Marathon of the Palm Beaches 5K
December 1, 2007
Chip Time: 26:18 (8:28 pace)
Division Placement: 2/25
Gender Placement: 17/219
Overall Placement: 90/416

This was my very first race. Below, what I wrote about the experience a few days later.

Well, I did it. I ran in my first 5K on December 1, in the Marathon of the Palm Beaches’ pre-events. I started running this summer, very short distances at first, eventually upping my mileage. Of late I run between 4.5 and 5 miles a day; two weeks before this race I had completed my longest run–7 miles in 65 minutes. I’d long before marked out this race as my first public event, and I couldn’t believe how quickly it snuck up on me.Because 3 miles ended up being such a short distance compared to my daily mileage, I really wanted to run a good race–I wanted to do it in under thirty minutes. However, I knew lots of factors would go against me. I’d never ever run in a race before, or even with a partner, so I didn’t know how I’d react to other people being around. I’m also not used to running outside since I train on a treadmill; though I usually am faster on my street runs, I just didn’t know for sure how variables like wind, sun, and humidity would affect me. I also typically start my runs by six, and this race wouldn’t be til eight. Would I be hungry? Antsy? Hot? I just didn’t know.

Of course, it was a hot day in West Palm despite it being December. I didn’t run before the gun b/c I wanted to save my energy, though I did lots of fast walking. When the gun went off I started, and it was a very weird experience to be surrounded by other joggers and the sound of their footfalls, voices, and the their music (I don’t run with an ipod but our race did not restrict them, which I did not mind, though some people do listen to their music very loud!). The timing chip did not bother me at all, which I thought it might; the heat did. I tried to hydrate some that day but had to visit the porta-potties twice. Good thing I worked on hydration all that week and especially the day before. I walked some on the first half of the course, especially to encourage a young boy whose father had run on without him. At the turn, I was surprised to hear my time (12 min 15 secs), and was challenged into salvaging what was turning out to be a better race than I had previously thought. I picked out a runner just ahead of me and visualized a bungee cord between us. Slow and steady . . . I finally fell into my rhythm around mile 2, 2-and-a-half (of course the race was only 3.1 miles!) and finished the race in 26mins, 20 secs.

A couple of things learned: (1) before a 5K, I probably could have run some. I felt terrible that first mile because I just wasn’t in my rhythm. It probably just takes me a mile or two to feel really good. I ran with one of my marathoning friends last week and she opened my eyes (thanks to her GARMIN) to the reality that we actually got faster, not slower, during our 5.5-mile run. Who’da guessed?

(2) You may run the race surrounded by other people, but you really run it by yourself. You’re challenging yourself, you’re talking to yourself, and to God, and you’re the only one who knows her goals. Do you want to just finish the race? Do you want to have a specific finishing time? At the same time, it makes a huge difference that other people are there, and I am thankful for the hundreds of people who volunteered to hand out water, slice bananas, and just stand around yelling encouragement. Even the police officers who I know were just there to provide security and didn’t have to encourage me, but did: “Hey, you can do it!” It meant the world to me–I didn’t know if I could.

This brought to mind Hebrews 12:2: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” The previous chapter is the great Hall of Fame of Faith. Paul is telling us that all these great saints are watching us and cheering us as we run our spiritual race. And he’s telling us that this is a great reason for us to run a good race, to be consistent in our pursuit of Christ, even if we have to walk every once in a while–as long as we dont’ let that bungee cord snap–it’s okay if we let it get taut once in a while–just as long as we keep Him in our sights–He is the author and the finisher of our faith, and He is the goal! We are pursuing Christlikeness! I am surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and they are not silent, but cheering me on as I race! So I refuse to be tangled down by stupid must-watch TV, or smutty novels, or smarmy politicians that doublespeak. I will run with perseverance; there is too much at stake. The goal is in sight, and I am going to make GREAT TIME!

From the vantage point of two years later, I can’t believe how much this race awoke my competitive spirit. My goal was simply to run well, but immediately after this race I knew that I was faster than many other runners, and I remembered that I had been before, a lifetime ago, when I had run as a child. I remembered that speed had come, then, joyfully, and it did so again. A racer was instantly reborn–even before I discovered, days later, that my chip time of 26:18 had been good for second place in my age division.

Classics by the Sea 10K
December 15, 2007
Chip Time: 59:15 (9:33 pace)
Division Placement: 9/15
Gender Placement: 63/121
Overall Placement: 171/260

Yep, two weeks later, I was at it again. Having succeeded so well at the 5K, I decided to test myself at the next logical distance. Fortuitously, an appropriate race was being run in our area just two weeks later. I was hesitant to run it: though my daily runs were in the 5-mile range, I knew racing 6.2 miles would be far different. My running friend encouraged me to try it, however, and I threw caution to the wind and showed up on race day, eager to test myself again.

I went out the gates with my friend. We’d run together and I’d had no trouble keeping up with her. Unfortunately, on this day, adrenaline could not carry me: by the mile marker, I asked her to go on without me. I was walking by the first water station. Six miles suddenly seemed like a very long distance–in fact, I couldn’t believe how far away the turnaround was. I was doing a very long death march when, out of nowhere, a peppy and beautiful woman with a South African accent jogged up next to me and said, “Come on; you can do it.” Instantly I was encouraged, and my feet picked up a running rhythm. I stuck with my encourager through the turnaround. She ran through the water stations; I walked through, then caught up with her. As we neared what I thought should be the end, I kept asking people, “How much further? How much further?” but nobody seemed to know. I didn’t have a Garmin yet, so I couldn’t tell for myself how far I had to go, nor was I familiar with the course. Finally, someone said, “less than a mile,” and I abandoned my friend, knowing that I had enough left in the tank for that much of a kick. My original goal was to come in under one hour; I didn’t know how much time had elapsed, but I knew I had to save whatever time I could.

Small world–I ran into this encouraging runner at my child’s preschool a few weeks later. I approached her and said, “You probably won’t recognize me, but you helped me finish the Classics by the Sea.” She said, “I remember you. We ran four miles together and then you left me in the dust.” Ah, yes. Guilty as charged.

Two months later, we’d both be running the same race again . . . the A1A Half Marathon.

