laundry. I did the dishes. I think more cleaning gets done in my apartment on the eve of a race than any other time. Finally, I managed to get a few hours of sleep in before the alarm went off.

When I left my apartment, the weather reminded me of Madison, except with more cloud cover. I took a moment to be thankful that it was cloudy, and that I was only running a 5K today. I arrived at the race right on time, about an hour before the start. I picked up my chip, checked my gear, and walked around for a bit before setting off on an easy 25-minute jog around the park. I threw in a few strides to get the legs moving. I made it back to the start area about 15 minutes before Go Time.

I lined up about 1/3 of the way from the front - a place I thought was a bit too far forward, until the gun went off and I was stuck in what felt like a slow, slow crowd. The plan was to run just under a 9:00 pace for the first two miles, then hit the last mile hard. I felt like I was going so much slower, that I spent too much time trying to get around people, especially considering how slippery the road was in spots from the pre-race rainfall. However, I hit mile 1 at 8:54 - right on time.

I felt like I slowed a bit during the second mile - I was definitely feeling the 16 miles of biking I'd done the day before in my quads, and I was getting tired fast. When I hit the 2nd mile at 8:38, I understood why. Oops. A little too fast, especially considering we were now running right into the wind.

I tried to slow it down, to lock in a pace, but I just couldn't. Finally, I stopped to walk for a bit. I didn't want to, but I had to catch my breath and "reset" my internal pacer. I walked for a bit, then started jogging again for the last 3/4 mile or so. At that point, I gave up on trying to get a PR, and decided to settle for finishing strong. I'd cranked the speed up too far too soon, and figured I'd just file this race away under "educational experience."

Happily, the walk break did exactly what I was hoping it would. I was cruising along, feeling better, but having no idea how fast I was going. I thought I'd slowed down, because I felt better. When we made the last turn back onto Columbus with a half-mile or so to go, I picked up the pace a little bit - I was going to give the end of this race everything I had. When I hit the last turn at the 3 mile marker, the clock said 27:30. My PR was 28:32. If I could cover the last .1 mile in under a minute, I could still PR.

I couldn't believe it! I rounded the corner and turned on the sprint, only to find that it had rained again and the road was slick. OK. Stay off the paint, find a straight line to the finish and GO GO GO. I was hurting. I was feeling like crap. I was going to hang on and push it in to the finish as fast as I possibly could....

I crossed the line right around 28:15, and headed over to the chip retrieval station, where I played the superfun game of "Don't Barf on the Volunteers." I kept moving. I kept breathing. I grabbed a Gatorade and a banana, but passed on the bagel (a move I'd regret in about an hour when my appetite returned). Then, as I was exiting the finish chute, I saw what must have been a gift from heaven - a guy passing out freeze pops. Big, giant tubes of frozen sugar water. Genius! I thanked the guy profusely, only to realize that I had no way to open the darn thing. No matter! I had teeth, and I was going to use them. I was determined to get into that freeze pop, and nothing - not even vacuum-sealed plastic - was going to stop me. Ahhhh. Tasty. Lovely.

I spent the next 15 minutes or so walking and jogging back along the course, half looking for a friend of mine and half making a feeble attempt at cooling down. My coach had recommended a 1-2 mile jog as a cool-down post-race, and while I was all over that plan in theory, in practice? My legs were just done. I did jog more than I walked of the mile or so that I covered before I found my people, so I called it good.

I grabbed my stuff from the gear check, and we watched the kids races to kill time before the raffle. I'd heard that the prizes were worth sticking around for, and I couldn't use my free Taste tickets until it opened at 11, so what the heck. The prizes were indeed fantastic, although I didn't win any. At least I got to spend some quality time with Running Jayhawk, Out of Shape Guy, and Frank (Go CRU!).

Before the raffle started, I was able to get over to sneak a peak at the official results (yay technology!). My official chip time was 27:44, which was a 47 second PR, not to mention good enough for 685th place out of 1500 runners/walkers, and 62nd place out of 215 in my age group. Definitely a good end to a less-than-stellar week.

Posted by Dawn at 07:40 PM | Comments (4)

May 30, 2006

Mad City Marathon: More Than Just a Race

First of all, a big thanks to everyone who commented on the short version of Madison. I was pretty bummed out over the race - I knew that I was trained and ready to have a spectacular day out there, and things just didn't work out that way. In a perfect world, I would be superwoman, impervious to a little heat. However, in reality? Not so much. In fact, in reality I don't handle heat well at all. The kind of weather we had on Sunday is the kind of weather that usually inspires me to stay inside, in the dark, with the air conditioning turned on while I drink vat after vat of ice cold water. Preferably while sitting in a vat of ice cold water. Just being outside in the sun and heat is enough to wear me out and make me cranky.

Yet, there I was Sunday morning, running a freaking marathon. Clearly, I have lost my mind. Clearly, I am what my grandmother would call "touched in the head."

