Oh Everest, My Everest

Well, I'm no Ron Burgundy, but today I ran 12 miles at an 11:17 pace. That doesn't sound like such a big deal - it really didn't to me after I did it this morning - but it is. Let me tell you why.

While the whole Run For Kids team stood around me praising my victory, I had this the distinct feeling that I had done this before and couldn't understand why they were so proud of me. I was sure that I had done 11:15s on a long run at least once before, thinking specifically of the LA marathon in March. While I ended up finishing with a worse time than my first marathon that day, I stayed with my brother until mile 18 and I felt strong and fast up through the half and well into mile 15. I started to feel the pain around then and hit a wall (not THE wall, but it's unusually-painful-in-the-joints cousin) and slowed down drastically, eventually being reduced to walking by mile 19. It was walking the last 7 miles that did my great time in. So I must have been averaging 11:15s or 11:30s through the half, right?

Wrong.

I checked the records again and I was going fast (for me, at the time) but not that fast. I was averaging 12:45s through the half, and then the average dropped to 13:55s by the 30K (~mile 18-2/3). So I decided to sort my run log by average pace to figure out just how significant today was.

What I found is that the next best I've done on anything over 6 miles (and there aren't even that many 6-milers this high on my list) was the 10-mile club challenge in February, a week before LA. I averaged 11:35s, slower than today for two fewer miles, and that was only because I knew I wouldn't score if I took more than two hours.

Next on the list are the two Marine Corps half marathons: the inaugural Historic Half in May where I averaged 12:30s and the Quantico Half last September with 12:37s. I shaved off a full minute and a quarter from each mile today, and that's from my best runs. Not counting the handful of runs where I didn't wear my watch, today's run is tied for my 21st fastest run. Ever. And the one that ties it? A dinky 2-miler. Sure, it's possible that there are one or two times in life where I ran faster than that for maybe up to 4 miles, but I really wasn't a runner before last year and I could probably count on both hands how many times I had run a mile or more continuously before training for the 2007 MCM. Here's the breakdown of my 20 faster runs:

Best Pace - 10:03
Highest Mileage - 8

Frequency:
1 mile - 2
1.5 miles - 1
2 miles - 2
3 miles - 9
4 miles - 2
6 miles - 3
8 miles - 1

I would make you a histogram using R, but then I might be tempted to perform some kind of multivariate analysis to figure out what factors are correlated with fast running - and I don't have that kind of time. As it is, I can hardly keep myself from creating a frequency table. So I guess I should get blisters and feel like shit more often. Or, since one of those 6-milers (the other was the Butler Relay in March) and that 8-miler were in LA with Keith, I should find somebody to run with on this side of the country who is faster than me and doesn't leave me behind despite occasional pleas to do so as well as not-so-occasional verbal abuse. (People with virgin ears would do best to steer clear of me on the trails.) I seem to get my best results when feeling hostile. The overly talkative or cheerful need not apply. Oh, and I have to like talking to you for more than five minutes at a time without wanting to strangle you. Not everybody has the special qualities of a good brother-in-law.

(Gee, when I put it that way, it's a wonder people aren't lining up outside my door to go running with me!)

Labels: blisters, GU, hips, knees, liquid breakfast, long run, red gatorade

Clock Time: 2:46:00
Chip Time: 2:43:43
Average Pace: 12:30 min/mi

Today was a lot of fun! Despite my adventures in getting to Fredericksburg when the cops decided to shut down southbound 295 six miles before I could get to the beltway and the being completely disoriented in DC, I ran a great race today. As always, it could have been better. The last three miles left something to be desired, and it figures because that was when my merry group of Marines (or former Marines? or Marine Corps base staff?) disbanded as the two nice ladies got a surge of energy and the man with all the moto cadence lost his and dropped back.

