I’m nervous for the race!  I can’t believe it.  Mostly I’m nervous about getting there.  We’re staying at the Palace Station Hotel and Casino about four miles from the starting line.  It was a great deal, about a third of the price of a hotel on the Strip.  Never again though; if we ever travel to a race again, we’re going to stay at the place where the race is starting, or as near as we possibly can.  I’m kicking myself for not staying at the Mandalay Bay, because then we could walk downstairs to the corrals at 5 AM and been done with the whole thing.  Now, I’m worried about traffic and listening to my heart beat fast.  At least I don’t have the cold sweats right now, just a racing heart.  That’s something to be thankful for.

I met a Pacer at the Expo on Friday and am thinking about trying to stick with him during the race.  However, I forgot to ask how he paces.  Does he start out with the “average” pace and stick to it the entire race, or does he do negative splits?  How does he break up the miles?  I’ll have to find him in the corral and ask.  If he does an average pace the entire way I’ll have to let him go from the start and catch him at the end.  I always do negative splits; that way I start out slow and get faster as I warm up and the miles start slipping away.  I refuse to start out fast; I’ll crash if I do.

Speaking of pace, here’s the plan.  I’m shooting for a 1:40, as that’s what I did on my last training run two weeks ago in hilly Colorado.  Because I’ll be with 29,000 people at lower altitude on a flat course, I think it’s feasible to drop 15-20 seconds from my pace per mile, which would put me in the 1:35 range.

Goals:

1. Don’t get hurt
2. Have a ton of fun
3. 1:30 time – off the charts cool PR!!
4. 1:35 time – excellent time
5. 1:40 time – training time in Colorado
6. 1:45 time – last half marathon time
7. Finish

Bill’s going to wear his running gear so he can run up and down the Strip to cheer for me.  He’s going to head for the Excaliber walkway that spans the Strip to take pictures of me on the way out and back.  Then, we’ll plan on meeting at letter “Q” back at the finish line.  Why “Q”?  Because that will be the least populated letter.  Smart, hunh?

I decided to wear my Nike Fit running pants today.  The temp is going to be between 32-37 degrees while we’re running, so no shorts for me.  Boo hoo. I was all set to wear my new Nike shorts, assuming it was going to be over 40 degrees, but no such luck. The good news is that my red Go-Lite running shirt looks better with black pants than the new purple shorts, so at least I won’t look like a fashion faux-pas while I’m running the Strip.  I’ll look great in my pictures, assuming my sweet hubby can find me.  “Just look for the girl in the black skullcap, black gloves, red shirt and black pants, honey, and I’ll be the one with the race number on my front.”  Ha.

It’s time to get dressed, drink more water, and prowl the Palace Station Hotel and Casino for a banana.

I was dreading Saturday’s run.  I had agreed to meet a friend for her “long run” of two hours over gently rolling hills instead of the usual trail running I adore.  The problem was that I hadn’t slept well in about two weeks and all my get-up-and-go was vacationing someplace warm, miles away from the mock-Seattle weather we’ve been trying on for size.  I even dreamed about the run and woke up agitated that it wasn’t over yet.

Lo and behold, the run was beautiful.  The weather was cool for June but absolutely perfect for running.  The humidity was down, the sun shone through mist that burned off by mid-morning, and everything was so stunningly green I thought I had jumped out of my drought-filled Colorado into a time of yore.

Heidi and I admired the wildflowers, the uncommonly abundant display of wildflowers.  All I’ve done lately is gape in wonder at the flora.  If I had a nickel for every time I’ve wondered what the name of a species is I’d be well on my way to saving up for that awesome camera I covet.

At one point we came over a rise and faced due east.  A beautiful pastoral scene lay below us.  A farmhouse was nestled under stately oaks (I’m assuming, I’m as bad with trees as I am with flowers), a meandering stream cut through the meadow, and five horses contentedly grazed in the early morning light.  We actually stopped and stared.  I’m a Colorado girl; I’ve lived here since I was three.  This is not something that a person sees every day on the Front Range, especially in spring.  At this point the flowers should be dying and things begin to turn summer-brown.  Mornings are getting hot and there’s no thought of sleeping without a fan.  But this year?  Just to mix it up a bit, we’ve traded our usual spring for a Northwestern mood.

With all this natural beauty I was glad we weren’t pushing pace.  Heidi wore her heart rate monitor and wanted to keep her heart rate below eighty percent of full effort.  This meant that we kept our pace to an 8:30 mile on the flats and even allowed ourselves to walk up hills when they got too steep.  She’s amazing in her dedication to her training; she knows when to slow down and just put in the miles.  Did I mention she’s training for the Hawaiian Ironman in October?  She qualified by being first in her age group at the Oceanside Half-Ironman a few months ago.

We explored the trails west of the Boulder Reservoir and cut through the Rez property on our way back to the cars.  By the time it was said and done we ran 2:04 at a 9:28 pace for 13.11 miles.  I was never out of breath though definitely needed to shower off my stink when I got home.