At any rate, be it insanity or stubbornness or just good old fashioned stupidity, there I was on Sunday morning, lined up at the start with hundreds of other like-minded maniacs. I had one last decision to make when I got to the start: did I want to push it and try to hang with the 4:30 pace group? Or did I want to take it easy and have fun with the 5:00 group? I'd met the 5:00 pace leader at the expo on Saturday, and she definitely seemed like someone who would be fun to hang out with for a morning. As soon as I stepped out of the hotel, the decision was made for me. I hit the wall of humidity and knew that it just wasn't a day to push it.

The race started off OK. The pace felt nice and easy, although I was absolutely dripping by the end of the first mile. We stopped at every aid station, and I was taking 2 cups of liquid from most of them. I was having a good time, though. We had a good group, and were all joking and talking, making the miles just fly by. Around mile 10, though, I noticed that I wasn't dripping anymore, but I didn't think much of it. I didn't feel overheated, so I just kept chugging right along.

By mile 11, I was starting to get chills and feel goosebumpy. Our pace leader had told us to let her know if we were feeling funky, and I was debating if this qualified as "funky." When the chills hadn't gone away by mile 12, and had in fact gotten worse, I let her know. "You're dehydrated," she told me. She asked around the group if anyone had water and Sammy, one of the other runners, let me have some of his Gatorade. It was, to be honest, the nastiest tasting Gatorade I have ever had in my life, but I sucked a bunch of it down. Around mile 12.5, the leader checked in with me again. I wasn't feeling any better, so she told me to take a gel. I did, and immediately regretted it. The sweetness of the gel totally did my stomach in, and I was officially Feeling Like Crap. I was starting to feel like I needed a break, but I knew that if I slowed down and broke away from the pace group, I'd never catch up to them.

At mile 13, I admitted defeat and started walking. I was nauseous. I wasn't sweating anymore. I had goosebumps and despite the fact that it was close to 90 degrees out, I was chilly. I was in bad shape. To confirm that, the volunteer at the mile 13 aid station took one look at me and said, "Take two," handing me two full cups of water. I drank them both down, and decided that I'd had enough. As I've mentioned before, I don't handle heat well, and I've also learned that when I get dehydrated, it takes me a long, long time to bounce back. I've spent entire afternoons with dehydration headaches after hot morning runs, because no matter how much liquid I drink, I can only soak up so much at a time. I knew that there was no way for me to have any kind of decent race after this. It just wasn't going to happen. I cried a little, frustrated at how things had worked out, and made the decision to stop at the next medical tent and tell them I was dehydrated and done.

Little did I know, though, that the next medical tent wasn't right around the corner as I'd expected, but 4 miles away. I kept on walking. I kept on taking my gels every hour like I'd planned. And at every aid station I passed, I stopped and took three cups: one full of Gatorade, one of water, and one of ice. I drank the Gatorade, washed it down with water, and then drank the ice as it melted. When I finally did reach the medical tent at mile 17, I felt better. My feet and hips were sore from all the walking, but I wasn't chilly, nauseous or goosebumpy anymore. While I certainly didn't want to walk the next 9 miles, I didn't feel bad enough to pack it in, either. I figured I'd keep going. See how things went. If I got really dehydrated again, I'd stop at mile 20.

Yet, when mile 20 rolled around? I felt OK. I was actually sweating again, which thrilled me to pieces. There was a medical tent there, but instead of asking for a rescue, I asked for sunblock and vaseline. Although I was still mostly walking, I'd started to jog here and there. It was at that point that I decided I was going to finish the race. I only had 10K left. I could do it. I was going to do it. The only question left in my mind was how much I was going to walk, and how much I was going to run. Would I run it in from mile 21? Or maybe mile 22? I certainly had the energy, it was just a matter at that point of getting my head back in the game and avoiding serious dehydration. I wasn't going to pick it up again only to crash at mile 25.

However, when I got to mile 21, I discovered that despite my newfound commitment to finishing the thing, the universe had other plans. There was a medic waiting at the mile marker with a couple of guys, and he told me that the medical director was starting to shut down the course. I could wait there for a ride, or I could keep going to the next aid station, less than a mile up the course. I opted to keep going - I felt fine, and figured if I got to the aid station I could at least have some water and Gatorade while I waited for my ride.

To be honest, I wasn't too disappointed. I probably wasn't going to PR, and this took that pressure off. Plus, it was nice to be out of the sun. However, when the van dropped us off around the corner from the finish line, my heart sunk. "There's your finish line," they said, clearly expecting us to run through it.

I almost couldn't do it. I took the chip off my shoe and ran through the chute. All my friends were waiting, and they went crazy when I passed by. The clock read 5:15, which would have been a huge PR for me. They were thrilled that I'd manage to not only finish but PR under those horrendous conditions, and I just wanted to cry. I dropped my chip in one of the buckets, grabbed a bottle of water, and turned down the medal from the volunteer.

Then I met up with my friends. They asked where my medal was, and I burst into tears. I told them I hadn't really finished. They'd shut the course down, and I'd gotten a ride from mile 21.5. I hadn't really made it. There was a moment of silence as their hearts all broke with mine, and then someone said, "You need to get a medal. You were out there for 5 hours. You earned it. Go back and get one."