A1A Half Marathon
February 17, 2009
Chip Time: 2:02:14 (9:20)
Division Placement: 53 / 202
Overall Placement: 893 / 2661

This was my first real distance event–the first one I trained for. I found and printed Hal Higdon’s schedule for novices and followed it as well as I could, increasing some of the distances since I was running longer distances than the plan called for and he only calls for one 12-mile run and I wanted to outrun the 13.1 distance.

I got my Garmin 205 for Christmas, about six weeks before the race. It allowed me train better by running more exact distances on the roads and timing myself better. Below, what I wrote about the race a few days later.

When I first thought of the half marathon distance, I planned to walk the Myrtle Beach half with a friend. Then I started running and I got the crazy idea that maybe I could actually run thirteen miles . . . I looked around several different races in the southeast and finally settled on the A1A Half Marathon in Fort Lauderdale, February 17th.

We headed down on Saturday with the kids to pick up my stuff. Finding the expo was a bit of a convoluted drive, but we made it. I got my bib and chip, my t-shirt (no smalls left, so I basically have a tech nightie ) and looked around some. After about 30 minutes, the kids had had enough, so we drove to our hotel and let them decompress.

The idea was that G and the kids would get their own room while I shared a room with several friends who were running the race, but they called while I was in the hotel to let me know that their hotel would not put the necessary cot in the room so I could stay there. In other words, I was going to have to set an alarm and wake the kids and dress for the race in the dark. Not exactly the way I’d planned it, but at least they offered to come get me and drive me to the race so my family could just meet me at the finish line–that was fantastic!

We had dinner early and were in bed by 8. I won’t say I got great sleep, since sleeping with S and B is quite an adventure, but I hear my friends had a party in the room above them so in hindsight it was definitely a blessing to be in our hotel room instead of theirs. My alarm went off at 3:45. G gave me a running skirt for v-day and I wanted to wear it for him, but not having tried it on a long run, I was too scared. I went back to my trusted Nike shorts. I put on my best running bra, singlet, socks, and sneakers, Body Glide everywhere necessary, Garmin, visor, and went downstairs to wait. Had a banana and water for fuel.

Finding parking was a bit of a nightmare, which resulted in our waiting in long porta-potty lines forty-five minutes before gun time. Wow, I had no idea they could smell like that. But, since everyone else was late too, the race ended up starting a few minutes late.

It was so cool! Though I guess it was a smallish race (3000-4000 runners), it was an amazing sight to see the sea of runners going up the street, and to hear their footfalls all around me, especially in the dark. We had one short bridge to go over the intracoastal waterway at about mile 3 (the 2-hour pacer passed me on the bridge—bummer!), and the sun was starting to come up as we hit the beachfront road, A1A. It was absolutely beautiful. The first water station felt too short, but I think it was because we were all still bunched up. After that there were water stations every two miles, and it wasn’t a problem. I hit every other one and didn’t have a problem getting to the water after that one stop. I walked through them at a very fast clip and felt great!

There were either bands or DJs at four places on the half course. Though I’d heard that crowd support was sparse at this race, it was actually great—lots of families out cheering for mom and dad (lots of little kids in jammies!) and tons of homemade signs (my favorite: YOU’RE ALL CRAZY!), and many more people than I expected in the predawn darkness cheering us on.

We were no more than four or five miles in when the elites passed us on their return trip: where do they get the speed and energy?

We ran along the beach for most of the first 6 miles; it was gorgeous! Thankfully, though it was supposed to be 70 at start time, there was excellent cloud cover and a good breeze. It was a poignant moment when the full marathoners broke off—I gave them a shout of encouragement as they headed off for their lonely miles, as it seemed there were a lot more of us than there were of them. We ran miles 9 and 10 in a shady state park: no spectators there, just us and the sound of our footfalls, and at this point we were all feeling the distance and there was no small talk, just breathing. It was so tree-lined that there was no air movement in there. I thought I’d be so glad when we got back out to A1A and got the breeze back. Well, by the time we got back to A1A, it was no longer a breeze but more of a gale, and tough to run against. But by then it was a 5K race, and I refused to slow down!

Other than my water breaks, I didn’t walk a step of my race, though I could feel a blister starting under my big right toe, my fourth left toenail starting to bruise, and my left knee starting to hurt. I knew that if I walked, it would be doubly hard to run again, and I never reached the point where I absolutely had to. I’ll tell you, though, the mile after that big “12” sign sure was the longest of the race. I pushed it as hard as I could, passing runners though at times my legs felt like lead and the scenery felt like it was barely moving by. I heard the band at the finish line way before I saw the festivities because the finish line was kind of hidden behind a funny curve. But when I got there I heard the shout, “Go, Mommy!” and saw the sweet faces of those two little kids I’d woken up at 3:45 to come to this race and I was so thankful to the man who’s supported me in this crazy endeavor all along!

When I got into the chute I couldn’t believe how many people were just standing around. I couldn’t stop moving and I thought I was going to knock someone down. I finally found a curb to sit on and stretch my legs out—my knee was throbbing, and honestly, I was starting to tear up, just thinking that I had dreamed this thing up and I had finished it, and I was holding this medal because I had actually run thirteen miles! A runner sitting next to me said, “You might need a blankie—you’re shivering.” I laughed and told him I just needed water. He so sweetly got up and brought me a Gatorade and a water and said, “Here you go, miss.” He gets double credit for the drinks and for calling me miss! I haven’t been called that in a few years. I got up and reunited with my family and the other runners in my group.

I thought Fort Lauderdale ran a great race, though I thought the pace groups were hard to follow—they had little poles with balloons that were almost impossible to see, and they were the same color for half and full so you had no idea what you were looking at until the full-ers broke off. But there were clocks at least every four miles, which was fantastic, and like I said, no lack of water and Gatorade stations, and those volunteers rocked!

They absolutely shouted out what they were holding, so there was no chance of you getting what you do not want—I only trained with water so I would have been shocked to taste something different. And one station was handing out Gu (an electrolyte gel), which I don’t use, but I know some runners were probably thankful for. And though the course was beautiful and it was nice to run with just the natural beauty and sound of the ocean, it was nice to hear music once in a while, especially since I don’t run with it. Oh, and we had the national anthem before the gun played on a saxophone, and the same solo saxophone welcomed us home at mile 12.5. It was fabulous! They put on a great event, and I’ll likely run it again.

