Weather - 66 degrees, cloudy, bit of rain.
A good morning for a trail race - cool (for august) and a bit of misting
rain.
The night before the race I was planning to get to bed by 9:30pm so that I
could get 6-7 hours of sleep. But at 9:00pm I got a call from my
sister-in-law - her 19 year old son was in a serious car accident, and her
husband was out of town on business. She had no car to get to the accident
site, and she was hoping my wife could give her a ride. However, my wife was
out of town for a couple of days visiting her father. Fortunately I had the
rental car which I picked up that day, so I drove her to the accident. Luckily
her son had only minor injuries, but the front end of the car was destroyed.
Also, it was his fault, and I think this and the shock of the accident was the
reason he was sitting on the curb crying when we arrived.
I arrived home a little after 11:00pm and didn't fall asleep until almost
midnight. I woke at 3:15am, and made the 3 hour drive to the race. I
arrived a little before 7:00am, so no problems finding the race site.
I warmed up on some of the race trails and found them to be good for running
- a wide swath of crushed limestone was to be the main route of the race. It
was relatively dry and in good condition. Considering I had gotten 3 1/2 hours
sleep, and then had to drive 3 hours, I felt surprisingly energetic. I figured
this was due in part to race day adrenalin, so I was hoping it would last me
throughout the race.
The runners, about 100 of us, lined up at the edge of a large meadow, and
they sent us on our way. I was feeling relaxed and confident, and I can't
recall having had such a clear picture in my head of my philosophy of racing
and running. Life consists of thoughts, ambitions, the will to achieve and to experience
something good and positive. There are an infinite number of reasons,
outlooks and attitudes one can take toward any activity. I have a solid
philosophical foundation, and this carries over to running. As I ran through
the meadow and into the woods, my body and mind were loose and ambitious, the
goals of the day set in my feelings and emotions - 1) allow the mind to do its
job, which was to be focused in the moment and to make lightning quick
decisions; 2) allow the body to run its natural pace; and 3) to remain
detached, observing the things around me as the race unfolded. Each of the
runners on the course were focused upon their own outlooks and attitudes, each
one no doubt unique. I sometimes wonder how successful my philosophy is - does
it allow me to reach my potential on any given day?
Feeling a wave of confidence and fun enveloping me, I enjoyed running
the first two miles with a free and easy stride. I looked at my watch as I
crossed the 2 mile marker, 13:40 - a 6:50 pace. That is a quicker than normal
start for me, but it felt good.
After the 2 mile mark the race became more intense. The course was a
consistent dose of moderately sloped hills, and I needed to monitor my effort
on the ups and downs. I was crushing the downs, allowing my legs to open up and
fly. I took the ups conservatively, slowing a bit, trying not to overtax my
reserves.
There were a number of runners who challenged me from mile 3-7.5. A woman in
her mid-20's battled me for about 20 minutes. I would pass her on the downs, or
put in a surge to leave her behind, but a couple of minutes later she would
re-pass to my surprise. I would then tuck in behind and follow her pace for a
couple of minutes, and then surge again. I felt a sense of competitive pleasure
when I surged and passed her, each time going a little bit faster and longer,
wondering if she would be able to cover my move. After one of these surges I
tucked in behind another woman in her early 20's. She was wearing elite runner
garb - tight shorts, and a narrow tight top – which allowed me to observe her
finely strung muscles which were moving with a rhythmic force. I followed in
her wake for a few minutes, and then the other girl pulled beside me. This time
she seemed hesitant to pass. Maybe she was intimidated by the other woman. We
were a tight trio as we ran through the hilly woods, a light rain falling on
our hard working bodies.
During miles 3-finish I began taking greater risks than I normally would in
a race. I was eager to push myself to the edge, hoping not to fall over. This
year most of my races have been evenly paced throughout the entire distance,
but today I was surging, battling other runners, testing my limits. I had to
fight the fear that I would go too fast for too long and then collapse. The
thought of being re-passed by runners passed earlier is not pleasing - it
exhibits a faulty plan, poor tactics, and that I don’t know what I am doing.
Eventually, though, some risks have to be taken if one wants to improve, and if
one falters, slows, and is passed, well, what of it? So I convinced myself to
confront the edge of my running ability, to experience the exhilaration and
pain of running faster than normal race pace, all the while trying to remain in
control.