I was, at that point, too emotionally exhausted to argue. One of my friends said, "Let's go. We're getting your medal," and I followed her back over to the finish area. She walked right up to the volunteer and said, "You missed someone." The volunteer apologized and handed me my finisher medal.

I spent Sunday evening and most of yesterday pretty conflicted about it. I kept telling myself that it was OK. I'd done what I could, and I'd made a damn good showing on a ridiculously bad day. I'd run a good, solid 2:30 half-marathon. The training wasn't a waste, because I'd built up a ton of strength and speed and I was going to have an awesome summer racing season. I kept telling myself to focus on the bright side, because that's just what I do. It's OK. No, really, it is.

Then, last night, I decided that it wasn't OK. I worked my ass off, dammit. Despite whatever doubts I might have had before the race, I was ready for that thing. I was robbed! Robbed!

Then I got a number of supportive messages from the friends I'd spent the weekend with. Messages that reminded me how far I've come over the past year. Messages that reminded me that while we may have all gone to Madison to run a marathon, that wasn't why we all went to Madison.

We all went up there to run a marathon together. This weekend wasn't about a single race, it was about spending a couple of days with a great group of people that I feel lucky to be able to call my friends. When I look back on Memorial Day 2006 years from now, the first thing I think of won't be the race I ran on Sunday morning. It'll be the fun I had with my friends all weekend long. It'll be the giant group of 15 people waiting for me at the finish, holding their collective breath and hoping I'd be OK, worrying about whether or not I'd put on enough sunscreen that morning.

Today, I'm glad they made me go back and get that medal. From now on, when ever I look at that medal, I'll remember the amazing group of friends I've made in pursuit of this crazy hobby. The group of friends that has, over the past year, watched me go from this girl who got the crazy idea to run a marathon to someone who ran as much of that race as she could before they made her stop, and been with me every step of the way.

The Mad City Marathon itself pretty much sucked, but the marathon weekend? Is something I wouldn't trade for the world.

Posted by Dawn at 12:46 PM | Comments (6)

April 26, 2006

Smurfin' It Up - River to River Relay 2006

In mid-March, I found myself standing in a high school gym in Cary, IL, wondering if I was really ready for the half-marathon I was about to run. People were standing around, talking and joking, and I was stuck deep in my own thoughts, trying to psych myself up for the 13.1 miles of hills I was about to tackle.

However, this is not about that race (which, by the way, turned out just fine, silly me). As I was trying to dig myself out of my Pit O' Worry, someone turned to me and said, "Have you been hit up for that yet?" I was like, "Who? What? Huh?" Next thing I knew I was checking the calendar for a weekend at the end of April and throwing my lot in with the Smurfs for the River to River relay. In the Grand Dawnie Tradition, I gave it absolutely no thought outside of, "Do I have anything better to do that weekend?" I did check the race web site and look at the course maps, and I knew it would be sort of vaguely like DWD in that they're both relays, but that was about it. I had better things to worry about, like the fact that my job was trying to kill me.

Until the week before the race, that is. As coordination e-mails were flying back and forth, figuring out who was driving and who was getting picked up where, I had a moment of doubt. I looked at who my fellow Smurfs were, and I realized something: these people run a lot faster than I do. I suddenly felt unworthy, and was worried that I wasn't going to be able to keep up. I may have also wondered just how desperate for runners they were if they were down to asking me. Then I realized two things: Firstly, these people have been reading my race reports/results for almost a year now. They know how fast (or not, as the case may be) I run. If nothing else, they knew what they were getting themselves into by asking me. Secondly, even if I was the slowest person on the team, they're all far too nice to say anything to my face about it, which was good enough for me. I shoved all the doubts to the back of my mind, packed some bags, and on Friday afternoon, jumped into the back of an Expedition for the trek down to The Middle of Nowhere, Southern Illinois.

After a team dinner and shopping expedition, it was off the Ye Olde Squat for a few hours of sleep before an early pre-race wake-up call. We left a few minutes later than planned, which translating into us just missing our start time. The next start time? In 30 minutes. Well, shit. However, there's nothing we can do about it now, so I guess we'll just hang tight for a while.

When our start time finally rolled around, our first runner was off like a shot. She finished the first leg in record time (she'd continue to do that to us during the day - she's developed some speed!), and before I knew it, the second and third runners had finished their legs and I was up. I set out quickly, but pretty easily and was heading uphill right away. Ugh. However, by the time I got to the top of that first hill, I was pretty much warmed up and ready to rock. The first leg was only 3.6 miles, and full of hills that were rolling enough to keep it interesting, but small enough to not be a horrible way to start off the day. Before I knew it, I was heading uphill to the last turn. I saw the guy ahead of me walking up this hill which was a) not that big and b) the last hill of the leg, and couldn't believe it. It made me wish I was close enough to him to pick it up and blow right past him, because, dude, seriously. If that hill's making you walk? It's going to be a long-ass day. After rounding that last corner, I could see the exchange was close and also downhill from me, so I picked it up and flew into it. I handed the baton off, stopped my watch, and checked the time.