I ran a pretty consistent 9:20 pace, only pushing that last 5K for a 9-minute pace in miles 11 and 12 and about 8:40 in mile 13. I finished in 2:02:14. And I got my first medal! Will I do it again? I can’t wait!

Thee Race 5K
March 22, 2008
Clock Time: 27:04
Division Placement: 3/10
Overall Placement: 52 / 131

Yep, just one month after my first half, I was toeing the line again. And like a rookie, I was itching to lower my 5K PR. I wasn’t counting on the heat, or my tired legs.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to run a race this month because our weekends were so packed with commitments, but in talking to a running friend at work (who also ran the A1A Half), G found out about this 5K just north of us being run this weekend. It wasn’t very thoroughly advertised, but I found it when I Googled it.

I arrived about 45 minutes before gun time. Registration was quick and easy. They were out of small shirts, and the woman in front of me got the last medium. I was given a large but exchanged it for an extra large; I figured if I couldn’t wear it, then G might as well. It was a cute shirt!

After completing registration, I went out for a quick warm-up mile. I didn’t do this for my last 5K and I ended up being sorry, as it takes me a while to feel good when I run. When I got back I stretched and then it was time to line up and get instructions at the starting line. This race was much less high-tech than my last race: no chips, no starting gun. When we were told to go, we went, and I clicked my Garmin.

There were no street closures. We ran north on the sidewalk along A1A. It contained some slight inclines. It was crowded enough at the beginning; if you wanted to pass, you had to get off the sidewalk and onto the sand to do it. I felt like my pace was less than consistent. Plenty of people passed me in that early going, but I knew that I could not push more than a 9 or 8:30 mile. Sure enough, by mile 1, 1 1/2, I was passing a lot of those that were fast out of the gate. I was running easy, too. I ran past someone that sounded like she’d better sit down before she passed out.

Slowed down to encourage a young boy who was giving up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Probably cost me a PR (personal record). With a half-mile to go I told him I had to go and went for it–probably kept a 7 minute pace, but it was too late–still missed my earlier best time and came in at 27:04. Still, with a small crowd, I got third best in my age group, but I was disappointed. Even competing sick, I should have had this race in the bag. With as much running as I’ve been doing since my first 5K, I could have set a PR.

Oh, well, lots more races ahead.

Run for the Pineapple 5K
Clock Time: 27:34 (8:54 pace)
Division Placement: 6/18
Overall Placement: 208 / 396

Tough race, but I fell in love with the course and the race in spite of my lousy time. I ran negative splits in a hilly race ran on a hot Memorial Day, and vowed to run this race as many times as I could–the finisher’s medals didn’t hurt, and neither did the postrace spread of watermelon, bagels, and pizza.

Dreher Park Dash 5K
Chip Time: 26:26 (8:32 pace)
Division Placement: 4 / 14
Gender Placement: 47 / 192
Overall Placement: 169 / 412

Who would have guessed it would be a curvy nighttime race run on dirt trails, in the heat of July, that would get me the closest to beating my PR?

I had this race on my calendar at the beginning of the summer, but hadn’t thought about it in a long time, since I had to miss an earlier 5k due to the patellar tendinitis issue. It had slipped under my radar. Earlier in the week, a friend called to ask if I was running it and wanted to carpool. Why not?

Arrived with plenty of time to register, but planned things badly and ended up spending too much time in line for the bathrooms and not enough time warming up. It’s okay. Temps were probably in the high 80s, this being July in South Florida, and I trotted around the park for a while and felt really disgustingly sweaty and hot. I’m not sure how much I ran–the Garmin was already beeping at me that batteries were low I didn’t even turn it on for my warm up.

Immediately after my truncated warm-up people were lining up for the start. Standing there, bunched up, I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. I had thought about taking off my hat, but even with the 7pm start time the sun was blazing and I knew I’d be thankful for any additional shade and sweat absorption.

Final race instructions were delivered and we were off. It was hard to gauge where the start line was because, though the race was chip-timed, there was no start mat, so immediately after the pack began to spread out, I got into what I felt was my 5k pace–about an 8:30 pace. It made me huff and puff from the get go and I cursed myself for not doing more speedwork lately. Why, oh why, have I been ignoring my intervals and tempos? Too late to worry about it during race time–must keep huffing along. I didn’t worry too much about it; I thought that I could probably keep the pace for three miles and just die at the finish line.

I remembered an article in Running Times magazine about mental strategies to use during racing, and I thought of one that I’ve actually used before. I picked out a runner in front of me and visualized her pulling me along. Many times, the distance between us gradually got shorter, and eventually I passed her. I got to work lots on my pass strategy during this race.

I did have one weird experience, and I actually didn’t realize what was going on until it happened a half-dozen times: I had another runner cut me off to prevent me from passing. It was a strange experience because most runners are competitive, but not to that degree, and will let you by when, in a given moment in a race, you are going faster than them. But this woman would not give me any room. The race was run on a very narrow trail, with many turns, so it was difficult to pass when she insisted on cutting me off on every turn.

I missed setting a PR by eight seconds. It’s a little frustrating, especially considering I may have lost those eight seconds trying to get by a selfish runner. However, I’m encouraged. I think I strategized this race well, finally realizing that the way to run a 5k is to really run at a pace that feels a little uncomfortable for the entire time. I ran hard, but I didn’t throw up, and though my end kick was available for the last quarter-mile, I was spent at the end. Though my middle mile was a little slower, I think that was due to water stops and turns, and that I would otherwise have run negative splits. This was also a curvy, packed-dirt course, and an evening race, characteristics not well-suited to setting a PR.

My six-word race report: Evening race, tight turns, no PR.

Worldwide Half Marathon
October 11, 2008
Garmin Time: 1:55:53 (8:51 pace)
virtual race

I participated in this virtual race with zeal, first of all because I love the spirit of it, and secondly because it fit perfectly into my training plan as I zeroed in for a November half marathon. This race would serve as a tune-up to see if I was ready to run 13 miles at 9-minute pace. I ran along A1A, using my Garmin to hold pace, and discovering that racing solo has both its advantages and disadvantages.

Time to test the training.

Rose early Saturday, Garmin charged, and dressed in my tested racing attire–black Nike shorts, gold top, white hat, Thorlo socks, Adrenaline shoes with New Balance sausage laces. I don’t always use Body Glide on training runs but I do on race day. Took the time to take most of a pack of Sport Beans to get fueled up.

