So, now that I'm done I suppose it's time to fess up: the longest I've run in the past few months is seven miles. Longest ever is maybe 8.5. The SCHM course is limited to 3 hours-- we run on streets, big heavily-used ones, and the city will not allow us to monopolize them for more than that length of time. Given this limitation, I figured I would aim for not getting kicked off the course. I volunteered to help with handing out race packets on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning. I hadn't thought about the fact that volunteering meant getting up at 5am, which in CST (and my body) was... 4 am. That part wasn't fun. But I dragged myself out of bed, prepared my quotidien coffee and oatmeal, and headed for the fitness center. I was nervous, and the old salt who kept giving me race advice honestly wasn't helping a ton. He asked me how far I'd run, and I told him eight recently (which isn't strictly speaking true, I've given myself credit for eight but they've been soccer/running combined miles, not straight)-- and he kind of hmmm'ed at me and bobbed his head. I ran a couple laps around the parking lot and took my place well in the back, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if I didn't finish in 3 hours and was stuck with the super-old ladies and fat guys in the back. I thought about how I had better not get hurt because my trail 10k in Chattanooga is in a month and I am so so looking forward to it. I wished A hadn't bailed on me "because of [his] knees" and tied my car key into my left shoelace because I always do that. I had my iPod in my hand, because everybody else did, but I didn't think I'd need it-- really, who listens to music during a race? The whole point of races is to pit yourself against other people, not just to run under supervision. Sometimes I think we all sign up for these races knowing full well we aren't competitive, just so that we can pay money to (in essence) have water stations on our long runs and people who have volunteered to stand around and cheer for us. But the race was fine. I figured I'd just keep around a ten-minute pace-- better to run slow, considering it was a distance PR by nearly five miles. I hit mile 7 feeling tired but still okay, so I ate my jelly beans, drank some water, and went on autopilot. Things got fun just before mile 8, when a woman who had laughed aloud at my shirt caught up to me. "I caught you!" she grinned at me. I remembered her from earlier: she was wearing a shirt that said "FINISH STRONG" in huge letters on the front. I grimaced at her (politely), and kept pace with her for about a mile before she began to pull away at the mile mark. I let her go, knowing I would have my revenge. I went through a brief rough patch, but caught her again around 1.5mi later. She asked me what my PR was. "It's my first," I said. She was impressed-- this was her fifth half marathon, and she was hoping to beat her PR of 2 hours 25 minutes. By the time she told me this, we were at 1 hour 55 minutes with only 5k to go. "You'll do it," I said. "We're set. I'll help you."We stuck together, silent for a while, forming a team. Company's nice in a race.
Plus, I love hills. I love them. In high school, I lived in the shenandoah valley, which is surrounded by mountains and filled with hills. And I ate them for breakfast. Obviously, if you don't train on them, you can't run them well, but in both training and races I absolutely relish them. And the last few miles of this course are gentle, deadly uphills... for 3 miles. Somehow I was feeling strong again (sports beans? I dunno), but I didn't want to push it too hard so I carried Jeannie up the biggest hill before leaving her in the dust at mile 11.5 and picking up the pace to catch as many people as I could before the end.
Jeannie achieved her goal and set a new PR. She hugged me after the race! I forgot to stop my watch, so I don't know my time. I ate half a bagel and took off quickly for the hotel to soak my feet and check out by noon. (Edit: results went up online, got my exact time and place)
the drive back went pretty well, other than getting distracted every 35 seconds by how totally beautiful Tennessee is. I pulled over twice to take photos-- the first time of a giant lot of destroyed cars, the second of an adorable train station and track. Still made it back in 4.5 hours though. And I'm not sore yet (tomorrow, I'm sure) and I ate a lot of chicken and I feel pretty good.
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