I figured that, given the fact that the terrain would be tricky and I'd have to run 3 legs over the course of the day, that a 10:00 pace was a reasonable expectation. My average pace for the first leg? 9:30-ish. Excellent.

By the time my second leg rolled around at 1:15 p.m., it was hot. And sunny. And, also, really freaking hot. 85 degrees hot. I'm not a fan of running in sunny 85 degree weather in the middle of August when I'm used to it, never mind in the middle of April when I still thing 65 degree weather is pretty toasty. Ugh. I had no idea how this was going to go, and I must have looked nervous or freaked out or something, because someone asked me if I was worried about the hills. I was all, "Hills? What hills? Oh, yeah, those hills. Eh. But why does it have to be so freaking hot?"

We worked out a plan for them to have a water bottle ready for me when they passed me on the course, and I headed out. Of course, a half-mile into the leg, I took a turn onto a side street, and the vehicles kept on going straight. Oops. So much for that water bottle. Luckily, most of the first half of the leg was through a residential area with trees and, thusly, shade. Right before I got back on to the main road, I had a huge, shady downhill. Awesome. Of course, immediately following the beautiful shady downhill was a huge, nasty, uphill climb with nary a tree in sight. It was tough. It was hot. I was thirsty and my legs were quickly turning to jello. Then I looked up and saw a topless guy at the top of a hill with a water bottle. He handed to a girl as she ran past, and ran with her for a few steps, so I figured he must have been on her team and went back to focusing on the hill. About 2/3 of the way up, I passed by a girl that had passed me right before the hill started - she was walking, but I was still trucking ahead. She'd pass me again on the downhill and end up finishing the leg ahead of me, but I made it up the monster hill of the leg and she didn't.

Anyhow, when I finally got to the top, shirtless guy was still there with an open bottle of water and asked me if I wanted any. Yes! Of course! In addition to being half-naked and bearing refreshment, he was also... quite attractive. Had I not been, you know, in the middle of a race, I would have tried to take him home with me. Maybe next time.

Anyhow, the top of that hill was the half-way point of the leg. A few more smaller hills, and the next thing I knew I thought I could see the exchange. This confused me - the map said the leg was 3.8 miles long, but I had just passed the 3-mile point, and the exchange couldn't have been more than a quarter-mile off. Did I misread the map? Was I hallucinating? As I got to the top of the hill I was working on, the answer presented itself before me. That was, indeed, the exchange, and if it was a straight shot from where I was to where it was, the leg would have been a lot shorter. However, it wasn't a straight shot - the extra half-mile I thought was missing was there, in the form of a downhill followed by an uphill. No problem. I used the downhill to pick up some speed and relax, and gave the last uphill everything I had. Sadly, at that point, it wasn't much. A guy passed me right at the start of the hill, and I decided he was a punk kid who deserved to get beaten by a girl. I tried to catch him, but didn't quite make it. Oh well. I handed off the baton again and got a cool bottle of orange Gatorade in return. Ahhhhh.

As we were heading back to the van, we overheard someone say it was going to be 60 degrees in an hour. Ha! Sure. Suuuuuure. However, a couple of hours later, as I was getting ready to start my last leg of the day, dark clouds were starting to fill the sky, the sun was far less brutal, and it looked like we were about to get rain. It wasn't quite down to 60 yet, but it was definitely on its way. Between that and the knowledge that my last leg was my "flat" one, I was a happy happy girl.

Shortly after I started running, it started to rain. Just a little sprinkle, nothing major, but just enough to feel incredibly refreshing and wonderful. The beginning uphill wasn't too bad, and before I knew it, I was running on the flattest ground I'd seen all day. I wanted to really fly, but a) I knew there was one last uphill at the end of the leg and b) my legs were just toast. I said, "Come on! Let's go! We're almost done!" and they said, "Whatever, yo. We needs a break." Oh well. I didn't pass anyone on this leg, but this was the first leg all day that I didn't get passed by any other women. Even when the guys passed me, no one really flew by me like I was standing still, which, you know, was kind of a personal victory.

The next thing I knew, I'd made it up the last hill (which was so not as bad as I thought it was going to be), and all I could see before me was a downhill, a slight rise, and the turn-off to the exchange. I gave it everything I had left, and hit the exchange pretty much at a sprint. I was done, and I'd run my fasted leg all day. Bonus! Really, I was just glad to be done at that point. I was tired, and as we walked back to the van, every single muscle in my legs cramped up all at the same time. OUCH. GAH. OUCH. At least I was done.

Overall, it was a great day for the Smurfs, as we not only finished before the cutoff time, but faster than expected with a final time of 11:23 and change. The whole weekend was a great experience - I got to hang out with some great people, and I don't think we ever stopped laughing. I'm already looking forward to next year.

