All in Stride

Yesterday was a classic case of going out too fast.  But let me rewind a bit.

Last Monday Katherine mentioned that she signed up for a 20.12k race, and would I be interested in running it too?  I told her I'd think about it, so for two days I hemmed and hawed.  As I mentioned in my last post, I decided to focus only on 10k races this year, and in doing so, I'd run faster long runs but with slightly shorter distances of between 8-10 miles.

A 20.12k translates to 12.5 miles, just 0.6 miles less than a half!  Despite running the Holiday Half well, I didn't feel mentally or physically ready to race 12.5 miles.  And since the race was in just a matter of days, it wasn't as though I could cram in some last-minute training.  In the end, I decided what the hell?  It's just for fun, and it would be with someone I love running with.  Furthermore, it would be my last race before I move up to the next age group, so I might as well go out with a bang.  So with just three days before the race, I signed up.  

Yesterday, I ran a half marathon at the last minute.

It wasn't as though I woke up and just felt like running 13.1 miles.  I mean, I haven't even trained for one since September.  It's just that two days ago, a friend (who ran in my place at the Girlfriends Half just one week after running the marathon!) texted me to say she was sick and would I like running in her place.  Since my friends Amois and Sonja would be running, I couldn't pass up the opportunity.  Besides, I ran this race last year (its inaugural year), and it had been so blustery and miserable, I wanted redemption. My text to her: "I'm in!"

But then reality set in.  I hadn't run more than 9 miles since the beginning of October, and even then I'd struggled to run 11 miles.  On top of that, every attempt at a half marathon this past year has not gone well for me, and I actually trained for those races.  I also started to fret about the weather.  It's been unusually cold the last few weeks, and this kind of weather is not ideal racing conditions.  But on the other hand, there weren't going to be gusts of 20 mph winds, and I've been feeling healthy and strong.  I had two great runs last weekend, despite the cold, so there was a part of my brain that figured I'd be fine.  I figured best not to think about it and just have a good time with my friends.

With a few minutes to spare, Amois and I met up with Sonja at the start.  The three of us had gone back and forth about time and pace.  Amois just wanted to run with us and essentially be our rabbit/pacer, and Sonja just wanted to run the whole thing without stopping to walk.  I didn't know what I'd be capable of, so I was reluctant to commit to anything.  But in the end we all agreed to go out comfortably, like one of our Saturday runs, and just take it from there.  Most importantly (to me), both of them agreed not to share any time or pace with me.  I didn't want that messing with my head.

The course is relatively flat, and it's one that is unique to other Portland halfs.  And this was definitely a race meant to be fun and festive.  There were carolers every few miles, and many racers were dressed for the occasion, adorned in garland, bells, or in full Santa getups.  This, combined with the company of two great friends, made for a fun run.  We immediately fell into a rhythm, and the miles ticked my with ease.

Until we hit mile 10.

I don't know if it was psychological, but suddenly my calves felt tight and I developed a side stitch.  Every step grew increasingly labored, and I was ready to stop.  It felt like Amois and Sonja picked up the pace, and since I didn't want to be left running the last three miles on my own when I had made it this far with them, I stayed on their heels.  When we reached mile 11, Amois excitedly pointed out we only had two miles left to go.  I let on that I was starting to struggle, and Sonja said she was feeling the same.  Amois asked us how badly we wanted to break 2 hours, and both of us seemed to just want to hang on for the next 2 miles.  After some words of encouragement we kept on running, though our conversation basically stopped since neither Sonja nor I had the energy to talk at that point.

I've never been one to run in the pain cave, this point where every cell of your body is in pain and your mind starts to play with you and you just can't imagine running another step.  My friends tell me that when it comes, they push through it and come out on the other side a better runner.  It's the best and worst feeling. I've never really been willing to run in that great of discomfort, but at some point in mile 12, I started to feel a slight delirium.  I was beginning to hurt, and my vision was beginning to blur.  I'm not sure if that's the pain cave, but it's as close as I'm probably ever going to find out.

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?"