My legs hurt something fierce, too. I think the muscles actually hurt more than they did during either of the two full marathons. Luckily, the joints were okay. I've had more knee and hip joint pain during most of last years training runs over 6 miles than I did today, so that's a good sign. I brought my fuel belt with me, too, so I could avoid the swollen hands I got at Frederick. Still, they swelled at around mile 9! I don't know what the heck is going on, but I want to figure it out fast. Ever since I started running a little faster, most of the noticeable changes have been positive (notably the vanishing joint pain), but I don't like where this is headed with the swollen hands. I brought a good amount of water, gatorade and GU that should have taken care of all my needs, but nothing fixed it until I stopped running, chugged so much water that I could barely walk and stretched. It's hard to believe that it was a lack of water since I was toting around a heavy, swooshing belly of it for the last 4 miles. I wonder if swollen hands may just be a signal that my body has had it (since I didn't really train) and any sort of strenuous activity does that as I reach my wall.

The annoying part is that they don't necessarily hurt (not unless I keep stretching out my fingers and squeezing them into fists), but that swelling is usually a sign for something that is wrong. Everything else feels okay to me. I am not doing a very good job of explaining it, but there is something terribly unsettling about having swollen hands. It's even more unsettling because my feet didn't swell today, and they at least matched when my hands swelled up in Columbia, LA, and Frederick. But there was no hint of the tingly feet today and almost no signs on the old tootsies that I did anything special today at all. So what's the deal with my hands?!

I'm hoping that this problem goes away as I become more responsible and start putting the miles in the bank at this new pace. This could all possibly be explained by the fact that I am only running maybe once a week and in long races, no less. But I may bring a packet of salt with me on the next long run to see if that's the issue.

On a separate note, the staff is taking forever to put up the results and I was too busy trying to pass people at the end to look at the race clock. I have NO idea what my time was since I'm still leaving the Garmin at home for all runs that are timed for me. Was it a PR (felt like it)? By how much? Or am I delusional? I'm hopeful I'll know something tomorrow. Sitting here refreshing my browser on the results page isn't going to make them post it sooner.

EDIT: The results are in, just not on the official race site. New PR, by just shy of two minutes!! I hope to match that at Riley's this year and maybe destroy it at Baltimore if nothing goes wrong.

Labels: blue powerade, GU, red gatorade, sport beans, swollen hands

Clock Time: 1:10:03
Chip Time: 1:09:03
Average Pace: 11:10 min/mi

Yesterday was the inaugural Butler Relay, the first in the 2008 MCM event series. I signed up because the MCM folks decided to offer entrants a coveted (non-comp) entry for the Marine Corps Historic Half (which filled up in 13 days). Since I ran the Quantico Half Marathon last September, which turned out to be the last ever Quantico Half Marathon to be hosted on MCB Quantico, I want to be a part of the first ever MCHH in Fredericksburg, which is what happened when MCCS handed the event over to the MCM people.

Now for the race report!

Having been sick for the last two weeks and still sporting a lingering cough, I didn't expect much. I purposely left the Garmin at home so that I could temporarily forget that I hate running. I just wanted to run as fast as I could without throwing up or having to walk. That seemed like a reasonable goal for a 10K (any longer and I may have had the nix the not walking part). But everything always changes once you get there and have a gander at the other people running the race.

At 0730 on a chilly morning outside the gym of a Marine Corps base, the first thing I see is that there are very few people there. In fact, it's almost like a club run, only this club looks way out of my league. It's a club full of active duty Marines and hard core non-Marine runners (as evidenced by their lean, gazelle-like builds). There are also a number of young people there, clearly the offspring of Marines and gazelles starting out their running excellence early in life. All of this is bad news for me because it reduces the number of slow people to keep me company in the back.

At the sound of the gun, I make myself focus on one thing: don't lose the pack. I start to think maybe I might be able to step it out and use their momentum to propel me forward. It's only six miles, right? I can handle feeling like I'm going to puke for six miles. Hell, maybe I even just puke and then keep running until it's over! I can do this. I can do it. Just don't lose the pack.

Within a minute, the pack decides to lose me. Don't lose the pack becomes don't turn around. If I turn around, I'll just see that there's nobody behind me and I'll panic. So, I don't. I don't turn around while I'm trying to stay with what's left of the pack. I struggle to keep up with the women in front of me and look around for the one who seems to be running the steadiest pace, finally settling on the one wearing headphones. She won't mind if I use her to pace me since she's listening to music anyway! Perfect. Wonderful.

