OK, I finally wrote up my race report to send out to friends and family. I'm just copying it and pasting it to my blog. Here 'tis: Before every significant race of my short running career, I seem to
subconsciously sabotage hope of achieving the goal. For instance, many
of you might remember how I got lost (yes, I'm embarrassed to admit that
it's true) for a half mile in my first marathon; or consider last
December when I missed my plane for the Death Valley Marathon so that I
finally arrived at the hotel the night before the event, totally
exhausted. Typically I'll eat too much breakfast or drink too much
water just before the event and feel sick. Somehow, I always manage to
arrange situations such that I am utterly stressed out just in time for
the race. Reflecting upon my recent half marathon, I considered whether
I do these stupid things to give me an "out" just in case I perform
poorly. Or if do well, I can say to myself that I could have done
even better if I had had a handicap of some variety. Really, it's a
win-win scenario.
This time my self-sabotage started early last weekend for the Eugene
Marathon; in fact, I did it to my sorry self two days before the
event! I'm becoming so efficient. No procrastinating with this racing
mama. Believing that I was doing myself a favor, I spent a few minutes
stretching in the sauna on Friday, hoping to get my muscles all limber
and ready to go. I felt OK in the heat, but when I exited the sauna, I
suddenly became nauseated and dizzy. Apparently I tried to make it to a
nearby bench, but next thing I knew, I was looking up at the ceiling,
wondering where I was and why my hip was hurting. And there I found my
excuse: I had passed out and fallen, hip first, hard on a concrete
floor!
I felt that this disaster was much more gratifyingly dramatic than
merely missing a flight--don't you agree? Now I have set the bar high; I
better start sabotage-planning right away.
Despite the pretty severe pain, I did decide to go through with the
race. Plopping an ice pack on my car seat, I made the 2 hour drive to
Eugene on Saturday. There I met my weekend hosts, Bob and Kathleen
Gray. Interestingly, Bob had, in his college years, been on the elite
team at U of O, and had been locker mates with Prefontaine. Bob showed
me the race course, told me some amazing stories, gave me excellent
racing tips, and then returned me to their home, where Kathleen had
prepared an incredibly wonderful pre-race, carb-loading pasta feed for
me! Wow, what a cook. Filled with homemade meat sauce and pesto, a
fantastic salad, and fresh bread, I was a very happy guest indeed.
Kathleen is a tiny powerhouse of a lady, probably 4' 11''. The
longest distance she has ever run was a half marathon--only one--and she
did it in 1:25. Wow. She completes the NY Times crossword puzzle in
about half an hour every day, and she has a clock on her kitchen wall
made out of a Scrabble board. Very cool. We had a delightful
conversation, and then Bob and Kathleen took off for a concert, leaving
me to relax, curl up with a book, and go to bed early. Thankfully,
since I had already given myself a stressful situation that Friday
before the race, I didn't have to figure out how to potentially ruin
myself that evening. In fact, the evening was quite perfect.
I did have enjoy one additional crisis, though, on race day, which
was to carelessly leave my bib number in Bob's car. Naturally, I didn't
notice until he had driven away. I asked a few runners for cell
phones, but I couldn't get through to Bob. Now, in some races, I would
not have even been able to participate without a bib number on my
shirt! Thankfully, though, this was not the case in Eugene, and they
used the chip to monitor me. No problem with the lack of my bib, except
that I got all stressed again.
The entire race was quite perfect. My pacing was at least as good
as I had hoped. Coach Bob had advised me to keep the first 6 miles
between 7:30-7:40, and I opted for the faster side of that. But I did
faithfully hold my speed back, as instructed. When I hit the 6th mile, I
felt wonderful, so I increased speed to 7:15, knowing that I could
continue that for the remaining 7.1 miles.
Somewhere along the way, I saw 2 very cute little blond girls
holding up a poster that read, "We love you, Mommy!" They were much
younger than my little blondies, but I chose to allow myself to pretend
that the poster was for me, which gave me more energy. Tim and I had
discussed it, and I didn't expect the family to come down and cheer me
on for this race because of the expense of driving two vehicles. Well,
imagine my surprise when I saw four cute blond kids who looked exactly
like Esau children! I'd have thought that my imagination was becoming
scarily potent if it hadn't been for Ellie, who ran about 300 meters
with me, confirming that she was my daughter. (When she could no longer
keep up, she turned around and collided with the woman who was trying
to pass me. Ellie can't stand the thought of anyone passing her mama!