Sarah wanted to run together. I told her my goal was to hold nine-minute miles and she was up for the challenge. She said if she couldn’t hold the pace she’d fall back. I didn’t think it would be a problem; she and I had run six nine-minute miles earlier in the year, but I told her she should feel free to drop off if she needed to.

We met at the running store at 5:45 and set off for about a half-mile warm up. Then I started my Garmin and we took off, running north along A1A. We were definitely breathing harder than we usually do when we run together, but some Garmin-watching proved we were holding pace well, and even making small talk. Sarah said she’d like to run seven, if she could hold the pace. We turned around at the 3.5 mark so I could drop her off. At that point, we had just over an hour on the clock, and I knew if I could hold the pace I could get in under the two-hour mark. I said goodbye and headed off for my somewhat lonelier miles.

I broke into my Sport Beans at mile 8 only to make an awful, though highly instructive, discovery: I can’t eat Sport Beans during a race. I’m breathing too hard to chew. I made myself gulp down about half the package, which I somehow managed to do without choking, because I knew temps were in the mid-70s when I started and I needed the electrolytes or I’d crash. But it was a rough go, and after about mile 10 I just held on to the half empty bag.

The original strategy, as shared in the last post, was to hold a steady pace for the first ten miles and then push the pace. I hadn’t counted on life stacking things against me; because of our small group meeting, I slept about six hours the night before, and had a less-than-ideal dinner. Picking up the pace at mile 10 was not happening. In fact, at mile 10, I wished dearly I’d asked Sarah to pace me for the last seven miles instead of the first seven, or that one of the triathletes training along my route would ride along me to keep me on pace. But I also knew that race conditions would have me with no pacers whatsoever; holding my pace is my responsibility alone. I gritted my teeth and held on; my splits prove I didn’t fall off pace. At mile 12 I found what I had in the tank and picked up the pace what little I could, and crossed the imaginary finish line at 1:55:53.

My splits:
mile 1–9:14
mile 2–8:57
mile 3–8:57
mile 4–8:56
mile 5–9:07
mile 6–9:09
mile 7–8:59
mile 8–8:43
mile 9–8:46
mile 10–8:36
mile 11–8:43
mile 12–8:43
mile 13–8:20
mile 13.1–8:02

Look at that. Instead of thirteen miles at nine-minute pace, I only ran the first seven hovering near that pace–only three of them above pace–and really did pick up the pace after that, though I didn’t feel like I had. And this was under somewhat adverse conditions.

I’m really looking forward to my race now, though I’m going to miss running with a friend.

Today, my legs are a little sore, but a good-tired-feeling. Looking forward to a nice easy run tomorrow.

13.1 Fort Lauderdale
November 16, 2008
Chip Time: 1:50:36 (8:26 pace)
Division Placement: 15 / 117
Gender Placement: 77 / 720
Overall Placement: 319 / 1382

We left town at around 5:30 and stopped on the way south to use a gift certificate at Olive Garden. Though I intended to eat a tomato-based saucey pasta, I figured I was only running 13 and a cheese sauce couldn’t hurt me too much, so I succumbed to the fantastic Steak Gorgonzola. And I’d do it again. It was fabulous. We shared a chocolate gelatto for dessert. I made sure to stay a comfortable full.

Checked into the Avalon Waterfront Inns, where the Boss and I were informed that because they were full, we were being given “the penthouse”–their rather generous name for an unused apartment that functions as a large suite. It would easily have slept eight. The king size bed in the larger room was very comfortable and I turned in at around 8:30. Boss stayed up watching a little football until he, too, turned out the lights, only to be intermittently awoken by party sounds–I thought it was clubbers returning from parties but it turned out to be a party at one of the adjoining buildings. It didn’t bother me too much–I drifted in and out of sleep and felt like I got as solid a night’s sleep as you can before race day.

Rose at 4. News reported it to be 70 degrees and I was bummed–figured the incoming cool front had stalled. Donned race gear. Fueled up. Glided down. Left the hotel around 4:30 to discover the front had not stalled–it was not 70 but freezing! Windy, too. We arrived at the designated parking at the start line about 4:40. Stayed in the car until about 5:15, about an hour before the start. Had time to visit the porta-potties twice, wearing my long-sleeve tech tee and the Boss’s fleece over that, too. It was seriously cold, and the wind was whipping so seriously that I thought about ditching the hat. Finally I lost the fleece, and then the long-sleeve tech for a short warm-up. Knew I’d warm up very quickly running, and that with the sun coming up at 6:30, just minutes after the gun, I’d probably appreciate the visor. Decided to keep it.

Before I knew it, it was time to get in the chute. Kissed my beloved, lined up with the nine-minute milers. After the anthem, we were off!

Boy, was it crowded. Those first few miles especially were rough–I had to keep getting outside the traffic cones just to pass, which I felt like I had to do a lot to get into my rhythm. I was afraid I’d get way off pace and end up with an over-ten minute mile, but came in at 8:59. Just as mile two was ending (8:23) we came upon a tunnel. I love uphills and downhills, and doing the downhill first was a nice change of pace–letting gravity do the work for me first, then surging ahead on the uphill, right into a beautiful curve that tossed us into Broward Boulevard. I loved it. I felt like I was cruising, though at this point I was a little bit concerned about my pace–mile 3 came in at 8:43 and I thought that was a little fast for so early in the race.

Mile 4, over the bridge at Las Olas–this time the uphill first, but I didn’t mind–came in at 8:35. Again, crowded! But coming up on A1A was my favorite part of this course, which was so similar to my first half marathon. Here, the spectators are out cheering, and you’re out of the city and onto the beach, and you know you’ve just got to cruise for a few miles north and then boomerang south. It was windy on A1A, though–mile 5 at 8:37.

At mile 6 I had my first Gu, chased by water–8:32. Mile 7 came in at 8:38, and other than mile 1 , that was my slowest mile. True to form, I would begin to pick it up after that, in spite of having gone out faster than intended. It was right around mile 7 that I was passed by the elites on their return trip. I caught up around here with some triathletes and tried to stay close to them, allowing their conversation to distract me and their footfalls to pace me. Thanks to them, mile 8 was a speedy 8:22.

Turnaround was close to mile 9. I couldn’t believe how my pace was picking up, because consciously I knew I’d gone out too fast. But checking in with my body revealed no soreness–no tightening knees or calves, no sore toes; I felt great–strong and beautiful.