Posted by Dawn at 11:22 AM | Comments (2)

March 20, 2006

March Madness Half Marathon

Here's the thing about this whole "train slow, race fast" strategy: it works, but between being a new to distance running and new to this approach (as opposed to the "just run the miles and hope you make it to the end of the workout" approach I used last year) is that I feel like I have no idea where my fitness level actually is. Last year, when I did my 10-mile training run, I did it at a 10:30 pace, and was done at the end of 10 miles. When I ran a half-marathon a week later, I knew that 10:30 would be the upper limit of how fast I'd be able to run it (I wound up averaging a 10:46 pace). All through my marathon training, I was doing workouts at or above what wound up being my target "marathon pace", so I always knew what I was capable of.

This year... I have no idea. I know that I can go out and run 11.5 miles at a 12:00 pace and still have plenty of gas left in the tank, and not be too sore or fatigued afterwards. But does that mean I can still go out and race 13 miles at a 10:30 pace? Or faster? Or will I kill myself doing something like that? No clue. Couple that with the fact that the longest I've run since the Detroit marathon is 11.5 miles, and, well, I was a little unsure of myself going in to Sunday's half-marathon. That was even before I'd considered the hills.

Yes, the hills. I know there are some that would claim that there are no hills in Illinois (and, I'm sure, compared to some other parts of the country, our "hills" are mere speed bumps), but when you train in the city of Chicago, the biggest, flattest stretch of land I've ever seen, and you're a relatively inexperienced runner who is still getting the hang of this whole "distance racing" thing and isn't sure about their fitness level? Well, the suggestion of a hill is enough to make you wonder if it's going to all be OK.

Luckily, I had some help. I had my coach telling me that, really, I was in good condition and I'd be able to run a great race. I had friends telling me that I'd have no problem on the hills. Plus, those same friends had run this course before, so they were able to tell me where the big ones were (save something for the big uphill at mile 10!) and what to watch out for (that big uphill at mile 10? Isn't the last uphill). I was a little nervous when I lined up for the start, but I took a deep breath, and put it all out of my mind. When the race started, I focused on taking it easy, and staying nice and relaxed. I wasn't going to worry about my time, or setting a new PR. I was just going to go out and run a nice, solid half.

You know what? It worked. Yeah, the course was hilly and downright challenging in spots. Yeah, that hill at mile 10 sort of sucked, and the other hills after that really sucked. But you know what? I've seen worse hills. I've gone up worse hills in races (I'm looking at you, DWD). I knew that, really, as long as I kept moving forward, I'd get up them eventually, and, really, I've seen worse. I got tired, and my legs were jello by the time I was done, but I never once had the experience of turning a corner or looking up ahead and seeing a hill that made me say, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." (Again, looking at you, DWD.)

I hit the halfway point feeling good. I thought about pushing the pace a little, but I didn't want to overdo it and hit the hills at the end with nothing left. Then I hit mile 7, did some quick math, and realized that as long as I maintained an 11:00 pace (I was averaging 10:30 - 11:00), I'd tie my PR of 2:20. Tie my PR! I couldn't believe it. I was just hoping to finish in 2:30 or so. The thought of matching or breaking my PR had crossed my mind, but not in any serious capacity. I tried to keep it nice and easy, and told myself I could push the pace after mile 10. The worst of the hills would be behind me, and I would just hammer out the last 5k.

The hill before mile 10 was a bear, but I got up it, and without stopping to walk. The smaller hills after it felt worse than they looked, because my legs were dead. However, I kept going. Kept pushing. My goal was to run each mile faster than the last. When I turned the last corner and had a (relatively flat) half-mile to go, I went for it. When I hit the 13-mile mark, I gave that last tenth of a mile everything I had left. I crossed the finish line feeling like I couldn't take another step, completely out of breath, and thinking perhaps I might need to find a quiet spot away from the crowds in which to throw up. I couldn't stop moving - I had to walk it off. I almost walked right past the volunteer collecting the bib strips in the finish chutes because I was seriously afraid that if I stopped to talk to the volunteers, I was going to barf on them.

I made it over to the refreshment table, took a bottle of water and a cup of gatorade. As I sipped the gatorade and kept on walking, looking for the people I'd come to the race with, I looked down at my watch. It was still running, but it said 2:19. 2:19. 2:19. It took me a second, but I slowly realized that 2:19 was less than 2:20. I'd broken my PR. My PR that I set on a flat, fast course. The PR that I didn't think I'd come anywhere near. The PR that was, well, no longer a PR. I couldn't believe it. As soon as I found everyone else, that was the first thing I said, "New PR!" I called my parents. I told everyone I talked to the rest of the afternoon that I'd run a half-marathon that morning, and set a new record for myself. (Being non-runners, most of them couldn't get past the fact that I'd run 13.1 miles and was still standing, but that was beside the point.) I couldn't freaking believe it. To be honest, I still can't. I mean, a new PR? On that course? That very un-flat, hilly, beast of a course? Because, seriously, I can't even tell you the last time I ran up anything that even resembled a hill. How on earth did I get through 13.1 miles of them without walking? And in record time?