I'm sure she did it on purpose! Right, Ellie?)
At the 10th mile, I was still feeling like a million bucks, having
run 3 miles already at the 7:15 pace. Alongside came Coach Bob, who was
really concerned that I wouldn't be able to continue that pace till the
finish. He asked me to take it easy, but I'm telling you, and I
reassured him, I felt great. I knew I had just one hill left,
and I was sure I could do it. My plan was to run 7:15 all the way till
the last mile, then let loose and just do the fastest I could.
In every race, certain words or thoughts will give me energy and
strength. This time I kept reminding myself that I was staying in
Prefontaine's locker mate's house, which made me vicariously fast. I
repeated that this was my race, and that I was a tiger. I planned to
become a cheetah in the last 2 miles, but till then, I was only a
tiger. See, Coach Bob calls me "Mama Bear," and that conjures up images
of a fat, lumbering, 500 pound furry creature who eats blueberries. So
I had to choose another animal.
After I became a cheetah at mile 11, I finally passed Susan, a woman
whose pink kinesiotape on her calves I had been watching from behind
all the way since the start line! As I passed Susan, she said, "How old
are you?" I replied, "How old am I?" What a weird thing to ask
during a race. I told her I was 39, and she said, "I'm 48." I wasn't
sure what she was looking for, so I replied as any woman would: "Wow,
you look so fantastic! I have been admiring your back muscles for this
whole race. You look so strong." I paced her, silently by her side for
the next mile, till I perceived that she was slowing down, at which
point, like a cheetah, I leapt ahead. She called out, "Good job!" And
that was the last I saw of Susan.
What struck me as funny about this was Coach Bob's response when I
told him about my exchange with Susan. He replied, "You were polite
because you are women. When men pass each other, they call out, 'So
long, @(*#@#$#!' " I laughed, but as I considered Bob's words, it
crossed my mind that I have never heard men in my pace group being
rudely competitive toward one another. You know, I don't think the
difference is actually a gender thing. I believe that it's a "level"
thing. I'm running among the Really Strong Runner Group. But I'm
not with the Elites--yet! We might think those pushy words--of
course, IF I do so, it's with very clean pushy language--but
we're simply not elite enough to say them aloud. I remember when I was a
beginning marathoner, the pacing groups I'd hang out with for 26 miles
were the people who wore headphones and said things like, "What a lovely
day." Now, the sight of an ipod is rare, and people have kinesiotape on
their legs; they mean business.
OK, so back to the 12th mile. My energy was nearing its end just in
time, which means that my pacing was absolutely as it should have
been. Coach Bob seemed wowed and delighted. I hadn't had the easiest
time with some of my training runs, plus I had collapsed the 2 days
prior, so he expected that I'd struggle. This was the first race he had
coached me through, and he seemed genuinely surprised by how well I
race. Of course, that made me feel pretty good.
It was a wonderful surprise to have the family with me. When I'd
heard that Eugene has beautiful rhody gardens, I had wanted to take my
kids there, and now I had the happy opportunity to do so. It was
beautiful; I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day and place.
Having showered, visited more with my hosts, packed up, and headed out
to the gardens, it seemed so strange that in the background, I could
hear that the race was still going on.
Now I'm home, with a nearly healed up hip, ready to start running
again, as soon as it's wise to do so. It's too early to start
sabotaging the next race, so I'm taking good care of myself for now.
For my stats-loving friends, here are my splits: 7:31, 7:22, 7:21,
7:22, 7:31, 7:09, 7:08, 7:12, 7:10, 7:07, 7:03, 7:10, 7:00. I was 9/385
in my division; 54/2783 among women; and 194/4058 overall (meaning, not
only did I beat women like me, but a whole lot of young punks in Eugene
too! Whoo-hoo).
Always thankful for all of you,
Cara
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