Later that morning I took my kids to the Lafayette Fun Fest.  I was tired and mellow.  At lunch time I realized that my late breakfast had burned off and I was in desperate need of a big chunk of cow.  My mellow never left, I slept great for the first time in weeks, and I wasn’t sore at all the next day.

I’ve slept great every night since then.  Yesterday (Wednesday) I took myself out for another “long” run, planning on doing a ten miler.  I met a few friends along the way and ended up running with them a bit, which extended the run by a few miles.  My run ended up being 1:45 at an 8:40 pace for 12.25 miles.  Figuring I would be tired, I built some rest time into my day.  Funny thing happened though… I never got tired. 

I had a faster pace (moderately) and did a good 3.5 miles of climbing at the start of the run.  I’m more centered this week, my thoughts are steadier, and my hormones are pretty level, considering where I am in my cycle.  What’s going on?  I’m starting to think that my body has suddenly decided it likes long runs.  This is great and all, but that means that to keep my mellow I’m going to have to figure in a lot more time for running each week.  On the flip side; is this really a trend, or just a bizarre little blip in my life?  Am I over-thinking this whole thing?  The problem is that I really like to sleep soundly, and running hard seems to help.  Oh God, maybe I’m turning into someone who runs FOR THEIR HEALTH!!!

Thus, I’ve spent the past week reflecting on my first Half Marathon, the Colorado Marathon in Fort Collins on May 3, 2009. I’ve come away with a few realizations. Obviously I can’t just list them; here’s the story:

When I first started training for this race I based my expected time off of my friend’s race time at a Half-Marathon in Arizona earlier this year; she finished with a 1:27:something. That calculated to roughly 6:30/mile. Back in February I figured that since we run together on Saturdays and I never get left behind that I should be able to do the same thing.

Note here that many people do this; we look at a friend’s accomplishments and assume that we have the same ability. The key word here is ASSUME.

As my training progressed and I did more tempo runs and long runs I noticed my times. A pattern emerged; I was doing 8:00/miles consistently, with some miles in the 7:00 minute range and some closer to 8:30/mile. Given the fact that I have no desire whatsoever to go out so hard that I’m puking my guts out or land in the E.R. with severe dehydration, I figured I could probably run eight minute miles over a long distance. Final analysis: Based on doing 8:00/mile I could expect to finish the race in an hour and forty five minutes.

Last week I had a great race. My body felt good, I didn’t feel like I pushed myself past all realistic limits, and afterwards I was tired but not totally wiped out. I had energy to go to my son’s flag football game in the afternoon and help out at their elementary school’s gardening day.

I finished the race in one hour, forty five minutes, and forty nine seconds, which means I ran an average of 8:04 per mile. Emotionally I am not so much happy, or proud of myself; rather, I am content to the very core. I trained for the race and examined my potential realistically. I saw myself as the athlete that I AM, not based on another person’s performance, athletic ability, or my own mocked-up version of who I should be. I did something that four years ago I couldn’t imagine ever doing, and I did it based on the person that I’ve grown into. During the race I didn’t let myself get pulled into running a pace that was unrealistic for me, and I enjoyed every minute of running on a beautiful spring morning in Colorado. There were no rose-colored glasses on this sweaty face.

A few days ago an acquaintance I know from my kids’ school asked me about my race.

Me: It was a lot of fun! It was such a beautiful day up there, perfect for running.

Her: I have a friend who was there, she qualified for Boston.

Me: Wow. Good for her. I didn’t have any illusions that I would qualify, I just wanted to see what I could do.

Her: Yeah. She races a lot. That’s the point of racing though, isn’t it? Why race if you’re not trying to get faster?

At this point I gracefully exited the conversation in favor of taking a wheel-barrow full of mulch for a ride. I respectfully disagree with her rhetorical question on so many levels. “Why race if you’re not trying to get faster?”

Why indeed? And this seems to be the million-dollar question. I race to push myself out of my comfort zone, to show myself that I can set a goal and get there, that I have the tenacity to follow through with things that might seem insurmountable, that I can create balance in my life, that I can see myself realistically and know what my boundaries are. That’s why I race. Running is a part of my life, but it’s not my WHOLE life. It’s an aspect that has taught me so much over the many months and seasons that I’ve cruised the streets and trails of Boulder County. Focus, determination, cross-training, balance, tenacity and rest; these are areas that I work on as an athlete and these same skills are slowly, incessantly, seeping into the rest of my life.

Holy cow, there’s hope for me yet!

Saturday morning dawned brightly.  It was decided that due to the two brief snowstorms and the questionable conditions of the trails, we would do a track workout. Clare and Cherry came up with a brief outline for the track, and emailed it to everyone prior to the morning run so we would be prepared.