I don't even know. What I do know is this: I ran an outstanding race yesterday, and now I'm really excited to see what I'll be able to do in Madison when that race rolls around in a couple of months. I'm not sure yet what's going to happen, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be something great.

Posted by Dawn at 05:17 PM | Comments (4)

December 06, 2005

Gilberts Cross Country Challenge

A couple of months ago, some people on the running board I read started talking about this race in December. It was called a "cross-country challenge", it was 8K, about an hour outside of Chicago, and apparently a great time. Having just recently discovered how much fun trail running is, I signed up for it without even thinking. I was looking forward to a crisp Sunday morning romp through mud and trees and whatnot.

Then I got up on Sunday, and realized that it was cold. It was beyond cold. It was "friggin' freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth" kind of cold. I'd stayed with a friend the night before, and all I had with me was a long-sleeved dri-fit shirt and a long-sleeved t-shirt to layer over it, dri-fit pants, gloves, and a headband. Before we even left the apartment, I was wishing I'd had the foresight to pack some extra clothes. In the car, I was torn between wanting the heat cranked up and not wanting to get used to being too warm. Thankfully, when we got to the race, one of the guys we met there had an extra sweatshirt he let me borrow. I was still freezing my tail off, and my toes had long since given up even trying to pretend that they were warm, but it helped.

Number and packet pick-up, as well as the post-race celebration, were in a barn near the parking lot. The start of the race was probably close to a mile away, on the other side of the freeway. We jogged towards the start with everyone else, and I started warming up. Fast. By the time we got to the start, I was ready to strip off the sweatshirt and go. (Of course, once I got running, I was desperately wishing I'd been more careful and not pinned my two shirts together when I put my number on. I was sweaty and wickedly hot, and would have gladly stripped off the extra shirt.)

And go we did! After we dumped our extra layers (and extra dry clothes to change into after the finish), a volunteer came over to tell us that the race had already started. Oops! We took off, crossed the start line, and off we went. We could still see the big pack of runners crossing the field and going up the first hill, so we knew we weren't too far back. Plus, none of us were really "racing" this race, so it didn't matter that we started a few minutes behind. (We found out later that we were about 2 minutes behind the official start - not too bad.)

We struck out across a field to the first hill, and that field was nasty. First, there was the wind. Secondly, we were running diagonally across furrows in the field, and those furrows were frozen solid. It was bumpy, uneven, and a total pain in the butt to get across. I took is slowly, ran in the footsteps of the person in front of me, and prayed that I wouldn't turn my ankle in the first quarter mile of the race. Then it was up and down a hill, and into the woods.

I'd seen pictures of this race from last year, and it was MUDDY. Everyone was covered in dirt, and I'd expected more of the same. In fact, I was sort of looking forward to it. However, the dry summer, combined with the insanely cold weather, meant that there was no mud. No creek crossings. No nothing. Just snow and leaves. In a few spots, you could tell where there should have been mud, because the ground was softer, but all in all, it was a dry, snowy course. On one hand, I was relieved. The idea of getting wet in what must have been single-digit wind chill was not one that appealed to me at all. On the other, I had been looking forward to splashing through the mud, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that there wasn't any.

There was a group of 7 of us that ran together. None of us were racing, so we'd start off, spread out into a couple of groups, and every so often the people in the front group would stop, and we'd wait for everyone to catch up before taking off again. I've never run a race in a group like that before, and it was a lot of fun. Of course, staying with the group meant that I had 6 witnesses for the couple of times I decided to slide down the hills on my butt, instead of running or walking down them. That's fine. I'm used to a little healthy ridicule, and it was way better than being afraid of slipping down the hill and hurting myself. (I'm terrified of big, steep downhills. Having it be slippery enough to slide down was actually a relief.)

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and this race eventually did. When I got to the top of the last hill, I made sure I had a clear path, then went for it. I barrelled down the hill and across the furrowed field, and met up with my group right before the final dash to the finish. We waited for the rest of our runners, then took off for the last time, crossing the line together around 1:07.

Once we got changed into our dry layers, it was back to the barn for post-race refreshments. I was absolutely starving, and very glad to see trays of fried chicken and pasta and roast beef sandwiches, despite the huge line to get to it all. I grabbed a banana while I waited in line, and then took a little bit of everything when I got to it. It wasn't anything special, but it was tasty. And hot, which was almost more important. Maybe that's why it tasted so good. Sadly, there wasn't any hot cider or hot chocolate or any other sort of warm beverage, but I managed.

The highlight of the morning, though? Being able to take a nice, long, hot shower and thaw out when I got home.

Posted by Dawn at 02:54 PM | Comments (2)

October 25, 2005

Detroit 2005 - The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

This is long. Very long. And it probably contains way more information than you ever wanted to know about what went through my head as I made my way through my first marathon. You've been warned. Grab a snack, clear some time, and proceed at your own risk.