Mile 9 came in at 8:28–another benchmark mile, since I would pick it up again after this. In my original stated strategy I said I intended to pick it up at the mile 10 marker, yet in my simulation race I didn’t have anything left at that point. Not today–I had plenty left in the tank. Mile 10 came in at 8:16. Took my second Gu out of my pocket at mile 10.5 to warm it, and started sucking it down at about mile 11. Took my time with it, even as I cruised to an 8:04 mile. One of my triathletes came up from behind me at this point. I remembered that to hold your pace at this point means not to stay with people around you, who frequently are slowing down and therefore present an illusion, but to pass people. The triathlete was passing people. I decided to stay as close behind him as I could. Mile 12, 7:56. I washed my Gu down with water at the 12-mile mark water station, put my head down, and thought–this is it–longest mile ahead of you.

Now, I’ve never run sub-8 at the tail end of a long run, especially a long run run at race pace. But I was darned if I was going to lose it now. Looking at the clocks at every mile marker, doing the math, I knew I was going to be sub-2, but I was determined to be as far under it as I could. I kept that triathlete in my sights. The distance between us got shorter. I picked a woman between us. Tried to go to her left and got hemmed in. Swung to her right, passed her. I noticed her surging, staying on my shoulder for a minute, but she couldn’t hold pace and eventually dropped back. Picked the triathlete himself next–surged ahead of him and passed him easily. As we were coming into the finish line, surrounded by people cheering, I saw the Boss. He seemed surprised to see me–I knew I was way earlier than we’d thought–he’d predicted 1:52, I’d predicted 1:55–but he snapped a picture as I ran by. I like how in his picture the other runners look tired and I look like I’m having a ball. Hey, it’s my picture, so I get to interpret it.

The clock read 1:52, I thought as I ran in–mile 13 came in at 7:43.

The medal is ugly, though I did score my first space blanket. Who am I kidding? All that matters is that I scored my sub-two. All that training, all those early-morning eight milers, all those tempo runs in the July and August heat.

Marathon of the Palm Beaches 2008
December 6, 2008
Chip Time: 23:28 (7:34 pace)
Division Placement: 2 / 23
Gender Placement: 6 / 224
Overall Placement: 52 / 410

A year ago, this was my very first road race. My first goal was to simply finish. My secret goal was to finish in under 30 minutes. I was a complete noob: I didn’t know what to do with my bib. I didn’t warm up. I drank so much water that I had to visit the porta-potties twice pre-race. I took water at both water stations–in a 5k. I went out way too fast, and ended up walking by the 1.5-mile mark, and again at 2.5.

In spite of all this, I finished in a time I never would have considered possible: 26:18, or an 8:28 pace. The field was so weak that it was good for 2nd in my age group, and I have a nice little plate to remind me of it. I was hooked on running, and was training for my first half marathon a few weeks later (which I completed without walking!)

Coming off my new half marathon PR a few weeks ago, I really wanted to do well at this course, fifty-two weeks later. It’s a fast course, and the weather was much cooler than a year ago. No excuses about being a rookie this time around, either–though I don’t live in a great running town, I have a few races under my belt now.

I ran a two warm-up miles, one easy, one with a few striders. I felt comfortable about the distance, but I’d set a high goal for myself: breaking 24 minutes. Every predictor said I could do it–barely. So I knew I would need a really good day.

My strategy: go out with an eight-minute mile and do each mile progressively faster.

Nailed the first mile perfectly. The second mile might have been a little too fast: 7:25. I was passing runners the entire time. A male runner in a red shirt decided not to let me pass. I didn’t mind; it gave me someone to pace off of. I got passed by the leaders just before the turnaround; my time was about 12:50.

I was still picking up the pace. At the second water stop I saw people taking water that hadn’t at stop 1; I remembered that stopping at this point would steal time and not hydrate me anyway and remembered Glover’s advice that it would be mentally uplifting to dump the water over your head instead; decided to try it since at this point I needed the lift–I was really pushing. At some points in mile 3 I was doing sub-7 and really hurting. My “pacer” dropped out at about mile 2.5, saying he couldn’t hold pace anymore.

I think this was the first 5k I really raced painfully, and I liked that feeling of going all out.

Mile 3 came in at 7:05. My chip time was 23:28.

Again, the field was weak, though we had Uta Pippig on hand to speak at the Marathon breakfast, and she raced the 5k “comfortably” in 20:44. In spite of her presence, my time was good enough for a sixth overall female finish and second in my age group again.

And I did it–I broke 24 minutes.

Classics by the Sea 10K
December 20, 2008
Chip Time: 49:07 (7:55 pace)
Division Placement: 3 / 22
Gender Placement: 28 / 141
Overall Placement: 103 / 305

That’s right, I did it!

Warmed up for a mile with Garmie, about another half mile with a slow jog with Gwynne. Had a Gu, went to the potty, pinned my bib on. I was cold walking around before the gun, but the forecast had the temps going up to 70 by race start and sure enough, it was warm by the time we got running.

I’m not sure if I’m becoming a more intelligent racer or just a more strategic one. Right off the bat, coming off that hilly curve that opens this race, which I hated last year but didn’t mind so much this year, I picked out runners to pace off of right away. There were two men with Ironman tattoos on their ankles, as well as some runners I recognized from my Saturday morning long runs, strong runners who were serious about running this with their heads. I locked in on them.

Mile 1 came in at 8:10, just as I’d strategized. Now I knew I’d have to pick up the pace–I needed the next five miles to come in at exactly eight minutes, and shaving off ten seconds can be harder than you’d think. Our first water stop came in here, and I actually slowed to take fluids, not wanting a lack of fluids to hurt me later. But I found my pacers and got back to work, and mile 2 came in at 8:03. No cause to worry yet.

Mile 3 found us finally free of the 5k traffic, since that race had started just before ours and we had finally passed their turnaround point. Now I was behind a young girl (high school age) who runs with a group of men on Saturday mornings. One of them, probably the one who was running the race with her, is probably her dad. I was having a hard time getting past the group of runners they were with–staying behind them meant falling behind pace, but passing them would have meant going too fast for the midpoint in the race. I had to join their pack. I ended up just behind this young runner, and I could tell by her breathing that she was struggling. I passed her just before the turnaround–mile 3 at 8:03.