When the three of us reached a somewhat steep, twisting downhill, the
elite-garbed woman braked with her right foot, slowing a bit. At this moment my
reaction was to put in a sprint surge, and to gap the 2 women. I broke wide
right around the turn, and ran an all-out sprint. The downhill was about 250m,
and when it ended I had passed another runner who had a 35m lead on me at the
start of the hill. Later, after the race, he came up to me and said - "you
were flying!"
After this longish sprint burst I needed to focus on my breath, trying my
best to keep it manageable. I was risking the race here, as there were still 3
miles to go. I slowed somewhat when I reached the flat, and wondered if I would
be re-passed by the 3 runners I had just passed.
I now had to battle a series of hills. About 75m ahead was a runner who had
passed me at the 2 mile mark. He looked strong, and I was surprised that I was
gaining on him, as he did not seem to be slowing or faltering. I approached a steep downhill of about 300m
and began sprinting again. I was still trying to recover from the previous
surge, and now I was pressing further, uncertain how much more I could
tolerate. When I reached the bottom there was no time to recover, because a
steep 300m uphill needed to be climbed. As I approached it I experienced a
large flow of adrenaline – the kind that not only gives the body strength, but
also inspires the will. A quote from Ryan Hall suddenly flashed in my head : “I
had reached a juncture at this point in the run: either I could get discouraged
with the reality that I am not able to think myself into sprinting up the hill
or I could accept, and even relish, in the pain and discomfort running
throughout my body, embracing the pain as part of my mission. Then something
happened that I have never experienced during any painful running session: a
smile slowly crept across my face. It was kind of a weird reaction to have, but
for some reason I felt very alive and there was a new joy that I found in
simply going all out. It was a great feeling to know that I was pushing myself to
the max, that at this moment I had looked deep into myself for strength and
used whatever I could muster.” I
had come to a crossroads in the race, and for a few seconds as I began the
ascent, I pondered what move I should make. Should I slow down and keep my
reserves in check, or should I attack the hill and go even further onto the
edge? Goal 2 was to allow my body to run at its natural pace, and it was
screaming to go. In an eye-blink I found myself moving faster, my legs churning
viciously. I did not want to think about the consequences of this folly, but
maybe it wasn’t so stupid after all – for a few moments as I climbed the hill
all out, it was as Ryan Hall had written, the exhilaration to be maxed out,
pushing into a new realm of pain, fear, and perhaps, ecstasy. About mid-hill I
passed the runner and wondered what his thoughts were – “that jackass is gonna
crash!”; “, I’m toast”; or, “god damn it, I’m going with him!”
Reaching the top of the hill, I was
met with a smaller hill, not as steep. I tried to maintain the pace, finally
lessening the intensity upon reaching a flat patch of land. There were 2.5
miles to go.
I saw a runner 50m ahead, he looked
strong. Too tired for another surge, I just put my head down and ran. 2 miles
did not seem too bad. Maybe I had passed through the pain unscathed. My pace
must have been steady because I was now 20m behind the runner. I realized that
if he made a move I would be too far behind to cover it. I willed myself to do
a mini-surge so that I could get to within 5m, and once behind him I felt
better about my chances of finishing strong.
Now that I had a leader to follow,
I began to relax, no longer having to measure the intensity of pace. I would
only move ahead if he slowed suddenly. With 1 mile to go the runner I had
passed on the hill made a surge and got behind the two of us, we were now a
trio running single file. We were running a 6:40 pace, waiting anxiously for
the moment when one of us would make a break. My plan was to press at the 7
mile mark. Having practiced 800-1000m repeats at the track for the past two
months, I wanted to believe that I could cover 1 x 800m in 2:50-2:55.
When we reached the 7 mile post the
leader quickened his pace. I refused to let him go, and we were now into it,
fighting for the finish. I realized I was running at 400m repeat pace with 700m
to go. I contemplated slowing down because the leader was going too hard too
soon, to keep up I was going to need to run back to back 400m in mid 80 range.
But I instinctively covered the pace, my stride lengthening from a wave of
end-race adrenaline. I lost sense of
the runner behind me and did a quick look-back. We had dropped him.
The two of us kicked out the final
400m through the meadow, with 200m to go I thought I was going to be able to
find another gear, but it wasn’t to be. I went into the chute in 50:10, 2 steps
behind, beating my 12k PR by 1:22. #267
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