I don’t even want to write this, because I’m so sick of saying the same thing over and over and over again. With the exception of the Long Island Marathon (which makes sense, given that it’s a long enough distance to not require super speedy running), I have been running crappy races for over six months. Because I am an idiot, I registered for this race, solely because I thought it would be hilarious if I ran a ten mile race at the same pace as my last 5K. Which, really, I ought to be able to do without a huge amount of difficulty.
Except that that is the old me, the one that wasn’t a completely worthless pile of steaming shit.
I did this race last year. The weather was awful, so I didn’t remember much of the course because I was too busy freezing to death. And I can’t really judge whether the course is as bad as I think it is, since I would feel the same about any course these days: I can’t run well on anything, anywhere. And I’ve been saying this for months, but nobody is listening to me, so maybe I need to find a doctor who will, because it’s bad enough to feel like crap; when it affects my running, AKA, one of the only things that ever helps me not feel like a complete waste of air, it’s magnified a hundredfold.
But since the apparent medical conclusion is that “everything is fine” (it is not fine; I know my own body, and this is not how “fine” feels), my brain just tells me that I need to push through it and eventually it will go away. I guess that’s why, like the brainless idiot I am, I registered for this and showed up planning to run PR pace. As if I could do that and not blow up.
It’s even worse because I registered on race day. I knew the weather would be great (for me), and I could not take advantage of that.
Of course, my stomach decided to chime in too, and when I arrived ten minutes before registration closed, it was literally agonizing to park and not flee straight into the bathroom. When I finally did get there, I had a line ahead of me. So that was an auspicious beginning.
And then, as I walked to the start, I passed another one of those weird-looking things I thought was just some odd sculpture, and I realized it was Long Beach’s version of a fire hydrant, which meant I had to go move my car. Luckily, I found a spot small enough for me to barely squeeze into a couple of blocks away, and then took myself to another bathroom trip right before the gun.
The first mile or so didn’t feel that awful. Not great, but not awful. I ran past the woman who beat me in the 5K a couple of weeks ago, and a guy running next to her informed me that she beat me then. Which just made me snort, because honestly, beating me is not all that hard these days.
And then, after a couple of miles, I just … couldn’t. I know how my goal pace used to feel, and this isn’t it; I was just a dead person walking (or running, sort of). That woman and I passed each other a couple of times, and then at the halfway point, there was someone calling splits and I knew I definitely would not PR, so I resigned myself to just jogging it in the rest of the way, since I felt so awful anyway (and I’m not talking about my unhappy digestive system here, either). After a couple of miles of that, I decided that maybe I ought to try and finish ahead of that woman, because once upon a time I was too competitive to let someone else get the best of me like that if I could help it, especially when I know I am capable of running faster than they are.
Except that the current me is not capable of running faster than anyone, or fast at all.
The current me also has zero finishing kick, so when she passed me with half a mile to go, I couldn’t do anything about it, regardless of whether I wanted to. It wasn’t a mental thing: I physically could not do it. And that infuriates me. (Also didn’t help that my stomach thought this would be an ideal time to start cramping up on me.)
Garmin wound up recording 10.08 miles in 1:10:55, 7:02/mi, which is nearly two minutes slower than last year, and four minutes off my PR.
Officially, 10 miles in 1:10:54, 7:05/mi; 22/210 OA, 4/95 F, and 2/21 F35-39. Placement-wise, that doesn’t look bad, but that isn’t the point, because my own race was a disaster. (Side note: despite wearing a shoe/sock combo I have previously worn for a half marathon with no issue, today they rubbed blisters into my heels. So that was also lovely.)
And so I am done. I feel like a worthless piece of crap already; I don’t need to waste money on races that just verify it for me. Unfortunately, I already have a few events on the calendar, and so I’ll have to do those because skipping them would be even more wasteful, but other than those, I am not registering for anything else until someone figures out what the hell is wrong with me and how to fix it.
I’ve done this race before… and my reasoning is the same as it was back then, that even if I run a shitty race (which, let’s be real, was always going to happen), at least I don’t feel bad about wasting money because it did go to a worthy cause.