Passing the turnaround, I saw a woman in my age group who has a child at my kid’s preschool and with whom I’ve been known to have some good-natured competition. She said, “I’m right behind you,” and I knew she wasn’t kidding. Also right next to me were two training partners who’d been running at my pace the entire race. I felt bad overhearing their ongoing conversation for the duration of the race, but we couldn’t shake each other off as we were running pretty much the same pace. But, the turnaround was my green light. Half the race behind me, and a 5k to go–I felt free to pull out all the stops, and I began to pick up the pace ever so slightly.

Mile 4 came in at 7:59.

The best miles were ahead. Now I began to pick up new runners and pick them up one by one. I coasted at an even pace as much as I could, hitching visual rides when I spotted a runner up ahead that I thought I had a chance at. As I approached them, I tried to make a clean pass–just swoop by on the left without any real struggle, without a chance for response. Mile 5 at 7:45, and a cup of water over my head.

Up ahead, a pack of four female runners that were in my age group or the one above. I tucked in behind them for about a quarter mile, hitching a ride, as they were probably running about 7:45 and I didn’t want to give them a chance to hitch a ride with me. Once I passed them, I wanted to leave them behind. When I was ready, I swung left, passed them all at once, and picked out a male runner ahead of them, picking up my pace. Passed the mile 6 marker feeling fast and smooth–pace was 7:25.

Sure, my heart was about to explode, but, as Glover says, I knew, having done the math before, that the misery would be over in about ninety seconds. I lowered the gun and and dialed it in. One downhill stretch, a turn into the park, and in for the finish–breaking fifty minutes for an overall 7:55 pace and third-place age group award.

Gasparilla Marathon
March 1, 2009
Chip Time: 4:30:04
Division Placement: 48 / 82
Gender Placement: 248 / 500
Overall Placement: 783 / 1303

We began the trek west on Friday, as intended, stopping about forty minutes outside of Tampa to have dinner at Cracker Barrel, one of the kids’ perennial travel favorites. The weather forecast for the Tampa area had been changing over the course of the week, something I’d been delighted with because the temperatures were turning toward the cooler side.

On Saturday, we rose fairly early, as is generally the case with little ones, and hit the expo. I got my bib and d-tag and lovely canvas bag (so much better than the plastic goody bags of yore) and took a quick (quick!) lap around the expo, the largest I’ve seen in my few years of running. The kids had absolutely no interest in any of the booths. I wanted to see Bondi Bands and the Stick, not to mention peruse the themed race shirts, etc, but it wasn’t going to happen with the kids in tow. The Boss did see what he knew to be a great price on the Adrenalines 8, and since he knew I’m going to need at least another four pairs of running shoes before the year is out, we went ahead and splurged on a new pair. Score!

We walked back to our hotel–about four blocks from where the expo was being held–and regrouped. The kids hadn’t had breakfast, so we got our car and drove to the nearest McDonald’s (how’s that for a good meal the day before a marathon?) and called my sister, who lives about thirty minutes south of Tampa Bay. We drove down to see her and ate lunch with her, then returned for a nap in the hotel. Dinner was a quick affair with the Boss’s brother’s family, who also happens to live in the area, and we were back in the hotel and bedded down fairly close to eight.

By now, the forecast had changed and turned south. The front that was bringing us those cooler temps had apparently stalled and was now due to arrive on race day–rain was forecast to arrive at six am, gun time. Lows were forecast in the 50s.

Alarm went off at four, race morning. I dressed as quietly as possible. I had prepared somewhat for unpleasant conditions: I’d brought along my hat in addition to my visor, and two long-sleeve tech tees, though I knew two layers would just get heavier in rain. I had a waterproof layer but it gets loud and uncomfortable in windy conditions and doesn’t wick sweat particularly well; I’ve also not worn it on a long run. Gear of choice, therefore, was shorts, tempo singlet, long sleeve top, Thorlo socks, Adrenalines, and Nathan belt with extra gel. I brought my ipod, just in case. The Boss and I had discussed my bringing along a cell phone in case the weather was too wet for him and the kids to meet me at the finish, but in the end decided if that was the case we’d just know he’d meet me at the hotel. Hat, bib, timing tag, and I was off to the start line with an hour to walk and unload some water.

It was neat to watch the pacers go through their . . . um . . . paces, giving instructions to their groups. The 4:20 group would keep a 9:55 pace, the 4:30 a 10:18 pace. I intended to stay between them.

The crowd had that electricity the crowd always does, talking, sharing, excited. The half marathon was running at the same time, and it was a little strange being on the other side for once, hearing them say they’d be done by eight and knowing I would not. It was cold, too, and we knew the weather would get worse before it got better. Even in the dark it had that strange sense bad weather does, in Florida and probably anywhere else, that foreboding sense of bad things coming.

Finally we started to pack in as everybody started to move forward, getting tighter toward the front. The gun seemed to go off in front–I didn’t hear it–and the guy on the mike started telling us how many seconds the leaders had been running–it was about a minute thirty by the time I crossed the start and clicked my Garmin.

And we were off. Amazingly, I felt okay keeping that ten minute pace, even felt like a real runner, in spite of those awful weeks of taper when I could not run to save my life.

It was packed those first few miles, people talking right in my ear about their mothers, their running, their dogs, watch your feet on the cobblestones (thanks!). Then we went on the bridge to Davis Island and it got worse, and I didn’t think it was possible but it was like being thrown into a funnel and suddenly it was all you could do to avoid the feet of the runner in front of you and I knew it was going to be really tight for the seven miles until the half marathoners broke off.

It was pretty dark those first few miles; I was a little surprised the race organizers hadn’t chosen a better-lit course. It was at mile 4 that I saw the first dry-heaver and I felt terrible; even running a half marathon, you’ve got a long way to go at mile 4. At mile 5 we had some impromptu bladder emptiers, both men and women, at an absolutely beautiful part of the course, in a nice neighborhood, too, and I felt like apologizing to the neighbors, “Not all runners will water your lawn!” But there were no porta potties on that part of the course and no other options were available.

The aid stations were set up beautifully: Gatorade (always lemon-lime Endurance formula) at the first two tables, then water at the next two tables, well spaced. The cups, especially the Gatorade ones, were only half full, so you didn’t spill them. For me, that was a beaut because I poured my water into my Gatorade and drank them together as I walked a few feet. Garbage cans were spaced yards ahead.

