NYRR Bronx 10 Mile 2022

This is going to be short, because there are only so many times and ways you can say “I am a useless waste of space” before doing the world a favor and going to cry into your Cheerios alone.

I was an idiot to register for this race. It’s always been one of my favorites; I have never run it and not gotten a PR, and I knew there was no way in hell that could happen this year. I knew that. Yet for some inexplicable reason, I felt compelled to throw money at something that would serve no purpose other than to make me feel like complete and utter shit about myself. As if I didn’t already feel that way.

So. I was daring and wore white shorts, which remained white. That’s a good thing. But it’s pretty much the only good thing I have to say about my personal shit show.

I knew right away that there was not going to be a PR happening. I mean, I knew that before I even started, but since I keep being told “the bloodwork is normal, you’re fine,” there really is no reason why I shouldn’t be able to run the pace I want to. Except I just… can’t. It doesn’t matter if I feel like I’m dying or like I’m just pushing a little bit: I am physically incapable of moving faster than roughly marathon pace.

Since I started at the back of corral A (made it there three minutes before the gun), it wasn’t as crowded as it could have been… until I started being overtaken by people from B and C. Because at this rate, I belong in Z. (Yes, I know there is no Z. That’s kind of my point. I don’t belong there at all.)

First half, chugging along, feeling not so great but whatever, I can still squeak out a sub-70. And then at mile 6, my GPS made a massive leap and went from being .05 mile ahead to a quarter of a mile ahead, and it never caught up, which took care of whatever little wind I might have had in my sails. There was no way a sub-70 was happening. Once upon a time, I could have tried to push for it — and, in fact, I often have negative split this course, sometimes significantly — but I can’t do that now. I can’t do anything because I’m a worthless pile of steaming shit and I should not have paid money to have that rubbed in my face all over again.

Garmin recorded 10.27 miles in 1:11:08, 6:56/mi.

Officially, 10 miles in 1:11:04, 7:07/mi. 879/11348 OA, 139/5086 F, and 20/710 F35-39.

I don’t know what to say anymore. There is nothing I can say, and there is nothing I can do, so my only option really is to just go cry. Not that it will help, but… nothing else helps either.

Though I will point out that if you are prone to suicidal ideation, voluntarily subjecting yourself to situations that will make the voices in your head scream at you, and then subsequently running over a bridge, is an exceedingly bad idea. Do not recommend. (Mostly because I actually made it off the bridge the conventional way, but whatever. Hey, I did say this situation is not doing my mental health any favors, okay?!)