That doesn’t negate the fact that I can feel plenty bad about running a terrible race. I looked up last year’s results and determined that I was not going to win, even though I wouldn’t feel much better about a terrible performance if I placed first.
The wisdom of my participation in this event was questionable, given that my leg started being stupid last week. (It’s an issue I’ve had before — something with the gastroc/soleus/peroneus longus — but I don’t remember how we fixed it, so I made an appointment to see my PT. And then I thought I was being really dumb by running on it on Friday, but it actually felt worse before I did that, so I reasoned that it was only marginally dumber to attempt running hard on it.)
The weather wasn’t horrible; the temperature was great, actually. What was not so great was the 100% humidity. 60° DP isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it doesn’t help.
I had already decided that I was not going to look at my watch, much like I did at the NYC Half. I think I actually do have a fairly decent handle on how 5K pace is supposed to feel, and if I was running at that effort and falling way short, I didn’t see why I needed to spend the whole race rubbing salt in that wound.
That might have worked out a little better if there weren’t course clocks at the mile markers. Because I passed the first one in just over sub-20 pace, and the first-place female was no more than a couple of seconds ahead of me, but halfway through, I just… gave up. It’s not that I felt like I was running really hard and slowing down: I knew I wasn’t running hard enough. It just took too much effort for me to care about it. And then I passed the second mile marker and saw that a PR was definitely not happening, and a sub-20 wasn’t going to happen either unless I suddenly sprouted wings, so I totally dialed it in for the rest of the race.
I didn’t even bother with a finishing kick. That’s how blasé I am about this by now.
Garmin recorded 3.11 miles in 20:49, 6:41/mi.
Officially, 3.1 miles in 20:48, 6:42/mi. 4/187 OA, second overall female. First place ran 20:20, which I should have beaten even if I had a bad race. A couple of years ago I was regularly running 5K time trials in the mid-19s, so it’s not like it’s physiologically impossible for me to do it. But I guess that was before I was such a fat useless waste of space. It is true that I’ve always been better at longer distances than short ones (I mean, this is not much faster than HM pace for me) … but this is ridiculous. And I feel like the more I keep trying and beating my head against a brick wall, the more I’m going to hate myself, and I really, really, really am kind of full-up in that department already.
On the plus side, my leg felt pretty good! I fully expected to be limping at least a little bit after the race, which not only didn’t happen, but I was able to do a thirty-minute cool down. So at least there’s that.
Also, my Garmin now predicts a 3:04 marathon. Which actually seems realistic. Not so much the 1:24 HM, 37:15 10K, and 17:39 5K. But whatever.
To say that I was nervous about this race would be an understatement. It wasn’t even the fact that 26.2 miles, no matter how many times you’ve done it, is a daunting distance to cover on foot; it was because I was terrified that my digestive system would be its customary uncooperative self, leaving me with the options of a DNF (not an option if I can physically move forward) or a really, really horrible finish time about which nobody but me would care, but I would care a whole hell of a lot.
In fact, I was so desperate to avoid either of those scenarios that I made a switch, replacing my pre-race whole wheat bagel with a regular one. I’d be lying if I said the notion of that didn’t cause me anxiety, but I also prefer the taste of whole wheat. It does make sense that it would be harder to digest, though, so I was willing to give it a shot. And no, I did not have time to test that out before the race, but really, what’s the worst that could happen — my stomach would go crazy? It was probably going to do that anyway.
I am pleased to report that it was either a lucky fluke or this little swap actually made a difference, because while it was not a totally discomfort-free experience, it was a vast improvement over my lasttwo races. (Thank goodness, seeing how I have a lot of bagels in my freezer now and I’d have nothing to do with them.)
Anyway. Because Boston fell out on Pesach this year, I had to choose another spring marathon. I did eye a couple of other options, but ultimately settled on this one because it was close enough for me to be able to sleep in my own bed, thus removing the added costs of travel and lodging. I did do the Long Island Marathon in 2015, but that was before it was a Race Awesome event, so the course was different. Which isn’t a bad thing, since the long stretch on the Wantagh was nobody’s favorite. But I didn’t even really bother to look at the map before I registered, so I didn’t realize it was a double-loop course. Oh, well!