Off Davis island, a very sharp turn, and not far ahead, at mile 7, the half marathoners broke off. A young runner turned to us, looked right at me, and said, “You are the real deal. Have an amazing run. Get it done.” It meant the world to me to hear that encouragement, because I’ve been on the other side of that turn, and though I felt good at that point, I knew there was no turning around–I was going to run a marathon that day.

This section of the course had us running through parts of downtown Tampa for about five miles. It wasn’t very scenic, but I felt good. On the way back, though, as we approached the waterfront again, we saw those ominous dark clouds, and as a few of us commented on them within earshot of a police officer, he said, “We just heard–it’s on the way in, with strong winds.”

Sure enough, the first hard sprinkle hit at mile 11 or so. It was a cold rain, too, since it was part of a cold front. My long sleeve, which I’d tied around my waist at mile 6, came back on. I was trying to keep my inner shirt dry as long as possible. We tried to keep in good spirits about it. We figured the rain would keep the humidity and temperature down, and generally when the rain’s in your face going out, it’s at your back coming back, right?

We hit the waterfront at mile 12, and we were back on the half marathon course. There were spectators at random spots here, good souls who’d braved cold and squally weather. A woman in a Marathon Maniacs shirt was holding a sign reading “You’re all Kenyans on the Inside,” and I hoped she was right. There were people with their car radios blaring, soloists, blues bands, even the local Christian radio station with a solo van playing on the waterfront road. Random good-hearted people handed out jelly beans, water, and orange quarters. One pair of girls stood on either side of the road, handing out individually packaged snack-size Ziplocs with pretzels and gummi bears.

The miles went slowly, but well, in this middle portion. One of the best compliments someone called out was, “You look very relaxed.” That was the goal–and for most of the race I was hitting my mile markers perfectly: mile 4 at 40:00, mile 7 at 1:10, mile 13 at 2:10. The rain came intermittently at this point, lightly; at times it was like running through a mist machine. The wind was gusty, at times strong, and we ran with our heads down into it, arms pumping, to try to keep our pace strong, though we feared our effort would cost us later. These waterfront miles would have been great, we told ourselves, had conditions been different; we’d kill now for some buffer from the winds. We avoided the puddles to keep our feet dry.

Just past mile 19, the course took a weird little loop through a residential neighborhood and park. When you looked at it on the course map you thought you’d just go in, turn around, and come back, but when you’re running it, you’re back in the middle of nowhere, alone, forgotten, and running on a dirt trail, for miles (okay, it’s maybe 1½). Even the mime trying to cheer us up in the middle of the darkest hour couldn’t do anything for me. I was slogging, and I didn’t stop only because I knew moving forward was the only way to get any relief. The Marathon Maniacs woman was back here, too, still yelling her guts out, cheering us on.

Fueling was not bad, though it took some effort to remember it. I think I missed my first gel at mile 20. I’d felt like throwing up since about mile 17, but I’d kept moving mostly out of desperation and the futility of doing anything else. After all, I was still almost ten miles from home.

The moron rookie had felt so sick she’d even stopped taking Gatorade and water. Then a random, wonderful, delightful, deep-pocketed home owner standing in the street appeared with pallets of small bottles of water, and I took one. Half, I ingested. Half, I poured over my head (don’t let the irony of this be lost on you later). Finally, a light comes on in my energy-starved brain: I feel sick because I need fuel! At mile 21 or so I realized I needed sugar and forced myself to down a gel, though I felt disgusting and feared it would come right back up. I chased it with water. I tell myself in a half mile my pace will pick back up.

But, mile 22 and 23, the rain hit, hard, with gusty winds that probably hit 30 mph. We were running with our heads down again, arms pumping, teeth clenched. I could hear the water pouring into the gutters, like a river. There’s no more avoiding puddles; our feet were soaked, our shoes waterlogged, but we tried to keep to the highest part of the road. It was so cold. I realized I couldn’t feel my hands. I tried, I really tried, to keep running, but it was useless. I started taking thirty-second walk breaks.

The 4:30 pacer passed me at mile 25 or so. I tried to keep with her, but it was pretty useless. I kept her in my sights, though. I told myself I would not suffer the indignity of walking during mile 26, and even failed at that–though I managed not to walk past the 25.5 marker.

As I crossed the line; a volunteer called out, “It’s your Maiden Voyage!”–Gasparilla-speak for first-timers–and put a medal around my neck, just before someone put a mylar blanket around me, which is what I really craved: the promise of warmth. I looked for water and bananas. I felt weak, and cold. I knew my family wouldn’t be out in the miserable weather, and the promise of a five-block walk back to my hotel, alone, was bleak.

I spotted the Marathon Maniac woman, her of the “You’re all Kenyans” sign, and I thanked her for her encouragement. When she heard this was my first, she threw her arms around me. She told me, if I could run in this, I can run in anything, and I’ll do so much better in my second one, in “normal” conditions. I told her I wasn’t thinking of running another, not until I could feel my hands again. She hugged me again, told me to give it time, and congratulated again. She said, “You’re a marathoner,” and as she walked away, the tears came, for the first time. I wanted to cry those last four miles–running in a deluge, but I wouldn’t give in to the course. I actually thought the words out loud: this course will not defeat me. But at the finish, having come to the end of the training, the running, the agony and knowing that I’d done it . . . I admit, I cried.

My family was there, just over Marathon Maniac’s shoulder, kids jacketed, hooded, but smiling. The Lamb said, “Mom, you won, you got a medal!”

Who am I to argue?

*My time on the results page at Active.com yesterday said my time was 4:30:31. Today, it says my time is 4:30:04. I’ll take it!

**I’m not sure if you can see it in the picture, but my medal actually says “Maiden Voyage” on it. It’s not like I’d ever forget where I ran my first 26.2, especially this soggy endeavor, but it’s nice to have a medal that’s different from everyone else’s. Meanwhile, Maiden Voyage results have also been tabulated separately, and yours truly is listed as the 38th finisher among 113 female first-timers. The first “maiden voyage” female runner crossed the line in 3:23:35–speedy! I, however, will be content with my finish, which puts me in the top third of the first-time field and–better yet–in the “I’m finished!” category.