Pre-Race

Saturday night, the boyfriend and I met up for dinner with Ryk and Len, a couple of guys from the TM boards, which was a tasty and enjoyable experience. After we got home, I double-checked to make sure everything was ready to go for the next day. I watched some TV, and then went to bed. I slept shockingly well - I was expecting to be tossing and turning all night, but I only woke up a few times. I'm not sure if it was the fact that I got almost no sleep on Friday night, or if it was the giant glass of beer I had with dinner. Either way, I woke up moments before my alarm went off Sunday morning feeling rested and ready to go.

Breakfast was oatmeal with dried cranberries and a banana. I usually eat a Clif bar before a long run, and had brought one with me, but just couldn't bring myself to eat it. Instead, I put it in the bag o' goodies for my parents to bring down to the race with them. (Also in said bag: extra Gu, Gatorade, and pretzels.) After breakfast, it was time to get dressed. I had everything sitting out, so it was just a matter of selecting which layers to wear. I opted for all of them, figuring it was better to have it and not need it than to wish I'd put the stupid thing on. Sunblock, check. Shoes & socks, check. Gloves, check. Bodyglide... no check. Brief pause to remove the layers while I applied the glide. I thought I got everywhere I needed - I even hit under my shorts and sports bra, even though I've never had chafing problems in either of those spots - although I would find out later that I missed a few, ah, cruicial spots. Oops. Throw the layers back on, grab my hat and ear-warming headband, take my bag packed with a change of clothes, and head back downstairs. I'd given the boyfriend the option of getting up early and heading down with me, or sleeping in and heading down later with my parents. I let him know I was leaving, and he mumbled "good luck" as he rolled over and went back to sleep. Clearly, he was opting for plan B.

It was only 6, but I was ready to go, and my dad, who was driving me down to the race, was also ready to go. We weren't sure what traffic would be like, or how hard it would be to find parking, so we headed out. It was early, but that was OK. I was bouncing off the walls at that point, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do with myself if he said, "OK, we'll be leaving in 20 minutes. Sit tight for a while." Turns out, there was no traffic and no problems finding parking, so we were at the Tigers by 6:30. I said I wanted to go check my bag now, since we had some time to kill, and we started to walk around the stadium hunting for the gear check. Naturally, we wound up taking the long way around the park. At least it was a nice walk and helped to keep us warm. I checked my bag, and then it was back to the Tiger, where Tapirs should be showing up at any minute.

Len and Ryk got there first, and we spent a few minutes talking before my dad headed out. I think he may have been a little nervous about leaving me downtown... alone... in the dark... with these two shady characters he'd never met before, but he was nice enough to not say anything. He was also nice enough to take the extra layers I'd decided I didn't need home with him. Jon, Alastair, Mike and Tom rolled up shortly afterwards, and then it was time to hit the start line. I sort of wanted to hit the port-o-lets before the race, but the line was huge and not moving very fast, so I figured I'd see how it went. If I still had to go after a few miles, I'd stop then. If I didn't, then I wouldn't worry about it. In retrospect, I should have gone when we first got there, and there was no line. Things to know for next time.

I lined up just behind the 4:45 pace group. I wasn't sure if I was going to stay with them for the whole race, but I knew I didn't want to go any faster than they were, especially at the beginning. I talked to a couple of half-marathon runners, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the race started. After another eternity, we could finally see people ahead of us moving. Then, we were off. I saw the cameras at the start line, and remembered to smile and wave after I started my watch. (If anyone has a copy of the special section the Free Press had on Monday, you can sort of see me in the big photo on the front page of it. Look for the orange TM hat partially behind/to the left of the 4:45 sign.) I was off and running!

Mile 1

The sun was coming up over the city, and it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. The cold, wet, crappy, rainy, miserable weather that I'd been so worried about all week was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a clear fall day that was cool, but not too cold, and would warm up only slightly. Perfect. I was feeling great - I was relaxed, running nice and easy, holding my pace to a crawl, and hanging out just behind the 4:45 pace group. I was looking around the city, and trying to make an effort to remember everything, while trying to just stay relaxed and slow. There was a guy running just ahead of me who was moving his hands in a way that cracked me up - I can't describe it, but it amused me. I saw him a few different times in the first 10K of the race, and it made me laugh every time.

Mile 2

I'd purchased a Tyvek jacket at the expo Friday night, figuring it would be more comfortable than a garbage bag in case of rain. Even though it was a clear morning, I wore it anyway to the start to keep warm. However, by mile 2 I'd warmed up enough that I figured it was time to lose the jacket before I got so sweaty under it that I'd be suffering when I finally did take it off. I kept the gloves on for now, though, as my hands weren't quite warmed up yet. As I was trucking along, I saw a girl attempting to remove her Tyvek pants... without stopping. She'd managed to get one leg free, but was having trouble getting leg number two out. All I wanted to do was giggle and tell her she was probably going to have to stop to do that. However, I opted to keep my mouth shut and keep going. I wonder if she ever got them off? There was a wee little incline as we had to run up an overpass to get over the train tracks. I overheard someone say, "hey, they said this was a flat course!" All I could think was, "man, they're going to be in trouble on the bridge."