The one thing that drives me insane about this race — and that has been true for all the years I’ve participated in it — is that the expo starts at 3 PM on Friday. I can’t be getting stuck in traffic late on a Friday afternoon! It might be 25 miles away, but there have been years when it took me over four hours to make the trip, and it’s just too risky. There is the option to pay for VIP pickup now, which I was going to do, even though it doesn’t seem quite fair for me to be charged extra money just because I can’t drive out to the expo on Saturday. Lucky for me, Andy was doing the half marathon and gracefully agreed to pick up my bib for me. (And he didn’t get back until after sundown on Friday, so it’s a really good thing I didn’t go myself.)
Speaking of the expo, I don’t suppose this mattered since I wasn’t actually there, but it would be nice to have sample shirt sizes on display. I probably would have wound up with the same too-big size anyhow, because I chose to err on the side of caution, but if I had been there in person, it would have been nice to see how the sizing was; I’d have known immediately that the size I wound up with would be too big. It’s a pity because it’s a really nice shirt, too.
The last couple of weeks have been stupidly insanely windy. When I did my customary “five miles at GMP” run a week prior to the race, half of those miles were straight into a 20 MPH headwind (sustained, let’s not think about the gusts). To say that was not encouraging would be an understatement. So, obviously, I didn’t expect much from this race, and thereby decided not to bother with a pace band. I mean, it’s basically a flat course, so it’s not like I really would need it anyway. I randomly plucked a range of 6:55-7:05 and decided to try and hang out there as long as I could before imploding.
The wind did die down, thankfully. I mean, there was still a headwind both ways, especially in the second half, which was definitely not in the forecast… but in comparison with the horror show of the last few weeks, it wasn’t bad at all. It also helped that while it was chilly at the start, it warmed up pretty fast. (43 at the start, 67 at the finish.)
There are a lot of turns here. Thankfully, it was pretty well-marked, but I was grateful that it was a double-loop course, because the marathon field was small enough that I could envision myself running alone for much of the second half (which is what happened), and if I hadn’t just run the course, I have full faith in myself that I’d have made a wrong turn somewhere.
As it was, I didn’t have too much time to stress out before the start: after making five bathroom stops, I arrived at the start with less than two minutes to the gun. I was bent over re-tying my shoes when they started the ten-second countdown, and so when the horn sounded, I yanked on the last knot, discarded my heat sheet, and immediately started to run.
I was a little confused as to whether the first corral was comprised of solely marathoners or a mix of us and half marathoners. I still don’t know for sure, but I think it was just us. The pack spread out within the first couple of miles, but I wasn’t running alone yet — I could still see a few men ahead of me and hear some behind me.
Which is why I was so perplexed when spectators started telling me I was the second woman. I figured first place must be really far ahead of me, because I couldn’t even see her. This proved to be the case, because when I finally did spot her on one of the out-and-back portions around mile 6.5, she had more than half a mile on me. It was a little bit of a relief, because I didn’t imagine I had any shot of catching her, and that removed any (self-imposed) pressure from me to win the race.
The first half was fairly uneventful, and I came through at sub-3:05 pace, though I was under no illusion that would hold up. In fact, when one of the guys running near me asked what my goal was, I realistically said 3:07… because marathon math told me that I could afford to fall apart to a certain extent and still manage that.
Around mile 14, just before Joe left me in the lonely dust
The second half, while also mostly uneventful, was much harder than the first. It was pretty warm at that point, and I was running alone for a lot of it. And when I say alone, I do mean alone: I couldn’t see anyone. Not a single soul. No other runners, no spectators (AKA, prime conditions for the mid-race anxiety attacks to which I am prone). I really would still be wandering around out there somewhere if I had not just run this course an hour earlier.