L.O.S.T. 7-Mile Run
April 11, 2009
Chip Time: 59:56 (8:34 pace)
Division Placement: 2 / 5
Gender Placement: 18 / 55
Overall Placement: 38 / 94

I was delighted this morning to be picked up not by Little G in her white car, but by my other running friend M in her SUV, who had run into Little G at Good Friday services and been talked into coming with us. Yay!

Arrived after some doubtful moments (the race is titled Lost, after all) at the race site, shrouded in fog–actually, the fog started as soon as we left civilization headed west. We had thirty minutes before gun time to register, hit the porta-potties, and warm-up, so something had to give, and it was the warm-up.

It felt cold in the fog but we figured we’d warm up soon running, and we sure did–temps were in the 70s and with the fog so thick, our sweat just didn’t lift at all–it was syrupy and wet on us by the mile marker.

I kept to my 8:30-mile strategy fairly well, and found M right on my heels. I kept Little G in my sights as well as I could but it was a tough go in the fog, and she picked up the pace at the turnaround, when I lost her. At that point, I decided my race was going to be against a woman who looked like she might be in my age group. She was wearing a blue tank, black shorts, and looked like she was running easy. I told myself I’d hold pace til the five-mile mark and then trust my finishing kick to dust her.

Well, she had a three-mile kick, and it was good. My two-mile kick was weak today–good only for an 8:15 mile and an 8 mile, maybe indicative that the early miles (closer to an 8:45 for the first three miles) had been too fast after all for my current condition.

I lost her completely in the fog at the five- or six-mile mark. At that point, I did my best to pull in using other runners, several of whom were struggling as severely as I was just to finish–some walking. It didn’t help that with the heavy fog, it was impossible to see the finish, though we were running a straight out-and-back course. I literally didn’t see the finish-line clock until I was one-tenth of a mile from it.

At one mile out, my goal became to get in under an hour. I knew I’d have to push to get there, as I was closing on 52 minutes by then and I wasn’t sure I could do a sub-8 mile. I told myself to just do an 8-minute half-mile and sprint from the half-mile point. (Garmie was my best friend today, as the fog was so disorienting.) Closing in on the clock, I saw it ticking away that 59th minute. The eventual winner in the 70-74 age group was just in front of me, and though I respect him and see him in long training runs, I think I would have knocked him down if he’d been in my way.

I got in four seconds under one hour.

It was a great race. Easy to run alone, pass on the left, keep to your pace. Four water stations, water, bananas, and bagels at the end. Usually it’s termed “the run for the corn,” as a local running farmer gives all finishers the first corn of the season, but the crop this year has suffered from the freezes, so we got Florida rice instead–what runner doesn’t appreciate that?

It was such a great race, and I’m so glad I shared it with the girls. They’re such great sisters in Christ, and such great runners. Little G brought coffee for our cooldown. We sat by the car for a while, then drove home, chatting all the way.

Run for the Pineapple 5K
April 25, 2009
Chip Time: 25:59 (8:22 pace)
Division Placement: 6 / 25
Gender Placement: 45 / 210
Overall Placement: 146 / 381

Ran with Little G on Friday morning, a quick, hot, and humid six miles that left us both tired and spent. In fact, when our Garmins trilled the end of the six miles at the top of my street, we both agreed to walk the two blocks home–we just couldn’t bear the thought of another running step.

As per my own previously-designed running schedule for the week, I was supposed to be running easy Tuesday and Thursday and running long Saturday, so the unscheduled tempo run Friday was completely out of the program. I threw the long run out the window and decided to rest until Monday’s race.

On my way to meet with my group of high school girls at church on Sunday, I decided to call my friend M and ask her if she’d be interested in running the race with me. She was! I was thrilled to have company, not only because the race was thirty minutes and one county north but because I love M and look forward to any time in her company.

We arrived at the race with just enough time to register, grab our shirts, return them to the car, and line up well at the back of the rather large pack of race participants. I noticed right away that, though the fact that the race was being chip-timed for the first time ever had raced the entry fee by $10 ($30 for a 5k? Outrageous, right?), the crowd seemed much larger than last year.

M and I agreed to meet at the end of the race. Though I knew I wasn’t going to set any PRs at this race, I was hoping to at least hold an 8:30 pace, while M has been running only sporadically and was treating the race more as a fun run.

When the “gun”* went off, I found myself zig zagging through quite a pack of steady but slower runners for the first half-mile. As I progressed, I finally found myself hitting the hoped-for 8:30 pace and trying to hold it through the heat, what we Floridians have the nerve to call hills, and my own less-than-adequate speed training.

This race always seems to me to be the longest 5k of my life. It’s loopy, run on a course that resembles a letter B, and when you finally reach that final straightaway for the last mile, it feels, at least for me, like eternity until you finally catch sight of the finish line. Though in the end Garmie proved that I was picking up my pace steadily even in that last mile, it took every ounce of energy I had to do it.

I crossed the line racing against everybody around me, knowing I was far from a PR but, true to form, racing anyway. I am absolutely incapable of running a race any other way, and to every runner out there who takes offense at my hard-charging manner, my apologies if I’ve passed you fifty yards from the chute and you thought I held back in the first mile just to hot dog it in front of my sweetheart, I promise I do not. As in most cases, in this race I could not bend over to retrieve my own chip, as I had in fact spent all my energy over that last mile and into the race finish.

It broke my heart to know how poorly I had finished: my chip time (can’t even blame it on the clock) is more than two minutes worse than my PR at the distance. However, I know that I am unlikely to ever PR at this race. It’s held in May, when I’m always trying to acclimatize to the heat, and I’m always in the middle of my offseason, having peaked in my training in February or March, so I don’t come to the line speed-ready.

I finished feeling spent, at least, knowing that I’d left it all on the course. I got water and went back to cheer for M. Together we got Gatorade and pizza, knowing our $30 had been well-spent on a post-race food-fest and plenty of fluids for a May sweat-a-thon.

I don’t care how poorly I perform at this race every year; I plan to keep it on my calendar. It’s scenic, loopy, hilly, and fun, and I intend to finally tell its organizers what a great event it is. Keep that pineapple rolling!

Oh, and did I mention, all finishers got a medal? Yee-haw!

*The gun, in this case, was the voice of the RD, completely inaudible to those of us at the back of the pack, saying “Ready, Set, Go!” It’s priceless, indeed.