        The workout called for a brief warm-up around the neighborhood, then four eight hundreds with a four hundred rest lap in between, and two twelve hundreds with a rest lap in between.  It sounded pretty innocuous but I knew that as the laps went by I would get slower and slower.  I’d have to try to find a pace I could maintain.

        Paula, Susan, and Cherry led the group, while Karley, Missy, Zina and I followed.  I didn’t get my timer started at the right point; it was still timing the warm-up.  I’d have to catch it after the first eight hundred and try to get the next three splits.

        We were going to try to do the eight hundreds in about three minutes and thirty seconds, which would translate into a seven minute mile.  That’s a decent clip for our group; all of us can do a seven minute mile for a given section, but wouldn’t race a 10K or half-marathon at that speed.  I mistakenly did a 4K race last year and about killed myself by coming in at seventeen minutes.  That’s approximately six minutes and thirty seconds per mile, a lot faster than usual for me.  I hadn’t been training for that pace and knew after the first mile that I was totally screwed.  I ended up picking a woman in front of me and chasing her for the last mile and a half. If I had been wearing a heart-rate monitor I’m sure it would have told me that I was at one hundred percent capacity and was about to blow a gasket.

        Thus, here I am at the track, ready to work on speed and strength.  It’s early March and I don’t have a race scheduled until late spring, but it’s always a good idea to pop some speed and strength training into the mix.

        My first eight hundred feels good.  I come in right on target, and slow just a hair for a four hundred recovery.  I don’t slow enough though, and I catch Cherry, Paula and Susan around the bend.  I forgot that the rest lap is supposed to be about half of the exertion I just did, not eighty five percent of it.  We hit the starting line and miracle of miracles, I remember to hit my timer.  I run with them for the second eight hundred and hear Paula report her 3:17 time for that loop.  She’s incredibly consistent in her running.  When she raced she could shoot for a time and hit it within a few seconds on either side of her finish time.  Because I don’t have that sense of pace yet I chase other people, to keep my head from focusing on my burning thighs.

        We do a quick four hundred recovery and start again.  I’m still feeling strong, though can sense a slight tightening in my right hip.  This hip has bothered me for the past fifteen years, ever since I was hiking through the muck in a Costa Rican rainforest.  It wasn’t until we were seated on the bus and rolling down the road that I realized something was wrong. I looked down at my legs and saw that my right knee was not on the same plane as my left knee; it was about two inches shorter even though my butt was flush with the back of the seat.  It took about twenty four hours of stretching, moaning, and millions of yoga positions before I popped the hip back to its correct place.  The strain of walking through the muck of the rainforest had pulled the ligament of my hip and shoved the ball of the joint straight into the edge of the socket, leaving no cushioning. The damage to the joint and soft tissue was extensive; years of physical therapy, yoga, strengthening, Rolfing, massage, and exercise have made it strong enough to run and cycle.  I’ll probably never be able to sit for extended periods of time, though that’s actually a blessing in disguise.  Who wants to sit on their butt for hours at a time?

        As we circle the bend in the track I hear Karley’s voice from across the way.  She’s running with someone, happily chatting away.  She’s famous in our group for all the talking she does while running.  For her, the Saturday Morning Runs are as much about the company as it is about the exercise.  She’s good natured, good spirited, and quick to compliment someone on a strong run or a good showing of strength.

        We come out of the loop and the other ladies ease into the four hundred recovery.  I’m glad that I’ve made it, and clocked a respectable time of 3:17 for the third eight hundred.  I slow down and jog over to my water bottle for a quick drink and snap a few pictures while I’m there.  It dawns on me that I should be doing my recovery lap, as there’s one more eight hundred in the series!  Whoops! I was mentally prepared for three eight hundreds, not four, even though we had discussed this before starting.

        I wait for my trio to come around the corner and pick them up at the starting line.  After only a few steps I fall behind and realize that I’m just going to have to watch their backs for this round.  I don’t have it in me.  My mind has outwitted my body and I don’t have the endurance to push through another eight hundred at the same pace.  My hips are tight and my stomach is rolling slightly, doing the happy-dance it does before the exercise-induced vomit does an instant trajectory through my body.

        Paula, Cherry and Susan take a moment after their final eight hundred to grab a drink of water.  I catch up with them and hear that Paula has clocked a 3:18, 3:17, 3:17, and 3:18, respectively.  Wow.  If there’s a lesson for me here today it’s how to strengthen my body so that I can tell it what to do during a race, regardless of the adrenalin or “race-high” that occurs.

        We take off for a slower twelve hundred.  As I piddle around the track I take a few moments to look around.  Earlier I was concentrating so hard on my speed and pace that I didn’t notice the cloudless sky.  Now I take the view in, and breathe deeply.  The air is soft.  I’m warm and content from the exercise. I know that once we stop moving I’ll be chilly in the fifty degree breeze with my wet sports-bra sticking to me, but right now I’m completely content in the perfection of the moment and totally glad I made it without losing my cookies.