I had ambitiously loaded my belt with six gels — the packet says to take one every 30-45 minutes, and I generally aim for one every six miles, which is at the higher end of that. I couldn’t decide whether it was worth the risk of potential digestive woes to try and take them more frequently. It turned out to be a non-issue, because I was only able to pair a gel with a hefty dose of water (the only way I can stomach it at all) three times. I did drink more Gatorade than I normally would to try and offset that. Also: for some reason, most large events use lemon lime Gatorade. This one had a variety, and you never knew what you were going to get. Such excitement! (Lucky for me, I never ended up with orange, because I hate orange. I don’t think I’ve ever had orange Gatorade, actually. I just don’t like orange-flavored things in general.)
At some point, I was no longer running alone because there were still half marathoners out on the course, and I had caught up to them. I was so beyond ready for this to be over, though I felt surprisingly good for that late in a marathon, by which I mean my knees were still relatively functional, not that I felt like I could run super fast forever and ever.
Two things happened around mile 23/24, though I don’t remember which one came first.
One was that I overtook the guy who had earlier asked me what my time goal was, and he said, “You’ve got your time!” Which would have made me laugh hysterically had I possessed the energy for it, because anything can happen in a marathon, and unless you’ve already crossed the finish line, no time is a given.
The second thing to happen was that I began to hallucinate at mile 23.5, or so I thought. Because there, not only within eyesight, but so close that I could almost reach out and touch them, were the lead female and cyclist. I blinked, and blinked again, and they were still there, so I figured it was not a mirage, and I was shocked that I had caught up to her… and passed her. (I think the lead cyclist might have been a little shocked too, because she kept turning around to check who was with her.)
My miles of marathon math had told me that if I ran under 7:30 by my watch, I would definitely PR, even accounting for GPS error, but now I felt like someone was chasing me, and so I put in a little bit more effort than that bare minimum. Even though I didn’t think she was actually chasing me (see: it’s a marathon and anything can happen, as evidenced by the fact that she was, at one point, five minutes ahead of me) … I wasn’t about to waste time and energy checking over my shoulder. Plus, I felt a little bad at making the cyclists have to ride so slowly, and they were doing such a nice job of clearing the left side of the road for me that I felt compelled to try and keep up.
The last couple of miles aren’t the lonely affair of the preceding ten, because it’s back in Eisenhower Park, and there are people around, both spectators and earlier finishers. The last water station, a little over a mile from the finish, was fully staffed by girls, and I swear they may have been more excited than I was to see the lead female coming through, but that’s because they weren’t in the same state of disbelief as I was since they didn’t know this was not supposed to be me until ten minutes ago.
Andy, who was waiting just before the finishing chute, was pretty excited too. I’m so glad I got to share this experience with him!
The finishing stretch felt like it lasted forever and an eyeblink at the same time. Shock does weird things to one’s perceptions, I suppose.
(Yes, I felt like a total showboating idiot, but it was worth it to get an awesome finish line photo. This particular image is hilarious because I look like I’m yawning and stretching, which is just so apropos.)
For kicks, I took a photo of my Garmin’s race predictor that morning, showing a 3:14:36 marathon. And then I was congratulated on my fastest marathon of 3:07:16, after which it predicted a 3:08:11 marathon. Which just proves that there is absolutely no reason at all to pay any attention to that thing, and I have no idea why anyone does.
Said Garmin recorded 26.44 miles in 3:07:16, 7:05/mi.
Officially, 26.2 miles in 3:07:14, 7:08/mi. 17/344 OA, and first overall female, which is still quite a shock to me. Also a small PR of 55 seconds, which would have been even smaller had I not been worried about the woman behind me! (She ended up finishing in 3:11, so I didn’t need to do that, but any motivation is welcome.)
We didn’t wind up staying for the marathon awards ceremony — a 1:30 ceremony for a 7:30 start is a little ridiculous, especially for the overall finishers, who have to wait around for the same amount of time they just spent running. At least they were nice enough to just let me take the plaque and go!
Since I still have zero raw speed, and have already (barely) bested the HM time, the McMillan Prediction Game is just an exercise in hilarity… but I guess everyone needs a good laugh once in a while.
Running Break 