Mile 3

Mexican Town! For someone who grew up in the Detroit area, I know surprisingly little about the city itself. When I was younger, we only ever ventured downtown to go to the Rennaissance Center (RenCen), the Science Center, the DIA, or a game at Tiger Stadium or Joe Louis. Occasionally, there'd be something at Cobo we'd go do, but that was about it. If the People Mover doesn't run past it, chances are I have no idea it exists, so discovering this little neighborhood was a bit of a treat. The highlight was the mariachi band playing on someone's porch, as well as the smell of something tasty cooking at the Mexican Town restaurant. Also suprising? The tortilla factory! I never knew Detroit had a tortilla factory! As we left Mexican Town and started making our way towards the bridge, the volunteers at the water station were shouting, "Last water stop in America!" and "Go get that bridge!" as we ran past.

Mile 4

We looped around and over the freeway and started the climb over the bridge. I kept the effort easy, determined not to power up the hill as I tend to do, and concentrated on admiring the view. I've been on the bridge tons of times before in a car, but never on foot, and never just after sunrise. I had plenty of time to take it all in, and I was determined to use it. It was awesome - on my left, the sun was coming up over downtown, and you could just see the RenCen in front of the big yellow-orange ball if you squinted. On my right, the Detroit River had a slight mist over it, and there was a fire boat moving along the river. I could see a sign for Boblo Island on the Detroit side, and it made me wish I knew where exactly the Island was so I could look for it. As amusement parks go, it was pretty small - Cedar Point is far larger and more exciting - but I spent quite a bit of time there when I was growing up and it still makes me a little sad that it's closed. It's where I had my first experience of being pooped on by a passing seagull when I was 7, and where I learned to love roller coasters at 12.

Quite a few people around me had resorted to walking, but I was determined to make it up and over. Finally, just as my quads were starting to wonder what in the heck was going on, I saw the 4th mile marker and passed over the crest of the bridge.

Mile 5

This entire mile was downhill, and boy was it rough. I felt it in my quads and in my knees and I couldn't wait for it to end and for us to be on level ground again. However, while it lasted, I did take advantage of it and picked up some free speed, all the while reminding myself that I would have to slow down once I hit level ground again.

The coolest part of this mile? Running right through customs.

Mile 6

I was starting to think about that bathroom break I didn't take before the race, and started scoping for port-o-lets. As we ran back down past the bridge, I saw tons of people ducking behind big piles of dirt to take care of things, but I didn't have to go quite that badly yet. As we passed the aid station by the University of Windsor, I took my first gel with some water. Once we were past the campus, we were back along the riverfront and heading towards downtown Windsor.

Mile 7

I passed a few bathrooms in the riverfront park, but they all had ridiculous lines, and I wasn't willing to spend that much time waiting just yet. Finally, I spotted a set of port-o-lets with not much of a line, so I started waiting. My quads were feeling a little tight over the trek over the bridge, so I took this opportunity to stretch them out. Finally, I was back on my way. At the next aid station, I heard someone yelling out, "Canadian Gatorade!" I took some, but I can't say I noticed a difference between that and the regular American stuff. All part of the international marathon experience, I suppose.

Mile 8

Starting this mile, I was starting to see parts of downtown Windsor that I recognized, so I knew we were getting close to the tunnel. That, and the fact that on the other side of the river the RenCen, which is close to the American side of the tunnel, was getting closer and closer. The first thing I saw that I recognized was a Burger King - I wondered if it was the same BK that we'd stayed across the street from when some friends and I made a trip to Windsor just before Winter Break my junior year of college. My question was soon answered as I saw the Days Inn we stayed at that weekend come up on the right. So close to the tunnel! As we turned down the street to head towards the tunnel entrance, the "spirit station" at the corner was blaring music (I don't remember what song it was, but I remember it was upbeat, and something I knew). I was bopping along, and there was a line of volunteers cheering for us - one of them had a the boyfriendbourine, which she held out for me to hit as I ran past. Then it was through the tolls and down into the tunnel.

Mile 9

While the mile over the bridge had a far better view, the mile through the tunnel was almost as cool. I was nervous about it being hot and stuffy, but it really wasn't too bad. By the time I emerged on the other end, I was dripping sweat, but it never felt suffocatingly awful down in there, and the mile flew by. Again, I let myself pick up a bit of speed on the downhill (which was far gentler and kinder than the downhill off the bridge) and took it super-easy on the uphill. My split for this "underwater mile" was 10:58 - right on target. Again, running through customs? Very cool. Fastest. Border crossings. Ever.

Mile 10

After coming out of the tunnel, we passed by Hart Plaza, heading straight for the Cobo Center, which we ran around the back of. I was still feeling good, and still hitting splits right around 11:00. I decided to try and pull the pace back a little, at least until after the halfway point, since I wanted to keep feeling good through the end.

Miles 11 & 12

Heading back towards the new ballpark and Ford Field, this was one of those miles that made me say, "Detroit is just not a pretty city." We were in a bleak, blank, boring area, and it was surprising how quickly we'd gone from Big Downtown Area to Rundown Urban Crap. It would have been depres