I hover about 10 feet behind her for the first couple of miles, cursing myself for picking somebody who is going just a little bit too fast for comfort (and I use the term 'comfort' loosely). As we approach the first water station shortly after mile 2, I think hard about how badly I need that water. I don't need it too bad, but I'd sure love some if my pacer is going to stop... maybe she'll stop for water? That would be heaven. Please lady? Please can you stop for water?

Not a chance. Onward we go. Soon we are going past Butler stadium for the third time, this time making our way up the hill behind it toward the trail. She is not slowing down. The growing slope is making me want to slow down. I don't slow down. My heart is trying to escape the prison that is my ribcage. My head becomes a sweaty tomato with a ponytail. Finally, the top!

Thank go-ooooh no. That's the trail right there. The trail with hills and sharp, slippery rocks that are the bane of all people with a history of ankle injuries. (!) Okay. Okay, I can do this. Just don't look back and stay with her. Let's DO this. I keep my eyes glued to the ground in front of me and expend a lot of energy trying not to roll an ankle. Somehow, she is able to do this a lot more quickly than I am. Why am I slowing down? Keeping my ankles the way they are should not slow me down! Quick, light steps. Take more quick, light steps, Krischelle! Excellent, I'm catching up again.

Careening down a small hill, I pick up some speed to go charging up the next one up ahead, slightly steeper and more imposing. Suddenly, something is wrong. I'm not chasing a moving object anymore. The moving object has stopped short in gully between hills and is sucking wind. Shit. NOW who's going to pace me? Should I stop too? But I feel good! I should keep running! She turns so I can see her face for the first time, her sweaty tomato head rivaling mine, and she gives me a little nod and continues to swallow air. What just happened? I'm running up a hill now, working hard but not dying, and what just happened?

'Just keep running, idiot.' The voice in my head makes sense. I keep running. An old lady (by no means frail) flies past me and I try to keep up with her but this proves to be hopeless. I keep running and focus on trying not to walk. The rest of the trail is uphill and this undoubtedly sucks, so walking will pretty much mean the end of my race, but I'm only a little past halfway!

I pass the mile 4 marker. Woo! Here I come, Butler Stadium. I'm on my way. 2/3 down, 1/3 to go. I hear uncharacteristically fast footsteps coming from behind me. It's the leader of the second wave. Thank goodness I made it 2/3 of the way before he caught me. He gives me an "oo-rah" as he passes and this galvanizes my resolve. The hill just gets bigger and bigger but I'm going to kill my way to the top. Two or three more second-wavers pass me. One of them is a teenage boy. I feel old and slow. Now I'm on the trail again. How does this road keep going uphill?

As I start to lose my resolve (for the 100th time?) another Marine runs past me just as we reach the peak of the hill. He actually slows to look back at me and says, "You're doing great. Don't give up now!" Good idea! I keep pushing to keep up the pace and start the final downhill. Did I mention I'm really bad at running downhill? I start to feel strange pains in my shins. Like maybe if I keep doing this, I'm going to get shin splints. But maybe if I brake too hard with my legs, my knees will hate me. What to do? I decide it's best to focus on not eating asphalt since that will be disastrous on a hill like this, so I concentrate on keeping my ankles aligned and my steps quick. This seems to work.

Soon, we are looping around Butler Stadium to do the last lap around the delicious new rubberized track where there is a finish line and also some bananas to eat. Sweet!

Why is this taking so long? Why?! I can't believe I'm not there yet. Why am I not there yet? UGH. My shins feel like jelly and fast people are all sprinting past me. I can't sprint like that, this far away! I practically AM sprinting! Oh my goodness WHY.

Ugh, finally on the track. Now to sprint! I can totally pass these three ladies in front of me. Go, go gadget legs.

...Hello? Legs? Faster please? Okay, okay. I can pass this one lady in front of me. Eventually. Maybe I'll pass her right at the finish line. Jelly legs just need to stay rigid long enough for me to get there. Stay strong, jelly legs. We're going to do this. Push, push, push.

I pass her in the last few yards before the finish line and everything becomes a blur of blood rushing through my head. There is only the sound of whooshing in my ears. A man is pointing at something small and black in his hand. He wants me to what? Oh, I have to bend down now and take the chip off of my shoe. WHOA, dizzy. Here you go, mister. Time for a banana.

Sweet.

Labels: 10K, MCM series, race, red gatorade, rocky trail