Oh Everest, My Everest

Official Time: 3:16:47
Average Pace: 15:06

I don't have a lot to say about this, except that it was a bloodbath. By itself, it is a challenge and I fully expected to finish in the neighborhood of three hours since my PR is around 2:43 and my first half was Riley's (what I thought was the hilliest of the hilly races), which I did in 3:02. Trail running is new to me and I have been told time and again to expect a much slower time because of the extra effort it takes to cover the terrain. Granted, I had a pretty easy time of the actual terrain thanks to all those day hikes Michele and Keith took me on in my teenage years, but the constant and rapid elevation change was definitely a killer. Not to mention the single track dirt "path" that made it pretty harsh to pass people who are going slower than you or who decide to start walking when you're not ready to do the same. It seemed like every time I got to the bottom of another hill, I'd have just enough energy to keep jogging up with the same effort I was using on my approach but not enough to go faster than that. This cost me many precious minutes as I'd often get stuck behind some walkers without the necessary juice to pass them.

So, I'd say 15 of those 30 extra minutes above PR were because of the race conditions, most of which I knew about in advance. (Next time, I'll quit thinking it's rude to pass nice ladies who start walking in front of me on a narrow, single-wide trail and make sure to save energy to get past them and stay past them.) The other 15 minutes I attribute to all manner of stupidity.

Bobo move #1: donating blood three days before the race after having spent the last 4 months accidentally losing weight because you haven't had time to eat as much as you used to.

Bobo move #2: going through with your blood donation three days before the race even though your period decided to start in the minutes it took you to make your way over to the building with the blood drive.

Bobo move #3: drinking less water than usual for the entire week preceding the race because your nalgene is smelly and heavy, and you don't want to make your bike commute to school more unpleasant than it has to be.

Bobo move #4: leaving your fuel belt at home and not being able to carry any fluids with you on a race through the woods with less than ample course support.

I guess the bright side is that the race premium was a sweet v-neck, short-sleeve performance shirt that happened to match my kicks. While this experience left a bitter taste in my mouth regarding my ability to perform adequately when I fail to plan properly, it did light a fire under my seat about trail running. I like all the muscles that were sore the next day and I particularly like that I didn't have to spend a single moment inside a gym to make them sore. Me and ol' Fountainhead are going to butt heads a few more times this winter and see if we can't be better friends.

Here are my photos at the two deceptively flat sections of the race:

Labels: blood donation, curse of womanhood, fountainhead, GU, half marathon, mountain trail, race, swollen hands

Chip Time: 2:50:08
Average Pace: 12:59 min/mi

After driving 5 hours to a wedding in PA and then driving 3 hours back to MD to crash at a Holiday Inn late Saturday night, I rose reluctantly at 0500 to run in the Frederick Running Festival very early Sunday morning. Didn't sleep a lick, thanks to my vampire schedule, but I've done it before right? It's like what Shackleton used to say to his men during trying times in their Antarctic adventures: what I've done once, I can do a second time with no problem. (It was a lie when he said it, too.)

At this point, I have an apology for all the women to whom I've not shown proper sympathy during a run. I have experienced running during my special woman time before, and I never understood what was so awful about it. Sure, it was a bit uncomfortable, but not enough to complain as much as those other women seemed to do. I sure learned a lesson this week about the difference between it being your special woman time and the day (or first moments and hours) your special woman time begins. I learned because that special time came about 50 yards after I started the race, and I was not happy about it.

After suffering through two miles, I really thought I wasn't going to finish the race. I just did NOT care about anything except for crawling under a rock in the fetal position until my body decided to go back to normal. A Marine passed and encouraged me on sometime in the next mile, and I still didn't care. Well, that's not true. I cared enough to keep running until he disappeared from sight, but not enough to mentally commit to the rest of the race. I could always stop in a little while. My hands were already starting to swell up because the fluids were not staying in my bloodstream but instead having a party in all the tissue surrounding my reproductive system.

Somehow, though a series of distractions and distortions of my face, I made it to mile 6. It started to feel like a shame not to finish after going that far. I trudged through miles 7, 8 and 9. Around mile 10, the awful cramps of death returned and my swollen hands started to really hurt. I started taking extended walk breaks. By mile 12, I figured the HELL with it. I could just walk the rest of the way.

Then of course a very nice lady came up behind me and asked me to help her run the rest of the way. She said I gave her energy and I pretended I did because she was sure doing a great job of distracting me and she was a very nice lady to talk to! Nearing the fairgrounds, she thanked me and sent me off ahead of her to finish strong. Samwise appeared with some typically aggravating words of motivation shortly afterward. I gave him a kind shove and worked up to a sprint to end my suffering.

In the end, I still averaged a 13:00-min mile. It's slightly astounding to me, but I'm just trying not to think of that day too much. I'm just glad it's over. And now that I am done with my race report, I can officially let my brain bury that memory deep, deep down where I never have to think about it again!

Labels: curse of womanhood, Frederick, half marathon, race, swollen hands

I had a rumble in my tumble again today, but I persevered and finished my first half marathon. I hope a 3:00 half marathon is never a PR for me ever again!

Looking forward to that well-earned massage tomorrow night...

Labels: half marathon, massage, race, Riley's Rumble