I ran in a race yesterday. It was a 12k (7.5 miles for those of you who are metric-challenged), and it was the first race I've run since Hood to Coast. But unlike all the other races I entered this year, I signed up primarily because it sounded like a fun thing to do. I generally have a good time when I run in races, but "fun" is never really at the top of the list for why I sign up. Usually, I sign up with only one thought in my head : "What finish time should I try to aim for?"
I've always been competitive, even in things I'm not very good at, and not always in a healthy way. In school I secretly kept tabs on whether I was smarter, faster, better than relatives, friends, and even people I hadn't met but had heard enough about. I mostly got away with it because being at the top of the class (which I was), having a good number of friends (which I did), and being needed on a team (eh, sort of) validated that for me. As moved onto college and as I grew up, my obsession subdued into a general "do the best I can" attitude, mainly because I was no longer the smartest or best-at-whatever girl in my class. But I'm sure if you ask my husband, he'd still describe me as competitive.
I entered this race about a month ago mainly because I really just wanted to explore a new part of the area, burn off a bit of my Thanksgiving gorging, and enjoy the company of a friend on another one of our runs. I held this attitude when I decided against having a "game plan" or a target finish time, when our faster friends showed up to run on race day, and even when we approached the start line. I barely perceived any pre-race jitters or that surge of adrenaline you normally get at the start of the race, and my friend and I immediately fell into our usual cadence of chatting and running. We saw our friends in race mode in an out-and-back portion of the race early on, and we joked how they'd likely finish 1st, 2nd and 3rd. But we just kept on chugging along.
When I saw mile markers, I glanced at my watch to get a general sense for how fast we were going, and it seemed like we were going about at a 8:45/9:00 pace. I thought, "This is good. This is a good pace." As the race progressed, Katherine slowly kept picking up the pace (at least it felt that way!), and we were picking off people at a pretty good rate (always a great feeling!) When we sensed the finish was near, we really picked up the pace, and Katherine even joked how it felt like one of our summer track workouts. I was feeling good but pushing myself slightly outside my comfort zone. It was right where I wanted to be, and I was right on her heels in our sprint to the finish.
When I crossed the finish I felt great, but since I didn't know how long a 12k is in miles, I didn't have a sense for how my time was. I couldn't gauge whether it was a on par with how I normally run, and therefore I couldn't feel happy or disappointed with it, which was a complete first for me. Later I checked my results online (because I'm obsessive like that). I finished with a respectful time of 1:08:58, which included the two minutes we had to wait for a train to go by. In general, I was rather pleased, and a year and a half ago, I'd be ecstatic over this time. But when I looked at how well our friends did, my euphoric state of mind was wiped away by one dominant thought: "Dammit, I want to run faster!" My eyes widened when I saw they placed 3rd, 6th, and 11th OVERALL among the female finishers, finishing 1st and 2nd in their age groups. I have never been anywhere near the top ten for my age group, let alone overall, and realistically I doubt I ever will. While I was more than thrilled for them, I couldn't help but wish I could run just as fast runner.
My husband and my friends would tell me that I'll get there. They'd remind me that it wasn't that long ago that I was running and racing at a considerably slower pace and that this summer I was getting even faster, closing in on where I was at in high school. There is a part of me that hears what they're saying; in fact, I'm probably in the best physical shape I've been in since high school. And the logical part of me agrees that improvements may come over time. But the competitive monster in me can't help but wonder why it hasn't happened yet or why it's not at the same rate as some of the others.
The truth is, I may never run as fast as them, but that doesn't stop me from trying...
Miles: 7.5
Time: 1:08:58 (minus the wait for the train)
A thirty-something running mama in Portland, OR, who finds sanity in lacing up her Nikes, enjoys the challenge that running and racing brings, but doesn't run very fast. I try to improve my speed with each race, and I share my efforts here.